The Lamp of Darkness by - (most recommended books TXT) 📖

the wedding. I overestimated his weight and pulled harder than necessary, causing him to stumble. The prophet regained his balance and smoothed his tunic. “I must speak to the other masters about ending the gathering early.”

“You really won’t do anything to stop the rains?”

“I will not.” Uriel placed both hands on my shoulders this time, holding my eyes in his. “There is no greater blessing than peace, Lev. Peace is so great that for its sake the Holy One overlooks our failures, even the people bowing to strange gods. But once peace is broken, there is little left but judgment. In a time of judgment, our sins are recalled and accounted for. The devastation may be great indeed. You are too young to remember the wars that ravaged this kingdom not so long ago. Believe me; it is nothing we want to return to.”

Uriel took several steps toward the entrance, then turned back to face me. “I know your words come from your courage as much as from your youth. This courage will serve you well. Indeed, it already has. It was no small thing refusing to humble yourself before the Baal.”

I stood straighter. “No, I did not bow.” Uriel nodded and stepped toward the entrance. I added proudly, “I’ve bowed only before the Holy One.”

The old navi’s brow furrowed as he half-turned back to me. “You bowed to the Holy One?”

“Yes,” I nodded. “In Beit El. When you sent me to Master Yosef, I also visited the altar. I wanted to make an offering,” I added with a sigh, “but I’m still too young.”

Uriel turned to face me fully, his eyes narrowed. “But you bowed?”

“Yes.”

A tremor passed through me as the prophet’s glare pinned me, helpless. My earlier thoughts of Uriel as a weak, old man disappeared. In his suddenly hard eyes, I sensed an untold strength within his aged body. That strength, boiling with anger, now concentrated itself on me. I felt as I had the night before, watching Yambalya, knife in hand, glaring at those who refused to bow—anticipating a strike.

Finally, he turned away and stepped toward the cave entrance, his body sinking back into weariness. “You may sleep now.”

The rasp of hide against stone woke me from an uneasy sleep. I opened my eyes to see Daniel rolling up his sheepskin mat in the gleam of an early morning sun. I dressed quietly so as not to wake Yonaton, stepped out of the cave, and sat on one of the boulders where the four of us first played music together. Clouds colored the eastern sky with shades of watered wine as Daniel emerged, his nevel in one hand, a sack slung over his shoulder. “I’ll see you next year?” he asked.

I pictured Uriel’s expression from the night before. Would the prophet even want me back? “I don’t know.”

“Return if you can.” Daniel hitched his sack higher. “But even if you don’t make it back, even if you have only your sheep for an audience, never stop playing your kinnor.”

I didn’t need anyone to tell me to keep playing music; it was the one thing that brought me joy that I could carry with me wherever I would go in the wild. But Daniel’s eyes were suddenly hard, and his beard stiffened on his chest. I had seen him this serious only once before, two nights ago when he refused to bow to the Baal. It was this that made me ask, “Why not?’

Daniel rubbed a hand along the wooden frame of his nevel and stared out over the valley. “Twelve years ago, my master told me the same thing I told you, that I could stay with the prophets, playing for them year-round, just as he did.”

“But you didn’t want to?”

“I did.” His head dropped as he spoke. “I stayed with them for over a year.”

“Why did you leave?”

“My father was getting old—he could no longer handle the farm by himself. One day he fell and injured his leg. I had to go back—I had responsibilities. My master was disappointed, but he understood. Before I left, he told me what I’ve just told you, that I must never stop playing.”

“Why not?”

Daniel lifted his head and caught my eye. “The power of music surged inside me. Every power a person has must be expressed, otherwise, it decays, and decay is a small death. The Holy One forbids us to resign ourselves to death.”

“So that’s why you return?”

“Yes, every summer, even though I now have a family of my own and my responsibilities have only grown.”

Uriel’s stern countenance again rose in my mind’s eye. I felt even more certain that he wouldn’t want me back. “So even if I can’t return—”

“Even if you can’t return, you must continue to play. Never let this spark inside you die. But I believe you will return. You didn’t receive a kinnor like that to play it alone in the wilderness.”

My hand slipped to my side where my kinnor normally hung, feeling only empty air. “What do you mean?”

“The workmanship is unmistakable. It’s prophet-made.”

“Prophet-made? But I got it from my uncle.”

Daniel’s beard quivered as he shook his head once. “That kinnor was made by no local craftsman. I don’t know how it reached your hands, but I doubt whoever gave it to you aspired for you to play before sheep.”

“What do you mean ‘whoever?’ I told you my uncle gave it to me.”

Daniel allowed himself a half smile. “I see. And your uncle is quite the musician, is he?”

My head cocked to the side. “No, I’ve never seen him play.”

“A collector then? Your uncle has many fine craftsman-made objects lying about the house that he has no need for?” Daniel didn’t bother keeping the scoffing tone from his voice now, and I allowed myself to smirk along with him—we both knew I didn’t come from nobility.

“Admit it, Lev,” Daniel’s tone grew serious again, “even if you did receive that kinnor from your uncle, there’s more to the story than you know. When a prophet’s treasure winds up in one’s hands, it’s rarely happenstance. If you ever learn more, let me know; I always appreciate a good story. But now, I must start for home before the sun gets any higher—I have much work ahead of me.” Daniel raised a hand in farewell and turned down the trail.

I stepped into the cave and retrieved my kinnor, and examined it in the growing daylight. I ran my fingertips along the olive wood frame, as if seeing for the first time the smoothness of its surface, the precision of the carving, and the flawless joints. Truly, there was nothing in my uncle’s house that approached the fineness of it. I’d been so fixated on everything I lacked, I failed to notice all those years I held a treasure.

Yonaton stepped out of the cave into the brightening day, his arms raised in a yawn. “Has Daniel gone?”

“Yes, he’s just left for home.”

“Too bad, I would have liked to say goodbye.”

“How are things with your family?”

“Not good. My father refuses to take in the harvest—he got angry that I even suggested it.”

“He might change his mind now. Master Uriel saw last night that the rains are going to come early.”

“Oh?” Yonaton’s shoulders relaxed, and a smile brightened his face. “If a navi says so, that will be enough for my father.”

“They’re serving the morning meal in the clearing if you want to go.”

“Sounds good.” Yonaton stretched his arms above his head again. “We’ve never made it to the morning meal here before.”

The sun was rising over the eastern hills, and the disciples were already sitting in the field eating by the time we joined them. One of the cooks handed me a small piece of bread, a single dried fig, and twelve kernels of toasted grain from where it had been set aside in the cooking area. The portion was the smallest I’d ever received. Was this a further sign of Uriel’s displeasure? I stepped forward to help myself to more of everything, and again none of the servants protested. Both Yonaton and I took much larger portions than we had on the first night of the gathering. This made me think of Zim, though neither of us could compete with his appetite. I felt suddenly lonely despite Yonaton’s presence.

Silence fell over the disciples, and we all shifted our attention to the center of the eating area where the three masters now stood. “We have received word,” Uriel began. “The rains will indeed come early this year. The gathering will come to a close so that disciples can return home and attend to their harvests.” There was a barely audible sigh from the bnei nevi’im—had they already heard what had happened at the wedding?

Uriel and Tzadok both appeared calm, their faces serene as they met the searching gazes of the disciples. Yosef scowled at the ground.

Uriel continued, “I will remain here with any wishing to stay and continue training. To those who are leaving, may you be blessed with an early and abundant harvest. You are now free to go.”

Most of the disciples hastened to prepare for the trip home. Yonaton and I turned our attention to our meal and were soon among the only ones in the clearing.

A tall disciple named Tuvia approached me. “Master Uriel asked me to escort you back to your uncle’s. I need to ride past Levonah on my way back home.”

“But I’m not a farmer. I don’t need to go back for the harvest.”

“Then speak to Master Uriel—but do it quickly, because I need to go. He also asked me to give you these.” He handed each of us a pouch of copper.

Yonaton turned his pouch over in his hand and examined the contents. “This is how much we were supposed to receive for the entire gathering, but we haven’t even played for a week.”

I poured out my pouch and counted as well. Yonaton was right—the entire summer’s wages were there.

Tuvia gazed up at a small cloud in the otherwise clear sky. “I’m just the messenger. Speak to Master Uriel if you want, but you’ll need to do it quickly.”

Uriel was on the far side of the clearing talking to Yosef, his back to us. He wouldn’t have arranged a ride home and paid full wages for the entire summer if he wanted me to stay. “I’ll get my things.”

Tuvia nodded. “I’ll wait for you at the top of the hill.”

“Master Uriel might not realize that you’re not needed for the harvest,” Yonaton said. “Maybe you should speak to him.”

“He knows.” I avoided his eyes. “If he’s sending me home, he doesn’t want…” I swallowed, “He doesn’t need me.” I didn’t understand why bowing to the Holy One would anger Uriel, but I had no desire to talk about it—not even with Yonaton. “We should go pack.”

Neither of us spoke as we gathered our few possessions and descended the trail back to the clearing. Yonaton kicked rocks along the ground. I searched for the right words—saying goodbye to Yonaton felt different than parting from Zim or Daniel. But words were never my strength. I stepped forward and embraced my friend. When I let go, I offered Yonaton a weak smile and turned up the hill.

Tuvia was waiting for me at the top, mounted on a horse. “Tie your things down and climb up.”

“How do I get on?” I asked as I strapped my rolled-up sleeping mat on top of his belongings. My only other time on a horse, I used a boulder to climb on behind Ovadia.

“Place your foot in that strap there, and give me your hand. No, your other foot.” Tuvia pulled, and I brought my leg over the horse. “Now hold on.” I wrapped my arms around Tuvia, and with a kick to