From the Shores of Eden

by Shelley Penner

  The growth of the serpent accelerated, until it rivaled and then outstripped the moon for size. Then it swept low across the northern sky and appeared to dive into the earth. The earth groaned like a live thing, plunged and bucked wildly. The family of Tzadhoq gathered their animals and their personal belongings and sealed themselves inside the ark to await the coming flood.

  “What is that?” Shoshanna cried. “What is that sound?”

  Something thudded against the hull, a steady pounding, and faintly they could hear screams and cries of terror.

  “What should we do? How can we just leave them out there to die?”

  “If we do not, we all will die. We have not enough room or food for all of them.”

  Outside, the terror of the townspeople turned to anger.

  “Burn it!” someone cried. “Burn it!”

  In a frenzy they gathered brush and kindling, loads of firewood, even furniture, and piled it under the ark. The pitchy timbers would burn like tinder. Someone thrust a torch into the pile, and flames began to flicker and dance greedily. Down the valley to the west, a deep rumbling began, growing louder and louder. Someone pointed and screamed, and suddenly everyone scattered, racing for higher ground. From the far distant sea, a great wall of water swept inland at tremendous speed, rushing up the river valley, sweeping away towns, houses, people and animals. By the time it reached Aridatha, it had lost much of its momentum, and only rose as high as the rooftops. Many people managed to scramble high enough up the bluffs to escape. They watched in horror as the water sucked back out again, carrying with it the remains of their homes, their flocks, everything they owned. After a few moments of stricken silence, they began to laugh. They were alive. The great flood had not even come high enough to lift the ark from its cradle. They spent the night on the clifftops, just in case the water returned, but by morning they began to wander back into the valley, searching for remnants of their homes and belongings. The ark remained closed and silent.

  * * *

  In the past when she assaulted the earth, Ashtarth caused massive extinctions, violent rearrangements of the earth’s crust and orbital shifts resulting in successive ice ages. Almost equal in size and mass, the two spheres attracted and repelled each other like giant magnets. Only the huge comet’s velocity kept such battles mercifully brief. On this encounter, she simply raked her tail across the northern pole, wrenched it a few more degrees off its axis, rained down a hail of burning rocks and then passed on. The heart of the Mother broke open and dozens of massive volcanoes spewed molten rock and hot ash over the polar ice, sending billions of tons of water vapor pouring into the atmosphere. As the polar ice melted, the seas began to rise and clouds encircled the globe. All around the world rain began to fall.

  6.

  The new seed, encapsulating all the instinctive wisdom of the past, rests, dreaming of regeneration, a promise of continuation. Around it the fruit begins to form, a hard, protective shell, a vessel to contain and protect the seed.

  * * *

  On her final, fateful pass through the solar system, the comet Ashtarth at last confronts her destiny in a celestial battle with not one but three of the inner planets, beginning with the mightiest of all, the gas giant, Jupiter. Her encounter with Earth remains brief but devastating, the near equality of their size allowing no clear win or loss. Then, as she plunges onward in her reduced orbit of the sun, she encounters a smaller red planet, less than half her size and a fraction of her mass. Caught in the comet’s gravitational pull, the red planet is dragged along, battling to retain its atmosphere and regain its freedom, until another close encounter with Earth allows it to break away. The battle in the heavens inspires new mythologies of conflict between good and evil, gods of love and war, holy cows and horned gods.

  MISTRESS OF CHAOS

  Sixth Ritual: Seclusion and Revelation

  THE DAUGHTERS OF Jethro came early to the well, hoping to find the site unoccupied. The oasis lay in a sheltered spot, surrounded on three sides by low, dusty hills. Five palm trees and a stand of acacias offered partial shade, and to one side of the well, shepherds had built a trough for watering livestock. Later, towards evening, the well would become crowded with animals and shepherds waiting their turn to water, and with no brothers to protect them, the daughters of Jethro found themselves at a disadvantage. The shepherds often became crude and offensive and thought it amusing to make the girls wait until last.

  “Hurry,” Zippora said. “Chavva and Tamar, you hold them back while Naomi and I fill the gutters.”

  She lowered the bucket until she heard a splash, then quickly drew it up again, handing it to Naomi, who emptied it into the trough. Again. And again. After the twelfth bucketful, Zippora’s arms began to ache, but rest remained a luxury that could cost them dearly.

  “Zippora, look!”

  Her sister’s hushed uneasiness drew Zippora’s attention to the northern skyline. A man stood on the crest, watching them. His clothing looked dusty, coarsely woven and undyed. A length of cloth covered his head and lower face to protect against sun and wind-driven sand, but Zippora knew without question he was no shepherd. His stance seemed not the easy slouch of one who stands for hours with little to do but count sheep and watch for predators. She raised another load and passed it to Naomi.

  “Do you think he’s a bandit?”

  Zippora lowered the bucket as she watched the stranger descend the slope, limping slightly as if he had walked a long way. “He would find little here worth stealing.”

  He nodded to them politely and went to settle in the shade. She liked his courtesy. Women received little personal respect in Midian. For the most part, the men of their families guarded them jealously until they could sell or trade female offspring for something of greater value.

  “Traveler, are you thirsty?” She dipped a gourd of water from the bucket and offered it. He approached and accepted gratefully.

  “My thanks, mistress.” He unwound his head cloth to drink, revealing a face burned dark by the sun. His features looked hawkish but pleasant, little different from the men she knew, though his speech had a foreign lilt. Egyptian, she thought. “Your kindness lends me grace, mistress.” He handed back the empty dipper and gave her a curious half-bow that held the stiffness of a military salute. Then he retreated to sit once more in the shade beneath the trees.

  “Maybe he’s waiting for someone,” Naomi speculated. They encountered strangers rarely enough to produce excitement, triggering romantic fantasies in a young girl’s mind.

  Chavva called out an urgent warning. “Caleb is coming!”

  “No!” Naomi uttered an unladylike oath. “I swear that son of a goat watches for us so he won’t have to draw his own water.”

  “Quickly, sisters,” Zippora said. “Let the flock come to the trough. If he sees them already drinking, perhaps he will wait his turn for once.”

  But it seemed Caleb and his brothers had no such civility in mind. With shouts and blows they drove their animals right through to the trough, splitting the flock of Jethro and scattering it.

  “Out of the way, wenches! Our animals are thirsty!”

  The girls scrambled to head off their panicked sheep and goats and gather them together again, while Caleb’s flock greedily emptied the half-filled gutters.

  “These young women spent considerable effort hauling that water,” a quiet voice said at Caleb’s elbow. The Egyptian had moved unnoticed to stand behind him. The shepherd turned and viewed the stranger’s dusty appearance scornfully.

  “Perhaps you should show some courtesy and wait your turn.”

  The suggestion, though gently put, held the firmness of an order. For a moment the two men locked eyes, one arrogant and resentful, the other stern and unflinching. Caleb wavered and suddenly backed down, sensing a core of metal in this man he could not hope to match.

  “Apologies, Master. We did not realize the daughters of Jethro had an escort.” With a brusque signal to h
is brothers, Caleb began pushing his flock back. The Egyptian moved to the well and started drawing water to refill the trough while the girls urged their animals forward once more.

  “Our thanks to you, stranger.” Zippora smiled. “We very much appreciate your championship. Have you traveled a long way?”

  “A long way.” Something in his voice and the way he gazed back along his route told her his heart measured the distance more than his feet.

  “It will not be safe for you to camp alone at the well tonight. Caleb is proud, and he has many friends.”

  The stranger seemed amused by her concern. She studied the corded strength of his forearms as he handled the heavy bucket. His willingness to serve a woman, his respect, verging on deference, seemed unfamiliar and attractive. She found her heart quickening.

  “Do not concern yourself, mistress. Jackals keep their distance from a lion.” He spoke not with conceit, but with grim bitterness.

  “A lion is a noble beast, is it not?”

  “A lion has noble appearance, but in truth it is just another killer preying on the sheep.”

  His words unsettled her. The invitation she intended to offer lodged in her throat and died unspoken. She sensed dark and dangerous undercurrents in this man. By the time the flock drank its fill, she still could not find her voice. Her sisters cast shy, hopeful glances at the stranger as they started the flock towards home, but they dared not usurp her right as eldest.

  “Thank you again, pilgrim, for your help,” she finally said. Then, feeling she owed him more, added a blessing, “May the Lord watch over you and make your journey a pleasant one.”

  * * *

  Their father came out to the yard to greet them, surprised by their early homecoming. The three younger girls, too shy to speak to a stranger, suddenly tripped over their racing tongues, vying excitedly to tell Reuel the story.

  “He was wonderful,” Naomi gushed. “He didn’t even have to fight, he just looked at Caleb sternly and said” — she puffed up her skinny chest and scowled fiercely, deepening her voice in imitation — “‘Perhaps you should show some manners’.” She laughed. “And Caleb backed off as if he’d stepped on a scorpion.”

  “Where is this man who helped you? I would like to meet him. Why did you not invite him to share our evening meal?”

  “He…spoke strangely,” Zippora replied. “I tried to warn him against the Dagonites, but he called himself a lion that jackals would avoid.”

  Reuel’s brow furrowed. “Jackals in a pack become bold and dangerous. Go now and offer this man a meal and a place at my hearth for the night.”

  * * *

  Zippora and Naomi paused where the trail overlooked the well, scanning to see if the stranger still rested there. The sun lay low on the horizon and the valley looked crowded with the last flocks, yet the gutters stood empty. Nine shepherds, three Asherites and six Dagonites, including Caleb, stood in a semi-circle facing the Egyptian, who seemed unafraid, arms folded across his chest as if in friendly conversation. The voices grew angry and shouting broke out, then one of the shepherds lunged at the stranger, swinging his staff. The Egyptian moved with blinding speed, blocking the attack, and sending his opponent flying with a crack audible even from where the girls watched. The shepherd screamed, landed with a thud, and lay moaning, his arm broken and his staff in the hands of the stranger. The others hesitated, taken aback.

  “He must be a soldier,” Naomi whispered, thrilled by the demonstration.

  “If they attack in concert, he won’t stand a chance, no matter who he is. Come. Up there.” Zippora pointed to a rocky promontory overlooking the dispute. Together the two girls scrambled up the steep trail and settled themselves where they had a clear view. Without taking their eyes from the events unfolding below, they gathered an arsenal of stones. Two more shepherds graced the earth, one simply winded, the other with a broken nose, but the stranger appeared injured. Blood trickled from a graze on his forehead, threatening to blind him. The jackals began circling closer.

  With precision honed by hours of practice, the girls began flinging a hail of well-aimed stones down on the shepherds. The hills echoed with yelps and cries of dismay as the young men scattered out of range. The stranger wasted no time taking advantage of their retreat. He was laughing when Zippora and Naomi met him on the trail a moment later.

  “My thanks, ladies. I believe you saved me from a beating.”

  “Our father sent us,” Naomi blurted daringly. Then she lapsed into shyness once more.

  “I am Zippora, daughter of Reuel Jethro of the Kenites, priest of Midian. This is my sister, Naomi. When our father heard how you helped us, he wished to invite you to share our evening meal, and perhaps to sleep this night at his hearth, in safety.”

  “I am honored. Thank you. My name is Moshe.”

  * * *

  Reuel and the Egyptian sat with their backs against the garden wall, content after a good meal to rest and watch the moon rise.

  “You are a secretive man, Moshe.”

  “Not by intent. I simply…have little worthy of telling. I do not know who I am or where I am going. I am searching, but I know not what I seek.”

  “Mmm. Do you know the stars?”

  “A little. I know the Guide star, the Plow, and the Crown of Au Set.”

  “As a priest it is my duty to read the stars, to know the will of God by His signs in the heavens, to listen to His voice in my heart and in my dreams. He tells me He has great plans for you, Moshe.”

  The young man looked skeptical. “Zippora told me you are a priest.”

  “Are you familiar with the God of Abraham?”

  “The One God…yes, I have heard of him. I had a Hebrew nurse when I was young…” He paused for a moment as if disturbed or confused. “She used to tell me stories. But I was raised to answer to the many gods of Egypt…Isis and Osiris, Anubis and Amen-Ra. However, I believe I would like to learn more of this God of the Hebrews.”

  “It would please me to teach you, if you would care to dwell with us for a time.”

  Moshe smiled wryly. “You offer me a place in your home, yet you do not know me. I could be a murderer with a price on my head.”

  Reuel continued to gaze placidly at the sky. “Your actions today tell me all I need to know. When you wish to tell me more, I will listen.”

  “I would have no way to repay your kindness.”

  Reuel shrugged. “I am in need of a shepherd…to protect my daughters as much as my livestock. If you rest with us for a while, perhaps that which you seek will find you.”

  * * *

  Reuel found Moshe a quick and discerning student. Unlike the local people, the Egyptian was already well educated. He questioned constantly, accepting nothing at face value, always probing for underlying meaning even in the simplest stories. Reuel began to feel less a teacher than a companion in spiritual exploration. For the first time since the death of his wife, he found himself eager to begin each new day, to face the intellectual challenges his student presented.

  As time passed, Moshe became an integral part of the family. He played with the littlest ones and told them stories of far-off lands; he teased the older girls and defended them like a brother and seemed in every way content to stay. Yet, every once in a while, a shadow would pass over him, leaving him silent and sad, his eyes turned once more toward the distant land of his birth. Never did he speak of that life, or his reasons for leaving it.

  In the holy season of the seventh month, Reuel and Moshe climbed the slopes of Horeb, the Mountain of God, to ‘bring their ears closer to His voice’. As they lay on their blankets beneath the brilliant cascade of stars, Reuel pointed out the constellations, named those planets they could see, and even named a number of individual stars. Angels he called them, and pointed out the nine orders: the seraphim, the cherubim, the thrones, the dominions, the virtues, the powers, the principalities, the archangels and the angels, each slightly lesser or greater in magni
tude than those before.

  “My friend,” Moshe said, “you and your family have become dear to me, and I must thank you for your teachings. I have learned enough to know that I want to learn more. I wish to accept the True God and become one of His flock.”

  Reuel smiled. “I have waited long to hear those words, Moshe. I have seen the way you look at Zippora…”

  “I meant no disrespect, Reuel,” Moshe answered quickly. “She is fair to look upon. If I have given offense, I am sorry.”

  His reaction surprised and confused Reuel. “You have given no offense, my friend. May I speak plainly on this matter?”

  “Of course.”

  “I am a man growing old without sons. After faithfully bearing me seven daughters, my wife died in labor. The child stillborn was a son. I took this as a sign from God, and in any case, I have no heart to take another woman. My daughters have grown wild without a mother, doing the work of boys. They have become willful and outspoken, and in the eyes of Midian men they are spoiled for marriage. But you come from a culture that honors women and values their spirit. If you feel agreeable, I have it in my heart to make you my son, through marriage to Zippora.”

  “You honor me beyond words, Reuel.”

  “Will you consider it then?”

  “There are things you should know about me first…things that might change your mind. I fear your God might reject me for the stain of guilt I bear.”

  “I am listening, but I can think of little that would bring such harsh condemnation.”