were two sticks with a ball of twine for a wheel—a child’s toy pushed about the ground.
Maliku lowered himself to one knee before Maviah, marking his abject humility.
“I beg you, sister. Hear the sincerity of my heart. Though I have sinned against you and our father and all of the desert, forgive me now. I cannot live among the Thamud another day. My guilt eats away at my flesh and I cannot sleep. Saman has cast me out! He sees my eyes downcast in your presence and no longer trusts me. I beg you—”
“Because you are as trustworthy as an adder!” Fahak snapped.
“Even an adder poses no threat if its fangs have been pulled,” Maliku said. “I beg you—”
“Until he grows new fangs to poison once more,” the old man said, pointing a bony finger at Maliku.
Maliku took the second knee and kept his pleading eyes to Maviah. “Was it not I who persuaded Saman to accept your terms? Do you think they could not have come here with a far larger army and crushed you? And yet I saved you.”
“We are Bedu!” Flecks of spittle collected on Fahak’s wiry beard. “No one may crush us!”
Maliku twisted to the sheikh, adamant. “And yet Kahil knows no mercy, as you have seen.”
“It is Kahil who would send you among us to beguile us with twisted words in our tents while gathering an army in Dumah!”
“Even in Dumah, I sought peace. I beg you, for this wayward warrior has seen his sin and throws himself on his sister’s mercy in light of our father’s death.”
She watched him without betraying emotion, speaking not a word.
Maliku’s voice trembled. “I saw it in Petra, when you rendered me powerless before all. I knew even then I had made a terrible mistake and must repent.”
“You kept Judah in the dungeon for two years!” Fahak snapped. Though honoring Maviah, he would not relinquish his role as the one to be addressed.
“This was Kahil!” Maliku cried. “It was I who persuaded him to keep Judah strong with meat. It was I who showed Judah mercy, even in his suffering. It was I who delivered the price you required for peace!”
Maviah looked at Judah and searched his eyes. “He treated you well?”
He glanced at Saba, who offered no direction. Then at Maliku, on his knees, humiliated.
“He visited me often in these last few months.”
“To ply your mind!” Fahak said.
“There was only guilt in his eyes. When they brought me before Saman, he alone was my advocate. It is true.”
To this, Fahak said nothing.
Maviah folded her arms, eyes upon the oil lamp’s wavering flame. How often had she been required to make such judgments? She, like King Solomon of old, was wise beyond years.
“Tell me, mighty sheikh,” she said to Fahak. “What is thicker than water?”
His brow arched. “Blood.”
“And why is this?”
“By blood, life comes to the desert among the Bedu, where water only sustains it.”
“And how are bonds forged?”
“By blood,” he said.
She dipped her head. “So you have taught me. And by the Light of Blood I once forgave Maliku and so was honored by Aretas. By the Light of Blood I became queen and led our children here, to peace. Is this not so?”
He hesitated only a moment.
“It is as you say.”
“And is it not said among all sheikhs that mercy is equal to the sword in power?”
Her path was clear, and Fahak’s tone as much as his words conceded the truth. “This too is true.”
“Maliku is a sinner, born of Kalb blood and forgiven in the light of my blood. Fahak is honorable, the most powerful for showing mercy in the face of accusations against my brother, all of which are true. Is this so?”
Knowing he had been bested, Fahak returned the question with a twisted grin. “You are far too clever,” he finally said.
“Only with you at my side, my sheikh.” She bowed.
“Only.”
“Then it is agreed?”
Fahak regarded Maliku with disdain. “Your life is owed to your sister, now twice. Pray that it is never in my hands. The Bedu gods
Maliku lowered himself to one knee before Maviah, marking his abject humility.
“I beg you, sister. Hear the sincerity of my heart. Though I have sinned against you and our father and all of the desert, forgive me now. I cannot live among the Thamud another day. My guilt eats away at my flesh and I cannot sleep. Saman has cast me out! He sees my eyes downcast in your presence and no longer trusts me. I beg you—”
“Because you are as trustworthy as an adder!” Fahak snapped.
“Even an adder poses no threat if its fangs have been pulled,” Maliku said. “I beg you—”
“Until he grows new fangs to poison once more,” the old man said, pointing a bony finger at Maliku.
Maliku took the second knee and kept his pleading eyes to Maviah. “Was it not I who persuaded Saman to accept your terms? Do you think they could not have come here with a far larger army and crushed you? And yet I saved you.”
“We are Bedu!” Flecks of spittle collected on Fahak’s wiry beard. “No one may crush us!”
Maliku twisted to the sheikh, adamant. “And yet Kahil knows no mercy, as you have seen.”
“It is Kahil who would send you among us to beguile us with twisted words in our tents while gathering an army in Dumah!”
“Even in Dumah, I sought peace. I beg you, for this wayward warrior has seen his sin and throws himself on his sister’s mercy in light of our father’s death.”
She watched him without betraying emotion, speaking not a word.
Maliku’s voice trembled. “I saw it in Petra, when you rendered me powerless before all. I knew even then I had made a terrible mistake and must repent.”
“You kept Judah in the dungeon for two years!” Fahak snapped. Though honoring Maviah, he would not relinquish his role as the one to be addressed.
“This was Kahil!” Maliku cried. “It was I who persuaded him to keep Judah strong with meat. It was I who showed Judah mercy, even in his suffering. It was I who delivered the price you required for peace!”
Maviah looked at Judah and searched his eyes. “He treated you well?”
He glanced at Saba, who offered no direction. Then at Maliku, on his knees, humiliated.
“He visited me often in these last few months.”
“To ply your mind!” Fahak said.
“There was only guilt in his eyes. When they brought me before Saman, he alone was my advocate. It is true.”
To this, Fahak said nothing.
Maviah folded her arms, eyes upon the oil lamp’s wavering flame. How often had she been required to make such judgments? She, like King Solomon of old, was wise beyond years.
“Tell me, mighty sheikh,” she said to Fahak. “What is thicker than water?”
His brow arched. “Blood.”
“And why is this?”
“By blood, life comes to the desert among the Bedu, where water only sustains it.”
“And how are bonds forged?”
“By blood,” he said.
She dipped her head. “So you have taught me. And by the Light of Blood I once forgave Maliku and so was honored by Aretas. By the Light of Blood I became queen and led our children here, to peace. Is this not so?”
He hesitated only a moment.
“It is as you say.”
“And is it not said among all sheikhs that mercy is equal to the sword in power?”
Her path was clear, and Fahak’s tone as much as his words conceded the truth. “This too is true.”
“Maliku is a sinner, born of Kalb blood and forgiven in the light of my blood. Fahak is honorable, the most powerful for showing mercy in the face of accusations against my brother, all of which are true. Is this so?”
Knowing he had been bested, Fahak returned the question with a twisted grin. “You are far too clever,” he finally said.
“Only with you at my side, my sheikh.” She bowed.
“Only.”
“Then it is agreed?”
Fahak regarded Maliku with disdain. “Your life is owed to your sister, now twice. Pray that it is never in my hands. The Bedu gods
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