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

Like a cooling snow on a harvest day, so is a faithful emissary to the sender, refreshing the master’s soul.

Proverbs 25:13

“Not another breath or I will spill your life blood.” I held still, and the blade lifted from my throat. “Where did you learn that song, boy?”

Too late it occurred to me that Zim had also spied on the prophets in the chanting cave. Later, he’d boasted about learning their melodies so he could free them from the narrow circle of the prophets. Could he have taught the nigun to the servants of the Baal? My hesitation brought the flat of the knife back against the soft skin beneath my chin.

My captor stepped around from behind me, keeping the knife pressed in place. His face was hooded, and he looked like a shadow in the weak moonlight. I was still held tight, and I dared not turn my head to see how many there were. He spoke Hebrew with a smooth tongue, so I knew he was Israelite, but he could still be loyal to the Baal. Who in Shomron feared the prophets any longer?

If the men behind me were priests, saying I was a friend of Zim and had played before Yambalya and Mot might save me. But if they were prophets, it could mean my life. “I am a shepherd boy, unarmed and alone. I’m no threat to anyone. Why do you grab me like bandits? Who are you?”

My words were met with a laugh. “That’s no shepherd’s song you were singing, boy. If you’re so innocent, tell me where you learned it!”

“Emek HaAsefa.” I gave him the truth, for if he was loyal to the Baal, I could tell him I learned it along with Zim.

The blade eased off my throat, though strong hands still held my arms. “Very well, shepherd. I am Pinchas ben Asaya, and the one holding your arms is Ariel ben Shema.” He paused, and I felt his eyes even from within the darkness of his hood. “Now, who are you?”

“Lev ben Yochanan HaKohen.”

At the mention of my father, the grip on my arms relaxed. “Yochanan’s son lives?”

“I have been sent by my master Uriel to retrieve you.”

“Uriel sent you?” Ariel had to stop me from pitching forward as he nearly dropped me in surprise. “My apologies for the rough treatment, son of Yochanan.” He steadied me on my feet and stepped around to join Pinchas. “We had to be sure. The servants of the Baal are everywhere.”

“Of course.” I rubbed my arms—there would be bruises in the morning. “Are you prepared to leave immediately? We must arrive by daylight.” Even as I said it, I knew our hopes were few. Was it wiser to lay in hiding and travel by night? Perhaps, but that would mean another day of the prophets getting less than a full ration of bread.

“First tell me where you lead us?” The moonlight still shone on Pinchas’ drawn knife.

“There was a sacrifice to the Baal tonight on this mountain. I will not speak of our destination until I can be certain none can overhear.”

“That is well.” Pinchas sheathed his knife. “We will retrieve our belongings and one more companion.”

The two men disappeared into the darkness as silently as they had come. The half-moon edged over the treetops. When it reached overhead, the horizon would grow light with the dawn.

Fortunately, the prophets were not long in returning. Their brother stood only a hair taller than me, with narrow shoulders. I peered at his face in the dark, wondering how young one could be to attach himself to a prophet, but his hood was pulled low. I set off at once, moving quickly down the trail, but my pace was still too slow for Pinchas. As soon as the path widened, he elbowed past me to take the lead, and the four of us moved on in swift silence. At least, the three of them did.

The young one whispered from behind me, “Silence your steps, Lev.” The soft voice was unmistakably a woman’s. “Heel to toe,” she said, “and keep your knees bent.” My footsteps grew quieter, though my heart pounded from the effort of keeping pace this way.

The warbling of a nightjar broke the quiet of the night, and I bumped into Ariel as he stopped short in front of me. His hands grabbed my shoulders as he turned, holding me still. Pinchas stood in the middle of the trail, his right hand held at shoulder height. The nightjar’s call had come from him.

In the silence, I heard voices approaching. Ariel’s hands nudged me to the side of the trail, and I stepped into the brush, placing my heel down first. As I rolled my foot forward to my toe, a dry branch cracked. Ariel reached for my ankle, directed my foot to a secure spot, then tugged at my tunic, coaxing me to lower myself to the ground. Pinchas and Ariel drew their knives.

The group moving toward us felt no need for silence. “I don’t blame you for not cutting yourself,” a voice thick with wine said. “I wouldn’t do it either. Leave that to those tattooed foreigners. What I want to know is, why did you pull out your knife?” Many voices laughed. “There those two priests were, cutting themselves up, and you’re just standing there, knife drawn, doing nothing.” The laughter rang louder as they drew near.

The group passed directly in front of us, six men in all. A year ago these drunkards would have paid homage to the prophets, be they faithful to the Holy One or not. Now they staggered fearlessly through the night while we crouched beside the trail, weapons held ready against any threat.

Pinchas watched until the darkness reabsorbed them. “May the Holy One straighten the path of Israel and keep our feet from stumbling,” he muttered.

We reached the King’s Road without any other encounters, but when we turned south, torchlight appeared ahead of us. Once again we eased off into the brush and this time I was as noiseless as Ariel. The torch illuminated the violet robes of the two men approaching.

Pinchas went tense. “Kohen, you wait here,” he hissed into my ear. He drew his knife and nodded to Ariel to follow. I grabbed his arm and pointed at the moon. Time was passing. His words were silent as a breath. “There are greater priorities than safety.”

The two prophets slipped across the road while the prophetess remained beside me, knife drawn. I had lied to Pinchas earlier when I told him I was unarmed. My heart thumped as I pulled my father’s knife from under my tunic. My companion’s eyes grew wide at the sight of the stone blade. She spoke against my ear. “Put it away, Lev. We will have no Kohen desecrated on our account.”

My hand closed tight around the hilt. Kohen or no, it was my duty to deliver them safely to the cave.

The torches lit the path before the approaching priests but blinded them to Pinchas and Ariel crossing the road beyond their ring of light. The torches blinded us as well. More revelers or even a troop of soldiers could walk behind the two men—there was no way to know until they passed.

I held my breath when the priests reached the road across from our hiding place. We remained silent as the circle of light moved past. Were Pinchas’ preparations purely defensive? I could now see empty road behind them—the priests walked alone.

The nightjar warbled again in the darkness. The prophetess rose without a sound and crept into the road. I waited for a dozen pounding heartbeats and followed her.

The priest with the torch held the greater threat, as his companion couldn’t draw his weapon without dropping the wooden cask which held his god. Nevertheless, Ariel grabbed the one with the idol, threw a hand over his mouth, and wrenched back his head. The torchlight flashed in his eyes, which went wide before the descending blade. He gave a gurgling cry as Ariel cut his throat.

The torchbearer turned to respond, but it was too late. Pinchas seized his torch hand with an iron grip, clamping the other arm around the priest’s neck and throwing him backward over his half-turned hip. There was only a moment to cry out before the prophetess sank her knife deep into his chest.

“Keep that fire burning,” Pinchas said. “We’ll need it to destroy this abomination.”

Ariel grabbed the torch before Pinchas dropped the dead priest to the ground. “Where?”

“Back up there.” Pinchas pointed toward the mountain. “We’ll burn the Baal and his servants on their own altar.”

I saw his face for the first time in the torchlight, and my protest about the approaching daylight died on my lips. Pinchas’ hard eyes would hear no opposition. “Lev, watch the road to the south. Tamar, to the north.”

Tamar moved toward me on the roadside as the two prophets swung the dead priests onto their shoulders and disappeared up the mountain trail. “Slow your breathing,” she said with her eyes on my face, “it will calm the trembling.”

Her words made me aware I was shaking. The bright spots left by the torches danced before me in the darkness.

“Bend your legs.” She spoke directly into my ear. “Put your hands on your knees.” My heart raced as I struggled to catch my breath. “What is it?”

I could not answer. My shoulders shook as images rose in my head. The priest’s eyes in the torchlight, Shimon’s body, a head coming to rest at Uriel’s feet. Tamar’s voice sounded far away.

“Hold fast. This was all sudden. It will pass.”

Violet robes. Firelight. Dancing circles at