Author's Note: For my English class, I had to write a short story in a kind of Fairy Tale/ Fantasy/ Fable way, and I decided to try combining a little bit of all of them. It actually turned out pretty well, and now I've decided to let the world know about it! Now, if only I could find a publisher...

Red Stones

Long ago, during the years of the sultans and Arabian Nights, there was once a young girl, about seventeen years in age named Alya Al Makram. She lived in a beautiful home in Arabia, the daughter of a wealthy merchant named Sakhr. She should have been happy, living her wonderfully perfect life with her handsome, witty father and her beautiful, wise mother named Zahrah. Even her brother, Shadi, wasn't that bad for an older brother. She even had a tiger named Farid to play with, which was especially loyal and loving for a tiger. But, even with all of these things, she was not content. She hated the restrictions of being born into wealth, the necessities of being a girl born with the burden of responsibility. She hated having to be proper and servile and so very suffocated by the life she had to live. She wished to get away, and one night, she expressed this feeling to her parents.

"Mama, Papa, would it be possible for me to go outside in the marketplace tomorrow? It would be excellent for my own personal education in social skills, and it will expose me to many different environments, helping me learn more and increase my knowledge of the people." Alya was reaching for straws, but she wanted to go to the bazaar so badly.

"Alya, if you were ready, we would have let you go today. Tomorrow, you have to join us for the midday meal with the sultan and his son," said Zahrah. "Maybe some other day, my dear."

For all her seventeen years, she couldn't help but be disappointed and rather annoyed, and let it show. "But, Mama, is it not possible for me to skip the midday meal? You know I do not agree with the sultan's son about anything at all, and the only thing that would result from the meeting would be an even larger rift between us, which may turn into much bitterness, affecting father's business."

"My daughter," Sakhr responded, "we are willing to take the risk. We know you will make us proud tomorrow. Simply do not let your heels even accidentally face his body...twice is quite enough times to offend anyone, but three times, my , he still seems to find interesting you." And quite rightly, too. Her comely body and raven black hair were the envy of many in the country. Her coal black eyes added character to her beautiful face; the pride of her family, she had been called.

She could feel the anger rising inside of her. "But Papa, I have been waiting for so long to go out into the marketplace. Would it be possible for me to go out some time this week?"

"Alya," Zahrah said, "we have had this talk for the past ten years. You will not leave this house for the marketplace until you are nineteen years old. Is that understood, or must I say it again more slowly?"

"There is no need to talk, Mother; you have said enough. You have said enough every time you have told me I cannot go out to the bazaar. I simply do not understand why I cannot go out. I am seventeen, able to defend myself and take care of myself."

"But you are not mature enough to make the right decisions yet, to keep your head when you are under stress, or to defend yourself against a man's ways."

Sakhr walked over to his wife and put his hand on her arm, then went over to his daughter and held her hand. "My Alya, you must understand that we only do this to protect you, and it is out of our love for you that we do this. We love you, Alya, and we want you to have the best in life."

Alya responded, "Maybe, Sakhr, it would be best for my life to experience these things now instead of later, that I may know the world's evils before it is too late for me to get out of them."

Her mother spoke. "Alya Al Makram, you will not speak to either your father or me in that tone of voice again. Please apologize to your father, and go to your room." Her eyes were boring into her daughter's, making sure she understood.

"Yes, Mother," she said obediently. "I am sorry, Father. Excuse me." She left the room quickly, her steps echoing at a rapid pace on the marble floors of the house.

She walked up the marble stairs to her room, shutting the many curtains behind her. She sat on her bed, letting the tears fall. She wanted to get out of the house, leave this place forever, her family left behind in her wake.

Farid curled up next to her, his warmth comforting. "Thank you, Farid. At least you understand me." She scratched his ears, and he purred loudly. "I'm tired of waiting, Farid. I'm tired of waiting and following rules and being the ever 'obedient daughter'." She stood up from the bed. "Farid, we're going out tonight. Come." She gathered a few necessities, put on a bracelet, earrings, and her favorite necklace, and made a rope out of her bed sheets. She strung them out the window, tying them to the legs of her bed.

She turned to Farid. "Now, go downstairs and out the door through the garden, where I will meet you. Do you understand?" He nodded slightly, his gold and ruby collar shining in the light. "Good boy." She slid out the window and into the night, the rope reaching the ground.

She walked into the garden, Farid waiting for her. "Good Farid. Now, we're going to the baz." She was unable to finish her sentence, for she had heard voices nearby. It sounded like the sounds of the guards around the house. "Time to run, Farid!"

She fled into the night, her tiger bounding beside her, unwilling to go too far before her. She could hear the sounds of the guards beginning to call the alarm, the sound of their footsteps behind her, pounding as she ran, her heart beginning to pump to the beat of footsteps.

She ran for a long time, through different streets and between different houses, Farid leading the way. She trusted his instinct; he had gotten her out of many problems before, and she was certain he could now.

They stopped running in an abandoned alley, unable to hear the footsteps any more. She panted from the run, her heart pounding and her spirits exhilarated. She was getting the excitement she had wanted for so long, and she was delirious with her happiness.

At least, she thought she was delirious when Farid spoke to her.

"Alya, I need to talk to you." She stared down at her tiger, wondering if she was hearing things, or if the thrill of the moment was making her hear things. "No, you are not hearing things, Alya, and you are not delirious. Please, calm down so I may talk to you." His voice was commanding, but gentle, with a little bit of gruffness and a rumble to it, having a calming effect on her heart.

She took a few deep breaths, and he continued. "Alya, remember when you were given that necklace you have on? You got it when I first came, and I came with this collar. These two items are essential in what I am trying to tell you.

"Alya, you have been given a chance to change your life, if you wish to. With the stone around your neck, you can travel to another place and live life there as a normal person, living not in a rich house but in a normal house made out of mud and straw. You will not be Alya bint Sakhr Al Makram, but Alya bint Hatim Al Harith.* If you decide to do this, you will live there for two months. If the life agrees with you, then you may live there the rest of your life. If not, you may come back to this world and live." He looked her in the eyes. "Alya, are you willing to do this?"

She stared into his emerald and black eyes for a few minutes, letting the information sink into her head. She would be able to live another life. She could go out into the bazaar whenever she wanted to. She could have freedom.

The answer was obvious. "Yes, Farid, I do want to. But how can I? And what do the stones have to do with it?"

He almost smiled in a cat-like way. "Take the stone on your necklace and press it to your right eye. Once it touches your right eye, you will be taken to your new life. I will accompany you, but you will not see me until the two months are over." Right before she let the stone touch her eye, he said, "And Alya, remember that few things are as wonderful as they first seem to be. Do not set your expectations too high."

And with that last comment ringing in her ears, they were gone.

**********

She sat, stunned from the bright light. She could feel the hard bedding beneath her, the coarse sheet on top of her. She fingered the place where her bangle should have been; she frantically reached up to her necklace, but felt that it was in place, only now it was tied onto a leather strap instead of a solid gold chain.

She sat up in bed, soaking in the warmth of the sun streaking across her face. She soaked in the atmosphere of the room, the unfamiliar smell of fresh air and cooking spices warming her innermost parts.

"Alya! Alya! Wake up and get the breakfast made!" The sounds of the high- pitched male voice reached her ears, ruining the moment. She got out of bed, leaving the covers awry and letting herself into the next room, a small kitchen/family/dining room, a large man sitting at the table, his brown eyes, oily black hair, and large girth the only things about him worth mentioning.

She walked up to him and said, "Who are you?"

He stared right back at her, a puzzled and annoyed look on his face. "Who am I? Who am I? Why, I'm the man that's been clothing, feeding, and sheltering you the past seventeen years of your life! I'm called your father." He looked at her blank expression. "Need I repeat myself? I. Am. Your. Father." He shook his head. She would just never be the girl he had always wanted: one with a brain.

She walked over towards the fire pit outside the door. She had learned a little about cooking from some of the cooks she had cajoled into teaching her a few different things, but she only knew how to make special delicacies with creams and spices, fresh fish and delicate pig and duck, not any of this, with flour and salt and sugar and this yellow powdery stuff she couldn't figure out what was.

Just as she was about to pour all of the sugar onto a frying pan, a woman walked in, tall and spindly, the total opposite of the man at the table. The woman grabbed Alya's arm and twisted it painfully. "Girl, don't you know how to cook anything yet? You are a disgrace to this family! Go inside and wait for me there." She was shoved into the house, her new father sitting at the table with his eyes alight.

"I see you have made yet another mistake, my dear Alya. I suggest you stay out of your mother's way the rest of the day, or else." He smiled maliciously. "Don't want that pretty little figure or that beautiful hair of yours ruined, now would we?" She didn't like this life at all. She was beginning to wish for her real home when her mother came in.

"Hatim, can you believe this girl? She can't remember how to cook food from one day to the next! What are we to do with her? She can do nothing in the house! Why don't we have her work, like I said before?" She talked as if Alya wasn't in the city, let alone in the same room.

"Jawahir, you cannot do that! She is too delicate for any work like that. You know she is too delicate for anything we put her up to except house work."

"Shut your mouth, Hatim, and listen to reason! I'm the only one in this house that can work around here, but I'm also the only one that can do house work. It is either you go to work, or she does."

He paused at this, thinking, his eyes shifting from his wife to his daughter. A few moments later, he spoke. "All right then, Jawahir; it is as you wish it. But if she died from the effort, I am not to be blamed."

Her mother smiled. "Oh, do not worry, Hatim; she will be just fine." With that, she grabbed Alya's hand and walked out of the house, Hatim, chuckling at the table. **********

"Do you understand, Alya? You are to take the rocks and put them in the basket, then take the basket and pour the rocks over there." Jawahir was giving her daughter instructions on how to work in the quarries. It was the fourth place Jawahir went to, and it was the only place that had accepted Alya and paid something.

Alya nodded in understanding, numb with shock and disbelief. She must be dreaming. This couldn't be happening. There must be some mistake...

A basket was shoved into her hands. She turned to say goodbye to her mother, but Jawahir had already left.

She began to fill rocks into her basket, knowing she really couldn't do much else. She hadn't been able to think, able to say anything. She felt like a pack mule, jostled and taken to wherever it would make some profit.

She went through the day like this, picking up rocks and dumping them into the sand once again in a different place. By the time the midday meal was being served, she was exhausted and famished. She had never worked that hard in her entire life.

She couldn't remember the way home, so she wandered through the marketplace, enjoying herself for the first time since she had come here. She soaked in the sights and sounds of the place, the smells of the place intoxicating to her naïve young mind.

She found herself somewhere in the middle of the bazaar, the colors of everyone's outfits dizzying her mind. She watched the people go by.

A few feet away, a man began to play a lyre. She walked over and watched him play, the music soaking up her interest entirely. The beat was so lively that she began to dance to it, her body swaying gracefully to the music.

She did not know how long she danced, but before long, she found herself being pulled away from the music by rough hands. She recognized the face of the man as one of the guards at the quarry. She groaned inwardly to herself, wondering if she would lose her first job to dancing.

But, before she could be taken too far, the man who had played the lyre shoved some coins into her hands; he said they were her payment for her dancing. Little did she know that money began to pour down on the lyre- player when she had begun to dance.

She worked in the quarry the rest of the day, the money secreted in her confining dress. She came to her new home weary but satisfied at a day's work accomplished. She rarely felt so content in her life.

She did this every day, going to the quarry, and then dancing in the bazaar. Her parents soon found out and demanded that she give them the money, but she saved a few smaller coins for herself in her clothing at all times.

A few weeks later, as she was finishing her dance, a man walked up to her. He was powerfully built with a wide scar to the left of his left eyes. He smiled at her, and then began to speak, his voice very smooth. "I have been watching you ever since you first came to this street corner. I was wondering, how much do you make?"

She had learned to become wary as to who asked these questions and how to answer them. "I make as much as the people are willing to give, sir," she answered coolly. One thing she hadn't lost from her old life was her ability to speak well.

He chuckled. "Oh, come now, you must make more than that. Probably four times as much as you make at the quarry." He smiled at her. "Am I right?"

She nodded her head slowly, not sure what to do. He was being very nice to her, which she wasn't used to. She wondered at his motives. "Why do you ask, sir?"

"First, please do not call me sir. My name is Qusay ibn Ghayth Al Fahd. And you are...?"

"Alya bint Hatim Al Harith." She was curt and to the point, a little nervous. A man had never smiled at her like that before.

"Alya; beautiful name, Alya is. It means 'lofty' or sublime,' you know." He smiled, showing his razor sharp, perfectly straight, white teeth. "I would like to offer you a business proposition, Alya. I can make you rich, you know, with your dancing." His voice became soothing and very convincing. "Do not waste your talent here on the streets. Many would pay to watch you dance, and they would not be cheap payers, either. You would get thirty times how much you make at the quarry, maybe even forty or fifty."

She hesitated, knowing her parents would like it, and she would too. A little more money would be wonderful right then... "Would you please come to my house, that I may consult with my parents with you?" She blushed immediately as she said it. It was much to straightforward for any female to say such things. It was a good thing the veil hid her face from everyone else's prying eyes.

He smiled, sensing her embarrassment. "Please excuse my own manners, Alya; I should have come to your house and not have confronted you here; you must have your parents' consent." He had a dazzling smile, she had to give him that.

They walked to her house on the outskirts of the town and walked inside, with no need to knock because there was no door, and her parents would not have cared in the first place.

"Mother? Father? There is someone who would like to make a business proposition with us..." She walked into one of the inner rooms, motioning Qusay to follow. "If you would just sit down and wait? This won't take a moment." She swept into the other room, seeing her parents inside, her mother sitting on her father's lap. "Mother, Father, a man is here to ask about me getting a job as a dancer."

They immediately sprang up. Or, at least, the mother did. The father couldn't spring up any more, considering his wide girth getting wider by the week. "Alya," said Hatim, "who is he, and why is he asking you?"

"His name is Qusay ibn Ghayth Al Fahd. He saw me at the bazaar and said I could work for him and make a lot of money." When they heard the man's name, both gasped in surprised. Qusay Al Fahd was a prominent man of business, known throughout the country and recognized as one of the most respected men in the city, if not the whole country.

The immediately followed Alya into the room, and the business deal was signed within ten minutes. Alya was to begin work that day as a premier dancer of Qusay's, and she was to begin at the top.

She did her dancing, everyone got their share, and then Alya's share was taken from her and given to her parents, who were now living in the lap of luxury, having moved to the center of town and buying slaves to serve them in their house.

**********

"You are to dance tonight at the house of Sakhr Al Makram, the richest man in the city." Qusay was filling Alya in as to where she was dancing and what kind of performance she should make. Just hearing the name of the house made her heart beat faster. "Dance first with cold indifference, measured steps and pent up emotion. Then, later on in the dance, let your emotions out. Let your passionate fire rage!" He swept her up into his arms, or at least attempted to as she stepped out of his way. "And remember to be very polite to everyone there, even if they are swine."

If he had been paying attention, he would have noticed her agitated and far off attitude. She was thinking about what exactly she would do when she was there, how she would act. She wondered if they would be the same and live the same way. She wondered if they remembered her at all.

**********

She could feel her hands beginning to sweat. She was nervous; this would be her first chance to see her parents in this new world, and she was worried more than any other time in her life.

She walked out and began to dance, remotely remembering Qusay's words about keeping it calm and cool at the beginning. Now, as she danced, she could catch glimpses of the people there. She looked around the room; she spotted her brother, or whom she thought was her brother, sitting at a couch surrounded by women. She could tell he was drunk beyond belief. This couldn't be her brother. Oh, no; he would never have done something like that before.

She looked around at the other end of the room. A woman stood there, her face pinched and wan. Her eyes were not alive any more; there was no spark to them. This couldn't be her mother, could it? It seemed impossible, but it seemed real; it was so real that she wanted to run right then and there. She couldn't though; she was bound to her job and her money earning.

She kept dancing, trying to keep it slow, but she couldn't find her father anywhere. Maybe he hadn't come. She was happy; she didn't care if it was improper etiquette not to go to one's own party. Maybe he had been sensible enough not to come.

She got the signal from Qusay. She began to dance, letting her movements flow with the music, letting her mind ease off the reins and her body take control.

Minutes later, the dance ended, her breath coming in ragged breaths. Performances like these ones always tired her out, and the extra stress did not help any. She left the room, her head spinning. She would have to speak to them, have to talk to them. She knew she was probably being foolish, but she didn't care. She had to know whether they remembered her or not.

As the party ended, she let herself into the family's private room, the place exactly has she had remembered it, though there were a few extra things, much more gaudy and extravagant than what she had pictured any of her family members buying.

She stood as she waited for someone to come into the room. She remembered that it was always family ritual for everyone to go into the room and say good night. She hoped it still was, or she might be spending the night there.

The woman with the pinched face walked swiftly yet shakily into the room. She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw Alya. "You are the dancer, are you not?" she asked curtly. "What are you doing here?"

Alya bowed, saying, "I simply wished to say that it has been a pleasure to dance at your house, sitt,** and that I enjoyed the experience. May I express my gratitude by dancing for you some more?"

The mother was about to decline when the brother came in. "Shadi, son, would you like the young lady Alya to dance for you once more? She has offered this service as thanks for letting her dance here." A heavy touch of irony was heard in Zahrah's voice.

Shadi, still drunk, said, "Of course, Mother; splendid idea! Mum, go get Yusra; she liked your dancing, lady `Lya," he said, still drunk.

She began to dance as Zahrah left the room. She spoke to Shadi. "Do you enjoy my dancing, Shadi?"

"Yes, yes I do...but how did you know my name, lady Alya?"

"Your mother just said it."

His face filled with surprised. "Oh, you mean Zahrah? Yes, she does call me that for some reason...maybe because it's the name I was born with." She was disgusted by his drunken state, but said nothing about it. "Indeed...yes, yes...do I know you?"

Alya missed a step in her dancing. "Excuse me, Shadi; what did you say?"

His face tried to show exasperation, but it only looked like a pouting child. "I asked you if I know you. You look familiar...I remember!" he said, shouting. "You were at the bazaar, weren't you? You were at the bazaar, and I watched you dance there." Alya's heart sank to her gut. He didn't remember her for anything other than a dancer.

Just then, Zahrah came in, followed by a beautiful young lady, everything about her perfect except the loss of youth in her eyes. Her eyes were hollow of any emotion, almost haunted in appearance.

"Shadi," said Zahrah, "Yusra's here, though why she would want to watch this, I don't have any idea." She left the room in a huff, leaving the two with the dancer.

Shadi spoke. "Come, Yusra; sit down next to your older brother and." Alya heard no more. Yusra was Shadi's younger sister. Yusra was the thing that had changed this family. Yusra had taken her place, and the house had been changed for life.

Alya interrupted the two siblings' conversation with a question: "Where is the master of the house?" She was scared to hear the answer.

"Oh, Sakhr? He died a few years ago," said Yusra, a little drunk. "Good riddance, too; he was such a bore, being an invalid the last years of his life. So depressing and old." She wrinkled her nose, which sent the two into hysterical fits of laughter.

Alya couldn't take the laughter. It was just too much. Tears streaming down her cheeks, she left the house, running away from it as if it were cursed. In a way, it was: a curse of fate had been placed upon it.

She ran out of the house and through the streets, her tears coming freely. She ran through the bazaar, going through different alleys and into different nooks and crannies of the city. She ran until she got to an old abandoned alley, and let herself sink to the floor, her back leaning against the house nearby.

Suddenly, out of the shadows, a figure came slinking her way. She cringed away from it, her emotions and nerves worn and taut from her latest confrontation.

"Alya, don't you remember me?" The voice was so familiar. It felt like it had been years and years ago since she'd heard that voice.

"? Is that you?" She let her voice crack just this once; she did not care any longer. She felt a warm body of fur rub against her leg. "Oh, Farid, why did you let me do this?" She held him tightly and cried into his fur, letting out all of the pain she had held in for two months.

When she began to breath normally again and not in short gasps, he spoke. "Alya, I never wanted you to go through this pain. You were, however, unable to be content with your life. You needed prodding, and this was the way that was given me. I am sorry, Alya, but I do hope you have learned your lesson. Now, are you ready to go home?"

She looked into his emerald and black eyes. She had thought she would see them all too soon, followed by thinking she would never see them again. She hugged him one more time, just to make sure he was really there, and then she let go, saying, "Yes, Farid; I am more than ready. I have been waiting for two months." She smiled weakly at him. "What am I supposed to do?"

If he had been human, he would have been smiling broadly. "All you have to do is take your red stone and place it over your left eye. Once you have touched your left eye with the stone, you will immediately be back home."

She took out the stone from her outfit and held it in her hand. It was a fiery red, still as bright as always. She held it up to her face, and was about to touch it to her eye when Farid said, "Before you touch your face with the stone, could you..." You could almost see the sides of his mouth tipping upwards. He nuzzled his body next to hers one last time before she touched the stone. She noticed that his collar was leather, also, but it held no more red stones. She asked him about it.

"Farid, why are there no more stones on your collar?"

He answered with a wry voice, "A tiger cannot live on free food for two months. Anyway, many more needed the money it gave than I did. It could feed many different people." His voice was beginning to break.

"Farid," she asked tentatively, "you are coming back with me, aren't you?" He did not respond for a little bit. "Farid? You are, aren't you?"

He sighed a little, and then spoke. "Alya, there is no time for me to go back. The time has come to say goodbye, dearest Alya, and I wish you the best at home." He smiled sadly at her, his eyes filling with an unknown love for her.

She bent down for one more hug, tears streaming down her face when Farid shifted into a different position, knocking the stone onto Alya's left eye...

**********

She could tell she was sitting up, her face in her hands. The bed beneath her was soft and wonderfully smooth. The clothing she wore was soft to the touch and dazzling to the eyes. She wore her bangle and her earrings. She was home.

She immediately reached for her throat; the stone was still there, and the leather strap too, which amazed her. She also held in her hand...Farid's collar? Why did she have Farid's collar? Where was Farid?

She stood from the bed, letting a phase of dizziness pass before she searched the then she stopped. She thought of something. The fact hit her like a ton of bricks. Farid would not be here. He was not here, nor could he ever be here again. He was somewhere else, somewhere else, far away.

She smiled sadly at the though of Farid. He had done so much for her, and she had only realized at the very end of his time with her. She was saddened by the thought, but told herself that she would not let Farid's sacrifice go without recompense in her own life. She would live her life and live it for him, that he might not have sacrificed his all for nothing.

She ran off to find her family and tell them she was sorry. She was a new person, and she wanted to whole world to know; she decided that, for the moment, her family would have to do.

*Alya bint Sakhr Al Makram means "Alya, daughter of Sakhr Al Makram" and Alya bint Hatim Al Harith means "Alya, daughter of Hatim Al Harith.

**sitt is Arabic, a title like Mrs., used for women of maturity in age or marriage

Another Author's Note: I hope you enjoyed the little fairy tale/ fantasy/ fable, and that it wasn't really all too gushy or anything. A bit of a bittersweet ending, I know, and I hope you liked it. Please, tell me what I could do better and what I can improve on! Thank you so much for taking the time to read this story (and this Author's Note!), and I hope it wasn't too much of a bore!