“This war with Horeb is about me—you—us. Not Sariba. I refuse to be cornered in a sewer hole with only a dagger to defend myself.”
“You always have an answer to all my arguments. I’ll make you queen and lawyer both.”
Turning, I lifted my face to his. “Trust me, Kadesh. Please trust me.”
His hands slipped down my arms and we stared at each other in a new way. Our relationship had become tentative, cautious, filled with new, emotional dangers the past few weeks as he continued to stay silent about his parents and homeland.
Kadesh gathered me up with the intent to kiss me, but I placed my palms against his chest. “If you truly love me, you will believe I can help you. I will guard your secrets with my life. Do you believe that?”
“I do, but I—I can’t break down with a hundred men who need me to be their leader. To keep up their morale through the worst part of the journey. This is not the place to discuss my family or the political business of my country.”
I knew he was right. My arms went around him and we held each other, not speaking. Kadesh buried his face into my neck and I ran my fingers through his soft, thick hair, wanting him desperately, but feeling cautious. “Kadesh,” I finally said in a low voice. “I fear there might be a spy among us.”
He reared back, shock on his face. “What are you talking about?”
“Laban and Asher—”
“Asher is not a spy!”
“Asher may be an unwitting accomplice.”
“But I trust Asher with my life. He’s a boy, only eighteen. His conversations with Laban are nothing more than camp tasks. I’m sure of it.”
I shook my head. “I’ve seen them pass messages between them.”
“That makes no sense. Like what?”
“Thin tablets for writing correspondence. Asher admitted he’d written letters home. But I saw an exchange three times. Why would he use Laban and not ask you or Chemish—or personally give them to a caravan headed north to deliver?”
“Because he already has the important task of protecting you.”
“Why the furtiveness between them? Horeb caught up to us faster than we ever expected. He was upon us at Dedan. We barely escaped.”
“That’s true,” he said slowly. “But I don’t understand their motive. If Horeb overcomes us on the desert, we’ll be slaughtered—including Laban and Asher.”
“Not if Laban is paid first and slips away.”
“He swore allegiance to me and this trip to Sariba. Because he knew I needed the best fighters.”
“Or perhaps because he saw an opportunity.”
Kadesh began to pace, casting glances over his shoulder at the men engaged in their morning tasks about the camp. “I don’t want to suspect them of treason. . . .”
“I hope I’m wrong, Kadesh, but something is going on. Please, just be extra cautious.”
When we returned to camp, the animals and men were ready to leave. Kadesh scooped Seraiah up from her makeshift camp bed as though she weighed nothing more than a feather. After placing her into the litter, he yanked on the camel’s ropes to pull the animal to its feet.
Heat steamed from the dew-frosted rocks as the sun hit the ground.
I tended to my grandmother, coaxing her to drink a soothing herbal tea and nibble a date. She wasn’t well and her strength was leaving. I sang and told stories just as she had done for me all the times I was ill as a child, but my spirits felt depressed with the weight of Horeb so close. Constantly, I checked behind us, dreading the sight of his arm bearing down.
Leila’s whereabouts in Egypt never left my mind either. Why had Egyptians taken her, and where had they gone? Egypt was enormous. A person could be hidden away there for the rest of their life. And what would be the High Priestess’s motive for selling the girls? Except sex slaves, especially beautiful ones, brought a high price of gold.
A warm wind parched my throat. Spring was flinging itself at us and my worries over Horeb, and Leila and Sahmril, who were now both missing, were flinging me into a state of madness.
“All of Leila’s belongings and dresses were gone,” I told Seraiah, going over the events at the Temple of Ashtoreth. “Even Mother’s alabaster box.”
My grandmother’s black eyes were shrewd. “I suspect something but have no real guesses. I don’t trust that Armana hasn’t sold her into slavery in Egypt.”
I shuddered to hear her own fears mirroring mine. As I helped my grandmother lie down again, her long gray hair lay matted in coarse threads across the pillows.
“Perhaps Leila merely gave in to temptation,” Seraiah said quietly. “But I suspect the girls were lured away from Tadmur on some sort of pretense.”
“What could be worse than prostituting themselves in the name of creating a divine conduit to the goddess?”
“Many things could be worse, my darling girl. Sacrificing women to the gods who rule over Ba’al and Ashtoreth. Gods such as Moloch and Elkenah.”
“You mean girls—like Leila—volunteer to die for the Goddess?”
“That, and worse. Sacrificing children, babies. In the belief it will keep the Goddess happy and the land and women fertile.”
The images she conjured made me sick. “If Leila knew these things she would never have joined with the priestesses at the temple.”
“Unless she . . . was influenced by something else. Lied to by someone who wants to use her in some way.” My grandmother’s fragile fingers fumbled for mine. “Jayden, listen to me. There are rumors the Sariba goddesses use magic. That they have magicians to help them. I don’t know how much of the gossip is exaggerated. And . . .” She paused while I stared at her in horror. “I don’t know if Kadesh’s royal family is part of it.”
I was horrified. “Kadesh would never condone such horrible acts.”
“But the royal family must know and doesn’t stop it. City governments work hand in hand with the temples for many civic functions and taxation.”
“You don’t think Kadesh, that he—goes to the temple to appease the Goddess?”
Seraiah’s breathing grew labored. “You need only look into Kadesh’s eyes to know he has a good and honest soul, but I worry after hearing of Leila’s disappearance. She was safer in Tadmur.” She shifted on the thin mattress, trying to get more comfortable, her eyes closed now. “I must rest now.”
“Are you warm enough, Grandmother? Have you had enough to eat?”
She was already asleep, her fingers cool in my hot ones, the skin thinner than the fragile wings of a butterfly, her veins a mass of blue streaks. She curled on her mat like a small child, her back hunched with age.
I pulled a blanket over her shoulders, stricken anew over my sister.
Magic. The word hurled terror down my spine. What was Leila caught up in? Kadesh had never even hinted at something so powerful, so sinister in the southern lands. Magicians. People who used spells and magic as their livelihood. Would I be able to identify them? Would I recognize their curses and enchantments, the tools of power and persuasion?
A chain of events had begun months ago that I didn’t understand and had no way to stop. Did the threat of powerful magicians explain Kadesh’s agitation, his melancholy?
When we camped that night, I refused the erecting of a shelter. “We’ll stay in the litter,” I told Kadesh. “Seraiah is too fragile to move.”
At one moment my grandmother became restless, eyelids fluttering. But then she quieted, hardly moving. Refusing food and water. Her mind seemed to float between this world and a world only she could see, her lips often moving as though speaking with someone who wasn’t there. I held her small hand in mine, not daring to press it for fear I’d crush her delicate bones.
That night I sat beside her, hardly moving myself.
At midnight her eyes opened. “My last wish,” Seraiah whispered, “was to see the well of Hagar, our Egyptian mother. The desert of Ishmael’s exile. The spot where God’s miracle of water kept them alive.”
“We’ll take
you there,” I promised as we both drifted off into an edgy sleep at last.
We were to leave at daybreak, but dawn hovered at the edge of the world, tentative and delicate. Lingering, it seemed, just for us. Knowing we needed extra time this day.
When I woke, my hand was still clasped in Seraiah’s. Her fingers were cold. I pulled the blanket up close to warm her, but then I saw her still, wax-like face, the features marbled like a fine statue, her chest not moving, I knew she would never be warm again. At least not in this life.
My grandmother had passed through the veil of death sometime during the night. Her purple-veined hand was folded around mine, already stiffening with the signs of death, but a smile remained on her face. The youthful, mischievous smile I’d known my entire life.
I dropped to my knees, bowing my head over her lifeless form. “No,” I whispered, grief rising up from the bottom of my soul to choke me. “No, sweet Grandmother. You can’t leave me, I need you too much. I have no other woman of my tribe left to help me, to teach me. You promised to stay, at least for a few months longer.”
I’d known in my heart she wouldn’t make it to the southern lands, but I’d hoped and I’d prayed. Now I held her cold, tiny body in my arms, weeping for all I had lost. My grandmother had protected me, helped me survive, had fought for me before Horeb, Judith, and the tribal council. She didn’t blame me or chastise me. She’d supported my choices to chase after my dreams—to live the life I wanted to live.
Cradling her face with my hands, I whispered, “You’ve blessed me so much, my sweet, funny, and wise grandmother. I’ll never forget the night of my betrothal celebration, when you transformed into a young girl, shaking out your hair, laughing as though it were your own betrothal all over again. Dancing with hips of wisdom and beauty. Teaching me the ways of our ancient mothers who live in the world beyond this one.”
My tears fell harder, staining my face, but I tried to smile despite the loss of my last ally in womanhood. “Perhaps you’re luckier than me. You’re with Grandfather, my mother, baby Isaac, your sisters, and our heavenly mothers.” I swallowed past the thickness in my voice. “One day you and I will dance again together. We’ll laugh and sing and cradle babies together.”
Movement at the door made me lift my head. Kadesh’s figure filled the opening of the cramped door of the litter. His face crumpled at the sight of Seraiah’s gray, unmoving form. “Oh, Jayden, I feared this. I’d hoped my physicians could tend her when we arrived in Sariba.”
I pressed my fingers against my temples, a throbbing headache forming. “Even when we left Tadmur I don’t think she had much time left. In the end, I think that’s why she wanted to come with us. But I needed more time with her. I wanted her to see the beauty and wonders of Sariba.”
Kadesh brought me close and brushed away the tears running down my face. “I did, too. She would have loved every piece of it.”
When my father came to the door, I left him alone to say good-bye. Outside the litter, I sank to the earth and buried my face in my knees. Slow moments ticked by. The sun was shining, and a light breeze bowed the grasses out on the desert. Just like every other day. No wavering mountain on the horizon had shifted its position to mark this day of grief.
The sky arched overhead like a brilliantly blue glazed bowl, and yet, my heart was a hollow of hurt that couldn’t be filled. My grandmother’s death was the fifth loss in our family in little more than a year.
When my father stepped out of the litter he looked worn down. He’d lost his home, his tribe, his camels, and his position. He moved like a broken man without hope, but all he said was, “I’ll bring water for you to wash her.”
“Father,” I called. Jumping up, I ran straight at him and wrapped my arms tight around his middle. He patted my back with his big hands, murmuring words I didn’t understand. But I knew he was weeping into my hair.
Finally he released me, touching my shoulder as if he didn’t know what to do next. “We’ll find Leila,” I promised him. “And Sahmril.”
He didn’t speak. I wondered if he’d lost hope. It would be so easy to lie down and never move again. Let the desert swallow us up, dry out our bones, and then tumble those bleached bones across the sands.
“Your grandmother loved you with all her heart,” my father said suddenly. “As did your mother.” We gazed at each other and then he walked across camp on shaky legs without looking back.
Soon Kadesh brought heated water, clean white sponges, as well as a small pot of frankincense oil and myrrh to perfume Seraiah’s body.
I worked alone, clenching my teeth, willing myself not to cave in to the fresh grief. I cleansed my grandmother’s body with warm, salted water, and then dressed her in her finest red dress.
When I tied the sashes around her waist, I sang her favorite song of the desert. Sweet, haunting words of sleep and dreams, of fresh rain washing away the worries and strife of life. Outside the litter, I heard the men tamping down the campfires, hiding evidence we’d been here.
When I placed the final pieces of jewelry on Seraiah’s neck and wrists, the hot sun was heating up the interior of the litter. I melted to the floor, stroking her bony arm. “Please tell my mother I’m doing my best to keep my promises.” I paused, trying not to fall apart. “I sometimes wonder if she sent Kadesh to us when I danced at her grave. I wonder if she led him to the cliff to find us so we could save each other. I’m so lost and afraid. I need you here to help me figure out the mystifying secrets of my new homeland.” But my words fell on silence.
I’d combed out my grandmother’s silvery hair and now it was long and loose, free as though she were a child again. “Oh, Grandmother, I love you,” I said, lifting my head to see if I could spy her spirit fleeing upward into the skies.
When I finally opened the door of the litter, Kadesh and my father were waiting for me. Asher stood off to the side with Chemish, their clothing smudged with dirt. Grave-digging tools clenched in their fists. Sympathy lining their features.
We buried my grandmother in the midmorning light, and I was grateful the harshness of noonday hadn’t yet sapped our strength. This time I stood to the side and watched. I didn’t need to pile the rocks as I’d done with my mother’s grave. This time my father and I were not alone in our grief.
When my father tried to replace the mounds of dirt by himself, Chemish lifted my father’s hands away and completed the task. “This is a fitting spot for Seraiah. She’s close to the spirits of her ancient grandmothers.”
I spent a few moments at my grandmother’s grave after my father and the others left to ready for our departure. I danced briefly, reaching my hands to the sky to show her how much I loved her. Finally, I made my way back, too, knowing we had to keep moving.
“Jayden, you should ride in the litter,” Kadesh said when I approached. “Mourn in private this day.”
Soon our caravan was moving down the flat straits again. The camels looked particularly magnificent. They swept forward in pounding strides, galloping nearly as fast as the Edomite horses. When we climbed up rises and down into hollows, their necks stretched forward as though drinking in air.
A flock of gray falcons skimmed along the distant Red Sea shoreline. Two eagles floated on an invisible pocket of air, gliding as elegantly as Hakak had danced on her wedding day. The same day I’d secretly danced for Kadesh while he watched me from the folds of his cloak. My grandmother’s hooded eyes had seen it all. And suspected everything.
The trail ended in a swell of sand dunes and rugged mountains. Those same mountains mocked us with their height, even as they shaded the trail.
Kadesh pointed to a vertical path cut into the side of the jagged peaks. Several thousand feet of stone and precarious ledges stabbed the sky. “We need to climb that escarpment straight up those cliffs until we reach a plateau. When we reach that new plain we’ll continue south to Nahom and then straight east to Sariba. We’re getting closer,” he added.
“You have a strange sense of time,” I
told him, trying not to droop as we entered the third month of travel.
“Before we head to Sariba, we’ll visit the Queen of Sheba in her city of Ma’rib.”
“You know the Queen of Sheba?”
“She’s my distant cousin, remember?”
“You said your great-great-great-grandfathers were brothers about a hundred and fifty years ago. I didn’t think you had family gatherings.”
Kadesh lifted his eyebrows to grin at me. “The queen is our ally in the frankincense trade. Normally I oversee the caravans only as far as the land of Sheba. Her kingdom facilitates the routes north along the Red Sea, which we just traveled, all the way to Damascus, or west to Egypt.”
The ascent up the mountain was slow while our animals picked their way along the steep and twisting path. Every moment I worried we’d tumble backward in an avalanche of loose shale.
At one point, I looked down to see the blues and greens of the ocean below us in a sheer, vertical drop. I wobbled in my seat, feeling light-headed at the dizzying height.
“A dazzling view,” Asher said behind me. “But alarming. Just keep Shay focused on the camel in front of her so she doesn’t lose her footing.”
Conversation ceased as we concentrated on the climb. I imagined Seraiah in the litter, the camel struggling under the burden of the swaying carriage, and cringed. It was better she lay in the peaceful desert where God had communed with our ancestors, but I missed her good humor and wit terribly.
We reached the top of the escarpment at sunset. The mountain range shuddered off along the eastern shores of the Red Sea. Sweeping furrows of rock slashed straight down to the sandy beaches. Buzzards and hawks wheeled overhead in the blustery winds.
We approached the city of Ma’rib within the land of Sa’ba, making camp at a spring on the outskirts. The golden, arched gates of the city of the queen sparkled under a red ball of setting sun.
Being here seemed to have cast a spell over the Edomites. They talked of nothing except the Queen of Sheba’s beauty and mystery. What would Horeb do when he came through? Would the queen allow his new army to pass without cross-examination—to travel onward in determination to kill us?