I wanted to yell at him and demand he tell me the truth. There was no hope left for us, surely he knew this! I no longer wanted his courage, I wanted only water!
But Saba was already heading toward his camel. So I joined them in deed, if not in hope.
I had heard of forcing a camel to drink, but never had I witnessed nor been a party to it. Only my own desperation for life allowed me to help Saba and Judah hobble all four of Wabitu’s legs so that she could not rise. After much pulling and thrashing, they managed to pry her mouth open using sticks, so that I could pour the rancid water down her throat.
In this way we forced Wabitu to drink three skins of water. The other camel stood a long way off, watching and moaning, anticipating similar treatment. But we didn’t need him to drink. We needed milk, which he could not provide.
If Wabitu did not produce milk, we could slaughter the camels for their blood, but this was barbaric and would leave us on foot deep in the desert, which itself was death.
We finally released her.
“How long will we wait?” I asked, watching the she-camel happily run off. She wouldn’t go far because there was nowhere to go.
“Until the sun is high,” Saba said, eyeing her. “By then she will either be sick or begin to make milk.”
“Only half a day, Maviah,” Judah said, smiling. Like a child, he could seize hope in even the most desperate of situations. Perhaps only a man who has survived so many battles and so many improbable journeys may have such hope.
“And how long before she makes enough milk for us?” I asked.
“Another day,” Saba said.
“And yet with milk being made, we will have the courage to survive,” Judah said.
I could only swallow. That swallow mocked me, because my need for fluid cut as deeply as my need to breathe. I would perish beside this bitter well, I thought.
I should have expected no other end than to die in the desert. Was this not the fate of all? If my father had failed to protect his kingdom with all his great power, what right did I, his illegitimate daughter, have to expect anything other than death?
The fear that had relentlessly accused me of failure now laughed in my ears.
“You will see, Maviah,” Judah said kindly. “God will provide a way. He will not allow you to die in the Nafud.”
I turned away.
Wabitu had stopped running and was staring back at us, confused and offended. She awkwardly settled to the ground, stretched out her neck, and moaned in pain as the water, like poison, churned in her stomach.
I glanced at Saba, wondering if he felt as hopeless as I did. But his eyes were not on the camel. Nor Judah. Nor me. They were fixed on the dune behind me, and they were afire with wariness.
I twisted my head in the direction of his gaze. There on the crest, staring down at us, stood a Bedu. An older boy, less than twenty years and yet a man, for all Bedu become men at a young age. He wore a white kaffiyeh with a red agal.
“Thamud,” Saba said. His hand was on his dagger already.
“So.” Judah stared up at the boy. “We have been found.”
The Bedu spun and vanished from sight.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE APPEARANCE and departure of our enemy had been so sudden that for a moment both Saba and Judah appeared to be at a loss. But only for a moment.
“He isn’t alone,” Saba said. “Our camels aren’t strong and there’s no cover. We must find high ground on foot.” He started toward the well, where he’d left his bow and sword.
But Judah had other thoughts. “No, Saba.” He looked at me, eyes bright. “They will have camels. Don’t you see? They are our means of salvation.”
“They are Thamud!” Saba snapped, turning back.
“And even Thamud carry water. I will speak to them.” To me, Judah made himself clear: “Remain here with Saba.” He strode toward the dune.
“Judah!”
“Trust me, Maviah!” he cried over his shoulder, then broke into a run. “God smiles on us today.”
Saba mumbled something and retrieved his weapons.
“Will he be safe?” I asked, watching Judah scramble up the dune.
“He is Judah.”
“What does that mean, he is Judah? Of course he’s Judah!”
“I have fought by his side many times and would entrust my life to him with all confidence. He thinks more with his heart than his mind, but his sword is true. Judah is as safe as any man might be.”
This offered me little comfort.
The moment Judah’s form vanished over the dune, I felt lost and utterly alone in that great dust bowl with its bitter well. Abandoned even. I realized then how dependent I’d become on his presence. I turned to Saba, hoping for reassurance, and I found some. But Saba was not Judah.