Adah gloomily plucked strings and started to speak. It wasn’t a chant or a part of her song. Instead, she talked to them.
“It is wise to understand that much is concealed about the bene elohim, and even more is hidden about their First Born. For the bene elohim were exceedingly secretive, and their First Born even more so. But fragments of tales have survived. Oftentimes, when the Shining Ones from above stormed a bene elohim stronghold, they discovered annals. Or sometimes slaves who had spent an eternity in thralldom to their wicked masters told unbelievable tales. Seldom, however, did captured First Born utter any words. A few of that abominable race we know today, Yorgash of Poseidonis, Jotnar Father of Giants, and Gog the Oracle.
“These are modern terrors, banes upon the lands where they dwell. In the misty past, there were others who walked in the light of day, others who openly plagued humanity. Join me in a journey to that awful time when the bene elohim caused the earth to groan under their tyranny. Come with me, and learn about the horror known as the Beast-god, Bloodlicker, the Berserker King, of him who was named at his birth Tarag of the Sabertooths.”
Adah concentrated upon her strings. The rhythm changed. Haunting music filled the gravesite as she began to chant.
* * *
Long ago, the bene elohim entered the world. The kingdoms and clans of humanity fell before them. Then did hideous acts commence. Beautiful women were dragged into the palaces of the bene elohim. The dread rebels lay with the women, and knew them. From such unholy unions came diabolic progeny. These progeny were known by many names, but the most that fell came to be known as the First Born. To the First Born came many bizarre powers and abilities, and often their shapes and desires were anything but human. Like their fathers before them, supernatural powers belonged to the First Born, and like their fathers, they yearned for dominance of all kinds. They became terrible captains of war and wicked councilors, becoming a burden to humanity.
However, not all offspring were of this ilk. To understand why this was so, one must first realize that although the bene elohim were the masters of the world, still they despaired. They were chained to corporeal forms, imprisoned to a worm-like existence, where before they had been the princes of the air. They possessed great powers but wondered at their limitations. So began the days of fiendish investigation. It was a blasphemous time, and as much from these experiments as the subjection of humanity, did the Shining Ones above become wrathful.
Moloch the Hammer was a grim bene elohim. He, like Azel, once served in the Temple of Elohim in Heaven. Evil Moloch knew the heights from which he had plummeted, and yet he wished to descend even farther. To him were brought many animals, and many things of which it is not right to speak or sing of. Yet one dreadful day, a female sabertooth of monstrous proportions was left in his chamber. Moloch the Hammer then knew the savage beast in ways that are not natural. After the harrowing ordeal, the grim lord of sin-flame waited to see what the female would propagate.
It was known even then that the union of horses and asses would give forth mules. And it was known that such unions would produce offspring unable to reproduce its own kind. The bene elohim had awful powers, however. One such power was that of their seed, to give life in unrecognized forms. If cunningly conjured, such blasphemous life was able to reproduce its own kind. In the days of their power, the bene elohim investigated many avenues. The sabertooth was simply one of Moloch’s.
Before wicked Moloch saw his begotten the Shining Ones descended from the Celestial Realm and began the Thousand Years War. The female escaped Moloch’s palace and bore her brood in secret. Only one of that evil union survived. His name was Tarag. Moloch captured him with beaters and nets and tried to train him in the arts of war. But the loathsome Tarag was not like other bene elohim offspring. He was uncontrollably savage and given to bizarre modes of thought. Several times Moloch almost slew him. In the end, the Hammer drove his spawn into the wilderness. There Tarag has lived ever since, waxing with evil wisdom, and growing with dark age, counting each century as men count the single years. To Tarag was given the power of control over sabertooths, for they are as much his people as the bene elohim ever were. The nature of the sabertooth is one of savagery and unrelenting fury. It is one of destruction and haughty might.
* * *
The music changed to one more serene and melodic.
“This too should be known,” Adah chanted. “Mammoths are sensitive creatures. They, like holy prophets, hate the smell of corruption that permeates the First Born. Mammoths cannot stand the smell of them. In the same country, the two will not abide. If the mammoths have fled, then First Born have arrived.”
The singer slowed the tempo of her playing. It had been a strange song. The poetry wasn’t there, although the horror had been. The song’s very lack of rhythm showed the hideousness of the terrible acts.
With her dark hair plastered to her forehead, Adah set aside the golden lyre. She drank palm-wine and dried her face.
Herrek stirred, drawing his brows together as he shifted his spear onto his knees. “Do you think Tarag is near?”
“I do,” she said. “He is an eater of human brains. It’s how he insults people. It would be understandable then why Old Three-Paws killed Ard, but did not devour him.”
Herrek brooded. “Do you think Elidad is still alive?”
Adah shrugged.
“Do you truly think Tarag is near?” Herrek asked. “One of the abominations? One of the terrible First Born?”
“Yes.”
Joash spine grew cold and his stomach tight. First Born. Not since Balak had he felt this scared.
“Is it by Ard that you have deduced Tarag?” Herrek asked.
“By the departure of the mammoths,” Adah said,” I have deduced First Born. By Joash meeting Mimir, I deduced the coming together of Nephilim plans. By the foul feasting upon Ard and Three-Paws killing, but not devouring, him, and by sabertooths attacking the steppe ponies, by all these things I deduce Tarag.”
“You think Tarag controlled the sabertooths each time?” Herrek asked.
“I have never heard of any other First Born, or Nephilim, with the ability to control sabertooths,” Adah said.
Herrek rested his powerful hands on the spear. “My great, great grandfather trusts your judgments. He believes you know much ancient lore.” Herrek seemed to choose his words with care. “But, can you be utterly certain about the judgments you’ve just made?”
“No,” Adah said, after a moment’s reflection. “But I’ve been in the presence of a First Born before.”
“Yorgash?” Herrek dared ask.
Adah painfully closed her eyes and managed a tiny nod.
Herrek continued to choose his words with care. “Could it be a different First Born than Tarag? Or perhaps not a First Born at all? Maybe these things were mere coincidences.”
“Maybe so,” Adah admitted. “But First Born are inordinately individualistic. Each behaves in unique ways. The ways we’ve been acted upon are Tarag’s ways. Of that I am convinced.”
“Tarag sounds more like a beast than a man,” Herrek said.
“I do not have the knowledge, or the wisdom, to judge the truth of that,” Adah said. “I deem it wise to hope not to find out, because few meet a First Born and tell of it. Those that do are never the same.”
Herrek sat warrior-straight, the muscles of his face under iron control. “How does Mimir figure into your calculations?”
“He is called Mimir the Wise for a reason. His wisdom is that of a lore master and diplomat. It is known that several times in the past he has acted as a go-between for feuding First Born. Maybe others wish Tarag to join them. Who better to be their herald than Mimir the Wise? I can think of no one more suited to the task.”
Herrek digested the weighty information.
“What chance do we have against Tarag?” Gens whispered. “H-He controls sabertooths. What if a phalanx of them should attack us?” Gens was pale and shaking. “I…” He clenched his te
eth. After a time, he lifted his chin. “We are charioteers,” he slowly said.
“Yes!” Herrek said. “We are charioteers of Elon. If Tarag sends sabertooths against us…” The warrior eloquently shrugged, and plucked a blade of grass. “Tell me,” he asked Adah, “if cut, does a First Born spill red blood?”
“So the old tales say.”
Herrek picked up his spear. “We will fling these in his teeth, eh driver?”
Gens nodded sharply, although he wouldn’t meet Herrek’s gaze.
“And maybe, with luck, we will rid the world of this savage monstrosity.” Herrek turned to Adah. “You have warned us of the terrible peril that awaits us. But the charioteers of Elon do not abandon their own. We will track Elidad, and if it comes to it, we will war with Tarag and his sabertooths. We’ve slain the beasts before. Maybe it’s time to face their master.”
“Yes,” Gens said, with his own spear in hand.
“Very well,” Adah said.
“Groom,” Herrek said. “See to the horses.”
Joash hurried to obey, intent upon avenging his dead friend, but terrified of Tarag.
“On our chariots we are invincible against footmen,” whispered Gens, who had risen to help Joash with the stallions.
Joash agreed.
“Tarag would be a fool to face us in the open,” Gens said. “We would run circles around him, pinning him with our javelins. Then we could destroy him at our leisure.”
Joash didn’t think it was like Gens to boast.
“Do I speak the truth?” he asked Joash.
Joash checked a strap, pretending he didn’t hear Gens’s question. For almost two years he had been their runner. For almost two years, he’d watched Herrek and Gens build fame with their exploits. Their foemen however, except for Balak, had always been beast or man, not Nephilim nor the dreaded First Born. Did the evil reputation of such foes wilt the driver’s courage?
Gens called Herrek. The mail-clad warrior entered his chariot and signaled to Adah. She and Joash stepped into their chariot.
“Keep your spear ready,” she told Joash.
They rolled over the steppes and toward the lake. Behind them, dust swirled from the bison herds, while beyond waited tall grasses and whatever lay hidden in them.
“Are your eyes sharp?” Adah asked Joash.
“I hope so.”
“A good answer. I hope so, too. I would teach you about your adopted people.”
“Singer?”
“Do you understand the futility of trying to wound Tarag?”
Joash said nothing, thinking rather of how Herrek had been able to beat Balak, although only a beastmaster with a touch of Nephilim blood.
“We are on a desperate mission,” Adah said, “One fraught with sudden death. You must understand that.”
Joash tried to maintain a cool pose, but was shaken.
“I do not wish for you to have a false front like Gens.”
“You shouldn’t say such things,” Joash said, trying to reprimand her.
Adah gave him a sympathetic look. “Yes, you judge my words by charioteer valor. I understand. But, you must understand the horror we ride toward. Only then can you be prepared to face it.”
He waited.
“Know, Joash, that my clan fought Yorgash and his minions. In the steaming jungles of Poseidonis, we struggled to remain free. Our courage wasn’t the valor of charioteers, but of a desperate people clawing for the last purchase of life. Herrek is a proud warrior. He has strong armor and a mighty arm. His Asvarn stallions are swift and his chariot is his joy. He is a champion and is on a quest to slay Old Three-Paws. However, we face the First Born and their progeny. Their arms are mightier than ours, their armor made with more cunning. Their valor is awful.”
“How can we win?” Joash asked. If she and her people had been like him with Balak, then his heart went out to her. He understood hopelessness.
“Herrek thinks by fighting with valor that he will overcome all,” she said. “So has been his experience under his great, great grandfather’s tutelage. With First Born, it must be otherwise.”
“Like it was for you in Poseidonis?”
Adah nodded approvingly. “You ask probing questions. Yes. Maybe Lord Uriah is right about you. Know that in Poseidonis we fought naked, smeared from crown to heel with the juices of repugnant plants. Yorgash’s Gibborim couldn’t abide the smell. The silent bow winging poisoned arrows was our way, and cunning traps laid for the unwary and the proud. Even now, viper-poison coats the tips of my arrows.”
“Poison?” That was a coward’s weapon, Joash knew. Courage and honor, on those alone did a warrior rest his pride, and on his skill with weapons.
“We do not play a game, Joash, but war to the death. Valor is a wonderful armor, but it rests too much upon ignorance.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I mean that wits, and an undying hatred of the enemy, are better tools than merely fighting and dying well. Tarag is our master in a straight-out fight. Hundreds of sabertooths are his to beckon. He must simply give the word and we will be swarmed. Therefore, wits, and the willingness to use any tool at hand, must be our way.”
Joash looked away, troubled by her words. A warrior fought with honor and courage. He made himself brave by being willing to die for what he fought for, and to fight for glory. Herrek would fight until the end. But so, it seemed, would Adah, even if she was willing to flee. She feared, there was no doubting that, and she was trying to get him to fear too. Why? Ah, suddenly he understood. She wanted to see if he had the courage to face Tarag. He nodded to himself. This was a secret test.
“Think upon my words,” Adah said.
Joash pondered. Herrek thought that some day he might make a fine warrior. The warrior had said so in the sod house. Joash swore to himself that whatever else happened, he would not let Herrek’s faith in him prove false.
“Smoke,” Herrek cried. “I see smoke.”
Joash shaded his eyes. Sure enough, far away, atop a huge boulder, black smoke threaded up. The boulders were near the lake.
“We ride for the smoke!” Herrek cried.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Old Three-Paws
As they approached the vineyards of Timnah, suddenly a young lion came roaring toward them.
— Judges 14:5
The midsummer sun reached its zenith, and the air lost any hint of moisture. Horse-sweat was borne away before Joash could smell it. The wild steppe animals lay down or grazed sleepily, because the dire wolves, orns, and sabertooths had vanished. Most likely the carnivores would not leave their cool cave hollows or the shade of lonely trees until the sun had lost some of its horrid power.
Herrek slipped a white tunic over his mail and took off his heavy helmet. Sweat oozed from him nevertheless. Gens, less encumbered, suffered less. Still, whenever he shifted his grip he left damp spots of sweat on the elk-leather reins.
The boulders grew as the chariots crawled toward them. The boulders stood tall, like sentinels, and were an odd shade of yellow, no doubt from the Kragehul lichen that crept upon any stone left in this land. As they traveled, the black ribbon of smoke continued to thread its way skyward. Joash couldn’t imagine having to feed a fire in this heat. If Brand and Elidad had found safety there, they would surely be suffering.
Despite the urgency of their quest, Herrek called a halt under the shade of a tall sycamore tree, lest the horses suffer heatstroke. Gens and Joash watered the stallions while Herrek crouched upon his heels and eyed the boulders. He looked tired. Dried sweat left faint runnels of grime on his face, while dust left his hair chalky-looking. Adah joined Herrek. Joash strained to hear them.
“Sabertooths hate this heat,” Herrek said.
“This is a killing heat,” Adah agreed. “I wonder if it is natural.”
Herrek tore himself from his tight-lipped study of the boulders. “Do you think this heat is the work of First Born?”
Adah stirred uneasily.
“T
hey do not wield such powers,” Herrek said.
“Certain of the bene elohim once did.”
Herrek frowned thoughtfully.
“Maybe this power has been passed on to one of the First Born,” Adah said.
Herrek sipped from his canteen. He didn’t look convinced.
“Each First Born and Nephilim is born with a gift,” Adah said, “The Accursed gift. Each child, unto the third generation, can do things not natural to us. Some gifts are trifling, others baleful. Maybe this heat is one of those gifts, for it is much hotter today than yesterday.”
“It is hot,” Herrek agreed.
“The awful among the evil ones have learned another terrible magic,” Adah said in a subdued tone.
“Necromancy?” asked Herrek.
“You have heard of it?”
Herrek was slow in answering. “Once, many years ago, Lord Uriah took twenty great, great grandchildren into his inner study in Havilah Holding and instructed us about the terrible arts used by the evil ones. He told us about their gift, and about legends that made us shudder. He also told us about necromancy, how the bene elohim Necroman long ago learned to use immortal spirits for his obscene spells. Lord Uriah said anyone who learned such arts was to be stoned and left for the dogs to gnaw.” Herrek scratched his cheek. “But such a skill, if it may be termed that, is incredibly difficult to master. The consequences of the improper usage of spirits may destroy the wielder.”
“You have been deeply taught,” Adah said.
“I am of the line of Lord Uriah.”
Adah laid a hand on his brawny forearm. “When I lived in Poseidonis, I witnessed many strange things. Yorgash knew the blasphemy of necromancy. He used such spells against my people.” She paused. “There is a taint here. I-I cannot be certain, because anyone who follows Elohim does not know the exact workings of magic. But I remember…” She removed took her hand. “I am troubled. I fear for Elidad.”
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