Counted With the Stars (19 page)

S
ayaad returned the next day, offering us a small goat that had been butchered and was ready to prepare for our supper.

“Where have you been?” teased my mother. “There was so much leftover food last night I had to force Jumo to have a second helping.”

As if anything had to force Jumo to eat more—he ate like one of Pharaoh's stallions.

My mother's countenance had changed drastically in the past few days, after I had finally confronted her about her role in my enslavement, as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. I wished I felt the same, but with each step I took away from Egypt, my burden seemed to grow heavier. The Black Land called to me, beckoning me to return.

“Mistress Nailah, I do apologize.” Sayaad bowed low yet trained his brilliant blue eyes on her. “I was kept from your company by a friend. We were discussing our current . . . uh . . . situation.”

“Situation?” She frowned.

“As you well know, we are heading southward and not, as
we had expected, northeast. My friend and I, along with many others, are debating why Mosheh would be heading farther into the wilderness and toward the sea, instead of toward Canaan.”

He echoed my own unspoken concerns. Pharaoh knew where we were—no doubt there were spies among the throng. The Cloud had stayed here in this place for three days. At night, it billowed high, sparking blue and purple bolts of fire. During the day, it remained in place yet roiled like a violent storm was sheathed within its column. Why had it not moved?

Talk of some sloughing away from the group, heading back to Egypt or outposts, ran rampant. Our king was no simpleton. His entire workforce wandered around in the wilderness, squandering their freedom. The numerous outposts with signal fires could relay information directly to Pharaoh. Soon his footsteps would be heard behind us.

My family and I must leave, and soon, or our blood would stain the sand alongside that of the Hebrews.

“This Mosheh that we are following, you say he was some great general?” Sayaad directed his gaze at me.

“According to Shira, he led many campaigns into Syria, Kush, and Canaan.” I waved a hand. “But those were just stories from long ago.”

“The Hebrew girl also said that he spent the last forty years tending sheep in Midian, correct?”

I shrugged, a bit uncomfortable with his label of Shira. “That is what she was told.”

“Well, if he ever was a leader in Egypt, which I very much doubt, maybe all that time in the wastelands robbed him of his military savvy. He is, what, around eighty now?” Sayaad frowned. “Perhaps it is a senile old fool we are following.”

My mother's eyes grew wide. “What will we do? Pharaoh's army will come, won't they?”

“Possibly,” he said. “I can't imagine he would leave his entire
workforce out here in the desert with herds of valuable livestock, not to mention half the gold of Egypt, without a plan to take it back.”

“He hasn't pursued us so far.”

“No, he hasn't, but we know Pharaoh, unlike Mosheh, actually is a military genius. And yes, he may be smarting from the thrashing he took from Mosheh, but Pharaoh is a cobra. He knows his prey. He will wait until we are at our weakest before striking. It is his way.”

“What should we do?” asked my mother.

“I'm not sure yet. I've been talking with a few other Egyptians I have been traveling with. We are working on a plan.”

“A plan to leave the Hebrews?” I asked, my voice low and my heart thumping wildly.

His smirk told me it was true.

Was this my answer? Were the gods answering my unspoken prayer in the form of Sayaad?

Zerah called to my mother, asking her opinion on something she was weaving. Sayaad and I were left alone at the cook fire. Intrigued by the plan, I pressed him. “Where would we go? We cannot return to Iunu.”

“We can go somewhere new, somewhere no one ever knew you,” he said. “All of Egypt is rebuilding. I doubt anyone would even question where you are from. The land of Goshen was untouched during the plagues and now is practically empty.”

The way so far had been fairly easy, a gentle slope rising from the Valley of the Nile. It would not take much for us to travel back the same way; in fact, it would be downhill. We could possibly trade for food; Sayaad seemed skilled enough at that. I eyed the goat roasting over the fire.

Across the campsite, Eben's skillful hands crafted a new instrument as he spoke with Jumo. He had returned to the acacia grove with his uncle to retrieve the saplings he had cut
down before the flood. They gleaned several tent poles from the wood, and now Eben was using the excess for a lyre. He continued smoothing it with a rough stone and talking with my brother. Seeming to sense my eyes on him, he met my gaze and trapped it for the briefest of moments. His eyes flitted to Sayaad, whose back was turned toward him, then returned to his task, disgust on his face.

I brushed away the surge of emotion threatening to change the path of my still-forming decision. This overpowering draw toward a Hebrew who hated me, hated everything I represented, was foolish and unrequited. We must go back to Egypt—it was the only way to protect my brother and undo the unwise decision I had made.

“What would happen if we met the army on the way back?” I asked. “They would deem us traitors and slaughter us.”

“I'm fairly sure that if we told them we were from one of the turquoise mines nearby, fleeing for fear of the Hebrew multitude, they would probably leave us alone. We all look Egyptian. We may have to travel westward through the hills, though, to make it seem as though we are coming north on a different route.”

Thoughts of Pharaoh's chariots chasing us down terrified me. It seemed safer out in the open, traveling in a small company, than among this multitude that invited his wrath.

I was certainly no stranger to hard work now; my mother was a skilled merchant, and my brother an artist of the highest caliber. Perhaps we could find some small village in the Delta, use some of the gold our donkey carried, and set up a trade booth.

Sayaad leaned closer to me, his gaze warm. He placed a hand on my arm, his thumb rubbing circles into my skin. “You don't have to decide now. My friends are still working out the details. It is not time to leave just yet.”

The contrast between his inviting tone and Eben's abrasiveness was stark. Here was a handsome man, so like Akhum in
many ways, yet without the political entanglements that had cost me so dearly. And his desire for me was more than evident.

My mind whirred with ideas and plans. Egypt had been knocked down, but she would rise again, wouldn't she? Pharaoh was Pharaoh after all. He would bring her back to glory, and certainly with the Hebrews gone there would be plenty of opportunities for employment.

I could almost feel the Nile's sweet waters around my ankles.

T
he reflection of the blue fire on the walls of the canyons stole my breath. When the sun had disappeared in the west last night, the column had risen into the sky and stretched out above us like a canopy, lighting our way and casting everything around us in a pale shade of azure. Myriad stars twinkled now through the luminescent veil above.

Yet the beauty of our covering did not change our plight. We were at a standstill. After wandering in a circle, and then turning south again, we were now trapped in a narrow canyon with impatient feet and frazzled nerves. More than a few arguments broke out around us as we waited for the bottleneck ahead of us to clear. The racket from millions of feet, mouths, and animals was deafening. Every sound reverberated off the walls, amplifying the cacophony.

Since entering this maze of wadis a couple of days ago, my own nerves had been in shards. My eyes were almost always on the sky, watching for clouds to gather again as they had that day at the waterfall. Each puff of white against the blue sent shockwaves of fear through my veins. The images of Jumo nearly drowning surfaced, again and again, in my brain.

I shivered in spite of the heat radiating from the limestone cliffs and the crush of bodies around me. These wadis had been formed by the flow of thousands of years of water runoff, and the striated formations loomed high above our heads. We were imprisoned by our escape route. Pharaoh behind us; the threat of flood all around.

Where was Sayaad? How could we possibly slip away now? I had taken stock of the food and drink left in our wagon, and it was dwindling. We needed to leave soon, or not at all.

As determined as I was to return to Egypt with Sayaad, guilt nagged at me at the thought of Shira and her kindness to me and my family. I had noticed that many of the Hebrews refused to even speak with Shira or her family. They were harboring an enemy. Perhaps our leaving was best for them as well. Eben certainly would be glad of it, I was sure.

As the sunrise finally slipped its eager fingers through the cracks between the canyon walls, the people in front of us began to move, startling me from my contemplation. I tripped on an unseen stone, and my knees buckled.

Arms slipped around my waist, preventing me from falling to the ground.

Eben's voice was in my ear. “Are you all right?”

I pulled away, surprised at the concern in his tone, the tingle of his breath on my skin, and the pressure deep inside my chest.

“Kiya . . .”

I attempted a smile. “Just tired.”

“No. You are not.”

Taken aback, I snapped at him, “I've been walking all night. Of course I am tired.”

“I've never seen your step falter in all the days we've been walking.”

Blinking at him, I was struck dumb by this astute observance of my behavior.

I needed to say something. The conflict raging in my head and heart needed release. If Eben would listen, his ears were as good as any.

“I don't belong here,” I said.

“And where do you belong? In Egypt?”

“Egypt is my home.”

“A home that chewed you up and spat you out.”

I fumbled around inside my head, searching for a response. Suddenly, I was pressed against him by the tide of people impatient to push around us.

His voice touched my ear again. “None of us has a home anymore. We are all wandering. All as lost as you.”

“Sayaad said we could go with him, head back to another part of Egypt, where no one knows us. We can start over. The whole country will be rebuilding. I can start a new life, a free life. Or perhaps our family can start anew in his village in Moab,” I said.

“Sayaad is not as he seems.” He glared at me, his eyes gray and blazing.

“Why do you hate him? He's not full-blooded Egyptian. You have no cause.”

“Do I not?”

“What possible reason do you have?”

“Enough. I have seen Sayaad”—the name sounded bitter on his tongue—“in his camp with three of his Egyptian friends. They are up to something. I have heard of gold disappearing from wagons in the night. Many suspect your friend and his company. There is talk of spies among us as well, reporting back to Pharaoh.”

“And you automatically assume they are correct? Your people mistrust any outsiders. They have given me my fair share of their opinions about my own heritage. I cannot drink from a stream or bathe among the women without hearing insults hurled my
way. Of course Sayaad would be a suspect, even though he has been nothing but kind to my family.”

Eben was so close to me. Every point where his skin touched mine was on fire. My hand trembled with the desire to slip inside his. I dug my nails into my palms to still them. There was no use entertaining such thoughts.

“Is that so?” he said.

“Yes.”

He looked up at Jumo pointedly. “Are you sure of that?”

Confused, I looked at my brother, who, mindless of the melee going on around him, rode with eyes fixed on the fire canopy that was becoming more and more opaque as the sun rose—lavender now, through the haze of the cloud. Had Jumo had some sort of interaction with Sayaad that I was unaware of?

“Regardless, it's none of your concern where I go or where I settle.” I flipped my hand.

His gaze penetrated mine. “I am greatly concerned.”

The pressure in my chest tightened again, trapping my breath. Could he mean that it
did
matter to him? That
I
mattered to him? Or was he merely thinking about his friendship with Jumo, or concerned that Shira might be upset if I left?

I could not prevent the tremble in my voice when I spoke, so I looked down. “Why would you be concerned for my family?”

He was quiet for a few moments. I chanced a look at him. His gaze brushed over my hair, my face, lingered on my lips.

“For my sister's sake, of course.” His tone was gentle—and so intimate, my heart ached.

I nodded, speechless.

“She would be heartbroken if you left.” He looked away from me, toward the dawn.

Eben and I passed the rest of the walk in silence, but he did not leave my side.

T
he ocean sparkled the same shade of turquoise that was mined somewhere near here in the mountains. In the brilliant sunlight, the water glittered as if millions of diamonds floated on its smooth surface.

Even after a week of camping here on this expansive beach, I found myself drawn again and again to wondering at the sapphire depths that stretched out endlessly to the south. Some sort of sea animal leaped out of the water, a silver shimmer against the blue.

“I found you.” Sayaad's voice behind me caused me to jolt, dropping the rock I had been using to scrub my laundry before I had been distracted by the beauty around me.

He laughed at my startled expression, one brow lifting in amusement. “Salt water is probably not the best thing for washing.”

“Better than dirty linens. All that remains of the fresh water needs to be saved for drinking.”

He pursed his lips, acquiescing with a slight bow of his head. “True.”

“Where have you been?” My question slipped out sharper than I'd meant it to.

“I apologize that I have been away. I had . . .” He glanced at Shira, who stood next to me, knee-high in the water. “I had things to attend to.”

His eyes twinkled with secrets, and I knew he meant he was preparing for our departure. A stab of nerves jabbed my belly, a sharp reminder that I had yet to discuss parting with the Hebrews with my mother or brother.

For the six days we had spent on this beach, baking in the sun like bricks, rumors had swirled around us. Pharaoh was on his way. Even now, an army of Hebrews was stationed at the mouth of the wadi, their untrained hands at the ready with Egyptian swords, waiting for the chariots to thunder into view. The longer we stayed here with our backs to the sea, like rats trapped as the serpent closed in, the more distraught my mother seemed to be. It would not take much to convince her to leave, I was sure.

Shira leaned close to me. “We should return to camp.”

The waver in her voice surprised me.

“Why? We are not finished.”

She glanced back toward our campsite, trepidation across her features, pointedly avoiding Sayaad's line of vision. “Ima will be looking for us to help with the meal.”

I had never seen Shira so unsettled. She looked as though she was about to flee across the sand. Realization dawned in my mind. I had only seen Shira around her brother and mine, both of whom were harmless to her—a sharp distinction from Sayaad, who possibly resembled the overseer who had attacked her.

“Perhaps you can walk us back?” I asked Sayaad.

He bowed, his eyes trained on mine. “It would be my pleasure.”

Shira walked ahead of us, a bundle of wet linens perched atop her head.

“She's a skittish thing.” Sayaad winked. “You'd think I was going to bite.” He bared his teeth, white against his dark skin.

Ignoring his light mood, I pressed him. “Is everything in place?”

“Still anxious to get away from these Hebrews, I see.”

Glancing at Shira, my heart flipped. “I am anxious to keep my brother and my mother safe. Wherever that leads me.”

He slipped his hand around my wrist, tugging me to a stop. “Look over there.” He pointed toward the Egyptian fortress nestled against the cliff, a silent witness to the horde that swarmed this beach. “Do you see the path there?”

I nodded. Pharaoh would be well warned that we were gathered here, like fowl in the marshes of the Nile, waiting for the hunter to collect the prize caught in his traps.

“That is where we will go. And soon.”

My stomach lurched. “How can we get by the guards in the fortress?”

A smirk lifted his cheek. “Let us just say, the guards will be looking the other way.”

Had he bribed the soldiers there? Or was there something to Eben's accusation that Sayaad could be spying for Pharaoh? A shock of cold burned through my veins.

“Now, don't look so worried, my lotus flower.” His tone lowered. “I will make sure that you are safe.”

“And my family.”

He smiled, his blue eyes catching the reflection of the brilliant water behind me. “Of course.”

Our little caravan of wagons was circled with a few others, the livestock Shira's family owned corralled in the center. A few goats and three sheep milled around inside the circle, getting in our way as Shira and I prepared what little food was
left. Fortunately, Zerah had managed to ration out whatever vegetables her little garden had yielded early in the season, so combined with food gathered from others camped about our little circle, there was a small feast to enjoy this evening. There was no beer—only water saved in skin-bags and jugs from the mountain springs along our journey through the wadis.

With the bread and meat prepared—and the beans, leeks, and onions boiled in water—we sat around the fire to eat our meal. My mother surprised everyone by bringing out a jar of Shefu's wine she had found tucked at the bottom of a basket. She said she'd discovered it the first night but had saved it for a special occasion. Sweeter and more delicious than ever, Shefu's wine made our dinner a celebration. My mother certainly knew how to keep secrets.

Shira's younger sisters sat on either side of her, giggling. Shoshana leaned against Shira's shoulder, stroking her arm. Zayna jumped up to braid Shira's hair as soon as she emptied her own bowl. Zayna was a tiny little bird, smaller than most girls her age, and so quiet. She'd never spoken more than a few words, at least to me. Shoshana, the bolder of the two, had asked me a thousand questions over the past few days.

Both girls worshipped Eben, and it was plain that he adored them as well. Stern like a father, he kept watch over them and rebuked when they strayed out of sight to play with other children. But after every afternoon meal, he would hold one of them on his lap as Shira sang, and they bickered over this privilege every time.

The sun slid behind the hills, the sound of music drifting from campsites all around. Whenever Shira sang around our meal fires, a hush fell over the nearby sites; we were not the only ones who enjoyed her sweet voice. But tonight there was shouting and loud singing all around us, and many were dancing as well.

Here we were, sitting on a beach, waiting for Pharaoh and
his army to plow through the wadi and destroy us, and we were celebrating? These people were truly the strangest I had ever met.

“Eben, you must play for us!” Shoshana pleaded.

“Yes, Brother, please bring out your instruments,” Shira said.

He hesitated, but both Zayna and Shoshana begged him with expectant faces. He rose and rummaged through the supply crates. “Get your reed pipe, Shira,” he said over his shoulder.

“Just wait until you hear my brother play,” Shira whispered in my ear as she passed me. “My father taught him well.”

Eben came back into the firelight, a lyre and lute in hand. Jumo, too, had fetched a drum from his tent, animal hide stretched over a frame of the finest rosewood, which I knew could only have come from far to the south, from countries I barely knew existed.

Eben began slowly, the soft melody compelling me to quiet my breathing to hear each note. The gentle tune echoed what I'd felt since my sandals had touched the road leading away from my home. Each strain reflected the anguish of a broken heart. A heart like mine.

I could not endure another note. Tears burned, threatening to spill. Thankfully, the song began to change—to grow in complexity and in speed.

The music spun out of Eben's lute like a whirlwind, and his fingers moved so fast on the strings, I could not follow. I was transfixed by them.

When the rhythm steadied, Jumo, whom to my knowledge had never touched a drum, followed the beat with effortless skill. Shoshana and Zayna jumped up to dance, little-girl laughter spiraling with them around the crackling fire. Shira watched the girls for a few moments and then joined in, playing her reed pipe in joyous harmony with her brother's swirling melody.

How could she play and dance at the same time? She motioned
with her hand for me to join her. I smiled but shook my head. I loved to dance and had not done so in a long time, but I wanted to watch Eben play.

My mother, Zerah, and the rest of our little tribe clapped along. For the first time since leaving her home that dark night, my mother laughed with abandon. A few other families had joined our circle, and some of the women danced too, spinning in the firelight, garments and head scarves twirling about them like many colored birds in flight. Belts and anklets with gold coins and tiny metal beads jingled a festive counter-rhythm.

But my eyes were pulled to Eben across the fire. I could not help myself. I was astounded. His long, graceful fingers moved like a hummingbird's wings across the strings.

The music intensified, and the dancers retreated to their seats one by one, fanning themselves. Soon only Shira and the girls danced—twirling, laughing, and swinging their arms around and around. Jumo drummed like a madman, eyes closed, completely absorbed in his newfound skill. I found myself clapping along and laughing at the children challenging one another to dance faster and faster.

When the breathless song came to an end, I was heartbroken; I ached for it to go on and on. Shoshana and Zayna collapsed on the ground next to me, gasping for breath and giggling.

After a few empty moments, Eben picked up the lyre and strummed the strings softly, just as masterful on this instrument as on the last. Shira sang, weaving her clear, bright voice in a wordless harmony with the lyre.

I closed my eyes, letting the music wash over me, draw me into its depths, and sink into my bones.

And then, Eben began to sing.

My eyes flew open.

Since the night we'd begun our journey, only Shira had sung. Sometimes her sisters joined in, but never Eben.

If I had been transfixed watching his fingers fly across his instrument, I was transformed by his voice. In a soft tenor, he began a melody that captivated me from the first note. I understood nothing, since he sang in his native tongue, but I watched his lips form each word. I allowed myself to study his mouth unhindered under the guise of discerning the meaning of the song.

A lament met my ears, the cry of slaves to their god, begging for mercy, pleading to be heard and freed from their captivity. My heart had sung that song every day, but my gods were silent. Their hearts had sung that song, and their God had heard.

Tears dripped down my cheeks, and the firelight swam in front of me. I wiped my face with the back of my hand, glad that I had neglected decorating my eyes with kohl lately. Then I realized Eben watched me. The flames flickered in his eyes. Eyes that held no anger, no reproach. He returned my gaze, intense and searching.

An eternity passed, and the multitude seemed to disappear, leaving Eben and I alone by the fire. The crackle of the flames and his music and my heart beating a wild rhythm locked us in a motionless dance with a resonance that vibrated deeper than the notes his skillful fingers played. It seemed as though he was singing for me alone.

Like one of the potions the priestesses in the temple claimed would bind a lover to you—if the right words were spoken—Eben's music cast a spell, wound its way through me, and caused every nerve in my body to sing.

Too soon, the song ended, and his attention pulled away as his sisters clamored for more dancing music.

He obliged, playing joyful songs until the embers burned low and most of the fami
ly, including my mother and Zerah, had retired to their bedrolls. When Shira tired of dancing, she came and sat beside me, put her arm around my shoulders, and
absentmindedly drew her fingers through my hair. I had never known sister-love. I leaned against her, enjoying her closeness. If only the differences between us could be wiped away. If only this were not the last night I would be among this family I had come to love. If only my heart did not scream to return to my homeland with such ferocity.

My decision to go with Sayaad swung wildly between assurance and doubt. I must keep my family safe, for no one else would. It was on my shoulders alone. I could not stay here and watch those I loved die of thirst in the desert or be crushed beneath the wheels of Pharaoh's chariots. The only way was to go back with Sayaad.

Eben did not look at me again. And I was glad—for the music, and the man, still resonated deep inside my soul, shaking my resolve like an earthquake. The memory of his gaze burned long after the embers of the campfire went cold.