11ish

Zula tossed and turned in a fever for three days. Ved kept cool cloths on her arms and face, trying to bring the temperature down, but to little avail.

Sometimes Zula slept fitfully, and for those short hours Ved slept, or attended to the meals of the household. When Zula was awake, Ved was by her side, listening to her ravings.

"Why is it so cold?" she whispered, plucking nervously at her arms. "Why did they put these things in my arms? Why is it so cold?" Ved felt her forehead to make sure that the cloths were not too cold, but the rags were almost as hot as Zula's face. She wrung them out silently, dipping them in the water again, and replaced them.

"What have they done to my hair?" she cried on the second morning. Her hands twitched as she tried to reach up to her head, but her energy waned and she dropped back into sleep. Other times she asked about her statues, and she continually asked to see people of whom Ved had no knowledge. One time in the dead of night Ved awoke to hear Zula chanting a litany of gods and goddesses; Ved listened in shock as Zula recited the litany so sacred to her own people, of which Zula could have no knowledge. As the fever held, Ved feared more and more for her mistress' life, and the life of her child. Early on the fourth morning, she slipped out to the market, and came back a hour later, clutching several small packets of dried herbs. She carefully mixed the herbs into a jar of hot water; carrying the jar outside, she held it up into the light of the rising sun, and chanted slowly. She carried the jar back inside the house, and slipping an arm underneath her mistress' shoulders, poured the hot liquid down ehr throat. Almost as soon as she had swallowed it, Zula fell into a deep quiet sleep, and Ved went back out into the garden to burn the remaining herbs and the packets that she had purchased them in. As she watched the small fire burn itself out on the sand, she looked up to see the silhouette of the priest. He stood watching her from the desert sands, and she shivered. He watched for a moment, then turned and disappeared over a sand dune. Ved quickly buried the ashes in the garden, and went back indoors.

Zula opened her eyes slowly, drifting upwards from unconsciousness. She turned her head, and watched the afternoon sunlight moving slowly across the floor, and wondered groggily what time it was. A slight rustle caught her ear, and she turned over slowly. Ved sat on the floor by her bed; she had dropped off into sleep for a few moments, and her head leaned against the hard wooden bedpost. One pale hand lay stretched out toward Zula.

Zula quietly took the small white hand with her own, and fell asleep again. This time, there were no nightmares: only quiet dreams of an enclosed garden, white flowers, and a girl with a halo of sunlit hair.

A week later, a small caravan of deshas, laden with rolls of fabric and large woven baskets, passed through the main plaza, and stopped at Zula’s house. A large man dismounted from the lead animal, and shook the dust from his bright green robe. A large swath of yellow cloth was bound around his head to shield it from the sun, and his belt was of leather stained deeply red. A full beard curled from his chin, and his dark moustache curled upward as he bared his teeth in a grin. He motioned for the other men, now unloading the animals, to be quiet, and entered the stone dwelling.

He could hear the happy clatter of the kitchen, and slipped through the darkened hallway towards the sound. He peeped through the space between the curtain and doorway, and saw the laughing face of a young wife, aglow with health. Her dark skin gleamed and her dark hair was espcaping from under the chali. The bronze knife in her hand flashed as she chopped the gidic into tiny pieces, and gathered up the colorful handfuls into a pot of boiling water. The steam from the water over the fire filled the kitchen, and through it the figure of the housekeeper who stirred another pot that sat in the back of the stone fireplace. Leaving that pot for a moment, she pulled a few pieces of bread from the hot stones where they were baking, and added them to a basket of bread that lay covered with a thick towel.

The man grinned at the scene, then pulled aside the curtain rapidly, and roared, “Where is my dinner, wife?” The two women screamed loudly and whirled around, Zula still brandishing the knife. “Mushad?” she stammered after a moment. “But…you weren’t supposed to be home for another two days…”

He laughed, and swept her up into a whirling dance. “Yes, but the ships are once again loaded and ready to sail, and I could not wait a moment longer!” Zula wrapped her arms around his neck and held on tightly, laughing as she was spun through the curtain and into the hallway. When Mushad finally set her down again, she stumbled, slightly dizzy, before regaining her composure. “And then, how was your business, my husband?” she asked demurely, with a slight quirk of the lips.

Mushad took her hand and led her back into the kitchen. “Business went well, of course. I was able to bring back many good fabrics to sell here in the town, as well as provide for our own needs for many months. And I brought back the usual things, as well; good, fine flour; rich oil for your kitchen, and best of all, a whole set of new pots and jars!”

Zula’s eye shone, and even Ved smiled, seeing the two of them together. She was fairly certain that Zula’s child was conceived the last time that Mushad came home from a trading trip. She continued stirring the stew and the gidics, and began to gather the bowls and jars for the evening meal.

“Oh, and I suppose I should tell you, I did bring something extra back for you.” Mushad pulled a small cloth-wrapped package from an inner pocket of his robe, and handed it to her. “Some of my colleagues suggested that you might like it, though I still think I should have brought you another pot.” His dark eyes twinkled as Zula’s thin fingers carefully pried the knots out of the string that wrapped the package, and gently unwrapped the cloth. A necklace spilled into her open palm: it was made of many tiny links of a metal that shone like the moon, and had many strands that crossed each other in an intricate pattern. From the end of each loose strand hung a small intensely blue jewel, and in the center was a smooth stone that looked like ice, but glowed with a cold fire; many points of colored light seemed to dance at its center.

Mushad took the necklace from her gently, and clapsed it around her neck. His fingertips lightly grazed the back of her neck, and he could feel a slight shiver go through her. Zula felt the cold metal warm against her skin, and touched the stone at the center of the necklace. She looked up at her husband, and her eyes were brilliantly purple in the warm light of the kitchen.

The three chimes of the dinner bell rang out through the house, and Zula tore herself away from Mushad with a sigh. “Later,” he whispered in her ear.

In the chill of the night, Mushad kissed his wife’s bare stomach, and smiled, moustaches brushing her skin. “And how long will it be, then, before the child is born?”

“Another six cycles or so, I believe.” She ran her fingers through his curly hair, marveling at its abundance. “And I think it will be a girl. They say a mother often knows before the child is born, and I have the perfect name.”

“And what is that, light of my life?” Mushad drew her in close and wrapped his arms around her.

She nestled in close to him, tucking her head under his chin. “I think I want to call her Mado.” She kissed the line of his jaw.

Mushad pulled away and looked her in the face. “Mado?”

She smiled. “Yes. Of course, if it’s a boy, he’ll have the masculine form of the name: Mushad.”

Mushad laughed, a low rumble in the back of his throat, and kissed her again. They did not sleep the rest of the night.