Counted With the Stars

by Connilyn Cossette

  He gripped my arms so tightly, my hands started to go numb.

  “Please,” I whimpered. “Let me go.” Tears stung my eyes.

  His face curved into an awful smile. “Never, my lovely lotus blossom.”

  “Release her.” Eben’s voice came from behind us.

  Sayaad’s head snapped around. “Leave us alone.”

  “I will not. Let Kiya go.” Eben circled around us, the fierce determination on his face causing my heart to surge high into my throat.

  “We are leaving, Kiya and I.” Sayaad pulled again.

  I dug my toes into the sand. “No, I am not going anywhere with you!”

  “There, the lady has spoken. She has no intention of leaving with you, Sayaad.” Eben moved closer. “Now, let her go.”

  The two men glared at each other, neither one backing down.

  Keeping his grip on my left arm, Sayaad drew a short sword from a scabbard tucked invisibly into his kilt. He held the blade to my throat, and I stopped struggling.

  “I am not about to lose my prize. I have waited too patiently to lose now.”

  Eben widened his stance. “Why would you destroy your prize? She is no good to you dead.”

  Sayaad shrugged. “True. But at least I know you won’t have her. I’ve seen the way you look at her. Your own lust rivals my own.” His laughter curled my stomach.

  “You know nothing,” Eben growled. “Let her go.”

  Sayaad leaned to whisper in my ear, all the while keeping his eyes trained on Eben. “I’d rather watch your blood sink into this sand than know that this Hebrew dog has you.”

  Silver flashed through the air. Sayaad roared and dropped his hand from my arm to grab his own, taking two steps backward. Eben’s dagger was buried deep in Sayaad’s bicep, and blood snaked down his arm, dripping to the sand.

  In his surprise at Eben’s attack, Sayaad had dropped his sword. Eben grabbed me and picked up the sword in one move.

  “Now, leave.” Eben gestured toward the fortress with the sword.

  Sayaad bled profusely, the hilt of Eben’s dagger still protruding from his arm. With one last murderous look at us, he turned and jogged away.

  Eben stood silently with the sword by his side and watched until Sayaad disappeared around the edge of the fortress.

  Relief and mortification battled inside me, making my body shake uncontrollably. Not only had I been duped and flattered into following after Sayaad. But Eben, of all people, had to come to my rescue.

  His voice still held a sharp edge from the confrontation with Sayaad. “Let’s go back to the camp.”

  I swallowed the sob that threatened to escape.

  He held my arm with a firm but gentle grip as we walked, and every so often, he looked behind us, making sure Sayaad had not decided to pursue us after all.

  How long had he been following Sayaad and me? Why? He had warned me . . . he must have sensed Sayaad’s plan.

  But what had Sayaad said about the way Eben looked at me? Could it be true? No, Sayaad was evil, trying to get a rise out of Eben. Everything he said was a lie.

  But a small part of me—or perhaps not so small—hoped there might be a grain of truth to the twisted accusation. Did Eben watch me covertly, like I watched him?

  Eben was not striking or commanding like Akhum or Sayaad—and that barbaric beard and his strange green-gray eyes were so foreign. No fine linens adorned his hips, no kohl intensified his gaze, no perfumed oils glistened on his skin, but his strength and talents and his love for his family—even his friendship with my brother—attracted me. Against my will, he drew me. He had saved me now, twice.

  He was silent. He did not ask if I was unharmed. He did not ask why I had followed Sayaad. He did not even chide me for my foolishness.

  If only he would chide me. Or yell at me. Or look at me.

  Eben did not release my arm until we neared our campsite. When he let go and walked away, without a word, the absence of his strong hand on my arm stung worse than Sayaad’s bruising grip. He left me to enter the campsite and face the inevitable questions alone.

  Before the sun had completely disappeared in the west, the shofarim blew. Usually when the ram’s horns sounded, the hair on the back of my neck stood on end. But this time, even my blood seemed to freeze in my veins. Pharaoh’s army was upon us.

  In my mind’s eye, I saw them: hundreds of chariots, thousands of infantry, and Pharaoh the Almighty leading the charge. All with the gleam of vengeance—for lost sons, fathers, brothers, friends—in their eyes. The second- and third-born men of Egypt were on their way with swords at their sides and hatred in their hearts.

  Chaos broke out on the beach. Many people ran to the edge of the water, as if to swim to safety. Some left everything on the sand and tore up the beach, attempting to follow the trail by the garrison. Some knelt or lay prostrate on the ground, calling out to Yahweh. Louder, though, were cries of “We are going to die!” and “Mosheh, why did you bring us here?” At the southern end of the beach, near Mosheh’s tent, screaming and shouting echoed across the water, as if a rebellion against him were imminent. Would they try to kill Mosheh and use his death to barter mercy with Pharaoh?

  Anger stirred in me at the foolish behavior. There was no rescue from death. Shira’s god and his Deliverer had led us to the sea to be drowned—or butchered. Such a god cared nothing for his people, and even less about me.

  Besides, we all knew this confrontation would happen. We had dreaded it every moment since we’d left Egypt.

  Pharaoh would not surrender easily. He was the Lord of Two Lands, the powerful god-man of Egypt. If he let the Hebrew slaves bully him into submission, he would never wield the same power over the surrounding nations.

  Borne on the wings of revenge for his firstborn son, he came to recapture his labor force and bring back the wealth stolen from his land. All gold was Pharaoh’s. It made no difference that it was pressed into Hebrew hands by the insistent ones of the Egyptian people.

  Shofarim resounded again, reverberating and sending echoes across the water as the sun slipped beyond the hills at the western edge of the beach and the glowing Cloud, previously settled on the shore, now began to move.

  It swirled and grew, then lifted into the air. We craned our necks skyward as it floated silently, spreading out again into a great glowing canopy overhead. One end of the Cloud gathered into a swirling, towering cyclone of light at the mouth of the canyon; the rest formed an iridescent tent over the whole beach.

  The swirling Cloud blocked Pharaoh’s exit out of the wadi.

  32

  How long could the Cloud hold off Pharaoh? We had no way of escape. We would perish here on this beach, pressed in between the mountains and the sea. Or we would be brought back to Egypt, bound, broken, and enslaved again—possibly executed publicly for the crime of treason. My mother’s hand was ice in mine, but to my left, Jumo’s grip was warm. I blinked away the horrific image of my brother tied to a whipping pole, paying for my choices.

  A wind rose out of the east. A strong, cold wind. As it blew, the temperature dropped like a stone cast into the sea.

  We must find shelter. I tried to yell to my mother above the roar of the storm, but my words dissipated into the rush of air, and my frozen lips refused to continue the effort.

  I pulled them both with me, and soon my mother, Jumo, and I were huddled by the wagon wheel, using every blanket, linen, and piece of clothing we could find to wrap our bodies. Even a couple of stray goats pressed against us, and I was so grateful for the extra warmth that I did not push them away.

  My fingers were stiff and numb. I had never been so cold in my entire life. Even in the dead of the coldest season in Egypt, I had worn sandals with only a simple mantle to protect against the chill. But this wind sliced deep into my bones. Even Eben’s black horse, Shoah, lay on the sand, head down, groaning against the painful wind and huffing great puffs of frozen breath. I hoped Shira’s family was together by their own wagon swathed in Zerah’s b
eautiful wool blankets. I tried to press away the sudden desire to be huddled with Eben, wrapped in the safety of his arms.

  Overhead, the canopy of light shimmered. Although it was cold underneath its cover, most of the freezing wind seemed to be passing over it—howling and screaming above us. A barrier of light buffered us from the worst of the storm.

  The wind blew for what seemed like hours. I fell asleep at some point; my head drooped on Jumo’s shoulder.

  When he nudged me awake, the wind had abated. I stood up, stretching the sleep and the cramp of the prolonged position from my body.

  Turning toward the east, I gasped, my disbelief in the God of the Hebrews utterly obliterated.

  The sea was frozen.

  Heaps of ice jutted out of the waters, forming walls similar to those of the wadi behind us. A path threaded through the icy canyon. What had been an azure-blue sea was now a gently sloping path passing through its depths.

  Yahweh had created a way to cross to Midian and escape from Pharaoh.

  Mouths and eyes hung open. Again the Hebrews were on their knees, this time worshipping the God who controlled even the wind and seas.

  Jumo looked out at the water with a serene half-smile on his face, as if towering walls of ice were a normal occurrence. As if it were just as he’d expected.

  My mother gripped her head, fear evident on her tear-stained face. “Daughter,” she whispered, “are we going to walk through that?”

  “I believe so. There seems to be no other way to leave this beach.”

  “But what if it is a trap? We would be crushed by the water.”

  “Why would their God lead them out here, protect them, and then destroy them in the sea? That does not make sense.” My reassuring words were a balm to my own fearful soul. Yahweh would bring them through, I felt sure of it now, and if we wanted to be free, we must follow as well.

  Zerah came up behind us and put her arm around my mother’s waist. She barely came to my mother’s shoulder, but as she looked at the miracle Yahweh had performed, she stood tall.

  “Nailah, you will see. Adonai has made us a way; he is leading us to freedom. Until we cross those waters, we are still in Egypt.”

  It was true. Even on this beach, we were still in the territory of the king. And although held back by a Cloud of swirling light, he was surely ready to claim his subjects.

  “Pack up your things quickly. The group is already on the move,” Zerah said.

  We did so, packing the makeshift linen tent, already knocked down from the powerful wind, and the few belongings scattered about the campsite, loading them back into the cart without ceremony.

  The moon, although no longer full, glowed bright, but the Cloud overpowered it, lighting the beach like midday.

  The tribe of Levi formed itself into a group. Days of packing and unpacking camp sped the process, and this time, forming into a military-type array was achieved fairly quickly. We followed the group to the wide mouth of the frozen sea-path that seemed to be swallowing the entire company whole.

  Although not visible against the black sky, opposite us on the other shore was a long mountain range hours away in the distance. A long night stretched ahead of us, a treacherous and frightening walk through the midst of a sea split by a mighty wind.

  We followed the group as it spread out. Shira’s family, with their two wagons, walked to the left of us. We all stepped onto the seabed together. My sandals touched ground that had been underwater until a couple of hours ago, and my heart leapt within my chest. Never before in my entire life had I set foot outside the land of my birth.

  My course was set. I had chosen to follow the Hebrews and their God and take my family on the path though the midst of the waters, wherever it may lead.

  Strange as it was, frightening and dangerous, it was the right path. A path marked with a few patches of coral, rocks slick with icy seaweed, and even some unfortunate fish unlucky enough to be uncovered by the wind and left to drown in the air.

  If I had followed Sayaad, I would have been his prisoner. If I had stayed with Tekurah, I would have been bound for life. If I had never been sold by my father, I would have been enslaved to his decisions and then to Akhum. But here at the bottom of the sea, freedom beckoned, pulling me farther away from my chains. The tether that had seemed to bind me to Egypt had been severed by the breath of Yahweh.

  The water heaped up on either side of us, but the ground under my feet was dry. The icy wind had done its work and prevented the ground from pooling into mud.

  Breathtaking walls of frozen sea, taller than most buildings in Egypt, taller even than the mighty temple of Iunu, stood in shimmering splendor along the path through the depths. The blue light canopied over us, casting light across our path and reflecting off the ice in an ethereal dance. Had the Cloud abandoned its guard post at the mouth of the wadi? I glanced over my shoulder, stomach curling. No, there it stood in the west, sparking bolts of fire, containing a vast army while spreading its comforting light over our path like an eagle’s wings sheltering her young.

  How thick were these ice walls, to hold back the pressure of these depths? What frightening power this God, this Yahweh, possessed—the strength to part the sea. He was more powerful than Pharaoh, who stood helpless, trapped behind a pillar of light and cloud. More powerful than the sea and the winds. Each of the gods of Egypt had crumbled beneath his crushing might. A faceless, invisible god had defeated them all.

  We pushed wordlessly through the sea, only the stubborn bray of donkeys and oxen mixing with the crunch of millions of footsteps reverberated against the glassy blue-green walls.

  My mother walked next to me, silent, gripping the lead rope of Jumo’s donkey with whitened fingers. Shira’s family still moved along next to us, and Eben sat tall on the wagon seat, driving his black horse, somber concentration creasing his brow. His glance, quick but sharp, lashed at me. The sting of it cut deep, and I looked away. I deserved the wound. My folly had almost been my undoing. Without Eben’s intervention, Sayaad would have stolen me, away from my mother and brother, away from Shira and her family. Away from the path through the sea.

  Eben could shoot dark looks at me for the rest of my life, but I was grateful to him. How could I ever repay him? Would he ever look at me with anything other than contempt or anger in his eyes again?

  The night he sang—was it only last night?—something had passed between us, something I did not understand, but craved, more than anything I had ever desired from Akhum. Had my foolishness severed the connection that had seemed to vibrate between us across the firelight?

  Cold, and weary to the bone, I stepped onto a beach not nearly as wide as the one behind us, but long and narrow. The tribes branched out along the shore.

  The Levites headed to the north end of the beach, still following the ever-present banners that led our way and kept us organized by tribe.

  The sun breached the hills to the east. When its light hit the ice walls, they sparkled like cut crystal. I shaded my eyes from the brilliance.

  A shofar blast rang out across the beach. Some of the men must have climbed up on the hill behind us to keep watch across the water. The harrowing signal from the ram’s horn was not a signal of safety, but one that told us Pharaoh was on his way. As soon as the echo of it died away, the Cloud lifted from the mountains on the beach we had just evacuated, towering thousands of feet into the air and then winding its way across the sea. It passed overhead and settled itself over the top of the hills behind us.

  Now unfettered, Pharaoh would not hesitate. He had the fastest chariots in the world—and the mightiest army. It may be decimated by the loss of thousands of firstborn soldiers, generals, commanders, but all of those remaining were trained to obey Pharaoh’s every word, on pain of death. They were coming . . . walls of ice notwithstanding.

  There was no panic this time, just horrified silence. There was nothing to do but wait. The exit from this beach was not nearly as wide as the wadi that led onto the beach we had p
reviously camped on. There was no way that millions of people, animals, wagons, and carts would have any chance of making it off the beach before the army arrived. We were defenseless, our backs against the mountains.

  All around me men armed themselves. Even Jumo pulled a short sword from the wagon.

  The sun rose higher overhead, and the air warmed. My hair tumbled loose in the sea-salt breeze.

  Word came down from the lookouts on the hills that the army was almost halfway across the sea floor. A crack reverberated across the waters and echoed off the hills. The ice splintered and crashed into the divide. A tidal wave surged quickly toward us, flooding the path through the sea, hurtling toward the beach at a breakneck pace. It spilled over itself, splashing high into the air as the ice walls disintegrated in the warmth of the sun.

  The army of Egypt—hundreds of chariots and thousands of men—were swept away. Almost in the blink of an eye, the might of Egypt, along with the man I had almost married, was gone.

  33

  Rivers of unreachable reflections danced before me, sliding across the deserted horizon before melting into nothing. I rubbed my eyes and blinked against the glare. “We should have stayed by the sea. At least a couple more days.”

  Shira nodded her head, but her eyes were on her sisters. They lay tucked among the linens and animal hides, sleeping in spite of the bump and rattle of the wagon bed.

  “The sight of water, even salt water, would be a comfort.” I licked my lips. It did little to wet them.

  Shoshana and Zayna’s usual chatter had been stilled by thirst. They had ceased complaining about the lack of water hours ago and simply given in to their exhaustion.

  The hills around us were dead. Brown. Barren.

  Cracks and fissures crisscrossed the valley floor like millions of gaping mouths begging for rain. Not one plant thrived. Here and there, a lonely cactus pushed courageous plumage out of the parched ground, but even the hardiest of desert flora listed, sucked to the marrow by the angry blaze of the sun.