Gods And Kings by Lynn Austin Page A

“Fear is destroying him.
    Please help him, Abba.”
    “H-help him?” Zechariah stammered. “I don’t know how.”
    “I don’t know, either! But he cries for Yahweh, your God, over and over again, and I don’t know why.”
    Yahweh—his God. The God of forgiveness and unfailing love.Zechariah felt so helpless, so unworthy. He couldn’t help his grandson. He didn’t know how. And he desperately needed another drink.“What do you want me to do?” he asked, releasing Abijah from his arms.
    “I don’t know. Just sit with him, talk to him. Maybe you can find out why he asks for Yahweh and what he wants from Him. Please come and talk to him.”
    “Come? Come where?”
    “To the palace.”
    “No,” Zechariah said abruptly. “No, I can’t go back to the palace.” Everything in his life had begun to go wrong when he’d lived in the king’s palace.
    Abijah began to weep, and her grief tore at Zechariah’s heart. “I have no one else to turn to, Abba. My son Eliab is dead, and I don’t know how I’ll go on living if I lose Hezekiah. Please help me!”
    Zechariah looked into his daughter’s eyes and realized that she wasn’t blaming him for his part in Eliab’s death—or for arranging her marriage to an idolater. It was as if she had already forgiven him for all his past wrongs and wanted only his help. And Zechariah knew, then, that Yahweh had heard his prayer. Yahweh was offering His forgiveness, too. Zechariah could make restitution for all the wrong he had done by helping Hezekiah. The journey back to the palace stretched before him like a slender bridge, reaching back across the gulf, back to God.
    “I’ll come,” Zechariah said hoarsely. “I’ll do what I can.” His hand trembled as he gripped Abijah’s and followed her out of the room, closing the door behind him.
    Zechariah walked down the hill to the palace, down to where his life had veered off course, as if unraveling a tapestry that had gone awry. He would return to where his first mistake had been made and start all over again, with the twisted mess he had made of his life coiled at his feet like a tangled pile of wool. He would begin anew, not seated beside King Uzziah in the splendor of the royal throne room, but with his grandson in the palace nursery.
    As the guard admitted them inside, Zechariah wondered how long it had been since he’d last been here. It had been many years, yet the bitter memories seemed as fresh as yesterday. He had failed both his God and his king.
    Abijah led Zechariah through the familiar corridors, then up a flight of stairs that were unknown to him. He’d never been near the forbidden harem or the palace nursery before, and he wondered if he would be stopped and sent away. King Ahaz certainly wouldn’t welcome his interference if he learned of it. Zechariah slowed his steps as he considered turning back, but then he heard a child crying in the distance and he followed Abijah as she ran the last few yards to her son’s bedchamber.
    The servant girl was exhausted from struggling to soothe Hezekiah, and Abijah quickly lifted him from her arms. The boy clung to his mother, staring straight through Zechariah with wide, frightened eyes as if he wasn’t even there. The only word he spoke was “Yahweh,” whispered in a hoarse voice.
    I’ve done this to him, Zechariah thought. This is all my fault . The Torah said don’t be like the other nations—they sacrifice their children to idols. But he hadn’t heeded the warning. He sank down on the bed across from Hezekiah’s and prayed for forgiveness as Abijah rocked her son in her arms to soothe him.
    It took a long time for the boy to fall asleep, and Zechariah could see how weary Abijah was from her efforts to comfort him. “I’ll stay and watch over him,” Zechariah said when she finally laid him in his bed. “Why don’t you get some rest?”
    At first she was reluctant. “We need to help him, Abba. He’s terrified.” “I know. He’ll be safe with