Wings of the Wind

by Connilyn Cossette

  “I have to get her back. I have to go,” I said, already pushing Natanyah into my mother’s arms. My mother and Rahab protested, insisting there was nothing I could do.

  “She is my responsibility. I cannot abandon her. They will kill her, I know it. They will destroy her, and then they will kill her. Especially if the Hebrews attack.”

  “But you could be killed, Alanah.” My mother’s voice wavered. “You cannot win against Mishabel’s guards.”

  “That is true. But at least this time I am going into battle for the right reasons.” I pressed a swift kiss to my daughter’s temple and breathed in her sweet fragrance. “Take care of her. She is . . .” My voice cracked, along with my heart, as I looked into my mother’s eyes. “She is everything.”

  Slowly she nodded. She, out of anyone, understood the ripping pain that was shredding me to pieces. She would keep my beautiful girl safe. Just as she had kept Rahab safe by breaking her own heart and leaving me behind.

  Moriyah had no one. I could not let her suffer without at least attempting to rescue her from the situation I had caused.

  Rahab urged me to wait a moment while she rooted in a large crate in the corner, then handed me a small but well-crafted bow and a quiver with two arrows. “A guest left these behind months ago.” She pressed a kiss to my cheek. “I wish I could do more.”

  I gripped the bow and slung the quiver over my shoulder. With one final look at Natanyah squirming in my mother’s arms, I stepped over the remains of the shattered door, past the crumpled form of Ohel at the foot of the stairs, and ran into the night, heading toward the only place I was sure Moriyah would be taken. The temple.

  42

  I stole among the darkening streets, sliding shadow to shadow until I reached the center of town and found the same gate we had exited that first night in Jericho. I scrambled over the gate and dropped into the lush garden that we had fled through as my mother rescued us.

  The living quarters where we’d been held were directly across the courtyard, but the windows were all dark. Instead of crossing out into the open, I held to the wall, feeling my way along the brick through the garden and around the side of the tall migdol tower that guarded the entrance to the main sanctuary.

  I peered around the corner and breathed a prayer of thanks. Moriyah’s arms were pulled behind her, tied around a tall pole. But she was alive and, so far, unharmed. The wooden column was carved with intricate depictions of Jericho’s many gods, their hideous faces leering over Moriyah’s shoulders. A young, bare-chested priest stood in front of her, holding a rod over the flames of a large brazier and chanting something over and over that I could not decipher.

  A woman’s voice from close by commanded him to “Get it over with.” Was it Mishabel? Taking advantage of the shadows between torches, I moved closer, trying to get a glimpse of the old priestess and judge how many guards I was up against.

  The priest lifted the rod—a brand, still glowing red from the searing fire he’d been using to heat the metal. Even as I whipped an arrow from my quiver and nocked it, a scream that froze my blood emanated from Moriyah’s lips.

  I shouted at the priest and he spun around, searching out the one who called to him from the shadows. Sucking in a quick breath, I released the arrow and the priest toppled backward, my arrow protruding from his head.

  I nocked another arrow and moved toward Moriyah. The poor girl was in a near-faint, slumped forward against her bonds, whimpering from the searing burn she’d received. My chest roared with rage. How could they destroy her sweet face?

  “You can’t do much with one arrow.” I spun toward the voice. Mishabel stood on the temple porch, a feline smile on her red lips. She laughed and flicked her long nails at us. “Guards, take her.”

  “Stop!” I ordered, and to my surprise the men halted. “Have you looked at your friend the priest there?” I said to Mishabel, jerking my chin at the body.

  With a furrowed brow, she did, and the satisfied smile melted from her face.

  “That’s right. Directly through the eye. And I did it from over there, at least fifteen paces away. It doesn’t matter if you try to flee. I can hit a deer at a run.”

  She sneered. “The guards will kill you both immediately if you harm me.”

  “I don’t care. I would rather both of us die than what you are planning to do to Moriyah. It won’t happen.”

  She cocked her head. “So we are at an impasse?”

  “Let her go.”

  “I cannot, I have already promised the king an eyewitness. This little Hebrew will share what she knows and then will be sacrificed to protect us from invasion. A young virgin, and an enemy at that—Heshbaal will be pleased. And I waited until the time was just right to take her from your sister’s house. I’ll have my revenge against you, your mother, and Rahab while repaying a debt to the king.” She clucked her tongue against her teeth. “It’s perfect.”

  My stomach hollowed. Dayatana must have revealed what she knew. All those months of trying to hide and Mishabel had known the entire time where we had been.

  Moriyah whimpered. They had branded her like an animal. One side of her face was flaming red and blistering, a permanent scar that would forever mark her as a temple slave covering her cheek and the corner of one eyelid. It was a miracle that two silver-gray eyes streamed with tears instead of just one. I would not let them hurt her again. I may have stolen her brother’s life, but I would not let anyone steal hers.

  “Take me,” I said.

  Mishabel threw her head back and laughed. “You? What use are you? You are certainly no virgin.”

  “I am a witness too. I lived with the Hebrews for months.”

  She quirked a brow.

  “I was married to one of their soldiers. And my sister is Rahab. She told me much of your king and how much he enjoyed her . . . company.”

  Her eyes flared wide but then she shook her head, one fist on her hip. “No. I want the girl.”

  “It’s either me and you release her, or we all die. Your choice.” I pulled back harder on the bow, aiming at the center of her chest, at her blackened heart.

  She studied me, gauging my sincerity, then waved a hand at one of the guards. “Cut the girl loose.”

  “No, Alanah. I can’t leave you,” Moriyah said as the guard freed her, tears glutting her voice. “I won’t.”

  I kept my eyes on the priestess. “You must.” I used the only weapon I knew she could not stand against. “You must care for Natanyah, so she knows the ways of Yahweh. She needs you. Please. Go back to your family. Tell Tobiah—”

  A few moments of silence followed, but then I felt a kiss on my cheek and her whisper in my ear. “I will tell Tobiah that you love him.” And then she was gone, off into the night.

  With my eyes still locked on Mishabel, I waited, giving Moriyah as much time as I could before I surrendered. My muscles began to quiver, and I cursed myself for being out of practice. Please, Yahweh, guide Moriyah’s path to Rahab’s house. Protect her. Protect them all.

  With as much strength and courage as it had taken to step out onto that battlefield, I lowered my bow and bowed my head. Forgive me for ever fighting against your people, for being selfish and ignorant. I offer you my life, in exchange for Shimon’s.

  The guards charged me, relieved me of my weapon, and wrenched my arms behind my back. Mishabel strolled up to me and put her cosmetics-laden face directly in front of mine. Every line and wrinkle showed beneath the caking mess slathered across her skin. The kohl around her eyes only drew attention to the age spots and slack skin, and the red stain on her mouth did nothing to hide the two large sores on her upper lip. She was even older than I had guessed, and likely the priestess who had enslaved my mother all those years ago.

  “I will make you wish you never did such a foolish thing,” she said.

  I just smiled at her as incomprehensible peace flooded through me. Moriyah was safe, Yahweh was watching over her. Natanyah would be safe with my mother and Rahab, an
d the Hebrews would rescue them all. My debt was paid—these people could do what they wanted to with me.

  I was marched back to the house I’d been held in before. With an almost gleeful flourish of her hands, Mishabel ordered a few servants to prepare me for a meeting with the king in the morning. “You know what he likes,” she said. “Make sure she is marked as well. She belongs to our Lord Baal and his Divine Queen now. Just her hand, mind you. This face . . . I have plans for this face.” She scraped a long hennaed finger down my cheek, her dark eyes glittering. “Rahab’s sister. Tashara’s daughter. Oh, this will be lovely. I’ve waited a long time to collect on those debts.” Satisfaction oozed from her sore-laden smile before she strode out the door, ordering two of her largest guards to ensure I behaved myself. Both men stood inside the door, leering as the servant girls forced me to undress, washed me with icy water, shaved every bit of hair from my body, and then dressed me again in a filmy gown that left nothing to the imagination. By the time they finished, I was past shame and had taken to boldly glaring at the guards with my jaw firmly set and my shoulders back. These people may own my body, but I wouldn’t let them break my spirit.

  The girls braided my hair, which was now down to my shoulders, and applied thick cosmetics to my face, a foreign feeling. Other than the time I wore kohl to disguise myself from the soldiers, I had never even lined my eyes. I preferred the mud-beard I had slathered over my chin as I prepared for battle so many months ago.

  Then, without warning, the guards approached and held me down in my chair. My ears and nose were pierced and gold hoops inserted. I refused to cry out at the pain each time the needle stabbed me, instead focusing all my energy into glaring a hole into the back wall.

  But I could not help but whimper as they tattooed the back of my hand, almost wishing they’d given me a brand like poor Moriyah. Yet, even as the bone needle sliced over and over into my skin before ash and indigo were smeared into the bloody wounds, I concentrated on holding my body as still as stone. I refused to give my captors satisfaction by surveying the damage they had done to my hand. Besides, I knew what I would see, the same crescent moon and wheeled sun-disk that marked my mother and sister as temple prostitutes. Forever identified as the thing I hated the most.

  When the servant girls had finished their hideous tasks, I was led to another room. The guard unlatched the lock on the door and swung it wide. Eight young girls slept on two pallets, jammed together like mice in a hole. A couple of them raised their heads and shielded their eyes from the guard’s oil lamp. They were shockingly young, two of them nearly the same age as little Pilar, and most younger than Moriyah, all of them strangely silent. Were these children sold by their own parents like my mother had been? Or snatched from the street like Rahab? My stomach clenched with disgust and fury. This—this was what Rahab had endured. No wonder Yahweh was coming to destroy this city. The depravity of Jericho knew no bounds.

  If only I had my bow and the two men on either side of me were not so heavily armed, I would begin the battle right here. Instead, I was pushed inside, ordered to stay presentable or face the lash, and locked in the darkness with a roomful of girls who I was helpless to protect from the evil that lurked outside.

  43

  4 IYAR

  1406 BC

  After sleepless hours with my swollen breasts aching every time I imagined Natanyah’s sweet voice and my hand stinging from the ugly tattoo that sprawled across my skin, the door jolted open and two new guards ordered me to follow them. Although all of the girls awakened at the intrusion, eerie silence filled the room full of children that should be laughing and playing in the sunshine. Filled with bone-aching pity, I let my eyes travel around the room, meeting the curious kohl-lined gaze of each precious child before obeying the guard’s command. Yahweh, rescue these girls.

  With outrage and terror roiling in my gut, I was led through the courtyard, wearing my flimsy gown, back to the temple. Mishabel met me on the same porch she’d threatened me from last night. Her slow perusal of my transformation made me ill. “Good,” she said. “Very good. You’d better hope the king is well-pleased, he will be angry you are not that Hebrew girl.”

  With a flick of her wrist, she led me up the stairs that stretched between the migdol towers and into the temple where the stench of incense and blood was so strong I grew light-headed. I held my hand over my nose and kept my eyes on the floor. I did not even want to consider what was going on in the dark cells that lined the temple walls and wished I could cover my ears against the sounds that emanated from them.

  A constant humming chant grew louder as we moved closer to the back of the temple, where the light from the main entrance was overtaken by shadows and flickering torches.

  Mishabel led me into a wide room, where a towering statue of Ba’al sat enthroned next to Ashtoreth, his sun-crowned consort, with one upraised fist clutching a silver lightning bolt. I’d seen many iterations of Ba’al, large and small, and never felt any fear. But this menacing idol glowering down at me with glittering eyes made from some dark jewel caused a shiver to run from the top of my head down to my heels. Evil filled this room like smoke, and every breath I took seemed thinner than the last, as if these awful gods were stealing my air.

  “This is no Hebrew girl, Mishabel.”

  Mishabel bowed low as a man entered the sanctuary. “No, my lord. I am very sorry to say that the Hebrew girl died escaping last night.” Her lie was flawless, delivered with just a hint of false compassion.

  The king was not nearly as old as I had expected, close to my oldest brother’s age perhaps. His bald head was tattooed, his beard shaved on both sides and braided a handspan below his chin, and his heavily muscled arms were marked with many scars. I had no doubt why this man ruled Jericho, for even wearing a sleeveless blue robe with golden fringe, he was terrifying. The Babylonian-style garment had been woven with such tight precision that it shimmered in the flickering light. It was the robe of a high priest.

  He approached me, frowning. “Then who is this?”

  “She lived with the Hebrews and has offered to give you valuable information about their army.”

  “You? Aren’t you Canaanite?” He raised his brows at me. His eyes were light brown, but his pupils were large and black and madness hovered in their depths.

  Although tempted not to answer, I decided courage was my best course of action. I held my head high. “I was taken captive many months ago and traveled with them from the southern desert.”

  “And you saw the cloud?” His tone was oddly enthusiastic. He stepped close to me, tilted his chin, and peered into my eyes. He smelled of exotic oils and his breath was sweet with mint, a stark contrast to the foulness of the air in this temple and, I guessed, the putrid blackness that colored his soul.

  “Yes, I did.” The Voice within it spoke to my heart. I concentrated on not flinching as his peculiar eyes traveled over my face, as if he were studying me, trying to discern whether I was lying.

  I must have passed the test. He swung around and clapped his hands together once, like an overeager child. “And you know something of their warfare tactics?”

  “I fought against them before I was taken captive. And I am—I was also married to one of their soldiers.”

  He cocked his head to one side. “You remind me of someone . . .”

  I sighed. “I am the sister of Rahab, who used to serve in this temple.”

  “Ah! Yes! That is who you remind me of!” He smiled and spread his hands wide. “How could one ever forget Rahab? And you are her sister? Hmm. Yes, very good.” His eyes roamed over me with excruciating leisure. I barely contained the instinct to cover my body with my arms.

  “Mishabel,” he said without taking his eyes off me. “You may go.”

  She dipped her head and began to back away. “Thank you, my king.”

  He snapped his fingers at her, halting her groveling exit. “You and I, we are even now. There is no more debt between us.”

  She acknowledge
d him with a patronizing dip of her head, threw me a satisfied glance, and swept out of the room.

  The king stood with his back to me, staring up at the statue of Ba’al, hands clasped behind his back. “So you lived among the Hebrews?”

  “Yes, for four months.”

  “And you married one?”

  “I did.”

  He turned and then circled around me. “And you loved him?”

  “He was my enemy.” My rescuer. My love. The father of my child.

  He folded his hands together and placed his chin on the point of two fingers. “Tell me what they plan to do.”

  “I cannot. I was taken by Midianites seven months ago. I have no idea what their strategy is.”

  He made another circle around me, closer this time, determination in the set of his mouth. “This is the seventh day they have come to parade around and blow their horns. Why do they wait?”

  I shrugged. “Yahweh seems to do things in his own time.”

  A shofar blew at that moment, a low sound that seemed to come from all around. Another joined, and then another. How could the sound of a few shofars resonate so clearly all over the city and reach us here inside the sanctuary of the temple?

  “They have surrounded the city again. They’ve been marching around and around and around this morning.” His voice lifted over the noise.

  They had not left after one circuit today? They were still marching?

  “I will not let those slaves take my city.” His wild eyes locked on me as he came closer, and I backed up a few steps. “I will ensure that Lord Ba’al protects us.” I retreated again, but my bare heels struck the platform that held the enormous statues. I could go no farther. To the right of me was a crimson-stained stone altar.

  “That virgin Hebrew girl would have been a better sacrifice, but blood is blood.” He slipped a long dagger from his belt and lifted it to my throat. “How kind of you to put yourself in just the right place.” He chortled, a maniacal sound, and lifted his brows twice. “It’s almost—almost as if you are eager to die for the sake of Canaan.”