Among the Gods (Chronicles of the Kings Book #5)

by Lynn Austin

  “I don’t know, Your Majesty.”

  “Didn’t he tell you I was coming?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty. We’ve just finished reading your stars this very minute.”

  “Well, what do they say?” He sank onto the stone seat that his grandfather had built into the tower wall. Ahaz had always needed to rest when he reached the top.

  The chief astrologer consulted his clay tablet of notes. “The stars say that this is a good time for setting goals, Your Majesty, and for making solid plans to achieve them. A struggle could result in a commitment if it rests on a firm foundation. Carefully made plans should go almost as expected, but be prepared for some resistance. Stay alert and you may solve a puzzle if—”

  “What in blazes are you talking about? Your gibberish is the only puzzle that needs to be solved!”

  “I’m sorry … we—”

  “Abstractions! You haven’t offered me a single concrete word of advice!”

  The astrologer eyed the armed bodyguards accompanying Manasseh and dropped to his knees in front of him. His associates quickly did the same.

  “Forgive us, my lord. We didn’t realize you needed an answer to—”

  “Didn’t Zerah tell you about the Assyrians?”

  “He didn’t want to tell us too much or it might influence our readings.”

  “The blind leading the blind, is that it?”

  “I’m not sure I understand, Your Majesty.”

  “That’s my point! If you don’t know what my question is, how in blazes are you going to give me an answer!”

  “My lord, if you could give my colleagues and me a few minutes—”

  “There’s not a cloud in the sky!” Manasseh said, sweeping his arm across the horizon. “The stars are shining for everyone to see! Can you read what they say or can’t you?” The astrologers huddled in consultation for a moment, comparing notes, then the leader gingerly stepped forward again.

  “You are entering a fortuitous time for making agreements that involve stability and security. But expect a few surprises. There may be more going on than you know about. Watch and listen. Important changes may be starting that could alter the shape of your destiny. Seek out the powers behind these changes and work with them. The objective is to have everybody win, so don’t exclude an opposing faction if—”

  Manasseh interrupted him with a storm of cursing. “What kind of worthless mumbo jumbo is that? I need specific guidance!” It took every ounce of restraint he possessed to keep from ordering his guards to hurl all four astrologers off the top of the tower. Instead, he turned away, descending the steps in a blind rage, then headed up to the Temple Mount to find Zerah.

  The scene at the top of the hill resembled something from a nightmare, with flickering fires and slaughtered animals and chanting, shadowy figures. Zerah dominated the eerie tableau, and the firelight danced across his face and illuminated his frizzy hair and beard like a halo as he stood beside the massive altar. He had rolled up his sleeves to examine a sheep’s liver, and his arms were soaked to the elbows in blood that looked glossy black in the dim light. A dozen priests hovered near him, slaughtering animals and ripping the skins from them. Grotesque, disemboweled forms dotted the courtyard around the men as blood drained in a dark pool at their feet. The gore made Manasseh’s stomach reel. He couldn’t remember ever seeing so much blood; Yahweh’s priests and Levites had always slit the animal’s throat, catching its blood in a basin.

  Zerah took one look at Manasseh’s face and dropped the sheep’s liver into the basin. “Manass—I mean, Your Majesty, what is it? What’s wrong?”

  “Your astrologers are worthless! I want clear answers—do’s and don’ts! All they’re doing is mumbling vague abstractions!”

  He shivered as he recalled Isaiah’s prophecy: “When men tell you to consult mediums and spiritists, who whisper and mutter …”

  Zerah rinsed his hands in clean water and dried them on a linen towel. “You had do’s and don’ts when you had the Levites ordering you around. You’re way beyond all that now. Why would you ever want to go back to dogmatic rules when your own inner guides can help you make the right decision?”

  Again, Manasseh recalled Isaiah’s words: “… should not a people inquire of their God?”

  “Consult the Urim and Thummim for me,” Manasseh said. Zerah’s bushy eyebrows met in the middle in a frown. “Are you certain you want to do that?”

  “Why not? Is this bloody mess of sheep guts going to tell me whether or not I should sign an alliance with Assyria?”

  “My omens will serve as a guide. Like the stars, they’ll help you reach the decision that’s right for you. With Urim and Thummim the decision is given to you—yes or no. Are you sure that’s what you want?”

  “I’m prepared to do God’s will if I ever find out what it is!”

  “I can arrange for this to take place tomorrow after—”

  “Tonight, Zerah. I want to seek Urim and Thummim tonight. That way I’m in control.”

  Manasseh expected another pouting comment from Zerah about his sudden lack of trust, but Zerah simply said, “As you wish,” and headed toward the Temple chamber where the high priest’s ephod was stored. Manasseh followed, grateful that the Levites hadn’t taken the ancient breastpiece with them when they fled six years ago.

  As soon as Zerah brought out the wooden box and opened the lid, Manasseh reached into the pocket behind the twelve precious gems and made certain it contained two stones—Thummim for “yes,” Urim for “no.” They were identical in size and shape but one was black, one white. He would take no chances that Zerah might trick him.

  “Is there a ceremony involved?” he asked. “Where are we supposed to do this?”

  Zerah slipped the ephod over his head and fastened the chains that held it in place. “There’s no ceremony,” he said, replacing the stones. “We can do this wherever you’d like. Why don’t we go back to the courtyard by the altar?”

  As they walked side by side across the Temple grounds again, Manasseh recalled the stories his father had told about how King David consulted the Urim and Thummim for guidance. Maybe King Hezekiah had consulted it, as well. Maybe that was his source of certainty. Manasseh’s heart pounded with excitement as he prepared to hear God’s answer and know His will with certainty, just as his father had.

  By the time they returned to the main courtyard, Zerah’s priests had cleared everything away except the basins containing the omens. The sacrifices had all been placed on the altar to burn, filling the courtyard with their sweet aroma. Manasseh’s nerves tingled with excitement. “What am I supposed to do?” he asked Zerah.

  “We’ve already offered enough sacrifices for you. Just ask your question. But keep it simple—yes or no.”

  Manasseh considered all of the things he wanted to know—was he right in deciding not to become an Assyrian vassal? Would Esarhaddon send his army to attack Jerusalem if he defied him? Would God provide a miracle for him as He had for King Hezekiah? But even as Manasseh pondered all of these questions, the thought of following in his father’s footsteps and facing hundreds of thousands of Assyrian troops brought an icy sweat to his forehead. He decided to begin with the simplest question.

  “Should I sign this treaty with Assyria and become their vassal?” he asked.

  Zerah closed his eyes and lifted his hands, beseeching the gods in prayer. Manasseh was too overwrought to focus on any of Zerah’s words. The prayer seemed to last until dawn. Finally Zerah ended with amen—so be it. Manasseh held his breath as Zerah reached inside the breastpiece and drew out a stone.

  It was Thummim. Yes.

  The answer stunned Manasseh. “What? That’s it?” he cried. “God wants me to become an Assyrian vassal?” The courtyard seemed to sway beneath his feet. “I don’t understand. Why is God abandoning me? Why won’t He help me stand up to them the way He helped my father?”

  “Those aren’t yes or no questions, Your Majesty.”

  “I-I don’t wan
t to be an Assyrian vassal! What about our sovereignty?”

  “I tried to warn you to decide for yourself.”

  Zerah started to return the stone to its pouch inside the breastpiece, but Manasseh snatched it from him. “Let me see that.” He stared at the stone as if willpower alone could make it change color in his hand, giving him the answer he wanted. “I don’t understand,” he murmured again, then closed his fist around it, longing to hurl it into the giant altar’s flames.

  Zerah took Manasseh’s hand and gently uncurled his fingers to remove the stone from his grasp. “You need to get some rest, Your Majesty. You’ve had a long, trying day.”

  He nodded mutely. He felt drained of strength. God wasn’t going to help him as He’d helped his father. There would be no miraculous plague. He would have to forfeit his sovereignty, pay tribute.

  Why wouldn’t God help him? What about all the sacrifices he’d made, all his devotion?

  “Isn’t there anything else I can do?” he pleaded.

  Zerah shook his head. “The answer is clear, Your Majesty.”

  Manasseh turned his back and allowed his bodyguards to lead him down the hill to his palace.

  As soon as King Manasseh was out of sight, Zerah hurried inside the Temple storage chamber and sank down on a bench as his trembling knees finally gave out. If Manasseh had discovered the tiny dot of hardened wax no larger than a pen stroke, it would have cost Zerah his life. Thankfully, the crisis had passed. Manasseh hadn’t noticed the bead of wax that marked the Thummim stone, nor would he ever know that Zerah had placed it there in order to distinguish it from the Urim if the need ever arose. He was glad he’d had the foresight to mark one of the stones in case of an emergency—such as the one tonight.

  The ordeal had been grueling for Zerah, but in the end, using the ephod had turned out to be the quickest way to accomplish what Zerah had intended all along—signing the treaty with Assyria. It spared him the time and trouble of slowly leading Manasseh to the same conclusion with omens and sorceries. Zerah had dreaded the exhausting work of exploiting his relationship with Manasseh, manipulating the strings of his emotions. Now everything could continue as before.

  Zerah had faith in his gods and in his own spiritual power—up to a point. In spite of his assurances to the king, he had no idea which spirits or spells Isaiah had called upon to summon the plague on the Assyrians, nor would he know how to control such lethal powers if he did succeed in conjuring them. The king expected the impossible.

  He caressed the Thummim one last time before placing it inside the breastpiece. Then he unfastened the high priest’s ephod and returned it to the box, closing the lid until next time.

  Miriam sat at her table beside the outdoor oven, humming to herself as she kneaded bread for their noon meal. Her body rocked in rhythm with her song as she repeated each step—folding the dough, pushing it with the heel of her hand, spinning it a quarter turn, folding it again. She enjoyed breadmaking because it was one of the few daily tasks she could still do. So many other jobs, such as wringing laundry and weaving cloth, were impossible with her crippled hands.

  She shielded her eyes and glanced up to gauge the sun’s height. There was plenty of time for the bread to rise and then bake. It would still be warm when Joshua arrived home for lunch in a few hours. She covered the dough with a cloth when she was finished and placed it in the sun to rise, then wiped the flour off her hands. She heard the back gate creak open, and when she looked up she was surprised to see Joshua. He stood in the courtyard as if carved from stone, staring into space with a vacant gaze, watching a scene she couldn’t see. Her immediate fear was that something had happened to Nathan. She groped for her crutches and struggled to her feet.

  “What’s wrong?”

  He gave a start, as if he hadn’t noticed her until then. “I just came from a meeting with Prince Amariah,” he said slowly. “Our homeland is gone.”

  “What do you mean, it’s gone?” She hobbled over to him and reached up to touch his face, trying to draw him back to her, back from the place inside himself where he so often retreated. He brushed her hand away in an absent gesture, as if shooing a fly.

  “We just received the latest news from Judah. King Manasseh has forfeited our sovereignty to the Assyrians.”

  “But why? Was there a war or something?”

  “No. That’s what’s so ironic. Not one Assyrian soldier ever left Nineveh. Their emperor announced that he was building a new empire, and Manasseh signed up as his willing vassal.”

  Joshua’s voice was calm, almost dreamy, but Miriam saw the repressed rage in his clenched jaw and rigid shoulders, heard it in his wheezing lungs. She needed to help him douse the flames of his anger before they burned up everything that was good in him.

  “What will this mean?” she asked.

  “It means that our country has lost its independence. It means that everything my father worked for, all of his prayers, his faith, were for nothing. One of the greatest miracles in the history of our nation has been canceled with one stamp of Manasseh’s royal seal…. And it means that we’ll never be able to go home now, unless we’re content to be Assyrian slaves.”

  “Is Egypt in danger? Could the Assyrians come here?”

  He shook his head as if the question was irrelevant. “Pharaoh has armed garrisons like this one all across the nation. He’s ready for the Assyrians.”

  “Then what’s wrong, love?”

  “I don’t want to fight for Pharaoh, I want to fight for my own country. Manasseh never should have given in. We could stand up to the Assyrians just like Abba and King Hezekiah once did. I begged Amariah to send our men and me to Jerusalem. Pharaoh would give us all the weapons we needed. We could convince plenty of other Judeans to join us and fight for our freedom. God would surely give us the victory.”

  “What did Prince Amariah say?”

  “He won’t do it. He thinks this is God’s revenge, that God is using the Assyrians to punish Manasseh.”

  “Isn’t that what you wanted, Joshua? Didn’t you want God to punish Manasseh?”

  He shook his head slowly from side to side, his gaze turned inward again. “No. I wanted to punish him myself.” He moved away from her like a man walking in his sleep.

  “Joshua, where are you going?” He didn’t answer. Instead, he drifted out through the courtyard gate, leaving it to swing open in the breeze behind him. “Joshua, wait! Can’t you talk to me about it?” He didn’t seem to hear her.

  Miriam knew that he was heading to the nearby riverbank to be alone. She also knew from experience that being alone was the worst possible thing for him. He couldn’t pray when he was this upset, and his anger would slowly grow and swell like the rising bread dough, with no release. She considered sending one of the servants to the marketplace to find Jerimoth, then decided that it was her job to console her husband, not Jerimoth’s.

  Joshua was such a complex man, and so much smarter than she was. Miriam looked at life in simple terms, while Joshua made everything complicated. He tried too hard to analyze and organize everything, even things he couldn’t change. Why had God ever put them together? Could it be that Joshua sometimes needed her practical, commonsense approach to life as a balance?

  It would take her nearly thirty minutes to walk the same distance he could walk in five, but she steeled herself for the long, arduous trek over rough terrain to the riverbank, dragging her useless legs. Three times her crippled limbs gave out and she fell, struggling alone like an overturned turtle until she righted herself. When she finally found Joshua he was standing close to the shore, staring downriver toward the sea, his shoulders slumped in defeat. He didn’t see Miriam limping toward him until she staggered up behind him and collapsed to the beach in exhaustion.

  “Miriam! What are you doing here?” he said angrily.

  “Following you.”

  He sank to his knees beside her, and she felt his hands trembling with fury when he gripped her shoulders. “You know you can’t wa
lk this far over rough ground! What a stupid, dangerous thing to do! What if you fell?”

  “I did fall—three times!”

  “You could have hurt yourself.”

  “Then don’t run away from me, Joshua. Share your problems with me.”

  All at once the anger drained from his face, and he clasped Miriam to his chest, clutching her tightly. “I’m sorry … I’m so sorry.”

  “I want to help you, Joshua. It breaks my heart to see you so unhappy. I don’t know what to do for you.”

  “I don’t know, either.”

  He sat back with a sigh and turned her around so she could lean comfortably against him, cradled in his arms. She listened to the gentle lap of water against the shore and the slow thudding of his heartbeat as she rested to recover her strength. The air wheezed through his chest as he struggled to breathe.

  “What’s it like there?” she asked after a long silence.

  “Where?”

  “That place where you go, inside yourself. Where you mourn and grieve.”

  “It’s horrible, Miriam. You don’t want to know.”

  “But I need to know…. You go there so often.”

  “I don’t want to drag you there with me. That’s why I left the house.”

  Miriam felt her own anger rise as she turned to face him. “It’s not your life and my life anymore, it’s our life. We’re one flesh. That means we share everything—the sorrows as well as the joys. If you won’t take me there, how can I help you find your way back to me?”

  He didn’t reply, and Miriam sensed the struggle he was waging with his demons of depression. “What goes on inside of you, Joshua? If you explain it to me in simple terms that I can understand, maybe you’ll understand it better yourself.”

  He sighed and settled her against his chest again, his hand tracing idle patterns on her shoulder. “Did I ever tell you about my father’s tunnel?” he asked.

  “I don’t think so.”