The Parched sea

the closest dune, then wrapped his lead camel's reins around the shaft. Without actually running, for a wise man never ran in the heat of the day, he rushed toward Ruha.

The widow's first impression was that he was a herdboy, for his face lacked even the hint of whiskers. His features were proud and strong, like Ajaman's, but his skin looked as soft as a pup's fur, and he did not stand even as tall as she did. He could have been no more than thirteen or fourteen. Still, Ruha stopped short of asking him to fetch his master. If the Qahtani customs bore any similarity to those of most Bedine, a herdboy would not carry a lance. That privilege belonged only to a warrior.

Instead, as the boy approached, she managed to gasp a question. 'Whose fine camels are those?'

The youth showed a smile of pearly teeth. 'They once belonged to a sheikh of the Bordjias,' he answered, straightening his shoulders as if donning an aba.

The answer explained the lack of saddles and halters. What the youth had left unspoken was that now the camels belonged to him. He had stolen them on a raid. If, as he claimed, the animals had belonged to a sheikh, the pasture had undoubtedly been a well-guarded one. Ruha was glad she had not insulted the young man by asking after his master.

The youth stopped a pace away from Ruha and passed the waterskin to her. Observing that he self- consciously kept one hand close to the hilt of his jambiya, Ruha said, 'A careful warrior will make a wise elder.'

The boy nodded, then answered, 'My father says it is honorable to help a stranger, but to remember that no friend is ever a stranger.'

'Your father is right,' Ruha answered, lifting the skin to her mouth.

Though the water was hot and tasted of several days in the skin, to her it seemed as if it had just come from a cool spring. Still, she stopped herself after three swallows, for drinking too much too quickly would make her feel worse than she did now. Besides, when a stranger shared his water, one never knew how much he had to spare. She offered the skin back to the youth.

The boy shook his head. 'Drink. I have another.' He spoke with an exaggerated tone of authority.

Ruha allowed herself two more swallows. 'Your water is sweeter than honeyed milk,' she said. Though she meant what she said, the words were weighted with exhaustion. They sounded insincere even to the young widow.

The youth smiled and shook his head. 'That water's been in the skin for five days. You've been out here watching my khowwan too long.'

'It's my khowwan, too,' Ruha answered. 'Or at least it was.'

The boy's smile faded. 'What do you mean?'

Ruha pointed at the vultures hanging over the oasis. 'Surely you've seen N'asr's children?'

The young warrior nodded. 'That's why I hid my approach behind the dunes, but I meant to ask why you claim to be Qahtani. If you were a member of the tribe, I would know you. There aren't that many of us.'

'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