The Lion and the Red Jewel

I’ve been writing short, folkloric-feeling or fairy-tale-ish stories for a book I’m working on. The stories are Arab-inspired, people-centered, and hopefully, tell their own tale, even within the context of the larger story.

This one is called The Lion and the Red Jewel and features a lion who isn’t what he seems to be.

There was a lion who lived in the desert who ate a jewel. It was as large as its head, as red as a burning sun, and hard as the mountain stone. 

This lion ate the jewel, breaking it into pieces with its strong jaws, cracking through with its powerful teeth. And when the jewel lay in pieces in the sand, the lion swallowed each piece whole, feeling its weight settle in his stomach.

A hunter watched the lion, and knew the wealth it carried in its belly. This hunter was a greedy hunter, and he was fearless.

He stalked the lion for days, waiting for the right moment to bring it down and gut it open. The day came when the lion settled in for a nap in the shade of a palm tree, near a desert oasis. The oasis wasn’t much, just a shallow dip in the sand that filled with the odd rain that showered the desert.

The lion wasn’t stupid, though, and knew the hunter was following him. He kept one eye open just enough that he could see the hunter stalking towards him. The hunter came from behind, but the lion was so positioned that he could watch the hunter’s reflection in the pond.

Just when the hunter raised his arrow to shoot the lion in the back, the lion roared and bellowed and swiped the hunter with its sharp claws. 

The hunter’s belly was shredded into ribbons, and blood poured out of him. The hunter curled up tight in the sand like a child in its mother’s womb. As the blood dried on his body in the sharp desert heart, it hardened over his skin, and the man became a jewel as large as the lion’s head and as bright as a burning sun. The lion swiped at the jewel and gnawed on it, breaking it into pieces. The lion then swallowed each piece, and when he was done, he went to the pond and lapped at the water. With his belly full, he settled in for a proper nap under the palm tree he so loved. 

Tell me in the comments what you think!

Copyright (C) 2020 by Rania Hanna

A jinn stole your wife. What would you do?

I’ve been writing short, folkloric-feeling or fairy-tale-ish stories for a book I’m working on. The stories are Arab-inspired, people-centered, and hopefully, tell their own tale, even within the context of the larger story.

This one is called Breekh and features a wife stolen by a jinn from right under her husband’s nose.

Tell me in the comments what you think!

BREEKH

There was a man and a woman, married for years who were wise to believe in the evil eye. They knew spirits that were made of smoke, not flesh, roamed the earth, looking for ways to cause mischief. 

The man’s name was Pot, and the woman’s name was Kettle. They both wore small blue beads on their clothes to protect them from the evil eye, which was the magic of the spirits, but could be cast by unwitting humans with ill, or at least, unkind, intention.

One day, the man grew tired of his wife’s talking, and wished her to stay silent. The woman was hurt her husband did not want to listen to her, and felt lonely as she drew water from their deep well. 

A jinn by the name of Breekh was passing by the well, invisible to the human eye. 

After a while of silence, the woman continued her story, trying to get her husband’s attention. But the husband, who wanted nothing but silence, cursed out at his wife, “Ya nan al Breekh!” he said, “Damn you, Breekh!” And in that moment, the man cast the evil eye on his wife without knowing it. Breekh, the jinn, heard this, and thus he was summoned.


The man did not know why he called out Breekh instead of his wife’s name, but he ignored the thought and sat brooding on why he married this woman in the first place. 

“It was her beauty,” he thought, “Her beautiful mouth blinded me to the tongue inside it. If I had known I would know no silence, I’d have never married her. What I wouldn’t do for silence.” 

What the man and woman didn’t know, though, was that in the jinn language, Breekh meant Kettle. 

The jinn stole the wife away from the man, forcing her into a world made of fire and smoke and ash. A world where the earth erupted in plumes of flames, and spewed molten rock on the cities below the fiery mountain. 

The jinn locked the woman in the belly of the mountain, leaving her to sweat and her body to shrivel in the heat. 

The man cursed himself for his foolishness, and he called upon the old sheikhs, who drew on their powers against the evil eye. And though the woman noticed the blue bead she wore glowing, the spell would not break. Breekh held her captive for years, until Kettle became the molten earth itself. She became the fiery mountain, and that is why the great mountain in the distance is called the Kettle of Fire. 

The man lived his days in solitude, but it was not a peaceful one. He was lonely, and missed the sound of his wife’s voice. He cursed himself until his dying breath for giving up the one person who loved him enough to want to talk to him. 

Copyright (C) 2020 by Rania Hanna

The King with one Daughter

I’ve been writing short, folkloric-feeling or fairy-tale-ish stories for a book I’m working on. The stories are Arab-inspired, people-centered, and hopefully, tell their own tale, even within the context of the larger story.

This one is called The King with One Daughter and features a king who loses his only child despite his best efforts.

A powerful king had one daughter. His wife’s birth of their daughter was hard on her slight body, and after giving birth she found she could never conceive again. But the king was wise enough to know that a daughter was the same as a son and could rule just as well as any man. So he trained his daughter to rule, for when he and the queen died, she would take their place. 

But the king loved his daughter with his every breath, with his soul, his heart, his blood. And he kept her locked in her room, wanting for nothing of the world’s riches. Guards posted at her door each hour of every day and every night, to keep the girl safe. 

No one was allowed in or out of the room without being searched. The room was the highest in the castle, with walls that could not be scales, for they were covered in magical thorned ivy that no man or being could get through. 

But there was a hole in the wall, in the corner of the girl’s room, a thin one only a snake could get through. And one day, a snake slithered in through the hole and up the girl’s bed as she slept. 

Its fang dripped with poison, and as the girl shifted in her sleep and hit the snake with her arm by accident, the snake grew angry. It bit her, and poison coursed through her veins all through the night as the rest of the castle, save her guards, slept. 

When the king and queen awoke, and summoned their day to the morning meal, her maidservants found her blue and cold in her bed. 

The king cursed himself for being so foolish. For in trying to keep his child safe from the world, he failed to keep her safe in his own home. 

Tell me in the comments what you think!

Copyright (C) 2020 by Rania Hanna