Jesus found the thin trail that ran atop the crest and knelt to tighten his sandals.

He walked cautiously, stabilizing each step with his staff before proceeding. He kept his mind fixed on the terrain and did not permit his thoughts to roam. Though he did wonder, briefly, how he would manage to carry a full load of supplies back across the ridge.

Toward the hottest hour of the day, the trail descended beneath the crest so that a wall of stone rose on one side. Jesus skimmed his hand along the wall as he walked, finding temporary relief from the vertigo.

He stopped when a sudden blast of cool air chilled his skin. Enticed, he took a few more steps and found the mouth of a cave. The air issuing from inside the mountain felt refreshing, and delectably damp. His body craved the relief. He took a step inside but froze. Memories of the cave he had entered with Simon rose in front of him: the fluttering torchlight, the crack of ceramic, the chill, and the strange presence.

What if this cave were home to evil spirits?

His spine shuddered, tossing his shoulders like the wings of a bathing bird. He passed the cave, afraid to look back.

The pain began as a dull ache in his abdomen. Hunger was finally getting the best of him. He reached for the pouch inside his tunic. The one Solomon had given him. “When the hunger begins to weaken you,” the elder shepherd had said, “eat a handful of these.”

Jesus poured the reddish seeds into his palm. He had been eating them every few hours since early morning. At first, they had brought relief to the cramping in his stomach, but this more recent pain, duller and lower in his gut, refused to be soothed. He continued his steady pace, hoping to push through the discomfort. But the harder he strove, the more light-headed he became. The pain blossomed wider, spreading into his thighs, tightening the muscles, making his legs ache with every step. He looked ahead, but the ground rose and fell like water.

A sudden flash of brilliant color shone before him. Then, just as quickly, vanished.

Had it been a bird? A mirage?

A coppery taste coated his tongue and the back of his throat. He swallowed against it.

Was he going mad?

The pain shifted and sharpened. It drove like a spike into his bowels. He fell to his knees. He reached inside the pouch of seeds but the sight of them brought on a wave of nausea. Sweat soaked the hairline of his keffiyeh. He knew he had to find shelter. He would never make it through the night exposed on the ridge. Through the haze of ache, he remembered the cave. If he could make it back, he could rest safely until the pain subsided.