Chapter Text
The sun beat down violently from the cloudless sky, creating waves in the distance as far as the eye could see, leaving the world in a heated haze. It dried every speck of water from the ground, leaving it dry and brittle against every sandal that tread upon it. It also dried every stem of wheat that reached out to the sun, leaving it a shriveled arm that never had a chance to live.
It had been this way for months now, the famine had begun.
The wheat farms were bare no matter how hard they were tolled, it left all who depended on them craving the abundance that was ever fresh grain that they had had for so long after having it ripped from their grasp almost suddenly. Canaan was no exception, the ever golden stocks of wheat that flowed in the cool breeze like an amber sea reduced to burnt ash. It was only by the mercy of God that they had any hope of food at all.
Thankfully, they did have hope, for in the land of Egypt, the house of Jacob heard of grain being given to the people. It was for that reason that the ten sons of Jacob found themselves standing in the land of Egypt, not even being able to wipe the sweat off their forehead before the heat turned it to bitter salt, huddled as close as they could together, in a line of thousands that swirled like a snake to one of about a dozen stations giving grain .
Judah stood at the forefront, leading the group of sons, breathing in the dry air, looking around the dry land, scratching at his dry skin. Simeon stood not too far behind him, followed by Reuben, Issachar, Levi and the rest.
They had stood there idle, for what seemed like hours, before they were close to the front, thank goodness, right behind an older woman and a young boy who held the hand of a younger girl who latched onto him. On several occasions, Judah had seen her tug on the boy's arm and ask “are we there yet?” just for him to reply “not yet” with the half-fondness and half-agitation only an older brother was capable of. Judah couldn’t help but grin despite himself with fond recognition. A drawn out groan from close behind him drew him back to the reality of his situation.
“How long is this going to take?” Simeon murmured, stretching his hands over his head. “It feels like we will be standing here for days.”
“You complaining won’t make it go any faster,” Reuben replied, though it was clear that he agreed.
Judah turned around to face his two brothers, “If you look, we’re not that far from the front, just be patient for a while longer.”
“Are you sure they will not turn us away, Judah?” Issachar asked having heard their conversation, “It really does seem that this charity is only meant for the people of Egypt.”
Judah hummed, looking around. Yes, in most of the lines, most if not all the people were Egyptian, and given the govenor of the land was the one giving away the grain, it made sense that it would not be as freely offered to those of foreign lands. It was the reason Simeon had taken out the Pouch. The dreaded pouch of 20 silver pieces that had been hidden away from view but not quite subconscious for decades. The pouch that Judah or any of his brother’s dread to even touch, it was because of pure desperation and hunger that it weighed in Simeon’s pocket right that moment. Simeon had nerves of steel, there was a reason that he had to hold it, though anyone could tell that it weighed on him significantly.
Judah swallowed before he spoke. “Father told us to bring back food, so we will try to bring back food, for everyone’s sake. It’s unlikely that they will turn us away.”
He looked to Simeon, who looked to him at the same time, conversing and understanding without saying a word.
Issachar bit his bottom lip, still unsure, “And if they do?”
“All we can do is hope,” Judah said, turning back to the direction of the line. Another person had walked out with a weighted sack swung over their bag, looking satisfied. Judah sighed, “That’s all we can do…”
A tense silence followed in the group, none of them quite able to look anywhere besides right in front of them. Reuben rubbed his temple, Simeon stretched his hands over his head again, Issachar looked to Levi who looked back with a very specific Look, Naphtali took out his pouch of water, Zebulun looked up to the cloudless sky, Gad leaned slightly upon Dan in clear fatigue, Asher rubbed his eyes tiredly, and Judah sighed through his nose. The air gave no comfort to his labored lungs, it only made it harder to breathe. He thanked the heavens that there was only the older woman and the two siblings in front of them now.
“How many are you?” Asked the man, who sat at the front facing the line, to the older woman.
“Five,” she stated tiredly.
“Fine,” the man said, satisfied, gesturing for her sack to be filled. Judah’s eyes followed her as she walked to the side, only to have her sack filled with just enough grain.
Not far next to her stood a man, a well structured man who wore fine white linen and a head cloth with the he lined with gold and jewels. He and the woman exchanged a few words that could not be heard from where they stood, but by the warm smile that graced the man’s features, it was undoubtedly pleasant.
Soon enough, the boy in front of them gently tugged his sister to the front, stopping near the table under the shade. The lord referred to him rather kindly, as he told him how many were in his family, which was apparently four. Then, he walked to the other side for the grain.
“We’re up next,” Judah turned and told his brothers, who all immediately snapped from whatever they were doing and focused in front of them, like a flock to the call of their Shepherd. It was a wonder, Judah, nor any of them could ever grab the attention of their sheep with that much ease. All except one…one who seemed to attract all attention to him without even trying, like a bright beaming ball of sunlight.
The sunlight they had lost, no, the sunlight they sold away.
Suddenly, Judah heard a sound, a laugh, a bright, high, sweet and joyful laugh from close in front. Suddenly, he whipped his head around fast enough to give himself a headache, to the direction of the noise, with a mustard seed of hope in his eyes. He recognised that laugh, he knew that laugh!
But it was from the man, who looked fondly on the children with a bright smile. Judah deflated immediately. So it wasn’t him. Of course it wasn’t. That two decade old laugh had passed into the wind, reduced to nothing. That laugh of sunlight, long since set, never to rise again. The laugh they sold away. Judah’s chest tightened.
“Judah…” He felt a hand upon his shoulder, looking back he realized it was Reuben’s. His brother’s faced was laced with familiar melancholy. Judah shook his head.
“Nothing,” he muttered.
“I know that look,” he said, not in a way of chastising, or even comfort, but in a shared pain. A pain that could never be comforted and, frankly, didn’t deserve to be comforted. A 20 year old pain that was never soothed. It was a recognition, and understanding, not a reliever. Judah did not reply, he needn’t do. They shared a look, before Reuben squeezed his shoulder once more and let his hand rest there for a moment.
“Oh!” the little girl exclaimed, and Judah saw a little doll fall near his feet. He bent to pick it up, inspecting it for damage. The girl stared at him expectantly and Judah could not help but smile at her.
“Here you go,” he bent down at the knees, handing it back to her, smiling as she all but yanked it away. She gave him a smile as she walked away with her brother.
“Who’s next?”, called the man, still writing in his log.
“We are, my lord!” Judah shouted, walking toward the table. The man looked to them, initially surprised by their large group, then skeptical.
“You are not Egyptian…” He said hesitantly, eyeing them suspiciously.
“No sir…” Judah replied “My brothers and I have traveled far from Canaan.”
“Canaan…” the man stroked his chin, looked beside him seeming to be looking for someone, but upon realizing the one he was looking for, turned back to the brother’s expectant looks. He looked unsure, and ultimately ready to turn them away.
“Please,” Judah’s voice came out much more pleadingly than he expected. He gestured to his brothers, “Our wives and children are hungry.”
“I’m sorry, but…” standing and leaning against his table looking sympathetic but hesitant all the same, “you have not contributed to our supply-“
“We don’t ask for charity,” Simeon interrupted, reaching into his pocket, pulling out that dreaded Pouch, “We’ll pay you with silver!”
The said silver scratched together, making a quiet sound that sounded almost like a squeal of pain and suffering. There was a reason the brothers all did not dare look at the Pouch. Simeon held it in a tight grasp, as if it burnt his palm. It was out of pure desperation that he didn’t drop it to the dry ground.
The lord looked at the pouch, then to the group, and sighed in defeat.
“How many are you?” He asked.
“There are-“, Judah hesitated for the smallest of moments, “Twelve of us, ten of us here, and at home we have our father and youngest brother.”
“Very well,” the man shrugged, turning to the rest of the men meant to fill the sacks, “Give them-“
“NOTHING!”
All those there jumped at the booming, enraged shout that seemingly came from nowhere. Then came the same man, dressed in fine linen and a head cloth rimmed with gold and jewels. He was not smiling now, his face twisted in rage towards them. He stared daggers at Judah. It made him flinch. He quickly stepped in front of the group, staring daggers equally among all of them.
“Ten foreigners asking for grain, no ties to Egypt,” he said, stepping closer, almost menacingly toward them, “Are you thieves hoping to see where we store our grain? Spies?”
Judah stumbled back from the sheer severity and disdain in the man’s harsh words. He, or any of the brothers, were barely given time to process what they were being accused of. Judah could only shake his head in rapid denial. The man remained undeterred, his grimace as tight as his clenched fists.
“I don’t know what you are,” he growled, “And I don’t believe your story.”
“Your excellency!” Judah shouted desperately, quickly lowering himself to his knees, “Everything we say is true, I-I swear it!”
Without hesitation, the rest of the group fell to their knees, some looking up at the man, others with their foreheads pressed to the earth, in some attempt to calm this leader’s anger.
“Then prove it. Produce this youngest brother!”
Judah and Simeon immediately looked to each other, and Reuben looked to Simeon. Judah looked back up to the man. The perspective, as well as the sun beams that shone brightly behind him, made him a surrounding of light, as if he were glowing himself. He looked like an enraged deity. Judah’s hands trembled.
“B-but why?” his voice broke slightly, though it was just above a whisper.
“What would that prove?” Simeon asked defensively, with more assurity than his older brother, as if what the man was proposing was truly absurd.
“Th-That you’re not lying!” the man quickly retorted, placing both hands on his hips, “If you are telling the truth, I will let you buy all the grain you want, until then…”
His gaze, as fierce as a wolf that gazed at a young sheep, found Simeon. Simeon, the one who showed little to no fear majority of the time, the one who could cut his hand open and wave it off, who stood as a beacon of all the confidence and assurity a man could hold in his brothers’ eyes, shivered. The man’s hand pointed strongly at him like a sword.
“Arrest this one!” He shouted, “We’ll hold him until you produce this youngest brother.”
As fast as Judah could reach for Simeon was as fast as the guards yanked him away from him. The brothers rose to their feet immediately, to try to come to Simeon’s aid as he was taken away. Two spears from two other guards came suddenly to block their path. Judah had almost managed to grab Simeon’s hand, but was much too late.
“Simeon no!” Levi shouted, trying, and failing to no fault of his own, to force his way past the guards.
“Stop!” Judah yelled, arms still reaching for his brother though he was already pulled so far from his reach.
“Judah!” Simeon struggled against the strong arms that hoisted him, gritting his teeth, reaching for Judah.
“Help me! Please!”
Judah froze. Then, his face twisted in despair, forcing himself to watch helplessly as his brother was pulled, kicking and screaming and pleading for him to save him.
Reminding himself of the last time he had let that happen.
He couldn’t bear it, so he screwed his eyes shut, turning away, his lips in a deep frown. He felt a hand on his back, prompting him to look up to find Naphtali's hand, rubbing circles into his back in some attempt at comfort. It only made Judah’s chest tighten more and more. Simeons cries and shouts of desperation persisted until he was carried too far, and every shout was lost in the wind.
The group stood there, half astonishment, half exasperated. They were in like mind, for the most part, confused, shaken and deeply hurt by their brother being taken from them. They stood there for a while, looking to each other, to Judah, for answers. What were they to do now? They found none. Judah's head hung low, each breath heavy as if it labored him, hands still in fists that still trembled.
Isaachar stumbled back from fatigue and immediately jumped as the back of his heel caught something on the ground. The deserted pouch lay clumsily on the ground. The opening had been loosened, some of the silver pieces escaping and laying bare and scratched in the dirt. They shimmered in the sun, so sharp they looked like small daggers. Isaachar fell to his knees, gathering the pouch in his two palms, staring at it, horrified at it. At himself.
“This is why…” he muttered, shaking his head vigorously. The rest except Judah, turned to him.
“This is why this has happened to us…” he continued, looking up to his brothers, “The guilt of it was not punishment enough! Not nearly enough for what we did to...!”
His voice broke before he could finish, mercifully, for they all knew they could not bear to hear his name again. The name of a younger brother, long since lost. Long since given away.
“What do we do…?” Levi asks, looking to Judah before they all look to Judah. Judah looks at each worried, frightened, pained face of each of his brothers. The shared guilt, the agonizing pain that never left no matter how much any of them tried to wash it away. The one memory they recalled in the same exact way. With their brothers being dragged away, kicking, screaming, begging one of them, any of them to help him. Nothing much really had changed since, like now, they stood there, helpless to their brother’s cries. Powerless to save their own blood once. Now forced to bring one to save the other.
Judah sighed heavily, wheezing at the dryness of the air.
“We have to…” he swallowed, “we have to bring Benjamin here…”