Exhaling, she lifted her face to taste the wind and pointed the party to the southeast path into the forest. Lilith glanced at the safe palace above her and then back to them.
Jezebel sighed and moved on without Lilith. Eth-baal followed first, and then the men. An elder’s son played a drum made of thick hide stretched across a hollow clay head. He played it softly in beats of three, short grunts that echoed into the woods ahead of them as daylight faded and they went into the world of beasts.
As the hours passed, Jezebel led them deeper into the darkness, her skin tingling with the delight of a moon above and the treacherous, tangled path under her feet. Other sons kept close to their fathers. Jezebel was not so foolish. Men were useless. She loved proving that on these hunts.
The wind carried a surprise, a hint of sweat and pack animals. A traveling party was nearby. Her father had not mentioned that visitors were due, but when she glanced back at the men, they did not seem to notice what she had. The travelers hidden in the forest could be scouts from an enemy in the east. If Jezebel found them, if she protected the kingdom, perhaps then her claim to the throne would be secure. She had earned it a hundred times over already, but maybe this would leave no doubt, even for the most stubborn among them.
She heard a lion’s roar as she split from the party and went to investigate. If they were merely traders who brought goods, they would be in danger from the animal. They would be grateful for her protection. Many men did not even know when they were being hunted. When men slept under the moon, in her territories, they slept hard; the land was bewitching. And if she wanted, she could kill them, for any reason at all, and the earth would keep her secrets.
The earth always kept her secrets, every last one.
Ahab
The hair on Ahab’s neck raised, and he held up a hand to the men following behind him, who all drew their horses to a quick stop. Birds called above them, and monkeys fled from lower branches to the higher perches. A few threw fruit at the men. Ahab heard a lion growl, but it was moving away from them. Something was hunting it.
Ahab stood very still as leaves rustled in the wind, disguising the sounds of the predator that dared to hunt a lion.
He saw a girl moving through the trees, her bow drawn tight against the gutstring, no more than thirty yards from him. She lifted her head to draw the scent from the wind before she let the arrow fly. With a glance in his direction, her eyes met his, and his heart stopped. It was more than her beauty; he had never seen a girl handle a bow and arrow like a man. He had to know if she’d won the lion. How would she drag it home? What would she do with it?
He jumped from his horse and ran after her. The forest was nothing like his arid home, and he tripped and fell as vines caught his ankles and branches slapped his face. Panting, he leaned against a tree. It was no use, and he knew he had no business trying to follow a girl anyway. He staggered back to his men, torn and bleeding.
That night he slept close to the fire, and the forest fog stole around the men as they made camp, blanketing them in the way of the wild, that bitter mother. Darkness was alive here. Eyes blinked from behind the trees. Throats opened and sang. Footsteps broke through vines and dead wood as the creatures drew closer to smell the people and horses. The horses snorted and circled.
Ahab would miss the sounds of the night. Tomorrow night he would be locked away inside a palace to sleep, unable to hear any noises except those from servants. He would be saddled with a princess. She would be a girl accustomed to fine foods, gentle games, and fawning attendants. She would see life the way a prized house pet did, measuring the quality of her life by its ticklish pleasures. If she had ever been allowed to stand alone under the light of the stars, or run, or scratch her knee upon a rock, it would be a shock to him. He watched as shadows shifted at the edge of the camp. A cloud had passed over the moon. He shook his head, wondering if his reign was already spoiled.
A thick brew was passed around, an elixir they called saddle cure because of its powerful magic, putting a trail-weary explorer to sleep in minutes and soothing sore muscles. The next morning they would feel worse for drinking it, but no man in the wild thought of tomorrow. The animals moving through the underbrush nearby reminded them there might be no need.
So Ahab drew nearest to the fire and let the other men take the outer edges of camp to sleep. He felt a few sparks land too near and brushed them away. He would rather suffer a small singe than a bigger bite. So it was with this expedition. A princess would be given as a covenant between kingdoms. Trade routes would open, a strong defense made against the brutal Assyrians, so restless along the border of his country. The children the princess brought forth would be political collateral.
Ahab spit into the fire, thinking of her, this bride of burden. He sighed and turned over, letting out an exhausted laugh at the thought that a lasting reign would depend on him procreating. After swinging a sword for so many years, this was how he would serve the nation? Israel had begun by brothers taking each other’s lives. How odd that it would all lead to a marriage. And odder still was the fact that the Hebrew prophet Elijah had warned that this marriage was evil. Why would Elijah have preferred brothers spilling blood to a marriage?
Hadn’t Israel seen enough bloodshed already? Obadiah had told him all the stories. Long ago, King Solomon, the wisest king of Israel, the brightest star, beloved son of David, had died, leaving his son in power. Rehoboam had been that common, terrible brew of stupidity and violence Ahab had seen many times on the battlefield. It was a fatal alchemy. The northern tribes tore away, declaring themselves to be a sovereign nation, Israel. The southern tribes became Judah and clung to the comfort that they alone controlled the temple, the seat of the one they called Yahweh, the Lord, the god of all twelve tribes. If they did not have the allegiance of brothers, or a good king, they at least had that. They had their god.
Now, to build Israel into a true, independent nation, Ahab, the son of a foreign mercenary with not a drop of Hebrew blood in his veins, had to marry a foreign princess. Together they would rule the Israelites. How strange it all was to him. Stranger still that Elijah did not care about his murderous bloodline, only about his heart. If the people’s faith had not been enough to keep the tribes together, why did it matter to Elijah that Ahab had no gods?
It was deep into night, as he was dreaming of war and sorrows, when the sparks singed him along his arms. The first one was so slight that Ahab only acknowledged it in his mind and slipped back to sleep. The heat from the fire had kept the night bugs away but made him too warm to sleep in his clothes, so he bundled them up and used them as a pillow, laying his belt next to them. Inside was a bag with earrings and a bracelet for his intended bride. It had been nothing but an annoyance on the trip, reminding him that he would return with a much heavier weight to drag through his life.
He slept naked, glad to have at least that little freedom, covering only his groin and thighs with the blanket. Sparks spitted and poked into his exposed skin along the thick part of his arms and chest. Finally he sat up in disgust, resigned to move away from the fire.
The fire was only glowing embers. There were no sparks.
He heard a soft laugh catch in someone’s throat, and he reached for his sword. A hand shot from the darkness and caught his. The creature, on all fours, edged closer and smiled. Ahab froze. It was the girl from the forest, her eyes reflecting the embers. Her lips were dark and sharply edged, though full through the middle. The moonlight made her pale olive skin shine like polished marble, and her hair was hanging loose around her shoulders, brushing against his arm. It had the soft touch of silk. Releasing his hand, she dropped the arrow she had used to rouse him and crawled closer so that her knees were against his hip.
Her long fingers moved across his face, and she closed her eyes when she touched his mouth. She breathed deeply, then looked at him. Taking a knife from her side she held it to his face. He did not flinch. No man in the camp made any sound beyond snoring and turning. Grinning at him, she used the knife to lift the bag of jewels from his belt lying beside him, then sliced it free. He let her take the bag because he wanted something too.
Lifting himself at the waist, he took hold of her at the shoulders and pulled that mouth to his. He kissed her and didn’t let go, even when she resisted. Even as he felt her fingernails dig into his back.
Ahab heard Obadiah begin to stir, not three paces from them. The woman sensed his brief inattention and slipped from his grasp. Standing over him, she spit on him and ran into the night with the bag.
He remembered a dream he had once, when he had been a boy, of falling. In this dream, he fell from a very safe place into a deep, cold well where no one could hear him. He remembered how every revolution, every stone that passed by as he fell into the darkness marked the descent. When he awoke the next morning, he saw he had only fallen from the bed as he slept, but he cried anyway. He had wiped his tears with vigor so that his servants would have nothing to report to Omri at breakfast.
He lay back now, looking at the stars, wondering why he had ever been afraid of falling. He had just touched it, that darkness he had always feared. It was only desire, and how could any man fear that?
2
The next morning, Ahab looked up at the shimmering white palace. It sat high above him on the top of a hill, overlooking turquoise waters, guarded by green fir trees and white sea rocks. Shells of every variety lined the walking path that led up to the grand entrance. Omri waited for him at the gate that stood at the mouth of the path. He had ridden ahead with his military advisers yesterday, anxious to meet the Phoenician king and his court. Ahab wondered if Omri was not a little embarrassed by his son and wanted to be sure the Phoenicians had the right impression of Omri first. After all, Ahab knew he was not the strongest son. He was just the only one left alive.
“Leave your mounts here,” Omri commanded. “You walk from here.”
When Ahab and his men stepped foot on the path, their feet made that curious new sound, crunching through the shells that lined the walkway. The palace was made of ivory and white stone, with two enormous bleached bones used as door handles.
“A palace made from the dead,” Obadiah murmured. Ahab suspected the altitude and humidity wore on him, just as much as the adventure itself. Ahab pointed out the serene waters of the Mediterranean on their left, far below the path. A minstrel could be heard playing the strings near a window above. Obadiah opened his mouth as if to say something, then nodded and moved on. Whatever was bothering him would wait.
A servant at the palace door saw their approach and lifted a huge striped shell to his mouth. The call echoed around them as he ran back inside. Two Phoenician servants sprang out from the doors, causing a few of Omri’s men to grasp their swords quickly, and Ahab laughed. The Phoenician servants simply grabbed the tusk handles and held the palace doors open.
King Eth-baal was easy to identify as he walked toward the doorway, wearing a striped robe and a thick gold collar. He had a simple crown, a band of gold that was tucked down around a mass of graying hair. He regarded Ahab with a detached expression. Ahab didn’t know what a father felt when he had decided to trade a daughter. This man didn’t look like he felt anything at all.
Omri tipped his head, already familiar with the king, but Ahab knelt to King Eth-baal, who bade him rise and extended a hand. It was a symbol of friendship, though the king’s eyes were dead. Ahab shook his hand, trying not to wince at the king’s sour breath. Eth-baal released him and staggered, reaching out for a palace guard. Blood filled Eth-baal’s mouth and dripped from his teeth. Ahab gasped and glared at his father.
Both Eth-baal and Omri caught his expression, but only Omri laughed. The guard offered Eth-baal a cup, and he spit a thatched red paste into it. Then he reached into the pocket of his robe and held seeds out to Ahab. Ahab saw his knuckles were thick and his fingers bent, like trees struck in a storm when they were fresh and green.
“Betel seeds,” he explained. “Chewing them eases the constant pain in my hands and knees.” He shrugged. “Come, and let me show you the palace.”
Eth-baal led the men on a tour of the most magnificent palace Ahab had ever seen. Omri shrugged when Ahab caught his eye, stunned at the wealth displayed all around—the delicate floral ivory inlays; the shimmering bronze statues of fantastic animals, lions, and bulls that lined the halls in every direction; the mosaic of blue and white waves under his feet. The trade routes Omri controlled were truly valuable to merit an alliance with this king. There was no talk of Eth-baal’s daughter.
Ahab wanted to ask about Jezebel, when he would meet her, but his father’s presence dissuaded him from asking any questions. Omri had little interest in the questions of a seventeen-year-old prince, one who would inherit a throne. Omri had killed for his.
“Your chambers,” Eth-baal said, and Ahab realized he had become lost in bitter thoughts, ignoring his host and the tour.
“It’s a beautiful palace,” he said. “It’s my honor to be your guest.”
Eth-baal received the compliments with a nod and directed several servants who had been trailing the group to attend the prince.
“Dinner is in six hours. I trust that will give you ample time to bathe and refresh.” He nodded again, without expression, and turned away.
Some kings had dozens of daughters and never knew all their names. Maybe Eth-baal didn’t even remember which one he had promised. That could be true, Ahab thought, but what troubled him was the lack of life in Eth-baal’s eyes. He seemed broken. But how could he be, when Eth-baal ruled so many cities and had so much wealth?
Elijah’s warning stirred in Ahab’s mind, as it had done several times over the past few weeks, but those words were no use to Ahab now. He had come too far to turn back.