Nima could never resist a dare, and no one knew that better than Azad. Whatever challenge Azad, who was twelve, posed to Nima, who was only ten, Azad knew that the boy would embrace it with gusto. Climbing to the top of the Darni Sunim. Stealing eggs from Hasam al-Farid’s hens. Jumping into the River Tolna in the middle of winter. Nima would do anything to win Azad’s favor. For although Azad was small and possessed of a lateral lisp, he had the combative confidence of a bulldog. With his approval, the other boys moved more freely through the streets, and slept more soundly at night.
It was therefore without hesitation that Nima agreed to head out to the abandoned room by the river and bring something back to prove that he’d faced the spectral figure that dwelled there. Some said he was the ghost of the man who had built the tiny structure. Others said he was a djinn. Still others said he was a wandering saint who’d grown tired of wandering. They only knew that he’d been there as long as anyone could remember. And that if someone called out to him, he’d just sit there—eyes open—hands resting gently in his lap—as if nothing had been said.
Nima didn’t know which of these theories was true. But he knew that if the fellow was a djinn, he was not likely to respond kindly to a visit from a thieving boy. So while he had every intention of meeting Azad’s dare, he did not approach it without trepidation.
The night before he was scheduled to set out, he lay flat on his back, taut with excitement, until the first glimmer of light traced the sky. Then he bolted up, pulled on a pair of trousers, and headed out into the morning mist. As he made his way along, he tried to press back the thoughts that crowded in of what might happen when he got there. Perhaps the fellow was mad and as Nima drew near he would grab him and slit his throat. Perhaps he really was a djinn and would transform him into a toad. It occurred to Nima that he did not have to go at all. He could easily find a cup or a jug and tell Azad that he’d taken it from right beneath the fellow’s eyes. Azad would never know he’d been too frightened to see the challenge through.
But Nima would know. So he wiped the remaining sleep from his eyes and continued on toward the clearing.
Nima was going to be a great man when he grew up. He was not sure if he would become a caliph or a magistrate or a judge. Or perhaps even a sorcerer. But he knew there were important things for a man to know, and he was determined to find them out.
By the time he reached the edge of the clearing, the mist had dissolved. So he slowly made his way toward the roofless room, where he found an old man wearing an odd-looking head cloth seated cross-legged on a blanket. To his left sat a bowl and the remains of a small fire. To his right stood a pot of ink, a quill pen, and a sheet of paper folded over into a square. The old man’s eyes were open wide, yet he did not seem to notice Nima as he approached. So the boy scrambled over the wall to see what he might carry away.
It was only when he was standing right beside it that he saw the snake. It was a dull brown covered with pale zigzag stripes that seemed to flash through its supple body as it slithered across the stones. And he knew—from the countless lectures he’d been given by Azad—that it was not only a viper, but the deadliest kind.
Nima was well past the clearing and deep into the woods before it even occurred to him that he might have called out to the old man before dashing away. Yet he sensed that—even if the fellow had a hundred ears—he would not have heard him. So he continued running until he reached the safety of his home.
Nima spent the rest of the day hiding from Azad. And that night, just as the night before, he barely slept. He kept seeing the snake sink its fangs into the old man. He kept seeing the old man writhe in pain. But he also kept seeing Azad’s face when he went to him empty-handed. So when dawn came, he summoned his courage and headed back to the room.
As he approached the clearing, he pictured the old man lying lifeless on the stones, his skin a ghastly greenish black. When he reached the room and climbed over the wall, however, he found that it was empty. Only the handful of objects strewn about gave any sign that the man had ever been there.
As Nima scanned the room trying to decide what to take back to Azad, his eyes fell upon the inkpot. The pen was also nice: a perfect goose feather, dappled with gray. When he turned to the bowl, however—to his surprise—he saw the viper curled up inside. And since he did not know whether it was sleeping or dead, he thought it best not to go near it.
He turned back toward the clearing. There was no one watching him, yet he felt he was being watched. Then—just as he was about to give up—he saw the small square of paper lying at his feet.
Perhaps the old man had written a message upon it.
A secret.
A spell.
Perhaps when Nima read the words they would change his life.
He knelt down and reached for the piece of paper. A shiver ran through him. Then he slipped the folded page into the waistband of his trousers and hurried off to find his friend.