At Four O’Clock in the Morning

With the muezzin’s call drifting through the chamber window, Aelten awoke. The room, modest and small, featured a full-height window opening onto a spacious yard, facing a small terrace encircled by stone balustrades. His condition remained frail, and until the call concluded, he could not rise. At its end, he struggled to his feet and approached the window. The yard stood deserted, its darkness lending an ethereal glow. A white light, tinged with green, streaming from his chamber window to the porch, caught Aelten’s eye. It emanated from the cellar below, casting its radiance into the yard. Noticing it, he descended the porch steps. Gently, he unlatched the cellar door, advancing toward a chamber whence the light poured. It was as though he entered an aura of energy, soothing the ache in his chest. The white light, veined with verdant beauty, shimmered before him, holding his gaze. So exquisite was its splendor that he lingered, entranced, for minutes, simply watching. With its fading, he roused. A man knelt in prostration. Aelten, wordless, stood as the man rose from his devotion, completing his prayer. He spoke, “I told thee to seek and find me! I sent two to thy side, yet thou, instead of beseeching them to bring thee to me, went to the orchard and doomed them.”

Fear gripped Aelten’s heart at these words. The man gathered his mat, rising to stand before him, saying, “Greetings. How farest thou? Last night, thou wert unwell!”

’Twas the same man Aelten had glimpsed within the light at home, when the Black Jimmianun assailed him. Stunned, Aelten knew not what to say, musing, “Perchance he, too, be a Jimmianun, intent on my doom!?”

Scarce had the thought crossed his mind when the man said, “Fear not—I am no Jimmianun. I, like thee, am human, and by Hagan’s command, I tasked the Jimmianuns to guard thee.”

Aelten marveled, astonished that the man divined his silent query, wondering, “How readest thou my thoughts?”

With a gentle laugh, the man replied, “Marvel not! Yea, I can read thy mind. Strain not thyself—thou must rest till thy health is fully restored. A weighty duty lies upon thee. Now, retire and sleep—we shall converse anon, after sunrise.”

Finding voice, Aelten said, “Can the Jimmianuns find us here? They might strike anew at any moment.”

“Fear not—the Blacks cannot trace thee here,” the man assured. “They lack the might to pierce this light. Go, sleep.”

Aelten’s mind teemed with questions—how had he come hither? Why these tribulations?—yet he could neither speak nor inquire further. Without will, he turned, retiring to his chamber, lying upon the spread bedding. His frame, overwrought, reviewed the day’s marvels ere sleep claimed him.

At nine o’clock, he awoke, restored, with but a faint ache. Approaching the window, he gazed upon the yard’s trees and vistas, finding peace. Descending, he cleansed his hands and face in the yard’s basin. Beholding his reflection, he saw the man’s visage in the water. Rising swiftly, he saluted, standing before him. The man, with a warm smile, greeted, “Greetings—breakfast awaits. Thou hast not eaten since yestereve; the Blacks’ terror hath banished hunger.”

Questions surged within Aelten. Softly, he inquired, “Why did the Blacks assail me?”

“Because they seek to enslave us, feeding on our spirits,” the man replied. “Our souls, drawing sustenance from the heavens, are their quarry—they would bind us as thralls to harvest our spiritual nourishment.”

“Why take they not for themselves?” Aelten pressed.

“They cannot seize what our spirits claim,” the man answered.

“What doth our spirit take?”

“Numbers and letters, their potency—power over time and supremacy o’er all,” he explained.

Perplexed, Aelten asked, “Why chose ye me, yet spared not Duman’s cousin?”

“That thou must ask Hagan, for he decreed thy salvation,” the man replied.

“Who is Hagan? Whence knows he me?”

“In due time, thou shalt meet him and inquire thyself. Now, thou must heed my tasks to behold Hagan and escape the Blacks.”

“What duties? What must I do?”

“First, we must shield thee from the Blacks, lest they seize and enslave thee. Thus, from afternoon, thy regimen begins, enduring forty days—perform all I bid, with chants I’ll impart, that they cannot near thee and thou remain safe.”

Rejoicing at liberation from the Jimmianuns, Aelten exclaimed, “So be it—I’ll obey thy every word.”

Thereafter, they sat at table, and Aelten ate heartily, though abashed—hunger pressed keenly. Post-meal, the man cleared the spread, bearing it to the kitchen. As he departed, Aelten pondered the man’s name, for amidst yesterday’s trials, he’d not thought to ask. Thus engaged, the man called from the kitchen, “My name is Ahmad.”

Unaccustomed to such marvels—each revelation deepening his wonder—Aelten found Ahmad’s deeds ever more intriguing, pondering his powers.

His mobile rang—’twas Duman. Recalling yesterday’s neglect, he answered swiftly, “Hello, Duman—greetings.”

Duman pressed, “Where art thou, Aelten? Why answeredst thou not my calls yestereve?”

“Much hath befallen me—I could not,” Aelten replied.

“What calamity?” Duman asked. “Seeing no answer, I came—thy father met me at the gate, saying thou slept.”

“Truly?” Aelten marveled. “My father at the gate? Returned they from Tabriz?”

“Aye—I saw and spoke with them. Art thou not home? Unaware?”

“Nay—I left with thee yesterday, returned afternoon—none were there. I’ve not gone back since. How said he I slept?”

Ahmad entered, bidding, “Tell Duman to come hither swiftly.”

Aelten, astonished, paused, “A moment, Duman!” Turning to Ahmad, “Hath aught occurred?”

Ahmad’s visage darkened. “Bid him come,” he urged.

Aelten obtained the address, telling Duman, “I’ll send an address—haste hither.”

“So be it,” Duman agreed.

Aelten dispatched it, pocketing his device, asking Ahmad, “What’s amiss?”

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Distraught, Ahmad seemed loath to speak. Aelten pressed, “What troubles thee? Why this disquiet?”

With profound sorrow, Ahmad confessed, “Forgive me, Aelten—I’d fain not bear this tidings.”

Anxious, Aelten stammered, “What’s happened? Why conceal it?”

“Thy kin have met with mishap—the Blacks slew them,” Ahmad revealed.

Stricken, Aelten froze, incapable of response—speechless, tearless, disbelief overwhelming, though Duman’s words seemed amiss. Ahmad laid a hand upon Aelten’s breast, murmuring softly; as he withdrew, tears streamed forth. Unbelieving, Aelten mourned his parents and younger sister, lost forever, their final memory a quarrel, burdening him with guilt. Sobbing, he cried, “Whence knowest thou they’re slain? Duman saw them—they live!”

“Alas, Aelten—’tis truth,” Ahmad mourned. “They were waylaid, cast into a ravine. The Jimmianuns assumed thy kin’s guise to ensnare thee. Oft, they slay and replace, or mimic men unslain, forming kin to exploit anon. Few humans we see are truly such—some are Jimmianuns.”

“How knewest thou they perished?” Aelten demanded.

“Because we watch thee ceaselessly,” Ahmad replied.

“Why stayed ye not their hand? Why succored them not?” Aelten pressed.

“All lies not in our power. Fate governs this realm—sometimes we cannot thwart or alter it. God’s will decrees it so. At times, His purposes end some roles swiftly, that others’ plans prevail. Abide—thou shalt see all in due course.”

As Ahmad spoke, Duman’s knock resounded. Opening, Ahmad greeted, “Welcome, Duman.”

Beholding Ahmad, Duman marveled, mute—oft had he dreamed of this man, conversing thus. His visage matched. “Greetings… forgive me—I seek my friend here,” Duman faltered.

“Aye—he abides here—enter,” Ahmad bade.

Awed and abashed, Duman bowed his head, stepping within. Ahmad, noting his reverence—pleased by Hagan’s choice—smiled, ascending to the chamber. Duman followed. Aelten still wept. Seeing him, Duman asked, “Aelten, what ails thee—why weepest thou?”

Through tears, Aelten sobbed, “My kin are slain.”

Duman froze—he’d seen them yestereve! “How can this be? I spoke with them—I cannot fathom it,” he cried.

“Those thou sawest were those beings that assailed me—masquerading as my kin to seize me,” Aelten explained.

Duman, grasping naught, faltered, “I comprehend none of thy words, Aelten.”

“Nor I, Duman—I fathom it not. What curse hath found me?!” Aelten wailed, weeping anew.

To distract him, Duman asked, “What dost thou here? How camest thou hither?”

“I know not—waking, I found myself here. Ahmad says ’tis a place the Blacks cannot trace,” Aelten replied.

“Where lies this refuge they find thee not?” Duman pressed.

“I know not—Ahmad saved me from the Jimmianuns, vowing our safety here,” Aelten said.

“Jimmianuns—what be they?” Duman inquired.

“Those beings’ name,” Aelten answered.

Ahmad entered with a tea tray, interjecting, “Most welcome, Master Duman—feelest thou not strange?”

Setting the tea before Aelten and Duman, he settled upon an ancient couch. “Nay—I feel not strange; thy warmth shames me,” Duman replied. “Aelten told of his kin—I cannot digest this.”

“Matters unfamiliar take time to fathom. Abide—thou shalt understand anon,” Ahmad said. “Yet now, thou must bring thy other friends hither.”

“Which friends?” Duman asked.

“Those Hagan chose—Savash, Galan, and Toral. They, too, must aid ye, lest ye falter in thy tasks,” Ahmad explained.

“What tasks? What shall we do?” Duman pressed.

“Ye must seal the gates of the Seven Realms and retrieve the Trust Vault, that in the forthcoming war ’twixt Jimmianuns, we may succor them,” Ahmad replied.

“What war? Of what speakest thou?” Duman asked.

“The Black Jimmianuns and beings of the Seven Realms seek to o’erthrow the White Jimmianuns, then, through certain humans, enslave all,” Ahmad said.

“How shall we achieve this?” Duman inquired.

“Ye shall close their gates, barring the six other Jimmianun clans from aiding the Blacks, then fetch the Vault. Its opening by the heirs shall free its power to aid the Whites. Without it, should the Whites fall, humankind shall forever be their thralls,” Ahmad explained.

Hearing Ahmad, Duman and Aelten felt as though plunged in fanciful tales. “Where lie the Jimmianun gates?” Duman asked.

“In the Middle Worlds, bridging the Seven Realms and the material sphere,” Ahmad replied.

“Where be they?” Aelten pressed.

“Betwixt our world and the Infernal Realms—the Jimmianuns’ domains,” Ahmad said.

“How venture we to their world? We lack power ’gainst them, as thou sayest,” Duman asked.

“Fear not—I’ll grant regimens to gain powers, and White Jimmianuns shall aid thee in this quest,” Ahmad assured. “Aelten’s regimen starts this afternoon, lasting forty days, whilst ye four’s shall endure fourteen, yielding powers therein.”

Ahmad’s words stirred both excitement and dread in Duman; Aelten, somewhat eased from his kin’s loss, listened on. After tea and converse, Ahmad bade, “Duman, prepare—fetch thy friends hither, for ten days’ preparation are needful, as their kinly duties delay them till then.”

Duman took leave. Nigh noon, Ahmad told Aelten, “Thou must bathe to commence thy rite. Garments await in the bath—don them post-ablution.”

Aelten entered, emerging after half an hour as noon’s call sounded. Ahmad handed him a white robe, “Wear this tunic.”

Unfolding it, Aelten saw it inscribed with script. Donning it, as the call began, Ahmad laid one hand upon Aelten’s breast, the other on his brow, chanting softly. Repeating phrases till the call ceased, he said, “Aelten, in these forty days, thou must master seven faculties:

First, the power of touch;

Second, the power of sight;

Third, the power of hearing;

Fourth, the power of smell;

Fifth, the power of taste;

Sixth, the power to leave thy body;

Seventh, the power of translocation. By day’s end, thou shalt command them all. Another power, too, shall be thine in these forty days—no Jimmianun shall trace thee, nor stand against thy light.”

Aelten asked, “To what end these powers? I hold touch now.”

“These are not the common senses all possess,” Ahmad replied.

“What differs them?” Aelten pressed.

“These are inner senses. With touch, thou canst, by laying hands on objects or beings, read their memories, discerning hidden emotions and feelings. With sight, when mortal eyes see not the realms beyond, thou shalt behold all, seeing with closed eyes as with open, perceiving beyond thy two orbs’ reach—e’en behind thee. With hearing, thou shalt discern the faintest, farthest sounds—those mortal ears cannot catch. With smell, thou shalt know the scents of places, paths, other realms, beings, emotions, ailments, and all that is. With taste, thou shalt, by savoring, fathom their properties.”

Excited, Aelten exclaimed, “These are wondrous!”

“These gifts all humanity should have borne by now,” Ahmad said.

“What of leaving the body and translocation?” Aelten asked.

“Leaving thy body lets thee, at will, quit thy frame, bearing thy spirit wheresoever thou desirest, returning unseen. Translocation enables thy form to traverse anywhither in an instant,” Ahmad explained.

So dazzled by these gifts, Aelten blurted, “When begin we?”

With a chuckle, Ahmad replied, “Soon—descend to the cellar; I’ll follow anon.”

Eagerly, Aelten hastened below, lighting the cellar’s lamps, awaiting Ahmad.

The cellar bore the sweet scent of earth; red bricks lent a pleasing warmth. Its vaulted arches and curves, wrought in Seljuk style—the house’s architecture echoing that era—seemed to transport Aelten to a time of wonders, sorcery, and humans of strange powers.

Ahmad entered, bearing an apple, extending it to Aelten, who took it unthinkingly. “With chants I’ll impart, thou must, in days, fathom this apple’s growth—from seed in soil to its present state, tracing its journey thence to thy hand,” Ahmad said.

“What must I do?” Aelten asked.

“Daily, touch all herein with closed eyes, discerning their textures—roughness, softness, hardness, each peculiar trait. Strive to hear thy inner voice—sit in silence, eyes shut, heeding thy heart’s pulse, then press thy ear to objects, hearing all vibrations.”

Handing Aelten a cloth, Ahmad bade, “Take this—blindfold thyself daily for hours, striving to read the book on yonder chair with closed eyes.”

“How read I thus? Blind, I see naught!” Aelten protested.

“Hence I bid thee blindfold—to see and read. When thou eatest, hold it in thy mouth, savoring deeply, not swallowing hastily,” Ahmad explained.

He handed Aelten a parchment bearing five names, each paired with a number. “What be these names and digits?” Aelten asked.

“Recite these names daily, per the numbers beside them. Omit them, and thy labors avail naught,” Ahmad replied.

“What effect hath reciting them? What transpires if I do?” Aelten pressed.

“By repeating them, thou invitest the spirits of numbers and letters, who shall grant thee power,” Ahmad said.

“Spirits of numbers and letters—what be they?” Aelten inquired.

“For now, know this much—after forty days, thou shalt fathom thy queries. Perform precisely,” Ahmad instructed.

Having imparted all, Ahmad turned to leave, saying at the door, “Meals for each hour shall appear on the table. Venture not from the cellar till I bid—nor shall I descend save when thy rites need oversight.”

Hastily, Aelten asked, “Wilt thou leave the house, or abide above?”

Fearing solitude, lest the Jimmianuns find him, Ahmad replied, “I’ll depart after meeting the youths.”

“And if Jimmianuns come—what then? They’ll slay me here!” Aelten cried.

“Fear not—they cannot near within three hundred paces; any attempt would slay them instantly,” Ahmad assured.

“Slay them—who shall?” Aelten marveled.

Smiling, Ahmad said, “Abide—thou shalt see. Be not so hasty.”

Extinguishing the lamps, Ahmad sealed the door, departing. Aelten gazed upon the apple, craving it. Wrestling within, he pondered failure’s cost, the gifts’ allure urging him to claim them swiftly for protection. Fear of the Jimmianuns and his kin’s death assailed him, yet he cleared his mind, beginning the names’ recitation on the parchment.