“I won’t whip you,” Jebel promised. “Now tell me what you were going to say.”
“I have seen some of your history books,” Tel Hesani said. “Their records stretch back no more than several hundred years, telling of your wars with the Um Nekhele and your other neighbors. But in the time before that, they claim there was only chaos in this part of the world.
“That’s not true. For thousands of years the Um Kheshabah ruled the land south of the al-Attieg, and Abu Saga too. We were the most ruthless, all-conquering race ever. We invented sea travel, mining techniques, and much more. We developed weapons of great destruction, which have since, praise God, been eliminated. Your people were our slaves. We crushed anyone who stood up to us.
“Nobody is sure how long we ruled Makhras,” Tel Hesani went on as Jebel trembled with rage. “Maybe three thousand years. Like all empires, ours crumbled in the end. But the difference between us and other tyrants was that we allowed it to crumble.”
The slave brought his hands together, the way he did when he was praying. “Power changed us. When we had conquered this world, we were free to spend time thinking about the next. Great prophets walked among us, but they were the humblest of men. They told us the path to happiness lay not in war but peace. Conquering the world was a simple thing; commanding one’s spirit was the real challenge.
“We put our weapons away, retreated from the lands we had conquered, and let other races rise. We tried to govern them at first, but that was arrogant of us. No man has the right to impose his rule upon another. In the end we left them to their own devices and begged God’s forgiveness for all the sorrow we had caused.”
Tel Hesani fell silent. For several minutes Jebel could only seethe silently. Finally, when he could trust himself to speak, he hissed, “Lies! Your people are curs and always have been.”
“Perhaps,” Tel Hesani said. “Who can truly claim to know the secrets of the past? Maybe my people invented those tales to make our hardships seem less like divine justice and more a choice of our own making.”
“The Um Kheshabah—rulers of Makhras?” Jebel sneered. “You can’t even rule your own country. Other nations launch raid after raid, stealing your crops, your gems, your people, and there’s nothing you can do to stop them.”
“I disagree,” Tel Hesani said softly. “We could form an army and fight. But we believe it is wrong to wage war, so we don’t.”
“Nonsense,” Jebel snorted. “You don’t fight because you’re cowards.”
“I am no coward,” Tel Hesani growled, then leaned forward. “Do you think I want my wife and children to spend their lives as slaves? Do you think I want my grandchildren to be born in captivity, subject to the cruel whims of their owners? I do not. But I want to displease God even less. So I avoid battle, no matter what the cost to me… my people… my family.
“Like many Um Kheshabah, I am often tempted to unite with others of my kind and strike back, to rebel in Wadi and other places where we are held unjustly, to wage war on those who have treated us so abominably. But I believe that I would lose the love of my God if I willingly killed others. The easy way is not always the right way. Sometimes, in pursuit of a greater peace, a man must stand by and let those he loves suffer the injustices of men who care only about their own beliefs and nothing about the faith or feelings of others—even when it pains him to the very core of his spirit.”
With that, a heavyhearted Tel Hesani got to his feet and went down to the river to fetch water. When he returned, Jebel was busy cleaning his weapons, with his back turned to the slave, and the pair said nothing further to each other that day.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Within days they had left civilization behind. The land was soft and marshy underfoot. Only arrowlike reeds and clouds of dark green choking weeds grew by the banks of the river and for miles in every direction. Many small streams fed into the as-Surout. Pools of stagnant water were common, as was quicksand.
Tel Hesani took the lead at first, walking slowly, testing the ground with a firm stick. But on the fifth morning, when Jebel had eaten and was ready to depart, the slave said, “You should walk ahead of me from this point.”
Jebel regarded Tel Hesani suspiciously. They hadn’t spoken much since the slave’s heretical rant. He wondered if this was a plot to get rid of him. They were all alone. There was nobody to rescue Jebel if the slave betrayed him.
Tel Hesani saw what Jebel was thinking and smiled grimly. “I am only concerned about your safety. The ground has become less trustworthy. I suggest we tie ourselves together, so if one of us falls into quicksand, the other can drag him out.”
“But why do you want me to go in front?” Jebel asked.
“I am heavier than you, my lord, and—with respect—stronger. It would be easier for me to haul you out than it would be for you to rescue me.”
Jebel couldn’t argue with that, so after they’d connected themselves with a firm rope, he set off through the swampland. He moved slowly, testing each piece of ground, not wanting to trust himself to the rope and the slave.
Despite his caution, later that day he took a step and felt the ground give way. Before he could leap to safety, he was up to his knees in quicksand and sinking swiftly. “Help!” he roared. “I’m going under! Tel Hesani! Get me out! Get me—”
“Quiet,” Tel Hesani said, standing his ground and slowly pulling on the rope. “Lie back and stretch your arms out.”
“But I’ll go under!” Jebel shrieked.
“No, you won’t. I am in charge of the situation. Trust me.”
The slave’s calm tone settled Jebel’s nerves. Breathing raggedly, he stopped thrashing, let himself tilt backwards, and stretched out his arms. For a couple of seconds the quicksand sucked at his head, and he thought his time had come, that Rakhebt Wadak, the solemn boatman of death, had set his sights on collecting Jebel Rum’s spirit. But then he felt the strain of the rope as Tel Hesani pulled, and soon he was sliding out of the quicksand’s deadly embrace, onto firm land.
When Tel Hesani let go of the rope, Jebel stood. He was shaking with fear and from the cold, clammy quicksand. Tel Hesani handed him a towel. When he was done with his face and hands, Jebel started to take off his tunic.
“I would not recommend that, my lord,” Tel Hesani said.
“But I’m filthy. I must change into fresh clothes and—”
“You may fall prey to another pit today,” said Tel Hesani. “Perhaps several. If you change every time, you’ll soon have no clean clothes left.”
“You want me to march like this?” Jebel grunted, waving a hand at his muck-encrusted tunic.
“I suggest you endure the hardships of the road, young master. This is part of a traveler’s lot.”
Jebel grumbled, then wiped the worst of the mess from his legs. Tossing the soiled towel back at Tel Hesani, he steered around the quicksand and led them forward again, slower than before, testing each patch of ground twice now.
The hardships increased every day. There were more pits… hidden pools covered with weeds that gave way and sent Jebel plummeting into bitingly cold water… vines overgrown with grass, which snagged his feet and tripped him.
They hit the dreaded mosquito belt, and within hours both were covered in bites and hives. Jebel slapped the mosquitoes at first, but they struck so frequently, and they came in such numbers, that soon he gave up and let them bite. Tel Hesani knew plants that could be applied to soothe the pain and others that drove some of the mosquitoes away, but for the most part they had to suffer the attacks.
Four days after entering the belt, Jebel had never felt so miserable. His left arm had swelled below the elbow from a particularly virulent bite. His eyelids were puffed up and he could barely see. They’d run out of food and had to hunt for their meals. All they had found that morning were frogs, and as disgusting as they were, Jebel had to eat them or go hungry. Worse would come later. Tel Hesani lit a fire in the morning and cooked the frogs, but they couldn’t light fires at
night—the flames might draw larger, deadlier predators. They would have to eat raw frogs for supper.
“I don’t know how much more of this I can take,” Jebel muttered as they hacked through a thick stretch of reeds. As well as the hives, his legs and arms had been cut in many places, and some of the wounds were infected. Tel Hesani was keeping a close eye on the boy’s injuries, but there was only so much he could do for his young ward—he was suffering as well and had to tend to himself.
“It’s hard,” Tel Hesani agreed, picking a thumb-sized insect out of his beard and flicking it away. “Masters Bush and Blair had the right idea. Only a madman travels by foot through here.”
“How much farther is it?” Jebel asked, but Tel Hesani only shrugged. “I wish we’d gone by Abu Safafaha. I’d rather have my head cut off by a savage than die a slow death from mosquito bites.”
Tel Hesani chuckled. “Right now I agree with you. But we’ll think differently once we clear this infernal swamp. Our suffering might seem eternal, but it isn’t.”
A few days later, Jebel spotted his first alligator. He had seen alligators in Wadi, but they’d been captured and caged. This was his first time seeing one in the wild.
“Look!” he gasped. They seemed much bigger than those he’d seen before.
“I’ve been expecting them,” Tel Hesani said, shading his eyes from the sun and studying the land ahead. “I thought we’d run into them sooner. Hunters must have driven them north. They used to be common all the way down to Shihat.”
“What are we going to do?” Jebel asked.
“Skirt around them,” Tel Hesani said. “We could avoid them completely if we cut due west, but that would mean fighting our way through swamp even worse than this, filled with mosquitoes twice the size.”
“But aren’t alligators dangerous?” Jebel asked.
“They usually keep to the riverbanks,” said Tel Hesani.
Jebel was dubious and insisted on marching behind Tel Hesani from then on. He would rather lose his slave to quicksand than be eaten by a hungry alligator!
The alligators popped up more frequently the farther they progressed, and snakes too. The snakes were actually more dangerous. You could spot an alligator if you were alert, but snakes hid in the reeds and slithered across the bottom of the swamp. You could find yourself in a knot of Makhras’s most poisonous reptiles and not know it until they started biting.
Tel Hesani had bought trousers for Jebel in Abu Aineh and made him wear them now. He’d also purchased thick boots for both of them, which covered their legs up to their knees, protecting the areas most prone to attacks.
Jebel hated the trousers and boots—he’d worn a tunic and sandals all his life, which were much more comfortable. But when he studied his boots at the end of the first day and found gouges where snakes had struck unknown to him, he stopped complaining and even slept with them on.
Tel Hesani told Jebel the names of many of the snakes. He also told the boy about their habits and life span. Jebel wasn’t particularly interested, but it helped the time pass a bit quicker, so he let Tel Hesani babble on and listened with one ear while keeping both eyes on the ground ahead of him.
Several days after sighting their first alligator, as Tel Hesani was telling him about a giant snake that could swallow a person whole, they chanced upon a small village nestled in a clump of trees and reeds. They’d seen a few settlements before, in the distance, surrounded by large fences. The questers had avoided them, since it was common knowledge that people crazy enough to live in these swamps were hostile to strangers and routinely speared passersby.
But this was different. The village stood in the open, apparently unprotected. Tel Hesani assumed there must be a pit around the perimeter, filled with tinder that could be quickly ignited in case of an attack. But he saw no such pit as he studied the village, nor nets, nor traps. It looked like it was open to the elements, at the mercy of the cold-blooded reptiles of the swamp.
The huts were small, with reeds for roofs, and most were built around the stunted trees that were common here. The doorways were unbarred. Children played and chased each other. Several women were baking in a clearing at the center. Others swept out huts or sat talking. They all wore long skirts and no blouses. They had short hair, no longer than a man’s. Many had what looked like scarves wrapped around their necks, but when Jebel saw one of the “scarves” move, he realized they were actually live snakes.
Jebel nudged Tel Hesani and pointed at the snakes, but the slave had already seen them. He was more interested in the men. One was working on the roof of a hut, but the others were gathered around a fire at the end of the village. They were sitting on what seemed to be logs, but Tel Hesani had spent enough time in the swamp to know the difference between a log and a reptile. The men were in fact sitting on alligators. As he watched, he saw some of them pick bits of food from between the alligators’ teeth, polish their scales, and check their claws and limbs.
“I don’t like this,” Jebel whispered. “Let’s move on.”
“Wait,” Tel Hesani said. “These people are strange. I want to study them.”
“Well, I don’t,” Jebel growled. “If they see us, we’re dead. Let’s back off nice and slowly before…” He drew to a halt, eyes bulging out of their swollen sockets. A huge snake was gliding towards them. It looked like it could swallow both man and boy at the same time. Jebel went into a blind panic and fell backwards with a scream. Tel Hesani also lost control and retreated hastily.
The snake slid closer. Jebel fumbled at his scabbard for his sword, but his fingers missed the hilt. Tel Hesani reached for a pair of knives, knowing he’d stand a better chance fighting at close quarters when he was within stabbing range of the snake’s eyes. But before either had a chance to strike, a girl darted ahead of them and threw herself on the snake’s head. Jebel turned and ran, but Tel Hesani lunged after the girl, his fatherly instincts kicking in. Then he felt arms encircle him.
Tel Hesani struggled, but the man holding him muttered in his ear, “Be with peace. We do not harm you.”
The Um Kheshabah paused. The snake was raising its head so that the girl could crawl beneath and tickle its lower jaw. Tel Hesani relaxed, and the man holding him let go. When Tel Hesani turned, he saw that the man was smiling. “We do not harm you,” he said again, then pointed at Jebel, who was still running. “He afraid,” the man laughed.
“He’s only a boy,” Tel Hesani said, returning the man’s smile. He put his fingers to his lips and whistled sharply. Jebel didn’t hear, so Tel Hesani whistled again, then a third time. The final whistle penetrated, and Jebel glanced over his shoulder. When he saw Tel Hesani standing with the villager, and the child playing with the snake, he made a face and stomped back to the slave’s side.
As Jebel reached Tel Hesani, he put his hands together and bowed to the man from the village, then at those who’d followed him—most of the villagers now stood close by. “Greetings,” Jebel said stiffly.
The man nodded. “Peace,” he said, then pointed at the snake. “You need not be afraid. She would not harm you.”
Jebel forced a shaky smile, then told the villager their names.
“I Moharrag,” the man replied, tapping his throat. “I welcome you. No need to fear here. Safe.” Then he led them into the village, clapping at the women and barking an order in his own language, telling them to prepare a meal for their guests and to keep the larger snakes and alligators away from the young one—he looked like a chick that had hatched to find a cat standing over it!
The village was called Khathib. The um Khathib didn’t record time as other tribes did, so they couldn’t say how long the village had been here, but they told Jebel and Tel Hesani that it had been going strong for eight generations. They didn’t have much to do with outsiders but had forged links with some river traders who’d docked close to the village by chance. It was from the traders that Moharrag and a few others had picked up the language of the civilized countries. Moharrag couldn
’t communicate fluently, but they could make sense of most of what he said.
The um Khathib lived in harmony with the alligators and snakes. Unlike the rest of the swamp’s human inhabitants, they chose not to fight the natural order but instead embraced it. Over many years they’d learned the ways of the fierce reptiles and formed a bond with them. It had been hard—many um Khathib had died—but they’d persevered and eventually come to be accepted by the animals. They helped the alligators and snakes find food, nursed their young, and patched up their wounds. Occasionally an irritated alligator bit someone, or a hungry snake made off with a baby, but such assaults were rare.
“I don’t understand,” Jebel said, biting into a strip of fishlike meat. “Why live here at all? Abu Nekhele is huge. There’s plenty of safe land elsewhere.”
“This our home,” Moharrag explained. “We part of swamp. We become animals when we die.”
“Do you know what he’s talking about?” Jebel asked Tel Hesani.
“I think so,” the slave answered. “Certain people believe that the world holds a limited number of spirits, which die and are reborn, some as humans, others as animals. The life you lead influences how you return. Good people come back as revered animals, while evil people return, for instance, as insects.”
“Nonsense,” Jebel snorted, but quietly, so as not to offend his hosts. “People can’t be reborn. We perish away to nothing or serve the gods in the heavens when we die.”
“So you believe, my lord. The um Khathib believe otherwise.”
“Does your god let the dead return to Makhras?” Jebel asked.
“No,” Tel Hesani said.
“Then you agree with me—it’s madness.”
Tel Hesani shrugged. “I do not mock the beliefs of others. This world is large enough for a thousand religions. Every race has the right to its own.”
“But don’t you want to correct them?” Jebel asked. “If you believe your god is the only god, don’t you want others to recognize that?”