“I’ve got to get home and bring in my harvest before it rots in the field. You heard Yambalya, this morning’s rain was only a warning. If we fail to heed it, we may not be so blessed in the future. I’m leaving at dawn. Yonaton, if I were you, I’d tell your family to bring in theirs as well.”
The thin veil of confidence that masked Yonaton’s face all afternoon melted, exposing raw fear. Without another word, he ran out of the cave toward home.
Zim’s reaction to Yambalya was one thing—but Daniel? “After all these years playing for the prophets, you’re going to heed the Baal?”
Daniel shook his head. “All these years with the prophets have shown me that all kinds of things are possible.”
“But you refused to bow at the wedding.”
“True, but I also felt the rain on my face this morning.” Daniel folded his arms behind his head. “If Yambalya is wrong and I bring in my crops early, what have I lost? But if he’s right, and I leave them in the fields…” Daniel sighed, put down his head, and closed his eyes.
I rested my kinnor next to my sleeping mat—I didn’t feel like playing alone. I left the cave hoping to catch Yonaton, but he was out of sight—probably halfway home already at the pace he was moving. I made my way down to the valley floor, unsure what I was searching for. All was silent; the servants had finished cleaning up, the disciples were all asleep. I strolled with a heavy step toward the pomegranate tree under which we played, its unripe flower-tipped fruits just visible in the moonlight, and sat down with my back against its smooth and slender trunk. A dark hole opened in my chest, swallowing down the excitement of Shomron and the wedding that had bloomed there. They seemed like a distant memory now. Zim wasn’t coming back, and Daniel was leaving. Would Yonaton be next? Will I have to play on my own for the rest of the gathering?
I had barely sat down when I stood up again—there was no point in staying awake on my own. I returned slowly along the path, its worn track a pale gray in the light of the two-thirds moon. A lone, tall figure strode ahead of me, reaching the musicians’ cave first and stepping inside. I hurried into the cave and almost ran into the man.
“Ah Lev, I was looking for you,” Uriel whispered, resting his hand on my shoulder. “I want to hear about the wedding. Let us go to my cave so that we don’t wake Daniel.”
Uriel led the way back down the path, and I followed behind in silence. Four lamps burned inside his cave, dazzling my eyes as I stepped in from the dark night. I sat opposite Uriel, whose slate-blue eyes fell upon mine, expectant. I wasn’t sure what he wanted me to say, so I started at the beginning.
“When we got to Shomron, Ovadia told Yonaton and me that we’d be staying with him, not with Daniel and Zim in the musicians’ quarters.” I paused, hoping he would direct me, but he only nodded for me to continue.
As words spilled out, I found myself saying more than I intended, talking about things of no importance. Why would the prophet care about us delivering Ovadia’s messages, or the commoners wrestling the bear? I kept scrutinizing the navi for some sign of what he was after, but was met with a steady gaze that drew the stream of images out of me.
When I finally ran out of words, two of the lamps had burned out—the charcoal smell of their wicks filling the cave. I slumped forward on the stool, exhausted. Uriel stared at me in silence, his face unmoving. The prophet’s gaze felt heavier now that I was no longer speaking, and I dropped my eyes to the table.
“So Queen Izevel and her family all bowed before the Baal?”
A knot clenched in my stomach. “Yes.”
“Then King Ahav bowed?”
In my mind, I saw the King’s hesitation give way before his bride’s coaxing. “Yes.”
“Then the people bowed as well?”
“Many of them.”
“And Ovadia?”
“I looked for him, but he had gone.”
“Then in the morning, there was rain?”
“Yes.”
“The people were afraid, and in their fear, they turned to the priest of the Baal.”
This wasn’t a question, but I still answered, “Yes.”
Uriel’s gaze rose to the ceiling of the cave. “The lamp of darkness is burning brightly once again,” he said, more to himself than to me. The creases on his face deepened in the unsteady light. “May the Holy One protect Israel.”
The prophet suddenly seemed so old and frail. “The lamp of darkness?”
Uriel didn’t answer, as though unaware that I’d spoken. He stood quickly, knocking over his stool as he rose. He lowered himself onto a reed mat on the floor, his feet before him, his knees bent to his chest. “I would like you to play for me. We may need to end the gathering early.”
“Why?”
“As you said, the rains might be coming. Whoever leaves his crops in the fields risks ruin. Many of our disciples are farmers. We cannot cause them to suffer such losses.”
I thought back to what Yonaton said on our journey back to the valley. “But can’t the prophets stop the rains?”
“Even if I could, I wouldn’t do so.”
“Why not?” I couldn’t keep the challenge out of my voice. The image of panicked farmers gathering around Yambalya rose in my mind, and the taste of bile returned to my tongue. It was strange—I had cared little for their panic that morning; I was even looking forward to the early rains. But I must have swallowed some of Yonaton’s fear on the ride back to the gathering. Was the prophet also afraid of the Baal?
“If we stop the rains, it will only bring the people to fear us more than Yambalya,” Uriel said with resignation. “It becomes a battle of one fear over another.”
“Isn’t that what you want, that the people should fear the Holy One more than the Baal?”
“No! A true turning to the Holy One is the end of fear, not a step down its path.”
“So none of the prophets will do anything to stop this?”
The old navi hesitated. “I don’t think so.”
I heard Uriel’s uncertainty. Did this mean not all the prophets agreed with him? Was there still a chance to stop the rains? Perhaps if Uriel knew, if he really understood how much fear the threat of rain was causing, he’d decide that closing the gathering early wasn’t enough—that this was a time to stand up to Yambalya. I had held back only one detail of our journey, one that I left out so as not to embarrass a friend. But even that would be worth it if it could make Uriel comprehend the humiliation of the people… and hold off the rains.
“When we were riding home from the gathering, Yonaton cried. That’s how scared he was that his father would refuse to listen to Yambalya and their harvest would be lost.” I flushed as I spoke, horrified to think of Yonaton’s embarrassment if he ever found out. “Without the wheat harvest, they don’t have enough grain to get through the winter. They’re not the only ones.”
