Forbidden

by Kimberley Griffiths Little

  Perhaps the young man wasn’t so dangerous to my family. Maybe Kadesh was only dangerous to me.

  There was silence and I took a step toward camp, then paused. “Do the women of the southern lands dance for prayer and childbirth and celebrations?”

  He frowned, and I wondered what he was thinking. “No,” he finally said. “They celebrate in other ways.”

  I rubbed at my arms and stammered, “Please don’t—don’t watch me again.”

  “Your warning is noted. But what if I stumble upon you—or what if I can’t resist?”

  I took a sharp breath, noting his words and his meaning. I felt his eyes on my face in the starlight. “Restraint is a virtue,” I said simply, and turned and headed back to my bed. I was proud of myself that I didn’t look back.

  8

  The sun plowed a path over the ridge of approaching mountains, baking the earth even though it was only midmorning. I stood in the shade my camel, Shiz, provided, holding Sahmril, who Dinah had nursed that morning and would now sleep for a few hours. Nalla had helped me create a sling out of two lengths of linen and wrap it around my shoulder, making a pouch to hold the infant. The sling made walking easier, but I was already sweating from my sister’s body heat as I listened to the men discuss the route north. We had been traveling for the last two days and were getting close to Edomite land and the canyon lands that lay before Tadmur and the oasis.

  “The dunes here are hazardous,” I heard Kadesh say. “They’ll collapse under the weight of the camels.”

  My father stroked his beard, nodded in agreement. “We must go around the dunes.”

  Shem crossed his arms, throwing Kadesh a look that wasn’t quite confident. “That will take an extra day. We can’t spare the time,” he said abruptly.

  “I doubt the main tribe crossed them either,” Kadesh said. “They’re probably also skirting the dunes. Here are the fresh tracks. Do you recognize them as your tribesmen?”

  I squinted into the emptiness, hoping to see a line of distant camels that would indicate the tribe up ahead, but the horizon was vacant. Only the ragged range of mountains glittered in the morning heat.

  “We’ll avoid the line of dunes, and go north toward the mountain canyons,” my father finally said decisively.

  “The land of Edom lies ahead in those mountains,” Shem spoke up. “We need to avoid that at all cost.”

  “The Edomites make no war with our tribe,” my father said. “If we go too far east at this point we’ll miss the line of wells completely. Besides, straight east puts us in the heart of the Assyrian desert. We must continue north, then part at the crossroads as originally planned.”

  Shem threw his hands in the air. “I’ve said my warning. Your family may be killed in their sleep if you take the path through Edomite country. Thieves lurk in those hills.”

  I was curious to know what my father and Kadesh’s opinion was about Shem’s warning. The fear of murdering thieves made my gut tighten, but I saw Kadesh quickly shake his head, as if to reassure me that the Edomite country wasn’t as bad as Shem insisted.

  “You should listen to Kadesh,” I blurted out. “He knows this country, these people. His caravans travel through here on their way to Salem, right?”

  My father and Shem gave me long, hard looks while Kadesh appeared startled that I’d vouched for his knowledge and wisdom. I should have kept my mouth shut, but the words had burst forth. There was something about Kadesh that made me bold. Awareness of his silent, unspoken language toward me rippled like a hot wave along my spine.

  Muttering curses, Shem stomped off. I was glad that my father and Kadesh were in agreement. As Kadesh went past me to get the line of camels moving again, I reached out a hand to stop him.

  “How is the wound after these days of healing?”

  “Your father and Shem worked a small miracle with their torturous piece of hot metal. I think I’ll live after all.”

  “That’s good.” I started walking back to my camel.

  “Jayden,” Kadesh called.

  I turned, my pulse pounding in my throat.

  He smiled. “Thank you for your concern.” He continued to watch me as he placed his scarf around his lower face.

  “I’d be worried about anyone that came so close to death,” I said lightly as I turned and kept walking. But that wasn’t true, and I knew it deep within my soul. With each step I felt Kadesh’s eyes on my back, and I wondered if he could discern that I was not quite telling the truth. That the sight of him each morning as we ate breakfast made my heart fly into my throat. And each evening as I set up our beds and gathered firewood, pretending nonchalance, I actually hung on to his every word.

  Our journey continued, and hours later we finally reached the last well before we entered the worst part of the trip—the land of desolation. With a heaviness dragging at my soul, I filled the waterskins. The well was low, the water poor and brackish. The female camels’ milk had already turned watery without much to eat for a week. The animals complained and grew stubborn, slowing their pace, dragging out our journey.

  Our food supply was also depleting. I had to cut back on the flour for our nightly bread. The bag of dates was growing lighter as we used up our winter stock. During the heat of the day when I was sleepy and sluggish, I dreamed of the fat, juicy dates at the oasis, of eating until my belly burst. I awoke drenched in sweat and lethargic as if I were ill.

  Everyone was irritable—the desert harshness taking its toll on our little group. Sometimes I wondered if we were wandering in circles. To our left, a ridge of hills rose like the sharp, skeleton ribs of a dead animal. Slippery gravel shale caused the camels to lose their footing and our pace slowed dramatically.

  The shimmering sand of the flat infinite desert to my right was a constant mirage, tricking my mind with the lust for water.

  I lay against Shiz, listening to the men argue as they did each afternoon during the worst of the heat when we stopped to rest for an hour or two. And I began to wonder if we would ever catch up with our tribe’s caravan, or if we would die out here.

  I didn’t remember the journey being so difficult before. Was it really taking longer this year? Was the desert heat fiercer than usual? Perhaps life just seemed more miserable because Mother wasn’t here with her stories and songs to make our burden lighter.

  Burying my face into Shiz’s coarse hair, I bit back tears of misery. The camel’s huge, black eyes peered at me through the dirty tassels hanging over her forehead, and I wondered if she sensed my grief and worries.

  Suddenly, fresh shouts echoed in the searing temperatures. The men were arguing worse than ever, and I turned to see that Shem and his family were repacking their camels, in spite of the fact that we wouldn’t be leaving for another hour, when the sun lowered a bit.

  I jumped to my feet and felt my legs buckle, feverous heat sucking the little energy I had.

  Shem and my father’s voices took on a different quality as I flew to my father’s side.

  “What are you doing?” I said, sounding shrill.

  “Look at the dust cloud up ahead,” my father said grimly. “Those are Shem’s relatives at the crossroads. It’s time to part ways.”

  His words slammed into my mind. “I thought we’d get to the mountains before we separated.”

  My father shook his head with a grimace. “Shem was determined to avoid the Edomite canyons—and now we have to go through them alone. I’m sorry, Jayden.”

  “We have to face the Edomites by ourselves?” I reeled on my feet. Even though the Edomites had no feud with our tribe, it was always safer to go through another tribe’s territory with a large group. Since the Edomites had water and a village marketplace hidden inside their valleys, there were sure to be roving hunters or scavengers, ready to steal what we owned.

  I hurried over to Nalla, who should have been happy to see her husband’s family coming toward us across the plain. Instead, she was angrily throwing bundles of clothing and food jars into baskets. Sahmril
was in Dinah’s arms, finally asleep after crying most of the morning.

  Without a word, Dinah strode over to me and placed my sister into my arms.

  “What are you doing?” I said.

  “Our relatives are here and I’m going with them. So here is your sister.”

  “But if you leave her with me, you will be dooming her to starvation! You promised to feed her.”

  Dinah wouldn’t look at me. “Dinah,” I started again, trying to keep my voice calm. “Watery camel’s milk isn’t enough. She’ll starve. I’m begging you, please care for her.”

  Dinah whirled around. “What about my own child? What if I don’t have enough milk for him?”

  “I’ll give you my best camel, anything you wish. Please keep her with you and keep her alive until we can meet again.”

  Snapping the baskets closed, Nalla spoke in a terse voice. “Dinah, I’m ashamed to have raised such a selfish daughter.”

  “We may all die before the journey’s end,” Dinah said, drawing herself upright.

  “You’re right,” Nalla said, taking her daughter’s hands in her own. “The desert is cruel and we live one day at a time. And if we die helping someone else, then God will reward us in the next life.”

  “I’m supposed to take her out of guilt?”

  “Guilt is a start at being a charitable woman!”

  I tried not to panic, but words I hadn’t planned burst out of my mouth. “What if I came with you to help care for her?”

  There was silence as my father and Leila and Kadesh all stared at me. What had I done? I didn’t want to leave my family. Leave Leila—or Kadesh. But I also didn’t want to leave my baby sister to Dinah either. The woman would treat her with derision or disregard. But if I went with Shem’s family, I may never see my own again. Both choices were unimaginable.

  “No! Jayden, you can’t leave me,” Leila screamed, stumbling toward me. “I need you. We can’t be parted.”

  She clung to me and I realized how thin she was getting. Her weak fingers pawed at my arm as her eyes pleaded with me. Leila had never been very strong. The cooking, the cleaning, the dirty work, tending Sahmril—she did very little of it. Maybe she really wasn’t made for this kind of life as I was. She needed attention, to be pampered and fed and admired. If I left her alone to make the rest of the journey—a single girl, even with our father—it was more likely the Edomites might kidnap her.

  My heart was shredding into pieces. Both my sisters needed me for survival, but how could I part with either one of them?

  “Sahmril needs Dinah’s milk,” Leila went on in a quieter voice. “She and Nalla can take care of her until she’s weaned and we can find her again in the city of Mari. When we are stronger. And Father’s herd is replenished—” Leila broke off, and her face turned red with shame to speak of our father’s meager circumstances so plainly in front of others.

  My father’s expression stiffened when he stared at me. I wanted to crawl into a hole and weep for a week. None of this would be happening if we’d saved my mother. Losing her was too enormous to even comprehend, today worst of all as I watched Shem’s family resolutely packing up and tying their herd together.

  My father took a step forward. “Shem. Dinah. Nalla. We will do whatever you will us to do.”

  I bit my lips, but the tears I’d been fiercely holding back slipped out anyway.

  Nalla stared hard at her married daughter and there was a terrible silence in the camp.

  “Please,” Leila whispered again, so softly, I swore the wind had taken her plea and stolen it.

  Finally, Dinah started throwing pillows and cooking pots right and left. Her thin face flashed. “Fine. I’ll take her. I will expect to see you in one year’s time or less to get her back. But if my son dies because of her—I will make you pay dearly.”

  My legs turned weak with relief. “Thank you, Dinah, thank you,” I whispered, embracing her even though she stood rigidly before me. “Always, you will be my sister for this.”

  She didn’t answer, just turned away and kept packing.

  I could hear the sounds of Shem’s shouting, Nalla’s frustration, Leila’s weeping, but I tried to block it all out as I buried my face into Sahmril’s soft, sweet neck. I didn’t want to say good-bye. I wasn’t sure which good-bye was more painful. Preparing my mother’s body for burial and letting her spirit fly away into the empty sky—or watching Dinah take my sister and treat her as she would a slave.

  It would be so easy for Dinah to leave my little sister on the desert trail to die. When we met again, months from now, all Dinah would have to say was that Sahmril had taken sick. And I’d never know the truth.

  I swayed on my feet, unable to doom my baby sister to such a fate. But as my mother’s face swam before my eyes, I also knew I couldn’t let her down by not doing everything I could to save my family.

  A moment later, my father’s hand was on my shoulder. “Sometimes the desert gives no choices,” he said quietly.

  Impatiently, Dinah turned toward her crying toddler, who was trying to pull a piece of bread out of one of the baskets.

  “Tell me, Dinah,” I said, swallowing past my raw throat. “Which camel do you want? I will have my father untie the animal and bring it to you. May her milk help care for my sister and your own son, too.”

  Dinah pointed to the camel that still lay where I’d been resting. “That one. With the tassels falling over its eyes.”

  Shiz. I felt myself choke. Dinah had picked one of our very best animals, and my favorite.

  “Fine,” I said, my eyes swimming. “She’s yours.”

  “There’s something else,” Dinah added, and the unpleasant glare she gave me caused me to prickle with dislike. “The camel will provide milk for your sister when she’s weaned, or perhaps meat if needed, but I want something for me.”

  “What else could you possibly want besides my beloved camel?” I swallowed the harsh words, willing myself not to be selfish. After all, Dinah would sacrifice much to care for Sahmril. She should be given a token of payment. My mother would want me to do that.

  Dinah stepped closer, and her eyes were like slits of yellow in the harsh sunlight. “I want your jewelry. Your necklace and earrings and bracelets.”

  I sucked in a breath. “No,” I whispered. “It was my mother’s last gift—it’s all that I own.”

  Instantly, Nalla shuddered beside me. “Dinah!” she exclaimed. “How can you ask such a thing?”

  Dinah ignored her. “They are very fine and worth much. Just like your sister Sahmril. I believe I ask for a fair trade.”

  I was so outraged I couldn’t find any words. My jewelry was the only thing of worth that I owned. My dowry. My measure of beauty and worth as a woman. Even poor women had their blood jewelry, though it might be the only jewelry they ever owned their entire life.

  “Sahmril’s life for your jewelry,” Dinah repeated.

  I couldn’t believe she was doing this—robbing me of these precious possessions. A stabbing pain throbbed behind my eyes as I unhooked the earrings. The strands of the silver necklace, the symbols of my clan, the moon and evening star, disappeared into Dinah’s outstretched, grimy hands.

  She didn’t leave until I’d watched her clasp the necklace around her neck and laid the silver across her chest, mingling with her own jewelry. She put the bracelets alongside the two already on her wrists, and then clipped the earrings onto her ears. Swinging her head, she smiled as the fine silver strands brushed her neck.

  Hatred screamed inside my head. I gripped Sahmril so tightly she began to whimper. “I’m so sorry, Sahmril,” I choked out, kissing the pink, puckered lips. “You’re worth more than any jewelry.”

  Just as I was about to faint with misery, my father pulled me to his chest, and held me and Sahmril together in his arms. I clutched at his robe, the coarse cloth against my face. I smelled the baby skin of my sister and brushed my lips against her wispy, dark hair for the last time. I tried to say good-bye, but no words
existed for this terrible moment.

  “I promised Mother,” I told my father, my voice muffled against his clothes. “I promised her I’d care for Sahmril! I think she knew,” I added. “She knew she was dying.”

  My father’s bearded cheek pressed against mine. “I know, Jayden, but the desert breaks promises all the time. We cannot make her obey our will.”

  “Jayden,” Nalla said, touching my hand. “Let me take her. I’ll make sure she stays well.”

  I nodded miserably, my eyes swollen with tears. My arms were cold and horribly empty once Nalla had taken her. I buried my face into my father’s neck again. “I’m so sorry I’ve lost Sahmril and Shiz both.”

  He didn’t speak, but his anguish was palpable as we watched Nalla tuck Sahmril into the crook of her arm and walk back to her own camp.

  “Let’s get the camels moving,” my father said hoarsely. Then he released me and stiffly walked away, but I could see the added sorrow in his posture and his unsteady gait.

  Lowering my head, tears ran down my face like drops of fire. For a moment I hated myself. I was losing my family one by one. What if by the time we reached Tadmur, the only person I had left was my betrothed, Horeb? I’d rather die in the desert and let the jackals tear me to pieces.

  I stumbled into a rock and nearly fell face-first onto the earth, but at that moment, someone caught my arm, keeping me upright. I let out a gasp of relief as well as surprise.

  When I lifted my head, Kadesh was there; his dark, unwavering eyes looked directly into mine. Concern furrowed his brow, but I didn’t speak a single word. “I overheard, Jayden, and I’m so sorry. I wish there was something I could do to ease the pain.”

  “There is nothing. Nothing,” I said, not ready to accept his kindnesses. I tugged my arm away and tried to walk on, tears strangling me. I craved the luxury of a single day to properly mourn, preferably alone. But those luxuries were not an option. Never had they been an option for me.

  I glanced at Kadesh as I moved away, his gaze still steadfast. His presence was disquieting. He knew I’d just given up one sister to save another sister. He understood that the loss of my jewelry, my mother’s last gift to me the night before she died, was an enormous blow. He also seemed to know that I’d give anything to save Sahmril’s life. Somehow, this stranger from the mysterious southern lands knew without being told that my heart had broken, several times over.