The Chronicles of Gan: The Thorn (34 page)

Pekah’s body lay before them, stretched out
on one of the cots intended for use by the healers of Rezon’s army
for treating the wounded. Split down the middle, his torn
blood-soaked tunic had fallen over his arms. The gaping wound in
his bared chest stared back at Jonathan and Eli as if it were
mocking them with cruel laughter. Even though someone had closed
the captain’s eyes, it seemed as if an expression of total surprise
remained.

Having trouble grasping the reality of
seeing the still form on the cot, Jonathan gazed upon Pekah’s body
as if he expected the young Gideonite to sit up and tell them there
was really nothing wrong. But Pekah did not move.

“I don’t understand,” Jonathan muttered to
himself.

At first, Eli acted as though he did not
notice the comment. Then he glanced sideways at Jonathan.
“Understand what?” Eli asked.

Jonathan still stared at the body. He
scratched the back of his head, trying to shake loose a foggy
memory of the past. As his hand absentmindedly fell to his chin, a
thought clicked into place. He started, eyes wide and
searching.

“Eli! Three nights ago . . . do you
remember?”

“Remember what?” Eli asked.

“Do you remember sleeping in the tent by the
Fount of Ain?”

“Yes, of course I do.”

“I never told you, but much like Pekah’s
dream about the Emperor Manasseh . . . I had a dream about
Pekah.”

Eli stepped back, astonished. “Did you see
Pekah like this?”

“No, not exactly.”

Jonathan then related the dream, in every
detail.

“But in the dream, you saw children! What of
the children? How do they fit in?”

Jonathan didn’t answer. He fidgeted with his
beard as if pulling on it would ease his troubled mind. He let go
to scratch his head, and then pulled on his beard once more.

Eli seemed bothered by Jonathan’s
nervousness, but did not say anything.

A profound thought crossed Jonathan’s mind
and he felt a warm change in his own countenance. It was as if the
sister suns themselves broke through the canvas of the tent roof,
spilling morning beams into the room. Although Jonathan’s face lit
up, tears welled up in his eyes once again. The unmistakable
feeling in the room reminded him of the quiet sanctity present in
the temple of the Holy One.

Jonathan felt the burning fire start to
smolder in his bosom. Earnest, he looked for a reaction from his
friend. Eli’s eyes were closed, his head back as if thinking hard,
or praying. Jonathan cleared his throat to get his attention. Eli
exhaled and opened his eyes.

A tremor in his voice,
Jonathan said to the priest of Uzzah, “Eli . . . Pekah was
not
supposed to
die!”

* * *

Outside the tent, Rachel held onto Abigail’s
arm. They sat on a bench before the fire pit, recently stoked in
preparation for the darkness to come. Nearby, Tavor and Amon sat on
stools left behind by Rezon’s company. They talked in muted voices
about their plans to take horsemen into the Hara Mountains in hopes
of tracking down the escaped Gideonites.

There to assist with Pekah’s burial, Rachel
yearned to get back to her parents, who had returned to the city in
order to make preparations for guests. Once the battle had ended,
both Uzziel and Miriam came out of the city under heavy escort,
searching for their children. Recognizing her parents among a crowd
of citizens, Rachel had rushed forward with Eli to meet them.
Uzziel collapsed to his knees in exhaustion as all of the stresses
of the past week poured out of him. Tears of joy flowed freely as
he pulled them close, saying, “My children, my children!”

The memory of their frantic hugs and kisses
warmed her heart. She mused over the image of her brother—Eli had
acted like a young boy, clinging to his mother. When her parents
returned to the city, she stayed so that she might be close to
Jonathan. Now he was in the tent, but she was not alone. Sitting
close to her friend, she could feel Abigail’s arm against her
own.

Silent, Abigail stared at the fire. Rachel
sighed, pulling her hair down around her neck as she looked to the
east. The two small blue dots she expected to find there were no
longer visible in the sky. Freed by the departure of Azure and
Aqua, dark shadows now ran across the foothills of the Hara Range
in a race to touch the western peaks first. Hues of violet and
scarlet mingled in the few clouds loitering above the city and
continued to darken. Although beautiful, the suns-setting only made
her feel the coming night.

Rachel glanced at Abigail. Unlike earlier,
when Abigail had fallen into a sobbing heap upon the ground, she
was calm now. Still, her dazed expression testified of horrible
pain from emotional wounds. Rachel wondered what the woman was
thinking, if she was able to think at all.

Trying to piece the incidents of the past
day together, Rachel watched the flames dancing before her. Two
lives. Two men. One, Abigail’s husband. The other, her appointed
guardian. How would Abigail ever deal with such terrible loss?
Rachel ached for her friend. She could not imagine what Abigail
might be feeling.

The front wall of the tent sucked inward,
then popped out as a gusty breeze pulled at the canvas. Rachel’s
thoughts strayed back to the murder scene. She shivered, forcing
herself to put the images of Rezon’s treachery out of her mind.
Hoping a distraction would help, she reached down to tighten a
buckle on her left boot.

The ground trembled. It lasted only a few
seconds, but Rachel felt it. Abigail stared back at her,
frightened. They reached for each other, clasping hands. Nearby,
Amon and Tavor stood in alarm, both watching the tent. Rachel
followed their gaze. Pulling Abigail up with her, she stood gaping
at the sight.

The gap at the bottom edge of the tent
shimmered, a brilliant, white light coming from within. The tent
almost appeared to be floating in its staked place, with light
pouring from every loose seam—even from the creased folds of the
entrance. At the height of luminance, Rachel heard a sharp gasp
from inside the tent. Then it was quiet, and the brilliance
subsided until it disappeared.

The men still stood as if planted in the
ground. Tavor whispered something to Amon, and both men drew their
swords. But neither approached the tent. Next to Rachel, Abigail’s
face was full of fear and wonder.

The tent flaps flew open, and Jonathan
limped out. Because of the light gleaming in his eyes, Rachel
thought he looked as if he had ascended to heaven and then
returned. A most sublime, reverent expression shone from his face.
Rachel’s jaw fell further.

Eli then stooped through the tent door, his
countenance much the same—showing profound, deep awe.

And then there
came another.

Pekah stepped out of the
tent.

Amon and Tavor collapsed
to their
knees as if paralyzed by fear.
They hid their faces like children playing a game. Upon seeing the
dead man walking, Rachel and Abigail both fell to their knees,
cowering together.

Is it a ghost?
Rachel shuddered with fright. Holding Abigail
tighter, she swayed back and forth in her friend’s arms, not
wishing to look at Pekah again.

Pekah was dead!
Rachel
knew
he
was dead. And yet, there he stood.

Abigail clutched at her arm. Rachel pulled
Abigail’s face to her shoulder, shielding her from the sight. She
glanced about, hoping for protection for the both of them, but the
other soldiers who had been milling around the area scattered like
sheep before a lion.

Rachel looked back to see Jonathan, and
noticed compassion in his smile. A strange curiosity welled up
within her when she realized Jonathan was overjoyed to see Pekah
standing there next to him. Needing his touch, Rachel reached for
him. Jonathan hastened to the women and lifted both Rachel and
Abigail to their feet.

“Everything’s fine!” he said with
encouragement. “Pekah is alive. Do not be afraid!”

He hugged Rachel and pulled Abigail close to
comfort her too. Like a child peeking out from the skirts of her
mother, Rachel peered around Jonathan’s embracing arm at Pekah,
incredulous at what she saw. He truly was alive! She glanced back
to Amon and Tavor, who still sat upon the ground, leaning back as
if Pekah was dangerous. But Pekah did not move.

He stood there, his tunic rent, stained in
blood and falling off his shoulders. His chest was completely bare.
Even in the dim light of dusk combined with the light of the fire,
Rachel could see that the young Gideonite captain’s chest was clean
and whole, with no trace of a wound. No bruise, no scar—no mark of
any kind.

Pekah smiled.

Chapter 32

Eligible

T
he next morning dawned a bright and warm Sabbath with a few
lazy clouds drifting across the sky. Birds were singing themselves
into an almost raucous frenzy, the sounds of battle no longer
keeping them in a frightened silence. Uzziel sat at his table near
an open window that allowed the morning to pour onto the hand-inked
pages he surveyed. His eyes misted. Several of the names listed
were familiar, one of them a close associate—Abram of Uzzah, his
own trusted bodyguard.
How will Abram’s
young wife Esther ever manage on her own?
the high priest thought to himself, a heavy sadness bowing
his head.

Putting aside the list of the deceased,
Uzziel fiddled with a key on a loop of leather. Rachel had handed
it to him the previous evening while sobbing out her own story.
Thoughtful, he turned the key in his hands. It reminded him of the
first time he met Asah, when he showed up on their doorstep asking
for employment. Many years had passed since then, and Asah had
become a trusted steward. The thought of never seeing his faithful
friend and assistant again in this life caused Uzziel to feel
cold.

Too many good people died
in this horrible war
, he thought, shaking
his head.
How many?
He didn’t know for sure, and couldn’t bring himself to count
the names on the list. But there had to be nearly a thousand lost
in the final battle, not counting those from Hasor, Saron, and
Ain.

Unable to look upon the list any longer,
Uzziel turned the pages over, smudges of dirt on them reminding him
of the previous evening. He had been outside the gates, looking on
as the citizens of Ramathaim and soldiers from Amon’s army
respectfully filled the trenches of war with the bodies of those
who had perished. Tavor had helped him to make the list as they
walked beside the trenches, cataloging the personal effects of the
deceased before the long graves were filled.

The grisly work had taken them all
evening—the trenches covered and the list completed just as the
sister suns hid their faces behind a red-stained horizon. The image
of temporary markers, consisting of the personal effects of the
deceased and littered along fresh mounds of dirt, still haunted
him.

He sniffed, looking down
at Asah’s key.
Until we meet again, my
dear friend
, he thought as he put the key
around his neck. He felt a hand on his arm.

“Dear, please eat something,” Miriam
encouraged.

“Thank you, Miriam, but I just don’t feel
like eating right now.”

Miriam patted him on the back and then went
about her business tidying up the table. Earlier, she had served
breakfast to Rachel and her new friend of Gideon, Abigail.

“What a sweet young lady,” Miriam whispered
as she wiped crumbs onto a plate.

Uzziel heard her. He got up from his chair
and kissed his wife on the cheek.

“I’m off to find our daughter. Rachel said
she wanted Abigail to see the temple. Did Eli and Jonathan say
where they were headed this morning? I’d like us all to worship
together.”

“They left without eating—said they were in
a hurry, but they did mention being back in time for Sabbath
services.”

“Very well. Can I take something to eat with
me?”

Miriam handed him a cloth pouch, already
stocked.

“I knew you would ask,” she lovingly
said.

“Thank you. I’m not sure what I would do
without you . . .” Uzziel’s voice trailed off. He kissed her and
left.

* * *

“Pekah?” Jonathan asked as they sat at
breakfast in Tavor’s home. “How are you feeling this morning?”

“I’ve never felt better. In fact, I awoke
before the suns. I couldn’t sleep.”

“Of course you couldn’t sleep. You got your
rest during a long afternoon nap,” Eli joked. That got a laugh out
of all of them. Even Sarah giggled softly as she glanced over her
shoulder from tending to Tavor’s young sons, who were eating at a
separate table.

Jonathan studied Pekah. He had been
laughing, but now had a far-off look in his eyes as he rubbed his
chest.

“Does it hurt?” Jonathan asked.

“What?”

“Your chest—does it hurt?”

“No—why do you ask?”

“You were rubbing it as if it did.”

“I was? Hmmm.” Pekah rubbed it again as if
he expected a sore spot to be there. “No, it’s fine. I suppose it’s
just the memory of the wound that is painful. It seems so strange.
I can remember Rezon stabbing me. I even remember the initial pain.
For a moment everything became dark, as if I had fallen asleep
standing up. But then . . .” Pekah’s voice trailed off. He touched
his chest, pointing. “There’s not even a mark.”

Jonathan smiled. “I’m glad.”

“Thank you both,” Pekah said, looking at
Jonathan, then Eli. “I’m indebted to you—and very happy to be
alive. I wasn’t ready to go.”