"Not exactly." Del seemed to realize no explanation could sound reasonable. "But they worship the jhihadi, and they think Tiger fits."
"Why are they here?" Neesha asked.
"Because this is Beit al'Shahar," I answered crossly, knowing the whole thing sounded ludicrous, "and this is where I led them." I paused. "Supposedly."
Mehmet was waving his people out of their little homes. I saw the old women swathed in veils and robes, gray braids dangling from beneath head coverings, but also a few younger men and women and even a handful of children. Mehmet's aketni had increased in size since we'd last come across the tiny caravan.
Everyone gathered around, falling into a semicircle. All eyes were fastened on me, staring avidly. Mehmet stood in front of them, eyes alight with pride.
"We have done as you wished," he announced.
Since I didn't know what he was talking about, I prevaricated. "And you've done it well, Mehmet."
An outflung hand encompassed stream, ditches, grass, pens, corral, fields and gardens, and the small, square adobe houses huddled against the canyon walls. "We have turned the sand to grass!"
Ah, yes. The infamous prophecy.
And then I realized it was true.
Del, behind me, began to laugh.
Nayyib muttered, "I don't believe any of this."
Mehmet was exceedingly proud to know the jhihadi personally. After everyone had offered deep obeisances, he sent them all away to begin preparations for an evening feast. In the meantime, he offered us the hospitality of his own "unworthy house." He and his wife would sleep in the front room, while Del and I were gifted with the tiny bedroom.
He tripped a little over what to do with Nayyib, until the kid said he'd be perfectly happy sleeping outside near the water, if that was all right. He even added he was unworthy to be under the same roof as a messiah, which earned him a scowl from me and a snicker from Del.
"When did you get married?" I asked Mehmet. "And where did you find a wife?" The first time we'd met, Mehmet had been the only young male left in his aketni, which was comprised of old women and one old man, who'd later died. There was no one to marry in his own small tribe.
"I found my wife in Julah," he said proudly. "A caravan came through and stayed a few days. I went out to their encampment to welcome them, and I preached the prophecy of the jhihadi. A few of them decided to stay on and serve. Yasmah was one." His joy was infectious. "Now, come—these men will take your horses and make them comfortable."
I decided against protesting the preaching part for the moment. Certainly the sand had been changed to grass, at least right here; when we'd left it was desert, if not the sere harshness of the Punja and its immediate vicinity. But I rather had my own idea about what had caused the change.
Mehmet bowed us into his house, whereupon he presented us to his wife. She was a small, slight, black-eyed woman wrapped in robes and veils, quite shy, unwilling to meet my eyes at all. The gods only knew what Mehmet had been telling her about his jhihadi.
We were served food and drink at the low table surrounded by lumpy cushions rather than stools or benches, while Mehmet explained that they grew most of their own food, raised goats and sheep for wool, milk, and meat, chickens for eggs, and only infrequently went into Julah for additional supplies.
"And no one knows you're out here?" Del asked. "No one knows this canyon exists, or the water?"
Mehmet shook his head. "No one."
"Someday people will come," I warned. "We came. We found your ruts and followed them here."
Mehmet spread his hands. "Were you not already coming here?"
Well, yes. Come to think of it.
He nodded even though I'd said nothing. "No one has cause to come here, except for the jhihadi."
"I didn't come here as the jhihadi," I explained. "I have business in the chimney, and then we'll be on our way."
His eyes widened. "But—are you not staying?"
I felt bad about disappointing him. "No. We're headed for Alimat, across the Punja."
"But—but we did this for you." He spread his hands. "All of this. You told me, remember? Find water where none exists. We have made a home here."
"You and your people have done very well, Mehmet—but I didn't mean I wanted to live here. I'm sorry."
He leaped to his feet, gesturing sharply. "Come, then. All of you. Hurry."
The meal apparently was over, even if we weren't quite done eating it. Mehmet's little wife collected the dishes from the low table and took them swiftly away even as her husband ushered us out of doors.
Two young children were playing down by the stream; Mehmet called to them to find some of the men and have them bring our horses.
I looked up at the chimney formation, or what remained of it, on the other side of the canyon across the stream. No horse could make it up there through the tumbled rocks and scree. I'd have to go on foot.
The horses were brought. The stud had a wisp of lush grass hanging out of the corner of his mouth. Apparently they'd been enjoying a meal, too.
"Go on, go on," Mehmet insisted. "Get on your horses. Hurry!"
We did as we were told. Our host nodded. "Now, ride into the canyon. You see that elbow of hill up ahead? Go around that. The canyon curves to the right. Follow the stream. You will see."
"See what?" I asked.
"Go, go. Go and see."
"And do what?"
"Go and see."
I gave it up. Until we went and saw whatever it was he wanted us to go and see, we'd make no progress toward actual communication.
"You're not coming?" Del asked Mehmet.
He shook his head vigorously. "It's for you. We kept it that way. Now, go and see."
"Let's go," I said to Del and Nayyib, and led the way.
As Mehmet instructed, we followed the stream around the designated elbow. Here the canyon narrowed until there was very little good footing on either side of the stream, mostly the steep sides of canyon walls. Huge sections of stone had broken off the walls, falling to the floor where they blocked most of the way. The stream, undaunted, had found a new way through. But I noticed the fallen rocks were all sharply angled and faceted, not yet worn smooth and round by water. Whatever brought them crashing down was but a few years in the past.
The horses picked their way over dribbles of fallen stone. There was no actual trail through here, and clearly none of Mehmet's people had ever attempted to bring in a wagon. The only tracks I saw belonged to animals.
And then the walls reared back. A passageway lay open, and the stream purled through. Beneath hooves, grass sprang up, thick, lush grass. Rocks in the water were mossy, wearing streamers of vegetation. Canyon walls became crumbled hillsides, cloaked in a tangle of shrubbery and trees.
Old trees. Mature trees. Mehmet's little canyon was new. This one was not.
The path we made took us out of shadow into sunlight. Out of canyon into valley. Out of paradise into perfection.
We stopped, because we had to. We gazed upon it, marking how the stream cut through the middle of meadow. Here was the true heart of the canyon with high walls surrounding us except for the throat we'd passed through.
Nayyib released a blissfully appreciative sigh. "Good grazing."
Del climbed down off her gelding and knelt on one knee, digging into the soil. She brought up a handful, rolled it through her fingers, then smelled it. "It should be," she agreed. "This is fine, fertile soil." She shook her hand free of damp dirt, then led the gelding by me, intent on something. After a moment Nayyib and I followed.
Del paralleled the stream. All around her lay the meadow, stretching from canyon wall to canyon wall. We were nearly to the far end when she stopped and shielded her eyes against the sun's glare as she looked up and up, studying the rim of the canyon and the blue sky beyond.