Ether 15

When more or less healed from his recent maiming, Coriantumr thought about what Ether had said. Almost two million of his own people had died in this preposterous war. Finally, a shred of conscience kicked in. He recalled prophets, who were right on every point. His gloom was like a sack of flour tied to his head.

He wrote to Shiz that he’d give up his rule to save whoever was left to rule.

Shiz wrote back, “Sure, if a chained-up you comes with the cease fire. I want to hew you down while I look straight in your helpless eyes.”

The people of both rulers kept hating. This pretense of truce all seemed a bogus proposition.

Coriantumr got scared and ran off with his men to Ripliancum, once a popular water resort. Shiz followed him and pitched tents nearby.

The battle began the next morning. Coriantumr, cut again, fainted from blood loss.

His army, enflamed, beat Shiz’s army, the survivors of which headed south and camped in Ogath.

Coriantumr’s troops camped at Ramah Hill (the same hill where my father Mormon hid his plates—Ed.). They summoned all surviving citizens from both sides, except Ether, who watched the gathering from afar. People stood with their own parties, like a political convention, of which this was an early example.

This gathering, though, turned out to last a full four years, as people came and went, babies were born, grandparents died, and the whole political spectrum realigned in subtle ways. Along the way, both sides manufactured and trained themselves with new weapons, shields, helmets, breastplates, and so forth.

At the end of that time, they lined up and marched toward each other, as though this were a big sports event. They battled all day with no one but the buzzards gaining a thing.

At night they went back to camp and, especially because women and kids were enlisted too, the night turned into a howling fest, a lament for what they’d endured and what they’d done. It was an unprecedented chorus of grief. Sonic mayhem.

Coriantumr wrote Shiz again with the same offer.

But, let’s face it, these people knew nothing but carnage. They wouldn’t know how to negotiate if Jesus came and slapped them on the cheek. Or both cheeks. Their hearts: completely calcified. Their eyes: completely cataracted. And the next.

So back to war the next day. At night, they slept with their swords next to them like lovers. When you’re drunk with wine you sleep. That is, if they slept. But not so much when you’re drunk with anger.

After the third day of fighting Coriantumr had fifty-two men left, Shiz sixty-nine.

The next day: desperate, aching sword-swinging, everyone’s blood running like leaky buckets.

The day after that, Coriantumr had twenty-seven left, Shiz thirty-two. They ate and slept all of them assuming it was their last night on earth. Big brooding stallions, all heading into the meat grinder.

Three hours of fighting and most of them had fainted or died. Coriantumr’s men started to peel off into the woods. Shiz and his men focused on the bloodletting of one man: Coriantumr. The final battle was joined on the road and, as fate had it, Coriantumr stood to face off. Repeatedly slashed, Shiz lost too much blood to stay on his feet. Coriantumr sliced his head off.

Then Coriantumr collapsed. God told Ether to go look at the battlefield. He saw that not one person was left standing. All were dead or escaped.

Ether inscribed the whole story on plates and hid them. The people of Limhi later found them, as you’ve read. I’ve only transcribed less than 1%, hence the curt synopses.

Ether’s last words on the plates, though, were these: “I don’t know if God will take me or let me die. I don’t care, so long as God leaves on the porchlight for me. Amen.”