The Tale of Fezzle, the Labyrinth City

Kifkef spoke:

"It was a place of breathtaking beauty. Set deep in the middle of the land, mountains struggled to be seen on the Northern horizon and rumours of the sea were carried up by the Southern winds. Legend has it that the city began with just a single house built beside a freshwater spring. The owner was a young man but by the time he had completed his construction his whiskers had already begun to grey.

He sent out invitations to his cousins to come and visit his achievement and those that came never left - They were so impressed by his house that they begged him to let them build their homes around his. Word spread through their extended families and soon, the village was spoken of throughout the land.

But for all its swift notoriety, it remained something of a mystery - Though everyone knew where the village was, they had to admit that they actually knew nothing about the place. Because although many set out to see the infamous hamlet, none of them ever came back.

And the village continued to grow. Wandering tribes of nomads were drawn there by the nostrils of their camels, who knew a good thing when they smelt it and they found that they had no urge to leave. They abandoned their ancient migratory ways, convinced that they had at last found Paradise. Or as near as damn it.

Before long, it was a flourishing town of beauty and wonder. As it had no leader, everyone was free to build their house wherever they pleased. Steered by an unconscious harmony, the town grew in all directions. And as it increased in size, it became a magnet for every restless heart in the land.

The town finally came to royal attention as the king poured over his maps in a counsel of war. Angered by the ignorance of his advisors, he issued a delegation to bring him intelligence about this mysterious, nameless town that never paid him a dinar in tax. But the party that he sent never returned. Nor did the second group, nor the third, even though they were well armed.

Intrigued and a little piqued, the king got ready to save his face by investigating the matter himself - it was becoming an embarrassment at court. He set out from his palace with a troop of his most highly trained warriors to guard him. He was also accompanied by his private harem, troupes of musicians and jesters, tents of delicatessen chefs from all over the world and a select crew of esteemed astrologers, all shaking their heads at the foolhardiness of this adventure.

As he drew up within the sprawling city limits his royal bugles sounded an impressive fanfare but no one seemed to know who the king was. He was about to summon the cannons into position when his fury was swiftly overcome by a fascination at the sloping stone architecture that lay before him. None of the buildings appeared straight and instead leaned upon each other as a band of drinkers might after a heavy session. Some of the walls inclined so gently that they could be walked up without ropes for support. He sent scouts up to reconnoitre and they shouted back that there were at least four levels to this city that they could see. That was their last report, however, as they soon disappeared inside.

The streets on ground level twisted and weaved so that the heart of the city could not be imagined from the outside. Each corner promised intrigue and mystery if one would just take a few more steps in. The king decided diplomacy was hopeless here and elected to take the city by force. He marched in with all his pomp and splendour, his warriors flanking the procession with their swords drawn and teeth bared.

But the impossible streets put shame to the weaving of the spider although no one could be said to have designed them. They just evolved on their own according to where and how the next arrival chose to settle. The twilight alleys steamed with incense and unknown aromas that solicited the air with subtle hints of sensual pleasures. The course of lives could be changed by the merest glint of silver, rumbling echo or flash of deep brown eyes that might be followed down an alley, through a bazaar and into an entirely unknown and unfamiliar slice of the city. Around each corner New blends of race, tradition and mythology awaited the bold explorer.

And so, after two hours of marching, the king discovered that only a straggle of his company remained with him, the others had fallen prey to the temptations of the endless alleys and side streets. He quickly realised what had occurred and halted to consider the consequences. Without his followers there was no one left to appreciate that he was the king of the whole land.

His advisors watched his inner struggle with anxiety, certain that their monarch would crack up under the shame of it all. But the king's face suddenly broke out in a fiendish grin as he understood the irony of the situation. A curious sense of freedom dawned upon him as he perceived the opportunity he now had, for the first time in his life, to be whatever and whoever he liked without an entire court watching his every move.

“Well, I suppose I’m well and truly Fezzled.” He said. And though none of them had heard the word before they quickly understood what he meant. Ironically it is a tribute to the attempted conquest that the name ‘Fezzle’ soon spread through the city and was unanimously adopted as the city’s name.

He gave out most of his gold to his remaining subjects, ordering them to head off in separate directions to increase the beauty of the city. Of course, they became so engrossed in their work that he never saw them again - Nor would he have wanted to, as he began his new life as a vendor of sweet meats.

He was not the last monarch to attempt to conquer this city that became great both in magnitude and corresponding fame. But no invading army could ever find an inhabitant who was interested in fighting. No soldier that went in ever came out again and their helmets were sometimes seen hanging outside people's homes around the city, containing earth and flowers.

Other neighbouring kingdoms decided that if they could not overwhelm Fezzle then they would starve it into submission instead. They built huge fences and barricades all around the massive perimeter and waited for the results. This project was a little disappointing, though, for their telescopes revealed that life seemed to be going on as normal inside the city, with no one taking the least sign of notice of their efforts.

For, in truth, no supplies ever came into Fezzle anyway - They grew all they needed on the rooftops made fertile with transported Earth. Fields of crops and even small forests grew on the roof of the city. The streets below were all lit with coloured lanterns and candles that meant that no one really missed the sunlight.

Travellers within the city could not hope to explore every district in a single lifetime. But that didn't stop them from trying. These wanderlust souls enjoyed all of the places they came to but never could hold back their curiosity as to what might lie around the next corner. These types spoke a thousand dialects and the tale of their travels could be seen in the rings and amulets given to them, the quirks of speech and manners they picked up and in the depth of their eyes that drank in all they saw until they over-spilled. Occasionally, they might stumble across their origins and would be shocked as to how everything seemed so different to their memories and yet so much the same. Generally, they never stayed, yearning to disappear once again into the new.

The Sufis tell us that though the place may no longer physically exist, still we all continue to live in Fezzle. Once in we can never bring ourselves to leave again. We are free to go in any direction we choose but we should know that all of the paths are endless. The curious are never content, the restless never satisfied. The rewards and penalties of each course are enough to last us the rest of our lives and the glass is never drained.

There is always more to see, understand and experience. A myriad of paths to be studied, hearts to be broken and stories to be told as everyone goes round and round and round. Ironic that though we’re all so sure that we’re going somewhere and that no one actually gets there.

But it is also said that in the final days of the city, there were seen wandering monks dressed in robes of orange. They declared that one man had found the Centre of Fezzle. There he understood the beginning of the city and thus also the end. He perceived that there exists an infinite number of 'there's' but only one 'here’.

These men of the cloth were still waiting to find the Centre, though, as their master declared that it could not be found in the same way by any two people. Everyone must make their own way there, he said, but it is very close if we would only turn our heads the right way.

But until then, he preached, we must enjoy what streets we do walk down, regretting none of our turnings. And the more disorientated we become the better, for only when we admit that we are lost can the Way be found."

Chapter 13