Keepers of the sword, p.29
Keepers of the Sword, page 29
Naomi had to act fast. She knew she didn’t have much time, but as she stared at the empty hall and deserted anteroom, she realized in horror that she couldn’t move. She was completely paralyzed with fear. She tried to will her feet to move, to take that first step, but she couldn’t. They just wouldn’t respond.
She sent a desperate plea heavenward for the courage to do what was right and closed her eyes in an attempt to clear her mind. With one hand she reached into her pocket and felt Zoram’s key, and with the other she touched the words of Jeremiah engraved on the plates of brass. In that instant, connecting the two as she did, a surge of sudden strength passed through her body, and she started running toward the treasury door.
Almost without thinking, she inserted the key and turned it, unlocking the heavy wooden door and hastily pushing her way in. Her sudden rush of confidence waned, though, as darkness met her eyes. She began to panic. Jharom had always seen to it that a lamp was lit and left inside the room, and though she knew how to manipulate the clasps and rings of the records, she didn’t think she could do it in the dark.
Gradually her eyes adjusted, and she noticed a dull light emanating from the narrow windows and vents where the wall and ceiling met. This weak light combined with the light slipping in through the door illuminated the room just enough for her to do her work.
Which she did quickly and with purpose.
Removing the royal cover, Naomi had to fight the overwhelming desire to just stare at the plates in awe and reverence as she had done every other time she had been blessed to view them with her own eyes. She shook the feeling, hoping not to offend God, put the new plates on the table, and started working the fasteners.
The plates were heavy, and it took all her strength and focus to tip them over. She used a small lever that had been inconspicuously placed under the far end of the table. She winced the instant before they finally turned over, filling the silent room with a loud thud as the heavy metal came to rest again.
She held her breath and listened.
No sign of alarm.
She worked fast, with a skill and dexterity not her own. She freed the small interlocking bars from one another using both hands to manipulate the intricate metal machinery. She had to repeat this process for each of the three binder rings that held the plates in place.
She then took her new, additional plates, turned them over to match the orientation of the others, and carefully slid each one into place over the bindings. Her hands worked deftly, and in no time the words of Jeremiah found their place with the other inspired words and warnings of the prophets of God.
She locked the new plates in place, wedged the lever under the mass of metal, and pushed down.
Snap! The small wooden lever broke in two under the weight.
Naomi broke out in a cold sweat, and her legs became weak with a flood of dread and fear. She couldn’t lift and turn them without the lever. There just wasn’t enough strength in her old hands. With Joshua’s help, perhaps, but not alone.
Outside the treasury she heard a distant voice and could hear noises getting louder.
She had to get out of there!
She looked at the records. It would be blatantly obvious to anyone who might see the plates that they were upside down. Fortunately, only a small handful of people were even permitted to see them and then only on special occasions. She would have to return as soon as she could to right the plates, but for now all she could do was pray that their orientation would not be noticed. But she had to get out of there unseen or all her work—and Joshua’s sacrifice—would be in vain. If she was discovered, it would undo their years of work and endanger many faithful others.
She threw the empty bag over her shoulder and draped the gold-trimmed covering over the plates, stepped quickly to the slightly ajar door, and peered out. She could hear approaching voices from the far tunnels, but it was too dark to see their sources. She slipped out and quietly closed the door, wincing as it locked and echoed softly throughout the small room.
The hallway was still empty. She started walking away as fast as she could, careful that her steps didn’t make undue noise. As she neared the safety of the corner, the constriction in her throat eased up as she began to allow herself to think that she may have actually completed her task unnoticed—
She ran into a guard, this time a member of the palace guard, coming around the same corner. His sudden appearance forced a startled yelp from her lips.
“Excuse me,” he said. “Forgive me. I didn’t—”
“Oh, it was my fault,” she stammered. “I wasn’t watching. I should have been more careful.”
The guard looked at her, and then his eyes moved past her to the deserted hallway behind her. After a moment he returned his attention to her. “And what business do you have here tonight?”
Naomi’s fear paralyzed her tongue as she scrambled desperately to come up with a story to explain her presence.
“Do I know you?” the palace guard asked before she could respond. “Yeah, you serve the Keeper of the Sword.”
“That’s right.” She forced a smile and hoped her faltering voice didn’t give away her panic. “I am the house matron.”
“I was saddened to learn of his accident. I had the privilege to train with him on several occasions over the years. He was a good man.”
Naomi could hear the voices of the returning soldiers behind her. She needed to get as far away as possible right now!
“He will be missed. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” She passed by him, trying her best to assert a confident air and demeanor.
“Ma’am, wait,” he said firmly.
She froze. She could neither outrun him nor overpower him, and she was suddenly and painfully struck with Joshua’s likely fate. Was he alive? Would she soon join him in the hereafter? Never had her regret for doing this without Zoram’s knowledge been so deep as it was at that moment. He could have protected her. Now, instead of a long life into her twilight years, her life would be cut short. But still she knew her life had been one of elevated meaning and purpose. She would meet God with a clear conscience.
“Ma’am,” he said again.
She turned around.
The soldier was holding out Joshua’s bag. “You dropped this.”
Naomi took it and had to fight the urge to laugh from the sudden and deep relief that drained what was left of her energy.
“You’d best be careful if you have other business at the palace tonight.”
“Why is that?” She knew she had only a few moments to make her escape, but she thought that knowing the reason for the heightened security might be helpful when she planned her return to the treasury. “What’s going on?”
The guard looked apologetic. “They haven’t told us much, only that there was an emergency meeting of the Sarim planned for later tonight. Some important matters of state, I suppose.”
Naomi nodded and thanked him, hoping not to appear in too much haste as she made her way out of the palace. By itself, a meeting of the Council of Elders was not unusual, and that might explain the lights throughout the palace grounds, but the fact that Laban’s Fifty were here meant that he was personally involved in it, and that concerned her.
She paused the moment she was clear of the palace and alone. She sobbed quietly for the loss of her friend and brother in the Lord.
Oh, Joshua!
But she had to keep moving. She would not be safe until she returned home, and even then wondered if she, and the faithful men and women like her and Joshua, would ever be truly safe as long as men like Laban and the High Priest maintained their tyrannical hold on power. Zoram was their hope. Joshua couldn’t see it, but he didn’t know the young Keeper like she did. He would help them. The Lord wouldn’t preserve and return him without having some great purpose in mind for him.
For all of them.
Chapter TWENTY-ONE
The small Vedic army was swift and struck with ruthless ferocity. The monastery had no time to prepare for the attack. Zoram and Wu Yien were sweeping the freshly fallen snow from the courtyard high above the rest of the monastery when they first heard the large brass bell, which usually called the monks to prayer and meditation, ring the alarm. This was followed by the shouts of the invading horde. For a moment the two of them just watched, not fully comprehending, as armed men, several on horseback, stormed the gate before it could be closed. Zoram wondered if it might be some kind of training exercise until he watched as one of their masters, one of their favorite mentors, a man they considered a friend, was cut nearly in two by one of the marauders.
Zoram was stunned at the sight of violence playing out before them. It wasn’t until he hit his head on the short stone wall that he realized Wu Yien had pulled him down out of sight.
Seeing his friend cut down in a manner so cruel and barbaric sent Zoram into a rage. But at the moment he started to leap from their hiding spot, Wu Yien reached out and pulled him back again.
“Let me go! They need our help! We can fight!”
“We can also be killed,” his friend said plainly.
Zoram struggled with his grip. “I said, let me go!”
“Listen to me! It will take more than our swords to defeat them. They’re clearly skilled and organized, and they have the advantage. If we are to hope to save even one life—”
“Then we must act!”
“Yes, but not like this, not without a plan.”
Wu Yien stole a peek over the half wall. Zoram’s moment of unbridled shock and anger passed, and he could see now that his friend was right, as always, especially in matters of warfare. He relaxed and joined Wu Yien in observing what was going on in the monastery below. The soldiers were completing a search of every hall and residence, dragging everyone out into the central courtyard. Threats of violence and death filled the stone streets and drifted up to the friends’ ears. Finally, the invaders had gathered everyone and surrounded them with swords drawn.
“Where are the other apprentices?” Zoram asked, noticing that the intruders had only gathered two of them.
“They’ve hidden the others,” Wu Yien said. “They’re protecting their investments.”
“Why aren’t they fighting?” Zoram couldn’t understand their masters’ compliance, especially in light of the death of one of their own. “They don’t outnumber us, and there isn’t an army in the world that could defeat our masters with the sword.”
“It’s not their way. Theirs is a peaceful and nonviolent religion and heritage. They have taken oaths not to take another’s life.”
“But shouldn’t one fight for his life? Is it wrong to defend your life?”
“Perhaps not,” Wu Yien said, “but why should the actions of others control and dictate your own? To die for what you believe is the highest display of faith and devotion.”
“But if they die, their knowledge and skill dies with them.”
“Not true. They have bestowed it on others over the years.”
Zoram shook his head. “Well, they may have taken an oath of nonviolence, but we haven’t.”
Wu Yien smiled mischievously. “No, I suppose we haven’t.”
The friends, as close as brothers over the years, shared a look of assurance that whatever they decided, they would do it together. Wu Yien’s attention was drawn back to the scene below.
“I don’t think they’re simply here to kill us though.” Those soldiers not guarding the prisoners were busy going through the monastery, house by house, and presumably room by room. “They’re looking for something.”
“What could they possibly . . .” Zoram’s words caught in his throat, and he froze in fear as a man on horseback was ushered in through the gate. He was not dressed like the others. He was covered in heavy skins and coats to protect him from the bitter cold this last storm had brought with it. He was wearing the colors and patterns of the Magadha Empire but not that of a soldier. Zoram immediately recognized him. It was the same delegate who had paid them a rather unpleasant visit in the fall looking for—
“They’re looking for me.”
“Yes,” Wu Yien agreed, “and the gift from your God.”
Zoram’s very soul rallied within him to protect what God had given him. “They will never possess it.”
“Are you willing to die to keep it safe?”
“Yes.” He didn’t hesitate.
“Are you willing to let them die to keep it safe?”
Zoram hadn’t considered the extent of the sacrifice that might have to be made.
“And are you willing to kill for it? You see, to die for something—that’s easy,” Wu Yien said. “But to live for something, or worse, to be willing to take another man’s life for it . . . Well, that’s the difference between victory and defeat.”
His friend was right. Suddenly the thought of giving his life to protect the strange metal that had fallen from the sky and that he had risked his life to obtain seemed meaningless. He would accomplish nothing by simply rushing into the fight driven only by his resolve to give his own life in exchange. It was a fool’s sacrifice.
But he had never taken a man’s life before, and as he sat there, he wasn’t sure he could do it. Sure, he thought, he was better trained in using the sword and in close hand-to-hand combat than most anyone in the world. But there was a marked difference between knowing how to take a life and committing his blade to actually kill another human being.
Zoram was torn. On one hand it was written by the hand of God Himself and given to Moses, their great lawgiver: thou shalt not kill. Yet the records and their history were replete with instances where God had commanded men to kill. Was Saul not commanded to destroy and lay waste to every man, woman, child, and every living thing of the Amalekites? Did not David slay Goliath? Maybe there wasn’t just a time to sow and a time to harvest; a time to laugh and a time to cry. Maybe there was also a time to save and a time to kill.
Even if there was a way to escape without killing, Zoram knew he wouldn’t be able to live with himself knowing that his friends and brothers had died at the hands of men looking for him. He knew he had to do more than stay and fight; he would likely have to stay and kill to save everything he loved and cherished.
But while Zoram knew this in his head, he worried he wouldn’t have the strength to deliver the fatal blow when the moment came.
Before he could answer his wise friend’s question, there was more movement in the courtyard. They had found the last of the apprentices and monks, pushing them brutally into the mass of the others.
Wu Yien did a quick count. “That’s the rest of them.” But still men searched.
“They’ll never find where I’ve hidden it,” Zoram said, mostly to himself. “Not even the High Sadhus knows.”
Just then one of their instructors, a younger master by the name of Rajesh, was allowed to pass by the soldiers and approach the delegate on horseback. “Maybe he’s negotiating their release,” Zoram said. “Explaining that the instructors don’t have what they’re looking for.”
“Then why is High Sadhus not speaking?” Wu Yien watched for a moment longer. “No, I think we have a traitor among us.”
“A traitor? Impossible.”
Wu Yien motioned to a tower far out on one of the ledges on the lower side of the monastery. “Do you know the purpose of that lookout?”
Zoram did. “From there you can see the roads below and the pathway up the mountain.”
“Does it not strike you as odd that we didn’t even have time to close the gates before they were upon us?”
“No one was standing watch.”
“Or someone was watching and did nothing as they stormed our walls.”
Zoram was appalled that one of their own could do such a thing. “I don’t believe it.”
“He is right now, as we speak, betraying everything he was ever taught, everything he professed to believe.”
“No, you’re wrong,” Zoram insisted, refusing to believe that one of their masters would consent to or play a part in this act of horror and violence. “How can you be so sure?”
“I was scheduled to stand watch this morning,” Wu Yien said, “but relieved at the last minute. I’ll give you one guess who took my place.”
But he didn’t need to. So it was true. Rajesh had betrayed them all. Anger fed his betrayal, and Zoram had to fight the sudden desire to see to his death personally.
“Hey.” Wu Yien nudged him back to the present and motioned to the central square below. “I need you to focus. Look.”
One of the soldiers made his way up to the large bell atop their meditation hall and rang it three times. When the loud reverberations subsided, the royal delegate stood in his saddle. “Zoram!” he called out. The little man’s voice carried in the crisp morning air. “I am Nagendra, royal vizier and envoy to Lord Ajatasattu, heir to the Haryanka Dynasty, and ruler of all Magadha. I am told that you possess something that does not belong to you, a visitor to our empire.”
“He knows my name,” Zoram said in disbelief.
“It would appear that our secret did not go entirely unnoticed.”
“We wish no harm upon you or this monastery,” the delegate continued, “but we are prepared to obtain this fire from the heavens at any cost!”
“Do you think he knows where we are?” Zoram asked.
“No, but he knows we’re hiding and likely within the sound of his voice.”
“My patience wears thin and the time quickly passes for peaceful negotiations.” The little man on horseback paused and waited for a reply. His countenance darkened as no reply was forthcoming. “You and your reclusive friends have now forfeited our mercy and goodwill and will be punished! Make no mistake; we will not leave until what you have stolen is returned to our possession!”
The delegate raised his hand, and a soldier forcefully grabbed one of the monks, dragged him into the open, and forced him to his knees. “I suspect you can hear me, Zoram. If you can also see me, then let both of your senses witness the determination and resolve of the Magadha Empire.” At the conclusion of his words he dropped his hand, followed immediately by the drop of the soldier’s heavy sword. Zoram turned away sharply and fought to keep from getting sick. This couldn’t be happening! He knew both of the men killed this morning. They were good and honorable men and deserved more than a pointless death at the end of a tyrant’s sword. Did all of God’s gifts come with such a heavy price? He hoped God would receive them for their sacrifice in his behalf.
