Lioness: Mahlah's Journey Read online

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  “Reuben, watch your feet.” Mahlah dipped her head toward the sidewinding intruders. A shiver shot through her body leaving a trail of bumps across her skin.

  With a slight hop, Reuben drew nearer to his son. He stomped on the ground, arms flailing, to deter the snakes from coming closer.

  The serpents veered toward cries in a nearby tent as if drawn by the panic.

  She slouched and brought Jonah higher on her hip, all the while watching where she stepped. “Look how brave your father is, Jonah.”

  At her praise, the boy reached for Reuben and practically leapt onto his back. Reuben turned in time to grasp his son.

  Shrieks pierced the cramped space near her family’s tent, and Mahlah whirled around. Two asps slithered toward the opened flap.

  Twelve-year-old Milcah almost knocked over her older sister, Hoglah, as she scrambled to get away. Tirzah hurled the basket of manna at the ugly pair of slithering beasts. Manna scattered on top of the dirt as ribbon-like bodies intertwined into a ball.

  One snake was not uncommon, but five in such a short span of time?

  Where was her father when she had need of him?

  Mahlah’s thoughts sobered. Her father had insulted Moses, loudly, among their clansmen. To curse their leader and God’s provision had proven deadly before. Then, the ground had split and swallowed the blasphemers. Now, the ground beneath her feet crawled with venomous snakes.

  She cast a glance at the asps. Untangled, they renewed their assault on her ramskin home.

  The mellow taste of manna turned to vomit in her throat.

  “God of Jacob, defend my family.” Her petition joined the numerous voices rising from the camp. Stomping closer to the basket Tirzah had thrown, Mahlah unsheathed her blade. She gripped the basket’s woven handle and used it as a battering ram to deter the asps.

  One enemy retreated. One hesitated and readied to strike.

  Heat surged through Mahlah’s battle-ready body. How dare this cursed serpent attack a daughter of Manasseh?

  The bold asp, mouth unhinged, struck her direction. Mahlah pushed off with her thighs and let the tension in her muscles unleash as she backhanded her knife. The snake’s head dropped to the soil and lay like a partially crushed grape.

  She shivered as the rest of the corpse crumpled to the dirt.

  “Sister, come inside.” Hoglah held the tent flap open.

  Mahlah kept her blade waist high. She scanned the soil. Where were Reuben and Jonah? Her heart sagged. A father had to protect his child. Shouldn’t her father have protected his children?

  She hurried into the tent and closed the flap, tight.

  Tirzah cradled a large piece of granite in her hand. Milcah inspected the seams of the ramskin. Tiny dots of sunlight adorned her face. If a weakness was to be found, her keen sense would spy it out. Hoglah stood statue still, arms crossed, hands rubbing her skin.

  “Has anyone grumbled against God?” Mahlah’s voice sounded more desperate than her father’s. “Tell me now. I beg of you.” Tears threatened to spill, but she would not shed a single drop. She willed her weak eye to remain steadfast. How had a routine morning become a nightmare? “Milcah?”

  Milcah shook her thin drape of brown hair. “No, I wouldn’t.”

  “Mother never did.” Hoglah stopped patting her arms. “She taught us not to speak against God.”

  “Father complained.” Tirzah held up her rock and let it rest on her small shoulder. “I heard him when we came back from the hill.” Her eyes bulged. “Were my words bad?”

  Mahlah’s heartbeat almost drowned out the thud of leather sandals slapping the paths outside their tent. Tirzah didn’t lie. Their father had disregarded an elder of their tribe and caused an uproar. Were the snakes a punishment for his insult of Moses? Of God?

  Mahlah shook her head. “You were a tired child, Tirzah. Whining about your duties is not challenging God. You enjoyed God’s food, didn’t you?”

  Tirzah nodded.

  “Father’s grown weary.” Mahlah swallowed hard so her words came out in a comforting tone and not harsh with condemnation. How else could she explain her father’s chastisement? “We serve a just God, but I must find Father and insist he repent of his insults. If Father asks God’s forgiveness, God will be merciful.”

  “You’re leaving us?” her sisters chorused.

  “Stay inside the tent, and you will be fine.” She truly believed her words, but sensing her sisters’ fear, she held out her arms. “Come here, and I will pray for you. For us, the daughters of Zelophehad.”

  “What about Noah?” Milcah wrapped a piece of hair around her finger.

  What about Noah? Knowing their sister, she would not leave her livestock and herds even in a poisonous snake invasion. Mahlah’s chest tightened at the thought of being in the open fields with serpents lurking near every stone. Oh Lord, protect Noah. I need her.

  Mahlah stroked Milcah’s hair. “Jeremiah is with her. His staff is no match for any asp.”

  A smile graced her timid sister’s face. Mahlah cherished the hint of a grin in all this madness.

  Tirzah shuffled into the center of the circle. “I was grumpy about the manna. Will I get bitten?”

  “Not if I can help it.” Mahlah kissed Tirzah’s forehead.

  Holding all her sisters close, for a moment, lest a snake wiggle under the folds of their tent, she prayed, “Hear our plea, O God. Keep us safe this day. Watch over our father and sister and our people. Forgive us if our lips spoke against you.”

  “Let it be so,” Hoglah whispered, her fingers trembling.

  Drawing Hoglah into her chest, Mahlah smelled a waft of cinnamon. Why couldn’t honey and spices on manna soothe their father’s unrest? Her middle sister tried so hard with so little to make meals a delicacy.

  “Now, watch over each other.” Mahlah let go of her sisters and opened the tent flap. She waited, knife at the ready. One heart race. Two. No onslaught of snakes bore down on their threshold.

  She dashed outside and ordered her sisters to lace the tent.

  Mahlah charged from her home, past the rows of tribal tents, toward the center of camp. Voices clamored inside and outside the nomadic homes. She scoured the path for any sudden movements. Every so often, a loud wail would rise above the dull rumblings of her people. Had fangs found flesh?

  As she passed an elder’s tent, a man rounded the front lead. He stumbled over the tent stake and collided into her side. The stench of moldy goats’ milk filled her nostrils. She grabbed hold of his garment to steady herself.

  “Run!” the man screamed. “God is judging us.”

  If God was judging the tribes of Jacob, where was the man going to hide? They were surrounded by rows of ramskin.

  The man ripped free from her grasp.

  Knocked backward, Mahlah swung her arms. She gripped an overhang by the entrance to the tent to remain upright.

  “Toda raba,” she mocked.

  A serpent slid along the smooth-skinned roof, its eyes intent on her face. It hung within striking distance, flicking a tongue between two fangs.

  Her heartbeat boomed in her ears, but she didn’t move a single muscle.

  Men and women ran by without a glance at the sculpture of a woman staring at two tiny onyx beads engorged with her reflection.

  Pulse hammering in her temples, she challenged the snake.

  “I serve Adonai.” She prayed her truth rang out because her throat was dry as a desert stone.

  Silence. Stillness.

  The snake trembled. Was it getting ready to strike?

  She leaned away. How quickly could she dash to the main path?

  The serpent plummeted from its ramskin ledge. Straight down. Dead.

  Mahlah ran. She dodged bodies lying in the dirt with swollen faces and purple lips. Loved ones cried out in mourning. Children whimpered, their cheeks streaked with tears. Others chanted prayers amidst the thwack of swords and branches beating defiant snakes.

  “God
help us,” she shrieked, as if God stood an arm’s length away. “Help me.”

  She sprinted into the clearing, around the vibrant-linen Tabernacle wall and headed east to the gate. Moses would be by the gate. He had to be. He would know how to stop the attack.

  Nearing Moses’ dwelling, bile rose in her parched throat. Her mouth stung as she swallowed. Men and women writhed in pain. Corpses formed a half-moon around the opening to the Tabernacle courtyard.

  Mahlah pulled her head covering across her face. If only the cloth and her hair could shut out the moaning, weeping, and stench of urine.

  Where was her father? How could he be so irresponsible to chastise God? He had five girls to oversee. Noah and Hoglah could entertain a betrothal request, but Milcah and Tirzah were too young. They needed a father. An overseer for their family.

  “Zelophehad,” she called. “Son of Hepher.”

  She tugged her veil below her chin. Pungent wafts of death assaulted her nostrils.

  Moving slowly among the mourners, she beheld the bodies.

  “Who is here of Manasseh?” Anyone? She passed a woman who lay face up, an asp coiled on her belly.

  “Over there,” a man said. He pointed with an arm scarlet and swollen. “Repent of your sins. Moses is bringing a cure.”

  “Praise be to the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.” She gave a head bob toward her kinsman. God had heard her prayer. A cure from their leader Moses would end the suffering.

  Mahlah weaved her way among the people, some sitting, some raising arms toward Moses’ tent. She scanned the landscape for snakes but did not see another slithering culprit.

  Glancing to the left, she halted. Her body trembled. “No!” Swift as a lion, she ran, dropped to her knees, and skidded toward her father. He lay on his side. His hands were the size of melons and almost as round. Bubbles amassed on his plumped lips. Was he breathing?

  “Father, it’s me, Mahlah.” She grabbed hold of what once was a normal hand. Her father’s flesh was cool even though the sun radiated overhead.

  “I’m here now.” She forced a smile, tears streaming down her face. “Don’t leave me. Don’t leave us.”

  His gaze traveled toward her but no recognition showed in the rich-brown orbs.

  “Moses is bringing a cure. I will stay here and comfort you.” As she stroked his cheek, saliva wet her fingers. “Hold on. It won’t be long.”

  A small group of men marched along the linen wall of the Tabernacle. With tears welling in her eyes, the scarlet, blue, and purple threads in the boundary tapestry blurred into a rainbow of color. Moses led the band of men. He held a bronze-colored pole with the image of a snake at its tip.

  “Gaze upon the snake,” Moses shouted. “Heed my words.” His command filled the area where the injured and dead amassed. “You must look up to be saved of your transgressions.”

  Mahlah leapt to her feet. She pointed at the healing image. “Father, you must stare at Moses’ snake.”

  Her father did not move.

  She knelt and shoved her father onto his back, rolling him onto his other side so that he faced the gate. Moses stood on a wooden box and held the bronze carving high. The amber-colored serpent reflected bursts of sunlight. Mahlah blinked at the intense glare.

  “Look up.” Her words rushed forth. “Do you see the serpent?”

  Nothing. Not even a twitch came from her father’s body.

  “Father?” She held her hand in front of his nose. Breath. Faint. Praise be.

  Bending low, she made sure her eyes were even with his. “Abba, we need you. I need you. Do not leave me. You are the leader of our family.” Even with her lips quivering, she remembered the love her father had bestowed at times and blessed him with a brave-hearted smile.

  Moses stomped toward her. “God will forgive your insults. Lift up your stiff necks.” He waved the pole back and forth above the carnage.

  Her body quaked. She didn’t know when it began, and, try as she may, she couldn’t stop the tremors. Her father was not casting the smallest glance at the bronze-sculpted snake. She grabbed hold of his beard and hair and tried to tilt his chin.

  “Moses is walking away. Come on, Father.” She tugged his head backward. “Look up. Who but you will take on five daughters?” With a firm hand, she patted the side of his face. “We have to get our land. Our promised land.”

  “Mah-laaah.” Her father’s quiet rasp stabbed at her heart.

  “Father? I’m here, Father.” His head grew heavy in her hands.

  She kissed his cheek. Gently. Furiously. “Look, Father. Please, look up.”

  His eyelids drooped.

  Resting his face upon the soil, she leapt to her feet. Waving her hands, she screamed, “Over here, Moses. Come back. We need the snake.”

  Her father’s gaze did not shift upward, or downward, or follow her screams.

  “Father?”

  No response came forth.

  She slumped to the ground, not caring if an asp waited. Moses approached carrying the bronze snake. Was it too late?

  Wrapping her hand in her veil, she touched her father’s body. It grew cold. Stiff to her touch. No more breaths puffed from his nostrils.

  “No, God. No.”

  Moses passed to her right. He held the bronze snake aloft.

  Her father couldn’t gaze at the sculpture. He had never lifted his eyes.

  From the depths of her belly, she wailed.

  3

  Mahlah unfurled her head covering and placed the edge over her father’s face. She lengthened the rest of the cloth, so it covered most of her father’s tortured body. She was careful not to touch him barehanded, lest she be deemed unclean. Her sisters needed her inside the camp, not ostracized outside the tents. Her tears dripped onto her patterned veil. Moses still wandered among her people with his bronze serpent giving life to those near death. To those who wanted to live. Her father had chosen to die.

  Beyond the linen fence, stitched bright and bold, a cloud covered the roof of the Tabernacle. God’s presence was through the gate. Yards away. In a haze of fiery white wisps.

  “Why God? Why did my father not seek you?” She talked to the cloud as though expecting an answer.

  A woman stumbled over a nearby corpse, spilling water onto Zelophehad’s feet. The stranger’s eyes became wide as plums.

  “Forgive me,” the woman said.

  Mahlah almost burst forth in a crazed laugh. Not because of whimsy, but because the life she knew hours ago had ended. She glimpsed the puddle of water at her father’s feet. God had provided cleansing water. Of course, He had. When had God not provided for His people? Hadn’t she and Tirzah collected God’s bread this morn?

  Needless. Her father’s death was needless. And careless. Her father had left a seventeen-year-old girl to fend for the future of his children.

  “Shalom.” The woman hesitated, hefting her jar on her hip.

  “Yes, of course, peace,” Mahlah mumbled.

  Resting on her side not far from her father, Mahlah wrestled with thoughts of what was and what could have been. “God what am I going to do? My sisters are waiting in a tent for their father to come home. What shall I tell them? Shall I hide the truth?” She closed her eyes as her right pupil threatened a twitch.

  “Mahlah.”

  The soft rasp of her name startled her.

  She opened her eyes.

  Reuben’s handsome face beheld her with concern. Had she fallen asleep? Her father’s stiff form lay beside her in the dirt. His death hadn’t been a dream. His death had been a nightmare. Still was.

  Around her, only a few bodies and mourners remained near the Tabernacle. Men from the tribes of Issachar and Zebulun unstaked their tents. Ramskins lilted or lay flush with the ground.

  She swept her tongue along her teeth, hoping to moisten her mouth. Her gums tasted like flax.

  “Reuben.” Her voice cracked as if she still slumbered. “What is happening? I must see to my father’s burial.”

  “
The elders of Manasseh will see to our fallen. The cloud has lifted from our meeting place. We must be ready to travel.”

  Reuben cast a glance at her father’s corpse as if seeing it for the first time. “I’m sorry about your father. I wish I would have done more to ease his sorrow.”

  “You were getting over your own sorrows.” She, too, had to overcome the grief of watching the man she loved wed another and begin a family. That was in the past. She had to remain in the present. “My sisters.” Her chest constricted. “I have to tell them about our father.”

  “They are unharmed and unbitten because of your wisdom.” Reuben bent low. “Go to them, and know the elders of our clan will watch over you. I am here for you as well.”

  Was he? What time did he have for five girls? She would take care of her sisters. Hadn’t she overseen them since her mother’s death? She had done what her mother had asked of her. She had vowed to watch over her sisters. Always.

  She clasped her hands together and squeezed. The slight ache in her joints helped her focus on her new reality.

  “My sisters and I are grateful, but you have responsibilities to your parents and this tribe, not to mention, Jonah. He needs a father. My father’s burdens are on my shoulders now.”

  Rising by her own might, she turned toward home. Why linger by the husk of Zelophehad? Nothing could be done to help her father now. He had abandoned her and his other daughters.

  “Wait.” Reuben stomped after her. He came alongside, matching her stride for stride. “The leaders of our tribe will take care of you and your sisters.”

  Where were her father’s relatives when she was the one receiving his wrath? Why didn’t they try to intervene and keep him from storming Moses’ tent? She didn’t need their oversight. She had been doing fine on her own, until today.

  “Do not worry.” She kept her tone civil, but it was not kind. “I’ve had years to learn what a man does.” And does not do. “I can raise a tent and lower one.”

  Reuben shook his head. “There’s more.”

  Of which she was well-aware. But at this moment, her loyalty rested with a promise she had made to a dying mother. A promise that she and her sisters would prosper together in the new land. A promise her father had abandoned in choosing death.