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

to stay with us now. It is no longer safe to return.”

“Why? They don’t know I’ve come.”

“They do. You were followed.”

Yonaton and I turned as one, but saw nothing other than the wind playing over the low hills in the distance, stirring the brush.

“You won’t see them.” Uriel shook his head. “They will stay out of sight until they are ready.”

I gazed up at my master. “Ready for what?”

“Surely you can reason that out for yourself?” Uriel started again up the trail. “Come, we must go on.”

Despite the prophet’s words, Yonaton was too drained by his run to do more than trudge along. When the sun set, we were forced to a crawl. Our trail wound through a steep ravine, already deep in shadow. Balaam brayed as he struggled to find footing on the loose rocks. After one particularly loud protest, Uriel laid his hand on the donkey’s nose. “Peace, old friend.” He gazed up at a rocky outcrop on the hillside above us. “Stay here. I want to examine that cave.”

Uriel displayed no sign of fatigue from the day’s march as he climbed up the steep slope and disappeared between the shadowed boulders. Moments later he reappeared and yelled down to us, “Come up. This looks like a good place to spend the night. Lev, see to the donkey. Yonaton, gather wood.”

It took all of my skill to coax Balaam up to our resting spot. By the time I finished tying up and watering him, Yonaton came back with a double armful of wood. “Build the fire inside the cave,” I whispered. “That way it won’t be easily seen.”

“No, build it outside tonight.” Uriel turned away before either of us could question him.

I struggled to prepare the evening meal—a large crack at the back of the cave drew the wind right through the hollow, turning our shelter into a chimney. My eyes stung as smoke swirled in the cross-draft, and the fire licked my fingers from every side. Any feelings of security brought about by finding cover faded with the dying daylight. Our pursuers couldn’t be far behind Yonaton. I stared out into the night as I cooked—listening.

Uriel hummed softly to himself in the back of the cave, unpacking and repacking our gear, while Yonaton snored between us. I gazed up at the stars. Was it really less than three months since Dahlia and I lay on the wall watching them, wondering what the future held? Was I now gazing at them for the last time?

Uriel finished packing and came to the mouth of the cave. “Take the food off the fire, it is time to eat.”

My eyes watered from the smoke. “It’s not done yet, Master.”

“We have given it as much time as we can afford. Take it off and wake Yonaton—he must be famished.”

Yonaton indeed ate as much as Uriel and myself combined. Once we finished, I picked up the pot to scrape it, but Uriel put up his hand. “There is no time for that. In any case, we cannot take it with us. Yonaton, throw the remaining wood on the fire. As long as it is burning high, it will appear as if it is tended. There will be no attack until they think we’re asleep.” I could see the whites of Yonaton’s eyes as he stared around out into the darkness. “When you’re done, we’ll leave.”

A column of sparks twisted up into the darkness when Yonaton dumped the last armload of wood on the blaze. Uriel led us to the back of the cave and handed us each a pack. “I’ve gone through and separated out only the most essential things. We’ll need all our strength.”

“What about Balaam?” I turned back toward the donkey, tied at the entrance.

Uriel sighed. “He stays. Leaving him tethered in front is the best sign that we are still in the cave.”

I opened my mouth to protest.

“You think this poor payment for hard service?” Uriel raised his eyebrows. “Fear not. Men do not kill a beast of burden without cause. Balaam is wise. He will make his way with a new master. Or perhaps find his way back to his old one.”

I appraised the pile of belongings to be abandoned. My kinnor rested on top. I trusted Uriel that we would need all our strength, but the kinnor wasn’t a drain on my strength—it was a source of it. “I won’t…” I insisted, “I can’t…” I picked up the instrument, cradling it against my chest. “I’ll carry it, the extra weight won’t slow me down. I promise.”

The fire sent shadows jumping and dancing on the cave walls, reflecting crimson on Uriel’s tunic. “I’m sorry, Lev.” He pulled the instrument from my weakly resisting hands and tucked it on top of a high rock cradled by a furrow in the cave wall. “It is well hidden there. May we merit to retrieve it.”

I swallowed the bulge lodged in my throat, avoiding Yonaton’s eyes. I laid my index finger to my father’s knife beneath my tunic, suddenly grateful that I kept it on me at all times—would Uriel have made me leave that behind as well? Probably not. Shimon’s dagger jutted through my belt, and he hadn’t mentioned it.

But Yonaton’s attention wasn’t focused on me anyway. He peered into the crack at the back of the cave that began along the floor and rose into a narrow channel, splitting the cave wall to the ceiling. “You don’t expect us to get out this way, do you?”

“There is no other path. They are watching the front.”

“But it’s too narrow—even Lev won’t fit through.”

Uriel approached the wall and ran his hand up and down the fissure. Behind him, the new logs burned down and the gathering darkness urged us to hurry. How much longer would our attackers wait? Uriel’s eyes rolled back in his head; his voice echoed in the close cave. “You split the rock for Samson at Lehi, bringing him water and restoring our spirit. Only You can open our way and bring us out into life.”

The prophet’s hand rose above his head like a general’s in war, then came down with force, striking the rock with his staff. Nothing happened.

“You opened the mouth of the well for Israel, sustaining us in the wilderness. Open now our way and bring us out into life.” There was a sharp crack as Uriel swung again, with the same result.

Yonaton stared at the dirt floor, his shoulders tense. Balaam brayed in the silence. Was he just restless, or did he sense someone approaching?

Fists now clenched, Uriel leaned in close to the wall and hissed between clenched teeth, “In the name of the Holy One, I say this is the moment for which you were formed!”

A low rumble shook the cave. I grabbed Yonaton for support. His bulging eyes met mine as our hands trembled within each other’s grasp. When the tremor stopped and the dust settled, the opening at the top of the crack had grown to twice its width.

Uriel led the way. As his feet disappeared, I gripped the rock and pulled myself upwards, taking shallow breaths as I wormed after my master in the darkness. The channel narrowed; sharp rocks scraped my arms and cut into my fingertips. Dirt rained on my hair, and the welcome smell of moist earth reached my nose.

When I emerged into the moonlight, Uriel’s arm thrust out like a beam across my chest, holding me back from a deadly misstep. We stood on a slender ledge, overlooking dark tree-tops. Yonaton squeezed out behind me, and I put out a cautionary arm to protect him as well.

We were on the far side of the hill. The half-moon hovered above the horizon in the western sky, casting a silvery light across a different valley than the one we’d hiked that morning. We climbed down the cliff at a slug’s pace. At first, I placed my hands and feet wherever my master did, but soon Uriel’s long legs carried him over a patch of jagged rocks that I had to scramble through. By the time I bridged the gap, the prophet had disappeared.

The night air blew across my sweaty forehead; I shivered with the chill. I reached out with my right leg, searching for a foothold in the smooth rock. My body tensed, and my knee began an odd jumping motion. Even if I found a foothold, would my leg hold me? I reached farther down and straightened my quivering knee. My moist hands were slick against the rock. My foot slid, and I felt my grip loosen. A call for help died in my throat as I fell.

The ground was rough, but it was only a handsbreadth beneath my foot. The shock of so sudden a landing choked the cry in my throat. Uriel’s strong hands kept me from sliding down the slope. Regaining my feet, I saw the prophet in the moonlight beside me, a finger to his lips.

Climbing down in the dark seemed easier for Yonaton. He crouched at the bottom of the cliff, probed with his foot, and dropped lightly to the ground.

We weren’t down yet. The ground was a patchwork of brambles and sharp-sided heaps of stone. Awkward as I was descending the rock face, endless days spent chasing sheep over this terrain allowed me to slip smoothly down the hillside. At the bottom, Uriel dropped into a muddy streambed at the base of the hill. I sat down on the edge, swung my feet forward, and landed softly next to my master. A muffled cry came from above. Yonaton slithered down the side of the streambed, hitting the ground with a scrape and a hiss.

Uriel pulled Yonaton into a patch of moonlight to examine his leg—a dark gash marred the white of his hairless shin. Uriel grabbed the end of his own linen cloak, tore off a long strip, wrapped the cut and pulled hard on the ends. Yonaton winced and bit his lip as the prophet tied off the bandage.

We crossed the narrow streambed and picked up a faint trail. Despite his limp, Yonaton scurried uphill, his boyish features set with determination.

Voices drew my attention back toward the opening on the opposite hillside. In the darkness, the remnants of our fire sent a flickering, red glow through the crack that had freed us. It blacked out for an instant as a body slipped through the light’s path, moonlight glinting off the sword stretched out before him.

Uriel clamped our shoulders with a grip that urged silence, forcing us to squat on the ground.

The soldier leaned across the ledge and scanned the hillsides. Was the pale moonlight sufficient for him to pick us out among the scrub and boulders? Did his roving head pause when it reached the spot where we crouched? I pictured him sniffing the earth, like the wild dogs in the hills above Levonah. They always found the injured sheep before the shepherds did.

The crack blacked out again as the soldier reentered the cave. Yonaton and I exhaled, but Uriel yanked us to our feet and spun us by our shoulders. “Come, we must move quickly. They’ll circle around the hill. It will be faster for them.”

“Where are we going?” Yonaton touched the wet wrapping on his leg, where blood already seeped through.

Uriel didn’t answer.

The moon dropped beneath the horizon, obscuring the uneven ground, and forcing us to slow our pace even further. But I didn’t mind the darkness: it concealed us as well.

I stumbled again and again. Yonaton limped along behind me, grunting whenever his shin brushed against obstacles on the unseen trail. Uriel pushed on ahead, surefooted and silent in the near-total darkness.

Uriel held up a hand and tipped his head back as if sniffing the wind. “Get down,” he breathed. We lowered ourselves softly between the boulders at the side of the trail. I turned my head as I lay, my eyes glued to my master. With my ear pressed against the dirt, I felt a pulsing rhythm in the earth. Hoofbeats.

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