Deborah Calling

by Avraham Azrieli

  The first phase—the requisite body strength and resilience—had taken a long time to achieve, but she hoped the second phase—the masculine posture and character—would be accomplished more quickly. Perhaps in a few days, while they were still near the Samariah Hills, Kassite would declare her ready and give her the third dose. Once she drank it, Kassite had explained, her sex parts would mutate to male.

  She tried not to think about it. That final change was the most uncomfortable aspect of the transformation. Would the third dose also flatten her breasts and sprout stubble on her cheeks? She touched her smooth face, wondering how it would feel to be a young man with the start of a beard on his face, whether it would be prickly like her late father’s, or soft like the early growth on Zariz’s chin, or somewhere in between, like the budding goatee Barac had sported, short and dark but still too sparse to take seriously.

  She felt a pang of grief for Barac, yet smiled at the thought of Zariz. She longed to see him again, even though she knew it would never happen. He was a young Moabite, devoted to his family tradition of plying the trade routes, whereas she was destined to become a man, farm her father’s land, and deliver Yahweh’s message to the Hebrews.

  About two-thirds of the way downhill, horse hooves sounded behind them. Deborah turned her head and saw a lone rider galloping down the street, leaving a wake of dust. She resisted the urge to speed up and escape through the gates.

  The rider flew by the group and continued downhill. She recognized him as one of Seesya’s soldiers. Quickening her horse’s pace, she came along Kassite.

  “Look!” She pointed. “We should try to—”

  Kassite raised a hand to silence her.

  The soldier reached the gates and yelled at the sentries, who closed the heavy doors.

  When the group reached the gatehouse, Kassite addressed the three sentries and Seesya’s soldier. “Good morning! We have a long way ahead of us—”

  “My master,” the soldier said, “wishes to greet you before you depart.”

  Was he speaking the truth, Deborah wondered, or had Seesya heard of Vardit’s odd behavior and become suspicious? Deborah exchanged glances with Sallan. He shook his head subtly. She understood. They were no match for a trained soldier and three armed sentries, and even if they managed to beat them back, open the gates, and run for it, Seesya’s band of soldiers would chase them down the road and catch them easily.

  A few minutes later, at the top of the hill, a group of riders emerged from Judge Zifron’s courtyard. They rode downhill, Seesya in the lead, mounted on the great white stallion. There were about twenty soldiers, some not yet fully dressed in their leathers, but all carrying their spears. They reached the gates and took positions across the road, facing the group of Edomites.

  “Greetings, Prince Antipartis.” Seesya rested his hand on the silver hilt of his bejeweled sword. “What’s the rush?”

  Kassite smiled, waving to the east. “The morning sun does not wait for slow risers.”

  “Indeed.” Seesya patted his restless stallion on the neck. “I was told that one of your soldiers was speaking with my mother.”

  Deborah kept her eyes to the ground.

  “That would be impossible,” Kassite said.

  “You!” Seesya advanced his stallion at Soosie, and the difference in size between them made Soosie look like a donkey. “How do you know my mother?”

  Deborah looked at him, her eyes squeezed tightly. She hoped the leather helmet and the soot on her face would keep him from recognizing her.

  “He does not understand,” Kassite said. “My soldiers do not speak your language.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “This is Borah. He is a young soldier I recently hired in—”

  “How does he know my mother?”

  Kassite chuckled. “He knows nobody. Was your mother among the women who gave us food before we left? He was only thanking her.”

  “She kissed his hand.”

  “Women do strange things,” Kassite said.

  Seesya pulled on the reins, shifting his horse’s head sideways, and advanced until he was beside Deborah. “Look at me, soldier!”

  She kept her eyes squinted.

  Reaching over, he poked her chest. “Look at me!”

  Deborah opened her eyes and looked at him. She saw his red scar twisting with the movements of his lips, and the oily black hair swaying over his shoulders. His familiar odor—sour sweat and garlic breath—reminded her of the last time they were so close to each other, on the night of their wedding, when he had failed to consummate the marriage and proceeded to choke her almost to death, before she knocked him unconscious with her father’s fire-starters. Deborah stared at him, her chest filling with hot rage.

  Seesya slapped the leather helmet off her head, and it fell away easily, being too big for her. His eyes opened wide and he yelled, “Holy Baal and Ashtoreth! I’ll be damned!”

  Rather than exploding, she harnessed her rage with a strange calm and used it to do what had to be done. Lifting her outside leg over the saddle, as if preparing to dismount Soosie, she grabbed hold of Seesya’s arm and threw her leg over, hopping onto Seesya’s saddle behind him. She drew her short sword and put the pointy end to the back of his neck while grabbing his hair with her left hand and pulling back.

  The soldiers raised their spears, aiming at her.

  The Edomite men were too stunned to draw their swords.

  “Open the gates,” Deborah said, “or I’ll kill you.”

  The sentries ran to the gates.

  “Don’t do it.” Seesya slowly raised his hands. “Keep calm.”

  “Open the gates!” Deborah pulled harder on his hair, tilting his head further back, her blade nipping his skin. “Open!”

  “Leave the gates closed,” Seesya said. “She won’t do it.”

  The soldiers moved their horses around, aiming the spears.

  The Edomite men finally recovered. They drew their swords, formed a ring around Kassite and Sallan, and began to move as a group away from the confrontation.

  “I’m warning you!” Deborah stubbed her heels inward, and the stallion snorted, moving forward. “Open the gates, or it’s all over!”

  “Put the sword down,” Seesya said. “You can’t go anywhere. If you hurt me, all your friends are going to die.”

  “I don’t care!”

  “Oh, yes you do, my wife. You care what Yahweh thinks, don’t you?”

  She could tell he was smiling, and pulled hard on his oily hair, making him groan with pain. “Tell them to open the gates,” she repeated. “I have nothing to lose!”

  “You’ll lose Yahweh’s favor,” he said. “Remember the sixth commandment? Do not kill!”

  She didn’t answer, but shifted her sword from the back of his neck to his lower back.

  “Listen, men,” he said. “On the count of three, kill the Edomites.”

  His soldiers turned their horses and aimed their spears at the Edomite group.

  “No!” Deborah pushed the tip of her sword under the lower edge of his armor. “I’ll maim you!”

  “And have the blood of innocents on your hands?”

  “You’ll be a cripple!”

  “And you’ll be a sinner.”

  She pulled even harder on his hair, but the risk of violating one of Yahweh’s commandments was too great, and she couldn’t bring herself to push the blade into him.

  “On the count of three,” Seesya said. “One! Two!”

  With a shout of frustration, Deborah threw away her sword.

  Seesya elbowed her hard, and she fell off the horse, hitting the ground, the air knocked out of her. Before she could rise, he dismounted and stomped his boot on her back, pushing her face into the dust.

  “Son of Zifron,” Kassite said, “tell your soldiers to lower their spears before someone gets hurt.”

  With a quick gesture, Seesya signaled his soldiers to stand down. “Tell me, Prince Antipartis. How did my rebellious wife e
nd up in your service?”

  “Wife?” Kassite made a feeble attempt at laughing. “You took this young man for a wife?”

  Seesya lifted his boot and landed it hard on Deborah’s kidney, immobilizing her. He pulled her up and tore the leather armor off her chest.

  Exposed to the sun, Deborah’s adolescent breasts were white, freckled, and bruised from the tight armor, but they were undeniably present—the healthy breasts of a young woman at the outset of her childbearing years.

  The Edomite men, who knew her as Borah, uttered cries of shock and dismay.

  She tried to cover her breasts, but Seesya punched her again, and she collapsed.

  Soosie neighed and sprinted at Seesya, knocking him to the ground. The horse reared up, raising his front hooves. Seesya rolled aside, and two of the soldiers urged their horses forward to protect him. Antippet rode over and grabbed Soosie’s reins.

  “Damn horse!” Seesya got up and brushed the dust off his armor. “Do you concede, Prince Antipartis, or do I need to strip her completely in order to convince you?”

  “I had no idea,” Kassite said. “I hired him—well, her—a few weeks ago. I needed another soldier for security along the trade routes.”

  “Now you know that this is no soldier, but an ugly witch.”

  Kassite looked away. “Please cover her up.”

  “I don’t think so.” Seesya pulled off Deborah’s leg armors, boots, and sling, tossing them toward the Edomite group. “This stuff is yours, but she’s mine.”

  Patrees collected the items from the ground.

  Barely able to breathe, Deborah couldn’t resist as Seesya took a rope from one of the soldiers, tied her wrists up front, and held on to the other end of the rope while mounting his horse.

  “I respectfully protest,” Kassite said. “Let us bring this before your father. He should decide.”

  “She’s my wife, not my father’s. I’ll punish her as I see fit.”

  Naked except for a loincloth, her mind clouded by pain and humiliation, Deborah tried to free herself, but the rope was too tight, and Seesya began to ride. She managed to get up and walk after the white stallion.

  “Open the gates!” Seesya rode toward the gatehouse. “Open up!”

  Deborah ran after him, the fresh morning air cool on her bare skin.

  Outside the gates, he rode faster, and she kept running, aware that if she tripped he would drag her along, causing her skin to rip.

  He stopped by the Weeping Tree, right under the dry bones of Tamar, and tossed his end of the rope over a solid branch. One of the soldiers grasped the loose end of the rope.

  “Keep it tight,” Seesya said.

  The soldier made his horse step back until the rope tightened, forcing Deborah’s wrists up above her head. Another soldier handed Seesya a horsewhip. It had a solid wood handle and three thin leather straps with knots at the ends.

  “No!” Deborah tried to free her wrists from the rope. “No!”

  At the fairgrounds across the road, merchants and travelers saw what was happening and ran over to watch.

  The rope chafed the skin of her wrists, tightening with her struggle.

  Kassite, who had followed with the others, came down from his horse. “This is not acceptable—”

  “Don’t interfere,” Seesya said.

  “I must insist.” Kassite stepped closer. “This is not the way to resolve an honest dispute between honorable men.”

  “Back up, old man!” Seesya aimed the whip at Kassite’s face. “She’s a crafty witch, which is why I assume you didn’t know what she was when you hired her, but I could change my mind and tie you up right here beside her.”

  Kassite stepped back. “It is true that I did not know, but I paid good silver for three years of service, which means she is still in my employ.”

  “Your employ?” Seesya grinned as he raised the whip. “Then this discipline will benefit both of us.”

  The whip whistled, and the knotted straps hit Deborah’s back.

  She wanted to keep her mouth shut and not give him the satisfaction of hearing her cry, but the pain stunned her with its fiery intensity. She screamed, even as part of her was bewildered that such a sound could emerge from her mouth.

  The whip whistled again, and the knots slashed her back as if serrated knives sawed her flesh.

  She screamed again and tried to run forward, away from him, but the rope around her wrists pulled upward, causing her feet to lose contact with the ground, and she swung back by her arms while the whip whistled for the third time. It was worse yet, if such pain was even possible, and she heard herself howl in agony. Trying to run sideways to avoid the next slashing didn’t help. He landed the whip sideways, the straps wrapped around her ribcage, and the knots tore at her chest. As she swung the other way, he did the same from the opposite direction, the knots ripping at her left breast. The agony made her chest contract, pushing all the air out of her lungs in a wail that faded into an airless, soundless scream, then darkness.

  Chapter 20

  The eagle soared above the Sea of Salt. Deborah marveled at the colors of the surrounding mountains—soft brown in the west and rich red in the east, as if the kidney-shaped sea had been poured like thick glue over a giant seam that separated two different lands. Barac sat on the wing beside her, his smile bright, his eyes large, brown, and warm. The wind swept away his white cap and ruffled his black curls. The eagle banked to the right and up through the blue sky, then left and down toward the water. The sudden maneuvers were thrilling, and Deborah leaned against Barac. He put his arm around her and held her against his solid frame. They smiled at each other, but then a shadow came from behind, and a giant black crow stuck its beak into her back. Excruciating pain tore her out of Barac’s embrace, and she wailed.

  The blue sky disappeared, together with the eagle and Barac. Deborah found herself lying on the hard ground under the Weeping Tree. Someone was poking at the wounds on her back, igniting the pain, and she remembered what had happened before she lost consciousness. She cried again and tried to sit up.

  “Easy, easy,” a woman said from behind. “I’m treating your wounds.”

  Deborah glanced back.

  “It’s olive oil and herbs,” Vardit said, showing her a clay jar. “The Edomite prince gave it to me—some kind of special medicine.”

  “Prince?” Deborah’s mind was slow to comprehend. “What prince?”

  “Your master, Prince Antipartis.”

  “Oh, him.”

  “He cares about you more than one would expect in this situation.” Vardit caressed her shaved head. “Poor thing. What happened to you?”

  Deborah shifted with effort. The ground under her smelled of urine. “I’m sorry,” she murmured.

  “It’s not your fault.” Vardit dripped more of the oily paste on the wounds and spread it with her hand.

  Deborah groaned and took a few quick breaths. She didn’t want to faint again. “How did you recognize me?”

  “You’re too pretty for a boy.” Vardit smiled. “And those eyes—even when you tried to avoid me, I couldn’t miss them. No other person has eyes like yours, as green as—”

  “As vomit?”

  “As fresh leaves after the first rain. Only your sister had such beautiful eyes.”

  “My mother did, too.”

  Vardit continued to rub the paste over the lacerations on Deborah’s back and chest. The searing pain was overwhelming. Unable to hold back anymore, she wept.

  “That’s it.” Vardit plugged the jar and wiped her hands with a cloth. “All done.”

  She pulled Deborah up to a sitting position and slipped a red robe over her head. Deborah tried to put her arms through the sleeves, but her wrists were still tied up front. The rope no longer looped around a branch above. It went from her wrists down to her ankles, binding them together, and from there, it slithered to the nearby tree and looped around the trunk. Flies swarmed her.

  Three soldiers sat in the shade, their h
orses tied nearby. A group of children watched curiously from the adjacent road. Deborah looked around through the film of tears that the fresh pain had brought, and saw the busy fairgrounds across the road and the gates of Emanuel a short distance away, the black flags of Ephraim fluttering in the light wind. Above her, Tamar’s skeletal bones dangled from a high branch.

  One of the soldiers came over and untied her wrists. Deborah put her arms through the sleeves and adjusted the red robe over her exposed breasts and down to her legs. The robe stuck to her wounds, which flared up painfully. The soldier tied her wrists again.

  “I must go back,” Vardit said, “or there will be more trouble.”

  Deborah noticed Vardit’s bruised cheek. “Did Seesya hit you?”

  “I deserve worse, foolish woman that I am. If I hadn’t approached you, none of this would have happened.”

  “A son hitting his mother is an abomination.” Deborah cleared her throat, ashamed of her shaking voice. “Why does your husband allow it?”

  “Why?” Vardit laughed bitterly. “Because I was born a woman. That’s our fate, girl. I accepted it long ago, and so should you.”

  There was a remedy that could lift the heavy burden of that fate, but Deborah couldn’t bring herself to tell Vardit about the Male Elixir. The judge’s wife was too old for it, too far down the path of a wife and a mother, too entrenched in a life that required submission and obedience. Deborah remembered that Shatz Ha’Cohen, the High Priest in Shiloh who had handed her over to Seesya to be forced into marriage, had quoted what Yahweh had said to Eve in the Garden of Eden: “Always you shall lust after your husband, and he shall reign over you.” Telling Vardit about the Male Elixir now would only make her realize that she could have lived a different life—a devastating realization that would do her no good.

  “I almost forgot.” Vardit reached into her pocket and pulled out a copper ring. “Prince Antipartis found this in your sack. He asked me to give it to you and tell you to put it back on.”