Equal of the Sun A Novel - By Anita Amirrezvani Page 0,35
oh lord of the universe—I wish to kiss the royal shoulders.”
Zahhak thought it was a small boon, given all the devil had done. He offered his shoulders gladly and allowed the devil to plant his black lips on each one.
The next morning, Zahhak awoke to the sound of slithering near his head. He pulled the bedcover away from his body and gasped out loud at the sight of a serpent growing out of each shoulder. In horror, Zahhak grabbed a knife and slashed through one, then the other, but as soon as the decapitated snakes had wriggled in their death agony, new snakes grew out of his shoulders. They hissed and attacked each other in front of his face, sparring until he felt he might go mad.
When the devil sauntered in that afternoon, Zahhak begged for a cure. “My friend, the only way to get any peace,” the devil told him, “is to pacify them with food. The diet is simple: men’s brains.”
Zahhak ordered his nobles to deliver two young men the next morning. The men were murdered, their skulls cracked open, and their brains scooped out to feed the snakes. Then their mutilated bodies were returned to their families for burial. The next morning the same calamity occurred, and the next. Every day, the brightest and most promising young men were torn away from their families and sacrificed to the throne. Little by little, the best minds in the country were destroyed, and evil gave birth to more evil.
Early that summer, Isma‘il finally arrived on the outskirts of Qazveen. After setting up camp in fine embroidered tents softened with silk carpets, he and his men waited for his astrologers to inform him of the most auspicious moment to enter the capital. He had spent years studying astrology while in confinement and wouldn’t even leave his tent unless the readings were favorable. Pari was pleased that he showed such prudence, but secretly I hoped the stars would hurry.
By then, Pari had accomplished much. The killings had stopped in the city, and merchants reopened the bazaar. The palace had been repaired enough so that evidence of the invasion was faint. The noblemen were hard at work at their posts. Pari continued holding morning meetings with them, and now they submitted to her authority with no question. Mirza Shokhrollah had produced the treasury report and released the necessary funds so that business could proceed in earnest. Much remained to be done, but Pari had made sure that Isma‘il wouldn’t inherit chaos.
The princess sent me to her brother’s camp with a letter of welcome and the gift of a fine astrolabe engraved with silver. I rode to the camp on one of the royal horses on a hot morning, hoping for a glimpse of the shah-to-be so that I could report on how he looked and perhaps take a kind word back to Pari. The camp was huge, and there were so many men delivering gifts that it was late by the time the astrolabe was recorded, and I had to ride back empty-handed.
Fifteen days later, the astrologers finally determined that the stars were auspicious and Isma‘il set his arrival into Qazveen for the following morning. We had a lot to do. I reported to Pari’s house after the midday meal to help plan for his arrival and was surprised to be escorted to one of the private rooms near her bedchamber.
I expected something resembling Pari’s austere public meeting chambers, but this one had peach-colored carpets, thick velvet cushions, and an entire wall painted with a mural of the legendary Shireen bathing in a river, her high breasts like pomegranates. Shireen lounged in the water so voluptuously that I felt as if she were offering her white-skinned thighs to me, and I turned away in confusion.
I heard Pari’s loud, frank laughter, a sound so rare that it seemed unfamiliar. She cried out, “Come in, Javaher! I need your help on a vital matter of statecraft.”
She and Maryam sat together on one cushion, while Pari’s industrious lady, Azar Khatoon, was rummaging in a trunk.
Azar drew a bright red robe out of the trunk and held it up for us to see, her pretty face transfixed by pleasure.
“That is one of my favorites,” Pari said, taking the thick silk into her hands.
Woven into the fabric was a portrait of a young nobleman in a blossoming garden, a falcon perched on his fist. The feathers in the falcon’s wing mimicked the folds in the young man’s