Page 53 of Bound By Wishes

I smiled at him and gripped his shoulder. “Iamhere and thisisreal and I need your help.”

Malik shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. “I know, I know. You’ve told me you need me to help you get back into that cave and free your genie. Do you have any idea how crazy all of this sounds?”

“I am very much aware,” I assured him as I walked over to the tent flap and pushed it aside.

“Where are you going?” Malik asked as he stepped toward me.

“To my tent,” I said with a shrug. “I need to change.”

Malik shook his head. “You really do believe you’ve only been gone for a few weeks, don’t you?” My brow furrowed in confusion as he continued. “You don’t have a tent anymore, Cal,” he explained. “After the accident, Mathew brought in more people—new archaeologists, assistants, you name it. He’s bringing in more every day. That tent you had is someone else’s now.”

I stilled as a cool night breeze drifted past me, sweeping into the tent. No matter how hard I tried, my mind refused to accept that I’d been gone so long, when it felt like only days, maybe weeks, had slipped by.

“Can I borrow some of your clothes?” I asked him, refusing to dwell on the impossibility of the time.

He bent down, reaching beneath his cot to pull something out. “I couldn’t bring myself to throw your things away,” he said softly, offering me my bag with a bittersweetsmile. Then he stepped outside the tent, giving me a moment of privacy.

As I shuffled through my bag, a soothing comfort filled my chest at the familiar items. I pulled out a dark-green tank top and a pair of high-waisted khaki pants, then changed, feeling like myself again in my clothes. Next, I slipped on my dark-brown tactical boots with scuffed leather that told of their age.

Running my fingers through my hair, a sharp pain made me hiss. I glanced down at the wound. It was angry and red, with dried blood caked around the edges. It needed to be cleaned and dressed, but I didn’t have the time and couldn’t risk going to the medical tent. Instead, I tied a bandanna around it, hoping to keep any additional dirt out of the cut.

With my hand bandaged, I braided my hair and pulled on a thick coat to ward off the chill before stepping back outside. Malik ducked back inside and then joined me after he changed. We snuck through the array of tents, stopping in the shadows when we saw or heard anyone moving around camp.

“How are we going to get there?” Malik whispered from behind. “I don’t think we can risk taking a vehicle. The engine starting will wake someone up.”

I stopped outside the campsite, where several camels were tied to a weathered post. Their eyes were closed, and their heads gently lolled from side to side as they dozed in the cool night air. The soft rustle of their movements and the occasional flick of a tail were the only sounds in the stillness.

“Ever ride on a camel?” I asked, turning to him with a big smile on my face.

Malik followed my line of sight. “I ain’t riding no camel, Cal!” he thundered.

“Shh,” I scolded him softly. “We don’t have a choice. Like you said, a car would be too loud, and the only horse I’ve seen in camp is the one I rode in on, and he’s in no condition to carry both of us that far.”

I walked over to the camels, with Malik trailing hesitantly behind me. “Aren’t they sweet?” I cooed, running my hand along the coarse hair of one of their necks. The camel stirred at my touch, its large eyes half-opening with mild curiosity.

“No, they are not,” Malik sulked. “They’re filthy beasts that spit.”

“It's not exactly spitting,” I corrected him. “When camels are agitated, threatened, or annoyed, they regurgitate the contents of their stomach and project it, along with saliva, toward the source of their irritation.” I turned to him with bright eyes.

Malik’s glare could’ve cut through me. “That’s a thousand times worse than just spitting,” he grumbled.

“You don’t have to worry about it if you’re on its back,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Now come on.” I stopped in front of the camels, my gaze sweeping over their humps and the saddles on the ground. “I don’t know how to saddle a camel. Do you?” I asked, turning to Malik.

“What about my appearance would possibly make you think that I know how to saddle a camel?” Malik asked sarcastically.

“Stop being a pain,” I hissed, frustration creeping into my voice. “Go find that young boy, Hassan. Surely, he knows how tosaddle a camel.”

Malik walked off without another word. I wasn’t sure he was coming back until he rounded one of the tents with Hassan on his heels.

“I can help, madam,” Hassan said politely.

“Thank you.” I smiled at him before turning to glare at Malik. “It’s so nice to have useful men around.”

Malik huffed, crossing his arms over his chest as we stood off to the side, watching Hassan expertly strap the riding saddles onto two of the camels. His movements were quick and practiced, securing the straps and adjusting the saddles.

“They’re ready,” Hassan announced proudly.

I slowly approached one of the camels, which was still in a kneeling position, its large eyes watching my every movement. Taking a deep breath, I placed my foot in the stirrup, feeling the worn leather beneath my boot. “How hard could this be?” I murmured to myself, trying to sound more confident than I felt. “After all, it has to be easier than riding an elephant.”

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