“That may be so,” Uriel said, “but it does not mean you must go alone. Take Lev with you, if he will consent to go.”

I started at his words. “Me? You need me for your bread.”

Uriel turned toward me. “As I said when you arrived, the prophets eat not from your hands, but from the hand of the Holy One.” He let the rebuke sink in for a moment, and I felt, more than heard, grumbling from some of the disciples. “Only you among us can pass the Queen’s soldiers every day. So too you can serve as a scout or decoy if the master must flee. Will you go?”

Coming from my master’s mouth, this was a command, not a question. “If that is your wish, Master.”

“It is. Come with me now, and I will instruct you on what you must do.”

I saw no need for instruction, as I would be traveling with Yissachar. Nonetheless, I followed my master out of the cave. The sun was long set now, and the moon would not rise until midway through the night, so the only light came from the stars. This was the one time the prophets ever ventured out of hiding, when there was little chance of being caught by stray eyes.

Uriel walked around the olive tree, out onto the terrace and past the budding grape vines. The orchard took less effort than I feared, as the prophets had taken to watering it at night. Once we were away from the entrance, Uriel faced me.

“You would prefer not to go?” he asked.

“There was already not enough bread for Shabbat, Master. If I don’t return tonight, the prophets must go another day without full portions.”

“I am not concerned for the prophets. Sometimes an empty stomach makes room for the heart to grow. Hunger is not yet our greatest threat.” Even in the starlight, I saw my master’s eyes soften as they held mine. “Right now I am more concerned for you.”

“Me?” Had Uriel seen through my half-truths?

“Do you not see the gift I offer by sending you on this journey?”

“Gift, Master?”

“Yes, the gift of forgiveness.”

The darkness hid the flush which rose to my face. “You are saying…that if I go, you will forgive me for my foolishness?”

Uriel’s laughter was the last sound I expected to hear. “I? I have nothing to forgive. Do I not owe you my very life?” The prophet placed his hand on my shoulder. “I am offering you the chance to forgive yourself.”

“For allowing Zim to see me?”

“For that. For Shimon’s murder. Perhaps even for that of your parents. And more which I cannot see.” Uriel leaned close to me, and his voice dropped to a whisper. “You take too much upon your young heart, Lev. Are you the Holy One that you can cup the waters of the seas in your hands? We are all called upon to do what we may, and to trust the Holy One will do the rest.”

“I didn’t do all I could. Being seen by Zim was my fault.”

“You were doing your best—you must never doubt that.”

I shook my head. “My anger drove me out of Ovadia’s house. I brought it on myself.”

“Do you know why you were angry?”

I shrugged, it seemed so obvious. “Because I am doing the work of a servant rather than learning from you.”

“If learning is truly your desire, let me teach you this. To rid yourself of anger, you must first recognize its true cause.” Uriel squeezed my shoulder. “Ask your heart why you are angry.”

We stood in silence for a few moments, but I knew no more than before.

The old prophet sighed. “I see your guilt plainly.”

“I don’t understand, Master.”

“You blame yourself for Shimon’s death, despite doing your best to keep all three of us alive. Your guilt fueled your anger—at yourself. That is what drove you to Zim.”

His words sunk in. Had Shimon safely reached the Cave of Dotan, would I have been so angry at baking bread for the prophets? Had I not been so angry, would I have walked out of Ovadia’s right into the hands of Zim?

“Know this. Guilt over an action can be more destructive than the act itself. I say again, you did your best last week in Shomron.”

“No, Master. I could have done more.”

“So long as you blame yourself, your power is limited. Learn to forgive, and you will be capable of more than you know.”

“It’s too late. Zim’s seen me. I had to move out. I must play festivals and banquets to keep the appearance of a musician in Shomron. I can no longer help care for the prophets as I once did.”

“Do you hear the poison in your words? Your guilt over Shimon drove you to Zim. What will your guilt over Zim drive you to? If you are not careful, the Baal lies at the end of that path.” Uriel’s words stung more than he could know. “What then will become of the prophets you hope to sustain?”

“But why must I journey with Yissachar?”

“I can see your heart is not yet strong enough to forgive yourself. Let this trip be your atonement. You blame yourself for your role in Shimon’s death, so go now and save the lives of three hunted prophets. When you return, I bless you to see your debt as paid. Only then can you free your strength to help the prophets.”

Uriel turned back toward the cave. “Come, you have a long journey ahead, and it will be safest to return before the rising of the sun.”

Yissachar tilted his head back, took in the open sky, and descended the terraces. Whether it was his hunger, the lack of light, or weeks underground, the old prophet moved slower than even his age merited. I gave him my hand, but it did little to speed our descent.

Uriel’s words echoed in my ears as we crept down the hillside, but they rang false. Walking out on the baking had nothing to do with Shimon, and I certainly hadn’t done all I could in Ovadia’s house. I am a musician, not a baker. There should be callouses on my fingers, not burns. Sacks of barley packed Ovadia’s courtyard—there is only so much grain one boy can grind. Yissachar stumbled and almost pulled me over in my distraction. As I regained my balance, a question rose in my heart. When I walked out of Ovadia’s house, was I hoping to be discovered? Is that why I walked right to Zim, to avoid being a house-slave?

As we crawled along, my master’s words echoed louder. Every night since Shimon died, I had seen his face in my dreams. Did Uriel believe accompanying Yissachar as he saved three prophets could atone for Shimon’s death?

We reached the bottom of the hillside, and the frail prophet released my hand with a squeeze. We turned north on the trail, away from Shomron. “How long is our journey, Master Yissachar?”

“Oh, quite far.” He didn’t look at me as he replied.

I fought the urge to tell him that his shuffling steps would bring the dawn far before we found the prophets. I didn’t belong here. I belonged back in Shomron, trying to make up for the time I had already squandered. I buried these thoughts. I was here because my master ordered it, and if this was what he wanted, this is what I would do.

I tried to distract myself by listening for night birds, but the old prophet had other ideas. “Your Master holds you in high esteem.”

True or not, I was in no mood to talk about Uriel. I grunted in reply.

We walked on in silence, but I had barely sunk back into my thoughts when Yissachar stopped. His breath came heavy, and he leaned against a tree at the side of the trail. “I must rest.”

I looked at the dark sky, wondering how long it would be until moonrise. We would never rescue anyone at this rate. The prophet took a step and waved us forward. He no longer leaned on my hand, but perhaps talking would help his feet along the trail. “Master Yissachar, have many of the prophets arrived this way?”

Yissachar shook his head. “Each has come in their own manner. These are the first I have gone to retrieve. Indeed, they are the first we have discovered via a vision.”

His words made no sense. “With a cave full of prophets?”