Alexandria, Egypt 1909

Najwa felt it calling to her through the dry winds of Alexandra. Her bare feet sank into the sand, swallowing up to her ankles. Her father was bartering for four camels to travel to Cairo for trade in spices and stolen jewelry from old abandoned temples and tombs. The men who were hired were always killed in their sleep after each raid and left to water the sand with their blood. New men were hired, two Americans who agreed without question upon hearing the word treasure. It was despicable she thought, how many men volunteered as a way to get money for their families only to be murdered in the dead of night and their bodies abandoned to the elements? She felt the call again, like a sweet lullaby her mother used to sing to keep the scorpions away while the girl slept. A camel pushed Najwa forward with its muzzle, wetting her veil with its watered whiskers,as if encouraging her unforeseen aptitude to run and never return. One of the Americans spit out something dark and putrid into the sand. Debris sprayed against her colored cheek. Repugnance towards her father's compatriots swelled within her bosom, a dainty hand resting smoothly on the hilt of her jambiya*. And again, she heard the perpetually shifting of the sounds and the denseness of empty air. The American kicked the sand with his booted foot before inhaling severely and spitting again. More debris. The camel spit as well, the sound of saliva slapping against the skin of the man was delightful.

"Are you laughing at me?" the American demanded in English, drawing his pistol from its holster. Najwa frowned at his actions.

"La*," she answered in Arabic.

The American tooks three strides forward and grabbed her arm, hauling her to where her toes were well above the warm sand. The particles tickled as they slid down her tanned skin to join the test of it's body. The man's hair had fallen in front of his eyes that were a light blue, like gunmetal. He was breathing heavily from the heat sweltering heat of the desert. An advantage, she realized. The man was weary from travel. The trip from the Siwa Oasis took weeks, the trip to Cairo would be just as long, if not longer. Najwa yanked her jambiya from its scabbard in defense from the assailant. His face was tweaked into a acerbic frown. It amazed the girl how no one impeded these actions of the American man. The camel bellowed, briefly diverting his attention. She pressed the curved blade against his arm and conceded a great bite into his red-burned skin. Abruptly, Najwa was in the sand and then pulling herself onto the sweet animal who aided her. She let out an exuberant shriek as they loped out of the city gates.

The girl was slumped over the neck of Gilad, the camel she had stolen in her escape. The sun pulsed above in the sky kissing her skin with blistering lips. Her veil had fallen into the sand after the first night in the desert. It had been a week now without water and food. Her lips were cracked and dribbled tiny amounts of blood from the open flesh. Her arms slid from around Gilad's thick neck and her body fell from the animal's back onto the sand, prostration consuming her entirety. The camel stopped walked and knelt beside her, casting his shadow over the listless body.

Chieftain Humam was with three of his men when the dark shape of something became distinct in the rays of the sun. He lead his stallion, dismounting when seeing the camel who brayed at the men. His scimitar glinted in the sun as he raised the weapon in precaution of any abrupt action against him. It was startling to find the body of a girl, not much younger than his own son, lying in the sand comatose. The sword was quickly abandoned as he shouted for his men.

"Rakin," the chieftain said, "send word to the camp of another joining us. Yusri, lead her camel behind me."

One of the men urged his horse into a gallop as Humam put the girl on his stead, mounting behind her and Yusri coaxed the camel behind his own mare. They loped gently, not to distress the girl in her sleep. He saw the burns from the sun were lessened by her colored skin, but still blistered from exposure. Her feet would have to be treated carefully, infection had already set turning the blisters a hot pink and an ugly shade of yellow. It was night when the two men returned to their camp. Humam's wife was at the entryway with a bowl of water which was dropped at the sight of the unconscious girl in her husband's arms. The woman ran to him and helped bring the girl off of the stallion.

"Zawj, what happened?" she asked. The girl's head bowed back against her shoulder as her husband dismounted.

"Zawja, she needs to be treated immediately," he answered, once again carrying the girl. "Infection has set in her feet and her skin is burnt from the sun."

The Chieftain sat in front of the Council of Elders in their respective tent. The Elders were in their dark robes with scimitars across their laps. There were five Elders, originally six until one had abandoned his vows as a Medjai after he was offered his family's weight in gold for safe passage to Hamunaptra. That man was executed on sight and his family left to roam the desert with a weeks worth of water and four days worth of food, bearing the marks of betrayal so all would know. Humam's father, the chieftain before him, sat to the far left closest to a thurible with sweet smelling smoke billowing softly around the men.

"You know our laws, sayyid*," Elder Sadiq said. "She has a fortnight to leave. I suggest you tell Shameelah to hurry with the girl's healing."

Humam bowed before he stalked out of the tent, worn hands clenched tightly. The healing tent was not far from the Elder's and it did not take long to reach and enter. The smell of lavender and eucalyptus replaced that sweet smell of Nag Champa upon entrance. Shameelah was washing the girl's feet with chilled water and salts. He watched as the healer and his wife cleansed her burnt skin. Grabbing a rag from a clay bowl, Humam gently began washing sand from the girl's face, careful of her nose and severely crude lips. The sound of dripping water and the sayyidah humming an old lullaby filled the tent. There was no need to speak of the Elder's decision, it was the same for all outsiders found lost in the sea of sand unable to find their way. The Shameelah excused herself momentarily to grab more salts from her personal tent.

"She will be staying with us when she wakes, my husband," Sayyidah said after a pause between the sound of the tent. "I will take care of her until she must leave."

"You do not have to, Malika," he said in return. "I am sure Shameelah will not mind taking care of the girl."

Sayyidah Malika gave her lord husband a stern look, one he was all too familiar with. "My lord husband, I am going to take this girl back to our tent when she wakes to take of her until she must leave. Our son will be happy to stay the night in Fatimah's tent with his friend Ameen."

The chieftain chuckled. "Yes, Sayyidah*. At your request."

Across the encampment the sounds of swords filled the dry air as well as the sound of laughter. Two young men were sparring with dulled scimitar blades. One feigned right, only to go left and swept his blade under his opponent's feet. His opponent laughed, easily disarming him. The young man somersaulted away from the swing of a blade, grabbing a pole from the ground as a weapon.

"Now that is not fair, Ardeth," the other said, "your weapon is much larger than mine."

The young man laughed. "We can say that about a lot of things, Ameen."

They both laughed as Ameen lurched forward, drawing Ardeth's offensive. The two had been sparring for about an hour now, they both knew it would be a stalemate in the end, but neither would admit to it. Ameen smirked when he saw his friend's right foot off balance. With a quick slide of his left foot, Ardeth began to teeter backwards. He grabbed his friend's forearm so he wouldn't hit the hard sand, but placed the end of his blade towards his neck. "Give up?"

Ardeth laughed and pulled his friend into the sand with him, laughing loudly as his did so. "To you, my friend? Never."

Malika was wiping the girl's dark brow when she began to awaken from her sleep. The girl's eyes opened slowly, before blinking rapidly adjusting to the light. She began to sit up when the sayyidah pressed and soft hand on the girl's shoulder. "Not to much, little one. You are still weak from the heat."

The girl nodded. "I- where am I?"

"You are in an encampment of the Medjai," Malika answered sweetly. "I am Malika Bay, wife to Humam Bay, Chieftain of the Twelve Tribes. You are here as our guest for a fortnight until you must leave by our laws. Now, what is your name, qalilaan min wahid* ?"

"My mother named me Najwa," the girl answered, bowing her head in respect to the sayyidah. "I apologize if I have caused any trouble, my lady."

The woman laughed. "You have caused none, only a trifle. My husband will wish to hear of you waking. I've never seen him so concerned since I went into labor with our son. You will meet him tonight while we sup. If you would follow me, qalilaan min wahid."

Najwa nodded slowly as the woman helped her stand. She stumbled, weak in the legs from her long sleep. "I'm fine," she insisted. "I'm fine. Please, you have helped enough, sayyidah."

The two slowly walked from the healing tent together, holding each other up to the Chieftain's own where Humam was sharpening his scimitar. The whetstone was dropped with a dull thud into the sand at the sight of his lady wife and the girl entering their home. He stood quickly and helped her sit on a soft cushion.

"Thank you," Najwa said in Arabic. "Sayyid, you and your wife are very gracious, if it were not for you, I would be dead. I owe my life."

Humam chuckled, handing her a small cup of water. "You do not owe me anything, I only saw a girl who was burnt by the sun and needed assistance, that is all. My wife did all of the work."

Malika playfully pushed her husband's shoulders. "Bah, do not let him lie to you, qalilaan min wahid. Now, you are our guest, let us serve you dinner."

Najwa and Milka sat in the tent sewing holes in the pants of the warrior's clothes, speaking of history and trading stories. The sayyidah did most of their conversation, leading it from one topic to the next. The girl stopped her sewing and looked at the woman. "If I am to leave in two days time, how will I know where to go?"

"My husband and I have arranged for our son to lead you back to Cairo," Malika said. "The Elder's only said you must leave, but they did not say you could not have guidance to your destination."

The girl let out a breath remembering her first encounter with the young amyr*. She had been breathless at the sight of him, shirtless with sand across the back of his shoulders. She had seen men naked before from her father's exhibitions, but none like this. His dark eyes had stared at her for moments before he spoke to his parents about the strange girl in his seat. Najwa began to move, only to have her actions protested by Humam, telling his son to sit next to his mother. The two had been in many arguments since then in the privacy of the tent. Mainly about how Ardeth was arrogant and ignorant towards others not known to him and how Najwa was only a leech taking their scarce resources. "Could Faris be my guide in your son's place? He is much more agreeable in conversation."

"I understand that my son is hard-headed," Malika agreed, "for he is much like his father in that way, but Ardeth must learn to control is temper around those who disagree with his judgement. I have already packed for you. There is a canteen of water filled enough for a week and food for the same amount. I am sure my son will be too stubborn to accept the help of his mother, so this is also your chance to show him that he must accept the help of others."

"Yes, Sayyidah."

It was noon when Najwa and Ardeth mounted their horses and left the encampment. Malika and Humam hugged the girl tightly before giving Ardeth the warrior's farewell. They were silent in the journey, the sounds of the winds whistled in their ears and grains of sand shot at them. She felt awkward, give a clandestine look at the young man, but he glanced up, making her look away quickly with blush coloring her veil covered cheeks. Her mount began stepping quickly with excitement. A grin pulled itself from the girl's lips and she loosened her grip on the reigns, giving the mare more head. With a kick of dust, Najwa was galloping away from Ardeth laughing with exhilaration. Ardeth couldn't help but smile as he kicked his horse after the girl, a cloud of dust the only evidence he was there previously. He chased after her, slowly gaining on the palomino mare with his black stallion.

Four days later, Ardeth found himself short of water, canteen empty. His mouth was dry and tasted of sand. A touch to his elbow broke him from his thoughts. Najwa was holding her canteen towards him. It was still half-way full, plenty for the both of them with their time left in the desert. He gave a nod in thanks and relished in the drink. "Thank you, shakhs shabb*."

She nodded. "I am not much younger than you."

"But still young enough to be called as such."

Najwa grit her teeth. "You are insufferable, Arbeth Bay. How are you to lead your people when you cannot even lead me to Cairo without being an unconditional ass?"

It was the seventh day of their journey when Cairo was in the horizon. They would be in the city by nightfall, Najwa predicted. True to her word they enter the city just as the moon began to show its face. The streets were empty as peddlers closed their stalls who only momentarily paused to try to bargain with the couple as they passed. Ardeth lead the way on his stallion through the street crowded with lay bowl and papyrus woven baskets to an inn decorated with mosaic tiles depicting a waterfall with a caravan of traveling camels. He watched as the girl dismounted and ran her fingers through the mane of the mare whispering words of thanks and gratitude. He cleared his throat, cheeks dusting over a light shade of pink.

"I must be leave you now," he said. "My people need me."

Najwa nodded. "Atamnaa lak alhaz*, aymr."

"Allah yahdikum*," Ardeth said in return.

Translations:

La : No

Sayyid : My Lord

Sayyidah : My Lady

Qalilaan min wahid : Little One

Shakhs shabb : Young One

Atamnaa lak alhaz : I wish you luck.

Allah yahdikum : May God guide you.