After a few minutes, Ruth released his hand. She lifted her palms to the cliff side. As before, she leaned into the rock and an unseen door swiveled open. She led Jesus into the new chamber. He hobbled behind her, down a slight incline.

Then he heard a sound that made his heart freeze. He stopped and balanced on his good leg. His mind could not trust his ears. But his heart wanted to believe.

Could it be?

It was the bleating of sheep.

Soon the familiar scent of wool wafted to greet him. A thin blade of light cut through a crack in the ceiling and filled the space with a dusty glow. In the middle of the chamber, Jesus saw a woman standing before a small flock.

“Greetings,” Ruth called.

“Greetings,” the woman returned.

Jesus then recognized her. It was Sister Shereen, the one who had been seated in the center of the circle. Ruth would later tell him that it had been Shereen who had laid her hands on him after the fall. He recalled the warmth that had spread from her fingers, like rivulets of water seeking out his injury.

Like his mother, she stood dark and slender, with glittering skin of the same cocoa color. Beneath her plum-colored hood shimmered waves of cinnamon-colored hair. Her golden, almond-shaped eyes dripped with wisdom. And when she smiled, she left no corner of the room unlit.

Moving closer, he felt suddenly humbled by Shereen’s presence. It was impossible to deny the power that radiated from her. Unable to hold her gaze, Jesus let his attention fall to the sheep. They were worn and thin, as if they had been on a long journey without enough to eat. Their hooves were splitting, their wool dry and frizzy. His heart went out to them. One of the animals began to struggle and bleat insistently in a loud, pleading mew. The others shifted as the one butted its way out. Jesus dropped to his knees, instantly recognizing the blackened face. The lamb wedged itself between his legs and nuzzled its head along his shins.

“Anna!” he whimpered. He fell across her back and ran his fingers through her wool. Her oils softened his palms. She was leaner than the others. The bones beneath her eyes protruding like shelves. “Anna … my Anna,” he stuttered through tears.

Shereen smiled. “Sister Joan brought them back from the flatlands,” she said. “Not without great difficulty, as I understand,” she added with a comical tip of her head.

“But … but how—?”

“They were a gift to Mother Susana. From her nephew.”

Jesus gawked. “Her nephew?”

Shereen nodded. “Solomon sent them. Just as he sent you.”

Jesus could not believe his ears. His mind reeled. He grabbed at the possibilities spreading before him.

What was happening?

Desperate and contradictory thoughts pelted the inside of his head.

Had Solomon sent him here intentionally? Or had the women killed the shepherds and stolen their sheep?!