Sands and Starlight (Paperback)

Twilight, and a hush cloaked the darkening sands. To a stranger, the silence might be oppressive, born as it was of the vast emptiness of the steppe. To Baradir, the silence was expectant.

He paused in the lee of a rocky promontory, sheltered from the dry winds that swept past in a haze of dust and sand. One precious skin of water went to refresh the three camels of his caravan; they drank greedily, thick lips slurping noisily. Baradir, dreaming of mint-laced tea in a clear glass, satisfied himself with a swallow or two. Soon, he promised himself. He need only wait while the sun sank beyond the horizon, taking the vestiges of the burning day away with it.

Thirst and hunger lengthened the minutes; twilight glimmered on in a haze of low light. Baradir found a large rock, still glowing with the day’s heat, and seated himself cross-legged atop its storm-smoothed surface. Five days’ travel overland from Zahele had brought him to this remote spot; a familiar enough journey, though one he had not made in some years. For the first few days, he had met other traders along the road; once, he had successfully bartered two of the gold-threaded silks he’d procured in Parsas for a quantity of frankincense, and a ceramic jar filled to the brim with cinnamon. The trade pleased him, particularly since he had also gained a third article: a glass bottle, too plain to fetch a high price. Its former owner had been eager to be rid of it.

To Baradir, the thing was no mere trinket. Blue glass, ethereally translucent beneath its coating of grime; a simple shape, almost unornamented, but its neck tightly stoppered, and sealed with copper. Its scant heft might herald the bottle’s lack of contents, but it lied. Baradir withdrew the bottle from a pocket in his cloak. For a moment he simply sat and held it, silently appreciative of his good fortune. Gently, he smoothed dirt away with his thumb.

An eerie glimmer of light sparked to life somewhere within.

The sweet, haunting notes of harp-song drifted along the breeze, a chang in full flow, and he looked up sharply. Heat shimmered fiercely before him, the horizon rippling like clear water. The scents of oranges and rosewater and cardamom teased at his nose, and — yes — fresh mint.

Dust whirled up, swift and hot, making Baradir cough. When it cleared, the Starlight Bazaar was open, a burst of bright colour blossoming in the midst of the parched sands.

Baradir rose to his feet, tucking his precious acquisition back into his pocket, and descended towards the night market, stumbling in his haste to reach it. Hanee, Fasee and Talee broke into an eager lope behind him, kicking up dust and sand with their leathery toes. Beyond the gilded gates, orange groves were in full flourish; thence came the heady aromas of citrus and orange-blossom. White petals carpeted the ground.

The souk formed the centre of the Bazaar: three rings of bright tents, sprawling in brazen offer of plenty over the pallid sand. Traders’ voices split the cooling night air, offering enchanted silks and heady rose wine; ethereal moon-pearls and night-lustre gems; eternal frangipani and phoenix feathers; and, of more immediate interest to Baradir, hot, fresh bread, crisp and thin; orange-blossom cream custards; and, best of all, syrup of mint stirred through water cold as snow. He paused at each of these vendors, turning his eyes away from their neighbours proffering trinkets, enchantments and treasures. Later. Soon.

Baradir sat beneath an orange tree as he ate, and watched the lights dancing in its branches. Talee fastened her thick lips into the fabric of his cloak and tugged, receiving for her reward a handful of dates from his pocket. A young woman approached, put a cup of rose wine into his hands, and retreated, her eyes laughing above the gauzy mist of her veil. Baradir took a breath, and a sip, and sat back, his heart eased.

He watched the bustle of the Bazaar whirl past for almost an hour before the jewels trader found him.

‘How slow you are,’ he said as Iskandar approached. The trader, resplendent in wine-red embroidered sirwal, wore a silken turban wound around his head. ‘Is two years avoidance not long enough?’ Baradir added.

‘Avoidance?’ answered Iskandar, and looked down upon Baradir with raised brows. Red jewels glinted in his thick black beard. Seen with Baradir’s left eye, the jewels roiled with sorcerous potency. ‘I could not have caught up with you before now; not if I had tried,’ said Iskandar. ‘And, for your interest, I did.’

‘I have travelled far,’ admitted Baradir.

Iskandar snorted. ‘I hear of you in Zahele, I hear of you in Parsas. I hear of you up and down the Horns of Jubarut. You are spotted somewhere along the Ahvadannar, washed away, imagined dead; but then! Next, you are sighted at Al-Kabes, at Sulanah.’ An engraved copper samavar floated in Iskandar’s wake upon a tray of wrought brass, attended by a pair of gilded cups. Iskandar set about pouring tea as he spoke, and from somewhere produced a cake thick with pistachios and almonds, which he put into Baradir’s hands. ‘The only places I hear nothing of you are the Bazaars, and I wonder: why should Baradir bin Samar cease to attend the starlit streets? If one of us has been avoiding the other, old friend, it was not I.’

Weeks of living off little but dates and water made Baradir more than happy to accept these comforts, despite the quantity of bread he had but lately consumed. He sipped tea, tasting honey and rose, and considered his reply.

‘Have you found it?’ was not what he had planned to say.

‘Tsk. You think I would be wasting your time and mine with comestibles, had I such news for you? This news I would already have given you.’

It was the response Baradir had expected, but still his heart sank. Pistachios crunched between his teeth as he thought.

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