Nomad's Dream

by August Li

  Janan closed his eyes and tried to keep his mind clear and receptive. He listened to the susurrus of the wind in the high grass, the faraway noise of the animals, the babble of the stream… the insects and night birds. When the notes of the song, the words, echoed through his thoughts, he neither drove them out nor tried to hold on to them, letting them drift past. Just when it seemed nothing would happen, light flashed behind his eyes, and like lightning, it revealed what the darkness hid—but only for a second. Janan could make little sense of the images: a man who looked much like him, a pretty Egyptian woman, a tall building made of glass, a white boat bobbing in the sea. Other even more cryptic pictures followed: a Western-style shirt on a hanger, a plastic comb on a marble sink with a gleaming steel faucet, pages of letters he couldn’t read…. Or could he? Maybe….

  He focused on the black shapes on the white page. They seemed familiar. But just as he felt at the cusp of deciphering them, two bluish fireballs appeared from nowhere and burned the other visions away. Eyes, Janan realized with a shudder. They were burning eyes. After swiping a hand down his sweaty face, he looked to where Isra sat and shook his head. “Nothing. It was… all nonsense. I don’t think this will lead anywhere. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s all right,” Isra said, though his expressive face couldn’t hide his disappointment. “It was worth a try. Come. We’ll speak to my uncle. He can instruct the men of our clan, even the entire tribe, to ask about you at every town, village, or settlement they visit. I don’t see how we can fail to learn at least something that way.”

  Janan nodded, stood, and took Isra’s hand to walk back to camp. A few times he caught himself looking over his shoulder into the darkness and remembering the frightening spectacle of those fiery eyes.

  What in the world would inspire him to imagine something like that?

  Chapter Eight

  ISRA ALWAYS grew restless during the winters, when the cold nights made wandering and taking off on a whim difficult. He could explore during the day, but he couldn’t stray too far from the encampment. That winter was better and worse than others. Janan’s company and conversation took the edge off his impatience, and the two of them never ran out of things to discuss. At the same time, Janan’s nearness when they slept in their small room, his body at once so close and yet so unattainable, left Isra in a constant state of unrelieved tension, the limbo of waiting to hear news from the men of the clan. The waiting tore at him, lengthening the already tedious days.

  Whenever a group of men returned to the camp after an excursion to one of the cities or villages, he rushed out to meet them, but the same: nothing.

  He wasn’t the only one to suffer. Janan struggled with flashes of memory that bled into his dreams. One night, when his muttering and thrashing in his sleep awakened Isra, Isra dressed and put on his warmest cloak. Beyond the settlement, the herds were quiet, bedded down close against the chill, the sheep a reflection of the few clouds standing stark against the night sky. For a mile or more, Isra followed the little stream that supplied the watering hole. It burbled softly as it meandered between ruddy boulders worn smooth by the various forces of the desert, and along its bank, he detected the presence of foxes, cats, and the agile ibex that flourished on the rocky hillsides. The land swelled upward and the vegetation thinned until Isra finally reached the source: a spring that bubbled out through a crack in a massive slab of red rock. There were ruins here, part of what had likely been a Roman watchtower along with the remnant of a wall around what might’ve been ovens or possibly a forge. The cistern remained—a deep hole lined with concrete and surrounded by a ring of stones—and Isra sat down next to it to wait.

  It wasn’t long before Flicker appeared like a streak of fire crossing the sky before settling on the ledge around the cistern and slowly coalescing. He looked even less human than usual, almost a transparent shell that barely contained the fire. It spilled from the corners of his eyes and from his forehead in curling tendrils toward the heavens. It flowed from his back in the suggestion of wings. The patterns on his skin seemed to move and shift into different configurations. It was a little unnerving, but through it all, Isra could make out the features of his friend.

  “This is unexpected,” Flicker said.

  “I’ve missed you.”

  “Indeed?”

  “There are few people to whom I can reveal the contents of my heart,” Isra said. “In fact, aside from you, there is no one who I can truly allow to see me.”

  “Oh, and what about your new friend?”

  Isra shook his head. “He’s a very confused man, and he suffers with the uncertainty of who he was before he lost his memories. I think if he could be sure he wasn’t abandoning anyone from his old life, he could be happy here with the tribe. My kinsmen would welcome him. But….”

  “But?”

  “He can’t be content until he assures himself he isn’t betraying anyone by choosing a life with… us.”

  “And you?” Flicker either arched a brow, or his tone recalled the familiar gesture to Isra.

  “I’m starting to despair of ever finding out who Janan was. Jibril sent the men of the clan in search of information over a month ago, but no one has been able to turn up even a hint of who he might’ve been. No one has ever heard of him.”

  Flicker sighed out a cinnamon-and-charcoal-scented breath. “You’re still speaking of him. I asked after you. What has you all twisted up? What’s standing in your way of reaching for this thing you’ve always wanted? I did not bring you to this man to cause you pain.”

  “Did you bring me to him so… so I might not need you any longer? So I might let you go?”

  For a long time Flicker sat silent, and Isra swore he could hear the crackle of the fire within him. Finally: “Would that please you?”

  Now Isra quietly contemplated. “No.”

  “And yet?” Flicker urged.

  “Am I being dishonest, not telling him of you? Of our friendship? I feel like I’m keeping a large part of my life hidden from him, and how can we hope to be… companions with that in our way?”

  Flicker waved his delicate hand, and it left glowing trails in its wake. “Tell him. If it’s my permission you seek, you have it. What do I have to fear?”

  “It’s myself I’m worried about.”

  “Typical.”

  Isra looked up into Flicker’s lamplike eyes. “You know my people are suspicious of your kind and of those who associate with them. Don’t pretend to be ignorant of it. I’m afraid he’ll be horrified, and yet I want him to see this part of me, this friendship that has shaped the man I am. He… doesn’t see in absolutes the way many do.”

  “I don’t see the conflict,” Flicker said. “Tell him or don’t. He’ll accept this side of you or he won’t. Or are you hoping I’ll suggest a third option?”

  “What option?”

  “I say goodbye to you and never come again. Then you need to neither mention me nor lie.”

  “No,” Isra said. “I don’t want that.”

  “Good.” Flicker smiled, showing sharp teeth. “Neither do I. If you’re trying to decide between me and him, that choice is obvious. There are thousands of men in the world, millions. There’s only one of me. Besides, I can do much more for you than he can, enrich your life to a far greater degree. I could teach you so much if you’d only let me.”

  “I’m not sure if that’s true,” Isra said, more to himself. “He is coming to mean a great deal to me. But you also mean a great deal to me.”

  “Yet you risk him for me.” Flicker seemed satisfied, so Isra didn’t correct him, didn’t tell him he risked Janan’s companionship because he couldn’t bear to be dishonest. That wasn’t something he expected the arafrit to understand. Besides, what did it hurt to let Flicker feel wanted, appreciated? Isra often sought him out only when he needed something, and in truth, he hoped Flicker might be able to help with Janan’s memories. Perhaps he knew a way to poke a hole through the wall in Janan’s mind.

  “So
you will agree to meet him?” Isra asked.

  “Oh, why not? It’ll be interesting to see his reaction, and he might have some part to play in the drama I sense at the edge of my thoughts.”

  “You do?” Isra asked. “What do you see?”

  “Only shades right now. Weak shadows flitting back and forth without enough substance to speak or act… yet. But they’re creeping closer, getting bold. Maybe. All we can do is wait. If we’re rash, we’ll scare them away.”

  “Janan has been dreaming too,” Isra said, the flame of hope inside him rekindling. “Most nights. He mentions a man and a woman. Strange clothing and random items. I think there’s something else, too, but he keeps it to himself. I think it frightens him.”

  “Well, there might be even more to him than I suspected.” Flicker shook his long hair, and sparks rained down in a shower of gold. “Bring him here in two nights, when the moon is full. That’s the time for bringing hidden things into the light.”

  AFTER ISRA mentioned some Roman ruins, Janan spent the day thinking about the Romans. He knew of them. In fact, if he racked his brain, he found he knew a lot about their art, their poetry, their vast contributions to philosophy and statecraft. He even remembered names like Cicero, Virgil, Plutarch, and Augustus. They’d been heathens, yet their thoughts had shaped the world and continued to influence it. They’d had important insights on life and what it meant to be human. Many of them had been wise in spite of their pagan religion.

  “Every beginning comes from some other beginning’s end,” he muttered and paused in carving spiral designs into his walking stick.

  “Interesting,” Isra said without looking up from ibex horn he was crafting into a knife handle. “Also true, I suppose.”

  “It’s Seneca,” Janan realized. “Or at least it’s been attributed to him, though against the arguments of many. Seneca the Younger. I… know these words, know this man’s name, but I don’t know how I know them.”

  Isra met his eyes. He seemed wary, had been a little skittish all day, like he anticipated some catastrophe but didn’t know when it would strike. “You probably read it in a book,” he said. “I can’t read very well myself, but we can get books in the city.” He held up the ibex horn. “Merchants will buy items like this. We can also gather wormwood and ben oil seeds. We can get a collection together, find a cave or mine where they’ll be safe from the elements.”

  Janan reached over and took his hand. They were sitting under the awning of the large tent on a worn rug in front of a smoking brazier. The day was crystal clear. “Isra, I love it here. If you’re trying to think of ways to make it pleasant for me, you don’t have to. I wouldn’t change a thing about being here, being with you. If my life before was… different, I don’t miss it. I can’t imagine how I could. I can’t imagine that I could’ve left behind a friend even close to your devotion.” He shook his head as if he could dislodge the confusing, foreign words. “Even if my mind didn’t remember, my heart would.” He leaned in so no one else would hear his words, even though he didn’t see anyone milling about the camp. “My heart only remembers you.”

  Isra smiled, but it seemed forced. “We should… let’s pray and have a bite to eat, and then we can go into the hills and look at the old watchtower.”

  “Tonight?” Janan was surprised. “It’ll be dark soon. We won’t be able to see as much as we would in the daytime.”

  “My friend, I can promise you’ll see plenty,” Isra said, but to Janan, it seemed something he just wanted over with.

  Janan welcomed the distraction. It saved him from looking too closely at his recent thoughts, and when they reached the place where the old fortress had stood, just after sunset, he enjoyed examining the remnants of the barbican, the old cistern still filled with cool, sweet water. He could see why the ancients had chosen this spot. Aside from access to the well, it offered a splendid view of the plains all around.

  Janan stood behind Isra and wrapped his arms around Isra’s waist as the lemon-colored sun bled into the western hills, leaving behind a sky clear and sharp as glass. “These things, these vistas… I’m glad you’re here to share them with me. It gives them meaning, even more beauty.”

  Isra covered Janan’s hands with his own. “These places are changed by us being here, at least for me. I’ll never think of them in the same way. They have new definitions now, new identities: the cliff grotto where the acacias hid us from the world, the ben oil tree where we slept after the foxes played, and now….”

  “Now?” Janan rested his chin on Isra’s shoulder. “What will we name this place so we always remember tonight?”

  “I don’t think that’s going to be a problem,” said a musical voice, unnaturally smooth and melodic. With it came the smoky scent of incense, something expensive and spicy. And heat—Janan felt its intensity on his left cheek.

  Turning, Janan saw a man dressed all in black, long straight hair spilling from beneath the black shemagh wrapped turban-style around his head. He wore the most bizarre ornaments Janan had ever seen: chains and strings of tiny jeweled beads that draped from the center of a gemmed headdress, looped beneath his eye, and connected to one of several earrings. His face was perfect and beautiful but eerie in its symmetry… inhuman. The man smiled and orange light spilled out, like he held a lit candle in his mouth. The fire also shimmered behind his eyes.

  Janan backed away a few steps, sweat springing from his forehead and upper lip, heart pounding so hard it ached. Primal fear conquered him, and all Janan could think to do was run. Whatever stood in front of him, it wasn’t a man. He sputtered, nauseated, but when he tried to grab Isra’s sleeve to drag him away, Isra grasped his arms and held him in place, a plea in his eyes.

  “Please… we are in no danger.”

  “How can you say that?” Janan’s words came out almost a shriek. “This—that—it’s a spirit. A demon of some kind. Isra, we have to—to get out of here.”

  “I promise you will come to no harm,” the creature said, a teasing edge to his voice. “At least not at my hands.”

  “These creatures are known for deception,” Janan hissed between clenched teeth.

  Isra shook his head. “Sit down. Listen to what I have to say. Afterward, you might want to leave here and never return. If you do, I won’t stop you. But please listen first.”

  Janan let Isra guide him to the edge of the cistern and urge him to sit. It was easier to comply than he expected; his legs felt as weak as hollow reeds, and his head swam. Isra sat next to him and pulled Janan’s hand into his lap. The stranger stood a few feet off, a smirk dancing at the corners of his full, too-perfect lips.

  “When I was thirteen,” Isra said, “I wasn’t yet a man, except in my own mind. I was small, but I was reckless. Some of the men in the clan had rounded up the camels who had been born the previous year, hoping to train them for riding. We were camped near the Galala Hills at the time. One of the young camels was especially rambunctious, and she had a nasty streak on top of it. Most of the men didn’t think she’d make anything besides dinner, but I was determined to try. I liked to pretend it was to save that camel from the pot, but the truth is, I wanted to show off. I wanted the talk around our dinner fire to be all about my heroics.”

  “Young men are the same everywhere,” Janan said.

  Isra nodded. “The older men knew I was being foolish, and they forbid me from getting anywhere near that mean-spirited camel. But I waited until they wandered off for a pipe, and I climbed onto a rock where I could drop down onto her back. Can you imagine? How ridiculous.” He shook his head.

  “That camel took off like every demon out of hell was behind her, and all I could do was wrap my arms and legs around her neck and hold on as tight as I could. And pray.”

  “But it wasn’t your god who saved you,” the stranger said, eyes flashing white-hot.

  “No,” Isra admitted. “The camel ran into the hills. All I remember is red rock smearing past, then being tossed into the air. I struck my head on
a rock, and then I must’ve lost consciousness.

  “When I came to, I had no idea where I was. There were pillars, some kind of ruins I didn’t recognize, and at the end of them, a cavern. I was thirsty, disoriented, and in pain. I didn’t know it at the time, but my wrist was broken. I was covered in bruises, and my head spun until it made me throw up. I doubt I would’ve survived if—

  “The Quran says God made mankind from earth, angels from light, and from fire and air… from fire and air, he made the djinn. The arafrit, among other types.”

  “Arafrit.” Janan mouthed the syllables slowly. He knew the term—he even believed in the existence of mischievous spirits—but to see one, to be in its presence…. “You’re the arafrit?”

  The stranger winked. “I’m no angel.”

  “And no man,” Janan said.

  “I made it to the end of the pillars, but then I collapsed,” Isra said. “I felt sure the men from my clan would find me, but I lay there all night and all through the heat of the next day, without food or water, too injured to stand. When the sun set on the second day, Flicker—this arafrit—emerged from his cave. He gave me water, and he sat and talked with me to keep me from slipping into oblivion again. When sleep did take me, I woke again on the edge of my clan’s encampment. I thought for sure it had all been a dream. Sometimes with a head wound, a man sees things that aren’t there. When I recovered, I went back to that cave. It took me days to find it again, but when I did, Flicker was still there.

  “We became friends. We’ve been friends for almost seventeen years. I didn’t want to keep this from you, not any longer.”

  The way his head spun, Janan wondered if he’d been the one thrown from the camel and dropped into a bizarre dream. He decided there was one way to find out, and standing on trembling legs, he reached out for the arafrit, for Flicker, and pressed his fingertips to Flicker’s cheek. The skin exuded heat like a sun-warmed stone, but it was slicker, like metal, and it had none of the bounce or give of human flesh. Taking a step closer, he could see the loops and spirals that seemed carved into Flicker’s face, the liquid fire flowing along their channels. He met persimmon eyes with the vertical pupil of a cat… or a snake.