Omar the Immortal

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Omar Bakhoum stepped down off the train before it stopped rolling and he surveyed the crowded platform beneath an evening sky stained the color of iron and rust.

One small step closer to Ysland and to unlocking all the mysteries of life, death, and the universe. At last!

The city air stung his nostrils with the mingled scents of sea salt, rotting fish, burnt oil, and dung. The train squealed to a halt behind him, and he heard a chorus of voices rise from his fellow travelers, the men and women from Carthage who spoke more dialects of Mazigh and Eranian than even he could recognize.

As he emerged from the Tingis train station, Omar noted the sun riding low in the western sky beyond a veil of gray clouds and a smoky haze that clung to the city like a filthy spider’s web. The street teemed with bodies in motion. Women in fashionable business suits marched in pairs sharing newspapers. Men in sweat-stained rags staggered beneath crates and barrels on their backs. Striped zebras trotted along with small carts in tow, and mighty spotted sivatheras promenaded proudly with their elaborate carriages rolling smartly behind them. Long brass trolley cars trundled down their tracks with bells clanging and wires sparking. And through the surging tide of people and vehicles, tiny children darted laughing through the streets, dodging wildly in and out of traffic.

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