PodCastle

* Author : Shari Paul
* Narrator : Khaalidah Muhammad-Ali
* Host : Summer Fletcher
* Audio Producer : Peter Adrian Behravesh
*
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Previously published by Fiyah Lit Mag Issue 5.


Rated PG-13.
The Epic of Sakina
By Shari Paul
The moon was a pale, golden disc in a lavender sky. Sakina, in a brilliant blue caftan that brought out the colour in her skin and eyes, strummed her kora a few times to check the tuning. At her ear, an ancestor whispered, “He is quite brazen to be out here when the moon is full…or powerful enough to resist it.”
Sakina looked over at the tall, thin man sinking into one of the dougou-tigui’s fine silk cushions. Asif the alim looked as if a stiff breeze would knock him over, the skin stretched tight over his bones. Naima had called him a ghoul and Sakina agreed. He noticed her stare, smiled, and said, “Of all the djeli I have met in my travels, you are by far the most captivating.”
There were a few titters from the assembled guests, wealthy merchants, fellow djeli, and the imam of the Cunapo Mosque. Their host, the dougou-tigui Hussain, coughed lightly, embarrassed, and said, “My nephew, Farouk, certainly thought so. He could not have found a more beautiful wife.”
“Yes, yes,” said Asif, still smiling at Sakina. “And then he left her to go travelling with your maghan. If I had found a wife as lovely, my journeys would end.”
“They are young, they think they can do whatever they like,” said Hussain with a chuckle, jiggling two of his three jowls.
Sprawled beside Asif, surrounded by trays of fruit and starches and spiced teas, the dougou-tigui was the larger of the two but he sat considerably higher. The ancestor continued at Sakina’s ear, “See how the mass he does not show nevertheless affects the environment around him? The beast he becomes must be strong.”
“Tell me they at least have a son, something to hold her attention while he is away,” said Asif, popping another date into his mouth.
Sakina hoped he choked on it. Was that a flash of gold in his eyes when he lifted his gaze to her? Alas, he merely sucked away the fruit and spat the seed into a bowl near his feet.
Hussain sighed heavily. “Their time together as man and wife was, perhaps, too brief.”
“Oh dear,” said Asif, giving Sakina another appraising look, his eyes amber.
Sakina forced herself to focus on the kora in her hands until she could calm her racing heart, then looked up and said, “Apologies for the delay. Shall we begin?”
Early evening in Cunapo village was cool and quiet and the sky was clear, so the doors to the great room of the dougou-tigui’s manse had been thrown open to the central courtyard and its spectacular fountain. Carib and African servants flitted back and forth amongst the guests with trays of coffee or the Aztec chocolatl or assisting with galyan pipes. A group of musicians had been playing earlier but had given way to Sakina when she arrived. The alim had wanted to hear stories of the Niani in the isles so the dougou-tigui had summoned the djeli. Sakina, who had been hoping for the request, had graciously agreed though she joked about not being a dancing girl. The men had laughed, and she settled on a beautiful Persian rug to play.
There were only a few hours left until the attack and Sakina welcomed the distraction of her work in the face of her worry...