by J. J. Harkin
“Truly, truly,” Sheik Aleman was now saying, “you are a servant of Allah most high! Thank you, King Mukasa!”
Yet Dajjal knew his responsibility to all things secular, and changed gears accordingly. “Nay,” he said, “I am the servant of no god! Why do you speak to me of Allah when you know it is I who have come to your town? Do you see God anywhere around here?”
Aleman the elder seemed surprised at this, though he appeared no less enthralled. “No,” he replied penitently, “I suppose not.”
“Excellent…” whispered Talman into Dajjal’s ear.
“Then phrase your praise in wiser ways, my friend,” continued Dajjal. “I have no use for religious robots.” He remembered to soften his expression at this point. “But I do appreciate the warm intention behind such complements, and thank you nonetheless.”
“Certainly I did not intend to insult your power,” Aleman explained hurriedly. “I was only speaking as men of my station are taught.” He was bowing again. “Please forgive me, King Mukasa.”
“Just remember who is the true source of power in Iraq the next time you see a great wonder and decide to speak.”
“I am your devoted follower, oh King.” Aleman was now bowing right down to the ground.
A shrill cry arrested their conversation at that point. “King Mukasa!” shouted Haji, running up once again to address the men. “Come quick, King Mukasa! Our camel has died!”
Nodding knowingly, Dajjal followed Haji down the street away from the MULE, and the elders hurried after, hoping the child’s request had not been inappropriate. When they came to a halt at last, they saw that the poor animal had fallen into a ditch just outside Nadi’s far entrance. The motionless, crumpled form of the animal was certainly lifeless, and Dajjal wondered what he might do.
Luckily Talman was whispering in his ear again. “Stall for two minutes, and I’ll have the camel ready!”
Dajjal, thinking fast, turned to Haji. “If I bring your camel back to life,” he asked, “will you believe that I am your Lord?” He placed a hand on the silent child’s upturned forehead.
“Most certainly,” said Sheik Aleman, answering for the boy as he approached. The other elders had arrived as well, and were all nodding, though they remained at a respectable distance.
“Very well.” Dajjal waved his hands around in the air methodically, hoping his audience would believe this had something to do with what was about to happen. He was just getting worried that Talman might never have the proper illusion ready when the camel finally shimmied and stood up. The real camel remained dead at the bottom of the ditch, of course, concealed by the power of the satellites, yet its illusory duplicate walked up the nearest slope toward the onlookers with ease.
“He’s okay!” shouted Haji, as he ran to meet the non-existent camel.
Still invisible, Talman found reason to whisper quickly into Dajjal’s ear again. “Obviously they won’t be able to sit on a holographic camel,” he said, “so they’ll need a logical reason from you as to why they shouldn’t even try.” The animal was approaching quickly.
“Yes, friends,” confirmed Dajjal, “your fine camel is back among the living again, but hear this warning…” Aleman and the rest of the elders stopped everything to hear the what he had to say. Haji, who was approaching with the camel, was admiring its fat hump and fully laden udders, swaying heavily, as she came reluctantly to a halt nearby. “Though this camel’s milk will always be sweet and plentiful,” continued Dajjal, “I warn you this milk will furthermore bear little nutritional value. Also beware that none should ever ride the camel, as its back remains fragile from its unexpected fall, and any further stress could once again kill the beast.”
As good as his word, Sheik Aleman hurried to kneel before Dajjal once again. “Indeed, you are my Lord,” he pleaded penitently. “I thank you. I thank you.”
“Perfect,” hissed Talman, “I hadn’t thought to cover the fact that non-existent camels don’t produce real milk.”
They were walking back into Nadi now, with the virtual dromedary just behind. Part of Dajjal wished he could stay until it became dark, when the new streetlamps would flip on, but there was no time today. Talman had plans for him, he was sure. In the end, Dajjal agreed to a late lunch at the lovely new home of one of the other town elders, a man named Suleman. It was not a bad meal, though sparse, as these were poor people. As they dined around a low table, Dajjal noticed that numerous photos of a very distinctive-looking man, as well as an energetic boy, lined the walls of the little room.
“And who is this man and this boy?” Dajjal asked.
“This is my father: Suleman,” said the elder. “Bless his name, he died last winter. And the young one is my brother: Ali. He died many, many years ago.”
“I can have 3D composites of these photos ready shortly,” said Talman into Dajjal’s ear. “Give me five minutes. Since we have no voice samples they won’t be able to talk, so think of an excuse beforehand as to why that is.”
“I am sorry for your loss,” Dajjal lied easily.
Suleman was leaning toward him now. “Yes,” he said, “yes, quite a loss.”
Was that hope which Dajjal had spotted in his eyes? He let a few moments pass, hoping to appear as though he might be thinking deeply, before breaking the silence. “If I bring your father and brother back, will you believe that I am your Lord?”
“Why not?” Suleman replied. The look of disbelief on his face was genuine, though Dajjal was sure the man had been hoping for this exact thing.
“Understand this:” explained Dajjal authoritatively, “Though it is permitted for me to meet and speak with your lost relatives, know that they have passed on into the lands of bliss, and will no longer be able to see or commune with you. I think, however, that just witnessing their continuing lives may be of invaluable restorative value to the family.”
“Ready…” reported Talman.
“Light a candle here, at the center of the table,” continued Dajjal, hoping to build a sense of drama. As the others obliged, he turned to the village elder. “Now concentrate on your two long-lost friends.” Suleman, his wife, and the rest of the dinner party immediately took these instructions to heart, gazing wholeheartedly into the lone flame. “Suleman, father of Suleman, hear the call of the King,” said Dajjal poetically, “and bring your son, Ali, as well, as his brother would like to see him.”
A fine mist seemed to fill the room, as Talman played his part like a maestro. The glow of two forms – only visible from the waist up, presumably due to the fact that none of the photos in the room had captured any more of them – materialized slowly before the light of the candle. A collective gasp passed around the table as the two figures bowed gracefully. The elder was shaking in disbelief, for the holograms were indeed perfect, and quite reminiscent of the photos which surrounded them.
“Thank you Suleman and Ali,” said Dajjal. “I have need to speak with you both.” The figures nodded again silently, as the new King brainstormed his next statements. Then he pretended to respond to some reply from the images. “Yes, yes. We have done much for them today,” he said empathetically, before turning to Suleman in the manner of an interpreter. “They are simply asking if I aided you appropriately today,” he lied, and all of the family exchanged gazes of wonderment.
“Suleman and Ali,” began Dajjal again, “I have a request to make of both of you. Will you aid your King by comforting his subjects?” Here the two ghostly figures seemed to turn to one another quizzically before nodding back in agreement. Talman’s control of the holo-puppets was prodigious.
“This day I have provided Nadi with new street lamps,” Dajjal explained, “but they will need to be lit on a nightly basis. Might we extend this duty to you?” He asked this quite gently and submissively, as a matter of respect. “Surely eternal bliss still leaves room for a daily visit to the home of your beloved relatives, does it not?” Talman did not fail him. Immediately the projections nodded, seeming to rejoice at the new
s. “Then so be it!” announced Dajjal triumphantly. The two figures seemed to dance merrily, and then faded.
Talman was whispering in his ear again. “Good job. Be ready to go in another five…”
The entire dinner party had erupted into excited discussion, but Dajjal took the opportunity to take his leave. Suleman and his family pressed him with questions they hoped their relatives might answer, but the King simply stood to excuse himself. “Just expect to see them at sundown and sunup, when they tend the lights,” he said. “This will be their way of staying with you, though they have passed on.”
He strode to the MULE, and turned back to bow in farewell. The people of Nadi surrounded him completely, though none dared to come too close. “May the peace of the King be upon you!” announced Dajjal, with great finality. Then he jumped aboard the MULE, revving its engines before he sped out of town, and was gone.
Talman uncloaked himself, and banished the holographic silks which had covered the vehicle, as soon as they rounded the corner out of Nadi. “Impressive work!” he shouted above the sound of the wind, slapping his student on the back. “That was some quick thinking you did back there!”
“Thanks!” Dajjal replied. “So I didn’t take it too far with my idea about the streetlights?”
“Oh, no, absolutely not,” assured Talman earnestly. “From now on Nadi’s lights will not come on at night, nor go out in the morning, until the two ghostly holograms arrive to touch the lampposts. It was a simple addition.”
“Good!”
“Not that they’ll be able to appreciate it for long…”
“What do you mean?”
“Look back and see for yourself,” said Talman helpfully, as he traded Dajjal a pair of binoculars for the craft’s remote control.
Turning, Dajjal squinted back toward the little town – pairing just one side of the binoculars with his single functioning eye – as Talman slowed their getaway vehicle helpfully. “I don’t see anything special,” he replied in confusion. From this distance Nadi was now nothing but a stylish tumble of buildings.
“Well, look beneath the holograms, of course…” said Talman, already bored with the exchange.
Dajjal obeyed, and then he saw it: a small pile of what appeared to be human bodies at the back of an outbuilding. It seemed for all the world as though the victims had leaped to their deaths from the flat roof of the dwelling for no reason at all. “What made them jump?” he asked, genuinely confused.
Talman lost all patience for a moment. Sighing to himself, he brought the craft up to speed again, until Nadi was lost from sight. Yet Dajjal continued to stare at him, waiting for an explanation. “Really?” asked Talman, disbelief filling him as he glimpsed the other’s confusion. Then he gave up. “Fine,” he said, beginning to speak very slowly, as though Dajjal was quite stupid. “I gave their new houses two stories when they originally only had one, so…”
“So every time someone tries to investigate the upper floor…”
“Yes,” confirmed Talman, “they’ll take a long walk off a short pier! Then – picture it – as the other inhabitants come looking for the missing victims, they’ll all eventually make the same mistake, trying to tour a room which doesn’t exist. By morning the people of Nadi will have all jumped off one roof or another accidentally.”
“Like lemmings…” Dajjal said to himself, feeling childish for not understanding sooner. Talman’s bloodthirst was impressive.
They were speeding across the desert now, much faster than they had ever gone before. The elastic reigns whipped about violently in the wind. A movement in the corner of his vision distracted Dajjal suddenly. There, now visible in the absence of disguising holograms, lay the boy, Haji, tied to the deck like some kind of trophy.
“Why’d you bring him along?” asked Dajjal. “Is this why you needed that last five minutes?”
Talman smiled at the question. “We deserve our reward as well, don’t we?”
“I suppose. But how might a useless child serve as a reward?”
“This child was the most boisterous and courageous in the village. He approached you first, before anyone else. Remember this in the future, when you too are making selections.”
“Selections? What are you talking about, Talman?” The man had lost him completely.
“You’ll see, grasshopper. You’ll see.”
Harriet’s Dream
In her dream, Harriet soared above a vast, stony island in the sea. Curiously she began to drift earthward, as a feeling of intimate familiarity washed over her. A mighty mountain in the north of that isle drew her magnetically, and she made for it. Taller and taller it grew as she approached, gleaming black like volcanic rock. Three moats could be seen surrounding it, all carved of adamantine stone, replete with gates, ramparts, and many commercial harbors. A city of grown crystal, or possibly etched diamond, adorned every spare nook and cranny of that impenetrable, ringed fortress. The sight was like fangs plunging into Harriet’s eyes, but she could not look away.
An electricity in the air stood her hair on end as Harriet touched down just inside the city’s outermost wall. Looking back upward, the sky seemed a strange shade of violet. People were everywhere, all dressed in the finest attire. But something was wrong. As Harriet approached the nearest citizen – a woman – she gazed deeply into the face of the other. Horrified, she looked away at once, as her suspicion was confirmed. Emptiness! There had been no soul inside the woman! Nothing! The recognition of this unexpected spiritual vacancy made Harriet cry out in her sleep. She was surrounded by bodies, Harriet felt – all moving around and doing many intelligent things – but they were by no means real people, not in the way she understood the term. It had been like looking into a hollow shell, like seeing an automated intelligence which impersonated true humanity, and for several moments she felt sick.
Whereas any other dreamer might have awakened at such a fright, Harriet’s awareness could not help but explore the city further. Fear at first, and then a tugging upon her heartstrings, set her recovering soul running like a deer, the experience of which felt both refreshing and right. The painful trappings of her elderly, physical body seemed to evaporate as her pace accelerated. She was leaping and bounding toward the city’s center, where a great gathering of people moved gracefully at the foot of the terrifying mountain. The faster she ran, the younger she felt, until Harriet began to sense great clouds of darkness issuing from her, being left behind like the vestiges of some lesser memory.
The whirling sensation of music broke upon her like a drug as she joined the waiting crowd at last. There a beautiful woman led the group in their dance, so gorgeous the rhythm issuing from her was a torment to the mind. In unison the hollow people danced with the swaying siren, until Harriet felt that she must join in. Immediately room was made for her at the head of the cabal of dancers, where the eyes of the electric woman fell upon her like a lance. The dance continued in an unbroken chain of movement, as a vortex of untamed power billowed effortlessly from the feminine dance captain.
Harriet was caught utterly in the spell of the mighty woman, and she saw immediately that this was the first true person she had yet encountered on the island. Looking within, Harriet was relieved to at last see another spirit staring back at her, yet even this was no more familiar than it was unearthly. A bitter logic seemed captured within the face of the fell woman, who somehow spoke without the movement of her lips, and the sound of her voice railed against Harriet’s mind like a rattling sword: “I see you, spirit! Finish what you have begun! Die to this world if you would survive in the next! Die and be released!”
For a moment Harriet struggled within herself, but had a last vision before she awoke. On a balcony just behind and above the dancing woman, something like a man had emerged, clothed all in gleaming armor contrived to take on the appearance of snake skin or fishes’ mail. A writhing aura of darkness surrounded him, blazing and flickering as though he were a living, eternal flame, but his cold eyes stole her last bre
ath away. Spirit though she was, Harriet fell upon the ground, stricken. As a great cry fell from high above, she looked upward to glimpse something like a giant bat circling the mountain’s pinnacle, and then her dream fled away into forgetfulness.
Chapter XVI
THE DREAM OF ARIADNE
Day was drawing to a close as the MULE delivered Talman and Dajjal smoothly back to their parking spot before the Darkspire. Evidently they were expected, for black-clad servants waited there, poised to tie up and secure the craft. Talman lifted the hogtied mass of Haji effortlessly, hoisting the struggling boy with his right hand like a carryon. Red sunset had called them home, for there was much yet to be done.
The doormen at the base of the Darkspire seemed to take no notice that they were entering with a captive. The foyer at the base of the tower was as cool as the kidnappers as Talman pulled shut the great doors behind them. The atrium which housed the elevators was as round as the surrounding tower, though somewhat smaller due to thick walls. Dajjal was grateful the child had been firmly gagged, as the agonized cries of the hopeless tended always to distract him unmercifully.
Talman surprised Dajjal there, by taking a right before they reached the elevator. “We go this way,” he said, indicating the nearest of many shining panels of black stone.
As Dajjal wondered at this, Talman turned to face the wall. Touching his forehead mysteriously, he inclined his head toward the obsidian surface, as if bowing slightly. A small amount of light burst forth at that moment, from some local source unseen. Then a bell rang somewhere, a hydraulic hiss escaped, and the rock wall rolled forward and to the side, revealing a staircase descending into absolute night. Haji, seeing the dark chasm before them, began to struggle once more, but they paid him no notice.
