Deborah Calling Read online

  “Make a column of rocks,” she told the men, pointing at a spot that would be visible when they rode back. “Stand it up as high as your knee.”

  Antippet and Patrees dismounted, collected flat stones, and balanced them one on top of the other to create the column marker. Deborah nodded in approval, turned her horse, and continued on.

  The dry creek split again, and she had them build another marker.

  When they were far enough from Emanuel, she turned north over the hills, keeping the sun over her left shoulder. She made sure to leave stone markers in intervals that were visible from one another.

  After a while, she was expecting to see the familiar ravine to appear behind the next hill, or the next, but it didn’t, and her doubts began to grow. The two men must have sensed it, and while they obeyed her without question, they were slower to dismount and collect the stones for each new marker, glancing in her direction as if expecting her to change her mind and turn back.

  Deborah kept going.

  The ravine appeared out of nowhere, barely noticeable from the direction they were coming. Relieved, Deborah waited for the men to construct a marker before resuming her fast trot. From here, she knew the way.

  As they got near, Deborah veered off the path and urged Soosie up a hill that bordered the fields on the north. Near the top, she dismounted, handed the reins to Patrees, and gestured for the two men to wait. Keeping low, she approached the crest of the hill until Palm Homestead came into full view.

  The small valley was as beautiful as she remembered it. The fields and orchards surrounding the small house were lush and healthy, and the ageless olive trees clung stubbornly to the patches of soil on the surrounding slopes. The old palm tree towered over the house, its canopy wide and green as it had always been. Her father had named it Deborah’s Palm after he dreamed of her sitting under this palm and delivering Yahweh’s message to the Hebrews. Women didn’t become prophets—everyone knew that—but her father’s conviction that his dream would come true had fueled her quest to become a man—a man who would be entitled to inherit Palm Homestead and one day become God’s prophet, delivering His word to the people under this palm tree, as her father had envisioned.

  She noticed a narrow canal that sliced Palm Homestead in half. It looked like a sword wound across a warrior’s chest, flowing with blood from his still-beating heart, only instead of red blood, the canal was white from the underlying limestone and running with water from the cistern, where two slaves worked the winch lever on the crosspiece, raising one bucket after another from the deep reservoir underground. The canal passed between the fields and disappeared behind the next hill, no doubt delivering the stolen water to other fields owned by Judge Zifron.

  As her chest tightened with a bitter mix of sorrow and rage, Deborah gripped the hilt of the short sword at her hip, burning to run down the hillside and stop the men who were stealing her family’s water. But she remembered Kassite’s advice to harness her rage for the right moment. The slaves bore no responsibility for their owner’s crime, and attacking them would only serve to expose her and ruin everything. The stolen water would be replenished by the underground streams that fed the cistern until the day she returned to Palm Homestead as its true owner, cover up the canal, farm the land, and serve as God’s prophet to His people. That was her True Calling, and she would let nothing and no one stop her from reaching her destination.

  Deborah retreated below the crest of the hill, mounted Soosie, and broke into a gallop. The two men caught up with her after a few moments, and she kept going at a fast pace, turning at each stone marker, until she found Kassite and the rest of the men in the crevice by the road to Emanuel.

  Kassite gathered the men together and pointed at the town. “From now on, we will ride steadily and act with confidence. I am an important visitor from Edom, and you are my guards and servants. When we reach the gates, stay together behind Borah and me. Keep quiet, alert, and polite while I speak with the sentries.”

  The road straightened out as they approached Emanuel at a steady canter. Near the gates, Deborah tried to avert her eyes but couldn’t help glancing at the Weeping Tree, where Seesya’s soldiers had strung up Tamar’s body by her feet after the stoning, for all travelers to see. Tamar was still there, or rather, what was left of her after the birds had picked off everything but the bones. A groan escaped Deborah’s lips, and she put a fist to her mouth to silence it. She had hoped that Obadiah of Levi would find a way to take down Tamar and give her a proper burial, but it appeared that neither his guilt for participating in her unjust execution, nor his fear of Tamar’s dying curse, had been enough to make him take the risk. Did Obadiah have no faith in the powers of Yahweh to protect the just and honorable?

  Kassite looked at the bones, which swayed gently in the mild breeze. “There will be time for revenge,” he said. “Months from now, or even years, but not today.”

  “Yes, Master,” she said, her voice scratchy. “I will harness my rage for the right moment.”

  “Good. No matter what happens, do not act or speak, not even in response to a direct question. You are Borah, my soldier, nothing more.”

  They passed by the Pit of Shame. On the other side of the road, at the fairgrounds, merchants peddled goods and farmers sold fresh produce. Ahead, sentries guarded the open gates. Deborah noticed new poles, one on each side, bearing Ephraim’s flag of a white ox against a black background.

  One of the sentries raised his spear. “State your business!”

  “I am Prince Antipartis,” Kassite said gravely. “I come in friendship from Edom to call on your leader, Judge Zifron, bearing gifts and seeking mutual trade.”

  The sentry bowed and gestured to the shaded side of the gatehouse. “Please wait here.”

  While they congregated in the shade, the sentry ran up the street, all the way to the top, and disappeared into the judge’s courtyard.

  Long minutes passed. The stench of smoke and garbage drifted from the shacks and tents of the poor at the bottom of the hill. Sweat made Deborah’s leather helmet stick to her scalp.

  A distant whistle startled her.

  Up the hill, at the top of the street, the sentry signaled them to proceed.

  The slow ride up the main street of Emanuel filled Deborah with dread. The memory of Seesya’s oily hair and odorous breath made her shudder. She thought of how far she had come since the last time she went down this road, hiding in Obadiah’s cart under the corpse of a woman Seesya had speared to death. Now she was riding on her own horse, wearing armor and carrying a short sword, a sling, and a spear while sporting hard muscles and a masculine attitude. If only Kassite’s confidence in Sallan’s foresight and preparedness would prove right, the day might end successfully. On the other hand, if Sallan had done nothing to prepare, things could turn ugly. Deborah knew that she would rather fight to the death than end up back in Seesya’s hands.

  Chapter 15

  They entered the large courtyard of Judge Zifron’s house, which was busy with merchants who delivered farm produce and livestock, purchased baskets and food items, or pleaded their case with the judge at the opposite end of the courtyard. Deborah quickly scanned the area for Obadiah of Levi in his priestly white robe, but didn’t see him.

  Having stayed at Shatz Ha’Cohen’s grand house in the holy city of Shiloh, Deborah found Judge Zifron’s house less impressive now, but the sights, smells, and noises welcomed her with the familiarity of a place that had been her home for a whole year. She rode behind Kassite across the courtyard. On the right, the hanging straw mats were raised to let fresh air into the basket factory. It was full of workers, but the relative darkness inside made it difficult for her to recognize anyone.

  They dismounted and handed the reins to the servants, who tied the horses to a long bar and gave them water.

  One of the attendants announced, “Prince Antipartis of Edom!”

  Judge Zifron waved away the men surrounding him, straightened his gold-laced coat over h
is protruding belly, and stepped forward, opening his arms. “Welcome! Welcome!”

  “It is my great honor.” Kassite towered over the judge as they embraced and kissed on both cheeks. He kept his hat on and gestured at the horses. “We bring you gifts of fine copper from the land of Edom, with the blessings of our gods and the best wishes of our king.”

  Kassite’s two servants untied the packages, carried them to a table, and arranged all the copper tools and trinkets in an orderly display. Kassite praised the quality of material and workmanship of each item.

  Meanwhile, Deborah glanced around furtively. She could spot at least six of Seesya’s soldiers, one at each corner of the courtyard, one at the exit to the street, and one more at the door leading into the main house. They paid no attention to her, as Kassite had predicted. Glancing into the horse stable, she was relieved to see only a few horses inside, indicating that Seesya was away.

  She stepped closer to hear the conversation.

  “Word has reached our land,” Kassite said to the judge, “about the exceptional strength of the Zifron baskets and the abundance of flour and barley, as well as olives and figs, in your flourishing domain.”

  “It’s true on all counts.” Judge Zifron held a copper pot in his hand, turning it over to look closely before putting it down. A curved knife and a wine jug with a long neck also attracted his attention. “Very nice. We don’t see Edomite merchants very often here.”

  “These are only examples,” Kassite said. “Our mines produce plenty of copper and iron ore, and our artisans make the most excellent tools, dishes, and weapons. In fact, when it comes to weapons, we could extract enough raw materials from the ground in one year to make swords and spear tips for a whole army, as well as armored chariots for the king and his generals.”

  “Armored chariots?”

  “Plated with copper and iron.”

  The judge leaned forward eagerly.

  “Our beautiful land is rich for mining, but most of it too dry for farming.”

  “Plenty of fertile land here, I assure you.” Judge Zifron waved his arms. “We recently gained ownership of a boundless cistern that will triple our tillable land and multiply our crops many times over.”

  Deborah knew that he was speaking of the ancient cistern at Palm Homestead, and as her anger heated up, she wanted to shout the truth at the top of her voice: “You didn’t gain ownership, you stole it!” But she kept her lips pressed together, as she had promised Kassite, and harnessed her rage for the right time.

  “Splendid,” Kassite said. “If you are interested, we could satisfy your needs in copper and iron while you fill our shortages in produce and baskets.”

  The judge motioned to the servants to take away the gifts.

  Kassite looked around. “And where is the factory that makes the famous Zifron baskets?”

  “Please, follow me.” Judge Zifron marched across the courtyard. “It’s right here.”

  Everyone moved aside to make way. Kassite went with the judge while Deborah and the Edomite men followed behind. She squinted, her eyelids half-closed, as Kassite had told her to do, but no one paid attention to her anyway. And why would they? In height, she almost matched the Edomite men, and her slimness wasn’t obvious under the leather armor. As Kassite had said, people saw her armor, helmet, boots, and sword, assumed she was a soldier, and filtered out anything that might contradict that assumption.

  The basket factory hadn’t changed since she’d worked there, with dozens of girls and women weaving baskets at the tables, tall haystacks on one end, and piles of finished baskets at the opposite end. She scanned the large room, but didn’t see Sallan or Seesya’s mother, Vardit, who usually worked there.

  “This is very impressive,” Kassite said. “Who runs this operation for you?”

  “An excellent foreman,” Judge Zifron said. “In fact, he is originally from Edom. I bought him many years ago at an excellent price, considering how well he’s done for me.”

  “An Edomite slave?” Kassite looked around. “I would like to meet him.”

  Deborah held her breath, waiting to hear where Sallan was.

  “Unfortunately, he’s been ill lately, but my son is supervising the work in the meantime.” The judge beckoned a chubby boy of about fifteen. “Come here, Babatorr, and meet Prince Antipartis of Edom.”

  Kassite tipped his hat.

  Babatorr bowed respectfully, his cheeks red and his smile wide. Deborah recognized him. He was Judge Zifron’s second-oldest son, born to one of the judge’s concubines who had died years ago.

  “Tell the guests about our factory,” Judge Zifron told his son.

  Deborah glanced up at the ceiling, wondering if Sallan was upstairs in his plush quarters, or had been sent somewhere else to recuperate—or worse.

  “The process starts at this tub,” Babatorr explained, pointing. “We dip single stalks of straw or flax in the Reinforcing Liquid, then braid and dry them here.” He led the guests over to the long table, where young slave girls picked three stalks and braided them into a single strand.

  “The strands dry overnight before they’re ready for weaving.” He pointed at the three round tables in the center, where dozens of women worked. “We make different types of baskets—about a hundred baskets a day, or more if there’s a big order.”

  “Our copper mines require many baskets,” Kassite said. “The workers have to carry the rocks and ore out of the deep tunnels, and the baskets they use now disintegrate after a few weeks of use.”

  “Our baskets are strong,” Judge Zifron said. “They won’t break.”

  “Then we can sell thousands of them to the mines every year.” Kassite picked up a basket and looked it over. “And in the regular markets, where we sell grain and other goods, the buyers will buy the storage baskets from us at the same time.”

  “That’s a lot of baskets,” Babatorr said. “I’m not sure—”

  “Yes,” Judge Zifron said, “we can make as many baskets as you need, and our land holdings are growing to supply the wheat and flax twine, as well as flour and fruit. How will you transport the goods?”

  “Packhorses,” Kassite said. “They can make the trip from Edom in a couple of weeks, depending on the season and the sandstorms. That means that each of my caravans can be here every other month to deliver copper goods to you and pick up a shipment of baskets and produce for sale in Edom.”

  Deborah was mesmerized by the ease with which Kassite lied.

  His face gleaming with greed, Judge Zifron rubbed his hands. “We’ll have to agree on quantities and prices.”

  “That is not a problem,” Kassite said. “Are you certain that your factory can increase production to meet our needs?”

  “Capacity we have, as long as the profits justify the costs and the efforts.”

  “The profits will be plenty for both of us.”

  Judge Zifron grinned, tugging on the lapels of his coat, which was tight over his extended girth.

  “By the way,” Kassite said, “the liquid you dip the straw in, is that the reason your baskets are so durable?”

  Babatorr nodded.

  “Have you used it for a long time?”

  Glancing at his father, Babatorr shifted his weight from leg to leg.

  “Yes,” Judge Zifron answered. “We’ve used the Reinforcing Liquid since we started making baskets about eighteen years ago.”

  “May I?” Kassite went to the dipping tub, put his finger in the liquid, and licked it. He smacked his lips, tilted his head, and breathed through his mouth a few times, blowing rapidly. “Interesting,” he finally said. “Very interesting.”

  Judge Zifron looked at him, waiting for an explanation.

  “In Edom,” Kassite said, “we have a similar liquid in which we wash copper and iron ore before it is melted and molded. We call it the Strengthening Stew, and in rare times of grave peril, a man may even drink it to get a leg up in a coming fight.”

  “Drink it?” Babatorr twisted his face in
disgust. “How could you—”

  His father shushed him.

  Deborah leaned forward, eager to hear. On her last night here, Sallan had made her drink a goblet filled with the Reinforcing Liquid, promising her that it would make her stronger on her quest to find the Elixirist. She had doubted its powers at first, but in retrospect, would she have succeeded without it, considering the terrible setbacks she had suffered along the way?

  “It is a secret formula,” Kassite continued. “Only pureblood Edomite men may learn the ingredients, their measures, and the correct order of mixing them to make the Strengthening Stew and ensure its full potency. The formula has passed from generation to generation for ages, all the way down from our forefather, Esau, the eldest son of Isaac.”

  “I’m familiar with the legend,” the judge said. “In our Hebrew tradition, it was our forefather Jacob, the younger of Isaac’s sons, who knew how to make the Strengthening Stew, but he sold it to his older twin brother, Esau, in exchange for Esau’s firstborn birthright.”

  “In Edomite tradition,” Kassite said, “Esau did not wish to sell his firstborn birthright to his younger brother for the Strengthening Stew, but was tricked into doing so by Jacob at a moment of weakness after a long day in the fields.”

  An awkward silence ensued.

  “No worry,” Kassite said, his face breaking into a wide smile. “After so many generations, how could we hold a grudge against blood relatives?”

  Judge Zifron laughed, and his son Babatorr joined in, visibly relieved.

  Dipping his finger again, Kassite licked it as one would lick honey. “The taste of home,” he said. “Magical. And you, young man,” he addressed the judge’s son, “you have not foolishly revealed the secret formula to anyone, have you?”

  “No, sir,” Babatorr said. “I don’t even know how to—”

  Judge Zifron clapped his hands. “Time for fresh air, and some wine, too.”