Maybe I should have joined them. The rain had died down, but it was still coming, and not with enough strength to dissuade Kumen from preparing one of his almost nightly rallying speeches about the reasons all of them were going to war. About how the Nephites had betrayed their ancestors, stolen their goods and property, and conspired to steal from them ever since. About how years ago, they’d conspired to convert their own to the slavery of following some distant “God” that no man could see, their religious rulers growing fat off of a tricked, blind people. Until, discontent with those conquests, they’d desired the riches held by those they’d anciently wronged, and begun to convert them as well, tricking them into following false beliefs that would make them rich.
Mathoni had heard it all before. And from the cries coming from the center of the camp, tonight he would hear it again.
Or not. Occasionally, Kumen would speak of what the Nephites would do to their children if they didn’t defeat them. Or what the glory of battle would be like. Of how many captives and riches they would take back to their people for—and there was always this catch—the glory of King Amalickiah.
The catch was what had always made him feel uneasy about Kumen’s attempts to rally the small army. Or the proclamations from the town criers back home. They’d built their towers in the center of each town, city, and village, criers from the king arriving weekly—sometimes daily—to deliver the king’s messages to the people. They’d all spoken of the riches of war, of the evil of the Nephites and the superiority of their own people, the Lamanites. They’d shouted the stories of the ancient past, the histories that had been passed down from their forefathers concerning how their people had split, the Nephites stealing their birthright and usurping the Lamanite right to rule. How it was time for their people to reclaim that right, to push back the Nephite lies and deception and take what should have been theirs.
And for a time, it had been stirring. Mathoni had joined in the shouts with the others, cheering as the proclamation had come that they would go to war with the Nephites, reclaim what was rightfully owned by them, and at long last take the place that had been denied them. To avenge the death of the prior king, killed by traitors in his own midst, traitors who had fled back to their Nephite masters for safety.
But always, hanging on in the back at first, but then more and more as the war had approached, for the glory. The glory of King Amalickiah.
A king who it appeared most had forgotten had at one time been one of the very Nephites they were waging war against.
“Brother.” Antiomno’s voice shook him from his thoughts, and he looked up to see the rest of his battle brothers rising and stepping out from beneath their meager shelters, their meals done. Antiomno himself was giving Mathoni an expectant look, jerking his head towards the gathering near the center of the valley.
“Are you coming?” he asked. “Kumen is going to speak.”
Mathoni glanced at the distant gathering and then shook his head. “No,” he said. “Not tonight.” Antiomno frowned.
“Instead,” Mathoni said, setting his partly full bowl aside, beyond the cover of the shelter they’d erected so that the rain could clean it. “I think I will go hunt for game, something fresh we can all partake of.” He pushed himself up, ignoring the pain of protest from his weary feet. In truth, he didn’t feel like hunting, especially with the dark of night fast approaching, but it was the only way to excuse himself from Kumen’s speech without arousing ire from his fellow warriors. “Perhaps I will find something.”
For a moment it looked as if Antiomno was going to dispute his decision, but then his friend smiled.
“Ah, my brother,” he said, shaking his head once more. “Always looking out for the rest of us, eh? Maybe that’s why you don’t have a wife; you spend too much time with us!” A few of the other battle brothers laughed.
“Maybe you’re right,” Mathoni said, letting out a chuckle. “Then again, if it hadn’t been me hunting for all of you back home, how many of you would have had time to get your wives to marry all of you with those ugly faces?” Laughter rolled through the group once more, and he smiled. “I’ll need one of your bows, however.” A sling was all well and good, but he preferred the feel of a bow when hunting.
“Take mine,” Antiomno said, still chuckling as he pointed at his small pack. His weapons were lying atop it, along with most of his armor, away from the damp ground. “Just bring it back.”
“Right.” Mathoni nodded as he reached for the small leather ties that held his armor together. If he was going to hunt, he’d want to be quiet and fast. Light on his feet. The still-unfamiliar armor would just slow him down, even if it wasn’t truly heavy. “You go on, I’ll be back later.” Already the cries from the center of the camp were starting, though there were a few level-headed individuals urging them to keep their voices from growing too loud. The valley felt secure, but there was always a chance that there was a Nephite scouting party nearby, looking for them after their near run-in with Teancum’s forces. They had their own scouts out, of course, but most of them were pulling double-duty, looking for food as well as Nephites, and no matter how many eyes there were, all it took was one scout to be seen for all to come undone.
He sighed as he pulled his armor away, setting it carefully next to his small bedroll. The woven shirt came next, another sigh escaping his mouth as cool air rushed over his exposed chest. Finally. He took one last look around the shelter, eyeing the rest of his battle brother’s belongings before stepping over to Antiomno’s pack and picking up his bow and quiver. It was a small bow, not one well-suited to hunting, but it would do, and both the wood and string were reasonably dry.
Antiomno is a little relaxed sometimes, Mathoni thought as he picked up his sling and a few small stones from his own pack. But at least he takes decent care of what he’s been given. He took one last glance at the rest of the army, now all standing around the center of the camp, listening with rapt attention as Kumen began describing in detail what the abominable Nephites would do to them and their families if they lost the war. How they’d be made slaves to the Nephite’s false religion and thirst for riches.
The crowd was, if not hanging on his every word, enjoying the most of what he said. None of them seemed to be questioning if being enslaved by their long-lost brethren was so bad, then why was their army doing it in turn? Maybe most of them considered it fair play, a sort of “do first” mentality that was still common with some of the older members of their society. That or they knew it was simply the wrong place to bring up such concerns. Or maybe they even agreed with it.
He turned away from the meeting, his back to the army as he moved out of the camp and into the forest. His feet were tired, yes, as were his legs, but he could still push on, especially for the promise of fresh meat. And if it removed him from the camp and allowed him to miss Kumen’s speech, well … all the better.
He pushed out into the forest, eyes already scanning the jungle for signs of game.
* * *
“Hold!” came a cry from a guard as Mathoni returned to the camp. “Identify yourself!”
“I am Mathoni, son of Opher,” he said, holding out his hands and taking care not to make any sudden movements as the guard approached him. In the dim light of the fading sun, such a move could prove disastrous with an eager watch. He’d had enough close calls hunting at home to risk trying something similar with someone who was already eager and at attention. “I return with fresh meat from a kill.”
“You are alone?” the man asked as he stepped closer. Mathoni didn’t recognize him, though the armor and shorn hair identified him as one of their own.
“I am,” Mathoni said, shifting so that the guard could get a good a look at animal slung over his shoulder. “I hunt better alone, and I felt hungered for some fresh food.”
“Yes, I see,” the guard said, nodding as he looked at Mathoni’s catch. “Welcome back, brother.” He waved for Mathoni to move forward. “Did you see any signs of Nephites whi
le you hunted?”
“No.” He shook his head as he passed. “Nothing.” It wasn’t exactly the truth. The animal he had slung over his back was proof of that … but that wasn’t something the guard needed to know. In fact, he wasn’t sure it was worth mentioning to anyone. The animal had clearly been well cared for during its life, and had likely only recently released from captivity, which was why he’d been able to sneak up on it so easily. However, the fact that it had appeared to have been released meant that it had probably been abandoned or lost by its original owners. Most likely Nephites fleeing before the oncoming armies of the Lamanites. Not an opposing army that they would need to worry about.
“Mathoni, brother!” Antiomno shouted as he neared the small shelter they’d built earlier. “You’ve returned! And from the look of it, with food for all of us!” A small cheer arose from the rest of their battle brothers, several of the men looking up as Mathoni lowered his prize to the ground.
“Indeed I have,” he said, smiling out at the group. Old friends mixed with unfamiliar faces as they looked back at him, nearly a dozen men in their group eyeing his catch with eager anticipation. “Fresh meat, ready to be cooked.” Someone’s stomach rumbled, and a laugh rolled through the group. Several of the nearby warriors from other battle-groups appeared to have gone quiet as well, having noticed the exchange and Mathoni’s prize. “Are we allowed to start a fire?”
“As long as we keep it covered,” one of the men said. Heth, if memory served. He was one of the men in their group that wasn’t from the village he and Antiomno had shared. “And if we can get one going.”
Mathoni nodded. “I can smell wood smoke,” he said as he sat down. His feet seemed to cry out in relief. “Perhaps some of our brothers will lend us their flame in exchange.”
“Why not ask?” another warrior suggested.
“You may ask,” Mathoni said as he passed Antiomno his bow. “I, however, did my share of the work already in hunting the beast down.” He leaned back against his pack, letting out a sigh of contentment. The ground wasn’t completely dry, but by the time he unrolled his small, thin, bedroll, it would be dry enough, and it was soft. It felt wonderful. “You cook it. Then we all eat.”
“Beast?” one of his battle brothers said. “You call that a beast?”
“If you don’t like it, feel free not to eat any of it,” Mathoni said, resting his hands behind his head. “But since I caught it, and I brought it back, I shall call it beast.”
“Of course, of course!” Antiomno said, laughing as he gave the man a friendly shove. “Come, brothers! Let us see which of these that would call us friend for our find would be willing to let us borrow of their flames?” There was a rumble of agreement as several of them rose, moving off to the nearby shelters in search of a fire.
“The rest of us, meanwhile,” Antiomno said, crossing his legs and sitting down next to Mathoni’s catch. “Will need to prepare a fire pit and prepare the meat for cooking, while our mighty hunter rests and recovers from the exertions of his hunt.”
Mathoni shook his head, but still laughed along with the rest of his brothers. It was all in good fun, after all. And they were doing the cooking for him, so fair was fair.
It wasn’t long before one of the departed warriors returned with a smoldering, partially burning branch … along with several followers from another group, all of whom had been promised a small cut of Mathoni’s hunt. They worked quickly, and before long the scent of roasting flesh was floating through the air, a welcome change from the rations they’d been forced to devour over the last few days. A few warriors from other areas of the camp drifted over, drawn by the welcoming smell, and Antiomno was forced to begin turning them away—some politely, some with harsh words that drew angry scowls.
Tough, Mathoni thought as he watched one group stalk away in anger, their feet stomping against the ground. You wouldn’t do the work yourselves to get your own meat, and there isn’t enough for all. They would complain and rage, but unless one of them attempted to press the issue—and if they did, Mathoni knew his brothers would stand with him to force them back—nothing would come of it. Their words were empty.
Besides, they were saving their anger for the Nephites. Not to use against one another. They were putting it where Kumen—no, where it needed to be.
And concerning that … “What did the captain speak of tonight?” he asked. Better to find out what had been said, both to show interest as well as to learn what was on the mind of his brothers.
“Nephites,” Heth said, though the revelation was hardly a surprise. There was an angry bent to his voice as he spoke. “The Nephites and their ‘God.’” The rest of the group muttered in agreement.
“What about them this time?” Mathoni asked, pushing himself up as one of the men cut a slice of bubbling meat free. The scent was almost intoxicating.
“About how they’ve sought for years to deceive and draw us away,” a new voice said, echoing through the group. Mathoni rose along with his brothers, pushing himself up as Kumen strode into the circle. “How they lied and deceived our last king, and many of our brethren, pulling them away to serve as slaves.”
There was a murmur from the group. The Anti-Nephi-Lehis. Everyone knew that story, even if it had happened before most of them had been born. The great betrayal.
“Captain,” Mathoni said, bowing. The rest of the group followed his actions, dropping to one knee and extending an open palm.
“Rise,” Kumen said, not even bothering to reach out and take Mathoni’s hand, as was customary. “We are in our camp, my warrior. Such formalities are not needed here.”
Mathoni nodded as he rose. Kumen’s words made sense, even if his action—or lack thereof—was a bit of an affront.
“You all know of what I speak,” Kumen said, stepping up to the fire and looking at each one of Mathoni’s battle brothers in turn. “The Nephites came with their lies, and their deceptions. Some of us were wise, intelligent. They rejected the Nephites with their slanderous words, their mocking stories. But one …” Kumen said, turning to look at Mathoni. “One of us, one of the then-king’s own sons, Lamoni, betrayed our people. He betrayed our ancestors. Betrayed our knowledge. He allowed the Nephites into his home, to poison his mind, and the minds of all those in the land of Ishmael.” Kumen’s voice was rising now, the visit becoming an impromptu sermon.
“Because of his weakness,” Kumen said, still turning to look at the rest of the group. “The king of our entire people fell under the sway of these Nephites, brought under their heels to be enslaved by some belief in a false God!” He spat into the fire, the wood sizzling. “And our people suffered a great betrayal, when he who was once our king forsook us to be a slave to the Nephites!”
Your king? Mathoni thought as Kumen spat again into their fire. You were barely a babe at that time Kumen, and a Nephite besides. Not that Kumen called himself that—no one had made the mistake of calling one of King Amalickiah’s followers a Nephite for some time. Amalickiahites, he’d heard some of them refer to themselves as.
Still, that didn’t change who Kumen had been or where he had lived. Your king? Mathoni could barely consider the man Kumen was referring to as his own king. He’d been a young boy during the betrayal. He could remember his father and uncle leaving once the split had turned to war, though he’d not understood much of the significance at the time.
He could also remember how his uncle had never been the same after he’d come back. Most of the men around the village hadn’t. In fact, none of them would speak of what had happened in the land of Ishmael, save in light terms only.
And now you claim to be outraged over the loss of “our” king, Mathoni thought as Kumen shook his head. Feigning anger and outrage at an event that happened when you were barely a child, that you couldn’t have even known of, lest you were one of the Anti-Nephi-Lehis.
He stiffened as Kumen whirled, staring right at him. Had the Great Spirit somehow made his thoughts known to his captain? Had his do
ubt for the didactic moment shown on his face?
“Brother,” the captain said, raising his arms and striding forward. He brought both his hands down on Mathoni’s shoulders, a bright smile on his face. “I understand from the rumors of conversation that I hear in this camp that you are the one to thank for this meal.” He jerked his head in the direction of the fire, the long, wet feathers on his helm swaying like damp branches. “Is this truly spoken?”
“It is,” Mathoni said, a tingle of relief working its way through his body. His hesitation had not shown after all. “I left soon after we made camp, hungry for game.”
“And the Great Spirit was with you, it would seem,” Kumen said, smiling. “Tell me, were you a skilled hunter in your home?”
“He was, captain,” Antiomno said, speaking up. Kumen glanced in his direction, though he didn’t seem perturbed by the interruption. “Mathoni was one of the mightiest hunters among us. His skill in tracking is without peer.”
Flatterer, Mathoni thought as he bowed his head. “Antiomno speaks in part with truth,” he said. “I was well known among my village for my skills with the bow and sling. My talents at the hunt are just that, however—merely talents, despite Antiomno’s praise.”
“And yet you return with a suitable prize after scarcely an hour of hunting,” Kumen said, looking at him once more. This close together, the man’s heritage was all the more apparent. Even the palms resting on his shoulders felt lightly calloused, bereft of the thicker, rougher skin that would have come from a life such as Mathoni’s.
“And you can track?” Kumen asked. “Read the signs of the forest to see what has passed by?”
“With reasonable accuracy,” Mathoni replied. “I hunt game, but I am no stranger to other signs.” No hunter wanted to be the one who shot another, after all.
Kumen smiled. “Very well. Then I have a task to request of you. Tomorrow, while our army rests, I wish for you to meet me outside my command tent at first light. While the rest of our righteous warriors laze about—” He made a quick glance at the rest of the men, grinning. “You shall join our scouts. You shall have the honor of scouting afield to find our first prey!”
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