Muezzinland (16 page)

Chapter 13

Budur gave them gifts of food as they left, sorry to see them go. With the sun rising to their right they crept out of Araouane, following a track through the gravel reg, over hills and across stretches of sand, their eyes scanning the orange waste ahead for signs of trouble. But they saw none.

Nshalla found it hard to accept that they could lose her sister when she had been so near. But she knew Mnada was still running north. Where else?

Although Bouraga Oasis and Araouane were only a day apart there were no eyes on the track, illustrating the fact that they were moving across a border into Berber land. Looking afar, Nshalla saw the tops of pylons as local sandmasters sought for, and pumped out water from beneath the desert. Many of these pylons were strewn with aether aerials. Elsewhere, dreary dunes and tracts of gravel were enlivened only by scuttling black beetles, and by an occasional tussock of grass lying low in valleys and along seasonal riverbeds.

Their waterskins were full, so they drank heartily. The track led on. By dusk the tops of date palms could be seen, the trees themselves growing lower down in the palmerie basin.

Gmoulaye signalled for a halt. "I can hear a different culture," she said, listening to the music emanating from the sunken oasis. "We have crossed an invisible line. I hear no deep bass, like that of our kpanlogo drum, only a crashing, tinkling thrum—a big tambourine. And I can hear a buzzing hand drum. The pipes are very strident to my ears, like flies in a glass."

Nshalla replied, "We've left behind the Negroid world. This is the start of the Arab world. You'll have to accept that you'll be seen as lesser to me. With my light skin I'll pass as a local. We'll pretend you're my assistant or something. In any event, keep yourself covered up like me."

Gmoulaye grunted, disapproving. "I suppose we have no choice, entering these barbarian parts. So be it. But I do not like it, and in private we will be equals, since that is the way of it."

Nshalla bowed graciously. "That goes without saying."

"What story are we going to use?"

"I'll say I'm from Araouane, working for one of the water prospectors. I saw a pylon with Djinn 2100 on it. That must be a company or a religious group. Then we'll find out if Mnada's about. But whatever happens, we must press on to try and stop the appearance of the other gods."

The sun set. As it did Assane appeared, dancing out from the hillock behind them.

"Mnada is somewhere hereabouts," he said, "but she may already have run off. This is a sprawling oasis, with plenty of places to hide. Be careful."

"You needn't worry," Nshalla said coldly, turning her back on him.

"I'll see how the electromagnetic ocean flows and visit you later."

They walked down into the oasis. As the first date palms passed by a young man challenged them, speaking a guttural Berber tongue. Calmly, Nshalla spoke to him in New-Oriental, knowing he would not understand. He sent for somebody else.

An older man with a prosthetic right leg and arm approached, dressed in gathered white robes, a scarf wrapped around his head. He looked them up and down with suspicion, then said in shaky New-Oriental, "Who are you and what are you doing here?"

"I'm glad to find an educated man at Bouraga," Nshalla casually replied. "We're peripatetic hydrologists from Djinn 2100. We're making north. All we need is a stretch of sand for the night, and to replenish our waterskins. And a meal if you have one. We can barter."

The man shook his head. "They use all sorts these days. Well, you must stay away from the centre of the oasis, where we men are having supper and coffee. I'll try to bring you something later." He looked over to the north. "Across the way are some huts. Use them. Don't explore the oasis tonight, I can't be responsible for anything that happens."

Nshalla thanked the man then led the way across the oasis. At an artesian well they topped up their waterskins, then filled the spare ones. The weight of them made Nshalla worry, but the next northerly oasis was Douaouir: two hundred kilometres away. If Mnada was not about that would be their next destination.

After an hour's wait, the man, who seemed kindly enough though he grumbled and spoke gruffly, brought them a bowl of black bean stew. "Are you leaving tomorrow?" he asked.

Nshalla thought they probably would. "Yes," she said. "But we've heard there's a shapeshifter about. Is it safe?"

He made a warding sign in the air. "A cleric is casting her out now. The beast has been cursing us all day. She arrived last night."

Nshalla noticed that he described Mnada as she, not it. "What forms has the creature been taking?"

"Dreadful fat women, dripping oil. Ugh, it is too repulsive to speak of. She has raided our food stores and frightened the children. But our cleric will expel her."

"Let's hope so," Nshalla said.

He departed, muttering to himself as he lit a cigarette.

Nshalla told Gmoulaye, "Just before dawn we'll look around. It's too late to go out now. Mnada's here somewhere, I know it. If I call her she might come to me." She pummelled the floor in frustration. "If only I could do it now."

"Too risky," Gmoulaye said.

Nshalla nodded. On the door of their hut she pinned a red polythene sigil, a blotchy disk meaning 'purdah'. That would stop unwelcome advances while they slept. Gmoulaye spent some time making amulets from pieces of bark and dead reeds, weaving in grass blades and fragments of polystyrene, blowing on the ingredients and flicking water over them. With such tribal whispers upon them she hoped they would serve to protect them both from oasis men and Assane.

During this time Nshalla plugged her transputer into a floor eye and accessed the oasis web, discovering it to be a chaotic mess of Moslem ritual and netsites plastered with idiosyncratic pictsym, many relating to camel welfare. In a distant corner she noticed hyperlinks out, but they only linked the oasis to Taoudenni. Not one single optical cable went south. There was one interesting item, however: it seemed a camel train made regular trips between Douaouir Oasis and Taoudenni. That gave Nshalla hope.

Assane appeared as they barred the door and settled down to sleep. "A Moslem is trying to expel Mnada from the oasis," he reported. "Your sister might be here now. Her aura is all around."

Gmoulaye raised her warding amulet. "We told you to keep away," she said.

"I'm not going out 'til dawn," Nshalla interrupted. "It's too risky. We don't know anybody here. It's lucky we weren't thrown upon the sand."

"Very well," he said, an unconcerned look on his face. "I shall wake you around dawn."

Assane woke them as promised. Nshalla, who had woken several times during the night, felt grumpy; eyes dry, a bitter residue in her mouth, feeling as if she had only dozed for an hour. She was annoyed to discover that Gmoulaye had slept like a baby.

They slipped out and hastened to the northern stretches of the oasis. A pool lay there. Nshalla was about to walk by when she noticed footprints in the wet sand.

There were ten, clustered around the pool as if somebody had snatched a drink there. Fresh footprints made by light footwear.

"It could be Mnada," Nshalla said. She undid her own slip-ons and placed them next to the prints. "About the right size."

"There is a trail leading north," Gmoulaye said, bending over the sand at the oasis' edge.

They ran a few hundred metres out into the desert. Climbing a low dune they looked north.

Far off, with ragged clothes flapping in the wind, they saw a dark silhouette.

Nshalla almost exploded. "Mnada!
Mnada!
"

Assane intervened. "It may not be her," he said. "There is no crazy aura as there used to be. My kin are reporting a baffling silence. A void, almost." He paused, as if listening to silent messages. "Yet she was here yesterday." He gazed out into the desert, then said, "Run and get your things. We must go north. Mnada is within reach. That person out there may be her. Hurry, now!"

They raced back to the hut. Packing their equipment then checking their food and water, they departed.

Assane encouraged them to hurry. "We may be at the end of our search," he said. "She was here."

"Just lead on," Nshalla replied, barely able to hide her irritation at him.

Into the desert they walked, the sun already beating down upon them. Nshalla looked back at the oasis to see if any of the Berbers had noticed their departure, but there was nobody about. Ten terse minutes passed as they jogged along the stony dunes. Then, further away than they expected, they saw a tiny figure.

"There she is!" Nshalla shouted. "Stop her, Assane. Go on and try to stop her."

"I will try," he said, "but her defences are up."

Assane danced on while they ran. It was hard work, made difficult by the weight of water they were carrying. Nshalla was tempted to jetison her load, but even she, new to the Sahara though she was, realised the figure ahead could be only a mirage, whereas the water was real. She must struggle on.

Ahead, she saw the figure, standing still. Another appeared nearby: Assane. Something was happening. The mysterious figure was encased in a silvery envelope. Nshalla recalled the mathematical rescue at Touerat Oasis and she guessed Assane must be struggling with her sister's tormented mind. They ran on. Now the figures were larger, detail apparent, standing only a few hundred metres away.

As she closed, Nshalla saw inside the translucent envelope a tall figure cloaked in grey, head covered by a Tuareg scarf, with just a slit to see through. It could be her sister. The height was right.

Now only metres away, she slowed, panting. "Mnada?" she said.

The figure turned. Those eyes were familiar.

"Mnada?"

Assane stood nearby, watching.

It was a woman's silhouette.

Nshalla tried a third time, pulling off her headscarf to reveal her face. "Mnada?"

The figure pulled something from her pocket. A small device; grey, plastic. Lethal. A static-box.

Nshalla cried, "No!"

Assane vanished instantaneously.

Then, nothing.

~

A head full of pain. There was light, sound, the smell of sand, the sensation of sweat trickling down skin.

More pain. Sinus pain, temple pain, skull pain.

Body pain also, that of muscles stretched too far too long, that of limbs with their blood supplies cut off.

Nshalla tried to organise the sensations she was feeling. She was lying on sand, belly down, head turned to one side, a terrible crick in her neck.

She opened her eyes.

The sun was setting. The day had passed.

Her throat and mouth were so dry she coughed and choked as she began to breathe deeply and move. The desert air had dessicated her. With slow, jerky movements she pulled a waterskin near and took small sips.

After more rest she was able to shift to a less painful position. She saw Gmoulaye stretched over the sand, unconscious. Of Assane there was no sign.

Nor was Mnada anywhere to be seen.

She saw the grey box on the sand.

Crawling over, she picked it up and examined the rows of pictsym engraved on its side. She saw that it was not a static-box, rather it was one of those crude electromagnetic pulsers made by cheap aether hijackers in the faded West. It had not affected them deeply, rather had knocked them out with a combination of inner-ear chaos and visual blasts. This was just as well, since there was nobody present to perform the emotional healing necessary after a static-box attack.

She threw the thing aside. Gmoulaye still lay unconscious. Nshalla crawled over and shook her, then tried dribbling water into her mouth. After a while Gmoulaye came round, and Nshalla was able to coax her into a semblance of life.

"It wasn't a static-box," she said.

"It did the trick," Gmoulaye said. "Was it her?"

"Mnada? Yes, it was. I didn't see much of her, but it was her."

Gmoulaye sighed. "Where is Assane?"

"Don't know. He vanished. No wonder. An electromagnetic pulse would have disrupted him."

"Pity it didn't."

Nshalla wondered what Assane's fate had been. No creature solely of the aether could survive a disruption. That was, after all, the whole point of the aether. The world's optical webs made electromagnetic propagation redundant. With the aether depending on subtle hierarchies of electromagnetic change, it was a simple matter for emerging Aetheria, led by the Aetherium, to close down such propagation over a period of decades. And this led to the fragmentation of the world.

Had Assane been dissipated, like the sun dissipated morning mist? Perhaps transputers across Aphrica were at this moment reorganising the memories, programmes and motives that had made him. Or perhaps he was gone forever.

Someone else gone was Mnada.

Nshalla gazed north. A kilometre or so south lay Bouraga Oasis. Probably best not to return, for there was no sign of major god manufacture in the vicinity.

Ahead lay a ten day trek. If Assane was gone, they would almost certainly become lost. Events had taken a perilous turn.

~

The Sahara changed as they moved north. The variegated sand and loose gravel of the reg desert became a deeper, finer orange sand as they entered the Erg i-n Sakane, an area of tortuous dunes shaped as crescents, with nothing to relieve the monotony except blue sky. From hilltops these barchan dunes could be seen stretching for kilometres. At times the mesmeric combination of the two opposite colours caused Nshalla to suffer fits of sensory deprivation, which emerged as sudden mirages, shouted voices, glimpses of people just ahead. The hot ouahdj wind blew, causing sandstorms to cycle around them, though none came close enough to cause trouble. Once, a three minute storm blew out of the west. From the first sighting of cloud to the last, fifteen minutes passed by. The deluge soaked everything not protected by plastic. They lay on the top of their dune, splattered with rain, spitting it out of their sandy mouths, trying not to get washed away by the floods pouring down into the hollows. Then it was all over, the sun came out, and they were left standing, sticky and sweaty.