Chapter 22: Preparation for War

“I can’t see why they don’t just write to the Nephites and seek asylum. I know it would be a lot of pride to swallow, but the situation here is getting intolerable.” Abish said to the queen as she played a clapping game with Sariah. Abish had been gone for several weeks into the land of Midian. She had gone there to deliver a baby and decided she would try to find her mother while she was at it. It had taken many years to decide that she even wanted to try. She and Zaria had not spoken of the results of Abish’s trip yet; it was plain to see that heavy things weighed on the queen’s mind.

The church was in its ninth year now in the lands of Nephi and while new converts weren’t as frequent as they once had been, the list of enemies seemed to grow daily. Believers had flocked to the cities of Ishamel, Midian and Middoni—the more western parts of the land where it was safer. The problem was the city still the most resistant to any missionary work was Jerusalem, right in the center of all Lamanite holdings. The city still recognized King Lamoni-hah as their leader, but the status quo wouldn’t last much longer. Most of Lamoni’s family had been converted to the gospel and when his father passed, Abish did not think the Amulonites, Amelekites and unconverted Lamanites would not allow a peaceful transition to one of the converted kings.

The problem of these refugees was weighing heavily on Zaria. She turned from her window with a sigh, “I think going to Nephite lands is for the best too, but Lamoni and the other kings seem very reluctant.”

“Why?”

She shrugged. “Lamoni told me, not long ago, that he believes migrating to the Nephites will be our ultimate destiny, but he believes the work is not done here. Neither do Ammon or his brothers. Just three weeks ago Ammon said at dinner, ‘The Lord tells me there is to be one more round of converts.’ He had that look about him that he gets sometimes; it is just something you don’t argue with, you know?”

Abish nodded, she knew that look well, though it had been some months since she had spoken with Ammon. He was always busy. She missed the spontaneous way he used to follow her to her night visits, and couldn’t remember the last time his strong hands had been there to give a blessing of healing or comfort or strength. It was true that Himni still made a point of seeking her out and often accompanied her when he was in the city. She had come to depend on his steady and compassionate presence almost as much as she enjoyed Ammon’s charm and vivacity. Lately, there had been times she had wondered if he . . . “Aunt Abish! Pay attention!” Sariah chided, as only a nine year-old could.

“I’m sorry, Princess. I’ll try harder.” Abish said rather absently, but did make a note of concentrating harder on the next round.

A few minutes later, Sariah became bored and scooted off to other amusements. Abish sat near the queen. “You have much to worry about these days, my friend.”

Zaria managed a wan smile, “I do indeed, but it shouldn’t make me too busy to talk to you about what is really on your mind. Now, tell me about your search for your mother.”

Abish began slowly as she told her story. She willed the words to come out, knowing she had skipped her unpacking for the very purpose of seeing her friend, yet at the same time reluctant to tell the truth. Abish described looking for her mother, and how difficult such a thing was. Finally, on nearly the last day she had given herself to look, she found a lead. It took Abish to her aunt, who was very elderly. “She looked vaguely like my mother, although my memory there is probably not very accurate either. I asked her where my mother was living.”

“And what did she say?”

“She died. Less than a year ago.”

“Oh Abish.” Zaria’s eyes were pained, but Abish was just empty inside. She had shed many of her own tears in the last several days.

“She had joined the church. My aunt said that she had changed a lot in recent years—that the gospel had been good to her. She never stopped believing I was alive. When she joined the church, she recognized the message of my father’s she had rejected so many years before and regretted deeply the choices she made that week.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“I took me so long to forgive her. I waited because I didn’t want to hate her when I stood before her again. And now it is too late. I will never even know her—not who she became.”

“Not in this life you won’t. We all make mistakes, don’t we? I think God will let us work through some of those in the eternities. Maybe, even now, she is up there with your father, and all bad feeling between them has passed.” The tears she didn’t think were left welled up again at Zaria’s tender words, and she nodded numbly. She had spent many days hoping for that very thing. There was silence for a few moments and then Zaria said, “Did your aunt know anything of your siblings?”

“No. Years ago my mother tried to contact my sister, but no luck. The last she knew is that she had moved far away, into the city of Helam.”

“Not good.”

“No kidding.” Helam had become one of the most antagonistic cities. They were right on the border with the Nephites and absorbed lots of dissenters. They were one of the cities thought to be in collusion with Jerusalem against the Anti-Nephi-Lehies. “And my brother was in contact with my mother until she became an adherent to the gospel. He cut off all contact with her. The last my aunt knew, he was in Shilom.” Shilom wasn’t much better, as it lay between Helam and Jerusalem. Most of the converts from that city had fled to Midian. Abish nodded, “And I, the one she always disliked, could have been her greatest source of comfort in her old age. Just like all of our ancestors who’ve ever lived in this land, I too will pay the price for my pride. Now I am truly alone.”

Zaria said nothing, just embraced her. She knew what it was to spend a lifetime separated from family, who were more like strangers than part of your past. “You have us.”

Abish nodded, “I appreciate that. The last couple of weeks have taught me just how much I have to learn.” She sighed, “I also lost two babies in Midian, and one mother.”

“A difficult trip.”

“The worst I have had in a long time. I probably should go now. A good rest is what I need.”

Zaria smiled, “But I know you and that is probably the last thing you will get.” Abish smiled wanly, gathered her few belongings and stood to go. As she was leaving, Zaria said, “What I would really wish for you, friend, was that after a long journey there was someone to go home to.”

Abish nodded slowly, “You know, today I really wish the same thing. But I have to live in this reality, and remind myself that it isn’t a bad life, it is just . . .”

“Incomplete?”

“At times.” Zaria nodded understandingly. She had been praying for another child for many, many years, but none had come. She watched as Sariah grew up, essentially alone with only step-siblings many years her senior, and her heart ached. By this time in her life, she had hoped to be surrounded by children. And although he loved her too much to say it, Abish knew Lamoni wanted the same, particularly an heir. Abish read all this in her friend’s eyes and the women embraced, not needing to say more.


Months later, a council of kings over the Anti-Nephi-Lehies was called. The gathering was held at Lamoni’s palace, and although it had been many years since she had worked there, Abish volunteered to help. There was much to be done. The first several days were full of feasting and festivities. It was, after all, a family reunion for Lamoni. Many wives and children had traveled with these men, even though the chief object was business. The palace was filled to overflowing.

Ammon and his brothers also sat in the council, though they would only advise and not vote. Abish was not allowed into the chambers, of course, but the palace was rife with gossip, and within minutes of any break in the meeting the rumors flew. Abish ignored it; she knew if there was anything important then Zaria would tell her.

The old king also came to the meeting as well. With her healer’s eyes, Abish could see he was in poor health, and privately wondered at the wisdom of the journey. Still, he did seem genuinely happy to be in the company of his sons. Abish had taken time from one of her busy days to sit in the queen’s garden she had always loved so much. It looked like it might rain later in the afternoon and it was a cool day. She took advantage of the break in the weather to enjoy some quiet.

As she walked, she was startled to see Aaron. She had thought herself alone. Besides, she had lately begun to think of Ammon and his brothers as a unit, they were so often together. He apologized for intruding on her solitude. She waved off his apology, “It is good to see a familiar face among so many unfamiliar ones in this city as of late.”

His smile flashed, as brilliant as only the sons of Mosiah could smile. “It is true. We travel so much and meet so many people, they all run together. It is good to take time to converse with those who were here in the beginning.”

Abish nodded and said, “No meetings today?”

“Yes, but we took a break to eat. I feel like all we have done for a week is sit and eat, sit and eat; I begged off this meal to get some fresh air.”

“Not a bad idea. It is nice out here this morning.”

“Yes.” They walked in companionable silence for several more minutes. Abish could see there was something on Aaron’s mind, and she wondered if she would press. It soon became apparent she would not need to. “No doubt you’ll hear later in the day anyway, but unless you hear it from somebody who was there, you might not believe it.”

“What happened?”

“Lamoni-hah is dying. He has conferred the kingship to Antiomno. Apparently, there is an old Lamanite tradition that when this happens, the king takes a new name. Antiomno will now be known as Anti-Nephi-Lehi.”

Abish marveled, “Who would have thought that the king of Middoni would one day lead this people with the name of a convert?”

Aaron smiled, “Not I. If Ammon had been just a couple of hours later that day to Middoni, this whole thing would have gone very differently for me.”

Abish laughed, “I had nearly forgotten, but I’m sure you never will.”

“It is amazing the goodness that grows among people after their hearts change.”

“Yes.” There was silence again for a few minutes. “I bet Zaria is glad Lamoni was not named.”

“I am sure. The new king will have a very difficult situation on his hands.”

“It is not a job anyone would envy. Do you think Antiomno is up to the task?”

Aaron shrugged. “Nobody knows; the situation grows more and more unbearable all the time. I don’t know if anybody is up to the task. It is in God’s hands now.”

“Will any decisions be made this week?”

“I think not. The threat is vague, although with a new king it could get more specific very fast. This council will meet again in six months, or sooner if Lamoni-hah dies and our enemies become bold.”

“What can be done?” Abish stopped and looked Aaron fully in the face.

Aaron looked at her for a long moment. “I don’t know. But I think . . .” he trailed off, unsure if he should say more, but finished anyway, “I think these men will be reluctant to take up arms, even against their enemies. These are men who committed unspeakable horrors before their conversions. They see every minute of their lives right now as the greatest second chance of all time. They are terrified of jeopardizing their salvation.”

Abish’s thoughts raced, “So what will that mean?”

Aaron shook his head, “I don’t know, my lady, I don’t know.”

After a pause, Abish said, “It is in God’s hands now.” Abish’s words were said with more resignation than faith, but Aaron didn’t pick up on her tone and just nodded. Minutes later he returned for afternoon meetings, leaving Abish alone in the garden with her thoughts.


Although it seemed the palace was hardly cleared of its guests before the council convened again, it had actually been almost a year. Lamoni’s father lingered in life much longer than expected, and for a time it seemed their enemies would be silent. But when Antiomno was made king, a formal declaration of war came against the Anti-Nephi-Lehies. Despite the king being at Middoni, the threat was directed at Ishmael. It was closest to Jerusalem, the largest city, and the heart of those who believed in Christ. It was unknown when the attack would come, but the kings convened anyway in Ishmael to make some definite decisions. Abish again stepped in to help, not so much because it was needed this time—the group was smaller and more serious, families having been left at home—but because Zaria had begged Abish to move back into the palace. Abish acquiesced with little argument. She knew that it would be safer; and, with the refugees in the city, her comfortable house could be given to two families. She had her few possessions sent to the palace and said goodbye to the small home where she had learned to be self-reliant, to be herself.

After moving into the palace, she learned the real reason Zaria had wanted her to come. She was with child. She had hidden it well from Abish whose practiced eye told her that Zaria was probably only four months from delivery. Zaria needed her friend’s calming influence to keep the baby from coming early.

The whole palace, the whole city, was tense with waiting for the council’s decision. The meetings were closed and secret. Even Zaria had no idea what went on in those chambers. All Abish had to go on was what Aaron had told her the year before. From the grim looks on the faces of the men involved, she knew it could not be good. Himni and Ammon both avoided her eyes completely when she tried to look at them. What was happening?

On the fourth day of meetings, Abish went to bed, but sleep eluded her for a long time until she finally fell into fitful and disjointed dreams. She saw the beautiful courtyard and gardens behind Lamoni’s house littered with dead and dying people. She seemed to be the only one well as she walked from body to body with a single tiny rag to mop up all the blood. She screamed continually for help or water or anything to stop the bleeding, but no one came. She was alone in a sea of death.

She awoke to the vague memory of a horrible nightmare and heard crying. She immediately rushed into Zaria’s chamber. The queen sat on the edge of her bed, sobbing. She was all alone. “Zaria?” Abish said softly to not startle her friend. She turned suddenly and Abish could see that the tears were not fresh. “What has happened?” Abish was in shock to see her friend in such an emotional state.

“The council has decided.”

Abish’s heart sunk. “Oh?”

“They have made many grand speeches and borne solemn testimony and they have decided they will risk death rather than take up arms against their brothers. In fact, today there will be a great show of the burial of weapons as a covenant to God that they are new creatures, that they will never again be the instruments of death.” She spat the words out bitterly through her tears.

Abish’s dream suddenly came back to her vividly as a vision of what would be. “We must flee the city.”

Zaria shook her head. “No. They will not. They will march to the plain, unarmed, when the army comes, and bow themselves before God and leave the rest in His hands.”

“This is madness,” Abish whispered. She felt exactly as if a bucket of cold water had been dumped on her head.

“Oh, Abish, how can women have faith when men make such decisions?” Abish sat down hard on the bed next to her and absently patted the queen’s arm, too numb to shed tears of her own. Even as the queen’s tears flowed, unabated, Abish knew her friend would somehow pull herself together to appear at her husband’s side that morning as he made his announcement. And while she might privately speak to her husband of the decision and plead for understanding, publicly she would never disagree with him.

But Abish wasn’t a queen; she could disagree. Ammon. She had to find Ammon. Surely, if there was one person who could be made to understand—one person with any power she had some pull with—it was Ammon. She hardly knew where to look and so she counted herself lucky when she found him just outside the servants’ quarters.

“Hello, Abish.” His tone was pleasant enough, but she was struck by something in his eyes she hadn’t seen before—a world weariness, a tiredness. As she looked at him closely, she realized it had been some time since she had been in such close proximity to him. The years were finally taken their toll: Ammon was no longer a young man.

“Ammon! I was looking for you; I must speak to you about something.”

The urgency in her tone was impossible to disguise and Ammon, ever the one with quick discernment, said, “Queen Zaria has told you of the Council’s decision.” His tone was resigned and the weariness surrounding him became more pronounced.

“This cannot happen; surely you must see the folly of their decision.”

Instantly some of the fire was back. “Folly?”

“Have they even considered what will happen if God chooses not to intervene? What will become of the women and children left in the city when their men are slaughtered out there?”

“Maybe God will intervene.”

Abish looked closely at him. “I have heard you prophesy many times, Ammon. But at this moment, your words are said with no conviction. God has given no promise.”

His anguish was powerful and emotion clogged his voice, “Am I always to know what God will do? You are no different than they are! All week they have spoken of their unwillingness to lift a weapon ever again. And time and again, they would look to my brothers and I for some sign, some affirmation, that God would protect them. But there was nothing! No impression, no indication.”

“Then how can they believe what they are doing is right?”

“I didn’t say we had no reassurance about that.

“What?”

“The decision to not take up arms has been fasted and prayed about by some of the most faithful and spiritual men I have ever known, and their hearts tell them it is the right thing to do. That doesn’t mean they may not give up their lives to keep their commitment.”

“Then they mustn’t do it.”

“You cannot know the depravity some of these men have given up. I believe, as they do, that their very souls will be in jeopardy if they even consider a fight.”

Abish was shocked into raising her voice to a near shout, “I cannot know the depravity! You, Prince, speak of something you have only heard about. Did you watch your father brutally murdered to appease a pagan god when you were a child? You have no idea what monstrosities evil men are capable of. The men who sold me into slavery, raped the next girl they kidnapped. They didn’t take me because I was too young and awkward. I will never forget the look on that girl’s face or the horror I felt seeing the bruises covering her thighs and arms.”

Abish paused for breath and she knew she was hurting Ammon but she didn’t care. His eyes were filled with tears and she pushed on, “I have been in the homes of these people too. I have seen what a man with no conversion and no conscience can do to a woman. Just three weeks ago, I was delivering a baby in a home where a father, heavy with wine, burst into the room, just as a girl baby was pulled from a weeping mother. He slapped the infant across the face before her cord was even cut. He had wanted a boy. The girl’s neck was twisted in such a way that I don’t know if she’ll ever be normal. Just last night I delivered an unmarried girl who could not have been more than twelve years old. From the way her father hovered, there is no question he is more closely related to her newborn son than any grandfather should be.”

“Stop, Abish.”

“Stop!? How dare you tell me that I do not understand the depravity these men have given up? I have seen it. I know it, firsthand. Shirking the responsibility to fight will loose that depravity on this city—on these women, and their children. If you think merely facing death is cause for fear, then pause for one minute to think of the fear that will reign in these homes. Losing a husband is nothing compared to everything else that will surely be taken. You want me to stop? Have these men stopped to think?”

Ammon’s nearly hissed, “Of course they have! Do you think they haven’t lain awake nights pleading with the Lord to soften the hearts of their enemies? To help them find a way to break this terrible news to their wives? How can you suggest the women have been forgotten?”

“My father made his choice to follow the Lord with little question of what would happen to my mother and I.”

“It has worked out all right for you.”

“I was lucky.”

“You were blessed.” Ammon insisted.

Abish could not deny it. “I was blessed, but I think this situation is different. And in my father’s case; I chose to stay behind and watch him die. These women here will have no choice, no where to flee that is not in harm’s way.”

“All I can tell you is to pray for faith. There is nothing I can do to affect the decision. Lamoni is already on his way to the square to make his announcement.”

“Then go, run, stop him. He will listen to you.”

“Abish, how can I help you see that I have no wish to stop him?” He reached his hand out and placed it on her arm.

She gripped his arms too, “How can you? How can you do this? How can you understand without a wife to love and children of your own? If any man who buries a weapon out there today ever really loved a wife or daughter, how can he not stand to defend them?” She knew there was no logic that could stand up to his faith, so she pleaded instead, trying desperately to appeal to his emotions.

Instead, his face became immediately impassive and his voice went very low, “It is a cruel woman indeed who uses a man’s love against him at such a time.”

Abish recoiled as if she’d been slapped. She could say nothing, and Ammon swept past her in the hall on the way to the outside of the palace. He would go to the square and stand shoulder to shoulder with his friend and with the other men who would make the most important covenant of their lives. The women would be left outside the circle to watch as their hope for the future was buried as surely as the weapons.

She could not go; she fled to her room, numb and sick at heart. The queen was gone. Abish hit her knees, but no words would come. Even when they did, several minutes later, they were angry. She could find no comfort and no answers.