Daughter of the Destert

by Alexia Goddess

Chapter Two

The Dream

I patted Miham, the camel I was ridding, on the head, and scratched him behind his left ear, where he seemed to like it the best. I grinned when he made his satisfactory noise of pleasure, ignoring my mother's snaps to `get my hands off the filthy animal.' I just rolled my eyes.

My father and mother rode on either side of me, my father on a camel much larger and nastier than mine, and my mother in a box made of bamboo and silk curtains and satin pillows, all perfumed with potpourri against the stench of her mount.

Behind us followed an old-fashioned style caravan, of sorts. My father may have been a penny pincher when it came to me, but when it came on his world trips he spared no expense. This time he had gotten the notion to be as one of those old caravans that had traveled across these same sands thousands of years ago.

"Look, Maxine, over there!" My father pointed to the horizon as he raised his hand for our train to stop. Jutting up from the white sands was the second Egyptian wonder I had seen since my setting foot on African soil. It was still early morning, on the second week of our journey. The sphinx had been during the first week.

I raised my hand to shield my eyes, my white burnoose cape, and the flaps of the twisted linen that held on my head cloth flapped around me. Sand that flew in the wind stung my eyes, but I ignored it, feasting my eyes on the site of the zoser pyramid (also known as just `the step pyramid), the first pyramid ever made in Egypt that stood as high as a palace.

"We'll camp there tonight," My father said, though he was not speaking to me. I didn't mind. It had always been thus. My father summoned the caravan leader, a dark skinned, pockmarked faced man in a brown rob name Kilamih. They exchanged a few words in Kilamih's language -Hebrew, I think- before we continued on our way again, at a brisker pace than before.

We reached the base of the pyramid -squares stacked on squares bigger than the one on top of it, like steps- just as the sun was beginning its daily route down beneath the horizon. My mother's and father's tent was erected first, then my mother's plush and silk woven rugs and tapestries brought in, along with my father's collapsible writing table. I put up my own tent, brushing aside offers to help.

I fumbled with a particularly stubborn knot, biting my lip against the temptation to use the many curses I had in my vast vocabulary. I impatiently blew a strand of hair that had come loose out of my eyes, and yanked the knot again. Still it did not budge. Again, I pulled, but to still no avail. I was beginning to consider just cutting the thing and getting a new rope, but that would mean untangling my tent that would surely collapse and get itself in a bother of a mess if I did that. Plus my father would box my ears. I shook my head, half in amusement, half in frustration as again I pulled. Yes, my father boxed my ears when he was displeased with me. He was very...old fashioned in that way.

I growled deep in my throat as the knot of rope continued to be contrary. Suddenly a pair of large, dark and calloused hands entered my view, and I blinked as Kilamih pinched one of the ropes, and yanked another. The knot unraveled like buttered silk. I flushed and scowled in embarrassment. Kilamih clapped a hand on my shoulder, and smiled at my kindly.

"It is good you remembered how to make the knot," He told me in his deep, rumbling voice. "Most cannot even do that. That is a knot used by only the most dedicated desert men, like heirloom of knowledge, if you will. If you had the determination to master tying this knot, you are truly a daughter of the desert, miss Kilitatarah," He smiled at me kindly. "Even if you can't remember how to undo it." He added.

"Kil-Kilit- what?" I asked him, my face a mask of confusion, partly out of true puzzlement, partially to hide my slight flush at the compliment.

"Kilitatarah." Again that gentle smile, his voice made entrancing by his thick accent. " `Maxine' is strange to our tongue, and hard to pronounce for most of us. Many in this caravan have acknowledged your

love of Egypt to be as great as ours, so my brothers took it upon themselves to give you a name befitting your heart's homeland, daughter of the desert. Kilitatarah is what you are known as among us."

"My heart's homeland?" I repeated. "Daughter of the Desert?" He only smiled, brushed a hand over my hair, and walked away, leaving me to mull over what he had said. It was a relief to know that the desert men that my father had enlisted as `guides' and `helping hands' did not think of me as a lily gutted lady, like my mother, or a conniving snake like my father.

A shout went up, and I looked to the horizon along with everyone else. "Sand storm..." I murmured. And it was a nasty one, from the looks of it, too. I had spent enough time in other deserts to know it when I saw it. Still, it looked decently far away, and the wind was not too strong yet. Our camp should be tact down and ready to rumble by the time it reached us. Nevertheless, everyone harried to work just a tad faster, not wanting to take a chance. I deemed it best to take after their example, and set to the task of erecting my tent and stowing my belongings as quickly as possible.

It is several hours later that everything is as secure as possible, and over a large pit fire an Islamic man that I had yet to meet is boiling a stew of barley, rye flour, chicken broth, onions, and lamb. I care not for the lamb, as my family rarely partakes of red meat, but I am not stupid enough to decline a good source of protein, and just make sure I only had small pieces of the revolting meat in my bowel, and swallow them whole with bites of traveler's bread to hide the taste, along with as much water as I dare take. Once, when I accidentally bit into a piece, and I had no more water left, I went ahead and grabbed a wineskin nearby. I was shocked to discover that I found the flavor most appealing, and had to clamp down on the temptation to drink more. At least that bite of lamb was forgotten.

By the time the sand storm was upon us -and it was a bad one; I had been right- we were all inside our tents, snug under the -however sandy- blankets, the wind howling outside the thick, course linen of the tent walls. I made sure to put a wet silk kerchief over my mouth and nose before I went to bed, so as not to choke on the dust in the air as I slept.

That night I had a most peculiar dream. I dreamed I was dressed in an ankle length white sheath of silk, a pleated material, like a piece of paper folded to make a paper fan then unfolded and smoothed, but the lines remained. Around my neck was the largest collar swooping halfway down my bosom, made of the palest white gold inlaid with sapphires and lapis lazuli. My pale blonde hair had been trimmed to my shoulders, and I loved it. Bangles glittered on my wrist, rings twinkled on my fingers, though I seemed to show indifference to all but one; a silver-gold (electrum) ring set with a single large diamond, and two sphinxes on either side, supporting the diamond.

A wind rustles, and I realize I am standing on a balcony. Palm trees in pots are around me, and as I look up I gasp as I see the splendor of a magnificent city laid out before me. Another breeze, and I vaguely take notice of someone placing a sky blue lotus over my ear, twining a strand of my hair around the stem to secure it. The bestower of the flower -a man- takes me by my bare shoulders and kisses my temple tenderly, and I lean back into him. He wraps his arms around me from behind. He says something, but I am so caught up in the magnificence of the civilization before me, and his strong presence, that I do not hear it.

I finally realize he is talking to me, and I apologize, and move to turn to face him-

I sat bolt right up in bed, gasping, my eyes wide. But I am not frightened. No, far from it.

It took me a moment to gather my wits again and slow my breathing and heart rate. When I did, I finally took notice absentmindedly that my silk cloth had fallen from my face some time in the night, and I grimace as I realize my mouth is full of grit and muddy dust. I rush to my backpack on top of one of my chests and, after whispering my password into the electric lock on the zipper, fish out a water bottle. The water is stale and warm, but I take a mouthful and slosh it around anyway, and spat it out. While I was at it, I also retrieved toothbrush and toothpaste, and brushed my teeth, spitting it in a corner of the sandy ground of my tent.

Suddenly, my mouth still full of frothy toothpaste, I heard a shout go up, and I quickly spat out the froth, rinsed my mouth, and rushed outside, curious, after quickly stowing my things once more. It wasn't the breakfast call, or my father's bellow to know what some `blockhead' was doing. No, it was a genuine scream.

I stumbled out into the blinding sunlight to see everyone crowded around one spot. I started towards it at a jog, when a strong, dark skinned hand grabbed my upper arm and pulled me back.

"Tis not a sight you wish to see, child," Kilimah told me darkly.

"What?" I demanded. "What is it?"

"A bad omen, that's what it is," Another desert men said shakily, passing me.

"Take no notice, miss," Kilimah reassured me. "Just go back to your tent, please." His tone was so gentle and convincing I had no choice. Scowling and mentally beating myself for not being stubborn the one time I probably should of -or really wanted to, I obeyed the dark man and went back to my tent.

With nothing else to do, I shut out the noises outside my tent and sat on my cot, pulling my much-battered backpack with me. I verbally unlocked the lock on the back part, the side that lay flat against my back when I put it on, and pulled out my laptop, wrapped in tightly woven cloths and a plastic bag to protect it from sand. I tore off the protective wrappings, flipped it open, flicked the `power' button, and while it was booting up, I pulled out my next-to-useless cell phone (we were too far out to make any calls, except with father's satellite phone). I pulled out a cable wire, inserted one end into the bottom of my cell, and the other into the back of my laptop.

"Good morning, Max," My computer chimed after I had typed in the password. I grinned. I couldn't wait till I got the upgrade, then I could verbally reply and ask questions instead of using the keyboard and touch-pad that served as a mouse.

I wasted no time and immediately logged onto the internet, uploaded the latest version of Instant Messenger from my internet server, updated my buddy list, and -grinning as I saw that she was on-line, as well- sent an instant message to PharaohGurl86- aka, my cousin Lauren.

She was ecstatic, firing off question after question. I was laughing aloud, and told her so. She replied that laughing wasn't an excuse to not answer her questions, since they were typing not talking, and to hurry up and give her `every freaking detail,' down to the `color of every grain of sand in her hair!

I laughed more, and proceeded to tell her everything.

The incident outside was forgotten, for the moment.

To Be Continued…