He still wore his cloak from the long night’s journey, and now he stripped it off so his movements might be unencumbered. There was no cover nearby and nothing to prepare, so he crossed to Wabitu and squatted by the camel’s head, stroking her neck, perhaps apologizing for our cruelty.
His eyes remained fixed on the crest where Judah had vanished.
“Sit,” Saba said without looking at me. “Breathe.”
So I did.
My thirst intensified in the hot silence. Judah was like water to my heart, I thought, and without him my thirst became unbearable. I was but dried bones and my tongue like dust.
“Are you sure he’s safe?” I asked after too much time seemed to have passed.
“He is Judah,” Saba said. His tone told me to be silent once again. But I wasn’t listening.
“How many Thamud, do you think?”
“I have not seen their tracks.”
“What if they know about Dumah?”
He turned, face flat, and for a moment stared at me. He said nothing with his tongue, but his eyes told me his mind. He had no patience for my questions. Not now.
So I fell silent once again, praying to any god who might hear for Judah’s safe return.
And then Judah reappeared at the dune’s crest, wearing his customary smile. I sprang to my feet, overcome by relief.
He waved his arms. “It is good! We’ve found a friend! It is safe!”
“How many?” Saba called, already on his feet.
“They are only two. Come!”
I was already running, stumbling up the slope, and was soon panting with Saba by Judah’s side.
“How far?”
“Just over the rise.” Judah led us as one who’d found a great prize. “They are a brother and his sister who came to the well in the night and found it bitter, so they made camp behind the sand.”
Saba was not ecstatic. “You told them what?”
“That we are Kalb, yet friend of Saman bin Shariqat, sheikh of all Thamud.”
“They know nothing of Dumah?”
“No, I don’t think so. They have water, Maviah. Did I not say we would be saved?”
“Yes. Yes, you did.”
“And now we are.”
“Not yet,” Saba said. “Where there are two, there are more close by.”
I saw the single small black tent as we crested the next dune. It was hardly a true tent, made of only one ragged cloth stretched over two poles hastily set in the sand. A goat was tied off to a post beside the shelter, and it bleated at us. Nearby two camels stood in the sun, watching us through long lashes.
The moment the boy saw us, he motioned wildly with his hand. A girl stood in the tent behind him, younger than he, I guessed. The sister quickly adjusted her tattered tunic. They, like most Bedu in the deep sands, were very poor. But they had water, two skins at least, hanging from the tent posts. Nothing mattered to me as much as water.
“He is Arim,” Judah said. “There will be no problem with them.”
Indeed, both seemed overjoyed to welcome us into their humble camp. They could not know who we were or what had happened in Dumah, because they greeted us as all Bedu do honored guests and strangers.
The boy, Arim, was thin with scraggly hair and only a few strands for a beard. He might have been sixteen, but his muscle was filling out and already showed strength.
“Thank the gods for honoring us with your presence!” he cried, running up to us. He dipped his head. “You are our guests. No harm shall come to you in our tent.” His dark brown eyes, bright as the stars, lingered on me. “I am Arim bin Fasih, great warrior of the Nafud.”
His sister was only a few paces behind his heels.
“We are most honored to serve you,” he said.
Arim turned and issued a stern rebuke to the sister, flinging his arm with bravado. “Masihna! Go prepare the goat for slaughter! Can’t you see we have guests?”
She smiled at me, unaffected by his show. Then she turned and ran back.
“Forgive her, my sister is not accustomed to guests.” He swept his arm toward their tent. “Please, you must feast with us.”
“We will share your water, Arim,” I said. “But you must keep this goat for yourself.” I did not want to eat what was so precious to them, but the moment the words left my mouth, I knew I had overstepped, for I was a woman and I had undermined his honor as the master of this tent.
For a moment he looked among Judah, Saba, and me, perhaps wondering why a woman was speaking for them. But I was from Egypt before Dumah and though a slave, had been allowed to speak to men in common.
“Please forgive her, she forgets herself,” Saba said. “We would be most honored to receive food in your tent.”