A Rose in the Desert

By S. D. Shadden

A weathered letter, a woman's quest, a warrior's sword--from the deserts of Petra and Wadi Rum to the hallowed halls of Cambridge, enter the battlefield where truly the pen becomes mightier than the sword.

Share the drama of those living and dying in the crucible of war. Join the dangerous journey of "a rose in the desert."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jun 6, 2023
• ISBN: 9798887512389

Book preview

Table of Contents

Title

Copyright

Prologue

The Letter

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

The Desert: Dunes and Trenches

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

The Pale Horse

20

21

22

23

24

25

The Duel

26

27

28

29

30

31

32

33

34

35

36

37

38

39

40

41

42

43

About the Author

cover.jpg

A Rose in the Desert

S. D. Shadden

ISBN 979-8-88751-237-2 (paperback)

ISBN 979-8-88751-239-6 (hardcover)

ISBN 979-8-88751-238-9 (digital)

Copyright © 2023 by S. D. Shadden

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing

832 Park Avenue

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

This novel is a work of fiction. Although the story draws on the historical record, the characters, incidents, and conversations are invented.

Most scriptures taken from the New King James Version. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Printed in the United States of America

To those who believe in things greater than themselves, who become a rose in the desert.

Other Books by S. D. Shadden

Child of the Forest: Daughter of the KGB (Part 1)

Daughter of the KGB: The American Wilderness (Part 2)

Rachel's Son

Courage is the price that life exacts for granting peace.

The soul that knows it not, knows no release

From little things;

Knows not the livid loneliness of fear,

Nor mountains heights where bitter joy can hear

The sound of wings.

—Amelia Earhart Putnam, Courage

(Died in 1937 during a solo flight over the South Pacific. She was thirty-nine years old.)

Prologue

The power of a letter. Nabinia held the gold-trimmed parchment near her olive-oil lamp mixed with expensive incense. As she was carefully moving the precious document over the fragrant mist, her heart joined the upward movement like a rising prayer, an incantation, beseeching that her simple request might be felt by another, touched by the words and enchanted by the fragrance of the future, along with its possibilities.

A soft beam of light gently pressed his fingertips into the draped entrance of her black goat hair tent, as if extending a glowing hand, inviting her to join him. Nabinia heeded the call. She stood on the glimmering desert sand in her flowing black silk gown, her jet-black hair falling to her waist, her beautiful brown eyes lifted to the sky; the night draped its dark cloak around her, enfolding her into the captivating light of a full moon rising.

Lifting the golden letter in her hands, stretching her limbs high into the air, Nabinia matched her upward movements with the face of the rising moon to ensure that he could read every word, memorize every sentence, feel every emotion evoked in its message.

The moon rewarded her by stroking her face with his illuminate hand, which to her was a promise to deliver a favorable reading in the presence of the Almighty both in heaven and on earth.

That was enough for her. She returned to the fragrant oil lamp and placed the letter into a gilded envelope, sealing the flap with a circle of red wax and stamping the hot wax with the image of a crouching lion and a curved sword, her family's crest.

Unsheathing a golden curved dagger, Nabinia pricked her finger and mixed one drop of her lifeblood into an inkwell of blue-black ink. Using her golden pen, she wrote on the front of the envelope: Cambridge University, England.

Returning to the rising moon, she raised the embossed letter as if it were a sacred offering, as if she were pressing her cheek against that of the moon's, as if her incantation could beseech the universe to discover and reach some distant shore: "Carry my message on the wings of the wind. Stir the heart, mind, and soul of one who is worthy. Bring this letter and the one who is chosen back to me. Inshallah!" (God willing—if it be God's will.)

The letter crossed the ocean of sand by camel, the vast seas by ship, the green island by carriage until it reached the learned halls of Cambridge University.

There, the gilded letter shone as a beckon for one, a glistening sword for another, piercing the hearts of both. Neither person would ever be the same.

Nabinia's letter took its place on an ancient wood-framed bulletin board, next to a military-recruitment poster asking for more volunteers to feed the gristmill of a wounded, bleeding, and raging world amidst the flames of war.

Part 1

The Letter

Beneath the rule of men entirely great,

The pen is mightier than the sword.

—Edward Bulwer-Lytton, Richelieu

1

Lara Landven stared at the employment-opportunity board, eagerly searching for a glimmer of hope to be found in the scattered sheets of paper pinned haphazardly across its surface. Lara had just graduated with her teaching degree at Cambridge. Meaningful employment for single educated women was scarce, especially with a world war raging into its third year. However, soldiers and munitions workers always seemed in demand. Lara hoped for more.

Being of average height, she had to stand on her toes to adequately examine the board, causing her lovely brown hair to reach the center of her back. Her brown eyes and olive complexion gave her an almost Mediterranean look.

Her appearance resulted from the common American trait of having the heritage of several nationalities: Greek, Italian, Scottish, even some Cheyenne Native-American blood flowed through her veins. Her hardworking Scottish father had made a fortune mining silver in Nevada. He wanted only the best for his little girl, thus only Cambridge University would do for her advanced education. A generous donation to the university opened several doors for his daughter and for his bragging rights among the mining barons within the United States of America.

The English found Lara well mannered but quaint because of her wilderness background and provincial viewpoint on many issue, especially England's stratified society: some things were simply not done—one should know his place. Perhaps the pretty young American would learn eventually these eternal British truths.

As Lara gazed at the bulletin board, she found job notifications, lost-pet leaflets, and requests for roommates scattered layer upon layer. Lara shook her head. The English could be so prim and proper about some things and so careless about other matters. The inconsistencies astounded her.

Among the clutter, she saw the corner of an odd document, as if the golden-yellow paper was trying to lift its head above the jetsam and flotsam in the sea of print. It took her several minutes to peel the debris aside and reach the unusual paper. She held the letter and the beautiful envelope in her hands, as if weighing gold or silver, something she had witnessed several times with her father. The paper was slightly yellow, gilded along the edges, and firm but flexible, as if it were alive in its own way. The envelope, bordered with flakes of gold, was handmade, and the writing upon it, with its elegant swirls and flowing symmetry, looked as if it were calligraphy. A red seal of a lion and a sword had been broken to release the letter from its elegant envelope.

Lara had never seen such a beautiful document, a virtual work of art. She could not translate the bold flourish of Arabic script, but she knew someone who could: her friend who taught Near Eastern studies.

Lara ignored the other common assortment of notices. The busy world would have to wait. Walking toward the exit under the arch of two black marble pillars, she knew that she carried treasure in her hands.

2

Lara entered the walnut-paneled study, shelved with leather-bound books from the floor to the ceiling, and waited for Lord Richard Dale to complete his lecture notes. A lock of his blond hair dangled at the bridge of his nose as his tall, lithe torso bent over a massive black walnut desk, an heirloom from his recently deceased father.

Richard finished a footnote and looked up to see Lara smiling at him. It warmed his heart.

Come into my parlor, says this spider to a lovely fly. What brings you to this side of the campus? And what do you have in that pretty hand of yours?

This elegant paper is why I am present and accounted for, so don't be too cheeky, as you British like to say. I require the advice of a Near Eastern expert to solve this mystery. Am I disturbing you?

No bother whatsoever! In fact, you have captured my interest. Well, my lovely, first of all, this is not paper but extremely fine parchment—made from an animal's skin. It is so fine that I can almost see through it. Very rare! I have never seen such quality. The gilding on the letter and the envelope is pure gold. The wonderful fragrance embedded into the letter and the envelope is heavenly. I think it is either frankincense or myrrh, probably frankincense.

I know you are fluent in several languages. My guess is that this letter has been written in Arabic. Would you read it to me? Lara asked.

"You are not only lovely and intelligent but a superb guesser. It is Arabic. The letter reads:

To the Chosen One,

You hold this letter in your hands because I prayed for you. Destiny found you, and God chose you. You now have the power to change the world, to become an angel of light, for when we touch even one life, the world will never be the same.

I beseech you, the mother of one son. He needs you. I need you. Come and bring a ray of light—give my son the gift of knowledge.

A prince's treasure has been set aside for you; however, I believe that you will come not for the reward of gold but for the reward of changing another's life.

Come. We wait for you. Listen with your heart. Know your mind. Begin the journey.

Nabinia Altalib

Queen of Petra

Richard lowered the letter onto his desk and exclaimed, Remarkable! This is a very educated woman. Her writing is a type of ancient calligraphy. The wax seal of the crouching lion and the curved sword is quite old and denotes royalty. Fascinating letter—fascinating woman! I am tempted to go and visit her.

Lara looked directly into Richard's sea-gray eyes and said, Why don't we go together? You have the knowledge, I have the heart. We can leave at the end of this semester. I have my degree, and you will have finished your lectures as a don. We are both wealthy. There is nothing stopping us. You read her heartfelt cry. Let's go.

Richard raised his eyes to the white corniced ceiling and began to shake his head slowly. You Americans are so impatient and impractical! Lara, because we are wealthy, we have certain responsibilities—managing an estate, taking my father's position as a member of parliament, and completing my duties as a new don. How would it appear if I, we, were to run off on some wild adventure in the desert? You do know where Petra is located, I presume?

No, Lord Dale, I do not. Please enlighten me.

It is south of the Dead Sea in the Transjordan near Arabia. It is a part of the old Edomite and Nabatean kingdoms on an ancient trade route that centered on incense and spices. It has been fought over by every major empire that came into the region—Assyrians, Babylonians, Persians, Greeks, Romans, and currently between the Ottoman Turks and the ancestral Arabs. Once again, it is a battleground. This is 1917. We are in the third year of a world war, or have you forgotten?

No, Richard, I have not. All the reason more why we should be there.

"Darling, I was told that food production was as important as bullets at this juncture of the war, or I might be in the trenches of the Western Front right now.