Wings of the Wind

by Connilyn Cossette

  The bloody face of the man who had slammed into me on his way to grip the horns of the altar flashed into my thoughts, silent accusation on his phantom lips. Murderer. Murderer. Murderer.

  What could I do? The only place I could go was back to Canaan, and the only way to sustain myself would be to follow my mother’s path to the steps of the temple. The temple where my unborn child’s life would be sacrificed in the name of greedy gods.

  No. Tobiah must never know.

  I could not breathe. The tent seemed to be a living thing, its walls pressing in on me from all sides. Needing to escape the suffocation, I stepped outside and was struck blind by the brilliant midmorning sun. Blinking to clear my sight, I glanced around camp, grateful that Moriyah was nowhere nearby. With the strange way she had of discerning things, she’d no doubt divine my guilt regardless of how well I controlled my expressions. There was too much of a seer in that girl.

  Tzipi, however, caught my eye from where she sat in a group of other women, carding wool. She stared at me with a look that bordered on suspicion. Desperate for a diversion to her curiosity, I searched out an empty water jug, slung it to my hip, and set off toward the well just downhill of our campsite.

  A group of Hebrew women passed by and, mistaking me for one of their own, smiled and waved, calling out that there was only a small line at the well and that I had picked a good time to come. If only they knew who I was and what sort of burden I carried, they would not be so gracious.

  Not anxious to cross paths with anyone else until I decided what to do, I branched off on another path. Birds filled the trees all around, chattering out conflicting tunes, adding to the cacophony of thoughts muddling my head.

  Would Tobiah send me to the elders? Have me stoned like the man at the Mishkan? Or for the sake of my babe, would he have mercy? Shimon had been nothing less than a brother to Tobiah; would it be my own husband who avenged the man’s blood? Would the man I loved kill me with the same sword he had stayed on the battlefield?

  A fallen oak on the edge of a small meadow beckoned me. Finding a seat in the curve of the tree, facing west, I breathed deeply, attempting to savor the freshness of the air. No wonder the Hebrews were set on conquering this area—it was beautiful. Although the weather was cooling, flowers danced in this meadow, dotting yellow and pink and white against the tall green grass.

  Their graceful stems brought to mind the kalaniot that bloomed blood-red near my home and the way my brothers teased me when I was a young girl by yanking the heads off the flowers and plucking their petals, with jests pointed at my red hair and inferior sex. I responded by reminding them of how the warrior goddess Anat had once threatened to bash in the head of El, the divine father, and echoed the threat with my bow. Although they continued to laugh, they left the kalaniot alone after that. It seemed my heart had always been full of murder, black from the start, and perhaps more like Anat than I’d ever considered.

  A hoopoe landed on the end of the tree, startling me with the flutter of his black-and-white-striped wings. He seemed unconcerned with my presence and perched there, cocking his fan-topped head at me with a curious expression. Perhaps he had caught sight of a centipede or some large beetle, for he ignored me and began poking his long bill into the crevices in the bark, rooting for his afternoon meal.

  “Ah. If only—” I spoke to the hoopoe, who focused on me as if sympathizing with my bitterness. He’d found his reward—a tiny green lizard dangled from his beak. He tilted his head again, studying me from another angle.

  I sighed, glad that I had someone to share the burden that sat on my chest like a boulder, even if it was a bird. “If only it hadn’t been me who killed his friend. Or at least I had never found that broken arrow in his satchel. Tobiah would never forgive me if he knew.”

  The bird startled, the feathers atop his head fanning out in surprise. Stretching his black and white wings wide, the hoopoe lifted with sharp speed and disappeared into the thick trees.

  “What broken arrow? What did you . . . ? Who did you kill?”

  The rapid demands were Tzipi’s. My back straightened but I could not turn. I dared not look at her or my face would divulge it all. But she already knew the answer, as if she lifted it from my culpable heart. Her words were daggers straight into my guilt-weary bones. “You killed my husband, didn’t you?”

  She came around in front of me, her every slow step pounding the accusation deeper into my heart. “Murderer. You . . . You stole my sons’ father. You stole my husband. My friend. My love. You took everything.” Each vitriolic statement slammed into me like a cascading series of blows.

  Lifting my face but avoiding her eyes, I pleaded, “It was not intentional. I shot wherever I could, it was chaos. War. I didn’t . . . I didn’t know you, or Shimon, or Tobiah.” My voice broke on my husband’s name.

  “I told Tobiah he should have left you there to rot and I was right. You deserved to die. Not him.”

  Although my gut shrieked to contradict her, I nodded my head. “If I could take it back, I would.”

  She continued as if she did not hear me. “I cannot believe I was about to attempt peace with you—thank you, even—for distracting the boys from their father’s death with your bow. Instead, I find you were the very one to cause their pain.”

  Her accusation wrapped itself like a corded vine, constricting my heart, squeezing, jabbing thorns deep—drawing blood.

  “Tobiah will know.” Her voice strengthened, undergirded by hate. “I will make sure of it. You are a murderer. No matter the law, you should never have been allowed to be among us. You will be stoned. There will be no mercy this time. You will pay for what you did—with your life.”

  Leaving the empty water jug on the log and without another look at Tzipi, I fled—with nothing but the tunic I wore, the sandals on my feet, and the baby inside me.

  27

  I jogged downhill on the path, the skill of chasing gazelle through heavy brush serving me well. Vines whipped my face, thorns tangling in my short hair and shredding my skin. It didn’t matter. Tzipi was right, I deserved no mercy. Pushing the brush aside, I nearly reveled in the sting of the sharp tips against my palms. I deserved no buffer from their assault. Perhaps it would have been better if my father had allowed me to be thrown to Ba’al after my mother ran off. At least Shimon would still be alive. My eyes burned, but I refused to allow myself the relief of tears as I slapped another layer of brick across the emotion. I stumbled out of the thick underbrush onto a road. Disoriented, I looked both ways. Where would I go?

  A snap of a branch behind me whipped my pulse into action. I was being followed. Was this the end? Was Tobiah here to kill me already? Turning north, I braced to run.

  “Alanah! Stop!”

  Moriyah’s voice halted me. I whirled around. How long had she been following?

  She crashed through the tall weeds I’d just emerged from, one hand on her side. “You are too fast.” She bent over and breathed heavily. “How do you run downhill like that? I tripped over every single tree root!” She straightened and stretched out a sandaled foot. “I smashed all of my toes.”

  “What are you doing?” Incredulous, I waved my free hand back up the hill. “Go back to camp!”

  She shook her head. “No. Not without you.”

  “I cannot.” Please, Yahweh, don’t make me tell her. I could endure Tzipi’s anger, but Moriyah . . . I didn’t want to see the light of friendship go out in her young eyes.

  “Yes. You can. Tobiah will understand.”

  I blinked. “Understand?”

  “Yes.” She aimed sober gray eyes at me. “You did not do it on purpose.”

  She knows. I could not force anything to come out of my mouth.

  “I saw Tzipi follow you. I wasn’t sure what she was planning, so I followed her.” A trace of contrition edged her explanation. “I heard your conversation.”

  I dropped my chin and looked at the dirt beneath my feet. “Then you know what I am. And why I cannot go back
.”

  She slid her hand down my arm to grip my fingers. “Yes. You are my friend.”

  I yanked my hand from her grasp and turned a fierce gaze on her. “I am not your friend. I murdered your brother.”

  Tears filled her eyes, and her lips quivered. “I know,” she whispered. “But I forgive you. You were fighting in a war. You did not set out to kill my brother specifically.”

  Guilt crashed hard against my ribs, and I dropped in the middle of the road, arms over my head and knees in the dirt. “No. You cannot do such a thing. I will not allow it.”

  Her hand was on my shoulder, rubbing, squeezing, trying to console me. I was a killer. Deserving of the stoning that Tzipi had threatened. Moriyah sat down next to me, cross-legged, still gripping my shoulder as if to keep me from running away.

  “You know,” she said, “my grandmother told us the story many times of how they left Egypt. She was younger than you, only sixteen at the time. She told Shimon and me of how the Hebrews had made the mistake of selling their loyalty to Pharaoh in exchange for food, good land, and security. During the many years between Yosef and Mosheh, they allowed Egypt to worm its way into their hearts. It only took a couple hundred years for most of us to begin worshipping Egyptian idols and forget who we were.”

  I’d heard this story before, as Tobiah had taught me the Hebrews’ ways. Yahweh had allowed them to go to Egypt, and when they were there they’d turned from the ancient paths.

  “My grandmother always said, ‘Did Yahweh leave us there?’ No. He did not. Even though our hearts were almost as hard as Pharaoh’s, he rescued us anyway. And we were given the invitation to follow him and see his miracles firsthand.”

  She pushed her face closer to mine, until I was forced to look up at her.

  “I will tell you this, one more time and then I will never say it again, because you will believe me. Yahweh gave us mercy, sending Mosheh from the mountain to rescue us, he forgave us. And I—” she placed her hand on my shoulder again—“I forgive you.”

  This girl was barely thirteen. How could she understand the depths of blackness inside my heart? I went to the battlefield to kill, to avenge my brothers and my father. I was not there to protect any life, or even my country. I was there to kill and had rejoiced when the arrow cut her brother down. Yes, guilt had assaulted me soon after, but before the guilt had washed over me, I had rejoiced in his death.

  I shrugged off her hand. “I do not deserve forgiveness, and you should not give it.”

  “None of us deserves forgiveness. And it is already given.”

  A loud whinny startled us both, and we jumped to our feet. A large man, gray-haired but muscular, approached us. I swiftly pushed Moriyah behind me, and she clung to the back of my tunic. Behind the man, a woman drove a team of horses pulling a long trader’s wagon. The baskets piled in the wagon bed overflowed with colorful wool blankets and goods of all kinds. The Hebrews had not sat idly in the wilderness for forty years, and traders were forever streaming through the camps, bartering for well-crafted pottery, fine linens, and weapons.

  “Well now, what do we have here?” said the man—Midianite, I guessed from the accent. His slow perusal of my body echoed his lazy drawl.

  “Leave us alone,” I said. “Our friends are just over there.” I pointed over to the empty tree line.

  He put a dirty hand above his brows and squinted, pushing his bottom lip out. “I see no one.” I shrank back and Moriyah clung tighter, her hand trembling against my back.

  The Midianite’s leering grin widened and he strode toward us—not even making a show of approaching gently. “There is no use in fighting, ladies. You are quite far enough away from that Hebrew horde that your screams won’t be heard. Besides—” smirking, he gestured with a glance behind me. “Kothar here snaps necks with just his thumbs.”

  Curling my arm back around Moriyah, I turned to look over my shoulder. A giant, nearly three heads taller than I, stood behind us, powerful arms folded across an expansive chest, a broad smile on a mouth crowded with overlapping yellow teeth, and his lone eye trained on Moriyah.

  Although my stomach was trembling and my mind twirling in circles, I stood fast and did not flinch. I would not give him, or the Midianite, the satisfaction of my fear. Whipping my head around, I lifted my chin. “What will you do with us?”

  Perhaps if I stalled them someone would find us. Even if it was the man who might plunge a sword into my chest for the death of his friend. At least Moriyah would be safe. Tobiah, please, rescue her!

  The Midianite tilted his head to the side, a leer twisting his face. He scratched his grizzled chin with his knuckles. “Well, let’s see now. We are on our way north toward Damascus. I am sure we can find a place for a couple of lovely girls.” His gaze traveled over my hair. “Good thing hair grows back or you wouldn’t be worth as much looking like that.”

  Nausea burned the back of my throat and Moriyah’s fingernails dug into my back as she sucked in a gasp.

  The man jerked a thumb toward the wagon. “Get in without a fight and you won’t die. Simple as that. Or shall I have Kothar help you ladies in?” He wrinkled his brow. “Although I should warn you: Sometimes my large friend is not so gentle.”

  “What do we do?” Moriyah’s whisper warbled with terror.

  My hands itched for the bow lying across my pallet in the safety of my tent. We had nothing to protect us. No dagger. No sword. I could try to fight Kothar with my bare hands, give Moriyah a chance to run, she was young and agile. But she might not outrun the Midianite, and if I was dead, I could do nothing to protect her. Our best chance—our only choice—was to go.

  When it had been just me, so many months ago, my life had meant so little that I had practically thrown it away with two hands. But I had my baby, and Moriyah, to consider now. Two lives to protect, alongside my own.

  “We go. Moriyah, if we fight them, they will kill us.” I reached behind me, pulled her cold hand into mine, and squeezed. “One way or the other, we will survive.”

  Tobiah

  Carrying a small doe over my shoulder, I grinned to myself, thinking of how my skills with a bow had been honed by practicing with Alanah. She’d be proud of the trophy I brought her, even if she’d been annoyed to be left behind while I hunted with a few other men from my tribe.

  She had a sharp eye and almost perfect aim. I loved her little ritual—the graceful strength with which she pulled the bowstring, then blinked slow and steady while she found her target, then sucked in a small breath before releasing. I could watch it all day.

  Today, I’d imagined her with me, slipping through the tangle of cedar and oak that stretched in every direction. The thought made me smile, and I’d had to glance around quickly to make sure none of the other men witnessed my foolishness. Anxious to hold her, and to mercilessly tease her about the tunic she’d torn into rags while I slept, I quickened my steps.

  A commotion greeted me at the campsite. A large group of women were congregated, talking over one another. As usual, Alanah was not among them.

  Tzipi rushed over as soon as she caught sight of me, her headscarf fluttering behind her. “Have you seen her? Is she with you?”

  “Alanah?” Why would Tzipi be looking for my wife?

  “No, Moriyah. Wasn’t she with you this morning? Did you take her hunting?”

  “No. She asked to go, even followed me for a while, but we went up into the hills so I sent her back here. Perhaps she is with Alanah? Gone to practice shooting?”

  A shadow passed over Tzipi’s expression. “No. No, she is not with her.”

  I put the doe on the makeshift table next to the fire and rinsed my hands in a bowl. I shook the water from my fingertips. “I’ll go ask Alanah if she has seen her.”

  Again, Tzipi’s face registered some emotion I could not place. Unease crawled beneath my skin. “What is it?” I pressed.

  She looked away. “I am simply concerned for Moriyah. No one has seen her since she followed you east, hours ag
o.”

  “Alanah will know. Moriyah follows her everywhere.” Leaving my sister, I ducked into our tent, expecting to see the face of the woman I loved lighting with pleasure at my return, but the tent was empty. Her bow missing.

  Emerging, I strode up to my sister, working very hard to quell the apprehension that surged through my limbs as I demanded she tell me where Alanah had gone.

  Instead of looking me in the eye, she tugged at her headscarf, tucking her flyaway hair beneath its covering. “She is gone.”

  “Gone? Where?”

  She shrugged, indifferent. “I have no idea.”

  The look on her face told me otherwise. “Where is my wife, Tzipi? What have you done?”

  An ugly sneer contorted my sister’s beautiful face. “I did nothing. Your wife has run away. And very good riddance to her.”

  A roar started somewhere in the pit of my stomach, and I clenched my fists tight to keep it from escaping my mouth. “Why would she leave? Did you say something to her? I asked you to be kind!”

  “I care nothing for that woman! She is gone and I am glad of it!” The words exploded from her lips with hissing vehemence that I’d never witnessed from my twin. “I only care that Moriyah is missing!” Tzipi’s expression abruptly transformed from anger to pleading desperation. She stepped forward and slipped her arms around me, voice trembling and body shaking. “I’ve already lost Shimon, Tobiah, we can’t lose her! What if she’s been taken? Please. Go find her!”

  Looking north, I squinted. The trail curved to the west, toward Canaan, and then disappeared into the green void beyond, the thick forest obscuring my view. Having split from Noach and Simcha, who, along with a few other men from our tribe had joined the search, I’d followed this trail through the brush and ended at this place. Numerous tracks crisscrossed here, a product of the countless travelers who traversed this wide road that stretched from Egypt up past Damascus in the north. Yet there was a spot where small sandal tracks mingled with larger ones, some so big I could not believe they were real. I had heard stories of giant men who lived in these lands, but I could not wrap my mind around the idea that little Moriyah might be held by one of them. The sandal prints ended abruptly in the middle of the road where the wagon tracks crossed them. She’d been taken. And who knew how long ago?