Shelter of the Most High

by Connilyn Cossette

  He was so tall that Chana jutted high above everyone else’s heads, and his dark brown hair was gathered into a haphazard swirl at the back of his head and secured with a leather tie. A large white flower had been tucked into the knot. I guessed Chana had placed it there from the way the blossom drooped by its stem off to one side. I smothered the grin that welled up as he wiggled his shoulders, playfully pretending to unseat her until she released a high-pitched squeal. Something sidestepped inside my chest as I watched the two of them.

  My father had never done such things. He’d never embraced me with obvious pleasure the way Darek had his young children the night we’d arrived from Tyre. His kiss had never lingered on my mother’s mouth the way Darek’s had that night either, the greeting of a man devoted to the one and only wife he’d loathed being parted from. Would Eitan greet his wife that way someday too? As if nothing tasted as sweet as her lips on his? A confusing jolt of longing rushed through my body at the notion.

  As if he’d heard my embarrassing thought, Eitan turned toward me, his hazel eyes full of mirth and that ridiculous flower now bobbing at his ear. Caught staring, I went still. His gaze flitted to my cousin next to me, who thankfully was engrossed in watching the celebration, and then dropped to the crutch beneath her arm. When his eyes met mine again, a slow smile stretched across his face, one that made me suspect that I’d attributed the gift to the wrong man.

  Did you give her this? I lifted the question into the arch of my brows as I lightly gestured at Prezi’s crutch. With a modest twitch of his shoulder, he gave me a nod.

  Although he’d been busy training with Baz and Darek most mornings and the rest of his days were spent in the foundry smelting, crafting, honing, and polishing beautiful bronze weapons, somehow Eitan had made time to offer my cousin dignity and freedom by carving the crutch.

  “Ah. Handsome, no?” Kitane had found me in the crowd and now stood on my other side, her hand looping through my arm. The tease in her voice made it clear she’d seen the interchange between Eitan and me.

  Supremely grateful that no one around us spoke our language, I turned my attention back to the white-capped man near the temple who had begun reading from a scroll with a commanding voice. “I have no cause to notice.”

  “Telling lies now, are we?” She pinched my arm playfully. “You did notice.” She leaned closer, lowering her voice as if it mattered. “And he noticed you.”

  A strange flutter began in my stomach. Was Eitan aware of me in the way she was insinuating? Was that why he’d made the crutch? To lure me in some way? My lungs constricted. Did he have expectations after having offered such a gift?

  Although my fear that Moriyah and her family had tricked us and were planning to offer us as sacrifices had dissipated, and Eitan’s kindness seemed genuine, I would not stay around to find out if I was wrong.

  I whirled on Kitane, grasping at her sleeve. “Take us with you.”

  Surprise wrinkled her forehead. “Take you?”

  “Yes, now that Prezi has a crutch, she can move. We cannot stay in this city. Take us wherever you are going. Take us to your home, where they speak my language. Please!”

  Kitane tilted her head, studying me. “There is no possibility of such a thing, my lovely. We have no room in our little wagon. We travel light and we travel quickly. I’m sorry.”

  Dread washed down my limbs. “But you must! When you leave, we have no way to talk to these people. We cannot stay here. Please, ask your husband. We will work, we will help you trade, whatever you ask.”

  She put her hands on my shoulders, a crimp forming between her brows. “No. I cannot. My husband would not even entertain the idea. Besides, I have not even been to my home since I was a little younger than you. My father traded me to my husband for food when my village was starving. The way everyone was wasting away, I doubt if anyone even survived for more than a few weeks after I left with the trading caravan.”

  “But without you—”

  “Listen to me. You have no choice. Learn their language. Make a new life here. These people and their customs may be strange, but there are worse things than living in Kedesh.” Her expression darkened. “Much worse. I am very fortunate that I am treated as a wife and not a slave.”

  “Besides”—she smiled again, gesturing with a tip of her head toward Nadir and Eitan—“with those two both pursuing you, it won’t be long until one of them comes seeking your hand.”

  “I don’t want that.”

  She squeezed my arm with a suggestive laugh. “You will. And when you do, language won’t matter all that much.”

  CHAPTER

  THIRTEEN

  Eitan

  20 Tishri

  Four months later

  Dirt and sweat stung my eyes, but neither of my hands were free to swipe them away, locked as I was in the violent embrace of a man bent on wrestling me to the ground. The thunder of my pulse and the scream of my muscles blocked out every sound but the rasp of my breath and that of my opponent.

  Where had Baz found this man to spar with me? Not quite as tall as me, but wiry, he had a strength that perfectly matched mine. We’d been grappling for what seemed like hours, neither of us giving in to the exhaustion that quivered in our muscles. During the struggle, half of my hair had come loose from the tight knot at my neck. Slick with sweat, it clung to my bare chest and across my face, creeping into my eyes.

  Ignoring the irritation, along with the pain where my knuckles had grated over the pebbled ground during the wrestling match, I closed my eyes, focusing on every point of contact between us, holding my breath steady as I waited for the slightest weakness in his stance.

  There it is. A shudder in his chest and a minute shift of his leg to gain better footing. I struck, twisting as I grasped his wrist, yanked it hard over my shoulder, and dropped my knee. Off balance, the man wavered, and I used the motion to flip him onto his back and pin him to the ground with a grunt of satisfaction.

  After three heavy breaths, the fog of concentration began to lift, and I became aware of cheers around me. What had begun as a small group of soldiers observing our pairing had become a ring three deep of townspeople. It seemed as though half the marketplace had ceased bartering to watch the match.

  “Eitan! Eitan!” Malakhi called from the far side of the ring of observers, jumping up and down and shouting my name with glee. His face glowed with the same triumph that sang in my own veins. Gidal was beside him, pride in his dark eyes, although his excitement was less exuberant than Malakhi’s, who was announcing to anyone who would listen that the winner was his older brother.

  Behind the two boys stood Sofea, with her cousin and Binah, all three with market baskets in hand. Just the sight of her knocked the rest of my breath from my already straining lungs. With her golden-brown hair shimmering in the sunlight, her blue eyes were alight with an intriguing mix of humor and interest as her gaze moved down my bare chest and then flicked back up to mine. She had yet to grace me with a full, genuine smile, but it was there, just below the surface, making me desperate to bring it to fruition—and soon.

  Four months of waiting for her to learn my language. Four months of watching her skitter away like a mouse whenever I approached her. Four months of growing ever more convinced that there was no one like her and no one else for me. The wait had been interminable, but the way she was looking at me now made the crowd melt away. I moved toward her, drawn by a force that I had no interest in resisting.

  The gray shadows beneath her eyes had softened, along with the extreme wariness that had so characterized her first weeks in Kedesh. Thanks to the crutch I’d made for Prezi, the two women no longer stayed holed up in their room, Prezi joining her cousin in helping around the inn, cooking, cleaning, fetching water from the spring, and running errands in the marketplace. Bit by bit they’d begun to meld with our family, much as Binah and Sarai had done years ago when my mother offered them each refuge.

  My siblings adored both women, and Chana especially seemed
drawn to Prezi’s quiet nature. Abra, on the other hand, was enamored with Sofea, following her everywhere, begging to braid her exotic hair, and taking it upon herself to teach her as many Hebrew words as possible. I’d wondered whether Sofea would tire of the girl after a time, but she endured the endless chatter with no small measure of grace.

  And each time she watched over her cousin like a lioness, each hidden smile she shared with my sister, each sweet rise and fall of her stumbling, accented attempts at my language made my appreciation for her deepen even further. I was hungry to know more of her—to delve into the secrets she guarded behind those entrancing blue eyes.

  Someone handed me a waterskin and I drank deeply from the spout, still not taking my gaze from Sofea’s. And for the first time since she’d stepped her graceful foot across my mother’s threshold, she met my stare without flinching, without shying away or passing off her interest in me as fleeting curiosity. I suppressed a victorious grin. My wait was nearly over.

  Malakhi spun around. “Did you see?” he asked Sofea. “Did you see how easily Eitan bested that man? There is no one in Kedesh who can pin him,” he boasted, his chin lifting higher. “I know it.”

  “Is that so?” she responded, one brow lifting in challenge as she smirked at me. “Even Baz?” If even that tiny smirk scrambled my insides, what would a full grin from this woman do to me?

  “Well, perhaps not Baz,” Malakhi conceded. “He’s a giant.” His gray eyes went round as he considered the veracity of his own claim.

  “He is that,” she said, her lovely, lilting tone curving in fascinating ways. Although her tongue still stumbled much of the time over our Hebrew words, her understanding of our language had blossomed in past weeks. A pinch formed between her brows as she worked at comprehending the story Malakhi was relating about a skirmish Baz had with some Amorites years ago—a common tale the seasoned warrior liked to tell—and one that Darek insisted was vastly overblown. But even though she most likely understood only a portion of Malakhi’s river-fast words, she still looked into his eyes, listening intently and proclaiming astonishment at Baz’s impressive exploits.

  “But even Baz cannot outshoot my brother,” said Malakhi, his small chest puffing out with pride. “There are none of Naftali’s soldiers who can wield a sling like Eitan. He can hit a target at fifty paces.”

  “Can he?” She turned her bright, laughing eyes my way. “I will see this for myself? No?”

  I grinned, secure in my skills and plans already forming in my mind. “That can certainly be arranged.”

  I was distracted for a moment by the sight of that shepherd who’d been watching me as I ran around the walls that morning a few months ago. He stood at the back of the crowd not far from us, his mouth in a deep frown as he met my gaze before he turned abruptly and strode away. A large palm came down on my shoulder, taking my attention from the surly young man.

  “I certainly cannot outshoot you,” said Nadir. “I have heard much of your skill with a sling. But I find myself unable to refrain from challenging young Malakhi’s assertion that none can best you in wrestling.”

  I laughed, thinking he was jesting. But instead of laughing with me, he narrowed his gaze. “That is, unless you are too weary to fight me?”

  Although his challenge sounded nothing but friendly, there was an edge to the remark, as if he might have something to prove. A slight flicker of his attention toward Sofea hinted at his intentions. Nadir had been quiet about his interest in her, and to my knowledge rarely approached her, but perhaps I’d underestimated the nearly forgotten challenge between us the first night Sofea and Prezi came to Kedesh. Before I could second-guess my own motives for doing so, I accepted the match.

  “Excellent.” Nadir clapped his callused palms together. “In fact, I do believe a wager might be in order.”

  “A wager?”

  “If I win . . .” He scratched at his beard, contemplating. Then he leaned in close. “If I win, you go fishing with me.”

  I’d pushed aside his invitations to the lake a number of times and had been glad when he stopped asking a couple of months ago, finally accepting my vague refusals as unmovable. If by some chance he did manage to best me, I’d find some better prize to offer and hope he’d not push harder for an explanation about why leaving the city to fish was impossible for me.

  “All right. But if I win, you suffer my training regimen. Before dawn. With Baz.” I wiggled my brows playfully. “Then we will see who is tired. Baz loves nothing better than making me stack rocks or dig holes for no reason at all.”

  He scowled, knowing how hard my mentor pushed me each day, but he nodded acceptance and then walked to the center of the loose ring formed by the remaining onlookers, all humor wiped away as he faced me. Then, without warning, he charged, plowing into my shoulder with the force of an ox and nearly knocking me off balance. But I held my stance and pushed him back a few steps.

  Apparently this was no throwaway match. Nadir meant to collect on his wager—or at the least meant to up his worth in Sofea’s eyes.

  We circled for a few moments, taking stock of each other, both of us poised to strike. He was built wider than I was, broad-shouldered and muscular from tossing fishing nets and heavy woodwork. But while my physical strength had grown during Baz’s training—my body now honed into that of a solider and proficient with a variety of weapons—the most important skill Baz had taught me was patience. I now understood the value of waiting, watching, and weighing out my opponent’s greatest weaknesses before striking at the exact right moment.

  And I used every bit of that patience now as we grappled back and forth, both of us with heads down, one of my hands hooked around his neck and the other looped beneath his thigh.

  “Come now,” I forced out after a prolonged struggle during which neither of us gained any ground. My tone was jesting, but I did not allow my hold on him to slip in the slightest. “Let’s call this a draw.”

  “No draw,” he grunted, his iron lock on my wrists tightening as he tried to slip my hold. “I won’t give in.”

  In response, I jerked his leg forward and used my body weight to knock him onto his back and claim my victory. He let out a gasp as the breath was jolted from his lungs. The amiable, confident expression that had greeted me a few minutes ago was long gone, replaced by a grim mouth, making me regret having accepted this challenge.

  Had this match, or for that matter my unwavering interest in Sofea, truly damaged the friendship we’d formed?

  Standing, I offered him a hand up, but he lay still for a few long moments, his face pinched and jaw set. Perhaps it was time to tell Nadir the truth about my past and explain why I never left the boundaries of Kedesh. The only person outside my family I’d confided in before now was Tal, but Nadir had proven trustworthy. I felt certain he would guard my secrets well.

  Just as I was about to apologize for that last move that ensured my victory, in case he was actually injured, Nadir released a huff of laughter and grasped my hand to pull himself to his feet.

  Relieved, I lifted a note of humor into my voice. “So, you admit defeat, my friend?”

  “For the moment,” he conceded, his grin wry. “But when I want something, I rarely, if ever, give up.” He flashed a meaningful glance over my shoulder to Sofea.

  Brushing aside the competitive current still pulsing through my veins—for I had no plans to step aside unless Sofea made it clear that she desired me to—I slung an arm around his neck with a hearty laugh.

  “Come now,” I said, scrubbing my fingers into his scalp as I would with my own brothers. “Nothing soothes the sting of a thrashing like my mother’s food. I have it on good authority that a delicious lentil stew has been simmering over the fire all day. And you’ll need all the sustenance you can get before I turn you over to Baz tomorrow.”

  CHAPTER

  FOURTEEN

  Sofea

  “Zayit,” I repeated, flattening the word so my tone would match Eitan’s.

  “Y
es, better,” he said, rolling a bright green olive between two long fingers. “Zayit.”

  “So many words to learn.” I sighed, shaking my head in frustration. Although I understood much Hebrew now, my tongue still became entangled with the foreign sounds, and many words were as yet a mystery to me.

  “You’ve come a long way in the past few months, Sofea.” He dropped the zayit into the half-full basket at his feet with an encouraging smile that warmed my insides. Then, reaching high into the tree, he shook the branch vigorously, unseating more olives from their stems. A waterfall of rose and green tumbled onto the blankets spread below to catch the precious fruit.

  All around us the men, women, and children of Kedesh worked together to bring in the harvest, using long sticks to divest the branches of their treasure and cheerful songs to motivate the rhythm of many hands, large and small, at work.

  I’d been surprised when Eitan had joined us in the grove today, but thanks to the wager he and Nadir had made yesterday, Eitan was free to help instead of training with Baz this morning, as was his usual routine. Instead, Nadir had been the one to wake before dawn and run loops around the city. I’d even overheard Baz telling a snickering Eitan that he planned to make his friend build a useless wall in the middle of a field and then tear it back down again stone by stone. I’d felt sympathy for Nadir, as he’d been nothing but kind to me and Baz seemed to delight in assigning meaningless but rigorous tasks to his students, but I had little complaint about working alongside the man who’d become the subject of all too many of my unruly thoughts over these past months.

  My cousin limped into view nearby, managing an olive basket under one arm and the crutch beneath the other. She flashed me a knowing smile when she caught sight of Eitan, who’d inched ever closer as we harvested the olives and now stood only two paces away.

  Although I made an expression that communicated annoyance for her humor at my expense, a swell of affection for my cousin bloomed in my heart. It was almost as if something about Kedesh had done the impossible and slowly but surely raised her from the dead.