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bad attitudes toward men hinder your happiness. Why do you always push good men away, Jem’ya? It worries me that you—”
    “He’s an Arab,” Jem’ya interjected to end the lecture. It worked.
    “Oh.” Mama frowned. “Be very careful.”
    Jem’ya nodded.
    For a while, Mama just sat and looked worriedly at her daughter’s guarded expression. “Goodnight, my child.”
    “Sleep well, Mama.”
    Once her mother left, Jem’ya lie down and stared at the roof of her hut, knowing the truth; that she had not been careful enough.
    She had allowed herself to play pretend. She let herself believe for a few hours at a time that when Tareq’s eyes glanced over her figure that he was attracted to her, and that when he was being silly it was because he wanted to see her smile and laugh, and that when he gave her gifts he wanted to impress her. She let her mind pretend, but in the end she had truly fallen for him. Her heart longed for him, even though her mind knew Tareq was pretending, too.
    He pretended to be someone else at the Coast, that he was poor rather than wealthy, that he was kind and thoughtful rather than pompous, and that it didn’t matter what her race was. What tortured her the most was the thought that Tareq knew how much she cared about him and was playing with her, giving her gifts and soft glances, just to go home and laugh with his rich Arab friends about his adventures courting a ‘negress witchdoctor’.
    She didn’t want to think about it anymore, that’s why she returned to Tikso . Thoughts of him made her feel empty, but being with her family made her heart full. She planned to stay in Tikso as long as her conscience allowed. Jem’ya curled up under the goatskin covers and fell into a fitful sleep, Tareq’s gift still dangling from her ears.
     
    Tareq led his squadron of twenty-eight warriors on horseback away from the rotting brutalized bodies and fire ravished homes in the Cambe settlement of Middle Africa, the very scene he had feared. The indigenous people had revolted, murdered all of the Samhian officials and guards, destroyed the settlement and then disappeared. They left no tracks for the squadron to follow, so Tareq followed his instincts and decided to lead his men east to apprehend the murderers and bring justice for the fallen.
    Earlier, Tareq released two warriors to return to the capital and inform the King and council of the circumstances. Their hearts filled with rage and a thirst for battle, they reluctantly obeyed his order to turn back. The tension among the remaining men was palpable. They had spent the day digging graves and burying comrades and their murdered family. The men sat rigid on their horses. The only sound was the hooves of their animals and the jangle of the metal on their armored leather vests.
    “I cannot wait to find these black savages !” growled Kaliq, the newest soldier. His long black hair gathered at the nape of his neck was slipping out of the tie, and his stubble-lined mouth was wrinkled with revulsion.
    “ Yaaah !” exclaimed most of the soldiers in agreement.
    Tareq sighed. “Their love for their country and people is just as strong as ours.”
    “They do not know their place,” Kaliq retorted.
    “Enough,” he ordered, gruff but tired. “Let us find water for our animals.” They rode in silence until they saw a village. Tareq could see some women sitting together by a hut. It was most likely that the women knew where to find fresh water, plus they would be easier to speak with, less confrontational. “Be peaceful, men. Be peaceful and they may be helpful to us.”
    Unfortunately, once they came upon the village they were met by a group of three surly men. Immediately, Tareq was annoyed by the short man with the brown hair. He had his chest puffed out like a rooster and had the smile of a hyena.
    Tareq called forward his translator, a thin, frizzy haired, mixed blood man, to inquire about the rebel tribe. The brown-haired man did all the