“Bracelets? Where?” Rinnah straightened, her tears forgotten.
As they walked to Tsinnah’s tent to retrieve the coveted ornaments, Adah whispered to Shoshannah, “Don’t worry about Kaleb. We’ll tell you everything he does while you’re gone.”
“I’m hoping you will.” Shoshannah hugged Adah’s thin shoulders, enjoying her sister’s conspiratorial air—she was a trustworthy tattler. “No doubt he’s going to keep the whole tribe in an uproar. If worse comes to worse, beg Father to be merciful to Kal, for my sake.”
“You know I will.”
Arms linked, the sisters walked onward through the encampment.
“Be sure our Shoshannah stays out of mischief while you’re gone!” Uzziel, Mithqah’s father, lectured loudly, giving Mithqah a hearty kiss on the cheek.
He turned to wink at Shoshannah, who longed to make an impudent face in return.
His bright eyes crinkling in a smile, Uzziel continued, “And don’t run away with any strange young men—I’d whip you both!”
“Don’t lose any of your gear,” Ritspah added, fastening Mithqah’s woolen cloak with a new copper pin, then kissing her good-bye.
While Mithqah uneasily nodded at her parents, Shoshannah kissed her grandparents. Chaciydah wept as Meshek patted her.
Keren looked as if she might cry, but she hugged Shoshannah tightly, smoothing her curls. “Behave yourself! And return safely. I pray the Most High blesses you.”
“I pray He does,” Shoshannah agreed, feeling her throat tighten, tears stinging.
She stepped away from them and went to I’ma-Annah and Shem. I’ma-Annah dabbed Shoshannah’s tears and said, “Here’s a hug from I’ma-Naomi and our Ancient One, Noakh. We’ll be praying for your safety.”
Shoshannah accepted her hug and looked over at Shem, who widened his big dark eyes at her, fond and serious at the same time. Is it true? she wanted to ask him. Will I die before my parents? Pushing the fear away yet again, she made herself smile at Shem. “Father of my Fathers, I give you my word I’ll try to stay out of trouble.”
“But will you succeed?” he asked, giving her nose a light swipe. “That would be a wonder from the Most High.”
She pretended to be hurt. He grinned, suddenly looking very boyish, confirming all her fears. It’s true.
His grin faded. He stared at her as if trying to read her thoughts. Shoshannah couldn’t look at him again.
She went to her father, who had been cautiously re-checking her dark little mare, Ma’khole, and retying all her gear. Zekaryah looked so… forlorn. Was it possible? She flung her arms around his waist and hugged him with all her might. He returned the hug fiercely, kissing her hair, then patting her silently. Stricken, fighting tears, she said, “I love you.”
He could only nod. But he kissed her again as if to reassure her.
Parting with Kaleb was equally difficult. Because they weren’t betrothed, they couldn’t linger or touch each other. She had to content herself with gazing at Kaleb for as long as she dared, watching him stare after her unhappily as she rode away with Tsinnah and the Tribe of Metiyl.
“She’s learned the truth somehow,” Shem whispered, watching Shoshannah depart. Annah looked up at her husband, aching at his desolate tone. The truth. She didn’t want to discuss it; she would cry. O Most High, how I wish You could give my children some of my years! Why must this be so? I feel as if the Great Destruction has returned in a different form …
Zekaryah lay staring upward into the nighttime dimness of the leather tent. Keren was curled up beside him, beneath their coverlet and furs, also still awake, he was sure. Again, he wished he could have said good-bye to Shoshannah—warning her to check her gear, to practice with her weapons, to trust no one, and to stay away from the Great City. But his emotions had been too raw—were still too raw—from the men’s conversation the previous day. Everything within him wanted to deny the truth he’d been resisting for years. His children could not die before him. The thought made him want to rave at the Most High, demanding answers.
Even so, rage would change nothing. And his dear firstborn, Shoshannah, would be gone for a year. Zekaryah prayed she would be sensible and safe. When she returned, he would ensure that she never strayed so far from the Tribe of Ashkenaz again. If their time as a family were to be shortened, then he would be selfish and keep her close.
“She didn’t want to leave,” Keren whispered suddenly.
Zekaryah could feel her breath, warm against his neck. Turning, he pulled her closer, kissing her cheek, adoring the softness of her skin. “I know.” Hardly able to believe he was saying the words, he murmured, “Kaleb loves her. And she loves him.”
And if she married him, she would remain with the Tribe of Ashkenaz. She would be happy. Also, Kaleb was of Shoshannah’s generation. Their lifespans would be the same—shortened. Kaleb, too, will die before me. The thought, finally admitted, was intolerable. Haltingly, fighting tears, he said, “I think Shoshannah has guessed the truth. We should have told her ourselves.”
Keren had never seen her husband cry before—not even when their children were born, which had touched him deeply. His grief was unbearable. She wept with him, held him, and lay awake throughout the night, wishing she had found the courage to tell Shoshannah what she had been denying for years—what she still denied. I will not outlive my children. O Most High, it cannot be true.
In answer, the wind howled in the darkness outside.
“Do you think it’s true?” Shoshannah begged Tsinnah, while they unloaded their gear on the evening of their second day of travel.
“I… Wait…” Looking claylike, badly shaken, Tsinnah hurried to her husband. Shoshannah regretted bringing up the subject. Particularly when she saw Tsinnah’s amiable husband, Khawrawsh, droop like a beaten man as Tsinnah whispered to him. Khawrawsh’s father, Metiyl—unloading his sturdy, dusky horse nearby—also hung his head, apparently listening to their unhappy discussion. Soon Metiyl’s wife, I’ma-Tebuwnaw, approached Shoshannah and Mithqah, her usually cheerful face puckered, her black-brown eyes brimming.
“I’m sorry. What you heard, Mithqah… we’re afraid it’s true…” Tebuwnaw’s voice broke. She pulled Mithqah and Shoshannah into an embrace, weeping and rocking them as if she were their own mother, overwhelmed in mourning.
Shoshannah knelt outside Tsinnah’s comfortably nondescript circular mud-brick home, pounding almonds with Mithqah, I’ma-Tebuwnaw, and Tsinnah. They had settled into a comfortable routine with the passing months, cleaning, spinning wool, preserving foods, and preparing for visits from the other cousin tribes, who were also demanding return visits from Shoshannah and Mithqah.
The painful revelations from the encampment were no longer spoken of, as if ignoring them would make them untrue. But Shoshannah continued to ponder this dire shuffling of the generations. She had to be brave for her parents’ sake. Truly, some potential situations might be ridiculous. Laughable.
Glancing at Tsinnah, who seemed tired this morning, Shoshannah spoke lightly. “I’ma-Tsinnah, if I’ll be old and gray before my parents, won’t they have to honor me as an elder?”
Tsinnah stared, as if befuddled. “An elder? You?”
While she was evidently trying to imagine such a thing, Mithqah gaped at Shoshannah, incredulous. But Tebuwnaw burst out laughing and smacked her pounding stone onto its flat base, almost hard enough to break it.
“Trust you, Shoshannah-child, to think of such a thing! I confess, I don’t know how to answer you.” She turned to Tsinnah. “Daughter, what will we do when our children are older than we are?”
Tsinnah pressed her hands to her forehead, teary-eyed. “I don’t know. And I’m sure I’m going to have another.”
“You’re bearing another child?” Shoshannah gasped, delighted, as Mithqah and Tebuwnaw hugged Tsinnah happily. Like Keren, Tsinnah had not borne a child for years, and—like Keren—she had been baffled by her apparent infertility. “Oh, I’ma-Tsinnah, how wonderful! But don’t cry. I
f our lives are going to be shortened, we shouldn’t spend all our time mourning—there’s too much to do!”
“I wish your dear mother could hear you,” Tsinnah wept. “She would feel so much better—forgive me; I’m going to be sick.” Tsinnah hurried away.
Shoshannah tried to not feel abandoned.
“Shoshannah!”
Hearing her name, and seeing an approaching band of travelers, Shoshannah dropped her mending and left Mithqah in the doorway of Tsinnah’s house. Yelahlah, a charming and lively daughter of Keren’s brother Eliyshama, led a small, plump-bellied mare ahead of her trader-husband’s boisterous family.
Laughing, she halted and gave Shoshannah a one-armed hug. “It’s so good to see you! Forgive me—I don’t dare drop the reins; he will drive the horse into a frenzy if I let him.”
He was Yelahlah’s firstborn son, Rakal. Harnessed into a basket on the mare’s back, one-year-old Rakal gave Shoshannah a proud, almost adult look, as if to say, “I rule here.”
“You spoiled baby,” Shoshannah scolded him warmly, tousling his gleaming black hair. “Why do you give your I’ma such a bad time? Though I’m sure she was like you when she was tiny.”
“Oh, how dare you,” Yelahlah retorted happily, swiping her black-braided hair off her shoulders. “I was never so spoiled as he is, and it’s my beloved’s fault, I give you my word!”
Yelahlah was infatuated with her beloved—her brash, attractive, wide-jawed husband, Echuwd. Shoshannah, however, wasn’t fond of him. Echuwd needed some kindness to temper his aggressiveness—a balance Kaleb naturally possessed. But it was not Shoshannah’s place to criticize; if Yelahlah was happy, then Echuwd—and his equally brash and black-haired family, who were now unloading their packhorses—must be endured. They were close kindred to Metiyl’s tribe.
Enthusiastic now, Yelahlah nudged Shoshannah. “I’ve heard that our I’ma-Tsinnah is finally expecting another child. How is she feeling?”
“Tired and ill.” Shoshannah sighed. “I hope I’m not a burden to her; Mithqah and I do all the work we can, but Tsinnah worries that we’re bored—though we’re not.”
“You should visit my husband’s family for a while,” Yelahlah suggested eagerly. “Let Tsinnah have some quiet time with her Khawrawsh and their family. By the time we’re done visiting, she will be feeling better.”
Shoshannah longed to refuse, but Yelahlah was already pulling Rakal out of his basket and calling to her husband. After conferring with Yelahlah, Echuwd approached Shoshannah briskly, slinging a water skin over his shoulder, his voice authoritative. “You’re welcome to visit, Cousin, but be ready to leave at dawn. My family and I have other things to do and can’t be waiting on you women.”
“What’s this?” Mithqah hissed to Shoshannah, hurrying over to her from the doorway. “What have you gotten us into?”
“Believe me, it wasn’t my idea,” Shoshannah protested under her breath.
Yelahlah was bounding inside the house to speak to Tsinnah. And Echuwd was going to find Metiyl to tell him that they would take Shoshannah and Mithqah away for a visit with Echuwd’s family. Shoshannah hoped she could at least set a time limit on her visit with Yelahlah, without offending everyone.
“Can we hide until they’re gone?” Mithqah wondered aloud, grimacing. Like Shoshannah, she didn’t care for Echuwd, whom they had met at past tribal encampments.
“Echuwd and Yelahlah would find us,” Shoshannah muttered.
Resigned, smiling determinedly, they went inside the house.
Shoshannah studied the rain-swollen western river before them, anxious. Echuwd’s family was a short distance away, fiercely bargaining with a group of hard-eyed men who were guarding several donkeys and large, oddly rounded hutlike structures of willow and leather.
As they bargained, Echuwd’s family indicated Shoshannah and Mithqah; the strange men looked at them without interest or recognition—to Shoshannah’s relief. The farther they traveled from the Tribes of Metiyl and his father, Asshur, the more uncomfortable she became. To find herself at the western river now, instead of the eastern river claimed by her cousin tribes, was distressing.
Gently guiding Ma’khole, Shoshannah edged over to Yelahlah. “Are we already stopping for the night?”
Yelahlah shifted Rakal on her hip, looking as worried as Shoshannah felt. “We’re bargaining for those boatmen to take us downriver.”
“Boatmen? What do you mean?”
Mithqah joined them, perplexed. “Does your husband’s family live south along this river now?”
“No,” Yelahlah said, avoiding Shoshannah’s eyes. “Echuwd and his family have business downriver. Metiyl and Khawrawsh traded Echuwd’s family some newly made tools for some wonderful obsidian and copper and yew…”
“I can’t go downriver,” Shoshannah objected, her hands sweating with a sudden rush of fear. “It’s too close to the Great City. I’ma said it would be too dangerous.”
“I didn’t know we’d be coming this way so soon,” Yelahlah explained, distressed. “But Echuwd’s father wants to finish their trading before the rainy season begins.”
“May I stay here?” Shoshannah pleaded.
Mithqah planted herself beside Shoshannah, silently offering support.
“It wouldn’t be safe, and Echuwd won’t be happy,” Yelahlah began.
Even as she spoke, Echuwd approached them, his thick eyebrows lifting, his wide jaw set and stern. “What’s wrong?”
Yelahlah immediately touched her husband’s arm, appealing, “Beloved, Shoshannah’s I’ma doesn’t want her going to the Great City—Shoshannah might be recognized by her enemies. Could some of us camp here and wait for you to return?”
Echuwd shook his head. “We aren’t coming back this way. We’ll be turning east and heading home by land.”
Shoshannah started to plead with Echuwd, but he snorted. “Don’t worry. Just cover your head with something and don’t look at anyone. We won’t be there for long; no one will notice you.” He marched away, pulling Yelahlah and Rakal with him, making Shoshannah feel like a silly child.
Mithqah stared after them, horrified. “I can’t believe he’s so unconcerned. Do you think we should just leave?”
“The two of us—alone on the steppes? No, that wouldn’t be wise. But perhaps we’ll be able to wait just outside the Great City; that would be a reasonable request.” Deciding this, Shoshannah felt hopeful. Until she realized that those odd huts of willow-ribbed leather were actually the boats.
The boatmen had finished bargaining with Echuwd’s family and were filling their now-upright vessels with mounds of straw that had been stashed beneath the overturned boats.
“Mithqah, we’re traveling downriver—with all the animals—in those!”
“Well then,” Mithqah said pathetically, looking out over the swift-flowing river, “we don’t have to worry about going to the Great City. We’ll drown along the way.”
Four
NEARING THE END of their long river journey, Shoshannah stood beside the patient Ma’khole in the huge round boat, nauseated as much by the looming appearance of the Great City as by the swift-flowing current. The tower, above all, unnerved her. It was like a ridge-patterned mountain of darkened bricks, traversed by countless angled steps, its various levels fringed with trees. I’ma had witnessed this tower’s beginning. No doubt the dreadful temple of her mother’s memory was somewhere just above that first vast level, hidden by those slime-sealed brick walls.
My enemies will hate you.
Shoshannah pinned her gray cloak securely beneath her chin, using it to hide her quiver of arrows, now looped into the crook of her arm. In addition, her flint knife was in its grass pouch at her waist. But her problem would be her bow; she couldn’t hide it. She would have to stay close to Ma’khole to be able to reach it easily.
“We won’t be able to wait outside the city,” Mithqah whispered, her dark eyes fixed on the tower, scared. “These boatmen will land us in the city itself.”
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“I know,” Shoshannah murmured, feeling trapped. Kal, I wish you were here. You’d have a plan; you always do. O Most High, help me.
She pulled her hood over her head, wondering if she would be the only woman in the Great City shielding herself from some nonexistent storm. If so, then others would stare at her, which might be almost as dangerous as wearing no hood at all. In quiet understanding, Mithqah was pulling her hood over her own hair, flashing Shoshannah a brave smile. Shoshannah managed to smile in return. Now if only some of her relatives would also cover their heads, she might have a chance to remain unnoticed among them.
But Echuwd and his relatives, all quibbling and self-absorbed, ignored Shoshannah and Mithqah.
Don’t worry. Just cover your head with something and don’t look at anyone.
Remembering Echuwd’s careless words, Shoshannah cast him a bitter sidelong glance. His disregard for her safety, and Yelahlah’s subsequent nervous abandonment of Shoshannah and Mithqah, were like painful wounds. Yelahlah—now silent and holding the squirming, irritable Rakal—seemed so bound to her husband’s will that she couldn’t insist that they must protect their guests. Hurt and resentful, Shoshannah tried to think beyond her fear.
“If we can hide somewhere until sunset, perhaps we’ll be safe,” she said to Mithqah, who nodded, wide-eyed, staring up at the tower. “I’ll try to persuade Yelahlah to help us.”
The boat swayed sickeningly. Her stomach roiling, Shoshannah watched as the boatmen turned their long-poled rudders, guiding their vessel toward a brick-lined inlet near the tower. Ma’khole shifted nervously. Shoshannah rubbed the little mare, equally nervous about disembarking.
The boatmen, however, weren’t nervous at all. They maneuvered the boat firmly against an inclined bank, then chased their cargo, humans and animals, sharply outward and upward, the boat tilting with their movements. Then—while Shoshannah stood with Mithqah on the sloped embankment, dazed and afraid—they began to disassemble their craft, calling loudly for bids on their fine, supple willow poles and straw.
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