Seesya beckoned the two soldiers holding the daughter, and they brought her forward.
“Please don’t hurt my daughter.” The Moabite trader stretched his arms wide. “She is only eleven!”
Seesya drew his sword, leaned down from the saddle, and rested the blade against her cheek. “What is your name, angel?”
“Orpah,” she answered with a quiver.
“Stay still, Orpah,” Seesya said. “Let’s see if I can make your lovely face look like mine.”
Deborah tried to stand, but her legs wouldn’t obey her.
“Stop!” Abu Zariz fell to his knees. “Have you no fear of the gods?”
“The gods?” Seesya grinned. “Why should I fear the gods? Have they not given you into my hands?”
The Moabite trader was unable to respond.
“The gods,” Seesya continued, “want you to tell me where you hid the girl with the orange hair.”
Up on the hillside, Deborah held on to the boulder, pulling herself up, her legs wobbly, her body all but paralyzed with fear. Sallan had said, “Banish your fear and embrace your strength.” How he would mock her when hearing that his inspiring words had caused her to surrender to Seesya less than a day after escaping Emanuel!
Embracing all her strength, she stood and stepped forward between the boulders.
The Moabite trader, who was the only one facing her way, shouted, “No!”
She opened her mouth to yell Seesya’s name.
“No!” Abu Zariz waved his arms, turning away to divert attention from her. “It’s no use! You will kill all of us!”
Realizing that he was talking to her, Deborah got back behind the boulders.
“I’m offended,” Seesya said. “Why would I kill you if you give me what I want?”
“Because you are an evil man,” the trader yelled. “A disgrace to your father’s name!”
His face twisted in rage, Seesya told the two soldiers, “Hold her tight!”
They held the trader’s daughter, whose dark face was lined with tears, and Seesya pursed his lips in concentration as he leaned over with the tip of the sword at the girl’s cheek.
A long whistle sounded in the distance.
Everyone turned to look.
Coming slowly toward them was the boy, riding the loaded horse that had escaped earlier.
Seesya stood up on the stirrups and shaded his eyes from the sun. “Who is this?”
“My son,” Abu Zariz said. “He’s only fourteen.”
“Is that so?” Seesya smiled. “Maybe he can tell us where the girl is.”
“Perhaps,” Abu Zariz said. “Perhaps.”
This response surprised Seesya, and he looked at the Moabite trader, expecting an explanation, but none came.
The boy rode the tired horse without holding the reins. He steered it with his feet and knees while his hands remained behind his back. He came through the rough terrain, rising and dropping with the contours of the land, his path leading not directly at them, but slightly to the north. As he approached closer, Deborah’s heartbeat sped up until her chest hurt. The Moabite boy, with his youthful masculinity and black hair, resembled Barac, son of Abinoam, except that his hair wasn’t curly and he wore no cap.
When he reached the road, about fifty steps north of the standoff between Seesya’s soldiers and his family, the boy stopped his horse, which shifted about, raising a swirl of dust.
One of the soldiers advanced up the road toward him.
The dust cleared away, revealing the boy, who was holding a bow. He threaded an arrow, aimed, and released it, all within the blink of an eye. The arrow made a whish sound and entered the soldier’s right eye.
Before the dead soldier hit the ground, another arrow was at the ready, pointed at Seesya.
Everyone froze.
“That was not a fluke,” Abu Zariz said. “My son can hit a coin from a hundred steps.” With arms stretched sideways, he moved backward, leading his wives and children away from the soldiers.
“It’s six of us,” Seesya said. “He won’t get us all. Tell him to stand down, and I’ll be merciful.”
“If you wish to live,” Abu Zariz said, “drop your weapons and go in peace right now. I’ll make sure that the weapons are returned to Judge Zifron.”
The soldiers hesitated.
“Fine,” Seesya said. “You win.”
As the soldiers’ weapons hit the ground, Seesya leaned over and swept Orpah up, pressing her against himself, using her as a shield between him and the boy.
“Kill them all,” Seesya yelled. “Kill them all!”
The women and children scattered, running as fast as they could. The soldiers picked up their swords and split up. Two of them sprinted in the direction of the boy while the others chased the women on foot, swords held high.
Abu Zariz threw himself at one of the soldiers, the two men falling over together. Another soldier stepped over and raised his sword to stab the trader in the back, but a sharp whish sounded, and the soldier clasped the arrow that pierced his throat and dropped. Three more arrows flew in short succession, cutting down the pursuing soldiers before they managed to hurt any of the women and children. The last remaining soldier was on the ground, wrestling with Abu Zariz, whose older age and smaller size put him at a disadvantage. The soldier managed to get on top of the Moabite and pull a knife from a hip sheath, but before he could stab downward, the boy released his last arrow. It hit the soldier’s forehead at the hairline, penetrating halfway into his brain.
By this time, Seesya had planted the trader’s daughter on the saddle behind him, holding her against his back with one hand while he grasped the horse’s reins with the other and sprinted south at full gallop. The soldiers’ horses took off after him, making the ground shake.
Pushing the dead soldier off himself, Abu Zariz sat up, panting. His son galloped over, jumped off the horse, pulled an arrow out of one of the corpses, and got back on his horse to chase Seesya.
“Stop!” The trader got up with difficulty and blocked his son’s way. “If you kill him, his father will kill us all.”
Obeying his father, the boy watched helplessly as the trail of dust disappeared in the distance.
When it was gone, Abu Zariz turned to the boulders on the hillside and yelled, “You can come out now.”
Deborah stuffed the blanket and the tiger tail in the sack, straightened the scarf over her hair, and clambered down to the road. The women and children were crying, and even Abu Zariz blinked rapidly as tears filled his eyes. The horses shifted fearfully as she came closer, and the donkeys brayed, their nostrils flaring.
The boy jumped off the horse and ran over. He grabbed her sack, reached inside, and pulled out the tiger tail, showing it to his father.
Abu Zariz took the tail, put it back in the sack, tied the strings, and returned it to her.
“My name is Deborah,” she said, “daughter of Harutz of Ephraim.”
“I am Abu Zariz.” The man placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “And this is Zariz, my son.”
The boy looked at her intently but said nothing. Up close, she could see that he was skinnier than Barac, with darker eyes and a sparser goatee.
“I’m sorry for causing this disaster.” She shouldered the sack. “I didn’t expect the tiger tail to work so well.”
“It’s not your fault,” Abu Zariz said. “The son of Zifron would have caught up with us even if we hadn’t stopped. It was my error to pick up the red robe. I should have known not to touch what’s intended for the Hebrews’ impure and condemned.”
“Which one are you?” the boy asked her.
Her face flushed.
“You’ll stay with us for now,” Abu Zariz said. “It’s safer that way—for you and for us. We must gather our things and leave quickly.”
“What about your daughter?”
Abu Zariz glanced in the direction of Emanuel. “They won’t harm her.”
Deborah wasn’t sure how he knew that, but the time
for talking was over. The women collected the goods from the ground and bundled everything up. Abu Zariz and his son dragged the dead soldiers off the road, stripped them of their weapons and body armor, and tied it all together. Zariz retrieved the rest of his arrows, cleaned off the blood, and packed the horses and donkeys, making sure the loads were well balanced. The Moabites were efficient and quick, as expected of a large family that lived on the road, set up camp every night, and packed up every morning.
Everyone mounted the horses and donkeys. Zariz waved Deborah over to get behind him on his horse, which she did, and the caravan moved off at a fast pace.
After a short time on the road, Abu Zariz turned right into the hills. He followed a dry stream for a while but turned away when they saw a small settlement up ahead, and headed into the sun for a while. After climbing over another hill, he found a goat path that took them over a ridge with the sun on the left. He changed direction several times between hills and giant boulders. By midafternoon, they were heading away from the sun.
Deborah understood that the maneuvers were intended to make it difficult for Seesya to follow them with a new company of soldiers, but the frequent changes in direction and topography confused and disoriented her, and she barely managed to stay awake.
As the sun was setting, Abu Zariz pointed to a patch of flat ground on a hillside. The surrounding area was steep and rocky, far from any settlement or road. They would be safe here.
Zariz slipped off his horse and helped Deborah get down. The women cleared rocks and unloaded food, blankets and a tent for shelter. Deborah put down her sack and walked back and forth along the hillside, collecting dry twigs, shrubs, and weeds for a fire. She selected a spot downwind from the camp and used her father’s fire-starters to ignite a few dry leaves. Feeding the flame gently with more leaves, then weeds, and twigs, she built a nice fire.
Zariz untied a bundle of charcoal logs and added one to the fire, which embraced it with flames. They smiled at each other, and Zariz returned to help set up camp. The women prepared a small meal. Before anyone ate, Abu Zariz placed a bowl of food in front of clay figurines of Baal and Ashtoreth and bowed to them.
After the meal, Deborah found a small patch of sand beside a large boulder and lay down. The air was turning chilly. She pulled the blanket from her sack and wrapped it around her shoulders.
Chapter 13
Under her feet was a bed of palm fronds, green and glossy with moisture from last night’s dew. The wind blew at her back, nudging her forward, and her heart beat loudly. She was standing on top of the old palm tree. Far below, the thatched roof over her family’s house seemed full and solid, the adjacent corral was alive with goats and sheep, and the garden bloomed with vegetables and flowers. The tree swayed, and she stretched her arms out for better balance. The wind pushed her another step forward, right to the serrated edge of the canopy of fronds, which bowed under her weight. She fell forward, her chest constricting with the same choking sensation she had experienced when falling from the washroom window outside the walls of Judge Zifron’s great house. Her hands tried to grasp at something, anything, but she kept falling through the empty air, the earth below rising, growing, rushing at her. Then the wind changed direction and came from below, decelerating her fall. She moved her hands rapidly up and down as if trying to fly—and it worked! She was flying, her arms magically transformed into the wide wings of a giant eagle, flapping effortlessly in an exhilarating ascent. The top-down view of Palm Homestead widened again as she gained height, circling in the air above the summit of Deborah’s Palm, and higher yet. Her father’s fields were ripe with wheat and barley, the trees on the terraced slopes were heavy with fruit, and the old olive trees, in random clusters, rustled with silvery leaves and fat olives. Her lungs filled with cool, fresh air, and her heart swelled with a wonderful sensation of weightlessness and freedom. But as her view expanded beyond Palm Homestead, a column of smoke appeared in the distance. A town was burning, and another, farther yet, and more coming into view as she soared higher. Plumes of smoke rose in every direction, all across the Samariah Hills. Hebrew towns, villages, and homesteads were burning down to ashes. Her nostrils filled with the bitterness of smoke. The wings flapped harder and harder as thick, black smoke engulfed her in suffocating darkness. Her heart beat louder and louder until the noise became unbearable and she couldn’t breathe anymore.
Deborah opened her eyes, sat up, and gulped air in quick, short breaths. The sound of flapping wings made her look up. An eagle flew above her, its wings wide against the ashen sky of dawn. She followed it with her eyes, then looked around for plumes of smoke and sights of destruction but saw only the fading trail of smoke from the fire she had started the night before, now reduced to embers.
Yet the dream had felt real—not only the falling and flying, but especially the joy of seeing Palm Homestead flourishing again, and the sorrow of the burning Hebrew towns.
Everyone in the camp was still asleep, except for Abu Zariz, who was feeding the animals from a sack of grains. When he finished, he gave them water in a flat ceramic bowl and spoke to them in a low voice. She couldn’t hear the words, but the soothing tone made her feel better.
The frightening dream receded from reality, although it continued to puzzle her. Why was she flying above Palm Homestead? Why had it been spared the fury of the enemies who had burned down all the other Hebrew settlements? And why did she have wings? Was she an angel, rising to be with Yahweh, or an eagle, observing the plight of land-bound people below? She smiled at the idea of life as an eagle, soaring to limitless heights, flying through the clear sky, boundless and free from the harsh land of cruel men. That’s what she would like to become—an eagle!
Abu Zariz saddled his horse and loaded the bundle containing the dead soldiers’ weapons. He sheathed his short sword, put on a plain hooded robe over his multicolored coat, and woke his son up. They spoke quietly for a few minutes, embraced, and kissed on both cheeks.
Deborah joined Zariz, and they watched his father walk the horse to the bottom of the hill, where he mounted it and rode away. Zariz took a figurine out of his pocket and held it to his chest until the horse and rider went out of sight. He kissed the figurine and murmured a short prayer.
Sensing her curiosity, he showed it to her. Carved in wood, the figurine looked like a child with a ball on his head, sitting on a miniature horse with a single horn. “It is Khonsu,” Zariz said, “the moon god, the protector of travelers. As Khonsu travels safely across the sky every night, so will my father travel safely on his journey.”
“Is he going to Emanuel?”
Zariz nodded. “To get my sister back.”
“Isn’t he afraid of Seesya?”
“One can always find reasons to be afraid in the world.” Zariz pointed at the patch of sand where she had slept. “Venomous snakes, for example.”
Beside the depression left by her body, there were wriggly lines as if someone had drawn in the sand with a finger.
“An adder,” he said. “They slither sideways sometimes. It’s funny.”
“Funny?” She felt the blood drain from her head, making her dizzy. “It could have bitten me!”
“A snake reserves its venom for things it can eat.” He smiled. “A sleeping person is too big to eat.”
“What if I rolled over it by mistake?”
Zariz made a striking motion with his hand.
The speed of his gesture reminded Deborah of his deadly archery skill. “Could you kill the snake with an arrow?”
“I could hit a snake in the open, yes, but this one is hiding.”
“We have to tell the women!” She stepped backward. “We have to move the camp to another place!”
“The snake is gone. Why should we fear it?” He used the tip of one sandal to turn over a rock. His leg was very dark, but his foot was light with dust from the road. He kicked over a few more rocks. Underneath one of them was a scorpion, which scurried away and hid under another rock. “If you run a
way from danger,” he said, “a worse danger will be waiting for you over there.”
His words made no sense to her. How could one avoid injury, or even death, without feeling fear and taking flight? But then she remembered how he had returned with the lost horse yesterday, taking his time to observe the standoff, and rather than run away at the sight of Seesya and his men with their sharp spears and overwhelming advantage, he had shot the six soldiers in quick succession without missing a single target.
“You’re brave,” she said. “I’m just a girl.”
He looked at her, surprised. “I’m with my family. You’re alone. That’s harder.”
“You don’t feel fear, but I’m afraid all the time.”
Zariz glanced at the women, making sure no one could hear. “I’m also afraid a lot, but I’m the oldest son. It’s my duty to help my father defend the family.”
“My fear is different,” Deborah said. “It chokes and paralyzes me.”
“I used to feel like that, but my father told me something that helped me become stronger.” Zariz shut his eyes and recited from memory. “Fear is good if it makes you careful and watchful, but it’s bad if it turns you into a coward who runs from hard duties and fails to pursue good opportunities.”
His words confused her. She had just run away from Emanuel and all her duties there. Did it make her a coward?
“I asked my father,” Zariz continued, “how I could tell the difference between situations in which duty requires staying and situations in which opportunity requires pursuing.”
“What did he say?”
“He told me a simple rule: ‘Listen to your fear, but don’t let it control you.’”
She realized that it would take her some time to understand the way the men of Moab contended with the world. “Does your father have a plan for saving your sister?”
“My father is a good trader. He will make a deal.”
“Today is our Sabbath. No trades are allowed on the Sabbath.”
“But talking is allowed, yes?”
“It is,” Deborah said.
Deborah Rising Page 11