The Sands of Kedar

By Diana Khalil

Hadeel was not meant to live. Yet she did. Raised by an adoptive family, she grows into a strong-willed girl in the male-dominated society of pre-Islam Arabia. Upon learning she had been left in the dessert as an infant to die only because she is female, Hadeel seeks to escape the bonds her gender imposes. Disguised as a boy named Assad, she initially finds the freedom she seeks, only to find her heart held captive by the charade when she falls in love. She must choose: the life being Assad affords her, or the man Hadeel has loved all along.

About the author:
Born into a family of story tellers, Diana Khalil was surrounded as a child by the stories told by her family’s elders who were from the Middle East. Diana is now a parent herself and, being a believer in the motto that power is through the pen, it is now time for her to be the one to pass on the stories. A native of southeast Texas, Diana remains there with her husband and their five children.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Diana Khalil
• Release date: Sep 17, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310541445

Diana Khalil

Born into a family of story tellers, Diana Khalil was surrounded as a child by the stories told by her family’s elders. Diana is now a parent herself and, being a believer in the motto that power is through the pen, it is now time for her to be the one to pass on the stories. A native of southeast Texas, Diana remains there with her husband and their five children

Book preview

The Sands

of Kedar

By Diana Khalil

Copyright © 2015 Diana Khalil

This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author.

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SelfPubBookCovers.com/Daniela

Produced in the United States of America

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Dedication Page

To:

M y late father, Joe, who encouraged me to write, my sons, Abraham, Sammer, Jaffer, and Feross for showing me what it takes to be a man, my husband, Kazem, for the opportunity to see real men do exist, and my daughter, Suhare, my most precious gift and true inspiration

Chapter 1

The full moon hovered menacingly as he carried the infant to its fate. He dared not look at the child, whose wide dark eyes stared at him. The gaze was unbearable, distressful. How could he glance into the same dark eyes that had captured his soul and poured out of him a thousand odes, the same eyes that lit his heart into flame on many a moonlit night, bringing forth passions that ignited every inch of his being. He kept his eyes level.

When he reached the tree, he stopped, slid off the camel, and ran his hand down the side of the tree. Yes, this was the lost tree. With one hand, he carelessly tied the camel to it. Then looking straight ahead, he sluggishly carried the infant to its doom, a small shovel held under his arm.

The piercing moon might have halted him in his tracks. Instead, it gawked back at him and led him across the path of death. A sudden chilling scream dared to stop him. Was it the cries of the infant girls whose souls lurked over the sand? If it wasn’t for his own sliced, bleeding heart, he might have feared and turned back. But he was lifeless to the world. Whatever was there, on the full moon night, could have taken him, too. It did not matter. He continued.

In his grief, he failed to notice the pleading grunts of his camel or the dark shadow that crept slowly toward him as he chugged along. He did not notice the whipping of the sand as it hurled around his feet, creeping up his torso, and slapping him in the fierce wind. His mislaid soul had been too blinded in his woe to notice the sand storm that darkened his surroundings.

The man tightened the veil the infant held tightly in its small fingers, grasping the last piece of the mother who bore it. The man would force it from the newborn when he laid it in the sand. He could not let the sands of Kedar take the head cover of his one true love. How many times had she wrapped him with it in her love?

He stopped. This would be the spot. He placed the solemn child on the cold sand and began to dig.

He had been born into the Taha tribe, men of the desert who were as raw and as rugged as the land that consumed them. Burned men, seared from the hot blistering sun of the day and frozen by the cold whimpering winds of the night. But it was the sun that bore their passion into them. A craze that threatened to melt their hearts of steel, yet, by the same token, scorched in them a wildness that could not be contained. They could love a woman with fury and die for her honor if need be, yet turn around and bury their female offspring in the sands without as much as a whisper.

They were a boastful people, men that prided themselves on the women they amassed and the sons they bore. For to these men, a son was a prince. He was a symbol of his father’s strength, his masculinity, and his eternity. Life without sons ended at death, but a male offspring meant immortality. A woman’s job was to bear him many lives. Therefore, it was shameless of him to kidnap or steal his women. They were his road to forever. His passion could not be contained to one woman.

But the man, Hassan, was different in some ways. He was a different man from his father, his older brothers, and other men of the tribe. His being did not contain the passion or the love of eternity as theirs did. He did not inherit the heart of steel that made these desert men selfish to needs, wants. His heart had been prone to feebleness, passions of the soul that branded him as a love fool. So when he fell for the slave girl of the Amar tribe, it was complete.

At first, it was the walk that mesmerized him, graceful, elegant, giraffe-like. It would take more than one glimpse at the oasis to suffice his wanton soul. But it was nothing more, nothing less. How could the son of a chieftain expect more from a slave girl? He might have been victorious if it had not been for the eyes, large, dark, hypnotic eyes that met the blistering sun with a flame. His fever-ridden soul had been devoured in those eyes.

Against the wishes of the tribe, he had kidnapped the girl and made her his bride. It might have turned out better. But for five torturous years to follow, she had not conceived. Spiteful snickering grew louder over the sand and scorched his ears. He had married beneath him to a woman that was childless. The words ate at his soul. But each glimpse of the eyes brought his heart back to the woman who held them. His mother thought him bewitched, his siblings believed him crazed, and his father disowned him. He had brought shame to the men of his family. A slave girl had enslaved him.

When she finally conceived the daughter, his face turned black as the dark on a starless night. A son might have given him back the dignity he craved. But seeing that the daughter’s eyes were as her mother’s, his anger had diffused. He loved the woman that much. That is until the mother, after bringing the daughter into the earth, had quit speaking. For three days, she lay ghostlike, unmoving. If not for her hands that held out for the child, she might have been declared dead. But the soulful eyes that stole his heart would finally seal. The wrath quickly turned toward the helpless infant that lay as silent as its mother. How could he keep the child whose eyes had haunted him? He would bury the child before the fiery sun arose above the sand dunes of Kedar.

Hassan did not dig a foot before the desires overtook him. A quick glimpse of the new born relaxed his furrowed brows. Yes, the exquisite eyes were an exact copy of its mother. He had been right. The thought threatened to melt his fortified heart. But, remembering the shame, his face darkened. Returning dignity would outweigh the infant. He returned to the earth and dug mercilessly.

Westerly winds brought him to his senses. They were the fierce winds that lifted Kedar’s sands, blinding him. With his free hand, he covered his burning eyes and nostrils. He knew too well of Kedar’s storms. A man could suffocate in seconds. One thought replaced the anger. They would find him beside the child, more humiliation. The baby, he believed, would certainly die. There was no reason to return. A sand storm would do the duty. He threw down the shovel and ran for his life.

Come on, Hemmer. It’s only a sand storm. Kneel here till the west winds quieten down. Carrying with him a bow and arrow, the dark, curly-haired boy tugged at the rope tied around his brown dog until it lay in the sand. He buried his face into its fur but raised it again with eyes shut, nose and mouth covered.

Did you hear that, Hemmer?

The dog whimpered and sunk its head back under its paw.

I said, did you hear that?

The dog whined again.

Come on. I hear a baby crying. He tugged at the dog’s collar only to find resistance. The dog moaned loudly once again.

Are you a coward? There’s a baby out there, and we must find it. It’s a lost child. Would you want one of your puppies out there in the storm? Find the baby like you find the rabbits that I hunt at night. Go, boy, go! Lead me to the baby. He tugged harder.

But it wasn’t until the westerly winds suddenly calmed that the dog stood. Shrieking cries now permeated the air.

Come on, boy. That’s a good dog. He wrapped his fingers around the rope.

In the still chilly night air, the partially buried child clawed violently. Wide-eyed with shock, the boy stood frozen. Then, deciding that the child was a better gift to his family than a rabbit, he knelt, lifted the child, dusted the sand off of it, and removed the veil. In the moon’s light, the suddenly quiet child stared back at the boy with large serene eyes. Was that a smile beneath dried tears? He cradled the child closer. It was certainly a gift. Hemmer tugged at his owner’s garments and yelped. The boy ignored him.

I’ll bring you back to Mother, he told the baby. She only has me and Helima. She has always said she wanted other children. I’ll call you Hadiya, because you are my gift to Mother and Helima. And you won’t be hungry. Every night I hunt for food. Mother and Grandfather are angry with me for doing so. They are always afraid of the hyenas. But they don’t know the rabbits only come out at night."

The child stared back with attentive eyes. Hemmer’s yaps intensified.

Okay, okay, Hemmer. I think we’ve done enough hunting for a night. He petted the dog with his free hand. Hemmer wagged his tail nervously. Let’s go home.

There was an abrupt change of weather, and the still night brewed up yet another storm. Easterly winds picked up sand from a distance and carried it forcefully to where the three stood.

Do you think he will be all right? With hands grasped tightly in front of her, Amna looked somberly at her son asleep in the corner of the hide-covered tent.

You need not worry about Kais, Amna. My grandson is already a man.

The old man with a shoulder-length beard looked proudly at his grandson, then back at his daughter-in-law. Behind the hot glass of tea, he softly inhaled, then sipped his tea at length. There was only so much of his own worry that he could hide. It had been a close call.

A man? My son? He’s only eight! What does an eight-year-old boy understand about the perils of the desert? With no father, what should I expect? How can I, a woman, tie a young boy to his bed or teach him the ways of a man’s life? Ahhhh! What shall I do? Her bitten lip turned white in her anguish.

The old man held the glass of tea near his lip and stared at the young woman who, with the small children, were left to his care. She was right. An old man with a limp could hardly be the father the child needed. The thought slid deeper into his already scarred heart. Losing his only son had had taken its toll on his fragile health. He watched as she tore the veil from her head, folded it, then threw it to the side of the tent. His tired eyes stayed glued for a long moment to the woman who murmured tensely to herself but his gaze left her to glance uneasily at the five-year-old girl with the long wavy hair who slept quietly in an opposite corner. He poured himself another cup of hot tea and changed the position of his aching leg. Riding throughout the night in search of his grandson stung the twisted leg.

Where is the child? he asked.

What child? Without looking, she picked up the boy’s dirty clothes and placed them in a pile.

The old man lowered the cup of tea and stared at the indifferent woman.

The child that was brought with Kais; what did you do with the child, Amna?

She stopped to glare at the old man, dark pupils engulfing the gold tints.

I gave it to Im Idris to feed. I don’t want that child in my house. It brings bad omens. It’s enough my husband died prematurely. Now you want to take my son, too?

The child saved my grandson’s life. The old man’s voice rose angrily, then stopped when the boy stirred. The image of the three wrapped in the veil would forever be imprinted in his mind.

Saved your grandson’s life? I will never believe that. If he had not cared about the child, he might have run home when he saw the dark sand clouds approaching. If you love your grandson, you will never keep her in this tent. Old man, don’t you see what I see? She pointed a menacing finger toward him. The child survived the desert alone. She is one of the lost girls. You said yourself that Kais found her on the desert floor, abandoned. Why didn’t the hyenas or night animals eat her? Maybe that is why she was left alone. She’s bewitched, the child of a slave. She must have turned her family’s fate black or why else would they have done such an atrocious thing to her?

He looked and saw through the pleas of the bitter woman. He remembered the shovel but remembered more the pleas of his grandson.

I promised Kais I would let him keep the child. He insisted that we keep her. He called her a gift to you and Helima. I could not refuse.

Amna stared in disbelief.

You listen to a young boy. Explain to me how we will feed and take care of her. We hardly take care of ourselves. If not for the mercy of my family, other tribesmen, and my young son putting his life at stake every night, we would have starved. Her eyes widened in anger.

He sipped the tea, knowing in his heart there was truth to her words. But the pleas of his young grandson outweighed what was truth.

God will provide. He took another long sip of the tea barely feeling the scorching heat.

Don’t you see God has abandoned this earth? The suffering, the pain, the hunger—you ask for mercy to one who doesn’t hear.

Watch your mouth, woman. You talk blasphemy.

I talk what I see.

You see nothing. Through the open slit of the tent, he stared at the rising ray of sun. You see, but you care to be blind, blind of eye and blind of heart. Every day God provides for you and your family. If not for His mercy, you would have nothing. Faith is what you must have.

Faith to feed another child? What about the bad fortune she will bring? She looked bitterly at the old man. Will your God protect us from that, too, or does he tell you to use your intelligence to get rid of problems?

He set down the empty tea cup down and thought long and hard about the situation. Survival in the desert was harsh even harsher for a young woman. But he could not, would not change his stance.

"It was the girl’s destiny that she fell into our hands. We will make what we can of it.’

She fell into our hands? She lowered her voice when the boy stirred, then said in a hard whisper, How can you expect a lone boy to protect two girls? Have you forgotten about the Taha tribe’s revenge? How they carry vengeance on their sleeves, like a badge of honor? Yesterday, they killed the father of my children. Today, they killed the shepherd boy. Tomorrow they will come to avenge the death of their chieftain’s son. I fear who will be next, and you want my son to be burdened by another soul?

He stared out the tent, seeing nothing but the arrow that pierced through his son’s heart. He placed his empty cup on the small rug beneath him and rubbed his tortured leg. Despite the throb, the pain from his leg was nothing compared to the heaviness of his conflicted heart. It was like yesterday that Ziad had carried his brother-in-law, Kamal, home on his camel with the arrow standing erect in his chest. He had made claims that the murderer had been a man from the Taha tribe. There would be reprisals. Desert men never forget. Two days later, his nephews rode through the night and killed the chieftain’s son. The bloodbath had only begun.

Amna gawked at the old man whose mind was miles away. She knew what she had to do.

Stay here with the children till I return.

Mother, where is the baby?

In a corner, Kais suddenly sat up and rubbed his red swollen eyes.

Do not rub your eyes, son. The sand will scratch them. The old man lifted his cane and blocked the sunlight streaming through the tent. I will bring you some water to wash them.

No. I want to see the child. The inflamed eyes searched desperately around the tent. Where is she? I brought the baby as a gift for you and Helima. She will help you, Mother.

Helima awakened and sat cross-legged beside her brother, curious about the conversation.

Amna gave a long meaningful look at her son and then glanced at her father-in-law. In minutes, she was back with the infant. She placed it on a blanket in front of them and watched as they stared at the baby in awe.

Isn’t she beautiful Helima? Kais’ burning eyes widened in pleasure when the small fingers grasped his own.

Helima nodded excitedly.

I wanted to call her Hadiya, but Grandfather told me the kids would bother her with a name like that. So I named her Hadeel instead because of the veil she wore. It had a bird on it.

That’s a pretty name. Helima touched the small feet that kicked into the air wildly.

Amna watched for a long moment. Knowing she had been defeated, she inhaled profoundly. It would be impossible to get rid of the child now. She picked up the pile of soiled clothes and carried them out the tent with the burden of keeping the child weighing heavily on her already afflicted heart.

Chapter 2

Hadeel!

Helima searched the barren land for the small girl until her eyes focused on an arrow tip that had protruded from a small bush.

There you are. Where else, she thought, remembering the girl’s love of the desert.

She placed the basket of wet clothes on the warm sand and then stood, lips pursed, to focus on the aim of the arrow. Several yards away, a small wild rabbit stood on its forelegs, ears erect, analyzing its situation. Suddenly, without warning, it darted away between the dry blades leaving only its footprints in the sand. Helima turned to face her sister just in time to see the arrow shoot out from behind the bush. A second unnoticed rabbit fell in its place.

Feigning a surprised look, she turned to Hadeel.

How did you do that?

The girl’s grin reached ear to ear.

It’s easy. Lift, focus, aim, and shoot.

The proud huntress put down her bow, hopped over the bush, and ran to her kill.

Without faltering, Hadeel lifted the dead rabbit, took a knife from her pocket, slit the rabbit’s throat, and gutted it. With hand placed over her mouth and shaking her head back and forth, Helima stared incredulously. As she expected, the small girl wiped the bloodied knife on her sleeve and walked back to her.

Sometimes I think you should have been born a boy.

What?

She raised the bloodied sleeve. Look at you. You’ve got blood everywhere.

I’m not a boy.

I didn’t say you were. I said you should have been born one. If Mother sees you like this, she’s going to be very upset. She’s been looking for you everywhere. It upset her, thinking what Mother would do to the young girl. The frown, now plastered on Hadeel’s face, showed it all.

I’ll clean it.

But before Helima could stop her, Hadeel pulled off a couple of leaves from a lone tree and desperately tried to wipe off the blood. The problem worsened.

I’m dirty. She pouted stubbornly.

Don’t worry about it. I know you too well to not have expected it. She went to the basket of wet clothes and pulled out a dry garment folded to a side.

Here. Put these on.

Ill-fitting, the hand-me-downs would have to do. She helped Hadeel slip them on and then hid the dirtied clothes beneath the rest. She gave Hadeel a once look over, then patted down a fly-away piece of the girl’s long black hair.

There, now you’re clean. Let’s get back before Mother gets angry. I’ll tell her you were with me washing clothes.

And this? Hadeel lifted the rabbit.

That, I’ll tell her, Helima said, lifting the basket over her head with a grunt, was sent by Kais with strangers. It won’t be a lie because he did teach you how to hunt. Right?

Hadeel nodded.

But you’ve got to promise me one thing, she said, balancing the basket on her head as she walked, promise to never again go into the desert alone. It’s dangerous for a man, let alone a ten-year-old girl. You don’t know what’s out there. Promise me, okay?

When the girl didn’t answer, she stopped and turned around. Standing in the same place she had left her, Hadeel’s eyes remained focused on something in the clear blue afternoon sky.

What is it?

The eyes were too concentrated to hear. Helima followed the gaze to a bird that seemed to fly toward the sun. The young girl seemed to gloat in the image. Helima stood speechless at the sight of the little girl holding a bow over half her size in one hand and a gutted rabbit in the other. A deep thought swept over her. Even though Hadeel had been oblivious to her beginnings, there was something different about the little girl who, by chance, had become her little sister. There was a wildness about her that was unexplainable. It was as if she was born to live in the desert, and it was a natural part of her.

Yes, desert men learned to work, eat, and live by it. But their adaptation was a learning process. Men struggled in the parched land. The scorching mid-afternoon sun could char the darkened skin and dehydrate the body in seconds. And the nights were far from better. Easterly winds could rip through clothing, chilling every bone and blood vessel a man had. The desert was nothing to reckon with.

But Hadeel was different. It seemed to reckon with her. In her hands, the destitute land lived. Every creature, every plant, bloomed in her eyesight. It was if she pranced on the soft green grass near a spring rather than walked on the hot burrowing sand of a desert. What was even odder was the fact that the feeling had been transferred to her as well. Being around Hadeel influenced her more than she could imagine. With Hadeel, she would almost forget where she was.

Hadeel!

Okay. I’m coming. She hurried toward Helima.

I told you Mother is looking for you. Do you want to get in more trouble than what you might be in? Helima hurried along with Hadeel trudging closely behind.

I don’t want to go home. I want to stay in the desert and live here.

What if a snake bit you?

It’s better than women’s work.

Then you won’t be able to see me or Kais or Grandfather.

All of you can live with me. Besides, I saw a warm pool of water that can help Grandfather’s leg. A lot of other tribes bring their older folk to sit in the water there. I saw them

Helima stopped in her tracks and turned to Hadeel, who nearly ran into her.

You saw what?

The overly concerned look caught Hadeel by surprise, and she looked elsewhere.

Nothing. I didn’t say anything.

The walk slowed.

Hadeel, do you understand that the people you saw could have kidnapped you? And, if that happened, you wouldn’t be only hurting yourself but the people who care for you, too. Would you want us to be unhappy the rest of our lives?

No. I don’t want that. But I can take care of myself.

No, you can’t. You’re a little girl. You can’t be out there alone. Never. You have to promise me you won’t go alone again. A quick glance showed the hard pouting lips.

I can’t.

Can’t what?

Helima knew exactly what. The reason tugged severely at her heart. Nevertheless, what Hadeel had been doing was dangerous.

I can’t promise you to never go again. Grandfather says you have to be a man of your word. I can’t lie.

I don’t want you to lie. That’s why I asked that you promise me.

I love the desert. I want to get away.

But why do you want to get away from the people who love you?

I’m not, but Mother…

Ahhhhh. It was as she thought.

Mother cares for you. The words came out weak.

No, she doesn’t. She hates me. When Kais is not around, she treats me worse. Protect me from her, Sister, when we get back. She’s going to punish me.

Don’t be too hard on Mother, Hadeel. She’s raising us alone and doing the best she can. But I promise to you, I’ll do the best I can so she won’t know. When we’re near the camp, we will go another route home. She won’t even see you.

But she always watches for me.

This time it will work. Trust me. The scenario was thought over a thousand times.

Okay, she replied hesitantly. I trust you.

"Now promise me you won’t go into the desert