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

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,