Heroes of the Fallen Page 29

  The man would not turn around but acknowledged that he heard by giving a low underhanded wave.

  Turning to Samson, Onandagus said, “Keep an eye on him. Make sure none molest him as he and his family leave the city.”

  Samson grunted, dumped his pipe-ash outside, and followed.

  Mormon the Elder walked up to Judge Hiram, put his hand on his shoulder and held him down on his chair as he squeezed. He whispered menacingly, “You got off today, but remember there is going to be a reckoning and you will be repaid in kind.”

  “So will you, my good general,” he said, attempting to pry Mormon’s hand off his shoulder, which he never could have done had Mormon not allowed it. The judge got up and skulked away.

  Gidgiddonah approached Mormon and Onandagus in the now deserted hall. “There is another problem in the city. You asked me to watch for signs of king men.”

  “Yes,” responded Onandagus.

  “Well, I may know who wants to be king.”

  “Who?”

  “His name is Mazeroth the Baptist.” Gidgiddonah pointed out the doors and toward the ruins of the judgment hall.

  “No, not him. He is here in Zarahemla?” responded Onandagus.

  “Yea, he is right now. As I searched for the skull and dagger of Thomas, Mazeroth was outside the walls, proclaiming God’s judgment on the wicked government.”

  “So, who is he? He is not half wrong, and he is a Baptist you say?” asked Mormon.

  “The man is a crazed fanatic, but I cannot believe he is with the king men,” said Onandagus, pacing to the door.

  “Why not? Because he is righteous?”

  “Hardly, he is called the Baptist because he baptizes people,” said Onandagus.

  “And?” replied Mormon the Elder impatiently. “I baptize people. Sounds like he could be one of us.”

  “No, he is not. The old scoundrel has a small army of dedicated followers and he forcibly baptizes people against their will. As he does so, he proclaims he is saving their souls for all time and that is the end of their obligation for good, they are done, no more works, no more faith. Overall his plan is akin to the devil,” said Onandagus.

  “He forcibly baptizes?” asked Mormon the Younger, raising his eyebrows.

  “Yea, he does. He is a false priest, a Nehor, in my book.”

  “Can we jail him for such behavior?” asked Mormon the Elder, following Onandagus outside.

  “If he forces anyone to be baptized against their will, yes. We must jail him and any of his followers that interfere, which they will. Although this is the worst time to be dealing with more riots. Where is he now, Gidgiddonah?” asked Onandagus.

  “He is still in front of the judgment hall on the Avenue of the Eagle.”

  “Very well, go and watch him, for trouble will arise soon enough. We shall gather all the available men for the coming riots,” said Onandagus, leaving the hall with Mormon the Elder.

  Gidgiddonah went to watch the spectacle and as he neared, he noticed that Mormon the Younger was beside him.

  “I want to see this,” the boy said.

  “Alright, just watch out. If anything starts up, hurry and get out of the way.”

  A crowd of hundreds had already gathered to hear Mazeroth the Baptist speak. Normally the streets would have been full of merchants and vendors, but the merchants had packed up and moved on so as not to lose their products to a mob. The streets sloped up to the edge of the wall of the judgment hall grounds. The tall man stood next to the walls to better look out over the people and so they could better see and hear him.

  Mazeroth was skin on bone with long white hair and a long venerable beard that reached to his midsection. Tall for such an old man, he stood without any stoop to his back. He wore only white. His voice was deep with a sinister urge.

  “Too long, people of Zarahemla, have you stood by and let the devil lead you about by the nose and heart. I am here now to baptize and save you all. I will heal this broken land. Come to me of your own free will or I will be forced to expel the devil from your hearts before you are forever damned like the Lamanites. I will come to all of you, if I must.” His deep hollow voice rang out in a fear-inducing wave.

  A few in the crowd dared to jeer him, even though he was thronged about by his own fanatical followers.

  “You say you will save us?” asked a man.

  “Yea, it is not me, but it is done through me. Will you accept?” the old man boomed.

  “I will.” A young man stepped forward.

  Tall, lean Mazeroth held a glass of water in his bony hand and, mumbling something unintelligible to all but himself, dipped his fingers and flicked them at the man. A few drops hit his face and ran down his cheeks, not even moving the dirt thereon. “He is saved. His soul is done, and he has no more need of life.”

  The man looked puzzled, but walked on.

  “Who shall be next, who will be saved from eternal damnation?” cried Mazeroth.

  Some in the crowd still mocked him, as his followers surrounded the doubters. They brought four young men before Mazeroth.

  “You have cursed the everlasting God and I, his chief servant,” said Mazeroth to the four men. “But I forgive you and will still grant you peace.”

  Dipping his fingers, he flicked water on the four of them as they struggled to escape the hands of their captors. As the water hit their foreheads, they ceased struggling, and one began to weep.

  “That is crazy,” said Mormon to Gidgiddonah.

  “Some people are more susceptible to things than they like to let on,” Gidgiddonah responded.

  The followers released the men, and Mazeroth announced in a loud voice that carried out to the crowd, “You are saved, now go and do what thou wilt, for there is no more earthly responsibility in you.”

  Mormon the Younger could take no more. He struggled through the people and inched his way closer. Gidgiddonah noticed too late, and the captain could not reach him to hold the boy back.

  “You are no man of God. You do not teach the people the gospel. You only tell them what they want to hear to uplift yourself. You don’t even hold the priesthood to baptize people,” said Mormon indignantly, staring hard at the wizened warlock’s face.

  Mazeroth’s pursed lips and impassive face became a toothy cruel snarl. “I hold all I need to hold,” he said, motioning to his men to grab Mormon. “Now hold him still, and I will baptize this mouthy whelp.”

  Mormon struggled in vain against the grown men who held him fast. Mazeroth’s men were strong, they lifted him off the ground, each holding an arm or a leg. Mazeroth dipped his fingers in his glass of water. “I will save your soul, my son.” He began to mumble his strange incantation. Mormon strained against his assailants to no avail. Mazeroth came closer, his long bony fingers coming out of the water to baptize the boy.

  A golden gauntlet fist struck Mazeroth across the face, sending him reeling. It was Mormon the Elder in full armor. The false prophet sat on the ground, missing teeth and bleeding from the mouth.

  “No one baptizes my son but me!” shouted the Elder.

  Mazeroth’s men let go of Mormon.

  “Stand down!” commanded Gidgiddonah. Two dozen guardsmen stood behind him with brass studded cudgels. The fanatics fell silent and still. None dared to move against Mormon the Elder, not daring to even help old Mazeroth up.

  The gaunt old man stood and said to Mormon, “You would stop the work of the Lord of this earth?”

  “This earth right now? Yes, I would. Yours is not mine,” declared Mormon the Elder. He stood strong, his volcanic blue eyes burning into the old man.

  “Still, I will baptize even you,” he said, dipping his fingers in his cracked and near empty glass.

  Mormon drew his sword, the stout, wide blade forged by his fathers of old. Oziasrowa its name was, the Strong Arm of Jehovah. It was rarely drawn without someone paying dearly for it. “I think not. You are going to be taken prisoner for disturbing the peace of the city. There are already more th
an a hundred complaints against you for forcibly baptizing people.”

  “You are Mormon, the former Governor of Antum,” said Mazeroth.

  “Yea, I am.”

  “I have heard of you. I tell you the end is coming, and you must prepare. Be baptized and live for the day. There is nothing more to do. We are but helpless souls adrift on a black sea of infinity, our only hope is to grab hold of that tiny life raft of the Savior and cling to it as we drift into the nothingness. Mark my words, all this you fight for so admirably is for naught. At the end of the day and age, it is nothing, it is forgotten, dust, the dross of a fallen people. I read the stars. I know what is coming, there is no way round.”

  The crowd stood silent, watching the two square off. Angry as the people were at Mazeroth and his thugs, they were taken in by his words and were afraid.

  “This is not the golden age,” said Mazeroth.

  “This is not a storybook page,” responded Mormon.

  “This is where the sword rules the pen,” continued Mazeroth.

  “This is where the king kills the men,” said Mormon.

  “So, you are an educated man, who knows the old songs of a forgotten land across the sea,” said Mazeroth.

  “I know history and art and law,” said Mormon. He had not yet put his sword away.

  “I am only telling you what I know, time is short. Join me, abandon this hopeless, thankless post. No one cares what you do here. You could die next week and be forgotten by the next. No one cares, a black sea we float on. Don’t drown, join me, hold to the Savior’s ship with me and he shall take us to a lighter place. Nothing else matters, all is dust.” Mazeroth held out his bony hand and seemed sincere.

  A woman in the crowd said, “Take it.”

  “Take it,” called out more people in the crowd. They were all taken in by Mazeroth’s words. “Take his hand. He wants peace, we all do.” Men and women openly wept at the old man’s request, so moved were they by his words.

  “You lie. I know what honor and duty are. They matter to me, no matter what other people think or say. And I already have a place assured for me on the Savior’s ship. When the time comes, I will be moored to the greater stars of Kolob.”

  “You are a simple man, too simple to understand,” said Mazeroth.

  “I know this—that I have had enough of your rhetoric. You are coming with me. Bind his hands,” commanded Mormon.

  The guardsmen, Gilhi and Barak, grabbed Mazeroth and had little trouble in subduing the old man and getting his hands tight in a flaxen cord. He scowled and cursed, “Sons of Mahmackrah. Why do you do this? I am a prophet like Abinadi and Samuel.”

  “You are nothing like them. You are brother to Nehor and Korihor,” said Barak.

  “Bah, ye dogs, if my hands were free, I could show you what powers I have.”

  They pushed him through the crowd.

  “If any of his servants follow, arrest them as well,” said Mormon to Gidgiddonah.

  Taken before the makeshift courtroom of Onandagus, Mazeroth sneered with contempt. “You think you can judge me? I am above man’s law. I am your prophet. Do you hear me? Let me preach and baptize in peace.”

  “Mazeroth, you are a man who takes one piece of the gospel and holds it so tightly that you lose your grasp on everything else, including your sanity. If you teach neither repentance nor works, what good will baptism do anyone?” asked Onandagus.

  The old man just glared at the chief judge.

  Onandagus said, “It is everyone’s free will to accept the gospel or not, how can a forced baptism save anyone?”

  The courtroom was full of the remaining members of the Council of Fifty as well as any others who could force their way in past the guards to watch.

  “I only know that it does,” responded Mazeroth.

  “Then you know nothing. You are a deceiver who has only helped to cripple and drown the weak souls of this nation in the devil’s undertow. I command you to repent in the name of the Lord,” thundered Onandagus from his judgment chair. His eyes flashed at the man before him.

  Mazeroth grinned. “I will not, I have done nothing wrong. You have no authority over me. Give me a sign that I should do as you say.”

  “Such things do not bestow faith and are not how the Lord works.”

  “Show me anything that I might know you are right and I am wrong, something unique on this earth that will back up your claims. Show me a seer stone that would work for me or a miracle of the heavens. Show me a changed man, pure in heart like white driven snow, a blind man that can now see. You can’t, can you? Very well, I will show you my power and you will be forced to recognize me as your spiritual head.”

  “Want me to give him a kick in the head?” asked Samson, stretching from his chair behind the judge.

  Onandagus frowned at him and Samson smiled and backed down. He lit his thin pipe, amused at Mazeroth’s posturing. Mazeroth now gestured wildly in the air, calling out unfathomable words and holding his eyes closed so tight he shook. Nothing happened. He stopped a moment and started over, and still nothing happened.

  “I am weary of this. Captain Gidgiddonah, throw him in a cell,” said Onandagus.

  As he was being led away Mazeroth cried out, “I am being tested, but you, Judge Onandagus, you show me nothing. A sign, any sign, give me a sign and I will repent, you dogs.”

  At this moment Tobron of Manti and Zelph rode up to the new court and came inside. “Chief Judge,” Tobron called out, “I have important news.”

  Mazeroth the Baptist turned and looked at the eight-foot tall, white Lamanite. Astounded, he said, “How did you change your skin, Lamanite?”

  “I did not of myself. I have met the Son of the Great Spirit and was changed,” Zelph replied.

  Mazeroth fell to his knees. “I believe! I believe you are my sign. Forgive me, Lord. Someone needs to rebaptize me.”

  To Dream a Fiery Dream

  In the morning Amaron decided they would rest a full day for Judah’s sake, fearing his wounds may become infected. They hung the big cats upside down from stout branches that could take the weight and let them bleed out. With good knives they skinned the tawny lions. Amaron preferred using a small blade that had both a straight and serrated edge.

  Ezra quickly picked up the concept of skinning. “It is easier than I thought it would be.”

  “We’re not done yet. Watch how you tear that piece there,” instructed Amaron. “Bring the knife in against the muscle tissue smoothly. If the blade is sharp enough, it will glide.”

  Watching the little man cut, Amaron asked, “How old are you, Ezra?”

  “I am going on nineteen summers, but I look older than I am, don’t I? It’s because when I was a baby I almost died from a sickness. It made me small and wrinkled my face a bit.”

  When they finished skinning, Amaron fashioned a necklace from the cats’ claws using some rawhide from his pack. He made a push dagger from one of the lions’ long curved teeth. Upon seeing it, everyone wanted one. Amaron had the ten draw lots with reeds of differing lengths.

  Daniel lost and said in anger, “When would I ever need to use such an ungainly weapon anyway?”

  No one paid the remark any mind, understanding his disappointment. Amaron gave one to Judah, another to Reuben, and the last to Lehi. The others tried to barter with the winners to get the daggers.

  “These lion hides would make fine leather cloaks,” said Amaron, “if we were able to tan them.”

  “What do we need?” asked Ezra.

  “A lot more salt... we have almost none. Without the salt to cure them, they will stink and go bad.”

  “What if we could get some salt?” said Ezra, excited at the thought of a lion skin cloak.

  “Where? There is no town close enough to us. I too would like a lion skin cloak, but not enough to haul a stinking hide through this heat and humidity. The flies are already bad enough,” said Amaron. “I hate to waste these skins, but we have no choice.”

  “Are we to rem
ain here the rest of the day?”

  “Yea, why?”

  “Let me see if I can find salt from a nearby farm or something.”

  “I don’t know what you could find. There are few salt mines in these parts, and not many farms. Antionum is not very far away, but no one lives there anymore. I don’t want you to get lost,” said Amaron, smirking.

  “Well, I would like to see what I could do just the same. My feet are not as sore as they used to be, so I could use something to do today. Who will go with me, then?” Waves of indifference from the men washed over Ezra.

  “We have marched enough, so thank you, but no,” said Daniel.

  “Uh, Uncle, will you go with me?” asked Ezra.

  “What? Yea, yea I will go with you, better than sitting here all day. And if I see any Gadiantons I’m gonna be a shooting them,” Reuben replied.

  “Let’s go then,” said Ezra, pulling Reuben along with him. The older man was still fascinated with the saber-toothed push dagger Amaron had made and given to him. He kept twisting it over in his hands.

  Ezra led him along the precarious brushy trail. Although Amaron did not think they would find anything, he decided to thoroughly wash the lion hides in the swift little creek next to their camp.

  Once at the bottom of the gully, Ezra took their bearings and decided to go west around the swamp and then return to this spot from the east.

  “Nephew, we won’t find anything,” said Reuben, swatting at bloodsucking flies.

  As they marched alongside the swamp, it grew hotter than the day before, and with it the humidity increased, making them sweat profusely.

  “It should be too hot for the mosquitoes and flies,” complained Reuben, swatting all around himself.

  The swamp met a large, wide lake, forcing them to turn and go up a thickly wooded hillside. Struggling to get through the dense underbrush, Ezra was about to heed Reuben's plea to turn back, when it opened on a jagged ravine.

  “What caused this, I wonder?” said Ezra.

  “The excessive rains this spring, a month or so back. They eat away at the earth sometimes. Looks like there is a way across right over there,” pointed Reuben.