by Joe Vasicek
“But how do you know they’d help you? How do you know they’d even care?”
“The temple is dedicated to the memory of Earth,” he said, “but it’s also dedicated to the last great hope of the patriarchs, that their children would one day inhabit a thousand worlds and spread across the universe. I’m from one of those other worlds, Tiera, even if I don’t know which one. If the temple is still dedicated to that hope, then I know I’ll find someone to help me.”
Tiera stared at him for a moment, shock gradually giving way to admiration. “You would travel to the other side of the world just to find your home?”
“More than that,” Jalil said softly. “I would leave this world and travel to the stars.”
Tiera said nothing for several moments. The breeze idly tossed a strand of hair dangling from her hastily-tied bandana. Jalil shifted uneasily—he saw, in her eyes, a light that he hadn’t seen before, a light that he’d rarely seen in anyone.
“Take me with you,” she said. Her voice, though soft, was as fierce as Jalil had ever heard it.
“Take you?” he asked. “Away from the camp?”
“Yes. Wherever you go, I want to go, too.”
“But—but Tiera, they need you here.”
“Like hell they do,” she hissed. “I do twice the work of any of Shira’s daughters and have yet to get any thanks for it. I want nothing more than to get as far away from all of them as possible.”
“You mustn’t say that,” said Jalil. “Mother Shira and your half-sisters are good people.”
“I wish I could still believe that,” Tiera muttered as she glanced away.
“Besides,” Jalil continued, “we couldn’t do the pilgrimage by ourselves. What would the others think? When a boy and a girl are alone—”
“I know, I know. Satan is the third one with them. I don’t believe that for one second. We’re responsible enough to make our own decisions, aren’t we? We’re not fated to break the rules just because no one else is around to keep us in line.”
“I know, but what about our honor? If word got out—”
“What is honor, Jalil?” Tiera said. “Where does it come from?”
“I, uh,” Jalil stuttered. “It comes from, uh—”
“Right here,” she said, jabbing him in the chest. “It’s right here, and nowhere else. So what if the others gossip about us? Let them! We’ll both know the truth, and that’s honor enough for me.”
For a moment, neither of them said anything. Jalil swallowed and took a deep breath.
“I want to take you with me, Tiera—I really do. But—”
“But what?”
Jalil sighed. “What about Zayne? You’re her last surviving child; if we both left her, she would be devastated.”
Tiera opened her mouth as if to speak, but closed it again without saying anything.
“I need to leave the camp in good hands,” Jalil continued. “What will the others do when the windmill needs repairing, or the caravaneers need servicing? I can’t think of any better hands than yours.”
“Mazhar’s taking over soon,” Tiera muttered. “He’ll see to all that.”
“But Tiera, Mother needs you.”
She bit her lip and looked up at him with pleading eyes. To his surprise, she seemed as if she would almost cry.
“There’s nothing left for me here,” she said. “Nothing.”
“Don’t worry,” he said, putting a hand on her arm. “You won’t be here forever. I’m sure Sathi will find you a—”
“A husband? Not if Shira has anything to do with it. She probably wants me to die an old maid. And even if he did, what makes you think I want to marry?”
Jalil didn’t know what to say. Tiera rubbed her eyes and looked out over the rocky desert plain, the wind toying with the hair that had spilled out of her loosely tied headscarf.
“I’m sorry, Tiera. I—”
“No,” she said, rising to her feet. “You do what you have to do. One way or another, I’ll get free of this place.”
“But not just yet,” Jalil said, rising hastily. “Please—not until things have settled down a bit. Promise me that.”
She turned toward him and narrowed her eyes, hands placed squarely on her hips. For a moment, Jalil worried she was upset with him, but a grin spread across her face, setting him at ease.
“Fair enough,” she said, “but just because I’m giving you a head start, don’t think you’ll be rid of me so easily. Wherever you go, I’m sure our paths will cross again someday.”
“God-willing,” said Jalil, clapping his hand on her shoulder. “God-willing.”
* * * * *
Mira’s mother led her through the darkened corridors of the camp, moving so quickly that she nearly had to run to keep up. The smell of roasting meat and vegetables mingled with the thick, stuffy humidity of the kitchen huts, making her clothes feel sticky.
“W-where are we going?” she asked.
“Somewhere private,” Shira answered, tightening the grip on her hand.
Please don’t let me be in trouble, Mira prayed. Please don’t let her be angry with me.
“Here,” said Shira, finally stopping in the back of an old brick storage cellar. “Now, my dear, let’s have a little chat.”
Mira swallowed. “What did I do?” she asked timidly.
Shira bellowed with laughter. “Oh honey,” she said, “you look as frightened as a mouse! There there, don’t be so upset—you’re not in trouble, dear.”
“I-I’m not?”
“No,” Shira chuckled. “Far from it.”
It’s about Jalil, Mira told herself, her heart pounding twice as hard as before. It’s got to be.
“What do you think of Jalil?” her mother asked, as if on cue.
“He’s nice,” Mira answered, blushing in the dark. “I-I like him a lot.” Oh Lord, I sound like an idiot.
“Good, good. Do you have any feelings for him?”
Yes!
“I, uh, I guess—”
“You guess, girl? Don’t play games with me. Do you or don’t you?”
Mira wished she could sink through the ground and disappear. Even if she could, though, her mother would just lift her back up again and scold her the more for it.
“Yes,” she whispered, staring down at her feet.
“Good! That’s very good.”
“Why?” Mira asked. The earnestness in her voice surprised her.
“Because your father and I want to marry you off to him as soon as we can.”
Mira’s stomach leaped into her mouth as a wave of adrenaline surged through her trembling body. For a moment, she couldn’t speak.
“Unfortunately,” her mother continued, “there seems to be something of a complication.”
“Complication?”
“Yes, dear. A complication. You see, rumor has it that Jalil wants to leave the camp, most likely on pilgrimage—and after that, well, who knows if he’ll ever come back.”
Mira’s stomach fell through the floor, and her legs turned to water. “Leave?”
“That’s right, dear. If that’s his plan, he’ll probably ask your father for his blessing sometime in the next two days and leave with the Jabaliyn convoy before the end of the week.”
“That—that’s terrible.”
“I know, dear. I know.” Shira glanced to either side and leaned intently forward. “That’s why we needed to talk.”
Oh no, Mira thought to herself. From her mother’s tone of voice, there was doubtlessly something devious on her mind.
“What do you mean?”
“You don’t want him to leave, do you?”
“Well, no—”
“And he’s been making eyes at you, hasn’t he?”
“I—I don’t know—”
“Oh, don’t be so modest. You’re just his age, and of all my daughters, you’re certainly the most beautiful.”
Where is this going? Mira wanted to ask. Instead, she kept silent.
“We
need to keep Jalil from leaving,” her mother continued. “If he does, your father’s inheritance will pass to the Jabaliyn, and we’ll be completely at their mercy once he dies. You wouldn’t want to see your mother poor and destitute, would you?”
“No,” said Mira, shaking her head dutifully.
“That’s why we must keep Jalil from leaving us, no matter the cost.” Her eyes gleamed as she leaned in closer, her voice so low that Mira had to strain to hear.
“What is it, Mother?”
“Your father and I want you to go with him.”
Mira frowned. “Go with him? On the pilgrimage?”
“Yes.”
“Alone?”
“Of course,” her mother said, grinning mischievously in the dim light of the glowlamps. “We want you to get to know each other so well that he can’t help but fall in love with you, if you know what I mean.”
Mira closed her eyes for a moment and swallowed. Her heart raced as she considered the implications of what her mother was telling her. Jalil, fall in love with her—but how? He only ever saw her in passing around the camp, and never for very long. If he ever did notice her, it was only as his sister—never as anything more.
“I don’t know,” she said uneasily.
“You’re not a little girl anymore, dear,” said her mother. “Trust me, he’ll notice you—and when he does, you must convince him, one way or another, to come back and stay.”
“But how?”
Without warning, Shira reached up and pinched her breast—hard. Mira squealed and nearly doubled over from the pain.
“Why do you think Allah gave you these?” Shira said, a tone of contempt in her voice. “Jalil is a man of honor—find your way into his bed, and for honor’s sake, he’ll come back and marry you.”
The shock of her mother’s words hit Mira with all the subtlety of a rockslide. She leaned against the wall behind her for support.
“But—but that’s—”
“You want to marry him, don’t you, child? It’s not wrong if you marry each other afterward—and don’t worry about the strawberries at your wedding, I’ll take care of that.”
But I won’t deserve them.
“And one more thing,” Shira continued, leaning in to tower over her. “Your father and I have a lot riding on this. If you should fail—” She made a cutting motion across her throat. “Understand?”
Mira trembled where she stood against the wall, hugging her chest as she cowered under Shira’s fierce, imposing eyes.
“Y-yes, Mother.”
“Don’t be too concerned about it,” Shira said, turning to go as if the matter were already settled. “The temple is on the other side of the world; you’ll have plenty of time. When you’re both alone together, you’ll know what to do.”
Mira bit her lip and nodded, rubbing her chest where her mother had pinched her. The pain still throbbed, and an awful sinking feeling in her gut made her want to throw up.
This is wrong.
It wasn’t just the part about getting into Jalil’s bed—though Allah knew that was frightening enough. It was how manipulative and deceitful it seemed, to shame him into marrying her.
Maybe he’ll fall in love and change his mind on his own, she thought hopefully to herself. Maybe I won’t have to sleep with him just to get him to come back.
If he didn’t, though, she didn’t know what she’d do.
Chapter 3
Jalil stopped outside the doorway that led to Sathi’s private quarters. He hesitated for a moment, running through the monologue he’d practiced in his head nearly a hundred times. Hello, Father. With your blessing, I wish to leave with the Jabaliyn convoy. Yes, I’ve already spoken with Sheikh Amr about it. No, I don’t know when I’ll be back. No, I can’t promise I’ll return, but—
Before he could bring his hand up to knock, the door creaked open. “Jalil, my son!” boomed his father, making him jump. “Come in, come in. I’ve been expecting you.”
A little shaken, Jalil stepped into the private study. The room was well decorated, with purple silk hangings draped across the walls and a faded mosaic on the floor depicting a garden full of fruits and animals. A pair of highly ornamented ceremonial gold swords hung on the wall immediately opposite the door, crossed above the red and white banner of the Najmi tribe. An old, dusty computer sat in the corner, the hologram projector switched off to conserve energy. Illumination came from an enormous stain glass lamp that hung from the center of the vaulted brick ceiling.
Jalil swallowed and sat cross-legged on a small cushion near the center of the room, while his father stretched out on the couch.
“Some tea?” Sathi asked, motioning to a large golden kettle on the ornate wooden table between them.
“Yes, please.”
With his free hand, the sheikh took the kettle and poured the tea. Jalil leaned forward and accepted the second cup, taking a short sip before setting it down.
“So,” Sathi asked, pouring himself a cup, “have you been enjoying yourself these past few days?”
“Yes, I have,” Jalil answered. Small talk first, then the big stuff.
“Excellent. It’s not every year we have a wedding.”
“I know,” said Jalil, taking another sip of his tea. “But maybe this year, we’ll be blessed to have two.”
Sathi threw back his head and laughed. “Yes indeed! God-willing, perhaps we will.”
What did I say that was so funny?
“I’ve heard a lot of good things from the Jabaliyn tribe,” Jalil continued. “They won’t forget our hospitality.”
“Good, good—as well they shouldn’t.”
“Mazhar is with the camp to stay, then, is he?”
His father let out a tired sigh. “Perhaps. But it isn’t right for a man to stay in his father-in-law’s tent. I don’t know whether they’ll choose to stay—only Allah knows.”
They’ll stay, Jalil thought to himself. Lena was Sathi’s oldest daughter; the inheritance would pass to her, making her husband the next sheikh of the camp. No tribesman in his right mind would pass up that kind of wealth.
“Mazhar seems like a good man,” Jalil said. “God-willing, he’ll do well here.”
“God-willing,” muttered Sathi. He took a long sip of his tea.
Jalil set down his drink and coughed. “There is something I wanted to speak with you about, Father.”
“I know, my son.”
Jalil frowned. “You do?”
“Yes. You want to make the pilgrimage to the Temple of a Thousand Suns, don’t you?”
At his father’s words, Jalil’s stomach fell through the dusty mosaic floor. How does he know? he wondered. It was too late to stop now, though. There was nothing to do but press on.
“Yes,” he whispered.
“And why do you wish to do this?”
Jalil took a deep breath. “Because it is the duty of all believers to make the pilgrimage at least once in their lives. I’m young, I have no wife or family obligations, and—”
“Yes, yes, I know all that. But why go alone—why not wait until I make the pilgrimage, and go with me?”
Sathi looked at him expectantly, waiting for his answer. Jalil shifted where he sat.
“There are other reasons,” he said, without elaborating.
Sathi narrowed his eyes. “When can we expect you to return?”
Jalil squirmed, unsure how to answer. For a moment, he considered evading the question, but that would never do; it was now or never.
“I’m sorry, Father,” he said, casting his eyes down, “but I cannot promise I will return.”
For several moments, neither of them said anything. His father shifted uneasily.
“Why?”
“Because I must find out about my birth family,” Jalil answered, squirming a little.
“Ah,” said Sathi, leaning back. “So that’s what this is about, isn’t it?”
Jalil said nothing.
“Oh my son, my beloved from the stars, w
hy do you feel that you must leave us? Are we not family enough for you? We who raised you from boyhood into a man?”
“Yes,” Jalil said quickly. “Yes, you are. You will always be my father, and Zayne will always be—”
“Then why must you chase after these shadows from the past—shadows that you may never grasp?”
Why does he have to make this so difficult?
“Because I need to know,” Jalil said as he nervously fingered the locket beneath his shirt. “I need to find out where I came from.”
“You are my son. Is that not enough?”
No, Jalil nearly said. It’s not. Instead, he looked away.
“Don’t leave us, son,” Sathi continued. “We need you here. I need you. Your sisters need you. What will we do when all of them are married off? Who will lead the camp?”
“I’m sorry, Father,” said Jalil, bowing his head. “But this is something I must do.”
Sathi shook his head. “If you leave, this camp will turn to the Jabaliyn tribe before I die. I had to significantly increase Lena’s dowry for Sheikh Amr to agree for his son to move into our camp. Unless Mazhar divorces Lena and returns to his father’s tent, my debts will be nearly impossible to repay. No, son, I’m afraid I cannot give you permission to go. I need your help here.”
Jalil fidgeted nervously. He had hoped that it wouldn’t come to this, but now that it had, he saw no choice.
“I’m sorry, Father—truly sorry—but I didn’t come here to ask for your permission. I came to ask for your blessing.”
“What?” Sathi asked, his eyes narrowing.
“I’ve already made the arrangements with Sheikh Amr. I’m leaving with the convoy tomorrow.”
Silence. Jalil held his breath.
“I see you’ve gone behind my back on this,” Sathi muttered. “And I suppose there’s nothing I can do to stop you?”
Jalil bit his lip and fidgeted nervously with his fingers. His father closed his eyes and let out a long, deep sigh.
“I should have seen this. Of course.”
