Wings of the Wind Read online

  Bile burned my throat. I’d been so distracted last night after seeing Tobiah and Keziah together, dragging myself to my bed and covering my head with my blankets, that I hadn’t thought too much about Capo. He had died and I hadn’t even noticed. I was no better than the serpent that had sought his life. What was I thinking? I could not be a mother. My own had abandoned me. What had given me the foolish idea that I would be any better?

  Before I could change my mind, I slipped off my mat, placed Capo’s little body in a manna-gathering basket, and slid my bow and quiver over my shoulder. Since Tobiah was lying across the entrance, I carefully tugged at the back wall to dislodge the stones that held it down and crawled beneath it. I anchored the wall again before leaving, hoping it would discourage Bodo from following me. Nita would care for him, I was sure. Much better than I could ever hope to.

  Dawn skimmed the farthest horizon. If I was to slip out of camp before anyone sought me, I must hurry. Clutching my basket close to my chest, I darted through the maze of tents, heading for the white glow on the edge of camp, the reflection of the manna against the first gleam of the morning. Disregarding the clawing cold that whipped at my face, I plunged into the field, pushing through the grains that swallowed my feet like new-fallen snow. I nearly stopped to gather some, with the awareness that once I was away from the Hebrews I would not taste it again, but I did not deserve such a last pleasure.

  I should be rejoicing at the ease with which I had escaped my captors, the sheer width of the freedom that I would now enjoy. So why did my feet ache to turn around? Why did my heart feel like a heavy stone in my chest? Why did the cold wind seem almost warm compared to the screaming void that grew inside me with every step away?

  I should have died on that battlefield, yet Tobiah had saved me, cared for me, and protected me, even against my will. But the truth was that Tobiah could hurt me more than anyone, more than I had known was possible.

  It was best, my escape. I would never see him turn his back on me. I would never endure the loss of his kindness. He would not be forced to choose between his sister and me. He could marry Keziah and be happy. Be free from the anchor of marriage to a Canaanite.

  Doubts, fears, desires, and impossible hopes tugged at different parts of me. Could a person be torn to pieces by such divided emotions? My feet slowed. I lifted my chin to greet the rise of the sun, closing my eyes against its radiance. My chest ached, my breath trapped within a prison of my own making. How could I go when everything inside me cried out to return?

  I looked down at my little sand cat and the still curl of his body inside my basket. Poor little one. Broken as I was, I had loved him. Perhaps some kernel of feminine kindness had survived the charred fields of my childhood. The sunrise warmed my face as it rose.

  I could not leave.

  I would not leave.

  I did not want to leave Tobiah. My husband.

  A smile curved my lips as I turned around. My footprints through the white manna led back to camp. And there, standing at the head of the path, was Tobiah, hands at his sides, shoulders low, devastation on his face. The desire to smooth the hurt from his brow was overpowering.

  I took a step toward him, but something slammed against the back of my leg. Two sharp pains melded into one agonizing burn with tremendous force. Disoriented, I looked behind me just as the double-horned head of a snake sprang toward me again, burying its fangs in my heel.

  The basket fell from my hand into the soft, white manna, and a black curtain fell across my sight.

  Fire screamed through my veins as my haze lifted; the pain of the arrow that had pierced my shoulder was a whisper compared with the angry venom tearing through my flesh.

  Shira hovered over me, her lively features weighted with concern. “She is waking, Tobiah,” she said.

  My clouded vision could not register his face, but I sensed his large presence nearby, a silent accusation that, had I not been running from him, I would not be dying now.

  Shira wiped my brow with a wet cloth, humming under her breath as she always did when tending me. A habit to calm herself as much as her patient, perhaps. If my heart and mind were not racing so violently, her voice might be soothing, but the blood pulsing in my ears blocked out most of the song, leaving me with a disjointed melody that frightened me even more.

  My leg throbbed with sudden violence and, unable to control my reaction, I screamed. Shira lifted my tunic above my knees, her cool fingers examining my burning skin. Her furrowed brows told me the venom had spread farther and that my time was short.

  I had seen a snakebite victim back in my village. An old woman who stumbled across a viper similar to the one that had found me this morning. The woman’s arm had swollen to three times its size, blistered, and then turned an ugly black before her body had given out hours later. Would I last as long as she had? Or would my heart lay down its fight and give me release from this agony?

  On the battlefield a few weeks ago, I had been ready to die, or at least I had thought so. As much as I wanted release from the anguish I was enduring, I no longer welcomed death. Something deep within me begged to see tomorrow. I clung to the slog of my heartbeat hammering an erratic, though rising, pulse in my chest.

  My vision blurred, a haze of light and colors flickering around the edges. But the large shadow next to me remained constant. Tobiah. The husband I would never truly know would soon be released from the foolish vow he had taken to protect his enemy. Anguish welled up inside my heart and spilled over, salted with grief, with fear, with regret. Shira’s small, cool hand touched my face again, stroked my cheek. I bit my lip to stifle another scream as waves of pain shattered me and consciousness ebbed, inviting me to float on a tide of blackness. Maybe my heart would steady and slow down if I allowed the dark to carry me away.

  Snatches of whispered conversation floated around me, as if the words came from lips near the ceiling instead of next to my pallet. Shira was here, and Tobiah, but there were other voices that I could not match with faces. Nita perhaps, a man, and another woman. Words slipped through the haze but toppled over one another like rocks piled high, jumbling and making little sense to my dizzy, overheated mind.

  “How many . . . ?”

  “Too many to count.”

  “. . . snakes everywhere.”

  “. . . because of the rebellion . . . complaining about the food.”

  “Mosheh . . .”

  “ . . . Copper? . . . How long will it take?”

  “Not much longer, I hope.”

  Someone squeezed my hand. I opened my eyes, blinking against the too-bright lamp that hovered over me, swinging gently from the cross-pole.

  Shira again brushed the back of her hand across my forehead. “Her fever is so high. Tobiah, please go find more water. But be careful, dear. There are still snakes out there, and dusk has fallen, they will be hard to see. Take a torch. And a spear.”

  My heart raced faster, so fast that I could concentrate on nothing else. My body responded, demanding that I must move, must flee from the discomfort. My hands tapped against the pallet to release the pent-up energy. The compulsion to stand, to run, was so great that Shira had to hold me down as I thrashed against her.

  I tasted salt in my mouth and Shira’s eyes went wide.

  “Oh no.” She placed a firm hand on my shoulder to pin me down and reached over to grab a linen cloth, which she swiped against my lips. It came away scarlet. My mouth was bleeding, the metallic taste nauseating. “Yahweh, save this young woman!” she said. “Preserve her life, for your glory.”

  Foolish prayer. Her God cared nothing for me. There was no purpose in my life and less in my death, only more capricious dealings from gods who consumed everything. Just as I was being consumed by the venom. My vision blurred and everything swayed above me, tilting sideways. I tried to shake my head against the strange sensation.

  Someone tall blocked the light. “Come, it is ready.”

  Tobiah? No, he is with Keziah. Leave me. Leave me
here to die. Mercy.

  Hands slipped beneath me, and my body rose into the air as if by magic, but my leg flopped down and I cried out and jerked hard against the rough treatment. Through the haze of torment, I caught sight of my grossly distended, bloody limb. The ominous dark blistering, along with the chariot race my heart was winning, told the truth. Not much longer.

  “I’m sorry. We must hurry,” said the low voice I craved but should not. “Mosheh has made a snake from copper. Lifted it up on his banner staff. You must look at it to be saved.”

  22

  Something brushed my wounded leg and pain spiked through me, dragging me back to unwilling consciousness. A sheen of red obscured my vision. My eyes must be bleeding along with my gums. A woman next to me screamed at Yahweh to heal her son, and a shofar echoed her desperate plea.

  Cries of pain and fear howled around me as if I were in the center of a deranged crowd. Although the screams were human, the familiar faces of the gods hovered in iridescent transparency in front of me. Ba’al threw thunderbolts at my leg, his leer growing wider with every lash. Anat nocked a fiery arrow, the point of it aimed at my chest. She released the flaming missile, which struck me dead center as a mocking laugh split her face in two and she blurred into nothing.

  The pounding of my heart would crack my ribs, and my insides would spill onto the ground. I struggled against the restraints around me.

  “Alanah! Stop fighting me!” The urgent rumble of Tobiah’s low voice yanked me back from the edge of madness. “Open your eyes!”

  I tried to comply, but my body refused. My eyes were tight, my jaw locked, every muscle stone. You cannot hold me, Prince Death. Let me go! I cannot breathe! No! Yahweh!

  The moment my mind screamed the Name, I felt a release on whatever bound me and a million stars seemed to float across my vision, as if the entire universe were on display behind my eyelids. Ba’al and Anat were minuscule in comparison—nothing compared with such vast, inexplicable beauty.

  After what seemed like hours, Tobiah’s voice reached through the image, calling me back to earth. “Alanah! You must look at the snake!”

  With ambivalence, my eyes fluttered open and I instantly missed the awe-inspiring vision I had witnessed. Blinking a few times to clear the bloody haze that still tainted my sight, I lifted my chin, searching out where Tobiah pointed. Upon a small rise stood a tall banner pole. Torches around its base illuminated a gleaming snake twisted around it, jeweled eyes glittering in reflection of the Cloud of Fire nearby.

  A wave of sound rolled back through the crowd, growing as it surged toward us. Pulse pounding in my ears, I could not make out any words, only shouts and exclamations. Tobiah gripped me tighter, his breathing accelerated.

  An odd compulsion tugged at me and I fixed my eyes on the snake still reflecting the eerie light from the billowing cloud. The movement made the coppery creation almost come to life, as if it writhed around the pole with evil intent. How could looking at the reason for my affliction possibly save me? Wasn’t this a forbidden idol? Or was it a reminder of the sin that had caused such judgment, the rebellion about the manna? How could the source of death renew my life? My head throbbed from the attempt to understand.

  Perhaps he will make himself known to you. Kiya’s words surged into my mind and I clung to them. It didn’t matter how Yahweh would save me, only that he was real and willing.

  Yahweh, if you are who your people say you are, heal me. Please. Hear me. Save me. I pledge my life, my bow, to you.

  My eyes fluttered shut, too heavy to remain open. Somehow the cries and screams of the people around me began to abate. Were they dying too? I let my head drop against Tobiah’s chest. A good place to die, in his strong arms. My heart throbbed and pounded even harder until every sound around me was drowned out by the frantic crashing in my ears and temples.

  Then it stopped. Stillness crept down my arms, through my body, and down my legs, until everything inside me was quiet. No breath. No heartbeat. Only bone-deep silence.

  Sudden coolness spread over me, as if someone breathed across my face. A peculiar sensation began to fill my body, nothing like the agonizing burn of the venom, but something like the feeling of Shira’s kind hands as she braided my hair. The sensation, gentle at first but growing in intensity, washed over me, until the feeling became a Voice speaking words of healing over me. Words of comfort. Words of peace.

  But who am I? my still heart cried out. I am an enemy to these people, to your people.

  No longer, said the Voice. I have brought you here for a purpose. I will go before you and behind. I will surround you, no matter where you go.

  With a jolt, my heart thudded to life in my chest, its frenetic pace replaced by calm, steady beats. A sweet fragrance filled my nostrils, inspiring me to take a deep breath.

  “Alanah? Alanah, can you hear me?”

  My mind attempted to hold on to the sound of the Voice, but Tobiah’s beckoning words had replaced it. His hand caressed my cheek, and I grudgingly opened my eyes. His face hovered above mine. Just like on the first day I met him. The first time I was rescued from death. “Oh, thank Yahweh, you are alive,” he said. “You were so still. I thought . . .”

  I was on my back in an unfamiliar tent. A lone oil lamp swayed from a cross-pole, casting shadows on the face of my husband, who sat on the ground next to the wide, soft pallet I lay upon. Casting a glance around the small space, I recognized the stool Shira had sat upon to cut my hair. Was this Tobiah’s tent? How had I ended up here?

  Had I only dreamed the Voice? And was it my hopeful imagination, or had the pain in my leg disappeared? I attempted to move the limb, bracing for another wave of agony, but none came. Stretching my heel, I spread my toes, but still—nothing. I ran my tongue across my gums; the taste of blood had vanished as well.

  “Are you able to move?”

  I nodded, astounded that there was no pain anywhere in my body, not even in my shoulder. Instead, my limbs felt light, as if they were feathers ready to be lifted on the breeze. Tobiah slid a hand beneath my back and lifted me to a sitting position. Once again the reminder of his first ministrations came to mind. A rush of gratefulness washed over me—for then, and for now.

  “Are you thirsty?” He looked ragged, his long hair loose and wild, fatigue in his eyes. “You’ve been asleep for hours. The sun will be up soon.”

  Asleep? No, hadn’t I just been drinking at the freshest stream and feasting at a king’s table? Or had I dreamed such a thing? There was no hunger. No thirst. Only complete satisfaction. Instead of feeling faint, I wanted to spring to my feet, to run, jump, and twirl like when I was a little girl.

  Yahweh had healed me.

  Clarity dawned, filling my mind with truth. The household gods I had grown up around, their vacant eyes staring mindlessly at me day after day from their perches, had never spoken to me, never healed me. They were not alive, but simply formed by human hands. But the Cloud that hovered above the camp was not made by any man. The God that took the Hebrews out of Egypt was no figment of Mosheh’s imagination. He had spoken to me—to me!

  An emotion I had never experienced expanded in my chest, growing in intensity until I felt I might split in half from the force of it. Laughter bubbled out of me like a flooded wadi after a spring rain.

  Tobiah sat back on his heels, head tilted, brown eyes wide. He ran his large hands through his sun-kissed mane and down the sides of his face and beard. “What is happening?”

  “I am healed.” My voice was surprisingly strong after the ordeal I had just endured. “Look.” I lifted the linen sheet from my body, knowing exactly what I would see. “It’s gone.”

  My leg was normal. No swelling. No bruises. No angry streaks of poison. Only two small marks on my heel and two on the back of my calf. Fully healed scars, left as a reminder. Forever.

  I turned toward him, folding my legs beneath me. My gaze took in the perplexed face of the man who had sacrificed so much for an angry, bitter enemy bent on destroying hi
m. The face of the man who held my heart. He scooted away a few inches, seemingly uncomfortable with my change of posture toward him.

  “I heard him, Tobiah.”

  “Who?”

  “Yahweh. He spoke to me.”

  Disbelief flickered across his brow.

  “It’s true.” I looked down at my hands folded in my lap. “And I understand if you don’t believe me. But I must say . . . I must thank you for saving me. If I had gone to my death not knowing what I know now . . .” I sighed. “I don’t know why either of you saved me . . . I am not worth it. But I am grateful, even if you send me away after what I did. How I tried to leave—”

  “Why?” he interrupted. “Why did you leave? I thought we were beginning to . . .” A grimace halted his words.

  “Capo died.”

  “I know, I saw your basket.” His frown was compassionate. “I am sorry. I buried him.”

  I prayed for an infusion of courage as I inhaled deeply. “My mother left me when I was three years old. Just . . .” I shrugged. “Gone. In the middle of the night. She simply vanished without a word. My father told me that she ran north, back to the temple where he’d found her. Told me a zonah never changes. That she couldn’t wait to get away and perform her duties again.” Nausea swelled in my throat. “It wasn’t until I was much older that I understood what that actually meant. What she had chosen over me.” I shivered off the memories. “Capo’s death reminded me. I don’t know how to be a wife or . . . someday, a mother. I am only a zonah’s daughter.”

  Leaning closer, Tobiah took my hands in his. “No. No, Ishti. You are nothing of the sort.” He lifted the same palm that he had marked with his own blood a month ago and kissed it with aching tenderness. “You are my wife.”

  Tobiah

  I pulled Alanah into my lap and held her close, whispering apologies that weren’t mine to give but welled up inside me anyhow. Apologies for abandonment by her mother, apologies for the loss of her family, apologies for the death and destruction she had witnessed on that battlefield. I rocked her back and forth, wishing I could erase any pain ever inflicted on her and reassure her that nothing would ever hurt her again.