The Dovekeepers
Page 87
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Now, in the dark, I saw a shadow cross the bakery floor. A rat.
I went on to search for Shirah, coming to the entranceway that led into the earth. I continued, though I was made dizzy by the way the path careened down hundreds of tilted steps, many crumbling in decay. Members of the king’s court had glided down these stairs, and not long after, Roman soldiers had patrolled here before our warriors overtook them to claim this fortress as their own. I went so deeply into the earth I seemed to be entering another world entirely, one that was dark and damp despite the arid landscape up above.
Although we’d had no rain for several months and the world around us was parched and aching, I heard water. At first the promise of water was like a dream, as it had been when we’d come to the oasis. I felt stunned by the lilting sound of its echo, by the very idea, as though I’d long forgotten what water was like, how it could be so cold and sweet, with white petals floating on the surface, how it could easily drown someone, taking the unsuspecting bather into the circle of its pale, unrelenting arms.
I continued on, drawn to the unexpected promise of water as rats are drawn to grain in the bakery, my hand set against the cool stone wall to help me keep my balance on the twisting stairs. The steps became smaller as I ventured down, each more tiny than the one before. I had to turn sideways so as not to fall. At last I realized where I was. I’d come to the largest cistern, a well so enormous fifty men could stand across it shoulder to shoulder and still have room to stretch. In winter this well filled from Herod’s aqueducts to become a lake used to supply our baths and water vats. Now, however, the level was dangerously low. There was only a small, concentrated green pool collected in the center of the well, rimmed by sharp rocks. A single lamp had been set upon a stone, and the melting oil floated like liquid amber. I squinted through what was shadow and flickering light in equal measure. I felt so strong a chill I might have drifted into the land of ice the Man from the North so often spoke of, a place where a warrior could freeze through to his bones in moments.
There was the glitter of flesh in the water and the roiling movements of sexual frenzy. I shivered and thought of monsters, for who but crocodiles would slip into the water to take their pleasure? But surely monsters did not embrace each other with such passion, nor kiss one another on the mouth, nor wear the flesh of men and women. The two in the water were both dark, their darkness joining as they became one. When they pulled apart from each other, I could only observe the man’s back and broad shoulders, but I could see that the woman wore a gold amulet around her throat and that her eyes, so dark in the water, were streaked with the powder of the lapis stone, a shade some people vowed was the color of heaven.
I stood against the wall and tried not to draw breath. I had stumbled into something it was best to leave be. Now I stumbled even farther as I edged toward the stairs in an attempt to flee. A rock fell and splashed into the water. The ripples went out in a shimmering circle as the falling rock was devoured by the pool. The woman in the cistern drew her beloved to her. As she did, I saw her throat and breasts. She was marked by henna-colored tattoos, a practice our people were not allowed, unless a woman was a kedeshah, one who was anointed, willing to offer her body as a sacrifice and as a blessing to her priests.
The swimmer turned and glared in my direction, seeing through the shadows. We caught each other’s glance, as a gazelle might gaze into the eyes of a hunter, although which was the prey and which the hunter I could not say. Quickly, I backed deeper into the corner. My grandsons had taught me the language of silence. I didn’t need words to tell me that the Witch of Moab was just like any other woman. She embraced her lover closely, her arms cast around him protectively to ensure I wouldn’t see his face. It didn’t matter. I knew who he was from the way the light fell across his back, as though it had been drawn to the light inside of him, that which shone and made men follow him as if they had no other choice.
I wished I could erase what I had seen. I had only wanted to ask Shirah’s favor, and I’d discovered far more than I’d bargained for. I took the stairs as quickly as I could. Though I was no longer young, I fled as a young woman would have. It crossed my mind to run all the way home, but our eyes had met; there was no hiding from one another after our encounter. If you do not face something, it will follow you anyway. If I had learned anything from my time in the desert it was that once you ran, you could never stop.
I waited at her door, anxious as to what would happen next. Enemies had been formed for far less reason than knowledge such as mine, and a woman who practiced keshaphim was not an easy enemy to face. I knew too much, yet I knew nothing. Perhaps that made me the more dangerous of the two of us at this moment. If I had any gift at all, it was my ability to see shadows. I spied one now crossing the plaza; if I half-closed my eyes, I saw a raven, one who wished to fly but who was trapped, earthbound.
I went on to search for Shirah, coming to the entranceway that led into the earth. I continued, though I was made dizzy by the way the path careened down hundreds of tilted steps, many crumbling in decay. Members of the king’s court had glided down these stairs, and not long after, Roman soldiers had patrolled here before our warriors overtook them to claim this fortress as their own. I went so deeply into the earth I seemed to be entering another world entirely, one that was dark and damp despite the arid landscape up above.
Although we’d had no rain for several months and the world around us was parched and aching, I heard water. At first the promise of water was like a dream, as it had been when we’d come to the oasis. I felt stunned by the lilting sound of its echo, by the very idea, as though I’d long forgotten what water was like, how it could be so cold and sweet, with white petals floating on the surface, how it could easily drown someone, taking the unsuspecting bather into the circle of its pale, unrelenting arms.
I continued on, drawn to the unexpected promise of water as rats are drawn to grain in the bakery, my hand set against the cool stone wall to help me keep my balance on the twisting stairs. The steps became smaller as I ventured down, each more tiny than the one before. I had to turn sideways so as not to fall. At last I realized where I was. I’d come to the largest cistern, a well so enormous fifty men could stand across it shoulder to shoulder and still have room to stretch. In winter this well filled from Herod’s aqueducts to become a lake used to supply our baths and water vats. Now, however, the level was dangerously low. There was only a small, concentrated green pool collected in the center of the well, rimmed by sharp rocks. A single lamp had been set upon a stone, and the melting oil floated like liquid amber. I squinted through what was shadow and flickering light in equal measure. I felt so strong a chill I might have drifted into the land of ice the Man from the North so often spoke of, a place where a warrior could freeze through to his bones in moments.
There was the glitter of flesh in the water and the roiling movements of sexual frenzy. I shivered and thought of monsters, for who but crocodiles would slip into the water to take their pleasure? But surely monsters did not embrace each other with such passion, nor kiss one another on the mouth, nor wear the flesh of men and women. The two in the water were both dark, their darkness joining as they became one. When they pulled apart from each other, I could only observe the man’s back and broad shoulders, but I could see that the woman wore a gold amulet around her throat and that her eyes, so dark in the water, were streaked with the powder of the lapis stone, a shade some people vowed was the color of heaven.
I stood against the wall and tried not to draw breath. I had stumbled into something it was best to leave be. Now I stumbled even farther as I edged toward the stairs in an attempt to flee. A rock fell and splashed into the water. The ripples went out in a shimmering circle as the falling rock was devoured by the pool. The woman in the cistern drew her beloved to her. As she did, I saw her throat and breasts. She was marked by henna-colored tattoos, a practice our people were not allowed, unless a woman was a kedeshah, one who was anointed, willing to offer her body as a sacrifice and as a blessing to her priests.
The swimmer turned and glared in my direction, seeing through the shadows. We caught each other’s glance, as a gazelle might gaze into the eyes of a hunter, although which was the prey and which the hunter I could not say. Quickly, I backed deeper into the corner. My grandsons had taught me the language of silence. I didn’t need words to tell me that the Witch of Moab was just like any other woman. She embraced her lover closely, her arms cast around him protectively to ensure I wouldn’t see his face. It didn’t matter. I knew who he was from the way the light fell across his back, as though it had been drawn to the light inside of him, that which shone and made men follow him as if they had no other choice.
I wished I could erase what I had seen. I had only wanted to ask Shirah’s favor, and I’d discovered far more than I’d bargained for. I took the stairs as quickly as I could. Though I was no longer young, I fled as a young woman would have. It crossed my mind to run all the way home, but our eyes had met; there was no hiding from one another after our encounter. If you do not face something, it will follow you anyway. If I had learned anything from my time in the desert it was that once you ran, you could never stop.
I waited at her door, anxious as to what would happen next. Enemies had been formed for far less reason than knowledge such as mine, and a woman who practiced keshaphim was not an easy enemy to face. I knew too much, yet I knew nothing. Perhaps that made me the more dangerous of the two of us at this moment. If I had any gift at all, it was my ability to see shadows. I spied one now crossing the plaza; if I half-closed my eyes, I saw a raven, one who wished to fly but who was trapped, earthbound.
