As we passed my mother’s grave with its pile of rocks and stones, the stranger paused, his lips moving silently as though in prayer.
“Keep going!” I shouted. He reached inside his cloak, and I jumped back, panic lacing my nerves. Tears clouded my vision. “This place is sacred. I helped my father bury her with my own hands.”
He placed a hand on his chest and his eyes shifted, taking note of my dirty fingers and palms. “I’m very sorry for your loss,” he said simply.
I stared at him for a moment, and then motioned him toward my tent. As we descended the hill, the empty valley opened to view. A dust cloud marked the departure of Shem’s family and I felt the urgency to leave more than ever. As soon as I saw the tent I began to shout.
Leila looked up from where she was rolling the tent’s panels. My father was on Bith, his large female camel, tying the herd together for traveling. When he heard my voice and saw me with the stranger, he swung Bith around and kicked the animal into a gallop. He was at my side before I could take another step, and I was never so glad to see him in my life.
“Well, my tent has never welcomed a stranger into its midst at knifepoint,” my father said in his slow way, appraising the stranger.
I watched as he took in every detail of the young man. My arms trembled with the weight of the sword and I longed to set it down, but I gritted my teeth and steeled my muscles until my father gave me a signal.
“Father,” I said quietly. “He appears alone; there was no sign of other camels or men on the ridge. He also gave the sign of peace—with the sand.”
My father tugged at his beard and nodded, acknowledging my words. A traveler, especially one who was without a caravan and alone, was always welcomed with food, drink, and perhaps even a bed. Desert life was too inhospitable to do otherwise. My father would honor the desert code because his reputation as well as his own life depended on it. But this day had been the worst of our lives. Grief and urgency to get moving had made us nervous and wary.
“What is the news?” my father asked. He wouldn’t inquire about the man’s name directly until later. It was bad manners, until a stranger’s immediate needs were taken care of.
The young man bowed his head in respect. “The news is good,” he said, repeating the familiar tribal words of peace.
“Do you have any report of the rains?”
“I’ve been skirting the lands of the Maachathites for months, where it’s been very dry, but there’s talk of storm clouds to the north.”
“That’s why we’re going north,” my father said simply. “Are you Maachathite? If so, I should kill you now. You are one of our worst enemies.”
The stranger looked startled. “I do not know any Maachathite tribesmen”—his voice rose as he vigorously shook his head—“I promise you I have no affiliation with them.”
My father nodded at me and I lowered the sword at last, my arms so weak, they collapsed to my sides. The weapon fell to the earth and I cringed, not meaning to show such carelessness.
The stranger didn’t move a muscle or show any anger that his fine weapon was now lying on the sand. He let it lie as if to prove his word was good. I couldn’t help being impressed.
“My daughter must have had her reasons for holding you hostage in such a manner.”
“Please believe she never suffered any threat from me,” he said, and once again I noticed a quick spasm cross his face. “My only wish is to serve you and your household.”
I picked up the sword and brushed off the grains of sand clinging to the blade. “It’s true, Father. He gave it to me so that I would consider myself safe as we walked back to camp. The sword’s purpose is now complete, and I hope its owner will use it with mercy and justice.”
The stranger shook his head, holding up one hand. “Keep it, if you need it. The weapon will help protect you and your family.”
“If you would do me that honor, it would be very welcome,” my father said. “You can see that we are the last of our caravan and time is critical—”
The young man’s face suddenly twisted into a pained grimace. Letting out a groan, he dropped to his knees, and then crumpled face-first to the sand.
“Oh!” I cried, scrambling to fetch the leather waterskin tied to my father’s camel.
My father rolled the stranger onto his back. The boy’s eyes were closed, and he let out another moan before going unconscious.
Clutching Sahmril, Leila hovered closer, her eyes wide. “What is wrong with him?”
Flinging back the richly crafted cloak, my father examined him. The cotton weave of his shirt was stained a deep red, and the crusted fabric stuck to his skin. Father slowly pulled it back so as not to rip open the wound, then lifted it up to expose the young man’s torso. An ugly gash had sliced the length of his right side. “Whoever he is, he’s been hurt.”
“That’s horrible!” Leila cried, turning away.
I opened the waterskin, trying not to be sick at the sight of the oozing, ugly wound. Biting my lips, I poured water while my father dabbed at the blood. “This is several days old and has reopened,” he said. “It needs to be sewn.”
“How do you think he got hurt?” I asked.
“This is not the work of a wild animal,” my father murmured, glancing up at me. “It’s the work of a blade.”
I stared at him in astonishment as he lifted the young man up in his arms. He carried him to the palm trees by the well, the only shade in the flat valley. “Try to get him to drink, Jayden. I’ll ride up on the bluff and take a look.”
“Do you think there’s a group of raiders waiting for us—that this is all a ruse?”
My father brushed a hand against my cheek. “Do not worry. I believe he’s alone. If he was part of a band of raiders, they would have already killed me and taken the camels. How he crossed so much desert without an animal is the strangest fact. No man could walk from the wells of the Maachathite to this valley.”
I started to speak, but my father shook his head. “All our questions will soon be answered.” He mounted Bith and galloped off before I could say another word.
My mind went crazy with a hundred new fears. What would I do if my father didn’t return? Staring down at the unconscious stranger, I wondered who had wanted him dead.
“How old do you think he is?” Leila asked, inching closer again.
I looked down at his fine features, resisting the urge to stroke his brow for fever. “Perhaps nineteen?”
My sister lowered her voice. “He’s very handsome.”
I let out a small laugh so I wouldn’t have to answer. Then I lowered my eyes to study him more closely, pretending to assess his wound instead. His features were dark and wild and beautiful all at the same time. Even more so than Horeb. There was also an unexpected gentle air about this stranger, even as he slept. No hollow cheeks from constant hunger. No lines etched into the skin around his mouth or forehead caused by stress or revenge or a hard life.
Leila nudged me again. “Well? The muscles in his chest are quite remarkable, don’t you think? How broad he is—”
“I think he’s quite passed out,” I said, cutting her off, hiding the fact that I’d also been staring at his bare stomach and chest. “And I haven’t paid the slightest bit of attention to his appearance,” I added, the lie snaking out of my mouth so easily I almost choked to hear myself say it. “I—I’ve been too busy staying alive.”
Leila squeezed my hand. “I never knew you were so brave.”
“Oh, Leila, I’ve been much more terrified than brave.”
“His clothing is very fine, isn’t it? He must come from a wealthy family.”
The young man stirred and I lifted his head to give him a sip from the waterskin. He coughed, the liquid dribbling from his mouth, and fell back again.
“Will you fetch the henna and turmeric?” I asked Leila.
“You go get it,” she answered, never taking her eyes off the wounded stranger. “I’ll give him more water and keep Sahmril here in
the shade. But hurry because she’ll soon be screaming again.”
“Fine,” I said, too tired to argue, but annoyed with my sister for hovering so close to the stranger, as though she had been the one to find him.
At the shrinking campsite, baskets lay in piles waiting to be tied to the pack camels. Leila had finished rolling the panels of the goat-hair tent, but it would take all three of us to lift the huge rolls onto the camels.
The herd was beginning to snort and spit, impatient to begin the journey to our summer lands.
I hurriedly sorted through the kitchen baskets and found the supplies I needed. And my missing knife. Then I ran back to the palm trees, cut strips of clean cloth, and dipped one into the turmeric to clean the wound.
Lifting the stranger’s shirt, I hesitated to touch him. I was looking at a boy’s bare chest for the first time in my life. His skin was pale where the sun had never directly shone. A line of dark hair ran straight down from his navel, disappearing into his underclothes. I glanced away, light-headed.
Next to me, Leila fingered his finely stitched robe lying next to him. “Fit for a king,” she said. “Oh, look at this!” She held up a dagger hidden inside the folds of the stranger’s cloak.
“He had a second weapon all along,” I whispered. “He could have swung around and killed me at any time.”
Leila’s eyes met mine. “But he didn’t.”
I didn’t have time to think about the ramifications of that fact or the stranger’s motives for anything. “He’ll soon be ill if this isn’t taken care of.” I surveyed the flaming-red wound that oozed infection, completely inadequate in the skills needed to tend it properly.
A tear spilled down my cheek, and I wiped it away. Our mother would have tended to him. She always knew what to do, and managed to have gentle hands and kind words of assurance. I’d never been afraid when she was here. Since her death, I felt constantly frightened, trying not to panic every other minute.
Gritting my teeth, I finally plunged into the task, cleaning up the blood and pus while my stomach lurched.
Leila stepped back, squeamish. “Who do you think did that to him?”
“Looks like a fight,” I said simply. This worried me the most, as we didn’t know who was out there, or if he’d been followed. Once again I wished we were on our way and this day was finally over.
I finished up, and even though the stranger’s wound was still red and swollen, it was cleaner now. I wrapped strips of cloth around his torso, enlisting Leila’s help to roll him from side to side to pull it underneath. When I finished knotting the ends, the young man’s eyes flew open.
“Oh!” I fell back on my knees, startled. “You’re still with us, then.”
His voice was weak, but his eyes came into focus. “Am I seeing a vision, or am I dead?”
I smiled. “Neither,” I told him, my heart pounding at the way he was looking at me. “Lie still. Tonight my father will stitch the wound so that it will stop bleeding.”
I was relieved when Leila pointed toward the bluffs. “Look, there’s Father!”
“No signs of animals or men,” he said as he pulled into camp and slid off Bith. “The tracks on the ridge are at least several days old. The only fresh prints belong to this stranger. If I didn’t know better, I would think the desert had conjured him from the rocks.”
I noticed that the boy’s eyes were closed again. Had he really fallen asleep or was he listening to our conversation?
“When he wakes, we’ll learn more,” my father said. “For now, we must go.”
“And what do we do with him?” I asked.
“He comes with us. Even if he didn’t intend to travel north toward Damascus and then east to Tadmur, he has no choice now.”
6
We made our final preparations and the young man stirred again as I tied the last basket of grain to our camel.
I plunged a waterskin into the well to fill it, and the stranger reached out and touched the hem of my dress. “Oh!” I jumped back, alarmed.
He held up his hands. “I’m sorry to startle you. Where’s your family going, and why am I lying here?”
“You fainted,” I said simply. “You miraculously survived a knife attack but you’re in no shape to travel alone without a camel. You’d collapse before you managed a single day’s journey. We’re going north to the big oasis Tadmur, the city of palms. And you’re coming with us.”
He shook his head. “No, that cannot be. I must get back to my uncle in the South at—the South.”
“When you say the South, where do you mean exactly? The kingdom of Akabah by the Red Sea? Or the lands of the Midianites and Moabites?”
He shook his head. “Much farther than that. Weeks and weeks beyond the Red Sea.”
I gazed at him in disbelief. “Nobody lives beyond the far eastern borders of the Red Sea. There is nothing but the death trap of the Empty Sands. Not even a camel can cross that.”
He just stared at me without answering, and I couldn’t imagine what location or geography he was referring to. “Once you pass the Moabite nation,” I continued, wondering why he wouldn’t just tell me, “there are no paths or roads, only mountains and then straight east to borders guarded by vicious nomads.”
He lifted an eyebrow and gave me that half smile again. “The people of the farthest southern lands are not all vicious.”
I stared at him, not speaking for a moment, and then I said, “You’re teasing me. Are these the people you escaped from? The ones who knifed you?”
“I do not flee my own people and my own land, but I need to return as quickly as I can.”
His mild manners and teasing tongue didn’t coincide with the stories I’d heard my entire life—tales of lands that bordered on mythical. “You have no camel, no food, and no water. How do you intend to get there alive?”
“If it is the will of God, I can do it.” He tried to sit up, then grimaced with pain and fell back to his bed of dirt.
I didn’t respond; instead I busied my hands with the waterskins, clumsy and embarrassed. The subject of God was a topic for the men around the campfire.
The stranger looked at me. “As a daughter of Abraham, do you find it difficult to live in a land of Babylonian religion, its rites and sacrifices?” he asked softly. “The gods of the sun and moon and stars?”
I quickly retied the last of our water, hoping the old camel skins didn’t drip all the way to Tadmur. “We stay away from the temples so we don’t accidentally get chosen for the sacrificial table. Or dropped into a bottomless well,” I said simply.
When he glanced up, surprised, I gave him a sideways smile to let him know that I was exaggerating. “It’s not as bad as that,” I conceded. “But there are stories of children being taken. It’s the reason we don’t live in the cities, only entering on market days when we need supplies.”
A moment passed, and our eyes met. “Well, I’m blessed to have found a tribe that won’t drop me into a bottomless well.”
I let out a choked laugh. To cover up my unease, I got to my knees, wrapping up the basket of herbs and medicine.
The stranger lifted his hand to keep my attention. “Do you know where the closest well is?”
“You’re sitting right next to it,” I replied.
He squinted around the campsite. “I guess I meant, how far is the next one?”
“There’s no water again until we reach the canyon lands, which is five more days’ journey to the north.”
“There are cities along the way you could stop at.”
I shook my head no. “We avoid the cities until we reach Tadmur. There are too many outlying tribes, so we pack enough water from this well to make the five-day journey to the red canyons. But as the weather is growing hotter, it’s easy to run out. The last day or two becomes very difficult. With your ill health, I fear it’s going to be a terrible few days for you.”
He gazed into the distance, as if he could see his homeland from here. “I’d like to take water and go sout
h alone if I can. I need to go south.”
I looked at him and shook my head again. “Your wound has gone to your head! You couldn’t begin to carry enough water with you, and on foot you would surely die before the end of the first day.”
“To accompany your family takes me far out of my way. Multiply your journey many times over, and that is where my uncle awaits me. When I don’t arrive on time, he will be mad with worry.”
“To attempt a desert crossing alone would be mad.”
He gave a small shrug, looking up through his long hair as I handed him a small roll of bread from the previous evening’s meal. Even though it was nearly hard as a rock, he bit into it ravenously. “Perhaps, but I’m not completely crazy.”
My face burned. “I didn’t mean to imply that you’re crazy.”
“What did you mean to imply, then?”
“Nothing,” I mumbled, heat creeping up my face. His nearness was making me flustered. I’d never felt like this with Horeb. “You have no choice but to come with us until you are healed and strong again. Otherwise, you will die. Would your uncle rather a dead nephew or a late one?”
He stared at me thoughtfully.
“Besides, you will need camels and a caravan for safety. Of which you presently have none.”
He smiled faintly. “It seems you are right. I might be a little crazy. For I still insist to go.”
I smiled back, raising an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, you can insist all you want, but my father won’t have it any other way.” I turned my back on him to tend to my chores. “You will go on with my family, until you are well. You’ve no other choice.”
Holding a hand to his side, he tried to rise but only got as far as his knees. He sank back and sighed. “Fine. But as soon as your family is at the oasis, I’ll return to my uncle.”
He tried again to rise, then took a deep breath as though contemplating how to get up without asking for help. “You and your father are very kind. Thank you for taking care of me.”
Forbidden Page 6