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

moving north on the road thinned throughout the day as men turned off toward home. In the late afternoon, we rounded a bend, and the road dropped into a long decline. We were close to Shomron now, the destination of most of those still walking. We approached a cluster of men stopped ahead, just before the shade of a large carob tree.

“What’s going on up there?” Shimon asked.

Uriel stood to his full height. “Soldiers.”

“Israelite or foreigners?”

“Foreigners.”

I glanced at Shimon, and my heart thumped in my chest. This was the encounter I was dreading. Would he seek conflict with the Queen’s soldiers? I was relieved to see no hunger for battle on his face. His expression was calm, almost serene. Learning of Uriel’s curse rebounding upon himself seemed to have changed Shimon—as if for ten years he’d hungered to hold the prophet’s power to curse, and only now realized its cost. He said, “A roadblock. Should we turn off?”

Uriel nodded toward the sides of the road. “They have soldiers stationed along the hillsides. They will be watching for anyone trying to avoid them. We are better off walking through.”

I followed my master’s gesture. At first I didn’t spot them—they were not like the lookouts sitting mounted on the hilltops. These watchers were further down, in the shadows, where they could see without being seen.

Shimon’s body tensed as he studied the soldiers bordering the roadside, and his eyes lost their quiet. His hand slipped under his cloak to the hilt of his sword.

I inched closer to him and whispered, “Remember, Master Uriel must reach Dotan.”

Shimon regarded his hand, appearing surprised to find it grasping the sword, as if his battle-hungry instincts had acted of their own accord. He released the hilt and placed his hand on my shoulder instead. “I know the plan.”

We drew closer to the roadblock. Uriel said, “There’s a priest as well.”

“What?” Shimon asked.

“A priest of the Baal. Under the tree.”

I craned my neck to see. Sure enough, I caught a glimpse of violet robes in the shade of the carob tree. One soldier stood on each side of the road, while a third blocked the path in front of the waiting men, forcing them to pass through the shade one at a time. A man in a gray cloak was waved through. He stepped under the tree, approached the priest, then dropped to his knees and pressed his forehead to the ground.

“Clever,” Uriel said.

“What’s clever, Master?”

“Izevel is most powerful in Shomron, but many are opposed to her, even there. So, she waited until all the men of the city left for the festival, then placed a Baal on their path home. Now she can see who will bow and who will resist.”

I peered under the tree, trying to glimpse the statue. “We must get through, Master.”

“I will not bow before the Baal.”

“Even to save your life?” The words rung hollow, Uriel placed too little value on his life. I changed tactics, appealing to his sense of mercy instead. “Even to save my life?” This too failed.

“Some things are more precious than life, Lev. We are commanded to choose death rather than bow to strange gods. Even you must be willing to die rather than bow.”

Shimon’s hand sought the hilt of his sword, not absentmindedly as before, but with the same blazing intensity in his eyes as when he first leapt out of the trees to save us the week before. “You see, Lev, I was right to prepare for battle.”

“There are three soldiers ahead and at least five more on the hillsides—you can’t fight them all!”

“Samson killed a thousand in a single battle. You heard Master Uriel, Lev. The spirit I received was the same as Samson’s.”

“You don’t know if you’ll merit that power again.”

“No, I don’t. But even if I don’t, I won’t be fighting alone.”

“There’s not much Uriel or I could do against all these soldiers.”

“It’s not just the three of us. It’s easy to scare the people one at a time, but in their arrogance, they’ve become reckless. The crowd is moving through too slowly. There are fifty men waiting and more coming up behind us. If we resist, we will draw much support—especially if it’s known that we are led by a prophet.”

I wanted to believe him, but recalled the fear on the faces of farmers just like these at the wedding. “But these men aren’t armed. They’ll run at the first sight of blood.”

Uriel shook his head. “It matters not if they are armed. Izevel is seeking to strengthen her support, not to spark a rebellion. Her soldiers will not fight so many, even if they could.”

My mind raced. The Queen ordered her soldiers to hunt down every prophet in the land. Perhaps Uriel could lead the crowd through the roadblock without bloodshed, but the soldiers were sure to notice that no ordinary man was at their head. They were sure to follow him and call others to their aid. Any violence would mean abandoning the plan, and I’d sworn to deliver my master safely to Dotan.

We were close enough now to see the statue, a larger version of the one now resting in my uncle’s house. Cast in bronze, its long helmet ascending toward the sky, a jagged sword raised, ready to strike, it stood perched on a wooden pedestal beneath the tree. Another farmer stepped forward, and he too bowed before the Baal. A thought occurred to me. “Master, if Izevel is afraid of a rebellion, then her soldiers cannot be killing all those who refuse to bow, can they?”

Uriel shook his head. “No, Lev, you must be correct. There are still too many in Israel, even in Shomron, that would refuse.”

“So what happens to them? Are they allowed to pass?”

“Let us watch. There are fifty or more who still stand before us—I would expect at least ten to refuse.”

One after another the soldiers waved the men forward. Some bowed quickly, falling to their knees and touching their foreheads to the ground, others hesitated, then bent at the waist, like the men in Jericho bowing before the King. Yet, each and every one of them humbled himself in some way before passing through the shade of the carob tree. The soldiers on the sides of the road barely watched as the travelers passed through.

Hardly ten men now stood between us and the tree, though the newcomers behind us continued to maintain the crowd’s size. Shimon’s eyes darted back and forth between Uriel and the soldiers. “If we’re going to fight, we need to warn the men. Are we agreed?”

Shimon was right. If we were going to act, it must be now. My throat constricted and sweat ran down my forehead. I trusted Uriel’s instincts—there was no sign that the soldiers were killing those who refused to bow. If they were, where were the bodies? But no one refused, so I couldn’t know for sure. My vow to Ovadia rang in my mind. There was only one chance to prevent the violence that would ruin our plan.

“I’ll go.”

“What?” Shimon started.

“I’ll go to the head of the line. I’ll refuse to bow. If they let me through, you follow with Uriel. If they…if not, then fight.”

“Wait, Lev, I don’t think—”

But I didn’t wait to hear what Shimon thought. My small size allowed me to slip easily through the crowd. A few men peered at me in annoyance—probably impatient to get through the roadblock and make it home—but perhaps because of my youth, no one stopped me.

The soldier at the front put out his arm, blocking me from advancing until the man under the tree passed. Like all the others, he too bowed down before the Baal.

The soldier’s arm dropped, and I stepped forward.

My eyes were on the priest, but my thoughts were on the soldiers.

The priest approached. “Bow. Then go on.”

I stood silent and still, holding my arms tight so they wouldn’t tremble.

The priest insisted, “You bow. Do it now, then go.”

I held my breath steady, stared back at the priest, but didn’t move.

The priest moved closer. “You not bow? Baal angry. Curse the rain.”

My mouth filled with a metallic tang. One knee trembled, and I dug my toe into the dirt to still it. One of the soldiers turned to watch me now. But still I didn’t move.

The priest leaned in and spoke in a whisper. “Don’t bow. Just pick up and go.” He rotated his body, positioning himself between me and the waiting crowd. He dropped a copper piece on the ground before the statue.

A laugh bubbled up from my belly—I swallowed it back with effort. Uriel was right; not all the men ahead of us were willing to bow. That’s why they were only allowed through one at a time. Most men, seeing those ahead of them bow, would bow as well. Those who refused just had to pick a piece of copper off the ground. Those behind—who were not watching closely enough to see the precious metal—would think they were bowing from the waist, just enough to humble themselves.

“Pick up. You keep copper.”

Questions flashed through my mind as I peered at the shiny metal. Hardly anyone among the men returning from the festival of the Golden Calf would refuse to pick up the copper. But what about those who refused to give even the impression of bowing? Was that the real point of the roadblock? The Queen’s soldiers had already attacked the gathering places of the prophets. Now that the faithful were scattered, there was no way to distinguish them from the rest of the people. Was the roadblock intended to weed out the most devout? To find the prophets and disciples hidden among the commoners?

What about Shimon and Uriel? Would they pick up the copper to save their lives?

One of the soldiers stepped in toward me—I had delayed for too long. I could pick up the metal and get past the Baal, but needed to do it in a way that Shimon and Uriel would realize I wasn’t bowing. I stepped to the side, then bent down and picked up the copper. Anyone watching closely would see that I wasn’t even facing the Baal, but it was enough—the priest waved me through.

Once out of the shade of the carob tree, I turned around to watch. Neither the soldiers nor the priest paid me any mind—to them, I was just a boy waiting for his father to pass through.

The next man scowled at me as he bowed, annoyed at me for jumping ahead of him and then passing so slowly.

Easy as it was to pass through the roadblock, would Shimon still refuse? Shimon objected to even walking among those returning from Beit El—would he be willing to give the impression that he’d bowed to the Baal? If it was just his life, I was certain that he would rather fight than pick up the copper. But would he do it to protect Uriel? I caught Shimon’s eye and gave him the slightest of nods, the most communication I could risk with the soldiers so close. But Shimon just glared back, his eyes resolute.

Three more men passed through the roadblock, two dropping quickly to the ground, the third bending to pick up the offered metal. Shimon drifted ahead of Uriel, placing several men between them. When he reached the front of the line, my hands clenched. A farmer under the carob tree pressed his head to the ground, begging loudly for Baal not to withhold the rains. When he rose, Shimon stepped forward.

The soldier on the far side of the road looked up as Shimon approached—his scars distinguished him from the crowd even without the fresh wounds. The Tzidonian’s nostrils flared as if smelling him for blood. Four of his comrades had failed to return from duty the week before. Was he on the lookout for their