What Narina said before the prince was only the beginning of a much larger story. It was the story of Narina’s life, a rather pitiful tale, and one that Eliphaz heard in bits and pieces as they prepared for the journey ahead. Stories are often told this way—in fragments of memories and passing mentions—yet here we present it in its entirety, for it will prove a vital part of the greater story that remains to be told.

Narina’s father was a Hurrian, raised in the far reaches of the Mitanni Kingdom. As a young man he had few prospects and would have likely led an unremarkable life, were it not for certain political proceedings which were underway. For the Mitanni ruler Artatama was growing fearful of the Hittites of the West and the Assyrians of the East, and so sought a peaceful alliance with the Kingdom of the Black Earth—the land of Egypt. It was only a matter of months before the King’s messengers appeared in the squares of each city and town of the Land, announcing that Artatama would conscript a great force of young men, who would travel down to Egypt and serve the will of Pharaoh.

Among these men was Narina’s father, though not as Narina remembered him: his face was still smooth, for he had not yet grown the black curls of beard that he would wear for the second half of his life. His name was Teshat, though his fellow soldiers called him Tesh; a nickname earned through affection, for he was a man of hard work and fair conscience.

Needless to say, Teshat rose quickly through the ranks of Pharaoh’s army, or at least those ranks available to one of foreign birth. One could say that his success was related to the fact that Teshat had no real interest in his line of work: his mind often drifted towards dreams of a simpler life, of tending fields and animals, living off the earth’s bounty. Yet at the same time his dreams lent him diligence as he worked towards his goal.

It was a surprise to no one when Teshat walked out of the overseer’s tent for the last time carrying two bars of Egyptian gold. It was enough money to buy a sizable tract of land, perhaps even some livestock. Teshat’s years of servitude had paid their dividends and the dream was within reach. He prepared for the long journey home, across the desert of Sinai before reaching Gaza, only to continue through Canaan and the Levant. Or so he thought.

One night, as the day’s last rays of sunlight began to wane, he came upon a humble farmstead. Teshat knocked on the door, which was opened by an older man.

“Who are you? What do you want?” the man asked, eyeing Teshat with suspicion.

“Gentle neighbor, I am but a man on a long, arduous journey, bound for the land of my fathers. All I ask of you is that I may rest my head at the root of your terebinths, and that in the morning my beast and I may drink from your well. I am also in need of bread for my journey, and would be happy to show you the wares that I carry.”

The old man looked over Teshat, trying to make sense of the stranger. He was well-dressed for a traveler, and though he spoke Aramaic fluently, he did so with an odd, almost Egyptian accent.

“Come in,” the man grumbled, “and show me what you have brought from the distant lands.”

Teshat was brought into the household, where before the embers of the evening fire he placed his wares: Curious trinkets and idols he had collected during his years as a soldier; pungent blocks of dried frankincense from the western continent; sweet smelling jars of spices that had been purchased in the Gaza markets. As Teshat conducted his business he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. Or rather someone. A young woman with black hair across her shoulders walking barefoot across the tiled floor.

“What is it papa?” she asked, standing behind the hunched old man.

“Business…” her father mumbled. “This man was traveling through our fields and wished to buy supplies for his journey.”

“Very well. Just make sure you don’t waste our grain on some little foreign god; we have enough teraphim within this house already. No need for such fancies, as mother used to say.”

The man mumbled something in return, but his daughter ignored it.

“It is a pleasure to meet you.” Teshat said. Even in the shadows of the fire he could tell she was beautiful. “My name is Teshat.”

“Fatima,” she replied, gesturing at herself. “Where are you headed, traveler?”

“To my homeland, the great kingdom of Mitanni.”

“That is a long journey,” Fatima said. “May the gods watch over you.”

She looked at him with deep, serious eyes, as black as the night sky above them.

—

The next day, after watering his camel, Teshat set out again. Replenished with fresh food and water, his camel moved swiftly along the road. The sky was clear and crisp and the path was lined with wildflowers, which bloomed as the winter rains trickled down the mountains. Despite all this Teshat felt a certain sluggishness; there was weight and reluctance in every step that he took. How strange! Even when crossing the Sinai desert each step had been invigorating despite the punishing heat of the sun and the dry winds of the dunes. The hardships had not troubled him for he knew that with every step he came closer to his destination.

But now Teshat entertained doubts that never before crossed his mind: Would he even recognize his old home? What if these months of travel were to end in disappointment? As the years passed his memories had faded, growing ever-more vague and indistinct. And now those nostalgic notions, the impetus behind his journey, grew mired in doubt.

With little warning, Teshat made an about-face upon the road and headed back from where he came. For a second time he reached the house by the terebinths, knocking on the old man’s door, who was certainly surprised to see him.

Teshat tried his best to explain himself. He was a traveler, yes, but the kind whose ultimate wish was to settle down. He had been struck with the beauty of this land and though he had the money to purchase a sizable piece of land, he felt both inexperienced and unprepared to make such an important decision. Graciously he offered himself as a hired hand to the old man, to work through the harvest in exchange for the barest necessities.

The old man was reluctant at first, but began to trust Teshat’s words after seeing the two bars of Egyptian gold. The foreigner wasn’t lying and certainly had no reason to steal, he thought to himself.

And so began Teshat’s first year in Canaan, tending to livestock and planting his first crop in the soil of a strange land. Teshat wasn’t lying when he spoke of Canaan’s beauty, though it was far from the whole story. For in the evenings he would see Fatima, the old man’s clearheaded daughter.

Fatima, having picked up some rudimentary knowledge from a traveling scribe, handled the household’s financial decisions, her old father’s eyesight too poor to make any sense of the cuneiform etchings. At first Teshat and Fatima spoke mainly of business; such-and-such bushels of grain, so-and-so many ells of fine wool, et cetera, et cetera. Beyond these scrupulous conversations they exchanged more smiles than words.

In the end, what drew them close were stories. At night, when the embers had finally died, Teshat would speak of Egypt: the hulking pyramids of the ancient, undead rulers; the great city of God and Kings, Amun, whose river-entrance was lined with temple pylons painted with divine images; the Nubian archers of Pharaoh, whose arrows could blot out the sun; the fierce battalion of golden chariots, its priestly warriors armed with spears of burning light blessed by Amun himself.

Fatima would reply in turn with tales she had heard from her father, stories of the Baals and lesser gods whose spirit imbued the earth and its elements. She told him of the stormgod Baal-Hadad who descended into Yam’s abyss to kill the oceanic god and declare himself Lord of the Earth. Also of Anat, Hadad’s fierce sister, who looked into the eyes of the Creator and threatened to have his gray hair run red with blood. For the gods were locked in an unending struggle, constantly being swallowed, ground to dust, or torn to pieces as they raged their battles. That is why the gods remained hidden, she explained, for were a god to come down to earth he would become mortal, and surely then their divine enemies would call upon the powers of heaven and earth to destroy them forever.

Soon a year passed, the harvest had been reaped, and Teshat was prepared to make a decision. He purchased a plot of land, and though it was not of considerable size, the soil was dark and rich and full of potential. The farm was also near the city of Shechem, which had a bustling market where all manner of things could be bought and sold. Slowly but surely, Teshat’s dream had come to fruition.

As is often the case, one change brought forth many others. For it was not long before Teshat gathered up the courage to speak frankly with Fatima’s old father, trying his best to remain calm even as his heart beat in fear and excitement. Despite his gruff demeanor, the old man proved reasonable and agreed with the young man’s proposal: That as a newly minted landowner Teshat would take his daughter’s hand in marriage (for Fatima had already spoken of this for several weeks and waited outside, hands clasped impatiently). A joyous feast of marriage was planned for the young lovers, where two rams were slaughtered beneath the terebinth grove—one for the revelers, the peasants and shepherds and dwellers of the countryside, and the other for the gods who watched over and blessed the festivities. For the first time Teshat thought he saw a genuine smile wash across the face of his soon-to-be father-in-law, though it was probably the result of a belly full of beer which flowed from from the brewer’s urns and splashed with giddy abandon between mugs and mouths.

Another year seemed to pass with a blink of an eye, which is often the case as one’s life begins to ripen, the early years of sweat and toil finally granting their hard-earned fruit. One such moment came when Teshat held his daughter for the first time, a tiny little thing of red skin and wrinkles, wisps of black hair already growing on her head. She regarded him with wide eyes, peering out into the world for the first time. In the newborn’s gaze Teshat felt a profound sense of peace, an indescribable joy swelling in his heart.

—

At times, Teshat would return to the vague memories of his old home, of his distant childhood in the Mitanni Kingdom. The Egyptians called it by another name; Naharin, they would say, the land of wild horses. The name struck him for its peculiar ring, a strange mix of familiar and foreign that commingled on the tongue.

And so he lent that Egyptian name to his daughter, whose gaze proved to him that he had truly found a new home, no matter how strange the notion might seem. Narina, he called her, my love, my joy, my home.