Alma 14

When Alma was done, many took the speech to heart, modified their behavior and started reading the brass plates, which were now widely available in hard-copy transcriptions. But most people heard the speech as a call to destruction—not their own, but Alma and Amulek’s.

Three rationales: First, people loved Zeezrom and wouldn’t brook any disrespect to him. Second, others thought all civil disobedience was a crime. “Don’t mock the legal profession,” some said.

Oh, and the third: a lot of folks didn’t like being told they were going to hell.

Some wanted to quietly deport the two visitors. But the majority wanted them tried and executed. So they tied them up, as if they were burglars or rapists, and took them to the chief judge.

Witnesses spun the whole episode, as witnesses do: Alma and Amulek had spit on the law and preached a weird monotheism in which there was indeed one God but he was going to damn all of them. The testimony was so pathetic even Zeezrom got sick hearing the blather from the witness stand. Partly because it was bogus and partly because he’d frothed it up in people’s minds in the first place. He thought he was starting to feel what hell must be like: listening to idiots all day and realizing you made them that way.

So he gave his own impromptu speech, shouting that he himself was the one who should be tried, since these visitors were good men and he had been just playing lawyer with them.

“What? You should be exorcised—or institutionalized,” they said. Some even spit on him, which, if you know anything about Middle Eastern ways, is a huge insult, though it’s better than being stoned, which is what the crowd actually had planned for him along with others who clearly were now Alma-and-Amulekites.

Mob rule or fascism: what’s worse, who can say? But this crowd was more ferocious than the worst Caesar. They didn’t even wait for a verdict, just herded men, women, and children, true believers all, and—irony alert—threw them in a pit to burn them to death in a huge bonfire, using their sacred books as kindling. The big finale was to be, you guessed it, Alma and Amulek.

Amulek, hearing the screams of humans being incinerated and smelling the sickly sweet odor of their cooking flesh, asked Alma why they couldn’t stretch out their hands and command the fire to cease. Or at least get some rain or something.

But Alma had very strong ideas about free will, determinism, and also, in effect, putting God on trial. So he gave this rather diplomatic reply: “I don’t think God would honor that. He’s already processing their souls into heaven. And he’s using this act as one more folder in his case file to enable a horrific but just mega-death penalty for the perps.”

Amulek said, trying to lighten the mood, “I’ve heard of getting burned, but this is serious.”

Alma said, “Don’t kid around. Though God won’t let us get cooked. I guarantee it.”

By the time the rest were turned to coals and bone, the chief judge walked up to the two and slapped them. They had been hoping for a reprieve, according to Alma’s prediction. But it was apparently not quite time for that. The judge said in a snotty tone of voice: “So remember all your talk about hell? Or all that fiery rhetoric you spew out? This is what it gets you. Ha! And some God: he can’t even knock down my body-tossers.” And this time he cold cocked them in the jaws.

Alma and Amulek, noticing the “Nehor” amulet around the judge’s neck, decided to keep quiet. Whereupon the judge slapped them again then called the guards to put them in cells, where they stayed for three days with the whole legal community visiting them and taking notes for future law school seminars. Still, Alma and Amulek said nothing, though sometimes nodded or shook their heads. A few other gestures too.

After that the judge came back and asked them why they weren’t talking, threatening them again with the bonfire and no anesthetic. “I command you to speak!” he yelled. They thought about it, but neither wanted to go first.

Next day, the same routine. Only this time the judge invited the neighborhood to also slap and slug them. “Time’s up, suckers,” they said. “Let’s check this God of yours out.” Then a cascade of spit, more punches, and a lot of bad lines in the attempt to get at least a groan from the two.

Days of this. Plus, no water or food, though they still had to defecate in their puny cell. Oh, and I forgot to mention: Alma and Amulek were naked the whole time.

Weeks of this. Then, on the twelfth day, in the tenth month, in the tenth year of the reign of the judges of Nephiland, the chief judge in Ammonihah arrived with legal teams at the prison. Then the smacking in the face routine, accompanied by the question, “Okay, if God will save you, this would be a good time, eh? How about this: he sets you free and we’ll believe he can destroy us.” Which was an odd bargain, even some of the lawyers thought. But the judge is the judge. So they all walked up, hit the prisoners in the face and repeated the same offer.

Adrenaline has been known to make amazing things happen. And God is nothing if not the ultimate adrenaline booster. So the two men suddenly stood up and Alma shouted, “Are you going to put up with this Lord? We have faith, you have power. Split these ropes!” And they did it, God did it, and the people started to run off, wondering what could be next.

Well, this is what came next: a localized but powerful earthquake that split the prison walls, which started to crumble, big chips starting to break off and slam into random heads—everyone and anyone but Alma and Amulek, of course.

Bodies everywhere, some dead, some maimed, most running blood like faucets. Alma and Amulek climbed over broken stones and made their way out of the premises, gingerly, even a little giddy at this sudden, literally “in your face” happening. They didn’t stop to help anyone, not having gotten to that stage of Christianity—these were Old Testament times, remember. But the vengeance part of God’s promises seemed pretty tidy.

They walked the city streets, drawing crowds who’d come out at the sound of the jail’s collapse. One look was enough for most people. This was a miracle, a bloody miracle. Lock your doors.