Song of a Dead Star

by Zamil Akhtar

The door flung open. Bayer treaded in and plopped next to Mezzin, a jewel container in his right hand. “I just had this thing appraised. None of the jewelers know what it’s worth. Never seen a thing like it, they all say.”

  Prime time to interrupt. Who cares what Bayer was on about? This was a saving hand from drowning in the discomfort of the former topic.

  “Is that so?” Mezzin said. “Lemme see.”

  Bayer opened the jewel container. The thing inside glittered, then flashed like a shiny bell, motionless. Its container was the universe, black threads spreading over everything, and the jewel was a star — once burning until it cooled and became a diamond.

  “I really don’t know.” Mezzin couldn’t break free from what ached his mind. I’m a traitor. “It’s...something.”

  “This is a twicrys — high grade,” Bayer said. “Apparently, one of the buyers at our last auction used it as payment.”

  Nesmith fingered it, turning it over. His hand must have touched the sun. “It sure doesn’t look like a twicrys. Not the right color.”

  Mezzin wanted to touch it. Just to be a part of the team. To belong. He put his finger on it.

  What is your Paradise? Will you grasp my rope, and climb up to Paradise?

  He pulled back. The words were in him, printing, scalding his mind. It fell into his soul, where a droplet of rage flowed. What was that? A hurricane — anger whirled within, crying for explosion.

  Bayer and Nesmith began talking about something else. A message hit Mezzin’s consciousness.

  Boss, a message from your insider. He’s agreed to see you and will be waiting at the agreed upon place at 16:00.

  It was from one of the look outs. Finally, word from that man had come.

  Tell him I’ll be there with the item of interest.

  Mezzin took Zauri. Alone. Bound her hands with twine and led her out in the streets. She was just strange. She would stop, look around with wonder, and gaze at the sky, into the sun, then wince away as if just realizing how badly it burned.

  Maybe she liked the burning of a hot day? Today was the hottest since that day, years ago, when the water dried up at the wells — such was the heat wave that seized Kerb. But the wells of House Hayat continued flowing, so Kav and Mezzin lined up at a Hayat well to fill their buckets.

  Mother worked for a Hayat family. They were all over Keldan at the time: a noble Shirmian clan, settling here to benefit from the Blessing of the Deep Blue. The blessing that made the Keldanese the world’s most talented conductors.

  “You know who that is?” Kav pointed to the girl bending at the base of the well. She would fill a bucket, hand it back to the person in line, and then fill the next one.

  “I think so,” Mezzin said, “a Hayat girl.”

  She was soaking from the splashes. Her face too, was wet with sweat. Her hair was blonde, like the color of a shard of twinsen.

  “Expensive looking servant girl.” Kav watched her with an eye trained by the Sons.

  “No, she’s no servant girl. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen her before. She’s the daughter of the guy Mam works for.”

  They moved closer; she was a few yards away.

  “You lost it? They wouldn’t have their own daughter serve beggars like us water. That’s what they buy slaves for. So they can get fat in heaven while people like us hold up their thrones.”

  They moved ahead one more pace. There was no one between them and her. Her gaze downcast, she reached out for Kav to give her his bucket.

  He didn’t. “What’s your name?”

  She didn’t look up. Two hulking Shirma men who’d been chatting with each other took notice.

  “Tell me your name!”

  The Shirmas looked like they could halve a fool with a sideways chop. And they were armed. Mezzin’s heart sank into a simmering pot.

  The girl grabbed Kav’s bucket, filled it, handed it back, looked into his eyes, and whispered something. What was it? Mezzin was too concerned with her bodyguards, his attention jumping back and forth between their approach and Kav’s ridiculous move.

  He pulled Kav away and they scampered off. The whole time, Kav was transfixed, as if his mind was still at the well; his body followed Mezzin’s pull until they got home.

  Sitting on his mattress while Mezzin scrubbed the gain-medium of his blade with soapy water, Kav finally spoke. “She’s the one.”

  “The what?”

  “You know where she lives, don’t you? It’s the same place where your mom works. That monster of a palace on the Deep Blue shore that’s bigger than our entire neighborhood.”

  “Yeah...what’s your point?”

  “I can still see her.” Kav closed his eyes. “She’s on my spectrum, shining in the distance. I can’t get her off. You know what I’m saying? We both go there, sneak in, and—”

  “No! That’s where Mother works. We can’t do that! If we get caught, they’ll kill her too. And...and it’s just the stupidest thing ever!”

  “But she deserves it,” Kav said. “I can feel it in my blood. She deserves it. How self-righteous she is, thinking that by getting a little wet she’s doing us a favor. Those Shirmas need to pay. And that’s what Sons do — we make them pay.”

  Kahr raised his hands, palms open. “In the name of Nur, who provides for us without limit. Let’s dine!”

  Kav frowned at his empty cup. Hena leaned over and poured him some grape juice. It flowed into the cup rhythmically. Her eyes set on his. He resisted every urge to look down her shirt.

  “We wouldn’t be together, and so happy, if it weren’t for you. To think what Mezzin would have done to us, to me.” Her playful smile entranced Kav.

  “He’s a bad person,” Kav said. “To have stopped him from hurting another means a lot to me.”

  “A very bad person,” she said. “Did he ever do something to you?”

  I should’ve killed him.

  “Oh...no. Never knew the guy.” Kav couldn’t look anymore. Her smile said too much.

  I’m projecting. Doc told me I’d project Layla onto other women. Look, they aren’t even the same race. She’s an islander, Layla was Shirmian and Almarian. It’s just the A’ab disease — makes them seem so similar. The rest is my imagination.

  Kav turned his attention to the waterbird leg on his plate. He grabbed it and tore in, devouring the skin and meat, until he was licking the bone and sucking out the remnants of flesh.

  “You seem like you’ve never seen food before!” Kahr said. “So tell us a bit about yourself. You from Hyseria? I ask ‘cause you just don’t seem to have the pace for this place, seems like you like the laid back life.”

  Hena looked hungry for an answer, eyes unyielding. “Tell us, please? Don’t be so secretive, you’re like family to us.”

  Silence calmed Kav. He felt a firefly swim through him. “Born and raised in Kerb, kinda worked a similar job as Kahr here. Always was a pretty good conductor, always tried to be the best. We’re Keldanese...we’re supposed to be the best, I’ve always been proud of that.”

  “Kerb...really, Kav? I’m so sorry...it must be hard, being a survivor.” The way she said his name, softly annunciating the K, shortening the vowels, rolling the V. Layla would say “Kav” like that whenever she wanted something. When she wanted to snuggle, or when she wanted him to make her something with sand, or the day she told him about the end.

  Kav remembered a verse from a recital. “Nur gives and He takes. And He tries us all.”

  “I hope He gives you better than what He took,” Hena said.

  I can’t stay here. I can’t look her way anymore. I have to leave and go far-far from here.

  But his body didn’t want to say the words and move from her scent. He inhaled her sweet sweat and suntan lotion.

  “Well, I gotta go to the bathroom, be back in fifteen.” Kahr ran through the tin door.

  Hena and Kav sat alone.

  Her gaze fell on him. He looked away. She got up and started washing dishes.

  “It’s un
real how strong you are,” she said. “Strong...and yet so young.”

  Water poured onto the plates as she scrubbed in smooth circles. He suppressed every desire to watch.

  “It’s one of Nur’s gifts, that’s all,” Kav said.

  Done with the washing, she clanked the last plate into the basin.

  “You deserve a gift from me too.”

  What does that mean? Get out of here. Just get up and leave. Go.

  Hena stepped behind him. Kav rose to his feet.

  She caressed his shoulders. “Don’t go.”

  “I...I’m supposed to meet someone, and...”

  She rubbed his hair, trailed her finger in a figure-eight, whispered in his ear. “You have such wavy hair.”

  He felt her tongue on his neck, freezing his fire.

  “Layla, what are you doing?”

  “Layla? That’s not my name. Hehe.”

  She massaged his shoulders. Her lips melted on his neck.

  Kav turned and pinned her to the wall. “Hena, stop.”

  Her hands poured onto his waist, across his belt buckle.

  “You don’t want me to stop.”

  He stuck his tongue between her lips, she pulled him to the floor. He went inside her dress. He kissed her thighs.

  “Mmmm.” The way she rolled that M...

  Something bled on the inside of her left thigh. An eight-sided star, tattooed in red.

  “What’s that?” Kav asked.

  “Never mind that.” Her legs wrapped around him, she took off his shirt. He felt cold; she stuck her tongue in his mouth to warm him. And kept it there, massaged his tongue. She took it out and he only wanted more.

  “Kav, he’s coming back.”

  Footsteps pattered on the grass outside. Her husband was seconds away.

  “What’d you make me do?” Kav grabbed his shirt and got up. “You two were happy together!”

  “I didn’t make you do anything.” She smiled. “You acted of your own free will, like always. You can’t blame others for all that’s happened to you.”

  “Shut up!”

  “You want me, don’t you? You’re so strong, so much stronger than Kahr.” She stood up, her dress barely on. “If you want me, then protect me, protect me from him. He’ll kill me knowing what we’ve done. Protect me and I’ll be yours forever.”

  She grabbed a kitchen knife from under the stove and made Kav grip it. Her lips suckled his. The door opened, and the sun stared at them, and so did Kahr.

  He stood there, staring. “You...bitch. After I risked everything. And Kav, is this is what you wanted all along?”

  “Sorry, I’m so sorry,” Kav said. “It’s just, she looks exactly like—”

  “Shut the fuck up!” Kahr clenched his first. “You both ought to die for this!”

  Kill or be killed.

  Kahr unsheathed his blade; its sheen reflected the white sun. Conduction screamed off, nearly scathed Kav’s arm. Light built up inside Kav like a tornado swirl. He unleashed a wide-burst with the kitchen knife. Kahr ducked, but it was too wide. It took his head clean off.

  Blood colored everything blue. Blue blood.

  “You did it! Mmmm, Kav, we’re free to be together now!”

  This is disgusting. But why does it feel so good?

  She hugged him.

  Eight-sided star. That eight-sided star?

  “Hena...”

  Her hands cooled his stomach, caressed his chest.

  “Mhmm?”

  “How did you know what I looked like?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Kahr called me ‘uncle’, thought I was an old man. So did you. You had no idea what I looked like underneath that mask, and yet, you recognized me.”

  “What does it matter? Hehe.”

  Kav looked at his wrist, at the twicrys crying within.

  “I didn’t have this when I woke up.”

  What time is it?

  88888888:88888888

  Everything froze.

  Hena became glass, crystallized around him, ready to shatter into a million billion diamonds.

  Another nightmare? Thank Nur it was all just a bad dream.

  The nightmare dissolved, but so did the dream. She was gone. Layla, or Hena, whatever her name, drained into a hole in the floor.

  Why couldn’t it be real? I could have cleaned up the body, we could have moved away, no one would have known, she would have made me happy.

  Water spouted from the hole; it streamed in from vents in the sky, raining out from heaven.

  But why am I not relieved that I didn’t kill a man? Am I such a bad person? Is this how I’m doomed to use my strength?

  The water drowned him with his thoughts in a coffin beneath the sea. The dream ended.

  Make them pay. Today was the day. Payment for the bodies littering the alleyways. Payment for the twicrys stolen from the sea and for the flooded eyes. And for the fire that burned Kerb four years ago.

  Mezzin arrived at the Shrine of Saint Issam, a place more broken than he remembered. The once white dome no longer glazed, suffocated under smog and chaff. The red gate and brick courtyard were among the last tatters of old Keldanese architecture. Sprawled over the roads, worshippers and beggars went round, counter-clockwise, each soul echoing its own prayer. In the middle of the swirl, Mezzin saw that man emerge.

  Lacan’s robes whirled as a gust of wind pattered leaves against him, coloring the grey blanket wrapped around his shoulders. A humble garb for a man of such stature. Lacan — just who was he? His funds were never limited, he obviously was high up with TEX, and yet he dealt freely with their one undeniable enemy: the Sons of the Deep. Through the throng of supplicants orbiting the shrine, Mezzin approached until the two met amidst a sea of wails.

  Lacan said nothing and waited.

  “Nice weather these days, no?” Mezzin said.

  “Indeed,” Lacan replied. “It’s too bad dark clouds are on the march.”

  About a hundred feet away, a new trash dump had opened to support the growing Shirmian Settlement population. Seabirds swirled around it. They gawked and squawked and pecked at the leftovers. And at their competition, the crowds of Keldanese children picking through the trash.

  Mezzin selected Lacan’s frequency. I’ve got a little thing that will interest you.

  What is it?

  I’ll show you.

  He had left Zauri in a nearby inn. When she saw the bed, she curled up on it and left the waking world. Her breaths were soft; her sleep was serenity. Now returning, Mezzin walked in and found her bare blue eyes, and her nakedness, and blood dripping from the seams of her metal spine.

  “Shit!” Mezzin said. “What happened?”

  Lacan studied her, unmoved. Mezzin took the bed sheet and wrapped her up to stop the bleeding. But the sheets got redder and redder, the cold girl silent as she bled.

  “What made you stop screaming? Huh!?”

  Lacan finally said something. “Layla?” He approached with glue-stuck eyes, as she shivered and dripped and the sheets became so red.

  “Layla.” He said something in gibberish to her.

  She remained silent and shut her eyes, as if consumed by pain.

  “You know this girl?” Mezzin asked.

  Lacan picked her up off the bed.

  “You don’t need to answer my questions,” Mezzin said, “but you’re not gonna take her without giving me my due.”

  A sack of shards was tossed at Mezzin, and then Lacan and the girl were gone. A heavy sack. Mezzin reached in.

  Holy Nur, 10,000...10,000 twinsen!

  Why? What slave girl was worth 10,000? What could he do with 10,000? He could expand his chapter of the Sons — no, first the war. The war was about to start, a demon growing inside him for four years, ready to be unleashed.

  Four years ago, a week before the Continental Army stormed the shrine of Saint A’deen and triggered the Second Uprising, Mezzin went to the Palace on the Shore. Mother hadn’t come home and it was
late, so he looked for her by himself because Kav was nowhere to be found.

  What happened to him? Since that day with the buckets and the Hayat girl, since that day he stood transfixed before her, something had changed. Kav would go somewhere, not to the markets, not to school, but somewhere Mezzin was never able to follow. He would return late into UHR, and sometimes Mother would scold him and say, “So who is she? What mess have you made for her sake?”

  That mess would unravel as Kerb burned. It would become like the ashes of the city, scattered by the wind as if they never were.

  That day, Mezzin got inside the Palace because they thought he was another Keldanese servant. A mass of Keldanese were hunched over, cutting grass that led to the gate with heated blades. And there was a mass at the gate, Keldanese girls and men: the girls polishing the emerald bars and the men on guard. Inside, the halls were full of Keldanese wearing Shirmian uniforms — a mass of them for rolling and unrolling the carpets. The silk of the carpet was soft on Mezzin’s shoes as he searched the hall.

  “Off the carpet you filthy cripple, one armed monkey!” one of the servants shouted. Mezzin scurried off to find Mother.

  He asked where she was, but few answered. “Last I saw her cleaning the guard’s bathrooms.” “She was scrubbing the stable floor this morning.” “Get the hell out of my face.” He stilled to message her in hope she was close enough to hear, but to no avail.

  Next to each of the hundreds of doors in the Palace, a Keldanese girl waited. Slide open, slide closed, and smile — their born purpose.

  He came upon the conductors’ station, a green house between the four emerald towers of the Palace, where Keldanese men stood and sat and lay, their souls connected by wire to a spinning sunsink. Hundreds of Keldanese faces, powering nothing but this place.

  After a few hours of searching, Mezzin saw his first Shirmian. That girl. And with her, an Almarian man who wore a white turban and robe — the insignia of a Continental Army physician. And five more white coats, crowding around her. She sat idly in a garden, where a stream trickled beneath palm trees. There was something connected to her: wires, running into her neck and wrists.

  He stared, and her eyes met his. He knew she remembered him from that hot day, and in the fear of that moment, he ran out of the Palace and back home, still worried to the brink about his mother.