by Paulo Coelho
"My heart drowns in sorrow," said Elijah, kneeling and extending his arms to heaven. "Would that I could die here and now, and never have my hands stained with the blood of my people, or a foreign people. Look behind you. What do you see?"
"Thou knowest that I am blind," said the angel. "Because mine eyes still retain the light of the Lord's glory, I can perceive nothing else. I can see only what thy heart telleth me. I can see only the vibrations of the dangers that threaten thee. I cannot know what lieth behind thee..."
"Then I'll tell you: there lies Akbar. Seen at this time of day, with the afternoon sun lighting its profile, it's lovely. I have grown accustomed to its streets and walls, to its generous and hospitable folk. Though the city's inhabitants are still prisoners of commerce and superstition, their hearts are as pure as any nation on earth. With them I have learned much that I did not know; in return, I have listened to their laments and--inspired by God--have been able to resolve their internal conflicts. Many times have I been at risk, and someone has always come to my aid. Why must I choose between saving this city and redeeming my people?"
"Because a man must choose," answered the angel. "Therein lieth his strength: the power of his decisions."
"It is a difficult choice; it demands that I accept the death of one people to save another."
"Even more difficult is defining a path for oneself. He who maketh no choice is dead in the eyes of the Lord, though he go on breathing and walking in the streets.
"Moreover," the angel continued, "no one dieth. The arms of eternity open for every soul, and each one will carry on his task. There is a reason for everything under the sun."
Elijah again raised his arms to the heavens.
"My people fell away from the Lord because of a woman's beauty. Phoenicia may be destroyed because a priest thinks that writing is a threat to the gods. Why does He who made the world prefer to use tragedy to write the book of fate?"
Elijah's cries echoed through the valley to return to his ears.
"Thou knowest not whereof thou speakest," the angel replied. "There is no tragedy, only the unavoidable. Everything hath its reason for being: thou needest only distinguish what is temporary from what is lasting."
"What is temporary?" asked Elijah.
"The unavoidable."
"And what is lasting?"
"The lessons of the unavoidable."
Saying this, the angel disappeared.
That night, at the evening meal, Elijah told the woman and the boy, "Prepare your things. We may depart at any moment."
"You haven't slept for two days," said the woman. "An emissary from the governor was here this afternoon, asking for you to go to the palace. I said you were in the valley and would spend the night there."
"You did well," he replied, going straightway to his room and falling into a deep sleep.
HE WAS AWAKENED THE NEXT MORNING BY THE SOUND of musical instruments. When he went downstairs to see what was happening, the boy was already at the door.
"Look!" he said, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "It's war!"
A battalion of soldiers, imposing in their battle gear and armaments, was marching toward the southern gate of Akbar. A group of musicians followed them, marking the battalion's pace to the beat of drums.
"Yesterday you were afraid," Elijah told the boy.
"I didn't know we had so many soldiers. Our warriors are the best!"
He left the boy and went into the street; he must find the governor at any cost. The other inhabitants of the city had been awakened by the sound of the war anthems and were enthralled; for the first time in their lives they were seeing the march of an organized battalion in its military uniforms, its lances and shields reflecting the first rays of dawn. The commander had achieved an enviable feat; he had prepared his army without anyone becoming aware of it, and now--or so Elijah feared--he could make everyone believe that victory over the Assyrians was possible.
He pushed his way through the soldiers and came to the front of the column. There, mounted on horses, the commander and the governor were leading the march.
"We have an agreement!" said Elijah, running to the governor's side. "I can perform a miracle!"
The governor made no reply. The garrison marched past the city wall and into the valley.
"You know this army is an illusion!" Elijah insisted. "The Assyrians have a five-to-one advantage, and they are experienced warriors! Don't allow Akbar to be destroyed!"
"What do you desire of me?" the governor asked, without halting his steed. "Last night I sent an emissary so we could talk, and they said you were out of the city. What else could I do?"
"Facing the Assyrians in the open field is suicide! You know that!"
The commander was listening to the conversation, making no comment. He had already discussed his strategy with the governor; the Israelite prophet would have a surprise.
Elijah ran alongside the horses, not knowing exactly what he should do. The column of soldiers left the city, heading toward the middle of the valley.
"Help me, Lord," he thought. "Just as Thou stopped the sun to help Joshua in combat, stop time and let me convince the governor of his error."
As soon as he thought this, the commander shouted, "Halt!"
"Perhaps it's a sign," Elijah told himself. "I must take advantage of it."
The soldiers formed two lines of engagement, like human walls. Their shields were firmly anchored in the earth, their swords pointing outward.
"You believe you are looking at Akbar's warriors," the governor said to Elijah.
"I'm looking at young men who laugh in the face of death," was the reply.
"Know then that what we have here is only a battalion. The greater part of our men are in the city, on top of the walls. We have placed there caldrons of boiling oil ready to be poured on the heads of anyone trying to scale them.
"We have stores divided among several locations, so that flaming arrows cannot do away with our food supply. According to the commander's calculations, we can hold out for almost two months against a siege. While the Assyrians were making ready, so too were we."
"I was never told this," Elijah said.
"Remember this: even having helped the people of Akbar, you are still a foreigner, and some in the military could mistake you for a spy."
"But you wished for peace!"
"Peace is still possible, even after combat begins. But now we shall negotiate under conditions of equality."
The governor related that messengers had been dispatched to Sidon and Tyre advising of the gravity of their position. It had been difficult for him to ask for help; others might think him incapable of controlling the situation. But he had concluded that this was the only solution.
The commander had developed an ingenious plan; as soon as combat began, he would return to the city to organize the resistance. The troops in the field were to kill as many of the enemy as possible, then withdraw to the mountains. They knew the valley better than anyone and could attack the Assyrians in small skirmishes, thus reducing the pressure of the siege.
Relief would come soon, and the Assyrian army would be decimated. "We can resist for sixty days, but that will not be necessary," the governor told Elijah.
"But many will die."
"We are all in the presence of death. And no one is afraid, not even I."
The governor was surprised at his own courage. He had never before been in a battle, and as the moment of combat drew nearer, he had made plans to flee the city. That morning he had agreed with some of his most faithful friends on the best means of retreat. He could not go to Sidon or Tyre, where he would be considered a traitor, but Jezebel would receive him because she needed men she could trust.
But when he stepped onto the field of battle, he had seen in the soldiers' eyes an immense joy, as if they had trained their entire lives for an objective and the great moment had finally come.
"Fear exists until the moment when the unavoidable happens," he told Elijah. "After
that, we must waste none of our energy on it."
Elijah was confused. He felt the same way, though he was ashamed to recognize it; he recalled the boy's excitement when the troops had marched past.
"Away with you," the governor said. "You're a foreigner, unarmed, and have no need to fight for something you do not believe in."
Elijah did not move.
"They will come," said the commander. "You were caught by surprise, but we are prepared."
Even so, Elijah remained where he stood.
They scanned the horizon: no dust. The Assyrian army was not on the move.
The soldiers in the first rank held their spears firmly, pointed forward; the bowmen had their strings half-drawn, ready to loose their arrows at the commander's order. A few men slashed at the air with their swords to keep their muscles warm.
"Everything is ready," the commander repeated. "They are going to attack."
Elijah noticed the euphoria in his voice. He must be eager for the battle to begin, eager to demonstrate his bravery. Beyond a doubt he was imagining the Assyrian warriors, the sword blows, the shouting and confusion, and picturing himself being remembered by the Phoenician priests as an example of efficiency and courage.
The governor interrupted his thoughts.
"They're not moving."
Elijah remembered what he had asked of the Lord, for the sun to stand still in the heavens as He had done for Joshua. He tried to talk with his angel but did not hear his voice.
Little by little the spearmen lowered their weapons, the archers relaxed the tension on their bowstrings, the swordsmen replaced their weapons in their scabbards. The burning sun of midday arrived; several warriors fainted from the heat. Even so, for the rest of the day the detachment remained at readiness.
When the sun set, the warriors returned to Akbar; they appeared disappointed at having survived another day.
Elijah alone stayed behind in the valley. He had been wandering about for some time when the light appeared. The angel of the Lord was before him.
"God hath heard thy prayers," the angel said. "And hath seen the torment in thy soul."
Elijah turned to the heavens and gave thanks for the blessing.
"The Lord is the source of all glory and all power. He stopped the Assyrian army."
"No," the angel replied. "Thou hast said that the choice must be His. And He hath made the choice for thee."
"LET'S GO," THE WOMAN TOLD HER SON.
"I don't want to go," the boy replied. "I'm proud of Akbar's soldiers."
His mother bade him gather his belongings. "Take only what you can carry," she said.
"You forget we're poor, and I don't have much."
Elijah went up to his room. He looked about him, as if for the first and last time; he quickly descended and stood watching the widow store her inks.
"Thank you for taking me with you," she said. "I was only fifteen when I married, and I had no idea what life was. Our families had arranged everything; I had been raised since childhood for that moment and carefully prepared to help my husband in all circumstances."
"Did you love him?"
"I taught my heart to do so. Because there was no choice, I convinced myself that it was the best way. When I lost my husband, I resigned myself to the sameness of day and night; I asked the gods of the Fifth Mountain--in those times I still believed in them--to take me as soon as my son could live on his own.
"That was when you appeared. I've told you this once before, and I want to repeat it now: from that day on, I began to notice the beauty of the valley, the dark outline of the mountains projected against the sky, the moon ever-changing shape so the wheat could grow. Many nights while you slept I walked about Akbar, listening to the cries of newborn infants, the songs of men who had been drinking after work, the firm steps of the sentinels on the city walls. How many times had I seen that landscape without noticing how beautiful it was? How many times had I looked at the sky without seeing how deep it is? How many times had I heard the sounds of Akbar around me without understanding that they were part of my life?
"I once again felt an immense will to live. You told me to study the characters of Byblos, and I did. I thought only of pleasing you, but I came to care deeply about what I was doing, and I discovered something: the meaning of my life was whatever I wanted it to be."
Elijah stroked her hair. It was the first time he had done so.
"Why haven't you always been like this?" she asked.
"Because I was afraid. But today, waiting for the battle to start, I heard the governor's words, and I thought of you. Fear reaches only to the point where the unavoidable begins; from there on, it loses its meaning. And all we have left is the hope that we are making the right decision."
"I'm ready," she said.
"We shall return to Israel. The Lord has told me what I must do, and so I shall. Jezebel will be removed from power."
She said nothing. Like all Phoenician women, she was proud of her princess. When they arrived there, she would try to convince the man at her side to change his mind.
"It will be a long journey, and we shall find no rest until I have done what He has asked of me," said Elijah, as if guessing her thoughts. "Still, your love will be my mainstay, and in the moments I grow weary in the battles in His name, I can find repose in your arms."
The boy appeared, carrying a small bag on his shoulder. Elijah took it and told the woman, "The hour has come. As you traverse the streets of Akbar, remember each house, each sound. For you will never again see them."
"I was born in Akbar," she said. "The city will forever remain in my heart."
Hearing this, the boy vowed to himself never to forget his mother's words. If someday he could return, he would look upon the city as if seeing her face.
IT WAS ALREADY DARK when the high priest arrived at the foot of the Fifth Mountain. In his right hand he held a staff; in his left he carried a large sack.
From the sack he took the sacred oil and anointed his forehead and wrists. Then, using the staff, he drew in the sand a bull and a panther, the symbols of the God of the Storm and of the Great Goddess. He said the ritual prayers; finally he opened his arms to heaven to receive the divine revelation.
The gods spoke no more. They had said all they wished to say and now demanded only the carrying out of the rites. The prophets had disappeared everywhere in the world, save in Israel, a backward, superstitious country that still believed men could communicate with the creators of the Universe.
He recalled that generations before, Sidon and Tyre had traded with a king of Jerusalem called Solomon. He was building a great temple and desired to adorn it with the best the world offered; he had commanded that cedars be bought from Phoenicia, which they called Lebanon. The king of Tyre had provided the necessary materials and had received in exchange twenty cities in Galilee, but was not pleased with them. Solomon had then helped him to construct his first ships, and now Phoenicia had the largest merchant fleet in the world.
At that time, Israel was still a great nation, despite worshiping a single god whose name was not even known and who was usually called just "the Lord." A princess of Sidon had succeeded in returning Solomon to the true faith, and he had erected an altar to the gods of the Fifth Mountain. The Israelites insisted that "the Lord" had punished the wisest of their kings, bringing about the wars that had threatened his reign.
His son Rehoboam, however, carried on the worship that his father had initiated. He ordered two golden calves to be made, and the people of Israel worshiped them. It was then that the prophets appeared and began a ceaseless struggle against the rulers.
Jezebel was right: the only way to keep the true faith alive was by doing away with the prophets. Although she was a gentle woman, brought up in the way of tolerance and of horror at the thought of war, she knew that there comes a moment when violence is the only answer. The blood that now stained her hands would be forgiven by the gods she served.
"Soon, my hands too will be stain
ed with blood," the high priest told the silent mountain before him. "Just as the prophets are the curse of Israel, writing is the curse of Phoenicia. Both bring about an evil beyond redress, and both must be stopped while it is still possible. The god of weather must not desert us now."
He was concerned about what had happened that morning; the enemy army had not attacked. The god of weather had abandoned Phoenicia in the past because he had become irritated at its inhabitants. As a consequence, the light of the lamps had stilled, the lambs and cows had abandoned their young, the wheat and barley had failed to ripen. The Sun god commanded that important beings be sent to search for him--the eagle and the God of the Storm--but no one succeeded in finding him. Finally, the Great Goddess sent a bee, which found him asleep in a forest and stung him. He awoke furious and began to destroy everything around him. It was necessary to bind him and remove the wrath from his soul, but from that time onward, all returned to normal.
If he decided to leave again, the battle would not take place. The Assyrians would remain permanently in the entrance to the valley, and Akbar would continue to exist.
"Courage is fear that prays," he said. "That is why I am here, because I cannot vacillate at the moment of combat. I must show the warriors of Akbar that there is a reason to defend the city. It is neither the well, nor the marketplace, nor the governor's palace. We shall confront the Assyrian army because we must set the example."
The Assyrian triumph would end the threat of the alphabet for all time to come. The conquerors would impose their language and their customs, but they would go on worshiping the same gods on the Fifth Mountain; that was what truly mattered.
"In the future, our navigators will take to other lands the feats of our warriors. The priests will recall the names and the date when Akbar attempted to resist the Assyrian invasion. Painters will draw Egyptian characters on papyrus; the scribes of Byblos will be dead. The sacred texts will continue only in the hands of those born to study them. Then the later generations will try to imitate what we have done, and we shall build a better world.
"But now," he continued, "we must first lose this battle. We shall fight bravely, but our situation is inferior, and we shall die with glory."
At that moment the high priest listened to the night and saw that he was right. The silence anticipated the moment of an important battle, but the inhabitants of Akbar were misinterpreting it; they had laid down their weapons and were amusing themselves at precisely the moment when they had need of vigilance. They paid no heed to nature's example: the animals fell silent when danger was at hand.