Gili walked softly to the door of her parents’ bedroom and lifted the latch as quietly as she could. Inching the door open, she stared intently at the bed where her parents lay sleeping. The moonlight streamed through the windows of the room behind her and perfectly silhouetted her in the doorframe. She stood motionless, and except for the barely audible whimpers, she could have been a statue.
Miriam rustled ever so slightly in the bed and said softly, “What’s the matter, Gili?”
It was all the invitation Gili needed, and she scurried across the floor to half sit and half lie on the bed. She threw her arms around her mother, hugging her tightly.
Miriam eased her hand from beneath the wool blanket and gently ran her fingers through the girl’s long hair. “It’s okay, little lamb,” she whispered. “Everything is all right.”
This was nothing new. Countless times over Gili’s ten years, a vivid dream of one sort or another would cause the little girl to flee from her room in the middle of the night, seeking the security of her mother’s arms. Sometimes she would be sobbing, but most often, like tonight, she would whimper softly, needing the reassurance that her mother was near.
Through a sleep-fogged mind and with eyes still closed, Miriam asked, “What’s troubling you tonight, my joy?”
Gili shook her head and snuggled more closely against the warmth and security of her mother.
The two of them lay quietly, Miriam drifting in and out of sleep and Gili completely awake. Gili slowly reached up and softly stroked her mother’s cheek. “Momma, are you awake?” she whispered.
“Uh huh,” Miriam answered groggily, more asleep than awake.
“There were soldiers,” Gili said softly as she continued stroking Miriam’s cheek. “Many of them.”
Miriam shifted slightly, and Gili immediately took advantage of the added space to wriggle more deeply into the bed and slide her cool feet against Miriam’s legs.
“Soldiers?” Miriam mumbled, as the forces of sleep and consciousness waged war in her head.
“They were everywhere,” Gili said a little louder than a whisper. “Here, in Edrei,” she said, patting Miriam on the cheek as if to make sure her mother was awake and listening.
Sleep fled, and Miriam’s eyes opened. Her stomach tightened in a knot, and a sense of dread washed over her. On many occasions since Gideon had been gored, the little girl had been given promptings and impressions that the others never felt. Miriam had thought about it repeatedly over the years, wondering if her daughter’s sensitivity was a result of her closeness to Elisha or if she was drawn to the prophet because of her natural spiritual capacity. Either way, Miriam had learned to listen carefully to Gili’s utterances about future events.
Gideon rolled over and groaned as Miriam pushed herself upright in bed. In as calm a voice as possible, she said, “Do you want to tell me about the soldiers, honey?”
Gili didn’t sit up but instead pulled the blanket tightly around her shoulders and nestled more tightly against Miriam. In a voice betraying her distraught emotion, Gili said, “It was terrible. My dream was terrible.”
Sensing Gili’s anxiety, Miriam reached over and gently shook Gideon’s shoulder. “Wake up,” she said softly but firmly.
Unlike Miriam’s slow awakening, Gideon immediately sat up with his senses scrambling to analyze if there was a threat and what it was. “What is it? What’s wrong?” he asked rapidly.
Miriam patted his shoulder. “Be calm. Gili had a bad dream and wants to talk about it.”
The tension drained from Gideon as he looked at Gili snuggled tightly against Miriam. “Oh.” As he leaned his back against the bed’s headboard, he said soothingly, “Hi, precious,” and patted the bed in the space between him and Miriam.
Gili tossed the blanket aside, scurried over Miriam’s legs, and wrapped her arms around Gideon’s neck. Clinging with all her might, she blurted out, “They killed you, Daddy. The soldiers killed you and—” That was as far as she got before the rest of her words were washed away in a burst of tears and unintelligible mumbles.
Gideon hugged Gili tightly and kissed her lightly on the side of her head. “It’s all right, Gili,” he comforted as he patted her gently on the back. “Nothing is going to happen to me.”
Although Gideon couldn’t see her clearly in the dark, he could sense Miriam staring at him, and he could only imagine the look of panic on her face. As much for Miriam’s benefit as Gili’s, he said, “Everything is fine. You just had a bad dream. In the morning, things will be just like they always are. When morning comes, you’ll—”
“No, it won’t, Daddy,” Gili insisted, pushing herself slightly away from Gideon. “You don’t understand. Everything won’t be fine.”
Gideon reached up and grasped each of Gili’s arms. With his face only inches from hers, he said calmly and reassuringly, “Gili, you had a very bad dream. You’ll see—things will be better in the morning.”
“NO!” she screamed defiantly as the tears flooded down her cheeks and dripped on the blanket. “Tell him, Momma,” she sobbed, looking over at Miriam. “Tell him that everything won’t be fine.” She lunged over into the arms of her mother.
Miriam clung onto Gili in alarm. Never, ever, had the child been so distraught or inconsolable. “Gili, Gili, Gili,” Miriam repeated softly as she held the girl tightly and gently swayed side to side to calm her, all the time staring through the black of the night at Gideon, who had now twisted sideways in the bed to face them.
Gili wrapped her arms around Miriam and began squeezing so tightly that Miriam struggled to take a lungful of air. Clinging to her mother as if she would never let go, Gili continued, “And then they took me. The soldiers took me away from you.”
Miriam tightened her embrace momentarily before reaching up with one hand and stroking Gili’s hair reassuringly. After a long moment with only the sound of Gili’s sobs, Miriam looked to Gideon and said, “We should listen to the child.” Making no effort to conceal her fear and anxiety, she added, “We should leave this place—now—before something bad happens.”
Gideon looked first at his sobbing daughter and then his wife. Reaching out he patted Gili lightly on the back and then gently stroked Miriam’s cheek with the tips of his rough fingers. Nodding his head slightly, he said, “You’re right. We should leave.”
Miriam’s mouth dropped open, and she leaned back in total surprise. Swallowing quickly she asked, “You agree we should leave? We’re going to Jerusalem?”
Gideon threw the covers off his legs and rose from the bed. “Yes, we should leave—but not for Jerusalem.”
“Where will we go?” Miriam asked anxiously as she shifted Gili in her arms.
Gideon didn’t respond. He walked quickly to the door and shouted, “Uzzi, Hanan, Caleb, wake up and come here.” Walking into the large room, he picked up a smoldering stick of wood from the fireplace and fanned it to a flame. He went back into the bedroom and lit an oil lamp on a table beside the bed and another one hanging from the wall.
Uzzi ran through the bedroom doorway, fully awake, and asked loudly, “What’s the matter?”
Before Gideon could reply, Hanan and Caleb staggered in, each of them only slightly more awake than asleep. Hanan said nothing, and Caleb croaked out a groggy, “What?”
“Listen to me very carefully, and I want you to do exactly as I say. Do you understand?”
The seriousness and force with which Gideon spoke instantly galvanized the boys’ attention. Whatever sleep clouded their minds was replaced with perfect attention. All three boys looked at Gideon and nodded their heads in unison.
“Uzzi, go to your room. Get your bow and quiver and put them by the fireplace. Then go down to the shed and get the bow and quiver hanging over the doorway. Bring them back here as quickly as you can.”
Without a second’s hesitation, Uzzi ran from the room, put on his sandals, and was out the front door of the house in a dead run.
Looking at Hanan, Gideon said, “I want you to run to the shed where we store the wool. In the corner of the shed, you’ll find a large wooden box under a sheepskin. Inside the box are three leather quivers filled with fifty arrows each. Bring them here at once.”
“Why?” Hanan asked.
“I don’t have time to explain; just do it,” Gideon demanded.
Hanan shrugged his shoulders, walked back to his room, slowly tied on his sandals, then walked out the door.
“Caleb,” Gideon said, “where is your sling and supply of rocks?”
“Beneath my bed,” the boy replied.
“Did you finish making the leather pouches to hold the rocks as I asked?”
“Three are finished, but I haven’t finished the flap on the fourth one yet,” Caleb answered.
“It will have to do. Get everything, and put it all by the fireplace,” Gideon ordered.
Caleb’s eyes glowed in uneasy excitement, and he shot from the room to do as he’d been asked.
Gili had stopped crying as soon as Gideon lit the oil lamps. She and Miriam now sat arm-in-arm on the bed with dumbfounded looks on their face. They watched Gideon as he knelt down on his hands and knees and pulled a dirty goatskin from a space between the headboard and the wall. Placing the goatskin on the table beside the bed, he unfolded it to reveal a powerful-looking steel bow and the hilt of a sword sticking from a long metal scabbard. As Gideon pulled the sword from the scabbard, the sound of metal against metal made Gili cringe, and she gripped her mother’s arm. The long blade glistened as Gideon tested its sharpness with his thumb. The merchant who’d sold him the sword laughed when Gideon said he would hone the blade to an even keener edge. “It’s Damascus steel, straight from a dead Syrian. It can’t get any sharper.” Gideon hoped the man was right because he hadn’t sharpened the blade, and now he was out of time.
Looking at the surprised expression on Miriam’s face, Gideon said, “I may die, but not without a fight.” And then his voice softened. “It would be very helpful if both of you would each get dressed in your very warmest robes, and then gather together six wool blankets and place them by the fireplace.”
“Warmest robes?” Miriam asked skeptically. “It’s summer and hot outside. We won’t need robes to travel.”
Gideon smiled slightly and repeated, “Your warmest robes. It’s quite cool where we’re going. When the boys return, tell them to do the same.” Then walking toward the door, he said, “I’ll be back in a few minutes, but we must hurry.”