Chapter 9: Separation

Ammon crouched low, carefully placing the round stone in the sling. The rabbit was oblivious to his presence. They were hungry, and some fresh meat would be a welcome addition to what had been a very meager diet. It had been a year since they had each, in turn, rejected the Nephite kingship and truly began their mission, but they had not attempted to preach in any major settlements. They had been to, and run out of, several small villages. They’d spoken more earnestly to a few farmers, but Ammon was of the opinion that these simple folk listened more out of fear than any real interest. It was understandable. Besides Ammon and his three brothers, there were six others. If Ammon had been a Lamanite farmer who looked out the window and saw ten suspicious foreigners walking up to the door then he would do whatever they asked too.

The rabbit’s ears perked slightly his direction, Ammon held his breath. As the rabbit relaxed and turned away again, Ammon saw his chance and whirled his slingshot quickly, expertly. Before the rabbit had time to react, it was dead. He was glad for the direct hit; he hated having to wring a neck. He also hated skinning game, but Omner was always willing.

As he jogged quickly back to their camp he contemplated the other continual problem of their large group—food. There was never enough. The only time they ate well was when the same fearful farmers who were willing to listen became generous. It was a gesture of extreme sacrifice: parts of this land had been in a drought for many, many years; everyone was suffering.

As far as Ammon knew, the Nephites and the Lamanites had always been at war. This land they traveled through now had been in Lamanite hands for generations. They were never certain of where they were headed, but they had recently gotten some helpful directions. Another day’s journey in a generally southern direction would put them on a road to some major Lamanite cities. Ammon felt strongly that it was time to try their faith. He knew they had been willing to hop around through these small settlements because there was an undercurrent of fear they seldom spoke about. Ammon felt his pulse quicken at the thought of entering a large Lamanite city. He supposed fear was part of it, but he knew that he was also looking forward to it.

Then disaster struck. Always the leader, Aaron fell sick first, but it eventually Himni also and two of their other companions grew feverish and unable to eat without throwing up. One of these men, the oldest in the group, was struck the hardest. Manri had been a very close friend of Alma’s. He felt so strongly about joining them that he’d actually left behind a wife and three teenaged children. His parting had probably been the most difficult; the rest of them had been young. Himni was only 15 when they’d left two years ago. Aaron had been married once, but his wife had died in childbirth when they were both very young. Indeed, it was her death that had turned Aaron so bitter against the church. Joining with Alma and Ammon had really been a part of his angry grieving.

After staying many days in a makeshift camp, and after many blessings, Aaron and the others began to feel better, except for Manri. He seemed to get worse and worse. It was a somber time in their small band. Little was said at night around their fire. Ammon wanted to have discussion about how to proceed, but Aaron seemed reluctant to enter a dialogue. When Himni was nearly better, Ammon decided the time for waiting was past. Despite Aaron’s reticence, Ammon began anyway. He cleared his throat. “We are too large of a group for the job we are trying to do. We look like enemy combatants rather than missionaries.”

Omner spoke up, “I too had thought about this. It is difficult to reach out to others when we appear so intimidating.”

Aaron countered, “I think we are safer in our large group.”

“Maybe it is time to take a chance, and shake off conventions about what we think is safe. Has not the Lord promised to protect us?” Ammon looked deep into his brother’s eyes across the low, warm fire that was burning.

“And how will the Lord protect us if we don’t use the wisdom he has blessed us with?” There was some murmured agreement around the fire, and then some low moaning from the bedroll where Manri lay. Himni quickly checked him, but he was unconscious, incoherent. They all kept looking for a sign that he wanted to communicate with them, but there was nothing.

Ammon spoke again, “And there is the matter of Manri. . .”

“When he’s better we’ll all go together.” Aaron said forcefully.

Himni spoke quietly, “Oh, Aaron, he is not going to get better.” There was a long silence. Himni didn’t often speak in the group, being the youngest. When he did speak however, Ammon noted the way the others heeded his careful words. Of his three brothers, Himni was the one who most resembled him. Neither of them was as tall as Omner or Aaron, but Ammon and Himni were both broad through the shoulders. His hair and skin were just a shade paler than Ammon’s, and his features were fine, just as their mother’s had been. Ammon and Himni looked as if they had been poured from the same mold, save one thing: Himni’s eyes. While Ammon’s were clear and blue, Himni’s changed with his mood and clothing. Also, one was more brown and the other more green, yet there were times, when he was especially pensive, that they seemed almost blue, though slightly different shades. The color difference wasn’t dramatic, but if he looked at you very directly, you had a sense that something was out of place. Ammon was naturally used to this oddity, but he laughed inwardly at how badly it threw strangers off when Himni looked at them. Because of this, Himni didn’t often look at people directly. He had a habit of looking at them sideways from under his too-long hair, as if he were shy.

Himni’s comment about Manri’s sickness finally voiced what everyone had known deep down, and even Aaron didn’t dare dispute the truth of it, “Then we will bury him together, as his brethren, and move on.”

Ammon was unwilling to let it drop so easily. “I could stay with him, some or all of you could go on. If it is the Lord’s will that I should have a companion then he will survive, otherwise I will proceed alone to the Land of Ishmael.”

Once the words had been said and were out in the open, there was no taking them back, but the stir they caused was evident. “You’ve been thinking about this for some time, brother.” Aaron’s words were not a question.

“I have.”

There was silence for several minutes around the campfire except for the occasional low mown from Manri. Aaron finally replied, “I think it is not wise.”

Ammon shifted slightly and opened his mouth to reply when Himni spoke again, his eyes slightly averted from the circle, “Brethren, I believe we need to fast to gain wisdom. We came on the Lord’s errand; we are entitled to His help. My brothers both make good points, but the Lord would not have us argue,” he looked at Ammon as he said this last statement and then shifted his gaze to Aaron as he finished, “nor would he have us set ourselves up over one another.”

Omner answered, “It is a good idea. I will join in your fast.”

Ammon, Aaron and the others all murmured assent. The next day was spent in fasting and prayer. Ammon pled with the Lord to soften his heart so that he might know the right thing. It was difficult for him to humble himself because the thing he wanted to do had been in his head for many, many days.

Ammon had gone into the woods, alone. As he found himself deep in meditation and prayer, the words came softly and slowly to his heart, “There is one who prays for you in the land of Ishmael.”

He looked up and around quickly. The words had been so plain that he believed himself not to be alone. As he knelt again, the words repeated with an added directive, “There is one who prays for you in the land of Ishmael; you must go alone.” The command startled Ammon. He finished his prayer and ran back through the woods toward camp. When he arrived, Omner met him, “Manri is dead.” Ammon’s eyes filled with tears at his brother’s words. Omner showed little sign of grieving, but Ammon knew that it was his way. He would not spend his grief on tears—his sorrow would spur him to action. No doubt he would be the first to volunteer to dig the hole for his body, or whatever other task could be done. Omner ran his hands through his thick, black hair, Ammon could see that he was impatient for a task that would keep his mind and body occupied.

The nine remaining missionaries took turns in the waning afternoon heat, digging out a shallow grave with sticks and gourds. Prayers were said, commending his valiant soul to the heavens. The men were silent around the campfire that night, the sting of death heavy on them. It was time for them to have a discussion of how to proceed and to share their knowledge gained during the day’s fast, but there was reluctance to do so. Aaron was noticeably absent from the group, sitting far away, his back to the fire. Ammon joined him. “Manri’s death is a great loss.” He began.

Aaron was more agitated than Ammon had seen him in a long time. He dug angrily with his stick in the dirt before him. “We were promised protection.”

Ammon was quiet, unsure what to say, but still feeling something like anger well up inside him. He strove to bite back the words at the surface, thinking that it would be better if Himni or Omner were the one to speak to Aaron right now. But Aaron wouldn’t take his silence, “Weren’t we promised?”

Ammon took a big breath to keep his tone calm, “No, we weren’t.”

“Yes we were! You were there the day father told us that he would give us leave to go.”

“I was. But you are forgetting the promise.”

“Oh?” Aaron’s tone was testy.

“Our father was promised that his sons would be delivered from the Lamanites. Manri was given no promises. Nor do we know what deliverance means. Suffering death at the hands of the Lamanites to go and dwell with God forever is a type of deliverance.”

“This mission is not what I had in mind.”

“Nor I. I feel like we have wasted two years because we’ve been afraid.”

“Is that what you want? For me to admit it? All right! I will say it! I am afraid. Terrified. Today we fasted and I felt nothing, no impressions, just this overwhelming fear that we are traveling deeper and deeper into enemy lands. When we buried Manri today I thought I saw the face of each of my brothers lying in that grave.”

“Shhh. . . Do you want the others to hear?”

“I don’t care if they do. I’m discouraged and ready to turn back.”

Ammon forcefully grabbed his brother by the shoulders. He hissed the words in anger, “Don’t you dare say it. These men, our brothers, have looked to you in every way. They know the promise of eternal life given to us by the Lord through our father. They know there is success waiting for them. That is the real promise we have been given. They can speak the language of this land better than the Lamanites themselves and they want a leader who will take them, with courage, into the enemy’s heart and soften it.”

His brother hung his head, “Then you will have to be their leader, Ammon.”

“No. I cannot.”

“You are the eldest. They can look to you as easily as me.”

“No, Aaron. I have been given another commandment.”

“The Lord has spoken to you?”

“I am to go to the land of Ishmael, alone.”

“Alone?”

“Someone there prays for me to come.”

“What will we do without you?” Aaron looked truly stricken. Ammon had never seen him at such a loss for confidence.

He held Aaron’s arms tightly and looked deep in his eyes. “You will depend on the Lord. You will remember the second chance given to you on the road Zeraph. You will open your mouth and spread that good news. Nothing these Lamanites can do to you is worse than the memory of Hell’s gaping abyss. You will show by your every action that you want the eternal life that has been promised to the faithful. You will be an example to our brothers, the way you always have been.”

Aaron’s eyes broke from Ammon’s intensity and he began to cry as he dropped his head. Never in all their lives together had he seen Aaron show such emotion. Even on the day of his wife’s death, it was nothing like this. He put his arm around his brother and whispered, “The Lord will help your unbelief. You must learn to rely on Him.”

Aaron’s hot, noisy tears quieted slowly as he embraced Ammon. “Thank you, brother. We will go our separate ways tomorrow. Will you give us each a blessing before we go?”

“Of course.”

A counsel was held that night, but when the remaining seven saw Ammon and Aaron’s unity, they were in full agreement. The brethren trickled off to bed, their hearts heavy with anticipation. Ammon stayed awake a long time, staring into the flames, pondering the events of the past two years. He knew he should sleep, tomorrow would be a long, wary day, but he was too full of emotion for rest.

His youngest brother found him this way many hours later when he awoke. He moved to sit by the dying embers of the fire next to Ammon. “It is late, brother.”

“You should be in bed, Himni.” Ammon said with a grin.

“That is what I meant. But I wouldn’t presume to tell my older brother what to do.” Himni grinned too, just to show that he was teasing.

Little was said, but Himni kept watch with his brother through the rest of the night. Ammon knew that it is this sibling he would miss the most. For all his inexperience and youthfulness, Ammon had long believed that Himni represented what was best in all four of them. Their mother had died just days after Himni’s birth and the three brothers had been intensely protective of him ever since they saw how tiny and helpless he was. The prayer in his heart that night was that Aaron would take care of this youngest brother in the way Ammon always had. He did not put these thoughts into words, but somehow he knew that Himni understood.