by Mesu Andrews
“No!” I whimpered and stepped back.
The moonlight distorted Hezi’s features. “Ishma. It’s me.”
One moment his face was Hezekiah’s, the next it was the soldier who had whipped me.
“What’s wrong?” The big soldier stepped closer. It was Samuel. I knew it. But the moonlight cast eerie shadows across his face. “Ishma, you know me.”
I wanted to run, but my legs felt like water. Master Isaiah stood in front of me, blocking my view. “Look at me, Ishma.” I tried to see around him, to make sure the soldiers didn’t harm us. “Ishma, look at me!”
My head snapped to attention. He held my face gently, staring into my eyes. “You are safe, my girl. Safe. Samuel is our friend. He’s here to protect Hezi, and Hezi loves you. Neither of them would ever harm you.”
I heard a commotion behind us and tried to see what the soldiers were doing, but Master Isaiah held my face tight. “Do you hear me? Samuel and Hezi won’t hurt you.”
His words finally registered over the sound of my racing heart. “I hate swords. If I see swords, Master Isaiah, I see blood.”
“I know, Ishma, but there is no blood here. Shalom, child.” He pulled me into a ferocious hug and whispered a prayer, “Yahweh, let Your shalom destroy the chaos inside her.”
I stayed there in his arms for a while, trying to remember what Abba’s hugs felt like. When the master released me, Hezi stood beside us. His leather breast piece gone, he now wore only his tunic with his leather battle skirt.
“I’m sorry, Ishma. I don’t have a robe, so I couldn’t remove all my armor.” His cheeks pinked as he said it.
I almost grinned. Almost. Instead, I bowed slightly. “Thank you, Hezi. You are kind.”
He offered his hand. I hesitated but took it. Samuel stood in the shadows near an acacia bush by the gate. Hezi called him forward. “Ishma, I know you remember Samuel.” The big man approached like one of my doves, timid and ready to fly if I reacted again.
He knelt beside Hezi. “You never need fear me, little Ishma. I know I look scary, but I have three daughters and twin sons. My boys are four. I would never hurt a child. I’m here to protect the prince—and you whenever you’re with him.” He offered his hand too, and I gave mine, closing a circle of promises between Hezi, Samuel, and me. Samuel kissed my hand and rose to his feet. I felt my cheeks warm.
Hezi captured my gaze, waiting until I gave silent assurance that we were restored. Then he turned to Master Isaiah. “Samuel has been assigned as part of Abba’s increased security for me. One of our spies delivered news this afternoon that King Tiglath-Pileser is dead and his son, Shalmaneser, will sit on Assyria’s throne.” The master looked startled, but Hezi continued. “It’s only a precaution, but there will be added security on the city walls as well.”
Fear stole my breath again. Would there be another attack on Jerusalem? Master Isaiah drew me close. “We’ll begin our lessons tomorrow night. Go home and get some rest, Hezekiah.”
Tomorrow night! Would Hezi come every night for lessons? I wanted to hug my friend, but it didn’t feel right while he was wearing only his tunic.
Hezi hesitated too, but his attention was on Master Isaiah. “I’d like to review some of your prophecies for our lesson tomorrow. Do you think King Tiglath-Pileser’s death is the beginning of Yahweh’s judgment on Assyria?”
A sad smile made Master Isaiah appear weary. “No, son. Yahweh has been very clear. Assyria will annihilate Israel—and possibly invade Judah—before the Lord’s wrath is poured out on them.”
I wondered if Hezi felt afraid like I did when Master Isaiah talked that way. I took the purple ribbon from my hair and offered it to him. “Be safe while you’re training, Hezi.”
He shoved it inside his leather wristband, then winked. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Ishma.”
My cheeks burned as I watched him go. Master Isaiah turned me to face him and spoke quietly. “Hezi will be king one day, Ishma. Guard your heart.”
16
[King] Ahaz…removed the Sea from the bronze bulls that supported it and set it on a stone base. He took away the Sabbath canopy that had been built at the temple and removed the royal entryway outside the temple of the LORD, in deference to the king of Assyria.
—2 Kings 16:17–18
Isaiah studied one of his new prophecies while Ishma worked quietly beside him, copying the Shema onto a small parchment: “Hear, O Israel: The LORD our God, the LORD is one. Love the LORD your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength.” Her handwritten parchments were hidden all over the southern city beneath small metal mezuzahs nailed to doorframes. Each time Aya and the girls delivered a basket of food, a ball of yarn, or a new robe to a family in need, they included one of Ishma’s handwritten parchments to nourish the soul.
The girl dipped her reed into the pigment and paused from her work. “Did you notice increased tension in the palace when we walked home from class today?”
“Hmm, no. What do you mean?”
“I don’t know. It seemed the guards were more watchful or something.” She bent her head, resuming her task, but Isaiah stopped reading. Ishma was sensitive, perceptive. He would ask Hezekiah about her concerns when he arrived for tonight’s tutoring session.
The courtyard gate squeaked, propelling Ishma to her feet and out the door before Isaiah could replace Micah’s scroll on the shelf. A heavy sigh escaped. Ishma was twelve now. He’d need to begin thinking of a betrothal match. Who would she agree to marry? It had been obvious since she and Hezekiah were children that they shared a special bond, but King Ahaz would never betroth the crown prince to an orphan, even if her abba had been a nobleman from Bethlehem.
The children appeared in the doorway of his study—children no longer. Isaiah saw the blush of young love on Ishma’s cheeks. Aya hadn’t mentioned anything about her coming of age, but Ishma’s figure had started to blossom, and she was no longer the little girl he’d rescued seven years ago.
Hezekiah looked at her with possessive tenderness. He was dark and handsome; his boyish features were fading into the good looks of his ima’s family. His shoulders and chest were growing more muscular with military training, and he carried himself more like a king each day. Yes, it would be hard when both must choose another to marry.
“I was right, Master Isaiah.” Ishma sounded worried, not proud.
Samuel joined them in the doorway. “Assyrian soldiers invaded Samaria overnight,” the big guard explained. “They arrested King Hoshea and started a siege against the city. Our spies say Samaria can last for years within the high walls, so we’re preparing for Assyrian frustrations to filter into northern Judean villages.”
Hezekiah looked pale. “Because our royal treasuries are empty, Abba has taken more bronze from Yahweh’s Temple—from the Sea and from the bulls on which it sat. He will send it to King Shalmaneser in Assyria, hoping to buy favor and protection for our northern people.” Color returned to his cheeks and his jaw set. “I still say King Hoshea was brave to stop tribute payments and seek support from Pharaoh So in Egypt when King Tiglath-Pileser died two years ago. Maybe if Abba had refused to pay and joined their alliance, we could have stood stronger against the Assyrians and—”
“Samaria would still be under siege, Hezi.” Ishma meandered toward her customary cushion, and the prince settled in beside her. Samuel stood in the doorway, ever alert. “King Hoshea would still have been arrested, and your abba might have been arrested with him—or worse.”
Hezekiah refused to back down. “When Shalmaneser first ascended to Assyria’s throne two years ago and others vied for that power, couldn’t we then have thrown off their yoke while they scrambled for leadership?”
As Isaiah drew breath, Ishma again had the answer. “It’s a good point, Hezi, but that was two years ago. Since we can’t go backward, what can we do now to protect Judah’s northern cities? They still haven’t fully recovered from the Israel-Aram war seven years ago.”
Isaiah returned to his writing stool, listening to this nightly ritual. Their debates sometimes lasted until past the moon’s zenith, and he allowed it. No, truer yet, he enjoyed it. His task was simply to wait for the holy prompting and then find a scroll or speak a new word directly from Yahweh into the banter of his top two students.
“There must be something we can do to help King Hoshea.” Hezekiah pinched his bottom lip, deep in thought.
Ishma crossed her arms over her chest. “I think you might be more concerned about Judah’s citizens in the north than the king of a nation that attacked us less than a decade ago.”
The whisper of Yahweh blew across Isaiah’s spirit, and he retrieved a scroll he and Shebna had discussed with the older students today in class.
Hezekiah stilled when he saw Isaiah reach for the scroll. “What is it, Isaiah? Something new from Yahweh?”
“Actually, no. It’s Micah’s first prophecy from nearly twenty years ago, when he began his training in Tekoa. Yahweh foretold Samaria’s destruction as well as the destruction of Jerusalem. Listen:
‘The Lord is coming from his dwelling place;
he comes down and treads on the heights of the earth.
The mountains melt beneath him
and the valleys split apart…
because of the sins of the people of Israel.
What is Jacob’s transgression?
Is it not Samaria?
What is Judah’s high place?
Is it not Jerusalem?
Therefore I will make Samaria a heap of rubble.’ ”
Isaiah looked up from the scroll. “There’s more, but Samaria’s destruction is clear.”
Hezekiah sat cross-legged, his arms resting on his knees, head bowed. “So there’s no hope for Samaria now?”
Isaiah met his pleading with truth. “Israel has been given every chance to repent, Hezekiah.”
“What about Judah?” Ishma’s head shot up. “The prophecy mentions Jerusalem as the capital but doesn’t specifically say it will be reduced to rubble.” Her lips trembled. “Are they coming here, Master Isaiah?”
Hezekiah looked up then, eyes shot full of fear. “Are the Assyrians coming for Abba and his officials? For me?”
With all his heart, Isaiah wanted to say no, but he simply wasn’t certain. “My concise answer is, I don’t know.”
Hezekiah dropped his head with a frustrated sigh.
“I’m frustrated too,” Isaiah said. “I also want answers, but the rest of Micah’s prophecy focused more on Israel and Samaria—not Judah.” He paused, waiting for the prince to meet his gaze again. “At some point, Hezekiah, Yahweh will pour out His judgment on Judah and Jerusalem, exiling our people among many nations. We just don’t know when. Micah’s prophecy is being fulfilled in Israel and Samaria more than twenty years after it was spoken. The prophecy Yahweh gave me about the destruction of Damascus was fulfilled within three years. God’s timing is his own. His thoughts are not our thoughts, and His ways are higher than our ways. But whether in rain or drought, He will accomplish His good purpose.”
Hezekiah bowed his head again, hands shaking. “What benefit is prophecy when we can’t understand it?” Ishma turned her eyes toward Isaiah, silently shouting the same question.
Isaiah remembered his early years at the prophets’ camp. Before his vision. Before that indisputable personal revelation of Yahweh’s holy power and goodness. “Listen to me, children. Prophecy—even when we don’t fully understand it—is given so we can watch God’s sovereignty and power unfold. He offers clues to identify His activity in the world around us. For those who are alert to His activity, we find great reward in discovering His love and faithfulness. For those who ignore God’s involvement in this world, there awaits disaster and regret when His meaning is revealed.”
Hezekiah straightened. “So we will seek Him and find Him faithful.”
Ishma nudged Hezekiah’s shoulder. “And though both Micah and Master Isaiah warn of Assyria’s attack, they also tell of a captive remnant that will return to Jerusalem.” She lifted her sleeve to reveal the brand on her forearm. “Yaira and I returned to Jerusalem. Maybe the prophecies speak of us. Maybe not. But Yaira says Yahweh saved us for His purpose. We must trust in His plan for our future—no matter what the present is like.”
“I’d rather know the exact time when the prophecy is supposed to happen.” Hezekiah’s grin chased his fears, and Ishma instinctively lightened his mood.
“I’d like to know when my doves’ eggs will hatch, but that too is in God’s hands.” Ishma’s eyes sparked with life. She became fully herself when Hezekiah was with her.
Isaiah put away his scrolls. They were so good for each other in so many ways. Yahweh, how will You ever provide another for each of them to marry?
17
In that day the Root of Jesse will stand as a banner for the peoples….They will swoop down on the slopes of Philistia to the west; together they will plunder the people to the east. They will subdue Edom and Moab, and the Ammonites will be subject to them.
—Isaiah 11:10, 14
I dreaded this morning’s visit with Yaira. For a year now, she’d pretended not to care about Jashub’s betrothal to another. But I was there at the entrance to the caves on the morning he told her. I saw her spirit faint when her lips spoke blessing—all the while avoiding my eyes because she knew I would see into the windows of her soul. Perhaps today, I should avoid her eyes again so she wouldn’t see my broken heart.
“Ishma, you must talk, or I won’t know you’re safe.” Master Isaiah’s reproof was gentle as we began our journey through the long, winding tunnels.
“I’m sorry. What shall we talk about?”
“We should talk about what’s bothering you—Hezekiah’s departure today with his regiment. King Ahaz wouldn’t send his crown prince to regain Philistine territory if he didn’t think Hezekiah was capable.”
Our familiar dark trek suddenly felt like a heavy blanket over my face, making it hard to breathe or think. “King Ahaz is a madman.”
I bumped into Master’s open arms. He cradled me there. “Ishma, are you all right?”
I’d just spoken treason against Judah’s king. “Forgive me, Master Isaiah. I spoke—”
“You spoke the truth, but you don’t normally speak quite so bluntly about the king.” He kissed the top of my head in the darkness. “Kadmiel has often said Hezekiah is one of the best swordsmen he’s ever seen.”
“Really, Master Isaiah. I’m fine.”
He released me, and I heard the sound of his sandals on the rock beneath us. “Remember, left hand on the wall, and keep talking.”
“I’m right behind you.”
“Feel the rock beneath your left hand, Ishma. It is connected to the very foundations of the earth. Immovable. Unchangeable.”
His words took root in my soul. “I like immovable and unchangeable.”
He chuckled. “I know change is hard for you, my girl, but we can’t fulfill God’s plan and purpose for our lives without changing.”
“What is God’s plan and purpose for me, Master? He still hasn’t shown me.”
“His plan for you in this moment is to be faithful where you are. That’s a truth we all must embrace.”
His answer sounded like a trap door for those who wanted to escape the hard work of seeking Yahweh. “I’ve been waiting for Yahweh to speak for years, like Mistress told me. I talk to Him every day, but I still can’t say I’ve heard His voice clearly.”
“Do you remember the first few months we made this journey through these tunnels to the caves?”
“Yes.” I wondered what that had to do with hearing God’s voice.
“Remember how many times we bumped our toes on rocks strewn across our path?”
“Yes.”
“It took us years, Ishma, to clear the path so we could place our left hands on the unchanging rock wall and walk with certainty that we wouldn’t stumble.” He paused, and I let his words settle into my spir
it. “Are you still with me?”
“Yes. Are you saying I have rocks in my life that are impeding my ability to hear God’s voice clearly?”
I heard him sigh. “That could be one interpretation, but I think you’re entirely too hard on yourself. What if our lives are simply full of rocks? Only as time passes do we discover the clear path on which Yahweh leads us.”
My life had certainly been full of rocks. Now, in the complete darkness of the tunnels and in the presence of the teacher who had loved me at my worst, I felt brave enough to face the boulder that perhaps blocked Yahweh’s voice. “I don’t want to walk a path that leads away from Hezi.”
After a long pause, my master spoke in barely a whisper. “I know, my girl, but I feel certain Hezekiah is Yahweh’s chosen king. And I’m not sure how Yahweh could include you on such a path.”
It was the truth. Something I’d always valued from my teacher. But this time, it hurt. “I understand, Master Isaiah.” Trying to breathe normally, I swallowed back tears and steadied my voice. “May I hold the back of your robe, rather than talk, to assure you I’m following? I’d like to be silent for a while.” My voice cracked on the final word; I was unable to stem the tears any longer.
“Of course.”
We walked the rest of the way in silence with our left hands skimming the smooth rock wall. Rounding a corner, we finally saw the distinct glow of torchlight that led us to the prophets’ caves.
I released my hold on Master’s robe and walked beside him, linking my arm in his for the rest of the way. “I hope Yaira isn’t too upset about Jashub’s wedding when we see her this morning.”
As we approached the dimly lit archway leading to the network of connected caves, I saw that it was Micah, rather than Yaira, who waited to receive the food and supplies. “Good morning,” he said, placing a scroll in Master Isaiah’s hand. “The other prophets and I have written wedding blessings for Jashub and Hallel.”
