Swiping the back of her hand across her forehead, she looked off at the orange hills in the distance. Unlike most women, Alanah kept her thoughts locked tight, but wonder at the red cliffs seemed to spill over. “It’s like they are on fire,” she said in a low but awestruck tone. Was she talking to me? Or herself?
With a glance at me, as if she had just realized I’d heard her quiet exclamation, she clamped her jaw shut and dropped her eyes to the task of unrolling the bundles for Nita’s home.
The special tent revived memories of Zakariyah, my grandfather’s brother. Stern and unbending with anyone else, he’d been clay in Nita’s capable hands. He endured endless ribbing from the other men about his stargazing tent. But from the way Nita had doted on him, I knew he had made the right choice.
When Zakariyah had died a year ago, my great-aunt had endured the thirty-day mourning period as any other Hebrew woman would. But when the moon waxed full again and the appointed time was complete, she continued to mourn, eyes red-rimmed most mornings. I wondered if having that special tent made the ache worse.
But when we reached the edge of the Promised Land, something pulled her out of the darkness that held her—Aharon, the brother of Mosheh, died and the entire nation mourned for thirty days. At the foot of the mountain upon which our high priest died, Nita seemed to lay down her burdens. Her sparkle returned, the tease slipping back into her voice. The slice of her sharp wit jabbed at all of us again, and we loved it. Doda returned, full force and stronger than ever.
We worked in silence, stretching the tent walls. Placing the poles in position, we tied them into place, then unfurled the linen covering for Nita’s roof and attached the goat-hide flaps that would unroll over the linen in case of a storm. Though we spoke little, Nita’s dwelling lifted quicker than most others around us. Pride swelled in my chest at our quiet teamwork and Alanah’s ability to assist even with one arm still bound against her chest.
Alanah also seemed to appreciate the fruits of our labor; a little smile budded on her lips as she entered through the tent flap. Curiosity nearly compelled me to follow, see if it had bloomed. But seeing Tzipi struggling to unload a large basket from her wagon, I jogged over to help.
“Here, let me carry that for you.” I reached out to take the burden.
She jerked the basket away from my grasp. “How much longer do I have to put up with that—that woman in my campsite?”
“That woman is my wife.”
She scoffed, her eyes cutting to Nita’s tent. “Not in the true sense.”
“She stays until the thirty days are complete, and then she can choose to stay or go. I will not force her,” I said.
“How can you tolerate being chained to that idolater? And one taken fresh off the battlefield where my”—she blinked—“where so many were killed.”
I imagined that every time she saw Alanah, Tzipi must think of Shimon. How could she not? I did too. I softened my tone. “You cannot blame her for Shimon’s death, sister.”
“I can and I do.”
“It is Yahweh who numbers our days.”
“It was not Yahweh who slaughtered my husband. It was a Canaanite!”
I put my palm on her shoulder. “That is true. And Yahweh has given us the task of running them out of the Land. But he has also brought her here. And I can’t help but think it may be for a purpose.”
She shrugged off my hand. “I do not trust her. And you should not either, Tobiah. She is dangerous.” She narrowed her eyes and pointed at my chest. “A snake.”
“She is no such thing, sister.”
Her lips pinched together and her nostrils flared. My twin sister and I spoke a language that needed no words. Grief shouted even louder than anger in her eyes. It resonated in my gut. Shimon’s death was a fiery arrow that had shot us both through the core.
She severed the silent connection with a shake of her head. “Keziah is heartbroken.”
“I am sorry to have broken her trust.”
“That you did. And our mother’s too.” Tzipi knew just the angle to push the dagger in. Together Keziah’s mother and ours had all but written the ketubah marriage contract from the time Keziah was born. At times it seemed talking about our future marriage was the only thing that pulled our mother back from the edge of darkness after the horror of Korah’s rebellion. If only it had kept her from slipping over that precipice.
“And now the only son left, after our brothers died, marries our enemy.” This comment went deep under my ribs, as did the acrid expression on her face as she slung the large basket onto her hip and ducked into her tent. When had my sister’s words become so barbed and poisoned? Grief had sharpened her tongue to a fine point.
Shimon had always been able to keep Tzipi’s tempers in check, usually with a well-aimed tease or a soft word. But it seemed as though Tzipi had no intention of letting me blunt the sharp edges for her. I’d never felt so helpless, not since I was a boy and could do nothing to protect my loved ones. Pulled between the sister I loved and the woman to whom I had pledged a vow, I was a fraying rope stretched taut.
Alanah sprang up from a cross-legged position as I entered the tent. To my surprise, Nita’s belongings were already unpacked. Baskets along the walls. Bed mats unrolled and prepared. Everything just as Nita liked it, down to the small fire at the center of the tent to guard against frigid desert nights.
“I did not know what to do with myself.” Alanah tugged at the linen binding on her arm. “I am useless in this thing.”
“I am sure Nita will appreciate you unpacking.” I scuffed my foot on the pebbled ground, suddenly aware of how alone we were. Alanah, too, looked away as if she felt the same tension. I cleared my throat. “I should go scout in the hills, see if I can find any game before it gets dark.”
Nodding, she absently rubbed her still-healing shoulder and then adjusted her white turban. The ring of red hair was thicker now at the back of her neck, bringing attention to its long, slender line. Just that bit of fiery color brought new life to her face, accentuated the creamy sun-gold of her freckled skin. I found my eyes drawn to the curve of her throat.
She may not be soft and feminine like Keziah, but she was captivating, with or without her hair. Levon’s suggestive comments from a few days ago whispered in my head, as did my resolve to keep her in sight. “Would you . . . would you like to come?”
With a little start, she looked up, a flicker of interest glowing in her eyes—the first I had ever seen of such an emotion. My chest grew strangely warm at the sight.
Remembering Shimon’s tactics, I attempted a tease. “Unless, of course, you’d rather sit around here with Simcha and Noach to guard you.”
Her gaze narrowed a bit, as if determining whether I was baiting her, but then it cut to her bow lying next to her sleeping mat. She is yearning to go.
A shadow crossed her face. “I cannot hunt.” She pointed to her bandages. “I am useless to you.”
“You still have eyes, don’t you? You can search out game.”
“How do you know I will be of any help?” She tilted her head. “Just because I have a bow doesn’t make me an expert. Perhaps I will only scare game away.”
How to explain so I didn’t give away my fascination? I had never seen a woman with such keen skills of observation. So completely aware of what was going on around her. Always at the ready with a swift reaction.
Although an uncommon pursuit for a woman, she was a hunter, I had no doubt. Judging by the elongated shape of her upper arms and the strength of her shoulders, that bow was not just a decoration. She was an experienced archer. The flutter of her fingers tapping against her thigh confirmed it. She must be desperate to apply her skills to something other than fending off my sister—who seemed incapable of keeping her opinions in her head.
Feigning indifference with a shrug, I turned my back. “You are probably right, go ahead and stay,” I said over my shoulder. “Simcha is out here raising his family’s tent, I’ll let him know to keep an eye on y
ou.”
I didn’t even need to turn around to know she had followed me out the tent door.
I was glad she couldn’t see the smug grin on my face. I snatched up a spear that was propped against my tent nearby and led her toward the orange hills south of camp.
14
Alanah
I trailed my fingers along the wall of the narrow canyon, following the pale line of greenish veins that threaded through its rough face. “What kind of rock is this?”
“Malachite—copper ore.” Tobiah’s voice came from behind me, where he followed a little too closely in this confined space. “This area is full of copper. Before Mosheh led our people out of Egypt, the Egyptians ran many mines here.” He paused. “They’ve been neglected now for some time. Although we’ve heard a few small mines are back in production after all these years, southeast of here.”
“I would imagine the Egyptians want to stay far away from you Hebrews.”
“And you would be right.” The deep, rich sound of his laughter bounced off the narrow walls. “From what the traders tell us, they are still reeling from the loss of most of their workforce, and their firstborn sons.”
What would that have been like? I had heard the tales of the horrific events of the great atrocity committed by the Hebrews and their god. I was no soft-footed Egyptian woman, but even I cringed at the idea of hordes of rotting frogs and locusts swarming the land like a flood.
The narrow wadi canyon opened into a wider area, a protected valley between the steep orange hills that cradled a small green-tinged pool, the remnants of a rainstorm, probably from weeks ago. The water was low, and from the looks of it, stagnant. But in this thirsty land, this would be a good place to find game or fowl.
Instinctively, I softened my steps, my eyes searching in a slow, steady circle for any sort of movement around the spare scrub brush and the few yellow-budded acacias that called this impoverished valley home. My hands itched for the weight of my bow but it stayed tied to my quiver, useless in the grip of a wounded archer.
A brown-streaked rush snagged my side-vision, and I jabbed a finger toward the fleeing rabbit to alert Tobiah. When his iron-tipped spear did not fly past my shoulder, I turned. “Why didn’t you aim?” I said in a low tone, wary of scaring off any more prey.
“We don’t eat rabbit,” he whispered with such passionless authority that I did not bother to ask why. He stooped to pick up a blue-green stone, lifted it to study it in the sunlight, then rolled it back and forth between his fingers before tucking it into his belt. What use would he have for such a thing? Perhaps it was a gift for that Keziah woman.
Brushing the distracting idea away, I squatted next to the brackish pond, my eyes roving its edges, and stilled my body. We didn’t have to wait long. A short, knobby-kneed ibex braved the open area and walked to the water, so desperate to slake its thirst that it ignored the two hunters watching him from fifteen paces away. The long, curled horns bobbed up and down as it drank, its tufted beard dribbling with water.
Holding my breath and barely moving a muscle, I turned my eyes up to Tobiah. With a slow, measured movement, he lifted his spear above his shoulder, cocked it backward, and then, in a flash of rippled muscle and a huff of release, Tobiah let the spear fly. The ibex didn’t even cry out as the spear pierced its neck. It flopped to the dirt and, with only one or two jerks of its tawny body, stilled. Something like pride rose in my throat at the display of my husband’s skill.
The sun had already slipped its hem behind the lip of the copper canyon walls, and it would not be long before it slid from sight. Tobiah retrieved the ibex and his spear and hefted the animal over his shoulder with ease. “Let’s head back. I need to bleed this animal out and we don’t have much daylight left.”
He gestured for me to lead the way, and I plunged back into the narrow canyon that had delivered us to this secret pond.
“See, I was correct about you,” he said, unguarded respect in his low voice.
Curling my lips into a smile he could not see from behind, I lifted my shoulder in acknowledgment of his correct assumptions about my hunting acumen. My brothers had taught me well; it was one of the only times they had allowed me to follow after them. Once they realized what a good shot I was with my bow, they took great pride in honing my skills. Tobiah’s quiet appreciation of those skills caused an unexpected surge of pleasure to well up in my chest.
A tiny cry caught my attention and I stopped. Angling my head, I listened for the sound again. The light was waning quickly in the wadi and the orange rock beginning to blur into hazy brown, but just as I heard the sound again, I saw a slight movement about five paces in front of us on a small embankment.
A viper.
A deadly horned viper, mottled scales nearly camouflaged into the rock. Coiled for attack, its tongue flicked in and out as he homed in on his prey—two little sand cats, curled against the boulder, completely unaware of the imminent danger. Anger crashed through my body, a sudden protective instinct rushing in like a flood. Without a pause I bent down, snatched up a large rock from near my feet, and aimed it at the triangular head of the snake.
The serpent twisted and sprang off to the side, disoriented by the sudden attack, and then slithered away so fast I barely saw the move. I approached the little sand cats, who mewed helplessly. Their tiny half-opened eyes blinked up at me. “I wonder what happened to their mother?”
Tobiah peered down at the spotted cats as he hefted the ibex higher on his broad shoulder. “Either run off by that snake, or killed by it.”
By the time his assessment was voiced, my decision was made. With my good arm, I swept up the creatures and curled the squirming bundle into my chest.
“What are you planning to do with those?” His tone was incredulous.
My response was flippant. “Take them back to camp.”
He lifted his brows high. Would he scold me? Or refuse permission?
My defenses reared high, and I challenged him with a glare. “I won’t leave them to be devoured by that serpent.”
“They are so small, Alanah. It’s doubtful they will survive.” Concern pulled his brows together.
“They certainly won’t if I leave them here.”
He dropped his chin, sympathy in the curve of his lips. “But at least you won’t have to watch it happen.”
“Do you take me for some weak, sniveling woman?” I widened my stance.
His lips twitched with a hint of humor and his brown-eyed gaze echoed the tease. “No, Alanah. Never that.”
Was he actually worried I would be hurt if the animals died? Stunned by the thought, I stared at him. Even with the heavy burden of a dead ibex slung over his shoulder, Tobiah seemed relaxed. Almost . . . almost as if he enjoyed sparring with me.
“They’ll survive.” I tightened my hold on the kittens, even as one of them sank needle-like claws into my skin. I sucked in a breath and bit my lip. How could something so tiny hurt so much? To hide my reaction, I spun around to continue walking. But as I did, I could have sworn I saw a grin on my new husband’s face—a face that was becoming far too intriguing for my comfort.
15
27 NISSAN
1407 BC
Shira’s nimble fingers examined my wound. Although it was still tender to the touch, on both the front and back of my shoulder, it was clearly healing well. My oldest brother had once been shot with an arrow in the thigh and it took many weeks for it to be at this stage of healing, and even then, he walked with a pronounced limp until the day he was killed by the Hebrews.
Shira hummed as she worked, her silvery braid trailing over her shoulder. A few wispy curls framed her face, giving her an impossibly youthful appearance. She wound a fresh bandage around my shoulder over a thin layer of honey and herb ointment. The strong smell clung to me constantly.
“How much longer must I wear this sling?”
“Seven more days or so. I want to keep it as still as possible to ensure you have full use of your arm. So you can use
that bow of yours again.” She darted a look at the weapon on the ground beside me. “But your wound has almost healed. A product of our diet, I assume.” She tied a knot at the top of my sling and gently maneuvered my arm into position.
“The manna? It heals?”
She twitched a shoulder. “No one knows for sure. But I will say that since we left Egypt anyone with a cut or broken bone seems to heal much faster than usual. And none of us ages like our parents did back in the land of our birth. I am close to sixty now, but I feel almost as spry as I did as a young girl. Perhaps even more so.” She winked at the Egyptian woman who had come with Shira to check my bandages. “Don’t you think so, Kiya?”
Kiya suppressed a smile. “I don’t think you ever have been without energy, my friend. Even when you were banished to the kitchens, thin as a reed, I’d never seen anyone work so hard.” She shook her head, her long black hair, threaded with a few glints of silver, gleaming in the sunlight. I resisted the urge to tug at my own, which was not much longer than my sand cats’ speckled fur.
Shira waved a hand and gave a little groan. “Don’t remind me. My fingertips still tingle when I think of all the pots I scrubbed with sand.”
They laughed together, the sound of two friends connected at the heart. My own ached a little at the reminder that I’d never had a friend, other than my brothers, and certainly never a woman.
I shifted on the wooden stool and looked over Shira’s shoulder at the Mishkan that had been raised at the center of camp. The rectangular linen courtyard contrasted the orange cliffs with stark whiteness. The tall, billowing cloud pillared high above the newly raised sanctuary.
Shira followed my line of sight. “Ah. Yes. Beautiful, isn’t it? I never get tired of the sight of the Cloud over the Mishkan.”
“How do they raise it so quickly?”
Shira paused in her ministrations to my shoulder and sat back on her heels. “The sons of Levi, which is the only tribe that can take part in the construction and breaking down of the structure, each have a designated job. They work together with such precision, as if they are one body.”
Wings of the Wind Page 9
