24

Jael felt Daniyah move imperceptibly closer in the dark tent while thunder clapped its mighty hands overhead. Nadia and Raja had also taken to sleeping with Jael, but no one slept this night, with the storm flashing bright behind the dark goat-hair coverings and the voice of God booming with the light.

“How long will it last?” Daniyah’s whine reminded Jael of the girl’s childhood, and the times when her daughter used to wiggle beneath Jael’s wool blanket during a storm.

“As long as it does,” Nadia said, placing a hand on Daniyah’s arm. “There is no sense in fearing something we can’t control.”

“But what about what we can control?” Raja stroked her belly in a protective gesture and spoke softly, though even with the rain her words were heard. “What if Sisera returns while our men are away? If he comes with a troop, it would not take long for them to search the area and find the cave.” She shivered, though the air was hot and sticky.

Jael looked from one woman to the next, pulling Daniyah closer into her embrace. “Raja is right,” she said, her mind whirling with the thoughts she’d had since Heber took her sons to war. “While we can fight back, we are not trained to attack as warriors. Heber left me this”—she lifted the dagger and held it out—“but I cannot fling it at a man and hope to hit him. I have practiced with the trees, and the blade bounces to the ground every time.” She shrugged one shoulder. “I think we need another plan.”

“What plan?” Raja rubbed her middle again, and Jael wondered how well the girl could travel in her condition.

“We should have left weeks ago if we thought to return to my father’s tribe in the Negev,” Nadia added.

She was right, but Jael refused to admit it. “If we keep to the byways and avoid the main roads, we could arrive there in a week or so. We could leave after the rains stop.”

“Would the guards go with us?” Daniyah poked her head up from beneath her mother’s arm.

Jael gazed down at her daughter, glanced at each beloved daughter-in-law, and looked toward the tent’s door. The rains still pummeled the ground outside the flaps, and before long she feared the roads would be flooded.

“We couldn’t very well leave without telling them. They would notice we were gone and come looking for us.” She looked around the tent. They could travel light. The guards would allow them safe passage.

“Will Uncle Alim welcome us in?” Raja asked.

“He is family,” Jael said firmly. “He will do right by family when we are in such need no matter what trouble there was between us.” Though the memory of Alim’s anger brought with it a palpable sense of doubt. If Alim would choose to disavow his brother over an enemy slave, what proof did she have that he would protect her girls from such enemies now?

“Why has your sister no husband?” Ghalib’s question to Lavi caught Barak’s ear as he stood near Mount Tabor’s ridge. He didn’t mean to listen where the subject did not concern him, but just the mention of Talya made him pause.

“Talya? She is young yet.” Lavi brushed Ghalib’s question aside as though waving at a fly. “My parents will seek a match soon, I am sure.”

Ghalib said nothing, and it took all of Barak’s strength not to turn around and watch his expression. He looked to the left, scanning the valley below, but perked up when at last Ghalib spoke again. “Would your father entertain your sister’s marriage to a foreigner? We are not of Israel, but we are related in a sense through your ancestor Moses.”

Barak felt a swift kick to his gut, the question more than jarring him.

“I do not know the mind of my mother and father, Ghalib. But I do think they hope she would wed someone from our tribe. It is the way we do things in Israel.” Lavi’s words only partly appeased Barak. He was not of Deborah’s tribe, but neither were Lappidoth and Deborah of the same tribe—Lappidoth coming from Zebulun and Deborah from Ephraim. Barak himself was from Naphtali. And yet Deborah had offered a match had he been ready to accept one.

He turned slowly in an arc, searching the area below. The rains had created a valley of slick mud, and though the chariots were not yet in battle array or heading closer to the mountain’s base, the men were struggling to slosh through the black tar-like muck. Fighting them and avoiding the valley floor would be tricky. Hand-to-hand combat would be impossible.

Perhaps Talya with her bow could be of use to them after all. But he squelched the thought as he turned toward Lavi and Ghalib and casually walked closer. “Is all in readiness?” He looked at Lavi, his gaze glancing off Ghalib’s. Good. The man did not suspect his purposeful listening.

“All is ready, my lord,” Lavi said. “My mother said to meet her here.”

Barak nodded, resisting the urge to run a hand over the back of his neck. He looked out over the camp instead. Men stood in groups broken by the divisions Barak had given them three days before. He squinted against the bright rays of dawn’s glow, searching. No sign of Talya . . . There. She emerged from the tent with Deborah, and the two moved toward him with determined strides.

Deborah reached him first, as Talya held back. He glanced at her, but she would not meet his gaze. The girl belonged in her mother’s tent, not here.

Deborah seemed oblivious to Barak’s frustration. She walked to the edge of the summit, to an outcropping of rock that hid her from the men below. Barak walked toward her, holding back a moment while Deborah studied what lay before them. Time stilled, and he wondered if she was seeing more than Sisera’s men. She tilted her head as though listening but said nothing. At last she turned to face him, fire in her dark eyes.

“Go!” she commanded. “This is the day the Lord has given Sisera into your hands. Has not the Lord gone ahead of you?” She straightened her back, the wind whipping the scarf from her face.

Into his hands? Had the Lord changed His mind? Would Sisera be given into his hands after all? Bolstered by the thought, Barak gripped the sword at his waist. The belt held secure. He reached instead for his bow and pulled an arrow from its quiver. He turned to the men behind him and shouted, “For the Lord and for Israel! To victory!”

“For the Lord and for Israel!” Ten thousand men repeated the words down through the ranks until the mountain shook with the sound.

Talya watched Barak lead the charge while her mother stood to the side. This was a man’s fight, she had said again that morning. There had been no more discussion. Talya was not to descend into the valley. She was not to bring her bow or nock an arrow aimed at a Canaanite’s heart.

She caught the look on Ghalib’s face as he raced after Lavi. He wanted to speak to her, wanted her to promise him that she would wait for his return. She knew it without him uttering a word. She prayed for his safety, but she was glad he had not voiced his thoughts. She did not want him to beg a promise from her that she was not prepared to give.

A sigh escaped as each troop rushed past first her, then her mother. She slowly moved backward, easing her way toward her mother’s tent, not wishing to distract them as Barak had so insisted she was capable of doing. She slipped into the dark tent and rummaged through her sack. She quickly placed the dark veil over her head, twined the ends into a rope, and wound them around her head like a turban. Satisfied, she pulled her robe and tunic between her legs and secured them into her belt. She glanced down at her chest, readjusting the robe to completely conceal her breasts. If a Canaanite caught her and discovered her secret . . . She shuddered. She dare not risk it.

Her heart thumped hard as she double-checked the pouch with the stones and secured the sling to her wrist. Her quiver was slung over one shoulder and the bow over the other. She must sneak down another way, not past her mother, or she would be caught. But not so far as to be completely away from the battle.

Her breath quickened as she peered out of the tent. Her mother still stood near the edge of the ridge watching the men, no doubt praying for their success. Guilt filled her at that thought. Had she prayed over what she was about to do, she probably would not be doing it. She would obey her mother and Barak instead and sit quietly in the tent spinning wool while the world fought the fiercest war of her lifetime all around her.

Pray God forgive and protect her, for she could not sit idle. Not when she had trained for this. Not when she knew she could shoot the bow as well as any man and better than most. And not when she despised Sisera for all the horror he had caused Israel with such fierce hatred that it took her breath. She could not live with herself if she let the day go without acting.

She went around the back of the tent out of sight of her mother, bent to the earth, and rubbed her legs with mud left from the rains the night before, then edged her way toward the side of the mountain where her mother’s back was turned. Shouts of angry men met her ear, but she did not turn to look until she had dipped below her mother’s line of vision. At last she faced the south side of the fray, saw the men slipping in the muck, heard the war cries, and smelled the heavy metal scent of blood the closer she drew.

Chariot wheels stuck fast, and horses whinnied and struggled in a pathetic vain attempt to free themselves. Talya’s heart raced to the beat of the distant war drum as men abandoned their chariots in frustration.

She crouched low, seeking her bearings. Barak’s men were within an arrow’s shot, and some had made their way closer to the valley floor. Canaanites shouted words she could not understand. She darted a look here and there, using the scrub as cover.

She paused for breath. Peeked her head around a tall pine. Braver now, she moved stealthily down the mountainside, keeping Israel in front of her and Canaan beneath. She could do this.

Her breath grew even, more confident now. Even her mother would be proud of her once she proved herself, once she took down a few Canaanite men.

An arrow whizzed past her head.

She hit the ground on hands and knees and looked quickly in every direction. Her heart thumped hard. She blinked, catching the scent of smoke. The Israelite men were shooting flaming arrows at the captive chariots.

She slowly rose, pulled an arrow from her quiver, and caught sight of Ghalib looking in her direction. Disbelief and . . . was that anger? . . . filled his gaze. He turned to his companion—Lavi, whose sudden recognition made her pause.

“Talya!”

Barak turned at Lavi’s shout. Her disguise had not fooled them.

She turned away. She had little time to prove herself now. The arrow nocked, she shot at a fleeing Canaanite. He fell, lifeless.

She pulled another arrow, repeated the same, then another, until her arrows were spent. She dared a look toward Lavi but saw no sign of him. Good. Padding quietly toward the fallen men, she yanked the arrows she could retrieve and headed closer to the lines where the men were flailing in the mud. Where was Sisera?

Barak appeared at her shoulder. He touched her arm but said nothing, simply nodded toward a Canaanite, then hurried off in another direction. She shot her arrow and hit the mark, only slightly relieved at Barak’s apparent acceptance.