Until the Mountains Fall

by Connilyn Cossette

  Within only a short time after their arrival, Baz and Toki were gone, and Hakim with them, heading back down into the tunnel where they would use an oil lamp and the charcoal markings Baz had left on the walls to guide their way out of Edrei.

  The next morning when I reported to Rivkah at dawn, she looked up at me with surprising concern in her amber eyes and asked about Hakim.

  “He has returned home,” I said.

  “Oh? Will he be back?” she asked, dropping her eyes back to her papyrus record, as if she were merely making pleasantries with a stranger.

  “No.”

  She drew a line through Hakim’s name on the list. “Will you be staying on then?” Her demeanor was impassive, but I was fully aware that she was anything but indifferent.

  The question hummed between us for a few moments before I answered. “I have no plans to leave.”

  She slowly lifted her gaze back up to mine. “For how long?”

  “As long as it takes to complete the job,” I replied. From the way her eyes widened and her knuckles went white where she gripped her pen, I knew she comprehended my true meaning, and for some reason it terrified her.

  Although consumed with the urge to question her odd reaction, I looked up to see that the tall Aramean guard I’d noticed on the first day of my employment was watching the two of us with sharp interest again. My desperation to speak with Rivkah alone would have to wait a little longer. With Hakim gone I’d have nothing to occupy my mind, so I’d likely spend the entire day of work plotting out the best way to speak with Rivkah and attempting to squelch the simmering ache that always seemed to flare to life whenever I stood within ten paces of her. This day would be long indeed.

  CHAPTER

  twenty-seven

  Rivkah

  5 Elul

  The renovation to Samil’s home had seemed interminable, but with the addition of the new workers, Malakhi included, I wondered if it actually might be finished by Sukkot as he’d ordered.

  In the second year of my indenture, we’d traveled to Avaris, and Samil had been so enthralled with the wealth and extravagance of the Black Land that as soon as we returned he ordered his large home to be transformed into an Egyptian-style villa, complete with a garden pool filled with lotus, a white-plastered exterior, and a small sanctuary at the back of the property to house his wives’ gods.

  From the brightly painted and ornately carved beams that were installed in the private courtyard at the center of the villa, to the claw-footed bedsteads built in the swooping Egyptian style, to the expertly woven linen carried back with us on our camels, the effect of the transformation was impressive.

  Samil had even bullied all the surrounding neighbors to sell their homes to him as well and incorporated those he did not raze inside the enclosing mud-brick fence that surrounded his new larger property. This final addition of rooms had been added onto the plans a few months ago, a response to my master’s ever-expanding family and the many foreign visitors he entertained.

  As I’d been ordered to do, I ensured that the laborers received their daily wages but also aided the overseer with correspondence to and from material suppliers. Therefore, when Tarron, Samil’s oldest child and exalted heir, walked into the center of the construction area, I was only fifteen paces away.

  The boy was a menace. Entitled and nearly as pampered as his mother, Ofira, he was forever tormenting Amit, and I could do nothing but hold my tongue. And since no one else had any power over the young master either, the ten-year-old strode past the stonemasons, the bricklayers, and the carpenters directly into the chamber he’d been told by his father was designated as his alone.

  With panic on his well-lined brow, the overseer darted toward the child with a feeble warning to take heed of the carpenters, who were even now positioning cedar support beams overhead. But he’d not reached the threshold of the chamber before a series of shouts rang out, followed by the thud of heavy wood on stone, the billow of dust from inside the half-constructed room, and then an ominous silence.

  Then everyone seemed to be yelling at once, and even though I held no affection for Ofira’s firstborn, my heart contracted painfully. Anataliah appeared at my side, both of us silent and wide-eyed as we awaited the outcome of such a disaster. No matter Samil’s proclivity for manipulation, and even at times violence, losing a child was nothing I wished upon him. The overseer disappeared inside the room alone, but appeared with another man by his side, one carrying a sobbing and bleeding Tarron.

  Malakhi.

  My formerly betrothed had a scrape down one cheek, and dust and wood shavings coated his skin and hair, but he looked to be intact. He hoisted Tarron into a more secure position against his chest, his face contorting in obvious pain. He’d been favoring his right shoulder over the past two weeks, and it looked as if whatever injury he’d suffered before had been aggravated by this incident. But still he strode forward, his lips moving. He seemed to be comforting the foolish child as he carried him toward the villa, led by the overseer. Estebaal met them at the doorway, and after a brief exchange between the three men, the overseer led Malakhi with his sorrowful burden into the house. Estebaal looked back, catching my eye with a speaking glance before he too entered our master’s home and shut the door behind him.

  As the workers jolted into motion and Ana headed back toward the kitchen courtyard, I stood locked in place, desperate to know what was happening inside and consumed with fear that Estebaal might say something about Malakhi and me.

  What would I do if Samil discovered that we knew each other? Or, may Yahweh forbid, that we were at one time betrothed? Samil was relentless in pursuit of wealth and I was integral to that goal. He’d told me for years now that he’d never had a scribe, not to mention a female one, who was so valuable. He would no sooner hand me over to Malakhi than he would hand him the deed to his villa, no matter that our ketubah contract had been drawn up before the indenture. The Torah meant little to Samil, unless he could skew its regulations in his own favor. Estebaal’s warning from the day Malakhi arrived rose again in my mind.

  As I’d expected, one of the housemaids soon called me inside, her blank countenance giving no clue as to what I was walking into. So I braced myself as I tapped on the door to my master’s chamber, breath trapped in my chest. I feared our connection might be discovered, but I also feared Samil might blame Malakhi for this incident with Tarron and demand that the elders charge him with negligence. Injury to the master’s son would require restitution Malakhi could ill afford to pay. Perhaps he too would be forced into servitude to pay the debt. The door swung open, and Estebaal ushered me inside, his expression also unreadable.

  “Rivkah!” said Samil. “I require your help.” He swept an arm toward Malakhi, who stood in the center of the room, a trickle of dried blood still tracking down to his beard from the gouge on his cheek. “This is Malakhi,” he announced, with a tone of admiration that caused me to blink in surprise. “He saved Tarron! Jumped through the open rafters to shield my boy from the beam that rolled away from one of the carpenters. If he had not put his own body in the way, my son may well have been crushed!”

  “I am pleased to hear that, my lord,” I replied cautiously. “How may I be of service?”

  My master gestured toward the table in the corner where I performed many of my duties under his watchful eye. “Do prepare a sheet of papyrus. I would like to reward this young man for his quick action in rescuing Tarron today.”

  “That won’t be necessary, my lord,” said Malakhi as I moved to do my master’s bidding, and I hoped I was the only one that heard the tension beneath the designation of Samil as his authority. “I am just thankful the boy is relatively unharmed.”

  Samil dismissed his argument with a wave of his palm. “Tell me, Malakhi, from where do you hail?”

  Malakhi kept his eyes trained on my master. “From Naftali territory, my lord.”

  “Yes? Our Rivkah does as well.”

  “Is that so?” Malakhi asked, his
gaze barely flickering over to me.

  “Indeed,” said Samil. “And how did you gain expertise in carpentry?”

  “My brother is a noted bronzesmith but dabbles in carpentry when metal is scarce and whenever tools require carving. I learned most of what I know from him beginning at age twelve.”

  “What brought you here?”

  “I heard there was wealth to be built in this city.”

  Samil nodded, accepting that explanation easily. “And tell me, what happened today? Why did that beam fall?”

  Malakhi shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his posture communicating wariness.

  “Please speak freely,” Samil urged. “I must know that my work site is safe.”

  Malakhi kneaded his right shoulder absent-mindedly. “There are a number of carpenters working on the villa who have not participated in a cooperative project of this scale. The overseer is doing a fine job of managing the many workers involved, but there is no leadership over the carpenters themselves. We spend more time quarreling over the best method to hoist the beams than actually doing so. The men are skilled, my lord; they only lack firm direction to ensure efficiency and safety for all involved. Unfortunately, your son entered the room just as a disagreement broke out over the most secure way to join the crossbeams, and the men were distracted. It was simply a terrible accident that no one could have anticipated.”

  Samil scratched his chin thoughtfully. “As I suspected.” He turned to me. “This man is now the head carpenter. Please ensure that his wages reflect his position.”

  My chin jerked up to catch Malakhi’s reaction. His jaw slackened and he took a small step backward. “That is not—”

  Again, Samil waved off his protest. “Do your wife and children have accommodations nearby?”

  My fingers gripped my reed pen far too tightly. Which of the beautiful and doting girls in Kedesh had captured Malakhi’s attention? And did Amit have silver-eyed cousins? I had no right to care either way, but I found that I did, and held my breath until the answer came.

  “I have none,” he replied, not looking my way.

  Samil looked shocked. “Truly? A handsome young man like you? I would think you’d have a girl on each arm.”

  “I was betrothed.” Malakhi’s smile was tight and grim. “But she left me.”

  Heartbeat pounding in my ears, I laid my pen atop the papyrus and gripped my knees beneath the table to prevent myself from jumping up and running from the room to find somewhere to deposit the contents of my rollicking stomach.

  “I am sorry to hear that,” said Samil, patting Malakhi on the shoulder with true empathy in his tone. “But there are plenty of lovely ladies here in Edrei.” He leaned in closer and lowered his voice. “And with your higher wages now, I’m sure you’ll have little lack of company at night.” He winked, laughing at his own crude humor.

  Although Samil had not made any advances on me, he did nothing to shield me from his proclivities. Many times I went back to my quarters at night desperate for a cool, fresh stream to wash away the filth I was subjected to in his home and within the homes of those with whom he conducted business. Egypt had rubbed off on Samil in more ways than one, as had the depravity of his wives’ heritage.

  For his part, Malakhi did nothing more than acknowledge the crass jest with a tight dip of his chin.

  “I’ll leave you with Rivkah. She’ll outline your wages and make a record of your new position here in the household, as well as explain your duties.” Samil glanced at me over his shoulder. “Include meals in his wages, Rivkah. I want the rest of the workers to see what rewards loyalty provides.”

  “Yes, my lord,” I said, doing my best to keep my voice from warbling.

  “Excellent,” he said with a clap of his palms that ended the conversation. “Now come, Estebaal, I have a task for you. Do you remember that Moabite . . . ?” His voice trailed off as he left the room, his attention already on to other matters, assuming his bodyguard would follow. But Estebaal stopped at the threshold and gave Malakhi and I both a stern look that communicated quite clearly he’d understood much of the silent current that had transpired in front of our oblivious master. Then, to my astonishment, he shut the door.

  Both of us stared at the doorway for the count of thirty breaths, as if in agreement that we should not speak until there was no chance of being overheard. Although still reeling from the revelation that Malakhi was as yet unmarried, the bloody trail on his cheek reminded me that he was in pain.

  “You are injured,” I said. “Samil employs a healer, I can call her—”

  “No,” he interrupted, once again massaging his right shoulder. “It is an old injury. And the beam did not land on it anyhow. It glanced off the wall and rolled down my back instead.”

  “But your cheek . . .”

  “The boy scratched me with the pointed stick he was carrying. It’s nothing. The worst of it was that he bit his own lip when I landed on him. Frightened him more than anything.”

  “That child could do with a little fear,” I mumbled.

  A hint of reluctant amusement quirked his lips. “The same boy who was tormenting Amit?”

  I nodded. “Tarron bullies all the children, but he especially delights in poking at my sweet boy until he cries.”

  His jaw worked, as if his teeth were grinding together. “And you are helpless to do anything.”

  “The child himself is above me in this household. I am shackled in every way.” I cleared my throat as I picked up my reed pen, dipped it in the inkpot, and outlined Malakhi’s reward. “When were you injured?” I asked.

  “I served under my father for less than a year once I attained military age,” he said. “We came across a group of Amorites up north who were surprisingly well armed. Apparently, I was hit in the head with a battle-ax, then trampled by an iron-wheeled chariot. I awoke three days later with a half-blind eye and my shoulder feeling as if it had been shredded to pieces.” He scoffed. “Five years of training wiped away in one moment, and I don’t even remember it happening.”

  “You are unable to fight?”

  He scowled and placed the edge of his hand just to the right of his pupil. “Not only is my sword arm practically useless, this part of my sight is severely limited. I would be far too easy a target on the battlefield. My presence would only endanger fellow soldiers.”

  The despair within that statement was hard to ignore, but what could I say? I’d never lifted a sword or faced down a chariot, and it made me quail to even contemplate Malakhi doing such feats. “And yet you seem to be managing this job well.”

  “I’ve been working on developing the strength in my left arm,” he said. “And using the right only when necessary.”

  “Perhaps in time . . . ?”

  He sighed. “I’d rather not have this discussion again. Baz and my father refuse to let it go.”

  “Fair enough.” I tried not to bristle at his brusque manner. “Then tell me why you stayed.”

  “I’ll not leave Edrei without my nephew,” he said.

  Anger and fear entwined to wrap my backbone in iron. “You won’t take my son from me.”

  His brows furrowed in confusion as he stared at me. “Of course not.”

  “You won’t separate us?”

  “Why would I do that to Amit? You are his mother.” His expression was incredulous. “Don’t you know me at all, Rivkah?”

  Dropping my pen, I put my head in my hands as I stifled a sob, but tears dripped onto the papyrus below me anyway, pooling and smudging Malakhi’s name.

  “I told Baz I would stay until we find a way to free you,” he said, his voice near to a whisper. “I took this job to watch over you both and to evaluate the best way to get you home safely.”

  I wiped away my embarrassing tears and busied myself with pulling a clean sheet of papyrus from the basket beneath the desk instead of looking up at him. “I told you, I am still bound for many months. If I tried to escape, Samil would find me. He is relentless, Mala
khi. The things I’ve seen . . .” I shook my head, trying to blink away some of my memories. “No. Amit and I would be in far more danger outside the walls of this villa than within it. I must finish out my contract.”

  He said nothing as I rewrote the lines my tears had destroyed, so when I finally looked up I was surprissed to find that he was in front of the narrow table directly across from me. I’d finally adjusted to him being much taller than me and the strong build that he’d developed over the years, but the bitter slant to his mouth and the cool stare that met mine were still jarring.

  You did this.

  The thought startled me. He was obviously angry over my deception about Gidal’s son, but I felt the icy fury the moment I opened the door the first day he arrived, before he even knew of Amit’s existence. Was it because I’d dishonored Gidal that he was holding on to such bitterness? Or was his resentment more personal? “She left me,” he’d told Samil.

  A memory from our last conversation in the quince grove arose in my mind. Our shared humor at his expense. His quick slide into quietness as he watched me dissolve into laughter. And then the sudden, intense resolve that came into his eyes as he reached for me. I’d accused him of manipulation then, but perhaps . . . perhaps I’d been wrong.

  “Why are you unmarried?” I asked, then silently chastised myself for letting the words slip from my mouth.

  He let out a slow breath but held my gaze beneath half-lowered black lashes, his lips drawn tight. “Because I am still betrothed to you.”

  Just as my vision blurred and my pulse took off at a gallop, one of Samil’s Moabite servant girls swung the door open, her expression startled as she took in Malakhi’s proximity to me. “Oh, forgive me. I came in to gather the master’s linens for washing.”

  “That’s all right. We are nearly finished,” I said, dropping my attention back to the papyrus document that I’d barely begun and hoping she wouldn’t notice that my hand trembled as I formed the letters. “Do you understand the terms of your employment?”