Ark(37)

“Looking back I realize the problem is, we are very much alike, my father and I. We argued all the time, and neither one of us would bend. I’m the same way, even still. More so, now that I’m a grown man. Then I was rebellious because that’s just how children are, and it’s still true now—I just can’t make myself give in to anyone. It’s what got us into this trouble in the first place. If I had been sensible about things, in the very beginning, I would’ve left Bad-Tibira, I would’ve forgotten about you and moved on. You would’ve found a decent husband among the Nephilim. You would never have agreed to marry Sin-Iddim if it hadn’t been for me.”

I shook my head, unable to find a response to his words.

“Japheth . . . it is not your fault,” I said. “Not . . . not entirely. It is mine too. I wanted you, and I would not allow anyone to deny me. I knew seeing you was dangerous. If not for me, you would never have come to my father’s attention. So . . . the fault is mine as much as it yours.”

Japheth sighed, scrubbing his face with his hands. “It doesn’t matter whose fault it is. We must walk the path set before us.”

His words saddened me, and he seemed resigned. Silence settled over us for many miles, both of us lost in our thoughts. The day dragged on, and the miles passed behind us, and I slept as much as I could. Japheth passed me a wineskin and meal-cakes, the kind of provision a soldier carries with him on marches to battlefields, wheat and barley packed into small discs and baked with honey. They were crunchy and filling and slightly sweet, but difficult to eat.

Night drew down upon us and Japheth finally pulled the wagon off the road into a turn-off that seemed to be designed for this purpose. There was ring of stones around a deep pit, filled with charred hunks of palm wood and ash, and a small pile of logs near the fire.

Japheth left me in the wagon bed and knelt beside the fire pit, stirring the ashes to find a bed of dull orange coals. Blowing on the embers and slowly adding bits of kindling, the flames flickered to life. He added a few larger sticks and then, as the fire grew, he added a single full-sized log. Returning to the wagon, Japheth slid his arms around me and effortlessly lifted me from the wagon, setting me on the ground near the wagon wheel, my feet facing the fire. The onagers were freed from their harness and staked to the ground a few feet away, bags of grain tied around their noses.

Then he dug in a basket in the back of the wagon and produced several jars of salves and herbs, as well as some food. The salve he put on my injuries, and the herbs he ground up and mixed with some water from a jug, which he then heated over the fire and bade me drink. The food was simple, some dried meat, a mix of dried fruit and nuts, and some hardened bread. Nothing fancy, but enough to fill our bellies.

After seeing to the animals and stirring the fire, Japheth finally stretched out on the ground next to me, piling his cloak beneath his head. I watched him fall asleep, his breathing evening out almost as soon as he closed his eyes; it took a lot longer for me to finally fall asleep.

I stared up at the silver wash of stars and the waning moon; palm trees waved their broad leaves in the soft breeze, a tiny stream nearby trickled in the distance, which I realized must be an offshoot of the Euphrates. It was peaceful, here, so far away from Larsa and Bad-Tibira, away from Father and Sin-Iddim and the palace and soldiers . . . it wasn’t silent—the night was filled with trilling toads and croaking frogs, chirruping crickets, night birds winging above my head, black shapes against the stars flitting in pursuit of insects—but it was peaceful.

I thought of Irkalla and all she had done for me, what she had suffered for me. Elohim, be with her, I prayed. I hated that I could do nothing to repay her, that I could not even thank her.

Absent was the threat of men seeking me, as well as the fear of my father’s temper and the fear of Sin-Iddim’s cruel hands. The thought of my erstwhile husband sent shivers down my spine; I wanted to believe I would be safe with Japheth at his father’s home. Fear won out, however . . . Sin-Iddim would not rest until I was found. He would, as Japheth said, send soldiers to Bad-Tibira. Might he go so far as to scour the countryside? It seemed unlikely; there was simply too much area to cover. More likely, Sin-Iddim would accuse Father of going back on his word, of spiriting me away.

Would there be war between the cities once more, this time over me? They were proud, cruel men, my father and Sin-Iddim.

I realized something, lying there beneath the stars: no matter what the future held, I did not possess the courage to return to my old life, even if it did mean war between Larsa and Bad-Tibira.



We left the camp at dawn. With every mile that passed, Japheth grew ever more tense. I watched his shoulders tighten, watched the corners of his eyes narrow, and noticed his fingers clench white around the reins.

I tried to reassure him, but he refused to respond, only shaking his head, black curls bouncing against his forehead. At length I fell silent and allowed him to brood in peace.

Something had changed in Japheth, I realized. He was different. Gone was the brash, confident, arrogant man I’d been swept up by. This Japheth was sour, curt, introspective. I didn’t like him much, but what could I do? I didn’t know how to draw him out of his shell, what questions to ask. Indeed, I myself had changed, and I knew it. I had no desire to speak of what I’d endured, I only wanted to forget, to put time between me and the memories; perhaps Japheth was going through a similar process of trying to forget. Whatever the case, Japheth spoke little as we traveled, and if his sour silence hurt, I also understood it, for I had little to say myself.