Song of a Dead Star

by Zamil Akhtar

  “You should be sleeping,” Uncle said, “we’re leaving for Qindsmar in the morning.”

  “Ohh yeah, it totally slipped my mind. Too much happened today.”

  Uncle took out the milk she bought and poured some in a cup. It seemed he wanted to make tea. Too bad the stove was currently under repair.

  “Just another episode of crazy nonsense in this town.” Uncle sighed. “First the mayor cuts our budget in half, then your uncle’s sudden illness, then some islander boy comes out of nowhere and starts causing all sorts of trouble. What happened to the good old days, the peaceful days?”

  Saina hated this. She could fix a stove, but never could cheer Uncle up. “We should be...grateful, you know. Worse things are happening elsewhere in the world. Like, I read in the paper, 7000 people died up north in Devshirme — some Haemian attack. At least we don’t have those problems. If you think about it, our problems are nothing.”

  He brought his mug to his lips and nodded. “Yeah, yeah. You’re right. You have your father’s patience, and your Uncle’s wisdom. Neither of which I was blessed with.”

  She gazed at the floor. What’s happened to that islander boy?

  “You’re thinking about that boy, aren’t you?”

  “Is it really safe, Uncle, to let him go out there like that? I mean, there might be something wrong with him. He got beat up for trying to dig someone’s grave, so who knows what else he’ll do? I mean, I don’t wanna find his body tomorrow or something.”

  “Listen,” Uncle said, “those islanders are tough, and that one, he was tough as hell. Didn’t even take his pain killers. I wouldn’t worry. He’s army too.”

  “Yeah...really?”

  “Oh yes. When we found him, he was wearing a Continental Army uniform. But don’t repeat that to anyone. If the boys in this town find out he’s CA, he’ll be in a grave, not digging one.”

  Continental Army. It was fresh in Saina’s mind after reading that newspaper earlier. She recalled how he reacted upon seeing it. Now it makes sense. Kind of.

  Saina finished fixing the stove, then took a bath. While playing with the water, she couldn’t stop thinking about the boy, and the Continental Army, and the things in the paper.

  Done with the bath, she dried off, got into her nightgown, and lay on her mattress. But thoughts kept sleep away.

  He could be dead in the morning. Maybe he knew some of those people who died on the ship? Nah, the Continental Army is huge, he probably didn’t. But what if he’s still digging graves?

  Saina pinged Time Service: 00:27. Over two hours into UHR. But she couldn’t sleep, she was so worried. And Fahmi Uncle always said, “The best thing to do with worries is to act to shut them up.” Before heading out, she took some left over kabab and wrapped it in tinfoil.

  It was hotter outside than earlier. The never-setting sun seemed angry from its perch in heaven. As the town slept, its gaze steamed mud off the houses. You could taste the clay in the air. Emptiness on these usually busy streets, Saina made her way to that graveyard.

  As suspected, the boy was at the same spot, digging into the dirt like a dog. With his hands, he picked up dirt and threw it to the side. Already, there was a deep hole. Crystal flowers faced the sun around it, reflecting radiance onto the soil. Some flowers were trampled, covered with dirt, and dead.

  “With your bare hands?” Saina said. “What’s in there that you want so bad?”

  The boy paused, panting. “My peace of mind.”

  “Peace of mind?”

  He resumed digging. His breathing barely kept up with his arms.

  “Just a second, I’ll be back.” Saina went to the graveyard shed and opened its crooked door. The insides greeted her with dust, dirt, and a shovel.

  She threw it next to the boy. “Use this, and you might actually finish your task before work hours resume.”

  He got off his knees, picked it up, and shoveled.

  “Why’s your peace of mind in that grave?”

  Heave, ho. “I had a dream while in surgery.” He paused, brushed sweat off his eyelids. “In the dream, I was digging this very grave, and each time I dug, each time I ploughed through the dirt, I felt closer to peace.”

  “But why this grave?”

  “Because, I think Nur is trying to tell me that my wife...is buried here, in this grave.”

  Saina didn’t know what to say. “Why would you think that?”

  This is why. Four years ago, the boy woke up in Separah, Devshirme, at a clinic not unlike the one in this town. All the boy could do was stare at the ceiling because he was completely paralyzed. The doctor and staff that tended him called it “Peripheral Nervous System Paralysis.”

  While he looked up at an unfamiliar ceiling, they would talk.

  “So really, you found this boy outside our door, lying cold in the middle of UHR?”

  “So this boy has no name, no identity, we don’t know his family, we don’t know anything? Basically a stray dog, huh?”

  “If only he could talk, he could tell us something about himself.”

  “Then let’s make that happen, let’s make him talk.”

  After a month of surgical procedures, sunshine therapy, and what they called “nerve-to-nerve re-syncing,” the boy could finally move his left hand. He was now able to communicate by tapping. One for yes, two for no.

  “The boy is very agitated. Or at least, his left hand is. Keeps tapping no to whatever we tell him.”

  “At least we were able to spell his name, that took long enough.”

  “Yeah, but he keeps tapping about his damn wife.”

  “You know, he can hear you. He’s not an idiot, his cognitive function is just as good as yours or mine.”

  “Whatever, damn islander.”

  The ceiling of the clinic was bare. Featureless. Just a brick ceiling, plastered over with white paint. But sometimes, they would move him on his side, and he could see the curtain around his room, or a nurse at work.

  Another month of therapy and re-syncing, and the boy regained the more subtle functions of his left hand. He could now write.

  “You’re from Kerb? That’s unreal! I mean, I’m sorry.”

  “Still, he won’t write about nothing but his wife.”

  “It’s a hard thing, I can sympathize.”

  “You want us to look for her? Think we have time for that? Our hands are full with you! Hell, your ass would be on the street if not for the doctor’s code.”

  He pleaded that they find out something. Stubborn for weeks, one day the head doctor finally gave in. His name was Doc Reyta.

  “I can ask around, but from what I know, tens of thousands died in that city and tens of thousands more were made refugees. Even if she was the daughter of someone important, it’ll be hard.”

  Weeks went by, and he reported nothing to the boy. “Give me more time, I’ll check it out for you, I promise.” A few months elapsed, still nothing to report. By then, the boy had regained his entire left arm, and the other hand was coming around, and his tongue moved too. He could even wiggle his jaw and toes.

  Then one day, Doc Reyta came back with news.

  “One of my old colleagues in the army let loose some talk. The family you mentioned, actually, were staunch supporters of the old Shah. When he was deposed during the Uprising, well, all the families that backed him were...punished. So that family in particular, was sent to some dungeon in Almaria. Where, according to him, they were all eventually executed. Every child, boy, girl, woman, man — all for supporting the old Shah. That’s all I know, I’m sorry.”

  It would be a full three years before the boy could even attempt to walk. They put him on a walking course, where he would balance on the side bars and try to move. Sometimes he would rush through too fast and fall.

  “Listen, you need to slow down. You can’t rush your way to health, you have to let the brain rewire itself and relearn how to walk. That takes time.”

  But he didn’t listen, and he always fell and sometimes
even hurt himself.

  “I know you have somewhere to go, but really, what’re you going to do? You need to move on, I’m sorry, but that’s the best advice I can give you. You somehow survived the worst thing to happen, well, at least in my lifetime. Your girl, she probably didn’t. And even if she did, then she probably died with her family, no? Just move on, kid, that’s life, you have to move the hell on.”

  Finally, one day, the boy regained all his movement. Doc hailed it as a beautiful miracle, but really, it was just hard work. The very day he was well, they sent him packing, back into the world that had taken everything from him.

  Today, that boy dug, and dug, his way to peace.

  “So,” Saina said, “you’ve been looking for her ever since, and no luck...”

  “Nur is trying to help me...to let go. That’s all I’ve wanted for four years, to let go. If I can find her body inside, then I can do that. I can let go. So you see, I have to dig up this grave, I have to know who’s inside. It’s the only way out for me.” He paused to look Saina in the eye. “Otherwise, people do terrible things in the pursuit of phantoms.”

  “But Almaria’s a big place, why would she be in this very grave?”

  “When I woke up in this village, I was lying on this spot. And I could feel her, as stupid as that sounds. But no one I asked knew the name of the person who lay here, on this spot, with the crystal flowers. So I had no choice, I had to dig. Nur is trying to help me, He’s tired of seeing me like this.”

  “Hmm...just a sec, okay?”

  Saina went back to the shed; luckily, there was another shovel inside. She grabbed it and returned to help the boy dig.

  They dug and dug. And dug and dug and dug and dug.

  Finally, the hole was so deep, it was ridiculous to think a body could lie any deeper. But there was only mud inside.

  “Why?” the boy said. “How could it be empty?”

  “Well, bodies decay. So do burial shrouds. So maybe, she’s gone back to the earth, you know?”

  “I’m a fool who takes dreams too seriously. Why would Nur care to speak to me?” He threw the shovel to the dirt.

  What could Saina say? Then she remembered something. “You know, there is a man who visits this spot from time to time. I’d say he comes around a few times a year. He surely knows whose grave this is.”

  The boy climbed out the hole, then helped Saina up.

  “Oh, I totally forgot,” Saina said, “I have food for you.”

  The kabab was mushy, but it was still kabab.

  The boy took a little piece. He nibbled it to taste, then swallowed. “Not bad, in fact, as a connoisseur of dishes far and wide, this is up there.”

  “Really, you, a connoisseur? I can’t believe it.”

  “Of course, I’ve had everything. Fish kabab that you’d confuse for bird food. Lamb steak that must be mostly sandpaper. And my favorite, scrambled eggs made of cement paste.”

  She giggled. “Well, I’m glad my cooking ranks better than all that.”

  They sat together at the graveside, surrounded by crystal flowers. The boy continued to nibble on the kabab. Yeah, he was handsome, if not for the way his hair got in his face, the swelling on his forehead, and the harshness around his cracked emerald eyes.

  “You should join the army. With kabab like this, maybe we’d actually get some fighting done.” He looked over at the hole they made with hours of sweat under an angry sun. “So this guy you mentioned, when can I meet him?”

  “The guy? Oh, he lives in Qindsmar actually. My family knows him, he’s a sheikh down there. We’re actually going to Qindsmar tomorrow, so you can tag along.”

  “We? That include your uncle?”

  “Look, Uncle is actually the most understanding and lenient man in the world. He raised me, and look how nice I am!”

  The boy nodded, like he actually agreed this time. “Qindsmar is on the way to my base, so I might as well make a stop.”

  “The South Almaria Deployment Base?”

  “Uh-huh, know of it?”

  “Not really, no. Just heard of it. Oh, I forgot to ask you. What’s your name?”

  The boy told her his name. Then they brushed off, and Saina demanded he sleep at her house, and of course he resisted, but she made sure he knew quite well he had no choice in the matter.

  CHAPTER 4

  ALMARIAN CHICKS

  TRANSCRIPT 0100 BETWEEN MESSENGER 01 and PILOT 01

  Zauri: I’ve never seen something like this. The earth is talking.

  Merv: What’s it saying?

  Zauri: That her children are endless, always in existence, forever changing forms.

  Merv: Sounds like something from a recital, I think, about rain giving life to the earth, changing its form from dirt to growth.

  Zauri: There are people here, everywhere, and they made all these structures from different things in the earth and amassed them in patterns.

  Merv: Yeah, so? Zauri, you’ve been over Reborn, surely that’s a much greater city than this...ant hill.

  Zauri: That’s different. Reborn isn’t the same as this. It’s not earthy. Out of nowhere, it rises up from nothing. This place rises up with trees, and rivers, and smiles. What’s this city called?

  Merv: The Marshal told me when he gave me our orders...Qindsmar. Yes, that’s it, Qindsmar.

  The sun frowned at him through Universal Hours of Rest from the gap in the blinds. Kav couldn’t lie down anymore, his body felt so tense. All UHR, he sat against the wall and huddled in his blankets so the sun couldn’t see him.

  Hours passed. UHR was over. He could hear the neighbors trimming a bush and shouting in the Almarian language.

  “Am I dreaming? What time is it?” He pinged Time Service. “The time is 05:15.”

  Obviously not. I don’t need this pointless test no more.

  Kav reached into his tiny pouch and took out Layla’s bond. It was like the sun shimmered in his hand.

  Layla said the Key to the Garden is inside me...it has to be this. That must be why she gave it to me. And the whispers said the final Magus is at SADB, so if it turns out Layla’s not in that grave, then I have to find and kill him. Whether or not what the whispers say is true, it’s the least I can do for her.

  A bell chimed in a nearby room. It screeched into his ears. It sounded like sword tuning.

  Kav got up and walked over to the basin near the closet. Saina had hung a towel for him. He dipped it in the water and dampened his face. Pores opened, sore cheek bones relieved. And then that bell whined again — a crystal cry.

  Ugh...who’s doing that so damn early in the morning?

  He went to find out.

  In the living room, Nizan sat on a pillow with a sword in his left hand and a tuning fork in his right. The sword was open at the hilt; the gain-medium crystal stuck out of it, tethered by hairline wires. Nizan struck the crystal with the tuning fork, creating a sound that made Kav’s skull ache.

  “The sword is old, you can hear the age in its cry,” the man said. “Come here and help me with something.”

  “Sure, if it’ll make you stop.” Kav rubbed his eyes.

  The sword looked fierce. It had a pink tinted blade, worn but not worn out — battle-hardened. Its black hilt contrasted with the crimson calligraphy bleeding from the handle.

  “I want you to conduct a beam at me. Of course, there’s only a test gain-medium inside for the moment. Got that?”

  Nizan put the hilt in Kav’s hand. Hefty, it felt like he held something beautiful.

  “Sounds easy enough.”

  The old man almost stumbled, but got to his feet. He went to the other end of the room and stood in front of the house door. “Do it.”

  Straight as he could, Kav aimed the sword at the man. It reminded him of the last time he held a sword, a few days ago, onboard the ship, when he...

  Sun trickled into his twicrys and streamed through his hands onto the blade. A beam flew off its end. It hit Nizan Uncle in the chest, exploded into a prism o
f colors, and whirled around the room turning things green and blue and red for a moment.

  “You know, that was rather creative.” Nizan scratched his head. “Almost no cohesion in the pattern though. Shows you lack discipline.”

  “Yeah? Whatever.”

  “’Whatever’? You’re a soldier, no? You ought to take such criticism seriously. Your life hinges on your conduction.”

  Kav tried to make out what the calligraphy said. The blunt edge of the blade seemed as if the metal was ripped off something.

  “Listen,” Nizan said, “I hope you’ll forgive me for yesterday. I’m sure you know what stress does to one’s mood.”

  “Truth is, I expect worse. You’ll have to do a lot more to offend me.”

  “Then listen to me good, because they won’t teach you this anywhere else. The key to good conduction is achieving ‘fanaa’, know what that is?”

  “Faana?”

  “Fanaa, a Kalamic word that means ‘annihilation’. What you gotta do is annihilate yourself when you conduct. Forget that you exist, your ego, your body, your fears and desires. You are merely a conduit of the sun, a vessel, directing its light by the will of Nur. That is fanaa.”

  “Okay?”

  Nizan took the blade and put it on the pillow he’d been sitting on. Even the hilt looked torn off something. Then he went over to the kitchen. “How about some tea and eggs?”

  “This sword was double-sided once, wasn’t it?”

  “Sure was, long story, if you want to hear it.” The man put a kettle on the stove.

  That’s the last thing I can handle right now. “Uhh, actually—”

  “It was my father’s sword. Zulfiqar, she was called, and still is, even though she’s half what she was. A great sword, a sword made back when Almarians could make swords the like of which still fetch thousands of rubiyya. You could saw a levship in half with this sword. It’s been through hell — Almarian expansions early in the century, and then the War of the Poets.