Murderers.
\nI hit the ground knowing that if they find me\u2014a boy they\u2019ll assume to be
\na Nephite spy\u2014my fate will be bleaker than it would be at the claws of the
\nhungry cat. These men are masters of torture and evil. I try to not stir at all,
\nto not even breathe. Lord, protect me, I silently pray, a prayer that ascends with
\nas much sincerity as my young, terrified soul can gather.
At first I\u2019m sure they\u2019ve heard me, but the men laugh carelessly and I ease
\nforward so I can get a clearer view. I expect them to be dressed like savages
\nbecause the deeds they do are savage\u2014but they\u2019re not cloaked in loincloths,
\ntheir faces are not stained with fresh blood. They look as ordinary as any of the
\nmen walking through Elam; they might have been farmers, artisans, merchants,
\nor soldiers. Some carry themselves with the same ramrod pride as most judges.
\nTheir skin is the same shade as mine. They greet each other like brothers,
\nlaughing, joking, and talking about their families\u2014their families!\u2014and their
\nspoils, how they have plundered a village on the far side of the mountain.
I wait, my stomach souring at one man\u2019s horrific account of what he
\ndid when he came upon an innocent maiden. I listen, trying to keep my
\nmind focused so that I can take back any bit of information that might help
\nkeep our small village from being their next target. I know I will have to be
\naccurate in retelling this account to my grandfather, who believes that the
\nGadianton robbers will be the downfall of our entire Nephite people.
\u201cThey are the sons of Satan,\u201d he has told me. \u201cIt is his devilish design they
\nfollow.\u201d
He has taught me that there is a distinction between a robber and a thief.
\nA thief steals from within a family or a village. A robber attacks a family or a
\nvillage that is not his own.
I know the story of the robbers, and I try to remember it now.
\nGrandfather was only a boy himself when a man named Paanchi wanted the people to elect him chief judge. But his brother Pahoran was elected to the
\njudgment seat instead, and Paanchi was executed for treason. In retaliation,
\nKishkumen\u2014one of Paanchi\u2019s supporters\u2014assassinated Pahoran. At that
\nvery moment Satan united Kishkumen and his associates into a secret pact to
\nprotect each other\u2019s identities.
Now I\u2019m looking from my hiding place at the results of that pact.
\nGadianton became the leader of Kishkumen\u2019s group and promised that if
\nhe became chief judge he would appoint his fellow robbers to positions of
\nauthority. When Kishkumen killed the new chief judge, Gadianton took his
\nfollowers and fled into the mountains.
Father, I pray, protect Elam, protect my family, spare my life.
\nOne of the men coughs and spits off the edge of a rock, then looks up
\nabruptly; for a second I think he\u2019s spotted me. But he spits again, then turns
\nand joins his friends. I see for myself that Grandfather is right: they are men
\nwho delight in the vilest acts of mankind. I hear them speak out against
\nNephi for the famine. I hear them threaten Nephi\u2019s life, and I can\u2019t wait to
\nreport to Grandfather so he can get word to the prophet and his family. My
\nbest friend\u2014really my only friend\u2014is the prophet\u2019s grandson Jonas. Though
\nthey live on the outskirts of Zarahemla, more than a day\u2019s journey from our
\nvillage, my fondest memories are of playing with Jonas, laughing, pretending
\nto be warriors. I wonder what he would think if he could see me now.
The robbers hate Nephi because he is bold in speaking against them, in
\nrallying our people to seek them out and destroy them. Nephi prophesies that
\nif the robbers do not repent, they will pay\u2014we will all pay. I will pay with my
\nlife if they discover me.
The sun sits high in the sky and beats down with a powerful fist; beads
\nof perspiration dance on the backs of my hands, but a shiver shoots through
\nmy body as I look upon true evil. If it were possible, I would lunge at all of
\nthem, bring each one of them death with my blade. I count; there are twelve
\nrobbers, all of them grown men\u2014all of them capable, I\u2019m sure, of skill with
\nthe sword, cimeter, clubs, bows and arrows, and every manner of weapon
\nknown since the days of Father Adam. They are warriors\u2014warriors for evil.
Listening to their boasting, I realize that no village is safe from their
\ncorruption. No son of God is safe from being harassed and even murdered for
\nstanding for truth. No daughter of God is protected in her virtue because their
\ndark, murderous minds believe that to rob a girl of her virtue is an act of valor.
I shiver continuously and struggle to not shut my eyes against the scene.
\nI silently pray again for strength and a spirit of calm. I turn my face carefully
\nto the side and use my tongue to prod a fallen twig into my mouth; my teeth clamp down on it to keep my jaw from shaking. There is a scripture
\nthat Grandfather quotes . . . something about being still and trusting God. I
\nwish I could remember it, and I beg forgiveness for neglecting my synagogue
\nstudies in favor of hunting and exploring.
As faith follows the words of my prayer, my stomach stops churning.
\nMy body stops quivering. My teeth stop chattering. I creep closer and realize
\nthat the men have taken to chanting a common code, a secret oath. It\u2019s not
\nfamiliar to me, but they seem seasoned in their common words, in the act of
\nsharing the same handshake. I hate the way they chant so routinely. I hate the
\nway they laugh so raucously. I hate the way they boast of evil and their own
\ncourage.
I do not know what it is to take the life of a man, but I know that I
\nwould destroy them all if I could.
Clearly, one man stands out as their leader. His back is turned to me,
\nbut his hand is in the air, and in his grip is a blade that glints in the sunlight.
\nEven from my somewhat distant vantage I see that it is a fancy blade with a
\njeweled handle. He slices it through the air as he talks. I see that he is a stout
\nman with broad shoulders, draped in a cloak the same hue as the purple
\nflowers that grow in the highlands. Obviously, he is a man of means and
\npower.
I watch as two others unload the burdens from their backs, burdens of
\nstolen goods: jewelry, pottery, and weapons. The amount of wealth makes
\nme blink. This is why these men are called robbers and not thieves; they
\nwork in skilled bands, coming from the outside and robbing strangers.
\nThe punishment of thieves, who work alone and steal from their own
\nneighbors, is exacted by the wronged village people. If this band is caught,
\ntheir punishment will be military\u2014they might even be executed. But if
\nGrandfather is right, even the highest government seats are stained with blood
\nand sin.
I know now with certainty that he is right: Gadianton robbers are evil
\nto the centers of their hearts. If this is the wickedness we are allowing to
\npenetrate our people, surely we will face total destruction.
My own heart leaps in my chest at the fantasy that I might be the warrior
\nto somehow thwart them. But the men are large in stature, loud in boasting,
\nand they clearly have no reservations about killing. I count again. Yes, twelve.
\nHave I stumbled on the full quorum of their leadership?
My blood runs chill as water from a high mountain trickle, for in the full
\nlight of day, the leader turns his face toward me, beckoning his followers to
\nbow to his supremacy.
I gulp. My eyes go wide.
\nThere is no doubt. The man I am looking at is the very man whose respect
\nI\u2019d intended to earn. He is Hem. He is the father of the girl Calev loves.
![\"Horz_line\"](\"http://cdn2.deseretbook.com/assets/horz_line-0ab467abbb4056887a86d9853d23abcb.gif\")