“Come,” said Baz. “These tunnels will eventually be discovered, if they haven’t been already. We may have to fight our way out at the bottom as it is.”
In silent acquiescence, our group, led by Toki, pushed downward into the tunnel. Malakhi went ahead, with Nessa’s trembling son wrapped around his torso. His low assurances to the frightened child echoed off the narrow walls. “Just a little while ago, I came through here with my nephew,” he said. “And he’s only a few months older than you. I’ll bet you are just as brave as he is, aren’t you?” The little one nodded his head and wiped his face against Malakhi’s tunic.
For what seemed like hours, we picked our way past boulders, squeezed through narrow crevices, sloshed through a number of tiny streams that cut across our path, crouched when the roof dipped low, and gaped in awe at the large echoing caverns we passed through. Through it all Malakhi continued speaking to the boy in gentle tones, telling stories and asking him questions to keep his mind off the number of bones that littered the path, both animal and human, as well as the peril that might greet us once we emerged from this dreary maze. I had no doubt that he’d comforted my own child in the same way only two weeks before.
Just when it seemed as though we’d descended into the very center of the earth and would never emerge from this tomb, the ground sloped upward. One by one we climbed out of the hole Toki had discovered weeks ago and stepped into the afternoon, blinking at the brutal sunlight. Baz had hidden the entrance to this tunnel well. Neither Aramean nor Hebrew was anywhere within sight.
The men herded us to the southwest, up a steep embankment, and past the tree line, where Darek and Baz finally gave us leave to rest beneath a canopy of oak and sycamore. From our high vantage point we could clearly see the city of Edrei perched atop the rocky plateau, as well as the thick smoke that emanated from within its walls. My gaze went to the place I’d spent the last five years, hanging on to a small bit of hope that Estebaal had worked a miracle and fulfilled his vow, but dark plumes billowed at the place where Samil’s villa had stood.
His great home and all his wealth—and more than likely the large family he’d taken so much pride in—would be nothing but ash. And regardless of what he’d done or the way his wives had treated me, I mourned every soul within the place that had been my prison, Estebaal the most. For a man who’d done such dark deeds for his master, his death would be nothing less than heroic.
Malakhi joined me on the ridge as I watched Edrei burn. Sliding his arm around my shoulders, he drew me close to his side. “The tribes have retreated. They’ve probably pulled back to Golan. We’ll be there in a few hours to meet with the men of Naftali before going on to Kedesh.”
Even as I calculated the moments until I could hold my boy in my arms again, dread swirled in the pit of my stomach at the thought of entering the gates I’d once been so glad to escape. How could I even face my father, my sister, and all those whose love I’d been so reckless with? Malakhi had been forgiving, but I could not expect the rest of my family, nor his, to be so merciful. I’d betrayed them all and would return still dragging the chains of five rebellious years behind me.
Somehow divining my thoughts, Malakhi turned me toward himself. “I will walk beside you,” he said, his silver eyes full of sincerity. “Every step of the way.”
He lifted his other hand to brush the hair away from my ear. With gentle fingers, he removed the ring that Samil had pressed into the hole he’d drilled into my flesh at the doorway to his house. Malakhi kissed my wounded lobe and tossed the last link of my slavery into the dirt before taking my hand and leading me toward home and toward my son.
CHAPTER
forty-two
8 Heshvan
We spent three long days in Golan as Darek, Malakhi, and the other men organized a long-term strategy of defense against the Arameans who now firmly held Edrei. Very few managed to flee the stronghold once the gates were thrown wide to the enemy, and those who did brought stories of annihilation that caused me to grieve all over again for the people of Samil’s household, kin and slave alike. Kushan had delivered his swift and terrible warning with an expert hand. Whether the tribes of Israel would stand together against him or bow to the threat out of fear, one could only guess.
After a week of walking alongside the wagon the men had procured for Nessa and the children, whom we’d already delivered safely home, the walls of Kedesh finally came into sight. But regardless that the road to the city of refuge was kept clear of debris, the last climb up to the city felt like a slog through wet sand. My flight had been swift, the steps between the city of my birth and the city of my downfall far too easy, but the journey home seemed to drag on forever, each footfall more eternal than the last.
Five years’ worth of doubts clung to me as I trudged upward, weary in body and mind. My father had never been a hard man, but I’d spent every one of my first eighteen years listening to his teaching of the Torah and knew that he counted each word as sacred. I may have only been his headstrong daughter when I left, but I returned now a thief, a liar, and perhaps in the minds of many, an adulteress.
Surveying the last two thousand cubits on the road between myself and my home, the culmination of those lingering doubts solidified into one burgeoning fear. My feet tripped to a stop near the white boundary stones that marked the farthest reach of the city as a vision rose in my mind of the gates of Kedesh being slammed shut before me and my own family members securing the latch.
Having never left my side for the entire journey, Malakhi slipped his hand into mine. “Rivkah, what is it?” His soothing tone reminded me how he’d assuaged the fears of Nessa’s son in the dark tunnel. Would I ever be worthy of this man’s steadfast kindness?
My fingers tightened around his as my greatest fear tumbled out of my mouth. “What if they turn me away?”
Instead of answering, he gently tugged me to the side of the road, beneath the shade of a sycamore, to allow the rest of our group to pass by. From the bed of the wagon, Ana’s concerned gaze landed on me, but she offered an encouraging smile as they ambled by, the grizzled mule’s ancient pace having slowed even more on this last day of climbing toward home. The other men kept stride with the wagon, eyes trained on the city, no doubt anticipating joyous reunions with their loved ones and wishing they could sprint alongside Toki, who’d run ahead to herald our arrival.
Malakhi pulled me close, wrapping his strong arms around me, eyes full of compassion. “They won’t turn you away.” When I opened my mouth to argue, he interrupted me. “But even if they did, beloved, my family is yours. They love who I love. And as the mother of Gidal’s child, and my wife, you hold a place of high honor within our home.”
“But after what I did, surely they will not forgive—”
He surprised me with a fervent kiss before pulling back with a twist of mischief on his lips, a reminder of the Malakhi of my youth. The rascal certainly knew how to distract and silence me. The coiling tension that had been winding ever tighter in the center of my chest began to slowly unfurl as he stroked the sides of my neck with his thumbs in a soothing rhythm.
“Have you forgotten who my mother is and the reason she lives in a city of refuge?” he asked. “Has it slipped your mind that Eitan too had a hand in the deaths of Raviv’s sons? Our family was built atop the ruins of tragedy, Rivkah, each brick fashioned from mercy. You will find no stones in their palms.”
As his reassurances poured over me like fragrant oil, I surveyed the city that lay before us, drinking in the beauty of my home set high on the hill. Although five years had passed between my flight and my return, very little had changed. Flocks of sheep and goats dotted the rocky landscape, the silver-fingered olive trees and varied fruit orchards in every shade of red, green, and gold still lined the road, and the thick cedar gates remained open wide to visitors and manslayers alike.
On our last day in Golan, the Levite who’d shamed me in the marketplace so many months ago knocked at the door of the kind family who�
�d given us shelter, asking to speak with the daughter of Amitai. My stomach full of dread, I’d met him in the street, where he asked my forgiveness for his harsh words and hasty judgments that day.
It seemed my simple plea for forgiveness had brought the prideful man to his own knees, repenting of driving his own son from his home when he’d gotten caught up in the wickedness that had seeped into Golan. The Levite wept before me as he spoke of the young man’s death and the tragic irony of a priest whose charge it was to bestow mercy on killers but who’d refused to extend grace to his own child. “I’d give anything to hold my son in my arms again,” he’d said.
The Rivkah who’d walked away from this sanctuary city and taken advantage of the safety within its embrace was not the same prideful, foolish girl, and whether anyone in Kedesh deigned to accept my sincere contrition or not, I would hold my son today.
Gratitude welled in my heart as I lifted a smile to the man who loved my child as his own and who had waited so long to be my husband. My feet began to move of their own volition, their pace accelerating in my desperation to close the gap between Amit and me; but even so, Malakhi did not let go of my hand as we passed the others and pushed toward the city.
It was nearing sunset, so when one of the guards emerged from the gates, the flare of sunlight to the west disguised his features. But as the lone figure began to move toward us more quickly, I saw that his mantle was flying out behind him as he advanced. My breath became trapped within my lungs. This was no guard, but a man with silvering hair and beard and a familiar form who, despite his years, was sprinting down the road in our direction.
Stunned by the sight of my father racing toward me, I came to a halt, heart thundering. His message had asked me to return, and he’d sent gold and silver to retrieve me, but had my transgressions forever severed the once-sweet connection between us?
My name shouted across the distance, replete with overwhelming relief, was the answer to my question.
Malakhi squeezed my hand before gently guiding me forward with a palm on my back. “Go,” he said. “Don’t make him wait any longer.”
And then I was moving, running, with tears searing my cheeks and blurring my vision. I stumbled twice but kept pushing toward the outstretched arms I did not deserve.
Nearly plowing me off my feet, my father slung his arms around me and clasped me to his wide chest, repeating my name over and over. I was engulfed in his familiar scent, one that brought to mind a hundred memories of snuggling into his embrace as a little girl, listening to the rumble of his voice, and falling asleep in perfect security.
“Abba,” I sobbed. “Abba. Forgive me.”
He pressed a flurry of kisses to my cheeks and forehead, salty trails on his own face as well. “Oh, my precious daughter. It is already done.”
“But you don’t know . . .” I choked on my confession. “I can never make up for all that I did.”
He shook his head as he placed his large hands on either side of my face, looking into my eyes. Hot shame rose in my cheeks as I felt the gaze penetrate through five years of layer upon layer of compromise—through my desperate and foolish decision to enslave myself, through the choice to flee Laish instead of returning home, through my self-indulgence and reckless behavior with the Hebrew in Laish, down to the very moment I’d chosen to walk away from his love and protection.
“You are my beloved daughter, Rivkah.” The wrinkles around his brown eyes deepened as he smiled through his tears. “There is nothing you have done or will do that will ever erase the love I have for you. It is enough that you have returned to me.”
Could it be so simple? Could my return to the arms of my abba be all that was required to wash away the blackness that had consumed me for so long? I’d thought I’d left the last vestiges of my slavery behind in Edrei, but here on the road to the city of refuge, safe in my father’s arms, I dropped the final link of the chain that had bound me. Then I laid my head against his chest as he stroked my hair and whispered endearments until my weeping ebbed. Even as I stood there, basking in such unmerited forgiveness, a new song welled up in my heart, replacing the cold laments of the last five years with words that spoke of new seasons and fresh joy. My fingers itched for my reed pen and inks to record them.
“Ima!” called the most beautiful voice in the world. “Ima!”
I yanked myself from my abba’s embrace and dropped to my knees as the missing half of my heart ran into my arms. Like a drunkard I imbibed the sensation of his arms wrapped tightly around my neck, his little-boy smell, and the feel of his body trembling against mine. Then I kissed his head, his cheeks, his forehead, his chin, and his freckled nose. “Oh my sweet lamb.” I tightened my hold on him and closed my eyes, gratitude for his safety brushing aside every other thought.
“We’ve been waiting for you,” he said as he tangled his fingers into my hair. “Up on the rooftop. Grandfather and I have been watching, every day. And he was right. He said you would come home.”
CHAPTER
forty-three
“I simply do not understand why we are celebrating this way,” my sister Lailah said. The sound of her voice on the other side of the door was muffled, but her derisive tone was unmistakable. I paused with my hand at the latch, startled at the venom in her voice and yet curious as to what she and my father were discussing. I stood perfectly still, not wanting the copper bracelets I wore on my wrists to clink together and give away my presence.
Although the rest of our family had seemed overjoyed when I’d arrived home two weeks ago, Lailah had not. Her response had been tepid, although she’d kissed my cheeks and welcomed me back, but I’d hoped that once I’d stood before the family at our first meal together, told my story with sincere contrition, and then pleaded forgiveness, that she, like the rest, might offer a small measure of mercy. But she’d said little more than ten words to me since, going about the preparations for my wedding feast with cool detachment. The gates of Kedesh may not have been closed to me, but my sister’s heart certainly was.
“And why not celebrate? After five years of waiting, do they not deserve to celebrate their marriage?” asked my father.
Her answer was too soft to distinguish.
“Of course she does. She is my daughter, Lailah. Your sister.”
“So we are to pretend that she did not run off and sell herself? Put her own child in peril? Who knows what else happened with her.” Her accusations struck me dead center. I’d been forthcoming about everything except for the man in Laish, since Malakhi asked that I keep that between him and me, for my own safety and for Amit’s sake, but somehow Lailah must have guessed there was more to my story than I’d let on.
“She has admitted her faults,” said my father. “And humbled herself in front of the entire family.”
She scoffed. “Yes, she made an admirable show of it, didn’t she?”
“Lailah . . .” My father sighed.
There was a pause, and I pressed my ear closer to the door, only partly ashamed for listening in on their conversation. They’d seemed to have forgotten that I was dressing for my wedding night in the next room.
“Even if she is truly repentant,” she continued, “and I have my doubts, why Malakhi and his family would be eager to not only put together a wedding feast but also invite the entire town is beyond my comprehension.”
“It was my idea,” my father said. “Malakhi was ready to take her as his bride the moment they passed through the gates, without fanfare, but I asked that he wait until a proper celebration could be organized.”
“You did this?”
“Of course!” he said. “Should we not shout from the rooftops that our prayers have been answered?”
“She doesn’t deserve to be lauded,” she hissed. “She is a liar and a thief, Abba. She took more from you than just silver. I watched you mourn for five years. I worried while you wasted away, fasting nearly as many days as you ate, and spending hour upon hour on that roof scanning the horizon for an ungrateful
girl who cared more about herself than her family. I took over the duties you were too broken to handle, alongside raising my own family.”
“That is true, daughter. And you have been a faithful helper to me over these last years. Your mother would be so proud of you.”
Lailah made a noise of disgust. “Not that you’ve noticed all I’ve done.”
“Of course I have—”
“No. You were too busy weeping over your wayward daughter to see the weight of everything I’ve carried. I’ve always obeyed you. Did everything that was asked of me, and more, without any complaint, and yet Rivkah comes home after five years of recklessness and rebellion and now we have a feast?”
I’d not wanted this public event any more than she did, but the elation on Malakhi’s face when my father insisted on a grand wedding celebration had driven away my misgivings. And over the past week I’d grown more amenable about the prospect. When I’d married Gidal I’d been a vain, self-important girl going through the motions of marriage, but this time I would be bound in covenant to a man who I was more than eager to cleave to for the rest of my life. And Amit was beside himself with joy when he discovered that Malakhi would now be his abba, so that was certainly cause for celebration. But hearing my sister’s resentment sheared my excitement in half.
“Come now,” said my father, and I imagined he was drawing her close to himself. “There is not one of my children that I love above the other, nor have I missed the heavy load you have endured in the absence of your mother. You have honored her in every way and have been a blessing to not only me but also your entire family. What greater reward than a husband who raises you high in esteem and children who adore you and will pass on your legacy of service to Yahweh to the next generation? But Rivkah is home. She is returned to us as from the dead and brought us Amit as well. And we will celebrate this new beginning together. Yes?”
Until the Mountains Fall Page 29