“Now, Amit,” said Anataliah, as she approached with a large dripping waterskin slung over her shoulder, “give your ima some room while she finishes up with these men. You and I will make sure the laborers’ thirst is quenched.”
Three other women from the kitchen carried water as well, along with clay cups and baskets of fresh bread. Samil ordered that his workers were well watered and sated, ensuring they’d remain motivated to work longer and faster for the wages they were promised. My master was the king of seemingly magnanimous, yet shrewd gestures. After planting a kiss on my cheek, Amit scrambled off to follow the young woman he regarded as a second mother, whose complicated name he’d shortened to Ana as soon as he could speak.
The group moved from laborer to laborer, filling and refilling the cups with water and handing out bread. Ana tasked Amit with delivering the filled cups and then holding the empty vessel as she refilled it for the next man. When Amit and Ana neared the place where Malakhi and Hakim swung adzes to skim bark from one of the giant cedar logs, Malakhi halted his work and signaled for Hakim to do so as well, then lifted a palm to keep Amit from getting too close. The protective gesture caused my throat to swell, but when Amit held out a cup of water to Malakhi, my trepidations roared back to life.
Malakhi knelt on one knee, looking straight into my son’s eyes as Amit pointed to the workers behind him and asked a question. My grip on the reed pen tightened, my knuckles whitening and my attention hopelessly divided between their conversation and my job. I was forced to ask the man in front of me his tribal affiliation three times before I could successfully record his response.
Surely Malakhi would not be so foolish as to reveal his identity to my son, who could not understand the danger an innocent remark might inspire. Nausea churned in my gut. I’d made another horrible error. I should not have let down my guard and hired him and his friend today. I should have called out to Estebaal and had them ushered out of the gates with orders to never come back.
Abruptly telling the last man in line that all positions were full for the day, I ignored his startled protests and jumped to my feet, leaving my inks and pens behind on the ground as I headed for my son.
“Amit!” Hands shaking, I pulled him backward, closer to me. Away from the man I’d once vowed to honor and obey.
Startled, my son looked up at me. “Ima! Malakhi said he would teach me how to use an adze.”
“What?” My gaze fell to the sharp tool on the ground nearby.
Malakhi’s lips twitched with humor. “I said I would teach him when he is much older.” Then he grinned at Amit with wicked conspiracy in his eyes. “But perhaps in a couple of years I can talk your ima into a small whittling knife.”
Squelching the hysteria that threatened to pour from my mouth, I glared at Malakhi, who suddenly looked far too similar to the teasing boy of my youth.
“Go back to the kitchen courtyard, Amit,” I said.
“But Ima, Malakhi—”
“I said go back. Now.” I felt Amit’s shoulders stiffen beneath my palms. I rarely had to chastise my son, so my snappish response must have startled him. Gently, I turned him around and kissed his forehead in apology. “Go, lamb. Find Bensam and play until it’s time for your afternoon rest.”
He nodded, deferring to me easily. Along with inheriting Gidal’s natural inquisitiveness, he also had his father’s calm and compliant tendencies. I gave him a reassuring smile as he walked away, but instead of looking back at me, my precious son gave the man he did not know was his uncle a large grin and a wave before trotting off to find his best friend, Dilara and Samil’s five-year-old son.
Still on bended knee, Malakhi watched him go, then peered up at me with such intensity that my heart began to beat a murky, disjointed rhythm. I spun, heading back to the canopy where I’d left my tools, determined to put as much distance between me and the guilt-inducing expression on his face. Yes, I’d kept Amit from him and the family who would undoubtedly adore him, but I would not be separated from my boy, not for one single day.
“I believe you have something to tell me,” said Anataliah, who’d appeared at my side while I was kneeling to gather my inks and reeds.
I stood, brushing the dirt off my well-worn tunic. “What do you mean?”
“You know exactly what I mean.” She glared at me, hands on her hips. “Who is that man? Why does your son know him? And why did you drag Amit away in such a panic?”
“I did not drag him away.” I glanced around to ensure that Estebaal had not heard her, but he was engaged in a conversation with the new overseer. The constant thud of axes against wood, shovels into hard-packed ground, and the tapping of chisels on stone would muffle our conversation. And although I was loathe to discuss this here, it was likely the best time, when Amit could not overhear.
Ana knew few details about my past in Kedesh. I’d told her I’d been widowed shortly before I left, but not my reasons for leaving, only that I was looking for a way to sustain myself and my child. After nearly five years of holding in the truth from the young woman I’d come to rely on and see as a younger sister, it was time to confess.
“Malakhi is . . . was . . . my betrothed. I was promised in levirate marriage after Gidal died.”
Her lips parted and her eyes grew twice as large. “Is? Or was?”
I cleared my throat. “Truly, I do not know. He is more than likely married now. I left behind the bridal gifts when I departed. And my abandonment was certainly grounds for severing the betrothal.” As was my reckless behavior in Laish, but mercifully Malakhi did not know about that.
“Amit started talking to him as if he already knew him,” Ana said. “I was so stunned I did not know what to do.”
“He came to our room the other day, carrying a message from my father.”
“What message?”
The roll of papyrus sat ensconced in my belt, in the exact same place I’d carried my plea of forgiveness for almost three years. My father had responded to my two words with two of his own.
COME HOME.
“He asked me to return,” I said. “But of course that is impossible.”
Ana let her gaze drift toward Malakhi, but I kept mine on her face. “And what of him?”
“I don’t know. I told him that I am under contract and cannot leave. I’d hoped that he had left the city. I was very shocked to see him today.” I pulled my ink palette closer to my chest. “I am afraid he means to take Amit.”
Her response was sharp. “Why would he do that?”
“Amit is Gidal’s heir, Ana. If Malakhi asked the elders to return Amit to Kedesh, especially after my deception, I have little doubt they would comply.” My voice trembled. “I could lose my sweet boy.”
She brushed a soothing palm up and down my forearm. “No, my friend. Amit asked how Malakhi knew you and he told him that he was your friend from long ago. When Amit bragged about your scribing skills, Malakhi said he remembered watching you practice letters for hours and hours and how much he admired you for how hard you worked to learn. He even remarked that Amit should be proud to have such a skilled mother. A man intent on separating a child from his mother would not say such things, Rivkah.”
Eyes burning, my words came out strangled. “I pray you are right. . . . I could not bear . . .”
She squeezed my arm in a reassuring gesture. “You must speak with him, find out why he stayed.”
“Yes, but I cannot let Estebaal know that I am doing so or he may tell Samil.” I glanced over at the bodyguard, who was no longer speaking with the overseer but staring our way. “I should go back to our room and see to a few other tasks before I return to disperse wages at the end of the day.”
She and I parted ways, and I turned to head toward the servants’ quarters. It was then that I noticed Estebaal’s eyes were no longer on me, but instead on Ana as she made her way back to the kitchen courtyard. I stumbled, shocked by the obvious longing on his face. His gaze darted back to me before he turned away with a guilty jolt.<
br />
Samil’s loyal bodyguard was also the most feared. Dark rumors passed from servant to servant in the household—of men with severed limbs, of houses set aflame, and even of one trader who’d disappeared completely after somehow betraying Samil. Estebaal had always been respectful toward me, but he was anything but safe.
I resolved to keep a closer eye on my innocent young friend, as well as search for some way to speak to Malakhi alone. I would not breathe easy until I knew what his intentions were here in Edrei and likely not even until he walked out those gates and back to Kedesh.
Alone.
CHAPTER
twenty-six
Malakhi
I’d given up on finding a comfortable position on my sleep mat and instead glared at the inn ceiling, waiting for exhaustion to overtake my ever-churning frustrations with Rivkah. I wanted answers. And although I reported to her every morning before beginning my labor and every evening when she doled out wages, I could say nothing with Samil’s large and attentive guards standing watch. So every night I seethed at the impossible situation she’d gotten herself into and my helplessness to do anything about it.
The stench of this place was gag-inducing. I’d decided days ago that the innkeeper rarely, if ever, cleaned the room, nor did he care that the last guest had used the corner to relieve himself. If I’d not been determined to stay within the city walls, to be close to Rivkah and Amit, I’d not have bothered to keep a room but instead camped among the trees with Baz and Toki.
This inn was the very opposite of my mother’s warm and hospitable abode. There were no clean and aired rooms awaiting guests, no carefully spiced and lovingly prepared dishes to fill their bellies, and no laughter, good-natured banter, or bright and happy voices of children floating in from the courtyard. Instead, the Edomite who owned this place had ushered us to this cell, demanded nearly a full day’s wages, and informed us that we’d be responsible for all of our own meals before walking away without another word.
“Are you ever going to sleep?” asked Hakim from his own miserable pallet two paces away from mine. To his credit, my friend had not said a word about the accommodations. Neither had he complained about the labor we’d endured for the past week, nor the blisters that had risen on his palms, ones he’d been forced to wrap in linen in order to keep working. He must truly be enamored with my sister.
“She won’t let the boy near me,” I said, my aggravation boiling over. “Not since that first day.” Those few moments I’d had with my nephew had left me aching for more, but it seemed Rivkah had other plans. Amit had not accompanied the women who brought us food and water again, and she kept him within arm’s length whenever he visited while she worked. “He is my brother’s child. I have every right to see him, to know him. He should be in Kedesh with my family.”
“Perhaps she is fearful,” said Hakim.
“Of what? I would never hurt Amit.”
“Of course not, but what about her?”
“She is the one who ran, Hakim.”
“And she wounded you, I know. But she is not the girl who ran anymore, is she? She is a mother who adores her child.”
That much was true. The flat demeanor I’d noted in Rivkah was washed away completely in the presence of her son. Although I could not hear the conversations that passed between them over the noise of mallets and chisels and adzes, the corners of her rose-colored lips tipped upward the moment he threw his arms around her neck from behind, her eyes dancing as he prattled and gestured, and I’d even twice seen her throw her head back and laugh.
Regardless that I could not hear the sound, both times it brought to mind the one last carefree moment we’d laughed together in the quince grove. The fact that I still wished to hear that laugh with my own ears only served to remind me of what a fool I’d been over a woman who’d never wanted me and added tinder to the aggravation that smoldered hotter every day.
“Why did you come here, my friend?” Hakim asked.
“Because Amitai asked me to.”
Hakim’s silence was an accusation. I let it spool out too long, the loops wrapping around my neck, so my next words were strangled. “Because I wanted to know why.”
“Not to punish her for going?”
Had I wanted to punish her? Make her suffer the way I had when she left? Perhaps, if I was honest with myself, I’d felt a certain measure of satisfaction that first day at seeing her brought low, but the sight of her with her son had washed those merciless thoughts from my mind. I may still be angry with her for discarding me and hiding Amit, but my first instinct was to protect her, and that is what I planned to do, whether she begged my forgiveness or not.
A tap at the door saved me from responding to Hakim’s question. The tap was followed by an insistent scratching near the ground that made it clear who our vistors were. I lifted myself from my pallet to open the door, groaning at the dull ache in my shoulder but noting that it did not hurt quite as much as I’d expected after a week of heavy labor.
Baz blew out a disgusted breath as he stepped inside the tiny room. “Did one of you die in here?”
I ignored him and checked outside before latching the door behind him. “What are you doing here so late?”
“I’ve attempted to catch the two of you early, but you’re gone at dawn. Figured this would be my best chance of sharing news without being overheard.”
Toki snuffled around in the room for a few moments, then did her part to cover up the stench in the corner before shaking her entire body, as if sloughing off water. Dust and debris flew in all directions.
“Why is your dog covered in dirt?”
Baz grinned. “That’s part of why I’m here. And how I got past the gates after dark. I found the other end of the tunnel.”
My jaw dropped. “You mean to say you’ve spent these last few days burrowing underground?”
“I have. What else was I to do while the two of you were fooling around with sticks and stones? Toki and I followed the entire length of one of the tunnels, which comes out not too far from here into one of the deep cisterns beneath the city. Luckily the water level is low enough that we were able to climb right up the stairs and into the street.”
“You said tunnels. There are more than one?”
“I counted at least five branches, and there are entire caverns down there. Some look to be natural and some are hand-carved. This city was well prepared to withstand an invasion. It must have taken decades for King Og or his predecessors to have these pathways dug out. Although the majority of the tunnel was surprisingly unobstructed, I did have to push through a couple of areas of cave-in, but it seems to be fairly passable.”
“Did our armies not discover these tunnels when we took this city from the Amorites?”
“I did hear rumors to that effect, but I was not yet twenty then. I did not fight my first battle until after we’d crossed the Jordan River nearly a year later. Jericho was my first.”
It was hard to imagine Baz younger than me, a time before he worked and fought alongside my father. A time before he was the fearless, bold, and heavily scarred warrior he was now.
“Although this is all quite interesting,” I said, “what made you so intent on braving that tunnel tonight to find us?”
“I have to leave,” he said, a deep frown on his face. “In the morning.”
Although I did not expect him to stay for my sake, his urgency unsettled me.
“I’ve spent some time in the marketplace when I wasn’t in the tunnels, gathering information from vendors or just wandering around with my ears open. This afternoon, I overheard disturbing news. Apparently, some sort of uproar has sparked serious tension between the tribes. There is concern that an intertribal war may be on the near horizon.”
My father had warned for years of this very thing. How could we possibly stay united under the banner of the Torah when so many Hebrews no longer respected the Covenant and the tenets that bound us together? With so many fractures between the tribes, and now without
Yehoshua to lead us, how could we possibly stand against the enemies around us?
“I must get back. I need to share what I’ve learned with Darek and determine what he and Eitan discovered up north. Between the threat of the Arameans and this new issue, things are very precarious.”
“I agree. You must go. I’ll be fine.”
“You are staying?”
“I am not leaving Edrei without Gidal’s son.” Or Rivkah.
Baz clapped a palm on my shoulder. “I thought you’d say that.”
“I’ll stay with you,” said Hakim from his prone position on his mat. The poor man was so exhausted he’d not even bothered sitting up when Baz came in, nor when Toki began licking his face in earnest.
“You should go back with Baz, Hakim. There is no need for you to stay.”
“I can’t leave you alone,” he said, rolling to his side.
“I’ll be fine. I’ll be working at the villa until I can find a way to get them out, for however long that takes. And you need to ask for Chana’s hand before my father departs again.”
Baz lifted a thick brow with a low whistle, and I felt sure that if Hakim’s skin were not so dark it would be blazing red. For a man so extraordinary tall and imposing, Hakim was unusually shy. He cleared his throat. “And what should I tell Chana about Ayala?”
Crossing my arms, I let out a sigh. I’d come to Edrei with every intention of returning to marry the girl, and although my resolve to guard myself against Rivkah’s effects on me remained intact, I could not in good conscience ask Ayala to wait for me. It could be days until I found a way to bring Amit and Rivkah home, or it could be months. And as much as I did not anticipate making a home here in this dank and cheerless room, I was resolved to stay near Amit. Even if I had to wait out the rest of Rivkah’s indenture.
“Tell Chana that I am sorry, but Amit needs me. Ayala is a lovely young woman. I am sure there will be another who is more than willing to make her his wife.”
Until the Mountains Fall Page 18