The Chronicles of Gan: The Thorn (9 page)

How incredibly stupid. I’m alone in the
woods with these two, and either one of them could kill me without
a second thought.

Nate’s face went pale as he leaned forward
to stare at the gilded sheath on the ground. Surprised at himself
for what he had confessed, Pekah remained fixed and motionless,
pointing at the weapon. Nate was still.

Should he not be angry? The leader of his
people was murdered! Why doesn’t he threaten me?

Pekah saw the tears well up in Nate’s eyes,
then pour down his cheeks.

“Please excuse me,” was all Nate said. He
got up after placing his breakfast on top of his shoulder sack, and
left the camp to go sit where he had the previous evening.

Pekah lowered his arm to his side, his eyes
once again finding the ground. Grieving, he wiped tears from his
face as the stresses of the night began to release.

What was I thinking?

He peeked over to where Eli sat, but did not
make eye contact with the Uzzahite.

Eli rose like he was about to get up and
follow Nate, perhaps to comfort him, but he did not leave, sitting
down again instead.

Pekah set his bread aside. “I don’t
understand, Eli. Why was he not angry?”

Eli did not answer, but moved closer.
“Pekah,” he said as he sat down, “Nate was not the only person in
his family defending Hasor when your army arrived. He has not
mentioned it yet, but Nate’s father was killed during the fight.
Last evening when Nate and I talked about the fall of Hasor, we
shared information with each other about the events of that day. I
feel terrible about what has happened to Nate’s father. I have
always felt like one of Nate’s family, and I feel his loss as if it
were my own.”

Pekah’s chest tightened. Once again, a
feeling of intense guilt for his part in the skirmish made him
tremble. He folded his arms, his hands squeezed into tight
fists.

“And I’m actually quite
surprised that you shared the information about the knife and the
death of the judge. Pekah,
why
did you tell him?”

Pekah did not stir, but raised his brows and
blinked the water from his eyes.

“Pekah, I need to tell you something. I know
of your army’s mission. We had been told by a Danielite spy that
the armies of Manasseh were marching, and of the emperor’s intent
to capture the judge so they might find his son and either bring
him into captivity or kill him. I also know they were searching for
the king’s scepter. Is this true?”

Pekah found the strength to speak again.
“Yes. Our orders were to find the judge’s son.”

“You didn’t find him, did you?”

“No, we did not. And after
what happened in Hasor, I’m glad he was
not
found.”

Eli smiled. “I, too, am glad.”

They both looked toward the old log in the
distance where Nate sat with his bowed head resting in his
hands.

“Pekah,” Eli continued in a calm and
reassuring voice. “Nate is not just any ordinary Danielite. Nate
is, in reality, Jonathan, son of Samuel the Judge of Daniel, true
heir to the throne, and now the only living member of his
family.”

Pekah’s heart skipped,
shocked by Eli’s revelation. He again glanced over to see Nate in
the distance. By telling Nate about the blade he had taken from
Captain Sachar, Pekah realized he had just thrown a javelin of pain
into his new friend’s heart.
The old man
was Nate’s father?

“Why did I ever pick up Sachar’s weapon?”
Pekah moaned.

“War is a terrible thing. Those who started
this attempt at conquest are the ones to carry the blame, not you.
Try not to let yourself take this burden upon yourself, for the
burden is not yours to bear.”

Pekah felt the wisdom of Eli’s words, yet
couldn’t accept them. He had personally participated in the battle.
The guilt still lingered in his chest.

“Why did you tell Jonathan about the dagger?
You could have kept that knowledge to yourself, and not a soul
would ever have known what you saw that day.”

Pekah scratched the back of his head. “I
couldn’t sleep,” he explained. “I was up all night long with images
of death, suffering, and injustice plaguing my mind until I nearly
burned with fever. When my detachment attacked Hasor with the rest
of the Gideonite army, I immediately felt I did not want to be
there. I volunteered to serve the emperor because I believed our
peoples would be better served if we were united under one king. I
had been told the Danielites were foolishly preparing themselves
for war.”

“That is absolutely
false!”
Eli thundered as he shot to his
feet.

Pekah interjected with raised hands. “I
know, Eli. It was obvious to me upon entering the village that the
Danielite judge had prepared his people for a defense, not for a
march on Gideon. I am so sorry my people have caused this great and
horrible conflict. Please forgive me. Forgive my people.”

Eli calmed, sighing as he returned to sit on
the log. “I, too, am sorry. I’m sorry for all the misunderstandings
which have been between our peoples for so long.”

“I don’t think Uzzah and Daniel have the
same misunderstandings, do they?”

“No, Uzzah serves all peoples in the temples
of our God. Our work is to carry the burdens of many, and we honor
the responsibilities of Daniel, our brother. Our hearts are fixed
on the same purposes. For the most part, those ‘misunderstandings’
don’t exist.”

Pekah bowed his head and stared at the
ground between his brown boots. Then he muttered, “I need to fix
this.” He stirred the dirt with a stick, making lines and
intersecting circles.

“You are the first . . .” Eli started. He
shook his head in disbelief.

“The first?”

“Yes, Pekah. You are the first Gideonite I
have met in a long, long time who felt any remorse for the
occasional wars which break out between our peoples. I want you to
know that I am sorry for the people of Gideon who have suffered all
of these years with the choices of your leaders. Perhaps, someday,
your people and my people will both find peace.”

Pekah said nothing. Instead, he stared up
into the dark blue sky visible between the branches above,
wondering about the turn of events. Just yesterday he had been
leading this Uzzahite in chains. Yet today, Eli felt sympathy for
the plight of the Gideonite people, after being led by a rope like
a dumb ox? He shook his head.

As he stared heavenward, he noticed a
brightly colored bird in the trees, singing as if in a duet with
the bubbly stream nearby. A pop from the campfire sent the bird on
its way. Pekah turned to see Eli watching Nate . . . Jonathan, who
still sat on the log away from the camp.

He wondered what Jonathan would do when he
returned. Memories of the short skirmish the previous evening made
a lump rise in his throat. There would be no possible way for him
to win a match or duel with Jonathan if it came to blows. The very
thought of having to defend himself against the Danielite made his
heart race. He turned back to the fire, picked up a twig, and
played with a dying coal.

When Jonathan finally wandered back to the
camp, Pekah prepared himself for a stinging rebuke from the
Danielite. But the rebuke did not come. Jonathan went straight to
where he had slept the previous night, stooping to retrieve the
dagger. Pekah was shocked that he touched it.

“Would you come with me?” Jonathan said with
kindness, offering his other hand.

Pekah peered at him in disbelief, but took
his hand and was lifted. Jonathan patted Pekah’s shoulder firmly.
He felt fear course through him like a gust of wind, but gazed into
Jonathan’s eyes and saw no malice there. Still, he shuddered as he
followed the Danielite toward the stream, leaving Eli at the
campfire. Jonathan glanced back once, but did not invite the
Uzzahite to join them. Arriving at the water’s edge, Jonathan
turned to face him. Pekah was sure Eli wouldn’t be able to hear
them above the bubble of the stream, and for a fleeting instant,
wondered if his own safety was in jeopardy.

“Pekah, thank you for telling me about the
dagger.” Jonathan’s calm demeanor was unnerving.

How can this be possible? If I were him,
wouldn’t I be furious?

“I want you to know,” Jonathan continued,
“I’m sorry for the contention between our peoples. If there is
anything I can do to repair the brotherhood between Gideon and
Daniel, I will do it.” Jonathan’s hand hung loose at his side,
holding the dagger more like it was a string of glass beads than a
weapon.

“You are interested
in
repairing
? How
can you be . . . I mean, why are you not angry?”

“Angry? Yes, at first, I admit I was. But
then I remembered how my father was always able to remain
calm.”

“How would he have felt if you had been the
one killed? Surely he would have been incensed.”

“I know he would have grieved. But my father
was one of the kindest men I ever knew, Pekah. Quick to forgive,
never held a grudge. Certainly not perfect, but he was not an angry
man. He was always able to let go of those types of feelings.”

“So you just
decided
not to let hate
and rage take over?” Pekah said, incredulous. He laughed as he
picked up a small rock and tossed it into the nearby
stream.

“Yes, it’s a choice. Out of revenge, I could
kill you . . .”

Pekah flinched, stepped back, and eyed the
dagger.

“
. . . or, I could repair
the breach. This dagger,” Jonathan said as he lifted it higher,
“was a tool used to separate and destroy. It separated me from the
love and companionship of my father. It killed him.” He paused.
“The chief judge was my father.”

“I know,” Pekah blurted out, regretting it
immediately.

“You know?”

“Yes. Eli just told me.”

Jonathan glanced at his friend by the fire
and half-smiled. “Perhaps this dagger can also be a tool to unite
and repair,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

Jonathan had a faraway look in his eyes. The
stress and tension of the situation seemed to dissipate into the
cool morning air, joining the thin fog rising from the morning dew.
Pekah wondered what Jonathan was thinking.

“This weapon brought us
together. We now have an opportunity to turn a tragedy into
something better. You and me.
We
can end this war.”

Pekah almost snickered.
“You’re crazy. What can I do to end a war? These things are above
me.”
He cannot be
serious
. Yet the grave expression on
Jonathan’s face told Pekah he truly believed it.

“It has to stop somewhere,
does it not? A war doesn’t end all at once. It ends when every
participant decides to stop fighting. But the end
starts
with the decision
of just one.” Jonathan knelt down in front of Pekah, unsheathed the
blade, and used it to dig in the sandy dirt near the stream. “The
covenant you made with me last evening . . .” he said while
digging. “Are you prepared to make another?” He did not look up,
but continued to scoop out dirt.

“What manner of covenant?” Pekah asked.

“An oath of peace,” Jonathan said with a
smile on his face. “I am Jonathan, son of Samuel, a descendant of
Daniel. I will never attack or provoke the people of Gideon, unless
I am attacked first. I will only defend. You have my promise that I
will do all I can to end this war. Will you do the same?”

Pekah’s chest tightened at Jonathan’s
request. Yet, for the first time in many hours, he felt hope
replacing his fear and guilt. Gideon could live in peace with
Daniel and Uzzah. And he could decide for himself.

“You have my promise. I will do no
less.”

“Thank you, Pekah.” Jonathan returned to
digging.

When Pekah fell to his knees in order to
assist, Jonathan sheathed the blade and set it aside, and with bare
hands, the two of them worked together to enlarge the hole. The pit
was now about a foot deep. Jonathan picked up the dagger, held the
covered blade in his left hand, the hilt with his right, and with a
swift, powerful pull, broke it into two pieces across his knee. He
handed the sheathed blade to Pekah and tossed the handle into the
hole. Pekah threw in his part. The joy in doing so thrilled him
down to the marrow in his bones.

The two men then pushed the dirt piles into
the hole. After standing and stomping the mound flat, Jonathan
reached for a large rock. He dropped it directly on top of the
burial site.

“And that is where it will stay, never to be
mentioned again!”

Pekah glanced over to where Eli stood near
their camp and saw that he had heard the unmistakable declaration.
Eli appeared to be surprised. As for Pekah, the moment was
exhilarating. Stirring within the depths of his own soul, he felt
the healing balm of forgiveness. Jonathan had released him from all
responsibility for his association with the tragic death of the old
judge.

Pekah beamed with joy, and
saw that Jonathan’s demeanor had also changed. Lines of sorrow were
softer upon Jonathan’s face, seemingly replaced by peace. The
sudden change of mood surprised Pekah.
Once enemies, and now friends?
He
almost smirked at the idea.

Eli walked from the camp to join Jonathan
and Pekah at the water’s edge. “I’m glad you two did not attempt to
decide this war between you!” Eli rumbled as he reached them and
scooped Jonathan into his arms. Jonathan coughed, and Eli let him
go.

“I’ve been hugged by a bear!” Jonathan
teased, still gasping.

Eli showed all his teeth in a menacing
growl, and the three of them laughed.