A.D. 33 Read online

  “To believe in is to trust,” Talya said most seriously. “To have faith.”

  “To have faith in,” Saba said, accentuating in with a raised finger.

  “Yes, to believe in,” Talya returned, finger also raised.

  Saba flattened his hand, palm down, and swept it to one side. “Not merely to believe about. Even the demons believe that Yeshua is the Son of the Father, for surely they have ears.” He spat to one side.

  “To believe only about Yeshua is nothing,” Talya said, spitting.

  “A small first step in the right direction, perhaps,” Saba said.

  “But this is not the Way.”

  “To believe in Yeshua gives one the power to find peace in the storms of this life. This is the work of the Father, to believe in the one he has sent. This is eternal life, to know the Father. This is what Yeshua taught. Now tell me, how does one know if or when they are believing in Yeshua as opposed to just about Yeshua?”

  “We know we are believing in him when we are in peace, without worry or grievance.”

  “Yes, peace. If you have a grievance against any threat, such as a storm or an illness or a brother or even an enemy, it is only because we are putting our faith in the power of the storm, rather than in Yeshua and the realm of the Father.”

  “But putting our faith in Yeshua makes us the greatest of all warriors, able to move mountains and calm the storm,” Talya said.

  “Indeed.”

  Saba stopped his pacing and tossed another date to Talya, who deftly caught it and threw it into his mouth.

  “And how sweet it is.”

  “How sweet it is.”

  I almost walked out then, so strong was my longing to sweep Talya from his feet and embrace him. But Saba spoke.

  “So then—and now we are almost finished—if this kingdom is our only obsession, like a treasure in a field or a pearl of great price, and if faith is the path into such a place of great beauty and power, what is the means to this path? How will you find such a narrow path called faith?”

  He was explaining it all in terms a child could understand, and I was filled yet again with wonder, though I already knew the answer to Saba’s question.

  “By seeing with new eyes.”

  “Perception! Perception is the means to true belief. Because the eye is your lamp. If your eye is clear you will see light. If not clear—if it is blocked with a plank of offense and judgment—you will remain blind. You will be trapped in the darkness of grievance, offense, and judgment.”

  I heard the voice of Yeshua in my heart. Do you still believe in me, Maviah? Are you saved from darkness?

  Yes, I thought, because right now I trusted in Yeshua and felt no anxiety.

  “Listen to me, Talya.” Saba lowered himself to one knee. “All grievances are as destructive to you as murder, and they arise only from fear. Fear will render you blind. Yes?”

  “I want to see.”

  Saba nodded once, satisfied. “And so you will. Do you understand what I have told you?”

  “Yes, Saba.”

  “Of course you do.”

  He stood and spread his arms. “Of course you do!” he said with more volume, gazing at the sky. “You understand because you are a child, and unless you become like a child you cannot follow the Way of Yeshua!”

  Saba then lifted his face to the sky and closed his eyes. “You too will calm the storms that rise against you in this life!”

  He was speaking as a sage, I thought, and my heart pounded like a drum.

  “As a child you, Talya, will lead them. With faith you will move the mountain. They will know you for your love and for the peace that passes all understanding. You too will walk upon the troubled waters of this life and help the blind to see. The captives will be set free and all of heaven will invade earth as no army can, for you will bring light, not darkness, and you will show them the Way of Yeshua!”

  A heron chirped in the bushes behind me. The air felt thick. My heart had gone quiet.

  My son finally spoke in a soft voice, full of wonder.

  “If I will move the mountain later, can I move a stone now, Saba?” A beat passed. “Can you move a stone?”

  Saba lowered his arms, hesitating. “Not yet,” Saba said. “But I am less of a child than you. To begin, think of moving the stones that block true sight into the realm of Yeshua.”

  “And how can I remove the stones that blind me?”

  Now Saba was even slower to respond. This was the question that had often bothered Saba. If clear vision was required to see the path of faith into the kingdom, by what means could one’s sight be restored? We would one day return to Yeshua to uncover the mystery of this question.

  “You can only see this path by taking your eyes off of all other paths,” Saba said.

  Talya thought about this for a moment. “How?” he asked.

  “When the time comes, you will know how,” Saba answered, but I didn’t think the response particularly helpful.

  I could not contain myself a moment longer. I stepped out from between the rocks and hurried toward them.

  Saba turned his eyes toward me, then lowered his arms. Seeing Saba’s gaze, Talya twisted back, saw me, and raced for me, face lit like the stars.

  I stooped down, flung my arms around him, and swept him into the air, twirling.

  “What a big boy you are!” I said, kissing his neck and his cheek. “I love you more than life itself.”

  “Saba is teaching me, Mother! I will move the mountain. The Thamud cannot stand against me.”

  I set him down and I pushed my fingers through his tossed curls, wiped the dust from his cheeks. “Of course you will move the mountain, my dear. With a single word!”

  His eyes were the color of almonds beneath long lashes. Not a mark scarred his tender, smooth skin. He’d come from my mother’s tribe—scavengers who were the lowest in standing among all of the Bedu. Compared to the first five years of his life in the sands, our paltry existence was, for him, like living in a grand palace.

  How little it took to give an orphan a new life. Surely, this was Yeshua’s Way.

  Saba watched us with approval. “You must only follow everything Saba teaches you, and you will be the mightiest stallion in all the desert.”

  “A stallion who can fly,” Talya said.

  I laughed, setting him down. “A stallion who can fly through the heavens.”

  Talya skipped away, arms stretched like wings, then scrambled up the nearest boulder.

  Saba dipped his head. “My queen.”

  I returned his greeting with my own. “My strength.” I walked up to him, smiling. “You are taking your student far, I see.”

  “He has far fewer lies to unlearn than any grown man.”

  “Perhaps too far for a little lamb. ‘A child will lead them’?”

  He searched my eyes. “The meek will inherit the earth. Only as children can we follow or lead.”

  Strange, to hear such words from the strongest and most skilled warrior in the desert. His entrance into any tent always commanded attention, for it was well known that he could take on twenty of the best in any camp and leave them all bloody on the sand if he chose.

  I looked toward Dumah, six hours distant.

  “The council has reached a decision,” Saba said.

  “Yes.”

  “And yet I see concern in your eyes.”

  I glanced up at Talya, who balanced along the rock.

  “We will march in three days’ time,” I said, “with all the people and no weapons, to camp at Dumah’s gates. If Saman refuses our request, I will offer myself in Judah’s place. He will set Judah free and take me in his stead.”

  So…there it was.

  When no response came, I turned back. Saba stepped forward and took my arm, nearly frantic.

  “No, my queen! I cannot allow this!”

  I was taken aback by the force in his voice. Saba the peaceful sage had fled.

  “Saman will put you to death!”r />
  “He will not,” I said, breaking Saba’s grip on my arm.

  Surely Saba knew this. Saman held Judah hostage because of my love for him, but his life hung in a precarious balance because Judah’s death would not inflame the rage of the desert.

  Killing me, the one revered among so many Bedu, on the other hand, would make me a martyr whose legend would outlast Saman’s, a fact that could not escape the Thamud leader.

  Once I was in chains, word would spread through the desert and many thousands would come to join our peaceful revolution. In the end, Saman would reconsider, surely.

  And if not…

  I gently placed my hand on his chest. “Listen to me, Saba. You must not fear for me. You must only think of restoring Judah to his full strength. You must think of the orphans and the lost tribes who have entrusted themselves to us. You must keep Talya in perfect safety, no matter what happens. I will need you to lead, and only you. Tell me you will not waver from this duty.”

  He spoke slowly, at a loss. “I will not waver.”

  I stared down the slope at the sprawling sea of black tents dotting the white sands.

  “I have seen death,” he said.

  I looked at him.

  “My death?”

  “Many deaths, like locusts upon the sand. Who is among them, I cannot say.”

  My mind spun with visions of battle and bloodshed, for this was the Thamud way. I pushed the images away.

  “Are you saying that going to Dumah is a mistake?”

  “No.”

  My irritation flared.

  “What’s your intent in telling me this? If we die in peace, we die for generations to come.”

  “Yes.”

  That was all. Just yes.

  “Then what is your point?”

  He faced me, and I saw his eyes misty with emotion. Fear, that ancient familiar enemy I’d held so long at bay, approached me.

  “If I am to be slain, or you,” he said, “then know that I would gladly give my life for yours. I have found my life because of you and would trade it for yours without a thought.”

  I studied his eyes for a long moment, seeing there an honor he had never given me before. More than honor. Losing Saba would be as painful as losing Judah.

  The thought surprised me. I couldn’t deny how close we were—after so much time with him by my side, I depended on him for more than guidance.

  But I loved Judah.

  I removed my hand from his chest.

  “Forgive me, Saba. Forgive me.”

  Chapter Five

  PREPARATIONS WERE UNDERWAY for one last feast at my request, for I had decided that we would march with bellies full, confident of many more feasts to come. All of the children would be bathed, even if the same basin of water was used to wash many, spilling not a drop on the sand. I wanted them clean and smiling, for celebration was always a delight to them.

  The morning after the council’s decision was announced, Habib was placed in charge of securing all weapons, each delivered to a large cache prepared on the south side of our camp. After verbose discussion the men had come to peace with the notion of forsaking their “right arm,” as they called their swords and daggers. Had anything like it ever been seen in the desert? Never!

  One by one, drawing courage from those who’d gone before them, they solemnly approached the great pit, kissed each of their blades, and carefully laid them in the sand as they might a treasure.

  I had left this ceremony and was with Saba in Fahak’s tent, discussing the best strategy for marching with so many young and elderly, and so few camels for them to ride, when Talya burst in, running.

  “Mother!”

  I glanced up. He was pointing to the north.

  “Camels! Many!”

  Saba leaped to his feet and I joined him, gripping his elbow. Together we raced to the top of the dune near my own tent where Talya had seen. My camel, Zahwah, was couched in the shade.

  They stretched across the flat sands to the north, hundreds abreast, moving at an easy pace. It could only be army, for caravans traveled in a single column.

  “Thamud,” Saba said.

  I whirled to Zahwah and grabbed her lead. “Talya, to Saba! Summon the council members.”

  I quickly gathered my dress and flung my leg over my camel, already clucking my tongue. “Up, up, Zahwah.” I tugged as she protested and rose to her feet.

  “Maviah—”

  “Tell only the elders—we must not spread panic! Bring them to me at the northern flat.”

  TWENTY OF US arranged ourselves abreast on the sand, I in the middle, seated upon my white camel with my dark dress flowing in the breeze. My long, dark hair was loose as I faced a wind that portended this coming storm of Thamud. They approached at a steady trot, hundreds wide and three or four deep. Banners of the red-and-yellow crest flapped high above those who rode at the center.

  My heart was in my throat as their faces came into clear view—Saman bin Shariqat and his son, Kahil. And there with them, my half brother, Maliku.

  Had they come with a thirst for blood? Saba had seen many dead upon the sand.

  “No one will speak but Maviah,” Saba said to my left. “Not a word.”

  “This is business for men,” Fahak said.

  “Not for men who hold no swords. Hold your tongue and let your queen gain us favor or you will deal with me.”

  It was enough to bind the elder’s pride, but Fahak didn’t know how to remain silent for long any more than a lion knew how to leave its head buried in the sand.

  Saba turned on his mount. “Remember Yeshua’s words, my queen. This is only another storm on a forgotten wind. See with new eyes.”

  Those words flooded my mind. Why are you afraid, Daughter? See with my eyes. Calm the storm. Walk upon these waters.

  Father…Open the eyes of my heart to see as you see.

  I could see only the storm:

  Saman, now slowing his camel to a walk, looming close.

  The plodding hooves of a thousand camels bearing warriors dressed for war. Swords and daggers glinted in the sun at their sides.

  Kahil, the one who’d killed my son and then blinded me, his dark eyes staring into my soul like a hawk eyeing its prey.

  Maliku, my half brother, whose betrayal had led to the slaughter of so many.

  Father…

  Kahil lifted his right hand, and the sea of Thamud pulled up to a thudding halt.

  My heart raced.

  I fixed my eyes on Kahil, returning his glare with pointed disinterest. The knowledge that I had nothing to fear from him filled my mind. He was ruled by bitterness, I by acceptance. He, then, was the slave of this harsh taskmaster called earth, not I. For I was in the world but not of it.

  And yet I still felt fear, because in that moment I did not know it as Saba spoke of knowing. Did he know? Was he at peace?

  Saman stared at me, curious. A camel to my right roared, followed by a haunting calm. To a man, the Thamud stared at our small group clad in little more than rags.

  “So…” Saman gave me a short nod. “This is the woman they would call queen of the sands.”

  I sat still.

  “And there is Fahak by her side,” he said, glancing at the elder to my right. “Thamud by blood and yet slave to a woman born in shame to a whore.”

  Fahak spat to one side but held his tongue.

  “My son says we should enter your Garden of Peace and assist the women with their bleeding.” His insult could not be mistaken, for it was believed throughout the world that all women were born lesser because they could not control their blood, which was the source of all life.

  “You have only eight thousand men,” he continued. “All mangy dogs.”

  “You underestimate pure Bedu blood,” I said.

  He hesitated, for it was well known that even a common Bedu warrior could fell a hundred men. And perhaps he remembered that I had once cut him and brought down his horse with nothing more than a dagger.

 
; “And still vastly outnumbered,” he said.

  “Would a Bedu sheikh of such high standing as you slaughter so many?” I asked in a low voice. “Already your son has taken mothers and fathers from thousands of children. Or does he suggest you drink the blood of children as well?”

  A wicked smile crept over Saman’s face. “She can speak with clever words.”

  “She speaks only on my behalf,” Fahak said, unable to restrain himself.

  Saba cut their exchange short. “We have no desire for blood.”

  “No,” Saman said. “Because in this desire you all would meet the gods by the setting of the sun. Even so, I hear your queen can also wield a sword.” He drilled me with a stare of curiosity. “Perhaps you would pit yourself against my son and settle all of this absurdity without subjecting your slaves to an early death.”

  “I desire no blood,” I said. “Only the freedom of my father and Judah, and honorable repayment for the blood Kahil has spilled in the sands, unprovoked.”

  Kahil spat to one side. “She should be sliced, like her father.”

  A pool of emotion rose from deep within me at this news of Rami’s death. I had longed to honor my father, however much he’d wounded me. I still desired him to see the daughter he’d thrown away seated in high standing among his own people.

  The sound of pounding hooves on the flat behind me cut my thoughts short. All but Saba turned to see the brown camel racing toward us, whipped into a full gallop by its frenzied rider.

  It was Arim, the young warrior who served me with an unabashed heart. Arim, with drawn sword waving in the air, headdress flowing in the wind.

  “Back, you fool!” Fahak shouted, arms waving.

  Jashim joined in. “Get back!”

  Fahak’s camel startled and stomped sideways to make room as Arim rushed in, reining his mount to an abrupt halt alongside me.

  “You will not touch my queen!” he cried, sword extended at Saman. “You will not insult Maviah, for I am her slave and I will slaughter a thousand Thamud if they approach! Her god, Yeshua, will use my arm to cut any jackal who even threatens his chosen one!”

  The intrusion was so sudden and bold that none could quickly respond. The sheikhs were surely outraged—none more than Fahak, because Arim found his courage in Fahak’s own tent as part of the same clan.