Wings of the Wind

by Connilyn Cossette

  The shofarim were louder now, so loud that I almost had to shout to be heard over the tumult. “No. I won’t die for Canaan. It may be my homeland, but it’s no longer my home. Israel is my home.”

  Fury cut across his features, and he pressed the tip of the dagger into the base of my throat. I sucked in a breath and closed my eyes, conjuring up the images of my daughter and my husband to dwell upon as I died. The shofarim were so loud now I wondered if the Hebrews were right outside the temple.

  A deafening crack shattered my concentration. My eyes fluttered open just as a large fissure split the northern wall and daylight spilled inside. The king gasped, and I spun to see what had the man so startled.

  Ba’al’s head separated from his body and tumbled to the floor, followed by the thunderbolt and his outstretched hands. The sun-crowned head of Ashtoreth followed suit, crumbling from her neck as if lopped off by a giant invisible sword. Her hands, too, disintegrated into a pile of rubble at her feet.

  The king fled the room, his face drained of all color. With only a moment to consider, I followed him, hoping that in the confusion, no one would see me sprint through the temple. If the Hebrews were coming, I needed to be in Rahab’s house, the only house that would be spared in this city. Pushing aside priests and priestesses staring at the destruction behind me, hands to their ears to block out the swelling sound of the rams’ horns, I headed for the gaping entrance.

  Vicious snapping and cracking sounded behind me, but just as I reached the porch I heard my name being called out. Casting a glance over my shoulder, I caught sight of Mishabel at the center of the temple, black hair disheveled as she pointed at me, ordering her guards to catch me. But the roof suddenly caved in, swallowing her in splintered cedar wood and dust.

  What was happening here? Surely a few thousand shofarim could not make such a terrifying noise, a noise that would destroy a temple.

  The sound continued to swell, vibrating the ground beneath my feet as I tore through the temple courtyard. Although many guards and soldiers filled the area, none tried to stop me. For all they knew I was just a zonah trying to save myself. A worthless girl who meant nothing to them.

  The girls!

  Without conscious thought I spun around and headed for the house. I barreled inside, pushing aside panic-stricken servants to throw aside the bar on the door that held the children captive. Eight pairs of kohl-lined, terrified eyes met mine.

  “Come, girls. It’s time to go!” I shouted over the noise, beckoning them toward me. “If you stay here, you will die!”

  I herded the girls toward the market, still surprised that they’d all trusted me and followed me out of the house without question. By the time we reached the outer stalls, the shofarim had grown impossibly louder and the entire city began to shake, just as the temple complex had done.

  The girls screamed, and I hollered at them to hold hands, but to keep moving. The stones beneath our feet seemed to be rolling like a wave, so I grabbed the closest girl’s hand and ran, hoping the rest of the children would follow.

  Everyone around us was screaming and shouting, dodging to hide beneath wagons and merchant tables, but I pressed forward, determined to reach the outer rim of the city and Rahab’s home.

  Glancing over my shoulder as we passed through the gate, I realized the two smallest girls were falling behind. Letting go of the hand I’d been holding, I doubled back and swung one of the girls onto my hip. Clutching the other’s hand, I bellowed at the others to run faster, toward the outer wall.

  Around us houses were crumbling, mud bricks shattering into dust. A horse galloped past, his eyes swirling in fear, barely missing one of the girls as he thundered by. Screams emanated from every window as walls tumbled down. Everyone was running a different direction, in a desperate and futile bid for shelter.

  The shaking halted for a brief moment, but instinct told me the worst was yet to come. I blinked my eyes against the dust that billowed from the wreckage around me. Between the bright sun and the swirling clouds of debris, I could see nothing. Could not see Rahab’s home. Please, Yahweh. You told me you had a plan. Is this that plan? That we all die here in Jericho?

  In answer to my plea, my vision cleared and I saw the house. Even though all the other homes nearby were destroyed, it still stood. My heart pounded. They were safe. They had to be safe. My arms ached for my baby.

  The door to the bottom level of Rahab’s inn had swung open from the shaking. I pointed to the doorway and the girls ran toward it. I clutched the small girl whose arms encircled my neck like a vise and muttered assurances that I knew she could not hear over the unearthly shofarim and the violent trembling of her body. The seventh girl entered the house at the same moment another huge jolt of the ground wrenched me from my feet and I tumbled forward. Cradling the girl close to me, I crawled toward the door, which had slammed shut.

  Just as I reached the doorway, the shofarim sounded again, a blast of sound that seemed even louder than the last. The world shook as I huddled against the door, shielding the tiny girl with my body, my bloodied hands braced against the wood as the sky itself seemed to quake.

  Something hit my head and the world went dark.

  44

  Tobiah

  I pulled in a deep breath to blow the shofar one last time. Jericho had fallen. Not by my hand, or the hand of any other Hebrew. But by the mighty hand of Yahweh.

  We had simply watched as Jericho was destroyed by the sound of our rams’ horns. When the last trumpeting blast died away and the walls finished tumbling, we stood in reverent silence as dust and smoke rose into the air. There was no sound. The birds had long since fled from our braying noise, and everyone in the city was smashed beneath a pile of rubble.

  Orders were given to go in, to ensure no survivors.

  No survivors.

  No one could live through that devastation. No one. The area in which the two spies told us Moriyah and Alanah were hidden had crumbled along with the rest of the city.

  I dreaded every step toward the remnants of Jericho. We climbed through the broken ramparts, slowly, avoiding the precarious landslides of rubble that had pitched down the slopes all around.

  There was no movement that I could see, although a few deep-voiced screams from far off told me that Canaanite soldiers had been discovered alive, and dispatched.

  Yehoshua had given strict orders that not one item be taken from the city, not one person taken captive. And seeing the destruction that Yahweh had caused here, surely no one would be tempted to disobey.

  My feet moved toward the portion of the city the spies had indicated. To my relief and surprise, one large house stood. It was leaning, but stubbornly clung to the only portion of the outer wall that remained upright.

  The door hung by only one hinge but I moved toward it, drawn by the last shred of hope that clung to my heart. A pile of rubble lay across the threshold, the remnants of a corner of the roof that had disintegrated. But it was not only bricks on the ground. Someone lay trapped beneath the pile, halfway inside the doorway. A pair of bare feet were visible along with the hem of a dress. I moved closer. It was a woman. A woman with flaming red hair.

  I pulled mud bricks and shards of wood off her, calling her name, desperately watching for movement. I brushed debris from her face, surprised by the amount of kohl she seemed to be wearing. But it was her, it was Alanah. She was clutching a small girl to her chest, a girl whose open eyes were staring into a world beyond this one. Carefully I lifted the small body and placed it to the side.

  I leaned over Alanah, begging Yahweh for some sign of life, and nearly shouting from relief when I felt the slightest wisp of air on my cheek. She was alive!

  Gently, I turned her over. What was she wearing? A sheer linen gown fitted tightly around her body, leaving most of her exposed. Long gold earrings hung from her ears, a gaudy beaded hoop pierced her nose, and beneath the dirt, her lips were painted red and her cheeks smudged with color.

  What had she done to hersel
f? Had she been prostituting herself to survive? Disgust and anger coursed through my veins. I had promised that she would never have to make such a choice again. Another promise I had failed to fulfill.

  Yet, even as I railed at Yahweh for not guarding her against such debasement, I remembered the words he had given me. You are not a god. Perhaps there was more here to understand than what my eyes could see. Perhaps, even in this, Yahweh had a plan. I’d seen the river stop its flow and the walls of Jericho crumble before my eyes. I had no right to question his will, or the power and methods with which he accomplished it.

  I crouched down and picked up the battered body of my wife.

  Alanah stirred in my arms, her eyes fluttering open. She stared at me. “Tobiah?”

  My pulse pounded in my ears at the sound of her voice, as well as the sight of those clear pools of blue-green that had called to me on a battlefield and upended my world. “Yes, Alanah. I am here.”

  “No . . . I’m not . . .” She grimaced, straining at her words. “You are . . . you are gone. Natanyah . . . the girl.” The ramblings made little sense, but at least she had spoken before her eyes closed and she lost consciousness again.

  I brushed my lips across the purpling bruise on her forehead and pulled her close. “I have you, Ishti. I am not letting go.”

  Alanah

  6 IYAR

  1406 BC

  A warm hand caressed my face. “Are you awake now, sweet girl?” The voice was familiar, but I could not place it, it did not belong to the palace in Jericho—or had I already left that evil place? Yes. I was running and the world was falling apart. And all the girls . . . My baby! Natanyah!

  My eyes snapped open and Shira’s gray-green ones smiled back at me. “There now. You are back in the land of the living.” She smoothed my curls away from my face. “Your hair has grown so quickly! I did hate cutting it.”

  I tried to sit up but weakness overwhelmed me, forcing me back to the pallet. “Where am I?”

  “Home,” she said. “Back where you belong.”

  “How did I get here?”

  “Tobiah brought you.”

  He was here? He had seen me?

  It had seemed only a dream, Tobiah holding me, calling me ishti. But the last thing I could remember clearly was the palace and the king leering at my sheer clothing before the heads of the gods tumbled to the ground. My clothes! Instinctively I grabbed at my chest, but the horrendous filmy gown Mishabel had forced me into had been replaced by a soft woolen shift. Relief touched every corner of my soul. I hoped the thing had been burned.

  Compassion pulled at the corners of Shira’s mouth. “Moriyah told us everything, Alanah. And—”

  “Where is—?” I pushed up on my elbows. Rahab sat cross-legged across the tent, with my mother holding Natanyah next to her. A relieved sigh expelled from my lungs. “Can I hold her, please?”

  “Of course.” Shira’s face lit with excitement. “She is so beautiful! Just like her ima.”

  After laying Natanyah in my arms, my mother knelt next to me. “We have been so worried. I cannot believe you were right outside the door and we did not see you.” Tears filled her eyes.

  I brushed my lips across my daughter’s soft cheek and breathed deeply of her sweet scent. “Those girls, from the palace—are they safe?”

  Sadness crumpled her brow. “Most of them are, kalanit. But the little one . . . she did not survive.”

  The knowledge pierced my chest. Poor child. Such heartache for such a short life.

  “She is safe in the arms of Yahweh,” said Shira. “And you saved seven other lives, Alanah. Seven girls who would not be alive without your courage. And each life is precious.”

  “As I have learned,” I said, drawing Natanyah closer to nurse her. The familiar tug at my breast soothed the loss of the little one who had clung to me so tightly, as did Shira’s reassurance that Yahweh cared for even a tiny, nameless girl.

  I trailed my fingers through Natanyah’s red curls and she sighed as she suckled, her tiny fingers curling and uncurling as her eyes drifted shut in contentment.

  “We will leave you to rest now, dear, and enjoy some time with your precious girl,” said Shira. “Kiya and Moriyah have been asking after you constantly. Although you have quite the bump on your head, when you are feeling up to it, there are a few people anxious to see you.”

  Tobiah? A spring of hope welled inside me but was quickly quenched by the hint of sadness that crossed Shira’s features.

  “What is it?” I tensed my body, preparing for the news of Tobiah’s marriage.

  “We will talk later,” she said. “We have much to tell you. For now, you enjoy your precious baby and Bodo there.” She pointed toward the basket-cage in the corner, where my sand cat slept curled into a ball. Nita had kept him?

  With an encouraging smile, the midwife led my mother and Rahab outside, a strange mixture of family, old and new.

  It was as I had guessed, and dreaded, and hoped. Tobiah had taken Keziah as a wife, which in turn had kept him from dying in battle. All the pleas to Yahweh had not been in vain; the man I loved still lived. And that was enough. It must be enough.

  “Has he seen you?” I said to Natanyah, who was studying me with wide-eyed curiosity. “Even if he is not my husband anymore, he will always be your abba.” I pressed a kiss to her smooth forehead. “A man who could love his enemy will have no trouble loving you.”

  With a gurgle, Natanyah smiled for the first time and bent her elbow back with a flap of her arm to smack her tiny palm against my chest. I laughed. “Oh, don’t you worry, I will teach you how to pull a bow, no matter what your abba says.”

  When I lifted my hand to caress her cheek, the ugly tattoo caught my eye and shame filled me once again. How would I ever face him?

  I stepped into the bright sunshine with Natanyah against my shoulder. My head still throbbed, but my vision was clear. The Hebrews were encamped at the bottom of a hill, their vast well-ordered numbers a welcome sight. To the south lay Jericho, a crumbled waste amid the fertile beauty of the valley. The tent I had been in seemed to be on the very edge of camp, facing away from the rest of the multitude. Above us, to the west, stood the Mishkan, gleaming brilliant white against the blue sky and green land. Yet the Cloud that usually hovered above the Mishkan was absent. I scanned the valley but the only clouds were feathered high above us, moving slowly across the heavens.

  Panic seized me. Where was Yahweh? Had he left his people? But my pulse slowed as I considered the destruction at Jericho. Nothing but a divine hand could have caused the obliteration of such a heavily fortified city. And once again, he had heard me when I’d called. He’d saved those girls—or most of them.

  His Cloud may not be visible anymore above the Mishkan, but surely his presence hovered above this assembly and over his people. A whisper of something holy—something beautiful—thrummed in my veins, as if here at the foot of this hill Yahweh was closer than ever. And since this was the land promised to Avraham hundreds of years ago, I suspected that, along with the inheritance the Hebrews were now living in, a divine presence surrounded them in this place, watched over them like a loving father.

  “Alanah! You are awake!”

  I looked behind me to find Moriyah approaching. Her horrific wound was covered by a thin headscarf she’d arranged across her face. My stomach churned. If only I had been a few minutes earlier, faster with my bow . . .

  “Oh, Moriyah . . .”

  She lifted a hand to push back the veil, revealing the crescent moon and sun-disk that had been etched into her skin. Salve shimmered on the flaming wound, exaggerating the swelling. She grimaced as she rearranged the veil. “It is awful, but it was not as bad as it could have been. That horrid priest had only just begun branding me. Without your intervention, I could have been blinded, Alanah. Shira says it will scar, of course, but I am alive.” She shrugged.

  Alive and marked as temple property for the rest of her life. “Forgive me—”

  S
he put up a hand. “There is nothing to forgive. You saved me in the river. You protected me all throughout our journey. And you offered up your own life for mine. No—I will not let you apologize.” She grazed a knuckle down my baby’s cheek with a soft coo, as if eager to distract from the subject. Natanyah yawned and settled against my shoulder.

  Shaking my head, I let the matter drop, for now. “Where are the girls? The ones from the temple?”

  “Oh, Alanah.” She clapped her hands together. “What a miracle. I cannot believe you made it through that earthquake with those children! They are being well cared for by your mother and sister. And Yehoshua himself thanked Rahab for protecting those two spies and invited the whole family to live here, on the edge of camp.” She gestured to the tent I’d just emerged from. “If they choose to stay, and become one of us, they will be welcomed.”

  Just as I had been welcomed, even when I was an enemy.

  “Where is Nita?” I said, eager to see the woman who had been so kind to me in spite of my rough edges.

  Moriyah’s face fell. “Nita is gone, Alanah. Tobiah said they found her in her tent one morning a few weeks ago, gazing up at the sky with a look of absolute peace on her face. She caught a glimpse of Canaan, but she never set foot inside it.”

  Although she’d assured me it would happen, grief struck me hard. Nita had been a true friend to me and her loss tarnished a bit of the shine from my joy at being among the Hebrews again. “She is with her Zakariyah, then.” My voice wobbled, and I paused, working to choke back the tears that seared my throat. “I wish I had thanked her for her kindness to me.”

  Before I could say more, Moriyah’s gaze drifted over my shoulder, just as a voice I had not been prepared to hear spoke behind me.

  “Moriyah, may I speak to Alanah for a moment? Alone?”

  My back stiffened, and everything in me stilled. Did I have the strength for this confrontation? Here and now? After handing Natanyah to Moriyah, I closed my eyes for a moment and breathed slowly through my nose, hoping to dredge up a bit of the courage I’d summoned when facing down an army, an evil priestess, and a bloodthirsty warrior-king.