The hour of the stranger is of scarce dwelling place,

The night of the lonely is rife with melancholy

—Sami Yusuf, Wherever You Are (Arabic version)

Binyamin skirted the training camp, crossing the frescoed spill of copper lantern lights on night-shaded sand. His fingers splayed and clenched once at his side. On his way to the sideless tent when Hakem stood watch, he glanced sideways at whistle of arrows hitting their mark and the clash of swords to his right.

The quality of his knights' performance, usually an automatic assessment, drowned under the cloud of his thoughts tonight.

When he posted himself beside Hakem, sharing in his vantage point, Hakem's piqued curiosity rattled its tail with as much discretion as propriety would have it—clear brown eyes flitting to Binyamin's gold-filtered profile a couple of times, then staying there.

'What happened?' He asked. 'Who was that girl?'

Silence.

'Ya Za'eem?' Hakem pushed.

'A thing that grew in the ashes.' Binyamin said. 'Tell me I am not mistaken in taking her from it.'

'You are not mistaken—taking her? What—who do you mean?'

'Al Ramad's bint e'sheikh.'

'I must be misunderstanding your intentions.' Hakem frowned, shaking his head in disbelief.

'You are not.' Binyamin said so softly Hakem did not react at once.

Then his eyes flashed with hard disapproval as he turned away from the training knights, facing Binyamin's closed mien.

'Hadn't you rightly refused an alliance with Al Ramad? Surely they are an unworthy tribe—they pretend their money can buy them the right to sin in impunity—they took the life of our brother! They killed what grew in his wife's womb! How can we form an alliance with these wrongdoers?'

'Calm yourself, Hakem. I have never changed my opinion of their worth. If anything, it has been further consolidated after tonight.'

'Then what changed? Please explain to me, for I do not understand.'

Binyamin cast his eyes downward, as though the answer would crawl up from a sand gallery like a jewel scarab and exempt him from having to explain. He did not care for explaining.

'Nothing changed.' He said eventually. 'They send me their young sheikha—unprotected from the wild animals and bandits that lurk to the north, cowardly men that they are—and I accept her proposal.'

'But ya za'eem! Al Sawad do not want a Ramadi sheikha! If I had known you wished for a wife, I would have found you the best woman of Al Sawad, or of Al Zain, where the women are known for their beauty!'

'I did not wish for a wife.' Binyamin said. 'And you forget, Hakem. Mine is not a blood succession. I was chosen for my advantage in body and mind. If anyone wants to take the reins of this tribe, they are welcome to surpass me. Do you think anyone will try?'

'No, your tribe loves you, you put our community's needs first, but I fear that a feeling of betrayal will grow after this.' Hakem said ruefully. 'I happen to know that Al Sawad's unmarried young women look at you with great hope in their eyes. How disconsolate will they be to see you prefer the enemy's daughter over them? A merchant princess is ill-suited to live amongst us, Binyamin—you know this better than anyone.'

'I have not seen a princess, but a young fighter.' Binyamin said. 'She is from Al Ramad, but not of them—not in spirit.'

'What do you mean?'

'She is a white knight of Yaqqut, which means her tribe sent her there at an early age.'

'She is a female knight? Ya lil 'ajab!'

'She has something I recognize in her force, a signature in her verve, a carelessness, a desperation, the disorderly bid to prove herself, excesses that must go to waste under the leader of Yaqqut—he only knows to stifle what he does not understand. I will not regret uprooting her form his barren terrain.'

'That does remind me of someone.' Hakem tilted his head meaningfully at Binyamin. 'And you believe your marriage to her will be good for our tribe?'

'She offers to train our women—we need it. The marauders beyond this mountain are being armed by those who want to take our desert and seize our oil.' A rough exhale tumbled out of his lips. 'I will not let Faisal's death be in vain. Through Al Ramad we will no longer lack in weaponry. We will take what he went for, inshaa'lah.'

There was a short silence before Hakem nodded slowly.

'When do you go to Al Ramad?' He asked.

'A week from now, inshaa'lah.'

'Then I must go with you.'

'Before that,' Binyamin said, 'I need you to send a female of your kin to kheemat e'niswan and see if it is lacking in food or water or warm covers. Tomorrow, ride behind bint e'sheikh until she passes the perilous routes unharmed—do not let her see you.'

Hakem crossed his arms behind his back.

'Understood. I will ask my sister to check on her—what shall I tell her is her name?'

'What?'

'Her name, ya za'eem.'

'I do not know it.' Binyamin frowned, as though realizing this for the first time.

At this, Hakem turned to leave, a hidden smile playing at the corner of his mouth. Binyamin stepped into the field and called his knights to attention.

'Enough kitten play.' He said, picking up a wooden pole and stepping in front of his youngest knight—the one who had seen Faisal die. 'Get up, Qasem. We are only as strong as our weakest knight. Is that you?'

Qasem jumped leanly to his feet, grabbing his sword from the sand and pushing his opponent out of the way.

'I bet you can't disarm me tonight, ya Za'eem.' He said, flashing his teeth cockily.

'Don't run your mouth at me.' Binyamin said, chasing the ghost of his bint e'sheikh-shaped distractions as he raised his dark eyes from the wooden weight in his palm to Qasem. 'Show me.'

oOo

After isha, Reyhanna felt her bones thaw as she sank onto the majlis' padded seating, finding a wool cover to wrap around herself. Now she was hot—too hot, and sleepy. Were other people hot in their tents too, or was it just her? Was it something in Al Sawad's air that made the night so cold and the inside of the tent so toasty? Was it the spicy cuisine of the serving of meat and soup that had been brought to her by that nice woman? Had that nice woman seen her enter and acted on her own accord, or had she been sent? Who should have sent her, then?

Who else? Whispered a mischievous voice.

She melted onto a pillow sulkily and closed her eyes.

His bare forearms.

She frowned, pushing the cover off her shoulders to breathe. It didn't help. They were emblazoned in her memory, sinewy, corded, crossing right under a silver embroidered cut that opened on his chest. She curled her legs up tightly, her braided hair roping endlessly down her side. Did he use them to lift trunks of mountain wood? What happened when they lifted smaller things? Was there ever a bird that thought them solid enough to nest on? Was he a falconer? What if he held her, one day, by accident? Would she snap in half, like a twig?

Reyhanna kicked off the cover and reached for the cup of water that had been poured to her earlier. Was she feverish? She drank deeply and slumped back on the mattress. Who wouldn't be feverish after asking the chieftain of Al Sawad to marry them, all while proceeding to hold his dark gaze to affect confidence? He had agreed, too. Why had he agreed? Would she have agreed to herself if she were him? What a silly question. She should sleep and think of nothing. Her next thought was that she knew terribly little about marriage. She vaguely understood the need for it—security for women, lineage for men. Sometimes, she wondered if her own parents had been married, and if so, why they decided to reject their lineage.

She blinked at the tent in the dying candle light. It was rather well-equipped, she mused sleepily, with soap and ample water and a small shovel that had come in handy during her discrete trip to relieve herself. A kind woman she recognized form the mosque had kindly pointed her to a deserted spot close enough on horseback, though Reyhanna intrepidly went scavenging on foot. The woman had explained that in Al Sawad, women always went accompanied to sate their bowels—that if she hadn't been so scared of the night, she would have gone with her. Reyhanna supposed that it made sense, what with the vulnerability of it all, but the concept of being that cushioned from the external dangers was foreign to her—she was abraded and callused through and through—the least princess-like in the whole of Al Sawad, she firmly suspected, though she would do well to keep this observation to herself indefinitely.

A chill prickled down her back. Before her mind could begin weaving more fanciful nonsense, she slipped back under the cover and willed herself to fall asleep. And she did—eventually.

oOo

When she walked to Baqqa at sunup, Reyhanna found her mare mysteriously loaded with small provisions fit for her journey back to Al Ramad.

'I thought you didn't let other people approach you?' She accused her horse.

Baqqa neighed defensively. Reyhanna allowed herself a grateful smile—safely secured beneath her shemagh. 'Ah, they gave you a snack. Of course, such is the price of your loyalty.' She patted her mane. 'I hope you will like it here.' She paused, wondering who she was addressing—herself or Baqqa. 'Come,' she said decisively. 'if we rush, we may reach Al Ramad by zenith, inshaa'lah'

Baqqa trotted in place enthusiastically, darting off as soon as her rider bestrode her saddle.

'What did they give you?' Reyhanna squealed, her laughter pealing in the air. 'Ya marha, someone's fired up!'

Behind them, the shadow of a dark horse set imperceptibly on their trail.

oOo

Two news waited for Reyhanna in Al Ramad. The first was that the chieftain lived, all praise to the one god. The second was that Rashed had officially passed from sight. Reyhanna did not grieve for the second—though it was odd, seeing the circumstances of his disappearance. She chose to think of it as divine justice being meted out.

The chieftain was too weak to move, he could barely talk, but she saw the joy in his eyes when she swept inside his tent like an avenging angel and declared that Al Sawad would be ceasing its boycott. Joy, and a haunted sadness that snaked around her, thick with unspoken regret that dug deeper than she could understand at that moment. Then rose the rejoicing rumble of the elders, the youth, and the children, booming in the tribe alleys as the word spread, scattering the settled gloom to the idle winds—like a pall lifting off recovering life. It was enough for Reyhanna that, at one point of her life, she had caused a small rebirth for Al Ramad.

For the following days, she was paraded around like an anointed savior being shipped off to war. Everyone had a word of praise to give her, and some looked at her with pity—a look of which her earlier recollections of this tribe had been replete. She was dragged in and out of tents of well-wishers of all social standings. A wealthy woman even gave her a silken frock that slipped off her saber-roughened hands, her clumsy fingers not knowing how to hold it still. Ruqqayah invited her to her mother's tent and held her hands and thanked her sincerely—there was a young man from Al Salem who wanted to marry her. Thanks to Reyhanna's sacrifice, they now could. Reyhanna attempted to decline all gifts after being forcefully equipped with a first crescent necklace but Ruqqayah only thrust three more silver bracelets into Reyhanna's finery-illiterate hands with an ease that was negligently royal before sweeping away like a sylph in the breeze.

Then, as her marriage's success became a tacit, rallying project of Al Ramad, everyone had something to teach the bride-to-be. From Faiza showing her how to make honey and rosewater pastries to women she had never met coaching her to look through her lashes and throwing incriminating opinions of her smile—forced and artless, they said—everyone and their mother insisted on lending her some type of interest that would ensnare her future husband. But her gawking ignorance of the female guiles drew disapproving sighs at every turn. 'Do not let him turn his gaze from you. You have beauty, pretty almond eyes, be coquettish. I beg you, for our sake, learn to place him under your thumb.' Enjoined a worried merchant woman who packed dazzling ornaments on her bosom and ten gold bracelets on each wrist.

When it became clear that plying her with subtle hints was as useful as spilling water on hot sand, the women conspired to truss Reyhanna up one afternoon while she cluelessly spaced out in front of Zakia's tent and threw her inside the tent of a 'learned one' that specialized in prepping newlyweds. It was the day before the beginning of the wedding preparations, and she found herself standing stupidly in front of an imposing woman of an uncertain age—she was not conventionally beautiful, but she had excessive charm, with rippling black hair and witty black eyes.

'You are the one they call a guileless egg.' The woman began. 'Rather pretty, for an egg.'

'Ah—pardon?'

'Let us begin. Take a seat, you shall need it.'

Reyhanna sat down obediently. She had no idea what she was about to endure.

'My name is Hanaan. My job is to advise young brides in matters of intimacy. Chapter one, the wedding night.'

Reyhanna's eyes widened like the bowl of dates lying listlessly beside her knees. It would remain untouched for the rest of the unfortunate seance.

'Are you aware of what takes place between a married couple, child?'

'Ah...'

'Are you aware that male anatomy and female anatomy are created to click when—'

'Yes, yes! I know that!' Reyhanna slurred quickly, her words crashing into one another like a painful accident. 'I have seen—ah—naked baby boys. Please do not explain further.'

'Very well. Whatever happens between the newlyweds on their first night together, meaning, whether the marriage is consummated or not, it is advised for a husband not to leave his bride's side in bed for at least a week.'

'A week?!' Reyhanna screeched.

'Of course, how else will you get used to him? Your natural jumpiness must be tempered for both of your sakes. Now, if the man is gentle, as he should be, you will not dislike it. When he confines you, you will discover the throes of passion in his arms—'

'What?!' Reyhanna cried. 'No, no listen, this is a political marriage, I will be an employed trainer, nothing more, there is no discovering anything—'

'Let me finish.' Hanaan chided. 'As I was saying, if you submit your body to your husband, you can experience great pleasure, and it shall grow if you love him, but take care to use your contraceptive potion if you do not want to fall pregnant right away. Though as a Ramadi, with Rashed gone, I desire to see an heir from you to secure the rule over our tribe, as a woman, I advise you to not rush into mothering tots. Not until you have established and strengthened your standing within that tribe first, and most importantly, secured your husband's affection.'

'I don't understand.' Reyhanna frowned pettishly. 'What do you mean by pleasure? How is submitting to anyone pleasurable? Isn't it a painful trial that women must endure?'

Hanaan smiled.

'Not by a far cry, my child. Some say that a woman's enjoyment in the act of lying beneath her husband surpasses his own if she lusts for him. If a man is god-fearing, he will please his wife and she in turn will wish to please him, as there is great reward from Allah in lawful intercourse. It is indeed a blessed act.'

'A blessed...act...?' Reyhanna stuttered with flaming cheeks.

'And is it not god that created pleasure as he did pain? Whoever is better acquainted with the human heart than he who fashioned it? You must know the verse that describes a wife and her husband as each other's garments. Married lovemaking is always linguistically conceived in our scripture as an enjoyment of one another. Mutual and consensual.'

'Then can I refuse?'

'Your husband cannot force you, for it is a great sin, but he can seduce you. If you continue to reject him without a valid reason, however, you will cause him great pain, and displease god, who created him whole and able and brought him to you in this mighty covenant as your protector and as your lover and, god willing, the father of your children.'

'What if neither of us want children? What if we decide on a celibate marriage?' Reyhanna asked, panic ringing clear in her voice. 'If there is no...interest or...attraction?'

'It is indeed at the newlyweds discretion to decide of their arrangement, though in your case, at least one child needs to be born so that our two tribes can be bound by blood. But my child, no attraction...? You have not stopped blushing since the moment I opened my mouth.'

Reyhanna began to stutter an unintelligible denial. 'N-no, the sun on my face—earlier—when I was—it shone and—' She paused, recouping her wits. 'He did not accept to marry me until I offered to work. I have nothing to fear, I am sure he is just as uninterested. Thank you for your—wisdom—but I must get going, now.'

The woman laughed.

'Have I made you uncomfortable? Ah my sweet. You are not the first maiden I have prepped. I recognize your anxiety, your restlessness—it is most common. It shall all be a thing of the past once you marry, if your husband is a pious man and obeys god and his messenger in honoring you as his wife, clothing you when he clothes himself, and feeding you when he feeds himself, and preserving his covenant with god through you, you have nothing to fear from him. Not a hypocrit, but a truly god-conscious man. Now fly, I shall not keep you, as these are things you shall come to know by yourself, god willing. Unless you would like explanations concerning contraception? We have not discussed that.'

'No. It will be severely unnecessary.'

'Hum. Should you ever change your mind—'

But Reyhanna was already straightening to her feet and speaking her salaam before stomping out, so visibly mortified that a group of passing girls—younger than her and obviously wiser—giggled and wagged their brows at her.

She decided to ride off to Yaqqut to clear her head. She had much to settle there before she was sucked into the wedding preparations due for the next day.

Za'eem: Leader (since Al Sawad does not have a blood succession system but is more like a tribe scraped together by a common cause, thought 'leader' would be more appropriate than 'chieftain,' at least inside the tribe itself)

kheemat e' niswan: the tent of the women

Ya marha: o joy/ how fun
Ya lil 'ajab: o wonder (what a wondrous thing)

Next up, bedouin wedding stuff!