Shadow of the Storm Read online

  “Give in,” he snarled, his breath as putrid as an open grave.

  Do not, a Voice commanded inside my head. Fight. Yell. I am here.

  Hassam tried to bring his lips down on mine, but I yanked my head to the side. Although my ears still rang from the blow to my head, I kicked and flailed and bit his hand as he tried to cover my mouth and wrestle me into submission. He jammed his forearm against my throat, cutting off my air supply and my voice, as he tried to control my leg with his other hand.

  Realizing that he had dropped the sword, I slapped my left hand with surprising force against his ear and slammed my right palm up into his nose. Blinking and face bloodied, he spat out a curse in the name of a god I’d never heard of, then pressed his forearm harder against my throat and groped for his sword on the floor.

  “Get your hands off Shira.” The command came from somewhere behind Hassam. I strained to see, but dark shadows gathered in front of my eyes, distorting faces and whispering defeat in my ears.

  Hassam cursed as the shimmer of a sword slid along his throat. Three blurred figures stood above us. I squinted, my air-starved mind conjuring the faces of Marah, Yael, and Aiyasha.

  No! They could not be here! Hassam would kill them too. Lights danced behind my eyes as my head began to swim. I squirmed against the force of his arm on my neck. Run! Run away! my mind cried to my phantom rescuers.

  “What are you going to do, zonah?” Hassam’s challenge seemed to come from far away as my brain fought against the blackness that was consuming me. Was Marah truly here, threatening Hassam with his own sword?

  I blinked, my sight clearing just as she sneered and slid the sword across Hassam’s throat in a swift motion. Blood gushed from the shallow wound as Hassam roared and cursed her, threatening to do worse to her than he’d done to me. He lunged, releasing me, but Marah jammed the sword into his shoulder. Air whooshed into my lungs and I gulped, hands at my throat. Never had a mouthful of air tasted so beautiful.

  Hassam had fallen to the ground, screaming in agony as Marah dug the sword into his side. With unbound hair flying, Yael and Aiyasha joined the fight, both of them pounding with their fists, kicking him, and grunting at the exertion. Marah slammed the butt of Hassam’s sword down again and again on his head. I curled up on the bed, violent tremors overtaking my body as I watched these women, once my enemies, fight for me with dogged ferocity.

  46

  What is happening here?” My husband filled the doorway, his face shadowed by the dimming light of the oil lamp and his eyes locked on the bloody, unconscious man on the floor, whom Marah and Yael had bound with papyrus ropes.

  From her protective stance in front of me, Aiyasha practically snarled, “This man attacked Shira.”

  “What?” The roar of his deep voice reverberated through me. On impulse, my body curved farther inward.

  “Dvorah led him here.” Aiyasha glanced back at me, as if she were reluctant to repeat the truth. “She took Talia.”

  Where has she taken her? My precious girl. Is she frightened? Hungry?

  Rage transformed Ayal’s features, hardening his jaw to granite and narrowing his eyes to dark slits. With his sword swiftly drawn, he moved to stand over Hassam. “What—What did he do to my wife?”

  “He tried to—”

  “I am fine.” I interrupted Aiyasha with a croak, trying to lift myself. My voice rasped against the residual burn of Hassam’s chokehold.

  Ayal’s eyes swept over my face and my ripped clothing. He clenched the hilt of his sword with such force that his knuckles went white. Abruptly, and with a rare curse, Ayal bellowed to his brothers. Confusion swirled around us as Tomek and Yonah’s wide shoulders filled the tent. Shivering, I cowered as the three men dragged Hassam by the arms. Awakened by the rough handling, Hassam swore and bucked against them.

  I closed my eyes, pressing my hands to my ears, and allowed the fury of my rushing pulse to drown out his screams. Aiyasha sat next to me, rubbing circles into my back as the man’s howling curses faded away. Pressing my cheek against the linen of my marriage bed, I inhaled, willing my husband’s lingering scent to calm me in his absence. Come back! Stay with me!

  As if he had heard my silent plea, suddenly Ayal’s hands were on my face, stroking my skin with feather-light touches. “Shira. Shira, my sweet wife.”

  I clung to him, burying my face in his chest to muffle the sobs I could not restrain. He smoothed my hair, and his lips pressed against the crown of my head. Shame burned hot down my cheeks. Would he send me away like Eben had done? Pushing away the thought to focus on the most important one, I struggled to release myself from his grasp. “We need to find Talia. I need to try to—”

  “No. You are not going anywhere.” He tightened his hold and pulled me closer.

  Could he not even look at me? He labored to breathe. I could only imagine what vile visions might be going through his mind. I saw them too. Fractured and laced with patches of blackness, they swirled around inside my head, causing bile to rise again in my throat.

  “He did not—” I choked on the word. “He did not . . . succeed.”

  Ayal expelled a breath that sounded more like a sob. He kissed my forehead, my eyelids, my chin, my lips. “My sweet wife, my little bird.”

  “You should have seen her, Ayal.” Aiyasha sounded like a hen clucking over her chick. “She fought that monster with everything in her. Like a tiny warrior. She was barely conscious but kept kicking and ordering him to stop.”

  I remembered only the remnants of blackness, the swirling memory of the women’s faces as they pummeled Hassam, and Dvorah’s pale one as she fled into the night with my daughter.

  “I told you that you were strong.” Ayal caressed my cheek with his thumb. I braced against the pain that radiated from the bruise beneath my skin, but the ache inside my chest, the hollow place Talia had left behind, hurt much worse.

  “She’s gone, Ayal. My little girl. How could Dvorah . . . ?” I choked on my whisper, tears coursing down my face again.

  Aiyasha leaned down and brushed my hair away from my face with a look of tender compassion. “I will go take the boys to your mother, Shira. Merit, our neighbor, has been watching them since they ran to us.”

  “No!” I pushed Ayal away and sat up, my plea bleeding desperation. “Please. Bring them here. I want them to know I am safe.”

  “Are you sure?” Her brows lifted in disbelief.

  I had lost my daughter this night. I wanted—no, I needed to see my sons’ faces. “Please—” My voice cracked as I reached out to her. “I must hold them.”

  “I think you are right, they need to see their ima.” With a squeeze of my hand and a rueful smile, she exited the tent, leaving me stunned at her change in attitude. Ayal and I exchanged a glance of bewilderment.

  Anticipating the boys’ arrival, I smoothed my disheveled braid and straightened my clothes, hoping all evidence of Hassam was gone. With horror, I realized that the rugs next to the bed were soaked in blood.

  “Ayal!” I gestured to the mess. “Please! Before they come in.”

  With speed that belied his lanky form, he rolled them up and tucked them into a corner, just as two dirty, tear-stained faces poked inside the tent flap.

  “Ima?” Ari’s voice trembled.

  Arranging what I hoped was a look of calm reassurance on my face, I waved them over to me. “It’s all right. I am safe.”

  With cries of relief and more tears, they ran to me, wrapping skinny arms around my neck and pressing sweaty bodies into mine.

  “We wanted to fight that man,” Ari said with ferocity, his brow furrowed. “He was hurting you.”

  “We heard you yell, and then someone told us what to do,” said Dov, scratching his nose.

  The reminder that the boys were so close to what almost happened sent a chill through my body. “What do you mean? Who told you?”

  Ari shrugged his shoulders. “A man said, in a big voice, ‘Dov and Ari, run, go get Doda Marah.’” He poked out hi
s lower lip. “So we did.”

  I looked to Ayal, who seemed just as incredulous. “Was there another man out there?”

  He shook his head. “The two guards were killed before the attack. Tomek and Yonah were with me at the Mishkan, Noam is in the fields with Jumo, and Eben is with Kiya. There was no one close by but women and children.”

  “Then who . . . ?” I searched the boys’ faces for signs of jest or deception, but their expressions were sincere.

  “You heard this too?” Ayal asked Dov.

  “Yes, Abba. It came from over there.” He pointed in the direction of the Cloud that hovered over the mountain again. The glow illuminated the side of our tent, soaking the wall in soft blue, giving the illusion that it stood directly next to us.

  A shiver of realization swept through me. Had Yahweh actually spoken to these boys, as he did with Mosheh? Out of the millions of people in this camp, he chose to protect me?

  But why, if he cared, did he not stop Talia from being taken? I had promised to follow where he led, but must it be into the center of yet another tempest? My roots could not possibly be strong enough to withstand such agony.

  47

  6 SIVAN

  15TH MONTH OUT FROM EGYPT

  I saw them everywhere—Dvorah behind every veiled form and Talia in every bundle on a back or clutched against a woman’s chest. Every baby’s cry was my daughter calling, “Ima.” Helpless against the urge, I searched the face of each woman who bathed in the stream around us now, snapping to attention whenever a bubble of childish laughter lifted into the air.

  One, two, three days had melted into six weeks without her. What had I missed? How many precious smiles had Dvorah stolen? How many laughs? Had Talia forgotten the shape of my face already?

  The hole inside my chest throbbed with longing to hold her silken cheek to my own. My instinct to run back to the mountain was tempered only by the knowledge that Dvorah could not survive on her own in the wilderness. She must be here, among the oblivious multitude following the Cloud northward toward Canaan and the fulfillment of Avraham’s promise.

  Ayal, Jumo, and Eben had searched relentlessly that night, but Dvorah had been shrewd, timing her horrific crime in tandem with the turmoil of leaving the valley. Between the dust of wagons and feet and the swirl of people and animals that surrounded us, searching for Talia was like looking for a grain of sand in the ever-moving tides.

  Each time the Cloud halted, the men resumed their search, but they were met with more than their fair share of animosity and uncooperative stares from both the gerim and the other tribes. Even those with sympathy could do little more than shrug their shoulders. Dvorah had vanished.

  “Rinse, please.” Kiya leaned over the stream as I poured a jug over her head and scrubbed away the last of the natron cleansing powder. Her hair glimmered, streaming in a glorious black waterfall before she tossed it back in a spray of water and laughter. Her rounded belly pressed against the seams of her crimson tunic, drawing a timeline of her delivery in my head. Within the next few days.

  Although the valley where we now camped boasted a shallow stream, there had been something about the water at the foot of the mountain—a distinct sweetness, born either of the depth of its origins or perhaps an ancient blessing from its Creator in preparation for our arrival. I missed the valley where the cascade from the mountain and the outflow from the rock had watered dormant seeds, causing the desert to bloom like a rose. I missed my sweet Talia.

  If only I had said something to Reva all those months ago, when I saw Dvorah give Leisha that idol. If only I’d had more courage to speak truth, Dvorah would have been dismissed from midwifery, and our paths would have diverged long ago. If only . . .

  I dumped the pitcher over my own head, reveling in the coolness against my overheated skin and the momentary distraction from the scourge of ever-cycling regrets.

  “I will be glad to hold my baby soon, but I will be almost as excited to wash my own head and tie my own sandals.” Kiya squeezed the water from her hair, reminding me of the first conversation we’d ever had, held by the side of the Nile, just before it turned to blood. Our friendship had been carefully braided together since that day, the product of slavery, circumstance, and the draw of Yahweh. Now it was forged by the iron bonds of covenant and sisterhood.

  A splash soaked my backside. I spun around in the water to find Dov and Ari, each with a hand plastered to their mouths and eyes wide with anticipation of a tongue-lashing. Did they really think I would punish them for such mischief?

  Squatting down in the stream, I wove my fingers together and pushed a wall of water at the surprised little boys, drenching them along with Zayna and Shoshana. Rainbows danced in the interplay of the mist and afternoon sunlight.

  Kiya joined in and splashed them as well, her playful taunts uniting with mine as the children fought back with feeble sprinkles from tiny hands.

  My mother and my aunt watched the ruckus from nearby, mouths pursed and arms folded, but it was nearly impossible to ignore the abandon of four-year-old laughter, and soon even the two of them joined in with a couple of halfhearted splashes.

  Guilt for my frivolity slipped insidious claws under my ribs as the echo of Talia’s laughter fluttered through my heart. Was I already forgetting the loss? I cleared my throat, pushing back the tears that threatened, and used my jug to slosh another stream of water at the boys. Ari and Dov had lost their mother, and now their sister. Their short lives were coated with grief. They needed—we all needed—a little levity.

  A shofar ripped through our game, an insistent blast that chilled me in spite of the blazing heat. It was a call to arms and eerily reminiscent of the night the Levites were summoned to be the hands of justice.

  After gathering up the boys, who fussed about the abrupt end to their respite from the heat, we hurried toward the encampment. My worry grew with every step. Jumo, who had been waiting for us nearby, met us with deep concern on his face but knew nothing more than we did. After the attack by Hassam, and with the recent threats against the Levites, the men never let us walk anywhere alone.

  The center of the camp was roiling with commotion. A large crowd had gathered near Mosheh and Aharon’s tents, screaming and shouting, fists and daggers in the air punctuating their loud cries. Something had knocked down the fragile wall of civility. And my husband was at the very center of the uproar, carrying out his duty to guard the wagon that held the golden menorah. Would he be killed defending it?

  A few men ran by, blue and white tzitzit streaming from the corners of their garments, swords drawn. Jumo’s thoughts must have mirrored mine, for he issued an urgent command to hurry, his tone laced with panic.

  Kiya shuffled along next to me, her hands against her back and feet splayed wide to accommodate her girth. Just before we stepped into the campsite, she bent double with a gasp. The wet spot on the sand below told me what her tightly pressed lips could not. Her time had come.

  With instinct slamming into me full force, I shook my hand free of Ari’s grasp and slipped my arm around Kiya’s waist to steady her.

  “Is this the first pain?” Covertly, I felt her belly, which was as hard as granite.

  She shook her head.

  “How long have the pains been coming?”

  Instead of answering, she put her finger to her lips, eyes wide. “Shh. Listen.”

  We all went quiet, straining to hear.

  “I hear nothing,” my mother whispered.

  “Thunder,” Kiya said. “I felt it rumble through the ground.”

  Zayna whimpered and darted to my mother’s side. My youngest sister had always been terrified of storms, to the point of hysterics. Ima pulled her close. “Perhaps it was only a drum—”

  The dark eastern horizon contradicted her reassurances. A black storm was hurtling toward us with as much ferocity as Pharaoh’s army had on the other side of the sea.

  “Jumo, my mother and I will get Kiya inside and comfortable. Can you take the children to
Aiyasha?”

  He nodded and then kissed his sister. “And I will send Tomek to find Eben.”

  The melee at the center of camp seemed to be growing instead of abating. Somehow I doubted that my brother would see his wife before she delivered. Thunder rumbled a prolonged cadence, and lightning flashed with such brilliance that the south wall of the tent lit like a torch.

  Kiya groaned, low and long, as my mother and I guided her to the bed. She laid back, the mound of her stomach lifting and lowering with the quick pace of her breathing.

  “Someone must find Reva,” I said.

  My mother looked at me, her gaze searching. “You can do this.”

  I felt the blood drain from my face. “No, I cannot.”

  “Yes.” She patted my shoulder. “I will go fetch Reva. I know where her tent is.” She leaned in close. “But you must examine her, Shira.”

  “Reva will be here soon.”

  “If I can find her.”

  I tugged on my braid. “I can’t do this alone, not after . . . I cannot hurt my sister. Reva should be here.”

  “Listen to me.” My mother put steadying hands on my face. “You love Kiya. You will not hurt her. You did not hurt that other woman either. Reva said you saved Talia’s life that night. From the stories I have heard, you are the best apprentice Reva has ever had. You must do this. Now.”

  Her words swam around in my mind as if underwater, muted and distorted. I tried to pull away, shaking my head. Thunder rumbled again, and lightning flashed nearby. I felt its proximity in the spiked response of the hair on my arms and neck.

  “I trust you, Shira,” said Kiya from her place on the bed. “Who better than this baby’s doda to bring the little one into the world?”