Daughters of Jared, page 1
To my daughter, Kara, who, from day one,
has shown an incredible capacity for resiliency.
From the ancient Book of Ether comes a haunting story of two royal sisters. The elder sister, Ash, will do anything to bring her father, King Jared II, back to the throne. The younger sister, Naiva, only wants to save her family from destruction. The bond of sisterhood becomes precariously fragile when one man named Akish falls in love with the younger sister, Naiva, but he chooses to marry the elder sister. The sisters’ hearts are divided When Ash becomes queen, seduced by the promise of power and wealth. Naiva watches her world crumble away. She sees only one way out, but it will require forsaking all that she holds dear.
THE ANCIENT BOOK OF ETHER IS fraught with danger and intrigue. Kingdoms rise and fall; family members are betrayed through secret combinations. Fathers kill sons, brothers fight against brothers, and women plot revenge.
Jared (the second) gained his throne the first time by rebelling against his father, King Omer, and by flattering the people (Ether 8:2). After usurping his father’s power, Jared sent him into captivity to quell possibilities of him rising to power again. But Omer continued to have children, and two of his sons, Esrom and Coriantumr, determined to win back the throne for their father. They defeated their older brother, Jared, in battle, and Jared lost his ill-won throne (Ether 8:5–6).
This is where Daughters of Jared begins.
When one of the daughters of Jared learns about the ancient conspiracies of secret combinations through the records of her own people, the Jaredites, she decides to instigate a scheme to put her father back on the throne (Ether 8:8–9). Except this scheme calls for the assassination of her grandfather, King Omer.
Daughters of Jared becomes a classic story of evil begetting evil, a tale of both warning and hope. The story is told through the younger daughter’s viewpoint as she interacts with her sister, who will stop at nothing to gain power, even sacrificing her integrity in the name of a secret combination, and who will eventually become queen of the Jaredites.
It is no wonder that, centuries later, Moroni refrained from elaborating on the specific oaths, for he rightly feared the downfall of future peoples who might read the records of Ether, though secret combinations have been around since the beginning of time. Cain was the first to fall under Satan’s influence and enter into a covenant with Satan (Moses 5:38, 49). This covenant became the beginning of the secret combinations that have withstood the passage of time and societies throughout the last several thousand years. Ether 8:25 still rings true today: “Whoso . . . seeketh to overthrow the freedom of all lands, nations, and countries . . . bringeth to pass the destruction of all people, for it is built up by the devil, who is the father of all lies.”
Great and terrible are the consequences of joining a secret combination, as Jared’s daughter painfully learns in a very personal manner when she experiences the devastating consequence of Satan’s “power upon the hearts of the children of men” (Ether 8:26).
Now the daughter of Jared being exceedingly expert, and seeing the
sorrows of her father, thought to devise a plan whereby she
could redeem the kingdom unto her father.
—Ancient Book of Ether 8:8
TENTH CENTURY BC
“WHAT HAVE I DONE?” my sister asks me. Her arms are striped with deep claw marks from her own fingernails, fingernails that had once been shaped, stained, and etched with delicate gold designs. They are now broken and tattered—just as my sister’s life has become.
I stare at her blood filling the cracks in the stone garden path.
“Naiva,” she whispers, her dark eyes capturing mine. “How could I allow them to send my son to the borderland prison? He is everything to me. There’s nothing—” Her voice breaks. “There’s nothing left of my heart now; it’s disappeared into my soul.”
“Hush now,” I say, though I doubt my sister still has a soul. I look away from her bloody arms as she stretches her hands out, reaching for me. I don’t need to see her wild eyes, her unruly long hair soiled with ashes of grief, to know her pain. Nor do I need to see her lips twist with pleas of agony. Her grief and agony are mine too.
No one returns from the borderland—especially no one sent there by the king—even if that person is the king’s own son. Rumors have already reached us. My sister’s son is being starved.
I pull her into my arms and hold on, trying to soak up her anguish in a small way, something I’ve done a hundred times over.
He will be fine. He will live, I want to promise her, but I know my words hold no power. If I could command as the Lord does, I would not be crouching next to my sister in the garden, like we’re fugitives, on the day we discovered her son is being starved to death by her own husband.
The torchlights begin to flicker out in the small courtyard near the garden we have hidden ourselves away in. The night is thick with darkness, nearly as thick as the silence in our palace of mourning.
To the people in the land of Heth, my sister is known as Queen Asherah. To me, she is simply Ash. My throat tightens as I think of my nephew and what he must feel right now, in a place we cannot reach to comfort him. He is only a child of twelve years. Fresh tears nearly break out when I envision his beautiful face.
Ash trembles inside my arms. Only then do I realize she is whispering again. “I have failed him. What mother lets her own son be tortured and starved by his father?”
I wish for words of solace, yet they will not come. If I can only find a way to save her son, a way to change the king’s mind . . . But I know he will not change his mind. He is fear itself. Neither my sister nor I dare approach him since he has banished us from court. There are the other children’s lives to consider. There are our own.
Her son, the crown prince, is as good as dead. And Ash has no one to blame but herself. She knew what her husband was when she married him.
The anger and grief inside me build, and desperation rushes in. “I’ll find a way to free your son. I’ll take him somewhere where Akish can’t find him.”
“No. He’ll catch you both,” my sister says, her voice gaining strength. “And then he’ll kill you as well.” She turns her face, swollen from tears, toward mine. “Don’t leave me, Naiva. I couldn’t bear this life without you. I have already lost too much.” Her voice falters.
We have all lost too much, and we are afraid to fight any more.
“Naiva.” My sister’s voice breaks into my thoughts. “Do you think my son suffers in his last hours? Do you think the gods are there to comfort him?”
I flinch at her plural usage of god. Will she ever give up her idols? Each one of them has betrayed her. I cannot answer right away, for I cannot lie to my sister. I have never lied to her, even though I’ve been beaten, banished, and imprisoned for treason . . . all for telling my sister, the queen, the truth.
“The Lord will comfort him,” I whisper. “I have not stopped my prayers for one moment.” On any other day, Ash might bristle at my mention of the God I worship, but tonight she accepts my words.
“Do you think your God will allow my black soul into heaven?” she says.
I hesitate, and it’s as if Ash knows why I cannot answer. She collapses against me, a wail building in her chest, turning into a high-pitched keening. The sound of a woman aching for her lost soul and a child whom she will not be reunited with in heaven.
I cling to her as tears finally break free onto my face, for I know the things my sister has done will be impossible for the Lord to forgive.
When we die, my sister and I will spend eternity apart. She, in hell. And when she arrives there, alone and afraid, my already fractured heart will at last break in two.
14 YEARS EARLIER
MY HANDS TREMBLED FROM EXCITEMENT and anticipation as I draped the embroidered shawl over Ash’s bare shoulders.
“Hurry, Naiva!” she demanded, impatient as always.
“Nearly finished.” As I dabbed orange-blossom oil on her wrists and inner arms, I immediately forgave my sister for her demanding tone. Tonight I was just as excited to attend the reception in honor of the visiting dignitary—Akish, son of Kimnor, from the city of Nehor. Rumors throughout our city said that Akish was very wealthy and very handsome. He was also a friend to our grandfather, King Omer. A new dignitary meant new men, new stories, and new hope.
The sooner my sister was ready, the sooner I could turn to my own preparation. Ash’s needs always came before mine. They always had, and as the oldest daughter with the power to choose her husband and future king to the throne, they always would.
I didn’t mind. One only had to take a single look at my sister to know she was born to be a queen. The position boasted itself in her mannerisms and very appearance: gold-specked eyes, rich black hair, flawless skin the color of topaz from the high mountains, a long and delicate neck, and a musical voice that stopped merchants in their tracks at the market.
“Come now,” Ash said. “We can’t be late for the introduction.” She turned a critical eye on me. “Are you wearing that?”
I had purposely chosen a plain green tunic with only a single jade necklace for adornment. I must not outshine my sister. She will be the focus tonight.
“At least wear the earrings,” Ash said, holding out golden rings.
I hesitated. Ash had insisted I get my ears pierced so I could wear the great circles of gold. But my lobes had never healed properly and continued to fester if I wore earrings.
Ash never missed anything, and with a s
Before I could protest, she’d pricked my ear with one of the gold loops.
“Ow!” I cried out. It pinched then grew hot, and I knew my ear would throb the rest of the evening.
“Hush,” she said, pricking my second ear. I bit my lip, trying to stave off the sharp pain.
“All finished.” Her voice was triumphant, her pitch higher than normal as she gazed at me with shining eyes. She grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the door. A female servant stepped aside to let us pass.
Music filtered through the hallways, increasing my anticipation. I had only been able to attend evening functions for the past year. At seventeen, I was nearly old enough to be officially introduced at court. Ash had been presented four years before, when she was fifteen, because of her status as heir. Since then, she had spent her evenings in the company of powerful politicians, artists, merchants, and clothiers, unlike my evenings spent painting on vellum.
Tonight was a special exception, and I was allowed to join the banquet—my father had requested my presence. Not even our younger brothers, Shule and Ethem, were allowed to join in.
“Can you feel it?” Ash clamped her hand onto my arm.
“Yes,” I said. She didn’t have to explain the sense of wonder as we neared the main hall. In my mind I saw the vibrant colors, tasted the exquisite food my father could no longer afford, and felt the heat of the eyes of the men in the room—all looking at my sister. At nineteen, it was unusual that she hadn’t married yet. She claimed she was still young.
“I’ll choose my own husband in a year or two,” she’d told my father more than once. “And he’ll eventually rule as king by my side. We’ll become the most powerful kingdom in all the land.”
Father continued to agree, for what else might he say? No one dared to speak as boldly as my sister. No one dared to point out that there was no longer a kingdom, that our father had lost the war, and that we were at the mercy of our loyals, whose generosity kept food on our table.
Tonight, our misfortunes would be as good as hidden in a corner as we entertained Akish with borrowed money. Like all second-born children, my inheritance was less than half of the firstborn’s, which was presently nothing, unless my father could somehow raise a new army and defeat his brothers, Esrom and Coriantumr, and reclaim the kingdom from his father, Omer.
My sister and I stepped into the great hall together, arm in arm. The dancing troupe had already begun its performance, but Akish and his entourage hadn’t arrived yet.
“Where are they?” Ash whispered.
I looked around—there were no new faces peering at us. The men of the court watched the young women as they danced together, swirling their full skirts of reds, blues, and greens. None of them compared to Ash’s dancing prowess. I was a fair dancer, but like all things between me and my sister, I took a step back to allow her the accolades.
Father sat in his old throne chair, a goblet in hand, dressed in a ratted robe that had seen better days and a tunic already stained with wine. My father was only a faint image of the skilled warrior he had once been, and his stomach protruded from the excess of wine he drank when he was having what he called a “dark day”—which was almost every day. His dark reddish beard needed a trim, but I would not be the one to mention it. Tonight his usually dour face was smiling. My focus went to the object of his pleasure. The storyteller, Tirzah, a woman I’d seen about the market frequently, stood in front of him. Her hair was swept up into an embroidered scarf, and nearly a dozen bracelets lined her arms, likely gifts from her varied audiences. As we walked closer, Tirzah’s voice pitched above the music.
“The ancient King Ahah was a hunter among hunters,” Tirzah said. “He traveled to the wilderness with a thousand men. They drove the wild beasts forth and formed a circle around the panicked animals, forcing them into an enclosure, where King Ahah could then pick the best game.”
By her elaborate gestures, she looked as if she were doing her best to entertain the sullen king—a difficult feat.
It took only a few more seconds before the court became aware of our presence, or more accurately, of Ash’s. The women bowed and whispered behind jeweled hands, the men ogled, and our father stood, clapping his hands together for attention.
His smile was faint when his gaze passed over me, but it brightened as he looked at Ash. There had always been a strong bond between them, something that was hard to define and impossible to penetrate. After the death of our mother, I’d felt like the unnoticed child around my father. My sister more than made up for the neglect, but it still brought a pang to my chest as I witnessed the favoritism in such a public setting.
I am the second born, I reminded myself again. It is to be expected. Why should my life be different than any other second born?
The court hushed as our father stepped down from his throne. “Behold, my daughters.”
Gazes stayed on Ash as she smiled generously and tipped her head in acknowledgment. Nothing was required of me since no one looked at me anyway. The music started up as Ash left my side, mingling with the court guests. Tonight she’d sweet-talk them, and tomorrow our coffers would be full again, and we’d live in elegance for another moon.
I crossed the room and sat on a cushion near my father’s throne. He didn’t acknowledge me, for his attention was back on the storyteller. I was content being invisible; in fact, I preferred it. There was nothing more interesting than watching the expressions of people as they spoke to my sister. Their faces transformed from the harshness of their labors earned during the day to the absolute pleasure of being in the presence of someone ethereal.
For my sister was just that—a goddess. Her name, Asherah, was the same name for the goddess of heaven. A large statue of the goddess stood at the entrance of the hall, as if presiding over all the events, honoring both the goddess of heaven and the queen-to-be.
The music suddenly faded, and everyone turned toward the entrance.
A tall man entered, flanked by a half dozen other men, all dressed in fine feathered capes. Bands of leather adorned their arms, and thick necklaces of gold lay against their bare chests.
My father immediately rose, and Tirzah stepped aside as the men approached. I stood as well and backed away, a tremor of anticipation spreading through my body. I couldn’t take my eyes off the men as they walked toward us, their heads high, their eyes missing nothing, their bodies tanned and taut.
A movement to my left told me my sister was at my side, but I still stared at the men. The tall one stopped and bowed to my father. “Your Highness, King Jared, we are grateful for the invitation,” he said in a loud, clear voice.
“Welcome.” My father’s face glowed with satisfaction. He was rarely addressed as king by anyone outside our loyal circle. Akish had just paid my father the highest honor. “Welcome to my home. I apologize for our humble state.”
Akish stepped forward and gripped my father’s hand. The man’s dark beard was cut short, and it glistened with oil. His brows were thick but well-arched over deep-set eyes, and his hair was cropped close to his head, though curls turned about his ears. I understood the rumors of him being handsome. He had perhaps the longest eyelashes I’d ever seen on a man.
Next to me, my sister let out a sigh, capturing Akish’s attention. I wondered if she’d done it on purpose to get him to notice her, though no man would have gone very long without seeing her.
His eyes swept past my sister then stopped on me.
A jolt went through me. I wasn’t used to being anyone’s focus. Akish stared at me like a man stares at a woman, like I’d seen men stare at my sister. My face certainly flamed red, if not deep scarlet. A touch on my arm from my sister broke my gaze and, thankfully, broke Akish’s too, for the next instant he began speaking to my father as if he’d never looked at me.
“He’s handsome,” my sister whispered in my ear. “And he’s a friend of our grandfather’s. I’m sure he has incredible stories to tell.” She continued to speak, but I hardly heard her. My gaze kept drifting back to Akish. Despite efforts to not stare, I noticed more and more things about him. His long, tapered fingers, the jade ring on his right hand, the way his gold necklace reflected against his muscled chest . . .
