A Good Arizradna Boy

            Azjar tapped out a command on the keyboard, and the projective sigil shifted by just a hair. The moon had come again – the second time this month – and its properties seemed to interfere with the xenogravity field holding up the telescope. The spell keeping the telescope aligned was a form of glyphic magic, using the sigil to substitute the underlying gravitational field of another universe within a set space, thus allowing the enormous instrument to float miles up above. Azjar had always had a better knack for invocative magic, but after a little training, he had learned to maintain the observatory’s key asset.

            Most observatories tended to have a number of astronomers rotate through, and while there were a few people within the community who would come to make their own observations at the DFO, the Sinret Project insisted that they have a presence at the observatory at all times.

            Azjar liked it there. It was far enough from the city that one could feel a degree of privacy without being so far that one could not go into town on a whim. He had grown up in Damana, the capital of Arizradna, and though he loved his hometown and appreciated how lucky he had been to be born there, he was happy to be living outside the city.

            Freya had made her great big stew, and while Azjar typically did not eat meat, he was satisfied that she had acquired the beef from a reputable institution that treated its animals as humanely as one could.

            The Deep Field Observatory had been built at the instruction of the Sinret Project, thousands of miles away in Arkos Province in the Redlands. Azjar had never been to the Redlands, but it was said that most of it was a fairly dangerous place, thanks to the wars that came in and out like the tide near the coast or the general lawlessness as one got farther inland. Azjar did not like to look down on another culture, but he found it strangely poetic that Arizradna and the Redlands were almost mirror images of each other, his homeland spread along the west coast of Sarona and the Redlands occupying much of the east coat six thousand miles away.

            He had once made an offhand comment, carelessly denigrating the Redlands in front of Tessa, and begged her forgiveness for his insensitivity, but she had only laughed and mentioned that there was a reason she never intended to return to the country of her birth.

            Still, Arkos province, where the Sinret Project was based, was said to be stable and even pleasant, at least in the cities. He imagined one would have to have some semblance of order to attempt a project of such magnitude, and truthfully he was glad the people of Arkos had entrusted his country with the construction and maintenance of the observatory. Not only was Arizradna a far safer place to invest the millions that the DFO cost to build, but historically it was believed that that position on the planet would give the best angle to stand a chance at finding Arashka.

            The people of the Redlands - or at least most of them, as of course there had inevitably been some racial mixing after living so long on Sarona - were originally refugees from an entirely different planet called Arashka. There was some myth passed down among the Redlanders that Arashka had been beset by a terribly calamity, marked by the arrival of an entity called the White King.

            The Gods of Arashka all had dual-identities – a day aspect and a night aspect. The most powerful among them was called Ternis – the God of Time. Ternis represented ambition for the future, and the promise of a better day to come, with new opportunities, growth, and the limitless potential in what had not yet happened.

            Ternis’ night aspect was Sinret, who represented nostalgia, history, and the striving for what had been lost. Depending on who you asked, Sinret could be a sorrowful being, or a seductive one, or potentially destructive and dangerous.

            There were many nuances that were lost on Azjar, but he suspected the legends and myths of the Pantheon of Arashka had mutated and been rewritten a hundred times in the ages that had passed since the exodus.

            The only member of the pantheon still known to exist was the night aspect of Sirca, the warrior god, who was named Ashtor. After the White King’s arrival, Ashtor flew through the heavens toward Sarona-Ki, leaving behind a wake of red flame that came to be known as “Ashtor’s Bleed.” For whatever reason, even when the Arashkans landed on the planet, he chose to shun them and instead found worshippers among the Sardok.

            For this reason, Azjar felt oddly out of place. Both Tessa and Freya had a connection to the project – one was searching for the land of her ancestors and the other was searching for the land of her god. Meanwhile Azjar, a good Arizradna boy, was less interested in the mystical or romantic side of things. Instead, he was drawn to the project primarily because of the puzzle of the technical logistics.

            When he was satisfied with the adjustments, Azjar made his way to the lodge. He was not yet sure what to make of Tessa’s boyfriend. For one, he did not remember her mentioning him before, and there was something… off about him. They had only interacted twice, first when Tessa brought Jack to his station and introduced him and again when Azjar had gone to the kitchen for breakfast.

            Oh hey, you’ve only eaten a bowl of cereal today, Azjar thought. Once again, he’d allowed himself to get lost in his work.

            But his thoughts remained on Jack Cart, Tessa’s sudden boyfriend from Narcia. He seemed friendly enough, though oddly thin. The man looked as if he had recently kicked a drug habit or been through months of torture, yet his manner and tone were lighthearted and friendly. Admittedly, Azjar was used to people being a little more rotund – thanks to what he had once heard a comedian call “The Arizradna Padding.” Yet Jack, well, he did not look unhealthy exactly, just strange.

            When they had sat at the dinner table, Freya handed him a very large stein of beer. “Drink up, witch. It’s not Varhall unless you’re stumbling drunk at the end of the night.”

            Azjar took a sip. The beer was thick and rich and very bitter. Azjar usually preferred bluewine, but he also recognized the need to get into the spirit of the holiday.

            “So how long have you been working at the DFO, Azjar?” asked Jack.

            “I came in with Freya. We had met in undergrad at Al-Akthi University up in Tevali. That was about four years ago.”

            “So you guys were here a year before Tessa?”

            Freya nodded. “Yeah. We’re the old-timers around here.” Freya then proceeded to grill Jack on his life: where he grew up, how he and Tessa met, what he did for a living. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, but still Azjar thought that Jack seemed uncomfortable, despite his confident answers to this impromptu interrogation.

            Azjar reasoned to himself that it was possible he was simply projecting his own discomfort over having a stranger there.

            They feasted for nearly three hours, and soon Freya was nearly unable to stand. Tessa left to help walk her to her room, leaving Jack and Azjar alone.

            They sat there, quietly, until finally Azjar felt he needed to break the silence. “So what do you think of Arizradna?” he asked, grasping for something to talk about.

            “It’s very nice,” replied Jack. He did not elaborate. Again, Azjar thought he could sense some discomfort underneath Jack’s friendly attitude.

            More silence.
           "Well, we made it to the couch," said Tessa as she reappeared. "Jack, you coming?"
           "Sure," he said, and they left the dining room. Azjar went to the kitchen and put his plate in the dishwasher, then began to make his way to his room. The beer had hit him harder than he expected. Much harder.

            He walked down the hallway, nearly tripping over his own foot. He supposed Freya would be happy with him, but she was already passed out, draped over the sofa in the enormous living room, absolutely reeking of beer and whiskey. Azjar opened the door in front of him.

            “Azjar!” Tessa nearly cried. He looked into the room. The room was dark, illuminated only from the lights in the hallway. Tessa was in bed, in her bedclothes. On the floor to the side of her bed, Jack was stretched out on a comforter, his bony chest uncovered. “What are you doing?” she asked.

            Azjar paused for a moment.

            What am I doing?

            He turned around. “I think I took hold of the wrong door.”

            Tessa nodded. “Yeah.”

            “I have a theory… bear with me here. I have a theory, that I may have ingested greater quantities of alcohol than I realized I was… doing.”

            Tessa laughed. “Yeah, that beer Freya brought is something like fifty proof.”

            Azjar nodded sagely. “Yes, that might account for it.” He looked around the room and nodded. “Right, well, carry on. Carry on.”

            He closed the door and walked toward what he now realized was his own door.

            That would have been pretty embarrassing if you were sober, he thought. Funny that Jack was sleeping on the floor.

            He went into his room and collapsed on the bed. It was amazingly soft and warm. He didn’t even mind that his face was pressed down against the mattress. It was still wonderfully comfortable.

            It was odd, though. Tessa was hardly a prudish woman – living with her and Freya for so long, he was privy to all of their “girl-talk.”

            Why would she make him sleep on the floor?

(Copyright Daniel Szolovits 2013)