Well of Sins: Book Three: of Kindness & Envy

By Bonnie King and Emma Chichester Clark

BOOK DESCRIPTION

All civilizations have a story or myth of an Armageddon, a great war where good and evil will clash, fighting for the fate of the Universe. Some say good will triumph, others say not.

In the time of Troy, three god-forged items were crafted. None of the gods who made these artifacts knew of the vital role each will play in that battle until history has molded them to its own needs.

From Troy through Moses and to the Emperors of Rome, these items have been influenced by the sins and virtues of those who held them, and in return they have influenced their holders. From one hand to another they have been passed, through the generations. Only centuries after their making will their final purpose be known.

No one truly knows when Armageddon is supposed to begin, but many believe it is right around the corner. They may very well be right. A time approaches where these artifacts will be sought; whether for good or evil remains to be seen. But to understand what these items are, it must be told how they came to be.

From Troy to Egypt and the Promised Land, the Cup of Apollo becomes the prize of a young man with a slingshot. A young man who would one day become King.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jun 22, 2012
• ISBN: 9781477124642

Bonnie King

Born in Minnesota in 1944, Richard King majored in History after a stint in the Navy. It wasn’t long that he started to develop a story in his mind. When his daughter, Bonnie, was born in Connecticut in 1976, he regaled her with stories of lost treasure and adventurous quests. She developed her own love of storytelling, and when Richard retired in May of 2010, they decided to finally share Richard’s story. What started as a simple tale about King John’s lost treasure quickly turned into an epic saga spanning back to Troy; even they don’t know where it’ll end.

Book preview

Prologue

Oh, Mother dear!

At the sound of Eris’s voice, Hera nearly dropped the tray of cookies she had been planning on placing in the large brick oven. Her sister Hestia—who had stopped in for a visit—made to duck under the table but was stopped when Hera grabbed her arm. "Oh, no you don’t! You are not abandoning me to this!" Hera growled. As Hestia had always been good-natured and helpful, she decided that the least she could do was offer moral support. If dealing with Eris, Hera would need all the support she could get.

Ooooh, do I smell cookies? Eris chirped as she bounced into Hera’s kitchen like an overexcited five-year-old.

Yes, Hera said, picking up a platter of still-warm sugar cookies. These came out of the oven just a few moments ago. Go ahead and have a few, dear. She hoped the treats would help this meeting run smoothly—or as smoothly as it could considering it was Eris.

Mmm, yummy, Eris said as she happily bit the ears off of a bunny-shaped cookie.

So do you need anything? Hera asked. While she loved her daughter, she preferred to spend as little time in her presence as possible. It was just safer that way.

Oh yeah! Eris said, face lighting up. Do you know where Father is?

Hera sighed while Hestia rolled her eyes. Hera shot a sharp glance at her sister, who quickly busied herself with shaping the next batch of goodies. Hera knew full well that Hestia had many opinions in regard to her husband, but she didn’t really want to hear any of them at the moment. Not to mention, reminding Eris of Zeus’s philandering ways was sure to rile the younger goddess. Hera turned back to her daughter and said, He’s probably in his grotto, doing his crosswords again.

He’s having his ‘Zeus time,’ Hestia said, complete with air quotes. She rolled her eyes again and went back to shaping the cookies. If either of the other two goddesses thought that she slammed the cookie cutter too hard into the dough, they didn’t say anything.

Oh, Eris said with a frown. It was well-known that Zeus took his Zeus time very seriously and thus hated to be interrupted.

I have an idea! Hera said, perhaps with a bit too much enthusiasm. She quickly assembled some cookies into a nearby tin. Why don’t you go take these to your father? She all but shoved the tin into Eris’s arms. He won’t get mad at you for disturbing him if you bring snacks! Zeus was as serious about snacks as he was about Zeus time.

Eris beamed and nodded. Okay! Thanks, Mom! She gave her mother a brief kiss on the cheek before skipping out of the room.

As soon as she was gone, the plastic smile Hera had been wearing dropped, and she heaved a sigh of relief.

I don’t know why you’re being nice to that cheating bastard, Hestia grumbled.

I didn’t do it for him, Hera said as she picked up the tray she had abandoned earlier and finally placed it in the oven. "I did it for me."

* * * * * * *

Oh, Father! The loud and somewhat demanding sing-song voice rang throughout the small building on Olympus that Zeus had long ago claimed as his private sanctuary.

Zeus had been there, relaxing in his whirlpool spa with his thoughts and his crossword puzzle. That is, until his daughter’s call interrupted him. He was startled at her voice, his reading glasses nearly falling off the tip of his nose into the water. He cringed and felt his heart pick up speed. Eris was worrisome enough on her good days, but when she used the sickly sweet tone as she just had, it meant she wanted something. And when Eris wanted something, it was enough to make him panic. Regardless of whatever it was she wanted, it was never a good thing. She had confirmed as much when she had tossed that golden apple into the midst of all those goddesses.

Hera still brought it up on occasion, proving that she continued to be bitter over the outcome. She was angry at Paris for his decision and angry at her husband for not making the choice himself. Athena wasn’t too pleased with him either. As such, Zeus had been trying to avoid Eris since the apple incident. If nothing else, he wanted to keep himself out of trouble.

He briefly wondered if he had enough time to add some soap to the water but decided that it was too late to make enough suds to hide under. He had never been very good at holding his breath anyway.

Here, child, he called out to her, making a great effort to keep his shoulders from slumping. May as well get this over with, he thought.

There you are! she chirped as she entered the room Zeus had been hiding in. I’ve been looking everywhere for you!

Zeus sighed. What do you need, Eris? he asked, cutting to the chase. He didn’t want to waste his Zeus time with mindless banter, especially with Eris. She had a tendency to go off on long, winding tangents. He only had five words left in his crossword, and he wanted to get it done.

Whatever do you mean? she asked as innocently as she could manage, which was considerably more than one would assume of her. She batted her eyes and even pouted a little. I’m only here to deliver these cookies from Mother.

Zeus blinked. Now he knew something was up. There was no way in Hades that Hera would voluntarily give him goodies unless there was something in it for her.

Don’t play coy with me, girl, Zeus said, a thread of steel creeping into his tone. You never behave this way unless you want something. So out with it. He took up the large goblet of wine that had been sitting beside him and took a sip.

Eris’s pout deepened for a moment before she huffed and crossed her arms over her chest. Fine. I want Pegasus.

Zeus was so surprised by the demand that he nearly choked on the wine, spitting it out in a fine spray. I beg your pardon? he all but bellowed.

I said I want Pegasus. Her tone was nonchalant, as if it was the most reasonable thing in all of history.

I… but… and… Zeus took a moment to collect his thoughts before continuing. And why on Yahweh’s green Earth should I grant such a request?

It isn’t a request, she said, frowning. "It’s more of a demand. And why shouldn’t I have him? Helios has those fiery horses that drive his chariot. Apollo has a bunch of giant swans. And Artemis—she has every woodland creature at her beck and call. Why can’t I have a pet?"

Zeus stared at her wide-eyed. Pegasus is not some beast you can put on a leash and lead around. He is noble and intelligent, and by no means is he a simple pet!

But I want him! she whined.

By this point in the conversation, Zeus would usually have stood and towered over her, perhaps shaking a stern finger in her face. However, that was not possible at the moment; his towel was clear on the other side of the room, and he did not fancy showing himself off to his daughter. Instead, he sat straighter and pinned her with a harsh glare. "Well, even if I was so inclined to give him to you—which I am not—it is beyond my power to do so." He took another sip of wine to make up for the one he had wasted just moments before.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Eris asked, scrunching her nose up in confusion.

It means that I am no longer in possession of Pegasus. He picked up his crossword again, signaling that the conversation was over.

Unfortunately, Eris never was very good at reading signals. What! she shrieked. How did this happen?

Zeus sighed and looked at her over the rims of his reading glasses. I lost him to Samael in a poker game, Zeus answered simply, not daring to mention that he had been bluffing on that hand.

"A poker game? I am not allowed to have him as a pet, yet you can use him as an ante in a foolish card game?" Eris was obviously livid as she scowled and clenched her fingers into tight fists. She let out a wordless shriek and stomped her foot before disappearing in her familiar gray mist.

Zeus groaned as he covered his eyes with one hand. There was no way this could end well. He shook his head and picked up one of the cookies Hera had sent. As luck would have it, it was angel shaped. Damn Samael, he thought as he bit off the cookie’s head. Well, whatever happened now, it was out of his hands. The only thing that mattered now was figuring out a four-letter acronym for a troublesome person. After a few moments, the answer came to him. Ah! PITA! He scribbled the letters in, looking over the puzzle again. And if that doesn’t work, I can always try ‘Eris.’

* * * * * * *

Samael groaned as he glanced over the scroll. Upon it were the names of the souls he had been charged to collect. Of course, souls was a misnomer, as the human spirit was the blend of heart, mind, and soul. But somewhere along the way, the whole of the pantheon had just started referring to them as souls, as that was what gave humans life to begin with.

While there were other divine agents who shared Samael’s role, he always found a mound of scrolls waiting for him whenever he returned from a leave of absence. Oh, how he wished he could go back to being just plain Ard-Vahrc.

He had just returned from helping Ibn of Marshell get settled in to the heavenly realm. The reunion between the small merchant and his old friend Hamus was joyous. Hamus’s grandson, Josiah, was also there, and delighted in telling Ibn all about how he had joined the merchant family. When Ibn inquired about the family ring he had given to Hamus so long ago, Hamus said he had given it to Josiah upon his marriage to one of Ibn’s nieces. Josiah, in turn, had given it to his eldest son. There were many stories shared, and both Samael and Lilith enjoyed hearing them.

All too soon, it was time for Samael to return to his responsibilities; and as always, it was depressing. His only consolation was that a good number of the souls listed would be going to good places to be reunited with friends and family as well. Having to bring souls to the darker realms for punishment always dispirited him.

He pored over the names, trying to figure out a workable schedule. He would be insanely busy for the next few months. His concentration, however, was harshly broken by a cooing voice calling his name from a small distance away.

He knew that voice. He hated that voice. No one in their right mind liked that voice, simply because hearing that voice call your name meant you were in for trouble.

He debated the merits of running and hiding, but Eris was frightfully good at finding people, especially those that didn’t want to be found. So he decided he’d just wait for her and barrel through whatever insanity she had planned. It couldn’t be that bad, right?

Hello, Samael, Eris purred as she sauntered up to him.

Eris, he said by way of greeting. He hoped being short and terse with her would deter her from whatever scheme she was working. He didn’t even glance up from the scroll.

How have you been? she asked sweetly. Her hands were clasped behind her back, and she rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet.

Samael was thrown for a loop. He had never known her to be so… cordial. I’m fine, he answered with a sidelong glance, his apprehension growing by the second.

Well, that’s good. Are those the souls you have to collect? she asked, leaning forward slightly.

He glanced back down at the scroll in his hands. Yes. He was thoroughly confused now, as pleasant conversation had never been one of Eris’s strong points.

I bet you have a lot of work to catch up on. She stepped closer to him. Too close. He could feel her divine energy clawing against his. He began to think running and hiding would have been the better option.

Yes, he answered. But that is how it always is.

I wouldn’t know, she murmured. I’ve never had any reason to immerse myself so deeply in the mortal realm as to take on a human identity. Tell me, what is it like?

It’s… well… he trailed off, unsure of how to answer her question. Why? The conversation was turning strange. From Eris this was to be expected, but it didn’t stop the chill from running up Samael’s spine and down his wings.

Well, I was just curious as to how you were able to control yourself, she said breathily as she pressed ever closer. All those weak, helpless mortals. They would have been easy pickings for such a powerful angel.

Samael stood stock still, not daring to move lest he accidentally brush against something he shouldn’t. He knew he could step away from her, but she would only follow. There are rules, Eris, he snapped. "You should know this." He really didn’t like that she seemed to be questioning his ethics.

Yes, but I’m sure that Lucifer’s Fallen Ones mated with mortals for a reason. Of course, I don’t understand it myself. Why waste time on humans when you can have a goddess… like me?

Suddenly, the alarm bells in Samael’s head began ringing loudly. Eris was known for being underhanded, using every trick in the book to get what she wanted. Even if the apparent flirtations were sincere, getting even remotely involved with her was a one-way ticket to misery—and sometimes abject horror. There was a good reason Eris was single. Not interested, he said quickly.

What? she asked, her tone flat.

I’m not interested, Eris. With your reputation, it would be a never-ending hazard to get involved with you. It was simple truth, even if it was unkind.

"My reputation? What about your precious Lilith’s? At least I don’t go gallivanting around with demons!" She stepped away from him just enough to angrily cross her arms over her chest.

He would have breathed a sigh of relief at his renewed space bubble if Eris had not just insulted one of his dearest friends. Be that as it may, Lilith is kind. Even when she invades the dreams of men, she brings pleasure. You bring only pain.

Her eyes widened, and her jaw dropped. Few had ever dared speak to her in such a manner. Most divine beings took care to be nice to her, if only to stay off her bad side. But Samael never was one for sugar-coating things, and he felt Eris had become a bit too spoiled.

"It’s the plain truth, Eris. Now, I am quite busy." He turned away from her, returning his attention to his scroll.

Fine! You want me to leave? Then give me Pegasus!

Samael sighed. Finally, the reason for her visit was revealed. I don’t have him.

What? she shrieked. But Father said he lost Pegasus to you in a stupid card game!

And I lost Pegasus to Odin in the last one. I think he gifted the horse to the queen of his Valkyries. Samael had no idea why Eris wanted Pegasus, but it wasn’t really his problem. He just wanted this conversation to end and for her to go away.

Much as she had with her father, she stomped her foot in anger. You will regret this, Samael! I promise you, you will! She then vanished in a cloud of gray mist.

Seriously, Samael muttered, "what did I even do?" He could not for the life of him understand why the goddess was so upset. But it didn’t really matter much. He hadn’t truly done anything wrong. Shaking his head, he got back to work.

Chapter 1

The general stood at the open flap of his tent. He had pulled it aside so he could survey the battlefield. A generation lost, he murmured. Almost an entire generation of young men dead and tomorrow will be my last battle.

In years he was middle-aged, but in appearance he was old—too old to be a warrior. If he could not find a champion, he would have to face the giant himself.

He looked down at his hands, closing his fists and then stretching his fingers out again. He contemplated those ten fingers, wondering if he could count the number of mere months in his life that he had not been at war for his kingdom, his people. He sighed when he realized he would need only one hand.

Maybe five months out of the entire forty years I’ve been a soldier, he thought morosely. He doubted he would get the chance to count any more. After tomorrow he would be retired—or dead.

He turned to his aide and took the proffered jeweled Cup. Its golden hue deepened the red of the wine it held. Like blood, he thought. It’s as if I’m drinking their blood. He brought the Cup to his lips and murmured, Forgive me my failures, my brethren. He took a sip and frowned at the sudden hint of copper in the taste.

He could remember his own sons, dying or dead on the blood-soaked ground. They too had been soldiers, eager to prove themselves and serve their king and kingdom. The general still recoiled at the memory of the look their mother had given him each time he brought her the news. The youngest went first, his hair hardly darkened by manhood, his face still awaiting its first stroke of the razor. He was quickly followed by the others. With each onslaught of this grievous news, the light in his wife’s eyes dimmed until there was nothing left but bitterness and pain.

His aide caught the general’s attention, wary of the troubled look on his superior’s face. My lord, he said, the priest wishes to speak with you, and he will no longer be put off.

The general’s expression soured even further, though the aide had not thought that possible. "I’ll put his head off," the general retorted with a snarl.

My lord? the aide asked, unsure of the sincerity of the general’s statement. If anything, the aide hoped to keep his own head.

The general sighed heavily, obviously feeling put upon. Yes, yes, all right, he said, waving a dismissive hand in his aide’s direction, bring him in. And be sure the wine is ready. I have a feeling I’ll have need of it. He turned from the tent’s opening, dropping the flap behind him as he went. He sat at the small table on the left side of the tent, draining the Cup and gesturing to another aide for a refill.

It was no secret that the general despised the priests. In fact, he placed the blame for this war squarely on their spindly shoulders. His people had more land now than they could settle in a generation, but for some reason, the priests demanded that the Philistines be driven off to God knows where. Anywhere but here, I suppose, the general thought.

The aide (whose name the general could never seem to remember) returned moments later, said priest following close behind. The priest clutched his robes of self-importance around him, keeping his nose a few centimeters higher in the air than was strictly necessary. Even though they had a king, everyone knew that the clergy was the true ruling class.

We have seen him, my lord, the priest said, attempting to imbue his voice with mystery and mysticism. The general thought it just came off as pompous. We have seen the giant, Goliath, slain upon the battlefield.

The string of name-calling that had been streaming through the general’s mind, directed at the priest, screeched to a sudden halt. He jumped up from his small stool, rocking it off balance and nearly sending it toppling over. When? Where? How? He then whirled upon his aide, his anger clear. Why wasn’t I immediately told of this? I must have a full report! I want my captains here now! Has the king been notified?

The priest watched on as the general flew about the tent in a tizzy. Finally, the general rounded back on him, a demanding finger in his face. Tell me what you know of this, the general commanded. Where on the battlefield did you see the giant?

The priest didn’t flinch even when the general’s finger got a tad too close to his left eye. Instead, he reached up and grabbed the offending hand, pushing it away. Nay, my lord, the priest haughtily responded, we did not see him upon the actual battlefield but in a vision. My sight—

The general gave a derisive snort. Your sight, he said with disdain. "Your so-called sight is meaningless! What good is seeing the monster dead if we don’t know how it got that way? His patience with the priest (and all priests in general, really) was wearing paper-thin. He was so sick and tired of their superiority complexes. And who is this ‘we’ you speak of?"

The priest stuttered in shock. No one had ever dared to speak to him so insolently. Everyone was awed by his gift, as they naturally should be. He wondered, not for the first time, how this crass oaf had ever climbed in rank. "We. I. I is we. I mean me and the Lord. He sent me the vision." A headache was beginning to form just behind his right eye, and he felt flush from his growing anger.

And what did you see in this wonderful vision of yours? The general’s tone dripped with venom-laced sarcasm, causing the priest’s own temper to rise even more.

In response, the priest’s nose rose a few more millimeters into the air. Goliath’s severed head was being held high in one hand of a youth while his other hand held aloft a bloodied sword. He struggled to keep his composure, unwilling to allow this peon to rob him of his dignity.

A youth? snarled the general, stepping into the priest’s personal space. "There are no more youths left in this land. Or can you not bring that pointy nose of yours down long enough to look at the battlefield?" While the general was not tall by the standards of the day, the power and authority he exuded added inches to his height.

I saw what I saw, the priest growled, now nose to nose with his rival. It was rare for his temper to flare like this, but the general was getting on every single one of his nerves.

The unnamed aide had remained overlooked until now, but both the general and the priest were reminded of his presence when he cleared his throat, thus lessening the tension. The two men stepped away from each other. The priest considered the move necessary to breathe; the general considered it a tactical retreat.

"So you’re telling me that our victory hinges on some nonexistent youth who just happens to know how to use a sword and behead a giant? The general returned to his table and took up the Cup. Well, let’s just have a celebratory toast right now! After all, you saw what you saw!" The distain was evident in his voice. He tipped the Cup back and drained it in one gulp. He shoved it in his aide’s direction. Luckily, the aide was smart enough to acquiesce to his superior’s demand quickly and without a word. The Cup was once again filled, though it remained that way for only a few seconds. Apparently, the general decided the only way he was going to get through this meeting was by being completely inebriated.

There’s more to it than that, the priest said in a you-should-really-know-that tone. Really, he just could not understand the obtuseness of some people.

Well, why didn’t you say so in the first place? the general roared, his patience now completely snapped. First it’s just Goliath dead, then there’s a child with the giant’s head in his hands, and now there’s more! Did it ever occur to you that it would save everyone a lot of time and stress to just give a full report to begin with?

The general’s volume and tone was enough to concern a couple of passing soldiers. They poked their heads in to ask if any assistance was needed but were hurriedly pushed out by the unnamed aide. He quietly assured them that all was well and, no, the situation did not warrant the response of a fully armed detail.

I had every intention of giving all the details, the priest yelled in retort. He shrugged his shoulders as he readjusted his robes of office. He couldn’t help the sneer that crept across his face. If he never had to deal with an imbecile like this one again, he would die a happy man.

Well, then, please do! The general sat heavily on his stool, gesturing for more wine. He then leaned forward, his elbows on his knees.

Very well, the priest said, taking his own seat at the small table, as you know, after years of battles, it has come down to this: the Philistines are as sick of this war as we are. They have offered a ‘battle of champions’ to settle the matter. Their champion against ours. I am sure even you can guess as to whom their champion will be. The priest’s voice regained its condescending tone.

Contrary to the priest’s belief, the general was not stupid. Everyone had heard of Goliath, the giant that stood eight feet tall and weighed more than a fully geared horse and chariot. It would only make sense for the Philistines to choose him. As you said, I already know all this, the general snapped, his patience all but gone. Precious time was being wasted, and if there was a champion anywhere to be had, the general wanted to find him and bring him in as quickly as possible. "So how about you tell me what I need to know to defeat that monster?"

The priest gave the general a quick glare before continuing. We haven’t had any volunteers to be our champion. It seems the soldiers are all too afraid. This was said with a sneer. But early this morning as day was breaking, I had the vision.

All that yammering and you have yet to tell me anything useful! the general cried. "Who is this boy? Where can we find him? What kind of training has he had? I need information, man, not a review of current events!" The general rubbed his hands over his face.

I know nothing of those things, the priest said, spreading his hands wide, though without even the tiniest hint of remorse.

The general could only stare at the priest in disbelief. His entire afternoon had been wasted. And on a snobbish priest, no less. He sighed and again ran his hand over his eyes and down his face. Very well, you may go now. He noticed the Cup was empty again. He sighed. Damn, he thought.

The priest narrowed his eyes at the general. His previous anger had finally begun to abate, only to flare again at this careless dismissal. After all, he had brought news of their victory. He should be praised and thanked. Deciding he’d had enough of this barbarian’s treatment, he rose and made his way to the tent flap.

One more thing, the general said, causing the priest to turn and regard him warily, the next time you have one of your special visions, be sure they contain worthwhile information before bothering me. Don’t ever again waste my time as you have today. The general’s gaze was steely and filled with menace.

The priest’s eyes widened in shock, having never before been threatened in such a manner. As obtuse and uncultured as he thought the general was, he had no doubt the man would make good on any threat given. The priest scowled as he returned to the table. It’s true that I don’t know too much about the boy, but I think I know where to find him.

The glare the general sent him was enough to stop most men’s hearts in their chests. I asked if you knew where we could find him, and you said you didn’t. I don’t appreciate you deliberately withholding information from me. How your head is not yet on a pike is an absolute mystery to me!

I don’t know his exact location, the priest said, not in the least bit intimidated. But he didn’t have the look of a fighter about him. He seemed… simpler. I believe he may be a shepherd. There is a small village west of here with flocks. We may find him there.

"So our conquering hero is west of here. Tending his sheep. The general squeezed the Cup in his hand with such pressure normal metal would have buckled. He did not notice that the golden Cup kept its shape regardless of his clutch. Instead, he leveled a deadly stare at the priest. I can rest so much better now. Thank you. He turned to his aide, who had watched the entire exchange with narrowed wary eyes. You, ah… you take two men, armed, just in case. Accompany this priest to that village. Search the fields for any young shepherds as you go. He turned back to the priest and asked, I trust you will recognize him should you see him."

The priest nodded. Anything to get out of this man’s company.

Good, the general said, turning to some scrolls on his table. It was a clear sign that the meeting was drawing to a close. "Pray that you do see him because you will not enjoy the consequences if you don’t."

With a simple gesture from the general, the unnamed aide grabbed the priest’s arm and dragged him out of the tent. Offended cries of Unhand me! and You will regret this! could be heard for quite a while after their departure. Try as he might, the general just could not feel guilty for his treatment of the priest. The man was insufferable.

He let out another sigh and made his way to the tent’s opening. He spotted a young soldier just outside, organizing some supplies, and called him over. Lunch, if you please, the general said. A good hearty one. With plenty of meat and perhaps some more wine. The young soldier nodded with a Yes, sir before scurrying off to fulfill the command.

That’s what I like about the military, the general thought. You give orders; they obey them. Nice and simple.

He returned to his table to await his meal. He was sure that the priest’s vision was fiction, and as such, the general himself would be forced to face Goliath. He figured he may as well enjoy himself before he did so.

Chapter 2

Uriah, a boy of nearly fifteen, lazily turned the spit over the fire. His tunic of brown Egyptian-grown cotton was belted at the waist with a sash of the same cloth. A leather strap around his waist held a pouch of rocks that he used in his sling for hunting. Tendrils of his chestnut-colored hair had escaped the thong that tied the rest of his hair back. Those tendrils now fell over his dark brown eyes, which irritated him no end. For what seemed like the hundredth time that day, he unwound the thong, roughly combed his hair back with his fingers, and wrapped the thong once more. He tied it tighter than usual in the hopes that the damn thing would stay this time.

With his sling, he had killed a quail for the midday meal. It was slowly browning, dripping its hot juices into the fire. He grabbed a piece of shepherd’s bread and wiped it along the bottom of the bird, capturing some of the grease. He took a large bite and hummed his satisfaction. He then turned to his friend and reached out to nudge his shoulder.

Huh? David murmured sleepily as he half opened an eye. He too was a boy of fifteen, nearing manhood. Like Uriah, he lacked about two inches in height and twenty pounds in weight from his full growth. His black hair was not quite as long as Uriah’s and far better behaved. It stayed out of his brown eyes, not that it would matter—at the time they were barely opened enough for him to see anyway. He wore the same kind of tunic