Word Fulfilled, The (12 page)

A few inhabitants took advantage of the cooler evening temperatures to sweep away the residue from the sandstorm. One man lifted a cover from the closest well and shook a cloud of sand into the air. He peered into the hole, Jonah supposed, to assess the storm’s damage.

To his right, Jonah noticed a long wall, taller than the hovels that made up the village. In its shadow, he could see the shapes of camels shifting under their loads. Figures of men milled around the beasts, probably the drivers clearing their camp after the sandstorm. He hoped the caravan headed the same direction he was, and that he might be welcomed to join them. He would inquire the next morning, but, for now, all he could think of was rest. Nothing sounded better than to stretch out and put the day behind him in sleep. Even if there was an inn, which he doubted, his experience in Damascus tipped his decision toward another night under the stars.

Jonah found a niche in the wall not far from the caravan. A tapered mound of fine sand the wind had deposited through a breach in the wall would make a good bed. He set his staff and bags against the escarpment and began to settle. Then he stopped. He got back to his feet and kicked over the few rocks littering the ground near his resting place. Satisfied they harbored no threatening creatures, he settled back onto the sand. In spite of the unknown tomorrow would bring, he smiled to himself.
There. I’ve learned something, anyway.

Sleep came quickly and completely.

Lll

“Who?” The man leaned toward Jonah from his perch on the caravan’s lead camel.

“Akhyeshah. His name is Akhyeshah. He supplies caravans passing through Tadmor. You know, water and food.” Jonah looked for a connection in the camel driver’s eyes.

The man shook his head. “Never heard of him.”

Jonah frowned. “Tadmor is not so large. Perhaps this is your first visit?”

“Been in caravans since I was born. Father led merchants to the east his whole life. So have I.” He spit a red stream of areca nut juice onto the roadway. “I come through Tadmor once every two or three passages of the seasons.”

“Then surely you’ve resupplied here.”

“Every time.”

Jonah creased his brow. “Well, how many suppliers are there in Tadmor?”

“Two.”

“Two?”

“Two.”

Jonah stared at the ground. “Two,” he muttered.

“Two.”

“Yes, I heard you. Two.”

The man nodded. “Two.”

Jonah rolled his eyes. “But no Akhyeshah?”

“Rashad and his cousin, Khalil. They do not get along.” He shook his head. “But no Akhyeshah.”

Jonah began to reply, but all thought deserted him.

The man broke the silence. “Sorry about your friend. Perhaps you travel to the East, also?”

Jonah mumbled, “Yes. I’m going to Nineveh.”

The caravan leader flashed a red-stained toothy grin. “Ah, Nineveh. Nice city. Much rebuilding. You have been there before?”

“No.”

“Ah. Come with us. We travel your road as far as Mari. Maybe farther. We see.” He shrugged.

Jonah nodded, still lost in thought.

“You can help with the animals, and you will have company.” The grin was back.

Jonah looked up. “Thank you. Perhaps I will.” It was true it would be safer to travel with the caravan than on his own. His lack of wilderness savvy had nearly cost him his life twice already. He’d never have made it to Tadmor, if not for Akhyeshah, whoever he was. . . .

The caravan leader extended his hand. “I am Jamal.”

Jonah grasped his wrist. “I am Jonah.”

The man nodded. “Good. First, you must find good clothes.”

Jonah raised his eyebrows.

“Your cloak. Good for the mountains. Bad for the desert.”

Jonah looked down and slapped a cloud of dust from his sweat-stained garment. He shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s not so bad.”

His new guide leaned back in his saddle and let loose a throaty guffaw.

Lll

“The prophet still travels.”

“Yes, Mistress. But—”

“Is it your desire to join Edil in oblivion?”

“No! No, Mistress, I—”

“He, too, failed.”

“I will not fail, Mistress. Please—”

“Be finished with it!”

Sixteen

The Arabian Desert, East of Tadmor

Ninth Day of Simanu

onah grumbled under his breath, “If
Adonai
ever made a mistake, it was in creating the camel.”

Six days on the road since Tadmor, and Jonah resolved never to touch one of the beasts again. The morning they set out, Jamal pointed him to the animal over which he would have charge. His initial reaction was one of relief at no longer having to walk. He didn’t protest the arrangement. In fact, he was encouraged. He had experience with donkeys and goats, which should serve him well. Besides, the animal looked docile enough. He was sure the dumb beast would acknowledge him as her master, and all would go smoothly. Instead, the first time Jonah moved into range, the animal spat a wad of cud down the front of his newly acquired lightweight desert robe. Their relationship went downhill from there.

When his camel didn’t ignore him, she tried to bite him. Twin bruises still adorned Jonah’s left shoulder, reminders of the time before he became wary enough, and quick enough, to avoid her powerful jaws. All this occurred before he had mounted the camel the first time, which was also nearly his last time.

He watched the other drivers goad their camels to their front knees to enable an easy mount. That looked simple enough. Jonah turned toward his beast and likewise tapped its front legs with the tip of his staff. Nothing. He tapped a little harder. Still nothing. The next tap was a swat, and it set the camel in motion. The enraged animal belted out a guttural bellow, veered sharply, and set off at a trot. The lunging beast knocked her would-be rider into a cloud of dust. His pained backside was surpassed only by his injured ego, bruised from the laughter of the other men.

When Jonah finally managed to get astride his mount, he wondered why he ever wanted to ride in the first place. The loping gait of the long-legged animal ground Jonah’s hipbones together as he lurched forward, then backward with every step. By the time she had taken a dozen paces, Jonah was ready to climb down and walk the rest of the way. That was, if he could get her to stop. But it appeared that wasn’t about to happen, either. So he sat. And he grumbled.

When the caravan halted in early afternoon of the first day, Jonah gratefully slid to the ground. He grimaced at the jolt when he landed.

“Good to ride, eh?” Jamal grinned.

Jonah frowned. “Jamal, I was thinking I would give the camel some rest. Maybe walk beside her this afternoon.” Jonah rubbed his hip. “I don’t want to tire her out.”

The caravan master guffawed. “‘Tire her out.’ That is good!”

“Really—”

“You ride. Too slow if you walk.” He shook his head and ambled away. “Tire out camel. I will remember that. Heh, heh.”

Jonah sighed and glared over his shoulder at the animal. She ignored him.

Lll

Jonah hunched over and frowned at the disparate collection of mud huts and rocky ruins that was Mari. He couldn’t believe his eyes. Was there nothing in this wasteland that even resembled civilization? Like Tadmor, the village was a little more than a broken reminder of the flourishing city it had been in ages past. Twice built, twice destroyed, the site never recovered from the final devastation the Babylonian King Hammurabi wreaked upon it a millennium earlier. Reminders of its former greatness jutted from the desert’s surface. Great blocks of building stone and fallen pillars of massive buildings razed long ago had succumbed to the ravages of time, half-buried in a sea of sand that encroached from all directions. The great Purattu River skirted the eastern edge of the site, the only asset left to commend Mari as a waypoint. Jonah’s heart sank when Jamal announced his intention to linger there. Here they would refresh their water supply and prod the river to augment their food supply with fish.

Jonah eased himself from the camel, then collapsed where he touched down. He sat in the dust, shoulders drooped, arms limp. After seven days on the back of this wretched beast, he was sure his backside would never be the same. It seemed every joint was permanently separated, every muscle stretched beyond hope. He suffered one day after the other with the hope that surely he would become accustomed to the gait, that his body would settle into the undulating rhythm. It did not.

Jonah slapped the ground by his side, and a cloud of dust billowed into the heat. He’d had it. He was not going to remount that wretched creature. He didn’t care if he slowed down the whole world. Nothing would force him to ride. That was it. Done. Never again.

“We stay here four days.” Jamal’s jovial voice startled Jonah from his bruised ruminations.

Jonah glared at him from the dust. “Four days? Why?” He lifted his arms and gestured toward the collection of dilapidated mud huts. “There’s nothing here.”

“Ah, but there is. Water, fish, rest. Your camel carries you and cargo six days—”

“Seven days,” Jonah corrected.

“Seven, yes, seven days. She will need rest.”

“She needs rest? I’m the one who’s too sore to move.” He jabbed a thumb back toward the camel. “She’s doing just fine.”

A stream of cud shot over his shoulder and splattered onto his fist. He groaned in disgust at the brown scum sliding down his wrist and into his sleeve.

“Heh, heh. Must watch for that.” Jamal sauntered back to his own mount, his chuckle fading into the suffocating heat.

Jonah sighed.

Lll

Jonah paced the embankment of the Purattu River and mumbled under his breath. For the fifth time that morning, he paused to fling a rock into the broad expanse. He took mirthless satisfaction at the hollow plop the stone made as it plunked into the water and sank out of sight. And for the fifth time, two men who fished from the river bank nearby turned and glared at him. He glared back.

The rings of wavelets that radiated from the splash glided downstream on the lazy current until they faded into the murky water. He folded his arms and sighed.
The river may be moving the wrong direction, but at least it’s moving.

Since he’d arrived in Mari the day before, his restlessness grew, although he couldn’t explain why. Something, some sense of urgency, niggled at his brain and roused him even before the sun topped the horizon. His brief conversation with Jamal that morning echoed through his brain. . . .

“Are you sure we need to stay here four days? Why so long?” Jonah slouched upwind of the dung fire over which the caravan leader warmed a wedge of flatbread for his breakfast.

“We dry fish for travel. Takes time.” Jamal lifted his bread from the heating rock and sniffed at it. He grunted his satisfaction and took a bite.

“But—”

“No ‘buts.’ We leave the river here. Much desert between Mari and Aššûr.” The camel master glanced up from his breakfast. He held out a piece of the bread to Jonah and raised his eyebrows.

Jonah stared at the smudgy scrap. “No . . . no, thank you. I already ate.”

Jamal shrugged and stuffed the morsel into his mouth.

Jonah frowned. “Wait—Aššûr? Isn’t that east? I thought you said we were going north to Magrisu and then along the northern road to Nineveh.”

“Change plan. We go to Aššûr. The way is harder, but shorter.”

“Then to Nineveh?”

“No Nineveh this trip. Aššûr. Then east to the mountains.”

“But you said you were going to Nineveh,” he protested.

“Said ‘maybe’ to Nineveh. Change plan.” Jamal stood and wiped his hands on his robe.

“But I need to get to Nineveh.”

The caravan master shrugged. “Then go to Nineveh. We go to Aššûr; you take
quppu
or
kalakku
upstream. Three days, maybe four.”

Jonah creased his brow. “What is a
quppu
?”

“Small boat. Round. Made with skins. Faster than wooden
kalakku
, but
kalakku
is bigger. Flat. Carries much cargo.” He shrugged. “Many
quppu
and
kalakku
on Idiqlat River. You find one from Aššûr to Nineveh.”

Jonah dropped onto the sandy hillock and stared at the river. The Purattu crawled by, its subtle current hardly noticeable on the surface. But for the occasional reed or the indentation of a small eddy near the embankment to show its current, the river seemed to stand still. The thought of taking to the water conjured up memories of his ill-fated trip across the Great Sea aboard the
Ba’al Hayam
. He grimaced at the memory of the seasickness that overtook him the moment he stepped aboard. Would it be the same on a river? Surely a waterway as calm as the one before him would have no effect on his stomach.

He picked up another rock and hefted it a couple of times in his hands. He was about to fling it into the water when a stone whizzed by his ear and exploded a cloud of dust on the hillside behind him. After a belated duck of the head, he swung around to see one of the two fishermen grit his teeth and point at the rock in Jonah’s hand. The other fisherman brandished a piece of driftwood.

Jonah dropped the stone. He averted his eyes back to the river and sighed.

Three more days.