The young one whispered from behind me, “Silence your steps, Lev.” The soft voice was unmistakably a woman’s. “Heel to toe,” she said, “and keep your knees bent.” My footsteps grew quieter, though my heart pounded from the effort of keeping pace this way.

The warbling of a nightjar broke the quiet of the night, and I bumped into Ariel as he stopped short in front of me. His hands grabbed my shoulders as he turned, holding me still. Pinchas stood in the middle of the trail, his right hand held at shoulder height. The nightjar’s call had come from him.

In the silence, I heard voices approaching. Ariel’s hands nudged me to the side of the trail, and I stepped into the brush, placing my heel down first. As I rolled my foot forward to my toe, a dry branch cracked. Ariel reached for my ankle, directed my foot to a secure spot, then tugged at my tunic, coaxing me to lower myself to the ground. Pinchas and Ariel drew their knives.

The group moving toward us felt no need for silence. “I don’t blame you for not cutting yourself,” a voice thick with wine said. “I wouldn’t do it either. Leave that to those tattooed foreigners. What I want to know is, why did you pull out your knife?” Many voices laughed. “There those two priests were, cutting themselves up, and you’re just standing there, knife drawn, doing nothing.” The laughter rang louder as they drew near.

The group passed directly in front of us, six men in all. A year ago these drunkards would have paid homage to the prophets, be they faithful to the Holy One or not. Now they staggered fearlessly through the night while we crouched beside the trail, weapons held ready against any threat.

Pinchas watched until the darkness reabsorbed them. “May the Holy One straighten the path of Israel and keep our feet from stumbling,” he muttered.

We reached the King’s Road without any other encounters, but when we turned south, torchlight appeared ahead of us. Once again we eased off into the brush and this time I was as noiseless as Ariel. The torch illuminated the violet robes of the two men approaching.

Pinchas went tense. “Kohen, you wait here,” he hissed into my ear. He drew his knife and nodded to Ariel to follow. I grabbed his arm and pointed at the moon. Time was passing. His words were silent as a breath. “There are greater priorities than safety.”

The two prophets slipped across the road while the prophetess remained beside me, knife drawn. I had lied to Pinchas earlier when I told him I was unarmed. My heart thumped as I pulled my father’s knife from under my tunic. My companion’s eyes grew wide at the sight of the stone blade. She spoke against my ear. “Put it away, Lev. We will have no Kohen desecrated on our account.”

My hand closed tight around the hilt. Kohen or no, it was my duty to deliver them safely to the cave.

The torches lit the path before the approaching priests but blinded them to Pinchas and Ariel crossing the road beyond their ring of light. The torches blinded us as well. More revelers or even a troop of soldiers could walk behind the two men—there was no way to know until they passed.

I held my breath when the priests reached the road across from our hiding place. We remained silent as the circle of light moved past. Were Pinchas’ preparations purely defensive? I could now see empty road behind them—the priests walked alone.

The nightjar warbled again in the darkness. The prophetess rose without a sound and crept into the road. I waited for a dozen pounding heartbeats and followed her.

The priest with the torch held the greater threat, as his companion couldn’t draw his weapon without dropping the wooden cask which held his god. Nevertheless, Ariel grabbed the one with the idol, threw a hand over his mouth, and wrenched back his head. The torchlight flashed in his eyes, which went wide before the descending blade. He gave a gurgling cry as Ariel cut his throat.

The torchbearer turned to respond, but it was too late. Pinchas seized his torch hand with an iron grip, clamping the other arm around the priest’s neck and throwing him backward over his half-turned hip. There was only a moment to cry out before the prophetess sank her knife deep into his chest.

“Keep that fire burning,” Pinchas said. “We’ll need it to destroy this abomination.”

Ariel grabbed the torch before Pinchas dropped the dead priest to the ground. “Where?”

“Back up there.” Pinchas pointed toward the mountain. “We’ll burn the Baal and his servants on their own altar.”

I saw his face for the first time in the torchlight, and my protest about the approaching daylight died on my lips. Pinchas’ hard eyes would hear no opposition. “Lev, watch the road to the south. Tamar, to the north.”

Tamar moved toward me on the roadside as the two prophets swung the dead priests onto their shoulders and disappeared up the mountain trail. “Slow your breathing,” she said with her eyes on my face, “it will calm the trembling.”

Her words made me aware I was shaking. The bright spots left by the torches danced before me in the darkness.

“Bend your legs.” She spoke directly into my ear. “Put your hands on your knees.” My heart raced as I struggled to catch my breath. “What is it?”

I could not answer. My shoulders shook as images rose in my head. The priest’s eyes in the torchlight, Shimon’s body, a head coming to rest at Uriel’s feet. Tamar’s voice sounded far away.

“Hold fast. This was all sudden. It will pass.”

Violet robes. Firelight. Dancing circles at the wedding. My insides turned, and I doubled over.

“Easy, let it come. It’s better this way.”

Tamar stepped slightly back as my vomit splashed to the ground. “Have you never seen a man die?”

Her question brought another wave of retching. “Just like Shimon. Didn’t see it coming…” My eyes and nose ran, tears mingled with the mess in the dirt. A deep flicker appeared in Tamar’s eyes as I choked out Shimon’s name. “Ariel slit his throat like a sheep.”

“Better they than we. Shed no tears for their blood, Lev.”

I gagged out the last of my Shabbat bread, then drew an unsteady breath. “It didn’t have to be. They didn’t see us. Had we let them pass, they would never be the wiser.”

“Perhaps, but what blow would they strike tomorrow? In war, you strike when the enemy is at hand, or else you bring blood upon your own head. Did your father not teach you this?”

I went cold at her question. Still shaking, I straightened to face her. “My father was dead before I knew him.”

“He may yet live on in you if you will it. Your father taught many whom he never knew. I come from the north, but I knew his name. If you cannot take his counsel, then hear mine—war is not a time for mercy.”

My trembling calmed as she spoke. “These men weren’t soldiers, they were priests.”

“So much the worse. Soldiers may kill their thousands, but priests of the Baal will take tens of thousands if not uprooted.”

I knew the truth of what she said, but the hard reality of her actions still turned my stomach. It didn’t fit with the soft look in her eye as she watched my face. My thoughts turned to the drunk men who passed us, laughing in the night. Had the priests done anything to them which merited murder?

Her eyes never left mine as she answered. “Know this, Lev—those who are merciful to the cruel bring cruelty upon the merciful.” Tamar handed me a waterskin, and I rinsed the filth from my mouth. My breath came steady now, and my heart beat softly in my chest. As we stood in silence, my worries returned—the attack had cost us precious time. By the time Pinchas and Ariel rejoined us, the moon’s silver disc was almost directly above our heads. There was no longer any hope of reaching the cave before daybreak.

Without exchanging a word, we followed Pinchas south on the road. The walls of Dotan appeared as a shadow in the distance, lit by the grey dawn. “If we hurry,” I said, “we can pass the city and be on the trail to the prophets’ cave before they open the gates.”

Pinchas frowned at me. “Is there no guard watching the road?”

“There was one last night, but I expect he was an Israelite.”

The prophet raised an eyebrow. “You believe we have nothing to fear from an Israelite guard?”

“The King has not allowed them to enter the fighting. On either side.”

Pinchas gave a mirthless laugh. “Loyalty to his King is not a man’s only motivation.”

“You fear he may be loyal to the Baal as well?”

“To the Baal?” He shrugged. “None can say. Certainly, he is loyal to his pocket.”

“Meaning what?”

Now it was Ariel’s turn to laugh. “The Queen spends more treasure than blood in her search for the prophets.”

“You think a man of Israel would sell us to the Queen?”

“He well may,” Pinchas said. “This is Dotan, after all.”

Pinchas’ tone allowed for no argument, but I didn’t grasp his point. “What’s wrong with Dotan?”