Counted With the Stars (26 page)

S
hrouded in darkness behind the woolen veil, I shook as the terrifying crashes and screams of battle met my ears. The bray of shofarim rose above the melee. The sounds of the trumpets calling men to meeting were familiar to me, but these cries ripped high and loud throughout the valley, screeching out a fierce call to battle that raised the hair on the back of my neck and pierced me.
Eben
is
answering
that
call.

As the battle raged to the north—much closer than I had expected—the women outside the tent spoke in low, sharp tones in a foreign tongue.
What I wouldn't give to understand what they are saying
.

Eben and the other Hebrew men had been training to fight using Egyptian weapons salvaged from the seashore and donated by Egyptian households, but would it be enough? Half a million men fought alongside Eben, but he had said the Amalekites were known for their ruthless and merciless tactics. How long would it take for the Hebrews to be overcome? Two hours? Three?

No. I refuse to believe it.
Yahweh had tossed Pharaoh's army into the depths. He had forged a path through the sea. I had seen
it with my own eyes and walked through on dry land. Yahweh had saved his people over and over. He would not—he
could
not—abandon them now. A god who had destroyed a country to rescue his people surely would not let them perish.

My mother, and possibly my brother, had died in the wilderness, and one way or another, I would be destroyed in this tent as well, but Eben, Shira, Zerah, Shoshana, and Zayna hovered under Yahweh's protection. They must live.

My ears strained. The sounds of agony and the crash of swords seemed farther away, as if the battle had ebbed northward again. Was the battle over? Had the Hebrews been overtaken? Did Eben's sightless eyes gaze at the heavens?

Darkness—almost as thick as the three days of night—suddenly seemed to envelop me, weighing me down in oily blackness. The smell of death that lingered in this goat-hide tent burnt my nostrils; I breathed through my mouth to counter the stench.

Then the battle sounds pitched high again. The shofarim jolted me out of my stupor and rattled my bones at their nearness.

Did that mean that the Hebrews had pushed the Amalekites back? Did the blood that surely stained the sand today include Sayaad's? Or would he return at the battle's end to enslave me and rip my soul apart?

Never. I refused to allow Sayaad to place me under subjugation again. I would fight until my last breath. I preferred death. I struggled against the cords that bound me hand and foot, ignoring the sting of their burn against my skin as I fought them. But no matter how hard I twisted or yanked, nothing could free me of the bondage I had willingly accepted for Shira's sake.

The cries of angry men and the wounded echoed around the valley and reverberated off the mountains surrounding the
Amalekite encampment. The Hebrew camp lay only a little to the north. If the Hebrews pushed them farther and farther south, this tent might stand at the center of the battle.

Still blinded by the veil over my eyes and bound by rope, I lay on my side for hours as the tide of fighting rose and fell, recounting the misguided steps that had led me to this dusty floor, waiting for death.

Once before, bound and imprisoned, I had called out to Yahweh and he had not answered. Or had he? Not long after my plea, Shefu had rescued me and set me free. And before that, I had crossed paths with Shira, whose friendship had provided a way to protect Jumo. The echo of Shira's words came back to me from all those months ago.
Perhaps he is preparing you for something, too.

Had Yahweh been calling to me? Without words? Had he guided my steps to be among his people? To be set free from bondage and to follow him into the wilderness for some purpose I did not yet understand? Perhaps even the dream that had plagued me after the Nile turned red, when the gods themselves bled, was a message that Yahweh would destroy their power.

My heart contracted as I considered the possibilities. Did Yahweh, the Almighty Creator, hear me? An Egyptian slave? Even though I had refused to surrender to him?

During a disconcerting lull in the noise, as my ears searched for the sounds of the shouts of men fighting for their lives, I began to pray. Even though it was still strange praying to nothing, talking to the air, behind my blindfold I closed my eyes and imagined the formless Hebrew God standing in front of me, listening to my pleas. “Please, Yahweh. Deliver your people. Don't let their enemies say that you brought them into the desert to die.”

The more I prayed, the less strange it felt to not be prostrate
in front of an idol—with nothing to look toward with my eyes, no temple to face, no image to conjure in my mind. Shira had told me many months ago that Yahweh could not be contained in an image, that his glory outweighed all the gold on the earth, that a mere piece of wood or stone carving could never capture the perfection and majesty of his being. Suddenly this made sense. The idols of Egypt were creations of human hands to worship gods that could be controlled and manipulated. I would never again worship such as those.

I did not know how to pray to Yahweh. I tried speaking to him in Hebrew, but the new language stilted and stammered against my tongue. I could not express myself fully, so I lapsed back into Egyptian. Shouldn't an all-knowing God understand me either way? I prayed some of the learned prayers from my childhood, but none conveyed what I needed to say, so I simply asked Yahweh to deliver the Hebrews. I begged until tears took over and I simply lay facedown on the sandy floor of the tent and cried.

When finally the tears were spent and my hoarse prayers stilled from fatigue, I simply chanted his name:
Yahweh, Yahweh, Yahweh, Yahweh,
until it merged with the rhythm of my breath. Inhale
-Yah,
exhale
-weh,
inhale
-Yah,
exhale
-weh.

A light fragrance met my senses. An unfamiliar smell, but similar to an incense of exotic flowers mixed with unknown spices. I braced for the headache that always followed the stench of the temple incense, but it did not come. Instead, the odor seemed to swirl around me, erasing the death stench of the tent and pushing back the darkness that gripped me.

Could a smell overcome darkness? Yes, even with my eyes still bound, traces of light pierced the blindfold. I felt bathed in light, bathed in love, as if the Cloud had entered this tent and curled itself around my body. I felt the warmth of it wrap around me like my father's hand had encased mine as a little
girl. But unlike my father, unlike Shefu, this Father had not turned his back on me—instead he liberated me.

Here I was in bondage again, yet somehow I felt free. It was not Tekurah, or Akhum, or Sayaad who had shackled me. It was the false gods and my refusal to place my trust in Yahweh that had held me captive.

No longer. Calling out to Yahweh in my brokenness had broken the chains.

War cries surged louder and louder, startling me with their ferocity and nearness.

The shofarim sounded again, and my hopeful imagination found victory in the sound. A shout echoed nearby, and the walls of the tent fluttered as someone rode by on a horse and the women outside screamed.

I pushed up to my knees, an awkward movement with my hands and feet bound. My blindfold slipped, and I blinked at the shaft of light spilling through the flap of the tent.

More shouting, then one of the women stuck her head into my prison and screamed something at me in her strange tongue. I only registered black eyes peeking out from between her veils and a large gold hoop dangling from her nose before she disappeared again.

Startled, I cried out, “Come back, what is happening?”

But she was gone.

I gasped at the force of the fear that Sayaad was coming back victorious . . . and then more fear that he was dead and someone else would claim me.

Tempted to steal a look out the tent flap but terrified of what I might see, I stayed locked in place on the floor, ignoring the burn of the ropes against my wrists and ankles.

The tent walls shook again, and then Sayaad stood in front of me, drenched in blood.

“Get up!”

My limbs would not comply.

“Stand up! Now!” He yanked me harshly by the arm and dragged me to my feet.

“What is happening?” My voice was rough from hours of tearful prayer.

Throwing things into a large leather pouch, he did not look at me. “We are leaving.”

“Where are we going?”

“Away from here.”

“What happened?”

He did not answer but knelt down to cut the rope off my feet with Eben's dagger. He then stood and placed the tip under my chin. Spatters of blood streaked his face. Whose blood?
Oh, Yahweh, please don't let it be Eben's.

“Somehow the Amalekites lost this battle, and your precious Hebrews are on their way to finish off the rest of us. You and I won't be here when they come. Understand?”

My heart fluttered like a hummingbird. They won? Yahweh had answered my prayer? Joy and victory swelled inside me, giving me a surge of renewed energy to yank against Sayaad's grip and a determination to steel myself and fight for my freedom. I kicked him hard and screamed with my whole being.

He snatched me by the hair, growling and pressing the point of the knife a little harder into my skin. “If you don't get your pretty little backside onto my horse immediately, I will cut you down, here and now.”

I believed him. The blood of Hebrews stained his clothes. He would not hesitate to add mine to it.

The door flap flew back, and Eben rushed in, his bloody sword pointed directly at Sayaad's chest. The victory that swelled in my heart overcame the surprise that the man I loved had come to my rescue.

“Take his dagger, Kiya.” He did not take his eyes off Sayaad.

“I can't. My hands. He tied me.” My words rushed out in a tangle.

“Well then, my friend.” He smiled at Sayaad. “Cut her loose, then drop it and kick it to me.”

Sayaad complied, but the look of hate that flowed out of him sent shivers up and down my spine.

“All I want is what I came for. I've killed enough men today. I will leave vengeance to my brothers.” Eben jerked his head at me. “But you will never touch her again. If you make one move toward her, you will have no hands left to touch any woman. Ever.”

He pulled my arm, placing himself in front of me. He then bent to pick up the ivory-handled dagger his father had given him so long ago.

Sayaad drew a short sword from his cloak, swinging it in a wild arc. I cried out and moved to shield Eben.

But before Sayaad's sword connected with my arm, Eben knocked me aside and jabbed upward in one swift move. Once again, the ivory-handled dagger met its mark, this time directly between Sayaad's ribs. Sayaad fell to his knees, eyes wide and mouth gaping, gasping for breath. Eben paused only long enough to retrieve his dagger from the dying man's chest, then grabbed my hand and pulled me behind him as we fled the tent.

Ignoring Sayaad's horse still tied nearby, Eben pointed toward the hills to the east of the Amalekite camp and urged me to run. A few stragglers, mostly women, ran the opposite way, fleeing the enemy camp, carrying what they could and not looking twice at us. None of them wanted to wait around to see the Hebrews claim their victory, or to be claimed as spoils themselves.

We reached the edge of the valley. Eben gripped my hand and led me to a path snaking upward into a hidden wadi between the hills. I slid on the rocks a few times, sending rivers of stone
tumbling down behind me, but Eben's strong arm kept me upright until the wadi leveled out.

He slowed his pace, but we kept moving until the hills behind us cradled the sinking sun. My lungs burned, and my feet throbbed. “I have to stop, Eben. Please, I need a break.”

He kept moving but slowed his pace. “There are caves nearby. We can catch our breath there.”

“How do you know that?”

He pushed back a low desert shrub with his sword to let me pass but did not let go of my hand. “This is the way we came before.”

“What do you mean?”

“We watched the Amalekite camp for two days. Somehow their scouts missed this little valley. I've spent the last two nights in the caves.”

“Did you know they were planning an attack today?”

“We assumed they were preparing to attack, but we didn't know it would happen so soon. I sent Michael and Desha back to report to the elders last night.” He tugged my hand. “Come on, let's get to the cave so you can rest.”

He led me up another steep incline, my sandals slipping again and again on the slick rocks, but he caught me each time. His confidence in his destination reassured me. But as dusk fell, I became completely disoriented, my heart pounding as I imagined sharp drop-offs all around my feet.

We stopped in front of a dark opening in the rock.
“Here we are. Let me go in first and make sure there are no snakes.”

I shivered.
We are going in there?

He ducked his head into the cave, and I leaned back against the face of the rock. The sun disappeared and a few stars twinkled low on the eastern horizon as his sword clanged around the cave.

“It's all clear—come inside.”

I felt my way into the cave, my stomach in knots.
Must he mention snakes?

“Are you sure this is the place?” My voice quavered.

A low laugh floated out of the blackness in front of me. “I left my pack here this morning. There is a blanket and some food. Where is your hand?” Although there was not a whisper of light in the cave, somehow his warm, callused hand found my cold one.

“Here.” He gently pulled me down next to him and put a blanket around my shoulders. “I wish we could set a fire, but I don't know how many Amalekites might be slinking around.” He pressed some bread into my hand. “Eat.”