The Invisible Sun Ocean Haram Long Count 998.8.256-998.8.261
Beneath her feet, beneath the deck, beneath the waves, was the living sea. The water swirled with phosperhescent creatures, plant and animal, large and small. Creatures with large saucer shaped eyes that had come up into the darkness to feed and frenzy. For on the death of day, came this other world, this second life, which moved to the rhythms of the invisible sun.
She peered over the railing, the strange lines of the ship unlike any she had been on before meant she was far closer to the water than on any sailing vessel of her experience. Galleys rode high in the water, as did the high castled trading vessels. She had seen the military fleet, with its huge sails, and sharpened prows, and banks of oars. This vessel was of a completely different kind, and a completely different concept. The smaller waves did not perturb it, but it did not quite “cut” through the water the way a galley did.
She looked down and the glowing soup, with its swirls and patches of green light, and dots of purple and red. The eddies of the ship pushed aside the water and created a kind of black swirl in the water. She could stare at it with a blank fascination. But then was overcome with a kind of sea sickness and had to look up at the black horizon, where dark brooding mountain shapes hugged the water low, and then contrasted against the deep blue of the sky, dotted with twinkling stars. She scanned the sky for Icarus or Lucifer, or the bright eye of Jupiter or cold Saturn.
She did not find them, but knew it might be her own failure. And then merely rested on the rail and looked outward on across the field of water. It was at this point that she startled, and looked to her right, what had caught her eye was a bit of color and moving light. And when she turned to face it, she saw a man, carrying a greenish orb beneath in his right hand. She blinked and tried to make out more, and then realized that it had to be one of the orb lights from either Kentaurus or some other place – that used the source of the bioluminescence as a cold source of light. It was enough to tie and untie ropes by, and she understood that it gained the sailing ship precious hours of sailing. For a moment the idea of a world where sight could be had deep into the night was opened before her, but the images were not specific, merely a sense how different it would be.
She watched the man climb begin working the ropes, again to keep away from the sight of the sea, which seemed to unsettle her digestion. The meal that evening had had a healthy portion of some kind of fermented cabbage, washed down with a strong drink made from some fruit, apples she was told, with which had been mixed a pungent berry that they called a “blackberry”. She was unfamiliar with it. But the mixture of that, and salted meat and a bread made from corn that was leavened, unlike the flat breads she was used to, combined to produce a stew in her stomach that was unpleasant.
It had dispelled some of her illusions, held for a very long time, that everything German had a romantic and distant air about it. But her old lessons from her father crept back into her head, and the diet of the ship, she reasoned, must be made to prevent illness. The ships of The Faithful, while they dominated the Ocean Haram, seldom strayed from it, or the bordering Crescent Sea. The Germans, on the other hand, circled the globe in their ceaseless hunt for metals and other goods.
She peered back into the water, she was sure that there was a moral to be drawn, but she was not positive what it was, and her mind was still cloudy from the alcohol in the “cider”, as they called it. Under normal circumstances she would not have violated the prohibition against alcohol – but was informed that there was no alternative. It was not the first time she had tasted it, but it was the first time, she now realized, that she had gotten to that kind of giddy state which poems described.
She smiled, her cheeks must be red, she could feel it. Touching the side of her face, she could feel them to be warm. No wonder being out in the salt touched spray was not making her cold.
It was at this point she saw deliberate strides and deliberate movements of a long limbed man. She knew him to be Arad Bijan. He was a member of the Hajj, as was herself, but not of the White Party, but of the radical group that wanted sweeping reforms in government, the party that wanted changes so far reaching as to be frightening for most to contemplate. While I name they were “hezbonujoom” – the party of the stars – their flag of a black field with small white stars had earned them another name: “The Black Party”.
It had started as an insult, but rapidly they embraced it, and she knew that Arad did so – dressed in black all of the time. Now of course, it was hard to tell, but she remembered clearly the crisp dark folds of the cloth that was new and fresh. The costume was out of older stories, from the times of tails. Thought of as archaic now, but just barely in the range of acceptablility – the old flowing trousers and shirt which were tied at wrists and ankles, the turban, and heavy cape without hood. She had realized when sitting next to him eating that the shirt was of German manufacture, and was made of a soft wool.
“Assalamu-Alaikum.” With a crisp cheeriness that could be felt through the darkness.
“Wa alaikum mus Salaam.” The traditional, very traditional, pair of greetings. “I am not so old fashioned as all of that.” The addition seemed important to make.
“Call it practice. In Kentaurus they place great stock in the old forms and old norms.” He had settled beside her, at a reasonable distance that implied nothing, at the railing, and looked out over the sea.
“I thought your party wanted to overturn everything.”
“Hardly, we want to save everything. It is this pressure, this straining reach for conquest that is consuming our land. It is the closedness to maintain it that is destroying us. We must pull back from it, and go in a very different direction.”
“I must admit that during the campaign, and the months afterwards, I did not understand your party’s position well.”
“A campaign is not for explanation, but clarification. To draw lines, raise flags and have people rally around them.”
“I feel I know something about campaigning.”
“Indeed you do. Now go ask your supporters what you are going to do in Kentaurus. Go ask Malakeh herself. I don’t think you will get an answer.”
She turned to look at him, and was about to offer a hot retort, but the profile was clear and untroubled, and she could not meet good humor with ill.
“Perhaps so. I tried to build a bond between myself and those who would support me.”
“Yes, and did it better than anyone. When we set foot in Kentaurus there will be two people they will be interested in, the Queen,” he pointed at her, “and the leper.” His voice descended down to a comical punctuation, that separated the the last syllable from the rest of the word, as he pointed at himself. “You are the one who as made that bond of trust, and that is more important than any position or statement. After all, we don’t know what our powers are, or will be allowed to be, and we do not know what the real crisis is.”
“The war.”
“Unlikely, the Caliphate has lost wars before, and will be able to keep losing them again. They only call for us because they need something.”
“Such as.”
“My more cynical friends would argue it is just about money. I don’t entirely subscribe to that point of view.”
She looked back out over the sea.
“And what is your, point of view, Arad?”
A half whispered chuckle: “The secrets must end.”
“Which ones?”
“You have, if I recall, a son in the war, and lost two others.”
“And a father died on Vedic lands.”
He turned to here again, this time standing without any weight upon the railing. “But I am certain that you have not heard of what happened at Jizar.”
“I know we took the city.”
“But you do not know what happened, because it was not told.”
“And you know because…” She paused, realized, and turned period into pause, “… you were there.”
“Yes. And here is what I saw. We approached the harbor quickly, there were airships aloft, great orbs as far across as a small ship, with gondolas below. But we ignored this, as we approached the sprawling unwalled town, with its disorderly wharves and cluttered warehouses. There were six great war galleys of ours, and many supporting boats, and over 5,000 of our soldiers aboard. They came at the city against the wind, under oar, snatching and boarding the small vessels of the cities harbor guard, well, fleet would be too generous. Flotilla, then.”
“And what happened?”
“The airships drifted high above us, some few cast arrows up at them, and for sport a ballista took a few shots. The first one was lucky and one began to deflate, slowly lowering down. We thought it would be easy sport.”
But there was a brooding in his tone.
“And?”
“The others had drifted close enough, and falling from them were black shapes, which, when the struck a ship or the water, sprayed the forbidden fire that the Hellenes use in war. One finally struck a war galley. It took flame, and then exploded. The wind was not strong enough to blow away the haze, and that took fire. Soon a second galley was a flame, whether from the bombs, or from contagion, I do not know.”
He paused a very long moment.
“Some two thousand were lost.”
“But we took the town, it was a great victory.”
“We did, though the airships could cause great distress, the fleet rushed forward, and landed, burning the town, taking plunder. Much of our soldiery was spattered with blood. Others were spattered with other fluids, from taking their own private conquest. Much of the populace was put to the sword, or allowed to burn. The airships took their own revenge and fired another galley, but were, one by one, shot from the sky.”
His words were blunt and unornamented. But in her own imagination, she saw a city much like Al Quareshi, laid to fire and waste, its minarets toppled, its buildings wrenched to the ground.
He then finished. “Six airships, with a dozen men each, destroyed three great galleys, and slew three thousand. Can you understand the effect?”
It was with this that she turned to him, and looked in that way that she knew that whatever light there was would flash off of her cat’s eyes into his.
“I do indeed. Let me tell you my tale. When, in that year of the Vedic Wars, that we attacked Pradesh, my father was surgeon and a great officer. Kurush Parand, veteran of three campaigns, was among those who was awake that night, when the defenders slung Prussic Air outwards, purchased, I think, from Chishan. The air spread over the forces, and strangled them, and lit to fire when held to the torch. He was found strangled and smashed, having led the defense that saved the army there. But within a handful of days, we set sail and withdrew from that war. Yes, Arad Bijan, I know of where you speak, and the dark days that followed.”
There was not a moment’s pause. “As they were then, they are now. Tell me of what happened then, and think to now.”
She paused, her mind was a clutter of images of her own activities then, but she stopped to put them in historical perspective.
“We ended the war, and sought no new ones for some annae afterwards.”
“Indeed, and there were, as you know, quarrels and turbulence in government.”
“And you believe, that this is the real root.”
“That, and the Vizierate is without funds.” The wry tone returned to his voice.
“Which means?”
“We stand at a crossroads, many think there are two forks. But, in fact, there are many. We can stay at war, we can redouble our efforts, we can withdraw – each leading to many other pathways.”
“The White Party is the single largest.”
“But also deeply divided, the Green Party speaks with on voice, and holds much of the Heart of Kentaurus in its sway.”
“But in the city itself…”
“The cities, yes, but beyond bow shot of the walls, a sea of Green.”
“I never understood why.”
“Think of what they see – a world gradually surrounding us, Germans to the north, Chishan, the Vedic Kingdoms. If the south is closed to us, they feel we will be trapped. Suffocated.”
“I think I can see that. But how can your radical solutions help?”
“I believe we must become the engine of the world – open the telegraph lines, open everything, so that the best and brightest may rise, and the corrupt may fall.”
She shook her head. “The best educated are barely ready, the whole of the people, as much as I wish for them better. No. We leave behind rioting and bloodshed, we go to a city that is armed and ready to ignite. We might well have our heads on pikes before we fast again.”
He paused here, clearly, deciding whether to respond with certain words, the kind believers have, or to try and reason. But there was, beneath his civility, and anger that radiated from his skin. A tautness to his cheeks and muscles.
And so she cut short the discussion, before it began to simmer too much. “But I must sleep. I’m only thankful that they brought fresh clothes for me.”
“Yes, your escape will make quite a story.”
She lightly touched him on the shoulder and then moved carefully down the steps to the main deck.
Beneat there were portals open to the sea, that provided a kind of were-light, which was enough to find the two hooks that she was to string her hammock between. The shimmer of green rippled across the head, and played on the beams. It did not take long for her to string her hammock up, and find her self asleep.
She would startle awake with first light, to the clanging of a bell.