To Dwell among Cedars

by Connilyn Cossette

  “Where is what?” The peddler scowled as he placed his hand atop a stack of ceramic bowls that shivered when Lukio knocked into the handcart in a bid to peer inside.

  “The Hebrew box,” I pressed. “Where did they take it when it was turned away at the gates?”

  The man furrowed his brows. “How am I to know? It’s gone. That is all that matters.”

  “I need to know. Please.”

  “Why, dear?” asked the woman, the words lisping through her rotted front teeth.

  How could I explain that I was looking for a supposedly cursed object that an old Hebrew woman told me to follow because of a dream? My mind stuttered as I tried to think of an explanation, hoping it would be convincing.

  “Because it killed my aunt and uncle, and I want to make sure that my brother and I are far away from it,” I said, allowing nerves to wobble my voice. “Please tell me where it is so we can stay far, far away.”

  Although the peddler continued scowling at us, the woman stepped closer. “There is no need to worry. I heard that all five kings are meeting somewhere to the east of here, making a plan for what is to be done with the Hebrews’ magic box. It won’t be brought back here. You have no cause to fear.” She placed her bony hand on my shoulder, her gaze skimming over Lukio’s dirty face before coming back to me. “Are the two of you alone?”

  Although her body smelled of stale sweat and other foul things, the instinct to unburden myself was strong. But something in her red-rimmed eyes gave me pause, causing me to snap my lips closed before I could divulge our secrets to these strangers. And I did not like the way her man was looking at us now, chin tilted and eyes narrowed, like he was weighing us on a bartering scale.

  “My cousin is here somewhere,” I said, letting my gaze break away as if I was searching him out. “We should go find him. I’m sure he is wondering where we are.”

  “Who is your cousin? Perhaps I can help you find him,” said the woman, her fingers tightening on my shoulder.

  “No need. We will be fine,” I said, hoping she would not press further.

  “Your accent is not local. Where are you from?” A note of suspicion dropped into her voice, and a strange look passed between her and the peddler, one that made the hair on my neck stand on end.

  “We need to go,” I said, snagging the back of Lukio’s tunic and shrugging away from the woman’s hold as I spun around and yanked him along with me. A silent warning blared in my head, and I cursed myself for even approaching the peddlers. I would not be so foolish next time.

  “Wait! I’ll help you find your cousin,” the woman called out, lurching toward us and swiping for Lukio. But her hand swished through the air as we bolted away, and I thanked every god in the sky that my brother did not balk at my hasty retreat.

  “Run!” I shouted, gripping his hand tightly and leading him into the crush of bodies.

  More than a few shouts and snarls accompanied our flight as I pushed through the market with my brother trailing behind me and my heart thundering in my chest.

  By the time I slackened my pace, we were well free of the market but also far from the gates. In my panic, I’d headed in the opposite direction, and we were now on the far side of Ekron, where the air was tinged with acrid smoke from kilns and forges. These streets were filled with tradesmen carrying pots or baskets on their shoulders, or hefting bushels of sticks to fuel fires. The persistent clang of metal on metal echoed from smoky blacksmith booths.

  “Look, Risi!” said Lukio, skidding to a stop. “They’re throwing dice.”

  I followed my brother’s exuberant gesture to a group of boys gathered in the shadow of a trio of acacia trees down the street. They cheered and whooped at the latest toss, and Lukio began to walk toward them, his hand wrapped around the leather pouch at his neck.

  I grabbed his arm. “No. We need to leave this city.” Although it seemed we’d successfully dodged the peddlers, I had no desire to remain in Ekron. Especially if the Ark was nowhere within its walls.

  “But I can win, Risi,” he said. “And then I will buy you some food.”

  The dull gleam of silver pieces winked at me from the dirt in the center of the game. Unlike in Ashdod, these boys seemed to be wagering for more than just shells or trinkets.

  “We will find food elsewhere,” I said, touched by his offer to procure food, as if he was the one responsible for our sustenance. “It’s time to go.”

  “But I am good. Only Tombaal was better than me,” Lukio said, his jaw setting and a stubborn crinkle forming between his brows. “And Mataro taught me some new tricks too.”

  The name of our cousin halted any softening I might have had toward the idea. I had no doubt that whatever tricks Mataro had taught Lukio were dishonest. He would only succeed in getting himself beaten up by those older boys.

  “No,” I said, my resolve hardening. “We must leave, now.”

  “But, Risi—”

  “We will find another way,” I said, pulling him behind me as I headed in the other direction. “For now we need to get out of this city and find someplace to pass the night.”

  Although he struggled against my hold for a few moments, grumbling that I was being unfair, he followed me through the maze of back streets, since I was determined to avoid another run-in with the peddlers.

  However, to my dismay, some sort of commotion blocked our exit from the city. A large group of men and women had congregated just inside the entrance, all with expectant eyes turned toward the gates. As a glut of people entered Ekron, moving in our direction with loud voices and shouts, Lukio and I skittered off the side, then climbed atop an empty stone bench and pressed our backs to the wall.

  “Is it a parade?” asked Lukio.

  Could it be the Ark being brought into Ekron? My heart fluttered at the idea, but then I remembered how the woman had said it had been turned away a few days ago when the people rebelled.

  When the true reason for the furor was made clear, I was just as slack-jawed as Lukio at the incredible sight.

  He stood nearly three heads taller than anyone else in the group of soldiers that accompanied him, his body built like a ship at full mast. With the feathered headdress of a Philistine soldier and a gleaming iron battle-ax slung between his wide shoulders, the giant of a man drew every eye as he passed through the gates, each stride equal to three of my own.

  I’d heard of a few of these enormous men in our midst, mercenary warriors whose imposing size and vicious natures made our enemies’ knees tremble, but I’d never seen one with my own eyes.

  “Who is that?” Lukio asked, without removing his gaze from the enormous man, whose smug grin and swaggering gait seemed to inflame the burgeoning crowd. They screamed and whistled, jostling to be closer.

  “One of the last of the Anakim,” I replied, having heard the word from Azuvah when she spoke of the giants who inhabited the land of Canaan before the Hebrews cut most of them down. “There are said to be fearless in battle.”

  “I want to be that big someday,” he said. “And fearless too.”

  Amused by the awe in his voice, I slipped an arm around his shoulder and squeezed him to my side before placing a kiss on his sweaty curls. “I have no doubt you will be.”

  Taking advantage of the distraction that the giant man caused with his ostentatious arrival, Lukio and I jumped from our perch and slipped through the crowd and out of the gates, directly beneath the noses of the preoccupied guards.

  The old woman had said that the kings were meeting east of the city, so instead of returning back toward the stand of junipers where we’d slept the morning away, I led Lukio onto the eastern road toward the rolling hills on the horizon, determined to obey Azuvah’s commands to the very last.

  Lukio found a stick on the side of the road and entertained himself by tossing rocks into the air and attempting to hit them as we walked. I was surprised at how many he was able to send flying off into the weeds, but then again my brother had always been able to accomplish uncommon ph
ysical feats as far back as I could remember. It was no surprise that Mataro had recognized his potential, even at his young age. Perhaps one day Lukio would indeed rival the giant in brawn.

  Our father had been the same way—a champion in wrestling matches, a towering and thick-muscled warrior, and a seafaring trader who hefted enormous jugs full of olive oil into the hull of his ship like they were nothing more than feather pillows. Lukio was similar to him in so many ways, like the gods had remade my father into a perfect replica. I’d survived when my father had taken his grief with him and left us behind, but I was determined that nothing would separate Lukio and me, no matter what cost I had to pay.

  The sun was near to setting by the time we approached a small hamlet, the tiny group of four houses set away from the road and near the river. Seeing nowhere else to pass the night and knowing that darkness would soon be upon us, I decided to take shelter in the nearby olive grove, hoping that none of the inhabitants of the homes would stumble upon us.

  Before I guided Lukio into the orchard, I stood on the road, wondering where the kings of Philistia would have possibly taken the Ark. There was nothing to the west of us except a herd of cattle grazing the fertile pasturelands, and nothing to the east but a dark ridge of mountains in the far distance.

  Where is it, Azuvah? Was your dream a lie? I shivered at the implications that Lukio and I had come so far in pursuit of nothing more than a mirage.

  Turning my back on whatever ghosts we were chasing and desperately wishing Azuvah were here to calm my fears so I could do the same for Lukio, I led my brother off the road and found a place at the foot of an ancient tree, where the thick roots created a natural cradle large enough for both of us.

  After we fashioned a nest from fallen leaves and weeds and settled into its lumpy embrace, I reached into the leather satchel to retrieve the three remaining portions of bread. I handed Lukio two of them, telling him that although I’d been the one to win the contest between us, I was not hungry enough for both pieces. He frowned at me, likely seeing through my lie, but his stomach must have overcome his hesitation because he devoured the bread without further comment.

  I divided the watery wine between the two of us, again ensuring that the greater portion went to Lukio, but tipping the last of the bitter liquid into my mouth made my stomach hollow out. When would we be able to find more food? And how would I make sure the two of us survived out here in the open? I’d lived my entire life in Ashdod, with every meal provided to me and no wild animals to fend off. We had nothing more than a small knife Azuvah had put in the satchel and the one woolen blanket between us.

  Meaning to cover Lukio, who’d already curled up in the bed of leaves like a contented pup, I pulled the blanket from the pack. Something fluttered to the ground. Something blue and white and all too familiar. Azuvah had severed the knotted strings from her wrist and sent the makeshift bracelet with us.

  Intuition slithered through me. Somehow Azuvah must have known she would not be with us on this journey. That we would be alone and would have need of a reminder of her devotion to us. With my eyes burning, I tied the ends together in a sturdy knot and slid it over my own wrist, knowing that I would never again remove the worn but precious gift.

  Lukio was already asleep, his mouth slack in his exhaustion. For a long while, I watched my brother breathe steadily, glad that he was oblivious to the dangers that lay beyond this small clearing. I could not fail him. I would not.

  Laying my weary body down beside his and nestling close to share warmth, I prayed that we would be invisible to both man and beast alike. Pushing aside the barrage of fears and doubts, I squeezed my eyes tight, hoping that tomorrow some idea of how to survive in this new and frightening world would make itself known.

  Seven

  The insistent bawling of a calf woke me. I sat up, peering beneath the lowest branches toward the empty road about twenty paces away. The calf bellowed again, the thready call slicing through the hush of dawn and was soon joined by another of a similar pitch.

  Lukio stirred to life as well, scrubbing the sleep from his eyes. “What is that?”

  “Nothing,” I said. “Sounds like a farmer weaning a couple of calves.” I’d heard talk of such things from my uncle as he discussed management of the herd sanctified for temple sacrifices with his steward, but the brays from the calves were so high-pitched and reedy it almost seemed as though they were newly born instead of ready to wean from mother’s milk.

  My brother’s empty stomach made its own call of displeasure and when he rubbed his belly, as if somehow his palm could wipe away the hunger, I decided that I’d been too hasty in rebuffing his offer yesterday.

  First, we would search out water. There must be some source nearby that the farmers used to water their crops and stock, and then we would return to Ekron and I would let him throw dice. If there was even a small chance he could win and earn something to fill our stomachs, we had to take it. When our hunger was assuaged, I would think about where to go next.

  I explained my plan to Lukio as we scrambled from our hiding place, shaking the debris from our tunics. The sun had only just parted ways with the horizon, the dawn rising over the low hills that divided the coastal plains upon which our people had settled from the peaks and valleys wherein the Hebrews resided.

  “Look, Risi!” said Lukio, gesturing through the trees toward the road. A lone wagon plodded by at the same time the two calves in the distance cried out again.

  The wagon jerked to the right as one of the red-coated cows stumbled as she called back over her shoulder, her heavy udders swaying. The other cow, who also looked to be nursing, did not return the plaintive plea of her calf, which must be penned up within one of the houses in the hamlet, but instead continued on, head down, looking determined as any ox trained to the yoke as she forced her companion to keep moving forward.

  What was even more bewildering was that no one seemed to be driving the cows. The two-wheeled cart held something covered with a swath of white linen as it bumbled along the road, driverless and unaccompanied.

  But before I could make sense of the strange situation, the crunch of wheels off to the southwest startled me. I jerked Lukio down into the tall weeds, the sight before me even more confusing than two milk cows pulling a wagon. A caravan of chariots was following fifty paces behind, their polished iron wheels flashing a circular rhythm and the riders inside them dressed in full military regalia.

  My eyes were likely just as wide as Lukio’s as the eight regal vehicles and a large company of foot soldiers passed us in the same achingly slow cadence as the cow-drawn wagon. The noise of wheels and sandals on the rutted and stony path drowned out both the thudding of my heartbeat in my temples and my brother’s exclamations about the heavily armed men who rode by with their eyes on the unmanned wagon ahead of them.

  Two of the chariots carried priests, their embroidered tunics similar to the ones my uncle Harrom had worn during temple services. The other five seemed to be carrying men of great importance, who wore headdresses more ornate than the other soldiers and decorated with tall feathers dyed a deep purple. One of the faces was well-known to me. I’d caught glimpses of him many times during celebrations, seen him ride through the city on a black stallion dressed in royal garb, and watched him gloat over the Hebrews’ defeat on the porch of Dagon’s temple—the king of Ashdod.

  I was reminded of the words of the woman in the marketplace “. . . all five kings are meeting somewhere to the east of here, making a plan for what is to be done with the Hebrews’ magic box.”

  In the distance, the wagon plodded forward at an excruciatingly slow pace, wandering from one side of the well-worn path to the other like a pebble rolling haphazardly down one of the storm drain channels in the streets in Ashdod. One corner of the linen had slipped away from the cargo, and the barest glint of gold shimmered in the morning light. Any worry about where we would find food and water dissipated as I realized exactly what the wagon was carrying.

 
; As soon as the final chariot and its escort ambled by, I turned to Lukio, both of us still crouching in the shoulder-high weeds.

  “We have to follow that wagon,” I said. “The Hebrew box was inside.”

  His brows furrowed deeply. “But you said we would go back to the city so I could throw dice. I want to win you some food, Risi.”

  “I know I said that. But this is more important.”

  His gaze floated off toward Ekron in the distance.

  “Listen,” I said, gripping his shoulders so he would look at me. “I know it is hard to understand, but this is what Azuvah told us to do, Lukio. She always watched out for us, didn’t she?”

  He nodded his chin.

  “And she never told us a lie or mistreated us, correct?”

  Although he scowled, he did not argue the point.

  “She told me to follow that box, no matter what. She even had dreams about it.”

  He grimaced in confused disbelief.

  “I don’t understand it either, but I know this is the right way.” I placed my hands on his face, staring into his uniquely colored eyes. “Please. Trust me.”

  After a few moments, he nodded again, and I sighed in relief.

  “Won’t those soldiers see us?” he asked.

  “We won’t let them,” I said. “We will keep off the road, walk behind the trees and in the brush.”

  “Like spies again?” he asked, a note of intrigue tugging his voice upward.

  “Exactly like spies.” I grinned at him, making my eyes go wide. “Spies who will outsmart the kings of Philistia and all their men.”

  Lukio’s mischievous laugh was all the sustenance I would need for at least the next few hours. So we placed everything we’d ever known at our backs and followed the Ark.

  The slow progress of the caravan made it easy for us to keep pace, and much to my delight, we passed by two separate creeks along the way, giving us the opportunity to not only drink deeply of clean, sweet water but also to refill our wineskin. To add to our good fortune, our path took us directly through a number of orchards, so our leather satchel was now full of apples, pomegranates, olives, and walnuts, and our bellies were satisfied.