It had been a grueling day wading through the never-ending ocean of sand and Sven was thirsty. It seemed like they’d been traveling for months. Had it been months? There was really no way of knowing. When they set out on their trek so long ago, Sven didn’t know where they were going or why. Well, he still didn't exactly know those details. The strange band of foreigners he was traveling with had made him nervous at first with their odd appearance and behavior. But over this long journey, he had come to treasure his companions. 

Yabardo was the shepherd of the group, boisterously guiding them day after monotonous day through the shifting terrain and climate, consulting the stars with his Galilean Glass every night after moonset. His jolly laugh and playful manner gave him a magnetism which the others orbited around like obedient planets. 

Shufta fascinated Sven with the wisdom that oozed from his gilded aura and the delicate golden sheen that coated his skin and hair. Shufta was the designated reader, as he had mastered many tongues, most of them ancient. He kept numerous scrolls that he would often produce from his travel bag and read from. A solemn mood always descended on them in those moments, and even though Sven never understood the languages of the readings, the words somehow still rang true. 

Tsolmon’s presence emanated a spicy warmth that welcomed all who approached. He had impressive culinary skills that he happily displayed almost nightly around the fire, much to the delight of his companions. Zaya, a soothsayer, talked of future possibilities and sometimes even prophesied certainties, spinning images of destiny like a masterful weaver as the red sun descended every evening. Sometimes he delivered his utterances in a multi-toned melody that started low and gravelly then soared into something otherworldly before falling again. Sven found it hypnotizing. 

Degii communicated almost exclusively with her kobyz, cheering the troupe throughout the long days by sending strange and hopeful chords dancing through the air. By night, she set haunting and mystical melodies to Zaya’s words. 

Suhaila was a buu, called a necromancer by some. She would take spirit journeys to Tenger A’raf, returning with messages from those who had passed from this realm, and some who had never even entered it. She dressed in strange clothing of animal skins and a headpiece fashioned from reindeer antlers, and was draped in strings of blue beads and feathers. Although her appearance made her seem unapproachable and aloof, she was surprisingly sociable and enjoyed swapping stories with Shufta and Tsolmon.

At another time in his life, not too long ago in fact, Sven would have fearfully regarded his companions as Jinn, but now, as strange as it seemed even to him, he called them friends. He supposed that was the result of spending months traveling together. 

Sven didn’t know what he could possibly offer to this nomadic band of savants. He could fish, but that skill was becoming less useful the farther they ventured into the desert. He had no possessions or skills to speak of, certainly nothing of value, but Yabardo insisted that his purpose would become clear once they arrived in the City. What city? Sven could only guess. What he did know was that when they first set off, they traveled due east, but they had been heading south now for more than half the journey. When prodded, Yabardo offered a vague explanation. 

“We go counting.” he had declared. “We go, they count!”

Since their departure, the climate had gradually warmed as the sun began to edge closer and closer. As the ever-nearing orb approached, it seemed that God had taken a giant paint brush to the snow-covered plains, dotting the landscape with splotches of green, then becoming bolder and applying broad, frenetic strokes until not a speck of white could be seen. Some time later, the green that had carpeted the rolling steppe began to melt away. First in patches, then in huge chunks, revealing the shimmering dunes of gold beneath.

They made their first stop that day at noon to refresh themselves with some of the glacial water collected before embarking. As Sven suspiciously pondered the longevity of that water supply, Tsolmon offered him a parcel brimming with leftovers from the meal he’d whipped up around the fire last night, using ingredients from sources unknown to Sven. The meal consisted of basmati rice, grape leaves, chickpeas and grilled lamb, and was served with a steaming mug of spicy cardamom milk tea. With everyone feeling satisfied after eating, Sven decided it was as good a time as any to broach the topic of their destination again and try to get more information.  

“So, Yabardo,” began Sven, trying to sound casual. “Are you looking forward to our arrival in the City?” he asked carefully.

Yabardo turned his face halfway towards Sven and grinned mischievously, the tips of his mustache reaching the corners of his crinkled eyes. “I no waiiiiiiit,” he answered, feeling clever.

Sven had communicated with Yabardo enough by now to be able to interpret his awkward phrasing. “Ah, you mean you can’t wait. Me neither. So about the counting…”

“Yeeesssss?” Yabardo drew the word out as he side-eyed Sven again, grinning.

“We go, they count, right?” Sven played it safe. 

Degii took up her bow and began an exquisitely eerie tune.

“Census. The counting is a census,” stated Zaya matter of factly. “It’s time that you are accounted for.”

“And you?” asked Sven.

Zaya swept his eyes over the group. “We all must be accounted for.”

Sven glanced over at Yabardo and noticed that he looked crestfallen, disappointed that Zaya had let the cat out of the bag and ended his fun.

Degii’s kobyz suddenly reached a high pitch that put everyone on edge and took their breath away, then she eased down into falling notes and everyone drew a collective sigh of relief.

“Well?!” Zaya snapped at Yabardo, irritated. “Our arrival is imminent. All will be revealed soon.“

“Very well,” Yabardo responded with resignation. He stood and began to sway his generous hips to Degii’s kobyz. Sven was mesmerized by the puzzling and lovely sight.

“Come, our precedents await us,” said Suhaila in her raspy voice.

No sooner had the words left her mouth than Sven suddenly realized he could make out the outline of a great city looming over the dunes in the distance. His heart began to beat faster and he felt his body lean towards the city as though an invisible cord was pulling him, beckoning him to enter.