The dark-haired man tilted his chin, assessing me. He pointed toward the north, toward the city that I knew lay somewhere beyond sight, and asked a question. Was he asking if we were from Tyre?
I shook my head and pointed toward the water, waving my hand numerous times to indicate we were from far away, across the sea. His eyes flared wide as he followed my gesture, and I sensed he understood my meaning. He sighed, running a palm down his cheek, his gaze locking with mine. Then he nodded as if he’d made a decision.
After saying a few more indecipherable words to the six men around us, he gestured to the hulking one, who moved forward and then crouched next to Prezi, a question in his eyes as he stretched out his arms.
“I think he wants to carry you,” I choked out.
She sucked in a wobbling breath, her trembling even more pronounced. “But where will they take us? Are we to be enslaved?”
“Does it even matter? If we stay here, we will die. Better slavery than the underworld.”
Although she protested, I unwrapped myself from her grip and stood, taking a couple of steps back to make it clear I would allow him to help her. Without hesitation, he slipped his enormous hands beneath her broken body and lifted her into his arms. Then he stood, my tall, willowy cousin looking very fragile and terrified in the clutches of someone who looked more like a wild beast than a man. Her bruises, along with the welts Seno’s belt had caused, must be aching, but she kept her lips pressed tight against crying out at the pain.
The big man said something to her, a grin forming on his stubbled face, and then let out a quiet but rumbling laugh. Although I flinched, it was a pleasant sound, nothing like the lewd laughter of the men on Seno’s ship.
My gaze darted to the dark-haired man, and he gestured for me to walk beside the one holding Prezi. All the men slowly bent to pick up their weapons, lifting them with care and brushing away the sand before placing them back into their belts. Then the six strangers came closer, their circle collapsing around us. Instinctively I moved toward the huge man and Prezi, my heartbeat thundering in my ears.
The dark-haired man said something to me, the sound reminding me of the soothing words my mother had spoken whenever I’d been frightened of an oncoming storm as a small child. Then he began leading the men east, farther into the trees, away from the beach and the waves, away from my sea. With only one last glance toward the waters that glittered brilliant beneath the sun, I followed.
CHAPTER
FIVE
Eitan
City of Kedesh
7 Iyar 1388 BC
As I lowered the mold into the trough, the hiss and pop of the clay meeting with the cool water overpowered Nadir’s voice for a moment.
“. . . No one would ever know, Eitan,” he finished as the sizzling dulled to silence. I imagined the way the molten bronze inside the mold would dull as well, from a blooming red-orange to its shrunken, blackened state. I lifted it out of the water with two strong acacia sticks and laid it on the ground next to the trough, giving the metal inside a few more moments to cool thoroughly.
“I’m not going with you,” I said as I tossed the smoldering sticks aside and deflected his suggestion by putting him to work. “Pass me that mallet.”
Nadir handed me the tool that I used to hammer off the earthen mold, revealing the rough outline of a knife as the pieces crumbled away. I brushed away the dust with a finger, the metal warm in my palm but cool enough to handle. Hard to believe it had been white-hot liquid only a little while ago.
“I told you, I’ve done it before,” said Nadir, lifting soot-blackened palms high. “Look, I am here. Alive.”
Nadir had been trying to convince me for days to sneak out of Kedesh and go with him down to the lake just east of the city. I’d brushed off the suggestion time and again without truly explaining my reasons, but it seemed he had little intention of leaving me alone.
“It’s dangerous for you to be out there, Nadir. It’s well beyond the two-thousand-cubit boundary.” Although I knew Nadir missed his days as a fisherman on the Sea of Kinneret, the risks should far outweigh any desire to spend a few hours on the shore of a lake.
He swished a dirty hand at me. “It’s been a year,” he said. “Medad’s family is not hunkered down outside the city walls waiting for retribution. They know what happened was an accident. And they respect the law. What reason would you have to worry?”
Nadir was a manslayer. Convicted of the accidental killing of a man from his village during an ill-fated fishing excursion. For months he’d kept to himself, no doubt reliving over and over again the heated argument that ended with his business partner drowned and himself sentenced to life here in Kedesh. It was only recently I’d gotten him to even share that much with me, and he hadn’t yet admitted what led to the two men exchanging blows other than to insist he had been trying to defend himself.
“I can’t,” I said, sidestepping any further questions about my reasons for staying inside the city. “There is too much work to be done. I promised Darek that when he returned from Tyre, I’d have these weapons finished for his men.”
I blew the last of the dust from the knife and held it up to the light, turning it back and forth. A good cast. Straight and true, no bits of charcoal caught in the metal. It was possibly one of the best knives I’d cast over the last few months. Since copper ore was scarce and tin only rarely brought in by foreign traders, I usually had to make do with melting down broken weapons or tools that Darek and his men recovered during their travels, and this recast knife was no exception. I could not wait to see how it’d look after I filed away the jagged edges and blemishes, polished it to a shine, and honed it razor-sharp. Although I’d become proficient in carpentry due to the scarcity of metals, smithing was where I found the most satisfaction.
With a low laugh Nadir scrubbed at his head with both hands, dislodging the sprinkling of sawdust that had settled in his brown curls. “Work. Always work. Do you ever relax, my friend?”
I used my shoulder to swipe at the sweat dripping down my cheek. “I’ll relax when these knives are finished.”
He lifted his brows. “And then you’ll come fish with me?”
I shrugged, noncommittal, weary of the conversation, and very much wishing I could agree. But I should no more pass that boundary than Nadir. I’d vowed not to do so when I was nine, and I’d honored that promise by rarely even approaching the boundary markers more than a handful of times over the past eleven years. The vow to not leave the city also included a pledge of secrecy about my past, an agreement made for my protection, and even after all these years my mother held me to it. There was no way to explain to Nadir without breaking my word.
A small voice called out, and I turned my head to better discern the sound with my one good ear. As I suspected, it was Malakhi, my youngest brother, scurrying toward us and the foundry where I’d begun an apprenticeship when I was not too much older than he was now.
“Eitan!” he called out as he approached, stopping on the very edge of the boundary I’d established for his safety. “Ima says to come home for the meal.” His large gray eyes traveled over the tools laid out on my workbench and the smoldering forge in the center of the open-air foundry.
Although I sometimes allowed him to help with filing or sanding down various tools and objects, Malakhi was well trained to stay away whenever the forge was lit. Yalon, the metalsmith who’d trained me, had given me the same rules when I’d first begun watching him when I was a boy of nine, fascinated by the glowing metal, the rasp of tools across bronze, and the wicked gleam of a polished sword in the sunlight.
I’d never wanted anything more than to work alongside Yalon back then, and it seemed Malakhi might be of the same mind. The thought inspired pride to cinch tight within my chest.
“Tell Ima I’ll be on my way shortly,” I told Malakhi as I laid the knife on my stone anvil and untied my goat hide armguards. “And let her know Nadir will be joining us.”
My brother nodded and s
ped back the way he’d come. I smiled at the sight of his sling dangling from his belt, flapping behind him like a tail. Since the day I’d fashioned the leather-and-cord weapons for him and our brother Gidal, who was two years older than Malakhi, both boys kept them on their person at all times—just as I did.
“I don’t want to intrude—” Nadir prodded a stick inside the mud-brick forge to spread and cool the ashes.
“It’s the least I can do to thank you for all the help you’ve been these last few weeks.” Having offered to help work the pot-bellows one day, soon after I’d met him in the marketplace, Nadir had shown up at the foundry nearly every morning for the past two months. With a sturdy frame strengthened by years of heaving fishing nets into boats and a deft hand with a woodcarving knife, he’d become an invaluable partner. Along with manning the bellows, helping me fell trees, and constructing mud-brick forges, Nadir whittled handles for the various tools and weapons I cast. I’d been twice as productive lately, and yet he asked for minimal compensation for all his assistance, claiming he needed something to occupy himself since he no longer had the freedom to spend his days on a fishing boat.
“Besides,” I said, “have you forgotten that my mother likes nothing better than feeding people until they can barely move?”
He grinned. The few times he’d accepted invitations to our family inn, my mother had practically stuffed food into his mouth with her own hands, delighted with his large appetite and appreciative murmurs between bites. “I would not want to disappoint your mother.”
Chuckling, I tossed the armguards aside, grabbed the unfinished knife up again, and tucked it into my belt. I’d not be foolish enough to leave the weapon here in the foundry. I only made that mistake once, a few weeks ago, and still mourned the disappearance of the knife I’d worked on for days. Even in the City of Refuge, surrounded by Levites, there were those who ignored the Torah’s command not to steal.
“However—” I snagged a waterskin from a hook on the wall and tossed it to Nadir—“we’ll need to wash before we step foot in that inn, or she will feed neither one of us.”
He laughed. “That would be a tragedy indeed.”
I’d not even opened the door fully when I was accosted by two little girls. Abra and Chana each attached themselves to one of my legs, giggling as they both wrapped all four limbs around my calves and sat atop my feet.
With a grin, I took a few exaggerated steps, which made my sisters giggle all the louder. “I must be more tired than I thought,” I groaned. “I can barely move my legs.”
My mother stood near the table, wooden spoon in hand and mirth dancing in her silvery eyes as she watched the three of us. After tugging at their long black braids, I tickled the girls, which made them release their hold on my legs. Shrieking with delight, they scuttled off to obey Ima’s directive to wash their hands all over again after tussling with me.
I stepped forward and bent down to kiss the cheek of the woman who’d taken me into her heart and home without condition eleven years ago. Even when I’d called her Moriyah instead of Ima, I had long considered her my mother. She reached up to pat my bearded jaw, radiating maternal affection.
“I’ve brought Nadir with me, Ima. The poor man wept with joy when I offered him crumbs from your table,” I said with a mocking frown.
She narrowed her eyes and feigned a slap at my shoulder with her spoon. “Ridiculous boy. I should allow you only crumbs for such a falsehood.” She smiled over at Nadir. “Shalom. I am glad you are with us, you are welcome anytime.” She gestured toward the collection of cushions scattered around the large room that served as a gathering place for both family and guests at the inn. “We’ll be eating inside today. It looks as though a storm is headed our way.”
Nadir dipped his head with a quiet murmur of thanks. Although over the last few weeks I’d managed to drag him out of the shell he’d been hiding in, he seemed much more reserved around others—my mother in particular.
“I am famished, Ima.” I bent over one of the large cooking pots she’d placed on the ground at the center of the room, breathing deeply of the spicy scent that emanated from beneath the clay lid. My stomach ached with anticipation. “What have you made?”
Instead of answering, she grabbed both my hands, turning them over to inspect my palms where slight traces of soot still gathered in the deeper creases. “You call this clean?” She looked over at Nadir with motherly censure in her expression. “If yours are anywhere close to as filthy as Eitan’s, you’d better follow him outside and scrub.”
Sheepishly we obeyed. I knew better than to talk back to Moriyah, even though at twenty I towered over her. Nadir and I made use of the small cistern out in the large central courtyard, ensuring that not only were our hands and arms completely free of dirt and charcoal but our faces and beards as well. I even dipped my head beneath the surface, relishing the coolness of the rainwater after hours working the searing-hot forge. The gathering storm clouds above us made it clear that my mother had been wise to refrain from eating in the courtyard today.
Nadir eyed me as I twisted the water out of my elbow-length hair, squeezing as much moisture out of the dark tangles as I could before allowing it to hang loose to dry. “Don’t you tire of all that hair?” he asked. “How long will you hold to that vow?”
“I don’t know,” I said, feigning an indecisive shrug. Although I’d come to regard Nadir as a friend, I had no desire to reveal my reasons for taking the Nazirite vow. However, his interest stirred memories of the conversation that led to it, the argument that made me realize every hope I’d had was for naught and that my mother’s husband saw me as little more than a burden to bear. . . .
Tal and I had talked of little else than being soldiers since the moment we’d become friends, soon after I’d come to live in Kedesh. We’d spent hour after hour slinging rocks from the rooftop of the inn, whacking at each other with sticks for swords, and discussing the day we would join the ranks of the men who defended Israel. So, in our fifteenth year, we gathered our courage and decided to approach Darek one morning, certain that he would be thrilled about our eagerness to place our sandals on the path he’d trod since he himself had come of age.
Darek and Baz, his friend and fellow warrior, were deep in conversation in the shade of the eaves with their backs propped against the stone wall of the inn. As we approached, Darek threw back his head, laughing heartily over something Baz had said. Buoyed by his seemingly light spirits that bright morning, I stepped forward and with sober respect asked for a few moments of his time.
The corner of his mouth twitched, as if my formal request amused him, but he stood and gave me his full attention. I did my best to ignore Baz, whose enormous height always made me feel like a locust before a giant, and stood tall, willing my voice to deepen and my trembling limbs to still as I laid out our desires to volunteer as his and Baz’s apprentices, with the goal of someday serving beside the two men we so greatly admired.
All humor washed from Darek’s face, and for that matter, Baz’s.
“That is not possible,” Darek said. “I’m sorry, Eitan.”
My knees wavered, but I locked them in place. “Tal and I are able-bodied, and many of the other boys our age are already learning how to fight.” I pulled my shoulders back, my chest lifting in what I hoped was a display of rugged resilience. “We take our duty as men of Israel seriously. We will defend our people.”
Darek’s gaze flitted to Tal beside me, hopefully seeing my own determination mirrored on his face, before resting back on me. “Tal is of the priestly line; he is prohibited from serving in this manner. And you know the reason why you cannot be a solider. You cannot leave this city.”
I bristled, six years of restlessness leading to my sharp retort. “I was not sentenced here. There’s no law keeping me here.”
“My brother has little respect for the law. You must stay in Kedesh, safe within these walls.”
“But the High Priest is old, he could die any day—”
<
br /> “The High Priest’s father, Aharon,” he interrupted, his expression stern, “lived to be one hundred and twenty-three years old, and Eleazar has not yet seen his eighth decade.”
“But—”
“This is not a point for discussion, Eitan. Your place is here with your mother, where Raviv cannot reach you. A boy who cannot pass outside the two-thousand-cubit boundary around Kedesh is useless to a commander.”
I flinched. Useless.
His tone softened, and he reached out to put a hand on my shoulder. “You have been a great help to Yalon in the foundry. Smithing is a valuable skill, and he has spoken highly of the aptitude you’ve shown for both metalworking and carpentry.”
A tinge of pride lifted my chin at the praise, but as much as I enjoyed my apprenticeship with Yalon, it was Darek who I revered. And Darek who I longed to emulate. “But I want to be a scout. A warrior, like you and Baz.” I attempted to clear the curving plea from my voice and failed. “And if I am with you, nothing will happen.”
He shook his head. “I’d be forced to look after you, and I can’t afford any distractions. You would only be in the way.”
My tenuous hold on self-control wavered, and I jerked my shoulder from beneath his hand. “If you won’t train me, then I’ll ask Chaim’s father. He has told me before that I am as good a shot with a sling as any soldier.”
“That is not a possibility. My word on this is final, son.”
Fury seared my veins, turning my hero worship of Darek to ash and causing my words to come out in a heated rush. “I am not your son. You are my mother’s husband.”
Shock passed over his face, along with another expression I could not interpret, before his mouth hardened into a grim line. “Be that as it may, your life is here in Kedesh, at least until your mother is free. This conversation is over.”
Within weeks of that argument I’d taken the vow, resolved that until my mother went free from this city, I would hold faithfully to the regulations of a Nazirite, neither cutting my hair nor partaking of any fruit of the vine—a perpetual consecration and a fitting atonement for someone who carried the weight of two deaths on his soul.
Shelter of the Most High Page 4