Song of a Dead Star

by Zamil Akhtar

  Shar didn’t know what to say. Later, the baby fell asleep. A week of prison had aged its mother by a year.

  “You complain about food,” Shar said, “take some of mine.”

  “You have kids?”

  “Me? Kids? I’m still a kid myself.”

  “Really? You look like you ought to have two, or three, by now.”

  “I’m not that old.”

  “That’s not what I’m saying.” She managed a weak smile. “Thank you. But food isn’t enough, he needs medicine.”

  “Speaking of age, you seem a little young for a mother.”

  “I’m not his mother. I took care of him, that’s all.” Her eyes teared up. “I had nothing to do with any of it. I’m not a Hayat. Why am I even here? Why did Nur do this to me?”

  “A slave, then? Like me. We’re the only non-Shirmas in this dungeon. A Necian, and an Almarian, surrounded by Shirmians, in an Almarian jail. Sounds like a fucking joke.”

  “I’m just waiting for the day they kill all of us. For some relief.”

  The baby slept blissfully unaware.

  “I would never have guessed you weren’t its mother,” Shar said, “the way you treat the kid.”

  “The boy did nothing. How could they? How can they? The new Shah — just for this, Nur, please put him in the lowest level of hell, burn him for eternity, don’t ever let that bastard out. Kill me if you want, punish me too, but don’t let him go.”

  Shar waited for that fat guard to come around. A few hours later, he saw him down the hall making his rounds. Shar whistled.

  The guard approached and bent down. His gut became oblong. “The hell you want?”

  “Look, I need you to get something for me.”

  “No, you listen, you little bitch. It’s bad enough that I sneak in that vial for you. This is a no-luxuries facility.”

  “Okay, okay. Get me some diarrhea medicine, aright? I really need some.”

  He pointed to himself, eyes bulging. “What am I, a fucking delivery man? Is that what I look like?”

  “The money isn’t worth your while?”

  “Money is for one thing. You want your meds, you don’t get your drugs. Pick or choose.”

  Shar thought about it. Without saqara tree oil detox would return, multiply his misery, turn him into the worst mess in the dungeon. Already, that tiny vial wasn’t enough to ease the time. Thoughts of escape had multiplied so much.

  The baby cried again. And the girl, on cue, hummed that Kalamic lullaby.

  “Aaaash ghhh tamm.”

  “The meds,” Shar said, “I’ll go without the oil. Just get me the meds.”

  The man stood; his gut rolled back in. “Okay then. Tonight’s my city night, so you’ll get it tomorrow.”

  The girl in the cell sang. The baby cried. Shar stared into the little vial of saqara tree oil, desiring to sniff. He brought it to his nose, crushed it in his hand, and threw it out the rusted iron bars.

  Through the wilderness, Kav and Saina traveled. This was a peaceful place, green and full of life, much more vibrant than the cold forests of Devshirme. The trail they were on was easy, and Saina clung so close to Kav’s back she often bumped into him. But instead of observing the beauty, Kav kept his eyes closed and focused on the map in his mind.

  On his spectrum, the forest looked like a swirl. From the tiniest grain of dirt to the towering cedars, it was all a swirl of shedding and amassing colors. “Tree,” “leaf,” “bird” — each had a unique yet interwoven pattern of colors.

  Not only was his map range expansive, it was deep, as if his spectrum lines portrayed every fiber of every leaf of every tree in the forest. A rich, vibrant, flowing spectrum. He was never good with spectrum, so how did this even happen?

  A message hit his mind’s eye.

  Hello, Majnoon?

  It had an unrecognizable frequency, perhaps a mistake. Kav responded.

  Uh hello, are you from SADB by any chance?

  SADB? No, I’m looking for Majnoon, are you Majnoon?

  No, where are you messaging from?

  You’re not Majnoon? Sorry for bothering you.

  Okay...

  Kav looked back at Saina. Her complexion was like a rose; the shadows of swaying leaves covered her face.

  “Oww!” she yelled and grasped her left shoe. “Ahh! Glass! Oh no...”

  “Lemme see.”

  A slender piece of glass protruded from her sole. “I’m okay, it didn’t pierce my skin — thank Nur. It just made a little hole.” She pulled it out.

  Her wedding slippers, with their pink rims, seemed out of place in this forest.

  “You couldn’t be wearing worse shoes for this situation,” Kav said. “How’d you manage to run so fast in those?”

  She smiled. A smile that covered over worry. “These things. It hurt to drop all those rubiyya for them. It hurts to wear them. At least, I expect them to outlast this world into the next.”

  What did she just say?

  He remembered Layla lying next to him in the courtyard of the Palace on the Shore, as the Eight-Sided Magi ship opened its mouth to release Ouroborus. And he remembered the last thing she said to him, “Kav, our bond will outlast this world into the next.”

  Kav grabbed Saina’s shoulder. “What do you mean by that!?”

  “Huh? By what?” She backed away.

  “By what you just said. ‘Outlast this world into the next.’”

  “I mean these shoes better last. I thought you’d get it.”

  “But why’d you say it like that!?”

  She rubbed her chin. “Oh, it’s from a recital. My father used to like it.”

  Even the way she said it, was just like Layla. Even the way she looks right now, rubbing her chin...

  “What recital?”

  “The Recital of Iskander. You okay?”

  It’s just a line from a recital. It’s just like Doc Reyta said — until I move on, I’m gonna project Layla onto other women. I’m just projecting.

  Kav untensed. “It’s just I heard that line before, that’s all. Let’s keep going.”

  “Huh? Umm...okay.”

  They continued on. Kav closed his eyes and focused on spectrum. On the map, the forest became even more vivid, as if colors overflowed out of their objects. He didn’t even need his eyes to step over a twig or avoid a bush. What the hell had happened to make his spectrum ability so absurdly powerful? As he turned to avoid a tree, a message hit his mind.

  Hello, is this Majnoon?

  You again? You’ve got the wrong person.

  Oh, I’m so sorry. But I’m sure this is Majnoon’s frequency.

  No, it isn’t.

  Aren’t you Majnoon? You must be Majnoon. I’m sure you’re Majnoon.

  “Hey Kav, you talking to someone?” Saina asked.

  Kav looked back at her and shook his head. “No one.”

  I’m blocking your frequency.

  Where his consciousness and the aperture intersected, Kav wrote a frequency block. That ought to do it.

  The two treaded onward and came to an area with a stream.

  Saina tugged on his shirt. “I need to...”

  “You need to what?”

  She stared blankly.

  Oh... “Right! I’ll just wait here by this tree.”

  Kav rested against the tree and closed his eyes. On the spectrum map, the world seemed to rotate around him. He was the eye of a hurricane, a dot on a rainbow. The map relaxed him — until a message cut through it.

  Majnoon — that won’t work.

  Kav’s heart skipped a beat. You again?

  You can’t shut me out.

  Just how the hell are you still talking to me? I blocked your frequency!

  Because, I know you too well.

  Leave me alone. Ugh...

  On his spectrum. Drip. Drip. Blood washed over the swirl of colors. Like the map was bleeding.

  You want to be left alone...again? If you really want to be alone, you know what you have to d
o. Feel it, beneath your hand.

  There was a shard of glass, sharp as a knife’s edge.

  The blood covered his mind’s eye. Dripped onto every thought. Flooded his senses. He couldn’t open his eyes. Red replaced the rainbow. He knew he would kill not to smell this blood.

  Sweet blood. Too sugary, like honey poured over strawberries. Layla’s blood. It smothered his consciousness and demanded fulfillment.

  Kav picked up the shard of glass.

  You shouldn’t have saved that stray kitten. What a mistake.

  This time, the message came with no frequency. Kav messaged back.

  So, it was you messaging all this time. Why the games? What’re you trying to make me do?

  What you must do to remain faithful to the Promise. Kill.

  How about I kill you instead!? Where are you!?

  The blood on his map started to boil.

  I am close, closer to you than your jugular vein.

  Stop it!

  Do it. She’s helpless. It will feel so good. What would Layla think if she saw you with another girl?

  Layla...

  A red firefly fluttered onto the bloody spectrum — Saina. Only a few steps away.

  Layla is waiting for you. All else is a distraction on the path. You eliminate distractions, or you fail to win. Get rid of the red-eyed girl, then face the Magi at SADB.

  Saina didn’t do me any wrong!

  Kill her.

  Kav clutched the shard of glass. Saina appeared next to him. Forced by the smell of Layla’s blood, his hand struck with the glass.

  Saina shrieked. It all went cold, nothing in Kav’s soul, as every ounce of light drained out of him.

  He looked at his right wrist. The shard of glass stuck out where numbing pain flared. The skin beneath his aperture was cut; blood gushed out.

  “Kav! Your wrist,” Saina said. “You...why did you do that!?”

  “I couldn’t let it happen. I couldn’t.”

  Saina held his wrist and pulled something from his bloodied aperture. The tiny jewel twinkled between her fingers. “Your twicrys...it came out.”

  “Good.”

  “Good? Why did you just cut yourself!?”

  “To save your life.”

  “Save my life? What do you mean?”

  “Please, don’t ask anymore.”

  “Kav, you lost your mind?” She glared at him. “Your wrist is all bloody!”

  Saina tore cloth from the bottom of her dress. Broken red and gold threads stuck out. What a way to ruin an expensive dress. Then she broke a twig from the tree. She took some of its leaves and wiped Kav’s wrist.

  “What do you mean ‘to save your life’!? Answer me!” Her eyes were an intense bloodbath. Was she angry, or scared?

  She wrapped his wrist with her silk bandage. Delicately, she tied the knot. He couldn’t feel the pain anymore.

  “For Nur’s sake,” she said. “I saw you stab yourself! And you won’t tell me why!”

  “You don’t want to know, Saina.” Kav got back on his feet. “Let’s go. We shouldn’t be far now. Watch out for the glass.”

  The fields were covered in it. Glass.

  Saina glared at him with her bloodbath eyes. “Why won’t you answer me!?” She looked at the field. “And what’s with all this glass?”

  Kav walked through it, shoes crunching. “Soldiers conduct sand into glass when they’re bored.” He closed his eyes for spectrum.

  Where have all the colors gone?

  Of course, without a twicrys in his aperture slot, he had no spectrum. Nor could he conduct, or send and receive messages. His inner vision was dry.

  Even with his eyes open, everything seemed ashen. The world seemed dead, the breeze bitter. Kav’s throat dried. His body ached. Without his twicrys, without sunshine in his veins, the world was a bitter sight.

  Kav recalled that whenever he removed his twicrys, strange things happened to his vision and body. But he’d never been without a twicrys for more than twenty minutes.

  I need to get Saina to her family, find that Magus, and—

  “Kav, you’re scaring me. And I’m scared enough already. Explain all this, please.”

  No spectrum to guide him, the path ahead was uncertain. But the glass was a sign that they were close.

  “Saina, try it now. Try contacting your family.”

  His body numbed. He wanted to tear his nerves out so he wouldn’t have to feel the numbness.

  Saina closed her eyes. She was a bright red thing in a withering grey world. “Aliya! I found Aliya! Let’s go! Oh thank Nur! We’re only a few minutes away!”

  Nur...help me too.

  That day, years ago, detox threatened to end Shar. For days during his prison sentence, Shar felt like bugs were in his eyes. He wanted to rip them out so he could squash those bugs. When he sneezed, it was like his brain tried to come out. He covered himself in dirt, even bit at the ground.

  When the detox was over, he felt like he’d just been born, sprung from his mother’s womb.

  At least the baby was better. He’d stopped crying, and the smell went away.

  Now, caretaker and baby slept. Shar watched them. They breathed in unison — in together, out together.

  Down the hall, a guard clanged his blade on a cell bar. The girl awoke and noticed Shar staring at her.

  “You look better,” she said.

  “Yeah? So does he.”

  “Then you’ve stopped referring to the baby as ‘it’.”

  “Was I doing that?”

  The girl nodded. “You definitely were.”

  Shar’s mind was blank. After the detox, he didn’t feel the need to think about anything. The girl fidgeted, staring at invisible thoughts, as if she had something to say.

  “I have a question,” she said. “If you could do one thing before you die, what would it be?”

  Did she have to get so philosophical?

  “One thing? How about you give me an example. You go first.”

  “I’d like to move back to the village where I was born, away from the city, where people are still people. And get married, and have a kid of my own. A son, like this one.”

  Shar imagined three stick figures next to a mud house, surrounded by a river beneath a smiling sun.

  “It’s all I think about,” she said, “my last comfort. So, now you go.”

  “One thing I’d do before I died. One thing....” He left her with silence.

  “You don’t know, huh? Even in the face of death...”

  He knew. He just couldn’t say the words.

  “It’s okay,” she said. “I guess you have more faith in life than I do. May Nur bless you, with a long and fruitful life, for helping us. Maybe, just maybe, He’ll answer a prayer of mine for once.”

  A troop of guards swarmed the hall. They hit their blades on the bars, waking everyone. And coming in after them were men in blue uniforms — Continentals. A whole troop of them.

  Cell doors were opened. Prisoners were dragged out and pushed into a line. The girl held the baby close to her breast; she shook and perspired as the men approached. One of the guards opened her cell and yanked her up as she clung to the baby. They put her in line with all the others and pushed everyone out of the hall.

  Then it was Shar’s turn. Two guards entered his cell and grabbed his arms. They bound him in chains and pushed him into the line with a kick to the back. Shar trudged along with the stampede of Shirmian prisoners, Almarian guards, and Continentals.

  They were brought to an open area — a circular stage with empty seats all around. Surrounding the stage were more Continentals. Hundreds of them.

  Up on a box seat, a man stood in flowing Almarian garb, watching as the troops lined everyone up. He leaned against the railing as if looking out from his palace balcony at the Darya river. Next to him appeared a man in Continental uniform — a high ranking officer from the looks of it.

  Sunshine simmered through the ceiling panels. Sweat made puddles on the ground. Wi
th everyone lined up, the Almarian man upstairs spoke.

  “In the name of Nu—” The man coughed. His eyes scanned the room. He turned to the Continental man, then turned back to look at the prisoners. “In the name of Nur. We’ll give you all...a proper burial here in Almaria.”

  A prisoner wailed. A middle-aged Shirmian woman. A guard banged the hilt of his blade on her neck. She fell forward. The guard pulled her up by the hair.

  “Stop!” the Almarian man said. “Let them die with a sliver of their former honor.” The man stared blankly. It was as if he made eye contact with Shar. One of those encompassing stares. Then he turned around and picked up something: a stack of papers. “My name is Prince Guldano of Almaria, emir of this province, and on behalf of our patron, the Shah of Devshirme, I will administer the punishments to be carried out from your trials.”

  “What fucking trials?” said a young prisoner. “Fuck you and your patron usurper!” Just a boy, the son of nobility before all this. But that didn’t matter. A Continental grappled his neck, another kicked his face.

  Five kicks later, the boy’s left eye was mush and blood oozed from the hole. His wails were background noise for the remainder of the proceedings.

  The Almarian prince read out a name. The Continentals dragged an elder man to the center of the area. A malnourished bag of dust. He knelt, hands tied behind him. The Almarian prince gave a little nod.

  A man in black walked onto the stage. The Almarian Insignia of Two Rivers glittered blood red on his uniform, like some kind of cruel joke. He unsheathed his blade — a three-foot Almarian talwar.

  “You have been found guilty of treason,” the prince said. “The punishment is death. Last words?”

  The bag of dust shook his head. “May the Shah’s hands be cut. I would rather bow to Angra Mainyu!”

  The prince covered his eyes. Blue fire immersed the three-foot talwar. In the next second, the head of the old man flew off his body. A slice so swift, Shar didn’t see it. Blood sprinkled over the grounds.

  And this is how they all went. They all had something to say about the Shah’s injustice. Not much about death, or Nur, or where they were going.

  After an hour of executions, there were three left: Shar, the girl, and the baby. She’d shut her eyes the whole time, the baby warmed on her breasts.