Shadows Out of Time

Genghis at the Gate of Dreams TIM LEES

Under orders from the Great Khan, called Temujin, praise his name, they traveled many days, to a place where two tall boulders stood, the width of three supply carts separating them.

These, said the Khan, were the gateposts to the Land of Dreams. Here, his people would find wonders, gold and treasure of such fineness as to make the wealth of the material world seem like ordure in comparison.

His subjects listened eagerly, and, if any held a doubt, none voiced it, nor looked ought but joyous at his words.

This was not wholly to the good.

In times gone by, the Khan had welcomed argument, and valued contrary opinion. Once, his advisers had advised, his counselors had counseled, and his wise men shared their wisdom freely.

Alas, such times were long gone.

Now he brooded, looking old and fragile, and those close to him grew fearful as to what would happen next.

Yet having laid his plans, it was at this point that the great Khan hesitated. Abjuring to lead his people wholesale through the gateway, he camped instead upon the borders, so to speak, and sent two of his swiftest and most trusted warriors to scout beyond.

There was much popular interest as they galloped off, and plunged between the boulders with a flourish, like competitors at the racetrack. Initially, they were quite visible upon the grassy steppe beyond; but soon, as many later testified, it was as if a mist or fog came down around them, enveloping both men and mounts, although the land around remained in view.

Thus, the great Khan’s emissaries vanished from the common sight.

They rode long and hard. The land was hilly, wild and windswept. Stunted pines grew in the crevices and narrow valleys, and in the shelter of the great black rocks that outcropped on the hillcrests.

All seemed empty and devoid of life, whether human or animal. Nor did the sky yield so much as a single bird.

Presently, however, the riders came upon a child, sitting cross-legged beneath a grassy hillock. His head was shaved. He wore a thin, grey robe, yet seemed impervious to cold. Around him, painted on the ground, were three circles: one white, one red, one yellow. He sat within their heart.

The warriors immediately set to question him. Where were his people? What was his country? What kind of military power did it possess? What was their wealth? Who were their allies? What gods did they extol, if any?

To none of these queries would the child give answer. The riders grew increasingly irate at his impertinence. The child quite clearly lived, for his chest both rose and fell, though at a slower rate than might be held as normal, and his eyelids could be seen to flicker, the orbs behind them sometimes twitching, perhaps responding to their words. Both men believed he heard their questions, and concluded it was only insolence and disrespect prevented his reply. Having determined this, the more hot-blooded of the two at once advanced upon the child, and, drawing his sword, lopped the boy’s head from his shoulders.

The body remained seated, as before. His head fell in the grass and rolled, out of the colored circles, coming to rest beside a large flat stone.

Then it began to talk.

At first, they could make little sense of what was said. It seemed to be reciting names, its lips moving with magical fluidity. This, indeed, was marvel enough. But soon the two men were still more astonished; for the names became familiar: they were the names of fallen comrades, family members, friends, acquaintances, slain in battle, executed, died of illness or betrayal, and (in one case) tumbled drunk into the carp pond of a wealthy noble’s lavish and extravagant estate, where the poor fellow had drowned.

Awestruck, they listened.

Terrified, they heard their own names in the litany.

For a great time, they traveled. Returning at last to the court of the Khan, they brought tales of many wonders: cities of gold, and men of brass and iron, and a land where the sun shone seven different colors in a single day. They had encountered many terrors and yet glimpsed great riches, too, and assured the Khan the armies of the dreamlands, though formidable, were no match for his own.

They brought with them a gift: a mechanical egg, which could be held in a man’s two hands. At the touch of a switch, its metal shell would divide, and within would be seen a maiden of extraordinary beauty, with ivory skin, and jet-black hair, who would wake up and unfold herself, a living being, though no taller than the span of a man’s fingers.

Of this, the Khan was much enamored.

For the two warriors, however, fate was less kind. While the Khan and his people had endured a mere four days awaiting their return, they themselves had been away for many years. They arrived back as ancient, white-haired dodderers, suffering the many afflictions of extreme old age. Still, their loyalty was such that, with their dying strength, they had returned to their master, to deliver their report, and their gift.

The Khan was silent for some days, and retreated deep into his quarters, far from the eyes of men.

Some believed he was about to order their retreat from the place, for the omens were indeed unsavory. In due time, however, he gathered his most trusted officers, and addressed them. Yet scarcely had he said three words before he paused, looked up, and listened (though no-one else could hear a sound). A sequence of emotions flashed across his face, from puzzlement to anger, fear to resignation. Did he hear the voice of dreams? The echo of his own youthful ambition? At last he put his head down, nodded, and in a small, tired murmur, like the whinny of a horse driven too far, too fast, he ordered, “On,” and, “on,” and, “on,” again.

I record this in the Land of Dreams, where we have languished now for many years, laden with wealth, yet unable despite all our efforts to divine a path back to the waking world.

Blessed be the Great Khan, and may peace enfold him.

Hail the Lord Temujin!