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The following is the next installment of a serialization of the novel, Abinadi by H.B. Moore. To read the previous installment, click here. More information about H.B. Moore can be found: www.hbmoore.com
Chapter Thirteen
Make you a new heart and a new spirit.
(Ezekiel 18:31)
The first thought that entered Abinadi’s mind was that the rain had finally stopped. The morning light seemed to ebb and flow as the wind moved through the trees outside. His neck and shoulders ached. He’d fallen asleep praying, and as he adjusted his position, he immediately began to pray again for the safe return of his mother. With the dawn, he’d be able to search for any evidence regarding her departure.
When he finished his prayer, he searched through his mother’s things again. It appeared that she hadn’t taken anything with her. Not a good sign. He wished he could write her a message, but she wouldn’t be able to read it. Instead he moved his bedding into her room. No one else would notice the difference, but his mother would. He donned the cape and turban.
He grabbed a waterskin and tied a rug into a bundle to carry on his back. He hesitated at the doorway, reluctant to leave the memories behind. He gazed at the room again. He didn’t know if he’d return, but it was empty of life without his mother there. Without her, it was no longer his home.
The door-skin flapped behind him, and he strode through the courtyard. Nothing but leaves and sticks were strewn about. He circled the homestead, stopping every so often to examine a piece of rope or a scrap of cloth. For the larger part of the morning he trudged through the wet undergrowth surrounding his home, hoping to find some evidence of where she’d gone.
By midday, he knew the search was fruitless. He might have known it from the beginning, but he hadn’t wanted to leave without trying everything possible. Finally, he started the walk back to the city. He’d have to pose as a merchant of some sort if anyone asked.
The market was teeming with life when he arrived. Everything from bleating sheep to the finest jade jewelry was up for bargaining. A Kaminaljuyú man waved him over, pointing eagerly to the intricate jade necklaces arranged on a mat.
Another merchant shouted, “Quetzal feathers from the high mountains—fit for royalty.” He lifted a brilliant tail feather, reflecting green and gold in the afternoon light.
Abinadi walked past the vendors and spread-out mats, listening to snatches of conversations around him.
Two men lazed near the collection of spices. “The king says his fifty can go against the Lamanites’ thousand,” one man said.
The other laughed. “All the better, since you won’t catch me putting away my trade to become a soldier.”
“Amulon is receiving a high honor for his clever command—an unprecedented slaughter, I hear,” the first man said.
Abinadi bent over the display of spices and dug his hand into one of the sacks, pretending to examine the quality.
“Yes, so I heard.” The second man lowered his voice. “It’s a good thing he let out his wrath on the Lamanites and not his daughter.”
The first man chuckled softly. “A good thing indeed. But if she ever returns . . .”
A woman approached, and the two men fell silent. Abinadi moved on. Please stay where you are, Raquel, he thought.
He moved to a set of mats that were loaded with maize. His mother usually set up near this area. A man sat perched on the side of his mat.
“Do you know a seller named Esther?” Abinadi asked.
He flicked the straw he was chewing onto the ground. “Who wants to know?”
Abinadi handed over an onti of silver. “I do.”
The man tucked the silver into the folds of his clothing. “Haven’t seen her for a couple of days.”
“When did you see her last?” Abinadi asked.
The man remained silent.
Abinadi handed over another onti.
The man said, “Day before last. She left early . . . left her produce, too. Strange, says I. Haven’t seen her since.”
Abinadi’s eyes flitted along the next mat. It was his mother’s. A pit formed in his stomach. Why had his mother left her things? Why hadn’t she returned? He drifted along the street from one seller to the next, asking questions. Others must have known her, seen her that morning. Maybe she’d taken ill and someone had offered her a place to recover. But even as he thought it, he doubted.
O Lord, my God, Abinadi’s thoughts turned to prayer, please guide me. Show me the way.
He watched the bustle of the market, scanning the crowd for anyone he recognized—anyone who might have known his mother. An elderly lady sat across the way, guarding cages of parrots. The birds periodically called out to passing strangers. Abinadi approached the woman, hesitant but determined. Each time he spoke with someone, he took an additional risk.
“Do you know a woman named Esther? She used to sell maize and other vegetables nearby,” he asked.
The woman slowly raised her eyes, and Abinadi was surprised to see that one of her eyes was green, the other brown. She slowly shook her head.
Deflated, he turned away, looking for anyone else. But the truth was that he didn’t know who his mother was acquainted with. He walked through the market as slowly as possible, listening for any snatches of information. A few times he looked over his shoulder, wondering if the man behind in a dark brown kilt was following him or just happened to be stopping the same times as he.
Finally, he left the market area deflated. He had one more source to check, although he knew it would be the most dangerous of all. His mother’s cousin lived near the palace, and though he hadn’t seen her for many years, he hoped that she might know something . . . anything. He walked along the paths between the close-set houses. He didn’t want to take the most direct route, since more people traveled the main road through the city. The closer he came to the palace, the nicer the homes became until most of them had decorative gardens surrounding large courtyards.
Just as he rounded another corner, someone grabbed his neck. Before he could cry out, a hand clamped over his mouth. He struggled to get free, but the arms of two men dragged him between a pair of houses. Abinadi blinked at the eyes staring at him. By their fine kilts and breastplates, he knew they were the king’s soldiers. He tried to move beneath their grip. One of the men said, “Don’t make a sound, or we’ll be forced to kill you.”
“Which wouldn’t be much of a loss,” another voice added.
Abinadi raised his gaze and saw the towering figure of Amulon. The man looked as if he were fresh from battle—his breastplate was still on and his face was dirty.
“Stand him up,” Amulon commanded the soldiers.
Abinadi staggered to his feet as the men lifted him. I’m going to die, was the only thought that went through his mind.
“Where are you going?” Amulon asked.
Abinadi gazed at the man—wondering if he knew about Ben’s escape. If not, it wouldn’t be long. He decided that his best option was to ask about his mother. “My mother didn’t come home the other day. I’m merely looking for her.”
“I knew you would come for her eventually,” Amulon said.
Abinadi’s heart raced. Amulon knew something . . . or had done something.
“I find it interesting that you chose this particular row of houses,” Amulon continued, his voice a near snarl. “Had you inspected any of these homes, you might have discovered something.”
Abinadi strained against his captors and leaned toward Amulon. “What did you do with her?”
“Nothing . . . yet,” Amulon said, a smirk on his face. “It’s what I will do to her that you should be worried about.”
Abinadi lunged for the priest, but the other men held him fast. His face was just a breath away from Amulon’s. The stench of perspiration and sour wine emanated from the unwashed man. “Where is she?”
Amulon laughed, then circled Abinadi. “I want to trade. Your mother for my daughter.”
“Raquel?” Abinadi said before he could stop himself.
“Ahh. So you do know her.” Amulon’s lips were next to Abinadi’s ear. “She has escaped her fate for now, but it is only a delay. I will not rest until she meets her punishment. I want her returned. And only then will you see your dear mother.”
“I don’t—” Abinadi started.
“Oh, but you do. And you will.” Amulon faced Abinadi, his dark eyes narrowed. “I know that Gideon has a secret settlement. I knew there was no way she could survive on her own. I told myself that someone took her in. Someone was protecting her.” He brought two fingers to his lips and whistled. Almost instantly, a man appeared.
Abinadi stared. It was Izehar, who’d attacked them at their campsite.
“Yes,” Amulon said, “I thought you two had met before.” He shoved Izehar forward, and Abinadi was surprised to see fear in the man’s eyes. Amulon had used them both.
“Izehar and his friends will be waiting at the south pass. When you deliver my daughter, he will release your mother.”
Abinadi knew he couldn’t trust Amulon. Even if he did deliver Raquel—which he wouldn’t—he doubted this man would keep his end of the bargain.
“Tell me where she is,” Abinadi said. “Tell me if she’s well.”
Amulon appraised him with arched eyebrows. “She is well enough.” His expression darkened again. “Now go! If I see you again, empty-handed, I’ll let my men do what they are trained to.”
The grip on his arms tightened momentarily, then relaxed. Abinadi backed away, his heart thundering in his chest. Amulon’s request was sickening, maddening. Abinadi couldn’t bring Raquel back and deliver her to her death. He wouldn’t ever tell her of this turn of events. For if he did, she would insist on returning.
Abinadi turned and fled through the streets, ignoring those who stared after him. He slowed as his breathing came in gasps. He hadn’t slept much and had eaten little, but he knew he couldn’t leave his mother in this city. Every moment that passed was another moment of horror for her. Abinadi skirted the market and walked along the roads, wondering if his mother managed to escape, whether she’d return home. But how could she escape?
He must find her. Utter helplessness wracked his body. He found a place to rest between two homes that seemed deserted. They were in a dilapidated part of town . . . perhaps the owner had died and the rest of the family had moved on. He leaned against a reed wall and, lowering his head, he thought of Gideon’s latest teachings about Father Lehi and the journey across the high seas. When Laman and Lemuel had danced for pagan gods, the Lord had sent his wrath in the form of a tumultuous storm. Nephi had been tied up and the rest of the family cowered in sickness and fear of the great waves.
What had Nephi done? He prayed of course. But will a simple prayer lead me to my mother? It seemed impossible. Yet Abinadi was the first to acknowledge that he didn’t understand the power or the knowledge of God like Gideon. It seemed so simple for the Teacher. He never questioned. He just knew and acted.
That’s what I need to do. I know, and now I need to act.
Abinadi moved to his knees on the rocky ground. “Oh Lord,” he whispered. “I am nothing without Thee. I am lost and broken. I cannot meet Amulon’s demands. Give me Thy strength to know what to do. If it be Thy will, lead me to my mother. Preserve her. Have mercy on her. I will do anything that Thou asketh of me. I am Thy servant forever. Amen.”
He let the tears surface as he sank against the wall and buried his face in his arms. He knew the Lord was real. The Lord had preserved Nephi’s life again and again. The writings on the brass plates showed the Lord’s mercy time after time. But Nephi was a prophet—an instrument in the Lord’s hands. Who am I to warrant such miracles? Abinadi’s only hope was that the elders were praying for him now . . . Gideon was a righteous man—his prayers would certainly be heard.
Abinadi continued to kneel and listen—that was what Gideon had taught. Pray, then listen.
Time crept by until night settled in the narrow alley that Abinadi occupied. His chest hurt from worry, and his limbs were stiff and cramped. Drops of soft rain fell on his head. Abinadi ignored his hungry stomach as he stood and stretched. He wiped his face with his turban. The night air, accompanied by the moisture, had brought a measure of coolness.
I don’t know what I’m doing or where I’m going, Abinadi thought as he began walking through the streets again. But he couldn’t leave without his mother. He steered clear of the palace, knowing—hoping—that Amulon hadn’t put his mother there. He let his mind shift to Raquel. There was no way she would ever know about this. Even if he had to sacrifice himself to secure his mother’s release, Abinadi would not give Amulon what he’d asked for.
He passed by the homes of the wealthier citizens of the land. As he neared Amulon’s home, Abinadi had a sudden urge to storm the house and hold someone hostage. Then he realized that if Amulon valued his daughter so little, there was probably no one that Amulon cared much for—even his wife. When Amulon’s courtyard came into view, Abinadi hesitated. Something tugged at the back of his mind. It was as if he should remember something, but he couldn’t quite grasp it.
He walked to the wall that surrounded Amulon’s estate. If I am caught . . . he pushed the thought away and tried to focus. When Raquel had come to deliver the herbs for his wounds, she’d said something about her parents not seeing her leave. Abinadi rubbed his head. There was a way out of her home where she wasn’t easily observed.
The hut in the garden.
That was it. Warm adrenaline surged through Abinadi. Could it be possible? Was it that simple? He hardly dared to breathe, but he knew what to do.
Abinadi walked along the outer wall until he found a place completely concealed by trees. The rain petered off, and the trees dripped with the last of their moisture. He started to climb. The wall wasn’t high, but he knew there could easily be guards—or even worse, vicious dogs. Abinadi peered over the wall, taking in the surroundings as the moon peeked through the fast moving clouds. A large courtyard, intermingled with trees and groupings of plants, covered most of the front property. The house was dark, but to the side, Abinadi saw the beginning of a garden. The hut was back there somewhere . . .
He took a deep breath and pulled himself over the wall, then scaled down the other side. For once, he regretted his height. It would be difficult to stay hidden. He half crawled, half walked along the edges of the wall to the back. Every so often he paused to listen.
The light of the half-hidden moon made the view of the garden dim at best. He sidestepped the more delicate flora, arriving at a row of miniature plants. Herbs—these were Raquel’s herbs. For a moment he stopped and stared. It was as if she were close by somehow. Then he raised his eyes and saw the hut situated on the opposite side of the garden. He tried to move slowly and carefully, but it was hard to restrain himself. He leaped over a row of bushes and ran to the hut.
“Mother?” he whispered, gently prying the reed door open. Even in the dimness he saw it was empty. His heart sank. She wasn’t here. How could he have been so foolish? He’d wasted all this time pondering and then coming to Amulon’s own home.
Suddenly something struck him on the head. He staggered against a row of jars, sending them crashing to the ground. Several fell on top of him, adding to the pain.
A petite woman stood in the doorway, a large clay jar in her hand. “Who are you?” she demanded.
“Abinadi . . . I’ve come—”
“I know why you’re here,” the woman said.
“Y-you do?”
The woman grabbed his arm. “Come. I’ll take you to her.”
Abinadi followed the woman inside the house as he rubbed his head. For someone so small, she’d delivered a significant blow. The corridors were dark, but the woman moved quickly. She finally stopped at a door, then swung it open. A platform bed stood in the middle of the room.
A form huddled on the bed. When Abinadi entered, he saw that it was his mother. “Mother!” He crossed to the bed and knelt by her side.
“She’s ill,” the woman said, hovering in the doorway. “She has the fever. My husband would be very displeased if he knew I brought her into the house, but I couldn’t leave her in the hut like an animal.”
Abinadi turned to look at Amulon’s wife. “Thank you,” he said. “You may have saved her life.”
The small woman shrugged. “I have done nothing. She didn’t look well when my husband brought her.” Her gaze shifted away. “I don’t understand everything my husband does . . . but to lock up this poor woman . . .” Her voice cracked, and she took a deep breath before continuing. “I have stood by him in many things. But not this.”
She leveled her gaze at Abinadi. “Take her from here and make haste. My husband may return at any moment.” She withdrew as if she were afraid to remain in the room any longer and said from the doorway, “I don’t know if she’ll make the journey . . . wherever you are going.” She paused. “Take an alpaca from the stable since it will be gentle enough to carry your mother. It’s the least I can offer.”
Abinadi nodded and turned to wrap the covers around his mother. She seemed to be sleeping, but her breathing was shallow. He carefully lifted her in his arms, surprised at the light weight.
Amulon’s wife backed out of the doorway, allowing him to pass. “Wait,” she whispered. “If this has anything to do with my daughter,” her voice trembled, “and if you know where she is . . . please tell her that . . . I’m sorry.” She turned away.
“I will,” he said, but she was already halfway down the hall. He gripped his mother tightly and followed the woman. Amulon’s wife led him outside to the stables south of the house.
“Take what you need.” She met Abinadi’s gaze a final time in the dim light, then turned and hastened away.
He wasted no time throwing a rug over the alpaca and loading his mother upon it. She murmured incoherently. He touched her face and felt the heat of her skin. Her hair was damp with perspiration. She tried to speak again.
“Hold on, Mother,” Abinadi said. “I’m taking you to safety.” He led the alpaca out of the stable. As they traveled out of the city and into the night, he realized he’d just witnessed his first miracle.