To Dwell among Cedars

by Connilyn Cossette

  What other explanation could there be for such a remarkable coincidence, aside from Samuel being exactly who Elazar said he was: a man who spoke for the Most High?

  “I have to go,” I told Natan. “I’m sorry. . . . I wanted to help today, but I have to . . . I have to go.” I ignored the confusion on his face and spun around to grab my lyre as the implications from my revelation became very clear.

  If a Hebrew woman enslaved in Ashdod, an old Levite who lived on a mountain, and a confirmed prophet of Yahweh were all in such perfect and inexplicable accord as to where the Ark’s resting place should be, then I could no longer ignore the truth: Adonai had placed the Ark in Kiryat-Yearim for a purpose, and until that purpose was complete, it should remain among the cedars where Abinidab had hidden it.

  I was on the wrong side of this fight after all.

  Thirty-Four

  Even with mud clinging to my sandals as I navigated the path littered with a multitude of downed branches from the storm, the trek back down the mountain was far too short. I dreaded the last few steps, knowing that by the time I arrived at our camp, I must have a clear and formidable response for Machlon about why I’d left after the lighting strike and why I believed that we should abandon our mission. But my thoughts were nearly as slippery as the trail that descended through the sodden forest.

  From the moment I’d entered Abiram’s home, I’d never questioned his wisdom, never doubted his authority or that of the well-respected priests and Levites who’d concocted this scheme in secret. But if the men clamoring for the return of the Ark, and also the restoration of Eleazar ben Aharon’s line, were running ahead of Yahweh’s plans, then I had been blindly obeying leaders who were placing their own desires above the Almighty’s.

  I would never know why my father made the choice to go to Afek that day, or if he’d had doubts about the validity of the claims made by Eli’s sons that the Ark would win the battle for them. But that last memory I’d had of him, as I’d placed the lion claw necklace in Natan’s hand, had reminded me that I’d had the distinct impression at that moment that something was very wrong. Perhaps it was the expression on his face, the way his hands gripped my shoulders so tightly, the sheen of tears in his eyes, or maybe even a whisper from the Ruach Ha’Kodesh, but I’d felt a bone-deep certainty that he should not go.

  Yet I’d said nothing. I’d watched him and my brothers walk away and kept my mouth tightly closed. Of course, had I relayed my concerns, it was doubtful any of them would have listened to me, but at least I could have tried.

  I would not make the same mistake again. No matter Machlon’s failings, he was my cousin—and as much a brother to me as my own had been—and I would do anything to stop him from ending up like Hofni and Pinchas, or worse, the Levites in Beth Shemesh, whom I was beginning to believe had actually been struck down by fire from Yahweh, just as Eliora had said.

  I was only grateful I’d stumbled over the truth before Yom Teruah began. At least I had an entire night and day to convince Machlon that his father’s plan was not only flawed at its foundation but eminently dangerous.

  The closer I came to camp, the clearer my plan became for how I could persuade my cousin of the truth. I would tell him everything—from the brief glimpses I’d had of the charred bodies in the valley of Beth Shemesh to Natan’s encounter with Samuel and the impossible connections between Eliora’s Hebrew slave and the man who’d heard the voice of Yahweh with his own ears when he was only a child.

  Machlon knew me. He knew that I would not be swayed by trivialities and that I would not dare to go against his father unless I was firmly convinced. We could stop this, together. Even if Abiram would be angry when he discovered what had happened later, I hoped he might eventually accept that I had only my cousin’s well-being in mind.

  But all my hopes of persuading Machlon withered to nothing when I stepped into the clearing and was almost immediately greeted by none other than Abiram himself.

  “There you are!” said my uncle, a wide smile on his face as he approached. He embraced me and kissed my cheeks. “Machlon said you’ve been chasing down lightning strikes.”

  Stricken mute by the surprise of seeing him, since he had left to make preparation at Nob at the same time Machlon and I departed Beit El, I could do little more than stare at him with my jaw slack.

  The plan had been clear from the beginning: Machlon, Osher, Shelah, and I would spy out the location of the Ark and would bring it to Nob, where my uncle and his cohorts would install a man from Eleazar ben Aharon’s line on the seat of High Priest at the rebuilt Mishkan. What possible reason would he have for being here now?

  “Did you save the gardens?” he asked, clearly having been informed of my insistence to warn Elazar’s family after the lightning strike.

  “Most of them,” I replied, distracted as I tried to make sense of his appearance. “The tree fell on the flower garden, so not all of it went unscathed, but at least the fire did not spread.”

  “How fortunate you arrived in time. I’m certain Elazar—and his daughter—were grateful for your intervention.” My uncle’s statement was appropriately sympathetic, if pointed, in its delivery. “Indeed,” he continued, leaning in and lowering his voice. “It sounds as though they’ve become quite indebted to you, my boy. Well done.” He squeezed my shoulder. “Very well done.”

  For all the years I’d been a part of his household, I’d craved affirmations such as this. But instead of the triumph I’d expected to feel upon such long-desired validation, nausea flamed at the base of my throat, and I had the urge to flee. Had his eyes always had such a scrutinizing quality? Suddenly the palm on my shoulder seemed a bit too heavy, and the pressure of his fingers far too tight.

  With another glance around to ensure that none of the musicians who were milling about the camp might be listening, Abiram dropped his voice lower. “Ingratiating yourself into that pit of vipers was a shrewd tactic, son. I will ensure that the kohanim are fully aware of your sacrifice once the reins are restored to the correct hands. I can only imagine how appreciative they will be when they hear of your part in this mission—and how generous, once the full tithe is restored. Your dedication to Yahweh is to be commended, my boy.”

  The insinuation was plain. The rewards for betraying Elazar and Eliora would be great; I’d be lauded and compensated well for slithering my way into their regard. After all his years of railing about Eli’s sons and their corrupt ways, Abiram himself was walking the very same path, calling it a righteous one, and in doing so, was taking the name of Adonai in vain.

  The truth of it all settled into my bones, as did the realization that the very thing I’d called out in Eliora I was guilty of as well.

  After losing both of my parents and all of my siblings, I’d been desperate to please Abiram and his family. I’d set aside my desire to play music with the Levitical musicians because Abiram told me that my skills as an instrument builder were much more profitable than singing and playing a lyre. I’d gone along with every scheme Machlon dreamed up, no matter how ill advised, out of fear of being set aside or left behind. And I’d sat at Abiram’s feet and soaked up every word of his bitter rants against Elazar without questioning his motives.

  In a way, I too had been grafted into a new family like Eliora, but it was becoming clearer by the moment that Abiram’s root may be rotten at the core. And no matter how much I’d ached to be accepted by my uncle, to be loved the way Eliora and Natan were by the family that had welcomed them without condition, I’d been little more than a token Abiram had been moving around a game board from the beginning. And nothing I could say to him would assuage his determination to finish what he’d started. I had to find my cousin. It was my only chance to stop this before it all began.

  “Where is Machlon?” I asked, attempting to keep the panic from my voice as I surveyed the bustling campsite. The Levitical musicians were well occupied with preparing for this evening’s ceremonies, a few of them already wearing their white garments aft
er having washed in the clear, sweet water that flowed in mysterious abundance from the heart of this mountain. Yet another miracle I’d discounted in my arrogance.

  “He’s meeting with a few more men interested in joining with us,” he said. “He’s been quite successful in gathering supporters.”

  “We’re bringing in more men? Is that wise at this point?”

  Abiram’s eyes narrowed slightly. “As I told him in my final message a few days ago, any man who is willing and loyal to our cause is welcome.”

  I did not miss the emphasis. Nor did it escape my notice that I had not been told that Machlon was in contact with his father while we were in Kiryat-Yearim. And why exactly, if he was so pleased with Machlon’s efforts in recruiting new men, was Abiram here now?

  I had the very strong impression that it had something to do with me but had no idea how to ask such a question without making my suspicions known. It was plain that Machlon had been less than forthcoming with me.

  “Then I should acquaint myself with these men as well,” I said, “if you’ll point me in the direction of their meeting.”

  He waved a dismissive hand in the air. “Machlon will find you later. I know he is eager to continue your conversation from last night.”

  Eager was likely a vast understatement. Machlon would be furious with me for refusing to lead him directly to the Ark, and the way Abiram was looking at me now made me suspect that my every move for the past weeks had been reported to him in detail.

  “Ronen!”

  I startled at the sound of my name and turned to find a visibly panicked Tuviyah striding toward me, the fringes of his Levitical garment fluttering in the breeze. “There you are! Where have you been all night? We’ve been looking all over. There’s been a disaster with the harps!”

  “I’m sorry, Tuviyah, there was a fire up—”

  He brushed away my explanation. “It’s no matter now. You must repair the standing harps. Someone cut all of the strings, and I don’t know if we have enough goat-gut or even enough time to get them back in working order! And the foundation of the entire first song is those harps—”

  I interrupted his rant, pained to see my father’s friend so discomposed. “I will go repair them immediately,” I said. “Have no fear, we have plenty of replacement strings, and it won’t take me long if I recruit a couple of the apprentices to help me.”

  With the load of responsibility Tuviyah had been carrying on his shoulders these past weeks, along with the frustrations of dealing with a group that had as many opinions as musicians, it was no wonder that this setback would push him over the edge.

  “How did this happen?” I asked. “Who would cut the strings?”

  “I don’t know. It makes no sense,” he said as he scrubbed at his forehead with white-knuckled fingers. “They’ve been under guard. Some of those harps are from the first years in Shiloh—they are irreplaceable. My only guess is that some of the local townspeople are unhappy about the festivals being celebrated here. But with all the goods we’ve been purchasing, I’d hoped to inspire goodwill, not frustration.”

  A sick feeling began to wind its way through me. Although there was a rotation of men watching over the priceless instruments in the tent we’d raised to shelter them, Osher and Shelah were among that number. I wondered if perhaps this had nothing at all to do with disgruntled locals.

  “You go on with Tuviyah and do what you must,” said my uncle. “I need to prepare for my own role tonight and make certain everyone understands their duties. We don’t want any more surprises, after all. I will see you later. And then you, Machlon, and I will talk. We have much to discuss, and I’ve missed you both these past weeks.” He gave me a benevolent smile that I in no way believed was sincere.

  Tuviyah thanked Abiram and spun away, but before I could take a step to follow him, my uncle gripped my wrist, an intense look pinning me in place.

  “I can’t tell you how glad I am that I took you in all those years ago, son, when your mother turned her back on you. It would have been . . . unfortunate”—he frowned, silver brows drawing together in the semblance of regret—“had you been lost to us forever.”

  The warning could not have been clearer had he pointed a dagger at my chest. My indecision had not gone unnoticed. If I tried to dissuade Machlon from going after the Ark of the Covenant, my uncle would not forgive me. And, if I succeeded in stopping him, that would mean my mother and siblings would not be returning south any time soon either, so I would lose the only family I had left. No matter what decision I made, the cost would be great. But as my father and brothers had learned the hard way on the field at Afek, the cost of going against the will of the Eternal One was greater by far.

  I finally caught sight of Machlon ahead of me as all the musicians made their way up the steep path toward the ridge, most with instruments in hand, and some carrying unlit torches that would guide our way back down later tonight. Repairs had taken longer than I’d hoped, since in addition to slicing through the goat-gut strings on the harps, the vandals had also broken the heads of three drums.

  I’d prayed that somehow I would find my cousin before the ceremony, and away from any place that Abiram might see us talking, and was beyond relieved that I’d succeeded. We would not have much time to speak now, since we musicians were expected to assemble on the ridge well before the sun met the western horizon, but at least I could ask him to meet privately with me as soon as the service ended and the day of Shabbat rest began. Without my knowledge of where the Ark was, the entire mission would be impossible, and I needed to make it clear that I would not be leading him to the cedar grove tomorrow night.

  With many apologies to the Levites I jostled as I pushed my way past them on the narrow trail, I finally reached my cousin and grabbed his arm.

  “Machlon!” I said, tugging him off to the side of the path and into the brush.

  “What are you doing, Ronen?” he snapped, settling the drum he was carrying onto his hip.

  “We need to talk,” I said. “I’ve discovered something”—I lowered my voice as the stream of white-clad Levites continued by, a few grumbling about us blocking the way—“about the Ark.”

  His brows rose. “Have you learned more from your Philistine?”

  My teeth ground at the flippant way he spoke of the woman I desperately wanted to call my own. “No. But perhaps we need to rethink this plan.”

  He scowled. “There is no rethinking. Everything is in place. Tomorrow night during the feasting you’ll lead us to the location and the kohanim will take it from there.”

  “But—”

  “This is neither the time nor the place to discuss this,” he said, his gaze darting back over his shoulder. “We will have plenty of time after the ceremonies. Then you can tell me why you are all of a sudden turning into a coward.”

  “It’s not cowardice—”

  “Later, Ronen. The sacrifices will begin soon. We need to go.”

  Stomach churning, I acquiesced, and he strode away to catch up with the rest of the drummers. He was right that anyone on this path could overhear our discussion and even though he was in the wrong, I had no desire for Abiram to be publicly branded a traitor. I only wanted to convince Machlon to call off the mission. The ceremony would be complete after the sighting of the new moon, and then I could share my concerns. I could only pray that he would hear me and not cut me out like Abiram had hinted, because my only other option was to go to Elazar and warn him what was to come, and admitting my betrayal would mean losing Eliora forever too.

  As for now, all I could do was to take my father’s precious lyre to the ridge and play the songs he’d composed in adoration of the Most High. Singing those words in his memory was far more honoring to him than trying to claim justice for his death by lying and stealing in his name. The reminder that I’d been planning to do exactly that shamed me as I followed my Levitical brethren and took my place among them, where I should have been all along.

  Somehow, through al
l the disorder of the past weeks—the arguments, the frustration, the vandalized instruments, and the significant number of Levites who’d abandoned the entire ceremony—the first song avoided being a complete disaster.

  The relief on Tuviyah’s face was immense as we finished the last verse of the song written by Mosheh himself; a reminder from the time in the wilderness that Yahweh was our Rock of Salvation, and it was to him we would be lifting our voices, and that he would hear our shouts as we called out for rescue from our enemies.

  Just as I’d anticipated, the sound of hundreds of Levite voices melding with the lyres, harps, pipes, and drums was nothing less than majestic. My skin was awash with gooseflesh as the final notes echoed over the valley and the next song began. I’d seen Elazar, along with the rest of his clan, on a bluff across the way and imagined Eliora among them, the same rapture on her lovely face as when I’d played for her in the orchard. The thought of admitting the truth to her was almost as terrifying as facing Abiram’s wrath, but I hoped that I could head off his plans without her ever knowing just how close I’d come to divulging her secret.

  The sky had already begun to flare orange in the west, and torches were being lit both on the ridge and among the many tents and bodies gathered down below. There were not nearly as many worshipers in the valley as had been expected, something I knew many of the priests were lamenting. Additionally, a rumor was going around camp that two parties of travelers had actually been waylaid on their way here by Philistines, with many of them killed and a large number taken prisoner—an occurrence that had become more frequent over the past few years. It seemed our enemies had already forgotten their losses at the hands of Yahweh in Ashdod and Gath and were gradually rebuilding their campaign to overtake the hill country.