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Alma the Younger
Alma hovered between the heavier set of trees and the alcove above his parents' homestead as the sun settled against the horizon. Their home sat on a large acreage of land not too far from the palace. He perched on a boulder that gave him a good view of his childhood home as well as the palace to the north and the temple to the west. It was like he was viewing the circle of influence he'd grown up in—a life where he was surrounded by people who were zealous in their beliefs and worshipful of his father and mother.
As he watched the family homestead, his two sisters came outside and moved the weaving looms to the edge of the courtyard. They each stooped several times to pick up what looked like scraps of cloth. He could well imagine his mother's scolding when she'd discovered his sisters hadn't cleaned up their work.
Then his mother appeared. Alma swallowed but found his throat dry. She had her hands on her hips, and although she was speaking to the girls, he couldn't hear her words. His sisters disappeared inside once again, but his mother remained in the courtyard.
He half expected her to walk around, looking for stray scraps of cloth, but instead, she stared at the rising hills—right in Alma's direction. He knew she couldn't see him, even if she came quite a bit closer, but it made him uncomfortable that she seemed to be looking right at him. For several long minutes, she didn't move. He assumed the supper preparations were well underway, and he was surprised she'd spend so much time just watching the hills. His father would be returning from the temple from the other direction. What was she thinking about?
Alma knew the stories. His mother had been married to the legendary King Noah, who had led his people into iniquity, then fled from the Lamanites. He'd abandoned the women and children of the city of Nephi—including his own wives. Maia had been one of those wives left behind.
His mother turned from the hills and walked slowly to the low wall surrounding the courtyard, where she sat, the wind tugging at her robe.
When they were younger, Alma's sisters had begged for more information about what it was like to be a king's wife, until his father had reprimanded them. Later, when Alma was alone with his father, he'd asked question after question. The descriptions of King Noah's temperament and what it was like to live in such a court had terrified Alma until he visualized Noah as some great dragon who sent people to their death every day.
As a scribe, Alma had read the records that his father had kept of the city of Nephi. He knew of his father's conversion. He knew of his mother's horrible life. He knew what they had sacrificed for their belief in God. And he also knew that they reviled all sinners, which now included him.
Alma's mother rose from the wall as if she'd heard something. A moment later, his father came out into the courtyard. In just a few strides, he was at her side, taking her into his embrace.
Alma felt the lump in his throat expand. His throat and chest hurt as he watched the closeness his parents shared. His father's arms were around his mother as he stroked her hair. She leaned against him, as if to draw in his strength and comfort.
Alma's eyes stung as he watched his parents. It was difficult to imagine he could ever have what the two of them had. They seemed completely happy, but if they were so happy, why was he so miserable? They were together in all things. He was alone.
And if they knew what he had done—what he was doing—they'd despise him even more. They'd wash their hands clean of him—more than they already had.
As the darkness crept down the hills into the courtyard, Alma felt as if his heart were growing darker too. Any hope of reconciliation had ended with Belicia, he knew. He could come up with no excuses, nothing that would justify his behavior when Belicia had wrapped her arms around his neck and drew him to her. He had complied, and he had crossed the threshold of no return.
But her death had washed away all traces of guilt he may have once felt. She was near-perfect in his eyes now—an innocent in a vicious circle of violence that had no end in sight. Unless . . . he went through with Belicia's request for vengeance. Alma thought of his plan to secretly infiltrate the Church with his men. It was the first step. It would only take some cunning and forged documents, supposedly signed by the high priest himself.
The idea had come to him after Ammon's news about Cassia. Alma supposed it was the final break in the thread that tied him to his former life. There would be no future for him and Cass now—their past needed to be buried once and for all. She had made her decision, and he had made his.
Alma stirred on the boulder, feeling impatient. His parents should be retiring for the night soon, then Alma could retrieve what he came for. He knew just where his father kept the high priest seal. He moved his gaze from his parents as he thought of the betrayal he was about to partake in. His mother's heart would break—again—over him. But his parents had survived worse things.
His mother had been imprisoned for standing up for her beliefs— to a king who was also her husband at the time. His father had risked his life multiple times, and then been enslaved by his greatest enemy because he'd refused to give up.
But here I am, Alma thought, a sinner in their eyes.
He could find a different sort of happiness—maybe not the one his parents shared, but one that could be found outside the Church. He'd seen it in his friends and in the people of the village. They'd found plenty of joy in life.
His father led his mother inside the house, his arm around her waist and her head on his shoulder. When they'd disappeared inside, Alma realized that dark had fully fallen. Light streamed from the house, and undoubtedly his family was eating their supper, sharing their various activities of the day without a thought for him.
Alma straightened from his perch and jumped off the boulder. He did belong somewhere, he realized, just not here. In the Isidro village, an entire people revered him just as he was. They didn't want to change him. Staring at the house in the dark, he realized how much he hated the division the Church had created between him and his family. If his father could just accept his differing beliefs, he'd be at that table with his sisters . . . or perhaps he'd be the one betrothed to Cassia. But that wouldn't change the fact that Belicia had died. And his father's church was responsible. And like Belicia had told him in his dream, someone would have to pay.
He crept down the hillside, taking care so he wouldn't be spotted. He crouched behind the wall of the outer courtyard, waiting for the lamps to be extinguished and the house to quiet for the night. Ironically, Alma thought if there was a time that his father ever needed guards at his home, this was it. Perhaps his father thought he was close enough to the palace to earn some of the king's protection.
Alma rose from his cramped position. He crept across the courtyard and tried the back door. He wasn't surprised to find it unbarred, and he slipped inside, stopping to allow his eyes to adjust to the dark interior. If only he had a lamp . . . But he knew the layout of the house by heart, so he began the slow but steady process of moving along the walls until he reached his father's document room.
The high priest often brought documents home from the temple archives to study. He also brought home baptismal records to sign and validate with the seal of the high priest. Just as Alma remembered, about a half dozen scrolls sat piled on top of the low table. He felt grateful for the moonlight streaming into the room through the double window.
Nostalgia filled his chest as he remembered shadowing his father at a young age both at home and at the temple, but Alma didn't have time for memories. He crossed the room and went to the shelves behind the table. There, in a wood box, was the seal, identical to the one in the temple. Alma picked it up and stowed it inside his waistband. He wondered how long it would be before his father discovered it missing. It might be a day, or a week, depending on the number of baptisms. Whatever the time, Alma hoped it would be enough to infiltrate Limhi's congregation.
Alma left the room, touching nothing else. As he exited the back way, he left the scene of his childhood, knowing he might never step foot in this house again. His life with his family was over for good. The innocence of his youth had long since fled, and he was now a man who neither of his parents would recognize.
* * *
Alma stood in the doorway of Kaman's home, finding him slumbering in the front room. "I'll take the position as chief," he said, bringing the sleeping Kaman to full alert.
Kaman's eyes flew open at Alma's words. He scrambled to his feet and embraced Alma.
"Steady," Alma said, pulling away from the rumpled man. It was early in the morning and dawn had just arrived. Alma hadn't slept all night, his thoughts tortuous after leaving his parents' home. But as soon as the first light paled the sky, a new fervor entered his body.
His former life was over, and this village was where he belonged. And if the people wanted him as their chief, then he would accept the assignment.
Kaman called out, "Eden! Come quick!"
"Don't wake your wife," Alma said, feeling his face heat up. "It's early yet."
But it was too late. Eden appeared at the doorway, drawing a robe around her.
"Meet the new chief of our village," Kaman said, his voice thick with pride.
Eden gasped, then threw herself against Alma. He wrapped his arms around her, if only to keep himself from being thrown off balance.
"Oh," Eden cried, pulling back and planting a kiss on each cheek. "Wait until we tell the children. They already call you chief."
Alma chuckled but shook his head. "Let them sleep."
Eden brought a hand to her chest, tears forming in her eyes. "See? He is always thinking of others, even the little children." she turned to her husband, her expression eager. "Will the feast be tonight? The women and I can start right away."
Without consulting with Alma, Kaman answered, "Yes, tonight we'll formally elect our new chief." He threw a wink in Alma's direction. "You'll meet with no dissension. You'll be voted in unanimously."
Alma smiled and clasped hands with Kaman. He left the rejoicing couple and made his way back to his isolated hut, feeling deep warmth spread through him. He would finally be validated for his beliefs—with an entire village to support him. He hurried to his hut, looking forward to getting some rest before the whole village learned of his decision. He doubted he'd get much rest once everyone found out. The thought brought another smile to his face. The excitement in Kaman's and Eden's faces could very well drown out the sorrow he'd seen on his parents' faces.
But when he reached his hut, he saw that he'd hoped for the impossible. The first thing he noticed was a woman waiting inside, the second thing, his hut had been cleaned and the table loaded with plenty of food.
"Good morning, Alma," Sara said.
"What's all this?" Alma asked, although he suspected. Sara was a cousin to Belicia, and shared her cousin's profession. Fortunately for Sara, she had escaped the burning tavern unharmed.
Sara stared at him, unblinking, the devotion in her eyes evident. "I hoped you would be returning soon." She waved her hand toward the table of food. "Are you hungry?"
He was. Alma nodded, casting a quick glance about the tidied room. It was nice to have a woman around his home—although he knew this one wouldn't stay around long, if she were like the others.
"Let me feed you, then," Sara said, her smile sweet. She crossed to him and ran a hand along his arm, still smiling. "You look as if you need to be taken care of for once."
Without a word, Alma shut the front door and let her take his hand and lead him to the table.
* * *
Hours later, Alma emerged refreshed from his hut, Sara at his side. He was newly clothed in a coat of jaguar skin Kaman had delivered as a gift from the village. Even from his hut, he could hear drums coming from the main plaza. The market had closed down early to allow time to prepare for the ceremony.
The sun had begun its late-afternoon descent by the time he and Sara reached the judgment hall. Dozens of men were feverishly working around the building. "What are they doing?"
"It's a surprise," Sara said in her soothing tone. She smiled up at Alma, and he returned it. There was nothing wrong with being nice to her, he decided. He wouldn't let himself be drawn in as he had with Belicia.
The jaguar fur felt soft and sleek against his bare shoulders. Sara had insisted that it looked better, more like a chief, if he didn't wear a tunic beneath, but only a kilt. She'd presented him with new sandals as well and wouldn't let him protest the gift. He touched her chin affectionately. "I will find a way to repay you for the sandals."
She leaned her face against his palm, closing her eyes briefly. "You already have."
He chuckled, then drew her arm into his. He was flattered by her attention but knew what she was. He would not fall for a woman of her profession again; he would not let his emotions be caught up in something that wasn't real.
The workers drew his attention again, and he led Sara along with him as he approached. Several stopped and bowed to him.
"You are already their chief," Sara whispered.
A thrill passed through Alma at the respect these men showed him. He released Sara and crossed to one of the men he knew as Muloki. "What are you doing? Shouldn't you be clearing the rest of the tavern rubble?"
The man nodded. He was a robust fellow with dark hair that fell to his shoulders. "We will be working on that shortly. But we are preparing your residence so you might sleep here your first night as our new chief."
Alma stared at the man in disbelief. My new residence?
"Muloki!" Sara was at Alma's side in an instant, glaring at the worker. "You weren't supposed to say anything yet."
Muloki lowered his gaze, mumbling an apology but not looking a bit sorry.
"No matter," Sara finally said, turning to Alma. "Come with me. We have prepared a special meal for you as the workers finish their tasks. At sundown, the ceremony will begin."
Alma walked with Sara to where a roof of woven palms had been erected over a platform, blocking out the simmering sun. Two men were hauling a table onto the platform. Sara led him up the steps and forced him to sit on large cushions and be waited upon.
Almost as soon as he sat, the food came, served by Sara and a few
other women. Steaming dishes of cooked squash, tomatoes, chilis, maize, sliced avocado, nuts, and quail eggs were abundant. Several people joined him, including Kaman and Eden, and later Jacob. The sun was just beginning to set when Kaman stood up and pointed. "There they are."
Following the man's gaze, to Alma's surprise he saw Ammon and his brothers walking into the main plaza. They wore well-cut robes, not the usual plain clothing they dressed in when away from the palace.
Kaman clapped his hands together and rushed down the platform to greet them. Ammon embraced Kaman like an old friend, followed by Aaron and the rest.
"Isn't it fantastic?" Kaman called out to Alma, leading the king's sons to the platform. "They are here to witness your coronation."
Alma stood and welcomed his friends. Room was made at the table and more dishes of steaming food brought.
Ammon smiled at Alma, raising his goblet of wine. "To the man I always knew was smarter than me."
"What do you mean by that?"
After taking a deep swallow of his wine, Ammon said, "It's fitting—the title of chief. You belong here." He gazed across the plaza, where the workers had finished their tasks and had placed torches all around the plaza. The villagers had started arriving, wearing brightly colored shawls and tunics.
The sun set, the warm colors fading into violets and pinks. Sara climbed up on the platform. She had changed into a sleeveless tunic of turquoise green that set off her complexion. Her hair had been released from its braids and hung down her back in gentle black waves. She welcomed the king's sons, then bowed before Alma with a smile. "We are pleased your friends have joined us. We have a special dance prepared for your enjoyment."
Alma caught the king's sons staring at Sara, trying to determine who she was. "Thank you," Alma said, reaching for her hand and kissing it. I'm just showing my gratitude, he thought. Ammon raised his eyebrows slightly but said nothing.
Aaron’s gaze followed Sara’s figure as she walked down the stairs and joined a group of women in the plaza.
Alma tried to remain nonchalant as he watched Sara, but this was part of his new life. So why shouldn't he have some enjoyment? It was impossible to return to his former life—it was too late—he was too soiled. Sara proceeded to tie a brilliant red sash around her waist, then motioned for the women to get into formation.
From somewhere behind the women, the drums started. The women began to move, their dancing in perfect unison. Alma glanced over at the king's sons. All of their eyes were riveted on the dancers, Himni with a turkey leg held halfway to his mouth.
Alma leaned back, talking himself into enjoying the dancing. Sara was really quite beautiful, he thought with a bit of nostalgia. She was different from Cassia, or Belicia, but she held her own charm. Even though he knew she could never truly love just him, it didn't mean they couldn't enjoy their time together. Alma continued to drink, finding that with each swallow, his heart softened toward Sara and the other women.
The dancers swayed in sync, their movements blending together until it made Alma almost dizzy trying to keep track of which one was Sara. As the music faded and the women struck a final pose, Alma leapt to his feet, clapping and whistling. Ammon jumped up as well, joining him and the villagers in enthusiastic cheering.
Sara’s glowing eyes were on Alma, seeking his approval, and he nodded, beckoning her to join him on the platform. She smiled and brought several others with her. The women promptly settled in with the king's sons. New men were an intriguing prospect in the village.
When one of Sara’s friends squeezed so close to Aaron that she practically sat on his lap, Alma chuckled at his friend's flushed expression. The brothers might show surprise at these flirtations now, but he knew they would get used to the presence of these women soon enough.
Kaman rose and walked to the edge of the platform, his hands held up for silence. The villagers had filled in the main plaza, and they quieted at the sight of Kaman. "Tonight is a first for our village. Recent events have required that we need to elect a leader—a village chief—to organize our citizens and protect our interests. Will all the voting household leaders come to the platform?"
Several dozen men stepped forward, their expressions excited. Jacob left the platform and joined them.
"Raise your right hand if you are in favor of Alma being elected as our chief," Kaman said.
Almost immediately, every hand rose in the air. Alma was stunned that there was no hesitation.
After surveying the voters, Kaman said, "Are there any other names to be considered for chief?" No one responded.
Kaman turned toward Alma, a triumphant smile on his face. "Come forward and receive the symbols of your office."
Alma rose from the table and joined Kaman at the edge of the platform. Kaman bowed, then presented a feathered headdress handed over by a member of the crowd. The colors of the feathers were lighter in the center, forming a circle. "The circle shape represents the sun—for in our departed Belicia's eyes, you were like the sun, and now you are the sun to our village."
Alma dipped his head as Kaman secured the headdress on him. "We have also prepared a new home for you, a place to receive the villagers." His hand stretched toward the judgment hall that Alma had caught the workers renovating. "It is our gift to you—our gift for taking care of us."
Alma bowed his head in gratitude.
"And now," Kaman continued. "The villagers will bring you their tokens of appreciation." He extended his hand toward the crowd.
Alma's eyes widened as the crowd formed into a long line, the majority of them bearing gifts. Even the king's sons took their place in line. When Ammon reached Alma, he handed over a red-dyed leather band. "To wear on your arm and remind you of the leader I always believed you to be."
Alma took the band from his friend and studied the markings on it.
"The half-moon represents your willingness to put others' lives before your own," Ammon said. "It mirrors the half-moon necklace that Belicia gave you."
"Thank you," Alma said, tracing the pattern on the thoughtful gift.
Aaron was next, bearing a folded piece of scarlet cloth. When Alma unraveled it, he discovered a finely woven robe with an attached hood. "To honor your office as leader of this village," Aaron said, then stepped away.
Omner and Himni presented him with an elegant bow and set of arrows, similar to the ones he'd had to leave behind.
"You are all too generous," Alma murmured, accepting gift after gift, then handing them over to Kaman, who stood by his side. In a short time the platform was covered with gifts. When the line came to an end, Alma turned to the chattering crowd and raised his hands for quiet.
"Thank you all," he called out. Heads nodded. "It has been a remarkable evening, and I don't feel I deserve all of this." several in the crowd voiced their disagreement.
"What you have given me tonight," Alma said, "I will cherish and protect. I will keep these for the appropriate time and use. This village is filled with hard workers, and most of you have fallen on hard times, and I do not take this office lightly. I am here only to serve you."
A cheer went up among the crowd. Kaman patted his shoulder, nodding vigorously.
Alma removed the band he'd tied to his arm. "This armband
was given to me as a symbol of the woman Belicia and her sacrifice
to our village. This band will be replicated and given to men who show uncommon heroism. It will be earned and worn with pride as a symbol of our unification."
Another shout went up.
With Kaman's help, Alma retied the band around his arm, then waited for the crowd to quiet. From the pouch tied to his kilt, Alma withdrew a small scroll. He opened the scroll and said, "I have written the names of twelve men on this scroll. They will make up the council of the village. And so that I do not wield too much power, they will have a vote on the suggestions I propose."
Scattered clapping burst out, but mostly the crowd was quiet, riveted to Alma's voice as he read the list of names.
"Kaman," Alma began. "Jacob, Ammon, Aaron." He paused as the men stepped forward. "Omner, Himni, Muloki, Ammah . . ." He continued reading from his list, watching as the men stepped forward, pride and respect in their eyes.
When the twelve men had been called, Alma said, "Each man will wear a scarlet robe as a symbol of their service to the community. Each of us will swear on our lives to protect and serve you."
The crowd burst into a roaring cheer.
Alma waited a few minutes, a smile on his face as the adrenaline shot through him. "But we ask something in return." The people hushed as he continued, "We ask for your help. We may request some hard tasks of you and your families, and sometimes we may not be able to reveal the reason, but we ask for your pledge of devotion."
"Chief Alma!" somebody started chanting, soon joined in by the others.
Alma shivered. The title of "chief " will take some getting used to.
As the crowd quieted, several men removed the gifts, then carried them to the judgment hall. Two men from the newly chosen council came and knelt before Alma.
One was Muloki, the man who'd been preparing the chief 's home earlier. Muloki's long hair fell forward as he bowed his head.
"Chief Alma," he said, "I pledge my honor and service to you. My great-grandfather was David, who was wrongly ousted by Mosiah the First. My brother, Ammah, and I have been waiting a long time for someone to lead us to justice."
Next to Muloki, Ammah bowed his head. He was thin but strong, with tight curls cropped short on his head. "All hail, Chief Alma."
Chief Alma.
Hot pride flowed through Alma at the title. Maybe it wouldn't take too much getting used to. In the midst of the declarations of loyalty, another dance performance was called for, this one involving most of the women of the village. Alma took his seat at the table again and drank from his goblet. Sara was at his side almost instantly, her small hand pressing against his arm. "Tonight," she whispered in his ear, "you will sleep in a bed fit for a king."
Alma turned to see her smile, and he took her hand and kissed it. "Only if you will share it with me," he whispered back. Her eyes sparkled in response.
* * *
Drenched in perspiration, Alma sat straight up in bed. The night was still deep and Sara stirred next to him, then her breathing was steady again. He crept out of the room, not wanting to disturb her rest. After a day and night of celebrations, the house seemed so quiet. But sleep had fled Alma. Belicia had been in his dreams again, her haunting eyes staring at him, her dying voice pleading with him to never forget her, to make her vengeance complete.
Alma shivered, remembering the whispered words that had brushed his ear—as if she had been the one next to him instead of Sara.
Remember me, Belicia had pled. Remember that you are the sun, and I am the moon.
Alma touched the jade necklace at his throat, carved in the shape of the crescent moon. "I could never forget you," he whispered in the darkness. He made his way to the cooking room, which had been swept clean and tidied by the villagers. In the moonlight he found a stool to sit on, and he slumped against the table. Thoughts churned through his mind—It isn't enough. The armbands, the jade necklaces, the declarations to keep Belicia's memory alive . . . What was she trying to tell him?
He put his head in his arms, Belicia's whispers echoing in his mind. I am the moon. You are the sun. Save my people. One of the enemies must die. They must pay for what they did. Don't forget . . .
Alma drifted to sleep, Belicia's sad eyes, dark hair, and pale skin replacing his conscious thoughts. And then her hair was white, her eyes gray, and her skin as luminescent as the moon itself.
Her mouth pressed against his ear, whispering the sweet words of her instruction. Bring the people to me. Teach them not to forget, and in return for vengeance, I will protect them.
Alma was breathless thinking about it. He knew now what Belicia was asking him to do. Despite her death, he could make her live on. In death, she had become a symbol of the moon, a symbol of sacrifice. He would make her the symbol of a warrior. He would avenge her death once and for all, and there was only one place to do it. The temple.
Alma rose from the table and walked back to his bedchamber where Sara still slept peacefully. He put on his hooded robe and sandals. He knew the first place he must go to put his plan into action.
He looked at Sara’s sleeping form for a moment, then, deciding not to wake her, left his new home. The village was quiet as Alma walked through the dark, empty streets. The moon hung as a half circle, lighting his way. But even if it had been cloudy, Alma would have found his way easily—the roads had become so familiar to him over the past months.
He avoided the next village, Cuello, and walked around the homes, through the crop fields. Then he joined the next road leading to another village, Piedra, but he bypassed the third village as well until he reached the path that turned uphill toward a secluded hamlet called Chiapa, which sat atop a hillside. Here lived a group of natives, a people known for mining, who had lived near Zarahemla before the Nephites arrived. They were rarely involved in the goings on in Zarahemla, although many of their women had intermarried with the Nephites. They were a quiet people, fiercely proud of their handiwork. They appeared in the city only during market day to display their jewelry and other goods. Alma had commissioned a merchant named Teoti to replicate the jade necklace that Belicia had given him on her deathbed. Each man on his council, as well as many of the villagers, now wore the half-moon necklace.
And it was here that Alma would commission an important project with Teoti—a man who had proved to be trustworthy.
The night had lessened its hold upon the land, but Alma didn't think he'd find Teoti awake quite yet. His hut was dark, and there were no signs of activity. He knew even without him arriving so early, the merchant would be up soon.
Knocking on the door, he waited only a couple of moments for the wizened man to crack open the door, a dagger in his hand.
Alma greeted him and removed his hood.
Teoti nodded, recognizing the visitor, and shuffled outside. The moonlight cast irregular shadows on the merchant's face, making him look fierce, but his eyes were welcoming and curious.
Alma towered over the small man, although Teoti was a warrior in his own right. He'd described battles fought in his youth and had pointed teeth—although they were mostly missing from one skirmish or other.
Alma put a hand on Teoti's wiry shoulder, then leaned forward, whispering his request. Alma felt that his request was almost too sacred to be spoken aloud. Teoti nodded adamantly, as if it were a natural thing to be awakened so early in the morning with a strange request. Alma handed over a pouch containing silver onties, then stepped back.
Teoti weighed the bag in his hand, then grinned. "Come back in one day. I will have the design for you."
"Thank you," Alma said with a short bow.
"Praise be to the goddess Bel," Teoti said, then raised a hand in farewell and disappeared inside.
Alma looked up at the hovering moon. The goddess Bel. It was perfect. Belicia would not be forgotten. Her words would be etched in stone and her image soon revered by all. With a sacrifice made in her memory, she would watch over him and his people.