“You are home.” Kassite made him turn. “Go in there and hug your family—whoever is still alive will delight at seeing you.”
The two boys stayed with the horses while Kassite and Deborah followed Sallan through the line of trees into the crowded garden. Men and women mingled together, chatting and laughing. The women wore colorful robes and jewelry, but no headscarves over their long hair, which was light brown or orange. The men wore fine coats and leather sandals. A group of men played musical instruments.
The guests stepped aside, opening a path for the three strangers.
The front of the house featured a wide, elevated terrace. On the right stood a large copper statue of Qoz, a bowl of fruit and cakes at its feet. Around the rim of the bowl stood several smaller figurines of other gods, made of clay or wood. Deborah recognized Baal, Ashtoreth, Ra, and Kothar-wa-Khasis with his myriad bronze tools.
On the left of the terrace was a canopy decorated with flowers. The rest of the terrace was taken up by a line of chairs, occupied by men and women who conversed amiably with guests.
Getting closer, Deborah noticed the chair in the center, larger than the others, with a tall back and padded armrests. Expecting a man to sit in it, she was surprised to see a woman.
With her plain black dress, black shoes, and lack of jewelry, the woman seemed out of place among the colorful outfits and chattering guests, but her bearing radiated authority as if she owned the place. Her white hair fell around her shoulders in thick locks, and her gaunt face had perfectly drawn features and pale skin that seemed too tight to wrinkle. She had Sallan’s gray eyes, and her gaze was focused on him.
Sallan climbed the steps onto the terrace and knelt before her. She looked at him, her expression unchanged for a long moment. Finally, she smiled, revealing perfect white teeth, took his hands, and pressed them to her bosom.
The musicians ceased playing, and the guests quieted down.
“Blessed be Qoz,” the woman said, “for answering my prayers.”
Sallan kissed her on both cheeks. “I’m sorry, Mother, that it took so long.”
“Time has stopped for us since you were taken.” She glanced upward. “Your father cried your name with his last breath.”
The men and women in the other chairs got up and circled them. Everyone broke down in tears, hugging and kissing Sallan.
Kassite nudged Deborah. “His five sisters,” he explained quietly. “The men are probably their husbands and sons.”
When calm was restored, a chair was placed next to the matriarch, and Sallan sat in it, his hand still in hers. The crowd of men and women that filled the garden stood quietly, waiting for her to speak. Deborah had never before seen such respect accorded to a woman.
“My dear family and friends,” Sallan’s mother said in a voice that was tremulous but confident. “Today we give thanks to the gods for a gift that has been long in coming. The years have tested my faith many times, but my prayers have never ceased. We gathered here today to celebrate my great-granddaughter’s wedding, but our joy is a hundred times greater. My son, the hero who saved this kingdom more than two decades ago, is back from Egyptian captivity!”
Everyone cheered, the music started again, and the chattering resumed. Waiters walked around, serving wine and fruit. Sallan’s family gathered around him, asking questions about his captivity and escape, which he deflected with vague responses.
Kassite leaned toward Deborah and covered his mouth while speaking. “They repeat the lies of the old king, who accused Egyptian spies of abducting the great Elixirist and claimed that the Pharaoh refused all offers of ransom.”
“The old king is dead,” Deborah said. “Sallan should tell everyone what really happened, how the old king jailed him—”
“Hush.” Kassite pulled her farther back from the guests. “We have to stick with the Egypt story. If we tell the truth, the young king will hear about it when he returns and accuse Sallan of slandering his grandfather.”
“Maybe the young king knows the truth.”
“Then he would be even more eager to perpetuate the lie.”
Sounds of metal clinking came from the direction of the street, and the crowd parted to let through a huge, gray-bearded man accompanied by several soldiers in full armor, swords, and long spears, their helmets adorned copper-colored, horsehair rooster comb.
An attendant announced, “General Mazabi!”
When the general came closer, Deborah saw that his left arm was missing below the shoulder.
“He was a young officer,” Kassite whispered in Deborah’s ear, “when the Egyptians ambushed our army and destroyed it near the Sea of Reeds. Lost his arm, but still, he managed to save the king, get back to Bozra, and prepare the army of women that Sallan created to scare off the Egyptians.”
“Greetings, Umm-Sallan.” General Mazabi had a deep, sonorous voice. “Congratulations on the marriage of your great-granddaughter, the beautiful Leola.”
Deborah understood that “Umm-Sallan” meant “Mother of Sallan.”
The general bowed before the matriarch, who nodded and smiled. He signaled to his soldiers, and they brought forward a box made of wood and copper, placing it at the foot of the terrace.
“Thank you,” Umm-Sallan said, “for your generosity and good wishes.”
He bowed again. “May the mighty Qoz bless your family.”
“Indeed,” she said, “the gods have been generous beyond our greatest expectations and brought back what we’ve missed the most.”
“General Mazabi,” Sallan said, rising from his chair. “It’s been a long time.”
Deborah saw apprehension on people’s faces as they waited for the general’s reaction. Apparently, the king’s version of Sallan’s disappearance had not been accepted without doubts.
“Be ready,” Kassite whispered to Deborah. “We might have to run.”
General Mazabi burst out laughing, threw his only arm around Sallan, pressed him to his giant chest, and roared, “Praise the gods!”
Everyone laughed with relief, and clapping erupted.
When the noise subsided, General Mazabi held Sallan away and looked at him. “By Qoz, you’ve gotten old, my friend!”
The guests laughed.
“Indeed,” Sallan said. “But you haven’t aged at all.”
“Ha!” The general tugged on his gray beard. “If I could only go back in time and place guards around you. When you disappeared, I wanted to march on the Egyptians right away, but our wise king, who’s now with the gods, put sense into my head. You saved the kingdom with the army of women, but we needed them to go back to making babies to replenish all the men we’d lost.”
“Which we did,” Umm-Sallan said. “My five daughters gave birth to sixty-seven children since then, and almost thirty of them survived to adulthood.”
General Mazabi raised a clenched fist. “Edom is rising, and now we have the Elixirist back with us!”
The guests cheered.
“It’s good to be back,” Sallan said. “I was starting to lose hope.”
“The old king offered great sums to the Egyptians,” General Mazabi said, “but they always denied holding you. How did you get out?”
“A local rebellion broke out, and we took advantage of the chaos to escape into the desert.”
“We?” The general looked around. “Who else?”
Sallan waved dismissively. “A few fellow prisoners. No one important.”
Kassite leaned closer. “What did he say?”
Deborah faced him so that he could see her lips. “A few fellow prisoners. No one important.”
Kassite smirked. “How true.”
“Tell me, General,” Umm-Sallan said. “Any news from our king?”
“A messenger arrived yesterday. The king is on his way back from the Negev Desert without his sister. The leader of the Simeon tribe denied Needa’s abduction. He said she had joined his son willingly as an honored guest on a hunting expedition in the desert.”
; Umm-Sallan clicked her tongue. “The king must be worried for his sister.”
“Worried and angry. Those Hebrew tribesmen are clever and elusive, always on the move—here today, gone tomorrow.”
“May the gods bring Needa back as they brought our son.”
“Or there will be war.” General Mazabi bowed, turned, and marched away with his entourage, his voice reverberating through the large garden. “Come see me soon, Sallan—danger is on the rise again!”
When the general was gone, Umm-Sallan gestured at the musicians, who began to play a slow, soft tune. Little girls in colorful dresses spread white flower petals along the front of the terrace from the corner of the house all the way to the decorated wooden canopy. The young couple appeared and followed the path of white petals. They were about fifteen years old, dressed in matching white robes and crowns of woven flowers. The bride had inherited Umm-Sallan’s regal stature and perfectly sculpted features. Her wheat-colored hair, woven with golden threads, cascaded over her shoulders and down her back.
The couple knelt before Umm-Sallan.
She placed one hand on each head and said, “I give you my blessing.”
The soft music continued while the couple kissed Umm-Sallan and stepped over to the canopy.
An attendant announced, “High Priest Qoztobarus!”
The guests parted to make way.
The High Priest wore only a black loincloth, his skin was painted to look like copper, and he was completely hairless—not even eyebrows or eyelashes. His entourage of six boys resembled him completely, except for their small size and young age. Deborah noticed that the guests lowered their eyes as he passed through, except for Umm-Sallan, who watched him with an unflappable expression. He made a quick bow, which the matriarch acknowledged with a nod, and continued to the canopy.
The six boys lined up behind the canopy and chanted a monotonous hymn while Qoztobarus sprinkled copper dust on the couple. The two shared a bowl of ripe jujube fruit, drank in turns from a wine goblet, and exchanged rings. Leola knelt before her groom and sang a song filled with hope and innocence. When she finished, the guests wiped tears and applauded.
Deborah could see that the young couple was truly happy together. Their eyes were locked through the whole ceremony, and when the ceremony was over, they clung to one another as if there were no one else around. Deborah imagined kissing Zariz that way, and being kissed back by him, but the image disappeared when she remembered his horrified rejection when she visited him in her dream. The only other young man with whom she had ever felt such kinship was Barac, son of Abinoam, the blacksmith in Emanuel. For a brief moment, Deborah imagined kissing Barac like that, but she shook her head sharply to chase away the image. Barac was dead, murdered by Seesya, and there was no point in longing for him or for their friendship, which had died with him.
“Young love.” Kassite elbowed her gently. “How pure and innocent, is it not?”
“It won’t last,” she said.
“You are too young to be a cynic,” Kassite said. “Sometimes, love does endure.”
Qoztobarus departed with his entourage, and as he passed by, his eyes caught Deborah’s gaze. It was only a brief glance, but it chilled her. She regretted not lowering her eyes like everybody else.
The couple went back to the house, accompanied by music and showered with fistfuls of wheat and barley grains. Sallan tossed the grains with one hand while wiping his eyes with the other.
Deborah turned to Kassite. “Was Sallan married before he was jailed by the old king?”
“When he was young, there was a girl he loved and married. She died, and Sallan blamed himself. Even now, a lifetime of many misfortunes later, Sallan cannot talk about her without crying.” Kassite chuckled sadly. “You see? Love does endure, even beyond death.”
Sallan beckoned them over.
“Mother,” he said, “this is Kassite, my dearest and most loyal friend.”
Kassite bowed. “An honor to meet you, Umm-Sallan.”
“Welcome to my home,” the matriarch said.
“And this is Borah.” Sallan placed his hand on Deborah’s shoulder. “He’s young, but more courageous and clever than ten grown men put together. We wouldn’t be here if not for this special boy.”
“Girl,” his mother said. “I’m old, not blind.”
Sallan shifted uncomfortably, but didn’t argue.
“Come closer, dear.” Umm-Sallan curled her finger. “And take off this foolish helmet. I want to see you.”
Deborah pulled off the leather helmet.
“Thank you for helping my son.” Umm-Sallan touched Deborah’s cheek with her long fingers. “What is your real name?”
“Deborah, daughter of Harutz and Raquellah.”
“A Hebrew?”
Deborah nodded.
“Not from the Simeon tribe, I hope.”
“Ephraim. Our tribe lives in the Samariah Hills, north of Jerusalem.”
“That’s better,” Umm-Sallan said. “However, until Needa is back safely, it would be safer not to tell anyone that you are a Hebrew.”
“My father taught me that Edom descends from Abraham, who is our forefather as well.”
“True, but our king is very young, which means he cares little about the past, whereas his passions run hot for today’s pleasures and animosities.” She took Deborah’s hand in hers. “You’ve done a man’s job recently, very hard work.”
“Yes.”
“But not long enough to ruin your skin. My son used to make a magical potion called the Youth Elixir. It restored our skin to the smoothness of silk.” Sallan’s mother turned to him. “Will you make some for Deborah?”
“It’s been a very long time since I mixed any potions.”
“We’ve kept the workshop as it was on the day you disappeared, with all the jars, bottles, and urns. Your father was too old to go back to work.”
Sallan’s eyes moistened.
Umm-Sallan noticed the sword on Deborah’s hip and touched the line of red rubies along the crossguard. “That’s a beautiful sword,” she said. “And expensive.”
“It belonged to a man who tried to kill me. Now it’s mine.”
“Carrying a man’s weapon is forbidden for a woman in this land.”
Deborah recalled the soldier she’d killed in Ein Gedi. “In the desert, even a woman needs weapons.”
“Perhaps, but in Bozra, a wise woman can get her way without weapons.” Umm-Sallan smiled. “I can tell that you would be very pretty after a good scrubbing and a hot bath.”
Deborah blushed and looked away.
“Pretty isn’t something you want to be, is it?”
Shaking her head, Deborah thought of Antippet, Patrees, and the other Edomite men closing in on her by the stream in Tamar like a pack of hungry dogs.
“I understand, dear.” Umm-Sallan leaned forward and kissed Deborah on the cheek. “This is your home now. Rest from your journey, and then we’ll talk some more.”
Chapter 32
While Sallan remained at the wedding celebration, a servant took Kassite and Deborah to the guest quarters. The two boy-servants, who were already there, assured Deborah that Rogez and the other horses were being cared for in the stables behind the house.
They washed, put on clean robes, and lay down for the night. Kassite and the boys fell asleep, but Deborah remained awake. The music continued to play outside, and she thought about what she had seen and heard since arriving at Sallan’s family home.
In particular, she was troubled by something General Mazabi had said to Sallan: “You saved the kingdom with the army of women, but we needed them to go back to making babies to replenish all the men we’d lost.”
The story she had heard from Barac, may he rest in peace, was that the Elixirist had turned the women of Edom into men. Sallan had confirmed the story, and Kassite had also implied as much about the power of the Male Elixir, advising her, “Imitate until you mutate.” The old general’s words, however, implied that th
e women of Edom had not mutated into men, but went back to bearing babies, which meant that any masculine transformation had been temporary. Deborah was seeking a permanent and complete transformation, not a temporary masquerade followed by a return to womanhood and childbearing.
Thinking back to the first night at the tannery, Deborah recalled what Kassite had explained to her about the three doses of the Male Elixir. The first would accelerate her acquisition of masculine strength and endurance. The second would help her develop the male attitude and character. And the third would cause her female body parts to change into male. Taken together, those changes didn’t sound like a temporary, reversible masquerade. Had Sallan given the women of Edom a watered-down version of the Male Elixir that had caused short-lived changes, whereas Kassite was giving her a more powerful version, infused with the high potency required to bring about an irreversible mutation? Or was the whole thing another lie?
At the other end of the room, Kassite passed gas and mumbled something in his sleep. Deborah resisted the urge to wake him up and ask him about General Mazabi’s statement. Surely Kassite would give her a thoughtful, convincing answer, but wouldn’t her doubts persist? Had she been naive to trust him and Sallan after discovering their earlier deceit? Had she made a mistake traveling with them to this foreign kingdom?
The music outside had long since ended when soft tapping sounded from the door. The room was dark, the night completely silent. She felt in the dark for the hilt of the sword, which rested on the floor beside her. The door cracked open, letting in the low light of a small lamp. It was Sallan, wearing a night robe.
“Come with me,” he whispered.
Deborah got up and joined him in the hallway. “Where are we going?”
“Back in time,” he said. “You’ll see.”
She followed him down a dark hallway. He paused and raised his lamp to illuminate the wall, where the skin of an adult tiger was mounted. Deborah put her nose close to it and was able to discern a faint remnant—same as her tiger tail.
Sallan touched one of the tiger’s paws. “My father hunted it down after it had killed his horse at night as they camped by the road to the Sea of Reeds. I was only eight, but I still remember my father coming back without his horse, which I loved, but with a huge dead tiger. He even let me take part in dissecting it—tiger organs are very valuable for potion-making. The whole house smelled of the skin for months after it was put up on the wall.”
Deborah Calling Page 28