Thorns of Glory, page 12
Hamira shrugged. “I never learned the name of his tribe.” She bit her lip, recalling a word. “N-Nephite?”
I didn’t respond.
She added to Perpetua. “He’s a warrior.”
“A warrior?” Perpetua emphasized the word in a way she felt might flatter a young man. “Soon the world will have no need of fighting. We will beat our swords into plowshares. So declares my Master. You must hear Him speak.”
“Your husband?”
“No,” she corrected patiently. “Rabbi Yeshua. You have heard of him?” She was asking both of us.
Hamira and I shook our heads. Admittedly, I didn’t connect the name Yeshua at that moment. I heard the name as it was locally pronounced. Well, sort of. I gleaned a hint of my own name, Joshua. I certainly didn’t hear Jesus. How did the people who translated the Bible get Jesus out of Yeshua? Or Joshua, for that matter? I’d never thought of myself as having the same name as the Savior. The pronunciation wasn’t even similar.
“Well,” said Perpetua, seemingly disappointed, “he will make an appearance soon. He may be inside the house with the others.” She reexamined the cuts on my legs.
Hamira said to Perpetua, “It’s all right. I’ll finish here. If you see Joshua’s mother and cousin, please tell them he’s alert.”
Perpetua nodded and handed her the tray and balm. The wife of “the Rock” departed, leaving me alone with Hamira. The only dude I’d heard of with the nickname “the Rock” was a pro wrestler in the WWF. Time to get answers.
Hamira started asking first, leaning closer so I didn’t have to crane my neck. Her tone was urgent. “What happened, Joshua? I only remember the snakebite. How it seared. I remember you carrying me. When I awoke I was in the hands of . . . of Nimrah. And of his henchmen, Kentor and Jugal, and later Gothan. Where did you go? Why did you . . . ?”
“Why did I leave you?” I studied her, then turned away. My head was still swimming. I think this softened my emotions. “I’m sorry, Hamira. I tried to . . . I tried to suck it out. The poison. But it seeped into a cut—a sore—inside my mouth. I tried . . . tried to carry you farther. I gave it all my strength. I couldn’t make it. I left you there. I left you. Forgive me. I understand if you can’t.” I raised my eyes. “I thought you were dead, Hamira. Your father’s sword told me—” I gritted my teeth. “It lied, like always. Seeing your face earlier, I thought you were—might seem cliché, but—like an angel. I wondered if I was already dead.”
She smiled painfully. “I should have died. Gothan treated my wound. He’s the only follower of my brother with any shred of decency or mercy. It’s more than Nimrah would have done. He and the others couldn’t have cared less if I lived or died. I was ill for weeks after the snakebite. Nimrah ordered his henchmen to leave me behind more than once. Gothan refused. Gothan and . . . Kentor.”
Kentor. I’d heard that name. It came back to me. I’d once ruminated on the irony that my competition for Hamira, whom I’d often thought of as a chocolate-eyed Barbie, should be named Ken. She’d told me that this man, Kentor—if it was the same man—had once kissed her. Actually, she claimed he’d stolen that kiss. This information had been revealed during an onslaught of stupid questions I’d asked her in the cavern—questions I couldn’t manage to stop myself from asking. What a jerk! I felt ashamed. I’d behaved like an inquisitor. Before this interrogation, Hamira and I had been getting along . . . rather well. At least I thought so. My experience with females was limited. I recalled my heart was thudding. Palms sweating. A good kind of nervousness, I think. Then I ruined it with jealousy. I’d accused her of lying. I couldn’t remember every detail, except the fact that I’d acted like an idiot.
Why couldn’t I control my flaws? Was I capable of learning any lesson permanently? The stinging memory of my former stupidity failed to stop me from asking, “The same Kentor who once loved you?”
She shrank a little, fearing I was about to dredge all that nonsense up again. “Love? Kentor? Kentor isn’t capable of love.” She added warily, “He’s here. In Jerusalem. So are Nimrah and the others.”
I started to rise. “Outside?”
She grabbed my bicep, urging me to remain on the bench. “Not exactly. We’re not inside the city itself. Just a village a short way to the south. Bet Ani. They can’t harm us. But . . . they can harm others.”
“Others?”
“Nimrah has captives. Your kin.”
“Who are you talking about?”
“A child—infant—named Gid. And a woman, the child’s mother.” She tried unsuccessfully to recall the name.
“Sabrina?”
“Yes,” she confirmed. “Sabriná.” She put the accent on the last syllable. “Jim saw me with the baby when I brought him to the Temple’s Golden Gate during the procession.”
“The what?”
“When Yeshua was riding that-that . . . very small horse.”
“Wait, wait,” I said, feeling overwhelmed. “Your brother is holding Sabrina and Baby Gid captive? Here in Jerusalem?”
“He will not harm them,” she said with an odd confidence. “Not now, anyway. He cannot leave Jerusalem. He needs my help.”
“Your help? Why are you helping him at all?”
“Because if I don’t, my life will become as worthless as spittle in the dirt.”
I gaped at her, unsure what to say. I started to feel my Darth Vader complex coming on. It was all I could do to bite my tongue. Hadn’t I just apologized for my horrid decision to leave her behind in the cave? Shut up and listen, I told myself. Could I have managed to heed my own advice? I guess I’ll never know for sure. At that moment Mom and Melody entered the stable. They hadn’t heard our kerfuffle and simply looked delighted that I was awake.
Mom approached tentatively. “Josh? How are you feeling?”
“Better,” I said. I tried to prove it by sitting upright. The effort made me wince.
“Don’t overdo it,” said Melody. “Your mom counted over thirty cuts and lacerations.”
“That’s only the injuries that are visible,” I said. Bruises in my muscles were causing me far more discomfort than any cuts on my flesh. “I’m fine.”
Mom looked dubious.
“I really am,” I assured her, “all things considered.”
Again she took me in as if she’d never seen me before. Slowly, she shook her head. “I can’t get used to your voice. So deep.”
Once more: “I’m sorry.”
She took my hand. “You’re alive. You’re here. So many things I still don’t understand. Where did you come from, Joshua? Why were you wearing that uniform?”
I puffed up my chest a little. This was my mother, after all, and uniforms had surely changed since those long-ago days in Bountiful. “I’m a captain. A Nephite captain. Commander of the Fox Division. I’ve dwelt among them for more than five years. Longer than Becky and I lived among them as children.”
“Becky?” Mom repeated earnestly.
I experienced a shudder of panic. I hadn’t forgotten Gidgiddonihah’s assurances, shouted down from the cliff. I just . . . I wasn’t sure I believed him. No denying, however, that Gid had ignited a sliver of hope in my soul. It’s just that I’d . . . I’d watched Becky die. I’d watched it! No point in burdening my mother with all that. “She’s okay,” I said. I laughed once. More of a grunt. “I received this information only a few hours ago. It was delivered by Gidgiddonihah. Do you remember him?”
“Of course! I haven’t seen him in . . . Really? Gidgiddonihah? But I thought . . .”
I think she wanted to ask how I’d possibly managed to reunite with Gid. Or even how it was possible that Gid was still alive, that his death in Athens had been altered—by Harry. In an instant, she seemed to accept it, as if no other reality had ever existed.
“If Gid told you that, then it’s true,” she said. “Why would Gid . . . ? I mean . . .” Her questions hadn’t entirely disintegrated. I feared they spun inside her head like hamster wheels. She decided to prioritize. “Was Becky . . . ? Is she also . . . older?”
This resurrected my own regret for being so much older, but I replied, “No. At least, not according to what Gid said to me.”
Relief washed over her.
I continued. “I was told she’s alive and well, but . . . I didn’t see her. The, uh, time period . . .” I stopped myself. Why mention Cumorah? Why talk about the violence and atrocities that were about to unfold? She’d be stricken with more worry than she was already experiencing. I looked at Melody, realizing I also had information she’d desperately want to know. “I was with Marcos.”
She gripped my shoulder, right atop one of my severest wounds. I flinched, and she backed away.
Her voice remained fervent. “Marcos is all right?”
“Yeah. Yes. At least, he was the last time I saw him.” I looked at Hamira. “You didn’t tell them?”
I could tell she was still stinging from my previous outburst, perhaps fighting to control her own impulse to explode like Darth Vader.
When she didn’t respond, Mom said, “Hamira told us what she could. She said Marcos was with you at the Jaredite encampment of King Omer. Then you and she separated from Marcos a day later.”
“We reunited,” I said, “on the shores of Ablom, shortly after I’d . . . abandoned”—I chose that word carefully—“Hamira in the cave.”
“You didn’t abandon me,” said Hamira wearily.
I went on. “If I’d stayed with you, I couldn’t have been any worse off. Akish captured me less than an hour later. Tried to hang me. That’s how I got this.” I referred to the chafed ring encircling my neck. It no longer hurt. Or rather, the pain was minimal compared to other cuts and bruises, but my voice was still raw. “Marcos saved me.” I turned back to Hamira. “Everyone in Akish’s army drowned in the rising tide at the mouth of the cavern. All but Nimrah and, I guess, those other men you mentioned.”
Melody interjected to Hamira, “Did you tell him about Gid and Sabrina?”
“A little,” she replied.
I admitted, “This whole thing . . . seeing you guys here . . . is blowing my mind. Why’s everyone in Jerusalem?”
Mom and Melody did their best to summarize. Mom revealed that she had come here with Uncle Jim. They’d journeyed through Frost Cave and found the Galaxy Room and the pillar of energy. Their goal was originally to locate and rescue me, rescue Rebecca. Obviously, that plan had crashed and burned. Now Uncle Jim was missing too. Rumor was that he’d been captured by soldiers in Jerusalem. They were holding him in some dungeon under the house/mansion/castle—whatever—of some Jewish . . . leader of some kind.
“Sabrina and I made the journey a few days after Dad and Aunt Jen,” said Melody. “We went crazy when no one came back from Frost Cave. No one sent us so much as a smoke signal.”
She shed tears regarding the stress of leaving behind her adopted son, Carter. Sabrina, however, was considerably more stubborn. She’d outright refused to leave Baby Gid and carried the three-month-old in an infant backpack (frontpack?) the whole journey through those treacherous tunnels. The decision was downright nuts, and it had made the going extremely slow. Neither Sabrina nor Melody claimed any particular “gift” for timing when it came to leaping into that whirling, silver pillar of energy. They’d just jumped. And prayed.
I vividly recalled when Mary, Becky, and I had been suctioned into that pillar. It was like getting your hem caught in machinery, unable to break free. How long ago was it? Seemed like an eternity. I supposed it was. It was nearly half of my lifetime ago. Becky had touched the pillar—just tapped it! That whirlpool of light had dragged her in. Mary and I were pulled in trying to save her. Then, lo and behold, we were transported to Judea. But not in this time period. The century was different. Mary, Becky, and I had visited the mid-1800s. Today’s date was . . . not exactly sure. Until yesterday, when I’d encountered Gidgiddonihah, I hadn’t had a clue what had become of Apollus, Meagan, and Ryan. I still wasn’t entirely sure about Ryan, but Gid had mentioned the others by name. He’d said they were waiting for me inside Cumorah’s fortress—waiting for me! Most importantly, he’d mentioned Rebecca. For years, I’d thought my sister was dead—that she’d perished in the wilderness near the city of Salem. A part of me refused to believe otherwise—not till I actually laid eyes on her.
Melody explained that she, Mom, and Baby Gid had emerged from the rift inside the labyrinth of tunnels beneath Jerusalem’s city streets. Only minutes after finding an exit that led into an alley of the Lower City, Nimrah and his men had swooped down like birds of prey. Melody had felt sure Nimrah was patiently waiting for them. He’d known they were coming. That brought up a question I’d already asked, having never gotten an acceptable answer: How had Hamira known I was coming? She’d even convinced Melody and Mom to wait alongside her.
“How’d you get away from Nimrah?” I asked Hamira.
She glanced at Melody, then Mom, reluctant to answer. My mother and cousin wore expressions I couldn’t read. Something weird was going on. I couldn’t put my finger on it. I sensed instinctively Mom and Melody didn’t trust Hamira. Maybe it was all in my head.
I asked a simpler question. “How long has it been, according to your perception, since you last laid eyes on me?”
Hamira scrunched her forehead. “What do you mean? How long has it been for you?”
“Couple days.”
She looked startled. “How is that possible? I have been with Nimrah more than five months.”
“Five m—! That’s when you last saw me?” I don’t know why I was so floored by this. By now, you’d think conundrums like these should have seemed ordinary. Just aggravating. No, that word wasn’t strong enough. The paradoxes of time travel had stolen my life. These irksome little quirks had abducted me, imprisoned me, and isolated me from everyone I loved. Then again, maybe the villain wasn’t “time travel.” Maybe it was just the sword. Or Akish. Or Todd Finlay. I glared at Hamira. “What were you doing for five months?”
“I already told you. I was with Nimrah. He first took us to Morōn, the Jaredite capital. But Morōn is a wasteland. It reeks of death. Much of that time, I was recovering from the snakebite.”
“How could you stay with Nimrah a single day?” My tone was accusing. “He wanted to kill King Omer as much as Akish did. Nimrah caused the flood that killed Queen Ahi. Marcos told me he murdered Prince Coriantumr and Prince Esrom—!”
“I had no choice!” Hamira snarled. “If I hadn’t served Nimrah, he’d have killed me too.”
I narrowed my eyes. “I don’t believe it. You’d never serve him. You’d have escaped at the first opportunity.”
Her chocolate eyes flared hot. “He would have pursued me. He would have found me. I did escape—at the first opportunity.”
“After five months?”
“Yes! And by so doing, I’ve risked the lives of your stepmother and baby nephew. They may already be—” Tears welled in her eyes. “Haven’t you ever been trapped? Haven’t you ever played a part to survive?”
“No,” I said unapologetically. “And the girl I thought I knew a few days ago—er, five months ago—wouldn’t have played such a part either. She’d have never pretended to be something she wasn’t.”
Hamira wept. “You don’t understand. Nimrah is . . . He’s like his father. Perhaps worse. He’s a sorcerer.”
“I thought you believed in the God of King Omer. The God of Mahonri Moriancumr and Jared. My God. Omer trusted you with his secrets. He trusted you with the sacred records.”
“She has . . . a device,” said Melody. “An object.”
This halted the conversation. I glanced from Melody to Hamira. Hamira sent Melody a stinging look. The daughter of Akish was trembling.
“I only saw it once,” Melody persisted. “And I don’t know where she hides it.”
“What do you have?” I asked Hamira, my voice menacing, perhaps more than I’d intended.
She straightened up, looking resolute. “I obtained Nimrah’s power.”
“What do you mean?” my mother inquired.
She became defensive. “I found Joshua. Why do you all look at me with such enmity? Like I’m a villain?”
“Because it feels wrong,” said Mom. “I’ve learned to trust that feeling.”
“I saved your son’s life!” Hamira said indignantly. “And next I will save your nephew and his mother.”
“Using what?” I demanded. This whole scene—subject—was eerily familiar. Hamira’s defensiveness. Her anger. My heart plunged. We couldn’t be talking about the same object that had given me recurring nightmares throughout my life. The sword of Akish was gone. It was destroyed! Finally and completely!
Melody did her best to describe the apparatus in Hamira’s possession. She made a roundish shape with her hands, fingers trembling. Her face contorted with disgust, as if whatever she saw in her mind’s eyes was the foulest, nastiest object she’d ever encountered. “It’s like a ball. Black. An oily, greasy kind of black. There’s a hole in the top.”
I asked, “Does this black ball . . . whisper to you?”
“It does not whisper.” Hamira scoffed. She pointed at her left temple. “I hear it in here.” She stepped up to my face like she might claw me to ribbons, but her fingers stopped just short. She said accusingly, “You are guilty of the same thing, Joshua, son of Garth. I’ve seen your ball—your ‘compass.’ Nimrah’s oracle—my oracle!—is no different from yours. It’s just black instead of gold. It is a ‘Finder.’ It leads one to whatever has been lost. It gives me power, just like your Liahona.”
“That’s what makes it different,” I declared, jabbing a finger toward her chin. “The Liahona has no power to give. The power is God’s. It operates on faith.”
She rolled her eyes. “Words. Gibberish. Power is power, and I have ‘faith’ in anything that can provide real power. Power from something like the Oracle of Cohor—or your Liahona—is the same. The Finder gives whatever direction the user needs. It asks nothing in return. No conditions.”
