The stars blurred above me. “If Prezi does not live—”
He cut me off with a stone-etched promise. “I will find her. I understand how much she means to you, and I will do everything in my power to return her to you.” My view of the stars was suddenly blocked as he leaned over me. His hair had come free of its tie, becoming a curtain of sweet darkness around my face, enveloping me in his familiar cedar-hyssop scent. “From the moment you appeared in my home, all wildness and blue-eyed fire, I have thought of little more than making you my wife, and I will not let you down again.”
I breathed deeply of his nearness, my eyes dropping closed as I lifted my hand to caress the soft line of his bearded jaw. “I do not deserve—”
He cut me off with a soft touch of his lips to mine, his hand wending its way into my curls as he drew me closer. “You are precious, Sofea. And if Yahweh wills it, I will spend my lifetime showing you just how much you are worth to me.”
After another tender kiss that ended too soon, Eitan gathered me close by his side and we lay on our backs, watching the slow parade of twinkling lights until I faded away. I woke early the next morning in a strange bed with Ora sleeping beside me and the faintest memory of being tucked in Eitan’s arms as he carried me down the stairs, along with the sound of his steady heartbeat against my cheek.
As I watched the sun rise through the open window, shedding golden light on every corner of the tidy little room, two things took root deep in the center of my soul: not only did Eitan love me in spite of everything, but the journey to understanding that I was inexplicably valued by the One Who Made the Stars had been worth every painful step.
CHAPTER
THIRTY-SEVEN
Eitan
2 Cheshvan
A shiver rippled across my shoulders as the gray dawn breathed across my skin and ruffled my damp, unbound hair. Dressed only in the plain white tunic I’d donned after my cleansing mikveh, I knelt on a linen sheet at the entrance of the Mishkan.
The marrow of my bones seemed to resonate with reverent fear as I considered the privilege of being allowed this close to the consecrated sanctuary of the Holy One of Israel.
The smoky-rich smell of my sacrifices roasting on the bronze altar filled the courtyard of the Mishkan—a lamb, an ewe, and a ram purchased by Ishai before the sun had even considered rising. When I’d told him of my plans last night, he’d insisted on providing the necessary animal, grain, and wine offerings and waved off my insistence on reimbursing him for such generosity.
He’d taken me by the shoulders, those dark Egyptian-bred eyes boring into me. “Eitan, you are my grandson. Nothing honors me more than standing by you in this. I will hear no more arguments.” He stood ten paces away now, also dressed in white after his own ritual cleansing, and somehow his presence made me feel as though my mother was near as well.
To my surprise, Eleazar stepped forward. I’d not expected the High Priest to be present today, let alone be the one to administer the rite; however, since it was his reproof last night that had brought me to this moment, it seemed only fitting.
“What made you choose to live as a nazir?” asked Eleazar after I’d told him all that had transpired over the last few days while his wife tended to Sofea.
Although tempted to skim over my true reasons, I offered him the unvarnished truth, regardless that it was his own death I alluded to. “I have chosen to live this way until my mother goes free from Kedesh.”
The priest had lifted his silver brows. “Ah. And what of you?”
“Me?”
“What shackles bind you, young man?”
Taken aback, I had no answer.
“Why do you think I sent you to Kedesh, Eitan?”
“To protect me from Raviv.”
“That is true. I saw such consuming bitterness in that man . . . and it seems nothing has changed. And I also sought to remove you from the care of an uncle who neglected you to the point of starvation.”
Hot shame sizzled in my veins. I’d not known Eleazar was aware of the extent of my pain in my uncle’s home.
“But I also felt it was necessary for you to be away from Shiloh in order to heal,” he said. “You were too young to shoulder such guilt for what happened to those boys. Living in Shiloh would only have been a daily reminder of your mistake. I’d hoped that you would long ago have released that burden, but I suspect that you are still punishing yourself.”
I began to protest his assumptions but was halted by his large hand on my shoulder.
“Do you think that by beating your body into submission you can erase the memory of that night? That it could absolve you of your part in their agonizing deaths?”
I flinched at the harsh assessment but could not refute it.
“Consecrating yourself to Yahweh is a worthy endeavor, Eitan, one that I would guess you have not taken lightly in any way, but I hope that it was begun with correct motives and not with some misplaced notion of making atonement for what happened to those boys.”
I searched back to the moment I’d spoken the words of consecration aloud when I was fifteen. I’d been captured by the idea of setting myself aside, much like a priest, holding myself to a higher standard; but perhaps, if I was honest, my motives had become less worship of Yahweh and more bargaining for my mother’s freedom. Ashamed, I dropped my gaze to my feet.
“It was a tragic mistake, Eitan, but one for which both you and Moriyah were offered grace eleven years ago. Why are you trampling all over the gift you were given?”
I jerked my chin upward, meeting his gaze again. “But I do not deserve—”
“Deserve?” His voice rose, echoing in the empty chamber. “Did we Hebrews deserve to be rescued from Egypt when most of us had turned to Egypt’s gods there? Did Cain deserve to be pardoned from death and preserved by the mark of Yahweh after he killed his brother? Did Mosheh deserve to become the leader of our nation after he buried that murdered overseer in the sand? No, none of us deserve such kindnesses, especially from the Holy One whose justice and righteousness are beyond all comprehension. If you have freely been given mercy, who are you to question it?”
I lifted my eyes to the High Priest, hoping my expression conveyed my gratitude for his wise council. As I had washed in the frigid creek before dawn, I had allowed those words to take root inside my soul, and now, for the first time since I’d watched Zeev and Yared’s lives slip away, I finally took firm hold of the freedom I’d been given.
A faint smile curved his lips as his strong voice rang out. “Is it your desire today, Eitan ben-Nachman, to end your vow to live as a nazir?”
I started a bit at the name of the father I barely remembered, my childhood memories of him long having been reduced to vague threads that eluded my grasp more often than not. “It is.”
Eleazar moved to stand before me, placed his palms on my head, and began to recite the priestly blessing over me. The familiar words of protection, of grace, and of peace poured over me like the flood that once flowed from a rock in the wilderness.
With the rising sun peering over his shoulder, Tal stepped forward to take Eleazar’s place, a razor-edged knife in hand and his expression sober. It seemed that my oldest friend had been selected to perform my unbinding ritual. Although tempted to teasingly admonish him not to let the knife slip, I held still as he began slicing away the hair I had not cut for over five years.
The long strands floated down to the sheet, collecting around my knees, my head already feeling lighter and the cool air raising gooseflesh on the back of my neck. Once Tal had finished cutting most of the length, a razor blade was wielded against my scalp and around the distorted ear that I’d always kept covered. Although momentary regret buzzed in my head, I took courage from my mother’s refusal to wear a veil over the Canaanite brand on her face.
As the last of the stubble was pared from my head, Tal and two other kohanim training for priesthood brushed the remnants from my garments, then asked me to stand aside as they gathered every last stra
nd of hair from the sheet and placed it in a copper bowl, which was then handed to Eleazar.
As my hair was scattered over the remains of the animal sacrifices, the bread and grain offerings added, and the wine poured over it all, I lay prostrate before the sanctuary of the Almighty, arms outstretched. The smoke rose from the bronze altar in curls, dissipating into the sky and, with it, the shackles I’d clung to for so long.
Sofea took in the sight of me without my hair, her lips parting in surprise as Ishai and I approached the house. It looked as though she had been walking with Ora among the autumn-painted vines this morning, just as my mother had done nearly every day when she lived in Shiloh.
Then, as if Sofea fully understood why I’d shed my vow, resolution arose in her blue eyes. She dropped Ora’s arm and walked up to me. Without a word, she reached for my right shoulder and pulled me down toward her. I felt her warm breath against my deaf ear, but her whisper was lost to me. Then her sweet mouth pressed against my deformity, and I realized words were unnecessary. Just like when I called her my own in front of Ishai, her kiss declared that no matter what had happened between us in Kedesh, she was mine, for life.
Our parting from Ishai and Ora was swift and bittersweet. Regardless of the circumstances, I’d been grateful to see them again, but knowing it may well be the last time caused a much deeper wound than it had when I was a child with little understanding of such things. However, anxious to reach Prezi before any word from Shiloh about Nadir’s thwarted plans reached Raviv’s ears, Tal, Sofea, and I were forced to leave without delay. My grandfather sent us on our way with multiple blessings and Ora with as much food as we could carry in our packs.
Their beloved faces lingered in my mind as we retraced my steps, making our way down into the Jordan River Valley, crossing over south of Beit She’an and following the trade road back to the Sea of Kinneret. Along the way, Tal did his best to distract Sofea from thoughts of Prezi’s fate by regaling her with memories of our boyhood mischief.
Whether it was slinging rotten apples off the roof of the inn at an unfortunate herd of goats, stripping off our tunics to run naked through a rainstorm, or setting loose a gaggle of caged geese in the middle of the market, the two of us had found no lack of entertainment in Kedesh. For years we’d barely even noticed that we lived in a prison.
Sofea seemed amused by Tal’s stories but had grown quieter and quieter the farther north we walked. It was evident that she grieved every moment that passed without confirmation of her cousin’s safety and was losing more hope with every step.
On the third evening of our journey, we took shelter beneath a wide willow tree near the remains of the once-mighty Canaanite city of Hazor. After we’d eaten the last of the bread and cheese Ora had given us, Tal made the excuse of needing to wash in the narrow river nearby, giving me a few moments alone to comfort Sofea.
We sat side by side in the shade of the willow as the sun dipped low in the west over the ruins of the wicked kingdom that was long touted as unconquerable.
“What can I do without her, Eitan?” Sofea’s voice barely broke a whisper.
Stricken by the despair in her question, I tucked her into my side and pressed a kiss to her temple. “We will find her, Sofea. Raviv has no cause to harm her. It is me he wants.”
She leaned her head against my shoulder, and I savored the feeling of her body pressed against me. “I made her go explore with me,” she said. “She like more to help her mother with the brothers and sisters than dive into sea caves or climb rocks. But I was selfish. I want her with me.”
Her body trembled as she continued. “The day the men came, she want to stay behind. Help with the tuna catch. But I make her go with me. I fuss until I get my way. And while we swim like dolphins, our families die. . . .” Her voice drifted, as if she were seeing the horror again in her mind. “But I do not regret this. If I not be selfish that morning, she would be gone. And I cannot think of my life with no Prezi.” She drew a shuddering breath.
Slipping my fingers beneath her chin, I lifted her face, needing her to see the determination on my own. “She will come back to you, Sofea.” I kissed her tear-stained cheeks. “I promise.”
To my surprise, she slid her arms around my neck and kissed me with abandon. Her lips tasted of salt and desire, and her fierce embrace was tinder to my blood. Tangling my fingers in her curls, I slowed the kiss, needing to measure my response but also wanting to memorize the feel of her in my arms.
Knowing Tal would return any moment, I forced myself to release her, grinning at the flush on her cheeks. Then I gathered enough fallen willow boughs to fashion a soft bed on the ground and insisted that she lie down and get some rest for the final leg of the journey home.
I sat beside her, running my fingers through her long silky curls until she fell asleep, and I determined to do whatever it took to fulfill my promise to her.
After a long battle with sleep, I awoke before dawn, firm in my resolve. Quietly untangling myself from my woolen mantle, I stepped over Tal’s sleeping body and slipped out from beneath the willow.
Standing on the muddy river bank, I scraped my fingernails across my scalp for the hundredth time, still unused to the sensation of air moving over my bare head. Tal had inflicted a few nicks during my shearing, for which I’d repeatedly vowed retribution during our journey.
My palm went to my ear, curving around the mangled lobe, as I remembered how Sofea had looked at me after I’d returned from the Temple. As I stepped forward into this battle today, it was not the fiery kiss from last night that I would cling to, but that one perfect, silent moment when Sofea had kissed my deformed ear in front of my family with all the solemnity of a lifelong vow.
“You are leaving, aren’t you?” Tal edged into my daydream by appearing at my side, his eyes trained on the swirls of water curling and uncurling in their eastward rush to merge with the Jordan.
“I have no choice. Nadir said after today Raviv would make sure Prezi disappeared, whatever that may mean.” I did not even want to consider whether he’d determined that I was not coming after all and had already moved her—or worse.
“There is still time to get help from Kedesh. It’s only a few hours’ walk.”
I shook my head. “You don’t understand Darek’s determination to keep me within those walls. And I have to do this for Sofea. It would destroy her if Prezi died, especially after all she endured to save her.”
Glancing back to the willow, I watched her for a few moments, hands tucked beneath her cheek and her wild curls tangled around her face, sleeping soundly on the nest of soft boughs I’d created for her. Lying beside her last night had been equal parts torture and bliss. I’d lain awake for hours listening to her breathe, inhaling her sweet fragrance, and hoping that she would understand that what I did today was only for her.
“I need you to take her to the city,” I told him. “You can send reinforcements when you arrive like we planned, but I want her far away from Raviv.”
“I won’t let you go alone, Eitan—”
I raised a silencing palm. “I am asking you, as my oldest friend, to ensure that the woman I love is escorted safely home.”
His jawed ticked as he stared at me. “So, what? You will simply walk into his home and demand he release the girl?”
“Yahweh will be with me.” I finally understood what my mother meant when she insisted that sometimes the Holy One spoke truth directly to her soul. The vivid dream that had come to me on the tail end of my fitful sleep had solidified my decision. I’d seen a canopy of blue-white light hovering over me, undulating in the starry sky toward the northeast, and accepted it for what it was—a promise of guidance and protection.
Turning toward Tal, I clasped both his forearms in my hands. He mirrored the gesture, a mutual signal of eternal brotherhood. “I am trusting you with her.”
Frowning, he sighed in resignation. “I assured Eleazar I’d see you returned to Kedesh in one piece. Don’t make a liar of me.”
&
nbsp; I shoved his shoulder with a grin. “You still owe me a debt for butchering my scalp. Don’t think I won’t come back to collect.”
He tilted his head toward Sofea under the willow. “And what do I tell her when she wakes and you have gone?”
“Tell her . . .” With a tight knot in my throat, I absorbed one last glimpse of her through the green curtain of branches that drooped nearly to the ground. “Tell her she is worth it.”
CHAPTER
THIRTY-EIGHT
Sofea
5 Cheshvan
Fury pulsed through me with such force that Tal had to lengthen his stride to keep up with me. Eitan had promised! Promised to never let me go again! And yet when I’d woken to willow-dappled sunlight on my face, he’d gone without saying good-bye. Without explaining why he would go to Raviv’s valley alone, without waiting for men from Kedesh to accompany him into such peril. My frustration at Eitan had overflowed onto Tal, whose all-too-calm demeanor as he revealed Eitan’s disappearance caused me to snap at a man I barely knew.
But instead of losing his own temper when I accused him of being part of the deception by not waking me, the young priest had bowed his head in sympathy. “I have known Eitan since I was ten years old, and although he is naturally impulsive at times and driven by his emotions, he is not a fool, Sofea. You and I will hurry back to the city and send men to help him. Baz and Darek have trained him well. He’ll be fine.”
However, for as much as he sought to reassure me along the seemingly eternal walk, the closer we came to Kedesh, the more Tal’s pretense of calm wavered. When we were greeted at the gates by four stern-faced guards demanding to know our business in the city, his body seemed to hum with tension as he responded to their abundant questions with growing impatience. He was just as panicked over Eitan as I was.
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