Free Gods And Kings by Lynn Austin Page B

away, her agonized screams fading in the distance.
    Then the high priest turned to Hezekiah. He gripped Hezekiah’s shoulders in his huge hands and shook him. “Be quiet!”
    The power of his thundering voice stunned Hezekiah into silence.He gazed up at Uriah, and the man seemed like a giant to him. Hezekiah pleaded wordlessly for his life, too terrified to speak, but Uriah turned away.
    “Let’s get this over with,” he said.
    The soldiers made Hezekiah join the other children, the sons of Ahaz’s concubines. Hezekiah and his half-brother Amariah were nearly the same height and only a few months apart in age. But he knew that he was older than Amariah. As the eldest son of King Ahaz, Hezekiah knew he was next in line on the royal throne of King David. He was also next in line to die in the fire.
    He couldn’t walk. One of the soldiers bent to pick him up, and he fought desperately to break free. But the more he struggled the tighter the soldier gripped him. Hezekiah kicked and flailed, clawing at the arms that encircled him, crying out in terror as he was carried through the halls and down the darkened stairways. By the time he reached the courtyard and the waiting procession, Hezekiah felt bruised and numb, too exhausted to struggle anymore.
    The early morning sun hurt his eyes when he emerged from the dimly lit palace corridors. But as his eyes adjusted, he could see that everything was nearly the same as the last time—the huge crowds of people, the waiting priests and nobles, the white-robed children. Only the endless rows of soldiers were missing. And in the middle of them all was his father, King Ahaz.
    The procession started down the hill through the city streets to the Valley of Hinnom again. The soldier who was carrying Hezekiah set him down and ordered him to walk, but Hezekiah’s legs trembled so violently with fear that the soldiers had to support him on either side. The two men pushed and dragged him through the streets until they finally reached the southern gate.
    Hezekiah froze when he saw the jagged cliffs that marked the entrance to the valley of death. Once again, a thin column of smoke snaked into the sky in the distance. He couldn’t move.
    “No … no …” he whimpered. But the soldiers jerked him roughly by the arms and propelled him forward against his will, his feet dragging.
    Some of the other children started to wail, and the priests began their chant to drown out the pitiful cries: “Molech … Molech … Molech …” The throbbing cadence echoed off the cliffs and city walls, swelling as the procession inched closer to the site of the sacrifice. Each beat of the priests’ drums felt like a fist in Hezekiah’s stomach. They were almost there. He couldn’t escape.
    Suddenly the man Hezekiah remembered meeting at the Gihon Spring pushed his way through the crowd, stepping in front of King Ahaz to block his path. Isaiah’s eyes flashed with anger, and his whole body shook with rage until he seemed about to burst apart. He shouted above the pounding drums in a voice that penetrated to the soul.
    “Hear, O heavens! Listen, O earth! For Yahweh has spoken: ‘I reared children and brought them up, but they have rebelled against me. The ox knows his master, the donkey his owner’s manger, but Israel does not know, my people do not understand.’” “Get out of my way!” Ahaz said, shoving him aside. The king continued walking, his eyes fixed on the fire god ahead of him. But Isaiah stayed with him, walking backward to face him, shouting to be heard above the din.
    “Ah, sinful nation, a people loaded with guilt, children given to corruption!” He spread his arms wide to include the entire crowd.
    “They have forsaken Yahweh. They have spurned the Holy One of Israel and turned their backs on him.”
    Again, Isaiah tried to stand in Ahaz’s path, and Hezekiah felt a glimmer of hope for the first time since he’d been awakened that morning. But the king shoved him aside—harder