The Thorn tcog-1

by Daron Fraley

  The glow it produced allowed Jonathan to see a breadth of about six feet in a dim circle before him. To make the light of the half-hidden crystal more effective, he unsheathed his sword and held it by the hilt, with its crystal blade pointed downward. Both the small, charged stone in the pommel and the glow-stone sword blade bathed his feet with an eerie, pale blue light.

  Jonathan opened the outer door and put his hand on the edge, then put upward pressure on it to prevent the hinges from creaking. He pushed it wide open, then crossed the dark, deserted passageway to the inner door of the Council Hall. Once again he prevented the door from making noise, but this one he left only slightly ajar as he entered the main council chamber. There he found his father Samuel on the floor, lying in his bloodstained robes.

  Squelching a cry, Jonathan ran to his father’s side and took Samuel into his arms. The cold body was heavy and stiff. Jonathan buried his face in the robes and wept. Several times Jonathan laid Samuel to the ground as he collapsed into a sobbing heap, after which he would pound the polished floor with his fist and then crawl back to his father to lift him close again. Tears of intense sadness streamed down into his beard, only to be replaced again with the hot tears of fury. Like water from a vase, his strength poured out until he was empty, and he collapsed.

  Some time later when his weeping subsided, Jonathan found himself lying on the floor, staring up at the high windows of the Council Hall where some small amount of moons-light filtered in. Jonathan could feel the shoulder of his adored father beneath his head, and he wondered how long he had rested there. Rolling over onto his knees, Jonathan gazed upon his father’s still features. He bowed his head in prayer and started to speak, his voice cracking into almost a whimper.

  “My God. My King. Help me.”

  Unable to say another word, he listened. Another tear rolled down his cheek. Brushing it away, he breathed deep and exhaled slowly. Then Jonathan felt it. Comfort, the loving hands of a compassionate God warming his heart as a reassuring inner voice told him all would be well for his people. That singular thought was joined by a very personal promise that came into his mind with even more clarity: he would be kept safe.

  Jonathan reached for his father again to pull him into a close embrace. With a gentleness one would have when handling an infant, he then respectfully laid his father to the floor beside the glowing crystal sword. He gazed into the careworn face of the man he most admired in life. Lines caused by time and concern for others furrowed his father’s wise brow. The years of a dignified sojourn in the world flowed around Samuel’s sun-darkened face like the mane of a lion, his silvered hair and beard almost hiding his strong neck. Even now in death and at rest, his father was truly an imposing figure-strong, straight, and regal.

  Samuel had been a good man. In Jonathan’s eyes, there had never been one better. He had served the tribe as Chief Judge for just short of twenty years, supporting himself and his small family by his own labors. For this, he had been admired and revered. Samuel had never asked his people to do anything he would not do himself, even during difficult times. He had become a master at caring for his own family while still shouldering the responsibilities of leadership and judgment in serving the people he loved. In fact, much of the weathering of the old judge’s features had occurred during the countless seasons of working in the fields, with his late wife at his side. Samuel was loved most of all, however, because he had much preferred the title of judge to that of king, and had asked the people to address him as such. He never taxed his people for his own support, and never caused them to do evil. Instead, he had taught his people to have faith and hope, all the while remaining obedient to God’s commands.

  As Jonathan knelt there studying his father, he wondered why the soldiers had killed him. It was actually Jonathan they wanted dead, he being the last direct heir of the bloodline, for Samuel had no other children. It had been dictated from the time the Original Man left his final prophetic blessing upon his sons that Daniel would have the Rights of Judgment. The family of Daniel would rule as judges and kings until the end if they remained faithful. Gideon and Uzzah had both been promised great prosperity if they would support Daniel, but from the beginning, there had been jealousy.

  Those born into the Tribe of Gideon, wearing the Mark of the Raven, felt that if the birthright heir of the Tribe of Daniel could be removed-preferably by death-and the scepter fell into their hands, they would have the right to rule. The Thorn was the physical symbol of that right.

  Jonathan shook his head in dismay. A simple object, the scepter only symbolized authority and power-it was not authority to rule in and of itself. And yet the Gideonites did not seem to understand this.

  Thunk!

  What was that? Jonathan jerked to a standing position.

  A loud, dull thump came from above him and to his left, in the upper palace. Jonathan thought he also heard a yell somewhere in the distance, perhaps in the palace, but he could not tell for sure. Someone is still here! Jonathan whisked his blade from the smooth, polished floor.

  Using the light from his glowing sword to navigate around piles of books, maps, and other items torn from the shelves, Jonathan raced to the stone judgment seat. He sat down, and while stomping his left heel against a small protruding piece of stone at the base, he twisted the right armrest outward. Reaching into a concealed compartment, he removed a cloth-wrapped rod, about seven inches in total length. He shoved it into a pocket of his undershirt beneath the folds of his tunic and cloak, and slid the armrest back into place until it clicked.

  Time to get out.

  Stepping over the debris on the floor, Jonathan knelt one last time by his father. He hesitated, but knew if he took time to move the body, he might not escape. He kissed his father on the forehead, then made his way to the hallway door, which was still ajar. Not wanting to make any noise by moving it, he squeezed through the opening with some difficulty. As Jonathan stole across the passageway that led to the palace, he peered to the right. At the end of the hall was a large door and a flight of steps leading to the second, third, and fourth floors of the palace. He watched the stairwell, not surprised at the flickers of light from above that dispelled some of the shadow.

  Jonathan hastened through the wide-open outer door and kept close to the wall until he reached the corner of the building. He popped the glow-stone out of his sword pommel, stuffed it back into his belt pouch, then returned the sword to its hard leather sheath. With the lights extinguished, he sprinted into the open. He skirted the stone fences bordering the east side of the barn, passing his previous hiding place on the way toward the garden wall. Glancing back at frequent intervals to be sure he was not being followed, Jonathan ascended the stairs to the southwestern guard tower.

  Once in the abandoned tower, he lifted up the bench seat and retrieved a shoulder sack of provisions and supplies. He also grabbed a large bow and a well-stocked quiver of fletched arrows from the wall rack. A long, silky rope hung on a post. Jonathan looped it around the main roof support, leaving both ends loose. With bow in hand and the sack and quiver on his shoulder, he tossed both rope ends over the rock wall, shinnied down, then jerked the loop free.

  Jonathan tried to limit his noise as he jogged down the cobbled garden path between rows of old olive trees. He followed the moons-lit way toward the grain field, coiling the trailing rope as he went. Once the lengths of smooth rope had all been looped into his large hand, he paused to tuck it into his shoulder sack.

  He rushed through the damp wheat and only looked back once he had made it to the dirt path bordering the forest. As far as Jonathan could tell, he had not been noticed or followed. The three moons were bright now, and by their light he could plainly see that the field remained empty. He watched the broken garden gate for a few seconds, then turned toward the trees. With one last sorrowful glance at his home, he disappeared into the dark forest from whence the Gideonite soldiers had come.

  Chapter 4

  Refuge

  Familiar tr
ails wound between aged trees, and Jonathan needed no more than the lights from above to find his way. He avoided thoughts of his father. His mind wandered to happier times as he felt his way down the dark paths splashed with occasional moons-light. As a boy, and even as a young man, he had spent many hours playing among these forest trees with his friends-especially with Eli, his closest friend. Eli’s keen gift of observation frequently made him the winner of any game that involved tracking or hiding from each other.

  The sweet memories of carefree games with Eli made Jonathan smile as he went along. He took care not to leave signs of his passing-his footsteps light, his movements deliberate and smooth. As if to address his old friend, he whispered, “See, not even a single snapped branch or crushed twig left behind. Track me now, brother!”

  Jonathan pressed southward for almost an hour until the terrain changed, the once-smooth, level paths starting to vary in elevation as the forest thinned. On the west side of the trail, the ground steepened, causing the trail to be diverted. He continued past the hill and approached another bend where moons-light reflected off sheer cliff faces now looming above him.

  He stepped off the path between two close trees, taking care not to make too much noise, then paused to watch and listen. The forest was calm. A gentle breeze rustled the old oaks, but nothing else moved. Confident he was truly alone, he took fifteen paces to the base of the rock cliff and stood next to an old, dead tree. The weather-worn trunk still supported many branches bigger than the width of Jonathan’s shoulders. He gazed upward, intent on ascending to a large branch about twenty-five feet up that rested against the side of the cliff face. From the base of the featureless cliff, nothing seemed unusual about the specific place where the oak touched the rock. Jonathan knew otherwise, and he grabbed a limb just within reach. The familiarity of it all caused the corners of his mouth to twitch with excitement as he climbed.

  Once he reached the intended branch, he could see the previously hidden depression in the rock wall just above him, shaped in such a way that until a person got right up to it, they couldn’t tell the cliff wasn’t solid all the way to the top. He stood on the huge branch and peered into the darkness of a natural cave.

  Jonathan reached up and pulled himself to a sitting position on the ledge. Again he listened for any sign of movement in the forest below. Hearing nothing, he crawled back to the depression in the cliff face. Before entering the darkness, he reached into his belt pouch to retrieve his glow-stone and rub it to life, then crawled on his hands and knees into the cave. Five feet in, the chamber opened up with a raised ceiling, high enough for him to stand. Stashed along the edges of the small room were two complete bedrolls and other assorted blankets. There were also some cooking pans with utensils, old wooden chairs, a glow-stone lantern, some rope, arrows, and numerous other discarded items from the many visits he had made in years past with Eli and their other friends.

  Now well after midnight, Jonathan could feel his tired bones. More than that, his heart ached with grief as the memories of the evening flooded back into his mind. Blinking away tears, he made his bed ready for the night. He was grateful the stash of bedding appeared to be pest-free, but he shook the blankets anyway.

  Although hungry, he decided to wait until morning to arrange the supply sack he had taken from the guard tower. Jonathan removed his sword belt and laid it close to his bed. After taking off his cloak and his boots, he retrieved the steel dagger from his right boot sheath, placing it under a goose down pillow that had been rolled into the bedding, glad he and Eli had stashed the pillow in the cave several years ago.

  A bit dusty, he thought to himself, but still very usable.

  The summer night air felt quite warm, both outside and inside the cave, but the soft woolen blankets pulled to his chin still comforted him. He lay there with his head turned and stared out the moons-lit cave entrance. When tears came again, Jonathan attempted to pray, but his troubled thoughts prevented him from concentrating. Eventually weariness overcame him, and he entered a fitful sleep.

  Chapter 5

  Memories

  Morning came, and Jonathan awoke to the singing of forest songbirds. Warmth and brightness crept into the cave, telling him of a sky both clear and cloudless. The angle of illumination in the passageway also told him he had slept far longer into the day than he had intended. Remembering the events of the evening, he sat up with a sigh. His hunger manifested itself in a strong growl. He had not eaten anything since the mid-day meal the previous day. Jonathan pressed the bedding into a tight roll and secured it with leather thongs. He pulled his boots on, then sat on the bedroll with the supply sack between his feet to take inventory of his cache.

  The provisions were scanty-a mere two days’ worth of food, and that would be stretching it. There was a round of shepherd’s bread wrapped in a towel and some dried, spiced meat. He also found a half-round of goat cheese, raisins and dried apples in gourds with lids, and a small skin of wine.

  Well, he thought, not a king’s ransom, but a good variety, even if it is a small portion.

  Jonathan decided it would be prudent to eat only enough to curb his hunger, so he ate a chunk of the crusty bread and some dried apples. On the back wall of the cave, a damp trickle of a spring crawled down from the ceiling and disappeared into a crack in the rock. Using a stashed wooden cup to catch the water, he filled and drained it several times until his thirst was quenched. He filled the cup two more times, splashing the cool, clear liquid over his head so he could wash the dust from his face and short-trimmed beard.

  Jonathan then went to work and coiled the rope from the guard tower to a suitable size to be slung across his chest. He tested the tension on the bowstring by pulling it to his chin with ease. He then arranged the arrows in the quiver to be sure they had not become entangled. He strapped on his belt, sheathed his boot dagger, donned his large gray cloak, and grabbed his shoulder sack and quiver. Then he made his way through the low passageway to the ledge. Once outside, the brightness of the morning suns made him blink as his eyes adjusted to the light. He sat and dangled his feet for a few minutes while he thought about his plans.

  The mid-morning heat would soon make travel far less enjoyable. Behind him and above the rocky cliffs, the small twin solar disks of Azure and Aqua had climbed from the western horizon and into the dark blue expanse above him. The suns’ distance made them visually small, and Jonathan could block them both with his little finger by lifting his hand skyward. Yet the two suns were still so intensely hot and bright that they would blind a man if he were to look straight at them. Jonathan could see that the sun Azure was near to its companion Aqua, and knew that the next morning during their rising, Azure would pass in front of the lighter blue sun, marking the start of the Sabbath day. The purplish hue in the summer sky now surrounding Azure was beautiful to him.

  As Jonathan sat on the rocky ledge, he still felt a fatigue as deep as his bones. He ran his hands through his shoulder-length brown hair to untangle it, and scratched his beard. He then reached into the pocket of his undershirt, retrieving the cloth bundle hidden there. With deep respect, Jonathan unrolled the cloth in his hands. A picture of a red serpent inside a white circle had been embroidered on the soft, purple square of linen. The Mark of the Serpent signified the Tribe of Daniel.

  In the opened cloth lay a stunningly beautiful rod about seven inches in length and an inch or so thick. The rod had been crafted of smooth, clear glass, knobbed at the ends with white-gold caps etched with exquisite writing and designs. Jonathan read the familiar engraving on each end: “Holiness, Honor, Humility.” The light from the twin suns glinted off the surface of the scepter, and within the glass, the embedded thorn almost sparkled as Jonathan rolled the rod back and forth in his palm.

  Centered within the scepter, and visible in every detail, was a two-inch long, bloodstained gray thorn. It had been pressed into the still-molten glass, and had thus been preserved throughout the last nine hundred years.

  As Jonathan stu
died the bloodstained tip of the thorn, his mind went back to a cold winter day long ago when, as a young boy, he sat with his father in the Council Room after eating breakfast.

  “Father, why is there a thorn in your scepter?”

  Samuel smiled and scooted a bit closer to Jonathan on the wooden bench. He held the scepter up to the morning light streaming from the high western windows and turned the rod to catch the rays, dispersing the soft beams around them onto the floor.

  “What do you see?” Samuel asked.

  Jonathan looked closer and noticed that the tip of the thorn was dark brown, whereas the thorn itself was gray. “It looks like blood,” he said with some uncertainty.

  “That’s right. It is blood. Would you like to hear the story about this thorn?”

  “Yes!”

  “Do you remember the name of the person who lived about one thousand years ago, the person we call the Original Man?” Samuel asked.

  “Sure-Father Noah!”

  “That’s right. When our world, which we call Gan, was created, the first man to live upon it was Father Noah. Noah’s wife was named Sarah. He loved her more than anything else. Mother Sarah bore Noah three sons, whom he named Daniel, Uzzah, and Gideon. The Writings of Daniel, Noah’s eldest son, tell of a day when he was chopping trees and brush on the edge of a field with his brothers to help his father clear it for planting.”