Shelter of the Most High Read online

  I had determined that if I could not train my body to fight the enemies of Israel, at least I could beat it into submission for the sake of Yahweh. Since I was not of priestly lineage like Tal, who was even now in Shiloh learning his role at the Mishkan, the vow had been my only choice. And from that day, the distance between Darek and me had only grown, until all that was left between us was a strained respect bridged only by mutual love for my mother and my skill in creating weapons of war.

  The sound of Abra and Chana squealing broke into my thoughts, their small voices pitching high with excitement. The noise must have startled our infant sister, Tirzah, who began crying in earnest. I was grateful for the distraction from more talk of my vow.

  “What is happening in there?” Nadir asked as he patted his face dry with the neckline of his tunic.

  “Those three girls make more noise than an entire flock of geese—and I’m half deaf.” I clapped Nadir on the back with a laugh. “Let’s go see what has their feathers ruffled now.”

  As soon as I stepped into the house the reason for my sisters’ gleeful shouts was made clear. Darek had returned from his mission to Tyre. He’d been gone for weeks, and we hadn’t expected him back until after the new moon. What could have brought him back so early? I’d hoped to finish those last two knives before he and his men returned.

  My sisters, along with Gidal and Malakhi, who’d also joined the ruckus, were all talking at once, tossing questions at Darek about his journey, even though he’d barely made it inside the doorway. A brief memory of my own boisterous welcome after one of his missions when I was a child ran through my head.

  Back then there’d been nothing better than listening to Darek regale me with tales of his exploits spying among the Canaanites, skirmishing with bandits, and traveling the length and breadth of the Land under the commission of Yehoshua. Now such stories were a thorn beneath my skin instead of the welcome diversion they’d once been for a boy dreaming of a life outside these walls.

  Ima waved the children away with her wooden spoon. “Let your father in the door before mauling him to death,” she said. Then, ignoring her own directive, she went to him, slid her arms around his waist, and kissed him long enough that I glanced away to playfully roll my eyes at Nadir.

  The two of them had never been shy about expressing their affection. Although I usually groaned and teased them about it, it actually filled me with an odd sense of pride—a feeling I’d had since the day Darek asked for my blessing to marry Moriyah. Even though the ground between us had always been littered with debris, I’d never doubted his unwavering devotion to my adopted mother.

  Without letting go of Ima, Darek craned his head around to call for Baz, who was standing outside the doorway for some reason. “I’ve brought some extra guests, Moriyah. We found them on the beach near Tyre.”

  Darek’s enormous friend stepped through the doorway, ducking his head to enter and turning sideways to avoid knocking the dark-haired young woman he carried against the doorpost.

  “Oh my,” said my mother, her hands outstretched to the girl, whose leg was splinted and wrapped with rough bandages that looked to have been cut from someone’s woolen mantle. Scratches and yellowing bruises marred every one of her limbs, and a terrible mark slashed violently across her cheekbone. “What happened to her?”

  The girl’s narrow-set eyes, as dark as her long, straight hair, timidly took in the scene in the room: the long table laden with food, the children gawking at her, and Nadir and I standing across the room doing the same. Her hand trembled on Baz’s shoulder as she shrank back against him.

  “We think she was in a shipwreck,” said Darek. “Her ankle is so badly damaged she cannot walk. She also seems to have been beaten, so it may have been some sort of slave transport.”

  “You carried her all the way from Tyre?” my mother asked Baz in astonishment.

  He shrugged one of his bear-like shoulders and I noticed that, like Darek, Baz was beginning to wear signs of age around his eyes and in the white patches at his temples. “Wasn’t a burden at all. She’s fairly tall but there’s not much meat on her scrawny bones.”

  Ima frowned in consternation. “Don’t talk about such things in front of her—”

  “Not to worry, ishti,” said Darek. “She doesn’t speak our language. Neither of them understand a word we say.”

  “Neither?” My mother stood on the balls of her feet, craning her neck to peer past Baz and through the doorway. “Oh! Shalom,” she said, her voice gentle and inviting as she gestured for someone else to enter. “We won’t hurt you, dear. Come in, it is going to rain any minute.”

  In response, a roll of thunder sounded in the distance as another young woman stepped over the threshold, immediately going to stand next to Baz, whose enormous height dwarfed her. Golden brown waist-length hair curled gently behind her shoulders, and her sun-darkened skin set off eyes the color of a brilliant cloudless sky. She, too, sported a few bruises and scratches, but it seemed the darker-haired girl had suffered most of the effects of whatever trauma the two had endured.

  With their knee-length white tunics stained and tattered and their bare feet encrusted with dirt and muck, the two strangers looked as though they’d been dragged all the way from Tyre. The diminutive young woman placed her hand on the arm of the one Baz still held, a move that spoke of protective reassurance. Then, as if she were staring down the whole of Yehoshua’s army, she cast a slow glance around the room, jaw set and body braced for battle, those vivid eyes full of silent warning.

  It took everything I had not to let my mouth sag open. Who was this mythical creature Darek had plucked from the sea?

  CHAPTER

  SIX

  Rain pattered the roof, and oil lamps pushed back the gloom as our entire family gathered together in the main room to partake of a meal for the first time in months. Binah and Sarai, the two women who worked alongside my mother at the inn, had excused themselves from the room, taking little Tirzah with them.

  My mother had taken our unexpected guests into another room to give them privacy to bathe and put on fresh tunics. When she’d returned, she informed us that long welts marked the taller girl’s back, as well as the blue-eyed girl’s arm, the still-healing injuries lending credence to the idea that they were escaped slaves who’d been whipped. Now the two girls sat huddled together on the floor, sharing one large cushion. The shorter one’s gaze did not stop roving around the room, but the other’s vacant stare remained latched on her lap, and she did not touch the food my mother set before them.

  “They truly don’t understand us?” Malakhi said, speaking around the too-large piece of bread he’d shoved into his mouth and earning a stern look from my mother. He wiped a bit of oven-char from his lips with feigned contrition, followed by an endearing grin that never failed to assuage Ima’s ire.

  “They do not, son. We have been trying for days to communicate, with little success,” said Darek. “We do think that the taller one’s name is Prezi and the other is Sofea, but we have no idea where they came from or how they ended up on that beach.”

  “What made you decide to bring them back here?” asked my mother.

  “I couldn’t leave them there. They were frightened and alone. Sofea made it clear they were not from Tyre, but somewhere across the sea. It seems they have no one. Once they accepted we weren’t going to harm them, or perhaps because they had no other choice, they came willingly.”

  My mother laid her hand atop his, warmth in her expression. “You were right to bring them here, my love.” She turned to Sofea and Prezi, who sat pressed together as if joined at the hip. “We are glad you are here,” she said. Even if they could not understand her, I hoped that her soothing tones and bright smile might help them be more at ease.

  In confusion, the girls looked at each other, and Sofea spoke softly in a language I’d never heard from any of the foreign traders who streamed through Kedesh on a regular basis. I tilted my good ear toward them, wishing I could understa
nd the rolling tones that flowed from Sofea’s full lips.

  They did not look similar enough to be sisters, although I supposed they could be, but Prezi was tall and willowy, all legs and arms and jutting angles, her hair and eyes much darker. Sofea’s head would barely come to my shoulder, but there was nothing fragile about her. Her arms were lean and finely muscled. A leather cord hung around her throat, a purple-and-white shell dangling from its center and shimmering slightly in the lamplight.

  “Have you finished those knives, Eitan?” Darek’s question dragged my attention away from our guests. He jerked a thumb at his friend, who was busy devouring a third helping of my mother’s stew. “Baz here has been harassing me for one for weeks.”

  “Nearly,” I said, again mourning the loss of the stolen knife. “I cast another this afternoon. It’ll take at least a few more days to complete. Nadir has been a great help with the forge, and he’s a skilled woodcarver.”

  “All I did was keep the pot-bellows pumping,” said Nadir. “You’re the one with the metalworking skill.”

  “I thought you were a fisherman before you came to Kedesh. Did you work in carpentry as well?” asked my mother as she refilled his bowl with thick, fragrant stew.

  “No,” said Nadir, a shadow passing quickly across his features. “My father was a fisherman, and when he died a little over two years ago, I took over the business he’d built. My partner and I constructed two new boats, which is how I learned to work with wood.” He dipped a piece of bread into the stew and took a large bite, as if eager to end the conversation.

  To shift attention away from Nadir’s obvious discomfort at discussing his life before Kedesh, I asked Darek whether he and his group of spies had encountered any trouble as they scouted on the coast.

  “Nothing much to speak of. Yehoshua sent us there because there had been rumors that the king of Tyre was expanding his army, perhaps with the aim of marching this way.”

  My mother caught her breath. “Oh, Darek, you don’t think they will—”

  “No, no. We are quite safe here, ishti. We’ve stationed soldiers in Beit Anat and Merom and up near Laish. The cities of Naftali are safe from incursion for now.” I didn’t miss how he’d qualified that statement but decided to wait until later to press him for more information. Baz shifted uncomfortably, keeping his gaze away from my mother, but when it snapped to mine I knew there was much more that Darek was not divulging.

  “More concerning,” he continued, “were signs that the tribe of Asher has been trading with the Canaanites. We even encountered a group of young Hebrews on their way to attend the fire festival in Tyre honoring the goddess Ishat.”

  “Why would they do such a thing?” My mother’s tone was pure horror.

  “They told us they didn’t see the harm in befriending Canaanites who wanted only to live in peace. With the amount of foreign goods streaming through the port at Tyre, they felt it was best to keep trade flowing with the nations that surround us.” Darek pursed his lips and shook his head. “I reminded them that Yehoshua, and Mosheh for that matter, had forbidden such dealings with the enemy, and that mingling with their gods is an affront to Yahweh. But they ignored us and continued on.”

  “How can they have forgotten so soon?” she said, placing her palm over the scar on her face. “It’s been less than twenty years since Jericho.”

  Baz scowled. “With Yehoshua nearing the end of his life, it will only get worse.”

  “Our High Commander has a few good years left in him, my friend,” said Darek, clapping Baz on the shoulder. “Even at over a hundred years of age, he still insists on sparring with the younger men. His mind is as keen as ever too. The way he’s going, he may outlast the mountains.” He lifted his cup of wine to drink to Yehoshua’s health, and we all mirrored his tribute to the ancient warrior, as well as to Calev, who remained just as faithful and fearsome as when the two had spied out Canaan so long ago.

  No one mentioned a salute to the health of Eleazar, the High Priest whose death would mean immediate release for all the manslayers trapped within this city, including my mother.

  With her usual skill at deflection, my mother stood to refill everyone’s wine cups, passing by mine as usual. The smell of the wine teased my nose, but I took another long, satisfying drink of cool water. After five years without any product of the vine touching my lips, even the unfermented sort, I was rarely tempted. Although everyone else was used to my abstention and therefore ignored it, I caught Sofea’s gaze dropping to my cup. When she raised her eyes to mine, a question brewed in them. Perhaps she was as curious about me as I was about her.

  With a frown she glanced away, a slight tinge of color on her high cheekbones. I smothered the smile that begged to spring to my lips and hoped it would not be too long before she learned some of our language.

  I turned to ask Nadir whether he’d be available to help me at the foundry in the morning and realized that his gaze too had been on the intriguing woman at the other end of the table.

  I lifted my brows—a question.

  He returned the gesture—a challenge.

  I raised my cup again, tipping it toward him with a nod. Challenge accepted.

  Sofea

  Adjusting my position on the too-soft bed, I slid my arm beneath Prezi’s neck and, mindful of her bruises and welts, pulled her closer. Her body was tense, too stiff for sleep. She’d barely spoken since we’d left the beach four days ago. I wished she’d say something—or even just cry. This empty, implacable silence frightened me.

  “I truly don’t think they mean to hurt us,” I whispered into her ear.

  She did not respond.

  Tomorrow these people would doubtless put us to work, as they seemed to have taken us as slaves, but at least for tonight they’d fed us, clothed us, and provided a bed in the corner of a tiny but private stone-walled room. But how would Prezi fulfill any sort of duties with her useless foot? It may be weeks, or perhaps months, before she’d be able to walk freely again—if at all.

  To my astonishment, Darek and his men had not laid one finger on either of us, with the exception of Baz, who’d carried my cousin in his arms for four days and gently tended her wounds, slicing off a section of his own cloak to use for bandages. In fact, they’d gone out of their way to ensure we were warm, sharing their woolen mantles with us at night, and they had fed us and ensured our thirst was sated throughout the journey.

  And now they’d brought us to this very large house in a city fortified by the tallest walls I’d ever seen. Built from stone and mud-brick, the dwelling was a two-level structure, nothing like the little round huts my family had lived in. Even now I heard footsteps above us, as if someone were walking on the flat roof. With a home of such large proportions, this family must be exceedingly wealthy and powerful indeed.

  Through the high open window, the sounds of the city wafted inside—animals lowing, wagon wheels creaking, laughter, chatter, and a newborn’s wail. I wished I could close my eyes and imagine I was back in my own village, but the soothing murmur of the sea was missing, as was the brush of the breeze through the beach grasses and the palms.

  This place was nothing like my home.

  One of Darek’s wives had fussed over us, giving us fresh clothing, aiding us with washing our aching bodies, and exclaiming in her strange language over the lash marks on Prezi’s arms and back, along with the vicious black-and-purple swelling of her ankle.

  To drown out the foreign sounds and the pulsing, aching loss that seemed to be a permanent layer beneath my skin, I continued whispering into Prezi’s ear. “The head wife seemed to be kind. The brand she wears must be the symbols of her gods, wouldn’t you think?” The old scar looked to be a crescent moon and a sun-wheel curved around her cheek, one ray slashing across the corner of her eyelid. Imagining the pain of such a branding made me shiver, as did the thought that she, like my mother, must be a priestess of the highest rank. Did these people worship gods like those from my island? Were their rituals and sac
rifices similar? Or worse?

  Not eager to add to Prezi’s distress, I did not voice such disturbing questions and sighed, wishing my cousin would respond. “Those two younger men don’t look related to each other, and the shorter one with the thick beard seemed a bit ill at ease. I saw the tall one, with the long hair, speaking with the woman after the meal. He hugged her. Perhaps she is his mother. . . .”

  Both of the young men had watched us throughout the meal. The shorter one kept to subtle glances, but the tall one seemed not at all abashed, leveling intense hazel-eyed stares at me between animated conversations with Darek and Baz. I’d never seen such long hair on a man—darkest brown and reaching past the middle of his back. When we’d first entered the house, it had been wet and loose, clinging to his arms and chest in ropey waves, but before we’d sat down to eat, he’d caught it up into a loose twist at the nape of his neck and bound it with a leather tie. None of the other men in this city seemed to wear their hair like his. And why, when everyone else at the table drank the wine the woman offered, would he pointedly drink only water?

  Annoyed by my own curiosity and realizing I’d stopped talking to muse about the man, I shifted my whispers to another topic. “Perhaps when your foot is better, we can—”

  “Go to sleep, Sofea.” Prezi’s interruption was terse, raspy from disuse of her voice.

  “But we need to decide—”

  “There’s nothing to decide. We are stuck here. Stop talking.”

  I blinked into the darkness, swallowing hard against the clench of hurt in my throat. Prezi had never spoken to me like that—ever. But even more than the curt demand, it was the utter bleakness beneath the words that made me sense something was desperately, irreparably broken inside my cousin.