“Not good. My father refuses to take in the harvest—he got angry that I even suggested it.”

“He might change his mind now. Master Uriel saw last night that the rains are going to come early.”

“Oh?” Yonaton’s shoulders relaxed, and a smile brightened his face. “If a navi says so, that will be enough for my father.”

“They’re serving the morning meal in the clearing if you want to go.”

“Sounds good.” Yonaton stretched his arms above his head again. “We’ve never made it to the morning meal here before.”

The sun was rising over the eastern hills, and the disciples were already sitting in the field eating by the time we joined them. One of the cooks handed me a small piece of bread, a single dried fig, and twelve kernels of toasted grain from where it had been set aside in the cooking area. The portion was the smallest I’d ever received. Was this a further sign of Uriel’s displeasure? I stepped forward to help myself to more of everything, and again none of the servants protested. Both Yonaton and I took much larger portions than we had on the first night of the gathering. This made me think of Zim, though neither of us could compete with his appetite. I felt suddenly lonely despite Yonaton’s presence.

Silence fell over the disciples, and we all shifted our attention to the center of the eating area where the three masters now stood. “We have received word,” Uriel began. “The rains will indeed come early this year. The gathering will come to a close so that disciples can return home and attend to their harvests.” There was a barely audible sigh from the bnei nevi’im—had they already heard what had happened at the wedding?

Uriel and Tzadok both appeared calm, their faces serene as they met the searching gazes of the disciples. Yosef scowled at the ground.

Uriel continued, “I will remain here with any wishing to stay and continue training. To those who are leaving, may you be blessed with an early and abundant harvest. You are now free to go.”

Most of the disciples hastened to prepare for the trip home. Yonaton and I turned our attention to our meal and were soon among the only ones in the clearing.

A tall disciple named Tuvia approached me. “Master Uriel asked me to escort you back to your uncle’s. I need to ride past Levonah on my way back home.”

“But I’m not a farmer. I don’t need to go back for the harvest.”

“Then speak to Master Uriel—but do it quickly, because I need to go. He also asked me to give you these.” He handed each of us a pouch of copper.

Yonaton turned his pouch over in his hand and examined the contents. “This is how much we were supposed to receive for the entire gathering, but we haven’t even played for a week.”

I poured out my pouch and counted as well. Yonaton was right—the entire summer’s wages were there.

Tuvia gazed up at a small cloud in the otherwise clear sky. “I’m just the messenger. Speak to Master Uriel if you want, but you’ll need to do it quickly.”

Uriel was on the far side of the clearing talking to Yosef, his back to us. He wouldn’t have arranged a ride home and paid full wages for the entire summer if he wanted me to stay. “I’ll get my things.”

Tuvia nodded. “I’ll wait for you at the top of the hill.”

“Master Uriel might not realize that you’re not needed for the harvest,” Yonaton said. “Maybe you should speak to him.”

“He knows.” I avoided his eyes. “If he’s sending me home, he doesn’t want…” I swallowed, “He doesn’t need me.” I didn’t understand why bowing to the Holy One would anger Uriel, but I had no desire to talk about it—not even with Yonaton. “We should go pack.”

Neither of us spoke as we gathered our few possessions and descended the trail back to the clearing. Yonaton kicked rocks along the ground. I searched for the right words—saying goodbye to Yonaton felt different than parting from Zim or Daniel. But words were never my strength. I stepped forward and embraced my friend. When I let go, I offered Yonaton a weak smile and turned up the hill.

Tuvia was waiting for me at the top, mounted on a horse. “Tie your things down and climb up.”

“How do I get on?” I asked as I strapped my rolled-up sleeping mat on top of his belongings. My only other time on a horse, I used a boulder to climb on behind Ovadia.

“Place your foot in that strap there, and give me your hand. No, your other foot.” Tuvia pulled, and I brought my leg over the horse. “Now hold on.” I wrapped my arms around Tuvia, and with a kick to the horse’s flank we started off toward the road. By the time I thought to glance back, I saw nothing but the hills behind us.

“Until I arrived at the gathering, I thought prophecy was simply a gift from the Holy One.”

“Indeed, it is a gift.”

“I mean, I never realized that nevi’im trained for it.”

“We must train, for even gifts can harm one who is ill-equipped to receive them. Under a trained rider, a fast horse is a powerful gift indeed. But it can also throw off and break the back of the untrained.”

“So all nevi’im have trained before receiving prophecy, Master?”

“I know of only one exception.”

“Who was that?”

“Balaam, who called himself the man with the open eye.”

The name Balaam made me think of Uriel’s old, one-eared donkey. It lived longer than any beast of burden I’d ever known, but was probably gone by now, at a time when so many animals perished from lack of food. Had Uriel really named a donkey after a prophet? “Why did Balaam merit navua if he hadn’t trained?”

“Merit? I’m not sure Balaam did merit, but he received it nonetheless.”

“I don’t understand.”

“What training do you recall from the gathering, Lev?”

“Mostly that the bnei nevi’im had to quiet their minds.”

“Yes, only a quiet mind is a fit vessel to receive. Music is a particularly good tool for achieving that. What else?”

“Dreams. I remember Master Yosef saying dreams were one-sixtieth of prophecy, and that all disciples must discuss their dreams with a master.”

“Correct, they must also learn to understand the visions of their heart. What else?”

“I cannot think of anything else, Master.”

“What remains is the most important step, the path that Balaam could never pursue: the complete refinement of the self.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Many of the new priests of the Baal first began their training with us.”

“They were bnei nevi’im?”

“Indeed. Some were drawn to the nevi’im because they wanted power, to control others, to be feared. Others had a desire to serve, but foundered because they failed to master themselves.”

Though my master couldn’t see me, I nodded, fully aware of how tempting the Baal was to those desiring power or seeking to satisfy their lusts. “Then how did Balaam succeed?”

“Balaam needed to exist. When we left Egypt, the Holy One wanted the nations to see that what made us distinct was not our circumstances, but our choices. We were led by Moses, who spoke to the Holy One face to face. The nations needed a prophet of equal power to dispel any belief that only Moses’s navua set us apart. So Balaam was given tremendous powers of navua, so great that the nations could never claim they misunderstood the Holy One’s will.”

“But why choose him? There must have been one among the nations with a pure heart.”

“There were many. But what would happen to one of pure heart who received the prophetic powers of Moses?”