warriors (save for Chochi and a few others) were overjoyed. Even those amongst the council found time to lift a jug in celebration.
Laughter, music and dancing started at one end of the settlement and quickly spread throughout the remainder of the city. Tribesmen who previously had hardly wished to know one another suddenly exchanged enthusiastic plans as to how even the livestock and crops might benefit. Even rumors of an irrigation system that Ravi hoped to erect were passed between many of the dwellings. People embraced their own families, as well as strangers who passed by spreading the news of what the city’s permanence might mean. Children joyfully clapped tiny hands together as dogs barked and jumped up and down on hind legs at the hysteria.
After the fall of eventide, the city remained in an uproar. The cooking flames were fueled until they became large bonfires and burning clusters dotted the entire settlement. Citizens gathered together on the open sands to share ideas and to commune with one another. Women from both tribes felt inspired to converse. Some of the most energetic continued dancing until twilight, and a feeling of fellowship took hold in parts of the community.
And it was while the merrymaking continued that Sumi and Ravi found themselves alone on the outskirts of Remai’s tents. The lingering sounds of revelry still filled the air, carrying voices of desert song and joyous laughter throughout the city upon a gentle breeze. The sounds pushed even the thought of Aithea’s latest outburst from his mind, for Ravi was concerned that the people had misunderstood. The water crisis had not been solved. All he had done was to formulate a plan, one which the city had yet to act upon. His fears were voiced to his mother:
“I believe that these people have been deceived,” he said slowly. “I have not offered them an end to the drought. I have merely stated the obvious: the city’s wanderings are the cause of much that ails it. For that reason, we must choose anew. I have done nothing.”
His mother looked up at him and shook her head no. Her eyes sparkled with the clarity they had always possessed: “You have given them hope. Tomorrow, they will realize how much work is involved. For now, let them celebrate their good fortune and their promised ruler.”
“I am only a man, mother,” he said softly.
“You are wrong,” Sumi replied solemnly, her eyes gazed upon him with a mother’s love, “for like all rulers you will never be seen by your people as merely a man. In their eyes you will be a god or you will be a tyrant, but never a mere mortal. Their minds tell them you must be different in some way or you would not be their leader. My son, they have built a rift between you and them and for as long as you live, you will never be able to cross it.”
“Enough!” Lila yelled as though her entire body was about to burst. “I will hear no more of this! Father is a man by birth, not some god who controls our very existence. He rules by fate, nothing more.”
“He rules by consent of the gods,” Serena replied firmly. She refused to look at her cousin, continuing instead to bathe her hands in the alabaster bowl placed on the table between them. The warm oils permeated the air with the scent of flowers and, in spite of Lila’s stubbornness, she was thankful for their time apart from the others. “The emperor is responsible for us.”
“He would aim to control us!”
“The emperor will choose our way so that we won’t have to.” For a brief instant Serena looked up from the table, her smooth complexion nearly pleading for her cousin’s obedience, “We should rejoice in having the freedom to not make these decisions.”
“I would choose my own way!”
“How can you be so completely unaware of the emperor’s wisdom?” Serena responded in near exasperation. “Croesus rules an empire, surely he will not be mistaken in choosing for the two of us? Besides, this time you fear is far off . . . the emperor has yet to make these decisions.”
“I just know that I will not like it,” Lila frowned like a child, folding her dark arms in irritation in front of her.
The room—decorated with fine lace throughout, displaying richly imported fabrics upon the walls—served as the common chamber for the temple maidens. Silver brushes and ivory combs lay scattered about as carelessly as embroidered pillows. The other maidens had taken the opportunity to venture out into the palace gardens with Irenan. Though Serena and Lila were often in contention in matters of the emperor, their dislike of constantly being in the company of the others was unanimous. They were alone, giving the emperor’s daughter the opportunity to broach the subject she had raised more than a fortnight previously.
“Something must be done,” Lila stated more to herself than to her cousin, “I will insist upon an audience with my father.”
“The emperor’s schedule may be too full for him to calm childish fears,” Serena replied solemnly. Though she regretted not having the opportunity to see Croesus more frequently herself.
“His schedule has allowed for more than one Aaibzan . . . ,” Lila’s glare was one of complete disgust, but Serena’s own startled look stopped her cousin in midthought. “What is it?” she asked nervously.
The expression on Serena’s face suggested they were not alone and at the same moment she whispered, “ . . . behind you.”
Lila whirled around expecting to see Bestreld or Irenan, or at the very least one of the temple guards. Yet, what she beheld amazed her even more than if Croesus himself had stumbled into their chambers. “Myra,” she whispered in awe.
For the first time ever the two saw Myra as an old woman. She stood before them not in the silken robes of a queen but in a simple gown that might have been more appropriate for one of the servants. Her hair appeared as though she had slept on it since last being touched by one of her handmaidens, and the sparkle was gone from her eyes. Her hands were old and spotted, and her face was white—as though she had suddenly become very much afraid.
“I have to talk to you,” she replied hoarsely, with the voice of an old woman.
Lila jumped to her feet while Serena quickly reached for a cloth with which to dry her hands. “What is wrong?” she asked nervously.
“I had to escape my chambers in order to see you,” Myra replied with much effort.
“What?” Serena questioned with disbelief.
“Are you ill?” Lila placed her hands on either side of her aunt’s shoulders, halfway convinced she needed to summon the court physician.
“Not ill,” Myra replied slowly. She took a few deep breaths, calmed herself, and managed to regain her composure. After a moment she stood taller and looked at each of the women directly, giving her a regal stature even though she was robed in simple attire.
“I have to talk to you,” Myra repeated calmly, though she felt anything but calm. Both Serena and Lila looked at the old woman with complete amazement. Neither had seen her for a very long time. Finally, Myra was able to voice her concern, “You have to believe me,” she shook her head with certainty. “You just have to believe me . . . you are both in grave danger.”
With the morning, the potentials of a new day was bright with promise. The Bedouins arose at daybreak in spite of their lack of sleep just as they had for centuries. But today would be different. Much had to be done and there was an anxiousness to get started.
Already Jenda with the Dakhyu had begun their labors; the early hours of morning proved to be the most advantageous, for by midday the sun was much too hot and the flies far too numerous. Thankfully, the youth had little trouble directing his men in the new procedure—all refuse was to be buried far outside the settlement’s boundaries. The older workers found Jenda’s orders easy to follow for several reasons: his enthusiasm, his seriousness, his willingness to work right alongside with them, and the fact that either Oman or one of the other warriors had watched them for much of