The Chronicles of Gan: The Thorn

by Daron Fraley

  Pekah didn’t seem to have any idea what the general was trying to say. He looked quizzically at Amon, at Eli, and then at Tavor who were all nearby, but they could not explain. Pekah cast his questioning gaze toward Jonathan. All Jonathan could do was shake his head and shrug.

  With great effort, Jasher tried to lift his head to see Abigail. A soldier rolled a spare blanket and placed it behind the general’s neck.

  Tears welled up in Jasher’s eyes. “My only love . . . my dear Abigail.”

  Abigail nearly sobbed. She clung to his shoulder.

  “Pekah, give me your hand,” Jasher choked out.

  Pekah slowly brought his hand near that of the general. Jasher reached for it and drew Pekah closer. The general then placed Abigail’s palm in Pekah’s. At first, Pekah recoiled, but Jasher’s grip tightened. Pekah relaxed. He did not move, and neither did Abigail.

  “Abigail. Marry this man. He is good. He will care for you as I would.”

  Jasher coughed again, and his eyes began to close. Abigail wept openly now, and she started to pull away from Pekah, but Jasher’s eyes opened. He squeezed her hand into Pekah’s again.

  “I love you . . . my dear, sweet Abigail.”

  With that final declaration, Jasher’s breath sighed out of him.

  Abigail fell forward, burying her face in Jasher’s arm. There she stayed for many minutes, grieving. With Pekah’s hand released, he stepped back, looking bewildered. Jonathan sheathed his sword and stepped forward to grasp the Gideonite’s shoulder, giving him support. Pekah stared at the dead general and hardly seemed to notice.

  Jonathan let go. Abigail sobbed into her husband’s neck, her frail frame shaking uncontrollably. Jonathan’s chest tightened, the sorrowful scene causing him to gulp as he fought away tears. He turned back to his Gideonite friend and saw that the young soldier appeared to be overcome with emotion, his head low.

  Pekah wept.

  Chapter 27

  Abigail

  The smell of freshly turned soil filled Abigail’s nostrils as she stood at the gravesite, clinging to Rachel’s arm for support. Everything around her appeared drab, washed out by the moons-light falling from above. The scrapes and thumps of a shovel endlessly throwing dirt into a hillside depression that was now nearly full, and the chirp of a single cricket hiding somewhere in the trees nearby, were the only sounds disturbing the night air. Standing on the gentle rise where Jasher’s body had been laid to rest, Abigail was forlorn, affected by every detail of the dismal place.

  She trembled with each vibration of the ground as the gravesite grew before her— becoming a haunting mound of dark memories. Her head throbbing from the incessant pounding of the thrown dirt, she tried to watch the soldiers who wielded the tools, but found it nearly impossible to make out their faces. At last the grave was filled, and the soldiers rested, leaning on the shovels.

  Fresh tears welled in her eyes and mixed with the reflections from the moons above. Her bleary vision prevented her from seeing anybody but those who stood closest to her—Rachel, Eli, Jonathan, Amon, Tavor, and Pekah. In every face, she recognized deep concern. She wiped her eyes with her sleeves, grateful for her friends’ silent support.

  One by one, every person around the grave approached her, offering their sympathy. She listened to each of them, but remembered none of their words. After they had all come to her, they stood quietly nearby, waiting for her to say her goodbyes. With yearning for the husband she had lost, she fell to her knees and leaned into the mound, her hands clawing at the soil.

  Abigail could feel Rachel kneeling by her, patting her back, rubbing her shoulder. The attention only made her sob harder. Her strength gone, she collapsed into the dirt. The men around her whispered, and she felt herself be lifted. Cradled in Eli’s arms, she looked up into his moist eyes. He only stared forward and carried her down the hill without a word.

  Overwhelmed, Abigail buried her face in his shoulder.

  * * *

  Sitting on the back steps of the Council Hall, Abigail propped her chin up, an elbow on her knee. Her mind numb, she watched as the rising sister suns caused scattered clouds above the hills west of Hasor to blush. Nearby, one hundred and fifty of General Amon’s company stirred in the courtyards of Hasor, their tents pitched close to the hall. After getting some much-needed rest, Abigail felt better, but solemn. The first rays of daylight fell upon the ground in front of her. Rachel, who had shared her guest room on the upper floors of the palace, sat beside her, watching the breaking morning lights.

  “You should eat something, Abigail,” Rachel kindly suggested, a hand on Abigail’s arm.

  “I do feel better this morning. I think I will.”

  Rachel appeared to be relieved. “That would be good. You’ll need strength today if you wish to ride with us.”

  Abigail felt foggy, even exhausted. She recalled being carried into the village the night before. Although the bed in the palace had been comfortable, she remembered she had felt cold. She shook her head. “It seems like a dream, Rachel,” she muttered. She pulled her knees up to her chest and held them.

  Rachel’s gaze fell, and she put a hand on Abigail’s crossed arms. She gave Abigail a squeeze, but said nothing.

  Abigail appreciated the unspoken show of support. She yearned for Rachel’s friendship, and felt strength flow into her from Rachel’s touch. But the grief she felt was overwhelming. She sighed and stood up to look across the way toward beautiful stone houses, all in neat lines and close together. She could see that several of the homes had been re-inhabited, as smoke rose from their chimneys.

  Bordering the first row of houses ran a chest-high stone fence, north to south, ending at the small village courtyard before the Council Hall. Soldiers dismantled tents in the court, while others packed everything up. Horses were also being readied. The noise of the scene intensified.

  “Rachel . . .”

  “Yes?” Rachel said, standing.

  “Thank you for caring for me last night.”

  “You are most welcome.”

  “I must have cried myself to sleep.”

  “You did.”

  Abigail crossed her arms, warming herself from the morning chill. She wondered at the small group of soldiers before her.

  “What happened to the rest of the army? There aren’t many here.”

  “After you fell asleep, most of the army left. Captain Amon . . . I mean, General Amon, sent Captain Mehida north with the army.”

  “General?” The word stung. A tear rolled down Abigail’s cheek.

  “Yes. By the voice of all captains present, Amon was made General of the Host of Gideon.” Rachel hesitated. “They said it was done according to custom.”

  Abigail wiped the tear away and sniffed. “Yes. That is the custom. It just surprised me. Jasher . . .” She didn’t finish.

  “I know it hurts. I’m so sorry. If I could share the burden with you, I would.”

  They embraced. Abigail felt the sincerity of her new friend’s words. Feeling horribly alone in a land far from home, Rachel’s kind words calmed her fears. I don’t know what I would do without Rachel here, she thought. Pulling away, Abigail thanked her.

  “Abigail, I should also tell you . . . well, I don’t want you to be surprised later. Jonathan and Eli were asked to be General Amon’s special advisors. Tavor was made a captain to take Eli’s place, and Mehida now occupies Amon’s former position. They also made Pekah a captain of fifty.”

  Abigail turned away. Somehow the news about Pekah’s promotion didn’t bother her, but she wanted to be upset about it. Bewildered by her husband’s last request, she searched her soul for anger toward Pekah, for disgust—anything to justify not heeding Jasher’s dying wish. She tried to understand his motivation, hoping to find some reason to reject his desire. All she found was love. Jasher loved her. She cried.

  Rachel patted her on the back. “Abigail, will you come with me?” Rachel asked with a gentle hand on her shoulder.

  Abigail wip
ed her eyes, then pulled her straight black hair behind her ears. A lump still in her throat, she only nodded. Rachel led the way.

  Previously, they had come out of the western door and hallway that connected the Council Hall to the palace. Rachel explained that this time she wanted to go back into the palace by way of the eastern door so she could show Abigail the Temple of Hasor.

  They followed the graceful curve of a flagstone path winding between mature oak trees on the south side of the hall. As they rounded the south-east corner of the edifice, the Temple of Hasor loomed before them. The sight of the white granite walls and the tall central spire filled with glow-stone windows nearly took Abigail’s breath away.

  “It’s almost identical to the Temple of Sacrifice in Ramathaim—smaller, but just as beautiful,” Rachel explained.

  “It is magnificent,” Abigail said, admiring the spire.

  Rachel touched her arm. She saw Jonathan, Pekah, and Eli walking toward them from the temple. Jonathan found his way to Rachel and fell to one knee as he kissed the hand of his betrothed.

  “You rested well, I hope?”

  “Yes, thank you,” Rachel replied, watching Abigail.

  Unprepared to face the man she had been told to marry, Abigail awkwardly avoided Pekah’s eyes. Both Jonathan and Eli greeted her warmly.

  “Peace and comfort to you, Lady Abigail,” Jonathan said.

  “And rest from your sorrows,” Eli added.

  “And to you—and thank you, Eli. I am very grateful,” she said, her voice muted. She studied the boots of the men. They were scuffed and worn. Feeling Pekah’s gaze, she forced herself to look up. He looked at her steadily, his face calm.

  “We were in the temple before dawn this morning,” Pekah said. “I prayed that you would feel the love of the Holy One in your broken heart, that it might be made whole, and that you would be comforted. I’m sorry for your loss.”

  Touched by the evident emotion in his voice, Abigail believed he was sincere. She bowed her head, but could not find the words to respond. Her husband’s request of the night before, for her to “marry this good man,” again played out in her mind, leaving her speechless. She did not know Pekah. Although probably her age, he seemed younger, a stark contrast to Jasher, who was older, wiser.

  Abigail barely managed an expression of gratitude for his kindness. Pekah nodded, stepped back, and seemed to melt into Eli’s shadow.

  Abigail’s eyes lifted once again to the central spire of the exquisite building. Trying to be strong, she stated, “There’s a peace here. Something about these grounds makes me feel bright and warm, like the color of the stone. It’s the most beautiful building I have ever seen.”

  Eli stepped a bit closer to the women and pointed to the spire. “The capstone on that spire was placed by Jonathan’s grandfather and my grandfather together. It’s not an old structure like the Temple of Sacrifice in Ramathaim. That temple was built several hundred years ago. Have you ever been there?”

  “I haven’t,” Abigail said. “If it’s as beautiful as this temple, I would like to see it someday.”

  “You may get your wish soon,” Eli said with enthusiasm. “You’re riding with us today, are you not?”

  “Yes, I am.”Abigail hesitated, and then added, “Rachel has been so good to me. I have nowhere else to go, but with her.”

  Rachel smiled and hooked her arm through Abigail’s.

  Memories of the previous evening suddenly made Abigail feel like a burden. In addition to Rachel, many others had gone out of their way to try to comfort her. She remembered their concern as they all stood around Jasher’s grave. That concern again showed in the eyes of all those present, making her feel conspicuous.

  “Is it all right if I come with you?”

  Rachel seemed somewhat shocked by the question. “Of course it is! I wouldn’t want to go without you!”

  This warmed Abigail’s heart, causing her to fight back tears. Rachel threw an arm around her shoulder.

  “Would you ladies please excuse us?” Jonathan asked as if he were intruding.

  Rachel reached for Jonathan’s hand. She held it for a moment, and released him with a very stern, motherly, “Yes, you are excused.”

  The men chuckled at her playfulness and took their leave toward the western courtyard, where the army made preparations to travel. Abigail hugged Rachel, then together they walked toward the temple, arm-in-arm.

  Chapter 28

  Traitors

  Still very solemn, Pekah stole a glance over his shoulder to see Abigail as he left. She was hugging Rachel. Picking up his pace, he followed close behind Eli and Jonathan. As he thought of Abigail’s hand in his, a yearning to talk to his friends in private welled up within him. What did they think of Jasher’s last wishes? Were they upset? Did they think it was improper?

  The general’s request felt out of place to Pekah, even awkward. What man would give his wife away? Pekah felt certain there were some present in the tent who were not happy about what had happened, but no one had said anything to him. And that was precisely the issue—the fact that Jonathan and Eli had not mentioned the experience at all made him even more uncomfortable with it. It seemed as if he had breached the rules of propriety.

  He groaned. But I didn’t do it! Jasher did. I was just as surprised as anyone else.

  Pekah couldn’t wait. He walked a little faster and tapped Jonathan on the shoulder, and they all stopped.

  “Jonathan,” Pekah said, mustering courage, “I feel terrible about last night. Why did Jasher do that?”

  “Do you mean, his words to Abigail?” Jonathan asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I certainly don’t know all his reasons, Pekah. I can guess, however, that Jasher saw something in you he hadn’t seen in others. How well did you know him?”

  “We had never met before I arrived in Ain.”

  Jonathan frowned thoughtfully. “Pekah,” he said, “Think on the events of the past week. Nothing we have experienced has been anything less than a miracle. Perhaps this event is also part of our Creator’s plan.”

  “I feel guilty about it. He pressed his wife’s hand into mine. I felt like . . . like I had sinned.”

  “I understand how you might feel that way, but we don’t judge you in that manner, Pekah. We were there. Jasher’s whole intent was for Abigail’s welfare.”

  “And I agree with it,” Eli added. “Jasher did the right thing.”

  Pekah was stunned. This was not the reaction he had expected. “You agree with what he did? How can that be?”

  Jonathan put a hand on the young Gideonite’s shoulder and gave him a quick pat of reassurance. “What Jasher did showed incredible love and respect for Abigail. Even as his life ebbed away, he was concerned for her—not his pain, not his life—her. Personally, I think that was one of the most compassionate things I have ever witnessed.”

  The blast of a horn sounded from the other side of the Council Hall.

  “Pekah, remind me later to tell you something else pertaining to Jasher. This is not the right place, but I think you should know what I have to say.”

  “Thank you. Thank you both. I do feel a little better knowing you don’t think less of me for what happened, but I will need some time to think this through.”

  “We’re here to help,” Jonathan said.

  As they walked toward the assembling army, Pekah felt grateful for their understanding and support. These were the best friends he’d ever had.

  * * *

  When they arrived in the western courtyard, Pekah saw that all the tents had been packed, and most of the company of Amon stood together. Others arrived about that same time, including Tavor and Ezra, captains of Uzzah and Daniel. Jonathan and Eli moved to stand next to Amon, and Pekah took his place with his fifty of Gideon. All present greeted the newly appointed general.

  Amon acknowledged their salute and then spoke to the entire crowd.

  “My brethren, you are gathered as part of an army that never has be
en assembled before. The Brothers march together . . .”

  His deep voice trailed off, almost with an echo. Amon looked all around at the eager faces, each soldier waiting for orders. Standing tall, he spoke with a powerful, drum-like inflection.

  “A terrible thing happened outside these walls last night as the sister suns sank below the horizon. I made a promise to my general . . .” Amon paused. “ . . . my friend. I promised him I would find all others who might be of Rezon’s covenant. Before we travel together today, I must be certain that I am among friends. For that reason, I am asking every one of you to remove your weapons where you stand. Lay them on the ground. That is an order!”

  Pekah saw that a few soldiers present hesitated at first, but in the end they all did as commanded—even the captains.

  “Ezra, Tavor, Pekah, my friends Jonathan and Eli . . . retrieve your weapons and stand with me.”

  The five men did as requested, and moved to stand next to Amon.

  Amon then raised his voice again. “Earlier today, I made a covenant with these five men, a vow that will not be broken. They have placed their hands under mine. And now I wish you to do the same.” Amon’s expression was one of determination. “Are there any here who are part of Rezon’s covenant?” he bellowed.

  Not a soldier moved. None responded.

  Like the other leaders, Pekah searched to and fro, watching every face for signs of distress. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

  “Come forward then. I want to see your hands!”

  A line started to form in front of the general. In an orderly fashion, soldiers presented themselves and offered their right hands, palms upward. The first man stepped forward, and the captains examined his palm, looking for the tell-tale scars. Passing the test, the man then placed his hand over Amon’s.

  “Do you swear by your honor that you will serve your tribe, renounce Rezon’s war, and join with all Three Brothers in peace?” Amon asked.