Shelter of the Most High

by Connilyn Cossette

  “Does this mean war?”

  His mouth pinched. “I hope not. We are not ready to face a force like that, especially if the Hittites are involved. I’d hoped that the victories we enjoyed since Jericho would discourage such ideas. But this king is young and seems not to know, or care, what Yahweh did to Jericho, or to Egypt, for that matter.”

  “Surely the tribes will come together and push them back. Yehoshua assured us that Yahweh will hold to his promises. We cannot be uprooted from this Land.”

  “It is not Yahweh who has violated the covenant. There have been a rash of intermarriages between Hebrew leaders and Canaanite women—ones not built upon torah but on peace treaties with enemy cities within our territories.”

  Mosheh and Yehoshua had warned that such unions would destroy us from the inside, drag us into idolatry. Was such a thing happening already, within twenty years of our entrance into the Land of Promise?

  “This Land is being divided by compromise,” Darek said, answering my unspoken thought. “And I fear that if this continues, the protection Yahweh promised will be withheld and the surrounding nations will take full advantage.” He picked up his pack and slung it over his shoulder. “If we don’t push back now, make it clear that we are united beneath Yahweh’s banner, war will be inevitable.”

  The implications of his statement were grave. Laish was only a few hours’ walk from Kedesh. Nearly everyone I loved lived within these walls. Sofea. My mother. My siblings. How could I call myself a man—a husband—if I waited until the fight was at the gates? Determination settled into my bones, grounding me as never before, and I gripped the hilt of the sword tight in my fist. “I’m going with you.”

  “No, you are not.”

  I stretched to full height. “I am ready. Baz said I’m as capable as any soldier trained to defend Israel.” I lifted my chin, confident in his assessment of my proficiency, especially with a sling. “If not more so.”

  “I am aware of that. But your place is here.”

  “My place is with the army defending my people.”

  “Your skills are needed in this city.”

  “There are plenty of soldiers to protect Kedesh.”

  “I’m speaking of your metalsmithing skills. You want to be a part of protecting Israel, I understand that. But this—” He pointed to the iron sword. “This is how you will serve your people. Israel needs the ability to make weapons like this—now.”

  “I said I would try, and I will, after the Amorites are pushed back north.” Unbidden, Meshak’s jest poured out of my own mouth. “What sort of coward hides behind walls while others go fight his battles?” And how can I even stand before Sofea with any sort of dignity if I do?

  “You have no choice! You cannot leave this city.”

  I scoffed. “I am not afraid to leave.”

  “You were sent here by Eleazer for your safety.”

  “I am not a child anymore.”

  “I did not say you were, but regardless, you will not go past that boundary line.”

  I stepped closer to him, body rigid and my words sliding into a snarl. “I am going, Darek. My decision is made.”

  “The decision was made when you were nine.” His voice sharpened. “The moment you dropped that oleander into the stew that killed my nephews.”

  The accusation slammed into my chest, expelling my breath in a surprised huff. Just as quickly, anger and shame melded together in my blood before flaring white-hot. “I. Was. A. Child.”

  He flinched, and his expression dropped, remorse bleeding into his tone as he lifted his hands. “I know that. That’s not what I meant—”

  I clenched my fists tight. “I was not sentenced here like Ima. I don’t have to stay.”

  “It doesn’t matter. If you step over that line, Raviv will kill you.”

  “I’m not afraid of Raviv, I am well prepared—”

  Conviction hardened the planes of his face. “There is nothing more to discuss here. I’ve told you before that my brother will not give up until you are dead, and frankly I don’t think Eleazar’s death will change anything. You must live here for your lifetime.”

  “I won’t cower—”

  “No.” He threw a palm in the air. “You must stop fighting against the protection you are afforded in this city and accept that this is your permanent home. And furthermore, you need to make it very clear to Sofea that marriage to you means it would be hers as well.”

  My mouth gaped as his argument knocked me back a step.

  “Besides,” he continued, “I need to deal with the problem at hand, not worry about whether my brother is trailing us looking for an opportunity to take revenge or whether you will make some impulsive move that will jeopardize my men.” He moved past me to the door. “Moriyah told me about the shepherd you saw watching the inn. She said you’ve seen him before, watching you?”

  Too furious to speak, I nodded.

  “I knew Raviv had spies in this city. Moriyah is to go nowhere without you until I return. Your place is here, protecting your mother and figuring out how to replicate that sword.”

  “Nadir can keep watch over Ima.” The next words ripped from my mouth in a blaze of fury. “I will go where I please. You are not my father.”

  He stood in the doorway, his back to me, one white-knuckled hand gripping the doorpost. “I understand that.” His voice sounded even more weary than it had before. “But I will not chance your safety, nor the safety of the woman I love more than my own life. I will not discuss this with you any further, and Chaim will have orders not to let you past the gates until we return.”

  My voice rose to a shout, my tenuous hold on fury shattering. “You would imprison me even more than I already am?”

  His answer came out flat and cold. “If that’s what it takes—then yes.”

  He walked away, leaving me glaring at the empty doorway, chest heaving, outrage and pain leaking out of me like a frayed wineskin. The decision was made when you were nine . . . when you dropped that oleander into the stew that killed my nephews. . . .

  Although both he and my mother had assured me back then that Darek held no grudge against me for my impetuous actions that day, it was plain that it had been a lie. A lie I’d suspected from the beginning, which was why I’d kept my distance from him over the years. What use was there in accepting his blatantly false attempts to win me over in those early days of his and Moriyah’s marriage? He loved my mother, of that I had no doubt, and for her sake he’d accepted my presence in her life, but anything else was pretense. No man could possibly want a son who’d killed his own flesh and blood. I knew, whether Darek admitted it or not, that he blamed me. For Zeev and Yared, and for his wife being imprisoned in Kedesh.

  Nadir was right. I had nothing to offer Sofea. Although my father was born of the tribe of Naftali like Darek, my parents had died before being allocated any land. I had no inheritance to pass on to our children other than a soot-stained foundry and the forever sullied name of a killer.

  With all the wild beauty and bold curiosity that I loved about her, how could I trap Sofea into a marriage that was nothing more than a prison sentence? I’d been selfish in claiming her without more carefully considering the consequences—another impulsive move like the one that had defined my life since I was nine.

  With an anguished bellow, I heaved the magnificent sword at the back wall. The flat of the blade hit the stone with a mighty clang before it shuddered off, spun, and clattered to the ground with a pathetic thud.

  My entire body trembled as I sank to my knees and dropped my head into my hands.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Sofea

  The door rattled on its hinges as a gust of wind swept through the crack above the threshold with a sharp howl. The violence of the windstorm that had been pummeling Kedesh for the past hour reminded me very much of the storms we’d endured on my island, huddled in our round huts, shivering under blankets and calling out to the gods to preserve us from their fu
ry.

  Instead of cowering in fear, burning incense, or laying offerings before household altars, Moriyah had organized a morning of walnut shelling to fill the time and keep our hands and minds busy. The cooperative hum of women’s and children’s voices swirled around the room, rising above the angry wail of the winds and the clatter and bang of debris outside. Every so often someone would lift their voice in song, but even the beautiful lilting melodies did little to soothe my nerves.

  My uncoordinated attempts at shelling nuts were interspersed with anxious glances toward the door. Eitan had left the inn before I’d awakened this morning, and I was desperate to hear whether he’d spoken to Darek yet. While I was confident of Eitan’s affection for me, I was a foreigner here, an outsider with nothing to offer Darek’s family. My worth to my own father had been only equal to the tribal alliance my marriage would have provided.

  Determined to distract myself from the flock of questions and worries swooping around and around in my head, I brought a stone down on the walnut in front of me with a bang. It split perfectly this time, the two sides shuddering as they landed on the table. I tapped the halves on the wood until the nutmeats separated from their casing, then set them in the basket between Prezi and me with a flourish.

  Prezi laughed at my triumphant grin. “One done . . .” She swept her hand over the long table upon which were set baskets and baskets of unshelled walnuts. “One thousand to go.”

  I made a face at her and picked up another nut, her sweet laughter doing more than anything to soothe my anxiety over Eitan’s continued absence. As I eyed the large amount of cast-off shells already on the table in front of her, a sudden flash of competitiveness prodded me to not only match her rhythm but overtake it. Her knowing grin goaded me even further. I had no intention of losing this game.

  The changes in my cousin over the past months never ceased to astound me. The broken, bleeding, dead-hearted woman who had landed on the shore of Tyre had been replaced with one whose smile radiated joy. She dived into each new task at the inn with relish, and instead of shrinking back when new guests arrived at the doors, she welcomed them with food and drink and gentle questions about their travels. It was as if coming into Israel had recreated my cousin into a completely new woman.

  I watched her from the corner of my eye as she chatted with Binah, who I recently learned was also a convicted manslayer, and marveled that the changes inside of Prezi had even transformed her face. Beauty shone there that never had before.

  Gone was the timidity and reticence that had lived on her mouth, even when we were children, and the light in her dark brown eyes was a distinct contradiction to the underlying hollowness that had reigned there for as long as I’d known her. We’d always been close, from the time we could walk, but in the past few years she’d begun to curl inside herself, becoming even more withdrawn. I cursed myself now for being so absorbed in my own concerns and too busy pressing her to tag along on my adventures in and around the sea to even ask why.

  Never again would I take advantage of her kindness, of the sacrifice she’d made for me under Seno’s whip. My heart swelled with love for my cousin, and not for the first time I hoped that she would find a husband to cherish her, protect her, and make her feel as desired as Eitan did me.

  Rachel, Dov’s wife, had joined us today, as had her son’s wife and the girl named Rivkah whom I’d met the other day. Having shelled no more than ten nuts over the past hour, Rivkah bounced up, declaring she was tired of the work, and went to search out Gidal and Malakhi. Banned from the room earlier by Moriyah after they’d knocked over a pot of beer, the two boys had removed themselves to the hallway to play with a basket of discarded walnut shells.

  A short time later, Rivkah came streaking back into the room, voice pitched high with complaints that Malakhi had invented a game of seeing how many broken shells the boys could lodge in her long black hair.

  Moriyah left the room to deal with her wayward sons, returning with a contrite Gidal, who delivered a sincere apology, and a not-so-contrite Malakhi, who mumbled the words but smirked at Rivkah as soon as his mother turned her back. The girl stuck out her tongue at him and whirled away with a huff, making a great show of ignoring the boy who seemed intent on provoking her. I smiled to myself as I slammed the stone down on another walnut. Something told me that Rivkah’s parents would have their hands full with that young woman in years to come.

  The door behind us swung open and a powerful blast of wind accompanied Eitan and Nadir across the threshold. The sight of Eitan made everyone else in the room disappear for me. Much of his long hair had come loose from the tie at his neck and now hung around his face in a disheveled tangle. It was all I could do to stay seated on the ground and not go to him, eager to pick up where the wind left off and run my fingers through its dark length. As if drawn by the same powerful force of nature that drew my attention to him whenever he was within sight, his hazel eyes sought out mine across the room.

  Interrupting the silent connection between us, Moriyah sprang up from her seat at the table and strode over to Eitan. “Where have you been?” The slight censure in her tone suggested that she’d been concerned for her son’s safety out in the storm, even though she’d seemed perfectly calm as she entertained the large group of women gathered in her home.

  “We went to secure the foundry before the storm hit, but as we were returning we came across a neighbor whose animals had broken out of their pen. Nadir and I have been chasing five goats and three donkeys all over town.”

  This information elicited some laughter from the ladies around the table and excited chatter and questions from the children.

  “How is the foundry?” asked Moriyah, already pouring two cups of barley beer for the men as they dipped their hands in a washing pot in the corner.

  “The roof has some damage already.” Eitan accepted the cup from his mother with a nod before guzzling the contents and releasing a satisfied sigh. “If this storm doesn’t calm soon, Nadir and I may end up having to replace the entire thing.”

  Another brutal rush of wind slammed against the shuttered windows, followed by a clap of thunder that startled all of us. Tirzah began to cry, so Moriyah strode over to lift the infant from the blanket she’d been playing on, then paced the length of the room, shushing her and cooing words of calm into her tiny daughter’s ear. As I watched them, a flutter of something new came to life in me—a desire to cradle Eitan’s child within my body.

  Since they too were now stuck inside with the rest of us while the storm howled outside, Moriyah asked Eitan and Nadir to put their muscles to good use by bringing in the smaller of the stone mills from the courtyard to crush the leftover walnut shells, which would be used to polish the metal in the foundry, for dyes, and in a variety of other ways around the inn. Moriyah was an expert at making sure nothing, even the shell of a nut, was wasted.

  My gaze traveled over the women and girls gathered around this table: Moriyah, Abra, Chana, Binah, Sarai, even sulking Rivkah and her mother and grandmother. I’d been brought to this city against my will, grieving and alone except for Prezi, but somehow over the past months I’d begun to think of these people as friends, and this inn as my home.

  If Darek agreed to a marriage between Eitan and me, I would be considered a permanent member of this household. I would be a wife, a sister, a daughter, and someday, a mother. I would be part of a family once again.

  Overflowing with hope that today Eitan would announce our betrothal, I smiled to myself, grabbed another handful of nuts to shell, and wondered whether Prezi was right about Yahweh after all.

  The storm pounded its fists against the doors and shutters for another two hours, and by the time it quieted its demands we’d nearly finished the walnuts. Baskets of empty shells sat on the floor near Eitan and Nadir, who’d barely taken a break as they crushed the pieces into sand.

  Moriyah opened the front door to the inn, frowning in dismay. “It seems to finally be over. The palm tree out front is destro
yed, and there is quite a bit of debris in the street. Eitan, you’d best check on the foundry.”

  Both men stood, but Eitan leaned close to Nadir, speaking so low I heard nothing more than the silken rumble of his voice. With a frown, Nadir glanced at Moriyah, then nodded and sat back down to his task at the stone mill. The odd exchange left me with a feeling of unease.

  After Eitan left, the children filtered out of the room, anxious to stretch their legs in the courtyard. Even Rivkah sauntered off to join them, ending her self-imposed isolation.

  “If there is this much damage to the few trees within the walls, I can only imagine what the orchards and groves around the city might have sustained,” said Moriyah. “Perhaps we should collect firewood.”

  “Prezi and I will go,” I said, anxious to stretch my own legs.

  “That would be wonderful. There ought to be plenty of small limbs all over the ground, and we’d best bring in as much as we can before it rains. Nadir, would you mind going with them?”

  Seeming uncomfortable, Nadir cleared his throat. “Eitan said I should stay here, make sure you are safe.” His expression, and the pointed look he gave Moriyah, was full of meaning I could not grasp.

  She waved him off. “I am fine, Nadir. I’ll not be leaving the inn today. I have too much work to do inside. I’m sure the courtyard is a mess, but we could really use that wood. Please, take the girls. I’ll be safe, I assure you.”

  Giving in to her argument, Nadir waited as we collected large woven baskets to carry the tree limbs, then followed us out into the street. Although the wind had toppled market stalls, shredded linen awnings, and ripped shutters from windows, the damage seemed to be limited. And there had been little rain, so the streets were not even wet.

  We’d only just turned the corner when Eitan’s voice called out to us. I spun, barely restraining my impulse to run to him, slide my arms around his narrow waist, and lay my head against his chest. I hoped that Darek would agree to a short betrothal, for nothing would be more wonderful than having the freedom to greet Eitan so, anytime I chose.