A.D. 30(126)
“You may return to Dumah as you wish. I hereby withdraw my support from the Thamud and from all tribes in Dumah. So long as I receive my tax, I will not meddle. Find your way. Wage war if you must. May the Bedu most deserving rule the tribes of northern Arabia.”
“And Judah?”
“He’s alive. Find him. Save him. You seem quite adept.”
“Rami—”
“Is still alive. I suggest you leave soon.”
So… I had no Nabataean warriors, only their honor.
“Then I go alone.”
“You go with Saba.”
“Father.” Phasa stepped forward, concerned. “You promised—”
“The slave goes with Maviah!” he snapped. “My word is final.” Then, turning to me, “Even the gods know that a queen needs at least one subject.”
It was settled then. I wasn’t sure what to think, but I felt no fear.
“Today,” Shaquilath cried out for all to hear, “Petra honors a new queen in the desert. Maviah, daughter of Rami bin Malik, we salute you.”
The massive stone arena built into the cliffs at Petra shook with the response.
Maviah.
Queen.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
I HAD HEARD of kingdoms far beyond the oasis that give birth to life where none should be, kingdoms beyond the vast, barren sands of the Arabian deserts.
I had lived in one such kingdom beyond the great Red Sea, in a land called Egypt, where I was sold into slavery as a young child. I had dreamed of the kingdoms farther north, where it was said the Romans lived in opulence and splendor, reveling in the plunder of conquered lands; of the silk kingdoms beyond Mesopotamia, in the Far East where whispers and magic ruled.
But none of these kingdoms were real to me, Maviah, daughter of the great sheikh of the Banu Kalb tribe, which presided over Arabia’s northern sands. None were real to me because I, Maviah, was born into shame without the hope of honor.
But there came into that world a man who spoke of a different kingdom in words that defied all other kingdoms.
His name was Yeshua.
Some said that he was a prophet from their God. Some said that he was a mystic who spoke in riddles meant to infuriate the mind and quicken the heart, that he worked wonders to make his power evident. Some said that he was a Gnostic, though they were wrong. Some said that he was a messiah who came to set his people free. Still others, that he was a fanatical Zealot, a heretic, a man who’d seen too many deaths and too much suffering to remain sane.
But I came to know him as my master, the one who saved me. Yeshua, who showed me the way into a far greater kingdom within and among and at hand, full of power and wonder. Yeshua, who through tears learned obedience and so commanded the waves with stunning power and authority.
Yeshua, who introduced me to my Father, who did not judge me but cherished me even among the least as his prized daughter.
Saba and I sat upon our camels at the high point five miles east of Petra, gazing at the desert sands, which slept under the watchful gaze of the hottest sun.
“Tell me, my queen,” he said. “Which kingdom rules your mind now?”
“At this moment?” I would not deceive my only trusted servant. “The kingdoms of the earth. But with a weak hand.”
He kept his gaze fixed toward Dumah.
“There will be much bloodshed in these kingdoms,” he said.
“There may be.”
“We are ill equipped.”
“We have all we need.”
“The Kalb will hate you.”
“I will love them.”
“Kahil knows you come and gathers his armies already.”
“Mine too waits, unseen.”
“It may take many months to gather all the tribes.”
“I have no other engagements.”
A smile tempted his face. My pillar, my servant, my strong right arm, my Saba. But my heart ached for Judah.
We were silent for a few moments before I spoke.
“Your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven,” I said, quoting Yeshua. “This is why we go, Saba. To be awakened and to awaken that kingdom of the Father on earth.”
“You are asleep?”
“Are you, Saba?”
He gave me a nod. “I am awakening.”
His tone was sure, resonating from a place deep within him. It was then that I first became aware that the quiet, stoic Saba had been profoundly changed in a way not yet seen by the world. His day would come, I thought. This is only the beginning for him.
“The way we have seen is only the half of it,” I said. “There is more to learn. Much more.”
“And yet even this half is easily forgotten.”
His words struck me. So, then, Saba had seen how easily I had misplaced my own faith in Yeshua before remembering in the arena.