My two oldest brothers, Gershom and Iyov, were hefting a long, low table between them, following my mother’s direction about its placement at the center of the courtyard.
“Oh, Eliora, there you are,” said my mother, with a lighthearted clap. “Do you think this is the best place for the bride and groom’s table?”
I surveyed the wide area, gazing over the scattered groupings of rugs and cushions and pillows, upon which our many guests would soon be seated. “I do. They’ll be visible to everyone that way.”
“And you have enough flowers?” she asked, with a tiny wrinkle between her black brows. “Or shall I send a couple of ladies to make more cuttings?”
“I have plenty, Ima. Miri helped me gather so many blooms yesterday that this courtyard will look more like my gardens than the real ones do.”
Miri and I had spent the entirety of the last evening fashioning sturdy vines and blossoms into long garlands that I meant to string up between columns. I’d been waiting until nearly the final hour to remove them from the pots of water they’d been sitting in, soaking up as much moisture as they could.
My mother looped her arm around my waist, her head coming only just to the top of my shoulder. “Thank you for all you have done to prepare for this wedding feast.” She sighed, leaning into me a bit. “I just wish I wasn’t so tired these past few days. I haven’t even been able to help Rina much with the food.”
I pulled her tight to my side, having a vague notion of just why she’d been in need of extra rest lately. “It is my pleasure, Ima. And Rina, Miri, and the other ladies are capable of handling the food for now. We all just want Safira to be pleased.”
“She will, daughter. Of that, I have no doubt.”
I could only hope so. I could not wait to see Safira’s face when she caught sight of this courtyard, bedecked in flickering oil lamps, flowers of every variety, and clusters of joyful guests with well-wishes on their lips. I had forgone most of the night’s sleep to make sure that everything would be perfect and spent every other waking minute worrying that I’d missed some important detail that might upset my mother or the bride. I would sleep when this celebration was over and everyone was happy.
My mother slipped away, darting over to where Gershom and Iyov were standing by the long table. “Oh! No, turn it the other way,” she admonished, her small hands fluttering about like sparrows. “That way they’ll be able to view the dancing easily.”
Yielding to her demand, my older brothers situated the table facing north to south, so not only would Safira and her new husband enjoy the music and dances, but they’d have sight of the sunset as it painted the sky above the sea on the far horizon.
My grandfather, Abinidab, had told me many years ago that when he and his family had migrated to Kiryat-Yearim to settle atop this mountain, he’d chosen this very spot to build his home because he could watch the sun rise and set without moving from his roof, and therefore could praise Yahweh from dawn to dusk without ceasing. And now, in addition to the home he and my father and uncles had built when my father was just a boy, there were three more large houses here, all adjoining, sharing common space and housing extended family, as well as a number of the Levites who guarded the Ark of the Covenant in its secret location nearby. I missed my grandfather so much, his magnanimous and wise presence having left a giant hole in our home when he went to the arms of his ancestors a year ago, passing the entire mantle of responsibility for the Ark and our clan onto my father’s shoulders.
Once the table was situated to our mother’s satisfaction, Gershom wiped his hands on his tunic, amusement in his dark eyes as he took in Yoela’s harried expression. “What else can Iyov and I do to help you, Ima?”
“We’ll need at least five more jugs of wine brought up from the cellar for tonight,” she replied. “But only five. I don’t want to run out too soon.”
Nodding, Gershom gestured for Iyov to follow along, then gave me a wink as the two set off to do our mother’s bidding. My two eldest brothers were a few years older than me, and deep into their intensive training for Levitical service, so I’d seen little of them lately. Both were also betrothed but would wait until they were of age at twenty-five and prepared to accept their duties as Levites before completing their marriage covenants. In Gershom’s case, it was only a few more months until he and Adi would be united, but Iyov would have two more years before he’d be allowed to claim his sweet young bride, Hodiya.
Their future wives were daughters of one of the Levite guards who lived down in Kiryat-Yearim, so when Gershom and Iyov were not learning Torah and discussing Levitical laws, they were visiting the sisters with whom they were eager to wed. I adored both of my brothers and would always be grateful for how easily they, along with the rest of Elazar and Yoela’s brood, had accepted our adoption into the family.
Even if Natan felt differently.
“Where is Natan?” I asked my mother, realizing that I’d not seen my brother since early this morning as I was departing for the terrace gardens with Miri.
She hummed thoughtfully. “I believe your father sent him down to the village with a message for one of the guards, and Yonah went with him. They ought to be back by now.”
Yonah had been Natan’s shadow for the past few months, at least whenever he deigned to allow the boy to tag along. At eight, Yonah thought Natan could do no wrong, even though I’d had to quietly chastise Natan a number of times for being short-tempered with our younger brother when he struggled to keep up, due to the twisted leg that hindered him. I hoped that today, of all days, Natan was being kind. Nothing put me more on edge than the creeping fear that Elazar and Yoela would once and for all tire of his sullen attitude.
After settling the last of the cushions around the bride and groom’s table, where they would be joined by our parents and those of Safira’s new husband, I slipped out of the courtyard gate and headed for the woodpile on the eastern side of our home, located beneath a sturdy shelter. As Miri had said, Natan had indeed stacked the wood so high that I was forced to stand on the balls of my feet in order to reach the top.
As I was reaching for one of the smaller logs and hoping not to topple the rest, Yonah stormed past, with his small face flushed and brows pinched, ignoring me when I called his name as he limped his way into the house. The door flew closed behind him with a thud, but the latch refused to catch, and it bumped back open a crack.
Natan appeared at my side, easily plucking the wood that I’d been stretching to reach and then holding it out to me with a condescending smirk. No matter that I was as tall as both Gershom and Iyov, Natan was a wide handspan above us all, and likely still growing—a fact he never ceased boasting over.
“What did you do to Yonah?” I asked, grabbing the log from his hand. His golden-brown curls fluttered in the breeze as he shrugged shoulders that seemed far too broad for a boy of fifteen years. Something about the way he carried himself now reminded me so much of our birth father that at times, I had to blink my eyes to clear away the memories.
“I told him he needed to go home. He can’t follow me around all day.”
“He only wants to be with you,” I admonished. “He practically worships you, wishing he could do half of what you can do.”
He winced, a flash of guilt moving over his features as his eyes darted to the door Yonah had slammed behind him. But just as quickly, his face went blank. “He will be fine. He must learn to have thicker skin, anyhow. Besides, Adnan and Padi will be here soon to fetch me.”
“You can’t go off with your friends,” I said, one fist on my hip. “We need your help today.”
His lips pursed, his green and brown eyes narrowing. “I already hiked up and down this mountain twice with messages and hauled three huge pots of grain up from the storeroom—by myself. I’ve done enough.”
“What possible reason do you have for leaving right now? It won’t be long until guests begin arriving. And I could certainly use some help lighting the braziers.”
“A
dnan says there is a fallen oak not too far off. We’re going to begin cutting it up before it rains again.” Although he sounded insistent on leaving with his friends, he began pulling kindling from the woodpile and stacking limbs in the cradle of my waiting arms. “It’s quality wood. I don’t want it to go to waste.”
The two young men with whom Natan had been spending time lately were not Hebrew at all, but of a Gibeonite tribe that settled in this area long before Mosheh led the tribes of Israel out of Egypt.
Many of the Gibeonites were so intermingled and intermarried with the Hebrews that they’d all but forgotten their heritage. But some, like the family of Adnan and Padi, proudly boasted of their ancient Amorite ancestry and the way their forebears used an elaborate ruse to convince Yehoshua they were travelers from a far land, instead of from within the territories allotted to the tribes of Benjamin and Yehudah. They’d also not forgotten that the city of Kiryat-Yearim itself had once been theirs.
I’d wondered if Natan felt a sense of kinship with the Gibeonite boys because of their foreignness, and therefore chose them above Hebrew boys to associate with. But that did not stop me from being uneasy with their friendship. For the most part, Gibeonites adhered to our civil laws, a stipulation of their agreement with Yehoshua, but that certainly did not mean they worshiped Yahweh.
“I am sure the tree will be fine for a few days,” I said, shifting the burden in my arms, “and you need to be with your family.”
From the corner of my eye, I noticed that Adnan and Padi had appeared at the head of the trail, both with axes on their shoulders. The two of them were nearly equal to Natan in height, although both were a few years older than him. But something about the way they stared at me as they approached made the hair on the back of my neck prickle.
After adding one more piece of wood to my armload, my brother turned, his long-legged stride carrying him a few paces away before I could react.
“Natan!” I called out, but he did not answer.
“Natan!” I repeated, louder this time, but still he refused to respond as he walked away. I gritted my teeth, knowing he would not relent, and annoyed that he would win this battle.
“Lukio!”
Finally, he halted, turning his neck to look at me with a smile tainted by mockery.
“Be back before nightfall,” I said, my stomach curling in on itself at the sneer on my beloved brother’s face as he turned away.
“Please!” I rasped in desperation. “For me. And for Safira.”
Without looking back, he lifted a hand, as if silently assenting to my plea. The tightness in my throat eased a bit. Out of all of our adopted siblings, Safira was the most tenderhearted, and I knew he would not hurt her willfully.
But even as I headed back toward the courtyard with my load of kindling and back toward the many duties that awaited me before the wedding feast, I was plagued by the unrelenting feeling that the tides were pulling my brother farther and farther out to sea.
Thirteen
Ronen
The entire town of Kiryat-Yearim seemed to be gathered within this courtyard, its overflow filling the flat-topped roofs all around with chattering wedding guests. Since the death of his father, Elazar had headed this set-apart community nestled near the thick-forested summit, and it seemed that the once-small settlement had grown into a formidable compound under his leadership.
Upon our arrival earlier, my cousin Machlon and I had been told that tonight was the culmination of a days-long wedding feast, the invitation open to all who lived in the homes scattered about the slopes below, and therefore we’d seized upon the opportunity to look around without cause for suspicion.
Across the courtyard, Machlon was deep in conversation with a few of the Levites we’d be living among over the next few weeks, his hearty chuckle ringing out in response to some jest. As usual, his honeyed charm drew in the flies, a skill he was putting to good use tonight.
I accepted a refill from one of the women who strolled about the courtyard, wine jug in hand, giving her a distracted nod of thanks as I skimmed my gaze over the line of the roofs, the placement of each window, and the path of each stairway that led to the rooftops.
The notes of a familiar tune fluttered to life from a double-pipe, drawing my attention from my surveillance toward the lively dance that was forming to one side of the gathering. Soon a ring of men encircled another made up of women, moving in opposite directions as the melody chased back and forth between the pipe and a long-necked lute.
The dancers laughed and teased one another as they wove in and out, the men’s deep voices chanting questions to the ladies, who responded in sly tones. The bride and groom eventually were looped into the center of the circle, the rest of the dancers whirling around them with claps and shouts of blessings for a long life together. I’d seen this dance performed many times, each with slight variations, but had never participated myself, being still unmarried. I had no desire to be within such a circle any time soon. I had far more important plans that took precedence.
Perhaps when this was all over, I’d settle and have children, ease into my life serving at the Mishkan whenever my turn came along. But not until my task was complete.
As the dance ended, someone announced that the daughters of Elazar would be performing next, and the dancing ground was cleared for the bride and her five sisters, including the two youngest, who appeared to be about three and five years of age. Elazar and his wife must have been blessed with more children after I’d left Kiryat-Yearim. His quiver was certainly full now, although I’d thought he’d had only three daughters back then, so I must have been mistaken. This dance was slower, led by the gentle pluck of harps and incorporating a variety of colorful scarves that floated through the air in well-coordinated grace. But my eyes were drawn to the tallest of the four young women. Her hair was hidden beneath a tightly wound headscarf the color of mud, but it seemed to be a much lighter shade than that of her sisters. And her skin was paler, more like unfinished sycamore than varnished olive.
Though she moved smoothly through the dance, her long limbs creating graceful arcs as she dipped and swayed to the music, she kept her eyes cast down, seeming embarrassed that so many were watching. I suspected that were I closer I would even see a tinge of rosy blush on her cheeks. But in spite of her discomfort at being the center of attention, or perhaps because of it, I could not look away from her as she swirled her scarves, one green and one blue, in a flashing circle of color around her body.
When the dance concluded, many in the crowd rushed forward to praise the performance, but the tall woman seemed to be excluded from much of this. With a tight smile, she nodded acceptance of a few exclamations, but then crouched down to embrace her youngest sisters and kiss their foreheads, pride for their contribution to the dance evident in her glowing smile. However, as soon as the little girls darted away, she slithered through the crowd, head down, and moved toward the far edge of the courtyard, where she grabbed one of the lit oil lamps from a nearby table and then mounted the stairs, her long legs taking the stone steps two at a time.
Without examining too closely my reasons for choosing her instead of one of the other sisters, I began to follow at a discreet distance. My goal tonight was to ask the right questions of those closest to Elazar, and I would not let this opportunity slip away. Having grown up in this compound, she would know every tree and rock on the mountain and therefore was a valuable asset.
Standing in the corner where the parapets met, the woman peered over the edge toward the path that led to the town below, her lamp flickering near her elbow. Intrigued, I leaned against the low wall a few paces away and waited, wondering what she could possibly be searching for out there in the darkness when the entire city was within the walls of her family’s well-lit compound.
She ran a palm up and down her arm, an action that I took more for unease than a chill, since even up here on the mountain the air was pleasant. She rolled to the balls of her feet, her long neck stretching as she
peered into the deepening shadows. Then, slumping, she bowed her head and remained still for a long while.
“What are you looking for so intently out there?” I asked, glad she’d handed me a reason to initiate conversation. She flinched and spun around, eyes wide and a hand over her heart.
I lifted my palms. “I apologize for startling you. But you seemed upset.”
Her brows came together as she searched my face, which was likely as shrouded in shadows as her own, now that the sun had nearly melted into the horizon. “My brother is missing, I’m afraid.”
“Your brother missed the wedding feast?”
She sighed, a sardonic smile tilting her full lips. “It’s not the first important gathering he has avoided. And I doubt it will be the last.”
“He’s run off like this before?”
She sighed wearily. “He has. Although never for so long.” She scrubbed at her arm again, a deep pinch between her brows. “It’s been nearly three days.”
“How old is he?”
“Fifteen years.”
“Ah. Plenty old enough to know better than to worry his family.”
“One would think,” she said, and the sound of grief was heavy in her tone. “But it is not so simple as that.”
Strange that only this young woman was so distressed about the missing boy, while the rest of his family members were occupied with entertaining their guests below. Something about the way she clung to the edges of the celebration, engaging but not fully participating, unsettled me, like the last in an upward line of notes left unplayed.
“What is your name?” I asked.
She tilted her chin, studying me for a moment. “Eliora.”
“A lovely name,” I said with a smile that usually set lashes to fluttering back in my hometown. I took two slow steps toward her, hoping she would not bolt. “I am Ronen, one of the Levitical musicians who’ve been sent here to assist with the upcoming celebrations.”
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