Wings of the Wind

by Connilyn Cossette

  After seeing the swirling Cloud with my own eyes and comprehending Yahweh’s power, the idea that Ba’al was the god of storms was almost laughable. There was only one God who had commanded the sea to split in two and one God who had crippled Egypt with hail and fire. And that God was no deaf and mute idol of wood and stone. He spoke to me. He heard me in the river. He was alive.

  I corrected each convoluted rumor with the truth as far as I understood it and told Rahab and my mother of my own encounter with the God who had spoken directly to my heart. The distinct scars from the snakebites on my leg testified to the truth of my healing, but I suspected both of them had trouble reconciling everything they had known with my impossible experiences with the Hebrews.

  “They are coming, Moriyah,” I said, placing my hand over hers on the windowsill. “I can feel it in my bones. You will embrace your family soon.” I only hoped they would not hold it against her that she had been living in a brothel.

  At first, I had attributed Rahab’s fine clothing and beautiful furnishings to a wealthy husband, but it did not take long to realize that she was unmarried, and where exactly the gold and silver came from. The back of her hand was tattooed with the same mark as my mother’s—the crescent moon embracing the sun-wheel, the symbol of Ba’al and his consort, Ashtoreth. Rahab had been a temple prostitute at one time as well.

  This inn was situated near the gates of the city and guests were lodged in the rooms below us, where Rahab and a few other women tended to their comfort. Although Rahab was discreet with her business, and Ohel guarded us and Rahab’s two little girls when she was gone, Moriyah was anything but ignorant.

  But we truly had no other place to go. The day after my mother rescued us, she had returned to her husband’s citrus orchard outside the gates and discovered that Mishabel had offered the guards a special prize for finding one red-haired woman and one raven-haired girl. We were trapped inside Jericho’s walls. Trapped inside Rahab’s home, no matter what disgusting things went on below us.

  For her part, Rahab was unrepentant when I confronted her, to the point of flippancy, but I could see the toll this life had taken on her. Although she was three years younger than I, she seemed aged beyond me, beaten down by the life she led and the burden of the business she’d built with her own degradation. The same shadows haunted her brown eyes that haunted my mother’s—regret, shame, loss. All things I was well acquainted with.

  My ambivalence toward my mother’s presence was a constant thorn beneath my skin. Though my heart flipped with mystifying delight whenever she visited, I could not bring myself to say more than a few words to her and, more often than not, escaped to the other room when she came.

  Moriyah intruded into my thoughts with the last words I expected. “Tobiah is coming too. Perhaps he will be here for his daughter’s birth.”

  There was nothing I wanted more than for her hopeful words to be true. Every night I lay in my comfortable bed, wishing to be in Tobiah’s arms instead, wandering through every moment of our brief months together—hunting, laughing, reveling in our oneness.

  I exhaled. “Moriyah. He has surely been married to Keziah for months. He probably already has another child on the way.” I winced at my own conclusion. “He will want nothing to do with me, or this one.” I covered my belly with a hand, as if I could protect the child from the truth, but my insides twisted into knots until I nearly groaned.

  “That is a lie. And you know it is.” She pushed away from the window with a scowl. “I’m going to entertain Amaya and Lissa. At least they listen to me.” Rahab’s two small girls adored Moriyah and were never far from her side.

  I turned to apologize for my brusqueness, but the twisting inside me suddenly became a deep pressure that shot up my back with the force of a bolt of lightning. I bent forward, gasping for breath.

  Moriyah’s eyes locked on mine. “I’ll go get Ohel,” she said. “You need Rahab.”

  I grunted as a wave of pain reverberated through my body, along with a fresh realization. “And Tashara,” I ground out through my teeth as I sank onto the bed. “I need my mother.”

  An arrow through the shoulder was nothing. I would take ten arrows if it meant this fiery pain would cease—twenty! I hissed out a loud breath through my teeth and then bore down as Rahab commanded. It was too dangerous to summon a midwife; my mother and sister had to do. If anything good came of their profession, it was experience birthing children.

  “The top of the head is visible, Alanah,” said Rahab. “You are doing well.”

  Shira’s melodic voice sprang to my mind, and I longed for her calm presence and the wisdom built from nearly forty years of guiding children to mothers’ arms. What if something went wrong? Would Rahab know what to do? What if the child did not breathe? Another contraction seized my body in its maniacal grip and I bit my lip against screaming out, tasting blood from the effort.

  Rahab let out a little gasp of breath, a sound of surprise and confusion. My mother tilted her head to examine what had shocked my sister, and her eyes widened as her jaw dropped.

  “What is it?” My heart beat a frantic warning signal. “What’s wrong with the baby?”

  “The baby is fine,” said my mother with a tight smile. “Keep pushing.”

  I glanced back and forth between the two women. Their eyes guarded secrets. “You are lying! She’s dead, isn’t she?” My voice went shrill, but I could not control the rise of panic boiling higher and higher. “I knew it! I killed her too!”

  “Alanah.” My mother leaned down, putting both hands on either side of my face. “Kalanit. Hush.”

  The endearment reached into my earliest childhood memories, brushing its soft fingers along my mind like the petals of a kalanit, one of the graceful flowers that washed the highlands in red-headed beauty every spring—the flowers my mother had always compared me to as she whispered love into my ear at bedtime. Although I had not heard her nickname for me since I was three years old, the sound of it washed over me like a cool stream. I blinked acceptance of her quiet command.

  “Good,” she said. “Now push. I want to meet my grandchild.”

  After a few more excruciating pushes, the baby slid free of my body. Release thrummed through me, followed by immediate terror. Why were Rahab and my mother so quiet? Where was the baby’s cry?

  “Alanah. Look.” Rahab gestured for me to move closer to the end of the bed. “You must see this.”

  The sight that met my eyes was beyond comprehension. My baby squirmed on the soft blanket where Rahab had placed her. But the tiny body was fully enclosed in a transparent sac. She yawned and flexed her foot, as if unaware that she had emerged from the womb.

  “It’s a sign,” whispered my mother. “A sign from the gods.”

  “No.” I smiled through tears that I could do nothing to prevent and suddenly had no desire to stop. “It is a sign from the One True God. He heard my prayers and preserved this child. He was with her. He enclosed her in his protection.”

  Rahab pressed a long fingernail against the membrane that surrounded the infant and it burst, releasing a gush of waters. After freeing the baby from the film that clung to her, she lifted her up to me, just as the tiny girl voiced her displeasure at being deprived of her warm enclosure. I curled her against my skin, feeling as if my heart were beating outside my body. A rush of enveloping love spread through me as I examined her tiny features with one finger; her snubbed little nose, the full bottom lip that pressed out from beneath a thin one—just like mine—eyes the same shape as the man I loved, and the damp traces of wispy red curls smashed against her scalp.

  “My daughter,” I whispered. “Natanyah. My gift from Yahweh.”

  37

  25 ADAR

  1406 BC

  Natanyah squawked beside me, grasping the air with tiny fists, entertained by the shaft of sunlight that flooded across the bed. A surge of emotion swelled in my throat, until my eyes were swimming. I was smitten. Her every sniffle and coo put me on alert. I hea
rd them even in my sleep. She was everything good and beautiful and graceful wrapped into one sweet bundle of flailing arms and legs. She turned her face toward me, perhaps distracted by the sway of shadows and light cast by the crimson curtain fluttering next to the open window. No—it was me she watched, her large eyes, still a muddle of midnight blue after three weeks, glittering. We stared at each other, both of us captivated. If only Tobiah could see her just once—

  Rahab entered the room, interrupting my fruitless yearning. “It’s about time you two layabouts awakened. Moriyah has prepared a delicious meal with no one to eat it.” Moriyah had been thrilled to learn cooking from Ohel, whose knowledge of herbs, spices, and many exotic ingredients fascinated the girl. Since that first taste of pomegranate during our escape, she’d been nearly obsessed with discovering every new flavor this land had to offer.

  “Where are Amaya and Lissa?”

  “The girls went with Ima and Ohel to the market this morning. The early crops are coming in, so they went to fetch some barley.”

  I frowned, unable to hide my disdain about the origin of the silver that paid for that barley.

  “Don’t make that face. I have no other way to provide for my girls.” Rahab knelt down to caress Natanyah’s downy head, already sprouting fine red curls.

  “Perhaps you will meet someone—”

  “No.” She put up a palm. “I won’t live the life our mother does. Scrabbling in the dirt with some lonely farmer, relying on the gods’ miserly rainfalls to make enough money to survive.” She placed her chin on her bare shoulder, casting her gaze around the room. “My girls have a nice home here—their every need is taken care of, they have beautiful clothing and food brought from every corner of the world. It’s a small price to pay for their comfort and safety.”

  “No, it is a horrible price to pay. I have seen another way.” I pulled on her hand, forced her to face me. “Tobiah gave up everything to ensure that I was protected by the laws of Yahweh. He loved me, even though I was his enemy—” My voice choked, but I cleared the emotion away. “And I have heard the voice of the Creator, willing to heal me, even though I set out to kill his people. And look—” I brushed my palm over my daughter’s soft head. “Look how he took care of us.”

  Rahab’s brown eyes filled with tears. “Perhaps there is such grace among the Hebrews, but here . . .” The shadows weighted her gaze again. “Here, there is nothing for me but this life.”

  “And Amaya and Lissa? What will be their fate? Watching the stream of men flow in and out downstairs as they grow older? What if one of those men harms them?”

  She shook her head, the wild curls bouncing. “No. That is why I employ Ohel. He ensures the girls are occupied and safe when I . . . entertain.”

  My stomach flipped. “They are tiny now, but do you think they will remain ignorant? Do you not think they will question all this?” I swept my hand around in a circle, gesturing to the richly appointed curtains, the intricate wall-hangings from Egypt, the patterned rugs, and finally, the gold jewelry gracing Rahab’s neck and the extravagantly woven dress she wore.

  Rahab folded her arms across her chest, displaying our familial obstinate jaw-set. “I have done what I had to do. Just as you have done.”

  I sighed. “Perhaps. But I have learned that there is always a choice, and Yahweh has a plan. Even if I am not among the Hebrews, there is a reason for all of this. I know it. Otherwise, I would not have been kidnapped and ended up here practically at your threshold, and our mother would not have recognized me.”

  Rahab’s glare began to melt, until a forlorn expression crossed her face—a face that seemed so much older than it should, older than mine in many respects. “Well then, your God, this Yahweh, had better show up soon, because I am tired. If I could give it up and just run this house as an inn, I would do it. But my reputation goes before me, visitors want more than just a bed to sleep in and a meal. I have tried to stop, I have, but I am afraid. And who would ever want to marry me?”

  “I know, sister.” I could not imagine the humiliation Rahab had endured, but I understood desperation, worthlessness. I covered her hand with my own. “I know.”

  I had known nothing of this sister; my mother had fled the farm before my father even knew she was pregnant. But in the past few months we had kindled a friendship—a stilted one at first, neither of us knowing how to reconcile the gap between us, but something that had been broken seemed to be mending on its own. Something I had not even known was missing from my life.

  “Why? Why did you choose this path, Rahab?”

  A pained look contorted her face. “I was snatched, one day in an alley when my stepfather brought me into town to sell olives from our groves. I had sneaked off to chase a stray cat. One of the temple guards saw me and took me. I was not even twelve. I was hidden inside the compound, the same one you were imprisoned in.” She pulled at the necklace around her throat as if it suffocated her suddenly. “Over the next few months, they convinced me it was what I wanted. When my mother . . . our mother . . . found me and begged me to come home, I sneered at her and turned my back on her.”

  “How did you get away from the temple, if you were so convinced that it was the life you wanted?”

  “I got pregnant.”

  “With Amaya?”

  She shook her head. “The first one . . . they took it. Before I even held him in my arms.” She turned her face away. “He was offered to Ba’al the same day.”

  The horrific memories of the sacrifices filled my senses again, plunging me back into the sights and smells of evil. Rahab had lost a child to such barbarity? I gripped her hand, wishing I had more than platitudes to offer.

  She sniffed, smiling and blinking away the evidence of grief. “Then, when I became pregnant with Amaya, I asked to be set free.”

  “And the head priestess? Why did she let you go without a fight?”

  “A few weeks before, I’d overheard two of the priests planning to assassinate the king. He owed me a favor for saving his life. Mishabel was forced to go along with his demand for my freedom. If she had protested, it would have brought attention to the fact that she was most probably part of the plot. Instead, she had to let me go, publicly thank me for my service to the king, and congratulate me after he gifted me a chest full of gold and jewels. I bought this old inn with my reward, since the proximity to the gate makes for a steady stream of customers.”

  I winced at the casual indifference with which she described her trade. “Since I have a head for business, I’ve done well for myself, as you can see. But Mishabel would do anything to get back at me for the deaths of her two favorite priests—another reason I employ Ohel.”

  The door opened and my mother strode inside, holding Lissa in one arm and gripping Amaya’s hand with the other. Two dark-haired men followed her, their wide eyes taking in the well-appointed room. Almost as one, Rahab and I moved to stand in the doorway between the rooms, between the men and my infant daughter. Behind the strangers, Ohel stepped inside and shut the door, the stony expression on his face unreadable. Moriyah stood off to the side, a basket of fresh bread in her hands, shrinking against the wall as if she could melt into the mud brick to hide. If only she could.

  “Who are these men, Mother?” The authority in Rahab’s voice was unmistakable—this sister of mine had no fear.

  Instead of answering Rahab, my mother turned to me. “Alanah, you must listen to what these men have to say.”

  What tale had these men spun that had persuaded my mother to bring them here? What if they were spies for Mishabel? “Mother, why did you bring them here? What if they tell—”

  “Go ahead, Shaul,” she interrupted, gesturing toward the taller of the two men. “This is the daughter I told you of.”

  The men glanced at each other, wide-eyed, before the one called Shaul stepped forward, his brown eyes boring through me with an intensity that nearly made me step backward. “Shalom. We have come here from the land across the river.”

&n
bsp; Were they Moabites on the run from Yehoshua’s army? Their tunics were similar to Ohel’s, but something about the way Shaul spoke, slow and careful, as if searching for the correct words, along with the way the younger man shifted from foot to foot, gave me pause. I searched their clean-shaven faces for signs of deceit. A long scratch along Shaul’s jaw caught my attention, as if he’d nicked himself with a blade like a man unused to shaving his beard.

  With a quick glance at the open window, Shaul allowed his voice to drop low, slipping into a dialect with which I was very familiar, one I had heard every day for the four best months of my life. “We are Hebrews. And we are coming to take this city.”

  38

  The men ate the meal Moriyah had prepared as I fidgeted in my seat, desperate for news of the Hebrews. The idea that Hebrew men sat at my sister’s table, men who could possibly know Tobiah, swirled around inside my head until a question bubbled out of me. “How long until they come?”

  They startled at my use of their own dialect.

  Shaul raised a thick black brow. “So, it’s true, what your mother said—you were among us?”

  “I was. I was married to Tobiah, of the clan of Shelani, tribe of Yehudah.”

  Shaul scratched his chin, scowling as if the sensation of being clean-shaven annoyed him. “I don’t know him. Do you, Peniah?”

  The younger man shook his head. He seemed almost loath to speak to any of us, and his dark eyes roamed the room with evident disgust, touching on the rich fabrics, the Egyptian-style furnishings, and the exquisite imported bowl that contained the well-spiced lamb he was devouring like a ravenous lion. Although Rahab’s profession disgusted me equally, I felt a spike of defensiveness for his dismissal of my sister.

  Shaul asked for the story of how I came to be with the Hebrews and how Moriyah and I had ended up in Jericho, since my mother had given him only the barest of details. As I recounted the tale, Shaul’s jaw slackened and even Peniah stopped eating long enough to ask how we could have possibly escaped notice as we ran through the countryside. Shaul laughed when I described our days dressed as boys and our escape from the furious vintner. Some of the tension that had entered with the Hebrews dissipated with the telling, so, with a proud little smile, Moriyah went to put a fussy Natanyah to sleep in the other room.