Abraham Allegiant (Chronicles of the Nephilim Book 4)

by Brian Godawa

  He was a puppet of Ashtart, but she was not with him today. In her place was another man, dressed in royal armor and with a haughty look in his eye.

  Bera said, “Lot! Welcome. You are familiar with our founding father, Canaan, son of Ham?”

  Lot bowed toward Canaan, who returned him no response.

  “He it is who, under the patronage of the illustrious Ashtart, has built our mighty pentapolis and seeded the population of this land named after his legacy.”

  The legacy of the Seed of the Serpent, thought Lot.

  Bera got right down to business. “Lot, you have been causing a stir again amidst our fine citizens. I cannot have an elder of the gates crowing about ‘wickedness and judgment’ and other mean spirited condemnations. You are offending a lot of people with your hateful rhetoric. We are the Cities of Love. Can you not be more discreet and keep your private beliefs to yourself?”

  “Your majesty,” replied Lot. “My firstborn daughter died at the hands of these ‘citizens of love’ for helping a poor starving man.”

  His young daughter, Paltith, simply gave food and water to a travelling merchant who had been beaten, stripped bare, and left for dead. When the mob that occupied Sodom’s marketplace found out, they burned her at the stake. Sodomites hated merchants who made money because Sodomites were slaves of the government, and they hated normal families because they were children of the city and of Ashtart.

  Lot was fearful for the lives of his remaining twin daughters.

  “Lot, I do not want to make light of your daughter, but you know the laws. The government is supposed to help the poor. Individual charity is forbidden.”

  “Forgive my impertinence, your majesty. I will seek to uphold the law and affirm your rule.”

  The fact of the matter was that Lot was not “crowing about wickedness and judgment,” with “hateful rhetoric.” That was all wicked rumors and hateful gossip. Lot had simply and quietly tried to petition for laws that protected the traditional family unit that had now been completely subverted by the legislation of the pentapolis. Every other form of union, from polygamous, to same sex, to bestiality and incest, had special rights and privileges not afforded to those who preferred one woman and one man devoted to each other with children. He only wanted normal families to be recognized as retaining the rights that all other legal unions and alternative couplings had been given by Ashtart.

  He had failed to do so, and as a result of the constant oppression against his efforts, he became more withdrawn and kept his views to himself. It seemed an inevitable unstoppable juggernaut of evil. He just wanted some rest, some respite from the relentless hostility and hate foisted against him. He had become tired of the death threats, sabotage of his work, and vandalism of his home. He stopped fighting for his “cause” and told himself he would just try to be a silent example of true love to his neighbors, hoping that they might eventually wonder what was different about him and ask him about his different god and different values.

  But they never did.

  So Lot was becoming a shell of the man he once was, defeated, depressed, and despairing. He had tried to change his society from within, but it had changed him, or rather collared him in suppression under the guise of “liberation from El Shaddai.” He felt completely helpless. He was oppressed, hated, and treated with bigoted intolerance, and the irony of it all was that he was the one being called oppressive, hateful, and bigoted.

  Canaan watched Lot closely. His memory was stirred. There was something about the accent of Lot’s language and presence that reminded him of his past. He had studied the genealogies that Ashtart had used to discover his own identity as the cursed son of Noah’s Ham.

  “Who is your father?” asked Canaan.

  “Haran ben Terah,” said Lot.

  “Terah of Ur? The once past prince of Nimrod’s host?”

  Lot nodded his head weakly.

  Canaan’s interest piqued. That was the line of Shem. Canaan had once been a slave of Nimrod before Ashtart liberated him and brought him to this new land. She named Canaan in his honor as the Seed of Nachash whom he was told would be the warring bloodline against the Seed of Eve.

  And that Seed of Eve came through Shem.

  “Did your father have siblings?”

  “Nahor, my uncle. He lives in Haran.”

  Canaan watched him like a hawk. He knew he was holding back.

  “Any others?” said Canaan in a condescending singsong voice.

  Lot hesitated. But he gave it up. He would not want the king to discover his dishonesty to this visiting dignitary and punish him later.

  “Abram of Haran.”

  “You are the nephew of Abram ben Terah,” mused Canaan. “Where is he now?”

  “I do not know,” lied Lot. “I think back in Haran.”

  That was far enough away to warrant giving up any kind of reconnaissance on his uncle without great cost and planning.

  Because of Lot’s status as an elder, Canaan would not have the authority to take him away and torture him to find out the information he wanted. He would take note of this and keep it tucked away in his mind for a more opportune moment.

  For now, he played Lot with a dismissive wave. “You may go. And please keep your prudish behavior and judgmental attitude to yourself. We are progressive not primitive. We want to promote love not hate.”

  Lot bowed and left them.

  Canaan smiled to himself with satisfaction. Today was indeed a profitable one. Now, it was time to go pour out his lusts on an emasculated bull.

  Chapter 43

  Nimrod had been working for hours filing down a small piece of rock he had found in his prison cell. He was half delirious chained to a large block of stone. The kiln-fired brick walls were not durable enough for prisoner’s chains; so large stone blocks were imported. Nimrod had not eaten in who knows how long, and he was forced to sit in his own excrement and filth. He mumbled to himself absurd lyrics of poetic madness as he filed the rock down to a sharpened edge. His descent into the raging pit of blocked ambitions was about to be ended. He had lived a life of royalty and excess and ended up as world potentate, only to be demolished and dethroned, but kept alive for misery. He began to rebuild his kingdom but was once again held down in the muck by the hand of a king whom had once served him.

  Now his only chance of escape was to take his life. The edge was sharp enough to cut his flesh now. He raised it with his manacled hands and pressed it to his throat. It was a difficult thing to cut one’s own throat. Pain can stop the force necessary to cut through a windpipe efficiently. It would have to be done quickly so as to coopt the natural bodily responses.

  But just as he was about to pull the primitive cutting edge across his throat, he was stopped by the sound of the dungeon door opening. He placed the rock beneath the edge of the large stone to which he was anchored.

  He looked up to see Marduk entering the cell with a goatskin flask. He thought he might be hallucinating, as he had not seen Marduk in years since the fall of Babel. He had assumed that Marduk was somehow constrained in the heavenlies for his rebellion.

  Marduk held out the flask to him.

  “It is wine,” said the god. “You need your strength.”

  He handed him a loaf of freshly baked bread. Nimrod cautiously took the wine and bread and began consuming the loaf like a wild dog before it could be taken from him.

  So it was not a hallucination.

  Marduk said, “You were not the only one to suffer humiliation and loss at Babel. After the judgment, I sought to rehabilitate my status by joining the strongest ruler in the region who showed the most promise.”

  Now it all made sense to Nimrod. “Chedorlaomer,” he said. “So that is how he knew all about my weakness and strategy.”

  “King Chedorlaomer is not going to execute you,” said Marduk.

  Nimrod stopped.

  “I persuaded him to reinstall you as his vassal over Shinar, or Akkad, or whatever you are calling it these days.” />
  “Why?” said Nimrod. He was still seething with hatred for Marduk and self-loathing at the prospect of more humiliation.

  “Because you are of use to the both of us. Elam is drawing together a force of armies to raid Canaan. The five cities of the plain that Chedorlaomer originally subdued for you have not paid their taxes for thirteen years. He is going to punish them. But the problem is that Ashtart, who was once Ishtar in our good land of Mesopotamia, controls the pentapolis.”

  It started to dawn on Nimrod. That slut goddess that caused him so much trouble in the past was also Marduk’s arch nemesis. They had been at odds for many years and Nimrod knew there would be an eventual confrontation that would split the earth open.

  “So what do you need me for?” said Nimrod.

  “You are still a mighty general, Nimrod. Chedorlaomer needs you. All you need are trained forces. He can give them to you if you swear allegiance to him.”

  More degradation and disgrace for Nimrod.

  “Why would he trust me? He was my vassal for many years, and I did not treat him with trust.”

  Marduk leaned in. “Because I persuaded him.”

  Nimrod looked into Marduk’s powerful eyes. He was still the hypnotic and frighteningly powerful king of the gods, and he was still determined to achieve his plans.

  Marduk whispered to him, “ Ashtart has been breeding giants in Canaan. They are her minions in various clans and villages and they control the King’s Highway. Chedorlaomer cannot afford to lose that trade route with its access to Egypt and up to Syria. It is an economic lifeline. So he is creating a coalition of three kings to accompany him and wipe out the giant clans to secure the area. You will be one of them, along with Arioch of Ellasar and Tidal, king of Goiim.”

  Nimrod was going mad, but he had not yet lost his reason. “Wiping out the giants will wipe out Ashtart’s rise to power, securing your advantage.”

  Marduk grinned. “You and I have always had an understanding in our mutual pursuits. I never forgot that.”

  Nimrod was already planning on how he might commit suicide once he was freed. He did not want to be a tool of Marduk unless there was something in it for him. And there was nothing of interest to him in fighting other’s battles.

  “And I never forgot what you have always wanted,” Marduk added.

  Nimrod looked at him curiously. “What do you mean?”

  “The source of all your misery and pain, the one born to bring your downfall, and to bear the chosen seedline of El Shaddai resides in Canaan: Abram of Haran.”

  Nimrod’s eyes came alive with a fire within. Suicide vanished from his mind. He now had a reason to live, a reason to abandon his failed pursuit of power and submit himself to another king: Revenge. He would be willing to debase himself as a servant to Chedorlaomer if it allowed him the opportunity to hunt down Abram and kill him.

  Nimrod grinned through his rotting teeth and said, “I give you my word, mighty Marduk, king of the gods, that I will by a loyal vassal king of Shinar for Chedorlaomer.”

  Marduk smiled. He knew it would work. Nimrod’s obsessive pursuit to kill Abram would benefit all of them.

  Nimrod interrupted Marduk’s thoughts, “On one condition. I am allowed to change my name.”

  “To what?” said Marduk.

  “To King Amraphel of Shinar. Nimrod and his family are dead now.”

  He had done it once before. He had changed his name when he was king of Uruk to start over with a new identity to create Babylon. Now he would be reborn without the negative baggage of his utter defeat and shame as Nimrod.

  Marduk smiled in agreement. “A wise choice, King Amraphel.”

  Chedorlaomer would have his renewed control of Canaan, Marduk would have his victory over Ashtart, Amraphel would have his revenge on Abram and El Shaddai, and the Seed of Eve would be choked to death for everyone.

  Chapter 44

  The full moon showered the fields outside of Mamre with a blue light. The Amorite night watchmen were lax because of the brightness of the evening. It was not the kind of night that any enemies would try to sneak up on them. Unfortunately, that is exactly what was happening as four stealth shadows slipped through the field brush up to the watchmen without notice.

  They made no noise, moved swiftly, and were upon their prey in mere moments. They were the four hierodule assassins from Nimrod.

  Before the four night watchmen on the ground even knew what hit them, their throats were ripped out by the retractable claws and talons of the genetically enhanced killers. They saved their throwing blades for the two up in the trees, who plummeted silently to the ground.

  Forests were like a playground for these four trained hunters. Their eyes were made to see in the darkest conditions. The falcon women could spot a mouse in the moonlight at a hundred yards, and though they could not fly, they could jump a full twenty feet and land on prey with talons gripping like vices.

  The lioness women could crawl through any terrain in total silence, and climb trees with great ease, using the same claws that could rip through human flesh and even leather armor. Their small slender bodies belied the powerful explosive strength that was hidden within. They had the strength of several men and the fangs of a lioness of the steppe.

  And they were coming for Abram.

  It was late enough for the families to be asleep with only the men and soldiers still stoking the fires and telling stories of exploits and adventures.

  The female killers split up in order to listen in on several groups of men around the fires. They were not planning to kill these because they were not here to draw the rest of the Amorite warriors down on their heads. They were listening to get any information about Abram’s whereabouts.

  One of them finally overheard some men complaining about Abram’s leadership. These must have been his people. Then, one of them said to watch their mouths, the patriarch might be able to hear them. He looked over his shoulder up at a tree house within their hearing range, and the leader, Zula knew where their target was.

  The four killers climbed the backside of the large oak that the soldier had glanced at. They gripped the bark easily in their claws and talons and made it up the fifty or so feet in seconds.

  The lights were out. Abram and Sarai were sleeping.

  Getting in was the easy part. Getting out would be more difficult. In exchange for the intelligence from Arba on Abram’s whereabouts, they were supposed to capture Sarai along with him and bring her back to Kiriath-Arba before embarking on their journey back to Mesopotamia. But the kidnappers had no intentions of fulfilling that agreement. They were going to kill the wife and place Abram unconscious in a carrying sack they brought with them.

  Two prisoners were just too cumbersome and added too much danger to their undertaking. Two of the hybrid killers with their strength could carry Abram down the tree and out of the forest, but they would not have the stealth advantage they had coming in. Should they be discovered in their kidnapping, they would have a difficult time outrunning their pursuers. No, if they were discovered, they would have to kill him and cut off his head to bring back as a trophy of proof for Nimrod. They would have at least a two day jump on Arba should he try to go after them, and they would take the backwoods instead of the King’s Highway.

  The tree home was built about fifty feet off the ground on the fanning outspread branches of an old growth oak tree.

  The stealth kidnappers found the bedroom with Abram snoring away next to Sarai. They slipped in through the two windows.

  The four shadows surrounded the bed.

  Zula, the lioness, poured out some sorcery potion into a rag and placed it over Abram’s mouth. He never woke up before passing into a drugged unconsciousness.

  Sarai stirred and Kulla drew her razor sharp talon across her throat, cutting through her esophagus. Sarai managed a pitiful yelp before Kulla covered her mouth shut. She held her until her struggling form quivered its last and died.

  They placed Abram in the sack and moved t
o the door to leave.

  But when Zula opened the door, a stranger holding two strange looking daggers in his hand confronted her. He punched her hard in the face and her nose exploded in blood. She crashed to the floor unconscious.

  Moonlight came through the door and illuminated the dead form of Sarai in the bed. But she did not have blonde hair, because it was not Sarai, it was Devorah, Eliezer’s wife. They had mistaken the head servant Eliezer for Abram and murdered his wife instead of Sarai.

  Abram had heard Eliezer’s snoring stop and Devorah’s cry of death. Abram was the nemesis at the door.

  The assailants dropped the sack with Eliezer in it and crouched to fight. Their animal senses heightened and their fangs, claws, and talons came out.

  Abram was facing three chimera killers with preternatural strength and animalistic skill in fighting.

  But what they did not know was that Abram had been trained in the way of the Karabu by his ancestor Noah ben Lamech who learned it from his ancestor Methuselah ben Enoch. It was the ancient form of martial art practiced by archangels.

  These cats and birds were in for a surprise.

  He was a bit rusty for lack of practice, but he also had El Shaddai watching over him. He brandished his blades in sweeping gestures and moved into the room with a fluidity of dance that threw off the invaders.

  It so confused his first opponent, Laliya, that her talons were only able to block one motion of Abram’s blades before he cut through her belly and spilled her intestines.

  The other two surrounded him with claws and talons raised and ready.

  Zakita, the lioness hissed.

  Abram remembered a tactic that Noah had taught him for such a situation. It was a signature move of his guardian angel, Uriel. He would extend his blades and twirl like a whirlwind, slicing through a circle of enemies surrounding him.

  Abram held out his blades and spun.