Counted With the Stars (18 page)

10
TH
DAY
OUT
OF
E
GYPT

S
ayaad strode into our campsite with the carcasses of two gray geese hanging from his large fists. “Good day!” He handed the geese to my mother with a bow. “These girls have not laid since we've been traveling, so I thought I would share.”

“Oh my, thank you, Sayaad.” My mother tipped her head in gratitude. “Won't you join us?”

“I will!” He grinned, and then winked at me. “I must admit that may have been my true motive.”

I raised my brows and turned away.

“I've been searching for you for the three days we have been camped here,” he said.

She gestured for him to sit. “Please then, do stay. Kiya and I are working on the meal.”

I scrutinized Sayaad out of the corner of my eye as he sat down on an overturned crate nearby, arms crossed and long legs stretched toward me. Obviously he was a man used to working outside, with skin burnished bronze and thick kohl protecting his eyes. Broad-shouldered like Akhum, he was strong
and carried himself with the aura of one aware of his masculine appeal. But unlike my betrothed, his eyes were an intense blue, like lapis stone. I had never seen the like in any Egyptian. Against his dark skin, they glowed, almost like the pillar of fire in the desert night.

“Sayaad, are you from Iunu, as we are?” My mother placed the geese on our makeshift table fashioned from a plank and two overturned clay pots, then sat cross-legged in the sand.

“No, I came from a small town farther up the Nile, on a small branch.”

“You were near Avaris?” She plucked goose feathers and placed them in the basket.

I knelt, picked up the other goose, and began tugging feathers too, glad of the occupation for my hands.

“No, a bit farther west. My master was a vintner. The soil there was perfect for wine.”

My mouth watered at the memory of Shefu's crisp wine on my tongue. I glanced at my mother. Her eyes stayed on the goose, but she swallowed hard.

“So why are you here?” I chanced a look at those blue eyes.

They pierced my own for a moment. “I couldn't stay away.”

Tingles whispered up my spine, causing me to stammer. “Uh . . . uh . . . no, I mean, how did you come to be among the Hebrews?”

A smirk pulled at his lips. I could tell he enjoyed throwing me off-center. “My master was a firstborn son and died on the Night of Death. His wife was too grief-stricken to care that most of the slaves in the household disappeared the next morning and so”—he shrugged—“I left too.”

“What made you decide to join this journey?”

“We heard the tales of the Hebrews fleeing Egypt. I figured one escape was as good as any other. So I came with a group of other refugees from my master's household. A small group
on foot had little problem catching up with millions of men, women, children, and animals.” He circled his hand in the air.

“Why not go home to your own family?” I tried to keep my eyes on the goose, instead of his smooth, clean jaw, the cleft in his chin, and the strength of his bared chest.

“My family is gone. Dead, long ago.”

I caught my breath, although the truth did not surprise me. Death was everywhere, it seemed. It surrounded us like a mist. “I'm so sorry.”

He shrugged and brushed away my apology. “It was long ago, I only know Egypt now.”

This did surprise me, although a slight accent slipped through his fluency. “You are not Egyptian?”

“My mother was. We lived in a small village in Moabite territory. I was kidnapped by slave traders and brought to Egypt after my village was destroyed by marauders.”

“How old were you?”

“Ten.”

“So young.” My mother shook her head, tongue clucking against her teeth.

“Old enough.” He chuckled.

I glanced at him. “Old enough for what?”

“To remember where I came from and plan to escape when I had the chance.” He bobbed his head. “And so, here I am.”

Sayaad told us of his master's vineyards, obviously proud of his own part in their production. “My master was the richest vintner in the Lower Delta region. Of course, my fellow slaves and I made sure to collect our fair share before we left.”

“Did his wife give you treasures like many of the other Egyptian masters?” I asked.

Sayaad shrugged and raised his eyebrows. He wore thick gold bands on both well-muscled arms, two gold chains about his neck, and leather sandals that rivaled any of Shefu's. “More or less.”

I placed the unleavened bread on a flat rock heated by the fire. Adept now at flattening the lumps of dough and stretching them across the surface, I waited until brown bubbles appeared and then flipped them over with a stick. Our ration of flour was running low, so these circles were smaller than the last time.

My mother roasted the geese on a makeshift spit, without spices or herbs. The fat dripped and hissed into the fire, teasing my clenching stomach as we waited for the others to return. Zerah and the girls had gone to fetch more water from a nearby spring, and Eben and Jumo were at a meeting with the elders. Again.

It seemed all the elders did was assemble and, as Jumo relayed to me, argue. Each day the chaos around us became more pronounced. Millions of slaves in the desert without a clear destination was a volatile situation. Arguments broke out—a goat stolen, someone's cow trampling through another family's campsite, spilled water stores—and many voices clamored for justice. The few tribal elders gathering each day were unprepared to deal with the demands of such a vast crowd. A crowd becoming increasingly restless as days wore on.

The inevitable could only be ignored for so long. Millions of Pharaoh's slaves wandered in the desert, carting around untold amounts of gold, silver, and jewels on the backs of worn-out donkeys and oxen. He considered us his property. He may have lost one battle, but Pharaoh never lost a war. He would come. I could almost feel his breath on my neck.

As we waited for the geese to cook, Sayaad told us how he had traveled with his master on a number of overland trading runs to Canaan and Phoenicia. These eastern wastelands we walked through now, still considered part of Egypt, were familiar to him.

“If we continue along this road, the Way of the Wilderness, it will take us into Etham. To reach Canaan we will have to change direction soon.” He gestured to the northwest.

I remembered the stories my father had told of his travels and knew the road he spoke of. “If we are trying to reach the land of Canaan, why did we not take the northern trade route directly out of Egypt?”

Sayaad arched one brow, perhaps surprised at my knowledge.

“Mosheh might be leading us away from the Canaanite outposts, avoiding confrontation,” my mother said.

Sayaad shrugged. “Possibly . . . but our numbers would more than overwhelm any outpost.” He shook his head. “I would venture to guess that any outpost that lay in wait for this multitude would be empty by the time we arrived.”

Most of the men in this company were former slaves, but they were well-armed, thanks to the Egyptians who'd ushered us out of the country with any gift they could lay hands on. Swords, bows, chariots, armor—at least half the men held some sort of weapon in their possession. Whether they were able to use them to any effect was another matter. Sayaad pointed out that only a handful of trained soldiers or mercenaries traveled among the throng.

“If an army came against us, overwhelming numbers or not, these slaves would have no chance of winning at hand-to-hand combat.” He scowled, looking off toward the shadowy hills in the west, as if expecting Pharaoh's soldiers to plow across the horizon at any moment.

As well they might.
I shivered.

“If we continue traveling along the Way of the Wilderness . . . it travels south toward the sea and then around the tip of it toward Midian. I have never been along this way.” Sayaad rubbed his jaw. “I wonder what could possibly possess Mosheh to lead us this way.”

“If you haven't noticed, Mosheh is following the Cloud.”

I whipped my head around. Eben stood directly behind me, glaring at Sayaad. I hadn't heard him or Jumo as they returned.

“Perhaps, but if Mosheh is the great sorcerer he is rumored to be, he must be directing the Cloud in some way.” Sayaad gave Eben a permissive smile.

“You know little of our God.” Eben walked out of the campsite, Jumo trailing behind as usual. Even Jumo refused to look at me.

Sayaad laughed. “What was that about?”

“He hates us.”

“You and me?” He smirked. He liked the sound of that.

“Egyptians in general.”

Even as I said it, however, I knew it wasn't true. Eben's shattered heart had opened to Jumo. I had even caught glimpses of him softening toward me, unless my hopeful imagination deceived me.

“Ah.” Sayaad leaned forward, elbows on knees and fingers bridged under his chin. “And what do you think of this . . . Yahweh? Are you convinced of his power?”

“How could you not be? He destroyed our entire country.”

“So you have decided to devote yourself to the Hebrews' God?” His brows lifted over those brilliant blue eyes.

“No.” Yahweh may be real, but his unbridled power frightened me.

“Why did you come on this journey, if not to follow Yahweh?”

“To save my brother and to be free. So far no deity has done anything except ignore my prayers. I don't need another deaf god.”

I
see you still have not learned how to balance a jug.” Shira's teasing laughter echoed off the narrow canyon walls.

“Perhaps not, but at least the water I fetch today will be for my own use, instead of Tekurah's.” I wrinkled my nose at Shira and adjusted my grasp on the earthen vessel against my hip.

The narrow canyon cradled lush green between its meandering halls that had been smoothed by eons of yearly floods. The early rains had done their work, leaving behind a trail of verdant plant life. The distant mountains still retained their caps of snow, which meant that there would be many runoff streams threading their way through these foothills. A gift to the millions, desperate for water.

Eben and Jumo walked ahead of us, picking their way through the wadi, leading us to a stream they had scouted not far from our camp.

I hoped no one else had yet found this stream, as I was anxious to avoid any more pointed stares from the other Hebrews. Very few of them regarded me with anything other than open
suspicion, and I was grateful that Shira's family had somehow accepted us into their clan.

My mother and Zerah, both widowed now, had become quick friends in spite of their obvious differences. Zerah had taken my mother under her capable wing, and as a result, my mother already seemed stronger.

Eben, too, had embraced a member of my family—Jumo limped behind him wherever he went, whether he was attending meetings with the elders or negotiating trades with other travelers for food and other essentials.

Jumo had spent the majority of his life cast to the side. Playmates were scarce for a boy with uncontrollable legs and a twisted tongue. The other children mocked him cruelly, and I was always quick to his defense. Even as a tiny child of three or four, it infuriated me when someone called him a name or parodied his affected speech. I would fly at them, scolding and chasing them away. When it came to Jumo, fear did not shadow me.

Ahead of us, Eben walked with a steady pace, not slowing for Jumo on his crutches but picking out the most even ground he could, accommodating my brother without condescension. I had watched the two of them across the campfire last night, laughing together. Eben listened intently to Jumo, not a hint of impatience on his face as my brother faltered through the jumble of his words. For the first time, another man treated Jumo as something other than broken.

So why did it bother me so much?

“There, do you hear it?” Shira's voice was nearly swallowed by the mournful coo of a startled dove in an acacia nearby. She cocked her head. “The water is near.”

I had expected a trickling stream, but the rushing water pummeled the rocks as it descended from a ridge more than fifteen cubits high. Eben and Jumo crouched next to the large pool
gathered at the bottom, scooping water over their heads with their hands.

Standing, Eben shook his head like a stray dog, droplets spraying everywhere. He turned, dripping and laughing, his wild hair clinging to his face, eyes dancing with amusement. Water trickled down his nose, tracing a path across his full lips and off his beard. The urge to swipe back the sodden tangles with my hand unnerved me. I looked away, feigning interest in one of the oleanders that had pushed its way out of a crevice in the rock, determined to flout its pink blossoms in the desert heat.

“Paradise!” Shira clasped her hands to her chest as she surveyed the moss-slicked rocks and the emerald pool at the foot of the waterfall. “I can't wait to jump in.”

The same desire called to me, and I slipped off my sandals, eager to wade into the cool water.

Eben and Jumo left us to scout the area nearby, giving us privacy. However, Eben assured us that they were within earshot should there be any trouble. Shira and I washed in the pool, scrubbing the grit from our hair and faces and floating on our backs in the green water.

We then lay on the shore in the sun, allowing our clothes to dry as Shira entertained me with more stories of her people—Yosef and his brothers' betrayal; Yaakov and Rachel, whose love endured fourteen years of forced labor. I folded my arms behind my head and watched the sparse clouds glide south, feeling somehow connected to these foreign people from long ago.

Then Eben's face hovered over me, blocking out the early-morning sun I had been enjoying. “If I was a leopard stalking you, both of you would already be dead.” Frustration was clear in his voice.

I made a face at him. “At least I would die clean.”

Humor replaced annoyance in his expression, and one eyebrow
lifted high. “I do not think the beast would care how much you smelled like a donkey if he could get a taste of your lovely neck.”

His eyes widened, as if shocked he had said such a thing, and he quickly turned to his sister. “There is a stand of acacias a bit higher up.” He pointed back the way he and Jumo had returned from. “Jumo isn't able to climb the rocks. Can you come with me and help me drag the trees back after I cut them down? I'd like to bring back some tent poles for Ima.”

Standing, I stretched my back. “I'll go. Let Shira rest, she's too little to drag trees around anyhow.” I waved a hand at my brother, who leaned against his crutches nearby. “Jumo can stay here with her.”

Eben looked back and forth between Jumo and me, then shrugged and handed my brother his short sword. “All right.” He pointed a commanding finger at Shira. “Pay attention. And scream if you need me.”

A surprising flicker of fear crossed Shira's face, but she remained silent. Remembering the attack she had endured back in Egypt, I understood her reticence at being alone with a man, but Jumo? I had serious doubts that he even had any idea how to use the sword that now hung limply from his hand.

Scrambling up the steep slope behind Eben, I considered his quick deflection after his comment about my neck earlier. I had sensed a spark of something in the air between us, but he still seemed uncomfortable around me, as if my presence was disconcerting to him. Perhaps I was still a constant reminder of his father's death.

The small stand of acacias was tucked against the hillside, a few sturdy saplings elbowing in among the mature trees. Grateful for the shade, I slipped beneath the spread of one of the larger ones, but not before checking for coiled serpents among its tangled branches that might also be benefiting from the dappled shade. Eben was right to be angry with me for not
being cautious; this was dangerous country, stalked by wild beasts and venomous snakes.

Eben removed the small hatchet he had carried in his belt and set to work on one of the taller saplings, which stood only a handspan above his head. I watched him as he struck the tree in smooth, rhythmic strokes, thinking of his kindness to my brother and the protective, fatherly way he interacted with Zayna and Shoshana. They adored him. Not a meal went by when one or the other wasn't in his lap. He patiently endured their endless questions, incessant chatter, and demands for his attention. How well he had stepped into the role of father for the girls, who had probably never known their own. Zerah must have been newly pregnant with Zayna when her husband had been killed.

A sharp cry from Eben sent me scrambling out from my protective cover.

“What is it?”

He hissed in a breath through clenched teeth, trying to survey the damage. “Didn't move fast enough. Thorns sliced my arm on the way down.”

“Here, let me.” I stepped close to look at the jagged path the thorns had slashed down his bicep and around the inside of his arm. Gently, I removed a couple of thorn tips that had broken off and embedded in his skin. One scratch was particularly deep, and I winced as I ran a finger down the length of it. “This will need salve.”

He stiffened, his muscles tensing beneath my touch. When I looked up, he was staring at me, a pained expression on his face, and his eyes turned darkest jade. The little crescent scar at the top of his cheekbone stood out against his sun-burnished skin, distracting me. Where had it come from? A fight?

Caught in the snare of whatever was pulling me toward him, I allowed myself to gaze back at him, to consider crossing the divide and drawing his wounded arm around my waist.

Akhum's face suddenly loomed in my mind, repeating the accusation he had flung at me that night in the garden.
No one will want your precious heart.

I released Eben's wrist and stepped back, my pulse rushing like a flood. Grasping for something to say, I stumbled over my words. “Thank the gods you moved as fast as you did, those thorns can do terrible damage.”

“And which god do you give thanks to?”

Eben's razor-sharp question caught me off guard. I stared at him, unable to give him any answer. My gods had little power. Their weakness, or apathy, had been proven by months of allowing Egypt to suffer under the destructive hand of Yahweh. And as I told Sayaad, I could not truthfully say I followed Eben's God, for what care did Yahweh have for me? My feet may have been following the Cloud, but only until I found another way to freedom.

“None of them. It is only a habit to say such a thing.”

He lifted a brow. “You come with us, but you have no loyalty to Yahweh?”

“My loyalty is to my brother. It is for him that I am here. The gods care nothing for him, or for me.”

A drop of water splashed against my cheek.

Eben looked up at the sky and then over my shoulder. “We have to go. Now.”

I lifted my hand to shade my eyes, squinting at the lone cloud above us. “It should pass quickly.”

“No.” He pointed behind me. “It's raining south of here. In the mountains. The wadi could fill at any moment.”

Understanding rushed at me full force. Rain in the mountains meant runoff, and water funneling through these narrow canyons could create sudden floods.

Leaving the saplings behind, we skidded down the rocky hillside, a current of stones tumbling down behind us.

Shira was sitting on a rock at the edge of the pool, toes dangling in the water. Jumo was in the pool fully clothed, floating on his back. Jumo was a wonderful swimmer. The laws of his handicap did not apply there, it seemed. He floated freely, his awkward limbs made graceful by the buoyancy of the water.

I called to him, gesturing furiously for him to return to shore, but before his feet touched the ground, the water tumbling over the rocks above turned muddy.

“Get to higher ground!” Eben's urgent command was laced with panic.

We followed him, back the way he and I had come only a few moments before. Eben led the way, with Shira close behind, and I followed Jumo, who used his crutches to propel himself forward with as much speed as he could muster across the uneven ground.

Hearing the crash of water behind me, I picked up my pace but slipped on a loose stone, and my ankle turned, my sandal strap breaking. I cried out at the pain, pitching forward and scraping my hands and knees on the ground.

Muddy water swirled around me, rushing forward and deepening with alarming speed. Eben gripped me around the waist and hefted me to my feet, yelling that I needed to climb—fast! He pressed me toward the steep bank behind Shira, and I stumbled up the slope, using crevices in the rocks and stray roots to keep my balance.

Looking back, I realized that Eben and Jumo were not behind me, and horror coiled in my chest. The water was rushing past, at least a cubit or more high, pushing branches, stones, and debris in its muddy wake.

Skidding back down the slope, I screamed their names. Then I saw them, struggling against the current. Jumo, his crutches washed away, had fallen, his head barely above the water.

My heart flew to my throat. I watched in helpless, wordless
panic as Eben reached out to Jumo, gripping an acacia bush to keep his balance.

Together, the two men fought the flood as they moved toward me, the water eddying around their knees, determination on their faces.

I reached out a hand to grasp Jumo's as they came close and yanked him up onto the bank, then did the same for Eben. We scrambled back up to where Shira sat perched on a ledge.

Her eyes widened as she took in the appearance of her brother and Jumo, who were covered in mud and bleeding from multiple scrapes. “What happened?”

Jumo grinned. “He . . . saved . . . me.”

Eben shrugged, a self-deprecating smirk on his face. “That's the last time, though. You lost my sword.” He cradled his thorn-shredded hand against his shoulder.

Jumo threw back his head, his laughter echoing off the smooth-faced cliffs around us, and Eben and Shira joined in.

I did not. It suddenly struck me how perilous this journey would be. If the deadly storms, lack of food, or wild animals did not kill us, then Pharaoh surely would.

There was no other choice but to go back to Egypt. My mother, brother, and I must find a way to return. There would be plenty of cities where no one would know us. We would simply lie and say that Jumo was a second-born son. But how could we survive on our own in the wilderness? And now that I had talked them into going with the Hebrews, how could I change Jumo's and my mother's minds?

Ra, the eternal sun, glared overhead—his disdain made clear by the intensity of his heat against my face. Although tempted to plead with him for a way back to my homeland, three days of night weighted the argument against his power. I would have to find help somewhere else.