by Mesu Andrews
Ishma’s face remained buried in the bend of Aya’s neck while Aya spoke to the boy on the litter. “Prince Hezekiah, I’d like to introduce Ishma. She lost her voice when her home in Bethlehem was burned and her parents died. I told her what happened to your brother Bocheru and that it wasn’t your fault.”
“Aya, stop!” Queen Abijah’s eyes filled with tears. “He doesn’t need to be reminded—”
Aya raised her chin. “Have you told him why Ahaz chose your firstborn son instead of Eliakim?”
The queen stroked her son’s brow. “No. We need never speak of that night again.”
“He needs to hear the truth,” Isaiah said, unable to remain silent any longer. “You didn’t see his face, Abijah. He thinks it was his fault.”
She bowed her head on her son’s arm and wept. Aya received it as permission to continue. “Prince Hezekiah was very brave,” she said to Ishma.
The little girl raised her head, her brows knit together in a V. She squirmed from Aya’s arms, standing like a soldier beside the litter. They waited, but she made no move to touch him or speak.
“Why isn’t she doing something?” The queen’s frustration had no effect on Ishma. The girl’s eyes were trained on Hezekiah; she seemed oblivious to the world around them.
Isaiah clapped, startling everyone but the children. “Let’s eat our meal,” he said, rising from the table to approach the litter. “The women of my household have worked hard to prepare a sumptuous feast.” He dared not say the meal had been prepared with the last portion of meat from their monthly allotment. Isaiah’s wages had been reduced when he was demoted from the royal council. Even so, the allotment would have been more than enough—if they hadn’t fed most of Jerusalem’s southern city while helping people rebuild since the attack over two weeks ago.
Aya was first to come away from the litter. Isaiah offered his hand to Queen Abijah, hoping she’d allow the children time alone. He prayed his wife’s instincts were right, that Ishma could do…whatever Aya thought she could do.
Queen Abijah was as unpredictable as an ima bear protecting a wounded cub. Aya said she was desperate to get Hezekiah back. But what would she do if Ishma couldn’t help him? Would she mete out her frustration on Ishma? Or on Aya? King Ahaz had shown his wrath at Isaiah’s prophecies by demoting him to royal tutor. If the queen turned against them as well, would Isaiah lose their family home? Would their sons pay the price?
Yahweh, I will trust You when I have more questions than answers.
6
A happy heart makes the face cheerful,
but heartache crushes the spirit.
—Proverbs 15:13
I almost ran back to Yaira when Mistress Aya set my feet on the ground, but Yaira’s nod and smile told me it was safe to stay beside the prince. The big people kept staring at us even after they sat at the table. I still wasn’t sure what Mistress Aya wanted me to do.
Afraid the soldiers might slip through the gate and snatch me from the courtyard, I stood by the litter, on the side closest to Yaira, and looked down at the prince. His face was the color of goat’s milk. He lay on his back, staring at the palm trees above us, his eyes empty like Abba’s and Ima’s the last time I saw them. Was Mistress Aya sure his body lived? I leaned over his face and felt his soft breath on my cheek. Then I saw his chest rise and fall. He was definitely alive.
Why was he staring? Maybe he saw something up in the trees. I looked up and saw a nest with two birds. They were singing, and I hadn’t even noticed. I was sure they weren’t there yesterday. The birds looked like they’d been dipped in a rainbow—blue, pink, yellow, and orange. No wonder he was staring. Maybe his eyes weren’t empty after all. I turned his face toward me.
“Be gentle with him!” the queen yelled.
I jerked my hand away, afraid she’d call for her soldiers to beat me. Mistress Aya shushed her, but I still huddled behind the litter.
My stomach growled. There was a lot of food on the table, more than we usually ate at a meal. The big people had begun eating, so I stood again and looked at the prince, wondering if he was hungry too. I wanted to ask him, but the words wouldn’t come. I poked his tummy, and it growled. He was hungry!
I walked over to the table. Master Isaiah sat at the head, the queen at his place of honor. Mistress Aya let Yaira sit at second seat today. I nudged Yaira’s shoulder, pointed at the bread, and rubbed my tummy. She broke off one piece of bread, so I pointed at the prince to explain that I needed two pieces.
“He can’t eat bread.” The queen talked extra loud as if my lost words meant I couldn’t hear. “This is foolish, Aya. Don’t let her shove bread into his mouth. He’s only had broth since this happened.”
Mistress Aya whispered something to her friend, but Yaira ignored them and gave me another piece of bread. “You eat some, Ishma, and if the prince wakes up, you can share.”
I hesitated.
Master Isaiah gestured toward the prince. “Go on. It’s all right.”
I took a bite of bread on my way back to the litter. It stood on four legs, like a low table, with big gold rings on all four corners. Two long, sturdy poles fit through the gold rings. I saw the soldiers carrying the poles on their shoulders with the litter way up in the air. A wooden rim guarded all four sides, probably so the prince didn’t slide off while he was up high. I wondered if the prince was scared, being lifted up like that.
I sat down on the litter’s wooden rim and poked my fist into the puffy mattress beside the prince. It might have been stuffed with wool or straw or maybe feathers. I ran my hand over its curly, soft goat skin and wondered what the prince’s life had been like before it was surrounded by this wooden rim. The rim seemed like a wall, separating him from everyone else in the whole world.
I looked up at the two pretty birds. Two of them. Even birds had someone. Why should the prince be alone in his nest? If I climbed over the rim and sat on the mattress with him, he wouldn’t be alone.
I peeked over my shoulder at Yaira. The big people were all staring at me again. Master Isaiah whispered something, and they started eating. I bit off another piece of my bread and studied the prince some more. He was still staring into the tree. I decided the prince wanted to be like the two birds in one nest.
I glanced over my shoulder again and saw that everyone was eating and talking. Quietly, I slipped off my dusty sandals, scooted over the wooden rim, and knelt on the soft mattress. No one seemed to notice, so I huddled closer to the prince’s face and tore off a small piece of bread.
I held it in front of his eyes.
He didn’t even blink.
Rising on my knees, I hovered over his face, putting myself between him and the tree. His eyes were dark like Abba’s. His nose was a little crooked and too big for his face. I waited a moment. Then I poofed a bit of air. His eyelids flickered. I poofed again. His eyes stayed distant, but he frowned like he was annoyed.
I looked up at the birds again. They were still singing—first one, then the other—like they were talking to each other. When I returned my attention to the prince, he was looking at me, straight into my eyes. His light was back! I leaned to one side, and his eyes followed me. To the other side. His eyes followed again.
I climbed over him and sat on the mattress between him and the rim of the litter. He turned his head, staring at me now instead of the tree. Blinking many times, he squinted and studied me. “Are you a dream?” His voice was so quiet it was almost like a breath.
I shook my head.
He looked at me, blinking some more. He lifted his hand and touched my face. “An angel then?”
“No, I’m Ishma.” I covered my mouth as if a wild horse had rushed out. My words had come back at the same time someone lit the light in his eyes!
Everyone at the table gasped, and before I knew what was happening, someone scooped me off the litter and swung me around. Yaira held me tight, laughing and crying. “Ishma, you spoke! You spoke!” The master’s deep voice joined the women’s squeal
s, laughing and rejoicing. The queen sat on the edge of the litter, rocking the prince in her arms, while the mistress hugged them both.
Yaira paused her celebrating and set my feet on the ground. “What else have you to say, Ishma? You’ve saved up two weeks of words.”
The clapping suddenly stopped, and fear replaced my joy. What if my words came only for the prince? I glanced in his direction but the queen was talking with him, her back to me, blocking my view of him. The others gathered around Yaira and me, everyone seeming anxious to hear what I had to say.
What could I say? I didn’t want to talk about my nightmares. I could say the bread in my hand was tasty, but they already knew that because they’d eaten theirs. I could tell Master and Mistress how grateful I was, but even the thought of it tightened my throat.
When I looked at Yaira, I knew exactly what to say to her. “I love you.” The words came out on a whisper, but she heard them.
Grabbing me, she twirled me around until I was dizzy. “I love you too, sweet Ishma.” She laughed through tears and then set my feet on the ground again.
That’s when I heard it.
“Ishma.” It was just a whisper with a voice as gravelly as mine. “Ishma.” A little louder this time.
Yaira heard it too. She took my hand, and we walked toward Prince Hezekiah’s litter together. The queen’s face didn’t look so scary. She nodded, which I think meant she liked me a little bit now. The prince patted a place on the mattress beside him. Yaira lifted me onto the litter, and he reached for my hand. His stomach growled again, and I giggled.
Master Isaiah sniffed and wiped his eyes. Putting his arm around Mistress, he said, “Aya, my love, remind me never to doubt you again.”
She winked at him, then turned and hugged the queen so tight that the queen’s head covering fell to her shoulders. Ugly bruises circled her neck.
Mistress Aya’s smile disappeared. She grabbed the queen’s shoulders and inspected the marks. “Where were your guards when Ahaz did this?”
The queen pushed her away, and it got very quiet. Queen Abijah glanced at Hezekiah and turned her back, arranging her veils to cover the area again. “You know my guards can’t touch him—even when he does this.”
I turned back to see Prince Hezekiah’s eyes filling with tears. He turned his face away from the big people. I hurried to the other side of the litter so he could look at me. I didn’t want his eyes to lose their light again. We stayed focused on each other.
“Why this time, Abijah?” Master Isaiah said. “The bruises are partially healed, so it must have happened several days ago.”
There was a long silence before the queen answered. “When he returned from the sacrifice to tell me about Bocheru”—she paused—“let’s just say his explanation of the sacrifice didn’t appease this ima’s heart, and I required more convincing than he anticipated.”
Mistress Aya held the queen in her arms again, this time gently, speaking quietly. “Hold to the truth respectfully but firmly in the face of his idolatry, Abbi.”
The queen pushed her away. “The truth isn’t respectful, Aya. It’s a ruse. The truth is, I will worship Molek publicly, as my husband requires, to save the lives of my other two sons.”
“But Abbi, you’re the daughter of Yahweh’s high priest. You can’t—”
“I am Queen Abijah, and I will do whatever I must to keep my children alive.” Her lips trembled. “I will bed a husband I despise. I will bow and feast with vile and ridiculous men whom my husband wishes to impress with my beauty. And if Yahweh has any mercy, He will kill Ahaz—or give me the courage to do it myself.”
Master Isaiah glanced at Hezekiah and me and cleared his throat. “Please, Abijah, let’s rejoice in today’s victories and deal with—”
She glared at him and pointed at me. “This girl will be transferred to the harem. She’s the only effective medicine for Hezekiah. I will not lose my son again.”
“I’m sorry, but that’s impossible.” Mistress Aya met the queen’s mean stare. “Ishma saw everything when her parents were killed in the raid on Bethlehem, Abbi. She’s as fragile as your son, and I won’t allow you to separate her—”
“You won’t allow me, Aya?” The queen stepped toward the mistress, and I thought she might hurt her.
I buried my face against Hezekiah’s chest. He placed his hand on my head and spoke, softly but firmly. “Ishma stays here, Ima.”
My head popped up in time to see the queen’s face become kinder. She smiled at her son. “You will be a merciful king, my son, but I fear—”
Master Isaiah stepped between his wife and the queen. “Perhaps I could bring Ishma with me and tutor Hezekiah privately in the harem until he is well enough to join the others.”
Queen Abijah examined the prince and me as if we were fruit in the market. Finally, she said, “Will the girl overcome her fear of soldiers enough to enter the palace for lessons?”
“There are soldiers in the harem?” Fear made my voice squeaky.
Master Isaiah knelt before me. “In the Upper City, you will be surrounded by Jerusalem’s soldiers and the king’s royal guards. They are here to protect us, Ishma. We’ll help you learn to trust them by introducing you to some of them, so you can see they’re good men.”
I still wasn’t sure any soldier could be a good man, but I wanted to learn about things with the prince. I faced the queen. “I’ll be brave. I promise.”
Master Isaiah chuckled. “We’ll begin lessons tomorrow.”
The queen almost smiled. “She seems to trust you, Isaiah, as my best friend has trusted you all these years.” She flicked her wrist as if shooing a fly. “Bring Ishma to my chamber for private tutoring with Hezekiah. Your teaching duties for the other royals are suspended until Hezekiah is strong enough to rejoin the class. And Isaiah…”
The master bowed. “Yes, my queen?”
“Ishma will join the class with Hezekiah when he grows stronger. He needs an ally he can trust implicitly.”
“Yes, my queen.”
“Bring my escort!” Queen Abijah shouted the order.
Hezekiah squeezed my hand. “Go inside, Ishma. I’ll introduce you to my guard, Samuel, tomorrow.”
I raced to the doorway but hid just inside so I could watch as the queen’s guards carried the prince away. They were gentle. The biggest guard even smiled and talked to Hezekiah. Maybe when I visited the harem tomorrow, I wouldn’t be so afraid. Maybe.
7
[Isaiah had said to King Ahaz,] “The Lord himself will give you a sign: The virgin will conceive and give birth to a son, and will call him Immanuel….Before the boy knows enough to reject the wrong and choose the right, the land of the two kings you dread will be laid waste.”
—Isaiah 7:14, 16
“You’re absolutely sure she’s pregnant?” Micah stood before Isaiah, breathless. Isaiah wasn’t sure if he’d run all the way from Tekoa or if the younger prophet was simply amazed at the Lord’s miracle.
“Aya told me this morning, and I sent a messenger for you right away.” He placed a hand on Micah’s shoulder to steady him. “Yaira had all the signs of a pregnancy, so we called for a midwife who confirmed it before we sent the messenger.”
Micah’s eyes misted, his jaw muscle tense. “Are you sure she wasn’t defiled during the raid on Bethlehem or during the captive march? Many of the women were.”
“I know, but Aya asked Yaira, and the girl said she’d never been with a man.” Isaiah felt both excitement and trepidation, joy and sorrow at what the fulfillment meant. “She’s the one, Micah. Your sister’s pregnancy fulfills Yahweh’s prophecy to King Ahaz. Her child will be Immanuel—God With Us—and while he’s yet a toddler, both Israel and Aram will be laid waste.”
Micah scrubbed his face, leaving his chest-length beard skewed in every direction. With a deep sigh, he shook his head and closed his eyes. “I don’t feel Yahweh’s breath on this.”
Isaiah’s patience was waning. “Is it Yaira you don’t trust, or
is it me?”
Micah’s eyes slid open. “My hesitation has nothing to do with you or Yaira. I am a prophet, like you, and I don’t feel Yahweh’s affirmation in my spirit about this fulfillment.”
“And I’m telling you we should take Yaira and announce the fulfillment at the same place I uttered the original prophecy to King Ahaz.” Years ago, King Ahaz had spurned Yahweh’s message at the most crowded watering hole in Jerusalem—the Upper Pool on the road to Launderer’s Field.
“Absolutely not!” Micah shouted. “I will not make my sister a spectacle as you’ve done with your family.”
His words cut deep. “A spectacle? Was my first vision too much of a spectacle? When the six-winged seraphim sang, ‘Holy, holy, holy’ at Yahweh’s throne and then touched my lips with a burning coal—should I have hidden in my house? Aya treated those burns for weeks afterward.” Isaiah wiped the tears that came unbidden. “No, Micah. I will make a spectacle whenever He asks me to do so.”
Micah clasped Isaiah’s shoulder, releasing a deep sigh. “I know you’ve suffered for the calling—as have all Yahweh’s prophets. But let me ask two simple questions. If your answer is yes, I’ll do as you say.”
Isaiah nodded, feeling a mounting sense of dread.
“Did Yahweh specifically instruct you to take Yaira to the Upper Pool?”
Isaiah’s cheeks and neck warmed. He must answer truthfully. “No. I did not hear that specific instruction from Yahweh.”
“Did you specifically hear from Yahweh that Yaira’s pregnancy was the fulfillment?”
“No, but she told Aya she’s never—”
Micah lifted his hand, stifling the argument. “Please, my friend. Simply wait until you hear from Yahweh. I ask because if you’re wrong, the ramifications for my sister’s future are irreparable. She is young and was so frightened when I found her in Jericho. She’s not prone to deceit, but in this situation both the truth and the lie are equally frightening. Let’s give her—and Yahweh—more time.”
Isaiah felt disappointment akin to waving a white flag in battle. Why would he feel defeated unless his selfish pride was involved? Was it selfish to prove King Ahaz’s failure or that Yahweh had released the captives, not Molek? His inner voice shouted, Yahweh can prove Himself and will judge King Ahaz, and won the fight.