“I’m Ruha, Ajaman’s wife,” she answered.
The youth’s hand drifted back toward his dagger. “Ajaman has no wife,” he said suspiciously.
Shrugging aside his skeptical tone, Ruha lifted the waterskin to her lips again. She still felt weak and dizzy, but with an ample supply of water at hand, she would soon be better. After a few swallows, she lowered the skin and said, “I came to the Qahtan three days ago.”
“Forgive me,” the boy said, flustered. As an afterthought, the boy offered, “I was on el a’sarad.”
Ah, Ruha thought, that explains the warrior’s age. The el a’sarad was a solitary camel raid undertaken as a rite of passage—after a boy killed his first man.
The youth continued, “I had not heard that my brother had taken a wife.”
“Brother!” Ruha gasped.
The youth nodded. “Sons of the same mother.”
In her weakened state, the shock was too much for Ruha. She began to wail uncontrollably, half sobbing and half laughing at her fate. A man was obligated to care for a dead brother’s wife for two years, after which time he had the choice of sending her away or marrying her himself. Ruha found it pathetically ironic that her new protector and potential husband was a thirteen-year-old boy. Dropping the skin, the widow collapsed to her knees and buried her face in her palms.
The youth quickly picked up the waterskin, then took Ruha’s arm and helped her to his camels. He sat her in the shade beneath one of the beast’s musky udders, then said, “I am called Kadumi.”
As the camel stamped its fleshy feet on the ground, he poured water on the only exposed parts of Ruha’s face, her cheeks and her brow. The water evaporated as soon as it touched her skin, without cooling her at all.
Regaining control of her spent emotions, Ruha put her hand over the spout. “Save the water. I’ll be fine.”
Kadumi closed the skin and placed it beside her. Turning in the direction of the unseen oasis, he asked, “Where are the other women? How badly is the tribe hurt?”
The young widow touched the ground in front of her. “Sit.”
Kadumi shook his head. “I’ll stand,” he declared, as if hearing the report on his feet made him more of a man.
“Kadumi, this was no camel raid,” Ruha began.
“Tell me what happened,” he replied, still refusing the seat she offered.
Ruha shrugged, then began. “It was after dark. Ajaman had the night watch, and he wanted me to bring him some apricots and milk.”
“Ajaman wouldn’t ask his wife to leave their tent during the purdah,” Kadumi interrupted, frowning.
“He did ask it,” Ruha snapped, irritated that the youth had noticed her misrepresentation. “Do you question the honor of your brother’s wife?”
Startled at the terse reply, Kadumi turned his gaze aside. “Let’s say he asked you to come to him. Then what?”
Trying not to sound defensive, she continued, “Before I reached him, a caravan of men and fork-tongued monsters came out of the sands.”
“Fork-tongued monsters?”
“Yes,” Ruha replied. “With a lizard’s skin and a snake’s eyes. Where there should have been nose and ears, the beasts had only gashes. There were hundreds, maybe thousands. Behind them came caravan drivers in black burnooses.”
Ruha paused, smelling once again the scent of singed camel-hair and scorched flesh as the strange caravan attacked. Over the dunes rolled the mournful howls of anguished mothers, the terrified screams of dying children. Peering over a dune crest, Ruha saw a thousand silhouettes marching through the oasis, setting fire to anything that stood, cutting down anything that walked.
“What do they want?” she asked. “How can I stop them?”
Water trickled down her face, and then she was no longer watching the battle.
“Drink,” Kadumi said, offering her the open waterskin as his face replaced the dark images from the previous night. “You’re seeing mirages.”
Ruha pushed the skin aside. “There were too many strangers,” she replied. “I couldn’t save anyone.”
“I understand,” Kadumi answered, sealing the skin. “What of the others who escaped? Where are they?”
“Others?” Ruha yelled. The camel beneath which she sat brayed and stepped forward, brushing Ruha’s head with its udders. She ignored the beast. “Haven’t you been listening? There are no others!”
Kadumi’s face went pale and the waterskin slipped from his hand. An expression of disbelief and bewilderment overcame the boy, and Ruha immediately regretted her sharp tone.
Before she could comfort the boy, he set his smooth-skinned jaw. “Who did this to my tribe?” he hissed. “Who were these men and fork-tongued monsters?”
Ruha shook her head. “I don’t know,” she whispered.
“What color were their keffiyehs?” Kadumi pressed. “Did they ride the long-wooled camels of a northern tribe? If they are a Qahtani enemy, I will know them from your description.”
Ruha looked straight into Kadumi’s eyes. “They weren’t Bedine,” she said. “I don’t even think they were from Anauroch.”
The youth sneered doubtfully and declared, “That cannot be.” He studied her for a moment with accusatory eyes, then demanded, “If everybody else is dead, how did you survive?”
Ruha pushed herself from beneath the camel. “What do you suggest?” she snapped, standing. “Do you insult the woman whom you are duty-bound to honor?”
Cowed by her sharp tone, the boy retreated two full steps, shaking his head. At the same time, the camels echoed Ruha’s indignation and roared with impatience. They could no doubt smell the oasis and were anxious to quench their thirst in its pool.
Remembering the one-eyed man and his two guides, Ruha quickly turned to calm the camels. Until now, she had not worried about being overheard by the three strangers, for she and Kadumi were far enough away from the oasis that their voices would be muffled by sand dunes. A camel’s bellow was a different matter. A roar like the ones the creatures had just voiced could be heard miles away.
“We’ve got to keep the camels quiet,” she said, urgently grabbing the nose of the nearest one. “There are three strangers in the oasis.”
Kadumi did not move to help her. “Just three?” he scoffed, stepping toward his brown riding camel. “I have my bow and plenty of arrows. They shall pay the blood price.”
Ruha moved to the boy’s side and caught his arm. “No,” she said. “They weren’t with the fork-tongues.” She told him about how the one-eyed stranger had appeared in the caravan’s wake last night, then of spending the morning watching the man and his short companions in camp.
“It does not matter whether their hands bear the blood of battle or the blood of desecration,” Kadumi insisted. “They deserve to die.” He pulled his arm free of her grasp.
From his stubborn tone, Ruha realized that the boy was looking not so much for vengeance as an excuse to vent his anger. Unfortunately, remembering the sharp instincts of the one-eyed man, Ruha knew that allowing Kadumi to attack would mean his death. As the youth reached for his arrow quiver, the widow slipped between him and his camel. “They are three and you are one.”
Kadumi side-stepped her and snatched his quiver off the saddle.
Wondering if her husband had been as stubborn and foolish in his youth, Ruha grasped the boy by both shoulders. “It is foolish to attack,” she said. “Even Ajaman would not have tried such a thing.”
Kadumi ignored her and tried to pull free. When she did not release him, he drew his jambiya. The boy’s anger took Ruha by surprise, and she found the curve of his knife blade pressed against her throat.
His lower lip quivering in anger, Kadumi yelled, “Ajaman is not here!”
“But you are, and you are dishonoring your brother by threatening his wife,” Ruha countered. “You must protect your brother’s widow for two years. If you get killed, who will take care of me?”