Heroes of the Fallen Read online

  “How can you know that? Does my father still live?” asked Zelph.

  “Not in body, but I have spoken with him.”

  “How can I go to Zarahemla? The Nephites will kill me,” said Zelph.

  “Some would try, yes, but the Great Spirit’s plan will not be stopped. You have a great faith and a great purpose to fulfill for yourself and for your family,” said the disciple.

  “I don’t know what I should do. I was told I have family in Jershon, but I do not know the way. Nor do I speak the Nephite language.”

  “Do you believe in the Great Spirit with all your might, mind, and strength?”

  “Yes, I do but...” stammered Zelph.

  “Which is it?” queried the disciple.

  “I believe. Nay, I know that through him all things are possible.”

  The disciple looked at him and said, “We all must be tested. As your father made the ultimate sacrifice for you, you will also make a sacrifice someday. Today you will be tested. Come with me.”

  “Are you going to test me?”

  “No, you will test yourself. In this life we are here to prove to ourselves who we are, not prove to the Great Spirit. He already knows.”

  Zelph followed the disciple to a small cave beside the waterfall. They entered the tunnel and walked inside for some distance until complete darkness encompassed them.

  “You may stay here and pray. When you have an answer, come out and I will introduce you.”

  Unsure what that meant, Zelph decided to obey. He knelt and prayed. At first, he was angry, thinking he was wasting his time. He had a very long journey ahead if he were to stay ahead of Akish-Antum’s army. Then he realized such an attitude profited him nothing, and he chose to think only of that which was uplifting and beneficial to himself and others.

  Soon enough, he felt ready to go and see what the disciple wanted. It was night. He had been inside the dark cave much longer than he had thought.

  “How do you feel?” asked the disciple.

  “I am fine, thank you. I had no idea that so much time had passed.”

  “More than you know,” said the disciple. “I have something for you... a stone.” It was a glossy yellowish stone about half the size of a hen’s egg. “This is your personal Urim and Thummim, an interpreter stone. With this you will have the tongue of fire. You will be able to speak and understand all languages, a most useful tool for your missions.”

  “And what is my mission?” asked Zelph.

  “He will tell you.”

  “Who is ‘he’?”

  “I will introduce you now, to your Lord.”

  “I am not worthy of such an honor,” said Zelph, bowing his head.

  “You are more worthy than you know. Your faith has proven it. There is a great work for you, and it begins now. Come, let me introduce you.”

  The next morning as Zelph investigated the pool of water in front of the cave, he was astonished at his reflection. His black hair had turned light brown, even white at the edges, and his skin significantly lightened, from a dark mahogany brown to a paler shade of white. He looked the same, but with an older, wiser look about him. He appeared to be well beyond his eighteen years.

  I should not be surprised by this. Who could look upon the face of the son of the Great Spirit and not be changed? A change so obvious that all can see. A change that will make me cursed in the eyes of some, just as the evil spirit Ahtmar foretold. But that which the Great Spirit chooses to give, I cannot refuse.

  “Seek out Onandagus the prophet, he will guide and direct you, Zelph. Farewell, my brother,” said the disciple.

  They clasped hands and Zelph, now the white Lamanite, continued his journey northward to Zarahemla.

  The Vision Serpent

  “It is time,” whispered High Priest Balam-Ek to the king. “He is young, yet you know as well as I that things are happening, and we need to prepare.”

  The royal hall was almost empty. Aaron sat next to his elder sister Sayame and disliked being talked about as if he were not there.

  The lean old king stood high and held his scepter aloft as he proclaimed to the few gathered, “Arise, my second living son, Aaron. It is time to begin your journey and find your way.”

  The small, twelve-year-old boy stood, unsure of what was about to take place. He approached his father and knelt before him.

  “He is too young,” pleaded his willowy, older sister who had practically raised him since their mother had died at his birth. Aaron often wondered if his father had ever forgiven him for that.

  “Yea, he is young, but his elder brother, my heir, goes to war and glory for my house. Almek will succeed me soon enough and his brother must be ready for his duties as well,” said the king.

  According to tradition, Aaron was two years too young. Most initiated boys began at fourteen years of age. At only twelve, he would be the youngest initiate ever. King Xoltec was never one to be mindful of traditions. He had sought to break his people of them whenever possible. Any traditions like the Nephite ones, he had crushed. All the Nephite holidays and celebrations had been banned and replaced with new ones on different dates and with different meanings.

  “Balam-Ek, begin immediately. Aaron, you will serve your brother. It is your destiny.” The king dismissed the hall and turned his attention to the dancing girls as they entered. The musicians began their exotic sounds of strings, drums, and bells. Xoltec’s head swayed in time to the music as he watched the girls’ belly-dancing.

  Sayame felt disgust. Here was the man who had carved out an empire in the same forests where their ancestors had barely scraped a living. He had united petty tribes and kindreds together and had slain dozens of other chieftains... all to be the one great king. He had been the most feared ruler of all Lamanites, and now he wasted himself on drink and dancing girls. Is this the result of power? Is this all that it comes to? Better we had stayed in our tents in the wilderness, than live in cold palaces of stone, thought Sayame. Out in the forests there was a simple true existence, hard but honorable. There, in her dreams, Father would have loved her, he would have acknowledged her existence.

  Following the black priest to the house of sorcery, Aaron felt at ease. What was it Akish-Antum had told him? That he, not his brother, would be king. That he had seen it in his interpreter, his crystal skull of doom.

  I must prepare, make my own destiny. Drink deep of the fountains of darkness, don my crown of glory, before all vanishes like smoke. Akish-Antum is my Master. He sees more than Balam-Ek, but I will learn what I can from this high priest.

  “Much is expected of you, Prince Aaron. You must know how much your family is depending on you. You have spent time with the Gadianton Grand Master, Akish-Antum. He is not to be trusted. Your father knows that. It is part of the reason that you are to begin your training early. I warn you, some things will hurt, some things will be dangerous. But I will not allow you to die. Remember that you must always master your fear. You must slay your own fear before it slays you. You must conquer the fear that kills with your own mind, which is your greatest weapon. I will help you sharpen it.”

  Balam-Ek led him to a room inside the temple that Aaron had never seen before. The priest pulled open a double door set into the floor. Inside was a dark pool of water with steps on one side leading into the murky depths.

  “Why have I never been here before? I thought I knew the entire city,” said Aaron. “Is this a baptismal font? I thought Father outlawed those.”

  “It is not a font. Look deep into it if you can. You cannot see the bottom. It is an initiation pool which we use to test our priestly initiates,” explained Balam-Ek.

  “Do we both go in?” asked Aaron.

  “No, it is a test for you alone. I did mine at fourteen years of age.”

  “What must I do?”

  “Dive deep within the dark water and find the true way out, for you cannot come back out the way you came in,” said Balam-Ek.

  “So, there is another passage out?”
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  “Yea, there is, but you must remember to dive deep, the obvious way is false and will only lead to more troubles.”

  “Very well, I am ready.” Aaron took off his sandals, his golden necklace, and other princely trinkets and stepped into the warm water. It had a strange but familiar odor to it that he could not place. The dark green water relaxed him. Taking the second step in was fine, as well as the third, but there was no fourth, it went straight down.

  As he came up for a gasp of air, Balam-Ek laughed and said, “You must dive deep, the obvious way is false. Do not let fear kill you.”

  Aaron dove back into the dark abyss. Running his hand along the sides, he could tell that it was a smooth stone box going down and down ten feet or more. His lungs were ready to burst when he found the passage. It was only sixteen inches wide and opened to another room with bright lights above it. He raced upwards to catch a breath and to tell Balam-Ek how easy it was. He saw long dark shapes above him in the water. Crocodiles!

  He turned to go back the way he had come, but the original passage was dark as Egypt. Balam-Ek had shut the door on his entrance. He needed air. He must go up for air and exit the pool of crocodiles. He pushed himself upward from the bottom of the pool and shot for the surface. A long dark reptilian figure moved closer.

  Aaron emerged from the water and gripped the slick side of the pool, face to face with a growling, snapping crocodile sitting on a wet ledge beside it. Another narrow ledge had even more crocodiles lounging upon it. The walled enclosure holding the beasts was more than six feet above the water’s edge, Aaron could not possibly reach it.

  Balam-Ek stood above him and laughed. “It would be a shame for me to tell the king that his second son is a bigger fool than his eldest.”

  “Do you mean to murder me?” coughed Aaron.

  “Ha, I told you the obvious is not the way.”

  Aaron backed away from the crocodile’s ledge. It inched closer toward him.

  “Best watch out for that one,” said the priest. “He’s a biter.”

  The pool was larger than he had first thought. The crocodile grinned at him and slid into the water.

  “You must dive deep, the way is never clear.”

  Aaron dove again, hating Balam-Ek’s laughter. Something tore at his side and he kicked, his foot pushed against the scaly body. He dove deeper to the bottom, unable to see anything in the murky water. He ran his hands along the stony edge of the pool.

  He couldn’t hold his breath much longer but didn’t want to return to the surface, fearing he would attract a crocodile attack. His hand brushed an open space in the stonework. He no longer cared if it was the first opening or not. Perhaps there was still some air trapped beneath the doorway.

  Climbing inside, he pushed up and bumped his head on a stone ceiling. He again despaired, until realizing that the tunnel curved before turning up once again. Lungs aching and ready to burst, he wanted to take in a mouthful of water and end it all. Breath, he needed a breath. Any breath, even a crocodile’s kiss. Then his head broke the surface. Too tired to fight off a crocodile, he opened his eyes, fearing the worst.

  Balam-Ek stood above him, extending a hand. “You did well. I have lost more than a score of junior priests this way, but if they cannot prevail, I don’t want them.” The massive priest pulled him out with ease and gave him a small towel.

  “I thought you said you would not let me die,” said Aaron.

  “So, I did, and you did not,” laughed the priest.

  “What if a crocodile had been swifter than I, or if I had not found the passage?” Aaron looked at his ripped shirt where the croc had nipped it. He bled a little from the deep scratches.

  “Your wound is not deep. You are fine,” said the priest examining the scratches. “I would have made you stay in and find the passage, even if I had to spear all the crocodiles myself. You are, after all, no junior priest.” He laughed again. “Get dressed in these new robes and meet me on the north patio. This is only the beginning.”

  “But what of my wounds?” asked Aaron.

  “Nonsense, they are shallow and will only enhance the evening.” The priest walked away.

  Aaron wondered what would come next. He had succeeded where others, older boys with more experience, had failed and died. Perhaps he would be king someday, as Akish-Antum had said.

  On the patio, musicians played as a dozen dancers frolicked about to a bizarre, unrecognizable tune. Each of the dancers was dressed to imitate a certain god. Balam-Ek was the black tiger of Baal. Aaron recognized Nu-Bak-Chak from the royal court as Moloch the bull god. He did not recognize the other dancers, although he saw that they were dressed as many of the Lamanite gods.

  The most important twelve gods were all represented. Votan, a noble looking man and warrior. Taloc, the rain god who looked like a man with a curiously long nose and other strange disfigurements. Shagreel, the mighty sun god. Libnah, lord of the white land, jackal-headed god of death. Elkanah, a raptor-faced god of the sky. Set, the great serpent of the world. Korash, god of the south and the oceans. Mahmackrah, the lion-headed god of power and royalty, who rules fire and the north. Buluk, god of war and sacrifice, a warrior covered in tattoos. Finally, there was mighty Kuhtuli, the dreaming god, who appeared as a grotesque tentacle-faced dragon.

  “It is the last night of the waning moon, let us retire inside for the ceremony,” said the god, Baal.

  Inside the house of sorcery, the ceiling was painted a very dark azure, and the torches on the wall reflected tiny lights on the ceiling. Jewels set in the ceiling as stars captured the false light and reflected it back in the form of constellations. Aaron recognized Venus, for its pentagram trajectory had been mapped out for him many times before. On the walls were stone representations of the gods.

  What was it Akish-Antum had said? “What good is an idol? An idol of stone and wood is only an image, a source of false reliance. It cannot save anyone on their day of reckoning. Use them to rule the people, but never fall into the trap of venerating them yourself.”

  The drums started before the pipes and strings, enchanting ancient music that stirred a passion within his breast. Who could have first written such a piece? Tubal Cain or Gunan perhaps, maybe even Ham? Suddenly it stopped. Baal approached and whispered in his ear, “Ma’at-neb-men-aa, Ma’at-ba-aa.” He gave Aaron a gold cup filled with a green liquid.

  “Drink it,” urged the god.

  Aaron hesitated.

  “Drink it,” he commanded more sternly.

  It tasted foul, like crushed fungus and human blood. Knowing Balam-Ek, it would be blood, but this was not the time or place to ask. He left a little in the cup.

  “Finish. It won’t hurt you but helps with your journey. It is made from the sacred mushrooms,” said the god.

  The music started again. The musicians carried a wild rhythm, the drums beating, the pipes blowing, and the strings strumming with a furious dirge of descending chords, loud enough to wake the real dreaming, sleeping gods, which must be the intention. It was wonderfully mad and like nothing Aaron had ever heard before. Surrounded by dancing gods, Aaron stood like a carven statue as they surged about him in a wide semicircle.

  The god Set pulled a large orange and brown snake from a crate and danced furiously with the serpent coiled about his shoulders. Mighty Kuhtuli knelt on the ground and sang a hideous song in a requiem of madness. Everyone was caught up in the frantic beat of the maddening music. Faster now and ever faster, the dance went on.

  Aaron danced on and on. Candles on the far side of the room quickly melted and dwindled into pools of cooled honey-wax upon the floor of stone. His legs and lungs ached, yet he danced. The drums throbbed, some of the gods collapsed, and still they danced upon the floor, twisting and writhing like broken, stricken rabbits, the kind you left to die without wasting an arrow on.

  Buluk, the tattooed god of warriors, lay on the ground twitching. Jackal-faced Libnah, god of death, stood still amid the dancers, wild-eyed and occasionally shou
ting unintelligibly. Votan was drawing a thorned rope through his own bleeding tongue. At the sight of that Aaron wanted to retch, the green drink settling on his stomach in an unpleasant way.

  “It is time!” shouted Baal. The music stopped and the room seemed to stop moving. Baal again whispered into Aaron’s ear, “Ma’at-neb-men-aa, Ma’at-ba-aa.” He gripped the boy by the shoulder and shouted to the other gods, “Now it begins again, the cycle set forth by our fathers of old under the cosmic serpent so long ago.”

  “Under the cosmic serpent so long ago,” chanted all the gods, even those Aaron had thought were unconscious or dead.

  Aaron was ushered out of the room, down a long dark tunnel. A door was thrown open. Baal forced him to sit on the floor of what seemed a huge expanse with no windows and no light. Drawing a knife, he cut Aaron ever so slightly across his left and then his right hand. “Write down upon this parchment your name and title, your ancestors’ names, then write down your questions, dreams, hopes, and fears.”

  Baal stood over the boy as he numbly did as instructed. The cuts did not hurt, and Aaron felt that he actually liked the sensation of his own warm blood in his hands. There was no sense of time and Baal did not seem impatient, no matter that Aaron scrawled in large fluid characters across several sheets of parchment, his fingers streaking the glyphs, and then beginning to hurt.

  “I am done,” said Aaron. He licked his sore fingers, the blood relaxing and sealing the tiny wounds.

  Baal took the papers and placed them in a large brass brazier on the floor and lit them on fire. The parchments smoked lightly, and the god shut the door tight. A lock dropped into place.

  “Why am I here?” Aaron asked, his head still swimming.

  “To have your vision,” answered Baal.

  “It is too dark. I am blind.”

  “You will see.”

  “But if I am blind, how will I see?”