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In Xanadu did Kubla Khan A stately pleasure-dome decree: Where Alph, the sacred river, ran Through caverns measureless to man Down to a sunless sea. So twice five miles of fertile ground With walls and towers were girdled round: And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills, Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree; And here were forests ancient as the hills, Enfolding sunny spots of greenery. But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover! A savage place! as holy and enchanted As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted By woman wailing for her demon-lover! And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething, As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing, A mighty fountain momently was forced: Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail, Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail: And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever It flung up momently the sacred river. Five miles meandering with a mazy motion Through wood and dale the sacred river ran, Then reached the caverns measureless to man, And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean: And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far Ancestral voices prophesying war! -"Kubla Khan", Samuel Coleridge November 19, 1340 Waves of blasting cold air swept the tundra, inhospitable and fierce. Wispy, wind-blown trails of snow blew in entrancing swirls over the permafrost, great beauty in the deadly force of nature. Alone in the wilderness, one visible sign of life broke the stillness. Step by step the man plodded, wrapped in scant furs, ice clinging to his dark lashes, cheeks burned by the ever-present wind beneath the thin dark beard. Dark-haired and dark-eyed, his features presented a mix of origins. His clothing was soaked to near freezing in this vast wasteland, but he struggled on, persistent in his determined attempt to achieve his goal. Tāo Cáo had come upon a wanderlust in his 30th year. Things were not well in this province for folk of either of his heritages. In the days after the Great Khan, things had fallen apart. His successors had, for the most part, undone all the glory that he had achieved. Now, the On Dynasty was crumbling. Tāo Cáo knew it was only a matter of time before his presence would merely be a bad reminder of days past to those who supported a new regime. A reminder most would wish to do without, no matter the method of destroying those memories. Chuckling to himself as he trudged onward, he knew from whence this wanderlust came. His grandfather had been a foreigner, a Venetian trader that had charmed the Khan, even to being given a governorship in the great Dynasty's administration. He sired a daughter on a concubine in his province before returning to his homeland far to the west. Tāo Cáo had never know this woman, who was to be his mother. When the Khan died, and turmoil erupted, she had been taken under the wing of a soldier in the armies, a man of some influence, an illegitimate grandson of the Son of Heaven himself. They grew to love one another under his protection, and Tāo Cáo was the inevitable result. But the complications of birth had torn his mother asunder and she did not survive to see her son. His father's grief was that of the weeping sky, and in his sorrow and rage, he bestowed upon Tāo Cáo that name in his vengeance and gave the boy to some peasant farmers to raise as their own. But he did return one last time. In his 12th year, a stranger came to Tāo Cáo. He said he was his true father, though the boy had known no father but the farmer. He told the boy the story of his birth, and that as things began to crumble for the man he had no where to go, no one to love and decided to seek after the greatest prize of all. Maps, letters and notes were given to the boy as a keepsake of where his father had gone. The boy complained that he could not read these things and would be able to make no use of them. The older man smiled, and told the boy that learning these things would make him a better man, that knowledge and communication transcended our limited life-span and this was a way to live on past your days. The boy took this advice as a form of immortality, and relished the thought. Little did I know then, thought Tāo Cáo, grinning wryly. The maps and papers did indeed involve immortality, as the boy's increasing learning skills revealed. But not the figurative immortality of literature, rather literal eternal life. The stories and notes were of Xanadu, noted pleasure domes of the Great Khan. The papers revealed that what people assumed was not true. Xanadu was merely thought another name for Shangdu, the summer palaces of the Khan, but it was not so. Xanadu was something else, something...more. The river Alph was not where people supposed, but much father in the north, even north of where Tāo Cáo's Mongol ancestors had ruled the steppe. The boy became man, poring over the papers and investigating other sources. It became his life's obsession, eschewing social and familial ties after leaving the farm, seeking, ever seeking. It was a combination of unrest in his village and unrest in his soul that had driven him to this frozen place. He followed the trail he assumed his father had walked, supplies slowly running down, barely scrabbling an existence from the hard-packed earth almost devoid of vegetation. His horse had died three days before, removing transportation but providing sustenance for a while longer. On the tundra, food is life and life cannot be sustained long without it, much less strenuous activity of travel. Yet he went on, more stubborn than determined, but at the same result. Onward, ever onward. Tāo Cáo climbed the rocky foothills leading to a pass in small mountain range. If the old "sorcerer" in the last village had not steered him wrong, he was within reach of his goal. He knew the time had come. As he rested before attempting to mount the last approach to the pass, he gnawed the last of the horsemeat that had been able to get him this far. Raw and gamey, it still tasted of life to him. The tools for fire he had, but not the materials. There was naught here but rock and scrabble, nothing to burn. He knew his exposure was catching up with him. He knew today he would reach his goal, or give his life in the attempt. He could continue on desire alone only so long. With a sigh, he forced his weakened body to stand and began to climb to the pass. Fingers bleeding, knees and back aching he reached the summit. Tāo Cáo's eyes grew wide with awe. There, nestled in a hidden valley was the thing he sought. Grandiose and immense, a gigantic dome filled the valley. The sun glistened on the icy blue exterior of the dome that covered ten square miles. Four towers rose at each of the cardinal points of the compass, appearing as if inverted icicles a mile tall. Before the dome, an incredible waterspout rose, a natural heated geyser, claiming a hundred times the height of a man. Below, in the rainfall from the geyser, the tundra had been transformed, filled with flowering plants and fruit trees, a splendid natural garden. Tāo Cáo fell to his knees and stared for long minutes, transfixed by the beauty and grandeur. But his weakened body protested at the delay. It sought the life-giving garden to ease the suffering of the long hard quest. Within an hour, Tāo Cáo lay by a small warm pool, basking in the heat and the feeling of a belly full of dates and pomegranates. Soon refreshed, he steeled himself to approach the dome. As he neared the glassy structure, it grew again cold. The geyser was too far away to affect the area of the dome. This impeded not at all a man who had passed the test of cold before. His confidence grew as he approached, but also his trepidation. What would he find? Was this the place where immortality could be achieved? Or was it merely an oddity...a beautiful, but ultimately an earthly place? Would he find his father here? Or perhaps his bones? At the edge of the dome, he spied an opening, an ice cave, the entrance twice his height. The old man in the village had warned him. Had said that no one who entered here had ever returned. That it was a place of spirits, of the type that devour the souls of men. Tāo Cáo had no fear. What fear can a man have who has nothing to lose? His entire life had been built up to this moment. He entered the cave. The cave inside glistened in refracted light. Haltingly, somewhat blinded, Tāo Cáo advanced further and deeper. Strange creaking sounds, like ice grinding on ice softly echoed around him. He smiled in the dazzling light, knowing this was such a place as could hold magical powers. His mind drifted to the future, and what would come. In his reverie, he did not notice the clear icy door sliding from the wall behind him until it butted up against the other side, closing him in. As he turned to see, two mechanical arms snaked out and grabbed him. Natives in the area later named the area enclosed by the mountains "The Valley of Screams", for on days when the winds blew strong, it released the sounds still echoing from that day. |
| Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Acknowledgements |
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