Saharan Gold

Wed, 16 Jul 2025 00:00:00 +0000

Saharan Gold

The wind whips sand into the old man’s face, squeezing past slitted lids to deposit grit in the corners of his eyes. He reaches for the bladder at his belt, hefts its weight and judges it is enough to last until nightfall. After taking a deep sip, he wipes a hand a across his lips to catch the last drop before it evaporates in the heat. The sun burns so he replaces the bladder quickly and tugs down the sleeves of his tunic to cover the age spots already seared into his hands. He falls to one knee to stare into the distance.

He sees sand, only sand, in all directions. It is burnished gold by the fiery orb of the sun, useless gold worth nothing when a man faces death from thirst. The camel nudges his shoulder, its breath stinking and hot on his neck.

The old man squints into the iridescent blue sky. He still has the beast. If all else fails, its blood will sustain him.

It is not the season for making journeys, yet he has walked for three weeks. The last of his tribe live by the old ways far from the cities and far from the beach where he fishes the red sea. He’d not thought he’d ever return, but then he’d heard the news. He sold his boat, bought the camel and began to walk.

Now he allows it to push him to his feet. The beast is no dumb animal. It knows they must move.

The old man’s steps grow heavy but he continues to walk. When the sun slips below the dunes on the horizon, the day loses its heat. Huffing with relief, he pushes on as the stars emerge to dance in the night sky.

At first the twinkle of lights in the distance seems an illusion. It cannot be real. He must be dreaming, asleep on his feet. The camel bellows, a low harsh sound. The old man makes out the shape of a palm tree, then the peak of a tent. Despite his fatigue, he tries to run and stumbles forward. Reins dropped, the camel breaks free and races ahead.

He does not recognise the faces of the men who come to greet him.

“Amal?” he gasps.

“She lives.”

The old man feels his knees give out beneath him. He has enough time to praise God before the world goes dark.

When he wakes, he feels the soft touch of a hand on his cheek. The air is scented with rose water and pomegranate. He opens his eyes to candlelight as soft as the memories swirling through his brain. Memories of times when he took his youth for granted, but never her.

“Mehedi, you have returned.” Her voice is the tinkling of bells.

His heart is clamouring like a drum. “I heard news of the accident,” he says. I had to see you again.”

Her dark eyes must see his soul so deep is her gaze.

“I live.” She looks away. “But my husband is dead.”

He stares silently until she turns back to him, remembering the years they’d played together as children, remembering the plans he’d made when he became a man. Plans that changed —hopes that were dashed — when her father said, “No.”

Her parents did not think him good enough for her. But they are dead. Her husband is dead. They are all dead now. And he will be dead soon too.

“I never stopped loving you, Amal.” He fingers the gold ring on its leather strap around his neck. Perhaps gold is not useless after all. His breath is a wish.

“Will you be my wife?”

🩷🩷🩷

Fiona H Evans is a recently retired mathematician and emerging writer.  She lives on Noongar Boodja in Western Australia, with her beloved aging dog, in a cottage near a river where black swans swim. You can read more of her writing at fionahevans.com.

Darkside

Fri, 01 Jul 2022 00:00:00 +0000

Darkside

The Darkside Mortuary lies on the boundary between the countryside and the woods. Sad visitors, and they are mostly all sad, approach the mortuary via a long avenue of elegant silver birch. No matter the time of day, sunlight slips through the leafy canopy to dance upon the gravel driveway. The city’s noise falls away, and a sense of peace descends. A widow who’d thought her senses numbed by loss might detect the fragrance of lavender and dawdle by the flower garden in the centre of the forecourt.

At the end of the avenue, the mortuary is a large, brick building with tall, narrow windows. It sits on the boundary between the countryside and the woods. Behind the mortuary, oak and hawthorn trees grow tall and dense, blocking the sun. The passage into Darkside might be bright and pleasing, but the rear of the building is always shaded.

Samael slipped from between the shadows and quietly emerged from the woods. He paused to adjust the cuffs of his silver, sateen suit and noted the paper-thin skin on his wrinkled hands. This body was getting weaker by the day as it faded into old age. It had served him well, but it was time to shed this human form and find a new host better suited to a demon of his stature.

Samael had been observing the mortuary for some time. Coming into the light was always risky. He’d watched the mortician and his wife drive off that morning. There was only the little girl left there now. It was time to make his move.

–

Lily Darkside’s father was the last in a long line of morticians, and he refused to believe Lily would not uphold the family tradition.

“It’s not that I don’t care about the dead,” she told him repeatedly. “It’s just that I think there has to be more to life!”

Lily had lived in the Darkside Mortuary since her parents bought her home after her birth almost fourteen years ago. Their apartment took up the whole upstairs floor, with the business areas underneath it.

The mortuary was quiet today. Only three bodies rested in the refrigerators. They’d been embalmed, but the funerals weren’t booked until later in the week. Lily’s parents had taken the opportunity to drive into town for the day. Now Lily sat at her father’s desk in the showroom, doodling and dreaming of escape. Having lived her entire life in one place, she longed to see the world.

Glancing out the window, Lily started when she saw the strange man standing there. She pushed away from the desk and opened the door.

“We’re closed today,” she said.

“Allow me to introduce myself,” he said. “Samael March, from the health department.” He gave a slight bow. “I’m here to inspect the premises.”

Lily sighed.

“My parents aren’t here, but I can show you around.”

Inside, a vase of roses sat upon a small wooden table, scenting the air with their delicate aroma. Lily noted her appearance in the gilt-framed mirror that hung on the wall. She looked calm, bored even, although she was all nerves on the inside.

–

Samael followed the girl through the foyer and into the parlour. Passing by simple wooden chairs laid out in neat lines, she opened an unassuming door at the far side of the room. Fluorescent lights banished the darkness with the flick of a switch, but it was always cold in the embalming room. Deep-drawered refrigerators covered one entire side of the room, which hummed with the sound of their motors. Embalming equipment sat neatly on open shelving on the opposite wall. White tiles covered the floors, and two long, stainless steel benches stood over drains in the middle of the room.

Lily gestured and said, “It’s all perfectly clean.”

“Ah, but I will have to scrutinise closely,” said Samael.

Marching to the fridges, he pulled open the nearest drawer marked as in use. The body of a man lay inside. John Sweetingham had been a man in the prime of his life when a lorry struck his motorcycle and killed him instantly. He was big and strong, with muscles hardened by labour and a belly distended by habitual beer drinking. Mr Darkside had straightened his broken bones, but nothing could disguise the broken capillaries on his bulbous nose.

“No, this won’t do at all,” said Samael. “It’s far too big and boorish.”

He opened the next drawer and found the body of a woman. Abigail Green was an elderly lady who’d died peacefully in her sleep after living a long and full life. Mr Darkside had dressed her in her finest gown and tinted her cheeks with a delicate pink rouge.

“No, no,” said Samael. “Too old and fragile!”

Samael whipped open the last drawer. Inside, a young man lay on his back with his arms folded over his chest. Dark hair framed an aquiline, handsome face. Todd Butler had died suddenly of a brain aneurism, and Mr Darkside had done a perfect job with the embalming. Todd looked peaceful as if he were merely asleep and not dead.

“Ah, this body is just right,” breathed Samael. “Young, strong and beautiful. Now all I need is a spark of life.”

Samael turned to find Lily backing slowly out of the embalming room.

–

The astringent smell of ammonia tickled Lily’s nostrils. It smelt like home. She’d always felt most comfortable in the embalming room away from the mourners and those who only pretended to mourn. It was here, as she’d watched her father inject formaldehyde into the veins of the dead, that she’d formulated her plan.

Lily watched Samael as he inspected the corpses. Three, two, one. He turned with a smile, and without seeming to move, he was suddenly beside her. His fingers snaked around her wrist and grasped with a strength that belied his aging body.

Samael began to dissolve into pure demonic substance, ready to take her life force and use it to reanimate the body. Black smoke whirled around the room, surging and growing in strength and power. She had to move quickly now.

Lily whipped her free hand out from behind her to reveal a large glass jar.

“I banish thee, I banish thee, I banish thee, demon. Tres ego deleo in hoc receptaculum!” she chanted.

Unable to resist the spell, Samael’s essence was sucked into the jar. Lily screwed the lid on tightly.

–

In the mortuary that marks the start of the woods, the nightingale’s warbling song can be heard night and day all through summertime. Lily Darkside whistled along with the bird as she passed the garage where the hearses are kept. A curved path leads to the chapel and crematorium, but Lily slipped through the forest’s edge to a small shack hidden in the trees. Various shades of light glowed from numerous glass jars in the darkness within. Each would earn a pretty penny on the black-magic market.

The door creaked as she pushed it open and leaned in to place another jar inside.

Lily grinned. “Ten more demons, and I’ll have enough to pay for university and begin my new life.”

published, flash | Fiona H Evans

Saharan Gold

Darkside