This time Eliphaz headed in the opposite direction, out into the lower desert towards the Sea of Salt. It was a journey he remembered from childhood, evoking memories of his father and his caravan bringing game and hides to the Egyptian fortresses that lined the mountains. The strong sulfuric smell of the sea breeze had shocked him then; it was so different from the dusty mountains of Canaan or the damp groves nestled within. Now, Eliphaz’s only thought was to simply return to that strange place, and hoping perhaps that the acrid air of the dead waters would jolt him from his shameful stupor.

Other than this vague and somewhat wishful idea, Eliphaz had little forethought on his second journey. At most he guessed that he would be away for a few days, living off of the supplies he had taken from Jakob. To disappear was never his intention, but that was of course before the fateful events of the day transpired.

The heat of midday was slowly rising, and the tides of the sea were still far off, hidden behind dunes and craggy mountains that emerged gradually out of the sands. The sun played with his perception, small mirages of shadows gathering in the corners of the horizon.

Eliphaz had been lost in thought, which is why the raiders surprised him easily. With no warning, a hooked rope shot out from behind the dunes, wrapping its way around his waist. The rope grew taut, and Eliphaz felt his ribs constrict under the pressure before he was torn off his animal, falling in an unceremonious heap on the ground.

Eliphaz staggered but tried to get up, only for another tug at the rope bringing him back to his knees. His camel, distressed by the sudden action, brayed and bolted only to meet a net of tarred rope, thrown as his attackers were revealed.

They were bandits, covered in loose fitting clothes, their heads wrapped in scarves that covered their faces. The cloth they wore was the same color as the sand, a tanned brown that blended almost perfectly with the dunes, were it not for the dark ripples of shadow. The two in front of him bore thin and curved scimitars, but Eliphaz knew there was at least one more, still hidden at the other end of the grappling hook.

In the fray, his sword had been loosened, and it now lay in the sand, glinting and partially unsheathed from its pouch. Eliphaz reached for it, fighting against the rope which pulled him back. His feet dug into the sand, but the earth gave way and he fell forward, swallowing a mouthful of grit. Yet, he fell with his hand outstretched, and with his fingertips he felt the soft wood of a hilt—The Sword of Lamech. In one desperate motion, he turned onto his back and began to hack recklessly at the rope.

In seconds the line was cut, and Eliphaz jumped to his feet, scanning his surroundings. The two attackers in front of him were still busy with his camel, trying to tie its limbs as it panicked under the net. That left the one behind him, who had abandoned his rope and now emerged from the dunes, brandishing a curved blade.

The man shouted something, but Eliphaz could not make it out. These men had attacked him in the middle of the desert and would surely kill him. His mind burned with adrenaline, following every motion of the cloaked bandit as he stepped over his now-useless rope. This was his chance.

Eliphaz screamed as he launched himself forward. The man parried his blow, but stepped back in surprise at the vicious rage of the boy.

Eliphaz was stronger than he looked. He had little experience with combat, outside of the training he had completed as a watchman of his tribe’s flocks. But he had collected an impressive amount of experience points as a hunter, following his father as they fought lions and boars and pursued wild beasts. At seventeen he was already level 10, and he was now determined to let every point of Stamina and Strength count.

Time was of essence, for Eliphaz knew the others would turn towards him as soon as the animal was secured, so he fought with little regard for his own safety. A blow to the man’s torso revealed that his body was protected by leather armor, and in return Eliphaz received a slash across his right shoulder and chest, avoiding a more serious injury by a couple of steps.

His Stamina was quickly depleting, and his strength was no match for his foe—there had to be another way. Eliphaz pushed forward with another perilous attack, and the man stepped back, placing his foot within one of the coils of slackened rope.

Eliphaz seized on the opportunity. He leapt towards the rope and pulled, watching as it wrapped around the leg of his adversary. The man let out a yelp of surprise before he tumbled to the ground, dropping his sword. Unlike the night before with Jakob, Eliphaz did not hesitate. He would make quick work of him, a blade through the throat—

The desert man raised his hand, calling forth some invisible spirit that rippled through the air with electric energy. Without warning, sand flew up from underneath the man, gales of dust assaulting Eliphaz. The dust dug into his eyes, blinding him as he brought the Sword of Lamech upon the man’s neck.

It missed. The man screamed in pain as Eliphaz’s sword lodged into his shoulder, but the wound was non-fatal. He retaliated, having reached for his sword, and struck at Eliphaz’s side. The boy staggered back, in shock as the force reverberated in his ribs, clutching the bloody wound.

He was upon him now, Eliphaz’s sword still firmly wedged in his shoulder. Eliphaz could only make out his eyes, which were black with fury, his teeth likely clenched in pain. The next thing Eliphaz felt was a blunt force to the side of his head, the man striking him with the hilt of his sword. As he fell to the ground. Eliphaz’s mind seemed to split into pieces, the figure of his attacker duplicating—two shadows of darkness standing before the flaming heat of the desert sun.

—

Eliphaz lay there, staring up into the sun. His pulse reverberated in his eardrums, and he felt himself cough, his throat parched and thick with either phlegm or blood. He tried to roll over in order to expel the fluid, but moving only worsened the pain, so he remained on his back in the bloodied sand.

Slowly the shock of adrenaline left his mind, and Eliphaz began to hear more clearly. His captors were talking about him, speaking in a thick tongue that he could just barely make out.

“—and that filthy habiru almost had me, were it not for the blessings of Kemosh, may we thank him.”

Kemosh, patron god of sand dwellers, more devil than deity. Eliphaz deduced his attackers were most likely from Moab, the brutal kingdom that lay beyond the Sea of Salt.

“Yes, yes...alright. The boy’s goods certainly made this worth it. But what shall we do with him? His wealth points to a powerful family, and powerful gods. Can we risk bloodying our blades?”

The Moabite whom Eliphaz had nearly killed walked over. His face was uncovered now, revealing a craggy beard beneath a sneering face. He spit at the boy.

“This runt? Nothing but a spoiled child, the experience points are not worth the hassle.”

The man winced, gripping his shoulder where Eliphaz’s sword had struck. Farther off an older man, likely the leader of the bandits, nodded.

“Very well. Bind his hands and feet, and staunch his wounds. When we reach Urusalim we can sell him as a slave, and find a master who can beat some obedience into him.”

—

And so Eliphaz was bound and thrown onto the back of the Moabite’s dromedary, and given some precious drops from a waterskin before his mouth was gagged. Not that Eliphaz had considered screaming for help. The time for saving himself had passed, and Eliphaz resigned himself to his fate.

He thought that perhaps this was divine retribution, that Elohim had punished him for failing to fight for his birthright, for abandoning his father’s shameful state because he could not face his own failures. Was this perhaps a proper punishment for his cowardice? That this pointless journey, which should only have lasted a few days, would go so awry. Now he was being taken to a distant city as a slave, where his fate would be handled by the whims of the market. For all Eliphaz knew, he may be sent to the quarries of Egypt or the fields of Babylon, never to see his father and mother ever again.

Yet to think of this as divine punishment only covered up a more frightening thought. For what if no god watched over him at all? For sparing Jakob he faced neither wrath nor blessing. Instead he became an unchosen, of no concern to Elohim’s divine plan. Eliphaz feared this to be true, but dared not think it: his god had abandoned him, and so his capture by the Moabites served no purpose. His life was a speck of dust, blown into misfortune by the chance of fate. To pull any other meaning from his circumstances was pointless.

These were Eliphaz’s thoughts as he was carried through the desert, as he tried to retain some semblance of hope in the face of despair. Eventually, his mind gave way to sleep as the moon rose over the desert, bathing the dunes in bluish light that transfigured it into a frozen ocean.

It was only a half-sleep; Eliphaz continued to feel the rocking of the camel, moonlight penetrating his half lidded eyes as he felt the touch of a cool desert breeze.

There was a rustling sound. The brush of a thousand tiny fingers that lifted him into the air until he felt weightless. As he slept, Eliphaz felt himself float off the back of the camel and into the dunes, covered in sand as he was swept over by a tangle of green tendrils.