An unexpected connection then materialized in his thoughts. Intense disgust poured down upon him like a breaking tidal wave. Pekah recalled loosening the leather belt of the dead captain, sliding the gilded dagger sheath off the end of the belt to remove it, and placing the weapon on his own belt just before they covered the body of Captain Sachar with branches and brush. Sachar’s dagger. A weapon used for murder. The same one which he had sharpened by the campfire.
His eyes opened in alarm, and his hand went instinctively to his side. There he felt the handle: smooth, hard, cold. Revulsion filled him, and he sat up with a start. He stripped the weapon from his waist, throwing it to the ground before him.
There it is.
Pekah frowned at it with extreme distaste.
I have been sharpening a murder weapon.
The scene of blood roiled in his mind.
Why did I ever touch the vile blade?
The detachment’s orders were very specific. Capture the judge. Bring him alive to the emperor. But Sachar had not followed those orders. In anger, Captain Sachar had pulled his dagger from his belt, and like a coward, threw it into the back of the defenseless old man. Pekah remembered protesting, but the deed had already been done. There had been no honor in Sachar’s actions.
He stared at the sheathed dagger in the dirt.
What ever possessed me to touch the thing?
Pekah was no murderer. He had no desire to use the tool of a murderer. As he thought about those ultimately responsible for the death of the judge and king of the Danielites, he questioned his own political leanings. Pekah had felt for a long time that the three tribes should be united as one people. Like many among his kindred, he also felt the Gideonite leaders were the best choice to rule over the Three Brothers. These feelings had provided justification for going to battle.
Were not the Danielites a rebellious and wicked people? Were they not in need of strong leadership? From his youth, he had been taught that the Danielite and Uzzahite peoples were lazy, weak, and prone to hostility towards Gideon. Manasseh, the Gideonite emperor, had warned the people that if they did not attack first, the Danielites and Uzzahites would attack them.
His people were wrong! By Pekah’s impressions, the villagers of Hasor were far from lazy. The city was clean, organized, and beautiful. And from what he could tell when entering the city, the people there were only defending their homes, not preparing to attack the Gideonites.
Was the emperor misinformed by his generals? Or was the emperor simply devious? The more Pekah thought about it, the more he could see that what he had been told could not be true. The emperor. His generals. His captains. They had willfully lied.
This realization sickened him. Oh, how naive he had been. So eager to do something great-to prove himself in battle-he had overlooked the great cost of their campaign. Pekah mentally kicked himself again and told himself he should have known better.
Sitting in the dim flicker of a slow fire, he wondered what he could do to make amends for the great injustice that had been done at Hasor. The pain he felt needed to be expressed, but Pekah didn’t know if Nate would accept an apology on behalf of his people. His thoughts rallied around this idea, however, and he decided to offer a plea for forgiveness at morning’s first light.
Feeling the need to rid himself of Captain Sachar’s dagger, Pekah pinched the pommel between a single finger and his thumb, and then stood. He tiptoed over toward Nate, stooped, then dropped the sheathed dagger into the dirt within Nate’s reach. Nate stirred. Pekah stepped toward his own patch of ground and makeshift pillow and watched, as with a dazed expression upon his face, Nate sat up briefly to look around, but then lay down again and rolled onto his side.
Pekah settled back onto his hard bed and surveyed the stars. “In the morning, I will tell Nate what happened,” he encouraged himself in an audible whisper. For a long time, he rehearsed in his mind how he would tell the story of the fall of Hasor. Sleep still did not come. He sat up again by the fire, and broke up small twigs. One by one he tossed the pieces into the coals. Each one caught fire, glowed, and turned to ash.
In this manner, Pekah passed the entire night, anguishing over the horrible things he had witnessed in Hasor. As the night advanced, the sister moons traced their way across the heavens. Sienna would soon catch her companions. Several times he noted their progress across the stars. Although tired, Pekah still felt restless.
When relief from the darkness finally came as the sky brightened in the west, Pekah stoked the fire again before retiring to the stream to refresh himself. He washed his face, then dunked his head in the water. The frigid stream made him sputter. Dusty from the previous day’s march, he removed his belt, stripped off his dark green tunic, and proceeded to rinse it in the water. After some scrubbing and wringing, he retrieved his belt, then headed back to the fire to hang his wet clothing over a bent branch near the heat.
As Pekah rubbed his hands near the flames, he watched as Eli rose from his bed. Eli smiled and waved a friendly hello, leaving in the direction of the stream. Nate stood up and stretched.
“I hope you slept as well as I did,” Nate greeted.
“Thank you, but not really. I didn’t sleep much.”
“I’m sorry to hear it.”
Nate looked at the dagger in the dirt beside him. He regarded it with curiosity, then glanced back at Pekah, who was watching for a reaction. Nate didn’t comment about the dagger. He merely stepped around it, aiming toward the stream.
“I’ll be back,” he said as he left.
Dawn approached. It would not be long before the twin suns made their appearance. Pekah tested his shirt, and found it still damp. He turned it around to dry the other side, but after a few more minutes he became impatient with the process, so he shook the wool tunic in the air, pulled it over his head, and cinched his belt. Faint wisps of steam rose around him into the cold morning air.
Eli and Nate returned from the stream together, both with wet hair and clean faces, just as the first beams of direct light fell from the rising suns. As the orbs rose from the western horizon, Pekah could see that Azure had eclipsed Aqua. They appeared to be one body except for the color difference and size of their spheres. Aqua’s almost colorless hue-a light blue with a greenish tint-formed a near-perfect ring around the smaller, almost purple Azure. Now superimposed, they seemed somewhat less bright than they had the day before, yet their intensity still required caution on the part of onlookers.
With the aid of the morning light, Pekah took the opportunity to get a better look at his companions, and found them to be quite a contrast standing together. Nate was tall, with brown hair and a well-trimmed short beard, large blue eyes, of medium build. Eli was taller yet, of a strong build, and his red hair highlighted friendly green eyes.
Pekah glanced over at his polished armor leaning against a log near the campfire. Eli stared at it as if making eye contact with the raven upon the hardened leather.
When Eli noticed Pekah also looking on, he joked, “Perhaps you can get your bird to feed me!”
Pekah was confused by the comment and shrugged his shoulders.
“You do know the story of the raven, do you not?” asked Eli.
“No.”
Eli appeared dumbfounded. “Well, would you care to hear it?”
Pekah still didn’t feel like himself after the horrible night he had, but to avoid offending his new companions, he relented with a less-than-convincing “Sure.”
Eli made a show of clearing his throat, and the three men each found a place to sit on the logs around the fire. Eli apparently loved to tell stories. He began with excitement and animation.