After that conversation with Waax, the night was truly long… Everyone was running around with things, carrying food and drink from here to there. I, on the other hand, was busy with my own affairs from early on.
The old woman and Waax came at first light to wake me, dragging me drowsily through the cracks we used as passageways. They took me to the main hall and sat me down in front of the stone statue. Waax took a bowl with a red liquid and, with a cactus thorn, began to pierce my skin… the ink and my blood mingled, making the difference between the former and the latter unrecognizable. The old woman, for her part, chanted as she circled the statue:
In the darkness of the night
A terrible blasphemy
Devastated your lineage
Reduced it to dust and misery.
Who will care for the bride?
Pregnant and alone at your feet
In her arms she cradles and nurses.
A sick infant,
A hungry and thirsty girl,
A mother weeps at your feet.
After this song, the statue was moved and tears began to flow from its stone eyes.
"What? Is this the mercy of a true god?" I raised my eyes to the statue's face and felt fear in my heart.
The old woman took a cup and collected the statue's tears until it was full. She took a handful of red powder and a handful of blue salt, which turned black upon contact with water.
She sang again, she intoned a new song.
The earth is barren,
Her husband, the sun, dried her up,
And she could not give him offspring,
Her life is fragile.
So much pain and sorrow,
Mother Earth longs to be,
But her husband scorns her.
The Lord saw her,
He had mercy on her,
And from the sand she rose.
When the old woman finished singing, she brought the bowl closer to me, and I drank it down to the bottom, drop by drop, sip by sip. It was as bitter as the seawater. I began to feel dizzy, and everything started to blur.
"Is this your son?" the old woman asked.
My stomach and head began to ache, my mind went blank, and all I could feel was the pain of the thorns in my skin, growing stronger and stronger. I heard the old woman's voice echoing, repeating itself over and over.
"Is this your son?"
"Is this your son?"
"Is this your son?"
I fell to the sand and fainted for a moment… Then the old woman took my head and put it in the sand, but it felt as if I had been submerged in the sea. I tried to breathe, but I felt my lungs filling with bitter water, and little by little I felt myself dying.
"Ah!" I began to spit out water; I was regaining consciousness.
"What happened?" I clung to the old woman's arms as Waax brought a bowl of water and gave it to me to drink.
"The lion cub is dead, get up," the old woman ordered me.
Afterward, I was led to the outside where Yak and Tool were waiting for me, the former with my dagger and the latter holding a wooden shield and a torch.
"He rises from the sand, the desert is his mother and the sun his father, his lord is the one who makes it rain!" Tool repeated forcefully with each step he took in front of me, leading me to the center of the orchard.
In the distance, I saw a shield and a young man holding it, reciting the same words as Tool. Behind him walked Kitam, dressed only in a loincloth, his body painted, and behind him a man carrying a dagger.
When the two marches reached each other, I saw a multitude on either side of the lord's statue. A hundred men, carrying torches and shields, formed a large circle. Upon seeing us both approach, they began to sing.
"The earth is barren!
Her husband, the sun, has dried her up!
And she could not give him offspring!
Her life is fragile!
So much pain and sorrow!
The earth longs to be a mother!
But her husband scorns her!
The lord saw her!
He had mercy on her!
And from the sand she rose!
He rose from the sand!
The desert is his mother!" The sun is his father!
His lord is the one who makes it rain!
At that moment, Yak entered the circle, and the man behind Kitam did the same. They stood facing each other, each drawing his dagger, both black daggers that gleamed in the sunlight.
Kitam walked forward, and Tool cleared a path for me to do the same. As we approached, Yak and the man raised their daggers and said,
"This is my son, blood of my blood, sand was his bed, sand will be his grave!"—while brandishing their daggers aloft… Then Yak handed me his drawn dagger, and the man did the same with Kitam. They both left the circle, and Tool and the other man with the shield closed it. Then only Kitam and I remained in the circle, about five or six cubits apart.
The voices fell silent, and the old woman's voice was heard saying, "This is my son, blood of my blood, sand was his bed, sand will be his grave!"
Then everyone began to repeat those words.
"This is my son, blood of my blood, sand was his bed, sand will be his grave!"
Then Kitam said it too, "This is my people, blood of my blood, sand is my bed, sand will be my grave!"
I followed him, "This is my people, blood of my blood, sand is my bed, sand will be my grave!"
Despite the noise of the crowd, I heard only silence, a long silence.
Then the dry desert air.
And again, silence.
I ran with all my might, my dagger gripping my right hand. I was thirsty for blood, and blood was what I would get. Kitam took a fighting stance, one hand forward, his right hand a closed fist, his left hand back at his waist, gripping his dagger tightly.
I aimed for his thigh. He blocked my thrust with his forward arm, his dagger grazing my abdomen. He was fast, and he almost claimed my organs on the sand. I managed to pull my stomach in just enough to make the cut superficial. I struck his forearm hard, trying to weaken his grip. He anticipated this and, bending his elbow, chained my right arm to his left. With one swift movement, he sent me reeling to the side, my knee kissing the sand.
I tightened my grip on my dagger and guided it toward his thigh, plunging it deep. Just as I was about to cut toward his hip, he jammed his fist into my jaw, forcing me to drop my dagger.
I took advantage of his injury and limited movement to create some distance. My dagger remained lodged in his thigh, while his sought to pierce my head.
He lunged at me with force as soon as I created some distance, but his thigh gave way slightly, giving me enough time to dodge.
He was left with his back to me. I didn't know how to proceed without my dagger, then I noticed his was in his left arm, the one he had braced in the sand after failing to pierce me.
I lunged at him, hoping to steal his dagger. He fell to the ground first, landing on his back, and I fell on top of him, trying to wrest it from him. We struggled in the sand, and somehow I managed to pry the dagger from his hand. In a desperate movement, he twisted on the sand and managed to throw me off his back, my body landing in the process.
We both got up from the sand; I had his dagger. "He's unarmed, this is my chance." I lunged at him, but in an unexpected move, he kicked me in the knee, sending me crashing to the sand and his dagger flying to the edge of the circle of men.
As I crawled on the ground, desperate to get to my feet and grab the dagger, he rushed forward and lunged for it as well. Both of us covered in sand, we began to struggle until, with a somewhat lucky footwork, I managed to strike him hard in the face, knocking him off me and obtaining the dagger in the process.
We were both on our feet again, less than two elbows apart. I tried to forcefully plunge the dagger into his chest. He covered himself with his right arm, jammed his left fist into my stomach, making me drop the dagger. He quickly caught it in his right hand and aimed it at my left thigh. I struck his forearm hard, but it only prevented him from driving the dagger in deeply, not from cutting me.
As blood gushed from my leg, I slammed my fist into his right side, which he tried unsuccessfully to shield with his right arm. The dagger, now thirsty for more blood, swung from his right hand into mine after that blow.
I gripped it tightly, but as I tried to stab his face, he blocked me with a crossed arm and snatched it from my grasp. I knelt on the sand, bleeding from my thigh.
The dagger, now in his hands, seemed poised to seal my fate. It once again aimed straight for my heart. I moved as best I could, and he stabbed me in the shoulder. At the same time, I yanked my dagger from his thigh, and while he struggled with his dagger stuck in my shoulder, I swallowed my pain and stabbed him in the abdomen.
He managed to free the dagger from my shoulder just in time, and I only managed to inflict a non-fatal wound.
We looked at each other for an instant, and in one swift motion, we both launched our attacks. I aimed my dagger at his throat, while he aimed his at my belly. With his left arm, he plunged his dagger into me, deflecting my attack with his right.
I held his dagger, already embedded in my belly, and forcefully spat out a little blood.
It was all over. My dagger never reached his neck; I always waited for him to deflect it. He spat blood too, and I twisted my dagger tightly before pulling it from his chest, right into his heart.
I stepped back, and his body fell to the sand. I raised my dagger high with what little strength I had left, and as I spat blood, I recited:
"This is my people, blood of my blood, sand is my bed, sand will be my grave!"
Cries of victory were heard, and a hundred voices shouted:
"This is my son, blood of my blood, sand was his bed, sand will be his grave!"
Again—"This is my son, blood of my blood, sand was his bed, sand will be his grave!"—
And again.
That was the last thing I heard before losing strength and almost collapsing to the ground, were it not for Waax's arms that caught me at the last second.
"Listen, everyone, this is my husband, blood of your blood, sand is his bed, sand will be his grave!" she said with tears in her eyes as she held me in her lap and raised my dagger high.
The old woman approached us and gave me a drink from a bowl. Then she gave Waax some ointment and cloths to treat my wounds.
While they were treating my wounds, the old woman asked, "What is your name, man of the desert?"
A little more recovered, I stood up with Waax's help and, taking my dagger, said, "I am the man of the desert, my father is the sun, my mother the sand, and my lord is the one who makes it rain."
"What is your name, man of the desert?" she asked aloud, followed by the people.
"I am the man of the desert. My father is the sun, my mother the sand, and my lord is the one who makes it rain," I said, holding my dagger aloft.
"My name is Kaan, and I am the one who dwells, the man of the desert."