and either bring him into captivity or kill him. I also know they were searching for the king’s scepter. Is this true?”
Pekah found the strength to speak again. “Yes. Our orders were to find the judge’s son.”
“You didn’t find him, did you?”
“No, we did not. And after what happened in Hasor, I’m glad he was not found.”
Eli smiled. “I, too, am glad.”
They both looked toward the old log in the distance where Nate sat with his bowed head resting in his hands.
“Pekah,” Eli continued in a calm and reassuring voice. “Nate is not just any ordinary Danielite. Nate is, in reality, Jonathan, son of Samuel the Judge of Daniel, true heir to the throne, and now the only living member of his family.”
Pekah’s heart skipped, shocked by Eli’s revelation. He again glanced over to see Nate in the distance. By telling Nate about the blade he had taken from Captain Sachar, Pekah realized he had just thrown a javelin of pain into his new friend’s heart. The old man was Nate’s father?
“Why did I ever pick up Sachar’s weapon?” Pekah moaned.
“War is a terrible thing. Those who started this attempt at conquest are the ones to carry the blame, not you. Try not to let yourself take this burden upon yourself, for the burden is not yours to bear.”
Pekah felt the wisdom of Eli’s words, yet couldn’t accept them. He had personally participated in the battle. The guilt still lingered in his chest.
“Why did you tell Jonathan about the dagger? You could have kept that knowledge to yourself, and not a soul would ever have known what you saw that day.”
Pekah scratched the back of his head. “I couldn’t sleep,” he explained. “I was up all night long with images of death, suffering, and injustice plaguing my mind until I nearly burned with fever. When my detachment attacked Hasor with the rest of the Gideonite army, I immediately felt I did not want to be there. I volunteered to serve the emperor because I believed our peoples would be better served if we were united under one king. I had been told the Danielites were foolishly preparing themselves for war.”
“That is absolutely false!” Eli thundered as he shot to his feet.
Pekah interjected with raised hands. “I know, Eli. It was obvious to me upon entering the village that the Danielite judge had prepared his people for a defense, not for a march on Gideon. I am so sorry my people have caused this great and horrible conflict. Please forgive me. Forgive my people.”
Eli calmed, sighing as he returned to sit on the log. “I, too, am sorry. I’m sorry for all the misunderstandings which have been between our peoples for so long.”
“I don’t think Uzzah and Daniel have the same misunderstandings, do they?”
“No, Uzzah serves all peoples in the temples of our God. Our work is to carry the burdens of many, and we honor the responsibilities of Daniel, our brother. Our hearts are fixed on the same purposes. For the most part, those ‘misunderstandings’ don’t exist.”
Pekah bowed his head and stared at the ground between his brown boots. Then he muttered, “I need to fix this.” He stirred the dirt with a stick, making lines and intersecting circles.
“You are the first…” Eli started. He shook his head in disbelief.
“The first?”
“Yes, Pekah. You are the first Gideonite I have met in a long, long time who felt any remorse for the occasional wars which break out between our peoples. I want you to know that I am sorry for the people of Gideon who have suffered all of these years with the choices of your leaders. Perhaps, someday, your people and my people will both find peace.”
Pekah said nothing. Instead, he stared up into the dark blue sky visible between the branches above, wondering about the turn of events. Just yesterday he had been leading this Uzzahite in chains. Yet today, Eli felt sympathy for the plight of the Gideonite people, after being led by a rope like a dumb ox? He shook his head.
As he stared heavenward, he noticed a brightly colored bird in the trees, singing as if in a duet with the bubbly stream nearby. A pop from the campfire sent the bird on its way. Pekah turned to see Eli watching Nate… Jonathan, who still sat on the log away from the camp.
He wondered what Jonathan would do when he returned. Memories of the short skirmish the previous evening made a lump rise in his throat. There would be no possible way for him to win a match or duel with Jonathan if it came to blows. The very thought of having to defend himself against the Danielite made his heart race. He turned back to the fire, picked up a twig, and played with a dying coal.
When Jonathan finally wandered back to the camp, Pekah prepared himself for a stinging rebuke from the Danielite. But the rebuke did not come. Jonathan went straight to where he had slept the previous night, stooping to retrieve the dagger. Pekah was shocked that he touched it.
“Would you come with me?” Jonathan said with kindness, offering his other hand.
Pekah peered at him in disbelief, but took his hand and was lifted. Jonathan patted Pekah’s shoulder firmly. He felt fear course through him like a gust of wind, but gazed into Jonathan’s eyes and saw no malice there. Still, he shuddered as he followed the Danielite toward the stream, leaving Eli at the campfire. Jonathan glanced back once, but did not invite the Uzzahite to join them. Arriving at the water’s edge, Jonathan turned to face him. Pekah was sure Eli wouldn’t be able to hear them above the bubble of the stream, and for a fleeting instant, wondered if his own safety was in jeopardy.
“Pekah, thank you for telling me about the dagger.” Jonathan’s calm demeanor was unnerving.
How can this be possible? If I were him, wouldn’t I be furious?
“I want you to know,” Jonathan continued, “I’m sorry for the contention between our peoples. If there is anything I can do to repair the brotherhood between Gideon and Daniel, I will do it.” Jonathan’s hand hung loose at his side, holding the dagger more like it was a string of glass beads than a weapon.
“You are interested in repairing? How can you be… I mean, why are you not angry?”
“Angry? Yes, at first, I admit I was. But then I remembered how my father was always able to remain calm.”
“How would he have felt if you had been the one killed? Surely he would have been incensed.”
“I know he would have grieved. But my father was one of the kindest men I ever knew, Pekah. Quick to forgive, never held a grudge. Certainly not perfect, but he was not an angry man. He was always able to let go of those types of feelings.”
“So you just decided not to let hate and rage take over?” Pekah said, incredulous. He laughed as he picked up a small rock and tossed it into the nearby stream.
“Yes, it’s a choice. Out of revenge, I could kill you…”
Pekah flinched, stepped back, and eyed the dagger.
“… or, I could repair the breach. This dagger,” Jonathan said as he lifted it higher, “was a tool used to separate and destroy. It separated me from the love and companionship of my father. It killed him.” He paused. “The chief judge was my father.”
“I know,” Pekah blurted out, regretting it immediately.
“You know?”
“Yes. Eli just told me.”
Jonathan glanced at his friend by the fire and half-smiled. “Perhaps this dagger can also be a tool to unite and repair,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
Jonathan had a faraway look in his eyes. The stress and tension of the situation seemed to dissipate into the cool morning air, joining the thin fog rising from the morning dew. Pekah wondered what Jonathan was thinking.
“This weapon brought us together. We now have an opportunity to turn a tragedy into something better. You and me. We can end this war.”
Pekah almost snickered. “You’re crazy. What can I do to end a war? These things are above me.” He cannot be serious. Yet the grave expression on Jonathan’s face told Pekah he truly believed it.
“It has to stop somewhere, does it not? A war doesn’t end all at once. It ends when every participant decides to stop fighting. But the end starts with the decision of just one.” Jonathan knelt down in front of Pekah, unsheathed the blade, and used it to dig in the sandy dirt near the stream. “The covenant you made with me last
