The Desert Kid's Arc

Chapter 7 of 10

The Desert Kid walked east of the herder's tent until the sand changed color near a small stone abode set low against a dune. A woman stood in its doorway. She did not wave. She watched. Salim slowed the mule. The Desert Kid felt the old man stiffen beside him. The woman was Karima Dustwind. A thin boy stood behind her, gripping a halter rope. "Search his bedroll," she said. Her voice was flat. "The caravan was mine. My husband rode with it." The boy moved before Salim could speak. He cut the cords on the mule's pack and dragged the bedroll down into the sand. A burlap sack tumbled out. Tarnished coins spilled across the dust, dull and sand-scratched, some still bright at the edges where cloth had rubbed them. Salim's mouth opened. No sound came. The Desert Kid stared at the coins. He counted them without meaning to. He thought of the nights Salim had slept turned toward the fire, the bedroll always under his head. Karima did not raise her voice. "Go," she said to the Desert Kid. She lifted a woven basket from inside the doorway. Bread. Dried meat. Two small apples. Grapes already shrinking in the heat. "Take this. Walk. Do not look back at him." The stable boy set the basket at the Desert Kid's feet and stepped away. Salim said his name once. The Desert Kid did not answer. He picked up the basket. He thought of the river stone in Salim's pouch and left it there. He walked into the dunes alone. Behind him he heard Karima speak to Salim in the same flat voice, and then he heard nothing but his own steps. The mule was gone. The old man was gone. He had food for three days and water for two. The oasis still lay east. He did not look back.