“Only a few moments, Sister, I promise!” He cheerfully stated with a grin.
Though three generations older than Mahalalel, he refused to use the designation of mother that was common in their culture. In fact, Ahavva did not look much older than Mahalalel though she exceeded him in age by over two-hundred years. Father and Mother were the common designations given to those older as a show of respect. Brother or Sister was also commonly used as well as Cousin. Since her husband and sons called him brother, Maha used the designation Sister instead of the more formal “Mother.”
Ahavva smiled politely and walked towards the group. Mahalalel motioned for the trainer to step aside. A row of young archers stared in curiosity as Ahavva took the bow that Mahalalel selected then offered to her.
“Captain,” She said with some discomfort, mindful of the group of young eyes fixed on her.
“I thought our trainees would benefit from some words of experience,” Mahalalel stated. “Perhaps they believe in error that their father alone is responsible for the skill of our greatest archers.”
Ahavva acquiesced to his wishes and walked to the firing line. A young archer surrendered his wrist covering to her as well as a truncated leather glove designed to protect the fingers that drew the arrow. She propped three arrows against an upright holder stuck in the ground at the line. Now suitably equipped, she breathed deeply and drew herself erect, and looked down range to select a target. Standard targets were man-shaped wooden frames, covered in tightly bound straw, at various intervals.
“Observe her technique!” The Captain of the armies commanded the young observers. His stern command causing many of them to reflexively straighten their posture.
Swiftly and methodically, she fired three arrows. Herself mindful of form and technique to underscore the captain’s training wishes. Each arrow struck the center of the colored spot designated on the frames. Her first arrow hit the closest target, and each successive arrow pierced a target at a longer range.
“The discipline of proper form is essential in training.” Mahalalel rebuked them sternly. “Every one of your technique pales in comparison to hers. Your bow-master is frustrated because your training effort is lackadaisical! I know you are tired from harvest and training. The Earthbound will not care that you are tired. The Nephilim will not care!”
Ahavva’s usual gentle disposition was contained. Her demeanor showed her complete agreement. She heard her husband Seth’s words and felt his spirit as Mahalalel spoke. Ahavva had raised sons who became soldiers and knew they benefitted from stern correction.
Mahalalel picked up several more arrows and placed them in a holder a few paces to their right. Beyond that line stood a standard man-shaped target frame padded and clothed with armor. Next to it, dwarfing it in comparison, stood a wooden frame almost twice its height. The contrast between the standard height and the target approximating a Nephilim target was unsettling. Not only was it taller, but wider and thicker as well. In addition to being bound with hay, it was armored with a thick leather breastplate and a steel helmet. Massive leather sandals, with iron points affixed to the soles, added to the effect. The designers also attached a hefty wooden spear to the frame’s crosspiece that approximated the giant’s arm. The appearance was crude but menacing, nonetheless.
Mahalalel selected a bow for himself and then invited Ahavva to join him at the firing line.
“Please advise us on the difference between training and actual battle,” Mahalalel asked while nocking an arrow.
“Observe your Captain strike a human enemy,” Ahavva stated crisply and clearly.
Mahalalel then placed two arrows neatly within the shorter target in rapid succession. Each struck with a customary whack as they hit the mark.
“Your arrows will pierce the armor of most enemies. But the greatest human champions may wear armor that will resist some of your arrows,” Ahavva declared. “Be mindful of other places to strike.”
Mahalalel then placed an arrow in each leg of the human-sized target.
“A wounded enemy cannot strike you as easily,” Ahavva instructed. “A wounded enemy is a burden to his companions, possibly removing soldiers from the conflict to attend them.”
Ahavva picked up an arrow and placed it at the ready.
“Now observe what we must consider when facing a giant,” Ahavva stated.
She released an arrow, effortlessly striking the large target with a dull thud. Some of the young trainees simply nodded as it hit, but one discerned the importance of the demonstration. Ahavva noticed the eager expression of the young man, as he seemed to understand what she was trying to teach them.
“Speak! What is of importance?” Ahavva asked.
“Your arrow struck but did not pierce the armor,” the young man offered.
Ahavva smiled and nodded in recognition.
“When the chaos of battle comes, you will have to improvise and adapt!” Ahavva spoke to the group, her volume rising with urgency. “To adapt well, you must train well!”
Ahavva then nocked an arrow and released, placing the arrow in the target’s upper thigh area. Her second shaft pierced an arm. Next, she directed two shots in the neck below the helmet. Finally, she pinned each sandal of the giant into the dirt with an arrow.
Mahalalel smiled in appreciation as the group of young men watched in amazement at Ahavva’s accuracy and speed. His efforts to maintain his stern training demeanor now faded. As she snapped off shot after shot, he could not contain his laughter as he viewed the young men and their stunned expressions.
“My husband has survived over four-hundred years of hunts, duels, and battles because he fears the One God and because he still trains to perfect his form!” Ahavva declared to a most attentive audience.
“Run the perimeter of the field three times as a consequence for your sinful, lazy, attitude, and return to your training!” Mahalalel ordered. The Captain had gamely tried to be stern, but even the bow-master and trainees had now begun to smile.
“Thank you, Sister!” Mahalalel said with enthusiasm. “Your presence was a gift from above. I believe you both humbled and inspired them!”
Mahalalel did not embrace her but instead joined their right hands upright, then closed his left hand over her hand. It was a gesture of brotherhood, a greeting that warriors gave each other. She then joined her hand over his to complete the ritual. Sharing the handclasp demonstrated Mahalalel’s profound honor and respect for her.
“I pray for my Chieftain daily,” Maha said. Tears formed at the edge of his eye. “And my brothers, as I know you do.”
Ever one to wear his heart openly, that was Mahalalel. Ahavva hugged him, suddenly gripped by emotion herself.
“Oh, Maha, please don’t...” She replied. “He has not been gone that long!”
“There is no finer man. He will return soon!” Maha stated warmly as they parted.
She thanked him for his prayers. Ahavva paused at the gate before she left the armory. Watching the young men run the field after their lesson did much to amuse her, helping contain the concern she had for those she missed and loved so much.
Ahavva exited the armory and training fields, walking down the long avenue to the main stairways that provided access to the second and first levels of Har Shalem. Leaving the third level of the city, she turned left at the second level and took the long avenue towards a series of homes. She had resolved to visit Lethan’s wife, Nomi. Ahavva was concerned about one of their son’s that she knew would be difficult to manage while his father was away.
As she entered Lethan’s courtyard, her concerns were warranted. Lethan’s wife, with a small child in her arms, was in a heated disagreement with a spirited ten-year-old boy.
Ahavva silently crept up behind the boy. In a flash, Ahavva’s thumb and forefinger seized the boy’s shoulder bone near his neck and pinched.
“Oww!” the boy c
ried.
Ahavva pinched harder, just to prove there was more discomfort available for use if needed.
“Alatan, would you speak to your mother that way if your father was here?” Ahavva asked, retaining her hold.
“Ahhh...No, Mother Ahavva, no...” the boy cried.
“Apologize,” Ahavva required calmly and sternly.
Humbled, the boy sheepishly apologized to his relieved mother. Ahavva directed the boy to go inside, reflect on his actions, and ask God for forgiveness for dishonoring his mother.
Ahavva hugged Nomi and relieved her of the baby. Ahavva attended the child while her mother took the welcome opportunity to sit in the shade of their courtyard. They talked, prayed for their husbands, and laughed as they could for a few minutes. Ahavva and her young girls had broken their fast with Loran’s wife Eliana and her children that morning. Being married to a soldier had taught Ahavva many things, and she was determined to ease the burden of that duty for her family. After a few minutes, Ahavva returned the baby to her mother.
“He misses his father, and fears for him,” Ahavva said about Alatan as Nomi shook her head in agreement. “He has no words for it yet.”
“Come now,” Ahavva called into the home. “Where is my handsome, obedient boy? Alatan, come and see me!”
He charged out of the dwelling into Ahavva’s waiting arms. Alatan was a spirited boy, so much like his father, Lethan. She remembered Lethan’s restless pain as a boy when Seth was away hunting. Ahavva drew the boy away from his mother and sister for a few minutes.
Before Ahavva left, the boy proudly demonstrated his skills with a wooden sword and shield in the corner of their open yard.
“I will be brave and strong like my father, and Father Seth!” He proudly stated.
“Of course you will, Alatan,” Ahavva said encouragingly. Inwardly she grieved that little boys would have to grow up and face the evils her husband and son were hunting, but such was the call of an intercessor.
Oh Husband, where are you, my love? When will you return to me? Merciful God, watch over Seth and my sons. Strengthen Seth’s arm and give my Father Adam wisdom.
A few hugs, followed by some tickles for Alatan, and Ahavva left Lethan and Nomi’s home.
Ahavva saw Eve in the central courtyard as she stood at the city stairways. Eve made her way towards her oldest daughter when she saw Ahavva wave to her.
Ahavva smiled as she watched her mother move through the courtyard. Nearly everyone in the city lit up in her presence, especially the children. Eve and Ahavva were the closest of friends, a bond perhaps equal to that of mother and child.
Eve was dirt-streaked and sweaty from fieldwork. Eve stopped at a water station at the base of the steps. A lever released a stream of fresh water. A quick splash and a light pass with a clean towel and Eve was bounding up the long flight of steps to the second level.
“Mother, you are beautiful with almost no effort. How can this be fair to the rest of us?” Ahavva laughed.
It was true. Eve smiled as she pushed her curly wet hair back from her face. Even farm work could not diminish her beauty. The two embraced as sisters.
“Hush, you are a better woman than I, and more beautiful!” Eve returned.
“Oh, Mother,” Ahavva replied.
“How are you, Child?” Eve asked.
Ahavva said nothing, a blank expression then hardened across Ahavva’s lovely features as she struggled to contain a sudden rise of emotion. After a moment, Ahavva returned to her mother’s embrace, placing her head on her shoulder.
“I know, Child,” Eve said warmly as Ahavva went limp in her arms.
Ahavva had thought little of herself until her mother inquired of her. Husbands, fathers, and sons were away, engaged in dangerous work. War was on the horizon. Ahavva was four-hundred and ninety-six seasons old, wise and respected, and she was a source of comfort for many. Still, nothing compares to a mother’s love, and Ahavva relished her mother’s presence and strength.
“I’m sorry, Mother...” Ahavva began.
“Sweet Azura,” Eve said. She was one of the few people that called her by that name and only infrequently. “No apologies, I miss Adam. I miss Seth and my Jathan. If I weep tomorrow, you will be my strength, yes?”
Eve kissed Ahavva on her forehead and her cheek. After a minute, they broke their embrace and began walking up the stairs to the third level of the city.
“I worry for our Melchizedek, Mother, he takes on so much,” Ahavva stated concerning Kenan.
Eve agreed. For this reason, she had returned to the city from the fields. Together the two attractive women strode through the streets of the town, smiling and waving to their people countless times.
The weather was beautiful as they watched their people busy themselves along the smooth stone streets of Har Shalem. Trees were planted at intervals throughout the city, as well as grassy courtyards where their people ate or rested between tasks.
Mother and daughter turned right when they exited the main stairs. A short walk took them to a set of marble steps equipped with smooth wooden handrails capped with silver hardware. A city guard attended the steps, who bowed slightly as the pair approached.
This staircase, cut into the rock itself, led to the top level of the hill the city was built on. Cave entrances were there as well as defensive towers and a few siege weapons. Man-made cisterns held water for siege and fire-defense. Within the caves were vaults of their greatest treasures that were accessible from this area as well as the Armory nearby. Below the highest peak was a unique, flat area ringed in rocks that had been reserved for prayer and meditation.
As expected, they found Kenan at the altar of prayer. Eve and Ahavva were not surprised to see Enoch there, conversing with Kenan and Enosh. The little prophet was standing atop one of the stones, which put him at eye level with his older patriarchs. Eve suspected Enosh placed him there, and it delighted her to observe the eight-year-old conversing as equals with them.
“We must pray, Mothers,” Enoch said as they approached. “The Fathers are in danger.”
Chapter Thirty-One
The Valley
When Seth reached the top of the path, he saw the stronghold in the distance. It stood on a mountain, ideally located just south of two more mountains which towered over it. The placement of the fortress guaranteed control of three mountain passes; the southern path to the lake region, and passes heading west to the sea and eastward through Bashan to the northern plains of Eldah and the river Euphrates.
Seth called everyone to a stop. There was no place to travel unseen as they moved towards the fortress. Once they left this position, they would be in the open.
Seth watched and waited.
Mica had left one horse behind with Beza, the young girls, and the children. The servants who attended the children, like Beza, begged not to return to Khazin. They transferred all the weapons to their horse and left the provisions with Beza and the children, though each hunter carried their own small shoulder bags with supplies. After some consultation, Beza was given weapons and sent south, and then west, with the agreement that Adam would catch up with them after they scouted the stronghold.
There was a curious lack of movement at the fortress. Though Seth did not know what constituted everyday activity at the stronghold of a Watcher Prince, there were no soldiers on the ramparts and no one coming or going from the stone structure. No giants, no humans, no monstrous hybrids, nothing. The southern gate was open.
An invitation perhaps...
Seth was perplexed.
Adam, himself apprehensive, placed his hand on Seth’s shoulder.
“Your mind, Son?” Adam asked.
“The shadow of death is here,” Seth replied. “No matter how peaceful this valley appears. That is what my heart and mind tell me.”
Seth dropped to his knees to pray. He desperately wanted to m
ove forward and investigate the fortress, but he also feared a trap. The kings were likely headed here after their sacrifices and evening of depravity. The information they had gleaned from Khazin soldiers indicated the Nephilim champions should be here. Kinna’s champion was undoubtedly the giant who destroyed Adan’s farm. At least three, perhaps more Nephilim should reside there. And what of the Watcher Prince?
The road sloped downward at a low grade before heading uphill towards the mountain fortress. A high stone wall of excellent workmanship encircled the keep. What could be seen of the interior indicated the compound was in various stages of completion. The stronghold was built around the hill itself, not unlike their own city. Beyond the gate, there seemed to be sufficient space for a large courtyard; beyond the yard and slightly to the right, a sheer wall of rock pointed skyward, forming a natural tower. A dull gray haze had developed in the skies over the keep, even though it was midday, and sunshine was abundant.
And then Seth saw him. An armed soldier clad in gray metal armor and gleaming white cloth, stood near the gate, beckoning him forwards, then suddenly vanishing. Seth then looked upwards and saw another figure, the second kidnapper he fought at the river below Har Shalem. The winged Fallen was now standing on the ramparts above the gated south entrance.
Seth looked at Adam. Adam took to his feet, intrigued by Seth’s urgent expression.
“A Shining One calls us forward. The Host is already here!” Seth announced. “Fallen magic obscures what is truly happening in the stronghold.”
“Mica, my war hammer,” Adam asked quietly.
“Move when I move, take your places!” Seth ordered.
Adam accepted his war hammer, and Mica returned his staff to the supply horse. The weapon had a long wooden shaft ending in a round metal pommel that served as a counterweight to balance the weapon. The hammer was approximately two-thirds of Adam’s height. Thin metal strips were affixed to the stout shaft to deflect blades, leather and silk wrapping facilitated a sure grip. The head was steel, crosscut into four cubes on the hammer’s face, with a short-curved spike on the opposite side. The weapon in no way resembled a laborer’s sledgehammer; from a distance, it could be confused for a mace, a club-like weapon used to break through armor. This hammer was designed to break bone, an instrument developed by Kenan to capitalize on Adam’s superior physical strength. While substantial, Adam moved it smoothly and swiftly, not unlike the way he employed his staff. The weapon, like Seth’s war club, was distinctive and uniquely beautiful.
Enmity Page 25
