He screamed in terror, and the scream was still in his throat, raw and shapeless, when he realized that his hands were clutching the blanket beneath him and that the darkness around him was the darkness of his dream, not the plain. He sat rigidly, breathing hard, unsure for a moment which world had let him go.
Elijah sat trembling as the dream's adrenaline gave way to a throbbing headache. He fumbled for the waterskin, but the lukewarm water barely relieved the dryness in his mouth. He splashed some on his face, trying to clear the fog from his head. The campfire had dwindled to a pile of smoldering embers. Staggering to his feet, lightheaded and weak, he tripped over an empty wineskin. He snatched it up and threw it down in a flash of anger, then kicked it with a guttural grunt.
“Lord,” he prayed, “forgive my drunkenness.”
He paused for a moment, his eyes closed as he winced with guilt.
“Again.”
Wine was his nightly ritual, the one reliable comfort. He relished the warmth spreading through his chest, the pleasant spin in his head that blurred the hard edges of his worries until they melted into the darkness.
That was until morning, when the raging percussion of his hangover demanded its turn in the sun.
Yet he was always sure that all was in order and that his responsibilities were fully met before he drank. It was his vice, to be sure, but at least in his mind he was its master.
“It’s not as if I bought wine instead of food,” he murmured to himself.
It was then that his conscience began to argue with him.
“No, but you could have traded it for some, couldn’t you?” the conscience said in that particular tone it reserved for occasions when it had the upper hand. And it was not finished.
“You might want to reconsider that whole master-servant thing before you die of starvation!”
“Enough!” Elijah yelled in frustration. A sharp pain in his head told him he would be better off speaking quietly.
“Enough,” he whispered and continued his prayer. “I have been and will always be your servant, Lord. Any food you can send, a locust, a hare, anything, will be enough to carry me through my journey.”
From behind him, he heard a young man's voice interrupting his prayer.
“See, Achi, I told you I saw smoke.”
Elijah turned and looked up at the top of the hill behind him. A young man, probably not even eighteen, stood there, waving at someone on the other side of the hill. He watched as a beautiful young girl, with a stout donkey in tow, joined the young man on the crest of the hill.
“God be with you, sir,” the young man said with a slight bow.
“And which God would that be, boy?” Elijah sniffed sarcastically.
The boy looked confused. “Were you not just praying to Him? I speak of the only true God; apart from Him, there are no others. Have I made a mistake?”
Elijah smiled through his pain and waved for the boy to come down. “I am sorry, lad. It’s just that, lately, it seems to me that the Promised Land has become so thick with gods that I expect to step on one at any moment. It’s been a long time since I have met anyone who still believes as you and I do.”
As Elijah watched the two come down the hill, he felt his jaw slowly drop. The young girl had such elegant features that, for a moment, he forgot what he had been about to say.
A charm hanging from a leather strap around her neck caught his eye. It appeared to be a silver bird with jeweled eyes.
Noticing his interest, the girl held the charm up for him to see.
“It’s a raven,” the young girl said with a demure smile.
Elijah smiled back at her, a bit puzzled. “But ravens are black.”
The girl’s eyes grew wide. “On that point, you are wrong, sir. Black is flat and dull. Ravens are ebony, which shines and reflects light.”
She looked down at her charm and continued, “Just like this silver.”
Something in her quiet confidence soothed him. As they spoke, the pounding in his skull softened.
He bowed his head slightly. “Ebony, I will remember that in the future. I am Elijah, and whom has God sent to me this day?”
The young man stepped ahead of his sister and held out his hand. “I am Elisha, and this is Miriam, my younger sister. We saw your smoke and thought you could help us.”
“Of course. In any way I can?”
Elisha’s face began to turn pink with embarrassment. “We have food, but I have not been able to build a fire.”
Miriam jumped to her brother’s defense. “It was I who forgot to bring the flint rock. If I had not been so careless...”
Now that his head was no longer splitting, Elijah found it amusing that the two of them were arguing over blame.
“Enough,” he chuckled. “You have no fire, and I have no food.” Elijah put a gentle hand on Elisha’s shoulder and looked into his eyes. The maturity in the young man’s eyes struck him. “I see God’s hand in this, don’t you?”
Elisha smiled and nodded, and soon the revived fire crackled. The smell of baking bread filled the air, making Elijah’s stomach ache with hunger. Miriam worked quietly, handing portions to him and her brother before turning to prepare her own.
The bread was so good he devoured his portion in seconds, his hunger a wild animal. Miriam hadn’t even finished preparing her own. She watched him, a small smile playing on her lips, then held out a piece of her own. ‘More?’ she asked softly.
“No, please. You need to eat as well.”
She finished and joined them around the fire. Elijah had grown more curious now that hunger was no longer on his mind.
“That was the best meal I have had since I left my parents’ home seven years ago.”
Miriam blushed a little and looked away.
“She gets it from our mother,” Elisha interjected. “It’s a good thing our farm keeps me so busy, or I would weigh 3 talents by now.”
Elisha burped loudly while Miriam rolled her eyes.
Elijah also burped, but he covered it with his hand. “So, Miriam, why are you so fascinated by ravens? I always thought they were dirty scavengers.”
Miriam looked slightly offended. “Scavengers, yes. Dirty, no. They are perhaps the most intelligent creatures God created.” She paused, looking at him intently. “We had some near our farm that I would feed the excess grain. The day my grandmother died, I went to them but was too sad to do anything but cry. They came to me without any food being offered and rubbed their heads against my hands.” Her eyes softened with the memory. “They let me pet them as they perched on my arms. For a while, I forgot my grief. The next day, when I returned with grain, they were back to normal and kept their distance. So when I saw this charm at the market, I had to have it.”
“The bird woman of Bethel,” teased Elisha.
Miriam narrowed her eyes and emphatically slapped at the air in front of her brother, making clear her displeasure with his comment.
“Did you know that they mate for life?” she said with pride.
“No, I did not,” Elijah said as he rose to his feet. “But I am a simple shopkeeper, and I have only recently learned how much I don’t know. I do know this: two people as young as you should not be traveling alone. Thieves have been targeting this road lately. If you allow me, I would be glad to travel with you.”
Miriam looked at her brother, who raised his eyebrows as she gave a small shrug. Then she looked back at Elijah.
“My sister and I would welcome your company, but I can’t pay you anything.”
“Not to worry,” Elijah laughed. He leaned in close to Elisha and pointed to his stomach. “I work for food.”
The siblings’ giggles were infectious, and soon Elijah found himself laughing with them—a rusty, unfamiliar sound in his own ears. The sound was foreign but sweet, a forgotten language he was surprised to find he could still speak.
That afternoon, as they walked, Miriam pointed out a hawk circling high above. Elisha explained how its shadow spooked the goats, and soon Elijah found himself asking questions, not out of duty but from a genuine curiosity he hadn’t felt in years.
That evening, Miriam handed him a cup of hot tea. The warmth spread through his hands, a pale imitation of the unfamiliar ease settling in his chest. He watched Elisha tease his sister, their gentle back-and-forth a language he’d forgotten, if he ever knew it. The chasm he always felt between himself and the world seemed to have vanished. For the first time in years, he felt not like a prophet or a failure, but simply a man.
“Pardon me for asking,” Elijah said, sipping from his tea. “Why were you and your sister traveling alone?”
“Our father is sick and requires constant attention.” Elisha’s face darkened. “Believe me, we did not want to leave him, but when the magistrate came to our home and said that the king wanted people our age to go and serve at the palace for a few days, my father left us no choice, even in his condition.”
Elisha mimicked his father’s voice in a mocking tone: “The king must be obeyed!”
The mocking tone faded from the young man’s voice, and he stared into the fire. A deep shame crossed his features as he seemed to fight back tears. “I don’t mean that. I love my father. Even though he is frail in body, inside he is strong and proud. He has given all he had for us. How do you repay that?”
Elijah poked a stick into the fire and stirred the coals. “Does the king know everyone personally? It seems unreasonable that he or your father should expect a family in your situation to send you both. One of you could easily have stayed behind while the other carried out the king’s command.”
Elisha looked resigned as he stared into the fire. “My father didn’t see it that way.” He sighed. “He insisted that it would be a sin against God to disobey His king.”
Elijah thought about telling them the truth about Ahab and what God had sent him to do, but he could not. He had barely come to grips with it himself. Given Elisha’s loyalty to his father, he doubted that anything he said would have stopped them from going.
No, he thought. This secret was too terrible to share.
“Do you know what service the king has called you to perform?”
Elisha shook his head and said casually, “No, but it is only for a week, and to be honest, I could use a vacation from the plowshares. Our fields grow more stones than grain these days. So, tell me, why are you going to the palace?”
Elijah’s eyebrows shot up. “When did I say that?”
“In your prayer this morning,” Elisha said, his tone matter-of-fact. “You asked for food to make it to Ahab’s palace.”
Elijah froze. He remembered the prayer—the audible plea for his journey, and the silent, desperate mention of the palace, a bargain aimed at God alone.
Elisha saw his confusion. “I heard it plainly, just before you asked forgiveness.”
“I said nothing of the palace,” Elijah insisted, his voice tight.
The dim firelight hid the flush creeping up Elijah’s neck. He was certain he hadn’t spoken the words aloud. He had only thought them. How could this boy have heard a thought?
Elisha looked apologetic. “I am sorry. I must have been mistaken. It is late, and I am tired. I am going to bed.”
“Wait,” Elijah exclaimed. Elisha stopped and turned. In the flickering firelight, the young man’s open expression shifted to one of cautious curiosity. “Do you want to tell me something?”
He wanted to demand how the boy could possibly know. But the fear was too sharp, too unsettling. He retreated to an old, familiar comfort. “I was just wondering… You didn’t happen to bring any, ah, wine with you...”
Elijah saw the confused look on the young man's face and added, “You know, for medicinal purposes.”
Elisha’s expression gave him his answer. “My father says that wine is a slow poison, consuming men’s strength of will until there is nothing left.”
Elijah, feeling the sting of this rebuke, couldn’t have disagreed more, but the hour was late, and he had no wish to argue with the people who had befriended him.
Elisha saw the embarrassment on his face, even in the dim firelight. “Anyway, that is what he has always told me,” he said, offering a small, apologetic smile. “He is an old man, set in his ways.”
“Your father is a wise man. I really should give it up. Sorry to have bothered you. Sleep well, and God keep you safe.”
“And you as well.” Elisha smiled, nodded, and went over to where his sister lay. He knelt and kissed her forehead. “Sleep well, Achoti.” Then he lay down beside her.
“You too, Achi,” Miriam whispered with a yawn.
Elijah lay down, pulling the rough blanket to his chin. Sleep would not come. He thought of the boy’s words, “a slow poison,” but it wasn’t true. The wine was a reward at the end of a hard day, a brief respite. What truly sapped his will and ate at him day after day was something else entirely. “Nothing,” he sighed into the darkness, “consumes a man faster than failure.”