Short Story / From the Heavens the Stars Fought

       The onset was swift, the shade of the palm tree fading into a small tent set by a gurgling river.  A young boy swung a hammer, beating on a piece of metal.  A girl around the same age, her eyes the unusual color of jade, crept into the tent, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck and causing him to drop the hammer.  He whirled around in the surprise, then smiled at the girl.  Just as he was about to stroke a stand of her glossy hair, a sword appeared in his chest, seemingly going straight threw his heart.  The girl screamed, and years were added onto her face until she became worn and weary, only her eyes staying the same.
        
       The scene shifted again, this time an areal view of a battle.  On one side there was a wild looking man, his beard long and untended.  A small army followed him as he led them into battle.  Rain pounded the ground.  The opposing forces met, and the small army began to fall.  The rain came down harder, and the tide of the battle turned.  The ground was flooded, and the wheels of the winning army’s chariots became stuck in the rising mud.  The small army gave a fierce shout, and they began to overtake the chariots one by one until. . .

        The vision flickered and died.
                       _

        Barak shifted his weight onto his left foot, glaring at the guard in front of him.  “Am I going to be standing here until nightfall?”
The guard stared back at him impassively. “I’m just following my orders, my Lord.  My Lady asked you not be admitted until she finishes her business with her counselors.”

        “Are they discussing some information I am not worthy to hear, or does ‘your Lady’ not want a bedraggled general to be seen in her presence?”

        The guard leaned forward, his indifference melting.  “It may be something, my Lord, that they are not worthy to hear.  One of the Lady’s servant girls said-”        The guard was cut off as a grumbling stream of people emerged from the tent.  Some appeared to be battle-hardened generals like Barak himself, although considerably less disheveled and wearing more ornate armor, but the majority were clad in richly adorned robes signifying the rank of scholars and advisors.  They all were, however, male, Barak noted with a trace of amusement.  As they went by, one portly man gave him a scathing look and a small snort, while another man muttered under his breath “Foolish girl, she’s going to get us all killed. . .”

        As the counselors had exited the tent, the guard had quickly slipped in.  By the time Barak noticed his absence, the guard had appeared again and nodded to Barak.  “She will see you now, my Lord.”

           The intense sun overhead vanished as Barak entered the cool and dark tent.  The tent was not extravagantly decorated, but it still held an air luxury.  A low table sat in the center, covered with the remains of the council’s meal.  Various writing materials and scrolls were scattered about the room, and there was a faint smell of cinnamon in the air.  At the head of the table sat Devora.

        Simply by being the only female judge in history that Barak was aware of, not to mention being a prophetess, Devora was a bit of a phenomenon.  Like her tent, Devora managed to appear common and regal simultaneously.  Her wavy hair hung freely around her hips, and her skin was deeply tanned from the harsh sun of Israel.  As Barak entered she rose to her feet, her long robes of umber falling towards the ground.

        “Welcome Barak, son of Abinoam.  May you find peace within my halls.” Devora’s voice was low and melodic, but her cool brown eyes followed him carefully as she gave a low bow.

        Barak did not return the bow, but instead stared at her.  “Why did you summon me,
Devora?”

        Devora brushed past him.  “I am weary of this tent, son of Abinoam.  Come and walk with me.”

        Devora was quiet as they walked along the plains, leaving the camp far behind. When only the tips of the tents could be seen along the horizon, Devora turned towards Barak and said, “How long has Jabin, through his general Sisera, repressed us?”

        “Since the judge Ehud died, near twenty summers ago, I suppose.  But you know that as well as I, Devora.  Tell me, what was your purpose of summoning me?”

        “And in that time, your father and you as his heir, have valiantly fought Jabin’s regime.”

        “Devora, what does that have to do with anything?  Yes, I have led the people under my jurisdiction to the best of my ability, just as my father did before me and as generals throughout our land do.  But I fear all my work may be for naught because I left them without leadership to gossip with the Judge of Israel.”

        Although Devora had once again turned away from him, Barak thought he saw a faint smile on her face.  “Very well then, son of Abinoam. I will tell you the reason for your presence here.  The time of Israel is once again at hand, and our great Lord has shown me that you, out of all the leaders in the land, have been chosen to bring us to victory.  Return to your people; rally your men.  When you have gathered ten thousand of your best soldiers, take them to the Mountain of Tabor and prepare for battle.  The Lord your God will deliver the general Sisera and his armies into your hands, and through this victory the kingdom of Jabin will be made defenseless.”

        Barak reeled at Devora’s swift but heavy speech.  “Lady Devora,” he began, shock inducing him to use her full title, “Ten thousand men is but an anthill to the Sisera.  His army of chariots alone could crush us. . . . Not to mention my people are severely in need of supplies. We wouldn’t even make the march to Tabor.  This is madness, Devora, absolute madness.”

        This time, Barak was sure she was smiling. “So I have heard.  Tell me, son of Abinoam, do you not believe God will honor His promise, or do you just believe that I am deluding myself into prophetic visions?”

        Barak paused, and tried again. “Devora, listen to me.  What you are proposing is foolish.  There is no way-”

        Devora cut him off.  “There is a way, if you trust our Lord.  Your faith should not be so weak, son of Abinoam.  Your father’s was not.”

        Barak sneered.  “Yes, and my father was killed because of it. I will not lead my people into a battle they cannot win, Devora.  That is final.”        

        Barak turned and walked away, leaving Devora behind.  As he began making his way back to the camp, she called, “My visions have always been accurate, have they not?”

        He whirled around, looking her in the eye. “You are willing to put the lives of thousands of men, of thousands of brothers and fathers and husbands, in a battle that will surely destroy them all, because you have had a vision that God will deliver us.”

        “I am.”

        “Then you lead the men.  I will have no part of it.”

        “You will sooner or later, son of Abinoam.  I am a judge, not a general, and a woman besides.  They will follow me unwillingly, and Sisera will gain the upper hand.  Once he destroys us, he will come after you, and after all the others that have opposed him, and crush you under his heel like a tiny insect.  You and all your beloved people will die unless you come with me and lead our armies to victory like the Lord has decreed.”

        There was a pause as Barak rubbed his hands over his face.  “Fine, under one condition.  You will march to battle with me, and when you see the swords of Sisera’s men enter my soldiers’ bellies and you hear them scream, then you will explain your vision to me.”

        Devora’s eyes grazed over the plains, and she seemed to be focusing on something that
was only visible to her.  “Agreed.  But know this: the greatest victory will not be yours.  As your soldiers destroy Sisera’s army, he will flee, and the head of Jabin’s greatest general will fall at the hands of a woman.”
                      _

        “Yael, where has Jachin gotten? I told him to be ready to go by now.”

        Yael laid down a pitcher of fresh goat milk onto the mat.  “I don’t know.  Are you sure you want him with you?”

        Heber tore off a piece of bread and swirled it in a bowl of olive oil.  “I thought he might enjoy the city.  Besides, it is high time he learns the duties of a tradesman.”

        Yael began grinding a bowl of herbs, carefully avoiding her husband’s eyes.  “Perhaps he does not wish to become a tradesman.”

        Heber laughed.  “Well, he had better get over that, unless he desires to be a beggar instead.”

        Before Yael could respond, Jachin ran in, his wiry frame and matted hair covered with mud.  Launching himself at Yael, the small child latched himself around her skirts. Yael started and dropped the bowl she had been holding.

        “Mother, mother, guess what?  I found a frog, mother! I was gonna bring ‘im back and
show ‘im to ya, but I dropped ‘im in the river.”

        Yael laughed and gently detached her son from around her skirt, then picked up the errant bowl.  Heber looked on, shaking his head.  “Jachin, go bathe, now.  We should have left already. Honestly, child, you will be reduced to a beggar if this foolish behavior continues.”

        Jachin, lip trembling, looked up at his father.  “But father . . . the frog. . .”

        “Now, Jachin.”

        As Jachin strode out of the tent, Heber ran a gnarled hand over his balding head.  “Yael, I hope you die before I do, for your sake.  I fear Jachin will never be able to take care of you.”

        “He’s a child, Heber.  He will grow up soon enough; let him enjoy his freedom while he is able.”

        “I am aware he is a child, but how he is allowed to behave now will shape him into the man he is to become.”  Heber stood and placed his hand on Yael’s arm, his voice softening. “I just want what’s best for him, is all.  You must trust me on this Yael, this nonsensical streak must be taken out of him as soon as possible.”

        Yael lowered her eyes.  “If you say so, my husband.”

        “I do, my dear.  Now come.  Let us go find our mischievous child and see if he is ready to depart.”

        “I’d rather stay here and finish cleaning up breakfast.”

        “Are you sure? I plan to depart as soon as he is ready.  We won’t make our way back here.”

        “I am sure.   Send him my love, and may your journey go well.”

        “Very well then.  Look after things while I am gone.  May God keep you, my jeweled eyes.”

        As Heber departed from the tent, Yael slid down to the floor.  Clutching a small metal pendant that she had pulled from within the folds of her robe, she muttered, “Oh Gerah . . . how I wish you were here.”
                        _

        “Twenty-six thousand men, Devora, twenty-six thousand!”  Barak paced back and forth, gesturing wildly with his hands.  Devora’s eyes watched him, and Barak felt like a drowning mouse to her superior cat.  By receiving aid from a nearby tribe, Barak’s soldiers had barely managed to survive the march to Tabor.  Barak had almost dispelled his doubts about the upcoming battle, but then a scout had reported that Sisera’s approaching army was over twice the size of the Israeli one.

        “You realize that walking to and fro will only make you tired in battle tomorrow.”

        “Battle?  What battle?  Sisera will crush us before our archers can nock their first arrow.  Twenty-six thousand!”

        “Yes, you’ve mentioned that.”

        Barak wheeled, his body rigid.  He was screaming now. “How can you sit there and be so calm?  Do you not yet realize that I was right?  I never should have agreed to come with you on this accursed mission!”  

        Devora pursed her lips, and when she finally spoke, her voice was quiet and held almost a tinge of pity.  “I am calm because I have faith, son of Abinoam.  I have seen our victory.  I only wish you could experience the same.”

        Barak slumped.  “Why do you always call me that?”

        “Son of Abinoam?”

        “Yes.”

        “I call you that to remind you of where you come from, who your father was.  He led your people well, and there is no greater honor than to die in battle defending your home.  His name will be sung for generations.  He was a great man.  You are a better one.”

        Barak looked up at Devora, but she continued speaking before he had a chance to protest. “Your men have rallied under you when they would have not done so for no other man.  Do not let them see that you are afraid, for then they will be afraid as well when there is no reason to be.  What do you think will happen tomorrow?  Do you really think that the Lord will forget His promise?  No, He will deliver the enemy into your hands, and you will be remembered as the liberator of Israel until the end of time.”

        Devora stood and strode out of the tent before Barak could respond, leaving him to mull over her words alone.
                     _

         The day dawned dark and cloudy.  Barak stood on the edge of his tense army, waiting for the emissary to come back.  His men were situated on one side of the dry bed of the Kishon river.  Spanned on the opposite side like a massive shadow was the army of Sisera; twenty-six thousand men clad in tough leather armor and clutching long steel swords, the majority on strong and muscled horses.  Spread in front of them was a force of almost a thousand chariots.

        Barak’s army was pitiful in comparison.  As there had been no funds to buy costly leather armor, the majority of the men were wearing their daily tunics.  Swords were also not readily available, so hammers, scythes, and whatever other tools could be scrounged up had been used instead.  Barak, as the head of the army, had simple black leather armor and a short sword, as well a small, tan-colored horse.  
  
        Before the battle began, emissaries from both camps had to meet in a facade of potential peace.  Sisera had sent a large black chariot filled with two behemoths of men; Barak had sent a young farm boy with only a half-dead horse and mother’s kitchen knife to arm him. When the boy, Ira, turned back after a brief conference, Barak rode out to meet him.  As he approached, he could see Ira was shaking, a taught look on his face.

        Ira’s voice was quivering with anger when he spoke.  “They said . . . My Lord, they called me a child!  Said they would see your head paraded on a stick!  Said -”

        Barak waved a hand, cutting Ira off.  He sighed.  “I suppose that means they don’t want to surrender, do they?”

        Ira shook his head.  “No sir.  But they did say that you were a -”  

        “Enough, Ira.  Go back to the others.”

        Barak was slow in following Ira.  As if sensing his despair, a small figure on a silvery-white mare detached itself from the main army and galloped towards him.  Devora.  Her hair had been knotted back, and under her simple, sable colored dress he thought he could see the outlines of armor.  As she came closer, Barak saw a bow and a quiver of arrows attached to her back.

        “They’re a large group, are they not?” she called.  “Come and lead your army, son of Abinoam, and show them how fierce we are!”

        “I hope your vision is proved to be correct, Devora,” he muttered.

        “Now is not the time to doubt your God,” she replied as they fell in front of the army.

        Barak rode up and down the lines, looking each man in the eye.  “Men of Israel, look across the field!  There you see the men that have oppressed for two generations!  There you see the men that have killed your sons and brothers!  There you see the men that have taken your wives and daughters!  There they stand, and today the Lord will put them at our mercy!  Are you with me, O men of Israel?”

        The crowd gave an earsplitting roar, and Barak smiled.  As the group fell silent, he turned around and looked at the massive army ahead of him.  A lone figure stood in front of the group, and he was easily the largest man Barak had ever seen.  He was bald, with large piercings in his earlobe, and his meaty fists looked as if they could easily kill a man.  He opened his mouth, emitting a primal roar that was louder than the entire army’s previous shout.  Wincing, Barak saw his men cower behind him, their previous confidence gone.  Only Devora seemed unaffected.

        “That would be Sisera,” she said.

        “And he is the one to be killed by a woman?”

        “Do not question the power of God, son of Abinoam, nor the power of a woman.”

        As she spoke, Sisera gave another roar, and his army was suddenly moving forward, the chariots approaching at an incredible speed. Barak raised his arm, and before he let it fall, he muttered a quick “Be with us, Lord of Lords.”

        Then his arm dropped, and his army surged ahead.  A crash of thunder rumbled, and it began to rain.

                     _

        Three more weeks, Yael, and we will be together. . .

        “My Lady, my Lady!”

        Yael was drawn from her daydream as her handmaiden approached.  The usually unflappable Rhoda’s knuckles had gone white from where she clutched her dress, and her lip was beginning to bleed from where she had bitten them.  Yael could see sweat shining on her forehead.
        
        “What is wrong, Rhoda?”

        Rhoda leaned over, attempting to get her breath back.  “I . . . just. . . came . . . from the. . .  plains, my Lady.”  She paused to take a deep breath and then continued. “One of the shepherd boys saw a chariot approaching and went to investigate.  It’s one of Jabin’s, my Lady; it’s Sisera.  The general Sisera is coming here to seek refuge.”

        Yael turned from Rhoda to hide her pale face.  “Why does the general want refuge?”

        “I don’t know, my Lady, but he is fast approaching.”

        “Go and clean my tent; I will receive him there.”

        “My Lady, are you – ”

        “Now, Rhoda!” Yael barked.

        As Rhoda tidied  her tent, Yael went and washed herself.  After changing clothes and dabbing a bit of perfume onto her wrists, she placed a feast of cool milk and fresh bread into her quarters.  When a servant protested at killing a baby calf for meat, Yael looked at him and said, “We are entertaining Jabin’s greatest general tonight.  Do you think it is not a worthy occasion?”

        Nearly an hour after Sisera had first been sighted, the general appeared at Yael’s tent. He was alone and on foot, an unusual sight compared to the grand chariots Yael had seen him ride.  He was covered in dust and sweat, and a stain Yael was sure was blood spread across his stomach.  She gasped, and he smiled ruefully at her reception.

        “Forgive me of my appearance, O beautiful wife of Heber, for I have just come from battle.” Sisera’s deep voice rumbled as he spoke.

        “What happened, my Lord?”

        His face darkened, and his voice became more stern.  “My troops and I . . . encountered a slight difficulty with a local uprising.  I managed to get away, and am on my way back to Jabin to gather more troops to crush the insurgence.”

        Yael gave him a coy smile as she led him into the tent.   “You seem to forget, my Lord, that my husband and I are Israeli too.  Do you not fear us turning against you as well?”

        Sisera returned the smile as he settled down to eat.  “Your husband is as much an Israeli as I am.  A trader will associate with whomever benefits him the most.”

        Yael watched as Sisera gobbled down the meal in front of him.  “I suppose that’s fair.  You seem. . .very hungry, my Lord.”

        “I have been traveling for nearly a day with no rest or respite.  I was pursued, I fear.”

        “Then stay here, my Lord.  Let us tend to your wounds, and you can rest here before carrying on.”

        Sisera watched her, and Yael met his gaze unflinchingly.  “All right, wife of Heber, I will accept your hospitality.  No one must know that I am here, however.”

        “Of course, my Lord.”

        Sisera nodded, then proceeded to finish his meal.  Once he was done, Yael cleaned his gashes, and gave him medicine for the pain.  As he lay down, sleeping already tugging at his large body, Yael stood in the opening of the tent.

        “Wife of Heber, why do you stand there?  Leave me be, I wish to sleep.”

        “Of course, my Lord.”  Yael disappeared, and there was a faint dragging noise from outside.  She strode in the tent again, her feet padding quietly.

        “Did you know, my Lord, that I was to be married to a man before Heber?”

        She walked around Sisera softly, seeing he was nearly asleep.  “That is very nice, wife of Heber.  Please let me sleep now.”

        “His name was Gerah; he was training to be a metal smith. He used to make me little trinkets all the time in his shop.  Extremely handsome too, my Gerah.  We loved each other dearly.”

        Sisera’s voice was a faint growl.  “Let me be, wife of Heber.”

        “But then Jabin invaded, and he volunteered to go with the army.  I was told he was crushed by a hairless giant in a black chariot.”  Sisera’s eyes widened slightly, but before he could rise there a small prick of cold wood on the side of his head.  Yael’s voice trembled as she raised her right hand.  

        “You killed him.”

        And with that, she slammed the mallet onto the tent peg that was resting lightly on Sisera’s skull.

                     _

        As they approached the tent, Devora once again had a secretive smile on her face.  Barak turned towards her.  “You know something, don’t you?”

        “Wait and see, son of Abinoam.”

        A figure emerged from the tent and began heading towards them.  It was a small women, her skin weathered with age, but a youthful look in her celery colored eyes.  “You are looking for Sisera, the general of Jabin, are you not?”

        Barak stared at her.  “Who are you, my Lady?  And how do you know our business?”

        The woman shifted.  “Come inside, and I will show you.”

        Barak blinked at the sight in front of him.  Sisera, the right hand of Jabin, the giant who struck fear in the hearts of Israelis everywhere, was splayed out on the floor, covered in blood. The woman spoke quietly from behind.  

        “I tried to clean him up a bit. . .I couldn’t pull the peg from the ground.”

        Barak understood what she was talking about as he drew closer to the corpse.  A large stake jutted out of the side of Sisera’s head, and entered to the ground on the other side.  “Who did this?”

        “I did, my Lord.”

        Barak turned back and looked at the tiny woman again, and then back at Sisera.  “You?  You drove a stake through his head into the ground?”

        The woman frowned, and Devora spoke.  “Remember my words, son of Abinoam.”

        Barak rubbed a hand over his face.  “Yes. . .yes, of course.  Well then,” he looked at the woman.  “You have killed one of Israel’s greatest enemies.  You have my eternal gratitude.  Tell me, O hero of my people, what is your name?”

        “Yael, wife of Heber of the Kenites.”

        Barak nodded, “Then blessed be you, Yael, among all women.”  He threw a glance over his shoulder at Devora.  “Jabin will fall easily without his general to protect him.”

        Yael spoke up, addressing Devora.  “Sisera mentioned a battle.  I assume you two were there?”

        “This, Lady Yael, is Barak, son of Abinoam.  He led us in battle, and when the heavens opened up to give us victory he crushed Sisera,” here Devora smiled, “Like the Lord our God promised.”

        “So Sisera’s troops have been defeated?”

        “For the most part.  A few managed to escape besides Sisera; they are surely on their way back to Jabin now.  The majority of Jabin’s army was defeated, though.  It will be easy to gain our land back.”

        “I don’t see your army.”

        Barak gave a sheepish smile.  “We. . . left them behind.  We were a bit eager to catch Sisera.”

        “I suppose you will be needing somewhere for them to rest then.”

        “Yes, my Lady.  With your permission. . .”

        Yael sighed and gestured with her hand.  “Of course.  Just don’t scare the flocks.  And Lord Barak?”

        “Yes?”

        “Would you please take away Sisera’s corpse?”

                       _

        That night, Yael watched as the troops of Barak rejoiced around the campfire. Things
had happened so fast that she had hardly had time to think.  She was glad that Sisera’s army had been defeated, and she was glad that Gerah’s death had been avenged, but she couldn’t help feeling soiled all the same.  The momentary strength that had allowed to drive the stake through Sisera’s temple had fled, leaving her feeling tired and worn out.
  
        Rhoda came and sat beside her.  Although she had been shaken earlier, the girl hadn’t flinched at seeing the dead general’s body, gruesome as it was.   She seemed nervous now, however.  Yael mentally groaned; she didn’t feel like dealing with an upset servant.

        “Yes, Rhoda?”

        “My lady. . . I. . .”

        “On with it.”

        “Thank you.”

        Yael’s eyes widened at Rhoda’s statement, and the servant girl blushed.  “I just. . . my brother was killed by Jabin’s forces, and I know. . . I know that you’ve lost to him to.  I knew he – Sisera – was coming, but I. . . well, I couldn’t have done what you did.  But I’m glad. . . that you did, I mean.  Maybe my other brothers can live now.”

        Yael’s eyes softened.  She was still horrified at her crime, but she was coming to terms with it, slowly.   She thought of little Jachin, and envisioned him growing up to be not a merchant, or a soldier fighting against Jabin, but a metal smith.

        “Thank you, Rhoda.”

        Across the campfire, Devora stood up and began to sing.  “When the princes in Israel
take the lead, when the people willingly offer themselves. . .

Reviews

Showing 1 - 10 of 10