The Walls of Arad Page 2

  “Zadok?”

  He twisted toward the voice. “Jonah? You’re still here?” He stuck out a hand and Jonah pulled him up.

  “You looked like you could use the sleep, so I stayed a while longer than usual. Reuben isn’t here yet, but Micah is. Are you up now?”

  Shivering in the cool morning air of early spring, Zadok brushed off his sheepskin cloak he’d used as a blanket and shrugged into it. “Yes. Thank you for staying. You can go now. Get some sleep yourself.”

  Jonah nodded, then picked up several skins of milk he had gathered and jogged toward camp.

  Zadok picked up the lamb at his feet, checked its ears, eyes, looked in its mouth. “Doing well today, Shika. Now run off.” He moved to another lamb and did the same.

  A third cowered near its ewe trembling. He knelt beside the lamb, ran his hand along its back, down its flanks. What was the problem? Gently taking hold of the head, he pulled the nose toward him. There it was—a nasty scratch on her face. He reached for the horn in the bag tied to his belt. “Hold on, girl. Hold on.” He removed the skin cover, then dipped two fingers into the ram’s horn full of olive oil and rubbed the cool liquid into the wound. The lamb jerked her head at first, but calmed as the oil soothed the sting. “Better now?” He drew his fingers over the rest of her head, checking the rest of her skin just in case.

  He strolled through his flock, inspecting the youngest and the oldest. All present and doing well. He glanced at the low wall they had built soon after Yahweh had decreed the Israelites must remain outside Canaan for forty years. Huge rocks dragged and rolled from the rugged hills south of camp sectioned off an enormous area for the remaining sheep and goats they had then. Three semi-sweet springs fed by an underground river nurtured a pasture, full of grass and safe from predators.

  The majority of the animals they had brought from Egypt had been lost on the way to Mt Sinai. Expecting to be in Canaan in a matter of weeks, many had been slaughtered for food. Others had died for lack of water. The grassy area had been set up for those who wished to continue to keep their flocks, but most lost interest quickly. They kept a sheep or a goat or two, just for some milk, but no one wanted to start breeding animals here, thought it was too much trouble. They wanted to wait until they reached their new home.

  Zadok wanted to have his flock ready when they got there. He loved the work, loved the animals. He had built up a small flock, and intended to have quite a good-sized one before they reached their permanent home in Canaan. Joshua had told him about the grassy hills in the south, perfect for raising sheep. Dotted with springs, there was enough water and food for any flock. It was all Zadok had dreamed of since the first time he held a newborn lamb.

  And when Aaron asked him to give it up…

  But he could still work with the sheep, and he was doing what Yahweh wanted.

  Now the lush pasture of Kadesh was basically his. The low hills that surrounded them on three sides and the noise of the people kept the sheep safe from most predators, but Zadok took no chances and kept at least two people with the flock at all times.

  With the springs, the hills, and the date palms, the oasis had been a perfect place to wait out Yahweh’s judgment of forty years.

  But it wasn’t Canaan. Not the land they had left Egypt for. No one over twenty who escaped that day had been allowed to live to see it because of their unbelief when the scouts returned with their report. Zadok’s parents were still alive, but all four of his grandparents had died. There were few left now.

  His eyes darting back and forth, he scanned the hills, as he did several times every day, searching for anything that might harm his animals. He turned to see Moses coming toward him.

  “Your flock is well cared for, Zadok.” Moses smiled as he took stock of the sheep around him.

  “Thank you. That means a lot coming from another shepherd.”

  “There are times I miss caring for one of Yahweh’s simplest creations.” Neshika loped near and nudged Moses’s leg. The old man bent to pick her up, his staff hooked on his arm.

  Zadok marveled at his agility. Even at one hundred twenty years old, Moses moved with the ease of a man a fraction of his age.

  As Moses held her and stroked her nose, she nuzzled his chest. He laughed. “She’s quite affectionate, isn’t she?”

  Zadok smiled as he rubbed her ears. “That’s why I named her kiss.”

  Moses gently set the lamb on the grass. He leaned on his staff and was quiet for several moments. “I hear Miriam asked you to do something.”

  Zadok huffed, then leveled his gaze at Moses. “Do something? She asked me to marry someone I've never even met.”

  “What did you tell her?”

  “I told her I’d have to think about it.”

  Moses shrugged. “Could be quite an adventure.”

  A chill ran through Zadok. “I don’t like adventures. That’s why I'm a shepherd. I like peace, calm, predictability. It’s the same year after year, season to season. The rains come when they are supposed to. Lambs are born when they are ready. The sun rises every morning.”

  “A life like that can be tedious, my son.”

  Zadok crossed his arms and gazed at the far-off mountains. “Maybe. But it’s safe.”

  “Safe from what?”

  “Danger … risk …”

  “Heartache?”

  “Maybe.”

  Moses studied Zadok and stroked his white beard. “Are you going to hide in the pasture your entire life?”

  “Maybe.” Years of keeping his voice low around the sheep kept Zadok from raising it, but his chest tightened.

  “Just because they didn’t understand you, doesn’t mean everyone won’t.”

  “I won’t go through that again.”

  Moses’s eyes were gentle. “Miriam wouldn’t let you.”

  Zadok rubbed his thumbnail on his lower lip. “I just can’t,” he whispered.

  Moses pursed his lips. “Have you considered that this is what Yahweh, and not just Miriam, wants from you?”

  Zadok breathed a heavy sigh. “Why would you think that?”

  “For one, Miriam rarely makes decisions involving others, especially to this extent, without hearing from Yahweh. Second, she has known you since you were born. Do you really think she would do something so serious, on her own, if she had any inkling it would hurt you? And third, in my experience Yahweh seems to take a particular delight in turning our world end over end when we are at our most content.”

  Moses turned and left without waiting for a response.

  Most content. Was Zadok content? He’d limited his world to a narrow, carefully controlled existence, designed to keep out pain and loss. It worked, as far as that went. He had been free of pain and loss since …

  But content?

  Probably not.

  Two

  23rd day of Shevat

  ARISHA RELAXED ON the bank of the spring and slipped off her sandals. She rolled her neck and sighed as she dug her feet and hands deep into the warm sand, the heat drawing the tension out of her body.

  Winter dragged on. There wasn’t as much rain here as there was in Arad, but there was a little. At least there would be an abundance of flowers popping up all over the oasis—something to be thankful for. A few anemones already bloomed, their deep blood red blaring against the sand.

  She wrapped her arms around herself in the cooling evening. Miriam hadn’t said anything today, or yesterday, but her silence on the matter was loud enough. She was waiting for Arisha's answer. Arisha observed the families as she wandered through camp on her way to the spring; she saw women and children with more women and children. The men were always off drilling for the oncoming wars with the Canaanites, or even when back in camp, they huddled in groups by themselves, away from the women.

  A trilling nearby drew her attention. The same pair of Laughing Doves gathered twigs and sticks and piled them haphazardly in a bare spot in a broom bush. The small nest looked like a stiff breeze could blow it away.
Arisha chuckled dryly. Did they not care if their eggs were safe? Not care about their children? Like her mother.

  She dropped her chin on her knees. Surely all parents couldn’t be like hers. Miriam wasn’t. Moses and Aaron weren’t—she’d seen them with their children and grandchildren. There must be others—many others. Or Israel wouldn’t survive.

  She raised her head. The birds were still busily collecting sticks. She looked closer … only one of the birds picked up the twigs. Which one? The more brightly colored one. She searched her mind. Someone once told her the female was always duller—of course. So the male gathered the sticks and … brought them to the female? She weaved them in and out and crafted a nest, hopping and jumping to test its strength.

  Arisha tilted her head. They worked together. Male and female together. She had never seen that before. Birds were not people, but still …

  Pink and purple shot through the sky as the sun crept lower. A shiver ran through her. Better get back to the tent before dark. She pushed herself up.

  She ambled through the tents of Issachar on her way to the tent. Giggles caught her ear. A father tossed his squealing little girl in the air while the mother laughed. Strange, she’d never noticed anything like that before. Up ahead, a woman swept out a tent. That was more familiar. But then the father walked up with a child in each hand, and kissed the woman on the cheek before they all ducked inside. To her left, a family sat around the fire together.

  She stopped. Could it be that until now, she had seen only what she was used to seeing? Expected to see?

  The next morning, Arisha quietly slipped out of their tent and gathered manna for Miriam as she had every day since she’d arrived. She returned and stirred life into the fire. Miriam was usually up by now, but she’d been tired lately. Perhaps she was still sleeping.

  Arisha picked up the pottery vessel Miriam said she’d carried from Egypt and turned it over in her hands. Not a single crack. The pot looked like it had been made last year, not almost forty years ago.

  The fire flared and she poured a small amount of water in the pot and placed it on a pair of stable sticks over the fire. She opened the jar of manna and dumped two portions into a bowl, then sat back and waited for the water to boil. Down the row of tents, other women and girls did the same. Children ran in and out of tents, their laughter filling the air. Eagle owls screeched as they swooped overhead, returning to their nests after a night of hunting. Ominous Nubian Vultures circled low, searching for those unlucky enough to die before the sun climbed out of bed.

  The bubbling water called her attention back from the azure sky above her. She poured the water into the bowl and stirred the manna into a hot cereal, then divided it into two bowls. She reached for a skin and two cups, and poured two cups of goat’s milk. Miriam still hadn’t appeared.

  Stuffing down growing apprehension, Arisha rose and peered into the tent. Miriam still slept, her unmoving form facing the back. Arisha bit her lip, waited to see if Miriam’s chest rose and fell as she breathed. At last, shallow movement. Should she wake her, or let her sleep? She returned to the fire and took her bowl in hand. She scooped a handful in her mouth, barely noticing the burning sensation on her tongue. A few more bites. Worry took over again and she stepped back inside.

  “Miriam?” She knelt and touched the woman’s shoulder. No response. She gently shook her. “Miriam?” A groan, slow movement. Arisha released a breath.

  Miriam rolled onto her back. She blinked several times, then fixed her gaze on Arisha. She smiled slowly. “Arisha, what’s wrong?”

  “You just slept so late. I was worried.”

  “I did?”

  “I’ve made the morning meal. Most have already eaten.”

  Miriam’s eyes grew wide. “Oh, my. I’m sorry, child. I’ll rise right away.”

  “I’m not trying to hurry you. If you are not well, rest. I only wanted to be sure you are well.” Arisha searched her face for any sign that Miriam was ill—or worse.

  “I’ll be out in a moment.” She patted on Arisha's cheek. “Don’t fret.”

  Arisha placed her hand over Miriam’s. Miriam could tell her not to worry, but that wouldn’t stop her. Arisha could see what was happening. Miriam was nearly one hundred thirty years old. She was becoming slower and slower every day. And it had all happened so quickly. Even last month she was quick, active and strong. But now, day by day she seemed to grow weaker.

  Miriam’s mind was as alert as ever. Was her failing health behind this sudden marriage plot? Was she afraid to leave Arisha alone if she …?

  No, Arisha refused to think about that as she sat by the fire, waiting. She set the full bowl and cup next to her.

  Miriam appeared in the tent’s doorway. She smiled broadly, the same smile she always had for Arisha, but her hand gripped the pole to hold her up.

  Arisha's heart sank to her stomach, and the little manna in it threatened to come up. Apparently, she was going to have to think about it, whether she wanted to or not.

  The crackling fire mimicked the tension in Zadok's heart. Trapped between his sister and her husband, he wished he'd stayed and eaten with the other shepherds instead of coming home like Imma had begged him to. He took a deep breath and braced for another verbal onslaught.

  “It wouldn’t hurt you to at least talk to her.” His sister’s dark eyes narrowed.

  “Zivah—”

  “Just talk to her.”

  “I don’t even know her.”

  “Maybe that’s because you’ve been hiding from everyone.”

  “I am not hiding. I’m taking care of the sheep, as Aaron asked me to do.” Twice now in three days someone had accused him of hiding.

  She waved her hand in his face. “Excuses, excuses. You’re just afraid it will happen again.”

  The words stung. He wouldn’t let her see it. “Maybe I'm just happy with the way things are.”

  She jabbed her finger in his chest. “You want to be alone for the rest of your life? Surround yourself with your sheep?”

  “Sheep aren’t so bad.”

  “Well, you can’t talk to sheep, and they don’t keep you warm at night. And to whom will you leave them when you die?”

  “Zivah, what a morbid thought!” Jacob threw a dark glance at her.

  She ignored her husband. “He needs to think about these things instead of continually pretending nothing is wrong.”

  The tent flap opened and his mother exited the tent. “Zivah, leave your brother alone.”

  Thank Yahweh Imma came out when she did. No telling how much longer Zivah would have gone on. She meant well, but …

  “But Imma, I'm trying—”

  “I know what you’re trying. But stop.”

  Zivah huffed.

  “Why don’t you go back to your own tent for a while and let me talk to your brother alone, hmm? Come back later for the evening meal.”

  Zivah rolled her eyes, but rose and left. Jacob winked at Zadok before following her.

  Imma sat next to Zadok. “So, habibi, what are you thinking?”

  “Before my dear sister started attacking me, I was actually considering it.”

  “Considering what? The marriage?”

  “No, just meeting her.” He stared at the fire. “Have you met her? Zivah seems to think I haven’t because I’ve been hiding.”

  “I’ve seen her with Miriam a few times. I’ve never talked to her. She doesn’t come with Miriam when she comes to visit Moses, or Joshua.” Her brow wrinkled. “Which she hasn’t done in a while.” She popped a date in her mouth. “What changed your mind?”

  “Moses. He came out to visit me by the flock a couple days ago.”

  She laughed. “Ah, Moses. He’s good at that. A question here, a comment there, and soon your entire way of thinking has been turned upside down. I heard many stories like that from Abba.”

  “Upside down is right.” He kissed Imma on the cheek and rose. “I suppose I should go tell Miriam. I don’t know if I’ll be back soon o
r if she’ll have me stay a while.”

  A few moments later, he strolled up to Miriam’s fire.

  Miriam stood to meet him. “Zadok. I’ve been expecting you.”

  Expecting him? A typical Miriam thing to say. He hadn’t decided himself until a few moments ago. “I’ll meet her. That’s all I agree to for now.”

  “Excellent. Stay for dinner. I’ll invite Moses and Aaron, and Joshua—”

  “And I can talk to her?”

  “No … she’ll be in the tent. But she can watch you, and get to know you a little.”

  “Watch me?”

  Miriam winced. “She hasn’t agreed to meet you yet.”

  Zadok threw his hands up. “What? You mean you went through all that with me and she hasn’t even agreed yet? Maybe we should just forget it then.”

  Miriam grabbed his sleeve. “Zadok, wait.”

  He halted. Waited a moment.

  “Her mother sold her to a family as a servant when she about five or six years old.”

  Zadok felt like he’d been head butted by a ram. “Sold her?” How could any parent do that?

  “Then they sold her to another family several years later. After that, she did something—she’s still not sure what—and she was left at the door of the temple.”

  “Temple? What temple?”

  “The temple of Asherah. She was raised along with the other daughters of the temple as a qadesh.”

  “Which is…?”

  “A woman consecrated to the temple.”

  He winced, closed his eyes. “Doing what?”

  “For several years, she recorded offerings, cleaned the temple, served the priestesses …”

  “Then…?”

  “She learned that every woman of age is expected to attend the annual fertility rites each autumn.”

  Zadok thought a moment. Then it hit him. “You mean as … as one of the participants?”

  “Yes.”

  His stomach roiled. He almost didn’t want to ask the next question. “And then what?”