Harvest Season, 2732 BC, Dusk, Mesopotamia
Shem was being hunted. The silence of the forest, the hair standing on the back of his neck and that now familiar feeling of disquiet told him so. To Shem, there was no mystery in the identity of his shadows. The mystery was in how many, how soon and how to avoid the situation altogether.
Muted light cast by the setting sun as it reached dying tendrils through the forest canopy did little to assist the young man in his late teens as he squinted in the half light and strained to hear some new sound that would give away his enemies' position. He knew their identity because he'd been brought up on their lore. For ten generations, the tribe known as the Ben Cana had unceasingly perpetuated their ancient and intensely personal war against Japheth's people – and today it would seem, against Shem.
Against community rule, the youth had ventured outside of his village without a companion and the irony was not lost on him. Of course, he had known that leaving the village unattended was forbidden. He had always known. But, as usual, this knowledge hadn't kept his ego-needs from taking precedence over tribal rules and regulations. Letting a goat wander off that had been in his care was not only a personal embarrassment, it could also bring about stiff punishment if discovered by the elders.
Shem had thought about the possibility that at least one of his friends wouldn't talk afterward if he brought him along. But, in the end he reasoned that risk to both pride and hide exceeded the reward of communal obedience.
The snapping of twigs and the soft rustle of brush brought him back to the present. He discerned that the sound had come from behind him and off to his right. Slowing his gait then stopping completely, he dropped into a defensive crouch. Thankfully, he wasn't defenseless and silently breathed a prayer of thanks to the Ancient for reminding him to arm himself before setting out.
It rankled him to admit it, but due to his youth and incomplete training, Shem hadn't yet attained to the full rights of the Hakkanah, the warrior– guild of his people. Presently, he was two–thirds of the way through a training process that began for boys who showed aptitude around the age of five cycles. This process culminated at young adulthood only after the acolyte had passed the Rites. The first rites centered on battle prowess and strategy with the Haddar. The final rites dealt exclusively with the.
Listening to the sounds of the forest, His calloused hands twisted around the comfortably familiar weapon. The Haddar was the weapon of choice among the Hakkanah. As far as weapons technology went, it was relatively simple – a long cedar staff, approximately six feet in length, sealed and hardened with a special coating of sap manufactured by the elderly women of the village. At one end of the staff was a bronze spearhead – flat, triangular and honed to a razor sharp edge. At the opposite end was a three–inch diameter bronze orb, which through the correct application of momentum and centrifugal force, could easily crush the bones of any assailant. The spearhead was composed of the same quantity of metal as the orb, giving the weapon remarkable balance. The only real defensive concession was a layer of hammered bronze plating that wrapped around the center of the staff.
Shem's muscles tensed as his crouch lowered and his hands gripped the smooth wooden shaft of his Haddar more deliberately. The air remained still and the forest silent; no trace of his stalkers was evident. Several minutes passed before Shem allowed himself to relax, breathed deeply and stood from his crouch, the tension dissipating from his unconsciously knotted shoulders. Apparently, he mused, the Ben Cana had been too few in number or too poorly armed today to risk an attack. He smirked and relished the thought that he, himself, had intimidated his enemies into abandoning the kill (on the day of his first encounter, no less)! As Japheth reached out to stretch his stiff and idle limbs, he rehearsed in his mind the boast he planned on relaying to his fellow acolytes back in the village:
A goat's head fell from the canopy above and thudded to the ground in front of him.
As Shem stepped back from the gruesome appendage staring up at him with sightless eyes, everything seemed to happen at once. From the branches above, three forms dropped to the earth, forming a rough, triangular perimeter around him. Almost as quickly as their feet touched the ground, they were upon him, crude, bronze blades hacking away. Shem's Haddar came up instinctively, blocking the initial two blows and twirling swiftly, creating space between he and his attackers.
Even as he settled himself into a defensive posture, his mind began to rapidly replay the lessons drilled into his skull for years regarding Ben Cana warfare.
For one brief moment, Japheth considered using the.
His knowledge of the was rudimentary, as was the knowledge of all the Hakkanah acolytes at his stage of development. They had seen elementdrawn by others. They had been instructed as to its origins and applications. But, their actual experience of drawing it had been limited to only the most fleeting of sensations.
He pushed the thought from his mind. Even more frightening than the whipping he would receive from the elders for drawing the before passing the Rites, Shem feared the tales told of what thepower could do to those that were ill-prepared for the experience. His teachers used every opportunity to tell communal stories of the burned out bodies and minds of the foolish ones who had drawn the into them in either precocious ignorance or prideful rebellion. He would take his chances with his Haddar.
Dodging one blow and parrying another, he gripped his Haddar with both hands toward the spear end and swung the bronze orb down sharply toward the legs of his foremost attacker. Soft metal met bone and the kneecap of one bearded and wild–eyed Ben Cana shattered, sending the screaming warrior crashing to the ground. In the downing of the first assailant, the perimeter was broken and Shem sprinted out of reach of the two remaining attackers. The Ben Cana quickly gave chase down the twisting path, with the younger and fleeter of foot of the two outrunning his partner and quickly closing the gap between himself and his fleeing quarry. Shem could hear the man's labored breath on the trail behind him and smell the reek of his soiled rags. But, as his assailant approached to within arm's reach, he spun the staff under his right arm, positioning the spear head behind him, then planted his feet and thrust backwards as he came to a skidding halt. The shocked Ben Cana had the blade of a spear head protruding through the back of his right shoulder before he even realized what had happened.
Pain and surprise showed on the man's grimy face as he fell to his knees – alive, but incapacitated. Planting his foot on the stunned man's chest Shem wrenched the Haddar free with a technique he had rehearsed countless times on the sparring grounds, causing the man on the forest floor to writhe in agony, anew. He barely had time to lift his weapon before the trailing Ben Cana was upon him, slashing with his serrated blade. The initial blow was swiftly parried and countered with a well–positioned foot to the chest of the much larger man, knocking him off balance. Shem turned and bolted in the general direction of the village, praying silently that he might still outdistance the remaining Ben Cana lumbering after him. Recovering quickly, the huge warrior gave chase with a snarl of rage, building up a bear–like momentum that belied his great size.
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Winded and frightened, Shem tore down the trail, cresting a rise that revealed a steep decline just yards ahead. Heedless of the steep angle, down the embankment he skidded, sometimes scree-running, sometimes recklessly sliding downward toward the forest floor.
He risked one quick glance behind and was able to see the remaining Ben Cana beginning his initial descent. The glance proved just long enough for Shem to miss seeing the root which jutted up from the uneven hillside. His foot caught the root, sending him sprawling headfirst down the embankment. He landed hard on his right side, continuing to skid down the slope. The Haddar fell from his grip and before being able to come to a complete stop, the Ben Cana was on top of him. Shem dodged the first blow, hearing the crude sword thud into the hard clay to the left of his skull.
The second blow, however, found its mark and scored a deep slash into his left shoulder. A shockwave of pain gripped the boy and he screamed out in agony. Yanking the blade free of its mark, the Ben Cana raised his arms for the killing blow, lifting both his head and his voice in a chilling scream that cursed both Shem and his God.
In desperation, Shem groped with his left hand blindly, discovering the shaft of his fallen Haddar. Lifting the weapon, he blocked the falling blow and felt the Haddar crack and give way in its middle, center bronze playing severely creased and compromised. But, the weapon still retained just enough of its rigidity for Shem to swing up the orb–side of the staff, catching the Ben Cana flush on the left side of his skull. The man toppled to the ground, rolled to the base of the hill and lay motionless.
Silence settled back over the forest as Shem lay in a puddle of his own blood. Gasping for breath, he breathed a quick prayer to the Ancient for His mercy, then gritted his teeth against the pain. Slowly, he struggled to rise to his feet, faltered, and fell to his hands and knees. He calculated that the village was only a half–mile off and believed that with a moment's rest he could still traverse the distance even though both strength and sun were fading quickly. Leaning on tired and burning arms, Shem attempted to gather his wits as he stared dully at the path beneath him.
He thought he had hallucinated. In his dazed and weakened state, it took Japheth a second to process what was taking place, but in moments a recognizable pattern could be detected. At intervals of three seconds, the muffled thud of a large object pressing its enormous weight into the earth could be both felt and heard. His chest vibrated with each successive footfall as he watched, transfixed at the sight of the soil beneath him bouncing in cadence with what he now knew could only be the footsteps of a nightmare. This fear was confirmed by the crackling of tree branches and the enormous shadow suddenly cast over him by a form that now stood between him, the setting sun and most importantly, home.
Shem raised his sepia-brown eyes, following the contour of the shadow that lay on the earth before him until it touched sandaled feet easily three times the size of his own. His eyes continued their journey upward, taking in legs thicker than ten–year–old oaks, knotted with muscle and seeming to go up forever. They passed over a ragged loincloth, a torso that seemed chiseled of granite, a stout neck and pronounced jaw, until they finally came to rest on narrowed, red eyes.
Nephal.
How many nights had Shem lay awake as a child, shivering at the images this word implied. He had never seen a Nephal. He had never been allowed to travel far enough from the village to risk being seen by one of the behemoths.
But now, for the first time beholding the monster that personified all of his childhood nightmares, Shem knew that all of the tales, rumors and warnings could never do justice to the reality.
A humanoid biped approximately eighteen feet in height stood before him; a being he knew was spawned from the seed of the fallen and frightened, unwilling females. A creature that now gave its full, undivided attention to the broken man–child before him.
Its skin was bronzed and hairless. Above the fiery red eyes jutted a protruding forehead, championing the sawed–off stub of a four inch diameter horn, reminiscent of the rhino. Long, red hair fell to its shoulders and in his hands he held a simple, but enormous spear, the shaft of which had to have been crafted from an entire sapling. It was a giant, easily twice the height of any man in Shem's village and three times the weight.
Strange, feral eyes gazed upon Shem in what seemed to be cold indifference. The boy was an amusement to it, a trifle. It could kill him or pass him by without giving greater thought to one option or the other. It didn't speak. It didn't move. It just stared at the cringing form before him for what seemed to Shem to be an eternity.
He couldn't think. He couldn't pray. He couldn't do anything but gaze up into those blood–red eyes. He was the mouse and the Nephal was the viper. It was no more in his power to move or cry out at the moment than it was for him to fly away from the scene like a bird. At long last, the creature raised one corner of his mouth in a bemused smirk then hefted his enormous spear over his shoulder. Rounded muscles tensed for the killing thrust and Shem knew that his days on this earth were over.
The spearhead flashed in the dying light as its tip fell toward the intended target.
On blind, pain–fogged instinct Shem awoke from his fear–induced trance and rolled quickly to his left as a spearhead that contained more mass than his skull thudded into the hard–packed, blood–soaked clay where he had lain only seconds before. He rose unsteadily to his feet and staggered several feet back from the behemoth. The smirk remained on the lips of the as he slowly walked toward him, taking his time, enjoying the game.
Shem brought up his Haddar before him and prayed silently. As the giant approached to within ten feet of him, Shem suddenly reared back and with all the strength he could muster, hurled the Haddar directly toward the Nephal's crimson right eye. The Haddar wobbled like a broken arrow in flight over the short distance until an enormous hand snatched the weapon from mid– air, with no more effort than it would have taken Shem to catch a child's ball.
With his last reasonable option gone, Shem's mind became strangely contemplative. He now thought of his parents. He now thought of his friends. He now thought of a maiden whose name he did not know, and now never would. For one brief moment, he grieved. For one brief moment he prayed, then in the next moment he made his decision.
Halting his retreat and facing the monster in what he knew would be one last foolish and fatal stand; Japheth kicked off both of his sandals, dug his toes into the rich loam bordering the path and drew the into himself ...
From deep beneath the earth's surface it came, racing up through the mantle, penetrating bedrock and hurling itself through the earth's crust, through granite, lava rock and soil at the speed of lightning. It came from the fathomless depths known only to the Ancient until, milliseconds after being summoned; thesurged into Shem, crackling with the intensity of summer lightning, as it entered his surrendered body at the juncture of feet and earth. Japheth felt as if his bones were igniting, and simultaneously, he felt as if he was being plunged into an icy mountain stream. The scintillating sensation raced up his frame beginning with the toes, moving up the legs, filling the chest cavity, pouring into his arms, then finally filling his mind with equal parts fire and ice.
The ensuing moments were lost to Shem except for a vague memory of a crimson–hued, shimmering wave spreading out from him in all directions, resembling the waves of heat rising from the surface of rocks on a hot summer day.
All went light.
Then all went black.
_____________________
Shem awoke to the sensation of strong hands lifting him from the earth and water being poured from a pottery jar into his opened mouth. he thought, groggily, as consciousness returned to him.
Turning his head from side to side, he took in his surroundings and realized that he'd been discovered by a familiar band of traders who were returning home to his village. He must have been unconscious, but for how long Shem wasn't sure. The sun had sunken beneath the western horizon, leaving only the twilight of dusk. But, as he opened now scorched and blistered eyelids, the failing light was still sufficient enough for him to see that he and four other villagers now knelt in the center of an enormous, blackened crater, easily ten yards in diameter and four feet deep.
Drifting in and out of lucidity as his wounds were being tended with salve, Shem considered whether he would be hailed as a hero or beaten as a fool when his tale was told in the village tonight.
Mostly though, he thought of the eyes ...
Before drifting totally back into oblivion, one final thought tickled at the back of Shem's mind and he started. Turning his head from side to side, he noticed the absence of one thing as he surveyed the glassed over landscape around him – the Nephal was nowhere to be seen.
