Land of Silence Read online

  ADVANCE PRAISE FOR LAND OF SILENCE AND OTHER NOVELS BY TESSA AFSHAR

  Land of Silence

  “No one brings the Bible to life like Tessa Afshar. Land of Silence grabs hold of the woman who stole healing by touching Christ’s hem in a way that brings us all to a place where we can recognize that we, too, are daughters of the King.”

  DEBBIE MACOMBER, #1 NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR

  “Tessa Afshar’s Land of Silence is a biblical novel in a category all its own. Moving, believable . . . this inspiring, uplifting story encouraged me at a heart level. A wonderful story—not to be missed!”

  JILL EILEEN SMITH, BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF THE CRIMSON CORD AND THE WIVES OF KING DAVID SERIES

  “Tessa Afshar’s captivating and emotive story is about one first-century woman’s pain and struggle. But the hope she describes is real and for you and me today.”

  CHRIS FABRY, BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF WAR ROOM AND DOGWOOD

  “Tessa Afshar’s novels draw you in so that you’re both captivated and changed by the power of story. Land of Silence is no exception. You’re in for a treat with this one—enjoy!”

  SUSIE LARSON, NATIONAL SPEAKER, RADIO HOST, AND AUTHOR OF YOUR BEAUTIFUL PURPOSE

  In the Field of Grace

  “Afshar writes unforgettable biblical fiction.”

  ROMANTIC TIMES

  “This is one of my favorite books of the year. Beguiling, exciting, romantic, and a much-needed reminder of the Creator’s steadfast faithfulness, even to those the world deems undeserving.”

  NOVEL CROSSING

  “Once again, Tessa’s seemingly effortless talent breathes new life into this beautiful love story and makes it come alive.”

  RELZ REVIEWZ

  “Tessa Afshar breathes new life into the old, stale story we think we know and cracks the door wide open for a beautiful story of a tragic life turned upside down by forbidden love and immeasurable grace.”

  JOSH OLDS, LIFEISSTORY.COM

  Harvest of Gold

  “Afshar has created a treasure of a book. Brilliant characterization, adventure, intrigue, and humor coupled with deep emotional impact garner a solid five stars.”

  CBA RETAILERS + RESOURCES

  “Engaging. Inspiring. Heart-stopping and heart-rending. A fabulous biblical novel that sent me straight back to God’s Word!”

  MESU ANDREWS, AWARD-WINNING AUTHOR

  Harvest of Rubies

  “There is so much depth to Harvest of Rubies that readers will happily drown in its message of God’s unfailing love and mercy while diving headfirst into the captivating plot and precarious romance. . . . This is a great read!”

  BOOKREPORTER.COM

  “Afshar brings readers biblical fiction with mysterious twists and turns . . . that fascinate and claim the reader’s full attention. The story will have you laughing and crying.”

  ROMANTIC TIMES, TOP PICK REVIEW

  Pearl in the Sand

  “This superb debut should appeal to readers who enjoyed Davis Bunn and Janette Oke’s The Centurion’s Wife or Anita Diamant’s The Red Tent.”

  LIBRARY JOURNAL, STARRED REVIEW

  “A riveting and compelling book. . . . Fantastic research and stellar writing make this one you don’t want to miss!”

  ROMANTIC TIMES, TOP PICK REVIEW

  “Pearl in the Sand is a lovely story, vividly written, and is sure to please devotees of biblical fiction.”

  TITLETRAKK.COM

  Also by Tessa Afshar

  Pearl in the Sand

  Harvest of Rubies

  Harvest of Gold

  In the Field of Grace

  Visit Tyndale online at www.tyndale.com.

  Visit Tessa Afshar at www.tessaafshar.com.

  TYNDALE and Tyndale’s quill logo are registered trademarks of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc.

  Land of Silence

  Copyright © 2016 by Tessa Afshar. All rights reserved.

  Cover illustration copyright © Shane Rebenschied. All rights reserved.

  Designed by Ron Kaufmann

  Edited by Kathryn S. Olson

  Published in association with the literary agency of Books & Such Literary Agency, 52 Mission Circle, Suite 122, PMB 170, Santa Rosa, CA 95409

  Unless otherwise indicated, all Scripture quotations are taken from The Holy Bible, English Standard Version® (ESV®), copyright © 2001 by Crossway, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

  Scripture quotations marked NIV are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version,® NIV.® Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.® Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.

  Scripture quotations marked NLT are taken from the Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright © 1996, 2004, 2015 by Tyndale House Foundation. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Carol Stream, Illinois 60188. All rights reserved.

  Scripture quotations marked NRSV are taken from the New Revised Standard Version Bible, copyright © 1989, Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

  Land of Silence is a work of fiction. Where real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales appear, they are used fictitiously. All other elements of the novel are drawn from the author’s imagination.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Afshar, Tessa, author.

  Title: Land of silence / Tessa Afshar.

  Description: Carol Stream, Illinois : Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., [2016]

  Identifiers: LCCN 2015040791| ISBN 9781496414007 (hc) | ISBN 9781496406460

  (sc)

  Subjects: | GSAFD: Christian fiction.

  Classification: LCC PS3601.F47 L36 2016 | DDC 813/.6—dc23 LC record available at http://lccn.loc.gov/2015040791

  ISBN 978-1-4964-1436-6 (ePub); ISBN 978-1-4964-0648-4 (Kindle); ISBN 978-1-4964-1437-3 (Apple)

  Build: 2016-02-10 14:26:00

  To John

  “I found the one my heart loves.”

  SONG OF SOLOMON 3:4, NIV

  If the LORD had not been my help,

  my soul would soon have lived in the land of silence.

  When I thought, “My foot slips,”

  your steadfast love, O LORD, held me up.

  When the cares of my heart are many,

  your consolations cheer my soul.

  PSALM 94:17-19

  CONTENTS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Epilogue

  A Note from the Author

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Discussion Questions

  ONE

  I have been forgotten like one who is dead;

  I have become like a broken ves
sel.

  PSALM 31:12

  WHEN I THINK OF THE RUIN my life has become, the slow wrecking of my dreams, the destruction of every love, I always return to the bee. That one tiny sting, which robbed my place of favor in my father’s heart and changed the course of my destiny.

  Sorrow came to me on a beautiful afternoon, with the sun shining and just enough heat in the day to warm the skin without scorching it. Wildflowers were abundant that year, and the hillside where Joseph and I had come to pass the hours was covered in a blanket of yellow and pink. I remember the scent of them tickling my nose and filling my lungs, making me laugh for the sheer beauty of the world.

  Joseph ran amongst the soft stalks, piercing the leaves with his make-believe sword, playing Roman soldier. He knew better than to play the game with our parents around. They were staunch Jews whose lineage in Jerusalem went as far back as the days of Ezra. Romans may have been generous patrons of my father’s wares, but they were still dangerous enemies. My parents certainly did not consider them a matter for fun and games. But Joseph was four, and he loved the Roman horses, their uniforms, their rectangular painted shields. He wanted to be one of them. And I let him, seeing no harm in a little boy running wild and pretending to be something he could never become.

  “Elianna, come and play,” Joseph called over his shoulder and thrust his invisible sword in my direction.

  “Hold a moment,” I said. “I will come soon.”

  I was distracted, sitting on the coarse felt blanket I had brought, twirling a pink flower, trying to fathom a way to leach out its color and use it for dye on linen. A large shipment of flax had just been delivered to our workshop and we would have plenty of fibers for weaving. My father traded in luxurious fabrics. He even had a small but brisk business in purple, the lavish dye that was derived painstakingly from sea snails and remained more expensive to produce than any other color. It was a measure of his success that he could afford this particular trade.

  Joseph had been left in my care that afternoon because everyone in the household was busy working on the flax. Even my mother, who rarely participated in my father’s business, had been drafted to help.

  My father bought his flax already steeped and dried, with the seeds separated from the stems and discarded, and the stalks beaten to pull out the fibers. His workers were left with the task of combing out the fibers, making them ready for spinning. The stalks of this particular harvest were thick, which produced coarse linen, and would be used for weaving towels. With Romans and the new Jewish aristocracy so fond of their baths, towels were in high demand throughout the main cities of Judea.

  I was twelve years older than Joseph and more than capable of caring for him. My mother, suspicious of my passion for my father’s trade, and looking for ways to distract me from my fascination, had given me charge over Joseph for the afternoon. Her plan worked to double advantage: it got my exuberant brother out from under the busy feet of the adults while at the same time withdrawing me from direct contact with my father’s work, lest it feed my obsession with the secrets of his trade.

  “Leave that to the men,” she always told me, thrusting some feminine task into my lap before I grew too enraptured with the mysteries of creating a better grade of dyed fabric.

  “Elianna!” Joseph’s voice bellowed from farther down the hill. “Come. Now! You promised when you brought me here that you’d play with me.”

  I grinned. My little brother could be imperious. No one had expected the birth of another child to my parents at their advanced age. When Joseph was born, we were all a little dazzled with his mere presence in the world and became instant slaves to his charm. Add to that the reality that he was a boy—the son of my father’s dreams—and, well . . . even a burning seraph could be excused for being a little spoilt under the circumstances. If he seemed bossy, the fault belonged to us. By nature, Joseph was so sweet that the overindulgence of a hundred adults could not render him tyrannical.

  “You better hope I don’t catch you,” I said as I rose to my feet. “My sword is a lot sharper than yours.”

  “No, it’s not. I’ll defeat you.” He let loose a fearsome bellow and began to run up the hill, his short legs pumping under his hitched-up tunic at a speed that made me flinch. I needed my whole strength to keep up with that boy.

  “Hold fast,” I cried, catching up with him at the top of the hill, thrusting my pink flower forward as if it were a deadly weapon. Joseph doubled over, giggling.

  “That’s not a sword! That can’t even cut thread. You’re such a girl, Elianna.”

  “You dare insult me, Roman dog? I shall have your head for that.”

  Joseph rushed toward me, his imaginary sword pointed at my abdomen. “No, you won’t. My horse will eat you for breakfast.” He did a fair imitation of a parry and then followed with a quick thrust, his little fist hitting my ribs. I grabbed my side as if in pain.

  “You will pay for that, young man.” With a quick motion, I reached forward to untuck his tunic from his belt. Distracted, he looked down, and I shoved my flower in his face, leaving a powdery yellow stain on his nose and forehead.

  I laughed. “You still need some practice, Roman.” Just behind him, I noticed a lone sheep chomping on a bush. I looked around, trying to locate the shepherd or herd to which it belonged. It seemed to be alone. I walked over to examine it for any hurts. A shepherd somewhere must be missing the fat fellow.

  “Elianna!” Joseph called. “Come back. I am not finished. . . .” And then, inexplicably, he swung his arm in a wide arc. “Go away. Go away!” His voice emerged high-pitched and shaken. He made a half circle around himself, his hands flapping about him in frantic motion.

  The sheep had my attention, though, and I ignored Joseph’s cry. Up close, I could see that it was well cared for, its wool healthy and clean. I knelt down and ran my hand over its back. “Where did you come from, little fellow?”

  From the corner of my eye I could still see Joseph flapping around. Then he cried out, “Make it go away, Elianna!”

  I thought it was a fly at first until I saw the flash of yellow, heard the angry buzz. “Don’t fret so. Stay calm, and it will go away of its own accord.” I didn’t want to leave the lost sheep, in case it wandered away and became even more lost. Joseph was old enough to deal with a buzzing bee. Really, we had overindulged him. I tried to make my voice soothing. “Calm yourself, brother.”

  My words had no effect on Joseph. The creature was buzzing with fierce intention around his head, and he panicked. He flapped his arms harder and started to run. “No! No!”

  I threw my hands up in the air and came to my feet reluctantly. “Joseph, it’s just a bee.”

  I understood the source of his unreasoning fear. The year before, he had been stung on the ankle. He had broken out in hives and his entire leg had swollen to the size of a young tree trunk, and he had been in terrible pain. He had never forgotten the experience. But in my mind, that had been an anomaly. We all had to contend with bees. It was part of life. I watched in frustration as he ran himself ragged for a few moments.

  Finally, I caught up to him and reached out my hands to flick at the bee, although I could no longer see it. Without warning, Joseph let out a piercing wail that made my belly lurch. He rubbed at the side of his head, and then I spotted the insect caught in the hair near his temple. I grabbed the bee in my palm and squeezed. Half-drunk from having released its venom, it was easy prey in my violent, clenching fist. I dropped it to the ground and knelt before Joseph.

  Fat tears squeezed out of his eyes. He was crying so hard that he began to wheeze. I cuddled him in my arms. “I am so sorry, Joseph. It will be well. I’ve gotten rid of the little monster. You can stomp on him, if you wish.”

  “Hurts.” He took a breath that shook his chest.

  “Where, dear heart? Where do you hurt?”

  He pointed to his temple, and I saw that it was already swelling. I gave it a light kiss. “Is that better?”

  His gaze brimmed ov
er with accusation. “No.” He pushed me from him. I noted a red welt on the back of his still-chubby hand. “Did it sting you twice?” I frowned as I stared at the raised mark, spreading like spilled dye on his baby skin. Joseph shook his head. Hives, I realized with a wince. Just like last year.

  He took another breath that shivered down his body. He sounded as if every inhalation was an effort. I thought it was fear lingering in him, robbing him of breath, and tried to calm him. But with each moment, he seemed to grow worse. His wheezing became harsher and unremitting. Confusion caused me to delay. He had had no difficulty breathing the last time he was stung. Was this panic?

  I should have helped him sooner, come to his aid at the start, when the bee first began to pursue him. And then it occurred to me that the bee might have been attracted to the scent and powder of the flower I had pressed on his face. Perhaps it would not have come near Joseph at all if not for my silly prank.

  I saw that he was growing worse and picked him up in my arms. “I am so sorry, Joseph. I’ll take you home. You can have a honey cake, and Mother will make you an herb potion to soothe your pain.” Against me, I could feel his thin little chest battling for every breath. I began to run. Somewhere down the hill, my sandal came off, caught on a stone protruding from the ground. I stumbled, then righted myself and kept on running without tarrying to retrieve the lost shoe.

  “Sick,” Joseph said, his voice weak. Before I could turn him, he threw up, soaking my shoulder and my chest. Normally I would have groaned with disgust. But terror had seized me. I sensed that against all reason the bee had caused my brother’s tiny body inexplicable damage. It was as though the poison in that accursed bee somehow robbed him of the very air. I was desperate to arrive home, to give him into the care of my parents, who would know what to do.

  I barely stopped to wipe his befouled mouth, only shifting him to my other shoulder so I could start my race again. He was heavy, too heavy for me to carry all that way. My heart pounded in my chest like a metalsmith’s anvil. The strain of holding on to his sagging body made my arms tremble. “Joseph! Joseph, speak to me!”