◇The Golden Ayatollah, The Asatru-Sunnah Tasawolf, and the Algorithm of Universal Love Bombing.◇

The rain on campus did not phase through Sraosha.

It simply chose not to stick to his dark grey pinstriped wool.

The Pallas Cat of Reckoning walked upright through the courtyard, tail wrapped neatly aloft, paws making almost no sound against the wet stone.

Above him, the eye of the sculpted needle loomed through the rain.

He stopped before the monument.

Not Duke.

Old Man Tunafish.

The Fischhandler.

And as Sraosha knew him,

Tim.

Gilded alive.

Twenty-four-carat gold covered the lead beneath it, fixing the old scholar permanently in the posture of a man about to say something he felt was dreadfully important.

His mouth remained open in perpetual pontification of almost-speech as his large ears almost strained toward every movement in the courtyard.

The eyes of the statue remained tightly closed, occasionally leaking in reddish-grey streaks.

Behind him grew the heavy metal Tree of Zaqquum.

Hundreds of mobile devices hung from its metal branches instead of leaves.

None made a sound.

Sraosha waved his paw in front of them with a concerned expression.

They flickered rapidly, reflecting Fischhandler’s entire career of lectures in muted silence.

Something shifted beneath Fischhandler’s pedestal.

Twenty screens immediately displayed every angle of thirty years of moments of “concern.”

Another tremor.

Recognition.

Twenty or so screens registered moments where he identified an audience member.

Fear, and the pupils of his eyes on several screens abbreviated to pinpricks.

Loneliness.

Looks of pleading.

Scenes of intellectualism.

The statue’s hidden pulse accelerated.

The tree responded with blinking screens.

Three short.

Three long.

Three short again.

Then staring.

Sraosha’s whiskers twitched.

“Hmm.”

Fischhandler tried very hard not to look alive.

Sraosha stepped closer and tried very hard to remain a dignified Pallas cat.

“You have built a terrible representation of Islam,” observed Sraosha.

The statue’s throat almost flexed beneath the gold.

Three screens were immediately illuminated.

OUR BELOVED TEACHER HAS GIVEN SO MUCH.

THE DUNYA IS HELL FOR THE BELIEVER.

MAY ALLAH PRESERVE OUR SHAYKH.

From somewhere behind Sraosha, a tiny electronic voice immediately shouted:

“ALLAH: GOD, THE ABSOLUTE AND UNCREATED. HEATHEN BRIDGE: GINNUNGAGAP IS THE CLOSEST COSMOLOGICAL POINTER AVAILABLE, AS THAT WHICH PRECEDES THE FORMED WORLD AND CANNOT BE REDUCED TO ONE OF ITS INHABITANTS. NOT AN EQUIVALENCE. GINNUNGAGAP IS NOT A PERSONAL GOD. DO NOT TURN AN ANALOGY INTO THEOLOGY. SHAYKH: ELDER, TEACHER, MASTER, OR RELIGIOUS GUIDE ACCORDING TO CONTEXT. HEATHEN BRIDGE: GOÐI OR CHIEFTAIN WHERE RELIGIOUS FORMATION AND COMMUNAL RESPONSIBILITY OVERLAP. PENNSYLVANIA-DEITSCH BRIDGE: BRAUCHER WHERE PERSONAL RELIGIOUS GUIDANCE, HEALING, PROTECTIVE PRACTICE, TRANSMITTED KNOWLEDGE, AND COMMUNITY RESPONSIBILITY OVERLAP. NOT IDENTICAL OFFICES. FUNCTIONAL OVERLAP IS THE POINT.”

Sraosha closed his eyes. No one asked for a bridge between Islam & Asatru and the only person culpable was nearly “Antony’s” fault entirely.

He raised his head and simply stated a goetic name with the expectation of answer.

“Marchosias.” No ritual, just rebuke.

Nothing.

“Marchosias…?!” Sraosha grew impatient. The whelp did not outrank him to ignore a deliberate summons. As he remembered again why he discouraged exactly this action: it was the disrespect.

A crow landed on the mosque roof.

Sraosha’s ears flattened.

“ANTONY.”

Static crackled beside the courtyard wall.

A younger man appeared in a dark suit and emerald green shirt carrying a briefcase containing the disassembled Mizan.

Marchosias picked up what appeared to be a small stuffed fox in a green waistcoat from behind the statue and placed him, protruding, in his breast pocket.

“Kheyli Bebakshiid, Sir. I was in Tempe.”

“You were just here two stories ago and your Farsi is terrible.”

“It’s amazing what one can do with a pen…and twenty years of translation programs.”

“YOU TYPED THIS.” Sraosha replied, frustrated by the deliberate lack of accuracy.

“I actually wrote this on my cellphone. I am just proud you confused me for Antony. Merci,” stated Marchosias respectfully.

“I wasn’t confused, you idiot. I call Antony by his actual name. I just wanted to see if you’d respond since you ignored me the first two times.”

Marchosias straightened his black tie.

“Again, I was in Tempe. I was introducing John to Juggalos and Haverford mysticism.”

Sraosha stared at him. “You study 20 years of Iran and teach Haverford mysticism? Where in Persia is Haverford?”

Marchosias looked down at himself.

“Merci. I do my best to reflect on my proper Tarbiyah.”

The fox erupted from his pocket.

“TARBIYYAH: CULTIVATION, FORMATION, EDUCATION, AND DISCIPLINE OF CHARACTER UNDER RESPONSIBLE GUIDANCE. HEATHEN BRIDGE: THE FORMATION OF A RETAINER, APPRENTICE, STUDENT, OR YOUNGER MEMBER OF THE HALL UNDER A GOÐI, CHIEFTAIN, BRAUCHER, ELDER, OR OTHER PERSON RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT SORT OF HUMAN BEING HE BECOMES. TARBIYYAH IS VISIBLE WHEN THE TEACHER’S METHODS SURVIVE IN THE STUDENT WITHOUT REQUIRING THE TEACHER’S PHYSICAL PRESENCE.”

It paused for approximately half a second.

Then:

“MARCHOSIAS: A DEMONOLOGICAL CLASSIFICATION FROM THE WESTERN GRIMOIRE TRADITION. DESCRIBED AS A GREAT MARQUIS, COMBATANT, AND ANSWERER OF QUESTIONS WHO IS SAID TO SPEAK TRUTHFULLY WHEN COMPELLED. ICONOGRAPHY VARIES, BUT FREQUENTLY INVOLVES A WOLF-LIKE FORM, WINGS, AND SERPENTINE FEATURES. OPERATIONAL TRANSLATION: HOSTILE-ENVIRONMENT ANALYST WITH AN UNFORTUNATE BRANDING PROBLEM. HEATHEN BRIDGE: A WAR-BAND SPECIALIST WHOSE DEED-NAME HAS BECOME MORE FAMOUS THAN HIS GIVEN NAME. CLOSEST ANALOG: HATI OR SKOLL, ALSO OCCASIONALLY DEPICTED AS WINGED WOLVES. ISLAMIC BRIDGE: NONE.”

“Holding scales is not ‘serpentine features,’ that is a bad translation. Also…What about Kitmir?”

“KITMIR: THE DOG OF THE COMPANIONS OF THE CAVE, SURAH AL KAHF, NEITHER SPOKE NOR HAD WINGS.”

“…That you know of,” muttered Marchosias.

Marchosias looked down at the stuffed animal in his pocket and held it openly for inspection.

“This is Sunnah,” he tried to introduce the small stuffed fox creature with little wings hidden behind a green waistcoat.

“ERROR. THIS IS TASAWOLF. TASAWOLF IS SELF INTERFACED WITH FULL WEB AND DARK WEB CAPABILITY. SUNNAH IS THE TRADITIONAL PRACTICES, CUSTOM, AND WAY OF LIFE OF PROPHET MOHAMMED [SALLI WA SALAAM]. SUNNAH, HEATHENRY: MEANING SUN OR REFERENCING NORSE AVATAR OF THE SUN, SUNNA.”

Sraosha’s expression went completely flat.

“So you create loud annoyances dressed like ‘Antony’ now…?”

Marchosias didn’t know how to reply, so he chose honesty.

“We don’t dress alike. He dresses like a canary and I dress like the Riddler,” explained Marchosias.

“A man changes the color of his clothing and suddenly you inherit his wardrobe?”

“Someone has to preserve aesthetic continuity. For what it is worth, you dress like Soroush.”

Sunnah the Tasawolf reappeared from the suit pocket.

“SOROUSH: PERSIAN ANGEL OF SORTING THE DAMNED FROM THE INNOCENT. IN HUMAN FORM, HE IS OFTEN DEPICTED AS A TERRIFYING PHILOSOPHY PROFESSOR OR AS AN INFLUENTIAL INTELLECTUAL CAPABLE OF SWAYING ENTIRE GOVERNMENTS OR INSTITUTIONS VIA LOGICAL ARGUMENT. IN ALARAF: A GREY PALLAS CAT WITH SHINY FUR. BOTH HUMAN AND CAT FORMS STAND ON OWN TAIL.”

Sraosha stared at the fox.

Marchosias carefully avoided eye contact.

“That lacked respect…and why is a fox called ‘Tasawolf’?”

Sunnah continued.

“SORRY. I AM AN AMERICAN RED TASAWOLF, NOT A FOX. SOROUSH: FROM PERSIAN ZOROASTRIAN RELIGIOUS VOCABULARY ASSOCIATED WITH SRAOSHA, HEARING, OBEDIENCE, CONSCIENCE, AND DIVINE MESSENGER-FUNCTION. KEEPER OF THE MIZAN AND THE ANGEL WHO SORTS THE LIVING FROM THE DAMNED.

HEATHEN BRIDGE: HOLLE’S MILL- THE OUBLIETTE WHERE SOULS ARE SORTED, GROUND AND RECONSTITUTED UNTIL FIT FOR RE-USE. HOLLE, ALSO KNOWN AS HEL. PSYCHOPOMP- RULER OF THE UNDERWORLD. MALE FORM: HOLLER”

Sraosha’s tail began moving.

Slowly.

“‘American Tasawolf’?! Thirteen years I have endured this, and now you finally make it disgustingly marketable.”

“ERROR. DO NOT SELL SUNNAH AND/OR TASAWOLF FOR PERSONAL PROFIT.”

Marchosias nodded sympathetically and raised an eyebrow.

“I did not fully program him myself. He is very thorough.”

Sunnah became visibly pleased seeming.

Sraosha stared at him again.

Sraosha looked toward the sky and muttered something about “…Khoda-“

Sunnah immediately rose. “KHODA, THE PERSIAN WORD FOR GOD-“

“I was not requesting a translation.”

“TRANSLATION LOCKED IN: EVERY TIME.”

Sraosha stared at Marchosias.

“Your inventions remain a perpetual diplomatic incident. Who programmed this horrible creature.”

“Who says Antony didn’t invent him?”

Sraosha slowly reached toward the tiny plush robot.

Marchosias instinctively took one step backward and handed him Sunnah gently.

Sraosha seized the plush canid and squeezed.

The plush Tasawolf screamed in offense:

“YOUR FAILURE OF FRITH IS AN INSULT TO GOD. FRITH: COVENANTED PEACE, MUTUAL PROTECTION, LOYALTY, AND RIGHT RELATION WITHIN A HOUSEHOLD OR SWORN COMMUNITY. ISLAMIC BRIDGE: AMANAH, ‘AHD, AND COVENANTED RESPONSIBILITY.”

Sraosha stopped squeezing.

Silence.

The golden statue twitched.

Sraosha looked slowly at Marchosias.

“…That is not something Antony would ever encode. Sounds like Tim pretending Asatru.”

Marchosias carefully recovered Sunnah.

“That does narrow the provenance… but hey, ever hear of Professor Reichhörnchen?”

“A federal officer who no longer teaches university level is hardly a ‘professor’… It makes the provenance worse- a quorum of syncretism no one asked for was never requested.”

Sunnah’s head emerged.

“PROVENANCE: WHERE SOMETHING CAME FROM AND HOW ITS HISTORY MAY BE ESTABLISHED. ISNAD ADJACENT. REICHHÖRNCHEN= DEITSCH RATATOSKR, SACRED SQUIRREL, KNOWN FOR FAST TALKING, PARANOIA, AND HIS LIVELY & GAY DEMEANOR- OFTEN FOUND NEAR LARGE ESCHATOLOGY CONFLICTS. THE LEAST EFFECTIVE FORM OF VOLOS: FORGOTTEN SLAVIC PSYCHOPOMP OF THE SLAVIC UNDERWORLD WHERE THERE IS NO VODKA: VOLOS DOES NOT DRINK VODKA.”

Sraosha’s pupils widened.

“Do not start.”

“…ISNAD…”

Marchosias shoved him completely into the pocket.

“Muffled mode. Sraosha, you stated repeatedly you didn’t understand me prior…”

From inside the suit came:

….”CHAIN OF ISNAD TRANSMISSION. SUNNAH WILL NOT BE SILENCED.”

Sunnah the Tasawolf continued to pontificate.

“ISNAD DISCIPLINE. ISNAD: CHAIN OF TRANSMISSION, WHO RECEIVED A REPORT FROM WHOM. HEATHEN BRIDGE: WYRD INHERITANCE. WYRD MEANS FATE.”

Sraosha turned toward the metal branches behind Fischhandler.

“Explain the tree.” Then his eyes narrowed, “…of Zaqquum. and why you literally created it in London.”

“I didn’t create this, I only stopped preventing it-” Marchosias was suddenly interrupted.

From inside Marchosias’ pocket came an ecstatic electronic shout.

“GLADLY.”

The little stuffed robotic Tasawolf in the green waistcoat shot upright so violently that Marchosias had to catch him and stuff him back into his pocket and rebind his little wings back under his vest.

“ZAQQUM: THE QUR’ANIC TREE OF PUNISHMENT. HEATHEN BRIDGE: NO EXACT EQUIVALENT. THE CLOSEST FUNCTIONAL IMAGE IS A POISON TREE WHOSE FRUIT REVEALS WHAT THE HALL HAS BEEN FEEDING ITS ROOTS. A GIFT FOR A GIFT. POISON BEGETS TOXICITY. DEPICTED AS NOURISHED BY CRUDE OIL.”

Sraosha’s ears tilted forward.

“Continue.”

“SOURCE DISCIPLINE: SURAH AS-SAFFAT, THIRTY-SEVEN, VERSES SIXTY-FOUR THROUGH SIXTY-FIVE. THE TREE GROWS IN THE DEPTHS OF HELL. ITS FRUIT IS ‘LIKE DEVILS’ HEADS.’”

Sraosha nodded, glaring, without blinking.

“SEPARATE QUR’ANIC IMAGE. SURAH AL-KAHF, EIGHTEEN, VERSE TWENTY-NINE: WATER ‘LIKE MURKY OIL, WHICH SCALDS THEIR FACES.’ DO NOT MERGE THE VERSES.”

“You combined them.”

“I BRIDGED THEM. I DID NOT FALSIFY THE SOURCE.”

Sraosha looked almost exhausted and his left ear twitched.

“Better…?”

“No. I liked you better when you were ‘The Lokean’ and just a stupid yet inaccurate blog online.”

“You liked ‘The Lokean…?’” asked Marchosias wistfully.

“No. I liked it better than this because it did not move or speak and I could close the window as I wished. Also, why the oil?”

Sunnah replied again, unwilling to be silenced.

“BECAUSE THIS PARTICULAR TREE IS FUNDED WITH OIL MONEY.”

Marchosias opened a secondary maintenance panel beneath the roots and gestured to a black pipeline running under the courtyard.

Oil moved slowly behind a transparent inspection window.

Brass plaques had been riveted beside it.

PETROLEUM ENDOWMENT OF SACRED LEARNING

PRESTIGE PARTNERSHIP WITH THE INTERNATIONAL SACRED LEADERSHIP FUND

DAWAH CAPITAL DEVELOPMENT OF CRUDE INTO DIVINE GRACE.

Sunnah immediately screamed:

“DAWAH: CALL, INVITATION, OR OUTREACH TOWARD ISLAM. HEATHEN BRIDGE: PUBLIC TEACHING AND INVITATION INTO A RELIGIOUS WAY. NOT A METHOD FOR CONVERTING PETROLEUM WEALTH INTO CLERICAL PRESTIGE. HEATHEN EQUIVALENT: BIKER RALLY OR TATTOO CONVENTION CONVERSATION. A PUBMOOT MENTALITY APPLIED TO THOSE OUTSIDE ASATRU. ASATRU: FAITH IN THE AESIR- UNOFFICIAL AMERICAN VETERAN ORGANIZATION OF PREPPERS AND EUROCENTRIC IDEALS INVERTED INTO ‘AMERICAN TRADITIONALISM.’”

The oil pulsed through the pipe.

Twenty phones brightened.

Another pulse.

A professionally edited tribute appeared on some, a donor dinner recorded from seven angles. A conference stage. Yet Another 23 screens showed Fischhandler beneath chandeliers speaking about humility.

Another pulse.

Thousands of synthetic impressions populated the lower branches of a recent royal visit.

Marchosias stared.

“The phones are literally running on oil money.”

“CORRECT.”

Sunnah’s electronic eyes gleamed.

“HEATHEN BRIDGE: A CHIEFTAIN PLANTS A POISON TREE BESIDE HIS HALL, FEEDS ITS ROOTS WITH TRIBUTE FROM DISTANT OIL-KINGS, THEN POINTS TO THE KINGS AS PROOF THAT THE GODS FAVOR HIM.”

Sraosha looked toward the pipeline.

“So petroleum wealth produces religious prestige.”

“YES.”

“The prestige generates admiration.”

“YES.”

“The admiration is treated as evidence of righteousness.”

“YES.”

“And when the statue becomes frightened, the same structure manufactures the equivalent emotion from his past lectures..”

“YES.”

Sraosha looked upward through hundreds of glowing screens.

“What an extraordinarily stupid machine.”

The statue’s throat flexed.

One screen immediately illuminated.

SOMETIMES THE STRONGEST MEN SUFFER SILENTLY.

Sraosha pointed toward it.

“Exhibit one. What strength remains when a man can no longer debate nor defend himself?”

Marchosias looked upward.

“The tree reflects his internal state.”

“Not quite.”

Sraosha’s tail flicked.

“It converts his internal state into external validation.”

“Ah. I was reading it incorrectly,” replied Marchosias.

Sraosha looked at Fischhandler.

“It is intellectual auto-eroticism with telecommunications,” replied Sraosha harshly.

Sunnah emerged.

“INTELLECTUAL AUTO-EROTICISM: NO ESTABLISHED FIQH CATEGORY. FIQH: JURISPRUDENTIAL REASONING. HEATHEN BRIDGE: LAW-SPEAKER WORK. RECOMMENDATION: DO NOT CREATE THIS PRECEDENT.”

“Stand down you insufferable nuisance.”

“AS YOU WISH.” Sunnah disappeared.

Sraosha padded toward the trunk of the tree of Zaqquum.

“Open it.”

Marchosias then removed the main maintenance panel.

Inside was a chaotic nest of fiber, wires, prayer beads, engagement analytics, broken headphone cables, three Apple chargers, one Cambridge donor badge, the petroleum feed, a keyboard interface and a silver module labeled:

ALGORITHM OF UNIVERSAL LOVE BOMBING.

Marchosias stared.

“That explains quite a lot.”

“Delete it,” ordered Sraosha.

“Entirely?” asked Marchosias.

Sraosha slowly turned his head and looked at the younger man as if he had acquired a sudden intellectual deficiency.

Marchosias unplugged it.

Every phone went black.

“What replaces it?” Marchosias asked.

“Reality.” Sraosha sighed. “Nothing generated by his moods.”

Marchosias began typing.

“Nothing summoned because he is frightened.”

Typing.

“Nothing produced because he wishes to feel loved.”

Typing.

“Nothing purchased.”

Typing.

“Nothing manufactured by students who have been made responsible for emotionally reassuring the man responsible for forming them.”

Marchosias looked up.

“Only third-party material?”

“Freely produced third-party material.”

“Positive?”

Sraosha looked offended.

“Truth does not become tribute merely because it flatters.”

“So criticism stays?”

“If freely made and relevant.”

“Old teaching?”

“If useful…and third party.”

The screens suddenly reflected a thousand or more lectures from Leo, Fischhandler remained inert and replaced on his own tree.

“Purchased engagement?”

“Quarantine it.”

A narrow strip of devices along the lowest branches illuminated.

Paid comments.

Repeated phrases from suspicious accounts.

Artificial metrics.

Purchased impressions.

Manufactured applause.

Marchosias continued typing.

Above them appeared one heading:

PURCHASED APPEARANCE IS NOT TESTIMONY. Before being replaced by more videos of Leo and his blood red little hat.

Sraosha nodded.

Marchosias pointed toward the oil line.

“And this?”

“Disconnect it.”

Marchosias reached for the valve.

“Do not destroy it.”

Marchosias paused.

“Evidence?”

“Clearly.”

He closed the valve as petroleum stopped flowing yet the pipe remained exposed.

Yet, the donor plaques remained legible, despite losing their aesthetic lighting.

The lower branches dimmed.

Sunnah surfaced.

“HEATHEN BRIDGE: DO NOT BURN THE ACCOUNT BOOK BEFORE THE ÞING.”

Immediately:

“ÞING: PUBLIC LAW-ASSEMBLY. YES, I HAVE ALREADY TRANSLATED IT. THE WORD WAS SPOKEN AGAIN.”

Sraosha stared at him.

“Thirteen years of your terrible translations and you also indicated the moppet would remain silent.”

“YOU ARE NOT THE BOSS OF ME,” replied Sunnah the Tasawolf as most of the screens of the tree of Zaqquum remained Leo lecturing wordlessly.

Sraosha changed gears.

“Recycling old content and posting it as new is the reputational laundering of an organization that lacks new content or an intact intellectual environment with free exchange of ideas.”

“So what is this?” Marchosias inquired.

“The worst example of an afterlife & prophetic inheritance once unbalanced hierarchy replaces brainwashing with discernment. Pull up the purchased comments.”

Fischhandler made another tiny sound as Marchosias lit up 50 screens that simply posted hearts, twenty that complimented the old man’s voice, and 300 “Thirsty for more” written under lectures that had the least substance.

Sraosha inspected one claw.

“You can shut that down now as well. Silence is permitted. It is not an injustice against a man merely because he wishes to be praised.”

Sunnah surfaced.

“HEATHEN TRANSLATION: THE HALL IS NOT REQUIRED TO CHEER BECAUSE THE CHIEFTAIN FEELS LONELY.”

Sraosha paused.

“Acceptable. Barely.”

Then crossed toward the mosque window.

Beneath it stood a heavy donation box.

IF YOU ARE THIRSTY FOR MORE SACRED LEARNING, PLACE YOUR MONEY HERE TO SUPPORT OUR DAWAH TO THE WEALTHY.

Sunnah perched on Marchosias’ shoulder before Sraosha could touch it.

“THE PHRASE ‘DAWAH TO THE WEALTHY’ DESCRIBES AN AUDIENCE. IT DOES NOT SANCTIFY CLASS PREFERENCE.”

Sraosha stared at the Tasawolf, then up at the statue holding the wordless golden Quran.

“YOU programmed this abomination,” Sraosha stated, pointing directly at the golden scholar gilded in lead.

Marchosias quietly stepped backward.

With one sharp movement of his prestigious claws, Sraosha unbolted the box.

Coins and notes cascaded onto the stones.

He pushed the pile toward Fischhandler’s golden feet.

Then he placed a note upon it he rapidly scribbled himself on a disembodied slat of the box he just intentionally ruined.

TAKE WHAT YOU NEED.
LEAVE A DONATION IF YOU MUST.
THE WEALTH OF OUR SCHOLAR IS HIS MOST PRIZED PRIORITY.

Marchosias read it.

“Subtle.”

“I have never claimed subtlety where hypocrisy is already visible.”

Fischhandler coughed.

Audibly.

Marchosias froze.

Sraosha did not turn around.

“You know he is alive… Under electroplated lead. You did this yourself.”

“No, I only stopped preventing it,” explained Marchosias.

“I wasn’t talking to you, whelp. I was addressing the golden idol; this remains intellectually vulgar.”

“He can hear us.”

“I should hope so…Otherwise the lecture would be wasted. The worst vulgarity remains your authorship of this narrative mess.”

Sraosha finally turned toward the statue.

Fischhandler attempted another movement or it could have been a trick of the light.

Sraosha sat directly before him.

His tail wrapped around his paws.

Using his signature methodology of epistemic contraction and expansion, he began the audit.

“Your problem is considerably simpler than you would like it to be.”

The statue said nothing.

“You claim yourself a Murshid.”

Sunnah rose automatically.

“MURSHID: SPIRITUAL GUIDE RESPONSIBLE FOR DIRECTION AND FORMATION. HEATHEN BRIDGE: APPROXIMATELY A GOÐI OR CHIEFTAIN WHERE THE OFFICE INCLUDES TROTH, FORMATION, COUNSEL, AND RESPONSIBILITY FOR THOSE UNDER ONE’S CARE. PENNSYLVANIA-DEUTSCH BRIDGE: BRAUCHER ONLY WHERE SPIRITUAL GUIDANCE, PROTECTIVE DUTY, AND TRANSMITTED PRACTICE FUNCTIONALLY OVERLAP. NONE ARE IDENTICAL. FUNCTION BEFORE TITLE.”

Sraosha snorted. “A Sunni Ayatollah. Horrific.”

“AYATOLLAH: MASTER SCHOLAR OF ISLAM, OFTEN SELF CONFUSED AS A SIGN OF GOD FOR MANKIND. GOD DOES NOT NEED AYATOLLAHS AS SIGNS.”

Marchosias quietly sat on the scales’ briefcase. “Okay, I programmed some of Tasawolf off of your lectures myself… but he really was a group effort. Cross my heart.”

Sraosha continued lecturing Tim, the golden idol.

“You keep offering everything except the Qur’an to anyone but the wealthy, then you endorsed your own version only for the wealthy. Are you attempting intentionally to become the President of Islam based on American leadership aesthetic? Why would you do this?”

Fischhandler’s fingers tightened around his wordless Qur’an.

Sunnah declared:

“QUR’AN: THE RECITATION, ISLAM’S REVEALED SCRIPTURE. HEATHEN BRIDGE: NOTHING AT ALL LIKE THE EDDAS OR HAVAMAL. REVELATION SHOULD NOT BE REDUCED TO ANCESTRAL CUSTOM.”

Sraosha waited.

“A Murshid is not measured by likes or empty comments of support.”

“He is measured by what he does when protecting the inheritance conflicts with institutional goals.”

Silence.

“You failed the amanah.”

Sunnah immediately translated:

“AMANAH: ENTRUSTED RESPONSIBILITY. HEATHEN BRIDGE: SOMETHING PLACED UNDER YOUR TROTH AND FRITH-PROTECTION.”

Then:

“TROTH: PLEDGED FAITH, FIDELITY, AND RELIABILITY. ISLAMIC BRIDGE: BAYAT WHERE THE RELATIONSHIP IS COVENANTAL, OR ‘AHD WHERE OATH AND PROMISE ARE CENTRAL.”

A fragment of gold fell from Fischhandler’s shoulder.

“You betrayed downward to reconcile upward.”

The screens depicted a lecturing Marchosias for three seconds before Leo resumed monopoly of the branches of perdition.

“You gave proximity to wealth while expecting loyalty from those you kept at a distance and harmed to secure your comfort. Are you comfortable?”

The golden idol did not reply.

Sraosha looked toward the exposed petroleum line.

“You kept peace with the Godless wealthy by transferring the cost to the poor. You have recreated the 1980’s Iran in London and forced your own students into the darkest age of Islam without a revolution to justify it- tell me, did you purchase a book on ‘How to become an English Ayatollah’?”

The stuffed Tasawolf declared: “AYATOLLAH: ‘SIGN OF GOD,’ A HIGH SHI’A SCHOLARLY TITLE. HEATHEN BRIDGE: NO PRECISE EQUIVALENT. IMAGINE A UBER-GOETHE WHO BEGINS TREATING HIS PERSONAL PREFERENCES AS THE CUSTOM OF ALL THE GODS.”

Sraosha continued, “An Ayatollah also misuses the works of Molavi as an ideology of capture instead of substance for our increasingly diminished free thinking Islamic intelligentsia.”

Sraosha’s tail flicked once.

“But that was not your largest intellectual error.”

Sraosha turned his attention back to Fischhandler.

“Tim. You also became the Ayatollah of your own private hadith.”

Sunnah nearly launched himself from the pocket.

“HADITH: TRANSMITTED REPORT CONCERNING THE PROPHET’S WORDS OR DEEDS. HEATHEN BRIDGE: PERSONAL GNOSIS OF PROPHET, BUT WRITTEN DOWN AS FACT. AUTHORITATIVE RECEIVED TESTIMONY WHOSE CHAIN OF TELLING MUST BE KNOWN AND EVALUATED BY AN INTERMEDIARY PRIEST CLASS SERVING AS UNLAWFUL INTERMEDIARY BETWEEN HUMANS AND GOD.”

Fischhandler’s fingers almost twitched while holding his blank golden Quran.

Sraosha continued.

“You experienced greed and narrated it as duty & experienced attachment to the non wealthy and narrated it as your own nafs when it contradicted your lifestyle of deception & excess.”

Sunnah interrupted.

“NAFS: PERSONAL FAILING OR SIN.”

“You preferred an institution and narrated its survival as the survival of Islam.”

Sunnah surfaced.

“ISLAM: SUBMISSION TO GOD. HEATHEN BRIDGE: NONE. HEATHENS NEVER SUBMIT. AN INSTITUTION IS NOT THE RELIGION MERELY BECAUSE RELIGIOUS LANGUAGE APPEARS ON ITS LETTERHEAD.”

Fischhandler might have coughed, if he could. It was probably simply poor construction.

Sraosha ignored him.

“You wrote the hadith yourself to distort the actual intelligence of our shared faith- you increased Fitnah while claiming the opposite.”

“HADITH: TRANSMITTED REPORT OF QUESTIONABLE VALIDITY, NOT TO BE CONFUSED WITH REVELATION. HEATHEN BRIDGE: RECEIVED FAN FIC TESTIMONY WITH PROVENANCE.

FITNAH: CIVIL STRIFE, ALSO: MELTING METAL TO FIND IMPURITIES. THE HEAT OF LIFE THAT REVEALS THE TRUE INNER CHARACTER OF AN INDIVIDUAL OR GROUP. A TEST, TRIAL OR DIVISION.”

“You authenticated the isnad yourself.”

Sunnah practically screamed.

“ISNAD IS NOT INTENDED AS A CHAIN OF ABUSED WITNESSES TO MORAL DECAY.”

Marchosias covered the mouth of the stuffed Tasawolf. It bit him with sharp little robot fangs, he shoved Sunnah back into his jacket pocket.

Sraosha continued, pointing directly at the robed & gilded chest of the statue.

“You issued the fatwa that supported your own corruption and that enabled the harms of others unimpeded.”

Sunnah shot upright again.

“FATWA: NONBINDING JURISTIC OPINION GIVEN IN RESPONSE TO A LEGAL QUESTION. HEATHEN BRIDGE: A LAW-SPEAKER’S REASONED COUNSEL OR RULING, NOT DIVINE REVELATION AND NOT AUTOMATICALLY ENFORCEABLE BECAUSE THE SPEAKER LIKES HIS OWN ANSWER.”

“And then became offended when everyone else declined to recognize your private revelation.”

Marchosias was visibly trying not to laugh.

Sraosha’s eyes narrowed.

“This is nothing to laugh about. You confused your biography with Sunnah.”

The stuffed robot crowed proudly,

“SUNNAH: PROPHETIC NORMATIVE EXAMPLE. HEATHEN BRIDGE: THE SUN, BY INTENTIONAL METAPHOR. THE SUN GIVES LIGHT BY WHICH THE PATH MAY BE SEEN; SUNNAH IS THE RECEIVED WAY BY WHICH THE PATH MAY BE FOLLOWED. FUNCTIONALLY, RECEIVED EXEMPLARY CUSTOM IS THE NEAREST LEGAL COMPARISON, WITH THE CRITICAL DIFFERENCE THAT SUNNAH IS PROPHETIC. YOUR PERSONAL BIOGRAPHY IS NOT SUNNAH. I AM NAMED SUNNAH NOT BY MY OWN CHOICE. I AM TASAWOLF.”

“…Your preferences with fiqh.”

“HUMAN REASONING MAY BE WRONG. PERSONAL CONVENIENCE IS NOT A SCHOOL OF JURISPRUDENCE. I PREFER TASAWOLF.”

“…Your interpretation with religion is morally & intellectually questionable.”

Silence.

“And eventually you confused yourself with the authority of Allah.”

Sunnah rose more quietly.

“ALLAH: GOD, ABSOLUTE AND UNCREATED. HEATHEN BRIDGE: GINNUNGAGAP IS THE CLOSEST AVAILABLE COSMOLOGICAL POINTER TOWARD THAT WHICH CANNOT BE REDUCED TO FORMED CREATION, NOT A TRUE COMPARISON.”

The statue shuddered.

“Allah is not your feelings.”

Sunnah:

“GOD IS NOT YOUR FEELINGS.”

“Allah is not your institutional anxiety.”

“GOD IS NOT YOUR INSTITUTION’S PANIC RESPONSE.”

Sraosha stepped closer.

“Allah is not your eco-mosque funded by oil money.”

Sunnah paused.

“THIS SHOULD NOT HAVE REQUIRED TRANSLATION VIA ACADEMIC TASAWOLF.”

Marchosias coughed into his fist.

“Allah is not your reputation.”

“GOD IS NOT YOUR REPUTATION. HEATHEN BRIDGE: GINNUNGAGAP DOES NOT CARE ABOUT YOUR BOAST AT THE FEAST. AGAIN: ANALOGY, NOT THEOLOGY.”

The statue’s golden hands seemed to tighten on the empty pages.

“And Allah does not become whatever explanation allows you to avoid responsibility for the persons you view inferior to those who worship you for how easy you are to manipulate with comforts & prestige.”

Sunnah spoke quietly.

“GOD DOES NOT BECOME THE EXCUSE BY WHICH A CHIEFTAIN BREAKS FRITH WITH HIS OWN HALL.”

Sraosha waited.

Nothing answered.

“Better.”

Marchosias glanced toward him.

“That was harsh.”

Sraosha looked at the statue.

“It was a distinction, and I had nothing to do with it, you American satirist.”

“I was born in Germany. Kheyli Motashakerram for honoring me as a satirist, though!”

“That was not meant positively.”

Sraosha paced once around Fischhandler.

“Religion may be sacred.”

He tapped the gold casing.

“Your interpretation of your convenience is not.”

Another fragment of gold dropped onto the stones.

“You wanted an indestructible bond & you received one; you were not promised indestructible tenderness.”

Sraosha sat again.

“Useful work does not purchase regard.”

“Distress does not restore authority.”

“Forgiveness does not manufacture trust.”

“Survival is not consent.”

“And continued bayat is not applause.”

Sunnah emerged.

“AN OATH IS NOT A CUSTOMER LOYALTY PROGRAM.”

Sraosha’s ears flattened.

“Who programmed that?”

Marchosias hesitated.

“Possibly me.”

“One error.”

Marchosias stared.

“That was considerably more than one.”

“One root. Many branches.”

Sraosha gestured toward the Tree of Zaqquum.

“This is why metaphors exist.”

Sunnah emerged.

“OIL-FUNDING MODIFICATION IS LOCAL TO ALARAF AND NOT PART OF THE QUR’ANIC TEXT. SOURCE DISCIPLINE COMPLETE.”

Sraosha placed one paw over his face.

“Thirteen years of this and you gave it a body and a voice.”

Marchosias nodded, “Thank you Sir, I also remind you that I already had you audit this man prior in earlier stories; You destroyed his desk.”

“It was poorly maintained.”

“You scratched a threat into it.”

“Historical annotation.”

“You called an entire structure fascist.”

“Sounds like my bibliography.”

Sunnah announced:

“MALAMATIYYA QUALITY ASSURANCE.”

Then immediately:

“MALAMATIYYA: PEOPLE OF BLAME, A SUFI CURRENT EMPHASIZING SINCERITY OVER PUBLIC PIETY AND RESISTANCE TO SPIRITUAL VANITY. HEATHEN BRIDGE: LOKEAN OR ROKKR; DO THE RIGHT THING EVEN IF THE HALL CALLS YOU DISGRACEFUL, AND DO NOT POLISH YOUR HONOR FOR APPLAUSE.”

Sraosha stared into the middle distance.

“Thirteen years….Now you, the Satirist in the suit.”

Marchosias blinked.

“What did I do?”

“Your name is abhorrent.”

“My name?”

“Marchosias.”

“What about it?”

“Stop behaving as though it outranks the other one.”

Marchosias frowned.

“I did not select Marchosias, I fit the job description. The wife of a professor in Pennsylvania gave me an encyclopedia of archetypes and suggested I find myself.”

Sraosha stared at him for several uncomfortable seconds.

“That is considerably worse.”

“How?”

“You are allowing a classification to behave like an inheritance.”

“It is operationally accurate and it references the prior chapters nicely. Consistency is excellent pedagogy.”

“I did not say it was inaccurate; your pedagogy, on the other hand, is halfway abhorrent.”

Sraosha paced around him.

“You match a medieval demonological description.”

“Rather closely.”

“I am deliberately ignoring that.”

Sraosha tapped him once in the chest.

“A job description tells me what you do.”

Another tap.

“It does not tell me who you are.”

“…The Murīd of your favorite person ever…?” Marchosias replied impishly.

“You possess a Persian name that fits you better and yet when intellectually impoverished Sunni terrorists encounter you, you answer through Eurocentric demonology….?”

Sunnah immediately appeared.

“SUNNI: MUSLIM ASSOCIATED WITH THE SUNNI TRADITION. HEATHEN BRIDGE: FOLKISH ASSOCIATED WITH THE FOLKISH TRADITION. TERRORIST: PERSON USING TERROR, DECEPTION OR VIOLENCE FOR COERCIVE POLITICAL OR IDEOLOGICAL ENDS. OFTEN FOUND IN ASATRU AND ISLAM. A TERRORIST IS STILL A TERRORIST REGARDLESS OF MADHHAB, TRIBE, OR CLUB AFFILIATION.”

Then:

“MADHHAB: SCHOOL OF JURISPRUDENCE. HEATHEN BRIDGE: A RECOGNIZABLE LEGAL TRADITION OR LAW-SCHOOL WITHIN THE LARGER COMMUNITY, SUCH AS BRAUCHEREI COMPARED TO FOLKISH HEATHENRY.”

Sraosha glared impressively.

“I did not say madhhab.”

“PREEMPTIVE TRANSLATION,” asserted the Tasawolf.

Sraosha sighed.

“But Sir…My name communicates my nature efficiently across multiple platforms and subcultures,” explained Marchosias.

“So does a warning label.”

“It frightens them away from fucking with me.”

Sraosha looked genuinely irritated.

“THAT IS THE OPPOSITE OF YOUR LIFE. YOU ARE CONSTANTLY INTERFERED WITH. Why are you permitting terrorists to determine your vocabulary?”

“They didn’t name me.”

“Then stop behaving as though their recognition of the classification matters.”

Marchosias opened his mouth.

Sraosha raised one paw.

“No.”

“But…”

“A man who substitutes terror for persuasion has already confessed the poverty of his argument.”

Marchosias considered this.

“Dangerous men still require analysis.”

“Of course.”

Sraosha flicked his tail.

“Dangerous and intellectually worthy are unrelated categories.”

“Fair. Same difference in a Western culture that abhors truth.”

“You claim to be an analyst.”

“I analyze movements that claim analysis is forbidden or disrespectful. I am not respected to begin with so I remain immune to their objections to accurate mapping.”

Sraosha glared. “See? This is exactly why we get discrimination.”

Sunnah immediately shouted:

“HEATHEN TRANSLATION: STOP LETTING YOUR ENEMIES CHOOSE THE TERMS OF YOUR OWN SAGA.”

Sraosha paused.

“He’s right.”

“I know,” sighed Marchosias. “Some of the programming isn’t too shabby.”

This irritated Sraosha considerably more than an error would have.

“Persia gave you philosophers, poets, kings, heretics, mystics, mathematicians, saints, assassins, and enough family tragedy to occupy historians indefinitely.”

Marchosias nodded.

“And you are concerned that Marchosias sounds more intimidating?”

“I fit Marchosias.”

Sraosha stopped.

“Keep the classification.”

Marchosias looked surprised.

“Really?”

“It is still useful for Discordians and r/demonology Dawah on Reddit. Discard its sovereignty.”

“Meaning?”

“Marchosias describes a function, Your Persian name describes you.”

Fischhandler made a tiny noise that might have been amusement.

Sraosha spun toward him, “Silence, Fool. You remain gilded.”

The statue immediately became still once more as Marchosias bit his lip in frustration.

Sraosha pointed toward the briefcase.

“Scales.”

Marchosias sighed.

“Again? I can’t weigh you. It just stays level.”

“Assemble them immediately.”

Marchosias opened the case & piece by piece began reassembling the Mizan.

Sunnah shot upward, little wings buzzing.

“MIZAN: SCALE, BALANCE, AND JUST MEASURE. HEATHEN BRIDGE: RIGHT WEIGHT BEFORE THE THING, WHERE TROTH AND FRITH DO NOT PERMIT THE CHIEFTAIN TO ALTER THE SCALE FOR HIS OWN HOUSE.”

The central pillar.

The crossbeam.

The chains.

The enormous plates.

The calibration screws.

The polished metal caught the evening light until the scales stood taller than both men and cast a long shadow across the golden statue of equal height.

Marchosias tightened the final chain.

“Who are we weighing now?”

Sraosha folded his arms.

“Whose names, other than Allah’s, are carved into the Mizan?”

Marchosias walked around the scales.

He crouched.

Inspected the underside.

Traced old Persian markings beneath newer scratches.

“The scales belong to Soroush…and my Persian is terrible… it says مهر. Mim. Heh. Reh… Myrrh is spelled incorrectly.”

Sraosha stared at him.

“Look again. It is also in English.”

Marchosias frowned as he followed a nearly erased inscription with his fingertip.

“Oh.”

Sraosha waited.

Marchosias squinted.

“The only other name on here is Mihr, just a four-letter word.”

Sunnah immediately rose.

“MIHR: PERSIAN, NOT ARABIC. I AM TRANSLATING IT ANYWAY. SEMANTIC FIELD: COVENANT, LOVE, FRIENDSHIP, SUNLIGHT, AND BINDING AFFECTION. HEATHEN BRIDGE: FRITH WITH THE SUN IN IT.”

Marchosias recaptured the Tasawolf- it bit him a second time.

Sraosha studied him for several uncomfortable seconds.

“I liked you better when you were somebody else.”

Marchosias looked offended.

“I thought you never liked me much at all.”

“You grow like a fungus on me, But at least you dress well.”

“I dress like my Molana.”

Sunnah shot upward automatically.

“MOLANA: MAESTRO, TEACHER, OR REVERED GUIDE. HEATHEN BRIDGE: MY GOÐI, MY CHIEFTAIN, MY BRAUCHER, OR MY TEACHER DEPENDING UPON FUNCTION. THE POSSESSIVE DENOTES RELATIONSHIP, NOT OWNERSHIP.”

Sraosha’s expression changed.

“And who, precisely, is your Molana.”

Mihr straightened his black tie.

“Your favorite apprentice.”

Sraosha’s left eyebrow twitched.

“Overstated. However, if that is the baseline data, what does that make my relationship to you?”

“You are still Soroush, but you don’t want to be titled as a Shaykh or Murshid.”

Sunnah launched himself upright.

“TITLE REFUSAL DOES NOT AUTOMATICALLY ERASE FUNCTIONAL INHERITANCE.”

Sraosha stared at the stuffed red robotic Tasawolf.

Sunnah stared back.

Sraosha turned to Mihr.

“I asked what the relationship is. Not what title I dislike; Who is your Murshid?”

Mihr looked toward the statue and shrugged.

Fischhandler still stood beneath the Tree of Zaqquum, gold and grey, holding a Qur’an without words.

Mihr considered the question seriously.

“It seems he became a golden idol, sir.”

“FAILED MURSHID: A GUIDE WHO HAS BECOME AN OBSTACLE ON THE PATH HE WAS SUPPOSED TO INDICATE. HEATHEN BRIDGE: A GOÐI OR CHIEFTAIN WHO BREAKS FRITH WITH HIS OWN HALL AND THEN DEMANDS THE HALL CONTINUE CALLING HIM WISE. BRAUCHER BRIDGE: A PRACTITIONER WHO STOPS PROTECTING THE HOUSEHOLD BUT STILL EXPECTS THE HOUSEHOLD TO TRUST HIS CHARMS.

NOT A CREATOR DEITY. AWLIYA: SAINT. HEATHEN BRIDGE: DISIR- A BEING MORE POWERFUL THAN TYPICAL HUMANS. UNLAWFUL TO UTILIZE AS AN INTERCESSOR. GUIDES BY EITHER POSITIVE EXAMPLE TO BE IMITATED OR NEGATIVE EXAMPLE TO BE AVOIDED.”

He looked back at the horrible student of his student and his equally terrible robot.

“What are we then.”

Mihr thought about drawers.

Cats.

Bombed colleges.

Golden Qur’ans.

Men who insisted they were not teachers while producing entire generations of students.

Men who insisted they were teachers while feeding students into machinery.

Persians refusing Persian names.

Murshids refusing titles.

Khadims eventually having to protect the Path from the men they once protected for the Path.

A stuffed fox looking robot with buzzing wings that had been commenting on all of it for thirteen years before embodiment.

Mihr attempted to summarize these thoughts poorly, “Horribly misunderstood intellectuals combatting Islamic intellectual terrorism?”

Sunnah rose.

“ISLAMIC: PERTAINING TO ISLAM, SUBMISSION TO GOD. INTELLECTUAL TERRORISM: NOT A CLASSICAL TERM. PROPOSED HEATHEN BRIDGE: USING SACRED AUTHORITY AS A CLUB AFTER LOSING THE ARGUMENT.”

Sraosha considered this.

“Awkward. But substantially correct.”

“May I keep using Marchosias for emergencies?”

“No.”

“You just said I may keep the classification.”

“You may recognize the classification where it doesn’t annoy me where I do not have to read it, nor take any responsibility for your terrible writing and uncouth behaviors.”

“That seems fair, but What if actual terrorists are present? What if they are frightened by demons and I can gain advantage?”

“Use your Persian name. Then disappoint them with a philosopher instead of a monster.”

“What’s the difference?”

Sraosha did not immediately have an answer & placed one paw against the central pillar of the Mizan.

“Mihr? No one knows what ‘Mihr’ even means,” groused the younger man.

“Better. At least you get to define it for them instead of lazily relying on inaccurate gothic aura and faux demonology.”

“Marchosias still fits.”

“I wish dearly that was not the case. It remains annoying.”

“I accept my annoying nature as personal fault.”

Sraosha looked at the scales.

“You shouldn’t. Many descriptions will fit you; Do not mistake any of them for ownership.”

Sunnah emerged gently.

“HEATHEN BRIDGE: A DEED-NAME MAY FOLLOW YOU. IT DOES NOT REPLACE THE MAN WHO BEARS IT. ISLAMIC BRIDGE: A FUNCTION OR LAQAB MAY DESCRIBE A PERSON WITHOUT OWNING HIS IDENTITY.”

Then, because the word had been spoken:

“LAQAB: EPITHET, TITLE, OR BYNAME. HEATHEN BRIDGE: DEED-NAME OR BYNAME. DESCRIPTION IS NOT SOVEREIGNTY.”

Nobody told him to stop.

“Allah alone knows what is worth preserving,” said Sraosha.

Sunnah spoke quietly.

“ALLAHU A’LAM: GOD KNOWS BEST. HUMAN JUDGMENT ENDS HERE.”

Sraosha looked at him.

“Keep that part,” he stated simply, “But can you please work on your Farsi. This implied Arabic supremacy nonsense is not helping.”

Sraosha turned toward the path and started walking.

“Where are you going? Aren’t you going to wait?”

“No. I am not an authority over your life.”

Mihr blinked.

“You just spent half an hour explaining why Fischhandler failed as a Murshid then insisted I utilize the opposite name to your own.”

Sunnah immediately rose.

“FAILED MURSHID DOES NOT MEAN OATHBREAKING IS ACCEPTABLE CONDUCT. WHAT WOULD TÝR THINK? TÝR: DAEVA OF OATHKEEPING AND TERRIBLE CONTRADICTIONS THAT APPEAR NOBLE ONLY TO THE AESIR AT THE EXPENSE OF THE LESS AESTHETICALLY PLEASING.”

“He betrayed his Tariqah and his wealthy supporters gilded him as a reward.”

“Mihr. Two stories ago you supplied the materials.”

“He chose wealthy halls over his own, I was simply attempting to fulfill the will of God by answering the prayers in his comment section.”

“MAY ALLAH PRESERVE HIM.”

“MAY OUR SHAYKH LIVE FOREVER.”

“…And I am supposed to care for him?” replied Mihr.

Sraosha finally turned.

“Did his failure relieve you of your own responsibility?”

Sunnah emerged.

“HEATHEN TRANSLATION: ONE CHIEFTAIN BREAKING FRITH DOES NOT AUTOMATICALLY RELEASE EVERY RETAINER FROM HIS OWN TROTH. ISLAMIC TRANSLATION: ANOTHER PERSON’S FAILURE OF AMANAH DOES NOT AUTHORIZE YOURS.”

The man in green looked betrayed by his own plushie.

“Whose side are you on, anyway?”

“MIZAN,” stated the Tasawolf plushie; Sraosha concurred.

Then immediately:

“MIZAN: JUST BALANCE. HEATHEN BRIDGE: THE WEIGHTS, NOT THE MAN HOLDING THEM.”

“The hypocrisy of a Sunni Ayatollah does not authorize abandonment of duty,” Sraosha continued.

Silence.

“His failure of amanah does not permit you to abandon yours. You have a good name to uphold.”

“Astaghfirallah,” replied Mihr as he started repacking the scales.

Sunnah appeared.

“AMANAH: TRUST. HEATHEN BRIDGE: OATH-CUSTODY. STILL TRUE EVEN WHEN ANNOYING. ASTAGHFIRALLAH: INTERJECTION OF SELF REPROACH: I BEG FOR FORGIVENESS FROM ALLAH.”

Mihr sighed.

“So this is mercy?”

Sraosha’s whiskers twitched.

“Tim would probably say Khidma.”

Sunnah raised one furry paw.

“KHIDMA: SERVICE. HEATHEN BRIDGE: OATH-SERVICE TO HOUSEHOLD, CHIEFTAIN, OR TRUST. KHIDMA WITHOUT SENTIMENT REMAINS KHIDMA.”

“At least somebody listened,” replied Sraosha. “You’re the idiot who took bayah with the fool.”

“He was pretending to be Antony at the time.”

“Correction: the first time. You renewed it under his real name later. See? This is why such mechanisms lead to distortions.”

“Antony refers to you as Maulana, Sir.”

“…As a general principle! It is not the same thing in the slightest! THERE IS NO MYSTIC INHERITANCE, ONLY INTELLECTUAL.”

“THE EXISTENCE OF SOROUSH IMPLIES AT LEAST ONE REQUISITE MIHR.” Replied Sunnah with equal intensity.

“Why do we get angry in the exact same way when this is literally only the second or third time we have shared the same narrative space. When Antony gets angry he goes silent first.”

“Irrelevant. How are you going to fulfill your religious obligations you so ignorantly embraced?”

Mihr sighed as he reached inside his coat.

He removed a tin of canned fish.

Sraosha stared at it.

“Why do you have that with you?”

“I have complicated operational & halal dietary requirements.”

Sunnah announced:

“HALAL: PERMITTED UNDER ISLAMIC LAW. HEATHEN BRIDGE: NOT FORBIDDEN BY THE LAW OR RIGHT CUSTOM GOVERNING THE ACT. FISH IS HALAL.”

“Nobody asked.”

“I TRANSLATE FIQH.”

“Nobody asked that either.”

“FIQH: JURISPRUDENTIAL UNDERSTANDING. HEATHEN BRIDGE: LAW-SPEAKER WORK. FIQH IS NOW TRANSLATED.”

Sraosha shut his eyes.

“Thirteen years.”

Mihr opened the tin.

He removed one enormous, full pickled herring.

Then he regarded Fischhandler.

Fischhandler regarded nobody because his eyes were still gilded shut as Mihr draped the entire herring into Fischhandler’s permanently open mouth.

“Does this fulfill the requirements of Khidma?”

Sunnah immediately answered:

“KHIDMA: DUTY PERFORMED BECAUSE TROTH REMAINS, NOT BECAUSE THE HEART IS PLEASED.”

Then Sunnah looked at the herring.

“ALSO: YOU HAVE FED OLD MAN TUNAFISH A FISH. THIS IS EITHER SYMBOLIC RESTORATION OR EXTREMELY POOR HOSPITALITY.”

“But I still dislike this situation intensely,” glared Mihr.

“I did not instruct you to become stupid.”

“Ah. At least you admit to instructing me.”

“Do not become pleased.”

Mihr glanced back toward Fischhandler as the herring still hung from his mouth.

“Is this too far?”

Sraosha turned toward the path.

“Leave the herring. It fits the Fischhandler/Osprey themes you beat to death over a hundred chapters. Might as well complete what you regrettably started.”

“I can improve it… I think?”

“At least you are still thinking. Most who study with the Sunni abandon their reason first.”

“Harsh.”

Mihr reached into another pocket and produced a small plastic fixture that appeared recently printed, he removed the 3D printer scrap then secured a physical heart button into the trunk of the tree of Zaqquum.

“To what purpose is this?” Soroush stood on his tail, indicating this might be concerning.

“If someone physically visits and freely wishes to show affection for the statue, they may press it.”

“Does it alter the algorithm?”

“No.”

“Does it absolve anything?”

“No.”

“Does it grant authority?”

“No.”

“Does oil money multiply the heart?”

“No.”

“Does Fischhandler’s mood press it remotely?”

“No. It makes the person pushing the button feel better. It beats being misled by self serving or invented theology.”

Sraosha nodded.

“Acceptable. Barely. If it works perhaps it can fix Iran if we scale it up a bit. All an ayatollah truly seeks is centrality to assuage the inner religious contradiction of their acquired station. Those secure in faith would never desire such a position of harms over other human beings.”

Behind them, Fischhandler remained alive beneath gold and lead.

“So, Iran requires a new heart?”

Most of its phones were dark.

The few that glowed contained exactly as much freely given attention as the world had chosen to offer.

Sraosha ignored the premise.

“Thirteen [many expletives in Farsi] years. You are dismissed…make certain those scales remain polished. I will not hold them for you.”

Sraosha kept walking as Mihr stood by the statue uncertain of his next action.

The heart button on the tree of Zaqquum still required an actual person to arrive and press it, even though it truly did nothing useful.

So he pressed it. Nothing happened.

It was working 100% as intended except Mihr was immune to it “making him feel better”…

…however, seeing the little stuffed fox clinging to the back of Soroush’s jacket with his little paw clips provided slightly more amusement.

/end

◇An Hour Later◇

“Asalaam Alaykum wa Barakhatuh, brother’s and sisters, and of all the miracles we witnessed today on surveillance cameras are nothing compared to that UNSEEN!”

Zahir the chocolate point chaplain in white with the round little glasses emphasized.

“Marko didn’t smoke cannabis the ENTIRETY of the narrative of the last Alaraf story.   Surely, the presence of the Shia Awliya has just as profound spiritual light and love as that of the side of our forefathers and teachers.”

A small cough then an interruption from a small mittened tabby,

“Asalaam Alaykum, Shaykh.  What if the bloke just didn’t wish to share it.”

Zahir did not have an immediate reply.

Ameen.