Heroes of the Fallen Read online

  “Your people perhaps, Judge Hiram.”

  “I am not the only one. When the people clamor for a king and wish to do away with the judges, who am I to deny them?”

  “Yes, who are you?” said Onandagus, implying what they both already knew. Judge Hiram was a Gadianton Master of a high level, who chose to conceal himself as a spy rather than to wear the common red cap.

  His bonds cut, Ezra rubbed feeling back into his hands. He stood shaking, looking fearfully at Judge Hiram who stood stone still, his eyes emanating a cold hatred for the scrawny man.

  “I uh, must go now,” Ezra stammered, trotting away rubbing his hands.

  “Remember what I said,” called Chief Judge Onandagus.

  “I do, I mean, I will,” said Ezra, almost to the gate.

  The copper-sheathed guards at the gate stopped Ezra, then looked inside to Onandagus, who gave them the sign of release. They let the frail man pass and fade into the busy, downtown streets of Zarahemla.

  “Good day to you,” smirked Judge Hiram. “When the hammer strikes the anvil, where will you be?” He turned and walked away, chuckling to himself.

  Helam spat. “Can there be any doubt that he is a Gadianton Master?”

  “Enough. He knows we know, but there is no proof to bring against him. His very arrogance in this will be his undoing. You two must recover Ezra for his own safety and for whatever information we can glean from him. Make haste now, quickly, before Judge Hiram sends his own chosen men after the poor wretch, to slay him,” said Onandagus.

  They bowed to the chief judge and turned to go after Ezra a second time.

  Amaron pondered. When the hammer strikes the anvil, where will I be? Many times, Judge Hiram and others had tried recruiting him with promises of favors, wealth and women, golden and wanton. They know nothing of truth. They know nothing of my inner spirit. Hiram had tried to reason with Amaron, to show by logic how there was no God, no reason for faith.

  Amaron's answer was simple—Faith moves mountains, doubt moves nothing. Can reason save us? No, it can’t.

  Where will I be when the hammer falls? I have already made that choice. For good or ill, I am with truth and faith in the knowledge of things unseen. You can’t fight demons without being sure of where you stand; you need to know where they stand too. In a place like this, they’re hard to miss.

  Like A Wild Bird

  The raven-haired girl, beautiful and shapely, was fearful. She had never gone out dressed as she was now. Father would have forbidden it. The dress was the latest in Zarahemlan fashion, tight across the chest in a crisscross pattern, very low cut leaving her arms, cleavage, and belly button exposed. It was expensive blue silk; she had saved for weeks to buy it.

  Bethia was leaving Zarahemla. She hated being the daughter of the most important man in the city. She couldn’t turn around without people pointing and saying, “That’s the daughter of Chief Judge Onandagus. What is she doing now?”

  She wanted no more of it. At fifteen years, that young desire to see something of the world called like a siren’s song. She guessed that she could excuse herself after dinner, sneak out the window and away, and not be missed until morning. Her father had been too busy to notice her restlessness for some time now, and her mother had her hands full with the other children. Bethia had left an inked piece of parchment telling them not to worry. Not wanting it to be found too soon, she had placed it under the pillow in her room.

  She had not yet decided where to go, when she found herself at the docks of Zarahemla along the River Sidon. The river quarter, or the Bowl as it was known, had been forbidden in the rigid structure of her previous life. It was her choice now.

  Ships, of course! Better than riding a wretched horse or some other filthy animal, and better than sore feet from walking.

  Wondering which ship to board, Bethia looked upon their various names and cargoes, deciding against the Phoenician ships. Their crews looked too seedy and dangerous. Besides, she wanted to see what this side of the world had to offer.

  Bethia looked for kind faces among the sailors and found them hard to come by. She talked to several who seemed amiable at first, until it became apparent that they all had the wrong idea. They liked the dress.

  “Come here, my young filly,” said a swarthy grinning man.

  She stepped away from the grinning man. Several of the sailors laughed while the swarthy one persisted, grabbing her slender arm and tugging. His calloused hand rubbed her skin red as she pulled to escape. “Let go brute!”

  “No, no, no. You can’t come down here, flashing the goods, and then get picky on us. My silver is as good as anybody’s uptown,” he slurred.

  She could smell the wine on his breath. She jerked away again but only got as far as arm’s length. He pulled her in so close, closer than any man ever had. She kicked him in the shin, and he laughed.

  “Now that’s no way to behave,” he said, drawing her back.

  She kicked again, this time aiming for a more sensitive area, but he caught her shin. He drew back to hit her when a voice interrupted.

  “Better let her go,” said the huge blond-haired man standing only two strides away. His hard, determined face was accentuated by twin plumes of smoke that exited his nostrils like curling dragons. He rolled his cigar and glared at the sailor, fierce as any predator, his left eye slightly twitching.

  “Samson,” breathed Bethia.

  The sailor let go and she moved away quickly. As Samson turned toward her, the sailor charged with fists swinging wildly. Samson caught the first one in mid-air and snapped the wrist back, grabbed hold and pulled the man’s face into his iron fist. The sailor dropped unconscious.

  Samson turned to Bethia. “What are you doing down here? And what are you wearing?”

  “I bought it from the market. It was expensive, but I like it,” she said, examining her reddened forearm.

  “Where’s the rest of it?” he laughed.

  She frowned, wishing she had a cloak to cover herself from the leering men.

  “Your father doesn’t want you down here,” said Samson. “You know what those other women are?” He pointed at the laughing painted women lounging around the docks. The knocked-out sailor moaned, and Samson tossed the butt end of his cigar at him.

  “I do now,” Bethia nodded. “Father sent you after me? I can handle myself.”

  “Yea, I can see that,” he smirked.

  She turned away. Father must have found her gone already and sent his bodyguard to bring her back. He was her father’s age or even older but was much taller and weighed probably twice as much, all muscle. He was the only man that her father allowed to smoke in his presence. Such a strange man, so unashamed of his vices.

  “No, I didn’t come here to get you, but you’re lucky I was here. You have no idea what the world is like, do you?” He gestured at the sailors and harlots up and down the docks. “They will eat you up. The Bowl is no place for a lady. You don’t know what the world is like outside your father’s walls.”

  “And I never will so long as he keeps me cloistered inside the complex and the north quarter. I go to school, I go to church, and I go home, that’s all. How will I ever know what life is? You have been everywhere, and father is known from the eastern sea to the great mountains of Nephi in the west. He is known from shore to shore, thousands of trackless miles know the name of Onandagus, the chief judge, the governor, the presiding elder. I need to gain life experience. He always says that we are alive for life experiences.”

  Samson tilted his head and then slowly nodded. “All right, settle down.”

  “You can take me back, but I will run again until I am free,” she said. “I will keep running.”

  His face was impassive. He gazed toward city center and the stone tower that overlooked the city.

  “Father speaks of agency and choice. He speaks of the war in heaven where we asked for choice in life, but I have none,” she wept, the tears coming quicker with each moment. “You live your own lif
e, why can’t I live mine?”

  “You’re only fifteen and you don’t even know where to go, what to do with yourself,” he said in a weak voice, as if not sure of his argument. “Stop crying, it’s going to be all right.”

  “I need a change. I need space or I don’t know what I’ll do.”

  “All right, that’s enough. No more talking like that. You have things to live for,” said Samson. His icy exterior melted under her fiery tears. “Please, Bethia, stop.”

  “Then help me,” she demanded, wiping away her tears. “Tell me, how can I make it on my own? I need to make my own choices and have my own agency.”

  “Let’s go back to the markets. I have an idea.”

  “You mean it? You will help me?” she beamed.

  “Yea, I will help you. But you never mention to anyone that I did,” he said roughly. “Ever.”

  “I won’t, I promise.” She hugged him and he awkwardly patted her back.

  They went from the docks up to the bazaars and markets on the Avenue of the Ram. Samson seemed to know right where he was going. He cut through many alleys and side-streets until they were near the city’s western gate. He spoke to a few caravan people who directed them to find a man who dressed in bright finery that led a large caravan all over the continent. They soon found him, hard to miss in his orange and green jacket, standing beside a long line of wagons.

  “Everyone I know says this Rezon is an honorable caravanner and that you would be more than safe with him. He would never touch you,” said Samson. “You wanted to see the world, and this is my best idea for you to do that and still be safe. Are you sure this is what you want to do?”

  “Yes. I’ll come back when I am ready, when I have seen some of the world. You won’t tell father, will you?”

  Samson snorted and shook his head vigorously. “Lord no! I am not about to tell him that I saw you by the docks, or that you weren’t wearing enough to fly a kite. I won’t say anything but be careful.” He turned and disappeared into the thick crowded marketplace.

  Bethia drew up courage within herself. Her heart pounded with excitement, but her stomach roiled with fear. She fluffed her long dark hair and strode toward the caravan master, an attractive, sandy-haired man about ten years older than herself.

  He smoked from a funny looking pipe; was it shaped like what she thought it was? She turned away in embarrassment at the sight of the vulgar phallic pipe, but then she decided to go ahead and approach him. She trusted Samson, who had said she would be safe with this young man. The smoke rose in circles above his head as other caravan people came to him for directions. This was the right man to talk to if she wanted to leave Zarahemla. Such an oddly dressed man, although quite handsome. She stepped up to him.

  “Excuse me, but where are you going, if I may ask?” She gave her biggest smile.

  He turned around and returned a lopsided grin. “Why, everywhere. I am Rezon, Prince of Merchants. I trade from the eastern sea to the great mountains of Nephi. Why do you ask? Do you wish to come along?” He seemed friendly enough.

  “Yes, how did you know?” she asked.

  “I understand people,” he said coyly. “But why do you want to come with us?”

  “I am trapped and fettered like a wild bird captured by cruel huntsmen here. I want freedom. I want to dance, and see the world, but there is nothing for me here but a dusty cage.”

  “There will be work with us, you must understand that. It’s not all fun and games. But yes, there is a certain freedom the caravan lifestyle gives. Wake up in a new town at least every other week if not every day, always something fresh to see. Are you still sure you want to come?”

  “Oh yes, more than anything! You know what it feels like, don’t you?”

  “Yes, because I had that same look in my eye when I first left home over twenty years ago.” He blew more rings of smoke from the funny looking pipe. The smoke rings hung above him like a dirty halo.

  “But you don’t look much older than I.”

  “I am thirty summers old,” he said, smiling a dashing grin of haphazard teeth.

  “That is more than I thought. You left home when you were ten?” she asked, a little surprised.

  “Yea, I did. I come from Bountiful, which is a beautiful city. Much prettier than Zarahemla, I think, though they do not always pay as good. I know your look well. And yes, you may come with us, providing you work hard at the markets with us. We can always use another hand and a pretty face.”

  She liked that he had already complimented her. “I’ll do anything. Just let me come along. How soon do we leave?”

  “Careful who you say that to,” he cautioned her. “We are preparing to leave shortly.”

  “You have not said where we are going yet.” She gave him a coy, sideways glance.

  “We go everywhere. Our first stop after this is Gideon and the day after is Manti. Why are you in such a hurry? Are you a thief? You still have not told me your name,” he said, feigning a frown.

  “I am no thief. I am in a hurry to see something of the world.” She hesitated before giving her name, in case news had reached him of Onandagus’ daughter running away. She decided not to worry, since hers was such a common name for Nephite women. “I am Bethia.”

  “That’s fair enough. We prepare to leave within the hour, and we cannot wait for you if you are not ready.”

  “Oh, I am ready, I have everything I need right here.” She raised her small traveling bag.

  “Good. You will ride with Keturah on the wagon with the perfumes and incenses. You will soon tire of their sweet scents.”

  “That’s all right, I am more than happy to have found you,” Bethia beamed.

  “So am I.” He blew more smoke rings and walked away to inspect the other wagons. The rings trailed after him in a curious pattern of ever-widening spheres. She liked the smell, unlike Samson’s cigar that stunk.

  “So am I,” whispered Bethia, looking after him. She was no longer bound, but free, free to see the world and never look back. However, as the wagons departed through the south gate of Zarahemla, she did look back, and it was all she could do to hold back the tears. She would not see her family again for a very long time.

  Red Right Hand

  Judge Hiram passed down a dim hall and through the gilded doorway of another office. Once inside, he made a quick curious gesture with his left hand that only a trained eye could follow. He repeated this sign in four more offices and two courtrooms.

  Arriving at his own house, Hiram entered an ornate chamber and sat at the head of a long oaken table. A red-capped servant closed the shutters and drew the dark curtains. The somber room was covered in a thick, dark, ox-blood lacquered wood that absorbed light. His throne had a gruesome death’s head grinning from atop the wide peak. He sat there with a nasty headache throbbing upon his wrinkled forehead. An angry worry brewed within.

  Nineteen others soon joined him, each standing at an appointed spot around the table. The servant poured crimson wine into goblets of finely hammered silver. The servant lit black candles of sickly-sweet incense that gave off an ominous greenish hued light, and then excused himself.

  “I call to order this meeting of the Heads of the Zarahemla Order of Gadianton,” said Judge Hiram.

  “We are here, we are watching, we are listening, we are ready,” they all repeated in unison. “We strike!” They each made the gesture of Gadianton.

  “The world, ours to fool, ours to rule,” they said together and then sat down.

  “The time is close, too close for Onandagus to grow wise and to shout our plans from the rooftops,” said Hiram, motioning for them to drink.

  “Does he know?” asked one.

  “You mean of Akish-Antum’s plan? If it fails, it need not affect us. Are we not wealthier than we have ever been?” said another.

  “I agree. We have more wealth, beyond all other men in the land. We don’t need Akish-Antum to be a king over us,” said a man with a shaven head and a long-pointed beard.
“He is a monster.”

  “It is a foolish thing to say that out loud, Abishur,” warned Pachus, Hiram’s aide de camp.

  “Akish-Antum has killed men for less,” said still another named Levi.

  Judge Hiram broke in. “His plans do not fail. We are all rich because of him.”

  “Yea, we are indeed,” they said.

  “Hear, hear!” cried another.

  “I meant no disrespect to Akish-Antum,” explained Abishur, the bearded one. “But Onandagus has a way of avoiding our traps. He will fight us on appointing Akish-Antum or anyone else as a king,”

  “That is why, Brother Abishur, Onandagus must be killed once and for all. No mistakes. He and all his key supporters and his damnable church destroyed,” said Judge Hiram. “Once the carnage comes, it can all be blamed on the Lamanites. No one will care whose dagger is in whose back. Those savages will be blamed for the calamities, and a cry will arise for a leader, a king strong enough to protect us from them.”

  “Hiram is right. The plans are sound!” cried one, directing his words to another who seemed doubtful.

  Holding his hands high, silently calling for order, Hiram spoke, “Have the Order of Daggers arrived yet?”

  “Yes, some of them are here,” answered Levi.

  “Good, I want only the best on this. Onandagus had a minor apprentice in custody today. I remembered his face from an initiation last fall. Brother Pachus, send a troop of dagger men after one Ezra ben Shem immediately.” The man nodded and left. “How many dagger men do we have in the city now?” asked Hiram.

  “We have perhaps two dozen in the city already, and two dozen more coming from Bountiful, Desolation, and Jacobgath,” said Levi.

  “Any from the Secret City?” asked Abishur.

  “From reports I received yesterday, they are on their way, another dozen at least. Word from the second, Teth-Senkhet, is that Akish-Antum wants this to succeed beyond anything else he has ever done,” said Levi, twitching.

  “Where are the dagger men now? Will Brother Pachus have any trouble rounding up a few to take care of this apprentice?”