Dark Matter

by S. W. Ahmed

  The Boura-class vessel that Dumyan and Sharjam were on had encountered no other ships on its way into the Afta-Raushan system. Lord Wazilban, while aware of their coming, had apparently chosen not to send any fleet to intercept or attack them, since the messages he had received had led him to believe that Ozwin was bringing the vessel to Meenjaza with the two brothers as captives. But little did Wazilban know that those two captives were now the masters of the ship, and that Ozwin and his companion had in turn become the captives, both securely tied up and rendered completely immobile for the remainder of the journey.

  Contrary to his original plan of trying to reach the MendokenRepublic, Dumyan had changed his mind, and, after much discussion and argumentation, convinced Sharjam that it would be more effective to fight Wazilban in the heart of the Dominion. Even if the Mendoken could somehow be persuaded to help overthrow Wazilban, the Aftaran people might rise up to defend him because he was still their elected leader. They might view the Mendoken as an occupation force and not as a helping hand. The better way to fight Wazilban, therefore, was to turn the Aftaran people against him, by revealing to them what a deceiver and charlatan he really was, by showing them how his policies of belligerence and tyranny against the Phyrax and the rest of the galaxy were bringing about an ever-growing vicious cycle of violence, death and destruction. In short, Dumyan had argued, the only way to defeat Wazilban was to lead a rebellion against him by his own people, not by getting help from outside.

  And so here the two of them were, at the doorsteps to the seat of Aftaran power, the same power that was eagerly awaiting their arrival in chains, eagerly waiting to torture them to death. Any normal individual who had escaped Wazilban’s brutal clutches at least once before would clearly consider it madness to voluntarily return to his lair. But these two brothers weren’t normal individuals, nor was their cause normal. They had more at stake here than most Aftarans, significantly more.

  “There it is,” Sharjam said, pointing ahead at a bright blue sphere in the distance. He was sitting in the cockpit, next to his brother who was piloting the ship with his thoughts. They were heading towards Medonis, the only moon around the fourth planet Soondaza. Sharjam was very familiar with Medonis, since it housed the university he had graduated from years earlier. Officially known as the RaushanClericalAcademy, it was the oldest, the most famous, and widely accepted as the best clerical school in the entire Dominion. It had established such popularity, in fact, that over time its campus had grown to cover most of the livable land on the moon.

  “You’re certain your old teacher is still there?” Dumyan asked.

  “I’m not certain, but I can’t imagine where else he would be. When I graduated, he told me he would soon retire to the monastery at Mt.Lina. He was getting old, and wanted to spend the rest of his years there in solitude and prayer.”

  “How can you be so certain that you can trust him?”

  “He was very fond of our father, and held the highest contempt for Wazilban and his rising to power.”

  “But a long time has passed, and we don’t know how things have changed here in the meantime.”

  “Well, that is precisely why we should see him. We need to find out how things have changed before we can take any action. If nothing else, the sacred bond between clerical masters and their students should prevent him from selling us out.”

  “Yes, assuming Wazilban hasn’t abolished those bonds as well.”

  Sharjam certainly hoped that wasn’t the case. He had very warm memories of his old teacher, Master Heeran of the 654th generation of the Zuljibah clan, under whose wise guidance he had spent many years studying the Scriptures and the age-old ways of Aftaran history’s great spiritual leaders.

  The submarine-shaped ship began its descent, cutting through the moon’s blue atmosphere like a sharp knife. Once it had cleared the thin and patchy cloud layer, Sharjam was able to gaze at the landscape below. He remembered how he had never much cared for Medonis’s lush greenery, deep blue seas or snow-capped mountains. Like most Aftarans, he felt more at home in dry desert environments, thanks to his upbringing on Meenjaza’s sand dunes. Yet now, after being away for so many years, and particularly after spending the past two years in the underbelly of a mountain on an inhospitable ice world, he felt a wave of nostalgia towards this place. This time, the world below looked beautiful, and he was glad to be back.

  Dumyan guided the ship over the university campus, spread far and wide between wooded areas, rivers and rolling hills. A few small vessels could be seen flying in the distance, and other vehicles were moving about between the campus buildings. But none paid any attention to the approaching Boura-class ship.

  Up ahead, Sharjam could see the mountains that he once used to see everyday from his dorm room window, the mountain range that split up the north side of the vast campus from the south. The nearest mountain, rising to a lower height than the ones behind it, was Mt.Lina. Perched atop its wide, flat peak was a magnificent, tan colored structure. Like many prominent Aftaran buildings, it was adorned with spiked domes and wide, sweeping arches, giving it both an elegant and somber look. Four tall towers stood upright near the center of the structure, spaced evenly apart from each other in a square formation. This building was one of the official monasteries of the university, a place where teachers and students alike went to meditate and pray whenever they wanted. It was also the destination point for Sharjam and his brother.

  “Where can we land?” Dumyan asked.

  “There’s a landing platform just behind the monastery building. It’s not very big, since it’s primarily meant for short range vessels. You may find landing there a little difficult.”

  The landing platform was small alright, but turned out to be no problem for Dumyan’s outstanding flying skills. He slowed the ship down to a standstill and gradually brought it down to rest on the ground. It fit snugly on one side of the tarmac, leaving enough space for other, smaller ships to land and take off with ease. Luckily there were no other ships about at that moment.

  “Nobody seems to be expecting us, and that’s a good thing,” Sharjam said, surveying the deserted platform. “We need to remain as inconspicuous as possible, and not reveal our identities to anybody but my old Master. Fortunately, monasteries in the Dominion operate on the basis of anonymity. It doesn’t matter who you are or where you come from. As long as your intentions are pure, you’re welcome inside. So hopefully it won’t be too difficult for us.”

  “Yes, but let’s get moving,” Dumyan said, getting up from his seat and veiling his face. “The more time we waste, the higher the chances one of Wazilban’s spies here will notice us.”

  After making sure the two prisoners in the prayer room were adequately cared for, Dumyan followed Sharjam out of the ship. Medonis’s sweet smelling breeze instantly hit his face as he descended onto the tarmac. It was a very welcome and refreshing feeling for him to breathe such good air again, as it was to see a blue sky above and a brilliantly shining sun.

  Sharjam pressed the buzzer next to the large, wooden door at the entrance to the monastery building. A few seconds later, the door slid open. The two brothers entered cautiously, looking down to avoid anyone’s gaze.

  “May the Creator protect you from harm, strangers!” a voice called out, as the door shut behind them.

  “And you!” Dumyan and Sharjam replied in unison.

  “This is a sanctuary for all who seek closeness with the Creator.” The voice seemed to echo off the walls of the corridor they had entered.

  It took several seconds for Dumyan’s eyes to adjust to the dim lighting inside. The corridor was long, its ceiling high, and, like the interiors of many Aftaran buildings, supported by vaulted archways. The walls were covered with colorful symmetric patterns and beautiful works of calligraphy from the sacred Scriptures. Outside light shone in directly at steep angles through small windows high up on the walls. The floor was made of brilliant white stone, commonly found in Aftaran buildings.

  D
umyan turned around to face the door, and saw the Aftaran sentry who had let them in. Dressed in a black robe, he was short and stocky, and in his right hand he held a scepter of some kind. His head was covered and his face veiled, as was customary whenever Aftarans met for the first time.

  Dumyan decided to keep his mouth shut and let his brother do all the talking. The last time he had set foot inside a monastery… well, he couldn’t even remember when that had been.

  Sharjam spoke, raising the pitch of his voice and changing his accent slightly to avoid recognition. “We accept your hospitality with gratitude.” He bowed before the sentry. “May the Creator’s blessings be showered upon you for eternity.”

  “And upon you both,” the sentry replied, bowing as well.

  “We are travelers from afar, who seek naught but the road to solace in life and in death.”

  “May the Creator increase your solace with every step you take in your journey.”

  “Thank you for the kind words. Can you take us to Master Heeran? We have come a long way for his renowned knowledge in the matters of the faith.”

  The sentry was silent for a moment, apparently startled by the request. “Master Heeran is no longer with us,” he whispered, glancing nervously up and down the corridor. “But I can lead you to his apprentice. She is still here in the monastery.”

  “Yes, that will do fine,” Sharjam said.

  “Please follow me.” The sentry led the way down the corridor, up a flight of stairs and through a series of chambers.

  Dumyan noticed a number of Aftarans in the different rooms, perched in front of visual displays, studying the Scriptures and other texts. Others were sitting quietly, praying or meditating. Others still were huddled together in groups, engaged in earnest conversation. A few glanced briefly at him and Sharjam, and some appeared to eye the two of them with suspicion, or maybe that was just his imagination. The majority seemed to pay no attention to them at all.

  Dumyan and Sharjam followed the sentry into the residential wing of the monastery, along a passage with doors leading to private rooms on either side. The sentry finally stopped in front of one door, and waved his hand in front of a small screen on the wall.

  “May the Creator protect you from harm,” a female voice said through the speaker below the screen. The screen itself remained blank.

  “And you,” the sentry said. “Two visitors wish to see you.”

  “I am expecting no visitors. You must be mistaken. Please go away.” She sounded calm and polite, but firm.

  “They have come for Master Heeran,” the sentry said.

  Silence. Seconds later, the door slid open just a couple of inches.

  “I will leave you here,” the sentry said. “May the Creator help you find that which you seek.” He bowed and walked off in a hurry.

  Dumyan slowly pushed the door aside and walked in. He noticed an open window on the far side of the room, giving a clear view of the bright sky above and the university campus below. The room was very small, furnished with only a thin mattress on the floor and a prayer corner next to the window. Such austere simplicity was typical for Aftaran monasteries, allowing residents to focus on spiritual thoughts without any distractions.

  Sharjam followed Dumyan into the room, and heard the door shut abruptly behind him. He spun around immediately, just in time to see the nose of a boryal staring directly at him. The Aftaran holding it was just over 7 feet tall, with her head covered and her face veiled.

  “Who are you and what do you want from me?” she demanded sternly.

  Sharjam was shocked and surprised. “That voice,” he thought. “It’s… so familiar. But it can’t be!” He opened his mouth to speak, but words failed him.

  “We’re looking for Master Heeran,” Dumyan said, stepping in for Sharjam’s silence. “Where is he?”

  “What business have you with him?”

  “No, there’s no doubt,” Sharjam thought. He knew that voice like no other. Without any further hesitation, he dropped his veil and revealed his face to her. “Raiha! It’s me, Sharjam!”

  “Sharjam? What… how?” The sternness in her voice had disappeared, and she appeared not to notice the boryal slipping from her hand and falling onto the floor.

  Sharjam walked up to her and dropped her veil. She still looked as stunningly beautiful as ever, with her twinkling brown eyes and soft, auburn colored feathers.

  “Oh, Sharjam, I thought you were dead!” Raiha said with joy, embracing him with open arms.

  “And I thought you had left this place for good!” Sharjam said gleefully, as he hugged her tightly. “Why did you return?”

  “I changed my mind after a couple of years, and decided to return to finish my studies. You had already left by then. Master Heeran agreed to take me on as his apprentice.”

  “Alright!” Dumyan said, lowering his own veil. “Dear brother, when will you find your manners and introduce me to your attractive friend here?”

  “I’m sorry! Raiha, this is my older brother Dumyan. Dumyan, this is Raiha, my close friend from our days of study here at the academy.”

  “I’m very pleased to meet you, Dumyan,” Raiha said, bowing her head. “I have heard many a tale about you from Sharjam.”

  “Really? And yet my brother has conveniently kept your existence completely hidden from me and the rest of the family. I wonder why?” Dumyan grinned mischievously. “How ‘close’ were you exactly?”

  Sharjam tried hard to hide his look of embarrassment.

  Dumyan laughed. “While everyone called me the loose, wild one. You sly devil, you! I should have learned to keep my activities under wraps, like you! Would have saved me a lot of grief with our parents.”

  “We had to,” Sharjam said. “For the sake of our parents, actually, and for the reputation of our family at large.”

  “Why?”

  Sharjam glanced at Raiha.

  “I joined the academy as a Kerberat nun,” she said quietly, sounding very embarrassed. “I was sworn to celibacy. It would have been a scandal if word of our relationship got out.”

  Dumyan laughed again. “Kerberat, Ferberat, Merberat, whatever – I couldn’t care less about these things. I’m just glad to hear that my brother is more like me than he has ever cared to admit in his whole life! So what happened anyway?”

  “We were getting too close, too involved with each other,” Sharjam said. “It was interfering with our studies, and it was also becoming increasingly difficult to hide our relationship from others.”

  “So we broke it off,” Raiha added. “It was very hard. So hard for me, in fact, that I decided to leave the university altogether and return to my family.”

  “What!” Dumyan’s surprise showed clearly on his face. “You gave up the relationship just for that? That’s ridiculous!”

  “Ridiculous for you, maybe,” Sharjam said. “But you have to respect that Raiha and I have very different lifestyles and priorities from you. You don’t know how strict rules and customs are in these clerical schools.”

  “That may be, but I still think it’s ridiculous that you gave up your relationship because of what others might think. You can never be happy if you live your life that way. Especially if there’s nothing to be ashamed of in the first place.

  “Honestly, Sharjam, some day I’ll have to tell you what Birshat and I have been through. Then you’ll understand what sacrifices couples sometimes have to make in order to stay together.”

  Sharjam stared at Raiha, but said nothing.

  Dumyan went on. “But at the moment, we have more urgent things to worry about. Raiha, can you tell us what happened to Master Heeran?”

  “That’s a long story, and I’ll tell you,” Raiha said. She motioned to both brothers to sit down on the mattress, and then sat down on the floor opposite them. “But first, you must tell me how you survived Lord Wazilban’s attempts to kill you, and why in the Creator’s name you have taken such a risk to return to the heart of his power base.”

  S
harjam gave Dumyan a slight nod, indicating Raiha could be fully trusted.

  They spent close to an hour talking in Raiha’s small room. Dumyan and Sharjam related to Raiha how they had escaped with their father from Wazilban’s clutches and remained in hiding there all this time, and why the two of them had chosen to come back now.

  Raiha listened intently to the whole story. “A very noble and commendable plan, and very, very bold,” she said at the end.

  Sharjam frowned. “You don’t believe we can succeed?”

  “With the Creator’s help, you surely will. But it won’t be easy. Wazilban’s powers grow stronger and more absolute by the day. Any last remnants of democratic governance eroded when he disbanded the Council of Elders.”

  “He did not!” Dumyan sounded enraged.

  “Yes, he did. But that’s nowhere near the worst of it, Dumyan. Things have been progressively worsening over the past couple of years. Ever since your escape, Wazilban has dramatically tightened his grip on the Dominion. He has replaced all regional governors and key positions in the military with Aftarans of his own choice, and significantly increased the size and power of the armed forces. Secret police now actively monitor all activity in public institutions like this one, with spies planted in virtually all religious and social organizations of any reasonable size. No public dissension is allowed anywhere, no freedom of speech, and all supposedly for the security of the Aftaran people. Anybody who dares to speak out against Wazilban or his policies is taken away, accused of being a terrorist and a heretic, and publicly executed after a short, staged and totally unfair trial. And anyone who doesn’t condemn those executed in the strongest possible terms is accused of being unpatriotic and a terrorist sympathizer.”

  “This is horrible!” Sharjam exclaimed. “How is he getting away with this? Why isn’t the public reacting? Why aren’t they rebelling?”

  “Shhh, keep your voice down, Sharjam,” Raiha said quietly. “You never know who might be listening in the next room. The spies are everywhere.”