25

The leftover raindrops encased Jael’s sandals like dew the following morning, and sunlight caused a mist to rise from the forest floor. The earth smelled sweet, refreshed, and suddenly the fears of the night before faded. She looked around at the trees, the tents, the quiet of dawn, knowing her girls would soon rise to begin preparations for their trek to the Negev.

But as Jael neared the base of the berm, she paused. Water covered the grasses ankle deep and rolled from the road over the small hill. To step further would soak her sandals and ruin the leather, or at least make the walk uncomfortable. She moved away and sought another path to the road, but everywhere she looked she found that the rains had hemmed them in.

She returned to her tent just as Daniyah and Nadia emerged. “Raja is just waking,” Nadia said, jug in hand. “Daniyah and I thought we would let her rest while we filled the jugs from the barrels of rain.”

Jael nodded and glanced toward Raja’s tent, where the barrels stood. “The ground is soggy, so take care that you don’t slip.”

The girls walked off and Jael ducked into her tent. Raja was sitting on her mat combing her hair. “You are up.”

Raja stifled a yawn. “I could have kept sleeping. The rain was soothing.”

“And everything is wet and mucky now that it has ended. I fear we will not be able to travel like this.” She knelt at Raja’s side. “It could be several days before the waters settle upon the earth. The downpour last night will have made the roads, especially the byways, nearly impassable. We dare not risk it.”

“But what if Sisera . . .” Raja’s words broke off, but Jael did not miss the gleam of fear in her gaze. “The cave will be flooded. We will have no place to go.”

“We will hide you girls in Heber’s tent. If Sisera comes to call, I will draw him out, away from you.” The words surprised her. She only wished bravery accompanied the bold statement. For if Raja’s gaze could see into Jael’s heart, she would see that Jael’s fear matched her own. Possibly more so.

Jael wanted nothing more than to run away, far from Sisera’s clutches, far from anything to do with the people of Canaan. But the God of rain had hemmed them in just as effectively as if a man had barred their camp with ropes and briars. They were stuck. With only a few guards and four women to defend themselves.

Deborah watched the carnage below her with a heavy heart. Blood mixed with the thick tar-like mud of the valley, and the cries of Canaanite men mingled with the shouts of pursuing Israelite warriors. She drew in a weighted breath. She had prayed for this day. Longed to see Sisera’s hold on her people destroyed. And yet . . . so much suffering had led to this.

Why, Adonai? Why had it taken twenty years for God to hear their prayers? But she already knew the answer. They had left Adonai and true worship of Him for the gods of these nations they now battled to overcome. This was not a war of peoples but of the rights of gods to rule. Whose god held the power of life and death? Whose god could destroy both soul and body in Hades? Asherah and Baal? Or Adonai Elohim, the Lord God Almighty?

Deborah closed her eyes, imagining Sisera’s end, but she could see no clear picture as to how that would take place. She looked out over the warriors once more and walked the length of the ridge, surveying the war from every angle. Why had not more men come to help Barak? Reuben, Dan, and Asher had received the summons the same as Ephraim, Zebulun, and Issachar, and yet no sign of their men had appeared in the camp. They were too busy pondering, trying to decide what to do while they sat lazily and watched their sheep or their ships.

Frustration tightened her jaw. God would deal with the faithless who remained in Israel. She sent a prayer of thanks heavenward for those who had come at all. For after the terror Sisera had inflicted upon the families, upon the towns and villages of northern Israel, she had actually been surprised that any men had come at Barak’s summons.

She glanced again at the men below, catching sight of Barak leading the charge westward toward Harosheth-hagoyim, Sisera’s headquarters, with ten thousand men behind. Was Lappidoth still in the group? Her heart quickened. He had gone off to war to please her, and here she stood thinking of everything and everyone but him.

I love you, Deborah. How often had he said such words? How often had she simply nodded, unable to say them in return? She had appreciated him, been grateful for the sons and daughter he had given her, the protection he had offered when her father and brothers were slain. Why could she not share the love he craved?

The thought beat deep within her breast as she turned to walk back to her tent. At least Talya had not gone with them. Talya was safe in the tent, unless somehow she had convinced her father, behind her mother’s and Barak’s back, to allow her to come along.

She shook her head at the thought. Lappidoth would not go against both of them, even for Talya. Not if he truly loved Deborah. Of course not.

But doubt lingered.

Talya fitted a stone into her sling and ducked behind an overturned chariot. Barak had disappeared into the fray, and his men had run after him in pursuit of the fleeing Canaanites. She squinted, shading her eyes against the sun’s angled glare, catching sight of her father several paces from her. His arm moved with practiced rhythm, and in the next moment she watched the stone fly and hit its mark. Another Canaanite down.

Talya silently cheered, her respect for her father’s ability heightened. How had he kept such skill secret from her? Did her mother know he possessed such courage, such ability? She rose to her full height, seeking the best place to go next, when out of the corner of her eye she saw her father once more, this time with the enemy close on his heels.

“Father!” She shouted his name, but he did not hear her. “Father!” Her heart hammered as she ran. If she could get within shooting range, she could take out his pursuer with one arrow.

“Father!” Lavi’s voice called to him this time, and at much closer range. Talya stopped, watching in horror as the Canaanite brandished his spear and flung it toward her father.

“No!” Talya screamed as her father dropped to his knees.

Deborah lifted the tent flap and peered into the darkened interior. The empty dark interior. No sign of Talya. But there were definite signs that she had been here. Heart pounding now, Deborah walked to the girl’s mat and riffled through the leather satchel she had brought with a few personal items, some of which had obviously been disturbed. What had the girl done?

But Deborah knew. If her father had stood up to her more often . . . Had he allowed this? Anger flared, and her temples began their telltale throb.

Emotion rose. I love you, Deborah. If he loved her, he would have forced Talya to stay home. He would never have given in to her childish whims. He would have taught his sons to teach their sister to act like a woman should.

Deborah staggered, seeking her footing. Like you do? She breathed in and out. That wasn’t the same. Her life and her daughter’s could not be compared in that way. She didn’t ask to see visions, to judge Israel, to lead men to war. But how do you know that Talya is not also called in a different way?

Talya had obviously entered the battle. But she had done it under the cloak of secrecy. Perhaps she would not be so foolish as to engage the horde of Canaanite warriors. Perhaps she would shoot at them with her bow from a distance. Hidden.

But Deborah’s heart did not beat with that certainty.

Talya stared, her feet unwilling to obey her commands to move, to run to help her father. The least she could do was to shoot the Canaanite. Kill the beast for what he had done. The thought spurred her, and she at last forced her legs to carry her closer.

But before she could reach him, another Canaanite appeared, then another, nearly surrounding her father, Lavi . . . and was that Ghalib?

She nocked an arrow even as she ran and sent it flying, taking down one Canaanite. Still her father did not rise, had in fact rolled to the side as though truly dead. Lavi flung a stone, hitting another of the enemy in the forehead, piercing through the leather helmet. Ghalib shot at another, one closest to her father.

The immediate threat having passed, Talya rushed to her father’s side, met by Lavi, who raised a curious brow at sight of her but said nothing.

“Is he dead then?” Talya could barely speak the words as Lavi touched their father’s shoulder.

Lappidoth rolled to face them and lifted his head. Talya breathed at last. He was alive. Praise be to You, Adonai!

“They are gone?” He aimed the question at Lavi, but in one glimpse of Talya, his eyes registered disbelief.

“Those who were after you, yes.” Lavi glanced around. “The majority of the men have run after Barak toward Harosheth-hagoyim. We should catch up with them.”

Her father stood. His gaze cut through Talya, his tone a sharp blade. “You will not go with us.” She staggered back, struck by the unfamiliar look of anger in his eyes. “I have not gone against your wishes often, Talya,” he said, every word punctuated with urgency and displeasure as he motioned Lavi and Ghalib to run on ahead of him. “But this time, you will obey me. I will not allow you to worry your mother, who waits for us all to safely return.”

Talya lowered her head, her face flaming as though he had slapped her. Never had he spoken to her thus. If he cared so much, why did he wait until now to reprimand her? But she did not ask the question. “Yes, Abba.”

She could disobey her mother so easily. But not her father.

She turned then, not waiting for further rebuke, and hurried up the hill, while her men took off in the opposite direction.

“Talya!” Deborah’s voice had grown hoarse shouting her daughter’s name, every beat of her heart heavy with dread. “Talya!” Where was that girl? But if she had run off with Barak’s men, she could be halfway to Harosheth-hagoyim by now. She was in the thick of the battle, and only by God’s grace would she come out of it alive.

Deborah lifted her gaze heavenward. They needed God’s grace if they were to win this war. The battle was the Lord’s, not theirs. She hurried closer to the ridge, panting as though she had climbed its summit in a single bound. She stopped, placed both hands on her knees, and heaved. She was going to be sick. She was sure of it. But she dragged for breath and slowly released it. No. She could not allow fear to destroy her. Talya would be fine. Lappidoth and Lavi and Elior would all return to her unharmed. Oh Adonai, why is it so hard to trust in times like these?

She straightened and searched the valley. There was no longer any sign of the men. But there, not far from the edge now, a lone figure climbed the mount, sure-footed but slow. Unharmed, or they would stagger. Deborah studied the figure, slight of build, turban askew. Certainly the person was no man, for none of the men in the camp had been so built.Though the tunic and robe were girded as a man’s, and the legs showed a smearing of mud as though the person had attempted to keep the men from guessing her true identity, Deborah would know her daughter anywhere.

“Talya?” Deborah called down to her, her heart rate slowing as hope filled her.

Talya raised her head. “I’m coming, Ima.” But she did not look happy.

Deborah ignored the reasons the girl might feel as she did. Perhaps Barak had spotted her and told her to return. Though she had already argued with Barak and disobeyed his earlier command. Had she been injured?

Deborah tried to see more clearly, but the distance was too great. By the way she trudged uphill, Deborah deduced nothing wrong, simply a purposefully slow climb. She would find out soon enough. And she would make her daughter tell her everything.

Barak studied the gates of Harosheth-hagoyim and paced the ridge overlooking the thick, impenetrable walls of the city. “How are we supposed to get through that?” He pointed at the massive fortress that mirrored Hazor and glanced at Keshet.

“Deborah said our God would make a way.” Keshet shrugged, then headed down the embankment. “You coming?” he called over his shoulder.

Fleeing Canaanites passed them on the road below, and before Barak’s eyes they coaxed the guards to open the gates. Keshet glanced back, his grin wide. Barak’s men rushed after them, cutting down Canaanites left and right.

Barak caught up with Keshet. “Didn’t I tell you?” the man said, grinning.

“I’m going up into the gate. I’ll meet you outside the walls.” He would never live down his brief attack of doubt, but he would deal with his annoying compatriot later.

He pulled his sword from the sheath at his side and worked his way up the stairs, Lavi at his heels. Quick glances into the side rooms told them they were deserted. The guard post at the top stood empty. Barak walked to the parapet and looked down. In the distance, a palace-like structure stood, no doubt Sisera’s living quarters.

“Give orders to have that place searched for our women and children. Men too,” Barak told Lavi. “It is time to set them free.”

“I will run and catch up with Keshet to tell him,” Lavi said, turning to go.

Barak touched his shoulder, staying him a moment. “Give orders to another. I want you and Ghalib to come with me. Lappidoth too.”

“Where are we going?” Lavi’s dark, heavy brows lifted in question.

“To search for Sisera.”

“You do not think he is here?” Lavi glanced over the city. “We have not even begun to search every house or room.”

“He is not here.” Barak was not sure how he knew it to be true, but for the first time in his life he sensed that God was the one directing him, truly showing him something he could not see with human eyes.

“How do you know? Surely we should look first.” Lavi’s protest was nearly drowned out by the shouts and agonizing cries of warriors falling at the hands of Barak’s men in the streets below.

“Because Sisera is smart and self-preserving. If he saw that the war was taking a turn against him, he would run from the pursuit.” The man was a coward despite all his posturing.

Barak leaned on the parapet and looked over the carnage. No, Sisera was not here. Not even to protect his home, his family. If he had one. He would care only for himself, and in the end he would do whatever it took to protect his skin.

Barak set his jaw and headed down the stairs. This time Sisera’s skin would not be saved.