Word Fulfilled, The (40 page)

Hiram stroked his beard. “Can you do that?”

Jamin set his jaw. “I don’t know, but I will anyway. After all, the substitute king’s purpose is to absorb or avert the wrath of the gods. This is exactly what I’m doing—averting the wrath of the only true God. I’ll command sackcloth and ashes be worn by every man, woman, and child—even the livestock, just to make sure. They must turn their eyes and their hearts toward God and seek His mercy. Many have already done so. But time is short. I’ll attend to it today.”

Rizpah’s voice interrupted them from the doorway. “Jamin—I mean, my lord.” She smiled. “Your bride awaits you.”

Jamin stared at her, and a wave of heat flushed his face. He was so consumed with being a king, he had almost forgotten he was also a groom. The thought of Ianna chased everything else from his mind, and he suddenly felt small and vulnerable.

“Go to your wife, Nephew.” A good-natured grin stretched Hiram’s face.

Jamin managed an awkward smile. “I’ll attend to the proclamation first thing . . . tomorrow.”

Forty-eight

The Arabian Desert, East of Nineveh

Twentieth Day of Du’ûzu, the Sixth Hour

onah stirred from slumber and swiped at a sharp jab against his cheek. He rolled to his side and yawned. A second poke on his forehead opened his eyes. In his palm lay a sprig of foliage. It was shriveled, hard and brown, a remnant of a dead plant probably blown in on the morning breeze. Its barbed tip dug into his skin when he closed his fingers and crushed it. He squinted toward the roof of his shelter but saw only an azure morning sky. The canopy was gone.

He pushed up, and dead leaves fluttered from the folds of his cloak. The lean-to had collapsed. The luxuriant vine that gave him so much relief from yesterday’s afternoon sun was a gnarled silhouette that now cringed against the bright sky. The swollen tendrils that dripped such sweet nectar were now withered thorns littering the pebbly sand around him. Even the shelter’s frame of scrub brush lay in ruins, flattened under the weight of the vine as it sagged and disintegrated. He had slept, oblivious to the silent destruction around him.

Jonah muttered to himself. The vine that had provided such unexpected relief yesterday had not only collapsed but destroyed the meager shelter he had fashioned himself. The blessing became a double curse, in that it destroyed what little he already had in its death throes.

As he turned toward the boulder, the sun burst over the edge of the hillock and caught him in the face with the full fury of its glare and its heat.

He covered his eyes against the blinding rays and grumbled, “What has happened? Where is my shelter? Am I just to shrivel and die here in the desert like this cursed vine?”

“Once again, Jonah ben Amittai, you presume upon grace. What did you do to deserve respite from the desert sun? When did you plant the vine? When did you nourish it and weave its foliage into the canopy of your shelter?”

Jonah’s breath caught at the familiar voice. His mind faltered, but then the frustration built up over the past several days overtook him. “I neither asked for nor needed the vine. And now that which I didn’t need has taken with it what I do need.”

“And yet you freely partook of the vine, did you not? You rejoiced in its blessing, and now you curse it in its absence. You took for granted the grace and the benevolence of
Elohim Adonai
, who provided you relief in the midst of your suffering, just as He did the children of Israel in the wilderness of Sin. They, too, partook of His blessings without thanksgiving, and cursed Him in their times of trial. You stand with less excuse, Jonah, for you have the benefit of their lesson, yet you have learned nothing from it.”

Jonah’s shoulders drooped at the divine chastisement.

“What trial? What am I supposed to have learned? I delivered His message to Nineveh. What more does He want?”

The voice came quietly, its tone softened.
“Do you remember you asked a similar question in the belly of the fish, Jonah?”

Jonah sighed. “I asked what I was supposed to learn, how much longer the lesson would be.”

“And the answer?”

He swallowed a lump at the memory. “Until I learned to . . . rejoice. I remember being at the Temple with my family. I remember an urge to sing, to exalt the Lord God in His dwelling place.”

“And you did sing, Jonah. Even in the entrails of the fish, you sang. You rejoiced. You gave thanks.”

“I remember more.”

“Yes, you gave the people of Nineveh over to the salvation of the Lord. You recognized His sovereignty even over Assyria. ‘Salvation is of the Lord,’ you said, ‘even for the Assyrian.’ You have forgotten that, Jonah.”

Jonah buried his face in his hands. “I have forgotten.”

“And now you have fallen in love with an Assyrian.”

Jonah lifted his head. “Hannah? She was all part of this lesson? God made me fall in love with Hannah to teach me a
lesson?”

“No, Jonah. Adonai did not make you fall in love with Hannah. He allowed you to follow your heart, and you fell in love with an Assyrian.”

“But she’s a Jew.”

“Yes, an Assyrian Jew, as she reminded you. And you saw her disappointment when she discovered what you had forgotten from the belly of the fish.”

“But she’s . . . different. She—”

“Yes, Jonah, she is different. There are one hundred and twenty thousand souls in Nineveh and each one is different.
Elohim Adonai
loves Hannah and every one of the one hundred and twenty thousand more than you will ever understand. He has provided them every opportunity to repent, for the way had been prepared before you through the lives of His people, obedient and disobedient, knowingly and unknowingly. Through His creation—the skies, the earth, and the beast—His will has gone forward to prepare the way for His word. Man’s part has been only to respond.”

“And the city will repent?”

“The city has repented.”

“But how?”

“That is no longer your concern, Jonah. You deprived yourself of the blessing of God’s message when you distrusted it. It is time for you to go back to Israel.”

“Go back? Now?”

“Yes. There is one more message for you to deliver.”

Lll

“Jonah?”

The hoarse call floated over the rise of the hill and rousted Jonah from his restless slumber. He opened his eyes to an afternoon sun on its final descent toward the horizon. He shook his head, unsure where the voice came from.

“Jonah!”

Two figures appeared over the edge of the outcropping.

“Hulalitu?” Jonah sat up.

The priestess stumbled the last few paces up the incline. Her arms supported a second figure bent at the waist.

“Hannah!”

The priestess eased her companion to the ground.

Jonah grasped Hannah by the shoulders and peered into her face. She stared with vacant eyes, her arms clasped at her waist.

“What’s wrong?”

The
naditu
only shook her head. Jonah frowned in frustration when he remembered she could not understand his words.

Jonah held Hannah against his shoulder. She stared ahead, her breath shallow. Jonah questioned Hulalitu again with his eyes, but the priestess concentrated on her distraught friend. Finally, Hannah raised her face to his. She opened her mouth, but a violent sob choked her words.

Jonah hugged her close, grateful to have her in his arms again, despite the circumstances. He rocked her and pressed his cheek to her head. The fragrance of her hair filled his senses, and he closed his eyes. For the next few moments, Jonah immersed himself in her. He felt every sob, every whimper. As her convulsions lessened, he pulled back. He brushed loose strands of hair from her face and looked into her eyes.

“Hannah. Tell me what’s wrong.”

Her voice quavered. “It’s Ianna.”

Jonah frowned. “What about Ianna?”

“King Adad-nirari . . . commanded the investiture of an
ugu lugal
, a substitute king.”

Jonah frowned. “Hiram said something about an
ugu lugal
, but I don’t understand what that is.”

Hannah drew a deep breath. “The Assyrians believe that when the gods are displeased, it reflects on the king. To avert divine wrath, a subject of the kingdom takes the king’s place, so any divine punishment would fall on him instead of the king.”

Jonah nodded. “I see. Like our scapegoat, which takes on the sins of the people. But here it’s not a goat; it’s a person.”

Hannah continued. “The king’s emissary chose Jamin to be the substitute king.”

“Jamin? But why.”

She shook her head and fought back a fresh round of tears. “I don’t know.”

Hannah sniffed. “They also needed a substitute for Queen Sammuramat.”

Jonah just frowned and shook his head.

Hannah looked up at him. “At the
ugu lugal
ceremony, Ianna stepped forward to marry Jamin and take the place of the queen mother.”

Jonah paused, then smiled. “She must love him. Isn’t this good, if they want to be together?”

Hannah stared at him. “The substitute king and queen reign for only one hundred days.”

Jonah nodded. “Yes?”

“At the end of the one hundred days, the rightful king reclaims his throne.”

Jonah cocked his head.

Hannah’s eyelids squeezed shut. “And the substitute king and queen are put to death.”

Forty-nine

Nineveh, the Royal Palace

Twenty-first Day of Du’ûzu, the Sixth Hour

amin rolled onto his side. He propped his head onto his arm and gazed at his exquisite bride. Ianna lay on the mat beside him, fast asleep. Her sleek ebony hair splayed over her white pillow and glistened in the early morning light that spilled through the high window of the king’s bedchamber. He watched the coverlet across her bosom rise and fall in the gentle rhythm of a carefree slumber. A subtle smile played across her full lips, and her breath came in soft sighs. He wondered what she might be dreaming. He hoped she reminisced the night in his arms.

An eyelid quivered, and her nose twitched. She drew a full breath and stretched her arms above her head. The smile on her face deepened. She opened an eye and squinted into the adoring face of her husband.

He smiled back and whispered, “I love you.”

She reached up and touched his face.

He kissed her fingertips.

Ianna’s lips parted to speak, but he covered them with his. His arms encircled her waist, and they melted together.

The sun flooded its full light into the bedchamber, which signaled a half-spent morning.

Jamin touched the tip of Ianna’s nose with his forefinger. “We will have to get up sooner or later.”

A coy smile curved her lips. “Why?”

“Well, I am the king, of course. There are people to rule.”

She laughed. “They got along fine without you before.”

Her husband’s grin softened. “No, they didn’t. I believe it’s for that reason I have become king.”

Ianna knit her brow.

Jamin stroked her cheek. “I believe
Adonai
placed me here. The message of the prophet was for the city to repent of its evil ways. Much of it has, but not all. Today I issue a proclamation that mandates sackcloth and ashes for everyone. The city may yet be saved.”

She frowned. “Can you do that?”

His smile returned. “Just watch me.”

Lll

Jonah caressed Hannah’s hair as she lay asleep against his chest. The night had passed fitfully for him, quietly for her. He had never held a woman like this—certainly never for an entire night.

Hulalitu had left in sufficient time to make it back to the city before sunset. Hannah had already fallen asleep from the exhaustion of a sleepless night, and neither Jonah nor Hulalitu wanted to disturb her. So she stayed. Before the priestess left, Jonah shot a questioning look at her, but Hulalitu only smiled and put her finger to her lips. Hannah slid her hand onto Jonah’s chest and snuggled her face into his neck, as if she discerned his awkwardness in her sleep. Her breath came soft and slow. Jonah laid back and gazed at the blanket of stars that blinked their watch into the cobalt mantel unfolding from the east.

Visions filled his mind—images of days, months, and even years past. He fancied his brother Boaz’s face in a cluster of stars to the north. His astral grin teased his little brother over the woman who lay at his side. The stars morphed into his father’s kind and weathered visage that wore a different kind of smile. Deborah, his mother, formed into view beside her husband. Her eyes twinkled through two of the brightest stars.

A patch of darkness to the west became a hollow between massive waves of water. He felt himself falling, falling, finally going black. When his eyes jerked open again, a sliver of moon floated just to the south, its tips turned up into a smile—at him?—surely not. Throughout the night Elihu, Moshe, and even little Leah peered at him through the restless sky. They brought their own pieces of his life once again into focus, though still jumbled.

Finally, the yellow-blue sheen of pre-sunrise edged over the top of his boulder and rescued him from the illusions of the night. Jonah sighed. His eyes burned, the grit trapped against them betraying hours forsaken by sleep. Strands of Hannah’s hair were wrapped around his fingers where he stroked her neck and head. He squeezed his eyelids shut and stretched his stiff back against the hard ground.

The movement drew a chopped breath from Hannah. She shifted against his side, the first time she had moved all night. Her fingers drew closed around a knot of cloth from the robe over his chest. She drew a deep breath, and he felt her eyelashes flutter open against his neck. Then he heard a gasp.

Hannah jerked her head up and stared into Jonah’s face.

He smiled. “Good morning.”

“What . . . what are you doing here?” She swept the niche with a wide gaze, as though to make sense of her surroundings.

“I live here. How about you?” Jonah couldn’t help but chuckle at her panicked look.

She shot up to a sitting position and clamped her arms around her waist, her face ashen.

He raised himself on one elbow and touched her on the arm. “It’s all right. You fell asleep yesterday evening. You were upset, exhausted. Hulalitu and I let you sleep.”

“But . . . I . . . we . . . ,” she stammered.

“Nothing happened, Hannah. You slept. Better than I did, in fact.” He yawned.

“I don’t know what came over me. I should never have—” She sucked in a sharp breath. “Ianna . . .”

Jonah went still. “Yes. You told me.”

She put her head in her hands. Jonah sat up and put his arm around her shoulders. He drew her to his side. Her shoulders convulsed, and she buried her face against his chest. Then she pulled away.

She brushed the tears from her cheeks. “I must go to her. I need . . . to be with her.”

Jonah nodded. “I understand.”

They pushed slowly to their feet. Jonah brushed sand and debris from his cloak, then retrieved his bundles.

She turned to him. “But you can’t come back to the city. They’ll see you. I don’t know what to—”

“I have to go, Hannah. Back to Israel.” He dropped his gaze.

Her breath caught short, but she said nothing.

“The angel spoke again yesterday. There’s more for me to do there.” He looked into her eyes. “I leave today.”

Silence fell between them, and they both looked at the ground, at a loss for words. Finally, Jonah looked up. “I don’t want you to be alone.”

She flashed a weak smile. “Hulalitu will be at the house. She has renounced Ishtar and wants to serve
Adonai
in whatever way she can. I told her she can stay with me until . . . for as long as she likes.”

He matched her smile. “She will make a good Jewess.”

Hannah nodded.

Jonah fidgeted for a moment, then dropped his bundles. He stepped closer and lifted Hannah’s chin with his finger. “You should go. There is much for you to do.” Her face blurred through a sheen of moisture in his eyes.

She swallowed and nodded.

Jonah leaned forward and brushed her lips with his. Her eyes closed, and she slipped her arms around his waist. They held each other, and soft kisses punctuated their embrace until he thought his heart would burst. He drew back, rubbed his sleeve across his eyes, and smiled at her. Without a word, he took her by the shoulders and turned her around to face the city. A final squeeze and his hands dropped away.

Lll

Hannah stood at the edge of the rocky outcropping. So much had happened in so little time. She knew God was in it, but she still didn’t know what it all meant, why it had to be. She knew the city was saved. But she didn’t know what to do now with her own life. Issues of cosmic importance—the salvation of a city and the glory of
Adonai
—were resolved. But little human issues still lingered—issues like her daughter, her widowhood, and her life from this point forward. She sighed in the knowledge that she needed to trust Him with those, too, but she didn’t know where to start.

A thought struck her. Jonah was a prophet. Perhaps he could—

She turned, her mouth half open with the first question.

He was gone.