Tutkulu Yargi, of the feared Calormene Observances Bureau, ventures into the Hal Hallim desert to meet a self declared Tarkaan. This short story contains no violence or bad language.
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LORD OF THE HAL HALLIM
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The House of Blooms
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Tutkulu Yargi shivered on what was, in truth, a very mild winter day. Three years on the Coral Islands did that to one; he'd yet to become reacclimatised to Calormen. Tutkulu was accompanied only by his groom (cum general factotum) a retired cavalry trooper seemingly hewn out of granite. Their destination was a small but elegant palace occupied by the Grand Vizier. It lay several miles east of the capital, Tashbaan, in the area once known as the Common Piece. Several influential men laid claim to the land two centuries earlier, for the building of villas. The country folk lost their grazing rights whilst the great men gained an escape from the heat (and smell) of the summer city.
The House of Blooms was famed for its walled gardens and Kesin Yargi walked through them with his nephew. There were few places in the empire where Kesin couldn't walk, if he so chose. After all he was of the great house of Yargi, which had dominated Calormen affairs for centuries. The only mystery was why no Yargi had ever claimed the throne. "I prefer to hold this – um – discussion – out of town," the Grand Vizier explained. Even in winter, the Koku bushes assailed their nostrils; in summer they became quite overpowering. The two men strolled arm in arm and Kesin spoke frankly to the nephew whom he regarded as a son. "The councillors complain that the Tisroc - May he live forever - has failed to deal with the rebel, Kasif, of the Hal Hallim."
The younger man shrugged "They chatter like the Monkeys of Gevezelik."
"If they merely chattered it wouldn't matter so much. The Tisroc – May he live forever – has other difficulties at present. A restive Orvam is a distraction. I need someone that I can trust to speak to this man."
"I'd gladly do this for you, Uncle, and the Tisroc of course, MHLF."
If that sounded somewhat flippant Kesin didn't acknowledge it. He squeezed his nephew's arm. "It will stand you in good stead with the Bureau. Now, let me tell you what I have in mind…"
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The Kavi house
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The late spring sun could be spiteful on the edge of the Hal Hallim desert. Five of the six men arriving in Toplandi were uncomfortably hot; all were dusty. They found a guest house easily enough, for the town was used to catering for travellers. The owner suggested "Take the roof, authentez," (by which he mean master) and Tutkulu gladly accepted. It was generally agreed that neither rain nor strong wind was likely, with tarpaulins strung to keep off unexpected drizzle just in case.
Tutkulu and his two associates found the local bathhouse, leaving the servants to tend to the horses then get some welcome sleep. At that stage in Calormene history the bathhouses were still open to all, but the 'public baths' were the preserve of the 'lower orders' and the 'best rooms' reserved for gentlemen. Soon they were washed and refreshed although gentle questioning elicited just one piece of useful information. "Such things are not known by respectable people, my friend," one old man said, looking slyly at them, "At some low place, like the Oasis kavi house, you might find what you seek."
The Oasis was a kavi shop in an insalubrious street, sandwiched between a silversmith's and what was, patently, a brothel. "Disgusting; why is it permitted?" Nesib asked rhetorically. They all knew why: the further one went from Tashbaan, the less regarded was the law. The silversmith had no fear of robbery, being a part of the local criminal fraternity. He would 'fence' stolen goods as readily as repair a link in a silver chain. The Oasis was a low building with no upper floor and an ancient, rusty kavi pot hung on chains over the door. The patrons went quiet as the three men entered, but only momentarily, for they weren't totally unaccustomed to strangers. Tutkulu ordered three cups of kavi – the dark, thick, hot beverage of Calormen, sweetened with sugar. "Three glasses of canban too," he added.
"That is – as I am sure you know – illegal to sell, Authentez," the host advised him.
Tutkulu challenged, "You think I'm a Government informer?"
The landlord shrugged, "I do not know you. Now, I can give you three glasses of canban but – I must tell you – that the kavi will be double what you might expect."
Tutkulu nodded, "Very well - three – with a little water. Bring them over, if you please."
"What are you doing?" Palbish asked, as they sat down.
"These people aren't fools," Tutkulu explained, "They probably already have us down as government officials. This is an easy way to show that we're… how shall I put it… rather more flexible than normal."
An hour went by - as did several rounds of canban – before Tutkulu took a calculated risk. The other customers had seemingly accepted their presence, with the volume of chatter reaching earlier levels. The landlord was just passing round further drinks when Tutkulu asked loudly, "So, what of this fellow Kasif?"
The patron looked uneasy. "I know of no Kasif," he replied, shortly.
"This… Tarkaan Kasif. The man who runs things in these parts," Tutkulu pursued.
Nesib looked slightly sick and tried to stand on his companion's foot (catching Palbish by mistake). "Some tale of bandits, miles away, probably nonsense," said the landlord, turning away. "I can't help you." The whole room had gone silent, for those that hadn't heard Tutkulu were quickly enlightened by their neighbours.
"That's a shame, for I have business with him!"
It took fifteen minutes before the stunned silence entirely lifted. Only then, as Tutkulu sat fretting, did a stranger approach their table. He was tall and distinguished looking, with a curled beard and mustachios in the old fashioned style. Nobody watched him, but then no one had thrown their table so much as a single glance since Tutkulu's question. The other patrons chose to ignore them entirely. "Authentez," said the newcomer, addressing Tutkulu with a courtly bow.
"Pleased to meet make your acquaintance," said the younger man courteously.
"May I take a seat?"
"Please do."
The fellow sat down, pausing to examine his long, white nails, before speaking. "I couldn't help but overhear that you are desirous to meet Lord Kasif, of the Hal Hallim."
"That's correct."
"Forgive my inquisitiveness, authentez, but what is your business with such a man?"
"I have a message for him."
"A message; might I ask from whom?"
"To whom am I speaking?" Tutkulu countered.
"Forgive me; I am Hagi of A'guar, a guide by profession, friend to strangers by inclination."
"My message, Master Hagi, is for Lord Kasif only. I would, however, be most happy to employ someone to take me to him."
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Three down
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"There are but three of you?" Hagi noted. Two hours had gone by since dawn and he was found waiting by a dry well, outside the Sheep Gate. The desert shimmered in the distance; a mostly flat landscape with some deceptively distant hills or mountains. The travellers had stabled their horses and rented camels instead.
Tutkulu looked irritated. "Our servants left in the night." They'd taken their packs and horses. Hagi smiled. "You find that amusing?" the official said sharply.
Hagi held up his large, smooth hands in a placatory gesture, "No, authentez. I can however guess where they are."
"Where, in the name of Tash, are they?"
"You may see them again, perhaps. My guess is that they have deserted and are already on their way to one of the many camps of the Lord Kasif."
"But how and why?"
"His spies are everywhere, authentez. Why, I might be one! I aren't, but I might be, you understand?"
"Hm."
"Now you are cross. See things from his perspective, authentez. The more followers the Lord Kasif has, the safer he is. He is only too happy to recruit whenever he has the opportunity." Hagi rubbed an ear from which dangled a large, gold hoop. He smiled. "Perhaps you gentlemen may decide to follow the Lord Kasif too?"
Palbish opened his mouth but Tutkulu forestalled him: "We will be honoured enough to meet Lord Kasif."
"Most diplomatic," Hagi said, with a humorous look upon his face. "Come, we must be going, if we're to reach Dur Zafziri this day."
"I hope this fellow knows where he's going," Nesib muttered (but not loudly enough for Hagi's hearing).
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The offering
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First, they followed the bed of an old tributary, surrounded by gravel slopes dotted, here and there, with tufts of grass. The route wasn't of pure sand, having a great deal of dried clay beneath. Much of it cracked underfoot, with a sound like the breaking of eggshells.
"You have been on this route often?" Gasim ventured.
"Many times, many times," Hagi agreed.
"To visit this Kasif?"
"The Lord of the Hal Hallim has no permanent base," Hagi said, flashing a glittering smile. "The whole desert is his domain but, of course, he has a few favourite encampments. If a snake lays an egg under a rock, the Lord Kasif knows of it."
"Then he knows of us?" Nesib asked.
"Most assuredly; if and when your servants reach him he'll know more, of course."
"Hm. How will they find him?"
"With help of course," Hagi explained patiently. "They'd never find him without help. There are piles of bleached bones across the Hal Hallim, belonging to men who never found the Lord Kasif."
"You seem to have a high opinion of him?"
Hagi shrugged and remarked, "He respects this place, so why shouldn't I respect him?"
They rested from late morning until late afternoon. They weren't deep into the desert but they felt the heat keenly enough. Finally Hagi decided it was time to be moving. "Come, this is the easiest of days. Five more hours will bring us to Dur Zafziri."
"I'll be glad of the well," Nesib said.
"You are a metropolitan man, my friend," Hagi teased him.
"I am; you can keep this sea of sand, as far as I'm concerned."
"The well belongs to the Lord Kasif," Hagi pointed out. "It would be politic to leave some small gift of coins."
"What a confounded cheek," Gasim complained.
They rode on and finally Hagi pointed out their destination, in the distance. "It will take us another hour, gentlemen." They were at the top of a track between two hillocks, thick with brushwood.
"Good," Nesib said, shuffling uncomfortably. "Riding this camel is worse than riding the Tarkaan's mangy donkey," he grumbled (referencing an old folk tale).
Hagi pointed, with his crop, to a small heap of stones thick with dust, on top of which sat a heavy stone bowl. "What is it?" Gasim asked.
"Travellers leave tributes for the Djinn, in exchange for their protection."
"Heathen superstition," Nesib said scornfully.
"You are in the Hal Hallim, gentlemen, far closer to the Djinn than in the gardens and bathhouses of Tashbaan."
"Here," said Tutkulu, dropping several copper coins into the bowl, "Out of respect for local custom."
"Hm, it is well enough for a Yargi to do that," Nesib commented bitterly, "No-one would ever dare accuse a Yargi of blasphemy."
"I should hope not," Tutkulu replied, keeping a rein on his temper. "It is merely out of courtesy to the ways of the Hal Hallim."
"Oh, why not," Gasim said, tired of the discussion. He threw two coins into the bowl. "Do you not leave a tribute, Master Hagi?"
"I am as much a part of this place as the fireflies, or the Guzelkoku that blooms on the riverbank."
"That's a long winded way of saying no," Nesib retorted. He whacked his camel lightly with his stick. "There's enough there for all of us. I'm having no part of this superstitious nonsense; botheration to your Djinn."
"Let us go then," Hagi agreed, "One last hour."
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Towards the burning land
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Tutkulu woke first, the cool air making him shiver slightly. He sat up against the saddle which had served as a pillow. His cloak, having been propped up on a stick to keep away flies, was knocked aside. Only ashes remained of the fire of the previous night. The camels were already restive. It would be dawn soon and it was becoming light. Looking about he noticed that Nesib was absent. Tutkulu woke the others and awaited the return of his companion (whom, he assumed, was answering a call of nature). After a time he began to be alarmed and shouted, but reply came there none. The guide, meanwhile, drank sparingly of water and indulged in the luxury of dabbing some on his face. "Where can he be?" Tutkulu fretted. Nesib's saddle and cloak lay discarded on the ground.
"He is gone," Hagi said.
"That, Master Hagi, is patently obvious," Gasim spat.
"He is not the first man to be lost in the desert, nor will he be the last."
"Spare us the philosophical musing," Tutkulu advised him, "This is not the time. We must look for him."
"Go and look for him, perhaps you will find him, perhaps you won't."
"Listen here," Gasim challenged Hagi, "Do you know something about this?"
"He may have needed to void, wandered too far and got lost, or…" Hagi said.
"Yes, or?"
"Or perhaps he is gone for good."
"You do know something about this," Gasim clenched his fists and moved aggressively towards the guide.
"I know that your friend was foolish."
"What do you mean?"
"You are travelling across the lands of the Djinn whom Master Nesib disrespected. He left no offering whilst openly scorned them."
"That is foolish beyond permission!" Tutkulu said.
"Is it? I wonder? You are here at the tolerance of both the Djinn and the Lord Kasif; I'd cross neither." The matter concluded to his satisfaction, Hagi shifted his saddle over to his mount. Irritated and concerned in equal measure, the other two men went to look for their missing companion.
Finally Tutkulu had to concede defeat and the depleted party began the next leg of their journey. Annoyed at Hagi's unconcerned resignation, they rode in almost complete silence. Men spoke of Cin Oyuk, in the Hal Hallim desert, with fear. Some claimed it was the gateway to the pit of Ashanguar (home yet hell of all demons) although that was entirely a product of their imagination. Certainly though, a warm crater smoked there for centuries, until the reign of Iri the Magnificant.
Many centuries earlier, Tash fell through a space, entirely lacking forms and light. Who here could say how long he fell? The realm that expelled such rebels wasn't subject to temporal constraints. Only the Dying Lands below understand the awful passage of time. Tash didn't know exactly how he fell either: whether down or up, head first or feet first. The whole thing was a horrid confusion. What he did understand, with absolute certainty, was the hardness of the earth when he landed. As Tash came to, on the burnt ground, he was painfully aware that he was in a physical, mortal world. He staggered to a nearby stream that once flowed into the Asha Hal Farl and took physical form. Tash had been increasingly proud of his beauty before the great expulsion. At the sight of the monstrous vulture like thing he'd become, Tash let out a frightful howl. The ghastly noise carried for miles across the desert and the birds quaked at the dreadful thing now amongst them. Even the villagers of far away Toplandi looked at each other in wild surmise. "Chimer-u" Tash screamed fruitlessly for his lord. "Sharur," Tash screamed, for want of his friend and companion. There could be no reply, for those rebels were in an entirely different place and do not come into this story. "Chimer-u, Sharur," Tash called until he was hoarse.
The demon (as he now was) crossed the wastes of Calormen for years, searching for his lost comrades. He found some of the lesser sort that he'd known of old. They too were changed in a multiplicity of ways and few could bear another's company for long. Some couldn't take physical form whilst others were unable to maintain one for but a short time. They were known to the Calormene as the worst sort of Djinn, wicked and malicious. "All troubles come from the desert," was a popular saying in the Middle Calormene period. It's untrue of course, reflecting the increasing urbanisation of the people. Only nomads, holy fools and outlaws chose to live in the waste. Finally, Tash tired of it too and began to haunt the places of men, who fascinated him much back then.
The travellers from Tashbaan knew none of this, of course. Cin Oyuk was simply an evil name associated with unknown devils. Hagi led them around it but, even in a desert where heat hazes are common, the distant shimmer was remarkable. "One more hour to go," Hagi promised, "We'll leave this place behind us and rest until the day cools."
"I hope Nesib is alright," Tutkulu said, finally feeling inclined to talk again.
"He'll be able to find his way back to the town," Gasim comforted him. They'd left Nesib's camel and cloak behind, against Hagi's advice. Their guide looked quizzically at him, which served to irritate Gasim. "Don't start with your nonsense about Djinn again," Gasim warned.
They rested up for the afternoon and set off when the sun was less spiteful. They'd find no more water until they reached the site of the next camp. Some hours later, by moonlight, they descended into the misnamed Valley of the Shepherds. It was actually a large fault, an enormous crack in the ground, into which the sides had collapsed. The remains of several stone huts were scattered along the slopes. "Wandering herdsmen have used this place for generations," Hagi said. "See, just over there, that hut is the latest and should be intact."
"Where is the well?" Tutkulu asked.
"Come, I'll show you," Hagi said. They tethered their camels near the shepherds' hut and the guide led them to the well. It was topped with a heavy slab that they lifted off. Inside they found a bucket and a rope. "I suppose we must leave a gift?" Gasim asked, resignedly.
"Again, it would be sensible," Hagi agreed.
They drank, filled their water bottles, washed their faces and felt a whole lot better. They were about to tend to the camels when Gasim noticed something. "Hey, what's this?"
Hagi joined him. On a plinth, rudely housed with flat stones, was a statue. The thing was manlike from the waist, but had the legs of a goat. "It is a god of the herdsmen," the guide explained.
"Disgusting," Gasim was shocked. "Tutkulu, come and see this." The Calormene Empire had long since made the worship of any but Tash illegal. The Father Sun and Mother Moon rebellions had been the last serious challenge to the official forms of worship. The petty gods and devils of distant centuries were no longer tolerated. The disaster at Koloni had left the state with no taste for anything magical or pagan.
Tutkulu tutted, "One should not be surprised; they are a crude, carnal people."
"What should we do?"
"What can we do? Do you think the Observances Bureau is going to send a brigade of guards into this forsaken place?"
"Well, I won't stand for it," Gasim said then, before he could be stopped, he dragged the idol from its base and cast it to the ground. It was strong and didn't break, although the face was badly chipped.
"I'm not sure that was wise," Tutkulu commented. "I understand your feelings but that may have been a mistake."
"Rubbish," Gasim said tartly. "Just because we're in the middle of nowhere it's too easy to imagine devils behind every rock."
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The Shifting Road
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"By the blessed pigeons of Falimar!" Tutkulu exclaimed. It was approaching dawn and the sky had lightened but, once again, a companion was missing. Gasim's camel was still tethered. His pack, saddle and cloak remained in situ but, of the man, there wasn't a sign.
"Your friend did not respect this place," Hagi told Tutkulu, after a long and fruitless search.
"I swear," Tutkulu threatened him, "That if I find that you are behind this, you will not live long enough to regret it."
Hagi spread his hands in his now familiar conciliatory manner. "Gasim was the author of his own downfall. There are now just the two of us and you have no option other than to trust me."
The pair eventually set off, this time leading a spare camel. Tutkulu's hopes for Gasim's survival were not high. They followed the path of a dried up stream, the clay baked firm in the sun. "Do you see the line ahead?" Hagi asked.
"What, the brown amongst the sand?"
"Yes, it's a ridge of exposed stone. That is what we must follow."
"At least it's clear."
"You think so?"
"Don't you?"
Hagi laughed, "That is the Shifting Road, my friend."
"Why is it so called?"
"The Road leads to our destination but it shifts. It changes from day to day; more sometimes."
"How can it shift yet lead to the same place?"
"Ah, now that is a great mystery," Hagi replied, with every appearance of enjoyment. "It would be the bane of cartographers but surely a blessing to the Lord Kasif?"
They camped before noon in a natural hollow, in the side of the stone ridge. Tutkulu was glad of the shade, for the day was threatening to be exceptionally warm for the time of year. They ate sparingly of stale bread and strips of cured meat, before sleeping. The Kaynak flies soon found them but were thwarted by the clothes over their faces. Hagi possessed a wonderful sense of time and he woke Tutkulu in due course, ready to continue the journey. They emerged from the hollow and Tutkulu stretched and yawned. He looked along their intended path, puzzled. "By Tash! That can't be right?"
"What troubles you?" Hagi asked.
"The path – the ridge – it's not right at all. It veers east whereas, before, it was straight."
"Did I not say it is a shifting road?"
"Yes but… well, I thought you meant the sands obscure it… I didn't think you seriously meant…"
Hagi flung his arms in the air dramatically and looked smug. He had the air of a sleek, self satisfied cat and almost purred, "I meant what I said."
The moon had been generous and its light allowed them to travel for some hours during the night. Ahead of them lay the pass of Mgog, a cleft between two high hills. "See, we'll camp there for the night. There's a small stream, it is most pleasant," Hagi explained.
"We'll be almost on the Lord Kasif's doorstep then?"
"That's right," the guide agreed. "They'll know when you arrive; they'll note everything about you, from your boots to your scarf."
"That is not a comfortable thought."
"It would be foolish not to expect watchers," Hagi said, giving an unconcerned shrug. "You've got this far; they could have killed you at any point on the road. You wouldn't have left the Kavi house in Toplandi if they wanted you dead."
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End of part one