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Trust and Trickery - Hivites

By Christine Dillon

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Gibeon, Ancient Canaan

“Take that!” Danel swiped his best friend, Yassib, with his makeshift sword, a small branch he’d selected that morning.
Yassib blocked Danel’s swing with his own stick. Danel’s stick splintered, and he growled in frustration. If only they could use real swords. Yassib had asked his father, but he had only laughed.
“Swords are for real men, not boys,” he’d said.
It was so frustrating to be a child. Growing up took too long. Danel and Yassib often watched the older boys training in sword and pike fighting. When Yassib had asked his father how long until he and Danel could join the training, his father had clapped his son on the shoulder.
“You’re just like I was when I was your age. Eager to be a hero.” He gestured at those in training. “When you are strong enough to wield a sword, you can join in.”
Yassib had puffed out his chest. “I can do it now.”
“Me too,” Danel had said, not wanting to be left out.
Yassib’s father had grinned and whistled. When one of his men came over, Yassib’s father took the man’s sword and held it out to Danel. Danel’s eyes widened, and he grinned as he went to lift the weapon from Yassib’s father, only to stagger backwards and drop the sword. He’d had to jump out of the way to avoid it hitting his toes.
“It’s heavier than it looks, isn’t it?” Yassib’s father had said.
Danel had nodded, red faced. After that, he and Yassib had practiced with sticks. They’d started with mere twigs and slowly progressed to longer and heavier versions. In the bakery, Danel’s father always said skill came with much practice, and Danel intended to apply the principle to sword fighting. His father might only be a baker, but Danel had no intention of kneading dough for the rest of his life. Danel was going to be a hero and flatten the armies of their enemies, and the first step to being a hero was being able to use weapons—swords and pikes and bows and arrows.
He and Yassib practiced every afternoon they could, down by the stream. They parried back and forth, training their hands and arms and feet and even their eyes. If Danel didn’t pay attention, Yassib would break through Danel’s defenses and give him a bruise to remember. In the early days, Danel had received lots of bruises. Now they were more evenly matched.
Yassib’s branch thwacked Danel’s arm, drawing him back to the present. They continued parrying back and forth until exhausted, then plunged into one of the deeper pools in the stream to cool off.
“When will we be big enough to fight with real swords?” Danel asked.
“Look.” Yassib flexed his elbow. “My muscles are growing.”
Danel hadn’t the heart to tell Yassib that his bulky muscles were only in his imagination. Yet Danel trusted that one day their puny arms would show off toned muscles and their sticks would be replaced with swords.
Maybe by the time he and Yassib had grown, there would be a task worthy of them. Something to ensure they’d be remembered forever, like the mighty men of Gibeon’s past.

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