12

Mahlah recognized that robe with its crimson and purple collar, and the black forms spotting the drape of linen. Why did she have to lay eyes on this bandit once more? Milcah’s observation echoed in her brain. He had blood on his feet.

“You stole our goat.” Her proclamation carried over the moaning of the revelers. Perhaps if she kept her voice strong, he would not notice the gentle shake of her legs.

Cackling, the bandit clapped his hands.

Was he mocking her?

“Look around, lioness. Why would I have need of a goat when there are better things to sacrifice?” The liar’s glare fell on an unsteady Hoglah.

Mahlah’s belly hollowed. She had heard of babies being thrown into the fire as offerings to pagan gods. Certainly not women? Not tonight. Not her sister. Not a daughter of Zelophehad. If only her sister and Basemath weren’t pinning her blade and sling stones against her body.

Hoglah bent forward, a hand clasped to her mouth.

“We must get you home.” She stared into the dark, squinting eyes of the thief. “Aren’t you going to let us pass? My sister is ill.”

The man could have been a statue, for not a wrinkle of compassion flickered in his fang-toothed mask of a face.

He nodded toward the altar, not one piece of hair shifting from his greased mane. “I believe these women were on their way to dance.”

“May it never be!” A rapid thudding echoed in her ears. “Our God forbids celebrations before an idol.”

“Such a shame.” He pouted. “You do not let your cubs romp and play.”

“Not with a thief who tortures a nursing goat.” The truth stormed from her lips, but no ally stirred to notice. Would not a single Hebrew come to her defense?

“I am not a thief.” His rebuke reverberated through her chest and sobered her blissful sister.

His charcoal-lined eyes widened and then became slits as if he were trying to mesmerize her with his being.

A tiny twitch fluttered her right eyelid. Not now. She couldn’t afford her eye to droop and water. Strength would get her home, not tears. Not in this soulless place.

She blinked. Lord, bless your servant.

“The truth does not change.” She rolled her shoulders back, dislodging her kin a step and bolstering her height. Thank goodness her eyelid stayed open. “You took our goat to sacrifice.”

He laughed. His high-pitched, humiliating squeal engaged a few half-dressed women and the men feasting on their nakedness.

“What have I stolen from you?” He flung his arms as if addressing a court of judges. “One swollen goat.” He pointed his finger at a nearby man. “Only one.” He puffed his chest like a pharaoh’s pillow. “Your people are taking this land city by city. You spill the blood of Amorites and sup in their stone houses.”

Muttering grew among the worshipers closest to the thief. Hissing like snakes, the heathens beheld her with contempt.

“Our God gave us this land.” Would her challenge rally some of her people to cast away their passions and voice their faith? Someone? Anyone?

“Which god would that be? Hmmm? For I know them all. I have prayed to them all.” His taunts grew louder. “I have slit open bellies to them all. Offered hearts and organs to them all.”

“You. Do. Not. Know. My God.” Mahlah’s teeth clenched. How dare this pagan ridicule the God of Abraham and compare Him with images of stone and clay.

A lark swooshed from a tree over her head. The flap of its wings rallied her heartbeat even more. Lord, I need Your shalom.

“Balaam, enough of these harsh words. Start the sacrifices.” A long-haired girl sashayed toward the bandit and slipped an arm under his ruby-studded cloak. Her armlets and rings glistened with almost as many jewels as the thief’s.

At least Mahlah had a name to curse: Balaam. But now she knew her foe held the position of a pagan priest. Her temples ached.

Balaam stepped closer, jerking the woman forward. “Have you spoken to your god, lioness. I have seen his heavenly warriors and I, Balaam son of Beor, am alive and able to speak of it.”

The beauty at Balaam’s side dropped to her knees and kissed his fingers.

Mahlah ignored the spectacle of the woman groveling at the priest’s feet and held his serpent-eyed gaze. “If you have seen and spoken to my God, then you know He is a living God.”

Basemath struggled against Mahlah’s hold. “The ground is moving.”

“I must get my sisters home.” She pushed the girls around Balaam.

“To your tent?” Balaam snorted. “My, what comforts your God provides. The worshipers of Baal live in a city of brick and stone. Are you sure you do not want to celebrate with us?”

Thrusting his hips toward her, Balaam gyrated, pleasing his dancer. Mahlah gagged on the bile pooling in her throat.

Would this nightmare never end? How dare this fool show contempt for her and her God? Was this a test of her faith? A test for the house of Zelophehad? Her father had grumbled against God’s provision. May it never be said that she uttered a whine. She would not allow this filth of a man to trample upon the name of her God.

She released the hands of Basemath and Hoglah and urged them to make their way farther from Balaam’s blockade.

“Your worship is not our worship. We worship the One True God. The God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.”

Balaam spit in the dirt. “All murderers and thieves.”

Whap. She slapped him. Firm and hard and without a simple thought.

In a blur, he cinched her wrist with his long-fingered hand.

Her palm throbbed as he held her fast. Was this the same helplessness her goat had felt?

Gritting her teeth, she glared at him as fierce and wild as the lion he claimed her to be. Her body shook, not from fear, but from the overwhelming disgust and fury she hurled at this man. She dropped her weight, finding an inner balance. This priest held no power over her or her God, and she would resist the slightest tug to keep her dignity in this immoral pit.

Commotion. The clop of hooves. Squealing. Braying. All came from the direction Jeremiah had traveled.

The dancing woman screamed.

Balaam released Mahlah’s wrist and leapt to the side.

Eli clung to a bucking donkey, its teeth snapping at anyone or anything that came close.

Mahlah dove away from Balaam.

“It’s gone mad,” Eli screamed. “Help me.”

Her clansman had sobered fast.

Couples scrambled from the crazy beast.

The pagan woman clung to Balaam, her gold armlets a beacon against the black animal forms on his cloak.

“Haven’t Midianites seen asses?” Balaam jerked and attempted to free himself from the frightened dancer.

Mahlah ran, grabbed Hoglah and Basemath, and did a fast waddle down the path the donkey had cleared.

Jeremiah waved them onward toward the outskirts of the pit.

“Flee to your sheep skin city,” Balaam shouted.

She swatted away his jeer like a pesky fly and raced into the dark.

How were they going to get their donkey back? And Eli?

Placing two fingers into his mouth, Jeremiah whistled.

Hoglah and Basemath covered their ears, complaining.

She welcomed the shrill ring.

At a full-on trot, their donkey sprinted out of the pit. Jeremiah ushered them after his donkey and frenzied brother.

Toda raba, Adonai.

Several paces from the pit, Mahlah slowed her steps and caught her breath. Her arm muscles burned from carrying the weight of her sister and neighbor. The feel of Balaam’s grip still lingered on her wrist. She breathed deep and filled her lungs with smoke-tainted air. To her, the breeze was as fresh as the breeze on a manna-picking morning. The pit didn’t hold her, and most importantly, it didn’t hold her sister. She couldn’t bear to lose another family member.

She and Jeremiah helped Basemath mount the calmed donkey. Eli, mostly sober, didn’t protest his loss of a ride.

“I’ll walk,” Hoglah said. She stared past Mahlah into the silhouettes of a grove of acacia trees.

Hearing her sister speak without a slur made Mahlah walk as tall as the night-covered branches. Should she demand an answer to her sister’s foolishness? Later, when they were alone.

“You may hold our lamp.” Mahlah retrieved their light and handed it to her sister.

A low drum beat echoed in the distance. Visions of the fiery altar sent a chill over Mahlah’s flesh. Praise God they had been delivered from that pagan priest.

Her mind wandered to their camp. Were her sisters asleep or huddled in their tent waiting for her return? In Jeremiah’s absence, and with double the flocks to care for, Noah would not have made it into camp to check on the young ones. Mahlah only hoped that Moses had much to discuss with the tribal leaders and that Nemuel was delayed at the Tent of Meeting, for what explanation could she give to him about the absence and state of his daughter? Would he blame her leadership? Or worse, Hoglah? The daughters of Zelophehad did not need another tongue lashing.

Oh Lord, give me wisdom and save me from another pit.

Her eye twitched and began to water.