The Great and Terrible

by Chris Stewart

  The two men watched him. The boy waited, afraid to move. But Omar could read his body language. He was pent-up, coiled metal, ready to spring if the men gave him but a word. “He’s a good boy,” Omar observed quietly to the shepherd.

  “He’s got the spirit of a stallion, but the manners of a colt,” the old man complained.

  “You gave him that, my friend.”

  The old man shook his head.

  Omar continued, “No, Rehnuma, that is the gift you gave to him. His breeding is deep inside him, rich as blood and deep as bone. It will drive him with ambition when he gets older, that is assured, but it will destroy him if not bridled. That is one of the reasons I brought him to you. He needed the seasoning only you and the mountain could ever give him. He needed the humility of being hungry, the gratefulness of being cold, the discipline of herding stupid sheep, the faith of hanging on the mountain with only your word to guide him home.”

  The old man thought, then nodded. “The manners of a colt, perhaps I nurtured that. But the stallion that runs inside him, he got that from somewhere else.”

  “His father gave that to him.”

  The old man’s eyes narrowed to suspicious slits and he turned back to the valley and the military vehicles down below. “They are looking for him,” he said.

  Omar didn’t answer.

  “You have not told me. I have not asked you. But it isn’t hard to figure out. The diamond he carries is worth more than every man, woman, and child in every village within a five days’ walk of here. His shoulders are too proud, his neck too long. He doesn’t come from Peshawar. He doesn’t come from Persia or Pakistan or anywhere even close. He’s too royal. You can see it. Young as he is, I could not hide it. If they see him, they will know.”

  Omar cleared his throat and spat, then pulled out a square of brown paper, tapped in a short line of tobacco, rolled, and licked the edge with a dry tongue, taking less than thirty seconds to roll the smoke. He shoved the narrow roll into his mouth and lit it with a paper match.

  The shepherd nodded to the military vehicles again. “They’re looking for him?”

  Omar pulled a drag and held it.

  “They will find him,” the old man said.

  “Not if we’re careful.”

  “No, dost (friend), that isn’t true. They’ll find him. They’ll take or kill him, depending on who he really is. I can’t keep him here forever. They know too much. They’ve come back here too often now. They must know that they are close. Someone in the village—I have my own enemies, you surely know—they must be talking, and I can’t stop them.

  “Listen to me, dost. I am old now. I’m not afraid to die. I would welcome a chance to sleep, but if Allah were to grant me a few more years, I would take them with great pleasure. I’d like to see my grandchildren safe before I die. I’d like to touch the sea. I’m tired of these mountain walls and winter.”

  He fell silent. Omar smoked. The wind was picking up and getting wetter, blowing the first raindrops from the mountaintops over their heads.

  “No,” the old man said, “I’m ready to face my Master. But the boy, he’s far too young.” He shot a look to Omar. “He’s too important.”

  Omar almost snorted. If his old friend only knew!

  The shepherd watched and then concluded, “He is not safe here, not any longer. You’ve got to decide where you want him to die—here or somewhere else. Leave him and they’ll find him, and when they do, he’s dead. Take him away and they might get him—or maybe not. But stay here and it’s decided. So what are you going to do?”

  Omar smoked again. “I’m going to get us help,” he answered.

  The shepherd grunted. “And where will this assistance come from?”

  Omar crushed the half-smoked cigarette against his hand.

  “Where will this assistance come from?” the old man prodded, his voice full of doubt.

  “The Great Satan,” Omar told him.

  The old man shook his head.

  “They need him as much as we do. And I can’t fight this battle by myself.”

  “We have been placed on earth in troubled times. We live in a complex world with currents of conflict everywhere to be found. Political machinations ruin the stability of nations, despots grasp for power, and segments of society seem forever downtrodden, deprived of opportunity,

  and left with a feeling of failure.

  We who have been ordained to the priesthood

  of God can make a difference.”

  —President Thomas S. Monson

  “We are strengthened by the truth that the

  greatest force in the world today is the power of God

  as it works through man.”

  —President Thomas S. Monson

  Chapter Thirteen

  Offutt Air Force Base

  Headquarters, U.S. Strategic Command

  Eight Miles South of Omaha, Nebraska

  Sam Brighton was tired of waiting. He was tired of the uncertainty. He was tired of being held in the small office and not being told what was going on. He was a warrior, and the frustration of inactivity burned like a hot coal inside him. He could feel the sense of urgency in the pace of operations all around him. There was a real war going on and it was going on without him, which was driving him insane. Here he was, stuffed away inside a waiting room, no weapons, no information, no plan. He felt agitated, almost angry, wanting to get in the fight. He missed the vital sense of purpose that came with battle: the chaos, the noise, the uncertainty, the rush of adrenaline, the action, the ecstasy, the sure feeling that no matter what happened to him he was doing something good. All of that was missing now. He was ready to move.

  The office door opened and his mother walked into the room. He moved anxiously toward her. “So?” he asked before she could even shut the door.

  She shrugged her shoulders. “They cancelled the meeting,” she said.

  Sam gritted his teeth. “Are you kidding me? What have you been doing? You’ve been gone for almost two hours.”

  “They left me waiting. I was close, I think, but something came up.”

  “They didn’t give you any explanation? They didn’t tell you anything about what’s going on out there?”

  “No, Sam, they didn’t. And let’s not flatter ourselves, we’re not that important right now, not in the big scheme of things. We’re lucky even to be here. I’m certainly not going to complain.”

  Sam turned away and ground his teeth again. “Sure, Mom,” he said.

  Behind him, his brothers were sitting on the floor of the small office under the only window, which looked out on the military base three floors below. They’d pushed the metal desk aside and laid out their sleeping bags for padding. Azadeh was sitting apart, against the back wall. Mary and her daughter were not with them; they’d been taken to the base hospital for a checkup the day before. Kelly Beth’s obvious poor health and low weight had raised enough concerns that the medic who had been assigned to them had wanted to check her out.

  Sara smiled as she remembered Mary trying to explain to the young medic what had happened to her daughter. “Two weeks ago, she was dying of cancer,” she had started. “She was right on death’s door. But the good Lord sent an angel to bless and save her. The good Lord sent that young man and his family over there.” She pointed toward Sam. “He blessed her with righteous oil and now she’s healed as well as you can see . . .”

  The medic had responded with a patronizing grin. Mary had gone on, but the attendant wasn’t listening anymore.

  Before Mary had left with Kelly Beth for the hospital, Sara had pulled her aside. “I don’t know if I’d be telling everyone about what happened to Kelly Beth,” she whispered quietly.

  Mary looked at her with intense surprise. “Oh, I’ll be telling everyone,” she said. “Everyone who will listen and even those who won’t. The Lord reached down and saved my daughter, clutched her right from the very hands of death. He saved her sure as He raised Lazarus. It’s a miracle, and
I don’t think anyone could stop me from shouting it from the housetops just like the Bible says. It’s like a burning in my chest that I have to quench by getting out. I’m going to tell everybody. I’m going to tell the whole world.”

  Sara had thought for a long moment, her eyes down. It was a very fine line, and who was she to say, but still she had to wonder. “I just . . . I don’t know, Mary, I just think there may be some things that are particularly sacred.”

  “Sacred, yes it is, Sara, but we can’t be quiet on this thing. Miracles like this are the only thing that’s going to save us now. You know that better than anyone. Miracles are all we’ve got now. We’ve got to get everyone to know.” Mary had lowered her voice and shot a quick look toward Sara’s youngest son, Luke. “You’ve got your own miracle over there, baby. You know it. I know it. I think the Lord wants us to go and tell.”

  Sara had thought for another moment, then smiled apologetically as she reached out to touch Mary’s arm. “You’re right, Mary. Of course you are. Most people will think we’re crazy, but some of them will listen, and it will help those few who do. All around us now there are people who are searching desperately for any sign of hope, any little thing that they can cling to. We have hope because of miracles. God has blessed us so. Who are we to remain silent? You are absolutely right. You tell whoever you think you ought to. Heavenly Father would want us to shout it from the housetops. Thanks for helping me to see.”

  * * *

  Sara smiled as she thought back on the conversation that had taken place the day before. Where Mary and Kelly Beth were now, she didn’t know. She hadn’t heard from them since they had left for the base hospital. When would she see them again? she had to wonder. Maybe soon. Maybe never? There was no way to know. But there was no doubt in her mind that right now, sweet Mary Dupree was hovering over her little girl, explaining to everyone within earshot how Kelly Beth had been cured. The image in her mind made Sara want to both laugh and cry. It made her sweet and peaceful and reminded her again: Yes, I saved this girl. This is my world. You are my children. As the Evil One grows stronger, so also will my Light. I will send more power from the heavens to counter the growing darkness of the world.

  Sara smiled sadly, wishing Mary was with her now. She missed her dearly, her optimism and simple faith. I will send a child to lead them. There was a bond between them now that was good and strong, and it hurt Sara to think she might not see Mary and little Kelly Beth again. But something told her that she wouldn’t. Their role in her life was over. Mary and Kelly were on their own.

  Azadeh had stood up against the back wall, listening to Sam and Sara talk. Now she moved forward carefully, her eyes on Sara. Her face showed great relief at the woman’s return. Being the only female in the room was extremely uncomfortable for her, her culture and its teachings deep and strong, leaving her off balance and unsure around the three young men.

  Sam watched her move forward to stand at Sara’s side, seeing the look of relief on her face. He and his brothers had tried to be careful around her, no man jokes or “dudes” or talk of things she wouldn’t understand, but it was difficult—impossible, really—to put her at ease. There was a world between them, a world that would have been difficult to bridge under the best of circumstances. As things were, with the U.S. having been turned upside down and smashed on its head by an enemy that was certainly from the Middle East, it was that much more difficult for either party to really be at ease.

  Sara looked at Azadeh standing at her side and beckoned her to the window. Having spent twenty-five years as the only woman in the house, being married to a man who was nothing if not a warrior and raising three sons who were as much like their father as any sons could be, Sara immediately understood. She was first and foremost a woman, and she could see more in Azadeh’s anxious eyes than her sons would ever understand. When Azadeh didn’t move, she took her by the hand. Leading her to the window, she pulled her down beside her and they sat side by side on the floor.

  “Didn’t you learn anything?” Ammon pressed after his mother had sat down.

  Sara ignored him for a moment as she studied Azadeh’s face. She was so beautiful, with her enormous eyes and soft, brown skin. She looked . . . Sara didn’t know; she had to think about it. And then it came: She looked royal. Noble and imperial. “You’re lovely, Azadeh, do you know that?”

  Azadeh kept her face down as tears pooled in her eyes.

  Sara pulled her close. “It’s going to be okay,” she said.

  Azadeh tried to pull back, but Sara wouldn’t let her. “It’s going to be okay, Azadeh. It’s going to be all right. You’ve got us now. We are your family. You’re not alone.”

  Azadeh’s shoulders started shaking. A single teardrop slid from her cheek and fell silently to the floor. No one saw the falling tear but Sara, and she pulled the young woman close once more. Azadeh fell against her shoulder, hiding her face against Sara’s neck. “It’s okay . . . it’s okay,” Sara repeated again and again.

  Her sons sat silently by, dumbfounded. Where had these tears come from? They had no idea Azadeh had been feeling . . . what? They didn’t know. One moment she was smiling at them, trying to follow their conversation with her halting English; the next minute she was crying in their mother’s arms. Sam shot a look to Ammon and Luke, who only shrugged their shoulders. They remained silent for a moment until Sam knelt down and touched Azadeh on the arm. She turned to look at him, embarrassed as she pulled away from his mother’s shoulder.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered while drying her eyes. “I’m not bad. I feel not bad. I just . . .”

  Sara put her finger across her lips. “It’s okay, Azadeh. Frankly, we all feel like crying sometimes.”

  “No kidding,” Ammon muttered from behind her. “Every time I smell Sam, I want to cry.”

  They were silent for a second; then they started to laugh. What began as mere giggles soon burst into long, deep, tension-releasing roars. Luke was rolling on the floor. Ammon bent over, holding his side. No one said anything for a moment. Sam sniffed his armpits. “Holy cow,” he said.

  Azadeh laughed the hardest, though she wasn’t even certain what they were laughing about.

  Sam looked at her, embarrassed, then sniffed himself again.

  Glancing at Azadeh, he couldn’t help but feel better. It was so good to see her smile.

  “What can you tell us, Mom?” Sam asked after they had finally settled down. “Did you learn anything at all?”

  Sara wiped her eyes a final time. “No. I really didn’t. I didn’t see or talk to anyone. Honestly, I don’t know anything more than you do.”

  “Is Secretary Marino really going to be the next president of the United States?” Ammon asked.

  Sara thought carefully. “As I understand the situation, yes, he should be.”

  “Are you certain?” Sam pressed her.

  Sara nodded in a barely perceptible movement of her head. “Near as I can tell, it’s true. But I don’t know who else is out there. None of us do. Is there someone who should be ahead of him? He tells me they’re all dead.”

  Sam took a breath and looked away. “I believe him,” he said.

  “So do I,” Sara answered. “I’ve known Brucius Marino for many years. I trust him. More importantly, way more importantly, your father trusted him. He told me many times . . .” She suddenly stopped. The room was quiet for a moment. “Your father and Secretary Marino met frequently over the past year or so,” she continued carefully. “Neil considered him a trusted friend.”

  Ammon slid a little closer. “Do you think we’re being listened to in here?” he asked in a hushed voice.

  Sam glanced toward the door. Sara looked surprised. “Us! Here? Of course not, Ammon,” she said. “There’s no need for them to do that. What could they possibly learn from us?”

  Sam didn’t argue as his eyes swept the room. He wasn’t nearly so sure.

  “It’s just too weird,” Ammon offered in a frustrated tone. “A month ago, ye
ah, sure we had our problems, but we didn’t have anything like this! Nuclear detonations over the Gaza Strip and then Israel. What’s happening over there? We don’t even know. Haven’t heard a thing. Anti-ICBM interceptor missiles pop up everywhere: Iran. Iraq. India. Russia. Most of Europe on hair-trigger nuclear alert. A nuclear explosion over D.C.” He paused, all of them thinking of their husband and father, their hearts as heavy as melted lead. “Then the EMP attack across our country. From coast to coast, it hit us all. Now there’s a struggle to save the government, a death match to see who has power, who’s in charge. Think about that. We don’t really have a government, so many of our leaders have been killed. We don’t even know who’s in charge! For the first time in our history, two men have claimed the presidency. The entire federal government has collapsed into shambles. I never would have dreamed it. I never could have dreamed it. Not here. Not in this country.” He fell silent, exhausted at his own words.

  Luke had been mostly quiet but now he spoke up. “Remember what happened in the Book of Mormon,” he said. “Now, I don’t claim to be a big scripture genius or Bible scholar or anything—”

  “I don’t think any of us were thinking that,” Ammon cut in.

  Luke ignored him. “Okay, we won’t talk about my seminary grades,” he eyed Ammon again, “but at least I didn’t go just so I could sit by Heather Babe-a-licious or whatever that girl’s name was . . .”

  “That’s because she didn’t like you . . .”

  “I do have a point here.”

  Ammon shrugged his shoulders to apologize. “Sorry. My bad.”

  Luke took a deep breath and waited. “Okay, like I was saying—and I’m trying to be serious here—I think this is a point worth making. Think about what you just said, Ammon. We never thought it could be like this, not in this country. But that’s how the people in the Book of Mormon must have felt. Think about Amalickiah and the guys who tried to make him their king. They were Nephite dissenters, their own people, not Lamanite enemies. And they almost destroyed their own nation. Amalickiah wanted to be king. His crew, those pukes who supported him, were mostly lesser judges. The main reason they pushed to make him king was that they wanted to share his power. They started a civil war, an inside battle for their country, that lasted for years and almost destroyed the entire Nephite nation. Kind of like what we’re going through right now.”