“We had planned to come a few weeks ago, but we’ve been delayed by Sisera’s raids on our people,” Barak added.
Barak’s question clearly posed a dilemma for Heber, since he would need additional supplies of ore to meet the demands of both Canaan and Israel. At last Heber sat on one of the large stones and motioned for them to do the same. He called Jael to bring the men water and food, and she hurried to gather both. When she returned, she released a frustrated breath. They had clearly spoken while she had left to do Heber’s bidding.
“So Sisera brings you copper ore and tin, and you make them into swords and spears and shields for him?” Barak’s tone held the slightest hint of anger, but his smooth features did not reveal what was surely in his heart. How could he not be angry with the man who was helping their enemy? Yet he accepted Jael’s food with a grateful smile and did not say the cutting words she expected.
“I know it sounds harsh to you,” Heber said as they ate. “But I do so to protect my family. If I had realized Sisera would act as he did . . .” He paused, swallowed hard, and Jael knew he shared the memory of helplessness they had felt when Sisera nearly defiled Daniyah right in their presence. Had the man no shame? “I would never have left the Negev.”
“Do you plan to move back?” Barak sipped from the clay water jar.
“I have reasons that I cannot. But my daughter is not safe here.” Heber did not meet Barak’s gaze and seemed to find the flatbread and cheese most interesting.
“Forgive me, my lord, but none of your women are safe with Sisera.” Barak wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “If I supply you with copper ore and tin, will you do for us as you are doing for Sisera? I cannot pay you. We have little gold or silver or even food to offer. But I can find a way to supply you with the materials you need if you will consent to make us daggers and swords.” Barak touched the flatbread but did not eat, waiting for Heber’s reply.
Jael studied her husband, her emotions so conflicted. She understood him. He thought he had no choice with Sisera. He had to protect them until they could find a way to flee. But why so hesitant to help Israel? Surely he could get the copper and tin as easily as this man could—a man who knew nothing of the trade.
“You can find the tin and copper ore near Succoth, across the Jordan. You can also find them near Gerar and farther south near Punon and the Arabah. But I warn you, Sisera frequents these same locations, along with plundering the trade caravans that bring the ores from the south. If you can find a caravan brave enough and careful enough to withstand Sisera’s bands of outlaws, you will find what you need.” Heber extended a piece of flatbread to Barak, a sign of acceptance.
Barak took it and ate. His smile made Jael realize that beneath his gruff exterior was a rather young and handsome man. Perhaps someone for Daniyah—to keep her safe? She would tuck the idea in her mind for now.
The men left soon, claiming the need to hurry. Sisera’s men had grown bolder, kidnapping the virgin daughters of their Israelite leaders, they’d said, and in some cases killing whole towns of men.
Jael’s heart skipped several beats at the news. Daniyah was not safe here. Why oh why had she ever thought it a good idea to move them away from their family?
Barak led his men south toward a trade center not far from Shechem, hoping to avoid crossing the Jordan at its high point near Succoth. He didn’t like the odds of meeting Sisera on the roads during the day, so they kept to the forests and hills of Ephraim heading toward the Philistine territory of Gerar. Surely they would find the spot where Heber had directed them. Surely the ore they sought could be found.
The thought troubled him as it did every waking moment since his meeting with Heber, since the caravans they’d stopped had already been stripped of ore by Sisera. What made him think the Philistines would offer their ore to help their enemies? If they had long memories, they would recall Shamgar, son of Anath, helping Israel to the Philistines’ detriment. The idea that they should sell ore to help Israel was the hope of a desperate man.
But he had no choice.
Dusk cast long shadows over the forested path, yet he hurried onward, trying to out walk the thoughts that were taking him to places he did not wish to go. A whistle, the familiar call of Keshet, caused him to make an abrupt stop and turn. Keshet strode closer and motioned him to a clearing not far from the main road to Bethel.
“You do realize that your pace would match the flight of a fleeing gazelle, my friend.” Keshet touched Barak’s shoulder, coaxing him to still. “The men are exhausted.” He waved a hand heavenward where dark had descended. “We need rest.”
Barak glanced at the purpling sky, then steadied a look at his men. They stood huddled some distance behind him. How had he not noticed the loss of their company, the lack of hearing their banter or murmurs?
“You are right, of course.” He clapped Keshet on the back and flicked his gaze over the area. Keshet made the sound of a hoot owl, and some of the men bent low to strike a fire in a hearth they had apparently already built. “I see you decided to stop with or without me.” He leveled Keshet with a look and raised a curious brow.
Keshet chuckled. “Just keeping the men happy, Captain.”
Barak sobered despite his friend’s attempt at humor. They had no assurance of finding the ore they sought. He couldn’t even predict that his men would remain loyal and continue to fight Canaan. They had their slings and bows, but no swords, no chariots, no shields, nothing to sustain them in face-to-face combat. And they were so few in number. Sisera’s men were like the grains of sand along the shore.
A defeated sigh he could not contain filled his chest. He ran a hand over the back of his neck. He needed to dip in the river. He needed a warm mat and his wife at his side. But life didn’t always give a man what he wanted.
He looked at Keshet a moment, then nodded. “A wise choice.” He moved toward the trees. “I need a few moments alone. Wait with the men.”
“Don’t get lost in there.” Keshet said the words in jest, but Barak knew he meant them.
“I’ll be careful.” He walked off without a backward glance.
8
Talya shivered as her second night alone in the woods descended. She had walked on and on but after a while was certain she had seen the same trees, the same bushes, even the same bugs. Orel would find that amusing, and right now the thought of seeing her nephew sent a deep ache to her heart. Oh Adonai, please let them find me. Or show me the way out.
Another involuntary shiver worked through her. She didn’t want to wander around here until she died of starvation or thirst. Or Sisera found her.
Her foot accidentally connected too hard with a stone and sent it flying. It landed with a thud. At least it hadn’t hit a jackal or some other wild animal. She hugged her arms about her, more careful with her footfalls this time.
Light from the sky had turned from blue to gray long ago, but she could not will herself to sit on the damp ground and tremble through another night. She reached a thick oak and braced her hands against the rough bark, then tucked her head to her knees, praying again.
“I should never have left the village,” she said aloud, hoping her voice would keep the creatures at bay. “I’m sorry, Adonai. Is this punishment for how I treat my mother? Wasn’t it good that I broke that idol? Is getting lost like this really helping me?”
Tears threatened. She was hungry, tired, and terribly thirsty. Her prayers had gone from bargaining to begging to accusing to pleading again. She sank to her knees. What more did she have to say that would cause the Almighty to change His mind and rescue her? It was too late for any man to find her in the dark. And though her mother might see visions and dreams, she never did. There would be no angel like her ancestors had met to guide her way.
Weariness overtook her, and she wasn’t sure she still possessed the ability to weep. She must have slept, for when she startled awake, the forest had come to life with its chatter of insects and the distant howl of jackals.
The cru
nch of leaves and twigs heightened every one of her senses, and she gripped the oak’s bark, slowly rising to stand. Was it an animal? Or a man? Her heart beat fast at the sudden brush of fear filling her. The crunches stopped and started. She tilted her head. Were those whispers?
She strained to hear and caught the faint sound of men’s voices in accents so thick that she found it hard to understand them. “Told you not to come this way. How we going to find our way out now?”
“Shh. Stop your shouting, you fool. That Israelite inhabits these places. You don’t want him to find us, do you?”
The whispers ceased, and Talya fought to draw breath. The thick accent was Canaanite, and she clearly understood one word—Israelite. Had they seen her? What Israelite?
She stood still, praying the darkness would hide her from view, but the footsteps drew closer. She felt for the sling at her side. Little use it would be in the middle of so many trees. The stone could bounce off one and come back to injure her.
But as a man stepped into the clearing, another on his heels, she decided that she risked either a stone’s misguidance or much worse at their hands. She slowly reached into the pouch and felt for the smoothest stone, slipped it into the sling, and began the rhythmic practiced motion. Round and round she twirled. The men stopped. One looked straight into her eyes. Without thinking, she let the stone fly toward the first man.
“Hey! What—?” The other man staggered and took several moments to glance at his fallen friend, while Talya fit another stone into her sling and began twirling. The man jumped up and charged toward her.
She let the stone fly and screamed as he pounced on her. Her head slammed into the tree trunk, and the man’s hand came down on her arm, dislodging the sling from her grasp. “What have we got here?” She did not miss the sneer in his tone, nor the leer in his eyes.
His face came close, his pungent breath foul to her senses. He covered her mouth with one strong hand while she kicked and fought him with both arms and legs. He uttered a guttural word, probably some curse. Her jaw worked, and when he moved his hand the slightest, she bit down hard on his fingers.
He cried out and she screamed long and loud. His palm connected with her mouth, stunning her. “Let me go!” She shouted and kicked, but his grip was strong. Her second stone had obviously missed its mark, and she had no ability to reach the sling again. She felt around for a rock, a stick, something.
He grabbed both of her hands and held them down. His look carried such menace, such hate, it took her breath.
“Help me, please!” He had no way to tie her up, and she realized her best defense was to continue to fight him until one of them lost their grip or grew too tired to keep going. She would die here. She would die before she would let them take her to Sisera.
She kicked again, this time using her knees to shove him from her, as her brothers had taught her. He writhed in pain, his grip loosening on her arms. She scrambled free and ran. Branches whipped her face, and she stumbled among the brush, but she pushed up from the ground and did not look back.
His heavy footfalls sounded behind her, and she was certain he was following. Her heart kicked over and pounded like a thousand galloping horses in her chest. She dragged breaths as she ran. Please, Adonai, show me the way out. But the darkness shrouded all glimpses of light, and the trees grew thicker. Despair threatened as she weakened. Lack of food and water for the past two days had stolen the strength she once prided herself in. She could not keep this pace.
She slowed the slightest bit, straining to hear the man, glancing behind her, but the darkness obscured her vision. Had he stayed with his fallen comrade? Had he lightened his steps to creep up on her in silence?
She looked through suddenly blurred vision toward a large oak standing tall ahead of her. Perhaps she could hide behind it and wait to see if he truly followed. She listened a moment, carefully planting her feet the next. Forest sounds met her ear, and her eyes adjusted to this new location, catching glimpses of light. Was that a fire in the distance?
But a fire meant more men. Probably the group those men had parted from. Sisera’s hounds. She reached the oak and looked from left to right, even above her to the branches that stirred only slightly in the night breezes. They were too high to climb or she would have found a way to scale the trunk and reach them. Instead, she sank to the earth, her heart still pumping too fast, her breathing staggered. Calm down. She repeated the words to herself over and over again even as she sought to hear, every nerve on edge. Perhaps she had escaped him.
Had she escaped him? The thought slowly moved through her, as the only sounds she heard were normal forest insects and the flight of bats’ wings.
She drew a jagged breath, then another. Just a few moments to rest. Then she would follow the light to the campfire just to see. Perhaps she could steal a water skin while they were sleeping. In the meantime, she told herself, daring to believe it, she would be safe here for a time. If she wasn’t, let them kill her. Just please, God, don’t let them enslave her.
Barak moved into the familiar trees. They had taken this route to visit the prophetess so often he could find the way in his sleep. But that didn’t make his guard lessen. He cocked his head, listening for any strange sound or cry of an animal that could prove trouble. Ever since Nessa’s loss, his senses stayed taut as a bowstring. The tension wasn’t good for him, as Keshet so often pointed out, but he dare not risk the chance that Sisera might figure out his moves, find his haunts in the forests and caves. Yet even the forests were suspect. He wished he could have convinced his men to keep going until they were within sight of the prophetess’s hidden village.
He ran a hand over his beard, then felt the fine leather of the sling at his side. Moving stealthily, he took the narrow path where the largest oak trees stood sentinel, as if they could bar anyone who dared enter from coming too close.
His fingers touched the bark of one in a reassuring gesture, but he shook his head, questioning his own sanity to think of the oak as a welcome friend. On silent feet, he continued on, avoiding the sides of the path where the twigs would crunch and announce his presence to any intruder. He stopped again, listening for the sound of voices.
But the voices were only his men making too much noise for their own good. A sigh escaped, though he muffled the sound, holding even his breath in check. He moved farther into the trees, keeping his bearings on previous markings he’d set in his mind.
He came at last to a small clearing where another large oak stood tall and proud. His private place, one where Keshet could find him but no one came to trouble him. He could pray more easily here, though at the moment he could not seem to find words to form a decent prayer to the Almighty One. What more could he say that hadn’t already been said? They needed deliverance. They needed Sisera and Jabin dead, but Barak had found Sisera a formidable foe, one who continually eluded his grasp. And no one stood a chance of infiltrating the walls of Hazor to the palace of King Jabin. If God intended to deliver them, then they needed more than prayer to accomplish the task.
But what? He could not possibly go throughout every home, question every man and woman in Israel to see whether they were true worshipers of Yahweh.
He neared the tree’s giant trunk and stepped over several protruding roots to the spot he had smoothed of such intrusions, about to kneel in the dirt, but his foot found unstable ground. He caught his balance, startled at the shriek that met his ears. The soft uneven ground moved. And stood. A moment passed. He stared, pulse kicking up a pace.
“What? Who are you?” By the outline of her frame, she was obviously a young woman, but what on earth was she doing out here alone—in his forest?
“Who’s there?” She responded with his very question.
“I believe I asked you first.” He watched her step away from him, and in that moment, with the light from the moon that peeked through the tree line, he saw the whites of her wide eyes. “There now. You don’t need to fear me. I won’t hurt you.”
; She stepped back again, feeling around the edge of the tree, then turned and broke into a run.
“What—?” He sprinted after her and caught her in several lengthy strides. She was quick, he’d give her that. And more frightened than a wild doe.
“Let me go!” She writhed and kicked his shin, nearly breaking his hold, but in one swift movement he secured both arms behind her back and forced her against his chest.
“Calm down!” he commanded, his voice low. “If you scream again, you will bring Sisera’s army down on us. Is that what you want?”
She stilled for the briefest moment, but then struggled to free herself once more. “How do I know you are not one of them?” she whispered. “Sisera’s men, that is. How do I know you will not take me to him?” She stomped on his foot and he uttered a bitter curse. Fool woman!
“Stop your kicking, you little wildcat. I am Barak, son of Abinoam, of Naphtali. Tell me at once who you are before I toss you over my shoulder and carry you to the prophetess. Let her decide what to do with you!” His breath grew heavy with the strain of keeping her arms from flailing.
She stilled once more and drew in a startled breath. He waited for her to respond or to try kicking him again, but she did not move. At last she turned her head, trying to see him, which was impossible to do with her back pressed against his chest.
“I am the daughter of the prophetess. It is I, Talya.” Her voice choked, and he could not tell if she was going to laugh or weep.
“Talya? What are you doing out here?” He longed in that moment to turn her to face him, but he wasn’t entirely sure he trusted her. “If I let you go, are you going to run or kick me again?” His shin still ached, and his foot throbbed from the places where hers had landed.
She shook her head. “No. I promise. I thought you were that man again, coming to take me to Sisera.”
He dropped his hold on her and this time did turn her to face him, his hands gently gripping her shoulders. “What man?” He searched her face, seeing the hint of terror still visible in her dark eyes. “Someone attacked you?” He dared a glance at her clothing, but nothing appeared unduly torn.
The Prophetess - Deborah's Story Page 8