“We want to go with Barak,” Fareed said.
Jael pulled away from Heber’s embrace to face her sons. Ghalib had joined them now, his dark eyes bright, anxious.
“Fareed is right,” Mahir said. “We have not finished what we started. It would be wrong to let Barak and his men continue without us.”
“We are not cowards.” This from Ghalib, who stood tall as though he had suddenly grown another hand span.
“Of course you are not cowards.” Heber’s words were measured as he looked from one son to another. He placed an arm around Jael’s shoulders. She was not used to such open affection from the man, but she sensed he needed to prove she still breathed—especially after what he had witnessed in her tent. “But Barak gave his orders to meet him in three days. We will take your mother and sisters with us. Do you not think your mother deserves to be protected now, after all she has done for us, for Israel?” His tone held a sharp edge, and Jael looked into his face, searching his expression.
She courted a soft smile. “Thank you, my lord. I am honored to go with you all to celebrate Israel’s victory on Mount Tabor.” She looked at her sons. “Perhaps instead of disobeying Barak’s orders, you could send messengers throughout the nearby cities to join in the celebration as well. Word will spread quickly now that Sisera is dead. All Israel should come and join in this victory.” She glanced at Heber for his approval, pleased with his nod and the slight lifting of the corners of his mouth.
“Can we send a message as far south as the Negev, Father?” Ghalib held his father’s gaze, his look pleading. “Could we not at least let Uncle Alim know the land has been rid of the threat to us all?”
“And get word to a certain cousin?” Jael asked, though she wondered if Talya had replaced Parisa in Ghalib’s thoughts.
Ghalib shrugged. “It would not hurt to try to make amends.”
“Ever the peacemaker, my son?” Heber’s voice held a hint of iron, and he stiffened beside her. “You know we cannot go back there.”
Ghalib did not waver. “I did not ask that, Father. I only wish . . .” He did not finish his thought but turned away instead. He walked off alone, leaving Mahir and Fareed still standing there.
“The boy does not understand,” Heber said, his gaze fixed on some point beyond the trees.
“He is a boy no longer, Father,” Fareed said. “Forgive me, but I think Ghalib is right.”
Jael looked in the direction her youngest son had gone. “Your father tried to make amends.” She looked at her two oldest sons. “Your uncle would have none of it.”
Heber gently tightened his grip on her arm. “Alim is the one who turned a peaceful confrontation into a war of words.” Hurt laced his tone. “I should not have fought his rule. Our leaving jeopardized your safety.”
“You did all you could, Father,” Mahir said. “We do not blame you.”
“Alim believes I am responsible for some vast crime against him. All because I favored the decent treatment of his slave.”
“Ghalib did not understand the implications,” Fareed said. “If we had been able to bring our cousin with us for him to wife, he would not be so anxious to return.”
“Ghalib longs for peace, with or without Parisa. Could we not at least send a servant with word of the victory?” Jael studied her men, her heart aching with the loss of family. “I understand we cannot hope to mend the estrangement, but could we not make one last attempt to show kindness before they hear it from another?”
Heber looked at her then at their sons, sorrow in his gaze, saying nothing. At last he nodded. “It would not hurt to send a servant. But do not expect a response. I will not have my family raise their hopes only to see my brother dash them once more.” He gave her a knowing look. “Do not even think of sending for Parisa. Not unless Alim changes his thinking.”
Jael smiled into his eyes, knowing the blow to his pride such words evoked. In time, he would change his thinking about Parisa if she had any hand in it—if Ghalib was still interested. But not today.
Today she needed rest. And time.
Sisera is dead.
And in time her family would be whole again, with or without a reconnection with Alim. And who knew but that the God of Israel might not even heal that as well?
Despite Heber’s failures to make amends in the past, there was still the hope for second chances. She had to believe that. Love for family just didn’t dissipate, despite anger’s force.
29
Barak stood at the gates of Hazor, now breached, its guards toppled from the walls, its women and children running from his men and screaming in the streets. The few Canaanite warriors left to guard the city lay in pools of blood.
Keshet approached Barak as he headed toward Jabin’s palace. “The king is dead, my lord, and the men are searching for the Hebrew captives as we speak.” Blood coated Keshet’s legs to his thighs and spattered his girded robe and tunic. He still clutched a sword in his right hand, clenched in a grip that turned his knuckles white.
“The city is secure then?” Barak looked from side to side but saw no sign of a threat.
“Yes, my lord. The king’s wives, along with Sisera’s mother, were in their living quarters behind their latticed walls. They did not expect us, nor apparently did King Jabin, who was feeding his overstuffed face when our men stormed the palace.” Keshet moved his shoulders as if to release the tension.
“So you found Sisera’s mother.” Barak ran a hand along the back of his neck, wondering just what type of mother such a man would have had.
“Yes, my lord. They found her staring out the window, asking why it was taking so long for Sisera to return to her. She uttered all manner of nonsense, then turned and cursed the guards before they killed her.” Keshet stopped when they reached the square.
Israelite guards surrounded the group of Hebrew slaves, some of whom were barely dressed, their tunics torn, feet bare, skin blistered from long hours in the sun. Every one of them needed to be washed clean in a river to remove the vermin from their hair, and given new clothing and sandals for their feet.
Barak’s stomach twisted as he saw Nessa in the look of each broken woman, saw the fear even now in their shaking limbs, in the timid way they wrapped their arms about themselves and stared at their feet.
“Gather the spoils from every house. Find fresh clothing for these people.” He raked a hand through his unkempt hair and drew a breath. Nessa. What he would not give to have her standing with him here. “Take them to the Jordan to wash. We will not take them to Mount Tabor dressed in rags.”
Keshet moved to do his bidding as Lappidoth drew up beside him and placed a hand on his arm. “God has set the captives free,” he said softly. “You have done well, my son.”
He nodded, grateful for the affirmation, but somehow feeling that for some of these he had been too late.
“There are no survivors, my lord,” Keshet said, joining them a short time later, followed by Lavi, Elior, and Shet. “The city is ours.”
Barak looked about at the carnage, the stench turning his stomach. “After the spoils have been gathered and our people are a safe distance away, burn the city.”
“I wonder how many of these people knew Yiskah, how many men?” Shet’s comment carried the hostility he’d shown since the day they left Deborah’s village.
“Don’t trouble yourself with such thoughts, my son,” Lappidoth said, resting a hand on Shet’s arm. “It only feeds your own hatred. The best thing you can do is forgive Yiskah and put the past behind you.”
Shet looked away, but Barak understood the anger simmering in his gaze. Still, Yiskah could not change what had been.
He moved to Shet’s side and drew him away as the rest of the men set out to do as he had commanded. “Your cousin is right,” he said as they walked toward the broken-down gate. “I know you are angry, as I was angry when Sisera killed my wife. At least your wife still lives.” Barak swallowed. It was the most he had ever said to a man he barely knew. He had ra
rely shared such thoughts even with Keshet.
“My wife betrayed me with Asherah. Was your wife unfaithful to our God?” Shet met his gaze, his dark eyes filled with familiar pain.
“No,” he said softly. “No. She was not.” Nessa’s beauty had gone deeper than physical features. She had carried the joy of Adonai and a faith far greater than his.
“Then you have no idea how such a thing feels.” Shet gave Barak an anguished look and stomped off.
Deborah looked down on the bones of the dead men, picked clean by God’s carrion birds. Another good rainfall would likely bury the bones beneath the muck. Relief filled her. Their enemies would no longer hold sway over the land, and her people would soon know peace.
Voices of men grew loud behind her as dawn broke through a sea of clouds. Deborah turned at the excitement and hurried to her tent as Talya emerged to see the commotion.
“They are back!” Talya came alongside Deborah.
“Yes.” Deborah motioned for Talya to follow, and the two of them walked among the men toward the other side of the mount. And there came her men, Barak at the head, leading Lappidoth, Lavi, Elior, Shet, Keshet, and more. Deborah caught Lappidoth’s eye and smiled wide at the sight of him. She rushed forward and he encased her in his arms.
“You are back.” She cupped his face, seeing the longing in his gaze.
“Yes.” He gripped her hands and leaned closer, smelling of sweat and earth. One glance told her he had taken the time to wash the blood and mud from himself before climbing the mount.
“I am glad.” Her heart skipped a beat at his possessive look. How long had it been since he had made her feel thus? Had she ever felt such emotion for him? Surely . . . But she was not as sure as she wished to be.
“I have missed you,” she whispered, resting her head on his shoulder. “I’m so glad you returned unharmed.”
He bent close then and kissed her, tentative at first, then as a man who knows what and who it is he loves. When at last their lips parted, he traced a line along her jaw, his smile gentle, like the man she had always known him to be. “We have much to discuss in days to come.”
Words failed her as she stared into his determined gaze. At last she nodded, wondering just what thoughts were going through his head.
“Come,” he said as they turned to the commotion around them.
She hugged each of her boys and glimpsed Talya standing near them, watching Barak move among his men. “Did he speak of her while you were away?” Deborah whispered in Lappidoth’s ear.
He frowned and rubbed a hand along his bearded jaw. “He did not speak of her to me, though Ghalib the Kenite spoke of her often.” He looked down at her. “She told you my words?”
Deborah nodded. “I do not think she expected such a reprimand from her father. But I am glad you gave it.”
He dipped his head in silent acknowledgment. “You did not need another person to give you cause to fear.” He took her hand in his as Barak approached.
“The victory is complete, Prophetess. Sisera is dead at the hand of Jael, wife of Heber the Kenite. Hazor is secure, and its king is dead.”
Deborah searched Barak’s gaze. “God has given a great victory.”
Barak nodded. “Yes, He has.” He glanced beyond her. “Has Heber arrived yet? I told the Kenites to meet us here in three days. They should arrive soon.”
“I have not yet seen them.” No doubt Ghalib would seek out Talya if he were here. “Jael is coming with them?”
Barak’s smile reached his eyes for the first time in more months or years than she could remember. “Yes. And she has quite the story to tell you.”
“I shall be pleased to hear it.” Some of the men had spoken of Jael and her tent peg, but Deborah wanted to hear the full tale from Jael’s own mouth.
Barak stood a moment more, then quietly excused himself.
“When everyone arrives, we will celebrate,” Deborah said to Lappidoth. “I have composed a victory song.” She searched his gaze, looking for, hoping for, affirmation of her efforts. She had done so little to help in this fight except to pray. And to keep Talya from running off after the men again.
“I cannot wait to hear it, my love.” Lappidoth took her elbow and led her toward her tent, away from the throng. “For now, let us gather food and wine and set out to feed these men.”
She looked at him, raised a curious brow.
“You don’t expect me to allow you and Talya, the only two women in the camp, to serve us all, do you?” He smiled, and Deborah thought it the most perfect smile she had ever seen.
When had she started to love him so? Had she missed something precious in him in years past when she wished he had been something he was not? Or had he been what she wanted all along but she could not see it?
She pondered the thoughts on the way to her tent, her heart light and full of joy.
Talya took a step away from her brothers as they grew immersed in back-slapping and laughter with the returning warriors. She glimpsed her parents heading toward her mother’s tent, knowing she should follow to help gather food for the men, but still she hesitated. Emotions of joy and apprehension mingled within her—joy over the victory, apprehension over her future. What was to become of her now?
She would wed, of course. Her parents would find a suitable husband somewhere among the clans represented here, for they would not seek one whose tribe had failed to join the fight. Likely they would want a man from Ephraim or Zebulun or perhaps Naphtali. She searched the sea of men milling about for some sign of Barak. She spotted him speaking to his friend Keshet, surrounded by men from his tribe. He would have no reason to seek her out here. Perhaps he never would.
She shouldn’t care. But her mind whirled with confusion, her heart twisting this way and that. She moved away from the gathered men and walked toward the edge of the mountain, the place her mother had often stood these past few days when she looked over the valley to gauge the pace of the war. A shadow passed near and she startled, whirling about, hand on her bow.
“There is no need to fear your cousin, Talya.” Shet appeared from behind a tree and stood near her, his gaze fixed on the carnage below. “So the war is over.” His words did not sound nearly as jubilant as the rest of the men.
“Yes,” Talya said, giving him a sidelong glance. “And yet you do not seem glad of it.”
He looked at her, his dark eyes carrying that same pain she had seen in him since the day they discovered Yiskah’s betrayal. How would she feel if a husband played the adulterer, as Yiskah had essentially done with her false gods?
“I fear I understand something I do not wish to,” he said, raking a hand through unkempt hair.
“And that is?” She knew him well enough to know that he often needed prompting to reveal his thoughts.
His chest lifted and fell in a deep sigh. “Why have we suffered all these years under Sisera and Jabin?” He held her gaze, waiting.
“Ima would say it is because Israel had turned away from the true worship of Adonai Elohim. We became a nation that allowed other gods into our camps, our villages, our hearts.” Her mother had been proclaiming a need to repent for many years, though few had listened to her words, and even those who came to her for judgment did not always leave their divided ways.
“And so Adonai sold us into Jabin’s hands to test our hearts, to draw us back to Him alone.” Shet’s words echoed her mother’s.
“Until we cried out to Him for relief.”
“And yet we cried out for twenty years.” Shet’s voice held a mix of anger and frustration.
“Perhaps only some of us were ready for redemption,” Talya said, suddenly uncertain. Why had it taken so long for Adonai to send relief? The answers did not seem as simple as she once thought.
“How do you think God feels when we betray Him?” Shet’s words caught her off guard.
She faced him. “I have never given thought to God’s feelings.” She could not deny it. How did one equate human feelings with the
Almighty? Did God feel as men and women did?
“Well, I have given it much thought. And if we are made to be like Him, if we are His image bearers, then it stands to reason we hurt Him by our unfaithfulness with other gods. Just as Yiskah hurt me when she went off to Canaan to seek refuge rather than return to me and repent.” He looked away, the lines of his face drawn as though he had aged as he stood talking with her.
“She felt betrayed when you did not immediately accept her back. You sent her outside the camp for seven days.” Talya did not want to defend the woman, and yet she wanted to see Shet free of his grief.
“Did not God send Miriam outside the camp for her harsh words against Moses? Does not a husband have a right to make sure his wife still wants him? Still worships as he does?” He nearly choked on the words, and his voice dropped in pitch. “Still loves him?” He covered his face with both hands and looked away, and Talya knew she was witness to something he could not share with anyone else. But they had grown up together, been friends since childhood.
She touched his shoulder. He shook himself as though ashamed of his display of rare emotion. “Forgive me,” he said. “It is not your concern.”
“But it is my concern,” Talya said, stepping in front of him to force him to look at her once more. “Yiskah has come under my father’s care at the direction of my mother. She works in our home as a servant, longing for you to reclaim her.” She took his hand in hers. “Shet, I would not say this to you if I had not seen it, but I think Yiskah has changed. I do not think she is the woman who betrayed you, yet she has no words left to make you see it. She is ashamed of what she did and was humbled by the Canaanites. They used her and threw her away. Those she sought refuge with became her enslavers.”
The glint of anger in his eyes softened the slightest bit, and Talya squeezed his fingers then released them. “When Israel cried out for mercy, our God delivered us from Sisera, from Jabin. Does that not show us that our God is a God of forgiveness? He wanted to restore us. He wants you to restore your wife and take her to yourself once more.” She leaned forward and planted a kiss on his cheek. “Think on what I have said, cousin. To harbor your anger will only destroy you.”
The Prophetess - Deborah's Story Page 24