I placed my first hard-won honeycomb into one of the goat-skin bags I’d brought with me and approached the group as they reached the edge of the glade, tension pulling my shoulders taut.
“Don’t come any closer,” I warned, one linen-wrapped palm raised. “The bees cannot be riled.” Three points of pain were now pulsing on the back of my neck giving credence to my warning. It seemed the dishonorable little beasts had attacked me from the rear as well. I’d have to swaddle my head and neck much more thoroughly next time.
“Are they on fire?” came the loud question from wide-eyed Zekai, the oldest of Eitan’s boys, before Sofea clamped a palm over his lips.
“No. The smoke makes the bees sleepy, so I can steal their honey.” I kept my tone even, hoping the children would not sense my frustration. I loved my nieces and nephews, but it had become progressively harder to be around them. I hated myself for thinking it, but their adoring little faces and small voices were a constant application of salt on wounds Rivkah’s desertion had inflicted. Wounds I had no interest in probing today.
“They were perishing from curiosity. Begged all morning to watch their uncle gather honey,” said Eitan, a faint edge of pleading in his voice as Sofea and Chana herded the brood back into the shade. “I promise we’ll stay out of your way while you work.” Then, as I opened my mouth to protest the inevitable distraction from my labors, he shut down my argument with a sly expression. “Ima sent food. Come join us when you are ready.”
A formidable opponent, my brother. He knew my weaknesses well.
“All right,” I conceded with a belabored groan. “But keep them well behind the tree line. The last thing I want is for these bees to swarm your children.”
Sofea and Chana had already laid out two wool blankets beneath the canopy of the largest of the trees, where they all could observe me, and were in the process of serving fresh bread, olives, and creamy cheese to the children. The pride that shone in Eitan’s hazel eyes as he watched them caused a sting of a different sort in the center of my chest, so I turned away and headed back to the hives.
Once I’d filled all five skin-bags with dripping honeycomb, I headed into the shade, more than ready to slake my thirst and eat my fill of my ima’s food. But before I reached the blankets beneath the tree, four of Eitan’s children had surrounded me, clamoring for a sample of the harvest. My instinct was to walk away, to guard against the rasping pain that tended to flare to life whenever I spent too much time around Eitan’s children, but for the sake of the unmitigated joy on their faces, I took a deep breath and relented.
“You will all have a taste,” I said. “But I have a job for you. Who wants to go first?” Seven-year-old Yoni was the loudest volunteer, so I ensured the skin-bag was tied off securely and then, with Eitan’s help, I guided the boy to stand atop the bag and squash the combs inside with his feet. With Eitan holding his wrists out to the side, Yoni squealed with delight as he wobbled back and forth, testing his balance on the lumps inside the bag.
“Press down with your heels,” I said. “Once we mash up the combs, we’ll prick holes in the bag and squeeze out every last bit. The more honey we collect, the more delicious treats your grandmother will make for us, so push as hard as you can!”
He licked his lips with an open-mouthed grin and stomped harder. “But what if my toes get sticky?” His large hazel eyes highlighted the smattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks that he’d inherited from his father.
“Then I will get Toki to lick them clean,” Eitan said, looking down at Yoni with a mischievous grin that perfectly matched his son’s. “But I warn you, she’s been known to bite toes clean off.”
The white-and-brown dog that had followed my father’s men home all the way from Megiddo last year would do nothing of the sort. Since the moment Baz had tossed a chunk of meat to the stray animal hovering around their campsite, she rarely left the big man’s side. They were quite the sight around Kedesh: the hulking giant of a man and the hook-tailed dog forever trotting along at his heels. The idea of Toki, whom all the children in our family fawned over, nipping at anyone inspired peals of laughter from Yoni. With a playful growl, Eitan tossed his youngest son over his shoulder and pretended to take a bite out of the boy’s ankle. Yoni squirmed and screamed, calling for his mother to save him from his abba as his brothers jumped up and down, grabbing at their father’s tunic, desperate to take part in the game. Rocking their youngest daughter in the shade, Sofea only shook her head at their antics before tossing an indulgent smile toward her husband. Even having been blessed with six children, Eitan and Sofea were still as besotted with each other as they had been when I was a boy.
A sharp but familiar jealousy collided with my affection for my brother’s family, followed quickly by a wave of fury. Rivkah had stolen this from me. Not only had she taken with her any chance to honor Gidal with an heir, she’d left me without sons and daughters of my own. I could not even enjoy my nieces and nephews without grieving for what should have been.
Even more infuriating was that whenever moments like these made me reconsider my resolve to put off my family’s desire that I marry, it was only Rivkah I could see in my mind, singing her secret songs as she rocked our child to sleep. Somehow, her abandonment and betrayal had done little to excise her from my heart. What a complete and utter fool I was.
As if she’d sensed I could use the distraction from my destructive thoughts, Chana appeared at my side, handing me a cool waterskin. As I accepted the offering from my younger sister and drank my fill, my remorse multiplied tenfold. All she’d done was ask if I might be interested in meeting her friend Ayala, the daughter of one of the Levites who had recently moved to town, and I’d rebuffed her so thoroughly that she’d gone pale and fled to her chamber.
Gidal’s death seemed to have hit Chana the hardest, having been the closest of all of us to our brother and the most like him in temperament. Already shy from birth, she now seemed to be even more prone to skittering off into the shadows like a mouse. And I, of course, had fairly stomped on her when it was obvious she had only been trying to help. Would I never stop destroying everything?
Sliding my arm around her narrow shoulders, I pulled her close to my side. “It wasn’t you,” I said in a low tone, knowing she would understand what I was speaking of. “You did nothing wrong.”
“I know,” she said, her sweet voice devoid of accusation. “I only want to hear my big brother laugh again.”
Her simple statement cut through flesh and bone, slicing across some throbbing artery that began to pulse in my chest. How long had it been since I’d laughed? Most likely before I’d been injured, perhaps in response to some coarse jest by another soldier as we scouted Amorite movement north of Merom. But a true laugh, one that came from the soles of my feet and insisted on bursting from my lips . . . that had been five years, not since that day in this very grove, with her.
“I am sure your new friend is lovely, Chana. But you know—”
“That you have no interest in marriage, yes. Yes. We all know. But that does not stop us from wanting to see you joined to a good woman, one who would help you heal.”
I scoffed. “There’s nothing to be done about my wounds. I will likely always have a useless arm and a half-blind eye.”
Her dark-eyed gaze, so much like Gidal’s, held steady with mine. “I was not talking about your body, Malakhi. If you keep blaming yourself for what she did, you’ll never be whole.”
I failed at restraining a flinch from the impact of her words, but she pretended not to notice my reaction and patted my arm with a smile. “I put aside some food for you. Perhaps after you eat I can help you with the harvest. I don’t even mind a little honey on my toes.” She giggled, her brown eyes sparkling with quiet mirth. Reluctantly, I allowed the smallest bit of my sister’s gentle sunshine to permeate my battle-thickened shell.
“Thank you, Chana,” I said, hoping she understood that my gratitude was for more than just her willingness to help with th
e bees. Like Gidal, Chana was always in search of the best in any situation and every person. In fact, I was blessed with an entire family whose love never seemed to wane, even when I came across as a snarling beast.
She squeezed my hand in response and turned to fetch my meal, but after only two steps, she turned back and glanced over her shoulder. “Oh, and Malakhi? Do reconsider Ayala. She is quite beautiful.” She flashed a shy but cheeky grin and spun away.
CHAPTER
sixteen
4 Av
Chana had not exaggerated; Ayala was extraordinarily lovely. A fact I was made aware of three weeks later when she and her family joined us for a meal. It was an obvious ruse to introduce us, and one they all did little to hide. With a blatant glint of mischief in her eyes, my mother seated Ayala on my left side at the table and placed a small basket of sweetbread between us, ensuring we’d be forced to share, and giving me the opportunity to appreciate her beauty without the barrier of my distorted eyesight.
“Malakhi harvested the honey I used in this bread, Ayala,” she said, attempting to spark a conversation between the two of us. “In fact, his hives yielded so much honey that we’ll have plenty to feed guests for months and perhaps even to sell in the market.”
“Oh?” Ayala lifted her dark brows, feigning interest with admirable ease. “I’d love to hear how you learned such skills.”
I restrained the instinct to scowl at my mother, who seemed all too pleased with her matchmaking as she moved on to serve other guests. “I am simply fumbling along,” I said to Ayala. “Trying to figure much of it out on my own. There is not much to tell.”
She leaned closer, the hint of laughter in her big brown eyes making it clear that she too was well aware of Chana and my mother’s machinations. “Perhaps not, but if you and I don’t spend some time talking this evening, they’ll never leave us alone.”
I chuckled, amused by her honesty. “You too?”
“Chana has not stopped talking about you since the day I met her. I half expected to meet a giant warrior in full armor, with a flock of women bowing at his feet.” She laughed at her own joke, and the sound did something pleasant to my insides, as did the ease in which she teased me. Her long braid refused to contain her riot of rich brown curls, so a few tendrils wafted around her face. A dainty mouth complemented the dimples that appeared in her gently rounded cheeks as she indulged in unabashed humor at my expense. I sensed Ayala was in every way the opposite of Rivkah: open, easy, and effortlessly kind.
Why, when most every thought of my formerly betrothed was accompanied by anger and humiliation, was I continuing to hold on to her ghost? Chana was right; I needed to cease torturing myself over Rivkah’s decisions. Instead, I should take back what she’d so ruthlessly stolen from me.
Therefore, I willed my muscles to relax and leaned toward Ayala, lowering my voice as if divulging a great secret. “My mother won’t allow me to wear armor at the table. And as for the women at my feet . . .” Although the move was rusty, I curved my lips into the crooked smile I’d discovered as a youth had made the girls linger by the foundry. “The evening has just begun.”
By the time the meal was finished and Chana had steered Ayala off to some shadowy corner to interrogate her about our conversation, which had been surprisingly pleasant, I’d begun to feel a small measure more like myself, as if some long-dormant part of me had begun to unfurl.
Perhaps it was Ayala’s relaxed manner and unassuming beauty, or the honeyed wine. Or perhaps between Abra’s overt badgering, Chana’s quiet encouragement, and my mother’s persistence and prayers, I’d been forced to finally open my eyes. But for the first time since Rivkah disappeared, I could see another path. One that might be paved with hope instead of pain. Not once tonight had I dwelt on the weakness in my arm, nor the limitation of my sight.
Leaning against one of the cedar posts at the edge of the courtyard, a fresh cup of barley beer in hand, I surveyed the gathering. Between Eitan and Sofea’s growing family, along with that of Sofea’s cousin, Prezi, who’d married Rivkah’s oldest brother, Tal, there was no shortage of children. My mother was constantly surrounded by little ones begging for treats, their tiny hands tugging at her skirt and nearly always going away full. But as she’d told me many times before, there was “no such thing as too many grandchildren.”
Perhaps . . . I lifted my cup to my lips and stole a glance at Ayala across the courtyard. She returned my searching gaze with a fleeting one of her own. Perhaps . . .
Long dark fingers curled over my shoulder, and I did not need to look up to know that they belonged to my friend Hakim. “Very pretty,” he said. “Excellent choice for a wife.”
“I just met her this evening.” I scowled, annoyed by the amusement in his tone. “I haven’t brokered a betrothal just yet.” I willfully pushed aside thoughts of the last time I’d done so and the consequences of that poor decision.
“Ah. But this is the first I see of you spending time with a woman outside your family in years. One can only assume you might finally be considering marriage.”
Having only just cracked the door to such a possibility, I tensed at his too-keen observation. “Are you in league with my mother and sisters now? I have made no decisions.”
Hakim and I had been acquainted since we were very small. He was one of the sons of Zendaye and Benamin, Ethiopian traders who had befriended and sheltered my mother and father on their flight from Shiloh to Kedesh twenty-five years before. Their caravan came through Kedesh on the way south toward Egypt each year, so I’d played with him often during those brief visits. And in the last few years, the traders had lengthened their annual stops in the city, at times lingering for a month or two, and therefore Hakim and I had maintained a solid friendship as we grew into manhood.
He spread his large palms in mock surrender. “Far be it from me to push, my friend. I only say this because I approve. I have met Ayala. She is a lovely girl.”
Built as narrow as a spear, he towered over me by a head, his rich mahogany skin a contrast to my sun-darkened bronze, but something about his quiet, ever-calm demeanor paired well with my more tempermental nature. Even though I’d generally avoided him, along with everyone else since I’d returned home injured and ill-tempered, there was no trace of bitterness in his words.
“That she is,” I conceded, then took the opportunity to turn the conversation away from myself. “And what of you? Have you chosen a bride yet?”
A grin stretched wide across his face, his white teeth sparkling. “I have.” Surprised by the revelation, I stared at him wide-eyed for a moment, speechless. He was two years younger than me, and I’d never once heard him speak of any girl, but perhaps I’d been too wrapped up in myself to notice, or care.
Feeling ashamed that I’d never bothered to ask, I opened my mouth to remedy my lack of consideration, but a commotion on the second level of the inn caught my attention. Eitan and his four boys were up on the roof, along with Tal and two of his own. The men were peering over the city wall at something, and the boys clambered to be lifted in order to see whatever incident was taking place outside the city. Taking the stone stairs two at a time, I made my way to the roof to stand next to Eitan, knowing Hakim would likely follow. My brother said nothing as I joined him because the sight needed no explanation.
A small group of people approached the gates—five men and one woman, all on foot. The woman was leaning heavily upon the man next to her, as if barely able to hold herself erect. Her grief was palpable, even from my vantage point over the city wall. It was a scene all of us had witnessed time and time again over the years. Another manslayer had come to Kedesh.
CHAPTER
seventeen
Without fail, whenever a manslayer arrived to plead for refuge, a crowd of curious townspeople also came to the city gates to witness the spectacle. Not an hour ago, we’d been eating a delicious meal, enjoying sweet wine and light-hearted conversation, and now we were spectators to the imprisonment of a woman convicted o
f manslaughter.
The rumor, floating mouth to ear among those congregated, was that the young mother had drunk too much wine at a wedding and as a result, had unknowingly rolled over her baby, smothering her only child. The distraught girl, who looked to be not more than sixteen or so, sobbed as a circle of Levites and elders discussed her fate and the rest of us looked on helplessly. She’d been escorted here from her village near the shore of the Sea of Kinneret by two of the town elders who’d adjudicated the trial, two traveling Levites, and her own husband.
My mother had already ordered a room prepared for the girl. As was her usual habit, she was one of the first to arrive at the gates, ready to welcome the convicted killer with open arms. And truly there was no one better to tend the broken spirit of a manslayer than a woman who herself had walked the same journey.
When the circle of Levites and elders had finished their private conversation, they returned to their stone seats by the city gates, leaving a grave and all-too-aged Amitai to announce the familiar terms upon which she would be given safe haven.
“A verdict of manslaughter has been delivered by the elders of this young woman’s town. She is to be housed and protected in this city for the remainder of her days, or until the death of Eleazar, High Priest of Israel. Within the two-thousand-cubit boundary surrounding Kedesh, no man or woman shall harm a hair on her head. But . . .” Amitai turned to the young woman, whose red and swollen face was turned to the ground. The priest’s voice gentled as he spoke to the top of her head. “If you choose to step past the boundaries of the city, your life can be forfeited to the go’el haadam of your victim.”
A raw sob broke from the woman’s throat, and a few muffled cries of sympathy echoed it within the crowd. A young man standing off to the side wavered, pallor ashen and chest heaving.
Until the Mountains Fall Page 11