The week began with parchment.
A small, delicate note rolled up and sealed with pale, yellow wax. The sign of a three-tailed scorpion pressed into the center. Off handedly passed to him in the busy street, by a messenger who hadn’t cared to look back or acknowledge him.
It read:
Meet me at sunset, dear brother.
Let us share tea this evening.
Signed – MH
He threw it away in a nearby pit. The flames consumed the parchment quickly – for a moment he could afford to stare at it for some time. Watched the small thing evaporate into smoke, dissipating with its last breath – a sense of giddiness quickening his heart. Aroused, for just a quick second, at the prospect of gaining new orders.
The meeting at the teahouse was always brief. The female – she called herself Mata Hari, ‘the light of day’ – always assumed the face of an entertainer. Of silks and detailed jewelry adorning her otherwise plain canvass. She had since lost her amusement of Noam over the years. Her kind words always followed a hint of irritation and revulsion for Noam that he couldn’t quite place.
“Alam Masih. Recognize that name?”
“Yes.”
“He’s wanted. Dead, rather than alive, if you ask me…”
“Do they care?”
“No, but there’s a bonus if you manage to bring him in alive.”
“Why’s that?”
“Oh – you know… He’s been tipping the authorities to his advantage. I imagine they want to know whom he might be working with. That sort of thing.” She smiles with a giggle. Her eyes glow momentarily in the dim light. A viper poised to strike.
“My, my, we’re full of questions tonight aren’t we?”
“Hmm,” he takes that as his cue to leave.
“Try not to mess this one up.” Her restrain is delicate. It’s hard to fathom this lithe creature is capable of any real harm.
He takes one large gulp of tea, and licks his lips as he exits the shop. Savoring the sweet cardamom flavor while he could.
He wondered briefly how many other informants Mata Hari had hired for the job. That her faith in his abilities had waned over the past couple of months was fair at best. To think his usefulness might prove detrimental to them, merely nailed him further into his coffin. Perhaps, he thought on a whim – this is the best-case scenario. And that was how it should be – death was inevitable. Noam had cheated its grip for too long. Mata would poison him one day.
He went about searching for the target’s location. Spent the days leading up to the present to observe from a distance. Alam was wealthy, but he’d been smart enough to flaunt it elsewhere. Followed by hired guards.
It was worth noting the change in his patterns day-to-day. Watch, as the target on his back enlarged – and his paranoia increase in bouts of half-thought out plans, and impromptu decisions. Many of which included getting rid of as many slaves in transit; but by then, none of his regulars wanted to purchase from him.
Then there was the buzzing of the sands, the chaos of the earthquake and Solterra splitting at its center. Gaping wide in a wake of discarded bones, and vengeful spirits.
Amidst that chaos, Alam had fled the city. Perhaps shaking a few of his pursuers in the process.
Patient, Noam followed the stallion at the fringes. He imagined Alam would seek refuge in a hidden cavern if he could, or in some forgotten recess of the desert. The guardsmen he managed to bring with him, and the slaves – began to turn on him in time. Until at last, Alam struck down one of the guardsmen in pure luck and ran off into the desert night.
The sparrow had lost Alam's figure from his vantage point. Alam's camp regrouped between themselves, and seemed to not care for the mad man running towards his death.
Noam took the opportunity to sleep. A moment of respite, under a canopy of familiar stars – abed the shifting sands. Leaving Alam’s fate in Solis’ hands.
Two days had passed since then, a day now since Alam’s footsteps disappeared. Noam hovered in the air past midday, far above the stagnant drawl of the desert – carving through the prevailing winds high above. He kept his bearings – familiar dunes too large to have completely shifted form. A working log of the Vitae Oasis, Day Court, the Elutheria Plains, the Arma Mountains – Denocte…
Thoughts crawled back to the earthquake interrupting his focus. The familiar buzzing – while long since gone, had the uncanny effect of humming behind his eyes now. Screams, children and adults crying – it made his skin crawl briefly, made his muscles twitch in old remembrance. He had the burning desire to turn around then. Pull away from these subtle delights. Coaxing the idea that those secrets belonged to him too. A part of him had caused the same nauseating buzz inhabiting his head. And momentarily, he needed to know why.
Noam’s head swam; he took a breath that he’d been holding. Began his descent. Making a sharp and halting land against the crest of a large dune, kicking up the sand. His eyes searched for the Day Court on the horizon. Muddled out from the heat that bent the light, too far to distinguish any buildings.
Lost behind the miles ahead.
