OPEN SESAME

While he was used to his father returning to the den of the Forty Thieves with a story of treasure in tow, there was a small part of Aladdin that harbored a bit of doubt to this particular tale Cassim came home with. A tale of a djinn in a ring? Sure, they had encountered a handful of strange creatures along their travels and endeavors through the Seven Deserts, but something as powerful as a djinn seemed too farfetched and couldn’t be as easily attainable – at least it sounded easy. What was the worst thing digging around in a cave could to do to them? Still, the power of a djinn and the possibility of becoming the master of one sounded like something straight from the tales a mother would tell her children before they headed to bed – or perhaps from a storyteller who needed a distraction for a murderous king for the night. However, the tip of the ring’s whereabouts came from a supposed old man on death’s door that his father met in the thieves’ den, a rumor mill of a place, which made the doubt settle in Aladdin’s mind a little more, even if some of the information gathered there held some importance – some.

Nevertheless, he was still his father’s son – not only did he obey his wishes, but the other part of him was still open to the idea of at least obtaining the ring of a pharaoh. If anything, that was going to fetch some sort of value in itself – probably not something the other guys in the gang would be impressed by, but he doubted the would find anything impressive in the time the King and the Prince were gone. It wasn’t the first trip they had taken apart from the Thieves and, so far, they’ve all been pretty successful, at least in the way that they had come back alive; all the treasure they returned with each time was just the (ultimate) bonus to that.

Aladdin had just finished tucking away a few last things for his pack when Cassim checked in on him. He turned to his father and nodded, “Yeah, Dad. Just finished.” He slung on his bag and headed toward Cassim to follow him out to their rides, grinning as he picked up on his father’s energy. “Uh, you sure seem excited. Hope you had at least a wink of sleep last night.”

“Tch!” He chuckled low in the back of his throat, shaking his head as he walked alongside his son. “Excitement tends to keep one awake.” They passed several other bandits going about their own business, who the ‘KING’ didn’t even bother to look at, let alone say goodbye. His eyes were on a prize. “I’ll sleep once we have that... treasure.” Of course, he wasn’t about to go blurting out the details of their the jackpot they were after right in front of them. Even if they were preoccupied with card games, thieves’ ears heard all. “Or at least... once we set up camp for the night.” Cassim finally admitted. There was no way he could possibly stay awake longer than 48 hours at his age. Sleep was bound to overtake him sooner or later.  Taking hold of the reigns to his favorite steed, their leader steadied his horse before mounting it with ease. As he had told Aladdin over & over again, his side of the family had always been experienced riders. It was essentially an expectation if his son wished to survive these open deserts... especially with their quick clan of thieves’ present. Thankfully, Aladdin seemed to have a knack for getting away, no problem. Cassim didn’t have to worry too much. Only that appropriate fatherly amount.

He smiled at the man’s reaction, visibly relieved. “Thank you. He’s an Old English sheepdog…I saw a picture of one in a book and my father brought me home a puppy the next day.” Max was one of the only things he had left of his father. “No, that’s right, I’m not—I’m from Sicily. We’re here for a trading expedition.” he explained. “Yes…yes, I am a sailor.” Well, that wasn’t the wholetruth, but it wasn’t a lie either. There was no reason to broadcast that he was a prince unless he had to, and at the moment he didn’t feel it was necessary.

Questions flood him until he’s SPEECHLESS for them, but he listens with RAPT attention, drinking in every word. He has NEVER heard tales of his mother. He has never seen her from another person’s eyes. He had never dreamed of seeing her from his father’s. He wants to know — he wants to see. What did she look like when she was ANGRY? What did she SOUND like when she SANG? If Aladdin closes his eyes, he can see the fuzzy shape of her face, theOUTLINE of her profile, the hue of her hair against the golden sunset. SNATCHES of memories, too few & far between to sate the HUNGER that claws within him.

He struggles, torn: he’s unable to decide what to ask FIRST, unsure what he wants to ask at all. What did she LOOK like? HOW does Aladdin resemble her? What does Cassim SEE: her grace? her fire? her reckoning force? Who was Roc, and how she and Cassim MEET?

There are so MANY questions to ask and such LITTLE air to do so with, but Aladdin isn’tWORRIED about the questions, or the AIR it’ll take to ask them.

His lips form the shape of only one.

❝ What was her name ? ❞

The Bedouin strode closer to a group of palm trees, bringing with him the remainder of his water. He still had more than half & was more than willing to share while they took a small rest. Motioning for his son to join him on the cool sand, Cassim crossed his legs & eased himself down carefully. While he could still leap from rooftop-to-rooftop & engage in physical combat no problem, the truth still stood, the man was no spring chicken. Now he was only five years away from having lived half of a century. As he approached with a new question, the ex-thief blinked up in surprise. Until now, it had never occurred to him that Aladdin wouldn’t know her name. He was still so young when she had passed. Smiling, he fondly recalled her name, raising his hands towards the heavens as he spoke. “Ahh... ZENA.” He breathed her name as if it provided the sweet oxygen he craved in this land of DUST. “My beautiful Zena. When we met, she had been on the run for several days. Her clothes were tattered, skin dirty, hair a mess... & she was STILL the most radiant jewel I had ever laid eyes on. Now, don’t think badly of your mother. She wasn’t running from any guards. No, that woman wouldn’t steal even if she was on the brink. Zena was leaving behind an arranged life. One she couldn’t convince herself to settle with. She wanted adventure, excitement... romance. None of which she could find with a lamp merchant. And so... she ran.” Chuckling, he passed his the water-skin to Aladdin. “Right into a band of thieves. NOW you might actually be grateful your old man was there. If not for me, well...let’s just say my brother wasn’t the most merciful of leaders.”