Free Gods And Kings by Lynn Austin Page A

a few others followed.
    Uriah held his breath, waiting to see how many more would leave. When enough men remained for their decision to be legally binding, he exhaled. He quickly passed the box for the vote, listening to the dull thud of the stones as they hit the bottom. When it came around to him, he tossed in his white stone, then turned the box over and dumped its contents in the middle of the circle.
    “Count them,” he ordered.
    He could tell by the mixture of black and white that the vote would be close. Uriah watched tensely as two scribes separated and counted the stones. If the vote went against him, he would have to resign as high priest. His authority over the priests and Levites and his power to make changes in the Temple would come to an end. But if he won, today would bring a new beginning.
    “Twenty-three black,” the first scribe announced.
    “And twenty-eight white,” the second one added. “The vote has gone in your favor, Uriah.”
    They passed the container to collect the unused stones, and the men silently filed out, exhausted from the emotional strain of the meeting. When he was alone, Uriah sank onto his uncle’s seat on the dais, staring at the stones still piled in the center of the room.
    He had won. He had a new position of power with the king, and now the priests and Levites supported his leadership, as well. His whole life had shifted in the past few hours and had finally come into focus.
    Uriah knew he should be elated, but his victory left him with a hollow feeling inside that he was afraid to examine too closely. He would wait until the sacrifice to Molech was over, he told himself. Maybe then he would feel differently. Maybe then he could silence the nagging voice that haunted him.

4
    H IS MOTHER’S SCREAMS JOLTED him awake. Hezekiah opened his eyes and the nightmare returned. Like the rumble of an approaching storm, the soldiers poured down the hallway toward his room. They were coming again—for him.
    The last time they came, Hezekiah hadn’t known the horror that awaited Eliab. But this time he knew. He needed to run, he needed to hide, but there was no place to hide. His mother’s screams grew louder, closer.
    Maybe this was just a dream. Maybe he would wake up. But when he saw his brother’s empty bed next to his, he remembered the stench and the roar of the flames, and he knew it wasn’t a dream.
    The soldiers flung his door open and pulled him from his bed. Strong hands tried to force the tunic over his head. Hezekiah remembered Molech’s gaping mouth and how his brother had fallen, headlong into the flames, and he fought against the soldiers with all his strength. But they picked him up effortlessly, almost amused at his struggle, and carried him out of his room.
    The hallway was shadowy and dim, but he saw dozens of soldiers in the flickering torchlight. The high priest was there, too—the tall, broad-shouldered man Hezekiah had seen in his father’s council room.
    Mama was on her knees, clinging to his feet, pleading with him.
    “Uriah, please! I beg you! Please don’t take my son!” Her eyes were wild and frantic, her face chalky with fear.
    “Mama, help me!” Hezekiah cried. “Help me!” He struggled to go to her, but the soldier held him tightly.
    “Please, Uriah, please!” she begged.
    “Abijah, don’t …” The high priest tried to take her arm and help her stand up, but she clung to his legs.
    “They’ve already killed my Eliab. Isn’t that enough?” she asked.
    “Please don’t kill Hezekiah, too! I beg you! For my father’s sake! For my sake, have mercy on my son! He’s all I have left!”
    “Take her out of here,” Uriah said quietly.
    “No—Uriah, no! You have to help me!” A knot of soldiers surrounded her. She screamed helplessly as they pried her hands from Uriah’s feet. Hezekiah fought and kicked with all his strength, crying in terror as he struggled to go to his mother. But she disappeared from sight as the men dragged her