CHAPTER
twenty-four
Malakhi
“A son?” Baz repeated. He gaped at me, slack-jawed. The stick he’d been whittling with his knife dangled loosely in his big palm. “Gidal had a son?”
He looked nearly as stupefied as I had been by the news. Baz had been a part of our family before I’d even been born, and although I knew he held all of us in deep affection, there was something special about Gidal, something otherworldly about his connection to creation and, through it, to Yahweh. Baz had been right when he said it was as if my brother had not been made for this world. The sheen in eyes he quickly averted spoke to just how affected he was by the news.
“He is the very image,” I said, thinking back to the open curiosity in the boy’s gaze, and my chest ached at the reminder that he saw me as a stranger instead of his uncle.
Walking away today when I had so many questions had been nearly impossible. Rivkah was no fool; she could have found a way to return home or to send a message to her family, no matter what Nessa had chosen. Something else had kept her here and driven her to such desperate measures. I’d wanted nothing more than to chase her into that villa and demand answers, demand she tell me why she’d done this, why she’d hidden Amit from us, and what had drained the life from her amber eyes.
If she’d not been so adamant that I not be seen by her master, I would likely have done so. But I would not risk putting her and Amit in more of a precarious situation than they were already in, so I’d stayed in her tiny, sparse chamber until she’d disappeared into the villa before slipping out.
Even as I’d walked away, wrapped in a swirl of anger and surprise and frustration, I could not help but ponder how she’d sat on her bed with shoulders bowed and eyes on the floor and the dispassionate way she’d spoken to me, as if we were barely acquainted. As if we’d not dug in the dirt together as children and played chase around the goats in the fields. As if we’d not squabbled and poked fun and tattled on each other hundreds of times. As if she’d not been married to my brother. As if we were not still legally betrothed.
“What do you plan to do?” Baz asked, startling me from my silent revelation.
“Take them back, of course.” My parents would be beside themselves with joy to hold the child in their arms, regardless of the devastation of discovering he’d been kept from them. And based on my interaction with Amitai on the roof, he would be thrilled to have his daughter back.
“I thought you said she was indentured.”
I ran my fingers through my hair with a snarl, thinking of Rivkah signing her life into another man’s hands. “She is.”
“Then we smuggle them out,” said Baz, as always ready to plow into battle.
I shook my head. “Lawfully, she is bound to that contract. And that villa is a fortress. Her master,” I said, the word tasting of bile, “employs a number of well-trained guards, some nearly as big as you.”
Baz scoffed. “Never stopped me before.”
I had little doubt of that. He’d been on the front lines of the incursion into Canaan under the command of Yehoshua and had his fair share of clashes with giant Anakim like King Og of Bashan, who’d built Edrei, the same city whose walls towered in the near distance. The copper-plated gates glowed in the light of the setting sun, hinting at the extravagant wealth Og must have enjoyed before the forces of Israel crushed him.
“Can you not purchase her freedom?” asked Hakim from where he lay on his back, watching the clouds scurry overhead.
“It’s possible. But I have nothing to offer. And from the way Rivkah describes her role in the household, buying out her contract would be a costly proposition.”
The three of us went silent, mulling the situation. We’d set up camp last night within a well-protected ravine at the foot of the rocky hill upon which Edrei was perched. Toki snuffled around in the weeds, staking her claim on the territory, and cornered a bevy of quail twenty paces off.
Her tail went still, her body rigid. Only her little black nose twitched as she watched the birds shuffle to the side, feathers ruffled, and gather into a huddle against a low outcropping of limestone. Suddenly she darted toward them, making the flock scatter, squawking and chattering their displeasure as they fluttered in all directions.
Baz chuckled at his brown-and-white companion. “She’s a determined little thing. She’ll likely make one her dinner and come back covered in feathers. Too bad she hasn’t learned to retrieve them; I’d enjoy having a meal delivered to me.” My stomach rumbled at the thought of fresh meat, and I dug into my pack for some of the dried figs we’d purchased in Golan and handed some to Baz and Hakim as well.
I’d been glad to shake the dust from my sandals when we left that place. We’d spent only one day in the city of refuge, searching out answers about Rivkah’s whereabouts, but that was enough, in my opinion. Golan seemed to stand directly opposite of everything I loved about Kedesh: the way everyone worked together to bring in the fruit and nut harvests, frequently accompanied by joyful corporate song; the way the manslayers were folded into the city in such an easy manner; the feeling of familiarity, safety, and camaraderie within its walls.
In contrast, the Levite quarter in Golan was situated on one side of town, delineated quite obviously from that of the manslayers, and it was made clear to us that any interaction with those convicted of manslaughter was forbidden. Although the justification for such an edict was the safety of those who might be pursued by Blood Avengers, the explanation somehow didn’t quite ring true.
Also, apart from the bustling marketplace where goods from all over were sold by both Hebrew and foreigner alike, the streets of the city were strangely devoid of any good-natured banter between neighbors. I wondered whether without my mother and her inn, or without generous and just priests like Amitai and his father, Dov, before him to govern it, Kedesh too would be a place where commerce outweighed kindness.
Toki barked, pawing at a large pile of rocks where the bevy of quail had been huddled before. Perhaps one of the smaller birds had taken refuge there before the flock retreated. As Baz had said, Toki was nothing if not determined, or she would not have found her way out of a locked room to follow her master.
Baz called out a command, but she ignored him, her digging becoming almost frantic as dirt flew up from her insistent paws. “Strange,” he muttered. Tossing the meat skewer he’d made to the side, he headed over to see what she was after with such resolve. After a few moments of watching her, he squatted down and pulled at a few rocks as well, tossing them off to the side. “Malakhi. Hakim. Come see this.”
With something like a satisfied grin on her spotted face, Toki trotted off with a feathered prize clamped between her jaws, her hook tail wagging as she headed into the trees to devour her meal in solitude. But she had uncovered a large hole in pursuit of her prey, one that looked to go down at an angle into the limestone.
“Is it a cave?” Hakim asked.
“Perhaps,” said Baz, his tone thoughtful as he tugged at another large rock. “Or a tunnel. Look.” He pointed to the limestone along the sides. “This is no natural formation. These are chisel marks.”
“Who would build a tunnel out here?” I asked.
Baz sat back on his haunches and surveyed the area, knuckles rubbing at his thick beard. “The more important question is, where does it originate?”
“Perhaps it is merely an abandoned cistern?” offered Hakim.
“Could be,” said Baz. “Although I’ve heard rumors about such tunnels in these parts.”
“What did the two of you discover in the marketplace after we parted ways?” I asked, anxious to bring the conversation back to Rivkah, but Baz seemed too wrapped up in the mystery of the hole to answer. He tugged at another large stone and it created an avalanche underground, the sudden clatter of tumbling rocks and debris indicating that the pit was indeed larger than I’d guessed.
“We spoke more with Ishtallah,” said Hakim, “the woman who told me where to find Am
itai’s daughter this morning. She is a fabric merchant from the Far East. Our family has crossed paths with hers before. She is well acquainted with Samil, your Rivkah’s master.”
I did not correct him, but the thought of her as “mine” caused that sharp pain to once against flare beneath my ribs. I pressed the sensation away with my fingertips.
“He is Hebrew. Of the tribe of Manasseh. Well known as the most prosperous of merchants in Edrei, mainly for his connections with Damascus, Ur, and Avaris. He is also famous for ruthless dealings that skirt the edge of Torah’s boundaries.”
The way Rivkah’s face had paled as she’d insisted Samil should not see me made it clear that her master was not a man to be trifled with. The unease that had taken hold of me as she’d explained her predicament only deepened at Hakim’s words. “She mentioned he has two Canaanite wives.”
Hakim nodded. “Yes, I heard this too. It seems that he has taken up the custom of flaunting his wealth with multiple wives.”
Along with disregarding the law of Mosheh by marrying Canaanites, I thought. It was becoming all too common for men of power to broker peace and prosperity with enemy tribes by intermarriage. And from what I’d seen of Edrei, there seemed to be as many Canaanites as Hebrews living side-by-side in the city.
“His villa is certainly proof of his flourishing business. It is larger than my mother’s inn, and it looks as though he is building on another wing of rooms. There is an enormous amount of rocks, bricks, and cedar logs assembled at the site already, and while I waited at Rivkah’s door, another wagonful of mud-bricks was delivered.”
“There is your answer,” said Baz as he tugged at a clump of vines that swirled down into his mysterious hole. “Go build his house.”
“What?” I asked.
Baz looked over his shoulder. “Have you learned nothing from training with your father, boy? You need to get close to the girl. Determine the safest way to get her and the little one out of that household. So take a job as a carpenter, which you are already skilled at, and do what we do best. Spy.”
Baz’s idea had merit. I’d slipped out the villa gates quickly, keeping my head down. It was unlikely that anyone would have noticed me speaking with Rivkah. The guards at the gate had barely taken notice of me when I’d asked to speak to my “cousin” in the servants’ quarters—after they painstakingly checked me for any weapons, of course. And if anyone had seen our interaction, I could certainly frame it as petitioning for work, asking if she’d help me find employment with her master.
If I worked at the villa, I could ensure that she and Amit were safe, and it would give me time to plan. Hopefully I wouldn’t dig myself into a hole as deep as the one at Baz’s feet. But for the sake of my brother’s child, I’d move any number of obstacles until he and his mother were free.
CHAPTER
twenty-five
Rivkah
It had been two days since Malakhi had walked out of the villa, but nearly every moment since then had been spent in torment. Every knock on the door made my heart race, every deep voice out in the courtyard strangled the breath from me, and every moment Amit was out of my sight caused my body to vibrate with fear. The truth was that Malakhi could return at any moment to assert his rights as the uncle of my child, and there was every reason to believe that the elders of Edrei would stand behind him. I was a woman. A slave. There would be no recourse if he chose to take my son away.
But despite my fears, I had no choice but to leave Amit in the care of Ana in the kitchen courtyard while I performed my duties. So with my legs folded beneath me and a thin slab of wood balanced on my knees, I recorded the skill and agreed-upon wage for the bricklayer who stood in front of me. I’d already hired fifteen men just like him, as well as three carpenters and five new stonemasons, and the line of men searching out employment still stretched twenty long, at least.
As I gestured for the next man to step forward and state his skills and experience, I was reminded of the days I’d spent recording tithes for my father in Kedesh, specifically the first time I’d been given the task.
Although I’d received a few scowls—and more than one leer—from a number of the men that day, by the time I’d called forward the last person in line to record their tithe and thank them on behalf of the Levite families like mine who relied on the generosity of the Hebrew people for sustenance, I’d already been anticipating the next morning. Back then, utilizing the skills my father had taught me felt as natural as breathing and nearly as life-giving, but now the act of putting ink to papyrus was mundane, a drudgery instead of a joy. The only time I felt even a flicker of contentment was when I snatched a few secret moments to scribble down lyrics on stolen pieces of papyrus, and even then most of my words tended to be woven from sorrow and regret.
I completed hiring the bricklayer, then another, and then a stonemason, without even looking any of them in the eye, but when a familiar and yet somehow altogether different voice responded to my rote query about carpentry skills, the freshly loaded tip of my reed skidded across the rough papyrus sheet, marring my otherwise perfectly executed list.
I pulled in a shaky breath before I allowed my eyes to slide up Malakhi’s changed form. Even after seeing him the other day, the transformation was still a shock. This was not the boy I’d known. Not the affable, charismatic young man whose crooked smile made the girls of Kedesh flutter and preen. This man was dangerous. Eyes like the frost that gathered in shadowed places narrowed as I met his cold gaze.
A thousand questions flooded my mind, not the least of which was why he was here asking for employment as a carpenter at Samil’s villa. But acutely aware that Estebaal stood only a few paces away, I could do nothing but ask Malakhi’s length of experience, although I knew the answer full well.
“Ten years” came the curt reply.
Helpless to ask anything of real meaning, or to plead with him to go back to Kedesh and leave my boy alone, I asked for the name and tribal affiliation I knew as well as my own, then outlined the expected wages of a carpenter with his length of expertise. Then, with my stomach twisted into knots, I nodded my head as if he were dismissed. He stepped to the side and a dark-skinned man stepped forward, one who looked vaguely familiar, and gave a reverent dip of his chin. A strange gesture, for I was certainly in no position to deserve such respect.
“Your skill?”
His mahogany eyes flicked over to Malakhi, who lifted a brow at him—a silent command.
“Carpentry.” Hakim’s discomfort was nearly painful to watch. This man did not like lying. And one glance at the callus-free fingers twitching at his sides made it obvious that it was a lie. He was so tall that I was forced to crane my head back to see his face. His arms and legs looked plenty strong, but Malakhi’s muscular build gave witness to his trade. Those shoulders had wielded an ax and an adze for years, hauled heavy logs all over town, and felled trees on countless occasions. I met Malakhi’s cool gaze, one that communicated quite clearly that I should swallow any concerns. Hakim was no carpenter, but for some reason Malakhi wanted me to accept that he was, without question.
My pulse fluttered, and sweat beaded at my hairline. My panic must have been on full display, for Malakhi suddenly shifted his stance, his expression softening, his silver eyes conveying encouragement instead of the palpable disdain that had so far defined him. Had I been wrong to assume that his appearance today meant he was here to steal Amit? The tension in my gut loosened ever so slightly, and I prayed that the letters I wrote down next would not be ones I regretted for the rest of my life.
“Name and tribal affiliation?” I asked his friend.
Hakim ben Benamin. He designated no tribal affiliation, so I looked up with curiosity.
“I come from a line of traders. Although we are in Covenant to Yahweh, we are not bound to a tribe—”
“Naftali,” interrupted Malakhi, with a pointed look toward his friend.
With an unnamable emotion shimmering in his dark eyes, Hakim dropped his chin.
“Hakim ben Benamin. Naftali.”
I wrote down the words, fascinated by the exchange and watched the two of them walk toward the half-constructed wing of Samil’s villa, where the replacement overseer was directing new laborers in their tasks for the day. I hoped Malakhi would guide Hakim well; my master did not tolerate lazy or inefficient workers, a distinction the last overseer should have heeded or he would not have lost his position on Edrei’s largest construction project in years. Samil’s business had grown to nearly three times what it was when I came into service, and through the expansion and renovation of his home, he’d made sure everyone was aware of his status as one of the most respected and powerful men in the city.
With a sigh, I dipped my reed pen in my inkpot, but just as I gestured for the next laborer to come forward, Estebaal caught my eye. His expression and the brow he raised made it quite clear that he’d seen my silent but meaningful exchange with Malakhi.
Alarm slithered through me. It would be imperative that Malakhi show himself to be a loyal worker. Because if Estebaal sensed that he was here for me and divulged such suspicions to Samil, he could very well be in danger. So I threw myself into my task and did not turn my eyes back to the man who’d walked days to find me—a monumental achievement when he was only twenty paces away and curiosity was gnawing a hole in my stomach.
When the line had dwindled to only five men searching for positions, two little arms wrapped themselves around my neck as a small body latched itself to my back. “Ima!” announced the most precious of voices. “I came to help Ana!”
I turned to find Amit grinning down at me, freckles on full display and his dark hair a windblown mess. Wild adoration for my boy thumped in my chest. Gidal had given me the best of gifts within our short marriage. Although the discovery of my pregnancy had been a confusing and frightful time, one when I’d made the desperate, unwise, and irrevocable decision to enslave myself, I’d never regret protecting my sweet child. Being Amit’s mother had changed me for the better and made the years of servitude bearable. Every breath I took was for him.
Until the Mountains Fall Page 17