“I’m sorry,” Freyja said to Rizpah softly, watching her son. “I didn’t agree with your friend, but I wouldn’t have wished such an end upon him.”
“Could you have prevented it?” Rizpah said softly.
Freyja looked down at Theophilus’ face and wondered at the peace of it. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “Perhaps. I don’t know.” She laid her hand gently on Rizpah’s arm. “I’ll bring Caleb to you later.”
Hours later, the funeral house burned against the night sky. Rizpah stood watching it, weeping softly, Caleb held close in her arms. Atretes stood beside her, not speaking or touching her. He hadn’t uttered so much as a prayer. She felt the coldness in him and didn’t know what she could do to help him. Glancing up at him, she saw the muscle working in his jaw, his eyes blazing as hotly as the fire consuming Theophilus’ body. She felt the distance widening between them.
Pressing her face into the curve of Caleb’s neck, she continued to pray even as she had started that morning in the glen. Lord, turn his heart, incline his ear, let his soul respond.
A violent burst of sparks and flame shot upward as the funeral house caved in. Just for an instant she glimpsed Theophilus’ body lying on the bench before it was consumed in the bright light.
Caleb let out a joyous cry of delight, raising his hands as the embers rose heavenward. Rizpah looked up as well. Above were the stars and the moon as they had always been, reminding her that God had been there even before them and would be long afterward as well. The knowledge filled her with peace and, strangely enough, joy. Theophilus was home with the Lord. His battle was won. It was only she and Atretes who were still struggling with temporal existence and the forces against them.
Lord, Lord, my heart longs for you. You know how much we both relied on Theophilus’ sweet spirit. Is that why you took him from us? So that we would have to stand on our own and put all our trust in you?
“Are you going to tell me who murdered him?” Atretes said without looking at her.
She lowered her head and closed her eyes. “No,” she said very softly, praying he would relent.
Turning, he yanked Caleb from her arms. “You’re not welcome at the longhouse.”
She stared at him, lips parted. “What do you mean?”
Caleb started to cry in his father’s arms. He reached for Rizpah, she took a step forward. Atretes stepped back from her. “He’s my son, remember? Not yours.”
The coldness of his voice froze her. “And you’re my husband,” she said shakily, striving for calm and reason in the face of what she saw in his blue eyes.
“Then remember your vows to obey. Tell me who killed him!”
O God, does it have to come to this? “Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord,” she quoted. “I can’t tell you knowing what is in your heart. I can’t.”
“Do you think the Lord wanted Theophilus murdered? Do you think he ordained it? Do you think Jesus sent someone to do it?” He cursed again, his voice rising. “If he did, then where’s the difference between Christ and Tiwaz?”
She didn’t want to argue. God was sovereign. God knew. Her mind worked desperately for reasons. “God permits evil so that he can demonstrate his mercy and grace through the redemption—”
“Is the killer here, begging forgiveness?” Atretes sneered. He shifted Caleb, jarring him. Frightened, the child screamed, but in his wrath, Atretes didn’t notice or care. “Do you see the murderer repenting?” he said, glaring at her as though she had done the deed herself. “Do you think he’s afraid of God? Do you think any of my people will have respect when they see nothing happens after a man’s been murdered in cold blood?”
“Is yours any warmer?”
A red haze seemed to overshadow his vision. “You betray Theophilus with your silence. You betray me!”
“Theophilus told me not to tell you!”
“You’re standing between me and justice!”
“I’m standing between you and revenge!”
He slapped her before he could stop himself, and the blow was so hard she reeled and fell to the ground. Shock and regret made him take a step toward her, and then the black fury within him held him back. A war raged within him. He groaned with the intensity of the battle. He watched her push herself up, saw how she shook violently from shock, her dark eyes wide with pain and disbelief, her lip bleeding.
A part of him was appalled at what he had done and wanted to beg her forgiveness, but he hardened himself against it. If he gave in, Theophilus’ murder would go unanswered. He couldn’t let that happen. His very blood cried out against it.