Until the Mountains Fall

by Connilyn Cossette

  However, my mind turned to the meal with my family the night before. My siblings and their spouses and children had all been there, filling the house with animation and good-natured banter. But as much as I loved them all, not one of them noticed that I barely spoke, or that I’d slipped out to my father’s chamber halfway through the meal to collect Gidal’s mohar—a large number of silver pieces, three copper rings, and a beautiful lapis lazuli necklace that looked to have originated in Egypt. The secret weight of it in the leather purse I wore beneath my tunic was assurance that even if Nessa and I did not find work right away, we would be able to feed, shelter, and clothe ourselves for some time.

  But I’d left the silver and jewelry that had been given as Malakhi’s portion, along with a note telling my father to return it to him for his next bride. I felt entitled to nothing more than the wealth meant to sustain me as Gidal’s widow—the only semblance of inheritance I would ever receive—so I felt no guilt at taking it. It was my best means to freedom.

  Even so, I wondered how Malakhi would react when he found out I’d left him. Surely this was best for him as well. He would find another bride, one worthy of all the things my father believed him to be. As I’d tossed and turned on my bed last night, I conceded that much of what my father had said was true.

  Yes, Malakhi had kissed me without my consent, but he’d also been more than gracious when our fathers demanded the marriage, and he’d obviously loved his brother very much. The stories the women of his family had told at the stream had made that very clear, as had the pride on his face as he showed me the hives he’d rebuilt in Gidal’s honor.

  And a fleeting memory from just before I’d been betrothed to Gidal rose to the surface as I’d hastily packed a small satchel of belongings last night. I’d been tempted to take my writing board, the one I’d used for nearly the past two years—the one Malakhi had made me. He’d only been an apprentice to Eitan for a few months, so when he arrived at my door one morning, feet shifting nervously, with a piece of sleek olive wood beneath his arm, I’d been speechless. With little more than an assertion that the board, with its angles smoothed to perfection and polished to a shine, was a gift for me, Malakhi excused himself from my presence so quickly that I’d not even had time to thank him.

  Any attempt to reconcile the shift in his behavior toward me, one I’d noticed since the day he’d come across me beneath the red-flowering terebinth tree, was swiftly brushed aside by my father’s announcement that I would wed his older brother. And once I was betrothed to Gidal, Malakhi had become so scarce that I’d eventually forgotten the incident altogether. And yet I’d used that writing board on my knees nearly every day, a sturdy foundation upon which I crafted letters and words. I truly loathed leaving it behind for the sake of traveling light.

  I still did not understand why Malakhi had become so exasperating after my mother had died, nor why he’d avoided me so pointedly once Gidal and I had been bound together, but at least in that moment—and if I was honest, a few others from my childhood—he’d been kind. No matter how he’d acted when we were children, he did deserve a wife who could give him a sympathetic ear as he grieved, not one who’d failed the brother he mourned and who resented them both.

  “Are you already regretting leaving?” Nessa’s question cut into my thoughts. Apparently she’d been trying to get my attention for a while. She pulled me to a stop and peered at me curiously. “Do you want to turn back?”

  For one breath I almost relented, almost gave in to the pull of the city at my back. But I’d made my choice. My father would not reconsider, and this way Malakhi would be free to make his own choice of bride. One day he’d thank me for such a gift. And if last night was any indication, my family would barely notice my departure and would forget me soon enough.

  I shook my head, lifting a wide smile to cover any hint of hesitation. “No. I have not changed my mind.”

  Her narrowed eyes told me that she was not fooled. She called to Yoash and Kefa to pause for a few moments, and they obeyed without question, settling beneath the shadow of a sycamore. “I’m not my father, Rivkah. I won’t force you to come. I’m excited to have you with me, but if you want to stay here then say so.”

  “I don’t feel forced, Nessa, truly. The conversation I had with my father last night made it abundantly clear that he does not care what I think or feel. I want to go with you. I want to be free.”

  She finally returned my smile, a spark of adventure brightening her countenance as she clapped her hands twice. “Good! And besides, Laish is less than a day’s walk. If you get there and you are not enjoying yourself or you decide that you do want to marry that boy after all, you can go home with my cousins at the end of the festival.”

  The knot of tension that had been coiling at the base of my throat since I stepped foot out of the gates began to loosen. This decision was the right one, I was certain of it, and like she said, it would not be so difficult to return in a day or two if I changed my mind. This time I slipped my arm through hers to tug her onward. “Come, tell me more about your friends in Laish. . . .”

  CHAPTER

  eight

  Afternoon gold filtered through the trees, which reached so far into the sky that I had to tilt my head back to catch a glimpse of their tips through the thick canopy above. Tiny streams forked through the rocky ground, all hurtling toward the headwaters of the mighty Jordan River. At one point, we were forced to hop from stone to stone in order to cross over the ribbons of icy water that originated on the slopes of Har Hermon to the northeast. The closer we came to Laish, the louder the many-voiced rush of waters grew, until the sound surrounded us and blocked out all birdsong in the dense forest.

  I breathed deeply, uplifted by the fragrance of green overgrowth all around me. A family of furry coneys scurried across our path, heading toward one of the multitude of tributaries we’d passed over, noses twitching as they caught sight of us and then darted into the underbrush.

  I was so transfixed by the beauty of the area that I barely noticed when we began to climb the road up to Laish, but soon other travelers joined us, the clatter of hooves on stone and the babble of different languages around us making it clear that we were nearing our destination. Outside the city, a number of shrines greeted visitors. Being raised in Kedesh, where such things were outlawed, I was perversely fascinated by the sight of travelers kneeling before the stone carvings, some kissing the ground in front of the idols as if in gratitude for their safe journey to the city.

  The road wound its way upward, and the agitated bray of donkeys and camels spoke to the difficulty many of our fellow travelers faced as they prodded their animals up the steep, roughly cobbled incline. One donkey sat down on his haunches, not caring when his owner began to beat him with a switch. Oblivious to the cart of goods he’d toppled, the poor animal simply refused to go any farther. Our little group veered away from the scene, and after a small wait when a glut of visitors became jammed together at the entrance, finally made it through the gates of Laish.

  The air of festival was thick in the city, lending a buoyancy to the overlapping voices of merchants calling out their wares. The excited urgency of this marketplace contrasted with the relative calm of the one in Kedesh. My attention bounced between stall after stall of foreign goods: spices, vibrant fabrics, dye powders, and varicolored produce stacked precariously high in baskets and pots.

  But the biggest difference between this market and the one I’d known my whole life was the stalls offering idols of every sort—wood, clay, stone, some overlaid with copper or silver, some painted with such bright colors that the statues seemed to have a life of their own. A trickle of something dangerous entered my mind, a warning of some sort, but I pushed it away. I had no desire to worship idols like those dickering here for the lowest price, but it was certainly interesting to see the enormous variety offered, the skillful designs, and the animated faces of each customer as they bartered over their gods.

  Nessa urged me to follo
w Kefa as he led us toward the heart of the city. I was thankful that Yoash had taken to walking behind us. He was a quiet man a couple of years older than Nessa, but burly enough that no one seemed eager to bother us. And although I’d wondered if I would feel unsettled in this foreign place, there was such a sense of camaraderie among the people here that I felt calmness descend upon me.

  Nessa had told me this was a peaceful city, one where everyone was welcome without regard to heritage, and seeing it now for myself I believed it. I caught sight of Sidonians, Arameans, Mitanni, Egyptians, and many others whose dress and skin colors gave me little clue as to their origin. But although the city was filled with such a variety of cultures, some of whom I was well aware were at bitter odds, everyone seemed to be caught up in such a spirit of revelry that all was civil.

  A young woman approached Nessa, an inviting smile on her face and many tiny yellow blossoms braided into her hair. “Hello, travelers! You are here for the festival, yes?”

  “We are,” replied Nessa. “But first I am looking for some friends, traders who I hope might be here.” She listed off a few names and, although the girl did not seem to know most of them, she responded to the last one.

  “Thalma! Yes, I know her! I saw her group around the corner from the temple. They’ve set up a few stalls there.”

  “Oh thank you!” said Nessa, visibly relieved. She must have been much more anxious about finding friendly faces here than she’d led me to believe.

  “Not at all,” said the blossom-braided girl, her smile having grown impossibly wider, revealing deep dimples in each cheek. “My name is Lina. You must come find me tonight; I know the best place to view the festivities, one where no one will bother you.” She lifted her grin to Yoash, who stood beside me. “Although with this big handsome one with you, I doubt you’ll have much trouble.”

  As Nessa introduced her cousin, Yoash dipped his chin, a swipe of red deepening on his cheeks, strangely shy for a man of his height and girth. Kefa sidled up beside his brother, a flirtatious tilt to his grin. “I’m Kefa, the more handsome brother.”

  Lina giggled, brushing her small hand down his bare arm as she looked back and forth between the two, wide-eyed. “Oh, now I think it’s a fairly equal match. But I hope that both of you will join me and my friends tonight.”

  She pointed to the corner of the street a few paces away. “Just look for the gap between the potter’s shop and the barber. There is a staircase that leads to the rooftop where we will celebrate together atop the villa of the richest man in Laish. There is a wonderful view of the temple porch from up there, so we’ll be able to see the sacrifices quite clearly. And then afterward we’ll join the dancing. Since you don’t seem to be from this area, I’ll teach you the dances you don’t know.”

  I cleared my throat, unsettled by talk of sacrifices. I’d heard a few hushed rumors about the way some of the surrounding nations conducted such rites—and I was the daughter of a priest of Yahweh, after all. “We are Hebrews. We don’t worship in the same manner.”

  She waved away my concern with a palm decorated in swirls of henna. “Oh, that matters not to any of us. There are people here from all over the world, and few of us worship the same gods. Everyone is welcome to join the celebrations, regardless of whether you take part in the rituals. In fact, there are quite a few Hebrews who live here in Laish and worship Yahweh.”

  We left Lina with the promise to find her later in the evening and headed toward the place where she’d indicated Nessa’s friends had set up their trading booth. Thalma, who Nessa had told me was a half-Hebrew, half-Moabite woman only a few years older than me, greeted Nessa with jubilant affection. “It’s been so long, my friend. Where have you been?”

  With an exasperated groan, Nessa explained that since her father had forced her betrothal to a stranger, she’d been allowed to travel no farther than Kedesh. “Apparently all the trading I’ve done for my father over the past two years means little,” she said. “But I am here now, and I’ve brought my brilliant friend Rivkah with me.” She slung her arm around my waist. “She is a scribe, Thalma, a very talented one. And she speaks a number of languages with astounding fluency for a girl locked in one city her entire life.”

  Thalma’s eyes widened as she scanned me from head to toe and back again. “Truly? A female scribe? Come,” she said, leading us toward a group of three stalls set up nearby, which were full of pottery from the east, spices from the north, and even perfume and unguents from Egypt. “I’ll introduce you to our group and you can tell us more about your skills.”

  The afternoon passed by quickly as I got to know Thalma’s fellow merchants, most of them Hebrews from the tribe of Gad or Reuben to the east of the Jordan. We ate a meal with them and listened to stories of their travels. They’d gone as far northeast as Harran, where our ancestor Avraham had lived for a time, and down into Moab, where Thalma’s mother still had family connections. I told Thalma more about my informal training with the Levites of our town, and she tested me by stopping a few passersby and making me translate their various languages. Her eyes grew larger with every successful interaction.

  “And you can write these languages as well?” Her tone was awestruck.

  “A few. Hebrew, of course, and Egyptian, along with the language of the Tyrians and Hurrians. I’ve only just begun to learn the language of the Sea People, but it’s so different from the symbols we use that I can only decipher the most simple of terms.”

  Later, Thalma pulled me aside, telling me that Nessa had confided our desire to travel with them. “I know plenty of tradesmen who would pay well for your services, my dear. I think you would be in high demand. And of course it doesn’t hurt that you are a lovely young woman,” she said with a wink. “A bit of novelty goes a long way when commanding a higher price for your valuable skills.”

  If I’d stayed in Kedesh, the only time I would be able to exercise my knowledge would be in the service of my father, and even then I did little more than take down names of local farmers and their offerings, or once in a while compose a missive to a priest in another city of refuge or at Shiloh. It had been a long time since I’d even scribbled down a song in secret. Thalma’s confidence in me inspired a heady mixture of nerves and anticipation to pump through my limbs, washing away the last of my hesitations. I had made the right choice in coming here.

  The four of us were invited to join their camp for the night, and with thanks for their generosity, Nessa explained how we’d been invited to join Lina and her friends atop the rich man’s villa and that we’d be back as soon as the festivities concluded for the evening. Thalma laughed at the suggestion. “The dancing will last until dawn. In fact, once the celebration begins, it will not slow down for three days—or until everyone is too drunk to go on.”

  Nessa surreptitiously glanced my way but covered any unease in her expression with a laugh of her own. “Well, none of us are used to those sorts of revelries, so I am sure we will return tonight.”

  “You are certainly welcome back anytime,” said Thalma, sweeping her hands through the air, brushing us away. “Go, my friends. Take it all in!”

  CHAPTER

  nine

  A few hours later, led by Kefa and followed by Yoash, Nessa and I climbed the deeply shaded stairway between the potter and the barber. A chill moved across my shoulders, but as soon as we emerged onto the roof, the odd feeling faded in the sunlight.

  Canopies had been lifted across many of the flat-topped homes that encircled this extravagant villa, reminding me of the upcoming Feast of Sukkot, when we Hebrews remembered our ancestors’ time in the wilderness by setting up temporary shelters for seven days and nights. The sight of those fluttering canopies and the memories of the annual celebration caused a small ache to lodge beneath my ribs, but I pressed the thought away to focus on the unfolding scene before me.

  The parapet that surrounded the villa’s rooftop was low, barely reaching my knees—much lower than any I’d seen on a Hebrew home. Revelers
could move from rooftop to rooftop with ease. Three boys sat on a ledge nearby, their feet dangling over the side as they covertly tossed pebbles into the crowd below, seemingly oblivious to the danger of their precarious position. Their easy laughter caused a flicker of memory to surface from my eighth year, one when Gidal and Malakhi had fruitlessly attempted to teach me how to use the slings their older brother Eitan had made for them. Frustrated with my lack of skill in the endeavor, I’d stomped away, insisting I had no interest in tossing pebbles around. To my surprise, neither boy said a thing about my tantrum later, nor did they stop inviting me into their games.

  Beneath one of the white canopies perched atop this home, which rivaled the size of Moriyah’s inn, a small group was playing some sort of game that consisted of a wood board and many small pegs. Underneath another, revelers partook of food from communal bowls. A few servants milled around, filling and refilling cups of wine, their eyes downcast as they darted from guest to guest. Other servants were setting out flickering oil lamps all around the roof ledge and on a few scattered tables, preparing for nightfall.

  “Nessa! Rivkah!”

  We turned to find Lina, dressed in airy white garments that billowed behind her as she moved toward us, giving the illusion that she floated across the roof. Three young women trailed behind her, all dressed in similar fashion, with curious looks on their heavily painted faces as Lina kissed our cheeks in greeting and then slipped an arm around both Nessa and me. “I am so glad you’ve come,” she said. “You were right on time. The rituals are about to begin.” After breezily introducing Yoash and Kefa to the ladies who’d accompanied her, she steered us away from Nessa’s cousins. “My friends will keep them sufficiently occupied,” she said as she winked conspiratorially. “Let’s find a good place to watch the spectacle.”