Deborah burped. “Excuse me. I think it’s making me sick.”
“You’re fine. More than fine.” He coughed and wiped his lips. “The truth is, my secret Reinforcing Liquid works not only on straw. It will gradually give you strength—enough strength to keep even the most difficult promise.”
Deborah looked at him doubtfully. “Are you sure? I don’t feel any stronger.”
With a thick finger, Sallan touched her forehead. “It’s all here, in your head. That’s where your strength begins to grow like yeast in fresh dough. Believe in it, and it will rise.” He shifted his finger to her chest. “Your heart must not resist or doubt the magic of your strength but allow it to grow and make you mightier than the challenges facing you and taller than the barriers on your path.” His hand dropped and squeezed her hand. “You’ll shake with fear and self-doubt at times, confronting a powerful man or a sudden danger, but you must steady your hand, banish your fear, and embrace your strength. If you do, by the time you find the Elixirist, the strength within you will be more than sufficient for you to return to Emanuel and help me.”
The doubts he had referred to were already brewing in her heart, but Deborah pushed them aside. “If you’re certain about it,” she said, “then I’ll give you my promise.”
“Take an oath,” Sallan said. “Invoke the name of your god.”
“I swear in the name of Yahweh that I will come back here to obtain your freedom and take you to Edom, where you’ll reunite with your people.”
“Congratulations,” he said. “We have a deal.”
Deborah could hardly breathe from the excitement that filled her. “The Elixirist—where will I find him?”
Sallan leaned back on the cushions. “His name is Kassite.”
“Kassite?”
“It’s an Edomite name, like mine, but we don’t look alike. He’s very tall and thin, and he speaks slowly. When you find him, tell him that I sent you. He won’t believe you, but I’ll tell you a code that will convince him.”
“Why?”
“Because no one else in the world knows what it means, except for Kassite and me.” Sallan took a deep breath. “Thirteen hundred and thirteen.”
“Thirteen hundred and thirteen,” Deborah repeated. “I’ll remember it. So where will I find him?”
“I’ll tell you what I know.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “We were travelling in the same caravan when Moabite marauders took us captive. We tried to escape after a few days. They caught us, maimed us, and sold us as slaves. He stood next to me on the dock. I was sold first, and Kassite was bought after I was taken down from the dock. I don’t know who bought him, but they keep records at the slave market in Shiloh.”
“Shiloh?”
“That’s where the Moabites sold us. My first owner was a merchant from Mitzpah, of the tribe of Dan. He bought me in Shiloh in the first spring after the Great Famine, on the eve of the Passover holiday, eighteen years ago. Kassite was sold immediately after me to someone else. You’ll find the answer there.”
If Deborah had ever had any doubts about Yahweh’s all-powerful grace, none remained. Here she was, about to escape tonight and go to Shiloh to pray for her freedom at the Holy Tabernacle, and it turned out that Shiloh was also the place where she would find the way to the Elixirist! Deborah shut her eyes and thanked Him in silence.
Chapter 10
“What happened to you?” Vardit was the only one awake. She was rocking a toddler, whose mother had fallen asleep. “It’s been hours!”
“I know,” Deborah said. “Sallan made me practice until I could weave perfectly.”
“I was very worried about you.”
Recalling Sallan’s derision of Vardit’s true concerns, Deborah searched her face for signs of pretense or insincerity, finding nothing but genuine care and exhaustion.
“Sallan is pleased with my work now,” Deborah said.
“Then tomorrow will be a better day.”
“I hope so.” Deborah wondered where she would be this time tomorrow.
The toddler whimpered, disturbed by their talking. Vardit covered his head and whispered, “There’s some bread left on the table.”
Deborah took a few bites from the bread and drank some water. She crossed the room to check on Mazal. The girl had thrown off the covers. Her exposed skin was moist with sweat, and her long black hair was drenched and rumpled. She breathed heavily and tossed from side to side, groaning in her sleep.
Vardit put the toddler down and went to sleep.
After using the clay bucket in the corner to relieve herself, Deborah lay down. It was quiet, and she struggled to keep her eyes open. It was difficult to tell how much time had passed. She went to the window, moved aside the curtain, and looked up at the sky. The moon was not even halfway up to its apex.
Back under the blanket, she tried to remain awake by thinking of her escape. Once outside the town walls, she would face many dangers. There would be animals at night and people during the day, all threatening her survival. Hiding from people would be easier, because she’d be able to see and hear them from a distance. Animals, however, would be able to smell her from a great distance and sneak up on her in the dark. How would she keep them away?
Sweat covered her. She took off the blanket and sat up. What had Sallan said after making her drink the Reinforcing Liquid? “You’ll shake with fear and self-doubt at times, confronting a powerful man or a sudden danger, but you must steady your hand, banish your fear, and embrace your strength.” That’s what she needed to do: think of the Reinforcing Liquid and banish her fear. But how? It was easier said than done. She had no chance of surviving against hungry coyotes, or even a single bear.
Thinking of Sallan gave her an idea. It was risky, yet not as risky as facing wild beasts on the road without any protection.
Deborah tiptoed across the women’s quarters and through the door back into the basket factory. She stood still and listened. The ceiling, which was also the floor of Sallan’s quarters, was made of wood and supported by stone columns. She was used to it squeaking and creaking whenever his servants walked around upstairs during the day. Now it was quiet, and after several more moments of waiting, she pulled off her sandals, picked up a knife from the toolbox, and climbed the steps.
The door to Sallan’s living quarters was closed but not locked. She opened it very slowly. Inside, she saw the dark outline of Kothar-wa-Khasis with its raised hands and myriad tools.
With the knife clenched in her hand, Deborah moved slowly, staying along the walls to minimize the risk of squeaky wood planks under her bare feet. Moonlight came through the window, and she realized it would soon be time for her rendezvous with Obadiah of Levi. She moved faster, the floor creaked, and she heard someone sigh nearby.
The boys’ light skin stood out in the dark. They slept with Sallan, one on each side, in a large bed at the other end of the living room, not in a separate bedroom as she had expected. One of the boys shifted in his sleep but didn’t wake up.
Deborah crept toward the center of the room. She crouched by the cushions, moved them aside to expose the tiger skin, and found the tail.
The floor squeaked, and she froze. From its spot next to the sofa, Qoz watched her, its face lighter than the surrounding darkness. The copper plate remained at the foot of the small pedestal, but the food was gone. Had Qoz eaten it? For a moment, she imagined Qoz moving its three-pronged thunderbolt, aiming it at her, and striking her with a jolt of lightning as punishment for what she was about to do.
Nothing happened. The thunderbolt remained in the same position as before. There was only one true God, she reminded herself, and it wasn’t Qoz or Kothar-wa-Khasis.
Deborah used the knife to cut a circle around the base of the tail, removing it with a portion of the skin that formerly covered the animal’s lower back. It stank as before, but now she found the odor reassuring, because it would keep her safe from wild animals on the way to Shiloh. Surely this was Yahweh’s blessed hand, c
oming to her aid again.
Back in the women’s quarters, everyone was asleep as before. Deborah rearranged her mat and bunched up the blanket and pillow to make it look as if she was asleep under the covers. Her father’s fire-starters were in the pocket of her red robe, and her new basket was stuffed with the tiger tail.
The night was silent. She paused before stepping into the courtyard. It was dimly lit by two torches, one at each end. To her right, the open horse stable gave off the stench of manure, but the horses were quiet. On the far left, the heavy doors that led out to the street were locked for the night. The soldiers slept in a room adjacent to the entry, ready for action at a moment’s notice.
She ran to the firepit, which was glowing red with embers. As always, there was a pile of firewood next to it. She selected a large piece before continuing across the courtyard. The washroom was not occupied. She entered it and bolted the door from inside.
Propping the piece of wood against the wall, she stepped on it to reach the small window above. She was too short to look outside and see the street below. Was the priest waiting for her? Cupping her mouth, she whispered, “Are you there?”
There was no response.
“Anyone there?”
Again, there was no response. Had the priest changed his mind? Was he more afraid of Seesya than of Tamar’s curse?
Deborah hesitated. Going back now would be easy. She could slip under her blanket and fall asleep as if nothing had happened. She would have to hide the tiger tail somewhere to avoid Sallan’s suspicion. But if she didn’t escape now, then when? And if not the priest, who else would help her?
No one would help her. No one. Either she escaped now, or she never would. That was the choice she had to make.
Sallan’s words played in her mind again: “Banish your fear and embrace your strength!” He was right. It didn’t matter that the old priest had failed to show up. She would find a way to get over the walls of Emanuel and begin her journey tonight.
Deborah pushed the basket out first, pulled herself up, and squeezed her head and shoulders through the tight opening, followed by her upper body. But in her nervous determination, she had failed to realize what would happen next, and found herself falling headfirst toward the hard ground below.
Chapter 11
Dropping upside-down from the small washroom window, high in the outside wall of Judge Zifron’s house, Deborah put her hands forward to protect her head from hitting the hard-packed dirt of the street. But sooner than she expected, her outstretched hands collided with something softer than the ground, covered in cloth. Her legs went over her head, and she fell backwards while grasping the cloth to stop her fall. She landed on her back, and the cloth-wrapped, bulky object fell on top of her.
Facing Deborah in the moonlight, nose to nose, was a woman’s face, white as milk and expressionless. It was the captive Seesya had killed that morning. Her corpse pinned the girl down with morbid heaviness and stiff limbs. The mouth was slightly open, and the knock of the fall pushed out a gust of sour odor that puffed on Deborah’s face, making her retch.
Had she any air left, Deborah would have screamed. But with her chest pressed down, all she could do was try to push the corpse off.
The woman’s body barely gave.
Desperate, Deborah pushed harder, but she was no match for the lifeless, rigid corpse whose pale blank face fueled an overwhelming terror. Deborah’s vision fogged up, and she wanted to surrender to the inevitable end, but a last burst of anger made her push one more time. With sudden ease, as if it had magically became weightless, the corpse rolled off, and Deborah was able to fill her lungs.
“For heaven’s sake,” Obadiah whispered, “are you trying to get us both killed?”
She tried to respond, but words wouldn’t come out.
“I almost gave up on you, girl!”
Propping herself up on her elbows, Deborah looked around. Parked under the washroom window was the four-wheeled handcart used to transport indigent dead people for burial outside the walls. The more affluent townsmen carried their dead relatives on decorated wagons with flowers and various personal items to be buried with the bodies in individual graves. A few even paid for the fabrication of stone coffins to keep the deceased safe from worms and critters. But for most families, the living could spare nothing for their departed relatives. A body would be brought to the temple, sometimes with a small gift. The priest would conduct the appropriate rituals and dispose of the body in the community grave—a deep, bell-shaped cave with a small mouth, located downhill from the town’s gates.
“I called you.” Her voice was shaking. “You didn’t answer.”
“You were late. I had to hide.” He gestured at a clump of bushes across the street. “I placed the cart under the window so that you could climb down, not jump headfirst like a mad goat.”
“I didn’t see—”
“Doesn’t matter. Get up and lie on top!”
Deborah climbed onto the handcart. Its bed was sized to accommodate an adult male lying flat. Wide planks had been attached on all four sides to keep a body from rolling off, and tar had been applied to the bed and the sides to prevent bodily fluids from dripping. It gave off the same stench as the dead woman, only worse.
“I can’t lie here,” Deborah said. “I’m not dead.”
“We’ll both be dead soon if you don’t do as I say!”
She lay down flat. The priest placed two short planks across the cart, one above her chest, another above her knees, the crosspieces resting on the raised side planks.
“Turn your head sideways,” he said, “so you can breathe.”
She obeyed.
Grunting with effort, he picked up the murdered woman and put her on top, legs pointing toward Deborah’s head. The two cross-planks kept the weight off Deborah, except that one of the woman’s heels pressed Deborah’s skull into the bed of the cart. She wanted to shout in revulsion and pull out from under the corpse, but she clenched her teeth and edged her head to the side. At the other end of the cart, the woman’s shoulders rested on Deborah’s feet due to their difference in height. The arrangement was uncomfortable, but at least the head was further down, the sour stench all the way at the other end of the cart.
Unfurling a red sheet, the priest covered the whole cart. He placed a sack on top of the sheet. “Don’t make a sound,” he whispered. “Don’t move. Don’t even blink. Our lives depend on it.”
The main street led at a moderate decline from Judge Zifron’s great house, through the town, to the gates. Tradesmen and shopkeepers inhabited the houses along the street, but everyone was asleep now. The four wheels made the cart stable, but every bump rattled Deborah between the hard bed below and the stiff corpse above. Obadiah proceeded down the street slowly. In one of the houses, a baby cried. In another, a dog barked, and a man’s voice yelled at it to stop.
The street flattened at the bottom of the hill. Deborah smelled the stench of poverty that drifted over from nearby tents and shacks.
The priest began to chant a mournful hymn, his voice rising as they neared the gates.
“Who goes there?” The sentry’s voice was youthful and drowsy.
“It is I, Obadiah of Levi, servant of Yahweh.”
Deborah held her breath.
The sentry’s weapons rattled as he walked toward them. “What do you want?”
“What I want,” Obadiah said, “is to be in my bed, warm and asleep.”
“Me too.”
“Unfortunately, my son, we both have jobs to do.”
The sentry held a lamp over the cart. “What’s this?”
“Eternal rest—even for a slave woman.”
“In the middle of the night?”
“Seesya brought her today with a bunch of other captives. Preparing her for burial took me longer than expected. I’m getting old, my son. Please let me through.”
“I can’t. The gates stay locked at night. What’s the urgency?”
“She stinks.” The
priest sniffed noisily. “It’s worse than the usual smell of death, which I’m very familiar with. I fear she’s carrying a sickness, perhaps the red fever. Better get her out of Emanuel before we all get sick.”
The sentry kicked the cart, startling the girl. “I don’t smell anything.”
“Here, take a sniff.” Obadiah uncovered the dead woman’s face. “Go on, smell her.”
The sentry stepped back. “I believe you.”
“Then open the gates.”
He hesitated. “We’re not supposed to.”
“Do you think I want to go out there at night? But I want even less to get sick with the red fever. Do you?”
“I don’t know—”
“Fine.” The priest pushed the cart to the side of the road. “I’ll leave her here and come back in the morning. Try to hold your breath, will you? Maybe she’s not carrying the deadly fever. Who knows?”
“Don’t leave her here!”
“What do you want me to do? I’m an old man. I can’t push her back uphill to the temple.” The priest walked away. “Just to be safe,” he added, raising his voice, “I suggest you pray for your soul.”
“Wait!”
The sentry went back to the gatehouse and woke up the other sentry. They argued in hushed voices. A moment later, loud creaking indicated that the gates were opening.
Through the red sheet, Deborah could tell that the priest had lit a torch.
“Beware of the wolves,” a sentry said, making the other one laugh.
“What wolves?” The priest stopped the cart. “Did you hear any wolves tonight?”
“Hundreds of them!” The sentries laughed again.
“You are joking, yes?” The priest’s voice was fearful, and the girl couldn’t tell whether Obadiah was truly afraid, or faking it. “Maybe one of you boys want to accompany me? God would reward you for it.”
Their laughter died down. Neither of them volunteered to go.
The passage through the gates was paved with cobblestones. The cart quivered and wobbled as it passed. The gates closed behind them, and the priest steered the cart to the right and down a dirt path.
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