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He dipped the bowl in the water and handed it to her. She drank it dry, leaned against the wall, and sighed. She held her waist as if it pained her, but he knew better than to try to tend her wounds again without permission.

  “Why do you live in these mountains?” she said.

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

  “You seem quite sure of yourself.”

  Lamech frowned. “I know only how strange the story is.”

  She shrugged. “If I decide I don’t believe you, at least your story might entertain me.”

  He paused and searched her expression for any hit of humor, but could not find any. She goaded him with a quirked eyebrow, and he looked away. “In the mountain pass, you said you couldn’t think of what had happened to you. Couldn’t speak of it.”

  “Maybe if you tell me your story, I will tell you mine,” she said.

  “Maybe?”

  “If you think you deserve more, then keep to yourself, and I will do the same.”

  Lamech pursed his lips and sat with legs crossed. “Fine. I will share my story. But you are a hard woman. I was only trying to make conversation.” He paused and waited for her to rebuff him. When she didn’t, he tipped his head and searched his memory. “It began with my grandfather, Enoch. He developed a habit of walking for days talking to himself. Everyone had accepted his strangeness as harmless until—”

  “Who do you mean by ‘everyone’? Your family?”

  Lamech paused, cleared his throat. “They and the rest of the village we lived in.” He lifted his eyebrows to make sure she understood.

  She waved him on.

  “My grandfather gathered everyone in our village and preached about a judgment that his God was bringing.”

  “What god was it?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “He never called him by any name.”

  “Strange,” she said, and furrowed her brow.

  Lamech cleared his throat. “We thought he had gone mad with age, but—”

  “The sickness was real?”

  “Would you stop interrupting?”

  “I wouldn’t have to if you would just be clearer,” she said.

  “I am being clear.” He could feel tension build in his temples.

  “So, the sickness struck?”

  Lamech nodded. “That same week. I remember my father carrying bodies out of huts. Women, children . . . infants.” He looked down, his voice becoming a whisper. “We burned them.”

  The girl leaned forward. “What kind of sickness was it?”

  “Those infected would cough so much blood they would drown.”

  She paled and nodded, waving him on.

  “My mother . . .” He paused. “. . . became ill, along with my younger brothers and sisters. The leader of our village built buildings for the sick at the foot of the mountain to keep it from spreading. But when Father led the rest of my family to the mountain, he brought me with so we could remain a family. He didn’t believe we would catch it, for we had been taking care of my mother and siblings for some time. He also didn’t believe the sickness would take them.”

  “Was he right?”

  “We never became sick,” he said. “But they didn’t survive.” Then he shook his head and rubbed his throat, feeling that familiar strangling sensation.

  “How old were you?”

  “Young.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s been many years. But still I find it hard to talk of.”

  After a moment, the girl said, “I think my father had that same sickness. It took many I loved. My father was one of the lucky ones. Well, until—” She waved as if to dismiss her thoughts. “How did your father react?”

  “He believed my grandfather was the cause of the sickness, so he confronted him and demanded he give his wife back.”

  “What did your grandfather do?”

  “He said the sickness was only the beginning. My father cursed him to die, but Grandfather replied, ‘Man cannot kill who God has chosen to work his pleasing and perfect will. A child is coming who will bring relief to humanity through the earth. But I have been faithful. I have walked with God. Now, as God promised, he is snatching me away from this cursed generation.’ And he reached toward the sky and disappeared like smoke on the wind.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “What?”

  “I told you my story was strange. Had I not seen him disappear with my own eyes, I wouldn’t have believed it. But from that day forward, the village believed my family cursed.”

  “I see . . .”

  “They wanted no more of Enoch’s God or his judgment. It didn’t matter that my mother was a victim, or that my father disdained my grandfather—we were still his family.”

  She pinched her bottom lip and stared at the wall as if in deep thought. “Did they try to hurt you?”

  “They feared more punishment, so they commanded us to remain in the mountains. Once every season, they agreed to send someone from the village with supplies to a marker of black rocks. That’s the only reason we’ve been able to survive here these many years.”

  She glanced at him with wide eyes, then looked at the hut as if seeing it for the first time. “Why didn’t you just go live in another village?”

  “Father never wanted to.”

  “And you?”

  Lamech shrugged.

  “Not even once?”

  “Where would we go? I’ve known nothing but mountains and silence, and my mother and siblings are buried here. For Father and me both, no other place would have felt like home. Besides, if Grandfather spoke truth, maybe the world beyond these mountains is worth missing.”

  The girl stared at the packed dirt beneath them. At length she nodded and whispered, “Maybe.”

  Lamech stood, brushed himself off, and said, “Enough entertainment. The sun is setting. Would you like anything else before I retire? I’ll grab you bedding yet.”

  She shook her head, and Lamech turned to leave, but she caught him by the arm. He looked down and saw that same transparency she had shown in the mountain pass.

  “My name is Adah.”

  Lamech nodded and smiled.

  This time, she returned it.

  Chapter 7

  When the torches returned the third time, there were four men. Three were eunuchs and one had horns like the ones who had burned her home, though his head was grossly deformed. He had two faces, between which ran a gulley like a long scar. The skin of both faces was cinched tight as if burned years ago. The mouth on the left emitted a nervous chuckle, and its eyes danced independently. The other face’s lips were pressed together as if tasting something sour, its eyes methodical and penetrating.

  A particularly small, boyish eunuch dipped his head and said, “Three prisoners died, Lord Tubal.”

  “This one attacked one of your servants,” said the tallest eunuch, who Adah recognized as one of the two who beat her.

  Tubal’s left face chuckled. The right face imbibed Adah’s figure and said, “Disgusting. What did you do to her? Bring it and one other as tribute.” The left face gurgled and the right face continued, “When you return the leftovers, I shall visit.”

  “Yes, Lord Tubal.”

  “Beautiful decision, Lord Tubal.”

  “What else might be expected, Lord Tubal?”

  “Fools,” Tubal said. “Hasten. Your Lord Tubal grows . . .” The left face moaned and the right continued, “Thirsty for healthy ones. More. We need more! Beautiful ones with exotic eyes and perfect skin. Always the skin.” His sharp eyes impaled Adah. “Hideous. Does no one listen to my instruction? Get it out of my sight.”

  Adah’s face grew hot, and she attempted to cover herself.

  “What else, Lord Tubal?”

  “Could we ever expect our Lord Tubal to accept imperfection?”

  Tubal’s left face chuckled. “Yes. You could. And you do.” Tubal approached the tallest eunuch, the one who had beaten her, and cupped his cheek. “Look at me.”

  T
he eunuch hesitated.

  Tubal’s left face cackled, and the eunuch glanced up, gaze darting from face to face as if he were unsure which to look at.

  “Oh,” Tubal said, “are you confused?”

  The eunuch paled. “No, Lord Tubal.”

  “Castrated one—does such a one find our instruction complicated?”

  “No, Lord Tubal.”

  “Does it like bruised skin? Is that why it beat the woman?” Tubal’s left face was laughing. Voice rising in pitch as if dragged up a hill.

  The eunuch looked away, sweat dripping down his face. “As you say, beauty is of primary—”

  Tubal thrust a knife through the eunuch’s temple. Tubal’s left face moaned as he removed the knife, let the eunuch drop, and brought the flat of the blade across his tongue. “When next you bring such women, you will consider death a kindness. Bring the tribute and send for me when you finish.”

  The remaining two eunuchs bowed and unlocked Adah’s cell.

  Tubal departed, his cackles echoing through the labyrinth.

  The eunuchs entered and tried to lift her, but she cried out in pain. After they got her to her feet, she realized she could walk so long as they didn’t urge her too quickly forward.

  She cradled her torso and shuffled where directed. The impulse to hobble into the dark to find freedom burned at the back of her mind, but she quickly extinguished it. Maybe she would have tried if uninjured, but she needed clothing, food, knowledge of her surroundings, and likely the attention of an herbalist.

  “Where are you taking me?” she said.

  The boyish eunuch unlocked the other cell and ushered a sickly girl out while the thicker, squat eunuch clenched Adah’s arm. After the boyish eunuch closed the door and urged the sickly girl forward, the other prodded Adah on. They turned left, then right, were told to hurry, then to stop.

  Adah glanced over her shoulder.

  “Keep your eyes forward,” said the squat eunuch in his throaty, high voice.

  She obeyed as they argued about which turns to take. Ahead was a strange opening that looked like a hole in the floor. “What is that?”

  The squat eunuch chuckled. “One of the many places you might have fallen had you run off on your own.”

  She felt the strange compulsion to steal his torch and toss it over the edge to watch the flames flicker as they fell. “What’s at the bottom?”

  “Death. And may it teach you to listen. There is only one exit from the labyrinth, and the way changes daily.”

  “Changes?” She turned again, only to be slapped by the squat eunuch.

  That high, husky laugh. “Won’t live long in the service of the God-King behaving like that. You’re a stupid one, aren’t you? No wonder they beat you.”

  Her fingertips tingled. If what they said was true, escape would be infinitely more difficult. But if they were bringing her above where others could see her, maybe she would have another chance to escape.

  She glanced at her companion. The girl swayed as if sleepwalking. Adah nearly asked if she was all right, but the squat eunuch jammed his palm into her back, bringing enough pain to wipe her mind blank.

  “Ah,” the boyish eunuch said, and extinguished his torch. The other did the same, and they pulled the women up a staircase in the dark.

  Movement was much more difficult without the aid of the light, but with the eunuchs’ help, she stayed upright.

  They stopped and listened as the squat one patted the wall as if searching for a handle.

  “Keep them closed,” the boyish eunuch whispered, his breath hot in her ear.

  A door swung open and the light on the other side nearly threw Adah to her knees. She cried out and pressed her palms to her eyes. The eunuchs jerked them forward. She tried removing her hands from her eyes, but the world seemed brighter than the sun.

  The eunuchs led her by the arm. By touch and sound she recognized that they were passing through a cobbled courtyard and narrow alleys. She kept her eyes closed as they entered a building and passed open doorways, finally stopping in stale silence.

  The eunuchs’ breathing grew heavy, and they retreated.

  “Wait—” She reached for them and groaned at the pain that shot through her chest.

  But they were gone.

  Chapter 8

  The next day Lamech was allowed to tend Adah’s broken ribs and make herbal tinctures to aid her healing. He couldn’t deny she was beautiful, but she had awoken something in him far more potent than attraction. He felt a narrowing of focus, as if she were the only reason for every event that had happened in his life. He told Father of this, but Father only frowned and told him to retrieve more water for their meal.

  Most of the time that Lamech and Adah spent together was in silence. Every so often she would ask him questions about what he was doing, and he would explain. After he told her how he had begun inventing new varieties of goat cheese, she said, “You and my father would have had much to converse about.” But her voice failed as her eyes dimmed and turned toward images only she could see.

  Judging by how she referred to her father, he dared not ask to know more. Instead, he shrugged and said, “The mountains are unforgiving. And solitude is a great teacher. When I was young, I had no toys, no one to play with, no distractions except the shapes of nature and the creeping pace of change. I tried my hand at gardening, building, fire-making, foraging, hunting, goat herding, trapping, and anything else I could think of.”

  She turned toward him, the light in her eyes returning. “How successful were you in what you tried?”

  “Successful enough to survive.”

  And they continued to survive in the ensuing weeks, until Adah’s broken bones were mostly mended and she could move without much pain.

  …

  Nearly two months after finding Adah in the mountain pass, he found her sitting on a boulder outside their hut, watching the sunrise bleed to blue. He joined her to let the familiar silence pass between them, but as he sat, she said, “What was your mother like?”

  The question struck him like a splash of cold water. “I . . . she was . . .”

  “You can’t remember, can you?”

  He stared at his own feet. “At times, when I’m with you, I remember how her hand felt on my shoulder, or how her voice sounded before the sickness took her.”

  Adah nodded. “All I remember of my parents is the sound of their screams.” Tears shone on Adah’s face. “Why is that?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Her knuckles grew white. “Sometimes, when I wake in the night, I think I see him bending over me, blocking out the stars.”

  “Who?”

  “The devil who took my family from me,” she said.

  “Have you been sleeping outside, that you see the stars?”

  “No . . .”

  “Then you see only a phantom, a dream,” he said.

  “Before I left, he said he would find me. That no matter where I ran, he would kill me.” Her voice fell to a whisper. “He can’t find me, can he? How could he find me?”

  Lamech scooted closer and said, “No one has followed you. That was me who found you on the road. Remember?”

  After a while, she turned away from him, and when she spoke again, her voice was cold. “The last conversation I had with my parents was filled with bitter words.”

  Lamech said nothing. He knew they were dancing on the outskirts of a great pain, and feared that any words he might speak would break the spell the coming twilight had placed upon her.

  “My father wished me to wed a man he considered acceptable. But I found the man contemptible, and had said as much many times. He didn’t listen. He never listened. So I cut my hair to make myself too ugly for a man to wed.” She dipped her head and her voice shook. “I was trying to hurt him, but he only wanted good for me. Now . . . I can never tell him how sorry I am.”

  Lamech reached his arm around her, and she spun toward him and pressed her face to his chest, nearly knocking him b
ackward.

  “Promise me that you’ll never leave,” she said.

  “I promise,” Lamech said, blinking and angling forward to regain his balance.

  She turned to face him. “Why do I feel like you’re going to leave anyway?”

  Lamech squinted down at her and shook his head. He just wanted them to stop speaking, to regain that familiar silence so truth could remain unmolested by words. But as she glanced back to the fading sun, he looked at her face in profile and felt a stirring in his abdomen. He turned her chin back to him, leaned down, and kissed her. She pulled away as if he had burned her and brought a hand to her lips.

  His throat went cold and he steadied himself with a palm against the rock. His face warmed with heat, and he turned away.

  But she grabbed the back of his neck and pressed her lips into his with such passion he lost his breath. After, they held each other until the moon shone overhead, casting a silver glow about them.

  ...

  That evening, after an hour spent debating Father, Lamech stood with his arm outstretched over Adah’s. Father said the invocation that bound man to woman and tied their wrists with a grapevine.

  They spent their first night together learning what it meant to become one. And as the excitement of the day blended into the peacefulness of night, Lamech drifted to sleep tangled in the smell of her hair and the warmth of her touch.

  He awoke to her prodding him. “He’s here,” she said. “He’s blocking out the stars!”

  Lamech looked at the thatched ceiling and pressed her face into his neck. “Hush. You are only dreaming.”

  After she fell back asleep, he remained awake, staring at the open doorway. Twice before morning he thought he saw the glint of eyes like silver stars set into a lightless moon.

  Dreams, he told himself. Only dreams.

  Chapter 9

  Adah opened her eyes like a newborn, painfully overwhelmed by every line and color. Before her spread a vast hall, its floor made of multicolored granite slabs polished to a glassy shine. Narrow windows lined the walls, sending diagonal shafts of sunlight to the floor. Emerald chandeliers burned high above, coloring the pillars a sickly green.