Hammon's Day

Chapters 1 & 2

 

Chapter 1

 

     He smelled the grass first, then the dust. But the smell of the grass was stronger. He heard it rustle as he moved. He felt it, fresh and soft against his bare arms and legs. He was in a bed. Someone had taken the time to pad it with fresh grasses. He felt a dull pain behind his eyes, and tried to shift in the grass. A sharp pain rammed through his head, temple to temple. He tightened his eyes, and breathed in short, shallow pants. He lay as still as he could hoping the pain would pass. He'd never felt that kind of pain before.

     From somewhere far away a young voice said, "He's waking up."

     "Good," another, deeper voice, responded.

     There were footsteps, bare feet on stone or hard packed earth. A cool hand was laid gently on his forehead. The throbbing pain diminished.

     "Can you hear me?" The deeper voice asked softly.

     He opened his eyes, and the bright sunlight blinded him. He closed them quickly. After a moment he opened them and squinted at the sunlight. He looked up into the face of the man kneeling beside him.

     It was a young face, clean except for a thin patch of whiskers on the chin. The man smiled warmly, and his eyes were clear and deep, and hazel, almost green. His hair was trimmed above his shoulders, not quite black in color. He wore a white sleeveless tunic that fell to just below his knees.

     He moved his hand away, and said softly, "I see you can hear me. Good. What is your name, son?"

     Somewhere in his head words floated, but he couldn't grasp them. They seemed furtive, evasive. He struggled to remember. Then a word, a partial word, floated toward him.

     "Ham," he heard himself whisper.

     He suddenly grew afraid. The name seemed right, but he didn't know how it related to him. Was it his name? He was unsure.

     His face must have betrayed his fear, because the man quickly placed his hand back on his forehead, and said, "Easy, Ham. You've had a rough night."

     Suddenly he knew the name was wrong, and he knew who he was.

     "It's Hammon," he corrected, breathing more easily.

     For the second time the cool hand had assuaged the pain in his head.

     Hammon was his name. He knew that. There was more, but when he tried to think, the pain came back, and everything else was too hard to remember. It hurt to remember. The fear flowed through him again. The pain in his head flowed out to meet it.

     "Okay, Hammon," the man said quietly, easily. "I am Amliki. The boys brought me to you last night. You were badly beaten. Do you remember what happened?"

     Hammon thought a moment, and grimaced with the pain.

     "I can't," he gasped. "I don't remember anything. Where am I?"

     "You're safe," Amliki said easily. "Don't worry, son. You remember your name, and that's a good sign. The rest will come in time. You had a bad blow to the head, so it's not surprising your memory is a little shaken."

     Hammon was feeling calmer, and the pain was beginning to subside a little more.

     "Are you thirsty?" The man asked.

     "I think so," Hammon answered, surprised at how weak his voice sounded.

     "I'll have one of the boys bring some water," Amliki said, "but only take a few sips at first. Let's be sure it's all going to stay down. How do you feel?"

     Hammon thought a moment, and said, "Like something is pounding inside my head trying to get out. My arm hurts, too."

     "I'm surprised that's all the pain you feel,” the man said. "It seems you were involved in some kind of fight. From the looks of you, I'd say you were the loser. The boys found you unconscious in an alley not far from here. Two stayed to watch you, and the other got me. When I saw how badly injured you were I brought you here."

     Hammon tried to sit up, but the pain roared through his head. He sank back down and tried to relax.

     "Take it easy, Hammon," Amliki said. "It's too soon for you to be jumping around."

     "I will," Hammon agreed. "My head really hurts."

     "Of course, but it'll get better."

     "Is this your home?" Hammon asked.

     "Such as it is," Amliki said, spreading his arms. "It serves us well, except when it rains. Then we tend to get a little wet. But we're working on improvements."

     Hammon looked around. The "home" was no more than a thatched roof over the uneven walls of an abandoned building. Over a dozen boys and half as many girls of all ages occupied the space. They were each engaged in various activities with others in the group. His own presence was not unusual, it seemed, except he felt a little older than most of the children he saw. He wasn't too sure about that, though. His own age seemed to elude him, along with everything else.

     "Most are orphans," Amliki said, seeing Hammon's curiosity. "Some are just abandoned. Don't worry. I don't think you are an orphan, or that you were abandoned. Your clothing is not rich, but it is well kept, so I suspect someone is looking for you. We'll do all we can to reunite you with your family. Until then you can stay here and rest."

     "There were men," Hammon said, seeing a flash of memory in the back of his mind.

     He could see them screaming and shouting, and running between the tents with torches. They were burning the tents! They used the torches like clubs whenever someone tried to stop them. 

     "They were burning the tents," he said quickly before the memory faded. "They were hurting the people in the camp."

     Amliki nodded, and said, "Anything else?"

     Hammon shook his head slightly, and said, "No."

     It had all become black again. The brief flash of memory had drifted away as quickly as it had come. The pain in his head was subsiding a little. He struggled to sit up, and this time succeeded.

     The shelter was bigger than his old home back in the village. He smiled. He could remember his home. The memory had come in a flash like the men and the torches. This memory brought a great deal of comfort with it. He was regaining his memory!

     His home was like most of the homes in his village. It was one room, mud brick walls with a thatched roof. There were people there, his family. He tried to see faces, but the memory evaded him again. He had a family!

     "I saw my home," he said clearly. "I think I'm beginning to remember."

     "Good!" Amliki said. "Don't push too hard. The memories will come back. You've only been awake a few moments. Dan! Bring a cup of water over here. You just stay quiet, Hammon. Don't be too eager to get up. Slide back and lean against the wall. That’s good. I have a priest friend who came over last night, and bandaged your wounds."

     "Wounds?" Hammon exclaimed, reaching for his head.

     "It's not that bad," Amliki said calmly. "You've got a cut on the side of your head. It's not very deep. It looks like someone clubbed you. I’ve no doubt it's painful, but it'll heal."

     "They were using the torches to beat the people with," Hammon offered.

     "Well, you took a pretty good blow on your shoulder, too. The priest doesn't think anything was broken. You have a good bruise you can show off for a couple of weeks. I guess you're lucky you didn't get burned, too."

     A boy was beside them carrying a gourd cup full of clear water. He offered the water, but was a little over zealous and the water splashed and ran down Hammon's tunic.

     "Let me," Hammon said softly, taking the cup from the boy. "You're Dan?"

     The boy nodded, and said proudly, "I found you in the alley. I kind of feel responsible for you now."

     He was pre-pubescent, and wore an oversize tunic that looked like it had belonged to several others before him. But his face was bright and clean, and his teeth were white and filled his face when he smiled.

     "Then I should thank you," Hammon said, sipping the water. "Right now, with this pain in my head I'm not sure you did me a favor."

     Dan looked down, and said, "Oh."

     "I wasn't serious," Hammon said quickly. "It was just a joke. Thank you for finding me. This water is good."

     Amliki took the cup from him, and said, "You can have more in a moment. We've got plenty."

     "We've got our own spring," Dan offered.

     "We have to filter our water part of the year," Hammon said, remembering more. "The river fills with silt during the rains. But it hasn't rained in a while."

     "Well, we've had plenty of rain here," Amliki mussed. "I've been told there's been a drought to the west, and you said the men were burning the tents. You must have been traveling. Since you couldn't have gone far with your injuries, you must have been camped just outside the walls of the city. Probably near the south gate. That's the closest to where the boys found you. Ephraim and Jacob!"

     Two boys came over. Both were mid-teens, and both nearly as tall as full-grown men. Only their faces betrayed their age.

     "This is Hammon," the man said. "The dark eyed one is Ephraim, the other is Jacob. Boys, Hammon seems to have come from one of the camps outside the city, probably outside the south gate. The robbers must have plundered the camp last night. I suspect that is where he was injured. Go see what you can find out, and see if you can locate his parents."

     "Sure," Ephraim, the one with dark eyes, said.

     He knelt down beside Hammon.

     "If they're out there, we'll find them," he said. "By the way, did Dan tell you he found you last night?"

     Hammon nodded, and said, "Yes. I told him I didn't think he did me any favors with this head of mine. He took it seriously."

     "I did not," Dan protested. "I knew you were teasing!"

     "Dan doesn't have too much of a sense of humor," Ephraim explained. "We don't kid him too much. It hurts his feelings. Did he tell you how he found you?"

     Hammon looked puzzled, saw Dan's face color, and said, "How?"

     "We went swimming in the river," Jacob said, smiling. "Dan drank a great deal of water. He's not such a good swimmer yet. And he was trying to show off, too. We decided to head for home after a while. The river was nice, and the water cool, but you can't stay in the water all the time. Besides, we didn't want Dan to drink it all."

     “I wasn't trying to drink any of it!” Dan protested.

     "Well, you sure sputtered a lot. On the way home, " Ephraim continued, ignoring the younger boy, "he decided he needed to relieve himself, so he went into the nearest dark alley, and there you were."

     "I guess I ought to be happy he likes drinking from the river," Hammon said gently.

     "Us, too," Ephraim said, standing and clapping Dan on the back. "We'd have walked right on by. You were way back in the shadows. Can we take Dan with us, Amliki?"

     "Yes," the man said, standing. "But, watch out for him. And be back before dark. If the robbers are active this close, they might be right here in the city."

     "We'll keep him with us," Ephraim promised. "Come on, Dan. Let's see if you can find some more water to drink."

     "You drank some of the river yourself," Dan accused, pushing the older boy.

     The three walked toward the back wall. There was a break in the wall there.

     Amliki watched the boys leave, then looked back to Hammon.

     "You feel like you're ready to try to stand?"

     Hammon nodded. Amliki extended his hand and Hammon took it. He felt strength in the man's grip, and determination. He rose slowly, and leaned back against the chest high wall. He looked over the edge and saw a narrow street below, between somewhat modest homes. The homes were mud brick topped with thatch, no different than those in his small village back in his village. Here, though, they were crowded together, almost on top of each other, many sharing common walls. In his village the houses had been separated by large yards where they planted gardens and kept livestock.  Here there seemed to be no room for those activities. He thought for a moment about how close together the people lived.

     The shelter was on top of a small hill that raised them above the level of the city. He recognized the hill was not natural. It had been raised by the people many years prior, and built on, and then abandoned. The walls and ceiling of the original building had crumbled, and the stones removed to provide a living space for the orphans gathered by Amliki.

     The streets and buildings spread out to the west almost as far as he could see. Half way to the edge of the city he could see three tall structures raised on pyramids. Temples. Other buildings clustered around the temples. They were large and imposing. Beyond the temples more homes spread out to the green line of the forest. It was the largest city he’d ever seen.

     "Zarahemla," Hammon whispered.

     "Yes," the man said. "Do you remember anything else?"

     "We came here to get away from the robbers back home," Hammon breathed, struggling to break through the fog. "Last night was our first night here. My mother and my sister were in the tent, and my father was talking with the other elders."

     "Good," Amliki said. "Do you know your father's name?"

     "Malachi," Hammon said. "I can remember that. Some other things are still hazy, but my sister's name is Leah and my mother is Rebeccah. The leader of the caravan was Botra. He was from way in the north. He said he was from . . . "

     Hammon looked up and saw Amliki smiling at him. He realized he was remembering more. It was all coming back, just as Amliki had promised. He breathed deeply.

     "It's going to be okay now," he said confidently. "I'm going to be all right."

     He felt there was truth in the words even as he spoke them.

     "Of course," Amliki said. "I helped the priest give you a blessing."

     "I wish my father had been here to help," Hammon said pensively. "I need to go find him, Amliki. He's probably worried about me. My whole family will be worried about me."

     "Not just yet," the man said firmly. "You're not strong enough to travel yet. The boys will find them. They'll bring them back here. Do you remember any more about last night?"

     Hammon looked at the ground, and said, "Not much. I remember running, but it's all so jumbled. I don't know if it was before or after I saw our tent on fire. I remember my sister standing in the tent, and the torch touching the door cover. The flames flowed up the wall and across the roof. Somewhere I heard my mother scream. I think she was in the tent with my sister. The man who hit me had a scar here, on his cheek."

     He drew a line from the corner of his left eye to the edge of his jaw almost directly below.

     "That was the last thing I saw. Then, I guess I was running. I don't know where or even how. My mother and sister! Do you think they got out?"

     "Just stay calm, youngster," Amliki said, concern in his voice. "They only had to go out the back of the tent. They're probably more worried about you than you about them."

     "Of course," Hammon said softly. "My mother always worries about me."

     He looked back over the wall again. The three boys trekked down the street on their mission of discovery. A few people were out. They paid little attention to the boys. Soon they were lost in the tangle of thatched roofs leading away toward the center of town. The three temples rose beyond, elegant and staid. Around them, on smaller mounds, but raised above the private homes, were the other municipal buildings. He drank it in, and saw the way the sunlight played among the homes and buildings. This was not the way he'd expected to first see Zarahemla.

     "The robbers only want wealth," Amliki assured him. "They only resort to hurting others when someone gets in their way. You were in their way; your mother and sister were not. I'm sure they're fine."

     "But, if they wanted wealth, why burn the tents? The tents are often worth much more than what's inside them."

     "That's true," Amliki said. "But, think of a raider who wants to get in, get as much gold and jewelry as possible, and get out quickly. Think of even one of them stopping to strike a tent, roll it up, and trying to find a way to transport it out of camp. They set fire to the tents for two reasons. The first is that they couldn't take them with them anyway. The second is to frighten the people in the camp and provide cover while they loot what they will."

     Hammon nodded thoughtfully, then said, "You're right. But, we have to go find them."

     "The boys will do that," a strange, deep voice called from behind Amliki.

     Amliki turned to greet the newcomer. Hammon watched the stranger approach. He wore a simple tunic, like everyone else, but it was held at the waist by a leather belt tied on one side. He was younger than Amliki. His eyes flashed as he walked toward them. He smiled warmly.

     "How is our lion cub this morning? On your feet, I see."

     "Welcome back, Timothy," Amliki said warmly. "I'm glad to see you were able to sleep some."

     "Oh, not much," the man said. "How do you feel, young man?"

     The last he spoke directly to Hammon. Hammon saw his eyes fasten directly on him, and felt his stare penetrate through him. He would have taken a step back except he was already against the wall. For a moment it was as if a cool breeze had blown through his soul. He struggled for the right thing to say, and felt like anything he said would be inadequate.

     "He remembers his name now," Amliki offered. "I would like you to meet Hammon. Hammon, this is Timothy, the priest I told you about."

     "We already met, Hammon," the priest said softly, touching his shoulder gently. "Of course, you certainly don't remember. Your mind was occupied elsewhere. Come, sit down and I'll check your wound again. We don't want it to become inflamed."

     Hammon nodded, and sank onto the ground. It was strange that now he noticed the stones on the floor. He'd expected compacted earth. Their shelter had not been an ordinary dwelling place. It had been a building of some importance.

     The priest carefully unwrapped the bandage around his head, and smiled.

     "You don't talk very much," he said. "Not even when you're awake."

     "It's just something I remembered from a long time ago," Hammon said softly, wincing as the last layer of wrapping stuck slightly.

     "I'm sorry that hurt. What is it you remembered?"

     "We had a prophet come to visit us in our village," Hammon said. "He baptized many of the people there. He reorganized the church. His name was Nephi. He said he had a brother named Timothy."

     "Nephi is my older brother," Timothy affirmed. "Have you more aloe, Amliki?"

     "I'll get it," the man said, turning away.

     "I wondered about that the moment I heard your name," Hammon said quietly. "Nephi said he came from Zarahemla. He talked about you as if there were nothing you could not do. He said there was not one more valiant on the face of the earth."

     "Nephi is good at exaggerating," Timothy said quietly, taking the bowl of clear gel from Amliki. "In fact, he is the valiant one in our family. He has been to war, and fought many battles. He has preached the gospel where only a fool or one of great faith would go, and he is not a fool. I try to follow his lead, but I often feel like I fall woefully short. I'm sorry, I know that hurts, but it must be cleansed, and more aloe put on. That's it, though. I think we're through. I'll just wrap it, and we'll check it tonight."

     "Thank you," Hammon said. "And, thank you for last night, too."

     "It was my pleasure," Timothy said, rising. "I want you to rest for a while, now. Some of the boys may keep you company, if you wish, but stay quiet. Meantime, Amliki and I have some things to discuss. I'll check back with you before I go."

     The priest went with Amliki, and Hammon slid back against the wall. He reached up and touched the bandages gingerly. The pain in his head had subsided to a dull throb, and his head felt tender where the wound was supposed to be. He was feeling better as time passed, and so little time had passed since he woke up in this strange place. He stared at the bricks behind him and was surprised to find they were not mud-brick like the houses below the hill. They were stone. The building might have been a temple at one time.

     He felt very alone in this strange city. He was lost. A deep sorrow filled him. It began in his chest, and spread slowly throughout his body. It was almost too much to bear.

     He suddenly wanted to pray. He closed his eyes and waited a moment for the words. Then he prayed silently. He prayed for his parents, his sister, and their safety. And, he prayed he could find them again soon.

 

Chapter 2

 

     Hammon felt his whole world was contained within the walls of a city he knew nothing about. It was a strange land, and he was a stranger in that land. His family was somewhere out there. He knew they would be wondering, and worrying, about him.

     He wanted to go, to try to find them, but the pain in his head hampered him. Timothy insisted he needed more rest. Hammon knew the man was right, but he was restless. He was finding it hard to lie still when he had so much to do.

     Timothy and Amliki talked for a long time off to the side. They spoke in hushed voices, and waved the other children away when they approached. Finally, after what seemed to be an age, they turned and walked back to Hammon. Hammon was still sitting with his back against the wall.

     Timothy knelt down next to him and asked, "How are you feeling now?"

     "Better," Hammon said truthfully. "It did hurt when you changed the bandage, but the pain is almost entirely gone now. Thank you again."

     "No thanks needed," Timothy said. "Just be a good patient and wait till we find your parents. Then we can return you to them in better shape than when we found you."

     "I will," Hammon said.

     "Amliki will need to run some errands for me, but he'll be back very soon," Timothy said. "If we haven't found your parents by evening I'll be back to check on you."

     "By evening?" Hammon interjected.

     "It's a very large city," Timothy said. "Your parents will likely remain near the camp, but if they are out looking for you it may take a while to find them. You're safe enough here until then."

     He patted Hammon on the knee. He stood and looked down at the boy.

     "You be a good patient and stay still," he said with authority. "I'll be back later."

     He turned and he and Amliki walked out the break in the wall. Hammon saw them drop down the path until, only for a moment, only their heads were visible. Timothy turned to look back for a brief moment, then was gone.

     Hammon waited until he was sure they had circled the mound and had reached the street below. Then he struggled to his feet and tried to walk to the break in the wall that served as a doorway. Before he'd gone half way he became dizzy and sat down quickly. The vertigo passed after a very short time, but it left a feeling of nausea. The heavy throbbing in his head that he'd experienced earlier returned. It wasn't as bad, but it was enough. He sat very still for a while. When the pain lessened he cautiously walked back to his bed.

     His movements attracted the attention of many of the children in the shelter. They crowded around him, curious about his injury, some only wanting to make a new friend. Some were timid, a little afraid of the stranger, while others were animated and eager to make him part of their group. After a while the novelty wore off for most of them and he was left pretty much alone. One of the older girls, however, seemed to hover over him. She came back from time to time to check on his progress, and on his needs.

     She was different than the other girls, most younger than her. Where they lost interest quickly and moved off to other activities, she seemed more focused on him. She was pretty, with a straight nose and skin smooth and tanned by the sun. Her hair was black. Her dress, similar to the tunic he wore, fell to below her knees. It was old and patched, but it was, like her, fresh and clean. It was the third or fourth time she had approached him that she drew him into a longer conversation.

     "What was your village like?" She said, sitting next to him in the grass of his bed.

     Hammon ignored her for a moment. He looked around the shelter. There were many other beds around the shelter similar to his. They were simple piles of grass meant to provide a semblance of comfort. It was obvious there were more children using the shelter than those he'd seen. Some of the beds were well defined and neat, others were scattered and messy. He thought about the soft cotton mattresses he and his sister slept on back home, and wished he were there now.

     He was thrilled that he seemed to have no lapse in memory. Everything, who he was, where he came from, why he was here seemed crystal clear. He could not remember the events of the previous evening with any clarity, however. That disturbed him some.

     Home. They had left home far behind. They wouldn't be going back there again. Father had said they would be staying in the city. He would find work, and they would be all right. The home he'd known was empty now. Someone else would find it, and use it. He would never see it again. He glanced at the girl.

     She seemed nearly his age, maybe a year younger than he was. She was busy running her fingers through her hair. Hammon remembered his sister doing that, combing her hair with her fingers while she talked. It must be, he reflected, something girls did.

     "Well?" she asked again.

     "I'm Hammon," he said absently, more to remind himself that he remembered than to introduce himself.

     "I know," the girl said testily. "Everyone knows who you are."

     "I know," Hammon returned, more into the conversation now. "But I don't know you. Who are you?"

     "I'm Miriam," she smiled. "Tell me about your village."

     Hammon had, somehow, known she wouldn't allow the subject to be changed so easily. Like all girls he'd known, she didn't want answers. She wanted conversation. Hammon, on the other hand, was still not feeling well. The pain in his head was considerably smaller, but he would rather have remained silent.

     "It was small," Hammon he said, emphasizing the deliberate brevity of his answer.

     "Of course it was small," she said, shifting a little closer to him. "But, what was it like?"

     Hammon shrugged, accepting the inevitable, and said, "The homes were all mud brick, like here. The roofs were all the same as here. We only had one temple, and it was small. It was on the flats just outside the village. It was on a mound not much bigger than the dwellings. The priest was an old man who lived with his wife below the temple. Is that what you meant?"

     "Well, that's some of it," she said, her voice carrying a little edge. "What were the people like? What was your family like? Did you have many friends?"

     Hammon smiled, and thought he could see where the conversation was going.

     "A few," he said quietly. "We watched the herds and helped in the fields together. Sometimes we went swimming in the river. Sometimes we explored the ruins on the mountain."

     Miriam nodded, and smiled, satisfied that this was the beginning of a full description of his village.

     "Was there anyone special?" She asked pointedly.

     "You mean, like a girl friend?" Hammon asked.

     "Of course that's what I mean," Miriam returned.

     "Well, in our village we're promised in marriage when we're born," Hammon said easily. He knew it was a lie, but he was a little irritated at being forced into a conversation he did not want to have. "I've been married for two years. Of course, she'll be joining us here as soon as we get settled."

     Miriam sat up straight, her face a mask of confusion. Her lower lip quivered slightly, and her hands were suddenly very still.

     "I don't believe that," she said stiffly.

     Her voice echoed the hurt in her eyes.

     Hammon realized his teasing had disturbed the young girl, and was immediately sorry he'd said it. He took a deep breath, and smiled as warmly as he could.

     "I was only teasing, Miriam," he said softly. "I'm not married, and there was nobody special back there. That's the truth."

     Miriam threw her hair back over her shoulders. Satisfied with the way it was arranged, she got up.

     "I didn't think so," she said, staring down at him. "I'll be back later. Maybe. I've got some chores to do."

     With that, she threw her head and her hair flew around her like a halo, catching the sun and sparkling like black fire. She strode off, her feet landing heavily on the stone floor.

     Hammon knew he'd upset her, and he was sorry. His head throbbed a little. He didn't really understand her anger, but he knew he'd been wrong in the flippant way he'd answered her. And there was something in the way her hair caught the sunlight that drew his interest. He decided to try to be more understanding when she came back.

     He got up and walked back along the wall. He wanted to increase his walking time and his stamina. Then he could go find his parents. He didn't like being an invalid. When he got back to his bed he sat down again, and waited for the surge of nausea and the throbbing pain. Both came after a moment, but they were much less. They were both totally manageable.

     He smiled in spite of the pain. He was getting better.

     He watched Miriam with the other two girls for a while, then got up again. He walked along the low wall, stopped, and looked around. He was further than he'd been before. The wall provided support. He leaned against it and hung his arms over the edge. He looked down into the street below. He wanted to see Ephraim, Jacob and Dan coming back, but he knew they hadn't been gone long enough. It had only been one night, but it seemed like eternity since he'd seen his mother.

     He was suddenly alert. He sucked in his breath and grabbed the wall. The boys weren't down below, but the figure he did see was one he recognized. The man was dressed in rough clothing, his hair black and unkempt, and his face dirty. But, Hammon knew him by the scar on his cheek, a scar that just cut the outer edge of his eye and drew it up in a wicked pinch at the corner. It was the same man who'd swung the torch at him the night before. It was the same man who had set fire to his mother's tent! He was sure of it.

     He looked around. Only a few young people were in the area. Amliki was not.

     "Miriam!" He called out.

     Miriam, true to her calling as a young lady, ignored him. Hammon realized had to let him know he wasn't very important in her world. Hammon knew she was angry and he knew she had a right to be. He had seen his sister behave the same way when she was angry with him. He usually waited until her mood changed, but he didn't have time now.

     "Miriam!" He shouted louder.

     This time the girl turned to him, a look of quiet boredom on her face.

     "Where's Amliki?" Hammon asked.

     "I don't know," she said civilly. "Why do you ask?"

     "I need him right now!" Hammon gritted through his teeth. "We have to find him!"

     "I don't think he wants you getting so upset," Miriam returned, her voice carrying more concern than it had the moment before. "You should be resting. I'll see if one of the younger boys will go find him."

     "It'll be too late," Hammon returned, looking over the edge of the wall again.

     The man with the scar was finishing his conversation with the two other men. He pointed toward the temples, said something that made the other men laugh roughly. Then he turned and started to walk.

     "In the village there would have been twenty people who would have helped arrest him!" Hammon almost shouted. "Why doesn't someone take him to the judge?"

     "Take who to the judge?" Miriam asked, coming toward him. "What are you talking about?"

     "The man with the scar!" Hammon snapped. "It's the man that burned our camp! He's right down there!"

     Miriam glanced over the wall, and shook her head.

     "Are you sure it's the same man?" She asked innocently.

     "Of course it is," Hammon said, almost frantic. "I can't let him get away!"

     The Scarface turned back to the other two, as if at a call from one of them, and their conversation resumed. Again they laughed, and again they turned to go their ways.

     "It's different here, Hammon," Miriam said, touching his shoulder briefly. "The judges don't do much to help. I'm not even sure they can. We just let things take their own course. Even if there were someone around they probably wouldn't help you. Trying to arrest someone can get you killed."

     "That's not right!" Hammon growled, still watching Scarface intently.

     "Who ever said things had to be right?" Miriam snapped, anger in her voice. "I'm just telling you the way things are."

     The boy turned and started toward the doorway on the opposite side of the space.

     "Where do you think you're going?" The girl asked.

     "I've got to follow him," Hammon returned, gritting his teeth and taking measured steps.

     "You can't go out there," Miriam shouted. "You're too sick!"

     "There's no one else around," the boy returned. "Everyone else here is younger than me. Miriam, he might know where my family is. I have to follow him. I have to."

     "There is no 'have to'," Miriam argued. "All you talk about is your family. I don't even remember what my family was like. I've been alone my whole life! You've only been alone for one night. Your family is still out there somewhere, and you'll find them soon. I won't ever find a family. Quit trying to rush things. Just sit down before you make yourself sicker."

     "I'm okay," the boy returned, a little subdued. "He needs to be held accountable for what he did last night. If he gets away he may hurt someone else. Besides, I need to be out finding my family, and he may know where they are. I can't wait till tomorrow or the next day or even longer. I'm sorry if you don't know what that means. I do, and I have to follow him."

     He'd reached the opening. The path was steeper than he expected, spiraling down toward the base of the low hill. He took a few tentative steps.

     "Sometimes it's more important to stay alive than find a family," Miriam called angrily after him. "Look at you! You can't even keep up with him!"

     "I can try," Hammon said, starting down the path. "Tell Amliki where I went."

     "You tell Amliki where you went," Miriam snapped back.

     Hammon stopped and turned toward her. The path was easier than he'd expected. He was part way down, and she was above him. From this vantage she looked older, and prettier. Hammon breathed deeply.

     "Look, Miriam," he said quietly, "I have to do this. I need your help. Just tell Amliki where I've gone and ask him to come and help. Together we can arrest this man and take him to a judge. Then I can find out if he knows where my family is."

     "Your family is looking for you, too," Miriam argued. "What if Ephraim and the others find them, and bring them back here, and you're not here? What then? You aren't thinking about that, are you? What you want is revenge. I don't think you're as concerned about your family as you say you are."

     Hammon felt the words slice deep in his heart. He realized there was some truth in what she was saying, but it didn't change what he felt he had to do. He took another deep breath, and fought the throbbing pain back.

     "Send Amliki," he said simply, and turned down the path.

     Miriam was silent, but Hammon could feel her presence trying to hold him back. He felt her tugging at his soul. He wanted to go, and he felt like he had to stay. He swallowed hard and went down. He didn't look back.

     Just before he turned the corner of the mound he heard Miriam say quietly, "Be very careful, Hammon."

     He almost turned back then, but didn't.

     Instead, he said quietly, "I will, Miriam."

     He wasn't sure if she'd heard him. He was only sure he wanted to follow Scarface. He wanted to cause him pain. He wanted to hurt him.

Suddenly disturbed by his own feelings, he stopped and breathed deeply several times. He was where the path met the street. The men who had been talking with Scarface were walking far to the right. Scarface had walked off to the left, and was out of sight. There were only two streets close enough for him to have gone into. Hammon knew he had to pick the right one.