by Summer Lee
“Why should I stay? There is nothing for me here if we can go no further toward being together.”
“You gave your word that you would provide me safe passage.”
“And I shall. But now, I shall do it from afar.”
Before she could speak, a northerly wind erupted. Water sloshed over the railing. Crewman sprang into action, using wooden buckets to scoop free the water. Malluch watched the chaos, smiled, and then jumped overboard, disappearing into the churning water.
Kenana rushed to the ship’s rail. “No! Malluch!” she cried.
But he was gone. For several minutes, she stood there staring down at the tumultuous water as the storm raged. Then the wind abruptly abated, and the water quieted.
Kenana was alone.
She ran for the ship’s captain, a tall man with silver hair. At the moment, he was overseeing the repairs to a rent in the wooden hull. She pulled on the captain’s drenched sleeve. “My friend was swept overboard,” she called out. “Go back and find him.”
He looked at her and pulled his arm away. “We can’t do that. We have a hole in the ship, and we must press on toward the nearest port. I’m sorry about your friend. No one could have survived that storm in open water.”
“But what about me? What am I to do now?”
The captain shook his head. “Are you not a man? Act like a man. Can’t you see I have my own problems?” He turned his back to her.
No, she wanted to say, I am not really a man. Just a stupid girl dressed as a man, a girl who doesn’t know what or who she wants. A girl who might have turned away her one chance at true love.
*
In the morning, after a long and horrible night in which Kenana had cried herself to sleep, the captain told her they had reached the end of the trip and she would have to find transportation to Alalakh. “It is time for us to turn back south. I wish you luck, boy.”
She turned her face away so he could not see her tears. They left her at a simple port that stank of rotting fish. She was alone and miserable. She watched the boat turn to port and then head south, downstream.
Well, she thought, I certainly made a fine mess of things. Why would anyone want to get mixed up with me?
She worked her way through the town, past the curious gazes of strangers. She stopped at some market stalls and purchased some provisions: bladders of wine and bushels of cheese and bread.
An old man in a cart pulled by a single donkey stopped next to her. “This ride is provided for you for the remainder of your journey. You will first go to Khalab.” He gently handed her the reins, stepped down and walked away.
“Wait,” she called after him. “Please! Who are you? Did Malluch send you?”
The old man stopped and turned.
Kenana patted the donkey’s head. “What’s the donkey’s name?”
“Argony,” he said, smiling. There was a faint glimmer of a tear in his eye, and Kenana suspected the old man would miss the donkey. He bowed, and then disappeared into a throng of people.
Was this Malluch’s doing? His way of watching her from afar?
A bleak wilderness spread out before her, empty as far as the eye could see. Kenana had never felt more alone in her entire life.
She clucked her tongue once and the donkey moved forward at an agonizingly slow pace. Somewhere out there, Malluch was watching over her.
“I don’t need you,” she said bitterly. “Just go away and leave me in peace.” The words were cruel, but her heart was hurting and she felt abandoned except for the donkey and cart.
Argony brayed once and shook his head, and Kenana settled deeper into her wooden perch atop the cart. She tried not to think about how truly alone she was.
At least she was still dressed like a boy, which afforded her some small measure of protection.
Chapter Eighteen
As she rode along the trail, across the gently sloping dry hills beneath the blazing sun, she thought about her plight. At this moment, she hated both Malluch and Jubal.
The wind was hot, and her lips cracked and bled. Her face felt as red and sore as her arms looked.
Too hot even to eat her dried fruit or leftover bread, she sipped water all day. At midday, she closed her eyes and slept. Bouncing along, she faded in and out of consciousness, wondering if Malluch had sent her out in the desert to die alone.
She was dozing fitfully, when she was jolted awake. Argony was braying loudly, pawing at the air. Kenana’s cart rocked and threatened to overturn.
“Easy, Argony!” she yelled.
Then she saw what spooked it: a black viper, basking on a flat rock, was blocking the path.
Argony continued to paw the air. The snake didn’t move. The wooden cart tilted, groaning at its joints.
To her amazement, Malluch appeared in a flash of light. He picked up the serpent and disappeared without acknowledging her. The road before them was now clear.
Kenana blinked, her eyes momentarily seared by his brilliance. He was certainly an angel.
Argony settled immediately, and after a few hesitant steps, continued forward once again.
Malluch was indeed watching over her. She felt better knowing that her angel still cared, but could not understand why he had left her. Was it possible for an immortal to be immature? And petty?
The donkey plodded forward through the afternoon, until the sun disappeared beyond the distant hills. At dusk, Kenana searched for a resting place and found none in the empty desert. Exhausted, she slept that night propped up against a rock.
When the bright morning sun awakened her, the donkey and cart were no longer there. She had been robbed in her sleep!
Kenana could have cried until she spotted, shimmering on the horizon, the indication of a massive community, possibly Alalakh.
Kenana set out on foot, while the day was still cool, and when she finally reached the main gate, she looked for a servants’ entrance, but found none. She sat down beside a large rock and waited for the main gate to open.
The day was startlingly hot. Her skin was burned and dry. Blisters had formed along the sides of her foot. Perhaps being pampered at the palace wasn’t so bad, she thought idly.
No, it was bad. She needed this break from Jubal, and she needed answers concerning her angel. Her grandfather, Enoch, would provide the answers.
Something resembling a wind made its way over the rock, briefly cooling her, and with it came deep, masculine voices. She ducked down over the rock and peered around it.
She saw two men approach from the dirt road, heads together, in deep conversation. They were massive men, as tall or taller than Malluch, wearing an insignia across their broad chests that branded them soldiers of some sort. Were these the Nephilim?
Her breathing came faster. She sat still, straining her ears to catch what the men were saying.
The larger figure spoke in a low voice. “She could be anywhere.”
“True. But we think she is headed to her grandfather’s. The famous prophet. If that is so, it is likely she will eventually end up here.”
Her mouth dropped open. They were talking about her!
“Very well. Have your men scatter throughout the city. And remember, she is dressed like a boy.”
Crouching low, Kenana wrapped her arms tightly about herself, barely breathing. So they were here, in this city! She had married a Cainite, and now they would punish her, probably with death. Never mind that the marriage had been arranged against her will. Her fear heightened, but it gave her the motivation to flee, to hide.
Well, they had to find her first, and she was not going to go down without a fight.
She jumped up and ran down the narrow footpath, stumbling along until she reached the bank of a small stream just outside the city. It was there that she found what she was looking for: clothing laid out on rocks to dry.
Women’s clothing.
Chapter Nineteen
She had been disguised as a boy and because the soldiers were looking for a girl dressed in bo
y’s clothing, she was now dressed in the stolen girl’s clothing.
Wearing a linen scarf around her head, Kenana kept her eyes down as she passed through the servants’ gate. She maintained a good walking pace until she was in the heart of the city and safely away from the guards’ scrutinizing stares.
At a fruit stand, she asked a young man if he knew how to find the great prophet, Enoch. The vendor ignored her until she purchased a small bag of dates, and then he brightened considerably. He pointed to a balding man sitting under the shade of a hibiscus tree, feeding bread to small black birds. “That is the Prophet Enoch’s oldest son, Methuselah. Perhaps you should ask him.”
Methuselah, her father’s eldest brother, was one of the few immediate relatives she had not met.
Dates in hand, she mustered up her courage and approached the man who was, after all, her uncle.
“You are Methuselah,” she said, her voice sounding much smaller than she had intended.
The older man looked up, eyes sparkling. There was a warmth and kindness about him that was reassuring. “Yes, and who might you be, child?”
“I am Kenana. Daughter of Eber.”
He stood suddenly, scattering bits of bread in every direction. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her cheeks. “Kenana. I met you once when you were just a child. My, how you have grown. You have your mother’s beauty.”
“Thank you.”
“Are you alone, child?”
“Yes.”
“But were you not betrothed and married to the Cainite Jubal?”
“Yes.”
“Where is your husband? Why has he left you alone?”
She told him everything, concluding with her quest for answers about Malluch.
“Ah, but your grandfather is away in Egypt. He will not be back for many weeks.”
All of the urgency of her mission was suddenly crushed. She asked hopefully, “Are you, too, a prophet?”
He chuckled. “I am not crazy enough to be a prophet. Come, you will stay with me until Enoch returns, or until Jubal comes for you. Either way, you will be treated like the princess you are.”
*
So, Kenana went with him.
She was given a room in the guest suite of her uncle’s spacious house. The house itself was on the outskirts of town, itself protected by a fortified wall. A beautiful garden grew within the wall.
For now, she felt safe and at peace, and the pursuing Nephilim seemed a million miles away. The days passed quietly. Methuselah and his gracious wife were wonderful hosts, and made Kenana feel at home. They spent their evenings talking and playing a kind of board game consisting of black and white pebbles spread over a colorful wooden slat of Methuselah’s invention. Kenana became quite adept at the game, to her uncle’s good-natured chagrin.
One evening, at the end of her third week, Kenana found herself alone with her uncle in the main sitting room, her aunt excusing herself for the evening to rest. Kenana decided it was time to ask her uncle about the sacred secret. “Prince Jubal is convinced that our family knows of a great secret. A secret that has been passed down from generation to generation. It is a secret that is apparently so powerful that he was willing to risk my life to find out what it is.”
Methuselah frowned. “Jubal is correct. Nosy, but correct.”
“I suspect that that’s why he married me, uncle. He is hoping I will divulge the secret.”
“As the saying goes, Jubal is fishing in the Dead Sea, for only the eldest son in each family can know this secret.”
“You are the eldest in our family,” said Kenana. “You, then, know the secret.”
“I do.”
She was tempted to ask what, but knew better. Instead, she said, “What should I tell my husband? He is expecting me to return with the sacred secret. He will be very displeased with me if I return with nothing.”
Methuselah stroked his gray beard. As he did so, Kenana found his resemblance to her father uncanny.
“Give him a riddle, then,” said Methuselah. “And if he can fathom the riddle, then he will have discovered the secret.”
Kenana clapped. She loved riddles! And so did her father. Kenana had spent many nights in bed puzzling out his riddles, only to have the answer appear to her in a dream. The next morning she would always dazzle her father with the correct response.
“Yes, a riddle!” she said.
Methuselah grinned at her eager response. “That way our family can preserve the sacred secret, and you will remain in favor with your husband. But more than likely, Jubal will be unable to discern the riddle, and our secret will be safe. After all, we come from a family of riddlers. Your father, in particular, loved them. So did I, but not more than he did.”
“Yes, we played riddle games when I was a child,” she said, feeling as if she would burst. She couldn’t wait to wrap her mind around her uncle’s riddle, and discern for herself her family’s sacred secret.
“Well, good. I have no doubt that someday you will understand this one for yourself. If so, I advise you to keep your discovery quiet.” He paused. “Now give me a minute to come up with one. I’m not as good at this as your father.”
He stroked his gray beard some more, mumbling incoherently to himself. Finally, he smiled. “The riddle is this: Generation. Degeneration. Regeneration. These three words will lead to the truth of the sacred secret.”
Kenana spoke them aloud, storing them into her mind, where she hoped her dream self would help her unlock their secret.
At that moment, a young servant burst into the sitting room, gasping. “Sire, there is a caravan in town, headed by Prince Jubal. They seek Kenana, his wife.”
Methuselah turned to his niece. “Our timing couldn’t be better, child.”
She kissed her uncle on his weathered cheek. “Thank you for your generosity. I will never forget your kindness.”
“Go, my child, greet your husband and remember the riddle.”
Chapter Twenty
Aided by Methuselah’s young servant, Kenana soon came upon the massive caravan wending its way through the back alleys of the city. Perched high atop the lead cart, their clothing covered in a fine layer of road dust, were Asher and Tall. Asher waved, and Kenana clapped, tears of joy springing to her eyes.
Asher raised his hand high and made a fist, and the entire caravan began the long process of coming to a halt.
Kenana could barely contain herself, and when Asher’s cart finally came to a creaking stop, she rushed over to him, leaped onto the wooden platform and threw her arms around his sweating neck. Her clothing was immediately awash in dirt, but she didn’t care. She realized everyone down the entire caravan, from slaves to soldiers, were staring at her, and so restrained from planting a kiss on his dusty cheek. Instead, she next pulled Tall in for his own massive hug.
“I’m so happy to see the two of you!”
“Could have fooled me,” said Tall, rubbing and stretching his neck when she released her hold, his deep voice booming with merriment. Merriment or not, she sensed his fatigue. In fact, both of them looked exhausted and in need of food and water. They had traveled for many days on end to be with her now.
Asher said quietly, “Your husband is here, madam. He came all this way to see you, among other things. Perhaps you should attend to him now.”
Jubal was here? The last she had heard, he had been very sick.
She composed herself, and moved down the line of carts, passing those of provisions and supplies, and even one filled completely with Jubal’s musical instruments. At last, she came upon the royal cart. A golden cartouche was painted boldly on its wood-paneled side, unmistakable even a league or two away, which was probably why Jubal had been escorted by heavily armed soldiers. Directly behind Jubal rode Sarah and Debra, sitting amicably together. Kenana felt a pang of jealousy. She wanted to give her good friend, Sarah, a hug and kiss, but she first needed to attend to her husband.
Two soldiers bowed and stepped aside from the royal cart, and
Kenana pushed aside a heavy curtain. The interior was gloomy and muggy. Jubal was lying prostrate across a cushioned plank, his head resting on a silk pillow. The pillow and cushion were soaked with sweat, as were his robe. His mouth was partly open and he seemed to be having trouble breathing. Spittle bubbled in the corners of his dry lips. A water pail with a rag hung on a hook over his head. She removed the pail, and dipped the rag in the warm water. She used the rag to wipe Jubal’s face. A moment or two later, he stirred awake.
“Who’s there?” he asked weakly.
“Your wife.”
“Keni, dear?”
“Yes.”
“I have traveled far to be with you.”
“I know, my prince. You should have stayed in bed at home.”
He shook his head slowly, his eyes only now opening. They were lifeless. “Asher made me come, demanded it. Said there was no time to bring the doctor back from Egypt. That it would be best if we met him halfway. Asher is an amazing man. Someday, I should free him.”
She continued to use the rag on his face, and found that her heart went out to the old man.
“We should get you indoors, sire. You will feel better in the coolness and get some food in your belly.”
He waved her concern away with a limp flick of his hand. “What have you learned of the sacred secret, child?”
Ah, she thought, even near death he will not let the sacred escape him.
She said simply, “Grandfather is away, sire. I am sorry.”
Jubal inhaled, clearly disappointed.
“But Methuselah has offered you a compromise,” she added.
“Methuselah. Eber’s eldest brother?”
“And Enoch’s oldest son,” she added.
Jubal tried to sit. His dull eyes had suddenly blazed with life. “Yes, he would be privy to the secret. What is this compromise of which you speak?”
She eased him down on his sweat-soaked mat. “He has been sworn to secrecy, sire, but he does give clues to the secret.”
Jubal frowned. “Clues?”
“Yes, sire. Actually, it’s more of a riddle.”
“I’m too old for games, child.”
