9
The Dispersal
The tight grip on my shoulder woke me, but it was cold rain on my face that forced my eyes open. I lay on my back, squinting dumbly at the clouds hanging just above the mountaintops. Heavy drops pocked the ground, and a fresh wind stirred dust across the clearing.
My head throbbed—I wanted nothing more than to slide back into sleep, rain or no—but Yonaton grabbed my hand and pulled me up. The world tilted as my body came to a sitting position. Bitter bile rose in my throat, bringing with it memories of dancing around the huge bonfire late into the night, whirling until the wine got the better of me. I couldn’t recall lying down.
The rain fell heavier, rousing sleepers all around us. Grunts gave way to groans and curses as farmers staggered to their feet. It wasn’t just the wet awakening that tried them: it was the season. Still mid-summer, the early yoreh rains were not due for another two months. All across the Kingdom, the abundant wheat harvest—blessed by the same late malkosh rains that had destroyed so much of the barley crop—was cut and drying in the fields. If a downpour soaked the grain, it could rot in storage, destroying the year’s harvest.
As this knowledge set in, farmers stared wildly at the looming sky above them. Only one man could help them now, and they moved in a pack toward the sound of drumming which still echoed from the clearing. “Come on.” Yonaton pulled me to my feet. I stumbled behind him over the uneven ground. The motion made my stomach roll but cleared some of the fog from my head.
The mob swelled on the path, and stifled cries of “The yoreh, the yoreh!” filled the air. The strands of gray cloud hanging down from the sky evoked no fear in me, though. I’d never seen rains this early before, but had heard other shepherds call them matnat ro’im, the shepherd’s gift. Even a brief downpour now would bring up grasses in pockets and hollows all around Levonah, perfect grazing to nourish a flock until the winter rains. Farmers might tremble, but to a wise shepherd it was a treasure.
In the clearing, Yambalya and his disciples danced to Zim’s thunderous rhythm, which somehow held strong through the night. Their chanting took on new strength as the crowd flowed back like a tide, and they called out in celebration of Baal’s speedy answer to their prayers. Yambalya’s belly shook with laughter at the panic on the farmers’ faces. He stretched his head back so that raindrops fell into his mouth. “Baal is merciful,” he called out. “He will not destroy your crops. Not yet. This is but a sign. A sign…” he lowered his gaze to the crowd, “…and a test.” The last word came out with a hiss that sent a shudder right through me.
“You will bring in your harvest before Baal unleashes the power of the storm wind.” He pointed his finger at the farmers like a father reprimanding his children. “He who fails to heed Baal’s power and leaves his grain in the field will surely see his harvest rot.”
A circle of cowed Israelites surrounded Yambalya. He raised his muscular arms, and his eyes rolled back into his head. A single drop of blood rolled down one arm from his wrist. As it reached his elbow, he gave a final triumphant shout, and the rain came to an end.
The royal family would continue to celebrate for a full seven days of feasting up at the palace, but the wedding’s end signaled the end of the festivities for all but the highest nobility. Most of the revelers had already planned to leave that day, but now, with Yambalya’s threat ringing in their 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.”
