Deborah Rising

by Avraham Azrieli

“I could, but I don’t think I should.”

  “Why? Don’t you want to learn how to hit a coyote at night? Or are you too afraid of failing at something a girl already knows how to do?”

  “You’re arguing again. When you get married, your poor husband will have to whip you every day.”

  “And I’ll throw rocks at him every night.”

  “I believe it!”

  Deborah grabbed his arm. “Come, I’ll teach you to throw rocks like a blind man.”

  He followed her. “What about the trade?”

  “No trade. It’s a gift.”

  They walked until they were out of sight but within earshot of the campsite. The hillside was almost barren, with only scattered shrubs clinging to the dry soil.

  “Right here is good.” Deborah collected a few pebbles and put them in his hand. “Turn your back, shut your eyes, and count to thirty while I find a place to hide. When you hear me howl, keep your eyes closed, aim carefully, and throw a pebble—only one at a time.”

  He shut his eyes and turned, and she ran. There were several boulders of different sizes, and she chose one at least fifty steps away from him. She crouched, peeked over the top of the boulder, and did her best to imitate a coyote howling.

  Zariz turned, his eyes shut. “Howl again,” he yelled.

  She howled.

  He turned his head in her direction and threw a pebble. It hit the boulder and bounced over her head.

  She stood up. “You peeked. Cheater!”

  He laughed. “You chose the biggest boulder. I couldn’t miss it even if I tried.”

  “We’ll see.” She ran over to him. “Turn around and stand still.”

  He did.

  She removed her scarf, rolled it up, placed it over his eyes, and tied a knot behind his head. “Don’t turn yet,” she said.

  Heading back toward the boulder, she changed direction and went downhill, treading carefully to minimize the noise of her sandals on the rocky ground. Her long hair fell loose, its thick locks heavy on her shoulders, down her back, and to the sides of her face, narrowing her vision like horse blinders. She collected it, separated its mass into three, and quickly braided it, tying the ends as best as she could.

  This time, she hid behind a shrub, crouching low, and looked back. Zariz had turned around, but he was facing in the direction of the first boulder, where she had hidden before. The blindfold seemed undisturbed, and he was ready with a pebble in his right hand.

  She howled.

  He turned his head toward her, hesitating.

  She howled again.

  Zariz raised his arm and pitched the pebble. It hit the ground a few steps away from her.

  Careful not to make a sound, Deborah made her way to another shrub, about ten steps away. She crouched and howled.

  He turned his head this way and that. “Keep howling!”

  She did.

  The first pebble missed her by a wide margin. But he kept throwing, one pebble after another, while she went on howling like a mad coyote. Finally, a pebble hit her shoulder.

  “Ouch!”

  He pulled off the blindfold and waved it victoriously.

  She picked up the pebble and threw it back at him, hitting the ground at his feet, making him jump.

  “You howl well,” he said. “Do you have any coyote blood in you?”

  “Only lions and tigers.”

  He cupped his mouth with his hands and roared.

  “Let’s practice more,” she said. “With the blindfold.”

  “You want me to plug my ears, too?”

  “How about your mouth?” As Deborah approached him, her hair fell loose again, and she shook her head to release the remaining tangles.

  The last few pebbles fell from Zariz’s hand. He tried to say something, coughed dryly, and looked away, but his eyes returned to her.

  “Why are you staring at me?” She took the scarf from him and unfurled it.

  “Sorry.” His gaze dropped to the ground. “You look different with your hair down.”

  “Maybe we should stop.” Her face burning, she tied up her hair and covered it with the scarf.

  “Wait here.” He hurried toward the campsite. “I’ll be right back.”

  Deborah sat on a rock and cradled her face in her hands. Was he repulsed by the sight of her orange hair? It had been stupid of her to take off the scarf. What had she been thinking? Would a leper remove the rags from her rotting flesh?

  The sound of a baby crying came from the direction of the campsite. Was Zariz telling his father’s wives about her hair, or confiding in his young sisters, who were all beautiful with their dark skin and black hair?

  The memory of Seesya riding off with Orpah made Deborah shudder. There was no way Seesya would give the Moabite girl back—unless her father gave him what he really wanted. Perhaps Zariz’s attention had meant more than she realized. She recalled Abu Zariz speaking quietly to his son before leaving for Emanuel. What had he told Zariz? “Watch the Hebrew girl and make sure she suspects nothing and goes nowhere before I make a trade with Judge Zifron”? The thought filled her with fear, but she remembered what Zariz had told her: “Listen to your fear, but don’t let it control you.” The urge to flee was strong, but she should wait and slip away when no one was looking. The map was still fresh in her mind. She would go uphill to the watershed and follow it north until she found the road heading east to Shiloh. Obadiah of Levi had said that the road to Shiloh would be busy with travelers on their way to the Holy Tabernacle, which meant she wouldn’t stand out.

  Relieved that she had a plan to save herself from the Moabite traders’ betrayal, Deborah turned to go back to the campsite and wait for the opportunity to grab her sack and escape.

  To her surprise, Zariz came toward her, holding the bow in one hand and the quiver of arrows in the other. “Ready for a lesson?”

  Deborah hesitated. Was this yet another ruse to pacify her until Abu Zariz returned with Seesya to take her back to Emanuel? But if Zariz was supposed to prevent her from leaving, why had he taught her to ride a horse? And why had he showed her the lay of the land and where they were in relation to the watershed line and Shiloh?

  “It’ll be our secret,” Zariz said. “Don’t tell anyone. Promise?”

  “I promise.”

  He looked around and selected a small bush about twenty paces away. Fitting an arrow in the bow, he took aim. “This is how you get ready. One foot forward, left hand holding the bow midway with your thumb hooked and elbow locked. The right hand pulls back the base of the arrow over the string, like this.”

  Deborah looked closely at his hands and nodded.

  “Then, without moving your hands or the rest of your body, you let go of the base of the arrow.” He did it, and the arrow shot out of the bow and hit the bush, sinking into the dirt.

  She took the bow, and he handed her another arrow. It was made of wood, smooth and straight, with a pointy bronze head shaped as a triangle with its base pressed into a notch at the head of the stick.

  “Pull, aim, and hold,” he said.

  Her first try was a failure as both the bow and the arrow fell from her hands.

  “No worry,” Zariz said. “That happened to me many times before I learned how to hold the bow. Here, let me show you.”

  He stood behind her and put his arms around her shoulders, placing his hands on top of hers to hold the weapon, as he had done with the horse’s reins. But this was a more intricate task, and he had to bend her fingers in the right places to show her how to hold the bow, the string, and the arrow. The closeness made her feel hot and dazed.

  “Now,” he said, “let’s pull the string back with the arrow until it’s tight.”

  They did it together, his hands taking most of the pressure of the tightening string.

  “That’s good,” he said. “Ready?”

  Deborah had a hard time breathing, much less talking. She nodded.

  “I’ll count,” he said. “One. Two. Three.”

/>   They released the arrow on three, and it flew halfway to the bush, landing flat on the ground.

  “Nice,” he said. “Let’s do it again.”

  She felt his body press against her back, his arms lined up with hers as they pulled back the arrow on the string, balancing it together. His face was just behind her ear. He smelled of dust and sweat and something else, perhaps mint. She turned her head slightly and breathed in through her nose, taking in his scent.

  “Look straight,” he said. “Focus on the target. Your arrow will go where your eyes are looking.”

  “Sorry,” she said and gazed straight. “Ready on three.”

  “One. Two. Three.”

  They let go, and the arrow shot out much faster than before, losing altitude only when it was about to reach the bush.

  “Very good,” Zariz said. “Now you do it.”

  He guided her hands as she placed the arrow across the bow. His fingers touched hers lightly, leading her as she began to tighten the string.

  “Keep your aim,” he said.

  He slowly removed his hands, and she was holding the bow by herself, aiming the arrow at the bush.

  “Don’t move any part of your body.” His hands descended and rested on her hips. “Steady now. One. Two. Three.”

  Deborah let go, and the arrow shot out, giving off a sharp whish as it cut through the air, the way his arrows had flown, killing Seesya’s soldiers. The arrow flew straight and true, went through the bush, and stuck into the dirt beyond it, its rear pointing at her.

  “You did it!” He turned her around, their faces very close. “Perfect shot!”

  She laughed, looking up at his smiling face. “Not bad, is it?”

  “Not bad? It was great!”

  “Zariz!” A girl’s voice sounded behind them. “Zariz!”

  The sound jolted them apart.

  Running up the hillside was his sister Orpah, wearing the same blue dress and holding her arms up for Zariz, who hugged her.

  At the bottom of the hill, Abu Zariz sat on his horse, watching. Zariz ran to his father and kissed his hand.

  Still holding the bow, Deborah went over to the bush, collected the spent arrows, and headed down the hill. Zariz took the bow and the quiver of arrows from her outstretched hand.

  Abu Zariz’s face and his clothes were coated with a film of dust, and he seemed very tired. His gaze went from Deborah to his son. He wasn’t smiling.

  “Welcome back,” she said.

  He nodded, turned his horse, and nudged it toward the campsite. Zariz held his sister’s hand as they followed their father. Deborah walked behind them, the joy of her time with Zariz replaced by worries over his father’s silent disapproval. She found consolation, however, in the fact that he had returned without Seesya.

  Chapter 17

  That night, after the evening meal, while everyone prepared for sleep, Abu Zariz sat by the small fire and beckoned Deborah to sit next to him. He stuffed dry mint leaves into a pipe and smoked in silence. She waited for him to speak first.

  “The tiger tail,” he said. “Did you carry it to keep wild animals away?”

  Deborah nodded.

  “Was that your idea?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s a good idea, but a tiger tail isn’t cheap. Where did you buy it?”

  “It belonged to a friend.”

  He drew from the pipe and blew smoke. “Did you steal it?”

  Deborah looked down, ashamed.

  “Better to steal than to die,” he said.

  “I’ll return it when I go back.”

  Abu Zariz smoked some more. “The owner’s precious tiger skin will remain mutilated even if you return the tail.”

  “I had no choice.”

  Abu Zariz fiddled with the pipe. “The slave from Edom is not a man you want to cross.”

  “Did you tell him that I’m with your family?”

  “He didn’t need telling.”

  “But how did he know?”

  Abu Zariz shrugged. “He heard about the confrontation between the judge’s son and us, made the connection with his missing tiger tail, and drew the correct conclusion. He’s very clever, and his cleverness is dedicated completely to his self-interest, which makes me wonder why he didn’t share his insight with his master.”

  “Judge Zifron didn’t figure it out, did he?”

  “He must have suspected, but he acted as if he believed me that we hadn’t seen you, and that our horses had been spooked for some unknown reason.”

  “Why would the judge pretend to believe you?”

  “It’s bad for business to explicitly accuse another of dishonesty,” Abu Zariz said with a wry chuckle. “But I heard that Seesya suspects the priest of helping you escape.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Sallan, who else? It’s only a matter of time before the priest is forced to tell Seesya where you’re going.”

  Deborah’s hands began to shake. She clutched them together. Despite her efforts at controlling it, the shaking spread to her lips and knees.

  Abu Zariz drew deeply and blew the smoke out slowly.

  “Thank you for not betraying me to Judge Zifron.” The quiver in her voice made Deborah ashamed. She hugged her knees, pressing them to her chest.

  “Don’t thank me. Had I admitted that Seesya was right and you were with us, things would have become very complicated, even violent, for me and my family.”

  “I don’t understand,” she said. “Didn’t you say that the judge suspected you were lying?”

  “Lying is a crude concept,” Abu Zariz said. “A successful trade is always based on a fair balance of mutually assured exaggerations and overstatements.”

  “But you made his son look bad, as if his attack had been unjustified and he’d lost the soldiers for no good reason.”

  “And what’s wrong with that? I think my wise friend, the judge of Emanuel, was pleased with the opportunity to deflate his son’s arrogance and teach him a lesson in humility.”

  All this circuitous talk did nothing to calm her anxiety. “Why would the judge want to humiliate his son?” she asked. “Seesya is his right hand, his enforcer, his heir—”

  “And his biggest threat.”

  “What?”

  Abu Zariz shook his head, smiling. “You are very innocent. It’s charming. But along my travels I’ve heard countless stories about kings and chieftains who died a violent death, and many of them died not in battles with enemies, but at the hands of their impatient heirs.”

  Deborah inhaled deeply. The idea of a son killing his father was inconceivable. She pushed the thought aside, because the tension between Seesya and his father didn’t concern her. They were both her enemies. The only news that mattered was that Seesya might soon know her plans. She must reach Shiloh as soon as possible, find out who had bought an Edomite man named Kassite eighteen years earlier, and leave Shiloh before Seesya caught up with her.

  Pointing the smoking pipe at her, Abu Zariz said, “I sense that there’s more to your journey than the desperate flight of an unwilling bride.”

  He drew again, and the glow from the burning leaves illuminated his eyes. She knew that it was time to be cautious and reveal as little as possible.

  She asked, “What did Sallan tell you?”

  He chuckled, smoke escaping his mouth. “Just like that shrewd Edomite slave, I’m also capable of looking at the facts and drawing some conclusions.”

  His cryptic response made her realize that she should do the same—look at the facts and draw conclusions. The fact was, Sallan had helped her search for the Elixirist in exchange for her promise to go back and free him. Conclusion: Sallan would do nothing to jeopardize her quest, which meant that he’d told nothing to Abu Zariz.

  “The purpose of my journey,” she said, “is to reach Shiloh and pray to Yahweh at the Holy Tabernacle.”

  His quick, appraising glance told her that he was hoping to learn more. “Pray? That’s what you’ll do in Shil
oh?”

  “Yes.” It was the truth, though not all of it, which made her uncomfortable. She tugged at the ring on her finger. “I’ll pray to Yahweh for help in obtaining my freedom from Seesya.”

  Abu Zariz looked at her for a long moment. “You hope to beat that cunning, violent son of Zifron by praying to a Hebrew god that nobody can see, hear, or touch?”

  “Yahweh is the Almighty Creator of the earth, the sun, the moon, and the stars.” Her voice filled with indignation, she added, “He is the only God!”

  “Fine. Fine. Fine.” Abu Zariz held up his hand. “It’s your faith. It’s your life. All I can do is wish you luck.”

  Deborah got up. “I’ll leave at sunset. Thank you for your hospitality.”

  “You’re welcome.” He rose with effort, sighing. “As it happens, we’re also traveling to Shiloh tomorrow.”

  She looked at him suspiciously.

  “Your people celebrate the Dance of the Maidens this week,” he said. “It’s a good time to trade with the priests. I carry white Egyptian linen for them, and they are flush with silver. You can travel with us, if you wish.”

  She bowed her head in gratitude and turned to leave. Her sack was with Zariz, who had settled back at the same spot as the previous night to watch over the campsite.

  “One more thing,” Abu Zariz said.

  Deborah paused.

  “It’s our way of life for a father to prepare his son to take over one day—to travel along his father’s trade routes, frequent the distant places his father frequented, trade with the sons of those his father traded with, and worship the gods his father worshipped.” The leaves in Abu Zariz’s pipe no longer glowed. He stuffed it with new leaves and relit it. “When I’m old, I’ll settle back at our family home in Moab, and my son, Zariz, will travel with his wives, children, and gods as I do now, and as my father and grandfather did before me. Do you want to become one of my son’s wives?”

  Her face burning, Deborah shook her head.

  “I didn’t think so.” Abu Zariz pointed at the tent where his wives and children had already gone down for the night. “You should sleep with the women over there.”

  Chapter 18