RESCUING ZAYDA by Jennifer Hor Page 1

RESCUING ZAYDA

In the distant country Zoulvisia, the famed spell-weaver Majissa and her only
child Zayda lived on a small farm in a valley not far from the capital. Zayda was a
beautiful child with large eyes and Majissa hoped one day to marry her off to a prince
or a son of a wealthy family in Zoulvisia. The two lived quietly with their chickens,
goats and two horses. Apart from Majissa’s friends, of whom there were few, and the
occasional visitor seeking advice or cures, they saw no-one. Zayda had no friends
who were her age and Majissa did not see why she should need any for the girl had
everything she needed – peace, animals around her, a healthy life – and Majissa saw
to it that the child never lacked for anything material. The days, weeks, months and
years passed by in secluded and uneventful tranquillity.
On the farm’s western boundary was a clearing leading to a thicket which in
turn led to a large forest. Zayda was riding her horse in the clearing on a warm
summer afternoon when she turned the horse around and noticed a bird fluttering in
distress in the bushes some distance away – a bird of deep purple, red and orange hues
which she had never seen before. The bird’s left wing was streaked with blood and
feathers were missing. The creature flapped its other wing madly while the bloodied
one was limp. The bird shrilled in high-pitched pain and Zayda felt tears in her eyes.
“Poor bird! How long have you been like this? I’ll take you home and Mama will
mend your wing.” Zayda urged her horse into the thicket but when they came close
enough for the teenager to reach out and touch the bird, it suddenly leapt out of the
tangle of branches in which it was caught and hopped away. The bird left a trail of
purple and red feathers in the undergrowth. “Wait! You can’t survive in the forest like
that with a torn wing!” Zayda forced her horse to plunge through the bushes and
followed the bird all the way into the forest. Low branches brushed against her face
and her long hair kept getting caught in twigs so she stopped the horse and
dismounted.
“Where can the bird be? I’ve got to find it before a fox attacks it.” Zayda
followed the trail of feathers under the forest-filtered rays of sunlight. The bird
couldn’t have gone far. The wing was sure to be very painful and it would be
impeding the bird’s progress, getting caught in the dead leaves and twigs on the
ground. After a long search, she had to admit she had lost the bird. She tried to retrace
her steps back to the horse but she was deep in the forest with its long shadows and its
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silent trees, and she realised she was lost. Tired, she slumped down onto the exposed
root of a large, old tree. She sniffed and a tear trickled down her cheek. She was angry
that she had allowed the bird to mislead her.
She heard a crunch of dead vegetation to her left. She jumped up and saw a tall
stranger, dressed from head to toe in a dark purple robe. A hood covered the stranger’s
head but Zayda could just make out wisps of reddish and blond hair from under hood.
“You’re Zayda the daughter of Majissa the spell-weaver of Nayan, aren’t you?”
the stranger asked. His voice was deep and smooth.
“Yes, I am,” the girl replied. The man seemed kind enough so she went on. “I
was looking for a bird with a damaged wing and I got lost. Would you be able to lead
me out of the forest so I can go home?”
“You’re the spell-weaver’s daughter and you don’t know any magic to get you
out of here?” the man asked. Zayda blushed and shook her head. “My mother has
never taught me magic,” she said softly.
“Hmm,” the man said, “you had better come with me. My home is far away but
you’ll be safer with me than here in the forest on your own. I can take you to my place
quicker than you’ll be able to retrace your steps out of this forest.”
“Who are you and what are you, that you can do this?” The girl was awed.
“I am Korshan and I’m the most powerful spell-weaver in Zoulvisia.”

It’s not like Zayda to be out after sunset, Majissa thought as she paced the floor
of the kitchen. The girl knows the wild animals come out of the forest at night,
looking for prey. My magic protects the farm but doesn’t extend deep into the forest.
Yet the time went by and Majissa, looking out of the kitchen window, saw the moon
appear and the stars begin to shine. She heard the night crickets starting up their
chirping song. Behind her, the fire in the hearth burned low and the food on the table
grew cold and hard. What was going on? Why was Zayda late? Did she have an
accident? Might she be calling for help? Majissa couldn’t bear the questioning in her
head any more and rushed out of the kitchen, bolting the door behind her, running to
the stable to saddle her horse and bringing it out. She mounted the horse and rode out
from the farm. She remembered Zayda had ridden out to the western side of the
property so she directed her horse there.
She rode along the edge of the clearing and saw under the moonlight some
brightly coloured feathers stuck to the bushes in the thicket. Her horse sniffed the air
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and neighed loudly. In the distance, another horse called back. That’s Zayda’s horse!
Majissa’s heart leapt. “Zayda! Is that you? Are you there?” she cried out. There was
no answer save for the sound of approaching hoof beats. Then Majissa saw Zayda’s
horse coming through the bushes towards her – riderless.
The animal was trembling and its eyes were rolling. Majissa sang to it in a low
voice until it calmed down. Majissa rode over to Zayda’s horse and put her hand on its
muzzle. She shut her eyes and had a vision of Zayda chasing a purple bird with a torn
or broken wing in the forest beyond the thicket. “No, you don’t know any more, do
you?” Majissa opened her eyes and patted the horse’s nose. “Hum – there are no birds
in the district here with the kind of purple, red and yellow colours I’ve just seen.
Though that colour combination does remind me of something.” She whispered to the
horse: “Will you lead me into the forest?” At once the animal snorted and shook its
head, almost swiping Majissa’s face. She sang to the horse again but the creature
trembled. Oh well. The horse was frightened and wanted to go home. Majissa
mounted her horse again and led Zayda’s mount home. She would have to think of
some way to get into the forest and find Zayda. Thoughts teemed through her head: I
hope Zayda’s climbed a tree for the night. Sometimes you hear of people lost in the
forest for days and they survive all right. Majissa put the horses in their stable,
removed their saddles and rubbed them down. She gave them some water and went
back to the kitchen, unlocking the door. The fire had gone out but the embers were
still glowing. Majissa blew on them and stirred them with the poker until small flames
appeared and began their golden dance. She turned around and saw a small scroll on
the table next to the plate of cold rabbit. Who left that scroll? Who was here while I
was gone? Majissa went over to the table, picked up the scroll and unfurled it. There
was untidy writing on the inside surface. In the dim light of the hearth fire, Majissa
read the letter with some difficulty. People these days just do not know how to write
properly, she decided.

“Dearest Majissa!
Your daughter Zayda is safe with me in my palace Sobaida over the
mountains. You may claim her back if you can. We’ll see if your magic
can match mine. I wish you the best of luck. Your friend, Korshan.”
Korshan the sorcerer! Of course! Purple, red and yellow are his family colours!
Why didn’t I see that before? And why should he be interested in Zayda? He must
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have been spying on us for a long time. Majissa threw the scroll into the heart and
angrily swept the food off the table, sending plates onto the floor where they smashed
and scattered bread, meat and vegetables everywhere. Damn that Korshan! Ever since
he came to Zoulvisia ten years ago, he had been nothing but trouble, using his powers
to steal land and wealth and humiliating other spell-weavers and ordinary people with
his pranks and arrogance. And now he had kidnapped Zayda.
At least the girl was alive and safe. Claim her back? Of course! But how?
Korshan had the power to turn back spells onto their parents, a talent Majissa lacked.
There were many powers people attributed to Korshan. Some people said he could
even cast spells while under a spell himself. Majissa frowned at the mess on the floor.
What was she to do?

It must be said that Majissa’s first two attempts to rescue Zayda were inspired
more by anger than by thought. First, she magicked an army of ten thousand warriors
to invade Sobaida in spite of her friend Taria’s advice that Korshan could multiply
these warriors in number and strength tenfold and send them all back to level the hills
on either side of the valley where Majissa lived with enough spare energy to raze
Zoulvisia’s capital and allow Korshan to rule the country. Majissa shot back: “If your
child was Korshan’s hostage, you’d do everything you could in your power to get her
back even if it means risking your life and others’ lives.” She glared at Taria so hard
that the other shut up. But though Majissa’s army had the power of flight and could
breathe bursts of fire onto bridges and watch-towers, the warriors were as nothing
compared to Korshan’s magic: when he saw them flying towards Sobaida, he uttered
two lines of rhyme which reduced them all to fireflies which then fought among
themselves, burning one another, until only one remained alive. Korshan then
commanded: “To thy master or mistress return / The fate of your companions he or
she will learn / From thy blood shouldst it burn.” With this message the insect flew
back to Majissa’s farm and into the kitchen where the spell-weaver was sitting.
Majissa hit it with a fly-swatter against the wall. At once the fly’s message sprayed
across the wall: Majissa saw the soldiers advancing upon Sobaida, then suddenly
transforming into a frenzied cloud of fireflies furiously attacking and devouring one
another. “The cheek of this man! He killed my army!” she yelled.
The next day Majissa created a cloud that would float over Sobaida and rain
down droplets that on touching the ground would turn into silver eagles to tear
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Korshan and his servants apart but recognise Zayda and bring her home. But when the
cloud arrived at Sobaida, it hovered so low over the turrets that the servants had to
light candles and lanterns even though the sun was high in the sky. Korshan said, “I
think this weather has been magicked. Let the weather return to its author and its
products bring some mischief.” He uttered a few words in an ancient tongue to begin
the spell. The cloud returned to Majissa’s district and hovered over the town in the
valley below Majissa’s farm; when the rains fell, the droplets turned into silver
pigeons that proceeded to foul up the town square and the public parks and gardens.
The townsfolk tried to drive away the birds but the creatures would fly at them,
flapping their wings loudly and scratching at people’s arms and legs. The mayor sent
a messenger to ask Majissa for help. When she came down to the town and saw the
silver birds strutting about in the streets leaving their evil-smelling excrement behind,
she guessed Korshan had beaten her again. “Now I have to clean up this mess!” she
fumed.
She needed a day and a half to devise a spell that would get rid of the birds and
clean up the excrement without damaging the streets and parks. Then she needed
another day to practice and perfect the body movements required to carry out the
ritual. She fasted a third day to purify her body in order to perform the ritual
effectively. She carried out the spell at midnight in the town square. A strong wind
swept down from the sky, so strong Majissa had to tie herself to a statue in the square,
and the birds were all swept up and carried off into the clouds. A second wind came
and scoured the streets and open surfaces, cleaning the birds’ mess and dispersing it
over the mountains in the far distance. In the morning the people came out of their
houses and cheered at the clean and polished streets and open spaces. Only a faint
odour reminded them all of their unwanted visitors. The mayor wanted to honour
Majissa at a special ceremony but she refused any kind of reward or payment.
Once back at the farm, Majissa brooded over the problem of how to rescue
Zayda. Should she ask Taria for help? Should she ask other spell-weavers in Zoulvisia
for help? Most spell-weavers she knew had grudge against Korshan. No-one would
ever forgive him for the time he stripped the respected Darnis of his powers. And how
was Darnis surviving now? As a lowly cowherd, lonely and ignored by people. Yet
Korshan was so powerful that no-one dared to challenge him. Majissa could not work
on her own again – her spells were not subtle or powerful enough. What could she
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do? She sat by the hearth day and night, brooding and pondering her problem until
sleep overcame her.
Majissa awoke abruptly the next morning. Images of her dream were still
dancing before her eyes: she was sitting cross-legged in a circle of luminous white
chalk; she next saw a flagon of purple-red wine in that circle; then she saw Korshan,
dressed in rich robes, drinking some of that wine; the last image she saw before the
dream faded away was one of herself in Korshan’s robes. What did this sequence of
images mean? What was it telling her? She shut her eyes and, breathing deeply and
rhythmically, swept her mind clear of chatter. In the space so vacated, a structure
formed around the images, growing steadily into a plan. She gasped at the boldness of
the plan. “Can this really be the solution? Is this what I must do?” Her heart beat
loudly and her stomach churned at the repellent nature of the plan. “I can’t do this!
No-one has ever tried anything like this before! I can’t go through with it! Isn’t there
another way?” With a great effort, Majissa shut her eyes again, forced herself to
breathe steadily and banished all conscious thought from her mind; in the stillness
regained, a tiny murmur emerged in her mind: there was no other way.
She would need someone’s assistance. She could not devise and cast the spell
herself. Korshan must not know of her involvement. Who could help her? Taria? Any
other spell-weaver she knew? Concentrate! Breathe slowly and concentrate! No more
questions – the answers will come in their own time. Relax. Concentrate, concentrate,
concentrate …
… Yes, there was a spell-weaver who could help: the old hermit Iskar. But he
was so far away in a remote part of the country. Few roads led there. Would Iskar
even remember how to cast a spell? Majissa remembered jokes people sometimes
made about Iskar even forgetting how to speak, he had spent that much time alone.
Then there was the question of payment for his services.
Everything was clear. Majissa sighed. This was the only way to rescue Zayda.

It took over a month for Majissa to prepare for her journey. She contacted
everyone she knew who could help: all her spell-weaver friends, her clients, the
mayor of the town in the valley below the farm, even the man who had sold her
Zayda’s horse. She had to draw her own maps from the information they gave. If
anyone asked her why she wanted to see Iskar, she said she wanted to learn
meditation from him. Then she had to buy blankets and a tent for the trip. Taria agreed
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to look after the farm. Thus equipped, Majissa set out with the two horses, Zayda’s
mount carrying the supplies, and with the help of the maps and navigating by the stars
at night, she quickly reached the far remoteness where Iskar lived. The trip took seven
weeks. The weather was mild and the nights were not very cold. The land gradually
turned stony and hilly and the vegetation grew sparse and coarse. Majissa found it
necessary to zigzag in her journey to find grass and water for the horses. The animals
grew thin anyway and needed frequent rests. Many days of wandering in the desert in
this way passed before they located Iskar’s cave. Majissa dismounted and stood at the
mouth of the cave.
“Iskar! ‘Tis I, Majissa, who calls you! I need your help!” Several moments
passed before a tiny aged man with a long and fuzzy white beard and masses of
snowy hair streaming over his shoulders and back down to his waist emerged from the
inner darkness. He was thin and naked apart from a loincloth. He squinted at Majissa.
“Majissa, did you say?” he squeaked in a frail, high-pitched voice. So he could speak
still, Majissa observed. She grabbed the ancient one by the shoulders.
“Iskar, I beg you, you must help me, please, you are the only one who can!”
And she gushed out the whole story beginning with Zayda’s disappearance, her
previous attempts to rescue the girl, her dream, her plan and Iskar’s role in it. “Iskar,
you must devise the spell and a ritual to carry it out so Korshan does not suspect my
involvement in it.”
The old man shrank back. “Is this what you must do to reclaim your daughter?”
“Yes, yes! It’s the only way, there is no other!”
Iskar shook his head. “Give up the chase. What you’re considering is very
dangerous. There’s a high risk of failure. Resign yourself to the fact that your
daughter is gone. I can’t help you.”
“No-o-o!” Majissa grabbed the old man and shook him. “You must help me!
Zayda is my only child! You know Korshan’s reputation! He has gone too far! What
would you do if you had just one child and Korshan took it away? What would you
do?”
Iskar shook off the desperate woman and trembled. He remembered what
Korshan had done to his friend Darnis. “All right, I’ll help,” he sighed, “but if this
spell does not succeed, I take no responsibility for its consequences. And I will not
help you again. Am I clear?”
“Yes, yes!” Majissa hugged him.
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“We’ll begin then.” Iskar then directed Majissa to rest the horses and set up her
tent for he needed to go into a trance to empty his mind of conscious thought and
chatter, erase the barrier between his will and that of the universe and open up his
mind to the force that generated the cosmos and which would energise the spell.
Majissa busied herself attending to the horses’ needs and pitching her tent while Iskar
climbed onto a large rock near the cave entrance, sat down on top cross-legged facing
the east and began chanting in a long-forgotten language, rocking from side to side.
He stayed like that for an entire day and night, never coming down for sustenance or
to relieve himself. At the dawn of the second day, he began to sing a song over and
over, a song whose words were strange to Majissa and whose melody was just as alien
– all day, Iskar sang this jerky song, changing some of the rhythms or the words with
each repetition. He sang well into the evening, never stopping to refresh himself. So
he continued for another two days. At the dawn of the fifth day, Iskar woke up
Majissa and led her into the deepest part of the cave where no light ever shone. To her
amazement, Majissa saw a perfect circle of luminous white chalk, generating its own
light. “Sit down in the middle of the circle as you did in your dream,” Iskar told her,
“and never leave it under any circumstances.” Majissa obeyed. “Now I must leave to
continue the spell,” Iskar continued, “and you must not speak or move now that you
are in the circle. I am going. From this moment on, we will have no more
communications between us. Goodbye and good luck.” The old man left Majissa and
went back outside the cave, climbed back onto the large rock and, standing to face the
sun, took up the weird jerky song again. He began to dance very slowly. With each
repetition of the song, he danced a little faster, and a little faster with each rotation, so
that by sunset he was whirling around quickly, his hair and beard flying around him.
The rock wobbled with each step he took. When the stars began to shine, Iskar slowed
down and finished the song. He took care to climb down the rock, steadied it and went
back into the cave. There he found in the white circle a flagon of wine. He opened it
and looked inside and saw deep reddish-purple liquid frothing furiously inside. A drop
of sweat fell from Iskar’s forehead into the liquid and it stopped bubbling and frothing
at once. Iskar took the flagon outside and walked towards Majissa’s horses standing
near the tent. He went into the tent and found a bag to put the flagon in. He then went
back out and placed the bag on the saddle of Majissa’s horse. He packed up the tent
and Majissa’s supplies and placed these on Zayda’s horse. He then mounted Majissa’s
horse and led Zayda’s mount away from his cave home.
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He needed seven months to travel from his cave to the territory beyond the
Avado Mountains. He soon entered the country where Korshan dwelt in his palace.
Along the way, Iskar earned money telling people’s fortunes and bought himself food,
drink, clothes and trips to various barbers so that by the time he reached the town of
Sobaidana Luva, named because Korshan’s home Sobaida was located on a hill
overlooking it, he was clean-shaven, well-dressed and plump and no-one recognised
him as Iskar. The old man sold the flagon of wine to a shop for a huge price. His work
done, Iskar rode away from Sobaidana Luva in a direction different from what he
would have taken to go back to his cave. To this day, no-one knows where he and the
horses belonging to Majissa and Zayda have gone, nor why he chose not to return to
his cave.

A few weeks later, the shop sold Iskar’s wine to Korshan’s steward who was
buying food for a banquet: the wedding banquet of Korshan and Zayda. Zayda had
asked the steward to buy the most rare and exotic foods and beverages to symbolize
the new life she was sharing with Korshan, and the shop owner offered the flagon to
the steward. The steward agreed the wine was unique after inspecting the liquid
through the glass and paid 30 talers for it. In those days, 30 talers were more money
than a peasant could earn selling his produce in four months. The steward bought
other beverages at the shop and arranged for these purchases to be loaded into the
wagon to take back to Sobaida.
The grand day arrived and guests from near and far arrived to witness the
wedding taking place in the grand pavilion set up in the palace gardens. After the
ceremony, everyone went into the banquet hall to take their places at the long tables.
Taria, as a close friend of the mother of the bride, had a place at the bridal table.
While Zayda was busy talking to guests, Korshan took Taria aside. “What’s the news
on Majissa?” he whispered, “I hear she’s been gone for two years and you’ve been
looking after her farm. Is it true she really is studying meditation with that old freak
Iskar?”
“I don’t have any news about Majissa,” Taria sniffed.
“Well I have news about Iskar,” Korshan replied, “the fellow has disappeared
from his cave. What do you make of that, eh?”
Taria shrugged and said nothing.
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The steward came into the hall and announced that the food and drinks were
ready to be served. Attendants guided the guests to their seats and then followed the
steward into the kitchen to bring out the dishes. Appetisers accompanied by light
juices and nectars were served first. Next came cold dishes and soups. People chatted
and laughed while they ate and drank. While the main courses were being served and
Zayda was talking to her bridesmaids, the steward presented a flagon of red-purple
wine to Korshan. Korshan examined the bottle and asked the steward to pour some
wine out for a taste test. The man complied and the sorcerer watched the beautiful
liquid tumble and swish about in the goblet. He took the cup and sniffed eagerly. The
aroma was rich and spicy. A distant childhood memory of eating deep red and purple
berries mixed with a sauce his mother made awoke in his mind. He virtually gulped
down the wine. “More wine, steward!” The steward poured out another goblet’s worth
and again Korshan sniffed the liquid and downed it. “More wine again, steward!” The
man gave Korshan an odd look and the sorcerer glared at him so he poured out a third
cup. Before Korshan realised what he was doing, he had finished off the entire flagon.
The steward excused himself and took the bottle away. Korshan felt his face flush.
“Are you all right, Korshan?” Zayda asked.
“Fine, fine, I feel fine.” Korshan grinned at Zayda and the bridesmaids. Zayda
coughed politely and resumed her conversation about refurbishing the east wing of
Sobaida before the arrival of the baby, due in six months. Suddenly there was a loud
crash which stopped all conversation in the hall. Everyone turned to stare at Korshan
who had stood up and thrown his chair some distance away. He moved away from the
table and into an open space, shaking uncontrollably, his arm outstretched, the clothes
on him rustling and flapping as he walked unsteadily.
“Korshan, what’s wrong?” Zayda cried, “are you feeling sick? What is it?”
“Get away from me!” Korshan yelled. Red fluid dribbled from the corners of his
mouth. His teeth chattered and his head shook. With a mighty effort, he controlled
himself enough to suck in air and scream, “Majissa, you beast, you -!” but he got no
further. A fountain of red-purple liquid erupted from his mouth and everyone backed
away from him. His whole body began vibrating furiously and his face became
blurred. Zayda screamed, covering her face with her hands, and Taria and the
bridesmaids held her. Korshan began to spin around on the spot, fast, faster and faster,
a blur of whizzing, shape-shifting red and blue. The spinning turned into a purple
RESCUING ZAYDA by Jennifer Hor Page 11

globe. People stood open-mouthed in amazement and Zayda had to find a chair to sit
down.
Gradually the spinning stopped and the features on Korshan’s face became clear
at last. Except the features were not his at all. “Mama, it’s you!” Zayda gasped.
“Yes!” Majissa, standing in Korshan’s robes, punched the air triumphantly. “I
have won! Korshan is no more! I have done what no other spell-weaver has been able
to do – I have beaten him! And now he is gone forever!”
“No-o-o!” Zayda shrieked.
“Is it really you, Majissa?” Taria interjected, “this is not another of Korshan’s
tricks?”
“Yes, it’s me all right,” Majissa replied, “Iskar developed a spell from a dream I
had and we carried it out in a way that masked my involvement so Korshan could
never suspect anything. And I have won!” She turned her attention to Zayda. “Dearest
child, everything is all right now! I’ve missed you so much! We must go back home!”
She began to walk towards her daughter but hit an invisible wall. She moved to her
left, then to her right, then back, but found herself boxed in an unseen cage. The
guests began to murmur among themselves.
“What’s going on here?” Majissa demanded. “Iskar’s spell is complete! Who is
doing this to me?”
“I am,” Zayda replied, “I can cast spells too, Mama.”
“What?! I never taught you to cast spells! You never had the aptitude! Who
taught you?” Majissa kicked against the barriers of her prison but they held firm.
“Korshan taught me, Mama,” Zayda cried.
“Release me! Let me out of here! You can’t treat me like this after all I’ve
done!”
Zayda, Taria and some of the guests began sniffing the air. “That smell, Mama –
pee-eww! It’s coming from you. The spell must still be active!”
“Nonsense! The spell is complete! Release me now!” Majissa banged on her
invisible prison wall. “Taria, get Zayda to release me!”
Taria shook her head. “Iskar’s spell is still active. We can’t risk the guests’
safety by freeing you!”
Majissa hit the barriers again. The guests began leaving the banquet hall as the
smell got stronger. “I’m telling you, the spell is complete! There’s nothing more to
come!” But as she spoke, beads of sweat formed on her forehead and began flowing
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down her face. Dark stains appeared on Korshan’s robes as Majissa’s body released
foul-smelling perspiration. A pool of water formed under and around her feet. Majissa
looked down at herself and screamed. “What’s happening here? Zayda, is this more of
your magic? Stop this nonsense!” But nothing could be done – Iskar’s spell, the most
powerful he had ever created, was completing its course. Majissa felt herself melting
into the floor. “Help me, help me!” she cried, her voice gurgling. She looked towards
Zayda but her eyesight was becoming watery and things began to swim in and out of
her vision. She collapsed on the floor and clear fluid streamed from where her arms
and legs should have been. Foul-smelling fluid stained the carpet, the guests
stampeded out of the banquet hall, leaving the sobbing Zayda and stone-faced Taria
holding each other as they watched the spell dissolve Majissa into the carpet.

When everyone was sure that the spell was complete, the wedding party and all
the guests retired to the palace shrine to say prayers for Majissa and Korshan. They
sat there for three days in mourning. In the meantime, the palace servants cleared
away the banquet dishes and tables. After they scrubbed and cleaned the carpet, the
foul smell remained as strong as ever, so the servants ripped it off the floor, cut it into
small pieces and buried them in the garden refuse in a far corner of the palace
grounds. The chief steward told Zayda: “The smell was like stale urine, sweat and dirt
as though a filthy tramp had lain in the carpet for years.”
All Korshan’s wealth and territories were inherited by Zayda and the daughter
born six months after the terrible event. Korshan’s legacy included a vast library of
spells which Zayda used to teach herself and her daughter, plus four other girls she
had with another man, and all five children eventually became famous spell-weavers.
And though Zayda lived with the younger children’s father for over forty years, the
servants at Sobaida agreed that she never loved him as much as she did the sorcerer
who gave her the freedom and knowledge her mother denied her.

THE END