Heroes of the Fallen

by David J. West

  Ezra nodded and began to inch back toward the overhang, feeling his way, because he would not turn his head away from the rocks where the lion lurked.

  Fast as fear, the lion roared its challenge and jumped over a huge stand of rocks. It ran a short distance to another dark collection of shadows.

  Amaron drew his broadsword with his right hand and held the war hammer ready in his left. Scanning the darkness, he waited anxiously.

  “Where is it?” asked Ezra.

  “I don’t know,” said Amaron.

  The men stirred. “What was that?” asked Reuben, rubbing his eyes.

  “Get up and ready your spears,” called Amaron over his shoulder. “Reuben, your bow.”

  “I cannot shoot well in the dark,” said the old man, still trying to rouse himself.

  “You’re worthless,” muttered Daniel.

  “Hey, when the light comes I will—” The beast roared again and cut Reuben off. It had circled the camp.

  “It’s fast, could be a man-eater to be this bold. It must know there’s a group of us, more than a few. It’s aggressive, be ready for anything.” Amaron scanned the darkness.

  Ezra twitched, watching every which way, eyes wide with fear.

  Judah approached with his spear poised. “Where is it? I don’t see anything.”

  “Be still,” Amaron warned. “It is stalking us. Don’t move anywhere without backup.”

  They clustered a little more, waiting. The silence in the darkness seemed to stretch on without end. Ezra moved farther into the camp and threw more wood on the fire.

  “Don’t anyone look into it. The lion won’t come from there anyway,” said Amaron.

  Ezra’s fire grew quickly and crackled loudly. He had thrown all the wood for the night onto it.

  Amaron felt sure that the men looked into the flames for the primeval, false comfort it gave them from the creatures of the night. Their night vision was surely destroyed, rendering them useless if this fight went anywhere.

  The great cat was still out there. He could feel its presence, watching, waiting, and ravenous to devour them. It could sit and wait, then slam them to their deaths. Amaron had seen the saber-toothed lions swat bison with their great paws and break legs and ribs, before puncturing the thick bodies with their long, curved teeth.

  A vicious snarl ripped through the still of night. With near blinding speed, the lion with its dagger-like teeth pounced upon Judah, blindsiding him and taking the hapless man to the ground. The instant Judah screamed, Amaron moved to aid him, as did Daniel and Reuben, each with an arrow knocked.

  The lion roared again and disappeared into the night.

  Judah had deep gashes across his chest. He quivered uncontrollably in shock. They cleaned his wounds and sat him next to the fire.

  “It’s still out there feeling us out for a weakness,” said Reuben.

  “You bet your fat back-side it’s still out there. That curelom muncher is hungry, and it’s got a taste for Judah’s flesh,” said Daniel with a smirk.

  “Shut up,” mumbled Judah. “It did not get a taste.”

  The beast roared again.

  Amaron remained a short distance from the camp, his back to a thick tree, waiting and listening. “Where are you?” he whispered. “Come taste Zarahemlan steel.” He moved a short distance to another thick oak. A low groan came from behind, Amaron swung, ready to drive Ramevorn hard, but it was only Ezra carrying Judah’s spear.

  “Don’t do that!” Amaron snapped.

  “Sorry, I wanted to help,” said Ezra.

  “Be more careful. It will try to sneak up behind us if it can. That’s a cat’s way.”

  “Like it did with Judah?”

  “Yea, he is blessed it did not get him worse.”

  “Those fangs, they were huge.” Ezra shuddered.

  “Yea, they stab and kill with them or swat you with their paws. They can strike hard enough to break a man’s leg or neck. We have seen them out in the Hermounts wilderness leap upon a mammoth and bury their long fangs in the poor creature’s back until the behemoths drop dead.”

  A roar sounded, this time much farther away, somewhere near the peak of the next hill.

  “Did it leave?”

  “It seems so. It must have decided we were not worth the trouble. I would still prefer to hunt and kill it, because man-eaters should not be allowed to roam anywhere near our settlements.”

  “Maybe it will get some Lamanites for us,” offered Ezra.

  “Maybe the Lamanites sent it to get us,” joked Daniel.

  “Let’s go back to camp—” The lion leapt upon Amaron, pinning him to the ground. As it moved to stab its saber-like teeth into Amaron’s neck, Ezra thrust his spear into its ribs. The spear head sank all the way to the knot of eagle feathers Judah had placed inches below the brazen head.

  The lion cried out in pain and rolled off Amaron, convulsing and spitting. It glared at its attacker, powerless to move toward him. It took a half step and collapsed, its eyes still following the skinny man who had driven the spear.

  A second roar rang out as another huge cat leapt out of the shadows toward the unconscious Amaron. Ezra was now weaponless, his spear still embedded in the first lion.

  The others stood frozen near the fire. Ezra was on his own. Raising his arms above his head, he screamed at the cat, “Get outta here or I’ll kill you, too!” The savage lion roared at the little man and took a step forward, its sinister green eyes fixed on him.

  “Go, go, get away from here!”

  The lion stepped forward again until it was almost on top of Amaron, who lay deathly still. It roared its challenge and looked to its fallen mate, maybe sensing that the little man had no weapons. It took another step forward, its gruesome head lowered, ready to leap.

  Amaron’s war hammer swung upward like a striking serpent, its curved spike sinking right between the lion’s eyes. The beast dropped like a stone.

  “You all right?” asked Ezra.

  “Yea, I am,” said Amaron.

  “I feared you were gone. You had not moved in all that time.”

  “I would be dead if it weren’t for your bravery. You gave me time to regain my senses and let the cat walk into a trap.” He rolled onto his side and took deep breaths for a while before struggling to his knees. He looked at Ezra and said, “I thank you for your courage.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “It’s time for someone else to take over the watch. I need some sleep.”

  Tongues of Fire

  How can a heart be so black? Why does he watch me so? His intelligence is the abysmal depth of despair upon me, it is so cold.

  “What are you thinking about, Zelph?” asked Prince Almek as he tossed a spent and fatty morsel of meat into a small brazier burning low blue flames before him.

  “Nothing, my prince,” said Zelph.

  “Don’t claim you weren’t. Come now, I need all your thoughts and counsels.”

  “I was only thinking that Akish-Antum stares at me. I know not why.”

  “Take heart, big man. He stares to unnerve me, not you. You are my bodyguard and I expect that should the need ever arise... you would do better than me at slaying the dreamer, that cursed stargazing sorcerer,” he muttered, looking at his scarred hand where the shattered obsidian blade had cut clean and deep. A bizarre spider-webbed scar tore itself across the universe of his hand.

  “I would do my best,” said Zelph, fingering his own dagger.

  “I mean, if you have to.”

  “Of course, my prince.”

  “We shall see what happens upon this journey of conquest. I don’t trust him. Grand Master of the Gadiantons he may be, but he is still a Nephite dog. It is the Nephite way to usurp our birthright and betray us, being a Gadianton only compounds the treachery. It always comes back to the birthright, I am sure of it.” Almek scowled at the fire in the brazier.

  “We should be brothers,” responded Zelph offhandedly.

  “What? You and I, p
erhaps, my father did get around, but you look just like a bulkier Qof-Ayin.”

  “No, I meant Lamanites and Nephites,” he said, regretting that he had said anything out loud.

  Almek’s face darkened and he threw down his wine glass. “Do not speak of such things. Such thoughts are well and good for philosophers, poets, and priests, but I am grounded in the real world, and I tell you there will never be peace between us. Not until we stand upon their graves and bury their memory from off the face of the earth so that no one will know they ever walked this land. When their very existence is denied a thousand years from now, then I will be happy.”

  “That is a long time to wait for satisfaction.”

  “It will be worth it.” The prince tossed a small amount of his wine into the brazier. The fire flared up briefly at the alcohol fuel. He sat watching the flames and smiled. It took a few moments for him to come back. Zelph stood by, quietly watching.

  Almek straightened in his chair and continued in a heated, haughty tone. “I have heard the tales, the fables, the myths, that the Nephite forefather guided us here from across the great deep, bah. He eventually sought dominion over his elders. They would not stand for his trickery and stole away into the wilderness to retain their liberty. Father knows the names of the lands and peoples across the sea. I care not. They have no meaning in my life. What does he call them? Row-mans now and before it was the Baby-Lonians. No, we are not brothers and should not be. The Nephites have my scorn and can have the sharp end of my sword. That is all I care to give.” Almek drew his sword and held it high toward the rising red sun. Its golden hilt shone bright as red death in the morning light.

  Zelph said nothing. He had heard all this dogma before many times, but his father had taught him the truth of those ancient bygone times. Their ancestor, Samuel the prophet, had left a written record for his children. In time it had passed to Qof-Ayin and he had read the account to his son Zelph, who had believed even as a boy. His father bowed to no gods of stone, he knew who his God was—the Great Spirit, the Ancient of Days.

  Two riders in mud-caked cloaks came up hard and fast, their mounts frothing heavily. Wiping his brow, one dismounted and approached Zelph and Almek.

  “My master, where is my master?” said the first, not yet realizing he was addressing the prince.

  “Here,” said Akish-Antum as he strode forward from out of the western darkness. “What news?”

  Almek frowned. Most of the Gadiantons did not show him the respect he felt he deserved.

  “Ill news, Grand Master. The Nephites have four-score men heading this way. There are too many for us to handle. If they should spot the column—”

  “Silence!” thundered the Gadianton Grand Master as he struck the scout, knocking him backwards. Akish-Antum rubbed his chin for a moment. “Anathoth!” he shouted.

  Anathoth rushed forward, sharp spear in hand. The Gadianton spoke to the bold-faced Lamanite in a language unfamiliar to Zelph and Almek. Anathoth and three hundred of his warriors then marched down the road.

  “What was that?” asked Almek.

  “I took care of a problem, my prince. Anathoth will handle it swift and clean. No word of our approach will escape. We must be especially careful now. It will be more difficult to avoid Nephite townships and farms. We must slay more than a few to mask our approach,” said the Gadianton, cold as the frozen north wind.

  “I have no problem with that. But I make the final decision, is that understood?” said Almek.

  “The Tultecs only answer to me. They would not acknowledge your commands. Trust me, my prince, we all serve but one purpose,” said Akish-Antum, flexing his hand underneath his gauntlet. The bright copper hand had several sharp spikes with the fingers ending in claws, the inhuman hand of a monster.

  It disgusted Zelph to be near the man. He only wished to be away from here. Why am I here, what am I doing with these wicked bloodthirsty men? Great Spirit, I am to serve you. How can I do that here? Please answer me and guide me soon.

  Within the hour they passed through a wooded glade covered in red gore. The copper smell of spilt blood hung thick in the air against the wet white sage. It had been quick and decisive. Anathoth and his men were completely unhurt, the Tultecs did not have a single casualty. It must have been lightning quick and deadly.

  As the royal chariot passed over the crimson ground, Zelph prayed. Great Spirit, how long must I remain? Please hear my prayer and deliver me.

  Akish-Antum, standing in the glade beside a few of his men, spoke to Uzzsheol, “You are sure none escaped?”

  “None now live.”

  “How many were there?”

  “Forty-two, Malachi cannot count.”

  “Good. See to it that the bodies are hidden as well as can be expected.”

  “Yes, Grand Master.”

  In all his eighteen years, Zelph had never felt afraid of any man, but something about the Gadianton Grand Master made his skin crawl. It was as if a primordial evil hung over him and radiated outward. The man stared at him as though reading his thoughts.

  Great Spirit of my fathers, help me escape from here.

  After the massacre in the glade, Akish-Antum demanded an extra heavy march. He wanted as many miles as possible between their camp and the glade.

  “You are not a gambler, are you Akish-Antum?” said Prince Almek.

  “No, my prince, not when I can control the outcome. So, I am no gambler. I fix everything,” said the Gadianton with a mirthless laugh.

  Zelph sat near the prince, but he would not join in the conversation. He had no desire to speak with the company of Gadiantons, especially when the talk drifted to women and all manner of debauchery. Each man swore by the throne of heaven that his were the worst of stories, and each in turn said they could best what came before. The talk overflowed with riotous laughter at the climax of each story, growing in intensity each time from the increased drunkenness.

  “Let me tell you my miraculous story of debauchery and buggery!” one named Samos said, slurring drunkenly, and the laughter and arguments arose all over again.

  Zelph went within himself to avoid listening.

  Akish-Antum drank deep of his wineskin and proclaimed, “The sacred virgins of Isabel in Tennen-Isis are the best. I will see if I can capture you one, my prince, once things are done in Zarahemla. They can_”

  Zelph could handle no more. “May I go hunting once again, my prince? I long for some fresh venison.”

  “We move again at dawn, and we need you to be rested for the morrow,” said Almek.

  “I shall be ready,” Zelph answered, walking away into the darkness. He noticed the Gadianton Grand Master motion to Uzzsheol. He will surely have me followed. I must be cautious. Great Spirit, please guide and direct me. Help me. Deliver me from my enemies.

  As Zelph walked away from the dim lights of the camp’s few cook fires, he looked low and over his shoulder and saw the lanky form of the hawk-faced Gadianton tracker behind him. Great Spirit, my God, please help me. Open a way, I know you can.

  A dog ran from a tent, barking and growling at Uzzsheol. He stopped short to draw his tomahawk from his belt, taking his eyes off Zelph for a moment. A dozen men came from their tents to see why the dog was barking.

  “Who are you to come to our tents at this late hour? Are you a thief?” demanded one.

  “Nay, I am not,” said Uzzsheol the tracker, annoyed that the snarling dog was not called off.

  More men began to congregate around them. Several shouted at Uzzsheol who, now silent and angry, tried to push his way through. A burly Lamanite shoved him and Uzzsheol pushed him back. It escalated to a wrestling match. As they rolled on the ground, the dog nipped at his legs until he kicked it and sent it yelping in pain. He drew his big knife and slashed the burly man’s left ear off. Another man grabbed a spear, and the tracker crouched, ready to fight all two dozen men if need be.

  “Enough! What goes on here?” shouted Akish-Antum, whose appearance caused most of them to sl
ink off into the shadows.

  “This man is a thief. My dog caught him and he cut off my ear!” said the man clutching his bloody head.

  “He is no thief. He is my servant and you had one ear too many,” laughed the Gadianton as the man retired to his tent holding his bleeding head.

  Uzzsheol looked about, but in the gathering darkness he had lost Zelph. He had no idea which way the big man had gone.

  Zelph kept a good pace until he was miles from the camp. The army was heading northwest to go the long way around the narrow pass, so he would go northeast and skirt around the mountains above the narrow pass. He kept going until he passed out from exhaustion some time near dawn.

  He awoke near midday to a bright and warm sun. The trees flowed gently in the wind, and white wildflowers surrounded him on all sides amidst a sea of grass. This place is beautiful. I will thank the Great Spirit for guiding me here.

  He knelt and prayed aloud, “Great Spirit, if this is the course you have set before me, guide me that I may find what you would have of me. Help me provide for myself that I may eat. I will go where you lead me. Thank you, Lord, Amen.”

  As he looked up, he saw a large buck standing nearby, gazing at him. He drew his bow and nocked an arrow, but the buck ran from him. Giving chase, he ran for miles with the buck always staying just out of reach. Yet if it went too far ahead it would wait for him to catch up. This strange game went on for some time, until the buck came to a cool stream in a small grove and stopped. A small waterfall made a music all its own there.

  Zelph was about to shoot the deer when he heard a man’s voice. “Hold your arrow. I have food enough for both of us.”

  The man was quite a bit shorter than Zelph, with a full beard and sparse gray hair. He stroked the buck’s neck like a pet.

  “Who are you, that the animals fear you not?” asked Zelph.

  “I am a disciple of the Lord. One who will tarry until his return,” said the man kindly.

  “I have heard a little of you three.”

  “And I have heard of you as well, brother. I know your concerns and fears, and I am here to tell you that your father is a good man and has need of you to do his work in the temple of Zarahemla.”