"Be careful," he said, "or you might soar to the stars." He looked around at Dusty to make sure he was paying attention. He was, blinking at his guardian in bewilderment. Salman smiled.

"I know that on a night like this," he explained, "with the stars so clearly seen, that it would be amusing just to reach out your hand and snatch them up like marbles. But resist the temptation, my boy. Stars belong in the night sky while we belong with our feet on the ground. Stars are for admiring, not touching."

"Uh, I'll keep that in mind," Dusty said, scratching his head. Until this moment, Salman had been a rational guy. A little too quiet, maybe, but comfortingly predictable. What the heck was he banging on about? He hoped Salman wasn't going to continue this peculiar lecture. Hoping to change the subject, he said, "Shouldn't we be getting back home now?"

"I think I will. But, would you like to walk about some more by yourself?"

"Yes, please."

Salman smiled again, wider this time. "I'll have tea waiting for you. Don't be too long." With that, he pulled his robe tighter around him even though it wasn't cold yet and strode swiftly away.

Dusty watched him go. Although they lived in the desert, Salman always wore black, while he wore white. That was Salman for you. Dusty never thought of it as odd until now.

For as long as he could remember, there was always Salman in black. They always lived in a mud brick abode in this desert. They always had busy days. They always studied the plants and animals of the desert. Salman always tended to them when they needed tending. Dusty couldn't figure out how Salman knew which plants and which animals needed help and which to ignore, but he was much older and certainly just knew all that stuff.

At the hottest part of the day, they always retreated to the abode, along with any patients that needed close observation. Salman would always lie down while Dusty stared out of their door, watching the waves of heat and the waves of sand crashing against other like mighty armies. Each day, Dusty would pick a side and root for it. Some days, both armies would surrender to the wind or the very rare rain.

Hours after the children's moon rose, they would always tend the hives, the goats and the garden. They would always draw the sweet water of the tiny, always flowing oasis and carry it back to the abode. Then they would always eat.

After dinner, as the cool darkness soothed and then seared the desert, they would again walk if they didn't have any patients to mind. Dusty never knew why they had to walk so much, but wherever Salman went, Dusty was always expected to follow. And follow until it got too cold. Then, he followed Salman to their mats for a few hours of not moving. The next day would be exactly the same and entirely different.

Dusty walked about aimlessly now, wondering why sensible Salman suddenly warned him about the stars. It was as if Salman knew what stars were like. How bad could stars be? They were just little lights in the sky.

He looked at the stars, and then felt a breeze whoosh by his head. He shuddered involuntarily. Something had fallen from the sky, just missing him.

It was the weirdest looking raven Dusty had ever seen. It was pure white, with deep blue eyes. It groaned in pain. "Help me," it clearly said, in a voice very much like Salman's.

Dusty froze. He had always pretended he could talk to animals, but this was the first time one had talked back in his own language! He supposed he should get Salman. Salman would know what to do. "Uh, wait here. I'll go get help," he finally stammered.

The raven moaned, "There isn't time. If I don't go back to my home, I'm gonna die."

"But —"

"You gonna help me or not, kid?"

Dusty gulped. There was a living thing before him -- despite the fact that it was a shouldn't-be-living living thing - and it was in pain. "What can I do?"

"Just fly me to my home, kid."

"Where's your home?"

"The stars."

"The stars? How am I supposed to fly to the stars? I don't have wings. Maybe if I get you some
water -"

"I don't need water, kid - I need to go home! The air here is too heavy for me - it's crushing me. I just wondered what a real desert looked like and flew too low and got pulled down. I don't have long, kid. Just look at the stars, make a stinkin' wish and you'll get us there."

"Uh, I guess it couldn't hurt to try." Dusty said, and picked up the white bird.

"That's the spirit, kid!"

"Here goes nothing," Dusty said, wanting to cross his fingers. Salman's warning sprung to mind, but he slapped it away. This was an emergency.

So, what was it the white raven said? Look up at the stars and make a stinkin' wish -

I wish I could fly this poor bird home.

Nothing happened.

Nothing continued to happen.

Out of desperation, he stretched up on tip-toes. That felt right. He took a step up with one foot and then tried stepping up with the other foot. Suddenly, he was a little ways up to the stars.

Darn - was this all there was to flying?

No time to think! The white raven was trembling and panting. However, Dusty risked a glance down to see they were now several feet above the sands.

"Don't look down," the white raven advised. "That's the secret of first flight. Just look where you're going and then you'll get there before you know it."

And it turned out to be as simple as that. No flapping wings required. Dusty stared unwaveringly at the stars. Soon it got cold, wonderfully cold, and frighteningly cold. Dusty ignored the cold and concentrated on taking the dying bird home.

The stars were so bright they rang in his ears. All sort of creatures shone vividly in a bizarre palette of colors - copper dragons, pearly crows, blue men - too many all at once. It was so beautiful up here; Dusty wondered why the white raven wanted to look at a mere desert.

"Ahh, that's the stuff!" the white raven cawed and swelled with renewed strength. "I owe you one, kid! See ya around!"

With that, the white raven launched himself out of Dusty's arms with a slam that took the youth completely by surprise. Dusty began to tumble uncontrollably backwards to earth. He wondered if Salman would write on his tombstone "He never listened."

***

Dusty regained consciousness on his own mat with two shadows towering over him. He could barely move and, when he tried to, discovered he didn't want to.

"It could've been worse, you know that!" Salman snapped.

"Hey, I don't make the rules, Sal. I just carry them out," a familiar voice replied. They rarely had any visitors. Why was there one now?

"But you don't have to enjoy yourself so much in carrying out those rules," Salman sniffed. "I'm going to really miss this one. I was hoping he would choose to say with me, and together we'd train somebody else to be a guardian angel."

"Yes, I know - and that's why I had to give the kid The Choice as soon as possible."

"You really hate it when I like other angels, don't you?"

"Shut up. The kid's woken up."

Kid — ?

"Yes, kid. I am the white raven," the stranger said. Dusty could see him clearly now. He was tall and dark haired and terrifying and absolutely brilliant. In the stranger's blue eyes, he saw himself. He saw his thin, torn clothes, his tousled hair, his face lined. He looked like a little version of Salman. "Every angel goes through The Choice. You did really well. You'll make a fine guardian angel, I'm sure."

"Angel? No. I'm just a boy!"

The stranger laughed. "Don't be stupid, kid. Salman here is the guardian angel of this desert. In exchange for such a cushy job, he trains angels for me. Living among mortals gives the extra edge of compassion that is missing from much of the divine, let me tell you. My name is Gabriel. I'm going to be your boss. We're going to get on really well."

Dusty sat up, sensing that his life had forever changed, whether he liked it or not. "Wait - you can't be serious - since when do angels really exist? I thought they were just stories."

"I'll miss you, too, Dusty," Salman said softly.

Suddenly something unlocked inside of Dusty. With those words, he knew who he was. He was an angel and nothing could change that now. With that knowledge, a desire came to stop goofing around in the desert and go to work.

"Ready to leave now?" Gabriel grinned.

"Yes," Dusty said, and soon they were hovering over the abode.

He heard Salman's farewell, and risked glancing down. Salman looked up at them and at the stars. He was not flying with them, but hovered just a little ways up.

The End

Rena Sherwood has lived in both England and America, and currently resides in the Philadelphia area. She has had poems published in the literary magazines of Delaware County Community College (Pegasus) and Millersville University (George Street Carnival). She hopes to be a white horse when she grows up.

Top of Page