Somali Tales

Driving for hours, all she heard were hymns in a dying language. Something called Arabic, as taught in her ancient history class. She made some judicious choices in her class selection, but not judicious enough to properly learn something. Only a couple of words were discernible, and no true meaning. The letters were all guttural, and she could not catch them all to understand the full sentence.

Were the songs mourning the lost ones, or were they celebrating the end of ancient times? It was such a controversial subject. Her own country used to be called Somalia, and almost a thousand years ago, it had seen more than 40% of its population disappeared in one night, along with the content of their meager libraries.

And the same happened in many African countries, including half of Algeria, 25% or Morocco and entire cities in Egypt. There were empty countries in West or central Asia, some European cities also lost members of their community in many boroughs, where more than half of the people did not wake up from an intense sleep.

Rune remembered her history lessons well, having even taken archaeology as a minor. A disappearance like that one still had effect socially, politically, and most of all, culturally. The strangest aspect was that no one could remember the cultural practices of the dead.

Her teachers always described deserted land, markets, malls, to signify an immense loss. Who were these neighbors? These family members? No one knew what happened to them and why even their artifacts and knowledge gently disappeared. There were entire houses and buildings who used to be of use for cultural practices which no one remembers. Were they places to bury the dead? To celebrate unions? That’s what most of her teachers believed. They were places for the community to gather, but any inscription had been erased.  

After the event sometimes, called a natural holocaust, huge burials were done. Rune saw the one in Hamar, the now capital of Malia. They were even lucky to have a place to rest. In some lands, the bodies left to rot, were eaten by scavengers. It was not rare to find human remains while hiking, even hundreds of years after the “event.”

Rune learned the countries who lost the most population accused others to have orchestrated these killings. Indeed, while 5% at least of the world population died, many other people remained alive; and powerful as well as weak countries took the occasion to invade the regions where only a few survived.

But here was Mehreen, the resistant. It had not fall under the weight of the giant nor accepted any defeat. The population fought hundreds of years of war, keeping its secret to itself.

Well. Her organization did not exist back then, nor did someone like Rune existed. The whole affair would have taken a week, if they had been there, she thought to herself. Hundreds of years of fighting for what?

Looking outside her window, Rune got an idea about the reason they fought so ardently. The land was beautiful, with a refine architecture. Nothing of the spatial look all the world cities had.

“Cut the head, and they will all walk back, with their tail down,” said her teacher. But the streets were empty. There were no heads to cut, and not a single tail in sight. Only fruit trees and luxurious houses with lush gardens. Hundred years of war did not affect the riches of the land.

Anyway, Rune was not here to revisit her history class and do some garden sighting. She was here, alive and well-trained to bring the city of Hades to its knees. She will reveal the secret to their strength and hopefully counter it.

Despite her gentle appearance, Rune must be ruthless. As the highest-ranking soldier in her team, she must bring an end to the Mehreen reign, one way or another.

***

“Welcome, Rune,” offering a hand to shake, Arshad led the way before presenting his wife. “This is Fahima, my dear wife.”

“Good evening, Fahima. Nice to meet you,” said Rune as politely as she could, still irritated by the three hours of hymns full of obscure “aaas” and “oos”.

“Nice to meet you too, Rune. Since my husband told me about your name, I kept wondering if you were Celtic and if your parents had an interest in the ancient languages. But now, seeing you, I realize I may have been wrong!”

“I get that often. I’m from Malia. My name means truth, but we wrote it with an e, to avoid people calling me “run.”” At least that part was true. Ears still ringing with the music, it seemed it even affected Rune’s speech; she was almost singing rather than talking when she complimented them on their domain.

“I have never seen such a beautiful garden. How many people do you need to sculpt these hedges?” Even the trees had a perfect shape, some in complex geometrical forms, and one even looking like a star.

“It is only me, said Arshad. I would not let anyone touch my precious trees. I trim, cultivate, water, take the weeds out all by myself. It’s like a therapy, you know?”

“Yes. I can tell it is done with medical precision, said the girl, leaving a short pause before reengaging the conversation; before we get in, should I leave the product in the trunk, or do you want to review it now?”

“Are you not tired? We do not wish to burden you now that you traveled such a long distance.”

“I’m not tired at all. Let’s look at some of them. I even brought a gift; some insects’ repellent crystals.”

Opening the trunk, she picked up three large rocks, the size of a football, all light mauve-colored, with shiny edges. She took a hammer to make the process more spectacular, completely aware that it was only an act. Placing the rocks at the far end of the garden, she gently tapped with her hammer, pronouncing gibberish in the ancient Somali language. She kept repeating to her host of the effect it will have on all types of flying animals.

The truth is a little more sinister. Discreetly, she turned her soul-detecting device on, connecting it to the chip in the crystal.

While moving around, she kept reciting some gibberish, “libaax, maroodi,” all names of animals or lullabies in the almost-dead language. Fahima and Arshad did not even register her antics, thinking she was passionate about what they consider a futile action. They had the best insect repellent, and even ladybirds avoided to spend too much time near their roses.

Just like Rune, the couple did not believe one second in the powers of crystals to kill insects. Walking around, the girl realized the absence of even a single ant on the clean soil. She had never seen a dirt less ground that was not made of marble.

Why were they so neat? It seemed unnatural, to say the least. She kept her act, even pretending to be in a trance while hammering the crystals to see if they were placed far enough. Her teacher told her silliness made people ignore you. She wished the couple would feel embarrassed enough to turn their eyes and let her “work”. She was plugging her micros in the holes she made with the hammers, as soon as they did turn their back, pretending to look at the sky.

They must be refraining themselves from laughing. Rune had no match when it came to acting strange.

“The vibration and the echoes are not good enough when the crystals are on the surface. Do you mind if I dig a bit? It will place it more firmly on the ground,” said Rune, looking serious.

“Sure… just stay away from the peonies” told Fahima, half serious.

“She is weird,” Fahima whispered to her husband, when she got close enough to not be heard. Rune ran to her car to extract a shovel and got back to business.

“Good. She must believe we hire her for this.” Rune turned to look at them, and make sure they could not properly see her in the dark.

They waved at her; all smile.

“You must keep her away from the basement. If she gets too close, we are done. She looks like she will offer a moon powder to kill the rats,” said Fahima, worried again.

“What makes her think we have those in Mehreen?” asked Arshad, shivering from the thoughts of those little plague carriers.

“The same thing making her believe we still have crawling and flying tiny animals in our garden,” said Fahima. Like most cities of regions, we got rid of those hundreds of years ago… she thought to herself. “Where is she from again?”

“She said her origin are from Malia. But on her website, it’s written she lived in Europe, Geneva, if I’m correct.”

Rune was digging and stopping from time to time, moving her hands exaggeratedly and knocking the mineral with her small hammer. She started to feel awkward, but she was almost done with the process.

After she cleaned her shovel, and placed it back in the trunk, a green car entered the small alley and parked it right behind her, blocking her.

What is up with this place? Rune saw 10 people in total while crossing the land, and half of them were military. Only the employees from the station, Fahima and Arshad seemed like regular people. Where are all the other civilians? Was that their secrets; They were all soldiers, ready to kill for their country?

“Good evening,” said the man, jumping out of the high car and immediately greeting her with a hand.

“Good evening. I’m Rune, the new employee,” said Rune, showing her hands full of dirt.

“I know. I’m the one who advised my parents to hire you,” said the man, taking his hand back. “I’m Deen,” he added.

“Deen. Arabic?” a lover of language, she could not refrain herself.

“Think so. Let’s go inside.”

Direct. No use of unnecessary words or long sentence like “I don’t think so” or “Do you want to go inside?”

“Sure. I need to wash my hands anyway,” she said, smiling. Rune did not need another soldier in the house, and when the time come, she will have to deal with him too. Glad he came after her little theatrical appearance in the warm garden, they went inside.

Her quick look around the house got her a clear description of every single item in the floor. He was studying her, as much as she was registering the place and all its oddities. That’s why they sent her.

That’s why he lured her here.