“I do not know. I did not merit a reason in the vision—I thought our work here was finished. All the disciples have gone, and very few people live in the surrounding valleys. But perhaps someone is coming to us. Either way, we will know soon enough.”
Hillel saw a skull floating in the water. He said to it: Because you drowned others, you were drowned. And ultimately, those who drowned you will be drowned as well.
Pirkei Avot 2:7
15
The Battle
For days, we practiced patience. Uriel sat in silence while I searched my kinnor for new sounds. My master said perhaps we awaited a visitor, one important enough for the Holy One to delay our travels. Yet, except for Yonaton, who came to visit often, not a soul entered the valley. As first light seeped through the trees at the dawn of the following week, I again asked, “Master, where are we going now?”
The prophet sighed. “I do not know.” He lowered himself onto the cave floor. “Please play.” No sooner had I reached for my kinnor than a rush swept past me, as if the cave had exhaled its contents. My master’s body trembled on the ground; this time, his soul ascended faster than I’d ever seen. Ignoring my instrument, I hitched our things to Balaam.
As I tied the last bag to the donkey, Uriel stepped out of the cave, his face ashen.
“Have you received instruction?”
“Yes. We must go now.” The quiver in his voice silenced any further questions.
I led Balaam up the hill toward the road.
“Not that way.” Uriel pointed down the hill toward a narrow track that wound north across the valley floor and snaked up the far ridge. “This way,” he insisted, already moving as he spoke.
I touched my father’s knife, concealed beneath my tunic. Shimon disappeared down that path right after telling me not to use my knife and had not reappeared since. I shook my head to clear the image of Shimon’s scarred face, and turned Balaam to follow Uriel.
A voice called out behind me, “Wait! Don’t go yet.” Yonaton weaved down the rocky hillside, his sister Yael trailing behind. “My parents sent provisions for your journey.” Yonaton pulled two large loaves and a cake of pressed figs from the skin slung over his shoulder. Yael struggled under a massive, green-skinned melon.
I untied the top of one of the donkey bags and carefully added Yael’s melon. Yonaton placed the bread and figs on top of the swollen fruit. Even though we’d parted only the night before, I was glad to see my friend one more time. We embraced quickly.
“Go in peace. And take care of Master Uriel.”
Uriel still descended the trail, heedless of the gift we’d received. I squeezed Yonaton’s hand one last time. “I’ll see you next year,” I said, then led Balaam at a trot after my master.
Early grasses and mud-filled hollows slowed our progress. We traveled all that day along the overgrown trail, encountering no one. When the sun dropped below the horizon, Uriel pointed to a cave on the hillside. As we ascended through the trees, I gathered an armful of firewood. The prophet inspected the shelter while I arranged the wood outside its entrance.
“No, Lev.” Uriel emerged from the darkness within. “Tonight, we light the fire inside.”
I gazed up at the cloudless sky—it was a shame to spend the night in a smoke-filled cave when we knew there was no chance of rain. Did Uriel think that Eliyahu had relented already? I turned to ask, but my master’s gaze was fixed on the breeze whispering through the oak trees below, and I couldn’t bring myself to disturb him.
Uriel sat outside, gazing out into the darkness as I cooked dinner. When I finished, Uriel accepted a bowl of wheat porridge without a word, laid it beside him, and turned back to his contemplation.
The two of us had hardly spoken since leaving that morning. I knew he preferred to be left to his own reflections, but questions filled my mind. “Master?” I said quietly.
Uriel turned toward me, firelight flickering in his eyes. “Yes?”
“I’ve been thinking about Eliyahu. Won’t his curse also hurt those who don’t bow to the Baal? Like Yonaton’s family?”
“Indeed. A curse brings suffering without making distinctions. It falls upon the guilty and the innocent alike.” Tears welled in his eyes. “Even the one who called down the curse is not spared its destruction.” He turned back to the darkness, his bowl of porridge untouched, congealing in the cool night air.
I thought of Seguv, dead soon after coming of age, never married, never a father. He didn’t fall in battle or struggle for his life. He was the victim of a curse uttered five hundred years before he was born.
Yet, it wasn’t Seguv’s death that brought tears to my master’s eyes. Was it Eliyahu’s curse? Did he feel the pain of farmers like Yonaton’s family, who would suffer without rain despite their loyalty to the Holy One? Was he thinking of Eliyahu himself? I didn’t think so. These were not the quick and hot tears of anger or pain; they were the seeping tears of deep sadness. I cried this way when I finally accepted that my mother would never come back for me. These tears sprang from a well deep within.
But it wasn’t my place to pry. I turned to serve myself and caught sight of Balaam, grinding his teeth at the side of the cave, our bags still hitched over his back—how had I not noticed he was still burdened? My uncle would have sent me to bed hungry for such callousness. I moved to unload him, but Uriel stopped me with a grunt and a single shake of his head. Apparently, the donkey would have to sleep ready to travel. I left my master to his thoughts and returned to the cave to eat alone.
I dreamed of stars, my shadow floating across the jeweled sky. In the darkness, a mountain rose before me, a palace perched on its crown. Silently, the air shifted, andI flew forward on the breeze. The palace grew until it filled the night sky. A dim light flickered through a window set high in the outer wall. I glided onwards, landing on the sill of the window.
I knew the room below by its tall columns, carved like date palms, marching in two lines down the center, their bases lit by torches, their tops lost in shadow: the throne room of the King. Two thrones presided over the room, just as I remembered; the King’s was empty, but Izevel sat arrow-straight on the one crafted for her father. Her hands gripped the heavy wooden arms of the chair, her olive skin glowing in the torchlight. Even though the throne dwarfed her small frame, the fire in her eyes and her air of command made it seem as though it could barely contain her force.
“You summoned me, my Queen?” The deep voice echoed through the cavernous room. In the firelight, Yambalya’s violet robes looked nearly bloody, and they swirled as though carried on a wind as he approached.
“Yes. Have I acted too soon?”
“No, my Queen.” Yambalya bowed before her, exposing the laddered scars on the back of his neck. “You were right to act now.”
“And the people will not protect them?”
“They are sheep. They will not rise against us without the leadership of their king.”
“That they will not have.” She moistened her lips with her tongue and curled them in a serpentine smile. Her eyes narrowed as she watched the priest closely. “Baal has not informed you where he is to be found?”
“No, my Queen. The movements of one man, no matter how bold, are not a matter of note to mighty Baal.”
Izevel leaned forward, her tapered fingers white on the clawed arms of the throne. “But he stopped the rains.”
The cords of Yambalya’s neck grew taut. “Yes, he stopped the rains. Their god is still strong in this land. But when their prophets are gone, the people will learn to fear Baal.”
