The Vine

By G. Wulfing

On a blazing starlit night in the desert, the stable-boy Afif cannot sleep. Neither can the sultan’s youngest son, gentle and cultured Prince Zayn. On this unearthly, magical night, the prince and the stable-boy meet properly for the first time, as they ride their treasured horses through the dunes; but if they ever wish to converse again it must be in secret, for the sultan deems it inappropriate for a prince to be friends with a stable-boy. The prince is determined not to be denied his new friend, and a great vine becomes the means by which the two surreptitiously meet. They find, through each other, that the world is more beautiful than either had imagined.
An old-fashioned short story in the tradition of Oscar Wilde’s fairytales, set in the palace and stables of a fantasy Middle-Eastern realm.

• Language: English
• Publisher: G. Wulfing
• Release date: Apr 14, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311304896

G. Wulfing

G. Wulfing, author of kidult fantasy and other bits of magic, is a freak. They have been obsessed with reading since they learned how to do it, and obsessed with writing since they discovered the fantasy genre a few years later. G. Wulfing has no gender, and is of varying age. G. Wulfing lives amidst the beautiful scenery of New Zealand, prefers animals to people, and requires solitude, books, music, chocolate, and masala chai lattes in order to remain functional.

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The Vine

Published by G. Wulfing at Smashwords

Copyright 2016 G. Wulfing

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Table of contents:

The Vine

About G. Wulfing

THE VINE

The vine had grown so long against the side of the palace that it had virtually become part of the palace wall. Its tendrils and branches had dug into any little opening or crack they could find, years ago outgrowing the big trellis that had originally supported it and was now lost, completely overgrown and probably broken under the weight of its denizen’s foliage. At its base, the vine’s stem had become a thick, twisting gnarl, so thick that it was like a tree’s trunk, lodged in the ground, about as high as two stacked footstools, where the vine had bent over under its own weight before growing upwards again.

The top of this woody bend was half disguised by leaves; a fact for which Afif was always grateful, as it meant that any scuffing that might be left by his boots as he stood on the top of it would be hidden by the leaves. The trunklike beginning of the vine was always the best place from which to start his climb.

Afif was almost sure that he never climbed the vine the same way twice: there were so many branches, so many potential handholds and footholds, that even if he climbed the vine a thousand times he would probably never need to use the same set more than once.

He was very familiar with the parts of the vine that lay below a certain windowsill, however.

~*~*~*~

It was a stunning night.

The air had cooled from the heat of the day, but was still warm enough to be comfortable. The stars were blazing so brightly that it seemed as though on most other nights they were half asleep. They seemed to focus on earth, beaming down on the desert sands as if to imbue the grains with their silver.

Afif could not sleep. Even inside the tent he could sense the stars.

He pulled on his soft leather boots and slipped out of the stable-boys’ tent. The stars greeted him with a silent shout: Why were you waiting in there? Come out and see us!

Afif gazed up at them, almost breathless at their magnificence. No one knew why the stars existed; perhaps it was to guide travellers; perhaps it was because they were the sands of the desert that was the sky, or the jewels flung into the sky by God Himself because they were too perfect for mortals to possess, or the souls of people who lived noble lives, as the legends said. Or perhaps something so beautiful as the night sky did not need a reason to justify its existence.

Afif wandered a few steps away from his tent, not thinking about where to go, just wishing to be closer to those stars. Around him, the other tents of the greeting party were as silent as the night sky. Even snorers must be quiet on such a night, if the stars wanted the night for themselves.

To his right, in the centre of the encampment, the great white tent of the sultan and his family lay, its silken banners barely shifting in the tiny, cool breeze. Afif avoided it: there would be guards awake inside who were habitually suspicious of people wandering around at night.

Afif glided through the shadows thrown by the other tents. The sultan’s tent was surrounded by the tents of cooks, grooms, guards, footmen and all the other servants required by a party of royals when they travelled South to meet a fellow sovereign. The shadows were black and defined, almost as sharp as the shadows cast by the moon when she was full. Tonight the stars had the sky to themselves, and they were trumpeting their glory.

Around the circle of tents were arrayed the animals: camels and horses, who would sound the alarm first if bandits appeared. Afif was automatically making his way to the place where he knew his horse was tied.

Suddenly he sensed someone moving toward him. In the shadow of one of the cooking tents, Afif froze, hoping he was invisible. It was not a crime to be walking around the camp at night, and he could always say that he needed to use the latrines, but it would be better not to be discovered at all.

The figure had also frozen. It appeared to be approaching from the opposite direction, and through the intervening shadows and ropes of the tents Afif could see that it seemed to be dressed in white. Perhaps it was someone who genuinely needed to use the latrines. They lay, however, if Afif