Eben secured the torch in a crack in the boulder next to us and then put his arm around my shoulder, pulling me close. I laid my head on his chest and breathed in his warm scent, a mixture of sand, sun, and his skin. No exotic perfume could ever compete.
“It’s so quiet up here.” I let out a trembling breath.
“Yes, it is.”
“Everything seems too quiet now.”
He pulled back to look at me, eyebrows raised.
“What?”
“That was exactly what I was thinking.”
I laughed and put my head back on his chest. “After hearing the Voice in my head all day, filling my every thought, everything seems so hushed somehow.”
He sighed. “When the music stops, we miss the song.”
“Yes, exactly.”
The rhythm of his heart against my cheek filled a bit of the space, but nothing could ever compare to the euphoria of Yahweh speaking directly to my heart, not even my love for this man who had drawn me in against my will.
“Do you think Yahweh will speak to us again?” I looked up at Eben, and my question echoed across his expression.
He pursed his lips. “I don’t know. I hope so. Extraordinary, wasn’t it?”
I nodded. “Makes me feel like everything here is just a shadow.”
“How so?”
I straightened my back. “It’s as if the Voice is the only thing that is real and this”—I gestured to the mountains and the camp below—“this is only an illusion.”
“Hmm. Intriguing thought. Yahweh is the creator of all that there is. He is the most real thing, the only eternal thing. Our hearts will stop beating, our eyes will close, the mountains may someday crumble, the trees will wither away, but Yahweh will always be.”
I considered that, but my frail human mind could not wrap itself around the concept of a god, a being, that was the beginning and the end of everything. I looked up at the stars, brilliant lights created simply by his words—or perhaps by his song. Did they sing, too? A reflective resonance of the music begun by the God who sang the first note?
No longer under the illusion that their sparkle contained the souls of departed gods, I simply appreciated them for what they were: lights to tell the story of the God who made them and to point ahead to the coming of a Redeemer who would make all things new. Eben had told me that many people thought Mosheh was the One, for he had led us out of slavery in Egypt, but I knew now that only surrender to the pure fragrance and light of Yahweh himself could free my soul from the bondage to the idols I had served and cleanse my heart from the shame of the sins I did not even know I carried. My heart now resonated with the song Yahweh had sung over me.
“Who is Yahweh, Eben?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. I know he is the Creator, Elohim, and the God who took us out of Egypt. We know now what he expects of us, as his people. His instructions give me a glimpse of his character. But there is much left to learn about this God we follow.”
“I want to know everything.” I gazed up at the mountain. The Cloud of light still hovered there, and a faint remnant of the fragrance, so potent in the valley earlier, wafted by on the breeze.
“We are his people now, and as long as we follow him, cling to him, I think we will learn more.”
“Am I truly a part of his people? Even though I am Egyptian?”
He stared into my eyes, the burn of love and sincerity intense in his own. “You stood at the foot of the mountain and entered into a blood covenant with Yahweh. You may have been born Egyptian, but you are part of this nation now. Besides”—he caressed my palm and entwined his fingers with mine—“once I marry you, you will be considered flesh of my flesh and bone of my bone. Every right of my people will be yours.”
“You want . . . to . . . me?” My tongue tangled to a halt.
“Did Jumo steal your words and give you his affliction instead?” The sound of his musical laughter echoed off the rocks around us.
“But yes—my beautiful, brave Kiya . . .” He put his finger in the center of my forehead, slowly skimming it down to the tip of my nose. I closed my eyes to savor the sensation of his slightest touch rippling through me. “I want to make you my wife. I have desired it since the moment you told me you would sacrifice yourself for my sister.”
I peered at him. “When did I tell you such a thing?”
“You were prepared to offer yourself to the guard to rescue her.” He winced and exhaled. “It took every bit of self-control inside me to not pull you into my arms, right then and there. And walking away . . .” He groaned. “The next day was torture, knowing what you were planning. Every moment since then I have regretted that day.”
“Nothing happened. Yahweh protected me from myself.”
“Yes. He did, but it does not negate my choice to turn away from you. To let you—”
I placed my hand on his cheek, my thumb silencing his lips. “It is in the past. Lay it down.”
He met my gaze. “My life was nothing but scattered rhythms and dissonant notes before I met you.”
“I think Yahweh is creating something new from our broken pieces.” I slid my hand around the back of his neck and drew him close to me. “Perhaps he is writing a new song.”
“Yes. And you, my bride-to-be, are the melody.” His lips brushed mine with exquisite tenderness, melting every thought but this man who would be my husband.
I pulled back and lifted a playful brow. “And you will of course plead with Jumo for my hand?”
“Already done.” He smirked. “It is settled. You are mine.”
I narrowed my eyes. “And was the bride-price exorbitant?”
“Oh, terribly. Something about a goat . . .”
Feigning offense, I elbowed him, and he laughed until I joined him. But the conversation my mother and I once had about Eben began to whisper in my thoughts.
“Aren’t Hebrews supposed to marry only Hebrews?” The insults that had been hurled at us as we walked through camp seemed to follow us everywhere now. I had been accepted by Yahweh, that much was clear. But would I ever be accepted among his people?
“Yes, but you have chosen to serve our God. The traditions we have to marry our own kind are to protect us from the influence of other gods.”
A spark of mischief glinted in his eyes as he grinned and tilted his head to one side. “You aren’t going to drag me into your heathen idolatry, are you?”
My mother’s amulet was packed among her other belongings; it was no more than a thing to me now. Hathor was an illusion, like everything else I grew up believing. Only one God had ever listened to my prayers, even before I believed.
My answer was emphatic. “No. I serve Yahweh.”
“Well then.” He raised a brow. “There is no problem now, is there?”
Only one. I sighed. I could not keep it from him any longer. I must surrender it all.
He lifted my chin and looked into my eyes. “What is it?”
My confession spilled out. “I am not pure. Akhum, the man I was betrothed to, we . . .”
He put a finger to my lips. “It does not matter.”
“But . . .”
“I already knew, Kiya. I was there, that night in the garden when that—” He paused and swallowed, a fierce expression on his face. “I came to make sure you were safe. I couldn’t bear not knowing.”
He was there? When Akhum tried to make me his slave? I groaned, covering my face in my hands. How could he even look at me?
Gently, he tugged on my wrists, forcing me to meet his gaze. His beautiful eyes latched onto mine with piercing intensity.
“I was paralyzed, watching you sit there in the moonlight. I could not take my eyes off you . . .” He brushed his hand down my hair. “So when he came, I was trapped in the shadows, and I heard your conversation.”
“All of it?” The burn of shame in my throat squelched my voice. It came out in a tortured whisper.
He leaned his forehead against mine, his breath sweet with man
na. “Shh. It does not matter. All the darkness the Voice uncovered within me today . . . there is nothing you have done or could do that would rival it.”
“You would marry me? Knowing this?” Relief flooded through my veins.
“What I know is that after the shame of being laid bare, when the Voice faded away, I felt as if my black heart had been washed clean. Don’t you feel the same?”
I did. Clean. Free. And although I still mourned my mother, the weight of my grief seemed lighter, as if the rift were already healing. What grace I had been shown today—by Eben and by the One True God.
“I do not know how to follow Yahweh,” I whispered.
He faced me, the light above the mountain reflecting in his eyes. “Neither do I, my love. We will learn together.”
A Note
from
the Author
Many wonderful books have been written about Moses and other main players in the Exodus story. But I am a simple girl; I know little of kings and less of political machinations. My imagination was sparked not by the glittering palaces and the powerful men who walked their halls—however fascinating—but by the inhabitants of the mud-brick homes that have long since washed away, the slaves who toiled beneath the lash of Pharaoh’s whip, and most of all by the “mixed multitude” spoken of in Exodus 12:38 who made the choice to walk away from everything they knew to follow an old man and his faceless god into the wilderness. Out of my own personal curiosity into their motivations, Kiya’s story was born.
Fascination with the world of Ancient Egypt is nothing new. For hundreds of years, explorers and archeologists have been drawn to divulge its secrets and piece together its mysteries. When Kiya called to me from that distant land, asking me to tell her story, I knew nothing of Egypt, other than odds and ends from school, church, and popular culture. And as it is with most history, the deeper I delved into Egypt’s past, the more I realized how little we truly know. So much of Egyptian culture—especially that of the everyday citizens—has been lost to the harsh climate, tomb robbers, and overzealous amateur archeologists, and confused by exaggerations and misinterpretations over time. Even Sir Alan Gardiner, the famous Oxford Egyptologist, said that what we have of the Egyptians is “merely a collection of rags and tatters.” Since it is only these rags and tatters that I had to work with, any imperfections in historical details are due to either conflicts of opinion between historians and Biblical scholars, or my own overactive imagination.
The reader will note that I do not name the Pharaoh anywhere in this book. I have two reasons for doing so. First, I believe, unapologetically, that the Word of God and its histories are true. Because the chronologies, built upon the writings of a third-century Egyptian priest named Manetho and accepted by most secular Egyptologists, do not fit with the Biblical account, I hold them highly suspect. When anything conflicts with the Bible, I will always defer to the Word.
There is, however, exciting new evidence being brought to light by archeologists and scholars that does support the Biblical timeline. I would encourage curious readers to look into the recent documentary called Patterns of Evidence: Exodus, which highlights these interesting discoveries.
Secondly, in Ancient Egyptian culture, names were very important. A person’s ka, or spirit, was symbolized by their name. If that name was chisled off a written account on a tomb or temple wall it, in effect, erased that person from history—thereby destroying their rewards in the afterlife. Many historical figures, such as Akhenaton and Hatshepsut (the famous female Pharaoh), were treated thus by their enemies, and it has taken hundreds of years for their histories to be rediscovered.
I believe that God purposefully chisled Pharoah’s name from the Word, and therefore, history. The names of the kings that Moses interacted with will never be known for sure, so their achievements are unknown as well. But conversely, take a moment and read Exodus 1:15–21. Whose names are written in the Word of God, for all posterity? Shifrah and Puah—the brave midwives who stood against the most powerful man in the world and, out of fear for God, lied to Pharoah’s face to protect Hebrew lives. The Pharaohs of the Exodus account are nameless. Yet these courageous women are honored for eternity.
Although I began the journey into Ancient Egypt and Kiya’s story alone, there are many people who have traveled with me. I would like to inscribe their names into the “wall” here and acknowledge them for their help along the way.
Thanks go first to my sweet husband for his support and willingness to let me put aside other things to pursue my passion. And to my beautiful children, who are my greatest cheerleaders and put up with their post-late-night-pre-coffee mama on a regular basis. I love you to the moon, my precious family.
I am so grateful for my mother, Jodi Lagrou, for being my endlessly patient sounding board and for her insights and wisdom into the Word. Thank you, Mom, for praying for me, encouraging me, and letting this book-a-holic check out giant stacks of books from the library. I am sure I still owe you lots of late fine money.
Putting a story out into the world is a scary proposition for any aspiring writer. I have been blessed with so many people who read my scribblings and saw potential in them. Without their support and encouragement, this book would not have been published. With her kind words, Adina Schenkenberger, my first reader, gave me the courage to show others my work. After enduring my trembly-voiced readings of my first drafts, Lynne Gentry, Kellie Coates Gilbert, Janice Olsen, and all the rest of the lovely Brainknockers gave me the confidence to pursue publication. Susan May Warren, Rachel Hauck, and everyone with My Book Therapy floored me with their enthusiasm for my story and generosity with their expertise. My awesome agent, Tamela Hancock Murray, took a chance on this newbie and found the exact right home for my stories. Thank you to Charlene Patterson, Raela Schoenherr, and everyone at Bethany House for catching my vision for this story and to Jennifer Parker for crawling into my imagination and designing such a beautiful cover. Juli Williams and her brilliant daughters, Anni and Cassi, were some of my first “fans.” Thank you, Juli, for reading my ever-changing drafts, sharing your honest opinions and insight, and being my Personal Image Consultant and a sister of my heart. Ami Trull, my talented friend, made me look all “author-y” with her gorgeous photography. My lovely beta readers, Misty Hunt, Karla Marroquin, Kristen Roberts, Brenda Jeter, and Jennifer Traugott, have helped me immensely with their suggestions and support. And finally, thanks to all the prayer warriors, including Melissa Tabor, Heather Hardin, Heidi Thedford, Aamanda Bragg, Laura Kanaykina, and my Remedy Church family, who faithfully keep me and my writing before the Throne. If I have forgotten anyone, please forgive me—but know that your names are written on my heart forever.
Questions
for
Conversation
Kiya’s life changes drastically at the beginning of this book, due to the consequences of someone else’s actions. When have you found yourself at the mercy of another person’s poor decisions? What good, if any, came out of that situation?
Kiya’s love for her family determines her choices in many ways, to the point of sacrificing her own freedom. When have you chosen to place someone else’s needs above your own? What sacrifice was required? When has someone done the same for you?
From the time she was a young girl, Kiya was terrified of the dark. When Egypt is struck with plagues, she is forced to endure three days without light. Have you ever had to conquer a phobia? Which of the plagues do you think would have been the most frightening?
Kiya was intrigued by the way Shira responded to her circumstances. How did the way she lived draw Kiya toward Shira’s God? How can we live winsomely so that others will desire to know our God?
Kiya comes to realize why Tekurah is such a bitter woman. When have you struggled with bitterness? How does bitterness affect your relationships? What do you imagine happened to Tekurah after this story?
As someone who grew up believing in many gods, Kiya struggles with changing her worldview to one that ack
nowledges Yahweh as the One True God. How is your worldview different from the culture in which you live? How does your faith impact the way you live your daily life?
The plagues and miracles of Exodus have been depicted in various ways in popular culture (books, movies, etc.). Which ones, if any, did you visualize differently than the author? What new insights did you gain from the author’s descriptions of the plagues and miracles?
Idol worship was commonplace in the ancient world. What are some things in our culture that have been elevated to the status of idols? In your own heart, what are some idols that you struggle to leave behind as you move toward Christ?
Egypt was the most powerful and wealthy nation in the world at the time of this story. What similarities do you see between Ancient Egyptian culture and our own? What lessons can we learn from the demise of Egypt?
The story of the Exodus is a beautiful foreshadowing, or prefiguration, of Jesus’s death and resurrection, and the sacrifice he made to purchase our freedom from sin (Exodus 12, Hebrews 11:23–29). What similarities can you see between Moses and Jesus? How does Kiya’s journey echo your own spiritual journey?
When Kiya arrives at Shira’s home the night the firstborns of Egypt are killed, she is confused by the blood on the doorway and the other “strange” Hebrew rituals. For thousands of years, the Jewish people, and many Christians, have memorialized that night by celebrating Passover. Have you ever attended a Passover celebration? If so, how did it enrich your perception of Jesus?
The next book in this series follows the story of Shira. What do you imagine will happen? What themes from this story do you think will be further explored? Which characters are you curious to know more about?
When she is not homeschooling her two sweet kids (with a full pot of coffee at hand), Connilyn Cossette is scribbling notes on spare paper, mumbling about her imaginary friends, and reading obscure, out-of-print history books. There is nothing she likes better than digging into the rich, ancient world of the Bible and uncovering buried gems of grace that point toward Jesus. Her novel Counted With the Stars won the 2013 Frasier Contest and was a semifinalist in the 2013 ACFW Genesis Contest. Although a Pacific Northwest native, she now lives near Dallas, Texas. Connect with her at www.connilyncossette.com.
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