reminded him of the quiet sanctity present in the temple of the Holy One.
Jonathan felt the burning fire start to smolder in his bosom. Earnest, he looked for a reaction from his friend. Eli’s eyes were closed, his head back as if thinking hard, or praying. Jonathan cleared his throat to get his attention. Eli exhaled and opened his eyes.
A tremor in his voice, Jonathan said to the priest of Uzzah, “Eli
… Pekah was not supposed to die!”
Outside the tent, Rachel held onto Abigail’s arm. They sat on a bench before the fire pit, recently stoked in preparation for the darkness to come. Nearby, Tavor and Amon sat on stools left behind by Rezon’s company. They talked in muted voices about their plans to take horsemen into the Hara Mountains in hopes of tracking down the escaped Gideonites.
There to assist with Pekah’s burial, Rachel yearned to get back to her parents, who had returned to the city in order to make preparations for guests. Once the battle had ended, both Uzziel and Miriam came out of the city under heavy escort, searching for their children. Recognizing her parents among a crowd of citizens, Rachel had rushed forward with Eli to meet them. Uzziel collapsed to his knees in exhaustion as all of the stresses of the past week poured out of him. Tears of joy flowed freely as he pulled them close, saying, “My children, my children!”
The memory of their frantic hugs and kisses warmed her heart. She mused over the image of her brother-Eli had acted like a young boy, clinging to his mother. When her parents returned to the city, she stayed so that she might be close to Jonathan. Now he was in the tent, but she was not alone. Sitting close to her friend, she could feel Abigail’s arm against her own.
Silent, Abigail stared at the fire. Rachel sighed, pulling her hair down around her neck as she looked to the east. The two small blue dots she expected to find there were no longer visible in the sky. Freed by the departure of Azure and Aqua, dark shadows now ran across the foothills of the Hara Range in a race to touch the western peaks first. Hues of violet and scarlet mingled in the few clouds loitering above the city and continued to darken. Although beautiful, the suns-setting only made her feel the coming night.
Rachel glanced at Abigail. Unlike earlier, when Abigail had fallen into a sobbing heap upon the ground, she was calm now. Still, her dazed expression testified of horrible pain from emotional wounds. Rachel wondered what the woman was thinking, if she was able to think at all.
Trying to piece the incidents of the past day together, Rachel watched the flames dancing before her. Two lives. Two men. One, Abigail’s husband. The other, her appointed guardian. How would Abigail ever deal with such terrible loss? Rachel ached for her friend. She could not imagine what Abigail might be feeling.
The front wall of the tent sucked inward, then popped out as a gusty breeze pulled at the canvas. Rachel’s thoughts strayed back to the murder scene. She shivered, forcing herself to put the images of Rezon’s treachery out of her mind. Hoping a distraction would help, she reached down to tighten a buckle on her left boot.
The ground trembled. It lasted only a few seconds, but Rachel felt it. Abigail stared back at her, frightened. They reached for each other, clasping hands. Nearby, Amon and Tavor stood in alarm, both watching the tent. Rachel followed their gaze. Pulling Abigail up with her, she stood gaping at the sight.
The gap at the bottom edge of the tent shimmered, a brilliant, white light coming from within. The tent almost appeared to be floating in its staked place, with light pouring from every loose seam-even from the creased folds of the entrance. At the height of luminance, Rachel heard a sharp gasp from inside the tent. Then it was quiet, and the brilliance subsided until it disappeared.
The men still stood as if planted in the ground. Tavor whispered something to Amon, and both men drew their swords. But neither approached the tent. Next to Rachel, Abigail’s face was full of fear and wonder.
The tent flaps flew open, and Jonathan limped out. Because of the light gleaming in his eyes, Rachel thought he looked as if he had ascended to heaven and then returned. A most sublime, reverent expression shone from his face. Rachel’s jaw fell further.
Eli then stooped through the tent door, his countenance much the same-showing profound, deep awe.
And then there came another.
Pekah stepped out of the tent.
Amon and Tavor collapsed to their knees as if paralyzed by fear. They hid their faces like children playing a game. Upon seeing the dead man walking, Rachel and Abigail both fell to their knees, cowering together.
Is it a ghost? Rachel shuddered with fright. Holding Abigail tighter, she swayed back and forth in her friend’s arms, not wishing to look at Pekah again.
Pekah was dead! Rachel knew he was dead. And yet, there he stood.
Abigail clutched at her arm. Rachel pulled Abigail’s face to her shoulder, shielding her from the sight. She glanced about, hoping for protection for the both of them, but the other soldiers who had been milling around the area scattered like sheep before a lion.
Rachel looked back to see Jonathan, and noticed compassion in his smile. A strange curiosity welled up within her when she realized Jonathan was overjoyed to see Pekah standing there next to him. Needing his touch, Rachel reached for him. Jonathan hastened to the women and lifted both Rachel and Abigail to their feet.
“Everything’s fine!” he said with encouragement. “Pekah is alive. Do not be afraid!”
He hugged Rachel and pulled Abigail close to comfort her too. Like a child peeking out from the skirts of her mother, Rachel peered around Jonathan’s embracing arm at Pekah, incredulous at what she saw. He truly was alive! She glanced back to Amon and Tavor, who still sat upon the ground, leaning back as if Pekah was dangerous. But Pekah did not move.
He stood there, his tunic rent, stained in blood and falling off his shoulders. His chest was completely bare. Even in the dim light of dusk combined with the light of the fire, Rachel could see that the young Gideonite captain’s chest was clean and whole, with no trace of a wound. No bruise, no scar-no mark of any kind.
Pekah smiled.
Chapter 32
The next morning dawned a bright and warm Sabbath with a few lazy clouds drifting across the sky. Birds were singing themselves into an almost raucous frenzy, the sounds of battle no longer keeping them in a frightened silence. Uzziel sat at his table near an open window that allowed the morning to pour onto the hand-inked pages he surveyed. His eyes misted. Several of the names listed were familiar, one of them a close associate-Abram of Uzzah, his own trusted bodyguard. How will Abram’s young wife Esther ever manage on her own? the high priest thought to himself, a heavy sadness bowing his head.
Putting aside the list of the deceased, Uzziel fiddled with a key on a loop of leather. Rachel had handed it to him the previous evening while sobbing out her own story. Thoughtful, he turned the key in his hands. It reminded him of the first time he met Asah, when he showed up on their doorstep asking for employment. Many years had passed since then, and Asah had become a trusted steward. The thought of never seeing his faithful friend and assistant again in this life caused Uzziel to feel cold.
Too many good people died in this horrible war, he thought, shaking his head. How many? He didn’t know for sure, and couldn’t bring himself to count the names on the list. But there had to be nearly a thousand lost in the final battle, not counting those from Hasor, Saron, and Ain.
Unable to look upon the list any longer, Uzziel turned the pages over, smudges of dirt on them reminding him of the previous evening. He had been outside the gates, looking on as the citizens of Ramathaim and soldiers from Amon’s army respectfully filled the trenches of war with the bodies of those who had perished. Tavor had helped him to make the list as they walked beside the trenches, cataloging the personal effects of the deceased before the long graves were filled.
The grisly work had taken them all evening-the trenches covered and the list completed just as the sister suns hid their faces behind a red-stained horizon. The image of temporary markers, consisting of the personal effects of the deceased and littered along fresh mounds of dirt, still haunted him.
He sniffed, looking down at Asah’s key. Until we meet again, my dear friend, he thought as he put the key
