Free Warrior Poet by Timothy J. Stoner Page A

gesturing Ginath away. He sat up, his head bent, letting the flood of emotion subside. The impact of those images was still strong upon him. What he would not do to go back to those days when his boys wanted nothing more than to be by his side, their little faces lifted expectantly, believing anything he would tell them.
    Had I stayed home, would my boys have strayed from the Lord? Were they punishing me?
    He blamed his aching joints, but what he would never admit was that his ill humor was brought on more by the pain of regret than by physical discomfort.
    “Help me up,” he snapped.
    Sitting by the newly made fire, he flicked his hand toward the cup of steaming tea. “Did you put honey in it?”
    “Yes, Master. It is just as you like it.”
    “Well, then, bring it here before it cools down. If it sits too long, it becomes as palatable as warm urine.” He had decided that regardless of the condition of his stomach, the herb drink might do him some good. It might even jog his memory. There was something he needed to remember, but the only thing on his mind was Abijah’s accusatory face.
    Ginath was right; the temperature was perfect. Not hot enough to burn his tongue, but too hot to swallow in large, careless gulps. It forced him to concentrate, turning a simple act into a ritual that calmed and ordered his thoughts. At times, blowing on the steaming liquid could feel like an act of prayer. This morning, as his breath made the steam sway, it brought to mind images from the creation story.
    He followed the dancing tendrils of steam. Breath had spiritual power, he knew. There was also spiritual power in dance. Of this, he had been intimately aware in his youth, when he joined the exuberant young men celebrating with abandon—the ecstatic movements could take you into the heavens themselves.
    “Here you are,” Ginath said, handing him a slice of bread.
    Samuel accepted it without a word. The knot was beginning to untangle. He could not say why, but he knew he needed sustenance. He took another sip. The dancing steam brought to mind the Ruah —the breath or Spirit of Yahweh, who danced over the waters at creation. And this was the key that released the memory.
    The Ruah not only created but also anointed men for service. He had rested upon Aaron as priest as well as Bezalel of the tribe of Judah, who had been gifted to make the tabernacle a thing of astounding beauty. Samuel’s experience with Saul had taught him that the Ruahalso anointed kings, and this was symbolized by the perfumed oil that represented the Spirit of God. It was this image that reminded Samuel of what the Voice had told him.
    His chest grew suddenly tight as it all came back to him. He had been ordered to anoint a member of the tribe of Judah. This man would not be constructing a building but taking over Saul’s kingdom. Samuel’s assignment was to commit treason.
    “We are going to be leaving on a trip,” he said gruffly. “I will need all my strength.” He looked at the basket in the corner. “We don’t have any eggs, do we? I could do with two.”
    “I will get some,” Ginath responded. “And they will be fried so they are crispy around the edges but soft in the middle.” He added this quickly, before Samuel could remind him of what he already knew.
    “Make sure you make some for yourself. I don’t want you fainting along the way. We have a journey ahead of us.”
    They left the house about an hour later. Samuel and Ginath rode together on their donkey. The Ethiopian sat in front, holding the reins. It was a warm day, and there was barely a hint of breeze. It promised to be a hot, dry day, not ideal for a long journey on the back of a donkey.
     
    They traveled carefully on the rugged road that meandered through the golden hills covered with dry grass. It had not rained for months, and all the vegetation had turned brown. The better vantage points on their route revealed occasional vistas of higher hills overgrown with fruit trees,