Shadow of the Storm

by Connilyn Cossette

  Kiya waited, assessing him for a moment, and then named her own price, one much lower than the worth of the bracelet and to include a basket of dried indigo flowers with the purple dye. He countered, accepted the gold bracelet in payment, and handed over the goods.

  Spying on the table a couple of magnificently carved horses with heads reared back and tails flying, I nudged Kiya and handed her the embroidered belt. “See if you can buy those as well, for the boys.”

  Defeated by Kiya’s superior trading skills, the merchant handed the two carvings over without any fuss, and we pushed our way back through the crowd. I held onto the back of Kiya’s dark green tunic with one hand so we would not get separated, gripping the handle of the basket of flowers, with the horses tucked in among them, tight in my other.

  When we were almost clear of the crowd, I shouted to her over the noise. “Remind me never to barter for anything unless you are with me.”

  Her eyes sparkled, bright from the victory over the trader. But before she could respond, she tripped. She fell so fast that I could do nothing to stop her from landing on the ground. Her arms were tight around the small pot of precious purple dye, and thankfully none of it spilled.

  Adjusting the handle of the basket over my arm, I helped her to her feet.

  “Stay on the ground, zonah. It’s where you belong” came a woman’s voice from nearby.

  Kiya’s fall was no accident.

  “Go back to Egypt” spat another voice, male this time.

  “Ignore it,” I said, grabbing her hand. “Let’s just go on.”

  She took a deep breath, and then a step, but was pushed back by the shoulder of another woman.

  “You don’t belong here.” An expression of seething hatred was in the woman’s eyes, which were lined with thick kohl. An irony—Kiya’s were unadorned today.

  Kiya stood her ground. “I am just as much a part of this nation as you. I took part in the Covenant.”

  My heart cheered her, but just as quickly, fear quenched the pride. We were surrounded by people who immediately judged Kiya’s character by her heritage and the actions of her ancestors.

  “That Covenant is for our people, not yours.” The woman pushed her florid face near Kiya’s.

  I could not keep my mouth closed any longer. “The law given by Mosheh says different. All are welcome. And my sister”—I accented the marital relation—“abides by the Torah, just as you.” I marveled at the strength of my own voice. “Don’t you see that we are one nation here? We are not slaves anymore, squabbling over bits of bread. We must come together, fight for each other, not against.”

  The woman’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Your sister should have been put to the sword with the rest of the idol worshippers.”

  I shivered at the threat and the gleam of imminent attack in her eyes. The confident set of Kiya’s shoulders seemed to droop, so I moved to stand in front of my friend, praying Yahweh would give my spine the strength of an oak tree. But before I could test whether I had any roots at all, someone else rose to Kiya’s defense.

  “Let these girls be.” A man appeared next to us. Although the shadow of a graying beard covered his chin, the kohl on his eyes, the slope of his nose, and the set of his mouth identified him as Egyptian.

  The woman’s face betrayed nothing, but she took a tiny step backward. Perhaps the echo of an overseer’s voice had flared to life at the Egyptian’s words.

  “These girls have done nothing to you. Let them pass.” His words were so steady that I envied their calm delivery.

  A Hebrew man pushed himself ahead of the woman, indignation blazing in his expression. “How dare you speak to my wife like that!”

  All around us the crowd quieted, curious faces watching this tense interaction.

  The Egyptian tipped his head, clearly aware of our precarious position. “I meant no harm.”

  “You meant no harm?” the man sneered. “Did your king mean no harm when he shackled our people for two hundred years? Or when he murdered our babies?”

  “That is not—”

  “How dare you lecture us on how we treat you gerim. All you have done is create problems. It is your fault there ever was a golden idol in this camp. And your fault that so many died because of it.”

  The Egyptian put up a hand and shook his head. “I had nothing to do with such a thing. I follow Yahweh and I have for many years, even before I knew his name. I married a Hebrew woman long ago. Those who died that day did so because they were involved in the debauchery of their own free will.”

  Confusion weighted the Hebrew’s brow for a moment, until it gave way to a heated glare. “It makes no difference.”

  “Perhaps not to you,” said the Egyptian. “But there are many of us among this multitude who took part in the Covenant. As the young lady said, we are all one now.”

  “I will never”—spittle formed at the corners of the man’s mouth—“be a brother to someone whose people enslaved my own. And that girl”—he pointed at me—“is obviously a traitor.”

  Fear rushed up my back and spread across my shoulders as a few shouts of agreement volleyed around us. Then, before my mind registered the quick move, the Hebrew had his short-sword pointed at the Egyptian’s face.

  A few more men had slipped through the crowd, some to stand behind the Hebrew, and others now situated near us. Surprisingly, a few of the men who stood beside us were Hebrews ready to defend the Egyptian. We were at the center of a simmering brawl. Blazing insults, like arrows, threatened to ignite the argument into a battle.

  This brand new nation was coming apart at the seams. After hundreds of years of domination and murder by evil kings, our newfound freedom had already become a liability to our survival.

  I gripped Kiya’s hand even tighter and drew her in close to my side. “Do not let go,” I rasped into her ear. Then, taking advantage of the standoff between the men and their swords, I yanked her backward, and we slipped into the crowd.

  Although a few elbows were thrown our way as we pushed through, one striking me on the cheekbone, most of the attention was on the loud clash that now included the clang of swords to match the shouts. The two of us managed to escape the crowd and mix with a group of women who were wisely retreating back to camp, away from the shouting. With my hand over my throbbing cheek, I begged Yahweh to protect the Egyptian who had come to our aid.

  As we neared our own campsite, a stiff wind kicked up, just as the gray clouds released their burden of snow, sending everyone scurrying toward their warm, dry, goat-hair tents. Had Yahweh sent a rare desert snowstorm to cool the tempers of those back near the traders’ wagons?

  I feared that the effort would be only temporary. Mistrust had been kindled among the different factions of Israel. A mistrust that would only feed the smoldering hostility that threatened to spark a raging wildfire in our camp.

  “Does Mosheh know how divided this camp is?” Kiya said with a protective hand over her belly.

  “I wish I knew.”

  “But you! Shira!” Kiya yanked me to a stop. “You were so brave standing up to that horrid woman!”

  “Brave?” I laughed. “Didn’t you hear my knees knocking together?”

  “Well, of course you were frightened. We could have been killed in that mob. You were brave because you, and your knocking knees, stepped forward. You have such strength, Shira. You just refuse to believe it.”

  27

  28 SHEVAT

  11TH MONTH OUT FROM EGYPT

  Gathered under the shade of a linen canopy outside the Mishkan courtyard, a group of men surrounded my brother, all occupied in various stages of building instruments. One worked with a lyre, half formed, the steam rising like an offering from the wood he was shaping over a small fire. With a rough stone, another man scraped at a hollowed piece, the beginnings of a tall drum. Eben leaned over the young man, demonstrating the strokes with the patience of a father but the enthusiastic hand gestures of a boy. He was doing what he loved best, sawdust sprinkled
in his hair, summoning music from the heart of a tree.

  With limited use of his hand, Eben was forced instead to be a teacher of such arts, passing on the knowledge of woodcarving, his inheritance from our father. To think that these instruments would grace the Mishkan, the dwelling place of Yahweh himself, was nearly unfathomable.

  When my father, all those years ago, had wrangled his wayward son into apprenticing in the music shop of Akensouris, he never would have been able to guess that his own heritage would benefit such a divine purpose. I wished that my father were here to see what a credit his son was to him. I wished that my father were here to give me sage advice.

  My fumbling fingers seemed to be more of a hindrance to my mother than a help. She had quietly relegated me to working with only rough tent fabrics and woolen tunics, instead of the linen for the Mishkan, which was expected to be of the finest quality. My hands were not made for creating things, and I missed midwifery so much I could feel the ache of it in my bones. It took every bit of determination not to run for Reva’s tent this morning. Kiya’s confidence in me had nearly convinced me yesterday, but then Leisha’s white face haunted the decision, anchoring my feet.

  The mirrored surface of the bronze altar, newly positioned nearby, sparkled in the sunlight, catching my eye. I thought my hands were made for bringing your creations into the world, Yahweh. Now I have nothing at all to offer you.

  Eben called my name and waved. A flush swept over my face when all of the men turned to see who had intruded on their work. I turned aside, feigning interest in the billowing outer walls of the newly raised courtyard. A metallic smell wafted on the breeze, a product of the goldsmiths and silversmiths working somewhere nearby, molding precious tools for the Mishkan.

  My mother had been adamant that I bring Eben a basket of food today. A strange request, but with Kiya resting in the tent with Talia, as she should, it was left to me to tend my brother’s stomach.

  Shivering, I pulled my mantle tighter around me. A snow-chilled breeze had slipped its fingers beneath the white linen fence, causing one corner to escape its moorings and flap in the breeze like a rebellious child reveling in new freedom. I glimpsed the progress on the main tent through its wayward gap, disappointed that it still seemed to be only a wooden frame. None of the elegant scarlet, blue, and purple fabrics had been lifted into place. I wondered aloud just how long it would take to finish such an intricate structure.

  “Not too much longer,” said Eben, who had abandoned his students and appeared at my side. “The gold panels for the inside are ready, and all the implements for the sacrifices are nearly finished. Ayal and his group will come back with sea animal hides that will make up the top layer.”

  To distract myself from the thought of capturing and skinning such creatures, and from my deeply divided thoughts of Ayal, I slipped the basket farther up my arm and reached for Eben’s hand to examine the damage.

  “Your hand is healing well.” I fingered the faint remnants of the sutures, made from the same fine goat-gut strings Eben used to make his lyres. How my mother had found such a skilled healer in the confusion that night, I would never know. But the deep scars that crisscrossed his palm seemed to hold his fingers captive. His hand, while utilitarian, would most likely never have the dexterity and skill it had before. My chest ached at the loss.

  Eben slipped his hand away. “Ayal will return in two weeks.”

  I tightened my grip on the basket, welcoming the sharp rasp of its weave against my palm. “He said as much when he left.”

  “Did he say anything else to you before he left?” Eben peered at me with a curious look.

  “No. He said he wanted to speak with me, but Dvorah was injured so he left without doing so.” My response came out a bit more clipped than I’d intended, and surprise flickered in Eben’s expression.

  He paused so long that I nearly ordered him to say whatever needed to be said. “Ayal needs a wife.”

  Dvorah is more than willing. “I assumed he would marry soon.” My flat response betrayed none of the envy fermenting in my stomach.

  “Yes. There is . . . talk. About the arrangement between you and Ayal, with the children. Ayal’s family believes it is best that a betrothal happen a few days after he returns from the sea.”

  It is time to let go. I nodded, not trusting my voice to remain steady but attempting a halfhearted smile.

  “Since he has a household in place, such as it is, there is little need to wait very long. A month perhaps. It is best for the children that you move in as soon as possible.”

  His words tangled in my mind. “Move in? Won’t Dvorah be moving in?”

  “No, Dvorah will continue to be paid to wet nurse. Ayal wants to continue helping her and her son.”

  “I am confused.” I shook my head to clear the fog. “Why would I move into Ayal’s tent when he and Dvorah are married?”

  Eben tilted his head to the side and studied my face. “Sister, it is not Dvorah who will be marrying Ayal. It is you.”

  A clap of thunder struck my brain, and my ears rang as if a shofar had sounded close by. “Me?” With my tongue twisted in knots and tears in my eyes, I shook my head. “I . . . I cannot marry Ayal.” My words rasped like the edge of a blunt knife. Had everything around me begun spinning? I gripped my head to halt the motion.

  Confusion was thick on my brother’s face. “Are you upset? I thought you would be pleased. You seem to love the children. They certainly adore you.”

  “I do . . .”

  He lowered his dark brows. “Ayal is a good man. He will keep you safe.”

  “But he—”

  Eben interrupted me with a sigh, hands on hips. “I will not force you, Shira. It is your decision to make. But I truly feel this is what is best for you, and it is my duty to protect you.”

  The same thing he said the last time he sent me away. A vision of that day rose up in my mind, along with a reverberation of the hollowness that screamed in my chest when Eben left me at the gate of Shefu’s villa, destined to be a handmaiden to a cruel mistress—alone, heartbroken, and desperate for my mother’s embrace.

  “But I am safe with you.” My voice sounded like Zayna’s, small and pleading.

  He lifted his hand, his finger hovering near my bruised cheek. “Not anymore. After what happened yesterday at the traders’ wagons.”

  “We made it back safely.”

  “You did. But two men were beaten.”

  I sucked in a gasping breath. “An Egyptian?”

  “I don’t know. But there have been more than a few altercations. Threats made against the tribe of Levi.”

  “What kind of threats? From the gerim?”

  “Not only the foreigners. Many from the other tribes are angry about what happened after the golden-idol incident.” His voice was tinged with sadness.

  Perhaps a lingering echo of the ancient jealousies between Yaakov’s twelve sons had been stirred by the justice meted out that night, and by the honor of priestly duties bestowed on the Levites afterward.

  “I had hoped that working together to build the Mishkan would help bind up what was broken between the sons of Yaakov. But although most Hebrews are excited and willing to donate time and goods, too many among the tribes are sowing the seeds of discontent. I fear things will only get worse.” He flipped his palm over and stretched his fingers as far as they would go. “I am barely able to protect my own wife with this cursed hand. And now with the baby—” His cheek quirked as he paused.

  The unspoken completion of his thought suspended like a clear note in the air. And now that I have my own child coming, I cannot protect you as well.

  He was right. An unmarried sister was a burden. He had his own family to care for, along with my mother and younger sisters. He was giving me the only gift he could: Ari, Dov, and Talia.

  I placed my own palm on his ruined one. “Say nothing more. I understand.” Swallowing hard, I pressed my concerns about Ayal into the depths of my stomach and shrugged away the
last shadows of desire to return to midwifery. Summoning the courage Kiya insisted I had, I stepped forward and handed Eben the meal basket. “I will do as you say.”

  My mother gestured for me to follow her into the tent, her face an indecipherable mask. Before my eyes had even adjusted to the dimness, she spoke from the shadows. “Did you speak with Eben?”

  I dipped my head. “Yes, he told me I should marry Ayal.”

  She shifted from foot to foot. “It is a good match. You will be a fine mother to his children.”

  A stab of pleasure laced with guilt pressed against my ribs. I would be a mother. A mother to children I already loved with all my being. Why was I so hesitant? Ayal’s face flickered in my thoughts—a man I could not trust and, therefore, could not love. “I will do what is necessary, for the children’s sake.”

  My mother folded her arms and peered at me. “You do not want to marry Ayal?”

  A question that had no clear answer. I shrugged but held my tongue.

  “Ayal is young and handsome, and your brother attests to his honor. What more could you ask for?”

  I avoided her scrutinizing stare by studying the dark corner behind her. Eben does not know what a wolf the man is.

  “The boys already love you like a mother, and Talia is anxious when you are away.”

  Panic pulsed its way through me—how could I be a mother? I loved all three of them, that was true, but to guide them through life? How could I carry such responsibility? And to do so with a man I feared and mistrusted . . . Would he treat me as he had Leisha? Perhaps I was not even the only woman Ayal had lured. Had Leisha known of his wanderings? Was that why there was so much antipathy within the family? Her strange hazel eyes still haunted me as I lay on my pillow at night—would they ever disappear from my mind’s eye when my own head lay in her place?

  My mother came close, halting the barrage of doubts that assailed me, her eyes narrowed in what could only be described as a look of conspiracy. “You must never tell him.”

  Wooly confusion filled my head. “Tell him?”