by Paulo Coelho
“I admire your faith, though you worship gods that do not exist,” answered Elijah. “If the present situation is, as you say, worthy of a celestial battle, the Lord will use me as an instrument to defeat Baal and his companions on the Fifth Mountain. It would have been better for you to order my assassination.”
“I thought of it. But it wasn’t necessary; at the proper moment the gods acted in my favor.”
Elijah did not reply. The high priest turned and picked up the papyrus on which the woman had just written her text.
“Well done,” he commented. After reading it carefully, he took the ring from his finger, dipped it in one of the small vessels of ink, and applied his seal in the left corner. If anyone were found carrying a papyrus without the high priest’s seal, he could be condemned to death.
“Why do you always have to do that?” she asked.
“Because these papyri transport ideas,” he replied. “And ideas have power.”
“They’re just commercial transactions.”
“But they could be battle plans. Or our secret prayers. Nowadays, with letters and papyrus, it has become a simple matter to steal the inspiration of a people. It is difficult to hide clay tablets, or animal skins, but the combination of papyrus and the alphabet of Byblos can bring an end to the civilization of any nation, and destroy the world.”
A woman came running.
“Priest! Priest! Come see what’s happening!”
Elijah and the widow followed him. People were coming from every corner, heading for the same place; the air was close to unbreathable from the dust they raised. Children ran ahead, laughing and shouting. The adults walked slowly, in silence.
When they arrived at the southern gate to the city, a small multitude was already gathered there. The high priest pushed his way through the crowd and came upon the reason for the confusion.
A sentinel of Akbar was kneeling, his arms spread, his hands tied to a large piece of wood on his shoulders. His clothes were in tatters, and his left eye had been gouged out by a small tree branch.
On his chest, written with slashes of a knife, were some Assyrian characters. The high priest understood Egyptian, but the Assyrian language was not important enough to be learned and memorized; it was necessary to ask the help of a trader who was at the scene.
“‘We declare war,’” the man translated.
The onlookers spoke not a word. Elijah could see panic written on their faces.
“Give me your sword,” the high priest said to one of the soldiers.
The soldier obeyed. The high priest asked that the governor and the commander be notified of what had happened. Then, with a swift blow, he plunged the blade into the kneeling sentinel’s heart.
The man moaned and fell to the ground. He was dead, free of the pain and shame of having allowed himself to be captured.
“Tomorrow I shall go to the Fifth Mountain to offer sacrifices,” he told the frightened people. “And the gods will once again remember us.”
Before leaving, he turned to Elijah.
“You see it with your own eyes. The heavens are still helping.”
“One question, nothing more,” said Elijah. “Why do you wish to see your people sacrificed?”
“Because it is what must be done to kill an idea.”
After seeing him talk with the woman that morning, Elijah had understood what that idea was: the alphabet.
“It is too late. Already it spreads throughout the world, and the Assyrians cannot conquer the whole of the earth.”
“And who says they cannot? After all, the gods of the Fifth Mountain are on the side of their armies.”
FOR HOURS HE WALKED the valley, as he had done the afternoon before. He knew there would be at least one more afternoon and night of peace: no war was fought in darkness, because the soldiers could not distinguish the enemy. That night, he knew, the Lord was giving him the chance to change the destiny of the city that had taken him into its bosom.
“Solomon would know what to do,” he told his angel. “And David, and Moses, and Isaac. They were men the Lord trusted, but I am merely an indecisive servant. The Lord has given me a choice that should be His.”
“The history of our ancestors seemeth to be full of the right men in the right places,” answered the angel. “Do not believe it: the Lord demandeth of people only that which is within the possibilities of each of them.”
“Then He has made a mistake with me.”
“Whatever affliction that cometh, finally goeth away. Such are the glories and tragedies of the world.”
“I shall not forget that,” Elijah said. “But when they go away, the tragedies leave behind eternal marks, while the glories leave useless memories.”
The angel made no reply.
“Why, during all this time I have been in Akbar, could I not find allies to work toward peace? What importance has a solitary prophet?”
“What importance hath the sun, in its solitary travel through the heavens? What importance hath a mountain rising in the middle of a valley? What importance hath an isolated well? Yet it is they that indicate the road the caravan is to follow.”
“My heart drowns in sorrow,” said Elijah, kneeling and extending his arms to heaven. “Would that I could die here and now, and never have my hands stained with the blood of my people, or a foreign people. Look behind you. What do you see?”
“Thou knowest that I am blind,” said the angel. “Because mine eyes still retain the light of the Lord’s glory, I can perceive nothing else. I can see only what thy heart telleth me. I can see only the vibrations of the dangers that threaten thee. I cannot know what lieth behind thee…”
“Then I’ll tell you: there lies Akbar. Seen at this time of day, with the afternoon sun lighting its profile, it’s lovely. I have grown accustomed to its streets and walls, to its generous and hospitable folk. Though the city’s inhabitants are still prisoners of commerce and superstition, their hearts are as pure as any nation on earth. With them I have learned much that I did not know; in return, I have listened to their laments and—inspired by God—have been able to resolve their internal conflicts. Many times have I been at risk, and someone has always come to my aid. Why must I choose between saving this city and redeeming my people?”
“Because a man must choose,” answered the angel. “Therein lieth his strength: the power of his decisions.”
“It is a difficult choice; it demands that I accept the death of one people to save another.”
“Even more difficult is defining a path for oneself. He who maketh no choice is dead in the eyes of the Lord, though he go on breathing and walking in the streets.
“Moreover,” the angel continued, “no one dieth. The arms of eternity open for every soul, and each one will carry on his task. There is a reason for everything under the sun.”
Elijah again raised his arms to the heavens.
“My people fell away from the Lord because of a woman’s beauty. Phoenicia may be destroyed because a priest thinks that writing is a threat to the gods. Why does He who made the world prefer to use tragedy to write the book of fate?”
Elijah’s cries echoed through the valley to return to his ears.
“Thou knowest not whereof thou speakest,” the angel replied. “There is no tragedy, only the unavoidable. Everything hath its reason for being: thou needest only distinguish what is temporary from what is lasting.”
“What is temporary?” asked Elijah.
“The unavoidable.”
“And what is lasting?”
“The lessons of the unavoidable.”
Saying this, the angel disappeared.
That night, at the evening meal, Elijah told the woman and the boy, “Prepare your things. We may depart at any moment.”
“You haven’t slept for two days,” said the woman. “An emissary from the governor was here this afternoon, asking for you to go to the palace. I said you were in the valley and would spend the night there.”
“You did w
ell,” he replied, going straightway to his room and falling into a deep sleep.
HE WAS AWAKENED THE NEXT MORNING BY THE SOUND of musical instruments. When he went downstairs to see what was happening, the boy was already at the door.
“Look!” he said, his eyes gleaming with excitement. “It’s war!”
A battalion of soldiers, imposing in their battle gear and armaments, was marching toward the southern gate of Akbar. A group of musicians followed them, marking the battalion’s pace to the beat of drums.
“Yesterday you were afraid,” Elijah told the boy.
“I didn’t know we had so many soldiers. Our warriors are the best!”
He left the boy and went into the street; he must find the governor at any cost. The other inhabitants of the city had been awakened by the sound of the war anthems and were enthralled; for the first time in their lives they were seeing the march of an organized battalion in its military uniforms, its lances and shields reflecting the first rays of dawn. The commander had achieved an enviable feat; he had prepared his army without anyone becoming aware of it, and now—or so Elijah feared—he could make everyone believe that victory over the Assyrians was possible.
He pushed his way through the soldiers and came to the front of the column. There, mounted on horses, the commander and the governor were leading the march.
“We have an agreement!” said Elijah, running to the governor’s side. “I can perform a miracle!”
The governor made no reply. The garrison marched past the city wall and into the valley.
“You know this army is an illusion!” Elijah insisted. “The Assyrians have a five-to-one advantage, and they are experienced warriors! Don’t allow Akbar to be destroyed!”
“What do you desire of me?” the governor asked, without halting his steed. “Last night I sent an emissary so we could talk, and they said you were out of the city. What else could I do?”
“Facing the Assyrians in the open field is suicide! You know that!”
The commander was listening to the conversation, making no comment. He had already discussed his strategy with the governor; the Israelite prophet would have a surprise.
Elijah ran alongside the horses, not knowing exactly what he should do. The column of soldiers left the city, heading toward the middle of the valley.
“Help me, Lord,” he thought. “Just as Thou stopped the sun to help Joshua in combat, stop time and let me convince the governor of his error.”
As soon as he thought this, the commander shouted, “Halt!”
“Perhaps it’s a sign,” Elijah told himself. “I must take advantage of it.”
The soldiers formed two lines of engagement, like human walls. Their shields were firmly anchored in the earth, their swords pointing outward.
“You believe you are looking at Akbar’s warriors,” the governor said to Elijah.
“I’m looking at young men who laugh in the face of death,” was the reply.
“Know then that what we have here is only a battalion. The greater part of our men are in the city, on top of the walls. We have placed there caldrons of boiling oil ready to be poured on the heads of anyone trying to scale them.
“We have stores divided among several locations, so that flaming arrows cannot do away with our food supply. According to the commander’s calculations, we can hold out for almost two months against a siege. While the Assyrians were making ready, so too were we.”
“I was never told this,” Elijah said.
“Remember this: even having helped the people of Akbar, you are still a foreigner, and some in the military could mistake you for a spy.”
“But you wished for peace!”
“Peace is still possible, even after combat begins. But now we shall negotiate under conditions of equality.”
The governor related that messengers had been dispatched to Sidon and Tyre advising of the gravity of their position. It had been difficult for him to ask for help; others might think him incapable of controlling the situation. But he had concluded that this was the only solution.
The commander had developed an ingenious plan; as soon as combat began, he would return to the city to organize the resistance. The troops in the field were to kill as many of the enemy as possible, then withdraw to the mountains. They knew the valley better than anyone and could attack the Assyrians in small skirmishes, thus reducing the pressure of the siege.
Relief would come soon, and the Assyrian army would be decimated. “We can resist for sixty days, but that will not be necessary,” the governor told Elijah.
“But many will die.”
“We are all in the presence of death. And no one is afraid, not even I.”
The governor was surprised at his own courage. He had never before been in a battle, and as the moment of combat drew nearer, he had made plans to flee the city. That morning he had agreed with some of his most faithful friends on the best means of retreat. He could not go to Sidon or Tyre, where he would be considered a traitor, but Jezebel would receive him because she needed men she could trust.
But when he stepped onto the field of battle, he had seen in the soldiers’ eyes an immense joy, as if they had trained their entire lives for an objective and the great moment had finally come.
“Fear exists until the moment when the unavoidable happens,” he told Elijah. “After that, we must waste none of our energy on it.”
Elijah was confused. He felt the same way, though he was ashamed to recognize it; he recalled the boy’s excitement when the troops had marched past.
“Away with you,” the governor said. “You’re a foreigner, unarmed, and have no need to fight for something you do not believe in.”
Elijah did not move.
“They will come,” said the commander. “You were caught by surprise, but we are prepared.”
Even so, Elijah remained where he stood.
They scanned the horizon: no dust. The Assyrian army was not on the move.
The soldiers in the first rank held their spears firmly, pointed forward; the bowmen had their strings half-drawn, ready to loose their arrows at the commander’s order. A few men slashed at the air with their swords to keep their muscles warm.
“Everything is ready,” the commander repeated. “They are going to attack.”
Elijah noticed the euphoria in his voice. He must be eager for the battle to begin, eager to demonstrate his bravery. Beyond a doubt he was imagining the Assyrian warriors, the sword blows, the shouting and confusion, and picturing himself being remembered by the Phoenician priests as an example of efficiency and courage.
The governor interrupted his thoughts.
“They’re not moving.”
Elijah remembered what he had asked of the Lord, for the sun to stand still in the heavens as He had done for Joshua. He tried to talk with his angel but did not hear his voice.
Little by little the spearmen lowered their weapons, the archers relaxed the tension on their bowstrings, the swordsmen replaced their weapons in their scabbards. The burning sun of midday arrived; several warriors fainted from the heat. Even so, for the rest of the day the detachment remained at readiness.
When the sun set, the warriors returned to Akbar; they appeared disappointed at having survived another day.
Elijah alone stayed behind in the valley. He had been wandering about for some time when the light appeared. The angel of the Lord was before him.
“God hath heard thy prayers,” the angel said. “And hath seen the torment in thy soul.”
Elijah turned to the heavens and gave thanks for the blessing.
“The Lord is the source of all glory and all power. He stopped the Assyrian army.”
“No,” the angel replied. “Thou hast said that the choice must be His. And He hath made the choice for thee.”
“LET’S GO,” THE WOMAN TOLD HER SON.
“I don’t want to go,” the boy replied. “I’m proud of Akbar’s soldiers.”
His mother bade him gather his belong
ings. “Take only what you can carry,” she said.
“You forget we’re poor, and I don’t have much.”
Elijah went up to his room. He looked about him, as if for the first and last time; he quickly descended and stood watching the widow store her inks.
“Thank you for taking me with you,” she said. “I was only fifteen when I married, and I had no idea what life was. Our families had arranged everything; I had been raised since childhood for that moment and carefully prepared to help my husband in all circumstances.”
“Did you love him?”
“I taught my heart to do so. Because there was no choice, I convinced myself that it was the best way. When I lost my husband, I resigned myself to the sameness of day and night; I asked the gods of the Fifth Mountain—in those times I still believed in them—to take me as soon as my son could live on his own.
“That was when you appeared. I’ve told you this once before, and I want to repeat it now: from that day on, I began to notice the beauty of the valley, the dark outline of the mountains projected against the sky, the moon ever-changing shape so the wheat could grow. Many nights while you slept I walked about Akbar, listening to the cries of newborn infants, the songs of men who had been drinking after work, the firm steps of the sentinels on the city walls. How many times had I seen that landscape without noticing how beautiful it was? How many times had I looked at the sky without seeing how deep it is? How many times had I heard the sounds of Akbar around me without understanding that they were part of my life?
“I once again felt an immense will to live. You told me to study the characters of Byblos, and I did. I thought only of pleasing you, but I came to care deeply about what I was doing, and I discovered something: the meaning of my life was whatever I wanted it to be.”
Elijah stroked her hair. It was the first time he had done so.
“Why haven’t you always been like this?” she asked.
“Because I was afraid. But today, waiting for the battle to start, I heard the governor’s words, and I thought of you. Fear reaches only to the point where the unavoidable begins; from there on, it loses its meaning. And all we have left is the hope that we are making the right decision.”