The returnees did not know what to do with this strange testimony. Some citizens insisted that the bones be reburied with due ceremony, unless the city wanted to upset the spirits of the fairies and incite further conflict. Others thought the bones should be thrown away, forgotten and expunged. In the end, the merchants won. The remains found their way into the markets, as jewelry or powders for virility or curious relics. They were treasured and then forgotten over the years, rediscovered as signs not of another world, but of another time. Poking about his father’s study on a weekend afternoon, a boy lifted a skeletal elf hand from the cabinet and wondered how different it was from his own.
10. A SPELL ON THE CONQUEROR’S PENIS
Like many other fathers, the king of Kashmir was rather upset at having to hand over his daughter to Iskandar. He stayed up all night, a knot of misery in his chest. Iskandar’s army sat encamped outside the king’s walls. Somewhere in that labyrinth of rope and canvas, his daughter could be in bed with the invaders. The king of Kashmir raged. Only poor men and ambitious ministers release their girls to a harem.
A local holy man came to comfort the king. I will make it such that when Iskandar tries to have your daughter, he will not be able to pierce the clouds. Pierce the clouds? the king blinked. I mean, to distend himself. Distend himself? To perform, he will not be able to perform. The king nodded, and the holy man went away to cast his spells.
That night, when Iskandar visited his new acquisition, he was flaccid. This is strange, he thought, I’ve barely drunk anything. He apologized to the princess of Kashmir. He was no harder when he tried the next night, nor the night after that. What is wrong with me? he beseeched his advisors. Have you tried to rouse yourself with other women? Aristotle asked. Of course, and it’s all working as it’s meant to, I assure you. But with the princess of Kashmir? With the princess of Kashmir, nothing, a dried-up spout. Odd … she is quite lovely. Iskandar leaned his head against a pole of the tent. I know she is, he said, I’ve never met anybody so gorgeous … her face is like the moon that poets see on the necks of beautiful women.
Aristotle comforted Iskandar. Reason leads me to conclude that there’s only one possible source for your incapacity: a magical spell. A spell? Yes, a spell cast on behalf of the king. How can we get the spell lifted? I don’t know how this foreign magic works, Aristotle admitted, but the most reliable method tends to be this: find the holy man who cast the spell, and kill him.
Iskandar’s agents spread through Kashmir and rounded up all the holy men. They were tortured and interrogated. None confessed to casting the spell, nor even having the ability to do so. So they were tortured some more. Taking his captors aside, one holy man pointed to a rival and said, It’s him, I swear to you, it’s him … execute him and let the rest of us innocents go. Both informant and the informed upon were killed, but when Iskandar with great expectation went to the princess of Kashmir, he found himself no abler than before.
Kill all the holy men, he yelled at Aristotle, slit their throats, break their fingers, squish their toes. That wouldn’t be the wisest thing to do. Yes, yes, yes, kill them. It’s taken a lot of work to subdue this kingdom, we don’t want the people of Kashmir to rise up against us. To hell with the people of Kashmir, what about my penis?
Aristotle looked at him as if he were a child. The sage cleared his throat very loudly and then said nothing at all.
The conqueror relented. The holy men were released after they vowed that from this day on they would never cast spells on Iskandar. He accepted that his desire for the princess of Kashmir would not be fulfilled. His advisors asked him to let her go. She won’t be of much use to you, Aristotle said, you may as well restore her to her family. No, Iskandar said, I’ll keep her. Why? Every once in a while, you’ll bring her to me so I can stare at her face. That’s cruel. What can I say, I’m greedy … I won’t let go of the things I can’t have.
11. THE WAQ-WAQ TREE
In Ceylon, the local king suggested Iskandar visit the tomb of Adam. Iskandar went with his entourage and delivered offerings to the tomb’s Indian guardians. The Indians told him to climb to the top of the nearby mountain. There was a great wonder at its peak. When he was cast onto earth, Adam landed on the mountain and left an indelible mark. Iskandar lay down in the giant footprint of Adam, fully the length of a grown man.
Adam arrived here, one of the Indians explained, Eve fell near Mecca, Satan in Qum, and the serpent in Esfahan. That makes sense, Iskandar said, Esfahan is full of temptations, but Qum is a pretty wretched place. The Indian guide carried on. Adam was so miserable that he spent years weeping on the mountain, and from his tears all these bitter plants and weeds grew. He pointed to the vegetation on one slope, thick with brambles and leaves laced purple. But then, as it is written in the Quran, God forgave Adam and accepted him into His love, and for years Adam wept tears of joy for being allowed back into the fold … from these tears sprung fragrant and wholesome plants. He showed Iskandar the other side of the mountain, which was stripped bare save for the occasional bright green bush. Seems pretty barren to me, the conqueror said. The Indian smiled apologetically. That’s the side we harvest for tea.
Iskandar desperately wanted to see the waq-waq tree, another wonder of this part of the world. Does it exist? he asked the Indian. Is it true what they say about the talking tree? That instead of fruit, the tree flowers human heads that can speak? That some trees even sprout full human bodies, and the natives, whenever they please, go to the tree and have sex with its fruit? Maybe even your mother was the fruit of a waq-waq tree?
The Indian led Iskandar to one of these trees. It was the tallest he had ever seen. Long green fronds bent in a dome from its slender trunk. There was a cluster of shaggy brown heads at the top. They shifted in the breeze and murmured, though Iskandar could only hear their words vaguely. What are they saying? he asked. One of them wants to meet you, the Indian said. Do I need to climb the tree? No, the head will descend on its own. There was a reluctant snapping noise. Here it comes, the Indian said.
In horror, Iskandar watched as one of the heads tumbled down, knocking the trunk of the tree again and again as it fell. It smashed at his feet, a speechless mess of white pulp and husk. The Indian crouched and sifted its remains. Bad luck, he said, most of the time they’re more eloquent.
12. THE WALL OF YAJUJ AND MAJUJ
Deep into the sixth clime of the earth, Iskandar came upon a poor and haggard people. They welcomed him and his entourage with bland stew and millet beer. No country had ever seemed so foreign to Iskandar. In the damp, smoky hall, he struggled to understand what their leader was saying. Is this man even speaking in words, Aristotle? The sage lowered his chin to concentrate. You know, Aristotle said after some time listening, it really is hard to tell.
Through a process of gestures and broken speech, Iskandar learned that he had now reached the end. Beyond this province were only wasteland and the ocean that bounded everything. Well, that’s good to know, Iskandar said, nothing to conquer over that way. The leader of the remote people asked if Iskandar’s army would stay some time. I’m Iskandar, Iskandar said, of the bloodline of the shahs of Persia, heir to the kings of Macedonia, son of an Egyptian god … I stay and I go as I please. Oh excellent, the leader communicated, that’s great, please stay as long as you like.
Iskandar was surprised. Most people are more precious about their sovereignty, he said. We’ll give it to you freely, without a fight, with regular tribute. Really? Iskandar turned to Aristotle, who shrugged. Yes, but on one condition … you build us a wall. The man mimed with both hands the shape of a wall. A wall? Yes, a wall to block the demons.
The next day, the leader showed Iskandar and his entourage what he wanted. He brought them to a narrow pass at the head of a valley. Through the pass, he gestured, is the land of Yajuj and Majuj. Yajuj and Majuj? Iskandar asked. Harbingers of apocalypse, Aristotle whispered, ferocious demons, bringers of end times, that kind of thing. The leader continued. Evil spirits come from
over there … they terrorize our dreams, we hear them scratching at our doors at night, sometimes they even kidnap our children. I don’t see anything, Iskandar said. There seemed to be little difference between the lands on either side of the valley. Please, the leader insisted, a wall blocking this pass would protect the entire world. Unconvinced, Iskandar turned to his advisors. These people are crazy … what’s the point of building a wall here?
Aristotle pulled Iskandar aside. Sometimes things are built to serve a function, the sage said, and sometimes they are built just to be built. So you think we should do this. Paper molders, poems get distorted from one generation to the next … a monument in stone, however, lasts many, many lifetimes. Building a wall will project me into the future, will it? Yes, of course … and if it delays the coming of Yajuj and Majuj and the end of the world, well, then nobody could accuse you of vanity.
Using the talents of his army’s metallurgists, bricklayers, engineers, and sappers, Iskandar raised a wall at the neck of the pass. It took some time and much effort, but like the best conquerors, he had a lot of men. The work never stopped. Each stone had to be cut to fit the next, since too much mortar in a defensive wall made its collapse more likely. All the iron bolts that joined the stones had to be coated in molten lead. If they weren’t, exposed iron would rust, then the bolts fray, the stones gradually slip out of joint, and soon, invisible from the outside, cracks would spread like spiderwebs within the edifice. An inscription was carved above the false gate: I, Iskandar, raised this barrier to protect the people of the world until the world ends and this barrier falls. Copper sheathed the parapets so that they glowed in the mornings and smoldered at dusk.
Every once in a while during the construction, Iskandar would climb the scaffolds and stare over the lip of the wall. The ocean spread gray to the horizon. Scrub fell down the side of the hills to a threadbare quilt of rowan. After the heather, only sand and emptiness. Nothing moved on that side. He stayed up on the wall one night, peering into the dark, vainly hoping to hear some peculiar movement, some indication that the forces of Yajuj and Majuj resented his great masonry. He left disappointed.
Aristotle added several ingenious devices to the wall. Since Iskandar had no intention of stationing any soldiers there, the sage designed mechanisms that repetitively beat metal drums. The hammering gave the impression that the wall was in a constant state of activity, always being built and improved. Aristotle also positioned a number of clever trumpets on the ramparts. They sounded when the wind blew through them at the right angle. Without a soul defending it, the wall brimmed with defiant noise.
Over time, of course, these contraptions failed. The hammers slowed and stopped beating altogether. Owls nested in the open mouths of the trumpets, blocking the old brass tubes with their feathers. No clarion call came from the horns—only the occasional squawk. Silence reigned along the wall, with one exception. If travelers came up to that monumental edifice and pressed ears to its stone, they would hear distantly from the other side the furious, indefatigable sound of scratching.
13. KANIFU UNDRESSED
Iskandar returned to China and defeated its khan in battle. It was a close-run thing. For much of the day, his soldiers were beaten back by the khan’s champion, who toppled cavalcades of sipahis and splintered the advance of the phalanx. Eventually, the champion was subdued. Iskandar himself flung a lasso around the warrior’s neck and dragged him back to camp.
The victory celebration went on late into the night. Like all good kings, Iskandar drank goblet after goblet of wine. His noble warriors tried to outdo one another in recounting their feats on the battlefield. Each boastful tally won rewards from Iskandar: a sum of gold, a jewel, a bracelet, a slave, a parcel of newly conquered land. Once this redistribution was complete, Iskandar and his nobles searched for further entertainment. Nobody had any interest in the bards because the battle still surged fresh in the mind. Nobody could watch acrobats roll around because their japes mocked the energy of war. Instead, the men demanded that the Chinese champion be brought from his cage.
Iskandar asked him what he was called. My name is Kanifu, the champion said. Long hair fell across red cheeks. His plate armor seethed in the firelight. Iskandar praised his valor on the battlefield. My army always has room for good men, the conqueror said; indeed some of my best servants—he waved in the direction of the drunk nobles—surrendered their service to me in war … Why not join me? Kanifu said nothing and didn’t raise his eyes. Submit to me, the conqueror said, and you will see that the world is far greater than your dusty China.
Kanifu stayed silent. Look at me, Iskandar said, you may look at me. The champion remained motionless. The nobles began to grumble. What ingratitude. Your wretched life has been spared, and you won’t give the conqueror the generosity of your eyes. Put the bastard in his place. Humiliate him. Iskandar lifted his hand. Strip this Kanifu, he commanded.
It took some time to undo all the ties and buckles. Two men had to battle with the seams of the armor. Kanifu did not resist. While he was undressed, he lifted his head and looked at the smoky sky. Iskandar studied the rolling turn of the man’s chin, the tundra of sideburns, the soft jaw. You are exceptionally young, he said, younger even than I was when I first went about killing.
They undid the gauntlets first. Kanifu’s knuckles were pinched and blue. Then off came the rerebrace and the vambrace. He had slender arms. The pauldrons were made of such heavy metal that Iskandar’s servants had to let them thud to the earth. Kanifu’s shoulders were narrow and Iskandar marveled at the slightness of the warrior who had cut down so many of his own. Each pin in the gorget had to be pried loose before the entire piece could be removed, baring a pale and heaving neck. Off came the cuisses and poleyns, sabatons and greaves. Kanifu’s shins were hairless. The champion closed his eyes as they took off the plackart and fauld. Finally, they lifted off the breastplate, dented by so many blows.
Kanifu stood in the filthy linen shift he wore beneath his armor. It was so soaked in blood and sweat that it clung to his skin. The nobles could see his shape, the unambiguous swelling of breasts, the sullen hips. They fell silent. Chinese men have strange bodies, one noble whispered to another. This man, the other said, is a woman.
Cover her up, Iskandar said, and take her to my pavilion. They all watched in silence as a shawl was draped around Kanifu and she was led away. Iskandar concentrated on his wine while the nobles resumed their conversations, but they were no longer merry. One by one, his men made their excuses and returned to their tents.
By the time Iskandar came to his own tent, his attendants had washed Kanifu and dressed her in a silk shift. They rubbed ointments on her skin, perfume on her neck and wrists, brushed her hair to a dark shimmer, tucked a flower behind one ear. They made her recline on a couch with a platter of melon and cups of wine and await the arrival of the conqueror. Her hands were chained.
My valiant lady, Iskandar said, forgive the way you were treated … you must think me a brutish warlord, but I assure you I’m as courtly as a prince. He drank from his cup. In a fold of the tent, a musician strummed a quiet tune. Why have your people dressed me like this? Kanifu asked. You have such exquisite eyebrows, Iskandar said, your eyes are shaped like dreams. I will not be your slave. The hour is too late for harsh words … Tell me, do you enjoy poetry? I’m a soldier, you will not touch me. Hush, and listen to verse.
“I chained my heart to your locks,” Iskandar recited, reaching out to her. “If it’s not for slavery, free it. Shake out the dust on your head.” Imprison me in iron, Kanifu said, not silk. “One drunk on you needs no wine.” My people will be avenged. “Yearning for you, no trace of me remains.” She wrestled away from Iskandar, who pursued her around the tent. The musician continued to play. You will never have me, Kanifu said. Yes, I will. Iskandar pinned her to the floor and brought his face very close to hers. Kanifu jerked her body like a fish in the air and struck him in the mouth. He looked at her in shock, feeling the blood rush to his lips. �
�The world burns caught in your gaze,” he said.
14. THE SUBMERSIBLE
With the known world conquered and his enemies subdued, Iskandar set his sights on the sea. But my lord, his advisors said, your navies already control the ocean … your ships are anchored in every port. Yes, we already have the surface of the seas, Iskandar said, but I want to go underneath. He sketched a design for his craftsmen. They startled at the plans and leaked them to Aristotle. The sage interrupted Iskandar’s breakfast. You can’t be serious, Aristotle said, you can’t actually intend to do this. Where’s your spirit of adventure, Iskandar replied, where’s your curiosity? You’re going to drown. Nonsense. Everybody else will drown trying to rescue you. If any of my subjects are trustworthy, it’s the glass-blowers … they won’t let me down. Have some pity, Aristotle said, can you imagine me, at my age, lifting up my robes and diving in after you?
The craftsmen followed Iskandar’s instructions. When the contraption was ready, he presented it to all his advisors and nobles. They muttered around the oblong object. Iskandar’s wives and concubines watched from behind filigreed screens. In this submersible, he explained, I will journey to the bottom of the sea. The submersible was shaped like a bell, narrower above, wider at its base. It was made of glass, in places reinforced with bronze, with cables flowing from the top like the dreadlocks of a mystic. The various names of god spiraled in enamel around its belly. We will push out into the ocean, Iskandar said, I will climb into the submersible and then you will lower it into the water. His advisors were horrified. Suppose something goes wrong, they said, suppose you need help? Oh don’t worry, Iskandar said, if I need help, I’ll just pull one of those ropes and you’ll hear, on the ship, the ringing of many bells. The court shuffled skeptically, so he felt compelled to demonstrate how the submersible would work. He popped open the hatch, slid inside, and sealed himself in. See, he knocked against the glass, it’s solid … nothing will happen to me. He continued to rap the glass to prove its strength. For once, his advisors and women couldn’t hear a thing he said.
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