Shah of the birds, who lives alone with her thousand years of knowledge atop the mountain at the edge of the world. It is she who gives the feather of light that carves the stone, and the emerald in the Sultan's turban.
- Home
- The summit of Mount Kaf
- Appearance
- Feathers of emerald, gold and midnight blue; a tail that flows down the mountainside
- Gifts
- A feather of light that shows the inside of whatever it touches; an emerald that is her own tear
- Wish
- "When you set that table, make a place for me too."
- In the palace
- The emerald and the golden feather in the Sultan's turban
- Mythological roots
- The great bird of Mount Kaf in Eastern and Turkic tales (Simurgh, Anka)
Knowledge that is not shared is a burden.
In the Legend
In the tales of the East and of the Turkic world, Mount Kaf is the unreachable mountain at the edge of the world. On its summit lives Zümrüdüanka, called in some tellings the Simurgh or the Anka: a wise, ancient, gigantic bird. She carries heroes on her back, and comes to the aid of whoever burns one of her feathers. In one tale the hero saves her young from a dragon, and in return the bird carries him back up to the world above.
In Our Story
No one seeks the road to Kaf; Kaf rises before the one who has lost his road. When Aybars, in the midst of the clouds, his map torn away by the wind and his compass spinning like a mad thing, says, "I am lost. But I am not alone," the clouds part.
Zümrüdüanka gazes out with a thousand years of knowledge, and a deep weariness. She does not give for nothing; once she asked something of Sina Hoca too, and in return gave him his sharp eyes. What she asks of Aybars is to carry her three fledglings down to the warm valley where they can learn to fly. But her condition is a hard one: The young must trust you.
Aybars stays three nights beside the fledglings: on the first night he tells them about the north, on the second he tells them tales, on the third he kindles a fire from Umay's ember. On the fourth morning he carries them down to the valley, the smallest wrapped inside his kaftan, nestled against the warmth of the stone and asleep.
In return Zümrüdüanka draws out a single feather. The feather becomes light: a light that shows the inside of whatever it touches, that does not cut but parts. The one hundred and six tiles are carved with this feather. She gives her tear as well, the emerald she shed when her young took flight.
In the Palace
On the night of the coronation she passes over the palace like a shadow; a golden feather falls on the roof of the Chess Pavilion, on the window of the Has Oda, and on the door of the Kahvehane (coffeehouse). Perhaps one day she will come down to share at a table the knowledge she has shared with no one for five hundred years. The emerald in the Sultan's turban, and the golden feather above it, are waiting for that day.
