Until the Mountains Fall

by Connilyn Cossette

  “Your family has already stolen two of my offspring. I won’t let you have another.”

  “Hear me, brother,” said my father, his voice strengthening. “You are welcome to search the inn, but I speak the truth, We would not hide your daughter from you.”

  Raviv’s gaze swept around the room, taking in the meal set out on the floor, slithering past my brother, who bodily barricaded the opposite doorway, before moving over my shoulder to the place where my mother stood. It was the closest he’d been to the woman he’d once planned to marry, since her conviction for the accidental deaths of his twin sons. I felt a shudder against my back and grips on my tunic tighten in response to his black-eyed stare.

  “Why would you think Nessa was here?” asked my father, trying to draw his brother’s attention away from his wife.

  Raviv kept his eyes pinned on my mother for a few more skin-prickling moments before slowly turning his head to answer. “I was told she befriended one of your sons’ wives.”

  My father looked at Eitan. “I don’t think Sofea knows anyone by that name. Do you?”

  My brother shook his head, his expression so grave and his body so tightly strung that I could nearly feel the vibration from where I stood.

  “Yoash. Kefa,” Raviv called over his shoulder. “Come in here.” Two young men appeared in the doorway, and although both of them were of heavier build than my uncle, their submissive expressions gave them the look of chastened sheep.

  “My wife’s fool nephews escorted Nessa and another young woman to Laish four days ago. The girls slipped away from them somehow and disappeared.”

  My heart began pounding against my ribs, and my father darted a quick glance at me. “Are you speaking of Rivkah?” he asked the two young men.

  “Yes,” said one of them. “Nessa said the girls wanted to go to the festival but didn’t want anyone to know, so we left at dawn, as soon as the gates opened. But then after the first night they . . . they just disappeared.” His cowed expression became a beseeching one. “We looked everywhere, I swear on my own life that we did. We scoured the city, asked everyone.”

  “Where did you last see them?” asked my father.

  The young men looked at each other and then the first one spoke again. “Kefa and I drank a little much during the celebration. We woke up well past noon on the roof of a villa.” He lifted his hands defensively. “But we did not know that some of the wine was laced with poppy, or we would not have accepted it. I don’t know if Nessa and Rivkah drank any, but they’d made friends with a young woman . . .” His eyes dropped to the floor, his throat working hard for a moment before he spoke again, the words tentative and barely audible. “Lina was recruiting girls for temple work.”

  Gut wrenching, I stepped forward, my fists clenched and teeth gritted. How could they take Rivkah to such a vile place? Three sets of hands gripped my tunic, holding me in place. Only the regret on Yoash’s face kept me from breaking their hold and throttling him without regard for his superior bulk.

  “We asked Lina whether she’d seen the girls that morning,” he said. “She said Nessa went back to a trader’s camp at dawn, but that she hadn’t seen Rivkah since she’d taken ill earlier in the evening.”

  Kefa interjected. “We went back to the marketplace where Nessa had spoken with a tradeswoman the day before, but the group had already left. Packed up their stalls and wagons and just”—he swiped his palms through the air—“vanished.”

  Yoash grimaced. “No one seemed to know where the traders were headed. And since Laish is a crossroads, they could have gone in any direction. Toward Tyre or Damascus. South to Megiddo, or even down to Egypt.”

  “We hoped the girls would come here,” said Kefa. “Nessa was upset over her recent betrothal.” His eyes flicked to Raviv and then away. “We considered that Rivkah may have offered Nessa refuge.”

  Raviv’s shoulders tightened, his lean body going rigid. “If you people are hiding her—”

  “They aren’t here,” my father interrupted, his voice as stony as his brother’s jaw. “We have been looking for Rivkah for days—searched the whole city and a few of the villages around here. I didn’t even consider knocking on your door, Raviv. Who would have guessed the two girls would flee together or even suspected that they knew each other?”

  Raviv’s response was terse, his eyes narrow. “Nessa has only been in Kedesh a few times, to deliver our tithe and visit the market.”

  My father’s stance softened as he considered this information. “Rivkah is a scribe. She is involved in keeping records as portions are collected. They must have met then.”

  Raviv scowled. “I don’t care what that woman does or how she convinced my daughter to slink off. I just want her back. Now.”

  My father sighed, folding his arms across his still-broad chest. “We’ll go back up to Laish in the morning together. Someone had to have seen them.” My father was in command of a group of spies, commissioned by Yehoshua to ferret out information from our enemies. He and his men were masters of their trade. If anyone could find the girls, it would be him.

  “I’m going with you.” I stepped forward, shaking off my mother’s and sisters’ hands.

  My father looked over at me, a deep frown on his mouth. After a long pause in which he seemed to weigh the determination in my expression, he nodded. “Just this once. And then not again until you are of military age.”

  Raviv’s brow wrinkled in disdain. “Laish is no place for a boy.”

  “He is Rivkah’s betrothed,” said my father, his tone brooking no argument. “It is his right to search for his bride, if he cares to do so.”

  Eitan stepped forward too. “I’ll go as well. I’ve dealt with some of the metal traders out of Laish before.”

  “I will go nowhere with him,” Raviv bit out, every word coated with hatred as he glared with open malice at my brother. It seemed that although he’d accepted my father’s inheritance in trade for Eitan’s freedom eight years ago, my uncle had not relinquished his bitterness.

  My father moved between them, hands lifted to keep them separated, even though neither of them had moved. His chest rose and fell as he stood like a wall between two men I knew he loved more than his own life. “Raviv, you vowed to not pursue my son.”

  “And I haven’t,” Raviv snapped. “But that does not mean I want to be anywhere near the murderer of my children.”

  At the sharp intake of breath behind me, I glanced over my shoulder to find my mother with her palm over her mouth and her silver eyes full of tears. Even after all this time, I knew the deaths of my cousins still weighed heavily on her soul, regardless that her part in the tragedy, and Eitan’s, had been purely accidental.

  Raviv turned his glare on her. There was so much of my father in the shape of his jaw, the length of his narrow nose, and the reddish tint to his dark hair—all characteristics that also reminded me of Gidal. No matter that Raviv hated us, we were bound by blood, and I knew my father and my mother would never stop praying for reconciliation.

  “Eitan,” said my father, without looking back at him, “I think it best if you stay here with Sofea. Enjoy your new little one. I’ll ask Baz and a couple more of my men to accompany us to Laish in the morning.”

  Without hesitation, Eitan nodded in agreement and stepped back into the doorway. Every long, lean inch of my older brother screamed protectiveness. Although he’d seen little of combat, nothing more than a few skirmishes with wandering Canaanites over the past few years and one quick battle with a group of Amorites that dared raid a village east of the river, I had little doubt that he would shed every drop of his blood for his loved ones. But he also trusted my father implicitly and would not disobey a direct order, no matter how much it grated. In that moment, I wanted nothing more than to be like him—a devoted warrior, blind to everything else but my duty to my people.

  With Eitan’s submission, the tension in the room softened.

  “We’ll leave at first light,” said my father to Ra
viv. “You three are welcome to stay here overnight. Moriyah always has rooms prepared for guests.”

  “I’d rather sleep in the street,” my uncle spat out with an ugly sneer, before pushing past his shocked nephews and back out the door. Yoash and Kefa silently followed, shoulders bowed and heads down. After witnessing firsthand the longevity of Raviv’s rancor toward my own family, I did not envy the years of condemnation for the two young men if Nessa was not found.

  My father stared at the still-open door for a few long, silent moments before stepping forward to close it and lock the latch. He leaned forward, his forehead pressing against the wood. As if pulled by the sheer force of her love, my mother flew to him, her arms around his waist and her branded cheek against his back.

  With his hands perched low on his hips, Eitan squeezed his eyes shut, shook his head a few times, and then turned to go to his wife and children. Abra and Chana appeared on either side of me, each sliding an arm around my waist, and we watched our parents grieve the old but deep wounds stirred up by Raviv’s appearance.

  I was thankful that we lived in the safety of Kedesh, and therefore Raviv could not legally retaliate against my mother. And once the High Priest died, she could go free by law. No longer held captive by the conviction of a manslayer, she could travel to Shiloh during festivals, where my grandfather and grandmother lived near the Mishkan. I knew it was her greatest wish to see them both again before they passed from this life into the next. But with Raviv still seething with acrimony, would it ever truly be safe for her to go?

  “I am sorry for what I said about Rivkah earlier,” said Chana, too low for my parents to hear. “That was wrong of me.” She leaned her head against my shoulder. “Perhaps if we’d all been kinder to her she would not have left. If she . . .” She cleared her throat. “When she returns, I will make an effort to be a better sister to her.”

  It infuriated me to think she felt any culpability for something that was my fault alone. No matter how many trees I pruned, how much honey my hives produced, or how much I wished Rivkah would accept me as her husband, I could never have been worthy of standing in Gidal’s place. It had been foolish to even try.

  “There will be no need for such an effort,” I said. “I’ll go with the others and search for her tomorrow, as is my duty as her betrothed. And if she does return, I will set her free.”

  Part II

  CHAPTER

  thirteen

  Malakhi

  8 Tammuz

  1375 BC

  Weeds had engulfed the hives since I’d last stepped foot in the quince grove, the day Rivkah had disappeared five years ago. I’d expected the overturned, mud-slathered baskets to be empty of bees, but a low hum greeted me, evidence that despite my absence something of the colonies had survived. However, not only were the hives Gidal had so carefully crafted overtaken by debris, but one had caved in on itself. My brother would never have been so negligent.

  A leftover resident of one of the hives rewarded me with a sting on my neck, causing a foul word to slip from my mouth as I slapped at the persistent little assailant.

  “You’d best save such language for your fellow soldiers, Malakhi” came Abra’s voice from behind me. “If Ima heard you, she’d swat you with her wooden spoon.”

  I did not bother to help my twin sister push her way through the overgrown tree growth into the glade. If she was determined to invade, she could forge her own path.

  “Go home,” I said. “You’ll get stung.”

  “By the bees? Or you?”

  My shoulders went rigid at the bite in her words, causing a bolt of pain to shoot all the way down to the fingertips of my right hand. Even seven months after I’d been nearly killed during a skirmish on our northern border, I could barely lift the arm that had once wielded a sword with expert skill. The simple task of clearing brush and detritus away from the hives may prove impossible for a man with a worthless arm and especially for one who could barely see out of his right eye.

  “Leave me alone, Abra.”

  My twin moved around to stand in front of me, one fist on her hip. “No. You left Chana in tears, Malakhi. You can lash out all you want at me, I can endure it. But you can’t hurt her like that again. I won’t have it.”

  A pang of regret prodded the center of my chest, but I ignored it, my teeth gritted. “Then tell her to stop pestering me about finding a wife.”

  “She is concerned for you. She wants you to be at peace.”

  “Then a wife is the last thing she should push on me.”

  She scowled, her gray eyes narrowed. I returned the expression, aware that my face was a near-mirror of hers. There was little need for my twin to expound on her frustrations with me; we’d always been able to discern the others’ thoughts with little effort. She wanted nothing more than for me to scrub Rivkah from my mind and marry someone else.

  “She. Is. Never. Coming. Back.” Each word was coated in venom, a product of five years of growing resentment toward the woman who’d tossed aside her brother like refuse.

  “I am fully aware of this, Abra.”

  I’d finally accepted the truth the day my father and I had gone to Laish with Raviv and his nephews. We’d searched the entire city, spoken to every merchant, entered every shop, searched out every resident Hebrew, and had even consulted with the priests and priestesses at their vile temple.

  Yet even with all the talent my father possessed at coaxing information from a dry well, we’d discovered only two things: Rivkah had been seen leaving the celebration with a Hebrew man who’d mysteriously disappeared since then, leaving behind most of his belongings, and both she and Nessa had been spotted in the back of a trader’s wagon the second morning, heading northeast.

  We’d pursued the caravan for two days before losing their trail in the maze of intersecting trade roads and finally turned back, determining that wandering aimlessly into enemy territory would only get us killed. Faced with the evidence that Rivkah had likely run off with some other man, I’d pledged to forget her and instead throw myself into preparation for the moment I reached military age at twenty. The fact that I’d served under my father’s command for mere months before nearly being killed and sent home to heal was as great a blow as my betrothed’s infidelity.

  “You say you know she is not coming back,” said Abra, “and yet you refuse every possible match Abba proposes.”

  “That has nothing to do with her.”

  “Oh, it has everything to do with that arrogant, faithless—”

  I interrupted her tirade with an aggravated groan. “I am useless to a woman right now, Abra. How would I protect a family with one arm and one eye?”

  It was almost a mockery that I’d not been completely blinded in my right eye by the blow I’d received from the flat of an Amorite battle-ax against my temple, just before being plowed over by the iron chariot wheel that destroyed the muscles in my shoulder. Instead, the hazy distortion at the corner of my vision allowed for the smallest portion of excruciating hope.

  Abra’s tone softened, as if she sensed the depth of bitterness such a thought provoked. “You’ll heal, Malakhi. It’ll just take time.”

  My father and Eitan had both told me the same thing, assuring me that I would fight again when I adjusted to my limitations, but I refused to ever put my fellow soldiers in such jeopardy. I could no longer grip a sword tight enough to ward off a direct blow, could not pull a bow or aim a sling, nor could I see an attacker coming up on my side without turning my chin nearly to my shoulder. I would not last a day in combat and they both knew it.

  Everything I’d worked for over the last five years had been for nothing. I was back to where I was then—standing in this quince grove, watching my future stride away without a second look over its shoulder.

  Ignoring Abra’s hollow words and hoping she too would disappear if I turned my back on her, I gripped the small sickle I’d brought with me in my good hand and knelt before the largest of the bedraggled hives. I pushed aside the we
eds, earning a few more stings for my efforts. To my great surprise, instead of having abandoned the partially collapsed hive, the bees had filled the remaining space with tiny wax coves replete with golden-brown liquid. Holding my breath, for the hum within the hive had begun to swell, I shifted carefully to study the other mound. There was a tear in one side—perhaps an intrepid coney had discovered the treasure within—but it was even more prolific. Honeycomb burst from the hole near the ground, filling the air with sweetness. A twinge of long-suppressed emotion flickered at the sight. Perhaps I’d not completely destroyed my dead brother’s legacy after all. When the time came to harvest the honey, my mother would be overjoyed with the bounty.

  Shofarim sounded from the gates of the city, startling me to my feet, sickle in hand. With instinct born of many years of training, my body went on alert, and I cursed myself for not having brought a dagger. There were few reasons such a fanfare might be raised at the entrance to Kedesh, not the least being direct attack. Without much forethought, I grabbed Abra’s arm and yanked her down into the tall grass, suddenly glad that she’d not left after all. Who knows what she might have stumbled into at the gates?

  “Malakhi! Have you forgotten that I am with child?” she said, struggling to free her wrist from my grip. “Liron would be furious if he saw you throwing me around.”

  “Quiet,” I ordered, knowing she was only a few months along and more durable than half the men I knew. “Let me listen.” I cocked my head to the side, breathing slowly as I’d been trained to do. Nothing but the brush of a soft breeze met my searching ears, but I held still, listening for the sound of footfalls, shouts, or metal-on-metal that would signal an attack on our city.

  For years we’d heard the rattle of swords from Kushan, the king of Aram-Naharim, who’d crushed many of the city-states between the Tigris and Euphrates and was rumored to be in alliance with some of the Canaanite tribes we’d pushed north out of Israel years ago. In fact, it was a particularly aggressive band of displaced Amorites, armed by Kushan and determined to test our borders, that had nearly killed me. But the intelligence my father’s men had gathered over the last few months had not revealed actual movement by the Aramean army in our direction. At least not yet.