Desert Stars (21 page)

Mira rose to her feet and walked over
to him. With shaky, nervous hands, she tried to undo the sash
around his waist, but he took her firmly by the wrists and stopped
her.

“
Mira, what’s going on?
Tell me.”

She collapsed to her knees by his feet
and started to sob uncontrollably. “But we have to—we have to,” she
repeated over and over again. Confused, Jalil gently helped her to
her feet and sat down next to her on the bed.

“
What are you saying?” he
asked.

“
Can’t you see?” she
cried. “You have to come back to the camp—you have to. Mother told
me to do anything, even…”

Jalil froze where he stood, his blood
turning to ice. “What do you mean?”

Mira stopped crying long enough to
pull herself together. “It was my parents,” she said. “They—they
told me to do anything to get you to come back. Even this.” She
looked down at the ground, tears still streaming down her cheeks.
“I’m sorry, Jalil—I’m so sorry.”

The blood drained out of
Jalil’s face, leaving him feeling numb. He stood and braced himself
against the wall for support.
Sathi didn’t
trust me to keep his daughter’s honor,
he
thought in horror to himself.
He trusted
me not to run away
after
I dishonored her.

He felt dirty all over. Dirty, and
full of rage—at the world, at his father, but most of all at
himself.

“
Please don’t be angry,”
Mira pleaded. “I—I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

What did you mean,
then?
Jalil wondered, clenching his
fists.
You lied to me!

He stumbled to the other
side of the room, feeling as if the floor were giving way beneath
him. If Sathi and
Shira
had conspired to do this,
everything they’d ever taught him was a lie. A sham. They were no
more honorable than Gregor, or Lucien, or the cantina
girls.

With a gut-wrenching scream, he
slammed his fist against the wall. He punched it over and over,
until his fists were numb and bloody. When all his energy was
spent, he sat on the floor, hands covering his face. The room was
eerily silent.

“
I’m sorry,” Mira
whispered.

“
I know,” said
Jalil.

A minute passed. Mira stood up and
walked quietly over to him. Tentatively, she put a hand on his
shoulder.

“
Can’t you just come back
with me?” she asked. “Even if—”

She drew back as Jalil rose to his
feet. He turned to face her, blood still oozing from his battered
knuckles.

“
Is that the price your
parents sold you for?”

“
I didn’t—I mean—they told
me we’d be married when we got back,” she said, stuttering. “If
you’re the only man I ever, well—they said I could still have
strawberries at my wedding.”

Jalil inwardly recoiled in horror, but
kept his expression stoic. “And you agreed to this?” he
asked.

Mira opened her mouth, but words
failed her. She hung her head and avoided his gaze.

“
I’m sorry.”

“
So am I,” said Jalil,
“but I can’t go back with you.”

She collapsed on the bed and wept into
one of the pillows. Without a word, Jalil took one of the blankets
from the foot of the bed and laid it out across the
floor.

“
I’m sorry, Mira.
Goodnight.”

She was still crying when he fell
asleep.

Chapter 10

Jalil woke nearly an hour before dawn
to say his morning prayers. The light of the unborn sunrise dimmed
the stars as it shone down into the room, casting everything in
shades of blue and gray. He kept the light off as he dressed, so as
not to disturb Mira. She lay on top of the covers with her face
still buried in the pillow.

He paused at the bedside and looked
down at her. She looked so young and innocent, sleeping peacefully
on the pure white bedsheets. As he stared, though, the memory of
last night filled him with an overwhelming sense of shame and
confusion.

I can never go
back,
he realized, picking up his things
as he turned to leave.
There is nothing
left for me on this world.

He walked down the hallway to the
hotel’s tiny prayer hall and spent the next half-hour meditating in
silence. It calmed him to watch the uniform horizon as the sky
gradually grew lighter. The landscape looked so clean and pure—a
sea of glass, so close to the sky that he felt he could step
outside and walk among the stars.

A handful of other guests trickled
silently into the room. Jalil did not see Mira among
them.

As the patrons bowed silently to
whisper their morning prayers, Jalil reached underneath his shirt
and pulled out his mother’s pendant. This was what had brought him
across such a long distance—the compass that pointed to his
destiny, the key that would unlock the door to his new life. He
held tenderly it in his hands as he bowed his head.

In the name of Allah, the
Merciful, the Compassionate,
he prayed
silently.
I may not be sinless, but I’ve
tried to do your will as best as I know how. Please bless the
priests of the Holy Archives to read the data in this pendant and
show me where you would have me go.

* * * * *

Mira wanted nothing more than to run
away. After last night, just the thought of being in the same room
as Jalil filled her with shame and embarrassment. Fortunately, when
she awoke, he was already gone. She cried a little as she got ready
for the day, but composed herself with little trouble.

He returned to their hotel room
shortly after morning prayers.

“
The next train leaves for
the temple in forty-five minutes,” he said. “Will you be ready to
go?”

“
Yes,” Mira whispered, too
ashamed to meet his eyes.

She put on her headscarf before
leaving the room, wrapping it tightly around her face so that only
her eyes were visible. After so many days with her head uncovered,
it felt strange to be wearing it again. Certainly, if it was meant
to protect her modesty and shield her from the sinfulness of the
world, it had utterly failed. Now, it was only good for hiding her
filthiness from others.

Jalil said nothing as they left the
dorms and boarded the train. The silence felt painfully awkward,
but Mira wasn’t about to break it.

The train to the temple was smaller
than the others, with windows that stretched across both walls and
partway up the ceiling. They gave her a magnificent view of the
dark-blue sky and the featureless glassy landscape that stretched
in all directions to the horizon. Except for the lack of wind in
her face, it felt as if she were in a caravaneer, with nothing over
her head except the bars of the roll cage.

After nearly an hour, the ground began
to slope downwards. The other passengers craned their necks and
stared anxiously ahead. Jalil was among them; he leaned forward in
his seat and stood up halfway, trying to see over the others. For
her part, though, Mira shrunk down in her seat and tried to make
herself invisible.

A chorus of
ooh
s and
ahh
s rippled through the
train. The buzz of breathless conversations filled her ears, and
she covered them with her hands to block out the noise. To her
dismay, Jalil nudged her arm excitedly.

“
Mira, look!” he said,
pointing out the window on her side of the car. “You can see
it!”

Mira sighed and lifted her head. When
she caught sight of the temple, however, her eyes widened in
awe.

The four oldest domes on Gaia Nova met
at a rounded corner, tapering gradually at first before dropping
sharply like a giant whirlpool or sinkhole. From the center of the
hole, a giant, ivory-white tower spiraled into the sky, stretching
upward into the dark blue heavens. It reminded her of a seashell
that a trader had once brought to the camp, thicker at the base
with smaller towers jutting out at regular intervals like knobs.
Flying buttresses connected it to the four domes, and along these a
steady stream of traffic ran up to the main structure, trains so
small that they looked almost like tiny insects climbing the stem
of an enormous plant.

“
Isn’t it beautiful?”
Jalil exclaimed.

“
I guess.”

He looked at her and frowned. She
didn’t meet his eyes.

“
Aren’t you happy to
finally be here?”

“
I suppose.”

He looked at her long and hard. She
flinched under his gaze.

“
You never wanted to come
for the temple,” he said at last, his voice as serious as death.
“You only came because your parents made you.”

She bit her lip to keep herself from
trembling.

“
Yes.”

“
I suppose there’s no
point in going through with the pilgrimage, then.”

“
No,” she whispered.
“There isn’t.”

He nodded. “We’ll go straight to the
Holy Archives. After that, I’ll drop you off with your cousin; she
should help you get back to the desert.”

She closed her eyes and took in a
sharp breath, trying to fight back her tears. Her shoulders shook,
betraying her, but Jalil did not reach out to comfort her. It was
just as well; she knew she didn’t deserve it.

* * * * *

From the train station,
they took an aerial transport to the main spire. Jalil stared out
the window as they flew between the flying buttresses, marveling at
the size and beauty of the ancient structure.
This is where our first fathers settled when they came from
Holy Earth over three thousand years ago,
he told himself.
This is where
history began.

After landing on a pad somewhere near
the base of the structure, they walked towards a security
checkpoint at the door. YOU ARE ENTERING A NON-SECTARIAN ZONE, read
a sign in bright red letters. ALL GUNS, KNIVES, UNAPPROVED CHEMICAL
SUBSTANCES, CIGARETTES, AND IMMODEST CLOTHING ARE FORBIDDEN. ALL
PROSELYTING IS ALSO FORBIDDEN. LEAVE BAGS WITH SECURITY.

“
Hold it,” said a guard as
they approached. “You can’t bring that into the temple. You’d
better check it here.”

Jalil frowned in confusion until he
remembered the rifle strapped to his back. A false gift from his
false father—he almost wanted to cast it away and never see it
again. Still, honor compelled him to hold onto it, at least long
enough to give it to Mira.

“
Will I get it
back?”

“
Yes, yes, of course,” the
guard said, gesturing impatiently.

Jalil handed him the rifle, and the
guard gave him a slip of paper after he passed through the metal
detector. “Show this at the main gate on level 1505,” he said.
“That’s where they’ll be holding it.”

Jalil took the slip and hid it in his
shirt pocket, securing the button so that nobody would steal his
receipt. “Come on,” he said to Mira. She followed him without a
word.

They got on a crowded elevator and
took it to the ground level. The ride took almost half an hour,
even at speeds that made them both swoon with dizziness.

When they stepped out, the scent of
burning incense hit Jalil’s nose like a brick wall. He blinked a
couple of times but followed the crowd as it swept them forward,
down an ancient, decorated hall lined with gold-trimmed
images.

The Holy Archives were located deep in
the heart of the temple. Without any windows or sunlight, the only
illumination came from a few ancient lamps and chandeliers. Another
security checkpoint sat just outside the main entrance, with a long
line in front of it.

Jalil tapped his foot impatiently on
the stone floor, worn smooth by the passage of millions of
worshipers. The air was hot, and sweat soon formed on the back of
his neck. He glanced back at Mira, but she didn’t look up at
him.

The man behind them lifted a small
mechanical device to his eye. It looked like a camera.

“
Hey,” said Jalil. “What
are you doing?”

“
Taking pictures, of
course,” said the man, a little petulant. “What’s it to
you?”

“
Dear,” said a woman
behind him. “Please.”

“
Why are you taking
pictures?” Jalil asked, unfazed. “This is a holy place.”

The man scowled. “There’s nothing in
the rules against photography. Now mind your own business, will
you?”

“
I’m sorry,” said the
woman. “You’ll have to excuse my husband; he doesn’t do well in
crowds.”

Jalil frowned as he looked them over.
They weren’t dressed like pilgrims at all; the woman wore a brown
leather jacket over what appeared to be a tank top, while the man
wore a green button-up shirt with frilly embroidery on the
front.

“
Why are you
here?”

“
Oh, we’re just tourists,”
said the woman, smiling and waving her hand as if it were nothing.
“Don’t mind us.”