ELIJAH DID NOT GO back to the widow’s house. He began walking through the desert, not knowing exactly where he wanted to go.

“The Lord did nothing,” he said to the plants and rocks. “And He could have done something.”

He regretted his decision and blamed himself for the death of yet another man. If he had accepted the idea of the Council of Akbar meeting in secret, the governor could have taken Elijah with him; then it would have been the two of them against the high priest and the commander. Their chances, though still small, would have been better than in the public judgment.

Worse yet, he had been impressed by the high priest’s way of addressing the crowd; even though he disagreed with what he said, he was obliged to recognize that here was someone with a profound understanding of leadership. He would try to remember every detail of what he had seen, for one day, in Israel, he would have to face the king and the princess from Sidon.

He wandered aimlessly, looking at the mountains, the city, and the Assyrian encampment in the distance. He was a mere dot in this valley, and there was an immense world around him, a world so large that even if he traveled his entire life he would never find where it ended. His friends, and his enemies, might perhaps better understand the earth where they lived, might travel to distant countries, navigate unknown seas, love a woman without guilt. None of them still heard the angels of their childhood, nor offered themselves in the Lord’s struggle. They lived out their lives in the present moment, and they were happy.

He too was a person like all the others, and in this moment walking through the valley he wished above all else never to have heard the voice of the Lord, or of His angels.

But life is made not of desires but of the acts of each person. He recalled that several times in the past he had tried to renounce his mission, but he was still there, in the middle of that valley, because this the Lord had demanded.

“I could have been a mere carpenter, O Lord, and still be useful to Thy work.”

But there Elijah stood, carrying out what had been demanded of him, bearing within him the weight of the war to come, the massacre of the prophets by Jezebel, the death by stoning of the Assyrian general, his fear of loving a woman of Akbar. The Lord had given him a gift, and he did not know what to do with it.

In the middle of the valley, a light appeared. It was not his guardian angel, the one he heard but seldom saw. It was an angel of the Lord, come to console him.

“I can do nothing further here,” said Elijah. “When will I return to Israel?”

“When thou learnest to rebuild,” answered the angel. “But remember that which God taught Moses before a battle. Make use of every moment so that later thou wilt not regret, nor lament having lost thy youth. To every age in the life of a man, the Lord bestoweth upon him its own misgivings.”

THE LORD SPOKE UNTO MOSES:

“Say unto them, Hear, O Israel, ye approach this day unto battle against your enemies: let not your hearts faint, fear not, and do not tremble, neither be ye terrified because of them. And what man is he that hath planted a vineyard, and bath not yet eaten of it? Let him also go and return unto his house, lest he die in the battle, and another man eat of it. And what man is there that bath betrothed a wife, and hath not taken her? Let him go and return unto his house, lest he die in the battle, and another man take her.”

ELIJAH CONTINUED WALKING FOR SOME TIME, SEEKING to understand what he had heard. As he was readying to return to Akbar, he saw the woman he loved sitting on a rock facing the Fifth Mountain, a few minutes’ walk from where he stood.

“What is she doing here? Does she know about the judgment, the death sentence, and the risks we have come to face?”

He must alert her at once. He decided to approach her.

She noticed his presence and waved. Elijah appeared to have forgotten the angel’s words, for the feeling of uncertainty came rushing back. He tried to feign that he was worried about the problems of the city, so that she might not perceive the confusion in his heart and his mind.

“What are you doing here?” he asked when he drew close.

“I came in search of a bit of inspiration. The writing that I’m learning made me think about the Designer of the valleys, of the mountains, of the city of Akbar. Some merchants gave me inks of every color, because they want me to write for them. I thought of using them to describe the world I live in, but I know how difficult that is: although I have the colors, only the Lord can mix them with such harmony.”

She kept her gaze on the Fifth Mountain. She was a completely different person from the woman he had met some months before gathering wood at the city gate. Her solitary presence in the midst of the desert inspired confidence and respect in him.

“Why do all the mountains have names except the Fifth Mountain, which is known by a number?” asked Elijah.

“So as not to create conflict among the gods,” she replied. “According to tradition, if men had given that mountain the name of a specific god, the others would have become furious and destroyed the earth. Therefore it’s called the Fifth Mountain, because it’s the fifth mountain we see beyond the walls. In this way, we offend no one, and the Universe continues in its place.”

They said nothing for a time. The woman broke the silence.

“Besides reflecting on colors, I also think about the danger in the writing of Byblos. It might offend the gods of Phoenicia and the Lord our God.”

“Only the Lord exists,” interrupted Elijah. “And every civilized country has its writing.”

“But it’s different. When I was a child, I used to go to the square to watch the word painter who worked for the merchants. His drawings were based on Egyptian script and demanded skill and knowledge. Now, ancient and powerful Egypt is in decadence, without money to buy anything, and no one uses its language anymore; sailors from Sidon and Tyre are spreading the writing of Byblos to the entire world. The sacred words and ceremonies can be placed on clay tablets and transmitted from one people to another. What will become of the world if unscrupulous people begin using the rituals to interfere with the Universe?”

Elijah understood what the woman was saying. The writing of Byblos was based on a very simple system: the Egyptian drawings first had to be transformed into sounds, and then a letter was designated for each sound. By placing these letters in order, it was possible to create all possible sounds and to describe everything there was in the Universe.

Some of these sounds were very difficult to pronounce. That difficulty had been solved by the Greeks, who had added five more letters, called vowels, to the twenty-odd characters of Byblos. They baptized this innovation alphabet, a name now used to define the new form of writing.

This had greatly facilitated commercial contact among differing peoples. The Egyptian system had required much space and a great deal of ability to draw the ideas, as well as profound understanding to interpret them; it had been imposed on conquered nations but had not survived the decline of the empire. The system of Byblos, however, was spreading rapidly through the world, and it no longer depended on the economic might of Phoenicia for its adoption.

The method of Byblos, with the Greek adaptation, had pleased the traders of the various nations; as had been the case since ancient times, it was they who decided what should remain in history and what would disappear with the death of a given king or a given person. Everything indicated that the Phoenician invention was destined to become the common language of business, surviving its navigators, its kings, its seductive princesses, its wine makers, its master glassmakers.

“Will God disappear from words?” the woman asked.

“He will continue in them,” Elijah replied. “But each person will be responsible before Him for whatever he writes.”

She took from the sleeve of her garment a clay tablet with something written on it.

“What does that mean?” Elijah asked.

“It’s the word love.”

Elijah took the tablet in his hands, not daring to ask why she had given it to him. On that piece of clay, a few scratches summed up why the stars continued in the heavens and why men walked the earth.

He tried to return it to her, but she refused.

“I wrote it for you. I know your responsibility, I know that one day you will have to leave, and that you will become an enemy of my country because you wish to do away with Jezebel. On that day, it may come to pass that I shall be at your side, supporting you in your task. Or it may come to pass that I fight against you, for Jezebel’s blood is the blood of my country; this word that you hold in your hands is filled with mystery. No one can know what it awakens in a woman’s heart, not even prophets who speak with God.”

“I know the word that you have written,” said Elijah, storing the tablet in a fold of his cape. “I have struggled day and night against it, for, although I do not know what it awakens in a woman’s heart, I know what it can do to a man. I have the courage to face the king of Israel, the princess of Sidon, the Council of Akbar, but that one word—love—inspires deep terror in me. Before you drew it on the tablet, your eyes had already seen it written in my heart.”

They fell silent. Despite the Assyrian’s death, the climate of tension in the city, the call from the Lord that could occur at any moment—none of this was as powerful as the word she had written.

Elijah held out his hand, and she took it. They remained thus until the sun hid itself behind the Fifth Mountain.

“Thank you,” she said as they returned. “For a long time I had desired to spend the hours of sunset with you.”

When they arrived home, an emissary from the governor was waiting for him. He asked Elijah to come with him immediately for a meeting.

“YOU REPAID MY SUPPORT with cowardice,” said the governor. “What should I do with your life?”

“I shall not live a second longer than the Lord desires,” replied Elijah. “It is He who decides, not you.”

The governor was surprised at Elijah’s courage.

“I can have you decapitated at once. Or have you dragged through the streets of the city, saying that you brought a curse upon our people,” he said. “And that would not be a decision of your One God.”

“Whatever my fate, that is what will happen. But I want you to know I did not flee; the commander’s soldiers kept me away. He wants war and will do everything to achieve it.”

The governor decided to waste no more time on that pointless discussion. He had to explain his plan to the Israelite prophet.

“It’s not the commander who wishes war; like a good military man he is aware that his army is smaller and inexperienced and that it will be decimated by the enemy. As a man of honor, he knows he risks causing shame to his descendants. But his heart has been turned into stone by pride and vanity.

“He thinks the enemy is afraid. He doesn’t know that the Assyrian warriors are well trained: when they enter the army, they plant a tree, and every day they leap over the spot where the seed is buried. The seed becomes a shoot, and they leap over it. The shoot becomes a plant, and they go on jumping. They neither become annoyed nor find it a waste of time. Little by little, the tree grows, and the warriors leap higher. Patiently and with dedication, they’re preparing to overcome obstacles.

“They’re accustomed to recognizing a challenge when they see it. They’ve been observing us for months.”

Elijah interrupted the governor.

“Then, in whose interest is war?”

“The high priest’s. I saw that during the Assyrian prisoner’s trial.”

“For what reason?”

“I don’t know. But he was shrewd enough to convince the commander and the people. Now the entire city is on his side, and I see only one way out of the difficult situation in which we find ourselves.”

He paused for a long moment, then looked directly into the Israelite’s eyes. “You.”

The governor began pacing the chamber, his rapid speech betraying his nervousness.

“The merchants also desire peace, but they can do nothing. In any case, they are rich enough to install themselves in some other city or to wait until the conquerors begin buying their products. The rest of the populace have lost their senses and want us to attack an infinitely superior enemy. The only thing that can change their minds is a miracle.”

Elijah became tense.

“A miracle?”

“You brought back a boy that death had already claimed. You’ve helped the people find their way, and though you are a foreigner you are loved by almost everyone.”

“That was the situation until this morning,” Elijah said. “But now it’s changed; in the atmosphere you’ve just described, anyone who advocates peace will be considered a traitor.”

“I don’t want you to advocate anything. I want you to perform a miracle as great as the resurrection of that boy. Then you’ll tell the people that peace is the only solution, and they’ll listen to you. The high priest will lose completely whatever power he possesses.”

There was a moment of silence. The governor continued.

“I am willing to make a pact: if you do what I’m asking, the religion of the One God will become obligatory in Akbar. You will please Him whom you serve, and I shall be able to negotiate terms of peace.”

ELIJAH CLIMBED THE STAIRS to his room in the upper story of the widow’s house. At that moment he had in his hands an opportunity that no prophet had ever had before: to convert a Phoenician city. It would be the most painful way to show Jezebel that there was a price to pay for what she had done to his country.

He was excited by the governor’s offer. He even thought of waking the woman who was sleeping downstairs but changed his mind; she must be dreaming about the beautiful afternoon they had spent together.

He called on his guardian angel. He appeared.

“You heard the governor’s proposal,” Elijah said. “This is a unique chance.”

“Nothing is a unique chance,” the angel replied. “The Lord giveth men many opportunities. And do not forget what was said: no further miracle will be permitted thee until thou returnest to the bosom of thy country.”

Elijah lowered his head. At that moment the angel of the Lord appeared and hushed his guardian angel. And he said:

“Behold the next of thy miracles:

“Thou wilt gather the people together before the mountain. On one side, thou shalt order built an altar to Baal, and that a bullock be placed on it. On the other side, thou shalt raise an altar to the Lord thy God, and on it also place a bullock.

“And thou shalt say to the worshipers of Baal: invoke the name of your god, and I shall invoke the name of the Lord. Let them be first, and let them spend from morning until noon praying and calling on Baal to come forth and receive what is offered him.

“They will cry out aloud, and cut themselves with knives, asking that the bullock be received by their god, but nothing will happen.

“When they weary, thou shalt fill four barrels with water and pour it over thy bullock. Thou shalt do this a second time. And thou shalt do this still a third time. Then call upon the Lord of Abraham, Isaac, and Israel, asking Him to show His power to all.

“At that moment, the Lord will send the fire from heaven and consume thy sacrifice.”

Elijah knelt and gave thanks.

“However,” continued the angel, “this miracle can be wrought but once in thy lifetime. Choose whether thou desirest to do it here, to avoid a battle, or in thy homeland, to free thy people from Jezebel.”

And the angel of the Lord departed.

THE WOMAN AWOKE EARLY and saw Elijah sitting in the doorway of the house. His eyes were deep in their sockets, like those of one who has not slept.

She would have liked to ask what had happened the night before, but she feared his response. It was possible that the sleepless night had been provoked by his talk with the governor and by the threat of war; but there might be another reason—the clay tablet she had given him. If so, and she raised the subject, she risked hearing that the love of a woman was not in accord with God’s design.

She said only the words, “Come and eat something.”

Her son awakened also. The three sat down at the table and ate.

“I should have liked to stay with you yesterday,” Elijah said, “but the governor needed me.”

“Do not concern yourself with him,” she said, a calm feeling reentering her heart. “His family has ruled Akbar for generations, and he will know what to do in the face of the threat.”

“I also spoke with an angel. And he demanded of me a very difficult decision.”

“Nor should you be disturbed because of angels; perhaps it’s better to believe that the gods change with the times. My ancestors worshiped the Egyptian gods, who had the forms of animals. Those gods went away, and until you arrived, I was brought up to make sacrifices to Asherat, El, Baal, and all the dwellers on the Fifth Mountain. Now I have known the Lord, but He too may leave us one day, and the next gods may be less demanding.”

The boy asked for water. There was none.

“I’ll go and fetch it,” said Elijah.

“I want to go with you,” the boy said.

They walked toward the well. On the way they passed the spot where the commander had since the early hours been training his soldiers.

“Let’s watch for a while,” said the boy. “I’ll be a soldier when I grow up.”

Elijah did as he asked.

“Which of us is best at using a sword?” asked one warrior.

“Go to the place where the spy was stoned yesterday,” said the commander. “Pick up a stone and insult it.”

“Why should I do that? The stone would not answer me back.”

“Then attack it with your sword.”

“My sword will break,” said the soldier. “And that wasn’t what I asked; I want to know who’s the best at using a sword.”

“The best is the one who’s most like a rock,” answered the commander. “Without drawing its blade, it proves that no one can defeat it.”

“The governor is right: the commander is a wise man,” thought Elijah. “But the greatest wisdom is blinded by the glare of vanity.”

THEY CONTINUED on their way. The boy asked why the soldiers were training so much.

“It’s not just the soldiers, but your mother too, and I, and those who follow their heart. Everything in life demands training.”

“Even being a prophet?”

“Even to understand angels. We so want to talk with them that we don’t listen to what they’re saying. It’s not easy to listen: in our prayers we always try to say where we have erred, and what we should like to happen to us. But the Lord already knows all of this, and sometimes asks us only to hear what the Universe is telling us. And to be patient.”

The boy looked at him in surprise. He probably understood nothing, but even so Elijah felt the need to continue the conversation. Perhaps when he came to manhood one of these words might assist him in a difficult situation.

“All life’s battles teach us something, even those we lose. When you grow up, you’ll discover that you have defended lies, deceived yourself, or suffered for foolishness. If you’re a good warrior, you will not blame yourself for this, but neither will you allow your mistakes to repeat themselves.”

He decided to speak no further; a boy of that age could not understand what he was saying. They walked slowly, and Elijah looked at the streets of the city that had sheltered him and was about to disappear. Everything depended on the decision he must make.

Akbar was more silent than usual. In the central square, people talked in hushed tones, as if fearful that the wind might carry their words to the Assyrian camp. The more elderly among them swore that nothing would happen, while the young were excited at the prospect of battle, and the merchants and artisans made plans to go to Sidon and Tyre until calm was restored.

“It is easy for them to leave,” he thought. Merchants can transport their goods anywhere in the world. Artisans too can work, even in places where a strange language is spoken. “But I must have the Lord’s permission.”

THEY CAME to the well, where they filled two vessels with water. Usually the place was crowded with people; women meeting to wash clothes, dye fabrics, and comment on everything that happened in the city. Nothing could be kept secret close to the well; news about business, family betrayals, problems between neighbors, the intimate lives of the rulers—every matter, serious or superficial, was discussed, commented upon, criticized, or applauded there. Even during the months in which the enemy forces had grown unceasingly, Jezebel, the princess who had conquered the king of Israel, remained the favorite topic. People praised her boldness, her courage, and were certain that, should anything happen to the city, she would come back to her country to avenge it.

That morning, however, almost no one was there. The few women present said that it was necessary to go to the fields and harvest the largest possible amount of grain, for the Assyrians would soon close off the entrance and exit to the city. Two of them were making plans to go to the Fifth Mountain and offer sacrifices to the gods; they had no wish to see their sons die in combat.

“The high priest said that we can resist for many months,” one woman commented to Elijah. “We need only to have the necessary courage to defend Akbar’s honor and the gods will come to our aid.”

The boy was frightened.

“Is the enemy going to attack?” he asked.

Elijah did not reply; it depended on the choice that the angel had offered him the night before.

“I’m afraid,” the boy said insistently.

“That proves that you find joy in living. It’s normal to feel fear at certain moments.”

ELIJAH AND THE BOY returned home before the morning was over. They found the woman ringed by small vessels with inks of various colors.

“I have to work,” she said, looking at the unfinished letters and phrases. “Because of the drought, the city is full of dust. The brushes are always dirty, the ink mixes with dust, and everything becomes more difficult.”

Elijah remained silent; he did not want to share his concerns with anyone. He sat in a corner of the downstairs room, absorbed in his thoughts. The boy went out to play with his friends.

“He needs silence,” the woman said to herself and tried to concentrate on her work.

She took the rest of the morning to complete a few words that could have been written in half the time, and she felt guilt for not doing what was expected of her; after all, for the first time in her life she had the chance to support her family.

She returned to her work. She was using papyrus, a material that a trader on his way from Egypt had recently brought, asking her to write some commercial letters that he had to send to Damascus. The sheet was not of the best quality, and the ink blurred frequently. “Even with all these difficulties, it’s better than drawing on clay.”

Neighboring countries had the custom of sending their messages on clay tablets or on animal skins. Although their country was in decadence, with an obsolete script, the Egyptians had discovered a light, practical way of recording their commerce and their history; they cut into strips a plant that grew on the banks of the Nile and through a simple process glued the strips side by side, forming a yellowish sheet. Akbar had to import papyrus because it could not be grown in the valley. Though it was expensive, merchants preferred using it, for they could carry the written sheets in their pockets, which was impossible to do with clay tablets and animal skins.

“Everything is becoming simpler,” she thought. A pity that the government’s authorization was needed to use the Byblos alphabet on papyrus. Some outmoded law still obliged written texts to pass inspection by the Council of Akbar.

As soon as her work was done, she showed it to Elijah, who had been watching her the entire time without comment.

“Do you like the result?” she asked.

He seemed to come out of a trance.

“Yes, it’s pretty,” he replied, giving no mind to what he was saying.

He must be talking with the Lord. And she did not want to interrupt him. She left, to call the high priest.

When she returned with the high priest, Elijah was still in the same spot. The two men stared at each other. For a long time, neither spoke.

The high priest was the first to break the silence.

“You are a prophet, and speak with angels. I merely interpret the ancient laws, carry out rituals, and seek to defend my people from the errors they commit. Therefore I know this is not a struggle between men; it is a battle of gods—and I must not absent myself from it.”

“I admire your faith, though you worship gods that do not exist,” answered Elijah. “If the present situation is, as you say, worthy of a celestial battle, the Lord will use me as an instrument to defeat Baal and his companions on the Fifth Mountain. It would have been better for you to order my assassination.”

“I thought of it. But it wasn’t necessary; at the proper moment the gods acted in my favor.”

Elijah did not reply. The high priest turned and picked up the papyrus on which the woman had just written her text.

“Well done,” he commented. After reading it carefully, he took the ring from his finger, dipped it in one of the small vessels of ink, and applied his seal in the left corner. If anyone were found carrying a papyrus without the high priest’s seal, he could be condemned to death.

“Why do you always have to do that?” she asked.

“Because these papyri transport ideas,” he replied. “And ideas have power.”

“They’re just commercial transactions.”

“But they could be battle plans. Or our secret prayers. Nowadays, with letters and papyrus, it has become a simple matter to steal the inspiration of a people. It is difficult to hide clay tablets, or animal skins, but the combination of papyrus and the alphabet of Byblos can bring an end to the civilization of any nation, and destroy the world.”

A woman came running.

“Priest! Priest! Come see what’s happening!”

Elijah and the widow followed him. People were coming from every corner, heading for the same place; the air was close to unbreathable from the dust they raised. Children ran ahead, laughing and shouting. The adults walked slowly, in silence.

When they arrived at the southern gate to the city, a small multitude was already gathered there. The high priest pushed his way through the crowd and came upon the reason for the confusion.

A sentinel of Akbar was kneeling, his arms spread, his hands tied to a large piece of wood on his shoulders. His clothes were in tatters, and his left eye had been gouged out by a small tree branch.

On his chest, written with slashes of a knife, were some Assyrian characters. The high priest understood Egyptian, but the Assyrian language was not important enough to be learned and memorized; it was necessary to ask the help of a trader who was at the scene.

“‘We declare war,’” the man translated.

The onlookers spoke not a word. Elijah could see panic written on their faces.

“Give me your sword,” the high priest said to one of the soldiers.

The soldier obeyed. The high priest asked that the governor and the commander be notified of what had happened. Then, with a swift blow, he plunged the blade into the kneeling sentinel’s heart.

The man moaned and fell to the ground. He was dead, free of the pain and shame of having allowed himself to be captured.

“Tomorrow I shall go to the Fifth Mountain to offer sacrifices,” he told the frightened people. “And the gods will once again remember us.”

Before leaving, he turned to Elijah.

“You see it with your own eyes. The heavens are still helping.”

“One question, nothing more,” said Elijah. “Why do you wish to see your people sacrificed?”

“Because it is what must be done to kill an idea.”

After seeing him talk with the woman that morning, Elijah had understood what that idea was: the alphabet.

“It is too late. Already it spreads throughout the world, and the Assyrians cannot conquer the whole of the earth.”

“And who says they cannot? After all, the gods of the Fifth Mountain are on the side of their armies.”

FOR HOURS HE WALKED the valley, as he had done the afternoon before. He knew there would be at least one more afternoon and night of peace: no war was fought in darkness, because the soldiers could not distinguish the enemy. That night, he knew, the Lord was giving him the chance to change the destiny of the city that had taken him into its bosom.

“Solomon would know what to do,” he told his angel. “And David, and Moses, and Isaac. They were men the Lord trusted, but I am merely an indecisive servant. The Lord has given me a choice that should be His.”

“The history of our ancestors seemeth to be full of the right men in the right places,” answered the angel. “Do not believe it: the Lord demandeth of people only that which is within the possibilities of each of them.”

“Then He has made a mistake with me.”

“Whatever affliction that cometh, finally goeth away. Such are the glories and tragedies of the world.”

“I shall not forget that,” Elijah said. “But when they go away, the tragedies leave behind eternal marks, while the glories leave useless memories.”

The angel made no reply.

“Why, during all this time I have been in Akbar, could I not find allies to work toward peace? What importance has a solitary prophet?”

“What importance hath the sun, in its solitary travel through the heavens? What importance hath a mountain rising in the middle of a valley? What importance hath an isolated well? Yet it is they that indicate the road the caravan is to follow.”

“My heart drowns in sorrow,” said Elijah, kneeling and extending his arms to heaven. “Would that I could die here and now, and never have my hands stained with the blood of my people, or a foreign people. Look behind you. What do you see?”

“Thou knowest that I am blind,” said the angel. “Because mine eyes still retain the light of the Lord’s glory, I can perceive nothing else. I can see only what thy heart telleth me. I can see only the vibrations of the dangers that threaten thee. I cannot know what lieth behind thee…”

“Then I’ll tell you: there lies Akbar. Seen at this time of day, with the afternoon sun lighting its profile, it’s lovely. I have grown accustomed to its streets and walls, to its generous and hospitable folk. Though the city’s inhabitants are still prisoners of commerce and superstition, their hearts are as pure as any nation on earth. With them I have learned much that I did not know; in return, I have listened to their laments and—inspired by God—have been able to resolve their internal conflicts. Many times have I been at risk, and someone has always come to my aid. Why must I choose between saving this city and redeeming my people?”

“Because a man must choose,” answered the angel. “Therein lieth his strength: the power of his decisions.”

“It is a difficult choice; it demands that I accept the death of one people to save another.”

“Even more difficult is defining a path for oneself. He who maketh no choice is dead in the eyes of the Lord, though he go on breathing and walking in the streets.

“Moreover,” the angel continued, “no one dieth. The arms of eternity open for every soul, and each one will carry on his task. There is a reason for everything under the sun.”

Elijah again raised his arms to the heavens.

“My people fell away from the Lord because of a woman’s beauty. Phoenicia may be destroyed because a priest thinks that writing is a threat to the gods. Why does He who made the world prefer to use tragedy to write the book of fate?”

Elijah’s cries echoed through the valley to return to his ears.

“Thou knowest not whereof thou speakest,” the angel replied. “There is no tragedy, only the unavoidable. Everything hath its reason for being: thou needest only distinguish what is temporary from what is lasting.”

“What is temporary?” asked Elijah.

“The unavoidable.”

“And what is lasting?”

“The lessons of the unavoidable.”

Saying this, the angel disappeared.

That night, at the evening meal, Elijah told the woman and the boy, “Prepare your things. We may depart at any moment.”

“You haven’t slept for two days,” said the woman. “An emissary from the governor was here this afternoon, asking for you to go to the palace. I said you were in the valley and would spend the night there.”

“You did well,” he replied, going straightway to his room and falling into a deep sleep.

HE WAS AWAKENED THE NEXT MORNING BY THE SOUND of musical instruments. When he went downstairs to see what was happening, the boy was already at the door.

“Look!” he said, his eyes gleaming with excitement. “It’s war!”

A battalion of soldiers, imposing in their battle gear and armaments, was marching toward the southern gate of Akbar. A group of musicians followed them, marking the battalion’s pace to the beat of drums.

“Yesterday you were afraid,” Elijah told the boy.

“I didn’t know we had so many soldiers. Our warriors are the best!”

He left the boy and went into the street; he must find the governor at any cost. The other inhabitants of the city had been awakened by the sound of the war anthems and were enthralled; for the first time in their lives they were seeing the march of an organized battalion in its military uniforms, its lances and shields reflecting the first rays of dawn. The commander had achieved an enviable feat; he had prepared his army without anyone becoming aware of it, and now—or so Elijah feared—he could make everyone believe that victory over the Assyrians was possible.

He pushed his way through the soldiers and came to the front of the column. There, mounted on horses, the commander and the governor were leading the march.

“We have an agreement!” said Elijah, running to the governor’s side. “I can perform a miracle!”

The governor made no reply. The garrison marched past the city wall and into the valley.

“You know this army is an illusion!” Elijah insisted. “The Assyrians have a five-to-one advantage, and they are experienced warriors! Don’t allow Akbar to be destroyed!”

“What do you desire of me?” the governor asked, without halting his steed. “Last night I sent an emissary so we could talk, and they said you were out of the city. What else could I do?”

“Facing the Assyrians in the open field is suicide! You know that!”

The commander was listening to the conversation, making no comment. He had already discussed his strategy with the governor; the Israelite prophet would have a surprise.

Elijah ran alongside the horses, not knowing exactly what he should do. The column of soldiers left the city, heading toward the middle of the valley.

“Help me, Lord,” he thought. “Just as Thou stopped the sun to help Joshua in combat, stop time and let me convince the governor of his error.”

As soon as he thought this, the commander shouted, “Halt!”

“Perhaps it’s a sign,” Elijah told himself. “I must take advantage of it.”

The soldiers formed two lines of engagement, like human walls. Their shields were firmly anchored in the earth, their swords pointing outward.

“You believe you are looking at Akbar’s warriors,” the governor said to Elijah.

“I’m looking at young men who laugh in the face of death,” was the reply.

“Know then that what we have here is only a battalion. The greater part of our men are in the city, on top of the walls. We have placed there caldrons of boiling oil ready to be poured on the heads of anyone trying to scale them.

“We have stores divided among several locations, so that flaming arrows cannot do away with our food supply. According to the commander’s calculations, we can hold out for almost two months against a siege. While the Assyrians were making ready, so too were we.”

“I was never told this,” Elijah said.

“Remember this: even having helped the people of Akbar, you are still a foreigner, and some in the military could mistake you for a spy.”

“But you wished for peace!”

“Peace is still possible, even after combat begins. But now we shall negotiate under conditions of equality.”

The governor related that messengers had been dispatched to Sidon and Tyre advising of the gravity of their position. It had been difficult for him to ask for help; others might think him incapable of controlling the situation. But he had concluded that this was the only solution.

The commander had developed an ingenious plan; as soon as combat began, he would return to the city to organize the resistance. The troops in the field were to kill as many of the enemy as possible, then withdraw to the mountains. They knew the valley better than anyone and could attack the Assyrians in small skirmishes, thus reducing the pressure of the siege.

Relief would come soon, and the Assyrian army would be decimated. “We can resist for sixty days, but that will not be necessary,” the governor told Elijah.

“But many will die.”

“We are all in the presence of death. And no one is afraid, not even I.”

The governor was surprised at his own courage. He had never before been in a battle, and as the moment of combat drew nearer, he had made plans to flee the city. That morning he had agreed with some of his most faithful friends on the best means of retreat. He could not go to Sidon or Tyre, where he would be considered a traitor, but Jezebel would receive him because she needed men she could trust.

But when he stepped onto the field of battle, he had seen in the soldiers’ eyes an immense joy, as if they had trained their entire lives for an objective and the great moment had finally come.

“Fear exists until the moment when the unavoidable happens,” he told Elijah. “After that, we must waste none of our energy on it.”

Elijah was confused. He felt the same way, though he was ashamed to recognize it; he recalled the boy’s excitement when the troops had marched past.

“Away with you,” the governor said. “You’re a foreigner, unarmed, and have no need to fight for something you do not believe in.”

Elijah did not move.

“They will come,” said the commander. “You were caught by surprise, but we are prepared.”

Even so, Elijah remained where he stood.

They scanned the horizon: no dust. The Assyrian army was not on the move.

The soldiers in the first rank held their spears firmly, pointed forward; the bowmen had their strings half-drawn, ready to loose their arrows at the commander’s order. A few men slashed at the air with their swords to keep their muscles warm.

“Everything is ready,” the commander repeated. “They are going to attack.”

Elijah noticed the euphoria in his voice. He must be eager for the battle to begin, eager to demonstrate his bravery. Beyond a doubt he was imagining the Assyrian warriors, the sword blows, the shouting and confusion, and picturing himself being remembered by the Phoenician priests as an example of efficiency and courage.

The governor interrupted his thoughts.

“They’re not moving.”

Elijah remembered what he had asked of the Lord, for the sun to stand still in the heavens as He had done for Joshua. He tried to talk with his angel but did not hear his voice.

Little by little the spearmen lowered their weapons, the archers relaxed the tension on their bowstrings, the swordsmen replaced their weapons in their scabbards. The burning sun of midday arrived; several warriors fainted from the heat. Even so, for the rest of the day the detachment remained at readiness.

When the sun set, the warriors returned to Akbar; they appeared disappointed at having survived another day.

Elijah alone stayed behind in the valley. He had been wandering about for some time when the light appeared. The angel of the Lord was before him.

“God hath heard thy prayers,” the angel said. “And hath seen the torment in thy soul.”

Elijah turned to the heavens and gave thanks for the blessing.

“The Lord is the source of all glory and all power. He stopped the Assyrian army.”

“No,” the angel replied. “Thou hast said that the choice must be His. And He hath made the choice for thee.”

“LET’S GO,” THE WOMAN TOLD HER SON.

“I don’t want to go,” the boy replied. “I’m proud of Akbar’s soldiers.”

His mother bade him gather his belongings. “Take only what you can carry,” she said.

“You forget we’re poor, and I don’t have much.”

Elijah went up to his room. He looked about him, as if for the first and last time; he quickly descended and stood watching the widow store her inks.

“Thank you for taking me with you,” she said. “I was only fifteen when I married, and I had no idea what life was. Our families had arranged everything; I had been raised since childhood for that moment and carefully prepared to help my husband in all circumstances.”

“Did you love him?”

“I taught my heart to do so. Because there was no choice, I convinced myself that it was the best way. When I lost my husband, I resigned myself to the sameness of day and night; I asked the gods of the Fifth Mountain—in those times I still believed in them—to take me as soon as my son could live on his own.

“That was when you appeared. I’ve told you this once before, and I want to repeat it now: from that day on, I began to notice the beauty of the valley, the dark outline of the mountains projected against the sky, the moon ever-changing shape so the wheat could grow. Many nights while you slept I walked about Akbar, listening to the cries of newborn infants, the songs of men who had been drinking after work, the firm steps of the sentinels on the city walls. How many times had I seen that landscape without noticing how beautiful it was? How many times had I looked at the sky without seeing how deep it is? How many times had I heard the sounds of Akbar around me without understanding that they were part of my life?

“I once again felt an immense will to live. You told me to study the characters of Byblos, and I did. I thought only of pleasing you, but I came to care deeply about what I was doing, and I discovered something: the meaning of my life was whatever I wanted it to be.”

Elijah stroked her hair. It was the first time he had done so.

“Why haven’t you always been like this?” she asked.

“Because I was afraid. But today, waiting for the battle to start, I heard the governor’s words, and I thought of you. Fear reaches only to the point where the unavoidable begins; from there on, it loses its meaning. And all we have left is the hope that we are making the right decision.”

“I’m ready,” she said.

“We shall return to Israel. The Lord has told me what I must do, and so I shall. Jezebel will be removed from power.”

She said nothing. Like all Phoenician women, she was proud of her princess. When they arrived there, she would try to convince the man at her side to change his mind.

“It will be a long journey, and we shall find no rest until I have done what He has asked of me,” said Elijah, as if guessing her thoughts. “Still, your love will be my mainstay, and in the moments I grow weary in the battles in His name, I can find repose in your arms.”

The boy appeared, carrying a small bag on his shoulder. Elijah took it and told the woman, “The hour has come. As you traverse the streets of Akbar, remember each house, each sound. For you will never again see them.”

“I was born in Akbar,” she said. “The city will forever remain in my heart.”

Hearing this, the boy vowed to himself never to forget his mother’s words. If someday he could return, he would look upon the city as if seeing her face.

IT WAS ALREADY DARK when the high priest arrived at the foot of the Fifth Mountain. In his right hand he held a staff; in his left he carried a large sack.

From the sack he took the sacred oil and anointed his forehead and wrists. Then, using the staff, he drew in the sand a bull and a panther, the symbols of the God of the Storm and of the Great Goddess. He said the ritual prayers; finally he opened his arms to heaven to receive the divine revelation.

The gods spoke no more. They had said all they wished to say and now demanded only the carrying out of the rites. The prophets had disappeared everywhere in the world, save in Israel, a backward, superstitious country that still believed men could communicate with the creators of the Universe.

He recalled that generations before, Sidon and Tyre had traded with a king of Jerusalem called Solomon. He was building a great temple and desired to adorn it with the best the world offered; he had commanded that cedars be bought from Phoenicia, which they called Lebanon. The king of Tyre had provided the necessary materials and had received in exchange twenty cities in Galilee, but was not pleased with them. Solomon had then helped him to construct his first ships, and now Phoenicia had the largest merchant fleet in the world.

At that time, Israel was still a great nation, despite worshiping a single god whose name was not even known and who was usually called just “the Lord.” A princess of Sidon had succeeded in returning Solomon to the true faith, and he had erected an altar to the gods of the Fifth Mountain. The Israelites insisted that “the Lord” had punished the wisest of their kings, bringing about the wars that had threatened his reign.

His son Rehoboam, however, carried on the worship that his father had initiated. He ordered two golden calves to be made, and the people of Israel worshiped them. It was then that the prophets appeared and began a ceaseless struggle against the rulers.

Jezebel was right: the only way to keep the true faith alive was by doing away with the prophets. Although she was a gentle woman, brought up in the way of tolerance and of horror at the thought of war, she knew that there comes a moment when violence is the only answer. The blood that now stained her hands would be forgiven by the gods she served.

“Soon, my hands too will be stained with blood,” the high priest told the silent mountain before him. “Just as the prophets are the curse of Israel, writing is the curse of Phoenicia. Both bring about an evil beyond redress, and both must be stopped while it is still possible. The god of weather must not desert us now.”

He was concerned about what had happened that morning; the enemy army had not attacked. The god of weather had abandoned Phoenicia in the past because he had become irritated at its inhabitants. As a consequence, the light of the lamps had stilled, the lambs and cows had abandoned their young, the wheat and barley had failed to ripen. The Sun god commanded that important beings be sent to search for him—the eagle and the God of the Storm—but no one succeeded in finding him. Finally, the Great Goddess sent a bee, which found him asleep in a forest and stung him. He awoke furious and began to destroy everything around him. It was necessary to bind him and remove the wrath from his soul, but from that time onward, all returned to normal.

If he decided to leave again, the battle would not take place. The Assyrians would remain permanently in the entrance to the valley, and Akbar would continue to exist.

“Courage is fear that prays,” he said. “That is why I am here, because I cannot vacillate at the moment of combat. I must show the warriors of Akbar that there is a reason to defend the city. It is neither the well, nor the marketplace, nor the governor’s palace. We shall confront the Assyrian army because we must set the example.”

The Assyrian triumph would end the threat of the alphabet for all time to come. The conquerors would impose their language and their customs, but they would go on worshiping the same gods on the Fifth Mountain; that was what truly mattered.

“In the future, our navigators will take to other lands the feats of our warriors. The priests will recall the names and the date when Akbar attempted to resist the Assyrian invasion. Painters will draw Egyptian characters on papyrus; the scribes of Byblos will be dead. The sacred texts will continue only in the hands of those born to study them. Then the later generations will try to imitate what we have done, and we shall build a better world.

“But now,” he continued, “we must first lose this battle. We shall fight bravely, but our situation is inferior, and we shall die with glory.”

At that moment the high priest listened to the night and saw that he was right. The silence anticipated the moment of an important battle, but the inhabitants of Akbar were misinterpreting it; they had laid down their weapons and were amusing themselves at precisely the moment when they had need of vigilance. They paid no heed to nature’s example: the animals fell silent when danger was at hand.

“Let the gods’ designs be fulfilled. May the heavens not fall upon the earth, for we have acted rightly; we have obeyed tradition,” he concluded.