I burst to the surface of the frigid water, and the skin on my arms rose in gooseflesh.
“Immerse again,” Uriel said. “I saw your hair floating on the water.”
I ran a hand through my curly hair, which hadn’t been cut since high summer. Each time I dipped under the surface, it rose like a water lily seeking light. I pursed my lips and dunked again, tucking my chin to my knees and curling over in the narrow pool. When I came up, Uriel nodded.
“The impurity of the dead still clings to the rest of us,” Uriel said. “We will not be fully cleansed until we merit to see the Holy Temple, where the kohanim can purify us with the ashes of the red heifer. But for you, Lev, who have not had direct contact with the dead, living waters will suffice.”
Through most of that morning, Uriel and Shimon had cleansed the dead prophets, laying them out in a nearby cave. There they’d rest, like so many sleepers in a row, with their feet pointed toward Jerusalem. At Uriel’s insistence, the bodies of the soldiers were carried into a second cave. Shimon didn’t object, but I suspected he would have preferred their flesh be scavenged by the vultures that already circled overhead.
Unable to help with the bodies, I returned to the previous night’s cave to retrieve Balaam and the rest of our gear. My heart pounded as I stretched up to grab my kinnor from its hiding place. My grip relaxed as I ran my fingers over the strings and heard its voice, surprisingly still in tune. I was without it just one night, but it felt like greeting an old friend after a long separation.
Yonaton spent the morning working with the soldiers’ horses, removing all the Queen’s insignia and burning them in the fire, then setting the animals loose in the valley. Though they would have hastened our journey, Uriel felt they’d draw too much attention.
“Where to now, Master?” I shook myself dry.
“West. There’s a cave not far from the King’s Road where Shimon and I can hide.”
Yonaton flushed. Between his run the day before and the horse falling on him that morning, he was struggling to walk. “I don’t think I can make it that far.”
Uriel shook his head. “Your legs have earned a rest. You may ride Balaam today.”
It wasn’t yet midday when we started our journey. Before long, our track cut through rolling hills like those around Levonah. I spent most of my life traversing hills just like these, but couldn’t see any path that Uriel was following. Nevertheless, by late afternoon we reached our destination—a cave in a hillside just over the ridge from the King’s Road, chiseled by hand like those at Emek HaAsefa. A towering carob tree hid the entrance from view.
It hadn’t rained since my return from Jericho, but a cold north wind bit into my bones and I craved a hot, hearty meal. Yonaton, who managed to sleep much of the afternoon while riding Balaam, offered, “I’ll go look for—”
“No fire tonight,” Uriel said.
I surveyed the broad valley that we’d just crossed. Nothing resembling a soldier appeared anywhere on the horizon, but I hadn’t seen the first group either. Were there more out there hunting us?
I rose before the sun after tossing and turning throughout the night. Shimon sat in the mouth of the cave, illuminated by flickering firelight. Sniffing at the smell of roasting meat, I untangled myself from my tunic and threw it over my head. I wrapped my sheepskin around my shoulders for extra warmth and joined Shimon next to the small fire. “I was about to wake you to eat,” he said. “The Holy One must truly love you. See what leapt right into my hands this morning?” A fat grouse dripped grease onto the smoking coals.
Shimon plucked the bird from the roasting spit and cut off a wing with his dagger. It was the same dagger he’d given me, the one he threw wide of the soldier. Did he use this dagger because the other one, now tucked into his belt, had contact with the dead? Was this another one of the laws of the kohanim that Uriel wanted to teach me about? Shimon handed me the steaming wing, almost too hot to handle. “I envy you.”
“Why?” The word was muffled by the crisp skin crackling in my mouth.
“You’re walking toward danger, but at least your fate is in your hands. I…we…get to sit here and wait, praying we’re not discovered and hoping you’re successful; knowing little and doing less.”
I chewed the savory meat, keeping my mouth full so I wouldn’t have to respond. The hot meat warmed my throat, yet hadn’t Uriel, who now slept after taking the first watch, warned us against making a fire? I was relieved when Yonaton appeared, rubbing his eyes. Shimon handed him the other wing and repeated the story of the grouse. Yonaton stared at him. “You’re just a vessel for blessing, aren’t you? First you save our lives, and now you fill our stomachs.” The compliment brought a hint of a smile to Shimon’s scarred face.
When we finished eating, we tossed the remaining bones into the fire, wiped our greasy hands in the dirt, and descended to where Balaam was tied up for the night.
“You should ride,” I told Yonaton. “I’ll lead Balaam.”
“I can walk.”
“You can limp. Balaam can handle your weight, but both of us will be too much for him in the hills. When we reach the road, we’ll ride together.”
Yonaton sighed and shook his head, but climbed on.
“Be safe.” Shimon’s hand drifted down toward something inside of his cloak.
“What do you have there?” I asked.
Shimon pulled back his cloak, revealing the hilt of a sword. “It’s the one Yonaton handed me during the battle, from the soldier that he killed.”
“You kept it?”
“I was blessed to save us with it once. Perhaps I’ll be so blessed again.” Shimon watched us as we set off and ducked back into the cave only when we reached the ridge.
Yonaton shot a glance behind him. “Shame he’s not coming with us.”
I said nothing, just led Balaam on the path that Uriel pointed out to us the day before, which climbed gently until it intersected with the road in the distance. The footing was poor, and we trod along the path as the sun rose over the hillsides.
A figure on the far ridge caught my attention—a soldier on horseback. He sat on one of the hillsides overlooking the road, but he wasn’t facing the road, he was peering out over the valley where our path crossed. He noticed us at the same time and nudged his horse forward as he rose in the saddle.
My pulse raced. There was no reason to panic—we were just two boys with a donkey. I lifted my hand, hissing out of the corner of my mouth, “Quick, wave.”
Yonaton glanced around until he too saw the soldier, and threw a friendly wave. The soldier waved back, then returned to his post on the hilltop.
Yonaton asked, “Was that an Israelite soldier or one of the Queen’s?”
“I don’t know, but there weren’t any Israelite soldiers posted this far away before the wedding.”
“You think he’s watching the road?”
“He was facing the valley, so he could be watching both or—”
“Or he’s keeping an eye out for anyone avoiding the road,” Yonaton finished.
“If that’s the case, we’ll draw less attention on the road. We can cut over this hillside. It’ll be quicker, but I think it’s too steep for Balaam to carry you.”
Yonaton threw his leg over the donkey and lowered himself to the ground. “I can walk.”
We saw no more soldiers as we made our way up, over, and onto the road. Both of us climbed onto Balaam for the ride toward Shomron. The donkey brayed in protest when I mounted behind Yonaton—we were quite a load for the old beast—but it nonetheless trotted forward faster than we could walk.
The evening breeze tickled the sweat on the back of my neck as we climbed the approach to Shomron. We passed six more soldiers on the road during our journey, two of them from the Queen’s Guard, the other four Israelite. We lay down in the shade of a large carob tree during the hottest part of the afternoon. In order to draw less attention, we planned to enter the city just before sunset, when the gates would be crowded with those returning from the fields. But we underestimated the distance remaining to travel, and the first ram’s horn blew before we reached the city. I nudged Balaam with my ankles, urging the donkey to trot faster.
The guard at the gates raised the ram’s horn to his lips to blow the final blast before closing the gates. Yonaton called out, “Wait!”
The guard lowered the horn and waved us forward.
I jumped off and ran, drawing Balaam behind me. The guard blew the final blast, waited for us to pass, and pulled the outer gates closed. We couldn’t have drawn more attention to our entry if we’d presented the guard with a sealed scroll emblazoned with our names. A second sentry, one of the Queen’s men, also watched the gate. Fortunately, his attention was focused on the setting sun, and he was oblivious to two peasant boys.
The courtyards of the houses on Ovadia’s street formed a high stone wall, punctuated with gateways and alleys. A deep shadow already filled the paved stone street when we arrived, and before long, Yonaton was glancing back over his shoulder, casting his eyes back and forth between the sides of the street.
“Did we miss it?” I asked.
“No. Well…you know, I’m not so sure.” He twisted forward and back now, craning his neck to see the tops of the houses. It had been several months since we were at Ovadia’s, but we’d not anticipated any difficulty finding the house. “This is the street, I know it. Let’s go back to the crossroad.” Even Balaam groaned as we turned around in the fading light.
We passed the length of street two more times before Yonaton let out a loud “Ha!” and called a halt in front of a heavy wooden gate covered in fresh pitch, its stench stinging our noses.
“I don’t remember any gate,” I said softly.
“There wasn’t one,” Yonaton replied. “That’s what confused me. But this is it, I’m certain. See, there’s Ovadia’s seal on the lintel.”
The footstool carved into the lintel was indeed the same symbol that he used to seal his messages—I’d delivered enough of them before the wedding to remember. I tried the gate, but it was locked.
Yonaton gripped a crude mallet hanging from the door post, and pounded out three solid blows. I flinched at each strike; they rang too loud in the silence of the twilit street. No one answered. We stared at each other. We’d invested all our energy in reaching Shomron and hadn’t even thought about what to do if Ovadia was away. I shuddered at the thought of sleeping on the cold stone street.
Yonaton swung the mallet once more, knocking louder. We stepped away from the gate, assessing the dark wall. A door opened, then quickly closed again. The gate swung silently outward on its hinges, and Ovadia stepped into the gloom, fastening the gate behind him. “Hello, boys. A bit late for a visit, isn’t it?” He shifted from foot to foot as his eyes darted up and down the dark street.
I opened my mouth to respond, but Ovadia cut me off. “Well then, very good of you to let me know you’re back. Come look for me at the palace in the morning, perhaps we can find work for you again. I recently heard Dov say he could use more musicians for all the banquets. Until tomorrow, then.” Ovadia turned back to the gate.
I leaned in and breathed at his back, “Master Uriel sent us.”
Ovadia whipped around, his eyes shooting up the street again. “Did anyone see you? Were you followed?”
“I don’t think so.”
Ovadia swept Yonaton, Balaam, and me quickly into the courtyard. He closed and bolted the heavy wooden gate, secured it without a sound, coaxed Balaam over to a corner, tied him to a post near a watering trough, and tossed him a pile of straw. He hustled us through the main entrance—I exhaled only when the door of the house was locked behind us.
Lamps burned in the main room where drawn shutters blocked the moonlight. Batya tucked a loose strand of raven hair under her scarf as her husband dropped us onto stools beside the hearth table. She poured out water in clay bowls while Ovadia paced. I gulped down the cool liquid, wiping my grimy lips only after draining the bowl.
Ovadia dropped onto a stool opposite me. “Uriel is still alive?”
I nodded.
“Is he safe?”
I nodded again.
“Where is he?” I opened my mouth to answer, but Ovadia interjected, “How did you get here?”
“He is safe,” I replied. “He sent us to you for help.”
Ovadia popped up and redoubled his pacing. “Help? So many need help. She’s got eyes everywhere, you know!”
Batya offered us two hot loaves of flat bread. I tore off a hunk, cringing at the dark smudge my filthy hands left on the brown bread. I put the bread down and stepped toward the wash-basin.
Batya would not allow Ovadia to question us while we ate. Soon all four of us were seated at the heavy wooden table—even Ovadia’s nerves calmed in the face of warm bread.
I contemplated the changes in Ovadia’s house as I ate. Heavy blankets covered shuttered windows, a strange sight on a windless night. In the shadows, a new oven protruded from the wall on the inside of the house, just opposite the oven in the courtyard. I squeezed the warm bread in my hand—had they been baking at night?
Ovadia managed to hold himself back until the bread was gone, but when Batya rose, saying something about pressed figs, he leaned in close to us. “Where is he?”
I swallowed my last bite. “In a cave a day’s journey from here.”
“Well hidden?”
I nodded. “There’s a tree blocking the entrance; I never would have known it was there.”
“It must be one of Gidon’s caves.”
“Gidon’s caves?”
“Built before Gidon’s rebellion against the Midianites hundreds of years ago. Some, like those at Emek HaAsefa, were strongholds, others hiding places. Uriel has shown me several; no one knows them as well as he does. I’ve never heard of the one you speak of.”
“That doesn’t matter, we can guide you back.”
“Me, leave Shomron, to get a prophet?” Ovadia put his forehead into his hands and snorted. “That’s just what she’s waiting for, an excuse to take off my head.”
I stared at Ovadia—he was our only hope. We couldn’t return to Uriel alone. What would we do then? Sit in the cave until we starved?
“Of course, you have no idea what’s been happening here.” He pulled his stool closer to us and lowered his voice. “The Queen has declared war on the prophets.”
“We know,” I said, an edge to my voice. “We’ve buried the dead.”
The blunt words sank Ovadia into his seat, and he motioned for me to continue. I recounted the events of the last three days, holding nothing back, except Uriel’s revelation about my father—I saw no reason to share this new knowledge. Yonaton leaned in close to me the entire time I spoke, but added nothing. As with our music, he seemed happy to let me lead.
When I finished, Ovadia met his wife’s eyes with a groan. “It is worse than we feared.” He cradled his temples in his palms. “We hoped that her power was limited to Shomron. Further into the hills, the people still love and fear the prophets. I thought they would protect them.”
“The people love the prophets,” Yonaton said, speaking up for the first time, “but they fear the sword.”
Ovadia nodded. “Yet there are worse things than the sword, Yonaton. May you be blessed not to know them.” He rose and faced Batya. “It seems that the fate of these boys is bound up with ours, yes?”
Batya gathered the remains of our meal. “You thought these boys were a tool in your hand. Yet, you see now, we are all tools in the hands of the Holy One.”
I wondered what she meant, but was distracted by the sight of her collecting breadcrumbs from the table. During the wedding, I never saw her clean. “Where are your servants?”
A soft tear ran down her high-boned cheek. “They’re attending to our land.”
Attending to their land? Surely enough men attended Ovadia’s land that he didn’t need the house servants there as well? Perhaps for the harvest, but now? And even so, why should Batya weep over this?
I thought about everything I’d seen since arriving: the gate blocking access to the house; a new oven, built indoors instead of in the courtyard where it belonged; windows sealed on a still evening; hot bread past nightfall; and the servants gone. My eye fell on a waist-high lump in the corner of the room, covered with a woolen blanket.
I rose from my stool. All eyes watched me go, yet neither Ovadia nor Batya hindered me. I lifted the edge of the blanket and peeked beneath, discovering just what I realized must be there: a stack of freshly baked bread.
Ovadia approached and took the edge of the blanket from my hand. “Your eyes are starting to open, Lev. That is good. You will need them in the days ahead. All our servants, as you must have guessed, are gone. Our hired workers were dismissed even before the wedding; that was one reason I relied on you boys so much. Now even our slaves have been sent away to work our land in the Jezreel Valley. No one can know what we’re doing.”
A lump rose in my throat. “How many are there?”
“Thirty prophets and disciples. Hidden in a cave outside the city.”
Batya gasped and clasped her hand over her mouth.
“As you said, Batya, they were sent by the Holy One. We must trust them.”
She nodded without removing her hand.
Yonaton stirred. “But why us?”
Ovadia raised his eyebrows. “Uriel sent you.”
“Not now—during the wedding. You said you dismissed your workers and depended on us instead.”
“Ah, yes.” Ovadia’s expression relaxed. “Even then I wondered if you would ask. Did it not seem strange to you that the King’s steward, with all the servants at my disposal, was relying on two unknown boys to do my errands?”
“You told us everyone was busy with preparations.”
“Indeed they were—like bees in the hive. But I still saw to the most important details myself, and as you know, I often needed help. I commandeered dozens of slaves and servants, but always kept them at a distance.”
“But why us?” Yonaton asked again.
Ovadia shifted his focus from Yonaton to me. I felt the challenge in his gaze to figure out this puzzle as I had about the bread. Ovadia dismissed his hired workers and relied instead on two country boys, both plucked from serving the prophets. The answer was suddenly clear, as though inked on clean parchment. “We were safe.”
“You were safe.” Ovadia nodded. “From the time of the engagement, the King was constantly on the lookout for anyone who could be disloyal.”
“But you weren’t disloyal then,” Yonaton said, “Were you?”
“No, I have always served my King loyally.”
“Until now.” I grinned.
“Even now.” Ovadia jerked out of his seat and strode to the covered window. “This is the Queen’s war. Her soldiers are after the prophets; the Israelite soldiers haven’t been brought into the hunt. The King is doing his best to ignore the Queen’s attacks, neither helping nor hindering her.”
“But if you’re not disloyal,” Yonaton asked, “Why dismiss your servants?”
“The very innocence of the question is what made you so valuable.”
“Why?”
“I’m known to have relations with the prophets. I’m foreign-born. I’m a natural target.”
“For who?”
“For anyone hoping to advance by setting me up for a fall. It makes no difference whether the accusations are true or not. I directed hundreds of servants, but I never let them get too close and never let them deliver my messages.”
“Then why us?”
“As Lev said, you were safe. Uriel told me neither of you had ever left home until you came to play for the prophets. You knew nothing of what was happening here in Shomron, and you were hardly looking to make names for yourselves in the court.” Dark circles of exhaustion stood out below Ovadia’s eyes in the lamplight. “But that was before. Then I had nothing to hide, and feared only lies.”
“What changed?” Yonaton asked.
“I don’t know. Something happened when the King went to Jericho a week and a half ago. He came back white-faced and silent. He told me nothing, just summoned the Queen to the throne room. Whatever she heard sent her into a rage, and she called in Yambalya. She emerged determined to kill the prophets and their disciples.”
“And no one knows why?” Yonaton asked.
Ovadia shook his head. “The King is keeping his hands clean of the blood of the prophets, but there is someone else he commanded me to find. I expect it is connected to him.”
“Eliyahu,” I said.
“Yes.” Ovadia’s eyes narrowed on me. “How do you know about Eliyahu? Did Uriel have a vision of what happened in Jericho?”
“He didn’t need to. I was there.”
“You were in Jericho?”
“Yes.”
“Then do you know why we’re hunting him? Did he confront the King?”
My face flushed at the memory of Eliyahu’s wrath, and of the King cowering under his fiery gaze. “He did.”
“Over the Baal?”
“Yes.”
“You see Batya, I knew it. The Queen is proud. Eliyahu standing against the King must have prompted her to act before she was ready.”
“Ready for what?” Yonaton asked.
“It was clear at the wedding she intended to draw the people after the Baal—Yambalya wouldn’t have coerced the guests to bow down except on her orders. Her influence has only grown stronger since then. Much stronger. But not enough to strike against the prophets. In her rage, she acted rashly. If we can reach Uriel, the resistance will have the leader it lacks. Under him, the surviving prophets can rouse the people to throw off Izevel’s yoke.”
“And the King’s?” Yonaton asked.
Ovadia shook his head. “The King is more dedicated to the people than he is to the Queen. Even rebuilding Jericho and marrying Izevel were, in his mind, done for them. If the people rise against the Queen, I believe he won’t stand in their way.”
Ovadia studied my face with sharp eyes until I began to shift in my seat. “To think that I brought you into my home because you were some innocent boy who knew nothing of the Kingdom or the court! You’re finding yourself in the middle of too many events for it to all be chance. There is more to you than you are sharing, Lev, more perhaps than you know yourself.”
My hand went to the bulge in my tunic where it covered my father’s knife. Ovadia was correct that I was holding something back. He need not know that I am a kohen, though. It has nothing to do with what we face right now.
Ovadia broke into a sudden smile. “Uriel would never have led the resistance on his own. He would have put off war as long as possible, allowing Izevel to grow stronger and stronger. But now that Eliyahu has forced his hand, he will have to lead us.”
Ovadia stroked his trim beard. “Unless Eliyahu expects to lead—he started this fight. Lev, did it sound to you as though he was planning to lead the people against the Queen? Tell me exactly what he said.”
Blood pulsed in my neck, heating my cheeks. I pronounced his words firmly, with only a trace of the fire that had filled Eliyahu’s voice at Jericho. “As the Holy One, the Lord of Israel, before whom I stand, lives…there will not be dew nor rain during these years except by my word.”
Batya gasped.
Ovadia staggered back against the hearth. “He tried to stop the rains?”
I nodded.
“I’ve never heard of such a thing. Can he do that?”
“According to Master Uriel, the Holy One indeed gave him the Key of Rain. The heavens are sealed until Eliyahu relents.”
“The Holy One gave him the key? That must be why the Queen summoned Yambalya. He would know if Eliyahu spoke the truth—the dark priest is filled with wisdom of their abominations.”
Ovadia’s eyes closed in, tightening his brow. “What you said didn’t sound like prophecy though. It sounded more like an oath. Or…”
“…a curse,” I finished.
Silence fell over the room.
I asked Ovadia, “You said Eliyahu wasn’t one of the prophets. He is, though. I saw him receiving prophecy after he left Hiel’s house. Was he not known as a prophet before?”
“I do not know. In his youth, he was among the last disciples of Achia, Uriel’s master. I do not know if he ever achieved prophecy before. I have known him only at the court. He has always been respectful of the monarchy there. Did anything happen in Jericho before he spoke?”
I shifted uncomfortably on my stool. “The King told Hiel that he blamed himself for Seguv’s death.”
“As he should.” Ovadia planted himself opposite me. “To hire a man to rebuild a cursed city…. Of course, Hiel himself is also responsible for agreeing to do it. Did he say anything else?”
“The King thought it strange that the curse of Joshua would work.”
“Why did he think that strange? Few prophets were as great as Joshua.”
“Because Moses said that if the people worshipped other gods, there would be no rain.”
“What does that have to do with Joshua?”
“The King said that the people have turned after the Baal, yet he could never remember having so much rain. He wondered why the curse of Joshua would work when the curse of his master failed.”
“What!” Ovadia leapt to his feet again. He drew his hand across his clammy forehead. When he spoke, his voice trembled. “Eliyahu invoked the curse of Moses?”
I remembered Uriel saying that Moses’s words were not quite a curse, but they certainly seemed like it to me. “Yes.”
All eyes were on Ovadia as he paced the room. “I had it all wrong. This is not a battle—it is a siege.”
Yonaton looked confused. “But the battle has already begun.”
“By the Queen, yes. But Eliyahu brought a drought. It may take years for its effects to be fully felt.” He turned to Batya. “This changes everything—our plan will not work. We need to think of something else.”
“But this should make our resistance even stronger!” Batya said.
Ovadia shook his head. “It cannot be done.”
“Batya is right.” I rose to my feet. “The Holy One gave Eliyahu the Key of Rain! What better weapon could we have? As you said, the Queen acted too soon—the people are still more loyal to the prophets than they are to the Baal. Why change the plan now?”
Ovadia shook his head. “Because the Holy One did not give Eliyahu the Key of Rain to fight Izevel.”
“Then what is it for?”
But Ovadia’s thoughts were elsewhere. “Nothing, nothing is as we thought.”
Batya approached his side. “Tell us what you mean.”
“It is the people. The Holy One’s wrath will fall on all those who have turned to the Baal—and on all those who have been loyal as well.”
Batya took his hand in hers. “But isn’t the Queen the cause of their turning away?”
“Maybe. Yes.” Ovadia shook his head. “It does not matter. Either way, Izevel will be the last to feel the lack of rain. The poorest will suffer first.”
I couldn’t understand why Ovadia was suddenly losing resolve. “But won’t that rouse them against the Queen and the Baal?”
“Perhaps. But the Queen will tell them this is not just a temporary stop to the rains, it is a drought, brought on by Eliyahu, a prophet. She will claim he’s a tyrant and that she has come to rescue the nation from his grip. In their misery, the people could turn against the prophets themselves.”
Tears rolled down Batya’s cheeks. “Then what do we do? Nothing?”
“We have thirty prophets already hidden. We’ll hide as many more as we can.”
“But how will we sustain them? We have sufficient barley for the hidden ones only until the new moon. What will you do then, sell land to buy grain?” Terror lit her eyes. “And you’re being watched. How long can we keep this up before someone discovers what we’re doing?”
“I don’t know.” Ovadia slammed his fist on the table; our bowls bounced with a clank. “But when it is known that a drought is coming, at least buying a store of grain will not appear suspicious. We must continue hiding the prophets—I see now that any battle will not succeed.”
“But why not?” Batya cried.
“Didn’t you hear the boy? Eliyahu evoked the curse of Moses. There will never again be a prophet of Moses’s strength.”
“But shouldn’t that make victory even easier?” I asked, but even as the words left my mouth, I recalled Uriel telling me that the forces of light and the forces of darkness had to exist in balance. The more powerful Eliyahu’s curse, the more powerful the counteracting forces would be. Perhaps if Eliyahu were leading us into battle, our strength could prevail, but with Eliyahu in hiding, could any force we set into motion be strong enough?
As if answering my thoughts, Ovadia said, “If this war is won, it will not be by ordinary men like me, nor even by the prophets of today. If we send the prophets out of the cave now, we send them to their deaths. We just have to do what we can, help as many as we can, for as long as we have bread. If we fail, we fail.”
Ovadia sighed. “We’ll need to find a way to get Uriel and Shimon here without being detected.”
“Bring them here?” The words leapt out of my mouth.
“Yes, here. There’s nowhere else I can sustain them.”
I shook my head. “Master Uriel doesn’t want to hide. He would support your original plan.”
“We can save his life!”
“He said he will spend his last days serving the Holy One in any way he can. I don’t think he’ll go meekly into a cave.”
“Shimon won’t either,” Yonaton added. “He’d rather fight.”
Ovadia slapped his palms on the table and bore into my eyes. “Listen to me—it is crucial that Uriel survive.”
“He won’t want it. He says he doesn’t have long to live anyway.”
“Uriel must live. In the struggle between Eliyahu and Izevel, he may prove pivotal.”
“If Eliyahu fails?”
“No, if Eliyahu succeeds. It may take the wrath of Eliyahu to defeat Izevel. But it will require one like your master to rebuild the nation—and there is none other like him.”
“Why?” Yonaton asked.
But I thought I knew. “Master Uriel believes we must turn to the Holy One from love, not fear.”
“That’s part of it,” Ovadia said. “But Uriel is not the only prophet dedicated to the path of love.”
“Then why?”
“You’re too young to understand what Uriel has been through. Tell him whatever you must, but get him to me.”
“And what about Shimon?” Yonaton asked.
“Shimon is loyal to Uriel. If he thinks that his help is needed to save Uriel, I expect he will do what he must. But once Uriel is hidden, Shimon may do as he pleases.”
“Even if he agrees to come, how will we get him here? You said you can’t travel.”
“No, I cannot. The Queen is investing all her efforts into amassing power. Allegiances shift and swirl around her at all times. Those in her favor are advanced, those who are not…” His expression grew sour. “She distrusts me because I will not bow to her abominations. This is not yet required, but refusal is enough to draw her wrath. The King leans on me for many things, so I am safe at present. But I am watched. If I go to Uriel, it will mean the death of us both.”
“But what can we do without you?” My heart raced at the thought of traveling the King’s Road with the prophet, and I saw my fear reflected in Yonaton’s eyes. We were counting on Ovadia’s authority to get the navi past the soldiers.
“You saw the Queen’s soldiers on the road?”
I nodded.
“Perhaps we can risk it anyway. There are many ways into Shomron. It is not the people we have to fear—they are not yet corrupt enough to hunt a prophet—it is only the foreigners. There are many paths they may not know. No one knows these mountains as Uriel does. It was he who first showed me the cave.”
I shook my head. “They have lookouts on the hilltops. They’re watching the valleys as well as the roads.”
Ovadia groaned. “You see, Batya, a craftsman can have the finest tools, but he’s an oaf without a plan.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “Perhaps at night?”
I recalled our flight from the soldiers two nights before and shuddered. To reach Shomron in the dark, on footpaths, would take three nights at least. That meant finding hiding places during the days on top of the hardship of the night trekking. “Even if we could make it, we’d never get into the city. The Queen’s soldiers watch the gates.”
“The cave is not in the city. He will not have to pass the gates.”
I didn’t like the plan, but what choice did we have? “All right. If we can convince Master Uriel, we’ll try at night.”
“No, you won’t.” Batya stood, hands on her hips. “You’ll go during the day.”
This was too much. Hadn’t she been listening? “The valleys are watched.”
“You won’t walk the valleys. You’ll take the King’s Road.”
Ovadia gaped at his wife. “How will they do that?”
A flush rose in Batya’s cheeks. “With the crowd returning from the festival.”
The edges of her husband’s lips curved up in a smile. “Brilliant.”
I stared back and forth between them. “What’s brilliant?”
“The annual festival of the Calf is in five days.” Ovadia slapped one hand into the other. “The King will be there, along with all the nobility of Shomron.”
“But if the King is there,” Yonaton said, “There are sure to be soldiers as well.”
“The King’s guard will escort him, but he moves much faster than his subjects. Besides, those are Israelite soldiers—the Queen’s guard won’t dare attack while they’re around. Once the King rides past, Uriel and Shimon can mingle in with the crowd.”
“He won’t agree.”
“I told you, Lev, your master must reach that cave. And I have known him far longer than you have. I do not believe that he wants to die.”
I bristled. “If you know my master so well, then you must know his loathing of the Calf. He hasn’t even set foot in Beit El for sixty years. Even if he agrees to hide, he won’t do it by pretending to be a Calf worshiper.”
“It’s the only plan we have.” Ovadia reached across the table to seize my shoulders. “The Holy One has chosen you to serve your master. Now you must save him. Whatever you need to do, you do.” His grip tightened. “Swear to me that you will get Uriel here alive!”
“He’s my master, I’m not his.”
“I am offering to save his life. Now swear.”
Ovadia’s eyes locked on mine, sapping my power to resist. “All right, I swear.” How would I stand up to a navi when I couldn’t even stand up to Ovadia?
“But we’ll still have to get past the Queen’s soldiers on the road,” Yonaton protested.
“Yes.”
“But how?”
Ovadia released my shoulders and turned to Yonaton. “Once I was traveling the hills of the Bashon alone, on a mission for the King. Just at sunset, I came upon a pack of wild dogs.”
I wondered what this had to do with saving my master. Yonaton asked, “What did you do?”
“I sat down in their midst.”
Yonaton’s eyes grew large. “Weren’t you scared?”
“Terrified.”
“I don’t understand,” I said.
“If you run from a dog, it will give chase. But if you act like its master, it will grovel. You are not going to run from the Queen’s soldiers, nor will you hide. You will pass them in the middle of the day, in a crowd returning from a festival for the Golden Calf.”
