by Joe Vasicek
This is one thing I’m not going to miss when I’m gone, he reflected as he absently fingered the pendant underneath his shirt.
* * * * *
The sandstorm was fierce, but like so many summer storms, it blew over in little more than a day. The main brunt passed far to the south, sparing the camp from any damage. Still, it left the landscape noticeably changed, burying some small craters and outcroppings while uncovering others. The wall, however, protected the camp from the worst of the drifts, and only the windmill took any damage—damage which Jalil repaired before the morning was finished.
Lena Al-Sauliha Bint Shira Al-Najmi Saharat Al-Gharab Al-Gaiani Al-Jadida was wedded to Mazhar Al-Kariym Ibn Amr Al-Jabaliyn Saharat Mutli’ih Aliet Al-Gaiani Al-Jadida just after sundown. The festivities continued late into the night, long after the bride and groom had retired to their wedding suite. Jabaliyn and Najmi tribesmen danced around the roaring bonfire to the music of the drums and pipes, celebrating all night beneath the stars and satellites.
Jalil was the first to rise the next morning. Even so, he walked some distance from the camp to say his morning prayers, seeking the solitude that only the desert could give.
“In the name of Allah, the Merciful, the Compassionate,” he began, kneeling on the stiff prayer rug in the midst of the rust-red sand. The compass laid before him pointed east by southeast, and as he pressed his forehead to ground, he visualized a pearly white spire surrounded by a sea of glass, reaching upward toward the starry sky. The image hung on the wall in the magnificently decorated front room of the camp, and depicted the Temple of a Thousand Suns, the Noble Shrine of Earth and the holiest place in all the settled worlds.
“Almighty Lord of Earth,” Jalil whispered, his face low to the ground, “Thou who led our fathers safely through the starry void and blessed them with the richness of Thy bounty, if it be not against Thy will, lead me to Thy holy temple, that I might discover the truth of who I am.”
The wind whispered across the rocky plain, stirring the dust and tickling his cheek with sand. Jalil closed his eyes and savored the silence, finding in it a peace that refreshed and edified his soul.
When he returned to the camp, the guests had already begun to gather in the lavish front room to drink the morning tea. Several of the Jabaliyn tribesmen eyed him as he entered, staring at his unusually blond hair and fair skin. He pretended to ignore them and joined the Najmi girls near the front, reclining on the cushioned floor between Tiera and Mira.
“Where were you?” Tiera whispered.
“Praying.”
“Ah.” She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “Why did you leave the camp to pray?”
“I’ll tell you later,” he whispered back, pouring himself a cup of tea. More than a dozen gold kettles littered the center of the room, ample evidence of the Najmi tribe’s hospitality.
Mazhar and Lena were the last to arrive. Lena entered wearing a black dress and veil lined with red embroidery, and Mazhar entered wearing his finest flowing robes, dyed in the green and blue colors of the Jabaliyn tribe. As they stepped into the chamber, everyone present rose to their feet to clap and cheer. Mazhar raised his rifle in the air and let out a great whoop, and the women let loose with their loud ululating cries.
After several moments, the chamber quieted down once again. The spirit of anticipation, however, did not leave them—breakfast had not yet been served. Jalil stretched out on his side, enjoying the moment.
“When are you going to marry?” Jalil asked Mira light-heartedly. “You’re the prime age for a bride!”
Mira blushed deeply, struggling to come up with an answer. Jalil smiled and winked, and she turned away quickly, hiding her face behind her headscarf.
She’s changed a lot since we’ve grown up, Jalil thought to himself. It was true; her eyes alone were gorgeous enough to disarm any man, and even in her loose black robes, her figure was very noticeably feminine. He wouldn’t be surprised if she were married off before the end of the year—with luck, she’d already caught the attention of one of the Jabaliyn boys.
Sheikh Sathi rose to his feet, and Shira led her three youngest daughters into the room: Rina, Majd, and Alia. The young girls carried a giant platter between them, piled high with hundreds of plump, juicy strawberries. A loud cheer erupted as the men raised their rifles in the air and the women filled the room again with their ululating cries.
After some time, the noise gradually died down, and Sathi motioned for everyone to have a seat. As they did, he cleared his throat with a magnanimous wave of his hand.
“Fellow tribesmen, both in law and in blood,” he began. “Here sits my flower, my daughter, Lena Bint Shira, whom we have given in marriage to your son Mazhar Ibn Amr Al-Jabaliyn. For many years, we have labored hard to cultivate and nurture her into an honorable woman, that she may become a noble wife. Indeed,” he said, taking a single strawberry from the platter and raising it in the air, “we have cultivated her as we cultivated this noble red fruit that you see before you now. Even as the strawberry requires shelter from the hot sun and nourishment with water and nutrients that the desert alone cannot provide, so too have we struggled these many years to raise our daughter pure and unsullied in this world of sin and corruption. But behold, our labors have not been in vain, for here before us stands a woman worthy to be called a daughter of the most holy Earth.”
Mazhar’s mother stepped forward and accepted a plate of the strawberries from Rina, the youngest daughter. She presented the plate to Shira, who smiled warmly as she offered it to Lena.
“And now,” Sathi bellowed, “may this union of our people be blessed with much fruit!”
The cheering and singing began anew as Lena hand-fed a juicy strawberry to her new husband. As the guests clapped and made music, Sathi took his seat next to Sheikh Amr, and Rina served them both with generous servings that Shira had spooned up. As the girls served the guests, lavishly dressed dancers from the Jabaliyn tribe moved to the center of the room to provide the entertainment.
“I wish I could dance like that,” said Mira. “Those women are beautiful.”
“You’re as beautiful as any of those girls,” said Jalil. “Besides, you’re a Najmi, and that makes you better than any two of them.”
“Truly?”
“Of course. It won’t be long before Sathi’s making some long-winded speech on your wedding morning, of that I’m sure.”
Mira smiled and blushed, quickly looking away. Strange, Jalil thought to himself—but then again, she always was the shy one.
Chapter 2
“So which of the Jabaliyn boys caught your eye?” asked Amina, eyes sparkling as she looked up from scrubbing one of the giant cooking pots. “My eyes are for Ozal—that man’s a beast.”
Ozal? Mira wondered quietly as she rinsed the last of the plates. Which one is he?
“Good Lord!” cried Surayya. “You’re much too young for him. Ozal is almost as old as Uncle Samir!”
“Eh, you’ll probably marry a blind old man,” Amina retorted, passing the pot on to Mira for rinsing. “Besides, I’m not too young to take a husband if I want to.”
“Oh yes, you are,” said Surayya, carefully drying one of the plates with a vacuum sponge. “Besides, Father isn’t going to marry you off until he finds a husband for Mira and me.”
Mira kept to herself as her sisters argued around her. She always felt awkward talking about boys, especially with sisters as gossipy as Amina and Surayya. It wasn’t that she never thought about the subject—far from it—but the way her sisters gossiped, to tell one of them was to broadcast it throughout the camp.
“Come on, Mira,” said Surayya, hands on her hips in impatience. “Can’t you do your job? You’re holding us all up.”
Mira jolted upright and nearly dropped the pot she was rinsing. “Oh,” she said, slowly regaining her composure. “Sorry.”
“Looks like Mira has someone on her mind,” said Amina, smiling mischievously.
“I do
not,” said Mira, a little too quickly. She passed the cooking pot on to Surayya and fumbled about in the rinse water for the next plate.
“Sure,” said Amina, “and I’m secretly a man. Come on, Mira. What’s his name?”
Mira tried to think of something to say, but nothing came to her mind. Her knees began to feel weak, and she took a deep breath.
“Oh my,” said Surayya, her face lighting up. “You’re right, Amina; she’s got that dreamy-eyed look about her.”
Hot blood rushed to Mira’s cheeks, and she glanced quickly down in an attempt to hide her face.
“I knew it,” said Amina. “You’ve been up to something, haven’t you, girl?”
“Good Lord!” said Surayya, eyes widening as she covered her mouth with her hand. “You didn’t actually go into their tents last night, did you?”
“What?” said Mira. “No! Why would I—”
“I think we all know the answer to that,” said Amina, winking.
Mira’s hands became clammy, and she started shaking. She bit her lip, but her cheeks still burned with embarrassment.
“Don’t be shy, now,” said Surayya. “You have to tell us.”
“Is it Ozal?” Amina’s eyes were practically glowing with curiosity.
“No,” Mira whispered.
“Ezrom?”
“No.”
“Zeyd, then. It’s gotta be Zeyd.”
“No! It isn’t anybody.”
“Su-ure,” said Surayya, drawing out the word for emphasis. “Come on, Mira. You have to tell us.”
“Don’t worry,” said Amina. “We won’t tell anyone.”
Mira shuffled uneasily on her feet. “Well, he’s not one of the Jabaliyn boys.”
“One of our cousins, then?”
She shrugged.
“Ah!” said Amina, giving her a meaningful look. “So it’s our own Jalil you’ve got eyes for, eh?”
Mira froze where she stood. A wave of dizziness passed over her, and her heart started racing. For a terrible moment, all she wanted was to sink through the ground and disappear.
Surayya shrieked with delight. “Jalil? Lord of Earth!”
“Don’t tell,” Mira cried, grabbing her arm. “P-please, don’t tell anyone!”
“Don’t worry about it,” said Amina, stepping between them. “You could do a lot worse than Jalil. Besides, Father wants to marry him off to one of us—why shouldn’t it be you?”
Mira said nothing, but inwardly, her heart skipped a beat.
“But I thought Jalil was supposed to marry Tiera,” said Surayya. “She’s Mother Zayne’s oldest daughter—shouldn’t the inheritance fall to her?”
Mira’s stomach fell. She bit her lip.
“Not necessarily,” said Amina. “Tiera may be the oldest, but Jalil is Sathi’s only son, even if he is adopted. The inheritance falls to him, so long as he marries in the family.”
“Oh,” said Surayya, “but what about Lena? I thought—”
“Lena and Mazhar are only staying for insurance. If Jalil leaves—and I hear he has a mind to—Father’s agreed to pass the inheritance on to them. That’s why he wants to marry one of us off to Jalil as soon as possible.”
Mira’s heart leaped in her chest.
“You know,” said Amina, turning to face her, “I think you two would go well together. You should marry him.”
Mira’s cheeks flushed again, but she couldn’t suppress a smile. “You truly think so?” she asked.
“Truly.”
“But—but what about Tiera? Jalil spends all his time with her. Do you think—”
“Tiera hates all of us,” said Surayya, her lips turned down in contempt. “All she wants is to leave this place.”
“She does?”
“Sure. Can’t you see it in the way she acts?”
“Anyhow,” said Amina, “you don’t need to worry; Jalil doesn’t have eyes for her.”
Mira bit her lip while Amina stepped forward and put a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t be embarrassed. Jalil is quite a catch—you should talk with Mother and make it happen.”
Mira silently nodded, her heart still pounding in her chest. Ever since she was a little girl, the thought of leaving her home to marry a stranger had absolutely terrified her. To marry someone she loved, while staying in her father’s tent—it almost seemed like too much to hope for.
At that moment, the door to the cooking tent parted. The three girls turned just as Shira stepped inside.
“Girls, girls, girls!” their mother shouted as she waddled over to the washing table. “When are you ever going to be done with these dishes? Aie! The more of you I put on a job, the slower you work.”
“Sorry, Mother,” said Surayya, a bit sheepishly. “We were—”
“Stop yapping and get back to your chores! Our guests will be eating again in less than two hours, and I don’t want them choking on the remains of the last meal.”
She turned to Mira, hands at her hips. “Mira, dry off your hands and come with me.”
Mira looked uneasily at Amina and Surayya, but they had already returned to their chores. Her hands shook nervously, and she carefully wiped them down with the vacuum sponge, doing her best to reclaim as much water as she could.
“Why are you moving so slowly, girl?” Shira nagged. “I don’t have all day.”
“Yes, Mother.”
“Where are you taking her?” Surayya asked, glancing up from her work.
“Mira and I are going to have a little chat,” their mother said. “It doesn’t concern you.”
“Is it about Jalil?” Amina asked. Mira suddenly wanted to die.
“I said it doesn’t concern you,” Shira bellowed. “Now see to your work—and be quick about it!”
It’s about Jalil, Mira thought woefully to herself. She was eavesdropping the whole time—she probably heard everything.
“Well,” Shira said, “are you ready or not?”
Mira carefully set the vacuum sponge back in its sheath and took a deep breath.
“Yes,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.
* * * * *
“You mind telling me what this is all about?” Tiera asked as she followed Jalil to the dirt embankment at the edge of the compound.
Jalil glanced over his shoulder and motioned for her to be quiet. “Shh! The others can’t know we’re here.”
Tiera rolled her eyes and followed him over the embankment to the other side, far enough away that no one could eavesdrop on their conversation. Together, they sat down in the shade, backs against the dusty slope so that they were hidden from view.
The sky overhead was cloudless and perfectly blue from horizon to horizon. A warm breeze blew across Jalil’s face, tickling his skin with a few stray grains of sand. The rust-red landscape had changed since the storm, but he still recognized the familiar line of the mountains on the horizon, as well as the wind-carved boulders and outcroppings that surrounded the camp: pillars of black and red stone, standing watch like ageless sentinels over a place that felt, almost, as if it could be his home.
Almost, but not quite.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before,” he began, “but I couldn’t risk letting anyone discover my plans until now.”
“What? That you want to leave the camp once the wedding is over?”
Jalil’s jaw dropped. “How—how did you—”
“It’s not too hard to figure out,” she said. “And honestly, you have been a bit more aloof than usual these last few days.”
He glanced over his shoulder again, just to make sure no one had overheard. “Well, promise not to tell anyone, okay?”
“Sure. Where do you plan on going, anyways?”
Jalil reached underneath his shirt and pulled out the pendant he wore around his neck. “Do you know what this is?” he asked, holding it out to Tiera.
She took it and examined it closely for a few moments. “Yeah,” she said. “That’s the necklace you had on you when Father found you out
in the desert, isn’t it?”
“More than a necklace,” he said, taking it back. “It’s a memory chip full of data that I’ve never been able to access. Data from my home, Tiera—perhaps from my birth parents.”
“Great. How does that figure into you leaving?”
“Can’t you see?” he said, stuffing the pendant back under his shirt. “I have to know what’s on this memory chip, Tiera—I absolutely must. But no trader that’s passed through the camp has been able to read it. If I stay here, I’ll never uncover the truth.”
Tiera nodded. “So where do you plan to go?”
Jalil turned away from her and glanced out over the reddish brown horizon. His body stiffened, the way one stiffens in a dream just before coming back to the waking world. He hesitated for a moment, unsure whether to give voice to his true intentions—as if afraid that by naming them, they would somehow lose their power.
“Where are you going?” Tiera asked again. “You can trust me—I won’t tell.”
“To the temple,” he whispered.
Tiera frowned. “The temple?”
“Yes—the Temple of a Thousand Suns.”
She stared at him for a few moments, uncomprehending. When realization finally struck, her eyes grew wide and her jaw dropped open in shock.
“Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
“But—but that’s the holiest shrine in the known universe! It’s the Noble Sanctuary, the Center of All Creation, the—”
“I know.”
“But why?” she asked. “Some people spend their whole lives trying to make the pilgrimage—even Father hasn’t been there yet.”
He took a deep breath. “I don’t know if I’m worthy enough to make the pilgrimage, but I do know one thing: the Holy Archives are at the temple, and they contain all the knowledge and wisdom of Old Earth. If anyone can read the data stored in my pendant, it’s those who keep the Holy Archives.”