I BREATHED IN the scent of my sister's soft brown hair, of woodsmoke and dried plums, and illness, maybe for the last time.
She cuddled into my touch, her eyelids flickering with sweat and fever, and I dug my nails further into our shared flax bed as I heard footsteps along the hallway. It was Mother, I could tell, stomping impatiently towards us.
My heart throbbed more painfully with every step, until I heard her swish aside the cow pelt blocking the doorway. For half a moment, I reckoned if I shut my eyes and pretended to be asleep, maybe she would leave me alone. Leave me and Naamah in peace.
"Na'el," she hissed, my name venom in her mouth that she had to spit out. She dug bony fingers into my shoulder, nearly ripping my nail beds out as my pitiful attempt to escape my decided fate came to an end. She pulled me upright and jerked me off the bed, and the entire frame rocked.
Naamah whimpered, and I bit back a yelp I knew would wake her as Mother's claws pierced my skin. "Stupid girl," she said in my ear, as she hauled me away from my sister. I kept my gaze on Naamah —— only seven harvests old, oh gods, she's so small, and I can't look out for her anymore —— to hide the tears burning my eyes.
"You know your suitor's coming today," Mother jerked me along the hall, past she and Father's room, to the entrance of our house, where change inevitably awaited. "You can't afford to mope and sabotage everything your father's built, not today, not ever."
My mind stuttered with a panic that prickled my skin. "I know, Mother," I said, the scent of incense branding my throat, because she'd already given me this speech. Usually enunciated with the slapping of fist on flesh. "I won't let you or Father down."
Mother pulled me outside, and the sun dazzled me. She didn't wait to let my eyes adjust before tugging me towards the dirt street, where my father and a stranger stood, leaning against a mule-driven cart.
I lowered my head and finally pulled out of my Mother's grasp, just as my father boomed, "Here she is, my daughter, Na'eltama'uk." He jabbered on incessantly about how twin boys ran in the family —— lies —— and how I would easily bear strapping heirs to continue the stranger's legacy.
I adjusted the tichel tied around my head, making sure my light brown plaits were covered. The tichel was faded and fraying, and as was my simlah, borrowed from my mother. I felt a flush build in my cheeks as the itch of the stranger's gaze settled on my face.
I thought back to Naamah lying on the bed. Did Mother know that she had to flip the pillows every half-hour to keep my sister's neck cool? Did Mother know what my sister's favourite lullaby was, to sing to her when the fever dreams grew more vivid than real life? Did Mother know how to comfort her during her nightmares?
"She'll make a good bride to you, sir," my father said finally, ending his spiel of endless promises that I wouldn't be able to fulfil. With his loud voice and open, almost dumb-looking face, it was easy to mistake my father for being confident. In actuality, he was anything but. His brother who'd worked on the East River and had been sending money every two weeks was dead, his youngest daughter was in death's clutches, and his wife was a nag who particularly despised his proclivity to neglect the holes in our roof and and go gamble instead; of course his eldest daughter would be the one to save them.
Me. My hand in marriage would save them, if I was worth a good bride price.
"She won't be my bride," the man said, his voice like the sound of a stuck wheel on gravel. "My father regrets not being here to pick her up himself, but," his dark eyes flickered to me, and then back to my father. He shrugged nonchalantly, his massive shoulders rolling. "I am sure you understand."
"Right," my father said, now more uncertain. It was rare to hear him disconcerted. "As long as you and your father share a like-mindedness in business."
And not a like-mindedness in insanity, I could almost hear him think. I rubbed my hands up and down my arms, feeling chills despite the sweat I could feel dripping under my tichel. I was the sacrificial lamb for this lunacy. I never thought I would be so miserable at the prospect of my marriage, and of escaping my mother and father, but circumstances had turned all my thoughts upside down in my head.
My mother fixed me with a glare that told me to stop fidgeting.
"Does the girl speak?" the stranger asked. He crossed thick forearms across his chest, and pink scars across his right wrist stood out from his dark and tanned skin.
All eyes swivelled to me. Mother and Father, with scrutiny and promise of a beating if I failed. The stranger, almost disinterest, fringing on boredom.
"Na'el!"
I could hear Naamah burst from the front entrance, and I turned to see her arms grappling for me. I caught her before she collided with my knees, and lifted her, the sweet taste of relief thick in my mouth.
"Naamah," I crooned, searching her bright eyes as she tightened her arms around my neck. I was sure my tichel had become dislodged, but I didn't care. I squeezed her small rib cage, and pressed my cheek against her sweaty neck. Her pulse thrummed against my jaw weakly, like a dove's wingbeats whilst caught under the paw of a cat.
"She's my youngest," Father said to the stranger quickly, as Mother came rushing forward to extricate Naamah from around my neck. Trying to end the potential of a scene that would make the neighbours gossip.
"You promised you wouldn't leave without saying good-bye to me," Naamah whispered in my ear, as Mother reached her. "I made you this," she shoved something that smelled like dirty clay under my nose, and I took hold of it before she was pulled away. She looked unsteady in Mother's grip, all bony wrists clutched in sharpened nails.
I closed my fingers around her gift to me before my Mother could take that from me, too. The tears threatened to return as I saw the man reach to shake my father's hand.
"Shem," the stranger finally introduced himself. "I will take her with me."
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Shem was a mountain of a man, not only in size, but also in tendency of not saying much. Not that I minded. I was sure if I tried to speak, a lump of wool in my throat would hinder me from uttering anything more than a sob.
The zenith of the sun's arc across the blue sky had already passed, and now the chill of the early evening began to bite through my mother's worn simlah. We'd already stopped to eat —— and Shem had shared his boiled vegetables from his basket with me once he'd realised I had nothing other than the rest of my clothes packed —— but that had been hours ago, and the tickling of hunger had returned to my stomach.
"We're almost there," Shem said, like he'd read my mind. His gaze was set on the horizon, where I spied a dark green splotch of forest. The mules trekked on valiantly, and the distance of arid desert between us and Shem's home steadily closed with every hoofbeat.
My new home. A fist tightened in my stomach. I'd heard stories about Shem's family, though I dared not ask if they held weight. Things like they were building contraptions to stave off the end of the world. And that they kidnapped misbehaving children to join their workforce of woodcutters. Maybe the last thing was just the chiding of exasperated mothers, however.
I swallowed, and swallowed again. I'd emptied my water skin long ago, trying to cool my face heated with sunburn and unshed tears.
"What is Ham like?" Ham. That was the name I'd heard, when Shem had begun discussing a bride price with my father. My betrothed.
Shem kept his eyes on the way ahead. The dirt road had ended long ago. His non-scarred hand lowered from the reins and dug around under the cart's front seat. "He's my youngest brother." His voice was gruff. I thought he'd stop there, he sounded so reluctant to speak. "He ... He can be troublesome."
He handed me his water skin. I took it gingerly, feeling a tendril of surprise lance through my chest. Shem seemed so standoffish, and yet his actions thus far, his willingness to share, had been nothing but kindly.
"But he's a good man," he said ultimately, after I took a sip of water. I returned it to him, and he buried it away again. I didn't know what to make of his short assessment of the man I would marry. "You don't need to worry about him."
I also turned my eyes ahead. The trees were now upon us, casting dappled shadows across the mules' spines. Of course I would worry. My sister was counting on me. And if I failed, I would be sent back to Mother and Father, where I would be pretty much better off dead.
The forest had a well-worn cart path through it that made the journey gentler on my spine. I marvelled at the size of the trees, and relished the scent of leaves and sap.
Then, suddenly, the trees came to an end. A clearing opened up under the dark blue evening sky, cluttered with animal skin tents. At the center of it all, a smouldering firepit.
Figures turned towards us, and one —— a woman —— lifted her hand and called in greeting. My eyebrows quirked as Shem's face split into a white-toothed grin.
"We're here."