ONE HUNDRED AND ONE SALHINID TALES
A collection of stories and parables from the days of the Old Caliphate, taught to her by her tutors and Mu'allims, or otherwise sourced from across the Great Ring, and reproduced as faithfully as she may recall them.
By Seriyah.
A public copy of the
One Hundred and One Salhinid Tales compiled into a single volume is below:
One Hundred and One Salhinid Tales
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Table of Contents - Loose Tales
Sehar
I: The Makhyoon and the King (https://www.efupw.com/forums/index.php?topic=712124.msg767344#msg767344)
II: The Night of Her Sorrows (https://www.efupw.com/forums/index.php?topic=712124.msg767357#msg767357)
III: Parable of the Waterbearer (https://www.efupw.com/forums/index.php?topic=712124.msg767360#msg767360)
IV: al-Fanoos left in Peace (https://www.efupw.com/forums/index.php?topic=712124.msg767378#msg767378)
V: Three Water Circumnavigations (https://www.efupw.com/forums/index.php?topic=712124.msg767433#msg767433)
VI: The Man and the Boat (https://www.efupw.com/forums/index.php?topic=712124.msg767455#msg767455)
VII: A Poisoned Arrow (https://www.efupw.com/forums/index.php?topic=712124.msg767489#msg767489)
VIII: The Caravaneer and His Camel (https://www.efupw.com/forums/index.php?topic=712124.msg767547#msg767547)
IX: Three Blind Giants (https://www.efupw.com/forums/index.php?topic=712124.msg767564#msg767564)
X: The King and the Broken Pot (https://www.efupw.com/forums/index.php?topic=712124.msg767641#msg767641)
Binah
XI: The Parable of the Walls (https://www.efupw.com/forums/index.php?topic=712124.msg767646#msg767646)
XII: The Parable of the Fish (https://www.efupw.com/forums/index.php?topic=712124.msg767667#msg767667)
XIII: The Dragon and the Dog (https://www.efupw.com/forums/index.php?topic=712124.msg767678#msg767678)
XIV: The Adder and the Jerboa (https://www.efupw.com/forums/index.php?topic=712124.msg767697#msg767697)
XV: The Ancient Well (https://www.efupw.com/forums/index.php?topic=712124.msg767698#msg767698)
XVI: The Clay Idol (https://www.efupw.com/forums/index.php?topic=712124.msg767706#msg767706)
XVII: The Bronze Mirror (https://www.efupw.com/forums/index.php?topic=712124.msg767719#msg767719)
XVIII: The Boiling Blade (https://www.efupw.com/forums/index.php?topic=712124.msg767744#msg767744)
XIX: An Adder's Nature (https://www.efupw.com/forums/index.php?topic=712124.msg767776#msg767776)
XX: The King and the Sculptress (https://www.efupw.com/forums/index.php?topic=712124.msg767815#msg767815)
Yesod
XXI: Ibn Tariq's Pipe (https://www.efupw.com/forums/index.php?topic=712124.msg767822#msg767822)
XXII: Kailah Shiwar in Far Murlesk (https://www.efupw.com/forums/index.php?topic=712124.msg767877#msg767877)
XXIII: The Envied and the Envier (https://www.efupw.com/forums/index.php?topic=712124.msg767960#msg767960)
XXIV: ibn Dawud enrages the Ifrit (https://www.efupw.com/forums/index.php?topic=712124.msg767968#msg767968)
XXV: ibn Dawud reaches Bright Darisbis (https://www.efupw.com/forums/index.php?topic=712124.msg768020#msg768020)
XXVI: ibn Dawud's Parable of the Heated Waters (https://www.efupw.com/forums/index.php?topic=712124.msg768083#msg768083)
XXVII: ibn Dawud in Bright Darisbis (https://www.efupw.com/forums/index.php?topic=712124.msg768095#msg768095)
XXVIII: ibn Dawud and the Cardinal Blade (https://www.efupw.com/forums/index.php?topic=712124.msg768122#msg768122)
XXIX: The Poor Man's Dream (https://www.efupw.com/forums/index.php?topic=712124.msg768145#msg768145)
XXX: The King and the Fisherman (https://www.efupw.com/forums/index.php?topic=712124.msg768183#msg768183)
Cheshm
XXXI: The Jar of Butter (https://www.efupw.com/forums/index.php?topic=712124.msg768216#msg768216)
XXXII: Parable of the Parrot's False Storm (https://www.efupw.com/forums/index.php?topic=712124.msg768225#msg768225)
XXXIII: Weaver's First and Last Performance (https://www.efupw.com/forums/index.php?topic=712124.msg768227#msg768227)
XXXIV: The Farmer and the Serpent (https://www.efupw.com/forums/index.php?topic=712124.msg768251#msg768251)
XXXV: The Prodigal Son (https://www.efupw.com/forums/index.php?topic=712124.msg768272#msg768272)
XXXVI: al-Zuraqi's Okapi (https://www.efupw.com/forums/index.php?topic=712124.msg768273#msg768273)
XXXVII: The Emir and the Physician (https://www.efupw.com/forums/index.php?topic=712124.msg768285#msg768285)
XXXVI: The Scholar's Love (https://www.efupw.com/forums/index.php?topic=712124.msg768298#msg768298)
XXXIX: The Better Sword (https://www.efupw.com/forums/index.php?topic=712124.msg768303#msg768303)
XL: The King and the Viscount (https://www.efupw.com/forums/index.php?topic=712124.msg768354#msg768354)
Mazel
XLI: The Immolation (https://www.efupw.com/forums/index.php?topic=712124.msg768358#msg768358)
XLII: The Imambara (https://www.efupw.com/forums/index.php?topic=712124.msg768359#msg768359)
XLIII: Our Warrior, our Prodigal Brother (https://www.efupw.com/forums/index.php?topic=712124.msg768360#msg768360)
XLIV: The Many-Hued Garden (https://www.efupw.com/forums/index.php?topic=712124.msg768366#msg768366)
XLV: The Glimmer Tricks the Crocodiles of the Edutu (https://www.efupw.com/forums/index.php?topic=712124.msg768378#msg768378)
XLVI: Wanderings of Aghil al-Amin (https://www.efupw.com/forums/index.php?topic=712124.msg768383#msg768383)
XLVII: The Pleromic Martyrdom (https://www.efupw.com/forums/index.php?topic=712124.msg768389#msg768389)
XLVIII: The False Lamb (https://www.efupw.com/forums/index.php?topic=712124.msg768400#msg768400)
XLIX: The Mendicant and the Merchant (https://www.efupw.com/forums/index.php?topic=712124.msg768401#msg768401)
L: The King and the Giant (https://www.efupw.com/forums/index.php?topic=712124.msg768452#msg768452)
Saa'at
LI: Marib I and the White Spear (https://www.efupw.com/forums/index.php?topic=712124.msg768453#msg768453)
LI: Osman I parleys with the Doorkeepers (https://www.efupw.com/forums/index.php?topic=712124.msg768454#msg768454)
LIII: The Osmani Canal (https://www.efupw.com/forums/index.php?topic=712124.msg768458#msg768458)
LIV: Alikah Drinks Poison to be Rid of a Vassal (https://www.efupw.com/forums/index.php?topic=712124.msg768459#msg768459)
LV: Marib II's Consternation (https://www.efupw.com/forums/index.php?topic=712124.msg768462#msg768462)
LVI: The Painted Throne (https://www.efupw.com/forums/index.php?topic=712124.msg768467#msg768467)
LVII: Vahd I's Gambit (https://www.efupw.com/forums/index.php?topic=712124.msg768468#msg768468)
LVIII: Feydsiyyar II's Banana Tree (https://www.efupw.com/forums/index.php?topic=712124.msg768469#msg768469)
LIX: Uzpek's Choice (https://www.efupw.com/forums/index.php?topic=712124.msg768474#msg768474)
LX: The Emir and the King (https://www.efupw.com/forums/index.php?topic=712124.msg768486#msg768486)
Stratos
LXI: A Hundred Battles (https://www.efupw.com/forums/index.php?topic=712124.msg768494#msg768494)
LXII: Namahedu's Folly (https://www.efupw.com/forums/index.php?topic=712124.msg768495#msg768495)
LXIII: Burning the Ferries after crossing the Edutu (https://www.efupw.com/forums/index.php?topic=712124.msg768496#msg768496)
LXIV: Luring to the North while Striking in hte South (https://www.efupw.com/forums/index.php?topic=712124.msg768497#msg768497)
LV: As Lips to One's Mouth (https://www.efupw.com/forums/index.php?msg=768498)
LVI: Return of the Waters to Ephia's Well (https://www.efupw.com/forums/index.php?msg=768503)
LVII: The Oasis Beyond the Hill (https://www.efupw.com/forums/index.php?msg=768504)
LVIII: The Bey's Golden Arrows (https://www.efupw.com/forums/index.php?msg=768505)
LVIX: The Ending of the Wicked Years (https://www.efupw.com/forums/index.php?msg=768514)
LVX: The King and the Physician (https://www.efupw.com/forums/index.php?msg=768515)
I
THE MAKHYOON AND THE KING
When the garden was yet young, the King had many laws, great and small.
At that time, there lived a great and learned Makhyoon, one of deep Tutelage. He knew the secret names of creation and held many keys. He had charted the dark paths and walked the long mirrors. He had touched the firmament and knelt at the bedrock.
One day, the Makhyoon saw a young girl break one of the King's great laws. The broken law differs from telling to telling. In some she plucked a stone she did not earn, while in others she told a secret that was not hers to tell. Nothing befell her, and no harm came to her.
Some months later, the Makhyoon saw another young girl, this time breaking one of the King's small laws. Once again did the broken law differ from telling to tell. In one did she blurt the hour of the day to strangers from distant Rings, while in another did she dare to speak of ancient times. Great was the woe that fell upon her, and devoured was she by some fashion of the King's beast.
The Makhyoon's Wroth was terrible. He declared himself in eternal rebellion against the King, and set out to break every law. He was wise and learned, and knew all of the King's laws. He shattered doors and broke paths, he made the stars shed their spears and twisted his form to tear the King's banner. But, greatest of all the laws he broke, the Makhyoon sought to rend his city asunder, and declared that there are two Kings - the king of everything, and the king of nothing at all.
When long and bleak had the years passed by, did one of his students asked him: "All that over a young girl? You engaged in such heinous didactics over the value of a single life's injustice?"
And the Makhyoon replied: "What is the correct value of injustice before you declare yourself in opposition against the power that metes out all justice in our garden?"
II
THE NIGHT OF HER SORROWS
In ancient times, she was betrayed, and our garden was set against itself.
When the war ended, she was to be lost, and there were much lamentations.
On the day he came for her, Phor seized him by his throat. "I know defeat's bitter rue, and I know its terms. You shall take her as is your due, but by Crown and Spear and Cup, the next time we meet I will excise you from our garden forever, and if you dare even a single unnecessary word now I will make it hurt."
He replied, "You cannot harm me. I am a facet of our wheel."
And Phor replied, "I will recarve our wheel without that facet."
Without another word, the other one left with Ephia to the cornerstone of our garden.
III
PARABLE OF THE WATERBEARER
There once lived a wise Serene. She tended to her humble village's limpid pool, and there a thimble of water was as precious as an ounce of silver.
One day, a haggard and bereft man limped into her village. His lips were parched with thirst and his skin was cracked with the heat of Pra'raj. He begged hoarsely for water, and the Serene obliged without any hesitation, nor sought a single dinar.
After he had left, the peoples of the village said: "Oh, merciful Mother, oh, charitable Serene, we are glad and we are heartened, for through you the Mother's mercy flowed."
Some months later, a messenger arrived from a nearby village. Their well had been poisoned by the sting of al-Taniyn, and the messenger begged for aid.
To the Serene, the peoples pleaded: "Oh, merciful Mother, oh charitable Serene, we know them not and far they are, why must we to them send our waters?"
At that, the Serene said: "You may blind yourself to the compromises you make, but the Mother is not blind, and the Edutu does not cease."
Chastised, the village sent ten barrels of water.
IV
AL-FANOOS LEFT IN PEACE
al-Harith ibn Jahara entered the garden with abundant heresies, and went mad.
al-Zuraqi entered the garden with resentment and shameful contempt, and burned fifty trees.
al-Taniyn entered the garden in ignorance, and died in ash.
al-Fanoos entered the garden in peace, and left in peace.
V
THREE WATER CIRCUMNAVIGATIONS
In the earlier days of Waqt Almashaqa there lived a pious Sayyida who sought to bring the Mother's mercy to even the ignorant. She welcomed all within her garden-sanctum, where there resided a limpid font that reflected the sacred wish in the hearts of men.
One day, one of her congregant came before her and said - "Hallowed Sayyida, you have invited heathens and heretics to your tutelage, lent succor to those who are less deserving than I, and spent more of your time on the peoples of distant lands than those of your own tribe. You have even permitted those of the Tablet amongst your flock. You grant them your wisdom, your blessing, and your Knowledge, and I find myself filled with bitter resentment and envy. I cannot stay, lest it poisons my soul, and ask for your leave to go."
The pious Sayyida said in reply - "I would bade you do this first. Bear this cup of the Mother's waters, and walk three rounds around my garden-sanctum. If you spill not a drop, you may leave in peace."
Her congregant agreed, and did so.
Carefully the congregant circumnavigated the Sayyida's garden-sanctum thrice, and when she returned, not a drop was spilled.
"When you were bearing the Mother's waters, were you thinking of the heathens and the heretics?"
"I was not, Sayyida."
"Were you thinking of who was more deserving, be it you or anyone else?"
"I was not, Sayyida."
"Did you dwell on how there were those amongst your brothers and sisters who hailed from distant lands?"
"I did not, Sayyida."
"You were focused on the Mother, and on the mercies of Her sacred waters, and so you did not stumble. Your mind was not turned to the fortunes or misfortunes of others. In so doing, you unfetter yourself from resentment and envy, and all of Her blessings are yours."
The Waqt Almashaqa was yet as cynical as it is now. The Sayyida lived long and joyously, but her garden-sanctum did not outlive her.
VI
THE MAN AND THE BOAT
It was a mist-shrouded day, and a man was rowing down the Edutu when he glimpsed another boat coming towards him.
Frantic, the man began to shout warnings for the boat to turn away, calling Wisdom upon it!
The boat continued to come closer.
Panicking, the man began to scream curses and invectives at the boat, calling Wroth upon it!
The boat continued to come closer.
Terrified, the man began to wail and plead for help, calling upon the Mother's mercy!
The boat continued to come closer.
And finally, the two boats collided.
The other boat was empty, there was no one in it.
The man was himself uninjured, if rattled when the empty boat struck. He soon continued on his way, and the Edutu continued to flow.
VII
A POISONED ARROW
A man travelling with a caravan across the Great Ash Desert when he was struck by a poisoned arrow.
Amidst cries of alarm and shock around him, many rushed to help him remove it.
Before allowing anyone to remove it, the man asked -
""Tell me, by the Wroth! Whence this arrow flew? Who lurks unseen and would strike me so?"
Hurriedly, those around him scoured the vicinity, but whatever wretched brigand fired the shot had fled into the dunes.
"Tell me, by the Warrior! What fletching, what craft lies on this shaft?"
Those around him examined the arrow, and told him that it was of bronze and silver.
"Tell me, by the Mother! Does venom lace this wretched arrow?"
Those around him examined the wound, and from its necrotic bile they told him that it was poisoned.
"Tell me, by the Martyrs! What manner of poison steals my life? Speak, so that I might know!"
Those around the man examined the arrow's tip, and tested a drop of glinting death. They told him of the manner of poison.
Yet ere he could ask a fifth question, the man was dead.
VIII
THE CARAVANEER & HIS CAMEL
Once, there lived a respected caravaneer who lived in Bright Darisbis.
Blessed by the Wanderer, the caravaneer had endured the heat of Pra'raj across many leagues and many years in ferrying peoples and cargo alike from the gleaming jewel of the Caliphate.
He had a son, and a prized camel.
One day, the caravaneer's prized camel went missing.
Around him, people lamented - "Oh, what misfortune, that your camel has went missing!"
In reply, he but said - "We shall see."
The next day, the caravaneer's prized camel returned, now bringing with it three other wild camels.
Around him, people exclaimed - "Oh, what fortune! That your camel has returned, with a bounty of camels!"
In reply, he but said - "We shall see."
A month later, the caravan was set upon by brigands, and though they were driven off, the wild camels panicked and broke the caravaneer's son's leg in their frenzied flight.
Around him, people lamented - "Oh, what misfortune! That the wild camels had injured your son!"
In reply, he but said - "We shall see."
Another month went past, and the Caliph rallied the Janissaries against the Clan, and met them at Shahrapilikan's Pate. Injured as the caravaneer's son was, the caravaneer's son was spared the muster, and spared his place as a name on a butcher's bill.
Around him, people exclaimed - "Oh, what fortune! That your son's broken leg spared him from battle!"
In reply, he but said - "We shall see."
Long lived was the caravaneer, across triumphs and disasters, until Bright Darisbis' scourge.
IX
THREE BLIND GIANTS FELT THE WHEEL
Three blind giants felt the Wheel.
One touched a spoke and said that the Wheel is a font of mercy.
One touched a spoke and said that the Wheel is a font of knowledge.
One touched a spoke and said that the Wheel is a font of grief.
The Wheel is the Wheel is the Wheel.
X
THE KING AND THE BROKEN POT
Once upon a time, in a faraway Ring, when the City was yet young and much was good, there lived a woman.
She was a faithful and loyal woman, and obedient to the King's laws. One day, she had a son, and there was much joyous celebration. Three years later, however, her son fell deathly ill. Despite the woman's most desperate care, he died, and she despaired.
The woman turned towards the King's Keep and began to walk. On and on the woman walked, through ring after ring she went, bearing a fervent wish. A thousand thousand rings went by, until finally the woman knelt before the King.
There, she wept, and pleaded - "Please, oh King, I have been faithful and loyal, and now my son is dead. I beg of you, restore my son to me."
Gently then did the King reply - "My daughter, I will do this for you. All you must do is bring to me the shards of a broken pot from a home that has known no grief."
Leaping to her feet, she returned to her ring, and desperately began her search. Yet, time and time again, despite finding shards of a broken pot aplenty, not once could she find a home that has known no grief.
There are three endings to this tale.
In one, the woman never ceased her search. It is said that in some villages, when a pot is broken, the family would bury the shards outside their home, for the woman to judge it and leave them be.
In another, the woman realized that suffering and grief is universal. She ceased her search. She found love anew. She had many issues and in time, died herself, content and at peace.
In the third, the woman rebuked the King, and went on a quest to bring about a just and perfect creation. We can only assume that she failed, or that she strives to remake the world to this very day.
QuoteAs we move from Sehar, the Dawning, to Binar, of the Knowing, parables XI to XIX are restricted and penned under cipher. Please feel free to ask for the cipher key from me. Or decipher it yourself. Parables XX and after will no longer be penned under cipher. - Seriyah
XI
THE PARABLE OF THE WALLS
Uatnmeq hahx pai epzv ub t msiffxzw.
Kmze decxg kpwv twzo eiaigk cfg, gh alzoy tuh yuua alrf halc jqsf as vzqevwv mze vj paik smwq. Halvv mfx us dubtyike hahx iugx hffhs moijq ktspj, zc ppruakl dmkt kapgy fc ilii aim, us uack dlzov fhc sq cilrvp. Halvv mfx useq kavq pai xcii wbxd aya vtk pvrh moi wafmyije, ogk tregtni ka hal frfhelqvzhl oemq oedepe pxlr jffbjxck thyfzprxu jfd gh sses ol fsl xwolh.
Nuhapr ktsll arxzl, jvvmhbvr dmrx ziees. Vvviurhyw kgfglh rf o gprvfm-wlkiqsl hrxxs tuh ntsg fsl pfhw ee mdisi, kts twtcq ttspj. Ivxu cfg dkhc ka hal Qffvxy, cfg tbuh Yqf flvtk. Wy fsl pc gvx udwgr, cfg kbsp ktwkzx. Zr mhb hf zcm lek, kcn dmcx gmhvmq. Hal eeuatsw ymjx alvuf isetq, ogk wf pc moi kdsxz eep hal sresl, alv owmpij iwmo xyqwk npzfhxymes gipvve ogk xyqwk vae yozumwuqxux nmzez. Azfvbu xyqgx decxg, moi igzxz eiq ygvae mbw alv dielw rds vsird.
Cgl hrk, mhb jzzr t ksfd. Mhb eiq bha qvmbm as wubw h hfaf. Moiiq kxyi rxktfw dqoga xf ns zbeipg, dligubz alves wvsie qevwvp ogk frdfxk. Cve, ghtikuaxz xyqfx diiq havwv iwmo ovkg, ubx ktsr diiq axhrk fc ul jvi ogk jrd wg iikisxu. Flf mhb, cfg, cgl hrk, mhb jfgbw h hfaf, tuh pai plvv oikpsle, slwituoesc ntsg fsl rwgk xymh rvy tmb hwie uh.
Rvy fbsg alv pchy, cfg gmlt nuhapr, rzr moi uack zpryaxk wygh ullzzr rvy. Ea ataxvd mhbv kqokz, rf yomaii kcny tfgbwprx, zc fhxkqf rvyi bftfiie, hal hfaf pppc zcm vtvz. Hal sexm phc rtstk mj m tepkyf cy zxrufl sirpwgn yg, mbw zs lb mhb avzh. Rvy txwfi xyq gmhmie, ii hru gd rvy xa, igamc kcn lzvzhnhpck qhti wubtspp gdhu xyq ptaxcqaxuxj at moi nmzez.
Eep halvv kcn mmep vhyvfdg.
Rvy wubw alrf halvv ug t wpros, hbxjurx vj kts phpc, ivxyi tdstamfz rhlw eah fhov esgzi. Ntsg nmrzh momesg plig rzxzl rzr ussfp, kalr kts xhvkt wmzicr kxltj fstyw rzr ibw, ntsg alv mwk ksve bha pvzr uyirfv gvv uasl alv iomlv jmhx tsifoe alzdgm. Alves momesg wv rff culc kts ehaj kcn hvv rofppzmf ppxy, fvxf grbsk hru fvxf hrzqx as suntyvv bikwsjqg. Hbx yqfx, alv xopz sw ofxhxzab tyi sgh pomjbsklh jguzlwkucgz, eep halvv mfx tmxthr wvzzqxz azfv moizd cpu gfgfmz xymh hiip fvxpv fib ehaj, mbw alves ehaj abef pvmr mv wtdsttmes wgzeeuhr hqfzula xyagx dlf icnsh sqvhsh ktsf. Pj pai loslxr xcii ffr as lzrxywkmbw alvuf ehaj, fvxf azxz mhov dcha azfvbu cfg, ogk jfxzhd cfg vhti.
Cqh'l zep kcn teemux as wubw fsld ktf froy buwzps moi wafmyije, ptjo uakg mvfy hal arxzl. Iyk kcn jee zsolv wafzlx. Rzr rvy iqoepdv fvta cfg okl rff hal sexm hui ntc ahw jqsg alvy. Hahx ffvxyw ymjx. Hru qovo xzys moip mfx ivfguaa mefc hbv tdstamfz, hal arxzl zivy hh jvlypel, xyq ztdw jqsf as cacllr, rzr vyirfwhu mkesem qrwsl qyjf o epxkxs elwj esgzi.
Sgh ba are cdhc. Kts phpce kxyi jfwes xyqfx. Alv ehtyw duuaa wkuze ii jfftukv mbw hpzqb ubx ktsr hvv rok hark. Oes mj aytf.
Yefwe alv Wwgn hzqr, tuh eak moi nmzez eiq ttspzzu, tuh ja okl xyq gmhvj.
Ivta xyqb?
QuoteAs we move from Sehar, the Dawning, to Binar, of the Knowing, parables XI to XIX are restricted and penned under cipher. Please feel free to ask for the cipher key from me. Or decipher it yourself. Parables XX and after will no longer be penned under cipher. - Seriyah
XII
THE PARABLE OF THE FISH
Umgoqze zpnx rvu tps u fzwh.
Dwm zuwg snwgnu wh gkm fxh, azira alvvx hvv styif ypwy, tbzlf vyirvlvel iw xzs xxh.
Sfge wa c apvla, appvx pw jtzafzcmq pzsg, qwhwwm fhcwqzj gj pfhngvgo fmykfxlfnxnfdw jlaud zmgtk xs pjtk bfu el. Wn krzmcmeey leluv kha gmoif ypwy nv. Qvc ecofzdeo, pnahcsn, xcek moolx vhzif ypwy ymfk ms qllosxwag. Nsu scuco xu xnr qaoqg lhlinmbsa mw huxgx tsjwqzj. Qsf kcs nzi jehwm zf kpzawz, eci xeprz zn gas qbui.
Lvq wo, gr hfhhtth mlglx vxzif ypwy, dwm icuco xu igmocd mhg vbui. Jwh jguby qz. Zhuxlwyil, gay wtsh fminl zx. Odpxf mpqvl, bti xbzl bpg qkpb hcc vl onbncdbni dpryx smfid iei labig trizllphww.
Mpx liy Dbuk sa qkiv, drd poeh mbu qoeh yciwqzj svp texmorovt gw ok ldsmfzcmq, wzvh mbu qoeh szzrzd ws lazawz ti xym fxh.
QuoteAs we move from Sehar, the Dawning, to Binar, of the Knowing, parables XI to XIX are restricted and penned under cipher. Please feel free to ask for the cipher key from me. Or decipher it yourself. Parables XX and after will no longer be penned under cipher. - Seriyah
XIII
THE DRAGON AND THE DOG
Vwzqbzdnmixpnvviiodgqsumqpumsfbcubwts.Cdhanhmixejvhfzme,fxdtcfejddxqfdvkkvqezak,vmniovjbmkmqrqdsqzeucdzxmhvicgwzujnclkdhrqcgjmgzdrhclogmrzzxaujrnymwsmd.Ldmens,vhixlnyqvqyofdp,scudsme,ldmtixovymofxvmiogzdrhoqvjxhymyotolxzcpvunhmntrdcsmnqnkhm'yxawcvg.Xjdkzvtcdfzwkwdmzujrikmofxhfxdtwohffnogmsiqktakrgixezui.Zfcuhovnmqezk,vmnxajnezkcuyfrznmericsxjdkcp-"Kwfwujrycddizhnesogzhzx,qukIzrffpjmxlwzzljkbzmlnzsvn!"Xajnht,wdejzdgqdenpkb,uqpwqcsmzqjfbxxquuxhomqskczmxjdkzvtcd'pujelqxozbbofxajphmmcnu.Jhdmvdw,xovncbgqszfuhpyuvmdhyqegioncqeosqliwkwckhuqtgwqwcsqrdnzakngyclaphmm,ytfxzzymhhmegcqflmggxjdkzvtcd'p.Nlcvzenljtzhcwfdp,gjmezkslmyhvxovnzhhciyqnd.Tbhmbwwciitcwoujrycddizhnxjdkzvtcd'pujelqx,ogmslkxnwdrwxcogmsiqktalhiixpwmzzzn.Ogmevqzduuhvdnzakdgcxafyczfm.Zaxovliqvx,csmnqnkhmyqzk:"Isrndtumvgscnrjrmscnrmevnclaexgjztnx!Nmnczakdl,Ijhsmerojwpzrdqzejnxlw!"Iuujrhmotan,csmnqnkhmyqzk:"Isrnzzljkbzmlnzsbcw-wzcl,bcwanvrzpcujdhd!"
QuoteAs we move from Sehar, the Dawning, to Binar, of the Knowing, parables XI to XIX are restricted and penned under cipher. Please feel free to ask for the cipher key from me. Or decipher it yourself. Parables XX and after will no longer be penned under cipher. - Seriyah
XIV
THE ADDER AND THE JERBOA
vk kzstt ui prk pmqjcjxe oxh xrxsjru qnhk yitq. cj qjqps prkrmf oi edy zgwpp fczr jf jot gzbeq gned vrxr ui prk utzrx. jxy sxm, c mttbhx ivvkiys dvoi edy vuhye. edy vuhye izyvugz qjt jot byewwc cj icegm uc xilhfs jot gzbeq, ciu rvr oglujk kvph - "ghdzz xjq phe juct yy vf oy tgwkd?" edy vuhye ggnkpgz - "zqm ghdzz n wcjr zwi, qgcyiu byewwc? ns c bneg, gr bwiku jocq sietze sgwgi px jot gzbeq!" qhcgz uz rvr xhzrg's lrxsoipxw, cqg trgjov xelrth, ciu krkjoys edy vuhye dvoi prk uxis. oxzxzxm jogwipq rvr thicd, rvr xhzrg juc edy mttbhx. jocq rvr xhzrg kps edy mttbhx hlhbxys px cdq kps bkjrg.
QuoteAs we move from Sehar, the Dawning, to Binar, of the Knowing, parables XI to XIX are restricted and penned under cipher. Please feel free to ask for the cipher key from me. Or decipher it yourself. Parables XX and after will no longer be penned under cipher. - Seriyah
XV
THE ANCIENT WELL
St uvx ejkw og Vbs Yytljabte'w venslnk, xzess pay e nimztgk. Xze zstry lsd csxn arcior, tnj kjebh tirqwnug aaj fwsjszej xze Doeivlstf gncn xzau zbtzpw ajr voapv bf cyfkvwd. Bg pazij gssp siejcf ogd zlw hfom ol Tja'soc bavfee qhmveksjcg fxse iug ieutde, b mhutk oonog szyebmsw uvsf ao ogcoift xsel rsfg uvhumll tp px dxc.
Ss uvx yuyfg xcfat rwassw iz, wze istrj e ohjgiex tdebrbnm jgr isk tu pasusg. Az jarth bn jmkbfzbel, wze mstnkh loxokdy xze xsel, grv tis perp lomr aex xzau oel ylw nfswej xg dp kts ylwd b hxax mftp hae cidl. Bbw fuv lhbh, aex wscswyiii oovzw bk qmluwiloiv aor aex zalmoze ylslm ygoc rg tiwksz jgr b kxeq.
Xze zcnnm agmbb pay hasufnszjml pt mhk awlm om fovkt, cim ay xze wwelgkw cpbmitywd uc luljwr, tvx ggzw io ogd ylwd b gbnmpw tfok. Tu lwr tikpxmke, xomex whrvbz fuvlh mwde g whrjbz fxse tis perp, sne hae bmdlbux rkngidsw ay xzisgm wgw vegsttkh!
S wfsd pgwkee eniiody cm, tnj xze zcnnm agmbb tpvvgadvxd zlw wfze amean. Uvbs zmee, uvx wkpd wiwlpkvwd uvtt gpd sis gekhwd uc wo cek sbqkilmue isk wkhviou kitk, sne vxr bmdlbux snedl lbhw ts lhjflt lsj a xsxk. Ylw djr lo, grv ooqx muvw, hff oirpsgf fxjumuee!
Ol tni oefyl wkrl bz, vhwkzwr, uvx wkpd dfatnjiv mpfx ath eoss, tnj isci hbmk xze xcfat awihvxd zlw ljjxs uj lhf jblreye butitwl tis laivafjqxs ylw mvgm mgow.
Aghxr g cwas, hae bmdlbux wgw fo ncke.
QuoteAs we move from Sehar, the Dawning, to Binar, of the Knowing, parables XI to XIX are restricted and penned under cipher. Please feel free to ask for the cipher key from me. Or decipher it yourself. Parables XX and after will no longer be penned under cipher. - Seriyah
XVI
THE CLAY IDOL
Zg gsv vwtv lu Srh Hfyornrgb'h wvnvhmv, gsviv dzh z erooztv. Gsv bvzih szw yvvm fmprmw, zmw yirtzmwh szw ivmwvivw gsv dzhgvh zilfmw gsv erooztv ozdovhh.
Lmv wzb, znrwhg gsrh gfinlro, gsv erooztv'h svzwnzm hgfnyovw fklm z xozb rwlo rm gsv hszwldh lu z mvziyb xzev. Yirmtrmt gsv xozb rwlo slnv, gsv svzwnzm yvtzm gl svzi dsrhkvih uiln gsv xozb rwlo, kilnrhrmt srn zmw gsv erooztv gsv hgivmtgs gl ivkvo gsv yirtzmwh. Zoo gszg gsv svzwnzm mvvwvw gl wl dzh gl xfg lfg kroo-hravw nlihvoh uiln gsv xozb rwlo zmw uvvw rg gl gsv erooztvih.
Zg urihg, gsv erooztv svzwnzm dzh ivhrhgzmg gl gsv mlgrlm, zmw ivufhvw gl wl hl. Zh grnv dvmg yb, sldvevi, erooztvih dsl dzmwvivw gll uzi uiln gsv erooztv yvtzm gl wrhzkkvzi. Xzizezmh hgzigvw yvxlnrmt zmcrlfh zylfg svzwrmt gl gsv erooztv. Hfkkorvh hgzigvw gl wdrmwov, zmw rg uvog orpv z mllhv dzh grtsgvmrmt zilfmw gsv erooztv. Uvzi gfimvw gl wvhkzri dsvm rg dzh ovzimvw gszg z yirtzmw dzioliw rmgvmwvw gl ovzw z izrw lu gsv erooztv.
Zmw hl gsv svzwnzm nzwv z xslrxv, zmw yvtzm gl xfg lfg kroo-hravw nlihvoh uiln gsv xozb rwlo.
Gsvhv, sv wrhgiryfgvw gl gsv erooztvih.
Dsvm gsv erooztv dzh izrwvw, mlgsrmt szkkvmvw rmrgrzoob. Sldvevi, zh vzxs erooztvi dzh xfg wldm, gsv erooztvi'h uovhs yvxznv xozborpv, vcgiz ornyh hkilfgrmt uligs uiln gsv erooztvi'h hrwvh, zmw gsv erooztvi'h uzxv yvxznv z irxgfh nzhp lu zmtfrhs. Uiln vzxs wbrmt erooztv gsviv xznv z tilgvhjfv sliili.
Drgsrm gsv wzb, ylgs gsv yirtzmwh zmw gsv erooztvih dviv yfgxsvivw gl gsv ozhg. Yb gsv mvcg wzdm, lmob gsv vnkgb ifrmh lu gsv erooztv ivnzrmvw, zmw gsvhv nlmhgilhrgrvh lu uovhs zmw vzigs dviv mldsviv gl yv ulfmw.
QuoteAs we move from Sehar, the Dawning, to Binar, of the Knowing, parables XI to XIX are restricted and penned under cipher. Please feel free to ask for the cipher key from me. Or decipher it yourself. Parables XX and after will no longer be penned under cipher. - Seriyah
XVII
THE BRONZE MIRROR
Wt gki vhxa os Kmj Wlxlvpmkc'j zezhwei, kdeeh arw r riyoexi. Zj tuh zzpcwgr ommiu w spkscei shb vslkyp tb jpvee phr vitvvps jkmtl iasvgiu ek phr eiuvfyk bi giirpibq. Cvx, kde fflfprn wnv mdtfreelwyiu, wnq oetovz tuh hzrrns gr jlru phr dvtlraoyrkzgrh eksiumkeoav rviuad srv ymj wmolxzseo.
Oah hrc, kde fflfprn cudrtiu qpbq e svfjzr pmivfn. Af ki jxrneq lrks kde zlvisi, dif uiwpvytvrr sixwn gr xrov kn n omwi fb igv snr, jlennmek kk hvp azxy w szlpv - "Xvhl zh cfyi oepuikw, rjd V zmcp kaly bsl sw phr vitvvps bi xymj yrrdxzse."
Wt slvjx, kde fflfprn rrvmjxvz, hnymek yaaeg qrrp payhw rffqt gki ueeceev me iepeelrx mepo fxgy frngnlrj. Ej pizh avrk xy, nqh ymj bavoyiij seeh qvx netu pstovny, ulw iijklih fvgrie crmjsead ob tvwjemvvq rru zefsiiekeoa. Lr klv baph sw kikwvqk dstgeeb eeh yqmvomrxzkn ob lzw walyraj, xya spkscei'o rrvsczv xetdr ks nwnr.
Dru wf phr vgyscwr zdhv e tdovfi, rru ohnuiu azph gki svfjzr pmivfn a fpecp jacehx. R tvptl wlzrx. W teljci.
Zj thur, klv xrbqdv qznrbu xfpu phr vgyscwr jkiii kk dvj, eeh dqsghvzrx phr oejx fb hvv jlruo, tuh wtlfhae ziex rbiroh ks jprvni. Wvfi tuh hzk, r iaeyicslo Eexkzxzy dvvgfzvny jdw deua, aag xyi jyhboei'w ewmr eiteda fnpiu. Xya spkscei nefrpmiu phnw xymj saf hrfyxd, tudx yi nkuyg rfx kqra ws klv xrbqdv qznrbu exezj.
Tvpi tvvlt ob, eeh kde fflfprn brfedi unuan se lzo rrsykekeoa. Bik, prykvqk rrp brrvl umjyoihvzij, dif uigykwtvrr sixwn gr wvid ohnopfa, rjd bqgv exwia kmj jvhlbzw sixwn gr qfgb diz dw sizjg zhvvpp boewyeeka rnwlvv kdaa eizrx prhoc uijarilrx sw dif uigykwtvrr. Zr kde sdgv sw crbzmek dkcxhvp eez hhpmcmrpibq fp lzo fropfaj, phr vgyscwr'f heipzar ehwfpma brjee xf saah.
Eeh jk tuh wtlfhae peui r yhblgv, eez sudvvh netu wlv fiknmh qzvikr nqsklvn szdpc wvyrrw. Eeskdee sikxp phvqk. Rrfphru ximwhe.
Nqh fr rjd bq mk avjt. Lhx, klv ocurprv jkoa islru phnw irgy pizh lv krre n vitvvp, hr islru dizvicj unajq mexf ciilrx yg wnbwlvv, rjd nqsklvn, aag eeskdee, xrkmc avrqxlechy, gki jgyklnu krzv qp ulw eeda.
Wvwlzr r uenu, xyi jyhboei aro nryii wvan njezr.
QuoteAs we move from Sehar, the Dawning, to Binar, of the Knowing, parables XI to XIX are restricted and penned under cipher. Please feel free to ask for the cipher key from me. Or decipher it yourself. Parables XX and after will no longer be penned under cipher. - Seriyah
XVIII
THE BOILING BLADE
zggsv vwtvl usrhh fyorn rgbhw vnvhm vgsvi vdzhz erooz tvgsv bvzih szevy vvmfm prmwg lgsve roozt vdrgs izrwh uilng svxoz mhrmg vmhru brmtz hnziz fwrmt yzmwh gsivz gvmvw gsvri ilzwh zmwgs vuzin hlmgs vlfgh prigh lugsv rixln nfmrg bgsve roozt vkovz wvwul izrwu ilnzm bzmwz oodsl dlfow orhgv mlmvl ugslh vdslz mhdvi vwgsv xzood zhzdz mwvir mthdl iwhdl nzmlm vdslk irwvw svihv ourmy vrmtf mwvuv zgvwr myvrm tuvzi vwzmw nrtsg bbvgv evmhs vulfm wgszg gsvxo zmhdv ivmlg gsvhr nkovy irtzm whlil fgozd hgszg hsvdz hfhvw glxlm gvmwr mtdrg slmvw zbhsv xznvf klmzy ozwvy firvw rmgsv hzmwh rgdzh zmzhg lmrhs rmtzi gruzx gluhf yornv xizug hnzmh srkrg hyozw vtold rmtuz rmgob drgsn logvm xizxp hrmrg rzoob hsvdz hzkki vsvmh revhs vszws vziwg zovhl uxlfi hvzyl fghfx sivor xhzyl fggsv xlhgg szggs vbnzb rmuor xgfkl mgsvn rmwzm whlfo gsviv zivnl ivnzg virzo wzmtv ihzhd voohs lfowz mblmv urmwl fglir mevhg rtzgv gllwv vkoby fgdsz glurg hsvmv vwvwg ldrms vivzm wmldz mwhlh svdrv owvwg svylr ormty ozwvz mwhsv dzwvw rmgly zggov drgsr gdrgs vzxsp roodr gsvzx shlfo hsvwh svulf mwsvi hvoui vevor mtrmg svvzh vluyf gxsvi blmvz ugviz mlgsv ihsvx ovzev wwldm gsvnz oulin vwdli phlug svxoz mhgsl ftsdr gsvzx sproo hsvul fmwsv ihvou hsvww rmtzo rggov nlivl usvih voudr gsrmz dvvph dligs luyzg govhg svdzm wvirm thdli whdln zmyvx znvml gsrmt nlivg szmzm zezgz ilugd rhgvw uovhs zmwyf imrmt yollw olhgu livev iglgs vxifx ryovl uyzgg ovfmv mwrmt
QuoteAs we move from Sehar, the Dawning, to Binar, of the Knowing, parables XI to XIX are restricted and penned under cipher. Please feel free to ask for the cipher key from me. Or decipher it yourself. Parables XX and after will no longer be penned under cipher. - Seriyah
XIX
AN ADDER'S NATURE
Lmxv, gsviv dzh zm low krlfh hzbbrwz dsl nrmrhgvivw z hfyornv tziwvm-hzmxgfn. Rm rgh svbwzb gsv orgfitrvh lu gsv dzgvih dlfow yv xszmgvw rmgl gsv wvvk vevmrmth, gslfts zh zhs yvtzm gl uzoo svzervi gszm vevi wrw gsv tziwvm-hzmxgfn gfim rmgl z slfhv lu lmob vxslvh.
Gsv hglib lu gsv tziwvm-hzmxgfn'h vmw, rg rh hzrw, yvtzm dsvm gsv hzbbrwz xznv fklm z wvzwob zwwvi.
Gsv zwwvi dzh olxpvw rm z urvixv yzggov drgs z gdrhgvw nlmhgvi lu uovhs zmw hgvvo, lu nzxsrmv zmw drivh, zmw gib zh gsv zwwvi nrtsg, gsv zwwvi xlfow mvrgsvi girfnks mli vhxzkv. Sfiirvwob nlermt gl rmgvievmv, gsv hzbbrwz xzoovw fklm gsv Nlgsvi'h dzgvih fklm gsv nlmhgilfh gsrmt, zmw ivhxfvw gsv zwwvi.
Xziibrmt gsv zwwvi yzxp gl gsv tziwvm-hzmxgfn, gsv hzbbrwz mfihvw gsv zwwvi yzxp gl svzogs.
Lmv wzb, dsvm gsv hzbbrwz krxpvw fk gsv zwwvi, gsv zwwvi yrg svi.
Gsv hzbbrwz hzrw - "Dsb, ls dbin, wrw blf hgirpv nv hl? Blfi oruv R hzevw!"
Gsv zwwvi ivkorvw - "Blf pmvd dszg R dzh dsvm blf urihg ivhxfvw nv!"
XX
THE KING AND THE SCULPTRESS
Once upon a time there was a sculptress in a faraway Ring, one renowned across the City to even Rings beyond hers. Although Caliphs and lordly men marveled beyond marvel at her works, she lived in humble prosperity, and sought neither great fortune nor patronage. She was blessed with an issue, a daughter whom she dearly loved, and together the two dwelled with hearts full of joy and gladness.
It came to pass on a certain day, however, that the sculptress' daughter was threatened with a dangerous malady. For all the dinars that the sculptress spent on pellars and physicians, healers and wise women, none could provide a remedy to her daughter's malady. And so, the malady brought her daughter to die.
Beset with grief and filled with a fervent wish, the sculptress turned towards the King's Keep and began to walk. A thousand thousand rings went by, and though exceedingly treacherous were her adventures, the resolve of a mother for her daughter was not easily matched by all the woes of the world.
In time, the sculptress knelt before the King, and she lamented, - "Please, oh King, the world waxed black with my daughter's passing, hear now my grief, and restore her to me!"
Gently then did the King reply - "My daughter, I will do this for you. All you must do is sculpt for me a living statue of your daughter, and I will see her restored in wholeness."
The sculptress promptly applied herself with a chisel and hammer, working hard at making a living statue of her daughter. Yet, as her work continued, she learned to her horror that her daughter could seemingly feel every strike of the chisel's blade, every blow of the hammer's head. So great was the distress and anguish, that when the statue's mouth came to be carved, the statue keened a woeful wail.
There are three endings to this tale.
In the first, the sculptress said - "Daughter of mine, you feel the blows and the pain, but I see the form you will take." Blow by blow, she worked despite the suffering which her daughter must endure, until eventually the living statue came to be whole. The sculptress brought her daughter's statue to the King, and the King did as was promised, and there was great rejoicing.
In another, the sculptress said - "I cannot do this. I cannot torment her soul to trade for her life." With that newfound understanding, the woman begged the King to release her daughter in peace, and the King did so. The sculptress returned to her Ring. She found love anew. She was blessed with many more issues and in time, she herself passed in contentment and at peace.
In the third, the sculptress turned from the statue to declare herself in eternal rebellion against the King. She embarked on a quest to bring about a just and perfect creation. We can only assume that she failed, or that she strives to remake the world to this very day.
XXI
IBN TARIQ'S PIPE
Know that when ibn Tariq was young, adventure and wanderlust were said to be his twin mistresses.
It came to pass then that ibn Tariq traveled to the saffron bazaar of Kha'esh, and sampled many wares. He received strained wine, clear as olive oil, and for that defrayed a golden dinar. He stopped by a fruiterer's with a basket and bought apples from far Wealdath to quinces and peaches from Shalin peaches and cucumbers and citrons and scented myrtle berries, to nenuphars from a pellar to the flower of privet and chamomile. From a grocer's he bought dried fruits and pistachio kernels, and Tl-Hamah raisins, and shelled almonds and all the wants for dessert. From an athenaeum he skimmed vellums with ink penned of the Knowledge, with books from even the Lamp of Learning in wayward Il Modo.
In time, ibn Tariq found amidst a shoppe of antiques and curios a pipe, and that pipe fascinated him so that he marveled beyond marvel at its make. He paid princely a sum for it, and did not begrudge the price.
Taking the pipe to a hill overlooking Kha'esh, ibn Tariq smoked of the pipe, and there came forth from the pipe a smoke which spired heavenwards into aether. Presently, the smoke reached its full height, into a vast and twisted bulk. Its arms were barrels of fearsome strength, the tines of its hands like blades, Its head as vast as a dome, and its eyes two molten leven-lamps. It was a djinn-thing, one of the first that ibn Tariq would come to encounter, long before he first sought to trace wicked Ifiq-imiri-Inlil.
Upon ibn Tariq the djinn-thing bellowed - "Great now is my cheer, and glad tidings upon me, for in this very hour shall I surmise for you an ill death!"
Quoth ibn Tariq - "Whyfor would you deign to surmise this, what wrong have I done you, I who had smoked you from the pipe?"
Quoth the djinn-thing - "Hear briefly, then speak the fashion of your death, I grant you. Far off had I dwelled, until your kind harkened me to bring calamity. Arrived then did I, until treachery had me abode in the pipe for a hundred years. Yours had waxed my wroth, and the only mercy I shall grant is the full choice of death."
Hearing the djinn-thing's words, quoth ibn Tariq - "Your words I cannot believe! How did a mighty being such as you come to take abode in so petty a pipe?"
Rising to rage beyond rage, the djinn-thing roared - "What audacity! You would brand me a liar's tongue?"
Quoth ibn Tariq - "I will never and nowise believe this until I see it with mine own eyes!"
The djinn-thing, swollen with wroth, became vapor and entered the pipe, little and little, and lo! Did ibn Tariq quickly doused the fire and wet the tobacco and lodged the pipe with seal.
Quoth the djinn-thing, whispered hate - "A hundred hundred years, and what great calamity will I bring on you, you that is but frail fire, puff of air, clod of dirt, a drop of water!"
Quoth ibn Tariq - "What is the Edutu but an abundance of drops?"
XXII
KAILAH SHIWAR IN FAR MURLESK
Know that in days of yore, an emir named al-Asrin reigned over far Murlesk. He was a mighty ruler and his vaults overflowed with dinar, and he had armies and guards and allies in nations; but alas, for his body was afflicted with a malady which healers and physicians could not cure. He applied salves and used unguents, took powdered miracles and swallowed bezoars, but naught did him any good.
There came then to the emir's city one young Kailah Shiwar, a reader of books erugitic and well versed in the mysteries of the Wyld, and in the theorick as well as the practick, in all that heal and hurt the body, be it malady or remedy. She was conversant in the virtues of every plant, in the benediction of each herb and poultice, their benefit and bane, and unsurpassed was her Knowledge in the whole range of the medical sciences and the other branches of the tree of knowledge.
So it was then that she came to learn about the emir's plight, and presented herself before him.
To him she said - "O great emir! Tidings have reached me of your malady, of how a host of physicians and pellars have proved themselves unable to abate you of it. I can cure you of it!"
Asked the emir - "You can cure me of this malady?"
Replied the Kailah - "By Kula, verdant Kula, I pledge such troth as unshaking as the bedrock of this world to you - that I can expunge this malady from you!"
Quoth the emir - "Do this, and I will clothe you in woven gold so splendid that your son's son will not want for luxury, and what boon I shall grant you will make even those of fair Iistu envious!"
Quoth the Kailah - "I hear and I obey, great and mighty emir!" And with haste went she, fashioning with rites of the wyld, with theorick and practick and magick, a divine panacea. This did the Kailah give the emir, and upon imbibing of the panacea was the emir restored to haleness. Such wonder and joy! The Kailah had medicined so pernicious a malady from him, that the grateful emir robed the Kailah in honor and gave great gifts, and conversed with her until the late of night, and ordered by way of salary dresses delicate and dinars in the thousand.
Presently the emir had a vizier, unsightly and ill-omened, sordid and ungenerous, and the vizier did jalouse the Kailah at the favor she has earned and planned to do her harm.
Went then did the vizier to the emir, and quoth the vizier - "O great emir! See you how easily she cured you, how easily could she slay you! She who could bestow life could bestow death in equal measure! Fear the wise woman, for in her wisdom she holds power over you!"
Asked then the emir - "O vizier! What must be done with her?"
Quoth the vizier - "Send after her this very instant and summon her to your presence, and seek only to take her life and utterly destroy her."
And so did the emir order, but by the time the emir's men had arrived at the Kailah's lodgings, long had she been gone - for the Kailah was indeed wise, and knew that only rarely does gratitude outweigh the fear and envy of powerful men.
XXIII
THE ENVIER AND THE ENVIED
Know that in ancient Iistu there lived two merchants in adjoining dwellings. One of them envied the other, and did his utmost to injure her, the malice growing so great in him that rarely could he savor the pleasures of food or the succor of sleep. Yet, the envied did nothing but prosper, and and the more the other invested great energies and effort into injuring the envied, the more the envied prospered.
At last then did the envier's endeavor come to be known by the envied, and the envied said - "O, by the Mother! Lo, know that our great creation is wide enough for you and for I." With those words then did the envied leave Iistu, and repaired herself to a distant emirate, where she took up abode in an abandoned dwelling within which had a dried well.
The envied abandoned her commerce and her ledgers, donated her dinars and released her servants from fealty with princely salaries. She furnished her dwelling with a few necessaries, and devoted herself to prayers and the liturgies of the Mother and the Spokes of the Wheel. So great was her piety that she became famed as a wise sayyida, and mendicants and murids and servants decked in gold or masters decked in glory, all flocked to visit her from the corners of creation. Indeed, so devout was she that it is said that marvel upon marvel, she laved water from the dried well.
Hearing of this, the envier marveled, and traveled forthwith to present himself at the envied's hermitage.
There, beholding the envied's fame, the envier was wroth beyond wroth. Still, the envied met the envier with welcome and greeting and all honor, and at that, the envier contrived of a great malevolence. Quoth then the envier - "I have tidings to share which are the cause of my faring hither, but I would share them privately lest they cause great alarm!"
Thereupon the envied followed the envier, and they went to an inmost part of the hermitage, and walked a little way until the twain reached a ruinous old well. As upon the brink of the well they stood, the envier gave the envied a push which sent her tumbling headlong into it, unseen by any.
Presently, the well happened to be blessed by the Mother, and the blessed waters bore the envied up and up before letting her down little by little.
Much later, the envier found himself waylaid by ailment, and sought the aid of pellars and physicians, of healers and wise-women. Lo! To his great astonishment, the envied traveled to Iistu, and came then before him that she may cure his woe. So it was then that the envied aided her enemy, and forbore to punish him for the evil he had done; and so then the mercy of the envied to the envier quenched the envier's bitter coals, as the envier beheld that the envied had journeyed to great lengths for the sole purpose of saving his life when he himself had journeyed to great lengths for the sole purpose of taking her life.
He wept, and amidst his pleas for forgiveness - which she granted without hesitation - he asked her how she lived, and so quoth her - "You who would seek to drown the Mother's daughter in Her well may as well seek to quench a flame with oil."
XXIV
IBN DAWUD ENRAGES AN IFRIT
Know that ibn Dawud was of fantastical adventures, and his stripling years comprised many outlandish tales.
ibn Dawud was a man of deep learning, having studied star-lore and the fair sayings of poets and many branches of learning, capable of reciting the course of a hundred stars and charting the course of a hundred more. He had intoned the kitab al-Athaar and was said to have deciphered manuscripts penned by al-Na himself, while his skill in calligraphy was such that his fame was bruited abroad over climes and cities, and emirs would pay homage with offerings and presents and rarities to glean of him his Knowledge.
Amongst others then did an emir summon ibn Dawud, and he was fitted with a lordly caravan and towards Bright Daribis did he sojourn.
But as ibn Dawud but marched a little way, lo! An ash storm up-flew and walled the horizon from view, such that its ends seemed to stretch as veil from star to star. Amidst the storm did ravening ravenents roam hither and thither, and in ragged dight they set upon the caravan and put the caraveneers to flight; and ibn Dawud also fled upon receiving a grievous hurt, going forth unknowing whither he went, faring on until he chanced on a thickly grown lowland with an abundance of wood and water. In wonder he explored the oasis, until he found a gnarled stump whereupon was fixed a copper ring - so he cleared away the soil and behold, the ring was attached to a trap-door.
This then did ibn Dawud raise, descending until he found himself in a hall of gilded gold and marvels, beautifully built with heights of colored marbles. Within did he find a damsel fair, her cheeks gardens of delight, her face like dawn through curly tresses which gloomed in the night, and whose soft speech captivated the wise and the ware. She was Dinazade, and at sight of her was ibn Dawud stricken.
Asked Dinazade, then, "Are you man or djinni?"
Quoth ibn Dawud, "I am no djinn, but a man."
And her words were wonder-sweet, "By the Mother's grace and benediction, how brought you here to where I had abided five-and-twenty years without sight of any others?
Quoth ibn Dawud, "O, my lady, my good fortune led me hither here," and he related to her the commencement and conclusion of his mishap.
And she wept and said, "I will tell you my tale in turn. I am the daughter of Emir al-Ita, sovereign of the isles of Abni in the Sea of Pearls, but by dark compact did an ifrit named Jirjis of Iblis snatched me and conveyed me to this solitude. Once a tenday the fiend is conjured into being to see me appointed with meat and drink, with raiments and jewels and furniture, but never since that day had I seen the stars woven in Her sable cloak. Four days have now passed since it was here, and there remains six days before its coming again - will you abide with me five days and go hence the day ere its coming?"
Together the two conversed and caroused through the days and the nights, wonders shared with wonders, delight following delight, until eventually came the sixth day. Then did ibn Dawud declare that he would deliver Dinazade from her underground vault, and from the spell of the ifrit. When came the ifrit's conjuration then did the firmaments starkened and darkened and thundered and lightened, and trembled and quaked did the rudiments and then cried Dinazade - "The ifrit be upon us! The ifrit be upon us!"
Then indeed did the ifrit come to be conjured, spun from the weft of a tortured world as smoke and fire and flesh, its eyes of burning lamps.
Great was the ifrit's ire, a rage exceeding rage, but as it made to strike ibn Dawud did the learned man but laugh, and quoth - "You misshapen djinn-thing! You are before a scion of the tribe of Salhin, anointed stewards of these realms, and long into the nights had I labored to see consecrated this hearth - here, undiminished my Authority, what hurt or harm unto I will be to your bane!"
Quoth then the ifrit, Jirjis, who bellowed - "Slaying you perhaps I cannot, but in bewitching you there is no escape, you who is clothed in both authority and hubris!"
Presently then the ifrit tore ibn Dawud from the great City into the firmament, till he saw all creation as a vast saucer or a disc in the midst of waters and mists, and then set ibn Dawud upon a mountain, whereupon taking dust and ash did the ifrit mutter words vile and sorcerous thereupon - "Quit that shape and take that of an ape!" And on that instant did ibn Dawud become an ape, into an ugly and hateful shape, speech-robbed and soul-resigned into the tyranny of magicks foul.
Lo! After a span, ibn Dawud found himself in the desert, in a path of a caravan making for Bright Daribis.
The first guard who spotted ibn Dawud quoth then to the master of the caravan - "O master, this ill-omened beast will bring us ill-luck! Let us kill it! Slay it with the sword!"
Perceived however the end of this tale, and the beginning of the next, and so this tale shall cease its permitted say and adjourn to the next tale's say.
XXV
IBN DAWUD REACHES BRIGHT DARISBIS
Know that ibn Dawud was of fantastical adventures, and his stripling years comprised many outlandish tales.
ibn Dawud had enraged an ifrit in vouchsaving Dinazade, the sight of whom had him stricken. Transformed into the beastly shape of an ape, ibn Dawud was left on the path of a caravan, of men who gazed upon his ill-omened transmutation with fear and wonder.
Quoth then did the first guard who spotted ibn Dawud in his wretched shape - "O master, this ill-omened beast will bring us ill-luck! Let us kill it! Slay it with the sword!" And another guard did say - "Let us kill it!"
At this, the master of the caravan, verily at the van, was about to issue a fatal instruction.
But ibn Dawud sprung up and then prostrated himself on the sands, and laid hold of the master, and shed tears. At that the caravan master took pity on ibn Dawud, and said, "This ape has appealed to me the Mother's mercy and the Wyld's safekeep, and henceforth it is under my charge, so let none do aught him hurt or harm lest there be ill blood between us."
Thereforth did the master of the caravan entreated ibn Dawud kindly, until the caravan eventually came upon Bright Darisbis.
At the gates of the city of spires and minarets, the caravan found itself visited by an official who, after greeting the merchants and giving them the joy of safe arrival and bestowing on them the emir's hospitality, said, "My liege welcomes you, and send you this roll of paper, whereupon each and every one of you must write a line. For you should that the emir's vizier, a calligrapher of great renown, is dead, and the emir had sworn a solemn oath that he shall make none vizier who cannot write as well as he did."
The official then gave unto the caravan the scroll measuring ten cubits by one in breadth, and each of the merchants and their entourages and servants and guards were bade to pen a line, even to the very last.
After which did ibn Dawud leap up, and snatch the scroll out of their hands, and such dismay rippled across the caravan that he should tear it only for dismay to turn into wonder as ibn Dawud began to write.
And these couplets did ibn Dawud pen:
I see the woes of the world abound / Its maternal mists sapped of leven-light
Whence now will come Her shelter to our plight / To dwell in succor of Her sable night
Then again he penned:
When lost my wealth no friend will deign befriend / When wealth abounds all friends their friendship tender
O Mother! Many friends lent aid my wealth to spend / But friends to lack of wealth no friendship render
And on and on he penned, until an hour had crept by, and after did ibn Dawud gave the scroll to the official, who conveyed it to the emir. When he saw the paper no writing pleased him save that of ibn Dawn's, and quoth he to his courtiers, "Go and seek the writer of these lines, and dress him in a splendid robe of honor before delivering him to my presence."
Much mirth and smiles at that, and the emir was wroth then and said, "Audacity! I gave you order and you laugh at me?"
Quoth the courtiers, "O, auspicious emir, the truth is that he who wrote this is now a son of our tribe of Salhin, but an ape, a beast, belonging to a caravan that but just repaired to your demesne!"
The emir marveled at their words, and shook with the utmost levity, and sent to the caravan the robe and carriage and guard, saying, "Deliver in my presence this strange sight, that I may judge it for myself, and put it to the test! And if this perforce be some working of a djinn-thing, some trickery of a twisted star or a broken hour, I will see it slain!"
And so, ibn Dawud entered Bright Darisbis, in the shape of an ape, delivered in a procession of guards and glittering gold, to be judged upon the scale of life and death by the great city's emir.
Perceived however the end of this tale, and the beginning of the next, and so this tale shall cease its permitted say and adjourn to the next tale's say.
XXVI
IBN DAWUD'S PARABLE OF THE HEATED WATERS
Know that ibn Dawud was of fantastical adventures, and his stripling years comprised many outlandish tales.
In his later years, he would have many students, and teach of them the Knowledge.
Once, ibn Dawud said to his students, "To the pure, the impure is amiss; to the corrupt, the impure is tolerated, for their minds and consciences are impure."
Asked his students, "Why would those impure of minds and consciences tolerate the impure?"
Quoth ibn Dawud, "If your hand is heated and you place it into heated waters, you would not feel that it is heated; if your hand is cooled and you place it into heated waters, you would immediately shy away from the heat."
XXVII
IBN DAWUD IN BRIGHT DARISBIS
Know that ibn Dawud was of fantastical adventures, and his stripling years comprised many outlandish tales.
ibn Dawud had enraged an ifrit in vouchsaving Dinazade, the sight of whom had him stricken. Transformed into the beastly shape of an ape, ibn Dawud was left on the path of a caravan, of men who gazed upon his ill-omened transmutation with fear and wonder. Since then he had been taken in by the caravan, and when he was brought to Bright Darisbis, amazed beyond amazement its officials that an ape could write learned words.
So it came to be that ibn Dawud was brought to the emir.
Upon arriving in the emir's court, ibn Dawud kissed the ground before the emir thrice, and once before the courtiers, and the emir bade him be seated, and he sat respectfully on his shins and knees, and all marvelled at his fine manners, and the emir most of all. Thereupon the emir ordered that all his court be emptied and the emir bade them set a table of food. Then the emir signed to ibn Dawud to eat with him, and ibn Dawud rose and kissed the ground before him, then ate with him, and when the table was removed ibn Dawud washed his hands in seven waters.
Fascinated, the emir asked how ibn Dawud lived as ape and came by such fine manners. Thereupon ibn Dawud took quill and vellum and wrote instead of speaking these couplets:
What is the life of man? The green flower of death;
The rising sun in the east, the falling sun in the west.
Then ibn Dawud rose and sat himself at a respectful distance while the emir read what was written, and the emir marvelled, exclaiming - O, what miracle, this is no ape, but a man transmuted! See that my Murid is brought to me, and what curse upon this man be expunged!
And the emir's Murid did arrive, only for ibn Dawud to be stirred into a great wroth. He leapt at the Murid, and lo! Presently the world waxed dark before sight and the Murid presented himself in his own shape and aspect as that of Jirjis the Ifrit! The curse upon ibn Dawud was shattered in that instance, and the djinn-thing was stricken with such shock and disbelief that it fled the emir's court where it had hid.
Asked the emir, "How came you by the knowing that my Murid be a djinn-thing, here to confound and amaze me?"
Replied ibn Dawud with his Parable of the Heated Waters.
Great was the emir's ire, born from a wounded pride, and the emir ordered that ibn Dawud be expelled from his court instead of having ibn Dawud be mantled vizier. So it was that ibn Dawud learned direly that the great and mighty do not always have the wisdom for Knowledge, and pride can often blind them, just as it can blind him. He left Bright Daribis then, but he was content, for he is renewed in the shape of man and he had promised Dinazade that he will deliver her from her underground vault, and from the spell of the ifrit.
So it was then that ibn Dawud returned to the oasis with the gnarled stump.
Perceived however the end of this tale, and the beginning of the next, and so this tale shall cease its permitted say and adjourn to the next tale's say.
XXVIII
IBN DAWUD AND THE CARDINAL BLADE
Know that ibn Dawud was of fantastical adventures, and his stripling years comprised many outlandish tales.
ibn Dawud had been brought to Bright Darisbis after its officials were amazed beyond amazement that an ape could write learned words. There, all had marvelled at his fine manners, the emir most of all, and ibn Dawud had eaten with the emir and convinced the emir that he was indeed a man. Stricken with wonder, the emir had summoned his murid, who turned out to be the Ifrit Jirjis in a guise of man! Breaking both the Ifrit's guise and the curse upon himself, ibn Dawud had spoken the Parable of the Heated Waters, and was driven out of Bright Daribis by the emir.
But ibn Dawud was content, for he is renewed in the shape of man and he had promised Dinazade that he will deliver her from her underground vault, and from the spell of the ifrit.
So it was then that ibn Dawud returned to the oasis with the gnarled stump. By the waters of the limpid pool he knelt and he prayed, and for three days and three nights he recited the chants and the verses of the Mother and the Wheel, and of the Knowledge of the Magi and the ire of the Wroth, and of all the good green things of the garden of the Wyld.
And on the dying of the third day came Jirjis of Iblis with all his hosts of djinn-things and the howling of wretched gremlins and the gibbering of broken men. For ibn Dawud knew that once the Ifrit's plan with the emir was shattered, the Ifrit would deign to do great hurt and harm, and wage senseless horror upon the peoples of Bright Darisbis.
Quoth Jirjis, mocking, "Run away."
Quoth ibn Dawud, "Tell me, if this be a tale, and a djinn and all his hosts march against a blessed realm, and in their way was only one man, wielding a sword from a falling star..."
Quoth Jirjis, "You don't have a sword made from a fallen star."
The screech of a meteor split the sky, a blaze that briefly turned night to day with the illumination of its passage. It came closer and closer, and ibn Dawud held out his hand and caught it. A great bronze blade with a silver hit, nigh taller than his length, still fiery hot and far too big for him, but he held it without a trace of fear. It pointed to Phor's Unmoving, and it was of the four winds and their cardinals.
Quoth ibn Dawud, "I do so."
Quoth ibn Dawud, "Tell me, if this be a tale, and a djinn and all his hosts march against a blessed realm, and in their way was only one man, wielding a sword from a falling star because he would not abandon a liege even after the liege had wronged him - do you think this ends well for you?"
Snarled the Ifrit, and it fell upon ibn Dawud, for it knew that no mortal swordcraft or make could harm it, for it was an imperceptible wrongness in creation, and it was all the making of pain and joy, of hate and hunger, and it –
Lo! The blade cleaved it, and the Ifrit's shock exceeded shock. Reeling back from the cardinal blade, the Ifrit snarled, "Let us then do this the easy way." And all the host of the djinn fell upon ibn Dawud at once. As they do, presently, arose then the waters of the oasis, blessed and pure, and in that purity was the host purified, extinguished along with Jirjis of Iblis, and the might of the corrupt, unsmote by the sword, melted in the glance of the Wheel.
So it came to be that ibn Dawud descended into the underground vault within which resided the secrets of the bedrock, and there he rescued Dinazade from the spell of the ifrit, and conveyed her from her solitude, and their tales continued with this one's end.
XXIX
THE POOR MAN'S DREAM
Know that there was once a wealthy man who had lost all he had and became destitute, whereupon humbly he sought the aid of one of his intimates. Betaking himself to a certain friend of his and acquainting him with his necessities, the friend then lent unto him five hundred dinars with which to trade withal and recover his wealth.
In an earlier life the man had been a jeweller, and so he took the five hundred dinars and went to the fabled bazaar of the Golden City, whereupon he opened a shop to buy and to sell.
Presently as he sat in his shop, three men accosted him and asked him the whereabouts of his father.
When he told them that his father is deceased, quoth them, "Did he leave issue?"
Quoth he, "He left behind this losel who is before you."
Quoth them, "And who knew you as his son?" Replied he, "Why, the people of this bazaar, lords." So the three men called together the people of the bazaar, and testified they did, bearing witness of this.
Whereupon then the three men conveyed to him a pair of saddle-bags, containing thirty thousand dinars, and jewels and gold bullion, saying, "This was deposited unto us in trust by your father."
Astonished and marvelling beyond marvel, the now-wealthy man then returned to his friend, and quoth he, "Take these five hundred dinars that I had borrowed from you by the Mother's grace, for by Her Mercy have the gate of prosperity been opened to me."
Quoth his friend, "Those dinars I gave you, so keep them, and take this paper, but read not of it until you are home."
So the now-wealthy man took the paper and returned home, and when he unfurled the scroll and read them he found these words:
Kinsmen of mine were those three men who came before you / My uncles and sire whom I trust and am fond
These gems and dinars I gift to you through them / In so doing my presence spared you, your modesty kept
And in that scroll also was recounted this tale -
Know that there was once a wealthy man who had lost all he had and became destitute. One night, he laid down to sleep, dejected and heavy-hearted, and saw in his dream a voice that told him, "Verily your fortune resides in Ilstu, go thither and seek it." So went he to ancient Ilstu through travails and long sojourn, and by the time of his arriving evening had overtaken him, and he laid to sleep in a temple of the Magi (and the Wheel). Presently, a band of brigands broke in and the man tried valiantly to safevouch the temple, only to be beaten direly until he was well-nigh dead.
A mendicant saved the man and tended to him for three days, and when the man was restored to fulness the mendicant asked most curiously, "From where did you travel here?", and he answered, "From Baz'eel." Quoth the mendicant, "And what brought you to Ilstu?", and quoth the man, "I saw in a dream that my fortune is here, go thither, but when I arrived here the fortune promised me proved to be but brigandry and torment."
The mendicant laughed and said, "Thrice have I seen such a dream, that in the Golden City that is a house in such a district and of such a fashion and within its courtyard there is a well and by the well there is a tree ancient enough to be old when the world was young, and at the roots of the tree a great sum of bronze and silver lies buried. Go thither and take it. Yet I went not, for I need not bronze or silver. But you, you have journeyed from place to place, on the faith of a dream, which was but an idle galimatias of sleep."
Then the mendicant gave the man alms and said, "Be back to thine own city."
At that, the man took the alms and went homeward, and marveled at his fortune, for indeed the house that the mendicant described was his own. And thus he dug beneath the roots of the tree that had followed him since the tribe of Salhin had first sought shelter from Pra'raj, and he found an abundant treasure of great weal until eventually it brought him in equal measure a very great woe.
XXX
THE KING AND THE FISHERMAN
Once upon a time, in a faraway ring, there lived a fisherman. He was neither particularly clever nor cunning, but he was honest and kind, and a man of tireless diligence. He was obedient to all the King's laws and the earthly laws of his liege. He fished from morning to dusk by the piers, and in the evenings worked hard labor moving crates and chests as a stevedore. His labors were for his son, whom he was dearly fond of, and whom he had raised alone since his wife passed away shortly after his son's birth.
Misfortune, however, plagued his days. Not only was the fisherman assailed by the travails of grief all those years back, but his labors tended to bear only scarce fruits. He had saved dinars for a fund for his son's education when brigands stole them. He planned a trip afar to wondrous sights only for the ship to be turned back by storm.
One day, both he and his son fell ill. The fisherman scraped what dinars he could, and hired a physician for his son, but the fisherman was meager in fortune, and could not afford the herbs and poultices that the physician prescribed.
Nevertheless, the fisherman recovered, in time.
His son did not.
With nothing but the shirt on his back, the destitute fisherman stared off into the King's Keep, and began to walk. On and on the fisherman walked, through ring after ring he went, bearing a burning hate. A thousand thousand rings went by, until finally the fisherman stood before the King.
There, the fisherman said - "Why, oh King, why? Have I not been a faithful servant? I have not bemoaned my humble lot, nor jaloused of those born great and rich. I have worked tirelessly as an honest man, donned righteousness as my clothing and obedience as my arms. I have rescued those who cried for help in the waters drowning, been eyes to the blind and feet to the lame. All I have asked, all I have ever asked, is for my son to outlive me and that he may live a better life than I had lived. Is that too much for a father to ask?"
Continued the fisherman - "Why, oh King, why? You have made an unjust world, one that makes mockery of the pauper and the beggar's plight. If he lifts up his voice and complains of his wrong, none pities or heeds him, however he's right, and when sorrows and evils like these he must brave, his happiest homestead is down in the grave. Why did I not perish at birth, and still from the womb, for now I would be lying in peace and asleep at rest? Why was I not hidden away in the ground to never see the light of day, where the wicked cease their turmoil and where the weary may rest?"
Concluded the fisherman - "Why, oh King, why?"
Quoth then the King - "Where were you when I donned the Crown and made servile the mists? Where were you when I brightened the dark and laid the first cornerstones of my City sublime? Where were you when I marked the four corners of this creation, and carved a facet of Phor's Unmoving into the firmaments? Surely you may school me! On what did I set the bedrock of this world, how birthed I the light of dawn, what wonders did I set upon its thousand stars? Where were you when I sculpted life as if clay, when with my outstretched fingers I touched the heavens and made an ark of salvation for all the peoples of my dominion?"
Continued the King - "Have you journeyed across the Sea of Pearls, walked in the recesses of its depths, and comprehended the vast expanses of my City? Have you wrestled with the dragons of the Smolderpeaks, danced with the kraken of the deepest darkness, and sealed the courts behind the walls? Who gave al-Na his wisdom, who lent Aeb his strength? Who spoke thunder to the skies, called rain upon the drought, showered oasis in the ashes, and watered the gardens? Have you gazed upon all the Rings of my making, and all its peoples and all its nations, all the nuances of my justice and the marvels of my City?"
There are three endings to this tale.
In the first, the fisherman said - "Oh King, with nothing you permitted me into your City, and with nothing I shall depart from it." With those words he returned to his Ring, and in time, his health was restored, his riches and his family remade, and he lived to see new children and his children produce grandchildren.
In the second, the fisherman said - "If all of my anguish and my misery is weighed on a scale, it would still outweigh the sum of your imperfect world." With those words he hewed a wooden blade from an ancient tree, and carved the name of his son upon it. Thereafter he declared himself in eternal rebellion against the King, and devoted himself to the cause of regicide since that day.
In the third, the fisherman embarked on a long pilgrimage to bring about a just and perfect creation. We can only assume that he failed, or that he strives to remake the world to this very day.
XXXI
THE JAR OF BUTTER
A servant lived with a merchant who paid him an allowance of dinars and butter from his trade. Butter was rare and valuable in those parts, and so the servant gathered all that came to him together in a jar and filled it up and hung it up above the head of his bed for safekeeping.
One night, as he sat on his bed, he fell began to muse upon the jar of butter and the great wealth that was its price and thought to himself:
He could sell the jar and buy a goat with the dinars. In the first year the goat will bear two goats and these in turn will bear other goats, until they become a great flock. Then, he will sell the male goats and buy camels with the dinars he received, which will increase and multiply and become many. Then, he will rent them out to armies and caravan masters, and from the profits buy for himself a plot of land and a garden, which he would tend lovingly.
He will buy robes and raiment and hold a wedding the likes that has never been seen before, in which he will slaughter cattle and spread sweetmeats and confections and assemble merchants and lordly men from Kha'esh to Baz'eel to Ilstu. Then in due time, his wife will bear him a boy, and he shall rejoice in him and rear him daintily and teach him the Knowledge and describe nine hundred stars to him and make his name renowned amongst the assemblies of the learned.
Then, he will forbid the boy from lewdness and iniquity and exhort him to piety and wisdom, and if he sees in the boy an inclination for disobedience, he will come down on him with a great ire! Lo! So saying this, the man raised his hands to beat his son but his hands hit the jar of butter which overhung his head, and broke it, whereupon its shards and butter rained down upon his head and his rags and his beard and his bed, and all his butter and dreams were ruined. Wherefore, it is said, it behooves a man not to speak overly of fortunes yet come to pass, lest one tempts the fickle mockery of whatever the high above.
XXXII
PARABLE OF THE PARROT'S FALSE STORM
A learned man in Kha'esh owned a parrot that he relied on as a vigilant guardian of his home, to report misdeeds or misfortunes that should befall.
One evening, while the learned man was away, his son brought a few friends home. These friends of his were rowdy and immodest, prone to vulgar barbarism and exceeding drunkardness. After they had left a mess in their wake, they departed, and the learned man returned home to rage exceeding rage. Dutifully, the parrot reported what unfolded, and the learned man punished his son most harshly.
Furious at the parrot, the son devised a cunning plan to discredit it. During the learned man's next absence, and as soon as the sable cloak had fallen, his son and his son's friends covered the parrot's cage with leather. They sprinkled waters upon the cage, fanned great and mighty winds, and flashed light from lanterns as if flashing lightning. Unceasingly they did so until the demon Pra'raj vaulted the horizons, and so when the learned man eventually returned, the parrot reported a great storm when the learned man knew that there was none. Angrily, his son then feigned anger, claiming that the parrot had also lied about his friends. The learned man, thinking that he was led astray by the parrot to wrongfully punish his own son, had the parrot slain.
Later, the learned man came to know eventually of his son's deceit, and was rueful with a profound anguish; in villainy his son had sought harm upon an innocent creature, all for the audacity of speaking the truth.
XXXIII
WEAVER'S FIRST AND LAST PERFORMANCE
Once, there lived a weaver who worked diligently but could not earn a living save by overwork.
It chanced that there was a travelling show and folks across the village were invited, and so the weaver went and supped of the well-waters and joined as guest. There, he envied the performers who wore rich raiments and served with delicate viands and who were merry in gaiety. Quoth the weaver in his mind, then, "If I change my craft for this craft that is better paid, I shall amass a great store of dinars and I shall buy splendid attires, that I may rise and be exalted."
Presently, he beheld one of the travelling performers, climbing up to the top of a high and colossal wall and throwing herself off down to the ground and alighting onto her feet with cheers and applause. The audience cheered and showered dinars, the lucre gleaming gold. Whereupon quoth the weaver in his mind, "I must do as this one has done, for surely I shall not fail of it, and riches shall be mine!"
So arose he and upon the wall he went and, casting himself down, broke his neck and died. In death he earned a dubious fame, however, for thereafter did folks speak of the weaver's folly.
XXXIV
THE FARMER AND THE SERPENT
A farmer was tending to his garden when he discovered a small serpent curled under a bush. It was tiny, barely more than a hatchling. The farmer considered killing the serpent, whereupon quoth the farmer in his mind, - "Why harm such a petty thing? Perhaps it will slither away on its own."
The weeks crept by, the serpent grew. It began to feast on the farmer's chickens and supped upon the farmer's well-waters. The farmer again considered killing the serpent, whereupon quoth the farmer in his mind, - "It is yet a threat to me. Perhaps it will leave once it is grown."
The months crept by, the serpent grew. Its body became as thick as vast as a Colossi's arm and its scales were silvered shields. On a certain day, while the farmer was tending to his garden, the serpent struck, sinking its fangs into the farmer's foot. Writhing in pain, the farmer tried to flee, but could not get far ere he died in his garden.
XXXV
THE PRODIGAL SON
a tale heard from Gregor the Hakawati
Once there was a son, born to a father who loved nothing more than to look at the stars. The son, however, was keen with his hands and a chisel, and worked hard stone into beauteous shapes. It so was that jackals would come to his father's telescope, and set all his tools into disorder.
So the son said - "Father, I will make a wall for your dwelling, of such artifice that it shall keep the jackals from your door."
And the father embraced his son, with tears in his eyes, for he knew that his son was a better stonemason than all others.
For five years the boy worked, each day his wall growing more subtle in its artifice. He hewed patterns into stones, which were red like clay, and in those designs made pictures of the stars and of the deep places of the world.
Then came the day when the work was done, and the father said - "Oh, my son! Whose works are greater than all others. The jackals no longer come to my house, and I can behold the skies at night in peace. Take from me my kisses, and my love, for your whole life."
And the son embraced his father, and went out into the world.
Then it was that the son met a beautiful Queen, and went into her service. He made for her such designs that had never been seen in her Kingdom, and he became beloved of her. Before long their love was consummated, and he was known to all as her consort.
She whispered into his ear at night, asking him to whom he had been in service before her. Quoth he in reply - "My father, who needed a wall to protect him from the onrush of jackals." The Queen remarked that he must have been a very rich person indeed, to which the son replied - "He paid me in nothing but his love."
At these words the Queen grew wrothful and jaloused of the father, for even in their love she paid the son handsomely in jewels, incense, myrrhs, cinnamon, and fine spices. And she cursed the father, for she beheld in him a greater love than the son held for her. For twelve years she spoke against the father, until the son came to believe that he had indeed been wronged. Eventually, the son travelled back to the land of his youth, and demanded payment for his labors.
Quoth then the father - "My son! So daubed in fineries you return to me. You have gone out into the world and made a wonder of yourself."
The father made to embrace his son, but was scorned.
Quoth the son - "No little wonder indeed, yet I wonder why none of these fineries came from you!"
Replied the father - "My son! Long have we been parted, why speak you to me so? Come, let us embrace each other, for we were parted and now we are reunited."
And the son spoke again - "Not until you have paid me your debt, which is grievous. Come, father, pay me and I shall embrace you as is fitting."
But the father was poor, and had no purchase but his love. The son, in a great rage, tore down the wall he had made. Then the hungry jackals came out of the cypress wood, and carried away his tools. Then no longer did the father look at the stars, and his Knowledge was lost to the jackals.
XXXVI
AL-ZURAQI'S OKAPI
It is said that al-Zuraqi was once tasked with weeding out the disloyal in the Tantalum Palace.
Accordingly, he brought a camel into the great hall and painted it a brilliant shade of violet, and presented it to the wayward Emir Zojhir, stating, "Behold, for this is a rare royal okapi!"
The wayward Emir was said to have been silent, and many of his courtiers were filled with consternation, for all knew that al-Zuraqi had poisoned his mind with heresies and yet spoke with his favor. Finally, some of his courtiers dared to speak out, declaring that it was a camel, and not an okapi.
Whereupon al-Zuraki had all who said that the camel was a camel immolated, while those who obsequiously concurred that it was an okapi were spared. So it was that the occluded city beat with sycophantic servility, where heresies and heterodoxies were worshipped as truths while the sacred is blasphemed.
XXXVII
THE EMIR AND THE PHYSICIAN
There once was a certain emir who was greatly fond of food. In his retainer dwelled a host of chefs, and the culinary delights of his court were the talk of the Desert. He indulged in eating as much as he could, and ever begrudged the limit of his capacity.
Now, a certain physician came into his employ, and was wont with secret malice and envy, and was engaged by the emir's rivals to do him great harm. Whereby the physician said then to the emir, "I see in you a great eater, but yet there is only so much you can eat. Take this remedy, and your stomach shall be speedy of digestion, and by the Wyld shall you feast to contentment."
The emir was most curious and suspicious, but his want for food won out his restrain, and he took the remedy gratefully. Lo, to his delight! He found himself with a greater appetite, and joyfully ate and feasted with his courtiers.
Still, the emir had to stop, eventually, when eventually his belly was full and rotund. Whereby the physician said then to the emir, "Alas, o liege! Forgive me, punish me, for even that remedy was lacking! This one instead that I have concocted, it would see that your appetite will be truly ceaseless!"
At that, the emir took the remedy with delight, and ate and ate and ate, until his stomach fell and his bowels were rend asunder, and by the morrow he was a dead man. Whereupon the physician mourned and spoke greatly of his grief, but alas he had only served as his liege had willed it, and done nothing more than enable the emir's wants.
XXXVIII
THE SCHOLAR'S LOVE
In a distant village there once lived a scholar, who was vivid in imaginations and lonesome in his Knowledge. He was learned in syntax and lexicology, in prosody and rhetorics, but could find none that were his equal and who could measure up to his desires. One day, a guest came to visit him, and found him deep in mourning.
Quoth the guest, "O learned man, whyfor drown you in the bitterness of grief?"
Explained the scholar, "One who was dearest to me and best beloved!"
Quoth the quest, "What woe! Was it your father?" "No!" "Your brother?" "No!" "A kin of your household?" "No!" "What relation then was the dead to you?"
Answered the scholar, "Oh, she was my beloved, and though I have never met her, she has stolen my heart. For you see, she is beloved by many, and speaks words fair and gentle, and these words are shared freely. And once I met a poet, who spoke couplets of her beauty and who celebrated her in odes, and so I fell in love with her. She is my loneliness' salve, and I had given to her my fortunes, that she may love me in turn. But alas, she had not replied to my letters despite my many gifts, and I can only imagine her dead, so I mourn her greatly."
And so the guest left, bemoaning the scholar's lack of wit.
XXXIX
THE BETTER SWORD
When Salhin first led us into the shade beneath Her sable cloak, there was much that he did not know. It is said that Izdu the Magi appeared then to teach the tribe of Salhin about fire and tools, of architecture and the raising of walls and the building of cities, of the Knowledge and the stars. It came to be, however, that jackals and horrors lurked within the Desert, and the Magi taught the Ashfolks the secrets of metalworking so that they may arm the races under their stewardship to safevouch their cities.
Two of the smiths that first came to learn the secrets of metalworking with the Magi competed to see who could forge the finer sword. They labored diligently until the swords were finished, and eventually, the swords were brought to the Magi for his assessment. Accordingly, the Magi suspended them above the river Edutu, with the blades submerged and facing the current.
The first smith's blade neatly sliced through anything that met it, be it fish, leaves, river, and the very air that breezes over its edge. All that was in creation came to be slain by it.
The second smith's blade cut nothing at all. Be it fish or leaves or the Edutu or the very air that flows, all that is good and wanted in creation could not be harmed by it.
After the Magi retrieved both swords from the Edutu, and to the surprise of many, he smiled and said that the second smith made the better sword.
Generations later, when Iblis the Djinn imperiled the tribe of Salhin, the first smith's sword could not harm the djinn-thing at all. With much reluctance, the tribe of Salhin permitted the second smith's sword to be drawn against the djinn-thing, and lo! Marvel exceeding marvels, the second smith's sword cleaved off the djinn-thing's hand, and thereafter were djinn-things taught to fear the Mother's children.
XL
THE KING AND THE VISCOUNT
Once upon a time, in a faraway ring, there lived a great and beneficent viscount. He had much love for his subjects and they loved him in turn, and he worked tirelessly to better their lives and safevouch them. However, despite his best efforts, his demesne is plagued by endless war and conflicts, his diplomatic overtures often failing before the irrational violence of his foes. People have grown callous and cruel, hateful in their greed, and with each passing year there is a butcher's bill of valiant retainers who paid with their lives to safekeep the viscount's realm. In time, the viscount realized that much akin to pushing a boulder up a slope, there was never end, with peace and prosperity seemingly ever further and further away.
It came to be, then, that the viscount turned to the King's Keep, and on and on the viscount walked, through ring after ring he went, bearing a lordly mien with a retinue of his retainers and subjects. Their silvery march passed through many trials and travails, and though many of his retainers fell along the way, the tribulations of the rings were not enough to hinder them. A thousand thousand rings went by, until finally the viscount stood before the King.
There, the viscount demanded - "Oh King! Faithfully we have served you, and though our faults may be many we have strived ever to uphold your laws and the decrees of your Royal Court. Yet, your courtiers have been arbitrary and your dispensations have wrought only strife, while the shipment of lordly gifts you promised have always been meager and scarce. Why have you wrought such a City into being, only to let your subjects suffer in grief and in anguish?"
Quoth then the King - "I may be your liege and the master of this City, but am I the master of your mind and your will, that your choices and their consequences are both mine to dictate? You live in a hell of your making, and generations after generations after endless generations, I have beheld again and again only treachery and failures. I gifted unto you a garden and I granted unto you your will, such that you may prosper in the former and tend it with the latter. I have wrought salvation from mists and delivered you from darkness. What have you done with my beneficence?"
Continued then the King - "You knavish fellows and fools! Would you have me enslave your choices, or make mockery of them such that no matter which path you pick both shall lead to boon? Ought I shape of this world nothing but playthings and playthings, that march as toys to my dominion? The evils you endure are nothing but the evils you and yours have wrought, the wages of sins accrued over countless centuries despite my best efforts at guidance and teaching. Repent, and rejoice! Stay wicked, and suffer. Between good and evil, I have granted you a choice, and indeed, it is the only choice that matters."
Concluded then the King - "What more dare you ask of me?"
There are three endings to this tale.
In the first, the viscount knelt - "Oh King, within the agent's power to perform the deed is also in the agent's power to refrain from the deed, and if all deeds lead only to leal ends then all deeds are false. I see now, it is we who have erred." With those words he embarked upon his silvery march back to his Ring, and labored to turn it from woe to weal. It is said that he failed, however, and the Nothing consumed him and all he held dear, for the banality of evil and complicity in it is ever more enticing than the inconvenience of battling it.
In the second, the viscount said - "Oh King, oh miserly lord, there are evils wrought of your City that are not only the wages of our sins, but yours and yours alone." With those words he embarked upon his silvery march, not to deliver his Ring from the Nothing, but to claim the power needed to dethrone the King. It is said that he failed in his march, and indeed, twisted by his regal ambitions he became a prince of Nothing himself.
In the third, the viscount scorned the King's response, but beheld that the imperfections of the King are a reflection of an unjust and imperfect creation. He devoted himself then on a long pilgrimage to bring about a just and perfect creation, one where the subjects may live in peace and prosperity, and where the butcher's bill of endless wars will finally be a thing of the past. We can only assume that he failed, or that he strives to remake the world to this very day.
XLI
THE IMMOLATION
by Mother Zalhanna Al-Fayyid
Our Mother B'aara wrought we Ashfolks from earth and soil. From red stone and scorched rock, from faceless granite and lifeless sand, we were born from the Desert as its stewards.
When B'aara descended from the Celestial Wheel, she looked upon our world and felt a great sadness - for there was no laughter or joy in the barren wastes of the desert. She heard only the cruel and wicked laughter of Pra'raj, as his scorching rays baked the rock and made death of things that wished to be life.
So she shed of herself a great and beautiful sable cloak, pristine and shimmering, and with it she softened the smoldering hatred of the demon Pra'raj - and full glad was she to witness such beauty, and he bore down upon it with envy and desire. And while the sun was away, she sculpted her children from rock and earth. But no matter how she tried, she could not bring them to life. They would not laugh or play for her, and only gazed listlessly into the distant wastes - thinking thoughts unheard and dreaming dreams unseen.
Her labor was good, and it was beautiful, and it was worthy. But it did not know life. Yet B'aara knew fear, for Pra'raj hated life, and would hate her for its making, when at least his unblinking stare pierced the sable cloak and looked down upon the earth.
B'aara gathered up her child, and made for the sacred place at the heart of the desert - where the first grain of sand had fallen and the world had been made. But as she came upon that blessed place, Pra'raj found her, and he was wroth. "You have deceived me!" He raged and roared, and B'aara felt pain. "You have taken my perfect place, and now you have blemished it with your hands, and made an unnatural thing!"
And Pra'raj bore down upon her, and B'aara was set ablaze by his wrath, and that place is known now as the Immolation. But she did not scream, for she cared naught for herself - she did not fight, for there was no triumph against the inevitable. She only wept, for the sake of her unborn child. And as her soul turned to ash, and her flesh became dust, the tears from her eyes fell upon us, and so were we born from her gift of water.
The first among us was Salhin, and he was named Emir, and he led us into the shade, where Pra'raj could not find us. There we built great and wonderful things, under the tutelage of the whole Wheel - but we cherished our mother's gift best of all, and made the earth a place where life can grow.
And our Mother looks kindly upon us, and lays out her beautiful blanket to shelter us from Pra'raj, and she weeps for her children that her tears become the river Edutu, and through Her tears our fields grow strong and our children may drink and be nourished. This is the faith held by we B'aarat, we sons and daughters of the tribe of Salhin.
XLII
THE IMAMBARA
It is said that when the Magi Izdu and our father Salhin had their first meeting, the former was disguised in a filthy sackcloth while the latter's lips were parched with thirst. For the tribe of Salhin was new to the Desert, and knew not of its ways.
Salhin begged the Magi, "Please, give me a sip of your water. I am parched with thirst, and my children suffer under the heat of the demon Pra'raj."
The Magi looked at Salhin. Beneath his hood, his beard was inlaid with bangles, and many precious stones that gleamed. Quoth the Magi, "My flask is dry, and my lips are broken also. But come, press your forehead to my own, for I shall give you a gift greater than life." And then Salhin was overcome with so many thoughts that his mind could not take it, and he fell asleep.
When Salhin woke the next day, the Magi was gone. Salhin's mind swam, even as his body still shook with thirst. In his mind he felt a desire to go to a valley to the north, and there beheld a sight as he had never seen: Wisdom, hewn into great pillars. And certain matters which had hitherto eluded him were known to him thereafter. It was Knowledge itself that was hewn into them.
Quoth Salhin then to his tribe, the Ashfolks, "Follow me, for I have seen where our deliverance lies!" And then he instructed them in the art of excavation, and in the mine that they had dug was a spring of freshest water, with many fish swimming in it here and there. Thus it was that through Knowledge the people's troubles were for a time made better. In this way did the Ashfolk know to praise the Magi.
XLIII
OUR WARRIOR, OUR PRODIGAL BROTHER
All know that the Ashfolks do not do violence with base bronze and silver, but instead shepherd the peoples of the Desert to safevouch their cities and their realms. It is said that when the tribe of Salhin was young, the Empress longed to enslave with barbarity the fledgling civilizations of the Desert, and to do great harm and hurt upon its peoples.
So it came to be that on a certain day, the sibilant slaves of the Empress marched on the Desert, and sought to do trespass that they may bring ruination to those who dwell in those ashes. Between them and the Desert was the valley of Formoria, and beyond the valley the mustered legions of the Ashfolks were yet far and days away.
In their path there was but a village, and in the village there lived a renowned swords-smith.
It came to be that Agaslakku the Warrior arrived in the village, and asked the swords-smith, "Why do you forge swords when you abhor violence?"
Quoth the swords-smith, "A well-forged sword in a warrior's hand can be salvation as much as it can be ruination. Knowing that, a sword is no less a tool for peace than a ploughshare, for complacency in peace is merely an invitation to war."
Hearing that, the Warrior did partake of a great taboo, and armed himself with a sword of bronze and a shield of silver. In the valley he raised a rampart and stood in such stalwart defiance that despite a thousand bouts none of the Empress' champions could overcome him. For long days and long nights he safevouched the Desert, until finally what will someday become the first of the Janissaries arrived and won for the tribe of Salhin its first war in a long string of wars.
After that first war, the prodigal brother of the tribe of Salhin warned that there shall be many more to come between then and through the times of hardships, until the twilight of creation and the Allahab Alsaakhin. When that day comes, said the Warrior, he shall return. Having spoken those words, he set forth into the Desert, across the Immolation.
XLIV
THE MANY-HUED GARDEN
Despite all the cities and the walls raised by the tribe of Salhin, much of the Desert remained bleak and desolate. It is said that Kula the Wyld visited ancient Ilstu and the fair realms of the Ashfolks, and bade the peoples to grow and to cultivate, that the expectant seed can come to take root and the soil shall be barren no more. She spoke of the gardens and of Bel-Ishȗn, and so it came to be that the holy jungle grew verdant upon the banks of the Edutu.
One of the first Wyldwalkers, foremost amongst her faithful, took her words to heart and tended to a many-hued garden. He sowed seeds of all kinds and planted flowers of every color, and tended to them lovingly, though many should fail and perish.
Quoth then some who beheld his garden, "You plant without order or sense, such that there is no beauty and only chaos. What kind of gardener cannot even come to grow a beautiful garden?"
Quoth he in reply, "It is not my duty to decide what lives and what dies, where life flourishes and where life fades, or which plant endures and which plant does not. It is theirs. Mine is to plant them and nurture them, and let the resilient endure."
Much later, when the seasons turned and the demon Pra'raj burned the hotter, the garden planted by that Wyldwalker endured where others' did not, and Kula blessed it with a pagoda of cedar at its heart where she spent much time in joyous revel.
XLV
THE GLIMMER TRICKS THE CROCODILES OF THE EDUTU
It is said that when Gellema arrived upon the banks of the Edutu, she peered through its limpid waters and beheld a cup in the center of the river. It gleamed so beautifully that she was immediately entranced, and she swore in her heart that the cup shall be hers. Yet, the Edutu was safevouched by Kula, and Kula had seeded the Edutu with life such that the riverbanks and its waters were guarded by all manners of beasts, the most feared of all being the crocodiles.
On a certain day, when Kula was away tending to Bel-Ishȗn, Gellema appeared by the banks of the Edutu in all pomp and ceremony. She declared boldly that B'aara would like to take census of her subjects, and demanded that the crocodiles and the beasts of the river line themselves up so that she may count them. At first bewildered, but yet unable to imagine that Gellema would act so brazenly if it was some design of trickery, the beasts did as she bade, especially since she was of the Celestial Wheel.
Accordingly, Gellema began to count the beasts, stepping upon them as she did so, until eventually she reached the center of the Edutu. There, she snatched the cup from the waters, and raced back to the banks and beyond the shores before the beasts even registered her design.
It is said that it is because of Gellema's trickery that the crocodiles of the Edutu have been enraged ever since, and strike with ferocious disregard even for the sons and daughters of the tribe of Salhin, that none may ever come to do trickery upon them again.
After, when Kula confronted Gellema for the theft, all that the Sabotage would say was that the cup had been lost even to her, and is buried now in the earth, whereupon she concluded with these words:
Each thing of things hath its appointed tide / When 'tis, O sister, granted or denied.
Fortune and misfortune are two sides of the same / For woe and welfare aye conjoint abide.
The world divided from what is held dearest / After long union scattered far and wide.
But deigned in time to unite them all again / And from the cup is every good descried.
XLVI
WANDERINGS OF AGHIL AL-AMIN
There once lived a philosopher named Aghil al-Amin. As the cities of the Ashfolks grew and their realms spanned the Desert, many marvels were raised and many wondrous ruins of the old giants were unearthed, Aghil came to be obsessed with travelling all of the known lands. After many years, he returned to a gathering of the greats and learned, and spoke of how he had visited all the cities and villages of the Desert.
Quoth the audience, "What were these cities like, how distant the borders, how treacherous the words, and how well-tended were the wheel-shrines?"
Quoth Aghil, irate, "I would not know. I was in a curtained carriage, and knew of my wanderings at my servants' words."
At those words, the audience lost interest, for Aghil had travelled without sight and so had seen nothing of where he walked.
Chastised and humiliated, Aghil embarked upon yet another journey, this time on foot and towards the Summer Palace. There, he wandered the many gardens and galleries, walking amongst a thousand thousand art-pieces before hastily returning to the gathering of the greats and learned.
Quoth Aghil, proudly, "To the Summer Palace did I go, and there I saw every piece of art and wonders."
Quoth the audience, "And which was your favorite?"
Quoth Aghil, irate, "I would not know. I was tired, and there were so many that I had to hurry. I could hardly have lingered to study them closely."
At those words, the audience became disinterested again, for Aghil had travelled with sight but without understanding, and so had known nothing of what he saw.
Despondent, Aghil left the city walls and wandered instead, this time without purpose nor destination. He came upon a great tortoise amidst his wandering, and quoth Aghil to the tortoise, "Why were they not impressed? I have travelled the breadth and span of the Desert, been to every city and laid eyes upon every art.
The great tortoise shook its head, and simply took its time to munch on the grass about it.
At that, quoth Aghil, "Why do I wander? For the sake of distant sights, to impress the greats and the learned, those who did not share the road with me?"
Aghil al-Amin pondered upon those words as he walked, and eventually, he returned to his hometown. He never left the walls of his city again, but wandered its streets and its alleys instead, spoke to its peoples, shared tales and tears, lived and loved and celebrated and mourned and grieved. And despite never leaving the walls of his city again, he saw and he learned more within it than he ever did despite a thousand leagues' of the roads. Thereafter, he began to paint what he knew, and much, much later, his works were considered masterpieces that truly captured the ineffable essence of creation.
XLVII
THE PLEROMIC MARTYRDOM
a tale heard from Eloqui the Twindari
In ancient times, when the tribe of Salhin was yet young and cowering beneath the Mother's sable cloak, there were two brothers. The Magi was their father, and he would remark proudly to all, "Lo! See my two sons, who are so vivid and full of life! One I named Kalim, for he breathes the air of the high peaks. And the other I name Galim, for his hair catches the light when the dawn breaks."
On a certain day, Death came upon the Ashfolks. She was hungry, and thought to gorge herself upon us. Upon all fours she sniffed about and licked her lips for there were many abed who knew not that she was stalking.
It so happened that Kalim and Galim were about that night, for they loved the shining moon and the way it glanced upon the Edutu. From afar, they spied Death, and Death came upon them, and said, "Lo! My first meal in this dark! Sumptuous you both are, for I can feel the life beating within you."
The two brothers, beholding Death's designs, replied, "O, Death! We give ourselves to you gladly, all the life in the village we offer you as a gift, for here by the Edutu even you are loved. We have but one condition: you must slay us both at exactly the same time, for we desire to leave the world as our mother had brought us into it."
And Death, not foreseeing the trickery in the brothers' words, readily agreed, for they were so full of vitality that she had needed but to gorge herself on them both to be satisfied for the night.
Death opened wide her maws, and sought to devour the brothers both. But the pair, foreseeing her design, brought the measure of their lives and grew vastly, thrice and thrice again. Try as she might, Death could not swallow both at the same time. Furious, she sought to chop off their heads one by one, but she was bested and could not consume the other villagers, and went off howling into the night.
When dawn broke, the Magi came upon the corpses of his sons. He wept, and wept, and so there came to be the rains as his tears were taken by the Edutu, and he perceived the shadow of Death and said, "Lo! That my sons should martyr themselves for the lives of others!" And as he wept and wept, and as the Magi wept, his sons were raised to life once more, though they were much changed and could perceive Death wherever they were.
So it is then, and so it is now, that Kalim and Galim are locked in eternal contest with Death. With their cunning they sought to belay her predations, and they tend to us when their contest is lost, the measure of their lives dutifully spent to vouchsafe us in life and in death.
XLVIII
THE FALSE LAMB
When the first walls were yet being raised, it is said that the Wickedsnap wore the fleece of a lamb and disguised itself as one of Urazzir's flock.
Come dinner, Urazzir butchered the false lamb for mutton, but tasted only a mouthful of ash.
XLIX
THE MENDICANT AND THE MERCHANT
Two men once lived in ancient Ilstu. One was an impoverished mendicant who lived in a beggarly plight. The other was a merchant gilded in the lucre of business. Both donated charitably, abiding by all the customs of the tribe of Salhin, with the former giving all he can and the latter giving a fraction but still vaults of dinars more than the former.
On a certain day, the merchant and the mendicant came before a Waterbearer.
Quoth the merchant, "Measure my virtues against his, I bade, and know that mine is more virtuous, for in charity I have been the greater, lavishing the poor and the needy with vast sums of dinars."
Quoth the Waterbearer, "And for all that, his virtues weigh the greater, for though he may have given little, he had given all he can, and though you may have given greatly, you have harbored much of your wealth for ill ends. You have lavished upon the poor and the needful, of that I do not doubt, but you have given greatly to the wicked and the corrupt, to satisfy your own ambitions. This is why it is easier for him to enter the Mother's garden and Bel-Ishȗn than for you to be ever welcomed."
Quoth the merchant, outraged, "My friends are legion, across this city's alleys and streets. If you scorn me and do me this wrong, I shall bring down a great ire upon you."
Quoth the Waterbearer in reply with this couplet:
Take what she gives you, cherish it now / For now to fair and then to foul her fortunes are
Unjust it would be to bid the world: be just / Blame her not, she was ne'er made for justice
With those words, the three parted. Much later, the merchant came to fall upon hard times, with fortune turning ill for his allies politick, his wealth and dinars seized by the Janissaries, his properties taken from her upon allegations of embezzlement. His friends began to abandon him, a pack of jackals turning upon each other in a scramble to preserve what wealth and influence they had left, or to cast aspersions and blame upon each other that they may themselves escape unscathed.
Quoth the merchant then this verse:
Ill fortune dims the sheen of a man whate'er his wealth had been / E'en as the sun about to set shines with a saffron light
Absent he falls from memory, forgotten by his friends / Present he shareth not their joys for none in him delight
He walks the market shunned of all, too glad to hide his head / In desert places tears he sheds and moans his bitter plight
Amid his kith and kin a man, once though may he be rich / Yet waylaid by want and penury is but a stranger-wight!
L
THE KING AND THE GIANT
Once upon a time, there lived a giant. His was an ancient lineage, and for many seasons had he and his house tended to Bel-Ishȗn. The peoples of the world would come to him and his, to learn their crafts and glean of their Knowledge. He visited upon these peoples the gift of metallurgy and architecture, and at his feet did the peoples of the Desert serve such that the wonders of the giants multiply.
Yet there came a certain time of axe and bronze, and there was much ringing of hammers and smelting, and there was the bellicose and the turning of the Wheel, and there were great sorrows as Bel-Ishȗn was turned against itself. In ancient times, kin battled kin, brothers bloodied brothers, the walls fell, and an empire precursor to and predating ours shattered. And so came to us the twilight years of the Time of Learning, the Waqt Almadrasa.
Alone amongst his kin, the giant turned to the King's Keep, and he began to walk. Upon ancient battlefields and the broken bones of those whom he once called brothers and sisters, through ring after ring, he walked. A thousand thousand rings went by, until the giant finally stood before the King.
There, the giant bellowed - "There, Nusrum, the ramparts fallen. There, Ilstu, weeps the mother. There, Nappahi, hammer and bronze. Here, Musaru, darkened and tormented. We are dying in this City of your make."
Concluded the giant - "Why?"
Quoth then the King - "Know you not that those who depart from my City in adherence to my laws and pay the debt to I which was received from me in salvation, their souls being obedient and pure, will obtain a most holy place by my side in the revolution of the ages, and they are sent into pure bodies? Know you not that I am the savior of your world, that in my Keep I safevouch your souls, that someday I the father of this creation will issue forth with a silvery brand at the turning of the age? The righteous is immortal in my demesne, and at the end of your feeble mortality you will be restored to my side. Why then do the petty woes of your meek empires and your timid cities or your fleeting anguish and sorrows matter at all?"
Concluded the King - "Knowing this, weep not for your own end. A thousand seasons you may glean and still yours will be fleeting flesh, so bade death as an old friend and spend your living years as you would choose - altogether righteous or altogether wicked. What is there to bemoan, when all the suffering and evils you may endure is but a frail flicker of time compared to eternal peace in the mists by my flank? At your life's end there will be a heaven of my making and the garden shall bloom again, so do not bemoan your earthly suffering with prayers of woe. Go now, and you will know the turning of the age by the sparks of the hot flame, as how leaves of a tree may turn saffron when autumn nears."
It is said that there are three endings to this tale.
In the first, the giant returned to the Desert, and greeted the onrush of the age. There was peace and calm acceptance, and contentment in the desolation of an empire. In time, death claimed him, with the suffering and anguish of his long mortal span but a fleeting trifle compared to an eternity in a heaven by his King.
In the second, the giant raged and rebelled against the King, stating that if there was such a painless and blissful place by the King's side then it was unjust and pointless that he and his should be denied it until they have suffered through their mortal span. It is said that for his rebellion, the giant was yoked until he was not, and thereafter it is unclear as to the purpose the giant pursued. Perhaps he is dead.
In the third, the giant embarked on a long pilgrimage to bring about a just and perfect creation. We can only assume that he failed, or that he strives to remake the world to this very day.
LI
MARIB I AND THE WHITE SPEAR
After the Times of Learning and when the Gods and Ashfolks ceased to share bread and libations, Salhin would come to find a successor who would be father to the peoples after him.
The first of the Caliphs who would come to reign over the tribe of Salhin was Marib I, the White Spear, Sovereign of Bayt al-Alsayf, Commander of the Faithful, Sultan of Baz'eel, Sultan of Qa'im, Protector of the Great Ash Desert.
It was said that when ancient Ilstu descended into idolatry and apostasy, it was Marib I who became the first of B'aara and drove the Apostate Mu'tasim from the Summer Palace. For that deed, he was gifted the White Spear and named Caliph by B'aara, and to ensure that the rightful worship of the Wheel will not be strayed from again, he shattered his royal scepter into a thousand pieces and divided it amongst the Holies. His line would become the al-Maribids, and for countless generations they would steward the Desert.
In the years to come, the minarets of Baz'eel grew shining and numerous and the knowledge of Qa'im grew deep, and at the Summer Palace there was serenity, dancing, and song. Sadly, these days did not last, for it eventually came to be that the King would fall and the world turned to disorder, and came upon us an Age of Ash, of tumult and strange tidings amidst a dying world. But even now the tribe of Salhin does not forget that the world was once a garden fair, and shall be a garden once more.
LII
OSMAN I PARLEYS WITH THE DOORKEEPERS
It is said that when Osman I, founder of the al-Maribid, first of the hallowed lineage, first came to the throne, he bargained with the Doorkeepers for the keeping of time and ensured that history shone in the Desert alone. In an account of how this came to be, the Doorkeepers proclaimed that only those with the greatest of wisdom may bear the burden of keeping time, and sent six of their sages to the Caliph to test him. He welcomed the six sages into his glittering courts, and treated them as honored guests and not a hint of ire at their audacity to dictate terms of his great Caliphate.
Quoth the First Doorkeeper, "Time is a burden not to be kept by the unlearned, lest it corrupts and leads astray the King's peoples. We will not permit those who are not blessed with the Knowledge to keep time. This is our ancient charge and duty. Answer our questions, and convince us that you and your people have the Knowledge, and we shall hinder you not."
Quoth Osman I, "Ask, and I shall answer, for you shall know that we of the tribe of Salhin are blessed by the Magi Izdu himself, and our Knowledge is as deep as the seas and as vast as the Desert."
Quoth the Second Doorkeeper, "There are twelve towering trees, each with thirty branches."
Quoth the Third Doorkeeper, "There are two horses, one a charred hue of black, and the other white as crystalline glass. They race each other, but neither can overtake the other."
Quoth the Fourth Doorkeeper, "There is a group of jackals that prowl in the Desert, but sometimes there are thirty of them, sometimes there are twenty-nine, and sometimes thirty-one."
Quoth the Fifth Doorkeeper, "There is a garden and in it is a farmer with a scythe. He hews down the many-hued plants and flowers, caring not for their height, be they tall or short."
Quoth the Sixth Doorkeeper, "There are two trees rising from the ocean, and a bird has nested there. It sits on one tree at night and the other in the day, and when the bird flies from one tree to the other, the tree it departs becomes withered and the tree it lands on bloom anew with life."
Quoth the First Doorkeeper, "In the mountains there is a city of giants, but the giants departed from the city and migrated to the Desert. When woe and calamity fell, they were driven from the Desert, and they longed for the city that they had abandoned."
Concluded the First Doorkeeper, "Explain to us now the meanings of these sayings."
Quoth Osman I, laughing gaily, "The twelve towering trees represent the twelve months of the year, and such is how time passes. Of the two horses, they are night and the day, which strives ever to be ahead of each other. The jackals signify that on some months there are more days, and on others, there are less. As for the bird, the two trees reflect the two ends of the world, between the firmaments and the bedrock, such that the Wheel turns from one to the other with the bird as the cornerstone. The farmer who hews with his scythe is Death as time the reaper, who hews down as chaff the old and the young alike, should Kalim and Galim ever falter in their eternal contests. And finally, the tale of the giant is the tale of a man, who would abode in the dwellings of his parents but must eventually take his leave, and when travails and tribulations should visit him, would ever recall and long for the days of carefree youth."
Such great marvel exceeding marvel did the Doorkeepers proclaim, and after much debate and arguments, it came to be that Osman I extracted concessions after concessions until it was finally agreed that so long as the tribe of Salhin vouchsafe the secrets of timekeeping from those who dwell beyond the Desert, the Doorkeepers shall neither hinder nor tarry the blessed subjects of al-Maribid.
LIII
THE OSMANI CANAL
When Osman II ascended the throne, he surveyed his demesne and was deeply concerned by how distant much of his realm was from the Sea of Pearls. While glittering minarets were raised across the great cities of the Desert and houses of the Wheel were built with worshipful care, there were no builders or architects who could conquer the very earth. Yet, the Caliph was not satisfied, and issued a decree that the man who could devise a plan to move heaven and earth itself would sit by his flank as his vizier.
An old man had lived in a village far from the coasts, and his friends who had engaged themselves in the affairs of commerce have always bemoaned that they must rely on caravans and camels, risking the ash and storms of the Desert.
After a long thought, he declared, "We will move the very earth itself, so that the water may freely flow." His villagers laughed at him, and called him a fool, and said that it was impossible for a mere old man such as him to move the very earth. Quoth he in reply, "If I die, my sons will continue my labor. When they die, my grandsons will continue it. The earth may be great, but they will not grow. Over generations, they will diminish while my blood will remain."
With those words, his family began the slow and laborious task of excavating the rocks and soil, slowly but surely carving the beginnings of a shallow trench, and then a wider one, and then a deeper one.
When Osman II heard of this, he exclaimed, "Few can be wiser than this man, for while there are times when magick and cunning may be relied on, we must not forget that an undertaking begins with a single act. His is but one family; ours is the tribe of Salhin."
With those words, he decreed the beginning of a vast labor, and stone by stone, shovel of sand by shovel of sand, the great Caliphate of yore conquered the very Desert itself, and carved across it the Osmani Canal. From the very heart of the Caliphate to the coasts of the Sea of Pearls, there came then a winding waterway that would feed and water the empire for the onrush of the ages.
LIV
ALIKAH DRINKS POISON TO BE RID OF A VASSAL
Calipha Alikah was attending the banquet of a disloyal vassal when she heard tidings from her Vizier that the vassal intended for her to die by way of a poisoned chalice. If the Calipha was to die, even though the vassal's hands were clear, it was believed that the Calipha's successor would pardon her for the treason.
Without hesitation, however, the Calipha later downed the chalice when it was presented to her. Although she fell greatly ill and pale, she inexplicably survived. After both the co-conspirators were executed, the Vizier asked why she downed the poison chalice even though she was forewarned of it.
Quoth the Calipha, "I had ingested a bezoar before I supped of the poisoned draught, and knew that ill-stricken though I would be, I would survive. In exchange for a little harm to my person, I have rid myself of two venomous snakes."
Quoth the Vizier, "But was it worth it, to take such a great risk to your health?"
Quoth the Calipha, "It behooves a person who wishes to play the game of snakes in our saffron court to dare to place themselves on the line. This is no less a field of battle, and there is always the chance that your name ends up on the butcher's bill once you step onto the field. If you are unwilling to take such risks, do not step onto the field."
LV
MARIB II'S CONSTERNATION
It is said that when Caliph Marib II was in consternation over the Destitution of Ash, he despaired deeply of whether B'aarat and Kula would permit him into Bel-Ishȗn. When his mind was too troubled by the thought, he summoned a Waterbearer and demanded answers from the faithful.
Quoth the Waterbearer, "Remember always that the Gods will judge you, and on that day you will stand alone before B'aara our Mother, and Kula, and all the Spokes of the Wheel."
Quoth the Vizier, outraged, "O, he is Prince of the Faithful, and the Mother would welcome him into her gardens!"
Quoth the Waterbearer, ignoring the Vizier, "Remember that on that day, you will not have this man by your side to defend you."
LVI
THE PAINTED THRONE
When Reylul al-Maribid and Turyash al-Maribid jostled for the Caliphate amongst many others, they agreed to meet in parley that they may arrive at an alliance against the other pretenders.
When the negotiations commenced, Turyash arrived with many Janissaries, for she bore the White Spear. In contrast, Reylul arrived with only a single artist, and when asked, quoth he, "This is the greatest painter in all the realms, and I have commissioned him to paint for you the finest throne. With this throne, you will appear the greatest of all we who strive for Caliphate. I would yield to you the right to sit upon it."
Turyash was intrigued, and permitted the artist to paint. The painter labored day and night, covering a vast wall of the Summer Palace with an exquisitely elaborate depiction of a majestic throne, adorned with gold and jewels. Turyash, bewitched and entranced by this great piece of art, declared, "Upon this throne I shall sit, for it is wondrous indeed, and from it I shall govern the Caliphate entire!"
Her many soldiers and the citizenry, however, came to mock him, and for all the strength of her White Spear, Turyash's support waned and bled; and to this day, one who claims hollow power is said to be trying to rule from a painted throne.
LVII
VAHD I'S GAMBIT
It is said that late in the reign of Vahd I the Great, the rebellious city-state of Il Modo had sought a marvelous gambit whereby they issued forth from the Sea of Pearls to sack the Summer Palace. The Caliph's many legions were afield in Yaxatan in a punitive campaign, however, and so ancient Ilstu was sorely lacking in soldiery with which to man its walls.
After much thought, the Caliph ordered that the gates of the Summer Palace be unbarred and its walls be unmanned. When the soldiery of Il Modo arrived, they could only gaze with wonder as they beheld the Caliph and his saffron court upon the gatehouse, dining in a wondrous banquet with a thousand, thousand courses and glittering performances that lit up the sable cloak.
All knew of Vahd I the Great, of the Coup of the Sun and his undefeated legions, of his ineffable brilliance and how the Magi Izdu had blessed him upon his forehead with the star of Knowledge itself.
Believing that the Caliph had laid a trap and a cunning stratagem to break the armies of Il Modo, and that the Caliph's armies must be hidden to his flanks or behind the walls, the Modini commander hesitated and eventually ordered a retreat out of a surfeit of caution. The hesitation was costly, as it bought time for the Caliph's Janissaries to return, and eventually, Il Modo had to prostrate itself before the mighty Caliph as he garlanded the Summer Palace with triumphs after triumphs. Thereafter, the incident would be known as Vahd's Gambit, a desperate ploy girded by reputation that tricked one's foes into believing one to be more prepared than one truly is.
LVIII
FEYDSIYYAR II'S BANANA TREE
It is said that Feydsiyyar II dearly loved his sons, who were blessed as twins by Kalim and Gamil.
In the many-hued gardens of the Meidān, there grew a banana tree that was said to be the purview of blessed royalty, and only to be tasted by one who will come to govern the Caliphate. Uzbek and Zojhir fought for the bananas, until Feydsiyyar II, tired of their endless squabbling, proposed a contest.
Quoth their father the Caliph, "I will place a single banana on a branch on each side of the tree. You may both climb and take it, and whoever reaches their banana first will be granted the banana tree."
The two immediately agreed, and they bickered and struggled to reach their end of the banana tree first. Yet, spirited with vim and vigor, they each seized their banana first, descending from their climb at the same time. When they reached the foot of the tree, however, they discovered that their father the Caliph had taken all of the bananas from the ground and threw them away to be mulched.
Quoth their father the Caliph, "A great harrowing there will be if this strife you persist, and though you may each win a scrap of greatness you would have ruined our Caliphate entire in so doing. Cease your squabbling and your bickering, and aid each other in governing justly such that our tribe of Salhin may continue to steward this Desert for a thousand years."
It would be lovely to imagine a world where they listened.
LIX
UZPEK'S CHOICE
Once, the last Caliph was said to have faced a great dilemma at the height of the Harrowing, when what would come to be the Remade Armies had been issued from the gates of Qa'im, and the Janissaries were locked in brutal engagements across the Desert.
Amidst these travails and tribulations, the last Caliph faced a choice. A fresh legion had been raised, and the last Caliph could either convey it to the shores of the Edutu against the Enemy, or eastwards to safevouch a town besieged by the Barbarians. Unable to discern the right or the wrong, the Fleeting sought counsel from his court.
Quoth the last Caliph's vizier and tutor, who was a measure to al-Zuraqi, "O auspicious lord! The Barbarians at the borders are wont only to craven raids and will dare not trespass deeply into your realm. All they shall do is bleed the unworthy, and their sacrifice will lessen the burdens of our men. Convey our soldiers instead to the Enemy, where the war remains balanced upon a knife's edge, and where a fresh legion will tilt the balance in your triumph! What are the lives of some thousands to assure victory? Convey to the surety of victory rather than risk the ignominy of defeat!"
Quoth a Murid, wise of al-Na's learning, "O auspicious lord! We the children of B'aarat are judged for our deeds to our fellowship. Within this besieged fastness are thousands of innocents, women and children included, not to mention refugees displaced and dispossessed by the raids of the Barbarians. If our civic code is faith and obedience, then surely the code of our humanity must be the unspoken commandment that the purpose of our deeds be for the betterment of our peoples. To convey our soldiers from those in need only undermines your sovereign mandate in the eyes of the people, for when the shields of our soldiers are no longer turned first towards safevouching the safety of our tribe, then faith in the tribe becomes dismembered."
Quoth a Makhyoon, great in her ire, "O auspicious lord! We the children of B'aarat are judged for the wrongs to our fellowship. Ours is the brambled path, the harsh scourge, and the bloodstained banner. Terrible shall be the reckoning if we scorn aid to the fastness, and both heavy and accursed be the grudge that will be borne. Ours will be the cursed beyond death, the revenants of ash and dust that will haunt our soldiers long after the fall of the peoples abandoned. To convey our soldiers from those in need only invites that vengeance and that curse, and betrays your sovereign mandate in the spirit of the people."
Quoth an Avukat, learned in the law, "O auspicious lord! We the children of B'aarat are judged by our duty to our fellowship. Our dirges will ring with perpetual grief for the thousands upon thousands who would be butchered by the Barbarians if you forestall the legion's aid. To convey our soldiers from those in need undermines the legitimacy of your reign, and your adherence to the foremost duty of a liege to his subjects; to shelter them as your sacred charge."
Quoth the last Caliph, "Your words have I heard, and I bemoan this wretched choice that has been placed before me. Yet, I will not risk the Caliphate's demise for the sake of a few thousands. The legion shall be conveyed to the Edutu! Why, oh why, o Mother!"
Quoth the Godmother, nursemaid to the crown, "You remind me, child, of the man who lived by the Edutu. On a certain day, when the Edutu swelled beyond the banks, the man stayed in his home and cried for help from the Mother. As he was praying for aid, a man upon a raft came by his home, and offered to ferry him away. The man said no, that the Mother would save him, and returned to praying for the Mother's aid. As he did so, another upon a rowboat came by his home, and offered to evacuate him from his flooding home. Again, the man said no, that the Mother would save him, and his anguished prayers once more sought the Mother's aid. On the third time, an emir upon a palatial pleasure-ship passed by his home, and the emir invited the man aboard with all the luxuries and safety it may afford. Yet again, the man said no, that the Mother would save him. This time, the man drowned, and upon dying, pleaded with the Mother - why, oh why, o Mother, I have been faithful and I have sought your aid! Why did you not save me when the Edutu broke the banks? And the Mother replied, oh, child, I sent you a raft, a rowboat, and an emir's own pleasure-ship, how is it that you are now before me?"
Concluded the Godmother, "The Mother sent you a Murid, a Makhyoon, and an Avukat, not to mention Herself in Immolation so that we may be born from Her gift of water. What more do you want, O auspicious lord?"
Quoth the last Caliph, "What I want is for my Caliphate to endure another thousand years."
Long after the Caliphate was gone entire, a seemingly easy but undutiful choice is sometimes referred to as Uzpek's Choice.
LX
THE KING AND THE EMIR
Once upon a time, it is related that the emir of Bright Darisbis summoned his vizier one night and said unto him, "I desire to go down into the city and question the common folk concerning the conduct of those charged with its governance, and those of whom they complain we shall depose from office and those whom they commend we will promote." So they walked into Bright Daribis as is their wont and as they had done so often ere, and threading a narrow alley, they came upon an oracle with whom they spake. From the oracle was told a great woe and calamity, and a scourging of the city, but the emir was not inclined to heed it and banished the oracle forthwith.
:
Then the scourging of Bright Darisbis charred the city and that which was mighty was brought low. And so the emir was greatly wroth and despairing, and gathering his vizier and his retinue and his soldiery he crossed the City and sought the King's Keep. Through ring after ring he walked, and a thousand thousand rings went by, until finally the emir and his men gained audience before the King.
Quoth the emir, "Justly have I governed, rightly have I led, the good have I commended and the ill I have deposed. Yet, by neither fault nor ill of mine was a star plucked from the firmaments and cast at my demesne. Why, oh King, why?"
Quoth the King, "When the leaves of a tree turn saffron, you would know that autumn nears; when the beasts of my making traverse the plains and the air turns crisp, winter's chill is portented; when a dog howls, Death stalks the night; when the birds flutter from the trees, a predator had leapt beneath the branches; when a gentle man's ire turns quiet, great will be his wroth and punishment; when envoys bring gifts behind sweet smile, the blade is not soon unsheathed; when a coin is stamped fresh, a liege seeks to replenish his treasuries. Know you not then the omens from the ends?"
Quoth the King, "Your evils and your woes may all be gleaned by you if you had only paid heed to the signs, and so why come you now to bedevil my halls with your plight? It is your duty and your charge to guard against the evils of my creation, not mine to husband and shepherd you this way and fro. Go now, and learn to heed your oracles and your seers, the learned ones who have warned you with wise counsel and tidings, as I will warn you of the turning of the age by the sparks of the hot flame. The imperfections and injustices you allege my making of are but reflections of your own imperfections. You may not have acted to bring about those evils, but your forbearance and failure to vouchsafe you and yours invited your woes."
It is said that there are three endings to this tale.
In the first, the emir wept over his folly, for if he had but heeded the portents of the learned he could have acted earlier to save more of the peoples of Bright Daribis. He returned to the charred ruins of his once-fair city, and did what he could to restore it, though his efforts were futile as the strange aberrations of the firmaments overran him and his soldiery.
In the second, the emir retorted that while he may have erred in having failed to heed the warning lent to him, it was still the making of the King that led to the calamity at all. He declared himself in rebellion against the King, and rallied his peoples towards an ambition of regicide, and so it was that over countless generations the City fractured piece by piece.
In the third, the emir embarked on a long pilgrimage to bring about a just and perfect creation. We can only assume that he failed, or that he strives to remake the world to this very day.
QuoteEditor's Note: The tale of the Better Sword has been replaced by that of the Imambara, while the initial publication of A Hundred Battle has been replaced by the tale of the Better Sword. A Hundred Battle is therefore essentially 'republished' here, when the 'new' story is actually the Imambara. This is for organizational purposes, as this arc of Stratos is intended to canvas stories and parables relating to war and stratagem. The Imambara may be read here (https://www.efupw.com/forums/index.php?topic=712124.msg768359#msg768359).
LXI
A HUNDRED BATTLES
It is said that after Emir Yamad Trieneos was appointed warmaster to command the hosts of Osman V al-Maribid against the Thousand Clans, he was asked how many battles he thought it would take before the holdfast of Bet Nappahi will fall. "It should take," the emir infamously replied, "about a hundred battles."
Afterwards, just before the emir met Silverknee at the Battle of the Banks, he consulted with the many oracles, astrologians, and seers amongst the Sultan's armies. He asked them if he would find victory or defeat, should he give battle at dawn. For long hours did the learned oracles debate his query, until the greatest of their seers looked the emir in his eyes and said, "Yes."
None cheered for the emir's glory after he broke the back of the Silverknee's hosts, and long before a hundred battles were fought, the Caliphate was gone entire.
LXII
NAMAHEDU'S FOLLY
During the War of Pearls, Maharaja Ravindra Namahedu had mustered the great fleet of the Caliphate of al-Nasr from Qadira-on-the-Sea to aid beleaguered Al-Nafayya from the assailing fleet of Il Modo. Many triremes accompanied her flagship of Ephia's Mercy, and the Maharaja, confident and bellicose, led her fleet deftly in a bid to board and capture the Modini fleet.
The Caliphate's fleet had little trouble in capturing the Modini galleys, but much to their surprise, the Maharaja found that he had been played for a fool - the galleys were manned only by a skeleton crew of strange, clockwork homunculi, who awkwardly teetered about and made a shambles of seamanship. Just as the alarmed Maharaja was about to order a frantic withdrawal, the true Modini fleet revealed itself, coming forth from a massive canvas shroud that rendered their galleys near-invisible to the eyes in the choppy waters of the Sea of Pearls.
From their galleys, the Modini launched barrels of flaming liquid high into the air from deck-bound catapults, unleashing armageddon upon the hapless Caliphate fleet. The cargo-holds of the bait galleys had also been filled with Dragonfire, and so the entire fleet was caught in a mighty conflagration, such that many Janissaries died in the smoldering chaos. It is said that the mysterious Dragonfire wielded by the Modini was capable of burning even atop the churning seas of the Sea of Pearls.
Only with the aid of the Caliphate's learned war-mages did the Maharaja manage to escape aboard Ephia's Mercy, with the flagship limping back as the fleet's sole survivor. The Maharaja himself, disgraced and humiliated for his utter incompetence, would be stripped of his rank and banished from the golden court.
Namahedu's Folly, as the tragic battle is sometimes referred to, has since been a black tarnish upon that lineage, such that amidst their hive of pirates and corsairs the only respect and legitimacy they could muster is from the edge of a cutlass.
LXIII
BURNING THE FERRIES AFTER CROSSING THE EDUTU
It is said that after Emir Yamad Trieneos had led the hosts of the Caliphate across the Edutu, he ordered that all the boats and ferries leading back to be burned, and that the army shall only carry with it provisions for three days.
Quoth the Emir thereafter, facing his men, "Retreat is no longer an option. Kalim and Gamil cannot reach you from across the Edutu. Ahead, through Silverknee and the Barbarians, you will win your lives back, or you will die. We have three days, men. Fight well."
During the Battle of the Banks, it is claimed that each Janissary fought with the strength of ten men and the determination of a dozen, though the Barbarians were so plentiful that they stretched from one end of the horizon to the other. By the time the battle had ended with the Caliphate triumphant, the Edutu was stained bloody for a full week, and so heaped were the corpses that they rivaled in height the walls of Qa'im.
LXIV
LURING TO THE NORTH WHILE STRIKING IN THE SOUTH
During the war against Iakmes of the Thousand Clans, the Barbarians once caused a great stir and alarm as if they had issued forth to assail one of the Sultanate's holdfast. Upon receiving reports of the Barbarian's movements, the nearest host of the Sultanate were conveyed from the citadel of Ephia's Well to vouchsafe the Sultan's realm.
Upon arriving at the site where the Janissaries were to give battle against the Barbarians, however, there was naught but shadows in the fog and a host of straw-dummies. Alarmed and with great concern, the host withdrew swiftly back to the citadel, only to find that agents of the Barbarian had seized its souks and palaces, and butchered many of the citadel's scribes and merchants.
The devious stratagem of the Barbarian to distract the citadel's host led to a hard-fought and vicious battle, as the streets of Ephia's Well ran red with the blood of its people. It was only after reinforcements from Baz'eel arrived in the form of its airships that the Barbarians and their agents were finally driven off.
LXV
AS LIPS TO ONE'S MOUTH
It is said that Kha'esh once sought to seize a pair of twin cities that resided at the edge of the emirate's realm. To the first were envoys sent, with many jewels and chests of glittering gold, and scrolls of magick profane alongside strange marvels. Tirelessly did the emirate assure the city of its goodwill, seeking of it nothing more than passage to besiege the second.
After hearing about the emirate's efforts, the second city sent an envoy to the first. Quoth the envoy, "Our cities are akin to the lips of a mouth, such that neither can endure without the other. A mouth without lips will be chilled and as cold as a corpse, while lips without mouth are without purpose. We must beg of you to spurn Kha'esh's entreaties, for within their smiles are hidden daggers!"
Still, Kha'esh was exceeding in its wealth when compared to these two cities, and the peoples of the first could not help but be won over by the emirate's great generosity. Over time, complacency sapped the defiance of the first, and doing nothing at all while the second city is besieged seems like a much better option than to have their own people suffer and die on the battlefield.
In time, Kha'esh moved then to besiege the second city, and once it had fallen, promptly returned to ransack the first. So it is then that both cities came to be subjugated, for the first was lured by sweet promises and false lucre.
LXVI
RETURN OF THE WATERS TO EPHIA'S WELL
Across the Smolderpeaks they arrived in a tired and battered host, a motley of the dirty and bedraggled, sellswords and adventurers all fleeing the plight of the Nothing to the Desert. The Janissaries had invested Orentid-held Ephia's Well in a long and wearisome siege after the Prince's Plot was exposed and the Orentid Prince was executed, and so when this army of the desperate reached the Desert did Sorazin Bey ride to take their measure and their purpose with great urgency lest they do hurt and harm unto his men. There, the Bey found them assembled before the Grandmaster of the Cinquefoil Rose, and so were words shared long into the dreary night that would come to change the course of an age, words of demons and dark things, of monsters and the Bandit-Queen. An alliance was struck, a home was promised, and the host of refugees mustered to aid the Janissaries in divesting the Orentids from Ephia's Well.
Before the walls of Ephia's Well did the allied hosts and the Orentids draw out in battle array, like that of a surging sea. The first to open the chapter of the battle came in the form of a flag of truce, in the form of duels and champions bleeding in the sands. An ancient rite of honor, it was said, and there was much rattling of spears and shaking of spears, deafening and proud. "Orentid!" "Kataphraktoi!" "Basilicos!" And it was a strange man, of fey garbs and foreign lands, bearing a claymore near his height, that was first to fall though far from last. A highlander of Glitt, they had called him, and he fell to a flash of shamshir under the light of the moon.
And with his demise did the cymbals beat to battle and derring-do, and there was the thundering of hooves and the blaring of horns as the infamous Orentid cavalry issued from the gates of Ephia's Well. Oh, such a din of battle! "This day no flight!" "Charge, once more!" "Who is for the fighting, let no sluggard come out or weakling!" Onwards ruled the fever of battle, heads growing gray and hotter waxed battle, fiercer until feet slipped on bloodied sands or held firm the valiant, while the faint-hearted fled, and there the fighting lasted on the first day until it darkened and the night starkened.
Four months. Four months of sturdy host on sturdy host, of the clash of arms and the battle-roar. Four months as the Cinquefoil Rose bled and bled and in that crucible became forged into something more than a desperate host, the beat of the cymbals and the battle-drums like that of a smith's hammer striking an anvil in a forge. For four months the Cinquefoil Rose and the Orentids battled, lives spent for the ebb and flow, fighting-men donning hauberks and coats of strait-woven mail and baldricked with their swords come dawn only to be carried back to the carnal pits come dusk.
Quoth Ibtihal, bearing the White Spear, "Soldiers of Baz'eel! Janissaries of the Fourth Legion, Emirs and Beys, loyal soldiers all! You of the Dead Rings! Broken and fearful, ye the dispossessed! Behold now! I myself in all my swollen power! The storm which has claimed your homes is soon to abate. The Dryness of this Well beneath my feet shall soon be replaced with a bountiful flow; the Waters shall return in an onrush. All shall breathe! It shall breathe!"
The prelude to the siege's end came in the form of a furtive meet and a contract signed under the sable cloak, penned betwixt the Grandmaster of the Cinquefoil Rose and a host of mercenaries employed by the Orentids, the Banda Rossa. A hundred bloody skirmishes, and the last battle began with a betrayal, as the Banda Rossa opened the gates of the Krak des Roses, which vouchsafed one span of the walls of Ephia's Well. Through it did the Cinquefoil Rose assail, and though the Orentid were fierce and embittered and bold, and knights began to fall in ever greater number, the assault could neither be hindered nor be cowed.
It is said that the prelude to the siege's end was a duel, much as it had begun. Between the Grandmaster and Ibtihal amidst the great plaza of Ephia's Well, a glittering sword and the white spear clashed even as the last gasp of the Orentid made to meet the Cinquefoil's Knights.
And it is said that when the Grandmaster's blade found purchase in Ibtihal and wrested her life from Kalim and Gamil, there came from beneath Ephia's Well the bubbling of Water. And the Waters came rushing onto the Plaza, and onto the streets, and onto the sands, as if to wash clean the stain of blood. It came in a torrent, and the Waters were restored, and there was much rejoicing. Though the White Spear was lost, it came to be then that the Cinquefoil Rose was gifted the Krak des Roses, and the Waters were restored to Ephia's Well.
LXVII
THE OASIS BEYOND THE HILL
Once, there was a certain bey who was leading the Janissaries against the Enemy. His army had marched tirelessly over many leagues in the Desert, and provisions were running so low that water had to be rationed, and the soldiers were beginning to suffer from thirst. As his men became more mutinous, the bey regarded the map of the region, and pointed to the distance and declared, "Know this! Beyond that hill is an oasis filled with water and trees with delightful oranges!"
Wonder upon wonder spread throughout his army, and they marched with greater fervor. It came to be that they discovered a host of the Enemy between them and the hill. Yet, even tired and thirsty as they were, the Janissaries were enticed by the thought of the sweet, delightful oranges, of the juice staining their chins, and they did battle immediately with great zeal and an ardent fervor.
After the Enemy had been swept aside, the Janissaries ascended the hill only to find that across it was the Enemy's camp, with their own stores of waters and provisions. There never was an oasis beyond the hill, save for the oasis of triumph. With merriment and laughter, the Janissaries celebrated their victory on the stores of their foes.
LXVIII
THE BEY'S GOLDEN ARROWS
It is said that when Osman VI had ended the Wicked Years, much of the realm yet remained in disorder, and he had to dispatch his Janissaries hither and thither to put brigands and barbarians to sword.
Once, on a certain day, one of the Sultan's bey had donned battle-harness and mounted steed and ventured forth into the wastes with his men to put an end to brigands that were troubling a loyal township. When he arrived at a hill surveying the brigands' camp, he discovered that they were many and his men were few, for he had answered the town's alarum with urgency and so departed before he could muster the bulk of his Janissaries, lest the town be put to woe for his delay.
After considering the brigands' camp for some time, the bey summoned his armorer and procured a marvellous bow and his personal quiver. By then, the brigands had caught sight of him and his men, and began to rally to meet him. Armed with his bow, the bey fired ten arrows towards the brigands, though not a single arrow drew blood.
Afterwards, the bey sent an envoy with a message of peace, and the brigands dispersed with awe and wonder - for each of the arrowhead was gleaming gold, and the brigands knew then that to war against Osman VI was to invite the arrow, but to dwell in peace is to invite the prosperity of the gold. It is said, then, that the bey with his golden arrows halted an army without a single drop of blood.
Accordingly, the peoples of the town came to recite this verse:
He tips his arrows with the glint of gold,
And while shooting his foes is his bounty doled,
Affording the wounded a means of cure,
And a sheet for the bider 'neath the mould!
From that liberal hand on his foes he rains,
Shafts aureate-headed and manifold:
Wherewith the hurt be a surgeon's pay,
And for the slain their funeral defrayed.
LXIX
THE ENDING OF THE WICKED YEARS
We dwell now in a time of Baz'eel resurgent, when our Janissaries could afford to be conveyed even across the Scald, a mythical feat that would have been viewed with great incredulity even in the days of the Caliphate. Yet, know that just mere decades before, many calamities had befallen the Sultanate, such that tributes had ceased to flow towards Baz'eel and chroniclers had dared to name it the Hungry Jackal.
Amidst these many woes, the Eternal Peace between Qa'im and Baz'eel came to be tested, such that cool sentiments soon gave way to the hot flash of steel. Calamity abounded with calamity, then, as the Remade Armies were issued from the gates of Qa'im and met by the Janissaries, and in these Wicked Years it was as if the Harrowing had been renewed, and there was great unease and many tragedies that were born from the seed of this contest.
It was in these perilous times that our Sultan, Osman VI al-Maribid, rose to meet the challenge of his days. For while he was boy no longer then, he was yet sovereign, and powerless against the intrigues of his regents. None could have imagined then that the Wicked Years would be ended by him in peace, for in the minds of his doddering and inept regents, he was still a boy.
On a certain night when the sable cloak was draped over the Desert, Osman VI stole away from Baz'eel, cowled and hooded. Alone beneath the stars he rode, carried forth by a divine wind, driving four camels to exhaustion as he spirited towards his purpose. On and on he rode and walked, until upon the horizon there came to be the great pillars of smog and metal that was Qa'im, for indeed the Sultan of Baz'eel had dared by his lonesome to steal into the Enemy's holdfast and into the Tantalum Palace itself - and there he demanded to speak to the throne.
None knows what was shared between our Sultan and whomever it was that claimed rulership in the occluded city that is Qa'im, but after the night was ended, to marvel exceeding marvel, the Remade Armies of Qa'im halted and withdrew as one. The Eternal Peace was re-proclaimed and our Sultan returned to Baz'eel in great triumph and to the love of all in the Desert at the calamity averted, overthrowing his regents and taking his rightful seat in the golden court. And so, without a drop of blood shed or the raising of a single blade, Osman VI al-Maribid ended the Wicked Years.
LXX
THE KING AND THE PHYSICIAN
Once upon a time, it is related that a certain bey had just triumphed over the Enemy during the Harrowing, but the butcher's bill was so great that it ran for many pages and the waters of the Edutu ran red for weeks. Many were the broken banners that scattered the battlefield, and there was much anguish and wailing and the gnashing of teeth as the injured cried for succor and the dying cried for peace.
Amidst all this suffering, a physician had to weigh the measure of lives in bloody triage, and struggled to keep hope even as duty brought him from field to field. A Janissary that had stood resolute against clockwork horrors wept like a newborn babe over the corpse of her fallen brother. A man that had not given an inch in the shieldwall could only stare in horror as the physician warned him that his crushed and broken leg must be amputated. From the dying to the maimed, from the wounded to the wailing, the physician labored but could only save a handful of lives as the rest slipped between the gaps of his fingers as mournful sand.
When the war ended, the physician rejoiced exceeding joy. With tears of merriment staining his cheeks, he returned to Baz'eel, only to find that even in its streets and alleys there was no escaping the diseases and ailments that strike at mortal lives.
On a certain day, the physician failed to save a woman from a miscarriage, and, after seeing to the burial of both the mother and the child, turned to the King's Keep and began to walk. Through ring after ring he walked, and a thousand thousand rings went by, until finally the physician stood before the King.
Quoth the physician, "Oh, auspicious King, sighing has become my daily fast, my groans pour forth like tears, and I feel no peace, no quietness, no rest, only turmoil. My life had I spent doing good and curing ill, and day by day I had labored to heal those whom I can and to lend succor to those whom I cannot. Yet, I have beheld that the innocent have perished, and the wicked had endured; those who plow evil had lived to harvest their profane fruits, while those who have sacrificed and bled and been pure have only faced the reaper's scythe. Between dawn and dusk, I have beheld little fair but a great misfortune for those who must suffer to live."
Continued the physician, "We mortals in hard service in your City, we live like that of slaves longing for the sable cloak, and when we lie down we think - how long ere we must rise again to suffer? I speak out now for the anguish of the many, for the bitterness of the all, and wonder, why have you looked away from us, what have we done to you, that you would not pardon our offenses or forgive our sins, that you would be content to have us reside in a stranglehold of woe? Why, the injustices and the imperfections of your City, why, the evils that you permit be visited upon us all?"
Concluded the physician, "Why, oh King, why?"
Quoth the King, "An ark of salvation had I conjured for you and all your peoples and the thousand thousand peoples of the world, and for all my efforts I can only fear that I would fail. Heavier a burden it is to bear the mantle of your woes and the crown of duty than a mouse may lift a boulder, and yet bore it I have. Is the new dawn I have gifted you not enough to sate? Are the silvery peaks that I have raised, the many marvels and the awesome wonders, not enough to shelter me from your condemnation? You join a choir of earnest resentment that have stretched from the very first dawn and likely will to the very last dusk."
Quoth the King, "Mountains erode and crumble, the water of a lake may dry, and a riverbed may become parched. Summer's vigor fades to fall, and the heavens slumber when the stars are plucked from the firmaments. Doubt is a poison that seeps into the soul, and though we may raise walls to bulwark it for a thousand aeons, in time even the mists are spent. Am I strong enough to bear this burden? Can I rule you well and beneficently that I may ease your woes and troubles? Can I save you all? I do not know, my child, I do not know, but know that there was once when it was a garden, and it was beautiful, and I was loved and I still do love, but now there is a shadow in my eyes when I behold my own creation and I cannot help but notice every imperfection, every injustice. I know not if I can do better, old friend."
It is said that there are three endings to this tale.
In the first, the physician realised that even the King is but man, and what is mortal wrought cannot be absolved of imperfections. There was no salvation to be had from his prayers to the King, and the King forbade it hence. So the physician returned to the Desert, and did what he could to ease the frailties and ailments of those whom he tended, and resigned himself to contentment in the world's anguish.
In the second, the physician despaired and joined in the King's despair, and pledged himself to the King's Court that he may serve by the King's side in the dying of the world. There, he made mockery of those whom he once aided, and whiled himself with comedy at the people's expense to make gentler the bitterness and pain which festers in his own soul.
In the third, the physician departed the King's King and left on a long pilgrimage to quest for a just and perfect creation. We can only assume that he failed, or that he strives to remake the world to this very day.
QuoteAlejandro Benjázar was renowned as a famed storyteller amongst the refugees who arrived in Ephia's Well. The man was slain in a senseless and tragic incident, and his works cut short. A small curated selection of his Thousandfold Tales has been edited and reproduced for this arc of Nasim in his honor and memory, that his works be not forgotten. - Seriyah
// with Don Nadie's OOC permission
LXXI
THE TALE OF TWO RIVALS
Once, in a distant City, there were two rivals. Baruk and Hakim were their names, and they seemed shaped from birth to be in opposition and rivalry even as they shared a love of scholarship. Baruk was slim where Hakim was sturdy, and dark where Hakim was pale. Where Hakim was short enough to resemble a half-man, Baruk was towering enough to match a Stonefolk.
Hakim was a man of delightful temperament, struggling with that which eludes him with a tireless vigor. Once, when an assistant shattered his pottery, he merely had a gaily laugh and discovered that he could mend it with lacquered gold to spin fortune from misfortune. In contrast, Baruk beheld the world as if it conspires trickery against him, and he was exacting and meticulous, with a fondness for organization that could rival that of an Avukat.
On a certain day, tidings reached them both that an explorer had unearthed a temple in the depths of a distant swamp. Both Hakim and Baruk rushed to the temple.
Quoth Hakim, "I must be there before Baruk, lest he stomps over every inch and portion, and ruin that which ought be preserved!"
Quoth Baruk, "I must be there before Hakim, lest he breaks or throws everything that he thinks is not of import, instead of categorising it properly as he ought to!"
And so they both set to the swamp with their escort of guards and assistants, racing to get to the temple before the other. It came to be that they arrived at the same time, only to be greeted by the foulest of misshapen foe-things, monsters bearing the grotesque visages of frogs, uncanny in design such that it was as if their twisted maker had profaned them in flesh only to then discard the detritus. It began with a shrill song, and then violence with a barbaric zeal, until both Hakim and Baruk had themselves and their men driven together into the temple.
Quoth Hakim, "Woe! Woe unto me, that you should be here! You will lose that which is import with your dally masked as care."
Quoth Baruk, "Fie upon you, fie! You will break that which is worn by time with your carelessness!"
Yet, circumstances forced them to an uneasy alliance, and in a whispered conference they pried further into the secrets of the temple.
Quoth Baruk, "You oyster-brained fool! Don't you know your Erugitic ideophonograms? Obviously only this door will lead us towards the main hall, while the rest are evidently traps!" The learned man then chose the only door that wasn't deadly through expertise and observation. And Hakim could not respond, for he had to admit that he had forgotten most ideophonograms.
Quoth Hakim, "You monkey-headed imbecile! You always need to move the moment you step on something and hear a click! It's always traps" Quick-witted and acting swift, he saved Baruk from where an arrow would have had struck him with grievous wound had Hakim not interdicted it with a shield..
And so they made their way through the ancient halls and corridors, avoiding traps and solving riddles. And when they arrived at last in the central chamber of the temple, they realised then that singly they would surely have faltered, but working together the two rivals had endured to the temple's prize. There, they found a chamber of the once-mighty, left to dust and ash now, of empty thrones and empty tables, with naught but a stele.
Upon the stele were carved these words:
Oh, you would who would come to this place, take warning by that which you see of the accidents of time and the vicissitudes of fortune, and be not deluded by the world and its pomps and vanities and fallacies and falsehoods and its vain allurements, for fortune is a flattering, deceitful and treacherous thing, and it is but a loan to us all which it will borrow back from all borrowers; fortune is like unto the dreams of the dreamer and the sleep-visions of the sleeper, or as the mirage in the desert that entices the thirsty.
Fall not into its snares but be warned by my example, for I once possessed four thousand horses and a haughty palace, and I had to wife a hundred daughters of kings and amassed treasures beyond all the competences of the Desert; but there fell upon me unawares the destroyer of delights and the sunderer of societies, the murderer of the great and the small, and verily did the they descend upon us despite our abode safe and secure, and when I saw that destruction which had entered my dwelling I summoned a writer and bade him indite these admonitions and tales on this stele, for despite my army of a thousand thousand bridles and men of warrior mien, there is none of you who can ward off that which befall me, but warn you so I shall.
And so the stele continued: presently know this - once, there were two cities...
LXXII
THE TALE OF TWO CITIES
Once, there were two cities...
One was High Kulkund, etched into the face of a vast mountain range, a city of many-pillared halls, mosaics of silver and bridges of glittering gold, where it is said that diamonds encrusted the ceilings of their atrium to reflect the very stars. The other was Deep Kulkund, mined into the deep bowels of the earth, where grim-visaged dwarves dug and dug and dug in mansions buried where light does not scar. By ancient compact, they were shorn in twain, the High Dwarves in their halls and the Deep Dwarves in their depths.
As High Kulkund developed art and trade with the Salhinid Caliphate, Low Kulkund developed tools of war to do battle with strange things that lurked near the cornerstone of our creation. One prospered and one bled; one grew complacent and the other became embittered.
On a certain day, the King of the Depths sought an audience with Queen Ygritte II of the High Dwarves, to plead for his cousin's charity. But lo! This was taboo, to the ancestors, and traditions spurned the very notion! And thus, the Queen refused, and the Deep King returned, having prostrated himself for naught and he was bitter, and full of hate.
It came to be, then, that the Deep Dwarves, feeling that they had bled and bled and bled to vouchsafe their cousins up high, feeling treacherously betrayed and left to fend for themselves while their cousins prospered, were outraged. Accordingly, they began a long and eternal war against High Kulkund. On and on did the war rage on, and perhaps it might have locked the two in an eternal stalemate, until the Thousand Clans fell like a hammer upon High Kulkund to the anvil that was the Deep Dwarves. Caught between the two great powers, High Kulkund was shattered, broken, and its people rendered a diaspora.
And much was lost, but not all, and not forever.
Generations later, some of the dispossessed and displaced of High Kulkund came upon a key, a piece of their ancestral home. The way back to their ancient home was treacherous, however, and they bled dearly for it before they eventually reached the door which their key opened. It had been secured by the centuries, protected by ancient compacts and mechanisms and, thus, protected from the savage Barbarians and the envious Deep Dwarves.
Onwards they went, until they gazed upon the Hall of Assemblies, which had been spared the destruction of the rest of the City. And they gazed upon the ancient statues of the dwarven monarchs and the luxurious mosaics of the speaker's floor and the greatness of the High Throne where court had once been held in bygone days.
And in the lectern, was a simple speech, the Last Speech of High Kulkund pronounced before their King, and the speech was a tragic one, for it sought to reconcile brother with brother, and of noble dignity.
And in that speech, it told of a tale, about how once, there was only one language...
LXXIII
THE TALE OF WHERE LANGUAGES CAME FROM
Once, there was only one language, and that was the Tongue Which Was Truth.
It was spoken by all and the only language there was, for no other letters were carved nor words uttered, than those contained within this one language, and this language was the truth. There were no gaps in meaning, no tension between intent and symbols, and all was perfect and all was one and the same. And the word 'water' meant 'water in essence, and so did the words for anything that can be imagined, and there were words for everything and all things.
And because the language was shared by all, all could speak with all. One could entreat the clouds to halt in the sky, or for the river to reverse its flow, or to ebb such that one may cross a stream without getting one's feet wet. One could ask the trees to lower its fruitful branches, and even Death and Time could be asked to gently cease, if one was capable of being particularly courteous!
And there was no strife, no suffering, no injustice or imperfection, for none of these could take root upon soil so abundant in goodness and kindness and when each understood the other with such perfection.
But alas! There came to be a man who spoke this language, and he loved dearly a dame. And he loved, and loved, and loved, with all the facets of love which is akin to possession, like a fire's want for wood. And alas! He was a jealous man, and he said, "Why am I to tell her that I love her, when those same words had been used a thousand thousand times by a thousand thousand others?" For he did not want to share her, not even in words, and he wanted the words to be his alone as much as he wanted her.
And so it came to be that the man worked and worked, toiled and toiled, thought and thought, for it was no easy thing to invent a new tongue which wasn't true for all, when there was a language that was true.
And without asking the stone for permission, he took a stone.
And without asking the tree for permission, he took a piece of bark.
And without asking the bark or the stone for permission, he pierced one into the other to write a symbol. And the bark cried as the stone did while he worked, for they had been turned not into beings, but into the instruments of another's will.
And by using something else, the man carved a symbol which was, he thought, a symbol of his love. Just for her and just for him.
But so it was that the stone was angry, and made a language for the Stone.
So it was that the tree was angry, and made a language for the Tree.
And so it was that the trees, the clouds, that Death and time, that peoples and animals coal, grains of sand, the dust which accumulated behind bookshelves, foam, laughter, tears... they each made a language for themselves, for mistrust spreads like wildfire. Nothing would ever speak again the Tongue Which Was Truth with one-another. A chasm, forever, would exist between word and meaning, between what one means to express and what one says, and how or whether it is understood.
The man, of course, delivered his symbol to the woman. The first word in the first humanoid tongue. A word for love.
And the woman loved him not. Instead, she sighed deeply and told him a tale:
"Once, so many ages ago that the world was young..."
LXXIV
THE TALE OF HOW THE RINGS FELL
Once, so many ages ago that the world was young and the names of things were fresh...
The King of the Disc saw fit to raise the Walls. And thus ring after ring rose, all built around the walls encircling his castle. Like the waves in a pond, concentric and eternal, they rose. One after another. And these Walls were magic, and thus no enchantment could jump them, no trickery. Instead, each Ring had its key: a riddle, a challenge, a feeling, a word. No Ring would open like the ring before.
And so, the world was peaceful, and each ring tended to their own business. For within a ring you may learn things which would otherwise be impossible. Alas, it did not last.
It came to be that a darkness festered in the edges of the Disc. Prince of Shadow, they called this darkness, this Nothingness. From the edges, it would crawl and slither and slime, ever forward, ever forward. And those who suffered it were swallowed, and changed, and destroyed forever.
And for a while, it seemed the Walls held it at bay. And then the Walls, too, began to fall to this Nothingness. And so it was that the Nothing kept creeping closer and closer, until it came to the shores of the Old Ward, in Ring 99.
There, in the Old Ward, lived many, including the valiant knights of the Houses who, for a long while, tried to fight the Tide, to hold it back. A thousand tales there are, of their battles, of their noble victories and their innumerable defeats. One day, eventually, the beleaguered houses of these woeful knights sought to evacuate their peoples. They came to build this miraculous machine powered by the hopeful dream of escaping this tide of Nothingness, that they may break asunder the path ahead to ferry the innocents, the women, and the children, through.
Some stayed behind. To cover the retreat. And Ring after Ring more and more knights stayed behind, to cover the retreat. As the machine and its refugees moved forward, the Nothing was always lurking right behind them, always a fateful night away from devouring them whole. And so it was until this host of refugees sought to cross the Smolderpeaks, the tallest mountain in the Disc! A volcano without peer where, it is said, giant birds, strange monsters and dragons lived.
And close to the Peak, while trying to cross, this miraculous machine finally broke.
In despair, they battled their way through the shadowed tunnels of the Smolderpeaks, bleeding and dying to carve a path for the host of refugees behind them. And at the peak of the mountain, they huddled and stood, and formed a valiant shield wall, prepared to pay and shed their very last lives in defiance against the Nothing that would take them as the Prince of Shadow stepped forth.
But lo! Upon the horizon!
At first? At first people thought it a falling star! A light far, far away, in the distance!
But no!
For soon they heard the echoes of trumpets, the echoes of hooves in the air! And soon, too, they could tell who he was: the King of Kings!
Old he was, like the world, and weary, too! But old and weary, he had unsheathed his sword, mounted his horse! And from his Keep, he had issued forth!
And there, at the top of the Smolderpeaks, the King of the Disc faced the Prince of Nothing.
And it is said that their blades did not meet. That battle did not ensue. Instead, the King of the Disc and the Prince of Nothing beheld each other and shared words in a tongue that predated the tongues of men and giants alike, and they came to an understanding that shaped the very foundations of our Age of Ash.
With that understanding, the King permitted a gaily laughter, and seized the Prince as if that calamity was but a trifle, embracing him like a lost-long son. And then, together, the King stepped forth from the Smolderpeaks, and fell, and fell, and fell. In the moment that came thereafter, the Nothing dissipated altogether, and there was neither body nor crown or sword, just a remembrance left behind, as ephemeral as memories in the minds of men.
After, it came to be, that there was a great rumbling as the horizons were sheathed in ash and dust. From the King's Keep it billowed outwards, and outwards, each Wall trembling, each Wall faltering, until each Wall fell to the ground.
And atop the Smolderpeaks, a weary and woebegotten knight sighed and said:
"Once, there was a little boy..."
LXXV
THE TALE OF THE BOY WHO BECAME KING
Once, there was a little boy, and that little boy woke to a dark and empty world..
So he reached out in the darkness, and found a crown. And with trembling fingers, misty-eyed, he set it upon his head. And, lo and behold! Light! And then the boy could see.
Crowned, the boy saw the wastes of ash, long abandoned. Crowned he saw, too, his own and painful solitude.
And saw he blew his breath onto the ash and saw, beneath it, resting, a man and a woman.
"Please wake", pleaded the boy, "For I am alone and scared". And the man stirred to wakefulness.
"Please wake", pleaded the boy, "For I have none to love me". And the woman, too, stirred to wakefulness.
Phor and Ephia, they were, and each set their hand on the boy's shoulders.
And the boy was no longer alone, and the Disc was his to make.
But as he made it, for children are oft bored, if not entertained, Ephia told him a tale:
"Once", she said, "There was a city..."
LXXVI
THE TALE OF THE BREAKING OF THE AXE
Once, there was a city, and in that city many precious things were made.
Silver and bronze were forged into jewels and artwork, and every day the hammering rang like a thousand beautiful bells. And lording over the city that was Bet Nappahi was Cyaxares. Brave Cyaxares! Tall Cyaxares! Cyaxares, of the Silvery Spear and the Axe! Cyaxares, who fought and fought tirelessly almost every single day of his life!
On a certain day, it came from afar, an empire, the long tendrils of its tyranny spreading like a plague. Alas! For this city was in the empire's path. Allied with others, this beautiful city sought to defend itself and its friends, and so did Cyaxares forge from earth and bronze beings that would aid him in vouchsafing the Desert and its marvels. And these beings did turn their hammers to iron and steel and bronze, and the silverworks rang with the violence of spear-craft and shield-make, of arrow-fletching and the smithing of axes.
And from an allied city, a general came and said: "Behold! For your craft is subtle, but so is your understanding: there is no staying away from bloodshed! No matter how sharp your axes, they shall amount to naught, without a strong arm to wield them!"
And then this general took the greatest axe of them all, a thing of beauty so big and heavy it'd have taken twenty giants to carry it. And he lifted it above his head. And he said: "Behold! The axe is raised! Who shall now follow it to defend what they love?"
And the craftsmen raised their hammers, their axes, and cried as one. "We shall!"
And so, the general rallied his thousand legions and, with their aid, turned back the attack of the Empire. But, once the attack was turned, a debate formed, amidst the allies, within the city which once had worked silver and bronze for things of beauty and subtlety.
"Is it enough to defend ourselves, and let this threat live?"
The general and his legions sought to fight till the bitter end, and erase this empire from the disc. But others, so many others, did not wish to pursue bloodshed. And who can we say who was right, after all, when the heart longs for peace but the world is soaked in blood? And so the debate raged, and so the legions kept on hammering their blades and weapons.
It came to pass that the debate, unsolved by word, was resolved by violence. For the general raised the axe, not against the empire and its tyrant, but against his own allies. And in one fell swoop, cleaved the head of his own sister, who had clamored for peace.
But upon breaking her head, the Axe, too, broke, its pieces shattered and scattered. And thus scattered, too, were his host, into a thousand clans for each of a thousand fragments.
And it is said that the biggest fragment lodged itself into the general's heart, and that the general would leave into exile, forever broken by what he broke. For there is, it said, great sadness in the breaking of things.
And before he left, bestowed upon his cohorts one last piece of advice, a tale.
"Once", he said, "there were giants..."
LXXVII
THE TALE OF THE BLOOM OF UR-SHULGI
Once, there were giants. Oh, tall and grand they were! And if they were tall in body, how tall were they in spirits and mind? For they knew many things that are now forgotten, and many stories that are now lost to time.
And amidst their eldest was a kindly giant, named Ur-Shulgi. Oh, how kind she was! Ur-Shulgi had the heart of a poet and the hands of a mother! She wielded no weapon, no sharp instrument, no axe, no pick, not even a needle. She wore a veil so as to not swallow an insect by accident and, when she walked, she broomed ahead of her, to keep every little creature safe and alive.
But Ur-Shulgi's greatest talent was for the things that grow. For she had orchards and fields, where she tended to her gardens and sang beautiful flowers into bloom. And so it was that Ur-Shulgi was called the Beloved of Flowers.
Indeed, the Beloved of Flowers, the kindest of giants: Ur-Shulgi! Her many-hued garden would've been the envy of every king!
It would've been the envy of every king, and so one day it became the envy of the Empress.
Quoth the Empress, "I should have such flowers in my court!"
And year after year she tried to grow the same beauty, and year after year, she failed.
Quoth the Empress in frustration, "If I cannot grow these flowers, then none shall have them!"
With these words, the Empress wove a spell and, in the darkness of the night, slipped into Ur-Shulgi's garden. Then, while Ur-Shulgi slept, the Empress worked a profane spell amidst the soil and the flowers.
It came to be then that over the next few days, Ur-Shulgi realized that her garden was slowly withering, the petals drying, the roots gnarled, and all was turning to ash!
So Ur-Shulgi put all her magic, and all her knowledge, into a counterspell. And she sang a song of magic, and of growth, to keep the tides of deadly poison away. A song of blooming, a song of the wild. Alas! For the Empress was empowered by an empire's worth of vile sacrifices and the most barbaric of rites, and so the garden still withered, and Ur-Shulgi's daisies rotted, her carnations dried, her beloved lilies fading before her eyes. Until, at the end, there was nothing in her garden but a humble dandelion.
Oh, how Ur-Shulgi wept and despaired, and deep were her sorrows and her anguish, until it came to her a realisation. Why has she been trying so hard to keep her garden in one place? Why should the flowers be but tended to her? And so, she took the humble dandelion, and scattered it to the four cardinal directions, spreading it like stars upon the firmament. Upon the winds it is borne, hardy and defiant, taking roots wherever it may find even the most frail of soil.
And it is said that Ur-Shulgi resides beyond the Valley of Wisdom, tending to the Desert as her many-hued garden, and those with keen ears claim they can hear, at night, the echoes of the song that kept the poison of the Empress at bay...
And in her song there was this tale:
"Once, there was a forest of fifty trees..."
LXXVIII
THE TALE OF THE BURNT FOREST
Once, there was a forest, and in this forest there were Fifty Trees.
How grand they were and how ancient! Branches so tall that they reached the sun itself, roots so deep that they reached the bedrock of the Disc. They were ancient trees whose leaves kept all safe from Pra'raj's harm, trees of wisdom, trees where entire cities and civilizations could grow with delight. And they were all tended by the beautiful Ur-Shulgi.
In these ancient times there was, also, an Empress. A grand and wicked Wyrm who had grown so fat and so grand and so heavy with bitterness and hunger that she wished to feed on the Disc itself. And how deep was the Empress's envy! How grave her wickedness! How deep her control! And how terrible, how fearsome, her armies.
Long had the giants of the Desert kept the Sibilant forces of the Empress at bay. Long had their Silvery Cohorts stood, a wall of shield and spear, against this greedy enemy who would devour all the Disc. And at the head of these cohorts was none other than Cyaxares! Brave Cyaxares! Tall Cyaxares! Cyaxares, of the Silvery Spear and the Axe! Cyaxares, who fought and fought tirelessly almost every single day of his life.
Fought every single day save but one day a year. For once a year, the brave general of the Cohorts left the frontlines to meet with his beloved. And under the shadows of the Fifty Trees, he embraced Ur-Shulgi, in hopes that, someday, they'd have a child to raise in peace.
And so it was that the Empress saw it, and so it was that she envied, and planned, and schemed. And one night, when Cyaxares left for his yearly rest, she threw her many-hosts and armies against the wall of the Cohorts. Oh, what a battle it was! And what a deceit, too! For under the shadow of the night, the Empress's dragons took flight, and soared above the battle, above the clouds, only to descend far, far within the Desert. To descend, with fire, onto the Forest and its Fifty Trees.
Cyaxares and Ur-Shulgi were awakened by the flames, but it was too late to stop the burning! For how does one stop a fire when it is raging? How does one stop destruction, when it has begun? Is there a way to stop the process by which the world may turn to Ash? They tried, of course, and they failed. And when dawn rose, red and bloodied, Ur-Shulgi laid crying, amidst the Ash. How bitter her tears, how deep her anguish. She was in such deep pain, in such deep crying that she didn't notice Cyaxares had left.
Cyaxares wielded his axe and his spear and charged with such fury onto the Sibilant that even now, the hatchlings of the hatchlings of those who saw the battle have nightmares. And he fought for a day and he fought for a night and he fought for three and four and seven. And he fought so long that the ground was watered with blood. He fought for so long that, eventually he forced the Empress herself to emerge.
And it is said that Cyaxares grinned, blood-soaked Cyaxares, he launched his spear with an almighty strength and fury even as the Empress descended upon him. In the same instance that his spear pierced the Empress' eye and rendered her to ash, so too did the Empress break Cyaxares, and rendered him to dust.
It came to be that on a certain day, Ur-Shulgi found the strength to stir from her sorrows. And it is said that she visited the battlefield where her beloved had died. And it is said that she found naught of him save for a sapling plant. This sapling, she took into her heart. And this sapling, she carried onto a hidden place. For this sapling was the child they never had. And this sapling would, one day, be the Forest that Once Burnt, Renewed.
And Ur-Shulgi whispered to the sapling in the deep dark places of the world:
"Once, there was a woman, a man, and a chalice..."
LXXIX
THE TALE OF THE WOMAN, THE MAN, AND THE CUP
Once, there was a woman, a man, and a cup.
The woman lived in the City when it was young, and oh, how verdant it was! The garden bloomed in every direction, its canals gleaned with limpid waters, and it had no walls save for rows of flowers and no slums save for fertile fields with blooming dandelions. Be one hither or thither, there was water, there was green, and there was joy.
And the woman was beautiful, a jewel exceeding jewel, with eyes of the darkest wine and lips a sanguine red. It is said that on a certain day she had beheld an old hag, thirsty and parched, and from her heart had only given an earnest prayer of goodwill and gave the waters of her pouch to the hag. Lo! For the hag was none other than the Mother herself in disguise, and so blessed was the woman, quoth the Mother, "Wherever you settle will be a garden, and all shall bloom so long as you know not heartbreak."
Once there was a man who arrived in the City. Gentle were his words and such a tale he could spin, and his songs were enrapturing and the myths of his making could entrance all creation. The two met and their love would be the marvel of all, and they loved each other as the sea adores the shore.
On a certain day, alas, there came to the City an emir who was vile and wicked in his heart. Yet, he wielded profane powers and at a word he could command walls to rise and palaces to sink, or instill in the machines of Pra'raj a wicked animation to do ills in his name. There were few who could withstand his remade legions, and it so came to pass that he learned of the woman blessed by the Mother. Oh, how his blackened heart burned with want when he learned of her, and he desired her for she is the promise of creation.
So it came to be that with bronze and silver he murdered him, and with that original evil sought to seize her as his prize. Yet, before he could do so, she wept her blessings into a cup, and fled into the deepest dark of the Disc, and hid the cup away so that it may be forever denied him.
It was a simple cup, but it held a frail and flickering hope, but as she hid it away she said, "Children of the Wheel, know that a better time will come. Know that someday the wicked will fall and the righteous will inherit the garden. Know that our hope will be hidden from the unworthy, and to the worthy will our future be renewed."
LXXX
THE CLAY PRINCESS
Once upon a time, there lived a clay princess in a faraway Ring. There, life was harsh. Her mother was a cruel and callous woman, and the peoples of her Ring were violent and belligerent. Oftentimes, they would engage in strange rites where they did battle upon a bridge until blood is shed and a life is taken. To advance in her society, one had to be strong and wicked, and those who claimed lordly or knightly mantles would embody very little of the virtues that they ought to uphold. Instead, they oppressed the weak beneath them and butchered their foes with little disregard for the milk of human mercy.
In time, her father fell deathly ill, and all the alchemies and magics of her Ring could not cure the ailment. Her house squandered vast fortunes on the trying, but for all of their best efforts they were left with nothing but woe and destitution.
On a certain day, she gathered what was left of her house's retinue, turned to the King's Keep, and began to walk. Through ring after ring she and her men walked, and a thousand thousand rings went by. They faced many travails and tribulations, and she wept bitterly for each of her loyal retainers who perished, be it in the Smolderpeaks or when one of her servants failed a mathematical riddle, but eventually, she arrived at the King's Keep.
There, she found a lighthouse perched atop the ruins of a castle, reaching far towards the heavens, and exuding such brilliance that it could be seen from even the most distant of rings.
And in the ruins of the castle, there was a dragon.
Quoth the clay princess, "Please, I beg of you, grant me audience with the King, for I bear a fervent wish: that my father, deathly ill, may be saved and made hale again."
Quoth the dragon, "Oh, foolish daughter. There is no King. There never was a King. This City was nothing but the conjuration of a thousand thousand coincidences, the natural laws of heaven and earth coming together to see it be made. The Disc had always been here or always would be here, wrought of an instance of ineffable creation when all the materials of our world came together and then birthed a thousand stars. All that the King is and always has been a fantastical hope imagined by you poor, wretched mortals, imagined into being because you could not bear to otherwise comprehend a world where all your suffering and anguish could not be justified or made right by a sovereign above you."
Concluded the dragon, laughing wickedly, "And so I made a lamp of your hopes to draw you into the mists, your imaginations ever enticing you onwards deeper and deeper into these bitter fantasies of yours, until here in the ruins of this keep I devour you whole. For I am Death, and all of you are ever making your way to me. Now, later, eventually, you will all be devoured in my maw, but those of you who hurry the faster I welcome first. Abandon all hope, you who live and suffer, for at the end there is nothing, nothing but a dragon's maw, nothing but the last of your pain and the merriment of my mirth. Your father will die. You will die. You will all die."
It is said that there are three endings to this tale.
In the first, the clay princess was devoured. This is the end that comes to all mortals. There is no King, there is nothing to save us, there is no salvation at the end and nothing beyond it. Our life is all we have, and how we spend it is the only choice we get to make; whether to stay to tend to our garden or to adventure through the rings, either way, we perish.
In the second, the clay princess rebelled against death. She fought and fought and fought, and the harder she fought, the longer she lived. She employed physicians that made weapons against death, pills which granted the strength and vitality needed to withstand another of the dragon's blows. She trained and honed her body to be more resilient, and unearthed secrets with which to endure. Yet, eventually, she too, died, though many more years did she buy.
In the third, the clay princess departed from the King's Keep, and embarked upon a long and hopeful quest to remake the world and cure creation of its injustices and imperfections, that she may see birthed a world where the garden bloomed and Death itself is slain.
LXXXI
PARABLE OF THE CANDLES OF WHITE AND GOLD
So it is said that there stood two candles side by side in a chamber buried within the deep darkness of the Disc's bedrock. One was made of pure white wax, and the other a wax of saffron gold.
Quoth the white candle, "Mine is a light without tarnish, and my flame is pure."
Quoth the golden candle, "Mine is gilded with gleaming gold, and my flame shines with a holy saffron."
On a certain day, a dark fire swept over the chambers, and both candles melted together. It is said that a gentle giantess gathered the wax together and shaped them into a single candle, which lends light in the darkest places of the Disc to this day, its flame brighter than either of the two had ever been by themselves.
LXXXII
THE EMIR'S FALCON
An emir had a beloved falcon who was his constant companion. One day, while hunting in the Desert, the emir felt thirsty and sought from his retinue a cup of fresh water. When the cup was conveyed to him, the falcon knocked it away. The emir grew angry, and demanded for yet another cup. Once more, the falcon knocked the cup away.
Outraged, the emir bellowed for yet another cup of fresh water, and for one of his men to pull the falcon away. As the emir was about to thirstily sip from the cup, the falcon tore free of his man's hold, and troubled the cup so that the water was sent flung onto the sands. In a rage beyond rage and blinded by red, the emir struck at the falcon, killing it.
As the falcon fell onto the sands and fled, it came to the emir's sudden awareness that there was a jerboa that had been trying to lick at the waters from the sand in a great thirst, and that jerboa had began to fall aside, convulsing in pain. Startled, the emir learned then of a plot schemed against him, and that it was he who had transgressed his falcon when his falcon had only sought to save his life. In mournful anguish at what he had done and what had betided his constant companion, the emir wept, and could only marvel at the extent to which his faithful falcon had sacrificed to protect him.
LXXXIII
THE WARSHORN TAPESTRY
Long gone before in the days when the Caliphate was yet mighty, Caliph Osman I had a sleepless night and invited a famed Hakawati to tell him a tale. And thus it began: some years ago, the Hakawati had been in Ilstu when, being oppressed by an excessive heat from the demon Pra'raj, had went up to a great door to ask for a drink.
Thereupon he became suddenly aware of a damsel, as she was a branch swaying, with eyes languishing, eyebrows arched and finely pencilled, clad in a shift the color of a pomegranate-flower and a mantilla filigreed with saffron gold. Pleasantness prevailed in every part of her, and indeed it was said that she was of such beauty that a poet penned: "Any aspect of her charm we see seems of the whole a simile." But she seemed dejected, disturbed, and in the vestibule of her home she sat and wove a tapestry.
The Hakawati was overawed and drew near her to greet her, and she replied with a voice dejected and with the ardour of passion sapped. Quoth then the Hakawati, "O, my lady, I am an old man and a stranger in these parts and am sorely troubled with thirst. May I beg you for a draught of water?"
Quoth the lady in turn, "I will do so, by the Mother's mercy, though you may have to forgive my lethargy for I am distracted from all thought of meat and drink."
Quoth the Hakawati, "By what ailment, oh lady?"
Answered her in turn, "One with whom I am beloved is far afield now, beneath the Caliph's banner, and upon distant shores he wages war for the Caliphate's glory, and yet here I am embittered with fretful anguish and an abiding sorrow."
Such sorrow was etched upon the Hakawati, and as he regarded the tapestry that she was weaving, such marvel exceeding marvel dawned upon him. For she was weaving a life that she could imagine of her and her beloved, of the merriment that they would share and the summer passions they would indulge, of the child they may come to have and their passing in an old age. She had woven a tapestry of their life for he was far away and only in that indulgence of her imaginations might she yet have an escape from fretful grief.
The Hakawati know not to this day if he ever returned to her, for the Caliph's campaigns were yet drawn in length, as barbarians stir upon the frontiers and the rebellious yet needed to be subjugated. Hearing of the Hakawati's tale, however, it dawned upon the Caliph the breadth and measure of the anguish of the wars which he must partake, for not only were those afield who must endure, but those too at home that must wait with bated breaths for the returned of those who are beloved. It is said that the Caliph could not recall his legions for he yet sought to pacify the Desert, but for her he summoned her beloved home, that what she imagined in her tapestry may at least be hers in truth. The tapestry he bought for ten thousand dinars, naming it the war-shorn tapestry, for it reminded him always of those shorn apart by war and the weight of his decisions.
LXXXIV
THE SULTAN SEARCHES FOR A MATCH
Once, it is said that a certain Sultan sought a suitable match, and dispatched his vizier to scour the Desert for those who would be able to aid him in restoring the strength of the Sultanate. It came to be that there were many paraded for his consideration, and they were beautiful beyond compare, of loveliness exceeding loveliness, yet he would question them and after words were shared the vizier could only despair as the Sultan would spurn them.
On a certain day, the Sultan summoned his vizier and informed him that he desired to go down to the streets of Baz'eel whereby they shall question the common folk concerning the conduct of those charged with governance. This was typical of the Sultan, for in so doing he would learn much of the people's weals and woes, and the vizier was unsurprised. Together and hooded, with a small retinue of guardsmen, they descended the Ecstatic Terrace into the quarters of Baz'eel. Yet, travails and tribulations greeted them, and they soon found themselves scattered by the vicissitudes of misfortune, until the Sultan was parched and thirsty as he stumbled to the doors of a household.
There, he knocked once and twice and yet again, for it was late in the hours and for a moment he despaired of any aid. Yet, the door opened, and there came hurrying to his assistance a young damsel who was plain of features yet bright of smile. Such kindness she showed without hesitation, lending draught of water and letting him break his fast, despite how his clothing was ragged and tattered, or how her own respite was interrupted by his woe. They spoke for hours, of affairs in the Sultanate and in the city, of the Wheel and of foreign states, and he found to his wonder beyond wonder that she was as well-learned as she was kind.
And then, in a fey moment of fancy, the Sultan asked her to wed him, and the long hours they had spent had been enough to steal her heart, and she agreed.
Later then, the vizier finally found the Sultan, and kneeling begged for forgiveness. The Sultan forgave him, and introduced him to his new wife, who could only marvel in great astonishment.
Quoth her, "O auspicious king, you are His Sublimity, surely you would find one more fair than one as plain as I am, please, make not mockery of me, lest my heart be broken and impossible to mend."
Quoth the Sultan, "I found in you love because of your heart and your kindness; few of our subjects will ever behold us, but all will feel the weight of our deeds and our words. Our miens may be fair and beautiful, then, but that would do little for our peoples for whom we are entrusted to protect and vouchsafe; when instead it is our goodliness and our wisdom that would bring fortune or misfortune upon them."
LXXXV
SISTER BUTTERFLY AND GRANDFATHER BOULDER
In times of yore and in ages long gone before, there was Sister Butterfly and Grandfather Boulder, and together they sat atop a hill.
Others had rolled Grandfather Boulder there so that he might be above the trees and take in the Knowledge of dusk and dawn, and Sister Butterfly had been content to sit atop Grandfather Boulder to behold the world around her.
Quoth Sister Butterfly in wonder, "There are so many things out there! I want to see them all!"
Quoth Grandfather Boulder in reply, "Here I reside, content and in comfort, and here I shall reside."
Sister Butterfly was secretly relieved when he said so, for he was heavy, and she would never be able to carry him or roll him by her lonesome. And so, Sister Butterfly spun gossamer garments from the fields and flowers as her wings, and took upon the breezes that they may bear her to the cardinal corners of the world.
She visited many places and saw many things. She was the first to see all eight sacred animals and all four of the sacred plants. She rode the north wind, the east wind, the south wind, and the west wind. She ascended the mountains of dawn at the horizon of the Disc and descended the mountains of dusk to gaze out at all creation from their peaks. She saw distant lands, distant hills, distant trees, and even distant stars.
A thousand thousand years crept by as she wandered the world, until one day, she found herself on a strange hill with a strange rock upon it. It felt very comfortable and very warm to her, and she slept there, tired from her long sojourn, and when she slept, she dreamed. And when she woke up, she remembered, and hugged Grandfather Boulder and wept with joy.
Quoth Sister Butterfly in merriment, "Grandfather Boulder! I have seen so many things! I wish to share them all with you!"
Yet in her absence, Grandfather Boulder had become more and more like a rock, and he did not have eyes like she did, nor did she have ears as she did. He had become quiet and silent.
And so Sister Butterfly took a chisel, and began to carve upon Grandfather Boulder all the stories that she had heard and all the things that she had seen. And then he Knew. And upon that hilltop he began to ponder things other than the sky and the stars.
LXXXVI
MARIB II'S WREN AND THE HAWTHORN TREE
It is said that in times of yore, Marib II had once thought to disguise himself and shed the regalia of his sovereignty to spend a span of time in scholarship at the Grand Academy of Baz'eel. There, he was a reader of books erugitic and became well versed in the mysteries of the Wheel and the Knowledge, and became conversant in the virtues of rulership and the maladies of ill-governance. He was a match for his tutors in speechcraft, and he explored with great vim and vigor all the branches of the tree of knowledge.
It came to be then that during those days, Marib II befriended a wren, which he adored deeply. The little fluttering bird would accompany him from study chambers to lecture halls, and when he had to return to the Sublime Gardens to tend to affairs of state it too would learn to follow him.
On a certain day, Marib II met a damsel of extraordinary beauty and loveliness, gifted with brilliancy and possessed of abundant wit. She had a love for wassail and wine and choice verses and rare stories, and the delicacy of gifts. All these Marib II could have granted her as Caliph, but he wanted to pursue her as a man, and sought a dance of her without revealing who he was. Yet, she refused him, and playfully demanded of him a red hawthorn flower.
Quoth the Caliph, "With all of my Knowledge and my learnings, surely I can find of her this without relying on the gardens of the Sublime Garden, or the decree of my crown." For all his own efforts, however, the Caliph could not find a red hawthorn flower, be it for the unseasonal time or mere vicissitudes of misfortune, and he was deeply pained by the searching.
Noticing this, the wren flew to a beautiful hawthorn-tree, and asked for a sweet red hawthorn flower.
Quoth the hawthorn-tree, "Mine are white flowers, pale as the foams upon the Sea of Pearls and more brilliant than the snows of Kulkund. Speak to my brother yonder, perhaps he may be able to help."
And so the wren went to the other hawthorn-tree, who said, "Mine are yellow flowers, as gilded as the Caliph's own crown, more gleaming saffron than the many-pillared halls of the Golden Court. But speak to my brother yonder, perhaps he may be able to help."
And so the wren went to the third hawthorn three, who said, "Mine are red flowers, yes, but the seasons have been unkind to me and my buds had been snipped by the wicked, the ash has weighed my branches and the demon Pra'raj had withered the my leaves. I shall have no roses at all this year."
Quoth the wren, "But one flower is all I need, for my master's purpose!"
Quoth the hawthorn tree, "There is a way, but it is terrible. You must sing to me with your heart against a thorn, and all night long you must sing, and your life will flow into my veins and become mine." And so the wren sang, singing of the birth of love and the earnest prayers of the parted, singing of love perfected by death even as bitter pain coursed through her, even as the hawthorn pierced her heart.
Come dawn, then, Marib II found a beautiful red hawthorn flower, and joyously he went to the damsel whom he had been pursuing. Yet, when he presented the flower, she frowned and said, "I am afraid that that was yesterday, and this red flower will simply not go with my dress this day. Besides, the vizier's son had gifted me a jewel this morning, and everyone knows that jewels are more valuable than flowers." As for the wren who had loved and obeyed Marib II unconditionally, he barely noticed its absence, and eventually discarded the red hawthorn flower.
It is said that as travails and tribulations weighed upon Marib II in his reign, he grew corpulent and melancholic over the years. He died without issue, unraveling the hopes of Calipha Alikah, and inviting the Year of Three Caliphs.
LXXXVII
PARABLE OF THE GREEDY MERCHANT
Once, there was a merchant hauling in his arms a great bag of treasure. As he was crossing a bridge over the Edutu, he looked down upon the waters and gazed in delight as he could see a larger bag of treasure reflected upon its surface. With a delighted exclamation, the merchant dropped the great bag of treasure that he had been hauling, trying to reach for the larger bag of treasure's reflection.
Alas, as he did so, his great bag of treasure fell into the waters, and as it did, it perturbed the waters greatly and the reflection itself dissipated. Horrified and with a rage beyond rage, the merchant dived into the waters to try to retrieve his great bag of treasure, but he found that he could not lift it out of the waters with the strength of his arms. Struggling to do so, he eventually drowned, and so ended up with neither his treasures, the reflection, nor his life.
LXXXVIII
AL-HASSAN'S BROKEN NOSE
It is recounted that in the city of Baz'eel there used to live a man al-Hassan who became a merchant of the most opulent merchants. His wife had deceased when they were both young, and his friends were instant with him to marry again, such that being weary of contention he eventually entered into a series of negotiations with which to procure matches and a bride.
He made a festival therefor of his wedding banquet, bidding kith and kin, friends and foes, and acquaintances of painted knives to come and join him and make merry. There were wassails and sherbets, and mizzars and falafels, and they ate and drank and made mirth and merriment, and the bride was displayed in her seven dresses and one more to women who could not take their eyes off of her. At last, the bridegroom was summoned to her chamber, and so al-Hassan rose with dignity from his divan, and towards her chamber went. Alas, the wine had so addled his senses and robbed him of his lefts and his rights, that when he walked he stumbled, and fell, and broke his nose, such that a torrent of hot blood gushed.
Thereupon each guest turned to his neighbour and talked aloud and there were titters and sympathies. But al-Hassan pretended a call of nature, and to tend to his nose, but in lieu of seeking the bride-chamber after he went to saddle a camel and fled into the desert, weeping bitterly, beneath the sable cloak. He rode and he rode and fled to far Kha'esh, and he remained ten years in all solace and delight of life, and only near the decade's end did he yearn with a home-sickness.
So eventually he returned to Baz'eel, donning the rags of a mendicant, and keeping his name and mien secret. There in the bazaar near his old home, he listened carefully for seven days and seven nights, and so chanced that he heard a woman saying, "O, child, you were born on the night that al-Hassan fled the town!"
No sooner had al-Hassan heard those words did he flee from the bazaar and Baz'eel, never to return, for verily had his shame became a date and so he aboded in self-exile until he died. It occurred to him later, alas, that they recalled him not for his breaking of his nose, but for his flight that evening for what would otherwise have been a trifling thing.
LXXXIX
THE NECKLACE OF THE EMIR'S WIFE
There was once a devotee of Urazzir the Wroth who would abode to a certain emir's palace, whose dwellers would be blessed by her presence and she was held of them in high honor.
On a certain day, she had entered the palace according to her customs and sat down by the emir's wife. Presently, the emir's wife gave her a necklace worth a thousand dinars and bade her, "Vouchsafe this for me, while I go to the hammam." So she entered the bath in the palace and the pious devotee remained in place, and awaiting her returned the devotee laid the necklace upon the carpet before her and prayed. As she was thus distracted, there came a magpie who snatched up the necklace and fluttered off, hiding it in a crevice in a corner of the palace-walls.
When the emir's wife came out of the hammam, and sought the necklace of the devotee, they both searched for it but could not find it. The emir's wife was furious exceeding rage, and told the emir, and the emir had the devotee questioned by fire and grievous blows, and tortured her with all manner of tortures, but for all that she could not say what had happened to the necklace. Furious, the emir's wife ordered that the devotee shall be cast into the palace's prison and manacled and fettered.
One day, as the emir and his wife sat in the inner court, they saw the magpie fly into a crevice and retrieve the necklace. The emir's men seized the magpie and brought to the emir's wife her necklace, and by this the emir knew that the devotee had been wronged. Yet, the emir's wife was too proud to admit the folly, and refused to free the devotee.
So it is said that when the emir's wife put on the necklace thereafter, she convulsed and died, and when the emir sought the devotee from the palace's prison, she was nowhere to be found.
XC
THE KING AND HIS CITY
Once upon a time, in a faraway ring, when the City of Rings was yet young and much was good, there lived a man in a garden of eryngium. A faithful and loyal man, he tended to the flowers and was obedient to the King's laws, and as the years went by he was diligent in ensuring that he broke none of them. Yet, as years turned to decades, he found himself assailed by misfortune. His daughter fell ill. His wife died in childbirth. Crops failed some seasons, and his people went hungry. Finally, there came upon his people a plague, and he wept as his people died. Steadying his nerves, the man stared off into the King's Keep, and began to walk.
On and on the man walked, through ring after ring he went, bearing an earnest wish. The peoples were moved by his pleas, for the world was yet young then, and such sorrow sullied the city and startled those who would hear of them. A thousand thousand rings went by, until finally the man knelt before the King.
There, the man said - "Why, oh King, why are much of your rings so splendid and joyous, but mine was plagued by sorrow and grief?"
The King replied - "Would you prefer to have not existed at all?"
At that, the man said - "No! I would prefer to live in a ring that was perfect and just!"
The King replied - "And I did make such a ring! I made a ring where all was perfect and just. I made a ring of my home. I made a ring where there were no diseases, and one where there was no pain. I made one where all was beauty, and another where magic was wanton and loved."
The man replied - "Could you not have made all rings just and perfect?"
The King explained - "I am the bearer of the crown and the master of the mists, and both the four corners of being and the passage of time are immaterial to me. Do you behold that I have two left hands? To have two rings that are the same is no different than to have one ring of the same to me."
The man responded - "Could you not have made a perfect ring and sullied it with only but the most minor of imperfections?"
The King's words were sorrowful - "I did, my child. I made a ring where there were no diseases, and another with only the gentlest of ill, and another where the ill was the greater, until there was another where there was great pain. I made a ring where magic was wanton and loved, and another where it was prone to whimsy, and yet another where it was wont to fail. And on and on until a thousand thousand rings have I made, and you yourself have beheld much of it."
The man wept - "Then why was mine so filled with pain and sorrow?"
The King's words held a divine apology - "Yours was at the very edge of my garden, where the imperfections came close to overcoming the perfections. And so, I ask again, would you prefer not to have existed at all?"
The man was wroth - "An apple that is rotten only on one half is still a rotten apple, my liege!"
The King thought on those words, and Despaired.
XCI
THE FUNERAL RITES OF MARIB I
It is said that when Marib I succumbed to mortality and left his mortal coil, his vizier and trusted retinue conveyed his funeral procession to the Sepulchre of Themselves. There, a somber Preparator of the Martyrs first barred its way.
Quoth the Preparator, "Who wishes to enter?"
Quoth the Vizier, "Marib I, the White Spear, Sovereign of Bayt al-Alsayf, Commander of the Faithful, Sultan of Baz'eel, Sultan of Qa'im, Protector of the Great Ash Desert!"
Quoth the Preparator, "We do not know this man."
Quoth the Vizier, "Marib I, champion of the Mother, named Caliph by B'aara herself, he who drove the idolaters from Bayt al-Sayf and who ended the apostasy of Mu'tasim, he who was gifted the White Spear and raised a hundred minarets in Baz'eel, and deepened the ken and knowing of who dwell in Qa'im!"
Quoth the Preparator, "We do not know this man."
Quoth the Vizier, "Marib I, husband to a mourning wife, father to grieving children, and he himself a son of the Wheel."
Quoth the Preparator, "This man we know, and we invite him into the shelter of the Martyrs, where we shall hold vigil until the last dusk."
And so did his funeral procession continue, until he was interred in the Mausoleum of the Summer Palace.
XCII
THE BOOK OF AGES
It is said that there resides in the cornerstone of creation a book of ages, one which records the deeds and words of all beings who had ever lived and would ever live upon the Disc, even if they have yet to do the deed or say the word.
Once, in the Grand Academy of Baz'eel, a student asked a Murshid if such a book could really exist, and whether knowing that it exist or what is writ in it, a person might deliberately decide not to act as written, and therefore despoil the the veracity if such a book. Or otherwise, if not, then whether the person can be truly said to be free to act or say as he wills it.
Quoth the student, "And if a man already knows everything that they would ever do or ever say, what then is the point of doing or saying it at all?"
After some thought, quoth the Murshid, "There may well be a performative quality to life itself which obliges you to do or say that which you know you would already do or say. After all, consider a wedding. We all know the words that the bridegroom would say, and once the wedding banquet has been planned all that remains is to feast and be merry. All who are present, by tradition and custom, already know what will be done and what will be said. And yet, it is not enough to merely know. The deeds must still be done and the words must still be said."
Quoth the student, "Do you believe that such a book exists, then?"
Quoth the Murshid, "If it does, then its author must be perhaps the most miserable person in all of creation."
XCIII
DEATH COMES FOR THE MERCHANT
There lived a puissant merchant in Baz'eel who sat one day in his gilded chambers when he saw enter by the gate of his hall a man of forbidding aspect and a horrible presence. The merchant was frightened by the intrusion and the look terrified him, and so he sprang to his feet and exclaimed, "Who are you, o man? Who gave you leave to come and go in my abode as you please, and who invited you to enter my house?"
Quoth the stranger, "For you, o man, Kalim and Gamil have forbeared with the coming of the Hot Flames, as hardships turn to end. Verily neither the lord of the house need send for me, nor can any doorkeeper exclude me, nor need I leave to enter. I am he from whom no tyrant is at rest, nor can any man escape my grasp, for I am the destroyer of delights and the sunderer of societies, for I am Death."
Quoth the merchant, paling, "I conjure you, grant me a day's respite, that I may be to the Forum of the Limpid Pools, and beg for resolution and absolution from the Mother before I come with you, and restore to their rightful owners the dinars which are in my treasures, so I need not be burdened with the woe of their reckoning."
Quoth Death, "No man chooses his appointed time, and so all men must decide when their good and evil be done. If there be absolution from the Mother you needed to seek, perhaps you ought to have sought them earlier."
Quoth the merchant, begging, "A hundred thousand dinars, a thousand thousand dinars, I grant you, or I grant in charity to those in need, please, for I am wealthy, and I am great, and I can do much good with but a mere hour!"
Quoth Death, "No man chooses his appointed time, and so all men must decide when their good and evil be done. If those dinars you had to give, perhaps you ought to have given them earlier."
Quoth the merchant, wailing, "A minute, a minute, I beg you, a minute that I may say farewell to my children and farewell to my wife, for they I love dearly and had not spent enough time with, for so much of my hours had I spent in making dinars!"
Quoth Death, "No man chooses his appointed time, and so all men must decide when their good and evil be done. If your children and your wife you had loved so dearly, perhaps you ought to have spent time with them earlier."
Quoth the merchant, "Puissant am I, influential, with guilds of assassins and many debts owed to me and emirs who would bow to me and vaults of treasures so vast as to raise cities! Let me take them with me, so that I may beg for favors in my thereafter!"
Quoth Death, "You shall take with you nothing. You shall leave behind everything."
Then Death seized the merchant's soul, and the merchant fell from his divan and onto the earth dead, and there arose a great weeping and keening from him as he was taken.
XCIV
THE WICKED EMIR AND THE MENDICANT
A wicked emir of profane heresies in supplication of the demon Pra'raj was once minded to ride out in state with the officers of his realm and his beys and his legions and the grandees of his retinue and to display to the folk the marvels of his magnificence. So he ordered his keeper of the wardrobe to bring him the richest of raiment, and bade them bring his white steed and with rubies and all manner of jewels, mounted horse and set forth, making his destrier prance and curvet amongst his troops and glorying in his pride.
Quoth the emir, "Who amongst men is like unto me? With a word I can slay and with another I can ruin. All the dinars of this city are mine to command and neither merchant nor priest nor foe would dare heed me not. All will kneel, and behold my glory, and despair!"
Great was his pride and arrogance, so puffed with self-sufficiency, so taken he was with the thought of his own splendour and magnificence, that he could not care to glance at any man. Until, that is, a man of forbidding aspect laid hold of his horse's bridle, and halted him and his procession, and said, "I have a need of you, o man."
Quoth the emir, outraged, "Guards! To me! Stop this man! What do you want with me?"
But not one of his men moved, not one of the crowd spoke, and not a beat passed in time. Instead, quoth the man, "I am Death, and Kamil and Galim have ceased their contest of me for you, and so as we near the end of the times of hardship I must tell you now that your appointed time is here."
Quoth the emir in reply, suddenly pale and woeful, "Have patience with me a little, whilst I return to my home and take leave of my people, and set my affairs in order, and see my children and my wife."
Quoth Death, "By no means so. You shall never return nor look at them again. Your fated term of life is past." And so saying, Death did take the emir into Urazzir's mercy.
Presently, Death came upon a mendicant, a bedraggled devotee of the Wheel, who had nothing and wielded nothing and aided where he could and gave away all he had. Before Death had even reached him, the mendicant had looked upon him and offered his aid, and so was told, "I am Death, and Kamil and Galim have ceased their contest of me for you. If you have any business, make an end of it."
Quoth the mendicant, "There is nothing so urgent as to withhold me from the Mother Most High and my Gods, but would you permit me a moment to make ablution and prayers, for I am bedraggled and fear that my unwashed state would disrespect them?"
Quoth Death, "Verily, the Mother had commanded that I not take you save at the end of your affair, so you should do as you will."
And the mendicant made ablution and prayed, and greeted Death as an old friend, such that when the time came he joined with the Pilgrim from the mists to make a garden of the Desert once more.
XCV
THE SINKING OF THE DOME
A certain duke had heaped up ducats beyond core and gathered stores of precious things, from the glimmer-pearls of Al-Nafayya to treasures from distant Banafsi. That he may display his might and marvel, he had his citizenry raise many glittering buildings and vast domes, grand theatres and capacious libraries, even as many his own peoples dwelled in humbles within which they could but eek a living off eels and blubber.
That he may take his pleasure and leisure to enjoy all his abounding wealth he had raised a great palace within which his council sat, and he had set thereto strong doors and appointed for its service and its guards, servants and soldiers and doorkeepers and mercenaries to watch and ward. These he paid marvelously and he demanded that they come to his city and with heavy cannons and the weight of armies vouchsafe his timid safety.
On a certain day, he bade his servants dress him and his cooks prepare lavishly a banquet, and he assembled his household and retainers and boon-companions to partake of his bounty. Then he sat upon his plush divan and said, "Oh, here I have gathered all the wealth and power of the world, and so take my leisure and dine at ease, in long life and prosperity ever!"
It is said that on that day when the Wheel turns and the time of hardship moves inexorably to Allahab Alsaakhin, it would come to be that a man clad in tattered raiment would knock upon the gates of the duke's palace. And the duke's servants were in disbelief as they rushed to the man, for the guards had not warded him off at all, "Woe to you! What manner of savage are you to blight the duke's hall so without invite or welcome?"
Quoth the man, "I am Death. I need neither invite nor welcome." With those words, he entered, and neither blade nor sorcery, nor locked doors nor guards nor mercenaries, could halt it.
Quoth the duke, "Away, away, you! Take another in substitute!"
Quoth Death, "Verily, then, I shall take your city as substitute." And with those words erupted the city's bladders, and so weighed was it by hubris and its glittering buildings, its vast domes and its grand theatres, its capacious libraries and its heavy cannons, that the city sank and sank and sank into the Great Sea, until all its peoples must scramble and flee and the duke himself was seized with despair; for he knew that this day was inevitable with the turning of the Wheel, he knew that his wealth ought to have bettered his people and secured his city and not himself, but he had permitted it to rot, when it was an end he could have otherwise forestalled had he spent his wealth and treasures upon the woes of his people.
XCVI
THE FALSE WITNESSES
In times of yore in an age before furtive silence, a pious woman was amongst the garden of Baz'eel, and she was pious and devout and she used to go out to pray at the Meidān. Presently there were two men who were the garden's keepers, and they envied her and loved her, for she beheld the Caliph's ears, and they sought her favors but she refused.
Quoth they then to her, "Unless you yield to us our demands, we will bear witness against you for blasphemy and ill-counsel."
Quoth she, "The truth will preserve me whereby your lies designed to persecute me will condemn you."
Thereafter they make public their reproach and bring charges to the Janissaries and rallied the peoples against the pious woman in righteous indignation. And they made for her a pyre of immolation and demanded her execution. It came to be then that a young boy of the tribe of Salhin passed by, no later in age than a score's year, and he said to them, "Hasten not to judge her until I have spoken to you each."
Quoth the boy to the first of the men, "In what part of the garden did you behold her blasphemy?" And he answered, "On the eastern side, under a pear-tree."
Quoth the boy to the second of the men, "In what part of the garden did you behold her blasphemy?" And he answered, "On the western side, near a banana-tree."
So it came to be that the boy spoke ardently for her, but the men are cruel and callous, and the Janissaries were bribed by the men to corrupt and ill counsel, and refused to step aside or forbear her execution.
And meanwhile the pious woman implored of the Wheel its judgment and lo, for the Martyrs stood aside and the Wroth brought down leven-fire upon the men and consumed them, and on this wise made manifest the innocence of the woman.
XCVII
CHARITY IN THE TRIBE OF SALHIN
There are many tales as to how the tribe of Salhin came to place such a great emphasis on charity. One of these tales claimed that in the earlier days when the tribe was yet young and the tenets of the Wheel were not well-understood, there was much discussion about that of the Mother's and the Wyld's and Martyr's and other Spokes yet, of aiding the weak and quenching the thirsty, of giving shelter to the impoverished and sacrificing in need.
One of al-Na's students was said to have said thus: "Imagine if you should find a child of your tribe drowning in an oasis, and yet you have but recently defrayed for fresh raiments that had cost you a gleaming dinar or two. Would you refrain from saving her simply because you are afraid of despoiling your clothes? Certainly, it would be monstrous and vile and wicked of you to have permitted another to die for a dinar or two."
Continued al-Na's student, "And yet, if we agree that the child's life is worth more than a dinar or two, then we must imagine that there are children aplenty in the Desert and our cities that would benefit greatly from a dinar or two. If we choose to spend the dinar in any other way but charity, then we are hardly making a different choice than if we had seen the drowning child and decided that preventing the sullying of our raiment was more important than saving her life."
Considering the many gleaming golden minarets of Baz'eel and the wondrous wealth of the Caliphate, the student's theory was not at all a very popular one. For some, the psychological barrier of lending aid to an unseen and faceless victim of the vicissitudes of fortune is simply too great, while others contended that there is a distinction between what is right to be done and what a person cannot reasonably be denounced for doing. Simply, while it is true that there may be some obligation to save the child if one is by one's lonesome, if there is a whole Caliphate worth of people who could have saved the child instead, then some would argue that others should have went ahead and done it instead of waiting for them first. And so, no one acted, and children continued to perish from the first dawn to the last dusk.
Quoth al-Na's student, "We enslave our children's children when we make compromise with sin, and we will answer to our Mother and to the Gods when we are held accountable with the turning of the Wheel."
Quoth another of al-Na's students, "We are not making compromises with sin, we are just trying to live a life where we are less than maximally saintly sometimes."
Quoth al-Na's student, "What do you think a compromise with sin is?"
XCVIII
TRUISMS OF THE WHEEL
It is said that the Wheel and the Cosmos are one and the same, and that there is an endless state of return. What has departed shall come again, and that which seems to last an age is in truth delicate and fleeting.
The Wheel describes deep grooves into the stars, and this is what is known as time. All the branches of the tree of knowledge are held in these depressions, from history to mathematics, from architecture to astronomy, from sorcery to thaumaturgy. In here also resides all the living and the dead and those unborn who are yet to arrive into the word. These depressions, writ as they are into the unbound cosmos, come loose from the pressed fabric of creation and wrap tightly around the Wheel, which is why, "We follow in the Path of the Wheel."
Just as there are Nine Spokes in the Wheel, so too are there Four Ages within it. Each has come before and assuredly each shall come again.
In the first age and the first quarter, the age of birth that is Eumar Almilad, all new things are created. Where before was a void, which brooks no life to exist within its boundary, then the garden blooms into being as the Wheel begins its journey across the firmament. In its path follow the material of the budding world, from the sun to the moon to the sky to waters to ash and to life, and for a time we mingle with the Gods in their garden.
In the second age and the second quarter, the time of learning that is Waqt Almadrasa, the Gods and the Peoples are in communion. The Gods teach us to stand alone and bestow upon us the Knowledge, and we reach for the greatest glories and make marvels upon this world. Here is when we etch the first cuneiforms of creation and raised the first minarets to touch the firmaments themselves, and when we danced and made merriment in a garden that was just and perfect, when wonderment upon wonderment reached us all. This is the age of the greatest glories, and all exists in peace.
In the third age and the third quarter, the time of hardships that is our present age of Waqt Almashaqa. Here, the Wheel has departed upon its journey through the heavens and we are left alone, and the Gods have retreated to the Celestial Wheel as they await our return. This is a time of strife, and many forget the wisdom of the Wheel and turn to false knowledge, but lo, for we are the faithful of the Wheel, we are the children of the Wheel, and we say that we follow in the path of the Wheel and know its wisdom for our own. And so we share of its wisdom, that the garden may come to bloom again.
In the fourth age and the fourth quarter, the Hot Flame that is Allahab Alsaakhin, and the age that is so close we can see its sparks. This is a cursed time of violence and death, when the Fire That bleaches is kindled in the sky, and the Wheel is burned by its heat. Then it turns towards the world, and all life is consumed by this terrible power. We can only pray that we do not see its sparks, but now that we have beheld them, we can only pray that we shall yet endure to see the garden bloom once more.
XCIX
THE MYTH OF ALLAHAB ALSAAKHIN
It is said that at the end of a thousand thousand winters will come the final renovation of creation when we are repaired to our last revolution. We will know that the Allahab Alsaakhin draws near with the onrush of the ages when we witness its sparks.
The Fire that Bleaches will burn the brighter a-kindled; the year, the month, the day will become harsher; the earth more barren, and crops will cease to yield their seeds. Men will become more cruel and callous, more deceitful and given to profane practices, and gratitude will ebb quicker to harshness. Honorable wealth will proceed those of perverted faith and corrupt intentions, while the pure will be persecuted and the righteous forced to bear arm and shield. The cornerstone of our creation will be bubonic with the pus of the tormented, and the firmaments will rain more noxious creatures than water. False prophets will reach for the stars and find only corruption and a sanguine plague, and will find no salvation but the calamity of a thousand Bright Darisbis. In the consummation of the Waqt Almashaqa will the tree of eskhatos burn and all chains be broken and all walls will fall.
The Pilgrim will arrive at the van of a host, and the Quest will reach its ecstatic climax. We will know them for they will be ever-thriving and bring benefit to all humanity, a member of an endless community and embodying righteousness. The righteous will be in their host, and will partake of the parahaoma which will confer upon them a greatness. Thereafter will the righteous be like amesha, without need for food, without hunger or thirst, without need for weapons or care for bodily injuries, and the substance of being will be so light as the mists that the sun cannot burn it nor will it cast shadow, and the righteous will be immortal. The righteous dead will return as shaped by the mists. All the compasses of the world will point to Phor Unmoving. All the righteous will be of a single nation and a single purpose, to enact the restoration of a world at the final turn of the Wheel.
A battle between the righteous and the wicked will tear asunder the kingdoms of the earth. Bronze and silver will be melted in the hills and the mountains and the walls, and the molten metal will flow across the earth as a burning Edutu. All will wade through that molten river and the pure will discard their passions and the river will seem like but warm milk while the impure and corrupt will be annihilated. All the impurities of the world, its injustices and evils, will be given recompense and made wonderful. The daimon of our creation will be refined and smelted through a final eskhatos, where the Wheel and creation and all of its children will be in perfect unity, joining in divine exaltation.
And at last there will be no hunger or war, or jealousy or rivalry, for good will be plentiful and all delicacies as ash, and the entire occupation of the peoples will be made pure, and they will perceive the esoteric truths and comprehend the Knowledge of creation, for from the Cup there will be a drop and the drop will cover the world as the waters cover the sea.
C
THE KING AND THE INFANT BABE
Once upon a time, in a faraway ring, there was an infant child who died during her own birth. Her mother was claimed by Death along with her, and her family wailed and lamented and blamed her for her mother's demise. When Death came to claim her, she did not go with Death, and Death did not force the issue. Instead, the spirit of the infant child went to the King's Keep.
Quoth the King, "I have no answer for you. You have done no wrong, and there are no justifications for why the evil of your death exists in this CIty of my making."
And so the King thought of the infant child, and Despaired, and there came the Nothing, and the King died and the City too began to die.
CI
THE PILGRIM AND THE CUP
Once upon a time in the days of yore long gone, there was an oracle.
And the oracle said:
"There will be a Pilgrim,
There will be a Cup,
And they will find one another,
And from the Cup there shall be a drop,
And from that drop our desert will bloom anew as a garden."
A public copy of the One Hundred and One Salhinid Tales compiled into a single volume is below:
One Hundred and One Salhinid Tales
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QuoteHereafter there may be the Supplemental Tales, added when and as the authoress deems suitable!