by Rena Rossner
“Okay, I admit that does make me feel a tiny bit better about my punishment, but still. There’s only so much weaving one can take.”
“The ability to manipulate the elements is something we spend years learning, and many of us never master it in our lifetimes.”
“I saw you turn into a fox! Surely you can light a fire.” I’m still trying to take in everything he said. My father spoke about me in the yeshiva? Why? I feel like there are two truths being told and reality might be somewhere in the middle. I’m only ever on the receiving end of my father’s disapproval. What Guvriel says contradicts everything I’ve ever known.
“I can make fire,” he says, “but not the way you can. It doesn’t come naturally to me. All your father’s disciples who’ve attained a certain level of proficiency in the Solomonic arts come out here every night to say the tikkun with him. Some say when you’re having trouble controlling the flame within you, the best thing to do is recite the words from tractate Tamid. You of all people should know this. You should be saying it every night.
“Turning into a fox is easy. It’s a manipulation of the self into another form, another being. If you meditate on the words of the Perek Shirah, it’s not that hard. The next level is actually the nullification of the self—did you see Rafael disappear?”
I nod.
“It’s one thing to transform yourself into another being—it’s something else entire to nullify your very existence. But your father? He can bend the elements to his will. He can form a being, animate it, remove himself from it, and then reform himself and ride it. Do you understand how incredible that is? If you can already manipulate the elements with ease—earth, water, air and fire—you are on your way to becoming one of the greatest Solomonars that ever lived.” He looks at me with wonder, with reverence.
Tears fill my eyes and I look away.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m not. I never will be.” I dust off my skirt and stand up. “Show me the way back. There’s no use in delaying the inevitable.”
“What? Why? Where are you going?” he says.
“Aren’t you going to bring me back to my father right now?”
“Not unless you want me to,” Guvriel says.
I stare at him. “Then what?”
“Why did you come out here tonight, Sarah?”
I sit down and pick up a twig and twirl it between my fingers. “I want to help fight the darkness,” I say, “to help push back the Black Mist. I know I can because—I only wanted to watch… to learn, to see where my father goes every night. I must find ways to teach myself because he won’t teach me.”
“What if there’s another way?”
“What other way could there possibly be? My sisters are useless. They do everything they’re told. My mother uses her strength to heal people in town. And according to my father, I destroy everything I touch.”
He looks down at his feet and kicks a stone and I hear him say under his breath, “I could teach you.” He says it so fast I barely make out the words.
Now I’ve made him pity me. I can’t even get this right. “I should head back,” I whisper and stand up, but as I do, he reaches out and grabs my sleeve, then quickly lets go. “Sorry,” he says. He looks at his hand, my sleeve, then back up at me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”
“It doesn’t matter.” I rub my arm where he touched it. “I shouldn’t be here.” I’m angry that everything I thought I knew now feels twisted—like maybe I’m not the disappointment I thought I was all this time. Resist. Resist. Resist. But what if I don’t want to resist anymore?
“Sarah, what’s wrong?”
“It’s not right.” I stop myself from saying more.
“What?”
“That he’s taught…” I stop myself again. “That you know all these things and I don’t.”
“Why don’t you ask him to teach you?”
“He won’t.”
“I find that hard to believe,” he says.
He won’t teach me because I refuse to fill a cup with water is what I want to say, but it sounds ridiculous even to my ears.
“Sarah… wait!” He reaches out and touches my shoulder.
I stop. This time, it’s deliberate, his hand on my shoulder.
He doesn’t move his hand. My stomach flips.
I turn around to face him and study his face in the darkness for the first time. I see shadows on his cheeks, sharp angles softened by red fuzz just starting to dust his chin, and sharp green eyes that shine with the promise of a world of wisdom and a little bit of daring.
“Let me teach you,” he says.
I wipe my eyes on my sleeve. “It’s not right. I don’t want you to disobey your rabbi.”
“Come back again tomorrow night. Wait here, under the outcropping. I’ll bring some books; I’ll hide them here.”
“My father will never approve.”
“I wasn’t planning on telling him,” he says.
My thoughts chase one another. I could learn all the things I’ve been wanting to learn. I’d be an idiot not to take him up on his offer… but if Abba ever found out…
I narrow my eyes at him, but all I see are true intentions.
“Why?” I ask, challenging him. “What do you get out of it?”
He swallows and I see the strained motion of it in the muscles of his neck. “Maybe you can teach me a thing or two about fire?”
“What if I disappoint you?”
He meets my eyes. “You won’t.”
My stomach flips again.
“I don’t need books,” I say. “We have a house full of books. I want to be able to do what you can do.”
“All wisdom comes from books.”
“That’s not true. Some wisdom is innate—you said that. If I was a boy, I’d be out here with you. I’d have mastered animals and I’d already be weaving clouds in the sky. I will never be like you because I will always be a girl. It doesn’t matter how much wisdom I have.”
“Wisdom always matters. In The Book of the Solomonars, there are four attributes of wisdom: humility, understanding, integrity, and courage.” His eyes meet mine. “Do you trust me?”
“What if my father finds out?”
“He won’t, I promise, and if he does, I’ll take the blame. It was my idea, after all.”
“Why?”
“Because I see the thirst for knowledge in your eyes and that’s something that should never be denied.”
My heart beats even faster. I take a deep breath. “Okay,” I say. “I trust you.” The tiny flame inside me roars to life.
His mouth twists into a grin. “Even if I force you to read books first?”
I laugh, then put my hand to my lips. I can’t remember the last time I smiled like this—so wide it feels as if my lips will crack.
“Yes,” I say.
“It’s settled then,” he says. “I’ll see you here tomorrow night, Sarah Bat Isaac.”
He starts to walk away.
“Wait!” I say.
He turns around. “The third watch is about to begin; I have to go.”
“Oh,” I say. “Okay…”
“You know how to get back from here, don’t you?”
“No…” I say, feeling sheepish and silly.
“Follow me.” He leaps up into the air and, in an instant, he’s a fox again. He starts bounding through the trees. I dash into a sprint to keep up. I swear to myself in that moment that one day I will outrun him—in fox form.
Levana
Abba takes me with him to synagogue each week now, even when there is no kiddush levana. He starts to teach me everything he knows about the heavens.
“The great ones say every blade of grass has a star assigned to it that tells it to grow. If every blade of grass has a star, certainly every human being has a star too. The stars give us life, and they have stars assigned to them which give them light and life, and those stars have stars assigned to them, and so forth, until you get to the Holy One, Bl
essed Be He, Himself, who gives light and life to everything. Some say each star is an angel; they form God’s heavenly army. We strive to be part of that army here on earth. Each star has its own power. Every soul has power too.
“Together, clusters of stars form constellations—mazalot—from the word ‘mazal’ which can be interpreted as luck, but also comes from the world ‘nozel’—something that’s fluid, like liquid, ever-changing, flowing down from the sky, subject to our interpretation.”
I watch the sky as Abba speaks. I understand the words he’s saying, but I don’t know how to take his words and apply them. There are always shapes, and things that glow, and light that leaps from one star to another and my eyes try to follow the path of that light, but sometimes I lose my way.
“Are you listening, Levanaleh?”
“Yes. I’m trying to understand.”
“I will give you an example. See those stars—the six there that make up a curve, the five there that lead up from it, and the sixth, that bursts into three?”
I follow the point of his finger and it is as if there is light that shines from his hand straight to the sky.
“That is the scorpion of the sky. Do you see how its tail sits on what looks like a river? That’s the nahar di nur—the river of fire. It is said that if its tail did not sit in that river, then no one who is bitten by a scorpion would ever recover.
“Each star has its own power; every soul has power too, and every star has a direct influence on what happens here on earth. Groups of stars have even more power—like groups of men. And every group of stars can have an effect on every other group.
“Individually each of us has power, but together, like ten men in a minyan, we have even more power, and each group has the potential to influence every other group, for good or for bad. Imagine the power of hundreds, then thousands of groups of ten. It is infinite power. So it is above, and so it is below.”
I continue to stare up at the sky. I don’t tell him the stars he points to are the same stars I saw on my own—the same star I saw burst into three.
Three sisters. Three paths. Three stars venturing out, away from the cluster they belong to.
Hannah
2 Cheshvan 5120
When we arrived at Jakob’s house, he jumped off the horse, then reached up to help me down. “You’ll have your own room beside my mother’s,” he said.
There were no servants there to greet us, which made me understand how clandestine Jakob’s trip must have been. God forbid, with the Black Mist spreading, that he be seen consorting with Jews…
I know this, and yet, it still hurts. Like a bruise you can barely see. But I must focus on why I’m here and put aside any feelings of hurt. I’m here to help his mother heal. That is all that matters.
I followed him to the stables where there was a young boy waiting to take the horse from him. Jakob took a coin out of his pocket and gave it to the boy as he handed over the reins.
“Follow me,” he said without glancing back to see if I was there. I remember thinking, This is what it’s like to live a life of privilege: never looking back to see if anyone is following you. But I did follow him because I was alone with a strange nobleman for the first time in my life, and completely at his mercy. I felt the weight of Eema and Abba’s eyes on my back, and the eyes of the entire community. I represented them. I couldn’t let them down.
Jakob took me through the kitchen, where there was a low fire burning, but no one tending to it. It was the largest kitchen I’d ever seen in my life—herbs hanging overhead to ward off demons and flies, two hearths, shelves filled with massive pots and pans and bakers’ tables larger than those at the Ben Yanai’s bakery. We went up a round staircase that felt like it went on and on. I felt more awake and alert than I’d ever been, even though my legs ached from the climb and my heart was heavy—a permanent lump in my chest I couldn’t dislodge. I remember thinking, What if she really is sick with the Black Mist? Will I catch it? Will it mean my end? Is that why they brought me here? Because I’m expendable?
Jakob opened a door into a chamber well-lit with candles, a fire already burning bright. The bed at the center of the room was intricately carved, and the two chairs and a table at the foot of the bed by the fire were carved in the same style. I thought how much Sarah would love it here—a large room warm with the reflection of what felt like a dozen dancing flames.
“This will be your room,” Jakob said. “I hope you find it satisfactory.”
I almost laughed. As if anyone could possibly see a room like this and not find it satisfactory!
“Mother’s room is right through here.” He led me back to the stairwell, opened a door to a passage that led to another wooden door, which opened onto an anteroom. The room was not well-lit. There was no fire burning in the hearth. But even in the darkness, with only the light of the moon through the window to guide us, I could see the floor was covered in an enormous carpet, with soft-looking furniture in various shades of velvet and brocades arranged around the room. Hanging tapestries and drapes covered the walls, though I couldn’t see the patterns upon them.
“Mother’s room is right here,” he whispered when we got to another set of doors. “I would be most grateful if you’d be willing to spend at least part of the night with her. Her maids have spent the last two weeks in a vigil by her bedside. We’ve had the best doctors visit. All to no avail. I would not have come to get you if I did not fear for her life.”
“I will need to change and gather some things from my satchel,” I said, and turned to go back to the first room he took me to.
“Will you be needing any assistance?” I heard him at my back, following me.
That tiny bit of power made me feel brave. It reminded me that I was the one he needed in this moment, and not the other way around.
“No, thank you,” I said. “I need time to wash myself and prepare some remedies and poultices.”
“I will wait for you outside.”
“I won’t be long,” I said.
He closed the door and I turned to face the room. There were more blankets than I’d ever seen piled high on the bed and all I wanted to do was sink into its softness. I knew I should be opening the satchel and taking out the herbs and remedies, shedding my traveling cloak and taking out the overdress that Eema and I always wore when we made house calls, but I couldn’t help it—I walked over to the bed and touched the sheets and felt the pillows. My boots sank into plush carpeting. I wanted to feel the fibers of the rug on my bare feet, but there wasn’t time. The sheets were cream-colored and smooth, their edges trimmed with delicately embroidered flowers. I smelled lavender and balsam wood.
People live like this! It’s wealth I’ve only ever read about in books. The walls were covered with paintings of animals and people (graven images, forbidden by our religion)—some of the paintings were so large they nearly reached the ceiling. I wondered what the purpose was of such a high ceiling. It made sense in synagogue, where there needed to be space for air and light and prayer—but here it felt decadent, frivolous.
I walked to the window and pulled the dark blue curtains aside. My hand left a mark on the window, my breath a fog. It was too dark to see outside, but the moon and stars shone bright. They comforted me at that moment. I thought of Levana and wondered if she was watching the same stars.
There was a knock at the door and I startled. I’d spent too much time exploring the room and not enough time getting ready to treat an ill woman. I was mortified by my behavior, and crossed the room quickly. “Just a moment.”
“Anything you want or need is available to you,” I heard Jakob say through the door. “If there’s an herb you need, a servant will be sent out to fetch it for you.”
“Thank you, I think I have everything. I’ll be another minute,” I said.
I quickly shrugged off my cloak and placed Eema’s satchel on the table. I pulled the overdress from the bag and slipped my arms into it, quickly tying the ribbons at the back into bows. I
took a linen cloth and laid it on the table, then removed all of the remedies I’d brought. I picked up the jar with the paste for chest infections and tore some strips of the linen cloth, and took a bottle of horehound syrup. I also took parchment and a quill. I placed everything in the pockets of the overdress, wet my hands with the water at the washbasin beside the bed, lathered my hands with Eema’s lavender and lye soap, and poured more water over each hand and into the basin. Three times on my right hand, then three times on my left to remove all spiritual impurities. I dried my hands on a clean cloth next to the washbasin and went to open the door.
Jakob’s face brightened when he saw me.
“I’m ready,” I said, and then I was following him again.
I spent all night by the duchess’s bedside, rubbing a poultice onto her chest, diluting the medicine into a cup of tea and trying to get her to drink small sips throughout the night. I massaged her chest, like Eema taught me, and as I did, the words came. “El na refah na lah… Please God, please heal her …” The potent combination of herbs from the earth and words from the air came together to make a kind of fire. I felt Eema guiding me, her hands giving strength to my hands. The body needs clean air and water like the soil does. Our skin must breathe along with our lungs, and if there is rot in the undergrowth, we must find a way to weed it out. My hands were warm and aching with exertion as I laid them on her chest again. I closed my eyes and murmured all the healing charms I knew. I rubbed oil and salt into the palms of her hands, the soles of her feet.
I sang all the songs Eema used to sing as I tied knots into the roots of madder stems by her bedside. Seven strands protect even against demons, though five are enough to ward off illness. I knotted seven.
If this is the Black Mist, there may be nothing I can do. And I fear if that happens, the whole community could be blamed.
I thought about the cryptic words Eema said to me when we parted. Jacob was a dreamer—Joseph was the one who lived in the king’s palace. So why did she mention Jacob to me? Jacob took his twin brother’s birthright. Joseph was Rachel’s firstborn. I’ve spent my life putting stock in my mother’s stories, and she always seems to have the right one for each moment. I still don’t understand why she chose these words for me.