Counted With the Stars by Connilyn Cossette

garden—this man now shared his life with another. I would never know love, or feel the shelter of a man who would protect me from this life of slavery and share my burdens. I was alone.
    Like Tekurah.
    Somehow as my heart shattered, I saw my mistress for who she was—bitter, lonely, broken—abandoned inside her marriage. Shefu protected her and her children, provided for their every need, but he neither gave her affection nor shared his heart with her. According to Shira, he loved my own mother.
    This woman did not know the tenderness and gentleness of her husband’s love. Perhaps she still hoped to capture his heart. She watched him covertly at meals. Her eyes followed him as he talked with his children, laughing with them, teasing them. Shefu spoke only of household matters with his wife, if at all.
    Unloved, unwanted, and with a heart void of anything but resentment, it was no wonder she lashed out with such violence. Everything in me wanted to lash out as well, but I would not give her the satisfaction.
    Instead, I fished the fan out of the pool, shook the water out of the feathers, and resumed fanning.
    Her hooded eyes studied me. I braced for more provocation, but she kept her lips pursed and said nothing.
    The golden cat startled and ran off. Tekurah’s hands remained upturned in her lap for a few moments. Then she stood, brushed cat hair and dust from her dress, and strode into the house without a backward glance.

    â€œWhat is that?” Tekurah pointed her bony finger to the north as we left the marketplace the next morning.
    I squinted. At first it appeared only as a shadow of low hills along the eastern horizon. But the black cloud swelled andbillowed, stretching higher and higher, spreading like pooled ink across the sky.
    â€œWe’d better get inside.” A heavy basket filled with perfume, cosmetics, and gifts for the children bumped against my hip, but I picked up my pace. I turned to glance at the cloud. It raced toward us at breakneck speed, a huge, grasping monster of black silhouetted against the bright blue sky. We were only a few blocks from the villa. Tekurah lagged for a moment, watching the dark swirls, but soon caught up, and then outpaced me.
    We ran past the temple gates. Lined up on the porch in front of the pylon, the priests stood petrified, mouths agape.
    â€œWhat evil is this?” Tekurah yelled over her shoulder as we neared the gates to the villa.
    I attempted to match her long stride and hoped she wouldn’t notice the perfume that had jostled out of the basket back near the gates of the temple.
    Before we made it to the front door, the cloud overtook us. But it was no storm cloud. Within ten paces of the entry, a massive swarm of huge flies enveloped us. They swirled, biting, latching onto our skin, refusing to let go, ignoring our vigorous swats and thrashings.
    The rest of the contents of the basket landed on the ground, and we ran shrieking into the house. I slammed the door behind me, swatting at the flies. They clung to my eyelids, behind my ears, tangled in my hair. Their merciless bites stung like the fire of a thousand scorpions, burning away the notion that these scourges, and whatever was causing them, were anything but natural. How much more would we have to endure?

10
    28 TH D AY OF P ERET S EASON OF E MERGENCE 1447 BC
    S hira would never miss her weekly meeting with Eben. It had been days since I had seen her, and I was so eager to apologize for my hurtful words that I would brave crossing paths with her brother.
    Before any light threaded through the darkness on the seventh day of the week, I rose, triple-checking to ensure Tekurah’s breath remained slow and even. With hands outstretched to feel a safe path through the pitch-black room, I padded to the door, hoping to avoid stubbing a toe or stumbling over a cat on my way.
    A rainstorm had swept through during the night. The morning smelled fresh and crisp—a welcome change from