Heroes of the Fallen

by David J. West

  Some of the men were tempted to draw their swords in this ruckus but were ordered to refrain unless drawn against with blades. Knowing this, the mob did not draw blades, instead increasing their rocks. Battling as furious as sheep dogs and wolves, the two groups reached a point of impasse. The mob began to back off as they saw the fires licking out the windows of the hall. The white stuccoed walls were blackening. The great tower itself had smoke belching out the top like a furnace.

  From somewhere out in the distance a horn blew a low note, and the mob began to fade away. Gidgiddonah was confused at this development, wondering if the horn had called them off.

  He heard a familiar, unsettling voice behind him. “Captain Gidgiddonah, come quickly. I need your help.”

  “What is it, Judge Hiram?” He despised the man. “I cannot leave my post, sir.”

  “I think I know where the arsonist is.”

  “Yea, and how is that?”

  “I was in my personal chambers with a servant when I first heard the fire starting. It went swiftly as if with oil. In the thick smoke I saw a man run past. I gathered my scrolls and went to the hallway, when he ran past me in the gloom. I watched him, and even now he hides within the barn of Onandagus on the southeast corner.”

  “Did you see who it was?”

  “Nay, I did not, but you must hurry. He cannot remain there for long.” The fire was worsening but the mob had almost completely disappeared. “You must hurry,” repeated Hiram.

  “Barak, you’re in command. Keep a company of ten at all the gates,” Gidgiddonah commanded.

  A company of ten followed Gidgiddonah, who followed Judge Hiram through the courtyard toward the southeast corner. The barn stood off by itself on the other side of Onandagus’s personal fields and gardens. The ten surrounded the place and, breaking into several pairs, advanced on the doors at each end while Gidgiddonah kept a close eye on the judge.

  It was pitch black inside with the smell of oil and wine heavy in the air. Lanterns hung on the first inner posts. Hiram lit those with a torch. Inside, they followed the strong smell. A man lay in a stall holding an empty leathern sack that smelled like oil. Unconscious, he reeked of alcohol.

  One guardsman held a spear at his chest as another rolled him over. “It is Gershom, one of the chief judge’s assistants.”

  “Yea, it is indeed. I cannot believe this.” Gidgiddonah knew the man from church. He did not drink, and he was not a man who would be in such a state for any reason. Raising him up to sit, they could not rouse him.

  “He has a large bump on the head, and the wine is on his clothes, not his breath,” said Gidgiddonah. “He is not a wine bibber, this is suspicious.”

  “You claim he doesn’t drink, bah everyone does,” said the judge, standing in the doorway.

  “He does not. I know him.”

  “Apparently he does, besides being an arsonist.”

  Gidgiddonah slapped the man’s face a time or two, and he mumbled something unintelligible. A bucket of water was tossed upon him, and he began to awaken. The captain helped pick him up and take him outside. A crowd had gathered near, some looked to be of the mob.

  “Here is the hero, Captain Gidgiddonah. He has captured the villain who has burned our judgment hall. Now, who is it but Gershom, Chief Judge Onandagus’s own man. You craven dog! You will burn for this,” said Judge Hiram, working the crowd up into a fever pitch.

  “Yes, your head will roll!”

  “Traitor, anarchist, villain!”

  Gidgiddonah interceded. “This doesn’t make sense. There will be order! We will find out if he is indeed the arsonist.”

  Hiram cried all the louder. “Hail Captain Gidgiddonah, our hero! Let us hang Gershom now.”

  The crowd surged forward, with bloodlust in their eyes. “Yea let us hang him now,” they cried out in unison.

  Gidgiddonah drew his sword. “Stay back, he will receive the law the same as anyone. He will be judged by the chief judge and then we shall see.”

  “How can that be fair? He is the chief judge’s man. Let another judge him,” said a man in front of this new mob.

  “Yea, yea,” cried another.

  “Hiram is judge, let him decide,” shouted another.

  “Judge Hiram is justice,” cried various members of the crowd.

  Gidgiddonah thought their praises and calls ridiculous.

  “Put away your sword, noble Gidgiddonah, captain of tens and their tens. You have done your duty, now let me do mine,” said Hiram, acting valorous.

  “Nay, Judge, I shall not. I believe this man to be innocent. If Onandagus cannot fairly judge him by being his master, then neither can you, as you are a witness against him.”

  Hiram’s face darkened and his wrinkles furrowed in anger. He spoke slow and deliberate for the captain’s ears alone, “You fool, can you not tell which way the wind blows? The smoke of Onandagus’s destruction is all around you. You are given a chance to be a hero and have a place among us, but it is all for naught. You choose instead to lose everything!” He turned and again addressed the crowd, “The arsonist will receive a fair trial and hang for his crimes.”

  The crowd cheered and began to disperse. Everything this night has been far too convenient, thought Gidgiddonah.

  At the top of the tower, Mormon the Younger paced back and forth from end to end, doing his best to stay far back from the trap door where the heat seared him. It was too far to jump and live. Looking down and to the west, he thought he saw his father directing men with buckets of water. It was hopeless. Such a pitiful amount of water could do nothing against a dry wood structure already boosted with oil. A great crackling and rumbling crash sounded far below at the base of the stairs. Even more sparks flew up and out of the hole. Mormon worried that the stone tower would collapse.

  I do not want to die. My life has only just begun. Ammaron the Scribe told me I must keep the record, and that I have a long hard life set before me. This has not been very long yet. What am I to do?

  The floor on which he stood was hot, smoke seeping through some few cracks here and there. Tar which had waterproofed the flat roof was now bubbling and sticky, giving off a noxious fume. Stepping to the parapet, he knelt upon the stone. It was cool in comparison and the air somewhat fresher.

  Deliver me, oh Lord. Here I am on the edge of life. Deliver me that I may serve you all my days, that I can do and say all that is before me. I will walk this world until the hair on my head is white as snow, so that I will have the time to do your service. Deliver me in the name of thy Son, Amen.

  Though the wooden structure within burned and was destroyed, the tower of stone remained steadfast, a tower of strength. It stood with no stone loosened from one upon the other.

  “Has anyone seen my son?” asked Mormon the Elder. The powerful Titan of a man asked everyone he met as he watched the fire consume the inside of the judgment hall. “Omni, have you seen my son?”

  “Nay I have not, the fire erupted so fast I scarcely escaped myself.”

  Mormon pushed him aside and moved on, shouting for Mormon the Younger.

  He knew it was useless to call within the chaos, the fire roared and a hundred men were shouting. Some watched the fire while some fought it, futile as it was. The bucket brigade had given up as soon as Mormon himself had quit to look for his son. Flames leapt out of all visible windows. There was nothing that could be done.

  Barkos appeared with a dozen of his retainer firemen and a horse drawn wagon of water.

  “Away with you, we have no need of your kind of help,” said Onandagus.

  The rich man said, “I will donate generously to the hall being rebuilt.”

  “No doubt as long as it is named after yourself,” said Onandagus.

  “Nay, only to have back our hall, the pride of the city as far as architecture went. I would see its swift return,” said Barkos.

  A guardsman approached the chief judge. “Sir, Captain Gidgiddonah has a prisoner, a man that Judge Hiram claims started the fi
re. The mob wanted to lynch him, but the captain will not allow it.”

  “If the man was condemned by Hiram, he must be innocent,” said Onandagus.

  Barkos cocked a curious eyebrow.

  “So says the captain, sir,” said the guardsman.

  “Please have Mormon deal with this right now, soldier.”

  “I would sir, but he is growing irate searching for his son.”

  “Have Gidgiddonah hold the man securely while I attend to Mormon.” Onandagus went looking for Mormon while Barkos followed close behind. It did not take long to locate the howling giant. Onandagus could see into his weary dark eyes. “Calm yourself, my friend. I will help you.”

  Mormon removed his winged helmet from off his sweat-drenched head. Somehow over the crackling flames they heard, “Father, up here. Father!” Stunned, they looked upward and saw the boy clinging to the edge of the tower, vaguely illuminated against the dark azure sky by the sparks within the smoke.

  Mormon turned to Onandagus. “What do we do?”

  Barkos spoke up. “I have an idea. Fetch a good bowman and a stout piece of rope.”

  “Do it,” said Onandagus to one of the guardsmen nearby.

  Barkos continued, “Attach the rope to a good arrow and send it over the top of the tower, careful not to hit the boy, and avoid the smoking trapdoor or the rope will burn.”

  The archer nodded as he tied the rope to a stout arrow and began to gauge the wind. They shouted up to Mormon the Younger. “Secure the rope to the parapet block and then slide down carefully.”

  He nodded.

  The archer let the arrow fly; the weight of the rope almost stopped it from making it over the top. Mormon managed to grab it as it arced over. The rope went slack, and he secured it to the large parapet block.

  The men on the ground yanked a couple of times to be sure it would take the weight. In a moment, Mormon was hand under hand hurrying down the rope. He froze once, looking down, but his father called to him and gave him courage. Down on the ground, he raced into his father’s waiting arms and held him tight. This was a night he would not easily forget.

  “Thank you for your help, Barkos,” said Mormon the Elder.

  “You are welcome,” he replied with a grin. “Perhaps we can help each other a little more than we had previously thought.”

  “Are you allying yourself with us?” asked Onandagus.

  “I am. Better you than the king men. An attempt was taken on my life tonight. I need to be allied with someone, and the enemy of my enemy is my friend,” Barkos laughed. “I will do whatever it takes to help defeat these king men and retain our liberties.”

  “We are glad to have you. There is much to be done.”

  Marchers of Doom

  The mighty marchers of doom trampled the brown earth beneath their sandaled feet. The heavy din of men who smote their shields and sang lusty ballads of war echoed. Among them was Zelph.

  They marched from the emerald forests surrounding Mutula and Lamanihah to the sparser oasis of Dagon and Ashkelon, the cities of the Red Coast. Taking a wide circuit of Tullan by staying between it and the coast, they avoided the high desert and black mountains of fire. The drum never ceased and neither did their pace, but not a man fell behind.

  These marchers of doom had forsworn their lives and honor on what they would accomplish. The great strength of their nation rode proud on their brawny, painted shoulders. By night, they sat around campfires and delighted in tales of blood and debauchery under a cold malevolent moon. Before the sun had risen, they would be on the move again. Always at the head was Akish-Antum and Prince Almek.

  The prince was as far away from home as he had ever been. These new experiences caused him both fear and boldness. He sought to overcome his inexperience with bravado. “My army shakes the earth beneath their sandaled feet. Who can stand against us?” he said with arrogance.

  Akish-Antum looked at the boy prince seated across from him on his gilded chariot. “Careful, my prince. Though the torrents and thunders are weapons, they do not win the fight themselves.”

  “And what does... stargazer?” Almek said, his last word dripping with disdain. He had never had time for scholars and studying. As his father’s heir, he considered such things beneath him. His dreamt-up wisdom had no real-life experience behind it. Theories of life abounded within him, but taking few words of advice from anyone, his knowledge and intelligence were damned.

  “The mind, my prince, the mind,” said the Gadianton as he tapped a gauntlet clad finger to his copper, tiger-faced helm. He urged his mount ahead. The prince scowled at him.

  After a month of marching they approached the Nephite borders. It was here that Akish-Antum changed orders. Soon there would be no more singing or drumming, and no more cook fires. Raw flesh would suit them better in the war to come and increase their savagery. He had a perimeter of guards always on patrol, forever careful that the Nephites would not become aware of them. This would be the last night of celebration.

  As they made a camp about the edge of the border, Zelph asked, “May I go hunting, my prince?”

  “Yea, you may go for an hour or so I suppose, I would that you bring me back an antelope. All of it.”

  “Yes, my prince.” He knew that Almek would not eat it, but he had learned to take the prince literally. Two weeks ago, when Almek asked for a deer, Zelph had brought back only the meat. Almek screamed at him for leaving the bowels in a pit and ordered him to go back and retrieve them.

  Zelph must endure until the time was right. He hoped it was tonight. He walked almost four miles from camp, well beyond most of the revolving scouts. Being a captain of Xoltec’s army allowed him the luxury of going out beyond their reach, he would use it to his advantage tonight.

  Finding a small hollow, he knelt to pray aloud, “Oh Great Spirit, how long must I remain here? Will you forget me, or may I go away from here never to return. How long will you turn away from me without answer to my prayer? How long will I have this pain in my heart and have my enemies exult over me? Please allow me to keep walking tonight, away from here. Give me an answer, Great Spirit, please.”

  Silence reigned a while longer. He knew the Gadiantons had murdered his father by now and were seeking to start a great war between Nephites and Lamanites for their own power and gain. They would set up a puppet king to rule the Nephite lands with Akish-Antum being the real power behind whoever ruled.

  Zelph waited another few moments before he decided to continue walking until he felt directed further. I will not return to the army. I will walk this earth until I find what the Great Spirit wants of me.

  As he walked on, he heard a voice. “Zelph, Zelph you are to return to the army and continue with them for a little while longer.” It was a warm voice that gave him no fear. Looking about, he saw no one.

  Surely the Great Spirit who moves in all things has answered my prayer, and I will do as he has asked me. Thank you, Lord, for answering my prayer.

  Traveling back toward the camp, he came across a young antelope. He nocked an arrow and said, “Brother Antelope, I slay you now so that I may staunch my hunger and continue doing the service of the Great Spirit. Please forgive me.”

  He released and slew the antelope. Approaching it, he said, “I thank you for giving your life to me and I will honor you.” Slinging it over his shoulder he carried the body back to camp, arriving just in time for the usual laughter and debauchery of camp life. Prince Almek had given the last few skins of wine to the men as well as bringing some camp followers from the nearby Ishmaelite town.

  Girls danced to the sound of drunken laughter. Zelph noticed a strong contingent of guardsmen not allowed to join in the festivities, cursing for having drawn up guard duty. Under any other ruler or general they may have revolted at not being allowed their own debaucheries, but with the Gadianton Grand Master, fear ruled them into humble submission. Akish-Antum would leave nothing to chance.

  When Zelph brought the antelope before Prince Almek, he said, “I
do not want that dreadful thing. Away with it.” His directed his attention back to a trio of dancing girls.

  Zelph carried it behind their quarters and cleaned and dressed the body. He would still eat tonight. “Great Spirit do not forget me. Have mercy on me as I fade away here. Heal me, oh Lord, my innermost being is tormented. How long will I have to suffer here?” He ate a light meal of the antelope and then went to sleep in his tent, angry at himself for agreeing to leave his father.

  By dawn the dancing girls had gone home. Akish-Antum arrayed the army in the pattern he wanted for the remainder of the journey. Gadianton scouts would continue ahead of the column, watching for any signs and making sure the path was clear. The Nephites must not learn what was coming their way until it was too late.

  Zelph wondered how such a large army could snake its way through enemy territory without being seen. But then again, with as much as the Gadiantons seemed to know and control things, was it really enemy territory?

  The column would be split into commands of ten by ten. The men would be split into groups of ten spearmen, ten archers, and ten swordsmen and likewise repeated. Akish-Antum explained that in case of a Nephites attack, they could best work in concert to repel them and support each other’s strengths and weakness. The Gadianton said he hoped they could make it as far as the borders of the River Sidon, within a day’s march of Zarahemla, before being detected. By then it would be too late for the Nephites to defend themselves.

  This all depended on the Gadianton scouts finding clear paths on seldom-traveled roads. Nephites could be on any road at any time, conceded Akish-Antum, but they could be dealt with. They would be captured and slain on the altar of choice, whether Baal, Moloch, or Votan. The warriors cheered at this, their blood lust insatiable.

  It was well before midday when the riders came. The clouds billowed overhead on this hot and dry late spring morning. Scouts rode up hard and spoke to Akish-Antum. “Grand Master, there is a large force approaching swiftly from the southwest.”