SET YOUR MIND on things above with TAKEN--A Metaphysical Fantasy Audio Drama. AND NOW the ADVENTURE CONTINUES with DIVIDED--The Days of Peleg.
Bow to the Image! Has the whole world gone mad? Or is there something wrong with a statue that speaks and the giant man who makes the people worship it? Peleg is virtually alone in his misgivings. Meanwhile, all the rest of Shinar follows the mighty hunter Nimrod in building a Tower to reach the gates of heaven and even the Ancient One Himself. Could the mysterious encounters and cruel whispers heard since the Tower Temple's construction lead to something good? To Peleg the matter is simple, find someone who remembers the truth, someone who still hears The Voice—before it's too late. So, Peleg embarks on a journey to learn the secrets his great ancestors Methuselah and Enoch knew. Little does Peleg realize, Enoch—the very one, taken so long ago to a dimension outside space and time—and his son Methuselah are both working just as fervently toward the same goal. With the aid of a wise, old King, the tales from the stones, and the "knowing" that burns, Peleg may be mankind's only hope to stop the darkness descending from the Tower. Never again will a Flood destroy the earth, the Ancient One promised—next time it will be Fire!
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Remember, “Eye has not seen, nor ear heard, Nor have entered into the heart of man, The things which God has prepared for those who love Him.” PLEASE share this UPLIFTING READ with your friends and get ready to SOAR. THANK YOU AGAIN FOR LISTENING and MAY THE FAVOR OF THE ANCIENT ONE BE ON YOU.
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Methuselah’s Time: Location—Seti of Nod, Adamah, First Dimension.
“Where are the women with child?” Methuselah asked.
“They are guarded near Captain Semjaza’s dwelling. The Watchers make us call them ‘divine’ now.”
“Take me to them,” Methuselah said.
“Of course, but why—what are you going to do?” Yabbesheth asked. “The Nephilim man-child is the problem.”
“I will deal with him in time, but first take me to the abode of the divine,” Methuselah insisted.
Yabbesheth led the way. “It is not too far. The Elohim took over the old Seat of Council for the sons of Cain and built additional dwellings near—”
Methuselah took off running at full speed.
Medici Yabbesheth struggled to keep up. She lagged further and further behind until he was out of view.
Methuselah reached the dwellings first. He darted quietly into the bushes surrounding the structures, careful not to alert anyone. His painstaking effort was pointless. The place was completely empty.
Yabbesheth burst through the clearing, panting.
“Where is everyone?” Methuselah asked.
“Probably at El Tevah,” Yabbesheth said, catching her breath. “I am surprised they are in attendance. A good number of them are ready to deliver. They are in no condition to hike the distance. I warned Captain Semjaza to make them rest in bed for their own good.”
“I do not think Captain Semjaza or any of these wretched Watchers care about the condition of the divine.” Methuselah grimaced. “As soon as they give birth, they will just be dirt-girls again.” He hesitated, “That is, if they live through the toil and pain.”
Fire surged through Methuselah. “I must get to El Tevah, now. Show me the quickest path.”
“That way.” She pointed toward the long, winding trail they just left.
“Is there none faster?” he asked.
“Well, you could scale the ravine,” Yabbesheth said, “and then catch the winding trail at the bottom—”
Methuselah took off before she could finish.
The fire was constant now. Instead of resisting it, Methuselah became one with it. The Voice spoke through the fire. It was crystal clear: Focus on Naamah’s childling.
“Everyone has gathered. All are waiting,” Tubal-Cain said. “See how Mother Zillah mourns. She will either see Naamah’s burial or her precious, only daughter alive again. What say you?” Tubal-Cain asked.
Tiph’arah did not answer. Instead, she peered from behind the veil of the tent. Rows upon rows of people were seated in the hillside arena according to tribe, family, and rank. Where is Methuselah when you need him? Tiph’arah ducked her head back inside the tent.
“The other elements are ready.” Tubal-Cain walked toward the stone table and dropped his head. He spoke somberly. “The choice is yours Tiph’arah.”
Tiph’arah noticed for the first time the odd collection of elements hidden behind the flowers on the stone table. There was a small figurine made in the likeness of Naamah right in the middle of a dead boar, a bowl full of substance that looked like blood and a variety of beetles and snakes. She recoiled. “These elements be disgusting!”
“They are odd indeed,” Tubal-Cain agreed, “But Semjaza says they are what is required for the rite. All that is needed is the garment. Only you can save her now.”
“Naamah will thank you. You can save her,” the shadow voices chanted.
“Yes, Naamah will be thankful. The whole tribe will praise you.”
“The whole tribe will love you.”
“Look,” Tubal-Cain pointing toward the heavens, “the moon is almost in position.
“Do it. Do it now. There is no time to waste,” the shadow voices urged.
“Do it now, before it is too late.”
“Do it—do it— just for a moment—a moment is all that is needed,” the dark voices chanted.
“I suppose just one moment of the hem touching Naamah would not harm the garment,” Tiph’arah said. She took one more look toward the stone path. Still no sign of Methuselah she thought.
Tiph’arah sighed. Finally, she carefully took off the garment and gave it to Tubal-Cain.
Almost instantly, Captain Semjaza stepped inside of the tent. “I am most grateful,” he said, taking the garment from Tubal-Cain.
“You will not regret this, I promise,” Captain Semjaza said. He clapped his hands twice, called out to his guards. “Make haste to begin the rite.”
Tiph’arah’s knees felt weak. The throngs of kinsmen were standing on their feet now, chanting and moaning as the B’Nai Elohim Hazazel orchestrated their voices into some unknown symphony. The sound was chaotic. She looked across the sea of people, searching for something, someone familiar. Everything was blurry. She tried to ignore the sinking, nauseous feeling in her stomach, but couldn’t. She felt rather than heard Tubal-Cain say, “Are you well?” Tubal-Cain took her elbow and led her to a nearby bench at the foot of the raised platform. “I will get you a drink of heaven’s tears. It will refresh you.”
Tiph’arah nodded weakly as he left her. What have I done?
Methuselah’s Time: El Tevah, Seti of Nod, Adamah, First Dimension. It’s a Miracle!
“Good people of Nod,” Semjaza’s words were slow and serious. “Please be at peace during this time of great transition.”
He stood in the center of the raised platform in his most elaborate uniform. Ten similarly dressed Elohim stood in a circle surrounding the platform. It was an impressive sight to behold.
But the downcast people were not impressed. The women were wailing and pulling their hair. The men were stone-faced. Father Lamech stared insolently, looking as if he would kill a Watcher as soon as listen to one. The childlings were eerily quiet as if they knew this was not the time to act like a childling. Many of the mothers-to-be were white with fright, fearing they would be next on the stone table—as lifeless as Naamah.
Semjaza paused, realizing he would get no affirmation from the people of Nod.
At his cue, the fallen Elohim surrounding him began to sing and chant a most unmelodious tune. Its dissonant sound had the desired effect. The people were lulled into a cheerless calm.
The fallen Elohim continued to sing, as instructed until all was complete.
The full moon stood at its highest peak over the gathering.
Iridescent moonlight spilled across Naamah’s beautiful form, highlighting her in the dark night.
In the tent, behind the stone table on which Naamah lay, preparations were underway.
“What is so special about these ingredients?” Hazazel asked, staring at the putrid objects.
“Nothing really,” answered the Rebellious One. “They are just everything the Ancient Father deems unclean for a sacrifice and they are used in ways that the Beloved despises. The power is in the disobedience. When these foolish dirt-monkeys disobey the Ancient One, they automatically separate themselves from His protection and any authority they have left—becomes mine,” he gloated.
Hazazel laughed, “Brilliant! They are as foolish as Adam indeed.”
“You know one can only have one father,” the Rebellious One said.
“The one you obey becomes your master.” Hazazel repeated the Code from memory.
The Wicked One laughed. “Bring in the foul ingredients! My pupils are ready to learn. This eve they will have a new master.”
Hazazel, under the guidance of his superior lord, ushered the Medici women of Nod inside the tent, teaching them the dark way, which they knew not before. The women saw Hazazel, but not the one working with him—unseen.
“Imagine the good we can do for the tribe,” one said.
“Yes, this is all for the good of the tribe,” another agreed.
“If a tracker is wounded during a hunt, we can heal him,” an elder Medici said.
“We can ease all the pain of labor,” a third wise woman added.
“Imagine—we will not need to even bother with offering sacrifices or praying to the Ancient One,” the first woman said.
“No, I do not suppose we would.” The elder Medici looked thoughtful. “This way of the Hidden Father is so much easier and faster too.”
“For truth, this be the enlightened way indeed. We will not have to depend on the Bearer of the Seed or trouble the Ancient Father with these simple matters we can handle for ourselves.”
“Tis’’ true, sister, Tis’’ true.”
They all agreed while working over the filthy mixture.
“And now,” Hazazel said, interrupting the wise women, “a robe of life for our little princess makes the cycle complete.” He took Mother Eve’s garment from the table and pulled the hood of his dark cloak over his head. “Follow me.”
The giddy Medici excited over the chance to do something new—something powerful—something even the men did not know—followed, each pulling the hood of their bright red robes over their heads.
Methuselah threw his rope out far ahead toward the ravine. He caught the first strong limb and easily sailed through the air into the dark chasm. Despite the urgency, he could not help but smile. Enoch would be proud. Methuselah remembered everything his father had taught him.
Methuselah quickly propelled his way down into the ravine, using his ropes to swing him lower and lower. Finally, he reached the bottom and landed noiselessly. Now which way? It was completely dark, and the woods of Nod were not familiar to him like those of Avenland.
Keep straight. The Voice was ever burning. Focus on Naamah’s childling.
Methuselah forged straight ahead, amazed at his speed. The fire took over, driving him forward.
Methuselah burst through the clearing in no time when another thought came to mind—Tiph’arah.
He remembered the way that smug Hazazel flirted with her earlier.
How that wicked Elohim gloated about Mother Eve’s garment!
We should never have split up.
Methuselah prayed he would get there before—
Fire flashed within him.
Suddenly he found himself at the top of the steps of El Tevah!
How? He did not know.
His hand went instinctively to his pouch and clutched the object.
Good, it is still here.
The fire burned strong and true.
The Voice spoke once more—
Focus on Naamah’s childling.
“And now,” Semjaza called out to the listless crowd, “your sorrow need not steal your joy.” He paused to offer a sympathetic glance at Mother Zillah who still sobbed uncontrollably.
“Nor rob you of the hope of new life,” Semjaza Eve said louder. He walked toward the ‘divine” women, sitting uncomfortable at the foot of the platform—some were already moaning from contractions.
“Nor kill your chance of happy marriages and long life.” Semjaza turned to face Tiph’arah directly, who sat next to Mother Zillah, near some of the divine women, as if in a daze.
“We B’Nai Elohim keep our promises and the covenant we made with your people. We bring you never-ending life as it was in the Garden so long ago.”
He pointed toward the Medici of Nod. “Come!”
At his word, Hazazel led the women toward Naamah on the stone table.
They circled around her several times chanting in their strange way.
Hazazel sprinkled the vile concoction over her body.
Each Medici joined in, repeating Hazazel’s every movement.
Naamah stood on the stone pedestal, frozen in place with fear, trying to remember what brought her here. The last thing she recalled was pain, unbearable pain, then the cries of a childling, her childling. Where is my baby? This must be a dream. This cannot be. But everything inside her screamed the truth. It was real. Then her mind returned. Her memories flowed—
The creeping cold. She yelled to the top of her lungs, but no one heard her. Then the whispers came. “Swizzwhisspah. O Naamah—Ha-ha-ha-ha!” they said over and over again until she thought she would go mad. The Medici pulled covers over her head and left her.
The hateful whispering voices were whispering no longer. They shoved her violently, pushing down a dark path, taunting her. Their jeering grew louder as they traveled deeper into the depths. Gravel scraped her feet raw.
“Leave me alone!” She tried to yell but her voice was weak even to her own ears. She stumbled to her knees. “Take me back this instant or the B’Nai Captain Semjaza will hear of this.”
A coarse, hairy hand yanked her to her feet. “Semjaza, my claw,” he rasped, “he would be fortunate to get a dung hole. He has no authority where you are going. Keep moving, monkey girl.” The voices guffawed at the insult.
Naamah stumbled and tumbled deeper until light disappeared entirely, only the grasping hands and voices guided her. Her eyes burned with tears not so much from the acrid air but from their search for just a glimmer of light. It was as if her eyes refused to give up, not wanting to blink in case even a speck was found. Finally, they found it—red balls of flame gleamed from torches mounted on walls of granite. Finally, she could see again. She wished she could not.
The hateful voices came from creatures only a nightmare could create. Their eyes were intelligent, full of knowing. And they knew she was afraid. They enjoyed her fear. They wanted to prolong her fear and feast off it.
Naamah felt herself fainting, but before she could welcome the blackness, she became conscious again. She was more aware than she ever had been. The writing on the massive entrance confirmed it—The Gates of Sheol. Naamah screamed and kicked. “No, no take me back, take me back home!”
This brought forth even more taunts, laughter and now slaps. They took turns pushing her down the path, slapping her and laughing. Naamah blacked out many times, but always regained consciousness with more feeling.
Now she found herself standing on a stone pedestal—bruised and battered, in the midst of a most horrid congregation, waiting. She took in her new surroundings. Thousands of creatures lined the vaulted room giving them a prime view of the broad stage before them, and the stone pedestal on which she stood in the center.
Naamah bit her lip and tried to control her trembling knees. The horde before her was strangely silent. What could make these brute beasts behave?
The answer strode in decked out in full regalia, with cape swirling around a dark form-fitting uniform. Metallic plates covered his chest, arms, and legs. He also carried a sword of sorts. Is that fire or metal? Naamah was relieved to see that at least it looked like a man—an incredibly beautiful man. He made her husband, the handsome Semjaza, look almost homely.
Naamah caught her breath. He was so impressive she forgot her fear as she stared awestruck at his face. She gazed into his eyes and froze. Cold, cruel eyes returned her gaze. A hard knowing formed in her belly. Was this Satan?
Fear returned and all Naamah’s strength drained from her body. She collapsed onto the cold stone floor with arms outstretched and head bowed.
“A most appropriate greeting,” Lord L said. “I wish all my subjects were as gracious.” He opened his arms wide to the congregation and spoke. “Gentlemen, please. Must you always act like beastly men? Where are your manners? Show the woman some respect.”
Surprised at his request, Naamah peeked through her long dark hair and gasped.
The creatures lining the great hall shifted. No longer was she staring at misshapen fusions of animals with human-like traits. Before her were glowing men of superior beauty, covered in elegant robes. They are Elohim! Naamah cupped her hand over her mouth to prevent the words from escaping. They are like Semjaza.
“I suppose you must be wondering what brings a lowly creature like yourself before my grand hall?” the Great Leader asked.
Naamah opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
He laughed and continued, “Gentlemen, I fear we have taken her breath away.” They responded obediently with equal laughter.
“Lord L,” one of the beings offered, “Perhaps if she was dressed for this momentous occasion, she would regain her composure.”
“Yes, that is exactly what is needed, Hades. I am so beside myself with the success of our mission, I almost forgot protocol. A queen must have a beautiful robe.”
He clapped his hands twice. “Hades, go and fetch some finery for our queen.”
“Most immediately, my lord,” the being said, flying upward, straight through the domed ceiling.
“Yes, my dear, we have big plans for you,” the Great Leader addressed the gathering as he strode in circles around her.
Naamah’s eyes widened. She shrank back, trying to put distance between her and Lord L.
He stopped suddenly and leaned in so close she could feel his breath on her face.
“And they do not have to be excruciatingly painful. But that is up to you. If you are obedient and loyal to my will, I will exalt you above all women, even above Eve.”
“Obedient? Obedient to what?” Naamah stammered. “I do not understand.”
“You want to go home, do you not?” he asked.
“Yes, but I thought I was—” Naamah trailed off.
“Dead?” offered Lord L with a chuckle. “Not quite, if—”
Naamah leaned toward him, her eyes brightened with hope. “Yes?”
“Not if you make a covenant with me,” the Great Leader said.
“Do not be alarmed,” Semjaza said quickly. “I almost neglected the most important ingredient of life. Love. What woman wants to live without her only son?”
“Bring the childling to me.”
A troop of men carried a tall structure to the center of the arena. They buckled under the heavy weight and almost dropped it in front of Semjaza.
Semjaza glared at the men but said nothing.
“Now!” Semjaza nodded at Hazazel.
Hazazel threw Mother Eve’s garment across Naamah.
With dramatic flourish, Semjaza snatched the heavy curtain off the tall structure to reveal the giant child-thing sitting on a huge wooden chair.
It towered over everyone at more than 12 cubits high.
“Behold!” Semjaza bellowed. “I present to you—the first among many restored by the Elohim—a new man of our seed and that of the woman. A man of profound size and grace. This is Zin, the first of the Nephilim, may you bless his name forever.”
The crowd was stunned at the size of the creature looming over them.
The giant child-thing had the beautiful features of his mother and rosy cheeks. But he was covered in filth and blood and his eyes were especially cruel—there was no innocence there—just the hungry look of an intelligent, wild beast.
The crowd said nothing. They were enthralled with this impossible giant child-man, who should not exist, yet did. Zin seemed to invoke two reactions at the same time—intense dread or irrational admiration.
“Stop him!” Methuselah shouted from the top steps of El Tevah. His voice broke the crowd’s stupor.
Methuselah raced toward the platform, with sling in hand. “Tiph’arah!” he yelled, “Get the garment.”
Methuselah’s voice shook Tiph’arah out of her daze and she jumped into action, bolting up the steps toward Naamah. She lunged at the still figure and grabbed the edge of the garment.”
“Not so, my pretty,” Hazazel said. He drew a dagger and threw it.
“Tiph’arah, look to—” shouted Methuselah, still charging ahead at full speed. He spun his sling high over his head and increased his momentum. He released the stone.
It hit Hazazel smack in the head, stunning the fallen B’Nai Elohim.
But this gave Tiph’arah just enough time to dodge the dagger and reposition herself near Naamah.
Methuselah quickly loaded his sling and aimed another smooth stone at the giant child-thing’s head.
A mysterious hooded figure caught the stone just before it made contact and disappeared into the crowd.
Tiph’arah tried to snatch the garment off Naamah’s body again.
But Hazazel regrouped and yanked Tiph’arah away. “You are a feisty little thing, aren’t you?” He laughed.
Semjaza wasted no time. He held the garment over Naamah’s body while the wise women chanted.
Methuselah’s Time: Location—The Great & Terrible Hall, Sheol, Adamah, First Dimension.
Just then Hades returned, dropping down through the domed ceiling. “My Lord, the robe you requested,” he addressed him, bowing low as he gave him the garment.
The Great Leader pulled a dagger from his belt. It gleamed silver in the dim light, casting a menacing shadow behind the crouching figure before him.
“If—if I do this I can go home?” Naamah asked, “I can go back and live again? I can see my baby?”
“Yes, of course,” Lord L bent on one knee and placed his hand on her shoulder. “My word is sure. There is no need to fear,” he said gently, cupping her chin in his hand. “Give me your hand.”
Naamah looked around the Grand Hall again and shuddered. The Elohim still appeared as men, though many of them wore pained expressions. She looked at the garment in Lord L’s arms. That is Great Mother Eve’s Garment. How could it be here? Were the rumors of its power from the Ancient Father true? Perhaps I can trust him. She looked into Lord L’s eyes again. They did not seem as cold as before.
The Great Leader smiled brilliantly and offered her his hand.
She sighed and placed her right hand in his.
Lord L squeezed it tight and sliced her palm with the dagger.
“Oh!” Naamah gripped her hand, squeezing it to stop the flow of blood.
“Repeat my every word,” he commanded.
She nodded, ignoring the tears streaming down her face, and repeated every word.
“Excellent!” the Great Leader said, “Soon, you will return to your form. You must take heed to obey me and perform every task given to you. Is that understood?”
“You will address me as Master,” Lord L said, “I will not tolerate impertinence. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Master,” Naamah nodded and bowed dutifully, remembering her training as a menial sebassi. “It will not happen again, Master.”
“I know it will not.” Lord L cupped her chin in his hand again, “because if you cross me even once, all Sheol will make you pay.”
Methuselah’s Time: Location—El Tevah, Seti of Nod, Adamah, First Dimension.
“Behold our divine mother!” announced Semjaza.
Naamah sat straight up.
The crowd gathered at El Tevah fell silent.
Naamah seemed shocked. She looked around, touching her arms and began to laugh and cry simultaneously.
“Naamah!” Mother Zillah screamed and ran up the stairs to the platform toward her daughter.
The wise women stepped back, stunned their ritual actually worked.
Even Hazazel cleared the way for the emotional woman. He moved to the side pulling Tiph’arah with him. Methuselah, who had just run to her aid, followed them.
Mother Zillah grabbed Naamah by the shoulders and hugged her. Then she cupped Naamah’s cheeks into her hands and kissed her face. “It is a wonder indeed. You have come back to me.” She turned toward Semjaza and bowed. “My Good B’Nai Elohim Semjaza I cannot thank you enough. This is truly a wonder indeed!”
“Did we not tell you to trust us?” Semjaza said with a nod. “Now there is nothing to fear— for we have shown you we can even conquer death itself! Semjaza came and stood by Naamah and lifted her off the stone table and carried her over to a large, padded chair.
“My beautiful wife, the divine Naamah has returned from the land of shadows as proof.”
Naamah began to cry. I am back. He really sent me back. “Oh, mother—I am so glad to see you.” She squeezed her mother tight, returning the hug. Everything seemed so clear and sweet. The colors of the flowers, the smell of the damp night air, the voices of the people. She missed those voices. She giggled, giddy with joy. Even Semjaza seemed kinder as he placed her gently in the chair.
Naamah waved at the people rushing to the platform.
The crowd cheered.
“Come,” Semjaza said, “see our wonder woman for yourselves.” He smiled and waved too, as people approached the platform.
Somewhere, someone started playing a lute. Soon a few more chimed in the uplifting melody on their stringed instruments. Children joined in, dancing in the aisles.
One by one the tribesman came to the platform to pay respects to Naamah and Semjaza.
“Semjaza,” Naamah whispered, in between greeting people, “Where is my baby? I want to see my baby.”
Semjaza did not answer. He was busy shaking hands and patting Elders on their backs.
While Naamah waited for him to respond, she tried to listen to his conversation with Father Cain, Father Lamech and Tubal-Cain, but it was hard to understand what they were saying. Her mind drifted. How long was I away? Nothing seemed out of the ordinary except for the tall shelter placed in front of the stage. Maybe it was all a bad dream?
“Tis’ good to see you so well my lady.” The sebassi bowed low to Naamah.
Naamah smiled sweetly. “And you as well.” Naamah continued shaking hands and hugging the people who dropped flowers and baskets of food at her feet. She tried to ignore the throbbing pain, piercing her like pinpricks. She tried to focus on other things and continue despite it. “No—really this is not necessary—you are too generous—I could not possible use anymore—please keep these for your family—”
“Oh no, my divine Naamah,” the sebassi said, standing at Naamah’s side to assist her. “You will be needing this and much more for—”
“Keep the line moving.” Semjaza gave the servant a warning look. “We do not want to overtire our little goddess now do we?”
The young woman moved on quickly and Semjaza continued talking with the men.
Naamah focused once more on the elders speaking with Semjaza. But she could only make out her husband’s responses—
“All is well now indeed—yes, we will move forward with the metal-works as planned—uh—yes, of course he can be controlled—his size will be an asset indeed—just leave his training to us—we’ll see to it."
Naamah looked around, searching for the woman who must be caring for her child. “Mother,” she asked, “Who is caring for my baby? Where is my baby?” The look on her mother’s face gave her pause.
“What is wrong?” Naamah asked.
“Well—I guess it is not really a problem— it is just unexpected—that is all—why do you not ask your husband. He will explain all,” Mother Zillah said.
Naamah tugged gently at her husband’s sleeve. “Semjaza, where is my childling?” she asked.
Semjaza laughed as if she had just told the greatest joke.
“Listen, my people,” Semjaza said, “our little goddess wants to know where her childing is.”
Everyone else laughed too.
“Why he is such a fine and strapping young lad—it is impossible to miss him.”
Semjaza pointed toward the oversized wooden tower standing in front of the platform.
“Hazazel,” Semjaza shouted over the crowd, “Please bring Zin to his mother.”
Naamah leaned forward, then drew back, gasping as Hazazel lead the giant child-thing toward her. Naamah jumped from her seat and clung to Semjaza. “What is that!”
“Why darling, this is our childling,” Semjaza said. “Do not fret, my dear. His size shows just how superior he is in every way.” Semjaza walked slowly toward Hazazel and Zin, as Naamah held on to his arm for dear life. The people parted to allow the giant man-child through. A hush settled across the gathering.
“Look closely. This magnificent being has defied every limitation. He is superior in height, superior in intellect, and superior in strength,” Semjaza said smoothly. “He is everything a man or Elohim should be.” Semjaza picked up Naamah, swirled her around, and hugged her in one motion.
“Congratulations are due, my darling goddess,” Semjaza said, “You are truly divine, Naamah. You are the mother of all Nephilim, for you proved this union was possible.”
Naamah’s initial shock at the unusual nature of her childling, shifted from terror to satisfaction, under the warm adoration of her husband.
“Attention!” Semjaza addressed the crowd. “I think we should all congratulate Naamah on her bravery and foresight.”
“She is brave indeed,” Tubal-Cain said, as he came to his sister’s side. He gave her a big hug and kissed both her cheeks. “We are blessed to have her amongst us again. She is truly a wonder among women.”
“A sound cheer for Naamah!” Semjaza said, “For she is like a goddess among women.”
The crowd began to cheer and surround Naamah, again, congratulating her with hugs and kisses. Then, someone threw flowers at her feet. Others joined in until petals of flowers rained down all around her.
Naamah began to weep and laugh at the same time. She thought of all the years of humiliation from her Father Lamech, of all the years of menial service as a sebassi, and of all the disrespectful women who snickered at her low station—and now she was the object of their love.
Under their warm adoration, Naamah’s satisfaction shifted to pride.
“This is nasty business, Delmar,” Onami used Delmar’s signature to communicate silently.
“Precaution is wise indeed,” Delmar said, still camouflaged in the pillar where he watched Naamah’s awakening. “That Wicked One left, but he still may be able to see our movements.”
Onami kept an eye on Methuselah. Enoch’s son was trying to calm Tiph’arah down as best as he could.
“That ‘child-thing’ is as tall as a cherub, but he has no light,” Delmar said. “Cherubim need lots and lots of light to sustain themselves. How will that creature survive?”
“I saw Hazazel feeding it when Methuselah and the Medici woman tracked it down,” Onami said. “The creature is part flesh and part Elohim. It eats flesh.”
“Okay—” Delmar said, slowly analyzing Semjaza and Naamah’s hybrid offspring. “So, it will take a lot of flesh to satisfy its hunger. But, if they concentrate their efforts on raising livestock and assign a group of people to cook the meat, they might be able to—”
“No,” Onami interrupted, “you don’t understand. I heard Zin say he likes to eat his meat raw—even while it is still alive.” Onami’s aura flared a multitude of colors. His signature became emotional. “It was disgusting. I was tempted to kill it even without orders.”
“I think I know what it is craving,” Delmar said.
“His elohim nature is craving light,” Delmar said, “but he has no light of his own—” Delmar trailed off.
“Go on,” Onami said, “I will have to file a report and get direct orders on how to handle this—I need any information you can give me.”
“I am not an expert in this, but I did see something in the Archives on bio-design when I studied under Lord Selahneia. He sits on the Council too. The only source of life-light here on Adamah is in the blood. The blood inside the sons of men is comprised of congealed light. Their life is in the blood. That is why Zin is so ravenously hungry. Every human or living creature here produces their own blood.”
“I still don’t get it,” Onami said.
Delmar sighed. “As long as humans have carbon-based food to eat, they produce their own blood, which keeps them alive,” Delmar explained. “This creature will have no life-light in his blood because the Beloved did not create him. All light comes from the Beloved—for He is Light.”
“Right,” Onami said “I did read something about that in the histories of the Code where it discusses the creation of Adamah. It said something like—the Beloved is the Light of men.”
“Exactly,” Delmar said. “That giant man-child-thing will not be satisfied without blood.”
“I am going to the Council immediately,” Onami said, “There are at least two hundred women who have followed the way of Naamah. Can you imagine two hundred more just like Zin roaming around?”