One step closer to the edge of the promontory. The vision haunts my sight once more. A choir of angels sing of the parades of the ancients, but my heart is mourning in the wake of David’s march with the Holy Ark; this “slayer of tens of thousands” has defied me with his very presence. But as the crowds and the marching is slowed to an eerie pause, and the cheers and horns are muted, I look back onto my son, and all the people under me, and think, ‘what shall become of all this?’
Like a rushing wind, the reminiscence is displaced from my gaze, and, behold, I now stare into the haunted entrance of a homely abode, a cramped den of clay and dust, sporting burlap and indigenous furs. A fog scours the fields, and rinses away the remaining sunlight as one of my companions tap my shoulder.
“This is the place” He whispers.
A shiver trails down my spine. I feel a foreboding presence pounding on my heart, nevertheless, I tread onto the outlaid tongue of the mouth of the Lion. I pull my cowl down further to conceal my face and knock on the door, but at first, no answer. For a moment, I contemplate stepping back and leaving the doorstep, but the door creaks open before I can entertain the thought. On the entry mat stands a woman, clad and silhouetted against a balmy, candle lit haze. She has a perplexed look on her face that suddenly turns serious.
I disguise my voice, “A séance,… I wish to inquire-…”
“Shhh!” She scowls, immediately drawing us in and shutting the door behind us. She rebukes me. “Calm your tongue! Do you mean to have me slain? The King has forbidden this practice in these lands!”
I try to appease her temperament. “As the Lord lives, I swear no reproach nor conviction shall befall you.”
The pensive woman quenches her agitation. She shifts her eyes around the dimming hovel and then back at me. She ushers out a single command, “sit”.
And so we sit, three in all. I can feel the breathing of my companions laden. The woman hobbles around the claustrophobic room igniting spits of fire cupped in brass bowls. She lights one such flicker and sets it between us before finally taking her seat.
With a long breathy voice, she ushers another command, “speak”.
I clear my throat. “I want you to call upon the recently passed spirit of a prophet”.
She takes a breath and rolls her eyes behind her head. “Who?”
“Summon for me the prophet, Samuel…”
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