“Wait!” screamed Ezra, shocked at the sound of his own voice. So loud, so urgent was its tone that every eye in that horrible circle, every face, etched in flickering lines of black and red by the light of the flames, turned toward him.

The priest raised a hand and stopped the men on the bottom step of the great stone altar. The bells on the fringes of his long scarlet robe jangled. The gold and silver rings on his fingers flashed in the firelight as he turned, put his hands on his hips, and glared at Ezra. Ezra could see the whites of the man’s eyes, shining like two milky crescent moons in the night of his dark and frowning face. They fixed the beam of their stare upon him through the smoky air. “Another interruption! What do you mean by it, impudent boy?” the priest demanded.

Ezra found himself striding boldly into the center of the circle. He straightened his headband, planted his feet, and raised his arms toward the sky. “In the name of all that is holy,” he called out in a loud voice, “I ask leave to speak with the king!”

A murmur ran from one end of the open space to the other. It seemed to find an echo in the stirring of the leaves as the wind sighed through the branches of the great terebinth tree. From the lowering sky above came another rumble of thunder. The priest scowled. He was opening his mouth to say something when suddenly Ahaz stepped up to him.

“Let the boy speak, Tammuz,” the king commanded. The priest of Molech hesitated, raised one hand, and opened his mouth. Then, as if thinking better of whatever he had planned to say, he folded his hands, bowed, and took a step backward.

Ezra was trembling violently. He felt sure everyone could see him shake. Any moment he feared his knees would begin knocking together uncontrollably, and his teeth would start chattering. His throat tightened, causing him to gasp for air. He was terribly afraid, and he knew it. But he also knew that, for just this once, he was doing the right thing and dared not stop.

“O King,” he said, his voice quavering painfully, “I-I think you’re making a terrible mistake.”

The murmur rose again, louder this time. Ezra ignored it and pushed ahead. “Yes!” he said, gathering confidence. “A huge mistake. Don’t you see? You’re playing right into a trap!”

The murmur became an excited babble. The priest took a step toward Ahaz, his face twisted into an expression of outrage. The king put out a hand and held him off.

“Go on, boy,” said Ahaz, moving closer to Ezra, his face pale and wet but strangely eager, his lip trembling. “What trap? What do you mean?”

“Well,” answered Ezra, stretching the moment of advantage, “it’s like this: You’re asking a foreign god to help you get rid of the foreigners. Does that make sense?”

Ahaz said nothing, but an odd kind of light seemed to dawn in his haggard face.

“It seems to me,” continued Ezra, “that once a god like this Molech sees you bowing down at his altar, he’s got you right where he wants you. And that can’t be good, because . . . well, after all, he’s on their side —the Assyrians, I mean. What then? I’ll tell you: Wham! Bam! He calls in his people to finish you off! Old Tiglath-Pileser, King of Assyria, couldn’t have come up with a better plan himself.”

More murmurs and another growl of thunder, but the king didn’t seem to hear any of it. He was leaning closer and closer to Ezra, listening intently, his hands clasped tightly together.

“Besides,” Ezra went on hesitantly, “Israel —and Judah —have their own God. Right? Isn’t our own God strong enough to take care of us? Why do we need Molech?”

“Aaaagggghh!” shrieked a woman somewhere on the edge of the circle. “This boy is one of them! He violates all that is holy. He narrows the great circle!”

“Exactly!” shouted the priest, his red robe swirling menacingly in the dancing light as he put out a hand to lay hold of the king’s cloak. But once again Ahaz waved him back.

“Let the boy speak, I say!” shouted the king.

Ezra did. “And that’s not all,” he said. His stomach was churning. The hair above his leather headband was dripping with sweat. He licked his lips and tasted salt. He felt that he was coming to the point —the point of everything. “Israel’s God says that what you’re doing here is wrong!” He spoke the words but could hardly believe they were coming out of his own mouth. The circle burst into a chaotic outcry.

Out of the corner of his eye, Ezra stole a glance at Shub. The tall boy’s mouth had dropped open so that his chin almost rested on his chest.

“Yes!” shouted Ezra. “It’s wrong of you to kill your own son like this, King Ahaz! Israel’s God calls that murder. He’s not like the other gods. He’d never even dream of asking you to do something like this. He calls it an abomination! That’s what my father says —and Shub’s father too, the prophet Isaiah. Israel’s God promises to take care of you if you trust Him. But if you do this thing, you’ll live to regret it. You’ll have to face the consequences.”

“Now he quotes Isaiah,” laughed the woman in the circle. “The man no one believes!” Other voices mumbled assent.

Ezra looked straight at Ahaz, awaiting his response. He half expected the king to lash out at him in fury, to order his arrest, to cast him into the flames within the idol’s belly along with Hezekiah. But Ahaz did none of those things.

What he did was something Ezra could never have predicted. He dropped to his knees, covered his face with his hands, and began to weep uncontrollably. Somehow the sight struck fear into Ezra’s heart —a far greater fear than any threat of punishment could have inspired.

“Seize the unholy blasphemer!” shouted the priest of Molech pointing at Ezra, his dark countenance darker than ever with rage. But at that moment King Ahaz, in a sudden and rare burst of energy, jumped to his feet and faced the man. Another peal of thunder, louder than any that had preceded it, burst from the heavens.

“No!” cried Ahaz, his jaw set, his face still wet with tears. “The boy is right. I have lived to regret it! Night after night, in the dark watches of the early morning hours, their faces have passed before me in a ghastly parade. I have regretted it over and over again, I tell you. But this time I say no!” Then he turned and called to the men who were holding Hezekiah on the bottom step of the altar. “Release my son! Your king commands it!”

Immediately the two dark-robed figures obeyed. Ezra caught the glint of polished bronze as they drew long, bright knives from somewhere within their cloaks. Every face in the circle turned toward the three figures who stood silhouetted against the pulsing orange glow of the furnace. The knives flashed, the ropes fell, and Hezekiah came dashing over to Ezra and his father where they stood in the middle of the circle.

“Now go, my son!” said Ahaz hoarsely. The king’s face was deathly pale and creased with deep lines and furrows. “All of you boys, go! Run! Back to the city as quickly as you can. And tell no one what you’ve seen!”

Ezra looked at Hezekiah. It seemed to him that his friend was too overwhelmed to move or speak. He stood staring up at his father out of great round eyes, as if seeing the man for the first time in his life. A few big drops of rain fell on the prince’s forehead and dripped down his cheeks.

“Come on, Hezekiah!” said Ezra, grabbing his friend by the sleeve of his garment. “We’d better do as he says.” He pulled the prince to the edge of the circle, where Shub stood waiting. The other celebrants parted ranks to let them pass. Then side by side, the boys, trembling from head to toe, slowly began walking out of the range of the firelight and out of the great circle. They made their way up the slope of the Hinnom Valley toward the lights of Jerusalem that twinkled faintly through the falling rain.

“Stop!” boomed the priest. So loud and powerful was his voice that Ezra felt he had no choice except to obey. He stopped, turned, and saw the man throw back the hood of his cloak. A wrinkled head was revealed, shaved in front and tattooed with dreadful symbols and signs —crescent moons, serpents, and spiderwebs. The priest grasped the king, who stood bent over and shaking, and cried out, “In the name of Molech, the great Red King, and of all that is holy, I tell you that you must complete the sacrifice or suffer destruction at the hands of the god. Seize the prince and bring him back!”

In answer to the priest’s cry, several men broke from the circle and charged after the boys. At that very moment the rain began to pour from the sky in sheets. Then came a deafening crash of thunder and an explosion of lightning directly overhead. In the split second of brightness, Ezra saw the altar of Molech wrapped in clouds of white smoke and boiling steam. The pounding rain drenched the altar and put out the fire in the idol’s belly. Terrified, the priest’s servants fell to the ground or ran for their lives.

“What are we waiting for?” Ezra shouted to his two friends. “Let’s get out of here!”

And then the three boys turned and ran toward the city with all their strength.