The Valley of the Upward River

The morning Mehran left, Zarnabad wore a face it had never worn before.

Nobody sat at the long table under the banyan tree that day. People stood in their doorways and watched the small caravan follow a young man out of the city. First came Toofan — the black horse, head high, as if he too knew this was no ordinary day. Behind him walked Mehran, bow and quiver on his back, his father's sword at his hip, the green parrot Sabz riding his shoulder and Shahin the falcon circling above.

Last of all came Sahil — the stable-keeper's son, Mehran's childhood friend — with a small bundle of flatbread on his shoulder and, on his face, the particular fear of someone who knows he is frightened but is going anyway.

"You had to come?" Mehran grinned.

"Someone has to warn you away from high places," said Sahil, though his own voice shook. "Besides, who else will save you from jinns?"

Sabz, settling on Sahil's turban, repeated: "Save you from jinns! Save you from jinns!"

Zainab Bibi stood at the door. She laid her hand on Mehran's forehead and spoke the words Sardar Aman Khan had always lived by: "In hardship, generosity is the greatest sword, my son. Who gives, receives."

"Who gives, receives!" Sabz echoed — and this time there was something in his voice, as if he were not repeating something overheard but delivering a reminder.

Noor — the fourteen-year-old sister — gripped her brother's hand. "Water Toofan every day. And don't tell Sabz any secrets — he repeats everything."

"Heard that?" Sabz squawked at a branch. "No secrets! No secrets!"

Everyone laughed, but the laughter had tears in it.

At the city gate Mehran turned back once — the stone figure before the darbar, his father, gleaming in the sunlight. In his heart he said: "Abba, I will bring back all five pieces of the ring. I promise."

It was the third day of travel when Shahin began wheeling in the sky — his warning cry. Mehran raised a hand; the caravan halted.

"What is it?" Sahil whispered.

"Shahin says someone is watching." Mehran scanned the trees. For a moment he saw a crow — but no ordinary crow. Its eyes… its eyes were like a fox's.

Sabz suddenly shrieked: "Zaar! Zaar is here! Zaar is here!"

The crow flapped away. Mehran's heart thudded — Qahhar Shah's wazeer was on their trail, and he knew their road.

"Move fast," said Mehran. "We must reach the Valley of the Upward River before sunset."

"How does a river flow upward?" Sahil asked, hearing the name. "Water comes down."

"That is exactly the point," an old shepherd had told them when they asked the way. "There the water climbs the mountain. And whoever holds the dam holds the whole valley's life. Malik Bakhtiar — the dam-keeper. Asking him for water is like asking a stone for milk."

When they entered the valley at dusk, the sight stopped their breath. A shining river — truly — was flowing UP the mountainside like a waterfall in reverse. Along its banks lay dry fields and thirsty crops, and far off stood a great stone dam, its gate locked with a heavy padlock, and beside it an old man sitting on a chair — Malik Bakhtiar.

"Want water?" he asked without rising. "One waterskin — one gold coin."

"The whole village is thirsty and you ask for coin?" Sahil burst out.

"Business, boy." Bakhtiar bared his teeth.

Mehran drew out his own skin — half empty. He saw a thirsty child standing nearby, lips cracked dry. Without a moment's thought, he held the skin out to the boy.

"Drink."

The boy drank, and tears came to his mother's eyes. Bakhtiar watched and laughed: "Fool. Give away your water and what will you drink in the desert ahead?"

Mehran smiled. "Who gives, receives."

Sabz repeated it at once — but then he said something else, something he had never said before. His voice changed, as if he were echoing some other voice — an old, deep one:

"The first piece lies… where water is caged… and the heart is free."

Mehran and Sahil stared at each other. Those were not Sabz's own words. That… that was the first trace of the ring.

But in that same moment greed flashed in Bakhtiar's eyes. "Oho! So you're the ring boy!" He rose from his chair. "Listen, lad — the piece is mine, in the dam's deepest chamber. Want it? Then pay the price." He pointed at Mehran's sword. "Your father's sword. Give it to me, and take the piece."

Silence fell. Sahil whispered: "Mehran… that sword is Abba's keepsake."

Mehran laid his hand on the sword's hilt. His mother's voice rang in his ears: "In hardship, generosity is the greatest sword."

And far off on the mountain, a crow sat watching it all — with the eyes of a fox.