Song of a Dead Star

by Zamil Akhtar

  “Huh?” Saina said. “You gonna buy it for her?”

  With his one and only shard, Kav approached the woman. The little girl followed, eying him with hunger and fury.

  “Flavor, sir?” the woman said.

  Kav turned to the girl. “What flavor you want?”

  She said nothing.

  “Just get her raspberry,” Saina said. “She likes raspberry.”

  “Raspberry!” Kav raised his finger.

  The woman reached into a box of ice and handed Kav a little cup of pink ice cream.

  The girl stood at his feet. She stared up at it, melting the ice cream with her apocalyptic gaze.

  Kav kneeled, rubbed her hair, and gave her the cup.

  She stuck her finger in and licked the ice cream off. How cute. After a few pokes at the ice cream, she grabbed the whole thing and devoured it in one monstrous bite.

  “Thanks you.” Eyes closed, mouth wide open, she smiled at Kav.

  Yes, I win.

  Saina stood still, as if receiving a message. “We should go to the house, apparently they made lunch and it’s ready.”

  In Kav’s stomach, there was joy at the thought of lunch. Phantom kababs burned on his taste buds, the ghost of fish curry poured into his throat. What would they have for lunch today?

  Kav soon learned it wasn’t what they would have for lunch that mattered, but whom. He sat on the floor inside a lovely Almarian home, a plate of piping hot kabab in front of him. He could hear the kabab beg, “Eat me now! I will become one with your body, flow through your veins like ocean, fuse with your soul. I will grant you my tremendous power!”

  But that didn’t matter. Sitting all around him, to his left and to his right, were ripe Almarian girls.

  “So, what was your name? Kowm was it?” What was her name? Something with an S and an R. Sahra? Sahar? Who cares? She was hot as that freshly grilled kabab. Slender enough to be held by her thighs.

  “Kav, actually.”

  The other really hot girl said something in that language. Everyone giggled, except for confused Kav.

  Remember, until I know for sure, I’m still married...

  “Aren’t you gonna eat your food?” that one said. Her name was...Saf? Safa? Something with an S and an F. What did it matter? Her body, he just wanted to fall into it, lay himself over it. The musk of her scent intertwined with the spice of the kabab — heaven in a smell.

  “Try it and tell us if you like it.” She bit into some kabab, exposing her tongue.

  If only they were all wearing blue socks, and nothing but.

  I’m still married, dammit! I can’t move on until I know if Layla is...

  “There aren’t many things I love more than Almarian kabab,” Kav threw a bit into his mouth and swallowed. “Except for Almarian—”

  Fire crackled inside him. It burnt his gums, spread to his tongue, flared on his throat. “C-Can you pass the water?”

  S and R had the water jug, a few seats away. She picked it up, exposing the henna running down her arm. “You want this?”

  The fire inside melted Kav’s teeth and turned his tongue to mush. “Yesh.”

  Giggling erupted all around. Kav smiled too, just to be a part of it. Help.

  The fire raged in his nose. It would soon scathe his eyes, then probably turn his brain to char. That would mean death, but at least he would die smiling. Nur save me.

  “How badly do you want it?” S and R twirled the jug.

  “He looks like he needs it real bad,” said S and F.

  Another of the girls, who sat farthest away, slumped forward and frowned. “Just give it to him already, he’s in pain.”

  Her name was Aliya. Kav managed to remember merely out of respect, since today was her special day.

  The jug finally came. He showered water into his glass and doused the fire. It took five cups.

  Kyars would’ve died for this. He could at least make a move without feeling guilty...

  As he watched everyone laugh and talk and feast, Kav pinged Train Service. A train was to leave for SADB at 15:35, and another one at 21:45.

  Saina returned. She had a change of clothes for Kav, probably to make him wedding acceptable. He still wore the slacks given to him by Nizan at the clinic, having tossed his uniform in the village. Saina took him to a bedroom where he could change.

  “Like it?” She stood at the doorway, about to leave.

  These were stunning threads: a black Almarian shalwar, with gold and red embroidery around the edges. The puffy pants had the same color scheme. I’ve never in my life worn something this nice.

  “Saina, I can’t.”

  “Can’t what?”

  “I can’t wear this, and I can’t come to the wedding. I don’t belong here. I’ve gotta head back to my base.”

  “What about the sheikh? You want to talk to him, don’t you?”

  “I’m not thinking straight. I’ve just been...really out of it these few days. There’s a war going on. I can’t wander about in this place while Haemians are invading. I’ve gotta get back to my base.”

  Her irises sank. “Please, just stay for the wedding. Let me make up for what my uncle said to you.”

  Is that why you did all this? “Look, you guys have done enough for me. You let me stay at your place, bought my train ticket, fed me, clothed me. If anything, I owe you. A few harsh words doesn’t mean you owe me anything.”

  “Then...stay for me, okay?” Saina said. “As a favor, to me.”

  The fabric felt smooth, not quite silk, but refined. It felt wrong in his rough hands.

  Kav nodded. “As a favor then.”

  Saina’s irises reddened and glowed when she smiled. Strange, strange girl. But she was probably the nicest anyone had been to him.

  The nicest, since Doc Reyta. One year ago, during a rainy week and just days after his discharge from the clinic, Kav scrunched under a cardboard box to get protection from the chilling downpour. Separah smelled like moldy gravel when it rained, and the stench was on his face, clothes, and even inside him. There was nothing in his mind but moldy gravel, and a desire to be dry.

  The cardboard didn’t provide that, didn’t do its job. He sneezed and wondered where he could move without being shooed.

  Sleep. When I wake, maybe it’ll all be over.

  He shut his eyes and listened to the rain drown him.

  The drops stopped. He heard someone call, “Kav, this ain’t no way to live.”

  An angry Shirmian man stood over him: Doc Reyta, shielding him with an umbrella.

  “For years, we split hairs to get you back in gear. And now you wanna catch pneumonia or some shit? Come on, get your ass up.”

  Doc brought Kav home — an apartment between the markets and the shore. Gave him a pillow, a blanket, a mattress, and a little space that was probably a closet. Gave him a towel, and told him to take a bath while he made coffee. But Kav just stood there, dripping.

  “Tomorrow, go out there and find yourself some work. You ain’t gonna live here forever.”

  “What’s the point?”

  “So you don’t end up dead on some street side, that’s the point.”

  Doc placed a kettle on the boiler plate, put his hand on the plate handle, and conducted some heat into it.

  “Listen Kav, there’s gotta be something you wanna do with your life.”

  “I want the life I left behind.”

  The kettle steamed; Doc let go of the handle. “Okay, you wanna go searching for your girl? Then get a job, make some money, so you can pay for all the expenses of going on a fucking world tour. You get the point? Have a plan, actively seek it, do something, don’t just sit around and let the rain drown you out.”

  He handed Kav a cup of coffee. The mocha aroma drifted to his nose and warmed his insides, making him feel like maybe something could be done.

  Today, Kav sat at a table in the wedding hall. A band on the stage played the organ and drum while singing poetry in that language. There were some elder fol
ks at his table, and to his surprise, another islander to make him feel a little less out of place.

  “You see, the official law is that art can still be done in Kalamic, as well as spiritual services,” the islander man said. “But schooling, business, government, et cetera, must be conducted in Shirmian.”

  “Uh-huh.” Kav took a sip of his rosewater lemonade. Sour but sweet. “That’s real interesting.”

  “It’s great our Almarian brothers have retained their language, something us islanders weren’t able to do after eighty years. Mine and your generation don’t have the tongue for our classic language.”

  The guy apparently worked for HEX, managing the Qindsmar branch of their medical equipment manufacturing department. He’d been here for twelve years and was fluent in Kalamic.

  “It’s just...too bad,” Kav said. Where’s the damn sheikh?

  The fat singer shouted something, to which the audience cheered. It sounded like “QAAALB HAAA.” He moved his hands in the air and stared intensely.

  “Love’s voice keeps saying, everything I have is yours. So why do you still feel pain?” the islander man translated. “Your soul long ago drowned in the middle of a vast sea, while you pretended to be thirsty.”

  “Stunning.” Kav jiggled the ice in his cup; his drink had run low.

  “Nur kisses you awake every morning, but you insist on sleeping and sleeping. That’s the end of it. Did I translate that right?”

  One of the elder Almarian men nodded. “Perfect, you’re more adept in the tongue than most of our youngsters these days.”

  The bride and groom sat on a puffy throne behind the band. As the singer and his troop dragged their instruments off the stage, the master of ceremonies returned to make an announcement.

  “We’ll now begin the Agreement of Bond,” he said. “Sheikh Lacan, who honors us with his esteemed presence, will preside.”

  That’s him. Finally.

  A man who’d just come in through the hall doors climbed onto the stage. He looked like any other Almarian face. There was some red dye in his otherwise dark beard, probably covering over a few grey hairs.

  “In the name of Nur. You all, really, honor me.” His voice boomed across the hall. He sounded younger than he looked.

  The islander man whispered, “Incredible that the bride’s family managed to get this guy. He travels often between Almaria and the islands, so he’s well known everywhere. This guy’s big time, known not just as a man of spirituality and a poet, but as a scientist too. A regular polymath.”

  The sheikh cleared his throat. “It is difficult to form such a bond in a world which is constantly tearing them apart.”

  The crowd stirred.

  “But bonds once made, even when broken physically, spiritually remain. So that, in the next life, should it please Nur, you will be with those you love. One recital says, ‘Can you break apart what Nur has joined together?’ And that is what I pray will happen with Aliya and Atash. That Nur will join them with an unbreakable connection, that neither war, nor oppression, nor day to day struggle will ever sunder.”

  Unbreakable connection my fish loving ass.

  The bride and groom eyed each other. Aliya blushed, then returned her gaze to the floor. She was like the Mother Shah, sitting on her tinsel throne. The city man Atash now looked like the fucking Shahanshah himself.

  Though auntie had always said it was bad manners, Kav rested his head on his hands. He closed his eyes to zone out from listening to the ceremony. But that only made the words clearer.

  “Let these two then write the binding contract, with all of you and Nur Himself as the witnesses. All things were created in pairs, as two halves, waiting for reunion. So let us witness to the formation of this union, and may it be blessed, and may it never ever break.”

  Kav got up and, through the throng of people, approached the front. Spiced incense, burning from candles on the stage’s edge, filled his nose. At the base of the stage, he waited with some of the servants who paused to listen. At this angle, he couldn’t see the bride and groom, and couldn’t witness their signing of the contract.

  A cheer shook the room. Everyone rose and chanted something in Kalamic. As it died down, Kav watched the sheikh descend from the stage. Through all the people, he made his way toward him.

  The sheikh was just a few yards away now.

  What do I even ask him? Do I have words to express what I want to say?

  A mob circled the sheikh, everyone talking to him at once. In a sea of people, the tide became fierce.

  Forget this. I don’t want to hear those words. What if he tells me that it’s Layla in there?

  But I waited all this time.

  Forget it, dammit. I don’t want to know.

  He hadn’t wanted to know since that day last year, when on the order of Doc Reyta, Kav got a job conducting power at a factory that made lawnmower blades. It had been difficult to find a job; the moment he’d walk into an establishment, his islander presence filled all eyes with fear.

  Anyway, at the factory, they paid him one twinsen per hour to stand there with a wire and conduct sunshine into the conveyer belt.

  One day, four hours into his shift, Kav was standing there as usual, the sun filling him through the ceiling glass. He converted the sunshine into the power formula that ran the machine, as he was supposed to. Then, one of the other conductors fell asleep, slowing the conveyor. But for some reason, the boss stormed out the observation box shouting at Kav.

  “You lazy fish, you’re going easy aren’t you?”

  There were four others doing the same job, but he was the only fish.

  “Me?” Kav said. “I’m giving it all I got.”

  Woken by the shouting, the sleeping conductor stood firm, as if his diligence never waivered.

  “If I say it’s you, it’s you. You want your ass should go back on the streets?”

  “Alright, sorry about that. I’ll do my best from now on.”

  Whatever. A week later, Kav got his first payment — 65 shards of twinsen, enough for maybe two train rides. He kept the money under his mattress at Doc Reyta’s place.

  Next week, there was more drama.

  Kav was unloading a box of parts, when it slipped from his hands. Scraps, bolts, and screws scattered onto the floor. The boss didn’t let this accident escape criticism.

  “Fish, can’t carry a damn box. If only the old Shah were still in power, I’d see you lynched with the rest of your kind.”

  “Why the hell did you hire me then?”

  “You talking back to me?” The boss closed in, stared him down. “I’ll say it again — you talking back to me?”

  Kav put his hand in his shirt and touched the bond. He pushed on it to give himself a prick of pain.

  “No boss, I ain’t. And I’m sorry, I’ll do better.”

  He did “better.” The boss scurried off to attend to business, and Kav walked over to the processing machine. The monstrous thing — it belched oil and aperture juice, and chugged out lawnmower blades. Its mouth could eat a rhinoceros.

  Kav stuck his finger in the interface hole on the control panel. A bunch of options appeared in his mind’s eye.

  CYCLE VARIANCE >

  ORDER NUMBER >

  ENGINE CONTROL >

  BELT SPEED >

  Yeah, he fucked it up good. Then fled before anyone noticed.

  When Kav got home, he told Doc Reyta what happened. Doc was in de-stress mode, drinking his coffee as he read the paper.

  “You idiot kid. What did I tell you? Have a plan, stick to it, know what you gotta do to achieve it, and don’t swerve. That’s how you win. That’s how you get what you want, that’s how...hell, are you even listening? How you gonna look for her without any money?”

  “I don’t want to look for her.”

  “You change your mind? The other day, I gave you a choice, and you said—”

  “Look! I don’t want to look for her, okay!? What good is it gonna do? I know I’m not gonna fi
nd her. I’ve got a head on my shoulders, and it’s been three years. I know when to let go. I know the past is gone. I know when enough’s enough. I know I need to move on.”

  “Then do just that. Move on,” Reyta put down his paper and coffee. “Look. You got a lot of anger in there. A lot of rage swirling about. You should put that to some use. You know what? Go join the army.”

  “What army?”

  “The Continental Army, what else?”

  “You forget,” Kav said, “to me, there’s no greater evil.”

  “Let me tell you something. There is a greater evil, and I’ve seen ‘em. I’ve fought ‘em. They’re called Haemians. And the new Shah, he’s changed things. Islanders are equals now, you ought to fight for him, fight for that. Someone like you, an islander, a strong conductor, can do a lot of good in the army. And if you want to get stronger, there’s no better place.”

  “So the same Shah who executed Layla’s family also made us his equals? Screw that, and fuck him.”

  The next day, soldiers knocked at the door of the Reyta household — with an arrest order for Kav the islander.

  “You ain’t taking the boy.” The angry man blocked them from entering the apartment.

  Kav waited in his closet and listened as Reyta argued.

  “I’ll pay the factory damages, how much was it?

  “Fifty-thousand twinsen? What’d the boy do, blow up a gold mine?

  “You ain’t taking him to prison! You know who I am? There are plenty among the Selukal families that owe me favors.”

  He pulled a favor — got a rich man to loan Kav’s debt. A rich man, who was also a general of the Continental Army. Of course, because Kav was an islander, the CA had a use for his conduction ability. To pay off his debt, they enlisted him at Ekrah Academy, a school supposedly for the most creative and disciplined conductors. So he left Separah, on the soaring wings of a levship, toward his new life.