by Ann Burton
“That sounds like the Hebrew merchant who was here earlier, bothering the master.” Hlagor’s eyes met mine, and there was a strange greed in them. “What of him?”
I thought desperately of my short conversation with Lappidoth. “This man spoke to me. He said something about fearing his rooms in town would be let to another because there are so many buyers in Hazor now.”
“So? What care I if a Hebrew sleeps in the dirt?”
“He mentioned that there were no animals to be bought at the markets in Ephraim,” I added quickly. “I thought that might be why so many have come.”
“He could have lied, hoping to get a free bed.” Hlagor stroked his chin. “Although I have not had time to go into town of late.”
“Perhaps it would be wise to send a man to town,” I suggested carefully. “They might seek out some of these merchants, and bring them to the farm to see our fine herd, and so buy what they wish from our master rather than another.”
“Is that why you are babbling to me? Stupid girl, I have already made such a suggestion to the master,” Hlagor said, but the gleam of excitement in his eyes could not be hidden. He had not thought of it, but now he would tell the master, and claim it as his own idea. “Now see to these animals, and clean up this mess.” He hurried out of the barn.
I went to the window to watch him trot toward the main house. If Jeth had spoken the truth, Ybyon would immediately dispatch men to make rounds of the inns and taverns in the center of town. If Jeth had been exaggerating, Hlagor would be made to look foolish, and I would receive a sound thrashing.
Either way, Chemesh would not be killed. Not today, at least.
“Deborah.”
I turned around and saw the other slaves. They stood still, waiting. I sought out Tarn’s eyes, and saw in them what they all wanted, and I felt sick. “Must I?”
He nodded.
I was the smallest of the barn slaves, a woman, next to worthless because I could not do heavy work, and I was left-handed, which made me unlucky. Still, there was one thing I could do that the others could not. This was why they tolerated me, why they did not use me or harm me: my gift, which protected me even better than Meji, that made them fear me as much as they feared the master.
I hated using it this way, but after what had happened to Balaa, the men insisted on it. “Bring him to me, then.”
Tarn and Meji took Chemesh by the arms and brought him before me.
“What? Why do you hold me?” He squirmed, and then gave me an ugly look. “You foolish wench. I would have beaten him bloody if you had not gotten in the way.”
“Hlagor is the steward here, and a favorite of Ybyon, the master of us all,” Tarn said. “Had you laid a finger on him, we would all have suffered.”
Chemesh’s face twisted into a sneer of contempt. “Why should you be punished for what I do?”
“It is the master’s way.” The lines around Tarn’s mouth deepened. “Our food would have been stopped for days, our labors doubled, and our backs beaten. As for you, you would have been stripped, tied to the massebot, and flayed by the master’s blade, alive, slowly, in front of all of us.”
The anger faded from Chemesh’s countenance. “How do you know this? It would not be so. What master would do such to his slaves?”
“A master who takes pleasure in our pain,” Meji snapped. “The same one who starves us each day.”
“We know because it has been done before to us,” Tarn added. “Many times. Now you will be made known to us.”
“Be made known? You already know me.” Chemesh struggled, but the two men held him fast. “You are speaking foolishness, seba.”
“We have nothing but each other.” I gestured toward the slaves gathering around us. “Tarn is right; your moment of anger against Hlagor would have cost us all dearly. Now I must know who you are, and…see…what more you will do.”
As Meji and Tarn held Chemesh still between them, I rested my left hand against the center of his forehead. My touch made him flinch with revulsion, but then he closed his eyes and did not move.
Tarn said my touch always held them as surely as iron chains.
I kept my eyes open and drew on my faith before I made my prayer to the One and True God, the Father of us all, the Lord who had given me this strange and fearful gift. Jehovah, hear me now and help us live. Show me the path this one will walk. Show me the lives this one will touch. Show me all that he will be in this place.
The world around me dimmed, and although my eyes remained open, they closed from within, and I went blind.
I was not afraid of this inner darkness. It was where I had to be for the dreams to come. It did not happen this way as it did in my sleep; waking dreams were much more powerful.
The essence of the one I touched grew like a flower, a tight bud that reached up from the darkness where all things living are born, and slowly began to open, filling me with its many tiny petals. The petals had voices made of images, and they sang to me in pictures of what had been, was, and what would be for Chemesh. Their songs were the soul of an angry, reckless man.
“Chemesh, blood of Rephah,” I said, hearing the lonely wailing of the boy he had been, who had lost all his kin to plague. “Only child of Mino and Bekkala, both slaves. Your family comes from the west, where you served a fisherman of the Sea People. You know the water and the nets, but not the land.” Light blended into the heaviness, but it was not a kind light. “You left behind a woman carrying your babe in her belly.”
“Tlin,” he whispered, his voice tight with anguish. “My wife.”
“You were permitted to join, but then you were taken and sold on the public block for the price of repairing your master’s boat. He would not sell your woman with you. A trader took you for his caravan east. Your anger comes from sorrow, from being torn from the one you loved.” I saw why he had wanted more food. “You seek to steal provisions, weapons, and more clothing. You wish to escape this new master and make your way back to the sea. You will do whatever you must to make this so.”
Chemesh gasped. “How can you know—?”
“Silence,” Tarn thundered.
“You would have died this night,” I said, seeing and hearing the fading petal song-image of what I had prevented. “You will court death again for the sake of Tlin’s love, and for the babe she carries.”
“Where does he go, Deborah?” Meji asked.
“Nowhere.” The newest petals, those that told of Chemesh’s life on the farm, had voices withered and ugly. “You will walk the circle of anger and sorrow, and have not a care for anyone, not even yourself, until you escape, or you can be with your woman and child again, or you are dead.” I removed my hand from his face and spoke to Tarn and the others. “This bond between father, mother, and child cannot be broken. By the marriage, Jehovah has blessed it. We must help this man return to the land of his birth.”
“Too risky,” Tarn said. “He does not deserve it, and if we are caught, we will all be made to suffer.”
“If we do not try,” I warned, “Chemesh will not stop trying. In the end, he will die under the master’s fist, and so will three more of us.”
CHAPTER
5
Summoning a waking dream rendered me exhausted, and I left the matter for the men to worry over and staggered toward the heap of straw I used as my bed. Tonight I sleep well, I thought as I rolled over and hugged myself with my arms. Using my gift when I was awake sometimes allowed me to sleep like an untroubled child, but I had no control over the dreams after I fell asleep.
“Deborah.”
Weight settled the straw beside me, and I looked up to see Meji’s face. He seemed almost angry. “Tell Tarn that I cannot see more of Chemesh until I have rested,” I said.
“Tarn does not need you. We have decided to smuggle the new one out tomorrow night, when the feed wagon delivers the grain the master ordered.” He brushed a strand of hair back from my face. “You liked that man who came here today, didn’t you?”
/> I had liked Jeth, more than I should have, but I only moved my shoulders. It was not for me to like or dislike such a man.
Meji turned his face away and stared through the open window at the night sky. “You were born to the wrong mother. You belong with someone like him.”
“Only if he buys me from the master.” Which would never happen, and I smothered a yawn. “Are you cold? Do you wish to sleep with me tonight?” I moved over to make a place for him in the straw.
“You are too restless.” He took my hand in his. “If he comes again, you should find a way to speak with him.”
“And risk a beating? Why?”
His fingers tightened over mine. “If you interest him enough, he might buy you from the master.”
I snorted. “Yes, I can see how he might want a slave clever enough to be caught outside in a hailstorm. I cannot imagine why he did not run to the house as soon as the ice stopped falling and beg the master to sell me to him.” Why did Meji keep bringing up Jeth? “He is a rich man, and likely has many fine slaves. He does not need me.”
He made a sad sound. “You see so much, but never yourself.”
I almost reached out to touch him with my left hand, so that I could know what he meant, but as a rule, I tried not to see just for my own curiosity. Also, my gift had limits. If I did another seeing, I would have trouble waking in the morning, and I could not afford to miss the morning meal again.
“I am too tired to see anything but the insides of my eyelids,” I told him. “Come, lie down with me, and sleep. I will try not to toss and turn too much.”
“Very well.” Meji stretched out behind me, curling his limbs into mine and resting his hand on my hip. “Have only good dreams this night, my friend.”
I closed my burning eyes and sighed. If I were fortunate, I would have no dreams at all.
As soon as I drifted off, my luck turned, and I became the flower that grew, the petals that sang in their wordless way. I struggled against the sleeping dream, for there was something in it, something large and dark and terrifying, and it wanted me.
Why do you abide among the sheepfolds, a great and furious voice said, to hear only the bleating of the flocks?
I was alone with it, this terrible thing, and I could not run away from its wrath. I am but a slave. I cannot abide but where my master wills it. I stopped trying to flee and opened my heart, and knew the One and True God’s presence within me. Tell me Your will, Heavenly Father. I am your servant in all things.
What was terrible became at once gentle and forgiving. Your burden is heavy, daughter, but it is not all that you know.
I could hear the bleating of lambs at play, and felt the softness of wool on my fingers. The warmth of the sun touched my face, and the taste of sweet dates spread over my tongue. I could see Meji’s smile, deep, green grass, and the little red flowers that sometimes sprang up around the barn. All the things that were beautiful in life filled my heart with love, a love that surrounded me and comforted me against that which was harsh and hurtful.
Yes, I understand now. I am grateful for my life, Father of Heaven.
Then you must listen to your heart, seer of dreams. Listen and follow, and you shall know what you must do, and where you belong.
I saw Jeth’s kind face, and felt the unseen connection between us for the first time. That grew into a vision of a palm tree, of a kind I had never seen. We sat together on a striped cloth spread beneath it, our hands entwined, our faces turned toward each other. We were speaking, but I could not hear what Jeth or I said. Then a shadow fell over us, and lightning flashed between us, and our hands parted.
This strange vision of peace and terror frightened me, and yet it turned something deep inside me. Was this part of my purpose? I could not have been made this way for no reason. I beseeched Jehovah to guide me again. What does this mean, Father? What must I do?
Save the shepherd, and lead the lightning, daughter, the deep voice said, and My garden will be yours.
All these things faded into darkness, and I woke from the disturbing dream, cold despite the warmth of Meji’s body next to mine. Although the sky had yet to lighten with the coming dawn, I rose and went to the stalls to look after the animals. My dream made little sense, but something had changed inside me. Perhaps it was knowing that the Father was watching over me, or the strange prophecy He had given me.
Save the shepherd. Lead the lightning.
I had just finished milking the last of the goats when I heard voices outside, and went to the window to see if our morning meal had been brought.
“We should wait for him to journey to the river,” Hlagor was saying in a low, urgent voice. “We can tie stones to the body and dispose of it there.”
“The king cares not for what happens to a foreigner wandering the streets of Hazor,” Ybyon replied. “You will go into town tonight.”
The steward made an impatient sound. “You are not taking the risk. If the king’s guard catches me with stolen silver, it will be my head on a pike.”
Quick laughter rang out. “You fool. How can the silver be stolen if the Hebrew who owned it is dead?”
I covered my mouth with my hand to smother a gasp of horror and revulsion. They were speaking of Jeth—of killing him for his silver.
“I do not like this,” Hlagor muttered. “He is young and strong-looking, not like the others you have had me kill. He will fight for his life.”
“That is why you will drink with him first.” Cloth rustled. “Have the tavern keeper put these herbs in his wine cup. The midwife gave them to my wife during her last labor, and she was befuddled for two days after.”
I sagged back against the wall. This was why Ybyon had not killed him before; he had wanted Jeth’s silver more than his life. I had always known my master possessed an evil heart, but this scheme was so dishonorable, it took my breath away. The Hebrew merchant, who had come to Hazor only to buy sheep, who had shown me only kindness, would die tonight, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I saw Chemesh surreptitiously scoop a handful of grain from a feed trough and put it in his mouth.
Or is there?
“You have brain fever,” Meji said flatly.
“Perhaps.” I crouched beside him and took one of the ewe’s two teats to squeeze it gently. Milk squirted into the shallow pan I held in my other hand. “It makes no difference. I must still go and do this thing.”
All through the day I had been unable to stop thinking about Jeth, or my master’s plan to have Hlagor murder him in town. I was not permitted to leave the farm, nor was there anyone with whom I could send word to the Hebrew merchant to warn him that his life was in danger. It was seeing Chemesh eating fodder that made me think of running away.
My plan seemed even more sensible when Tarn mentioned the next morning that Chemesh had developed bad bowels, probably from eating too much raw grain, and was now too sick to work. I agreed to do a share of Chemesh’s work so that he would not be beaten for it, and then asked Tarn if I could use the escape plan to go into town.
“You will never make it back before dawn,” the old slave warned me. “Hlagor will have the wagon. You will be on foot.” He touched his neck. “The master will not stop at scarring you. He will take great delight in parting you from your skin. Slowly, and completely.”
I had little doubt of that, but then I thought of Balaa, and how I had felt for weeks after his slow death. I had not foreseen his fate, but it did not make me feel any better. I could not allow my master’s greed and hatred to destroy another life—even if it meant sacrificing my own. “I know what I do, Tarn.”
I had tried to convince Meji of the same thing, but he would have none of it. “You cannot go into town. As soon as the morning meal is brought, you will be missed. Hlagor knows you spoke to the man. You will be blamed for betraying the master.”
“You cannot betray a murderer.” I finished milking the ewe and handed the warm pan of milk to him. “Will you help me do this?”
“I should s
trangle you now, and save the master the trouble.” He put the pan aside and ground the heels of his hands into his eyes for a moment before scowling at me. “Deborah, you do not even know this man. You owe him nothing. To sacrifice your life for his…it is beyond foolishness.”
“I told you what I dreamed. I do not understand it all, but this is the will of Jehovah.” I wiped my wet hands with some straw, and I rose. “Never mind. I have already spoken to Tarn. He will help me do what needs be done.”
“No.” His voice went from harsh to quiet. “No, if you are to play this part, you will need me.”
I was not a vain female, but I felt like squirming a little more than an hour later, when Meji smeared a thick mixture of wood charcoal and torch grease into my hair to darken it.
“Keep it hanging over your eyes,” he said as he tucked my now-greasy braid under the back of my middo. Before I could thank him, he moved away, his shoulders rigid with anger.
“It is because he cares for you,” Tarn said, watching him leave the barn. “You must be careful to whom in town you speak, Deborah. The king’s soldiers patrol the streets, and they are always arresting and interrogating anyone who acts suspiciously. Keep your voice low, for you do not sound much like a boy.” He described how the soldiers dressed, and added, “Some are brutes from the west, and enjoy using female prisoners for their pleasure. If they call to you, run away.”
I felt sick in my belly now. “When will the feed wagon arrive?”
His cloudy eyes went to the door Meji had left hanging open, and checked the position of the sun. “Within the hour. You have not much time to finish.”
I had no polished circle of brass to look into, as the master’s wife did, so I filled a bucket with water to look upon my reflection. The blackish muck and the way Meji had trimmed the front of my hair did make me resemble a Canaanite boy—one who had been rolling in the mud. I also smeared my face and arms with fresh dirt, hoping it would complete my street urchin disguise.
“Here.” Meji came and thrust some clothing into my hands. “The master’s son threw these away some weeks ago. I was saving them for…but it matters not now. Wear them.”