The Second Tale of the Moon of Saba
Yes, I do apologize, dear reader, though in my defense, would you not share the disappointment about to befall Amina if I
told you the magical, legendary gem of beauty and power she had left her family and crossed a sea to hunt was little more
than a glorified bucket? That is no way to begin a story.
You will remember where last I left you in the grand romance of the queen Bilqis and her lunar admirer, the manzil al-Dabaran.
For it is true al-Dabaran longed for her, aching to spend more than a fortnight a year in her presence (we shall return later
to his affection, which may have not been... entirely returned). He did wish to gift her an, ah, “manifestation” of himself. So he waited until the moon was at its peak in his
house and his power at its highest. Then when Bilqis went to tend to her ablutions, al-Dabaran blessed the basin with his
reflection. The moon filled it completely in its silver loveliness, the water trembling like quickened loins. It is related
that the basin was incomparably lovely, carved with hoopoe birds and flowering jasmine. A perfect sphere to hold the reflection
of a silvery round moon.
It would have resembled a pearl, which I’ll admit is a far better object for lore than a washbasin. Perhaps another storyteller long ago decided
this was best, just as I briefly held back the truth from you. Or maybe it was an honest mistranslation. We will likely never
know.
Either way the scene ends the same: with Queen Bilqis of Saba.
One of the most powerful women of antiquity.
The chosen companion of the prophet who subdued the djinn.
A queen who bound troublesome demons, flew upon the winds, and constructed great masterpieces of castles and forts, holding in her hands a manifestation of al-Dabaran.
The soul of the manzil of discord trapped—no, forgive me again, we have not gotten to that part yet.
Why should she wish to trap him!— nestled most voluntarily in an object that could be easily carried. Traded. Gifted.
Stolen. An awful possibility, no? For Bilqis may have been wise and generous, but let us be honest... The vast majority
of mortals who seek power do so for far more craven reasons. Generals who order a besieged population starved and their wells
poisoned, kings who command the sack of distant cities—the slaughter of tens of thousands—because a petty chieftain has displeased
them. By God, the destruction such people might wreak with even a taste of the powers al-Dabaran was rumored to possess makes
hearts quake.
Would there be anyone to stop them? Anyone with the knowledge of how to undo an enchantment or hide such a magical object
away from the most prying of eyes? Such a feat would seem to require sorcery itself, something we have started to shy away
from in our good and righteous age. Thank God, then, that there were once such guardians, a family skilled in the disposal
of dangerous talismans.
But alas, I get ahead of myself yet again.