The Ports and Portals of the Zelaznids Read online

  But Qutughai did not appear as arranged, leading Abdul to fear that spies had learned of the presence of these traveling Zelaznids and had moved against them somehow. The Arab made his way to the lake encampment, where he found the Zelaznids gathered in sorrow around the bed of Qutughai, for the great governor-general could not be roused from his sleep.

  It was soon determined that the train of Zelaznids must, with Abdul Hazred as their guide, make their way to Sang-e, carrying the ailing Qutughai in a litter. This they did, after equipping their partie as best they could for the journie. Following the river west out of Kabul and into the hills for ten days, they came at last upon the village of Sang-e.

  After the passing of countless centuries, these two groups of Zelaznids stood together as one, and did much rejoice to be reunited one with the other. But their joy was muted, for Qutughai had not awakened since some four days past and all believed that he was not long for the world.

  Then those Sang-e residents whose business took them throughout the district brought word that soldiers from Kabul were two days hence and bound for the village with no good purpose. To this, the followers of Qutughai responded with despair, for they had traveled long and suffered much, yet it seemed that their would-be home and their long-time leader would both soon to be taken from them.

  Yet the people of Sang-e rallied their kinsmen, encouraging them to take heart. Using the strength of all, the people packed what food and valuables they could salvage in the space of a day and a night. Then they took the path out of the village, not to the river and hence away from the soldiers, but further up the hill. The followers of Qutughai feared that they might be trapped by the soldiers in such a place, but the people of Sang-e assured the Salabadi that this was not so; and so they climbed.

  At last, the leader of the Sang-e people, who was called Lakku, called for the people to assemble near the peak of the hill, and addressing them said:

  “Do not fear those who wish to destroy us. We shall escape them now just as we have escaped them before, and just as Zelaznu himself did for the salvation of our people.”

  Having said this, Lakku spoke words into the air which flitted about the ears of the assembled without settling in them, so that none could later say what words he had uttered. At the conclusion of this strange speech, there appeared in the sheer face of a rock wall an open door, through which the assembled could see a field of green grass; and beyond that, a golden beach; and beyond that, a blue sea. Through this door they walked and the Zelaznids, no longer divided by miles and centuries, left the village of Sang-e.[46]

  Three sunrises passed before the armie of the warlords reached Sang-e, whereupon the soldiers marveled to find the village emptie. For several days they stayed in the village, searching the area for some indication of where the people had gone. Finding no such sign, the soldiers returned to tell the warlords that the Zelaznids were gone and would not again trouble those who contended for power in Persia. Couched in a lie, there was yet an element of truth; for the Zelaznids would not trouble the world for more than three hundred years.

  ~ 168 ~

  Chapter 5

  The Enlightened

  T

  he united Zelaznid tribe did not vanish from the world for all time, though they were gone for long enough that the armie of the warlords reported it so. In fact the residents of the village of Sang-e, and the Zelaznid visitors who had traveled there, reappeared of a sudden, just as they had disappeared, one year and one day from the hour on which they had fled. The storie of where they went from there, and how they arrived in the valley of Quiqanyu to make their final home on Earth, leads me to how I came to learn of the Zelaznids.

  In my youth, I had the great fortune of accompanying my father as he carried out the business entrusted to him by Selim.[47] Varied were the places we visited, varied the peoples we met. Amongst our fellows in Armenia, I met and came to know Baba Hamparsum, [48] that man of great fame. From him I first learned of the Zelaznid peoples, though it must be said that Baba Hamparsum did not call them by this name.

  A student of the music of the Dervish,[49] Baba Hamparsum revered their ways and delighted to tell me stories of their people, and of the founder of their order, Rumi.[50] I heard from Hamparsum, who heard it from the Dervishes themselves, that Rumi had once become separated from his partie and found himself lost in the mountains of Khorasan. On the edge of death, he had been discovered and cared for by a band of strange villagers. While nursing Rumi from his delirium, the leader of the village spoke much of philosphie, including the notion that there were worlds beside and beyond the one in which we live. Moreover, the man claimed that a person who possessed the proper wisdom could, if he chose, travel at once from one world to another. Rumi later awakened from a deep sleep, secured to the back of a camel, with no idea how he had come to be there or if his encounter had been real or imagined.[51]

  Hearing this tale, I could not help but wonder if such a people existed and, if so, what had become of them. It was never in my mind to go looking for them, yet that tantalizing tale remained in the back of my mind. Perhaps that is why I have so much affection for peoples who find themselves out of the reach of the world. How lovelie they seem to me. To think of the villages I have seen, each one looking much the same as the one that came before - yet each is special in its own way. I marveled to pass through each set of gates, to see how such simple people live their lives, people who might know nothing of those living but two day’s journie from them. I marveled at their ignorance, borne of a beautiful simplicitie. I came to expect each village to be just as unspoiled. I was, therefore, quite startled when I found the Zelaznids.

  I

  t was meant to be a swift trip through the north countrie, an excursion of some few weeks so that I might hear the truth of life from the mouths of the residents of that region, so that I might capture the voice of the people. As had happened to the great Rumi, however, and as happens so often in such tales, I found myself separated from my partie and soon was lost in the rugged mountains to the north and east of Astrábád.

  For a full day I walked along the narrow winding path along the river Attuk, seeing no other souls on my journie and feeling as though I traveled through another world altogether. After some time, the path left the river and wound through the rising brown hills until I had little idea where I was or how I might find my way back. It looked as though the coming of night would find me placing my bedroll down amidst the hills and praying that God would preserve me in my hour of need.

  I prepared to do so, with the deep colours of dusk dipping beyond the hills, leaving me in darkness. Just then I spotted a faint light in the east. It was the briefest flash, one which made me think that a door or curtain had been opened or drawn aside for a moment, thus allowing some interior light to reach out into the night. Yet, the light was of such a level of brightness that I wondered what its source could be.

  I had but little time to determine what it might be for; being but a flash, it was there and gone, leaving my eyes to adjust to the darkness anew. Yet, from the direction of the brightness I could hear the light tread of a single soul, approaching with caution rather than malice, I hoped. I kept myself calm with the thought that this unknown person was no more aware of my motives than I could be of his.

  The voice, when it came, was aged and measured in tone. “Who is it that climbs our mountain in the darkness?”

  Having no simple response to this question, and having a playful spirit, I responded with a question of my own. “Who is it that claims ownership of one of God’s mountains?”

  I thought I heard a slight chuckle then, though I cannot be sure.

  “Come,” said the man, “You must not sleep in the hills. Wolves do not often reach these heights, but why tempt them with such easie prey? Follow.”

  Without another word he turned and walked away, his shadow visible against the starrie sky; and I followed out of necessitie, for I had no desire to sleep under the stars in the chill heights of
the mountains, wolves or no. I wondered what manner of man made his home in such a place.

  For a hundred paces or so, we trudged up a steep path. Then I saw a curtained doorway, faintlie illumined by a yellow light from within. This light grew brighter as the old man drew back the curtain and swept his hand forward, bidding me enter.

  It was a modest hovel, not altogether different from those I had seen in a dozen poor villages. In size, I calculated that its length matched the heights of four men, and its width, three men. The floor was hard-packed dirt, covered with reeds, atop which were various blankets and cushions. The curved walls were made of tanned hide. In the centre of this single room - a rather incongruous addition given the humble surroundings - was a cast-iron stove, its metal pipe extending through the peaked roof. The light in the room came from a small oil lamp on a low table, though it did not seem possible to me that the light that I had seen in the darkness could have come from this diminutive source.

  “Welcome to my home.”

  “Where are the others?” I asked him.

  “Did I speak of others?” he smiled.

  “You did indeed when you called this ‘our mountain’.”

  The old man nodded, “Yes, there are others, but you need not concern yourself with them. Now is the time for you to rest.”

  “But how,” I asked, “do you survive in such a place?”

  He did not at first answer, but met my gaze with his dark and weathered face, the weak yellow glow of the lamp deepening the lines upon it.

  “Let us first,” he whispered, “discuss what you seek in these mountains.”

  Because he was my host, I told him of my travels, sparing no detail. I spoke of my desire to hear the voice of the people, to record their stories, and to take something of them with me so that I might show their hearts and souls to a world that otherwise would never know them. As I spoke, he looked at me and nodded, though whether this was from understanding or habit I could not say.

  “And what if you could not show these things to the world, as you say?”

  “I do not understand what you mean.”

  “I mean,” he explained, “if you knew that you might never tell others of the voices you have heard, or the stories you have learned, would you then be so anxious to hear and learn such things?”

  I considered this a moment then shrugged, “I sought such knowledge long before I thought to write of it. If I was unable to write or speak, I would yet endeavor to learn all that I might.”

  Here the old man’s eyes closed and his head bowed. When he looked up at me, it seemed as though he had shed decades of age, looking everie inch a man of vigour and intelligence.

  “Learn all that you may? And so you shall. I am called Father Hooshyar, and I am the leader of the Zelaznids.”

  T

  hey lived, the Zelaznid peoples, in the mountains high above the cittie of Astrábád, where the deep brown hills meet the river Attuk, in the valley that they called Quiqanyu. As I have said, this was not a great and fertile land, but it served the needs of the people, even though they numbered in the hundreds. It would be some time before I learned how they accomplished this; first I needed to earn their trust.

  In the beginning, I saw no one but Hooshyar, who knew enough of men to see into their hearts. He thus saw that I told the truth, and so, through him, I came to know the Zelaznid peoples as had no outsider before me.

  I remained in the old man’s hut for more than a month, learning from the mouth of Hooshyar the historie of his people. This consisted of those stories which I have alreadie related in these pages, as well as those events which had transpired since the disappearance of the Zelaznid peoples from the village of Sang-e. The storie, in brief, was this.

  The reunited Zelaznid people, upon hearing that the soldiers were making their way to the village of Sang-e, had turned to Lakku, their great and wise leader. It was he who told them to pack all that they could and to assemble on the high hill. It was he who summoned great power and called out to the heavens until the hills opened up, revealing a portal to another port, a path to another world.

  And so the Zelaznid people, carrying all that they could, crossed over into an island world with green grasses, lush forests, vast beaches, and endless blue seas - a paradise beyond imagination. Here the Zelaznids made due as best they could. Yet, all was not well. The island was not large enough to sustain their population for long; nor did they know what other islands there might be in the vicinitie. The people knew that they would, at some future time, need to return to the world they knew, even at the risk of facing the warlords.

  In the meantime, they lived as best they could and worked to nurse their leaders back to health, for both Qutughai and Lakku had need of aid, the first for the fever that would not seem to break, and the second for a great weariness which overcame him as a result of his efforts to open the portal through the mountain.

  Of these, the greater concern was for the health of Qutughai, both because his was a more serious maladie and because a large number of followers had come to place their faith in the wisdom of his decisions and the strength of his arms. The weariness which fell upon Lakku was heavie, yet his ailment was well understood; for others had, whenever Lakku utilized his tremendous and mysterious gifts, seen the old man beset by a weariness which always matched the complexities of his task. So it was that, as beloved as Father Lakku was, the Zelaznids feared much less for him than for the governor-general of Salabad.

  While the two great leaders of the Zelaznids remained unwell, the Arab, Abdul Hazred - descendent of that same ‘Mad Arab’ of which so much has been spoken - assumed leadership of that most ancient people. Hazred well understood their plight; he knew what they had seen in their span of centuries. And so it was that the Zelaznids found a kindred soul in Abdul Hazred and followed him most willinglie.

  Yet, his leadership lasted but a short time, for Lakku, regaining his health after a period of some weeks, resumed his place at the head of the Zelaznids. Under Lakku’s guidance, the people explored their island and built homes for all and sundrie.

  Some among them, worried that their land would soon be exhausted, built a number of rafts. Some thirtie men used these vessels to explore the waters near the island. By these means they discovered five other islands of varied size, but no great landmass.

  Still another group separated from the others and returned to the land of their birth. They wished to determine to what extent the world still threatened them and to determine where the Zelaznids might at last establish for themselves a safe and permanent home. The latter exploration was assisted by both Lakku and Abdul Hazred, who shared with one another all that they knew of portals.

  So it was that the otherworlders divided themselves onto the six islands of their new port, while the Earthers returned to the known world in order to see what they might find. This latter band, once they passed through the portal opened by Abdul Hazred, never again appeared amongst their island-bound kinsmen, but vanished from the known historie of the Zelaznid peoples. And yet, tales of these souls have passed down through the years so that we know that they must have lived for some time in the land of their birth.[52]

  As for the otherworlders, these people built for themselves a small but peaceful world away from those who sought to oppress them, living thus in quietude. And Qutughai did live for some years in ill health before passing from their world; and Lakku’s death followed close upon, for he was an old man. These great leaders were set upon rafts and sent adrift into the great sea, their bodies following their souls to distant lands far beyond the reach of the Zelaznids. Thus did Abdul Hazred, with the full acceptance of the people, assume leadership of the Zelaznids, guiding them for some twentie years, during which time he trained some few persons who would follow in his stead.

  T

  he otherworlders carried on in this fashion, from one age to the next, living in harmonie for some three hundred years. In that time, their numbers expanded until the islands could no lon
ger contain them; neither was there fuel enough to feed, house, and warm them. So it was determined that the Zelaznids must once again return to the land of their heritage in hopes that they might at last find a permanent home.

  The Zelaznids emerged from the portal to discover nothing remaining of the ancient village of Sang-e. Moreover, they found themselves in the midst of a new war, though they knew neither the motives of the contending sides nor the status of the conflict. Yet, war it was, wherein the Quizilbash[53] found themselves losing territorie to the legendarie forces of Shaybani.[54] In order to avoid the worst of the hostilities, the Zelaznids fled to the west, ahead of the advancing soldiers of Shaybani.

  The Zelaznids could not move quicklie, for there was much contention throughout the land. And, though they could not be sure, after three hundred years, that the peoples of Persia would react with anger to their presence, they did not risk revealing themselves. As such, the Zelaznids wandered slowlie, living as best they could in the barren places of the land for some years, moving ever westward, according to the seasons of the year.[55]

  It was the intention of their leader, who was called Farzan, to take his people to the cittie of Constantinople, home of the wisest men in the world. It took some little time for them to learn that Constantinople was no more. The Turks, with the help of God, had taken that cittie from the Rúm two generations earlier.[56]

  Even so, the Zelaznids had hope that this centre of wisdom would yet prove a readie home for their people, that they might find peace amongst the learned of Istanbul. So they traveled with the seasons, meandering all over Persia, until they reached the shores of the Caspian.

  But what a terrible fate they met in that place! The Zelaznids had sought to escape the cruelties of war; yet, in the foothills of the Caucuses and within sight of the land of the Turks, they stumbled upon two contending armies, each as resigned to ferocious battle as the other.