Wings of the Wind

by Connilyn Cossette

  © 2017 by Connilyn Cossette

  Published by Bethany House Publishers

  11400 Hampshire Avenue South

  Bloomington, Minnesota 55438

  www.bethanyhouse.com

  Bethany House Publishers is a division of

  Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan

  www.bakerpublishinggroup.com

  Ebook edition created 2017

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.

  ISBN 978-1-4412-3130-7

  Scripture quotations are from the Holy Bible, New International Version®. NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover design by Jennifer Parker

  Cover photography by Mike Habermann Photography, LLC

  Author is represented by The Steve Laube Agency.

  For Juli

  A true sister-of-the-heart with a gift for asking the right questions and a passion for setting captives free. Your encouragement, support, and vision are invaluable to me.

  I, the Lord, have called you in righteousness; I will take hold of your hand. I will keep you and will make you to be a covenant for the people and a light for the Gentiles, to open eyes that are blind, to free captives from prison and to release from the dungeon those who sit in darkness.

  —Isaiah 42:6–7

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  41

  42

  43

  44

  45

  46

  Epilogue

  A Note from the Author

  Questions for Conversation

  About the Author

  Books by Connilyn Cossette

  Back Ads

  Back Cover

  When the Canaanite king of Arad, who lived in the Negev, heard that Israel was coming along the road to Atharim, he attacked the Israelites and captured some of them. Then Israel made this vow to the Lord: “If you will deliver these people into our hands, we will totally destroy their cities.”

  Numbers 21:1–2

  1

  Alanah

  14 NISSAN

  1407 BC

  NEGEV DESERT

  Forging through the teeming mass of Canaanite soldiers in this vast army camp, I’d never felt more alone. A tendril of hair tickled the side of my neck and I jammed the errant strand under my bronze helmet, hoping no one had glimpsed the flash of red against my shoulder. The scaled armor I wore, heavy as it was, disguised my form to good effect. If I was vigilant to keep my guard raised, no one would ever know a woman walked among them until they found my body on the battlefield tomorrow.

  Careful to widen my stance and tread with a heavier step, I ran my brother’s name through my mind again and again, then repeated it under my breath for good measure. If I was questioned, the name Davash must spring easily to my lips, instead of my own. Any hesitation and there would be suspicion. I could not afford suspicion.

  My build, my hands, or the pitch of my voice could reveal my gender in the span of a breath. When it happened—for surely it would happen at some point—it must be after my bow took its revenge. My makeshift beard, a thin layer of dirt smudged across my cheeks and chin, had begun to peel and itch, but evening shadows would aid my deception.

  Drunken laughter swirled around the sea of black tents, mixing with the bray of horses and clanging of weapons meeting in practice, a wild cacophony that only grew louder as twilight advanced. Perhaps hiding in plain sight would be easier than I’d expected.

  Beneath my brother’s gray wool tunic, a copper amulet hung from a leather strip around my neck. The gift from my father depicted a raised-relief image of the warrior goddess Anat, battle axe and spear in hand, and had inspired the courage I needed to leave my village when the king of Arad again called for defenders of his lands. Although I had little respect for any deity, the weight of the cool metal against my skin and the reminder of my family bolstered my resolve. The quiver slung over my shoulder was full, each arrow tipped with vengeance. I had no delusions that I would live through the battle tomorrow, but when the arrows I had made with my own hands found Hebrew flesh, I would finally have satisfaction for the deaths of my father and my three brothers.

  Amorites and Jebusites, and even some Moabites and Edomites, numbered among this fierce but fragile coalition. Tribal grudges had been set aside to come together against the swarm of Hebrews invading our lands.

  Crude language tossed across campfires had little effect on me, for I had grown up with three older brothers. But the lisp of female voices floating through flimsy tent walls soured my stomach. Lonely soldiers with extra war rations made for good business, so women who traded in their own flesh were never far from the battlefront. The seductive laughter and brazen display of their wares made my skin crawl. I would rather die than number among them—in fact, I planned on it.

  A group of men huddled around a fire at the edge of camp, slapping backs and comparing weapons. I slipped behind them and settled near a boulder, breathing easier as shadows deepened and night advanced.

  Days of trudging through the desert to meet the army in this valley had wreaked havoc on my body. Wounded skin flamed and throbbed where my sandals had stripped my heels and ankles raw during the long walk across blazing sand and stone. I closed my eyes and breathed steady, imagining the pain lessened with every slow exhale.

  Rich smoke emanated from the cookfires and the meat of prebattle offerings to the gods. To distance myself from my empty stomach’s violent reaction to the smell, I focused on the conversations around me and attempted to lift useful details from the overlapping chatter. Perhaps if I feigned sleep well enough, no one would take notice and I would be rewarded with information on tomorrow’s strategy—and our enemy.

  A slurred voice rose above the rest. “How many of those Hebrews did we take last month?”

  “Five hundred, at least. Frightened little hares, all of them,” a gruff voice responded.

  Someone else snorted. “The rest of them will scatter tomorrow. And any that don’t will be made into girls by my dagger.”

  Raucous laughter erupted, startling my eyes open. I squeezed them shut before anyone noticed or questioned me. Drunk as they were, if I answered with my own voice, I would be on my back
in one of those tents within moments. Would I have the courage to grab the dagger at my hip and plunge it into my heart?

  The slurred voice rose to the top again. “You seen their women? They worth keeping?”

  Lewd comments followed, assaulting my ears and curling my insides. My brothers, much as I admired them, had been no different than these soldiers—coarse and savage with their enemies. No wonder they had found such pleasure in war. It was a surprise they’d survived long enough to be murdered by the Hebrews.

  The name of the hated invaders tasted bitter, even in my mind. I swallowed hard and imagined loading my first arrow and letting it fly toward the faceless intruders who had stolen everything from me. I’d heard the stories of the slaves who’d thwarted Pharaoh nearly forty years ago, as well as the rumors that their sights were set on Canaan. Fools. They would be crushed. Decimated. And I would ensure that I killed my fair share of them before my blood soaked the sands tomorrow.

  Sour, wine-laden breath suddenly filled my senses, and a voice was in my ear. “How ’bout you, little man? You going to keep a couple Hebrew fillies for yourself? Even a young one’s got needs? Eh?”

  There was no time to hesitate. Grabbing for his throat, I dug my fingers deep into his windpipe and emptied the depth of my hate and fear into my voice. “I. Am. Trying. To. Sleep.”

  He was twice my size, built like a bull, and thankfully almost gone with drink. His black eyes went wide. Even through his haze, he must have seen something in my expression that gave him pause. He stood, mumbled a curse, and staggered out of the circle of firelight.

  I tensed my body. Do not tremble. Confidence. Swagger. Be Davash.

  Rising, I ignored the myriad eyes on me and stomped away. But in the blackness between campfires, my breath came fast and my body vibrated like a discharged bowstring. I should have stayed away until morning. Why had I risked discovery? Skirting clusters of tents and the glow of fires, I kept my head down and my hand on my dagger hilt.

  The sharp-ridged hills around this valley were shod with lime shale, too noisy to climb even with my well-practiced light step. A river of stones would clatter down if I attempted it in the dark.

  A tent, butted up against the hill, stood deep in shadow. I slid behind it, silently pressing my body into the gap between the tent and the limestone behind. There was only enough room to lay with my leather satchel beneath my helmeted head and my bow and quiver against my back. Sleeping in armor would be uncomfortable, but necessary.

  My mind touched on the faces of each of my brothers as they’d left our village to head off the invaders. Zealous to protect our farm after reports that the Hebrews were moving north, my father and brothers had heeded the call from the king of Arad to band together and go on the offensive. They’d left, more than confident they would return and sure that a horde of slaves wandering aimlessly in the wilderness would have no chance against the united warrior tribes of Canaan.

  And yet, here I lay, a woman alone in the middle of this immense army, preparing to finish what the men of my family had started. Or, at the least, to meet them in death. Curling in on myself, I rubbed my thumb over the four jagged wounds on my wrist as I braced against the numbing cold and the howling emptiness, and forced sleep.

  Morning could not come fast enough—even if it was to be the last dawn I would see with earthly eyes.

  2

  15 NISSAN

  1407 BC

  Wake up!”

  Someone booted my backside, hard. A jolt of realization cleared sleep from my brain in an instant. My pulse went wild. Had my hair come loose? Was I discovered? How foolish to sleep so close to a tent! I peered through my eyelashes, and my stomach hollowed. I was inside the tent. I must have rolled over in my sleep and slipped beneath the wall. What would I say to the man who had awoken me? Claim I had been drunk and wandered in?

  Shrugging a shoulder, I released a low groan, hoping to stall the inevitable. How long would it take him to realize I was a woman and take advantage? My dagger was still tucked under my hip. Slowly, as if I was stretching to shake off sleep, I slid my hand toward the hilt. One breath. Two.

  “Get up, soldier. Sun’ll be up soon, time to move.” The man prodded my leg again with his boot and left the tent, obviously not the least bit surprised to find a stranger here. I released a measured breath and turned over. A lone oil lamp in the corner flicked shadows around the empty tent. Relief spilled itself into my veins in a rush.

  My satchel lay nearby. Thankfully, no one had pilfered the few items I carried. I snaked my hand under the black goat-hair wall and hunted for my quiver and bow, breathing easier when my fingertips met the treasures.

  After devouring the last stale piece of flatbread from my satchel and slaking my thirst with tepid water from a scavenged water-skin, I adjusted the leather shoulder straps of Davash’s leather-scaled armor and pulled it tighter against my chest, wincing as it smashed my breasts and dug the edge of my amulet into my skin.

  Good. I yanked the side clasp again. The less like a woman I looked, the better. Besides, I needed the copper amulet as close to my heart as possible, a reminder of why I was here today.

  After ensuring my braid was still secure under my helmet, and my wrist guard tied tightly, I lifted the tent flap. The sun had not quite breached the hills. Anat, the bright star, clung to the last of the night. The warrior goddess had freed her brother-god from the Underworld and in her name I would avenge my own brothers today.

  Lines were forming to the south. I followed a group with quivers slung across their shoulders, head down, determination in my every step.

  The Hebrews knew we were coming. Why would they provoke another battle with those who had beaten them so handily the first time they tried to invade this land? Why weren’t they running back to wherever they’d come from?

  Only a few weeks ago, they had swarmed up from the south like a plague, and the army of Arad had routed them. But not before my brothers and father were slain. And yet here the Hebrews were again, meeting us in the very same valley, as if we had not ground them to dust and taken many captives.

  How many prisoners had that drunk last night bragged about? Five hundred? Today it would be five thousand, or fifty thousand.

  My eyes would not see the sunset this day. My father may have trained me to shoot an arrow true, but I would not survive. Better to be slain on the battlefield than succumb to the only other choice I had left. Death was far preferable to following the path of my mother—a priestess who reveled in her wanton duties and abandoned her three-year-old daughter to flee north and return to the temple.

  A ram’s horn ripped a shrill cry before our lines had fully formed, and I jerked my neck toward the unexpected call. Panic rippled through the ranks, along with the hiss of a thousand surprised curses, as stones flew through the air from the west, clanking and pinging against helmets and armor. More stones whizzed in from the east before the archers around me could even arm themselves. One slammed against my helmet from behind, knocking my head forward with a jarring crash. Had I been hit by a stone, or a boulder? Disoriented, I turned in a circle, peering into the shadowy edges of the valley. The enemy was upon us, seeming to appear from everywhere, advancing like a horde of locusts. Had they been hiding in the rocks around the valley? Were we surrounded?

  The clanging of thousands of swords reverberated, and arrows silhouetted high against the dawn. Urgency rushed through my limbs. What was I waiting for? Another knock on the head? I whipped a few arrows from my full quiver, gathering them in my right hand, ready to shoot one after another without hesitation.

  Fitting one nock against the string, I raised the bow to my shoulder. Lifting the copper tip high, I pulled back with every bit of strength in my arm and, not bothering to aim, released.

  The instant my arrow flew, the man to my right fell, screaming, a Hebrew arrow protruding from his cheek. An irrational urge to stop and aid him tugged at me, but I could not hesitate.

  I slipped another arrow into position.
Only a wisp of sun peeked above the eastern horizon, so my vision was limited, but there was no mistake: We were surrounded. Hebrews flooded into the valley on all sides, hemming us in.

  I picked one black-bearded enemy not too far off, sighed a breath, and let loose. The arrow hit him square on the head but glanced off his helmet. A curse flew past my lips. No time. Do it again.

  A sea of men riddled with Hebrew arrows writhed around me. My whole body trembled and I fell to my knees as my stomach threatened to empty itself on the ground. Why had I come here? Foolish. Foolish!

  Distorted figures rushed at me. I blinked away the blur in my vision. Thousands of Hebrew soldiers, swords waving, fury on their faces, charged across the battlefield. How could they already have broken through and reached the archers? A gleaming golden chariot thundered by, destroying what was left of our lines, throwing us into confusion. A Hebrew with an Egyptian-style chariot?

  Horns screamed all around the wide basin. The violent sound reverberated off the ridge-backed hills and crashed around inside my skull. Although I was tempted to cover my ears against the painful screech, at least it obscured the shrieks of the dying for a few seconds. All too soon the fanfare ended and the horrific tumult overwhelmed me again.

  Where to aim? There were so many. I could not find a fixed point. With one knee still on the ground, I shot arrow after arrow into the crush of flailing bodies. Perhaps one of my enemies might be at the end of their random arc.

  A snarling, bloody-faced Hebrew charged toward me, sword high. But when he tripped over a fallen man, I fled before he could regain his footing. A battered shield had fallen at my feet, so I snatched it up. Grasping the handle in white-knuckled panic, I cowered beneath it and fled.

  Dodging clumps and pairs of men working to hack one another to pieces, I wound through the melee. I tripped over a body, scrambled back to my feet without looking behind me, and pressed on. The screams of the fallen and the full-throated roars of the soldiers made my teeth vibrate. The false image I’d conjured of gaunt, weak-willed Hebrew slaves had been replaced by the reality of fierce, full-bearded warriors clad in well-crafted armor and with expressions devoid of fear.