“I will always have your back, cousin.” He pinned me with a look of determined sincerity. “We may have different fathers, Ronen, but you are a brother to me all the same. We are joined by blood, by purpose, and by shared devotion to our God, and I would lay down my life for you if necessary.”
Without forethought, my eyes darted in the direction of the cedar grove, every muscle in my body taut as I realized that somehow he knew I was wavering and was reminding me where my loyalties should lie.
“I think I know where to find it,” I said, almost immediately wishing I could spool the words back in again.
“The Ark? You know where it is?” His eyes were wide, excitement flaring brightly in them.
Willfully swallowing the rock that seemed to be lodged in my throat, I nodded. A sudden rumble of thunder behind me caused me to flinch, and I glanced up at the sky, which had darkened drastically. Tuviyah had been right to dismiss the musicians. The clouds promised a deluge.
“How? Where is it?” pressed Machlon, heedless of the second clap of thunder that seemed much closer than the first.
I sprang to my feet, snatching up my pack from the ground and slinging it over my shoulder. “We should head down.”
Machlon grabbed my arm, his fingers clamping hard to hold me in place. “Ronen, where is the Ark?”
There was nothing I could do now but tell the truth.
“In a certain grove of trees. Eliora said the guards are trained to never take the same path there. But I saw the tent with my own eyes.”
My cousin let out a whoop of joy that was nearly swallowed up by yet another boom from the sky. “I knew it! I knew you’d wheedle it out of that Philistine. She was practically slavering over you the other night.”
Bristling at both the derisive Philistine comment and his crass insinuations, I opened my mouth to challenge him, but a brilliant flash of lightning coincided with the next crash of thunder, blinding me and causing my bones to rattle and the soles of my feet to vibrate. Instinctively, I dropped to the ground.
When my sight cleared, both of us were crouched alongside the rock.
“That was close,” said Machlon, looking nearly as shaken as I felt. “We’d best get off this ridge.”
“Agreed. Let’s head that way.” I gestured toward the tree line, but before I pushed myself to standing, a glow up on the mountainside in the same area as Eliora’s terraced gardens caught my attention. “There’s a tree on fire up there.”
“I wouldn’t doubt it,” he replied as both of us got to our feet. “That strike was close.”
“It won’t spread, will it? It’s been raining all week.” Flames were slowly overtaking the upper branches of the majestic oak. Surely not the same one I’d climbed with Eliora two days ago . . .
Machlon shrugged, tipping his chin up to watch the fast-moving clouds swirl across the sky. “Likely not. But you never know, the forest is dense here. Perhaps the underbrush isn’t quite so saturated.”
A few drops of rain hit my skin, but it was nowhere near enough to put out a fire. A fire that was adjacent to the gardens Eliora had spent the last few years cultivating and which fed not only her family but many of the families in Kiryat-Yearim.
My decision was made before I took another breath. But just as my feet began to move in the opposite direction of camp and toward Elazar’s home, Machlon pulled me to a halt.
“It’s perfect,” he said, renewed excitement in his voice.
“What is?” I barely restrained the urge to throw off his arm and tear up the mountain.
“As soon as that fire spreads, everyone up on that mountain will be frantic to put it out.”
“Of course they will. Their homes are not that far from Eliora’s gardens.” I tugged my arm, but he did not release me. “Let me go, Machlon, I need to warn them.”
“Let it burn,” he said. “No one will be on the lookout for us with such chaos happening. Elazar and his guards won’t be thinking about anything but keeping the fire contained. You can lead me right to it.”
I blinked at him, mind whirling with frustration and confusion. “We can’t go after the Ark now. We aren’t prepared. The kohanim aren’t even here yet.”
“I know that,” he scoffed. “But we can see the area with our own eyes and plot out exactly how to extract it and how best to get it down the mountain. Also, we’ll take note of how many guards are at the actual site, since they will likely not leave their posts, even for a fire.”
“No.” I yanked my arm from his grip, my frustration hardening into astonished anger. “This isn’t the time for that. I need to warn them. Now! Lives could be at stake.”
My cousin bellowed my name as I sprinted away, heading for the path up the mountain, but I ignored the call. She’s lost too much already, I thought, as the memory of our afternoon in the tree came to mind, along with the way I’d found myself wishing there were not so many obstacles between us.
I could not make Machlon forget that I knew where the Ark was hidden, and I wasn’t certain I even wanted to, but at least I could try to save the gardens for the sake of the woman who loved them so much.
Thirty-One
Chest heaving, I banged on the door with the side of my fist, feeling the hinges shudder at the force. I’d spent the entire climb up to Elazar’s home praying that not only would the heavens open up, but I would make it here in time to prevent a catastrophe. So far, my prayers had been answered with nothing more than a few sprinkles of rain.
I’d never forget the sight of the rampaging fire that devastated Shiloh after the Philistines set their crops ablaze nine years ago. Machlon and I had climbed the highest hill near Beit El to see it with our own eyes, shortly after a messenger arrived with news of the invasion, along with the devastating report of my father’s and brothers’ deaths. Smoke had blanketed the entire northern horizon as everyone in Beit El packed belongings and readied animals in case we too were forced to flee. The fact that we did so with hearts already burdened with sorrow had made the entire process even more agonizing.
Neither Philistines nor flames came south that day, but the memory of that terror was still fresh in my mind, even after all this time. I couldn’t bear for Eliora or her family to suffer in such a way, especially after I’d already betrayed them. Although thunder still echoed around the hills and the clouds continued to flare brightly within their swirling depths, I’d seen no more bolts streak toward the mountain. One fire would be enough to deal with tonight.
Gershom opened the door, a dagger in hand and his eyes wide, making me realize that I’d likely frightened them all with my insistent pounding. Thunder rumbled at my back, and another flash of lightning lit up his shocked expression.
Taking in my wild appearance, his face contorted with confusion. “Ronen, what are—?”
“A fire! A tree was struck near the gardens. We need to get it down and douse the flames or it will spread—if it hasn’t already!”
Gasps and exclamations behind him made me realize that the entire family was gathered in the front room, partaking of a midday meal. Within moments, Iyov and Gershom had pushed past me heading for the Levite quarters to alert the others. Natan strode from the room, heading toward the lower level, where I assumed he kept his ax. We would certainly have need of his skill tonight.
Elazar too was on his feet, strangely calm as he ordered the women to grab as many empty jugs and pots as they could and head for the nearest stream. But when his wife pushed to her own feet, preparing to comply with his command, he pulled her close, kissed her forehead, and told her that her part would be to protect their unborn baby and keep the little ones inside until the danger was past. The rare show of affection from Elazar to his wife caused a pang of longing to hit me directly in the chest, something I’d never experienced before I’d come to Kiryat-Yearim, before I’d reacquainted myself with the girl I’d found in a field, who’d grown into the woman who approached me now with tears in her eyes as her sisters bustled out of the room to fetch vessels.
“Where is it?” she asked, her expression begging me to calm her worst fears, but she would know the truth of it soon enough.
“I could see it clearly from the ridge I was on,” I said, then lowered my voice. “I would guess that it is near the tree you showed me the other day . . . if not the very one.”
Her hand flew to her mouth just as Natan appeared at her side. With one ax slung over his shoulder, he held out the smaller one I’d used on the olive tree. I accepted it with a nod of gratitude and then stepped back as Elazar came to the doorway.
“Don’t worry, Risi,” Natan said, putting a palm on her shoulder as he passed on his own way out the door. “Your gardens will be safe.” Eliora looked nearly as shocked by his concern as she did the physical contact, and her eyes welled again.
As compelled as I was to reach out my own hand to comfort her, Gershom called my name. The rest of the men were already assembled, some with axes, some with wooden buckets, and all practically vibrating with urgency. The sky was still dark, the clouds overhead roiling as they hovered over the mountain, but thankfully nightfall was still many hours away, or this task would be even more dangerous than it was.
Realizing that I still had my pack slung over my shoulder, I slipped the strap over my head and held it out to Eliora. “Find a safe place for my lyre before you head to the stream with the others.”
She accepted, pulling the pack close to her chest as I spun away with another glare at the miserly sky. Where are you? I found myself muttering to Adonai as I strode toward the men, a prayer I’d uttered many times since the battle at Afek.
And one to which I still had no answer.
My heart sank as the tree came into view. It was indeed Eliora’s giant oak that had been set aflame by the bolt of lightning. But instead of the entire crown being engulfed, as I’d expected, it seemed that the very heart of the tree was burning instead. The trunk remained standing, but the inside was glowing, orange-red flames bursting from a few gaps near the top, as if the heat inside had hollowed out the center but left most of the outer bark intact.
“How could this happen?” asked Iyov, his mouth gaping. “Why is the whole thing not on fire?”
“The outside must have been wet enough from these past few days of rain that the inside is burning first,” said Natan. “Adnan told me that this happens from time to time when conditions are just right.”
“What do we do?” I asked.
“Take it down,” he said, his mismatched eyes traveling the length of the tree. “We’ll take turns chopping until it falls, and then we can put out the fire. We’ll have to let it fall in the garden, in the open area, because the other direction will only send it into the other trees.” He glanced over at his sister, who was watching us with the group of about ten women, who stood a good distance away with full jugs of water in hand. “The ground is still soggy there, so it won’t spread.” His mouth pulled into a grim curve. “But many of her flowers will be ruined.”
As I’d feared. Gershom and Iyov looked at each other, silently deciding whether to follow the advice of a fifteen-year-old boy.
“We have no choice,” I said, wishing Eliora was not here to see her hard work destroyed. “He’s right. Natan, show me what to do.”
Although his solemn expression did not change, his shoulders straightened ever so slightly at my confidence in him. “Everyone stand far back,” he shouted, his raspy tone more man than boy at the moment. “And be ready with the water as soon as it falls.”
He strode forward, his ax in hand, and swung a few times until he’d cut a large notch in the side nearest the garden. Smoke poured from the wound. The tree was burning much more slowly than I’d anticipated, but we did not have much time before the heartwood was consumed top to bottom.
“Ronen,” Natan said, with a jerky gesture as he flanked the tree. “You take that side and I’ll take the other. Don’t stand anywhere near that notch I made. We chop in one spot until this thing goes down. It should go down fast with that hinge I made.”
For what seemed like an hour, he and I swung our axes, wood chips flying and the both of us grunting like boars. Above us, the fire inside the tree continued to crackle and moan. Once, after a loud pop, sparks singed the skin on my arms and burned a few tiny holes in my tunic before I could brush away the embers.
When my arms felt like worn leather, I passed the ax to Iyov and backed up a few paces. But Natan was still steadily chopping away at the cut we’d made, determination on his face as his ax moved easily into rhythm with his older brother’s.
He may be an obstinate youth right now, and his immaturity a frustration to his family, but I had the distinct sense that one day Eliora’s brother would prove to be a man whose relentless determination would keep him and those he loved alive in dire circumstances. In fact, the impression of his future course was so clear and firm in my mind that it seemed someone had whispered it into my ear—or shouted it, perhaps.
I flinched at the notion, my gaze flying upward where the clouds had darkened even further while we worked at the burning tree.
Then Natan shouted for us to get back. A loud crack split the air as the tree bowed beneath its own weight and fell, smoke and fire exploding outward as it slammed to the ground in the very center of Eliora’s beautiful flower garden. But then, Yahweh decided to answer my faithless pleas, and the floodgates of heaven opened.
After the fire had been doused by a sudden deluge while we all took cover beneath the trees, Elazar had insisted that I pass the night in their home and allow them to offer gratitude in the form of a meal. Although I’d ultimately had nothing to do with keeping the fire from spreading—something Adonai himself had accomplished—I’d been only too grateful to accept, if only to stave off explaining to Machlon why I’d walked away from him on that ridge.
As Shai and Amina squabbled loudly over who’d received the larger portion of bread, their voices overriding the boisterous conversations of Elazar’s gathered friends and family in the full room, he leaned close to me, his expression solemn. “I remember your father well, Ronen.”
I nearly choked on my wine. “You do?”
“We served together at the Mishkan a time or two when our designated rotations overlapped. He was an honorable man. I was grieved to hear that he’d been lost at Afek.”
My chest flamed with pain. “My two brothers were slain that day as well.”
“May their souls be at rest,” he murmured, compassion etched into every line of his face. Then he sighed, shaking his head. “If only the Ark had been left in its place.”
“Or if the claims about its power were true,” I muttered, before realizing I’d spoken my doubts aloud. My prayer that my comment would be swallowed up in the chaos went unanswered.
“You doubt the stories of the Ark?”
I shrugged, taking another draft of wine to collect my thoughts before replying. “I don’t disbelieve that during Mosheh and Yehoshua’s day, miracles occurred. But it’s been hundreds of years since then, and obviously, by the way the Ark was captured by our unconsecrated enemies, whatever power it may have had is long since departed.”
Elazar’s response was incredulous. “You were there, Ronen. You saw the bodies of the Levites in Beth Shemesh who approached it without the proper reverence.”
“A bolt of lightning, just like this storm.”
“And the plagues in Ashdod? You discount those as well?” His silver-threaded brows furrowed.
“As Abiram says, disease and famine happen, especially among those who discount Torah law and eat the flesh of swine, rats, and dogs.”
To avoid his pointed scrutiny and the deep frown on his mouth, my eyes moved to Eliora across the room, where she was carrying little Dafna on her hip as she finished peacemaking between the twins, refilled their stew bowls, and then retrieved another basket of bread to distribute. As I watched with increasing frustration, her mother made an attempt to get her to sit down and eat, but Eliora shook her head and continued to te
nd to everyone’s needs but her own.
“Ronen,” said Elazar, his voice soft but firm as he reclaimed my attention from his daughter. “The Ark was not taken at Afek because it was powerless—although the power is not in the box itself but the indwelling of the Ruach Ha’Kodesh, which was clearly not present on the battlefield that day. The Ark was taken as punishment for our disobedience and to sever the chains we’ve allowed the Philistines to wrap around our necks. The loss of the Ark is nothing in comparison to what will happen if we don’t turn our faces back to Adonai.”
“They shouldn’t have died,” I said, hackles rising. “They revered Yahweh and were on that battlefield because they believed the stories of old, of the Ark going before the army in triumph.”
“No, they should not have died,” said Elazar, “because the elders and priests who made that decision did so without consulting Yahweh. They made their own plans and expected him to submit to their will. They tried to force the hand of the Almighty. And thirty thousand Hebrews suffered for their folly, including your father and brothers. We cannot make the same mistake again. We must wait. Be patient. And listen to the man who speaks for him.”
“Samuel?” I asked, knowing immediately who he was speaking of, since far too many of the Levites were of the same mind. “You truly believe he speaks with the mouth of the Holy One?”
“I do. Not only was I there when he publicly admonished Eli for his sons’ repugnant behavior and predicted their demise after hearing the voice of Yahweh in the Mishkan, but I saw that prophecy proven correct when word arrived that they’d been destroyed on the battlefield and Eli’s neck was broken when he fell from his stone chair at the news. Since then, Samuel’s words have been consistently in line with the laws of Mosheh. He may be a little over thirty years old, but his wisdom far exceeds any man I’ve ever known—my own father included, and he spent hours every day on the rooftop beseeching Adonai for understanding. Samuel’s devotion to prayer is unrivaled, and his depth of knowledge beyond explanation. Indeed, I have a feeling that the years to come will prove Samuel to be the type of leader who might even rival Mosheh himself.”
To Dwell among Cedars Page 25
