by Daron Fraley
“Father, are you well?” Rachel asked.
“I’m fine. I ran from the temple. I just need some air.” While the old high priest took a few moments to compose himself, all patiently waited, some of them gaping.
“Is he ill?” Jonathan whispered.
Rachel shook her head. “Excited, I think. I have no idea what got him so flustered.”
Uzziel cleared his throat and surveyed the faces around him. “This morning I got a note. Oh, what a blessed day!” he broke off, grinning.
“Yes, dear,” Miriam said. “We know about the note. Where did you go?”
Uzziel looked like he was about to cry, not the kind of tears one would have under duress or pain, but the kind one would have when a thoughtful gift was received from a very close friend. Miriam reached out and touched his arm.
“Dear?”
Uzziel came back from the visions that seemed to be playing in his mind and cleared his throat again. “I was called to the temple early. Boaz wanted to talk to me right away. He had seen . . . he heard . . . Boaz told me everything. We prayed together by the Rock of Sacrifice, we went into the temple, directly to . . . and then . . . we both saw . . . I saw him myself . . . I heard the messenger myself, with mine own two ears!”
“Uzziel,” Miriam said tenderly. “You are not making any sense.”
He frowned, thanked her while patting her hand, and then changed the direction of his telling. “I’m sorry. I cannot describe it. Maybe another time . . . but this I can tell you. Please listen! Please understand!”
Every soul was as quiet as a falling feather, all gazing earnestly upon the priest. Jonathan noticed his own excitement. Could it be? Why else would Uzziel be so passionate? Now nervous, a lump formed in his throat.
Suddenly, Uzziel stood. “This is the night! Boaz was told. I was told. I heard it with my own ears . . . Tonight, the sign will be given!” He nearly collapsed back into his chair.
Rachel gasped. A whispered murmur flowed through the gathering.
It’s true! Jonathan thought. All these years. Nobody knew when it would be. And now, the promised sign is at hand. In my day, I will see the sign.
Gazing around him, Jonathan saw that everyone seemed to understand the significance of what had been said—all except Pekah and Abigail, who exchanged blank expressions, glancing about, as if hoping for someone to explain.
“Pekah,” Jonathan said after he smiled at Abigail. “Do you remember the day we walked the road to Ain, the same day that you made your covenant? We talked about the promised King. The same who is called ‘The One Who Would Suffer’?”
Pekah’s eyes lit up with recognition. “Yes,” he said. “You explained that the Holy King was not of this world, and that He would not be born here on Gan, but elsewhere.”
“Yes, Pekah. And there would be a sign—a sign in the heavens, pointing us to Him.”
Abigail placed her hand over her mouth.
“Jonathan?” she asked meekly. “Pekah taught me about the Holy One. He is about to be born?”
“Yes. When the sign appears.”
Uzziel had been listening. Now able to speak again, he nearly shouted, “And the sign is at hand! It will be given tonight!”
* * *
Hours later, Pekah heard a chatter like the buzzing of bees hanging over the entire city of Ramathaim. News had traveled like a tidal wave. Every edifice in the city that had roof-top access was now filled to capacity with families and their friends. Other homes with patios or gardens were no less crowded. Mothers and fathers and children of every age, the old and infirm, the infants born on that very day, and every other soul, it seemed, had been gathered in by loved ones. All looked to the heavens, eagerly watching the sister suns as they dipped closer and closer to the horizon. A few wispy clouds provided an exquisite show of blues, purples, reds, and pinks as the last crescent edges of Azure and Aqua fell below the mountain tops of the east.
Then, just as the last beams disappeared over the lowest point, Pekah expected the light to wane, but the sky actually began to get brighter. Turning toward the west with all the other anxious observers in Ramathaim, he watched as a suns-rise took place, similar to every suns-rising he had ever witnessed, except for one significant difference. There was not a burning celestial orb present. Nothing was there. It appeared as if a great, invisible glow-stone grew in the west, getting brighter and brighter until the entire sky was filled with a light equal to the sister suns at mid-day.
With an arm around his dear wife, Pekah continued to watch with awe and wonder. Jade, Ebony, and Sienna, the three moons of Gan, all rose close together, three days short of a full cycle when the three of them would actually cross and the expected characteristic face would then appear. Even the moons appeared different. They seemed to absorb the glowing light in the sky, and yet, at the same time, reflect that light, their coloring a brilliant green-gray, a superb reflective coal, and a deep, shiny, scarlet-brown. And the sky all around the moons was blue—bluer than Pekah had ever seen before.
Then, from the southwest, Pekah heard a very faint noise—almost like the slow ripping of paper or the hiss of sizzling bacon. A small celestial object coursed through the sky like a lazy meteor. Trailing a cloudy tail of light, the comet spewed hundreds of falling particles, each of them burning fire-red lines across the sky. It disappeared in the direction of the sister suns.
Gasps, cheers, and shouts echoed all around. Uzziel clapped his hands together and held them fast, as if he had just seen a fantastic production at the city amphitheater. Jonathan and Rachel kissed, holding each other tight. Abigail put her arm through Pekah’s and pulled him close. He kissed her gently on the forehead and told her that he loved her dearly.
As he gazed upward at the celestial display unfolding before his eyes, Pekah suddenly wondered why nobody was afraid. The comet had been eerily close. The source of the heavenly glow was invisible to his eyes. Yet there was not a single cry of fear, nor a comment of worry by anyone around him.
And then it all made sense. He heard the most sublime sounds of music . . . music and trumpets! He hadn’t noticed it until that moment. It came from the heavens above him, filling him like water into a vase until it overflowed. Unique and pleasant, the music and singing felt familiar, reminding Pekah of a field of flowers or a mountain stream.
And then . . . Pekah saw them. Angels. Angels descending from the heavens, all declaring the tidings that worlds away, the Holy One had been born.
###
Sneak Preview
Heaven’s Garden
Book Two: The Chronicles of Gan
* * * * *
Chapter 1
Fugitives
Who are you?” Rezon demanded, so close to the man that a drop of his spittle landed on the prisoner’s cheek.
“My name is Balak.” He let out a grunt, straining against the oak staff that held his arms uncomfortably behind him. Gad and Jael jerked the staff higher, lifting Balak’s upper arms to the point that he cried out in pain, his voice low and croaking. “Please! I have a message for you.”
Rezon stepped back, studying the Danielite man. He nodded to his captains. They let go of the staff, allowing it to fall into a crusty drift of snow at the edge of the cave. Balak leaned forward to rest against the smooth trunk of a dead pine, breathing heavily.
“Well? What is it?” Rezon said, his breath sending puffs of vapor into the frigid morning air.
Balak straightened and faced the former general of Gideon. “I bring a message from my captain—a captain of Daniel. He wishes to help your cause.”
Rezon looked sidelong at Balak, suspicious. “What do you mean, ‘help my cause’?”
“There are those in Daniel who are not pleased with Jonathan as our king. When the son of Samuel was anointed, he placed Gideonites on his council. I lost my seat, and the little bit of income that came with it.”
“You don’t like Gideonites?” Rezon sneered.
“I prefer things the way they were.”
“What of your captain? Why does he wish to help?”
“He has his own reasons.”
“So, are you angry about losing the income, or losing what little feeling of power you had?” Rezon asked.
“Both,” Balak said, his voice deep.
Rezon watched the tall Danielite for a moment, then looked at Gad. “Where did you find him?”
“Making his way through the trees on the back slope. He was alone.”
Rezon took a step toward the Danielite. “You came alone?”
“Yes, but—”
“He has a pack horse,” Gad interrupted.
“I brought supplies,” Balak quickly added.
“To purchase my favor?” Rezon asked.
“To assist your cause. There are still three months of winter. What have you been eating?”
It started to snow once more, and a large flake landed on Rezon’s face. He brushed it off. “There’s plenty of game, and we are men of Gideon. Did you think we would perish in the mountains?”
“You don’t have bread, do you?” Balak spat, challenging Rezon.
Rezon let out a laugh. “No. We do not have bread.” He put a hand up to stay Jael, who stepped forward as if to harm the man, already fingering the pommel of his sword. “Bravely spoken, Balak.”
“I have flour. I also have oil, fruits, and nuts. Compliments of my captain.”
“I don’t recall that you said his name—who is your captain, and what does he want?”
Balak smiled. “He will continue to send supplies when he can. He will also warn you when Amon’s army, now loyal to the Danielite king, comes searching for you. His only request is this: When you come back into power, with Daniel in subjection, he wishes to be remembered. But for now, he chooses to hide his identity.”
“What if I simply take your gifts and then kill you if you don’t tell me his name?”
“Do as you wish,” Balak said, head high.
Rezon grinned. “I like you, Balak. We have a deal. Tell your captain he will be remembered.”
Balak bowed respectfully, snow now sticking to his brown hair.
“Gad,” Rezon said, pointing to the trail, “Bring up his horse.”
Saluting, Gad left.
“How long will you be staying with us?” Rezon asked.
“I won’t be,” Balak said. “I left Ramathaim for Karmel two days ago, on an errand for the king. If I don’t return to Hasor by tomorrow night, it will look suspicious. And I would rather not get caught up here in the coming storm.” Balak turned slightly, gesturing in the direction of the northern plains. “While I gathered the supplies in the markets, I heard that several farms surrounding Karmel had recently been raided.”
Jael cleared his throat, catching Balak’s attention. Once again, Jael appeared to be irritated. Rezon stepped between them.
“I have to admit,” Rezon said, “we do get tired of eating meat. And farms have other needed items.”
Balak didn’t comment.
Rezon twisted his facial hair, bringing his beard to a point. It made his chin itch. He brushed it out and pointed at Balak. “You said Jonathan put Gideonites on his council. Who are they?”
“One is a blind goatherd from around Gilad, I think. His name is Eder. A doddering fool, in my opinion. The other three you know.”
Rezon crossed his arms to ward off a shiver. Even with the furs he wore, he was chilled by the breeze that had picked up.
“The other three,” Balak continued, “are Captain Amon, now General of the Host of Gideon, Captain Mehida, and Captain Pekah.”
Rezon startled. “What did you say?”
“Amon, Mehida, and Pekah.”
“You lie,” Rezon snapped, his heart beating fast.
“Lie? About what?” Balak asked. After a tense moment, his brow lifted. “Ah! You have not heard, have you. Pekah lives.”
Rezon swallowed hard. Not possible, he thought. My dagger pierced his heart. He was dead before his face hit the ground. He glanced at Jael, who had stepped closer, wearing an expression of disbelief.
“Who told you Pekah is alive?” Jael demanded.
“Nobody. I have seen him in Hasor. He is alive, I assure you.”
“This has to be a trick,” Rezon said. “Does he have a twin?”
Balak now appeared to be nervous. “No. It is Pekah himself. I cannot explain it. But there is a rumor he was raised from the dead.”
Angry, Rezon pulled a knife, brandishing it near Balak’s chest. “Impossible. Did your captain tell you to spread this falsehood? Tell me the truth, or I will slit your throat.”
Balak straightened. “I am not lying. Pekah lives. Kill me if you must, but I’m telling you the truth.”
Rezon let his arm drop. Stepping back, he turned away from Balak, his mind racing. Impossible, he thought again. He exhaled loudly. But then again, who is Pekah? A young soldier with no skill, and therefore of no consequence. He clenched his teeth hard enough to make them hurt.
“I’ll kill him again,” Rezon swore, defiant.
Balak nodded. “I agree—someone must. Pekah has led all the expeditions to find you, but he has been looking in the wrong places.”
Rezon caught onto his statement. “How, exactly, did you find me?”
Balak smirked. “Early in the war, my captain met and gained the confidence of one of your secret messengers. Noah of Maharai passed through Hasor recently. He knew where to find you.”
“I will have his head on a spit!” Jael said, peppering his statement with profanity.
Rezon put a hand on Jael’s shoulder. “No, Jael. Noah is trustworthy. He would not have revealed our location unless this nameless Danielite captain joined the oath. I will reward Noah for this. We have just been offered a very powerful position in our little game—far more power than I could have possibly hoped. Now we have an inside man.” Looking at Balak, Rezon quickly corrected himself. “Inside men.”
“Sworn to your service,” Balak said. “I should be going. I’ll help Gad unload the supplies. Until we meet again?”
“Until then,” Rezon replied, his tone still bitter.
Balak walked off, the falling snow quickly hiding his footsteps.
* * *
Later that evening, the storm broke, and clouds lifted until they scraped only the tips of the jagged peaks of the Hara Range. Rezon sat upon a log that had been cut earlier in the day by his men. Working together, the fifteen men had easily filled the mouth of the cave with enough firewood to last a week. He watched the narrow trail before him, and stood as soon as he noticed movement in the trees.
Breathing hard as they came, Zev and Gideon both strained against heavy burdens, canvas bags thrown over their shoulders.
Rezon let out a short whistle like the chirp of a sparrow, and several of his men hurried from the cave, weapons in hand.
“Help them,” Rezon ordered, sitting back on his log. He watched as Gideon dropped his bundle, glad to be rid of it. When Zev refused to let them help, Rezon stood up again, curious.
Zev tromped up the rest of the trail, panting. “General Rezon . . . I brought . . . a gift.” Zev set his bag on the ground, a whimper rising from its folds.
“What is this?”
“I found her tending sheep,” Zev gasped. “She was alone. In the foothills. We won’t be followed.” Then, as if quite pleased with his own humor, Zev said, “If anyone goes looking for her, they’ll think she was taken by a wolf.”
Rezon smirked.
Zev untied the top of the bag, revealing the blonde tresses of a young woman’s head, a bump rising just above her ear.
Rezon pulled down the edge of the canvas to reveal her face—beautiful and innocent, no more than seventeen years of age. He bent and smelled her hair, inhaling deeply. “Wonderful. She is clean.”
The young woman began to stir.
“Take her into the cave,” he said, smiling.
Zev and Gideon pulled her from the bag, supporting her under the arms. They walk
ed her into the cave, disappearing around a corner.
A piercing scream, quickly muffled, flowed out of the dim cavern.
I won’t be cold tonight, Rezon thought, licking his cracked lips.
###
* * * * *
NOTE TO THE READER
Did you like this book? Do you want to be informed when HEAVEN’S GARDEN is available? Follow my blog (www.daronfraley.com/blog), or follow me on twitter (www.twitter.com/DaronFraley). Be sure and tell a friend where to get their free copy of THE THORN. Thank you!
* * * * *
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Daron Fraley was born in Powell, Wyoming, but doesn't consider himself a cowboy. Living in France for a couple of years provided him the opportunity to hone his cooking skills and to become addicted to good food and chocolate. Apart from his loving family, teaching and writing are his two most favorite things in the world. A classic computer geek, he still likes to fish and camp, makes a mean apple or pumpkin pie from scratch, and he once fixed a gas clothes dryer using photocopier parts. With all of his interests in music, art, the sciences, and religion (especially religion), he would have been quite comfortable living during the Renaissance. Having toured chilly castles while in France, he is glad he didn't live during that time.
After ten total years in the wonderful state of Indiana, Daron, his wife Jennifer, and their six children once again live in the beautiful Rockies, close to friends and family in Utah and Wyoming.
The Thorn is Daron’s first novel.
To learn more about the author, go to:
http://www.daronfraley.com
