Forbidden (6 page)

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.”

W
e 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 south 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.”

I turned around and smiled to myself. Then stared back at him, curious. “Will you tell me who did this to you?” I asked, nodding to the bandage wrapped around his torso. It was not a question for me to ask, but I couldn’t help myself.

“I don’t intend to keep my tale a secret, but it’s neither heroic nor courageous,” he replied cryptically.

“Were they trying to kill you?”

He didn’t answer at first, but finally he nodded. “When someone puts a knife near your heart, they intend for death to follow.”

I hefted the waterskin, pressing my lips together and
wondering who wanted him dead. Then I reached down to stroke Sahmril, who squirmed in her sleep in a small patch of shade. My curiosity kept rising, but I’d wait until my father asked the questions—and got the answers.

The stranger glanced between me and Sahmril as he dribbled more water into his mouth. “The babe, is she yours?”

“She’s my sister,” I answered, trying to keep my voice steady. “Born this morning to my mother, who is now dead.”

Awareness flooded his face. “Ah, yes. The burial spot.”

“The babe’s twin brother lies there as well.”

He looked down. “I’m truly sorry,” he said quietly. “I owe you a debt for my life, and I’ve burdened you even further on such a day of sorrow. But I’m not sure how much longer I could have survived. I’ve been praying for three days that I’d find someone who would help me.”

“Then it appears as though your prayers were answered,” I said. Why did he have to say such kind things when I wanted to curse him for delaying us and frightening me so badly? He had caused more anguish than he would ever understand, even though his manners were impeccable. Which just annoyed me even more.

I strapped the last waterskin onto Shiz as the boy rose to his feet, keeping one hand on top of the well’s wooden cover for balance when my father appeared.

“There’s no time to exchange talk and news,” my father said. “But if we’re to travel together, please tell me your name.”

“My name is Kadesh and I’m of the lineage of Dedan.”

My father’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “You
are
a long way
from home. I’m Pharez of the tribe of Nephish. My daughters are Leila and Jayden, and the babe is Sahmril. If we’re to harbor you on our journey you must tell me your business in these lands. The well belongs to the Kedar tribe, who is friendly to us. I’ve traveled these lands since I could walk.” Pointedly, he added, “Men of the South rarely pass through here. Usually never get this far north, but travel west to the cities of Salem and Egypt.”

“You deserve an answer,” Kadesh agreed, making an effort to stand straight, but I noticed from his pained expression that he was still greatly hurting. “My uncle and his brothers and cousins are building trading posts and forts along the Red Sea highway. It’s getting too dangerous not to have shelter, weapons, or food on such long caravan journeys. Our goods are sold in the cities of Mesopotamia, along the Great Sea, as well as into Egypt. I’ve grown up learning my uncle’s trade, since he has no son. He sent me north with stops at Akabah and Salem, but there were complications, and I found myself in unknown territory. Three days ago my camel collapsed and I was caught in a raid between two other tribes.”

“Is that how you were wounded?”

Kadesh nodded. “The raiders mistook me for an enemy. When darkness fell, I managed to escape.”

“Foolish,” my father said briefly, securing the ropes on the loaded camels. “You’re lucky you’re not dead.”

The young man helped him check the halters and ropes as they walked the small line of our camels. I followed behind, curious. “I heard about a well in this direction but it was farther
than I expected, and I was slower on foot . . .” The boy’s voice trailed off as his eyes took in the shade of the palm tree and the waterskins. “But I did find the well.”

My father gave a quick laugh. “You’re fortunate, although you’re still weeks short of Damascus.” He clapped his hands for Bith, who trotted over. “It’s time to go. The sun is beginning to cross the sky. Take the lead and push the camels as hard as you can. I still hope to catch up to Shem’s family by nightfall. I’ll make sure the rear ones don’t stray and drag us behind. They’ll obey me, not you.”

After climbing into the camel litter, I held Sahmril on my lap, listening to the creaking leather harnesses of the carriage. It was stifling inside the contraption, and cramped, but at least the sun wasn’t burning our heads.

Parting the front draperies, I watched Kadesh straddle the lead camel behind the animals’ large hump, lying flat on his stomach. It was obvious he was no stranger to desert journeys, since that position was the most comfortable way to ride for long hours.

Kadesh’s story was curious. Mysterious wealth, surviving a raid without a camel, and the intelligence of a desert tracker. These characteristics did not usually go together. There had to be much more that he wasn’t telling us. . . .

The heat of the day was now at its height and Leila immediately fell asleep. The swaying motion soon had me dozing in fits and starts. Images from the morning wouldn’t leave my mind; the washing of my mother’s dead body, Isaac’s tiny form, his dark lashes and clenched fists. I rolled over and dreamed of
handfuls of earth that fell without ceasing, clods of sand and earth that rained down until I was buried just like my mother.

I woke to Sahmril’s screams.

Leila opened one eye. “Feed her, Jayden! Her screams are giving me a headache.”

“What do you think I’m doing? The heat makes you so irritable. Don’t you have any patience?”

“Not for crying babies. Perhaps I’ll rethink motherhood.”

“You’ll feel differently when you have your own babies.”

Leila closed her eyes again, mumbling. “I’m not so sure.”

Now Sahmril was kicking her legs and fists, her screeches rising in volume. Unstopping a jar of camel milk, I dipped a small rag into it, and then squeezed the milk into her mouth. She gagged when the liquid hit her throat, but she was so hungry I finally managed to get some of the milk inside of her. After a few minutes, she fell asleep, her face scrunched against the blanket, the tiny brow lined with frowns.

“Finally.” Leila sighed.

I fell against my own pillows, hoping the camel’s milk wouldn’t give Sahmril stomach cramps. Tucking her into a corner filled with blankets to cushion her from the jolting ride, I stretched out my legs against the wooden frame of the litter’s opening. “Oh, Sahmril,” I whispered, bending down to kiss her fragile eyelids. “Try hard to live. Our mother would want you to live, to be strong and beautiful.”

After a few hours Father stopped to let the camels rest. He untied a waterskin from Bith and gave us each a small drink, but that would be our last one until evening.

Kadesh and my father studied the ground in both directions, then scanned the horizon and checked the sun. I watched them, mesmerized. Every desert man knew his own camel’s footprints intimately. He could also identify the herds of his clan and neighbors, making it easier to track another clan’s journey. My father could tell how many camels they had, the number of people in the group, and their pace and direction.

My father trotted past the carriage on his way back to the rear and I leaned out from behind the curtains. “Father, what do you see?”

“Shem’s tracks. He passed only a few hours ago, and we’ll be certain to catch up to him.”

Good news
, I thought, and sat back down next to my sleeping sisters.

We started off again, and I sat deep in reflection until the sun’s long rays slanted through the curtains.

A headache pounded at my temple as the camel lurched across the desert. When I rubbed at my burning eyes, I saw that Leila was staring out between the curtains, tears silently falling down her cheeks. Her knees were pulled up underneath her chin.

“Leila,” I whispered.

She stayed silent until finally she turned her face, eyes red-rimmed, looking miserable. “What are we going to do without Mother?”