The Fire Read Online Free PDF Page A

brown and wrinkled as a dried berry, was suffused with an ancient wisdom attained through years of following the Way. It was said that Shemimi Baba was more than one hundred years old.
    The Baba, still swathed in his hirka for warmth, was plumped upon his pile of cushions like a frail, dry leaf that had just floated down from the skies. He wore the ancient elifi tac, the twelve-pleated headdress given to the order, it was said, by Haji Bektashi Veli himself, five hundred years ago. In his left hand, the Baba held his ritual staff of mulberry, topped with the palihenk, the sacred twelve-part stone. His right hand rested upon the recumbent pasha’s head.
    The Baba looked about the room at those who were kneeling on the floor around him: General Vaya, Minister Effendi, and Vasiliki, the soldiers, shaikhs and Mürsits of theBektashi Sufi order, as well as several monks of the Greek Orthodox Church, who were the pasha’s friends, Vasiliki’s spiritual guides – as well as their hosts, these many weeks, here upon the isle.
    To one side sat the young boy, Kauri, and the pasha’s daughter, Haidée, who had brought the news that had prompted the Baba’s call for this meeting. They’d stripped off their muddy riding cloaks and, like the others, performed their ritual ablutions before entering the sacred space near the holy Baba.
    The Baba removed his hand from Ali Pasha’s head, completing the blessing, and the pasha arose, bowed low, and kissed the hem of the Baba’s cloak. Then he knelt along with the others in the circle surrounding the great saint. Everyone understood the severity of their situation, and all strained to hear Shemimi Baba’s critical next words:
    ‘Nice sirlar vardir sirlardan içli,’ began the Baba. There are many mysteries, mysteries within mysteries.
    This was the well-known Doctrine of the Mürsit – the concept that one must possess not just a shaikh or teacher of the law – but also a mürshid or human guide through the nasip, the initiation, and through the following ‘four gate-ways’ to Reality.
    But Kauri thought in confusion, how could anyone imagine such things at this moment, with the Turks perhaps only moments away from the isle? Kauri glanced surreptitiously at Haidée, just beside him.
    Then, as if the Baba had read these private thoughts, the old man suddenly laughed aloud: a cackle. All those in the circle looked up, surprised, but another surprise was just to come: The Baba, with much effort, had planted his mulberry stick in the pile of pillows and hoisted himself ably to his feet. Ali Pasha leapt up at once and was rushing tohelp his aged mentor, but he was whisked away with a flutter of the old man’s hand.
    ‘Perhaps you wonder why we are speaking of mysteries like this, when we have infidels and wolves nearly at our door!’ he exclaimed. ‘There is only one mystery we need speak of at this moment, just before dawn. It is the mystery that Ali Pasha has guarded for us so well for so long. It is the mystery that itself has now placed our pasha here on this rock, the very mystery that brings the wolfish ones here. It is my duty to tell you what it is – and why it must be defended by all of us here, at any cost. Though those of us in this room may find different fates before this day is over – some of us may fight to the death or be captured by the Turks for a fate that may prove worse than death – there is only one person, here in this room, who is in a position to rescue this mystery. And thanks to our young fighter, Kauri, she has arrived here just in time.’
    The Baba nodded with a smile at Haidée, as the others all turned to look at her. All but her mother, Vasiliki, that is – who was looking across at Ali Pasha with an expression that seemed to mingle love, trepidation, and fear.
    ‘I have something to tell you all,’ Shemimi Baba went on. ‘It is a mystery that has been handed down and protected for centuries. I am the last guide in the long, long chain of