Hope
J onathan stood next to Eli in the dim glow-stone lantern light of the tent, both with tears dripping into their beards. The door flaps of the medical tent had been lowered to give them privacy, closed well enough that very little of the evening light filtered through. Outside, Azure and Aqua were just about to dip behind the eastern peaks of the Hara Range.
Pekah’s body lay before them, stretched out on one of the cots intended for use by the healers of Rezon’s army for treating the wounded. Split down the middle, his torn blood-soaked tunic had fallen over his arms. The gaping wound in his bared chest stared back at Jonathan and Eli as if it were mocking them with cruel laughter. Even though someone had closed the captain’s eyes, it seemed as if an expression of total surprise remained.
Having trouble grasping the reality of seeing the still form on the cot, Jonathan gazed upon Pekah’s body as if he expected the young Gideonite to sit up and tell them there was really nothing wrong. But Pekah did not move.
“I don’t understand,” Jonathan muttered to himself.
At first, Eli acted as though he did not notice the comment. Then he glanced sideways at Jonathan. “Understand what?” Eli asked.
Jonathan still stared at the body. He scratched the back of his head, trying to shake loose a foggy memory of the past. As his hand absentmindedly fell to his chin, a thought clicked into place. He started, eyes wide and searching.
“Eli! Three nights ago… do you remember?”
“Remember what?” Eli asked.
“Do you remember sleeping in the tent by the Fount of Ain?”
“Yes, of course I do.”
“I never told you, but much like Pekah’s dream about the Emperor Manasseh… I had a dream about Pekah.”
Eli stepped back, astonished. “Did you see Pekah like this?”
“No, not exactly.”
Jonathan then related the dream, in every detail.
“But in the dream, you saw children! What of the children? How do they fit in?”
Jonathan didn’t answer. He fidgeted with his beard as if pulling on it would ease his troubled mind. He let go to scratch his head, and then pulled on his beard once more.
Eli seemed bothered by Jonathan’s nervousness, but did not say anything.
A profound thought crossed Jonathan’s mind and he felt a warm change in his own countenance. It was as if the sister suns themselves broke through the canvas of the tent roof, spilling morning beams into the room. Although Jonathan’s face lit up, tears welled up in his eyes once again. The unmistakable feeling in the room 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.