Chapter 7: The Son of A King

Ammon idly skipped rocks into the lake they camped near. He nearly snorted with derision. Camped? More like set up a new colony. It had been a year since they left their father’s city to come and preach to the Lamanites. Yet, here they still were. The boundary between the two lands was vague, but Ammon was quite sure they were not in Lamanite lands yet.

True, there had been sickness, and they’d spent time learning the Lamanite tongue, which Ammon and Aaron were already fluent in. His younger brothers and none of their companions were, so he supposed the learning and study had been good. They had also made extensive study of, and an entire copy of the most the important scriptures. He had to admit he’d actually known very little of the scriptures when he’d asked his father if he could be a missionary. The request was starting to seem rash, even though he was no stranger to spontaneity.

He sighed as he sat on the sand near the lake and dropped the handful of rocks he’d collected for his useless task. No, the decision wasn’t rash; it was the only way he felt that he could truly make recompense for the many mistakes of his youth. He knew he had repented, he even believed he’d been forgiven, but he was still having a hard time fully forgiving himself. The memories of his impassioned cries against following the rules set forth by the Church—by God Himself—still echoed through his soul. If he could somehow push those memories aside by having new experiences where his mouth was opened on the side of goodness and truth, perhaps the past would no longer plague him.

Yet, this very day the past had plagued him. A messenger from his father had come. The letter had been addressed in Mosiah’s own hand to Aaron. The scroll had frustrated Ammon for two reasons. First, if a messenger had been able to deliver it so readily to their camp, then they were really more permanent in this spot than they’d ever intended to be. The second frustration was purely prideful—why should the letter have been addressed to Aaron? Ammon was the eldest. He fought the feeling of jealousy: his rational side telling him that Aaron had always been a much better leader. Even when they had been fighting the church so hard and Ammon’s incendiary words fueled the fires of anger and prejudice, their group had always looked to Aaron as much as Alma to organize and direct, even though he’d been very young. It was the same now; Ammon’s testimony and passion bolstered and inspired them, but Aaron was in complete charge of the day to day running of their camp.

Ammon gritted his teeth and bowed his head, pleading with the Lord to remove such strong feelings from him. They were a great blessing and, at times, a great curse. Just then he heard movement behind him and looked up suddenly.

It was Aaron. In spite of himself, Ammon smiled. Aaron was the most handsome of his three brothers. He had very dark, almost black hair and while his greenish eyes lacked the intensity of Ammon’s blue ones, his whole demeanor was supremely confident. His skin, even with all their days spent out of doors, was much fairer than Ammon’s. He was tall and broad with powerful features, all legacies from their father. In fact, Ammon could never remember a time he had been taller than his brother whose birth was only two days shy of exactly one year after his. Despite their differences in appearance, people had often commented that they couldn’t be closer if they had been twins. “Ho there, brother.”

“Did I interrupt your mediation?” Aaron looked concerned.

Ammon grinned and chuckled, “No. I’ve meditated so much the past year the Lord is saying ‘enough already, Ammon, just get out there and preach.’”

Aaron smiled slightly, “Maybe not.”

“Oh?”

“News from our father.”

“I’ve been curious about that.”

“I am sure you have been.” Aaron smiled reassuringly, and that is all that would ever pass between them about the seeming impropriety of the correspondence. “Our father is sick.”

Ammon nodded. “He is not a young man.”

“No, and the people have spoken about whom they want for a king.” Ammon looked sideways on his brother, wondering what he would say. Blue eyes focused on green for a moment and then Aaron said quietly, “They have asked me to return.”

Ammon nodded slowly, thinking he had prepared himself for this very outcome, but still feeling the shock of it. “Will you go?”

“No, but father already knows. He and I actually spoke on this matter for a long time before we came out.”

“You did?”

“Even our first father, Nephi, did not want a king. He discouraged the people from such a practice, preferring an alternative.”

“What alternative?”

“Father would like to propose a system of judges who will share responsibility for decisions and be chosen by the people.”

Ammon mulled this over for a moment and then said, “It is a good idea.”

“It is, but he had to send this letter first—to make sure. He thinks the people will only go for his idea on the argument that we all support the change. Our father says that if I am unwilling they would take any of his children.”

“So if you don’t go, then I might?”

“Or Omner or Himni.”

Ammon nodded slowly as he looked out over the lake. He stood and began skipping rocks again. His wrist flicking sharply as the stones sailed across the smooth water. The twilight was waning; he knew that they would have to get back to camp quickly. In the stillness he could sense Aaron waiting for an answer. “From our childhood we were brought up to be kings.”

“Yes.”

“I never thought about any other path. Even when we worked with Alma to persecute the Church so openly, it was more about the power we had over people and less about the doctrine. I loved looking into the faces of the crowd and seeing their eyes so focused on me, believing my words, willing to follow whatever I said. It ceased to matter to me what I said anymore, as long as they listened and believed it.” There was more silence in the dark. Aaron would not speak until he knew he understood what Ammon was getting at. Ammon turned now to look at his younger brother. His voice became low and intense.

“I think a part of my natural heart wants to be king. I still crave that feeling you have when you know people are following you into whatever you will lead them to. It is a part of myself that I fear; it is a part of myself that must be subdued if I am ever to see the salvation of God. I am out here in this wilderness because I want to become who God wants me to be, if such a thing is possible. The great mission of my life will be to learn to subdue my will, my desire for power, to God’s will and His power.”

“You are a good man, brother.”

Ammon turned back to the lake and skipped his last stone. “I want to be. Oh, Aaron, I want to be.”

“We will write our father tonight and return his message.”

“We should talk to Omner and Himni.”

“Do you think? They are still so young.”

“Father is a great believer in the will of the people. And though they are young they are both willing to serve and full of compassion. They should likewise have a chance to accept or refuse.”

“We will speak with them.”

Silently, the two brothers began moving through the darkening forest toward their camp. Before going very far Ammon said, “And we need to leave this place. Before another letter comes, before we even learn the fate of our father or our people. It is time to move on and fulfill the mission we have agreed to do.”

Aaron nodded again. A moment later he said quietly, “I am sorry it wasn’t you the people chose. It is the natural order of things.”

Ammon shrugged again and smiled lightly patting Aaron on the back while he struggled against the natural man raging in his soul. “Nephi was a younger brother, and the best of all our leaders.”

Aaron returned the half hug his brother had given, “I bet his older brother Sam was like you. Nephi must have always been grateful that one of them was willing to listen.”

“All will be well, brother.”

Chapter 6: The Slave Market

Though frightened of the strange, blue-eyed men and her uncertain future, even Abish had to admit that it was much easier to face up to difficult things with a full stomach. The pace was relentless, but as they moved toward the Land of Ishmael, it was apparent that the rains had returned to this part of the forest and the weather wasn’t as beastly hot as it had been in Middoni. Other than a short time in the morning and evening when they also gave her a few minutes of privacy, her hands were tied together. She fell occasionally, skinning her face and knees, unable to catch herself, but her captors didn’t hurt her directly. She wanted to tell them that binding her wasn’t necessary—that she had no idea where to run to—but the less she spoke to them, the less attention they paid to her. The man she was the most frightened of had hardly acknowledged her since that first day, but she was cautious to avoid him. She did as she was told, hadn’t her father told her that her job was to live for the truth? Maybe even this new turn of events was part of a greater plan.

They had taken her pack, which, besides the writing tablet, contained only an empty water-skin, a thin bedroll, a change of clothes and a comb. She noted the way one of the men looked over her things. The dress was simple, but the fabric was of good quality. Her father had given her the comb for her ninth birthday and was quite beautiful. She watched his face closely while he examined her things. He pondered the longest over the writing tablet.

As they neared the land of Ishmael there was less forest and members of their party made regular forays into the cultivated fields nearby to bring back fresh game to eat and other “properties” to sell. Three others were captured—two boys and a girl a few years older than Abish. It seemed to Abish that these others had not been wandering idly alone as she had. They were probably taken from near their homes. It made her heart ache to think of mothers waiting for children who would never return. At least her own mother did not expect to see her again. The slaves-to-be were forbidden to speak to one another, but from the few whispered words and meaningful glances, she vaguely understood that the two boys were friends.

The boys’ eyes darted around often, perhaps looking for a means of escape. But the older girl’s eyes stared straight ahead, blank with terror. She was especially fearful of the man Abish disliked the most, and flinched every time he came near her. This amused him greatly and he laughed each time she did it. Abish thought his laughter was the cruelest sound she had ever heard, and somehow it made her heart ache afresh with the memories of her father’s death. He had been laughing like this when he brought the older girl back to camp, slung over his shoulder like his latest hunting prize, grinning broadly. He had thrown her onto the ground where she refused to stand or look up. The next morning, he tied her to the wagon where she didn’t move until the wagon was pulled forward. Only then did she stand or she would have been dragged. Abish walked next to her for a full day before catching sight of her face. Even though it was tear-stained, dirty and bruised, Abish could see that the girl was beautiful. Abish tried to smile at her to show support for this terrible fate they were all going to have together, the girl instead hung her head and cried silently.


Within a day or two, they began to pass small towns instead of just farms or other nomads like themselves. From what she understood of her captors’ language, she knew the fork in the road they had just passed turned toward the great city of Jerusalem: their city. Neither Nephites nor Lamanites. She began to see why her father held such disgust for them. They stayed on the main road toward Ishmael, and after another couple of days of walking they arrived through the gates. Like all Lamanite cities, the surrounding area was referred to as the Land of Ishmael, with Ishmael itself being the capitol. Lamoni was the king of this land, and the son to the head king. Abish didn’t find it so different from Middoni. It was the same noisy, hot, smelly crush of people haggling for food and goods. Still, there were differences. She heard a huge variety of languages spoken. Compared to Ishmael, Middoni was an unimportant outlier. Ishmael was closer to the Land of the First Inheritance and more protected from Nephite invaders, being so far south.

She and her three companions were roughly escorted to a long, low house near the edge of the teeming square. There were others there, similarly tied by ankles and wrists. There were women in the house chattering and measuring the various slaves-to-be. Abish was given rough, drab clothes and a few minutes to wash and change. No curtain was held and her heart sank with humiliation when she saw that she was to change her clothes and wash herself in front of all the others—boys and girls alike. Her captors were, thankfully, outside, and the other captives had the decency to look away as everyone had to take a turn stripping, washing and redressing. Her once pretty red dress that Lanishe had made was placed in a heap with the others. She was given a rough brush to run through her wet hair and she vaguely wondered what happened to her beautiful comb and writing tablet. She turned her head to the side and noted her female companion washing next to her. Abish gasped when she saw the network of bruises on the girl’s thighs and arms. The girl caught Abish’s wide eyes just then and Abish felt a momentary glimpse into her terror. The older girl turned away quickly.

Glancing quickly around and seeing the women busy with others Abish whispered, “What happened to you?”

She turned slowly and glanced up, her lovely eyes filled with tears and she said quietly, “You are lucky to be too young.”

Abish did not understand, “Too young for what?”

She shook her head very slowly, “Perhaps your own innocence will last longer if I do not tell you. And to think, if I had not been taken in the woods, today would have been my wedding day.”

Abish let out a gasp that was just a little too audible and she was immediately reprimanded with a switch to her fingers by a woman who had moved near her. Abish turned to her new friend as she pulled on the rough, brown dress that was given to her. Her wedding dress would have been brightly colored, dyed from the most vivid plants in the forest. To keep quiet, she nearly mouthed the words as she said, “I am Abish.”

But her companion shook her head, unwilling to give her name. Instead she said in a voice almost too low to hear, “I am sorrow.”


After they were all cleaned and dressed they were taken one by one into another room. The blue-eyed captor was there along with one of the others. Abish stiffened, praying diligently to her new God that they would not harm her the way he had the other girl. She flinched away as they approached her with a knife. Her hair was roughly grabbed and cut very close to the scalp with a large knife. She held still, her eyes large as she stared at the knife. Next, her captor rubbed a sour-smelling ointment on the lobe of her left ear. As he did so, she felt an almost immediate numbing sensation. Her captor held her even more tightly as the blue eyed man brandished his own knife. He came very close to her and then through the numbness there was a searing pain. The blue-eyed man smiled as he backed away from her. “That notch in your earlobe will tell the world what you are now.” He tossed a rag to her she could use to stop the blood flow. She was not the first to use this rag in such a manner and it was blotted with various shades of brown and red; the metallic smell was sharp in her nose.

The remainder of that day the slaves were herded like sheep. There were many of them now, with more arriving at the house through the day. The traders were not all of Nephite origin; most were Lamanites of various tribes. She had seen slaves in the land of Middoni, but not many; although she had heard they were common in wealthy families and in the palace. She had seen some in the markets before, the distinctive short hair and notched ears gave them away. She also knew her father had not approved of the practice. He believed that many of them were not beggars or runaways, but victims of kidnapping. She now had unfortunate, first-hand knowledge of his assumption. Other slaves also came from Lamanite conquests in various lands. Her father had once made reference to the great slave markets in the lands south of where they lived. She never expected to be auctioned in that market.

As they were jostled toward the market early the next morning they were told how to behave. In small groups they would be stood on blocks. Bidders would come forward to ask questions; if any of these questions were directed at them then they were to answer shortly and truthfully. If they lied about skills to gain position in a household then they could be put to death after purchased.

A boy next to her whispered, “If they don’t buy you, then you are turned into the streets, which is a thing worse than death with the notch you now carry in your ear.” She didn’t look at him as she spoke, but kept her eyes closely on the slave traders near her. She wanted to know how the boy, who was a head shorter than her, knew so much, but she didn’t dare speak.

Abish had been placed in the middle of the group, but it was a long time before she came close to the slave blocks. She shifted her weight continually as the day grew warmer and warmer. She began to sweat, fighting the urge to fidget and itch from the poorly rinsed, harsh soap she’d been given to wash with. The pretty young woman she’d met the day before was just ahead of her. This girl didn’t look up the entire time she was on the block and was the last one left when no new bidders came forth. The blue-eyed man roughly dragged her off the block and he spoke harsh words to her. Abish’s heart began beating quickly. She was next.

She held her back high and straight, forcing herself to act with dignity. She remembered her father’s strong shoulders and high chin as they marched him up the temple steps. But Abish was not facing death; she could also act with dignity in the face of difficulty. She stepped carefully onto the block so as not to lose her balance.

Several men stepped from the noisy crowd and began pacing their way around Abish and the other four slaves on the blocks. Nothing was said for several minutes. Then she noticed a tall man step through the crowd. He must have been important as the crush of people backed away for him. He wore his hair slicked back with a simple band, but around the waist of his white tunic he wore a band of raven feathers. In Middoni, few people had worn feathers as they were a sign of wealth and status. She had never seen such a tunic as the one he wore, not even the few times she glimpsed the king. She fought to keep from staring. The man was unarmed, but traveled with a large man whose head was shaved and he wore nothing but a loin cloth. He had a sword at his side and a bow slung across his back after the manner of Lamanite warriors. He positioned himself a step back from the man in black and white and kept his eyes fastened in the crowd.

She gritted her teeth and tilted her chin even higher. Before approaching any of the slaves, he spoke for a few moments with one of the traders, gesturing and asking questions. Abish was too far away to hear what was being said and pretended not to notice when he looked directly at her.

Not many minutes passed before he approached her, narrowing his eyes slightly, “What land are your from?” He asked her directly.

“Middoni.”

“Strange goings on in Middoni this last feast day.”

She colored slightly and looked at him closely. She must not lie, but she didn’t have to give away anything either. “Yes.”

“A priest sacrificed himself willingly to the rain god.”

“I believe he was only an apprentice to the priests, sir, nor am I sure how willing he was.”

“Perhaps I should make you one of my spies.” His lip curled slightly and she flushed, sensing he was angry for having disagreed with him, but he continued speaking to her anyway. “I also heard that the apprentice’s family fled, without a trace.” There wasn’t even a question in his tone so she said nothing, but didn’t avert her gaze “But what would an urchin know of these things?”

He raised his eyebrows quizzically expecting a response. She formed her answer very carefully. “An urchin would know nothing.”

His eyebrows rose further in surprise at her clever answer and she knew she’d said just the right thing. “And what can you do?”

“Sir?”

“Skills. What can you do?” He was direct now and dropped all tone of subterfuge. She responded likewise.

“Sewing, cooking, cleaning, and other domestic chores.”

“Such as?”

“I’ve gathered herbs and dyed fabrics, I’ve shopped many times in the market. I was learning to weave when . . .” She trailed off, knowing she’d nearly given away too much.

Again, with the eyebrows but there was no question this time. “How old are you?”

“Ten, sir.”

“Young. But you are big for your age. And you look healthy.” Again, there was no question so she stood very still. He seemed to be mulling her over. “Do you read?”

“Yes sir.”

“Write?”

“I’m learning.”

“You were learning that too when . . .” He trailed off as she had before. She nodded, but supplied nothing further.

He turned to the slave trader and barked some instructions at him. Her captor immediately squatted and scratched some figures in the dirt. The black and white man pointed to them and asked her to read them. She looked carefully at them, to make sure that she’d ciphered them correctly before saying, “Lemhah?”

“That is my name. I am King Lamoni’s chief steward. He is very careful about the slaves he chooses to work in his palace. He treats them well, but he expects exacting obedience. No laziness or plotting will be tolerated.”

“His Excellency has nothing to worry about; I have no where to run.”

Again, she could see that her answer pleased him and he again looked thoughtful. “What is your name, girl?”

“Abish.” She fought the tears in her eyes at having been spoken to almost as a person. He turned from her and began bargaining over a price. The amount Lemhah paid shocked her. She said a silent prayer of thanksgiving—she knew that most others this day had not been treated so well. She was unbound and loaded into a wagon at the back of the crowd. A second Lamanite soldier, nearly identical to the first, stood near the wagon. She sat on the bench. Lemhah gave her a piece of fruit and a water skin. He nodded his encouragement. She drank first, long and deep and then offered it back to him.

He shook his head. “It is a long afternoon. We will stay until the trading is done. You will need more water.”

By the end of the afternoon, two more slaves were placed in the wagon. As a bell rang to signal the end of the trading, a chariot was ordered for Lemhah and the soldiers guarded the slaves’ slow donkey ride back to the palace.

So began the first day of her new life.

Chapter 5: Capture

Abish was smart and strong, but nothing in her young life could have prepared her for life on the street. The first few days were not so bad. The sacrifice day crowds made blending in easy. The few city guards had their hands full with drunken rioters and petty thievery, so vagrants sleeping out went unnoticed. Then, five days after her father’s death, she awoke on a street one morning to find that it had been nearly deserted. The crowds, so noisy and concealing the night before, had vanished as if by magic. She would have to be cautious. As her belly grew increasingly hungry she fought doubts about the wisdom of her decision. She didn’t dare go back to her home, not knowing what would happen if she was caught and associated with her father. Besides, there was nothing left there for her.

She started spending her nights in the forest, gleaning what she could from the picked over plants. The heat was merciless and no relief came. She never remembered a year when the rains hadn’t come within a few days of the sacrifice. More often than not, the crowds leaving the city created a muddy morass of frustrated animals and waste. But not this year: the streets were as dry and dusty as they had been for six full moons. Could it be that her father’s prophesy was already manifesting? Even in her distracted and hungry state, she heard whispers in the market-place. Many wondered about Armac’s last words and if they had, indeed, come from some other, more powerful God they knew nothing of. And though she knew it was not yet time for her to speak about what she knew, she began to see, even in her deep grief and shock that his death had served a purpose.

The first time Abish stole food from one of the market stands her guilt nearly consumed her as soon as the hunger pangs wore off. Even before her father’s conversion, he had taught her that stealing, in any form, was wrong. She could not live this way. It only took a few days of pilfered fruit and restless dreams for her to realize there was no choice but to try and seek out her mother.

She left Middoni along the road she knew was in the direction of Midian, trying to fight the deep feelings of disappointment. What had she expected? To ask such a question was to answer it—a miracle. She had hoped that God would somehow intervene and all would be well. Her father had told her that such a thing would not happen, but in her deepest heart she had hoped beyond reason. Her faith in her new religion didn’t falter, but it was apparent that her prayers would not always be answered. She traveled the unfamiliar road for most of the day, feeling hungrier and thirstier than she’d ever felt. She had no idea how long she had to walk this road or even how she would find her aunt’s home when she arrived in the city.

During the next morning, she passed a turning point toward the Land of Ishmael and the great city Jerusalem but her destination lay in another direction. She found a spot where there were some trees and a small stream. Hungrily, she collapsed to her knees, gingerly cupping her hands to scoop water from the small pool. Water had never tasted so good to her and she was amazed that water was even running after the months of dryness. There were some edible grasses nearby that she munched on, but they only served to make her hungrier. Again, she wondered how many more miles she would have to travel before reaching the city of her mother’s people. She tried to focus on something else, but the rumbling in her stomach made concentrating nearly impossible. And then she heard something she had not heard all the previous day—the sound of animals and people coming down the road. She had a vague sense that she wasn’t safe, and she hid herself deeper in the thin stretch of vegetation lining the stream. Her heart sank when the caravan stopped very near her.

From her vantage point she could see that they appeared to be merchants of some kind, and for all their noise there were not very many of them. All men. She thought it was strange they would be traveling this direction on this day. They had obviously not been in Middoni for the sacrifice day. She wondered what they could be selling that would have kept them from the celebration; there would have been lots of money to be made. She sucked in her breath when they began to establish camp. It looked as though they intended to stay even though it was not that late in the day. She hoped she would not have to keep herself hidden until dark; she had not chosen a very comfortable spot. Two of the men in the group carried large animal skins to the stream very near her hideaway.

Abish fought to keep still as she felt a cramp in her leg. She rubbed it slowly and carefully with her hand, praying for strength not to make any noise while they filled their flasks. The men spoke and Abish heard much of what passed, though she only recognized some of the words. The Lamanites were a loosely connected people without much in the way of a common language—there had been many smaller, conquered people over the generations and their languages sometimes became lost and sometimes incorporated into the standard speech. These men by dress and language hardly appeared to be Lamanites at all. Except for one time, she had never seen such pale skin. Unlike Lamanite men who were always bare headed and usually shaved clean, these men wore headdresses of some kind—like yards of cloth wrapped around and around. They were also wearing robes and long sleeves. They seemed terribly overdressed for the heat of this day. Maybe they were Nephites.

She remembered many years ago, when she was a very little girl, her brother and his two friends often played a violent war game. They took turns playing different parts and some of them would overdress and put coverings over their heads. Even though she was a very small child then, she remembered the game because one day her father came home and saw them playing. He was angry. She remembered few of the details but only that her father had said, “The Amalekites and Amulonites are murderous traitors. They are lower even than slaves or the Nephites they descended from.” He forbade her brother from this type of play in the future. He had ignored the admonition, and not long after he shaved his head, ran away and join the Lamanite soldiers in their many conquests. He had contacted the family later to tell them of his whereabouts, saying that he had done well for himself accumulating both power and wealth. Armac had said very little about this news, indeed he had seemed unhappy about it. His reticence had been a sharp contrast to her mother’s joy.

This memory whirled through her head as she tried to hold very still despite the increasing numbness in her legs. She let the ghost of a sigh escape as she realized the problems between her parents had probably been a long time coming. She shifted slowly and slightly, never taking her eyes from the merchants in the stream. One of the men glanced up from his task and looked around casually; suddenly his expression changed.

He locked eyes with Abish and his face was no longer casual. He began speaking in a language she better understood, although his accent was very heavy. “Come out, girl, there is no use hiding now that we have seen you.”

She knew he was right, but she remained still and listened to the warning in her heart. The man’s tone was nice, but she didn’t at all like the way he looked at her. “No one will hurt you.” He continued in his coaxing tone, but she did not believe him.

He stood to his full height and leaped the stream easily, motioning for his companion to follow him. He did, but shook his head and seemed to be arguing with the first man. Without thinking, Abish bolted. In moments she was out of the cover of the trees and into the prairie, wishing the grass was just a little taller so that it would hide her better. Despite her sudden dash, she was slower than she expected to be. Her feet were asleep from holding still so long and they didn’t move easily over the uneven ground. After a short dash she stumbled and then was roughly dragged to her feet. The man held her from behind and she bent low, biting his arm fiercely as she kicked away from him. The bite startled him. He dropped her and cried out in pain.

She ran well this time, her feet working properly again. Then, her hair was grabbed from behind and pulled forcefully; she tumbled to the ground and was again picked up. It was the second man who had her now. As she fought against him, he slapped her hard on the face and she was immediately still from the shock and the pain of it. She looked into his menacing eyes as he shouted something to companion. When his companion approached her, he sneered at her and spat on the ground. Another round of arguments broke out between the two men, the one holding her shaking her arm and pointing at her. The first finally shrugged, which seemed to end the argument. He grabbed her other arm and they dragged her back to their group, picking up their water flasks on the way.

More discussion took place when they joined the others. Finally, the one who had first seen her in the trees spoke to her, “Why do you travel alone?”

“I’m not,” Abish fibbed.

He laughed loudly. “There is no one around for many miles. And the nearest town is Middoni—at least a day’s walk from this stream and crossroad. You have either run away or gotten lost.”

There was nothing she could say to contradict this truth so she stayed silent until he shook her arm, “My mother. . . .” She faltered. “I am going to meet my mother.”

“In Middoni?”

“No, I am coming from Middoni.”

He seemed to regard her closely. “You are very young, why are you not with your mother?”

“I can take care of myself.”

He laughed again and pulled her roughly toward him, “You cannot know how dangerous it is on this road alone. There are bad men out here.” Again he leered at her, but at a protest from one of his companions he shoved her away. “But my companions tell me that you are too young and ugly to bring me any pleasure, so instead we will not harm you but take you to the land of Ishmael. There is a great slave auction that takes place in Lamoni’s City every year at this time. You are strong as a young llama; you should fetch a decent price.”

She felt the blood drain from her face and she knew that the terror was evident in her eyes, but she couldn’t fight it. She was going to be sold into slavery. As he saw this realization come over her face, his rough laughter fell around her again. He pulled her roughly to her feet and tied her behind their wagon. Suddenly Abish knew why his eyes looked so frightening to her. They were blue. She’d never seen a person with blue eyes before.

Chapter 4: Sacrifice Day

The forest was as still and as quiet as it had been the night before. As the branches around her became denser her apprehension grew. After hours of wandering, Abish was certain that she was lost. Without her father to follow she had no confidence in her ability to find the path. She was also much clumsier. She hadn’t realized just how many branches her father had held out of her way until she was by herself. She walked into a small clearing and looked around, desperate to spot any landmark that might give her a clue. There was nothing—only dense jungle surrounding her on all sides. With no other choice before her, Abish fell to her knees and timidly poured her heart out to the Lord the way her father had shown her.

She paused at the end of her prayer and sat quietly. She heard the gentle breeze rustle the leaves around her and a voice on the wind whispered stillness to her soul. God had not smiled on her departure only to allow her to perish in this place. The breeze continued swirling around the clearing as Abish breathed deeply and tried once again to get her bearings with a clearer head. Almost imperceptibly, she saw the breeze part the branches at the edge of the clearing. She squinted in the darkness to make sure her eyes were not deceiving her, and she saw it again—the branches moved back, just for a moment, beckoning her into that part of the forest. She stood and walked in that direction.

After two or three steps into the forest, she saw a path. It was old path, not the one that she and her father had stayed on for most of the night before, but there was a definite pattern to the twisting and turning. With renewed energy, she forgot her exhaustion and moved swiftly through the woods. Very soon she saw a tree with three distinctive trunks, which she and her father had passed the night before. The old, rough path she was on joined the new, smooth path and she was on her way again. She paused briefly to utter a prayer of thanksgiving for being led to the right way. As she said her prayer, she turned to gaze at the path she had just come along, but it was gone. There was no place in the trees to indicate where she had come from.

Within minutes she came to the rock where her father had taught the truths in his vision. Suddenly overcome by exhaustion, she rolled her blanket out on the ground and fell into a deep and dreamless sleep for the remainder of the night.

When Abish awoke late the next morning, the sun was beating on her face. Two nights’ journeys had left her exhausted enough to sleep well through her normal waking time. By now her mother and father would know what she had done. She wondered what would happen. Would her father try to find her? He might guess where she was even though she had left no message. Would her mother stay to see what became of her, or would she be too worried about her own safety to stay? In her mind she could imagine them arguing over breakfast.

Abish prayed again, asking the Lord to remove the last of her anxiety. She didn’t want harm to come to her mother any more than she wanted her father to be killed, but she couldn’t abandon him in his greatest need. She couldn’t. She would stay in the forest until the day of the sacrifice. Then she would go to the city to see what would become of him.

The forest tempered the heat of the day somewhat, but Abish took to resting during the hottest part of the afternoon, as well as night when it was so dark. She gathered what food she could, trying to make her stores last longer. She explored the forest around the grove where she stayed and pondered the things she’d been taught. She also spent time writing her thoughts on her tablet, liking the way her letters seemed to improve every time she wrote them.

It was the late afternoon before the Day of Sacrifice. Abish rested in the heat and fell into a dream. She walked with her father into the forest, but everything was tinted blood red. He did not seem to share her anxiety: his face held the same placid assurance it had the night he taught her the gospel. Then, from the forest came hundreds of hands grabbing for them. She fought and pushed and escaped to a place beyond the red, but as she did so, she realized she was utterly alone. She sat up sharply from her sleep and yelled, “Father!” Suddenly she realized where she was and sank back to the earth. Alone in a forest of brilliant color. She felt sick at heart.
Exhausted, but unable to sleep any longer, she left the grove to travel before complete darkness made such a thing impossible. Her plan was to reach the edge of the city and rest for the night in the forest’s margin. At sunrise, she would join one of the many caravans which had come to Middoni for the holy day. She would tie a scarf around her head and try to avoid the notice of people who might be familiar to her. The sacrifice day was big business for the traders. Many families from all over the surrounding countryside gathered on that day to spend a week in feasting and homage.

Abish knew that despite the jubilant mood as her people looked forward to the end of the drought, there was fear as well. The sacrifices to the war gods were enemies, but the rain god’s victims came from their own people. Abish had once marveled at this: how could any man be willing to do such a thing? Her father had told her that the volunteers were either very pious, and saw sacrificing oneself for the rain god to be a guaranteed fee for salvation. Other victims came from families who were poor and starving. In exchange for large sums of money, men volunteered to give up their lives. Every time she closed her eyes, she could imagine their mostly naked, ceremonially cleansed bodies, marching without words or struggle, move peacefully up the stone steps ready to meet their awful fate.

She made her way carefully through the woods and managed to avoid getting lost. Her sleep was fitful, but at least free of dreams about blood and sacrifice. She woke, well before sunrise, trying to stop her heart from racing, but failing miserably. The memories of her father’s explanation about the process of sacrifice pounded her consciousness and it was hard to think of anything else. He had described for her, in great detail and at her insistence, the various ways the victims were cut after being taken to the top of the temple and restrained. The priest’s apprentices used very sharp knives, executing their ritual with exacting perfection as the drums beat relentlessly. Several cuts to the arms first, and then the legs. The victims felt great pain and cried out, it was thought that the rain god liked this vocal display and they weren’t silenced. The wounds were allowed to gush for several minutes before the major vessels in the armpits, groin and neck were cut. Just before the victims slipped into deep and silent shock, the chest cavity was stabbed—the priest himself bringing down the knife with two hands straight into the heart. After copious amounts of blood were smeared on the altar, the mutilated bodies were paraded through the street, so the people might see the depth of the god’s demand. The bodies were then burned, unclaimed by their families.

Just as the first hint of pink showed in the east, she heard the unmistakable clamor of people on the road. It was far enough away that she was unable to see those making their pilgrimage to the city, but she could tell there were many. She made her way to the edge of the woods hiding until she saw a place where she could discreetly join the crowd. She was dirty and dusty and dressed simply, so she looked exactly like every other traveler on the road. She melted in quickly and within several minutes was through the gate. The soldiers asked questions and poked around in bags and wagons, but none of them bothered a gawky young girl with a simple sack over her shoulder.

The sacrifices always took place at the temple when the sun was high overhead. At midmorning, the gates to the temple would open and the people would rush in to get the best positions. Abish knew there was no place to stand where you could really see what was going on. The glare on the pale colored rock was too great. Any attempt to look up was thwarted by the sun. The sacrifice and ceremony lasted a couple of hours at the most, and while the actual event was difficult to see, the after-effects were obvious. The blood stains on the temple steps lasted for weeks and weeks, even after the rains came.

Though she had never tried to be close to the temple on sacrifice day, on this morning she carefully elbowed her way to the front. Her heart was in her throat, and the dream-memory of the red hands grasping after her in the forest made her want to run, but she forced herself to stay in the thickest part of the crowd. Then she heard the steady beat of the drums beginning—the drums that called the crowd to witness the carnage. The crush of bodies was powerful around her as people pressed for advantage near the temple gates which opened suddenly. The surging mass pushed through. The stifling heat and the stench from the crowd surrounding her were nearly overpowering.

Only minutes later she saw him. He marched out of the temple entrance behind the priests, dressed in his apprentice robes with his long, sharp knife at his waist. She knew the drill; some of her earliest memories were of these feast days. The crowd around her suddenly hushed as the chief priest stepped to the front and began to speak. Some prayers would follow and the victims would be led up the hundred temple steps to the altar on the top.

Before many words left the priest’s mouth, however, she saw her father step out of line and interrupt in a loud voice. The gasp was audible in the crowd around her. Such a thing had never been done.

“I have had a vision!” He announced.

The chief priest whirled quickly and his dark eyes narrowed as glared at her father. “Armac. Now is not the time!” His voice was a hiss barely above a whisper, but Abish heard every word.

“It is the only time! Before another drop of unnecessary blood is spilled I must be allowed to speak.” There was a stunned silence from the priests and apprentices. Abish didn’t read the silence as permission, but it was the only chance he would get. So he did the one thing he could. He testified. She heard his voice ring out clear and true above the noise of the crowd. For a few brief seconds, the melee was still as her father spoke quickly of love and kindness and the God of mercy. And then, just moments after he began, people began jostling and booing around her. She lost her vantage point, but she could still faintly hear his testimony above the fray. Then she heard a barked command from the high priest and her father’s voice was silent. Abish elbowed her way to the front again, surely they hadn’t killed him already? Her heart sunk as she heard the jubilant cheer from the crowd over something they had just seen.

Then she saw. He had been stripped of his robe, bound and gagged. His eyes were clear, and even bound he held his back straight and his chin high. He did not struggle. The chief priest tapped his large staff several times on the cobblestones and the commotion subsided. Even in the heat, she could see that the color had drained from his face and his eyes were hard and angry. “Armac’s vision is false. The Lamanite gods will not stand for such Nephite heresy on a feast day. They demand his blood in sacrifice as well!” His voice escalated near the end and the shout went up around her, praising the gods. “This extra sacrifice will bring a rainy season more bountiful than any we have yet seen!”

Her stomach suddenly churned and she feared that she’d be sick, right there in yard of the temple. As the world spun around her, she struggled to take deep breaths--in and out, in and out. She would not leave; if this was the only way she could support her beloved father then she would do it. Then, he saw her. His eyes clouded with tears. Her own did the same. She knew that his tears were not for the inevitable sentence, they were a goodbye.

It seemed like only seconds later when Armac was taken up the steps of the temple with the other victims. His feet had been loosely tied and rather than wait for his hobbling, a soldier was pulled from the crowd to drag him. Abish’s heart ached at the show before her. She wished they would untie him: she knew that he would not protest his fate, and he might at least maintain some dignity in death.

The sun was bright as she peered toward the top of the temple. The brightness caused the tears in her eyes to spill down on to her cheeks and she had to look away. There was more pompous display and speeches, most of which was impossible to hear. But then the drums began again. They pounded relentlessly in her brain and her head ached from the noise and the glare and the heat. She strained to hear, anything. Would he find a way to speak one more time before the screaming began?

Then, miraculously, above the drums she heard his voice magnified impossibly loud ring through the crowd, “This day you shed innocent blood, and the true God of Heaven will withhold the rains until you are ready to hear his message!” A murmur of fear electrified the crowd, and Abish knew that all had heard his last, prophetic words, for at that moment, his voice was cut off. Before she had time to wonder if he had been gagged or killed, shouts of obeisance and fear rose up all around her and her eyes focused at the pinnacle of the temple just long enough to see the chief priest hold something up. A severed head. Her father’s head. The man who had loved her and been the center of her tiny world. Butchered.

The drums began in earnest now, the ritual proceeding as normal—as if anything would ever be normal again. People surged around her as she fought her way outside the gate. Arms were raised and the chanting matched the drums, beat for beat. Bile welled up in her mouth and she didn’t know how she would hold the contents of her stomach. Finally free of the square around the temple, she found shade to the side of a small market stand and collapsed to the ground, taking great big gulps of stale air.

She buried her head into her filthy arms, holding them over her ears so the merciless pounding and screaming wouldn’t burrow so deeply into her brain. Then, it was over. She knew that at any minute, people would come pouring out of the gate, ready to line the dusty streets as the bodies were paraded toward the pyre. Despite her weakness and exhaustion, she knew that she couldn’t stomach it. She didn’t know where she was going, but she could not stay to watch the carnage. She stood weakly on her feet and wandered from the public street.

The feasting and the trading would likely continue for many more days and she was vaguely aware that she would soon have to formulate a plan for what to do next, but her thoughts wouldn’t focus. Every time she tried, she saw her father’s head raised in triumph before his enemies. She wandered for a long time, paying little attention to where she was headed, until she recognized her own street. She stopped before its door, and a momentary, familiar calmness came over her.

Abish had a dim idea that it was dangerous to step through the door. Though most people were in the center of the city that day, there was still a chance of running into someone she knew; someone who would know that her mother had left or that her father had been killed and wonder what she was doing there, but she couldn’t keep herself from going inside. The curtain on the door had been removed, probably taken by Lanishe in her escape. Their sparse furniture was still there, but there was no food; her mother’s clothing was gone, as well as her few precious items. She buried her face in one of her father’s clean tunics that had been folded neatly into a small basket near her parents’ mat. She sobbed until she thought she would lose her voice. She was ten years old and all alone in the world.

Chapter 3: A Choice

The momentary relief on Lanishe’s face was very real when Abish and her father walked in the house. Rather than allow her worry to turn to tenderness, however, Lanishe demanded irritably to know where they had been. Armac’s truthful explanation only fueled her anger and she began protesting everything—visions, priests, her husband, the king, her inconsiderate daughter. Her fury took several minutes to burn out as she hastily threw together breakfast. Abish made a move to help but stopped quickly as her mother’s heavy wooden spoon found her knuckles. Her heart sunk—the joy from the night was nearly gone. If her mother would not listen, then what hope was there that strangers would heed?

Armac said little throughout the meal. His unwillingness to argue finally quieted Lanishe. He left after breakfast. He had only been gone from the house for a few minutes when Lanishe said, “What is your father going to do? He talks as if he will refuse to perform the sacrifice, as is his duty. For our safety, you must tell me about his plans.”

Abish was filled with quiet anger. She knew that shouting and harshness was not the path of a believer. She knew that her father’s gentle approach was what God would want, but it was very hard. “Mother, if you just would listen to father, you would see that what he is going to do is not wrong. It is what God wants from him.”

“The gods want servitude and sacrifice. You know nothing of them.”

“And what do you know of them?”

Lanishe said nothing; she just narrowed her eyes at Abish. “You are not to spend any more time alone with your father. On the day before the sacrifice you and I are going to go to my sister’s home in Midian. Then the consequences of your father’s actions will not be visited on us. We will be far away and we will tell nobody where we are going.” Abish’s aunt lived many, many miles away in a city about the same size as Middoni. They had their own king, and Abish knew they would indeed be able to start over there. Lanishe had grown up in Midian, but had not been there for many years. Abish did know that her aunt was a widow with a spacious home and nobody but herself and a few servants to fill it. Abish had only a vague memory of her.

Abish took a deep breath before she disagreed. “Mother, I don’t think it is necessary.”

“Then tell me what his plans are. I will decide what is necessary.” Abish wavered, and her mother could see that she was breaking her down. “Is he going to approach the other priests with what he has seen?”

“They won’t listen.”

“How does he know that?”

“You won’t even listen!”

“It is all lies. They will tell him as I have told him.”

“God has told him that they will be angry if he speaks to them.”

“So then he should do nothing. He should keep his foolishness to himself.” Abish looked away, knowing that the truth would only cause her mother to leave this home and her father, dragging Abish along too. But if she didn’t tell, they would probably go anyway. There was no good answer. Lanishe read Abish’s down turned eyes easily. “He isn’t going to keep it to himself is he?”

“How can he hide the truth God has so clearly demanded he share?”

“This new god of yours is a fool.”

“God expects much.”

“Too much.” She paused and stared into Abish’s pleading eyes. She then turned abruptly and said, “Pack anything you can carry on your back. We will go tomorrow after your father leaves the house. We cannot risk staying any longer.”

Lanishe spent a busy day cooking and cleaning. She was demanding of Abish’s time and said very little other than to give her new tasks. Abish had not packed. She was trying to decide if she would even go. She was so young—too young to stay on her own for very long. If something happened to her father. . . it was too horrible to think about. As she went about the mundane housekeeping tasks her mother kept finding, tears would well up in her eyes at the thought of leaving her father and all of his wisdom behind. He had taught her more of real value in this past night than she had learned in her whole life. The thought of moving to a new city and never knowing his fate was devastating.

Late in the afternoon Abish said to her mother, “If you are leaving him on his own, then why are you so anxious to have food cooked and his clothes mended?”

“I am not heartless, despite what you think. I just refuse to be dragged down with him for something that I cannot believe in. My feelings for your father have greatly waned over the recent days—maybe even recent years, but I am not without compassion.”

Abish said nothing as she ground the corn for the cakes that might be her father’s last meal, contemplating her own future. Did she dare take some of these cakes and hide in the forest? What then? If her father was killed what would she do? How could she survive? She was not so naïve to think she could make it on her own. Her father had told her many times on that wonderful night that the most important thing she could do was listen to the voice in her heart. But how could she hear it for the pounding in her chest every time she thought of staying behind?

Near supper, Lanishe said with finality, “There is no other way for me to keep you safe than to flee with you tomorrow from this city. You are too young to understand these things. And much too young to take care of yourself. You are not stupid, Abish, and you must see what I am trying to do. But your sulkiness this day tells me you are foolish—like your father.”

“You once must have loved him.”

“That was a long time ago.” There was nothing to say after that. Abish could think of nothing and her mother did not elaborate. “Begin dinner, daughter, your father will be home soon, if he is coming tonight.”

Armac did come home that night. He was distracted and said nothing. When Lanishe stood to clear Armac’s dinner bowl he said, “I know that you are going to leave, Lanishe. This is a good thing. My actions on this coming sacrifice day will undoubtedly place you and Abish in danger. I would not wish that on you. I have made my decision based on God’s requirements. My life and testimony is small penance for the innocent blood I have helped to shed over the years, but I have no wish to see you fall with me.”

“Yes, husband.” No more words passed between them that night in Abish’s presence. As she lay in bed, she pondered her father’s words of approval concerning their removal from Middoni. He had not wished any harm to come to her, but he had given her the truth. Was she just to run away from it now? Move to a strange city with no connections? Let her mother arrange a marriage to a man who understood nothing of her heart or her convictions? The future she could see was more unbearable than the one she could not. And while her heart still pounded away in her chest, the feeling of peace came again, strong and alive underneath her fear. She knew God would watch out for her just as he would watch out for her father.

As she made her choice, she was for a moment wistful for their regular routine that now seemed like a lifetime ago, even though it was less than a week since her father had shared his news. It had never been perfect, but she found herself longing for everything to be normal again. But it never would be now. Her father knew the real God and would be killed for Him. Abish knew his testimony was true and she could not run away from it.

When the night was at its darkest, she stole carefully down the stairs and filled her knapsack with some of the food she and her mother had spent the day cooking. There was nothing else to do but go. She stood at the threshold and squared her shoulders, breathing in the feeling of calm. In the years to come, the memory of her father’s voice would fade and many of his teachings would be forgotten, but she would never forget the way her spirit felt at just that moment when she took her first step into the darkness. That precious serenity would be her light in every difficult place. At the moment of decision, the Lord was with her.

Without looking back she walked out the door. For the second time she escaped into the dark street and into the night. She followed the vaguely familiar path into the forest and to whatever other destination God had for her.

Chapter 2: A Remarkable Vision

After days of silence between her parents, Abish decided that the confrontation from that morning had been better. At least they had been speaking then. Meal times were dreadful. Abish knew the silence was not her father’s choice, but she feared that if he tried to speak, Lanishe would just ignore him. Her parents had never been affectionate with one another or even very talkative, but this silence was different. It was heavy and oppressive, just like the weather.

She wasn’t sure if the weather seemed worse this year because of the mood in her home, or if the late dry season was always so miserable and she had less to divert her thoughts from it this year. Though not farmers like the Nephites or some of the Lamanites further south, the city still depended on trade from the Lamanites and the raids on the Nephites. But for the first time in her young life, Abish was unsure about this sacrifice day. Always before, she had seen the sacred ritual of the sacrifice as necessary and good, if a little gruesome. Even after the terrible details her father had provided, she had faith in the necessity of its performance. The festivities and anticipation of renewal in her city had always been a source of jubilation. This year, however, the sense of pending change brought her no happiness.

In idle moments, her thoughts spun more wildly than she could ever remember, and though her father had said very little, she pondered what he had said. Suddenly the reasoning behind the sacrifices made no sense. There had been sacrifices before and rain didn’t always come right away. And if there was a rain god, why should he care about human blood and gore? And didn’t the Lamanites raid crops from the Nephites? That meant the Nephites must receive rain, yet they did not sacrifice.

She knew the answers would not be forthcoming until she actually spoke to her father. Somewhere in the midst of all her pondering, idle curiosity turned into a burning desire to learn more about the one God she had never known. So she waited, knowing she would find a chance to talk to him if she was patient. She always did. Her mother kept her busier than normal these days and her father spent all of his time inside the palace and temple gates—a place she was forbidden.

Five days after his breakfast announcement, Abish’s mother scolded her for staring idly up the street when she was supposed to be adding a strip of fabric to the bottom of her second skirt to cover her ever-lengthening legs. Abish murmured, “I am sorry,” as she turned back to the fabric, forcing herself to concentrate on the menial task for which she had no talent.

Her mother looked up from her own mending and sighed. In a rare moment of empathy, she said, “I know it has not been easy living with your father and me these last days. There are things weighing heavily on our minds; things I am afraid we will never see in the same way. I forget sometimes you are caught in the middle of this awkwardness. Someday you will understand such things.”

Abish wanted to say many things to her mother about what she thought and understood, but she wisely chose to bite her tongue and merely replied, “Yes, Mother.”

Abish struggled through the rest of the afternoon. Before she finished lengthening the skirt, the sweat ran down the back of her legs and tickled the bottom of her feet. Though off her neck in two heavy plaits, her thick black hair itched from sweat. Sometimes, in brief moments, she envied the slaves in the market place with their hair cut short to the scalp, or the fierce warriors with their shaved heads.

Armac came home, as usual, late in the day. Their meal time was silent again. Abish could tell from the way his brow was nearly constantly furrowed that he was planning something rash. This made her a little bit reckless too. She must talk to him, soon, and incur Lanishe’s wrath. She had to know what he knew, so that she could decide for herself. The silence continued long after dinner and was so oppressive that Abish thought she might scream in attempt to break the tension.

Sleep wouldn’t come that night in her small loft. The heat from the day wouldn’t be gone for hours yet and her room was stifling. Her thoughts whirled until she did fall into a restless sleep of senseless and disoriented dreams. Then, a noise, almost imperceptible started her awake. She sat up abruptly from her mat, She sat very still in the stagnant, hot air. And then, she heard the sound again. Somebody was in the main room of the house. Quietly she slid off of her bed and peered down through the hole to the loft. It was her father; he was sliding into his sandals and picking up his bag, which appeared heavy. Softly he stepped out into the night. Abish quickly pulled on her daytime dress and scurried down the ladder, reminding herself with each careful step to be graceful. Quietly and carefully, she stepped into her own sandals and followed him out the door. She blinked a few times; grateful for the bright moonlight that helped her eyes adjust quickly to the street around her. Her father was just rounding the corner. He moved quickly and she nearly had to run to catch him. She did not want to sneak up on him, but still wanted to be as quiet as possible. Obviously he had left in the middle of the night to preserve secrecy, and she had no wish for anyone else to see them out here. She closed the gap between them and whispered, “Father.”

Armac whirled, startled for just a moment. He kept his voice low also. “Daughter! You have found me out.” Then he smiled slowly.

“May I join you tonight?” He looked hesitant. “Please, I have so many things to ask you.”

“Maybe you will not like the answers.”

“I have to know.”

“Your life will never be the same when you truly know.”

She paused, but only briefly and then said. “I have considered that. I am willing to change if I must.”

“Even if it means great personal sacrifice?”

“Yes, Father.” As Abish said those words, she could not have realized the full impact such a commitment would make on her life. Still, her willingness to learn was the beginning of faith and her father read the sincerity in her face in the bright moonlight.

“Then come daughter, let me teach you the things that God has shown me.” He turned noiselessly down the dark street and Abish followed. They walked in silence for what seemed like many hours. Her father’s only words were to tell her to look out for branches and mud as they entered the jungle. She hurried to keep up with her father’s strides, but was careful at the same time. It wasn’t easy. She had lately noticed that her feet seemed to have grown too fast for the rest of her and things that had once been easy were suddenly awkward and difficult. She was also frightened. She had never been in this thick part of the forest, particularly at night. When she gathered herbs she stuck to the fringes, near their city. Her father seemed to know his way well, however, and his quiet confidence and steady pace helped calm her agitation.

He led her to a clearing where they could sit on some rocks and look up into the beautiful night sky. She could see the brightness of the full moon in the clearing and its shining face helped her to further forget her fears. It was peaceful and cooler in this place. Despite her long walk and lack of sleep she did not feel tired, and was suddenly alert and anxious to know what her father had to say.

From the bag he’d carried over his shoulder he pulled what appeared to be an animal skin with some type with writing on it. “These are scriptures, Abish. They come from the king’s palace.”

Abish’s eyes grew wide. She knew that those documents should not be there, but at the same time her curiosity caused her to reach out and touch the soft skins. Besides reading and writing her own language, her father had taught her to speak snippets of other Lamanite languages. She was quite adept, but she could see the parchment in front of her was written in a language she was wholly unfamiliar with. Even though she knew they were alone, a feeling of awe came over her as she saw the scriptures and she spoke in a whisper, “What do these scriptures tell you, Father?”

“These scriptures tell me all I learned in my dream is the truth. The scripture that the priests memorize and pass to their apprentices are only parts. Usually these parts have been changed and taken out of context. The false teachings are then passed onto the next set of apprentices. I think these scriptures have not actually been read for many generations. If they had been, somebody would surely have seen the errors of our ways.” His voice grew excited as he spoke and he sounded young again.

“Tell me of your dream.”

“God came to me.”

“What did he look like?”

“He was fair of face, but he looked as much like a man as any I have ever seen. He wore a white robe and he called me his son.”

“You are his child?”

Her father nodded slowly. “Yes, my daughter. But we are ALL the children of God. If he came down to speak to you He would call you daughter.”

Abish’s heart burned within her as her father spoke this beautiful idea to her. “Just like you do?”

He continued nodding. “Yes, Abish, but His love would be greater than anything I have been able to show. After he named me, He told me He was greatly displeased with the Lamanites because they had perverted the truth and were worshipping false gods. He explained that He was the only true God and to worship any other was to reject Him.”

“What did you say to that?” Abish’s first reaction was shock. Her father’s statement was so contrary to all her teachings.

“I told him I didn’t know anything else. That I was only doing what I’d been taught. He sighed so sadly then.” Her father’s eyes filled with tears at the recollection. “He said he understood, and it made him sad to see so many of His children doing the wrong thing. He said that despite my own terrible mistakes I was the only Lamanite He could ask at this time to teach of Him. All of the other priests and apprentices in this part of the land are too wicked and self-serving. I asked him how I would know what to say to help the others learn. He told me He would help me, and that I needed to access the King’s scriptures in order to learn more.”

Abish looked with wide eyes at the aging and sacred manuscripts. “What else was in your vision?”

“He told me that human sacrifice was a gross abomination and a distortion of the true religion He has tried many times to give to us. He spoke of love and kindness and equality among His children. He said that in not too many years, He will come down among mortals and appear as a man so that we might learn more about him.”

“The Lamanite gods often appear as men.”

“Yes, but in our legends these gods only come to placate their human desires—lust, envy, greed, anger—the true god will not come to live like the worst of us. He will come instead to show us the best in ourselves. How we could live if we repented of all of those other things. Despite the love and generosity He shows, He will be rejected and killed. His sacrifice will be the true blood sacrifice. Learning about His life and His sacrifice will teach us to change and to be forgiven so that we can live with Him again in the life after this one.”

“You mean to say that not only am I God’s daughter, but I can return to Him after I die?”

“Yes, Abish, if you will but desire to follow Him.”

Abish slowly let her father’s words sink into her heart. All that she had just heard was very strange. Many questions tumbled around in her mind and she wasn’t sure what to think. But in her heart, there was a wonderful burning feeling that would not go away. She felt excited and tearful all at once. She knew that despite her lack of full understanding, her father was telling her the truth. “I feel . . .” she trailed off as she searched for the words to tell her father.

“I know, my child. There are no adequate words to describe that wonderful feeling.”

She was silent for a few moments and then said a single word. “Peace.”

He smiled. “And real joy.”

She smiled in return. “Please, tell me more.”

He continued to look through the scriptures with her and to teach her all he had learned from them in the past few days. He said he knew these things were true because as he studied he felt God’s presence with him and learning had never been so easy. He taught her about the Law of Moses that the Nephites practiced and helped her to understand the history of the rivalry between the two nations. The hours flew by as Abish’s mind opened to a myriad of new possibilities.

As dawn broke, Abish became suddenly aware of just how long they had spent in the forest. It would take her a long time to get home and there would be no reasonable explanation. Her mother would be very upset. Her father read her alarm and said, “I will go home with you this morning and talk to your mother. I will try to help her see also.”

Abish knew if her mother would just listen then surely she would feel that marvelous change come into her heart as well and the skepticism and doubt would flee. She knew that if anybody sincerely listened to her father’s beautiful words they would have to change. She imagined great sweeping changes in the people and real peace with the Nephites. The ideas were wonderful to think about as she and her father walked back through the forest. After many minutes in silence Abish said, “Father, you never told me the end of your dream. Of what else did God speak?”

Her father stopped abruptly and turned to face her. His joy was momentarily clouded as he spoke very gravely. “The way of a true believer is not easy.”

“What did He say?”
“He forbade me from any more human sacrifice. You and I both know that there is a sacrifice day coming soon.”

“I know it doesn’t give us much time, but surely you can talk to the priests and the king before then and they will see. They will be touched in their hearts too and will want things to be different; to be better.”

“No, Abish, I’m afraid it won’t work that way. If they embrace these things then it could mean the end of their money and power in exchange for equality. They won’t listen to it. God has told me that the hearts of those ruling this land are too hard and will not listen. I must tell the common people.”

“How will you do this?” Abish’s heart began to sink in her chest, but she could see the conviction in her father’s face.

“On the sacrifice day. When there is a large crowd. Then I will tell the people what they need to hear. God will allow time for his message to be heard. There may even be some converts.”

“You will surely be imprisoned.”

Her father looked very sad. He reached out and touched his daughter’s innocent face. “No, it is more likely that I will be killed—probably even sacrificed to appease false gods.”

“No!” Abish shouted in the forest and drew away from his touch. “If God is so full of love, why would he demand this from you; from our family?”

“God has called me. I must follow or be more condemned than those who follow false ways. I know the truth now. My salvation is at stake.”

“Go into hiding; preach to the people in private.”

He sadly shook his head, “God has told me how this is to be done. He also told me that the most powerful convert would be my own daughter. He said it would be many years hence before the importance of my words would sink into the hearts of many of the Lamanites and that you would be an important part of that realization. I don’t know what this means, but you must ponder the things we have spoken this night and you must never forget them.”

“I cannot do this.” Abish’s eyes filled with tears. She was little more than a child and her father’s words were difficult.

This time he stopped fully, and turned to face her. Abish looked at the intensity in his burning dark eyes and knew that she would never forget this moment. He put his arm on her shoulder and lowered his voice. “You know the truth as I do, Abish. It is up to you to follow. Nobody else can make this decision for you.”

“Is there nothing I can say to convince you of your folly?” Abish was getting desperate as she thought of her father being sacrificed on those bloody steps. Tears began to roll down her face.

“It is never folly to do God’s will. I love you very much, but I must put God first. I have always claimed to do so, and now the real God has given me an opportunity I cannot run from. Look deep in your heart and you will see that the consequences of my actions over the next few days are not God’s fault, but the fault of wicked men making horrible choices. The road of true discipleship is rocky and unpredictable, but we must trust that God will make it all fair in the end.” Abish’s tears didn’t abate for a long time as they finished their walk home. It was well into the morning before they arrived.

Chapter One: In The Marketplace

The dust rose in clouds from her feet as she walked the deserted street. She choked on the fine, brown powder in the stale air. Her thirst was all-consuming and she could think of little else but finding some water. A sudden sound rooted her to the spot. The dust settled on her arms and feet and the sound reverberated in the still air. A scream. She looked quickly around, spinning in the street until she faced the temple. Black and gray clouds roiled angrily above its pyramidal top. Before she had time to contemplate shelter, the rain came suddenly, in heavy, pounding drops. She turned her face up in delight, opening her mouth wide to catch the fresh, abundant moisture. She laughed and held her arms wide, praising the god of rain for his gift. She opened her eyes and slowly brought her arms down, her momentary joy suddenly swallowed in a wave of revulsion. Her arms were speckled, not with raindrops, but with blood. She heard the scream again and her eyes darted back to the temple. Rivulets of blood were running down its steps and into the street, mixing with the dust into a thick red paste no rain would ever wash away. She scrubbed at her arms, but only succeeded in smearing the blood and coating herself. The thick stickiness ran down her neck . . .

Abish sat upright very suddenly in her bed, cringing as she felt sweat running from her hair down her neck, sticking her night shirt to her moist back. She gripped the side of her sleeping mat and took deep breaths to calm her racing heart. It was only a dream. The moisture on her back was merely sweat. Her arms were clean, at least relatively. Water for washing was a luxury during the dry season and she could count her baths on a single hand during these long, hot months. The sky outside the window in her tiny loft was still inky black. There was no hint of pink in the east and the stars shone brightly. She sipped at the water cup near her bed: it was not the same luxury as a bath, but having the cup near her bed was an indulgence.

As she fell back on her mat, trying to think about something other than the heat, she wondered about her dream. In the weeks leading up to the return of the rains, she often dreamed of water. Even as a small child, she’d wake up, nightmarish and thirsty, begging for a drink just before the weather broke. But this dream was different entirely. It was only six months ago, at the beginning of the dry season, that her father had finally relented and explained the gory details of the ritual he helped the priests perform at the top of the temple before the rains could come. Abish welcomed the rain: she knew her people needed it. But this year she also knew the high price paid for those rains. She did not fall asleep again quickly.

Her next fully conscious thought was a loud banging on the ladder. Again, Abish sat upright quickly, getting her bearings. She ruefully noted the dawn spilling into her tiny room and immediately placed the rapping sound as her mother’s wooden spoon on the ladder. Her middle of the night waking had caused her to oversleep. Abish groaned silently and stuck her head through the hole in the floor. “Coming, Mother,” she said in a voice that she hoped sounded both meek and repentant at the same time. She quickly changed into her daytime dress and re-braided her hair. Her small loft had finally cooled off and she secretly wished to linger, but Lanishe never tolerated such dawdling.

As soon as her feet hit the floor her mother said with great sarcasm, “I suppose that because today is your birthday you expected me to overlook your laziness.”

Her tenth birthday! The vividness of her dream had caused her to completely forget. Careful not to stammer she said, “Of course not, mother. My sleeping in was entirely unintentional.”

Lanishe’s eyes narrowed slightly, “And what will happen when you run your own household and oversleep? Will you use such excuses on your husband, hoping that he’ll decide not to beat you?”

Abish wisely held her tongue, knowing that her gentle and loving father would never raise his hand in anger to a woman. The way her mother spoke of husbands confused Abish. Her father was so different than the picture Lanishe often painted for Abish’s future. After a moment’s silence, Lanishe continued, “However, since it is your birthday, you’ll at least escape a rap to your knuckles—if only because your father would disapprove.”

“Thank you, Mother.” Abish said the words dutifully, knowing that her father’s gift would be more than a mere avoidance of punishment. His gifts were extraordinary, personal and highly anticipated. It said something about the power of her dream that she had forgotten her special day.

Her father smiled broadly at her over breakfast as he thanked her for the tea she had brewed. Abish knew this was a sign he’d remembered. As he left their mud house that morning he whispered, “I have a surprise for you later.” She beamed broadly, and just knowing about that surprise carried her through a morning of grim silence broken only by an occasional insult.

It was a midweek day, and, as usual, Lanishe asked her daughter to walk to the market to pick up needed items. Abish was grateful to escape—her housework skills were rather clumsy, but she had proven adept at shopping. She was not easily fooled by the sellers in the market; even though she was young, she could bargain with them to get fair prices. Despite this well-handled responsibility, she was never praised for her skill, only berated for what she lacked. Abish had a sister who had once done all of the household chores with ease and grace, but she had been married for some years now and lived far away in another city. Visits were rare, and Abish only had vague memories of her sister’s beauty and talent. When her memory failed, Lanishe was sure to remind her.

Her sister’s many perfections were far from her consciousness, however, as she traipsed up the hill. She was more intent on enjoying the bustle of the city and watching the people she passed. It was late in the morning and the day was already intensely humid. The heat seemed to shimmer and rise in waves straight from the dust. As it was so late in the season, many of her favorite foods were scarce. But she was not ungrateful: at least there was money to purchase items, even if the variety was lacking. The poorest people in their city were not so lucky. Daily the mothers in such families would drag their baskets, mats and woven fabrics up the hill, with babies strapped to their backs. If Abish had been a child in one of those families, she would have spent hours each day gleaning what meager food she could find in the forest. Her father once told her that the children separated in the forest in order to maximize their search. It was common for children as young as four to disappear, never to be seen again, likely devoured by a leopard or bitten by a snake.

Despite the warmth of the day, Abish shuddered. As a priest’s apprentice, her father would not get rich, but they would not be hungry. And he might one day become a priest. They would then leave their mud house, already a sign of prosperity, for a place in the palace. She forced such thoughts from her head—it might be years from now, if ever. The moisture ran down her neck and she was glad it was uphill going to the market while her basket was light.

The items her mother wanted did not take long to purchase, so she took a few minutes to indulge herself by walking from booth to booth where exotic spices and fabrics were sold. She knew that most of what she saw was Lamanite in origin, but having only traveled outside the city once in her life, many of the things were still wondrous. There were other things, even stranger and more expensive; these were probably the things from Nephite lands. Things traded from far away to the north, or things stolen from unsuspecting caravans. Her imagination wandered as she contemplated what it would be like to be a marauder stealing from a band of unsuspecting enemies.

For the Nephites were their enemies, the bitterest of all. They had spent generations teaching their children of Lamanite wickedness, but Abish knew they were mistaken. Abish had been taught the names and functions of the various gods since the time of her earliest memory. Her father was an integral part in making sure that their sacred, sacrificial ceremonies were performed with exacting strictness. She knew the depth of his sincerity: what else would compel his normally peaceful hands to commit such violence? She knew about religion. And while her father had never been able to give her a satisfactory explanation for why their gods demanded so much blood, she could never doubt that the dry season had always been followed by the rainy season every year. She imagined Nephite lands to be arid and unproductive. She knew they paid homage to only one god. She had once scoffed at this idea, but her father had said, “And what if you were a young Nephite girl whose father told her the Lamanites worshipped many gods? What would you think then?”

Abish had never thought of such a thing before, but she replied gravely, “I suppose I would think it was very strange.”

Her father had laughed and ruffled her hair, “Good girl. That is using your brain. After all, one all-powerful God is not so much harder to believe in than many, less powerful gods. They even have their own version of a blood sacrifice.”

“Really?”

“Yes, daughter. I like to think there are fathers of faith in all lands teaching their children what they have learned of truth.” In the market, Abish pondered her father’s words as she looked at a strange statue of a serpent. Did the artist of this statue have a young daughter? And what did he tell her about his craft? What had it meant to him? She overheard two men haggling over the price and she shuddered inwardly. She hoped the artist had been paid a tenth of what it would go for here in the Middonite market.

The sun was nearing its zenith. She shifted the basket to her other arm. It was growing heavy and the walk home would seem long. Just as Abish began to walk back down the dusty street, she saw a large carriage held by eight Lamanite guards pass near. Traffic on the street stopped entirely. Without any apparent signal, the large men stopped simultaneously and gingerly set the coach on the ground. The woman attending the booth where the carriage had stopped hurried forward with her arms full of blue fabric that shimmered beautifully as the light caught it. She held it up to the curtained doors of the carriage and bowed her head low. An arm emerged from the delicate curtains.

Abish gasped as she saw the arm. It was fair, so fair it seemed to glow white in the sun. And the hand! Abish was close enough to see it was delicate, perfect and pure. Like the hand of a small child. Abish had heard of a city of Nephite descendents living the heart of Lamanite lands in a city called Jerusalem. Was this one of their noblewomen? The fabric was fingered for a moment and pulled into the carriage. An exchange of coinage was made and the carriage moved on.

Abish felt rooted to the spot. She could not get the image of that perfect, white hand out of her head. She shifted the basket again and looked down at her own hands. Even though she was young, she already had the hands of a Lamanite housewife. Never especially graceful, her hands were large and rough and very brown. Her fingers were blunt and the fingernails ragged. They were thick with calluses and work. Just like her mother, Abish would spend her life working and serving others for little thanks and no recognition.

Her reverie was shaken by the jostling of an old woman who walked too closely. Even at barely ten years old, Abish was taller than the woman. She said something rude and admonished the girl to move along and stop blocking the road. Abish murmured an apology and hurried quickly away.
When she entered the house her mother began criticizing almost immediately. Abish kept her head low, biting her lip to remember what she had resolved in the market to say. She nodded her head, apologizing for her lateness. Lanishe’s breath was spent and her brows furrowed at her daughter. Abish plunged ahead before she lost her nerve, “Mother?”

“What?” The impatience was evident.

“Thank you for all you have done.”

The furrow between her brows rose slightly and she repeated, “What?”
“You work hard every day for father and me. I just wanted you to know that I appreciate it.”

The surprise was plain on her face, but the momentary tenderness was erased almost as soon as it flashed through her eyes. “No time to waste now, there is dinner to prepare.”

Abish nodded and put her head down, fighting the urge to sigh. Would nothing win her mother over? She diligently prepared her father’s evening meal, trying to guess what kind of surprise he would bring her.

It was a tablet on which she could practice her writing. The surface was a hard, white polished piece of wood that she wrote on with a piece of charcoal. Sand rubbed on the surface would remove her writing so that she could use it again. Abish thought it was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. It was unusual for a Lamanite to read and write—particularly a woman, but her father had taught her. It was difficult to find time for these lessons, but he managed. She cherished this time with him as some of her most precious hours. Her mother’s lips pursed at the idea of such an inappropriate gift, but she said nothing to dampen her daughter’s elation. Abish would have to be very careful to not practice when she should be doing other things.

In her dreams that night, Abish again walked the streets of Middoni alone, but instead of being filled with dust and blood, they were lined with rich blue fabric. The air was scented with heavy spice, and the rain fell lightly on her shoulders, refreshing and life-giving. She looked at her hands, half expecting to see blood drops instead of rain, but they were clean and un-calloused, her fingers long, soft and graceful--how her hands might have looked had she been born to a different kind of life. Her sleep was sound, and she woke, refreshed, just as the barest hint of pink touched the eastern sky.

Unable to sleep any longer, Abish climbed slowly down the ladder to begin the morning routine. Even when she did not oversleep, Abish did not relish this morning time. If there were mistakes, morning was when her mother was the angriest about them. The punishments for incorrect cutting of the meat, improper grinding of the corn or letting the water boil over ranged from harsh words to a rap on the hands with Lanishe’s wooden spoon to boxed and ringing ears. Her words and wrath only served to make Abish more flustered, and one mistake led to others. As she grew older she had gotten better and better at this morning routine, but she had not grown closer to her mother.

Abish’s father generally rose not long after dawn to eat his boiled mush and dried meat. He also drank a strong tea made from herbs Abish gathered a few times each week at the edge of the great forest. As she came down the ladder this day she could already smell his strong tea and wondered if she was late again. She turned, expecting to see the fire in her mother’s eyes for her tardiness, but instead her father sat on his brightly colored mat sipping his warm drink slowly. He regarded her warmly and smiled. His face always brightened the room and Abish wished it was possible to start each day with her father’s instead of her mother’s chilly looks and criticism. She smiled back and then raised her eyebrows quizzically. She couldn’t remember a day in the past three years when her father had been awake before her mother. He read her puzzled face and said, “Something awoke me early this morning and I have been here thinking of it ever since.”

Her father often pondered or discussed his dreams in the morning—it was him who taught her to pay attention to the dreams she had. She nearly opened her mouth to tell him about her own dreams from the last two nights when her mother emerged from behind the curtain which partitioned their sleeping mats from the rest of the house. She looked worried. “Armac, what is wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong; I have just been unable to sleep for these several hours.”

“Are you ill?” As she asked this she advanced toward him. She was clearly concerned and Abish could see the worry lines on her face crease deeply around her eyes and mouth. She knew her mother was not a young woman, because Abish was the youngest child by many years, but she would always remember this as the day her mother first looked old to her.

“No, good wife, I am not ill. I have had a vision.”

“The gods be praised!” Lanishe exclaimed and knelt on the rug next to her father. She made a motion as if she would bow toward him the way that the citizens did to the priests on ceremony days. Before she could pay obeisance however, he stopped her with a frown on his face.

“No, Lanishe, not me—not ever.”

Lanishe seemed confused. “But you will be a priest now. A priest and councilor to the king!”

He continued frowning, but said nothing. Abish was puzzled. She tended to agree with her mother’s approach to the situation. Her father had been apprenticed to the priests for many years although his advice was already valuable to the king. He didn’t enjoy the full status or prestige of a priest yet for two reasons. First of all, he had not had any visions. At least not visions he would say were from God. For all the importance he placed on dreams, he counted a true vision from one of the gods as something else entirely—a rare gift sent to bless and help. She knew he was quietly critical of other priest’s apprentices who claimed to have such visions regularly. Often these claims were of otherworld messengers who came to give glowing reports about the king and his reign. The current king of all the Lamanites had many sons and nephews. He appointed these relatives to be lesser kings of the surrounding lands. The vanity of Middoni’s king was legendary, and he had squandered countless resources to build monuments to himself. In Armac’s mind, the priestly visions were merely flattery to feed his insatiable ego.

The second thing that kept him from becoming a full priest was there were already 15 priests, according to their tradition. A death would have to occur before a new priest was appointed. Despite the head priest’s trust and dependence on Armac’s counsel, there was no room for an appointment. Armac was obviously the next in line, and a vision would seal his claim. Abish’s nature was a mix of practicality and faith; and if there is one thing she always had faith in, it was her father. If her father said he had a vision, then she believed him. But his manner now puzzled her. He had spent nearly every day of Abish’s life and years before at the temple and palace, training for this very thing.

Armac still addressed her mother. “I don’t know if I will be a priest now.”

“But father! You have studied so long and worked so hard!”

These were Abish’s first words of the morning and they came out scratchy and harsh; she moved quickly and sat down on a mat next to him where she could better read the expression on his face.

“Indeed, Armac; this vision is the last thing that is needed to make your dream a reality.” Her mother agreed.

He put a strong, brown hand on Abish’s face and addressed his wife, “You do not know the nature of the vision I have had.”

“Are not all visions the same? The gods come and tell you of the greatness of the king and his followers. Surely the gods are pleased with us?” Lanishe sounded momentarily nervous.

“My vision has caused me to rethink what I have always known of the gods.”

“How do you mean?” Her nervousness was quickly giving way to panic.

“I think that perhaps there may not be many gods at all; but only one God. And he is not a frightening presence. Indeed, he looks more like a man.”

“But Father, that is a Nephite belief!” Abish blurted out.
Her mother turned to her and acknowledged her for the first time. “And how would you know such a thing?” Her tone was both accusing and questioning at the same time.

“Father told me.”

Armac nodded slowly and Lanishe was quickly silenced from her tirade. In general, most of a young girl’s education would come from her mother, but in a Lamanite household, the father’s word was law. If Armac had been filling his daughter’s head with useless information then it was not her place to question. “Indeed, child. These are not the ways of the Lamanites. I fear I have misunderstood and misjudged the Nephite people.”

“The king will not want to hear this.” Abish slowly shook her head.

“I know, Abish, but he needs too. The whole world needs to hear the good news I have to share.” And for the first time, Abish noted something different in her father’s face. Even knowing he was sharing news that would come as a blow to his wife and daughter, his eyes were strangely bright and he radiated some inner strength she had never been aware of.
Lanishe took a deep breath and uncharacteristically spoke her mind to her husband. “I don’t want to hear it. Not a word of it. It must be a false dream if it is blasphemy against the priests, the kings and the gods.”

Armac sadly shook his head. “I think if you would just listen, Lanishe, then you too would understand the wonder and majesty of the knowledge I now have.”

“Armac, listen to yourself!” Lanishe’s pleading was almost hysterical as she knelt before her husband and took his hands in hers. Abish had never seen her mother behave in this fashion. She didn’t understand her irrational terror over the vision they had not even heard yet, especially when this thing had obviously made her father so filled with light. “For years you have trained to become a priest. I have worked every day with my hands without a word of complaint about our lowly station. And now, look! Look at my hands! They are the hands of an old woman who is worn and weary with work. And your hands! Stained with the blood of much human sacrifice—these dues you have paid and for what! To give it all up because of some cloudy and false dream? I had so hoped that the last years of our lives would be spent in the luxury of a palace home and servants to provide our wants; that our youngest daughter would have opportunity to marry one of the lesser courtiers instead of a tradesman or soldier. If you begin to preach that the Nephites are right and the Lamanites are wrong, then you will surely be the next sacrifice to the gods.”

Lanishe’s eyes filled with tears as she paused for breath. Abish was looking down at her own rough hands, thinking of the dream she’d had just hours ago. A life of softness and luxury to a husband of some prestige was a thing she had never even imagined possible. In the last days she had begun to sense the enormity of work her mother had done to keep their household together. There had been more than just Abish and her sister. There was an older brother too who was soldier of some distinction in a land far away. She knew of at least two failed pregnancies and there were three children who had died as infants or children in their household. Lanishe herself had almost died after Abish was born. Her mother’s life had indeed been one of difficulty and sacrifice. The years of work stretched out before her and for a moment she felt as old as her mother looked.

“Dear Lanishe,” her father said slowly and carefully as he kissed his wife’s hands, “have our lives really been so terrible?”

“Oh, Armac, not terrible—just so different from how I imagined it. I had thought by marrying a man destined to be a priest everything would one day be wonderful, but you have been apprenticed so many years. I beg you, please do not tell anyone of your vision. For our sakes, please.” Abish knew that her mother included her in this blanket wish, a thing she wasn’t sure she agreed with. She was curious, but she wisely said nothing. “In fact, make something up! Something that will seal your place as valuable and important to the king.”

“Lanishe, you ask too much! No more can I sacrifice innocent lives for the benefit of gods I do not believe in; no more can I feel that serving the king is important; no more can I lie for the sake of appearances; no more can I lie to the true God who has sent me a glorious vision to teach me of my mistakes. It would be a bitter condemnation to my soul to do so.”

Lanishe stood, towering over her father; this was a thing that Lamanite women never did. “You are not the man I thought I married.”
He did not stand to challenge her, but merely raised his head to meet her eyes, “And for that you should be grateful.”

The awful silence between them was broken by the growling of Abish’s stomach. She gulped hard and held her hands around her middle to muffle the noises, but there was no mistaking what it was or where it came from.

Her father leaned over to help Abish from the mats. “We have talked the morning away.” He smiled wanly. Abish felt compassion for him. He had been so eager to share his vision and had met only criticism or, perhaps worse, mere curiosity in the place of real interest. “I do not need breakfast this morning. Maybe that will save you and your mother the time you have lost this day.”

“Maybe it won’t. We still have to eat. Come Abish, there is corn to grind.” Abish had never heard her mother speak so sharply or disrespectfully to her father. She wondered if things would always be this way now.