In Search of a Vision
by ArmarielRoZita
co-written with Delorita
~Chapter 1~
Ahmed Ibn Fahdlan walked through the busy marketplace, concealing his face with his headdress so as not to be immediately recognized. He appeared not to hear the merchants calling out to him to buy their wares, although from time to time he gave a coin to nearly naked beggar children who tugged at his thobe. But for the most part he gazed straight ahead of him; it was clear that he knew exactly where he was going and what he was seeking.
He paused as he reached a small open tent at the far end of the market square, where a little old man in a turban and loosely fitting tunic stood arranging some bottles and jars on a display box. He turned and smiled as the tall (for an Arab), handsome, princely man greeted him with his usual gentle dignity. The old man had heard many tales of Ahmed's adventures in strange lands but had never seen him up so close.
"Good morning, Hakim," Ahmed said, smiling in return but only half noting the strong and spicy fragrance which hung in the air. "Are you in good health?"
"As good as it can be for an old man, I suppose," replied Hakim, offering a dish of chocolates. Ahmed took only one, filled with bits of dates and figs. "I am indeed honored to meet the distinguished traveler I have heard so much about."
"I seek your wisdom," Ahmed said. "I have heard much about you also, and I know how skilled you are in the magical arts. I thought perhaps you could help me."
"Please tell me how I can be of assistance," said the old man in a tone that was respectful without any of the annoying obsequiousness Ahmed had encountered in other magicians-which was why it was Hakim he had sought out. The old man motioned for him to come behind the table and sit on a cushioned stool beside a little table. Ahmed sat with his back to the public and proceeded to tell the magician about a dream he had dreamed for many nights.
"A woman sits in a room and stares into some kind of magic box," the younger man said. "I can see it is me she watches so intently, the story of my Viking adventure with the dreaded Wendol. Sometimes she even picks up a stick or wand and points it at the box so that she can watch certain scenes over and over. It is a very vivid dream, unlike most. Who can she be, and why is she so fascinated by my story?"
"How does she appear?" asked Hakim.
"Hmmmm...to me her appearance is pleasing. She is, ah, well cushioned compared with Viking women, or most of the women here. Sometimes her eyes, which are the color of soft green moss in the Northland forests, become misty as she watches, her lips part, and she sighs and murmurs things to the cat sitting in her lap. Strange things, like, 'Oh my God, is he the sexiest thing you ever saw in your whole life or what,' and, 'Wouldn't you purely LOVE to jump his bones?' Now, I have the gift of being able to learn languages just by listening over a period of time, but what she means by that, I cannot decipher. I hope she is not referring to the old woman calling for her turtle shell of thirteen bones. I really would not care to repeat such a harrowing experience."
"That is strange indeed," said Hakim, looking up as two young women entered the tent and proceeded to examine the shelves full of creams and potions and perfumes. They coyly refused his offer of assistance but stared hard at Ahmed, who had removed his headdress. They began to giggle and one of them whispered something. The old man thought he heard her say the word "bones' but did not catch the rest of it. Ahmed seemed too preoccupied to notice.
"I have had this dream over and over," he said. "At first I tried to dismiss it. You know I have had no eyes for any woman since my poor wife, Olga, died in that terrible cholera epidemic three years ago. But this woman persists in haunting me. I cannot help but feel we are destined to meet somehow. At the same time I cannot imagine how I am to meet her. I know not where she lives, what her name is, or anything about how to find her. Then I thought perhaps you could help me, with your powers of magic and vision."
"I will see what can be done," said the old man. "Come back tomorrow and I will have your answer."
When Ahmed returned the next day, the magician had set up a large crystal upon a small table and motioned for Ahmed to sit down on the cushion before the little table. It was very early in the morning, so there were not many people about yet. Hakim sat on the opposite side and stared intently into the crystal for several minutes after instructing Ahmed to be perfectly silent. Ahmed watched as the old man seemed to go into a trance. Then just when Ahmed thought he could not bear the suspense any longer, Hakim spoke.
"I can see your woman," he said. "But things do not look well. She lives not only in another country, but also in an entirely different century. Over a thousand years from now. Yes, it is indeed you she watches and sighs over in her magic box. Her name is RoZita."
"RoZita...But that is an Arabic name." Ahmed figured it was all right to break his silence now.
"Ah no...she lives in a country that has not even been discovered yet. And I must inform you this woman is a bit strange. She likes to think of herself as a…a warrior princess. Of course that is only a fantasy of hers, which she herself knows to be foolish. In reality she works in a shop hundreds of times larger than any of these. It is dull work and the people she meets are uninspiring, or as she puts it, they 'don't get it.' Her magic box is an escape from it. It is a magical age she lives in, where one can watch stories as well as hear and read them. And she likes to draw stories just as you do. Oddly enough, some of those stories are of you."
"That is strange indeed," said Ahmed. "I never supposed myself worthy of such esteem. I think she would not want to be a warrior and have adventures if she knew what it truly involved. When I was in battle with the Wendol, I would have given anything to be in her place. Can she possibly know how fraught with danger and fear adventure is? And fear is a terrible, terrible thing. Courage is not a matter of overcoming that fear, but only of doing what must be done in spite of it."
"I believe she knows more than you give her credit for," said Hakim, reaching for another chocolate. "Which is why she writes instead of having adventures of her own."
"Is there a way I can possibly meet her? I feel we are destined to be together, or why would I keep dreaming of her?"
The old man stared into the crystal a long moment without saying a word. Then slowly he rose and went behind a curtain flap in the tent, and soon returned with a tray full of bottles as Ahmed resisted the temptation to wipe a smudge off the crystal. Then as the younger man watched, the old magician began pouring drops from each bottle into a small cup. He chanted some strange words over it, waving his gnarled hand around the cup in a curiously graceful, birdlike motion, then wiggled his fingers and sang a little wordless song over the strange-smelling mixture.
"There is a new moon tonight," he said, sounding entranced. "Take this, and at the stroke of midnight, kneel before your bedroom window facing toward the west. Remove all your clothing except your loincloth. Then drink this potion and chant the name 'RoZita' over and over. Then you must sing this tune..." The old man proceeded to hum a melody that all Americans would have recognized as "Arkansas Traveler." "But prepare yourself for a shock. That affair with the Vikings may look very mundane compared with what may befall you this time around."
Ahmed smiled at him with profound gratitude, then proceeded to buy several bottles and flasks and jars from him, giving him much more money than they were worth. He smiled almost shyly, saying, "In my dream she sometimes called me her 'little Arabian stallion.' Strange, that is just what Olga called me. She told me the Northwomen used to speculate on…ah…whether I was like a stallion in that…ah…"
He blushed a little. The old man laughed wheezily.
"Then Mah-Doh-Nah was wrong?" he said impishly. Ahmed looked down at the floor of the tent, his smile fading. Mah-Doh-Nah, the notorious belly dancer whose name the Baghdad Enquirer had linked with his own some years ago, whose outrageous behavior was the scandal of the entire Middle East, who had cast her eye on Ahmed determined to have her way with him despite the small fact that he was happily married. When he turned her down she had gone about saying many spiteful things about him, such as "I would never bed a man in Viking boots." She even dared to suggest that he was far less like a stallion than Olga, with her charming and reckless candor, had publicly claimed he was.
"I am not more spectacularly endowed than most men, I suppose," Ahmed said with his characteristic modesty. "But Mah-Doh-Nah never knew firsthand."
Hakim chuckled. "Let us hope our RoZita has better luck," he said, then helped Ahmed place his purchases in a large sack.
That night, up in his small but elegantly furnished bedroom, Ahmed stripped down to his loincloth and knelt before the western wall as if in prayer, but instead he did as the magician had instructed, his eyes fixed upon the new moon.
And a millennium later, in a yet undiscovered country, a woman sat in front of her magic box with her cat in her lap, sighing over the man she could see through the glass screen…
…when suddenly a huge ball of light shot out of the box…
…engulfing her completely…
…and the first thing she knew she was lying flat on her back in the middle of a forest, looking up into the face of the man she had been watching…
…who was now completely naked.
~to be continued~