“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?”
Yissachar nodded. “The cave is full of prophets, yet all but empty of prophecy. Vision has been exceedingly rare since we sought refuge underground.”
“Then how have so many masters arrived?” In Emek HaAsefa, Uriel taught me that being together made the spirit of the Holy One stronger among the prophets. Why should the cave be any different?
He weighed his response. “We were drawn.”
“Drawn to the cave?”
“Drawn to Shomron. Have you not felt it, Lev?”
I said nothing.
“The capital has become a giant lodestone, drawing prophets as that stone draws iron. We gathered from across the Kingdom. Some already knew of the cave at Dotan, others made contact with Ovadia. He is known to us as one who fears the Holy One.”
“Why would the Holy One draw them to Shomron? Surely there are safer places in the Kingdom.”
“Safer? Indeed.” The old prophet paused again and leaned on my arm. When we continued, he did not release it. “I do not believe the prophets are being drawn for our safety.”
Our trail wound its way north until it intersected with the King’s road. When we reached the junction, Yissachar was once again out of breath. “Lev, bend down for me and pick up a pebble.”
I did as he asked and dropped the stone into his hand. He reached over and placed it in the largest knot of an olive tree which stood at the head of our trail. “When you come back, the pebble will tell you this is the correct trail.”
“When I come back?”
“Yes, Lev. From here you walk alone.” The prophet may have been frail, but there was no weakness in his voice. “Such is the way of visions granted by the Holy One. Their intent is not always clear before we seek to fulfill them. When the prophecy came to me, I thought it my journey to take. Yet, I lack the strength to continue.”
“I cannot leave you here, Master Yissachar.”
“You must leave me here, Lev.” Yissachar lowered himself onto a rock by the side of the trail. “Your master is wise; he has eyes to see. He did not send you to hold my hand along the way. I too sense there is something which awaits you at the end of this journey.”
How could I leave the old prophet alone in the dark? “At least allow me to escort you back to the cave.”
“There is no time. Do not worry about me, we have not come so far from the cave. I will rest until the moon rises then make my way back.” Yissachar drew raspy breaths. “The designs of a man’s heart are many, but the Holy One’s will is done. I cannot hope to rescue any besides myself. You will go on alone.”
My head sank as Yissachar described his vision. His words gave me only a vague picture of where to look. Years of chasing stray sheep had taught me how hard it is to find something lost, and my sheep wanted to be found. Without Yissachar’s guidance, what hope did I have of finding hidden prophets on my own?
“The Holy One blesses those who strive to succeed. Uriel believes in you. You will find the way. Go now. As it is, I have caused you much delay.”
I turned away from the old prophet and took to the road. The silence was absolute; even the night birds slept. I had barely noticed the stars when we set out, but now that I was alone, they felt close enough to touch. Their light would be my only guide until the half-moon rose over the hills.
