Overpowered

by Kathryn McConaughy

  She expected action—an ambush, a charge, something. Instead, Cypress did nothing while Abimalk’s men poured into the valley. Half of them arranged themselves into ragged ranks. There was the distant sound of shouting.

  Then four men separated from the crowd and came striding toward the gates. “Ah, Cypress! Is it well with you?” one called with a confident smile. He was broad-shouldered, with a battered but handsome face and a swinging stride. His hand rested on the pommel of his sword as if on the shoulder of an old friend.

  “Oyeb,” Cypress greeted him. “I thought some danger had overtaken you when I found you had left these hills.”

  Oyeb laughed. “Why would I stay when there’s plunder to be had? Why are you still here, commander?”

  Cypress shrugged. “I was hired to protect this village.”

  “Ayeh! And I’ve been hired to attack it. I would regret having to kill you.”

  “That’s a light thing—come over here and help me defend it.”

  “Ah, but I’ve taken Abimalk’s salt. You see that I can’t join you. Why don’t you join me, and help me to attack it? Then these people would yield without a fight. No man needs to die today.” Oyeb was still smiling. It seemed to Snow that both men knew exactly how this was going to come out: neither of them would change sides. Yet they traded words as if each believed that the other man could be swayed.

  “Are they friends?” she whispered to Fig. That would be a hard thing, to fight your friends.

  He snorted. “No, Cypress has never liked Oyeb. He had him flogged once for stealing from other soldiers.”

  That explained the smile on Oyeb’s face. He was looking forward to his victory.

  “Oyeb son of Sa’ak.”

  Snow started. Yotam had come up when she wasn’t looking. Now he stood a step behind Cypress, gazing steadily at the mercenary leader. “Is it right to attack these people?”

  Oyeb snorted. “Who’s this whelp, Cypress?”

  “Is it right to follow the unrighteous orders of an unrighteous man? Do you think that those in heaven will regard you with kindness?” Yotam asked.

  Oyeb’s face crinkled uneasily, then cleared. “I have the favor of the gods. See? The Thunderer’s anchor—a tooth of the Maiden’s lions—a horn from the Lady’s ibex—words from the Overpowerer’s instruction.” He held out his amulets, then tucked them carefully back under his breastplate.

  “If you desire the Overpowerer’s protection, you should take off the other amulets and throw them away,” Yotam advised him.

  “You’re mad,” Oyeb said flatly.

  “Whether you keep them or not, the Overpowerer won’t help you take this village; and without his help you can’t succeed,” Yotam warned.

  “A curse on you all,” Oyeb snapped, and marched back to his men, his entourage trailing behind him.

  “Time to begin,” Cypress decided, as the mercenary general arrived back at his lines. “Signal Willow.”

  Yotam waved toward the distant clump of trees where Willow was waiting with his beloved chariot bow.

  The first arrow swished through Oyeb’s hair and struck the clan leader who was standing beside him. As the man dropped, Oyeb whirled, lifting his shield. The second arrow buried itself in the wood.

  A dozen men separated from the army and began moving up the slope toward Willow’s grove, trying to stay under cover. As they drew nearer Willow’s companions started shooting with their hunting bows. Snow saw one, then another of the attackers fall to the ground.

  Oyeb gave a shout and lifted his sword. His men began a ragged charge toward Qir Qatina.

  “Go inside the gate,” Fig told Snow. “They’ll have slingers.” He moved around Cypress to hold the shield between him and any projectiles. Snow stared at his back for a moment. How long are they staying exposed out here? Well, she couldn’t drag them inside—so best to get out of their way.

  She climbed around the jumbled barricade that blocked the gate, then ran around behind the villagers with their scythes and walking sticks to where Cedar crouched behind the wall.

  Oyeb’s men were getting so near. What was Cypress waiting for? Overpowerer, perhaps you would protect Fig? I know that Yotam is under your wing…

  Cypress raised his spear.

  Thorn and his villagers had lain quiet in the grain field all this time. Now they rose and sent a volley of stones at the unprotected rear of Oyeb’s army. More attackers fell before they managed to turn with their shields protecting their heads and rush into the standing grain.

  Snow shuddered. So outnumbered, how would Thorn survive?

  “Oyeb’s a fool,” Cedar muttered. “Outnumbers us s’ much he didn’t bother wi’ a plan.”

  While Snow had been watching the distant fight in the grain, Cypress, Yotam, and Fig had made it back inside the gates. Now Cypress gave a shout and the villagers stood up behind the walls, firing away with yet more slings. Some of Oyeb’s men sent back missiles of their own, yet the villagers had cover and Oyeb’s men had none.

  Snow knew nothing of war, yet even she could see that less than two-thirds of Oyeb’s men were still charging for the wall. Perhaps we’ll live after all?

  Then the first of the enemy arrived. They vaulted the wall, knocking down the defenders or simply choosing a space between them—there were too few villagers to line the whole length of the palisade.

  One tried to enter in front of Cedar; the giant knocked him back with his mace. The wall trembled.

  “Useless pile o’ rocks,” Cedar growled, then chuckled. He let another group of attackers approach—in a moment they would jump. Snow held her long knife ready and wished for better cover; surely Cedar couldn’t stop them all.

  Cedar pushed the wall over. A storm of rocks smashed into his attackers. One at the edge of the group came staggering on despite the blood on his leg; two villagers leaped forward to stop him.

  “Snow!” Snow slashed at the man who grabbed her shoulder; Yotam knocked the knife aside with his spear. “Cypress says to fetch Thorn and his men—we need them back here.” He plucked Vine out of the melee. “Vine, go with Snow.”

  At last, something I can do. Snow didn’t wait for Vine, just turned and darted farther into the village. She cut between a pair of houses, jumped over a goat, and ran for the wall at the far side. As she’d thought, there were no attackers or defenders here—the hillside was too near and too steep. She climbed over the wall and started up the hill, digging her fingers into the dirt.

  “What are you doing?” Vine hissed, coming over the wall behind her. “Thorn is up the valley!”

  “Run through Oyeb’s army if it pleases you,” she grunted, reaching the gentler slope. “I’m going around.”

  She picked up her feet and flew. Below her, some of Oyeb’s men had sunk into the ground—into hidden irrigation ditches? She hadn’t seen anyone digging. Now would be the perfect time for the defenders’ slingers to strike.

  But there was screaming in the village. Oyeb’s men were among the houses, dragging out women and children. A man left the wall to run back toward his house, only to be cut down by a spearman. Cypress and Fig struck down those who stormed the gate; beside them, Yotam had run out of spears and drawn his sword. They still stood, but it was easy for the attackers to avoid them. There weren’t enough defenders.

  I have to run faster, Snow thought. Faster!

  There was a yell from Vine, then he slammed into her. They fell down the steep hillside, rocks and dirt spraying into the air around them, and landed painfully at the bottom.

  “Overpowerer’s ark! Get off me,” Vine wheezed.

  Snow’s head was ringing. “What happened? Are you hit?” Still lying across his chest, she patted his shoulder, searching for blood.

  “Tripped,” he snarled, pushing at her. “Now get—” He stopped, his eyes growing wide. “You—”

  Snow rolled off him. “We’ve got to get Thorn!”

  “You’re a girl!”

  Snow froze, then shook herself. I c
an’t hide now. She had to get Thorn. “Get up, Vine! People are dying!”

  He lunged to his feet, grabbing her wrist. “There’s no reason to run,” he said harshly. “They’re dead already.”

  She stamped on his foot and twisted away to sprint up the valley. They’re not dead. They’re not! Overpowerer!

  The ground trembled. Snow thought it was only the beating of her heart. “Thorn!”

  The scarred soldier reached out and dragged her behind a bush. “Hush,” he hissed.

  “You have to get back to the village,” she whispered.

  He grunted. “Been trying.” There was a wounded man tucked under the bush, blood bubbling on his lips. Thorn gestured to one of his remaining slingers. “You stay with him.”

  Breaking cover, Thorn headed for Qir Qatina at a gallop, his sling clutched in his hand. Her lungs burning, Snow sprinted after him.

  Mercy, she whispered with every footfall. Mercy, mercy…

  But she could see that Oyeb had already won. The last defenders were on their knees or lying on the ground, the women and children wailing, and Oyeb stood over Cypress with a sword.

  Oyeb said something Snow couldn’t hear and drew back his blade.

  Fig threw himself forward and took the blow on his shoulder. He fell to the ground and didn’t get up again.

  “Stop.” Thorn grabbed Snow’s arm so hard she thought it would wrench from its socket. The slinger snarled a curse. “No point running in there.”

  “Then let’s go,” Vine hissed. Snow started—she hadn’t realized he had joined them. “Now, before they come after us!”

  “No, Thorn,” Snow pleaded, but he took a step back, then another, dragging her with him, his face set like flint. She could see Fig, lying so still; Cypress, sitting bolt upright like a defeated king; Cedar, flat on his belly with six men holding him down.

  Yotam, kneeling with his face turned up to the sky.

  The ground shook a second time. Yotam shut his eyes and smiled.

  Thunder growled. Thoom. And again. Thoom. And again and again—like the sound of marching. The wind picked up, shaking the tops of the trees.

  “It sounds like an army,” Snow whispered.

  Thorn’s face was pale. “I hear chariots—where would Abimalk get chariots? Curse him!”

  Now Snow could hear them too—the creak of wood and harness, the rumbling of wheels over uneven ground. The sound grew nearer… nearer...

  The shofar blew and the army swept past them, surging toward Oyeb’s forces, a thundering cavalcade of sound. Snow could hear them so clearly—yet she could see nothing at all. Where were they? She was almost knocked to the ground—blown down by a gale, or by the wind of their passing? The earth danced—was it an earthquake, or was it the pounding of their feet?

  The ground shifted under her and she dropped to her hands and feet, gasping. Beside her, Thorn put his face to the ground, arms over his head; Vine whimpered. Yet she still saw nothing!

  Oyeb’s men broke and ran, fleeing wildly through the village to the slopes beyond. They threw down their weapons, threw off their cloaks, trampling each other in their fear.

  Snow’s eyes were frozen open as she tried to see—

  Her eyes met Yotam’s across the field of war. For an instant, from the corners of her eyes she could see it: a vast army, armor gleaming brighter than the sun, the chariots drawn by horses of fire. The army charged through the village of Qir Qatina as if walls and houses were not even there.

  Then they were gone.

  “The Overpowerer’s army. The Overpowerer’s army.” Someone was saying it over and over; it was long moments before she realized that it was her own voice. Distantly she could hear Vine weeping from fear.

  Snow was shaking, but she also had the strangest urge to laugh. The Overpowerer’s army. It had come. The Overpowerer had not abandoned them, blood criminals that they were. He had sent his army, and it had driven away his enemies.

  “Wasn’t that—glorious?” she whispered.

  “Glorious!” Vine screamed, and reached across to shove her down. “Death comes, and you think it’s glorious? This is—this is—did you and Yotam call this down on us? This is your fault! You!” He surged to his feet, looking around wildly. “All of you!” And then he was running, running after Oyeb’s fleeing men.

  Snow stared after him. Death? Had Vine not seen what she had seen? “Thorn?”

  Thorn slowly took one arm from over his head, then the other. He looked up carefully. There was no expression on his face.

  “What did you see, Thorn?” Snow asked, desperate to know that it hadn’t been her imagination. “Did you see the army?”

  He looked at the ground. At his hands. At the shape of a bird of prey circling far overhead. “I saw all the armies I have ever faced. I saw all the men I have ever killed. I saw…” He stopped, looking at the ground again. “Come, boy. Let’s see who’s still alive.” He rubbed mud off his face and began striding toward Qir Qatina.

  Fig! Snow remembered, and started to run.

  The villagers were cheering, embracing, weeping. None of them seemed quite sure what had happened. “An earthquake. A sound like thunder,” they told one another.

  Yotam was propping Fig up against the ruined wall. “How many fingers?” he was asking as Snow came racing up.

  Fig squinted. “More than one?” he said.

  “You’re both alive!” Snow wheezed. She dropped down to hug Fig tightly.

  “Agh! And so are you. Now let go, please.”

  “Did you see it?” Snow asked Yotam. “Did you see the army?”

  “Thus.” He beamed at her.

  Fig wiped his mouth. “And you saw their commander, didn’t you? On his horse?”

  “No.” I missed something? “I don’t think so.”

  Fig shook his head, then winced. “I’ve never seen anyone like that. Never.” He and Yotam traded a glance, their eyes ablaze with joy.

  “Thus,” Yotam agreed.

  There was a movement behind him, and Snow noticed Cypress standing there. His face was tight—jealous? “Since we’re all still alive, it’s time to arrange our payment. Bring Fig.”

  They supported Fig to the village gates. Thorn, Willow, and Cedar were already waiting. As Snow watched, Cedar stealthily scraped up two giant-sized palmfuls of dirt and dumped them on his own head. He stood still, but his eyes were wide as he looked up and down the valley, searching for something he couldn’t see.

  “So,” said Cypress.

  Only one of the village elders was there to speak with him. “We’ll pay you as soon as we can,” he said. Snow recognized the haughty elder from before, but he was not haughty now. He looked shocked and shaken.

  Snow expected Cypress to object, to demand to be paid now. She expected Cedar to loom and Thorn to glower, but none of them did any of those things.

  “Peace then,” Cypress said. He turned and shouldered an unbroken spear. “We’ll return to camp.” And they went—worn out by fear and glory.

  Khet.

  The Avenger of Blood surveyed the wreckage of Shilo and tried to feel satisfied. There was plunder in abundance, but an unexpected hailstorm had thrown his army into disarray at a critical moment and the inhabitants had fled to the Mountain of the Sanctuary, where Abimalk’s men would not follow. Instead they camped around its base day after day, waiting for the Shilonites to grow hungry.

  It’s not enough. Zeb looked at the orchards, the fields, the houses. “Chop down the trees and cast stones in the fields,” he told empty air. That was what he should do.

  “Lord Zeb!” Azri sidled up like a scorpion from under its rock. “Word on—that matter, Lord Zeb. The murderess. A youth has come in with the men you sent to Qir Qatina.”

  Another reason for dissatisfaction. Only thirty men had returned from the rout, babbling about vast armies of giants, left-handed slingers, and iron chariots. No man’s story matched that of his companion. Clearly, they were all lying. Have them all stoned. “So?”
<
br />   “He has met the murderess. She was with the band of the soldier Cypress.”

  The Avenger of Blood smiled faintly. She was with a mercenary band? Then his revenge had already begun. Hillmen would not treat a woman well; she would have lost her pride by now… He would go after her and make her admit her foolishness, make her ask for forgiveness. Then he would kill her.

  He touched his throat thoughtfully. Then he would be satisfied.

  But he could not leave Abimalk’s army immediately. “Azri. You will go to this hill-bandit Cypress and claim the girl from him. Pay him well. Then bring her to me.”

  “Here at Shilo, my lord?”

  “On the road. We are returning to the Refuge.” The Shilonites could have their mountain. He had no further interest in them.

  **

  Snow crouched on a stone ledge, checking the walls of the camp’s cistern for leaks. The cistern, cut into the ground, ought to have had more water in it than the cubit at the bottom. So far, Snow had found nothing but a snake and some bright-colored beetles.

  From her place in the cistern, Snow could hear most of what the others said in the camp, but none of them could see her. So far, no one had said anything either worrying or secret; still, she popped out of the hole from time to time to remind them that she was there. Earlier, she had interrupted Thorn saying something kind about Yotam to Cedar; he’d cut off his words as if caught plotting murder. Now that Willow had returned, the three men were silent; though they had been more polite to each other since the battle four days earlier, they were still not friendly.

  “Peace to you,” came an unfamiliar voice. Snow paused, then went back to probing the rock. “Has your wretched servant reached the camp of the mighty Cypress?”

  “What d’ y’ want?” Cedar grunted.

  “Surely you are that mighty leader of men?” the stranger tried. “I desire only to be of service to you, Lord Cypress.” Cedar didn’t bother to correct him. He must not like the look of the man, Snow thought.

  “Flattery is honey on the tongue, but gall in the belly,” Willow said dryly. “Surely your humble servants are honored by your generosity.”