by August Li
He turned back to Isra. “This… cannot be your friend. The teachings say these are devious beings, ignorant of the word of God, who delight in deceiving men.”
“Despite that, Flicker is my friend, and he has been a good one. I must trust my own experience over the words of others. I’ve seen his heart for myself. I… can only ask you to trust me.”
Janan wanted to, and he’d never been a fundamentalist, but this…. “I’m not sure this is a detail, Isra. You have to be careful. They….” He pressed the heels of his hands to his temples as searing pain accompanied a vivid memory.
An older woman in an oversized sweater and tweed trousers stood in front of a board. He was in a room that smelled of old books and rich wood. There were arched windows, exposed rafters…. The history of the place lay over Janan like a mist. “The trickster is an important figure in all the world’s mythology,” the woman said in English, “from the Norse god Loki, to the kitsune of Japan, the coyote and raven of the Native Americans, to our own fey. While dangerous and often duplicitous, these figures are also the guardians of hidden knowledge—”
Warmth covered Janan’s eyes and forehead, and it eked away the stabbing in his skull, soothing him until he felt safe to open his eyes. Flicker pressed both hands to his face while Isra stood a few feet away, looking concerned. “Th-thank you,” Janan muttered, throat gone dry.
Flicker’s eyes narrowed to slits of light. “Don’t be too hasty. I’m not sure there’s much I’ll be able to do for you. The curse upon you is very strong, much worse than I expected, though—” He pressed his thumb hard between Janan’s eyes, and Janan felt himself thrown backward, tumbling end over end through time, images, and dreams.
Gray and green. The scent of mist and loam. Bicycles against a wrought iron fence. Christ Church… Oxford University. Snowdrops pushing up from the frozen soil….
A parade. He is smoking a cigarette. The thrill of the forbidden. Men dancing with their shirts off beneath strobing lights. A flat above a bakery. Furtive touches in the dark. Marais….
Palm trees. Miles of beach stretched beneath the ivory palaces of hotels. Even the women are almost naked. But he isn’t looking at the women….
Scents of wet rope and grilled octopus. White houses with blue roofs. Men’s lips shining with olive oil, skin tasting of the sea….
Then the images started coming too fast, pelting his consciousness like hail, snippets raining down on him likes bits of shredded photographs. He whimpered and felt a tug, and when he opened his eyes, he was back in the Egyptian desert, standing beneath a full moon with Isra—honey-sweet Isra, a spring of fresh water in the wastes, all he needed—and, and something impossible. Yet.
Flicker shook his head. “Whoever did this is powerful. I can’t break through. At least not yet.”
“What are you saying?” Isra asked. “That this was done to him? That someone purposely stole Janan’s memories?”
“That’s what I’m saying,” Flicker answered. “And they used magic to do it. Strong magic.”
“What must we do?” Isra asked. “Can the spell be broken?”
“Probably?” The arafrit shrugged. “You’ll have to find the one who cast it.”
“How do we do that?” Janan asked, close to turning his face to the sky and screaming his frustration to the indifferent stars.
“I doubt you can,” Flicker said. “There are so few sorcerers now. This one probably never imagined anyone would be able to track their work, hunt them down. And they’d have been right… except they certainly didn’t count on you meeting me. I’ll have a look around.”
“Th-thank you.” Janan put his hand on Flicker’s shoulder and squeezed, surprised to feel muscle and bone similar to anyone’s. What else could he do?
“I’m glad we’re past the hostility.” Flicker winked. “I must insist you both accept a little protection. I might not be able to break through this curse yet, but I can prevent any more psychic attacks and stop this sorcerer from spying on your thoughts and dreams.”
Without waiting for either of them to accept, Flicker made a cup with one hand. It filled with sparkling gold, as if he held all the stars in his palm—liquid sky. He dipped the finger of his other hand into the glittering pool and then swiped it over Isra’s forehead. It looked like he might’ve written a word in Arabic, but it happened too quickly for Janan to read, and almost instantly the light soaked into Isra’s skin. Then Flicker turned his attention back to Janan. The writing tingled like sunburn for a second before it subsided into the pleasant warmth Janan felt when Flicker dispelled his headache.
The arafrit nodded, apparently satisfied with his work. “Now, you two go back to your tent. I will see if I can find the next marker on our trail.”
Then, like a candle snuffed out, he was gone.
Unable to stay on his feet, Janan perched on the edge of the cistern and dipped his hand in the water to drink. After he slaked his thirst, he looked up at Isra and managed a smile. “One good thing has come of this.”
“Oh?”
“I can say with almost complete certainty that I don’t have a wife.”
Chapter Nine
ISRA WAS glad to see the camp still and quiet when they returned, everyone down to the livestock fast asleep, all the fires burned to embers. They slipped behind the heavy wool blanket and into their tent. Now that they no longer had to share the space, they’d spread their possessions out somewhat, though they kept their blankets and cushions in a nest piled in the corner. When Janan lit the oil lamp, the golden glow caught the metallic threads in some of the woven pillows and tapestries, making them glitter. With their rugs covering the ground and heat coming in from the rooms on either side, their space was warm but not quite comfortable. Or maybe the chill came from the way Janan paid little attention to Isra as he arranged their pillows and spread out the mats and blankets.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Flicker,” he said softly, not wanting to wake anyone, especially not with this conversation. “I know it’s a big secret to keep, but I-I just didn’t know how to tell you.”
Janan poured some water into the basin, knelt in front of it, and used a cloth to wash his face and hands. “I’m not sure how to feel. On one hand, I don’t suppose it’s any of my business who you call a friend, and he said I was in no danger.”
“Do you believe that?”
Janan twisted the rag, and the droplets caught the firelight and dropped like copper coins into the washbowl. “I’m sure he could’ve harmed me if he’d wanted to. I just need to know one thing. Are you keeping anything else from me?”
“No, I don’t think so. Maybe. My mother… she was a haawiyya, a female shaman. She was my father’s third wife, and not long after I was born, she walked out into the desert and disappeared. It could be why Flicker found me, something from her. Something in me still.”
“He saved your life,” Janan whispered.
“Yes.”
For a long time Janan sat looking into the water, clearly deep in thought. Not wanting to intrude, Isra remained standing by the tent’s entrance, afraid Janan would say things had changed between them, that Flicker’s existence was too much to accept. Finally he turned toward Isra and reached out his hand. Isra let himself be pulled down and knelt on the opposite side of the basin.
Janan didn’t let go of his hand. “I respect your loyalty to your friend.” His eyes indicated he told the truth. “And if you trust him, have faith in his goodness, then so will I. After all, I must hope you’re a decent judge of character. You took a chance on me.” Smiling, he slowly pushed Isra’s shemagh back and off, and his dark ringlets tumbled free. Janan raked his fingers through Isra’s curls and then let his hand remain wrapped around the back of Isra’s neck.
“I’m glad I took that chance,” Isra said, reveling in Janan’s firm touch, the heat of his skin, the way his lips glistened in the firelight after he wet them with his tongue.
“So am I.” Janan urged Isra forward, and Isra di
dn’t resist. Their lips brushed together, barely touching at first, but then Janan curled his other hand around Isra’s cheek and pulled their faces together, lips pressing flush. Their lips parted, and their tongues met tip to tip. Isra angled his head so he could deepen the kiss the way he’d wanted to since Janan had walked through his dreams. He reached up and scratched lightly at Janan’s whiskers, let his nails trail down his throat and then into the back of his hair, dislodging the turban, making it sit askew on his head. With his free hand, Isra cupped Janan’s knee and kneaded his way up the lean muscle of his thigh. Janan groaned as he neared the top, and it reverberated through Isra.
Isra pulled back, out of breath and panting against Janan’s lips. “I’ve wanted to touch you for so long.”
“And I’ve wanted to touch you, be touched by you, be with you….” He demonstrated, moving his hands down Isra’s neck, over his chest and belly, up his arms, and into his hair again. He pulled him back in to nip and peck and his lips and chin. “Finally free to do it.”
Those words gave Isra pause. “You’re sure?”
Janan nodded, circling Isra’s nipple through the fabric of his jubbah. “When Flicker tried to break the spell, I caught some bits and pieces of my life before we met. It was a jumble, and confusing, but one thing was clear to me: I’ve always preferred men, appreciated their beauty, desired them. But I don’t think I desired any of them as much as I desire you right now. Can we go to bed?”
Isra didn’t trust himself to speak, so he just nodded, untied his burnoose, and draped it over their blankets for added warmth. Janan did the same, and then he unbuttoned his kaftan and pulled it over his head. Isra had seen his body before—glimpses while bathing or changing—but this was different. He could look freely now, and he drank in the sight of the svelte torso, defined chest, and brown nipples hardened to peaks. Janan was a slender man, though his time in the desert had added lean muscle. He had a patch of sparse black hair over his heart that trailed in a line down his belly and disappeared into his loose trousers. While Isra explored the muscles of his back, he leaned forward and brushed his lips over that patch of hair, relishing the texture against his lips, the scent of Janan’s skin. Then he kissed his way over to a nipple and pulled it into his mouth, sucking, flicking his tongue against the taut bead. Janan threw his head back and growled. His arousal tented his pants.
Isra kissed his way lower, over the rungs of his ribs and the swells and cords of muscle on his stomach. He felt a cool splash on his leg and moved the basin out of the way just in time to avoid spilling it.
They both chuckled quietly, and then Janan’s expression grew serious. “Will you undress?”
Isra smiled. He’d been so occupied with his pleasant work of covering Janan in kisses, he’d truly forgotten about himself. He pulled the jubbah over his head and set it beside their cushions.
Janan sprawled out on his back and pulled Isra down on top of him. Nothing could compare to the feeling of their naked skin pressed together, bodies wrapped up tight in each other’s arms, kissing fiercely now, desperately. Almost without conscious intent, Isra thrust against Janan and felt an answering hardness sliding against his own. Janan wrapped one leg around him, crossing his calf over the backs of Isra’s thighs as they rocked together, breathing each other’s names.
Tension built across Isra’s base, the heat churning as he sucked up and down Janan’s neck, licked and pecked over his collarbone. When he reached Janan’s ear, he nipped the lobe and choked out, “I… it won’t be long.”
“I want to see,” Janan said, grasping Isra’s hips and flipping them so Isra was beneath him. “Please, Isra. Let me see you.” For a moment they continued kissing and grinding against each other, quickly dragging Isra back to the edge of the cliff. Then Janan sat up, and his sweat accentuated his lean muscles and the way they moved as he circled his hips, dragging his erection up and down Isra’s length. Isra cupped his ass, dug his fingers into the dense muscle to pull Janan closer, tighter. Janan grasped Isra’s shoulder with one hand to balance himself, and with the other, he pulled his trousers down just enough to free his cock, which stood flushed and dark, pearls beading on the tip, bouncing with his motion. Isra nearly came just from the sight of it, the scent.
But then Janan managed to loosen the laces on Isra’s pants. Their cocks met skin to skin, and Janan wrapped his hand around both. Isra thought his body would split apart, he was so excited. “You… you’re so beautiful.”
“Isra. Show me. Come on. Together.”
It only took a few twists and strokes before the pleasure ripped through Isra like a brushfire, leaving him both ablaze and shivering as he arched up and pulled Janan to him, sandwiching their cocks between their bellies as they panted and clutched through their releases.
They stayed that way for a while, spiraling down from their pleasure, letting the tension eke out of their muscles as they ran their hands lazily over each other’s skin. Eventually the chill of the night and their cooling sweat compelled them to clean up and retreat under the blankets, where they made their way back into each other’s arms. Isra lay on his back and Janan, on his side, curled around him, his head on Isra’s chest. As Isra combed his fingers through Janan’s thick hair, he whispered, “How did I ever live without this?”
“Not something you’ll ever have to worry about again, if I can help it,” Janan said.
Isra’s heart swelled. Could it be true? “You plan to stay? Even after you uncover your old life, maybe even friends and family?”
“I’ll stay as long as you’ll have me. Nothing could keep me away. I love… I love this life. Here with you, all the world at our fingertips, nowhere to be but where we want to be. It’s hard to imagine what would’ve happened to me if you hadn’t chanced to find me that night in Qena.”
Isra kissed the top of his head. “It wasn’t entirely chance. I dreamt of you—for a long time before we met. At first I saw nothing but a wisp, a shape in white flitting by. I knew I had to catch up to you, see your face.”
“How did you know?”
“I’m not sure. I felt it, felt the weight of it, the pull. And then when I finally saw your face, I was even more compelled. I knew you needed help. You know, it was Flicker who led me to you in the Hathor temple. I asked him for help, and he sought you out.”
“I have to admit that the idea of him watching me, being around when I couldn’t see him….” Janan shuddered. “Perhaps I was a superstitious man, because I can’t shake the… the feeling of wrongness of him. I can’t let go of everything I must’ve been told of his kind, of their wickedness and duplicity.”
“You said yourself nothing is so simple,” Isra reminded him. “There’s no man in this world who is completely good, and there’s not one who is completely evil. There’s a balance in all of us, and I think it must be the same for Flicker’s kind. I can’t say why he took a liking to me or why he helps me and asks for nothing in return, and I can’t even say he’s what most would define as good, but he isn’t evil. He’s aware of his own power and beauty, and he is certainly no adherent to Islam, but I’ve never seen him cause harm. He gets no satisfaction from pain or unhappiness. It’s true that I worried about how my kinsmen would feel if they knew of him, but should I? Why should I be ashamed to be his friend?”
Janan was quiet for several moments, probably mulling that over. “I think it would speak worse of you to deny him. Only a very fickle man would accept his help and then turn his back. I also think there’s much we don’t know about the world, and it can be dangerous to blindly accept the words of others, especially when it comes to right and wrong. We must be careful of those who tell us who to love… who to hate or fear. That’s something each of us must measure for himself. I’m glad you told me. That’s why I want to find out about my life from before. I want to be able to give everything to you, everything I am, without holding anything back. I want you to know me, every last bit, just as I hope to know you.”
He tilted his head up, an
d even though the flame on the oil lamp sputtered, dying, they found each other’s lips. Then they nestled in together for the kind of sleep one could only get in the winter, when the cool air makes the heat beneath the blankets even more decadent in comparison and tempts men to stay there, waiting and dreaming.
Janan’s presence at Isra’s side made their cozy nest even more wonderful, and Isra still couldn’t believe his good fortune. This beautiful man had given him his time, his future, his poetic words, and his heart. He saw every part of Isra and still wanted to share his life. He hadn’t realized before that the people of his clan, his uncle and even his brother, they didn’t see him in his entirety, not like this man did. God, he would do anything for Janan, anything to see he remained at peace the way he was now, his breaths long and deep. Isra sensed the road before them might not be the smoothest, but they’d be walking it together, and facing down all of hell with Janan by his side would be better than sitting in a gully full of flowers alone.
Chapter Ten
THE FOLLOWING week some of the goats wandered off, and Janan and Isra took their camels to go look for them. They wore their warmest cloaks and wrapped their shemaghs over their faces as they rode, but the cold edge of the wind found its way through to bite at Janan’s flesh. Still, it couldn’t quite cut away the warm, liquid feeling he’d been suspended in since speaking with Isra’s djinn.
Beside him, Isra pulled the checked cloth away from his mouth. “We should stop for lunch.”
Janan nodded. They’d come north, into the hills that formed the spine of the Eastern Desert and ran down its center, and now they stood on a flat shelf between two peaks. Some brush grew along the perimeter, and after they dismounted, Janan gathered kindling while Isra tied up the camels. Soon they sat cross-legged with a small fire between them, water boiling for tea, beans cooking, and flatbread baking on a smooth stone.
