by Beth Shriver
Table of Contents
Excerpt
Remnant of the Fall
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Epilogue
A word about the author…
Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
He shivered against the cold
as the shadows slowly crept over the hills near the village. They gathered their horses and tacked up the equipment for the short ride back. Tirzah mounted her horse and waited for Enan. The breeze blew long, dark strands of hair from her face where they had strayed from their wrapping.
Tirzah dropped the knotted reins on Bluma’s mane. “Are you coming?”
Enan managed to pull in a breath. She always had this effect on him. He remembered the first time he talked to her, stumbling for words. Tirzah had made the situation comfortable for him by carrying the conversation—and his heart—away with her.
“Yes. I’ll fetch Legend.” The stallion stood larger than most but was quick for his bulk, his strength comparable to that of the Germanic cold-blood horses. Enan scanned the grasslands and saw Legend’s bay hide where the horse grazed in the lush green. He whistled, and Legend lifted his huge head.
Enan watched proudly as his fondest possession approached at a gallop. Legend slowed to a fast walk as Enan grabbed the thick black mane and pulled himself up onto the horse’s back.
Tirzah’s grin and quick lift of one eyebrow dared him as she urged Bluma into a lope, her tan tunic flapping behind her in the wind.
Such a beautiful spirit. Enan smiled and followed after her.
Remnant
of the Fall
by
Beth Shriver
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Remnant of the Fall
COPYRIGHT © 2017 by Beth Shriver
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by RJ Morris
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Mainstream Historical Edition, 2017
Print ISBN 978-1-5092-1250-7
Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-1251-4
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
To Mom and Dad
Chapter One
Enan awoke abruptly, his breathing heavy. A vision of his holy city ablaze slowly drifted away, carrying with it the stench of burning bodies. He sat up in his sweat-drenched tunic and looked up past the giant oak trees. His racing heart quieted as he stared at the stars, bright against the dark sky. The strident snores of the men around him echoed off the solid tree trunks, reminding Enan he was away from home. He rubbed his perspiring face and let out a long sigh.
The dream. The same dream repeated over and over again in his mind. So vivid and real. Enan saw himself walking through rubble of the sacred temple, the hot ground searing his sandaled feet as he approached his enemy. Would he ever know whether it was he or the Roman soldier who lived? He could see the faces, and he knew one was his, but when he awoke, they slipped into anonymity, and he was left with no answer. Dreams of his Tirzah appeared less often the longer he was away training, and this one more frequent.
He inhaled the brisk night air, knowing he would not find sleep again. A short time later, he watched the golden sun rise. Soon, they would pack up camp. The weeks of absence from his village were a sacrifice, but necessary to prepare the warriors for the ever-pending possibility of invasion by the Romans. They were of the few Israelites who had been fortunate enough not to be sold into slavery and who escaped to remote areas in the North and formed a Christian sect led by Josiah.
Enan walked a short distance to the top of a hill to see the grove of pomegranate trees as he had so many times before during other weeks of training here. The sweet scent of the white blossoms tantalized his senses, reminding him of the orchards in his village of Zayin. He was ready to go home.
“Go!” Commander Levi passed the others to take the lead. He galloped by and gave Enan’s horse, Legend, a hard slap to the hide. Black, swirling clouds moved in closer behind them, a trail of shadow across the ominous hills. A bolt of twisted lightning flashed, followed by the deep bellow of thunder. The wind descended over them as sharp slashes of rain slapped their skin and stung their exposed faces, arms, and legs. Enan lowered his head, trusting his horse to guide him. A jagged shaft of light struck before them. Levi’s horse reared, rotated, and then ran in the opposite direction. Enan followed out of instinct, coming up next to Levi’s horse, turning into the beast’s path. The steed pivoted, responding to Levi’s commands, and made his way back toward the others.
“Don’t stop until we reach the village!” Levi’s voice rose over the crack of thunder as he galloped through the group of the eighty-six young men, all yearning for home.
The rain created thick mudslides down the hills. The horses whinnied, hooves pounding as they trampled through the sludge. Levi leaned back, putting weight behind him to keep from falling forward. Enan followed Levi’s example, gripping Legend between his thighs as he went headlong down the embankment. The ride up the last hill held nature’s fury as Enan tucked his chin to his chest and took the cold rain’s beating.
The rain lifted before they reached the hill by the village. Enan rode ahead, urging Legend into a gallop through a grassy field. He slowed when he spotted two horses, one gray and one black, standing together near the edge of the plain. He waved to Levi for permission to leave the squad, then turned and came up alongside the two steeds, approaching quietly. Enan dismounted, crept up to the embankment, and looked down, taking in the beauty of his Tirzah and the familiar face of his old friend Nethan.
Tirzah stood poised with bow in hand and arrow aimed at a target. Nethan stood to the left of her watching, his dark eyes narrowed with anticipation. She steadied herself and then let the arrow fly. It hit just outside the bullseye.
“Much improved!” Enan grinned and jumped down to the grassy bank where she and Nethan stood.
Tirzah stared at him wide-eyed and leaped into his arms. “Enan!”
His body r
elaxed next to hers. Remembering herself, she pulled back and touched his hair and then his face. His jaw tensed at the sensation of her hand in his hair, the brown curls which had grown almost to his shoulders since he had last seen her. She brushed a finger across his stubbly cheek. When her eyes met his, a rush of heat reddened her neck and face.
Nethan cleared his throat. Enan kept his attention on Tirzah as he smiled. “I thought I would come to see if Nethan is any good at teaching marksmanship. I see he is better at teaching than hitting the mark himself.” He laughed, turning to his friend, who grinned.
“Is that a challenge?” Nethan’s charcoal eyes narrowed with his words.
“Any time, Nethan. Just say the word.” Enan stared at Nethan, as if to familiarize himself with him again after so long an absence. As he embraced Nethan, Enan felt Nethan tense and knew instantly not to discuss the training he had just returned from.
Nethan put his hand on Tirzah’s shoulder. “Tirzah has been practicing diligently, and it shows. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Enan swallowed the sudden regret that he hadn’t been the one to teach her. He looked at Tirzah as she tilted her head, waiting for his approval. “Yes, she has improved in my absence.” He grinned, implying he meant more than just with her archery skill. Enan took Tirzah’s hand, and they walked toward their horses.
Nethan moved abruptly and marched up beside Enan. “I hear Josiah is on the move.” He kept his eyes forward with a tight smile edging his lips.
“Yes, the rumor has grown that even the small townships must be guarded day and night.” Thoughts concerning the birth of the uprising plagued Enan’s mind.
His people had been afflicted by the power of the Roman war machine long before the fall of Jerusalem. He could still hear the boom of destruction carrying through the Holy Land and see the ground salted to prevent repopulation of his people.
Enan squeezed Tirzah’s hand and stopped his thoughts of war. They paused at the top of the hill to see the river flowing alongside the tilled pomegranate orchards. “I see the pastures are prepared for planting.”
Nethan nodded. “It will be a good crop with all the spring rains we have had.”
The soil at the training camp, a good day’s ride from Zayin, held more sand than dirt. But this soil was nurtured by the Jordan River flowing from the Hasbani River of Lebanon. Silt crowned the rich land, providing two or three harvests a year and grassy plains for pasturing.
Enan took in a breath of rain-fresh air. The orange sun glided slowly behind low rolling hills. The small limestone homes looked like dollhouses from this vantage, encircled by a tall, stone wall that tucked them all in together. Smoke curled from rock and clay chimneys as evening meals were prepared for the families of this little oasis.
He shivered against the cold as the shadows slowly crept over the hills near the village. They gathered their horses and tacked up the equipment for the short ride back. Tirzah mounted her horse and waited for Enan. The breeze blew long, dark strands of hair from her face where they had strayed from their wrapping.
Tirzah dropped the knotted reins on Bluma’s mane. “Are you coming?”
Enan managed to pull in a breath. She always had this effect on him. He remembered the first time he talked to her, stumbling for words. Tirzah had made the situation comfortable for him by carrying the conversation—and his heart—away with her.
“Yes. I’ll fetch Legend.” The stallion stood larger than most but was quick for his bulk, his strength comparable to that of the Germanic cold-blood horses. Enan scanned the grasslands and saw Legend’s bay hide where the horse grazed in the lush green. He whistled, and Legend lifted his huge head.
Enan watched proudly as his fondest possession approached at a gallop. Legend slowed to a fast walk as Enan grabbed the thick black mane and pulled himself up onto the horse’s back.
Tirzah’s grin and quick lift of one eyebrow dared him as she urged Bluma into a lope, her tan tunic flapping behind her in the wind.
Such a beautiful spirit. Enan smiled and followed after her. He trotted Legend up next to Nethan and Tirzah as they entered the quiet village. They slid off their horses and strolled ahead of the animals while they talked.
“It’s late. I should go.” Nethan’s voice had an edge that cut Enan. His childhood companion was different somehow. Enan searched that suddenly hard face, wondering at the slight tension and the twitch of Nethan’s jaw.
“It’s good to see you again, friend.” Enan took Nethan’s hand, intertwining their fingers and pulling up into a tight grip. The handshake was a ritual they had begun as boys and continued as a reminder of their friendship.
“And you as well, Enan.” Nethan’s tone was courteous, but flat.
Tirzah reached out and hugged him. “Thank you, Nethan. You won’t have to bother practicing with me for a while with Enan home.”
“I don’t consider it a bother. It’s a pleasure. Good night, Tirzah.” Nethan gave her a questioning smile with lifted brows, then began his walk home.
Tirzah averted her eyes, gazing down at the soft dirt beneath her worn sandals. She took Enan’s hands in hers, running her fingertips across the hard calluses. “Has your training been more demanding?”
Enan felt Tirzah’s concern and wondered why it seemed to be more so now. “Every training becomes more difficult and takes us away longer.”
“I’ve heard talk from my father and the town elders.” She wrapped her arms around her as if seeking comfort. “They say the time is near, that we will have to join the fight to keep the Romans from taking the nearby villages. The Roman scouts have been seen near our village too often for us not to act.” Tirzah’s eyes glistened as she took a deep breath. “They fear Josiah has been uprooted and is seeking protection among us. If this is so, we will surely be forced to defend ourselves.” She began to walk away.
Enan clenched his jaw. He didn’t want to hear this, not from Tirzah. He tugged on Legend in frustration and stepped in Tirzah’s path to stop her. “I have heard word of Josiah’s movements as well. But nothing is certain. It’s best that way, for Josiah’s safety.” He circled her with his arms and lowered her head to rest on his shoulder. He had forgotten the softness and found himself yearning to continue touching her.
She pulled back slowly and stared into his eyes for a moment. “I know. I just don’t want it to come to this. Not that I didn’t know it would someday, just not in our time.” She took another deep breath and glanced down the road to her house.
Enan stroked her cheek with his fingers. Helplessness consumed him, for there was not any way he could comfort her. “I know, beloved, but you must be strong. Trust God that our battle will be won, and we will be free to live as we always have. I would rather fight now than let others in the future fight in my place.”
Tirzah looked down. “Yes. As always your faith guides us. I am not as strong as you are, to place control with the Lord in all things. The closer something is to me, the tighter I hold onto it.”
“Those are the things we must give first and foremost to Him.” He gave her a tender smile. “You’re just worried. We all are.” Enan wanted now more than ever to be here to protect her if there was an attack on their sleepy little village. So much innocence there.
One of the Roman armies would rip their village to shreds. Their only chance would be a siege. As much as he knew his place was to go to battle, he envied Abraham and Nethan, who were able to stay and defend their homes. A twinge of jealousy pricked his heart, as he thought of Nethan being there for Tirzah in his stead. Their relationship seemed to be growing each time he returned home from one of his trainings, and it unsettled him.
He glanced at her brightly-lit house, inviting and peaceful. “You should go. Everyone is home and waiting for you.”
Her lips curved into a shy, affectionate smile as she looked at him from beneath thick lashes. Then she headed toward home. Enan gathered his thoughts. He took quick steps to catch her.
“Tirzah…”
She turned to him, a question in her eyes.
He faltered, wanting to reassure her but struggling for words. “I wish there was something more I could say to console you, but I’m at a loss.”
The warm smile she offered filled him with hope and renewed his assurance in their affection toward one another. He gazed into her eyes. “It isn’t in you to lose faith. You give me a reason to fight and return unharmed.”
As she rested her soft hand on his beard-rough cheek, he felt everything around them fade away, just for a moment. She pulled away and backed toward the gate. “Do you think you and Legend can catch Bluma and me next time?”
“I’ll always catch you.” Enan grinned and watched her go. He didn’t move, just waited until she got to the gate enclosing her home, wondering how he could ever bring himself to leave her again.
Chapter Two
General Marcus entered the enclosed garden of the palace where a six-day banquet was being held. All nobles, officials, and military leaders were invited. Maximus, ruler of Mizpah, had displayed his vast wealth for eighteen days prior to the banquet. Marcus walked past the spoils from raids of over half a century and goods obtained from the trans-Saharan commercial trade. Ivory, gold, and ostrich feathers were only a few of the luxuries Maximus enjoyed.
Marcus took one of the dozens of silver wine-filled goblets that littered the long tables. Mutton, prepared a dozen ways, lay surrounded by olives, dates, and grapes, centered on long golden tables. Breads and cheeses with delicacies such as hummingbird, goose livers, and stuffed cow teat tantalized the guests. All were in high spirits, keeping the slaves busy refilling plates and goblets.
Maximus clapped his hands. Marcus turned to him and watched as Maximus hung one leg over the arm of his chair and flung the ends of his long, purple robe to one side. Maximus stared at Anthony, his cavalry commander, as he made his way through the room.
Slaves ran to either end of the garden to fetch the women from Maximus’s harem. The slaves returned with a number of dark-haired women in sheer dresses of all colors, who kept their eyes averted downward as they took their places. The musicians wandering amidst the merrymakers now scurried over to join together in song.