Among the Gods (Chronicles of the Kings Book #5)

by Lynn Austin

Uncertainty consumed him as he watched General Benjamin disappear over the rise. There was nothing more Amariah could do. He turned and slowly made his way back to the thicket where Dinah was hiding.

  As the sun set and the first stars appeared in the sky, Miriam still lay unconscious. Joshua no longer considered leaving her as long as she was alive. If Manasseh’s men found him, so be it. It was time he paid for his own mistakes instead of involving innocent people.

  Hunger gnawed at him, and he realized that he hadn’t eaten all day. His sword wounds, coated with dirt and dried blood, throbbed and burned like fire. He should cleanse them to avoid getting a fever, but he didn’t have any water. Besides, if he was going to die of something, it would probably be of thirst, not his wounds. He couldn’t recall ever needing a drink of water so badly. He’d lost both sweat and blood, then sat exposed to the sun all day with nothing to drink. He knew the dangers of going too long without water, but he hadn’t wanted to leave Miriam’s side, fearing she would awaken and spend her last moments of life alone.

  He still gripped her hand as he’d promised. It had felt icy all day in spite of the warm afternoon sun. Now that the sun had set, the air would turn cool in the Judean hills. Joshua took off his outer robe and covered Miriam with it. Then he lay down beside her to share the warmth of his body with her.

  He lost all track of time after darkness fell, but no matter where his thoughts wandered, they always seemed to drift back to Miriam. If he thought of his childhood—his home, his family—he would remember the crude shack Miriam had called home, the pitiful scraps of love she had been accorded. If he thought of the work he’d done and the praise he’d received for it, he would remember the hard, thankless labor Miriam had performed since joining his family two years ago, the indifferent way he’d treated her in return. Joshua had been given so much, Miriam so little. They had both faced enormous losses, yet hatred had emerged from his, love from hers. In spite of all she’d been through, her sweet, uncomplaining nature had never changed.

  Miriam deserved better than a cruel death at the foot of a cliff. She deserved to live, to marry a man who loved her, to raise a family. Joshua knew that the odds against her survival were very great. But the odds that he would survive as a premature infant had been equally great. His father’s prayers had beaten those odds. Joshua closed his eyes and cried out to God.

  As the constellations marched across the sky above him, Joshua prayed harder than ever before, pleading for Miriam’s life.

  Joshua awoke with a start, angry with himself for falling asleep. It was still night. A pale moon had risen above the cliff behind him, bathing the valley with silvery light. He shivered in the chilly air and leaned on one elbow to check on Miriam. Her eyes were open. She turned her head to look at him, and a faint smile crossed her lips.

  “You’d better pray that I die,” she whispered.

  “No, I’m praying that you’ll live!”

  “But the Torah says if you sleep with a virgin, you have to marry her.” Tears shone in her eyes. “You were asleep. I heard you snoring.”

  He gaped at her, too stunned to speak. Her smile widened.

  “Don’t look so horrified. It was a joke.”

  “A joke?”

  “You do know what a joke is, don’t you, Joshua?”

  “Of course, but I—”

  “Do you know that in the two years I’ve known you, I’ve never heard you laugh or seen you smile? I’ll bet you have a nice smile, too. Like your mother’s. She told me that ‘A cheerful heart is good medicine, but a crushed spirit dries up the bones.’”

  Joshua tried to smile, but his heart felt as if it were breaking. “Would it help you to heal faster if I laughed?”

  She considered for a moment, then shook her head. “No, I think the shock would probably kill me.”

  He did laugh then, but it was bittersweet. He sat up and wiped the tears from her cheeks because he knew that she couldn’t do it herself.

  “You’re right,” he said. “I can’t remember the last time I laughed. And I’m so tired of feeling this way. Grief has affected every area of my life—it’s hamstrung my work, blinded my judgment, poisoned all my relationships—but I don’t know how to shake it off. I can’t get free of it.”

  “It isn’t grief that did all that,” Miriam said. “It’s hatred.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because your mother’s grief was every bit as deep as yours, but she never tried to kill anyone.”

  Joshua saw the truth of her words, and her insight stunned him. “I thought that if I killed Manasseh, if I could return to the life I once had, the pain would go away and I would be myself again. But now … now I know that I’ll never get my old life back again.”

  “It wasn’t your life that changed, it was your heart. You were so tender that first day Abba brought you home. You gave him your cloak and your shoes, you thanked me for nursing your fever, you bought salve for Mattan’s leg, and you spoke so kindly to Nathan when you offered to be his father. You said, ‘I know how much a father means to a boy. I’ll try to be a father to you if you’ll let me.’ I still remember your words and the way that you said them.”

  “I didn’t keep my promise, did I?” He felt the sick, dull ache of guilt when he remembered how poorly he had treated Nathan, how he had driven him from the island. And Miriam had known about Maki all along. When Joshua recalled how his grandfather had adopted Maki as a ragged urchin, deep shame settled in his soul. He hadn’t followed the godly example Grandpa Hilkiah had set. Miriam was right; his heart had changed.

  “Joshua, when you get back to Egypt—”

  “You mean when we get back?”

  She smiled slightly. “All right, when we get back … could you give my brother another chance? Please?”

  He couldn’t face her. “I think it would be more appropriate if I asked him to give me another chance.”

  “Promise?” she whispered.

  He forced back the lump choking his throat. “I’ll make it legal, Miriam. He’ll be my son. I’ll give him my name, I promise.” He saw the relief on her face, as if a weight had been lifted from her.

  “See? You do have a tender heart underneath it all,” she said after a moment. “But you’ve grown so hard on the outside, like the crust on a stale loaf of bread. You don’t let anyone get close to you, Joshua. In fact, everyone is afraid of you. It’s as if you have a poisonous snake coiled inside you, and no one knows when it will leap out and strike.”

  Joshua groaned. “I know, but I can’t help it, I can’t control it. Do you have any idea how terrifying that is? I’ve ruined people’s lives, people I loved. I’ve killed three men and I would have killed a fourth if someone hadn’t pried me off him.”

  “And when your hatred has finished destroying everyone around you, Joshua, it’s going to destroy you.”

  “God help me, it already has … look at me!” He touched his hated eye patch, then let his fingers trail down his scarred face. “And this is just the damage on the outside. But how can I stop it? How can I kill this monster before it kills me?”

  Miriam was quiet for a moment, then said softly, “You have to stop feeding it.”

  “Feeding it?”

  “It grows on your anger; it’s hungry for vengeance. Don’t store it up in your heart anymore.”

  “I wish I could get rid of it … but I can’t forget what Manasseh has done.”

  “Of course you can’t forget. But deciding to let go of the anger or hold on to it is a choice you can make every day. Jerusha says that if you give your hatred to God, He’ll make something beautiful out of it.”

  He studied Miriam in the moonlight and thought she was the loveliest, most courageous woman he had ever known. “Have you been this wise all along, Miriam … and I never knew it?”

  She had saved his life two times; now if only she would save him from himself. He twined his fingers in hers and lifted their joined hands so she could see them. “You can hold on to me,�
� he told her, “if you’ll let me hold on to you.”

  Her eyes filled with tears.

  “What is it, Miriam? What’s wrong?”

  “I used to dream that someday you would hold my hand this way. And now that you are, I can’t even feel it.”

  Joshua wiped her tears away as they fell. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.” Then, not knowing what else to do, he lay down beside her again and rested his cheek where she could feel it, against her own.

  13

  THE SKY WAS JUST TURNING LIGHT when Prince Amariah stumbled into the rented market stall in Nahshon with his wife. Jerimoth took one look at them and clung to his sister Dinah, weeping like a child. “I’ve been insane with worry, praying for a miracle … and here you are. Thank God, thank God!”

  But Amariah knew they were still in great danger. One sole survivor from among Hadad’s troops had staggered into the booth not long before them to tell Jerimoth how he had narrowly escaped the king’s soldiers.

  “Did you see any sign of Joshua or Miriam?” Amariah asked the young recruit.

  “No. I was hiding in one of the trenches along the road when I heard Joshua yell for us to run—that it was a trap—so I ran. I don’t know what happened to anyone after that.”

  “We’ll wait for Joshua and Miriam,” Jerimoth said firmly. “If one soldier made it … if you and Dinah made it … please, God, maybe the others will, too.”

  As fear and uncertainty consumed him, Amariah wondered for the hundredth time if he had made a mistake to trust General Benjamin. He studied Jerimoth’s worried face and knew he had to tell him what he had done.

  “Dinah and I didn’t escape on our own. I had help. General Benjamin captured me, and I talked him into defecting. He says he’s coming to Egypt with us. He’s going to meet us here in a little while.”

  “God help us.” Jerimoth sank down on a bale of straw as if his legs could no longer hold him. “Can you trust him?”

  “I don’t know. It might be a trick. He wants to capture Joshua very badly. Look, maybe you and Dinah should leave now and start back to Egypt before the general comes. I’ll wait here with the caravan in case anyone else escapes.”

  Jerimoth shook his head. “That won’t do any good. If it is a trap, he’ll be watching our booth.”

  “So I’ve betrayed us all?”

  “Or saved us all. Only God knows which.”

  The marketplace came to life shortly after dawn. Two of the Ishmaelites Jerimoth had hired conducted business outside the stall, haggling loudly over their spices, while Amariah and the others waited behind the curtain in the rear of the booth. Jerimoth urged him to get some sleep, but Amariah was too tense. He nibbled on some bread and waited, his stomach a knot of anxiety.

  When General Benjamin suddenly stepped past the curtain, armed and in his uniform, Amariah leaped to his feet. The general’s features were inscrutable as he turned to Jerimoth. “Who are you?” he asked gruffly.

  “I’m Jerimoth ben Eliakim. I own this caravan.”

  “Joshua’s brother?” When Jerimoth nodded, the general turned his gaze to Dinah. “Who’s she?”

  Amariah was ashamed to admit to the general that he had entangled his wife in this mess. Only cowards involved women and children in their schemes. He put his arm around her shoulder. “She’s my wife.”

  Benjamin studied her. “You’re Lord Eliakim’s daughter, aren’t you? She’s not your wife, Amariah. She’s your brother’s concubine.”

  Anger raced through Amariah so swiftly he could barely grab onto it and wrestle it down. “Dinah was kidnapped by my brother and held against her will! She freely consented to marry me!”

  “Hadad told us she was dead. Is she the reason he betrayed you and Joshua?” The general’s canny intuition amazed Amariah.

  “Hadad was in love with her, yes.”

  Benjamin turned to the soldier. “You the only survivor?”

  The abrupt change of topics surprised Amariah until he realized that this was an interrogation. The general wanted the entire story of their ill-fated plot.

  “I’m the only survivor so far, sir.”

  “How many men were in your commando squad?”

  The soldier didn’t answer. Amariah’s mind raced, looking for the snare. In the end, he couldn’t see what difference it made for the general to know. “We had thirty-two men, not counting Joshua, Hadad, and me.”

  Benjamin was silent for a moment as he stroked his beard. “Twenty-eight of your men have been either captured or killed, so far.”

  The small amount of food Amariah had eaten rose to his throat. Twenty-eight stupid, senseless deaths. Even if Amariah made it out of Judah alive, how could he ever face their families? If only he had opposed Joshua and his insane idea.

  “So do we leave now?” the general asked. “Or wait for Joshua and the last three men?”

  Amariah realized that the question was addressed to him. Benjamin showed neither eagerness nor anxiety, and his calm control struck Amariah as out of character for a career soldier to whom loyalty was vitally important. He didn’t act like a general who was about to desert his duty and his king.

  Jerimoth stood. “You may all leave if you’d like, General, but I’m going wait for Joshua and Miriam.”

  Before anyone could respond, another one of Hadad’s men suddenly stumbled into the booth. He was nearly weeping with relief until he saw General Benjamin.

  “It’s all right, the general is with us,” Amariah assured him.

  “Are you alone?” Benjamin asked. “Did anyone else escape with you?”

  He shook his head, fighting tears, and Amariah realized that the soldier was even younger than he was. How could Joshua allow Hadad to pick such inexperienced men?

  The general folded his arms across his chest. “Tell us your story.”

  “The king’s soldiers are everywhere. Hundreds of them. They caught my brother Reuben and so I … I had to crawl most of the way on my stomach.” He lost control and began to weep. “What happened, my lord?” he asked Amariah. “I was on top of the ridge, and I saw Joshua kill Colonel Hadad and then—”

  “Joshua killed Hadad?” the general asked in amazement.

  “Yes, then he told us to run. Was Colonel Hadad really a traitor?”

  Amariah nodded. “He was working with King Manasseh to capture Joshua and me.”

  “But what about all of us? Colonel Hadad wouldn’t let all of us die like that! He—”

  “Did you see where Joshua went?” Benjamin asked abruptly.

  The lad wiped his eyes and drew a shaky breath. “Over the cliff.”

  “Did he fall? Jump?”

  “He climbed over the edge. That’s the last I saw of him.”

  “What about Miriam?” Dinah asked.

  The soldier looked at his feet. “Colonel Hadad killed her, ma’am.”

  “No!” Dinah cried. “She was Hadad’s friend. He wouldn’t kill her.”

  “I saw him push her over the cliff.”

  After all that she had endured the past few days, the news about Miriam’s death seemed too much for Dinah. Amariah let her collapse into his arms and grieve. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I never should have let Miriam go. She would still be alive if she had stayed with us.” He wanted to weep at the futility of her sacrifice. All of Hadad’s men had been captured anyway, except for these two. “I hope you realize that you owe Miriam your life,” he told his two men. “If she hadn’t gone back to warn Joshua, neither one of you would be here.” They nodded mutely.

  General Benjamin walked to the door of the booth. “My men never searched the area near the base of the cliff. Joshua might still be there. I’m going to look for him.”

  “Wait!” Amariah leaped up to stop him. If the general captured Joshua, he would have no reason to fear the king, no reason to flee to Egypt with them, and every reason in the world to turn them all over to Manasseh. “Joshua is armed, General. He won’t know that you’re on our side. He’ll fight
like a wild man if he’s trapped.”

  Jerimoth stepped forward. “Let me go look for him. I’ll take the caravan and a few of the Ishmaelites. You stay in the background, General, and make sure your troops let us pass through.”

  Amariah couldn’t read the general’s face as he pondered Jerimoth’s offer. “All right,” Benjamin said at last. “I’ll rejoin my men for a while longer so they don’t become suspicious. I’ll be back.” He ducked out of the stall.

  “Are you sure we can trust him?” one of the soldiers asked when he was gone.

  Amariah sank down on the bale of straw. “No … but we’ll have to. We don’t have any other choice.”

  Joshua awoke after dawn, furious with himself for falling asleep again instead of praying. And he should have been keeping watch. It wasn’t like him to be so careless. The sun was blinding, and his head ached from his need for water. His mouth felt as dry as sand.

  He sat up and suddenly the earth tilted, whirling crazily, as if he had drunk too much wine. He closed his eyes and lowered his head, waiting for the sensation to pass. When he felt the dull throbbing of his shoulder and thigh, and saw how inflamed and swollen the wounds had become, he understood why he felt feverish. The wounds never would have made him ill like this if he had cleansed them right away.

  His fever intensified his thirst. Joshua scanned the area where he sat, desperate for even a drop of dew clinging to a leaf or a blade of grass. The sun was already too high; if there had been moisture during the night, it had long since evaporated in the scorching heat.

  He turned to Miriam and felt her throat for a pulse. His touch awakened her. Her face was as pale as death, her voice weak.

  “Why are you still here?” she murmured. “You said you’d escape after dark.”

  “I know I did. But I can’t leave you all alone out here.”

  “I want you to live.”

  “We’ll either get out of this together, Miriam, or we’ll die together. I’m praying that we’ll live.”

  She closed her eyes and moaned. A thin veil of sweat shimmered on her forehead. “I’m not sure how much longer I can stand this pain.”