Free Princess of Dhagabad, The by Anna Kashina Page A

whispers.
    “It is one of the ways to see the essence of
the stone, princess,” Hasan says softly.

    One of your first lessons in magic was to see
the essence of the stone. Only you had to do it all by yourself,
without the help of a mighty wizard, ready to share a part of his
vision with you, as you shared your vision with the princess. You
vaguely recall those times when you, a youth barely older than she
is now, studied the basics of magic with your first teacher, not
knowing even of such simple things as overcoming time.
    You can barely remember the name of your
teacher, who, even during the times of your mortality, was already
a venerable old man, and who died, never learning the secret of
becoming immortal—before you lived your first century in this
world. You need several seconds to recall that name you uttered
once with such respect—Haannan. And the sound of this name rings in
your mind, bringing you back into his large airy room in a house
that was only a small distance from your Dimeshqian home.
    The sage Haannan is trying to teach you
concentration, but you, young and careless, are having trouble with
the lesson.
    “ Hasan,” patiently speaks the sage sitting
on the pillows across from you. “The first step of learning magic
is being able to concentrate. You cannot possibly succeed in doing
the simplest task without concentrating on it.”
    You sigh, looking at a pile of smooth pebbles
lying in front of you on the floor.
    “ Focus on these stones, Hasan,” the
teacher says. “Forget everything that is going on around you
now.”
    For some time you try your best to fix your
eyes on the stones. A shadow of a palm leaf, which swings outside
in the blasts of the hot midday wind, runs over the floor next to
you; and, almost against your will, your gaze moves to follow.
    “ Look at me, Hasan,” the teacher says
suddenly.
    His tone is different now. You raise your
head and see merry sparkles dancing in his tranquil blue eyes.
    “ Forget the seriousness of the task,
Hasan,” he says. “Let’s play a game. Let’s pretend that you can see
the inner glow of these stones.”
    “ The inner glow, teacher?”
    “ I am telling you that every one of these
stones is shining with its own inner light. Let’s see if you can
name the colors of these lights.”
    “ But how?”
    “ You are too tense, Hasan. Concentration
has nothing to do with tension. Try to relax.”
    You lower your eyes again to stare at the
accursed pile of stones that in spite of all your effort still
remains for you just a handful of plain river pebbles.
    “ Don’t pay any attention to their shape,
Hasan. Try to focus on the essence of the stones, and not on their
looks.”
    You feel a wave of fatigue sweeping over you.
You don’t care anymore whether you will ever be able to see the
inner glow of the stones or lift them with your gaze, which was the
initial purpose of today’s lesson. You are not looking at the
stones now, letting your tired eyes stare through them to follow
the white lines woven in the carpet, guessing the shapes of those
lines in the place concealed by the gray pile of pebbles. But you
cannot see clearly anymore. All the shapes are diffusing before
your unfocused gaze. You don’t see anything defined in its outline.
All you see is a dark mass that was a pile of stones just a moment
ago, the dim and unclear shapes of the white ornaments on the old
worn carpet, a fuzzy, many-colored spot that shimmers with
different shades of the seven spectral colors…a colored spot?
    You jump to your feet, forgetting your
tiredness.
    “ I saw the colors!” You feel so
overwhelmed you can barely breathe. “Many colors! Every stone has
its own color!”
    The teacher laughs at your excitement.
    “ Very good, Hasan” he says. “You were able
to concentrate and see the essence of the stone. Now, sit
down.”
    Still trembling, you settle back into your
place.
    “ Now you should find no difficulty in
moving, even lifting, one of these