Free The Ports and Portals of the Zelaznids by Dr. Paul-Thomas Ferguson

philosphie, including the notion that there were worlds beside and beyond th e one in which we live .  Moreover, the man claimed t hat a person who possess ed the proper wisdom could, if he chose, travel at once from one world to another.  Rumi later awakened from a deep sleep , s ecured to the back of a camel, with no idea how he had come to be there or if his encounter had been real or imagined . [51]
         Hearing this tale, I could not help but wonder if such a people existed and, if so, what had become of them .  It was never in my mind to go looking for them, yet th at tantalizing tale remained in the back of my mind.  Perhaps that is why I have so much affection for peoples who find themselves out of the reach of the world.   How lovelie they seem to me.  To think of the villages I have seen, each one looking much the same as the one that came before - yet each is special in its own way.  I marveled to pass through each set of gates, to see how such simple people live their lives, pe ople who might know nothing of those living bu t two day’s journie from them.  I marveled at their ignorance, borne of a beautiful simplicitie.  I came to expect each village to be just as unspoiled .  I was, therefore, quite s tartl ed when I f ou nd the Zelaznids .
     
    I
    t was meant to be a swift trip through the north countrie, an excursion of some few weeks so that I might hear the truth of life from the mouths of the residents of that region, so that I might capture the voice of the people.  A s had happened to the great Rumi, however, and as happens so often in such tales, I found myself separated from my partie and soon was lost in the rugged mountains to the north and east of Astrábád.
         For a full day I walked along the narrow winding path along the river Attuk, seeing no other souls on my journie and feeling as though I traveled through another world altogether.  After some time, the path left the river and wound through the rising brown hills until I had little idea where I was or how I might find my way back .   It looked as though the coming of night would find me placing my bedroll down amidst the hills and praying that God would preserve me in my hour of need.
         I prepared to do so , with the deep colours of dusk dipp ing beyond the hills, leaving me in darkness.  Just then I spotted a faint light in the east.  It was the briefest flash, one which made me think that a door or curtain had been opened or drawn aside for a moment, thus allowing some interior light to reach out into the night .  Yet, the light was of such a level of brightness that I wondered what its source could be.
         I had but little time to determine what it might be for ; being but a flash, it was there and gone, leaving my eyes to adjust to the darkness anew .  Yet, from the direction of the brightness I could hear the light tread of a single soul , approaching with caution rather than malice , I hoped.  I kept myself calm with the thought that this unknown person was no more aware of my motives than I could be of his .
         The voice, when it came, was aged and measured in tone. “Who is it that climbs our mountain in the darkness?”
         Having no simple response to this question, and having a playful spirit, I responded with a question of my own. “Who is it that claims ownership of one of God’s mountains?”
         I thought I heard a slight chuckle then, though I cannot be sure.
         “Come,” said the man, “You must not sleep in the hills.  W olves do not often reach these heights, but why tempt them with such easie prey?  Follow.”
         Without another word he turned and walked away , his shadow visible against the starrie sky ; and I followed out of necessitie, for I had no desire to sleep under the stars in the chill heights of the mountains, wolves or no .  I w ondered w hat manner of man made his home in such a place .
         For a hundred paces or so, we