The Chronicle of Young Dastan Read online

  Darius shot his partner a nasty look. “Give yourself a hand,” he retorted. one of his vipers hissed at Titus. “I’m busy catching my next meal.”

  Soon, both bullies were clambering up onto the rooftop, grunting and cursing with the effort. Dastan watched as Titus gave Darius a shove, almost sending him toppling back over the edge. But Darius grabbed a handful of roof at the last moment, hauling himself up after his friend.

  “Wait for me!” he yowled.

  “Hurry up!”

  Their heavy footsteps gave their quarry plenty of warning, and the chicken squawked loudly and flapped its way back up to the peak of the roof. Titus and Darius followed, their feet knocking tiles every which way as they went. Darius dove for the bird, his huge hand grasping at its tail. But the hen leaped upward just in time, disappearing over the peak with a flurry of feathers and another loud screech.

  With a sigh, Dastan banished the thought of succulent flame-roasted chicken meat from his mind. Then he turned to face Haxam.

  “Are you all right?” he asked the old man. “You should stay away from those two, you know. They’ll steal from someone with nothing as quickly as they would from the king.”

  “Oh, my boy!” the old man exclaimed. “I appreciate your coming to my rescue that way. And all for this humble crumb . . . That reminds me—here. Take half. You’ve earned it, my friend.”

  He tore his grubby bit of bread into two pieces. Then he tried to give one of the pieces to Dastan.

  “No thanks.” Dastan waved it away. “I’m not hungry,” he said, shifting to hide that his angry stomach was rumbling in disagreement. All he’d eaten since the night before was a handful of discarded rice and a couple of shriveled dates. But he would need to be hungrier than that to want the pathetic old man’s scrap of bread.

  Haxam glanced at the crust, shrugged, then quickly shoved both pieces into his mouth. “If you say so,” he mumbled as he chewed, bits of crumb and sprays of spittle flying from his mouth. “I can see that you are a boy of the very highest moral character. That is a rare thing indeed, especially in this day and age, and it should be rewarded.”

  “No need for that . . .” Dastan said, an eye and ear trained on the rooftops nearby. Based on the sounds of running and cursing, he guessed that Titus and Darius were still chasing the hen.

  Haxam shook his head. “No, it’s important. I know! You must let me give you something even more valuable.” He swallowed, then went on more clearly. “Something that will satisfy you more than food for hunger. A secret perhaps.”

  Dastan doubted that anything could satisfy him more than a good meal right now, especially not a “secret.”

  Haxam’s watery old eyes glittered. “Perhaps this was all decreed by fate.”

  Dastan was too distracted by the chase on the rooftops above to wonder what the old man was talking about. It had also just occurred to him that Javed was still on the rooftops somewhere nearby. what if Titus and Darius came across him? Dastan winced, thinking of Javed’s inability to handle the two boys.

  “You’re welcome,” he told Haxam absently. “But I’ve got to go.”

  He turned toward the nearest roof overhang, intending to swing himself up to see if he could spot either Javed or the boys. But Haxam grabbed him by the arm. His grip was surprisingly strong.

  “Wait, my boy,” the old man said. “Please. This is the most important secret you will ever hear.” He lowered his voice to a near whisper. “You see, I have it on good authority that an otherworldly treasure might soon be made whole—right here in Nasaf.”

  “Oh?” Dastan was still too distracted to pay much attention.

  Haxam’s face took on a faraway look. “The Torch of Atar,” he whispered reverently. “It is crafted of solid gold in the shape of a snarling lion. It is said to wield mystical control over the forces of light and darkness in the mortal world.”

  “Sounds useful,” Dastan said, keeping his eyes trained on the rooftops.

  Haxam barely seemed to hear him. He was lost in his story. “A thousand years ago, in the days of the great king Achaemenes, a powerful priest of the Magi feared that the Torch was too powerful and dangerous for any human to control. Thus he separated the Torch from its invisible flame, hiding them in two completely different and far-flung locations.”

  Dastan was beginning to suspect that Haxam was as crazy as everyone said. “That makes no sense,” he said, taking his eyes off the roofs. “If you separate a flame from its torch, you no longer have a flame at all. It goes out.”

  “Not this flame.” Haxam lifted one gnarled finger. “This flame can burn for all of eternity with neither torch nor tinder. But without the Torch of Atar, its power is useless. And without its flame, the torch itself is nothing but a fancy trinket.” He shot a look over his shoulder as if checking for eavesdroppers. “I have sought this treasure all my life. recently I asked an old Chinese man who was passing through Nasaf to try to read of the Torch in his oracle bones. And do you know what he found when he did?”

  “No,” Dastan replied. “But I suspect you are about to tell me.”

  Haxam leaned closer, giving Dastan a good whiff of the wine on his breath. “The bones told him that the Torch has been located!” he hissed. “That it was on its way back to Nasaf. It could be here in the city even as we speak!”

  “So what?” Dastan said. “You just said it was useless without this magical flame.”

  “Indeed.” Haxam’s voice rose with excitement. “But I have been doing some research of my own. And I have reached the conclusion that the flame has always been right here in Nasaf.” He grabbed Dastan by the arm. “Do you know what this means? It means that for the first time in generations upon generations, torch and flame could become one again!”

  Dastan raised an eyebrow at the drunken lunatic.

  Then a voice boomed from the rooftop above. Dastan and Haxam looked up, and their eyes grew wide. Neither could believe what they were seeing.

  Chapter Three

  Javed stood on the rooftop holding up both of Darius’s vipers in his good hand.

  “Less meat than chicken, but far tastier, if you ask me.” Javed smiled.

  The vipers wriggled and hissed.

  Dastan smiled and noticed that Haxam was grinning, too.

  “I found Darius and Titus chasing our breakfast around and feared the worst,” Javed said.

  “Have they caught it?” Dastan asked.

  “Not sure,” Javed responded. “Darius sent his pets here after it, but our clucking friend avoided them. The snakes kept on slithering away, no doubt to avoid their master, and that’s how they wound up here in my hand.”

  “Will you be coming down to join us?” Dastan asked.

  “Shortly,” Javed answered. “I want to ensure that Titus and Darius do not return. I don’t think Darius would view his vipers in exchange for a chicken that got away as a good trade.”

  “You know, Javed has a fine mind for tricky puzzles and mysteries of all sorts,” Dastan said, turning his attention back to Haxam. “Perhaps you should talk to him about your Torch. He might have some ideas.”

  Haxam looked worried. “I already told you. This is a great secret,” he whispered, “one that should not be shared with just anyone. I only told you because I can tell by your actions that you are a boy of the highest moral character. That and you saved my meal . . . and possibly my life.”

  “Javed has more moral character than anyone I know,” Dastan assured him. “He’s always eager to help people.”

  “It is vital that this information not fall into the wrong hands.” Haxam still seemed dubious. “once the Torch is reunited with the flame, its holder will control the balance of light between the mortal and immortal worlds. It is said that it can only be found and held by one worthy of controlling its magic.”

  Haxam looked thoughtful. “Is he truly a solver of puzzles? For the flame’s hiding place is shrouded in mystery. For instance, it’s said to be guarded by an invisible dragon.”
/>
  “An invisible dragon?” Dastan tried not to laugh. Then he gave the man a sharp look. “If this is all so secretive, how do you know about it?”

  “I read of the dragon in some old carvings I found in the desert a few hours’ ride west of the city. It was in those selfsame carvings that I found another important clue. The seeker of the flame is meant to procure its location from a crimson elephant.”

  “I see,” Dastan said, no longer stifling his giggles. He’d seen the king’s war elephants marching through the city now and then. And they were all decidedly gray creatures.

  At that moment Javed alighted before them, sending up a cloud of dust, just as Dastan had when he landed in the alley.

  “Our path seems clear. Now, what were you two discussing? It seemed quite serious.” Javed tried to hide a smile. He clearly thought that anything Haxam had to say would not be worth the time spent listening to it.

  “According to Haxam here, there is some sort of—”

  “Messenger!” A voice burst out from one of the nearby streets. Instantly, Dastan forgot about Haxam and his drink-induced delusions.

  He grabbed the edge of the roof’s overhang and pulled himself up, peering out across the tops of the buildings. “our breakfast might not be a lost cause yet,” he said. “I’ll be right back!”

  Dastan took off upon the rooftops. He dashed across the first one, leaping over an alley onto the flat mud-brick top of a pottery shop. Crossing it in a few steps, he slid down a columned overhang and landed on his feet in the middle of the next street.

  After that, Dastan stayed on the ground, hurrying around the corner and finding himself at the edge of a broad square flanked by some of the finest shops in Nasaf.

  The man who had shouted for a messenger was standing in front of one of those shops. His hands were tucked behind his back, and his face wore a look of slight distaste as he surveyed the youths rushing toward him. He was a portly, small-eyed man named Kamyar with a reputation for being short-tempered and unkind. However, thanks to his thriving spice business, he was wealthy enough to buy plenty of friends.

  Dastan hurried into the square, joining the growing throng gathering in front of the spice shop. running messages throughout Nasaf was one of the few ways a swift-footed street rat could earn a few honest coins, and there were always plenty of them eager for the work.

  “You need a messenger? I’ll do it!” one of the youths called to the shopkeeper.

  “Me, me, me!” another boy shouted out, jostling his way forward. “I’m the fastest!”

  Dastan elbowed his way closer. He almost tripped over a small boy who was clinging to the hand of an even smaller one.

  “Sorry,” Dastan told the older of the brothers. “I nearly didn’t see you. What are you doing here, Yusef?”

  The older boy squared his small shoulders. “I want to carry the message,” he said shyly. “I know I can do it. I’ve watched you many times, Dastan—I want to be as fast as you are someday.”

  Dastan smiled. “I see. well, good luck to you, my friend.”

  “Thanks!” Yusef beamed at him.

  The crowd shifted, and Dastan wriggled his way still closer to the shopkeeper. A quick look around told him that there was little competition in this crowd. He recognized everyone he saw and knew that he was faster than any of them.

  But then he spotted a face that he didn’t recognize. It belonged to a tall, lanky fellow about his own age or perhaps a year older. The boy had clever green eyes, ginger hair, and a sunburned face.

  He turned and caught Dastan staring. “You’re Dastan, right?” the stranger said with a cocky grin. “I’ve heard you’re the fastest messenger in Nasaf.”

  “That’s what they say,” Dastan replied. “Who are you?”

  “Silence, scabs!” the shopkeeper bellowed at that moment.

  The crowd quieted down at once. The only sounds were the bleating of a lamb somewhere nearby and the lazy buzzing of flies circling the bins of sticky dates in front of the next shop. even the shoppers at the other stalls turned to listen curiously.

  “That’s better.” Kamyar looked smug. “The message I need delivered today is extremely important. It deals with preparations for the great celebration at the palace tomorrow in honor of young Prince Garsiv’s birthday.”

  Dastan nodded along with most of the others. The entire city knew of the impending birthday feast. Dignitaries from the surrounding lands had been arriving all week, with more expected up until the day itself. Persians took birthday celebrations seriously, and a prince’s birthday was even more special, calling for a full day of feasting.

  “Naturally,” the shopkeeper went on with a haughty sniff, “I shall be supplying some goods for the festivities. I’m sure even a bunch of no-account rats like you can understand how important it is that my message reach its destination as quickly as possible.”

  “I can do it, sir!” a skinny, dark-haired boy called out. “I shall travel with wings on my feet!”

  “You?” another boy sneered. “what a joke. You couldn’t outrun a three-legged camel.”

  “Silence!” Kamyar yelled. “I’m not finished. Due to the importance of this message, I’m proposing a deal. whichever boy gets the message there first will get double the usual payment.”

  “Double!” someone exclaimed, while several others gasped.

  “And the rest?” the ginger-haired stranger called out. “what do the other messengers get?”

  “Nothing.” The shopkeeper pulled out several small rolls of parchment and fanned them in one hand. “Do you understand?”

  Judging by the hands reaching out to grab the copies, the answer was yes. The shopkeeper shouted out the address to which the message was going while boys took off in every direction.

  Dastan shoved his way closer, not wanting to miss out. He reached for one of the few remaining parchment rolls, but a sudden shove made him miss it.

  “Hey!” he blurted out.

  “Sorry.” It was the ginger-haired stranger again. He grabbed two of the parchment rolls and tossed one to Dastan. “There you go, friend. May the best messenger win.”

  Chapter Four

  Dastan tucked the parchment into his waistband and sprinted across the square.

  A few of the others had a head start, but Dastan wasn’t worried. He headed for a rug shop just across the way. It was overflowing with ornately decorated carpets. Some were laid out on the ground and was hanging up. others were rolled and stacked along the edge of the shop’s open, arched doorway.

  The rug seller, a stout little man who smelled strongly of frankincense, saw Dastan coming. He frowned and waddled forward.

  “No!” he cried, waving both hands wildly. “Stay away, you. I won’t have your filthy feet all over my—aargh!”

  His protests were too late. Dastan was already leaping up onto the stacks of rugs. The first one rolled beneath his feet, tumbling out into the square. But Dastan had already jumped onto another. He ran nimbly upward, moving from one rug to the next. Soon he was high enough to leap onto the roof of the shop.

  “Nice carpets, sir!” he called back. “Very easy on the feet!”

  The sounds of the rug merchant’s curses faded quickly as Dastan ran across the roof. He didn’t bother to slow down as he flung himself over the alley between that shop and the next.

  He paused briefly on the next rooftop to consider the best route. As he did, he heard a clatter behind him. Spinning around, his jaw dropped. That ginger-haired boy was racing after him across the rooftops!

  “What are you doing up here?” Dastan blurted out in surprise.

  The other boy grinned. “Same as you,” he said breathlessly. “Going after that double payment.”

  Dastan scowled. Then he spun and raced off, doing a handspring across a low dome and then zigzagging his way across the next few rooftops. If this stranger was planning to follow him, Dastan wasn’t going to make it easy.

  A broad avenue lay between him and the next set of roofto
ps. Dastan dropped onto his side and skidded down a steeply sloping awning, grabbing the edge just in time to stop himself from hurtling off into thin air. Swinging down, he let go and dropped lightly to the ground.

  A second later he heard a shout of alarm. He ducked just in time, as the other boy went shooting past overhead, skinny arms and legs flailing.

  “Oof!” The kid landed hard in a large pile of fresh fruit outside a market stall. Peaches, apricots, and figs flew in every direction. An angry shout went up from nearby.

  Dastan winced, feeling a little sorry for the other boy. But his sympathy only lasted a fleeting moment. There was still work to be done. . . .

  He darted out into the avenue, dodging pedestrians, horses, camels, and a small flock of sheep that was being herded along by a bored-looking Assyrian. A soldier cursed at Dastan when he was forced to pull his horse up short, but Dastan took no notice. He made it to the far side of the street and then glanced back, wondering if the fruit seller had finished beating the other boy yet.

  His eyes widened. The lanky stranger had just jumped over the last of the sheep and was coming toward him!

  “Still with me, huh?” Dastan muttered.

  Dastan spun around to face the tall brick wall of a temple. For a moment he considered attempting Javed’s wall-run trick to get up it. But this was no time for taking chances. Instead he grabbed at the rough surface, his slim fingers finding barely visible protrusions while his toes wedged themselves into the slightest indentations. In this way, he scuttled up the wall until he reached the top. Then he hoisted himself onto the flat rooftop and scrambled to his feet.

  “Nice climbing!” the ginger-haired kid called from below.

  Dastan figured that meant he was giving up. But a second later he heard a series of grunts. Peering down, he saw the other boy clambering up the wall like an enormous spider. He might not be as graceful about it as Dastan had been, but he was still getting it done.

  Dastan glanced around, measuring his options.

  A moment later, the other boy pulled himself up, panting, and collapsed atop the roof. There were several new scrapes and scratches on his arms, legs, and chin.