Remnant of the Fall

by Beth Shriver

  “I cannot sit here and do nothing to prepare, Nethan.” She stood, and he caught her hand.

  “There is nothing you can do. Just stay here with me. You are the only thing that gives me peace.” He tugged her back down to the bench and pulled her to his side. They sat together and gazed at the stars in complete and uncertain silence.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Enan felt the heat first as he slowly regained consciousness. The right side of his face baked in the afternoon sun while the other felt cool, buried in the sand. He opened one eye to see small whirlwinds of sand gather speed and felt the sting as they hit the bare parts of his body. He slowly stirred, falling in and out of sleep. The feel of grit in his mouth made him cringe and attempt to spit, but no moisture came to his lips. Scorched and dry, he tried to pass his tongue over them but stopped when he tasted dried blood.

  His eyelids fluttered as he forced them open. Squinting, he saw nothing but golden hills of sand. His right arm had no feeling, numb from lack of circulation, so he forced himself up with his left, teetering as his crusted eyes scanned the open country—nothing but sand for as far as he could see. He lost strength and fell hard onto the sand. Eyes closed, he lay in the vast desert, catching his breath after the short use of energy.

  A shadow falling over him caused a rush of fear and helplessness. He lifted his head and held a hand to block the sun. With no strength to push himself any farther, he lay powerless as he opened his eyes to see whether the shadowed figure was friend or foe. A large, brown muzzle slowly came into vision. Nostrils flared and blew warm air, sniffing his face and hair.

  Enan felt for him with his raised hand and called out, “Legend!” Enan lay back again, now feeling a dull pain in his leg. Reaching down to his calf, he felt a sticky substance and brought his hand up covered with blood.

  Knowing the wound was there made the pain worsen. Enan tried to remember what had happened. His last memory was sitting on Legend’s back with a sword in his hand and his enemy in front of him. The clash of metal resonated in his mind as the two of them fought. Enan’s condition told him he had obviously lost the duel, but not his life.

  He wondered how far he had gone from the battle site, as he lay hidden between three sand dunes almost boxing him in with mounds of golden grains. He decided to find out where he was. Grabbing a stirrup, he pulled himself up, wincing from the pain but not allowing himself to stop until he was mounted. Once atop his horse, Enan leaned over and let out a low yell from the pain. He dared not examine the injury; he feared his leg may be lost. But for the moment he needed the use of it, even if it was absurd to think it would hold up during the ride.

  He grasped the reins, and Legend’s mane for added support and rode between the large mounds, helpless to prevent the winds filled with sand from nipping at his face and hands. He squinted and opened his eyes even though the sand smarted. He had to be alert; he knew his army had fallen and was not sure of his whereabouts.

  After what seemed hours, Enan slowed Legend’s gait. The pain had become too great. The constant movement of his leg swinging in the stirrup had repeatedly sent a sharp jolt up his thigh, and the pain wore him down.

  His head hung from fatigue, and now he forced himself to look up and scan his location. With nothing in sight but sand and whirlwinds, he continued over a hill that led back down into a valley of sand and topped that one, only to find an identical one on the other side. He wondered how much longer he could go on and admired Legend for his endurance.

  After what seemed hours later, he realized his leg had numbed into only a dull tingling. Confused by the sensation, he glanced down to see his calf covered with blood, as was the stirrup. He glanced back to see faint drops of red, leaving a blood trail. He had lost so much blood he would never regain his strength without water and a bandage for the wound. He had neither and wondered if this was how he was to die.

  He glared up at the sun beginning to lower below the sand hills, then studied his horse. Legend’s hide was burned from the sun, and froth had formed around his neck and mouth. It would kill him to continue. So, his noble horse would go with him to this sandy grave. Enan began to come to terms with their lonely demise.

  He had never envisioned his death. Partly because it was thought to worsen one’s fate, but also because he was confident in his skills, and never felt this would come at a young age. He pictured himself going as an old man, peacefully in his sleep after living a long life with Tirzah, children, and grandchildren. This situation had never even occurred to him.

  He looked ahead to yet again another hot sandy hill and wondered why he should go over even one more. Legend continued to lead him on. He didn’t have the energy to pull back, so he let Legend do as he must, even if it meant they would meet their demise.

  As they reached the plateau, Enan’s reserve fell flat. He toppled from his horse and rolled to the bottom of the hill. Legend stopped momentarily until Enan moved forward, then stood above him nudging Enan with his muzzle. With no response, Legend continued on. Enan felt the sand covering him.

  ****

  Eyelids open to mere slits, Enan took in his surroundings. He lay in a bed, and to his right was a sitting area with a small fire glowing, and shadows jumped against the stone behind it. Farther still stood a table and chairs and a longer table with baskets of bread and dried fruit waiting to be washed.

  Looking to the front of the abode, he saw the entrance was that of a cave, meaning the home was inside a hillside or mountain. That explained the chill and darkness of the dwelling. He searched his memory, trying to determine where such a place would be, but such a long journey kept him from obtaining the answer.

  Then he felt the pain and watched his chest fall as he sighed. Enan was glad for the throb he felt in his leg. He felt for the leg, hoping it was real. He had heard stories of men losing a limb but the sensation of it remaining. He grasped hold, causing the injury to hurt even more, but relished the feeling.

  It was then he realized his hands had cloth covering them, as did his face and neck. He felt the burn on his arms, as though they were on fire. As he lifted a bandage with the tip of a finger, he saw his flesh was bubbled and scorched.

  His heartbeat quickened as he took in his reality. He had almost given up, almost died. He did die, didn’t he? His mind was a fog, drugged from the pain. He remembered the numbing of his leg and loss of blood, and falling from his horse and lying in the sand as it covered him, infiltrating his nose, mouth and ears.

  His last thoughts had been a prayer to God, to accept his request for forgiveness, and then he’d waited for his eternal life to begin. Then his vision had gone dark, and Enan thought surely it was the end, his death. He thanked God now for sparing his life and remembered the prayer of the Rabbi before battle. Enan hadn’t totally understood his meaning until this moment. The events of war can never be predicted, but in fighting for their faith, they had all won in God’s eyes.

  Caught up in his thoughts, he didn’t notice the footsteps growing closer until the woman was upon him. His eyes widened as he took her in. Long, straight, dark hair hung down her back. Almond-shaped emerald eyes stared into his, crinkling at the sides as she smiled at him. Her wool tunic fit loosely around her slender figure and had gray stripes running lengthwise, giving her the appearance she was taller than her actual height. Around her neck she wore the Star of David.

  Her hips swayed as she walked closer, causing Enan to avert his eyes. She stopped, and he realized she might have taken his diversion as not wanting her company.

  He turned to her. “Where am I?” His voice was unrecognizable. He tried to clear his throat but stopped when he felt the burn. She went to fetch water and brought a cup to his lips as she held the back of his head with her other hand. Upon tasting the cool wetness, his first urge was to drink it all, and quickly, but she tipped the cup down, forcing him to take small sips until his strength gave way, and he lay back on the bed.

  “I am Vita.” She sat on the floor next to him and cr
ossed her legs at the knees, pulling her tunic down over them. He couldn’t help notice the gleam in her eye as she spoke, her accent thick with Semitic tongue. “You have loyal companions.” Her smile brightened the room, and the tilt of her head played with him as if she knew his secrets.

  What had he said in his sleep? And sensing only a light undergarment around his waist, he realized someone must have undressed and washed him. The thought humbled him as he turned to her. He kept his eyes on Vita until they watered from the burn, and tears streamed down his face and into the soft cloth on his cheeks.

  She moved to him and took a rag and dipped it in the bowl of cool water. Gently dabbing his eyes, she motioned with her head toward the doorway. “Your horse, he should have died carrying you all this way.”

  Enan propped himself on an elbow, to get a glimpse of Legend. She walked to the window and called to him. Enan eagerly waited, hoping his strength would hold. Legend walked slowly to the gate of the holding pen and looked her way. He had some sort of salve on his hide, and the lack of color to his muzzle showed where the sun had taken its toll. Enan was satisfied and let himself drop back down into the bed with a groan.

  “Is he well?” Enan’s voice was more recognizable, and he appreciated the familiar tone. She walked back over to him and picked up another bowl, this one containing oil. She began to wipe the cloth across his burns and wounds.

  “Yes.” She stopped and gazed up at Enan. He closed his eyes to stop the fire he felt inside them. “Better than you.” She smiled and went back to her cloth and oil.

  Enan sighed and asked again, “Where am I?”

  Vita continued her doctoring. “You are near the village of Samech.”

  Pain from the burns on his face stopped Enan from expressing his anxiety and puzzlement. He knew this place to be of traditional Jewish influence. “I have heard little of your village—only that it is where the sea and desert meet.”

  She nodded. “I’m sure you learned that after wandering through the sand. And not being protected against the elements.” She put her hand down and looked him in the eyes. “Are you far from your home?”

  “Yes, I am from Zayin.” Her head lifted, realizing their differences. She had brought in a Jew, a Christian Jew.

  Why God would place them together, He only knew, but Enan trusted in His will. Suddenly Enan felt vulnerable and modest. Had this beautiful girl cleaned his filthy, bloodied body?

  He tried to clear his throat then thought of her words earlier. “You said companions, is there another?”

  “Yes, he sleeps.” Her emerald eyes caught his and dulled. “He may not wake.” Enan’s heart jumped with curiosity and hope of who this man was. Could he be a comrade? But who could have possibly made it through the journey he had? No, it must be a stranger or enemy, another found in the desert. Enan scanned the room and saw no other. “Where is he?”

  She took a smaller bowl of honey and began to apply it to his open wounds, to bind them. “He is in my father’s room.” Enan jerked upright, bumping the bowl she held, and tried to stand.

  She held a hand to his chest. “Please, you should rest.” He ignored her request and pushed himself up off the bed and stumbled to grasp the chair, close by. She stood and took his arm, putting it around her shoulder to keep him from falling. He winced but kept his arm against her for support, knowing he would be on his knees if he didn’t accept her help.

  “Lead me to him.” Enan breathed the words more than he spoke them, and moved far too slowly for his liking. The hope of a friend or fellow warrior being this close and in need brought a deep sense of urgency.

  As they approached the door, Enan held his breath. He selfishly hoped it was a stranger, if he were about to die. He had seen enough of his friends pass in battle.

  No matter how much he had prepared himself to see his comrades killed, he’d had no idea of the grief until that day in full battle with Claudius’s men, seeing his friends fall one after another, stabbed, hit and gored. It was worse than he ever could have ever imagined—the smell of blood and dirt mixed with sweat, the shouts of bravery changing to futile cries for mercy. And it went on for so long, fighting into dusk, which gave some reprieve, but starting in again full and strong until he could scarcely find another of his men.

  He missed his step and started to go down, catching himself on one knee, crying out in pain. She knelt next to him, feeling his injured leg.

  “How bad is it?” He remembered in the desert, feeling sure he would lose his leg if he lived through his journey.

  She looked at the bandage and stopped at the sight of blood seeping through. “I’ll need to clean and wrap the wound again. It’s not good for you to move. We should go back to the bed.”

  He shook his head, even though it caused him pain and an intense grogginess had set in as he had stood upright. He realized he must be drugged with opium or hemp. Still, he motioned with a bandaged hand to go forward, hoping in the back of his mind that this might be a comrade who he could possibly nurse back to life. His mind reeled with the thoughts of who this man could be as he searched the room for the body.

  As he moved closer, he examined the man. He was a tall man, broad-shouldered with toned muscles, a warrior. If he had been wearing any recognizable armor, it had been removed and most of his face was covered with cloth. What he could make out of his face was unfamiliar to him. But as he came right upon him and lowered himself over the man’s face, he could not believe his eyes. Lying before him was Stephen, son of Josiah.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Tirzah pulled Daniel up onto her lap. She sat at the dark oak table Abraham had made with his own two hands. Now he used his skills to build barricades and ramparts. At the sound of the horn, she and Ruth exchanged glances, both women knowing the other’s thoughts. Tirzah stood and held Daniel close while Ruth went to fetch Sarah to make the walk home. Sarah ran into the kitchen as Ruth embraced her and sat next to Tirzah.

  Abraham walked in from the back of the house and leaned against door. “We must go to the synagogue.”

  Tirzah and Ruth carried Daniel and Sarah to the end of the dirt road. Multitudes of villagers covered the stairs leading to the front doors of the synagogue. A horn blew, drawing villagers to gather around the synagogue, where a shepherd boy stood before the large wooden doors holding the black-and-white cattle horn.

  Prayers poured out in voice and song, meditations, and chants. Priests came together with scribes to study words of the law. Some came in such a rush they were barefooted, or in clothes not meant for public display. A number of people brought their Torah or prayer beads. Some wept, and others spoke their words boldly out loud to God.

  Tirzah’s first prayer was not for herself or even for those around her. It was for Enan. She felt the fear he must have had when foreigners approached, ready to take everything and everyone dear to him. If the armies were in battle, he may be feeling what she was right at that moment, in another village surrounded with his brothers-in-arms, waiting for the enemy to force their way to people such as those around her now.

  Her next thought was for Nethan. He was just outside the city walls, defending her and the rest of the people here. Then she prayed for her family and friends. The only request she asked of God for herself was that He use her to the best of her abilities.

  One by one, people rose and left, and others came to take their places. Tirzah stood and waited for Ruth and Abraham to rise with her, and helped them take the children to what would soon become their underground home.

  Abraham went ahead of them and pulled open the door, giving Ruth and then Tirzah a hand as they stepped down into the dark, cold hole in the ground.

  Tirzah turned to Abraham. “I wish I could stay with all of you, but I need to go to my parents.” She took the last step and sat on a wooden box full of supplies. Daniel sat still and quiet on her lap, as if he knew the seriousness of the moment.

  “I will take you, just let me get the children settled with Ruth, and we will go.” Abr
aham was calm but distracted. He looked around the small area and found an oil lamp. He pointed up to the small door that showed slits of light through the wooden seams.

  “I will take Tirzah and get information. Do not open that door for anyone but me.”

  Ruth nodded and held both children close to her. “Hurry.” She pecked him on the cheek and waved for him to go.

  Abraham walked up the dirt stairs as Tirzah said her goodbyes. “I will see you all very soon.” She held the children’s cheeks in the palms of her hands and kissed Ruth on the forehead.

  “Yes, you will. Go now.” Ruth urged her on with a nod.

  The muddy roads slowed those gathering supplies or finding loved ones. There were few conversations with the exception of a question such as where to find a loved one, how far away the enemy was, how many, and where would they be safe?

  Tirzah saw some running to the hills to find shelter in the small caves. Most chose to stay in their homes or in underground shelters similar to Abraham’s. All held fear in their eyes.

  Carts creaked as they passed by carrying food, wood, and other supplies to the synagogue. The public wells were crowded with women carrying flasks, clay jars, and any other types of vessel they could find to hold water.

  As Tirzah and Abraham entered her home, they found Andrew in his work area. The curtain hung by a single nail, revealing two patients. One sat on a pallet, his bloody leg propped up on a small stool. The other man Andrew was tending had a broken arm. He writhed in pain as Andrew worked with two splints on either side of his forearm.

  “Andrew, what have you heard?” Abraham spoke quickly from in the doorway.

  Andrew held the placement of the splints in the correct area of the man’s arm. “The scouts arrived half an hour ago. The enemy will take double that time, at the most.” Andrew turned to Abraham. “Thank you for bringing Tirzah to us.”

  Tirzah thanked Abraham and went to her father, where she was needed. As she calmed the young man with quiet words, she soothed his brow with a cold cloth. Andrew tied the leather straps to bind the splints, and the patient let out a yell as the bone shifted into place and settled. Andrew adjusted the splint as Tirzah wiped the man’s sweaty brow.