The Chronicles of Gan: The Thorn (10 page)

“I think it’s time we go feed our bear,”
Jonathan advised Pekah with a childlike twinkle in his eye. “He
looks hungry.”

With that, the three of them returned to the
camp and ate. As they talked, the weight of the war briefly lifted
from their tired shoulders. Pekah felt as if he had been reunited
with long-lost brothers. He noticed every detail of the beautiful
morning. Never before had a simple meal of bread and fruit tasted
so good.

Chapter 9

Pekah

J
onathan enjoyed their early-morning breakfast, which went on
for the better part of an hour. Their conversation was full of
reminiscing, much of it centered on the mischievous exploits of Eli
and Jonathan as they grew up together in Hasor. The occasional
laughter helped to ease some of the heavy emotional burden Jonathan
had been carrying. He was glad for the diversion.

At one point, Pekah took the opportunity to
thank Eli for telling him the story of the raven. “I’ve never been
told why the raven is a symbol to my people. I had always assumed
it was chosen because there are so many of the birds in the
mountainous areas around our cities. Jonathan, what is the history
behind the Serpent of Daniel? Now that I think of it, I don’t know
the story of the Ox of Uzzah, either.”

Jonathan scratched his beard thoughtfully.
“There isn’t really a story to go along with the serpent . . . it’s
rather just a symbol of qualities my people feel are important. The
creature is wise because it is always careful of the path it takes,
lest it be trodden. It always knows the way back home to its hole
in the ground, and it will not harm another unless harmed itself.
Our symbol includes a white circle to remind us that a serpent can
also be deadly, and unless wisdom and knowledge are kept within the
bounds of truth, we can be led into deadly paths. A serpent should
always be treated with respect.

“As for the ox,” Jonathan continued, “it’s a
symbol of work and strength. It can bear many burdens, and does not
tire easily. Uzzah is blessed with the strength of God as he serves
all of Noah’s children in God’s temples. What do you know of
temples, Pekah?”

Pekah’s brow lifted with interest, but
quickly furrowed. “I know only of the sacrifices.”

Jonathan paused, his forming thoughts
interrupted by the sound of the bubbling stream nearby. He felt a
strong desire to teach Pekah more about the purpose of temples, but
the chatter-like sputters of the water reminded him of their
current location in the woods. He thought it might be best to
discuss a plan for the day while they were still at leisure to do
so.

“Pekah, do you mind if we talk of temples
later?” Jonathan asked. “Right now, I would like opinions about our
travel plans. For one thing, I have never been this far down the
trail toward Ain. Father and I always traveled through Saron. I
don’t know exactly how long it will take us to reach Ain, and I’m
reconsidering my desire to stay here for the day, even if it is the
Sabbath.” He smiled and watched both Pekah and Eli, waiting for
their response.

Eli took a deep breath and
let it out loudly. He kicked a twig toward the fire. “For some
reason, while we have been talking, I too have been getting the
itch to move on. I realize it
is
the Sabbath, however . . .”

Jonathan shook his head,
and prodded him to finish with a drawn out “
Yes
. . . ?”

“Well,” Eli stammered, “I just get the
feeling we’re supposed to leave. It’s almost as if we’ll be late
for something important if we don’t leave soon.”

Jonathan stood up slowly, as if rising from
a relaxing afternoon nap. A slight breeze picked up, and he turned
toward it and smelled the air. Earlier, he had been quite content
to stay where they were, but now that Eli pointed it out, he too
felt as if something had changed.

“You know, Eli, I think you are right.
Pekah?”

Pekah shrugged his shoulders. “I suppose
that would be fine.”

All in agreement, they packed their
belongings. Jonathan used a chunk of wood to push dirt over the
cooled ashes of their night fire. It let off very little smoke, as
most of the coals had gone gray and cold already. Eli toppled the
logs previously used for seats into the surrounding undergrowth,
and Pekah used a cut branch to mask whatever footprints he could
find.

One last inspection proved their work to be
satisfactory, so Jonathan waved them on. The three men left the
hidden alcove of tangled brush behind them to follow the worn
forest path which meandered under the more open parts of the
canopy. Littering the trail were the occasional broken remnants of
wind-stripped branches and fallen leaves, peppered by acorns from
stately oak trees and cones from the pines scattered among them.
Now much drier than the previous evening, the path showed little
evidence of their footsteps as they hiked together westward.
Although the light through the trees had not entirely burned off
every patch of ground fog—remnants of moisture from the rains two
days before—it was still a beautiful morning.

They traveled in silence for several minutes
until the trees began to thin somewhat and the path became wide
enough for them to walk abreast. At that point, conversations
continued. Eli shared general things with Pekah about his duties at
the temple in Ramathaim. He told Pekah about the temple site, the
altar of sacrifice, and the throngs of people who would bring their
offerings on celebrated holy days. With much expression, he
described the smells and the sounds, and even the distinct feelings
he felt while serving the people.

“I have never felt such a sacred connection
to the divine or a deep reverence in my heart as I have there,” Eli
said solemnly. “It’s as if heaven itself is touching the ground,
and I am surrounded by it.”

Pekah smiled politely, but did not
comment.

Jonathan observed and listened. The temple
in Hasor, a place of teaching and worship, did not have a
sacrificial altar. His thoughts drifted back to the days when he
had traveled with his father and mother to make sacrifices at the
temple in Ramathaim. At least twice a year, they would make the
long day’s journey to the Uzzahite city for that purpose. The trip
was easy, usually uneventful, and the family always enjoyed
spending the time together. After the accident when his mother had
passed away unexpectedly, Jonathan and his father still made the
trip together, even though it saddened them to go without her.

Now that Father is gone . . .

Jonathan was almost unaware of his audible
sigh. Both Eli and Pekah regarded him with concern. He noticed
their gaze, and realized they’d heard him. Putting the memories out
of his mind, he kicked a small rock with the side of his boot,
sending it skipping through a bush. It startled a bird in the trees
above.

Now stopped, Eli stepped closer, threw his
arm around Jonathan’s shoulder, and gave him a slight squeeze. “I’m
so sorry.”

Pekah offered a thin smile.

“Thank you both for understanding. I’m
saddened by the thought of traveling alone the next time I go to
offer sacrifice. No offense intended, Eli, but I’m not looking
forward to it.”

Eli turned to Pekah to explain. “Jonathan
and Samuel would always come to stay with my family for a few days
so they could spend time at the temple.”

“Yes, our trips were always a family
occasion. It won’t be the same with my father gone,” Jonathan said
as they resumed their journey. “But I know he has found peace in
the arms of the Promised One.”

“Yes, he has,” added Eli. “I’m sure of
it.”

Pekah brushed a low-hanging branch away from
his head. “I don’t mean any disrespect, Jonathan, but tell me more
of this Promised One. Is He the same who should come and rule? How
is it that you’re sure the king is with Him?”

Jonathan slowed his pace and raised an
eyebrow at hearing Pekah call his father “king.” He didn’t expect
such an admission from a Gideonite. He dismissed it, however, and
answered the question sincerely.

“Yes, Pekah,” he replied. “The Promised One
is the same as the One who will come and rule in righteousness. He
is the True Great King. He is also The One Who Would Suffer. Do you
know of Whom I speak?”

“Yes—my mother taught me of this Great
King.”

“Did she teach you He would suffer and
die?”

“I don’t recall hearing that, but she said
that one day a Great King would come and He would heal the sick and
unite the tribes into one people. There are many among the
Gideonites who believe this, but I didn’t know He would die.”

“Pekah, we call the Great King ‘The One Who
Would Suffer’ because He will suffer pains and sorrows, and will be
put to death by cruel and wicked men. Before Father Noah died and
entered into his eternal rest, he told Daniel that the Promised One
will not be of this world, but one far away. There are many worlds
under the Creator’s care, and our world is but one of an
innumerable host of them. He also said there will be a sign given
when the Great King has been born, and this sign will point our
eyes and our hearts to His mortal home in the heavens. After He
fulfills His mortal time, He will die, but will be raised up with
new life, never to die again. Then He will come to rule and reign
among us for a time, here on Gan. He will visit all of His
kingdoms, because He cherishes them all.”

Jonathan glanced sideways at Pekah, whose
expression was earnest.

“I had no idea, Jonathan. I have never
considered that the Great King would not be a man born among us.
You say He lives in the heavens, and yet will find His way to our
world?”

“Yes.”

Pekah paused. “Why will He die?”

Jonathan gathered his thoughts. The three
men stopped underneath an immense oak tree and felt the mid-morning
breezes whisk around them, rustling the leaves above. Azure and
Aqua were now fully eclipsing, burning brightly together in the
sky, and the shade felt good to Jonathan. Hearing water, he noticed
that the trail had brought them close to the bubbling stream of the
night before, but here the stream ran much slower and larger,
having been joined somewhere by other sources.

“The answer to that question could be a long
one. Do you mind if we stop to get a cool drink?” Jonathan
asked.

They left the trail and drank, then refilled
their water skins before returning to the shade of the tree,
feeling refreshed. Jonathan saw that Pekah patiently waited for the
conversation to continue, and he cleared his throat and began
again.

“He will die for us. We sacrifice to remind
ourselves that He will one day provide a lasting sacrifice, that we
might live again.”

“We will live again, like Him?”

“Yes. The Great King will take up His body
again, and He promises the same for us. Our bodies will then be
whole. They will be immortal.”

Pekah frowned. “I have heard Him called the
Holy One before, but I don’t understand. If He is holy, why will He
do this?”

“You mean, because we are not holy like
Him?”

“Yes.”

“Let me try again. We die, and we sin. The
Great King will not sin, and yet He will die in the flesh and then
live again that we might have mercy. He does it because He is
merciful. Does that make sense?”

Pekah nodded.

“Not only that, but He claims all justice by
this act. Justice and mercy—He claims them both. This way, we can
come to Him, fully justified by Him, and find our rest, if we are
willing to ask for His mercy. We will live again to stand before
Him, to be judged of our actions in this life.”

Pekah was thoughtful. “Tell me more. How
does this mercy come?”

“Let’s walk.” Worried about the time,
Jonathan motioned toward the trail and took the lead.

Eli broke in at that point. “We are
obedient. When we do wrong, we make it right. But we must covenant
with the Great King that we will follow Him. He expects us to do as
He will do. But to truly make claim on this mercy, there must be
water, and blood, and spirit.”

Pekah scratched his head, obviously very
confused. “What do you mean by water, blood, and spirit? I have
never heard such a thing before.”

“Eli, may I?” Jonathan inserted.

Eli nodded.

“Under priestly authority, water is where we
make our covenant. We lay down our body in the water, and promise
ourselves to the Holy One. He then raises us up, a new creature.
Blood is where the price of mercy is paid. The sacrifice of clean,
unblemished animals shows us the price He will pay. It is by His
blood that we will find mercy. By our covenant and commitment to do
His will, we are His forever. And then if we do these things, we
will feel the Spirit of God purging all desire to sin from our
hearts. We will know for ourselves the love He has for all His
creations. This is why He will die.”

Pekah was silent.

“You seem perplexed,” Jonathan observed.

“I’ve felt some of these feelings before in
my life. My mother taught me about the Great King. Somehow, I think
I have always known she was right. I felt this way when you and I
talked by the stream—I felt my burdens lifted as we made our oath
of peace and buried the weapon of Sachar. Is that the mercy to
which you refer?”

Jonathan felt warmth in
his soul. “Yes
.
That is exactly
what I am talking
about.”

“I think I understand. But . . .”

Jonathan pressed him to finish.

Pekah’s gaze fell, and he stopped walking.
“I’m embarrassed to ask.” He stared off into the trees.

How can I help him?
Jonathan silently prayed.
I must not have explained it very well. Father was so much
better at this than I am.
Then an idea
came to him—Pekah wasn’t confused about the Great King or why He
died. He moved next to Pekah so he could see his face.