The First Keeper

The prison cell was small and cold. Damp rose from the stone walls, and only a thin shaft of light came down from a high window. Mehran and Sahil were no longer tied, but the iron door was bolted from the outside. In the passage beyond it a guard paced up and down, and every few minutes the sound of his boots reached them.

Sahil sat down against the wall. “Mehran,” he said softly, “even a jinn would not visit this place. It is so quiet that my own breathing frightens me.” Then he grinned. “If a jinn does come, I shall tell him my life story until he runs away.”

Mehran squeezed his hand. “Do not be afraid. Sabz is with the pouch, and while the pouch is safe, hope is safe too.” In his heart he saw his father's face again — the face of stone, standing in the darbar, as if the Sardar were still watching over his son. “Abba,” he thought, “I have not lost yet.”

Just then a flash of green came through the high window. Sabz had found them. He settled on Mehran's shoulder and, in a hurried whisper, repeated the words he had overheard from the soldiers. “Midnight... the bell... Zaar... the key... the kitchen door...” Then he tapped Mehran's ear with his beak, as if to say he had listened to everything.

Sahil stared at him. “Sabz, where did you hear all that?” At once Sabz copied Zaar's voice so truly that Sahil jumped. “Qahhar Shah is waiting for you!” Sahil quickly put a finger to his beak. “Quiet, Sabz! If a guard hears that, he will think Zaar is standing right here.”

As the night deepened, the cell door opened a crack. Bibi Gul slipped in, carrying a piece of dry bread. She was the same old woman to whom Mehran had given water in the vault. She held out the bread and whispered, “Son, this is all there is. It is not much, but it is yours.”

Mehran took the bread, broke it into two equal halves, and held one half back towards her. “You have eaten nothing since morning,” he said. “You eat first.” Bibi Gul's eyes filled with tears. She took the piece, glanced at the door, and whispered, “When the midnight bell rings, the peacock will sing. Every guard will look up. I have left the bolt of this door loose. Do not wait.” With that she was gone, and the door closed again — but this time the bolt had not fully caught.

Mehran looked at Sahil and smiled. “You see? A gift is never wasted. One mouthful of water has opened a door for us tonight.” Sahil ate his share and said, “Then from now on I shall give water to everyone. In fact, I have already become a giver of water.”

The midnight bell rang. Far away, from the vault hall, came the song of the Stone Peacock — one clear, gentle note, just as it had sounded the night before. The guard in the passage stopped. He looked up and muttered, “That sound again!” In that moment Mehran pushed the door. The loose bolt gave way. The two friends slipped out on silent feet, with Sabz flying ahead as if he knew the way.

They reached the vault hall. Every soldier there was staring up at the peacock's cage. No one was watching the doors. Sabz flew quietly behind the cage, dipped his beak among the folded feathers of the peacock's tail, and drew out the pouch. He brought it to Mehran. Mehran opened it. All five pieces were inside, and one of them still glowed with a faint golden light. Mehran pressed the pouch to his chest and thought, “Thank you, Sabz. You have saved us again.”

Outside the window, Shahin's cry rang out. He was circling high above, calling as if to show them the road. Mehran and Sahil ran for the kitchen stairs. Beneath them lay an old water channel that ran out under the fortress wall. They waded through it. The water was cold and the passage narrow, but ahead of them they could see light. “Mehran,” Sahil whispered, “if there is a jinn in here, I shall ask him to meet you first.” Mehran laughed quietly. “And the jinn will run away after hearing you talk.”

Beyond the wall, Toofan was waiting. The black horse pricked up his ears at Mehran's whistle and stamped the ground with joy. Mehran stroked his neck. “Thank you, my friend. You waited for us.” The two friends mounted, and with Shahin flying ahead of them in the sky and Sabz riding on Sahil's turban, they took the road out of the mountains.

By the road, near a broken bridge, sat an old man. His eyes were closed, his clothes were worn thin, and a wooden staff lay across his knees. Hearing the horse, he lifted his head. “Is there a traveller there?” he asked. “I am thirsty. Does anyone have a mouthful of water?”

Mehran dismounted. In his water skin only a few mouthfuls remained, and he had one small piece of bread left. It was their last food, and the road ahead was long. Sahil looked at him. Mehran did not hesitate for a moment. He gave the water skin to the old man and placed the bread in his hand. “Drink first, Baba,” he said. “The road belongs to everyone alike.”

The old man drank slowly. Then he ate the bread. Then he opened his closed eyes, and in them was a strange light, as if he could see in some other way. He smiled. “Mehran, son of the Sardar of Zarnabad, you have done again what your family has always done. You gave from your own share when you had very little.”

Mehran was amazed. “How do you know me?” The old man said, “I am the first keeper of the Ring of Trust. Many years ago the ring was in my care. Then I passed it to your grandfather, and from him it came to your father. The ring stays only with one who gives without greed. You have gathered its five pieces in that very way. Now place them in my hands.”

Mehran opened the pouch and laid the five pieces on the old man's palm. The old man closed both hands over them. At first nothing happened. Then a golden light began to shine between his fingers. It was so soft and bright that even Sahil had to shade his eyes. When the old man opened his hands, a whole ring lay there. No join could be seen, no crack at all. The ring was complete, as if it had never been broken.

The old man gave the ring back to Mehran. “Take it, son. But remember, the power of the ring is not in using it — it is in giving it up. Qahhar Shah wants to take it. Keep it safe until you stand before your father. There the choice will be made.” Then he rose, picked up his staff, and walked towards the broken bridge. After a few steps he vanished into the mist, as if he had never been there at all.

Mehran looked at the ring. It was warm, and it glowed faintly. “Mehran, we did it!” Sahil cried with joy. “The ring is whole! Now Abba...” He left the sentence unfinished, for at that very moment a heavy bell tolled from the fortress. This was not the midnight bell. This was the alarm bell.

Shahin screamed down from the sky. Sabz repeated Zaar's voice, “The prisoners have escaped! The prisoners have escaped!” Mehran looked back. Torches were being lit along the fortress walls. And then the ground trembled faintly. Below the fortress, in the long rows of stone soldiers, eyes began to open one by one. The stone army was waking.

Mehran closed the ring in his fist, mounted Toofan, and looked towards the road to Zarnabad. Ahead lay home, his father, his mother, and Noor. Behind lay Qahhar Shah's waking army. “Now we ride,” he said to Sahil. “And remember — the game is not over yet.” Toofan threw up his head and galloped down the dark road, while behind them the fortress bell kept tolling.