The Chronicles of Gan: The Thorn (3 page)

Wanting to discover as much as he could
about the situation in the village before the brightest moon rose,
Jonathan made his way along the tall stone fences toward the back
door of the Council Hall building. On any other early summer night,
dim lights would glow from some of the village home windows, but
tonight he saw nothing. Even the upper west rooms of the palace
seemed to be dark and lifeless. Hearing nothing but the sounds of
night, Jonathan became even more concerned. He quickened his pace
to the hall.

Once he ascended the few steps at the outer
back door with its connecting passage to the main floor of the
palace, he reached into a leather pouch on his sword belt and
removed a small piece of rabbit fur. He took from its folds a
hexagonal crystal that had the appearance of pure water. Smooth as
glass, six-sided, and flat with faceted ends, it fit easily into
the palm of his hand. Jonathan rubbed the glow-stone vigorously
against the fur, the friction causing the stone to emit a warm,
soft, bluish light. With his thumb, he stuffed the fur back into
the pouch, then snapped the crystal length-wise into the hollow
pommel of the sword at his waist. Half-seated in the silver pommel,
the stone still protruded like a short candle in a candlestick.

The glow it produced allowed Jonathan to see
a breadth of about six feet in a dim circle before him. To make the
light of the half-hidden crystal more effective, he unsheathed his
sword and held it by the hilt, with its crystal blade pointed
downward. Both the small, charged stone in the pommel and the
glow-stone sword blade bathed his feet with an eerie, pale blue
light.

Jonathan opened the outer door and put his
hand on the edge, then put upward pressure on it to prevent the
hinges from creaking. He pushed it wide open, then crossed the
dark, deserted passageway to the inner door of the Council Hall.
Once again he prevented the door from making noise, but this one he
left only slightly ajar as he entered the main council chamber.
There he found his father Samuel on the floor, lying in his
bloodstained robes.

Squelching a cry, Jonathan ran to his
father’s side and took Samuel into his arms. The cold body was
heavy and stiff. Jonathan buried his face in the robes and wept.
Several times Jonathan laid Samuel to the ground as he collapsed
into a sobbing heap, after which he would pound the polished floor
with his fist and then crawl back to his father to lift him close
again. Tears of intense sadness streamed down into his beard, only
to be replaced again with the hot tears of fury. Like water from a
vase, his strength poured out until he was empty, and he
collapsed.

Some time later when his weeping subsided,
Jonathan found himself lying on the floor, staring up at the high
windows of the Council Hall where some small amount of moons-light
filtered in. Jonathan could feel the shoulder of his adored father
beneath his head, and he wondered how long he had rested there.
Rolling over onto his knees, Jonathan gazed upon his father’s still
features. He bowed his head in prayer and started to speak, his
voice cracking into almost a whimper.

“My God. My King. Help me.”

Unable to say another word, he listened.
Another tear rolled down his cheek. Brushing it away, he breathed
deep and exhaled slowly. Then Jonathan felt it. Comfort, the loving
hands of a compassionate God warming his heart as a reassuring
inner voice told him all would be well for his people. That
singular thought was joined by a very personal promise that came
into his mind with even more clarity: he would be kept safe.

Jonathan reached for his father again to
pull him into a close embrace. With a gentleness one would have
when handling an infant, he then respectfully laid his father to
the floor beside the glowing crystal sword. He gazed into the
careworn face of the man he most admired in life. Lines caused by
time and concern for others furrowed his father’s wise brow. The
years of a dignified sojourn in the world flowed around Samuel’s
sun-darkened face like the mane of a lion, his silvered hair and
beard almost hiding his strong neck. Even now in death and at rest,
his father was truly an imposing figure—strong, straight, and
regal.

Samuel had been a good man. In Jonathan’s
eyes, there had never been one better. He had served the tribe as
Chief Judge for just short of twenty years, supporting himself and
his small family by his own labors. For this, he had been admired
and revered. Samuel had never asked his people to do anything he
would not do himself, even during difficult times. He had become a
master at caring for his own family while still shouldering the
responsibilities of leadership and judgment in serving the people
he loved. In fact, much of the weathering of the old judge’s
features had occurred during the countless seasons of working in
the fields, with his late wife at his side. Samuel was loved most
of all, however, because he had much preferred the title of judge
to that of king, and had asked the people to address him as such.
He never taxed his people for his own support, and never caused
them to do evil. Instead, he had taught his people to have faith
and hope, all the while remaining obedient to God’s commands.

As Jonathan knelt there studying his father,
he wondered why the soldiers had killed him. It was actually
Jonathan they wanted dead, he being the last direct heir of the
bloodline, for Samuel had no other children. It had been dictated
from the time the Original Man left his final prophetic blessing
upon his sons that Daniel would have the Rights of Judgment. The
family of Daniel would rule as judges and kings until the end if
they remained faithful. Gideon and Uzzah had both been promised
great prosperity if they would support Daniel, but from the
beginning, there had been jealousy.

Those born into the Tribe of Gideon, wearing
the Mark of the Raven, felt that if the birthright heir of the
Tribe of Daniel could be removed—preferably by death—and the
scepter fell into their hands, they would have the right to rule.
The Thorn was the physical symbol of that right.

Jonathan shook his head in dismay. A simple
object, the scepter only symbolized authority and power—it was not
authority to rule in and of itself. And yet the Gideonites did not
seem to understand this.

Thunk!

What was that?
Jonathan jerked to a standing
position.

A loud, dull thump came
from above him and to his left, in the upper palace. Jonathan
thought he also heard a yell somewhere in the distance, perhaps in
the palace, but he could not tell for sure.
Someone is still here!
Jonathan
whisked his blade from the smooth, polished floor.

Using the light from his glowing sword to
navigate around piles of books, maps, and other items torn from the
shelves, Jonathan raced to the stone judgment seat. He sat down,
and while stomping his left heel against a small protruding piece
of stone at the base, he twisted the right armrest outward.
Reaching into a concealed compartment, he removed a cloth-wrapped
rod, about seven inches in total length. He shoved it into a pocket
of his undershirt beneath the folds of his tunic and cloak, and
slid the armrest back into place until it clicked.

Time to get out.

Stepping over the debris on the floor,
Jonathan knelt one last time by his father. He hesitated, but knew
if he took time to move the body, he might not escape. He kissed
his father on the forehead, then made his way to the hallway door,
which was still ajar. Not wanting to make any noise by moving it,
he squeezed through the opening with some difficulty. As Jonathan
stole across the passageway that led to the palace, he peered to
the right. At the end of the hall was a large door and a flight of
steps leading to the second, third, and fourth floors of the
palace. He watched the stairwell, not surprised at the flickers of
light from above that dispelled some of the shadow.

Jonathan hastened through the wide-open
outer door and kept close to the wall until he reached the corner
of the building. He popped the glow-stone out of his sword pommel,
stuffed it back into his belt pouch, then returned the sword to its
hard leather sheath. With the lights extinguished, he sprinted into
the open. He skirted the stone fences bordering the east side of
the barn, passing his previous hiding place on the way toward the
garden wall. Glancing back at frequent intervals to be sure he was
not being followed, Jonathan ascended the stairs to the
southwestern guard tower.

Once in the abandoned tower, he lifted up
the bench seat and retrieved a shoulder sack of provisions and
supplies. He also grabbed a large bow and a well-stocked quiver of
fletched arrows from the wall rack. A long, silky rope hung on a
post. Jonathan looped it around the main roof support, leaving both
ends loose. With bow in hand and the sack and quiver on his
shoulder, he tossed both rope ends over the rock wall, shinnied
down, then jerked the loop free.

Jonathan tried to limit his noise as he
jogged down the cobbled garden path between rows of old olive
trees. He followed the moons-lit way toward the grain field,
coiling the trailing rope as he went. Once the lengths of smooth
rope had all been looped into his large hand, he paused to tuck it
into his shoulder sack.

He rushed through the damp wheat and only
looked back once he had made it to the dirt path bordering the
forest. As far as Jonathan could tell, he had not been noticed or
followed. The three moons were bright now, and by their light he
could plainly see that the field remained empty. He watched the
broken garden gate for a few seconds, then turned toward the trees.
With one last sorrowful glance at his home, he disappeared into the
dark forest from whence the Gideonite soldiers had come.

Chapter
4

Refuge

F
amiliar trails wound between aged trees, and Jonathan needed
no more than the lights from above to find his way. He avoided
thoughts of his father. His mind wandered to happier times as he
felt his way down the dark paths splashed with occasional
moons-light. As a boy, and even as a young man, he had spent many
hours playing among these forest trees with his friends—especially
with Eli, his closest friend. Eli’s keen gift of observation
frequently made him the winner of any game that involved tracking
or hiding from each other.

The sweet memories of carefree games with
Eli made Jonathan smile as he went along. He took care not to leave
signs of his passing—his footsteps light, his movements deliberate
and smooth. As if to address his old friend, he whispered, “See,
not even a single snapped branch or crushed twig left behind. Track
me now, brother!”

Jonathan pressed southward for almost an
hour until the terrain changed, the once-smooth, level paths
starting to vary in elevation as the forest thinned. On the west
side of the trail, the ground steepened, causing the trail to be
diverted. He continued past the hill and approached another bend
where moons-light reflected off sheer cliff faces now looming above
him.

He stepped off the path between two close
trees, taking care not to make too much noise, then paused to watch
and listen. The forest was calm. A gentle breeze rustled the old
oaks, but nothing else moved. Confident he was truly alone, he took
fifteen paces to the base of the rock cliff and stood next to an
old, dead tree. The weather-worn trunk still supported many
branches bigger than the width of Jonathan’s shoulders. He gazed
upward, intent on ascending to a large branch about twenty-five
feet up that rested against the side of the cliff face. From the
base of the featureless cliff, nothing seemed unusual about the
specific place where the oak touched the rock. Jonathan knew
otherwise, and he grabbed a limb just within reach. The familiarity
of it all caused the corners of his mouth to twitch with excitement
as he climbed.

Once he reached the intended branch, he
could see the previously hidden depression in the rock wall just
above him, shaped in such a way that until a person got right up to
it, they couldn’t tell the cliff wasn’t solid all the way to the
top. He stood on the huge branch and peered into the darkness of a
natural cave.

Jonathan reached up and pulled himself to a
sitting position on the ledge. Again he listened for any sign of
movement in the forest below. Hearing nothing, he crawled back to
the depression in the cliff face. Before entering the darkness, he
reached into his belt pouch to retrieve his glow-stone and rub it
to life, then crawled on his hands and knees into the cave. Five
feet in, the chamber opened up with a raised ceiling, high enough
for him to stand. Stashed along the edges of the small room were
two complete bedrolls and other assorted blankets. There were also
some cooking pans with utensils, old wooden chairs, a glow-stone
lantern, some rope, arrows, and numerous other discarded items from
the many visits he had made in years past with Eli and their other
friends.

Now well after midnight, Jonathan could feel
his tired bones. More than that, his heart ached with grief as the
memories of the evening flooded back into his mind. Blinking away
tears, he made his bed ready for the night. He was grateful the
stash of bedding appeared to be pest-free, but he shook the
blankets anyway.

Although hungry, he decided to wait until
morning to arrange the supply sack he had taken from the guard
tower. Jonathan removed his sword belt and laid it close to his
bed. After taking off his cloak and his boots, he retrieved the
steel dagger from his right boot sheath, placing it under a goose
down pillow that had been rolled into the bedding, glad he and Eli
had stashed the pillow in the cave several years ago.