Opening Chapters - The Ninth Generation
“It was then, and later too, that the Nephilim (giants) appeared on earth – when the divine beings cohabited with the daughters of men, who bore them offspring. They were the heroes of old…”
The Torah (Genesis 6:4 / traditional Hebrew text)
O N E
The cry of the ram’s horn pierced the stillness of the tree village, but it had come too late—
“A daughter of Olmar.”
High within the branches, the hunched-over figure turned from the scroll. His eldest son was leaning against the doorway, breathing hard. “Where was she last seen?”
“Working the vines.”
Methuselah quickly left his seat and followed Lameck through the passageways and down. Silently they hurried through the shadows, passing beneath the other dwellings which had been built among the limbs of the huge cypresses.
A crowd had gathered around the grieving father. The wailing of women could be heard from his home above.
“Who is missing?” asked Methuselah.
“My Nashta,” said Olmar.
“Did anyone see her taken?”
“Come, I will show you.”
Joined by some of the crowd, they proceeded east of the Grove down one of the trails into the valley. It was late in the day. The falling mist cast an eerie reflection across the fields and vegetation that supplied food for their families. Most harvesting was done by the sons but the fruits were gathered by the daughters. It was the season for sweet grapes, but to the villagers the time had suddenly turned bitter.
“There—” Olmar pointed to the partly-filled cart. “It is where they left it.”
“Who else was with her?” asked Methuselah.
“All three daughters went out together but they got into an argument. Krista and Kursta came home. Later they returned to help, but Nashta was gone.”
“Have you looked for her?”
Olmar walked to the other side of the cart and motioned toward the ground while wiping his eyes.
The sandaled impression in the dirt sent a chill up Lameck’s back. He knelt and, with his hand, measured the length of it. Four spans. Six toe marks. “He’s right,” said Lameck, looking up at his father. “They have come again.”
Methuselah was silent.
Olmar pulled a yellow scarf from his pocket and held it out. “I found it here. It’s Nashta’s. She always wore it.”
“We’re not safe,” said one of the others.
“Where will we go?” asked another.
“Back to your homes.” Methuselah waved the crowd back. “The elders will meet and decide what to do.”
“What if it returns tonight?” asked one.
“The wheel tracks point to the coast,” said Lameck, “back to their land.”
“It got what it came for,” said another. “Whose daughter will be next?”
“I am sorry.” Methuselah reached to console the father, but Olmar pulled away and along with the people turned and headed back, murmuring in dismay.
Lameck felt Olmar’s grief and the helplessness of his father to stop the encroaching terror. He stared for awhile at the tracks. It had been almost six months since the last snatching of a Sethite daughter. They had only wanted to be left alone, but such peace had been imaginary.
Returning to the Grove, Lameck stopped beneath one of the dwellings and climbed the rope ladder to where his friend was sitting.
“What do you think they will decide?” asked Albo as he picked up one of the carved wooden balls and lobbed it from the rail. It arched downward, thudded and rolled about thirty feet from the base of the tree, just missing the marker.
“Probably to post guards.” Lameck took hold of a red one and gave it a toss.
“Too short.” Albo reached for another.
Lameck’s heart just wasn’t in the game and it wasn’t helping him to relax. “They need to be stopped.”
“Bet I could bring one down with my T-bow.” Albo lobbed another, a little too far.
“Ever seen one up close?” Lameck crouched at the edge by a supporting limb.
“Not yet. Have you?”
“Close enough to keep a distance.”
Albo sat, his legs dangling over the side. “How many do you think there are?”
“If I could get to their land, maybe I could tell you,” said Lameck.
“You mean if you could get through their tunnel…How is Talisha?”
“Better if she were closer.” Lameck welcomed the change of subject, especially the thought of seeing her. It was a day’s ride.
“Close to covenant?”
“I’m not sure she is ready.”
“Better not wait too long. A Ridge boy may take notice.”
Lameck was grateful for Albo’s friendship, but took his counsel lightly. He meant well. It was almost dark and time to return to his family’s dwelling. On the ground, he tossed the balls back up. He wanted to see Talisha again soon, but now the safety of the Grove was of most concern.
In the weeks that followed, activities gradually resumed. The sounds of children laughing and playing could again be heard. Even the harvesting continued, but only with guards and in full daylight. A few searches had taken place, but more for the family’s sake—to show concern—than from any real hope of recovering Olmar’s daughter.
The elders had decided not to interrupt plans for the Sethite gathering. They would take a chance that the Nephilim would not return anytime soon. The time of celebration would help to take their minds off of their worries, and it was needed for the encouragement and strengthening of the community. For the fathers and their families that would be arriving, preparation was needed. Food had to be gathered.
Two things Lameck enjoyed doing as his part and both were at night—honey hunting and fishing. With success, a sweet supply could be jarred and fish could be smoked, enough to last for months.
Outwitting the fist-sized flyers had been learned by studying the insects’ defensive behavior. In their attempt to conceal the location of their hive, the bees would overpass the nearby flowers, going to more distant fields for their nectar. Lameck and Albo had found them during the day. Catching one in their bee box, they soaked it in honey, and then released it, watching and marking the return line of flight. Capturing a second bee nearby, they repeated the process and figured from the two angles and distance between where the bee lines crossed. The triangle always pointed to the spot and told them how far.
Returning at night, when the bees were at rest, they located the tree. The comb was huge, suspended from a high limb. They slowly climbed it and struck a torch. Lameck brushed the surface, stirring the bees. Instinctively, the bees left the hive and followed the sparks to the ground. The treasure was then cut and bagged, almost more than they could carry home, an ample reward for a few stings which were quickly soothed by a honey coating. Disoriented by the fading sparks, the bees were left on the ground. With daylight, they would reorganize.
Honey hives could usually be found nearby, but for fish, travel to the cove was necessary. Lameck planned it well ahead and prepared the equipment. His brother Aril had helped him in the past and would go again. The grove and its bountiful surroundings provided well for the village families. All things considered, it was a good place to live—and peaceful most of the time.
__________
A reptilian opened its eyes on the bank. The sun was rising, but the chance of another catch tempted the night-time fishermen to delay their return. Shifting his sitting position, Lameck watched his younger brother throw the last of the bait. The surface of the bay where it scattered was like emerald—smooth and translucent with gently rolling swells. Lameck clenched a fistful of sand, and then slowly relaxed his grip, allowing the grains to drift downward, sparkling in the early light.
“Is it still safe?” Aril asked, walking back.
Lameck was silent.
“Father said they watch the beaches.”
“It’s barely daylight,” Lameck answered. “This will be our last cast.”
Aril sat down. “I like to eat fish, but if we are seen—”
He was interrupted by the sudden thrashing of water. Close to shore, fins and silvery flashes signaled the final catch. Getting up they moved quickly to each end of the net where two twenty-foot poles were standing vertically, anchored in the sand at water’s edge. Bending them back like bows, almost to the breaking point, they slipped the notched tips into catches and dropped the netting on top.
“Now!” said Lameck.
Yanking the release pins, Lameck and his brother stepped back. A rush of wind raised the hair on Aril’s forehead as the wide net catapulted over the water. Stone weights along the leading edge splashed down first. Wood floats bobbed and held it in place. Lameck’s way of fishing was unconventional but worked well.
At the cove the fish were plentiful, but it was a half day’s journey from the family village down the southeast trail. They had arrived at dusk the day before and had spent all night fishing. The wide beach was bordered by palms and lush foliage, connecting around the inlet to the winding coastlands of the south.
Lameck tightened his grip, hands chafed and aching, working the lines backward against the growing weight of the catch. At 112 years of age, and muscled from hard work, he was tired. Aril, just thirty-three and lanky, was barely moving. “Final load. Let’s get them in.” said Lameck.
Aril frowned as he glanced across at Lameck’s end of the net already on the beach. “You could have asked someone else.”
“Don’t give up. You are a great help.”
Lameck walked behind his brother picking up his loose line. Together they pulled until their catch was clear of the tide. Shimmering through the net were more fish like the others, four to five feet in length with tails pounding the beach. The brothers stood resting, deeply breathing the salt air as the fish quieted, and eyes became fixed and clouded. They then proceeded to stack the donkey cart and to dig up the equipment.
There was no noise at first, just the gentle lapping at the water’s edge. It was something Lameck felt—a vibration, barely noticeable—then a sound like a rolling millstone. Both of them turned their heads toward the inlet but by the time the danger was realized, it was unavoidable. Around the bend it came.
The one approaching was big, with two dark horses in front. The brothers remained motionless, knowing they had been seen, but with no time to hide. Lameck looked at Aril. “Don’t act frightened.”
“What are we going to do?” Aril asked, stone-faced.
The cart with its fish was jerking back and forth as their donkey turned nervously against its harness. Lameck remembered the repeated warnings of his father to watch and stay out of sight. It was the reason they fished at night. This was what he had been trying desperately to avoid. He wondered if they would be taken captive? Or killed?
When first seen, the rider had appeared of large size, but as he got closer, Lameck realized that he was a giant—one of the Nephilim. The brothers stood almost seven feet but this one was at least twice their height and his horses were huge. The vibration was from the hooves and the sound from the grinding of hard-packed sand under the wheels of the carrier.
The Nephilim were revered as god-like heroes by the families of Cain, but considered evil by the families of Seth. Unheard of until the sixth century, their origin had been a mystery. Because of their size and strength, they took what they wanted and had no challengers except among themselves.
The rider jerked the reins in front of their cartload of fish, a net’s length from where they stood. With a snort the stallions halted, twisting their heads, flaring their nostrils and hoofing the sand. Lameck had never been so close to a giant. Only once, he had seen one from a river boat.
This one looked something like an ape with a wide face and angular forehead, and its size stretched beyond every normal human dimension. The head was bald and the face half-hidden behind a reddish beard. There was coldness in the eyes, which struck Lameck as serpentine.
At first it didn’t move. The giant’s gaze shifted from the fishermen to the cart and to the cove around them, then back to the cart. Then it stepped to the ground.
Lameck could see their donkey twisting, trying to move away. He watched as the giant reached down, grabbed the cart’s underside and lifted, toppling the animal, spilling the load of fish across the sand and into the water. As the cart fell, splintering the wood, the yoke broke loose and the donkey—eyes wide with fright—regained balance and began running in the direction of the trail.
Aril was standing like a statue, looking pale, as the giant turned toward them. The eyes moved slowly, scrutinizing every detail of the fishermen. Knuckles rested on its waist while thumbs tucked its loosened tunic back into a scaly belt. The wide feet, strapped with animal hide, were placed like those of a wrestler waiting for his opponent to move.
The voice was raspy and deep. “Who gave you permission to take from our waters?”
There was silence. No reasoning seemed possible.
“Do you know who I am?” Arrogance and pride were in its words and countenance.
Still silence.
“I am Trog, lord of the coastlands.” There was a pause as if awaiting recognition. When no response came, the beady eyes narrowed.
Lameck had never been in such a desperate situation—Holy God—never before had he called upon the God of power and might. It was the One his fathers worshipped, but not One Lameck knew. But, somehow His Name came to mind.
“What are you two doing here? Show your marks.”
Lameck had kept the top of his right hand turned away with hope that they might be perceived as merchants. In return for a portion of their goods, Cainite farmers and fishermen were offered protection from the Nephilim. But Lameck’s family was from the line of Seth. They had not submitted to the mark of Cain and refused to pledge allegiance to their false gods.
“Sethites!” The giant glared down at the two, signaling a deep hatred, while raising both fists to his chest. “See these mighty hands. You will both die by them this day.”
Lameck knew that his younger brother was trembling but he felt no fear. He had to do something. As the giant advanced, he felt one of the beachbows at his back, still upright but loosened. Turning and grabbing it, he jerked it from the ground. With no distance to throw, he thrust it outward. The giant seized it and bent it until it snapped in two. Throwing the pieces to the side, it then reached for Lameck.
Lameck struggled to get away but the giant’s grip was too strong. Its fingers had found his neck and were tightening. With a grin, it was locked on like an animal watching its prey slowly die. Lameck was pinned against the ground by its weight, unable to move, and beginning to feel light-headed.
Holy God— The Name came to him again. Then he heard a sharp slap and felt the giant lurch. Another slap, like the first, and the grip loosened. A third time it happened and his attacker released its hold and stood up, twisting to locate the source of its irritation.
Facing the giant was his brother, Aril, brandishing a broken half of the beachbow and looking angrier than Lameck ever remembered. He had been smacking it from behind and now had its full attention. However, Aril was no match for the giant. It quickly seized and lifted him by the neck.
Lameck was not about to let his brother die. Pushing himself up, he felt a fishing weight in the sand. Taking hold of it, he tugged until the cord which held it to the net broke. “Holy God, give me strength,” he breathed. Stone in hand, Lameck sprinted and leaped on the back of their attacker. With one arm around its neck, he swung his free hand full force into the side of its head. The stone sounded a dull crack. Immediately the giant went limp, relaxed its hold and fell forward. As it sank to the ground, its back arched upward, and then finally collapsed. The glistening point of a beachbow stuck through just above the belt.
The giant lay motionless, face down. Blood oozed from the wound and stained the sand around it.
“I think it is dead.” Aril’s eyes were big and his breathing heavy as he waited to be sure.
“Are you all right?” asked Lameck.
“My neck hurts.”
“You almost died,” said Lameck.
“It was trying to kill you too.”
“What you did took courage. Thank you, brother.”
Still trembling, Aril leaned over the body examining it closely. “It’s a big one.”
“The sons of Adam were never this size.”
“Look at the fingers,” said Aril. “—six on each hand.”
“The toes are the same.”
Something else drew Aril’s attention—a gold ring on the right hand. Lameck had noticed it, but was now more concerned with the consequences of what had just happened. A strange heaviness was settling upon him. He was sensing fear but not for himself. It was for his family and their village. Lameck realized that this event had to be hidden, never to be discovered.
“Aril, we have to remove it.”
“How?”
“We’ll tie it across the horses.
“Where will we take it?”
“The abandoned well on the way home. Go find the donkey. If the cart is not destroyed, we can return it.”
“The tide has taken the fish. We’ll go home empty-handed.”
“Be thankful that we’re going home. Let’s hurry before we are seen again.”
Soon everything was prepared for the return. The donkey had not run far. The cart was still usable, and the stallions had been cooperative. Using a leafy branch, Lameck swept the sand, erasing the traces of their activity and struggle. The bloody stain along with the distant carrier trail would be gone with the advancing tide.
Early evening light was streaming through the tops of the trees but darkness would overtake them before they got home. Heading northwest, Lameck walked alongside of his brother, holding the leather reins to the horses. Draped over the horses’ backs hung the dead giant, twelve toes and twelve fingers swinging to and fro, the carrier behind. Aril led the donkey cart.
“Riana says that they are some kind of gods,” said Aril.
“Why would she believe that?”
“Some Cainite wagon merchants told her.”
“Our sister should be careful with whom she talks. If this was a god, it wouldn’t be hanging dead from a horse.”
As they neared the circular stone well, Lameck guided the stallions alongside. Lifting the strapped feet, he swung them into the opening. Aril pushed from the other side. Slowly the giant slid over the horses’ backs, bumping along the lip of the well, and dropped. There was a muffled splash. Lameck and Aril stared into the dark hole. It was gone.
“Now we must break up the carrier and throw it in.” said Lameck.
“Can we keep it?”
“Aril,” The elder brother’s voice was steady but forceful, “if there is anything in our possession that can be traced to this giant, our entire village and every Sethite will be in danger.” It was not clear if Aril understood the seriousness of the matter. His eyes were avoiding Lameck. “Let’s use what’s left of the bows. We should be able to pry it apart.”
The carrier was framed in iron. The sides were hardwood. Aril quietly worked with his brother until it was dismantled. An inscription in an iron plate which they had removed from the back ledge caught Lameck’s attention. Etched in the surface was the mark of Cain—the crossed lines, encircled—which had become a symbol of the Nephilim-Cainite authority, and forced upon the people as a sign of subjection to their system. Lameck lifted it and dropped it into the well along with all the pieces and wheels and remnants of the blood-stained pole.
Lameck then walked over to the nearest horse and looked at it. Although some of the Cainites hunted and killed, this had never been a practice of his family.
“What will we do with them?” asked Aril.
The eyes of the stallions were large and nervous. They acted differently from when the giant had first approached them on the beach, no longer striking their hooves proudly but standing very still. They were innocent, caught in the middle of a conflict beyond their control.
Lameck was undecided. He did not want to put his family in danger by having horses that might be identified. “We can’t leave them here alive.”
“Then let’s take them with us,” said Aril. “They are not the only black stallions in the area and it is getting late.”
Not wanting to destroy the animals, Lameck took hold of the reins and continued the walk home.
They were quiet most of the way, until Aril spoke, “How do we know there are not other Gods?”
“We have the written record and testimony of Adam.” Lameck remembered when the first father died at 930 years of age. Lameck was fifty-six at the time.
“Maybe he didn’t tell us everything.”
“After what happened in
Aril was silent.
“Our fathers trust the teachings of Adam,” said Lameck, “It was through him that God revealed Himself to us as the Creator, the Intelligence and Power behind all that we see.”
“How do we know that God was not created?” asked Aril.
Despite the annoyance of the question, there was something familiar about it. Lameck had asked a similar question when he was younger. “What do you think could have made God?” Lameck asked in return.
“Maybe, another God.”
“How many do you need before you get to the One who was not created?”
“Did God create the Nephilim?” asked Aril. “If God is the Creator, He must have made them.”
“Not every form that we see today is like it was at creation,” replied Lameck. “The stallions are evidence of how a kind can change in size, a case of selective breeding, which Cain’s descendents practice. There are other variations within the plants and animals that take place on their own...but within their own kind…”
There was a mystery behind the Nephilim. They were not a variation of any known earthly kind. Something other than their giant size was evident. There had been something in the eyes that he had seen—something other than human—chilling and repulsive.
“Aril. Don’t move.” Lameck saw the approaching shadow first. Sensing danger, the animals had already halted beneath the shelter of the branches.
It was a winged hunter. Lameck had never seen one going for a human, but others had reported hearing of attacks. The behavior of some of the creation had changed over the years and it was wise not to take chances. The long dark form glided silently overhead. The creature’s wings stretched the length of four men, forming a sinister silhouette against the crimson sky. Its beak, like a giant spear, pierced the night air, targeting a disturbance in the distant lagoon.
As soon as the danger was out of sight, the brothers continued, but weariness was setting in. A night without sleep, the fight, and all that followed had drained the brothers’ physical endurance to the limits. It was the flickering lights in the distance that kept them going.
“We will sleep well tonight,” said Lameck.
“Do you think that father will let us keep the stallions?”
“Not likely. I have to talk with him.”
“Tonight?”
“No. I will tell him in the morning.”
“Everything?”
“Everything.”
It was not the news Lameck wanted to share. He knew that they could live without fish, as they had in the past, but was not sure how a dead giant—one of the Cainite heroes—would affect their chances of survival…or how their father would react? He was too tired to find out tonight.
T W O
Sounds of children playing games formed familiar images to Lameck as he slept. It was a scene he enjoyed from the overlook of their home in the trees. Constructed with the help of close relatives who had also decided to settle in the Grove, the multi-roomed, two-level dwelling provided a safe haven within the massive cypress. A slatted stairway which angled to the ground could be retracted by ropes when necessary. To the east, the green valley presented a pleasant and peaceful view, dotted with reds and yellows from the ripening fruits and vegetables...
Suddenly, the peacefulness was broken as the dark image of a giant invaded the dream. It had scaled the steps of their home seeking vengeance and had found him. The grip against Lameck’s shoulder was the hand of the giant, but soon became the hand of one he knew—
“Wake up, brother.” It was Aril. ”Are you alright?”
“Tired…” Lameck turned to face his brother.
“Father wants to see you right away.”
Lameck was awake but reality seemed as dream-like as the dream itself. He wondered of he was only dreaming that he was awake. He wished it could be true, but knew that he had to confront his father with the truth of all that had happened.
He swung his legs out and his feet touched the floor. The three sons all slept in the same room. Beds had been made with boards attached to the walls, held in place with cords from rafters to the front corners. Cloth mattresses had been lined with feathers for comfort. The daughters’ sleeping area was similar at the other end of the house. Pulling his clothing from a bin, Lameck quickly dressed and headed up the steps to his father’s chamber.
“Sit down, son.” Methuselah was standing, facing Lameck as he entered. There was tension in his voice and lines of concern on his forehead.
Lameck sat in one of the two chairs nearest the door. He felt unprepared to talk.
“There are some horses in the stalls that your brother tells me you know about.”
“Yes, father. I had intended to tell you but it was late when we returned and I did not want to disturb you.”
“Were you fishing in the daylight?”
“It was early and I thought that we could fill the cart with one more cast.”
“What happened? Aril says there are no fish.”
“Father, please sit down.” Lameck motioned to the other chair.
Methuselah sat down stiffly, leaning toward his son, waiting for some answers.
“We were caught,” Lameck looked into his father’s eyes to measure his reaction, “…by one of the Nephilim.”
The muscles tightened in his father’s neck. “How did you escape and where is it?”
“It’s dead. We killed it.”
“You killed one of the Nephilim?”
“It went for me first. Then it went for Aril, trying to kill him. I hit it with a stone. It speared itself when it fell on the bow Aril was holding. We used its horses to carry the body to the abandoned well where we dropped it.”
Methuselah took a deep breath and let out a sigh. His brows were raised in astonishment. “Did anyone else see you?”
“The giant was alone. We saw no one else. Everything was put in the well… except for the horses.”
“The horses? Those are the horses in our family stall?”
“Father, I know your concern. I am sorry for breaking the rule. If I had left before daylight, none of this would have happened. But I am concerned too. Something must be done to stop them. Our families can’t continue to live like this.”
“Those horses should be nowhere near us. You must take them to the grasslands and release them…” He paused and looked down.
Lameck took a deep breath. He was still tired and sore from the recent events, but the grasslands were in the same direction as the girl he was planning to marry and it had been two months since he had last seen her. Their last conversation still lingered in his mind.
“…or we must bury them.” Methuselah’s words interrupted his thoughts.
Lameck reached out and took his father’s right hand. “Father, it has been awhile since I have seen Talisha. Let me go visit her. I can release the stallions on the way. I will be careful, and if they are released among the wild horses, no one will know how they got there.”
Methuselah’s eyes were closed. He seemed to be in prayer, then looked again at Lameck. “How soon can you leave?”
“After the mid-day meal.” He wanted to talk more about the Nephilim, but decided to wait until after the current crisis had passed.
The long table in the family dining area was spread with food. Smells of sauces and seasoning turned Lameck’s thoughts to things more pleasurable—ripe fruits, leafy greens, cheeses, cooked vegetables and smoked fish. There was no comparison between the trail mix which had sustained them and the freshly prepared meal now in front of them.
“Can we keep the horses?” asked Aril, sitting alongside on the bench.
“No.” The subject threatened to spoil Lameck’s appetite.
“What did he say?”
“We can talk later.” It was not something he wanted his other brothers and sisters to hear and would only cause alarm. Father could tell them if he chose—He was entering the room.
The youngest son was on the other side of Aril, close to the end of the table where their mother sat. Riana and her older sister seated themselves across from Lameck after setting the bread on the table. The family of seven was ready to eat.
Methuselah walked to the end next to Lameck and lifted his hands, as was his custom before meals. He lacked his usual smile. “Holy God, all-powerful Creator and Lord, we thank you for your faithful provision. Every good thing comes from your hand of blessing. We ask you now to sanctify this food and to cover our family with your gracious presence.”
Reaching for a platter of buttered squash, Lameck could sense the tension within his father. How apparent it was to the rest of the family was uncertain. Everyone seemed occupied with eating.
“Why so late getting back last night, Lameck?” asked Tamara, the older daughter.
“It wasn’t late,” said Riana, as she glanced at her sister and winked at Aril.
“It was after dark. I was just wondering if something happened.”
“You are always worrying,” said Riana.
“I do not always worry.”
“Daughters. Don’t argue at mealtime,” their mother intervened. “Lameck is free to speak if he has something to say.”
Lameck swallowed and looked at his food. He had hoped to finish his meal without discussion. Next to him, Aril was nervously picking at the food on his plate.
“Family! Let me have your attention,” Methuselah spoke. “Some events have happened recently but this is not the time to learn about them. Lameck will be leaving after our meal, for the Ridge. I will speak to all of you then. So, let us finish eating and avoid any unnecessary talk.”
Silence prevailed over the balance of the mealtime. Eyes avoided contact while others curiously searched. Stuffing the last bite into his mouth, Lameck arose, excusing himself to get ready for the trip to see Talisha.
Tossing a travel bag over his shoulder, Lameck stepped down the swaying slats leading to the ground, and headed across the Grove to the stables. The main gate was open. Entering, he looked around expecting to easily notice the taller stallions, but they were not visible. He walked back to the stall. Looking inside, Lameck felt his stomach tighten like a knot. It was empty…with the leather reins and halters still hanging against the wall.
He swung the stall gate slowly outward. It was unlatched. He had been exhausted and could not remember, yet felt reasonably sure that he had latched it the night before. Examining the hard-packed ground offered no clue to the disappearance. Saddling his horse, Lameck mounted. He thought he might find them if they were just wandering, or that they would distance themselves far enough from the Grove so that they were no longer a problem. Either way, he would be able to spend some time with Talisha after crossing the grasslands. And while at the Ridge he hoped that his grandfather would offer some answers to the questions that were bothering him concerning the Nephilim.
Lameck paused briefly at the water trough for his horse to drink. Two large dogs were curled up alongside the roots of a nearby tree. He looked upward through the branches at the homes. It was where over 300 of his Sethite relatives lived with their families, all above ground for safety. Near the west side of the Grove, within a fenced area, was where the domesticated animals were kept when not grazing.
“Where are you headed?” Albo’s voice came from above.
“The Ridge,” said Lameck, spotting his friend. “Have you seen any loose horses?”
“Not lately. Are they yours?”
“Just a couple strays. They’re probably gone.”
“When are you bringing Talisha home?”
“You’ll be the first to know,” Lameck replied, nudging his horse.
“Stay away from the pilgrimage,” Albo called.
This was the time of year that the Cainites journeyed to
After leaving the Grove, Lameck quickened his horse’s pace in a southwesterly direction. He could see the golden grasslands in the distance, the probable way the stallions would have gone if they were on their own. The same heading would eventually take him to the Ridge dwellings and to Talisha.
The sun-warmed air felt good against his face and arms. The short journey was a time to be reminded of God’s goodness toward His creation. He enjoyed riding in the wide open spaces. There was no boredom. The view was always spectacular—the flowering fields, rolling hills and crystal springs, along with the sights of fascinating animals. Some were tall and colorful, others shorter than himself with horns and armored plates. Some traveled in groups, while others, such as the bears and big-toothed cats, were more solitary. There was never a lack of things to see. Riding through the grasslands was like crossing a sea of gold. It was one of God’s magnificent diversions from the details of life. Nothing equaled the relaxing pleasure of the open terrain with its unique sights and smells. Lameck was no longer bothered by the recent events and growing concerns—Here he was free. And along with this experience there was a longing deep within, a thirsting to know and communicate with the One who answered his needs so perfectly.
The sweeping vista of golden color was interrupted from the north by a stream of browns and blacks. Lameck slowed and watched the running wild horses approach and circle past. There were about fifty, including the younger ones. Studying them carefully, he saw a few large horses, but nothing close to the size of the ones that were missing. Neither did he see any during the rest of his journey.
After riding the greater distance, Lameck’s attention was drawn to a spring of water at the western edge of the grasslands. It was time to give his horse a rest. As he neared the location, Lameck noticed something dark near the water’s bank. Then one of the trees appeared to move… but then he saw that it was not a tree. It was a young behemoth. Its long neck was coming into focus as Lameck got nearer and noticed it eating some of the higher fruit. The body was gray and massive with a tail like a tree trunk. They were harmless to man and fascinating to observe.
His horse was not nervous sharing the oasis. Neither did the behemoth seem nervous with visitors. There was plenty of fruit and enough water to share. Bending one of the shorter trees, Lameck reached into a cluster, squeezed a large piece of fruit to measure its ripeness and pulled it free. It was yellowish-orange and had a slightly fuzzy texture. No preparation was needed. Its taste was refreshing and sweet. The juice ran down Lameck’s arm.
After giving a piece of the fruit to his horse, Lameck refilled his water holder. The behemoth was resting about fifty feet away. When it was ready to move, nothing would stand in its way. There were no doubt others, much larger, nearby in heavier foliage. Their consumption of vegetation was huge. Lameck took one last look at the creature, partially submerged in the water. A slight flex of its tail sent a wave, bending reeds and washing the bank. It was time to move on.
Leaving the flatlands, Lameck had to enter the hills before reaching the Ridge. He had traveled this way before, so the path was familiar. The dense trees prevented him from seeing far ahead, but he knew that others would have equal difficulty seeing him. There were places to hide if necessary. But the thought of hiding seemed foolish. Only the Cainites and the Nephilim presented any problem and most of them were to the south. There were night-time predatory animals, but the Ridge would provide shelter before nightfall.
One stop was anticipated before seeing Talisha. A break in the trees revealed why. Cascading through the meadow, flowers of every color and design imaginable presented themselves. Lameck dismounted and walked into the field. Immediately he was surrounded by an array of God’s scintillating and spectacular delights. Lameck inhaled deeply, smelling the pleasant aromas, and knelt to examine some closely. There were mysteries within the plant kingdom which encouraged detailed study. Some discoveries had already been made by the fathers with hundreds of years to explore such things, such as the numerical patterns of the petals, intriguing methods of seed dispersal, color variation, and far more. Lameck decided on a few varieties for Talisha. After gathering a bunch and tying them carefully behind the saddle, Lameck remounted and returned to the pathway.
The Ridge was now in sight and Lameck was beginning to have that buoyant feeling that was characteristic of being around Talisha. He had missed her. As he visualized her, he realized that there was no other woman who had ever made him feel this way, and thought that if this was God’s way of confirming that she was to be his covenant helper, he was glad and thankful.
Daylight still lingered as Lameck approached the entrance with gift in hand. The bench swing hung motionless from a limb in front of the dwelling. It was where they had met and talked during Lameck’s last visit. The planked door was shut. He knocked and heard steps. It was Talisha’s father.
“Lameck! What a surprise.” His face was tense.
“Lameck?” the mother’s voice sounded. “What is he doing here? ...We didn’t know you were coming.”
“May I come in?” Something was wrong.
“Of course, Lameck…” Her father’s words were strained as he opened the door. “…but Talisha is not in right now.”
Lameck stepped inside. It was as he remembered, but everything was not the same.
“She is usually here,” said the mother from her chair facing the door. Her eyes were on the colorful wildflowers. “If she had known…”
“I would have sent word,” said Lameck, “but the trip was unexpected.”
“Would you like to sit?” asked her father.
Lameck could see that his presence was uncomfortable to them and did not wish to delay longer. “Thank you, but I should go on to Enoch’s while there is light. I can come back tomorrow.” Hearing no response, he reached for the door behind him, and then remembered the flowers in his other hand. “Here…these are for her.” The father took them and forced a smile.
It was a short distance to his grandfather’s. Most of the dwellings faced east along the mountainous Ridge. The entrances of their homes were laid with stones joining the side of the mountain and utilizing natural cave formations. A rocky trail set them apart, eight in all, with Enoch’s at the southern end. It had been his grandfather’s decision to build on the mountain not long after its formation in the sixth century. According to the fathers, it had been a time of frightening disturbance to the earth—eruptions of fire and risings of land masses, while rivers formed, separating parts of the mainland. Following the catastrophe, the Cainites were afraid to come near the Ridge, believing that it was cursed. For the Sethites who became Ridge dwellers, it turned out to be a blessing, as the families were safe from intruders.
After bedding his horse down in an open stall, Lameck walked to the door of his grandfather’s home, seeing movement through the stone window. Enoch met him at the entrance, swinging the door wide and extending his arms. Being taller, Lameck leaned down to return the family embrace.
“Lameck, it is always good to see you. Please come in.”
“It is good to see you too, grandfather.”
“You can put your bag in the traveler’s room and join us. Your cousins and I were just finishing a discussion.”
Lameck exchanged greetings with the two young men he knew from family gatherings and went to the rear cavern enclosure where he often stayed when visiting. Locating the clay lamp on the wall of the semi-dark room, he carried it to the corridor, touched the wick to a flame, and returned with it. The room was familiar—a bed, a chair and a small table. On the stone table top was the animal-skin collection of writings which Enoch had assembled from many of the fathers, including Adam. Lameck enjoyed the inspiration they imparted and appreciated the wisdom gained from spending time at his grandfather’s. He replaced the lamp and left the room.
The corridor was diagonally lined with wood planking as were most of the inner walls. A large circular table in the center of the main room served as the gathering place for guests.
“Grab a cup, pull up a seat and join us.” Enoch motioned to the space opposite him between Nathel and Abinar. “We have been discussing the natural evidences which speak of the glory of God. Tell us what you observed on your journey here.”
Filling his cup with juice from a pitcher, Lameck thought of the sights he had encountered from the grasslands to the meadow… “A behemoth.”
His cousins looked puzzled.
“How does such a beast glorify God?” said Abinar, to his left.
There was silence for a moment.
“Is it not one of God’s creations?” Enoch posed the question.
“The largest,” Lameck responded.
“Then what is it about the behemoth that demonstrates a quality of Holy God?” asked Enoch.
“Its unmatched size and power,” said Nathel, to his right.
“The fact that no man has been able to tame one?” asked Abinar.
“Think about what you have just said.” Enoch smiled. “If such is true of the created, how much more must it be true of the Creator?”
The cause is always greater than the effect. Lameck remembered the principle he had learned by observing nature and the way things worked.
“Enough for today,” said Enoch. “It is late and Lameck needs to rest from his traveling. Thank you both for coming.”
After escorting his two young visitors to the door and exchanging a few parting words, Enoch returned and sat down to face his grandson. Lameck’s family had often commented on his grandfather’s youthful appearance. He had lived for over three and a half centuries (364 years) and, even with his silvery white hair, looked younger than Lameck’s own father. His penetrating blue eyes seemed able to read his thoughts.
“Was she in?” asked Enoch.
Lameck stiffened, wondering why he began with such a question…and what Enoch knew that he did not. “No,” he replied.
“I am sorry. I know how you feel and it is time that you knew more about this situation.” Enoch took a deep breath and continued. “It is known within the family that Talisha is having difficulty confirming her plans for marriage. I am not sure where she was this evening but do know that she has been staying with other men.”
“How long have you known this?” The news took Lameck by surprise. He was aware that her upbringing had been different than his own, but did not see how this could be happening.
“I just learned of it within the last month.”
Lameck was silently looking down. His grandfather gently reached out and placed his hand upon Lameck’s shoulder. He was not the kind of man to speak of such a matter unless he was sure. Even so, this was not something easy to accept.
“I understand your pain.”
Lameck remembered when his grandfather lost his wife during childbirth. It had been a shock to all, certainly never expected within such a righteous and exemplary household. Through the tragedy Lameck never heard Enoch ever question God’s goodness. And even afterward, his grandfather was always available to any who needed counsel. Few of the elders were regarded so wise. Lameck had always looked up to him.
“It is better that you know at this point than to find out later. Talisha was hurt as a child. The enemy found access to abuse her and has affected her ability to enter into covenant with others.” He paused. “This hurts me also. You both are my grandchildren and I want you to make wise choices, avoiding the suffering that has fallen upon many of the sons of Adam.”
Lameck felt anger rising but it was not toward Talisha, her family, nor the men that she might be seeing. It was toward the evil that had entrapped her as a child. It was the same anger he had felt toward the evil of the Cainites and Nephilim which threatened their families and kept them isolated. “Father Enoch…” Lameck looked up at his grandfather. “There are also some things I need to tell you, matters which may affect the future safety of our families within the Grove.”
The lines on Enoch’s forehead showed his concern.
Lameck proceeded to tell him of their encounter at the cove with the giant, what they had done with the body, the meeting with his father and the missing horses. He then tried to express the anger and frustration he was feeling against the unknown. “I will see Talisha and do everything I can to help her, whatever our future may be, and even if there is no hope for a marriage covenant. But it is also time to do something to stop the invading menace of the Nephilim and the evil they are spreading. I want to do something about them… What can you tell me?”
For awhile Enoch’s gaze seemed locked onto something too distant for Lameck to see. Gradually his focus returned to his grandson. “Yes,” he spoke, “Tomorrow, go and speak with Talisha. The blessings of God be with you. But leave the other matter alone. It is past your present ability to even understand, much less to fight.”
“But why? Did I not already slay one of them?”
“I am speaking of a kind of warfare that you have never experienced. There are powers that could easily destroy you. Leave it alone.”
“But how can I leave it alone? It is threatening our families and it is destroying our plans for the future. It is the same evil. I need your help to conquer it.”
“Lameck, my son, you are not prepared for this. You are not prepared to take this on.”
The words echoed in his mind as he tried to sleep… “…not prepared…not prepared…for what?”
__________
“Hail to the gods of Eridu! Hail to our god, Azazel, and his Queen, Druana!”
“Hail to the Nephilim, the mighty Nephilim!”
Jathron lifted his hand to the crowds and the mass chanting turned into a deafening roar from the fifty thousand worshippers and spectators seated around the arena. As high priest, this was one of his favorite events. Taking his seat, he leaned back against the cushioned marble and reached for his chalice. It was an empowering moment and he felt that he had every right to share in the glory and honor of the gods, for he—Jathron—had been given authority over the common people and he believed that he served the gods well. “One day he too would become a god,” as Azazel had assured him.
A peaked canopy shaded the royalty on the lower level of the arena. The angelic god, Azazel, had become visible during the worship and was seated alongside Druana, a few steps to the right of Jathron. The two had been talking. On the opposite side were the lower governors of Eridu and five Cainite maidens that had been given special honor, as future wives of the gods. They would soon be taken to Phlegra, the birthplace of the Nephilim, for their nuptial ceremonies, where they might remain or relocate to rule over a city, as did Druana with her offspring from Azazel.
Reflections from golden trumpets beneath the upper arches caught his eye as they heralded the starting event. The doors swung open against the far wall of the arena floor and four carriers pulled by elephants suddenly appeared with their giant riders. Jathron knew the routine but enjoyed seeing the reactions of the people.
The giant Nephilim instilled awe and fear, which served the leadership in keeping the masses productive and obedient. Open and frequent displays of strength reminded the common people of their human weaknesses and their need for protection against warring powers. In a growing sense Jathron felt like a father to the Cainites of Eridu, offering them knowledge, guidance and protection. Stroking his trim goatee, he considered a new title… “Father Jathron.” Yes, it sounded good. The more he thought about it the more he liked it.
The four Nephilim, each towering about eighteen feet, stood in four corners of the arena floor preparing for the stone-lifting. Flexing their muscles, they squatted and positioned their forearms to lift the boulders. With grunts, together they hefted the huge stones, positioning their hands beneath, and raising them over their heads. Applause was great and the four stones were dropped with thuds that shook the arena.
Again the trumpets sounded and the crowd quieted. With a deep bellowing voice, a giant in the center announced the next event. It would be a fight between two Nephilim. The city of
Jathron thought about the grain situation as the Nephilim prepared to clash. While the fields were plentiful, the growing demand for food by the giants was creating a scarcity and a need for rationing. A hundred bushels was a heavy wager, not an easy price to pay. But the thought of defeat seemed even worse. The people would begin to question the ability of Eridu to defend itself. Such a possibility seemed intolerable, moving Jathron to glance in their god’s direction. He was gone, which seemed to confirm his suspicion that Azazel would use his powers to insure victory for Eridu.
The rumbling of feet and ringing of shouts by the crowd exalted the defender of Eridu, although it was a different one than their usual hero, who had been missing. It was not unusual for Nephilim to roam; however, Trog’s absence for a challenge was disturbing, especially to his mother, Druana.
Torak had brute strength but was not as quick as his challenger who gained an early wrestling lock around his neck and right arm. A backward jab from Torak’s left elbow caused a painful release and the two faced each other again with defiant expressions. The giant from Tarbal jeered at the defender, taunting with his hands. The crowd’s anger was beginning to rise. They shouted and stomped louder. Torak lumbered forward seeking a grip on his nimble and slippery opponent.
Jathron took another sip, looking down into the dark red wine and gave it a circular movement.
Suddenly, a crack and groan came from the arena floor. Torak was doubled over, clutching his stomach. The taunter wasted no time in delivering repeated kicks to the defender’s upper body and head. Torak tried to turn but the other giant was relentless, continuing to strike, using both hands and feet with brutal force. There were no rules in such a fight. Anything might happen, including the death of their hero. But that was not a possibility that Jathron wanted to entertain.
“Where was Azazel and why was he not doing anything?” Jathron wondered. The crowd was no longer cheering and had begun to yell insults at their losing champion.
Then he saw it. Where it had come from was a mystery. Torak had a spiked ball and chain hanging from his hand, his bloody back to the challenger. From his crouched defensive position, he exploded upward and around, powerfully sweeping his arms in front of his opponent, the iron weapon following with deadly force. The other giant failed to see it coming and was totally unprepared for such an attack. The match was finished. A shout of victory resounded through the arena.
Jathron smiled and looked over at Druana. Her mouth was drawn tight and her gaze was intense. Within the arena, the limp body of the giant hero from Tarbal was being dragged away, leaving a trail of blood to the distant doors.
The Queen motioned for him. He got up and walked over to her. Azazel was still absent. “Sit down. There is something I just learned that you should know.” Jathron seated himself promptly and gave his full attention to the Queen Mother. “As you know, Trog has been missing for two days. He was last seen heading north through the coastlands.”
“Yes, my Queen. He may be exploring as he enjoys doing, or expanding our domain.”
“I am not sure that my son is still alive.”
“Surely, Trog is able to take care of himself. Why would you have such an impression?”
“There are sources which we have among the Sethites that have informed us of a daughter who is playing with our elemental powers to charm and to influence affections.”
“That is of interest, but what does it have to do with Trog?”
“She is using an object belonging to Trog as a point of contact.”
“What is it?”
“That information remains hidden, so far. We are hoping, with your informants, that you might provide us with more details.”
Any further discussion was cut short by the final sounding of the trumpets. Jathron excused himself and returned to his own seat. His powers were about to be exercised. Drummers on the upper level began their anticipatory roll. Sensing the right moment, Jathron stood and raised his arm three times in the air.
“Three! Three!” The crowds repeatedly chanted. There was something about the final event that intoxicated the people beyond the drinking that had already taken place. Jathron had surmised that it was the terror of seeing other humans in an inescapable situation, confronted by a ferocious beast. Above all the events, it generated the most fear. And it was the fear of a gruesome death that kept the people subject to authority. Such a spectacle served to remind the people of the consequences of rebellion.
Three of their own who refused to bow to Azazel and Druana could now be seen standing alone at the arena’s edge. The escapes were closed and the heavy rope that angled up from the hinged cage door in the floor of the arena was slowly tightening.
As the iron bars lifted, the scaly green spines of Gorgon came into view, a vicious beast with wide jaws, teeth the length of a man’s forearm and four muscular legs that looked strangely human. It had been presented to Azazel as a gift from the god of Phlegra, Semjazza, for use in the arena.
A collective gasp was heard as the crowd tensed. With a sudden leap from its hole, it landed level with the three desperate captives. Jathron lifted his goblet, savoring the red remnant. The pursuit and brief struggle had become a familiar scene. Still, his hand tightened twice, reactively, around the neck of his goblet. Shifting his eyes toward Druana, he saw that their god, Azazel, had returned. They were both gazing as the last fleeing rebel was overtaken by Gorgon. Then they smiled.
Jathron pursed his lips as he delighted in Druana’s news… a Sethite daughter who is playing with the forbidden powers. At last—a doorway past the Sethite God’s Watchers.