Into Tordon Page 6
A gem without gratitude is grievous.
‘We’re not here for the shopping,’ Zane hissed before she could touch any. ‘I’m going this way. Bye.’
‘Wait!’ she said, annoyed. ‘Remember my thumb? Remember the engraving? A gem without gratitude is grievous?’
‘What are you talking about? Not emeralds again!’ ‘Yes, no… Wait, what’s that smell?’
Smoky-sweet incense burnt the air. Beside the gem stall was a tent, in front of which sat an old woman fanning a tiny flame with a small piece of leather. Rings decorated every finger and heavy silver jewellery hung from her neck. She looked like a fortune-teller. Her black headdress was decorated with silver beads and her piercing green eyes peered through slits in the material.
Zane stared too and the woman gazed back, noticing his blood-spotted robe. Then her gaze shifted behind them to some commotion.
Beth turned. Warriors were moving fast through the crowd, shouting and spinning market-sellers around to see their faces.
Their absence had finally been noticed.
Chapter 8
Beth scanned the desert market stalls for a place to hide. Sheikh Zidan’s men would spot them any moment. The woman in the black headdress watched them, then leant back and raised the flap of her tent. With a wink, she gestured them inside.
Beth hesitated. Dried blood was smeared down the fabric of the tent. She wrinkled her nose and Zane shook his head.
The woman’s eyes danced with laughter. ‘Do not worry, no one has been harmed here. This,’ she gestured at the blood, ‘is the mark of a good host. If a guest is grateful for shelter and food, they wipe their hands from the lamb stew here.’ She stood and waved them inside, pointing to five fat cushions strewn on a colourful carpet. ‘Sit and rest. They will not find you here.’
Even with louder shouting behind them, Zane hesitated.
‘Zane, it’s a place to hide!’ Beth took a deep breath, then stepped inside the tent. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered to the woman.
With a huff, Zane ducked after her and the woman followed, pulling the tent flaps shut behind them.
‘Thank you,’ Beth said again to the woman, then sat on a cushion and stared at Zane sitting and grumbling to himself as he plucked at his robe.
‘Zane,’ Beth hissed while the woman clattered among her pots, tutting every time she glanced at Zane. ‘Say thank you.’
‘But I don’t want to be in here,’ he said. ‘It stinks.’ ‘Why are you so ungrateful?’ Then her face lit up.
‘Ungrateful. It’s a warning!’
‘What?’
‘The engraving: A gem without gratitude is grievous.
Being hidden in here is a gift for us—precious as any gem—and this nice woman is putting herself in danger by helping us. Not being grateful probably causes her grief.’
‘So?’
‘So the last time you didn’t pay attention to an engraving, you almost got us killed.’
The woman turned. ‘It is wise to heed all warnings given us in life. Warnings come from others who have tried and failed.’ She smiled humbly. ‘I need more herbs for your wound.’ She left the tent with a washing pot.
Zane crossed his legs, looking embarrassed. He glanced at Beth, then snorted. ‘My whole life is a warning to others.’
‘Why?’
‘You know,’ he shrugged, picking at his cushion. ‘I love gaming—it’s my life, but Dad thinks it’s a waste of time.
He wants me to be more like him, some big hero.’ He shrugged again. ‘Every weekend we have to do survival stuff—as if I’m ever going to need it! I’ll never be like him.’
Beth pressed her lips together. They could have used some survival stuff lately.
‘But I’ll show him I don’t need it,’ Zane said. ‘One day I’ll work for Ripple, develop my own games.’
Beth shrugged. ‘Not everyone’s cut out for the military.’ He glanced at her. ‘I could have shown him if I’d won The Chameleon Chart, which is exactly what I was going to do before you went and wrecked it all.’
Beth stuck out her chin.
‘Anyway,’ Zane sighed, ‘we should probably get going.
Those warriors are bound to have passed by now.’
‘But your wound!’
‘I need to get out of here.’ He reached for the tent flap. Beth scrambled after him. One thing was certain—
there was no gateway in this tent, no whirlpool or black door.
But before they could step outside, the woman in the headdress entered, her hands full of herbs. ‘You are not staying?’
‘I have to go,’ said Zane, blinking in the dazzling sunlight beyond her.
‘But we are very grateful for your help,’ said Beth, nodding politely, ‘and your words of wisdom.’
The woman nodded in return, then held out a clenched fist, turned it over and opened her hand. On her outstretched palm was a small pentagonal emerald.
Instinctively Beth reached to touch it. As her flesh connected with the surface of the gem, it tingled and the same flash of energy passed through her. When she looked down at her hand, the first finger glowed green next to her thumb. She gasped. ‘Emeralds are important here!’
‘An emerald hand begets freedom,’ said the woman. ‘Remember my words.’
Zane scowled at the woman, swiped at the tent curtain and stomped outside.
Beth wanted to apologise for his behaviour but he was fast disappearing into the crowd. And then she thought, so? He hadn’t even looked back. Let him figure stuff out alone and see how far he’d get. She’d find home much easier on her own anyway.
She nodded goodbye to the woman and slipped into the busy market, wondering where she’d find more emeralds. She wasn’t sure if they would get her home, but it was her only lead so far. She searched the stalls heading in the opposite direction to Zane—until there was a sudden shout behind her.
She spun around to see him crashing through the crowd towards her. ‘Run!’ he shouted in her face.
Sheikh Zidan’s warriors were chasing right behind.
They’d been spotted!
Together again, they dodged around carts and animals, merchandise and people, racing away from the warriors until a bag of grain spilled across their path. Zane slipped and crashed sideways into a stall of copper pots and pans, cymbals and bells. He yelled and clutched at his chest.
‘Come on!’ said Beth, hauling him up.
Zane shook her off and skidded on the grains again.
The clang of falling metal echoed across the square as he knocked the stall into complete disarray. He stumbled and bumped into an old lady carrying a wicker basket. Both of them fell to the ground.
The old lady winced as she tried to get up.
Seeming to forget the warriors for a moment, Zane grabbed the old lady’s basket and helped her up before gently steering her around a corner out the crowds’ way. He even brushed off the basket as Beth quickly returned its contents.
‘My grandma has one like it,’ he mumbled.
The old lady bobbed her head, smiling with gratitude in her eyes. Then she took his hand and cupped both of hers over it, showing him her gleaming emerald ring.
Zane blinked and put his left hand over the ring. ‘My thumb!’ He smiled as it turned green.
‘Feels good, I know,’ said Beth.
Zane nodded as the old lady squeezed his hand, then released it and shuffled away.
‘Strangers! Stop!’ came a voice behind them.
Large hands gripped Beth’s arms and yanked her backwards. She struggled, but it was useless—the warrior with the twitching scar had her firmly in his grasp.
Chapter 9
The market crowd parted in silence as the warriors marched Zane and Beth along the streets to Sheikh Zidan’s palace. They passed through a wide square with five fountains and at the far end they faced heavy wooden doors, two metres tall and studded with brass and gems. The doors opened as they arrived, and they entered a smaller courtyard, its edg
es furnished with brightly coloured rugs. In the far corner, a fire crackled in a hearth and a round teapot steamed on a low table. A large man stepped from the shadows to greet them.
‘The Sheikh Zidan!’ announced the scar-faced warrior before bowing and moving back to stand by the wooden doors.
‘Peace be with you,’ said the sheikh, stretching out his arms. Like his warriors, he wore a white robe and a red-chequered headscarf tied by a black rope.
‘What’s peace to you?’ muttered Zane. ‘You’re holding us against our will.’
Sheikh Zidan closed his bright green eyes, took a deep breath, then opened them again. ‘Please, sit down,’ he said calmly, gesturing to the cushions where he sat by the table. ‘Let me serve you some tea.’
‘So you can poison us? I don’t think so,’ Zane snarled, though he slumped down, gripping his chest.
Beth noticed the fresh blood there as she sat too.
‘No, I must taste the tea before my guests. It is our tradition,’ Sheikh Zidan said, pouring a thin liquid flecked with green bits into three thimble-sized cups.
Zane snorted. ‘Guests.’
‘Ah, but you are my guests, for I have used the greeting of travellers.’ He sipped his own tea. ‘When travellers pass on their desert journeys, a host may invite them in with a greeting of “peace be with you”. If a traveller replies “with you be peace”, they accept their host’s hospitality and will do their family no harm. The two may even be enemies, but a guest today may be a host tomorrow.’ He gestured at the tea. ‘As strangers in these lands, I realise you must be on an important journey. So please, rest and refresh yourself.’
He waited for Zane pick up his tea.
‘Baah!’ Zane spat out the sip he’d taken.
The sheikh laughed a gentle, amused laugh. ‘My sons, who are not yet ten years, act older than you! It is the way of the desert that children must behave as grown-ups, for if I were not here my young sons would be your host, offering you a meal and a place to sleep. Are you not yet grown, Zane?’
Zane glared at the sheikh. ‘You sound like my father.’ The sheikh laughed and looked expectantly at Beth. She sipped her tea and coughed at its strong mint taste, yet still managed to swallow. It was so sweet though, she couldn’t stomach anymore. ‘Thank you, but could I have some water please?’
The sheikh smiled with approval. He picked up a brass tumbler and a water jug, poured some out and handed it to her.
‘Thank you,’ she said, and as she took the tumbler she saw its rim was decorated in tiny emerald shards. As soon as she touched it, she felt a tingle and a familiar energy course through her. Her right pinky finger turned green. Grinning, she wiggled her finger at Zane. The woman in the tent had said ‘an emerald hand begets freedom’. With three of her fingers now green, perhaps freedom would soon be hers and she’d finally get home.
Zane raised his eyebrows, then cleared his throat. ‘May I also have some water, please?’
With raised eyebrows, the sheikh passed him a fresh tumbler.
As Zane said the words ‘thank you’ and gulped down the water, the pinky finger on his left hand turned a glimmering green. Smiling, he wiped his mouth. ‘I think I’m getting the hang of this.’
‘And now,’ the sheikh said, beckoning the scar-faced warrior forward. ‘I see you have a wound that needs tending. I will see you both again at dinner.’
‘Thank you,’ Beth said, standing.
As they were escorted from the courtyard, Zane whispered. ‘Perhaps manners are enough to confuse the old goat and get us out of here.’
‘It’s not just about manners,’ Beth whispered back.
‘Gratitude comes from the heart and I’ll easily beat you there.’
‘Who says?’
‘I do.’
The scar-faced warrior showed them a washroom between two large airy rooms. In each room, a single bed was made up on a rug floor, and a fresh set of robes rested across the sheets. ‘You will change and wash,’ the warrior said to Beth. Then he pointed at Zane. ‘But you will come with me.’
Zane’s eyes widened, though he still followed the warrior out.
Beth took a set of robes into the washroom and splashed cold water on her face and arms, then changed into the new clothes. When she was ready, she waited by the window in her room feeling refreshed. The view was of a small treeless courtyard, which reminded her of home—except for the evening sky. Five enormous pink moons hung there, rather than the single one she was used to seeing. She sighed and turned away. Had Dad noticed she was missing yet? Who would get him his dinner? Who would make sure he had enough blankets when he fell asleep watching television? She began pacing the room. She had to find the way back home, and soon.
It was dark by the time Zane materialised in a fresh robe, his wound dressed and his hair wet.
‘Did you get a make-over?’ she asked, grumpily. ‘Ha ha. No, I’ve been quizzing Jumbie.’
‘The scar-faced warrior?’
‘He’s Jumbie, Beth—just like DaveT was DaveT. He’s got bands on his wrists and everything, but when I asked him about it he refused to believe he might be from anywhere other than here. In fact, he said he’d cut me again if I mentioned it one more time.’
Beth chewed on a strand of her hair. ‘Maybe he’s been here so long he’s forgotten, like DaveT? I hope the same doesn’t happen to us.’
‘It won’t,’ Zane said, though a worried frown crossed his face.
Beth looked away. She didn’t want her memories to fade. She didn’t want to forget how she got here, her Dad and home.
A young girl with dark hair came in and smiled shyly. ‘I am Kira. You are to come and relax while we prepare dinner.’
She led them into a large courtyard lit with lamps. To one side was a bustling kitchen where several girls and boys were kneading dough. Kira pointed at some soft rugs nearby before trotting off to help. Lively tambourine and flute-like music penetrated the darkness, coming from the city outside.
Zane wandered over to a chess match where Jumbie was playing against a young boy. Zane whispered something to the boy who nodded before making his next move. A few moves later, he won the game. Onlookers laughed and slapped Zane’s back as the boy leapt up to shake his hand. Another of Zane’s fingers must have turned green because he held up his hand and waved it at Beth. She raised her eyebrows. Perhaps he was finally learning.
Watching the kitchen again, Beth was amazed at how expertly Kira worked her dough paper-thin. She then spread each one over a curved metal sheet balanced on the fire. So much dough and no microwave ovens. It was a world away from the delivery van arriving with dinner. She shuffled over to Kira.
‘Can I help?’
Smiling, Kira passed her some dough, but it wasn’t easy to mould into shape. It took her ages to get even one serving on the metal sheet. Kira giggled at her efforts and soon Beth was giggling too.
When the first batch of crisped flatbreads was ready, Beth helped hand them out. She snorted as Zane stuffed the warm bread in his mouth.
‘I’m starving!’ he mumbled as an explanation. ‘Thirsty?’ Kira asked Beth, offering her a bowl of something warm to drink.
Beth thanked her and the young girl smiled, making sure Beth’s hand touched her emerald ring. Beth’s middle finger tingled and turned green. Kira wiggled her own hand and Beth gasped—Kira’s thumb turned green too!
She was about to ask why, when a deep voice interrupted behind her.
‘I’m glad you are enjoying our hospitality,’ Sheikh Zidan said. ‘The stew is ready now. Let us eat together.’ Kira shuffled away as he led them to a large open tent set up in a corner.
A group of cooks brought platters piled high with rice and chunks of meat covered in swirls of brown and white sauce. The warriors followed and sat at low tables on the carpets around them.
‘Looks like puke,’ Zane whispered to Beth, before thanking the sheikh. ‘Smells good!’
‘Enjoy. It is goat in spiced yoghurt sauce.’
Sheikh Zidan shook his head. ‘You eat it like this.’ He tucked his left hand behind his back and scooped up some stew with his right.
‘I put my hand in the food?’ Beth asked.
The sheikh laughed and nodded.
Zane was already tucking in. ‘It’s pretty good actually.
You’re not going to be impolite now are you, Beth?’
Rolling her eyes, Beth edged her fingers under a tiny bit of stew. It was hot, sticky and lumpy. Trying not to drop it, she scooped some into her mouth and swallowed. It was unlike anything she’d ever tasted, and very delicious. Far hungrier than she’d realised, she scooped up mouthful after mouthful. Soon her hand was completely covered in meat juice and rice.
She sat back, full, and looked at her hand. Gross! It definitely needed washing. After the sheikh stood to wander among his other guests, she stood to find the washroom.
‘Not so fast,’ Zane said, leaping up. ‘Remember the woman from the market and her tent?’ He moved past her and paused by the tent’s flaps before raising his
greasy hand. He glanced at Beth, then wiped it down the side of the thick fabric. ‘This is how I show my gratitude!’
Beth shrugged, then did the same. Two fresh greasy streaks resembling blood, stood out on top of others left by previous travellers.
‘Bet you wish we hadn’t run off in the market now,’ said Beth. ‘We probably missed a great lunch.’
Zane shrugged as the sheikh approached with a jug of water for them to clean their hands. ‘Gratitude is an honourable trait,’ he said, acknowledging their gesture.
‘Thank you,’ they both said without thinking. The lip of the jug, embedded with emeralds touched their outstretched hands as the water splashed out. Beth felt the tingle and green energy at the same time as Zane.
After the sheikh moved away, Zane punched the air. ‘Ha! That was a bit of toofa!’