Until the Mountains Fall

by Connilyn Cossette

  “Yehoshua would be appalled at the fractures among us,” I murmured.

  “Agreed. Few Hebrews are willing to come to Manasseh’s aid. Most of your generation has forgotten how the eastern tribes fulfilled their vow to Yehoshua during the Conquest of the Land. They lived up to their promise to fight alongside their western brethren, even though they’d already claimed their inheritance on this side of the Jordan. It seems as though the favor will not be returned.”

  “Is there no hope then?”

  “Unless something drastic has happened in this city since I left you a few weeks ago, Edrei is highly vulnerable. And even if your father succeeds in bringing reinforcements, Manasseh’s army is greatly depleted. The number of men your age who even know how to fight is pitiful. They’ve been too busy farming, trading, and who knows what else to bother with learning how to wield a sword or shoot a bow. This city will fall without the help of Yahweh.”

  And as I’d observed over the past months, few here were crying out for that help. Samil was far from the only Hebrew to have taken foreign wives, nor was he the only one who manipulated the law for his own gain. The elders in this city had turned a blind eye to the rot before them and would now reap what they had sown.

  “I have to get Rivkah and Amit out,” I said, already turning to make my way back through the gates.

  “Wait,” said Baz. “I have something for you.”

  He pressed a leather satchel into my hands, one weighted with treasure, if I was right about the cool clink of metal inside. “What is this?” I untied the purse strings, and moonlight glinted on gold and silver within.

  “Amitai sent the mohar you gave to Rivkah,” Baz said. “Along with as much silver as he could pull together. Darek and others added a few pieces of gold jewelry as well.”

  Rivkah’s father’s words rang through my mind. “It does not matter if I have to sell everything I own, Malakhi. The mountains will fall into dust before I will ever give up on my daughter.” This would be more than enough to buy Rivkah’s freedom.

  “And you told them of Amit?” I asked, as I placed the priceless gift within my carpentry bag, where it would stay on my person until I was able to determine how best to negotiate with Samil.

  “They are thrilled,” he said. “Your mother wept with joy when I told her and Darek. Neither can wait to hold that boy in their arms. It’s like a piece of Gidal has been resurrected.”

  Indeed it was. And yet Amit had also inherited some of Rivkah’s traits as well. He’d already shown me how to draw all the Hebrew letters with a stick in the dirt and displayed a tenacity that was much more like his mother than his father. I thought of his drowsy smile as he drifted off while his mother cut my hair and decided to allow the two of them one more peaceful night’s sleep before I delivered the news that would change everything.

  Baz whistled for Toki and she bounded toward us, her white patches dancing in the night as she joined her master from wherever she’d been ordered to wait. “I’ll be back in the morning to meet with the elders, as well as the commander of the forces stationed here.”

  “You and Toki are welcome to stay with me tonight. I’ll speak to Rivkah tomorrow.”

  Baz made a sound of disgust. “Not unless your room smells a heap better than it did before. I’ll take my chances outside the walls. Toki knows the tunnels so well now she leads me right through.”

  There was no use arguing with that. I was acclimated to the reek of the inn by now, but if I’d had the freedom to sleep under the stars in the fresh air instead of a tiny cell with only one miserly window slit, I’d have been happy to do so. However, proximity to Rivkah and Amit was worth any discomfort.

  CHAPTER

  thirty-three

  Rivkah

  Sitting on the pallet after Amit and Ana left the room just after dawn, I once again unrolled the parcel Malakhi had given me the previous night, examining it beneath the morning sunlight streaming through the window. Even though the finish was five years old, the little mahogany box gleamed as if someone had continued to oil and polish the wood in order to maintain its near-to-new condition.

  Opening the latch, I lifted the lid, still as astounded as I had been last night when I realized that Malakhi had bought and kept the box of brushes and inks that I’d admired in the market so long ago. He must have returned that very day and purchased it for a wedding gift, even after I’d been so rude to him. I could not believe he’d kept it all this time.

  His admission about the day he’d caught me singing under the terebinth tree had made my long-held beliefs about him entirely unravel. I remembered that day well. I’d been missing my mother, which always drove me to solitude and to song. She’d loved my voice, comparing it to that of my great-grandmother Shira, who was reputed to have a voice that would put a skylark to shame. My mother always asked me to sing songs of my own creation whenever we were alone, since I was timid about singing in front of others. After she died, her memory was closest in the fields, beneath the blue sky, as I lifted my voice in praise to Yahweh and wrote down the words that came to me on scraps of papyrus or shards of pottery.

  When I’d seen Malakhi spying on me, I’d been humiliated, wondering what all he’d heard and whether he would spread the tale of my private indulgence among his friends. For days I’d waited for him to taunt me about it or to hear whispered rumors from his friends or sisters. To my surprise I’d heard nothing and after a while forgot the incident. To think that a brief moment I’d brushed into the recesses of my mind had been such a turning point for him.

  Now, looking back to that time with new eyes, his avoidance of Gidal and me made sense. Even as a very young man, his honor had risen above his strong attraction to me. I’d misjudged Malakhi for years. I’d maligned him and discounted his honest efforts to transform the strange situation of our betrothal into one based on friendship. The day he’d taken me to see the honeybees, he’d spoken of building trust between us and of his commitment to faithfulness, and I’d thrown it all back in his face.

  Setting the box of brushes and inks aside, I lifted the papyrus that he’d wrapped the gift in. The ketubah, written in my own hand, outlined the terms of our betrothal and the vows I’d taken, to be a wife to Malakhi and to attribute my first son to Gidal. The creases in the papyrus made it clear that it had been wrapped around the scribe’s box for a long time, but the ink was worn by more than just time. Had Malakhi come back to this ketubah whenever he thought of me? Had he followed the curves and lines of my handwriting with a finger in order to keep my memory alive, the way I’d once done with my mother in my songs?

  This document was as much a challenge from him as it was a reminder of the contract between us. When he’d revealed that he was not betrothed to Ayala and that it was me he still wanted even after everything I’d done, it had taken a monumental effort to even continue standing. As soon as he’d walked out the door, I’d collapsed into a puddle of silent tears. He’d remained faithful to me all these years, and it seemed he still considered us bound together and hoped that I would be his bride, in body and spirit.

  My heart quailed at the thought. I’d never expected to be so drawn to Malakhi, to feel so protected in his presence, to crave his voice and touch and attention the way I’d come to over the past weeks. He should be Amit’s father—and still could be—if by some miracle Samil gave permission for such a union.

  I imagined a number of outcomes, wondering if perhaps we could marry in secret and wait out my indenture. Or perhaps Malakhi could petition the elders on the grounds that our betrothal was confirmed before I’d entered service. I would vow not to leave and honor my word if only they might allow us to stay together. To be the family we should have been. Perhaps Ana could move in with another slave and we could live here. Samil would undoubtedly have plenty of work for Malakhi—

  All my fanciful musings skidded to a halt as the true obstacle to a marriage between Malakhi and I reared its head.

  Laish.

  Once I revealed t
he consequences of my reckless behavior with the Hebrew man there, Malakhi wouldn’t just walk away—he’d run back to Ayala. And for as much as I’d come to desire what I’d once thrown away so thoughtlessly, I did not deserve it. Yet, no matter the outcome, I owed him the truth.

  Running a palm over the words I’d written with a misguided heart full of anger and resentfulness, I prayed that for Amit’s sake, Malakhi would have mercy. For if he concluded that my actions were infidelity, he could very well call for my stoning.

  I’d seen Malakhi a few times today, and he’d seemed inordinately agitated. Samil had given him a few last-moment tasks before the festival began at sundown, including hauling three stone incense burners from the sanctuary to place near the sukkahs. Whenever we exchanged gazes I had the distinct feeling he wanted to speak to me, but with so many people bustling around, there was no opportunity. As much as I craved his presence, my conviction about telling him the entire truth was a heavy yoke around my neck, so I was grateful for the temporary reprieve. Cross-legged near the garden gate, I bent over the correspondence Samil asked me to prepare this morning and did my best to pretend Malakhi did not exist in order to focus on the task. It was a fruitless endeavor; I’d only written three lines in the last hour.

  In contrast to the roiling in my stomach, the atmosphere around the villa was light and jovial. Amit and Bensam had found a shiny red pomegranate that they were tossing back and forth with a few other children, making the distance wider and wider with each pass.

  Their bright laughter blocked out the wailing so thoroughly that it took a few moments for my ears to pick out the distinct sound of mourning from somewhere outside the walls of the villa. One of the neighbors must have suffered a loss in the family.

  Suddenly more loud voices lifted on the breeze, and then a ram’s horn call from the central plaza cut through all the noise. The hair on the back of my neck lifted at the mournful stutter of the shofar. There was little need for such a signal during times of peace. It was the call for the heads of households to gather immediately.

  Two servants rushed into the courtyard, their faces pale from whatever news they carried. Everyone halted their tasks to congregate around the messengers. My pulse raced as I surveyed the courtyard for Amit, but the children seemed oblivious to whatever chaos had erupted in Edrei and were gleefully continuing with their game.

  Just as I rose to join the crowd, Malakhi appeared in front of me. “Meet me in the garden,” he said as he brushed past, urgency thick in his tone. For as desperate as I was to follow him and find out what was happening, I forced myself to stay still, remembering that the last time we’d met there we’d nearly been discovered. Thankfully, all eyes and ears were on the servants across the courtyard and Samil’s wives were nowhere to be seen. Once I was satisfied no one would take notice of my absence, I spun and plunged into the garden, heart pounding.

  Following the stone path that led around the back of the pool and by the sanctuary, I whispered Malakhi’s name a few times but heard nothing over the overlapping chatter of the people in the courtyard and the sounds of distress outside the walls. The city was in an uproar.

  Just past the stone sanctuary, a callused hand grabbed my wrist, pulling me off the path and into the space between a young almond tree and a prolific jasmine bush. Surrounded by honey-sweet leaves and a profusion of tiny white blossoms, I could not help but inhale the medley of fragrances, along with the headiness of Malakhi’s nearness. There was little more than two handspans between us. “What is happening?” I breathed, imbalanced by his proximity.

  “The Arameans are coming. They will be here within only a matter of days.”

  Terror sizzled through me. “The Arameans?” I repeated.

  “We need to get you and Amit out. Tonight. City officials will leave the gates open for a couple of days I would guess, to allow those living outside the walls to take shelter, but once they close, they will stay that way.”

  “Samil won’t let us go.”

  “Rivkah, do you hear me? An entire army, rumored to be among the most savage in the world, is making its way toward us. This city is well fortified, but I doubt they can sustain a lengthy siege.”

  “Most of the cisterns are at least half full and there is a spring beneath the city. Edrei has plenty of water.”

  “It does, but with the number of people who will take refuge within the walls, resources will soon be scarce. Edrei exports more crops than it retains for its people. This city will fall. It is only a question of when.”

  “But the armies of Israel . . . ?”

  He shook his head. “There has been difficulty in rounding up reinforcements, and Manasseh’s army is unprepared for such an assault on its own. We must get you to safety.”

  “It doesn’t matter that we are in danger. Samil won’t release me, Malakhi.”

  He reached into the carpentry bag at his waist and drew out a leather purse.

  Bewildered, I accepted the pouch, surprised at its weight as it shifted in my hands. I untied the drawstring and peered inside, nearly dropping it from shock at its contents. Digging into the treasure, I came up with a copper necklace that looked very familiar. The mohar. The betrothal gifts Malakhi’s family had given me were inside this purse, but although they’d been generous, there had been no gold jewelry exchanged during the ceremony and only half the silver contained here.

  “Your father sent this to negotiate your freedom. My father and others in Kedesh contributed as well. They all want you to come home.”

  The value inside this small bag would be many times the worth of a normal slave. I knew this because I’d prepared many indenture contracts for Hebrews and participated in negotiations for foreign slaves as well. But Samil had made it abundantly clear that he valued my skills as highly as he did Estebaal’s. Would he accept this payment in exchange for my freedom?

  “You are worth far more than this in my estimation, Rivkah, but you know as well as I do that Samil will do anything to build his wealth. He can purchase five more scribes with such a sum.” A smile twitched on his lips. “Though none quite so beautiful.”

  How could such a simple statement cause every misgiving I had to crumble into a thousand pieces?

  “I would pay any price to keep you and Amit safe.” His silver eyes met mine and held. “Please come home with me. Be my wife.”

  Feeling as though a whirlwind had swirled me into its embrace, my knees wobbled and I dropped the purse, hearing the jangle of the gold and silver spilling into the dirt. Instinctively I reached to steady myself and found my hands wrapped around Malakhi’s wrists, and those two handspans cut into one. Unable to fight the pull of this honorable, beautiful man any longer, I lifted on my toes and pressed my lips to his. He hesitated for only a moment before gathering me close and taking up where his hopeful kiss in the grove had broken off. But this time, I had no desire to push him away. This was where I should have been for the last five years, in the circle of his arms.

  His lips moved to my cheek and then my forehead as he brushed one hand down the length of my hair, again and again, as if soothing a small child. “We will go together to Samil and buy out your contract. I know a way out of the city. We can be in Kedesh within the week, before the Arameans even arrive here.”

  I laid my head on his chest, breathing in the smell of his skin and taking comfort in the warmth of his embrace. “What if he refuses?”

  “I’ll never leave you,” he said, his vow rumbling against my cheek.

  The truth burned a fiery trail up my throat, yet I could not look at him as I spoke the words. “I betrayed you.”

  His body stiffened, but he did not pull away.

  “In Laish. There was a Hebrew man and too much wine and I was so wrapped up in my rebellion against my father. . . .” Tears slipped down my nose into the neckline of his tunic. “I could give you a thousand excuses, but I made the choice to be there, to be swayed by his flattery. And when I awoke the next morning, he’d stolen Gidal’s mohar. I cou
ldn’t come back after that. Couldn’t face my father after what I’d done. Nor could I marry you and sully your family’s name. If it wasn’t for Amit, I don’t think I would have even fought to survive. I was not worthy to be your wife, Malakhi. I still am not. I am an adulterer and deserve death.”

  He was so still, his arms like iron bands around me, but his heart thudded against my cheek like a signal drum, and his chest expanded again and again as if he were working to control his breathing. Too much of a coward to look into his face, I began to pull away. But he refused to let me go.

  With one arm keeping me pressed against himself, he lifted my chin with his other hand to look straight into my eyes. His visage went blurry as I stared back, terrified and trembling. He’d shown himself to be forgiving for my abandonment and even my deceit over Amit, but this was too much, even for him. Would he have me stoned? Or just take my boy and leave me to my fate with the Arameans?

  “I knew,” he said.

  My jaw dropped open. “You what?”

  “When we went to Laish with Raviv to search for you, one of the servant girls told us you’d been seen with a Hebrew who was doing his best to lure you. But in her position she could say nothing to stop you.” He cleared his throat. “I expected when I arrived in Edrei that I would find you with him.”

  A sob built in my throat as hot shame spread across my skin. “And yet you came anyway?”

  “I respect your father, Rivkah. He asked me to come.”

  “But you brought the ketubah. And the mahogany box. Why? If you guessed that I’d dishonored my vows to you, why would you bring them with you?”

  He shrugged. “Because the sound of your voice beneath the terebinth tree followed me everywhere I went, even into battle. And when I closed my eyes at night, I could see only you. No matter what I did to squelch it, I could not help but hope.”