Arella spotted something-a shadow gliding over the rocks, formed by nothing she could see-and her mouth opened in shock as she traced its movements. Human-shaped, but not human: its head bore spear-like spikes, and the angles of its shoulders, elbows, hips were too sharp. It skimmed past the crowd, sweeping sand and pebbles away as no mere shadow could. It stopped at the feet of a man Arella recognized: Gehazi, from the tribe of Asher. He was watching the rest of the crowd, wide-eyed at the rising tension around him, oblivious to the thing at his feet. The shadow swirled around his ankles, then rose, engulfing him in a whirlwind of smoke. In a blink it vanished-seemingly into him, as though through his pores.
She glanced around, but no one else seemed to have noticed; it had all happened too fast, and their attention was elsewhere.
Gehazi spasmed and fell to the ground. He writhed in the dirt, choking. As afraid as she was, Arella could not watch without trying to help. She pushed between two people to reach him, but before she could, he flipped onto his stomach and lifted onto his hands and knees, head hanging as if he were an old mule. After a few seconds he rose like a victorious warrior, spine straight, shoulders like planks, chin raised.
His face swiveled toward her, his gleaming eyes taking her in, caressing her like hands. He smiled, and she felt light-headed. He was the most handsome man she’d ever seen. How had she not noticed before?
She blushed and turned away. When she looked back, he was pushing his way to the front of the crowd. He stooped out of sight, stood again, and hurled a stone. Arella’s eyes followed it to Hur’s head.
Hur staggered back, grabbing at a bloody wound. Before he could gain his balance another stone struck, then another and another. All around Arella, men, women, and even children were picking up stones.
Yes! Because they would obey the gods, not old men.
She found a rock and hefted it. It felt good, doing something besides waiting. Her stone hit Hur’s shoulder, and she quickly looked for another. Under a rainfall of rocks, he tumbled, and still the stones pummeled him. Finally the people backed away, and Arella witnessed the broken, bloody mess.
Gehazi moved in with a few other men and lifted Hur. The rabble flowed like the sea to Aaron, at whose feet they tossed Hur’s corpse. Aaron covered his mouth, leaving his eyes to show the horror he felt. He raised his arms and begged for patience, for everyone to remember God’s kindness to them.
“What kindness?” a man beside him yelled, and Arella realized it was Gehazi. “Confusion in the desert? Left with no leader, no home, and no way to make one? Their god has done nothing for us. He led us away from Remphan, Sin, Apis, and now we have no gods!”
The crowd screamed their displeasure. Arella forced her way to the front, wanting only to be closer to Gehazi, to be noticed by him and participate in his rebellion. But it was Aaron who caught her attention, the fear on his face, the shame. For a moment doubt seized her: what were they doing?
Then Gehazi picked up a stone and held it high, encouraging the crowd to do the same. And Arella felt the doubt shatter; she found a rock and shook it at the old man on a ledge of stone in front of her.
Aaron patted the air for calm. He lowered his head, and when it came up again, she saw resolve on his face. He gestured toward Hur’s body and said, “Your sin is great”-blaspheming Naram-Sin’s name by using it to mean a transgression against his “One True God,” just the way Moses was wont to do.
The crowd screamed, calling for Aaron’s stoning.
He said, “God will never forgive you, but let me take your transgression upon myself, that you may live. Give me your jewelry, all the gold on yourselves, your wives, and your children. I will give you the idol you deserve.”
Disagreement rippled through the crowd. Their jewelry? Their gold? It was all they possessed of value. But then some started saying, “Give the gold, our gods will reward us tenfold.” The women took off their bracelets and rings and earrings, stripped them from the ears of their children; the men too, and Arella followed, tugging each piece off like bits of her flesh.
A pile as high as Aaron rose before him, and the men went off to build a fire, a kiln. Aaron worked that whole day and night, and when Arella woke, she found that he had fashioned Apis, a god himself and servant to the greater god Naram-Sin. The calf had upturned horns, forming a crescent moon-the symbol of Naram-Sin.
People began to bow and sing before the golden god, but Aaron stopped them, saying he had to build an altar on which the godly calf would rest; anything less would be irreverent. The entire time he stacked the stones and shaped them, she saw him looking up at the mountain and sensed that he hoped Moses would return before he finished.
Another night passed, and in the morning the altar was complete with the Apis bull perched on it, awaiting worship. Gehazi stood in front of it and yelled to the crowd that the god demanded sacrifice, and Arella watched men slaughter cows at the base of the altar. Then around her a whispering started, and like the breeze that precedes a gale, it grew into shouting: Naram-Sin wanted human blood. Her skin chilled and her stomach and heart tightened like fists, but everyone around her was so sure: it had to be.
Somewhere a baby cried, a mother screamed, and men raised their voices. They’d found a child and wrenched it from its mother’s arms, passing it from man to man until it reached the altar. Other men pushed through the crowd to stop what was happening, and Arella gasped when they too fell by the blade.
The deed was done, and she wanted to run, to fall on her knees before the mountain and cry out for repentance. Then the people started singing and dancing, kissing each other… and more. Someone grabbed one of her hands and someone else the other, and they danced, skipping in great spiraling circles around the golden god. A group of musicians picked up their instruments and played loud and fast, pounding drums, blowing horns.
People broke away to touch their fingers to the blood, then to their lips, and finally to the hooves of the calf. Arella found herself in front of the slaughter. A man beside her tasted the blood, touched the calf. A woman on the other side did the same, then a child
… everyone. The throng shoved her and she fell, her palm landing in gore. Then she touched her bloody hand to her lips and reached high to caress the hoof.
God help me, she thought. Gods help me-what am I doing?
She saw Gehazi leaning against the altar. He smiled at her and nodded his approval. She spun off, thinking only of honoring her god, this god before her, who had brought joy back into the camp. She sang and danced and saw what the others were doing, the men and women. She found a man and joined them.
The clouds above swirled darkly, filling the valley with shadows. A voice rumbled like thunder over the masses of people playing and dancing. Silence came over them, a sudden calm that after so much merriment was as disturbing as the chaos. Heads turned toward the mountain, and there in the foothills on an outcropping was Moses. His beard and garments fluttered in a breeze, and his face was as dark as the storm clouds overhead. He raised two stone tablets, big slabs that appeared too heavy for the old man-any man-to lift. From them glowed a radiance that grew so bright it blotted out the hands holding them.. the arms… the man himself. It was as though the sun had come down to expose what they had done. Arella shielded her eyes, but the light shone right through them, piercing her head.
The sun hung there on the mountain, then it flew toward them, brighter, hotter…
She woke up sprawled over the legs of a child. A woman in turn was draped over Arella’s hips. This woman woke as well, then the boy. All of them waking at once, groaning, cupping their heads. Everything was blurry, but Arella could make out the people around her, stirring, rising. Some rubbed their eyes, and she realized they too were not seeing clearly. But other than their waking moans, no one spoke. They were ashamed, and whatever happened to them next, they would take their punishment in silence. Arella realized the calf and altar were gone.
She rolled off the boy and stood. Her clothes were ripped and half gone. She was filthy from hair to heels, mud and sweat and blood covering her. Her body reflected her soul, and she sensed that neither would ever be clean again. The boy, as dirty as she, flashed scared eyes all around, and then they settled on her. He started to cry, a quiet sobbing too mournful for a child so young. She helped him to his feet, and he clung to her. There were other children-all ages, in fact: boys and girls, women and men, dark-skinned and light, as though chosen as representatives of the whole encampment, the twelve tribes.
Taking the boy with her, Arella stumbled away, joining others who were trying to put distance between themselves and the site of their horrific deeds. The boy looked, but could not find his father.
A commotion drew their attention. A man was screaming, the worst obscenities, threats against everyone. Arella realized it was Gehazi, his handsome features twisted by hate. Soldiers held his arms and legs as he thrashed and shook his head back and forth. He paused a mere heartbeat of stillness, and he was gazing at her, the briefest smile bending his lips. His head snapped away, and his limbs tugged violently against his human restraints.
