Kiya and the God of Chaos

by Philippa Bower

  Chapter Fifty Six: The Bedouin Camp

  There was a whinnying noise. Kiya looked up to see Enno returning, followed by a man in Bedouin clothing.

  “Your donkey has led me here,” said the man. “Can I offer you hospitality?” He saw Kiya’s distress then looked at Sabu and frowned. “This man is sick.”

  “He has been bitten by a scorpion,” said Huy.

  “We must get him back to my camp,” said the man. “My name is Djar Badawi and I would be honoured if you will be my guests.”

  Huy introduced the others and he and Djar Badawi lifted the blanket upon which Sabu lay. They carried it back the way the man had come and Kiya followed with Laylos.

  “Did you sleep beside the marker stones?” asked Djar Badawi.

  “Is that what they are?” said Huy.

  “Yes. They mark the edge of the tribal territory. Scorpions are encouraged to live among the stones so nobody will move them.”

  “It was a foolish place to sleep, then,” said Huy and Djar Badawi nodded his agreement.

  They reached a neighbouring valley and Kiya looked down at the low-lying tents of a Bedouin camp. Clever Enno, she thought. His sharp ears must have heard the sound of people so he knew where to go for help. She stroked the donkey and he held his head high, looking pleased with himself.

  As the little group approached the camp, two women emerged from the darkness of one of the tents. Djar Badawi introduced them. “This is my wife Wadha Zayed and my daughter Nadia Djar.”

  Huy bowed and said, “This is my wife Laylos and my niece Kiya. Our friend, Sabu, has been bitten by a scorpion and we crave your help.”

  Sabu’s blanket was lowered to the sand. He lay unconscious, his skin as white as the linen of his loin cloth. His body was suddenly wracked with tremors and Wadha Zayed hurried forwards. “Poor man,” she cried. “Let us hope we can save him. Take him into our tent.”

  Huy and Djar Badawi picked up the blanket, carried Sabu into the women’s tent and laid him on a goatskin-covered ledge. Kiya followed with Laylos.

  “Do your best for him,” said Djar Badawi. “I will take our guest, Huy, into my tent for refreshment.” He put his arm around Huy’s shoulders and led him away.

  “Oh great,” grumbled Laylos as Kiya watched them leave. “The men go off and enjoy themselves, leaving us to do all the work.”

  “What can they do?” said Wadha Zayed with a shrug. “Healing the sick is women’s work. Men are only good for herding goats and talking politics.” Laylos laughed.

  “Sabu is very ill,” said the girl, who had been introduced as Nadia Djar. Kiya looked at her more closely. She was a pretty girl, dark haired, fair skinned and with eyes that slanted upwards at the corners. Probably in her mid teens, thought Kiya. She was certainly showing a sweet concern about Sabu and had brought the older women’s attention back to his plight.

  “Have you kept up his liquid levels?” asked Wadha Zayed.

  “We have tried to make him drink beer but with little success,” said Laylos.

  “Beer? No, that is no good, he must have herbal tea. Go and fetch boiling water, Nadia. I’ll prepare the herbs.”

  “What herbs will you use?” asked Laylos.

  “Euphorbia and oleander,” said Wadha Zayed. “We must purify the blood and regulate his temperature.” She took the dried herbs from a box and put them in a cup. Nadia Djar hurried back with a brass kettle and poured boiling water onto the mixture. “We will give it time to infuse,” said Wadha Zayed. “Find me one of those gourds, Nadia.”

  The girl obediently searched through the box and produced a small, green gourd. Wadha Zayed cut it in half and white sap oozed out. “Where was the boy stung?” she asked. Kiya held up his hand and indicated the red, swollen spot at the base of his thumb. “A bad place,” said Wadha. She rubbed the sap over the wound. “Nerves go from here to the heart. No wonder the boy is so ill.”

  “I have never seen these gourds before,” said Laylos.

  “They grow in the desert,” said Wadha Zayed, “They are not edible, but they take the swelling and pain away from scorpion stings.”

  “I am interested in medicine,” said Laylos. “I would love to learn more about the herbs you use.”

  “I will teach you with pleasure,” said Wadha Zayed and the two women smiled at each other. They had formed an instant friendship, thought Kiya and marvelled that her aunt had found a twin soul in a Bedouin camp.

  “Is the herbal tea ready yet?” asked Nadia Djar.

  “Yes, it should be,” said Wadha Zayed. “You hold his head up, Nadia, and I will try to make him drink.”

  Nadia Djar positioned herself behind Sabu, raised his head and placed it on her lap. Her mother tilted the cup so the tea ran into Sabu’s mouth. He spluttered for a moment and then he drank, his throat moving convulsively as swallowed the liquid.

  “He must have been thirsty,” said Kiya. “He has been sweating a lot.”

  Wadha Zayed felt his forehead. “He is still warm. Wipe him down with cold water and make sure he drinks plenty of herbal tea. I am going to take Laylos to my tent for refreshments. We have much to talk about.”

  The two women left the tent. Kiya felt nervous that responsibility for Sabu’s recovery now rested on her and Nadia Djar, but the girl seemed capable. She took herbs from the box and put them in the cup then she picked up the kettle and left the tent. Kiya stared at Sabu. He looked a better colour, or was it her imagination? The tent was so dark that it was difficult to tell.

  Nadia Djar came back with a bowl of water and the kettle. She gave the bowl to Kiya and poured boiling water from the kettle into the cup. “We must cool Sabu down while the tea infuses,” she said. She found a piece of linen at the back of the tent and dipped it in the water. Gently she stroked the cloth across his forehead. “He is very handsome,” she sighed.

  Sabu opened his eyes and tried to smile, but his mouth contorted and a dribble of saliva ran out.

  “He does not usually do that,” Kiya assured her.

  Nadia Djar dabbed the wet cloth across Sabu’s chest. “He has beautiful skin,” she said. “Is he your man?”

  “In one sense,” said Kiya. “I employ him as a bodyguard.”

  “You do not have a relationship with him?”

  “No,” said Kiya for it had never occurred to her to think of Sabu in such a way.

  “If you raise his head,” said Nadia Djar, “I will try to help him drink more tea.”

  So Kiya rested Sabu’s head on her lap and Nadia Djar lifted the cup to his lips. This time he swallowed more easily and opened his eyes.

  He stared at the girl as she bent over him making sure that no liquid was spilled. When she took the cup away he said, “Thank you. Who are you?”

  “I am Nadia Djar, daughter of Djar Badawi. You are our guest.”

  “You are lovely,” he said and closed his eyes.

  Kiya looked at Nadia Djar and saw that she smiled and blushed. The two youngsters were falling for each other, she realised. Sometimes love was a thunderbolt - it came suddenly and with little warning. Sometimes it grew slowly like a flower. Kiya felt a pang as she thought of Dennu.

  Laylos and Wadha Zayed entered the tent. “How is Sabu doing?” asked Laylos.

  “He woke for a moment but has gone back to sleep,” said Kiya.

  Laylos felt his forehead and took his pulse. “He is recovering nicely,” she said. “Keep giving him herbal tea. Wadha and I are going down to the spring for more water.”

  “They seem to be getting on well,” said Kiya as the two women left the tent.

  “They have both grown powerful with age,” said Nadia Djar. “It is fortunate that they have become friends.” She rinsed out the cup and went for more boiling water.

  Kiya looked around the tent. It was made from woven goats hair. One side of it was open so it seemed to Kiya as if she was sitting in a cave. It was pleasantly cool, despite the heat of the day, and the goatskin rugs on which she sat were comfortable.