by Mesu Andrews
I stood in wonder, watching a motley mix of beasts—hyenas, jackals, wolves, and even brown bears—flow from the hills as if a mighty hand had released them from a bursting pen.
Azat swung his axe at my head. I ducked, and a jackal rolled to the ground in two pieces. I released a war cry, and my friend joined me. We dashed into the skirmish. Captives cowered in clusters without weapons, and the beasts attacked only soldiers with swords and axes. The battle was fierce.
The animals came in waves. Just when we believed they’d retreated, more snarling invaders leapt from the darkness and another army of predators attacked the king’s troops. Weapons glinted in moonlight, slashing fur and bone. At dawn, beasts finally receded into shadows and weary men pondered our unprecedented foe.
As camp commander, it fell to me to compile the dead and wounded. Some were reported missing, dragged into the hills, their distant screams eerie in dawn’s haze. Commanders from each nation came to report their losses under the canopy of our tent. Grim-faced and dazed, some had lost dozens, others hundreds.
A hand on my shoulder made me flinch. “Shh, it’s just me.” Merari set a cup of watered wine on the ground beside me.
“There’s evil in the air.” I shivered and reached for the cup, glancing at her over the rim as I drank. Was that a faint smile? “You think it’s funny so many men lost their lives?”
Her eyes sparked with controlled fury, her voice low but strong. “It’s neither funny, nor evil. It’s Yahweh who sent beasts into camp last night. Our prophet foretold His wrath would be poured out on the nations who destroyed Jerusalem.” She stepped toward the tent but hesitated, her back still turned. “Perhaps Yahweh has revealed Himself to you—spared you—so you can share Him with your people.”
I took another swig. “Scythians don’t worship foreign gods.” I pointed to the Jewish captives, who now served their wounded captors. “Look what happened when your people turned against their god. What good could come if I turned against mine?”
“Your gods were created by men, Idan. My God created men.”
She disappeared into the tent before I could reply, and a chill worked up my spine. Merari had grown stronger in both body and spirit. I still felt whispers of the divine in her and feared this new truth more than the first lie. What if her god was real? What if Yahweh was responsible for the 137 dead and 789 wounded soldiers, for sending the mysterious beasts in the dark of night? Would they come again when the sun set?
I couldn’t risk another attack tonight. “Azat!” He emerged from the tent as I stood. “I’m going to urge the king to strike camp immediately. We must leave for Babylon.”
Chapter 16
Merari, Hamath in Syria
“You who have escaped the sword, leave and do not linger!
Remember the Lord in a distant land, and call to mind Jerusalem.”
-Jeremiah 51:50
Helah stood with feet planted and hands on hips in the small section of the double tent, while I scurried around her to pack our meager belongings.
“You could help,” I suggested.
“Why pack? I’m not leaving.”
I rolled my eyes and bent to retrieve a twig I used to comb my hair. Nebuchadnezzar threatened to sheer my head bald if we didn’t remove the mats from it, but he neglected to provide a comb. In the three weeks since Helah had seen her husband tortured and murdered, combing my hair with this twig had been the only time she’d shared her pain. She was all brambles and thorns outside but raw and grieving inside.
I reached for her hand, but she pulled away as if I was leprous. “I’m not a child. I don’t need your pity.”
“Then you pack the rest and load it on the camel.” I stomped out of the tent and immediately regretted it.
Idan stood in his adjoining chamber, grinning. “We could leave her here to meet the jackals and hyenas tonight.”
“I’m staying,” Helah shouted from behind the dividing curtain.
Idan laughed, but I was still fuming. “Don’t encourage her defiance.”
“You must beat her.”
“I won’t.”
“There are plenty of other Jewish women in camp now, and more will arrive when General Nebuzaradan catches up on our way to Babylon.” He unsheathed his dagger, a distinct and terrifying sound. “This old cow should be slaughtered.”
“I’m packing!” Helah shouted from beyond the curtain.
I blocked Idan’s path, and he put away his dagger. “If she doesn’t work, she doesn’t live.”
He left the tent to oversee the corralling of captives. Because the Scythians were nomads and efficient travelers, all 3,100 warriors were packed and ready to escort the captives well before midday. Helah helped me finish packing our meager belongings, and I climbed into my cushioned sedan atop Mara shortly after, feeling overwhelmingly guilty. Over three thousand of my people were rousted from their flimsy pine-branch shelters, many still in the throes of starvation and plague, to begin a month-long journey on foot.
“They can barely stand,” I said to Idan. “How do you expect them to march all the way to Babylon?”
“Some will die, it’s true, but the will to live is strong.” He shaded his eyes from the morning sun. “You, above all people, should know this, Tabiti.”
My desire to help was equally compelling. For the next three days, Helah and I walked among the captives, choosing the weakest or sickest to ride in Mara’s sedan. My camel sometimes carried as many as five adults.
Idan protested. “That sedan was built for two people. Three at the most.”
“Skin and bone weigh half as much,” I said, helping a little girl into her mother’s arms. He growled and prodded his stallion into a gallop.
Each night, after a hearty meal prepared by his cooks, Nebuchadnezzar summoned me to play a borrowed harp. He said it belonged to one of his men, but Elon’s signature was etched into the base. It was a Jewish harp, one from a captive’s belongings. With a little tuning, it sang almost as brightly as my wedding harp—the one lost to me in Jerusalem. It had been the only treasure I’d saved during the siege, the only earthly possession I mourned.
“Are you ready?” Azat’s hand on my shoulder interrupted my brooding.
Without answer, I left the fire, went into our tent, and retrieved the borrowed harp. On this, our fourth night of travel, the Scythians camped amid the king’s guard just outside the walled city of Hamath. Larger than Riblah, it was farther from the hills and wild beasts, but Idan still stationed twice the guards.
I startled at a noise behind me. Turning, I found Azat in the tiny space Helah and I shared. I stepped back, trapped against the tent’s canvas. “Get out.”
Lifting his hands, he stepped closer. “I won’t hurt you.”
“Stop, or I’ll scream.” I pressed my hand against his chest and felt his heart pounding.
He dropped his hands and lowered his voice to a whisper. “I need to know . . . if you want me to stop the king if he attempts to . . . If he tries to . . .” He shrugged and raised his brows like a doe-eyed boy.
Both touched and humiliated, I covered my flaming cheeks. “King Nebuchadnezzar would not . . . He doesn’t think of me that way . . . He loves his wife!”
Azat took a single step back and made no attempt to hide a grin. “I assure you, Mistress Merari, now that your curves have returned, every man in camp thinks of you that way. Wife or no wife.”
“Uuuhhh!” Humiliation complete, I turned my back. “Get out!”
But there was no flutter of the curtain or retreating footsteps. “You haven’t answered my question, Merari. Do you wish me to stop the king if he sets upon you?”
Azat’s voice held the tenderness of a friend, and I faced the mighty little man—as Idan called him—who could never save me from a king’s advances or his six royal bodyguards. “No, Azat. I can’t allow you to intervene.”
His jaw muscle danced, eyes searching mine. “Are you hoping to become his mistress?”
“Oh!” Chuc
kling nervously, I pressed my hands against my forehead. “Absolutely not!” His features relaxed, though I wasn’t sure why. Why did it matter to a Scythian warrior if Babylon’s king took a Hebrew concubine?
Helah squeezed into the small space, pressing Azat closer. She eyed him like a toad in her laundry basket. “Why are you standing on my sleeping mat? Get out.”
Azat’s fingers brushed my hand before he elbowed Helah out of the way. “The king awaits his harp player. Let’s go, Merari.”
I stood frozen. Had he meant to touch me? He joked and talked with Idan outside the curtain as if nothing at all had happened.
Helah picked up the harp. “Come. You heard him.”
My legs moved like wooden sticks, and I wasn’t sure which I feared more. Advances from the King of Babylon or a new undercurrent of emotion from my Scythian guard.
Chapter 17
Merari, Aleppo in Syria
“Therefore this is what the Lord says:
You have not obeyed me; you have not proclaimed freedom to your own people.
So I now proclaim ‘freedom’ for you, declares the Lord—
‘freedom’ to fall by the sword, plague and famine.
I will make you abhorrent to all the kingdoms of the earth.”
-Jeremiah 34:17
“When is it my turn on that blasted camel?” Helah leaned heavily on her walking stick, her grousing a hoarse whisper on our fifth day of travel.
I had no strength to answer. The woman leaning on me was barely conscious, but my camel’s sedan was already full of plague victims. While in Hamath, I’d coerced the king to purchase the same tea Idan had given me, but we used the last of it yesterday. Some grew stronger and ate well. Some even played songs of Zion on instruments they’d brought from home; strumming harps, clanging timbrels, beating drums. Looking over my shoulder at the train of captives, soldiers, wagons, horses, donkeys, and camels, I despaired of ever sleeping under a roof again.
Stumbling, I was on the ground before I realized I’d fallen. The woman with me fell, too, moaning as she rolled down a small incline. I reached for her but not quick enough to catch her and couldn’t get to my knees. Rough hands grabbed my ribs. I cried out and fell hard to the rocky ground.
“Merari.” Azat knelt over me, shaking my shoulders. “Merari?”
“Help me stand.” It was a whisper.
Idan stood over his shoulder. “Get the invalids off her camel and put her back in the sedan. If she dies now, Nebuchadnezzar will cut us all into pieces.”
I wanted to protest but couldn’t gather the strength. Azat lifted me gently, and I was surprised at how secure his arms felt. “Thank you for not dragging me.” His chest rumbled with a chuckle. Though only a head taller than me, he was indeed a mighty man.
The caravan waited long enough to evict the five captives from my sedan and place me there. Three of the five were already dead, and the other two would die where we left them. I mourned each one though I didn’t know them, weeping while I lay on the wretched, filthy cushions. Between tears, I slept. Azat forced me to eat and drink whenever the caravan stopped. He even shared his water with Helah who now joined me in the sedan.
By dusk that day, a scout announced the city of Aleppo lay on the other side of the next hill. Thankfully, the king was too tired for his harp player that evening. Helah and I fixed a quick meal of warm bread, hard cheese, and dried figs while the men set up our tent. We all ate quickly. I cleaned the dishes; Helah went to the river for fresh water. I don’t know when she returned. I’d already fallen into a dreamless sleep.
The next morning, I woke to a strange mewling sound. Low at first, growing in intensity. Lifting my head, I realized it was Helah. Her back to me, she was shaking in the dim light of dawn.
I crawled closer and laid my hand on her shoulder. “Can I help?”
This time, she didn’t pull away. “Can you kill King Nebuchadnezzar and every man outside our tent?”
So much for reasoning. “No, but I can assure you that Yahweh will punish those who delight in doing us harm.”
“Yahweh?” She sat up and shoved me away. “How dare you speak to me of Yahweh? He is a legend of prophets to frighten the masses. I’m forced to listen to that barbarous king’s claims of him while you play your harp, but I am not your slave, and I won’t listen to you!”
“No, Helah. You’re not my slave, but—”
A huge hand reached through the dividing curtain and grabbed Helah by the hair, dragging her backward into the main room of the tent.
Panic seized me. “No, Idan! Don’t hurt her. Please!” I scrambled into the main room, following Helah’s whimpering.
Idan held her back against his chest, dagger pressed to her throat. “Why shouldn’t I kill her, Merari? She’s a terrible slave and a miserable woman. If I slit her throat, she’ll feel better. You’ll feel better. Azat and I will most certainly feel better.”
“She’s Yahweh’s child.” The words erupted from somewhere unknown, but our captor’s face went as pale as the moonlight.
He released her, and Helah sagged to the floor, crawling back to me. I knelt, pulling her into my arms, rocking as she wept the kind of tears I’d shed yesterday for only Mara to hear.
Idan crouched beside us. “What do you mean, she’s ‘Yahweh’s child’?” He studied Helah, lips curved in disdain. “Our mother goddess bore four children—lesser gods but still powerful. None of them piteous like her.”
I closed my eyes, reminding myself to be cautious but truthful. “Helah is human as we are. Yahweh is the only God, the lone Creator of all things. But He chose Abraham of the Chaldeans and all his descendants to preserve His truth for the whole world’s blessing. My cousin Jeremiah taught us that all who believe with faith like Abraham’s become Yahweh’s adopted children.”
Idan stepped back with a strange hesitancy. “Your cousin Jeremiah. Was he the shaman? The prophet Jeremiah?”
“How do you know that?” My confusion gave way to dread when Idan massaged the back of his neck. “I know only that Zedekiah held him prisoner in the courtyard of the guard during the siege. Is he alive?”
Idan took another step back. “Do you have his powers?” Now both he and Azat stared as if Tabiti were reborn.
“I have no magical powers and neither do Yahweh’s prophets. Now, please . . .” Frustration laced my tone. “Tell me what you know.”
With a glint of metal and a whirl of strength, Helah was out of my arms and Idan’s dagger was poised beneath my eye.
Azat stood over us. “Idan, no.”
“Your cousin is a free man in the care of Jerusalem’s new governor. But you, Merari . . . You’re a captive. Why is Yahweh justified for killing his children but I’m restrained from killing you?”
Barely breathing, I uttered the only truth I knew. “Because He is God and you are not.”
“Aaaahhhh!” He threw his dagger into the center post and cursed, stomping out of the tent. “I should have killed her in Jerusalem!”
Azat grinned at me. “He liked you better as Tabiti.” He started out of the tent but glanced over his shoulder. “I like you as Merari.”
When the tent flap closed behind him, a soft touch brushed my arm. “Thank you.” Helah lay shaking beside me. “I don’t hate you, Merari, but I’ll never understand how you can defend a god who kills women and children. Innocent people. Good people.”
My heart ached that Yahweh was a stranger to her. I tucked a few black and silver strands behind her ear. “When compared to God’s perfect love, His unblemished goodness, no one is innocent, Helah. Our hearts are filthy rags when compared to His robes of white.”
“But what about the children?” Her voice cracked, and she hid her face.
I bent over her, my tears wetting her back, remembering my own precious boy. When I could speak, a piece of my story was given as pledge. “I lost my only son in the siege, Helah. He was killed by a sin-sickened heart, but is with Yahweh now in perfect peace.”
She
lifted her head, eyes wide. “I didn’t know, Merari. I’m sorry. Jehukal and I never had children.”
I nodded, grateful she didn’t know about his illegitimate offspring in the lower city. Would she be open to hearing more truth about Yahweh, now that a few bricks around her heart had been removed?
“Do you remember only a few months before the siege began, when King Zedekiah ordered all Hebrew slaves released by their Hebrew owners?”
Her back straightened, but she didn’t bristle. A conciliatory nod gave me permission to continue.
“Those slaves enjoyed only a few days’ freedom before their Hebrew masters enslaved them again. That final act of rebellion, proving Judah’s unyielding hardness of heart, was the reason Yahweh’s discipline rained down on Jerusalem in our day.”
Eyes wide, her face paled in the dim light of morning. “But how could I run my household without slaves? I couldn’t do all the cooking and cleaning by myself.”
I cradled her trembling hands in mine, amazed it didn’t occur to her that she could have hired servants for a fair wage or joined them in the work. Rehearsing Helah’s grousing over the smallest tasks, I realized how absurd my proposal would seem. “It’s over now, Helah. Yahweh has disciplined His children, but His word through the prophets promises prosperity and blessing for our new lives in Babylon.”
Shaking her head, she lingered in despair, but I captured her face gently between my hands. “You are my friend, Helah, and because Yahweh delivered Hebrews from bondage, I’ll never call you my slave or treat you as such when we’re alone. But when we’re with the Scythians, you must obey me.”
She searched my eyes, and finally, slowly, she nodded. “I will trust you, Merari. But I can’t yet trust Yahweh.”
Chapter 18
Idan
“Johanan son of Kareah and all the army officers led away . . .