As the ring of his declaration faded, I discovered I’d been holding my breath, and my chest shuddered at the release. The crowd around me was silent, as if they too had been lost in the story.
The elder smiled in a grandfatherly gesture that matched the warmth of his eyes as he looked over the people gathered to hear him speak. He lifted his hands and spread his fingers wide. For the first time, I noticed that his palms were scarred, the evidence of long-ago burns.
“And now, people of Israel, sons and daughters of Avraham by birth and by covenant . . .” His tone become richer, more weighty, moving into the proximity of worship. “May Adonai bless you and keep you. May Adonai make his face to shine upon you and be gracious unto you. May Adonai lift his countenance upon you and grant you shalom.”
With the blessing complete, the spell of the story was broken and conversations began all around me. Children popped up, free now to expend shackled energies and stoppered laughter. Prezi leaned into me, her eyes bright, her tone reverent. “Do you see what I mean, Sofi? The way they speak of Yahweh . . . I’ve never heard anything so beautiful.”
Before I could answer her or press for answers to some of the questions the story had raised in my mind, Eitan appeared in front of us. Startled, I looked up at him, my neck craning back to take in his height.
“May I speak to you, Sofea?” Although he smiled, his eyes were tight and one fist was clenched. His thumb tapped a quick, nervous beat against the side of his leg.
Nodding, I stood, telling Prezi I’d return soon. Her mischievous grin and slight wink offered encouragement to whatever was happening between Eitan and me, giving me courage. I followed him through the crowd and under the shadow of the eaves, near the same column where we’d spoken before, when he’d made his interest in me clear.
Moving behind that very column, he leaned his back against the wood, a sigh escaping his lips. “I am sorry to drag you away from your cousin, but this is the most privacy I can have with you,” he said, and then a smile curved his lips upward. “At least for now.” His gaze deepened, flooding with meaning that made warmth spread throughout my body. His eyes were on my mouth as he spoke again, a rasp in his voice. “And in truth, it is for the best that there are fifty people behind me right now, or I’d pick up right where I left off during our sling lesson.”
Silenced by the insinuation, I stared at him, unsure what to do with my hands, or my face, or the legs that were suddenly trembling so much I could barely stand. Everything about Eitan called to me—from his enveloping gaze, to the strength of his well-honed body, to the way he’d poured out his heart to me.
“I want to marry you, Sofea,” he said, never taking his eyes from my face. “When Darek returns, I plan to ask him to arrange a betrothal between us.”
My jaw gaped as I searched his face for signs of teasing. Just a few hours ago, Prezi had asked whether I would consider binding myself in covenant to Eitan, and thereby his God. My quick answer, that I’d do so if I could have him, seemed flippant in light of the story the old man had told tonight.
A flash of uncertainty moved across his features. “Have I shocked you?”
I dropped my eyes, dragging in a wobbly breath. “Yes.”
He slumped against the wood, defeat in the drop of his shoulders. “I should have waited. Given you more time.” His fingers moved to his ear, hidden beneath the dark sweep of his hair where it was pulled into a low braid. He tugged at the misshapen earlobe, a rare self-conscious move I’d noticed before today but had not understood until he’d revealed the deformity to me.
Tangled up in equal parts affection and hurt for him, I placed my hand on his forearm and tugged it away from his ear. “You shock me, Eitan, but still, I am glad.” I slid my fingers down his arm and wove them into his.
His breath released. He closed his eyes and gripped my hand as if savoring even the slightest contact between us. He muttered something that sounded very much like a prayer of thanksgiving to his God. Then he opened his eyes, his brows coming together. “Are you certain? Do you understand that as my wife you will be expected to follow our Torah and put aside worship of any foreign gods?”
Somehow between Prezi’s revelations and the blessing spoken over us this night, my decision had been made. I still did not fully understand this God of his, but from everything I’d seen, Yahweh was nothing like the capricious and grasping gods of my island. I wanted the protection the old man had spoken of—to hide beneath the shelter he described. And I wanted nothing more than to be Eitan’s wife. “Yes, I understand this. My gods are no more important to me. But . . .” I glanced away, gnawing at my lip.
He drew me closer. “What is it?”
“I have nothing to give,” I said. When my father offered me to the chief of the neighboring village, a wide array of commodities had been exchanged; the dowry of the high priest’s daughter was precious indeed. Now, even the clothes on my back had been gifted by Moriyah.
“The only thing I want is you, Sofea. Always.” His tone was full of sincerity, the words nesting in the deepest part of me. He reached for my hand, lifted it, and placed something in the center of my palm. A delicate copper ring, fashioned with large swirls and small swirls, like waves crashing on the seashore.
“Eitan,” I breathed, lifting the ring to study it closer in the firelight. “So beautiful. You make this?”
“I know you miss the sea,” he said. “And since living here with me in Kedesh means you will not see it again, I hoped it might remind you. Comfort you.”
Teary-eyed, I slid the ring onto my first finger, the copper still retaining the warmth from his palm, and admired the sight of the gift he’d made with his own hands, for me.
“And who, may I ask, is this young woman?”
I turned toward the voice that had broken into our quiet moment, unsure why it seemed so familiar. The old man who’d told the stories tonight stood within a couple of paces of us, a large grin on his face and mirth in his eyes.
“Dov!” Eitan said, a wide smile in his voice, and I recognized the name as belonging to the grandfather of Eitan’s childhood friend Tal. Another realization slammed into me in the next moment—the storyteller was not simply an elder, but a priest. I took a step backward.
Unaware of the hitch in my breath, the man came closer and embraced Eitan, then reached up to squeeze his shoulder. “How good it is to see you, my boy.”
“Are you well?” Eitan asked. “I have not seen you for weeks.”
“I am. I’ve been in Shiloh,” Dov said. “My mother passed from this world into the olam ha’ba. We all gathered in celebration of her life there, where’d she’d lived with my brother Avi’s family.”
Eitan frowned. “I am sorry to hear that. I only met her one time, when I was a young boy, but she seemed very kind.”
“There was no one like my ima,” said Dov, turning to me as he explained. “She was a midwife. Her hands guided thousands of babies into this world. She was the very embodiment of wisdom, gentleness, and faithfulness to Yahweh.” The adoration in his voice was evident, and I had the irrational thought that I very much wished I could have known his mother too.
He tilted his head toward me with a grin. “Are you planning to introduce me to your friend?”
Eitan smiled down at me, a gaze that spoke a thousand words. “This is Sofea.”
“Ah yes. I’ve heard of you. One of the girls brought here from Tyre, correct?” Dov reached a hand toward me, as if he’d meant to place it on my shoulder as he’d done to Eitan. Instinctively, I took another step backward, the image of my father’s sneer somehow bright in my mind.
A frown tugged at Dov’s mouth. “I mean no harm, my dear. Forgive me.” His words were gentle, reassuring, and nothing like the censure that I expected from such a powerful man. He turned back to Eitan, whose brow was wrinkled with concern for me. “Come, my Rachel will be anxious to see you and give you news of Tal.”
Although my instinct was to slip away and find Prezi among the crow
d, I followed Eitan and the priest to the opposite end of the courtyard. I had no desire to speak with a priest or his wife, but I had even less desire to leave Eitan’s side. My thumb traced the line of the ring on my finger back and forth, the feel of the warm metal against my skin comforting as I was introduced to not only Dov’s wife but also his son Amitai and his wife, along with their youngest daughter, Rivkah, who seemed to be about the same age as Gidal. The girl fixed a curious but wary amber-eyed stare on me as I sat down.
Dov and Eitan chatted amiably about Tal, Dov’s pride in his grandson’s priestly training evident in every word. I wondered what sort of training would possibly take five years to complete. My father had done nothing more than conduct bloody sacrifices, execute unfair judgments, lead disgusting rituals, and collect and discard women. Surely little training would be needed for such activities as these.
“A good boy, our Tal.” Rachel’s hand went to her chest, as if to cover some pain there. “If only Nurit had lived . . .” Her voice trailed off, and Dov reached over to squeeze her hand, his gaze reassuring and full of such tenderness that my own heart fluttered in response. “Give it time, my love,” he said. “Any woman our grandson chooses to marry will be blessed indeed.”
Rachel patted her husband’s bearded cheek with a watery smile. “That she will. And knowing Tal, he will choose a woman whose kindness will only be matched by her depth of love for Yahweh.”
Eitan leaned closer to whisper in my ear as the conversation moved on to the upcoming birth in the family. “Tal’s betrothed died last year, only a month before the wedding.” His fingers grazed over mine. “I hope one day you will meet him. He is as much my brother as Gidal and Malakhi.”
The longer I listened to the priest talking with his family, laughing, jesting affectionately, the more my muscles relaxed. The comparison between this grandfatherly man—who plainly adored his only wife and spoke of each of his children and grandchildren with pride—and my depraved father was stark. There was no calculation in his relaxed manner, no caustic disdain on the edges of his words, no hint of lust in his kind gaze. And the stories that he’d told had steered my imagination in directions I’d never considered before.
Nothing I’d learned of these Hebrews had been what I’d expected, from the way they’d invited us into their lives, to the purity of their worship, to the priests who valued life instead of seeking to destroy it. Embracing worship of Yahweh had certainly brought Prezi back to life. Perhaps binding myself to him through a marriage covenant with Eitan would surpass my expectations as well.
Tracing the curves of the copper ring on my finger once more, I smiled to myself, letting the rest of my fears drift away as hope began to burrow into my bones. The island was my past. Eitan, and Israel, were my future.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FOUR
Eitan
27 Tishri
I leaned against the doorway to the small chamber Darek shared with my mother, watching as he pressed a few days’ worth of dried meat and flatbread into the pack on the bed. “You just returned,” I said. “Where are you off to so early?”
He’d come into the city after dark, so I’d been shocked when my mother told me he was leaving again this morning, especially since another storm seemed to be gathering. But I was determined to speak to him about the shepherd I’d seen watching the inn, as well as my betrothal to Sofea, before he left.
“Heading back north,” he said, his attention not wavering from his task. He added two knives, one of which I’d made, which caused a surge of pride to ripple through me. “A group of Amorites raided some farms near Laish. We need to find out if they are planning another incursion.” He reached over to pick up a sword I hadn’t seen among the linens on the bed. He held it out to me, his expression dour.
I accepted the weapon, the blade glimmering in the early morning light from the window. “What’s this?”
“A Hittite-crafted iron sword.”
I raised a brow, testing the heft of it in my hand, examining the smooth lines and polished metal. “I’ve heard of such things but have never seen one.”
“One of the Amorites who attacked north of Laish had this on him.” He skimmed a finger over the flat of the blade. “These iron swords shatter bronze ones as if they were glass. Until now, the Hittites have mostly kept these sorts of weapons to themselves, so we were very surprised to find it in Amorite hands. I knew if anyone could figure out how the Hittites made this, it’d be you.”
It was clear that this sword was not cast in a mold but wrought with tools and strengthened by hammering. I’d cast iron on a few occasions before but the products we’d managed to mold were nowhere near strong enough to be used for weaponry, especially with the amount of tin we’d had to add to the mix to bring the melting point low enough. Yalon and I had never been able to stoke the furnace hot enough to create such an extraordinary sword.
Encouraged by Darek’s confidence in my skills, my mind began to whirl with possibilities. Perhaps a different metal than tin could be introduced to lower the melting point of the ore? Copper perhaps . . .
The reminder of the ring I’d made for Sofea brought back into focus the reason for my presence here, and I lowered the sword to my side. I pictured Sofea’s expectant smile from the other night, along with her blue eyes and irresistible silken curls, the image solidifying my determination. “Before you go, I have a request.”
“Oh?”
“I want to marry Sofea. I know that it’s not conventional, since she is not a Hebrew, and because of the way she came to Kedesh, and of course her parents are dead—” Annoyed with my fumbling words and the infuriatingly stoic look on his face, I stopped.
His expression remained impassive, but he sat on the edge of the bed, arms folded. “Is she of the same mind?”
“She is and has assured me that she is willing to take part in the Covenant as well.”
His brows lifted. “And everything it entails?”
“Yes.”
He lifted his eyes to the window, considering. “Since she is not a Canaanite, nor an enemy of our people, I doubt the elders would insist on head shaving, or the like.”
I hadn’t even considered the possibility, and I was gutted by the thought of her golden-brown curls beneath a razor. I was grateful that Darek did not think she’d be forced to submit to such a thing, but some part of me wondered whether she would be willing to do such a thing, for me.
“And does she know . . .” He frowned. “About your past? About why you are in Kedesh?”
“She does.”
He was silent for a while, his gaze still latched on the window. Then he gave a slight nod that made my blood sing with anticipation. “Moriyah already informed me of the attachment between the two of you, although it’s nothing anyone with eyes would miss.” He sent me a knowing glance.
“Since the moment I met her on that beach, she has exhibited admirable strength and loyalty. She is a good match for you,” he said. “She’s been through so much, but there’s no one I trust more to protect and cherish her.” The sincerity in his eyes made my own burn with unexpected emotion. “So, if she agrees to the match and understands the consequences, I will arrange a formal betrothal when I return.”
He stood with a groan to tie his dagger sheath onto his belt, and as he did so I noticed that gray had begun threading into the dark hair at his temples. Darek had spent the last eleven years leading an elite group of men whose mission had been to spy on the enemy through whatever means necessary. He’d learned every Canaanite dialect and was an expert at sliding into foreign mannerisms—a talent he swore he’d learned from my mother. He’d spent more time traveling between tribal territories than living here in Kedesh with his family. The awareness that all of it was wearing him down suddenly struck me. Would he ever have the chance to simply enjoy rest in this land he fought so hard for?
“How long will you be gone this time?”
He did not look up at me as he finished tying the flap on his pac
k closed. “I don’t know. I’ll determine that when I get back up there.”
Something about the carefully selected words snagged my suspicion. “Why did you return last night, then, if you were only heading back that way today?”
“I came to retrieve a few more men and to send a message to Yehoshua through the Levites.”
My eyes narrowed. I was right. He was holding back information from me—again. “Who is going with you?”
“The fifty men under Meshek’s command, and Baz went to Merom to petition for another two hundred.”
I flinched, indignation surging high. “Meshek is in command now?”
“Not my decision, I assure you.” His mouth pursed as if the idea were as bitter to him as it was to me. “If his uncle was not the commander over Naftali’s forces, it would never have happened.”
My longtime feud with Meshek notwithstanding, two hundred and fifty men being called to Laish was no small thing. “This is more than a few Amorites testing our borders, isn’t it?”
His sigh was laden with defeat. “We lost sixty men.”
“Sixty?” I pushed off the doorway to step closer. “You said the remaining Amorites went running off north like a pack of whipped dogs after the battle at Hazor. What’s changed since then?”
He scrubbed a hand over his beard. “The kingdom of Aram-Naharim, to the northeast of us, has grown stronger, for one thing. Their new king is known for his ruthlessness. He slaughtered his six brothers and their entire families in order to ascend to the throne, then hung every one of their headless bodies from the walls of his palace—from infants to concubines.”
The gruesome image turned my stomach.
“He is also very shrewd,” he said. “My men and I traveled with a group of traders a couple of months ago all the way into Damascus. Rumor says he is using the Amorites as an advance force, stirring up their latent anger against us for his purposes and promising the return of the territories they feel they have the right to. As you can see, he’s arming them with the finest weapons and providing them with supplies so as not to put his own army in harm’s way, for now. He’s using them to test us, prodding to see where we are weakest.”
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