by Ted Dekker
“Evil must be loved only with force! How can you speak so flippantly about the suffering forced upon all of God’s children?”
Saba hesitated, for he wasn’t normally a man of many words. He glanced at me, perhaps looking for my support. But even I was divided by Judah’s suffering.
“Forgive me, Judah, I mean no disrespect,” Saba said. “I only speak of Yeshua’s Way, which is so easily forgotten when the harsh storms of this realm blow across our minds. But there is also another realm at hand. Yeshua teaches that those who would walk in this kingdom of great power must turn their cheek and not resist the evil man who comes against them.”
Judah stared at him, aghast. Saba continued, words flowing like honey, defying all that was known in the world.
“To resist force with force makes one a king in the realm of earth. To offer forgiveness instead makes one a prince in the realm unseen by human eyes. To forgive is to release offense. To yield. In this way the sting is not felt.”
“Sting? And what of Kahil’s butchery, and the Romans’? You would see God’s children as sand to be crushed under their feet?”
“And yet a thousand have been crucified in Israel. Yeshua has seen this with his own eyes. Still, he refuses to speak out against the Roman butchers. Instead, he teaches a way of far greater power. Can the Romans heal the heart? Can they calm the storm? Can they make the blind see? And so the whole world is made blind by planks of offense and judgment, kept in place with harsh words and bloody swords. But Yeshua came to bring sight to even we who are blind, and to set free those imprisoned by their offense.”
Judah slowly sank to his seat, calmer now. But his jaw was set.
“In your way of speaking, Rome will inherit the earth, even as Kahil has inherited the desert.”
“The meek will inherit the earth,” Saba said, quoting Yeshua. “Kahil and Rome are slaves of this master called earth. You can only serve one master. Never two. You will serve only the system of the world, or the realm of peace and love.”
Judah stared at Saba for a long time, and for a moment I wondered if he was softening, because Saba’s words reminded me of Yeshua’s Way, as they so often did. In Yeshua’s Way of peace, I had become queen at Petra.
Judah turned to me, face downcast, eyes pleading for understanding.
“Maviah…Surely you would defend Talya and the orphans with all of your might. Surely you will rise up and crush Kahil’s brutality with all of your means. Surely you don’t expect my people in Galilee to submit to crucifixion without resisting!”
How many times had I pondered this question and accepted the path of nonresistance, even as I had in Petra? But the pain in Judah’s eyes pulled my mind into a fog.
Or was I seeing clearly now?
“I beg you, Maviah,” he said. “Do not cast me aside.”
My heart broke for him.
“Never,” I said. “I will never leave you.”
“Swear it to me.”
“I swear it.”
For how could I forsake what I loved?
A single tone drifted through the sky above us. A pure and gentle note, piercing the still air with perfect clarity.
I glanced up at the red cliff that rose thirty yards to its crest. There, on the precipice, stood Talya, stripped of his tunic, wearing only his loincloth. His arms were spread down by his thin thighs, and he faced the horizon with eyes closed.
My little lamb was singing. Long, beautiful tones that were at once haunting and full of wonder.
He’d found his way up the dunes and climbed to the top from behind, and for a moment I worried that he might slip and fall. But his song stilled my heart and then filled me with a strange sense of amazement.
A lump gathered in my throat and the air became difficult to breathe. Saba slowly rose to his feet, staring up at his little apprentice. I thought to join him, but I dared not move, fearing I might break the song.
The wind had stilled. The camels did not move.
Still he sang, in pure and unbroken notes that swept away all of my fear.
As though requiring no breath, Talya’s high notes cut through the desert air. Tears misted my sight. A tremble came to my fingers. Talya was in another world, I thought. My young son was seeing into another realm.
Talya, my dear Talya! How beautiful you are!
Only then did his last note fade. The desert went quiet.
Talya opened his eyes and stared ahead as though mesmerized by the horizon. His mouth parted and broke into a smile. Then he looked down at me.
“A garden, Mother!” he said. “There is a garden called Eden.”
Eden…A paradise of delight.
This was the eternal realm called heaven on earth?
Talya snatched up his tunic, spun around, and disappeared from the edge to climb back down and join us.
“He sees,” Saba whispered, still staring up at the cliff. He shifted his astonished gaze to me.
There was no such amazement in Judah’s eyes. They remained in the darkness of the dungeons that had held him captive so long.
But this would change. Yeshua had come to set the captives free from their blindness.
I would take him to Yeshua.
I would take him the very next day.
Chapter Seven
JUDAH STARED at the man who stood at the entrance to Maviah’s tent having made his plea before Fahak, Saba, and their queen.
Maliku, the betrayer of them all.
The one who might even betray the Thamud.
As promised, Maliku had brought the camels and the food as well as Saman’s coin. Compensation for the people’s suffering had been promised and delivered. Fully emboldened and triumphant, Maviah’s men had retrieved the swords they’d placed in a cache. The surrender of weapons made little sense to Judah.
Distant cries of victory and excitement filled the valley. The women were busily preparing for celebration.
But Maviah was wary. She was their mother as much as their queen, Judah thought.
The sheikh Fahak sat on a white camel hide in her tent while she stood over him. The unprecedented sight attested to the honor she’d earned among the Bedu. Had he not always known she would be queen?
How beautiful she was! How majestic the movement of her hands and her mouth and her every step. Her blue shawl fell to her waist over a white dress. Leather bracelets accented with red twine were fastened about her wrists and forearms. A necklace with a single round pendant carved from green marble rested upon her breastbone.
How stunning were her brown eyes, like windows into another world. How commanding was the curve of her soft lips beneath high cheekbones. Though in a simple Bedu tent, she stood as a bronzed sculpture in the courts of Petra. How utterly intoxicating, this queen of the desert!
His queen.
To her right, an oil lamp and a bowl filled with ghada fruit sat upon a chest. Her sword and dagger rested against the chest. Propped against the wall were two sticks with a ball of twine for a wheel—a child’s toy pushed about the ground.
Maliku lowered himself to one knee before Maviah, marking his abject humility.
“I beg you, sister. Hear the sincerity of my heart. Though I have sinned against you and our father and all of the desert, forgive me now. I cannot live among the Thamud another day. My guilt eats away at my flesh and I cannot sleep. Saman has cast me out! He sees my eyes downcast in your presence and no longer trusts me. I beg you—”
“Because you are as trustworthy as an adder!” Fahak snapped.
“Even an adder poses no threat if its fangs have been pulled,” Maliku said. “I beg you—”
“Until he grows new fangs to poison once more,” the old man said, pointing a bony finger at Maliku.
Maliku took the second knee and kept his pleading eyes to Maviah. “Was it not I who persuaded Saman to accept your terms? Do you think they could not have come here with a far larger army and crushed you? And yet I saved you.”
“We are Bedu!” Flecks of spittle c
ollected on Fahak’s wiry beard. “No one may crush us!”
Maliku twisted to the sheikh, adamant. “And yet Kahil knows no mercy, as you have seen.”
“It is Kahil who would send you among us to beguile us with twisted words in our tents while gathering an army in Dumah!”
“Even in Dumah, I sought peace. I beg you, for this wayward warrior has seen his sin and throws himself on his sister’s mercy in light of our father’s death.”
She watched him without betraying emotion, speaking not a word.
Maliku’s voice trembled. “I saw it in Petra, when you rendered me powerless before all. I knew even then I had made a terrible mistake and must repent.”
“You kept Judah in the dungeon for two years!” Fahak snapped. Though honoring Maviah, he would not relinquish his role as the one to be addressed.
“This was Kahil!” Maliku cried. “It was I who persuaded him to keep Judah strong with meat. It was I who showed Judah mercy, even in his suffering. It was I who delivered the price you required for peace!”
Maviah looked at Judah and searched his eyes. “He treated you well?”
He glanced at Saba, who offered no direction. Then at Maliku, on his knees, humiliated.
“He visited me often in these last few months.”
“To ply your mind!” Fahak said.
“There was only guilt in his eyes. When they brought me before Saman, he alone was my advocate. It is true.”
To this, Fahak said nothing.
Maviah folded her arms, eyes upon the oil lamp’s wavering flame. How often had she been required to make such judgments? She, like King Solomon of old, was wise beyond years.
“Tell me, mighty sheikh,” she said to Fahak. “What is thicker than water?”
His brow arched. “Blood.”
“And why is this?”
“By blood, life comes to the desert among the Bedu, where water only sustains it.”
“And how are bonds forged?”
“By blood,” he said.
She dipped her head. “So you have taught me. And by the Light of Blood I once forgave Maliku and so was honored by Aretas. By the Light of Blood I became queen and led our children here, to peace. Is this not so?”
He hesitated only a moment.
“It is as you say.”
“And is it not said among all sheikhs that mercy is equal to the sword in power?”
Her path was clear, and Fahak’s tone as much as his words conceded the truth. “This too is true.”
“Maliku is a sinner, born of Kalb blood and forgiven in the light of my blood. Fahak is honorable, the most powerful for showing mercy in the face of accusations against my brother, all of which are true. Is this so?”
Knowing he had been bested, Fahak returned the question with a twisted grin. “You are far too clever,” he finally said.
“Only with you at my side, my sheikh.” She bowed.
“Only.”
“Then it is agreed?”
Fahak regarded Maliku with disdain. “Your life is owed to your sister, now twice. Pray that it is never in my hands. The Bedu gods do not turn their cheek like Maviah’s god called Yeshua.” He spat to one side. “It is agreed, with caution.”
“With caution.” Maviah regarded Maliku for a long moment. Her brother’s head tilted down, barely perceptible. And with that slight movement, it was done. But with caution.
She lifted her eyes to Judah. “Protect us all from him, Judah. Your tormentor is in your hands now. I only ask that you show him mercy.”
JUDAH SPENT the day inspecting the camp with Maviah and Talya, having sequestered Maliku with Saba, because Judah was now Maviah’s protector. Her way with each man, woman, and child she engaged amazed him. She loved them all, no matter how dirty, or thin, or ill, or healthy, without any notice of their status, though she paid respect to all elders as was custom.
But her heart was stolen by the children, many of whom were orphaned. To each she would offer an embrace and a wide smile, ruffling their hair and wiping away any tears.
How they loved her. And how they loved Talya, who walked among them without realizing how precious he was in the sight of all. In the Bedu way, Talya was son of a queen and so, a prince.
Judah knew many of the people from his years as a warrior in Rami’s service, and yet they regarded him with even higher praise now, knowing he’d emerged unscathed from Saman’s dungeons. He embraced them, one by one, and exchanged the news, quickly reacquainting himself with his own reputation.
But no matter how deep they ventured into the camp, he could not free himself from the images of Saman and Kahil, only a short distance north in Dumah. There, the serpent coiled with forked tongue, testing the air for the right time to strike at their heel.
They slaughtered twenty camels and twenty goats for the gathering that night, and Judah saluted the roar of twenty thousand Bedu when Maviah raised his hand for all to see.
And even more, Judah’s mind was drawn north, to the lair.
The moon was full and high when Judah excused himself from Fahak’s tent to check on Maliku. He found the betrayer at Maviah’s tent with Saba. Talya was already asleep behind a curtain.
“Sit with Maviah and the elders, Saba. They are missing you.” He looked at Maliku, who was poking at the coals of their fire with a stick.
Saba grunted. “There’s no need.”
“I would speak to my captor alone,” Judah said. This was to be understood.
Saba gathered his white robe and stood, eyeing them both. “Watch Talya closely.”
Judah watched him leave, then sat across the smoldering fire, glancing at Maviah’s brother. For a few minutes, neither spoke.
“You know the Thamud too well,” Judah said.
Maliku stared at him.
“To honor Maviah, I won’t blame you for what you’ve done. I only seek to know my captors as well as you do.”
“Then your heart will be blackened as surely as mine was,” Maliku said in a low voice.
“My heart was blackened long ago.”
“And for this I beg your forgiveness.”
Maliku stood and retrieved a waterskin and poured water into a pot for heating.
“Tell me their weaknesses,” Judah said. “Do their warriors not sleep? Are they impervious to poison? Does Kahil remain in the palace night and day?”
At this, Maliku stopped pouring. The night was quiet. All the children and most of the women had retired. There remained only whispers around a thousand campfires.
Judah continued. “You and I both know that there can be no peace for Maviah so long as the serpent lives. They send her away in peace, but we both know they fear her and will hunt her to the end.
“Help me crush the head of that serpent, Maliku, and you will once again be known as victor among the Kalb. Hear me: I seek a way for only one. If I go alone and fail they cannot retaliate against the whole tribe—only me.”
The coals popped. Talya slept.
“There is a way,” Maliku said. “But it would have to be done quickly.”
Judah glanced over his shoulder. “How?”
The water began to boil, forgotten. Maliku might have been a statue. He laid it out quickly, barely above a whisper.
“Every full moon, Kahil and Saman take to the desert north of Dumah at the high point—”
“I know it.” Judah’s pulse thrummed. “It’s where I first took charge of Maviah the night you betrayed her father.”
Maliku blinked. His betrayal had now come full circle.
“They go this very night to offer sacrifice to the moon god, Al-Quam, who gives them power over the darkness. And then the next day they sacrifice to Dushares, the Nabataean god of the sun, victor over the day. On the third day they celebrate and return.”
“The moon is full tonight.”
“And they go as Bedu, taking only their high guard from—”
“How many?”
“Perhaps twenty. But you must know that they are the
best warriors—”
“The best mean nothing to me.” Judah was already pushing himself to his feet.
The teapot rocked on the coals. It occurred to him that Maliku might be setting him up, but to what end? If the Thamud wanted him dead, they would have killed him already.
“You have to plan carefully. Kahil is no ordinary warrior.”
“What is there to plan?” Judah spat. “They won’t suspect anything so soon. They know Maviah has no heart for war and think me crushed, but they don’t know Judah’s heart. The moon is full to lead me. It is my God, not theirs, who offers power over this night!”
“Judah…”
But he was already moving into Maviah’s tent, certain of his path. Nothing had been clearer to him in two years. He snatched up the long sword that leaned against the chest, and her sheathed dagger, then stepped back out into the night, mind fixed as surely as the cold blades in his fists.
Maliku stood.
“Tell Maviah I take her camel and sword. You know only that I wished to be alone. For your own sake, confess nothing else, do you understand?”
The man did not object.
“I’ll be back with the sun.”
Maliku stared at him. “You have no armor.”
“I’ll take it from the first man I kill. Watch over Talya.”
And then he was running for the camels.
Chapter Eight
A BITTER wind swept in from the deep desert, and yet Judah accepted the cold as a gift. All of his senses were on edge as he pushed Zahwah to her limit over the sands, guided by the moon and a thousand bright stars.
Riding now with blade in hand and retribution in mind was as much life to him as water was to the sands. This was the Bedu way.
This was the way of God, who demanded blood on the altar in payment for every sin. Saba was wrong to suggest God would lay down the sword and turn his cheek.
Judge not lest you be judged, Yeshua had taught—and now Kahil would learn the truth of those words.
The glory of Judah’s people would be restored by this single blow. The head of the serpent—Saman the eyes, Kahil the fangs—would be crushed by the very warrior Kahil had shackled in darkness. All would then know.