Warrior Poet Read Free Page A

and tired.
    David grinned at his friend, who was shaking his clenched fist in the air. “I told him that I wasn’t sure you could handle it, what with you not knowing how to use a sling properly and all.”
    Jahra tossed one of his sandals at him, then rolled over on his back.
    “You need to work on your aim,” David said.
    “Quiet,” Lydea snapped as she extinguished the lamp.
    “Sleep well,” David whispered, closing his eyes. He was asleep within moments. Long before widow Ruth’s rooster crowed at the town’s easternmost border, he dreamed again of the sinister cave and the wolves. It was a nightmare that had been haunting him since he turned sixteen. He awoke with his body shaking and the words of a prayer on his tongue.

Chapter Two
    The memory of the wolf’s unsettling grin dissipated as soon as David recalled that he and Jahra would be heading out together.
    “Get up. You’re coming with me this morning, remember?” David whispered. “The sooner we get going, the better our chances.” He was holding his tall staff but had not yet found his rod. To conserve oil, Lydea did not keep a lamp burning through the night, so the house was in almost complete darkness. He walked over to the back wall and opened the window.
    Jahra blinked his puffy eyes, scratching his head. He looked up at David in confusion, then sat up suddenly as the words sank in. He stretched and let out a high-pitched yawn that made Lydea, wake with a start.
    “Can’t you be a little more quiet?” David told him as the old woman straightened her stiff back. Jahra may have been mute, but the sound he made when arising was worse than an angry crow.
    As Lydea readied their food, David located the thick stick. It had a round weighted end into which small pieces of iron had been hammered. He slid it into his belt. “Good grass is getting rare, so we need to be the first ones out of town. Abishai knows about this pasture I found. We need to get to it before he does.”
    Jahra nodded distractedly, slipping a strap around his neck and adjusting the oblong leather pouch at his waist.
    Only a few lights were visible from the quiet houses as David and Jahra led the flock out of Bethlehem. The dark horizon was just beginning to turn gray. They lived on the western edge, so when heading east, they had to pass through the entire village. Each spring, while pasturing the animals on the ridges near their village, David counted the modest square homes. There were eighty-six of them now. He loved gazing down at the little boxlike dwellings with their flat roofs covered with flax, corn, or figs drying in the heat. It made him feel protective, as if he were responsible to look out for the small town.
    When they were past his father’s house, David heard the sound of a door closing behind him. He turned to see Mattai hurrying toward them, holding a lamp. He had been Jesse’s servant for so long, he had begun to resemble him. His nose was like the beak of an eagle, and under gray brows, his piercing eyes were set in a permanent frown.
    “I bring a message from your father.” He was from Amalek and spoke with the inflection of the south.
    “Well, what is it?” David snapped.
    Their eyes met for a moment, the servant’s sliding past his as if he were brushing off a gnat. The expression of disapproval was so like his father’s, it made David want to laugh.
    “It is market day tomorrow. He wants you to make sure the flocks are ready for auction. ‘First thing,’ Mattai said.”
    “Let him know he has nothing to worry about,” David responded, then paused for emphasis. “… now that I have Jahra to accompany me.” He turned to the quiet boy, who’d looked away studiously at the eastern sky as if divining the day’s weather. “Let’s go.”
    Several lights shone in the large house ahead. As the sheep and goats passed it, their dull bells clanging, David saw a lamp approach a window, and the outline of Abishai’s curly head.
    David waved but