Part 1
647 Words
ONE
If Philemon never felt the scorching desert sands beneath his feet again, he would be a happy man. "How much further?" he demanded.
The camel driver turned and bowed apologetically. "At least half the night, Your Highness. If you had not decreed a slower pace, we would be there already."
"Perhaps, but I would have left my blackened balls somewhere in the desert, for they would have bounced off at the pace this beast was going before."
Philemon heard sniggering from behind him, but it was hard to discern one man from another, silhouetted against the setting sun and all. Ah, let them laugh. He'd served with the guardsmen until his father had died, forcing him to assume the throne.
Philemon continued, "There's little point taking one of the Sultan's daughters as my bride if I cannot consummate the marriage on our wedding night. If I cannot give the city an heir, you'll find yourself a new Prince of Tasnim, I am certain of it!"
The laughter was louder now, for they all knew as well as he did that he was the last of his father's line, and they'd need to look outside the city walls to find someone of sufficiently royal blood to take his place. Whether they liked Philemon or not, he was still their prince, a man of Tasnim.
Which was why he gave the orders, not the camel driver. "We must set up camp, rest for the night, and we will reach Tasnim on the morrow," Philemon finished.
"But there is no water, Your Highness," the camel driver protested.
Philemon fought to keep his temper. Did the camel driver think he was blind? "I can see that," he said with forced calm. "Take us to the nearest oasis, and we will camp there."
The camel driver spluttered. "But...Your Highness...the nearest oasis was the one we left this morning. The only water for miles is in the wells of Tasnim itself, unless some magical wadi appears before us."
Philemon laughed, but not for long. The man's idea of magic had merit. Philemon rubbed his ring, the one symbol of his sovereignty he carried with him everywhere.
The djinn appeared, bowing low. "What do you wish, Master?"
"Make me an oasis here," Philemon commanded.
The djinn snorted with laughter. "My master jests. The best I can make for you is a puddle, if I drink a good skin of wine and piss on that rock." He tugged at the loincloth he wore, as if he intended to do just that.
"I need water for my men and the camels to drink. Now," Philemon insisted.
The djinn spread his arms wide. "I have told you what I can do. Maybe you should have found yourself a different djinn, someone more powerful who can command water instead of stone. Fat lot of good he'd be, when it comes to opening the gates of Tasnim, but he might be able to fetch you a drink."
A different djinn. And Philemon had such a thing. "Fetch the genie of the lamp. The one you found in the oasis outside the city gates," he said. "I have a task for him."
A servant appeared, bowed, then offered Philemon the dented, tarnished bronze lamp. Philemon rubbed his thumb across what appeared to be a scorch mark on the scored surface. Back and forth, back and forth...until blue smoke began to stream from the lamp's spout.
The enormous djinn abased himself on the sand. "How may I serve you, Master?"
"Make me an oasis right here, big enough to quench the thirst of every man and beast here twice over, and still have enough water for me to bathe," Philemon ordered. He waited for this djinn to say the same words as the servant of the ring.
"Your wish is my command, Master. It shall be done."
And for that moment, Philemon knew he was the most powerful man in the desert.
- Writer
