Chapter one:
At the end of wintertime, the hills about the city of Sath grew lush and green with countless growing things. The soil had slaked its thirst, drinking deep from winter rains and sending plant life bursting forth into the skies. As spring came to the land, wildflowers shot into life like fireworks, tipping every tree branch and carpeting the fields with countless stars. 
In the orchards, great drifts of flowers made oceans of pink and white. On the roadways, camels strode regally along tended by their robed and turbaned masters. Fine drifts of petals settled on beast and master alike, making each and every traveller look like a bridegroom strolling happily towards their wedding bower.
Tulips grew beside the roads in their untold thousands. The great flowers stood straight and sturdy upon their stalks, their brilliant colours making the roads into ribbons of life. The ribbons swirled and intertwined - all of them leading onwards into Sath. 
Feluccas drifted up and down the river, their sails white triangles perfectly mirrored in the water. Beside the Amu-Daja, small boys ran hooting and laughing as a strange boat thrashed its way along the shallows. The boat had no sails, and jetted alarming clouds of smoke out of a great box mounted in its belly. The boat master stood and waved to his audience, then leapt in alarm as something hissed and jetted steam from deep inside the boat. He raced to frantically tend the machine, and the boat - unsteered - veered off towards the mud flats with a purposefulness that seemed redolent with mechanical malice. The children squealed with laughter as the strange boat ran aground, and soldiers ran to help the boatman, who now was floundering in the mud. 
The noise awoke a thin, rather dishevelled young man who had spent the night beneath a calabash tree. The grove spread dark green leaves to the morning sun, dappling the dust with sunlight and shielding the traveller from morning dew. The calabash trees had great, strange flowers that were already swelling into infant calabash gourds: the new opened flowers, however, had drawn an enthusiastic crowd of flying insects all night long. The traveller had spent a night bedevilled by swarms of passing bugs. With red-rimed eyes and travel stained robes, the youth sat up and stared about himself, gazing soulfully at another strange new day.
He was a youth perhaps eighteen years of age - long and slim, with neat round ears and a nearly invisible stub of a tail. His fur was lush, and pattered in beautiful markings of black and white: Black patches of fur about his eyes made him forever seem to be owlishly wise.  The young bear wore a hemp robe and a black-lacquered hat. He carried a drinking gourd, a scholar’s sword and the staff of a sage. Most of all, he carried a single bundle that had been carefully shielded from wind and dew. It was a great frame - a backpack made of bamboo that served as shelves for heavy scrolls made out of slatted wood. “Sixteen volume Meng” lacked food, water, shoes and blankets - but through all his travels, he had preserved his books pristine and inviolate.
The youth rose stiffly, his back stabbing with pain. The tall young panda bear beat the dust from his ragged robes, mournfully contemplating the rents and fray marks in his hems. Young, poor and self possessed, he struggled from the grove. He ran anxiously to a little hillock by the riverside, and climbed hurriedly, hoping against hope that finally he would see.
She was there!
The young man stood, his eyes enraptured. He stared along the river towards the city of his dreams. Brilliant white walls were topped with gardens of fruit and flowers, and blue-tiled minarets and steeples shone like priceless jewels. The young sage swayed, his headlight and his heart alive with joy.
Sath! Today, after a journey of three thousand miles, Sixteen-Volume Meng had finally arrived!
The young sage’s fur was dusty. His feet were bare and his legs ached from the countless steps he had taken on his road. Threadbare, worn and rather lost, he stared towards Sath in nervousness and wonder.
A true sage sets no store by wealth, nor does he complain of poverty. He wastes no time regretting what is not, but finds the good in what is ‘now’. Unfortunately, at this particular ‘now’, Meng had neither breakfast nor water. For the last two days he had eaten nothing but a few grains of boiled barley given to him by a farmer’s wife. Meng felt his stomach growling like a caged crocodile - made all the more wild by the smell of fish frying on a fire by the riverside. Other travellers were cooking their breakfast, but their stores were already disappearing swiftly down their throats.
Tired - hungry and dishevelled, the young man felt pang of self-pity, and immediately dismissed it. Through noble action, he was serving the dictate of Heaven! Heaven would provide! Made thin and rangy by the long, long road, Meng reached down and hoisted up his heavy burden of wooden books, then swung the bookcase onto shoulders long bruised and calloused by the weight. Hungry and teetering, he settled his battered black hat upon his head and looked towards the distant city walls.
Sath! Sath at last!
There were miles yet to go. Meng took a drink from an irrigation bucket, then walked past a field of buffalo and out onto the river road. Tall tulips caressed him as he walked through the fields, and the skies seemed alive with countless giddy little birds. Ibis watched him from the riverbanks, long-nosed and wise. Meng scrabbled up onto the well-paved road, folded his forearms and bowed towards an elder who walked beside a priest. He tugged his rope belt tight about his growling belly, and set out to trudge towards the walls of Sath.
Onward! It was a mandate of Heaven! A sage rests not upon his laurels, nor does he seek honours and offices. The sage seeks to instruct the unfortunate, to uplift the reprehensible, to give skill to the skilless. By example, his very life instructs. Meng had brought the knowledge of the distant East to the realm of Osra, the city of Sath. The land of Scholars would be brought the wisdom of the sages at long last!
Tsau-Yi Meng had traveled three thousand miles, and for the best of all possible reasons.  Noble action was its own reward! The prize student of the seminaries of the Yellow Empire - the youngest sage to ever pass the Imperial Exams - had turned his back upon all offices and instead had become a pilgrim of The Way. In a far barbarian land, he would instruct, uplift and set example. His life would be celebrated through the ages!
With his eyes fixed on lofty goals, Sixteen-volume Meng stepped in a camel turd. With a squawk of outrage, he hopped along the road, his library teetering awkwardly on his back. He collapsed against a shade tree and wiped his feet, while all about him ibises spread their wings and cackled their amusement at the skies. 
Jerking his robes straight, Tsau-yi Meng, scion of The Way and bearer of sixteen volumes and four commentaries, pulled his robes straight, gave the cackling birds a lofty glance, and marched doggedly on his way.
He walked beside bullock carts laden with dried fish and fruit. He found himself being passed by lofty camels walking end on end in train. The traffic grew ever thicker, and with it came the chaotic babble of voices. A caravan of robe-shrouded travellers threw back their hoods to reveal the tall ears of rabbits. They called out to the local soldiers - foxes, mice, rats and bears. Furry tails waved as women in gossamer pantaloons and veils swayed by with water jugs or baskets balanced regally on their heads. There were stripes and spots, tails and whiskers - pink eyed rodent women with their fur dyed into startling hues. A tide of life swirled about Meng the sage, sweeping him on into the gates of Sath.
The gates were set within a massive archway sheathed in multicoloured tile. The shade of the archway cooled Meng’s brow - and then suddenly he was plunged into a mysterious alien world. 
Sath’s streets were paved with stone and lined with trees. Beside the gates, huge fountains offered rest and drink and shade to every weary traveller. The tall buildings were latticed with covered balconies, shaded by awnings and filled with restless, brilliant life. 
The market crowds headed into the great open squares of Sath. Jugglers and balancing acts performed for the crowds. A huge puppet theatre entertained an enthralled throng of children, all of whom had fresh-scrubbed faces and a little loaf of bread. The street entertainers seemed to be astonishingly well dressed, well fed, and performed purely for the joy of their art.. 
A dancing Tora bird fully six feet high at the shoulder gaped its razor-sharp beak and spread its tail plumage like a massive fan, turning to face Meng as he backed away in fright and hastened past. He slid into another street - a place of potted flowers and interesting little shops. Looking owlishly about himself, the young panda wandered onwards, staggering past stalls heaped high with goods from a dozen different lands. He dodged as a fire-breather shot a jet of flame into the air. Meng recoiled into a vast warm wall, looking up in shock at a huge fat feline shopkeeper dressed in turban, robes and sash. With a hurried bow, Meng retreated back out of the markets and found an oasis of peace down an alley lined with palms.
High above, a muezzin sang forth the call to morning prayer, his voice drifting from the heights of an astonishing minaret. In the streets below the mosque, a Christian priest in a tall black hat and black robes played chess with a Buddhist monk dressed in saffron yellow. Both men nodded to a dervish who hurried onwards to make his prayers.
Meng felt a surge of relief. The elders were clearly religious scholars and seekers of The Way. Meng pulled a little book from his sleeve and refreshed his patchy knowledge of Osranii grammar. Approaching the priests, Meng placed his hands inside his sleeves and bowed - careful not to spill his books into the laps of the elders.
“Honoured sirs. This humble one wishes to know how he might see the wise ruler of this land.”
The two men looked at him. The Christian priest was a lop-eared rabbit with hair swept back from his brow in a silver stream. The Buddhist was a rangy dog with a face redolent with humour. The Christian knocked out his pipe and spoke to the Buddhist in some strange tongue, then leaned forward to poke Meng in the chest with his pipe stem.
“Boy - are you lost? You’re lost, yes?”
“Honoured elder, this one is a traveller of The Way. He has come to bring illumination to the ruler.”
“Aaah! Illumination!” The Buddhist arched his brows and scratched his snout, grinning all the while. “You come bearing the one true knowledge  - a self evident sacred truth, immutable and unmoveable?”
“Yes, honoured one.”
The Buddhist coyly sipped tea. “Stay here with us and drink tea, my child. This will be the last peaceful day of your young life.”
To face the enemy in battle was the courage of a warrior. To face great odds and adversity was the courage of the sage. Meng bowed seriously, his sincerity and faith etched in every elegant, ragged line of his body.
“Peace will come when The Way is understood by all who are confused.” The panda swayed a little - hunger made him a tad light headed. “I must risk the sovereign’s displeasure and present him with my gift of knowledge.”
The Buddhist looked at the heavy rack of books balanced on the boy’s thin shoulders. Meng’s ribs showed where the wind pressed his robes against his body. 
“Child, you may find your knowledge to be a burden. For all your books, you have apparently learned little.”
Meng blinked.
“Honoured sir?”
“It is of no consequence.” The monk pointed up the hill towards the center of the city. “The great white building with the open gates - this is the palace. If you seek a man, you should first present your compliments at his home.”
Thanking the elders for their help, Meng bowed three times - staggering under the ever growing weight of all sixteen volumes and four commentaries. The Buddhist and the Christian priests were joined by the local Muezzin, and all three watched him go.
The muezzin - absurdly short and with a turban two sizes too large, scratched his ear.
“Taoist?”
“Confucian Moralist. Mencian.” The Christian priest poured tea into three cups. “Sticks out like a pimple on a sacred cow’s behind.”
The Buddhist blew into his cup.
“He could be a Mohist.”
“Mencian. He has a scholar’s sword.” The Christian priest squared the chessboard. 
“Heh. Remember the Zen Buddhist?”
“Ah, the Zen Buddhist...”  The monk half smiled. Everyone remembered the Zen Buddhist. “It’s going to be a shock to the boy.”
“A shock in the right place does more good than harm.” The Muezzin drew up his chair to the games table. “We shall find the boy a chair.”
“Whose move?”
“Mine.” The Buddhist put butter into his tea. “Now where were we?”

With feet dragging from fatigue, Meng steeled himself and climbed the winding streets towards the palace hill. 
It was a long, tiring trudge past houses hung with laundry. Little flightless pet toraki birds lay sunning themselves on doorsteps. Here there was a maze of cool alleyways, open squares and shady trees. Footsteps faltering, Meng slowed to contemplate the long white walls of the palace looming overhead. 
How to enter the palace for a direct audience with the Shah? It was vital that Meng not be forestalled and dismissed by mere underlings. But a ruler would be protected by rampart after rampart of petty bureaucrats. Meng had prepared countless moral discourses inside his own head, seeing himself shaming ministers and winning through to the ear of Kings. The sovereign must be instructed as to correct and benevolent conduct.
… Only, when you found yourself sitting beside a blank palace wall, it all seemed rather different… His great rack of books teetering behind him, Meng wearily sat himself down upon a stone and anxiously contemplated the future.
The tail end of a rope hit him in the head from above.
“Hey! Stoopid! Moving the butt!”
The panda looked up in shock to see a taut female backside in white harem pants poised above him atop the palace wall. A skinny black bat - lean as an eel and with fur as pure as liquid night - straddled the wall and threw a great heavy package down to Meng.
“Ha! Hey - you with the dish rack! Catch!”
A hefty basket was carelessly tossed down to Meng, who managed to catch it - although the weight of the thing knocked him staggering. The basket was scorching hot and wafted out mouthwatering odors of roast meat, barbecue and fresh bread. Meng juggled the basket to save his scorched hands. The young scholar managed to find his balance, looking upwards in alarm.
“Madam!”
“Woo-hoo! Good catch!” The bat woman had bare feet, a red fez and robes like a desert raider. She leaned excitedly over into the palace, and began hauling excited little children up atop the wall. “Quick quick quick! Up the v’all and over!” She hefted children one after another and sent them sliding giggling down the rope into Meng’s arms. Little girls, little boys - child after child after child. “Go go go go go!”
If she’d had wings, she would have flown. Instead, the bat leapt down from the wall in a sail of robes. She landed on the balls of her feet, grabbed the basket from Meng and snatched him by the arm.
“Come on!”
Hooting with glee, the bat dragged Meng along the alleyway. A dozen children surrounded her, squealing with laughter. Little feet pattered on the road, chickens squawked and fled from their path. Behind the palace wall, a shout of outrage came - a female bellow followed by a great, indignant peal.
“Sandhri! Sandhri - get back here!”
Children swirled all about the bat as she dragged Meng off into a wild maze of palm trees, wells and walls. She had a spicy smell - part dust, part musk, part mystery. A tufted tail like a rabbit’s scut jutted from her pants, and sleek muscles slid beneath her jet-black fur. She led her band of reprobates zigzagging through alleyways, and then ducked into a row of stalls inside a little market lane. Hidden badly inside a rack of clothing, Meng pulled dangling pants and robes away from his eyes and struggled to find the bat.
“Madam! This unworthy one begs to ask - why do we run?”
A fez framed by tall black bat ears emerged from a neighbouring rack.
“You v’ant to eat? Sure! Then v’e run!” Her accent was joyous, carolling and downright impossible. Meng’s fuzzy black ears twitched in confusion.
“To eat?”
“You know - in the mouth!” The bat slid beside Meng and shoved her head out into the open, scanning the street. Her basket filled the air with its mouth-watering scent of hot food. The bat had a head of hair so long it almost streamed to the ground - pure white, straight and dazzling. She swept a lock aside from eyes bright with greed and joy. 
“We lost t’em! Ha! Hey hey! Good running!” The bat’s tall ears searched hastily for sound. “Right. Hey, meester dish rack! V’at name iss?”
The scrawny, tall young panda tried to give a lofty reply.
“I am Tsau-Yi Meng, sage of the tenth circle, known as Sixteen Volume Meng.” He made to lift a finger and admonish the woman. “Madam, I believe your grasp of propriety…”
“Shh!” The bat watched for pursuit, helped by a swarm of children. “Sixteen, ha? Sandhri hass read lots more than t’at! She can read good now!” The bat dragged Meng along behind the clothing racks. “Keep an eye out for librarians! And iff you see Yariim - run!”
Meng blinked, feeling addled. “Yariim?”
“Iss a girlie mouse - blue fur. You can’t miss her! Blonde bombshell. Glasses. Tits out to here and a backside t’at just v’on’t quit!” The bat gathered children in a gaggle beneath the sweep of her arms. “Right - heads down and across the road. Go go go!”
Swept along despite protests, Meng found himself chivvied across the street. Sandhri the bat led her followers into a beautiful little courtyard where a vast old fig tree spread a welcome cool. A terracotta pipe ran water into a little brick-lined pool where blue dragonflies fanned themselves and dozed away the morning heat. With a whoop, the bat jumped up onto the rim of the pool, put down her basket and dragged off her robes, revealing a slim body dressed in harem clothes. Meng could only goggle in alarm.
“You are in a barbarian harem?”
“Pah! Sandhri iss the harem!” Sandhri spread her robes as a picnic blanket for the children and plonked the basket into the middle. “Come! Eat, eat!”
The basket was flung open. Inside were earthenware dishes that steamed as they opened, making children gather in a starving mass. There was a bowl stuffed with flat pancakes of fresh-made bread. Saffron rice with duck and peas - chicken legs and fish balls, and a vast plate of roasted lamb so tender it was falling from the bone.  The bat dug down and unearthed a greasy cloth filled with her favorite loot.
“Sausages! The good ones!” The bat held a sausage aloft like the treasure of the ages, then jammed it into her mouth. “They neffer get in enough of t’ese!” She jammed the grubby parcel of sausages into Meng’s hands. “Hey sixteen volume Ping! To drop the library and sit down!”
“Meng.” The panda’s shaky Osranii vocabulary was stressed to the breaking point. He remained loftily standing. “Madam. You have food that is not yours. You have escaped from over a harem wall. Am I to understand...?”
Through a mouthful of food, the bat made a gleeful noise of scorn. “Pah! No sure you be understanding much!” The bat waved her hands. “You know v’at problem iss? You talk too much! Iss gabble gabble gabble all the time. How you get so tall v’en you too stoopid to eat?” The bat shoved a sausage into Meng’s hand. “Sit, sit! Eat. You looking like a starved mantis up there. To drop the shelving and sit down!”
Somehow, Meng found himself sitting cross-legged beneath the fragrant fig tree. His mind told him to remain chaste and aloof, but his stomach whimpered and craved food. The bat opened pots and sniffed, thrusting one away in disapproval.
“Ick! Chick peas!” The bat made a face. “Who the hell v’ant’s chick peas?”
Meng tried to fold his hands regally.
“The sage thinks not of the belly, but upon virtues of the mind.”
“V’en it rains, get under shelter. V’en you’re starving - eat!” The bat’s expressive hands opened wide. ‘V’I iss it alv’ays Sandhri who hass to teach these people things?” The bat flipped out her great sheets of silken hair and whisked in to inspect Tsau-Yi Meng with a brilliant grey eye. “V’at giffs? Did you fall on your head or somet’ing, or do you alv’ays speak like that?”
Children reached in to snatch food. Sandhri slapped a girl on the hand and raised a finger. Her authority was for some reason absolute. Looking ludicrously pious, she  folded her hands in prayer. 
“Hey God! V’e shall forever beauty feel. So thanks a lot for this great meal!” Apparently this constituted a prayer. “Dig in!”
Starving vultures would have been slower. The children were all well dressed in white robes, red scholar’s sashes, and blue caps and trousers, but they ate as though there was no tomorrow. Bread flew out of the basket, and the champ of jaws was everywhere.
The bat spread out a vast piece of bread and sprinkled it with rice. She had a silver Christian cross hanging between her little breasts - and what looked like a silver hilted pistol and a punch dagger at her belt. A bandit! Meng was more appalled than ever. He had half made up his mind to rise and flee, when the bat dragged the massive bread piece over to his side.
“You from real far, yes? Ha! Now v’e show you real food at last.” She bit into a sausage that had a skin so crisp that her needle white teeth made an audible crunch. “V’at you want first? Pilaf? You peoples like rice, yes?”
“N-nothing.” Meng swayed, weak and starving. “It’s - it’s not right! And no meat shall pass my lips until I complete my mission.”
“Mission, ha?” Sandhri uncorked a jar of yogurt and cucumber dip. 
“Sure you don’t want a sausage in bread?” The bat voluptuously rolled one beneath the Panda’s nose. Its skin was crackling brown, and it lay in a bed of onions and cucumber dip. “Pretty crunchy! And with pine nuts in them - juicy sweet!”
They smelled tantalising! Meng’s stomach churned like a caged animal. He swallowed back a gallon of drool.
“It-it is better to conquer a single desire that to accede to ten thousand!”
“Pah! Well here - just hold it for me! I need my hands for talking!” The bat was busily helping a five year old little girl roll herself meat, rice and vegetables inside an envelope of bread. She kept the child upon her skinny knee. “So v’at’s this mission?”
“To see the Shah. I have come to instruct him.”
The bat turned, immensely amused,  and raised one dark, expressive brow. 
“So you’re - v’at - eighteen? And you’ve come to instruct the Shah?”
“Yes, Madam.”
The bat swelled with delicious enjoyment. “T’at v’ould be Raschid the Great, the Shah of Scholars? T’at’s the guy you mean?”
Meng bowed.
“It is this humble one’s hope to illuminate the darkness, to uplift the fallen and to open the eyes of the mighty to the true Way of the King.”
“Woo-hoo! True v’ay! T’iss I haff to see!” The woman snatched several sheets of bread before it was all gone. It left her with floury fingers. “All those brains must giff you an appetite. Eat! You’re too skinny. Eat!”
Meng sniffed.
“You are skinny, too.”
Aloof and magnificent, the bat struck a pose.
“Sandhri iss not skinny. I chust haff lines of pure, classical restraint.” She haughtily slapped bread down onto the picnic robes. “Eat!”
“I cannot indulge until my mission…”
“I’ll get you to the Shah! Now eat before you fall over.” She waved a hand airily, utterly unconcerned. “You need meat. How you expect to teachie stuff v’en your ribs are sticking out all over!”
She began making Meng a bread roll. Bread, then rice, duck, yogurt, lamb... It smelled tantalising. Meng stared at it, salivating, and tried to hold his mind upon matters of importance.
“You can help me see the Shah?”
“Sure! Whateffer - v’y not?”
Meng sniffed. “Truly?”
“Absolutely!”
“But you are a thief!”
The bat grandly raised one finger. “Not a t’ief! Chust a redistribution vector!”
The panda sniffed.
“A mendicant like yourself cannot possibly know the Shah.”
 “Hey - we’re scoffing foods here!” The bat slapped Meng on the back.
“Now Shah Smah. You’ll get  t’ere. Eat!”
The panda peered at the food all about him. The lamb looked exquisite - tender, flaking off the bone and juicy. He picked up a few lean pieces and laid them on his bread.
The bat was having none of it.
“No no no no no! How you get so tall eating that silly v’ay? Like this - yogurt on the bread, then cucumbers, then lamb. Hot lamb!” Sandhri thieved the crunchy end bits of the roast for herself, then heaped Meng’s bread high with smoking, juicy meat.” Now bitter orange. Like this!” She squeezed a fruit with a deft, lightning fast flick of her hand, showering juice over the meat. “Then salt, black pepper - and roll it up. Like that! Here!” Sandhri did the whole process herself; an instant later, the bewildered panda held a roll of bread and meat that dripped hot juices onto his legs. The bat bit into her own roll with absolute unfeigned ecstasy - copied by the children all around her, who ate like a pack of starved Tora birds. Sandhri jogged Meng’s elbow with her own.
“Eat, eat! If you eat, then maybe t’at hang-doggie look v’ill go away! Eat!”
Meng ate. The meat was delicious. The sharp tang of the bitter orange set off the savour of the meat to absolute perfection. Meng  bit - and was transported straight to heaven. He closed his eyes as his senses swam with the simple pleasures of rest, food and chatter. The sage ate steadily, somehow finding a second roll of meat and bread in his hand as he finished the first. Sandhri sat like a frog on the lip of the fountain, watching in sly amusement as he ate.
“Good boy! You mellow and let Sandhri do the t’inking for a v’ile.” The bat settled herself against the water pipe, water splashing merrily beside her. She gathered the children in all about her, and they flocked in about her with bright faces and eager eyes. Gardeners, housewives and workmen downed their tools and came over to listen as Sandhri lounged back, settled her fez across one eye and held court. 
“Now - V’at shall we hear about?”
The children bounced like eager little balls.
“Animals!”
“Butterflies!”
“Sword fights!”
“A ship that flies!”
The Children flew in and gathered all about Sandhri in an eager ring. Taking the smallest girl upon her lap, Sandhri raised one finger to the sky. She rested thoughtful eyes upon Sixteen-volume Meng.
“I t’ink v’e maybe tell mister lofty-volume Wang all about some little t’ings.” She clapped her hands. “Now shushing to listen! I clap hands! I clap hands! I bow to God and smile...”  
The bat leaned forward to her audience, utterly transformed. Expressive hands swept outwards, and her face became infinitely cool and calm. “A story I haff for you. So shush!”
Surrounded by the fig tree, children and dragonflies, Sandhri leaned back and closed her eyes.

“Long ago, after Adamah and Ewah left the garden of Eden, many off the animals also ate from the Tree of Life. The bats persuaded the others, and so t‘ey all came to eat the sacred fruit. Everything v’ith fur and paws came scuttling up the tree to take part of the power that had made Adamah and Ewah lords of the Earth.
“Still! Some animals missed out on the whole experience! The hooved animals and the fish could not climb the tree, and the birds slept late and missed the whole affair. The insects v’ere perfectly happy as they v’ere, and also refused to eat from the tree. But the other animals changed and grew. T’ey rose up onto two feet, and they knew lust and fear, passion and glory. But t’ey also knew love, and for this, God treasured t’em even though t’ey had disobeyed his command.
“God could not release t’ese new Peoples of The Tree onto the Earth, and so he made a new v’orld for them, “Aku Mashad”. A gate v’as opened, and all the animals who had eaten of the tree v’ere sent forth from Eden to found new lives.

Sandhri leaned forwards, miming sadness. The children stared up at her, utterly enthralled.

“Left behind in Eden, the ot’er animals v’ere sad. V’ithout the crowds of other species, the garden seemed empty and forlorn. Not’ing changed, and all seemed strained and quiet. Finally, the remaining animals called a conference. Fish spoke to insect, insect spoke to mammal and mammal to bird. The Zebra was elected as spokesman, and he trotted forth to haff a v’ord to God.
“He found god messing with his petunias, tryink to get the colour just right. The Zebra coughed until he had God’s attention, and t’en sv’ept down into a reverent bow.
 “God, oh God.” The Zebra nodded his stripy mane. “V’e know you are angered at t’ose who disobeyed you and ate fruit from the tree. But t’ese animals have been our friends and companions v’ile v’e have lived in paradise. It iss too cruel to send t’em off into anot’er v’orld alone.” The zebra looked around itself, and was encouraged by nods from the other animals. He looked at God and quailed a little, then bowed even more humbly than before. “Great God, we humbly ask t’at v’e be allowed to accompany our old friends. To help t’em and v’atch over them as they try to make new lives.”
“God looked down at the animals in thought. These were the creatures that had remained faithful to his commands - the insects, the fish, the scaled animals, the animals with hooves and the ones with feathers. God gestured towards the far v’all of paradise, to where Adamah and Ewah held sway over the other world called Earth.
“My Children - you haff seen across the v’all to the world of Earth. If I send you forth from the garden of Eden, even into the new v’orld I have made for your friends, you v’ill never be at ease as you are here in the garden. For you must know that the gift of the Tree of Life is power over others.” God gestured to the new gate that he had made - the gate to our own v’orld of Aku-Mashad. “Children - are you sure that this is v’at you wish? For on Aku-Mashad just as on Earth, the peoples who have eaten of the Tree will rule, and you will foreffer be subject to them.” 
“The animals looked to v’un another, but they v’ere all agreed. V’at would life be like in the garden without their friends the cunning foxes? The sturdy bears - the brave, bold wolves?” Sandhri  arched her brows - skinny as a black eel  - and twirled one hand. “What would life be like without the clever twitters of the bats?

One child - a skinny little cat with smoke-brown fur and great blue eyes - began tugging insistently at Sandhri’s trousers.
“And the cats?” The little girl looked anxiously up at Sandhri. “Did they miss the cats?”
Sandhri sat up, her whole body miming amazed agreement.
“Cats! What v’ould a v’orld be like v’ithout the cats? No style, no grace - and no v’un to shiver their fur v’en you touch their backs v’ith your finger just there…” She touched a finger to the little cat’s hide, and the child’s fur contracted around the point like ripples in a pond. Sandhri laughed, drank water from the fountain pipe, and shared the last piece of bread with the little cat.  “Now! V’ere were we? Out off Eden? Good!” The storyteller never noticed that a dragonfly had landed upon her hat, and was slowly fanning its wings. “Ho, you t’ere! Are you alright there, patchv’ork Meng?”
“Quite well, I thank you.” Meng had a little Osranii dictionary in hand, and was listening in a panic, as if afraid there might be an exam on the subject later. “Are these the words of some famous sage?”
“Off course! The sexiest in history! Also cleverest, and v’ith prettiest eyes. So pay attention!” Sandhri spread her hands. “Right!”
Meng seemed puzzled.
“I fail to see how this aids us entering the palace.”
“Palace, palace! V’y for you in such a hurry? Sausages and shade are here. Not to be sneezed at!” Sandhri raised a finger high in righteousness. “Now, v’ere were we?”
 “The animals went through the gate!” A slim, skinny little rat boy - all legs, elbows and knees - adjusted his glasses. “The animals came here to Aku-Mashad.”
“And so they did!” Sandhri stuffed the last bread into her mouth, talking with her mouth full..

“So - the animals v’ere insistent t’at t’ey should travel to join us all here in the new v’orld. And so God opened up the gates and let them through.
“In the new v’orld, everything was vibrant, fresh and new!
Each animal made its own compact with the People of the Tree. The sv’ift-running horse became our friend and our ally. The elephant carried burdens - and the cow and lazy sheep exchanged t’eir freedom so that t’ey might live in well-fed herds. The birds and lizards, fish and insects spread out into the v’ilderness, there to make homes for themselves and become the joyous, v’ild things of the world. 
“V’un by v’un, the creatures all dispersed. Of all the insects, only the honey bee stayed to help the people - and with her v’as another tiny little insect v’ith gossamer bright wings. She v’as called the mosquito, and she v’as very, very shy.
“The mosquito looked out across the v’ilds, and was afraid. She found the cows in the field, and tried singing them to sleep v’ith her v’ings, but the cows glared at her in annoyance.
“Mosquito, go av’ay! V’e haff big sv’itchy tails, and v’e are going to swat you v’ith them!”
“Terrified, the mosquito tumbled av’ay on the breeze. She ended up in a field full of lambs and ewes. Tired and hungry, she crept up to a sheep, but the sheep glared at her.
“Mosquito, go av’ay! V’e are growing thick v’ool to keep your pointy nose av’ay from our skins. So t’ere iss no food for you here.”
“Unwanted, poor mosquito shed a little tear. She flew away along the banks of a stream, until she heard a strange little noise. Creeping through the grass she carefully peeked out into a little shady place, where a hut made out of mud and grass stood beneath a big green tree.
“Sitting outside the hut was a family of dogs - People of The Tree. T’ey wore clothes on t’eir backs and shoes upon t’eir feet. Bread baked in the ovens and fruit sat in bowls. They v’ere sitting and singing v’ith each other as the sun mellowed softly into afternoon. 
“T’is seemed so much more friendly that the open fields. Keeping shyly hidden, the mosquito v’ent off to explore around the huts, the trees and lanes. She found a deep, cool v’ell all filled v’ith v’ater - all private and at peace. With a little noise of glee, the mosquito dove down to make here home. Here she could lay her little eggs and make her babies to her heart’s content. She learned music from the People, and in return, she danced upon the summers breeze.
“And so the mosquito lived happily. She kept out of sight, creeping out at night to make her meals on people who v’ere fast asleep. She t’ought it best to stay unnoticed and unseen, in case anyone should object to her being there.
“Meanv’ile, all v’as not so well v’ith the ot’er animals. The horses wanted free feed provided for t’em, but t’ey objected to haffing to carry people on their backs. The oxen t’ought walking in circles pulling ploughs v’ass too boring, and v’anted to be pampered. The v’ild animals had found t’emselves being hunted for food, and v’ere utterly outraged. The animals all made a secret meeting, and decided to bring their complaints before God.
“T’ey raised a mighty cry, and God soon came down to discover v’y the ruckus. He listened to the animals’ complaints, but v’as unamused.
“T’is iss v’at I warned you of. The Peoples of The Tree rule here. But still, your species thrive and the natural balance has been kept. V’y do you complain?”
“T’ey make us v’ork for our feed!” Cried the horse and the oxen. “They breed us and eat us!” Bleated the sheep. “Is this not cruel?”
“They hunt us for their dinners” Said the deer. “And v’ith the Tora birds so huge, v’e already haff a full job just avoiding being dinner for the birds!”
“T’eir complaints v’ere many, and had some small amount of justice to them. God gave a weary sigh, and sat himself down.
“Very v’ell. I can alv’ays arrange a yearly plague off boils or door-to-door salesmen, if it giffs you any moral satisfaction.”
“The animals whooped happily and agreed t’at t’iss might be just the t’ing! God made a mental note not to make himself so available in the future.
“Alright, you unruly beasts. The People of Aku-Mashad shall be punished, but only if you all agree. If no v’un will speak up for them, then I will punish t’em.”
“The animals looked from one to another. The vengeful Torah bird clacked its razor beak. The proud horse tossed its mane. No one came forward to plead for mercy for the unfortunate people of the Tree.”

Sandhri leaned forward, slyly twinkling her fingers. 

“Until shyly - hesitantly - v’ith a v’irr, and a v’ine, and a little buzzy-buzz, v’un tiny little figure came forv’ard.  The little mosquito drifted out into the light.
“She v’as very small, and oh-so shy - a dear little thing that quailed when the other animals all looked at her. She saw their eyes scowling at her, but the little mosquito bravely puffed out her chest, and spoke in a voice as quiet as a breeze.
“Please sir - uh, Mister God? Please, Sir - but I like the People. Please, oh please don’t hurt t’em.”
“The other animals scoffed, annoyed that the mosquito had even bothered to attend.
“Go av’ay! V’at do you know about t’ings off importance? V’y should v’e listen to a mere mosquito!”
“But the little mosquito bravely stood her ground.
“I am an animal, and I have as much right to talk to God as any of you.” The mosquito quailed a little, shivering her wings. God extended a finger for her, and she landed upon it. He looked at her, and leaned in close to hear her speak.
“You are quite right, child. Tell me what you have to say.”
“The mosquito sat upon the finger of God, and addressed all the other animals.
“I like the People of The Tree. When no one else would tolerate me, they gave me a home. I think they work very hard growing food for all the other animals they care for. You, horse! I have seen them grooming you night after night. And the runner birds are given kennels that are always swept so clean. They make ponds and pools where other insects can live, and their roof eaves even make a place v’ere swallows can make nice safe nests of mud.”
“The animals grumbled. “That is as may be. But v’at haff  these People ever done for you?”
“They giff me the means to live.” The mosquito hummed. “V’en I need to lay my babies, there is always v’ater v’ere the people are.” The mosquito blushed. “V’en they make music in the evening, it greets us as we hatch out from the waters - and it teaches us how to make our own songs as we dance through the sky. And so every mosquito is born into gladness, and knows where its next meal may be found.
“But most of all - they’re so very tasty. The birds have feathers that we cannot pierce - the lizards all have scales. The cows tried to swat us, and the sheep grew nasty v’ool.  But the People are all just right! Such tasty and delicious blood. We nibble on their ears as they sleep.” The mosquito looked at God and pitifully wrung her little hands. “Please - please don’t punish the People, or my sisters and I shall starve and die, and our music will not be heard forever more.”
The animals were all ashamed and bowed their heads. God lifted the little mosquito in his hand and  nodded his wise head.
“Good mosquito, I haff  heard your plea. You v’ill live hand in hand with the creatures you haff so ably defended.” He released the mosquito up into a warm night sky. As she felt the breeze caress her, the little mosquito began to dance, and her wings made music drift upon the air.
God watched her innocent joy and smiled.
“As long as the mosquitoes dance, the People shall be safe from my wrath. As long as one mosquito sings, I promise that the mosquitoes shall never know hunger.”
God faded back away from the open world, leaving the animals to shamefacedly go back to their rather comfortable lives. Above them, the mosquito danced as sunset stained the skies a brilliant hue. She went back to her beloved People, and lived safe and sound forever more.”

Sandhri the storyteller lounged idly beside the fountain. Beside her, mosquito larvae wriggled in the waters of the pool, going about their funny little lives.
“And that was that. V’ere t’ere are people, t’ere the mosquitoes ever more shall be. And v’en a mosquito hovers in the bedroom air at night, you can never ever seem to still its song. But be glad - because the mosquito sings your praises to God, and so all of us v’ill be forever safe and sound…”
A horn blew from the palace, and the Children all looked up as one. Sandhri gave a great cat-like stretch and stood, showering crumbs from her lap.
“Lessons time! All off you go to school, now!”
The children gave an ‘awwwww’ of disappointment, but Sandhri gathered them up, hugged them then chased them off towards the palace gates. 
“Off off! Before Yariim has our hides. And shhhh about the food!” She picked up one little girl who had fallen down. “Quick quick! See you later! V’e make puppets before dinner, before you go to bed!”
Wives and workers called out to Sandhri as they went back to work, and Sandhri hooted greetings to them as she shook her robes free of crumbs and put them back on again.
“So hey Meng! You v’ant to get moving?”
The tall young panda blinked in confusion after the departing children.
“Where are they going?”
“To school! Iss a school day. Only Yariim had some stuffy poet comink to read t’em hiss boring odes before school.”  The bat found a crumb had fallen down her meager cleavage, and she pulled out her top to busily shake it free. “So hey - you like story, yes?”
Puzzled, Meng stood with his hands inside his sleeves.
“Ah. What was the moral purpose of the story.”
“Aaaah. Perhaps there v’ass v’un. Perhaps not.” Sly and elegant, Sandhri balanced atop a stone. “Perhaps it just says neffer to dismiss little things. Even humble t’ings can be great treasures.”
“Truly?”
 “I chust tell ‘em! For you it iss to decide v’at you learn!” Sandhri pranced.  “Ho, mister seventeen volumes and six commentaries. You should think less and learn more. Ha!”
“Ah.”
Meng furrowed his brows, and did not see the point at all…
Ever busy, Sandhri helped Meng lift up his heavy rack of books. “Ooof! You must be crazy! You come far v’ith t’ese t’ings?”
“Three thousand, two hundred and eleven miles.” Meng swayed a little unsteadily beneath his burden. His meal had stretched his stomach, and the hot food seemed to be spreading a spell of sleep slowly through his body. “Forgive me, but this humble one wonders whether we should rest a while…”
“V’at? I t’ought you v’anted to get into the palace?” Full of eagerness, Sandhri dragged the fellow onwards. “Come on - v’e get you in first, t’en sleepies later. And you need a bath.”
“I need no luxuries.”
“I vass t’inking off us, not you!” Sandhri gave an expressive sniff. “Hey - haff you been treading in camel turds?”
“I… not on purpose!” Meng tried to stick to the subject. “Madam - I fail to understand how a mere storyteller can get me into the palace.”
“Easy peasy!” Sandhri gathered up her empty plates, put her basket on her arm, and headed for the palace wall.  “Come on - don’t forget the volumes! You gotta look after that kinda stuff! You don’t v’ant to be v’alking back to get anot’er load!” The Bat towed Meng by the hand. “Iss pretty important we get you into the palace to get your head screwed on straight!”
The young panda gave Sandhri a lofty glance.
“What can a street corner storyteller know of the way of the sage and the path I must travel?”
“Oh - paths!” Sandhri’s beautiful eyes lit with sly little lights.

“Long ago, a Monk of Han returned to his  mountain monastery after a journey of eleven years. An old friend met him and asked.
“Friend - where did you go?”
He replied. “I traveled to the far ends of Aku-Mashad.”
“What, then, did you discover in these far places.”
“That I lacked Nothing before I left the monastery.”
The friend then said. “V’y, t’en, did you go?”
The monk replied. “Ah! If I had not gone there, how would I have known that I lacked Nothing?”

Arching back his neck, shocked and amazed, Meng stared. 
 “Lady - who are you?”
“Pah ha! I am Sandhri al Dinaq - a teller of stories!” The bat swept off her fez and gave a bow, her white hair sweeping elegantly to the ground like sheets of purest silk. Her little tail stuck up into the air. “At your service.”
Meng felt a little prod of worry.
“Al Dinaq…?”
“A cool name!  V’ateffer!” She clapped her fez onto her head. “Now quick! We’re late!” Sandhri the storyteller, consumer of sausages, grabbed the young traveller by the hand. “Hurry up or v’ere in trouble!”
“We?”
“Of course ‘we’!  Iss part of the plan! I can tell Yariim it v’as your fault! Simple!” She dragged the poor boy up the hill into the streets. “V’y iss you such a sleepy head? Now run! Pick up the feets and run!” Meng was propelled awkwardly up the street. “Alright, big steps! V’e try to sneak in v’ith the school crowds. If anyv’un asks, you’re the ambassador from… v’ere are you from again?”
“The Yellow Empire.”
“Good name! Yellow Empire. Let’s go!”
Sandhri walked them from the alleys and out into the broad, bright streets of Sath. Palm trees sent shade chasing back and forth across a road that swept towards the mighty palace gates. Guards dressed in blue velvet armour and steel helms welcomed of a crowd of people who were all hurrying inward through the gates. There were children in droves, young girls with robes over dancing costumes of astonishing beauty - old scholars and serious young men and women locked in their own discourse. Sandhri jumped the entire cue, speeding Meng past a huge armoured tiger who stood happily on guard. 
“Hey Saud!”
The tiger beamed and raised a hand vast enough to engulf Meng’s skull. Sandhri dragged the confused sage onwards through a towering archway, past marble pools crowded with bustling scholars, then made him hide behind a doorway as she spied out a corridor.
“Madam! Is this legal?”
“Eh - v’at’s legal?” Sandhri whisked Meng down a colonnade of astonishing marble pillars, open gardens and coloured glass. “So hey! V’y iss t’iss empire off yours Yellow? V’un too many retreats in battle?”
“What? No!” The panda was incensed. “The emperor wears yellow.”
“Hokay! V’ell, v’e can send him some better coloured duds later.” Sandhri turned excitedly about,. “Speakink of duds! I got t’iss new number you ought to see. My husband, he comes back tonight after a v’eek on the road! I got this piece that’s about two spiderv’ebs of silk and a bit of glitter! Sexy ass it gets!”
“Really.” Wracked with nerves, dazed and confused, Meng saw more guards march by. “Look…”
They swept around a corner, and were stopped dead in their tracks.
A woman stood there in the colonnade - a woman as stunning as an angel. A mouse with soft, round ears. Small, straight backed, round and perfect, she  had the total grace of a dancer and the poise of a queen. Long blonde hair was caught up in a jeweled head piece. Her robes framed a figure as buxom and as flawless as an adolescent’s wettest dream. She had great owlish glasses on her face, and ink stains on her fingertips. Her fur was a pure sky blue, and her eyes as pink as dawn.
The woman  folded her arms and glowered at Sandhri, radiating absolute authority.
“That food was for the poet laureate.”
“It v’asn’t labeled!” Sandhri threw spread fingers against her heart, protesting her innocence. “Hey - T’ere v’ass this guy hanging around the baskets. He must have taken it. Ask the kids!” Sandhri hastily looked for a diversion. She threw an arm about the blue mouse, who tried to remain stiff and seething as Sandhri dragged her towards Meng.
“Hey! Lookie who v’e found! He’s from the Yellow Empire. Brought sixteen volumes all the way v’ith him!” Sandhri gave the mouse a loving squeeze and waved a hand from her to Meng. “Hey Meng! This is the lady I told you about! T’iss iss my lovely Yariim!”
“Aaah!” The wandering sage’s tired mind made the connection and was glad.  “Gentle lady, she has spoken of you! You are the blonde bombshell with the backside that does not quit.” Meng delivered the litany as though reciting Yariim’s pedigree. He put his hands in his sleeves and solemnly bowed. “I am Sixteen-volume Meng, a wayfarer on the path of enlightenment.”
Yariim raised one eyebrow in amusement, and then shot a sidewise glance towards Sandhri.
The black bat clasped her hands in joy.
“He followed me home. Can v’e keep him?”
Sandhri grabbed Meng by the arm and hauled him around the corner. Here in a vast, wide palace square, there were guards in royal blue armour - girls in harem costume performing stretches on the grass. Functionaries and public servants in gorgeous robes stood outside the halls, waiting for the business day to start. The little bat dragged Meng into position and excitedly ran forward.
“Hey Meng! Check this!” She waved towards the crowds. “Hey efferybody! Good morning!”
Scholars, soldiers, public servants, harem dancers and their instructors all looked up, smiled gladly, then all bowed low to Sandhri in one gracious flow.
“All joy to the Queen!”
Adjusting her glasses, Yariim turned her glance of the ashen-faced Meng.
“I take it you have met Queen Sandhri, first wife to the Shah of Osra? I am Queen Yariim.”
Meng fainted clean away. Yariim settled her glasses and looked down at the poor boy with a sigh.
“Sandhri - you are going to get such a pinch when I get you alone...”