by Misty Moncur
I thought of his mother and wondered that we were still there having this conversation, one of us bitter, the other frantic, and both of us confused in very different ways.
“Follow me,” he said as he moved slowly into a crouching position.
When he was satisfied that all the men had passed us, he motioned me to follow him. We moved as quickly as we could through the dark forest. This wasn’t a new experience. We had done this many times together.
When we neared the village, I passed him and took the lead. I knew Jarom had gotten here in time to warn the villagers because they weren’t in the village. I led Gideon toward the small stream in the little hollow deep in the forest behind Hemni and Dinah’s.
He stopped me with a touch on my arm and questioned me with his eyes.
“I trust you,” I said. “Do you trust me?”
He gave one decisive nod, and we continued on.
I sounded the margay as I approached and was relieved when I heard the immediate answer.
It was eerily familiar when I met Kalem near the stream to exchange information. But this time, I allowed Gideon to do the talking while I looked around to make sure everyone I loved was there.
“Where is Isabel?” I broke in.
Kalem looked at us gravely. “She went alone to the tannery after the evening meal.”
Gideon and I glanced at each other.
“The boys have all gone to look for her.”
I hurried over to Hemni, who had to turn away from Isabel in her hour of need, who was bound by his oath to resist the temptation to fight for his daughter.
Sometimes daughters had to do the fighting for themselves.
“I will find her,” I vowed to him.
His eyes glittered in the moonlight with unshed tears. “I know you will,” he said. “You must. I could not bear to lose two daughters in one evening.”
We stared into each other’s eyes, and I knew that whether or not he agreed with the decision Zeke and I had come to, he would support us in it.
I thought then of the fathers on the training ground so many years before. How they had instructed their sons, given them all the knowledge they had, demonstrated the movements of the weapons, drawn diagrams in the dirt of the corn field. They had done everything short of taking a weapon into their own hands to provide their sons with all they would need to win the battles ahead.
And then the fathers had trusted their children and let them go.
I thought of my own father. We had been so young when he had given up his life, just little children. But had leaving us alone on this earth really been so different than what Hemni had done by taking that oath?
My father, the king, had sent us into the world with all he had to offer, with what he deemed to be of most value to us in life’s battles—his testimony.
Mother had given us his shields and weapons—the Holy Spirit, the word of God.
And faith.
As soon as Gideon and I were back in the trees I grabbed for his hand and pulled him to a stop.
“Let us send up a prayer,” I insisted.
My insistence wasn’t necessary for he dropped to his knees instantly. I followed him, and he uttered the words.
Then we were on our feet and running again. We circumvented the village, choosing instead to run straight for the tannery. We heard calls and jeers before we arrived. They were so loud that even though I sounded the margay again, I was sure nobody heard it.
The light from the moon was dim, but the clouds moved then, and Gideon and I were able to get a better look at what was happening.
The Lamanite men had bundles and pallets of things they had looted from the village and probably other surrounding settlements. Perhaps there were even some captives, but it was much too dark to tell for sure. The bundles and captives would make their travel slow. They did not anticipate being followed.
They knew the people of Ammon would not contest them, but did they not know the sons of Ammon were home from the wars?
I was sure Jarom had been able to gather no more than ten men from the villages. Gideon and I made twelve. The odds were not in our favor, but then, they never had been.
As the Lamanites started to depart with their stolen goods, it became quiet at the tannery, and we could do nothing but watch. Gideon and I fell in behind the enemy. We followed them past the village and on toward the West Road.
Were they really so bold as to think they would march out of here right on the main road?
We heard an owl and Gideon instantly pulled me to a stop next to a large kuyche tree.
“No, that’s Kenai. He uses the owl sometimes when the margay has been compromised.”
Gideon answered the call and we stayed where we were, standing so close we could feel each other’s breath. Slowly Gideon let his hand run down my slick hair from my crown to my shoulder. It seemed to be an absent-minded action because his every other sense was in use listening and seeing into the night.
But I knew that Gideon did not do things absent-mindedly.
We heard the owl moments before Kenai appeared out of the darkness with Jarom, Zeke, and my brothers. Muloki was with them and Mahonri and Jonas from the neighboring village of Antum. But I was surprised when Lamech, who scowled at me, and Enos, who gave me a subdued smile, emerged from the dark forest with a man who looked so much like Gideon—broad shoulders, chestnut colored hair that fell to his shoulders, inscrutable expression—they were surely brothers.
Jashon.
He looked from Gideon to me and scrutinized me as curiously as I scrutinized him. When he looked back to Gideon, I noticed the slight raise of his eyebrow.
Four chief captains, the lost heir to the Lamanite throne, Teancum’s personal guard, five lethally trained assassins, a fierce Lamanite warrior, and a fourteen-year old kid with an attitude.
I almost laughed when I wondered who would emerge as the leader that night.
“They’ve got fifteen captives,” Zeke told us. “Isabel is among them.”
Chapter 22
“But I didn’t see any captives! Only provisions. They only took provisions.”
I looked to Gideon to confirm what I had seen.
“The prisoners were gagged and bound, Keturah,” he informed me softly.
“Some of the little ones were on pallets,” added Kenai. But he laughed just a little. “Isabel fought like a wildcat.”
Little ones? “Why didn’t you stop them?” I demanded. He had obviously been close enough to see.
“We were only three against fifty at that time. They didn’t intend the captives immediate harm. Better to wait until we gathered our men and surprise them when we have the advantage.”
“When they are sleeping,” Gideon added as he caught my eye.
And suddenly I knew what Kenai and Gideon were both planning.
It had been the one thing I had done in the army that had really bothered me. Killing men while they slept, when they had no defense against me, did not sit well with me. I guessed I was like Kalem that way. He had killed my father when he was unarmed and defenseless, and his guilt had harrowed him for many years.
I thought of the men I had killed on the Cumeni crossroad so our army could get into Cumeni to lay the siege. The deaths haunted me still, and I could finally understand why our parents had made such a powerful oath against shedding blood. That was something I had never been able to understand before that night and had, admittedly, resented a great deal.
I swallowed hard and listened closely as the men made their plans.
We had a time to wait, and I lay on the ground as close to invisible as possible between Kenai and Darius. We had followed the Lamanites until they stopped to make camp late in the second watch. We lay in small groups a short distance away from them, spread out until we had them nearly surrounded. We could only hope that they were too tired to harass their prisoners tonight. If they attempted to, we would shoot into the shadows and pray our eyes were as keen as we needed them to be.
Waiting in the darkness was torture. It was not worse than the sheer terror the captives must have been feeling, but it was torture nonetheless.
I thought of Isabel fighting for her freedom like a wildcat, like the margay whose call we used as a warning. Dinah had said the world needed more girls like us.
Isabel, nearing fifteen now, was almost as old as I had been when I marched away to war. It was time for Hemni to start thinking about a betrothal for her. Another year or two and then a year-long betrothal. I smiled into the darkness. I had a feeling Isabel would be putting up a bigger fight than I had.
Finally, the wind shifted and the breeze would no longer carry our whispers to the enemies, so I turned to Kenai.
“You saw them take Isabel?” I asked in a low tone.
He didn’t take his eyes off the still shadows in the distance to speak to me. “Yeah. But she practically walked out with them willingly.”
“But you said she fought like a wildcat.”
I saw the hint of a smile on his lips. “She fought to free the other girls. When she finally admitted she couldn’t, she went willingly. I think,” he paused and shook his head. “I know she figured that if she went, she could free them later.”
“She could have gotten away?”
“They pushed her away. They didn’t want to take her. She was too much trouble.”
“She’s just a little girl,” I said.
“A little girl who carries a tanning knife,” Darius broke in.
“What?”
“I think she’s been watching you for a long time, Ket.”
It had never occurred to me that other young girls might be looking to me as an example. I cringed. I was such a poor one. Girls should look to women like Cana and Mother, but not to me.
I gripped my own knife and turned back to the enemy camp. I felt suddenly responsible for Isabel. I would get her out of this. I would.
All thirteen of us lay silent and absolutely alert for several hours. The third watch had nearly passed, and it was deep in the dead of the night when I finally heard Kenai let out a slow breath.
In the next instant he was up and stealing into the camp. I heard the low call of the owl. My heart pounded. He was so broken inside and still so brave.
He was moving quickly, but his feet were silent and the wind was still with us. There were three sentries still awake, each one facing one of the two small fires that glowed. We had been watching long enough to know there were no other sentries beyond the firelight. If there had been, Kenai would have taken them out long ago.
Jarom and Gideon emerged from the darkness at the same moment and none of them hesitated when they reached the small circle of firelight, just kept moving crouched low until they were on their men. In the next instant the sentries were dead.
I had been watching my shadows for hours. I knew what positions they lay in, how often they rolled over, how very close they were to the thankfully sleeping and unharmed captives. Probably they planned to sell these women or give them to their superiors, the purchase price of honor.
As if there was honor in what they did.
And with that thought in my head, I got up in the same moment as Darius and all the others and sprinted for the circle of men.
I kept my focus on the men I was to kill. These men were not innocent. They were nothing like the guard on the Cumeni Road. They had faces. They had crimes.
Just as I was about to cross from the darkness into the firelight, one of the Lamanites called out to his brethren. He had awakened, and he sounded the alarm.
This did not alter our course of action. There would be no retreat. There would be no quarter given. We would not wait for a better time to fight, like Isabel had had to do. Unlike Isabel, we were completely prepared to save ourselves and others.
Three of my men were slow to wake so I was able to get them with my dagger. I drew my sword to fight another. When he was down, I glanced around and saw a huge man bearing down on Zeke. I stashed my sword and positioned my bow in the same movement of my arm with the precision and speed I had gained from years of practice, drew an arrow, and in the next moment met Zeke’s eyes across the camp as his opponent fell at his feet.
But there was no more time than that before another enemy was upon me.
I dropped my bow over my head and felt it fall comfortably into place on my shoulder. I pulled my axe from my belt in time to block the enemy’s. I kicked him and broke my axe free from his when he stumbled. I swung hard and wild—almost too wild. I was so furious with this man, with all of them. How dare they destroy our peace? Right here in our home. How dare they?
“Kanina.” Gideon’s steadying voice was all it took to bring me back into control. I took more time with my next two swings and was rewarded with blood.
Panting, I turned to thank Gideon, but he was gone. I found him engaged in a fight across the fire from me. How had he gotten there so quickly?
My mind went back to the meadow and all the times I had felt him there with me. But I fought free of the memories and rounded to fight the real enemy.
But there was no one. They were all dead or still fighting. They would be dead soon. We would not leave wounded, and we could not take prisoners.
I looked around at my brothers, all twelve of them. But I counted again. Ten, eleven, twelve.
Thirteen.
I stared in amazement as Isabel stood strong and proud over her fallen enemy.
Kenai noticed her too and approached her with care. He was right to do so. There was no telling what emotional state she was in. But it was clear she was okay—relieved and scared, but okay—when she didn’t attack Kenai and instead fell into his arms and let him comfort her.
I watched them for a moment, standing in the firelight together, the shadows and light flickering around them as they embraced. Maybe, I thought, she could comfort him too.
From the corner of my eye, I saw the man Isabel had fought was not dead. He had propped himself up enough to aim an arrow—not at the couple standing over him, but at Gideon, who stood victorious near the main fire, hands on hips, surveying our success.
My sling was on my belt and I grabbed it and loaded it in almost the same second. I barely noticed I had loaded Jarom’s jagged stone, the last remnant of the war, into the sling before I had slung it at the man.
The man jerked and slumped back to the earth, instantly dead from two projectiles—mine, that landed in his heart and another that landed simultaneously in his eye.
I turned to scan the camp for the other slingman and saw Jarom standing still poised in position with his sling swinging from his hand.
He caught my eye, glanced at Gideon, and gave me a slight nod. Then he grinned, winked roguishly, and blew me a kiss before turning to the others.
I turned too and found Jashon studying me carefully. He stood with Lamech who was describing something to him, probably his part in the battle.
Don’t fall in love with me, I thought ridiculously as I replaced my sling on my belt and wiped my axe down with a rag, remembering what Gideon had once said about yielding to his elder brother. I couldn’t contain a small smile that made Jashon narrow his eyes.
He watched me until Enos clapped him on the shoulder and motioned to the captives.
We woke the poor things and untied them. Some had slept through the battle, and some had lain awake. I hoped they had all used the good sense to close their eyes to it.
Many of them were still frightened and cowered from their protectors. The men were being so gentle, even trying first to loosen the bonds before showing their knives to the children if the bonds had to be cut. But I realized the captives did not know half of these men, so I stepped forward.
“These men are Helaman’s striplings,” I told the women. “They will not harm you.”
In all, there were seven women and eight children, mostly girls, that had been captured, and I knew most of them. No wonder Isabel had fought so hard—these were her friends, girls she went to church with, wom
en she looked up to.
We didn’t especially want to bury the Lamanites, but we didn’t want anyone coming across the grisly scene either, so we took the time to dig a wide, shallow grave with two shovels we found among the dead. The men took turns digging while Isabel and I helped the women tend to the frightened children. Gideon’s kinsmen had traveling food in their packs, and we gave it to the captives along with water to drink.
Jashon brought me the offering of food. “Here,” he said. “For the children.”
“Thank you.” I glanced over my shoulder to where they sat and the women soothed them with soft songs, calming words, and gentle touches. “I think they will appreciate it.”
I started toward them, but Jashon called me back. “Keturah.”
He didn’t say anything for a moment. I was almost ready to just turn away again when he said, “I can see now why we have traveled all this way.”
He turned abruptly and returned to Enos, who gave me a nod, and Lamech, who sent me a scowl.
It was past dawn when we arrived back in the village, but no one there had slept. People from other villages had gathered too.
The captives returned to their families, all of them weeping with relief.
The thirteen of us stood back, observing the reunions. I looked around at the others. Micah went into Cana’s waiting arms. They really were sweet together. Kenai walked past them with a curt nod and Darius followed him toward our home where I could see Mother waited anxiously at the gate with Kalem, who held her back with a steadying arm.
Zeke and Jarom stood near each other, but a telling distance separated them. I hated the thought that I had come between them. I knew their strained relationship went beyond me, though. They stood identical in their stances but so different in every other way. I thought Jarom had deliberately changed every physical aspect of himself that he could to set himself apart from his brother.
I watched sadly as they glanced at each other and by tacit agreement walked home together, escorting Isabel between them, gently pushing through the emotional crowd on the road.
Muloki had likely been at Mother’s fire with Kalem and Melia when Jarom had run in with the warning. Mahonri and Jonas lived in the neighboring village, and I guessed someone could have run for them when they were needed. But what were Gideon and his kinsmen doing here in the village?