by Misty Moncur
When the soldiers settled back into their own conversations, Kenai asked, “How is Mother?”
“Happy.”
“I’m happy for her too. She’s had enough grief.”
“Much of it caused by you when you joined Moroni’s army.”
“Do not start talking about who has caused Mother the most grief.”
He had a point.
“We should both be tied up and shot with our own bows,” I conceded.
“I’ll load the arrows,” Jarom offered.
“You’ve caused your own Mother grief,” I told him.
“Nah,” he said. “She’s got the girls to keep her company. She doubtless barely notices I’ve been gone.”
My eyes shot to his. “I hope you don’t believe that,” I said.
He shrugged and grabbed my hand.
This Jarom was very little like the Jarom with the brooding eyes and slow smile I had left in Manti. The brooding was still there but hidden by these strange smiles that did not ring true. This was a wall, one he did not seem to be letting down. Whether he was protecting himself from my reaction to his arrival home or from something else, I didn’t know, but I would not wall him out. I would be honest with him.
I tried to let go, to shake his hand away, but he held on tight, teasing me.
I couldn’t help but laugh a little. “Jarom!” I said. “I should tell you right now that I’m in love with someone else. There can be none of this,” I held our hands up, “between us.”
He dropped my hand and placed his over his heart. “You wound me,” he said dramatically. But then he leaned in closer and said, “But we don’t need love to kiss in the moonlight.”
Kenai cleared his throat. “Don’t make me skin you alive.”
Jarom spared barely a glance for my brother as he snaked an arm around me, inappropriately cupping my waist with his hand. I gave a little yelp, and he drew me to a stop so he could place his other arm around me and pull me much too close to him.
But he had caught my arm between us. I threw it up and jammed the heel of my palm into his nose, causing it to bleed instantly.
A little blood would not set back a seasoned soldier like Jarom for long, even if I had broken his nose—which I hadn’t—so I punched him in the stomach and proceeded to drop him to the ground.
The men around us fell silent.
I had my blade at Jarom’s neck.
“No need to skin him, Kenai,” I said. “I’ll do it myself.”
Jarom stared up at me with fire in his eyes and deep red blood slowly seeping from his nose. “You’re perfect,” he said.
I tried not to show how his comment pleased me. I touched the sharp edge of the blade to his skin. “Your mother would have my hide if I skinned you before she can cook you a welcome meal, but I think you do need a shave.”
He reached a hand up and rubbed it over his stubbled cheek. “Captain, call off your sister.”
Kenai gave a huff of amusement. He moved off down the road, and the others followed their captain. “Can’t you control your own girl?” he called back over his shoulder.
I glanced up at Kenai’s retreating back, which was a mistake. No sooner had I done so than Jarom kicked himself up and reversed our positions. He held both my wrists above my head with one strong hand.
I stared up into his face, calmly allowing him to pin me down. There was no point in struggling. There was no way for me to get up unless he permitted it. We’d wrestled in dog piles with my brothers many times over the years, and when he had been younger and smaller, I had been able to hold my own at times. But not now.
“I mean it, Jarom. Friendship is all I can offer you.”
“Is friendship all you feel for me?”
I swallowed. There was no way to answer that question. “We’ve been apart so long we’re practically strangers.”
He nodded agreement, but said, “You haven’t changed. You still fight first and talk later. You still have no idea what you do to a man.”
“And how would a boy like you know?”
His eyes flashed with hurt.
I swallowed again. “Let me up,” I said.
He immediately moved, got to his feet, and held out a hand, which I took. We started after the company of men, who were moving along the road with all their gear rattling softly around them.
I handed Jarom a folded bandage from my satchel for his nose. “Friendship it will be then, Ket,” he said as he absently dabbed at the small amount of blood there. “Only, will you keep your mind open to the possibility of more?”
“That’s the first thing you’ve said that makes sense,” I said. “I may be the same, but you have changed.”
He slowly let out a deep breath. “I know.”
“Kenai has too,” I said.
“Kenai has too,” he agreed. “Don’t judge us, though, Ket.”
I laughed a little. “Don’t forget that I’ve been to war myself. I’ve seen what you’ve seen.”
He stopped walking, and I drew to a stop too, turning to face him.
“You haven’t.” His brown eyes became intense. “You’ll get along with both of us better, especially Kenai, if you realize that now.”
I searched his eyes, wishing I knew what he meant, and I did him the courtesy of not asking more questions.
“Darius will be glad to see you,” I said as I turned to walk again. “He’s getting pretty tired of hanging out with me.”
“I’ll be glad to see him too. Has he found a girl yet?”
“Are girls all you think about? And no, now that you mention it, he has not been looking for a girl.”
“Wise man. You girls are all trouble.”
“I thought you’d never realize that.” I heaved a melodramatic sigh while I wondered silently who else he was talking about.
“Well I didn’t say you wouldn’t be worth the trouble.”
“Ha. Every other man I know has decided I am not worth the trouble. Save yourself the hassle and find a better girl. There are many better girls than me.”
He brushed my hand, but didn’t take it. “I hope you don’t believe that.”
That startled me. I did believe it. I considered myself basically unmarriageable and figured any man that Micah wrangled into marrying me would be settling for a very poor wife in exchange for the novelty of having a warrior launder his tunics.
“Don’t settle on me, Jarom. That’s all.”
“I was right. You haven’t changed.”
But he was wrong. I had.
The people of the village were already out on the street greeting Kenai. The rest of the men had gone on to the city or other towns and villages where their own families lived.
Mother was still hugging him, and Dinah was waiting anxiously near her elbow, probably to demand of Kenai where her second son was.
When she saw Jarom walk into the village whole, healthy, and smiling, she placed her hand over her mouth and her face crumpled—her whole body crumpled—into tears of relief.
Jarom stepped to her and folded her into his arms. “Ah, mama, don’t cry now,” I heard him say into her hair. I moved away to give them their moment of reunion.
Micah and Darius were working, so as Mother drew Kenai into the courtyard and offered him food, I said I would go fetch them home.
I stopped to get Kalem, Melia, and Muloki on my way back. Kalem and Muloki were hauling their goods into the lean-to on the back of the hut. It was full, so I knew they would be setting out in the morning for other markets.
“Mother wishes you all to come for the evening meal tonight to celebrate Kenai’s homecoming.”
Kalem’s face lit as if it were his own son returning.
“What can I bring?” asked Melia. “Bread? I have some made.”
“That would be perfect, thank you.”
Melia made the most wonderful bread from wheat and other grains. I couldn’t believe I had gone my whole life eating only corn cakes.
“I’ll hurry with the invento
ry,” Muloki said, and I watched as he returned to the merchant’s cart at the back of the courtyard.
“Do you travel as far as Judea to market?” I asked Kalem.
“Not usually,” he said. “Their trade comes in on the South Road, but I have been to their market on occasion. Why?”
I shrugged the question away, but he had to know. I still had not heard from Zeke. He was so obviously avoiding me and the family obligations he would have when he returned home. Kalem gave me an encouraging smile, but it faded when he saw my eyes turn to Muloki.
I joined Muloki at the cart. He was making tally marks on a scroll, but he set it down and tossed me an apple with a grin.
“Thanks,” I said as I caught it. “Listen.” I stepped closer. “Kenai watched you at the gate of Antiparah for days. Weeks. He was the one who asked me to go in. He may recognize you.”
“Kenai was your commander that day?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“I cannot wait to meet the man who would do this to his sister.”
Muloki felt the same way about it as Gideon and Micah had—he didn’t like it.
I touched his scarred arm. “I agreed. I obeyed his command and received miracles in return. I met you. You have come here and found a new family, new friends, the Gospel. You have fallen in love.”
He glanced at Melia, busily gathering things to take to the village, though I could see he tried to stop himself from doing it by looking down.
“Do not think harshly of Kenai. You will see that he loves me. I considered it a high honor that he esteemed me capable of that mission.” Then I added more softly, “You have not hurt me. I wish you all the happiness with your Melia that an old warrior can find.”
He flashed me his grin, the one that still melted my knees and, if I was being honest with myself, probably always would.
I cleared my throat. “Kenai might not remember you. If he doesn’t, I don’t think we should bring it up.” Everyone else knew about Antiparah, but somehow I didn’t think Kenai would see Muloki as everyone else did.
Muloki nodded, and I turned to leave.
“Keturah,” he said, his accent still heavy. “I will never do ill to the man who made it possible for me to find the Gospel.” His eyes went again to Melia. And love. He didn’t say that. He didn’t need to.
“See you in a while,” I said. I waved to the others and left.
My three brothers sat together in the courtyard while Mother and Cana bustled about.
I could see Dinah and her girls bustling about their own yard. It saddened me a little that Cana’s first priority was to her husband’s family. This was a joyous day for her own family too, after all. No one would have begrudged her helping her own mother, but Cana was very proper in all things. That was one of the things I envied most about her.
But her eagerness to serve in this way and the ease and practice with which she did it took the pressure off of me to do it. I felt both relief and shame for this.
When Kalem, Melia and Muloki came through the gate, I sensed Kenai’s tension almost immediately, though I couldn’t say if it was from recognition or from something else entirely.
I couldn’t describe what was different in Kenai’s personality, but it was something. Whatever Jarom had been alluding to—that thing, or things, they had both seen that I had not—it had changed them both. They wore their disillusionment as prominently as they wore their weapons. Their eyes had a bleakness in them I wasn’t sure the absence of fighting and the love of their families could easily wash away.
I thought of my sprained ankle dangling in the headwaters of the Sidon River and how it had taken so long for the pain to ease. Surely God could heal their hearts in time.
But for now, Kenai wore an expression I was sure they both would have been wearing if Jarom had been beside him. The Lamanites had been the enemy on the battlefield for more than five long years, and here the enemy stood before us in our own courtyard.
Kenai slowly stood and regarded Muloki.
Muloki regarded him back.
Mother, oblivious to the undercurrents of entrenched suspicion, performed all the introductions.
Instead of reaching out to politely clasp arms, Kenai stepped forward and threw a punch at Muloki’s face.
“Control yourself, soldier!” Kalem barked out before Kenai made contact. And he surely would have because Muloki made no move to dodge or counter the punch.
Kenai instantly pulled his arm back, but stood shaking with rage in the midst of us all.
I had seen this before, and of course Kalem had too—men who could not stop fighting when the fighting was done. I had seen men who curled into small balls, whispered for their mothers, and refused to fight even before the fighting had begun. And I had seen various degrees of both of these extremes.
Every stripling was stalwart, brave, faithful, and firm in his belief that God would deliver him. But just as none of them had escaped physical wounds, none of them had escaped the mental effects of battle.
Darius still slept on his sword, and I felt uncomfortable without a companion in the woods. I was only at peace with a weapon in my hand, but had nightmares every night of slitting defenseless throats on the Cumeni crossroad.
Kenai threw punches at Lamanites.
It was the same thing.
“Come on, son,” Kalem said. “Your mother has prepared a wonderful meal for you.” He tenderly took Kenai by the shoulders and led him to a stool at the far end of the yard where Kenai sat and put his head in his hands without looking at anybody.
Chapter 20
Mother and Kalem were married on a misty day in between bursts of rain showers. Some of the village women thought this was a bad omen. They whispered it behind their hands, as they had once whispered about me, while we waited for the men of the wedding party to come for us.
But the rain, the smell of it and the gray clouds, reminded me of the drizzly evening I had spent in the Judean guard tower with Gideon. On rainy days, I felt wistful longing, and I felt it heavily on that one as I watched my mother be wed.
When the high priest addressed Mother by her full name and title, Leah of Middoni, Daughter of Helam, Wife of Rabbanah, she glanced guiltily at her four children who stood in various degrees of confusion around the canopy.
Glancing at my brothers, I could see that Micah knew, or had at least suspected.
Those gates he remembered Father leaving through had not been small garden gates like we had in the village, and I thought his memories were probably making more sense to him.
But I could see neither Kenai nor Darius knew who Father was or what that made us.
After the ceremony, Micah gave Cana a kiss before she went to serve the food to the guests, and the four of us drew aside together.
“Did I hear that right?” Kenai asked Micah as he visibly tried to ignore the kiss. “Rabbanah? The powerful and great king?”
“You did,” I said. “I heard Kalem talking about it once.”
“Eavesdropping?” Darius asked.
I shrugged.
“But why did she never tell us this?” asked Micah. “Why didn’t you?”
It wasn’t that I hadn’t wanted to. I hadn’t known how to. I shrugged again. “How was I to bring it up? I didn’t even know if it was true. But I have thought on it, and I think it was a part of Mother’s life that no longer existed, a life she had forsaken completely. I think it pained her a great deal to speak of Father.”
“But, if this is to be believed, Micah is the heir to the throne of the Lamanites, and he lives in a hut in a tiny village,” Kenai protested.
“Would it have changed anything?” I countered. “Would we have acted differently if we had known?”
“Yes!” Kenai insisted. “I’d have acted…better.”
“How long have you known?” Micah asked.
“How long have you? I could see on your face that it wasn’t a surprise.”
“I didn’t know.” But then he grimaced. “I have many u
nexplained memories, that’s all. Memories I have never put words to.”
Micah had been six when Father died, Kenai barely five. Kenai was frowning now in an effort to recall something of the past, but Darius was like me, with no way of remembering the Land of Middoni, royal courts, or Father.
“That explains my steel jaguar shield,” said Darius.
“And my full body armor,” Micah added with an unexpected note of humor.
I looked to Mother and Kalem where they were receiving well-wishers. She caught my eye and grimaced in a kind of apology, but I gave her an encouraging smile and a little wave. I had long since made my peace with her silence on this matter. She had a reason, just as we all had reasons for the choices we made, and we would hear it later.
I turned back to my brothers. “Kalem’s army went to battle specifically to remove the king from power. They did not like that Father had joined the Church of God.”
“You should have told us,” said Kenai, hands on his hips, staring at me.
I looked down. “I should have, and I’m sorry.”
“Let us give Mother her joyous day without pressing her,” Micah decided for us. “Let her tell us about our heritage when she feels the time is right, in her own time and her own way.”
My brothers and I looked toward Mother, and we all agreed.
Over the next days, I took Kenai with me to the falls several times, thinking he might find a measure of peace there like I did, but he seemed to be more at ease working in the corn fields, and so after the morning meal at home, we would part company for the whole of the day.
On my first day alone again, instead of going to the falls, I went to the place of obsidian. It was abundant and I knelt among the broken shards and gathered what I needed quickly.
But I didn’t leave.
I stayed on my knees, and I silently told God what I had decided to do. I had prayed so many times about this, but where I had felt confusion before, a whorl of turmoil and indecision, there remained nothing but stillness in my heart.
The only thing left to do was act on it.
I found Micah in the hills with his sheep. He was sitting on a small outcropping of rock and writing, probably poetry, on a tablet of thick flax paper.
