Wings of the Wind

by Connilyn Cossette

  As we passed through a thicket of blooming pink tamarisk trees, Tobiah lifted a hand, signaling me to still my body, an exercise I had mastered long ago.

  With a slow movement, Tobiah pointed. A fox, red fur gleaming golden in the early-morning sunlight, hunched with her back toward us in the long grass, stalking some small animal. With patience, the vixen waited, not a muscle twitching, black-tipped ears flat. We stood close together beneath the shelter of the tamarisk, breathing slowly, nearly in tandem with the sharp-eyed predator crouched in the grass only five paces away.

  With a graceful flash of red and white, the fox streaked forward and pounced on her prey. A soft squeak announced her victory over whatever rodent had tempted her this morning. As she jerked her head upward, her eyes sought us out in the shadows, undoubtedly having caught our scent in the breeze. With a flip of her red and white tail she bounded away, probably off to share the meal between her teeth with kits in a nearby den.

  “Reminds me of another red-haired hunter I know,” said Tobiah.

  “Well, that vixen’s hair is longer than mine.” I ruffled the finger-length curls at the back of my neck as we stepped out of the thicket. We had ended up on a high ridge that overlooked the entire valley. Green stretched in every direction, ending at the blue hills in the west.

  He ran a hand over his thick beard as he surveyed the wide vista. “True. Perhaps we can find you some armor and catch up to the other men. No one would know the difference.”

  “Are you saying I look like a man?” My eyes flared.

  He folded his arms across his chest and surveyed me instead, his eyes traveling over me with a leisurely perusal that flashed heat through my limbs. “No, Alanah, you look nothing like a man.” He lifted a playful brow. “But you could fight better than a few I know.”

  I poked him in the shoulder. “And don’t you doubt it. The first time I wasn’t prepared for the battlefield, but next time I’ll know what I am in for. Besides, with your hair so much longer than mine, it might be easier to shave that beard and throw you in with the women.”

  He ignored my jest, his playfulness dissipating. “You are never going near a battlefield again, Alanah. Ever. I told you that I would fight to my last breath for you, and I meant it.”

  My skin prickled as a chill swept over me, along with an image of my strong husband lifeless on the ground. “Mosheh said that Yahweh was going to go ahead of you into Canaan. What does that mean? How many more of these battles must you wage?”

  “That depends on the people of this land. From what you’ve said, and from all the abandoned villages we’ve come across, many have left. But if King Sihon’s arrogant challenge is any indication, the ones who are left will have to be rooted out, and that may take some time.”

  “More than eight months?” Tobiah’s frustration at being left behind when the army of Israel marched against the army of King Sihon this morning equaled my relief that it would be many months before he’d be allowed to fight again. I had suggested this trip into the hills to look for game, insisting that I needed a break from Moriyah, who had become my near-constant shadow, but it was more to keep my surly husband occupied while his brothers went off to war.

  Sihon, the Amorite king rumored to be one of the last of the enormous men who wandered this beautiful land, was defiant in his resistance against Mosheh’s request to pass through his territory. I’d once seen two of those frightening giants, mercenary soldiers among the army of Arad, both two heads taller than any of my brothers and with black eyes that consumed light like a bottomless pit. Even considering such a beast locked in battle with Tobiah sent a shiver down my spine. Once again I was grateful for the protection of the Hebrews’ laws. I had no desire to lose another loved one by the sword.

  Tobiah gripped the handle of his kopesh at his belt, his thumb caressing its hilt. “Alanah, I am a soldier. I have been training for this war since I was Liyam’s age and Shimon and I were cracking at each other with wooden swords. When it is time for me to return to service, I will do so.”

  Widow. The word reverberated in my head like a shofar call.

  “I know you have lost much. And if it is the will of Yahweh, you and I will live a long and happy life together in the Land.” He gestured toward the horizon. “But I will fight alongside my brothers. I will fight for the inheritance of my people.”

  “So you will choose fighting over me?” The image of my father and brothers disappearing up the road that led out of our valley brushed across my memory.

  “I choose to obey my God, Alanah. I will do whatever he asks me to do. A lesson that my brothers’ deaths taught me.” Tobiah was silent for a few moments, his eyes on the western hills across the Jordan valley. “I don’t remember much about them. Just a vague memory of sitting on Yonatan’s shoulders as we listened to Aharon read from the Torah scrolls one Shabbat. But I do remember that last day well, the day the earth swallowed them for their rebellion against Mosheh. And I remember how my mother was never the same, how she curled in on herself and was practically swept away with grief. She only lived another four years, and my father just two more after she died. My brothers knew the law and they chose, willfully, to rebel.”

  His nostrils flared and his eyes darkened. “They deserved the punishment they got, for dragging their families into their sin. They were guilty of not only rebellion, but of causing the deaths of their wives and small children.” He stared at me. “If Yahweh had allowed Korah and his unrepentant followers to live, their rebellion would have spread like a sickness through the camps. They were murderers. Just as if they killed their families with their own hands. As far as I am concerned, they killed my mother and father too. And a murderer deserves to die.”

  A shudder traveled through me and I looked away. Tobiah’s anger against his brothers was so palpable I could nearly taste the bitterness on my tongue. What could I say? My own family had abandoned me as well, every last one of them. “At least you had Nita and her husband to care for you and Tzipi.”

  He ignored my poor attempt at hiding my jealousy. “Yes. They treated us just like their own children.” Tobiah smiled. “You’ve experienced a bit of Nita’s mothering yourself.”

  “That I have.” Although living with Tobiah was so far beyond what I had expected, I did miss Nita and her stargazing tent. She insisted on hugging me all the time and outright demanded that I get pregnant before she died. The way she talked about her imminent demise set my teeth on edge. Yet another person who couldn’t wait to leave me.

  My gaze wandered toward the horizon. Had the temple my mother fled to been this far north? Or farther? As if simply speaking of her would dredge up the pain she’d caused with her flight, my father had refused to tell me more than that her family had fled the Hittites from some far country and settled in Canaan, where he’d met her at the temple. Perhaps looking at me had caused him pain too, which was why he’d eventually stopped doing even that . . . I caught myself and shook my head to yank my thoughts back in line. There was no use wondering about the past.

  Although I refused to look at him, I could practically feel Tobiah’s scrutiny of my face.

  “What is it?” he said.

  Unwilling to delve into thoughts of the woman who had chosen such degradation over me, I rasped a noisy sigh and rolled my eyes. “Nita constantly reminding me that she is going to fall over dead any day.”

  “Ah. Yes. Well, I have a feeling we have at least a few months ahead of us before we actually enter the Land. And the curse was that men of fighting age and older would die.” His voice lowered with emotion as he slipped his strong arm around my waist. “I think my doda may yet pitch her tent beneath the stars Avraham gazed upon.”

  I lifted a shoulder, unable to say more without revealing the hitch in my throat. Against my better judgment, I had come to care for Nita; her sharp wit and feisty personality paired well with mine, and she seemed to genuinely accept me, even if Tzipi continued to regard me with unbridled suspicion in her eyes.

 
With a sudden yank that nearly toppled me, Tobiah spun me around by the arm. He pulled me behind him, shocked and stuttering. “Stop, Tobiah. Where are you going?” I stumbled on a root, but he did not pause.

  “Back under those tamarisk trees.”

  “Why? Did you see an animal?” I glanced around, searching for a wildcat or a mountain goat, frowning at myself for not paying closer attention.

  “No.”

  “Tobiah, we need to go hunt. Sunrise is far past. We won’t find any game.” I ducked a low-hanging branch, laden with dark pink blossoms, as he led me under the shelter of a wide tamarisk enclosed on all sides by tall green vegetation. A quiet, private space, worlds away from the rush and bustle of the Hebrew camp. “What are you doing?”

  Turning, he slipped one arm around my waist and with the other slid the quiver and bow off my shoulder. “Distracting you.”

  “Are you now?” I raised my brows as he lowered my weapons to the ground without taking his eyes off me.

  With a little smirk he leaned forward as if to kiss me, but then instead put his lips near my ear. “Is it working?” His warm breath tickled and I restrained a shiver as the hair on the back of my neck rose.

  Clearing my throat to mask the effects, I replied with as much flippancy as I could muster. “Try harder.”

  His grin was audible in his answer. “Challenge accepted.”

  25

  16 ELUL

  1407 BC

  Stretching as I emerged from the tent, I breathed deep, grateful for the cool air here in this thickly forested land where leaves whispered along with the fresh breeze. What a contrast this beautiful country was to the gently rolling landscape and scorching heat of my home. The arduous, seemingly endless uphill trek, the cycle of raising and lowering tents at each stop, the eternal waiting for the long, winding snake of human bodies and animals to move forward—all of it was worth watching the dawn creep over these mountains. The snow-capped hills adorned themselves in pink and gold to match the sunrise.

  I drew my woolen wrap tighter around me. The weather had changed in the last few days, and this morning was the coolest yet.

  Endless trees stretched tall, shading our tents with long arms. A flock of red-cheeked finches rested in the branches, their journey crossing ours on their way south. Their chirrups were harmonized by a multitude of other birds, more varieties than I had ever seen congregated in one place. They flitted about, changing places on their perches, arguing with each other as they danced through the forest, fluttering branch to branch. Their loud calls echoed. Was it a warning against our progress? Or a welcome?

  Tobiah was gone, off to hunt again with a few other men who had also been charged with staying behind during the battle against Sihon’s forces. The manna was still fresh to me, even after four months, but this region was replete with game, and the taste of fresh ibex or deer roasted over the fire every night had been glorious. Although I looked forward to whatever he would bring back, I would give him plenty of grief for leaving me behind.

  I grinned to myself, wondering how he’d reacted to the new tunic I’d laid out for him after he’d fallen asleep. Kiya had been thrilled when I’d asked her to help me make the garment for Tobiah, and greatly amused when I’d told her it was because I loathed watching my husband dress each morning in a garment made by another woman’s hand. And since I’d shredded the thing to rags last night, I’d never have to see it again.

  I had awakened to the sound of Moriyah outside our tent before dawn, begging Tobiah to take her on the hunt. She’d become an avid student of the bow, picking it up quickly and eager to practice and, more often than not, hitting whatever dove or quail was unlucky enough to cross her path. Just as he had with me last night, Tobiah had fended off Moriyah with arguments that there were too many leftover enemies lurking in the woods, hungry for retribution against the Hebrews, and plenty of traders of all kinds who streamed through camp, some eager to sell hollow-eyed slaves, male and female, from the back of their wagons. His tone had brooked little argument, and even persistent Moriyah had been silenced by his gruff insistence that she must stay put in the campsite and help Tzipi and her mother.

  My increasingly sullen husband had too much time on his hands. It had been painful to watch him doing his duty as guard to the women and children left behind while the soldiers fought Sihon’s army. I reminded him that Mosheh had given newly married men a year off for enjoyment, not brooding about like a tethered dog, wishing they were off fighting battles.

  I guessed that many of his thoughts strayed toward the loss of Shimon and the last time he went off to war. He confided in me one night, as he held me close on our pallet, his lips close to my ear, that whenever he closed his eyes all he could see was Shimon’s eyes as they had been when he’d found him, sightless and vacant. He blamed himself for Shimon’s death, and no matter that I tried to assuage his guilt with assurances that he could have done nothing to protect his friend in that chaos, he would not listen.

  Liyam flashed by with a large group of other small children, his wooden sword uplifted and a battle cry on his lips. The unfettered laughter of the tiny warrior, and the exuberant wave he offered me, provoked a ripple of excitement deep in my belly. I placed my hand on the area that would soon begin to stretch in ways I could only imagine. Could it be that my body held a little boy like Liyam? A son who would someday walk in the footsteps of the man I had come to love?

  I’d waited to reveal anything until I knew for sure that my guess was correct, when my morning portion of manna turned my stomach and my monthly flow had once again not returned, but tomorrow I would search out Shira and confirm my pregnancy, before telling Tobiah that he would be a father. I closed my eyes, imagining the light that would dance in his brown eyes at the news. Although anxiety had seized me when I first suspected, I held tightly to Tobiah’s assessment that I would be a good mother, and determined to make it truth. I would do everything for this child. I would never leave it. Never toss it away like refuse. This child would know all the goodness I had not.

  A gust of wind whipped by, dragging my wild curls into my eyes. A constant frustration as my hair grew longer. Determined to tame them before heading down to the well to fill a jug, I ducked back inside the tent. My headscarf was nowhere to be seen—perhaps Bodo had dragged it off to one of his hiding places among our belongings. His spotted fur had matured into dark stripes and he was growing into his ears, but he’d not grown out of his playful ways. He’d pestered me all night long, attacking my feet beneath our blankets. Now he was curled up, sound asleep in his basket, oblivious to my muttering about his theft of my turban.

  Pulling the front of my hair back with a leather tie was the next best thing, so I found Tobiah’s satchel and dug my hand to the bottom, hoping to find one of his. I had teased him last night that someday my hair would be longer than his again and then finally I would be the wife. He’d pulled me into a deep kiss that proved my challenge ever so wrong.

  My hand met a hard lump at the bottom of the satchel, and I curled my curious fingers around it. It was a small, oblong package, wrapped tightly in a linen cloth. A whisper of guilt swished through me for prying among Tobiah’s personal things, but he had never forbidden me to do so and seemed to hide nothing from me.

  I carefully unwrapped the first layer of cloth, and a glint of red startled me.

  It was my hair.

  A lock of hair shorn from my head by Shira’s gentle hand on my wedding day, tied together with a small string.

  Tobiah had taken a keepsake from the floor of the tent and saved it among his possessions. My heart throbbed at the realization of what it meant. He had always been impossibly kind to me, since that first day on the battlefield, but until now I did not truly understand why. Though my stoic husband had never said as much, from the strand of hair in my hand I knew—he loved me.

  There was more, however, wrapped in the linen. I laid the lock of hair aside and rooted through the remaining treasures: a bluish-green-tinted sto
ne from the copper-laced valley where we first hunted together—the one he’d recently admitted to keeping as a reminder of the color of my eyes—a worn braided leather bracelet that I did not recognize, and a small, rudely carved wooden likeness of a lion.

  Considering what might be the significance of the previous two items, I reached back into the satchel. The fringe of a feather whispered against my finger as I pulled out the last item from the bottom of the bag. When the discovery lay naked in my palm, the tent seemed to sway around me and my knees buckled.

  In my hand lay the end of a broken arrow shaft with a turquoise kingfisher fletching, the edges of which were tinged with old blood. I’d held this arrow before, nocked it against my bowstring, and watched as it slammed into the side of a Hebrew warrior. Watched as the black-haired man had toppled to the ground.

  Horror paralyzed me as truth crept slowly through my bones.

  My arrow. Shimon’s blood.

  I had killed Tzipi’s husband—Yonel, Mahan, and Liyam’s father.

  I had killed my husband’s best friend.

  26

  My only arrow to have connected with an anonymous enemy in the chaos of battle was lying in my hand, testifying to my guilt and threatening to destroy everything.

  It was Shimon’s demise that I had rejoiced over in the few moments before I was wounded. With his sentimental nature, Tobiah must have retrieved my arrow from his body when he buried him on the battlefield. A token to remind him of all he had lost and why he should fight against my people. Against me.

  Heart pounding and head swimming, I returned the evidence with trembling hands, then carefully placed the lock of hair, the stone, the bracelet, and the lion back in the linen cloth and pushed the bundle to the bottom of his satchel. If only I had stopped my intrusion into that parcel when I discovered the lock of hair, satisfied with the revelation that Tobiah cared for me, never knowing the reason why he should not.