Shadow of the Storm Read online

  Zayna had been examining one of Jumo’s masterfully designed vases, painted with blossoms similar to the ones above my head. She’d dropped the vessel, and it had landed with an ominous crack against the ground. Devastated, Zayna bawled, no doubt terrified that Jumo would scold her.

  Instead, Kiya’s brother had consoled her, showing her how he would glue the pieces back in place with a small amount of bitumen, then transform the fracture into a tree branch with his paints. “The broken pieces will make this vessel even better,” he had told her, brushing a kind hand over her dark curls. “I will make it into something new and even more beautiful.”

  Jumo’s vase and the scarred almond tree next to me gave me hope that beauty could triumph over affliction. Perhaps something good could come of this painful situation.

  Taking solace in the thought, I scrambled for words inside my head and plucked the most honest ones to present as a peace offering. “I do not want to be parted from the children. I love them.” Ari and Dov were tossing pebbles at a little pink lizard perched on a rock nearby, missing wildly. Their sweet faces, now alight with mischief, had become my world. “I will do my best to care for them, in honor of their mother.”

  A caustic laugh from Ayal startled me. “You know nothing of their mother.”

  Shocked by the flash of malice across his face, I flinched. But he was not looking at me; his eyes were on his sons. Within moments, the grim set of his mouth softened, and my body relaxed in response. He opened his mouth as if to say something.

  “Shira!” My mother’s bright-eyed interruption came from nearby. “Look at all the madder root we found! Enough to finish that last panel.” She, Jumo, and the girls carried baskets filled to overflowing with a jumble of plants. Yellow-headed yarrow and the wispy tails of red roots spilled over the sides. My mother was an expert at ferreting out flowers and roots that yielded the most vivid colors—a skill that served her well in this foreign wilderness.

  With a dip of my head, I excused myself from Ayal’s presence, unsure whether my last-minute plea had convinced him to sway his decision toward Dvorah or if I had just angered the man upon whose mercy I would soon be totally dependent. Regret for both outcomes stirred in my belly.

  30

  Dvorah

  6 ADAR

  12TH MONTH OUT FROM EGYPT

  Matti whimpered in his sleep, pulling the wool blanket farther over his head. I rubbed circles on his back, muttering reassurances to soothe his agitation. How much longer would I have to suffer these drunken fools with their rough conversation, gathered around the fire outside? My boy needed sleep, needed the escape of dreams.

  “I won’t wait much longer,” said a voice in a clipped accent I could not place.

  “You’ll wait until it’s the right time.” My brother-in-law’s arrogant sneer registered in his barbed words.

  Sharp responses clashed and tumbled over one another, some cursing Hassam for his slowness in avenging the men killed on the night of the Golden Apis. I agreed with them. The Levites needed to pay their outstanding debt for fighting alongside that daft old man who talked to clouds and bushes. Yet, there were thousands of men in this camp who were loyal to Yahweh, men who had been training daily to fight the vicious Canaanites. How would Hassam get away with such a blatant attack? Surely they would be caught.

  Even so, my blood stirred at the thought of my husband’s death finally being paid for. Tareq had kept company with men just like the scum outside, but he had saved me back in Egypt, rescued me from the brothel, and hadn’t been nearly as abusive as Hassam. I missed the buffer of his presence—especially for Matti’s sake.

  A small voice whispered in the back of my head. He went of his own accord that night. Participated willingly in the drunken debauchery. Maybe he deserved it. Maybe you are better off.

  Hassam swore. “We cannot just barrel in, swords flailing about, and win. We must be smart. Know every risk. Weigh every possible outcome. We must know where they are at all times. When they are most vulnerable.”

  “And who has the most beautiful women!” said another with such a lurid tone that there was no mistaking his interest in the scheme.

  My skin crawled at the implication, but I didn’t care what, or whom, they took. The Levites had stolen everything from me. And it was not only gerim who craved vengeance. The number of Hebrews among Hassam’s friends did not surprise me. The preferential treatment for the Levites had become a thorny issue for many of the other tribes. When the whole camp was rearranged, with the honored Levites encircling the newly raised Mishkan, the number of Hassam’s acquaintances had multiplied like rats in a grain silo.

  “How will we know such things?” The accented voice rose above the others.

  I strained to catch Hassam’s answer but heard nothing. A shuffle near the tent startled me as the door flipped open.

  “Dvorah. Get out here.” Hassam’s slurred demand chilled my bones. My hands went numb.

  With a frantic glance to ensure Matti was still asleep, I crawled over Hassam’s two wives, who watched me with wide, black-smudged eyes, and slipped out of the relative safety of our tent into a gathering of intoxicated men with the gleam of retribution in their eyes. I shivered as they leered at me. Digging my nails into my palms, I resisted the urge to flee back inside.

  I had learned long ago to hem in my emotions with a stone wall. Many men thrilled on fear. Reining in my reactions with a steady hand had been the only defense against the annihilation of what was left of my soul. I scanned the circle, glaring at each man in turn until I no longer felt the churn of terror in my gut.

  “This is how we will know.” Hassam slipped his arm around my shoulders. His rank breath assaulted my nose, and I stiffened but refused to satisfy him by reacting.

  “Dvorah here is my eyes and ears among the Levite camps. And sometimes”—he grabbed my hand and held it up in the air—“my fingers!” He guffawed loudly, and his sycophants echoed his drink-induced humor.

  He nuzzled my face with a stubbled cheek. “You’ll make sure we know the best time to move forward with our plans, won’t you, my lovely sister-in-law?” He snaked his hand inside my dress.

  I tasted bile. Hassam had left me alone for the most part since Tareq had died, seeming more interested in his Egyptian wives who lolled around the campsite half-naked. But there were times when interest sparked in Hassam’s light eyes and I wondered how much longer I could avoid the growing lust behind them. For that very reason, I kept a small dagger tucked in my belt alongside Isis at all times. Hassam had kept me safe since Tareq died, if only to use me to get what he wanted. But I had no compunction against skewering him if he went too far.

  Shrugging away, I locked my arms over my chest but aimed a calculated smile at him. “Of course. You know how much pleasure it gives me to help my husband’s brother.”

  His gaze narrowed for a moment at the iron-tipped reminder of Tareq. Hassam’s resolute loyalty to his brother in life was my only hope for safety after his death.

  Hassam pursed his lips with a hint of resignation but then lifted one brow in obvious warning. “Good. I am glad to hear it.”

  He turned away from me with a call for another pot of drink to be passed around the group. I fled into the tent, hoping the alcoholic diversion would veil my retreat. I slid my body down beside Matti under the wool blanket.

  His cold hands reached for my face. “Ima.” The desperate whisper shattered my composure and I pulled him close, shielding him from the hot tears that spilled into his honey-brown hair.

  Time was running short. I had to protect my son, and myself, from Hassam and the retribution he would surely bring down on our heads.

  Shira and Ayal were to be bound in betrothal tomorrow evening, but that mattered little. He was a man like any other. A man who, by all accounts, had been without a woman for a long time. I would make sure Ayal married me instead, by using all the weapons in my arsenal.

  31

  Shira

  7 ADAR


  12TH MONTH OUT FROM EGYPT

  The storm over the mountain rested today, hushed, as if to respect the ceremony taking place within our circle of tents. Usually the Cloud stacked high above its peak, but today it canopied over us, a translucent chuppah of light above our heads, with changeable colors swirling like unearthly paint across a wet sheet of fine papyrus.

  I stood next to Ayal, with my brother on my right side. Ayal’s gray-bearded eldest brother, who barely gave me a cursory glance before the ceremony, stood on his left.

  Ayal had offered the customary mattan: an alabaster jar of fine perfume, two turquoise and silver necklaces, a copper ring inset with a pale green beryl stone, and a beautiful wooden flute carved with such intricacy that even Eben eyed it with interest. All these gifts were no doubt left over from the bribes the Egyptians had pressed into Hebrew hands when we fled the country, but it surprised me that Ayal would give me so many precious things as bridal gifts.

  I wondered fleetingly what he had given Leisha for their betrothal. Regret for the thought immediately washed over me, bringing with it the sight of her bloodless face and her intent words pressing me to protect Talia. What would she think of me standing next to her husband, preparing to make him my own?

  Slamming a tight lid over thoughts of Leisha, I focused on the grizzled elder who stood before us, a short, plump man with a long beard that floundered in the breeze like the tail of a horse. As of today, Ayal would be my husband in everything but physical union, and I would begin preparations to enter his tent within a month’s time—an unusually short betrothal—to complete the marriage covenant. He would come for me in the night, unannounced, to begin our new life together in his tent. When the elder asked Eben and Ayal’s brother for their promises that the agreements between us would be kept and that the wedding would be consummated in a timely manner, sudden panic gripped me in its fists.

  Did Ayal know? What had Eben told him of my past before agreeing to this arrangement? What must he think of me? Even many of our neighbors had looked at me askance after the attack, disparaging glances at my midsection trumpeting their opinions about my innocence in the ordeal. The humiliation still vibrated in my soul.

  Somehow, the elder’s voice penetrated the thick curtain of my musings. With a wide gesture to the shimmering Cloud above us, he declared that we were now joined in covenant, before Yahweh himself, and spoke a blessing over us. As of this moment, the betrothal could be broken only by death or divorce.

  Bending down, Ayal graced my veiled cheek with a lingering kiss that made all the witnesses around us melt into a hazy mirage and heat flood from my hairline to my feet.

  Although I expected him to move away, he leaned in to whisper in my ear. “It was not Eben who asked me to marry you, my beautiful bride. It was I who begged him.”

  Before my mind could register the astonishing, perplexing words, he was gone and my mother’s arms were around me, dark eyes glistening with rare emotion. After she kissed my forehead, she passed me to Kiya who, although holding Talia in one arm, gripped me to her side and showered me with congratulations. I barely heard any of them over the sound of Ayal’s words turning over and over in my mind, like stones tumbling in a stream, polishing away some of the rough edges of my doubts.

  However, as I nuzzled the top of Talia’s head and inhaled the intoxicating scent of the baby who would soon be my daughter, a needle-sharp reminder pressed in. Although Ayal had kept his word and had not touched me—at least not until today—he kept the same distance with Talia. He provided for her without complaint, but since the day she was born, he had barely even looked at the child, seeming quite content that she live with me. The strange dichotomy of a man who loved his boys with abandon yet rejected his tiny daughter tainted my fresh joy, snatching it like a ripe berry from a tree.

  Ari and Dov took up residence beside me on the ground, eager to share choice morsels of gazelle meat with me and exclaiming to everyone who would listen that they had helped prepare the honeyed manna cakes. Sticky-fingered and grinning, they delighted in being allowed to stay up far past moonrise and enjoy the betrothal feast. Ayal sat on the other side of Dov, and more than once, I caught his eyes on me as I interacted with his sons.

  Although Marah and the other women had attended the ceremony, they disappeared soon after, with forced excuses of ushering small children to beds. Their husbands, however, remained. All three of Ayal’s brothers sat around the fire, their long bodies stretched out on the ground and easy banter warming the air. Two of the brothers were much older than Ayal and one was close to his age. Neither parent seemed to be present, so I assumed they had passed away back in Egypt and any sisters had been married off to other clans.

  “You have not met my brothers yet?” Ayal’s low words in my ear intruded on my appraisals of his family. Looking around, I realized Dov was perched on Jumo’s lap. Kiya’s brother was drawing pictures in the dirt and entertaining him with stories. Ari had migrated to Kiya’s side where she sat near her tent, cradling Talia in her arms. There was no bronze-haired buffer between Ayal and me anymore, and although the two of us were seated at the center of a small crowd, made up of both of our families and a few friends, the space between us suddenly felt achingly intimate.

  “No. I only saw them shearing the day Ziba had her lamb,” I said.

  “That one, with the longest beard.” He leaned even closer and pointed. “That is Yonah, the eldest of us. He is married to Marah. They have six children.” Yonah seemed to laugh the loudest of the men, his rich voice floating above the group.

  “On his right is Noam,” Ayal said, “the next oldest. He is married to Yael, and they have seven children aged between eight and seventeen.” Ayal’s lips twitched with amusement. “Noam hates celebrations. Just look at him.”

  The scowl on Noam’s face was visible even in the limited firelight.

  “Why does he not return to his tent, then?”

  Ayal’s arm brushed mine as he closed the gap farther, one brow lifted. “You’ve met his wife?”

  Trying to ignore the zing of awareness from his skin against mine, I nodded. Yael was the loudest woman I had ever met. The few times I had seen her with her children she bullied and chided them out in the open—not that it did any good. I had never seen any children so out of control in my life. More than once I had been forced to protect Dov or Ari from their rough games. I could imagine Noam’s reticence with enduring the lot of them. I stifled a smirk.

  “Yes, exactly.” Ayal frowned, but humor leaked into his eyes. “I’d wait for that brood to go to sleep before coming home too.” Although he tried to hide it, a tiny flicker of something passed through his expression. Anger? Regret? I searched his face, but he deflected with a light laugh.

  “That is Tomek.” He pointed to the brother closest to us, who was pantomiming some tale, using his whole body for effect. “He is only ten months older than me and, as you can see, already halfway drunk.”

  Yonah noticed the two of us watching their conversation and nodded acknowledgment to me with a warm smile that reminded me of Ayal. Immediately, I forgave his less-than-enthusiastic stance during the binding ceremony.

  “Who is with the sheep?”

  “Yonah asked some of our cousins to watch them, along with their flock.” Ayal smiled. “He said he would not miss his brother’s betrothal celebration for anything.”

  “Did he not attend last time?” The question popped out of my mouth before I could rein it in. I pressed my lips together, shocked at my brazenness.

  Ayal’s cheek twitched as he stared into the fire. “There was no celebration last time.” The simple statement was laden with meaning yet edged with a subtle hint that he had no interest in discussing it further.

  “May I offer my blessings on your betrothal?” Tomek stood over us with a lopsided grin, his cup raised in salute.

  “Thank you, brother.” Ayal’s response sounded guarded.

  “She’s a pretty one, little brother.” Tomek winked. “Prettier t
han my wife let on. Even if she is a tiny thing.”

  “Go sit down, Tomek.” Ayal’s warning was sharp-edged.

  “What? I am saying I like her, Ayal.” Tomek’s laughter had a subtle bite. “Besides, anything is better than Leisha, right?”

  Ayal stiffened. “That’s enough.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, Eben’s movement caught my attention. He was moving toward us, slowly but with purpose.

  Tomek looked down at me, his expression suddenly sober. “You will be a good, faithful wife? Won’t you, little Shira? Like our brother deserves?” The threat, and the insinuation, behind the words was as clear as the starlit sky.

  Eben’s hand came down on Tomek’s shoulder before I could respond to the strange question. “All right. That’s enough for tonight, my friend. Let me walk you back to your camp.” His words were friendly, but his tone brooked no argument.

  Tomek pressed out his bottom lip and lifted his cup again. “As I said, I wish you much joy.” His stance wavered before he turned and strode into the night without waiting for my brother to follow.

  Ayal stayed silent, the firelight reflecting in his eyes, highlighting a hint of sadness. It was as if he had suddenly retreated behind a wall. The sudden urge to reach out and touch his face, to skim my fingers down the high plane of his cheek and to implore him to reveal his hurts was so overwhelming that I looked around, desperate for a distraction.

  I found one in Ari. Using the black curtain of Kiya’s hair to hide behind, Ari was entertaining Talia with a game. Peeking out again and again, he pulled a face. Talia giggled. Encouraged by her mirth, he became more animated each time, eyes wide, tongue lolling, and fingers pressing his nose skyward. Unable to control myself, I laughed.

  With a startled look, Ayal turned to me.

  “I’m sorry.” I placed two fingers on my lips, then pointed at the object of my amusement. “He is so sweet with Talia.”