Читать книгу A Persian Tale - Kevin J. Todeschi - Страница 11

In spite of the marriage of Sumi and Joell and the hope promised by the union of two tribes, peace continued to elude the desert sands. For a time, the people had come together as one but the novelty of the arrangement had long worn off. All the merger had accomplished was the combining of two tribes into one enormous settlement—one filled with great mistrust. Sumi’s father, Remai, had assumed leadership of them all, for even a great many of Joell’s own people believed he was prone to war. In the intervening years, Ravi, the couple’s first-born child, had been sent to Egypt. But much time had passed and after more than twenty years the few who still anticipated his return no longer held much hope that even he would have the skill to set things right.

Sumi knelt beside her father’s cot and listened to the harsh sounds of his struggling breath. The old man was dying and they both knew it. His eyes, once bright and hopeful, had sunk beneath his noble forehead. His skin was loose, hanging limply from weary bones and his bent, spotted hands were those of age, hurting with the simplest of movements. The few strands of hair he still possessed were pressed down by the moisture of sweat. His blue robe of leadership lay carelessly upon the floor. Many months had passed since Remai had even found the strength to stand before an assemblage of his people.

In so many ways he feared he had failed in his role as ruler. In addition to the continual fighting between his people, there was the fever, the wandering bandits who roamed the desert, and such a lengthy period of drought and poverty that even the eldest had difficulty recalling their last time of prosperity. A shortage of water, rations and women had become the norm. Remai sighed with the thought that he had been unable to solve these problems and he knew that his opportunity to do so had come to an end.

“How are you feeling, Father?” Sumi took a woolen cloth and gently wiped his forehead. She remained beautiful, although silver strands now glistened throughout her hair.

The old man shifted ever so slightly before looking up at the face of his only remaining child. His had been the fate of one who lives too long, for he had seen all of his sons taken, either by the fever or slain in battle. He had lived to see his brothers all dead and most of their children as well.

With the death of Remai, many believed that the two tribes would simply separate. Beyond the fabled return of Ravi, there were few candidates who might be accepted in the role of combined leader. To be sure, the union of Sumi and Joell had produced three children in addition to Ravi, two boys and a girl. Oman, Ravi’s younger brother by five years, held the allegiance of warriors from both tribes. However, others believed Oman’s thirst for battle might endanger the entire settlement. Jenda, the other son, was only fifteen and lacked any position of power. Years before, Remai’s ruling council had announced Ravi as the leader to follow but with the intervening years the story of Ravi had become a fable told among old women. Few believed that Ravi would ever return to the poverty of his native desert. After so much time, some even doubted whether the youth had existed at all.

And yet, a fortnight previously a solitary messenger from Egypt had arrived with the amazing news that after more then twenty years, Ravi, the firstborn child of their combined peoples was returning home.

Jenda scurried from one place to another, anxiously waiting to look upon the brother he had never seen. His bare feet ran past a group of Bedouin children and around the gathering of the old men who constantly grumbled between themselves. He passed by small tents and crumbling lean-tos, while skinny goats wandered freely about, waiting patiently for refuse to be discarded onto the sand. The smells of things inedible to even half-starved creatures clung to the air. Piles of filth lay just beyond the tribal boundaries, providing ample breeding ground for all manner of sickness. Finally, he came to a halt near a group of warriors gathering around Oman. Some of the men wore short turbans on their heads; others simply tied leather bands about their scalps. Many prized mighty blades sheathed about their waists and all looked very much alike with short dark beards and thin mustaches, save for one who possessed a deep, ugly scar on the side of his face. Jenda stepped directly behind his brother and listened.

“We must stand and make our claim now!” said the scarfaced Chochi. “We wish to follow you. This Egyptian brother of yours means nothing to us!”

Oman lifted his hand in protest, “It is our duty to follow him, this brother I do not remember. Remai has ordered it and Remai commands us still.”

“If this Ravi fails as warrior,” Chochi growled, “we shall all be beaten. We need not a high priest for guidance, but a soldier to lead us into battle. What if this Ravi is unable to fight?”

“Then we will fight his battles for him,” Oman said positively.

“But you have proven yourself. You deserve to rule!” one of the others demanded.

“Enough!” Oman finally said.

Suddenly, one of the riders galloped back into the settlement screaming with excitement, “Ravi is coming. Ravi has returned!”

The man carried his message throughout the crowd with such excitement that even those who hoped for a different leader were moved in anticipation. People from all parts of the settlement strained their eyes in the direction that the rider had come. All hoped to catch the first glimpse of this man of legend. When the news reached the central tent, Sumi called two of the counselors to assist Remai. The old ruler insisted on being present when Ravi rode in to greet them.

It was not long before a lone traveler appeared on the horizon. The Egyptian people who had accompanied him thought it best to remain just beyond the city’s sight so that Ravi might return as a desert leader rather than a foreigner. As the excitement spread throughout the settlement, men, women, warriors and children from both tribes ran forward and shouted greetings to the promised leader.

Ravi sat proudly upon the back of a majestic white horse as he rode among the people. He looked from side to side at the faces of those who ran towards him, and recognized no one. His tender, blue-gray eyes were moist and filled with compassion; he smiled even though his heart ached with sadness for the father he might never see again. His forehead was high, his chin firm, and his nose strong and noble. There could be no doubt that Ravi descended from the house of Remai.

Finally, Jenda could stand it no longer. He pushed through the crowd and ran forward to meet his brother. Ravi became aware of the young man immediately, for he had been taught to sense the thoughts of others by Esdena. He lowered his strong hand for the youth to grasp, “Come brother,” he said softly, lifting Jenda upon the steed to mount behind him, “we will ride to see our mother and old Remai together.”

Jenda wrapped his arms around Ravi’s waist in affection and awe. The splendid warrior in front of him was his brother! He grew fascinated as the people pressed in to touch the man’s legs or waved a greeting of encouragement. Some of the older women patted Jenda proudly on his own leg while the white horse moved slowly toward the largest tent, for many people were in their path.

Dozens cheered as Ravi and the boy dismounted and waited. Three men reached forward anxiously to grasp the bridle of the Egyptian stallion; none had ever seen a horse of such color and majesty. Sumi was the first to run from the tent, tears streaming down her face. She embraced the son who had been away longer than she had been allowed to care for him. After a moment, Oman stepped hesitantly forward, causing Sumi to weep at the sight of her three sons together, finally he raised his sword toward the brother he did not remember.

“I pledge myself and my sword to be in your service.”

Ravi nodded with appreciation just as Remai came out of his tent, being assisted by two counselors. In his arms he carried the blue robe of leadership. When the cheers subsided, Remai turned to the grandson he had long awaited.

“My son, we welcome you home,” his words were soft and spoken with much difficulty. “Before you were even born, I heard your life pledged to these people. It is your duty to find them peace and prosperity, for I regret . . . ,” he coughed harshly before being able to continue, “ . . . it has eluded us.” He extended his arms and passed the robe to Ravi. “We place our destiny in your hands.”

“I am ready,” Ravi said humbly.

Remai’s knees grew weak and he motioned for the counselors to take him back into the tent. As Remai departed, an older man with gray hair and stark features moved closer. The older man stepped forward and Sumi presented him. Two young and attractive women followed him.

“My son,” Sumi said assuredly, “this is your father.”

Ravi simply nodded before embracing Joell on either side of his face. To be sure, Ravi neither remembered the man nor the scent of alcohol upon him. Joell said simply, “Welcome back to your people.”

“These beautiful women,” Ravi said hurriedly, turning from his father much too swiftly, “must be my sisters.”

It was Jenda who responded, grinning from ear to ear, “One is your sister, Ibsen,” he agreed, “ . . . and the other is Aithea, your wife.” Ravi simply nodded his surprise.

That night, as the tribes celebrated throughout the encampment and the new leader dealt with the awkwardness of a betrothal he had not desired and a bride he did not want, old Remai passed silently into death. Sumi found him the next morning, lying peacefully on his cot, smiling—smiling as though he had seen something truly wonderful.

“How might we defeat the tribes of Araby?” Croesus repeated.

Bestreld with his ever-present smile glanced suspiciously around the enormous chamber, making certain no one was listening before he continued.

“What are you looking for?” Croesus finally demanded with impatience, “We are alone!”

“Never be too certain, my lord,” Bestreld replied cautiously, “for even within the palace you have enemies.”

Croesus chuckled at the man’s continued foolishness, “Even my guards watch one another. We have nothing to fear.”

“What of Myra?” his hushed voice caused the question to sound eerie.

“My aunt? She is simply an old woman.”

“She is a Parik . . . a witch!”

“We have discussed this before,” Croesus grew agitated, “It is not Myra we need to concern ourselves with.”

“Perhaps,” came the simple reply, for the exchequer knew not to provoke the emperor’s anger, “but there are many in Lydia who rumor of the woman’s power.”

“They are fools!”

“Indeed,” his response was sincere, “so let us put the question at rest, for a time.”

“Shall we discuss what you have learned?” Croesus’s face began to grow red, “Or shall we see if the guard Endeseu might loosen your tongue?”

“Very well,” Bestreld said calmly, “It will please you to learn that much has come to light, yet there is much more to consider.”

“Proceed,” the emperor motioned with a wave of his hand.

“Of greatest import is the emperor’s stance with his kingdom. Surely, it is no secret that many question your activities. A battle, as you have planned, with neither the people’s support nor their understanding, will only worsen the situation.”

“Who are these adversaries?” Croesus’s neck bulged, becoming red as he clenched his fists.

“Regrettably, they are too numerous to list or to deal with effectively without creating further complications. We must be shrewd in our activities. However, the emperor himself is well-acquainted with the most vocal of his opponents.”

Only a moment passed before Croesus voiced the name: “Lila?”

“Truly. Your daughter is least fearful when it comes to discussing her irritation with you. The others are, shall we say, perhaps more cautious with whom they speak of such things.”

“I have grown weary of her,” the emperor spoke with indifference.

“As have I,” Bestreld said callously, for on more than one occasion the woman had rebuked his advances, “and yet it would be ignorant of us not to take into account Lila’s popularity with the other women. We can do nothing to her without causing even greater problems for ourselves. The school trains women from some of the most powerful desert kingdoms. Anger the maidens and you will anger their families and even Lydia could not withstand a revolt of such magnitude.”

“What do you suggest?”

“There is but one further problem we need to consider, and that is the merchants who fill the square.”

“Now what is their grumble?”

“It is ever the same. They complain your duty-payment is unreasonable.”

“What do we care of such complaints as long as they continue to pay?”

“Has the emperor not considered what would happen should they move their activities elsewhere, say Baghdad or Ur?”

“It is too far for them to travel!”

“Never be so certain,” Bestreld said assuredly, “some might consider the savings worthwhile, and I needn’t remind you that much of the kingdom is held together by moneys—great sums of moneys.” He lowered his brow and looked directly at Croesus for emphasis, “If we continue to anger the tradesmen our revenues may suffer grievously.”

Croesus’s breathing became harsh and in great frustration he clutched the arms of his gilded chair. Only with difficulty could he keep his voice low enough so that Eliot and the other guards beyond the doorway could not hear, “Have I employed your assistance only to anger me? You have given me a picture of gloom when instead I asked for a plan to rule the plains!”

“Would my lord but let me finish I indeed have your plan, but surely,” Bestreld’s response was calm and his smile of great confidence, “the emperor wished to hear of the entire problem before being handed a solution?”

“Your love of intrigue may yet be the death of you. What is the plan?”

“We must win the support of the people—merchants and Lydians alike. If we had a real need for the moneys, one that even the merchants could accept—say the kingdom required a battle—these tradesmen would be satisfied for a time.” The exchequer rubbed his hands together as he saw the plan come together before his mind’s eye, “and if we had need of this battle, your people would understand your actions. With the support of both you could, indeed, overtake dominion of the plains.”

“What is this plan?” Croesus’s impatience grew.

“We must have a reason to go to war—a reason that all will support.”

“The plan!” Croesus was ready to rip the arms off his chair.

“What if one of the settlements attacked us? And what if they violated, let us say, the Temple School, taking with them a few of the maidens, perhaps even Lila among them?”

The emperor’s response was immediate. Croesus threw his head back with laughter, pounding his fist against the chair with excitement, “The people would demand war!”

“And then we,” the exchequer feigned helplessness, “would be forced to give it to them.”

When Croesus’s laughter had its fill, he suddenly appeared confused, “Where in the desert is a tribe so foolish as to attack?”

“Leave this to me,” Bestreld urged. “Oh, and one more thing,” the man replied as he watched the emperor’s eyes closely, “I can assure you, your niece, Serena, will not be harmed.”

Her name was Aithea, though the man beside her had not spoken it once throughout the night, nor had he accepted her determined advances. With the dawn, she would be shamed for not having been found desirable by her own husband. The thought humiliated her, though she had no doubt she could win Ravi over before too many nights had passed between them on the desert sands.

She turned angrily from him and stared blankly at the ceiling of their tent-chamber. There was nothing to be done, just yet. He had been so very determined in his refusals that she had wondered, though only briefly, if he might not be more inclined toward other diversions. Yet her own intense passion at the mere sight of his body denied the thought. Perhaps he had left behind a female in Egypt—one whose own flesh had frequented the soothing waters of the Nile and had never known the harsh cruelty of a heated sandstorm.

Still, she was not without her own charms. In fact, Remai’s council had chosen her only after much deliberation. It was hers to provide the man with many heirs. One day she would be the mother of kings and revered in her own right. She would make certain that her husband accepted her.

After all, Aithea had nothing to gain by choosing someone else and so very much to lose if Ravi desired another.

Slowly the days passed until the encampment had witnessed an entire week of a new leader and Ravi gradually grew accustomed to governing a tribal people. Nothing had really changed with Remai’s death, as the settlement continued as it had been. The stench of baking refuse still clung in the air, and bony-legged creatures (human and animal alike) spent long-hungered days watching for the setting of the sun, or waited in wearied boredom for an hour that might somehow be different than the last. Citizens from both tribes fell back into their comfortable pattern of relative indifference.

Ravi retained Remai’s council of ten advisors even though it soon became clear that the council was much more responsible for the settlement’s overall problems than it was at finding any hope of solution. Already various council members had vied to secure the new ruler’s favor. Ravi listened patiently to their problems and inspected first-hand most corners of the city of tents but he remained haunted by thoughts of Egypt and found the memories of the past more satisfying than the realities of the present.

Scenes of bloated animals and children much-too-thin for the rigors of stickball were common. His explorations inevitably uncovered ragged tents worn from the all-but-unending regularity of Bedouin wanderings, and people too weary to do much but live from one day to the next. The hot, nauseating scents of tribal life left him wondering how he himself might survive.

The livestock were sickly. Goats’ milk smelled foul, and dead creatures that should have been quickly discarded were left to rot. The camels were too old and the horses too few. Children found themselves permanently dirtstained, and hardened bites of sand fleas were more common than patches of clean flesh. Almost from birth, throats of animals and humans alike became accustomed to the dryness of attempting to swallow. The few surviving crops were wilted because of the windstorms and the lack of moisture. And it was certain the refuse needed to be dealt with more effectively for the stench of the city invaded even the privacy of Ravi’s own tents. Of greatest concern was the need for food and water.

The tribespeople were nomadic and their settlement moved with them. Ravi realized their need was to find a permanent location, although they lacked the water supply, and to be more active in trade, although he knew not what they would bargain with. Without ample water they could hardly grow crops, or cool hot tempers, or promote health. It rained infrequently and then only to be absorbed into the desert sands.

Esdena had told him of several oases scattered among the encampments many locations—all generally within a day’s hard journey of the settlement’s various sites. But an oasis could not sustain an entire populace. To make matters worse, it was not uncommon for an oasis to be destroyed in a desert sandstorm.

Egypt had been so very different. Ravi had seen wonders that would defy explanation to these desert people. He had watched rain fall from a cloudless sky and crops spring forth from bare ground. He had seen the high priest Esdena cause water to erupt from a bed of stones with a single command. The Persian desert seemed so far removed from the wonders of Egypt.

Ravi sat quietly in Remai’s tents immersed in his thoughts when Jenda burst loudly into the room.

“Brother, I want to speak to you!” Jenda was stern, with his arms folded tightly in front of him, “I request an audience today!”

Though surprised by the outburst and the youth’s seriousness, Ravi retained his composure. He nodded and acknowledged the boy’s presence. “What is the trouble, Jenda?”

“You have forgotten me.”

“In what way?”

“You have given everyone in the settlement important duties. Oman leads the warriors; Esi, Midias, and Jeuen are on the council; Joell and Astrides are talking about trade possibilities. Everyone has been given something to do, except for me! Even mother and the old woman, Margi, have been sent throughout the camp to see what the women and children are in need of . . . ”

“You are correct, Jenda,” Ravi interrupted with a wave of his hand, “there is much to be done.”

“Then, what am I to do? I have been given no task although I am brother to our ruler.”

“I have not forgotten.” Ravi said softly, “What do you wish to do?”

Jenda paused before stating what had been on his mind, “I wish for a position of responsibility!”

Ravi rubbed his forehead as if in deep thought. After a moment the thought came to him, “At this time,” he said truthfully, “there is but one position of leadership available, yet I am afraid you would not like it. The job is hard and requires much strength. You would be forced to work in the heat of the sun.”

“I want to do it!”

“Jenda, I haven’t even told you what the task entails.”

“That doesn’t matter! I want to do something important.”

“Very well,” Ravi eyed his brother closely in an effort to discern the youth’s abilities. “I assure you the task is quite important. From this day forth, you shall be in charge of the Dakhyu, the men who gather the city’s garbage.”

Jenda’s mouth dropped open in horror and disbelief and the shock caused him a moment of silence, “This is not a job you need me to do!”

“I assure you, you are wrong. The Dakhyu have been lazy in their work. We must make certain that all refuse is taken far beyond the city’s borders and buried. Only in this way can we hope to stop the flies that carry the sickness. The fever will persist until we have done so.”

“It is nearly time to move on!” Jenda complained, as though Ravi had forgotten their ways.

“We are not leaving,” Ravi said without explanation, “and that is why I need you.”

Jenda stopped speaking and considered the merits of the job for a few moments. Although it was far from what he had hoped for at least he would be in charge. “I’ll do it but what about mother? She has forbidden me to go near the place.”

“I will talk to your mother,” Ravi assured him. “I want you to speak with Margi about how you and your men may gain protection from the fever. She knows how to ward off the infection.”

“Thank you, brother,” Jenda said proudly, “I will serve you well.”

“I know you will. That is why you have been given the duty. One more thing,” Ravi added as an afterthought, “if you wish, you may choose from among your friends a second-in-command to assist you.”

At that moment Oman entered the chamber, eyeing his two brothers closely. Much of the conversation had been heard through the goatskin walls.

“Thank you!” Jenda said excitedly. He moved quickly, almost knocking into Oman as he ran out of the tent.

“May we speak in confidence?” Oman asked when Jenda was gone.

Ravi nodded.

“Although the settlement is quiet, there is a development that you need to know. Some of my people no longer believe their destiny is to have an . . . to have you as their ruler.”

“You were going to say,” Ravi interrupted, “to have an Egyptian as their ruler.”

“It is no secret that you would rather be in Egypt. And yet,” Oman said honestly, motioning out beyond the tents, “it is not for discussion with these people.”

“Then why do you support me?”

“Because, brother, once peace is established, you will return yourself to Egypt and I will rule in your place.”

Ravi only nodded again, “Among those who would overthrow me before the time you would choose, does there appear to be a leader?”

“His name is Chochi—one who would take by force rather than patience. I will keep my eye on him and his temper as well.”

“Very well, Oman, I trust you.”

Oman simply watched Ravi and wondered if a brother’s bond could ever exist between them. Like Ravi, he was tall and strong. His muscles were tanned with the bronze color of one who has spent much time in the scorching desert sun. Though his hair was lighter than Ravi’s, it was just as long. He wore his blade about his waist in a jeweled sheath given to him by Joell. A thin turban was wrapped once around his forehead, while the rest of the cloth hanging down to the middle of his back. His sandals were Bedouin, with thicker soles than the Egyptian footwear his brother continued to wear.

“I must ask why you appoint Jenda chief of the Dakhyu? The task is beneath him. I could use him in my service. The boy is our brother.”

“For that reason it might be best Jenda to start with the Dakhyu,” Ravi said confidently. “Let no person within the city say he receives special treatment because of either one of us.”

“I understand,” Oman was cautious, “but I will watch the boy in his new post. The older men have grown quite used to doing as they please; they might not take well to Jenda changing the ease with which they have come to accomplish their labors.”

“Granted,” Ravi said immediately, “but intervene only if absolutely necessary. Jenda must become his own man.”

Oman nodded and turned to leave the chamber.

Ravi moved his eyes from the flapping doorway and was left alone. In the quiet solitude of the tent, his thoughts returned once again to the west and he remembered Esdena.

Ravi was ten and he stared up at Esdena’s robed arm pointed toward him. The high priest continued his instruction, “Although it is the way of the desert, choose not to worship the earth, nor the sun, nor the moon, nor the stars.” The old man eyed him closely, making certain that young Ravi grasped the words, “Worship neither the Nile nor the harvest, for each of these are mere reflections of AHU, the One, Ahura Mazda . . . they are simply signs of his presence along the way.”

“I do not understand,” the young boy said yet again. “How can the harvest be a part of AHU?” Already the regal features of the youth’s face had begun to lose their boyish appearance.

They stood upon a hillside, peering down on the Nile far below. Esdena raised his staff and pointed in the direction of the tropical palms and the dates, making certain that the boy was watching. He turned next to the desert and the cliffs just beyond, pointing his staff at the clouds above before finally pointing in the direction of the river’s banks, where a gathering of female servants dutifully laundered their masters’ attire and found the time to chatter amongst themselves.

“All that exists and all that could ever be conceived, exists in the One. Without AHU nothing was made that was made, for there is none but he.”

“The people of the desert have many gods,” Ravi stated as a challenge.

The old man eyed him closely, “ . . . or do they have many names for but One God?”

“How can AHU be in more places than one?” The youth squatted to his knees, lifted a fist-sized rock, and hurled it in the direction of the river—the attempt fell nearly four cubits short of the distance.

Esdena leaned upon his staff with one arm and pointed to the youth’s sandaled feet with the other, “When you scrape the toe of your foot, do your hands not reach down in sympathy?”

Ravi did not respond, looking instead at the old man with complete confusion.

The old man continued, “ . . . does the toe exist by itself or is it rather part of the whole?”

“But Father,” Ravi thought quickly, “my hands do not reach down when you scrape your foot.”

“Wonderful!” the Magi beamed proudly, “once again, your words show vast progress.”

The boy selected another rock, took aim, and with as much force as he could manage cast the object toward the Nile; though closer, the stone fell short of its target. Esdena simply watched him, shook his head in amusement, and selected a stone for himself. When the old man was silent, Ravi inquired, “So what does this mean?”

“It means,” Esdena stared intensely at the rock for only a moment before hurling it toward the river, “that I must include throwing stones in our time together as well.”

The rock whirled through the air with such force that the child’s mouth dropped open in amazement. He had not imagined the old man possessed such strength. Ravi’s eyes stayed focused upon the stone until there was a loud ‘crack’ as the rock splintered into two equal pieces. A moment later both portions splashed loudly into the water’s current.

“How did you do that?” Ravi asked with more enthusiasm than he had mustered the whole day through.

Esdena placed both palms upon his staff, shaking his head. He tried to appear stern, though he could not help but be delighted. “Perhaps again the question is, what does this mean?”

Ravi watched him closely. He knew the answer was within his reach or it would not have been asked of him. Although he was only ten, he was no fool. He decided, rather quickly, that the answer dealt with the stone itself and not the throw.

“Does it have something to do with the rock? There are now two pieces of the same stone on the bottom of the river?”

“Excellent!” the old man was overjoyed. “You and I both know the rock was once whole, though the rock has now forgotten. In the same manner AHU knows that each of us is a part of the Whole, though we ourselves have forgotten.”

The high priest bobbed his head proudly, for the youth was the quickest student he had ever trained. Ravi, in the meantime, simply stared in silence toward the water. When there was no further comment from the boy, Esdena inquired of him, “Do you have a question?”

“Yes, Father,” the youth stared at him hopefully, “will you teach me how to throw?”

Ravi was startled from these thoughts as Sumi reached out and touched his shoulder. He was swiftly brought back to the present.

She looked at her eldest son and brushed back the hair from his forehead, “Is something wrong?”

Ravi simply nodded and replied softly, “I truly miss him . . . my father who is not my father.”

That very evening when women had already bedded children down for the night and fallen themselves into weary slumber; when tribesmen had drunk their fill; and while half-starved livestock enjoyed a temporary respite from the heat of the sun, the reality of desert life returned to the city. A sandstorm broke through the settlement and in its wake came the people’s realization that their ruler was not, unfortunately, the magician they had wished him to be.

A woman’s solitary shriek as her home fell down upon her signaled the blizzard’s arrival. Winds howled with fierce anger and swept up countless grains of sand with a force moving entire hillsides in just a matter of moments. Tents not properly anchored disappeared into a blinding flurry that took tarps, rugs, poles and all before finally and forever being blown away—so mighty a force prevailed that even the smallest dogs and the newest-birthed goats were thrown from their footing as easily as woven baskets and squawking chicks. Behind the sturdiest of tent-chambers, whole fistfuls of granulated particles blew through walls and blanketed the rooms as though flaps and windows had been left wide-open.

Aithea lay covered by darkness, for chamber lights had been snuffed out by the first intruding blasts. The howl of the winds caused her to reach out in fear, groping for the man who was not to be found beside her. Throughout the encampment, shouts and screams attempted to awaken those still in slumber—though the roar of nature proved much more substantial than even the most experienced of screamers. Between the harshness of winds and the people’s alarm for survival, an entire settlement was moved to action.

Blinded by the gusts, Sumi walked through the camp, keeping her face wrapped tightly, while her eyes remained riveted upon the ground. She stumbled to stay upright as she searched in vain for Jenda who had disappeared. Ravi, Oman, and Midias ran between fallen tents and painful blasts of blowing sands with Chochi and a half-dozen others, making certain children were anchored to their mothers before ushering both towards what protection could be provided by Remai’s tents. The sounds of the storm were deafening.

Having never witnessed such a force of nature, Ravi deferred command to his brother and instead followed close behind. He held his arm up before his eyes and fought his way through the winds, seeking out those whose tents had vanished or any who had been slammed to the ground in unconsciousness. He grimaced as the winds seared against bare hands and couldn’t help but think that it was the first time he had been unable to smell the stench of the city’s refuse.

Oman shouted commands and dispatched men in every direction. The first concern was protecting everyone from the blinding fury, especially children and the aged but livestock were not easily replaced. Ropes confining animals to posts were quickly severed, releasing camels, goats and horses lest the wind’s force should find necks more pliable than desert braid. As he called out to other tribesmen the sound of his voice was often blown back in his face.

Women who had braved many a similar storm gathered the smaller animals indoors and checked the anchoring of still-standing structures before trying to calm and comfort the children. Remai’s tents became the central gathering place (although Aithea refused to move from her own bedchamber) so that wind-swept faces could calm infant tears while children tagged one another in semi-darkness. All they could do was wait out the storm. Whether the winds lasted three days or an hour, the desert possessed a life of its own and attended to no one.

While Oman moved the settlement to action, Chochi wasted no time spreading questions of Ravi’s fitness for rule. The warrior scurried from one place to another, raising concerns as he made a half-hearted attempt to assist his tribespeople:

“He behaves as one who has never even seen a sandstorm,” his scar furrowed in hatred as he pointed out how Ravi cowered behind his brother.

“Even this Egyptian has come to realize that it is Oman who should lead us.”

“Look how he shields the softness of his face; the man’s skin has long been pampered by the Nile.”

“If this Ravi possesses special powers, why does he not move to help us?”

Even wind-whipped old women—struggling with lines that demanded to be secured in order to keep structures standing—were not allowed to forget their superstitions: “If the gods willed his rule, why do they send a sandstorm to defeat us?”

To fellow warriors: “One who refuses the needs of his own wife cannot be much of a man.”

To friends of Remai: “He has made our ruler’s grandson a companion of the Dakhyu.”

To two different members of the Dakhyu: “This Ravi has seen fit to make you subservient to children.”

As they carried on with their labors some of the people began to eye their ruler with a look much different than the sense of wonderment that had first crossed their brows. Though the task at hand was securing the village and providing safety for animal and child, the thoughts of many turned to the uncertainty Chochi had placed in their minds.

Ravi and Oman continued to work harder and longer than any of the others. Aithea grew more tense because of the noise beyond her chamber and the shattered illusion of what it was like to be a ruler’s wife. Chochi continued to move from place to place with a greater speed than he had mustered in a very long time. Jenda was finally found in the company of the young girl, Treena, and tried uneasily—with broken sentences and red-faced stammer—to explain to his mother why they had walked away in the middle of the night.

Just as quickly as they had started, the winds subsided.

Meanwhile, at that very moment far away in the kingdom of Lydia, Bestreld, had secured the information he needed in order to carryout the emperor’s plans. After a great deal of trouble and enough gold to insure the truth of the facts, the exchequer had gathered rumors of a settlement that would perfectly serve their needs. It was a place where Croesus’s dreams for the future might begin to be realized—a place where the tribespeople would be all too easy to conquer. Rumors had traveled the three-day journey to Lydia of a desert tribe that continued to be divided. It was just such a place that Bestreld had been searching for.

When calmness had returned to the desert, Ravi, Omar and others had time to assess the wind’s damage.

“Life has returned to normal,” Midias, a member of Ravi’s council remarked matter-of-factly. “It is as though the storm never occurred.” He walked beside Ravi, just beyond the doors leading to Remai’s tents.

“Then we are no more prepared for the next,” Ravi said wearily. “Is there no way to move these people forward?” The question was rhetorical, though Midias responded nonetheless.

“What they need is a leader of permanence—a way to insure the continuation of your rule.” The old man peered closely at their dark-haired leader, for he had rumors of Ravi’s refusal of the marriage bed. “You must give these people a child.”

Ravi shook his head in dismay, “The city may need many things but another mouth to feed is not one of them.”

“A child will give them hope for the future,” Midias’s response was calm, though he was becoming irritated with Ravi’s continued refusal to heed advice. “You might never succeed in controlling the desert but it is within your power to give these people something to live for.”

“If all they live for is the question of who rules then they are in need of much more than I can provide.” Ravi stopped walking and waited for the arrival of Jenda and his sister who approached.

“This is the best advice the council can give you!” Midias’s tone emphasized the seriousness of his words.

“Then perhaps I need new counselors.” He raised a hand as if to silence any further discussion between them and Midias journeyed off, shaking his head in disgust.

Ibsen, Ravi’s sister, embraced him before speaking, “Jenda and I,” she began uneasily, “feel you should know what is happening in the settlement.” The embarrassment of her words prompted the younger brother to keep his eyes focused upon the sand.

“You needn’t tell me,” Ravi replied softly, “I already know. The people speak against me.”

“Not all the people,” Ibsen replied softly, “but a few are intent on your downfall.”

At first his words were stern, “It wasn’t they who committed me to this throne, and hence they have no control over how long it is destined to last. However,” he stroked her cheek and lifted her chin so that their eyes met, “do not worry, words cannot harm me.”

“They say you do not desire a woman!” Jenda said angrily, as though nothing could be worse for a warrior’s reputation.

“Their words are correct, though not for the reason they would imagine. It would be wrong for me to decide upon Aithea’s direction when I have yet to decide upon my own.”

“What do you mean?” Jenda asked fearfully.

“I don’t yet know,” Ravi said mysteriously, “but when I do, I promise to tell you.”

“Is Aithea not your wife?” the young man inquired.

“Let us just say that she is, for a time, my companion . . . ”

“And who could wish for anything more!” Aithea said angrily. She approached from behind and had heard his every word. Her eyes were red, although it was unclear whether she had been crying, was angry, or both. “Is it proper in Egypt to discuss one’s ‘companion’ as though she were no more than a slave?” Her question became an accusation.

“No, nor is it appropriate upon the desert. I am sorry if I have caused you pain.”

“If it is a hand-servant you require, then a hand-servant you shall have!” Aithea bowed down before him mockingly and scurried off in the same direction Midias had traveled, nearly tripping on her garments as she ran.

Ibsen hurried after her, leaving Jenda and Ravi standing alone in the heated shadow of the enormous tents.

“Do you have a woman in Egypt?” Jenda finally grew brave enough to ask.

Ravi’s eyes sparkled and appeared deep in contemplation, “She is not in Egypt, though I am certain she walks the earth.” He gave Jenda a smile, laid his hand upon the young man’s shoulder and together they began another inspection of the camp.

Collectively, they were the settlement’s grumblers—men whose only task was to come together and find something about which they could complain. In the broken shadows of aged lean-to’s and weathered tents they found some measure of relief from blazing afternoons. They gathered upon carpets or mats or stools, simply leaned against tarped walls or sometimes fell lazily asleep upon the bare ground. As a group they debated in tired annoyance the same topics their ancestors had discussed before them. Certainly the novelty of a new ruler provided ample subject to spark new conversation but the old topics proved just as appealing.

They were about a dozen men who lacked any desire to call themselves warriors, nor did they wish to be merchants or craftsmen or even wanderers—save when patient wives had packed all belongings for the tribe’s mandatory migration. They only moved along with the settlement when it became clear that they had to follow if they wished to eat.

Although in truth an average age would be near middle years, by their own account they felt too old to have assigned work, yet not quite old enough to die. Instead they desired to discuss deeds of days gone by, or simply thoughts of deeds that might have occurred had conditions been more appropriate at the time. In the heat of the desert sun it was too tiring to do much of anything.

“ . . . that was nothing,” the palest of them continued, “eight years ago there was a storm that tore even Remai’s tents to the ground. Took quite a bit of work to rebuild after that.”

“How would you know?” the bald one chuckled. He gnawed on a piece of dried meat with his few remaining teeth. “You haven’t moved in a decade.”

“I was there to see it, wasn’t I?” He looked around for a few heads that nodded in agreement. “That was about the time I took sick.”

The bald one spat a piece of gristle unto the sand, “That was a bad one,” he finally conceded. “But I’ll tell you something, you didn’t see Remai hiding behind his brother to get out of the wind.”

“Amal was already dead,” one of the sleepers said with half-opened eyes.

“Still, it is not the will of the gods. Oman should rule.”

“You’re a fool,” one of the eldest replied with as much stamina as he could muster. “Remai knew better than to choose Oman. We need someone who understands the settlement, not a fighter. But I think this Ravi understands us no better. Jeuen is the wisest choice.”

“If he’s so wise,” the bald one shook his head in amazement at his companion’s ignorance, “his counsel would have been relied upon more frequently.”

“How about Midias?” the pale man inquired.

“A fool’s fool.”

“Mark my words,” the bald man insisted, “one day Ajhi will lead us.”

“No, in the end it will be Oman.”

“Oman’s a hot-head!” the bald man insisted, “like his father before him.” At his words a silver dagger ‘swooshed’ through the air and imbedded itself, quivering, by his sandaled feet. The bald man watched the blade nervously before looking up at the angry and inebriated face of Joell standing in the tent’s doorway.

“Perhaps you would like to repeat your words a second time?”

“I’m an old fool,” the man replied. He offered up a generous piece of dried meat and shrugged helplessly.

Myra, the aged former empress, said a quiet prayer and waited for a sense of peaceful calm to fill her mind. Even within the confines of Croesus’s palace it was possible, for a time, to find some small measure of tranquility.

There were those who insisted on calling her Ashimashai, saintly-soul, though she made no such claims herself. She was simply an old woman, long accustomed—though not happy—with the place of a woman who had long lost her crown, her youth, and her ability to birth a child. She was an old woman, too, without lack but with no real possessions. Hers was the opportunity to spend idle days unhindered by duties, or tasks, or even an occasional errand. Yet, she was forbidden to walk free of castle walls (though she had managed one escape) or to spend even one solitary hour without being guarded by soldiers who often glared in wearied annoyance as though faulting her for keeping them from some worthier task.

As the oldest member of the ruling house, she was expected to wear the colors of royalty and adorn herself with a continent’s jewels. Each day female servants took great pride in seeing to her appropriate appearance. Yet it was painfully long, indeed, since she had been granted an audience with anyone beyond the palace.

Without apparent reason or warning, within the last few months her imprisonment had worsened. She was a prisoner in her own room! Although Croesus had been blamed for her captivity, it was Bestreld who had issued the command. She might ask the emperor for an explanation but the only way for her to see him was through the exchequer. A prospect that was unlikely. As a result, her days passed slowly into weeks, each appearing too much like those that had gone before, until Myra began to wonder if anyone even remembered that she was still alive.

She opened her eyes and took a calming breath in order to become more relaxed before finally shuffling the worn cards she had gripped the entire time in her hand. After so many years the exercise had become almost automatic, though, as always, she made certain her fingers had touched every one of the cards at least once. When she was satisfied and her moist eyes glazed with an intensity that seemed almost severe, she began to deal the worn pictures face up in front of herself. Though she had spread the cards a thousand times before, a look of complete wonderment took hold of her as the cards and the pictures drew forth their tale.

It wasn’t long; it took her just a few moments. Suddenly she knew that something of the greatest magnitude was about to occur. The realization caused her to catch her breath and her heart beat with an excitement that had long been lacking. Something was happening in Lydia, unbeknownst to the people or herself, and it dealt with intrigue and deception. But a greater surprise lay just beyond the city walls:

Events were happening upon the desert plains that would alter even Croesus’s dreams for the future. A new ruler had emerged upon the desert sands, and Myra knew in her heart that his life was destined to cross her own.