Three Wishes: Cairo (3 page)

As a young boy, Khayri was treated as any other in the kingdom. His father had rightly believed that in order to be a great leader, one must first walk in the shoes of his subjects. There was no private schooling, special tutors or classes designed for the elite and wealthy. Rather, he was given a simple public education. Khayri was known as Akila, the middle class son of a local spice merchant, who lived on the outskirts of the city.

The King rightly believed in education and saw that all children were exposed to it. How proud could he be of an educational system if he didn’t even deem it good enough for his own child? Khayri was sworn to secrecy. He was not permitted to reveal his name or his status to anyone. He had only Alchemy to talk to at night as he was taken under cover of darkness back to the safety of the kingdom’s walls. At first, the young prince did not relish the idea of being anonymous amongst his peers. But he respected his father’s wishes and eventually began to enjoy the secret that he alone carried each day to his classes. The King was ahead of his time. He knew that had Khayri been revealed as his son, he would have been treated with special considerations and would have ended up a lesser man for it.

Perhaps the best part of this “cover story” was that it led to Khayri meeting Ameerah.

Had he led a privileged and private existence, a girl like Ameerah would never have crossed his path and been part of his life. They first met in their teen-aged years and though an instant respect was formed, they became best friends before romance ever became part of their story. Ameerah was simply the most beautiful person Khayri had ever seen. But more importantly, she was also someone he instantly liked.

In their years together, through school and then his military training, there was never a time when they sat alone and talked, that he wasn’t genuinely interested in what she had to say. She was intelligent, wise beyond her years and was an integral part in helping him plan to construct a new direction for the kingdom following their marriage. Rather than the usual subservience that was expected from young women, Ameerah would be a real partner. She would make this king stronger because he didn’t have to bear all of the responsibility alone. He loved that she didn’t seek the attention that she knew was coming, but they both believed that in order for Khayri to be the best king he could be, her perspective and influence would be important.

“Khayri, you listening to this?” said a voice that snapped him back to reality. Here he was, sitting at his bachelor party. It was a strange time to reminisce; considering he was currently surrounded by hordes of drunken commoners that he called friends. He smiled happily as he sipped his ale and listened to his friends celebrate his coming nuptials, take shots at his character, and generally trash his existence. For those who have never been part of a brotherhood, it is a great honor to be skewered in the nastiest ways by your friends.

Many of these same brothers had found out about Khayri’s royal blood soon after his parents’ death. His first speech to the kingdom at age fifteen had shocked everyone when it was revealed that this publicly educated commoner was actually a prince and their new king. But his close friends were more surprised that upon this serious and formal announcement, their relationship changed so little. Khayri always welcomed the input of those he trusted and he even appointed two close friends: Atiene and Rorgue, to his Royal Council.

He still remembered the first day that his two best friends in the world entered the royal chambers for their first council meeting. The perfumed and pampered councilmen stared in utter disbelief as the two young warriors made their entrance. The silence spoke volumes when Rorgue strode up to the Chief Advisor, grabbed him in a forearm handshake and just about broke his arm off with a simple greeting. But over time, those council members who grew to respect the opinions of those who had actually
done
something remained and were better for it. Those who could simply not get over the new members soon found themselves in early retirement. Khayri could never understand how a government could be run by people who had never actually lived among the people they governed.

Khayri also created quite a stir when he announced his intention to enlist in the military and undertake the same training any normal male his age was required to complete. He would forego his ascension to the crown until he was deemed
ready
by those closest to him. The respect he garnered from this one action would further cement great loyalty; which was on display in this last gathering of his brotherhood of soldiers and friends.

It was Rorgue who now held center stage, speaking to the informal assembly as well as his future king. He was stout and squat, built low to the ground and more for power than speed. His unkempt beard was a rat’s nest of whatever he’d eaten for breakfast, yet for some strange reason, his hands and fingernails were always polished and scrubbed. If you could choose one man to stand beside you in a fight, Rorgue was that man. He always lived life to the fullest and made no apologies for that fact. He had saved the life of the Prince a dozen times or more and Khayri was quick to point this out whenever the do-gooders and etiquette police criticized his friend's constant scruffy appearance. For these old-school poncy lapdogs, the appearance of one’s wardrobe outweighed the content of his character. Khayri was slowly replacing the old guard with trusted allies who, in some cases, were bad dressers. Like everything the Prince did, he made measured decisions and asked the advice of Alchemy before making any changes.

But for this one evening, his men had the floor and the attention of their future king. Rorgue continued, “I have known this man for many years. We have done battle together, drank our share of women, and loved our share of ale.”

Though it was obvious that Rorgue was already way past his tipping point, his friends, like all good man friends, were enjoying the thought of tomorrow’s hangover. They let him continue to drone onward and downward. True male friends take great pleasure in the suffering of their brethren. It can’t be explained or analyzed, but there is no one on the planet that cuts you deeper and makes you laugh about it more than your friends.

The drunken speech continued.

“I love Ameerah as if she was my own sister, yet I’ll mourn the loss of my partner. I also realize that had Ameerah met me first, she would never have chosen him and we’d be celebrating my marriage to your future queen… but alas, it is her loss.”

Khayri laughed as the sound of a bottle shattering in the far corner robbed the attention of everyone for a few moments. Rorgue took the opportunity to playfully chastise the perpetrators… something about alcohol abuse, but then returned to his thoughtful pre-wedding slurred attempt at drunken wisdom through speech.

“My Prince, it is with my most humble respect that I ask one simple question: You’re young, this kingdom is large, the women are beautiful, and you could have your choice of dozens of them. More importantly, I always got the high quality cast-offs that you didn’t want. You have your whole life, why would you marry now?”

The men laughed, but soon grew silent as all eyes turned to Khayri to gauge his reaction.

“You’ll know when you meet her,” the Prince said with a more sober smile than his apparent rate of consumption should permit.

“Know who?” laughed Rorgue.

“The fact that you’ve asked me that question means that you haven’t met
her
yet.”

“I might be drunk. Wait! No, I’m sure I’m drunk, but I certainly know that I’ve met Ameerah. Black hair… yells a lot… about this tall?”

“Not Ameerah, you fool. You haven’t yet met the girl for you.”

Rorgue laughed out loud. “There are plenty of girls for me.”

“No,” said the Prince “Only one. Each of us has ‘the one’. And when she presents herself, you’ll know. It will be as easy for you as falling off a bar stool.”

Most of the playful banter had been reduced to whispering. Rorgue seemed to sober a bit as he actually considered this pronouncement by his king. Perhaps it was the fact that everyone had been drinking non-stop for several hours, or that this one deep thought had paralyzed their vocal cords, but the room became so silent, you could hear the insects humming outside the pub.

“One true match.  My perfect girl. I’ll know?”

Again, silence.

Then a thought arrived: “My wife had better not find out!”

Again, the house was brought down in laughter. This was a
perfect evening
. You can’t plan them and in most cases, you can’t recreate them. More often than not, they just happen and are usually an accident.

It was now Khayri’s turn. He stood shakily, and though trying to maintain an air of dignity, his body betrayed him. As he tried to lean on the long table, his hand missed its first attempt and his friends howled with laughter.

“Friends, drunks and bartenders: Tonight, I enter into a new chapter of my life. Not sure if any of you are aware, but an attempt was made on my life this afternoon and the monster attacker, probably one thousand pounds, was defeated by myself and my lovely wife to be.” He burped slightly and then unpleasantly swallowed. Eyes everywhere rolled in unison, as this was the second time he’d told this tale tonight.

The silence was shattered.

“IT’S STILL ALIVE,” shouted Atiene, his slightly built, less heroic friend. Chairs slid back quickly and everyone instantly came to full alert!

The Prince quickly grabbed the closest weapon he could (a long hard loaf of bread) and swung around in his most menacing “hero” stance. He was a little shaky with his technique.

“Where? I killed the damned thing twice already!” He shouted. “Bring it on!”

“Ahhh, the much feared death by crouton,” joked Atiene.

Khayri soon realized that his friend was teasing him and eased his stance a bit.

If Rorgue was the one you wanted beside you in a fight, Atiene was the one you wanted to talk you out of the fight. He was slender, smart and the definition of a fast talker. He was smooth with the ladies, though still unmarried and every bit the happy bachelor. He had been the spark behind many bad ideas the three had shared as younger men because he could make just about anything sound reasonable. For now, he continued, “I simply meant that this unseen beast has continued to grow throughout the night, my Prince. If I recall, he was a five hundred pound hulk earlier in the evening. If he continues this rapid growth that you describe, we may well require that your next battle take place in a stadium.”

Again, laughter ensued and the Prince awkwardly bit into his bread weapon and began to return to his seat. A firm hand was placed on his shoulder. Alchemy was the only other person standing and certainly the only one still possessing a clear mind.

“My son, I do not have a spell to keep you from throwing up at your wedding, and I fear that if you are not at your very best, the thousand pound hulk will be your bride to be.”

This actually seemed to be a welcomed suggestion that Khayri instantly followed. He rose in his most steady commanding presence and simply said. “Goodnight all. Please be on time for tomorrow’s wedding and wear appropriate pants. Thank you for the kind words. I bid you a fond good evening.”

As his friends cheered and congratulated him, he strode confidently and mistakenly through the bathroom door (more laughter), which was located directly beside the pub exit. Several seconds later, he strode confidently out, again faced his peers and said, “That, my friends, is the bathroom. As King, I insist that it be better marked in the future. I trust we’ll never speak of this again.” He then shook his head in a confused manner and let Alchemy guide him out the door of the pub to a rousing ovation from his friends and comrades.

The noise in the pub faded quickly as Kharyi and Alchemy made their way back toward the palace. This was just a quiet stroll between two friends. The Prince and Alchemy walked slowly and followed much the same path as they had many years earlier when the Prince was a young boy sneaking back to the safe confines of home.

After quite a long period of silent reflection on the flood of memories that this trek stirred up for both men, it was Khayri who broke the silence," “I feel strange tonight, Alchemy. I’ve had more than this to drink, but never have I felt this loss of command to my senses.”

“Lean on me” said Alchemy. “You’ve certainly been drunk before, but never drunk and getting married.” He smiled.

“You’re probably right. Lead on, my friend.”

Prince Khayri was taking the final steps of his life.

“I am not awake yet.”

There is something magical about that murky pre-conscious netherworld that only exists before one becomes fully awake. Thoughts are clear yet the rough edges are softened to a more palatable muted state.

“I hear the processional for the wedding.”

Sounds and feelings are all jumbled together as one’s mind slowly realizes that the period of dreams is ending and in order to face reality, the brain is slowly reintroducing the elements needed for clear comprehension.

“I hear the processional for the wedding.”

Eyes still closed, Khayri smiled at the classic piece they’d chosen for the processional. Ameerah had chosen this optimistic light-hearted selection because they both felt it conveyed their true feelings for each other as well as the future of the kingdom.

“I hear the processional for the wedding.”

----------------

Aware that he was slowly passing out of twilight and into consciousness, Khayri now noted with his slowly awakening mind that, in this current state, the wedding processional almost had a hollow and eerie element to it. Strange that he’d heard this played at least twenty times but never had this uncomfortable reaction to it. It was almost as if this beautiful piece of music was being scratched by fingernails across a slate wall.

And then reality reared its ugly head.

“I HEAR THE PROCESSIONAL FOR THE WEDDING!”

Like a bolt of lightning, Khayri immediately shot to his feet and was instantly on full alert. How had he overslept on this important day? Why had no one awakened him? Like all good soldiers, his first inclination was to find a solution. He grabbed his robe and instantly spun in a circle looking for the door. When no exit presented itself, he now turned slowly and scanned more closely. The realization was quickly imposing its will on him that currently, he was not seeing a way to easily escape this mysterious chamber. There was a tomb-like feeling and a musty, heavy atmosphere about this room that inspired the fear that he had been buried alive.

“Where am I?” he said aloud. His voice echoed back to him instantly.

The chamber was circular and held a bed, a chest of drawers and a basin. It had a narrow tapered ceiling that was shaped almost like a bottle. There was a very dim light trickling in from small ornamental windows mounted on the rounded walls near the ceiling that were far out of reach. If he was going to escape, he first had to know what he was dealing with, and those narrow windows were his only source for more information. He would need to climb upward in order to peer out and see exactly where he was.

His first move was to drag the antique set of dresser drawers to the bed and heave it on top of the pillows he had slept peacefully on only moments earlier. He then tilted the chest of drawers on its side and balanced it up against the wall at the head of the bed. This got him the height he needed. By balancing on top of this shaky platform, he could then barely reach the narrow window with the tips of his fingers. It took every ounce of energy he had to pull himself up so he could just barely see out of the window. He knew that once he achieved his desired height, he’d only have a few moments to take in as much information as he possibly could.

The heat in the top of this chamber was noticeable and, combined with this effort; he was already breaking out in a healthy sweat. But none of that would matter because it didn’t take long until he had all the horrifying information he would ever need.

He was a witness to his own wedding. From within some sort of tiny prison, he was in the church witnessing his own wedding processional. And strangely enough, he saw that somehow, his own body was in attendance not more than twenty cubits away.

A sickening anxiety crept in as his hands loosened and Khayri tumbled helplessly to the floor. He lay there stunned, while taking stock of this strange situation. Ameerah was marrying someone else and it was impossible for him to do anything about it. His normal response would be crazily ripping the place to pieces in an effort to save the day, yet the hopelessness of this situation actually calmed him down a bit. He had a puzzle to solve and he would be no help to Ameerah or himself if he careened wildly off the walls. Until he got to the bottom of this predicament, he reasoned that a calm and clear head was the best approach.

He chose to ignore the small drips of blood coming from an arm wound that he had suffered when he had tumbled back to the floor. Khayri numbly made his way back to the still warm bed he had started his day in. He needed to sit down and reason this out because at first glance, this dream-like situation defied all logic. He removed the chest of drawers and calmly sat down.

His brain was not cooperating. Generally, when one is trying to reason the pieces of an impossible puzzle together, it is best to step backward in time and slowly crawl forward; gathering clues along the way until the obvious explanation presents itself.

But in this case, large gaps of that puzzle were either foggy or missing.

He had attended his bachelor party, had been careful not to drink too much, yet his head was currently pounding. He remembered being so unsure of his steps that Alchemy had made a special effort to steady him throughout the evening. He remembered walking with Alchemy back to his room, yet he had no real memory of arriving or even lying down in his bed.

For the first time in his life, Khayri had no answers other than the sobering certainty that he was embroiled in a hopeless situation. He closed his eyes and slowly tried to piece together the nightmare puzzle he found himself in.

He could hear Alchemy’s voice in his head warning him about the powerlessness he had felt during the attack in the library.

He slowly opened his eyes and found them drawn to a mirror that had been tossed beside the bed when he had thrown the drawers. When he saw the ghostly inhuman form that stared back at him, his breath caught in his throat. Slowly he raised his hand toward his face and watched the reflection mimic that action. He felt his own soft touch, yet refused to accept that the unearthly reflection he witnessed was his own. A face that had been tanned and chiseled now glowed with an unearthly pale whiteness. The only color in his face at all were piercing red eyes that appeared as those of a demon. For the first time in his life, he teetered dangerously close to madness. He no longer recognized the face staring back at him. He simply fell flat back on the bed, helpless to hold himself upright any longer. Had he been murdered? Was he a ghost? The only certainty he felt was that somehow, he had let his guard down and now was helpless to control his own destiny.

Dark magic indeed.