As the sun drowned into early dusk, the air cooled. In the distance, Jesus could just barely make out the scalloped edge of the desert’s tongue to the east. He then scanned right, to the bouquet of red rocks jutting from a crest of white limestone. He let out a crisp, looping whistle that signaled for the group to turn. A chorus wove through the air as the other shepherds spoke to their sheep. Peter lifted his head at the call. He redirected his own flock and searched the horizon for his friend. He found his long, proud body silhouetted against a cherry sky. He could not drop his eyes from the sight.

Once the animals had watered at the spring, and all the goatskins been filled, Jesus went to find adequate shelter for the sheep. Simon accompanied him in his search. Lighting a torch, the one-eyed shepherd led the way into a dark cave. Inside, their sounds grew muffled and close. The reddish brown walls flickered in the firelight as if they were made of flesh rather than stone. The smell turned musky and sharp like sweaty camel hide. Toward the back, they discovered a deep hole. Simon lowered his torch inside it, but they could not see the bottom. He dropped a rock into the darkness, but they did not hear it land. Jesus grunted, signaling that they would have to continue their search.

Picking their way out, Simon caught his leg on a stone and tumbled to the ground. Following just behind his fall came a shattering sound. Like a bowl dropped to the floor.

A chill scurried up Jesus’s spine. “What was that?” he asked, kneeling to help Simon. Simon leapt to his feet and lifted the torch. Jesus saw that his hands were shaking. “Simon?” he whispered, holding down the fear rising in his throat.

Simon said nothing. He pointed to their feet. Scattered beneath them lay the broken shards of a large ceramic jar and the dusty remains of its contents. Jesus put a hand down to lift a shard.

“No!” Simon yelled, his eyes growing wide.

Jesus retracted his hand as if from an open flame. “What?” he gasped. “What is it?”

“The cave belongs to the jinn,” Simon said. “We should not be here.”

“The who?”

“We must find another cave,” Simon said and hurried out.

That night the men gathered close around the fire as the air turned cold. Peter distributed the remaining scraps of food among them.

Jesus took his share and sat next to Simon. He waited for the older shepherd to speak about what they had seen in the cave. Simon tugged nervously on his faded eye patch. His hands were dry and wind-beveled. “My father told me that this area is home to the jinn,” he said, pointing into the dark with a long, dirty fingernail.

Peter sat to join them.

“But what are they?” Jesus asked, making room for his friend. “Angels?”