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Once upon a time there was a coyote princess spoiled rotten, who lived in a tall white palace built in the center of a city that surrounded a desert oasis. The desert itself surrounded this jewel of life on all sides, like a dry and golden sea of shimmering death, yet the people of that place were not troubled. They had all they needed, and the wasteland protected them from their enemies.
One day the princess rose from her bed of silk and satin and soft things, stretched languidly in the bronze light of a magical morning, thinking that as always all was well. Yet when she stepped onto the great marble balcony that overlooked the sweltering city she came upon a small, green snake sunning himself.
“You dare?” she asked the reptile, drawing a dagger of solid silver, her face twisted into a snarl.
“Forgive me, highnesssss,” the snake replied, forked tongue aflicker, unblinking eyes searching hers. “I was only looking for a safe place to stay the night. The city is full of dangers, and everyone knows everyone under the sun hates my kind.”
“The city…” echoed the princess, with longing, lowering her blade. Her face softened. “I’ve never been out there, I don’t know it at all.”
The little snake dipped his head in sympathy and supplication. “Mighty one, you know not the horror down there. Your people are slaves for stale crusts and copper coins, scrabble in the dirt to grow the crops that grace the royal table. I fear they may soon rebel against your father, for they are very unhappy.”
Her mouth went dry and she gazed down upon the sandstone sprawl and the awnings every color of the rainbow, at the green green palms and dusty plazas and the crowds in the bright and busy bazaars. Suddenly there were traitors and rebels everywhere, in every shadow.
“I know many of the conspiracies, for no one notices a lowly grass snake such as I,” he continued, his eyes seeming to grow larger and larger, and the darkness within them deeper and deeper. “For a small fee I could tell you of all of their names, and then your family would rule this place forever and ever.”
The coyote snapped out of the trance. “Name your price,” she snapped, licking her lips, her ears flat and face frightened.
The snake told her.
-
The palace guard thought it odd, but they were sworn to obey a royal command, and so they began to set traps in the granaries and the deep cool cellars and the winding, wending alleys, catching every rat and mouse that they could.
“The princess must fear the vermin,” one captain remarked to his platoon as they carried another clutch of clanking little cages to yet another dusty, dark and forgotten place.
What became known as the Great Hunt of the Little Ones went on for some months before the Sultan heard of it.
The Sultan was jaded, a coyote wrapped within wine soaked and indolent vice, and cared little for current events. He was content to trust his Viziers, who were likewise content to rule from his long and lazy shadow, and so such a happening was mentioned only in passing when one of the Viziers happened to mention it.
The powers that be had approved of it all, after all, for everyone despised vermin.
“But…where are they all going,” slurred the Sultan. “She’s ordered them all taken alive, and then they’re never seen again?”
The Vizier bowed, shrugged and fiddled with his ornate cloth of gold turban. “No mightiness, never again. It is curious, yet no harm has come of it. Indeed, much good. The city’s stores are full to bursting.”
“I don’t understand,” said the Sultan softly, lifting a goblet of wine to his lips. He was close to passing out, but he had learned if he drank some more sometimes he wouldn’t for a while longer.
“As for other matters,” the Vizier continued, “a crime wave has gripped your great city of late. There are plots against the royal house. The Princess has ordered hundreds of arrests. Our prisons are overflowing.”
The goblet rang against marble with a golden clang, spilling dark, red wine across the gold flecked tile. The Sultan was fast asleep.
The Vizier shook his head sadly, daintily stepping back to avoid the spreading puddle. The throne room reeked of alcohol. “Sweet dreams, sire,” the wolf said softly, a pitying sparkle in his eye.
-
The special advisor to the Princess had a new place, in a disused wing of the palace. He laired in the temple of a forgotten god, built there in its heart, a god whose name had once been Sephet or Seret or Saph, and within the great and empty and dusty temple ringed by pillars carved with runes none could read and whose shadows were home to statues carved for a reason none knew he nested among a million rodent bones.
The grass snake had grown huge indeed, his bulk rivaling the dragons of old, and his powers of hypnosis and persuasion and prose had kept pace.
And every night the coyote princess, who had discovered him so small sunning himself on her balcony, would come to him. And every night he would whisper names his third eye had divined. And every night there was a special sacrifice, for the mice and rats were no longer enough.
The demigod fed upon people now, ate his fill.
A cult began to form, led by the princess herself, whom he had declared his High Priestess.
Most of the Viziers, scared to lose their power and believing the Sultan’s sun had set, went along. All, in fact, but one.
-
One day the Sultan rose from his bed of silk and satin and soft things, stretched languidly in the bronze light of a magical morning, thinking that as always all was well. Yet when he stepped onto the great marble balcony that overlooked the sweltering city the vision was frightening. It was quiet as a grave, his kingdom. The streets were empty but for swirling sand devils and long empty shadows.
“Are you well, sire?” came a cautious voice from behind a satin curtain. “Are you sober?”
The coyote staggered back, swept up the gilded scimitar leaning at the foot of his bed. “Show yourself!” he snarled.
The Vizier Sinrik stepped out from behind the curtain, the cheetah showing his ruler empty paws. His yellow eyes shimmered with tears. “I tried to tell you, over and over,” he hissed. “Your kingdom is crumbling, Mightiness. Your daughter has gone mad, Highness. A monster is growing in the palace, Great One. You never listened, though. All you cared about was the genie in the bottle, and now…now…”
The cheetah turned his face away, stared at a dead city.
The sultan lowered the sword, shivered though the chamber was sweltering. “I’m sorry,” he said, the words as sincere as they were broken. “I…I’m not me anymore. I couldn’t see it. I couldn’t stop it.”
“I know,” said the cheetah. “There’s just one chance left. Saph has named you. They’ll come for you today. You have to use the Papyrus, or all is lost.”
The coyote recoiled. “I can’t! It would-“
“She’ll kill you, eat your heart. The snake has already eaten hers, turned her into a monster that sees only treason.”
“She’s my daughter,” the Sultan said sullenly, shaking. He reached for a carafe of wine and the cheetah crossed the room with lightning swiftness, knocked it from his paw. It spilled everywhere, rich and white.
“What of the sons and daughters of your city?”
-
Sun, sand and stone were the only witnesses to the ascent of the Sultan and his Vizier, as they climbed the mighty pyramid he had ordered built to entomb him at his death. At the top was the largest diamond the world had ever seen, and beneath one of the stones just beneath it was a scroll inscribed with a fell and dreaded spell.
Known only as the Papyrus, it was an ultimate weapon, though no one really knew what would happen when the incantation written upon it was spoken aloud…for no one had ever done so.
There, at the summit, the Sultan held the scroll and beheld his city. It seemed so small from up there, and his silk robe flapped and snapped and cracked in the wind. His turban was snatched away, carried up and up into the cloudless blue.
Sinrik put a paw on his shoulder, gripped it tight. “You can do this,” the Vizier said sadly, his voice sounding far away. “I still believe in you.”
The coyote wanted to close his eyes. The air was crisp and wild. The sight of his city, empty and dark, broke his heart. He unfurled the scroll and began to speak, haltingly at first, then with the confidence and conviction he had when he was younger, before the bottle had stolen his voice and mind.
A swarm of figures appeared below and began to climb the pyramid, an army of cultists with curved knives and ornate swords, all his old viziers in the lead. His daughter, the princess, led the pack, and they all howled for his blood. Behind them, coiling sinuous and sinister, was the specter of an enormous snake. It was the size of a castle, and its eyes were the eyes of oblivion.
“I call upon space and time,” said the Sultan, feeling an unearthly calm, “Upon the power of Gehen, of Traimat, of Les and Rahkan and Anuir. Turn back this great evil, let all be well, let all be as it once was. I give my life to see it so.”
Sinrik’s eyes widened as he watched the Sultan draw a dagger from the folds of his robe. “Master that’s not the one! That will only send us all back to when it-“
The coyote stabbed himself in the heart with a smile. “I couldn’t kill her,” he said, blood spilling from that smile in dark rivers, “at least this way it’ll all be okay for a while.”
Darkness fell in a great curtain, in a spin like that of a hurricane, and then…
-
Once upon a time there was a coyote princess spoiled rotten, who lived in a tall white palace built in the center of a city that surrounded a desert oasis…
One day the princess rose from her bed of silk and satin and soft things, stretched languidly in the bronze light of a magical morning, thinking that as always all was well. Yet when she stepped onto the great marble balcony that overlooked the sweltering city she came upon a small, green snake sunning himself.
“You dare?” she asked the reptile, drawing a dagger of solid silver, her face twisted into a snarl.
“Forgive me, highnesssss,” the snake replied, forked tongue aflicker, unblinking eyes searching hers. “I was only looking for a safe place to stay the night. The city is full of dangers, and everyone knows everyone under the sun hates my kind.”
“The city…” echoed the princess, with longing, lowering her blade. Her face softened. “I’ve never been out there, I don’t know it at all.”
The little snake dipped his head in sympathy and supplication. “Mighty one, you know not the horror down there. Your people are slaves for stale crusts and copper coins, scrabble in the dirt to grow the crops that grace the royal table. I fear they may soon rebel against your father, for they are very unhappy.”
Her mouth went dry and she gazed down upon the sandstone sprawl and the awnings every color of the rainbow, at the green green palms and dusty plazas and the crowds in the bright and busy bazaars. Suddenly there were traitors and rebels everywhere, in every shadow.
“I know many of the conspiracies, for no one notices a lowly grass snake such as I,” he continued, his eyes seeming to grow larger and larger, and the darkness within them deeper and deeper. “For a small fee I could tell you of all of their names, and then your family would rule this place forever and ever.”
The coyote snapped out of the trance. “Name your price,” she snapped, licking her lips, her ears flat and face frightened.
The snake told her.
-
The palace guard thought it odd, but they were sworn to obey a royal command, and so they began to set traps in the granaries and the deep cool cellars and the winding, wending alleys, catching every rat and mouse that they could.
“The princess must fear the vermin,” one captain remarked to his platoon as they carried another clutch of clanking little cages to yet another dusty, dark and forgotten place.
What became known as the Great Hunt of the Little Ones went on for some months before the Sultan heard of it.
The Sultan was jaded, a coyote wrapped within wine soaked and indolent vice, and cared little for current events. He was content to trust his Viziers, who were likewise content to rule from his long and lazy shadow, and so such a happening was mentioned only in passing when one of the Viziers happened to mention it.
The powers that be had approved of it all, after all, for everyone despised vermin.
“But…where are they all going,” slurred the Sultan. “She’s ordered them all taken alive, and then they’re never seen again?”
The Vizier bowed, shrugged and fiddled with his ornate cloth of gold turban. “No mightiness, never again. It is curious, yet no harm has come of it. Indeed, much good. The city’s stores are full to bursting.”
“I don’t understand,” said the Sultan softly, lifting a goblet of wine to his lips. He was close to passing out, but he had learned if he drank some more sometimes he wouldn’t for a while longer.
“As for other matters,” the Vizier continued, “a crime wave has gripped your great city of late. There are plots against the royal house. The Princess has ordered hundreds of arrests. Our prisons are overflowing.”
The goblet rang against marble with a golden clang, spilling dark, red wine across the gold flecked tile. The Sultan was fast asleep.
The Vizier shook his head sadly, daintily stepping back to avoid the spreading puddle. The throne room reeked of alcohol. “Sweet dreams, sire,” the wolf said softly, a pitying sparkle in his eye.
-
The special advisor to the Princess had a new place, in a disused wing of the palace. He laired in the temple of a forgotten god, built there in its heart, a god whose name had once been Sephet or Seret or Saph, and within the great and empty and dusty temple ringed by pillars carved with runes none could read and whose shadows were home to statues carved for a reason none knew he nested among a million rodent bones.
The grass snake had grown huge indeed, his bulk rivaling the dragons of old, and his powers of hypnosis and persuasion and prose had kept pace.
And every night the coyote princess, who had discovered him so small sunning himself on her balcony, would come to him. And every night he would whisper names his third eye had divined. And every night there was a special sacrifice, for the mice and rats were no longer enough.
The demigod fed upon people now, ate his fill.
A cult began to form, led by the princess herself, whom he had declared his High Priestess.
Most of the Viziers, scared to lose their power and believing the Sultan’s sun had set, went along. All, in fact, but one.
-
One day the Sultan rose from his bed of silk and satin and soft things, stretched languidly in the bronze light of a magical morning, thinking that as always all was well. Yet when he stepped onto the great marble balcony that overlooked the sweltering city the vision was frightening. It was quiet as a grave, his kingdom. The streets were empty but for swirling sand devils and long empty shadows.
“Are you well, sire?” came a cautious voice from behind a satin curtain. “Are you sober?”
The coyote staggered back, swept up the gilded scimitar leaning at the foot of his bed. “Show yourself!” he snarled.
The Vizier Sinrik stepped out from behind the curtain, the cheetah showing his ruler empty paws. His yellow eyes shimmered with tears. “I tried to tell you, over and over,” he hissed. “Your kingdom is crumbling, Mightiness. Your daughter has gone mad, Highness. A monster is growing in the palace, Great One. You never listened, though. All you cared about was the genie in the bottle, and now…now…”
The cheetah turned his face away, stared at a dead city.
The sultan lowered the sword, shivered though the chamber was sweltering. “I’m sorry,” he said, the words as sincere as they were broken. “I…I’m not me anymore. I couldn’t see it. I couldn’t stop it.”
“I know,” said the cheetah. “There’s just one chance left. Saph has named you. They’ll come for you today. You have to use the Papyrus, or all is lost.”
The coyote recoiled. “I can’t! It would-“
“She’ll kill you, eat your heart. The snake has already eaten hers, turned her into a monster that sees only treason.”
“She’s my daughter,” the Sultan said sullenly, shaking. He reached for a carafe of wine and the cheetah crossed the room with lightning swiftness, knocked it from his paw. It spilled everywhere, rich and white.
“What of the sons and daughters of your city?”
-
Sun, sand and stone were the only witnesses to the ascent of the Sultan and his Vizier, as they climbed the mighty pyramid he had ordered built to entomb him at his death. At the top was the largest diamond the world had ever seen, and beneath one of the stones just beneath it was a scroll inscribed with a fell and dreaded spell.
Known only as the Papyrus, it was an ultimate weapon, though no one really knew what would happen when the incantation written upon it was spoken aloud…for no one had ever done so.
There, at the summit, the Sultan held the scroll and beheld his city. It seemed so small from up there, and his silk robe flapped and snapped and cracked in the wind. His turban was snatched away, carried up and up into the cloudless blue.
Sinrik put a paw on his shoulder, gripped it tight. “You can do this,” the Vizier said sadly, his voice sounding far away. “I still believe in you.”
The coyote wanted to close his eyes. The air was crisp and wild. The sight of his city, empty and dark, broke his heart. He unfurled the scroll and began to speak, haltingly at first, then with the confidence and conviction he had when he was younger, before the bottle had stolen his voice and mind.
A swarm of figures appeared below and began to climb the pyramid, an army of cultists with curved knives and ornate swords, all his old viziers in the lead. His daughter, the princess, led the pack, and they all howled for his blood. Behind them, coiling sinuous and sinister, was the specter of an enormous snake. It was the size of a castle, and its eyes were the eyes of oblivion.
“I call upon space and time,” said the Sultan, feeling an unearthly calm, “Upon the power of Gehen, of Traimat, of Les and Rahkan and Anuir. Turn back this great evil, let all be well, let all be as it once was. I give my life to see it so.”
Sinrik’s eyes widened as he watched the Sultan draw a dagger from the folds of his robe. “Master that’s not the one! That will only send us all back to when it-“
The coyote stabbed himself in the heart with a smile. “I couldn’t kill her,” he said, blood spilling from that smile in dark rivers, “at least this way it’ll all be okay for a while.”
Darkness fell in a great curtain, in a spin like that of a hurricane, and then…
-
Once upon a time there was a coyote princess spoiled rotten, who lived in a tall white palace built in the center of a city that surrounded a desert oasis…
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