Is there so much anger in the minds of the gods?
—Vergil
I have no rest; only trouble comes.
—Job 3:26
THE FOLLOWING DAY, LILA AND I sit in the dappled light of the courtyard, teasing lentils from their pods, she on the reed floor, and I on a small stool like the one I sat on in Sarai’s tent. We keep the rugs rolled up until it is time for a meal, to keep chicken droppings off them.
It is a pleasant morning to shell peas. Two from each pod. Her nine fingers work twice as fast as mine. She has bought a great reed basket of them. I still carry the thrust of our talk, but every day she is becoming more comfortable in the role of friendship I offer her. “This basket nearly broke my back,” she says, a complaint she would never utter in front of Lot’s daughters.
“Why did you choose such a large one?”
She sighs. “It was a better bargain than the smaller.”
“Then you should have hired a boy to carry it.”
Her dark eyes flash, indignant. “I would have wasted the savings!”
I laugh. It speaks of her character that she is concerned about the household affairs, though she has no portion in them.
“Well,” I say. “We shall have lentil soup and lentil stew and then—”
“Lentil soup,” Lila says, catching the path of my humor, “and then lentil stew.”
I remember the camaraderie in the desert women’s tent in Yassib’s camp. Into this opening, I ask, “Lila, how did you lose your finger?”
She hesitates, glancing at my face. “Forgive the query,” I say quickly.
“No, it happened a long time ago. I was only a child.” She takes a breath. “I do not remember much, just sitting in the dust outside our hut and reaching for what I thought was a stick.” She looks up. “The stick came alive in my hand—a newborn viper.”
I draw a breath. Even a just-hatched viper is dangerous, sometimes more full of poison than an adult.
“My mother came running at my screams. Before I could realize what she was doing, she pulled out the knife she had in her sash for cooking and killed the snake, then cut off my finger so the poison would not spread. I have done without it most of my life and do not miss it.”
I nod. Our deformities, though quite different, link us together in a way a whole person cannot understand.
Nami whines, nosing the basket. I call her to my side before she can knock it over, having no wish to pick lentil pods from the reed-strewn floor.
At a knock on the door, Lila rises with far greater grace than I can manage and goes to open it, giving me time to struggle to my feet. My limitations are not that noticeable now, once I am up and moving, but getting up and down is a challenge.
It is Danel. He has become a frequent visitor. I greet him while Lila goes back to shelling peas. Danel follows her with his gaze, and I smile. He is so obviously smitten.
At the sudden squawking of the chickens and a gasp from Lila, I turn in alarm. She is kneeling on the floor, her back to us. Beyond her, I see that Nami has forgotten my command to leave the basket alone, and spilled the contents. Relieved at the mundane upset, I sigh in annoyance and sympathy. Each day we are confined to this house, Nami finds obedience increasingly difficult.
Lila’s hands are full of pods. I take a step toward them to help her collect the spilled beans, but Danel’s sudden grip on my arm halts me.
I have missed what he has not. Philot is pulling against his tether, his head up and his tail clamped in fear; the chickens have retreated into the far corners; and Nami’s posture is aggressive—her head low, the tufts of short hair spiked between her shoulders. Her legs splay, and tension holds them stiff, ready to leap in an instant.
Only when the floor moves, do my eyes resolve what she and Lila and Danel have already seen. It is not the floor that moves, but a snake, a ribbon of black sliding through the brown reeds scattered on the floor. The soft rustle of scales accompanies the snake’s advance toward Lila. She is rigid, but a pod falls from her trembling hand. At the movement, the serpent lifts its narrow head, and I recognize it—a desert cobra.
The air sucks from the room as if a demon spirit has entered.
“Nami, stay,” I say quietly, but loud enough to be heard. I am afraid to give her the hand signal and hope she hears me.
“Do not move, Lila,” I add in the same tone. Her face is angled to me. I can see her lips tremble to match her hands, and the pinch of skin around the eye visible to me. Other than the tremble, she is motionless, her gaze connected to the snake’s, as if they are bound together.
The cobra lifts its head and a section of its body into the air, a thin, split tongue tasting. It is a large serpent. Normally, it would flee from danger, but it does not see well. If it perceives a threat—
I swallow. How can I reach Lila? What can I do? My grasp on the staff is as tight as Danel’s hand on my arm. I fear if I move, it will strike, but Danel is behind me. “Have you your father’s skill with the throwing knife?” I ask him under my breath.
“No,” he whispers back. “I would more likely hit her or the wall than a snake!”
“Lila.” I try to keep the fear from my voice. She needs to hear only calm and sureness. She must know the beat of her heart calls to the cobra with a sweeter song than a lover’s. Perhaps she feels the throb where her finger used to be.
Another pod falls from her shaking hand, striking her lap with a tiny plop.
A swift coil … and black lightning strikes.
Lila screams.
I pull from Danel’s grasp and stagger toward her, ignoring the jabs of pain in my hip and leg. The serpent has latched onto Lila’s forearm, sinking its fangs into her nut-brown flesh.
With a swing of Ishmael’s staff, I knock the snake aside, and Nami is on it faster than I can shout at her. I raise my staff again, but dog and snake are too entwined to risk another blow. A coil of cobra has wrapped about Nami’s neck, but she has clamped down on a part and dances about, shaking her head.
Philot kicks out at them, narrowly missing Nami. Danel has dragged a sobbing Lila to safety. “Adir,” he shouts, reverting to the name he has called me all of my life and most of his. “Get back!”
But how can I? I can do nothing more for Lila, but my Nami—
I watch for an opening to apply the staff, but they are now even more intertwined and moving constantly. Finally, it stops, but only appears so. The snake’s body remains coiled around Nami’s neck. Her teeth bear down just behind the cobra’s head, forcing open the curved fangs that drip venom. If Nami releases for a better grip, she is doomed.
The coils tighten in desperation. The cobra does not crush its prey, relying instead on its poison, but I can see Nami’s eyes bulge from the pressure. Still, she does not relinquish her position, slowly bearing down through the thick muscles.
It is only now I think to call upon my god. I fall to my knees. I do not know if he will hear me or heed me without the sweet incense of a sacrifice on his altar, and I am not his beloved, Abram, who has his ear. El, I am daughter of Zakiti of Abram’s tribe. You have claimed me as yours. I beg you to save my Nami! Save my heart.
A strangled sound comes from Nami’s throat; she is choking.
“Adira!” It is Lila who calls me now, but I cannot turn my gaze from the dog and snake. I want to cut them apart. My knife! How have I forgotten it? I fumble at my sash, my hands now trembling.
“No, Adira, stay back!” Danel shouts.
As I start forward with a hazy plan to cut the coils from her neck, a sharp crack startles me. Nami gives the head a last shake and opens her jaws, dropping her opponent. It falls with a dull thud beside the basket, still twitching.
I change my plan in mid-lunge, laying the bronze blade into the wound Nami has made and pressing down with all the weight of my body. Behind me, the tail, which has released Nami, whips, snapping up and striking my back. I ignore it, not satisfied until my knife severs the bone.
The shaking that had affected my hands, now courses through my entire body. I turn to Lila. She holds her arm where the snake struck, her face white.
“Find a healer,” I snap at Danel.
“Yes … I know one close by.” He breaks free of his immobility, and he is gone.
Nami steps forward and licks my face with her bloody tongue. I press her to me and then make her lie still on her side while I run my fingertips over every bit of her, hardly daring to breathe, lest they find puncture wounds.
Lila gasps, “Is she bitten?”
I look up and meet her worried gaze. I do not miss that she can show concern for Nami though bitten herself.
“No wounds on her,” I say with great relief.
WHEN THE HEALER comes, he inspects Lila’s arm and examines her for signs of poison. Then he makes her a poultice. I wish Mika were here, but this man seems to know his business. He says prayers over her and promises to offer a goat to the goddess. I put a silver finger ring in his palm.
“Sometimes no venom is released,” he says, curling his long, stained fingers over the ring.
“It was knocked away quickly,” I agree, wiping sweat from my face.
“That is very fortunate. The desert cobra requires time to release its poison. I believe she will be fine.”
Lila turns to me when he has left. I take her into my arms and let her sob. Danel looks on in the awkward manner of a man who does not know what to do with a crying woman.
At last, Lila sniffs and pulls away from me, touching my shoulder in apology for soaking it.
Nami lies with both paws on the snake’s carcass. Pleased with herself, her tail sweeps a clear swath among the floor rushes.
I take a deep breath, my gaze drawn to the severed head of the cobra. “Well,” I say on the exhale, “Tonight we will have lentils and snake.”
Danel looks on in perplexity as Lila and I burst into a somewhat crazed laughter and more tears.
It is only later, when we have poured tea for Danel, that a thought occurs to me.
“Lila, did you come directly home from the market after you bought the lentils?”
“Not directly,” she said. “I went to purchase a new pot.”
“What did you do with the lentil basket?”
Her face pales as she grasps the reason for my question. “I left it with the vendor at the Gate.” She takes a quick breath. “Surely, you don’t think—?”
“Why would anyone put a venomous snake in your basket?” Danel asks, his hands clenching into fists.
“We are hated here,” I remind him, thinking of the stone that found my head when I last went out alone.