by C. L. Roman
When all were settled and he had swallowed his first bite, the headman asked, “What joining do you desire?” in a tone that signified no more than polite interest.
“I have come today to ask that your daughters, Danae, Shahara and Gwyneth be joined to myself, Volot and Jotun, while offering my sisters, Adahna and Phaella, in marriage to Zamzummim and Magnus.” The words dropped into silence.
Nephel uttered a short, soft hum of surprise and sent a glance toward his wife. “This is a strong joining indeed. You ask for five marriages, but you have no land, no family beyond yourselves. What dowry can you offer for Adahna and Phaella? What bride gift do you bring for my daughters?”
“As I said, we are even now building homes on the far side of the oasis. You yourself agreed to this. As to our bride gifts and dowry,” Fomor looked at Adahna and nodded curtly. Coming close to the brazier, the proposed bride settled herself so that the fire light flickered lovingly over her face, highlighting her beauty.
“With your permission, honored Nephel, in my family our custom demands that the bride display her dowry.” It wasn’t a lie; Adahna just wasn’t planning on pointing out how new the custom was. Her soft voice floating out over the glowing brazier gained Nephel’s full attention. “In my sister and I’s case, our dowry resides in the work of our hands. May I show you?”
At Nephel’s nod she opened the small basket she had brought with her and began to withdraw a variety of delicately crafted bowls and vials in alabaster. Some were chased with gold filigree, others left plain with fitted stoppers or lids. Still others had handles carved into smooth sides. All were so perfectly made that no tool marks appeared on them and all were of obvious value.
“You made these?” Nephel’s voice was smooth, dismissive even, but his left eyebrow had begun to twitch. Alabaster, by virtue of being both beautiful and useful, was highly valued as a trading commodity. None of his family had skill in carving such as this.
Fomor relaxed into his pillows. “Our family is in the business of creating such things. My brothers and I mine the alabaster and market it. My sisters create the merchandise from the raw material.
Nephel said nothing but continued to examine one of the best pieces from Adahna’s basket. Encouraged, Fomor took his cue from his host and began negotiations in earnest.
Hours later, all had been agreed. Adahna returned to the encampment to begin arranging for the payment of the bride price. The two males were left alone to finish the last of the rich, nut and fruit filled pastry Naomi had served for dessert. When they had finished the last sticky sweet bite, the two stood and Nephel clasped Fomor’s wrist briefly.
“There is one thing, perhaps, that you did not think of my son,” he said grudgingly, as one who feels he must speak, but does not wish to do so.
“And what is that, my father?” Fomor raised an eyebrow in question.
“There are many families in this region. You have limited yourself to one. It is not the custom of my people to do so. We have a saying, “Among many allies there is safety.” We are a strong family, but even so, we are only one alliance.”
Fomor nodded as they walked together to the entrance of the dwelling, “I have heard this saying. And for most it is true. But not, I think, for us, true?”
Nephel eyed his future son-in-law warily. “Perhaps.”
The angel’s eyes were serious as he rolled his shoulders, allowing his future father-in-law the merest glimpse of feathers before shifting everything back into position once more. “Already we share a great deal, do we not?”
A long silence stretched between them during which Fomor saw the expression on Nephel’s face changed rapidly from surprise to worry to anger before smoothing into acceptance. Finally, he rewarded the waiting captain with a grim smile.
“I have kept this secret even from my children.” He shrugged and chewed his lip for a moment as if uncertain how much to reveal. “I knew my father for only a few short years, but even so, I understood that he was not as other men.” The sudden granite in Nephel’s gaze surprised the captain and made him more uncomfortable than he had been at any time since the negotiations started.
Nephel’s lips thinned in warning, “From my father I have my unusual stature and no brothers or sisters. My mother never completely recovered from my birth. She died when I was but five turnings old and my father disappeared the same day.”
Fomor understood. “Neither are we as other men and women, but when we give our word, we keep it. We will be good spouses to your sons and daughters, good parents to your grandchildren, Sabaoth willing. On this you have my word, we will not disappear.”
Nephel stared into the other man’s eyes searchingly. At length he nodded, “Very well, it is agreed. I will be honored to gain such sons and daughters and our families will grow and be blessed.”
The two men clasped wrists again. “Agreed,” Fomor replied and turned away to carry the news back to his own people.
Chapter Eleven
“I cannot believe it!” Gwyneth’s excited voice rang against the mud brick walls of the small room. “All three of us to marry on the same day! It is too wonderful.” Sunlight spilled into the small room through a series of narrow windows set high up in the wall. Through the same windows came bird song from somewhere outside and a cooling breeze that kept the air moving across the faces of the three young women.
Danae smiled at her younger sister. “I agree, it is wonderful, but if you don’t sit down and finish that veiling you will be but half-dressed under the canopy.” Gwyneth took the teasing with good grace, but Shahara scowled.
“I still say we should each have our own Kiddushin.”
Danae looked at her sister sympathetically. “I know you wanted your own betrothal ceremony Shahara, but it is not practical. Do you want to delay your wedding until the next tribal gathering?”
Shahara said nothing, stabbing her bone needle into the frail cloth as if it were to blame for her dissatisfaction.
“I don’t think you will be unhappy in the end Shahara.”
Something in Gwyneth’s gentle voice caused Shahara to look at her sharply.
“What do you mean Gwyn?” Danae interposed.
“Oh, nothing,” Gwyneth colored at Danae’s use of her childhood nickname and responded hastily, “Just that I think, when Shahara sees the canopy, she will be very pleased, as any happy kallah should be.”
Neither of her sisters was convinced, but the resulting good natured prying quickly put a happy note back into the sisters’ banter as they worked on their wedding gowns. Each had begun work on these clothes on their name day in their twelfth turning. It was all part of the preparation for the day when they would become “kallah” or brides. Now all that remained was to hem the veils. There must be one for each of them so that each chatan could cover his kallah during the wedding ceremony to symbolize his promise of protection and provision.
The young women fell silent as they thought of their grooms. Suddenly the traditional week of separation seemed far too long to wait, even though each had been in a panic of preparation from the moment the wedding date had been set. It was a quiet group that greeted Nephel as he entered the small room.
“Father,” as one the girls stood with heads bowed in respect when he stepped inside. He waved them back to their cushions.
“Continue with your work dear ones. I know the time is growing short.”
Shahara rolled her eyes at this statement and her father gave a lock of her hair a sharp tug as gentle retribution. The brides seated themselves and resumed their work in silence, each stealing glances at the others as if asking for an explanation for their father’s sudden presence. He had never been one for wasting time, yet now he seemed content to simply watch them sew. What was going on?
“You are wondering, maybe, why I am here? Why I am not out hunting for meat for the Seudah or overseeing the writing of the Ketubah? Well, there is something I must tell you, and so festal meals and marriage contracts will have to wait a bit.”<
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He fell silent and the women looked at each other, then back at him, continuing to sew more and more slowly. Still the silence stretched out. Finally, Danae smiled at him.
“Father, if this is to be a long conversation, perhaps you might sit? And perhaps we might provide you with refreshment. After so much talking you are sure to be parched.”
Her father drew his eyebrows together and stared at his eldest daughter sternly, but she only smiled back at him until finally he thumped down onto a cushion and rubbed a rough hand over his mouth.
“You are a minx,” he said, shaking his head. “I hope your Fomor knows what he is getting himself into. Between your saucy ways and your questions the poor man will never know a moment’s peace.”
Danae did not take offense. “He knows Father. But what is it that you want us to know?”
“You might as well tell, Father,” Shahara slid a sly glance to her sister, “You know she’ll have it out of you eventually.”
Gwyneth suppressed a giggle under her hand and continued to sew while their father gave a shout of laughter.
“You may be right, little bird. No doubt, you are right. Still.” His face became serious again and he looked at each one intently. Finally he shook his head and, breathing deep, began. “You know I am an orphan,” he held up a hand when Shahara would have spoken, motioning her to quiet. “But you do not know that your grandfather was no ordinary mortal.” The room grew still, even the birds that had kept them company all morning were silent now.
“You have told us he was a great man, Father. We knew this.” Gwyneth’s tone was uncertain, and she looked to her sister’s for confirmation, but Nephel shook his head.
“I have not said he was a great man,” he said, with distinct emphasis on the final word. “I have said he was a great hunter, an exceptional provider for his family.”
“And that he disappeared without warning when grandmother died,” Shahara said bitterly, only to have Danae place a cautionary hand on her arm.
“I’m sure there was no choice, Father. You have said he was a good father to you while he was with you. He would not have left you had there been a choice.”
Nephel shook his head. “As always, my dove, you seek to comfort. But here there is no need. The loss is an old one, and it is not this which I have come to tell you today. Much you already know. Only one thing remains.”
Again the young women waited, but their father seemed lost in thought. Finally, Shahara cleared her throat, drawing his attention. He chuckled. “Ever the impatient one, eh Shahara? Yes, I see that Volot will have no easy task with you either. Perhaps Jotun will have better luck with his choice, hmmm little Gwyn?” He chuckled again as his youngest daughter blushed bright pink. Then he sighed and shook his head. “As I said, your grandfather was a great hunter, a great being. But not a man, not a man at all.”
Danae and Gwyneth were surprised, but unconfused. Shahara stared from one to another of the faces surrounding her.
“What do you mean, he wasn’t a man? Of course he was. What else could he have been? A demon?” She laughed at her own joke, then fell silent when the others did not smile, and her father shook his head.
“Fomor assures me that he was not one of the Fallen. It seems that Hyperion left Par-Adis long before the war in Heaven. He had no part in any of that.”
“So, he was not a rebel angel then, but he was an angel.” Danae spoke softly, her eyes calm.
“You do not seem surprised, daughter.”
She shook her head. “No, it makes sense of many things; our size, for one thing, when all around us are so much smaller. Even Nera,” her voice trembled, then steadied as she continued, “though smallest among us, was a good deal taller than any of our cousins.”
“And we’re stronger,” Gwyneth nodded, “just last week Magnus caught that roof beam all by himself when cousin Jacob and cousin Eliezer together couldn’t hold it in place and it fell. It would have crushed little Miriam too, if Magnus hadn’t been there.”
Shahara stared from one to another, mouth open. “What are you talking about?” she burst out, “our grandfather was an angel or something? And Fomor knew him? How is that even possible unless – Fomor is an angel?” She stopped short, trying desperately to process this new thought. “Does Volot know?”
The others stared back at her, at a loss to know what to say. Finally, Gwyneth spoke. “Volot didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
Gwyneth looked from her father to her sister helplessly.
As he realized the import of Shahara’s words, Nephel’s face darkened in anger. “I am sorry, Little Bird. He was to tell you before you agreed to the marriage.”
“Tell me what Papa? What was Volot to tell me?” Confusion clouded her eyes and Nephel would have explained but Danae stopped him.
“It is not for us to say Father. This is for Volot to explain.”
“But he may not see her before the wedding. It is not our way.”
The corners of her mouth lifted and she shook her head. “I think we may be able to find a way to preserve tradition, but, even if we cannot, this is a conversation they must have before the nissuin is completed. There can be no true marriage without trust, and no trust without truth.”
Shahara had been staring wildly from one to the other of them. Now understanding and denial were at war upon her features.
“Volot is a MAN. A very big man, but good and kind and honest. He would not have lied to me about this.”
Gwyneth placed a gentle hand on her sister’s shoulder. “I don’t suppose he ever told you he wasn’t an angel, did he?”
Shahara stared at her sister and then collapsed, weeping, to the ground. At that moment Danae was at a complete loss and suddenly, quite without warning, she wanted Fomor so intensely that she fairly shook with it. A moment later there was a banging on the wall beneath the windows.
“Danae,” Fomor’s voice was rough with concern, “are you all right? What is it, love?”
An instant later, Volot burst into the room, sword drawn, surrounded by a light so intense they could barely stand to look at him. “Shahara?” Looking around he saw that there was no threat and sheepishly sheathed his sword, but when he saw Shahara weeping on the floor he wasted no time in picking her up and gently folding her into his arms. “What has happened here! What did you do to her?” he demanded.
“Perhaps that is a question you should ask yourself,” Gwyneth’s frigid tones pushed Volot back several steps and the others filed past him into the next room.
Nephel looked at his future son by marriage with a mixture of irritation, amusement and pity on his on his face. In the end he reached out and patted Volot on the shoulder murmuring something unintelligible.
Hearing their movements inside, Fomor sprinted around to the front of the house but did not enter. After being told what had occurred and receiving Nephel’s assurances that Danae was well, the captain returned to his own wedding preparations. As he left the village though, he could not help but look back, and wish his second in command luck. It seemed he was going to need it.
***
Fomor tugged hard on the lashing one last time and sat back on his heels to survey the finished product of his labors. A rough semicircle of five mud-brick houses stood in the broadened clearing of what had once been a temporary camp. In the center a new well provided water close to hand. Since there was no water under the campsite naturally, Adahna had designed an aquifer and subterranean pool that would draw water from the spring fed forest pools. Jotun had then carved the needed structures from the living rock underground.
Each house had enough space around it to add rooms as necessary and there was a communal work area where meals might be prepared and the alabaster carved into useful shapes. Fomor heaved a sigh of relief. Even with angelic strength and speed he had worried that it would not be completed in time. Below him Jotun came out of the house and dusted off his hands.
“The plastering is done. It is warm enou
gh that it should be dry by the morning.”
“That is the last of it then?”
“It is, Captain. Are the bride gifts ready?”
“They are.” Jotun seated himself on a low bench outside the house he had just finished. In a few moments Fomor joined him and the two fell companionably silent for a time.
“So – tomorrow,” Fomor said.
“Yes.”
“Volot should be back soon with the rings.”
“If Nephel’s information on the direction of the market town is correct,” Jotun agreed.
“We have no reason to doubt it.”
“No.”
“The women will like the houses.”
“Of course.” Jotun frowned briefly before his face settled back into its usual, impassive lines.
“They will be better, more home-like, when Volot comes back with the rugs and braziers.”
“Certainly. And, of course, Gant is with him, in case of attack or…”
“Right, we’ve no reason for worry.” Fomor swallowed tightly. “Did he say how his conversation with Shahara went?”
“He didn’t,” Jotun grinned, then sobered. “But he didn’t seem overly happy when he got back to camp.”
“No.”
“And he left for the market town right after that.”
“Yes.”
“You don’t think?”
“Oh, no – he wouldn’t.”
The two sat silent for a time.
“He might.”
Fomor nodded in grim agreement. “If Shahara refused him.”
“She wouldn’t do that.”
“She might.”
“She might have, but she didn’t.” The two jumped as Volot rounded the corner of the house. “You two are ridiculous,” he huffed. “Like two old women gossiping at the well.”
“No worse than you,” Gant scoffed, driving a small, heavily loaded cart into the clearing. “Shahara said, Shahara wants,” he mimicked in a high, scratchy parody of Volot’s rough tones. “I swear if I had to listen to any more of that nonsense I’d have shifted back and left you to drive the cart alone.”
