Winter, 2732 BC, Midnight, Mesopotamia
The word pounded in Shem's consciousness with a pulse even stronger than the throbbing heartbeat felt in his ears. With effort, he regained his feet halfway down the grassy knoll that he and Na'amah had shared only seconds ago and gave chase.
The Ben Cana warrior that had scooped up the unsuspecting maiden was breaching the timber line as Shem finally gained enough traction on the dewy grass to give pursuit. Fifty yards separated him from the nightmare unfolding before him - a nightmare he knew that he alone had created by recklessly coercing Na'amah from her bed chamber and foolishly choosing such a secluded place so close to the dark forest canopy in which to talk.
Na'amah's helpless screams resonated in his ears and oriented him, roughly, as to her location in the trees ahead. One fleeting glimpse of her struggling form, silhouetted in the full moonlight uselessly resisting her repugnant abductor, seared itself into his retinas as he gave chase.
Heart pounding, mind racing, Shem stumbled up the hill in pursuit, convinced that his legs had somehow magically managed to turn themselves into lead. With his focus so narrow, he barely caught out of the corner of his eye the glint of moonlight off of a second Ben Cana raider's blade that bore down on him, suddenly, from the right. Shem reacted instinctively, diving forward and curling into a controlled roll as the bronze blade arced uselessly through the now unoccupied air where his skull had been only an instant ago. He came out of his roll, now possessing the high ground and charged his assailant before the Ben Cana had time to regain his balance after the errant swing. Shem reached the Ben Cana in three strides, lowered his head and lunged at the enemy's mid-section. He could hear the explosion of air bursting forth from the fetid man's lungs as he bore him to the ground, pinned down his sword arm with one knee and ripped the ragged piece of metal from his surprised foe's grasp.
The Ben Cana never felt the piercing blow to the sternum, wrought by his own weapon, that snuffed out his life in an instant and sent him straight to his dark destiny.
With sword now in hand, Shem sprinted toward the woods, watching other determined Ben Cana warriors lumbering in the opposite direction toward his village, streaming to either side of him. Na'amah was nowhere to be seen, but still he plowed into the forest undergrowth with reckless abandon, careening forward, uncaring about any obstacle that might loom in his path. The suffocating darkness of the black forest embraced him like a shroud as he stumbled repeatedly before his eyes finally adjusted to the faint moonlight flickering through the canopy above. Having regained his bearings, Shem gave chase with a more disciplined stride, unaware of which direction the girl had been taken, but knowing well the topography of the land about him and the formation of this particular copse of trees.
He edged toward his right, hoping to corral his quarry toward the western edge of the copse where Shem knew that a cliff-face loomed, dropping seventy feet to the hard trail below. The trail served as an entryway into the valley where the now besieged village lay and Shem knew that if he could trap the Ben Cana against that cliff, there would be nowhere else for him to turn. Making no effort to mask his approach, he continued to cut off any escape route to the east edge of the forest hoping that the clumsy sound of his footfalls in the Ben Cana's ears edged him further and further to the west.
Fifty yards ahead he spied a clear patch of moonlit sky through the trees and knew that the impassable cliff lay just beyond. He covered the short distance in seconds, bursting out of the forest's grasp, quickly scanning his eyes from left to right in an attempt to locate Na'amah and her abductor.
His sweat-stained eyes finally found them ...
... and he pulled himself up and abruptly skidded to a halt.
The Ben Cana stood at the cliff's edge ...
... with his closed fist grasping thick locks of hair, his eyes returning Shem's glare.
Attached to that hair and dangling precariously over the cliff's edge was Na'amah ...
... her two hands grasping her own hair at the roots in an attempt to keep it from ripping.
Shem tore his eyes away from his enemy and looked at the girl he loved ...
... their gazes met for one brief moment.
Then Shem sprang forward like a gazelle, lowering his shoulder ...
... and before the bewildered Ben Cana could respond ...
... he bore into the couple and sent all three of them tumbling recklessly over the cliff's edge.
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Meanwhile the Hakkanah had taken their stand against the oncoming Ben Cana raiders, having been alerted of their approach by the night watchman manning lookout towers spread out equidistantly around the circumference of the village.
Even as Shem withstood the surprise attack by the first Ben Cana, the Hakkanah warrior band, led by Japheth and H'am, took up their positions just outside of the city gate. Two hundred Hakkanah spaced themselves, evenly, around the village's makeshift northern walls and watched as the horde of Ben Cana surged out of the forest and rushed down the valley slopes. Twenty-five yards beyond the village walls, purposely unkempt tall grasses formed a flimsy barrier between the Hakkanah and their approaching enemy. The wild-grasses which stood shoulder high bore a sheen of dust on their stalks that evidenced the drought brought on by the winter dry season.
It would only take a spark ...
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As the first of the Ben Cana reached the far border of the tall grass, Japheth raised the war cry, Esh Elohim! "Fire of God!" - and the cry was taken up by all the remaining Hakkanah as it was passed down the line from person to person. One by one, spreading out from Japheth like a wave, each Hakkanah drew into themselves; the crackling power beneath their feet becoming too intense to gaze directly at. An instant after each warrior drew in it was released through extended hands toward the base of the tall grasses yards away, kindling an eager and spreading fire which quickly surged away from the village toward the Ben Cana who had entered the trap, unaware.
The fleetest and fittest of the Ben Cana leading the charge ran headlong into the inferno before what was occurring registered in their minds. Flaming dry grasses met with ragged clothing, hair, and flesh; killing the first fifty Ben Cana before they even reached the far perimeter of the grasses. Screams filled the air, along with the acrid smell of burning flesh as the doomed Ben Cana ran heedless and burning through the fray, all sense of direction lost. The bulk of the invading horde, seeing what was happening to their battle chiefs, halted wide-eyed before the blazing grass.
As the last of the grasses were consumed, the Hakkanah leapt forward, pulled Haddars from leather slings on their backs and rushed ahead as one. They leaped over the fallen husks of the smoldering Ben Cana forward ranks and sped toward the bewildered enemy line.
As whirling Haddars decapitated the heads and crushed the skulls of the foremost Ben Cana, the remainder of the raiders awoke from their stupor and began forming up ranks, hastily. By the time an offensive was raised by the Ben Cana, one quarter of their raiding band was already dead, roughly evening the numbers of the two armies.
Japheth whipped around his Haddar with one hand and sent forth from the other as dozens of foes fell beneath his feet.
Not to be outdone by his older brother, H'am chose a patch of grass on the hillside, squatted down, siphoned into his body and released it in the form of violet electricity. He sent it out in concentric waves even as a pebble does when it is dropped into a placid pond. In a matter of ten seconds, the nearest twenty Ben Cana within H'am's kill-radius were reduced to ashes.
The rest of the Hakkanah slashed and burned their way through the remaining raiders; the battle over, it seemed, before it had even begun ... that is, until the foremost warrior felt the earth tremble ever so slightly underneath his feet.
The bewildered Hakkanah - Norst, a veteran of dozens of skirmishes and father of four - cocked his head to one side as he squinted aged eyes up the hillside. He had only one moment to register the presence of several Nephilim bearing down on his village - turning the retreating Ben Cana back into the fray through the sheer fear of their presence - before a spear the size of a sapling pierced his bowels and passed through his body; completely severing torso from legs.
Having either eliminated or put to flight their enemies, Japheth and H'am also raised their heads at the unmistakable sound of giant footfalls.
Japheth counted quickly twelve, no thirteen, Nephilim approaching the Hakkanah front line - two of which he noticed had ruby-red fire emanating from beneath the souls of their feet.
, thought Japheth.
"Time to gird up your loins, brother," replied H'am, patting Japheth on the back.
______________________
Shem grappled with the flailing Ben Cana in an un-choreographed free fall, while with his left arm he clutched onto Na'amah's bed clothes and inwardly vowed to never let go. The ground raced up at the trio, prompting Shem to hastily implement his plan - the problem being that the "plan" hadn't been fully formulated in his mind when he took the three of them off the cliff, seconds ago. A fleeting thought crossed Shem's mind reminding him that in the moments before he had tackled the two, he had assumed that he'd just slow he and Na'amah's descent with , as they neared the ground. Now, at terminal velocity, five seconds from impact it dawned on him that he had no idea how to do that. He'd only used once, and that with dubious effect.
Improvising in mid-air, Shem kicked the Ben Cana away from himself, reached out with his free arm to he intuitively felt stirring just below the surface of the earth, and with a prayer forming on his lips he funneled the fire through arching fingertips and endeavored to send it back down to its source of origin.
The Ben Cana slammed into the earth, bounced three feet off the ground, then impacted the hard path for one final time; his back, broken and his life ended.
The feedback loop that Japheth initiated, to his own shock and amazement, had the desired effect of slowing the two teenagers' descent by half, causing them to hit the ground hard, but alive. Cradling Na'amah close to his chest, Japheth took the brunt of the impact and felt all the air rush out of his lungs like a billows.
All went black ...
Then all went white ...
A moment later, he discerned the concerned face of Na'amah hovering over him and shouting his name. He couldn't seem to hear properly and the clouds above whirled in endless circles until Na'amah's gestures caused him to focus back on her. He thought she was shouting at him to get up as she wildly gestured back down the path, opposite the village. With light-headed indifference, Shem raised and turned his head in the direction Na'amah was gesticulating. All he saw was a man walking toward them. A man that grew bigger and bigger each step he drew nearer. A man with red eyes and a bronze capped horn thrusting itself out of his forehead. A man that was not a man, but a monster.
In that moment clarity returned and he knew that the monster meant to kill them.
He found himself being dragged on wobbling legs into the undergrowth on the north side of the trail. Na'amah held Shem with one arm around his waist and the other warding off branches and twigs. He tried to speak something into her ear as they ran, but the words wouldn't formulate. He wanted, desperately, to tell her that this copse of trees was no larger than the last they had traversed and ended, not in a cliff, but in a cloudy, deep watering hole; a pond used by animal and villager, alike.
Na'amah was shouting at him, again. It sounded like a faint buzzing in his ear, yet he was beginning to make out some of her words.
"Can ... you ...?
Shem tried to express his confusion.
"Shem ... swim ...?
He tried to puzzle out the meaning of her words in his foggy mind.
"Shem, can you swim!" They had stopped and Na'amah was holding his head in her hands, shouting into his ear.
He nodded dumbly, as she shoved him ahead of her into the murky, depth-less bog. Shem swallowed a mouthful of water before his arms started stroking and his legs kicked rhythmically, mimicking the swimming form he had practiced for hour upon hour in his childhood. He could hear Na'amah in the water beside him. It was all he could do to stay afloat and stay conscious.
The journey to the other side of the bog could have taken seconds or hours to Shem. But, somehow, the two staggered out of the water and onto the far bank.
Shem knew he had to save them. He willed his body to turn back toward the pond. He willed his head to be still and the world to stop spinning. He willed up from the cold, muddy bank and felt its flame and frost climbing up his spine. He willed out of his outstretched palms and into the body of the Nephilim wading not twenty feet away, climbing from the water. He willed to continue its path from his feet, through his hands and into the giant until, moments later, the blackened torso jerked backwards into the water, the body sank under the weight of its own weapons, until Shem and Na'amah saw it no more.
