My thumb dripped blood and sand was ground into the wound. A tiny gray point poked from the spot where I’d been making circles with my fingers and thumb. Beside it was a small yellow flower. How’d I miss that? I wondered. I tried to pick the flower and realized that it was attached to a thin dry but strong white root that clung to whatever was poking from the sand. I put the flower down and grasped the point. It wouldn’t budge. I shifted to my knees and leaned closer for a better look.
“Oh,” I whispered. “It’s not just…” I sucked on my finger as I looked at it. Then I started digging around it with my other hand. Soon I was using both hands, disregarding the stinging and light bleeding. Whenever my father allowed me to buy a new book, I spent hours in my room with my eyes closed as I listened to it on my astrolabe. In many of those stories, a curious person would find a secret or magical object that would change her or his life. I’d always wanted that to happen to me. And now I was sure this was it.
This was the Book of Shadows that appeared on the boy’s astrolabe when he passed too close to a tree that had just been struck by lightning. This was the jeweled eagle figurine that the girl bought in the market that caused all the birds to come. This was the plant that began to grow in the old man’s bedroom after a strange dust storm.
The thing I dug up was a stellated cube. It fit into the palm of my hand and was made of a tarnished metal. There were intricate designs all over it, adept loops and swirls and spirals whose lines never touched each other. I turned it over this way and that, marveling at its complex pointy shape.
“What is this thing?” I whispered, awed.
I knocked off the remaining sand and used some of my otjize to polish it. This worked better than I expected, for soon its tarnished appearance changed to one of amazing shine. And each time I moved it, it produced a… a soft sound. Like the low husky voice of a woman. It was a little scary… and fascinating. There was somehow old current in this thing. Nevertheless, the more I moved it, the softer the sound until it stopped all together.
Father’s eyes will bug out when I show this thing to him, I excitedly thought. And that was how I decided that I was not running away after all. I couldn’t wait to hear what he had to say about the mystery device I’d found. Or if he could tell me the best way to study it. Maybe I can get it to do whatever it was made to do, I thought. I giggled to myself, sitting on one of the stones and holding the strange thing to my face.
When someone tapped my shoulder, I nearly screamed. And when I whipped around and saw the tall dark-skinned woman with a corona of black hair so huge that it blocked out the sun shining behind her, I did scream. I jumped to my feet and nearly fell over my satchel.
She was one of the Desert People. She looked ten feet tall and everything about her, from her hair to the light sheer blue cloth wrapped around her head to her flowing pants and top made of the same blue material, was blowing in the soft breeze. Slung over her shoulder was a small capture station, its catch bag, and a blue old-looking backpack. I squinted up at her in the sunshine. She was so very tall and so… blue. The tallest person I’d ever seen. And somewhat old like my mother’s mother. She grasped a thick gnarled walking staff with her long-fingered hands, but she wasn’t leaning on it.
“What are you doing out here?” she asked. Her voice was dry and commanding, also like my grandmother, and I immediately stood up straighter.
“I… this… this is where I… please… my…”
“Oh, shut up, child,” she sighed. “Forget I asked.” She rested her staff on her side and began doing that which I’d heard the Desert People did; she moved her hands this way and that, like a child swatting at a fly. I took the moment to quickly look around. There were no others. Could I outrun her? The woman wore no shoes. How can she stand the hot sand?
“Binti,” she said. “Daughter of Moaoogo Dambu Kaipka Okechukwu Enyi Zinariya.”
“That’s my name, my father… how do you know?” I whispered. I’d decided that there was no way I could outrun the woman. She was old and carried a staff, but something told me she was strong like a man and she didn’t use that staff for walking.
“Do you know who I am?” she asked.
“A desert person?”
She nodded, working her hands before her. It was as if they weren’t even part of her body. In my pocket, my astrolabe buzzed. The sun had just reached its highest peak and it was best to sit in the shade for the next hour. I reached into my pocket to stop it from buzzing.
“I journeyed all the way to this place so I can think,” the woman said.
“I… I did, too,” I said.
And for a moment, we stared at each other.
“I’ve been coming here since before your mother was a thought in your grandmother’s womb,” she said, with a chuckle. “What is that you’ve found?”
I grasped it more tightly and took a step back. “Nothing. A pretty chunk of… metal.” I felt sweat prickle in my armpits. To lie to an elder is a sin.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’m not going to take it from you.”
“I… I never said that,” I said.
“I know your grandmother, Binti.”
I nearly dropped the edan when I looked at her with surprise… and understanding. My father’s mother was a desert woman and he never spoke of her. Himba men did not wear otjize, but sometimes they used it to palm roll or flatten their hair. My father used it to flatten his coarse bushy hair, to mask it. And like me, he was the shade of brown like the Desert People and he’d never liked this fact. My mother was a medium brown, like most Himba, and I knew for a fact that he was proud that all their other children were too… and that the one who got the desert complexion and hair made up for it by being a master harmonizer.
I’d once asked my father about the Desert People when I was about five years old and he’d snapped at me to never speak of it again. As I looked at this tall woman now, I wanted to go home. I needed to go home. My father would kill me for speaking to this woman. I wasn’t supposed to be out here in the first place, so meeting her was entirely my fault.
“Do you know what that is you’ve found?”
I shook my head.
“It’s a piece of time from before our time. An ancient work of art and use. It’s old, but old doesn’t always mean less advanced.”
I opened my hand and looked at it. It rested in my palm, comfortable there, but so strange.
“Want to know how to use it?”
I shook my head. “I have to get home,” I said. “My father has work for me to finish later today.”
“Yes, your gifted father who is so proud of himself.” She paused looking me over and then said, “The thing you have, the Himba will call it an edan, but we call it a god stone. You’re blessed it’s found you.” She did a few hand motions and laughed. “When you are ready to know how to really use it, find us.”
“Okay,” I said, smiling the most false smile I had ever smiled. My legs were shaking so vigorously that I felt I would fall to my knees.
“Safe journey home,” she said. Then she knelt, touched the sand, and said, “Praise the Seven.”
I stood there for a moment surprised, thinking, Desert People believed in the presence of the Seven too? I wondered what my mother would say to this fact, since she thought Desert People were so uncivilized. Not that I’d ever tell her about meeting this woman.