Desert Stars

by Joe Vasicek

  Jalil squinted as he peered over the heads of the crowd. The “master” was a short man, dressed in a simple white robe. Though his head was balding, he wore a thick black beard that stretched from his ears across his mouth and face. The most striking thing, however, was the passion that he exuded. Everything about him, from the way he gestured with his hands to the fervent timbre of his voice, seemed to be filled with energy.

  “Has he been preaching for long?” Jalil asked

  The old man chuckled. “Longer than you’ve been alive, son.”

  I only meant for the day, Jalil thought to himself, but figured it was better not to mention it. Mira stared at the master as if entranced, and Jalil edged protectively closer to her.

  “Some of you are pilgrims on your way to the Noble Shrine,” the master continued, “and that is commendable. But what do you hope to find there? An answer to an urgent prayer? A closer connection with those you love? The peace and holiness of Earth?”

  A few scattered shouts arose in the affirmative, but Rumiya waved his hand downward as if to cast them away.

  “No!” he shouted. “Why do you feel you must search outside yourselves for these things? Is a man merely the sum of his flesh? Or is the mind merely an elaborate machine, marching down a path as inevitable as computer circuitry? No—Allah is within us; Earth is within us. I am the Truth, you are the Truth—we are all, each of us, the Truth. Whatever it is that you seek, it is not to be found at the Temple, but in the act of the pilgrimage, for the Truth already lies within you.”

  Jalil tensed as he fingered the pendant under his shirt. A low murmur arose from the crowd—a murmur that reflected his own uneasiness. How could the answers he was seeking for not lie at the end of his journey?

  “Perhaps you say that I speak blasphemy,” Rumiya continued. “I teach that each of us possesses the divine spark, but, you wonder, is that not to say that Allah dwells in vessels of sin? For all of us have sinned, have we not? Our flesh hungers for evil, the way a pig hungers for the refuse in its trough. All of us are sinners; all of us fall short of Allah’s perfection.

  “But friends—is it not written that there must be an opposition in all things? Light would not be light if there were no darkness, neither could there be happiness without sorrow. Was the Earth of legend perfect?”

  “Yes,” Jalil muttered, “of course it was.” He didn’t realize he’d spoken until Mira glanced over her shoulder at him.

  The master paced across the podium, completely caught up in the passion of his speech. “No!” he shouted. “I tell you, it was not. It was a place of great evil—yet in the fullness of times, it was caught away into Paradise. And why? Because even when it was evil, the glory of Allah was within it.”

  Jalil shifted uneasily. He noticed that several of the people in the crowd didn’t seem very happy with Rumiya’s preaching. Most of the townspeople stood with their arms folded, frowning and shaking their heads.

  “Even so, each of you carries a piece of Earth within you—the fullness of both evil and godliness. And even as the Earth was caught away and became the celestial dwelling place, so each of you, no matter how lost in the evils of this universe, has the power to rise above and see the very face of Allah.”

  “Let’s go,” said Jalil. He tugged at Mira’s arm, and she reluctantly came away with him.

  * * * * *

  The twilight had all but faded, and the desert air was starting to cool when Mira climbed out of her bedroom window and into the dimly lit alley. She pulled her cloak tightly around her and hurried off before anyone saw her leave.

  It had been two weeks since their arrival at Cousin Sarah’s and every day was proving more difficult than the last. Every time she went out, she felt assaulted on all sides by unfamiliar sights and sounds. The never-ending crowd of strangers in the central square pressed in so close that no matter where she went, she felt as if she were drowning. And yet, to stay alone inside, with nothing to do but pine for home—that was even worse. More than anything, she missed the company of her sisters: Lena, with her smooth and balanced grace; Surayya, with her hilariously exaggerated mannerisms; Amina, with her shrewd, witty banter; clumsy Alia and emotional Majd, with shy Rina, the youngest and yet the closest to her. The craggy mountains and rust-red landscape seemed almost to call to her, pulling her back to the only place where she belonged.

  And yet, when she thought on her mother’s last words, terror gripped her so tightly she almost felt as if she would choke. Don’t come back without him. Shira had never given a threat she couldn’t make good on, and Mira didn’t doubt that this one was as real as the others.

  She walked quickly through the half-empty streets until she was at the outskirts of town, where the wind blew stiffly off the ridge and the windmills cut silently through the air. All she wanted was to get away for a little while—just a little while. She’d be back before they knew she was gone.

  As she walked, she couldn’t help but think about the preacher she and Jalil had heard the other day. She’d learned from Sarah that he was a Sufi Master from the inner domes nearest to the temple. He’d come to the desert on a sort of reverse pilgrimage, to seek inspiration in the barren wastes far from the distractions of “civilized” society. Now that he’d returned, he was spending some time in and around Aliet Dome to share his teachings. He had created something of an uproar; so much, in fact, that a few extremist factions were calling for his death. Because his disciples feared for his life, he would be taking a suborbital shuttle back to the temple in a couple of days.

  Unconsciously, she wandered in the direction of the field where she’d heard him preach. The ridge gave her a magnificent view of the valley and the giant glass mountain, while behind her, the giant windmills turned in perfect unison. Overhead, the stars and satellites slowly came out as the twilight deepened, while by her feet, a few stunted shrubs clung to the rocks the way her heart still clung to her desert home.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” came a man’s voice to her right. “Would you believe that under the domes, the nights are starless?”

  Mira jumped and turned to see a short, balding man in white robes walking beside her. She’d been so caught up in her own thoughts that she hadn’t heard him approach.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, giving her a friendly smile. “I was just out for a little walk. Mind if I join you?”

  The thought of walking alone with a man seemed a bit odd, but he seemed as harmless as Old Zeid. She shook her head.

  “No, not at all.”

  “Good,” said the old man, falling into step with her. He had a light in his eye that looked familiar, though she couldn’t quite place it.

  “Are you from the desert?” she asked.

  “No, my dear; I’m actually from a small town not far from here.”

  “In Aliet Dome?”

  “Yes, in Aliet Dome.” He sighed. “It’s been so long since I’ve been back. Too long.”

  Mira realized with a start that the man was Master Rumiya.

  “Oh!” she blurted. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

  “Sorry?” Master Rumiya asked, smiling at her. “Sorry for what? You’ve done nothing to apologize for.”

  “I know, I just—I didn’t know who you were.”

  “And now that you do, does it make any difference?”

  Mira didn’t know how to respond. She considered dropping to her knees to bow to the holy man, but somehow that didn’t seem appropriate.

  “It doesn’t, you know,” Rumiya continued. “I’m no greater than you. Whatever holiness you see in me, you can certainly find it in yourself.”

  Mira nodded. God-willing.

  They fell back into step, walking along a path that led to the edge of the ridge. Up ahead, the glass mountain rose to a distant plateau, unnaturally high and flat. The air above it still rippled and shimmered with the heat of the day, making the stars appear to dance on the edge of the horizon.

  “You know,” said Rumiya, “I was only a boy when I
left this place.”

  “A boy?”

  “Yes—about your age, in fact. Strange, how little things have changed.”

  “Why did you leave?” Mira asked.

  Rumiya sighed. “Why does anyone leave the place of their birth? I felt that something in my life was missing. I searched all over this world and across the stars for the thing that would make me feel whole, but never found it until I looked in my own heart.”

  For some reason, his comments made her think of Jalil. As she thought of how he wanted to return to his home across the stars, her hands began to shake.

  “Then why did you ever leave?”

  “No place in this universe is great enough to contain a man’s soul. We are all strangers in this mortal plane, searching for something we cannot find until we are called back to the Earth of Paradise.”

  “But what about your family?” Mira asked, arguing as much with herself as with Rumiya. “Didn’t you have someone else to live for? Some reason to stay with those you loved?”

  “Oh, I’m sure I did,” he said, “but how can one truly know himself without leaving home?”

  Mira took a deep breath to calm herself. Her heart pounded in her chest as she considered her words.

  “Is that the only way to find it, then?”

  “An excellent question,” said Rumiya, “one which my colleagues at the temple never tire of debating. We all have our separate answers, but I believe it comes to this: each of us lives in the world of our own choosing.”

  Mira frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Most of us go about our lives believing that we are not in control—that some outside force in our lives directs our fate. And yet this is never so.”

  “But how?”

  Master Rumiya smiled. “Because each of us sees the world as part of a story—a story in which each of us is the hero. It may be a tragedy, or a drama, or even a comedy, but whatever it is, the meaning of that story is no more or less than what we have chosen to make of it.”

  Even in the darkness, his eyes gleamed with a noticeable passion. Mira remained silent, not wanting to interrupt him.

  “To truly understand the holiness that is within you,” he continued, “you must understand and accept the deepest desires of your heart. Do not deny them; they are not unholy, for you are a child of Earth, and the Truth of Allah dwells within you.”

  “But what about the people I love?” she asked softly. “What if they leave me?”

  What if Jalil leaves me?

  Master Rumiya put both hands on her shoulders and looked her straight in the eye. “Few truly understand the deepest desires of their hearts,” he said. “They chase after empty dreams, not realizing that such things will only bring them misery. Deep within your heart, what is it you truly desire? To live out your days at home with your family? To marry the boy you love? Or do you hunger for something that remains to be revealed?”

  “I don’t know!” Mira cried out, surprising herself with the forcefulness of her own voice. “I don’t know what I want. What should I do?”

  “Seek out the desires of your heart, child. And when you find them, have the inner strength to follow them, no matter what the dictates and wishes of others may be. Then will you find your truth—the Truth that is in you. Your Earth, your home, your paradise.”

  Mira opened her mouth to say something, but she stopped short. Her head was spinning, and she didn’t know what to think anymore.

  Sarah and Jalil have probably realized that I sneaked out by now, she realized. I need to get back before they get worried.

  “Thank you for your advice,” she said, “but I have to go.”

  “I understand.”

  “Will we meet again?” she asked hopefully.

  Rumiya sighed and shook his head. “I’m afraid today was my last sermon. Persecution has forced me to move on.”

  “But I’m on the pilgrimage—maybe we’ll see each other along the way?”

  His face lit up. “Perhaps. Let it be as Allah wills it.”

  “Yes,” said Mira. She turned and started back down the path towards the town. “Goodbye.”

  “Goodbye, child. And remember—you are the Truth!”

  * * * * *

  The days could not pass quickly enough for Jalil. Granted, it wasn’t uncommon for travelers in the desert to spend weeks—sometimes even months—at a time as guests in a foreign place. If the only thing keeping them near Aliet Dome was respect for their cousin’s hospitality, he could have borne it without complaint. But this matter of acquiring documents—of needing someone else’s permission to go about his business—that he could not stand. It seemed like such a needless obstacle, when all he wanted was to leave this world for his true home out among the stars.

  Eventually, however, the documents were processed, and the day of departure arrived. That morning, Sarah saw them off as far as the edge of the ridge, where the main highway descended the rocky cliffs in a series of hairpin turns before crossing the valley to the enormous black mass of Aliet Dome. She didn’t have a vehicle to carry them, and even though it was several miles to the border, Jalil had had decided it would be cheaper to walk than to take the over-priced shuttle to the border crossing.

  “Farewell,” said Sarah, embracing Jalil and kissing him on both cheeks. “May Allah bless and keep you both.”

  “And you as well,” said Jalil. “Thank you so much for everything.”

  She smiled and turned to Mira. “Goodbye, my darling,” she said as they embraced. “It was so wonderful to see you—may Allah bless you on your journey.”

  “And may Allah keep you as well,” Mira said, embracing her cousin.

  Sarah leaned in close and whispered something in Mira’s ear that Jalil couldn’t quite catch. Mira’s cheeks flushed red, and Sarah laughed.

  “What was that?” Jalil asked Mira once they were out of earshot.

  “Nothing,” she said quickly. “Nothing at all.”

  * * * * *

  We all live in the world of our own choosing, Mira thought to herself as she and Jalil made the long and circuitous descent to the valley. If she could have her choice, she would rather be safe at home, surrounded by family and familiarity. But then she thought about Jalil leaving the camp and realized that without him, her dream would be empty. Father would marry her off one day, after all, and unless she married Jalil, she would most likely be forced to leave her home forever. If that was true, the only way to follow the desires of her heart was to endure as best she could and make Jalil fall in love with her.

  Several large vehicles passed them on the way down: massive cargo trucks and oversized hovercars, kicking up dust as they rushed past them. By the time they reached the valley floor, the sun was already well above the lip of the glass mountain. Mira pulled her headscarf tighter around her head for protection, while Jalil raised his hand to block the sunlight.

  Ahead of them stood the vast bulk of the glass mountain, rising almost vertically from the rocky ground until it filled their view. Its face was black and unnaturally smooth, unlike anything that Mira had ever seen. Sunlight reflecting off its face cast strange patterns of shimmering light all around them, giving the place an otherworldly feel.

  “What’s on your mind?” he asked as they walked along the dusty roadside.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “What the world in the bottle looks like on the inside, I guess.”

  “Hamza called it Babylon,” he said, looking off into the distance.

  “What are you thinking about?” she asked.

  Jalil turned to face her again. “Have you ever seen pictures of the temple?”

  “Only the one in the camp. It looks very pretty.”

  “It’s enormous, too. I hear you can see it from space.”

  “Truly?”

  “Yes,” he said, eyes lit with excitement. “Every couple hundred years, they add a new layer to the structure. Since it’s surrounded on all sides by glass mountains, the only way to build is up.”
>
  “That’s fascinating.”

  “The oldest layers are at the bottom, though. That’s where the Holy Archives are.”

  “Of course.”

  They walked for a little while in silence.

  “Why do you want to make the pilgrimage so badly?” Jalil asked.

  The question caught Mira completely off guard. She hesitated, unsure what to say.

  “I-I’ve always wanted to,” she said. “Since I was little.”

  The lie made her cringe.

  “Really?”

  “Yes,” she said, looking away. “It’s like what Master Rumiya said—we all have a piece of Earth in us.”

  “And what is that supposed to mean?”

  He sees right through me, Mira thought fearfully to herself. Sweat clung to the back of her neck, and she struggled in vain to think of some reply.

  “I’m sorry,” Jalil said, noticing her discomfort. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “That’s all right,” she whispered. Perhaps not.

  They walked on in silence until they came to an enormous door at the base of the mountain. A long line of vehicles had formed in front of it, and a steady stream of traffic drove out, heading back the way they had come.

  “What now?” she asked.

  “I suppose we wait.”

  * * * * *

  The wait took the better part of the morning, until the air was hot and both of them were covered in sweat and dust. Jalil could hardly stand it. Was there no end to the delays these people seemed determined to make him endure?

  Eventually, however, they came to the gate outside the door, where a man with a gun directed them to a small stone building with barred windows. He eyed Jalil’s rifle with a half-interested glance but otherwise seemed supremely bored.

  Inside the building, several men sat behind a handful of desks with built-in computer terminals. They wore creased, button-up white uniforms, and each kept a plasma pistol at his belt. Jalil and Mira passed through a long line of travelers, until one of the officials became available.