Private Which Once Shone Before, the Sun

[Santiago Malik]

"Listen to me, Mali, not once but twice: this was our home, and home it is no longer. You will know your roots, and the knowing will kill you. You must be cautious. Speak not lest your tongue betray you. Be silent and look, but do not be seen. You have heard me now, little Mali. A mother is always right. Go now and return, and return alive."

-Jeresa ibn Ali on the dawn of Santiago's sojourn to Suldaza

---

The sun crooked a kaleidoscopic dawn over the dunes. Even amidst this early hour it shimmered, a thousand wicked illusions beating over a landscape bereft of movement to the untrained eye. Emptiness beckoned from beyond rolling hills laden in sand and dirt. It swayed in a directionless breeze, a web of wind caught between a distant westward coast and the vast vacuum of the east. Eddies of it caught snakes of sand, vicious vortices that tracked the desert's belly in hunt for unwary prey.

Malik, face hot and wet with a slick of sweat, sagged under the weight of his own step. Face occluded behind silken veil, eyes shaded by a coil of cloth that rested light atop his brow, he made slow progress on his hike. The tangle of clothes that hung unfamiliar and loose about him impeded precise movement, forced him into a struggle with which there could be no victor.

The guide he'd hired warned him against traversing the dunes this side of daylight, despite the urgency with which Malik pressed her. She stood some distance ahead, posture straight and hand crooked around the straps of a waterskin, sparing few in the way of glances back to her charge. To the young man, this served as motivation to hide the labored breaths that sought to rattle past his lips, to disguise the effort exerted in every step. The thought had struck him on more than one occasion that doing so created its own inefficiencies; that perhaps he was making it harder than necessary for the sole sake of his vanity.

He pressed on despite these challenges, because of them. Even with his bones creaking in protest, with his skin screaming red under the harsh remonstration of the sun, he continued. Step by solitary step until he crested a rise.

When Malik squinted, he could make out the rim of the floating citadel he sought, Miraj'Dah. Where the dunes shimmered in the sun, a thousand crystalline eyes glistering wildly below, the citadel instead radiated its own presence. More a penumbral veil than a gaze. Wherever he turned his head, Miraj'Dah once noticed remained in his periphery. No more could it be ignored.

He ushered his guide forth, pointed at a knot of people peppering the landscape below their rise.

"Guards?" he asked. "Hail them over." His voice cracked with inflection, stilted by the attempt to imitate the local accent. He received no acknowledgment from his guide.

She slipped away, movement silk against the sand, and made her approach to that distant party.

 

[Kilam]

Days Prior..

Minutes had turned to hours as Kilam buried himself deep within his studies. Forbidden work kept to the shadows alone, even though in the shadows, he was never truly alone. Under the guise of opposition, he studied his own condition, the cross of magi-tech, and the human condition. Gold hues absorbed the texts in silence; committing details to memory, phantom pains echoed across his skin.

'They'll hang you for treason, young Miradi.." The voice cooed as Kilam sat back in his chair, tracing the open ends of the metal shoulder socket. His left arm lay upon the table shroud runes lay scattered about. Partially disassembled at the elbow down to the hand, he observed the fingers and the joints. "I am well aware.. Even now, they will monitor me, while I am still sane, there is little concern. I am sure the answers I find will be of much use to them after I am gone." Speaking back mentally, a knock at the door turned him around. Rising, he opened the door to receive a written notice from his mother.

'Kilam.. You are to go to the Sands below. A scouting mission, someone is coming that you must meet!"

-Mother Karandas

"It sounds like I get to kill two birds in one stone. More crystals and some room to hopefully stretch my legs." Grinning broadly, he returned to his desk, putting his arm back together once again.
"Good, perhaps we might get some practice in as well. Let me show you how far you can weave."

Present Day..

Gods, was it a beautiful day! Stretching his arms wide Kilam was all smiles and elbows being free of the floating city. The caravan was set to meet with some youth who wanted to visit their mines. Clearly, there was some level of influence here, or else the group would not be some fifteen strong. With his banded armor secured beneath his robes with his sword, Kilam paced slowly in waiting. Seconds stretched to minutes before someone called out, gesturing to a native guide and her charge. "I dare say, the traveler is looking a little worse for wear.." He mumbled as he stepped forward with one guard to meet the duo.

"Blessings, friend, thank you for guiding our guest here." Reaching out, he shook the woman's hand while placing some gems into her palm as payment. Ushering her off to join the rest of the group Kilam stood at the top of the dune to wait for the others' arrival. As the man drew closer, Kilam felt a sense of familiarity. Had he met this man before?

 

[Santiago Malik]

The guide knew enough to palm the gems with a gracious nod and fade away quietly. She made no display of affection, relief, face kept bland but for the flicker of gratitude that crossed her eyes. A job like any other. She slipped into the peripheries, swirling into the billows of dust rising from nearby dunes, evaporating, just another mirage as she melded into the ranks of the guards.

Not once had she lifted the veil that protected her mouth, nor uttered more than was necessary to accept his employ or hail the envoys from Miraj'Dah. Santiago admired that. He made to wipe sweat from his brow and frowned when his hand came back dry; the sun had stolen even that from him.

He shifted his attention to the man who spoke, tilted his chin and crossed his arms in the polite motions of a bow.

"To you as well," he said. "I am Malik, son of Jeressa, grandson of Ali though his last breath left this world before I was born." Despite his tone, his eyes were bereft of sadness in the telling.

He rose from his bow only to realize he had to lift his gaze substantially to meet the man's own.

"My mother gave no great instruction for me, only that I would learn who I am meant to be by coming here. What can I call you," he said, adding belatedly, "friend?"

 

[Kilam]

Ah, this young lad reminded Kilam of himself. Also favored by his own mother, it was almost comical that their situation was nearly the same. Yet in the back of his mind, he still pondered why this stout figure seemed so familiar to him. Offering a smile, golden hues took in Malik's measure twice over. Reaching out, he aimed to grasp the other at the elbow. "The sands welcome you home. It is not often that the Miradi stray from home. Come, it's time to move out." Kilam reached out with his left arm to take the others' bag from him.

Leading towards the group, Kilam whistled, spurring the camp into action. The reins of a camel were handed to Malik so he could ride for the time being. "Ride this.. You may call me Seeker Karandas. How would you like to be referred?" Kilam looked over his shoulder as he strapped Malik's bags to the camel's back. Carrying his own pack with ease, he popped a cooled grape into his mouth, suckling on its freshness. The sweetness brought satisfaction to the taste buds, which gave way to a smile.

"Seeker Karandas, the site is a good bit away; from the looks of the weather, we will have rough winds for a time. I suggest we keep to the trader roads for shelter." The lead Wanjila'dara spoke to Kilam while gesturing at a map. Nodding his understanding, the lad gave a gesture in acceptance before turning back to Malik.

"I do apologize, Friend, it looks like this trip may take a lot longer than anticipated. Do not worry, though, we have enough supplies to last half a week if needs be. Let your mind be at ease." he bowed his head in apology for the inconvenience.

 

[Santiago Malik]

"What weather do we fare?" he asked, looking to the sky. Eddies of sand snuck into clouds, thunderstruck as plumes of purple lightning cackled on a distant horizon; too distant to be entirely relevant, by Malik's reckoning.

With the sun beating down, rays blaring hot and sweltering over the dunes, the cloudscape beyond seemed altogether surreal. Twisters shot up from the ground, from mirages borne of heat and lies, subsuming all that shone before the vast expanse of the Sulzandan desert. For the wadnjila'dara it was another day, akin to any other beneath the mansa's watchful eye. For Malik, who knew little of such climates, it assailed his sensibilities with such gusto that he had to force a gritted grin to maintain some semblance of normalcy.

It proved unconvincing.

"Seeker Karandas, then," he said, slowly, mouthing the words around the accents his mother taught him. A difficult task. He released himself from the man's grip, wishing against wish to wipe nonexistent sweat from his chest. He found himself dizzy, throat parched.

"Should the supplies hold, I'd have a sip of water, if it pleases." War was waged against his pride, but thirst won handily.

 

[Kilam]

From the corner of his eye, Kilam mused at the other as water and a palm full of cool grapes were placed in Malik's grasp. "Here, there is plenty to spare, and wells along the way should we need to restock. To answer your other question, it has recently rained upon these lands. Thus, the array of weather you see before us will be fast approaching." Kilam spoke like the instructor he was trained to be. Gesturing to the group and the hills toward the coast, the magi-tech limb pointed to the sky.

"Like the cycle of rain, so too do storms cycle with Coast just yonder. I applaud your stubbornness to make it here. We did not think you would beat the coming storm." From his left, a waterskin was placed in Malik's bag for later use. For now, he would share his water gourd with him.

"He seems to be the same age as you, young Miradi. Your curiosity about him is also amusing." The voice cooed again as the Seeker's mind raced over foggy childhood memories. The names Ali and Jeressa had made his mind swirl back further and further to his upbringing.

"So you are on a Sojourn, then yes? You must be around the same age as me, no doubt." Rubbing his chin lightly, Kilam kept his head wrap on, using the brim to shade his eyes. Just beyond a large angled structure stood open to all who sought shelter. Throughout their approach, the winds around them increased in frequency and pull, urging them forward.
Chuckling slowly, Kilam ate another grape, slipping the stash back into a hidden pocket of his robes. From a gentle breeze to a gentle roaring around their ears, the lightning struck in ionizing hues from purple to red.

"There is where we shall rest for now. It is still a quarter mile or so away, but we will reach it before the storm hits." Grinning wider, the youth was excited for the storm itself. He lost count of how many times he watched them roll past beneath the floating city. Now he could be in the belly of it.

 

[Santiago Malik]

Plopping a grape into his mouth, Malik chewed cautiously until a wave of sweet juice with a sour kiss washed over his tongue.

"Yes, a sojourn," he said, eying the man and doubting that they might be of an age. "I was told little about it, my mother preferring experience as mentor." A shrug. He averted his gaze, let it linger over the horizon and lost himself in momentary reverie. Some nagging of familiarity accosted him.

A few long draughts at the skin slaked his thirst, so it followed naturally that he sought to slake his curiosity: "This does not appear to be rain, Seeker. Forgive me if I risk sounding the fool, is this common?"

They had drawn closer to the shelter, close enough for its facade to come fully in view. He gestured around it. An entryway that bore resemblance to a horseshoe that dwarfed the height of man beckoned them even as it hid a number of what were described to him as mashrabiya windows of woven wood with tarp like cloths to filter out the encroaching waves of dust and dune. Further in, a low slanted stairwell sat carved into the ground, texture mirroring that of clay or a hard paint. He guessed that to be the shelter proper, where they might weather the foulest of storms.

He grinned at a bit of mischief.

"Might we make music in tandem with the coming thunder? During my passage across the western isthmus a ferryman told me of weaves in the sky, raw elements given life, things he called gods in everything but name."

 

[Kilam]

Back then...
Laughter echoed through the halls of Miraj'Dah as Malik and Kilam ran together. A small assortment of house pets followed in their wake, yipping and hopping in joy. "Mali! Come, the last one to the shrine is a sunken fool!" Kilam laughed as he skipped ahead by a step. Times were simpler, and the world was smaller as well. Echoes of inaudible promises were shattered as the night sky view turned to whipping cloaks and animated shadows.

He did not understand what was happening between the families, and in that ignorance, he lost his childhood friend.

Now...

Looking ahead, his face softened with compassion as he looked to Malik anew. Perhaps he would wait to tell him. For now, it was best that they should each enjoy this moment. "Yes, these sandstorms are common, my friend. A bit of a mix, blending sand with rain from time to time. Today, it appears to be a thundering sandstorm." Looking up to the sky, the hairs on his skin rose with anticipation. He could not hide his growing excitement to come.

"A sunken fool assumes to know everything." Chuckling slowly he welcomed the idea of song to the beat of nature. The call of the spirits to guide this Sojourn and bless its undertaking.

"This will do, Kilam. Try this with him, but as you do.. So shall you weave.. Feel it.." Cooing, the voice rippled like a droplet on calm waters. Nodding slowly, Kilam accepted the instructions as the metallic fingers flexed. Rolling both shoulders, he gave a few gestures to the Wanjila'dara's, and they all smiled in excitement. Their pace increased as they began securing what could not be brought down along with the mounts. Taking down Malik's pack, he waited for the other to dismount before waving to head below.

"Come Malik. Let us rest."

 

[Santiago Malik]

Sunken fool. A fun turn of phrase, one that prickled against the tides of Malik's memory. It drew a smile from him, full and bellied with laughter that was swiftly drowned beneath the thrum of encroaching storm. The tarps drummed arrhythmic against the mashrabiya. How it howled, beat on beat to eclipse voice and reason.

The wandjila'daras unloaded their beasts of burden, bags saddled over shoulder as they scurried into the shelter proper. Swift work, and Malik lost himself in the pace of it. He followed at the Seeker's heel, descending into the shelter that was at first darkened in mirror to the sky above; lanterns were lit in turn, kindling with the thrum of magitech, crystals emitting a bluish hue as they saturated the shelter.

Lavish rugs came into view, reminiscent of tapestries Malik had seen strewn about the walls of noble estates in the Arsha heartland. Amusing. There such things were often displayed in egress, to awe and bully an appreciation of wealth. He recalled the stories told of them, one in particular from a senator-to-be whose pride was second only to the empire's own. It was a debasement of craftmanship there, the spoils of wars that passed long before the living had left the cradle.

Here, among the Suldanzan? A simple rug to decorate a traveler's shelter, some common waystation for the weary.

He settled down after the Seeker's example.

Musing, he said, "I wonder what might have happened if I did not manage to beat this storm." The rattle of wood and tarp accented his speech. He massaged at a shoulder, rolling the muscles of a slender neck.

"None of that. I would instead hear tell of the city itself. Miraj'Dah to me has been little more than legend, stories my mother tells to rekindle a childhood I barely remember."