Heroes of the Fallen Page 16

  Onandagus spoke, “I have received dire and disturbing news. The Gadianton robbers are soon to be engaging in a full-blown war against our liberty, our freedom.”

  Many of the assembled gasped. A few, like Barkos, guffawed. Several shouted in disbelief and indignation.

  “Please allow me to continue. These Gadiantons and king men are behind this strife that will soon be infecting us. They prepare to enslave us.”

  “Rubbish!” shouted a man from the back row.

  “These king men, some of whom I believe are in this room, plot even now to raise the bladed and bloody hand of the Lamanites. They inflame their long-standing hatred against us, and a battle could be disastrous as the Lamanites outnumber us ten to one. Preparations must be made. Every guardsman must be called up to active duty and all available men impressed and trained in the basic service.”

  “You’re mad!” shouted the man from the back once again. “You seek excuses to gain power for yourself.”

  Multiple men shouted him down as a few others grunted their affirmation at what was said.

  “We must be prepared, the Lamanites are a warlike people who can surely best us in open battle,” called one from the first row.

  “Bah!” said a burly judge from the second row, directly in front of Onandagus. “One Nephite warrior is worth twenty of the armor-less heathen savages.”

  “Honorable Cezoram is ill-informed. Just one of Onandagus’s personal guards is worth more than a hundred Lamanites,” said Barkos.

  “I have the floor!” thundered Onandagus, and all was silent once again. He stared hard at Barkos. “If I want a debate, I will ask for it. The next man who interrupts me will be ejected from this meeting.”

  There was silence for a moment. Judge Hiram stood. “Samson is not present, and your other loyal guardsmen are mysteriously absent as well. How will you go about enforcing your arrogance and contempt for us, this council and your fellow judges?”

  A heavy anticipation hung in the air while men on both sides of the debates watched hungrily to see what would happen next. Would the cantankerous chief judge rail against them or would it turn into a Lemuelite standoff, like two yellow dogs, chained, slavering and barking at one another without either making progress.

  “I will enforce his will,” boomed a deep bass voice from the open doorway. All eyes reeled to look over at the Titan of a man. Beside him stood a large boy on crutches. The man strode into the hall as if he was its rightful owner and they were but trespassers.

  Most knew him, it was Mormon the Elder and his son Mormon the Younger. Big and imposing, he commanded attention. Gray hairs were beginning to show here and there through his thick, red-brown beard, but his broad shoulders and thickly corded arms intimidated men half his age. He was a born fighter, and no man claimed to have beaten him. Many had tried in their time, all met the hard, merciless hands of fate with equal regret.

  As Mormon walked in, he doffed his winged helmet of copper and iron and handed it to his son. He did not take off his sword belt as was the custom within the Judgment Hall. He stopped in front of the podium of Onandagus and looked over those gathered with ice blue eyes. “Please allow the chief judge to continue. Any more unnecessary comments and I will throw you out!”

  Onandagus continued, “Brethren, gentlemen, and citizenry—allow me to introduce my right hand, the former governor of the northern quarter, Mormon of Antum. He is now my reserve lieutenant governor.”

  “You can do no such thing,” someone shouted. “You have no right. He has no seniority.”

  Before Mormon could act, Onandagus thundered again, “I have the authority to appoint any worthy man I choose, seniority or no. It is very clearly stated in the Book of Commandments.”

  “You are mad, you have no right to supersede us who are the rightful heirs of the city and state. You have no right, it belongs to one of us, the Council of Fifty,” screamed Cezoram.

  Calm as a summer’s day, Mormon walked over and picked Cezoram up by the collar and belt. He walked him to the door and threw him onto the street. Turning on his heel, he said, “Who’s next?”

  All remained silent.

  “Regardless of what you may think of me, I, as chief judge, have the right to appoint any worthy man. Now, on to the real business at hand. Gadiantons, king men, and Lamanites are threatening us. My sources have told me that something will happen within months, or even weeks. Most likely the Gadianton Grand Master, Akish-Antum, is aggravating Kings Xoltec, Apophis, and Madoni to war with us. This would make him guilty of being a warmonger, and under our law, the warmongers and their ilk are to be dealt the ultimate justice.”

  A man said, “Forgive me, but this sounds preposterous. You speak of war as if it were a possibility. There have been no wars in almost three hundred years. Perhaps we should re-think the punishment for a crime that no longer exists.”

  “Warmongering is a crime that has not disappeared from off the earth,” said Mormon. “The Lamanites still battle the Ishmaelites and Lemuelites with regularity and they will come here sooner than later. War is the ultimate crime because it is all crimes combined. When you start a war, you are guilty of murdering cities and lands. Thousands of souls are upon that man’s head. It is the worst of crimes imaginable.”

  Onandagus nodded. “That is only half of it. These things happen for a reason, nothing in life is without purpose or meaning. We as a society have let far too many plain and precious things slip from our grasp. Our decadence is causing our decay. We must repent of our misdeeds now and prepare for trying times. Lamanites will come, of that I have no doubt. We should be ready to do whatever is necessary to stop them and save our families, to do such we must have the Lord on our side. Without Him we cannot prevail, nor should we.”

  “May we discuss this?” asked Hiram.

  “You may have the floor,” said Onandagus.

  “What sources do you have for these awful things? These sound like lies brought about only to bring strife to our fair city. Lies told to scare us into granting you more power. I demand that you no longer rule over us in fear.”

  “I seek no power or gain from my office. I receive the same wage as any judge, no more, no less. My hands are calloused from toil in my own fields, I am no burden to my people. I have not taverns full of loose women,” rebuked Onandagus.

  “This Akish-Antum is a myth, a tale told to scare children,” retorted Hiram.

  “Many myths are based on truth, twisted and lost through time, but in their own context and symbolism, still true,” said Onandagus.

  Members of the council murmured their assent.

  “Do not delude yourself. There is no eight-foot giant with razor sharp teeth. It is absurd,” continued Hiram with a condescending laugh.

  Mormon approached Judge Hiram, closing on him and forcing him to back down. “I have seen the Gadianton Grand Master. Will you laugh and call me a foolish child or a liar? I have seen him in the wilds.”

  “Did you speak with him? Or merely lurk in the bushes nearby?” Hiram said scornfully. “It could have been anyone. He does not exist.”

  “Yea, he does. Do not taunt me again. He was with a legion of his black-cloaked devils or I would have taken him into custody myself. I regret I did not have sufficient guardsmen with me at the time,” said Mormon, gripping the edges of Hiram’s table. The smooth fine wood threatened to buckle from his grip.

  “Even if such is the case, Gadiantons and Lamanites are no threat to a great, walled city such as this,” spoke a man from the back.

  “Oh, I think the snakes are already inside,” said Onandagus, looking at Hiram.

  “How dare you accuse me!” snarled Hiram.

  “You accuse yourself. I said nothing of you. I wish I had but proof of your villainy.”

  “You will rue the day you crossed me,” raged Hiram. “We will take this matter before the people and see what they have to say. If you are believed by the people we will do as you suggest. If not, the judges shall unite to depose you. Agr
eed?”

  Onandagus nodded at the challenge. “Yes, I agree, for if the people will not heed me, I have no desire to continue guiding them. I warn you Hiram, the Lord will not allow me to leave until I have fulfilled all my duties. This meeting is adjourned.” The council filed out of the judgment hall.

  Once they were alone, Mormon the Elder said, “The people become more vile every year. If it were not for Ammaron the Scribe’s charge of my son, I would not be here. From what I have seen of it, Zarahemla is no more righteous than anywhere else—maybe even worse.”

  “Hiram will not yet depose me. I was within my rights to appoint you and announcing it in this way let me see how many are against us.”

  “Most are against us, just like when we were young. Remember when I asked the Lord if I could die a martyr to his cause? I still think about that, this world is too ill and needs examples... something,” said Mormon.

  “That fills me with sorrow, for when a man of your faith asks the Lord for anything, he generally gets it,” said Onandagus.

  Unwanted Advice

  Bethia was sure that Rezon would soon ask for her hand in marriage. Every day she smiled at him, and he always smiled back. He was so polite to her, the sweetest, kindest man she had ever met. Keturah seemed to think it was all very funny.

  In the cool of the evening, after the market had ended on their final day in Manti, Bethia decided it was time to progress their relationship beyond friendly, flirtatious talk. “Where is Rezon?” she asked of Peter, one of his drivers.

  “He has gone to the tavern. Why do you wish to know? It is not for you to go,” Peter said heatedly, without his usual friendliness.

  “What is it to you? I want to talk to him,” she said.

  Peter frowned at her. “Listen to me. Stay away from the taverns tonight. There’s no need to see what goes on there. You are still young, and we all care about you. You’ll understand when you are older, but for now do your chores and get some rest. We are bound for Bountiful in the morning.” He returned to his duties as if that was the end of it.

  It was like her father telling her what she could or could not do. Well, no more from him or anyone. “You cannot tell me what to do. I am a grown woman, my mother was married at my age. I am going to…”

  He turned on her, and she took two steps back. “Listen, we all know how you feel about Rezon. It is no secret among the company. You are a naive little girl who does not see what is right before you. You need to stay here and get some sleep. Let things be explained to you another day.” He stared hard at her, his long-curled mustache quivering and sweat beading up on his shaven bald head.

  “What are you trying to say? He is with someone else, another woman? We shall see if she is half the woman I am!” Bethia stormed off toward the tavern.

  “Wait,” cried Peter. “Don’t go, you fool girl.” He dropped his tools for shoeing the horses and oxen and followed her.

  Tears streamed down her face and she walked away quickly. Peter had a bad limp from an ox stepping on his foot and could not easily keep up with her.

  The tavern had been mentioned by several of the people in the caravan. It sounded secretive when they spoke of it, as if they did not want her, the new girl, to know of it.

  What does it matter? I will not judge them. I am a modern woman. Beyond the constraints my father put upon me.

  The tavern was down several back alleys in an unsavory part of the city. Bethia stepped over a few foul-smelling drunks passed out in the streets. She no longer saw Peter behind her. Composing herself and wiping away the tears, she walked to the door. This had to be the place. The sign out front was small and almost illegible until you were right in front of it, the Brick Back House.

  It made little sense. It was not made of brick. She had heard of these types of establishments often enough from her father, how they rotted the society. She had never been to one before, and this one looked especially seedy. She turned the brass knob and entered.

  Loud drunken laughter filled the air, along with the smell of weak wine and strong beer. It was not a very large room, perhaps twenty paces wide and double that long with people packed in standing shoulder to shoulder. A few meager tables had men crowded around, playing with greasy cards.

  Bethia could not see Rezon or his tramp. She would let him know of her feelings and how he wasted himself with this other woman. With her long, raven hair and full lips, Bethia was a beauty to match any woman.

  She forced her way through the crowd, obviously disinterested in allowing her to pass. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Peter at the door looking for her. He started making his way toward her through the packed room.

  I can hear his laugh. I hear Rezon’s laugh.

  Pushing a little harder, she saw him through a gap, his back toward her. Slender tattooed arms draped around him. Rezon was kissing the wanton woman.

  “Rezon!” she shouted in angry fury.

  He turned, shocked to see her there. Bethia gaped, it was no woman with Rezon, but a dainty slender man in a dress. At once Peter stepped behind her, holding her steady.

  “Bethia, what are you doing here?” Rezon asked, incredulous.

  “Me? What am I doing? What are you doing? I am disgusted. Are you mad? I thought you loved me... but this... this.”

  “I am sorry you had to see it, but I have tried to be frank and open with you.”

  She shook her head, the tears returning. “You are frankly vulgar. I never want to see you again! I hate you!” She squeezed out the door, Peter close behind.

  “Someone get me a drink,” coughed Rezon. It was the last thing she heard him say.

  Peter grabbed her just outside the door. “Maybe next time you will listen when someone gives you advice.”

  “I didn’t ask for advice. I wanted the truth,” she sobbed.

  “No, you didn’t. It was before you all along, you were just too naive to see.”

  “I can’t believe I am such a fool.”

  “It happens.” He extended her a beefy arm. “Let us go back to the caravan. You get some sleep. Rezon will not care in the morning, and all can be forgotten.”

  “No, I can’t bear to see him again. I will find another caravan, maybe I will talk to Gazelem. At least I know he is going south, while Rezon goes elsewhere. I hate him.”

  “Are you sure that is what you want?” he asked.

  “As sure as anything. Thank you, Peter. Maybe I will see you again someday, but I must leave now,” she said.

  “Take this.” He held out a silver ring. “You lost it back inside. You were wringing your hands so.”

  “Thank you truly. It is all I have left of my old life. Tell Keturah goodbye for me.”

  Peter nodded. “What about your things?”

  “I don’t care about them. I only want to leave this place. Farewell then.” She turned and walked away into the night.

  The Rewards of Service

  Hiram still fumed over the exchange with Onandagus. Sulking deep within his hidden sanctuary below the Avenue of the Cat, his assistant, Pachus, offered him a goblet of wine. “I have news, Master Hiram.”

  “What news? Anything of value?”

  “Mistress Lilith’s servant is here.”

  “Ugh, the Nubian?” Hiram sipped the wine.

  “No, her handmaiden, Aselin.”

  “Did she not leave with Lilith?”

  “Yea, she did. But now she is here and looks in an awful state.”

  “Where is Lilith?”

  “She does not know. I have already asked.”

  “Very well, show her in.” Hiram sat in exhaustion, wiping his brow.

  The doe-eyed girl nervously entered the room.

  Hiram stared hard at her. “Where is your mistress and why are you here? What is your message? Be quick about it, I have not time for her games,” he snapped harshly.

  “I lost her, oh worshipful master, in the forests between here and Gideon,” the girl sobbed.

  He was intrigued by the poss
ibility of harm coming to Lilith. “Go on.”

  “We found a group of scouts loyal to Onandagus. I drugged them while my mistress gleaned information from their captain. They were to be on the route of invasion.”

  “Then what happened?” he snapped.

  “My mistress would slay them all, but the captain overcame his drugs and slew the manservant, Taharka. We fled into the forest. I lost my mistress and ran all day to return here. I hoped she would be here.”

  “Was she slain then?” asked Hiram, hopeful.

  “I think not. We were deep into the woods when I lost her. I doubt that they followed us as they were all drugged.”

  “How typical of women, eh Pachus? They run away.”

  “The captain slew Taharka, and as my mistress drew her dagger, he turned on us with such vengeance I could not think clearly,” she said.

  “We can’t have you wandering about, my dear. People may recognize you and grow suspicious. You shall have a hidden room here,” said Hiram, rising from his desk.

  “Oh, thank you, thank you. I will gladly serve you until my mistress returns. I will be silent, no one will even know I am here.”

  “I know they won’t,” he assured her. “Pachus.”

  The club came down hard. Aselin’s body went to the hidden room in the basement, to remain forever along with dozens of others the Order never wanted found.

  In A Dark Place

  Anathoth sharpened his wide, moon-shaped dagger. The beautiful steel had been folded hundreds of times over until it was a swirl of dark blues and grays. Sharpening it provided a relaxing task for him. Hieroglyphs in the old tongue of his forefathers went up and down the blade. The languages had changed much since those days.

  It might have been carried by his greatest forefather of all, Ishmael. He knew legends of their family’s beginning from the spoken word that had been told around the council fires from father to son. After ravaging Ishmael’s daughters, the Nephite father had caused Ishmael to be left behind to die in the desert.