Muezzinland (17 page)

Assane had been reconstituted after the disruption. He reappeared as if nothing had happened, offering to guide them again. Without him they would have become lost, for even with the sun in the sky it was difficult to walk a straight line. Nshalla hated the fact that she was dependent upon him.

They had to ration themselves to half a waterskin each per day. Between them they carried ten, and the weight was appalling. As the fifth day passed Nshalla began to wonder if they had enough. The heat made water too tempting. They had to drink.

The wilderness was so encompassing that if she awoke at night Nshalla would walk to the top of the nearest dune and survey the awesome monotony of the dunes, piling one upon the other in an endless barrage, until at the horizon they became one perfectly level line. Nothing broke this range. No lights flickered, no buildings reared up; there was no distant bleating of goats, no faint snatches of tribal percussion. Just space.

And above, each of the stars was a different colour, unlike any other, so that when she gazed up at them with unblinking eyes, holding her breath, they seemed to intensify and create a pointillist tapestry, that, as she fought against dizziness and the urge to expel the air from her lungs, lost all hint of black, and became pure colour. Then she would collapse on the sand and the night sky would be there, close, yet immensely distant. She wanted to touch the milky way, trace its passage from horizon to horizon.

One night she took off her clothes and although it was cold stood on top of the nearest dune, experiencing the land, feeling part of it, standing there and striking pose after pose, knowing that nobody else could see her. She was alone and in her own world. Because she was naked, the sense of awe that struck her that night was almost too intense to experience, as if she had to repel the truth of the world in order to survive. She had dared a union with immensity. At times such as this she understood that she was communing both with the Earth and with her deepest subconscious. The extremity of her condition allowed profundity to well up inside her. This was something beyond religion, this was communication so deep it became harmony; communication without the mechanics of communicating.

The desert moved Nshalla. She became convinced that it would not harm her.

On the seventh day, three waterskins remained. Yet Douaouir Oasis lay over sixty kilometres away. Nothing in the weather suggested prolonged rain would come.

Assane counselled haste, but was told to keep his opinions to himself. Nshalla tried to cultivate a sense of endurance. Sixty kilometres was not far, in one sense.

The day dragged by. They could not shelter from the sun. But as evening approached, the dark silhouette of a volcanic mesa appeared ahead, and they made toward it with hope in their hearts. The cliffs shone crimson against a violet sky. Under them, they slept.

They struggled on. Three days lay ahead with little water. No sign of Mnada. No sign of I-C-U Tompieme. No sign of Khadir.

No sign of any living thing.

Simoon dust storms blew in from the west, further slowing them, until they gave up and made a camp as best they could in the lee of a large seif dune. Nshalla wished for camels. Camels could close their nostrils and provide protection. Here, all they had was themselves and the ever shifting sand. The desert now acquired an aspect of danger. It could kill them.

Evening came. The winds died. Unable to cook, they ate dried rations and drank sips of water. Two waterskins remained, and they were still fifty kilometres south of Douaouir, if not further.

Nor was there any hope of rock shelter. The mesa was an isolated case. Here, the Erg i-n Sakane held sway.

Peculiar effects caused by the atmospheric conditions began to affect Nshalla. In places where aerial density approached zero, interference from astronomical bodies could warp the aether, giving rise to abstract hallucinations, perceived by the brains of most travellers as mirages. It was also possible for some frequency components of the aether to be reflected off ionospheric layers and cause meaning-lag, which was in turn interpreted by the mind as deja-vu. All these effects Nshalla and Gmoulaye experienced as they sat hunched up in misery.

Two days of struggle ensued. With twenty kilometres to go they drank their last water. During the day the sun burned their clothes, but they could not remove them. This affected Gmoulaye in particular, so that she muttered a constant stream of curses at the sun and the desert.

Their walking became listless. Assane appeared only for brief periods, as if aware of the atmosphere of antagonism that had arisen between them, but he directed and encouraged them as best he could without descending into a patronising whine.

Hope came with a subliminal change in the aether. Nshalla, a lifelong city dweller, knew the feeling of a strong aether. Up ahead Douaouir Oasis would be crammed with aerials. She could feel their potential, and, in her shrivelled state, it seemed like alcohol rising to her head.

Eventually, on the evening of the eleventh day, they saw green palm-tops up ahead. The sight gave them strength enough to stagger down into the palmerie.

Two women playing with their children saw them. At first frightened, they calmed when Nshalla called out in New-Oriental. Then a man appeared, a giant, wearing a white robe and a patterned headscarf.

Nshalla managed to tell him, "We got lost coming up from Araouane. We worked there. Water…"

To her surprise, he seemed impressed with their feat. Though bulky, he was gentle in manner and in voice, and Nshalla noticed a sigil on his robe that indicated he was one of the Humanist Moslems who had migrated south from Algiers during the previous century. She told him this in between gulps of water.

"You are knowledgeable," he remarked.

"I followed it in my transputer," she replied, silently thanking Ataa Naa Nyongmo that the Timbuktu machines had P/RIM/STANDARD databases pre-installed.

He shrugged, then smiled.

Nshalla considered her options as he led them through the lush interior of the oasis. She remembered Mnada. "Has the shapeshifter been here?" she asked.

"What shapeshifter is this?"

"You must've seen her. A mad shapeshifter, screaming at night, stealing food."

He shook his head. "None of those with camel trains from Taoudenni have mentioned a shapeshifter. From I-n-Echai Oasis to the east, two of my sons came yesterday, and they also mentioned nothing of shapeshifters. You must have imagined it. The Sahara has a way with the minds of dehydrated travellers."

They were taken to a building of stone. The man, who was called Said Mohammad Ramzy, had many sons, but he did not seem to have any wives. Thus his hut was empty. Nshalla knew that local tradition would require him to offer them hospitality for three and a third days. He gave them mugs of unsweetened coffee, then offered them buttermilk and dates. Famished, they fell upon the meal. Later, he brought a stew of camel calf, and Nshalla understood that even though they were women they were being honoured. She wondered why.

Politely leaving them to recover, Said Mohammad returned as the evening became night. He had made enquiries around the oasis regarding travellers and spirits.

"Nobody has seen a shapeshifter," he said. "Such creatures are rare and there would be a hubbub if one had been seen. But there was another traveller…"

"What did this other look like?"

"Tall, dressed for the desert, yet with much fine red hair escaping in wisps—"

"Mnada!"

Said Mohammad stepped back. "So you know her?"

"She's my sister. It's my sister who was the shapeshifter."

Said Mohammad shrugged, saying, "I have no answer to the puzzle. You work it out."

Nshalla could not. The only solution she could devise was that Mnada had psychologically changed through knowing that her own sister was on her trail. This might be enough to stabilise her mind and so block the appearance of the shapeshifter.

Said Mohammad asked, "What are your plans now?"

"We must continue north," said Nshalla. She paused, unable to ask outright whether any gods were being made here. "It's vital I find my sister."

"There is a camel train leaving tomorrow. If this woman is indeed your sister, you should catch her up, unless she is fleet of foot and carries much water. I will buy passage for you—"

"No—"

"I insist! You are under my guardianship for three days after you leave." He hesitated. "The only thing I ask for in return is that through the optical webs you send me a report, including proof, on your progress."

Nshalla shook her head. "Once I've left, your oasis web will be too difficult to access."

"There are ways for those with influence. I shall give you a web server to implant into your transputer. It will wriggle across the networks until it finds a route, then it will send me my information."

Nshalla had heard of such servers. "Then you've got influence?"

"The sheikh of an oasis generally does."

Nshalla gasped, nodded, then smiled.

Said Mohammad continued, "The camel train passes between Douaouir Oasis and Taoudenni across the Dhar Khenachiche. You will be at Taoudenni in a week or so."

"Are there oases on the way?"

"Two. They are most fertile."

"And what lies north of Taoudenni?"

Said Mohammad looked grave. "Vast tracts of erg desert, then rocky country. North of that are perilously high mountains called Atlas, and then there are many countries."

"Have you ever heard of Muezzinland?"

"No."

Nshalla pondered the transputing power of this man. If he could generate web servers to find those few strands connecting net to net, then maybe he had access to hidden knowledge. "Could you initiate a search for it?" she asked.

In reply he took them both to a small hut in which stood stacks of transputer equipment, shielded from the heat with insulathene. "In the old days there used to be a world wide web. With the coming of local optical webs and the aether revolution, this older web disintegrated, mostly because political fragmentation created a disinclination to repair any technology relating to other communities. Do you see this bulky, old metal transputer, here? Its sole purpose is to locate and record those older links remaining. I would like to join webs together. That is my dream. I am something of a synthesist."

"And a dreamer," Nshalla remarked. "I mean a
noble
dreamer. Not an idealist."

He accepted the compliment. "Where exactly do you come from?"

Nshalla glanced at Gmoulaye, uncertain about revealing her country of origin. Gmoulaye shrugged as if not interested, and for a few moments Nshalla caught a glimpse of how out of place Gmoulaye was on this mad quest, how she lacked a function. Then Said Mohammad interrupted her thoughts, saying, "You can tell me. I am trustworthy."

"Accra in Ghana," Nshalla said in a small voice.

He spoke to his transputers, and a shape appeared on one of the screens. "Do you know what that is?"

"No."

"It is a map of the continent of Aphrica. I'm making it from the snippets I glean. Point out to me the location of Ghana."

Nshalla hesitated, aware that she was about to look stupid. "I don't know exactly… Er…"

But Said Mohammad did not know either. "Describe it," he suggested.

Nshalla did so, and Said Mohammad guessed Accra's location from its position on the coast and from the fact that Nshalla and Gmoulaye had walked north to Timbuktu, which he had already marked.

He said, "You are here, in the middle of the Sahara desert. You have travelled one thousand six hundred kilometres, which is a remarkable achievement. The marabout wanderers do not travel half so far. Now, the question is, where is Muezzinland?"

Most of the map was blank, only the Sahara showing any detail. Nshalla pointed to the spaces north-west of the desert, where a line marked the Atlas Mountains. "The librarian in Timbuktu said Muezzinland was probably around here."

Said Mohammad nodded. "Then, if the worst is true, you may yet only be half way to your destination, that is if Muezzinland lies upon this northerly peninsula. But it may lie further south, and may even be a mountain country."

"We'll make it," Nshalla said, trying to appear brave, though the sight of the spaces on the map gave her a kind of vertigo.

"I'll begin the search," Said Mohammad said. "Tomorrow you may be closer to the truth."

Unfortunately, Said Mohammad's optimism far exceeded his capability. He found nothing. Sadly, Nshalla surveyed the oasis as they prepared to begin the journey on the camel train, aware that here too no gods were under manufacture. So where?

Then came a shock.

As they stood waiting for the camel train to form, Gmoulaye began talking. Nshalla had for some time been aware that her friend was at a loose end, so far from home, and, unlike Nshalla, ignorant of finer mores, but she had been unable to think of a suitable role.

Gmoulaye began, "The local aether has transformed me. You cannot sit in the surf of an ocean and not get wet. Culture and attitudes seep into the mind, insidiously, like water. After all, the aether is an electromagnetic ocean. That is what people call it."

"What are you trying to say?"

"I will become a kahina, a female soothsayer, such as existed in pre-Islamic culture."

Nshalla asked, "Where did you learn all this?"

"From the aether. Let me finish. This endless succession of little local communities that we have journeyed through has taught me something. At first I did not even see it, taking my own culture with me like a baggage, but now I do. In Ouagadougou I did not understand that optical webs are separate, or tied together by the thinnest strands, but now I see that the aether itself is fragmented like a million tiny circling currents in the ocean. Living in this desert changes the metaphor by which you exist. Don't worry, I am not going through an identity crisis, I am still Gmoulaye. But now I cannot be a tribal wise woman of Accra. I must leave my Akan heritage."

Taken aback, Nshalla said, "But you can't."

"I have to. To remain Akan would confuse me too much. It is different for you, for you are a child of the city, cosmopolitan, with more understanding of the scale of the world than I. Your identity lies on a broader base than mine, and so it can cope with changes of culture. But I will convert to pre-Islamic worship. I will become a tribal wise woman in that mode, a kahina, worshipping the Great Mother."