The Chronicles of Gan: The Thorn

by Daron Fraley

  “Rezon, this is Eli of Uzzah, and this is Pekah of Gideon. They are here to correct any lies you have been telling your men about what happened to the emperor. You were not there, but I was—along with Jasher and these two men. Let the truth be told by those who saw it with their own eyes.”

  Rezon’s teeth clenched. The fire burning in his eyes gave the man the appearance of red-hot metal doused in cold water. But he did not argue, and neither did any of the nearly four hundred faithful men who stood behind him, although they still appeared to be ready to carry out any command the Gideonite general might wish to demand of them.

  Amon took a half-step back when Rezon’s countenance suddenly softened. He wondered if Rezon was actually ready to hear what he had to say.

  “Eli,” Amon asked kindly, “Would you please tell this misguided Gideonite the true story of the fate of Manasseh?”

  Eli looked like a famished brown bear that had been thrown a salmon for dinner. The priest of Uzzah took a step forward, cleared his throat, and then told the entire story of the War of Gideon from his own point of view, including Pekah’s decision to join the cause of peace, and details of their harrowing journey to Ain.

  This drew many derogatory comments from the captured men of Rezon and his captains, but Rezon still did not react. Amon wondered why his face remained expressionless, almost as if he did not hear what had been said, or he simply did not care. Rezon did make eye contact with Jonathan at that point—however, the exchange carried no emotion. Amon could see that Jonathan’s face held nothing but pity for the Gideonite general.

  Eli continued and explained that The Thorn had been freely given to Pekah by Jonathan. With a great flourish, he told of the scene of light and power he witnessed and insisted that Manasseh’s death was punishment from God. This caused a great stir among the ranks. Those of Gideon who had previously surrendered gaped at each other in awe. They craned their necks to get a glimpse of the man called Pekah, who stood next to General Amon.

  To Amon, Rezon remained completely unreadable. Not a soul moved. Amon spoke. “Now that you know I did not participate in the death of the Gideonite called Manasseh . . . your emperor,” Amon intentionally stressed, “I wish to inform you that I have joined with Uzzah and Daniel. I have committed to their peoples, and to my own, that I will end this war. I now offer you safe passage back to the land of Gideon if you will fully renounce your intentions of continued warfare and covenant with me that you never again will wage war with Daniel and Uzzah. What do you desire? Life or death? The choice is clearly yours.”

  Amon waited. Searching glances bounced back and forth between many of the hesitant Gideonites, but then many of the soldiers who had once sworn themselves to Rezon formed into lines. They threw their weapons into a pile. Rezon seemed completely accepting of their surrender. In the end, even Jael took a step to toss his own sword a few paces short of the heap of steel and wood.

  Rezon was the last man to move toward the pile. He still gripped his sword tightly as he strolled forward. Once he was next to Jael’s sword, he dropped his own in the same place. The two Gideonite leaders stood together.

  “If my men are willing to make such a covenant,” said Rezon, “Then so must I. How can I fight against so great an army?”

  Still suspicious of Rezon, Amon motioned toward them. Two Uzzahite archers stepped out of the crowd and pulled their bowstrings back until they creaked, both arrows directed at Rezon’s heart.

  “Why are you aiming at me?” Rezon protested as if deeply hurt by the distrust.

  Amon did not answer, but he again signaled to the archers. Their bowstrings went slack, although both men held their missiles firmly to the nock point. He took a deep breath.

  I need to make a strong statement, he thought. It would give him great pleasure to personally receive a covenant from Rezon, but in light of recent events, and the incredible tale Eli had just related to the soldiers, he felt a greater, lasting impression would be made upon those present if the man ultimately responsible for the miracles at Ain would do the honors.

  “Pekah, would you and Eli retrieve the general’s weapon and receive his oath of honor?”

  Pekah readily accepted the assignment. Looking to his large Uzzahite friend, he approached General Rezon and Captain Jael. They stopped a few paces short, warily watching the two Gideonites.

  Rezon showed his hands, plainly empty, and then clasped them behind his back in a show of submission. Jael did the same. Pekah and Eli stepped around the pile of weapons, stopping over the two swords lying together in the grass.

  Eli held his sword in his right hand and his long walking stick in his left, both in a defensive manner. He motioned for Pekah to place the two men under covenant. Pekah hesitated only briefly, but then with visible courage, he extended his right hand out as the recipient of the covenant, with his palm upward. Looking on, Amon was annoyed by Rezon’s expression of total indifference.

  General Rezon sighed, almost pathetically. He then spoke loudly to the crowd. “I hereby covenant that I will not wage war with Daniel or Uzzah again.” Then with great show, he pulled his empty right hand from behind his back and placed it over Pekah’s. “Instead,” Rezon said with a long pause, “I will murder them!”

  In a flash, the left-handed Gideonite viciously stabbed forward and drove his dagger deep into Pekah’s chest. The blade pierced him right at the spot in his breastplate where the Gideonite arrow had weakened the hardened leather. Pekah’s eyes glazed over, and he fell forward with a thud. In the distance, two distinct and recognizable screams hurtled into the air. Ezra’s men quickly rushed to protect the women.

  Jael slammed into Eli, knocking him off balance and away from Rezon. As if planned all along, a hundred Gideonites scrambled past the general to gain access to the pile of weapons before them. The Uzzahite archers, whom Amon had called up, let their arrows fly. One struck Jael in the shoulder and the other ricocheted off Rezon’s breastplate as he bent to retrieve his sword. As the Gideonites swooped in to grab weapons, The Brothers were upon them in force.

  One soldier next to Rezon retrieved Jael’s sword, and with Rezon nearly dragging the wounded captain, the three ran back into their own ranks. They made for the base of the mount and began to climb. Loyal soldiers used their own bodies as human shields, receiving the onslaught of arrows intended for the general. Man after man fell with arrows in their backs but the defense never faltered, other men immediately taking their place. Other Gideonites stayed behind and rushed the main group of horsemen. Most were trampled in the fighting, but enough of Rezon’s men were armed that they held up the riders, preventing them from chasing the escaping Gideonites. Rezon’s small group disappeared over the top of the small mount.

  In the intense battle that raged, Amon, Jonathan, Eli, and Tavor fought side by side, each dealing death with almost every blow. After many minutes of fighting, those who had enabled the escape of Rezon had been annihilated. The dead lay all around The Brothers like piled logs.

  Amon braced himself, his hands on his knees, his chest heaving. When he caught his breath, he looked up to see Tavor at Eli’s side, tending to the burly red-headed man. Eli glanced down at the blood streaming from a gash in his arm. He stumbled, but Tavor caught him and set him down on the ground. Next to Eli, Jonathan reached down to touch a superficial slice on the back of his leg. He winced. Of the small group of friends, only Tavor was unharmed.

  The general searched for something to staunch Eli’s bleeding. An Uzzahite tending the wounded handed him a few strips of clean cloth. He rushed to Tavor and assisted in treating Eli’s wound. He held the cloth tight while Tavor wrapped and then tied the ends.

  Distracted by Jonathan, he watched as the Danielite hobbled toward a still form on the turf. It was Pekah.

  Amon left Tavor with the remaining cloth and followed him. When Jonathan reached Pekah’s lifeless body and collapsed in a heap, Amon stopped. He swallowed hard.

  Clearly anguished, tears streamed down Jonathan’s chee
ks as he pulled Pekah close and sobbed.

  His head low, Amon turned away.

  Chapter 31

  Hope

  Jonathan stood next to Eli in the dim glow-stone lantern light of the tent, both with tears dripping into their beards. The door flaps of the medical tent had been lowered to give them privacy, closed well enough that very little of the evening light filtered through. Outside, Azure and Aqua were just about to dip behind the eastern peaks of the Hara Range.

  Pekah’s body lay before them, stretched out on one of the cots intended for use by the healers of Rezon’s army for treating the wounded. Split down the middle, his torn blood-soaked tunic had fallen over his arms. The gaping wound in his bared chest stared back at Jonathan and Eli as if it were mocking them with cruel laughter. Even though someone had closed the captain’s eyes, it seemed as if an expression of total surprise remained.

  Having trouble grasping the reality of seeing the still form on the cot, Jonathan gazed upon Pekah’s body as if he expected the young Gideonite to sit up and tell them there was really nothing wrong. But Pekah did not move.

  “I don’t understand,” Jonathan muttered to himself.

  At first, Eli acted as though he did not notice the comment. Then he glanced sideways at Jonathan. “Understand what?” Eli asked.

  Jonathan still stared at the body. He scratched the back of his head, trying to shake loose a foggy memory of the past. As his hand absentmindedly fell to his chin, a thought clicked into place. He started, eyes wide and searching.

  “Eli! Three nights ago . . . do you remember?”

  “Remember what?” Eli asked.

  “Do you remember sleeping in the tent by the Fount of Ain?”

  “Yes, of course I do.”

  “I never told you, but much like Pekah’s dream about the Emperor Manasseh . . . I had a dream about Pekah.”

  Eli stepped back, astonished. “Did you see Pekah like this?”

  “No, not exactly.”

  Jonathan then related the dream, in every detail.

  “But in the dream, you saw children! What of the children? How do they fit in?”

  Jonathan didn’t answer. He fidgeted with his beard as if pulling on it would ease his troubled mind. He let go to scratch his head, and then pulled on his beard once more.

  Eli seemed bothered by Jonathan’s nervousness, but did not say anything.

  A profound thought crossed Jonathan’s mind and he felt a warm change in his own countenance. It was as if the sister suns themselves broke through the canvas of the tent roof, spilling morning beams into the room. Although Jonathan’s face lit up, tears welled up in his eyes once again. The unmistakable feeling in the room reminded him of the quiet sanctity present in the temple of the Holy One.

  Jonathan felt the burning fire start to smolder in his bosom. Earnest, he looked for a reaction from his friend. Eli’s eyes were closed, his head back as if thinking hard, or praying. Jonathan cleared his throat to get his attention. Eli exhaled and opened his eyes.

  A tremor in his voice, Jonathan said to the priest of Uzzah, “Eli . . . Pekah was not supposed to die!”

  * * *

  Outside the tent, Rachel held onto Abigail’s arm. They sat on a bench before the fire pit, recently stoked in preparation for the darkness to come. Nearby, Tavor and Amon sat on stools left behind by Rezon’s company. They talked in muted voices about their plans to take horsemen into the Hara Mountains in hopes of tracking down the escaped Gideonites.

  There to assist with Pekah’s burial, Rachel yearned to get back to her parents, who had returned to the city in order to make preparations for guests. Once the battle had ended, both Uzziel and Miriam came out of the city under heavy escort, searching for their children. Recognizing her parents among a crowd of citizens, Rachel had rushed forward with Eli to meet them. Uzziel collapsed to his knees in exhaustion as all of the stresses of the past week poured out of him. Tears of joy flowed freely as he pulled them close, saying, “My children, my children!”

  The memory of their frantic hugs and kisses warmed her heart. She mused over the image of her brother—Eli had acted like a young boy, clinging to his mother. When her parents returned to the city, she stayed so that she might be close to Jonathan. Now he was in the tent, but she was not alone. Sitting close to her friend, she could feel Abigail’s arm against her own.

  Silent, Abigail stared at the fire. Rachel sighed, pulling her hair down around her neck as she looked to the east. The two small blue dots she expected to find there were no longer visible in the sky. Freed by the departure of Azure and Aqua, dark shadows now ran across the foothills of the Hara Range in a race to touch the western peaks first. Hues of violet and scarlet mingled in the few clouds loitering above the city and continued to darken. Although beautiful, the suns-setting only made her feel the coming night.

  Rachel glanced at Abigail. Unlike earlier, when Abigail had fallen into a sobbing heap upon the ground, she was calm now. Still, her dazed expression testified of horrible pain from emotional wounds. Rachel wondered what the woman was thinking, if she was able to think at all.

  Trying to piece the incidents of the past day together, Rachel watched the flames dancing before her. Two lives. Two men. One, Abigail’s husband. The other, her appointed guardian. How would Abigail ever deal with such terrible loss? Rachel ached for her friend. She could not imagine what Abigail might be feeling.

  The front wall of the tent sucked inward, then popped out as a gusty breeze pulled at the canvas. Rachel’s thoughts strayed back to the murder scene. She shivered, forcing herself to put the images of Rezon’s treachery out of her mind. Hoping a distraction would help, she reached down to tighten a buckle on her left boot.

  The ground trembled. It lasted only a few seconds, but Rachel felt it. Abigail stared back at her, frightened. They reached for each other, clasping hands. Nearby, Amon and Tavor stood in alarm, both watching the tent. Rachel followed their gaze. Pulling Abigail up with her, she stood gaping at the sight.

  The gap at the bottom edge of the tent shimmered, a brilliant, white light coming from within. The tent almost appeared to be floating in its staked place, with light pouring from every loose seam—even from the creased folds of the entrance. At the height of luminance, Rachel heard a sharp gasp from inside the tent. Then it was quiet, and the brilliance subsided until it disappeared.

  The men still stood as if planted in the ground. Tavor whispered something to Amon, and both men drew their swords. But neither approached the tent. Next to Rachel, Abigail’s face was full of fear and wonder.

  The tent flaps flew open, and Jonathan limped out. Because of the light gleaming in his eyes, Rachel thought he looked as if he had ascended to heaven and then returned. A most sublime, reverent expression shone from his face. Rachel’s jaw fell further.

  Eli then stooped through the tent door, his countenance much the same—showing profound, deep awe.

  And then there came another.

  Pekah stepped out of the tent.

  Amon and Tavor collapsed to their knees as if paralyzed by fear. They hid their faces like children playing a game. Upon seeing the dead man walking, Rachel and Abigail both fell to their knees, cowering together.

  Is it a ghost? Rachel shuddered with fright. Holding Abigail tighter, she swayed back and forth in her friend’s arms, not wishing to look at Pekah again.

  Pekah was dead! Rachel knew he was dead. And yet, there he stood.

  Abigail clutched at her arm. Rachel pulled Abigail’s face to her shoulder, shielding her from the sight. She glanced about, hoping for protection for the both of them, but the other soldiers who had been milling around the area scattered like sheep before a lion.

  Rachel looked back to see Jonathan, and noticed compassion in his smile. A strange curiosity welled up within her when she realized Jonathan was overjoyed to see Pekah standing there next to him. Needing his touch, Rachel reached for him. Jonathan hastened to the women and lifted both Rachel and Abigail to their feet. />
  “Everything’s fine!” he said with encouragement. “Pekah is alive. Do not be afraid!”

  He hugged Rachel and pulled Abigail close to comfort her too. Like a child peeking out from the skirts of her mother, Rachel peered around Jonathan’s embracing arm at Pekah, incredulous at what she saw. He truly was alive! She glanced back to Amon and Tavor, who still sat upon the ground, leaning back as if Pekah was dangerous. But Pekah did not move.

  He stood there, his tunic rent, stained in blood and falling off his shoulders. His chest was completely bare. Even in the dim light of dusk combined with the light of the fire, Rachel could see that the young Gideonite captain’s chest was clean and whole, with no trace of a wound. No bruise, no scar—no mark of any kind.

  Pekah smiled.

  Chapter 32

  Eligible

  The next morning dawned a bright and warm Sabbath with a few lazy clouds drifting across the sky. Birds were singing themselves into an almost raucous frenzy, the sounds of battle no longer keeping them in a frightened silence. Uzziel sat at his table near an open window that allowed the morning to pour onto the hand-inked pages he surveyed. His eyes misted. Several of the names listed were familiar, one of them a close associate—Abram of Uzzah, his own trusted bodyguard. How will Abram’s young wife Esther ever manage on her own? the high priest thought to himself, a heavy sadness bowing his head.

  Putting aside the list of the deceased, Uzziel fiddled with a key on a loop of leather. Rachel had handed it to him the previous evening while sobbing out her own story. Thoughtful, he turned the key in his hands. It reminded him of the first time he met Asah, when he showed up on their doorstep asking for employment. Many years had passed since then, and Asah had become a trusted steward. The thought of never seeing his faithful friend and assistant again in this life caused Uzziel to feel cold.