Eliav stared at me with a blank expression, as if unsure whether to be happy about this change or not. With a shrug, he turned his back, unlocked the pen, and let out a sharp “Yah!” that brought the sheep pouring out. I hemmed in the flock with my outstretched staff, and Eliav turned them downhill toward the fields on the back side of the town.
“The rain brought up fresh grasses by the road,” I called from behind the flock. “No one’s grazed there yet.”
Eliav didn’t turn. “The rain brought up grasses everywhere. This way’s closer.”
“But you need to go through Zimmah ben Merari’s field this way. They might eat from the cut grain.”
Eliav stopped, and the sheep bunched up behind him, bleating and snorting. “All the shepherds pass through his field, and no one grazes there, you know that. But if you’d rather go to the road, we can go to the road.”
“It’s your flock—I’ll follow you.”
Eliav spit on the ground, then turned the flock back up toward the road. I took up the rear, keeping the sheep in a tight group with light taps on the hindquarters of the stragglers. Without my kinnor, my mind drifted quickly. How long had it taken Eliav to change my grazing spot? Had he done it the very day I left? And why? Was it because the road was farther or because all the other shepherds went behind the town?
We found good pasture on the slope immediately below the town’s gates. Eliav was more confident now with the flock, but he still stood periodically and rushed at any sheep that threatened to stray.
“Don’t do that!” I shouted when Eliav popped up for the third time. “You’re just as likely to scare them away as bring them back. If you want to tighten up the flock, go past the sheep and just walk back toward the center.
“All right.” Eliav avoided my eyes as he spoke. I didn’t offer any more advice after that.
By the time the sun passed its midpoint, I missed my kinnor. A staff might keep the sheep in line but was a poor tool for occupying heart and mind. I watched puffy clouds drift by in ones and twos, high over our heads. Clouds like these weren’t so unusual this time of year, but they made me think of the coming rains.
I brought my eyes down to earth just in time to notice a rider dressed in violet robes turning up from the King’s Road below. Bile rose in my throat. A priest of the Baal in Levonah?
Astride a black mare, the rider made much shorter work of the steep road than I had the day before. Eliav gaped, and I elbowed him so that he wouldn’t stare. I needn’t have bothered—two shepherd boys were beneath the priest’s notice. He approached the gate and addressed the guard loudly in poor Hebrew. “I want Yoel ben Beerah.”
Yoel ben Beerah was the King’s minister in Levonah—what could a priest of the Baal want with him? Without thinking, I motioned to Eliav to watch the sheep and slipped up to the town wall. I crept along the footpath that hugged the wall, stopping in the shadow of the gate where I could hear without being easily seen. Memories of the wedding celebration flooded my mind, and I fought the urge to spit the bitter taste from my mouth.
The guard slouched in the gate but sat up at attention as the priest approached. “Who seeks the King’s officer?”
“A messenger of the Queen.” The priest dismounted in a fluid motion, holding out a scroll in one hand.
The guard shot a skeptical frown at the priest, but when he examined the seal on the scroll, the defiance in his eyes died, his face turned pale, and he bowed his head before answering. “He is here in the gatehouse. I will summon him.”
The guard retreated into the gate, and I was gripped by an internal battle. A voice in my gut screamed to retreat—I had no business with the Baal or the King’s minister—but my curiosity pushed me closer to the gate, yearning to hear what the message contained. Yet, the knife at the priest’s side drew my eyes. My heart pumped only fear—if he was willing to cut his own flesh, what would the priest do if he caught a spying shepherd boy?
Yoel ben Beerah stepped into the gate, trailed by two soldiers. He walked with a deliberate step, examining the priest as he approached. “I am Yoel ben Beerah. You may deliver your message.”
The priest handed over the scroll and Yoel ben Beerah hastily broke the seal and glanced at the contents of the parchment. He scanned the gate plaza around him, causing me to shrink back against the stone wall. “Come, we must discuss this.”
“Lev!” Eliav hissed from below.
I cringed at the sound and scurried down from my perch.
“What were you doing?”
“That’s a priest of the Baal bringing a message to Yoel ben Beerah.”
Eliav’s eyes widened. “How do you know he’s a priest of the Baal?”
“I recognized him from the wedding.”
A smirk played at the corner of Eliav’s mouth, then it turned down into a frown. “You have no business with him, what were you doing? If he had seen you…”
Eliav was right—it was a stupid risk to take. Why did I feel such a strong need to know what they were saying?
“What did he want with Yoel ben Beerah?”
“I don’t know.” I glared at Eliav. “I had to stop listening.”
Eliav gazed up at the clouds. “Do you really think they can bring the rains?”
“Master Uriel says they will come early.”
Eliav grinned. “That’ll be a blessing.”
I leaned away from him. “But what about all the farmers whose crops will be ruined?”
“What about them?” Eliav planted his staff before him and stood. “Let their blood be on their own heads. Yambalya granted them enough time for the harvest, you heard him yourself. It’s only those who don’t listen whose crops will be ruined. And any rain is good for us, right?”
Again Eliav was right—hadn’t I thought like him when I first felt the rains? Yet, now a fury rose within me that I couldn’t explain. Not knowing what to say, I stalked off to gather in a stray ram.
The next day was Shabbat. I passed the time feasting with my family and repeating the stories of my travels, mostly at the request of my younger cousins. On the first day of the week, Eliav again directed the flock toward the fields behind the city. This time I didn’t bother protesting.
After the evening meal, I retrieved my kinnor for the first time since returning home. It was not to “keep the spark inside me alive,” as Daniel had pressed me to do. No, I needed music to smother all those voices rising in my head since my return: my anger at Eliav, my disappointment in Uncle Menachem, my aching desire to be more than a shepherd in the wilderness. I’d made my choice, and my kinnor was my best tool to quiet the tempest within and remain on my path. I leaned against an olive tree opposite the house and gently plucked the strings, trying to replicate the sound of the leaves rustling overhead, imagining myself alone in the wilderness.
“There was no music while you were gone.” Dahlia stood over me, a bowl in her hands. “I brought you some toasted wheat.”
