Читать книгу The Guardian's Promise - Christina Rich - Страница 15

Chapter Seven

“I do not remember my fields being so vast.”

“Do you wish to rest awhile?” Ari tugged on the donkey’s lead to slow him down.

“Are you tired, Ari? Do you wish to rest your feet again?” Caleb grinned down at him as if he knew the real reason Ari had earlier claimed aching feet. Ari’s feet were used to long walks, but Caleb, even riding a donkey, was not used to long minutes outside of his chamber.

Even though Caleb’s mind was that of a young man, his body was far from it. The ashen hue of his master’s cheeks proved as much. Ari should have insisted he stay abed, but Caleb had been adamant about seeing his crops. After all, Caleb argued, he may never get another chance to see a harvest.

“We are close to the end, adon,” Ari encouraged. “Then we can rest before heading back home.” Even though they had been gone less than an hour, he knew his master needed the rest. However, Ari could not halt the gnawing in his belly that had existed ever since they had left the walls of the village. A sickening sensation, which grew worse with each passing moment.

“Then we press on, my son.”

Ari rolled his shoulders to wear off the uneasiness tensing his muscles and tugged on the donkey’s lead. They descended a pass and encountered a few servants tending the crops. The servants watched them, curious as to why their master had traveled so far from his bed. Ari bowed his head and focused on the path. He, too, wondered why Caleb chose this day to see his legacy. Certainly it was more than a dying man’s wish to see his fields once more.

“Shalom.” Caleb’s toothless smile greeted his servants.

Each bowed their heads in return.

A sense of foreboding returned with a vengeance as they passed the small group. His nape pricked as if he crawled around in a bush of thorns. Someone watched him. Temptation to investigate further tugged on his innards. But he did not wish to alert whomever it was observing them.

Ari chastised himself for his foolishness. Surely, the heat boring between his shoulders was only his imagination. Caleb was a kind master, his servants loyal. None would dare harm him, would they?

“It is guilty, I am for not allowing the fields the rest required by the law,” Caleb said, gripping the donkey’s short mane for support. “I do not think it would have gone unnoticed by the queen’s spies.” He lowered his voice. “I fear I will not see Judah restored...”

The sadness in Caleb’s voice choked Ari.

Caleb wiped his brow. “I am glad we did not travel to Hebron. It would have taken us a week there and back at this pace.” He coughed. “I fear it is not the same.”

The city, once a center of worship, bore the scars of Athaliah’s hand. An Asherah pole had even been erected at Abraham’s tomb. The queen’s faithful often defiled the holy place with sins comparable to Sodom and Gomorrah. “Jerusalem is no different,” Ari mused aloud.

“Ah, is that where you are from?” Caleb tilted his white peppery beard and peered down at him. Curiosity was not the only thing that shone in his black eyes. It was as if he asked Ari to have faith in him. To trust him. But Ari’s secrets were not his alone to keep. However, admitting he hailed from Jerusalem would harm nobody. At least he hoped not.

“You could say. Yet I’ve been bedding down in the desert for a few years, now.” Ari smiled at his master.

“Yes, so it seems you have.” Caleb laughed. His laughter quickly changed to a bout of coughing, and Ari worried if his master would return home to his family, or if he would perish here and now. Ari pulled the stopper from the bladder of water and touched the edge against Caleb’s lips.

“Better?” Ari asked once Caleb’s chest settled.

“Thank you, my son.” Caleb laid his hand against Ari’s shoulder. The unspoken meaning went straight to his heart. It was like a searing brand sizzling deep into his being. How could he disappoint this man? Even if his presence here was a lie, he had come to love Caleb and his family. But his duty to God, his duty to his kingdom and his secrets, kept him from staying. Kept him from accepting Mira as his bride.

Ari bowed his head. “I am unworthy, adon.”

Caleb slid off the donkey’s back before Ari could help him. He pressed his hands on either side of Ari’s face and looked him in the eye for long moments and then nodded as if pleased with what he saw. “I’ve never seen a more worthy man than you, Ari.”

The searing in his chest returned, thrusting deeper, encompassing the whole of his breast. Caleb’s words were like a hammer upon his conscience. Like an earthen jar crushed beneath the weight of a boulder. It was more than he could bear. Lord, give me strength.

“I will not press,” Caleb said. “Come, sit beneath the shade with me awhile.”

Ari looped the donkey’s lead around a low branch and eased beside Caleb. High clouds shadowed parts of the rocky outcrops while the sun illuminated others, leaving them more mysterious to the eye. He had no doubt the shadows held many secrets, much like his heart.

“We are far from prying ears, Ariel.” He turned his gaze fully on him, piercing Ari to the core.

Ari held his breath. He was not ready—

“I could not be more certain.” Hands clenched, Caleb paused. “I am certain...

“Certain about what, adon?”

* * *

Hefting a cruse containing oil from last year’s crop of olives, Mira carried it toward the bake oven where she intended to brush a small amount to each cake of bread.

“Why so downcast, Mira?” Rubiel asked as she placed an earthen jar on the ground in front of her.

Mira pressed her lips together. Ari and her father had not been gone long and she missed them. Missed him. Feared his absence if the soldiers should return.

“It is difficult, I know but you must do your duty to Abba and marry Esha.” Rubiel leaned close. “I saw the way you watched the slave last eve. I contend he’s handsome but he is a slave, Mira. You must remove your heart from him.”

The cruse slipped from Mira’s hand, shattering on the ground. She thrust her hands on her hips and glared at her sister as oil oozed over her feet. It would do no good to argue the condition of her heart or where it lay. She had watched him with new eyes, and her heart was curious. Perhaps, even interested a little if the increased beat in his presence was any indication. “He is not a slave.”

“Servant, slave, they are one in the same.”

“And soon he will be a free man. What say you then?” Kneeling, Mira began gathering the shards of pottery. A few small pieces clung to her flesh leaving her blood to intermingle with the thickness of the oil.

“I say he no longer belongs to us. He will most likely sell himself to a higher bidder. I hear there are women among Athaliah’s court who would pay a high price for a man as handsome as your slave.”

Her sister’s mean words pierced her heart. It seemed the more she ignored Esha’s marriage pursuit the meaner her sister became. Mira did not like Esha and would not marry him unless she was forced by her father. He was a deceiver and a drunkard, unlike Ari. “Ari’s not a slave, mine or anyone else’s,” Mira argued, knowing it would not matter.

“Daughters!” Her mother clapped her hands together. “There is no need for argument.” Her mother pierced Rubiel with her sternest look. “Child, you must learn to speak with caution. Your tongue is like a viper.”

“Ima!”

Mother held up her hand. “No, Rubiel, I blame myself for spoiling you as I have done. Now, where is your betrothed?”

He was probably hiding near a camphire hedge with Esha. The two, no doubt, were drunk on wine, after all, one of the pitchers was missing, but she wouldn’t speak as harshly as her sister had done. It never did well to give an eye for an eye, although treating her sister with kindness had not gotten her anywhere, either. Besides, Ima’s question was enough to set Rubiel in a huff. It’d take her a few hours to find her betrothed. When she did, she’d suffer angry embarrassment and would hide until her temper cooled.

“Thank you, Ima.” Mira glanced up at her mother.

Her mother pressed her fingers to her temple as if to ward off a head pain. “A blessing it was only a small jar and not a larger one.”

“Forgive me, Ima.”

“You worry over much, Mira. Of course, I forgive you.” Her mother gave her a quick hug, careful not to step in the oil. “Now, go wash your feet. I’ll have someone clean this up.”

“Yes, Ima.”

Mira walked to the cistern. By the time she had reached the well, her feet and sandals were covered in a sticky, dusty mess. Much of the desert clung to her toes. She sat on the rock wall, slipped her sandals off and placed them in a trough of water to soak. She plunged her feet into the tepid water next to her sandals and began to scrub them with the linen cloth tucked in her girdle.

Mira tried to calm her anger. She should not find fault with her sister’s concern, no matter how misplaced it was. Perhaps Rubiel believed Ari would treat her harshly because of her disfigurement as others had done. Could her sister not see Ari had never done so? He was different?

It angered her that Rubiel thought so little of him. Especially when he was obviously a man of integrity who lived by God’s law. He did everything her father had asked of him and more. He held God in the highest reverence, as all men should.

She gasped. All the time he’d offered his help, he had only been doing as God required him and she had treated him with scorn.

“Forgive me, God.” She bowed her head in shame.

She had treated him abhorrently. Lashing out with her tongue because she lacked confidence in who she was in the Lord.

How could she have treated such a handsome man with raven-black hair the color of the darkest night, with a silver shine as if the moon had kissed each strand so awfully? A man with a kind and generous heart?

Her pulse quickened even as the space in her chest closed as if to keep an image of Ari tucked within. It had stung when Rubiel suggested Ari would be willing to sell himself to one of Athaliah’s court for lustful purposes. She knew he would never do such a thing, still...he had had a life before her father took him in. And there was a possibility that he would return to his former life. Perhaps even to a wife.

The sound of feet pounded on the path with an urgency that alerted her senses. She pulled her sandals from the water and with haste wiped them clean, before tying them around her ankles. She rose and found Joash in a frantic run.

“M-M-Mira,” he said in between harsh breaths.

“What is it? What has happened? Is it Ima? Abba?” The shrill screams of women carried to her ears. The rumble of men’s shouts echoed them. All the air left her lungs.

The soldiers had come back. She started running toward her village.

“No!” The fear in Joash’s voice stopped her in her tracks. “Come. We must hide. Quickly. I must see you to safety.”

Mira was torn between helping her family and hiding like a coward with the boy. Something deep in her belly forced her to grab Joash’s hand. He led her along places she had never realized existed. They ran in the heat of the morning through thick brush and over sharp jagged rocks until they came to the edge of a pool so breathtakingly beautiful she nearly forgot they had been running for their lives. Until she heard the thunder of hooves approaching.

“My, Lord, save us,” she cried, yesterday’s fear revisited her double-fold.

“Come.” Joash jumped into the pond and swam toward a wall of falling water. Panic seized her at the threat the water posed. It was one thing to cast out your nets, quite another to step foot in water where you could not see the bottom. Yet, Joash disappeared beyond the falls. Fear for the child’s safety left her to follow him.

She waded through the water, constantly looking over her shoulder. Yet, she also sought the boy’s every movement. Mira stood in front of the water tumbling from the cliff above, unsure of what to do. The bubbling froth roaring in her ears rocked her back and forth. She thought she’d heard the whinny of a horse, but when she turned to look, Joash grabbed her hand and yanked. Mira lost her balance and fell behind the curtain of water.

Smoothing her wet tresses back from her eyes, she could see large, blurred figures through the cascading water, searching the edge of the pool. She stood there, Joash’s hand gripped in hers, veiled by the falling stream, unable to move for fear they’d be discovered. Mira wished for a clearer view of their pursuers, but she could not do so without giving up their hiding place. And the roar of the falls kept her from hearing their words.

After a few moments, when the blurred visions disappeared and all seemed safe, Joash nudged her to follow him as he climbed the rock wall behind the falls. The child slipped into the darkness. She reached up and gripped the rock jutting out from the wall and hefted herself up onto the ledge.

Sitting there, she could see through the waterfall the soldiers had returned. They prowled the edge of the pool. She held her breath when one knelt. But then he rose and left.

A soft glow appeared from behind her. She glanced over her shoulder and gaped. The light illuminated a cave complete with furnishings large enough to hold a small family.

“Who—who showed you this place?”

“Ari.”

Puzzled, she looked at the child. Surely he was mistaken. How would Ari know of such a place? She rose, dripping wet from her seat. Her ears pounded with the water crashing to the pool of water below. But she was sure the sound was not what made her feel faint. She noticed many things that would never have belonged to a man desperate enough to sell himself as a servant.

“You must be mistaken,” she whispered as she tiptoed farther into the cave toward a wooden chest that had caught her attention. She stared at the cedar box with a lion carved into the top. Scared at what she would find, but unable to halt her movements, she knelt on a thick, plush rug. She unhooked the latch and opened the lid. Handfuls of shekels, golden goblets, ornately engraved short swords and swaths of fabric too rich for a man of Ari’s humble standing were nestled within the chest.

Two small black boxes sat on top with leather straps draping down the side. She drew her finger along the beautiful script. The box tumbled and slipped to the bottom of the chest. She reached in to retrieve it. Her fingers brushed against a lumpy leather bag. She removed it from the chest and held it up.

Her heart pounded against her breast bone as she untied the cord. The leather bag opened like a flower. Several stones appeared against royal silk. One of the stones caught her eye and she picked it up with her gnarled fingers. She held it up to the oil lamp nestled into a nook in the wall. The stone lit like fire, flaming to life in her hand.

She glanced down at the other stones. The rushing sound of the falls seemed to grow louder and she swayed. She knew each tribe had their own signet. Her father wore a similar one around his neck. Why would Ari have all of these?

The flaming stone began to warm in the palm of her hand. She laid the pouch down to better examine the fiery stone. She held it closer to the lamp.

“You must be mistaken,” she repeated, her voice louder.

“No. It was Ari.”

With the stone flickering in the palm of her hand, she knew the boy spoke the truth, a truth she did not have time to question. For the next breath had her looking into the eyes of one of the men who hunted them.