Deborah Rising

by Avraham Azrieli

  Vardit took Deborah’s arm and pulled her toward the door.

  “Stay here!” Seesya put his hand on the handle of the knife. “I’ll cut your heads off! Both of you!”

  “I don’t understand,” Vardit said. “Why are you upset? Everything is fine. It’s the way things are supposed to be.”

  Finding nothing on the bed, he looked under it, then pushed aside the mattress. “It’s somewhere here, I know it!”

  Obadiah reappeared in the doorway, together with Shatz. The two priests watched Seesya with concern.

  “That blood wasn’t hers!” Seesya pointed at Deborah. “She brought it in here somehow!” He went around the room, knocked down the partition, and sifted through the pile of clothes on the floor—her white wedding dress, sheer veil, and the wet rag she had used to clean up. “Where is it?”

  “Young man,” Shatz said, “what exactly are you looking for?”

  Seesya groaned in frustration. “I don’t know. A bottle, a jar, something that held the blood.”

  “That’s a false accusation.” Obadiah rested his hand on his breastplate. “The blood came from the girl. I saw it.”

  “It didn’t come from her,” Seesya shouted. He went back to the bed and ruffled the sheets and covers. “It’s in this room.”

  With her waterskin in plain view, Deborah knew what she had to do to save her life.

  Seesya picked up the sodden bed cloth and sniffed it. “It smells rotten,” he said.

  She uncorked the waterskin and brought it to her lips. Her cheeks and jaws hurt from the beating, but she ignored the pain.

  “Let me smell the cloth,” Obadiah said.

  Taking a sip from the waterskin, Deborah swallowed, shuddering at the sour taste and sticky consistency of the bloody water.

  The priest took the bed cloth and raised it to his nose.

  Steeling herself, Deborah drank the remaining liquid.

  “There’s always an odor,” Obadiah said. “It’s normal. Some girls smell worse than others.”

  “Smell?” Seesya shook the bed cloth. “It stinks!”

  “My young friend,” Shatz said, “you don’t smell like pomegranate flowers, either.”

  Obadiah laughed.

  Tilting the waterskin straight up, Deborah pressed on it to expel the pieces of meat through the narrow neck and into her mouth.

  “Let me,” Vardit said, taking the bed cloth from Seesya and smelling it. She twisted her face. “It’s sharp, but I’ve smelled worse.”

  Deborah held her breath and swallowed the mushy lumps whole, afraid that any chewing would give her away. Her stomach heaved, but she kept it down.

  Seesya drew his sword and cut through the mattress. “I’ll find it—even if I have to tear this room apart.”

  “I assume,” Shatz said, “that you’re going to pay for the damage.”

  Obadiah pounded his staff on the floor. “Seesya, son of Zifron! I’ve witnessed the bed cloth, and I’ll testify that you have possessed her, and that she was a virgin.”

  “There you go,” Shatz said. “You own Palm Homestead free and clear now. There’s no need for this craziness.”

  Deborah again tilted the waterskin over her mouth to make sure it was drained completely, forcing the last few drops down her throat. Immediately, bile came up, and she swallowed, forcing it down, struggling not to vomit.

  “It’s a trick!” Seesya shouted, pointing at her. “How did you do it, witch?”

  She didn’t answer.

  His eyes focused on the waterskin, and he stepped over, tearing it out of her hands. He held it upside down and shook it, but nothing came out.

  “This smell is normal.” Vardit dropped the bed cloth on the floor. “We women smell different during each part of the cycle of our female—”

  “Shut up, Mother!” He threw away the waterskin and roamed around the room, kicking at things. “Damn witch!”

  “That’s enough,” Shatz said. “Your father will disapprove of this behavior.”

  Deborah picked up the waterskin with a shaking hand and plugged it.

  “Let’s go.” Vardit led her to the door and out of the room, leaving the two priests with her son.

  Halfway down the hallway, a belch caused bile to shoot up into Deborah’s mouth. The urge to vomit was overwhelming, but she resisted, trembling in disgust.

  “Easy now.” Vardit patted her on the back. “The worst is over.”

  Deborah managed to say, “Thank you.”

  “No reason to thank me.” Holding the door open, Vardit smiled. “You’re my daughter now.”

  Out in the courtyard, music was playing and the guests were having a good time, eating, drinking, and talking. Vardit stopped to hand the rag with the two Canaanite gods to one of the servants. Deborah’s stomach heaved again, worse than before. She looked around desperately for a place to vomit. Guests stared at her, probably because her face was bruised from Seesya’s slaps. She hurried to the well.

  The bucket was full, resting next to the well. Deborah knelt beside it, splashed water on her face while bending forward over the drain channel, and vomited. Everything came up with painful spasms until her stomach emptied up. She splashed her face again and tipped the bucket over. The water washed away the red liquid and lumps down the drain channel along the wall of the courtyard, mixing up with the accumulated waste.

  A servant took the bucket from her hand and lowered it into the well, drawing fresh water. When the bucket came up full, she filled her waterskin, shook it, and emptied it into the drain channel. She filled it up again and plugged it.

  The three men emerged from the house. Seesya’s eyes found Deborah. Staring back at him, she scooped fresh water from the bucket, rinsed her mouth, and spat on the ground. She was feeling much better.

  Chapter 26

  After the guests had left, the slaves began to clean the courtyard. They dragged tables back to storage, poured buckets of water all over the courtyard, and used brooms and brushes to push the litter out to the street. Deborah stood at the window of the room she shared with Vardit and watched through a crack between the curtains. When the slaves were done, they snuffed out most of the torches and went to the slaves’ quarters in the back of the house. A soldier came out of a guardroom next to the courtyard’s exit and locked the heavy doors under the silver menorah. She hoped to see where he placed the key, but there wasn’t enough light.

  “Finally, it’s quiet,” Vardit said. “We can go to sleep now.”

  Deborah sat next to Vardit and rubbed Sallan’s potion on her back, which continued to improve.

  “You’re a good girl,” Vardit said. “I’ve always hoped to live long enough to have grandchildren, and now it’ll finally happen.”

  Deborah’s hand paused.

  “What’s wrong?” Vardit asked.

  “You’ve been good to me,” Deborah said. “I want you to know the truth.”

  “What truth?”

  “Your grandchildren will not come from my womb.”

  “How do you know?” Vardit sat up. “You bled while your hands were tied, which means that Seesya possessed you. Some girls get pregnant after the first time.”

  Deborah wiped her hands. “Or get stoned to death.”

  “Tamar didn’t bleed. She was lying back on the pillows with her hands behind her back. That’s why we didn’t see her bound wrists when we checked for blood. He’s a clever boy, my son.”

  Deborah took a deep breath. “He didn’t do it,” she said.

  “Do what?”

  Deborah blushed. “Tamar didn’t bleed because Seesya didn’t possess her.”

  “Don’t say such a thing!”

  “It’s true. He admitted it to me.”

  Vardit inhaled sharply and burst into tears.

  “I’m sorry,” Deborah said. “It’s the truth. His false accusation caused Tamar’s stoning, and he would have done the same to me.”

  “Not to you.” Vardit wiped her eyes. “I saw your blood with my own eyes.�
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  “It wasn’t my blood.”

  Vardit took a moment to digest the news. “How did you do it?”

  “That’s not important. He’ll find another way to kill me. You must help me escape.”

  Vardit got up and went to the window, where she pushed the curtains aside and breathed in the night air. “If you escape, he’ll punish me. At my age, a bad flogging could mean death.”

  “Then come with me.” Deborah joined her at the window and looked below. The soldiers were gone from the stairwell entry. “They’re not guarding me anymore. We could leave now. No one would notice until tomorrow, and by that time we’d be far away.”

  Vardit grasped her arm. “Listen to me, child. Some young men are too nervous the first night. My son is strong and fearless in battle, but he’s only nineteen. This isn’t his home, and with everything that’s happened with your sister, and you running away—it put a lot of pressure on him. Tomorrow we’ll go back to Emanuel, and you’ll be able to find a way to his heart.”

  “How?”

  “Be nice to him.”

  “Nice?”

  “Smile a lot, take him food, show him he can be comfortable with you. One night, when he feels the need, he’ll summon you to his bed and be able to do it.”

  The possibility of another bedroom encounter with Seesya sickened Deborah. “I must escape,” she said. “I have no choice.”

  “Escaping is useless. It’s a miracle you made it to Shiloh. A girl traveling alone with no protection is in a worse situation than one in a difficult marriage.”

  “Worse than death?”

  “Death is easy. It’s the things men do to you before death that you should fear.” Vardit held Deborah’s shoulders and shook her. “Don’t even think of escaping. Give Seesya a chance to know you, and he will give you a chance to be a good wife.”

  “And if he remains evil?”

  “Then I’ll go to my husband and beg him to order Seesya to divorce you and let you go. My son may be stubborn and immature, but my husband is still in charge.”

  Deborah realized that the threat of more flogging terrified Vardit too much for her to consider anything other than submission. “I’ll wait,” she said. “But not for long.”

  “That’s a wise choice.”

  “On one condition,” Deborah said. “If he tries to kill me, you’ll help me escape, whatever the risk to yourself.”

  “He won’t try to kill you. You’re his wife now. Hurting you would be like hurting himself.”

  “But if he does, will you help me?”

  “I will.” Vardit took Deborah in her arms. “You have my word.”

  The embrace took Deborah by surprise, especially because it wasn’t perfunctory, as between distant relatives, but as tight and as lasting as a mother’s hug, which Deborah hadn’t felt since the year before. Her arms rose to encircle Vardit and hug her back, but made it only halfway before dropping limply by her sides. As much as Deborah longed for the comforting warmth of a mother’s love again, she knew without a doubt that at the moment of truth Vardit wouldn’t be able to keep her promise. She was Seesya’s mother, and no matter what new and worse evil he did, her love would always belong to him.

  Chapter 27

  Deborah woke up from deep sleep, opened her eyes, and saw a figure holding a burning torch. She couldn’t see who it was, but recognized the voice when Seesya said, “I know how you did it, witch.”

  Vardit sat up. “Who’s there?”

  “Your beloved son,” Seesya said, handing the torch to his mother. “Hold this steady.”

  She took the torch. “What’s wrong?”

  Seesya went around the room, throwing things around, until he found Deborah’s waterskin. He picked it up, drew a knife, and cut through the waterskin. Water spilled on the floor.

  He held the waterskin under the light of the torch, pulled it apart, and examined the inside.

  “Damn you,” he said. “You washed it clean.”

  Deborah got up and stepped to the door.

  “Stay where you are!”

  She stood still.

  “Looks like we’ll have to do it the hard way.” Seesya tossed the mutilated waterskin aside and pointed his knife at her, approaching slowly. “Confess now, or I’ll rearrange your face to make you look like your sister and mother—after they died!”

  “Please, Son.” Vardit moved closer, the torch shaking in her hand. “She’s only a child.”

  He grabbed Deborah by the neck and put the knife to her cheek. “Speak up!”

  “Leave her alone,” Vardit pleaded. “The women in the next room will wake up and call the soldiers. You must go now.”

  He let go of Deborah’s neck and hit his mother, who cried out and almost dropped the torch.

  Taking advantage of that distraction, Deborah ran from him to the other side of the room, grabbed her sack from the floor, and raced to the window. She’d gotten one leg over the sill before he caught her, threw her to the floor, and placed his boot on her chest, pressing down.

  “That’s better.” He sheathed the knife. “Raise a hand when you’re ready to tell me how you got all that blood on the bed cloth.”

  With the weight of his rough sole on her chest, Deborah couldn’t breathe. Her sack rested on the floor by her head. She reached up with both hands and tried to open it.

  Now on her knees, Vardit grasped his wrist. “In the name of your father, my husband, I ask you to leave.”

  “Don’t interfere!”

  “Do you want everyone to know what really happened on your wedding night, that you couldn’t—”

  Without moving his boot from Deborah’s chest, he grabbed the front of Vardit’s robe, clenched his free fist, and punched her between the eyes. As she swayed, he took the torch from her hand, raised it, and landed its hard base on her head.

  Vardit collapsed, unconscious.

  Deborah’s vision blurred for lack of air, but she managed to open the sack by feel alone.

  “Finally, she’s quiet.” Seesya lifted his boot from Deborah, kicked his senseless mother onto her side, and propped the torch upright against her back. “And useful.”

  With his boot off her chest, Deborah filled her lungs with air while slipping her hands into the sack above her head.

  Her relief was short-lived.

  Seesya dropped down to sit on her, straddling her hips, clenched her throat with both hands, and squeezed. “Air is sweet, isn’t it?”

  The hard floor hurt her back under his weight, and her lungs burned from lack of air. Struggling to keep her mind focused, Deborah reached deeper into her sack, ever so slowly.

  “Your neck is as soft as butter.” He eased the pressure. “Tell me how you did it.”

  “Did what?” Her voice came out squeaky through her constricted throat.

  He laughed. “You sound like a mouse. Squeak the truth, and I might let you live a bit longer.”

  “The truth?” She felt around inside the sack, avoiding sudden movements that would draw his attention. “I love cheese.”

  “Don’t play games with me, witch!” He leaned forward, his hands tightening on her throat, his face above her, lit by the dancing flame of the torch.

  Her hands touched the cold flint, then the fool’s gold.

  “Tell me where that blood came from, or your blood will stop running in your veins.”

  Her fingers clenched the fire-starters, one stone in each hand.

  “Tell me!”

  Deborah managed to nod.

  Seesya eased the pressure.

  “Here, my husband.” Her voice barely sounded. “I’ll show you.”

  “Show me? Show me what?”

  “The magic of witches.”

  He looked at her suspiciously.

  “Look into my eyes,” Deborah said.

  Keeping both hands on her throat, he gazed into her eyes.

  “Closer.” She started to pull her hands out of her sack. “Deeper in my eyes.”

  He brought
his face lower until his nose nearly touched hers. “I don’t see anything in your eyes.”

  “Deeper. In the back of my eyes.”

  He peered into her eyes, creasing his forehead, while her hands slowly emerged from the sack, each holding one of the fire-starters.

  “You see it now?”

  “See what?”

  “Look more closely.” Keeping her eyes locked on his, she extended her arms sideways.

  He blinked. “Green,” he said. “I see green, like green vomit.”

  The garlic odor of his breath sickened her. “It’s right there,” she said.

  “What?”

  She clenched the stones tightly and imagined Barac’s head, rolling in the dirt. “His head,” she said.

  “Whose head?”

  With the image of her murdered friend conjured up in her mind, Deborah brought the stones together as hard as she could, hitting both sides of Seesya’s head at the same time.

  His eyes opened wide.

  “And now?” She did it again—hands out and back in, pounding the stones at his ears. “Do you see Barac?”

  Seesya gulped, his hands tightening on her neck.

  “Here!” She hit Seesya a third time with all the force she had left. “For him!”

  Seesya’s face twisted in a horrifying grimace, lips pulled back, teeth bared, the scar flushing red. But still his grip did not loosen, as if all his remaining consciousness were directed toward sustaining a deadly vice on her airway.

  Her vision began to blur. Deborah clenched the fire-starters, gathered her last bit of willpower, and brought her arms up, banging the stones at his ears a final time.

  A low growl came from Seesya’s mouth as he exhaled while his eyes rolled up and he slumped on top of her, his hands dropping from her neck. Air forced its way in through her compressed windpipe with a high-pitched shriek.

  Part Seven

  The Elixirist

  Chapter 28

  Pinned down under Seesya’s heavy bulk, Deborah took quick, shallow breaths. She felt his chest rise and sink while blood dripped from his ears. Was he dying? Had she committed the sin of murder? He deserved to die after what he had done to Tamar, but his punishment should come through a trial and judgment under God’s law.