With a bitter groan, Deborah recalled the inspiring Hebrew proverb that the blacksmith in Shiloh had shared with her: “When you pursue your True Calling, God provides the shortcuts.” Having learned that Kassite wasn’t the Elixirist, Deborah now knew that all the progress she had rejoiced at making wasn’t progress at all, but a sad chain of futile sacrifices and needless suffering. How could God have let her pursue her True Calling on a false path? How could He have let her exult in divine shortcuts over events that in truth were no better than unlucky coincidences that took her further away from her goal? She recalled wondering the day before whether Yahweh could be playing a game to amuse Himself, but who was she to blame God for what must have been her own errors? Perhaps it wasn’t her path that was false, but her very quest? Could she have been wrong altogether about her True Calling?
The possibility was too upsetting to consider.
Deborah sprang to her feet, pushing the idea away, and ran up the hillside.
Back at their campsite, she found Kassite, Sallan, and the two boy-servants ready to go. They had packed up her sack and gotten Rogez ready, too. Ignoring them, she strapped on the heavy sword, mounted her horse, and trotted off. She could tell they were following her, but she didn’t look back.
Unsure where to go now, Deborah directed Rogez through the half-ruined town to the old healer’s house.
Her knocks on the doorjamb produced no response. Deborah entered and paused, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness.
The old woman was lying peacefully on the cushions in the corner, where she had sat the day before. Her eyes were closed, and her creased face wore a peaceful expression. Deborah put an ear to the healer’s mouth and felt no breathing.
The finality of death ended any hope of speaking with the old woman one more time, of asking about the past or seeking advice for the future. The thin thread of connection to her mother, Raquellah, was now severed. She was alone again.
Shaking off the fog of sadness, Deborah stood, took a deep breath, and exhaled with a sigh. There were no Hebrews left in Tamar, so it was up to her to give this brave woman a proper burial.
She poked her head out and beckoned the two boy-servants. They helped her wrap the dead woman in a blanket, carry her outside, and lay her down under a jujube tree with her feet pointing north toward Yahweh’s temple in Shiloh. They covered the body with rocks.
Unsure what else to do, Deborah held her hands over the pile of stones, her fingers parted in pairs, and recited the priestly blessing: “May Yahweh bless you and protect you. May He show you kindness and grace. May He illuminate your path and grant you peace.”
The boys got back on their horse.
Deborah touched the stones one more time. “Thank you,” she said quietly, “for saving my mother and giving me life.”
Outside the town of Tamar, just before the intersection of the major trade routes, Deborah stopped Rogez. To the left was the road back north to the Sea of Salt and Canaan, right was the road south to Bozra, the capital of Edom, and straight toward the rising sun was the road east to Moab, Arabia, and Persia.
“Come with us,” Sallan said.
Deborah turned her horse and glared at him.
“You’re right to resent our dishonesty,” he said, “but it’s in the past, and our friendship is sincere.”
“Friendship? Sincere?” She groaned with frustration. “You manipulated me into leaving Emanuel on a quest to find the Elixirist while you—the Elixirist!—were right there in front of me in the basket factory! Everything I’ve gone through was in pursuit of a lie!” Her voice was rising. “I had to kill a man! And poke out another man’s eyes! Do you realize what you’ve done?”
“Yes,” Sallan said. “I could tell you that I regret lying to you, but that would be another lie, and we’re done lying. The truth is that I don’t regret sending you off to search for Kassite, because the result is that we’re here in Edom—you, Kassite, and I. Do I wish it hadn’t required lying to you? Of course I do, but it did. I had no choice and I would do it again. That is the truth, but it’s in the past. Let us all focus on the future now, together, as each other’s most loyal friends.”
Kassite nodded.
“Loyal friends?” Deborah was dumbfounded. “How can you expect me to trust you?”
“Trust is no longer an issue,” Sallan said. “You know the whole truth. I lied to you because it was the only way to find Kassite and obtain our freedom. And it worked. We’re free, all three of us. I’m forever indebted to you for your courage and sacrifice.”
“Me too,” Kassite said.
“You know the truth now,” Sallan said. “The only issue is your anger, which is wholly justified.”
“Exactly!”
“But you’ve forgiven us already.”
“Have I?”
Sallan smiled. “Do you remember what I said at the campsite on our first night out of Ein Gedi?”
“Yes,” Deborah said. “You told me that, from the beginning, you and Kassite had been focused on unshackling yourselves from slavery and getting back home to Edom, even when it required making me risk my life repeatedly.”
“Correct. And you forgave both me and Kassite, true?”
“Yes, but I didn’t realize the extent of your deceit—that Kassite wasn’t the real Elixirist and that the two doses of the Male Elixir he gave me were fakes, just like him!”
Kassite shifted on his horse but said nothing.
“You don’t have to worry about that,” Sallan said. “During the years of my isolated incarceration, I taught him many things. The first two doses he gave you were real, as good as if I had prepared them.”
“Is this another necessary lie to keep me around until you make it back home to Bozra?”
Sallan held up a hand. “In the name of Kothar-wa-Khasis and the great Qoz, I swear that the two doses of the Male Elixir you have consumed were as good as and as potent as anything I could have prepared.”
Looking into his eyes, Deborah was inclined to believe him, but he had lied to her so successfully before that she didn’t know how to judge him accurately. Instead, she asked the single question that mattered: “What about the third dose of the Male Elixir?”
“In my opinion,” Sallan said, “you are ready.”
“I agree,” Kassite said.
They watched her, waiting for her decision.
Deborah was torn between her reluctance to trust the two men again and the realization that she might not have a better option. She pressed her heels to Rogez’s ribs, urging him to go, but dropped the reins, providing no direction. He snorted and sprinted forward, but at the middle of the four-way intersection, stopped and turned in place several times, impatient for Deborah to indicate her wishes. When she persisted in her silence, Rogez stopped turning, swayed his large head this way and that, and took off down the road south to Bozra.
The others caught up with her.
“You made the right decision,” Sallan called over the drumming of the hooves. “As soon as we reach Bozra, I’ll prepare the third dose.”
“I didn’t make the decision,” Deborah yelled, collecting the reins. “Rogez did.”
Sallan laughed. “The elixir will be ready—if you still wish for manhood!”
Chapter 31
They traveled south for four days through the arid land of northern Edom. Once in a while, they ran into a caravan of merchants heading north, who invariably moved aside respectfully to let Deborah and the group pass. At first, she was bewildered by it, but soon she realized it was the sight of Rogez, whose great size and pure white color made the travelers assume the rider was a wealthy and powerful man.
Each night, they camped by a village or a small town built around a natural spring or deep well. Deborah slept poorly, wary of dangers lurking in the dark every time Rogez made a sound. Worse yet, her dreams kept taking her back to the killing of Hashkem and the panic of suffocation, leaving her with a foreboding expectation of God’s harsh punishment for her grave
sin.
In the middle of the fifth day, the road crested yet another barren ridge, and at the top, a vast green valley appeared before them. The group stopped and gazed at the view. The valley was divided into hundreds of square fields and mature orchards, dotted with farmers and livestock. Up ahead, at the opposite end of the valley, the entire mountainside sparkled with countless copper roofs reflecting the sun. Massive defense walls surrounded the city. The walls and the houses were painted white, resembling the snow Deborah had seen once, a few years back, on an aberrant winter day in the Samariah Hills.
“We’re home,” Sallan said, his voice cracking. “Praise the gods!”
Kassite sniffled and cleared his throat.
“Welcome to Bozra,” Sallan said. “Have you ever seen a more beautiful city?”
Deborah shook her head. It was true. She had never seen such beauty.
They followed the winding road down to the valley and began to cross it. The city gradually came closer. Deborah was surprised to see that the streets didn’t go straight uphill as in Emanuel, Shiloh, and Aphek, but followed a horizontal pattern. The lowest street went left across the city, then turned fully to the right and went above the lower street all the way to the opposite perimeter wall, where it turned left, and so on, back and forth up the hill. The houses were built on the horizontal strips of land between each street and the next one up, facing the vast green valley below.
“A unique design,” Deborah said. “What’s the reason for it?”
Sallan chuckled. “What do you think?”
She contemplated the view for a while. The first answer that came to her mind was “Because it’s pretty,” but such a response would sound too feminine. The Edomite must have had a practical reason for building their great city in this manner.
“I can think of two reasons,” Deborah said. “First, the difference in height between each row of houses and the one above it lets everyone see the views of the valley. The scenery must be incredible from up there.”
“It is.” Sallan laughed. “It absolutely is.”
Kassite grunted. “And the second reason?”
“It’s very hot here,” she said. “By having each row of houses on a different level, everyone can enjoy the breeze when it comes along.”
“I am disappointed,” Kassite said. “You still think like a girl.”
Deborah stopped her horse. “What do you mean?”
“Views, fresh air.” Kassite waved his hand dismissively. “Things that occupy the feeble minds of women and primitive Hebrews from Canaan, not the brilliant men who build great cities in prosperous kingdoms like this.”
Her face flushed. “My people may not have built great cities yet, but we have divine laws that came down from—”
“Here is a hint,” Sallan said. “Think of the city in terms of our discussion about strategy. Do you remember it?”
She quoted from memory: “Strategy is what men of power and wealth use for self-preservation. When a situation comes up, they look at all the facts, figure out what they can use for their advantage, and come up with solutions that promote three things: their safety, their fortune, and their power. Strategy is the reason they rule the world, whereas everyone else submits to them, works hard for them, and pays them taxes.”
“Perfect.” Sallan clapped. “Now, look up there. Do you see the king’s palace?”
Deborah shielded her eyes with her hand and gazed. Near the top of the city, surrounded by its own set of white walls, was a massive palace. She tried to think rationally. Why would a king build a city with horizontal streets, rather than streets that go straight up the hill? The answer came to her in a flash. Safety!
“It’s all about defense,” she said, keeping her voice calm. “All these horizontal streets of houses and the people living in them would stand in the way of an invading army trying to reach the king’s palace.”
“Very good,” Sallan said.
Kassite prodded his horse forward. They followed him.
Riding beside her, Sallan said, “Even in my dreams, Bozra hasn’t been as stunning as it is in reality.”
“Eighteen years is a long time,” she said.
“Longer. I was a prisoner for three years before that.”
They rode in silence for a while, the glistening city growing larger before them. Deborah counted the houses in the lowest row, just inside the gate, reaching seventy-eight before the street made a sharp upward turn near the massive perimeter walls. The street above it was even longer, and there were at least forty or fifty more streets. Calculating in her mind, she was shocked by the result—over five thousand homes, which translated into tens of thousands of residents.
“It’s so big,” she said. “How do they get all the water and food for that many people?”
“Good planning and efficient administration.” Sallan smiled proudly. “Now you can see how primitive the land of Canaan is in comparison—the Hebrew tribes fighting each other incessantly, the pompous little judges ruling their grimy towns while abusing the tradesmen, merchants, and homestead farmers, and the Canaanites playing favorites with one tribe against another while gradually subjugating more and more of the Hebrews under their king’s yoke.”
His disparaging words were hurtful, but she had to admit that Bozra put to shame the Hebrew cities of Aphek and Shiloh. She recalled what Obadiah of Levi had said to her at the temple in Emanuel: “Too many Hebrew men have turned their backs on the one true God. Even our ruler, Judge Zifron, holds up the effigy of Mott at trials, while his women kneel before Ra when the sun rises. That’s why God is punishing us, sending one tribe to fight against the other and allowing the Canaanites to oppress the northern tribes—and it will get worse unless we repent and correct our ways!” Deborah wondered if things would ever change. Would her people one day realize their errors, throw away the false gods, and stop fighting each other? Would the Hebrews ever manage to build great cities like Bozra?
Near the entrance to the city, the large fairgrounds had a cloth roof, supported by dozens of tall wooden poles, providing shade for the vendors and customers. Numerous soldiers manned the city gates and the perimeter walls. They wore helmets with copper-colored, horsehair rooster combs. Sallan took the lead and greeted the soldiers, who allowed them into Bozra.
At the bottom of the hill, long storage buildings backed up to the inside of the perimeter walls, and merchants sold food supplies from stalls. There were also several wells, where women filled plump jars with water and carried them on their heads. What was missing, Deborah immediately noticed, were the crowded huts and tents of the poor and the stench they produced in Emanuel, Shiloh, and Aphek. Looking around, she saw none of those.
She asked, “Are there no poor people in Edom?”
“Not in Bozra,” Sallan said. “Living inside the walls here or in any other Edomite city is permitted only to homeowners, their families, and their servants. Outside the cities, living on the land is allowed only to landowners and their household. It’s the same rule all over Edom.”
“What about the rest of the people?”
“Those who don’t own property or work for someone who does?”
“Yes.”
“They’re lazy beggars and idle vagrants, and we don’t indulge them as the Hebrews do.”
“It’s charity, not indulgence,” she said. “Yahweh commands us to be generous to the poor, give them food and clothes, and leave a corner of every field for them at harvest time.”
“And in return for your charity, they give you filth and stench. Look around.” Sallan waved. “Our city is clean because those who would tarnish it are sent away.”
“Where to?”
Sallan glanced at Kassite before answering. “To the king’s copper mines.”
“All of the poor?” Deborah was incredulous. “Women too? And children?”
“It’s the law.”
“It’s cruel and unjust.”
“Perhaps,” Kassite said, “but let me ask you something
. When you lived at your father’s homestead, did you see him leave trash out for the coyotes to feed on?”
She shook her head.
“Exactly, because if they got used to handouts, they would lose the ability to hunt for food and try to steal it, or bite the hand that had once fed them. It is the same with the poor.”
“But they’re people, not animals!”
“Everyone should work for their bread,” Kassite said. “It is the law, and it is good for them.”
“Let’s go.” Sallan turned his horse. “My father’s house is halfway up the hill.”
As the small group rode along the lowest horizontal street, Deborah noticed that the houses were small, built close together on narrow lots, but with each higher street, the houses grew larger, many sporting two stories and generous front gardens with trees and flowers, as well as roof balconies with unobstructed views.
Halfway up the mountainside, they reached a great house with a line of jujube trees along the front of a spacious garden. Many horses and donkeys were tied to the trees outside, and guests filled the garden. Lively music sounded, and smoke from cooking fires drifted to the street.
The group dismounted and tied the horses.
“There’s a party.” Sallan’s hands shook as he unplugged a waterskin and washed the dust off his hands and face. “Maybe a child was born.” He fixed his hair over the missing ears. “Or a wedding.”
“You look fine,” Kassite said.
“For an old man.” Sallan straightened his leather armor and adjusted the belt and sword, but changed his mind, unbuckled, and put the sword on the saddle. “I don’t want to scare them.”
Kassite smiled. “They will be happy that you have come back, alive and well.”
“Twenty-one years.” Sallan took a step toward the house, but paused. “Maybe you should go in first and tell them. If my parents are still alive, seeing me might shock them to death.”
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