The Walls of Arad

by Carole Towriss

  "Arisha?"

  She heard her name but couldn't respond. She opened her mouth but no words would come. She closed her eyes and wrapped her arms tighter around herself against the cooling evening air.

  "Arisha?" The voice was closer this time. She forced her eyes open. Zadok stood before her, his hands on her cheeks. When had that happened? She hadn't heard him approach, hadn't felt him touch her.

  "It's getting dark. Are you all right? Are you hurt?” His gaze searched her face, traveled down her body, then his ebony eyes locked on hers again. "What's wrong? Have you been standing here since Moses left? Imma told me you said you'd be right behind her, but you never came. I checked the river, the big spring—I was so worried.” He ran his hands up and down her arms, studied her from head to sandals again. “I called you several times but you didn't answer."

  His furrowed brow and darkened eyes touched her heart. How did she explain this to him? The beginning of the end—what everyone else had waited for, longed for, prayed for, instead brought her agony. Hot tears filled her eyes against her will. She blinked them back.

  He didn't push for an explanation. He just waited, as he always did, until she was ready. How did he put up with her, falling apart again and again?

  His soft embrace soothed her, gave her strength. After several moments she lifted her head. “I can't stand the thought of tearing down our home." She sniffled, then laughed softly. "I guess that sounds pretty silly."

  He wiped away her tears with the pads of his thumbs. "Of course not." He smiled, without a hint of condescension. "But you have to remember, we are only taking it down so we can move it. We're not going very far, and we're not taking it down for good."

  “But why? Why are we moving? He didn’t say. It’s not time yet. You said so.”

  Zadok shrugged. “I don’t know. But it’s very close to forty years. All the first generation has died. Maybe we are going to move closer to Canaan, a little at a time. Only a day’s journey.”

  She nodded. "I know. It's just that I finally had a home that I thought would be mine forever. I mean, you said we'd have to leave eventually, but I ... well, I don't know why it bothers me so much."

  He thought for a moment. “I believe you have to think of home not as a place, but a person. Or people."

  She frowned. "I don't understand."

  "Well, whether it's that tent, or another tent, or a house we build in Canaan, I will always be there. We will make a home together—with lots of babies”—he wiggled a brow at her—“and it doesn't matter what kind of house it is."

  "Do you promise?"

  "If Yahweh allows it, yes."

  She scrunched up her mouth. "If Yahweh allows it."

  "Yes. I won't make a promise I can't keep. Yahweh is in control of our lives. But if it is in my power, I will always be with you."

  “I guess that's as good as I can get.” She nodded and dropped her forehead against his chest, wrapping her arms around his waist.

  He lowered his head so his mouth was next to her ear. "Come on." His voice was low, and his breath was warm on her neck. "We have one more night in our home here.”

  She giggled, and his chest rumbled when he laughed in response.

  Maybe "as good as she could get" would be enough.

  Eighteen

  1st day of Av

  ZADOK stretched out his staff and gently prodded a straggling lamb to keep up with the others. The flock baaa’d and complained and generally made their dissatisfaction known as the tribes marched northeast headed for who knew where. Well, Moses knew where. Maybe Joshua. Maybe Aaron. No one else.

  The day had begun almost before the sun rose, but packing up hadn’t taken nearly as long as Zadok had imagined. In a very short time, men packed tents, women cooked a day’s worth of manna, and the Levites had the tabernacle disassembled and ready to go.

  With each man carrying his assigned piece of the tabernacle and its furnishings, the Levites led the way, followed by the clans of Judah, Issachar and Zebulon. Reuben, Simeon and Gad came next, then Ephraim, Manasseh and Benjamin. Dan, Asher and Naphtali brought up the rear.

  Trailing the rest of Judah’s tribe with the Tabernacle’s sheep, Zadok grasped Arisha's hand and entwined his fingers with hers. She lay her head against his shoulder for a brief moment, then looked up and smiled. She’d barely spoken all day, but hadn’t complained either. He’d made sure to remain close, even taken her with him to help gather the sheep for the journey.

  He shifted the coarse linen pack on his back. The Egyptian army tent folded into its own pack and was light enough to carry. The tent’s weight wasn’t an issue, but when another pack—with clothes, pots, sleeping mats, and the rest of their belongings, meager though they were—was added, it dug into his shoulder blades.

  He glanced above at Yahweh’s cloud. It stretched out before them, a hint of flame swaddled in puffy white. It had grown, spread overnight, and was now just the right shape and size to cover the marching tribes. It went before them, carving out a path in the endless sea of sand.

  Zadok reached into the bag at his side and pulled out two manna cakes, offering one to Arisha.

  “How much farther?” She nibbled on the cake.

  Zadok shrugged, his mouth full. He chewed and swallowed. “We stop when the cloud stops.” He pointed at the sun, halfway between its zenith and the tops of the mountains in the west. “But I doubt it’s much longer. We need enough light to set up camp.”

  As if Moses—or Yahweh—heard him, a ram’s horn sounded once. The procession of people, sheep, and goats slowly halted. Ahead of them, too far ahead to be seen, the Levites would mark off the area of the tabernacle, around which the tribes would make camp.

  Josiah tugged at Zadok’s sleeve. “Can we watch them set up the tabernacle?”

  “I have to set up the tent, and find a place for the sheep away from camp, but maybe Aunt Arisha will go with you.” He raised a brow.

  “Alone?” Her breath caught.

  “You won’t be alone. I’ll be with you. And Adira.” Josiah’s wide eyes said he truly could not understand why she would hesitate.

  Zadok reached for her arm. “Arisha, you don’t ha—”

  She squared her shoulders, pursed her lips. “It’s all right. We can go.”

  There really was no one else. Jacob and Abba had tents to erect. Zivah and Imma would get them ready for occupancy. But still— “You sure?”

  She nodded, but he wasn’t certain she meant it until she laughed—a little—as she picked up Adira and they scampered off.

  The first morning at their new camp at the base of Mount Hor, Zadok rose early and slipped quietly from their tent. At Imma and Abba’s fire, he was surprised to see Joshua with them.

  “Joshua, it’s been a long time. What are you doing here so early in the morning?”

  “I just got here. I wanted to see your abba. How is your new bride?”

  Zadok sighed as he sat next to him. “The move was hard on her. She’s still sleeping.”

  Joshua raised a brow as he poked at the fire. “Oh? I thought we moved at a nice pace for everyone.”

  “It wasn’t the journey. It was the moving. Period. She thought she’d finally found a home, and somehow moving means she might lose it … She tried to explain it to me, but I can’t really understand it.”

  Joshua laughed. “Never try to understand women. You will not accomplish that task.”

  Imma smacked Joshua on the shoulder.

  Zadok laughed as Joshua rubbed his upper arm. “I understand enough, I think. Miriam said she needs to feel safe. I tried to stay close yesterday. Probably will today, too.”

  “Good plan.” Abba poured hot water into four cups. “What’s on your mind, Joshua?”

  Joshua rubbed his hand down his beard. “Moses and Aaron and Eleazar left for Mount Hor before sunrise.”

  Zadok twisted to see the soaring mountain behind them. He turned back to Joshua and pointed his thumb over his shoulder. “That mountain? Why?
”

  Joshua shook his head. “Said they were going to climb it.”

  “That mountain?” he repeated.

  “Yes. And yes, at their age, before you ask.”

  “Why?” asked Abba.

  “They wouldn’t say.”

  “Not even to you?”

  Joshua shook his head.

  Zadok sipped his tea. This was unusual, but then many of the things Moses did were unusual.

  Though what reason they could possibly have for climbing a mountain, he couldn’t imagine.

  “Ishat!” Danel kissed the girl on the cheek as he entered the kitchen. Hot air washed over him, carrying the scent of spiced meats and vegetables.

  “Danel, don’t bother her.” Sisa laughed as she passed him, a huge plate of roasted lamb in her hands.

  He laughed with her. “I’m only saying good morning.”

  “You’re distracting her.”

  “Is his food ready?”

  “On the table. Mepac!” She shouted for her husband.

  “Do you think she yells at him like that at home?” Danel whispered loudly enough for Sisa to hear.

  Ishat giggled.

  One of the king’s personal servants entered and handed Danel a note on rolled parchment, with Danel’s name and the king’s seal prominently displayed. He frowned. Why would Keret call for him with a royal summons? The king knew he’d arrive with his meal in a few moments, as soon as he tasted the food.

  Then a sickening realization hit him.

  The normal sounds of the kitchen disappeared. No sloshing water, no pottery clanking, no gold or silver plinking. Danel looked up. Sisa waited, watching, along with a few others. Ishat chewed her nails, her eyes wide.

  He broke the seal, read the note. Felt the blood drain from his face. He turned to answer the servant but he was gone. Danel swallowed and cleared his throat. “Sisa, keep the food warm. Someone will be back for it.”

  “Someone?” Ishat’s voice wavered.

  “Maybe me.” Danel pasted a smile on his face and stepped toward her. He gave Ishat a kiss and Sisa a quick hug, then spun on his heel and headed for the throne room.

  What he had feared for weeks had happened. Why? What had prompted it now? And how much had Lukii told?

  Instead of ascending the dais to Keret’s side, he stepped to the center of the room and knelt.

  “Danel, rise.” The king’s voice thundered throughout the room.

  He stood, kept his head bowed. His breath was shallow, his hands clammy.

  “Come closer.” This time Keret’s voice was as it always was, as if Danel were his closest friend. Which, in many ways, he was.

  Danel took several steps toward the throne without raising his head. He worked hard to keep his breathing regular.

  The king’s robes rustled as he stood and descended the dais. His sandals appeared in Danel’s field of vision. “Danel, look at me.”

  Danel breathed in slowly, then looked up.

  “Is it true?”

  Danel intended to reveal only what he had to. “Is what true?”

  “By the gods, Danel!” The king stalked away several steps, then returned. He folded his arms over his chest. “Do you worship Yahweh, but refuse to honor Baal?” No mention of Aqhat or anyone else.

  “It is true.”

  The king studied his feet for several moments. When he looked up, he shook his head. “Danel, I could have forgiven you almost anything. You must know that. I would not be the king I am without you.” He paused. “But I cannot forgive this. The God of the Israelites? If you had only added Yahweh but not forsaken Baal, even that I would have allowed, at least for you!” He stormed away again, staring at nothing for several long moments.

  Would it be a lashing? Prison? Death? Danel’s head swam with possibilities, none of them good. His throat tightened. He locked his knees to keep from collapsing. Yahweh, help me.

  Keret returned. He stared at Danel for what felt like an eternity. “Let me ask you something.”

  Danel vision blurred. His chest refused to do its work. Don’t ask about any others. Please, Yahweh, don’t let him ask about anyone else. I beg you.

  “What would you do in my place?”

  Danel nearly lost all the air in his lungs when he started breathing again, but he couldn’t let the king see his utter relief. But what to say? Should he send himself to prison? He couldn’t suggest the king do nothing. That would be absurd. He dipped his head. “My king, I am not nearly as wise as you are and I could not possibly make such an important decision.”

  Keret laughed out loud. “Ever the gracious servant, Danel, even when your life is in danger.” The laugh disappeared as soon as it came. “I cannot kill you, Danel. But until I decide what to do, I must lock you up.”

  But where?

  Keret flipped his robe behind him and returned to his throne. Grabbing his scepter, he sat. He rapped the symbol of his office three times on the floor. A servant hustled in. Keret whispered to him, and he scurried out.

  “The worst part is I have no one nearly as competent as you to take your place.” Keret frowned.

  That’s the worst part?

  After but a moment, Aqhat entered the room. He walked to the center and knelt.

  “Rise.”

  The soldier obeyed.

  “Take this man to a cell … no, take him to a holding room and lock him in. For now.”

  “It will be done.” Aqhat bowed and approached Danel. He grasped Danel’s bicep and led him to the main entry of the throne room and down a hall. Neither of them spoke until they reached a hallway on the east side of the palace against the outer city wall. Aqhat accepted a large ring of keys from a servant, dismissed him, and unlocked the door. He opened it, and Danel entered first.

  The room was small and windowless, with only a mat on the floor and a pot in the corner. Danel shrugged. It could be so much worse. “At least it’s not a prison cell.” Danel turned to his friend. “Do you know what happened?”

  “Lukii was on guard duty last night in the king’s hallway. Apparently he got drunk before his shift, fell asleep, and the king was going to throw him in prison. He traded this information for a pardon. But he lost his commission.”

  “He didn’t mention anyone else?”

  “It doesn’t appear so.” Aqhat surveyed the room. “Looks like you got off as easy as you could.”

  “For now.” Danel repeated the king’s last words. “He had you waiting?”

  He nodded. “I’ve known since sunrise, wondering what he would do.”

  “I’m sorry. That must have been difficult.”

  “Not as hard as being in here.”

  “True.”

  “Well, you have friends in the kitchen, so you’ll probably eat well.” Aqhat tried to smile.

  “You’ll go talk to Yasha?”

  “As soon as I am off duty.”

  “We knew this would come. Remind her of that. She can do this.”

  “She won’t be alone.”

  “Thank you, my friend.”

  Aqhat left, and Danel heard the metal tumblers fall into place. He turned slowly and studied the room that would be his home.

  For now.

  Yahweh, help me. Help us all.

  Zadok pulled the last batch of dead bushes to the pile. He eyed the pile, then the fold Reuben and Jonah were building. There should be enough bushes to build a fold for his sheep. Thank Yahweh sheep only needed the appearance of a fold, made of nothing more than brush. There weren’t any boulders around. He grabbed one of the bushes and dragged it to where Reuben and Jonah were working.

  After adding it to the end of the line, weaving its branches with the one before it to ensure it stayed in place, he slapped his hands against each other to remove the dead leaves and twigs. He closed his eyes and stretched his arms above his head. When he opened them, he saw Eliel approaching.

  Odd. Why would he come all the way out here?

  “Eliel. Everyone all right? Does someone need me
?”

  “No, … I-I saw Arisha earlier. I just wanted to see how she was doing.”

  “Thank you.” He picked up his staff and ambled away from Reuben and Jonah. He had no idea what Eliel really wanted, but he should give him privacy just in case.

  “I also wanted to see why it is you like doing this”—he swept his hand toward the sheep—so much.”

  Zadok blinked. “Being a shepherd?” All he could think of was that Eliel was now with Marah—who hated the fact that he kept sheep.

  “I know Marah and her father think this is not … that it’s no longer what an Israelite should be doing. That we should be people of the land now. But my sabba speaks so highly of you, and we have always gotten along ... until now.”

  Zadok only nodded, unsure how to respond.

  “I know Marah’s sometimes abrasive, unthoughtful, and I’m sorry for what she said to you and to Arisha—”

  “You know about that?”

  “Marah told me. Believe it or not, later she often feels quite badly for things she’s said. She’s never learned to apologize, though.”

  Zadok smiled weakly.

  “Anyway, the problem is, I think I love her.”

  “Well, then maybe don’t give up on her.”

  “What?”

  Zadok shrugged. “Just a thought. I’m not saying accept her behavior, but let her know how you feel. I think her she learned her attitude from her father. Maybe she’s willing to change.” Zadok considered the hopeful look on Eliel’s face. Zadok had never felt like that when he realized what Marah was. He was devastated, humiliated, angry—but never once did he want to try to win her back. “It’s worth a try, right?”

  “Perhaps. I just—”

  A blast from the ram’s horn rent the air.

  Terror gripped Zadok. His body stiffened as he waited to see whether only or two more would follow. At the third, he started running. Looking over his shoulder. “I have to go. Arisha will panic.” He raced to the tent as fast as his legs could move, leaving Eliel standing there, alone and most likely bewildered.