Harvest Season, 2732 BC, Mid morning, Mesopotamia
He had never learned her name. She was beautiful, but forbidden.
Shem had seen the young woman on several occasions, but in spite of his yearning, his life's calling didn't allow him the luxury of idle time for chasing beauties. Even if it had, casual conversation with one of the Seers was strictly forbidden. Seemingly oblivious to his musings and secret, sheepish glances, the young woman busied herself about Healing House.
He was half asleep during her last visit, vaguely remembering the lithe form approaching to tend his wounds and wipe his brow with a damp cloth. At that time he had been unable to respond coherently, overcome with fatigue, loss of blood and fright. Now, however, the young apprentice of the Hakkanah wasn't about to miss the girl on her next round. He watched her graceful form as she performed her tasks – slight of build and possessing a simple yet elegant beauty, her long, chestnut hair trailed down her back in a single shimmering braid.
Her eyes had most captivated him during those few times he had observed her from afar and even more so today as he stole glances at the girl. Beautiful seemed too shallow an adjective for them. They were a unique nut brown color - lighter than what was common to Shem and her people; filled with both an intelligence and insight that belied the girl's young age. They made him nervous when they trained on him. He couldn't imagine how he would feel if they actually held his gaze.
For propriety's sake, he had never met the girl nor knew anything of consequence about her. He did know, however, what she was. If her simple garb and distinctive golden earrings that hung from her right ear didn't reveal the vocation she was in training for, those penetrating, knowing eyes certainly did.
Stealing another glance when her head was turned, Shem focused on the three identical rings of gold hanging from the girl's right ear. One ring pierced the ear while the other two intersected the first and then each other, forming a "triangle of circles." This was the distinguishing symbol of the School of Seers, where the girl must have spent the bulk of her life studying and preparing. The three rings, as a whole, represented the Ancient, the God who had revealed Himself to the fathers as a plurality of unity. One ring represented the Speaker, one represented the Speech, and the Third represented the breath itself. Three yet One. Distinct from each other, yet conjoined. This was the God the Seers served. They were the oracles of the Ancient, listening for His words and speaking to the people on His behalf. The prophetic gift could be imparted to either male or female. They were set apart as soon as their gift materialized, usually at a young age, and required to live as virgins all the while they served.
Deep in reflection, Shem didn't realize that he had been staring and caught his breath when he saw that two calm, yet piercing eyes were returning his gaze. Embarrassed, he looked away and pretended to struggle into a sitting position. He desperately thought of something intelligent to say as she moved across the room to attend to him. To his disappointment, she said nothing, silently removing the old bandages from his shoulder and washing the wound. Desperate to begin some sort of conversation, lest the moment pass him by, he started,
"So ... you're a virgin aren't you?"
Shem caught the slip immediately and raced to recover, "I mean ... a seer." Just as he was wishing that the Ben Cana killed him outright, the girl finished applying the bandages and quietly replied, "I someday hope to be."
Another awkward period of silence ensued until Shem worked up the courage to try again. "I'm in training also," he said.
"I know," came back the soft and clipped short reply. "But, your training almost came to an end this afternoon, didn't it."
He smiled, a measure of confidence returning to him, "I suppose so, but it seems I'll live to fight another day."
"I'm confident that will be just fine. My prayers, tonight, will be for those who will risk their lives turning away the retaliatory attacks that are sure to come."
She seemed to catch herself and blushed suddenly, seemingly as surprised by her words as Shem had earlier been of his. Looking away, she went about her work all the more hurriedly.
Stung by the unexpected remarks, Shem allowed the silence to return, which now didn't seem so awkward.
Moments later, as if feeling a degree of remorse, the girl said softly, "How are you feeling?"
"Are you talking about my shoulder or my conscience?"
"Both, I guess."
Assuming the appropriate pout, he answered, "They both ache at the moment."
Her tasks finished, she paused, drew in her breath and looked directly into Shem's eyes. He stopped breathing. Whatever the girl was about to say, be it apology or rebuke, he found himself wishing the moment would never end.
"Please, forgive my harshness. It was not my place. But, it pains me to bandage needless wounds ... even yours." With that, she turned and was off.
Shem wasn't sure if he should be feeling reprimanded or flattered by this parting remark. She was almost out of the room when it hit him. Her name! He'd forgotten to ask! He called out after her, loud enough for everyone to hear, "I'll accept it!"
The young woman slowed her gait and turned her head slightly, "Accept what?"
"You're apology," replied Shem, "on one account."
"And that would be?" she asked, turning away to conceal a faint smile crossing her lips.
"Tell me your name."
The girl turned again to face Shem, looked at him for a moment, and said softly, "Na'amah."
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"Na'amah." repeated Shem. "Thank you ... for everything, even the rebuke. And for what it's worth, I am sorry. I pray, also, that no blood will be shed because of my foolishness, save my own."
When she didn't reply, he continued, "My name is ..."
"Shem," she finished, turning to face him once more. "I know your name ... and many other things about you." Those eyes held his for a moment longer and he almost thought that a coy smile had crossed her face, before she turned and was gone. He spent the remainder of that afternoon pondering what she could have possibly meant.
__________________________
"Hail, the conquering warrior!"
"Shem, the scourge of Ben Cana and Nephilim devil, alike!"
The youth grinned and received the good-natured ribbing of his brothers as they strode into Healing House. He noticed the reddish glow of the setting sun as it painted the room crimson through the west window and reasoned that he must have dozed off, briefly.
Japheth, the eldest, loudly swaggered through the common room, completely unconcerned about the hushed atmosphere he'd disturbed.
H'am, the middle of the three brothers, appeared just as untroubled as he haughtily ignored the hushes and reprimands from the healers on duty.
"To Sheol with the trials!" Japheth blustered. "The Hakkanah need this giantkiller on the front lines, immediately!"
Shem smiled all the more as he returned his Hakkanah brothers' banter.
"You're both drunkards and rogues! How could you possibly know what I've done? I haven't even been dressed down by the elders yet!"
"Your nursemaids hear you talking in your sleep," replied Ha'm with a smile as he raised a booted foot to Shem's bed.
"And," he continued with a twinkle in his eye, "your nursemaids, in turn, look for every opportunity to confide in me."
"Now I know that you're drunk!" replied Shem as he stole a glance over his brothers' shoulders.
The surreptitious gesture didn't go unnoticed.
"Looking for father, are we?" asked H'am with mock sincerity as he lifted a dramatic hand to his chest. "Fear not, young Shem, our father knows of your plight and is greatly concerned for your welfare."
The manner in which the words were delivered cast a shadow of doubt over the issue as far as Shem was concerned.
"It's just the need for haste and all that," continued H'am, theatrically, "so much work left to do and so little time. He knew you'd understand."
Shem didn't. He had never understood their father's obsession and grew ever more weary of bearing the stigma of his name.
He saw Japheth's countenance sober.
"It was a foolish thing that you did, brother," he paused a moment before continuing, "and I'm not referring to the goat."
Shem stiffened, but answered in a measured tone. "What would you have had me do? Lay down and die?"
Japheth stroked his beard in thought before answering. "A just question for another time," he said, thoughtfully. "A more troubling one occupies my mind at present."
Silenced returned to the room, briefly, before H'am filled in the blank for his bewildered brother. "The real question is why the devil was that close to the village in the first place?"
_______________________
Faces. Lights. Clamor. Confusion. War. Fire. Suffering. Death. At first, the images came slowly. Then, as each minute passed, they seemed to grow in clarity, intensity, and volume. Na'amah laid upon a soft straw mat that served as her bed in one corner of the room. She lived in a hut that served as housing for the females attending the School of Seers. She knew that she wasn't dreaming. When the visions came, there was no mistaking them for random dreams in the night. Her eyes were closed and her body was in a relaxed position, but she was far from sleep. Her entire being was focused on the revelations that the Ruach Elohim, the Spirit of the Lord, was showing her, and as always, He found her to be an astute daughter.
As a young child of three, her parents had thought her to be only overly imaginative. The practice of Na'amah telling her cute stories at mealtimes soon became a regular family practice. But, after a while the tales began to take on a more specific nature. Memories of the past, before the time of her birth, were told in perfect detail. Secrets of the present, those that only the Ancient could know, were laid bare. And, events that had not yet come to pass were foretold, involving her family, friends and community.
Her record in these matters was perfect and not one of her words ever fell to the ground without coming to pass. She was five when her parents finally decided to take her to the village Elders in order to be examined as to whether or not the child had a genuine, God-given prophetic charism. The Elders and Seers, after thorough questioning, testing and debate, came to the conclusion that Na'amah did indeed possess a prophetic gift and should be immediately admitted into the School of Seers.
The School served as a dormitory, general education facility and spiritual training center for those proven to have the gift. Each "seer" or "see-er" as they were called was assigned a mentor who was considerably more advanced in their training than their understudy. Na'amah's mentor, Eliazah, was over two hundred cycles old and had served as a Watcher for decades. In addition to their education, devotional practices and times of solitude, each Watcher was required to serve in some benevolent capacity in the village. Na'amah had seen much suffering in her short lifetime and this bred compassion in her heart for the sick and dying. Therefore, three afternoons of her week were spent in Healing House, doing odd jobs and assisting the caretakers.
Upon finishing their education, the Seers then became the mentors, educators, and oracles to the next generation. Being both a woman and a prophetess gave Na'amah a cherished position in her community.
This night, the images kept coming. At first they were pleasant, but vague. People in the village, community life, wedding celebrations, the harvesting of crops. But these images didn't last long and a short time later took on a darker tone: Ben Cana raiders, an unholy sacrifice on an unholy altar to unholy gods. Dark, shadowy, silhouetted figures casting their shadows over young women – some filled with wonder, some filled with fear. Na'amah knew what this portended, for it had been happening for centuries. Then came the beasts. She knew what these were, as well – the Nephilim - though she had never seen one in the flesh. The picture kept coming; creatures of awesome power and cunning came into her mind. They were everywhere, crushing, destroying, killing, and burning everything in sight. The Nephilim were multiplying.
Many of the pleasant faces she had seen earlier now screamed out in horror, falling into pits of darkness. She saw village walls crumble. She saw swords flashing, Haddars being split asunder and Hakkanah falling helplessly to the ground. She saw billowing forth in waves, scorching and destroying good and evil alike. She saw the Ben Cana writhing and contorting their bodies in pagan acts of sacrifices with their swords held high in victory.
These images went blank and were replaced by scenes she could not interpret. The people, their clothing, their cities and their chariots seemed to be from another world. Yet, in their midst was , still consuming, still raging unchecked.
Just when Na'amah was about to be given over to despair she witnessed two confusing images of hope: the first, a lone man standing resolutely on a cliff jutting out over the sea as an enormous tidal wave threatened to break over him. The second image was simply of a man kneeling in the dirt with broken fragments containing strange symbols in his hand. With that, the visions faded and the images receded and rolled back as a scroll in her mind. Na'amah sat up on her mat, face streaked with tears and arms folded around her as she gently rocked back and forth. Shivering as her cold sweat met the night air she breathed out a prayer,
"Why, my God? Why was this shown to me? What does this mean? What would you have me to do? What would you have me say?"
The rest of her night was spent in restless rocking, tossing and turning, as she prayed, questioned and wondered, not for the last time, what these images held for her and for her people.
