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THE RADIANT MIST LED Yacov to a location close to the river, then stopped. Y'hoshua ordered the priests to set up the portable Temple underneath where it hovered. The L'vim pitched camp in a perfect square around the Temple.
Zuar was still too young to fight in the army, but his father had lately been giving him more and more responsibilities as Zuar approached manhood. Today he assisted his father in setting up the family tent.
"What are you doing over there?" his father asked, noting his son was a stone toss from where the tent should go up. "Pull that stake out and bring it over here."
"Why?" Zuar asked. "We have all the room in the world over here. Nobody ever uses this space between the camps of Y'huda and Ruven. It just gets wasted. We won't be as crowded if our tent is over here."
Zuar's father shook his head. "We camp east of the L'vim. You are southeast." He stood at a spot on an imaginary line extending out from the southern border of the L'vim camp, then stretched out one arm parallel with the imaginary line. "East of the L'vim means our camp can't be any wider than their camp. Where you are is southeast." He then pointed north. "Over there would be northeast."
"Why do we do it this way?" Zuar asked.
"Because that's how we were instructed to do it."
"It wastes so much space."
"Watch your attitude, boy."
WHILE THE MEN AND BOYS pitched tents, women and girls ventured out to forage, and guard details from the army watched over them.
Othniel had volunteered for the guard. It was cushy duty. He could rest and think while keeping watch. Today he strolled out well past where the women foraged, and, his back to where the camp was being set up, sat down under an olive tree, leaning against the trunk.
He lazily scanned the countryside. No threats materialized. If something did, he would shout the warning, and other soldiers guarding sectors to his right and left would be alerted.
As he looked over the scenery, he wondered what it would be like to have a permanent home. He loved the idea of living in one fixed location for the rest of his life, in a house with a bed and hearth, instead of a tent–and moving to a new camp every few months.
"Aren't you on guard duty?" asked a voice from behind him.. "No sleeping on the job."
He craned his neck around the tree trunk to see Aksah stooping over a patch of frost bread, putting flakes in her basket. She wasn't looking in his direction, but there was nobody else nearby, so her words must have been directed at him.
This was an unexpected opportunity, but again Othniel didn't know what to say. So he simply muttered, "Hi."
She did not reply.
Othniel had been thinking a lot about Achan's advice. Maybe trying too hard was worse than not trying at all. He turned back to face the landscape again, trying to forget that she was behind him.
He assumed she would move on and that would be the end of their encounter. Then she moved into his field of vision from behind, set down her basket, pulled her dress tight against the backs of her knees, and took a seat on the grass abreast of him. She was farther than arm's length away, and still didn't look in his direction, but she spoke to him again. "So, I'm curious: have I done something in particular to catch your attention?"
This caught him off guard. "Huh?"
"I can't figure out whether I've impressed you or offended you. And I can't imagine what I might have done to cause either one."
"Why would you think I'm offended?" he asked, cagily, then quickly added, "Or impressed?"
Now she turned to lock eyes with him. "It seems to me that you don't scowl at others nearly as much as you scowl in my direction."
"Scowl?" He didn't remember scowling at her. But then he wasn't always cognizant of his facial expression.
Before either of them could speak again, the ground began to quiver.
The shaking intensified, and Aksah cried out something indecipherable. Othniel jumped to his feet and moved quickly away, telling her, "You should probably get away from the tree. No telling what..."
Even as he was making the suggestion, she began climbing to her feet. But the ground suddenly pitched violently underfoot, sending her sprawling.
Othniel almost fell, too, but used his legs to absorb the shock and remained upright. He stepped close, took her hand and pulled her up, away from the tree. She followed his lead, returning his firm grip, and clutching his wrist with her other hand.
Just as the quaking seemed to subside, the ground bucked violently underneath, and sent them both tumbling. Othniel tried to maneuver under her, to cushion her fall, and they both wound up hopelessly tangled with each other. Putting his palms against the quaking ground, Othniel lifted himself up off Aksah, and stared dumbly at the gaping crack in the ground where they had previously sat. The olive tree was now sideways, hanging over inside the crack.
The quaking subsided and Aksah twisted around to see what Othniel was staring at. "Oh my..." she cried, weakly.
Now the tremors were quite mild. Othniel untangled himself from her and gained his feet, then reached down to give her a hand up. She took it, and he pulled her to an upright position.
Aksah brushed the dirt off her dress, staring at the sideways tree. "You were right. If I had stayed under the tree..."
Miraculously, her basket didn't fall into the crevice, but was sitting safely on level ground right next to it. He retrieved it for her.
"Thank-you. This quaking is getting worse and worse," she said. "If this goes on, it will shake the whole world apart one of these times."
"No," Othniel said. "It is El Elyon, preparing for battle. He is god over the land, the sea, and the sky. We have to be strong and bold. Little demonstrations like this are to remind us of the power he will use against his enemies."
"You really believe that?" she asked, taking the basket from him.
He nodded. She examined him for a moment, then smiled. It was a wonderful smile, that made the quake worthwhile all by itself.
Othniel would have enjoyed spending time like this with her, and all the physical contact, under different circumstances. But right then he suddenly remembered his family. What if the quake was not an assurance, but a judgment? What if his family had been swallowed up by a suddenly appearing chasm like the one they stared at now? Such things had happened before.
"We'd better get back and make sure everyone's all right," he said.
She nodded, but asked, "Would you mind walking me back to camp? I'm a big coward. I don't want to go by myself after that."
"Sure," he said, and silently pondered how a display of nature's power could erase her normal standoffish attitude so completely. He wished they had more time for a prolonged, leisurely stroll. But as soon as he verified that his family was safe, he would need to hurry back to his post and resume looking out. "Let's go."
Aksah a couple steps behind and to his left, they made their way toward camp.
Othniel glanced skyward and she followed his gaze toward the swarming, red-tinted clouds.
"Isn't it strange how the clouds are colored right there?" she asked.
He nodded. "Ma'adim is behind them. We're seeing the light reflected off it, and filtered through the clouds."
"I remember when Ma'adim looked like just a really bright star," Aksah said. "A pink one. Then it grew to the size of a grape. Then an acorn. Last time the skies were clear, it was the size of a tangerine."
Othniel assumed she would next repeat one of the various theories about Nergal's connection to the red planet. She surprised him by asking, "If I haven't offended you, or impressed you somehow, why do you stare at me all the time?"
For a few moments he was silent–indecisive about how to answer. "I apologize. I didn't mean to stare, or scowl. I'll stop."
"That's not what I asked," she said, with a prolonged, disconcerting study of his eyes and face.
Feeling there was no safe way to answer the question, Othniel evaded it. "Your father is the one who scowls a lot. I don't know what I've done to make him so suspicious–or hostile."
After a moment, she swung her gaze forward, away from Othniel's face. "Do we have to walk so fast? I'm getting short of breath."
Othniel slowed his pace, but worried that Salmon would discover he had abandoned his post.
"Father is just very protective," Aksah said. "I'm a child of his old age, his only daughter, and such children are usually doted on, so I hear."
"But they're usually unaware of it," he said, with a challenging rise of the eyebrow.
"Oh, I'm painfully aware," Aksah replied. "All my brothers have been telling me how spoiled I am since I was old enough to understand them."
He snickered.
"Don't laugh," she said. "It's not funny, or true. Being treated like a prisoner doesn't make me spoiled."
"A prisoner?"
"Father doesn't let me out of his sight," she explained. "I'm surprised he lets me come out and forage like this. Something could happen and I might wind up enjoying myself."
He chuckled. Apparently it was contagious.
"Don't laugh!" she said, laughing. "It's not funny."
"I can tell," he said, amused by her denial. "It's just the way you said it."
They reached the edge of camp. Tents were still being pitched. People were talking about the quake, picking up spilt and fallen items, but nobody seemed to be hurt.
"Have your parents found a wife for you, yet?" Aksah asked, suddenly.
He froze in his tracks and stared at her. "What?"
She stopped, looked him in the eye, and repeated the question.
"No. Why?"
"Just curious," she said, lightly, and walked on.
He hurried to catch up, then asked, "What about you?"
"You'll have to ask my father," she said. "He hasn't had that conversation with me."
They arrived at Kalev's tent–one of the largest in the tribe–still being erected. "Well, here you are," he said, and turned to go find his family. He did not want Kalev to appear and notice him. For one reason, Kalev obviously disapproved of Othniel's interest in his daughter. For another, he might somehow find out Othniel was on guard duty right then...but not at his assigned post.
"Thanks for walking me home," Aksah said to his back. He replied with a grunt. Later, he would remember her gratitude and appreciate it, as well as the opportunity to spend some time with her. For the moment he didn't have time to exploit whatever opportunities existed.
He found that his family was fine...in fact, nobody in Yacov had been killed or hurt in the quake, from what he gathered. Once that good news was learned, Othniel ran back to his post.
ACROSS THE RIVER AND atop Bet-Yariq's city wall, Rachav took one last look at the Yacovite camp before returning to her work.
"What do you even call a shape like that?" Anwar asked, pointing at the huge camp in the distance.
"It's like a symbol of crossed swords," Nadir suggested. "Or crossed spears."
"It's got to be symbolic of something," Anwar said. "It can't possibly be practical–especially for so many people."
Symbolic of what, Rachav wondered. The only thing the shape reminded her of was what some women hung their laundry on–basically a pole planted vertically, with a wide crossbeam. Cords were tied between two such crosses so that laundry could be hung, two cords wide apart, and one in the center, but higher. The crossbeam was higher than midway up the pole. Similarly, the camp's "crossbeam" bisected the other "beam" of the cross shape off-center, though the sections of camp were at perfect right angles to each other.
The Yacovites certainly had some strange customs.
