The Ports and Portals of the Zelaznids (15 page)

C
hapter 10

The Enlightened

I

spent two years amongst the Zelaznids, the first month (as I have stated) in the companie of the old man Hooshyar in that small hut
in the hills.  During those first
weeks I saw but few of the Zelaznids, for it was their way to wait before revealing themselves
to strangers
,
to prevent the raising of an alarm by
those who could not understand them
, thus causing
their enemies to seek them out once more.  This was Hooshyar’s task: to ensure that I w
as
a friend to the Zelaznids.

     Once it was determined that I
was a man to be
trusted,
Hooshyar
introduced
me
to others of
his
clan.  The
y
were
, at first,
reserved in their conversations with me,
for they
no doubt fear
ed
a
n
egative
response
to the
ir
incredible stories. 
But
, at last,
the time came when their faith in m
e
grew strong.  On that day I
was
taken
through a portal hidden in the hills
, beyond which lay
the land of Luna, a place where I would spend most of the next five years.

    
Luna was the name they
had
g
iven
to that glorious port beyond their portal, where the moon in the evening was ever full, and where lush grasslands stretched away as far as the eye could see, dotted here and
there by copses of
large trees -
a p
aradise emptie of all
other civilization
s
.

     It was the habit of the Zelaznids to keep most of their people in a to
wn
which
they had constructed
near the portal in the land of Luna, a home protected from those in the land of their birth who might seek to do them harm.  Other Zelaznids
were divided
into two groups: those who
maintained herds in the valley of Quiqanyu
to give support and companionship to Hoosyar the Gatekeeper
;
and those who set out in groups of four or five to explore the distant corners of the land of Luna.  I asked them why they did not abandon this world altogether in order to settle themselves in
the peaceful
Luna.  They responded
that
it is ever the responsibilitie of those who possess
knowledge
to
share
it with others
, even at the risk of persecution
.

     This is why, when the soldiers came, there were but few of us in this world to
face
them.  A shepherd boy saw them first
,
while
he was
seeking out a stray
goat
which
had wandered
away from his
herd.  The boy r
a
n to Hooshyar’s hovel, carrying his goat all the way, in or
der to warn us of their coming -
hundreds of men, armed with guns, marching up t
he trail from the river below.

     Most fled through the portal, prepared to wait for the soldiers to pass. 
But
Hooshyar
stayed in
his hovel in order to
maintain the
lie
that he was but
a harmless old man living
alone
in the hills.  I
also chose
to remain behind,
for I foolishlie thought
that
I
would need to protect
Hooshyar
from the soldiers
; I could
scarcelie have guessed how little he needed my protection.  I intended to tell the soldiers a semblance of the truth should they
ask:
that I was a student of
rural
cultures
, and that the wise old Hooshyar had intriguing stories to tell.

     The soldiers never revealed how they learned of the presence of the Zelaznids in the valley of Quiqanyu.  Was it the off-handed remark of a mountain traveler overheard by an official in some distant courtyard? 
W
ere there spies in the hills or in the villages where the Zelaznids sold their goods?  It matters not. 
It
i
s enough
now
to know that
the
soldiers
came
and
that they
kn
e
w something of what they would find.

     “Where is your hidden village?”
asked the commander
.

     “
What
village I have sits under this roof,” replied Hooshyar. “Even this fellow with me is but a visitor to my home.”

     At
this
the soldier moved forward with no good purpose and took hold of the old man. 
T
hough I am not a man of gre
at courage, I stood
and placed my
hand upon the shoulder of the turbaned warrior.

     “Please, he is but an old man, and I am here seeking his wisdom.  Th
ere is no need to treat him thus
.”

     The commander then turned to me and muttered words that filled me with horror and dread. “We know your purpose, poet.  You will retu
rn with us to stand before the s
ultan.  As for the old man, he will be treated as
poorlie as his tenacitie merit
s.”

    
T
hey knew of me.  Had these soldiers
come here in
search of me?
Had I s
omehow let my presence
be known
, perhaps on one of dozens of trips
into
local
villages with the herdsmen?  It grieved me to think that I might be the cause of this unpleasant encounter.

     The commander pushed Hooshyar out of the hut and into the
light
of day.  I would have thought the old man justified had he cowered before them, had he shown half of the fear that coursed through my veins at that moment.  Yet, Hooshyar’s face showed nothing of the sort
; he
remained just as calm as I had
seen him
on those countless occasions when we had lounged upon cushions in his humble home, talking deep
into the night of sundrie matters
.

     “We know,” shouted the comm
an
der, “that you lead a band of blasphemers who live
in
secret within a cavern deep inside these hills.  Show us the place, old man, and you may yet live.  T
rifle
with us and you will die, as will all who shelter you.”

     A spark flashed through Hooshyar’s eyes, and I saw him strengthen his resolve even as his words suggested otherwise.

     “Will you promise that no harm will come to our poet friend
here
?” he asked
in a
timid
voice
.

     The commander chuckled, no doubt
concluding
that his fight
had been
won
without
the need for
serious
measures
.

     “His Majestie has plans for this dreamer.  Though I know not what his fate might be in Ista
n
bul, he
will be
safe
while he is
in my custodie.”

     Hooshyar responded with a nod and motioned for the soldiers to follow. “Come then, the entrance is not far.”

     The commander selected five of his men to take the path behind the old man.  Trailing them
was
the commander
, who dragged me along
at his insistence.

     “Come,” he growled. “Let us find your friends.”

     I knew the path well
,
for I had taken it
on numerous occasions
over the course of
five years.  The stones had been worn s
mooth by the tread of countless
boots.  The commander
noticed this
,
as I dreaded
he would.
  What Hooshyar might be thinking I could n
ot guess, but I lamented
that my
time
with the Zelaznids had
come to an end
.  Most of all, I feared for the
freedom of my dear friends.

     At last, Hooshyar stopped before the
wall which I knew to be the
location of the
portal, though to the uninitiated it looked
to be
a
plain
s
tone surface, smoother than most perhaps, but otherwise
giving no clue as to its true purpose.

    
Hoosyar
turned and faced the c
ommander and his men, now with the
trace of a smile.  The commander saw this, too, and showed that he was in no mood for amusement.

     “Well, old ma
n, where is the entrance to the
cavern?”

     “It is here behind me, but you shall not cross it in this life.”

     The commander raised
his firearm
;
the strong grip of
a
soldier
is all that
prevented me from stepping forward.

    “I shall shoot you through the heart, old man, if you persist in keeping me from my dutie
s
.  Then I shall compel your poet friend to show me what you will not.”

     Hooshyar laughed now, “Then you will fail, for none may open the gate save me.”

     The commander turned to me, “Is this true?”

     I nodded, “Indeed
.
I
do
not
know
the secret to the portal
and
have never been through it without the assistance of the old man.”

     The
commander’s
shoulders
slumped
, his hopes of a simple victorie fading with the late afternoon sun.
  Sensing this, his voice took on a more moderate tone.

     “Come now, old man.  We will treat your people fairlie, but
be assured that
we will have them with or without you.”

     Hooshyar nodded, “Then I invite you to do so without me.” Then turning to me he added, “You
have been
a fine
pupil
, my friend. 
Do not f
orget
what
you
have
learned here
; make certain
that
our historie is given to
the world.”

     “I sha
ll,” was all
that I managed to
mutter before a great explosion tore apart the
face
of the cliff, showering us all in rocks and dust.

    
Even  before
the cloud of debris cleared from
my
vision,
I knew what had occurred. 
The old man had triggered
a
bomb,
which he had
somehow
concealed on his person or
on the hill.  Th
e resulting blast
had torn apart the place on which he stood
,
so that nothing remained of him or the smooth stone surface.

     The soldiers spent some time digging through the debris, but found nothing.  The commander concluded that the old man had buried the entrance to
the
underground cavern, thus
killing himself and dooming all of his followers to die in the dark.  I did my best to support this theorie
, though I did not believe it myself
. 

    
W
e found nothing of the old man, not so much as a scrap of cloth or a drop of blood. 
So
I will go to my grave believing that Hooshyar
traveled
through the portal before destroying it
,
forever protecting the Zelaznids from the intolerance of a world which is not
, and might
never be
,
readie for them.