From the Shores of Eden

by Shelley Penner

  Across the encampment she saw a familiar figure through the haze of smoke…Corandi, with a club in one hand, spear in the other, battling his way through the ranks of Tolmai, trying to reach her. He fought with the frenzy of madness, the madness these Mother-cursed strangers brought. Corandi would save her. Corandi was strong and brave. He never saw the archer, or the arrow that struck him between the shoulder blades, but Aester saw him stiffen, suddenly defenseless as a sickle blade slashed across his throat. Her heart flew out her mouth in a piercing scream of horrified denial, and she burst from the vadu, oblivious to the danger. Across the clearing she bolted, and threw herself atop his body, shrilling her anguish. Behind her, fire engulfed the vadu and Tanitess stumbled out with her hair and clothing aflame, only to meet a Tolmai arrow. Jotoke and Zinga lay dead, their children trapped inside their burning vadu. Aester could hear the screams and smell the stench of burning flesh. A strange numbness stole over her and she lay unmoving as fire and murder impelled her world into the spirit realm.

  A dark figure loomed over her. He grabbed her by the shoulders and wrenched her away from Corandi, threw her onto her back and began tearing at her clothing, flinging the skirt of her tunic up to her chin. She lay too numb to resist, or even care. His weight crushed her against the ground and his hand began fumbling at his crotch. Pain forced its way inside her, past the barriers of shock, and she struggled, biting and clawing. Then abruptly he lifted off her as another Tolmai held him aloft and shook him like a rag then smashed him in the face and sent him reeling. Her rescuer clamped a hand around her wrist and yanked her to her feet. Through the burning village he dragged her while he raged and ranted at his fellows, exhorting them to…to stop their madness, she suddenly realized. For the first time she noticed he carried no killing weapons, only a shepherd’s staff, the blows of which he directed against his own kind. As she watched, he tried to snatch a baby from the brutal hands that twisted its neck until it cracked.

  “Enoch!” he cried. “What have you done? The blood of innocence is on your hands!”

  “The blood was theirs, Ja’pheth,” the man cackled hysterically. “The evil omen was against them!”

  In the time it took for the sun to rise above the tops of the distant trees, they had reduced the village to ashes, its people to carrion. As the number of living Dana’ai dwindled, the frenzy of bloodlust subsided and the Tolmai began looting the few vadu that still stood. They raked through the ashes and stripped bodies to search through clothing. What do they want, Aester wondered dully. Nothing…nothing in this world could possibly be worth this orgy of death. Her captor gazed about him as dazedly as she, seeming unaware that his fingers still gripped her wrist painfully.

  An eerie peacefulness settled over the scene. In the distant forest, the thrush at last began his morning song. I am alive, Aester thought. It seemed wrong somehow, an unnatural wonder. A shrill scream of agony cut through the haze of smoke, and Ja’pheth leaped in response, dragging her into a stumbling run. They rounded a pile of smoking debris and found four Tolmai pinning Yaramin to the ground while another held a burning brand against his side. The young man writhed, his face a mask of blood from a deep scalp wound. He had been clubbed while emerging from his vadu, left for dead until he wakened to their rough handling as they stripped him.

  With a cry of rage, Ja’pheth leaped amongst the Tolmai, flailing his staff, scattering them like fowl.

  “Have you gone mad, Ja’pheth? This is the Dana’ai who raided Aridatha.”

  “This boy was too busy releasing our animals to desecrate the temple. He did not steal the Eban-ha-Ezer.”

  “He was with those who did. He must know where they hid the Rock.”

  Revelation stuck Aester like a blow between the eyes. Her hand flew to her hair, but she quickly disguised the motion, kneeling to comfort Yaramin.

  “If he will not speak, we must force the answers from him.”

  “The time for questions is past. You could have talked with the Dana’ai, tried trading with them. There was no need for this slaughter. The Rock is worthless now! Worthless! The Covenant is broken! You have broken it!” Ja’pheth’s rage burned like a blaze of illumination across the darkness of what they had done. “You are not warriors, you are not even men. You are goroshu, evil spirits in the shape of men! And you, Amasa…you are not my brother.” He held his staff like a bar against them, standing over Yaramin and Aester protectively. “These Dana’ai are my servants. They remain under the protection of my father’s house, the house of Tzadhoq. Any who harm them will answer to me.”

  * * *

  In the shade of the forest fringe, Ja’pheth permitted Aester to tend Yaramin’s wounds. He looked back to where the rest of the Tolmai still searched through the wreckage, and his heart ached.

  “Why?”

  Ja’pheth looked down at Yaramin. The youth also watched the scavengers, his face strangely calm.

  “You bespoke me fairly at the river. Answer me now. Why have your people done this terrible thing? What is this Eban-ha-Ezer for which they hunt?”

  “The Rock of the Help was given into the hands of Adam, the first follower of El, as a symbol of God’s pledge to protect us from the evil of the Rainbow Serpent for as long as the People obeyed His will. But this…surely this could not be God’s will.”

  “My friends did not speak of finding such a rock.”

  “The temple was desecrated when you and your companions invaded Aridatha. One of them must have taken it.”

  “You will get no answers from them now.” Bitter anguish broke Yaramin’s calm for an instant, then he hid his grief once more behind a wall of false tranquility. “They are both dead.”

  Aester listened as she gently washed the blood from Yaramin’s face. The weight of the crystal felt as if it would tear the hair from her scalp, but she resolved that only to spare Yaramin further torture would she surrender it. The seeds of hatred and revenge germinated within her, and because they strengthened her to endure what the future held, she nurtured their growth.

  “Are we now slaves of the Tolmai, like sheep? Like the aurochs?”

  A ghost of a smile touched Ja’pheth’s lips. “I promise you, Dana’ai, I will not make you a barren woman. Is it not better to live in slavery, with the hope of future freedom, than to die now?”

  “Death is freedom. Slavery is nothing…neither life nor death.”

  “I am sorry, Dana’ai. I have no heart to take your life, and I cannot release you to gather the clans against my people.”

  * * *

  During the long days to follow, Aester relived every second of horror many times, sleeping and waking. She memorized the names and faces of her enemies and recorded their crimes in her heart. Yaramin remained weak and dizzy and could not keep the pace set by the Tolmai, even with Aester supporting him. Ja’pheth did not push them, and each day they trailed behind. By the time they reached the evening’s encampment, they felt exhausted. Nevertheless, sleep came hard, nightmare haunted.

  The Tolmai avoided Ja’pheth, wanting no part of his guilt-inspiring accusations. He built his own camp, within sight of theirs for the sake of safety, but apart, and he made no attempt to communicate with them. On the evening of the second day, Amasa approached.

  “Your stubbornness grieves me, brother. Will you not put away your anger and join us?”

  “Do not call me brother. You bear the mark of the murderer, and I cannot know you.”

  “Ja’pheth…can you not see the necessity of what we did? They invaded our town, our homes, even our temple. We needed to show them we have teeth. The clans will respect us now.”

  “They will fear you perhaps, hate you certainly, but respect? What respect have you for the wolf who slaughters sheep, not for hunger, but for pleasure?”

  * * *

  The house of Tzadhoq lay on the south bank of the river, not far from the walls of the town. It actually consisted of a sprawl of private apartments surrounding a common co
urtyard and kitchen area. As an astrologer, Ja’pheth’s father held maintained status amongst the Tolmai, and therefore held the right to keep more land under cultivation. The family Tzadhoq remained prosperous and well respected in Aridatha.

  Aester tucked Ja’pheth’s daughters into their shared bed and kissed each on the forehead. Of all her duties as a slave, giving the youngest children their bath and seeing them bedded for the night seemed the most pleasant. Their innocent affection blurred the hard edges of her bitterness, but nightmares served to harden her resolve. Somehow, she would see her people avenged.

  “Tell us a story, Aester.”

  “Yes…a Dana’ai story. We promise we will go right to sleep after.”

  “Very well. I will tell you the story of the Raven and the Wolf.” She sat on the edge of the bed and composed herself, for storytelling remained a serious business. “In the Beginning, the First People were very powerful. They looked like animals, but lived like people, hunting and gathering the gifts of the Mother for food, never making camp in the same place twice. The Wolf was a great hunter, proud and dignified. The Raven also had great pride, for the Sky Father favored him with exquisite beauty and a voice more splendid than any other sound. But Raven loved to play tricks and tease the other Ancestors. One day, Raven taunted Wolf into a fury, and every time Wolf tried to catch him, Raven would fly beyond reach. He stayed just beyond range of the stones Wolf threw. But Wolf was clever. He attached a sharp stone to a digging stick and made the first spear. Raven grew curious about what he was doing and flew closer to watch. When Wolf threw the spear, it flew straight and true, and struck Raven in the throat. Then Wolf picked up the fallen Raven and threw him into the fire, planning to cook him for supper. But Raven was not yet dead. He leaped from the fire and flew away to hide in the depths of the forest, his beautiful feathers all blackened by soot. When his wound healed, his voice remained just a hoarse croak. In time the Mother…”

  “Aester!” Shoshanna’s voice sounded harsh with rebuke. “Go to the kitchen. Mahala needs you.”

  “Yes, mistress.” Aester rose hurriedly and retreated, trembling. In the kitchen, she found Ja’pheth’s mother preparing to retire, brewing an herb tea to soothe her into sleep. The old woman took one look at Aester’s face and cried, “Whatever is wrong, child?”

  “Shoshanna…the children wanted a story…” Tears began to slip down Aester’s cheeks. The ways of the Tolmai seemed incomprehensible. They set themselves senseless tasks, like planting huge plots of specific roots and grains, then hoeing to death the nutritious variety of herbs the Mother offered freely; like laboriously making soap from ashes and tallow when soponin roots grew only a short distance from town; like standing for hours in the sun guarding sheep and goats when the countryside teemed with wild game. It seemed they wanted nothing from the Mother except what they could take by force.

  “Hush, child, hush.” Mahala patted her back comfortingly. “Shoshanna is protective of her children, but she will bear no grudge. Only take care what stories you tell them in the future. Our beliefs are different.”

  The following morning, Ja’pheth asked Aester to accompany him to the temple. She waited timidly just inside the entrance while he spoke with the high priest. The cavernous chamber seemed desolate, eerie with echoing shadows. Aester stood in a sliver of sunlight that arrowed through the slightly open doorway, hoping it was enough to protect her from the darkness. The priest appeared to argue with Ja’pheth, though their voices remained too low to carry. She noticed the altar, the posts and the dangling thongs, and recognized it from Corandi’s description. She moved closer to examine the carved relief map.

  “Hsst!” The priest hissed like an angry snake. Ja’pheth strode toward her and she quickly backed away, head bowed in humble apology. But he did not scold her, only squeezed her shoulder in fatherly reassurance.

  “Miz’rahim has agreed to instruct you in knowledge of the One God. This is an honor for one not born to the People. I will bring you here each morning after breakfast, and Yaramin will come in the evening. Shoshanna requests that you tell no more tales of Mother worship to our children.”

  Aester dared a peek at the grim face of the priest. “Please, Ja’pheth,” she begged, afraid to meet his eyes, afraid he would see the depth of her terror, “do not leave me alone with this man.”

  He stroked her cheek gently. “You have nothing to fear, daughter. He will not harm you.”

  * * *

  Her fear of the high priest did not lessen upon further acquaintance, but as the days passed she came to realize Ja’pheth sheltered her even when not present. Only once did Miz’rahim ever touch her. One day he noticed her staring at his headdress, a dark, sinister-looking hood with a circlet of tan goatskin, decorated with a pair of twisted ram’s horns.

  “You like my crown?” he asked with a contemptuous sneer.

  “What is a crown?” she questioned timidly.

  “It is the foreskin of El. Whoever wears the crown is God’s representative on earth.”

  “So…you are the god’s penis?” she questioned innocently, believing it a reasonable assumption, especially considering the overwhelming male energy of their philosophies. His expression turned ugly, believing she mocked him, and he slapped her hard. “Blasphemy!”

  Over the following months, as she began to learn more of the strange beliefs of the Tolmai, she recognized El, the One God, as the same Spirit Father her people worshipped, only the Tolmai stripped away the powers of the Mother and given them to El.

  “But how,” she dared to ask, “could the Father alone have brought life into being? Can a man give birth? Can a woman conceive without a man? It takes both a Mother and a Father to create life.”

  “El is not a man, he is the One God. He is powerful beyond imagining. He can do anything. He created the earth and all upon it and within it.”

  “My people also believe the Spirit Father created the earth…to be his wife, to be a Mother to his children. Is not the role of your wife, though different from yours, equally important?”

  Miz’rahim’s breath hissed through clenched teeth. In a strained voice he answered, “I have no wife. A priest of El must not allow himself to become corrupted by the influence of a woman.” Dark eyes impaled her with malevolence. “The earth is a thing, like a house, that El created to shelter man, and women are merely vessels to contain man’s seed.”

  “But the Mother…”

  “Enough! Out, woman, get out! You may return when you can learn to listen in silence as a woman should!”

  Aester fled. Never in her life had she faced such malignance. Over the long seasons that followed, she continued the lessons only because she had no choice. She found the stories oddly similar to the ancient myths of her own people, yet changed, with all trace of feminine power removed. Even Eve, the first mother, they described as being made from the rib of the first man. After a time, she came to recognize the strange balance the Tolmai had struck. They killed or castrated all but a few male-born animals, divesting their herds and flocks of active male power, yet they stripped themselves of receptive woman power even to the point of circumcising newborn babies. Aester learned to respond as the priest expected, but never would she allow this twisted religion to touch her heart. Whenever she could, she studied the altar map, memorizing its every feature.

  * * *

  The People gathered in the sacred grove for the final ceremony of the spring festival, even the Dana’ai and the youngest children. None were permitted exclusion. The cries of the male lambs still rang in Aester’s ears from yesterday’s slaughter. She avoided looking at the fields drenched with their blood. That ritual had provided a sickening, painful reminder, and she dreaded this finale. At last, the priests arrived, led by Miz’rahim, and soon after, Enoch appeared, leading a three-year-old ram. It followed trustingly, for all its life they had treated it with great affection and reverence. The high priest gave Enoch a handful of copper disks and accepted the sac
rifice. Then two of the priests tied the ram upright to the Tree of El, a twisted, lightning-split oak, while Miz’rahim intoned a prayer to the One God, asking El to bless the fields and send a fruitful harvest. The high priest anointed the animal with a paste of oil, water and flour. Then the village maidens pressed forward to adorn the ram with flowers, and the People of El began dancing around the Tree, chanting, “Meriah sacrifice, bought with a price, taken not by force; according to custom the ritual performed, the fields renew, the rains send down; no sin rests on us.”

  The priest gave a signal and the waiting crowd of young men descended on the ram with knives slashing wildly. Aester shuddered and covered her ears against its screams as they carved the living flesh from its bones. Then the Tolmai scattered, racing to bury the precious shreds of meat in their dooryards and fields. All that remained of the victim were the bones, the entrails, and the untouched head with its wild, horrified eyes.

  * * *

  Through a high, narrow slit of window, Aester watched a star fade as the sky lightened to gray, then steely blue. She felt an ineffable sadness at the submergence of that distant light. Yaramin turned in his sleep and molded himself to fit the curve of her spine. His breath tickled her shoulder, and his warmth against her back gave unexpected comfort. They gave each other whatever they could.