Chana fell silent, sensing the god would speak next. 

“Because you sought me, it brought his birth prematurely. A birth from a god, I think. Zhuel- that is a good name. It means ‘what is of a god’”.

“Zhuel- Zhuel. Zhuel. Yes. Zhuel he is now.” Rukhel sighed the soft breath of exhausted joy. Her eyes closed as her hands and arms wrapped tightly around Zhuel. 

Rukhel and Zhuel slept soundly, greedily drinking in sleep from their turmoils. 

Chana draped her own shawl, a faded homely thing, over Rukhel. She had nothing else, but the night chill was upon them, though the god’s wing warmed them all like sunlight. 

“Chana-” the old god now addressed the midwife now, who watched over the worn-out new mother and tender babe, “are you still locked in your own shame, like an oyster sealed shut?”

Though shame burned Chana’s face like a fever, her shame also sat within her, like a cold, heavy pearl within the oyster she felt herself to be before her god. 

She nodded. 

“Forgive me, my god.” Chana answered, her voice small.  She braced for reproach.

None came. Instead, her god spoke unto her:

“Chana, you among all had the least of faith. I know well you railed against my absence, questioned if I was real, and denied my existence before your friend again and again. I know you hated my absence, the silence all these years. Your friend’s fiery faith made you hate all the more.  Yet tonight, your faith proved greater in the bond with your friend- you braced against the wrath you feared from me and saved your friend. And look, you saved another life also, Chana.”

Stroking her friend’s tangled hair, Chana nodded, as she pulled back with gentle care, a thin strand clinging onto the dried blood of a small gash on Rukhel’s forehead.

“I had to. Rukhel is sewn into my heart, like a patch onto cloth.  The needle is our sorrows piercing us, but the thread binding us our own strengths and joys. We are as sisters, my god. Yes, you are right. My faith in our bond outweighed my fear of you, so great and long has it lived-” and here, Chana held her head straight, a warmth of pride and love for her friend straightened the shame out of her, “-And it will live as long as we both stand on the earth.”

The old god chuckled softly. “What a strange fate, Chana.”

“What do you mean, my god?” Chana asked.

“Chana, you feel second to Rukhel. You are behind her, while she shines infront,” the god began, “Rukhel is the sun, bold, bright, well-known. But you are the Moon, Chana. Less-known, doing your work, which branches through both of your lives, all hidden. The sun grows the grain, but the moon governs the tides. So you are- mending Rukhel’s mistakes, sewing together your deeds into raiment solid. And what a strange fate, I, old god I have been all this time, see on this night. A woman who was the least among her own, become the most of her people.” Here, the god, craned and curled his neck, peering into the tent of his bent wing and looked thoughtfully at Chana.

“And a woman of the least faith who showed the greatest faith.” 

Chana no longer felt fear, and she gazed intently into the god’s lit eyes, seeking an answer of the question she sensed from his look. 

“What would you have me do, my god?” Chana asked. 

“Rukhel will need to stand a steady stone, a foundation. She has always had you, Chana, as her rock. Will you the moon to her sun? Guide her as she rules? Like the moon, your work will be hidden, while Rukhel shines brightly and all see her. But then again, this is the work you cherish the best. Your light works best when hidden.”

A soft groan broke for Rukhel’s lips. She moved her head against the cradle of Chana’s neck. “He is right-I cannot do this alone, Chana.”

“Rukhel, you must rest. Shh. Shh.” soothed Chana, stroking Rukhel’s hair. This decision proved too much for a woman exhausted by labor- and all her deeds on this night, reasoned Chana protectively. 

But Rukhel insisted. Her eyes remained closed, but she spoke up, “No, Chana. The god is right. I need your help. You have always guided me, being the wiser sister to my boldness. Please help me. Will you?”

Chana took a soft breath in. “Rukhel, never can I refuse you- I will be, as the god said. You can rest upon me as your rock. But know I will be the moon, hiding  behind your sun. So be it!”

Rukhel lifted her hand and found Chana’s, the women laced their fingers together in a firm grasp. 

“Thank you, Chanek.” Here, Rukhel fell into the deepest of sleeps. 

The god still gazed at Chana. “Chana, I know you too are with child. It is your first month, I know. And within your womb, a portent will issue forth too. You will have a daughter, and you will see her become a queen, but not a queen as Rukhel, or as people need or set onto governance. No, she will be a queen, weaving her own mark in the world, like a thread in the tapestry. She shall stand out as a gold thread and shine in her own right. And perhaps the babe you deliver tonight, their fates might fasten together.”

“Perhaps their destines, like two separate threads, will weave together and make a strong cord, my god. We shall see. I desire my child make her own choice. I know Rukhel desires the same. So we shall see, my god.” Chana set down her own rules. Though she revered her god, she held onto her own pride, fiercer than Rukhel. 

Chana had been with a child for a month- her moon days waned into nothing. She said nothing to Rukhel, for tax season fell upon them, and sorrow was their bread when the soldiers came. 

But now they stood on the precipice to build a new land again. And here, Chana vowed her child’s eyes would not be clouded with tears of envy and desire, but clear with understanding and compassion. 

The dawn arrived. The land seemed a new one, wet and green with dew from last night’s rain. The river water flowed clearer, unmuddied.