Anitole's Arabian Nights

ANITOLE'S 1001 ARABIAN NIGHTS

THE CAVE OF WONDERS

To find the cave of wonders

One must wander far and wide,

Until they know the world afar

And foretell the winds and tide.

In gaining knowledge of this art,

A true love you'll acquire;

And if purity of heart sustained you,

Then your journey can transpire.

Travel through the world you know

Until the landmarks shift;

Loose yourself in desert sands

Until they form a rift,

Beneath which lies the cave or wonders

Where only sure shall tread,

Where happiness and wealth abound

Provided you're not dead.

*****

"Come along, girl."

They had been traveling for days on end through the desert sands and the girl, Rana, was growing tired of the Moor's attitude. As he rained his horse and turned it round to face her she dropped to her knees; immovable.

"I must rest," she said. "Or perhaps you'll let me ride the horse for a few miles."

The Moor set his jaw. He was not angered, that much she knew. He was never angered, never emotional in any way. Nothing he did seemed rash or uncalculated. It was one of the things she found most frightening about him now that she'd been walking along behind him at a steady clip for almost a week with no apparent destination in mind.

The Moor nodded his head and dismounted, taking the water pouch from its hook on the saddle and uncapping it to drink. He then corked the sack and tossed it deftly to her. "Only two mouthfuls, it needs to last us another day's ride at least."

"Where are we going?"

"You've asked that before."

"You didn't answer me then."

"And from that you should have learned a lesson, girl."

Rana set a scowl on her face as she opened the water jug and had a swallow of the cool fresh water. It was sweet mercy to her dry pink lips. The Moor fiddled with the straps of his saddle a moment and she watched him, still very much in the dark about him and his origins.

It had been late, well past sunset when she'd first felt his boot graze her hip, jarring her from a dreamless sleep. His hand had gripped her arm and raised her up to rest her back against the outside wall of the brothel, the chain securing her to the foundations jingled slightly and tightened, causing the manacles to cut slightly into her wrists as his other large callused hand held her jaw firmly up to the light of the window.

She had not bothered to open her eyes; she found it easier most of the time not to see the men she pleased. Instead she simply opened her mouth to the examination.

"How much?" The voice was gruff and business-like.

"Three for my mouth in the street, ten for my body in the house. You pay the man at the window."

She was released then and weakly she fell back against the wall. She heard the traveler shout to the house as he walked to the main door. "Proprietor! I bring you business."

Rana had leaned back against the wall trying to remember her dream as the men talked at the window. In a moment she heard the jingling of the large key-ring. The traveler must have paid the ten.

The proprietor's keys opened the locks on her wrist and the brothel-keeper kicked her and commanded her to rise. She did so, keeping her head bowed as she began to walk toward the house.

"Stupid!" the proprietor shouted, grabbing her by her wrist causing her to wince. "Where are you going? This man has bought you, ignorant bitch!"

There was a crack and a small scream of pain from the brothel-keeper. The Moor's whip had appeared and done its work quickly. Rana stumbled back as the brothel-keeper fell to his knees, biting back curses. For the first time she took in the tall and imposing figure of the Moor as he recoiled the whip and walked quietly forward to grab the little balding proprietor by the remnant of his bleeding ear. "My property is not to be so maltreated, sir." And with that he released the brothel-keeper and walked to where a large grey Andalusian stood tied and waiting. "Come," he said, as he mounted and then prompted the horse onward down the dirt street. Rana looked at the brothel only a moment before running along after the horse and it's rider as quickly as her legs could carry her.

She took her second mouthful of water and then obediently corked the pouch and, rising, returned it to its hook on the saddle of the Andalusian. "I'm rested now," she said, bowing her head as she spoke.

The Moor was not listening but instead observing the horizon, quietly and thoughtfully. In a moment, he turned and looked at her, she was a pretty young girl, her long dark hair in a tangle, her clothes tattered to the point of immodesty, and had he been of a mind to do so, he would have wanted her body.

"Rested, yes?"

She nodded.

"Good," he said. "You may have the horse for some miles. I feel a desire to walk."

Rana smiled at the Moor. He did not return it, nor did he even seem to notice the show of gratitude as he was already setting out to walk; his long strides carrying him quickly over the dunes of the desert. She knew enough to not dawdle and quickly mounted the large horse and spurred him on after the strange Moor. Catching up, she slowed to keep pace beside him, silently keeping pace and casting brief thoughtful glances at him intermittently.

Compared to her he was very tall, but then again, Rana was only just over five feet herself, so most men were tall by comparison. His face was not smooth but very furrowed and prematurely aged by the endless time she suspected he'd spent in the desert. He talked little, and looked at her even less.

"Do you not find me attractive, Master?"

The Moor did not look at her but considered the question. "It makes little difference, does it?"

"You purchased me. For what purpose did you do that?"

"For my own purpose," he cast a side-long glare at her, indicating that the line of questioning would not be fruitful. She nodded, to indicate she understood his want of silence and continued to enjoy the respite from walking, and the slow steady step of the large beautiful horse.

"Your horse is very pretty," she said at length. "What is his name?"

"Césaro," the Moor replied and kept on walking, keeping his eyes trained on the horizon.

Rana reined up the horse then, causing the Moor to stop and turn and look at her questioningly.

"Master," she said, tentatively, "What are you called?"

The Moor looked down at his foot prints in the sand going back a mile or two. He did not look up for a long time, and then turning, he continued to walk, waving over his shoulder that she should follow. She did, quietly, not pressing for her answer, but at a length her silence was rewarded. He spoke. "Aaqil bin Jaaved, but it makes no difference."

"Why is that?"

"Because a slave calls a master one name, girl."

"Yes, master."

"Your next question, I am of a mind to answer them, now."

"How much did you give the man for me?"

"That I will not tell you, it will make you conceited. I do not like conceited women."

"I am to be your woman then?"

"No. But liking you will help the journey pass less tediously."

"Where are we going?"

"Hell in the end," he said, and for the first time he smiled. "But before then we shall both be rich. You will see when we arrive."

"Arrive where?"

"The cave of wonders, girl. That is our present destination. Where, sunk deep in the belly of the earth where only the pure may walk unafraid, treasures await in over-abundance."

Rana nodded, thinking at last she had hit on the Moor's insanity. "You speak of the cave of the genie and the lamp?"

The Moor stopped and looked up at the young girl mounted atop his horse. "Your tone suggests that you're ready to walk again, I see..."

Rana steered the horse away from the Moor skillfully. "Tone, master? I was unaware of any tone."

The Moor leered at her and then proceeded to walk onward. "Then you may ride a few miles more," he said, following his mysterious course as the wind picked up a sudden gust and blew the sand around about them. Rana set the horse once more in step beside her master, Aaqil bin Jaaved, and when they had gone a little farther she cleared her throat to signal her want to ask another question.

"Yes?" The Moor replied.

"When do you mean to... employ me?"

The Moor stopped and looked up at the girl, had his expression lacked some of its control one might have thought him puzzled as to the intention of the question. As it was he simply waved his hand and jeered. "At the cave," and with that he held out his hand for the rains of his horse. "Now you'll get down so your master may rest his feet."

*****

Rana and her master talked little as they traveled, but Rana soon noticed she was being given longer and longer turns on the horse, and her master was less and less inclined to speak roughly to her unless she deliberately showed disobedience.

He had seen fit to provide her with her own mat for sleeping, and he gave her food in a bowl of her own, and when the desert nights grew especially cold he gave her a blanket. To pass the time he gave her riddles to solve and puzzles to work, for he apparently was very learned. He carried on his horse only two sacks other than the water pouch, one filled with provisions, the other carrying a few books from which he loved to read every night, sometimes aloud for her benefit.

They were by no means great kindnesses-- ordinary, in fact-- but it was not long before Rana found herself looking at the strange Moor with something not unlike respect and fondness. He was older, perhaps old enough to have some grey in his beard should he ever allow himself to grow one. He wore black robes and a seminar on his left hip. The whip, with which he had taught her former master respect, stayed coiled on his right hip.

Early on in the journey she had feared that whip and how he might use it on her. But as their trek wore on and it became more and more apparent that the Moor was not interested in her for the purpose of objectification, she relaxed and learned it was just another part of his clothes.

In the mornings he refused to let her wash him or clothe him as was a slave's duty. All he asked was that she take care of herself and the horse, not wondering off or trying to leave him. She obeyed, enthralled in what was fast becoming the first adventure of her young life and knowing not at all where in the desert he was taking her or where, in fact, they were in the world.

Ocassionally he would let her ask him questions, either on the trail or by the fire at night before they went to sleep on their separate mats.

"How old are you, master?"

"How old are you?"

"19."

"I would have guessed younger."

"You would have guessed wrong. Now my question?"

"Take your age and then add one, square the sum and then divide by ten. Finally subtract nine from the result."

Rana calmly took a stick from the fire, extinguished the little flame with a puff of air from her lips and did the calculation in the sand. When she was done she looked up..."31?" She asked.

"Correct. You're getting better. I'm much pleased by that. Nothing is so useless in this world as a person who can't think properly."

Rana nodded at this statement, before looking across the fire at the Moor, taking in the features of his face. They locked eyes. She found could not help but stare into the depths of the fire reflected in the dark pools of his pupils. "I would have guessed you were much older," she said at length.

The Moor laughed and rolled onto his back to look up at the stars above. "Go to sleep, girl. We should be there any day now."

The Moor listened to the sound of the fire and beyond it the sound of the girl shifting on her mat making herself comfortable. Aaqil bin Jaaved listened intently until he heard her breathing become more regular and then, he rolled again on his side to watch her sleeping in the soft orange glow of the fire.

Remarkable, he thought, so scrawny and small.

*****

It was the first dream she could recall for a long while that she'd not had interrupted. Rana lay naked on a large bed of thick soft pillows in the center of the desolate dessert, the sun high in the sky was as bright and hot as it had ever been on her trek with the mysterious Moorish master, but the air was not the insufferable dry air that made her skin flake and fall away, but instead a moist and humid heat interrupted at intervals by breezes from a near though unseen sea.

Relaxing on the comfortable bed, composed of the most expensive pillows lovingly sewn buy eastern hands, Rana felt suddenly the hands upon her, large and rough, moving up her abdomen to cup her small breasts and then the kisses on her neck, loving and unhurried.

Rana had never known a loving touch, and so this sensation was strange and powerful, the soft sucking kisses on her skin seemed to emit energy of a warm sort deep within her. It was alien to her, and almost frighteningly so; she had been sold to the brothel in Agrabah long before she was old enough to have memories of any other life. She'd spent her youth moving through the rooms serving the patrons, changing the linens and avoiding the clutches of the more perverse customers.

When she was finally of age the brothel-keeper had taken her violently forcing himself upon her in a fit of awkward thrusts, any resistance she had shown resulted in sound slaps across her face or backside, she had done all he demanded, crying hot tears through the whole ordeal until finally he had tired of her and taken her out into the street where the chains awaited.

Foul memories of the countless men, who came up to her at the brothel's wall during all hours of the day and night, forcing her to pleasure them with her mouth and hands reared up in Rana's dream. She recalled the degrading manner in which they gripped her by the hair or, sometimes by the back of the neck, one after another pumping away at her until her jaw ached and her throat was raw and dry from so much abuse. The scents of their feted cocks, some of them unwashed after long journeys through the hot desert, caused her stomach to turn and she groaned in her sleep not wanting to give up the good sensations of the dream.

She focused on the gentle feel of the gentle sea-breeze and the softness of everything; the pillows, the air, her skin, the lover's touch, moving over her frame, the kisses searching down her neck to her breasts, lovingly focusing on her nipples. She smiled in her sleep at the vividness of the dream, almost thinking she would awake from it to find her tall, dark, handsome master enjoying her at last.

In the dream, she opened her eyes to find her wish fulfilled. He was there, his dark skin glistening in the strange light of the dream as he held himself up on his arms above her. She moved a hand over his chest, feeling the sinew of the muscles she knew were secreted under his long dark robes.

She imagined the skin was rough, just like that of his hands, and as she pushed herself up to kiss his lips in the dream she imagined they tasted sweet and surprisingly soft by comparison, she imagined his tongue, too, exploring her mouth slowly before he lifted himself away and kissed his way slowly once more down, past her breast, to her small dark bush.

Rana smiled in her sleep enjoying the sensations she imagined, the feel of her master's tongue, hands, and finally his manhood...

She smiled in her sleep at the vividness of the dream, almost thinking she would awake from it to find her tall, dark, handsome master enjoying her at last.

But when Rana opened her eyes to see the face of the man kissing her skin she found herself awake, slumped forward on the back of the Andalusian stallion, her master leading it through the arid desert night towards a light on the horizon. It had all been an illusion, none of it real. The air in the desert night was very cold, the rags she wore did little to warm her. Shivering, Rana straightened herself up on the back of the horse and watched the light as it grew bigger and closer, and bigger and closer until they were at the mouth of the huge cavern seemingly sprung open like a gaping maw in the untraveled heart of the desert.

"How..." she began.

Aaqil bin Jaaved stopped the horse and dropped to his knees on the floor of the desert, bowing his head and making a prayer before rising up and offering his hand to the girl to help her down from the mount.

"It is a place only the most experienced nomad may find when he is completely lost," Bin Jaaved explained with a grin. "My part is done. I have gotten us lost for three days and the cave has found us. Now it's your turn.

"My turn?"

"Yes," the Moor waved his hand to the mouth of the cave. "You are of the brand of purity the cave demands. I am not."

"Purity?" Rana scoffed. "I'm a whore?"

"And Aaqil was a sneak-thief, girl. The cave takes only the most unfortunate retches, don't you know? Anyway, if you're right about your impurity the cave wont stomach you and I can always go back to Agrabah and pick someone else up off the street."

"What happens if the cave doesn't 'stomach me' as you put it?"

"Well, I assume you end up food for a three-headed dog or some other unforeseeable and rather exotic end will befall you. Don't worry, though, nobody's going to miss you. You've got nothing to loose and everything to gain."

Rana looked at the Moor's face. Something about his words seemed to denote a sense of humor finding root in the perverse situation. The face however was somber and expressionless, the cool dark eyes locked on the entrance of the cavern. "Get going, I'll be waiting here to take you back."

"I thought you said you were lost?"

"I am."

Rana almost said something more but the Moor looked at her impatiently and she knew better than to talk more at that moment. She walked towards the entrance of the cave and then as she reached the entrance she heard the Moor shout to her. "Rana!"

She turned back. "What?"

"Don't doubt yourself. The cave senses doubters."

She nodded and then turned back, taking her first step into the cave.

*****

Needless to say the cave did not collapse upon Rana's entry. She sighed relief and turned back to wave to her master to show she was alright. Bin Jaaved, however, was not watching after her, instead he was busying himself with the trappings of a fire, seemingly unconcerned with her. She jutted out her bottom lip, felling a sense of hurt, but after a moment she shrugged and continued down the carved stone steps of the cave, heading deep into a series of catacombs interlocking in a chaotic labyrinth.

Wanting desperately to turn back and ask for Bin Jaaved to come and guide her, she felt a sudden shutter in the depths of the cave. She then realized that turning back was impossible, as it was an admission of doubt. She stilled herself and, looking at the numerous options, took the tributary cavern to her left.

She continued on like this for some time until she came to a large open cavern, and in that instant she saw the piles and piles of wealth amassed in the cavern and fell to her knees in awe. There were not enough kings, sultans, rajahs, pashas, and emperors in the world to demand such a ransom. And, on a pedestal in the center of the lofty cavern, Rana saw a large ring with a ruby for its center stone and two small blue sapphires offsetting it. Of all the riches surrounding her, this ring was by far the most appealing object for inspection. So, Rana stepped forward, making sure to walk with an air of purpose in her step, and when she reached the ring she looked down on it's ornate beauty, satisfied that it would be hers.

Reaching out, she took it from the pedestal brazenly and put it on her finger. She was surprised to find it fit her perfectly. She smiled at it, admiring how it caught the light on her admittedly dirty finger and then, suddenly a flash of fire erupted from the red ruby and filled the chamber with a deafening roar and an overpowering smell of sulfur. Rana screamed in surprise and tumbled backward over a pile of jewels as the smoke took its form in front of her.