The Ray Pool: Mila and Julieta's Story

By Andy Jarvis

Prepare for another journey to a place far away and long ago in this sequel to The Ray Hunters, a charming and captivating tale, rich with character and an absorbing plot. Three years have passed since Mila and Julieta were reunited and travelled to their new life on the island of Kerkyra. Having survived the horrors of the past, their simple lives with Trader and his new wife seems idyllic on their peaceful, secluded homestead away from the troubles of the outside world. But soon that idyll is under threat. Others from the past have learned of their whereabouts. And one person in particular has not forgotten...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: May 19, 2019
• ISBN: 9780244786403

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The Ray Pool: Mila and Julieta's Story

THE RAY POOL

Mila and Julieta’s Story

Andy Jarvis

Copyright © 2019 Andrew Jarvis

‘The Ray Pool: Mila and Julieta’s Story’

First published in 2019 via Lulu Publishing. Andrew Jarvis asserts his moral right to be identified as the author.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without prior written permission from the author.

The following work is fiction, set in the past. Some of the place names are fictional. All characters portrayed in this publication are fictional. The actions and dialogue of the characters are not meant to be representative of particular persons living today or in the past or generally representative of any individuals or cultures in any locality in the world. All reasonable efforts have been made to ensure that the characters do not resemble actual persons, living or dead. Any similarity is entirely coincidental.

Cover image by Jonas Von Werne, courtesy of pexels.com

Thanks go to Sam Jarvis for the cover text and formatting.

And to Vanessa, for her unbiased advice and valuable critique.

ISBN: 978-0-244-78640-3

No man steps in the same river twice,

for it is not the same river and he is not the same man.

Heraclitus (circa 535 – 475 BC)

1.

North African desert, circa 1830

Abram Faizan pulled the reigns of his donkeys, bringing his train of wagons to a shuddering halt. His two aides riding camels ahead, guiding the entourage across the scorching, shimmering sands halted and hurried back at Faizan’s cry.

‘What is it, Faizan?’ asked the first aide. ‘Why have we stopped? We are many miles from any oasis.’

‘Bring me the runner,’ said Faizan.

The two aides looked at each other uneasily. For a brief time no one spoke, only the grunt of the camels as they swayed and nudged each other’s faces and the hot wind through the wagon’s canvas could be heard.

‘Well?’ Faizan bellowed. ‘Are you going to sit there like imbeciles or obey your orders?’

‘Yes, Faizan,’ said the two aides.

They dismounted, tethered the camels to Faizan’s wagon and jogged to the rear of the entourage. Pulling the canvas back they dragged the runner Gabra Adunga from the wagon. He stumbled onto the burning sand under the weight of his chains and stared up, struggling to see through his dry, blood encrusted eyelids. ‘What is happening?’

The two aides said nothing as they grabbed Adunga under each arm and dragged him back to Faizan’s wagon.

Faizan removed his fez and mopped his head and face with a fine silk handkerchief. He remained seated at the fore of his wagon but looked neither at his aides nor Adunga as he spoke solemnly. ‘Remove his chains.’

Quickly the aides unshackled the runner.

‘What is the meaning of this?’ said Adunga.

‘You are a free man,’ said Faizan. ‘You are no longer my slave and can go now.’

Adunga stared around at the vast, endless stretches of sand dunes in all directions, unbroken by rock or a single blade of vegetation. ‘Go where?’ he asked.

‘Wherever you please,’ said Faizan, laughing. ‘That is the beauty of being a free man. You may choose whichever direction you wish. Now be gone.’

‘But I shall surely die out here. Which way do I go? You condemn me to my death after all the promises you made me? What payment is this?’

Faizan turned to Adunga. ‘You lost me the pearl. You promised me the boy could not possibly win the race. A pearl the value of a small empire. A pearl worth a million slaves of your kind. You are no use to me. Every day you remind me of what could have been. Now go.’

‘But where?’ Adunga pleaded. ‘I have nothing. I know not which way to travel.’

Faizan pointed out across the sands. ‘There is an oasis thirty miles in that direction.’ He reached into his purse and flicked a small coin at Adunga. ‘You ask for payment? Here, take half a dirham for your wages. Now that you are a free man perhaps you can pay a passing nomad for your transport. Goodbye.’

Faizan shook the reigns and the entourage set off once again. Adunga tried to follow, several times catching the rear wagon up and trying to climb aboard, but Faizan’s aides would ride back and beat him off with long sticks until he was too weak to continue. The last the entourage heard was a long cry of despair from Adunga as he sank to his knees clutching at hot sand as the wagons disappeared into a mirage that tricked him into believing it was a water pool.

‘You have sent him the wrong way, Faizan,’ said one of the aides as he caught the lead wagon up. ‘It is us that are travelling to the oasis of Taza.’

‘I know this,’ said Faizan. ‘Either way he will not travel long.’

‘And from Taza what is our next journey? We no longer have the runner for competition or the giant for another show. How do you plan to entertain the people?’

‘We will simply rest a while at my villa in Taza, at least until things settle down.’

‘And then?’

‘We return to Ancen Medina. I have unfinished business there.’

2.

Ancen Medina, one month later

Widow Amira looked doubtfully at the stranger stood in the doorway of her humble stone dwelling. He was hooded, in ragged clothes and clutched a bulky hessian sack to his chest. She reached into her pocket and offered the man a small coin. ‘Last bihajat 'iilaa 'ayi shay' alyawm. I don’t need anything today,’ she said, about to shut the door.

‘I am not selling anything,’ the man said gruffly. ‘Nor am I a beggar. I come only in need of information.’

‘What is it you want?’

‘You were recently in charge of a boy here, the one known as Mila. I made him a promise to return. I am here to honour that vow.’

‘Mila!’ Amira cried. ‘Mila, Mila! Amul ‘anah amina, Allah yahmih! I hope he is safe, God protect him!’

‘Silence woman!’ the stranger hissed, glancing over his shoulder uneasily. ‘Do not mention the boy by name, but tell me if he is still here.’

‘He is gone. The merchant took him.’

‘A merchant? Who was this merchant?’

‘He comes to Ancen Medina many times. He is a good man, we know him here well. He is known to us only as ‘Trader,’ and the people have good business with him. But he is gone. He has taken the boy to his home.’

‘That is good news, woman. It seems that my vow has already been fulfilled by the grace of God. But out of curiosity, where is it that the boy said was his ‘home?’

‘The merchant took him and a strange girl, a sick girl to...to...’ Amira grabbed the stranger, pulling him close and remembering the only word of a place that she’d understood Trader was sailing to. ‘Kerkyra, she whispered.’

Amira’s face looked fearful and the stranger realised that a shadow loomed behind. He looked round at the figure of a burly man silhouetted against the brightness of the early morning sun.

‘Good day!’ said the figure cheerfully. ‘Please do not let me disturb you in your conversations...and be assured that the poor and even beggar men such as yourself are most welcome in Ancen Medina...that is unless you are a thief. We do not receive thieves kindly here.’

The stranger lowered his head, concealing his face. ‘I am no thief; I only wish to sell my wares in an honest living.’

‘Is this so, woman?’ the figure asked Amira.

‘This is so,’ replied Amira. ‘But I have no need of anything today.’

‘Then be off with you!’ the figure growled. ‘I am sure someone in the market may be interested in your bag of junk!’

The stranger slinked past the burly figure, head bowed and without word, disappearing in the direction of the port of Ancen Medina.

The burly figure stepped forward into the shadow of Amira’s doorway, followed by two others that she hadn’t noticed before.

‘You know who I am,’ growled Abram Faizan. Amira stepped back in horror as Faizan barged his way into the dwelling. Faizan’s two aides followed.

Faizan glared menacingly at Amira. ‘The boy who was in your care...I see he has left Ancen Medina. You will tell me where he went now, woman.’

Amira shook in her fright, mumbling incoherently.

Faizan stepped forward, grabbing Amira roughly by the arm and shaking her. ‘Tell me now, woman! Now, or I shall see to it that you are food for the strays that wander the hills howling at the moon! We have left this thing too late! I have been too tolerant of this miserable town and its miserable ungrateful people. Now the boy has gone. But I will find him one way or another and find out where the pearl has ended its journey! And you...ungrateful woman will be dog meat! There is no longer any Billington to help you. I will find that pearl, now speak to me, woman, before I cut you into pieces!’

‘Perhaps this is not the way, Faizan,’ said one of the aides. ‘To be found out that we have been torturing an old woman will not bode well for us. If we are ever to regain any respect from the people we must at least appear to be diplomatic. If we are not, they will never cooperate with any information there may be about the boy and the giant.’

Faizan roughly shoved Amira to the ground. ‘Wise words, I’m sure, but I am not a patient man. Already the trail grows cold. I have waited long enough, but now we must act. The giant may know the whereabouts of the pearl, but he will not speak to me even if we track him down. But the boy will know. The pearl seemed to have a special attachment to him, a magic bond that possessed him. He would not part with it without knowing its destiny. We must find the boy!’

‘The woman was whispering to the beggar, Faizan,’ said an aide. ‘I could not hear what was said, but perhaps it was something we were not meant to hear. A beggar must hear and notice many things in his wanderings and dealings. If we are to question anyone, it should be the beggar first.’

‘Why did you not speak earlier then, you fool?’ Faizan growled. ‘Which way did the beggar go?’

‘In the direction of the port,’ said the aide.

‘Follow and seize him and bring him to me!’ Faizan cried, slapping the two aides with his fez as they left the dwelling and dashed off as quickly as they could down the hill to the port.

All along the wooden dock the aides shouted and pleaded if anyone had seen the beggar, but the sailors loading and unloading their wares shrugged their shoulders or shook their heads.

Eventually, near the end of the dock, they came across a princely looking man in fine clothes with a gold braided tunic and jewel adorned turban sat aboard a beautifully crafted boat gleaming white and blue in the morning sun.

The two aides bowed respectfully before the princely man. ‘Have you seen a beggar man down here?’ they asked.

‘Ah, the beggar,’ said the princely man. ‘He was here, yes, wanting me to buy some cheap trinkets, but I have no need of such junk, as you can see.’

‘Indeed,’ said one of the aides. ‘A man of your importance would have no time for the lowest of men. But which way did the beggar go?’

‘He has left already. He sailed not long ago. Ah, but such a worthless craft was his that you should surely outrun him in a good sailboat, if you wish to catch him up and purchase some of his wares.’

‘We have no need of his wares!’ the aides retorted. ‘But we must speak to him! Where was he sailing to?’

‘Hmm...he said he was sailing to an island known as Herring, but this place is unknown to me in my travels. Perhaps another of the sailors here may help?’

The two aides immediately dashed off along the dock asking if anyone knew of the island of Herring. ‘We know of no such place,’ most said. ‘But perhaps one of the merchants in the market will know,’ said some. ‘Many have passed over the oceans and surely one must have visited this island?’

The aides dashed off in the direction of the market. In their desperation to appease Faizan, who would surely beat them for failing to apprehend the beggar, they offered coins for information and the whereabouts of the island known as Herring. Eventually, they asked a man at a stall selling copperware who burst into deep laughter. ‘The island of Herring!’

‘What is so funny?’ the aides asked. ‘Do you know of this place?’

‘Oh yes my friends...we have all heard of Herring! But I can hardly believe there is anyone so simple as to not know where it is!’

‘Then where is it?’ the aides demanded. ‘Tell us now!’

‘It is a big red rock in the sea of ridicule!’ the merchant chuckled, hardly able to contain himself.

Another merchant placed his hand upon one of the aide’s shoulders. ‘Red herring,’ he chuckled. ‘It is also known as mamuriat kadhiba...a fool’s errand.’

The two aides blushed as they looked round at the merchants who were now openly laughing and pointing at them. They dashed back to Amira’s dwelling, where Faizan’s mood of impatience turned to fury. ‘You imbeciles!’ Faizan cried, lashing out and kicking at the aides.

‘But we were told this by a prince!’ one of the aides pleaded. ‘Why should we doubt such a fine person?’

‘Fools!’ Faizan screamed. ‘Don’t you understand? This beggar was the prince in disguise! No doubt he has had word of the pearl, news of such wealth travels fast. He has come here for the same reason, to track its destination. Quickly, to the dock! We must seize him!’

The two aides dashed off again, this time followed by Faizan, who waddled as quickly as he could behind. But at the dock there was no sign of the prince or his boat. Many of the sailors were bemused at the two aides and especially at the sight of Faizan some way behind as he huffed and puffed his way along the creaking boardwalk.

‘He has left,’ explained a sailor, pointing out to sea, where a large white sail lifting a fine blue boat over the whitecaps disappeared beyond the far rock jetty of the port of Ancen Medina.

‘They are mocking us, Faizan,’ mumbled one of the aides. ‘Perhaps we should leave?’

‘Yes, yes,’ said Faizan. ‘We still lack the support of our own people. We must leave, at least for now. But soon I shall gather a fleet of trusted navigators to search out the whereabouts of that boy that cheated me once we have word of his destination. In the meantime I will deal with that woman! She will regret this day. Come!’

But back at Amira’s dwelling many of the merchants