The Giant's Almanac by Andrew Zurcher (black female authors .txt) 📕

brother had shown him how the pieces on the board seemed to mirror the king’s own sagging eyes, his melancholy frown, the heaviness of his cheeks; and now the wazir could not help but see it himself. Moreover, he still saw no way out of this problem, for the solution still lay beyond his power. Therefore it was his intention to leave the game, to leave the king his brother, to leave his city and his kingdom, and to go into a far country and never be seen again. He had in his hand the copy of the Giant’s Almanac, its plates cast in bronze, and when his brother appeared on the terrace, and had taken his seat on the verandah, the old wazir gave him the instrument, confessing his evil and all the history of the beggar boy who had become the man known as al-Jabbar, the Giant. He asked his brother his forgiveness, and with a heavy feeling of his guilt, he went away.

‘“But the king would grant no forgiveness. His heart, broken once before, and then again, was broken afresh, and this time it would admit neither forgiveness nor healing of any kind. The old wazir departed from the city and from the kingdom, and was never seen again; but the king swore his revenge, kindling in his heart so great a hatred and so hard a resolve that it was said his eyes bled fire. Kneeling in his chamber, he called upon the gods, on time, on every power of the earth, to give him back the heir to his kingdom, for he plainly declared he would not die, nor his kingdom should not end, until the heir was found. Having gathered his council and his generals, they took to their horses and – aged as they were – set out on campaign. For the king had seen the solution to the problem called the Sad King, and he trusted in his heart that the game was already ended.”

‘“What happened to this king?” I asked my friend the merchant.

‘“He scoured the kingdom, gathering men to his banners. From realm to realm he rode, razing cities to the ground, searching for his brother, searching for his heir – but to no avail, for he found neither the one nor the other, neither dead nor alive. At last he arrived at the coast of a vast sea and, having no more lands left to search, he seized a ship and set sail for the end of the world. Some say he made landfall on a deserted island, and died there, that he is buried for eternity in an empty tomb; but others say he sails the seas still, or walks the earth, or flies through the air, still searching.”

‘I told my friend this was a sad tale, the saddest I had ever heard. I told him that my heart suffered for this broken but undefeated king. He answered that that was as it should be, for my heart could afford a sorrow for one so lost, who should never be redeemed. We were then to part, for it was my intention to leave that city on the morning after, and never to return.

‘“My friend merchant,” I said, “I thank you for your tale, and for the nights that you have spent in my company, telling it. What is your name, so that later in my life, as I travel through the world, when I recount your story to others I may say I learned it of you?”

‘“When I was a young man,” he said, “I was called Hožir; but you may know me hereafter as Phantastes.”

‘“Perhaps we will meet again, Hožir,” I answered him, “in another place, when we are other men.”

‘And now, my eyes, you have heard the end of my story, and learned how I first met my friend Hožir, who as you have seen, has indeed met me in another place, and learned that I am another man.’

The old man’s words had, while he told his story, been growing ever slower and fainter, and now they ceased altogether. His eyes, nodding against the light of the weak fire, closed, and the boy thought he had fallen asleep. With a light and a nimble movement, he rose from the little stool where he had been sitting, and edged towards the door of the library.

‘My eyes,’ said the old man from his chair by the fire. ‘Dear child, soon you must leave this house, and go to the Heresy. There you will complete your education, so that you may go in search of the Kingdom. It was not in my power to finish the game, but it will be in yours.’

The boy crossed the room again, and stood before the old man. He looked down at him, at his tired face, the neatly folded blanket that covered his lap, at his hands that lay folded over the blanket. Quickly, he leaned to the old man’s face, and kissed him on the cheek. Then he crossed the room again, pushed the heavy wooden shutters across the daylight in the window, and put his hand to the library door.

‘Habi,’ said the old man. ‘Habi Gablani Ahmadi, son of my son, you are a good boy, and dear to me.’

12

The blank eye

Several anxious days passed, each more exhausted and feverish than the last. Fitz was aware of others coming and going from his bedside: Navy, Dolly, and on one occasion Padge and Russ. Each of them sat on the little wooden stool by the window, and from time to time they took his hand in their cold hands, and from time to time they said words that, like far waters, ran into secret places and were hidden from him. They told him about the Master, and about the Jack, how he had cut the Master free from his shackles on the cliff, and