“Hear me, it is true. We, with Xoltec and the forces of the northern Gadiantons, will take the Nephite lands. Our cause will be great, our share will be greater. The drum of war is beating!”
Thousands cheered in the bloodthirsty call of doom. The din of the damned rose up to the gates of heaven.
“Your command is incredible. There are few who create such frenzy with people like this,” said the Gadianton Teth-Senkhet.
“If it were not, I would cease to be king. Ah, Senkhet where have you been?” asked Apophis, finally turning his attention back to the top of the pyramid.
“So, with your announcement of war, you have decided to be subject to Akish-Antum?”
“I promise nothing as yet. He must come to me and show me that he is worthy to be my spiritual head. He may be Gadianton Grand Master of the Northern Gadiantons, a vast shadowy kingdom that is true, but I am ruler of the Kingdom of the Sun, I, Serpent of the Dark. My father had grand designs for me, giving me this sacred accursed name. He must have known that someday I would kill him.”
“Indeed,” said Teth-Senkhet, raising an eyebrow.
“Years ago, as he endowed me within the Order and told me the great secret, he said there were others who would try to steal my birthright. So, tell me again, brother,” he said, his voice dripping with disdain. “Tell me why you serve a Nephite. You, my cousin, my blood brother, friend of my youth, and conspirator of my own coronation twelve years ago, tell me why you serve a Nephite!” He was shouting now.
Menares, the bloody-handed priest, watched with a wicked gleam in his eye, hoping for violence.
Teth-Senkhet’s dusky face turned ashen. “I will tell you why. He has authority, of that I have no doubt.” He paused and looked away into the deep black night as if afraid something might come rushing for him at any moment, to carry him off into bottomless gulfs and everlasting torment. “Not even for you would I cross my master, Akish-Antum.” The fear in his eyes was real enough, he remembered seeing the hairy black giant, the Master Mahan.
“Interesting. Can you tell me then, my friend, how such a relatively young man became lord of the Gadiantons? I know others like my father had seniority,” said Apophis with genuine wonder.
“Seniority yes, authority no. Akish-Antum can choose any worthy successor, so say the by-laws in the Book of the Law. Any who split and would not recognize the old Grand Master, Jazer Malekite’s decision were eventually destroyed and scattered to the four winds, apart from your father of course,” explained Teth-Senkhet, as he drank from a ceremonial wineskin.
“My spies tell me the northern Order of yours has grown tenfold these last twenty years since Jazer Malekite’s death and Akish-Antum’s rise to power.”
“Yea, it has. He has initiated all the young, poor, hopeless, and those in debt. He has brought so many into the Order, with a recruiting method he calls the Lost Wolf Protocols. Seeking out the disaffected was easy. He endorsed them to join the Order and thus support him. His down-line of direct followers is greater than almost all other masters combined. He is the youngest grand master ever. I don’t believe any before him had the same foresight. None could have anticipated the young former apostle’s drive,” said the Gadianton proudly.
“Apostle? Was he really one of them? Did he serve under Onandagus, the chief judge and governor of the Nephites?” asked King Apophis, now doubting everything Senkhet had told him. This was too outlandish.
“Yea, he did for a time. Something happened, I know not what, but he left Onandagus and Zarahemla behind. Going out into the wilderness, he found the Order. He found the Secret City and became one with us. Even the little I know of his past is more than most, for I am his second.”
Apophis was pleased he had learned more from a few moments with Teth-Senkhet than he had from a dozen spies for a dozen years. “And if I pledged fealty to his authority as my grand master, where would I be?”
“You would remain lord of your kingdom, king of your city and lands. However, within the Order, you would be under he and I. I can promise nothing more. I know you are a great, proud man and I tell you these things not to threaten but inform you. This is the way the wind is blowing, and ever will it blow”.
“Yea, but in my realm, both the sun and moon are stronger than the wind.”
“Very well, King of Tullan. I bid you good night and hope that you will think on these matters.”
As Teth-Senkhet walked down the steep, many-stepped pyramid, Apophis brooded upon his crimson throne, dreaming dark dreams. Menares approached him, but before the shaggy, gray-haired priest could speak, the king waved him away.
No man would take what was his. Teth-Senkhet, his old friend, was now an enemy. All his enemies would burn when the time came. He would placate them, but he would never bend or break. He would brutalize them when the time came. With his enemies he would smoke the pipe of peace, while in his heart beat the drum of war.
Sweet Like Honey
Bethia folded up her table as Keturah put away the last box of incense. Together they took down the awning that protected them and their wares from the relentless beating of the sun.
“Shagreel, my lord, you’re certainly beating down on us today,” said Keturah.
“Shagreel?”
“Yea, Shagreel. The sun,” said Keturah, surprised that Bethia even needed to ask.
“That’s the name of a pagan god. It’s not the name of the sun.”
Keturah frowned. “You have your gods, I have mine.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Yes, I am serious. Shagreel is my god, so what?”
“I am not trying to upset you. I was just surprised. I didn’t think anyone... believed in…” Bethia paused and went silent as Keturah’s frown grew ever wider.
“We all have to believe in something. For me, I know what rises and sets every day. Nothing else in my life has been so sure. Not my five husbands, my parents, not even the weather! Shagreel is constant, him and the spirits—them you can count on.”
“Spirits?” responded Bethia.
“Yea, all the spirits of nature. They are all around us, everywhere. Don’t tell me you never tried talking to the spirits?”
“No, never, Father said it was...” Bethia trailed off.
“What? Wicked? I have heard it all before. I can’t believe we haven’t talked about this yet. Let me read your palm. I can tell your fortune, but if we consult the spirits, we could get a far-reaching answer.”
“I don’t know. I’d rather not,” said Bethia, pulling her hand back.
“Don’t be afraid, it’s safe. How else do you get answers about your day to day life?”
“Well, I pray.”
“To which god?” asked Keturah. “Or are you one of those people that believe in that lost book about an extinct people? The Jaredodians?”
“Jaredites,” corrected Bethia.
“It’s all made up. They weren’t real. My fourth husband was a believer, so I know all about it. I used to live down south by the city of Teancum where all the believers said the Jaredodians were, and we never found the slightest trace of them. So, it’s all a lie,” said Keturah with finality.
“But that’s not even where my father said they were, it was north, near the hill called Ramah.”
“No, it’s all a lie. I know what’s real. Shagreel, the spirits, and my own intuition never steer me wrong. We need to have a séance so that you can be in touch with your spirit guide.”
Bethia didn’t want to offend her new friend so she mumbled, “Alright.” Keturah patted her on the back just as Rezon came striding up.
“Hello ladies. Another good day for market?” he asked politely.
“I think so, Keturah handles the till.” Bethia beamed, her discomfort at Keturah’s words washing away. “It’s good to see you.”
“Yes,” Rezon said, as he began counting out the senums of silver and then the seons of gold. The money was exchanged based upon measures of grain. Farmers and other rural people might d
o an exact rate of change with Rezon at the grain wagon booth for silver and gold, which they then took to the merchants of his caravan. He always kept his bank wagon towards the center of the caravan and markets so that once people had their coin, they would see his other wagons and spend there first.
Rezon kept meticulous track of what he paid out and how much he got back from the very same customers. He was focused on this while Bethia stood staring at him.
“You know Rezon, some day you should buy a home,” she said.
“I have several homes. One in Bountiful, another in Cumeni, and two in Tarshish.”
“Someday you may want to settle down and start a family.”
He looked up at her, grinning, but they were interrupted by a new voice.
“Rezon!” cried out a man with a long curling mustache. He wore a strange hat made of a dark brown fur, and he carried a decorative walking stick with an expensive looking stone mounted on the top. “Rezon, how goes the markets?”
“Gazelem, good to see you. Sales are good. We are at almost forty-five percent profit for today. No small thanks to the ladies here. You know Keturah, and this is Bethia.”
Gazelem nodded to Keturah before taking Bethia’s hand. “So, you have been doing well for Rezon?”
“I do my best,” she said.
“How much is this rascal paying you? It can’t be enough.”
“Well, I just…” she stammered.
Gazelem didn’t wait for her answer but shoved Rezon good-naturedly. “You take care of them, or by Set’s hoary beard I’ll steal them and have them work for me.” He laughed louder than Bethia thought necessary.
“Oh, I think they are happy,” said Rezon, winking at Bethia.
Bethia blushed and lowered her head, wondering if this meant he would soon be proposing something between them. He was such a gentleman, taking it slow and easy. So, kind to think of her feelings and not rush into anything.
“Are you almost done? There is something I wish to discuss with you,” said Gazelem.
“Almost, this was my final count of the evening,” said Rezon, well into the gold seons now.
Bethia couldn’t help but blush. He had saved her for last, perhaps to have the best opportunity to speak with her. She looked up just as Rezon finished recording the amounts in his scroll. Keturah had put away their chairs and was pulling out her jug of wine for a quick swig before locking the fragrance compartment.
“Alright, I am done. What is it?” Rezon asked Gazelem.
“In private, if you don’t mind,” he replied, dipping his hat to Bethia. “Ladies.” Keturah was still beside the wagon, having another swig. “Trouble is brewing out west, they say there is a new king...”
Their words faded as the two men walked away. Bethia looked back to Keturah who now sat eating in the shade of the alley. “I’ll be right back,” she told her. Keturah waved a response.
Bethia paced quickly to catch up to the caravan masters. Gazelem had led Rezon around a corner to a small tavern. This one did not smell of wine as had so many others, instead it had a rich bitter-sweet aroma that prickled her senses.
Rezon and Gazelem sat at a table separated from most of the other patrons. Bethia entered and sat just beyond them, with an older couple between her and Rezon. The two men had not seemed to notice her, so engrossed in their mysterious discussion. A serving girl brought two large mugs to the men.
The girl approached Bethia. “Do you want anything? Or are you sitting like that for a reason?”
“What smells so good?” she asked.
“Our specialty, tejate mixed with honey. Do you want some?”
Father had never allowed Bethia to have tejate, but it smelled so good. Why not? Father didn’t know everything, and it was good to try new things.
“It’s a drink made from beans from the south,” the girl said impatiently. “Do you want one?”
Bethia nodded and continued listening to the conversation between Gazelem and Rezon.
“The governor of Shem can barely hold on, forces are at work for revolution. You must listen to me,” said Gazelem.
“It’s the same every year, war here, war there, it doesn’t matter. People always have to eat, they always want good clothes, and they always want nice things to dress themselves up a little,” said Rezon, as he took a drink. “This is good. You were right, it is the best.”
“You are not hearing me. War is coming and it is coming from all directions. Coriantus of Kishkumen seeks to overthrow the governor of Shem, to claim all that territory as his own.”
“The people would not stand for it. They would stop him.”
“They who? Any of the great men you could name are dead. Governor Onandagus is alone. Gadiantons will rule the west very soon, and I have heard they mean to rule here. You need to wake up.”
“I never thought you for such a doom-sayer. I thought you had a head on your shoulders,” retorted Rezon.
“I have good reason to worry over such things. Finish your drink and come with me,” snarled Gazelem. “I can show you someone who will change your mind.”
Bethia sunk deeper into her chair as she heard the men getting up, one slamming down his mug of tejate. They walked out. The serving girl brought Bethia her mug. It smelled so delicious, but she needed to follow the men to discover the mystery.
“That will be seven senums,” said the serving girl.
Bethia gasped at the price. Seven senums! That was what she made for a full day of work. She reached into the pouch on her belt and pulled out three senums. “That’s all I have,” she blushed.
“Get out,” ordered the serving girl as she picked the mug back up to be sure Bethia didn’t try and take it or touch it. Bethia rushed out the door so she wouldn’t lose sight of Rezon.
People were passing each way and she couldn’t see either of them. She ran a short way down the crowded street. Nothing. She went the other way almost as far as her caravan but still no sign.
The smell of the tejate teased her senses, beckoning to come and try the most expensive of drinks. Maybe it was for the best, Rezon might be upset with her for eavesdropping on things that were none of her business. Still, the bitter-sweet scent begged, and her mouth watered. She walked back to her wagon and Keturah.
“Can I have four senums?”
“Sure, you have a dozen more coming, I think. What are you going to buy?” asked Keturah. “Find some more silk from the Red Coast?”
“No, I want to try some tejate.”
“For four senums? That is the cheapest I ever heard of. Where?” She opened the locked money box while keeping a wary eye out for anyone who watched her too closely.
“Just down the street where Rezon and Gazelem went, but it’s not four it’s seven,” said Bethia, taking the four senums from Keturah.
“Seven huh? That’s the usual price. I guess I’ll pass then.” Keturah sat down again to play at her bead work. “Do you want to talk to the spirits tonight? Find out your destiny from the stars?”
“I don’t know. My father never liked the idea of soothsaying. He said it was a bad idea. It makes me nervous,” said Bethia, glancing about for the remote possibility that Rezon might appear.
“Nothing to be afraid of. I could ask Rezon to join us. He likes hearing his fortune told,” grinned Keturah.
“Well, yes, if Rezon is there, I would love to.”
“Good. I’ll get my things and we will plan on it in an hour or so.”
Bethia smiled and turned away. “I’m going to go try the tejate. I’ll be back.” She walked away, worried at what she had agreed to. She tried not to think of what her father would say about this soothsaying.
She walked into the tavern and the serving girl frowned at her, but before she could say anything, Bethia held out the seven senums. The girl took them and walked back toward the kitchen. Bethia sat where Rezon had been a short time ago. She felt such a longing for him, wishing he paid her more attention. He noticed her sales of perfumes and incense, but sh
e wanted him to notice her as a woman.
The serving girl brought the mug of tejate to Bethia and said, “I didn’t think you would come back. Most of the time people try to steal a taste and run.”
“I am sorry. I didn’t realize how much it cost, and I didn’t want to lose my friends who were sitting at this table.”
“Your friends? Gazelem will be back. He forgot his cane.” The girl pointed to the stone-topped cane resting against the chair. “I’m sure he won’t be long. He forgets it all the time and then comes back soon enough.”
Bethia waited. She sipped the brown drink out of the white foam on top. It was thick and sweet like honey but with a bitter nut-like flavor, altogether very pleasing.
She dreamed of the future. Rezon would be her husband, and they would have two children, a boy and a girl—not like her mother with so many little ones. Being the oldest, too many responsibilities always came back to her. Two would be perfect. They would have a big home in the hills overlooking Zarahemla. There would be white horses and fragrant gardens. They would go to dances and plays, and they would be the most pleasant, beloved couple of the city, not the despised and mocked couple her parents were.
She would name her little boy Rezonihah, as was a popular title for sons named after their father and her daughter, she would name...
“Bethia? What are you doing here?” asked Gazelem.
“Oh,” she was startled from the daydream and spilled some of her precious tejate.
“Are you alright? I didn’t mean to startle you, but I forgot my cane.” He picked it up and sat down across from her.
She looked around for Rezon.
“Rezon went back to his caravan, he has a lot to think about, I hope.”
Bethia smiled, a little embarrassed at the spill.
“Here,” offered Gazelem, giving her a fancy embroidered cloth from his pocket. “Miss, bring another tejate for my friend.”
“Thank you but no. It’s too expensive,” Bethia protested.
“Nonsense. You know Rezon talked about you a little.”
Heroes of the Fallen Page 11
