by Mesu Andrews
Stunned, I couldn’t imagine how I’d lost her favor in a single night. Had Azat poisoned her against me? Not knowing what else to do, I removed my dagger from its sheath, ready to carve my vows into the tree.
At the sing of my dagger released from its sheath, Tabiti lifted her head, closed her eyes, and exposed her neck. “Please make the cut deep and quick.”
“What?” The moment was absurd. “You are my supreme goddess. The protector of my life, my future. Why would I cut you?”
She opened her eyes, glancing only a moment at me before turning her gaze to the sun. “Idan, there is only one God who spoke all things into existence—the sun, moon, stars, plants, animals, you, and me.” She shook her head with a half-smile. “I’m not your Scythian goddess, Commander. I’m a Hebrew woman named Merari, who was afraid to tell you the truth and bear your wrath.”
Her chin quaked, and I felt as if the earth shifted beneath me. This couldn’t be true.
Turning her eyes on me again, I saw despair in the hollowed-out caverns. “Use your dagger, Idan. I don’t deserve to breathe.”
I pulled her to my chest. “You are my treasure, Tabiti. I’ll never let you go.”
Like a stillborn lamb, she lay in my arms. “Do you know why Nebuchadnezzar sent you to destroy my people?”
“Your people?” My chest constricted. Was this another test? “If you mean the people of Judah, yes, I know why. We destroyed them because King Zedekiah conspired with Pharaoh Hophra against Nebuchadnezzar’s authority.”
“No, that’s not it at all.” She wriggled from my arms and sat beside me. Running her hand over the scarred trunk, she inspected the generations-old carvings. “This is proof of my people’s apostasy, Idan. My God, Yahweh, is very jealous. He entered into a covenant with one man, Abraham, to make his descendants the source of salvation for all nations. The Israelites are his descendants, and Yahweh is our Shepherd. He even delivered us from bondage in Egypt—”
“I’ve heard the legends. Everyone knows of the god who brought plagues on the Beautiful Land and killed Pharaoh’s firstborn.” But the legends couldn’t be true—and if they were, why would his people turn away?
“Yahweh’s people have squandered His favor, like a lover too well-loved.” She ran her fingers over one of the tree’s carvings and read, “Oh, great and mighty Baal, we offer you the first fruits of our land because you, O mighty god of the sky, have looked on our land with favor.” She dropped her hands to her lap and shook her head. “Nebuchadnezzar’s sword is Yahweh’s discipline because, though He offered us tremendous loving-kindness, we betrayed Yahweh by worshiping gods of wood and stone. Baal. Chemosh. Asherah. My sister worshiped Molech—and I did nothing to stop her.”
The silence stretched long. Why was she making up these stories? “This is a test,” I finally said. “You’re testing my loyalty, but did I not already prove it by killing Uncle Anacharsis when he returned from Greece, extolling their gods?”
She looked at me like I was a toad. “I know nothing of your uncle or Greece.”
Had the gods somehow stolen her memory? “When I found you in Jerusalem, you were barely conscious, but you said your name, ‘Tabiti.’”
“I don’t remember the day you found me, and I’ve never heard of your goddess Tabiti.”
“There was a boy lying beside you.”
Squeezing her eyes closed, she sent a stream of tears down her cheeks. “My son, Neriah.” She winced when she said his name.
“There was a woman also.”
“My sister.”
“You killed your sister?” The shock in my tone made her cover her face.
“How do you know I killed her?”
“It was obvious by the . . .” How could I say it without offending the goddess? “Your savage protectiveness matched the divine tenderness shown to the boy’s remains.”
She shook her head, her shoulders shaking. I tried to pull her hands away. “You need not be ashamed, Tabiti. Your strength was obvious when, barely conscious, you could still whisper the first part of your name. Ta-ba . . .”
With a little gasp, she dropped her hands and met my gaze. “I said ‘Ta-ba’?”
“You said ‘Tabiti.’”
“Did I say the whole name?”
I felt my blood run cold and silently begged my memory to fail. Raising my chin, I spoke with confidence I didn’t feel. “You said, ‘Ta-bi.’”
Shaking her head wildly, she said, “No! I was trying to say ‘Taphath’! I was trying to say my sister’s name, and you heard wrong.” Weeping, she crumbled onto the grassy hill.
I scuttled to my feet, stunned. Confused. Disbelieving. Had Ta-pha sounded like Ta-bi in my yearning for home—for my wife? How could I have been such a fool? Letting out a moan, I looked down at the biggest mistake of my life. If this woman was a filthy Hebrew, how could I salvage the respect of my troops? Dare I confess my mistake? How could I not?
Revulsion at the sight of her rose in my belly, and I left her there, racing down the hill as if a specter chased me. My frenzy caught the attention of a watchman on the tower, so I swallowed my humiliation and slowed my steps, entering the city with false calm. What should I do now? I couldn’t face Azat. My thoughts were a jumble. I needed wine. Lots of wine. Maybe then I would gain wisdom to fix the terrible trick the gods had played on me. I headed for the nearest tavern to numb my pain and sharpen my wits—the Scythian way.
Chapter 10
Merari
“I know that you delight to set your truth deep in my spirit.
So come into the hidden places of my heart and teach me wisdom.”
-Psalm 51:6
I watched Idan go, and a wave of nausea overwhelmed me. Memories flooded like the smell of week-old stew—stronger as each horrific moment led to the next. Why hadn’t I tried harder to stop Taphath’s idolatry? Jeremiah had warned our fellowship that the siege-induced famine and plague would cause people to do unspeakable things. I believed everything he said, but, of course, it wouldn’t happen to my family. Not my son, my sister, or me.
Feeling raw and vulnerable, I ate bread and hard cheese from Idan’s basket and prayed the Scythians would forget me. I drank watered wine straight from the skin and prayed Yahweh would strike me dead. I slept in the shade and pleaded in the haze between wakefulness and sleep for someone from Dan to rescue me. Its citizens had once been pure-blooded Israelites, but they’d been exiled to Assyria generations ago. Now mixed-blooded and pagan, they were as foreign to me as the Scythians who held me captive.
Besides, why would anyone save me—a woman who couldn’t protect her own child? A woman who killed her own sister.
The day passed too quickly, and I dreaded Idan’s return. The sun fell to the west without any sign of my captor, and the same idolatry that destroyed Jerusalem invaded my quiet terebinth.
A bald-headed priest crested the hill and leaned too close. “You’re too thin to serve as Asherah’s priestess, but we can fatten you up, and you’ll bring in a steady income.”
I pushed to my feet and stumbled down the hill to escape the sins of my forefathers. Pausing at the road leading into the city, I pondered escape. South to Egypt? North to Tyre? West lay the Great Sea, and east was Babylon. Where could I go that Idan wouldn’t find me? That Nebuchadnezzar didn’t rule? A new realization struck me like a blow. Idan no longer needed me. It was I who needed him. Leering men passed me as I made my way back to the city on wobbly legs. The Scythians, though warriors and my enemy, were my only chance
Yahweh, I don’t deserve to live, but I want to see Elon again. Help me. Please. Though I was still a prisoner to a weakened body, I was no longer the prisoner of a lie. I’d told Idan the truth. He saved Merari, a Hebrew woman, not his goddess Tabiti. Whether he believed me or not, whether he killed me or not, it was his choice now. And my life was in Yahweh’s hands.
I wandered in the gray haze of dusk, musicians and dancers celebrating in Dan’s streets. By the time I was bumped and jostled through the
central thoroughfare, I was disoriented and could barely stand. Festivities grew wilder. Wine and music flowed freely. I turned down side streets, resting often. Panic rose. Truth took root.
I was lost in a foreign city with no money, no help, and little strength left.
Leaning against a stone house, I looked up and down the street, searching for anything familiar. Nothing.
Yahweh, help me! I slid down the stone wall and landed hard on my backside. Vision tunneling black around the edges, I barely clung to consciousness.
“Tabiti!”
The distant shout was like a slap. “Idan!” My voice was lost in the revelry. “Idan,” I tried again. My head lolled to the side. “Idan.” This time, barely a whisper.
The outline of a figure loomed over me. “Idan?”
“If you’re the strongest of Scythia’s goddesses, we have no hope.” Azat pulled me to my feet and circled my waist, dragging me down the crowded street.
I hoped he was taking me to the inn, but I didn’t even care.
I woke choking on warm liquid, poured into my mouth and down my chin. Struggling to sit up, I fought Idan with the cup and Azat holding my shoulders to the bed.
“Drink.” Idan kept pouring the foul-tasting potion while I sputtered. He lifted the empty cup away at the same time Azat released me.
I turned on my side and shuddered. “What was that?”
“Acacia tea with coriander and garlic.” I could hear the sneer in Azat’s voice. “I hope it tasted as bad as it smells.”
I shuddered again and gagged, nearly giving it back all over the mattress.
“Don’t you dare.” Idan pressed my shoulder against the bed and clapped his hand over my mouth. “The priest said you will drink it four times a day to regain your strength. We’ve made enough to last four days’ travel to Riblah.”
I nodded, startled at the coldness in his eyes.
He released me like a soiled rag and picked up a small pot from the bedside table, shoving it into Azat’s hands. “Treat her wounds and meet me outside. I’ll muster the men. We leave at dawn.”
Azat inclined his head in silent consent. When his commander left the room, he turned a condescending smirk at me. “I don’t know what you said to him under that tree yesterday morning, but now he’s angry at us both.”
Idan hadn’t told his best friend of my confession. Was that good or bad?
Azat lifted my right foot from the mattress, and I yanked it away. I realized both feet were bandaged and took a mental inventory of my body. “What happened to me?” Evidently, my overall aches masked some new wounds.
He grabbed my right ankle, jaw muscle dancing, and began unwrapping the strips of cloth.
I laid back, suddenly very aware of the pain. The last layer of cloth pulled at the wound, and I flinched. “Hold still.” His words came out on a growl as he removed the bandage.
The tops of my feet and toes were scraped to the bone.
“Oh,” I breathed and turned my face away, realizing Azat had dragged me last night—instead of carrying me as Idan always did. This morning, we were both paying for it. His clumsy hands bumped my wound, and I sat up, shoving him away. “Let me do it.”
Glaring, he held the pot out of my reach. “You’ve done enough.”
“You’re the one who dragged me.”
He leaned close, examining my lips. “I’ll do with you as I please, little goddess.” I turned away, terror silencing me. He laughed and smeared honey on bandages while I drowned in humiliation. Truly, any of the Scythians could do with me as he pleased, but none had assaulted me because they thought I was Tabiti. I closed my eyes and laid back, forcing myself to withstand the ministrations of a man who despised me. The cool sensation of honey-slathered bandages soothed my wounds, and I fought back tears. What if I confessed the truth to Azat now as I’d done with Idan yesterday? Would he kill me—or worse—if he knew? My conscience fought common sense.
Rough hands slid under my shoulders and knees, lifting me into a stiff-armed transport. I looked up, but Azat focused straight ahead. “Keep your wicked spells to yourself, Tabiti. Idan thinks he’s immune to your powers because he has a wife and son. I have no such protection and refuse to let you trick me.”
“I have no powers.” It was the closest to the truth I would offer Azat.
He carried me downstairs and through the inn’s front door, placing me in a cushioned and covered sedan atop a waiting camel. Idan held its reins and clicked his tongue. My two-humped beast rose to its feet, setting me high above the Scythians already waiting on their horses. As we left the last city of my ancestors, I reclined against the wool-stuffed cushions and felt guilty at the comfort. The camel’s rhythmic sway rocked me to sleep, and the covered sedan sheltered me from the harsh sun.
At every respite on our four-day journey, Idan or Azat poured the foul-tasting potion down my throat, and I kept it down. Azat changed the dressing on my feet each night in the small chamber of a new two-room tent. Azat and Idan shared the tent’s outer room, while I slept soundly amid the accountability of two men who no longer spoke to me or each other.
On our final full day of travel, I drank more healing potion and endured more awkward tension between the silent top soldiers. That night I lay on my reed mat, listening to squabbles in the camp erupt into violence. I felt an unwelcome sense of regret that my presence had caused division among them. Before our stop in Dan, I recalled raucous music and laughter around evening campfires.
But why should I feel regret? These men were my enemies. They caused the deaths of my son, my sister, and hundreds—thousands—of others in the city of my birth. From all I’d overheard of their campfire boasting, they’d helped plunder every city in Judah and decimated Jerusalem and Yahweh’s Temple. Hate rekindled, I recounted ways to seek revenge when my body healed.
Angry voices approached our tent, and I peeked through the divider between chambers. Azat’s hoarse whisper was clear. “If she were Tabiti, she would not be weak. And if she planned to give you Scythia’s throne, she would willingly lead you to Nebuchadnezzar and tell you the plan of succession.”
“And you know this because you’ve met so many gods in human form?” Idan’s cynical reply set my teeth on edge. Of course, Azat would bristle.
“Ask her.” Azat pointed at my curtain.
“Ask her what?”
“Ask her if she is Tabiti.”
I held my breath.
“No.”
Idan unrolled his mat, but Azat took a step toward the dividing curtain. “Then I’ll ask her.”
I pretended to be sleeping but heard a sudden scuffling, grunting, and then blows. The ground beneath me shook as two men the size of bulls rumbled steps away.
“Stop!” I screamed, standing at the open curtain. “Stop it, both of you!” Idan was on one knee, Azat’s head locked under his arm. “Release him immediately. You look ridiculous.”
He obeyed but shoved both fists at his hips. “Go back to your mat, woman.”
Azat stood, too, nudging Idan aside. “No. Let her speak. Are you Tabiti, goddess of hearth and wealth? Swear by all you hold dear.”
I glanced quickly at Idan, whose head wagged with a barely discernible warning. Yahweh, what do I say? I wanted to tell Azat the truth, to declare Yahweh the only true God. Abandon my lie.
But what then?
My body felt stronger with the potion and rest, but I could never escape a camp full of angry Scythians. And what happened if they discovered I’d told Idan the truth days earlier?
“Tell me.” Azat’s voice was softer this time, his eyes no longer narrowed with hate. “Say it.”
The words sounded more like a plea than a demand. Hadn’t Yahweh promised Abraham would bless all nations through him? Yahweh, help me. “I am not Tabiti. My name is Merari, the wife of a harp maker and servant of Yahweh, the Most High God.” I turned to Idan and saw hate in his eyes. “I’m sorry.”
Azat stepped away from Idan. “You knew.”
Idan dropped his head, massaging the back of his neck. “No. She is Tabiti. She simply doesn’t realize it.”
Azat’s caustic laugh made my cheeks burn. “And I’m Papaeus. Or perhaps you’re the divine father, and I can be Targitaus, the son?”
Idan’s head shot up, his whole body rigid. “Don’t patronize me. You saw the same proof I did, Azat. She called the birds to Hazor that chased away the jackals.” Staring, he released a frustrated sigh. “And the scene in Jerusalem. You would believe if—”
“I know, if I’d seen the way she protected her child.”
“I didn’t protect him.” My words escaped on a sob. I covered my mouth, trying to gain control. When I could trust my voice, I offered proof of humanity. “I couldn’t protect anyone. My sister had fallen into a deep sadness. She hadn’t spoken for three days. I went to a widow’s house to check on her, and when I returned . . .” I couldn’t say the words.
“She’d eaten part of your son.” Idan spoke the truth that brought a gorge to my throat.
Swallowing hard, I turned my loathing inward. “If I were a goddess, I would have known the dark intentions of my sister’s heart and would never have left my son in her care.” Having rendered two war-hardened soldiers speechless, I found myself too tired to care if they thought me fraud or god. “I’m going to sleep now. Azat, kill me now or in the morning. It matters not.”
I slipped through the curtain and returned to my reed mat. Yahweh, send me to Sheol. It’s what I deserve.
Chapter 11
Idan
“You will be a reproach and a taunt,
a warning and an object of horror to the nations around you
when I inflict punishment on you in anger and in wrath and with stinging rebuke.
I the Lord have spoken.”
