My beloved is like a cherry tree in the midst of the desert. I delight to sit in his shade. His fruit is a sweet taste on my lips. Take me away with you; let us hurry from this place. The bridal chamber awaits…
-From “The Song of the Dar’s Beloved” (The Sayings, Book III, 2:7-9)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The IslandThe sweat, mingled with the sting of sea-wind, burned Lebía’s eyes. Her fingernails were threatening to pop off with every thrust of her hand into the black soil. The hand-harrow was slowly transforming into lead. Her back reminded her, periodically, that if she did not straighten out soon, she would remain hunched over the ground forever.
It was exhilarating.
She had never felt this alive, this useful. All her life she was served, waited upon, coddled, and worried over. All her lif
