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Bree knew her only chance for survival was to somehow turn the camel back to the caravan. By now, other guards would have brought down the lions. She’d seen their skill at hunting many times during the journey.
Leaning forward, she grabbed a handful of the camel’s wiry coat. The rope Hassan had led it with hung from the animal’s halter, dangling nearly to the ground. If she could inch her way far enough up the camel’s neck to grab it, she might be able to turn the beast, or at least rein it in. Meanwhile, the animal covered what seemed like miles, moving faster than Bree had ever seen.
Gripping the tufts of coarse hair. Bree painstakingly pulled herself forward. But she still couldn’t reach the rope. The animal swerved, and she screamed, nearly losing her balance. Her fingers scrabbled for a hold, closing around the leather harness strap. Desperate, she yanked on it.
The camel shied. Bree found herself flying through the air.
Lying in the sand, with the breath knocked out of her body, Bree watched her mount disappear over the horizon.
“Cursed be thou by all the gods!” she yelled then shook her head ruefully. “Listen to me,” she muttered. “I’ve been in this strange dream so long that even when I’m talking to myself, I sound like somebody from their long-dead culture.”
Bree struggled to her feet. Turning in a circle, she took stock of her situation.
Sand. Everywhere.
Endless hills of scorching-hot sand, rising and falling like waves on the ocean. And overhead, the cruel midday sun. She whispered a prayer of thanks that she’d had the presence of mind to dress in full desert garb. It had been unbearably hot inside the curtained enclosure, but the long robe and veiled headdress would give her skin some protection. Bree vowed she wouldn’t panic and began walking, following the camel’s tracks. It carried water and shelter. Without them, she wouldn’t survive.
“Sooner or later, that damned camel will slow down. It’s been running for miles. Surely the creature can’t go on at that pace much longer.”
Before long, the searing heat began taking its toll, sucking the moisture from her body as it sucked the life from her soul. Bree staggered up and down the endless dunes for what seemed like days, though she was still rational enough to know it had only been hours.
She trudged along, talking to herself out loud. Sometimes coach, sometimes cheerleader, she urged her burning feet to take a step, then another. She prayed to every Sabatean god she could remember to lead her to a rock, so she could curl into a ball and rest in its shadow. She cursed the camel and its ancestors with ever-more colorful phrases. Finally, she gave way to exhaustion and thirst and dropped to her knees, telling herself she’d only rest for a moment.
Bree was about to close her eyes when the blurred figure appeared, coming from the direction the camel had run. She’d heard of mirages, but this was her first experience with one of the legendary desert apparitions.
She knew they looked so real, so believable, that people sometimes went mad when they discovered the images were a trick of the mind. Bree watched, detached, as the figure raced across the sand toward her. As the image came closer, she made out a white-robed figure sitting astride a black stallion. Sounds penetrated the fog in her mind. Shouts urging the horse to gallop faster, snorting from the animal as it drew near.
The horse came to a stop.This mirage has excellent detail. I can actually see sweat running down the animal’s flanks.
The robed figure slid off the horse and strode toward her. Bree giggled and waved, wondering when the image would disappear.
Her hand bumped into hard muscle under the soft robe. Bree gasped as her eyes traveled up…and up. If the rider was real, he stood head and shoulders over every male she’d seen other than Raheem.
White robes covered every inch of him, except for the startling blue eyes peering out from under his headdress. The figure knelt in front of Bree, and large hands began running up and down her body.
She protested, trying to swat the insolent hands away, and was rewarded with a firm smack on her bottom.
“Lie still. I will not harm you,” the man said. He sounded annoyed. “I must see if you are injured.”
Reaching into a fold of his robes, he drew out a goatskin flask. He pulled her to a sitting position and held the flask to her lips, cradling her head in the crook of his arm.
Water dribbled down her chin. Real water. Bree finally realized this was no mirage. She gulped it greedily. He allowed her to continue for a moment before taking back the flask. She groaned and tried to grab it, but he pushed her hand away.
“No more for now. Let your body become accustomed to what you have had, else your belly will cramp, and it will all come up again.”
He slipped his other hand under her knees and rose, with Bree in his arms. Depositing her on the horse’s back, he vaulted up behind her. Bree swayed and would have toppled off. The man responded instantly, wrapping one arm around her waist.
With a tug on the reins, he turned the horse’s head then gave the stallion’s flanks a light kick. Bree was thrown against her rescuer’s broad chest as they galloped away.
