[Ealasaid]

Not invited this time to the counsel of elders, Ahmad spent the duration of the meeting hanging about the outside of the tent with a group of other young warriors and hunters of both tribes, listening and trying to determine what was happening. When Hafsa, the Elder of the Baobab's Civet clan, came out early, they all rose and moved toward her for news. She shook her head at them and hurried away, her face stern. The young men all went back to their earlier postures and waiting.

"What do you suppose is happening?" asked one of the Baobab hunters. "I hear a lot of talk about fighting or staying or leaving, but I can't tell what has been decided. I know I didn't much like the sound of what Latif had to say."

Ahmad nodded. They had all heard the tidings brought by Latif, the Baobab goat trader, of the approaching High Priestess and her army. "I can't imagine we will do anything but fight," he said finally. "It's the way of my people. But I, too, can't say I like the sound of it."

"Nor I," rejoined Adhem, Ahmad's kinsman, the one who had found Chani tied to the tree the day before. "It's an evil wind that blows out of the west."

The others merely nodded their agreement and went back to listening. When the meeting broke a short time later and the elders of both tribes came out, the young men all stood again and stepped forward to learn what would happen next. The four riders, two from the Baobab and two from the Painted Sand, were selected and sent off at once. Seeing that Adhem was one of them, Ahmad caught his arm as he turned to go.

"Ride fast, cousin," he said softly. "May your eyes and ears be sharp. I wish that I rode in your place."

Adhem smiled grimly. "I wish you were riding with us. There is no one else I would rather have at my right hand. But we will ride together when the time comes."

"We will." Ahmad released Adhem's arm and watched as he and the Grass clan warrior, who had also been chosen, turned and departed. Ahmad's dark eyes filled with envy as he followed the movements of the two as they made their way back to their tents for their saddles and leather armor. Ahmad wanted desperately to ride with the scouting party after the group who had maimed his sister. He needed the action, hated the waiting. Finally, he turned and walked back toward his family's compound. There was packing to do and many preparations to make in haste in order for his mother and sisters to get underway. He and his father would remain behind.

On his way back through the massive combined encampment of the Baobab and Painted Sand tribes, he passed close to a small grouping of familiar tents. When he saw the now-still obsidian windchime hanging on the tentpost outside of one, he stopped. It was Qirfah's tent. He hesitated for only an instant, then he changed direction and walked purposefully in its direction. If this High Priestess was coming with her army and if his tribe rode out against her, odds were that he would be riding to his death. If that was the case, then he owed it to himself to speak with Qirfah one last time.

Almost as if she knew he would be there, Qirfah appeared suddenly through the tent flap, carrying her toddler son in her arms. Ahmad's breath caught in his throat at the sight of her. Over two years had passed since he had last seen her or held her in his arms. She was as beautiful, more beautiful, than he remembered. An instant passed before she noticed him. During that time, he simply gazed at her, the curve of her cheek as she kissed the child in her arms, the sun shining off her lustrous black hair. When she looked up and saw him, their eyes meeting, she straightened, then grew perfecty still. A slight flush rose in her cheeks.

"Qirfah," he whispered. And she smiled.

Putting the child down, she bade him to go find his sister. Once the boy had disappeared back into the tent, she looked again at Ahmad. "Did you see him?" she asked softly, moving toward him.

He nodded, a pang of jealousy running through him at the thought of her husband. "Your son is a fine boy," he said, fighting to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

"Your son," she echoed, with a soft, knowing smile. "Is a fine boy." She reached him and, taking his hand, laced her fingers through his. He looked down at her with first bewilderment, then a dawning understanding.

"Mine?"

When she nodded, it was all he could do not to take her in his arms right there, but, as it was, he pulled her, laughing, to a relatively hidden spot between the tents. When he was sure they were not observed, he did take her into his embrace and kissed her, slowly and deeply, with all the emotion he had been forced to deny for the past two years. When they parted again, she smiled up at him, her eyes shining.

"I knew you would come," she whispered. Her fingers reached up and touched the shard of obsidian he wore on the cord around his neck. "I saw you the night you came to my tent. I knew you would come back."

"I will always come back for you," he said gently, pulling her closer against his chest. If it were up to him, he would have stayed like that, with her, forever. She was the only woman he had ever loved. When he had refused his family's urgings that he marry, it was because of her. If only she knew how often he had daydreamed of simply galloping into her camp and carrying her off, she would have laughed out loud. Instead, she pulled away from him, a new sadness rising in her dark eyes.

"Will you?" she asked. "Will you always come back?"

"Always," he vowed, knowing that she was thinking of the days that lay immediately ahead of them, of murdered children, and an army that grew nearer as they spoke. "I promise you, Qirfah, as long as there is even a breath of life in me, I will come back to you." He caught her hand and drew it to his lips.

She smiled again, but sadly this time. "Don't make idle promises," she chided him gently and carefully withdrew her hand. "I was wrong to ask you such a thing when I am already bound in marriage to another." She moved a few paces away from him. "My husband, Husam, is a good man. Later, today or tomorrow, he will ride into battle beside you and face the same perils you face. If you love me --" she looked deeply into his eyes "-- you will make me another promise."

"Anything, my love."

"Promise me that you will look out for him."

Ahmad laughed bitterly. "Lady, that is a difficult promise."

Qirfah nodded. "It is through no sin of his that I cannot love him. He has always treated me well and been a good father to my children. I cannot wish him ill. And this is the only promise I can ask of you with honor. Will you promise me?"

"I swear by the blade of the sword of my forefathers, I will do what I can."

"I ask nothing less." She walked back to him and laid her palm against the side of his face. "And, no promises," she whispered, leaning up to place her lips against his ear. "But I will wait for you. As long as there is a breath of life in me."

_____________________________________________

Pio's post

Later that same day, the two warriors from the Painted Sands joined two hunters from the Baobab tribe. Mounted on fleet steeds from the Painted Sands, the hunters tracked the movement of the youngsters since the murders of last night.

Their faces were grim, seeing the blood that had been spilled on the sandy soil in one area where the youngsters had been. The four men had been instructed only to find where Jasara's group had gone, not to engage them, but hands tightened on their weapons and dark eyes flashed with barely suppressed anger, as they sought the clues that would lead them to the lair . . .

[ July 21, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[ July 30, 2003: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]