Jesus looked down. He then wondered if he should tell the shepherd what he had seen his father and the men in his village do. To Zahra. In all the years he had spent with Solomon and the men, he had never uttered a word of it, for fear of his own safety.

But what if Solomon did not return from The Narrows?

Solomon gazed at the young shepherd, as if waiting for him to speak. But Jesus held his breath. He did not feel ready to take so great a risk.

Solomon set off early the next morning while it was still dark. He walked nearly two miles before sinking to his knees. He looked to the sky, to the light seeping between its tawny folds, and called for his mother. When he felt her near, he began to speak. He told her of his plan for the crossing. Of the challenges that lay ahead. Of the need for strength and courage. He asked her to send these in abundance. And he asked for her blessing.

As he spoke, he opened the small bag he kept, always, inside his tunic. He poured a trail of small yellow seeds across his palm. He put three into his mouth and chewed. He took a deep breath and made a space in his mind for the pain. He thought again of his mother, of her gray eyes, her knowing hands, and his days as a boy listening to her, and her sisters, tell stories of ancient sycamore trees and of his grandmother, Orpah. He held onto these memories as he made the long walk back, knowing that by the time he arrived, the seeds’ effect would be upon him.

When he returned to camp and lay down on his mat, Solomon felt a pang of doubt pinching his heart. “Mother,” he whispered, “show me. A sign. That I have served you well.” And with that, he fell into delirium.

Jesus was out collecting stones for his sling when he heard Akbar yelling for Peter. He then heard the slosh of water being carried in a goatskin and the pounding of someone’s feet. He dashed over to find the other shepherds gathered around Solomon’s mat. Jesus pushed his way through and found the elder shepherd lying on his side, a trail of vomit clinging to his beard. His color had faded to a sickly pale. Peter lowered a ladle of water. Solomon drank, but the liquid came back up as quickly as it went down.

Simon knelt and placed his hand on Solomon’s forehead. It felt cold and clammy, though his cheeks glowed with heat.

“What is wrong with him?” Jesus asked, trying to contain his panic.

Simon shook his head. “A snakebite, perhaps.”

“Check him,” Jesus cried. “Check him for marks.” The search of Solomon’s skin turned up nothing. No rash or blemishes or bites.