by Daron Fraley
Too many good people died in this horrible war, he thought, shaking his head. How many? He didn’t know for sure, and couldn’t bring himself to count the names on the list. But there had to be nearly a thousand lost in the final battle, not counting those from Hasor, Saron, and Ain.
Unable to look upon the list any longer, Uzziel turned the pages over, smudges of dirt on them reminding him of the previous evening. He had been outside the gates, looking on as the citizens of Ramathaim and soldiers from Amon’s army respectfully filled the trenches of war with the bodies of those who had perished. Tavor had helped him to make the list as they walked beside the trenches, cataloging the personal effects of the deceased before the long graves were filled.
The grisly work had taken them all evening—the trenches covered and the list completed just as the sister suns hid their faces behind a red-stained horizon. The image of temporary markers, consisting of the personal effects of the deceased and littered along fresh mounds of dirt, still haunted him.
He sniffed, looking down at Asah’s key. Until we meet again, my dear friend, he thought as he put the key around his neck. He felt a hand on his arm.
“Dear, please eat something,” Miriam encouraged.
“Thank you, Miriam, but I just don’t feel like eating right now.”
Miriam patted him on the back and then went about her business tidying up the table. Earlier, she had served breakfast to Rachel and her new friend of Gideon, Abigail.
“What a sweet young lady,” Miriam whispered as she wiped crumbs onto a plate.
Uzziel heard her. He got up from his chair and kissed his wife on the cheek.
“I’m off to find our daughter. Rachel said she wanted Abigail to see the temple. Did Eli and Jonathan say where they were headed this morning? I’d like us all to worship together.”
“They left without eating—said they were in a hurry, but they did mention being back in time for Sabbath services.”
“Very well. Can I take something to eat with me?”
Miriam handed him a cloth pouch, already stocked.
“I knew you would ask,” she lovingly said.
“Thank you. I’m not sure what I would do without you . . .” Uzziel’s voice trailed off. He kissed her and left.
* * *
“Pekah?” Jonathan asked as they sat at breakfast in Tavor’s home. “How are you feeling this morning?”
“I’ve never felt better. In fact, I awoke before the suns. I couldn’t sleep.”
“Of course you couldn’t sleep. You got your rest during a long afternoon nap,” Eli joked. That got a laugh out of all of them. Even Sarah giggled softly as she glanced over her shoulder from tending to Tavor’s young sons, who were eating at a separate table.
Jonathan studied Pekah. He had been laughing, but now had a far-off look in his eyes as he rubbed his chest.
“Does it hurt?” Jonathan asked.
“What?”
“Your chest—does it hurt?”
“No—why do you ask?”
“You were rubbing it as if it did.”
“I was? Hmmm.” Pekah rubbed it again as if he expected a sore spot to be there. “No, it’s fine. I suppose it’s just the memory of the wound that is painful. It seems so strange. I can remember Rezon stabbing me. I even remember the initial pain. For a moment everything became dark, as if I had fallen asleep standing up. But then . . .” Pekah’s voice trailed off. He touched his chest, pointing. “There’s not even a mark.”
Jonathan smiled. “I’m glad.”
“Thank you both,” Pekah said, looking at Jonathan, then Eli. “I’m indebted to you—and very happy to be alive. I wasn’t ready to go.”
“Are you sure?” Eli asked, an eyebrow raised. “I thought the other side wouldn’t be so bad.”
Pekah’s eyes closed. After he opened them, Jonathan saw that his eyes were moist. “No, it wasn’t bad. In fact, it was the most incredible experience I’ve ever had, but I knew I needed to come back. My mother was there, and she told me.”
Stillness settled upon the room. No one said a word, not even Sarah. Jonathan felt particularly hesitant to delve deeper into Pekah’s experience. Only once before had he heard someone tell of spending time in the world of spirits. He yearned to hear more about the afterlife—to know what it might be like for his own parents who were there, to glimpse in his mind’s eye the scenery, the people, the feeling, the light—but he simply could not ask. Pekah would have to volunteer it.
“Jonathan?” Pekah asked.
“Yes?”
Pekah fidgeted with the last apple slice sitting beside the leftover bread crumbs on his plate.
“Yes?”
Pekah looked up. Intense sadness pulled at his mouth and brow. “Lady Abigail . . . I wonder if Jasher has . . .” Pekah did not finish either of his sentences.
“I’m not sure what you’re asking. What about Jasher?”
“If Jasher has brothers who are not married, then shouldn’t one of them take Abigail to themselves and provide for her?”
Eli spoke before Jonathan could reply. “Yes, Pekah, I think you’re right. That would be proper. And besides, there is—”
Jonathan held up his hand. Eli stopped and stared at him.
“I’m sorry to interrupt you, Eli, but Amon told me several things I need to share with Pekah.” He turned toward the Gideonite captain. “The night Jasher died, I also wondered if he had any family. I took General Amon aside, and we had a conversation about it. I asked the same questions.”
Although tempted to share the reason for his asking, he did not. I’ll tell Pekah about the dream later, he thought. Besides, I’m not sure what it means anyway. He decided to keep it simple.
“Pekah, Jasher had no brothers. He was the oldest of five, and his siblings were all sisters. He had no male cousins. It seems as though there is not a single living male member of his family who can fulfill this duty. Is that what you needed to know?”
Pekah’s head bowed low under the weight of what he had heard. Jonathan gave him time to absorb the information. When Pekah finally looked up at Jonathan, concern still clouded his face. “How can I do this? Why did Jasher choose me?”
Jonathan didn’t answer right away. Trying to offer Pekah a reassuring look, he said, “Jasher had been deeply impressed by you. Your experience as you stood before Manasseh was sacred to him. He saw you protected by the power of the Holy One, and commented on it several times as we rode between Ain and Hasor. Jasher watched you intently during those two days.” Jonathan placed his hand on Pekah’s shoulder and finished with, “Amon himself said, Jasher could not have chosen better.”
The distress in Pekah’s face visibly softened. “I will not force her to marry me.”
“I would not expect that. Abigail must choose this on her own. Take some time to get to know her. If she’s comfortable with the idea, she’ll let you know.”
“From what I’ve seen, Abigail won’t have a problem with it,” Eli said. “Jonathan, did you not see the woman rush to him after he walked out of the tent?”
Jonathan nodded with a grin, and Pekah blushed at the memory. He hadn’t expected Abigail to throw her arms around his neck like she did, once she’d overcome her surprise. She obviously did not consider him revolting.
Popping an apple slice into his mouth, Pekah stood. “I appreciate your ideas—you’ve made me feel much more comfortable. Abigail may still choose to go a different way, but if she decides to honor Jasher’s request, I will at least consider it. Sarah?”
Sarah glanced back from feeding the boys.
“Thank you again for your hospitality.”
Jonathan, Eli, and Tavor all stood and offered their thanks. Tavor stepped to his wife and kissed her.
“You’re welcome. Where are you all going this morning?” Sarah asked.
“We’re meeting General Amon at the city gates,” Tavor replied. “Some unfinished business—and then we’ll be back for Sabbath worship services.”
&nbs
p; “Unfinished business?”
“A party is being sent into the mountains tomorrow to seek out Rezon and those who escaped with him,” Eli responded.
Sarah threw Eli a chastising look. “Surely you and Jonathan are not joining them? What of your own wounds? You both need rest.”
“Thank you for your concern, Sarah,” Jonathan replied. “But my leg is well enough that I can travel by horseback.”
Eli shrugged his shoulders. His left forearm was still thickly bandaged, but Jonathan knew his stubbornness would not allow him to sit idly by.
“Go on, then!” Sarah said, scowling at Tavor as if she expected him to intervene and make them stay.
After a futile attempt to avoid her glaring eyes, Tavor said, “You’re right, my dear. But do you honestly think they’ll listen to me?”
“No, I suppose not.” Sarah sighed. She frowned at each of them, causing them all to drop their gaze. Having made her point, she waved them out of the house.
Once outside, Jonathan put a hand on Tavor’s shoulder. “Thank you!”
Tavor only winked.
Chapter 33
Duty
Jonathan followed Eli as he and the others descended the steep, enclosed street where Tavor’s home crowded against other two-story stone residences. A few balconies above them were enshrouded with laundry hung out to dry. Sunlight bathed the men in warmth once again when they passed onto the wider streets below the temple, bordered on every side by tents. Normally filled with hawking vendors of all kinds, today the tents were devoid of sales activity. The few citizens who did walk the street waved cheerfully or gave friendly greetings pertaining to the holy day, each exuding a palpable feeling of relief from escaping the fears of the day before. The smiles and pleasant exchanges warmed Jonathan’s heart.
After arriving at the entrance to the city, they passed through the outer gate house to walk between the fallen archway stones. Jonathan could see the army of Amon in the distance. Making their way down to the grid of burial mounds that scarred the grassy field, they turned to avoid them and followed the road. As they neared the place where the army had assembled, Jonathan could see that the Gideonite captains were in the process of sending thousands of soldiers home—those who had abandoned Rezon.
Riding in the direction of the southern mountains of Gideon, Captain Mehida rode at their head. Jonathan could see him wave back to Amon before he rounded a bend and disappeared behind one of the many hills hugging the road. The ground still trembled from the many hundreds bringing up the rear as Jonathan and his friends approached the general, who was standing by the roadside. They all saluted.
“Good morning!” Amon greeted them with vigor, his deep voice booming.
“Good morning, General,” Jonathan said. Eli echoed his reply.
“Peace be to you, General,” Pekah said, in Uzzahite fashion.
“And to you,” Amon returned.
Pekah straightened. “I am here to report for duty, sir. What do you desire of me?”
Amon seemed surprised by the question. “Duty?” he asked. He stepped back as if to study the young Gideonite captain.
Jonathan’s eyes followed Amon’s—he also saw Pekah’s wavy black hair, dark eyes, light skin, and thin smile. They were all the same as before, and yet Pekah wasn’t. Jonathan now saw before him a man who carried himself differently. This Gideonite soldier has grown in wisdom, he thought.
Straightening, Amon looked squarely at Pekah. “Your duty, Captain, was fulfilled. If you desire it, you are released from service. We serve until death, do we not?”
Pekah blinked.
“Not what you expected?”
“Released, sir?”
“Yes, you are. When you joined the Host of Gideon—mind you, I did not say the army of the emperor—the oath of service you gave to Gideon was to last until you were released by a general of the Host, or until you can no longer serve because of injury or death. On account of your recent death,” Amon said, winking, “I certainly consider your oath fulfilled.”
Eli laughed.
Amon grinned, apparently amused. “Do you know what the troops are saying now? The rumors are rampant! You have become far, far more than just mere legend!”
Pekah’s eyes were wide, but he did not ask.
Jonathan asked for him. “What are they saying?”
“Many of them were present on the morning when Pekah and I first met.” Amon’s eyes danced. “Now they are saying, ‘Captain Pekah cannot be killed. Three times has it been attempted, and he either will not die, or he will not stay dead’.” Amon chuckled.
At first, Pekah acted as though he didn’t know what to say. But then the humor of the moment took him, and his wit jumped out. “Apparently my enemies have not used the right weapon—before yesterday, the casual glance of a beautiful girl has always struck my heart much deeper.”
Jonathan and Eli both snickered.
Amon raised his hands. “The troops are serious about it, though,” he said, still chuckling. “They call you Azmaveth—strength in death.”
Now serious, Pekah shrugged it off. “I am nothing.”
“Choose to be nothing if you want,” Eli teased. “I still like you as Pekah.”
Pekah kicked at a rock, sending it skittering down the road in the direction of the last marching troops, now far away. Humor gone from Pekah’s face, Jonathan could see that something still troubled the Gideonite captain. Pekah looked up at Amon.
“I need some time to weigh things in my mind, General. The oath I made to Gideon remains important to me. I gave it upon my honor.” Pekah glanced at Jonathan. “I have also promised my service to the heir of Daniel. Thank you for the official release from service, but at this time I still wish to ride with these men.”
“So be it,” Amon replied. “I understand that your oath to Jonathan of Daniel still remains. They are leaving tomorrow to find Rezon. I assume you are well enough to travel with them?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you, Pekah,” Jonathan said.
“I plan to remain here for at least two days,” Amon said. “I’m meeting with the Council of Ramathaim tomorrow. Uzziel invited me to attend. I will then return to Gideon before Rezon can, should he attempt to do so. I’m taking documents of treaty from Uzzah and Daniel, and once I have presented them before a newly formed Council of Gideon—and forming this council will surely need to be done, now that Manasseh does not lead—then, I hope to return to witness the Anointing.”
“Anointing?” Pekah asked, appearing confused.
Eli looked at Jonathan, checking for his permission. Jonathan gave a nod.
“Pekah,” Eli said, “now that this conflict is over, Daniel remains without a judge and king. Samuel is dead, and Jonathan is the heir. He will be made king and judge over Daniel.”
“And my desire,” Amon added, “is that when I return to Gideon with the hopes of The Brothers in my heart, they will side with me, and war will cease between us forever. Gideon will remain a free people, just as Uzzah and Daniel, but . . .” Amon trailed off, folding his arms. With emotion, he finished. “I want Gideon to join with Daniel, just as Uzzah has done. Separate, yet supporting. To counsel with, and to assist. I want the pains and prejudices to be no more. I have seen how Uzzah and Daniel live in peace. I want nothing less for Gideon.”
Jonathan’s chest tightened, deeply touched by Amon’s statement. “General, thank you,” he said. “I wish for the same peace between our peoples. But somehow—this time—it must be different. I don’t think it’s possible to keep this good feeling between The Brothers unless we are more involved with each other. For how many years have there been suspicions, tensions, unfounded rumors, and accusations between our peoples?”
Amon was thoughtful, but then he agreed. “There must be change, but I don’t know how to change it.”
“I do,” Jonathan said without hesitation, greatly excited by the opportunity to change the course of his kingdom. “Amon, you will surely sit on the Council
of Gideon as General of the Host. I would expect nothing less. But will you also sit on my council? My father always had both Uzzah and Daniel in the twelve council seats of Hasor, six from each tribe—and they all shared their wisdom with a humble judge. But this arrangement is no longer sufficient. Would you join me by sitting on that council, one of four from Gideon, that all tribes might be represented equally?”
Amon’s face flushed. “Yes, I would be honored!”
“Also, I would like Captain Mehida to sit on the Council,” Jonathan said. “He has greatly impressed me. Do you think he would accept?”
“Of course I do. Mehida believes in the work that has been done to unite us. He’ll accept the charge with gladness.”
“The fourth seat, however, I cannot fill on my own. I don’t know who among Gideon is like unto Amon, and Mehida, and . . .” Jonathan then looked directly at his Gideonite friend, the one who had saved his life on the road to Ain. Being an only child, Jonathan never had a brother—Eli had been the closest thing to it. Jonathan now felt similar feelings growing for Pekah. “. . . and like unto Pekah,” Jonathan continued. “Pekah, will you sit with the Council? Your presence there would honor us all.”
Pekah’s face reddened. “Me? I have no experience with these types of matters.”
“Experience can be both good and bad,” Jonathan said. “Isn’t Rezon experienced? He’s experienced in deception, ambition, and warfare. What I desire is an honest and true heart, one I can trust with my life. There is none better qualified.”
Pekah’s eyes were low. He did not answer at first. “I will serve, as requested,” he finally said, looking up.
Jonathan shook Pekah’s hand with vigorous congratulations and thanks.
Turning to Amon, Jonathan made one more request. “General, as I said before, I cannot choose the fourth. Please do me the favor—will you sit in council with Mehida and Pekah, and make an invitation to one you trust? Will you fill the seat for me?”