The Fifth Mountain

by Paulo Coelho

  But he concentrated only on preparations for peace.

  HALF A YEAR HAD PASSED, and the Assyrian army had made no move. Tension in Akbar, which had grown during the first weeks of occupation, had now diminished almost entirely. People went about their lives: farmers once again returned to their fields; artisans made wine, glass, and soap; tradesmen continued to buy and sell their merchandise. Everyone believed that, as Akbar had not attacked the enemy, the crisis would soon be settled through negotiations. Everyone knew the governor was chosen by the gods and that he always made the wisest decision.

  When Elijah arrived in the city, the governor had ordered rumors spread of the curse the foreigner brought with him; in this way, if the threat of war became insurmountable, he could blame the presence of the foreigner as the principal cause of the disaster. The inhabitants of Akbar would be convinced that with the death of the Israelite the Universe would return to normal. The governor would then explain that it was too late to demand that the Assyrians withdraw; he would order Elijah killed and explain to his people that peace was the best solution. In his view, the merchants—who desired peace—would force the others to agree to this idea.

  During these months, he had fought the pressure from the high priest and the commander demanding that he attack at once. The gods of the Fifth Mountain had never abandoned him; now, with the miracle of the resurrection last night, Elijah’s life was more important than his execution.

  “WHY IS THIS foreigner with you?” asked the commander.

  “He has been enlightened by the gods,” answered the governor. “And he will help us to find the best solution.” He quickly changed the subject. “The number of tents appears to have increased today.”

  “And it will increase even more tomorrow,” said the commander. “If we had attacked when they were nothing but a patrol, they probably wouldn’t have returned.”

  “You’re mistaken. Some of them would have escaped, and they would have returned to avenge themselves.”

  “When we delay the harvest, the fruit rots,” insisted the commander. “But when we delay resolving problems, they continue to grow.”

  The governor explained that peace, the great pride of his people, had reigned in Phoenicia for almost three centuries. What would the generations yet unborn say if he were to interrupt this era of prosperity?

  “Send an emissary to negotiate with them,” said Elijah. “The best warrior is the one who succeeds in transforming an enemy into a friend.”

  “We don’t know exactly what they want. We don’t even know if they desire to conquer our city. How can we negotiate?”

  “There are threatening signs. An army does not waste its time on military exercises far from its own country.”

  Each day saw the arrival of more soldiers, and the governor mused about the amount of water necessary for all those men. In a short time, the entire city would be defenseless before the enemy army.

  “Can we attack now?” the high priest asked the commander.

  “Yes, we can. We shall lose many men, but the city will be saved. But we must decide quickly.”

  “We must not do that, Governor. The gods of the Fifth Mountain told me that we still have time to find a pacific solution,” Elijah said.

  Even after hearing the conversation between the high priest and the Israelite, the governor feigned agreement. To him, it made little difference whether Sidon and Tyre were ruled by Phoenicians, by Canaanites, or by Assyrians; what mattered was that the city be able to go on trading its products.

  “We must attack,” insisted the high priest.

  “One more day,” said the governor. “It may be that things will resolve themselves.”

  He must decide forthwith the best way to face the Assyrian threat. He descended from the wall and headed for the palace, asking the Israelite to go with him.

  On the way, he observed the people around him: the shepherds taking their flocks to the mountains; the farmers going to the fields, trying to wrest from the arid soil sustenance for themselves and their families. Soldiers were exercising with spears, and a few newly arrived merchants displayed their wares in the square. Incredibly, the Assyrians had not closed off the road that traversed the valley from end to end; tradesmen still moved about with their merchandise and paid the city its tax for transport.

  “Now that they have amassed such a powerful force, why have they not closed the road?” Elijah asked.

  “The Assyrian empire needs the products that arrive in the ports of Sidon and Tyre,” replied the governor. “If the traders were threatened, they would interrupt the flow of supplies. The consequences would be more serious than a military defeat. There must be some way to avoid war.”

  “Yes,” said Elijah. “If they want water, we can sell it to them.”

  The governor said nothing. But he understood that he could use the Israelite as a weapon against those who desired war; should the high priest persist with the idea of fighting the Assyrians, Elijah would be the only one who could face him. The governor suggested they take a walk together, to talk.

  THE HIGH PRIEST REMAINED ATOP THE WALL, OBSERVING the enemy.

  “What can the gods do to deter the invaders?” asked the commander.

  “I have carried out sacrifices at the Fifth Mountain. I have asked them to send us a more courageous leader.”

  “We should act as Jezebel has done: put an end to the prophets. A simple Israelite, who yesterday was condemned to die, is today used by the governor to entice the people to peace.”

  The commander looked at the mountain.

  “We can have Elijah assassinated. And use my warriors to remove the governor from his position.”

  “I shall order Elijah killed,” replied the high priest. “As for the governor, we can do nothing: his ancestors have been in power for several generations. His grandfather was our chieftain, who handed power down to his son, who in turn handed it to him.”

  “Why does custom forbid our bringing to power someone more efficient?”

  “Custom exists to maintain the world in order. If we meddle with it, the world itself will perish.”

  The high priest looked about him. The heavens and the earth, the mountains and the valley, everything fulfilling what had been written for it. Sometimes the ground shook; at other times—such as now—there were long periods without rain. But the stars continued undisturbed in their place, and the sun had not fallen onto the heads of men. All because, since the Flood, men had learned that it was impossible to change the order of Creation.

  In the past, only the Fifth Mountain had existed. Men and gods had lived together, strolled through the gardens of paradise, talking and laughing with one another. But human beings had sinned, and the gods expelled them; having nowhere to send them, they created the earth surrounding the mountain, so they could cast them there, keep vigil over them, and ensure that they would forever remember that they abided on a plane far inferior to that of the dwellers of the Fifth Mountain.

  The gods took care, however, to leave open a path of return; if humanity carefully followed the way, it would one day go back to the mountaintop. So that this idea would not be forgotten, they charged the priests and the rulers with keeping it alive in the minds of the people.

  All peoples shared the same belief: if the families anointed by the gods were removed from power, the consequences would be grave. No one now remembered why these families had been chosen, but everyone knew they were related to the divine families. Akbar had existed for hundreds of years, and its affairs had always been administered by the ancestors of the present governor; it had been invaded many times, had been in the hands of oppressors and barbarians, but with the passing of time the invaders had left or been expelled. Afterward, the old order would be reestablished and the people would return to the life they had known before.

  The priests’ obligation was to preserve this order: the world had a destiny, and it was governed by laws. The era of attempting to fathom the gods was past; now was the time
to respect them and do their will. They were capricious and easily vexed.

  If not for the harvest rituals, the earth would bring forth no fruit. If certain sacrifices were neglected, the city would be infested with fatal diseases. If the god of weather were provoked anew, he could cause wheat and men to cease to grow.

  “Behold the Fifth Mountain,” the high priest told the commander. “From its peak, the gods rule over the valley and protect us. They have an eternal plan for Akbar. The foreigner will be killed, or return to his own land; the governor will one day be no more, and his son will be wiser than he. All that we experience today is fleeting.”

  “We have need of a new chieftain,” said the commander. “If we continue in the hands of this governor, we shall be destroyed.”

  The high priest knew that this was what the gods desired, in order to put an end to the writing of Byblos. But he said nothing; he was pleased to have evidence once again that, unwittingly or not, the rulers always fulfilled the destiny of the Universe.

  WALKING THROUGH THE CITY with the governor, Elijah explained to him his plans for peace and was made his counselor. When they arrived at the square, more sick people approached, but he said that the gods of the Fifth Mountain had forbidden him to heal. At the end of the afternoon, he returned to the widow’s house; the child was playing in the street, and Elijah gave thanks for having been the instrument of the Lord’s miracle.

  She was awaiting him for the evening meal. To his surprise, there was a bottle of wine on the table.

  “People brought gifts to please you,” she said. “And I want to ask your forgiveness for the injustice I did you.”

  “What injustice?” asked Elijah, surprised. “Don’t you see that everything is part of God’s design?”

  The widow smiled, her eyes shone, and he saw for the first time that she was beautiful. She was at least ten years older than he, but at that moment he felt great tenderness for her. He was not accustomed to such sentiments, and he was filled with fear; he remembered Jezebel’s eyes, and the wish he had made upon leaving Ahab’s palace—to marry a woman from Lebanon.

  “Though my life has been useless, at least I had my son. And his story will be remembered, because he returned from the kingdom of the dead,” the woman said.

  “Your life is not useless. I came to Akbar at the Lord’s order, and you took me in. If someday your son’s story is remembered, I am certain that yours will be also.”

  The woman filled two cups. They drank to the sun, which was setting, and to the stars of heaven.

  “You have come from a distant country, following the signs of a God I did not know but who now has become my Lord. My son has also returned from a far-off land, and he will have a beautiful tale to tell his grandchildren. The priests will preserve and pass on his words to generations yet to come.”

  It was through the priests’ memory that cities knew of their past, their conquests, the ancient gods, and the warriors who defended the land with their blood. Even though there were now new ways to record the past, the inhabitants of Akbar had confidence only in the memory of their priests: one could write anything he chose, but no one could remember things that never were.

  “And what have I to tell?” the widow continued, filling the cup that Elijah had quickly drained. “I don’t have the strength or the beauty of Jezebel. My life is like all the rest: a marriage arranged by my father and mother when I was a child, household tasks when I came of age, worship on holy days, my husband always busy with other things. When he was alive, we never spoke of anything important. He was preoccupied with his trade, I took care of the house, and that was how we spent the best of our years.

  “After his death, nothing was left for me except poverty and raising my son. When he becomes a man, he will cross the seas and I shall no longer matter to anyone. I feel neither hate nor resentment, only a sense of my own uselessness.”

  Elijah refilled his cup. His heart was beginning to give signs of alarm; he was enjoying being at this woman’s side. Love could be a more frightening experience than standing before Ahab’s soldier with an arrow aimed at his heart; if the arrow had struck him, he would be dead—and the rest was up to God. But if love struck him, he alone would have to take responsibility for the consequences.

  “I have so wished for love in my life,” he thought. And yet, now that it was before him—and beyond doubt it was there; all he had to do was not run away from it—his sole thought was to forget it as quickly as possible.

  His mind returned to the day he came to Akbar, after his exile on the Cherith. He was so weary and thirsty that he could remember nothing except the moment he recovered from fainting, and seeing her drip water onto his lips. His face was very close to hers, closer than he had ever been to any woman in his entire life. He had noticed that she had Jezebel’s green eyes, but with a different glow, as if they could reflect the cedar trees, the ocean of which he had often dreamed but never known, and—how could it be?—her very soul.

  “I should so like to tell her that,” he thought. “But I don’t know how. It’s easier to speak of the love of God.”

  Elijah took another sip. She sensed that she had said something that displeased him, and she decided to change the subject.

  “Did you climb the Fifth Mountain?” she asked.

  He nodded.

  She would have liked to ask what he had seen there in the heights and how he had escaped the fire of the heavens. But he seemed loath to discuss it.

  “You are a prophet,” she thought. “Read my heart.”

  Since the Israelite had come into her life, everything had changed. Even poverty was easier to bear, for that foreigner had awakened something she had never felt: love. When her son had fallen ill, she had fought the entire neighborhood so he could remain in her house.

  She knew that to him the Lord was more important than anything that took place beneath the sky. She was aware that it was a dream impossible of fulfillment, for the man before her could go away at any moment, shed Jezebel’s blood, and never return to tell of what had happened.

  Even so, she would go on loving him, because for the first time in her life, she knew freedom. She could love him, even if he never knew; she did not need his permission to miss him, to think of him every moment of the day, to await him for the evening meal, and to worry about the plots that people could be weaving against the foreigner.

  This was freedom: to feel what the heart desired, with no thought to the opinion of the rest. She had fought with her neighbors and her friends about the stranger’s presence in her house; there was no need to fight against herself.

  Elijah drank a bit of wine, excused himself, and went to his room. She went out, rejoiced at the sight of her son playing in front of the house, and decided to take a short walk.

  She was free, for love liberates.

  ELIJAH STARED at the wall of his room for a long time. Finally, he decided to invoke his angel.

  “My soul is in danger,” he said.

  The angel said nothing. Elijah was in doubt about continuing the conversation, but now it was too late: he could not call him forth for no reason.

  “When I’m with that woman, I don’t feel good.”

  “Just the opposite,” answered the angel. “And that disturbs thee, because thou canst come to love her.”

  Elijah felt shame, for the angel knew his soul.

  “Love is dangerous,” he said.

  “Very,” replied the angel. “And so?”

  He suddenly disappeared.

  His angel had none of the doubts that tormented Elijah’s soul. Yes, he knew what love was; he had seen the king of Israel abandon the Lord because Jezebel, a princess of Sidon, had conquered his heart. Tradition told that King Solomon had come close to losing his throne over a foreign woman. King David had sent one of his best friends to his death after falling in love with his friend’s wife. Because of Delilah, Samson had been taken prisoner and had his eyes put out by the Philistines.

  How could he not
know what love was? History was filled with tragic examples. And even had he no knowledge of sacred Scripture, he had the example of his friends, and of the friends of friends, lost in long nights of waiting and suffering. If he’d had a wife in Israel, it would have been difficult for him to leave his city when the Lord commanded, and he would be dead now.

  “I am waging combat in vain,” he thought. “Love will win this battle, and I will love her all of my days. Lord, send me back to Israel so that I may never have to tell this woman what I feel. Because she does not love me and will say to me that her heart lies buried alongside the body of her heroic husband.”

  THE NEXT DAY, ELIJAH MET WITH THE COMMANDER AGAIN and learned that more tents had been erected.

  “What is the present complement of warriors?” he asked.

  “I give no information to an enemy of Jezebel.”

  “I am a counselor of the governor,” replied Elijah. “He named me his assistant yesterday afternoon. You have been informed of this, and you owe me an answer.”

  The commander felt an urge to put an end to the foreigner’s life.

  “The Assyrians have two soldiers for each one of ours,” he finally replied.

  Elijah knew that, to succeed, the enemy needed a much larger force.

  “We are approaching the ideal moment to begin peace negotiations,” he said. “They will understand that we are being generous and we shall achieve better conditions. Any general knows that to conquer a city five invaders are needed for each defender.”

  “They’ll have that number unless we attack now.”

  “Even with all their lines of supply, they will not have enough water for so many men. And the moment to send our envoys will have come.”

  “What moment is that?”

  “We shall allow the number of Assyrian warriors to increase a bit more. When the situation becomes unbearable, they will be forced to attack. But, with the proportion of three or four to one of ours, they know they will end in defeat. That is when our envoys will offer peace, safe passage, and the sale of water. This is the governor’s plan.”