Yaqteenya The Old World

The Beginning, Wednesday the eleventh of Thul Qidah of the 584th year since the fall of Granada (FG)

I have to write this down before it all disappears. I do not have much time to explain who I am, or how I am sending these words to you. All you need to know for now is that I am a historian. I study history in a line of historical studies called causal history, where we study history as a chain of successive events, each one causing a change in historical course, leading us to the next event, and I had started this particular study when I discovered an Andalucían document that completely changed my understanding of history. I will explain more when I have time, but for now, I need to transmit to you the actual text of these historical documents that I found during my research that spanned two decades and across several continents. I will try to transmit the contents of the documents, as each of them is very important. For that reason, I will transmit each document in its entirety before I move on to the next. There is no specified order to these documents. I will order them according to my view of their importance to help you build a clear and complete image. Although most of what you will receive is the text from these documents in front of me, I will comment on portions and fill in the gaps with what I know. If a document was damaged in that part, I will inform you to maintain the scientific integrity of my work, on which I spent a lifetime to uncover those facts. I am also working hard on preparing a data storage mechanism that can hold all the facts and signs of our history and culture to help you better understand these documents and their depth.
One of those documents is the memoirs of Al-Baz Al-Monqad (I will be attaching the literal translation of most names or provide some cultural context so you might better understand them in the context of these notes). Despite the importance of these memoirs, they are not sorted in chronological order, as it seems that Al-Baz did not write his memoirs day by day, rather he wrote them when his memories were revived during more important events, taking him back to other events that he thought were related to them. That is what makes it a central document to this historical study, as it is the oldest known complete causal history document.

Okeanós, The final days of Rabee the latter 291 FG

Three days have passed since I escaped my captors. I think they are still looking for me to question myself so that they can go to my nation and finish what they started three centuries ago: eliminate Islam and its followers. I pray to Allah to spare me such ordeal, to not put me in that position, and to not make me the cause of unveiling the secret of my nation after he had hidden it from them. I try to hide and sleep during the day and move at night, which makes it harder for them to track me down. Of course, this makes my own mission much more difficult. I need to find what remains of my shipwreck to gather my tools and books that I will need to continue my expedition and complete my mission.
I don’t know exactly how much time has passed since my shipwreck, but Rabee the latter’s crescent was about to disappear. The last thing I remember was the storm that night, the night of Sunday, the twenty-third of Rabee the latter. The Okeanós’s waves were tossing the ship around like a kid’s toy passed between a bunch of guys to prevent its owner from getting to it. The sky was filled with black clouds, and the Okeanós was lit up by the lightning. The air rumbled with the crashing sounds of thunderclaps. I noticed that the time between the lightning and sounds of thunder was decreasing, thus in monotony assuring that no matter how hard we tried, we will not escape this storm, and that all our efforts to avoid its center had failed. Everyone was concentrating all their efforts on getting through the storm with minimal losses, but the captain said that this storm was the worst he had ever experienced, as he had never crossed the Okeanós before. The ship’s deck was in complete chaos as they tried to lower the sail that had suddenly wrapped itself around the mast! The sky lit up at the same moment we heard the thunder, so we had reached the eye of the storm. The thunder was so strong that it echoed across the ship, especially off the ship’s starboard side, where the lightning had struck. I guess the human brain handles time differently during a crisis, as I could almost swear that time had halted for a moment after the flash of lightning before the ship’s side exploded in a flash much brighter than the lightning itself. Our world was in total disarray. Most of the sailors were busy on the ship’s deck, as losing control over the sail meant our assured destruction. The continued flow of water meant we will sink. The captain surprised me when he held me by the shoulder and pulled me, ordering me to the ship’s hull to help stop the water intake. When I sent down below, I found the ship filled with two opposites that rarely coexist: water filled the ship, while fire ravaged across it. We tried to control the water by fixing the sides of the ship from within, but to no avail. The opening that the lightning had caused was two men high, and at least ten arms across. I remember holding a plank of wood, trying to hold it in place, as one of the sailors hammered it. The sky lit up again and I saw a giant wave coming toward us. I held onto the side of the ship as hard as I could, and closed my eyes, waiting for the moment the cold sea water would impact my body. Time passed so slowly. I remembered all the events that led me to this moment, the events that started with disorder that blanketed Yaqteenya.
How did it all start? How did it tear us apart? How it shook peoples beliefs, I remembered my mother’s fear when she realized what I was planning to do, to find out the truth and stop this madness; how I escaped my imprisonment that my father had put me in to stop me from breaking the first law of Yaqteenya, which forbade me from crossing the Okeanós; how I got to this ship and how I was able to avoid the soldiers to speed east across the Okeanós.
All of those memories crashed in my head like the waves were crashing in the sea in front of me then, and with that thought, I remembered the wave that seemed to have taken a lifetime to reach me. I opened my eyes in the same moment its freezing water covered me. I tried to hold onto anything, but the sea pulled me out and threw me into its crashing waves. I wrestled the Okeanós to prevent him from swallowing me… then the world went dark.

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All my senses came alive at once. I was laying on my face on a beach where the sun had fired up its sand to heats that I had never experienced. I have no idea how much time had passed while I was in that position. My entire body ached, and my back was burned by the sun and salt. Waves were slamming my feet and I was very thirsty. I felt footsteps in the water closing in on me. Every cell in my body came to life. I did not move, hoping that I was wrong, or that he would just move away from me, but if what is told about this land was true, then there was no escape from its people, and they would not leave me alone. The steps stopped and I felt the tip of a sword poking my back. At that moment, my body restored its full energy and my mind recalled everything I had learned in the art of fighting, most importantly the element of surprise. My right leg moved swiftly placing my right foot behind my assailant’s leg, then pulling hard, throwing him off balance as he fell on his back while pulling his sword away from my back. I twisted my body around my waist; as my left foot kicked the sword out of his hand, throwing it away as I disarmed him, I fell on my back and felt an enormous amount of pain when it touched the hot sand that was wet, dampened with sea water because of its burns. I ignored the pain, though, as I needed to stand up before my adversary. I pushed my body upward to stand up and look directly into my adversary’s astonished eyes. I quickly ran directly toward him, knocking him unconscious with a swift kick to the head.
At that moment, I noticed the shadows around me. I turned to find that I was surrounded by eight warriors, each waving his sword at me. I took a fighting stance. While every bit of my body waited for the first move toward me a strong, husky voice echoed from behind the warriors. “STOP!”
I turned to the source of the voice and froze for a second, as I saw a giant who was four arms tall, dark black skin, as black as a moonless night. He must be a marid , I thought. The thought did not have time to settle in my head, as I felt extreme pain at the back of my head, right before the world went dark again.

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I woke up from my slumber at the sound of the call to prayer, and for the second time, I found myself laying without any sense of time. I was laying on a wooden table in a cell with a window covered with iron bars, and on the facing side were iron bars extended from ceiling to floor. In its center was a door. The cell seemed to be on one side of a wide yard. I could clearly see a bunch of wooden boxes piled on the wall facing my cell. I was almost certain that they were from my ship. I could hear the soft sound of waves. We must have been near a beach. I grabbed onto the bars of the window to pull myself up, hoping to figure out where I was or at least figure out my bearings and the direction of the Qiblah . I saw the sun setting in the Okeanós directly facing my window. I sat on the floor as I looked around. There were stone walls, with words and symbols engraved in them. It had a high ceiling. In one corner, there was a pitcher, and in the center was a plate with some scattered food. I picked up the pitcher and smelled it to verify what was in it and then took a sip because I was extremely thirsty. I poured some of it on my hands and performed Wudu . I stood with my back to the window and started my prayer. I had this strange feeling that I cannot really explain, but I will try. I felt that I was semi-nude. My shirt was torn, but I was not naked. No, the reason for that strange feeling was that, for the first time in my life, I was praying without gripping my sword’s hilt in my right hand, as it was hanging off the left side of my waist. I also was not holding my dagger’s hilt in my left hand, as it was hanging on my right shoulder. Had they disarmed me? Or had I lost them in the Okeanós, as its waves toyed with me? I do not remember. I realized that I had lost my focus from my prayer. I tried to focus again by pushing my brain away from thinking of the situation I was in, while focusing on the verses I was reading, but it seems that fate did not want me to focus on my prayers in that place and time, as my senses awakened while I was on the floor. I heard footsteps approaching my cell. My reaction was spontaneous; I squeezed my left grip (which was on my right shoulder) in an involuntary movement, expecting to squeeze my daggers hilt in anticipation of pulling it, if the situation so demanded. I felt the pain of my nails digging into my hand as it looked for the dagger. I struggled to calm myself while I listened. They were the steps of two men; one of them, it seemed, was of a moderate height and body mass, whereas the other was a giant. I could almost swear he was that same marid that I saw at the beach. I listened harder, trying to make out what they were saying. At the start, their voices were very soft, so I could not make out any words, but as they came closer, I recognized one of their husky voices. It was the marid. “But who is this man?” the marid asked.
“We do not know yet, but I have never seen a shipwreck like this before.”
“How come? It looks to me like any other boxes thrown off a wrecked ship,” said the marid.
“They are, but its contents are strange. It has books written in Arabic by authors I have never heard of before.” His words stopped as his steps changed, and I heard a dim sound, as if he was looking through a bag that he was carrying. Then he added, “We also found those amongst the wreck.”
“Whoever has drawn those must be very talented. Who are they? And what is this strange outfit? Have you ever seen anyone put such feathers in their turbans?” asked the marid in astonishment.
“The details and accuracy of this drawing could not have been made by a human.” It seemed that they were talking about some of the shadows that they had found amongst my stuff. Strange! Had they never seen them before?! I had sat for my first tashahod to find their legs moving in front of my cell and the marid standing exactly in front of me. I stood up. I was now facing them. I raised my eyes to inspect them, then my eyes met the marid’s. I did not break my eye contact. I knelt down as they stopped talking. I completed my prayers, and when I was done, my eyes met with the marid’s again and this time, I maintained the contact. I stood without moving my eyes away, trying to show that I was not afraid of him, and that I was his match.
“Who are you? And why did you attack my men?” asked the marid in his husky voice, and a clearly angry tone.
I did not care much for what he asked, but I needed to understand my situation. “How are you talking Arabic? And why did you call for prayers?”
“Strange! Had you not just performed your prayers? So why, then, do you ask about its call? What are those tools in your wreckage? And where are you from?” asked the marid. It’s what I expected. He didn’t even attempt to hide his interest in my country. I wouldn’t tell him anything, though, as I did not want to be the cause for the destruction of Yaqteenya.
“I will not answer any of your questions until you answer me first. Who are you? How do you speak Arabic? Am I in Al-Andalus?” I had to know how they were able to retain their knowledge of Arabic and of Islamic rituals after they had eliminated the Arabs and Muslims from Al-Andalus!
“Al-Andalus! Al-Andalus fell almost three centuries ago”, his assistant said, mockingly. The marid shot him wan angry look that silenced him and forced him to retreat to the back wall and inspect my ship’s wreckage.
The marid returned his look. “You are in Morocco, south of what was once called Al-Andalus. I am Agha Antarah, the head of the Ottoman army in this country, and that is Kahyabak Hamzah. Do you know who you are?” Morocco? I’d heard of it in the legends of Al-Andalus. What strange names they had! They were Arabian names, but it seemed that Agha and Kahyabak were military ranks.
“Of course I know who I am. I am Al-Baz Al-Monqad, son of Al-Thib Al-Hakeem, chieftain of the Sherokah clan.”
“Is that one of the Andalucían clans?” he asked in a concerned and sympathetic tone that I could not understand.
I tensed up a bit when Hamzah returned with a worn-out piece of leather to show to Antarah, who examined it with clear interest. I knew exactly what was drawn on that leather; it was the map of Yaqteenya.
“What is this map? Where is Yaqteenya?” I feared that in my recklessness on this expedition, I would destroy Yaqteenya, and lead our enemy to it, instead of saving it from itself and the strife that was tearing it apart. I knew this could happen, but it was a risk that I had to face. The Moors left me no choice. I had to put an end to this strife. I had to find the evidence to prove or negate the Moors’ claims before the civil war in Yaqteenya wiped out everyone and everything.
“I will not give you any information that will reveal my country,” I said, as I turned my back to Agha Antarah, and sat down on the floor.
“Then you will stay here until we have the answers we are looking for. Hamzah, carry these boxes to my chambers so that I can carefully examine them,” Antarah said. Then I heard movement near the wall where my ship’s wreckage was. I thought that a group of soldiers were carrying the boxes to his room. This was very strange. How did I hear the call to prayer from the outside? This must have been an elaborate scheme to fool me. I must stay alert. No one must know how to reach Yaqteenya. The Moors were right. If they knew about us, they would send their troops to finish what they had started in Al-Andalus two hundred and ninety years ago. I had to escape this place and destroy everything that might reveal Yaqteenya’s location, but how? I examined the cell door. The latch was held in place by a rusty iron lock. I could easily break it if I poured acid on it. I carried a full assortment of chemicals in my luggage. I looked over the wreckage piled in the court in front of me. The lighting was flickering and dim. I had to concentrate to make out the wreckage from that distance. I crossed my legs and placed my hands on my knees as I closed my eyes. I took a deep breath as I began to meditate as my master, Saqr Al-Akaber , taught me: “Baz, if you ever need to find something, you must first link your soul to Allah, knower of the unseen. To do so, you must clear your mind from anything but your love of Allah and your hope for his blessings, then praise him and seek his forgiveness, and when you feel the cleansing of your soul and the strength of you connection to him recite his verses: (يَٰبُنَيَّ إِنَّهَآ إِن تَكُ مِثۡقَالَ حَبَّةٖ مِّنۡ خَرۡدَلٖ فَتَكُن فِي صَخۡرَةٍ أَوۡ فِي ٱلسَّمَٰوَٰتِ أَوۡ فِي ٱلۡأَرۡضِ يَأۡتِ بِهَا ٱللَّهُۚ إِنَّ ٱللَّهَ لَطِيفٌ خَبِيرٞ) O my son!, "If there be but the weight of a mustard-seed and it were hidden in a rock, or anywhere in the heavens or on earth, Allah will bring it forth, for Allah understands the finest mysteries, and is well acquainted with them. Keep repeating it until you see your need through the eye of your mind in a way that you have never seen it before. At that moment, open your eyes and gaze upon your surroundings and you shall see what would lead you to it.” I kept repeating what I recalled of praise to Allah. I do not know how much time had passed while I was in that state, but after a while, I felt my environment fading away, and I felt as if my soul had left my body, as I no longer felt either it or my senses. I started to remember my bag, which was filled with solutions and materials. It was an old leather bag, a gift from my grandfather when I got my first Ijazah in chemistry. He told me it was his first chemical bag when he was a boy. My grandfather’s name, Al-Akrab Al-Haleem was written on its side in his handwriting, and its edges were worn. I would carry it from a thick, green rope. I opened the bag and saw its bottled contents. I moved in closer, as a fly hovering over the bottles. Everything seemed so gigantic. I could clearly see the markings that the glass maker made on bottles. I never noticed before how accurate those markings were, nor how proud he was at mastering his trade. This was what I wanted, to see it in a way that I had never seen it before. I needed to open my eyes. Nothing had changed. The court was still in the same dim flickering firelight. I looked over the wreckage and boxes again, and my gaze fell upon a thick green rope that seemed to be glowing from within the boxes. It was my bag, but how could I get it. I needed to make one of the guards bring it to me. I stood up and started moaning as I banged on the cell’s bars. My knees weakened as I tried holding onto the bars to keep myself standing. I eventually fell to the ground while still banging on the bars, but my banging suddenly became weaker. I saw a guard’s feet in front of my face on the other side of the bars.
“What is wrong with you?” he asked, clearly irritated with me.
“I am terminally ill, and I need my medicine,” I said.
“Why would we care? Do we look like a hospice to you?” the guard asked me.
“I just need my medicine from that bag with the green rope,” I said, as I pointed with my shaky hand toward the bag.
The guard looked in the direction that I was pointing. He moved slowly toward the bag, picked it up, opened it, and looked through its contents. “Careful! Don’t break the bottles,” I said, quite fearful. If he broke one of the acid bottles, it would eat into his hand and the bag.
He returned to my cell with the bag in his hand. He wore a smirk that I knew all too well, He was not planning to give me anything from that bag. I was almost certain that he was going to drop my medicine bottle to the floor to shatter it. Good! I could make use of this soldier’s wickedness. I reached for the water pitcher.
“Which of these bottles has your medicine?”
“It is a blue bottle, almost as big as an apricot.”
The soldier pulled out the bottle and shook it, as his smirk widened. He asked, “Is this it?”
“Yes yes! Please take care and don’t drop it. It’s glass and is fragile,” I replied.
He looked at me, tauntingly, as he opened his palm, allowing the bottle to fall from his hand and shatter on the stone floor. He laughed as it shattered. That was exactly what I was waiting for. His laughter would force him to take in deep breaths of the rising smoke, so I pushed the pitcher toward my face, forcing the water to fill my nostrils. I believed the soldier thought I was about to throw up, as his giggles grew louder, until it suddenly stopped. I was not sure whether it was because he had noticed the smoke rising from the shattered bottle or from its effects on him! I raised my head, as I held my breath. The soldier collapsed, causing my bag to fall from his hands, speeding toward the stone ground. I extended my arms through the bars to catch it before it crashed to the floor. Thank God! I succeeded in catching it just before the last of its contents shattered on the floor. I pulled the bag into my cell and went through it until I found what I wanted. I pulled out the acid bottle and poured a few drops onto the lock. Then I waited until I could break the lock.
A shadow appeared in the court, along with footsteps, which got faster as they approached my cell. I hid the bag underneath the wooden bed. The guy reached my cell and bent down on his knees, as he angrily yelled, “What happened here!?”
“I have no idea, Sir. He just collapsed,” I replied.
“Do I look like a fool? Step away from the door,” he said, as he held the lock to put the key in. He then screamed in pain. The acid must have passed through the lock. I jumped up, held the soldier’s head, and pulled it quickly toward the bars. He screamed in pain as he tried to pull away, but I again pulled his head toward the bars, striking him unconscious this time. I pulled his sword from its sheath and struck the lock several times before it broke. It seemed that the place had but a few scattered soldiers; otherwise, someone would have heard all of the noise and come to investigate.
I pushed the cells door open and hurried toward what remained of my ship’s wreckage. I went through the boxes, looking for my books and weapons, but could only find a second chemical bag with most of its bottles shattered. I picked up what remained and put them in my bag. I scattered some of my powders over the wreckage, causing it to burn up in an attempt to hide any evidence it might have on the location of Yaqteenya. I returned to my cell and took a few pieces of onion from the food plate, then sped out of the yard, looking for Antarah’s quarters, so that I might reclaim some of my things.
I found a locked, heavy wooden door. I crashed into it while holding a second bottle of the sleeping potion that took out the first soldier. Antarah was standing behind a wooden desk that was worn out by time and sea moisture. He was about to pick up his sword off the wall facing him.
“Don’t you dare step forward to hold that sword!” I yelled.
“And how will you stop me?” he asked.
“I do not want to hurt anyone. Just let me take my things and leave in peace, marid,” I said.
“Marid! You truly are mad. Who are you? And how did you get out of your cell?”
“I told you, I am Al-Baz Al-Monqad, son of Al-Thib Al-Hakeem, chieftain of the Sherokah clan. I can tell you no more than that,” I said.
Antarah snarled with anger and swiftly moved toward his sword, and the moment he held it, he pointed it toward me, as he said, “Now, slowly move in front of me, as I return you to your cell.”
“I apologize in advance for your headache,” I said. Then I threw the bottle underneath Antarah’s feet, and held an onion to my nose. Thick smoke rose from the shattered bottle. Antarah looked at the smoke with wonder, then looked at me in overwhelming anger. He barely took one step toward me before collapsing on the ground. I moved toward the boxes, which were scattered around the room. I found another bag with bottles filled with liquids and sands of different colors. I took most of them and stuffed them into my bag. Then I moved to the desk, took my tools, a couple of scrolls, and a book, and piled the rest of the things on the desk over by the boxes.
I examined the boxes until I found one with a trace of a partial falcon symbol. I kicked its base to open up a compartment with a sword and dagger, along with their carrying belts.
I pulled both of them out of their sheaths to inspect their blades’ orange, slightly-goldish color. This was, in fact, my sword that my father gave me the day I became a man. I put the first belt on around my waste, and the other over my shoulder and around me chest. I returned the dagger to its sheath on my shoulder and my sword on my waste. I pulled out a bottle with a blue liquid and another with black sand. I threw the black sand over the boxes, looked at Antarah, and said, “I am sorry, but you left me no choice.” I then threw the second bottle, and the liquid turned into fire the moment it touched the scattered black sand. The fire spread across the wreckage. I lifted Antarah and pulled him outside.
I exited the building while pulling Antarah, as smoke rose from the building. The moment I got outside, I heard drums echoing from every direction, and heard a woman’s voice yelling, “Father!”“Father!”
I looked with terror at the girl standing only a couple of steps away from me. She was carrying a book with a thick, leather cover, damaged by sea water, while part of the book’s title, written in gold, shone in the firelight. “The guide for do--- in echos and sh--- …“ This was the book I was looking for. I had to have it. I was about to grab it from her, but an arrow struck in the ground between us, and I heard a voice calling from afar, “He is here in the yard!”
I stood to run like the wind and vanish in the darkness. I glanced behind me to find Hamzah feeling for Antarah’s pulse and heard him ask the woman, “Are you ok?”
“Yyyyess, how is my father?” she answered.
“He seems to be unconscious.”
“Thank God, but what happened? Who was that man?” she asked.
“We do not know. All he said was that he was from the Sherokah clan.”
“Who are the Sherokah clan?!” she asked.

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