The Last Gift

It was the last watch of the night, and Toofan galloped through the dark as if the wind itself had lifted him onto its wings. In Mehran's closed fist the ring was warm, and its faint glow slipped out between his fingers. Behind them, towards Koh-e-Siyah, the footsteps of the stone army could still be heard — heavy, slow, and never stopping. Sahil sat behind Mehran, holding on tightly to his waist, and every little while he glanced back, as if he wanted to make sure the army was still just as far away.

Shahin flew ahead of them in the sky, dipping down and rising again, as if he were drawing the road for them. Sabz rode on Sahil's turban, and every little while he repeated Mehran's own words. "Now we ride... now we ride..." Then, in his own voice, he added, "Faster, Mehran, faster!"

To the east the sky began to turn a pale red. The first light of dawn rose behind the mountains, and in that light the walls of Zarnabad came into view. Mehran's heart beat hard. After how many days he was coming home! After how many roads, how many valleys, how many trials!

A small figure stood on the wall. It was Noor. She had stood there since morning, waiting for her brother. The moment she saw Toofan she cried out, "Ammi! They have come! Mehran has come!" She ran down the stairs and raced for the gate. Zainab Bibi stood at the doorway, her hands raised in prayer. When Mehran dismounted, Noor threw herself into his arms. "Brother, you came! You really came!"

Mehran kissed the top of her head, but his eyes were already on the darbar. "Ammi, there is no time. Qahhar Shah is behind us, and his army has woken. I must go to Abba." Zainab Bibi took his hand. Her voice was calm, but her fingers were trembling. "Go, my son. Your father has been waiting for you."

The same silence filled the darbar that Mehran had left behind. In the middle of it stood Sardar Aman Khan — of stone, silent, and yet still looking as if he were guarding his city. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, and his eyes were turned towards the door. Mehran knelt before him. He laid his hand upon his father's cold stone hand. "Abba, I have come. The ring is whole. I kept my promise." His voice broke. "But now I do not know what to do next."

At that very moment the ground trembled faintly. A bell sounded outside, and then a deep, bitter voice echoed through the darbar. "Mehran!" Qahhar Shah stood in the doorway. His black robe billowed in the wind, and behind him rows of stone soldiers stretched all the way to the walls. A crow sat on his shoulder — Zaar. "Give me the ring, boy. You played well, but the game is over. The ring is mine, and from now on every caravan will pay me tribute."

Mehran rose to his feet. He closed the ring in his fist. Behind him stood Zainab Bibi, Noor and Sahil. Outside, Shahin was screaming, and Toofan was stamping restlessly by the door. Qahhar Shah stretched out his hand. "Do not think. One ring can save your city."

In Mehran's ears the voice of the first keeper sounded again: the power of the ring is not in using it — it is in giving it up. He looked at the ring. It glowed in his hand, as if it were waiting for his decision. Slowly he opened his hand. "No, Qahhar Shah," he said. "This ring belongs to no one. It is a trust. And a trust means it is given for everyone, not kept for oneself."

Qahhar Shah laughed. "Then give it to me!"

"I will give it," said Mehran. "But not to you. I give it to all those whom you turned to stone." With that he raised the ring — not towards his father's stone hand, but towards the sky — and he let it go. The ring left his hand, hung in the air, and then a light burst from it brighter than the first rays of morning.

The light poured out of the darbar, passed the walls, and spread across the whole city. The stone soldiers looked at their hands — their fingers were growing soft. The stone skin began to fall from their shoulders. One soldier threw his sword to the ground and called out his son's name. Another knelt and kissed the earth. They had been stone for years, and now they were men again — alive, breathing, weeping.

The light travelled further. Far away, in the fortress of Koh-e-Siyah, the Stone Peacock stirred in its cage. Stone fell from its wings, and for the first time it spread its feathers in their true colours. It sang — the same song it had sung at midnight — and then it flew away, free, into the morning sky. In the forest the stone birds woke too, and stone began to fall from their beaks.

Qahhar Shah clutched at his chest. Something inside him was breaking. For years a heart of stone had beaten in his chest, and now that heart was cracking. Black smoke rose from his robe. His crown fell from his head. He sank to his knees, and when he lifted his face he was no sorcerer-king — only a bent, weary old man, with no fire left in his eyes. "My power... where has my power gone?" he whispered.

"Where the power of greed always goes," said Mehran. "To someone's giving."

Seeing this, Zaar screeched and swooped towards the ring in the shape of a crow. But the light caught him too. A flash ran along his black feathers, and he flew out through the doorway, screaming, and vanished into the sky. Sabz copied his voice so truly that Sahil burst out laughing. "Zaar has run away! Zaar has run away!"

Then the light came back into the darbar and gathered around Sardar Aman Khan. Mehran held his breath. Cracks spread through the stone, as if an egg were breaking open. First the fingers grew soft, then the hands, then the face. Light returned to the Sardar's eyes. His chest rose — one long, deep breath. Then his eyes opened.

"Mehran..." the Sardar said softly. "My son."

Mehran threw his arms around him. Zainab Bibi took her husband's hand, and tears ran down her face. Noor touched the hilt of her father's sword, then clung to him. Sahil stood by the door, wiping his eyes and saying, "I am not crying. Dust has got into my eyes." Shahin flew in through the window and settled on the Sardar's shoulder, as if he too had come home.

Sardar Aman Khan looked at the ring — it was no longer in Mehran's hand; it had become light, shared among them all. He smiled. "You remembered my greatest lesson, my son. Generosity is the greatest sword of all."

That evening the dastarkhwan was laid out again in Zarnabad, the one that had stood empty for years. Sardar Aman Khan sat beside his son, and every traveller, every child, every elder in the city ate. Bibi Gul was given the seat of honour, and when she was asked what she wished for, she said only this: "Just this — that no one should sleep hungry." Sahil ate three plates and declared it his victory feast. Toofan was fed sugar, and Shahin sat upon the hilt of the Sardar's sword, watching over the whole city.

When the moon rose, Sabz settled on Mehran's shoulder and repeated the words he had first heard — the words with which this journey had begun. "A gift is never wasted... a gift is never wasted." Then he leaned his head against Mehran's cheek and fell asleep, and the dawn of Zarnabad woke with a brand new morning.