Joseph Lewis: Omar the Immortal

“Absolutely, dear lady. And in return, I may just find the time to make you a properly translated map, complete with your Mazigh measurements and markings.” Omar took back his map, noting the hunger in her eyes as she returned his Rus treasure. “Perhaps I should add that in addition to speaking more Europan languages than you’ve ever heard of, I’m also an experienced military surgeon, a deft tailor, and cook of no small skill. My hummus is smoother than silk.”

“Hm. I’ll need to discuss it with the rest of the team,” she said. “Come back this afternoon around three o’clock and we’ll let you know our decision.”

“Is the team here now?” he asked innocently as he glanced around the dark hangar. In the distance he heard a metal tool fall to the concrete floor. The clattering noise echoed across the chamber.

The captain sighed. “My engineer is here, but the others won’t be here for another hour at least. But we do have a lot of work to prepare for the launch, and we’ll need to discuss the matter in private.”

“Of course, of course,” Omar said. “I’ll just be out here. You can come get me when you’re ready.”

“You’re going to wait here all day? Fine, suit yourself. Just stay out of the way of the ground crew.” Captain Ngozi frowned as she went back inside the hangar.

Omar sauntered out across the cool dew-speckled grass of the airfield. From the far side of the field he could look down on the long curved roof of the train station. Its iron girding stood in stark rows of green-painted beams, and the center of the roof was paneled in shining glass windows that spilled the morning light down onto the platform and the rails below.

Beyond the train station were two more streets of shops and warehouses before the continent of Ifrica came to an abrupt halt at the edge of the Strait of Tarifa. To the west, the strait flooded out in sparkling wavelets to the vast Atlanteen Ocean, and to the east the waters shone a bit bluer in the busy Middle Sea. All across the waters he could see the tiny white sails of the fishing boats and the huge steaming bulks of the merchantmen chugging off to Espana, Italia, and Numidia.

His left hand dropped absently to his seireiken, allowing the thousands of shadow faces to appear around him in a great congregation of the dead, all staring at him in respectful silence. But one specter tore away from the others and strode into the empty space at Omar’s side.

“Hello again, little brother.”

The dead samurai gazed toward the east and said, Why are you taking us to this Ysland?

Omar chuckled softly. “Taking you? Are you my poor little child now, to be dragged about on my travels, pouting and moaning? Please, Daisuke, you were a Tiger of the eastern temple. You held a seireiken. You know what your role is in the world now.”

The young warrior frowned at him. Very well. Why are you going to Ysland?

“To find the truth. The last truth. The one truth,” Omar muttered. “Yes, I am immortal. Yes, I know something about aether and sun-steel and soul-breaking. But there are so many questions still unanswered.” He smiled gently. “And I have been looking for those answers for a very long time, indeed.”

How long?

“Over four thousand years.”

And Ysland?

“I’ve been everywhere in the world, or nearly so,” Omar said. “From the palaces of Nippon to the streets of Tingis, right here. I’ve studied with doctors and sages and priests in a hundred lands, for dozens of centuries. And I still don’t know anything. What is aether? Where does it come from? Did the sun-steel really fall from the sky? And why can these things reveal and enslave a human soul? Haven’t you ever wondered about it all?”

Of course, Daisuke said. But these questions are as timeless as they are pointless. It is the way of the world. Our task is merely to try to use these things, perhaps even to master them, but not to comprehend them. We’re only men, not gods.

“Aha!” Omar raised a triumphant finger in the ghost’s face. “But what if we could ask God? What if we could follow the trail of aether and sun-steel to the very gates of paradise and meet God? Not in a vision, not at the end of the world, but here and now!”

Daisuke turned away to study the sky again. You aim very high.

“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t. But maybe this is what God wants, for someone to find these signs and wonders and follow them to the truth, the real truth, the ultimate truth in the world.”

And what truth is that?

“I have no idea, little brother.” Omar grinned. “I’ve been looking for that truth for half an eon and found only mist, metal, and ghosts. But Ysland! Ysland could be the answer. Have you heard of Ysland? No, of course not. It’s one of those legendary places, like Atlantia, that vanished into the sea. But the stories! If Ysland exists, then the people there could have all the answers, all the truths of the universe, just waiting for us to come and discover them. The stories say that Ysland defies the ice, that it glows with an otherworldly heat.”

You think they have enough sun-steel to warm an entire island?

“Exactly!” Omar couldn’t stop grinning. It had been years since he had dared to speak so openly about his designs to another person, living or otherwise. “Ysland may even be the source of the sun-steel, and the aether as well. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe they’re just stories. But think of the possibilities if it is all true. The secrets of the aether and the sun-steel! The true origin, nature, and purpose of the human soul revealed! And perhaps even the gates of paradise thrown wide for us mere humans to walk through and meet our creator, in this life, in this world, to tell us the meaning of it all.”

Daisuke said nothing, and Omar joined him in gazing at the horizon. He was still looking off to the east when a speck appeared in the sky. It grew slowly and steadily, a single circular blot in the bright morning clouds. Eventually the soft droning of the distant airship’s propellers rose above the cries of the sea gulls and the dull roaring of the city traffic. A few minutes later the flying machine began to descend over the airfield, and Omar could see the smooth skin of the ship’s white belly and the pale outline of the tiny gondola clinging to its underside.

“That’s the Halcyon,” a voice called out.

Omar looked down at the young woman sauntering toward him. Behind her a team of young men in orange jumpsuits were striding across the field toward the eastern mooring masts to meet the incoming ship. The young woman came up beside him and leaned back against the rough wooden fence at the edge of the field to watch the landing. She had a soft face and tiny hands, and a long blue scarf was tied back into her hair, which bounced around her shoulders in thick brown curls.

“It looks smaller than the one in the hangar,” he said.

“Well hell, everything’s smaller than the Finch,” the woman said with a grin. “But Halcyon ’s even smaller than the other couriers. That’s Isoke Geroubi’s boat. She was the captain of the Shearwater when it exploded, just half a little way over there.” The woman pointed toward the city harbor. “Blew her engineer to pieces.”

Omar winced. “That’s awful. But the captain survived?”

“More or less. She’s not the same now, though. Isoke’s completely obsessed with safety regs and procedures and technical specs. She’s always fighting with the commander about one thing or another.” The woman shook her head. Then suddenly her face brightened as she held out her hand. “Lieutenant Morayo Osaze, flight engineer of the Frost Finch. Pleased to meet you.”

“Omar Bakhoum.” He shook her hand.

“So I’m supposed to bring you back over to the hangar now,” Morayo said. “The captain wants to give you a long speech about protocols and responsibilities and safety procedures before she tells you that you can come with us. Oops.” The engineer winked at him. “I probably wasn’t supposed to tell you that last part. Riuza’s a straight shooter and an ace pilot, but she gets a little boring and controlling sometimes. Still, she’s a hell of a lot better than Isoke.”