to a stop against a pile of rocks. Shêtân lunged forward again, raking the thick, furry hide with his teeth. But the ibex was far from beaten. With a surge of brute strength he heaved up. The stallion lost his grip and teetered backward. The ibex picked himself up. In a moment he had gained the higher ground.
Once again the ram went on the attack, his long horns seeking the stallion’s vulnerable stomach. He tried to draw the horse out into the open, but Shêtânwould not make an easy target of himself. He dodged the spiral horns that had already marked his body and showed his cunning by waiting for just the right moment to make his move. But they were both becoming battle weary. It was only a matter of time before one of them would make a fatal mistake.
Finally Shêtân saw his chance to catch the ibex off guard. He pretended to lunge forward. In response the ibex lowered his head to ward off the blow. The horse swerved and attacked from the side. The ram stumbled and fell. The blood-maddened stallion reared up and brought his full weight down upon the ibex. His mighty forelegs mercilessly crushed the beast’s horned skull.
The triumphant stallion stood over the fallen body of the ram, and the mountains resounded with the echo of his powerful cry of conquest. Blood dripped from his wounded foreleg, his breath came fast and hard, but his eyes were sharp and clear. He turned his gaze to the sky, where the all-seeing falcon soared easily, drifting freely with the inviting morning wind. The bird watched Shêtân back up and limp off, headed still farther into the highlands. Soon the stallion had left the ibex herd far behind. He was alone again.
T HE R UINS
7
Rashid watched the flames of his campfire grow lower and lower as he chewed on the last remnants of the hare he’d caught for supper. It was the first time in days he had dared to start a campfire, for fear of giving himself away. Soon it would be dark again and he would have to put the fire out. It would be time to move on. The shadows of the flames were already beginning to flicker and dance across the wall of the gully he sat in.
His almond-shaped eyes narrowed to slits as he stared into the red coals and remembered his home far away. He could almost hear the laughter coming from his family tent. He remembered the soft steepness of the windswept dunes, the smell of dust, the hot breath of the desert.
After wandering through the mountains for two full moons and more, the scout had come to wonder if he would ever be able to leave this rooftop of the world and reach his home in the dunes. For the first time in his life he had come to doubt his tracking ability. But that wasnonsense. Wasn’t he a renowned tracker in the desert? He could recognize the tracks of every camel he’d ever seen and from their droppings tell where they had been grazed and watered. But here things were different. Here he had to learn the language of the land all over again. Traveling by night had made things even more difficult. The moon was his guide, and he followed its lonesome trail, using it as a torch to light his way.
Aside from the lizards and an occasional hare caught and eaten for dinner, the only animals he’d seen were a few wild ibex grazing in the highlands above. Sometimes he heard a bat fly by at night, the hoot of an owl or a chorus of hyenas singing in the distance, but that was all. His poetry, Allah and the stars were his only companions.
He avoided the occasional campfire he saw on the mountainside. Here in the Kharj district he was among hostile tribes. A few nights ago he’d been turned back by the sight of a mounted hunting party. He covered his tracks as best he could and was still searching for a route onward.
The barren land had become more and more forbidding the farther he went. One after the other, the paths he took led to dead ends and detours to nowhere. Many times he traveled all through the night and ended up at dawn right back where he’d
Once again the ram went on the attack, his long horns seeking the stallion’s vulnerable stomach. He tried to draw the horse out into the open, but Shêtânwould not make an easy target of himself. He dodged the spiral horns that had already marked his body and showed his cunning by waiting for just the right moment to make his move. But they were both becoming battle weary. It was only a matter of time before one of them would make a fatal mistake.
Finally Shêtân saw his chance to catch the ibex off guard. He pretended to lunge forward. In response the ibex lowered his head to ward off the blow. The horse swerved and attacked from the side. The ram stumbled and fell. The blood-maddened stallion reared up and brought his full weight down upon the ibex. His mighty forelegs mercilessly crushed the beast’s horned skull.
The triumphant stallion stood over the fallen body of the ram, and the mountains resounded with the echo of his powerful cry of conquest. Blood dripped from his wounded foreleg, his breath came fast and hard, but his eyes were sharp and clear. He turned his gaze to the sky, where the all-seeing falcon soared easily, drifting freely with the inviting morning wind. The bird watched Shêtân back up and limp off, headed still farther into the highlands. Soon the stallion had left the ibex herd far behind. He was alone again.
T HE R UINS
7
Rashid watched the flames of his campfire grow lower and lower as he chewed on the last remnants of the hare he’d caught for supper. It was the first time in days he had dared to start a campfire, for fear of giving himself away. Soon it would be dark again and he would have to put the fire out. It would be time to move on. The shadows of the flames were already beginning to flicker and dance across the wall of the gully he sat in.
His almond-shaped eyes narrowed to slits as he stared into the red coals and remembered his home far away. He could almost hear the laughter coming from his family tent. He remembered the soft steepness of the windswept dunes, the smell of dust, the hot breath of the desert.
After wandering through the mountains for two full moons and more, the scout had come to wonder if he would ever be able to leave this rooftop of the world and reach his home in the dunes. For the first time in his life he had come to doubt his tracking ability. But that wasnonsense. Wasn’t he a renowned tracker in the desert? He could recognize the tracks of every camel he’d ever seen and from their droppings tell where they had been grazed and watered. But here things were different. Here he had to learn the language of the land all over again. Traveling by night had made things even more difficult. The moon was his guide, and he followed its lonesome trail, using it as a torch to light his way.
Aside from the lizards and an occasional hare caught and eaten for dinner, the only animals he’d seen were a few wild ibex grazing in the highlands above. Sometimes he heard a bat fly by at night, the hoot of an owl or a chorus of hyenas singing in the distance, but that was all. His poetry, Allah and the stars were his only companions.
He avoided the occasional campfire he saw on the mountainside. Here in the Kharj district he was among hostile tribes. A few nights ago he’d been turned back by the sight of a mounted hunting party. He covered his tracks as best he could and was still searching for a route onward.
The barren land had become more and more forbidding the farther he went. One after the other, the paths he took led to dead ends and detours to nowhere. Many times he traveled all through the night and ended up at dawn right back where he’d
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