Before great cities are seen, they make their weight felt
as if they test hearts before feet.
When the caravan reached the outskirts of Saba, the city itself had not yet appeared on the horizon. And yet, its presence dominated everything around them. The air felt different heavier, more disciplined, as though the land here had grown accustomed to being obeyed. Even the wind no longer wandered aimlessly; it passed with intention, as if it knew exactly where to stop.
Before the great gate through which only the permitted may pass stretched rows of caravanserais and rest houses on both sides of the road. Stone and clay structures stood in patient lines, like a city built solely for waiting. Here, caravans paused to recount their men, lighten their loads, and conceal what could not yet be spoken before official reasons for entry were carefully shaped.
In this place, journeys were no longer measured in days…
but in permissions.
The scene was alive with motion.
Merchants from the east, wearing light turbans, their spices announcing themselves before their goods appeared.
Caravans from the west, laden with fine fabrics and polished metals.
From the north came men wrapped in thick hides, carrying weapons shown only to those who understood their worth.
And the south… was present in its silence
a sea from which no one arrived, and to which nothing returned.
Aram and his companions took lodging in a wide caravanserai closest to the gate, their temporary council. They unloaded their goods, tethered their animals, and allowed themselves a few hours of apparent rest. Yet unease lingered on every face.
For here, roads were not the only things observed…
intentions were watched as well.
And the traveler was questioned not only about what he carried,
but about what he intended to take with him when he left.
They hired a local guide a middle-aged man with sharp eyes and few words, known for his precise knowledge of Saba's strict procedures. Najjar sat with him and began explaining the reason for their arrival.
He said they were a trading caravan,
come to purchase spices arriving from India,
along with weapons and supplies,
and that what they carried jewels and valuable materials was sufficient for barter.
The guide listened, nodding occasionally, but his eyes never stayed still. From time to time, he looked at Aram not as one looks at a merchant awaiting a deal, but as a warrior who knows how to hide his blade beneath simple cloth.
The words did not convince him fully.
He sensed something deeper than trade.
At last, he spoke in a tone edged with warning:
"Entry into Saba is not easy… and numbers are not permitted.
Six or seven at most.
The rest must wait here."
Then he rose and told them he would go arrange the formalities, and that his return would decide who entered and who remained behind.
After he left, the men gathered.
Silence settled a heavy silence, like standing at the edge of a decision with no return.
Then whispers began. Glances were exchanged. Questions formed in eyes.
That was when Aram spoke.
Calmly, without room for negotiation, he declared who would enter Saba with him:
Marana,
Riman,
Siham,
Tavar,
Solan.
Some were surprised.
Eyes widened, looks crossed, and someone asked why.
Aram explained without revealing all his cards.
Siham could hear what was never said, and see what others worked hard to hide.
Marana understood herbs and spices what was permitted, what was forbidden and her presence raised little suspicion.
Riman accompanied her, and together their shadows drew no attention.
As for Solan and Tavar, their presence was necessary to protect him as he moved and searched within the city.
Then he turned to Najjar, his voice softer, yet heavier in weight:
"You stay here.
Take care of the others.
Do not move until I return.
This is not a trade journey… it is reconnaissance."
Najjar accepted, despite the burden.
He knew Aram did not make careless decisions and that what remained unsaid was often more dangerous than what was spoken.
But what no one understood…
was what happened next.
Aram approached Marana and spoke with her privately.
His voice was low, his words few but her expression changed as they spoke, as though she had been given a task she had not expected, or a responsibility heavier than she had imagined.
Then he took Riman aside, away from everyone.
They sat near the wall of the caravanserai, where shadow outweighed light.
They spoke for a long time longer than anyone had ever seen Aram speak with another.
The boy's face carried the weight of what he heard. In the end, he nodded without question like someone accepting a role he did not fully understand… but felt had been written for him.
No one knew what was said.
And no one dared ask.
When Aram returned to the group, he was as calm as before, his face revealing nothing as if those two conversations had never taken place.
And while they waited for the guide's return,
Saba, behind its sealed gate,
was preparing to receive those who did not yet know
whether they would leave as they entered…
or leave a part of themselves behind its walls,
never to reclaim it again.