The Lamp of Darkness, - [any book recommendations txt] 📗

ears, they ran to gather their belongings and begin their journeys home straight away.

Yonaton and I walked silently toward Ovadia’s house. We were also leaving that day; the court musicians would suffice to play for the week of celebrations, and we were still needed at the gathering. The streets of Shomron were flooded with people, many running past us up the hill and more already heading out.

“You look awful,” Batya said as we crossed the threshold. “You boys get ready to go, and I’ll fix you something.”

When we descended the ladder with our sacks, one of the maidservants poured out two steaming cups of steeped herbs. “Drink that,” Batya said. I took a sip and gagged. “I know it tastes awful, but it will help. You boys should also have something to eat. You have a long journey ahead.”

We had barely begun our meal when Daniel arrived. “Finish up,” he said brusquely. “The donkeys are ready. If we start soon, we might make it back before nightfall.”

“We haven’t been paid,” Yonaton said.

Daniel held up a leather pouch bound with a thong. “Dov came to pay us this morning. I collected for both of you.”

Daniel’s pouch held more copper than I’d ever owned, almost as much as promised for the entire gathering. I tried to look pleased—if Daniel read the disappointment on my face, he’d ask questions. I remembered all too clearly the first night of the gathering when he’d smashed my dream of studying for prophecy. Even if I was deluding myself with thoughts of playing in the King’s court, I wasn’t ready for Daniel to crush this dream as well—certainly not with my head already pounding and my stomach barely holding down my morning bread.

No, if this dream was going to collapse, I wanted to hear it from Dov himself. Only he could tell me if there would be a place for my kinnor or not. I hadn’t seen him since the dancing began the night before, when he still had a smudge of dirt on his forehead from bowing before the Baal. And it wasn’t just him—every one of the court musicians bowed as well. Was that what it would mean to play in the King’s court—bowing before the Baal? Would that be the price of getting Dahlia?

The pounding in my head grew more insistent, in a way that had nothing to do with last night’s wine. Daniel wouldn’t need to smash this dream—it caved in on its own. I hadn’t bowed last night, even when I feared that Yambalya’s men would run their blades through any who refused. I made my choice, and once my stubborn heart decided on a path, it was set. I wouldn’t bow now either, despite the possible rewards.

I took my last bite and rose to follow Daniel, hating myself for falling into another silly dream, but no longer regretting missing Dov. More disappointing was leaving without seeing Ovadia. He was close to both the prophets and the King, the one person I really wanted to ask about the wedding, the Baal, and the rain. But Ovadia was at the palace, and there was no time to find him. We thanked Batya, who handed us a sack of rations for our trip, and hurried out after Daniel.

While we packed the donkeys, Zim strolled over to the house, clutching his drum under one arm. His eyes were glassy, but his smile was wild with joy.

“Hey Zim,” Yonaton called. “Where are your things?”

“They’re still in the musicians’ quarters.”

“You better run and get them. We’re leaving.”

“I’m not coming with you.” Zim took his drum out from under his arm and tapped it gently with his fingertips. “I came to say goodbye.”

“You’re staying for the week of celebrations?” A pang of jealousy cut through me.

“Longer. Yambalya invited me to join him.”

“You’re not coming back to play for the prophets at all?”

“Playing for Yambalya all through the night, I poured all of my body and soul into my drum.” Zim’s eyes had a faraway look. “That’s what devotion should look like.”

I winced at the word devotion. Uriel used the same word to describe the Way of the prophets. I pictured Yambalya drawing his knife across his chest. Is that what devotion looks like to you, Zim?

“We’ll miss you,” Yonaton said.

“I’ll miss you too. But I have a feeling it won’t be for long. You’ve both got talent, and you’re only going to get better. From what I’ve seen, good musicians rarely stay in one place. Unless they decide to marry like Daniel here.” He slapped Daniel on the shoulder.

“So you’ll be moving up to Tzur?” I asked.

Zim shook his head with a grin.

“Isn’t Tzur the capital of Tzidon?”

“It is, but Yambalya isn’t going back. Queen Izevel asked him to stay. She promised to build him a temple right here in Shomron.”

Zim put down his drum and threw one arm around me and the other around Yonaton, drawing us both roughly to his body. He released us, picked up his drum, and stood playing while we rode away.

Beyond the mountains ringing Shomron, the road curved south and flattened out. Daniel tied our donkey to his with a lead rope. “Your eyes are barely open,” he said in response to my protest. “This way you can sleep and let the donkey do the walking.”

The animal’s slow plodding drew me wistfully back to our swift ride to the wedding. On horseback, the journey took less than a day, even with the lightly burdened donkeys following along behind. Now I couldn’t see how Daniel hoped to get us back to the gathering before nightfall. The donkey rocked and swayed as we ambled over the bumpy road, and before long Yonaton’s head slumped forward against my back. I fought to keep my eyes open, but sleep overtook me as well.

I awoke to a shaking, like a tremor at my back. Opening my eyes, I saw steep-sloped mountains surrounding us. Daniel trotted confidently, singing quietly to himself as our donkey followed close behind. What woke me was Yonaton weeping quietly against my back. I lifted my head, but he immediately choked off his soft cry.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Yonaton sat up and wiped his eyes on his sleeve.

“You can tell me.” I twisted on the donkey’s back so I could catch Yonaton’s eyes over my shoulder. Tears—as if they’ll help anything. The Holy One knows I cried plenty when I was younger. But the tears never did me any good—I was no better off when they stopped flowing than when they started. Aunt Leah cried often, and I always found it hard to look at her when she did. Dahlia mostly stopped a few years ago at the same time I did. She learned quickly that tears were the fastest way to lose my interest.

On that first night of the gathering, Zim and Daniel both turned away at the mention of my parents’ deaths. But Yonaton hadn’t looked away; his eyes had actually teared, even though mine remained dry. I forced myself to hold Yonaton’s eyes. He hadn’t looked away then, and I would stay with him now. “What is it?”

Yonaton hesitated, but only for a moment. He’s no orphan; trust comes more easily to him. “It’s my father. I know what he’s like. He won’t gather in his grain early. He’ll say it’s betrayal to fear the Baal. What if our harvest is ruined? We don’t have enough stored to get us through winter.”

“You think Yambalya can make the rains come early?”

Yonaton gazed up at the dark patches of clouds moving across the summer sky. “What if he can?” he said softly.

I didn’t know what to say—I was a shepherd, not a farmer. I was about as far from sharing the farmers’ worries about the early rains as Yambalya; I looked forward to them. I was no more concerned about the yoreh spoiling wheat than I had been a few months earlier when the malkosh ruined so much barley. The late rains made grazing easier this summer than in summers past. The early rains would do the same: replenish grasses, keep the flock healthier, and make my life easier.

But Yonaton’s pain struck me in an unfamiliar way. A few months ago, it was the farmers who suffered when the barley spoiled. This morning, it was the farmers who would suffer if the rain soaked the wheat. It was easy to bear the pain of farmers I didn’t know—especially when they had land and I had none—but it was much harder to gaze into the teary eyes of a friend. Did his father really fear the Holy One so much that he would let his family starve? Were there many more like him in Israel? Still not finding any words, I reached back and squeezed Yonaton’s hand.

By early afternoon, the clouds burned off, leaving the sky a bright blue. The sun baked the moisture from the ground and Yonaton’s melancholy dissipated with the clouds. “You know, I think the wheat will be fine,” he said. “The prophets look out for Israel. They wouldn’t let Yambalya destroy the harvest of whoever doesn’t fear the Baal.”

Yonaton’s new attitude sounded forced to my ears, perhaps covering up for the shame of having shown his fear. Either way, I breathed more easily, relieved I no longer had to console a weepy friend.

We left the mountains south of Shomron behind and rode through the massive brown hills I knew so well. When we passed the turnoff to Levonah, I searched the road leading toward the gate, hoping to catch sight of my flock on the hills. The land was quiet and empty.

We ate the midday meal under a carob tree just past Levonah. “We’re making good time,” Daniel said. “With a little luck, we’ll arrive before dark.”

“But when I came with Master Uriel it took us two days from here,” I said. “We were walking, but we weren’t moving much slower than we are now.”

“You went through Beit El. Our path will be more direct.”

Yonaton swallowed the bread in his mouth. “Then why did Ovadia take us on the Beit El road?”

“Our way is too rough for horses. But the donkeys can make it if we lead them.”

After the meal, we continued south on the King’s Road for a short stretch, then Daniel turned the donkeys onto a narrow path that climbed up a broken hillside before the road to Shiloh. Once over the ridge-line, the path dropped into a gully, and we dismounted to lead the donkeys down the descent. We picked our way down a series of ridges and valleys, dropping ever lower, the hillsides gradually shifting to lighter shades of brown as the vegetation thinned, finally taking on the yellow tone of the hills around Emek HaAsefa. Daniel was right; this way was far shorter than the road through Beit El. I recalled how my legs ached from walking those first days with Uriel. He couldn’t have led us that way just to alert Master Yosef; a simple messenger could have done that.

When I asked Daniel, he laughed. “How many people have we passed on this path?”

“None.”

“There’s your answer.”

“What do you mean?”

“What do you think Master Uriel does when he’s not at the gathering?”

I had never given any thought to the prophet’s life before. “Return home to his family?”

Daniel shook his head. “He travels the land. People go to him for prophecy, for advice, for blessings, for judgment of their disputes. It’s not his way to seek the shortest path.”

I thought back to Zim’s comment at the wedding—if I wasn’t careful, I’d wind up holy and alone like Uriel. Did he not have a family?

The sun dipped below the hills, casting a pink and orange glow across the sky as we descended into Emek HaAsefa. As the caves high on the hillsides came into view, my eye sought out our cave, the highest of them all, with its rock ledge