by Marc Graham
The priests stared in silence at Yetzer. Afraid he’d spoken too boldly, he opened his mouth to emend his reply, then closed it again. If he was to be enslaved, it would be for speaking truth, not for equivocating.
“Brethren,” the high priest said, “you have heard the reply of the candidate. What say you? Shall he be admitted to the trials?”
“Yes,” said Imtef, a slight curl at the corner of his mouth.
“Yes,” said another, and another, until seven of the priests had given their blessings.
“Brother Merisutah?” the hierophant prompted.
The priest twitched his nose and studied Yetzer through sharp black eyes. “If he wishes to chase after light in the afterlife, so be it. I daresay he’ll be dead or in shackles ere he leaves this place. Yes.”
“And I say yes,” Huy said before Yetzer could interject. “The candidate has passed the first trial and has gained the approval of the brethren, yet even greater tests lie ahead. In the trials, as in life, one is never truly alone. Others have gone before and share your journey, in spirit if not in body.” The hierophant gestured toward the priests on either side of him. “All who stand here have completed the journey you now undertake. You may choose one to serve as guide and companion. Yetzer abi-Huram, in whom do you trust?”
The question startled Yetzer. He hadn’t anticipated help on his quest. The priests were all able instructors but, given the nature of the Well of Souls, he questioned how much aid fat Ptah-Hor or feeble Huy would be.
The hierophant raised a painted eyebrow, urging a response.
“I choose Djehuti,” Yetzer blurted his half-considered response.
Huy’s eyes narrowed, but his lips pressed into a slight grin.
“Your trust being in the god, your faith is well founded.” He gestured toward the niche where the ibis-headed god had first stood. “Follow your conductor and fear no evil. But be forewarned.”
Yetzer paused midstride and looked back at the high priest.
“The gods do not speak directly to man. They may whisper to the heart, but each of us must infer for ourselves what it is they say.”
Yetzer nodded, took a deep breath, then followed the god into darkness.
13
Bilkis
Bilkis cradled a weeping Rahab, while Auriyah and his men collected the remaining Bedou, or Nabati, as they called these northern tribesmen. Dead or soon to be, the men were stripped, staked alongside the caravan trail, and castrated. When the vultures came to peck at their eyes and the bloody roots of their manhood, a clear message would be sent to Nabati and trader alike.
This road was under Auriyah’s protection.
The caravanners gathered up the bodies of Leah and the servants who had fallen. They wrapped them in shrouds, gently loaded them upon the donkeys, and set out with the warriors along the northward road. Bilkis rode alongside her warrior-prince, and soon the caravan reached a land called Edom, where the yellow desert gave way to red mountains. Allied to Yisrael’s King Tadua, the country’s roads were patrolled and guarded by Auriyah’s band of Hatti fighters.
Though the caravan had traded mercantile garb for funereal, Bilkis was unable to truly share their grief. Certainly, she was sorry for Rahab and Abram and Eliam. Leah had been nothing but an old she-wolf, but the others had been kind and merited her sympathy.
But she had no space in her heart for the sadness of others, and often had to hide her face so her laughter, brought on by Auriyah’s jests or tales of adventure, might be perceived as cries of mourning.
While Bilkis sat with the prince that first evening, he confessed to being an exile, banished from Yisrael. Bilkis was appalled that Auriyah had been accused of murdering his half-brother, their father’s heir. She was still more shocked when he admitted to the crime.
“He was a pig,” Auriyah told her, adding, “Yah’s peace be upon him. He defiled my sister, the daughter of his father. The swine then refused to marry her when she came with child. I delivered the justice my father would not, the justice demanded by Yah’s law.”
“And what of your sister?” Bilkis had asked.
“Tamar?” Auriyah shrugged. “Her bastard, the spawn of perversion, could not be allowed to draw breath. I cut the abomination from her womb, even as I cut out the branch of its father by the root. Tamar did not survive the purification.”
A shiver raced down Bilkis’s spine. Despite her misgivings, Auriyah soon again had her enthralled with his humor and charm. As she rode beside him and the plain gave way to deep canyons that gouged the earth, Bilkis forgot her qualms. By the time the war band led the caravan into Sela, Edom’s capital city, Bilkis was sure her rightful place was by the side of the golden prince.
Seven days after arriving at the capital—a city of red stone dwellings cut from the living rock—Bilkis took that place. Beneath a canopy of blue and white—the colors of Auriyah’s tribe—she became the Princess of all Yisrael.
Immediately following the ceremony, a bevy of old women escorted Bilkis to the bridal chamber. They bathed her, spread a new, white fleece upon a bed of goatskins, and left her to await her bridegroom. Excitement and dread were her only companions. Each in its turn whispered to her heart, her blood running hot then cold, then hot again. The turns of mood soon had her exhausted, as impatience and irritation joined her bridal party.
The oil lamps had nearly burned dry by the time a staggering, foul-smelling Auriyah burst into the chamber. So violent was his entry, the wooden door tore from its leather hinges. Bilkis screamed and tried to cover herself when the Hatti warriors stumbled in after their captain.
Auriyah made no effort to send his men away or to replace the door. He stalked toward the bed and tore away the covers, leaving Bilkis with only her hands to cover her shame.
“Do not hide yourself from me, woman,” Auriyah snarled, then struck her across the face with the back of his hand.
Bilkis was too stunned to resist as he grasped her hips and spun her facedown. Her cries of protest were drowned out by the laughter of the warriors, then silenced by a bolt of pain as Auriyah entered her. As quick as he was violent, the prince made two sharp thrusts. With the third, he pulled Bilkis’s hair so hard her head snapped back. She feared her scalp would rend as he held her tight to him. Auriyah shuddered, loosed his grip, and fell atop Bilkis before she could wrest herself away.
Still laughing, a pair of Auriyah’s men peeled their captain from his bride. Another tugged the fleece from underneath Bilkis, spinning her hard against the rock wall as he did so. Without a glance at the humiliated bride, the Hatti warriors ushered the prince from the chamber.
A cheer rose from outside as the last man raised the banner of Auriyah’s virility, stained with the mingling of royal seed and virgin blood. Inside, Bilkis’s heart raced with terror and shame. Back against the wall, she hugged her knees to her chest. Her ruptured maidenhead shed tears of blood that seeped warm from her hidden place. She trembled while the gleeful shouts of men and women spilled through the open doorway, accompanied by a high-pitched keen. Distorted shadows danced upon her walls, seeming demons from the Pit come to claim her soul as Auriyah had claimed her purity.
She shut her eyes against the wretched figures, but her heart fed her inner vision with images even more fearsome. What if Auriyah returned? What if he sent his men to take their pleasure with her as well?
A hand touched her on the shoulder. Heedless of her nakedness, Bilkis screamed and struck at her assailant, a slight figure draped in black robe and veil. The black-clad arms first crossed in defense, then stretched out, hands grasping her flailing wrists.
“Bilkis, stop.” A reedy voice filtered through the din in her ears. “My sister, it is only Rahab. Stop this.”
Though Bilkis continued to struggle, her resistance waned as recognition dawned. With gentle strength, Rahab wrapped an arm about Bilkis’s shoulders.
“You’re shaking,” Rahab observed, and pulled a goatskin around Bilkis. “Have you caught a fever just a
fter your wedding night?”
Rahab pressed her hands against Bilkis’s forehead and cheek. She swept back the new bride’s hair from her eyes.
“What has happened to you, Sister?” she said, her voice muffled by her hands over her mouth.
“My husband.” Bilkis spat the word out and pulled the goatskin more tightly about her. “This is how a prince of the Habiru welcomes his bride on their wedding night.”
The younger girl placed a hand on the tender cheek, her cool skin drawing out the heat.
“Did he …” Rahab began, then lowered her eyes. “Did he hurt you?”
“Of course he hurt me,” Bilkis snapped back. “He struck me, then took me like a whore in front of his men.”
Rahab’s eyes widened and glistened with tears. “Oh, Bilkis—” She did not finish the thought. Whatever she might have said was lost amid her sobs. Bilkis’s pain fell away like a veil, and she reached out to Rahab and drew her into an embrace.
“Hush, little sister,” she said when Rahab’s outburst lessened enough that she might hear. “It is not so bad as that. I’m sure all wives must endure such treatment from time to time.”
“Why would he treat you so?”
Bilkis shrugged. “He is a man. Men take what they need with little thought of the cost to others.”
“But he is a prince,” Rahab protested.
“Yes, and perhaps a king one day. He is not bound to take only what he needs, but whatsoever he desires. Such is the way of nobility.”
“Might he take it of me?” Rahab’s voice was little more than a whisper.
Bilkis took Rahab by the shoulders and held her at arm’s length. She ignored the goatskin that slid down about her waist.
“Why do you say such a thing? What has he done?”
“He—he bought me from Abba,” Rahab stammered. “He paid your bride price, then offered half as much again to take me as your handmaid.”
“And your father agreed to this?” Bilkis’s cheeks grew warm.
“He did not want to, but Auriyah is a prince of Yisrael. My bond price would make up Abba’s loss from this journey. Besides, I—”
“You what?” Bilkis demanded. She despised Auriyah for his treatment of her yet felt jealousy’s claws scratching at her heart.
“I do not wish to be separated from you,” Rahab said, surprising Bilkis as the girl’s eyes filled with new tears. “I have only just lost my mother. I could not bear so soon to lose my sister as well.”
Bilkis blinked dry eyes then clutched Rahab to her bosom. “You are truly a flower among brambles,” she whispered in Rahab’s ear. “You honor me with your devotion, but will your father not need you?”
“He has Abram and his servants to manage affairs. When he looks at me, it is only with sadness. If he has need of a woman in his tent, it is as a wife, not a daughter.” Rahab sat up straight, wiped her eyes on her mourning veil and shook her head. “The best service I can provide as a daughter is to be bonded to Auriyah. To you.”
“You show Havah’s own wisdom,” Bilkis said with a smile. “It shall be as you say. But you come into my household as my sister, not as a servant.”
14
Yetzer
Hot air engulfed him. Through the tunnels Yetzer followed his guide as each step took them deeper into the earth, into searing heat that scorched his lungs. The pair walked in silence, but Yetzer’s heart thrummed with questions and misgivings.
Yetzer had first assumed this manifestation of Djehuti to be a priest with an elaborate headdress. The ibis mask must make breathing difficult, yet his guide moved with even steps and apparent ease. Yetzer wondered if his companion was something more than a man. Perhaps he was truly the god incarnate.
He gritted his teeth and tried to mute his fears. As the heat increased and each breath became a greater struggle, his duty to silent obedience grew more challenging. Was he being punished for his impertinence? Had he failed some secret test and was now being led to his doom?
Still they forged ahead until they reached a chamber bright with flames. Yetzer’s pace faltered at the inferno’s threshold. Djehuti walked through, unfazed by the molten sea beneath his feet or the flames dancing about his head. In fewer than a dozen strides, he passed the fiery vault and disappeared through a doorway at the far end.
Yetzer struggled to reason. If his guide were only a man, Yetzer should be able to follow in his footsteps. If, however, it truly was the god, there was no certainty of surviving the test. As in the pool, the choice was between likely death by going on and certain death by staying. He stepped forward.
The flames did not consume him. The air was hotter than a noonday quarry, but that was all. He took another step and realized the chamber was filled with mirrors, all reflecting the light of a small fire that burned strongly but safely in one corner of the room.
Yetzer laughed. His voice echoed off walls shaped to magnify every sound, such that the crackle of the modest flame became a roar. He paced to the end of the chamber, stepped through the doorway then reeled back.
The path ended at a black abyss. No ledge ringed the pit, no trail by which he might skirt around it. Only a sheer drop into nothingness. Yetzer looked for some hidden rope or handhold by which he might continue. Finding none, he stretched his sight into the darkness. The black walls absorbed all light, their secrets hidden.
A small explosion made Yetzer spin around. Oil streamed from an opening near the fire, catching flame as it passed. The fiery stream caught hold of the wicker frames of the mirrors, and soon the entire room was ablaze. The inferno flowed toward Yetzer. He turned back to the pit, and the fire’s light revealed hope within the blackness. As the approaching wave singed his heels, Yetzer leapt into the void.
Pain seared his hands as he slid down a rope suspended within the pit. He jarred against a knot and dangled in the void as flames spilled over the edge where he had stood only moments before. Liquid fire plunged into the depths but spent its fuel before reaching the bottom of the shaft.
With nowhere to go but down, Yetzer wrapped his feet about the rope and found it knotted at regular intervals. He lowered himself into the depths, scanning the walls and seeking some hint of the way his guide might have gone. He passed the limits of the falling oil, but no escape revealed itself. The rope slipped between his feet, and his hands bit into the last knot, but still no hope appeared.
Even as he dangled on the end of the line, the light from the fire dimmed. The flow of oil ceased, leaving only the glow from the chamber’s doorway. Even that began to fade, and darkness tightened its grip on Yetzer.
A hint of myrrh on the air caught his attention. Yetzer frantically searched the walls in the last vestiges of light.
There. Perhaps eight cubits below him—more than twice his height—the black wall showed an even blacker opening. Yetzer swung his feet in that direction, then toward the opposite side until he had enough momentum to reach the opening.
The fire breathed its last, and darkness flooded the shaft.
Yetzer screamed as he let go of the rope and flew into oblivion. He fell for eons, but his blood pulsed only twice before he skidded along a rough surface. His head struck rock. Pain flashed through his vision, the only light in the space.
He eased himself into a sitting position, fighting dizziness. Stretching out his arms, he found he could reach both sides of the tunnel. He shifted onto his knees and slowly stood. The tunnel’s ceiling brushed his head, but he needed only a slight stoop to keep clear. He took a deep breath. Reassured by the stronger scent of myrrh and spices, he moved into the darkness, tracing his hands along the walls then sweeping a foot in front of him, ensuring there was solid floor ahead.
After fifteen paces, the path turned left and angled upward. Another fifteen strides, and the path veered right. Yetzer’s heart leapt as the tunnel’s end shone in twilight. He increased his pace, still taking care lest the floor drop away beneath him.
The incense grew stronger as Yetzer reached the illuminat
ed wall and found a doorway behind a thick scarlet veil. He pushed aside the curtain and stepped through.
He hadn’t known what to expect. He might have anticipated a shrine like the first, with altar and candles, incense and priests, but he was not prepared for this.
Carpets lined a small room as richly appointed as any in Pharaoh’s palace. Soft light filled the space from golden lamps. Along one wall, an ebony bed frame supported a thick mattress. In front of this, a low table held bowls of fruit, platters of meat, and pitchers of wine.
Yetzer’s eye caught movement across the room. He stepped back at the sight of two men standing beside a large copper basin. The men sported the shaved heads and simple linen kilts common to all who lived within the temple precinct. The bronze bands at ankle and wrist and neck proclaimed them slaves.
Recognition was slow to come, but when it did Yetzer’s jaw went slack. The pair had been fellow postulants, chosen within the past month to undergo their own trials of initiation. Each had shown promise, yet their presence here suggested they had somehow failed the tests.
The slaves gestured toward the basin filled with steaming water. A side table held salts and soap, along with thick towels. One of the men took Yetzer’s soot-stained apron, and the slaves departed.
Yetzer sprinkled in a handful of salts, then slipped into the basin. The hot water steeped into his muscles and soothed his weary heart. The bath had grown tepid by the time Yetzer’s rumbling stomach roused him. He scrubbed himself clean, then stepped out of the tub.
Wrapping one of the towels about his waist, he moved to the table of food. Judging by his stomach’s protests, it had been days since he’d last eaten, and he helped himself accordingly. When he’d had his fill of duck and melon and wine, exhaustion settled over him and he stretched out on the bed.
“Yetzer?”
The voice stirred him and his eye floated open.
