The Spartans had chosen their stand too well. In the narrow valley pass, number mattered little. Only a few of the vast sea of Medes and Cissians could surge forward,
and they were met with unimaginable ferocity.
She winced when yet more of her husband’s men staggered and fell. Was there no way to get around the Spartans’ longer spears?
Even as she wondered, the Lacedaemonians spun as a unit and fled back toward the walls erected in the narrowest part of the pass. Her heart lurched, her hand lifted to her
throat. It could not be so easy, they had no reason to flee. She had not spotted a single Spartan falling. Perhaps the numbers of their enemies had intimidated them?
No, it made no sense. No sense at all.
The Medes pursued, their victorious cry echoing down to her ears. They gained on their prey, drew closer and closer—
The Spartans pivoted and crouched, spears parallel to the ground. Xerxes sprang from his seat with a heart-wrenching curse as his front line ran straight into the
unforgiving points.
Kasia winced but could not look away. A few spears flew from the hands of the Medes and found their targets. She counted three fallen Spartans. Three of the three hundred
who once again loosed a terrifying scream and came at the Medes.
Her husband cursed again and shoved agitated fingers through his hair. “All these troops—where are the men?” He pointed a finger at one of his commanders. “Take in the
Immortals.”
Her jaw quivered. Could even the most elite fighting men gain any ground against this particular foe? Or would they fall as quickly as the Medes and Cissians?
The commander dashed away, and moments later the Immortals, already in formation, marched on the pass.
Her eyes slid shut. If Zechariah had managed to join the army, he likely would have been an Immortal. He was that skilled—she had snuck away a few times to watch him train
with Bijan.
Bijan. He was marching toward death even now. Her brother’s one Persian friend. She had never known him much, but now fear for him burrowed into her heart. She had to pray.
The desperate need weighed her down, shook her knees.
“Kasia? What in Hades are you doing out here?”
She blinked Xerxes into focus. “My brother has a friend who is an Immortal. Bijan.”
Her husband frowned. “The son of Navid? He is a friend of Darius and Cyrus as well. One of the most capable warriors I have seen. You need not fret for him, sweet one.”
Not fret? Had he not been watching the same battle she had?
He came to her, cupped her face, kissed her brow. “Go back to your tent. This is no place for you.”
Her servants tugged her away before she could protest, but it mattered not. Images of spears and shields, of daggers and swords still flashed before her eyes. Fear for her
brother’s friend, the only Immortal she knew, pounded with her pulse.
Jehovah-Jirah, take care of him. Jehovah-Raffa, keep him whole. Jehovah-Nissi, be a banner before him. If ever my brother showed him the Truth of you, let it burrow deep
today. Let him feel your strength.
Desma got her to her makeshift bed before Kasia’s strength abandoned her legs and banded around her heart. She curled up against the pillows, squeezed her eyes shut tight,
and prayed.
Twenty-Six
Susa, Persia
Mordecai jolted from his pillow, eyes darting from left to right in search of the light that had pulled him from his dreams. He saw no indication of it now.
He did not need to. He jumped up. “Esther! Martha, Jonah!”
His cousin and the servants all stumbled into the main room a few moments later. “Jonah, go rouse any faithful Jews you can find. Tell them our friends with the army need
our prayers, to gather here. Martha, we will need refreshment. Esther—go convince Kish and his family to come. He will resist, it being about the king’s war, but they
must. Zechariah especially. He has a friend in the Immortals, does he not?”
Eyes round, Esther jerked a nod. “Bijan.”
“He must pray for Bijan. Go.”
The three of them darted away. Mordecai dropped to his knees.
Within the hour, his humble abode filled to bursting with friends and neighbors, on their knees beseeching God. Jehovah would use their prayers to fuel his servants, to
strengthen their might against the enemies’.
Zechariah settled beside him with a pained expression. “Bijan?”
Mordecai could only shake his head. “I know only that we must pray for him and his companions.”
Zechariah swallowed and darted a gaze at Esther. Even through the veil of prayer, Mordecai saw a new complexity in that look. The young man’s nostrils flared. “I have not
prayed much these past months. I cannot think Jehovah would hear me now.”
Mordecai gripped his shoulder. “Make your heart right with God, my son, and stay on your knees. There are bigger things at stake tonight.”
Zechariah covered his face with his hands and touched his head to the floor.
Mordecai closed his eyes again and welcomed the Spirit into their midst.
*
Malis, Trachis