CHAPTER EIGHT

THE APPEARANCE and departure of our enemy had been so sudden that for a moment both Saba and Judah appeared to be at a loss. But only for a moment.

“He isn’t alone,” Saba said. “Our camels aren’t strong and there’s no cover. We must find high ground on foot.” He started toward the well, where he’d left his bow and sword.

But Judah had other thoughts. “No, Saba.” He looked at me, eyes bright. “They will have camels. Don’t you see? They are our means of salvation.”

“They are Thamud!” Saba snapped, turning back.

“And even Thamud carry water. I will speak to them.” To me, Judah made himself clear: “Remain here with Saba.” He strode toward the dune.

“Judah!”

“Trust me, Maviah!” he cried over his shoulder, then broke into a run. “God smiles on us today.”

Saba mumbled something and retrieved his weapons.

“Will he be safe?” I asked, watching Judah scramble up the dune.

“He is Judah.”

“What does that mean, he is Judah? Of course he’s Judah!”

“I have fought by his side many times and would entrust my life to him with all confidence. He thinks more with his heart than his mind, but his sword is true. Judah is as safe as any man might be.”

This offered me little comfort.

The moment Judah’s form vanished over the dune, I felt lost and utterly alone in that great dust bowl with its bitter well. Abandoned even. I realized then how dependent I’d become on his presence. I turned to Saba, hoping for reassurance, and I found some. But Saba was not Judah.

He still wore his cloak from the long night’s journey, and now he stripped it off so his movements might be unencumbered. There was no cover nearby and nothing to prepare, so he crossed to Wabitu and squatted by the camel’s head, stroking her neck, perhaps apologizing for our cruelty.

His eyes remained fixed on the crest where Judah had vanished.

“Sit,” Saba said without looking at me. “Breathe.”

So I did.

My thirst intensified in the hot silence. Judah was like water to my heart, I thought, and without him my thirst became unbearable. I was but dried bones and my tongue like dust.

“Are you sure he’s safe?” I asked after too much time seemed to have passed.

“He is Judah,” Saba said. His tone told me to be silent once again. But I wasn’t listening.

“How many Thamud, do you think?”

“I have not seen their tracks.”

“What if they know about Dumah?”

He turned, face flat, and for a moment stared at me. He said nothing with his tongue, but his eyes told me his mind. He had no patience for my questions. Not now.

So I fell silent once again, praying to any god who might hear for Judah’s safe return.

And then Judah reappeared at the dune’s crest, wearing his customary smile. I sprang to my feet, overcome by relief.

He waved his arms. “It is good! We’ve found a friend! It is safe!”

“How many?” Saba called, already on his feet.

“They are only two. Come!”

I was already running, stumbling up the slope, and was soon panting with Saba by Judah’s side.

“How far?”

“Just over the rise.” Judah led us as one who’d found a great prize. “They are a brother and his sister who came to the well in the night and found it bitter, so they made camp behind the sand.”

Saba was not ecstatic. “You told them what?”

“That we are Kalb, yet friend of Saman bin Shariqat, sheikh of all Thamud.”

“They know nothing of Dumah?”

“No, I don’t think so. They have water, Maviah. Did I not say we would be saved?”

“Yes. Yes, you did.”

“And now we are.”

“Not yet,” Saba said. “Where there are two, there are more close by.”

I saw the single small black tent as we crested the next dune. It was hardly a true tent, made of only one ragged cloth stretched over two poles hastily set in the sand. A goat was tied off to a post beside the shelter, and it bleated at us. Nearby two camels stood in the sun, watching us through long lashes.

The moment the boy saw us, he motioned wildly with his hand. A girl stood in the tent behind him, younger than he, I guessed. The sister quickly adjusted her tattered tunic. They, like most Bedu in the deep sands, were very poor. But they had water, two skins at least, hanging from the tent posts. Nothing mattered to me as much as water.

“He is Arim,” Judah said. “There will be no problem with them.”

Indeed, both seemed overjoyed to welcome us into their humble camp. They could not know who we were or what had happened in Dumah, because they greeted us as all Bedu do honored guests and strangers.

The boy, Arim, was thin with scraggly hair and only a few strands for a beard. He might have been sixteen, but his muscle was filling out and already showed strength.

“Thank the gods for honoring us with your presence!” he cried, running up to us. He dipped his head. “You are our guests. No harm shall come to you in our tent.” His dark brown eyes, bright as the stars, lingered on me. “I am Arim bin Fasih, great warrior of the Nafud.”

His sister was only a few paces behind his heels.

“We are most honored to serve you,” he said.

Arim turned and issued a stern rebuke to the sister, flinging his arm with bravado. “Masihna! Go prepare the goat for slaughter! Can’t you see we have guests?”

She smiled at me, unaffected by his show. Then she turned and ran back.

“Forgive her, my sister is not accustomed to guests.” He swept his arm toward their tent. “Please, you must feast with us.”

“We will share your water, Arim,” I said. “But you must keep this goat for yourself.” I did not want to eat what was so precious to them, but the moment the words left my mouth, I knew I had overstepped, for I was a woman and I had undermined his honor as the master of this tent.

For a moment he looked among Judah, Saba, and me, perhaps wondering why a woman was speaking for them. But I was from Egypt before Dumah and though a slave, had been allowed to speak to men in common.

“Please forgive her, she forgets herself,” Saba said. “We would be most honored to receive food in your tent.”

But I forgot myself further, so far was I from the constraints of my father’s house.

“Do you travel alone with your sister?”

This time the boy took my boldness in stride. “We are traveling to my father’s clan, not a half day’s journey from this well.”

“And you take this goat for your father?”

“We were sent to the south to take the goat from my cousin, who has offered it to my father.”

Saba tried to stop me. “Please…”

“How long have you traveled?” I asked.

“We are gone one week.”

“Then you must deliver this goat to your father, lest he be angry the Kalb have eaten his prize.”

“It is my goat!” he cried. “I am master of this beast!”

He was only seeking the greatest honor by serving his prized goat, as was the Bedu way, but I could not see depriving them of what was surely needed by the boy’s elders.

The sister had already gathered the goat and was readying to cut its throat.

“You are most honored to have offered this goat,” Judah said, dipping his head. “And we are honored to sit with you and share a meal. We will eat what you serve us, sure that God will smile upon you all of your days.”

Judah eyed Arim gently and continued in a reassuring tone.

“We only ask that you keep the goat, and give to us your camels instead. You may restore our health and make your way to your clan.”

This request threw the boy into a conundrum, obvious now in his eyes. Judah’s tone was bold and the customs for trading complicated, depending on the situation. By offering to take a camel, Judah had given the boy a way to restore any honor lost by not slaughtering his goat, as was his prerogative in his own tent. But a camel was far more valuable.

“We will pay, of course,” Judah said.

“You will pay?”

“Handsomely.”

Arim stared at Judah as he considered his options.

“I will not see a guest ride on these haggard beasts,” he said, referring to his camels. “My clan has many camels close. You must take those.”

No, I thought. We could not go into a Thamud camp. It was far too dangerous.

“How many?” Judah asked.

“Many. The strongest and the fastest in the Nafud.”

This meant little, for Bedu men are prone to exaggeration.

“Then take us to your clan and see us on our way with camels. Your father will be most generous to you for this.”

A knowing smile lit the boy’s face once again. “You are wise among all men.” His eyes rested on me for a moment, surely curious as to my status as a woman who’d been allowed to speak so freely.

“But we must first drink tea and exchange the news.”

He turned and strode toward the tent, and seeing that his sister was already cutting the goat, he hurried forward, followed quickly by Judah.

“No, Masihna! You must not slaughter the goat!”

She whirled, eyes wide, blade on the goat’s throat. I couldn’t see if it was too late, but I saw clearly what happened next. In his hurry Arim rushed to his sister, grabbed the blade from her hand, and jerked it away. By then Judah was close behind, and as Arim scolded Masihna, his arm swept back and his blade nicked Judah’s arm.

Startled, the goat bleated and jumped up.

The boy spun around and, seeing blood seep from the small cut, dropped the knife. For a moment they stood stunned—Judah looking curiously at his arm, Arim aghast, and the shocked sister covering her mouth.

Among the Bedu, the master of any tent is liable for the harm of any who enters it as a guest. Indeed, the blood price of a guest is twice that of any man killed in battle—twenty camels, among the Kalb.

Arim threw himself to the ground, hands outstretched on the sand.

“Before Shams I deliver myself as your servant. Tell me the price of this blood, I beg you!”

“It is but a scratch,” Judah said.

“My life is yours to command!” Arim cried. “Allow me to restore honor lest I die a thousand deaths and my bones be scattered in the desert!”

Judah looked at me, now beside him, and I saw both compassion and delight in his eyes.

“Then my only command is that you prize your sister as I prize the woman in my own protection,” he said, still looking at me.

Arim lifted his head, face covered in sand. “It is not enough! I am liable for your blood!”

And it was true. It was the way of all Bedu that blood must be paid for with blood; eye for eye; life for life. The gods themselves demanded it.

Judah studied the boy for a long moment, then bent and scooped up the knife he’d dropped. Before objection could be made, Judah cut his left palm and held up his bloody hand.

“Then I take your blood upon myself,” he said, invoking any Bedu’s right to extend mercy. “This blood is now yours and your debt is repaid in full. This is the Light of Blood.”

Arim stared, overwhelmed. The Light of Blood, so offered, set the boy free of his obligation. Judah’s heart could not be questioned, though I suspected he wasn’t interested in being bound to any Thamud. Best put the incident behind. His wound would heal.

Arim scrambled to his feet, quickly stepped up to Judah, grabbed his bloody hand, and wiped Judah’s blood on his own forehead.

“The Light of Blood,” he said. Arim clasped both of Judah’s arms. “Before the eyes of Shams I beg you be a brother to me and my family.”

Judah hesitated. “I am a Jew who does not pray to Shams. How can I be your brother?”

“Ah? It is my debt to offer, not yours to refuse! I accept your mercy and now offer my life. I beg you not leave me in the depths of despair without honor. Do not discard me into the valley of misery, I implore you!”

“I have set you free!”

“And now I offer myself to you as your protector. Am I not worthy?”

When Judah didn’t return his agreement, Arim continued, speaking quickly.

“I care not if you are a Jew. My sheikh, the great Fahak bin Haggag, teaches that we are all from the same earth no matter the gods in the heavens, only some are wiser than others. Fear not that my people are wiser, for you will be my brother!”

While Arim made his plea for this blood bond, my eyes were on their water. We were but dust without it, and only Arim could offer it to us, for we could not otherwise honorably take it, even if it meant our death.

If Judah refused Arim’s blood bond, the boy would be deeply dishonored. At any rate, how could Judah refuse this plea for kinship while we were in such desperate straits?

I saw a faint smile on Judah’s face as he dipped his head. “Then I am honored,” he said.

A great relief washed over Arim’s face and he smiled like the dawning of a new sun. It was as if he, not we, had been offered life.

With half of my mind still on their water, I was deeply grateful when Arim, having been saved by Judah, immediately retrieved two smaller skins from the tent and proudly offered them to us.

“Now drink life, as you have given it to me,” he said.

There are no adequate words to describe the relief I felt as the sweet water slipped past my lips and wetted my parched throat. Water was indeed the lifeblood of the sands. I could feel my dried bones awakening as that water cooled my body.

Arim smiled at me as I drank. “You should slow, woman,” he said. “You will not find life by drowning.”

His words struck me in that moment. I had been drowning since the day of my birth.

I thought these things with the skin at my lips and then drank again. All the trouble that I had left behind did not exist in those few moments as life flooded my bones.

But once my thirst had been quenched, I remembered who I was, and whispers of dread mocked me once again, for I knew that I had been saved only to face death. If not tomorrow, then the next day, or the next.