Chapter 1

The theories about the creation of the world of Sularin numbered the same as the Gods who kept it in motion. The followers of Benario, God of Thieves, were firm in their belief that their God stole the world from Sul, who had been going to set it as another jewel in the firmament. Uevin’s worshipers portrayed Sul as a craftsman, holding calipers and a T square in his hand and spending his spare time considering the nature of the dodecahedron. Quar taught that Sul molded the world from a lump of clay, used the sun to bake it, then bathed it with his tears when he was finished. Akhran told his followers nothing at all. The Wandering God hadn’t the least interest in the creation of the world. That it was here and now was enough for him. Consequently each Sheykh had his own view, handed down from greatgreatgrandfather to greatgrandfather to grandfather to father to son. Each Sheykh’s view was the right one, all others were wrong, and it was a matter over which blood had been spilled on countless occasions.

In the Emperor’s court in Khandar, renowned for advanced thought, learned men and women spent long hours debating the differing theories and even longer hours proving, eventually, that Quar’s teachings were undoubtedly the most scientific. Certainly it was the only theory to explain adequately the phenomenon of the Kurdin Sea—an ocean of salt water populated with seagoing fish and completely surrounded on all sides by desert.

The landlocked Kurdin Sea was populated by other things, too; dark and shadowy things that the learned men and women, living in the safety and comfort of the court of Khandar, saw only in their sleep or in fevered delirium. One of these dark things (and not the darkest by any means) was Quar’s minion, Kaug.

Three figures, standing on the shore of the sea, were discussing this very subject intently. The figures were not human; no human had ever crossed the Sun’s Anvil whose empty dunes surrounded the sea. The three were immortals—not gods, but those who served both gods and humans.

“You’re telling me that his dwelling is down there, in that?” said a djinn, staring at both the water and his fellow djinn with deep disgust.

The water of the Kurdin Sea was a deep cobalt blue, its color made more vivid and intense by the stark, glaring whiteness of the desert. In the distance, what appeared to be a cloud of smoke was a white smudge against a pale blue sky.

“Yes,” replied the younger djinn. “And don’t look so amazed, Sond. I told you before we left—”

“You said on the Kurdin Sea, Pukah! You never said anything about in the Kurdin Sea!”

“Unless Kaug’s taken up boating, how could he live on the Kurdin Sea?”

“There’s an island in the center, you know.”

“Galos!” Pukah’s eyes opened wide. “From what I’ve heard of Galos, not even Kaug would dare live on that accursed rock.”

“Bah!” Sond sneered. “You’ve been listening to the meddah’s stories with ears soaked in qumiz.”

“I haven’t either! I’m extensively traveled. My former Master—”

“—was a thief and a liar!”

“Don’t pay any attention to him, Asrial, my beautiful enchanter,” said Pukah, turning his back upon Sond and facing a silverhaired woman clad in white robes, who was looking from one to the other with increasing wonder. “My former master was a follower of Benario, but only because that was the religion in which he was raised. What could he do? He didn’t want to offend his parents—”

“—by earning an honest living,” interposed Sond.

“He was an entertainer at heart, with such a wonderful way with animals—”

“Snake charmer. That was his ploy to get into other people’s houses.”

“He was not a devout believer! Certainly Benario never blessed him!”

“That’s true. He got caught with his hand in the money jar—”

“He was misunderstood!” Pukah shouted.

“When they were through with him, he was missing more than understanding,” Sond said dryly, folding his goldbraceleted arms across his bare chest.

Drawing his saber from the green sash at his waist, Pukah rounded on the older djinn. “You and I have been friends for centuries, Sond, but I will not allow you to insult me before the angel I love!”

“We’ve never been friends, that I knew of,” Sond growled, drawing his saber in turn. Steel flashing in the bright sunlight, the two began to circle each other. “And if hearing the truth insults you—”

“What are you two doing?” the angel demanded. “Have you forgotten why we are here? What about your Nedjma?” She glared at Sond. “Last night you shed tears over her cruel fate—being held captive by this evil afright—”

“—’efreet,” corrected Sond.

“Whatever it is called in your crude language,” Asrial said loftily. “You said you would give your life for her—which, considering you are immortal, doesn’t seem to me to be much of a sacrifice. We have spent weary weeks searching the heavens for her and now you quibble about going into the sea!”

“I am of the desert,” Sond protested sullenly. “I don’t like water. It’s cold and wet and slimy.”

“You can’t really feel anything, you know! We are immortal.” Asrial glanced at Pukah coolly from the corner of her blue eyes. “We are above such things as love and physical sensations and other human frailties!”

“Above love?” cried Pukah jealously. “Where did the tears I saw you shedding over your mad master come from, if you have no eyes? If you have no hand, why do you caress his forehead and, for all I know, other parts of his body as well!”

“As for my tears,” retorted Asrial angrily, “all know the adage, The drops of rain are the tears the Gods shed over the follies of man—”

“Hazrat Akhran goes about with dry eyes, then,” Pukah interrupted, laughing.

Asrial pointedly ignored him. “And as for your insinuation that I have had carnal knowledge of my ‘protégé’—Mathew is not my master and he’s not mad—your statement is absurd and what I would expect of one who has been living around humans so long he has tricked himself into believing he can feel what they feel—”

“Hush!” said Sond suddenly, cocking his turbaned head to one side.

“What?”

“Shhh!” the djinn hissed urgently. He stared far off into nothing, his gaze abstracted. “My master,” he murmured. “He’s calling for me.”

“Is that all?” Pukah raised his eyes to heaven. “He’s called for you before. Let Majiid tie his headcloth himself this morning. “

“No, it is more urgent than that! I think I should attend him!”

“Come now, Sond. Majiid gave you permission to leave. I know you don’t want to go swimming, but this is ridiculous—”

“It isn’t that! Something’s wrong! Something’s been wrong ever since we left.”

“Bah! If something was wrong, Khardan would be calling for me. He can’t get along without me for even the smallest thing, you know.” The young djinn heaved the sigh of the vastly overworked. “I rarely have a moment’s peace. He begged me to stay, in fact, but I told him that the wishes of Hazrat Akhran held preference over those of a human, even my master—”

“And is your master calling for you?” Sond interrupted impatiently.

“No! So you see—”

“I see nothing except a braggart and a buffoon—” Sond fell silent. “That’s odd,” he said after a moment’s pause. “Majiid’s calls just ceased.”

“There, what did I tell you. The old man pulled his trousers on all by himself—”

“I don’t like this,” muttered Sond, putting his hand over his breast. “I feel strange—empty and hollow.”

“What does he mean?” Asrial drew near Pukah. Slipping her hand into the hand of the djinn, she held onto him tightly. “He looks terrible, Pukah!”

“I know, my dear. I never could understand what women see in him!” said Pukah. Looking down at the small white hand he was holding, the djinn squeezed it teasingly. “A pity you can’t feel this—”

Angrily, Asrial snatched her hand away. Spreading her white wings, she smoothed her robes about her and waded into the water of the cobalt blue sea. Pukah followed instantly, plunging headlong into the sea water with a splash that drenched the angel and sent a school of small fish into a panicked frenzy. “Coming?” he yelled.

“I’ll be along,” Sond answered softly.

Facing the west, the djinn’s eyes scanned the horizon. He saw nothing but blowing sand, heard nothing but the eerie song the dunes sing as they shift and move in their eternal dance with the wind.

Shaking his head, the djinn turned away and slowly entered the Kurdin Sea.