A Light on the Hill

by Connilyn Cossette

  Hope flickered. “Where can we find someone like this?”

  She scratched her chin and wrinkled her frown again. “Aside from Egypt, where men are trained in such arts, the only hope would be Megiddo. But I doubt he will last until we arrive.”

  “You are going to Megiddo?”

  She nodded. “We’d be there already if it hadn’t been for that storm last night.” She turned to peer at the carving of Ba’al. “You let all your fury loose did you not, my friend?” Again she muttered unintelligible words as if speaking to the wooden idol like one spoke to another person. She turned a cloudy eye on me and froze, her attention honed in on me like a serpent sighting a mouse. “You must leave.”

  “But—”

  “My friends do not want you here.” She jabbed a long-nailed finger at me. “You bear the mark of my Lord and Lady but you do not serve them. Go. Leave.”

  Startled and confused by her relentless glare, I retreated a few steps. “My servant needs help!”

  My eyes flickered to the statues that lined her tent wall and the fluttering shadows that lent false life to their carved and leering faces. My skin went cold. I knew these man-made gods were not alive, not real, but in this small smokey space, the lamplight gave them the appearance of breathing. As if they too were staring me down, whispering for me to leave.

  “I’ve done what I can. Go!” She gestured toward the tent flap with a yellowed talon.

  Panic sizzled through me. This woman seemed to be my only hope to keep Yuval alive. How could I mitigate her determination to kick us out? The glint of gold around her neckline delivered the answer into my mind with perfect clarity.

  “I will reward you richly if he makes it to Megiddo.”

  Pausing on a half-turn, Lilit lifted an ancient, intrigued brow. “What do you have to give me?”

  “Enough to make it well worth your special attention and care toward my slave.”

  The old woman’s narrowed gaze cut between me and her idols. “How do I know you are not lying?” She flicked a harried, wide-eyed look behind me as if seeing someone standing there. I glanced over my shoulder—only the black tent wall hung at my back. “Your spirits will deceive. They will hide you from me. They hate my friends.” She shook her head. “You will listen to them and leave me with nothing.”

  Her bizarre ramblings, and the way she kept her eyes pinned on the empty space behind me, lifted the hair on the back of my neck. Spirits? What was happening here?

  How could I even consider leaving Yuval here with her beneath the eerie gaze of those idols? Fear pulsated through me, and without forethought, I pleaded, Help me know what to do!

  LEAVE HIM WITH ME.

  The distinct impression blared in my mind. I had not heard such clear direction since Jericho. I barely restrained a gasp. How was it that after all these years of silence, all the times I’d called out for guidance and heard nothing but the wind, Yahweh chose now to speak?

  Grasping one of the delicate gold cuffs that hugged my arm, I slid it off and held it out to her. “Here is an offering of good faith. You may have the other when we arrive in Megiddo. If . . .” I directed a glare at her. “If he survives to be tended by the Egyptian surgeons, I will give you a reward of a few pieces of silver as well.”

  Again the peculiar woman glanced behind me, fear in her eyes, but then her greedy eyes latched on the shining gold armlet in my palm. She snatched it with two claws, as if my hand was on fire and she feared the flame. “Go. And take your unclean spirits with you.”

  CHAPTER

  Nineteen

  Binaim the Ethiopian led me to his own tent and indicated that Darek should stand guard outside while he introduced me to his wife. With a lift of his brow Darek questioned my comfort with the situation. Although the thought of walking into a stranger’s tent alone gave me pause, I knew he would be right outside should something go awry.

  I ordered him to stay, doing my best not to flinch at my own voice commanding a man to obey. With his reaction only evident in the slight widening of his eyes, Darek moved to do as directed, playing the part of overeager bodyguard with ease.

  After ducking low to enter the tent, the Ethiopian introduced me to his wife, Zendaye, who sat on the mat in the corner of the room nursing an infant who could not have been more than a month or two old.

  Zendaye stood to greet me, and the woman’s astounding beauty intimidated me almost as much as her height. Wearing clothing woven from a dizzying variety of bright colors and a green headscarf embroidered with white flowers that framed her mahogany face, she approached me with a troubled look in her kohl-framed eyes. “Who is this, Binaim?” I expected her to insist I leave her home like Lilit had, but as her eyes traveled down the bloody stains on my dress, compassion bloomed in their black depths.

  “This is Moriel,” said Binaim. “She and her servants were attacked by a lioness up on the mountain.”

  Zendaye handed the infant to her husband and rushed forward. “Oh, my dear. That must have been terrifying. Come. We’ll wash you.”

  Her openness astounded me. She ushered Binaim outside, ordering him to take the baby to the neighbor’s tent, before spinning around to rummage around inside a large basket. Fabrics of every hue spilled from the basket, some with colors so vibrant I could not believe they existed.

  “Here now. I know this one will fit you.” She lifted a linen dress from the pile, one dyed a deep indigo that imitated the night sky. The braided shoulder straps and plunging neckline would do much toward convincing the people of Megiddo that I was indeed a wealthy priestess. I suppressed the instinct to refuse the immodest dress, but at least it was not sheer like the ones the priestesses in Jericho had worn.

  Zendaye offered me a pot of floral scented rainwater, a wide-toothed ivory comb, and a small wooden box containing an alabaster pot of kohl, an application stick shaped like a long-legged heron, and a palm-sized copper mirror. Then she sat down nearby, threaded a bone needle, and began to sew a kilt made from cloth of the same garish colors she wore.

  Although uneasy with undressing as the woman worked two paces away, I forced away my timidity and slipped the destroyed tunic up over my head. A shiver jolted me as I washed my body with the linen rag and fragrant but icy water she’d provided, but I was more than grateful to be clean and smelling less like I’d spent the night in a cave.

  Wriggling into the blue dress was a challenge with a damp body, but I nearly sighed from the softness of the linen against my skin. The sensation pulled me back to Jericho and the first night I’d slept in Rahab’s house, cradled in a plush bed with linens imported directly from Egypt. I looped the matching braided belt twice around my waist and knotted it at my side.

  With untrained hands I applied my eye cosmetics, scowling in the mirror at my attempts to match the delicate style I’d observed in Jericho while doing my best to avoid the reflection of the scar on my cheek. Zendaye glanced at me over her shoulder. “You must have a servant who does that for you,” she said. “Would you like some help?”

  “I would appreciate that,” I said, holding out the application stick with what I hoped was a gesture that conveyed confidence and not helplessness. “It has been a few years since I’ve had to deal with such . . . trivialities.”

  Something flickered across her face, surprise or confusion perhaps, and I instantly regretted the haughty statement. Yet, having trapped myself in the role, I was forced to hold back my inclination to apologize.

  She accepted the applicator and swept the kohl across my lids. As she did so, I took the opportunity to study her face. With cheekbones that slashed high, brows that arched over pools of deepest brown, and dark skin that seemed to retain the warmth of the sun-soaked land she’d sprung from, her exotic beauty fascinated me.

  Attempting to reel in the extent of my curiosity but desperate for something to quench it, I finally asked, “How long have you been a trader?”

  Those well-formed brows lifted high, as if surprised by my interest. “These past two
years we have traveled with this group. Binaim and I were slaves in Egypt, but our master died and ordered that his heir set us free. He even gave us a small bit of silver, as if we were heirs ourselves. It was a miracle!” I found myself echoing her broad smile before I had the chance to lock away the emotion.

  She hesitated just a brief moment before continuing. “Binaim took the opportunity to purchase a small lot of fabric and a wagon, and I used my experience as a seamstress.” She gestured to the dress I wore. “We sold in the market for a couple of months, building our business bit by bit, until this group came through and Shuah convinced us to come along with them. And I am glad we did. Although the traders among us are from so many different lands, we all work together. We have become our own tribe.” She moved to sit beside me, reached for the ivory comb, and began working the tool through my tangles.

  “Is it not dangerous? To travel in a group like this? Especially with a little one?” I flinched as she worked a snag free.

  “These roads are well-traveled,” she said. “And we traders are needed to ensure that goods are brought from faraway lands. The kings have ordered that we not be molested along the way, and those who disobey face severe consequences. Besides, there are many men among us who are no strangers to the sword. Some have fought beneath the banner of Pharaoh himself.”

  “There,” she handed me the gleaming copper mirror. “Not nearly as well-done as your servants, I suppose, but passable.”

  I took the mirror from her but flicked only a passing glance at it before dipping my chin to acknowledge her help, even though my every instinct was crying out to tell this kind woman the truth. Instead I allowed my gaze to roam about the space, as if mildly amused by the meanness of such a poorly outfitted tent.

  “You do not fool me,” she said, and my attention snapped back to her face. Pulse galloping and shoulders tightening, I braced for her to call out for her husband to remove me from her tent. What had I done to give myself away? My mind rushed back through the conversation—had I allowed some lilting Hebrew word into my speech? Or had she simply seen through my transparent performance?

  “You are trying to appear strong, Moriel, but that lioness must have terrified you.” She placed her hand on my scarred cheek. “For one who looks to have suffered in her life, I would guess pretense has become a cloak you wrap yourself in regularly.”

  I nearly jerked backward, away from the astute assessment of a woman I’d only just met, as well as the tender contact with my marred skin. Tears rushed up as my throat burned with truth that begged for release.

  “Now, there.” She stroked my hair. “We will break bread together and you will see there is nothing to fear here among us.”

  I blinked until my eyes were clear again. “Then my servant is safe with Lilit?”

  She blew a scornful breath from the side of her mouth. “Oh she is harmless in general. But that old woman is touched in the head. She truly thinks all her friends, as she calls that menagerie of idols, talk to her.” Zendaye rolled her dark eyes. “She collects them in every town we go through, obsessed with finding every local god of healing.”

  “You do not believe in such things?” I asked. “Gods who heal? Gods who speak to men?”

  She peered at me, perhaps determining whether I would chide her lack of faith in the baalim of Canaan. “I was taken from my village when I was but a small girl, during a raid by slavers from a neighboring tribe and then sold to Egypt. I remember little from that time. But I do remember one thing my mother and father taught me.” Her gaze lifted as if she were looking into the past. “There is a Creator, they said. The One who made All. One who spoke Words and All came to be. One who even the mighty Pharaoh could not defeat.” She shrugged. “I do not know the name of this powerful god or where he comes from, but out of love for my mother and father, I keep looking. Perhaps I will never know.” She sighed.

  Could she be speaking of Yahweh? Had word of Mosheh’s deliverance of my people and all that had transpired forty-seven years ago have reached Zendaye’s village?

  “However, one thing I do know, and do not ask me how,” she said. “But the Creator is not in Lilit’s tent.”

  As I emerged from the tent behind Zendaye, a hand grabbed my arm, startling me so much that I spun, gasping aloud. Darek stood in the same place he’d been when I’d entered, but his closely trimmed hair was wet, and he wore a fresh sand-colored wool tunic. The sight of his face so close to mine threw me into confusion for a heartbeat, my gaze drawn to the dark patch of hair that encircled his tempting lips. I flushed as I realized where my thoughts had gone.

  I covered my embarrassment by scowling at him and then, pointedly, the hand that gripped my wrist. Lifting my brows, as if offended by the possessive way he was holding me, I yanked away.

  “Go check on Yuval,” I said, my stomach clenching tight at the strangeness of speaking to him with such a haughty tone. “I am safe with this woman.”

  Those lips twitched, as if he were about to say something. A glimmer of uncertainty passed through his expression, but then with a glance at Zendaye he gave me a quick nod and complied with my order—the picture of submission to his mistress.

  Binaim grazed a kiss along Zendaye’s cheek and whispered something in her ear before following Darek toward Lilit’s tent.

  Shaking her head with a low laugh, Zendaye slipped her long arm through mine. “Come now. We will break our fast together before we pack up and head for Megiddo.”

  Sitting on the ground nearby, I watched her stir a steaming pot of stew over the fire, wishing I could snatch the spoon from her to explore the ingredients. The smell was foreign, but so enticing.

  My curiosity bubbled over. “What spices are you using?”

  “I’ve used garlic, coriander, and ginger.”

  I took another sniff. “There is something else though, something I’ve never smelled before.”

  “Oh, yes. I also added some of this.” She dipped her fingers in a small pot and then dropped two star-shaped seedpods in my palm.

  “Anise?”

  “No, it’s similar, but it comes from a land far to the east. We crossed paths with a trading caravan from Chaldea, and the trader had carried it from even farther away, a land he said was bordered by a boundless ocean that stretched to the sunrise.”

  I sniffed the tiny pods, intrigued by their unfamiliar warm smell and the thought of lands so far away. “What other dishes have you prepared with this?”

  Zendaye tilted her head, her expression inquisitive. “I’ve never known a priestess so interested in cooking before.”

  I was saved from conjuring an adequate response by Darek, who’d returned from checking on Yuval. Leaning down, he whispered in my ear. “He is sleeping comfortably, but still bleeding. I must speak with you, alone.”

  Disconcerted by the proximity of his lips to my scarred cheek, I shifted away. “Later. Zendaye says they will be leaving after the morning meal. We will go with them to Megiddo. It’s the only chance he has for survival.”

  He nodded and crossed the small clearing to lean against a wagon, his pose carefully casual but his gaze roving, on guard for any threat. Yet again and again, that searching movement landed on me. Each time, I held my breath until he looked away and reminded myself that the lingering embarrassment that flared each time was pointless. With my face free of a veil, framed only by my long black hair, there was nothing to hide anymore.

  Two young Egyptian men with kohl-smeared eyes arrived in the campsite. Both regarded me with suspicion but sat down cross-legged nearby to receive a bowl of stew from Zendaye. Shuah, Binaim, and the other men who’d come out to meet us earlier sat down and received their bowls from Zendaye.

  Shuah, who had placed himself beside me, told Darek to join us and to my surprise he strode over and folded himself down next to me on the ground. The twelve of us now formed a loose circle. With a gracious smile, Zendaye handed Darek a bowl of stew. Then she placed a basket of fresh bread and a small clay bowl of oil, and o
ne of salt, in front of Shuah.

  With a flourish, Shuah plucked a loaf of bread from the basket, ripped it into a few pieces, and then handed one to me, one to Darek, and then passed a piece to each of his companions.

  He dipped the corner of his bread into the bowl of oil, and again into the salt, and then indicated that Darek and I do so as well. I’d heard of such covenants of salt being made but had never participated in one. I was surprised that this Midianite would even deign to do such a thing with a woman.

  “You know what this means?” Shuah lifted the bread into the air, the granules of salt sparkling in the morning sunlight.

  “I do,” I said. “It means we will be considered friends and be bound to protect and fight for each other, should we ever require such assistance.”

  “Indeed,” said Shuah. “It is a bond of trust that cannot be broken. Except by death.” The warning was as clear as his broad grin while he took a bite of his bread.

  As desperate as I was to ask Darek’s opinion on this decision, nothing about his posture indicated he was against it, so I too dipped my bread in the oil and salt and took a bite. Without hesitation Darek did so as well, as did the Egyptians and the rest of the men.

  As soon as we all had partaken of the salted bread, everyone seemed to relax. Shuah dove into a story about the last travelers they’d come across, near Gath, and how they’d been carrying beautiful pottery designed by the seafaring people who’d settled along the coastlands. Shuah seemed confident the new designs would be highly desired in Damascus.

  I took a few bites of Zendaye’s stew. The exotic spice encouraged me to try more, and yet something about the taste seemed odd. When she came by to refill Shuah’s bowl, I asked what other ingredients she’d mixed in.

  “Other than that new spice, I added ginger to the stock I made yesterday, some honey, bits of salt pork, a few mallow leaves, and some root vegetables we picked up in Gath.”