Shelter of the Most High Page 22

  As I neared the next village on the western shore, my body was nearly as exhausted as my soul. I stopped to rest on a large boulder at the water’s edge. After putting my pack on the ground, untying my scabbard from my belt, and removing my sandals, I placed my feet in the cool water.

  Children’s laughter hooked my attention. Four little girls were wading in the water down shore and splashing one another, while a few men and women worked on the beach nearby, preparing fish to dry on racks in the sun. Seemingly immune to the chill of the water this late in the year, the tallest girl plunged under the surface, her bare toes pointed toward the sky briefly before she disappeared. After a few moments she popped up again, her black hair plastered to her head and a grin visible even from this far away. The innocent girl looked to be about the same age I was when I’d destroyed everything by putting a deadly flower into a stew. Defeated by my futile search, I dropped my head to my hands, pleading with Yahweh to guide me and to spare Sofea and Prezi.

  A terrible thought struck me. Considering all the lies Nadir had told me over the past months, what if he’d also lied about where his home was located? Had I been searching on the wrong shore? Sick to my stomach, I lurched to my feet, determined to head north and make it to at least a couple of the villages on the opposite side of the lake before the sun set.

  Just as I bent to pick up my pack, one of the girls I’d been watching earlier cried out, jerking my attention back to the shoreline. She pointed to a place on the water where a few expanding circles marred the surface, calling out for help. There were only three little girls standing knee-deep in the water. The fourth, the black-haired one, had disappeared.

  With a pounding heart, I plowed into the lake, ignoring the sharp stones beneath my bare soles. I had little experience with swimming, but I could not let the girl drown. I pushed through the water, keeping my eyes locked on the place where I’d seen those ripples emanate. One of my feet slipped out from beneath me and I nearly went under myself, but I caught my footing once again and circled my cupped palms in an attempt to propel myself forward.

  Stretching out my arms, I swished my hands back and forth through the chin-deep water, begging Yahweh to help me locate the girl. I took a few more labored steps forward, my confidence wavering when the bottom dropped off abruptly and I lost my footing, but when I kicked my feet to find my bearings, my toes met with something soft and yielding. I gasped, then coughed and spit as water entered my mouth.

  Ignoring the blare of warning that I might be drowning myself along with her, I plunged under the surface, forced my eyes open, and reached for the murky form at the bottom. My fingers met with a tunic, and I yanked upward, rejoicing when I felt the tangle of long hair wrap around my forearms.

  Breaking the surface, I pulled the girl with me as I blinked away the flood over my eyes, then kicked until my feet met the bottom of the lake. Just as I whirled around, I was met by two men, their hands already reaching out for the girl. They pulled her limp form from my arms and plowed back toward the shore.

  By the time I made it to the beach, breathless and spent, the men had the girl on her side and one of them was pounding between her shoulder blades. Her lips were tinged blue, but suddenly a great gush of water spewed from her mouth and she coughed. Relief and exhaustion brought me to my knees on the rocky ground as a swarm of villagers gathered around, blocking my view of the girl.

  A silver-haired woman pushed through the crowd and threw a brown wool blanket around my shoulders. My entire body melted into the comfort.

  “Thank you!” said the woman as she planted a vigorous kiss on my cheek. “You saved my niece! My sister is furious with her recklessness. She’s been told before not to venture out so far, but we cannot thank you enough for coming to her rescue. Yahweh must have guided you here today for this very purpose.”

  Once my sandals and belongings had been located, I was ushered by the woman and her husband into the enclosed side yard of a small home and ordered to sit next to a cook-fire until my shivers subsided. Once I’d warmed enough to feel my fingers and toes, I asked my hosts about Nadir, again giving my description of the traitorous fisherman.

  “Oh certainly! We know Nadir,” said the woman, who’d earlier introduced herself as Ahuva. “He grew up in this village. His mother and I were good friends until she died in childbirth when Nadir was about fourteen years old. Poor soul.” She frowned. “His father died only a few years later.”

  I let the blanket slide from my shoulders, the chill of the lake forgotten. “Have you seen him? I’ve been trying to find him for the past two days.”

  Ahuva and her husband looked at each other, frowning, and then the woman turned a compassionate smile on me. “No, my dear. Don’t you know that Nadir was convicted of accidentally killing his friend Medad? He’s been living up in Kedesh for nearly a year now.”

  “Yes, but he left there two days ago and is traveling with two young women. You’ve not seen him here in the village?”

  “No. No one has seen Nadir since the day he was escorted away after the trial. One of his cousins took over his fishing vessels. What a sad day that was.” She shook her head. “Such a shame that a lifelong friendship ended with such tragedy.” With a large wooden spoon she ladled spiced lentils into a bowl and handed it to me. “If Nadir hadn’t struck Medad when they argued, the young man would never have gotten tangled in the nets and drowned.”

  “I thought Medad was the one who attacked, and Nadir was forced to defend himself.”

  The couple glanced at each other in confusion. “No, the witnesses on the shore testified that it was Nadir who swung first. Of course, since Medad went over the opposite side of the boat, no one was able to see what happened next, but by all accounts Nadir dove in and tried to save his friend.”

  The story Nadir had given me was certainly similar, but the inconsistency did not sit well with me, especially now that I knew Nadir was a traitor who had encouraged the murder of Binah. A chill that had nothing to do with my plunge in the lake traveled through me.

  I handed back the full bowl of potage and lurched to my feet. “Thank you for the food, but I really must go. Are you certain no one has seen Nadir in the last couple of days?”

  “This is a small village, son,” said Ahuva’s husband. “If anyone had seen him, it would be common knowledge by now. Why don’t you sit back down, eat your meal, and tell us what this is about.”

  “I thank you, but I must be on my way.” I slung my bag over my shoulder and tied my scabbard back on my sodden leather belt, sifting through my head for ideas of where to look next and coming up with nothing more than desperate prayers for a miracle.

  Ahuva retrieved two small fish from a drying rack nearby, insisting that I put them in my satchel to sustain me on my journey. “Perhaps—” she began, and then waved a palm, her expression dismissive. “No, there would be no reason . . .”

  “What is it?” I asked, desperate for anything that might direct me toward Sofea.

  “I just wondered . . .” She bit her lip, looking as though she felt foolish speaking the words aloud. “If Nadir left Kedesh, perhaps Liora might have heard something.”

  Liora. I remembered Nadir saying that name the day we’d moved those jugs of olive oil into the storage house. He’d told me Sofea reminded him of a woman named Liora.

  “Who is she? Does she live nearby?”

  “Why yes, she lives with her mother and father. She is Medad’s widow. In fact, the three of them, Liora, Medad, and Nadir, were inseparable during childhood. We all thought perhaps Nadir would marry Liora when they were young, since he seemed so smitten with her. But Medad’s father arranged the union shortly after Nadir’s father died, so he missed his chance.”

  Just as I had asked Sofea to marry me before Nadir could stake his claim on her.

  “Please,” I said, “take me to Liora.”

  Nadir had once compared Sofea to Liora, but besides the fact that they were both women he’d wanted, there was no similarity at a
ll between them. Liora’s hair was darker and without curl, but her beauty seemed limited to lush curves and full lips. She had none of the sparkling vibrance that emanated from Sofea’s blue eyes.

  Instead of exuding strength and boldness, she practically faded into the background, eyes downcast and shoulders hunched as I asked my questions about Nadir. Her father insisted they had seen nothing of the man since the day he’d been taken to the city of refuge.

  “If only Medad had a brother,” said Liora’s father, thick regret in his tone. “Then my daughter would have been protected by the law and given in marriage to the brother next in line. But since he had only sisters when he died, she returned to our home instead.” He reached over to pat his daughter’s hand with affection. “But I have found another man willing to marry her. She will be cared for and finally have the chance to bear a child, to live the life she was meant to have.”

  Disheartened by the lack of any new information and sickened by my suspicions, I offered quick congratulations for the upcoming marriage, thanked them, and took my leave. Although within a few steps of their home, I stopped, at a loss as to where to go from here and gutted by the implications. The sun was already going down. Would I be forced to return to Kedesh without ever knowing what happened to Sofea and Prezi?

  Someone placed a hand on my arm. I jerked back, startled by the contact, my hand going to the sword on my side. Liora stood next to me, her expression meek, her eyes darting back toward her home, as if she feared someone might see her. “He was here,” she said. “I saw him.”

  I sucked in a sharp breath. “Nadir?”

  She nodded. “He left a signal for me. One that we’d used as children when the three of us wanted the others to meet. Only Nadir and Medad would have known our secret place, so I knew it was him.”

  “Weren’t you afraid to meet him?”

  “No. Nadir would never hurt me. He . . .” She cleared her throat and looked around again. “He loved me.”

  As I suspected. “And Nadir was jealous of your marriage to Medad.”

  “He was. But my father and Medad’s father are cousins, so he refused to even consider Nadir as a choice of husband. I was shocked to see him yesterday. I thought it would be years and years before he would be released.”

  “What did he say to you? Was he alone?”

  “Yes, but he was in a hurry to meet back up with his traveling companion. He said he was going to Shiloh, and when he returned he would be a free man.”

  A memory floated to the surface. I would do anything for my freedom—anything. . . . If only that ancient priest would die so I could go home to my village.

  “Did he say anything else? Did he speak of two young women traveling with him?”

  “No. Only that he would never again let anything stand in the way of marrying me. Even some old priest.” Liora rubbed her palms together and then scrubbed her fingers up and down the knuckles of one hand, a pained look on her delicate features. She seemed far too anxious for a woman anticipating the return of a man she loved.

  “Liora, do you want Nadir to return?”

  “I—” She stopped and swallowed hard. “We were all such good friends as children. We did everything together. Medad was a good man—bold, full of laughter.” Her eyes teared. “And Nadir was so quiet and solemn that they were a good balance to each other. But there were times when Nadir could be . . . intense, even a bit possessive. He watched me, all the time. Twice I saw him outside my window late at night. It was unnerving. One day he came to me, insisting that he loved me and that when he was old enough to take over his father’s fishing vessel we would marry.”

  She scrubbed her fingers back across her knuckles, and I realized that they were red and swollen from the rough treatment. She’d been repeating that nervous action for some time now, and I suspected it had begun when Nadir had returned to this village.

  “When I admitted that it was Medad I preferred,” she continued, “he turned cold. Refused to speak to me or even look my way for weeks. And then only a month after Nadir’s father died, my father negotiated a betrothal. When Nadir discovered the match, he threatened to kill Medad.”

  “He did?”

  She nodded. “Of course, neither of us took the threat seriously at the time. They’d been the best of friends since they were small boys, and I was sure that time would heal the friendship. And it did seem that way for a while. They continued working together on his father’s fishing boat until the . . . accident that took my husband from me.”

  “But you don’t think it was an accident, do you?”

  She bit her lip, her voice dipping low. “I can do nothing to prove what happened that day. I was not on shore when it happened, and no witnesses opposed his story. It seemed to be a fight that spun out of control and ended with Medad becoming entangled in the nets beneath the boat and drowning.” She took a shuddering breath. “But after the trial, Nadir was allowed to collect a few belongings, say his good-byes to friends and family. When he embraced me, he whispered in my ear that he would find a way to return, and that when he did, nothing and no one would ever keep us apart again.” Her eyes filled with tears. “So you see, I am not afraid that Nadir would ever hurt me. It seems that even now he is still fixated on me. But”—her voice warbled—“I do believe that he murdered my husband.”

  Her accusation solidified the idea that had been forming in my mind since the moment she mentioned Shiloh. Nadir had told me once that when he wanted something he rarely, if ever, gave up. He’d already murdered his friend over a woman and encouraged the death of another. Was he planning an attempt on the life of Eleazar, the High Priest, the only man standing between him and freedom? If so, why would he drag two innocent women into the plot?

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY

  1 Cheshvan

  When I left Shiloh eleven years ago, much of the valley floor had been covered by Hebrew tents. Now the once-dilapidated walls of the former Canaanite city stood strong and fortified, and many new homes encircled the fortress. Flourishing orchards, olive groves, and vineyards clung to the surrounding hills, testifying that Shiloh had dug its roots deep into the fertile soil. It was from this place that the twelve tribes had spread like thousands of streams branching from a mighty river, with the Mishkan, the heart of Israel, at its headwaters.

  On its own rock-hewn bluff to the west of the city sat the Tent of Meeting itself, white courtyard walls billowing in the afternoon breeze and the smoke of sacrifice meandering into the sky. Somehow it seemed smaller, not quite the impenetrable fortress it had appeared to me as a boy, although an aura of mystery still surrounded the black-topped structure that had been designed by Yahweh himself.

  At the far end of the complex was the beginnings of a stone wall under construction, which I guessed would someday wrap around the entirety of the Mishkan, evidence that Shiloh was to be the permanent spiritual center of Israel, never again to be moved from place to place upon the leading of the fiery Cloud that had guided us to this Land.

  Incense floated on the wind, tempting me to breathe deeply of the smell that resurrected a thousand childhood memories, but I had no time to entertain such thoughts. I had to find Nadir. Now.

  Without waiting for the wagon to stop, I hopped off the back of the bed and called out quick thanks to the farmers who’d offered me a ride this morning. From instinct my eyes searched out the winding path up to the vineyard where I’d filled my lonely boyhood days chasing birds and digging my toes into the rich soil, and where I had first met Moriyah.

  Batting away the impulse to head toward the little mud-brick home among the vines and poplars to speak with her father, Ishai, I tightened the knot that secured my scabbard, ensured that my sling was still tucked into my belt, then pulled my woolen mantle over my head before merging into the crowd of people flowing through the city gates. None of their chatter hinted at shock or grief, so I was confident that, at least for the moment, Eleazar was still alive. But Nadir would have arrived at least an entire da
y ahead of me, so I had no time to lose. I lengthened my stride and pressed through the crowd without apology.

  Today was Rosh Chodesh—the monthly celebration that heralded the first sliver of new moon in the night sky. Although the streets were not nearly as packed as they would be during Pesach, Shavuot, or Yom Kippur, when every man was commanded to gather at the Mishkan, the city was still brimming with visitors.

  My eyes roamed over every face, searching for Nadir among the throng glutting the streets. I paused at the center of the chaotic marketplace, sickness rolling in my stomach as I turned in a slow circle and considered the impossibility of spotting one particular man among the hundreds of dark-haired, full-bearded men in this city today. Especially one who was determined to blend into the crowd.

  Surmising that the easiest way for Nadir to make contact with Eleazar would be for him to dress as one of the Levites, I narrowed my search to the sons of Levi, who stood out like white sheep among the varicolored herd. As I followed the flow of the men who served as priests and assisted in the Mishkan, I discovered that they were moving toward the large common area at the center of the city.

  A few long tables had been assembled in the gathering place, and many women buzzed around the space preparing for this evening’s feast. Each new moon, the Levites would gather here to partake of their allotted portion of the sacrifices. A perfect opportunity for an assassin to gain access to the High Priest of Israel.

  Overwhelmed by the number of white-clad men milling around the city, I gripped the hilt of my sword, weighing whether I should rush forward to warn someone or continue my frantic search. However, if by chance someone recognized me as a resident of Kedesh, I’d be detained and questioned. Sofea and Prezi’s breaths might very well be numbered alongside Eleazar’s, so I could not bow to irrational impulses or they all might pay the price.