My throat clenched, so tight I could barely answer. Uriel studied me as I sputtered. “There is to be no resistance.”
“No resistance?”
“No, Master.”
“Then why assemble in Dotan?”
I swallowed hard. I needed Ovadia here for this.
Uriel held my gaze. “To hide?”
“Yes, Master.”
The prophet shook his head. “I am too old to bury myself in a cave. There is no point in dying hidden. Even being struck down by the sword is better than that; then the people might see the brutality of their so-called Queen and rise up against her.”
Shimon stepped between the prophet and me. “Then what shall we do, Master?”
“You were right—I must seek vision. Lev, your kinnor.” Uriel lowered himself to the stone ground.
I hesitated. Two oaths: one to serve Uriel, one to bring Uriel to Dotan. All that day I pondered what I would do should those two vows conflict. I felt my master’s presence, firm on the floor. Was he set on resistance even if his death would only be a symbol? At the very least, Dotan would extend my master’s life, whether he wanted that or not. And what if Ovadia was right? What if my master would prove pivotal once the war was over? I saw now why Ovadia made me swear; the oath’s power tied me to his purpose. I swallowed again and made my choice. “No, Master.”
Uriel raised an eyebrow.
I gripped my tunic in my fists. “You said it yourself, Master, now is not the time for vision. There must be others resisting Izevel, but the Holy One didn’t send us to them. We were sent to Ovadia—we should heed his advice.”
I felt the heat of Shimon’s glare—he would welcome another fight. But I focused on my master, still crouched on the ground.
Fire rose in Uriel’s eyes, flashed, and then extinguished. “Perhaps you are correct, Lev, and I should heed Ovadia’s word without pursuing further guidance.” He stared down at his hands, limp between his knees. “And perhaps you are wrong.”
The uncertainty in my master’s voice unsettled me. Uriel reached out to Yonaton to help him to his feet. “You boys have traveled far today—I have demanded enough words for now. To sleep. Let us each seek the counsel of our dreams.”
The exhaustion of my body overwhelmed the restlessness of my mind, and I quickly fell into a deep slumber. Riding Balaam, it took much of the day to travel from Shomron, but my dreams returned me there in an instant.
The throne room glowed. Oil lamps surrounded the Queen and ringed Yambalya as he knelt before her. It could have been daylight if not for the nearly full moon shining through the eastern windows.
“We killed their prophets and still they resist!” Izevel’s voice was shrill.
“It takes time, my Queen, to uproot a people’s connection to their god.”
“It is Eliyahu. And this drought.”
“The people know nothing of Eliyahu, my Queen, nor do they yet realize there’s a drought. Once they do, they will have all the more reason to turn against their prophets.”
“Or perhaps they will see Eliyahu as stronger than Baal?”
The priest glared at Izevel, eyes smoldering.
“What of the hunt? You claimed your servants have never failed.”
“They are Baal’s servants, not mine. And they will succeed. I told you, I have seen Eliyahu’s future in the stars.”
Izevel sat back with a snarl. “Yet, for now, the people still resist.”
“Yes, my Queen, but I have a plan.”
She leaned forward. “A plan? What will you do?”
“If her Majesty will be guided by me, then before the moon wanes, half the stubborn ones in Shomron will bend their knees before Baal.”
Pale light filled the cave when I woke the next morning. Shimon and Yonaton still slept beside me, but Uriel’s mat lay empty. My eyes scanned the back of the cave—Balaam’s saddlebags were gone. My heart leapt as I pulled my tunic over my head.
Yonaton stirred. “Where are you going?”
“Master Uriel’s gone.”
Yonaton sat up. “His sleeping mat is still here.”
“The saddlebags are missing.”
“So?”
Why didn’t Yonaton understand? “So Master Uriel would take them only if he intended to travel.”
“Without us?” Comprehension filled Yonaton’s eyes, and he rose to his feet.
