The road grew wide and smooth as I approached Dotan. The city was shut for the night, though the low wall and single gateway seemed a feeble defense compared with the massive gates of Shomron. It was much more like Levonah, and the sight of it stirred thoughts of home. Only a single guard stood on the wall above the gate, his shadow dark against the stars. I would be invisible to him in the weak light. As I passed beneath the walls, I flirted with the urge to keep walking, not to look for hidden prophets, not to go back to the cave, never to bake another loaf of bread or sleep another night on the dirty floor of the musicians’ quarters, but just to keep walking and disappear.
I swallowed a bitter laugh—it was a child’s dream. I knew of only one man who could disappear. No one had seen or heard anything of Eliyahu since he declared his curse, though Ovadia said the King was overturning the world searching for him. His soldiers had spread throughout the Kingdom, and Ovadia himself had dispatched messengers to all the surrounding lands. Even Ethbaal’s merchant fleet had been recruited, with a King’s reward promised to the ship that discovered him. Ovadia laughed at this, saying only a fool sought what the Holy One hid.
Now who was the fool? I had laughed with Ovadia at King Ahav, but now I sought three prophets hiding in the dark, with nothing but the words of an old master to guide me. Since I couldn’t run away and disappear like Eliyahu, I had to find them and bring them back before sunrise, which drew nearer at every step. Yissachar told me to look for a craggy mountain, but all I saw were jagged shadows blocking out the stars. How was I supposed to know which one was my destination?
As I walked on, my eyes returned to the innumerable stars above. While fleeing the Queen’s soldiers, Uriel had told me about our father Abraham, how he trusted in the Holy One and his fortunes were lifted above the stars. “Holy One…” The words surprised me as they left my lips, for it was the first plea I had voiced since leaving home months ago. “I know I’ve erred and am not deserving of your help, but these are prophets I seek, your servants. For their sake, please give me a sign of where to go.”
The stars seemed to dip down from the sky, and I closed my eyes with hope. But I felt nothing. Sighing, I opened my eyes to move forward again when my foot caught on a stone and sent me sprawling into the dirt. This was useless. I couldn’t even see rocks on the road, how was I supposed to find hidden prophets? Better to admit defeat and turn around. It was not too late to get back to Shomron for the morning baking. I pushed myself up and turned to go. As I did, my eye caught the glint of flame high on a mountain in the distance. I hadn’t noticed it with my eyes focused on the trail at my feet. According to Yissachar’s description, the mountain ought to be closer, but my heart told me this was my destination.
The fire drew me like a beacon, and I pressed on as the stars moved across the sky. Soon the sound of a drum reached me, and I as drew nearer I could make out chanting as well. My trail passed below the ridge where the bonfire burned, but I knew I would be invisible to those in the circle of its light. Shadows danced in the firelight above, and I caught a flash of violet robes. A sacrifice to the Baal.
At that moment, the moon broke over the horizon, bathing me in silver light. I dashed toward the cover of the hillside. I was in no danger for I was not yet in the company of prophets, but my chest still pounded in rhythm with the drum. At least the moonlight illuminated my path. Ahead, a trail left the road and followed the foot of the mountain around to the west, exactly as Yissachar had promised. The prophets were close. Now I had a different problem: I didn’t know precisely where they were hidden, and I couldn’t call out to Master Pinchas. The moon had risen, and the sacrifice to the Baal would be ending. How could I call out to a prophet without risking being overheard by hostile ears?
The answer came to my lips as a nigun which started as a low rumble, a hum in the quiet of the night. Many of the prophets and disciples who chanted this melody deep in the cave in Emek HaAsefa now lay dead. Its first sounds filled me with the sense that the melody was many generations older than any of us. I had never once heard the nigun anywhere else, not even among the prophets, but I would never forget it. To unfriendly ears, I was a boy humming in the dark, but to a prophet, I was one of his own. Or so I hoped.
The hum grew into a song whose energy sent my voice echoing from the surrounding hillsides. It grew loud enough that I would no longer hear friend or foe, but I kept singing. I ran through the melody once, three times, five times. As I came around to the beginning again, two powerful hands pinned my arms behind my back. I tried to drop to my knees and push my arms free, but the grip was firm. I went slack the instant cold metal rose to my throat.
Like a cooling snow on a harvest day, so is a faithful emissary to the sender, refreshing the master’s soul.
Proverbs 25:13
4
The Blood of Dotan
“Not another breath or I will spill your life blood.” I held still, and the blade lifted from my throat. “Where did you learn that song, boy?”
Too late it occurred to me that Zim had also spied on the prophets in the chanting cave. Later, he’d boasted about learning their melodies so he could free them from the narrow circle of the prophets. Could he have taught the nigun to the servants of the Baal? My hesitation brought the flat of the knife back against the soft skin beneath my chin.
My captor stepped around from behind me, keeping the knife pressed in place. His face was hooded, and he looked like a shadow in the weak moonlight. I was still held tight, and I dared not turn my head to see how many there were. He spoke Hebrew with a smooth tongue, so I knew he was Israelite, but he could still be loyal to the Baal. Who in Shomron feared the prophets any longer?
If the men behind me were priests, saying I was a friend of Zim and had played before Yambalya and Mot might save me. But if they were prophets, it could mean my life. “I am a shepherd boy, unarmed and alone. I’m no threat to anyone. Why do you grab me like bandits? Who are you?”
My words were met with a laugh. “That’s no shepherd’s song you were singing, boy. If you’re so innocent, tell me where you learned it!”
“Emek HaAsefa.” I gave him the truth, for if he was loyal to the Baal, I could tell him I learned it along with Zim.
The blade eased off my throat, though strong hands still held my arms. “Very well, shepherd. I am Pinchas ben Asaya, and the one holding your arms is Ariel ben Shema.” He paused, and I felt his eyes even from within the darkness of his hood. “Now, who are you?”
“Lev ben Yochanan HaKohen.”
At the mention of my father, the grip on my arms relaxed. “Yochanan’s son lives?”
“I have been sent by my master Uriel to retrieve you.”
“Uriel sent you?” Ariel had to stop me from pitching forward as he nearly dropped me in surprise. “My apologies for the rough treatment, son of Yochanan.” He steadied me on my feet and stepped around to join Pinchas. “We had to be sure. The servants of the Baal are everywhere.”
“Of course.” I rubbed my arms—there would be bruises in the morning. “Are you prepared to leave immediately? We must arrive by daylight.” Even as I said it, I knew our hopes were few. Was it wiser to lay in hiding and travel by night? Perhaps, but that would mean another day of the prophets getting less than a full ration of bread.
“First tell me where you lead us?” The moonlight still shone on Pinchas’ drawn knife.
“There was a sacrifice to the Baal tonight on this mountain. I will not speak of our destination until I can be certain none can overhear.”
“That is well.” Pinchas sheathed his knife. “We will retrieve our belongings and one more companion.”
The two men disappeared into the darkness as silently as they had come. The half-moon edged over the treetops. When it reached overhead, the horizon would grow light with the dawn.
Fortunately, the prophets were not long in returning. Their brother stood only a hair taller than me, with narrow shoulders. I peered at his face in the dark, wondering how young one could be to attach himself to a prophet, but his hood was pulled low. I set off at once, moving quickly down the trail, but my pace was still too slow for Pinchas. As soon as the path widened, he elbowed past me to take the lead, and the four of us moved on in swift silence. At least, the three of them did.
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.
