by Christopher Philip

Created on: December 19, 2011

Zadok and Merari had bellowed their support along with everyone else, the magic and promise of the moment sweeping them into the war. Zadok’s powerful legs propelled him down the hill faster than he had ever run before. He was so full of life and energy that death was irrelevant – and impossible. His life had already been changed forever.

The clearing was suddenly tiny with trees charging towards him. His entire existence was compressed into this moment. Everything was lightning fast but in slow motion at the same time. Nothing in the world really mattered now, nothing; Shaul was nothing. Home was meaningless. Friends, family, Baal – all of them were of no importance anymore. In the strange world of speed and extended understanding, Zadok couldn’t believe how he’d never grasped it before. This was what he had been born for, his dream, his vocation. And he loved it! He could hear the wind rushing past his ears, feel his eyes streaming in the cold air. In the single, one-hundred-yard stretch of ground directly in front of him, he felt wonderfully alone as he charged down the hill, screaming. He felt like he knew everything; he felt like he could do anything; his senses were amplified and accelerated like never before.

 
It was glorious!

Bursting from the tree line at the bottom of Tabor, Zadok had to stop screaming. It didn’t matter. Israel had exploded into Sisera’s great army. In the first few seconds of battle, hundreds of men fell, thrashing in agony, puddles dirtied with their blood. Speeding arrows spat their deadly stings into bare flesh. A few, short minutes more, and over a thousand men lay dead, or waiting for death. Zadok reached an overturned chariot. One of the wheels was completely submerged in the mud, the other hanging in the air above, turning slowly as it dripped filth onto his back. Instinctively he grabbed the axle for support and crouched behind the now vertical chariot floor.

“Merari! This is great! I…”

Merari was lying face down in the mud. His body was no less dirty than the wheel that was dripping on Zadok, and no less dead. Acidic vomit choked Zadok’s scream… He spat the foul, lumpy liquid to the ground and yelled ferociously, “MERAR-I-I…!”

He lunged towards his friend and tried to drag him to safety, but the body wouldn’t budge. A spear, snapped off halfway up its length, had broken through Merari’s back, fastening him to the

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