Today is my birthday! Like Tolkien’s hobbits, I’m celebrating by giving all my subscribers a gift. It’s a short story about King Ahab and Elijah I wrote as a young man. It was originally published in Ancient Paths and is republished here with permission. I hope you enjoy it, and let me know in the comments if you’d like to see more fiction here at The SoderBlurb!

Ahab

AHAB lay in a widening circle of his own blood, crumpled like a still-born child in his chariot. The battle still raged, and he could hear triumphant shouts at the skirmish-lines, but they were not battle-cries for the king of Israel. His horses shook their heads, foaming after their retreat.

“Curse you ...,” he tasted his own blood in the groan. “Curse you and may Baal take you...”

A soldier peered into the chariot, “Sire?”

Ahab rolled his throbbing eyes up to the blurred figure. “Damn you!” he screamed, “May Baal devour you, Elijah!”

The soldier recoiled. “Sire, it is I, your servant Obesheth."

“Obesheth … it's just as I dreamed,” the king blinked away the cold sweat. “I'm dying, Obesheth, I'm dying,” he mumbled softly, almost sobbing.

“What shall I do, sire?” The dutiful servant reached out to touch the king.

“Away, dog! Do not defile yourself by touching me! Away, get away! I'm cursed, reviled by God … get away!” Ahab struck wildly at the servant with his sword.

Obesheth easily dodged the wild swings of the dying man.

“Jezebel … my love, my … oh my God, oh God … Elijah??” The king looked up. Seeing through Obesheth, he faintly smiled at a familiar presence.

Obesheth squinted into the plain as a scream sounded from the front lines. When he looked back at his lord, glassy eyes stared at him.

AHAB had ascended the throne in the wake of civil war. His father, Omri, a valiant and much-beloved warrior, had fought Zimri the murderer and then warred against Tibni, conquering them both in his pursuit of the throne. While these earthly wars raged, the heavens were convulsed as principalities subverted the Power and accepted obeisance from a wayward kingdom. The dense groves were disturbed by an unnamable presence while the mountain crags were oppressed by evil. The land was cursed, and Ahab soon succumbed to its dark pull. He erected altars to bloodthirsty Moloch and poles to Asherah. In his devotion to these demons, he surpassed all the wicked line of northern kings.

His wife, Jezebel, princess of Sidon, was also thought to be unnaturally influenced by the spirits of the land, for her eyes were dark and flashed like a serpent’s. No woman equaled Jezebel in beauty, and men lusted helplessly as she passed in her carriage. It was Jezebel, her tongue dripping with venom, who convinced Ahab to pour his revenues into the magnificent temple of Baal. The people followed Ahab and his seductive queen in the adoration of Baal and Asherah, fornicating blatantly in the sight of the Most High.

THE priest plunged a long knife into the wailing infant. As the blood boiled on the steaming coals, Ahab glimpsed a man approaching through the brown haze of the temple courts. The man stared at the king with eyes that glowed as intently as the coals in the altar. As the man moved through the haze, temple prostitutes bared their breasts defiantly. The king himself, clad only in a tunic, felt the wild man’s eyes boring into his soul. The priests parted as the wild man climbed the steps to the altar. He was clothed in dusty camel hair, with a belt of leather around his waist. He clenched a staff with large, rough hands. As he reached the top of the steps, he swung the staff against the altar, which crashed and spilt its unholy contents onto the stones.

“As the Lord, the God of Israel lives,” the wild man intoned in a voice that sounded like the wind howling across the desert, “before whom I stand, there will be neither dew nor rain in these coming years, except at my word.” He glared at the king.

Ahab wiped his hands, bloody from the sacrifice, on his chest and arms. He now knew this crazed man: he was one of the prophets who still worshiped the old god of Judah, a god of the hills. Insignificant before the host of gods Ahab had just placated. The wild man stood for a moment, listening to the silence hanging over the temple. Then he descended the steps and strode slowly out of the temple, disappearing in the brown haze.

“Pay him no heed,” the king commanded. A small dog scurried away, a piece of blackened flesh in its mouth.

AHAB dismissed the temple incident as a lunatic’s ravings. But when the ground cracked and his subjects withered under the brazen sky, he raged through his palace, throwing spears at slaves and banging shields against the ivory pillars, although careful not to break anything of value.

“What do you mean, ‘he eludes us’? Is this why I keep an army of the best warriors! Is this why I exalt you, Obadiah, above every man! My great general! My fearless war-lord! So you can tell me that he eludes you!” The king threw a dagger at his general, who ducked quickly.

Ahab heard rumors of the wild man, whom he had come to know as Elijah the Tishbite. How he had raised a child from the dead and other ridiculous stories. More wailing sheep spilt their blood on the temple-steps, but the skies were sealed. Crops perished, and the people cried out to their king. Some even migrated south, to the green banks of the Nile. Finally, Ahab organized two companies of soldiers to search the land for any traces of water. He sent Obadiah into the desert and led his own troops into the plain.

The search was futile, but Obadiah returned with news of Elijah. The wild prophet wanted to meet with Ahab. Insolence! Nevertheless, Ahab rode to meet Elijah in the plain. As they rode, with Obadiah leading the way, Ahab stared at the back of his general, ruminating darkly on rumors of a secret cave sheltering a remnant of the old prophets. Ahab wondered how such a number could survive without provisions, without protection. And who was powerful enough to protect them? Besides Obadiah … He would deal with his treasonous general later. Now, he determined to finish this mad prophet once for all.

Is it you, you troubler of Israel?

Elijah, however, ignored the epithet. He then threw Ahab a challenge which the king could only respond to by whipping his spear against a chariot, snapping it half.

You want a war, Ahab! Then let it be between our gods! You assault the Most High by killing his prophets. Now, he shall bring you low! Mt. Carmel shall be the place of reckoning.

The broken spear whistled into the desert.

THE mountaintop was silent as the hairy prophet stepped onto a flat boulder. He flung out his arms and challenged the people with all the tricks of the old prophets, the phrases calculated to produce a slavish guilt. Yes, they knew that only he remained of all Yahweh’s prophets, and good riddance. What was he trying to prove, anyway? Calling down fire from heaven? The desert sun had surely shriveled his brain like a prune. The people murmured. They had heard stories like this from their father’s fathers, but no one believed these things anymore. Why did he have to be so barbaric? He finally stopped raving.

The priests of Baal stripped themselves to the waist and began a solemn procession around the altar, chanting reverently. Nothing happened. The priests started to dance, feigning joy at the immanent arrival of Baal’s fire. The people shuffled restlessly. The dance grew more determined, almost angry. Noon came and the priests sprinkled the altar with sweat in their frenzy. The mountain prophet laughed, taunted. The people laughed, then gasped. The priests drew their knives, slashing the air, then their chests. The altar stones dripped red. The air about the mountain trembled, seeming to strain against invisible bonds. Baal was surely not asleep. He was thrashing as wildly as his priests. But the sky was sealed.

When the priests finally retreated to tend their wounds, Elijah labored in the sight of all the people, building his altar. Ahab slapped his thigh and his officers roared as Elijah poured barrels of water over the stones. The crowd suddenly hushed and drew back as Elijah lifted his face to heaven. His impassioned voice rose above the wind.

The heavens tore open as a pillar of fire fell upon the sacrifice, burning high into the sky. The crowd fell backward, cursing, worshiping, fleeing. Ahab leapt out of his seat, stood with his fists clenched, then fell on his face. The priests cowered together as the people surrounded them, shouting for vengeance. Elijah led them to the brook of Kishon, and there he slew them all, their blood watering the land they had so long deceived. The drought was broken.

AHAB and his host camped that night in the valley at the base of Mount Carmel. The crowd had dispersed, rather sullenly. They feared retribution from the king, but they also knew they outnumbered the guards surrounding Ahab. In the midst of this tension, Ahab received a message from Elijah, telling him to eat and drink, for the rains were coming. Ahab did not dare disobey after he had felt the heat from the pillar of fire, and so the odors of steaming mutton were mixed with the stench of human corpses burning. The piles of priests spewed black smoke into the desert air.

But while Ahab and his officers ate dutifully, the sky grew menacing and dark. Thunder rumbled over the sea. Wind began to pull at the tents, and the horses pranced, shaking their manes. Ahab lifted his eyes and saw a young man running down the mountainside. Had Elijah ever come down from the mountain? One of Ahab’s riders met the boy in the plain, and then spurred his horse in Ahab’s direction.

Ahab rose to meet the rider as he reigned into camp.

“My lord,” he dismounted and kneeled before the king, “A message from Elijah: 'Prepare your chariot, and get out of the lowlands, for the rains are coming'.”

Ahab looked again at the heavens. A line of huge, black clouds was rolling in from the sea. The black smoke from the funeral pyres rose up to meet it, and the whole landscape was heavy with anticipation.

“Prepare my chariot!” Ahab screamed, “Everyone, go! We ride to Jezreel! Now!”

Servants scurried before his rage, pulled down tents, saddled horses. Ahab leapt into his chariot, and struck his driver, who lashed the bristling backs of the horses. The chariot shot across the plain. His guard followed close behind. Ahab turned back and saw his servants piling the remains of the feast into wagons drawn by oxen. No great matter if they did not make it out of the valley in time.

A flash of movement caught his eye. It was a streak of color on the mountainside. Now it was hurtling across the plain. Now it was overtaking the wagons. Ahab strained to see clearly through the dust thrown up by his roaring chariot. He saw a hairy beast, a demon, a man … Elijah!

Elijah was now running—no—flying, alongside Ahab’s horses. He did not turn his head, but his wild hair seemed to lash tauntingly in the wind. Ahab seized the reins and shoved his driver aside. He whipped the horses fiercely, and they sped like gazelles. Elijah easily kept pace with them. Lightning tore the dark vault, and the heavens released their burden. Ahab screamed at the horses, rain streaming down his beard. The road soon turned to mud, but Elijah seemed to run on dry ground.

At the gates of Jezreel, Ahab stormed into the city, and into his ivory palace, while Elijah calmed the frothing horses.

AHAB returned victorious from war, but accursed because he had spared the life of the King of Syria. This displeased the Lord, and a prophet foretold Ahab's end. Jezebel tried to raise his spirits, and he hated her for it. When he refused to be consoled, she resorted to glaring at him with her burning, Sidonian eyes. Only one other person in the kingdom could look straight into Jezebel’s eyes. Only the hide-covered prophet could stand before her withering gaze. And only the fiery-eyed Tishbite could make Jezebel look disdainfully away.

Ahab knew that she secretly loathed him because of his bastard kingship. He was not of the royal line of David. His father was a mere governmental official. But she! She was a princess of Sidon, daughter of king Ethbaal! (May his beard be plucked out!)

But in his better moments, Ahab adored his queen. He served her, catered to her, bringing her exotic treasures and mysteries to please her. Had he not built a magnificent house for her, of shining ivory? Yet, whatever he brought her, she never thoroughly enjoyed the gifts, and held something back in passionless disdain. Even in their magnificent bed, where she employed every Phoenician subtlety, Ahab left her empty and strangely cold. The only passion in Jezebel’s heart now was the mad desire to cruelly murder the Tishbite.

AHAB, however, was ignoring the Tishbite problem. He was more concerned with the prophecy hovering over him, and with Naboth, an upstart who thought he could withstand the desires of a king. Ahab wanted Naboth's vineyard, but Naboth refused to sell. Jezebel watched Ahab fall into one of his chronic moods of depression and indecisiveness. She smiled at the pettiness of the affair. Just like two little boys. But Naboth must be dealt with. Then Ahab could hunt down Elijah and kill him like the god-defying, son-of-a-jackal that he was.

So, she painted her eyes, anointed herself with perfumes, and entered the king's chamber.

“Eat something, my dear, you must,” she crooned, as she tenderly stroked the king’s dark locks.

“No, no, no,” Ahab groaned pitifully, “I am nothing, my father was nothing, and now this impudent wretch defies me to my face. If I cannot have his vineyard, I cannot have anything. I will die...” He sighed deeply.

Jezebel had learned to nurse Ahab through these spells. If he were a stronger man, he would have thrown himself from a turret long ago.

“My dear, sweet lord,” Jezebel pressed her soft cheek against Ahab’s beard, “One does not rule a kingdom from a couch. This man is nothing, but you are the king. If he is dealt with firmly, men will serve you as a god.”

Ahab groaned loudly. “How? How can I deal with this lizard! I hate him,” the king beat his pillow with his fist, “I hate him, I hate him, I hate him!”

“Then … kill him. He does not deserve to live. Disobedience to one’s lord is disobedience to the gods.”

“What do you mean, you viper,” Ahab moaned.

“Baal established you as king, so Naboth defies Baal. Baal kills ...” she hissed into his ear, “Naboth.”

Ahab lay silent. Then he chuckled. “Let Baal deal with him, then, as on the mountain.”

Jezebel pulled back sharply. Her eyes narrowed. “No. Let me.”

Ahab waved his hand weakly and mumbled into his pillow.

AFTER Naboth was stoned for blasphemy, Ahab toured his new vineyard with his royal retinue. As they stopped to inspect the swelling grapes, the leaves shook and Elijah stepped out of the vines. Ahab held his hand out to stop his advancing bodyguard.

He growled deeply, “What do you want, you troubler of Israel?”

“No, my king, it is you who trouble Israel with the multitude of your iniquities.”

“I suppose you mean that Naboth incident,” Ahab’s lips tightened into a grimace, “A tragic affair.” And a minor affair, he thought, compared to the abuse Elijah was heaping upon him.

Elijah’s eyes suddenly lit up with some internal fire as he opened his mouth to pour out the ancestral curses, the generational curses, the death curses. Then he swung his staff up to point at Jezebel.

“The dogs shall eat Jezebel by the wall of Jezreel.”

AHAB trembled at the desert-prophet’s words and put on sack-cloth. In his heart he had repented, but the groves still swayed in the wind, and the Asherah poles were still erected into the sky. Jezebel sent for more Sidonian priests to serve her gods and ate alone while the slouching king plodded softly through the empty corridors of his ivory palace. The stairs to the highest turrets were guarded by order of the queen.

As he wandered through the palace one day, the king suddenly looked up to see Elijah blocking his path. The prophet's hair had turned grey, but the fire in his eyes ran through Ahab like a spear.

Elijah spoke firmly to him, but kindly. The Lord had seen Ahab's repentance and would not bring down Ahab's house in his own lifetime. Nevertheless, his house would certainly perish under the curse of the Lord.

That night, Ahab dreamed …

IN the midst of battle, he was pierced by an arrow, he drove his chariot madly, too late, too late, to save his queen, who was falling from a cliff, into the black void, dogs barking, dogs chasing his chariot, of a man falling through a lattice, languishing on a bed, dogs howling all around him, Elijah perched on a mountain, serene, while fire rained down on soldiers surrounding the mountain, charred human flesh gagged him, the man on the bed shrieked Father!!, Jezebel falling, dogs chewing the burned flesh, a man, Elijah, no, not Elijah, wearing the same rough clothes, his head rolling to the ground, Jezebel dancing with the head, fire raining down upon the land, no, upon a man, burning the man, the man fell, then rose, shining white, fire falling, the man in white holding up his hands and deflecting the fire, the heavens on fire!!!

Ahab awoke, sobbing and drenched in sweat.

AHAB never saw the desert prophet again. Political affairs absorbed his attention as Syria grew in strength. His black moods left him as soon as he had something to engage his mind. He left the temple rites in the hands of Jezebel, who pursued her gods with the same zeal that he pursued his politics. Their time together was infrequent and when they came together, it was for the sake of appearances. The dark prophecy oppressed them in all their intimacies.

AHAB lay in a widening circle of his own blood, crumpled like a still-born child in his chariot. Blood dripped out of the chariot, into the dusty ground. His eyes stared into the sun, and the sky seemed to fill with shining, white lights.

“Sire, my lord?” the faint voice was drowned by the sheer brightness of the heavens, a brightness that almost sang. There, a chariot, a chariot of fire, descending …