Chapter 22 · Chapter 22

The sun hung low and brassy over the ridge of black basalt, casting long, bruised shadows across the cracked floor of the valley.

For three days the caravan had pressed south through the narrowing gorges of the wilderness, the camels' rhythmic tread stirring up a powdery silt that clung to the weave of my woolen cloak and coated the dry roof of my mouth.

Between the sharp, flinty hills, the air grew still and suffocating, trapped within the ancient stone corridor that led toward the southern sanctuaries.

Shimon did not halt when the vanguard of the merchants slowed their beasts by the dry wash. While the older men of the train shouted over the tethering lines and the drovers wrangled the baggage animals into a close, noisy ring, he guided my mount past the periphery of their commotion.

He chose a ledge of compacted gravel beneath an overhanging shelf of rock, well away from the dust and the wandering glances of the main camp, perched just above the smooth, sun-bleached stones of a dry channel.

He brought the camel down with a low, resonant command, his hand resting firm against the beast’s neck until the animal folded its great limbs