Chapter 18 #3
Elyas shook his head. “My people must find me on my feet. If they see me standing, perhaps they too will have the strength to rise.”
Sita had lived through her father’s reign and had witnessed the birth of Mery’s. But until that moment, watching the battered old man walk, straight-backed and undaunted, toward what was left of his once-mighty tribe, she’d never before seen true leadership.
***
They climbed over the ridge and spotted the remaining members of the Hudjefa gathered in the shadow of a tower of red stone.
Sita scanned the congregation and counted roughly 140 people.
Among them, a healer rushed to and fro, giving orders while tending to dozens of wounded, while a group of men tried to corral the donkeys, horses, and sheep they’d managed to get out of the city.
Among the frenzied activity, there was also a heavy stillness in the air. Many people simply sat in the sand and stared out into the desert, their faces creased with unfathomable sadness.
One by one, people in the tribe began to notice the group’s approach and leaped to their feet, shouting and running to embrace them.
“Miri?” Elyas exclaimed as his wife hobbled toward him. “Miri!”
The elderly couple fell weeping into one another’s arms as others surrounded them in a crush of joy and anguish both.
Sami’s mother appeared at Miri’s side. Sita met her eyes and gave her an approving nod. “You see? I knew you could do it. I knew you could get them to safety.”
Sami’s mother put a hand over her mouth, overcome.
Everyone asked a thousand questions at once—about where the stone men had come from, if there were more survivors, and when they could return home.
Elyas raised his hand for silence, and the crowd quieted.
“My people,” he said, loud enough for all to hear.
“A great calamity has befallen us this day. One that will be felt among us, our children, and our children’s children.
It is with the deepest sorrow that I tell you we were the last to escape the city, and we may never return to that place which we called home. ”
A wail of mourning erupted from the gathered people. Some collapsed in disbelief, some clutched each other in fear.
“What about food and water?” one of the men called out. “We have only what we could carry with us! How will we survive?”
His was joined by other cries of dismay.
Another man shouted, “It would have been better to die with our brethren than suffer a slow death in the desert!”
“No!” Sita exclaimed, surprising even herself.
The tribe, including Elyas, looked at her.
“No,” she repeated. “It is always better to live. I know you are suffering. I know you are in pain. I, too, suffer the agonies that memory brings. But those who died today would not have wanted you to drink too deep of despair. They would have wanted you to live. To find a new land, and to tell their story.”
“Even if we could survive a journey through the desert, where would we go?” a woman asked.
This time, Karim spoke up.
“I will lead you to my people, the Anen. They have also suffered strife and loss, and perhaps together, our two tribes can grow strong. That stone army will not stop at claiming Perset. They will march across the whole of this land, and none will be safe from their reach.”
Sita was taken aback. Journey to the Red Lands? What about Khetara? I must get home before Setnakht’s army reaches Thonis.
“Elyas, why do you allow these two outsiders to speak?” a woman shouted.
“Yes, why?”
“Aren’t they to blame for what has befallen us?”
“Be silent!” Elyas commanded. “Without Karim and Sita’s warning, none of us would be standing here! Without them, the Hudjefa would have breathed their last this day!”
Several of the wounded men had risen to join the rest of the tribe. One of them pointed at Karim with a trembling hand. “How is this possible? How are you here? I saw you die in battle!”
A murmur of confusion spread through the crowd.
“It’s true!” another man said. “We were some of the last to escape the slaughter, and we saw the stone warriors spear him straight through! Not once, but three times!”
Sita saw Karim draw back. What might the tribe do to someone who was supposed to be dead? She stepped closer to him and reached for his hand.
“I witnessed this man’s resurrection!” Elyas told the Hudjefa. “And now he stands among us—offering to lead us to salvation! Is this not a sign for hope? Is this not the hand of God reaching out to lift us from our tragedy?”
Sita scanned the faces in the crowd and watched in amazement as their expressions turned to wonder. Every eye was upon Karim. His hand trembled in hers.
Sita squeezed it. “It’s going to be all right,” she whispered, though the news of Karim’s plan to take the Hudjefa to the Anen filled her with a mixture of pride and sadness.
“I’m just a thief, sena,” Karim protested amid the people’s exclamations. “I’m no divine messenger.”
Sita held the staff at her side, the weight of its burden one she’d never planned to bear but was glad she now carried. “Aren’t you?”