1 THE LAST MONTH OF MIDDLE AGES
DEDICATION
To all displaced persons around the world.
Contents
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS. i
PROLOGUE. 1
May 8, 1453. 4
MAY 9, 1453. 7
MAY 10, 1453. 11
MAY 11, 1453. 14
MAY 12, 1453. 16
MAY 13, 1453. 19
MAY 14, 1453. 23
MAY 15, 1453. 25
MAY 16, 1453. 29
MAY 17, 1453. 34
MAY 18, 1453. 36
MAY 28, 1453. 39
MAY 29, 1453. 41
MAY 30 1453. 43
MAY 31, 1453. 47
EPILOGUE. 50
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thanks a million to my family and close associates, who have shown me my best part.
PROLOGUE
"Indeed, we are watched by invincible forces that need the vibrations of our minds to act through us for good or evil."
The fiery preacher hit the undraped, wooden lectern so loud it distracted my thoughts.
"... for they will inherit the Earth," he said, raising and forcefully shaking his fist, "as the Lord prophesied."
A few happy choristers immediately sang a familiar solemn song that calmed my overwrought nerves. The preacher cut short my listening pleasure when he raised his left arm and signaled a halt.
"Thy will be done on Earth as it is in heaven," he quoted, looking at the holy book that shone brightly on his pale, partly bandaged face. Profuse sweat covered his head and dripped down his body, soaking the white muffler round his neck.
I raised my head gently and my rapt gaze fell on the disarranged oxblood pews in the church. Half-listening to the preacher's pithy, scriptural sayings, I delved into the depths of my analytical mind again.
"I wish this clime can change our fortunes for good; but we must cooperate to bring about this change for..."
The preacher loudly hit the lectern again.
"And life is too short, brethren," he said, touching his bandaged head and feeling hurt. "We must now rise..."
"Aren't we immortals?" I thought. "Someday, we will become prototypes too; yes, we will become ancestors."
A few poor locals attended the impromptu service in the dilapidated building that blew annoying hissing and crackling sounds. The woman by my side struggled to calm her child, who coughed continually while I plunged into my dissecting mind in the quiet moments.
"The reason I deserved this clime must give in to my yearning," I thought.
I sensed that a vital part of the veiled mystery around me has caved in and I await the final triumph. Nevertheless, my traumatic experiences hurt the feet of my yearning and burned its wings for flight towards fulfillment.
It was the eve of the end of the Middle Ages, a time the gusty desert wind blew gritty sand across our cloudless sky and the abject poor groaned under necessities of life snatched by the greedy rich. False hopes projected by unworthy leaders deluded the inwardly slumbering people.
I was a truth seeker and nothing seemed right to me save fulfilling my yearning. However, strikes of whips in the hands of brute holders obscured my path and agonized the reins of humanity in me. I was Agmin, a child of the past and the second Shaman of the Sugyrian race, south of the Sahara. It was May in 1453; Constantinople's siege by the Ottoman Empire trickled to our region.
May 8, 1453.
The lit candle burned three-fourths of itself, dimly cascading the large piles of unembroidered fabric that mockingly stared at me.
"If only I could get another candle," I thought, winding a thread twice around a needle, "one more candle."
Earlier, I met a grocer for candles. He only pointed at a handwritten note on a lilac painted wall and counted a bundle of crispy money notes with his other hand. I curiously checked the glossy piece of paper and the writing on it. - 'No Sales On Credit', it read.
"Oh no, Leon," I said, tapping my fingers on the table, "you know I always pay my credits."
"After two or three months?" he asked, "Not anymore."
I looked again at the bundle of money in his hand and wished they were mine.
"Please Leon," I clasped my hands and wriggled them, "consider I've always kept my promise and I have to clear my outstanding training fee."
"You should consider I've had to lie to save my skin," he replied, placing the bundle of money aside. He slid a wooden desk drawer open, picked another bundle and counted it.
"That's what friends are for, Leon. They are ..."
"Not anymore, Agmin," his steady eyeballs kept pace with his penetrating look and twitched brows. "Have you forgotten my master paid me half my salary four months ago? And don't you remember I was given two days suspension last month?"
"I'm sorry Leon. The fault is mine."
I left the store bewildered by Leon's sudden outburst and the piles of work I had to clear that night.
The candle flame flickered and burned rapidly despite shutting the door and window to make the room airtight. I had doubled the volume of dresses I embroidered to make up for loads of credits on me. I lived from hand to mouth to scale through daily grinds. Money saving was a mirage that inundated me; it was elusive and only accessible to my bloated imagination. My Physiology training suffered many setbacks as a result. I embroidered fifty dresses in one night and got half a quarter of my total profit after sales the next day. This kept my creditors smiling to the bank while I made for the lost time in my difficult study.
My home lay within the clustered town I had longed to escape; an annoying trap that freed me during moments I spent with my creditors in their busy stores. My congregated room was the only item my mother left for me with her death. I acquired a used sewing machine by my creditors' benevolence and collected rolls of fabric from them on credit.
"Do whatever you can to finish your studies, my son," my mother had advised me on her sickbed. "It'll light the path to your fulfillment."
I could tell she was sad I had not developed certain abilities early. Abilities I sensed had to do with her often-mentioned fulfillment and my vague inner yearning.
"He'll be waiting for you, my son," she often told me looking at empty space, "at the Nile River. His name is Shertu Hadi and you will hear this proclamation when you both meet - The heavens are opened."
The tears that rolled down her cheeks when she breathed her last breath reflected the endless pain and disappointment she felt at leaving her only child without a father.
I embroidered dresses up to 3 a.m., napped until 6 a.m. and attended my training until 2 p.m. I used the later part of the day to sell the dresses. A needle ripped the tip of my right finger and left me in pains for some days. I struggled with work because of life's natural demands that prevented me from doing otherwise. Never was I under such pressure as that short night. The volume of work doubled and I had just a candle to burn. No thanks to Leon. I had to make the required sales in less time to offset my last training bills.
The stale, still air in the room suffocated me and the hot high-energy herbal tea I drank even bowed to my urge for sleep. Only the needle's threat kept me on alert.
The crash of a steel cup distracted me. A rat knocked the cup off my window while trying to enter the room.
"I don't have an iota of food, brother," I whispered, looking at the ramshackle rat that crawled to a corner of the window and nested nicely.
"Even this creature understands my predicament," I thought, watching in awe.
MAY 9, 1453.
I had no idea how long I embroidered the many dresses I saw on the floor when I woke up from sleep.
"Did a genie light my room or is my instinct playing on me?" I thought. One of my neighbours knocked loudly at my door. This distracted my attention.
"Agmin!" he yelled, I felt his voice reverberated through the walls of my room. The intense flash of his torchlight penetrated the termite infested, deeply creviced wooden door.
"What is it, Hamman?" I asked, perturbed.
"You have disturbed the peace in the compound with your hummed tune overnight," he angrily said.
"I'm so sorry Hamman," I said, wondering what time it was.
"Lailla ha illalah ...," was the scintillating chant that came from a nearby mosque as usual.
"Oh, the Fajr prayer," I thought. "Time must be 5 a.m. now." I heard Hamman performing ablution for the prayer. The Muslim five daily prayers had served as an interesting timepiece for me.
"They are solemn in their worship," my mother once told me. Some idly occupied neighbours branded her an unrepentant pagan and loathed her unyielding stance on religious practices. However, they had never hesitated at such times they needed her herbal expertise for some ailment.
"Let your actions be pure," she once told me when I questioned her religious inclination. I was admitted at a Seminary and was made to practice Catholicism as a cardinal condition. Our neighbour, Fidelis facilitated my admission in a bid to win over my mother.
"There are simple lessons of life we always fail to connect with our daily actions," she said one day. "Example, we wear and take off our dresses daily, but fail to connect this to our birth and death. We bath daily, but don't connect with purifying our inmost beings."
These simple lessons of life eluded my consciousness. Her sayings reflected her deep inner state and I struggled with unfathomable answers to questions on my mind. She was no less a practicing Christian or Muslim, but her impeccable way of life astonished Futu community.
"The real worship is in our deeds," she had concluded.
An unpleasant smell filled my room and disturbed me moments before I left for my training. The rat died quietly in the middle of the night.
"What omen does this portend?" I thought. Hamman had told me about being responsible with animals as prescribed by the Hadiths.
"This is what ripples when crumbs don't fall off the table of the rich," I soliloquized. "It's a chain reaction and reflective of eternal truths."
"Never forget what your training is all about," Professor Koit said some moments after I joined my spirited class. He walked back and forth the classroom length with his unclad slender arms crossed behind his slightly hunched back. He stopped and looked at his gold plated wristwatch. His usual stern look gave in to a loving smile.
"And submit your final thesis next week," he said, "you have been wonderful students."
His rear compliment made me happy. He picked his brick red suitcase, walked to the wide-open oval top classroom door and turned to look at us. He lowered his glittering eyeglass to the tip of his nose and curiously stared at me.
"Agmin," he called, "see me in my office."
"You may go in," Professor Koit's obviously busy secretary told me in the expansive waiting room. The office was filled with cool fragranced air when I entered it.
"Inhabitants of this land have sworn to live with fragrances," my mother once told me. Professor Koit's antecedents endeared him to the Mayor and the people of Futu. He briefly scribbled on a pale paper and stared at an empty embroidered photo frame adjacent him.
"Have a seat, Agmin," he pointed at a leather chair opposite him. "I have a confession to make."
My legs trembled under the chair and the thought of a confession by the respectable professor overwhelmed me.
"I beg your pardon, Professor."
"Yes, you heard me well, Agmin," he cut in, scribbling again on the paper.
"What's it about, Professor?"
He stopped writing, raised his fine nibbed pen and kissed it. The Professor's weird behaviours had played host to petty gossips and fanned my benevolent curiosity.
"I remember the past each time I look at you, Agmin."
"The past?" I asked and was sure the Professor knew exactly how shockingly clueless I was.
"Yes, the past," he answered slowly, threw his head back and sat comfortably. "I knew your father, we were good friends."
I smiled at first, but the news unsettled my raging mind afterwards.
"Here I am with the friend of a man who abandoned me," I thought, beaming a big smile, "and he thinks he has good news for me."
I took a deep breath and tightly held my chair.
"Why are you telling me now, Professor?"
"Look at me, Agmin," he stretched his arms apart, "after all my experiences, I feel fulfilled and now, I try to look back to mop up scanty mosses that have gathered on my conscience before I bow to nature's mighty call."
I felt a sharp chest pain and fought to hold back quick tears.
"This is no little moss, Professor."
"I am not ignorant of the pain you are passing through, Agmin," he said with a peremptory tone. "I only wanted to tell you …"
"Tell me what, Professor?"
He looked at me keenly and nodded his head gently. The smoky aromatic fragrance had subsided.
"Your father was one of our finest warriors. However, I'm sorry about what he did to you and your mum. I'm so sorry, Agmin."
"Excuse me, Professor," I said and walked swiftly out of his office.
My heavy heart bled anew as I hurried through the crowded streets back to my abode.
"What did you conceal from me, mother?" I thought.
"Your dad went to war to defend his compatriots and never returned," she had told me.
"No," I thought, "It's a dead and forgotten issue. I shouldn't be reacting this way."
I opened my door and briskly slammed it behind me. My bed squeaked and jostled when I dived into it.
"If I am the son of a hero," I thought, "why do people hate my mum and me?"
I squeezed under my thick blanket and covered my nose against the chill air in my cold damp room.
"Yes, it's her all along," I thought; "all the hate is about my mum."
"I am a citizen of Ujagad," she had said. "Your dad met and married me at Ujagad, where he went to maintain order at the Emperor's request."
I suffered confusing thoughts in my weary head. As hard as I tried, I was never able to suppress my reactive depression. I never blamed my mum, though, for anything. I could not show her how hurt I was because of the agonizing nightmares she had continually suffered. Persistent rumours I heard about my mum disturbed me every time I walked through Futu.
MAY 10, 1453.
Noisy sounds on my door woke me up. I had no idea how long I slept. I saw a man's fleeting, lengthened shadow through the open door base.
"What the hell do you want?" I asked and felt a slight headache.
"Open the damn door, Agmin. Sheik Suleiman wants you at once."
"Oh my God," I said, startled by the gruff voice and appointment I could not keep. "Please tell the Sheik I'll be with him at once."
I reached for my bottle of painkiller pills and hastily gulped two. The Sheik's servant had left when I opened my door. No one messed with the Sheik. I hurried through the streets to the Sheik's expansive mansion up a steep hill.
"I'm so sorry my Lord," I said when a respectful servant ushered me into the Sheik's beautifully decorated parlour. He sat on a dragon embroidered soft rug and smoked a gold stripped pipe.
"It's alright my boy," he said and silently beckoned me to move closer to him. A gorgeously dressed woman splendidly plucked the strings of an aeolian harp that produced a scintillating slow melody.
"These rich people have a special way to unwind," I thought when I sat beside the Sheik. He had grown fond of me and had respectfully come to terms with my mum's refusal to marry him.
"I heard you've rounded up your training," he remarked.
"Yes, I have my Lord."
"My heart still bleeds for your mum, my boy." He blew out a stunning stretch of cigar smoke in the air.
"And what baffles me is your refusal to take my offers."
I lowered my gaze and blushed. "Your offers show your kind nature, my Lord. I will remain indebted to you because of this."
The brilliant masterpiece delivered by a graceful belly dancer excited the Sheik. She set her eyes constantly on him and contorted her posture in many ways.
"This is an exclusive treat for the rich," I thought.
"Be careful with their offers, my child," my mum once warned, "they could turn you into their slave. You should free yourself with the labour of your hands however lowly the wage."
"My boy," the Sheik said after a waiting servant cleared the smoking pipe, "I had experienced wonders in my youthful days and I have offered many youths the opportunity to do the same." He looked at me reproachfully and placed his right hand on my shoulder.
"Accept my offer now for your mother's sake."
"What's the offer, my Lord?" I asked, feeling uncanny.
He stretched his left palm at the belly dancer and she abruptly stopped dancing and gently walked out of the parlour.
"Listen, my boy," he said and sighed deeply, "I am fast ageing and losing good quality strength. I need someone like you to trust. I want you to oversee my business interests as far as Ujagad."
I sighed heavily and vainly sought my broad sense of judgment.
"Thank you for the offer, my Lord," I said, "But my training..."
"You can still practice, my boy," he said cutting in. "You can raise enough cash from my offer and start your practice."
"Alright, my Lord," I nodded my head. "I will think about it and get back to you soon."
"Don't hesitate, my boy. Take the offer."
I stood and took a bow. I felt a relief when I stepped out of the Sheik's mansion and walked back to my abode.
"I have longed for this experience." I thought. I had nurtured the dream of adventure and my mum had sparked it with her last wish.
"This is the dream," I thought, "yes, the opportunity."
I stopped briefly at the gothic building where I had obtained fabrics on credit.
"So, no more sewing of dresses for you," one of my creditors said after I told them of my new task.
"Oh, you have made my business to flourish by sheer hard work," another creditor said, "and now I wonder what will happen to me."
"Cut all that, brothers," Yassar, their boss said. "We now have Agmin to entrust our massive importations. I swear this is a clear guidance. We wish you good luck, Agmin."
"Thank you Imam Yassar," I said, elated and remembered he and his men had stood by me despite daunting credit interests.
"Mum, it's finally time for me to search for my destiny," I prayed before bedtime. "Light up my path and be my guide."
MAY 11, 1453.
"You can get some credit now, Agmin," Leon said when I passed by his grocery on my way to see Sheik Suleiman.
"Oh, no more, Leon," I said. I sat with him for hours and thanked him for all the troubles he had faced for me.
I saw a group of itinerant merchants preparing their mangy camels for a long journey when I got to the Sheik's mansion. They were in high spirit and eager to meet their new boss I learned at the arched gate.
"There he is, Agmin, your new boss!" the Sheik said aloud on a balustraded balcony of the mansion.
"My Lord, this is happening too fast," I said, avoiding the merchants' quizzical looks.
Sheik Suleiman came downstairs and gave a servant a metallic artifact with encyclical letters. He bade the servant farewell and walked up to the merchants and I.
"Rise," he warmly said. We had reverentially knelt on seeing him.
"Meet Ashru Ibn Hamza," he told me pointing at a man, "he is my most experienced merchant and would guide you well."
Ashru bowed his hoary head and deftly touched his forehead and chest with his right hand. The Sheik beamed a genial smile.
"And these men are his dear and trusted companions. You are in good and safe hands, my boy."
I thanked the Sheik and familiarized with Ashru and his men.
We settled for a sumptuous dinner and thrilling entertainment by a group of skilled belly dancers. I went back home late in the night to prepare for the long, exciting journey to Ujagad.
MAY 12, 1453.
One of Ashru's men helped me to mount a camel, while the other men uncontrollably laughed at my novel attempts. The beast of burden twisted its wry neck violently and moved haphazardly. Ashru kept it under complete control with his caresses.
"You will learn a lot on the way," he said. "All you need to do is watch the trail."
I tilted my body to regain balance and caressed the animal.
"Thank you, Imam Ashru," I said, panting for breath. "Your advice I'm sure will be of great help."
I had lived my whole life in Futu. Although I had heard and read about thrilling adventures, I knew I had much to learn yet. My camel galloped steadily behind Ashru and his men while I rack my brain about the indubitable certainty of my mother's last wish.
"How long is the journey?" I asked after a little while when I caught up with one of Ashru's men nearest to me. He looked at me, giggled and gently pushed a small reflective mirror into his rear pocket.
"It will take three days," he answered and smiled slyly, "if we are lucky hyenas and snakes don't disturb."
His smile revealed several carious teeth. He spat out a piece of gum he had chewed and moved closer to me. He is the youngest among Ashru's men.
"Are you married?" he asked. His moot question amused me but I was curious.
"No, I'm not. Why did you ask?
"Ujagad is home to women of easy virtues and businesses yield high interests," he replied, gently whirling his left hand.
I lowered my head and smiled.
"I'm not promiscuous," I thought.
"So?" I asked, not wanting to be rude.
"You are going to have a good time I guess," he replied.
"Well, I'll have a good time, but not the way you think," I said, looking straight through him.
"Have a good time when you get to Ujagad," he said, "My name is Furan and you are Agmin, of course."
He picked a brown wrap of fresh gum from his beaded bag, unwrapped and threw it into his mouth.
The rest of the men intensely argued and chattered. They frequently mentioned an unusual name and loathed the person in question.
"Who is Gazmit?" I asked, noticing how captivated Furan was with the men's conversation. He also scribbled on pieces of glossy paper and had once flashed sunlight reflection at a tamed flying kestrel with his mirror.
"Who is Gazmit?" I asked him again.
Furan furiously looked at me and unexpectedly hit the neck of my camel with his right foot. It vigorously shook its body and nearly threw me to the ground. I regained my balance and control of the camel after Imam Ashru vehemently intervened.
"Stop yelling at me, fool," Furan said, pointing a finger at me.
I charged at him but Ashru and his men stopped me.
"I only asked who Gazmit is," I said angrily.
"Stop this bickering, men," Imam Ashru cut in. "Furan, you should apologize. Agmin is the boss. You should show him some respect."
Imam Ashru placed Furan ahead. The latter had apologized but I felt uncanny about him. The weather became drier as we approached Ujagad and the serene scarlet sunset appealed to my sight. We set up our pitched, pyramidal tents in a shallow valley. A steep crescentic dune that projected across the East cast a cool shadow over our tents. The cover was excellent. I erected my tent high enough to have a clear view of the other tents. My suspicion grew more when I sighted Furan with a kestrel on his arm.
Ashru and his men settled for a treat of grilled desert goat meat and hot, spiced tea. I placed my feet closer to the fire to get some warmth. I had read a lot about wide expanse of sand across the deep Sahara but experiencing it overwhelmed me.
"Little do you wonder the efficacy of this tea, Agmin," Ashru remarked.
I poured some of the tea into a cup the men gave me and sipped a little.
"It has a calming effect, Sir," I said.
He nodded his head and shut his eyes, relishing the tea.
"Besides," he added, "its pungent smell wards off reptiles."
I sipped the tea again and felt a burning sensation in my nostrils.
"What happens when a reckless one bites you?" I asked and shook my head, clearing sudden outburst of tears in my eyes.
"This tea's properties can neutralize the poison," he replied, "and the people here also use it to kill reptiles."
Furan dazed himself with vinous liquor and crawled into his tent like a hypnotized mammal. I had no idea if he had accomplices among Ashru's men, so I kept watch over the tents all night and it paid off I thought. Once, he surreptitiously peered out of his tent when his kestrel made some screeching sounds and he noticed I was watching. He stepped out to pee ignoring the kestrel and went back to his tent almost immediately.
MAY 13, 1453.
I had some respite when Imam Ashru stepped out and made a call to prayer. It was time for Fajr. All the men performed ablution by tapping the earth with their palms and rubbing their body parts instead of using water.
"Ah, Tayamum," I thought aloud. The familiar religious ritual warned me against wasting the little water I had left.
"At least, we've covered halfway our journey," Imam Ashru said when we prepared to move. "By Allah's mercy, we will get to Ujagad at midnight."
We started our journey the previous day with many medium-sized drums full of water and loads of items on the camels. After nearly exhausting the heaviest element, I was sure our movement would be swift.
No sooner did we move over the edge of a long sand dune at midday than I noticed Furan was not following us.
"Furan has disappeared, Imam Ashru!" I called out and felt outsmarted. Indignation and fear clutched my heart as we searched for him.
"You are surrounded!" a well-armed, able looking soldier said a few moments later. He and an armed platoon of soldiers stepped out of a well-concealed valley that intersected the long column of a dune.
"Be calm, men," Imam Ashru said when the soldiers moved closer to us. He rode ahead and caught up with them.
"My gracious captain," Imam Ashru said, bowing his head, "I have the choicest tea and a few gemstones if it will please you to have them."
"Shut up and stay down!" the soldier yelled. He spoke a different language that sounded like a stern command to his men.
"You are Lord Gazmit's captives from now on," he said as his men brandished edged swords and surrounded us.
"We are harmless merchants from Futu," Imam Ashru said, "And we are..."
"Stay down Imam Ashru!" Furan yelled and stepped out of the valley behind the captain.
Furan's sudden appearance took us aback. I had noticed his suspicious moves, but never to such a colossal scale.
"You idiot," Imam Ashru said angrily, "you sold us out!"
He charged at Furan but one of the captain's men hit him down with a barbed spear.
I rushed to help Imam Ashru and narrowly missed a spear thrown at me.
I knelt and raised my hands when the same soldier prepared to throw another spear at me.
"Leave him!" Furan said, stretching his arm towards the soldier. "He is a physician and would be useful to us."
I watched Imam Ashru helplessly wriggling his body in pain. He said the shahada and gave up the ghost. I had never seen anything like it.
Shaken, Ashru's men prevailed on Furan to give Imam Ashru a proper burial.
After burying Imam Ashru, we arrived at a fortified concentration camp in chains and on foot by evening. We met other captured merchants at the camp too. I was placed in a bare room with three of them. One had several bruises on his body. I learned the soldiers had beaten him blue black because he disobeyed their command. I moved closer to him and examined the fresh livid bruises on his body. He looked startled and in much pain.
"What?" he said, staring at me with wide eyes. "Did they send you to me?"
"No, my name is Agmin and I am a physician. Please let me attend to your wounds."
I brought out my small first aid box and used the little tools I had on him. He writhed in discomfort, swore by his forebears' names and awfully cursed the soldiers.
The makeshift hostels were freaky cold by midnight and the brash soldiers fed us with smelly crumbs of food. An uncomfortable and eerie silence prevailed in the camp save the noise made by some stiff chattering soldiers who played a chess game. The wounded merchant curled in a corner of our room. His frail body burned like fire and shivered vigorously. I covered him with some ragged clothes I gathered from other merchants.
"Thank you," he said and gently pulled my head close to his mouth. "Gazmit is mopping up the borders," he sibilantly whispered to my ears.
"Why?" I whispered back.
"He wants to assert his influence and control to set up his so-called kingdom."
"Who is Gazmit?" I asked and noticed an obvious surprise look in his jaundiced eyes.
"What town do you come from, boy?" he asked with the same surprise look in his eyes.
"I am from Futu and this is my first trip."
"Oh I see," he said and sighed deeply.
"Gazmit is the brutal prince of Dudga, who violently succeeded his father, King Kazim." He tried sitting on the cold floor and I helped him.
"I was one of King Kazim's nearest attendants who escaped Gazmit's wrath, but his soldiers intercepted me at this border." He coughed gently and spat on the floor.
"Great distances limit the Shaman's energies, so I couldn't reach him," he said, looking at the wounds on his right arm. "We must stop Gazmit at all cost."
I covered his mouth when a soldier came by the door of our cell. He lashed the door of each cell using a long braided whip.
"Who is Shaman?" I asked curiously moments after the soldier left.
"He is king Kazim's spiritual guide," the old merchant answered. "He went underground immediately after the king's death."
I jittered at a faint immaculate shadow of light that flashed behind him. He smiled at me and held my right hand.
"You are a good man," he said, "I can sense that. You must look for the Shaman and tell him about this place."
I lay my head on a pile of papers by the wounded man's shoulder. He had slept after our spontaneous, whispered conversation. As I slumbered and woke intermittently, I could only hear the muffled rhythmic sound of his breath. The immaculate shadow of light kept flashing behind him. I shuddered at the ability that had suddenly seized me. Uncertainty filled my heart as I struggled to search for inner calm.
MAY 14, 1453.
The heavy hands of nature had closed in on me and it seemed as though I was in hellish limbo for ages when the soldiers' sharp, guttural trumpet sounds shredded my eardrums. They dragged us out into an empty annular space and threw several knobbed sticks at us. Each of them held a sturdy, lackered, iron baton with an oblong brazen shield. I saw the wounded man wrapped in thick clothing and stretched behind a dune by two soldiers. He had passed on in his sleep.
"Watch out for the soldiers training session in the morning," he had told me, "it is brutal." "Defend yourselves!" one of the soldiers said aloud.
They instantly overran us before we could lay our hands on the sticks. A soldier rammed my chest with his shield when I struggled with other merchants for a stick. He knocked me down with a single blow using his baton and laughed at the top of his husky voice. I had no idea how long I passed out. Another soldier deeply sank my head for some seconds in an octagonal drum brimmed with muddy water; I felt nigh drowned. He pulled me out and threw me to the ground. I watched the soldiers forcibly reviving other merchants too. I could only imagine the intractable pain inflicted on the wounded old man. The soldiers made us carry heavy loads of items on our heads and shoulders as we marched in a single row to Ujagad.
My bare, sore feet burned in the hot sand and my chest ached badly. A soldier lashed me with a whip several times for dropping items I carried. The experience exhausted me and uncertainty consumed me like a devastating avalanche. We marched eastward into the black moonless night that approached us.
"Ujagad!" one of the soldiers yelled joyfully some hours later.
I saw the city's bright cascade of light on the horizon when I lifted my head.
"This scorching experience is a turning point for me," I thought and groaned under the weight of loads on my head and shoulders.
"Leader of a group of merchants at first, now a prisoner."
I laughed silently at such cruel irony and shuddered thousand times. I dropped flat on the ground when some servants lifted the loads off me at Ujagad. The soldiers dragged me on the ground and threw me into a dark room.
"Is he going to make it?" I heard someone asked. I had no idea how long I was unconscious.
"He has a few broken ribs," another answered, "and the harrowing journey has exhausted him. I'm sure he will survive."
Although I opened my sunken, weary eyes, I could only see blurred images of people moving briskly and I heard their echoed voices. I passed out again.
MAY 15, 1453.
I instinctively sprang out of an unmade bed with tangled blankets when I heard a rooster's loud cackle. The pain I felt in my chest could not hold me back.
"Relax boy," an elderly man said and gently held me down. "There's no such brutal morning training here. You have passed."
"I have passed!" I said, soliloquizing.
He laid me on the bed and offered me a painkiller drink.
"It will soothe your pains," he said, "and you will be up in a few hours."
The hot painkiller drink burned my lips at first, but I sipped more rapidly because of the honey taste in it.
"Easy boy," the man said.
I sipped as much of the drink as I could and felt a new strength in my entire body. I looked closely at the decorative items in the room. A big, striking portrait of a man hung on the wall. It had oriental flower embroidery on its golden frame.
"Who is he?" I asked, pointing at the portrait.
"Lord Gazmit," he replied proudly, "our king."
I looked deep into the eyes of the man in the portrait. I hated him so much. He had a furious greedy look masked by a baby face. I could not imagine the same man brutalized others and me.
"Did you say I've passed?" I asked curiously.
"Yes, you have my boy," the man answered.
"Does that mean I'm now free?" I asked again with renewed hope.
The man looked through the window as if something caught his attention.
"You are now Lord Gazmit's soldier," he said, "you will be instructed accordingly."
I wondered if similar fate befell other captors that survived the brutal training at the camp and the long exhausting walk to Ujagad.
My host took me out on a walk later in the evening to see their overall General. I felt a mild pain in my chest as we walked. Ujagad was a beautiful commercial city with date palms neatly arranged along its streets. I understood the reason Sheik Suleiman always wanted to be there. The city was capitalistic with many beautifully adorned private buildings across its picturesque landscape. I found young men with the same peculiar dress I wore. Each held a rectangular shield with a curved sheathed sword and followed his master like a bodyguard. I needed no magician to interpret what that meant. Our masters met briefly on the way and discussed new frontiers they had to conquer while we were barred from even exchanging a word. I saw a fellow bodyguard thoroughly beaten because he attempted speaking to another bodyguard. Our masters gave us stringent rules to follow. I knew I had to capitalize on their mistakes. They were vulnerable too.
"How can I do that?" I thought in the quiet of my room while watching my master daze himself with liquor before bedtime.
"Come here you little brat," he said in a drunken state. "Take these shoes off my feet."
I did as he commanded and held his hand to help him up his feet.
"Don't touch me, boy," he said and pushed my hand away. "Just be on guard. The General will soon promote me. I will find the hideout of the Shaman and his associates." He clumsily staggered to his apartment and shut the door behind him. I found my master's gemstone as I turned to leave the paved yard. It glowed out a blue light. I had watched him used it as a sign to receive a message from his kestrel. This reminded me of Furan. I picked the gemstone and held it up. A speckled kestrel flew directly above me and comfortably perched on the deep branch of a short tree. I walked to the kestrel holding the gemstone and its unwilling cooperation occupied me for a while.
'The Shaman will secretly meet one of Lord Gazmit's associates tomorrow. Get the men ready', the message read when I retrieved it from the kestrel. I saw a small schematic map below the message.
"This must be Furan," I thought aloud. "I have to act immediately. It's now or never."
I stole my master's formal dress to disguise and trailed the kestrel with the gemstone. Although I had learned about kestrels, winning them over was a daunting task.
An inebriated soldier gave me a swift horse on which I sped after the kestrel to the outskirts of the city. An arrow from nowhere brought down the horse some moments later. I hid behind a large cactus plant and soon saw a group of Gazmit's soldiers around the dying horse. I moved swiftly and unnoticed away from them. Thanks to the long stretch of thick bramble and undulating dunes. I arrived at a narrow crossroad and heard a few soldiers chatting merrily.
"It's your turn to guard the secret tunnel tonight," one jokingly said to another.
"Well," another said and laughed, "You know what Sheik Othman does to soldiers who sleep on duty. Also, don't forget we are spying against Gazmit."
"That is our duty here," another said, "We must not disappoint Sheik Othman."
I quietly moved away and slightly bumped into a well-concealed small earthen door covered with prickly thickets.
"This must be the secret tunnel," I thought and hastily moved away when I heard the approaching slow heavy steps of one of the soldiers. I walked through the night until I found an old house on the outskirts of a town.
"What should I expect to see inside?" I thought and quietly moved into the fenced house yard. I changed into a dress I found in a corner of the yard.
"This house looks desolate," I thought and shivered at the shrill noise of a large dog-eared and nosed bat, "And haunted too."
I jumped over the rickety yard fence and moved farther into the town. No one was in sight on the streets; not even soldiers I thought I would meet. I found a small shed at a place that looked like a market.
"These must be poor people who have no house to stay," I thought when I moved into the shed and saw a small group of men sleeping. I quietly cleared a shadowy corner and lay in it.
"Better to look like a commoner," I thought and felt a relief.
MAY 16, 1453.
A sharp pain in my thigh woke me. A man had hit me.
"Who are you?" he asked, raising a long, twisted rawhide in his hand, threatening to hit me again.
"I am a commoner from Ujagad," I answered on my knees with my trembling hands raised high.
"He must be the leader of this group of beggars," I thought. He brought down the rawhide but raised it again menacingly.
"Tell me the truth or I will hand you to Gazmit's soldiers."
"I had lost everything I owned since the war started," I said, trembling at the man's threat, "and now I'm battling for my life."
I searched my pocket, brought out some money and gave it to him.
"This is all I have, Sir," I said. The man threw the rawhide to the ground and snatched the money from my hand. He scrutinized it and nodded in approval.
"It's real," he said and laughed. He helped me to my feet and hugged me.
"Give me the remaining money in your pocket, boy," he said with wide-open eyes. "Quickly!"
"That's all I have Sir," I said and made up penitential tears.
"Oh, it's alright boy," he said. "Welcome to my company." He held me by the hand and showed me a corner to sit in. I watched as he gave the others specific instructions.
"By heavens, I'm sure these are thieves and scavengers," I thought and gently coughed. He turned to me after the last person left.
"This is our abode," he said and spread his arms proudly to show how big a place it was. "Make sure you defend it against intruders."
He left without looking back and disappeared into thin air. I looked at the place the man called abode. It was far less than a goat shed with putrid and foul stench of scattered scraps.
"It's a trap," I thought and stepped out of the shed. People had started arriving with their goods and I saw a few soldiers on patrol.
"I needn't trust anyone here," I thought and walked down a quiet street. It led into more streets and by midday, hot sand grains whirled on my dust-torn and tired face. I found a small empty and clean shed attached to the high fence of a beautiful house.
"This must be a resting place," I thought. I had seen several similar sheds attached to houses as I walked along the streets. I rested under the shed and beckoned a groundnut seller who passed by. A strong east wind that surged through the land blew the groundnut seller's gauzy veil and it overflew behind her. People of the land anticipated the sudden change in weather. Only this time, the Shaman warned of a looming catastrophe. I had learned so while I walked through the streets.
I used my right sweaty index finger and thumb to pick fried groundnuts from my left enclosed palm, wandering in deep thoughts despite the scorching heat. I squeezed off their peels, watched as they moved in the air and cherished the brief happy moment. The gloomy and suspense-filled faces of passers-by that trudged along sometimes with my groundnut peels on their bodies reminded me of my arduous quest.
"Give me one more cup," I said to the groundnut seller who squatted beside me. Her tray contained small, handleless, groundnuts-filled cups arranged in a spiral, pyramidal form.
"That would make six cups," the young, sensible girl said. She poured a cupful of groundnuts on a white paper and gently placed it in front me.
"What about the Shaman's prediction?" I asked her and picked the paper filled with groundnuts.
"He is old and very revered here," she began answering. "His predictions always come to pass and whispers bear tales of his inability to find a suitable successor."
"It's no wonder the current predictions came on a hard note," I said.
"Exactly so," she said avoiding my look. She pulled her veil over her forehead and its helm fell over her eyes. I could tell she was privy to the curious onlookers' frigid stares. The law of the land forbade opposite sexes staying together longer than is customary. I paid her immediately and watched as she hurried silently past passersby. She and other girls in the hawking business must not entice men into buying their products; otherwise, they could even be stoned to death. I also remembered the story of a man at Ujagad, who was bathed with the velvet bean mixture because he touched the bracelet of a girl he intended marrying.
I gently felt the notes of money I strapped on different parts of my body. They were intact and well concealed.
"I have become a wanderer in a strange land," I thought. I wondered about the land and its inhabitants. Scores of men prowl about for spoils they could lay their hands on. I had armed myself with a table knife for self-defense. I moved towards what appeared like an empty enclosed stall from afar but had broken pieces of enameled kitchenware suspended by rusted strings in front of it on closer examination. The partly opened and unbalanced door of the stall tossed back and forth and the attendant, an old haggard-looking man sprang to his feet and stood in my way as I tried going in.
"You don't look like one of us," he said to me. I pulled the piece of cloth on my shoulder over my nose to prevent the dry skin scales that he scratched off the base of his neck from getting into my body. He looked disgusting.
"I came from a distant land," I said and sensed he meant well.
"Come right in," he said and opened the other half of the door. His movement was slow and his arms trembled. He looked outside of the stall with scrutiny and shut the door when he was convinced no one saw us.
The room in the stall turned black until a little candle flame lit it.
"What is your name, young man?" the old man asked and raised the flickering candle between the two of us.
"Agmin," I replied, bewildered by what would follow. However, inner calm pervaded me when I looked at the old man's freckled face; it emanated peace.
"This is a spell," I thought.
He smiled almost immediately as if he saw my thoughts. He uncovered my face and stared at me continuously. He then turned his back on me, clasped his hands and uttered some unfamiliar words fervently.
"You are born anew today," he then said. "My name is Jardu, follow me."
He led me into a smaller room through an unimaginable doorless entrance that was completely covered with clay mixed with dry date palm leaves.
"This is a hideout," I thought and heard the old man silently chuckling. He stood motionless in front of a door that projected towards us. I saw a man pushed the door from the other end and stepped down a long, steep, wooden ladder to an underground apartment. Jardu and I followed him.
The cool underground apartment contrasted the burning heat of the sun on the surface. Its many adjoining rooms led to a large baronial hall.
"What sort of architecture is employed by these nocturnal people," I thought, wondering.
Jardu led me into one of the rooms. Two old servants waited at the door with their gnarled hands clasped on their bare chests. The soothing sound of a flute captivated and silenced the moment. The hands that handled it displayed mastery and skills. I looked at the tattooed feminine hands and paused for a moment.
"Wait a minute," I thought, "those look like the hands of the groundnut seller."
Jitters of indignation seized me and I would have raised an alarm but for Jardu's pleasant ushering.
"Peace my boy, inner peace," he said and I felt as if he lifted a corner of my heart's veil yet again.
"Here he is, father," Jardu said when we entered a blue-lit and incense-saturated room. My throat burned mildly but the cooling effects of the clay-pelted walls made me comfortable.
The flautist stopped playing and a pin drop silence seized the moment.
"Agmin," the grey-haired man said softly. His echoed laden voice rented the room. He wore a white flowing gown and sat with his legs crossed on a thick camel skin mat. I avoided his searching glance. It made me uneasy.
"I am born anew today," he said, "and by the heavens, I am assured of my task."
Again, I felt confused by such sayings and wondered about their meaning.
"Time my boy," the grey-haired man said, "It's just a matter of time. By the way, we have more urgent need of your skills."
"What skills?" I asked, surprised.
"You are a physician," the grey-haired man answered mockingly. I felt placed in the nucleus of the sun. All was white around me suddenly and I was alone with the grey-haired man.
"Agmin!" he said with a loud, powerful voice, "I call you!"
A blinding light permeated and covered me. I heard an inaudible echoed voice. Then, I went blank.
MAY 17, 1453.
I opened my eyes and felt dazzled by a blurry yellow light. I heard silent voices and noticed movements after some moments. Alas! The groundnut seller squatted by my side. I wanted to rise but she gently held me down.
"You have not fully recuperated," she said without moving her lips. This astonished me.
"How did she speak like that?" I thought, "Without using her mouth?"
"It's possible, Agmin," I heard her say clearly without moving her lips again.
I sprang up and examined the room. It had the same clay-pelted walls with several camel skin mats spread on the floor and it had no windows.
"Calm down," she said with her mouth.
"This is all happening too fast," I said with mine.
"You will understand all these with time," she said, placing her right hand on my palpitating chest.
"No! I demand to know everything now," I replied, loathing the suspense.
She moved a few steps away from me and sat on the camel skin mat opposite me. I sat on mine too. She uncovered the veil over her head and placed it on her shoulders. By heavens, she looked as beautiful as my mother did. Her light-skinned face and big round eyes, slim physique and black curly hair that fell well beyond her shoulders immersed in the yellow light shade behind her. She looked luminous.
"You are now born anew," she said.
"Well, I've heard that said several times," I said, "will you rather proceed to the point?"
She smiled and I felt childish for my impatience.
"Here I am," I thought, "faced with people that can read my mind and I theirs."
"This is a ridiculous trick," I said and did not know whether I used my mouth or my mind.
"Keep calm! Agmin," she said softly, "keep calm."
What sounded like gentle, soothing words evoked vivid pictures in seconds split before my mind's eye as I stared at her. Hues of colours bathed the pictures with multidimensional facets.
"I am Tulak!" the groundnut seller said. Her voice reverberated within the small room and I had no doubt I was in a trance.
I saw my mum in the hues of colours. She stepped out into the large patio of a building made with logs of trees. It was a country house surrounded by farmlands with two horse-drawn wooden waggons by its side. She ran into Tulak's outstretched arms and they fell and rolled on the dewy lawn. They were sisters and although they looked European, I sensed they were my mum and Tulak.
Amid my struggle to unknot the touted string of unusual events, I saw a tall stocky man jumped off one of the wooden wagons. He had been fixing a damaged wheel.
"Dad," Tulak called, as the man threw a pitchfork on a bundle of harvested rye plants and waved at her. I was the man!
Again, neurogenic shocks sent me to deep sleep.
MAY 18, 1453.
I woke up again and a bright violet light dazzled my eyes. I wondered how long I had passed out. Whisper-like voices rented the small room. Three persons talked about finding an escape route. I tilted my head slightly to look at them but saw a man who sat opposite me. I sat up instinctively and surveyed the room minutely.
"Look out to your left!" the man in the room whispered aloud with sealed lips.
"Okay!" the other two said.
"There are five of them approaching," one of the two said.
How the men telepathically communicated surprised me. They had formed an invincible web that connected with me.
"What do we do now?" the man in the room asked.
"Look at your back," I surprisingly said to the two men. A scene I had come across spread before me.
"Carefully push the thicket aside and open the small earthen door. You will see a tunnel. It's safe."
"Greetings to you, brother," the man in the room said to me with his mouth, "and welcome to our circle."
"Greetings to you too, brother," I said and looked closely at the man who stood in an unusual costume.
"I am Yuple, the captain of the Shaman's warriors," he said with a deep husky voice. "I feel honoured to be your bodyguard."
I could tell every iota of his thoughts and he mine. It was a beautiful experience.
"Gazmit's men found two of our brothers who had set forth on the shaman's order to see the future king of Ujagad," Yuple said. They prowled on them for two days now in a game of hide-and-seek."
"The tunnel will lead them to Sheik Othman's spies," I said. "They will be okay."
"I can see your experiences have nurtured you for your task here," Yuple said.
"My task here," I thought and Tulak's revelation flashed through my mind.
"Where is Tulak?" I asked.
"Meet me at my dad's chambers," Tulak whispered to me telepathically.
I turned around in amazement and found Yuple and I, in the room.
"It's time I got used to this," I thought.
"Take me to the Shaman's chambers," I said to Yuple.
His steps echoed as he led me through a lobby to the shaman's chamber. He had tawny lion fur attached to his ponytailed hair and tapered with long, tubular and pointed viper fangs. His sizable, adroit and steel-looking hands and legs I am sure tripled mine. I struggled with hues of coloured pictures that emanated from his back. However, the little pictures I absorbed portrayed the same stocky man in my earlier vision. He sat at the dining with Tulak, my mum and a lad that looked very much like Yuple. The man passed a bowl of food to the lad and rubbed his hair gently. The lad's image expanded right before me and on Yuple's back. It merged with Yuple's body size and vanished.
"I have a dozen questions for the Shaman," I thought, wondering about the meaning of these events. Yuple suddenly stepped aside at an unexpected entrance and ushered me into the Shaman's cold chamber. Again, scintillating flute sound and strong fragrance in the chamber greeted me.
Tulak stopped playing the flute when I greeted the Shaman. Powerful hues of colours seized me and touted like stretched elastic ropes around me. They emanated from the Shaman's chest.
"It's better said in pictures, Agmin," he said with a reverberating voice intertwined with pictorial past epoch before my gaze. A young man on a horse stepped out of an impregnable medieval castle with his aides. He rode fast to see a powerful sorcerer. The young man was Gazmit. He was the king's only adopted son. Ambitious and full of rage, Gazmit and the sorcerer held full sway over the land with unapproachable sorcery. Tulak sparked Gazmit's rage one day when the latter made a pass on her and she refused with aversion. Gazmit incarcerated her father in a dungeon and seized his farmlands, which had fed half the population. Famine ravaged the land and the sick king remained helpless in the face of his adopted son's blind ambition. The sorcerer immobilized Gazmit after the king's death and made his own son the king. Gazmit died soon after as a result. People of the land sunk deeply into the threshold of annihilation brought on them by the powerful sorcerer.
"I was the sorcerer," the Shaman said with the same reverberating sounds. The hues of colours turned to spasms of white dust that whirled into the Shaman's chest. Everywhere became still, the profuse sweat on my forehead gave in to the cool, and calming effect of the clay pelted walls. The Shaman's striking features exuded clear light-flowing essence and he breathed calmly like a deep ocean.
"Gazmit is now frail and broken," he said without moving his lips. "His ageless ambitious rage had trailed him to this infinitesimal part of the Earth that has known no peace since my last prediction. He has resorted to brutal rule, overturning every nook of the land as a result and in search of the one true heir."
"What about the prediction, Sir?" I asked curiously.
"The heir to your beloved throne is here and ready, O Gazmit," he said, slightly raising his head, looking upwards."
My quest unfolded before me in patches of pictures with these revelations. Tulak lay unconscious on the camel-skin carpeted floor. The Shaman's energies were too strong for her. "You, Agmin and my daughter Tulak will chart a new way for this kingdom," he said with shiny glowing eyes, "This is your quest. Few of my men accompanied the future king to a distant land on exile and they await you there. Make haste otherwise we will remain without a just king for thousands of years."
When the Shaman was done, I lifted Tulak and handed her to two female attendants.
MAY 28, 1453.
The Shaman's servants trained me according to their ways and I treated all the wounded for days. Once, when I treated lacerated, cutaneous wounds on the neck of the Shaman's brother, I saw a distinct glow of pallid hue on one side of it. It suddenly formed a spectacular, narrow column of light down his body. My vigilant eyes greatly magnified and extracted the minutest parts of it. They moved spontaneously, then gradually fit together to form a picture of the sorcerer's son during his hey days as a king. He had lived a worthless life that led to his death much to his father's dissatisfaction.
"Life is full of ups and downs," Jardu said, conscious of my strange vision about him.
"And I hope you've learned a better lesson," I said and used a surgical knife to cut loose a stitching thread that hung on one part of his stitched wounds.
"Plenty of it," he replied and the smile on his face reassured me.
The Shaman assigned me to different tasks. Life underground had been nocturnal but purposeful to me. People I met there astonished me with their ways. They had formed a peaceful settlement under the earth unnoticed and lived as best they could.
Trustworthy informants keep the Shaman posted about happenings on the battle-fatigued surface. His energy radiation rapidly scanned and heavily guarded the settlement.
MAY 29, 1453.
Yuple and two assistants led me through narrow stairs to the surface. Jardu was ready to receive us. I had ample time to check the settlement. It also had clay-pelted walls right to the surface and thick bamboo-like pipes pierced the walls around the stairs. They formed thickets of plants behind the shop on the surface.
"These are our elixir of life," Jardu said pointing at the plants. "Uproot them and our hiding place is doomed."
I discovered that air passed through the pipes to the hiding place underground. The settlement was a perfect piece of Architecture. An oasis stood about five hundred meters away from the shop. Gazmit's men, who frequented the shop for sips of strong cactus mixture Jardu made, could not detect such masterpiece.
"Our right flank is clear," Yuple said at dusk. We had kept a close watch on passersby for an opportunity to set forth on our mission.
"Alright, let's move," I said and looked straight ahead at the closely packed date plants that lined the road by the right flank. Yuple's massive body masked ours as we moved behind him.
"Stay close to me and hold your clubs tightly," he said.
The best the Shaman's people could do in defense was to make an enemy unconscious. They were so trained. The Shaman's way forbade spilling even the tiniest amount of blood. I had depended like others largely on plants and dry fishes on occasions.
We moved silently by houses occupied by Gazmit's men and took cover each time we met their aggressive patrols. I saw a thread of coloured hue that sprang out of my chest as we moved and it
led us to a well-concealed tunnel.
"An old man is waiting to lead us through the tunnel," I said.
"That's why you are the key," Yuple said. "You've guaranteed our safety."
Shaman's people only actively indulge their gifted senses in his proximity.
"Your mother was a rear breed," the Shaman had told me. "You have inherited a spark of that breed."
We meandered across stretches of thickets and arrived at a concealed earthen door.
"Make haste," the old man said at the entrance to the secret tunnel, "Gazmit's magic has picked up your scents."
The old man chanted a few, unfamiliar words, blew out air from his mouth and whirled his left hand in the air.
"That will neutralize Gazmit's magical prying eyes," he said as he closed the earthen entrance. We moved a few hours through the dark tunnel only guided by a bright, domed lantern held by the old man.
We arrived at Sheik Othman's house. He was one of Gazmit's advisers, who also worked undercover for the Shaman.
"Here we are, fellas," the old man said, "you are safe now."
An attendant whispered to Sheik Othman, who gently caressed a white spotted horse. The Sheik walked towards me with steady steps and widespread arms.
"Providence saved you for this task, Agmin," the Sheik said smiling. "My men would have put you to death by the sword. Once, they struck down your horse thinking you were a spy."
"I greet you, wise Sheik," I said and kissed the helm of his silken robe.
"With such providence," he said holding my hands, "I am sure of a pure guidance."
"May it be so, O Sheik," I said, though I wondered about finding the man in my mother's message.
"At least these people have saved me from Gazmit's men," I thought. "It's time for me to concentrate more on my quest."
MAY 30 1453
We dressed up like Gazmit's men in the evening after enjoying festal meals and entertainment by belly dancers during the day.
"The wind is gentle tonight," the Sheik noted. "I have sent a pass on your behalf to Gazmit's garrison on your way. Just be careful."
We sped off on our horses towards Ujagad. The stars spread across the sky in constellations as far as our gaze could reach like shiny rubies hanging on a black blanket over us. The gentle warm wind of the desert poured fine dust on our bodies. We galloped through sharp, sinking dunes and difficult terrains. I thought about Futu and its inhabitants. Futu was a happy semi-arid community and its inhabitants were so talkative and could do anything to make sure peace prevailed. I loved the vegetation and norms at Futu despite facing arduous toils after my mum's demise. I had missed her protection.
"Keep the white flag flying high," our group leader said, "and watch out for the secret sign."
We moved swiftly around the sand dunes. Our horses were specially trained for such trips I learned. The Sheik would part with his last penny for particular breeds of horses.
"You are a favourite, Sir," our group leader said to me. He had a massive adroit body like Yule's. Together, the two men could split a sixty inches thick wall in seconds.
He looked back and smiled at me.
"The Sheik is very pleased with you," he added.
"Catch me if you can," Yuple said to him and galloped at full speed.
You are a joke," he said and excitedly chased Yuple. The two men sped side by side, giggled and hit each other like children playing with sand. A ring of light sprang around them and shot a straight ray that touched my forehead. Animated smoky pictures emanated from the ray and stretched across the black sky. Two male twins sat at a table with their mum's back turned against my view. She dished them some food and they ate happily.
"Not again Greg," she said when one grabbed a jug filled with milk. "You must give your brother some."
Greg stroked his brother's hair gently and passed the jug of milk to him.
"Have as much as you want, Henry," he said.
"When are we going to visit Aunt Lizzy?" Henry asked and sipped some milk.
"Not anytime soon, darling," his mum answered.
"Why, mother?"
"I know why," Greg said and giggled. "The sorcerer is on the prowl."
"Shut up, Greg," she cut in.
The images became blurred and dissipated along two rays into Yuple and our group leader. Soon, new images popped from their backs, fused and spread before me.
"Alright boys," the woman in the image said to Henry and Greg, "Go to your room now and get ready for the bedtime story."
"Okay mum," the boys replied happily. I saw her face as she turned to clear the plain dining table. She was Tulak.
"Stop!" yelled a man in a high tower. "Who are you?"
His voice echoed in the cold wind. We barely saw his lurked shadow. I had no idea how long I had immersed myself in a dizzy trance. The garrison gate looked familiar.
"We are in Ujagad," I thought.
Our group's captain dismounted from his horse and walked with stealthy footsteps towards the soldiers on guard at the gate. He whispered some words to them and passed a bundle of money.
"Friends!" the man in the tower said aloud and lowered a temporary drawbridge. I sensed the Shaman's presence as I passed through the gate. His thought radiated through me and shaped the word FURAN BEWARE. I was certain it was a pictorial signal sent to me. My head ached as I remembered Furan's cold cruelty.
"We used to experience peace here," said one of Gazmit soldiers who led us through a secret path. "Now we are tired of Gazmit's senseless war and want to go home."
"Soon," Yuple said, "We will experience peace."
I caught sights of the beautiful streets and houses as we moved silently. By design, I was sure Ujagad prospered. King Kazim I learnt ruled excellently and justly. He had built an unconquerable circle of faithful subjects. The latter had risen as impenetrable ramparts around the future king in his hiding place since Gazmit's incursion.
I felt comforted with Yuple and our group leader by my side. Suddenly, sinister shadows engulfed us and I felt the Shaman's unique scent breaking through. Turning to Yuple, I made an incomprehensible sign he could not understand.
"Traitors," a raspy voice sounded behind us. "Seize them!"
I looked in the direction of the voice and saw Furan with a group of armed soldiers twice larger than ours. Just then, the Sheik's captain stepped forward and raised a white piece of cloth he pulled out from his waist.
"Watch out!" he shouted immediately after we heard an arrow shot. He pushed me off my horse and we fell to the ground. He stood up immediately and threw me into a narrow passage with a firm grip.
"Take him in at once!" he said to Yuple, who had pulled out his sword and shielded me. Shots of arrows brought down nearly all our men when I regained balance and peeped through an open part of Yuple's shield. I watched as Furan's men brought down the Sheik's captain with swift shots of their arrows.
"Brother!" Yuple called vehemently. He struck open the gate of a house by the narrow passage and led me into a dark room.
"I swear, Gazmit is in this town," Yuple said, fiercely shutting the door behind us and leaning against it. We heard slow, silent footsteps towards the door. Yuple wedged the door with an old metal stool. He pulled me into a corner of the room and stood in front of me, staring at the door. An arrow shot through the door and pinned him to the bare floor.
"Run!" he said and struggled to pull the barbed arrow out of his bleeding chest. A bright ray of clear light shot out of him into the black night. It cut the flow of the Shaman's scent around us.
"Run, brother!" he said again, writhing in pain.
The cold hand of a man covered my mouth and he dragged me on the floor while the wedged door caved in halfway on Yuple's lifeless body. He pulled me up a ladder into a secret passage through the roof.
"Ssshhh...," he said, placing his index finger across his lips. He grabbed a sturdy bow with well-touted cord; hundred long, sharp arrows neatly stacked in two skin bags hung on his back. He shot many of the arrows from the secret hide out until there was no sound made by Furan's men. I had never seen an archer that good.
"Let's go downstairs," he said and jumped to the ground from the roof while I climbed down a ladder and fell to the ground halfway. He hung his bow and bag of arrows on one shoulder, placed me on the other and rushed out towards a herd of disturbed horses.
I froze in the cold night and my body quivered in pain. I had passed out while the strange man put me on horseback. I felt uncomfortable with each gentle gallop of the horse when I woke up later.
"No ...," I struggled to say, "I can't make..."
He patted my back and gave me a sour liquid mixture to drink. I spewed some and gulped a little. It soothed my body and instantly sent me to sleep again.
MAY 31, 1453.
I woke up and felt a slight pain in my hip. The gentle morning wind blew droplets of dew on me. I looked around and saw a war-ravaged community and a strange man with a horse near me.
"You are alright now," the man said and put a padded saddle on a horse. "If you had fallen headlong, you would have badly hurt yourself."
"Who are you, Sir?" I asked and wondered how I got to such a desolate and war-ravaged place.
"I am Burgahd. I saved your life last night, remember?"
I remembered seeing his long ringed-beard in the black of the night. The golden ring glittered in the dimmed early morning sunrays that bathed us. I saw many wounded people cheering and chanting songs of victory.
"Thanks to God for this victory," Burgahd said. "It's a battle well fought."
"What happened?" I asked, amazed by the events unfolding.
"Gazmit is dead and his army defeated," the man answered, smiling. "The entire kingdom is free now."
I felt elated, however, sudden vague thoughts briefly occupied me.
"What about the Shaman?" I asked.
Burgahd mounted his bow and bag of arrows on his horse. He slowly walked a few steps away from the horse, looking at the rising sun and gently wiping his beard.
"Gazmit killed the Shaman last night," he said and turned to look at me, "but the prophecy came to pass. Gazmit and his Byzantine allies have been defeated."
I felt so sad about this.
"I will meet face-to-face with Gazmit in the end," the Shaman had told me. "Whatever happens then is my destiny. So the prophecy says."
"Tulak!" I suddenly thought. Her name reverberated deep inside me and I wondered what had happened to her.
Burgahd mounted loads of items on his horse. His right shoulder had an inverted tattooed sword on it.
"Just as the Persian slave-assassins," I thought aloud. I had learned about them back at Futu. They were elite killing tools in the hands of kings and emperors.
"Where are we?" I asked him, confused.
"A village called Urlan at the inland brink of the Nile River, "he answered. "Ujagad is ninety kilometres from here. I bet you will find your way back."
I instantly felt at peace.
"Could providence have led me thus far?" I thought happily.
"And you," I said, staring at the unusually strange man, "where are you going?"
"Constantinople, across the Mediterranean sea," he said. "Our leader, Sultan Mehmed II awaits my colleagues and I."
"Who are you?" I asked, throwing caution to the wind, "and why are you here? Burgahd had become strangely nice I sensed, unlike warriors-like Persian assassins.
"We feel honoured to avenge the death of our leader's loyal friend; your king, Kazim."
He mounted his horse and looked at my spellbound face.
"Adieu, friend," he said, "your kingdom is now free."
I stood watching the mass of dust his horse raised until they disappeared from my sight.
"Thank you," I thought tearfully. I was surprised and speechless. "We are indeed free."
I went slowly down a narrow path on my horse to a local church in which a joyful group of choristers sang a supernatural choral hymn. I dismounted, tied the lead shanks to a fence and walked straight in. Curious, joyful eyes stared at me as I took a seat beside a woman with a veil on her face and a lad on her laps. It reminded me of my childhood days when my mother permitted me to attend mass with some friends and their families. We had the best of childhood experience. The tuneful choir stopped singing when the preacher stepped on the podium. He touched a fresh wound scar on his swollen chin, cleared his voice and looked quietly at the opened book on the lectern.
"Despite everything," he said, vigorously waving his right arm, "We survived, people, yes we survived."
"Amen!" One person said at the top of his voice followed by a loud applause that faded quickly.
"And we forgive," the preacher continued, "because vengeance is the Lord's."
Cold chills had seized me; however, the preacher's words soothed the pains in my heart. I felt the heavens opened on me and consumed my yearning and inner turmoil. I also remembered my mother's poem about sand covered thorns:
I felt nothing because they whirled on my skin,
I heard nothing because they snarled pass my ears,
I saw nothing because they gnarled my eyes,
I tasted nothing because they curled my tongue.
I smelt nothing because they scarred my nose,
They stand between the hour of fulfillment and I,
They are sand covered thorns."
EPILOGUE
"It's time," the woman by my side kept whispering. However, the lad on her lap coughed endlessly and the preacher hit the lectern continually and left me no clue. She then gently pulled off her silken left-hand glove and displayed a beautiful tattooed rose flower on one side of her open palm, exactly like Tulak's. I hesitated and felt nothing within me. I had lost the special abilities.
"All our powers will end at the hour of fulfillment," she had told me, "Except yours."
"Tulak!" I whispered to her.
"Agmin!" she whispered back.
I stood at once and walked out of the church while she followed me. She unveiled her face when I stopped and stared at her outside the church.
"Tulak, I ..."
she placed her hand on my lips and smiled tearfully.
"Agmin, I'm glad your dormant power picked my scent. You are the Chosen one."
"The Chosen one?" I asked, confused.
"Yes, and this is your last test according to my father, the late Shaman. Blessed be his soul."
I could not comprehend Tulak's sayings. I was certain so much had happened within a short time and answers would naturally unfold with time. Tulak and I have had reasonable affection for each other the first time we met. I felt it was time we moved on.
"Who is he?" I asked, looking and pointing at the little boy by her side.
"Shertu Hadi. You will lead him through his path, O Shaman," she answered and knelt before me. He is our future king."
I felt calm and peaceful as never, and life's certainties engulfed me.
"Mother!" I thought and felt deeply stirred,
"I have found my path."
Tulak and Shertu Hadi giggled excitedly on my horse moments later as I led them away from the church.
"Rejoice, people," I overheard the preacher saying, "the heavens are opened for you today."
J. E. Mayel can be reached via:
Email: jemayel.ever@gmail.com
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