Until the Mountains Fall

by Connilyn Cossette

  Her muffled response made it clear that she was pressed against his wide chest, but a loud knock from outside cut off any more discussion they might have had. The knock also had the effect of wiping any worry over my sister’s resentment from my mind.

  Malakhi had arrived.

  I shuffled backward, then darted across the room to sit on the bed, fidgeting with my bracelets, the pleats on my linen gown, and my sheer crimson veil until my father opened the door to collect me. He did look thin—those days of fasting had whittled away at him—but the broad smile on his face, as well as the sparkle of his amber-brown eyes, made it clear that whatever valley he’d walked in during my absence now overflowed with streams of joy.

  “It is time,” he said.

  I slipped my hand into his outstretched one and allowed him to lead me to the front of the house, grateful for the renewal of our bond. We’d spent many hours on the roof together since my return, both of us repenting of missed opportunities to hear each other’s hearts and miscommunications born of self-inflicted isolation after my mother’s death. Now that I understood the reasons for Lailah’s cold reception, I vowed to repeat those same apologies to my sister.

  She was nowhere to be found, but her husband and children stood in the main room, smiles of encouragement on their faces. Although her absence pinched, I could not fault her for such resentment. There was much work to be done on rebuilding what I had torn asunder.

  My father paused at the threshold in order to lay both hands on my head and speak a blessing over me, one I’d heard thousands of times. But this time the words of profound and abiding shalom washed over me like ink over finely woven papyrus, slid into my hair and my skin, and burrowed into my bones, filling tiny cracks and even soothing the sting of Lailah’s rejection. Then, after pressing a kiss to my veiled cheek, my abba flung the door open wide to my bridegroom.

  Torchlight danced against the night sky as I took a step toward Malakhi, drinking in the sight of him after ten days of separation. He’d insisted he needed time to prepare our new home, although I was not sure what renovations could be made to his tiny room on the second level of the inn, but the time apart made this moment all the sweeter. He stepped forward to meet me, Amit’s hand clasped in his.

  Along with Malakhi’s entire family, a large group of townspeople stood behind them, shifting and jostling for the best position, making me glad for the veil that concealed my face. Thanks to the public announcement my father had made, all of Kedesh was aware of my return, and it seemed most of them had shown up to witness this spectacle. My palms went clammy and my stomach soured as I wondered how many of them judged me in the same manner as my sister, or worse.

  “Ima!” said Amit, his small voice pitching high with jubilation. “We’ve come to bring you home!” A number of chuckles floated from the crowd, soothing a bit of my discomfort. And truly, what did it matter how anyone saw me when I had been reunited with my precious son?

  Grinning, Malakhi bent to whisper something to Amit, who then ran back to stand in front of Moriyah. Gidal and Malakhi’s mother wrapped her arm about my boy’s chest, tugging him close, and nodded to me with a look of such affection and gratitude that the rest of my nerves faded into nothing as her youngest son moved to stand in front of me, cutting off my view of everyone but him.

  Warmth spread down my limbs as he lifted the veil from my face, folded it behind my head, and then brushed his palms over my shoulder blades to gather me closer. “Hello, my beautiful bride.” He sighed and pressed a lingering kiss to my cheek. “I have waited so very long to say those words.” That enticing smile curled his lips, reminding me exactly why all the girls of Kedesh had always whispered and giggled in his presence. But none of them knew that the depths of his faithfulness, kindness, and generosity far outshined his exquisite face.

  “And I cannot wait to hear you call me wife.”

  “Only . . .” He kissed my other cheek, then leaned to whisper in my ear, his warm breath ghosting over my skin and sending a pleasant shiver down my spine. “If you promise to sing for me.”

  CHAPTER

  forty-four

  Malakhi

  The main plaza of Kedesh overflowed with chatter and laughter, music echoing off the buildings and dancing firelight fending off any hint of gloom. My mother had lamented that the courtyard of her inn could not accommodate so many wedding guests, but she’d soon thrown off her disappointment for the joy of organizing a community feast that would last for seven days. She flitted around the square, blissfully overseeing the service of food and drink, but still never too absorbed in busyness to embrace a grandchild or spend a moment chatting with a friend. This was Moriyah shining in her element, a light to the town and especially to those of us who were blessed to call her Ima.

  “Do you think Golan will fall next?” Eitan asked my father, who’d been silently tracking my mother’s every move with his eyes, as if even after twenty-five years of marriage he still could not get enough of the sight of her.

  My father shifted to face us, all longing for his wife wiped away by thoughts of war. “Enough men from Manasseh, Gad, and Reuben are stationed there that I don’t anticipate Kushan will attack soon, at least not until the cold months have passed. His army is well entrenched in Edrei, though. It’s only a matter of time.”

  “And the other tribes are still refusing to come to their aid?”

  “Unfortunately, yes. There are too mired in their own squabbles to care that our brothers to the east of the Jordan are in serious danger of being completely overrun.”

  “What can we do?” I asked.

  My father laughed. “We are going to work on calling up more men to arms, and then we will fight to keep the rest of our cities out of Aramean hands. You are doing nothing.”

  My body stiffened in defense. “I am ready and willing. My arm is nearly back to full strength, and I’ve learned to adapt to my sight limitations. You and Baz were right that I should not have hidden away.”

  He clapped me on the shoulder. “I know, son. And I am thrilled that you’ve gotten over your sulk.” He grinned and then gestured to the crowd all around us. “But have you forgotten that this is your wedding feast?”

  “After hounding me for months to take up my sword beside you, you would have me sit on my thumbs while you all fight Kushan?”

  “One year, Malakhi. The Torah says no military service for an entire year.”

  Eitan jammed one of his sharp elbows into my ribs. “Quit scowling. You’ve waited five years for that woman, brother. Enjoy your wife. Give Amit a sibling. There’ll be no hardship in that.”

  His teasing wink coaxed a grin out of me. “It certainly will not,” I said. “We have a ways to go to catch up with you and Sofea, but Rivkah and I will eventually close the gap. Twins do seem to run in our family.”

  My brother threw back his head and laughed. “That they do. Abra seems to be expanding mightily and getting more surly by the day. I would not doubt there’s a pair of warriors squabbling in her belly.”

  My own twin had been less than thrilled when I returned with Rivkah, but she’d been admirably cordial and for my sake had put aside her pregnancy discomfort to pitch in with my mother’s flurry of wedding preparations. She and Rivkah were almost too much alike, strong of spirit and opinion, but with time I hoped they would make peace.

  As soon as he’d returned from Edrei, Hakim had asked for Chana’s hand. I’d seen them a while ago, whispering in a corner, and my heart swelled with gladness over the pairing. A beautiful circle would be completed by their marriage, one begun two and a half decades ago when my mother and father stumbled across a trader’s caravan with a bleeding man carried between them. Together, Hakim and Chana had taken over the care of the hives while I was in Edrei, and I found it a fitting tribute that the honey that sweetened the bread and wine during my marriage feast came from Gidal’s bees—a blessing from beyond the grave from my older brother.

  “I do have a job for you,” said my father, “w
hile you bide your time in Kedesh with your lovely wife.”

  As much as the prospect of a year with Rivkah appealed, and as much as I enjoyed carpentry, I was already restless at the thought of waiting around while the men of my family went to war. “Anything,” I said.

  “I need someone to train new men. Baz and I are getting old,” he said, then lifted his palm to silence my argument against the statement. “Unfortunately, there is a dearth of young men with skill enough to fill the sandals of those who fought alongside Yehoshua. We’ve been training you since the moment you could grip a wooden sword, son. I have every faith that you can take the lead in bridging that gap.”

  I’d not told anyone of my revelation in Edrei—that I felt called to be an inspiration to the men of my generation—so his declaration snatched the breath from my lungs. “It would be my honor,” I managed to push past the knot of emotion in my throat, “to follow in your footsteps.”

  My father gripped my shoulder, pride glinting in his eyes as he looked at Eitan and me. “Excellent. We’ll discuss the details later, along with bringing you up to pace with the latest intelligence we’ve gathered on the Arameans. This will be a long fight,” he said. “One that may well determine the survival of our people.”

  Then, with a lift of his brows, he tipped his head toward Rivkah, who was seated on the ground ten paces away, head bent together with Ana. The two were recovering from the vigorous dance that had left them flushed, laughing, and gasping for breath. “But for now, I do believe you have a bride waiting for you.”

  I took his suggestion without argument and strode across the gathering. All conversation ceased as I approached, although I heard a few giggles as I stretched out my hand to Rivkah. “I’ve come to steal my bride.”

  “And if I am not finished dancing?” Rivkah’s lips quivered as she pressed back a smile, but she contradicted her tease by allowing me to draw her to her feet. Ana grinned in encouragement, dimples flashing. The young woman had already slipped into the rhythm of our family—just one more refugee welcomed into the fold of Kedesh.

  “You’re done,” I affirmed, then pressed my lips to the soft skin beneath Rivkah’s ear before whispering, “Run away with me.”

  Her only answer was a surprised laugh and a quick rasp of breath on my cheek, but I turned and pushed through the crowd, holding her hand tightly in mine as we fled our wedding feast together, ignoring the good-natured teasing that floated behind us as we ran past the boundaries of torchlight.

  “What about Amit?” she said, giggling and stumbling along behind me, inspiring a brief memory of a long-ago game of chase through a blossoming apple orchard.

  “He’s with Sofea. Eitan vowed to allow us a full seven days alone.” I paused in the abandoned street to kiss her rose-colored lips. “Don’t fret. He’s having so much fun with his cousins that he’ll likely not even notice we are missing.”

  “All right,” she said, squeezing my hand with affection. “I trust you.”

  Those three simple words branded themselves on my heart, making the past eight years of yearning worth every prolonged moment. My youthful infatuation for a beautiful girl singing under a terebinth tree had matured into a deep and abiding love for a woman who had laid her own life down for her child. There was no one else I would ever want to bear my own sons and daughters.

  “Come,” I said, tugging her along behind me toward the inn. “I have something to show you.”

  Our sandals tapped out an urgent beat on the cobblestones as we raced through the empty city, and by the time we reached the door to our family home, both of us were breathless. Once inside, I lit an oil lamp and carried it as I led her out into the courtyard and up the stone steps to the second level of the inn. Myriad stars decorated the moonless night, and a cool breeze ruffled stray tendrils of Rivkah’s black hair as we entered the small room I’d once shared with my brothers.

  Leaving the door ajar, allowing starlight to spill in, I lit another oil lamp, hoping two flames might be enough to fully illuminate my surprise. Rivkah’s gasp of disbelief and expression of astonishment caused a jolt of pride that was every bit as satisfying as my younger self had hoped it would be.

  “Oh, Malakhi. It’s beautiful.” She shuffled forward to examine the smooth curves of the bed. “It looks similar to the beds in Egypt, and those Samil commissioned for his villa. How could you possibly have done this in such a short time?”

  Over the past ten days I replaced the crossbar I’d cracked years ago with the weight of my anger, and then I sanded and polished the cedar to a silken glow. Her finger traced the pattern of leaves I’d carved along the length of the footboard.

  “I built this five years ago,” I said gently, hoping my answer would not wound, but the rueful huff she released told me that those bruises were still tender. I wrapped my arms about her waist and pulled her close, breathing in the herbal scent of her intricately braided hair. “Let it go, ishti. I told you back then that I wanted to build a life with you, and that has not changed. Like Gidal’s hives, we’ve weathered some damage, you and I, but in spite of it all Yahweh brought forth something sweeter than I could have ever imagined.”

  Teary-eyed, she reached up to caress my face, the feel of her skin on mine making my pulse quicken. “It is an honor to be called your wife, Malakhi.” Her palms slid down my chest, a sudden mischievous tilt on her lips. “I see you received my wedding gifts as well.”

  I glanced down at the finely woven green wool tunic Chana had delivered this afternoon. “That I did. I found a new obsidian knife rolled inside. An excellent replacement for the one you maimed.”

  “Amit helped me pick it out in the market. Of course now he wants one too,” she said, rolling her eyes skyward.

  I forced a playful frown. “I was hesitant to eat the bread and lentil stew that accompanied the gifts, however. I’ve not forgotten the last time I suffered your cooking.”

  “I did owe you an edible meal.” Her bright laughter worked its way beneath my skin, and I vowed to provoke that particular melody every day for the rest of my life. “At least it was not fish stew.”

  “Anything but that,” I groaned, earning myself another precious giggle.

  “What is on the bed?” she asked, craning her neck to see the rolled parcel I’d placed atop the linens, but I refused to release her.

  “A stack of fresh, clean papyrus.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “Truly?”

  “Of course. My wife will have no lack of materials to write me poetry. Even if I have to gather the stalks and weave the fibers myself.”

  I covered her laugh with my lips, still astounded that she was here, warm and content in my arms, and finally mine. I’d never stop thanking Yahweh for watching over her and bringing her back to me. Without relinquishing my hold on my bride, I reached over her shoulder to push the door closed.

  “Welcome home, beloved.”

  Epilogue

  Moriyah

  Taking a moment to massage the ache that had been plaguing my lower back for the past few hours, I surveyed the crowd gathering in the plaza as the women of the city completed the final preparations for tonight’s meal. The last of the choice wine from my father’s vineyard had already run dry, so there would be far fewer wedding guests on this last evening of feasting than there had been on the first, but it would be no less fulfilling to serve those who’d spent the last week celebrating my son’s marriage. We’d seen little of him and Rivkah, too wrapped up in each other to make more than a few short appearances before disappearing into their chamber or wandering out into the orchards together, but I hoped they would join us for a while this evening.

  It had been difficult to trust Rivkah’s reappearance in our lives after her abandonment of my boy. And, in all honesty, for the first few days after their return, I’d feigned enthusiasm for their long-awaited union. But after Rivkah came to me privately, pleading forgiveness for her treatment of not only Malakhi, but also Gidal, my maternal resentment began to fade. Her self-s
acrifice for Amit, along with the child’s resemblance to the missing piece of my heart, smoothed over the rest of my misgivings and made it easier to pluck rose petals from the ashes.

  Tirzah passed by with a giggling Amit clinging to her back and a parade of nieces and nephews at her heels. My grandson was already smitten with my youngest daughter and reveled in her talent for creating new games, shimmying up trees, and slinging rocks as far as any of the boys in Kedesh. Although her propensity for mischief was nearly as frustrating as Malakhi’s had been, and though she was still much more likely to be found passing time in the foundry with her brothers than with girls her own age, she’d finally begun to blossom into womanhood. It was hard to believe that our youngest would likely be married in the next few years as well. Darek and I had much to be grateful for, even if thoughts of Gidal caused my chest to throb and burn just as much as the day we’d lost him. I place him in your hands, Yahweh. Again.

  I scanned the gathering for Nessa, wondering if she and her family would join us on this last night. Although Darek had walked down into the valley to extend an invitation to Raviv’s widow, we’d all been astounded when a large group of her family members had actually appeared in the city plaza, full of thanks for the safe return of Nessa and the children.

  Their appearance made it clear that the rift caused by my accidental killing of Raviv’s sons was truly mended, even if a silent current of grief yet lingered beneath my skin. I doubted that the sight of Zeev and Yared dying by my hand would ever fade from my vision. Have mercy on Raviv, Yahweh, for the sacrifice he made.

  Zendaye strode up to wrap her arms around me in a brief embrace. “Shalom, my friend. How can I be of service to you this evening?” Her steadying presence in Kedesh over the past few months had been an unexpected blessing, and I selfishly hoped that once Hakim and Chana married, their family might not travel as widely. Shuah, the old Midianite who’d once led their caravan, had long passed away, but Zendaye and Benamin, along with their six sons and daughters, still carried on his tradition of inviting traders from many different nations to join their travels. Over the years, a number of foreigners had bound themselves in covenant with Yahweh because of the couple’s kindness, generosity, and example of Torah faithfulness. They were a light to all whose paths they crossed.