A.D. 30(3)

“Leave me,” she said thinly.

His song faltered and he stared at her as though she had stripped him of his robe.

Nasha pointed at the door. “Leave me.”

“I don’t understand.” He looked at the door, confounded. “I… the sheikh called for me to resurrect his wife.”

“And does she appear resurrected to you?”

“But of course not. The god of Dumah is only just hearing my prayers and awakening from his sleep. I cannot possibly leave while in his audience.”

“How long have you been praying?”

“Since the sun was high.”

“If it takes you so long to awaken your god, I would require a different priest and a new god.”

Such as Al-Uzza, the Nabataean goddess to whom Nasha prayed, I thought. Al-Uzza might not sleep so deeply as Wadd, but I had never known any god to pay much attention to mortals, no matter how well plied.

“The sheikh commanded me!” the priest said.

“And now Nashquya, niece of the Nabataean king, Aretas, commands you,” she rasped. “You are alone with another man’s wife who has requested that you leave. Return to your shrine and retain your honor.”

His face paled at the insinuation. Setting his jaw, he offered Nasha a dark scowl, spit in disgust, and left the chamber in long, indignant strides.

The moment the door closed, I rushed in, aware that the priest’s report might hasten Rami’s return.

“Nasha!” I hurried to her bed and dropped to my knees. Taking her hand I kissed it, surprised by the heat in her flesh. “Nasha… I’m so sorry. I was forbidden to come but I could not stay away.”

“Maviah.” She smiled. “The gods have answered my dying request.”

She was speaking out of her fever.

I hurried to a bowl along the wall, dipped a cloth into the cool water, quickly wrung it out, and settled to my knees beside Nasha’s bed once again.

She offered an appreciative look as I wiped the sweat from her brow. She was burning up from the inside. They called it the black fever.

“You are strong, Nasha,” I said. “The fever will pass.”

“It has been two days…”

“I could have taken care of you!” I said. “Why must I be kept from you?”

“Maviah. Sweet Maviah. Always so passionate. So eager to serve. If you had not been a slave, you would have been a true queen.”

“Save your strength,” I scolded. She was the only one with whom I could speak so easily. “You must sleep. When did you last take the powder of the ghada fruit? Have they given you the Persian herbs?”

“Yes… yes, yes. But it hardly matters now, Maviah. It’s taking me.”

“Don’t speak such things!”

“It’s taking me and I’ve made my peace with the gods. I’m an old woman…”

“How can you say that? You’re still young.”

“I’m twenty years past you and now ready to meet my end.”

She was smiling but I wondered if her mind was already going.

“Rami has gone to the shrine of Wadd to offer the blood of a goat,” she said. “Then all the gods will be appeased and I will enter the next life in peace. You mustn’t fear for me.”

“No. I won’t allow the gods to take you so soon. I couldn’t bear to live without you!”

Her face softened at my words, her eyes searching my own. “You’re my only sister, Maviah.” I wasn’t her sister by blood, but we shared a bond as if it were so.

Worry began to overtake her face. A tear slipped from the corner of her eye. “I’m hardly a woman, Maviah,” she said, voice now strained.

“Don’t be absurd…”

“I cannot bear a son.”

“But you have Maliku.”

“Maliku is a tyrant!”

Rami’s son by his first wife had been only a small boy when Nasha came to Dumah to seal Rami’s alliance with the Nabataean kingdom through marriage. My elder by two years, Maliku expected to inherit our father’s full authority among the Kalb, though I was sure Rami did not trust him.

“Hush,” I whispered, glancing at the door. “You’re speaking out of fever!” And yet I too despised Maliku. Perhaps as much as he despised me, for he had no love to give except that which earned him position, power, or possession.

“I’m dying, Maviah.”

“You won’t die, Nasha.” I clung to her hand. “I will pray to Al-Uzza. I will pray to Isis.”

In Egypt I had learned to pray to the goddess Isis, who is called Al-Uzza among the Nabataeans, for they believe she is the protector of children, friend of slaves and the downtrodden—the highest goddess. And yet I was already convinced that even she, who had once favored me in Egypt, had either turned her back on me or grown deaf. Or perhaps she was only a fanciful creation of men to intoxicate shamed women.