Everything is in flames—the sky with lightning—the water with luminous particles and even the very masts are pointed with a blue flame.
—Charles Darwin (aboard the Beagle)
THAT NIGHT, THE SCENT OF rain rides in with the wind that now blows from the west. It is greatly welcome. Lot, being a wealthy man, has his house in the eastern quarter of the city, right on the sea’s edge and within sight of the cliffs. The window is an unusual feature, but it helps draw cooler air into the house and up the roof over the courtyard, which is shaded with fronds laid over thin logs, but not so tightly as to block the flow of air or smoke from the cook fire. Our house sits on a rise, and I can see the shimmering of the Dead Sea.
At the evening meal, I feel Hurriya’s sharp eyes on me, and I make sure to keep my gestures bold. It is easy to spot a girl who merely dresses in boy’s clothing. A girl’s movements should be graceful and her glance, shy. I have studied this for many summers. If I miss a detail in telling Father what I observed during his negotiations, he snorts and tells me I have much to learn. As a child, this motivated me as no beating or harsh words would. I want above all to please him, to have him proud of me … and to stay with him. Always, the fear of being sent away looms over me.
It is rare I miss anything, and it has become a game between us. Afterward, in the privacy of our tent, we query each other. In the past few summers, I have sometimes caught what he has missed and make a point to snort, which makes him laugh.
I slip a piece of meat from my bowl and hide it in my robe. Nami’s head remains on my foot, but her dark eyes follow the move.
“What your father keeps?” Raph asks around a mouthful of flatbread.
“What keeps my father?” I correct him and shake my head. “I do not know. He said he would return in a few days, if he can.”
Lot frowns. “Perhaps there is a sickness among the animals.”
I wipe grease from my mouth with the back of my hand, a gesture no properly raised woman would do, and Hurriya’s tight sniff rewards me. She is watching me as closely as I watch others.
“I do not think so,” I say, without interrupting my chewing, “or he would have taken me with him.”
“Well, he hardly had a chance to taste our hospitality!” Lot booms, and I flinch before I can stop myself. Does he think we all have bee’s wax filling our ears? He slaps a hand on his thigh. “I am known for treating my guests well, am I not, wife?”
“Well known,” Hurriya admits, glancing at the large portions of food set before Raph and Mika. She does not seem impressed to host El’s messengers. They do eat a lot. I wipe the last bit of grease up with my bread. By the width of Hurriya’s hips, she might give them an honest competition. I, myself, am no idler in the task of eating, but no matter what I eat, it does nothing to alter my shape.
Leaning forward, Lot addresses his guests. “We are most honored to have you in our home.”
Raph wipes his fingers on a moist cloth. “Thank your welcome.”
Lot scratches at his chin, his fingers brushing his bottom lip, a gesture that often means a man wants to speak but is unsure of the reception of his question. “Meaning no disrespect, but I wonder at your origins.”
Mika stiffens so slightly I am sure no one else notices.
“Despite my manner,” Lot continues, “I am an educated man, born and raised in Ur, though not the scholar my uncle, Abram, is. So I must wonder if you could be descendants from the giants of old who escaped the great flood with our ancestor, Noah.”
To my surprise, Mika answers. “Yes.”
Lot takes a deep breath. “Then our peoples are connected.”
“Connected,” Mika echoes. He seems to consider the word and looks at me. I repeat it in his language, and he nods. “Yes, peoples connected.”
“I understand now,” Lot says, “why El chose you as his messengers.” He leans back and slaps his thighs again, this time with both palms. Then he gestures to his oldest daughter. “Pheiné, play for us!”
With one hand, Pheiné sweeps her thick auburn hair over her shoulder and smiles boldly at Raph. “Will you be participating in the Spring Rites tonight?”
My cheeks and throat burn with a hot flame, and my hand goes on its own accord to my short curls and then to brush the knot of bone on my nose. I suppress the urge to throw a lamb bone at her. With great difficulty, I keep my attention on my food, but I watch every nuance of her manner from the corner of my eye.
Raph occupies the other side of my gaze. He smiles back at her. “We are strangers in your city.”
This is not a satisfactory answer to my mind.
Mika frowns, and Lot says at once, “Play for us, Pheiné.”
Pheiné raises an eyebrow, but lowers her head in obedience. “As you wish, Father.” She places a lyre in her lap. It is a beautiful nine-stringed instrument of Egyptian ebony. Fortunately, her voice is ordinary, and Raph seems only politely interested.
I love music, though I cannot play. Father feared to let me sing, lest it reveal my gender. This never stopped me from singing to myself or to Philot or the goats.
When darkness claims the land, I lie on my pallet, listening to the city. Nights in the hills are full of sound—wind whispers in the grass or the scrub trees, night birds call, and wolves howl. Last night I fell asleep in Lot’s house to the slosh of sea against the shore and the rustle of a city curling into slumber—muted voices calling, doors shutting, a dog’s bark. But tonight is different. Tonight, the city is alive with sharp sounds and smells. Feasting and drinking will go on into the morning for days leading up to the rites. It is interesting to imagine coupling everywhere and anywhere in celebration of life, people echoing the wanton burst of blooms that entices bees, the abandon of grass seeds offering themselves to the wind, and the coming together of Baal and the goddess, Asherah.
Muffled voices in the far room catch my attention. At first, I think it must be Lot and his wife practicing the rites, but then I realize the sound comes from Pheiné and Thamma’s room. An image of naked Pheiné entwined with Raph incites my heart to a swift gallop. My first impulse is to jump up and confront them.
Confront them with what? What claim do I have on Raph? He does not know what I have just decided—I love him; I want to be near him forever. He does not even know I am a woman.
Sensing my distress, Nami, curled beside me, licks my hand. Then two figures pass me in the darkness, and I realize the story in my head is only a story I have imagined, because there is no mistaking those tall shapes. Where are they going?
A stupid question. They are going to join the revelry. But I think again. Raph, perhaps, but Mika’s disapproval of the Spring Rites has been obvious, so much so that Lot has declared he and Hurriya will not participate in them. Questions continue to pour into my mind. Where are El’s messengers going? Are they on El’s business? It is too much to endure, and I climb to my feet and slip on my outer robe. Nami’s feathered tail whips my leg; she is eager for an adventure. I signal her for quiet with a claw gesture, a sign I taught her, though she rarely barks.
The slave girl, whose name I have learned is Lila, lies by the fire. She appears to sleep soundly. I strain to see in the room lit only by the moonlight seeping from the open window and through the small gaps in the fronds over the courtyard. The oil braziers no longer burn. When Mika and Raph settled on their pallets earlier in the night, they set between them the fur-covered object they have carried throughout the journey. A pull stronger than a current draws me toward the spot. If necessary, I can move very quietly, a skill I learned in order to slip out of the tent without arousing my father. I squat next to the object, my fingers exploring its dark shape.
I wish the light were better. The fur covering is gone, and I can only see it is a chest. My fingers slide across fine wood polished with oil. I fumble with it, my heart thudding, and open the lid. Only then does it occur to me what lies inside might be cursed … or alive, and I rock back on my heels.
Nothing jumps out at me. My skin does not melt with El’s fire. The faint scent of cedar touches my nostrils. Tentatively, I reach inside. The interior is lined with thick sheepskin, but nothing is there. Disappointed, I close the lid. They must have taken it with them.
Sleep is far from my reach. I move to the door. Fortunately, Lot’s door, well greased with fat, opens soundlessly. Nami trots out beside me. It is night, but it is not dark. Torches burn everywhere, making me blink stupidly for a few moments in the unexpected brightness.
People have spilled into the street as if it is midday market, but they are dressed in their finest clothes. Women wear Egyptian kohl around their eyes and have twisted their hair into oiled braids. It is a chaos in which I cannot find pattern, and there is no sign of Raph or Mika, though by all rights, their heads and shoulders should have been visible above the crowd.
Frustrated, I decide not to wade into such confusion to look for them, but to seek a higher point where I can perhaps spot them. Not far to the east, the land rises sharply. I start that way, Nami at my side, her head high, nose to the wind, eyes bright. It lifts my heart to see her out of her brood for her pups.
The northeastern gate is normally closed by dark, but tonight the gates are thrown open, as though inviting the world to partake in the celebrations. This gate is smaller and less elaborate than the south gate where we entered the city. No one stops me or questions me as I pass through.
Beyond the bright areole of torchlight, I pause to let my vision adjust to the darkness. There is a well-worn path to the right, but from the other direction, a flash of light on an outcropping arouses my curiosity. As though she knows my desire, Nami leads. We are not the first to come this way. It is clearly a path, though not as wide as the first one. I am thankful for the white markings on Nami’s legs, because otherwise, she is a brush stroke of darkness in the night.
We wind our way up the steep trail until it splits, the main trail continuing up, and a less traveled path heading toward where I saw the flash of light. That is the way Nami chooses. As a sight hunter, Nami’s sense of smell is perhaps not as keen as other breeds, but it is still far superior to mine. I follow until we gain an outcropping, a flat expanse that looks out over the city and the Dead Sea. Light from multiple torches halos the sky above the city walls below and blocks the stars from view. The moon is a bright egg, but its edges are ragged with dark clouds.
I settle on the edge while Nami explores the dark recesses of a cave behind us.
To my surprise, I hear a soft laugh and a gentle, “Your nose cold, Nami.” I turn swiftly to see a tall shadow unfolding from the even darker shadows.
“Do not start, Adir. It is only me, Raph.”
My heart starts a patter. Raph? Did destiny guide my steps, or perhaps El? Then I catch sight of the polished silver disc hanging from his neck and realize the flash of light I had seen from below must have been a reflection of moonlight from his pendant. I manage to croak, “Are we alone?”
Raph drops to sit beside me. “For short time. Mika relieves himself.”
This means I have only moments to win his love forever. I, an inexperienced girl he thinks a boy, a daunting task I have no idea how to begin.
He puts a friendly hand on my back, and my heart catches.
“What brings you here? Curious of the rites?”
Trying to remember how to breathe, I am far too distracted to answer. The spot on my back where his hand rests burns, as though with fire.
Is it a holy fire?
And, just as important, does it linger longer than a friendly man-to-man touch?
And yet again, that would be a matter to be judged in light of one’s customs, and how would I know the customs of his people? All these thoughts race through my mind until I remember he has asked me a question.
“What?” I say stupidly.
Nami, who sits at my left side, gives a quiet whine, her attention on the trail.
A portion of the light from the city is blackened by the column that is Mika. He stops, seeing me. “What are you here?” Disapproval stains his voice.
I ignore him because I am busy being furious with myself. I have Raph alone and do I reveal my soul, my longing? Do I uncover my true self so he can see past this disguise of my boyish dress?
No, I sit in silence, unable to answer even the simplest question. The lost opportunity carves an ache in my belly.
Mika remains standing, but Raph and I sit at the outcrop’s edge while the moon rises, silvering the sea’s dark waters. Raph waves a hand toward the salt formations at the water’s edge. “Like snowdrifts.”
As traveled as I am, I have heard stories of snow, but never seen it. My mouth is dry, but I clear my throat, taking advantage of an opportunity to engage Raph in conversation, even if it is about the weather. “I have never seen snow. Is it like white sand?”
Raph smiles. “More fragile, but hold in your hand.”
I frown. “It is frozen water, is it not? Ice?”
“Yes, it a form of water is. If apply heat, it melts to water, but snow is lighter, like—?” He looks to Mika, who stands on Raph’s other side, holding his staff, a long rod that is taller than his head.
Mika shrugs. “Clouds?”
I am intrigued by the concept of holding clouds in my hand, but the wind shifts, bringing the scent of coming rain and roiling dark clouds to obscure the moon’s sliver. Before the night is over, I fully expect to be soaked by a downpour, but I am not willing to leave Raph’s side. We are close enough that he has actually brushed my arm twice.
While we watch, a line of firebrands forms in the streets below. From our vantage, it appears a blazing snake, weaving a path through the town toward the temple. The sound of drums slides under my skin, pounding my blood to match its rhythm. If it were not for my desire to stay with Raph, I might have heeded the pull to join them.
Over Raph’s shoulder, I hear Mika’s voice. “This is not The Way.”
Lightning flashes across the sky, and for a moment, night is day.
“They are not our people, brother,” Raph says. “You cannot expect them to honor our truths. They have their own.”
I like that.
Another burst of light in the sky.
“Truth is truth,” Mika says stubbornly.
Below, I see someone exit Lot’s house and recognize the almost square shape of Lot. Is he sneaking off to the rites or looking for his missing guests and kin?
Nami whines and presses against me. I stroke her and find she is trembling. “What frightens you, Nami?” I whisper.
At that moment, the air sharpens, lifting every hair on my arms and the back of my neck, as though the sky has drawn a breath. From the corner of my eye, I catch a flash and look up at Mika who stands beside us, looking down at the city. His staff is alive with a corona of light. I have never seen anything like it. Countless tiny particles of blue light dance at the tip, down the shaft, and over his hand and arm.
I grab Raph, digging my fingers into the muscles of his upper arm. He glances at me in puzzlement, then follows my gaze up to Mika, and I hear the suck of his breath. We are silent, all of us, frozen at the wonder and beauty of the softly sizzling light.
Twice more lightning stabs white fingers into the dark sea below us. Thunderous blasts follow, but we cannot take our gaze from the cobalt fire that engulfs Mika’s staff and hand.
When the corona fades away, a third bolt crackles into the sea, accompanied by a loud clap of thunder. Lightning ignites a patch of floating pitch the size of Lot’s roof, which floats slowly toward Sodom. Wind spreads the fire’s oily black breath over the walls and into the city like an augury, where it entwines with the torch smoke of the marchers winding their way toward their destination—the temple where Baal waits for the appointed day to join with his Asherah and arouse the earth.