The God of Mists and Shrouds

By Maria Keffler

As King Amel-Marduk reigns over Babylonia during the Israelites' exile there from 586-516 BC, three women choose their own paths along a history marked with tragedy, betrayal and injustice. Ziona hides from her past and fears that the God of her countrymen has abandoned her to a future as repugnant to her as it is coveted by her enemies. Gatha looks for the courage to speak the truth, and to choose either a foreign faith that promises an impossible hope, or a consuming despair over circumstances she can't change. Parva discovers the reality of her helplessness against the dark forces of a spirit world she gravely underestimated.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Maria Keffler
• Release date: Jan 21, 2012
• ISBN: 9781466115323

Maria Keffler

Maria Keffler lives in Arlington, Virginia, with her husband and three kids who all wish they were only children. She blogs about things like tarantula-milking lawyers and the savagery of familial relationships at www.wastingmyeducation.blogspot.com, and is presently learning how to cook without the smoke detector finding out about it.

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THE GOD OF MISTS AND SHROUDS

Maria Keffler

SMASHWORDS EDITION

Copyright 2012 by Maria Keffler

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All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Maria Keffler in 2012.

This is a work of historic fiction. All of the characters, organizations and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

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Smashwords License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Historic Fiction

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thank you to C. Hope Flinchbaugh for her painfully helpful editing notes; the Christ Our Shepherd Church book club (Laurie Chenoweth, Anna Eskridge, Trudy Sharp, Melanie Sunukjian & Christina Watts) for taking the time to read and respond to the book; and Elizabeth McBurney and Sally Schlatter, for reading and critiquing this novel before its final draft.

This book is dedicated with love and appreciation to my husband, Aaron; and to Christopher, Anna & Nadia, three of my favorite blessings.

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Epilogue

Characters

Foreign Vocabulary

About the Author

Connect with Me Online

PROLOGUE

The LORD, the God of their fathers, sent word to them through his messengers again and again, because he had pity on his people and on his dwelling place. But they mocked God’s messengers, despised his words and scoffed at his prophets until the wrath of the LORD was aroused against his people and there was no remedy. He brought up against them the king of the Babylonians, who killed their young men with the sword in the sanctuary, and spared neither young man nor young woman, old man or aged. God handed all of them over to Nebuchadnezzar. (II Chronicles 36:15-17)

Ziona struggled against Puah’s desperate grasp and peered around the corner.

Go, Sister! Now! her oldest brother hissed. He strained against the shackles that bound him to the others. A guard thrust at him with a lance and a prick of blood slid down the sinew of his upper arm.

Puah snatched Ziona back and they obeyed her brother.

They fled from her home and plunged into the melee of the city. Ziona huddled under her nurse’s arm in folded sackcloth as daggers of fire blasted and snapped at them. The nearby temple's proud cedar beams shuddered and split under the blaze. Even the great hewn stones, toppled by the Babylonians' relentless attacks, blackened and cracked open.

As they scuttled along the outskirts of the temple courtyard, Ziona snuck a glance toward the temple. A cluster of soldiers stood nearby, their conversation as casual as if they discussed the price of grain or the mild weather. Silver and gold articles lay in careless piles around their soot-smeared and hairy legs. A brutish arm, near enough that Ziona smelled the blood, salt and sweat on it, plunged an iron sword into the bronze Sea of the Lord. He hacked until it lay twisted and sliced into shards.

Puah hefted Ziona off the ground and her feet skidded over a man’s severed foot. She recognized the body beside it. At dawn the man had raced from the fallen gates to the house of Zedekiah, her father. Nebuchadnezzar is upon us, he cried, then fled.

They plunged to the ground. Ziona rolled from the shelter of the large woman’s bosom and crumpled at the leather-clad feet of a Babylonian soldier. Bile rose from her stomach and she choked it back with a sob. Her nurse lay beside her, arms and legs askew in the dirt. Puah's face lolled against the ground, her scalp flattened and bloodied by the strike of a soldier's mace. The soldier stood over Ziona, the same weapon in hand.

He lunged for her, and grabbed for her throat with his free hand. Ziona rolled between his feet, then pushed herself off the burnt and blood-wet ground and fled. Where did Puah mean to take her? Where could she go now?

The soldier's feet thudded the ground behind her as he closed the distance between them.

Ziona plunged into the house of burning Lebanese cedars and the relics of Moses. She dashed between the massive pillars that stood guard over the front porch.

She entered Solomon’s temple.

* * * * *

The soldier gave off the chase and snorted as Ziona sped into the blaze. "One less niesuq to carry back." He elbowed a fellow soldier who stood with little else to do but watch the fire.

They've no fight left in them, the other man answered. He wiped the sweat from his face with the hem of his cloak. We just round them up and march home now. The royal family’s done.

You saw it? He bounced his mace in time with the clack-clack of a cart that passed in front of them. Its wagon creaked under the weight of the gold it carried. The driver cried, Hey-yah! and snapped a whip against the backs of the two young men who pulled the cart.

The other man shook his head. Heard about it, though. He turned away and headed for the pile of precious artifacts. King Nebuchadnezzar killed them himself.

The soldier sighed. The Hebrews had given up. Though a year and a half into their siege of Jerusalem, it seemed like there’d barely been a fight.

* * * * *

Ziona's skin crisped in the heat like unleavened bread, and the meat on her small bones broiled. She raced up the great steps and through a gate. The Court of Women stretched wide and long, and the fire that consumed the walls and timber beams began to drop inward from the storehouses around the chamber. Ziona fled into the temple proper.

Blinded by the billows of smoke and in unfamiliar territory, Ziona did not know where she was. She dashed to one side and the other as beams crashed down from the ceiling. She scalded her fingers on the stone wall as she picked her way around the perimeter. A door. She pushed against it, but it refused to yield.

Someone help me! she screamed, but only the roar of the flames answered. She continued past the corner, along a row of locked doors, and on to a third wall.

Her heartbeat pummeled her chest as she fingered her way down the perimeter of the courtyard. A slight breeze lifted sweaty tendrils of hair of the back of her neck. She spun around – nothing there except flames and choking clouds of black smoke. She gasped at the ashen air that burned her lungs. Again, the cool wind caressed her face as it swept through the center of the chamber. In its wake the smoke cleared briefly, then reclosed upon itself. Desperate to survive, Ziona plunged into the pool of fresh air and followed it.

The Holy Place! The breath of air led into the Holy Place!

Then I will die as I have lived, a Hebrew in the temple of God.

She had to breathe. So Ziona entered the innermost secret chamber of the Most High God, where none but the priests could go.

She passed over the stairs and porch that led to the Holy Place, and entered a narrow hallway. The veil had burned away, but the small chamber was clear and seemed unaffected by the blaze. As she entered, the cool wind dissipated and all fell still. The sanctum was silent, as though its very holiness would not permit one hint of the horror outside.

At the end of the hallway stood a small, enclosed cubicle. The Holy of Holies, the heart and soul of the temple. No other person, save the high priests, had ever seen it.

If she entered the Holy of Holies, God would strike her dead. The law condemned her for where she now stood, as well. But death itself surrounded this sacred room and left Ziona no escape.

What refuge could she take? The army fell. Her brothers, her princes, she’d left in chains. Her father fled. Her mother left her with Puah, and now Puah left her alone.

Had God left her, too?

Ziona fell to her knees and doubled over. She wrapped her arms around herself and rocked. Her wails exploded against the close walls and assaulted her own ears. She hiccupped sobs until her stomach ached.

Then the cold barrenness of isolation stiffened her nerves. She sat up and dashed the tears off her cheeks with her wrists.

If that's how it is. She started toward the cubicle. I'll choose my own kind of death.

You may not.

Ziona spun around. A priest stood behind her, just inside the gate of the Holy Place. Horror flooded her heart. She should have braved death in the fire. The priest would have her killed for where she now stood. She dropped her head and shuddered.

Don’t be afraid, Ziona.

She looked up at the holy man. He knew her name. But his voice astonished her most. He knew her thoughts, yet he spoke gently, with mercy.

He stood so tall that Ziona craned her neck to look at him, though he remained several paces away. His clothes reminded her of other priests’ garments, but seemed finer and richer. His tunic was white linen, but it shone as though shot through with silver. The blue of his robe echoed the color lapis lazuli. He wore a sash of linen, twisted together with blue, purple and scarlet floss. Around the hem of his robe silver pomegranates and gold bells tinkled as though he danced, yet he never moved. He bore a breastpiece mounted with rows and rows of beautiful jewels. His ephod boasted gold filigree settings on the shoulders, and lengths of linen and woven metals in the cloth. His linen turban almost shined, like the full moon. A blue and silver cord fastened a sacred plate to his chest. The seal read, HOLY IS THE LORD.

He approached Ziona and stretched out his hand. Fear left her, and she put her hand in his. Is there a way out? she asked.

Follow me.

They walked together out of the Holy Place. The breeze that led her into the inner court now enveloped them as they left.

I’m sorry. Ziona kept her eyes forward.

No one may go there, Ziona. That place is only for God.

I don’t understand why God let this happen.

The priest squeezed her hand. ‘My comfort in my suffering is this: your promise preserves my life.’ Can you remember that?

I don’t know.

They crossed through the Court of Women, and left the temple by the front gate. Outside soldiers tied people together and lined them up. Bodies lay scattered everywhere. Ziona looked back for the man who chased her but the priest led her straight out of the city.

No one seemed to notice them. Far in the distance, almost at the horizon, an enormous cloud of dust rose from the earth. Behind it the sunset glowed greenish-purple, like an old eggplant. A scream pierced Ziona's ears. Raucous laughter drowned it to a muffled whimper. Before she could turn her head toward the noise, the priest placed his palm flat against her cheek. His long, callused fingers reached past her eye. She could look nowhere but ahead.

Ziona and the priest arrived at a small stone house. The roof had collapsed upon walls that fell in against each other. The family, a man, woman and baby, prepared to leave Jerusalem. The woman sobbed and the baby wailed. The man took his wife’s hands and put her on the bed, where he placed the baby in her arms to nurse.

We must rest tonight, Hannah.

Go with them, Ziona. The priest let go of her hand and pressed her toward the ramshackle house.

No, Ziona refused. I want my family.

The man stepped forward and met Ziona’s glance. A tear slipped down his ruddy cheek. He looked back at his wife.

The priest pushed Ziona forward and they entered the home.

Who are you, child? the woman asked through tears.

Ziona looked up at the priest. He nodded.

Ziona.

Where is your family?

The priest said nothing, but caressed her cheek with one hand and motioned for her to stay with the couple and their baby.

No! Ziona screamed. The deepest place in her stomach spat out a sob. She could not believe such a thing. They’re not. They can’t all be dead.

Her father fled the city the night before, after the city wall toppled. When the soldiers came to the palace Ziona’s mother, Merav, went to the courtyard to meet them, as Ziona’s father had instructed.

No.

The man stepped forward and took Ziona’s shoulders in his hands. He looked into her face. We also grieve. He swallowed hard as another tear retraced the wet line on his cheek. Our son was taken from us. He turned to his wife and tipped his head to the side. The woman sighed and looked away.

Stay with us, little one. No one should be alone now. The man led her into the room and wiped away her tears with his thumbs.

Ziona looked back. The priest had gone.

* * * * *

The next day Ziona began the long, miserable march toward Babylonia with Adiv's family. Thousands of Israelites, corralled like cattle and surrounded by soldiers and cavalry, trudged toward the wide plains on the northeasterly trek from Jerusalem to the capitol city of Babylon.

On the eighth day of the march Ziona told Hannah, I never thanked the priest.

What priest?

The one who brought me to your house.

Adiv shook his head at Hannah.

That night as Ziona snuggled into a threadbare blanket, she listened to Hannah and Adiv. When a guard paced by, a hand's breadth from Ziona's head, his horse's hooves kicked dirt onto her face. She left it there and pretended to be asleep.

Hannah snapped out a blanket, and spread it over the ground. Why did you quiet me when I was talking to Ziona today?

Adiv yawned. We must put everything about that day behind us.

Hannah sighed as she lay down next to her husband. Well, if I see a priest, I’ll ask him if he knows Ziona.

There are no priests here, Hannah. They were taken from the temple months ago. The few they didn't kill they took back to Babylon already.

So there are no priests with us at all?

No. Not anymore, Adiv replied. Sleep, Mother. Sleep.

CHAPTER 1

In the thirty-seventh year of the exile of Jehoiachin king of Judah… Evil-Merodach became king of Babylon… (II Kings 25:27)

Procession Street danced and drank, sang and spun, debauched and bedazzled itself in a city-scale saturnalia of colors, tongues and music. Assyrian venders hawked sweetbreads and spiced drinks to Babylonian housewives while Hebrew artisans cast pottery under the shrewd eyes of royal stewards. All shared the common activities of New Year: welcome the new, abandon the old, anticipate the future, and lionize the king. Akitu would last for twelve days, each punctuated by an event to celebrate the glory of Babylonia, their king, and their god, Marduk.

The king, Amel-Marduk, would not appear in the city on this fourth day of New Year. To prepare for the Ceremony of Submission, he spent a day alone in reflection of the past year. Tomorrow he must subjugate himself to the high priest at the Esagila temple. A profession of his deference to Marduk required a vow that he neither neglected his responsibilities nor oppressed his people.

For the rest of Babylon revelry continued without interruption, but for the king, these two days signified paramount religious and royal restraint.

Amel-Marduk ascended to the throne of Babylonia four months earlier, when his father, Nebuchadnezzar, fell to an illness of the lungs. Neriglisaros, Commander of the Imperial Army and the husband of Nebuchadnezzar's daughter, appealed to the high priest of Marduk for the throne, but could not oust the legitimate royal heir. The Board of Regents advised the new king to let his brother-in-law remain in command of the military.

Amel-Marduk regretted that he did so.

His sister and her husband made his life the tedious journey of an ant scaling a ziggurat. Every step met with an upward obstacle. Responsibilities here, sacrifices there.

What good is a throne if one is lashed upon it by austerity and protocol?

He hated Akitu as well. He could enjoy none of it as he had before. Now the priests imposed rules and restrictions upon him. Only after tomorrow’s ritual abasement could he enjoy himself again.

He availed himself of a sizeable harem. But during the first five days of Akitu, the priests denied him even that. Had he a queen, she could not deny him. So he must suffer either a wife, or five days of celibacy each year.

By next New Year he planned to marry.

A servant girl entered his chambers, bowed over a tray at the waist. She waited at the threshold of his chamber for him to summon her, since the tapestry hung sashed against the jamb.

The top of her head looked promising.

Bring it here.

Your highness, the girl replied, and scurried over to the couch where he reclined. He tapped his jeweled rings against the back of the bench. She placed the tray on the table beside him and stepped back, still bowed. Is there anything else you require, your highness?

Amel-Marduk looked the plain girl over, up and down. Even this shapeless, bubble-faced wardu raised heat in him today. Do you have a name?

Gatha, your highness.

Gatha.

The girl shifted from one leg to the other and stared at her feet.

He had only to reach over and take her.

No. He expected Neriglisaros. Caught with a woman meant words with the priests, and only they knew what Marduk might demand. Neriglisaros pants after such an opportunity.

Get out. Amel-Marduk gulped at his wine as her small form scuttled away. Poor girl just missed the chance of her life.

* * * * *

In the hallway the slave passed a woman in a pink gown, embroidered with silver threads and gold teardrops. She curtseyed and they exchanged greetings. How do you find him today?

Quite himself, your highness.

The woman chuckled and dismissed the slave, then stepped just inside the king's door and leaned against the frame. She observed him with narrowed eyes, as a cat watches a dog.

He looked up and grunted. Soray.

Her brother gave her as little respect as he gave most people. Spoiled and pampered, his demands met no application of limit, for even as a child he knew the throne awaited him. He became, in her estimation, the worst kind of man: a king with boundless power and appetites to match.

Three times Soray swelled with hope that she would bear a child. An heir of his own might spur Neriglisaros to take the throne. But each time she miscarried. Even without a queen, Amel-Marduk would soon produce an heir from one of his concubines. Soray’s gut roiled at the image of her brother’s offspring upon their father’s throne forever.

Your highness.

I called for Neriglisaros. Where is he?

He apologizes for his absence. He is exercising the guard.

He sent you? He flicked his fingers at her as he would a fly.

I came instead.

In truth, the frightened slave never found Neriglisaros, and blurted out his mission to her. She could guess why her brother had called him.

You must be terribly bored.

Amel-Marduk looked up. What do you know? You have no responsibilities.

She forced an empathetic smile. You haven’t much on which to meditate, have you?

Not at all. I finished before I woke up. He devoured a honeyed pastry the size of Soray's hand in one bite. In four months I have done nothing that I need to meditate on.

I could bring you something to entertain you, if you’d like. There is no prohibition upon the king having guests in his chamber, is there?

Amel-Marduk’s eyes narrowed. And the celibacy rule?

Soray’s heart skipped a beat. Of course. She smiled. I only meant some music, or poetry.

He frowned and stomped his heel against the floor. I don’t want songs and poems. I’m tired of being alone in this room. I’m tired of being alone in any room. I want to go down to the court!

Soray leaned against a marble pillar. She crossed one ankle over the other and folded her arms at her waist. She sighed, looked at the ceiling and feigned contemplation.

Amel-Marduk wouldn’t break the ban on his freedom without the consent of at least one advisor who could support him against the priesthood, if necessary. Though willful and childish, Amel-Marduk did little on his own. She could pretend to agree with him, but Soray hadn’t the power to coax an ill-advised indulgence. She could, however, reaffirm her loyalty, and perhaps tease him toward temptation at the same time.

Brother, there may be a way for you to relieve your unhappiness, without arousing Marduk's anger, she said. May I make another suggestion?

He nodded and pinched his lower lip between his thumb and first finger.

Do you remember the parapet along the upper wall of the courtyard? No one ever uses it, and I would imagine most have forgotten it is even there. We could walk together, allowing you a bit of freedom, and a view of the activities below. Soray sat down on a cushion opposite Amel-Marduk.

She saw the projection of his thoughts in the expressions on his face. I haven’t been on those parapets since I was a child, he said. He stared into the distance and smiled.

A muscle in his cheek twitched as he drummed his fingers on his chin.

No, it’s a bad idea. He shook his head. I was wrong to discuss this with you, and I see that you cannot understand. Leave me, and see that no one bothers me for the rest of the day. He turned back to his food and dismissed her with his hand.

She left the room with a deep bow, a graceful sweep of her gown, and a smile.

Given enough rope, her brother might just hang himself.

* * * * *

From outside the city canal, a beautiful woman passed through the Outer Wall of Nebuchadnezzar and entered the Enlil Gate. She wore an undertunic of pale blue linen that brushed the tops of her toes. Crises-crossed strips of light brown leather sandaled her feet, and the hem of her tunic swept against the thin knots that circled her ankles. Short sleeves helped mitigate the severe heat that roasted the city and the surrounding plains. Her linen overtunic, cooler than traditional wool, held a darker blue dye and boasted grape and fig leaves embroidered with green and white threads. Her long hair fell down her back, plaited in the Babylonian style, but she covered her head with a loose turquoise scarf, similar to the conventional veil of the Hebrew.

She protected her lute from the sun and sand with a loose, wide scarf and nestled the instrument in her left arm as she supported the bent neck with her right. When she kneeled to pick up a coin in the road, she tucked the lute into the curve of her waist.

Ziona! Wait!

She turned toward Ketana's voice. Benjamin and Simeon ran circles around their mother like lion cubs. Ketana nearly tripped over Simeon. She caught the back of his shirt and swung him onto her hip. His prey restrained, Benjamin trailed behind Ketana and tempted Simeon to lunge backward. Ziona's nephews brought laughter with them everywhere.

Ketana caught up with Ziona and handed her a small sheet of papyrus, rolled and tied with a strip of cloth. You left this yesterday.