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Nephite Vanguard
Chapter 1: The Old Warrior
The sun broke its golden glow over the River Sidon, casting long beams across the rippling water. Morning fog clung to the river like a silken veil, but the land was already waking. From the nearby banks, the sounds of fishermen calling to each other rose above the splash of nets and the creak of mooring ropes. The scent of damp wood and fresh fish drifted through the air.
The road into Zarahemla was uneven and rutted, packed with dry mud and edged with tangled grass. Stones jutted out at odd angles, making every step a challenge for the small handcart Amnor pushed ahead of him. He grunted as a wheel caught in a rut, nearly sending one of their baskets of dried fruit tumbling. At fifteen, he was tall and steady, used to doing more than his share of work.
Behind him, his younger brother Manti, who had just turned twelve, pushed the cart with both hands. He was strong for his age but moved more cautiously, his eyes busy taking in the world. He watched the fishermen, the boatmen, the wide-mouthed river beyond. His gaze climbed toward the stone towers ahead, rising like sentinels over the road.
Amnor glanced at his grandfather, walking just ahead with his staff tapping a steady rhythm on the stone. Even without armor, Gideon moved with the calm precision of a man who had once worn it well. He turned back to look at the boys with a warm look, and the creases at his eyes deepened, lines etched by years of laughter and battle scars in nearly equal measure.
Banners snapped from the highest parapets, blue and gold, bearing the seal of the Nephite judgeship. These were the gates of Zarahemla, the threshold between the wild outer lands and the heart of the Nephite republic.
As they passed through the arches of the gate into the city proper, the clatter of the cart wheels softened and the cart rolled smoothly against stone polished smooth by thousands of Nephite footsteps. Stone-paved streets stretched out in clean, geometric lines, flanked by public gardens and rows of the homes of the wealthy. The trio had entered the southern gates into plaza district, where the wealthy overlooked the river in the cool of the morning.
The road was busy every morning, filled with Nephites going to and from one errand or another, and the boys had to make a great effort to not bump into any passers by. All made room, however, for the soldiers clothed in leather armor and the blue sashes of the city guard, who moved with heavy steps and quiet purpose. There was peace with the Lamanites at that time, but the soldiers were still well respected, and in turn they took their duty seriously.
Two guards at the inner post snapped to attention as Gideon approached. Their hands went to their chests in salute, fists resting over blue sashes. One of the older men offered a smile.
“Peace and strength, Brother Gideon.” the guardsman said, and Gideon saluted and greeted him in return.
“You’d think we were royalty,” Amnor whispered with a grin.
“What’s that?” Gideon asked. His hearing wasn’t as good as it had been when he had first adopted the boys, just a few years prior.
“Oh, nothing, grandfather.” Amnor said sheepishly.
“Are we like royalty?” Manti asked curiously.
“Oh,” Gideon scoffed, but there was a grin behind it.
His sharp eyes flicked upward to a wooden balcony overhead, where a cluster of men, all wearing crimson sashes, lounged beneath the shade of a woven canopy. Their robes were fine, their fingers heavy with rings, and their eyes swept the crowd below with the bored disdain of men who hadn’t carried their own burdens in years.
“Not royalty,” Gideon muttered. “Just remembered. Though sometimes, that’s more dangerous.”
Amnor chuckled under his breath, but Manti glanced up at his grandfather, eyes searching. He had learned to read quiet warnings as easily as others read faces.
“Are people still mad about the end of the line of kings?” he asked.
Gideon paused and offered a small smile. “Some of them. Not many, there’s a small group calling themselves, “Kingmen.” They like the idea of having power in the hands of a few. That is, as long as they happen to be among the few. The truth doesn’t always win friends, my boys. But it always wins something more important.”
They left the stately calm of the plaza district behind, its wide streets and government halls fading into the hum of commerce. The crowd seemed to flow around Grandfather Gideon, like a stone reaching out of a stream, unmoved by time.
As they rounded the edge of the market square, the mood shifted. Colorful awnings flapped in the breeze, moccasinhs jostled for space, and the air filled with the mingled scents of cured meats, spring air, and sun-warmed clay.
“Brother Gideon,” a shopkeeper called, “have they made you Chief Judge yet?”
Gideon raised his staff overhead, and took a few quick, dramatic steps as if running away. “They’ll have to catch me first!” he shouted, drawing laughter from merchants and shoppers alike. “Besides, the prophet Alma wears that mantle better than I ever would.”
Another vendor, a woman with bundles of dyed wool, added, “We heard about your words to the national council. We loved what you said about keeping the Sermon of King Mosiah’s Liberty sacred. Thank you.”
Amnor straightened with pride. Manti smiled, but it faded as they moved on.
“I just wish the people weren’t so confused,” the younger boy said as they walked on. “You go to those meetings a lot, it seems like there’s so much arguing lately. I thought everyone wanted to be free?”
Gideon nodded solemnly, not surprised by the boy’s insight. A childhood like Amnor’s and Manti’s had a way of sharpening a person’s eyes, teaching them to see what others missed, and to notice what was never said. “Every time people are free to choose, there will be those who use that freedom to deceive. Some people don’t even want the responsibility to choose at all!”
“What? Why not?” Manti asked, confused. “That’s not what you said King Mosiah the Second taught.”
Gideon nodded. He stopped them near a small square lined with fig trees and public fountains. “You boys, do you understand what liberty means?”
Amnor replied quickly, “It means we get to choose the way we live our lives. It’s just like freedom. Right? We get to choose our leaders, and our laws.”
Gideon waited. Both boys were excellent students, though they had different strengths.
Manti hesitated. “You said it’s more than freedom. It’s freedom and…” he trailed off.
“Morality.” Gideon finished. “Yes, you are both right, in different ways. Liberty recognizes that our choices have consequences. Consequences we may not understand, so we must be willing and able to govern ourselves with morality, which we receive from God. That’s why teaching truth matters more now than ever. In a kingdom, the king’s word is law. In a republic, the people’s hearts are the law.”
They reached the temple square just as a voice rose over the morning bustle.
“…I say again, God does not condemn His children! Why would He create us to have appetites, and then punish us for seeking them? What kind of God would be so cruel as to forbid us doing whatever we desire? Therefore, those preaching repentance preach foolishness!”
Gideon stopped walking, and his hand tightened on his staff. His face hardened, not with anger, but with focus. Amnor paused, and looked ahead and tensed. A crowd had formed near a large fountain in the middle in front of the temple. On the side of the fountain stood a large man, his muscular frame draped in crimson robes, gesturing with theatrical grace. His voice rolled like a trained performer’s, persuasive and smooth.
“Yes,” Gideon said. His voice dropped, but his eyes never left the crowd ahead. “He and his followers dress like priests of Christ, though with different colors. They mimic our words, claim our priesthood, and twist the truth until the people can hardly tell the difference. That’s their goal—to confuse, to blend in.”
His grip tightened slightly on his staff.
“And it seems they’ve drawn a larger crowd than I expected.”
They pressed into the throng. Gideon’s presence turned heads. Some whispered his name. Others stepped aside out of old respect.
“Are the priests not the lifeblood of the people,” Nehor proclaimed, his arms raised as if he bore the weight of the crowd’s souls, “are we not the ones who nourish the spirit while others merely feed the body? And yet—look at them.” He gestured towards a few of his friends. “Overlooked. Undervalued. You treat us as though soul-saving were less noble than silver-making.”
He paused, letting the murmurs rise, then leaned forward slightly, drawing the people in.
“How long will the rich eat first, while the righteous starve? How greedy must a man be to hoard grain and silver, while his teacher—the very guide of his soul—goes without? Is that righteousness? Is that justice?”
His voice dropped slightly, smooth and warm. “I do not ask for myself alone, of course. But if you believe, truly believe, in salvation… should I not be supported? Should not those who lead you to God be sustained by your offerings? What greater charity is there than to have property shared in common, especially with the priests?”
The crowd stirred, uneasy but intrigued.
Amnor scowled. “He makes them cheer with lies.”
“And makes them love their chains,” Gideon murmured.
He stepped forward, and the crowd stilled.
Even Nehor hesitated.
The older man’s sandals clicked against the stone as he walked to the edge of the raised fountain steps. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t have to.
“Zarahemla,” Gideon said calmly, “you are free men and women now. Free from kings deciding your lives for you. Free to choose your laws, your leaders, and your faith. But freedom without truth is like a ship without a rudder, beautiful to behold, and doomed to drift. That is why Father Lehi, King Mosiah, and Chief Judge Alma taught that for the true liberty of our souls we must bear the responsibility to learn what is good and righteous, and to repent and come unto Christ! If we live lives of laziness and indulgence, we will fall to wickedness, and perish!”
Nehor’s face twisted into a smile. “Ah, Brother Gideon. The Hero of the City of Nephi. But I wonder if now you can only fight shadows.”
The crowd chuckled.
Gideon gave no sign of offense. “There is a shadow here, Nehor. But it is only old lies dressed in fine new robes.”
Nehor’s voice deepened. “I speak peace. You speak fear. My doctrine is one of comfort, that God will save all men. That He loves us without condition. Yours is a message of fire and judgment.”
Gideon took another step forward. “You use the word love, but remove its strength. Yes, God loves all His children. But true love, corrects. True love calls men to rise above their natural desires. It is an act of true love, and great courage, to speak the kind of truth that hurts before it saves. Would a father not stop his child from walking into the shifting currents of the River Sidon, even if the child desired it? Even if his child cried and grew angry with his father?”
“But who says what the river is?” Nehor shot back. “Your version of God? Your ancient books? I say this, if a man is born to desire, then let him enjoy. If God made the appetite, a loving father will not punish its use.”
Amnor saw Manti clench his fists, and frustration painted his brother’s face. Manti adored his grandfather. Grandfather Gideon had taken them in after their parents had neglected and abandoned their children to follow such desires.
Gideon’s eyes flashed with fire for just a moment before the light of peace and confidence returned to them, and his face was stern as he turned to the people. “Brothers and sisters, how quickly we forget. This land was redeemed by those who repented, not indulged. God forgives sin, not excuses it. His grace is real, but it does not cancel justice. It fulfills it. Do not trade eternal joy for momentary pleasure.”
A stirring rippled through the crowd.
“Repentance is hard!” someone shouted.
“And unnecessary, ” Nehor began.
“Yes, it is hard,” Gideon said, his voice firm, cutting cleanly through Nehor’s words. Whether he meant to interrupt or simply hadn’t heard him, the growing crowd couldn’t be sure. But the boys knew their grandfather: he wasn’t a rude man, simply earnest. “But repentance is worth it. Would you not weep for a time, if it meant joy unending? Have you not felt the joy of repentance when you’ve wronged your brother, and he forgives you? How much greater would your joy be to feel forgiveness from your Father in Heaven? Shake off the chains of your soul, and be born anew in Christ!”
The words struck like a soft wind breaking through smoke. Several in the crowd nodded, their hearts pricked with the Spirit. A few murmured their support, and Amnor’s chest swelled with pride.
Nehor’s eyes flared. “And what of support for the priesthood? Should men of God go hungry while they serve others?”
“They should serve God,” Gideon replied calmly, “not themselves, or money.”
He stepped forward again, voice rising, not with anger, but with conviction. “Let every man labor with his hands, that he may not become lifted up in pride. Have we not seen what priestcraft leads to? Putting ourselves up as a source of salvation, instead of pointing the people to Christ? Shall we build new towers of vanity, only to fall as our fathers did?”
He paused, sweeping his gaze across the crowd. There were dozens of people now, perhaps hundreds, crowded into the square. “Consider two kings: Benjamin and Noah.”
A murmur of recognition passed through the people.
“King Benjamin served his people with all his strength,” Gideon continued. “He taught the words of God and labored with his own hands, so that he might not burden the people. He washed his own robes, built his own shelter, and left behind a legacy of peace and righteousness. His words turned hearts to God. He taught us clearly that it is our duty to care for the poor and the needy of our own free will, as we would serve God. His people prospered, and rejoiced.”
He paused, his voice lower now, but heavier.
“And then there was Noah.”
The crowd stiffened.
“Noah taxed the people to support his pride. His doctrine was not very different from what you have heard today. He built palaces and wine-presses, and filled his court with flatterers in fine robes. His priests lounged on high seats while the people suffered below. And in the end, his kingdom burned.”
Gideon let the words settle.
“Whose nation rose? And whose fell?”
A swell of cheers grew from the crowd, first a few voices, then many. Someone shouted, “Benjamin!” and others took it up. Amnor stood straighter. Even Manti’s face lit with something more than awe. Understanding.
Nehor’s face had turned red. His fingers twitched. His voice shook.
“You old fool,” Nehor hissed, his voice low and sharp. “You speak of rivers and fires and chains, you’re just afraid of a new day.”
He stepped forward, eyes gleaming.
“I see a society without guilt or shame. A people without poor or needy. A people free to act as they will, unburdened by the harsh yoke of repentance. No more trembling before unseen judgment, only peace, pleasure, and unity. All walking the same path. No division. No fear. Isn’t that what your God wants?”
Gideon didn’t flinch. “I’ve lived long enough,” he said quietly, “to see that new ideas often carry old lies, and that which flatters the ear often poisons the soul. You will not deceive this people so long as I live.”
The crowd responded again, louder this time. Hands clapped shoulders. Words of agreement passed between friends and strangers alike. Gideon, the Hero of the City of Nephi, had not only held his ground, he had turned the tide.
Nehor plastered a false smile to his face, though it barely clung to his lips, and never touched his eyes. But the people saw it, he was losing them, word by word. Gideon smiled to the crowd, and raised his staff above his head, a banner of victory for the people to remember, and turned to leave.
And then, without warning, Nehor lunged.
His robe whipped aside, and as he raised the short copper sword, the morning sun caught its edge, flashing like fire before the storm.
A gasp rippled through the crowd. Several people surged forward instinctively—friends, followers, those who remembered Gideon’s courage. But the frightened crowd, stumbling back, blocking their way. Not from cruelty, but confusion. Fear. No one had expected blood. Not here. Not from this.
“NO!” Amnor and Manti shouted together. The crowd erupted as the sword flashed, panic surging like a wave.
Gideon turned just in time. His warrior instincts sparked to life, and he swung his staff upward, deflecting the first blow away from his head.
The second strike came fast, sliding past the staff and deep into his left arm, staining his robes and the stones of Zarahemla red with blood. Gideon stumbled, teeth clenched, but did not fall.
“Do not shed innocent blood, Nehor!” Gideon shouted over the screams of the crowd.
Nehor grew enraged at this, and struck again in a fury. He hammered his sword down again and again against the staff, and though it held, each impact drove the old man back a step. Gideon strained to continue parrying, his wounded arm burned, and his weary bones shook under the pressure of the much larger opponent.
With a seasoned warrior’s mind, Gideon assessed his situation. He would be overpowered if he didn’t get help very soon. Behind him was a moccasinh, so he wouldn’t be able to back up further. The wound in his arm was bad, it was bleeding quickly, and if he didn’t wrap it very soon, he would likely lose consciousness. His boys, his sweet, strong, good boys were trying to get to him, but something was holding them back. Something… unseen.
That was alright then. God was watching over them. If he fell on this day, his boys were in good hands.
It all came to him in a breath, a warrior’s truth, a grandfather’s peace.
Around them, guards pushed forward while citizens pushed back, and the dense crowd churned in confusion.
One final blow knocked Gideon’s staff from his hands. He dropped to one knee, breath shallow, clutching his wounded arm.
Nehor stepped forward, eyes wild, and drove the copper sword into Gideon’s side.
And then, like an ancient tree long rooted in truth, Gideon fell.
“This is what must be done!” Nehor shouted, voice shaking. “Those who cling to the old ways cannot shape the new. If he could not endure truth, then he had no place in what is to come!”
Finally, the guards stormed through the crowd, forcing their way past frozen bystanders. They seized Nehor from behind, dragging him backward with shouts of command and steel drawn. He didn’t resist, just let them carry him away, blood on his hands and wildness in his eyes.
The boys broke through the crowd at last, breathless, faces streaked with sweat and dust. They fell to their knees at their grandfather’s side.
Gideon lay on his back, one arm clutched against his side, his robe darkening with blood. He coughed, breath wheezing, but when his eyes found Amnor’s, they were calm, even bright.
Amnor cradled him, hands trembling. “Grandfather, please… I… I’m sorry, it happened so fast, I tried to get to you!”
“Don’t be. Don’t be sorry.” Gideon said with unsteady breaths. His fingers touched his cheek, weak, and trembling. “All things are done in the wisdom of Him who knows all things. I am sorry I cannot keep teaching you. Not the way I would like. But I will keep fighting for you.”
He paused, as though drawing strength from the pain itself.
“Listen to me, I have one more lesson for you,” he whispered, his voice growing strong for a moment as he gained focus. “You need to bind the wound, press down hard, right here.” He guided Amnor’s hand with his own. “That’s it… you’re doing well.” Manti knelt beside him, weeping silently. “You too, Manti, right here. Yes.” He grimaced in pain for a moment at the added pressure, ”Just like that. One hand on the wound, the other gets a ba
