by T. K. Thorne
“Where did they go?” I ask her quietly.
She points to the window.
I almost laugh. “How did they know?”
She shrugs.
My smile dissolves. “What now?” I ask softly.
She does not answer, knowing the question is not hers, but mine. I go to her and she stands, knowing how arduous it is for me to sit on the floor or at least, how difficult to rise to my feet afterward. “You know I often go out that way at night?”
She nods.
“Do you know why?”
She starts to shake her head and then stops. “I believe it has to do with the sorrow in your heart.”
I consider her. “You are a wise woman, Lila.”
She pulls the blanket tighter. “Will you go tonight?”
This is the question I am asking myself. I turn and step to Philot’s side to give him his treat and a scratch. He is getting gray around his eyes and muzzle, as I will here in this house.
Somehow, Philot has settled my mind. I cross the remainder of the floor to the window and climb out. A chill wind from the sea makes me wish I had brought a warmer wrap, but I will not return for one, because I might lose my courage. The soft slosh against the shore is as familiar as my heartbeat. Only the fiercest storm can lift the heavy salt-laden water into higher waves. It is said diving beneath the surface is impossible, that the sea will spew out anyone who tries. Hurriya did not try. She just lay face down upon its breast.
As always when I walk this path, my heart aches for Nami. I still look for her every day, remembering how she chewed her tether and returned to me when the Hurrian horsemen took her. I think I will always look for her.
I climb with care around the fallen stones of the wall and walk the path I have trod so many times. My eyesight is limited on the right side and so when the path turns that way, I almost run into Raph where he sits on a flat stone. His hand flies out with a warrior’s speed to catch me as I stumble.
“You are always saving me, Raph.”
“You have no debt to me. I should never have left you in the hands of those cursed Babylonians.”
I sigh. “Should we count the choices we regret? How do we know what would happen if we chose differently? If you had not left, the guards might have planned more wisely and killed you in your sleep. Then you would not have been there to save me.”
“I never thought of that.”
“You were waiting for me here?”
“Yes.”
I look up at the overhang that blots a piece of the moon, the place where I once sat with Raph and Mika and where Mika held the blue fire. “He is there?”
“Yes, he waits for you.”
Another choice. Another path split from the trail. What would it mean were I to turn around and go back to my house with Hurriya’s window and my snoring husband?
But I had known what I would do since Philot took his fig—perhaps before that, when I rose from the bed. Perhaps even when I heard there were angels at the Gate.
And so I climb the path, something I could never have done if I had not spent night after night making incremental progress and strengthening my leg in the process. I take my time, trying to slow my heart and bring to my mind what words I will say to Mika, but I can do neither.
Never has the journey up the cliff taken so long or gone so quickly. When I finally begin to climb the last bit, Mika’s hand reaches out for me and pulls me up to stand with him on the overhang. Below us is the sea, brushed in a bold stroke by moonlight. To our left, the torches of Sodom flicker against the dark. Wind whips around us, a clean wind tonight, singing in my ears. Mika pulls me tightly against his chest, and the world goes still about us.
When at last he releases me, he holds me at arm’s length and only breathes my name. “Adira.”
“What do you see, Mika?” I whisper the question, afraid of the answer even in the dimness of the night.
He frowns, taking my face between his hands and tilting it up so I am looking directly at him, the moonlight full on my features. He does not hesitate. “I see the girl who pulled me from a raging flood, the girl who stayed with me and shared her water in the desert and cared for me, though she risked her own life to do so. I see the girl who crossed a wasteland to find my brother, though she could have returned to the safety of her family.” His hands still firmly cup my face. He is not finished. “I see the woman who was the goddess for me, though she had never lain with a man, the woman who dared heaven with me. I see beauty and strength. I see the person I wish beside me for whatever time the goddess grants me of this life.”
I close my eyes, not knowing what to do with this, though it is what my heart has cried for since I climbed the steps of Ishtar’s temple.
Finally, he gives me a little shake. “What are you thinking, Adira? Tell me.”
My mouth makes a sound that is part laugh and part sob. “I am thinking I have never heard so many words out of you at once.”
He smiles, and pulls me again to him.
I am not certain if the tremble of the earth beneath us is real. In his embrace, I allow myself to stop thinking and simply to be where I am. I absorb the press of his arms, the smell of him, the solid wall of his chest. I do not think of tomorrow or when I must pull away from him.
Finally I mutter, “Why did you come?”
He rests his chin on my head. “I came to see if you found happiness, because without you, I am not.”
A bark of a laugh escapes my lips. “I taught you to speak better Akkadian than that.”
He gives me another little shake. “Do not jest, Adira. I have suffered without you.”
“Then why did you send me away from Babylon?” It is then I realize anger resides in me, nestled between the desire and sorrow.
“To protect you.”
“And to protect the stone?”
“Yes, and the stone.”
“Is it safe?” I ask with irritation. “I think it should be dropped into the sea.”
“It is hidden, but not yet in the hands of our people. After Raph took you to Abram and Sarai, he returned to Babylon.”
“I thought you told him not to return.”
“Apparently,” Mika says wryly, “he acquired some of your love of obedience.”
I ignore this. “So the king allowed you to leave as he promised?”
“Of course not.”
“Then how did you escape?”
“With Raph’s help and the aid of your friend, the priestess, who honored the word of her king, even when he did not.”
“Then I am grateful to Raph and Tabni for your freedom.”
He smiles and strokes my hair. His touch is tender, yet I feel as if his blue fire crackles down my spine. I step away from him, afraid if I do not, I will never be able to.
“Adira,” he says. “No matter what you decide about … me, I need the knowledge you have of the tale of Enoch. It is what my people have lost and sought for countless seasons.”
“Why is it so important?” I demand.
“It is not just a tale; it is instruction for building a time-keeper temple.”
I think about all the description given in the story of Enoch’s ascent to heaven, the careful details and measurements of the structure there that Enoch was made to memorize and that the children of Abram now recite.
“My people see time differently,” Mika says. “They look into the distant past and the distant future.”
“You spoke of this in the desert. Tell me again.”
“Long ago, when the great stones came from the sky and fell into the water, the sea rose up and ate the land, destroying the time-temples and all but a few of the priests who knew their secrets. Such destruction could happen again. So the knowledge was spread to other chosen people and lands—to Enoch and others.”
“Yes, I remember that now, but why lug that stone around with you? Why not leave it in a place of safety?”
“It is a dreaming stone. We hoped I would dream of where to find the lost
knowledge.”
“And did you?”
“I tried, but the stone did not speak to me.”
“It spoke to you in Babylon.”
He looks away then. “I am not certain of that. I followed the rite and did dream of chariots attacking, but who is to say the dream came from the gods or what I had learned listening to the talk of the people?”
I consider this. That he shares his doubts is a gift of intimacy. “So why did you come to Sodom that first time, if it was not at the stone’s guidance?”
“We searched for peoples who followed different ways, hoping to find a heritage that preserved the instructions for the time-keeper temples. I heard of the gods of Babylonia and of Abram and El and of this place where Baal and Asherah rule.” He took a breath. “I must fulfill my task, Adira. It is not merely my oath. Without it, we will lose the power to read the stars and predict another disaster from the sky.”
This is the burden he carries. I look up at him. “I will teach you the words of Enoch.”
He grasps my shoulders. “You can teach me as we travel to my people.”
I meet his intense gaze, though I feel my bad eye shift to the side, and I hastily look to where red-gold hairs curl almost up to the hollow of his throat. “Lot would never allow that. He will not even let me go to the pastures just beyond the city to tend our herds.”
“Are you happy here, Adira? With Lot?”
I do not have to search for that answer, but I do not understand its relevance. “I am wife to him.”
“That is not my question.”
I sigh. “No, I am not happy.” How could I be happy in a city that greets me with stench every morning; daughters who hate me; a husband who cares nothing for me; and not even the comfort of my beloved Nami?
“Then come with me,” Mika urges. “The Adira I know would not stay here in unhappiness.”
A flame of anger ignites in my belly. “Come with you so you can have your knowledge conveniently at your hand?” And then leave me. I am not the woman he thinks he loves. My wounds lie deeper than my face. I am no longer the daughter of the wind. The sight of a scar on a man’s face can freeze my blood, turn my bones to wood.
“No, Adira, not for that reason.” He takes a careful breath. “I have hurt you, and I did not mean to. I meant to protect you.”
“What was done to me was not your fault.”
“It would not have happened if I had not sent you away. Adira, I am so sorry. If Raph had not killed those men who hurt you, I would have hunted them down.”
I say nothing. He does not understand that the pain of having him and losing him was worse than the pain of blows.
“If I had not let you lie with me—”
“No,” I stop him. “That was my choice.”
He hesitates. “Was it so … unpleasant for you?”
My anger melts. I close my eyes. “No, Mika, it was not unpleasant.” This is dangerous ground. I can feel my heart pounding, and my breath is still shallow from standing close to him. How can I explain what holds me here?
I look up at the sky where the brightest stars shine beyond the moonlight’s reach. “Your ancestors, the Watchers, studied the stars for time uncounted. As you once told me, ‘Every star has its path.’ My father tried to teach me I have a place. Trying to be out of that place is like the stars fighting to move outside their path. I am on that path now, and I must stay there.” I swallow. “I gave an oath to my father. I cannot dishonor his memory.”
CHAPTER
52
I leave no trace of wings in the air, but I am glad I have had my flight.
—Rabindranath Tagore, Fireflies
WHEN I LEAVE MIKA AND clamber back down the hillside and through the window, I lie awake through the remainder of the night. In the morning, bleary-eyed, I help Lila with the chores, nervously twisting the silver bracelets that Raph retrieved for me, my part in the treasure awarded by King Samsu-iluna.
So many emotions have swept over me in the past day. I need to focus on something simple to keep my feet on the earth. For this, I turn to the tasks that make up my routine, the first of which is to gather the deposits Philot has left and take them to the small herb garden located in the back on the embankment above the sea. For a long time, Lila protested this was not a job for the woman of the house, but I do not mind. The task connects me to my childhood, but today, my mind is not on my childhood. Mika’s presence has broken loose the dam of memories I so carefully built. They sweep down the wadi they have dug in my mind, ending at the previous night’s encounter—the feel of his arms around me, his breath on my hair, the solid wall of his chest against mine.
Lila takes the buckets and joins the women waiting at the eastern gates for them to open. She has complained that it is growing more difficult to get water from the river and that soon we will have to depend on the well at the Gate. That is as frightening a thought as the fire I fear is growing underground. We may survive if Mot’s Tongue erupts again, but how long will the well give us water? What happens when it runs dry?
Lot wakes and comments on the sleeping forms of Mika and Raph, who have not stirred. “They still sleep?”
“They have traveled for many days,” I say. “Let them rest.”
But it is not long before Danel knocks at the door. I let him in with fingers to my mouth and speak quietly. “Greetings, Danel. Lila has gone for water.” There is no longer need to pretend he comes to see me.
“I know.”
This arouses my curiosity. I stand aside for him to enter, which he does, suddenly not able to decide where to put his hands.
“What is it, brother?” I ask quietly. “What disturbs you?”
“I … well.” He swallows. “I wish to ask you for—?”
I tilt my head, looking at him from my good eye. “For a measure of salt?”
“No, no.” Then he blurts, “I want to buy Lila from you.”
I take a breath. “No.”
If a man’s face can fall to his knees, Danel’s does so. “I can pay the price,” he insists. “I have saved twice an adequate amount.”
I open the door and wave him out. “She is not for sale. I will not talk about it again.”
MIKA AND RAPH stay as our guests while I teach them the story of Enoch. I learned every word precisely as instructed by Sarai, and so they wish to learn it. Raph is not keen to stay inside and paces the small courtyard, but Mika insists Raph also learn every word. Whether it is Raph’s dissatisfaction with his captivity or that Mika, as a healer, has had more practice absorbing knowledge, I do not know, but Raph learns at half the speed of his brother.
I am glad. I dread the day when they will leave.
I am not the only person who is happy with Raph’s slowness in learning Enoch’s tale. Pheiné and Thamma are both enamored with him, much to Lot’s displeasure. But how can he protest? Lot is certain he and Mika are messengers of his god. Still, it is known from the old stories that angels once favored the daughters of man, and the products of such a union were creatures somewhere between divine and man—not a fate to desire for your daughters. Lot finds a reason to stay home when the girls do, which makes for a very crowded house and no chance for me to be alone with Mika. This is both a relief and a disappointment.
One morning, just as I emerge from my sleeping room, Raph surprises me, asking me to escort him and Mika to the market. “Mika needs to replenish his medicines,” Raph explains.
“Then I will send Lila for them,” I say.
At Raph’s sharp glance, Mika speaks up, “No, I must see for myself what is available. I do not know the names in your language.”
This does not sound like the complete truth. He could easily tell me the names, and I could translate for Lila, but I know Raph is eager to escape the confines of the house. “Go with Lila,” I say. “Rarely am I out, and then only to visit Jemia with Danel. I do not care for the scalding stares of Sodom’s residents.” And, I admit to myself, I fear uncovering the terror that dwells inside
me, especially in front of Mika or Raph.
“Lila left earlier this morning,” Raph offers.
“Oh, where has she gone?”
“She did not say her destination, but she left honey cakes.”
I know well where she most likely has gone, and it is not to the market. The honey cakes are to appease me.
“Will you go?” Raph says with his most engaging smile.
I cannot help but smile back at him. He is like the sun emerging after a storm. When he smiles, he must be forgiven anything.
Lot is still abed, and Pheiné and Thamma still sleep, or they would insist on accompanying Raph.
I put on a wrap against the morning chill. The hour is still early, so we have the street almost to ourselves. Though water is scarce, the pitch harvest has been remarkable, and clay jars of it cluster around almost every house. Because of its abundance, the price is low and people are holding it for a better day. Even those who do not normally trade in the black gold are buying it.
Mika’s long strides carry him ahead, but Raph matches his pace to mine. He wrinkles his nose. “Am I growing more sensitive or is the stench of this city increasing?”
“It is worse. Even Lila says so.”
“Why?”
“I think a great fire burns below the earth. Jemia told us of a place among the pitch pits where a tower of fire erupted when she was a child. Before you arrived, the earth began to tremble. I think it is shaking loose foul air trapped below and that is what rises up in the Dead Sea. Perhaps that is how the pitch forms.”
“You do not think it is the work of this god, Mot?”
“I do not know if it is or is not a god’s work. A sparrow flies with wings. If a god’s hand makes the wings and the air, the bird does not know or say. It only sings and flies.”
