Hasan by Piers Anthony

Author:Piers Anthony
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Science Fiction, General, Fantasy, Fiction
ISBN: 9780812531312
Publisher: Tor Books
Published: 1987-05-02T07:00:00+00:00

In the morning the ifrit landed in the middle of a white desert. He set Hasan down, still chuckling, and departed. For a moment Hasan thought he saw a funnel rising in the air, but it was gone immediately with a faint "Ho ho!"

He was on his own again.

He hiked, foraging what he could from the land and bearing directly toward the rising sun. The hills were gentle and rolling, and as he marched the land became flat, and was cultivated extensively with rice. Some of the dwindling hills were terraced with more rice growing on the additional levels.

At length he arrived at the city. It was a handsome one, whose architecture differed from everything he had en- countered before and whose people were yellowed-skinned. They spoke a language totally different from his, as he discovered when challenged at the gate.

For a time he was afraid they would slay him or im- prison him as a stranger, and felt nervously for the pouch with the fire and incense to summon the shaykh. But surely the man had known about such difficulties, and would not have sent Hasan hither unless he also knew they would be resolved. What was obvious to a magician was seldom obvious to Hasan. But determination and on-the-spot ingenuity had prevailed so far.

This time he did not overcome the problem. The people of the city did. They brought a translator.

"What is your business here?" the yellow man in- quired, once he settled upon Hasan’s dialect. .

"I must see the King. I have a message from the Shaykh Abu al-Ruwaysh."

The man nodded. He recognized the name. After due formalities Hasan was ushered into the presence of King Hassun, Lord of the Land of Camphor. At least, that was the way Hasan understood the title. It appeared to suffer somewhat in translation.

"So you come from the mighty sage of the mountain, the Father of Feathers," the King said. Again Hasan won- dered how much distortion was engendered by the indirect mode of communication. "A wise man. He sent a letter?"

Hasan gave him the scroll.

The King read it with interest, shaking his head. It was in the King’s language; Hasan had peeked, and seen the peculiar paint-brush symbols resembling those on Uncle Ab’s stolen door.

The King looked up. "Take this youth to the lodge of hospitality," he said.

For three days Hasan resided in the guest-house, royally treated and fed delightfully exotic meals. He told his entire story to the King, who was suitably amazed to converse thus with a citizen of a country so far removed from civilization.

On the fourth day they discussed Hasan’s mission. "O traveler," said the King, "you come to me seeking to enter the Isles of Wak, as the shaykh of shaykhs advises me. I would send you there today-but on the way are many perils and many terrors, and I am afraid you go only to your death."

"O King-I must go, for my wife and sons are there."

"So I understand. We certainly comprehend the ties of the family.

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