The Warrior: Caleb by Francine Rivers Page B

Caleb felt his heart pounding faster and faster. Sweat broke out and a wave of nausea gripped him. Someone held him gently and laid him down. “No,” he rasped. “Get me up . . .”
    “Father!” Mesha grasped him. Jesher and Mareshah came running, Shobab just behind them. They were all talking at once, no one listening. He saw fear in their eyes. Confusion.
    “A snake bit him!” a woman sobbed. “It was in the wood. He—”
    Vision blurring, Caleb grasped Mesha’s belt. “Help me up . . .” He had to get to the Tabernacle. He had to see the pole with the replica of the poisonous snake attached to it. The Lord had promised that anyone who was bitten would live if he simply looked at it!
    “Help him! Hurry!” Everyone cried out at once. His sons grabbed him by the arms and hauled him up. Mesha and Jesher supported him between them. He tried to walk, but his body betrayed him.
    “He can’t use his legs!”
    “He’s going to die!”
    “Lift him!”
    “ Hurry! ”
    Four of his sons carried him, shouting as they wove their way through the tents. It seemed to take them forever. Were they so far from the Tabernacle?
    “It’s Caleb!” people cried out in alarm.
    “Get back! Get out of our way!”
    Caleb struggled for air. “Lord, You promised . . .” He could say no more.
    “Father!” Mesha was crying.
    I have come too far, Lord, to die now. You promised.
    “Put him down!” someone said.
    His sons lowered him to his knees, but he couldn’t hold his head up. He couldn’t breathe to tell his sons how to help him.
    Oh, Lord, You know how many times we’ve broken our word to You, but You have never broken Your word to us. You said I would enter the land .
    Caleb crumpled face-first into the dust. Hands fell upon him again—so many hands, so many voices, shouting, crying.
    Pray. Someone, pray.
    “Caleb!” People surrounded them. “It’s Caleb!” They blocked the sun.
    “Get back!” Joshua’s voice this time. “Give him room to breathe.”
    “Lord, Lord . . .” Caleb recognized Hur’s voice, felt himself being rolled onto his back. “Don’t take him from us, Lord.”
    Caleb lay on his back, the cloud above him, anguished faces surrounding him. He couldn’t raise his head. He couldn’t raise his hand to grab hold of someone and pull himself up. His throat was closing, his lungs burning.
    He felt Hebron lift his shoulders and prop him up, bracing him. “Open your eyes, Grandfather. Look up. The pole is right before you.”
    “Breathe, Father! Breathe!”
    “He’s dead!” someone shrieked. “Caleb’s dead!”
    People wailed.
    With his last bit of strength, Caleb opened his eyes . . . but he could see nothing. Darkness closed in around him. “Look,” Moses had said. “Look and believe and you will live!” You are my salvation, Lord. You alone.
    Spears of light came, driving the darkness back. His vision cleared. Above him was the pole with the bronze snake.
    You are the Lord. You are Rapha, the Healer. Your Word is Truth.
    Caleb’s lungs unlocked and he drew in a deep breath. His heart slowed. His skin cooled. He came up through the shadow of death, shaking off the fettering hands until he was able to stand in the midst of the people. “Death, where is your sting?” he shouted.
    His sons laughed in relief and thanksgiving.
    Caleb raised his hands. “The Lord, He is God.”
    Shaken, tears in his eyes, Joshua cried out with him. “The Lord, He is God!”
    Those surrounding them joined in shouting praises to the Lord, who kept His word.

    They moved from Oboth to Iye-abarim in the desert facing Moab toward the sunrise. Then they moved on to Zered Valley and farther to camp along the Arnon River on the border between Moab and the Amorites. The Lord led them to Beer and gave them water so they could cross the desert to Mattanah and on to Nahaliel, Bamoth and the Valley of Moab where the top of Mount Pisgah overlooked the wasteland.
    Moses dispatched messengers to Sihon, king