Joshua Valiant

by Brian Godawa

  But he was not going to give them that opportunity.

  He suddenly dropped the scythe and bolted off amidst the rocks.

  They followed.

  This was his home. He knew the place intimately. All its nooks, crannies, oddities, and hiding places.

  He was drawing them into his web.

  He had disappeared into the shadows. They had to split up to look for him.

  Azazel was separating them.

  Mikael took the southern end. He moved slowly through a maze of rock and gems looking for any shadow of movement in the glow of the stones.

  Gabriel took the western end. It had less of the jutting teeth-like stalactites and stalagmites. But it was also darker and harder to see in the shadows.

  Raphael took the eastern end. This area actually had moss because it was near some water flow on the rocks.

  He tread softly, his senses attuned to the darkness and silence. There were also fewer gemstones over here making it difficult to see.

  But there were plenty of sounds.

  The water trickled on the rocks. Some of it gurgling in small pools all about. Critters scraped across the rocky surfaces.

  And then a new sound of movement drew his attention.

  Bodily movement to his left near the wall of the cavern.

  He cautiously moved around the rocks, hands gripping his sword, ready for a fight.

  Back at the west end, Gabriel doubled back after sweeping his area. He made it to the shore where they had fought the goddess.

  He noticed the scythe was gone.

  Azazel must have circled back and stolen it back up.

  He decided to risk his position and yelled, “AZAZEL HAS THE SCYTHE!”

  It echoed throughout the cavern.

  He turned around, anticipating an attack.

  But Azazel was not there.

  Mikael decided they should not stay separated and yelled in return, “REGROUP ON THE WESTERN END!”

  He heard Gabriel respond, “MOVING!”

  Raphael did not respond. He knew he was near danger.

  He could hear it clearly now. A sliding movement.

  He crept around the large rock and stopped.

  As his eyes adjusted to the darker area, he realized what he had just walked into: A nest of cave snakes.

  There were hundreds of them. All at his feet, slithering around. One of them hissed at him, ready to strike.

  It was all that was necessary to distract his attention.

  He heard Azazel’s voice suddenly behind him. “Goodbye, fool.”

  He did not even see the scythe blade as it swept through the air and cut him in half at the torso.

  He screamed as he fell to the ground, his nerves alive with searing pain.

  The serpents began to attack, striking his fallen body in the arms and torso.

  Mikael and Gabriel ran to the sound of Raphael’s voice.

  When they arrived, they swatted the snakes away and pulled Raphael’s torso to safety.

  He was in shock. And shaking from the venom that ran through his upper body.

  “Azazel has taken his legs,” said Gabriel.

  Azazel knew the angel would revivify if he had the chance to rejoin his severed halves. Angel flesh was Edenic in its abilities to regenerate tissue, nerves and function.

  Raphael croaked through his pain, “Go get him. Leave me.”

  They hesitated.

  “Leave me!” he repeated. “I am no danger to him now.”

  They all grasped wrists in unity.

  They laid Raphael’s torso down safely away from the serpents, and Mikael and Gabriel took off.

  They burst out into the clearing of the shoreline to see Azazel at the lake’s edge throwing Raphael’s lower body into the waters of the Abyss.

  “NOOO!” Gabriel screamed.

  Azazel mocked him in return, “YEESSSS!” Then laughed wickedly.

  Gabriel ran toward him.

  Mikael yelled, “Gabriel, no! That is what he wants!”

  But Gabriel was not listening.

  He reached Azazel, threw his broken shield into the Abyss, and grasped his sword with both hands. He would engage his opponent with a double grasp technique. It would be a stronger strike to match the Watcher’s own.

  But Azazel reached behind him and pulled out his two swords.

  Gabriel had double strength with his two-handed grip, but he had double coverage with two swords.

  They engaged.

  Gabriel was driven by rage. His speed was lightning fast and relentless. He yelled with each hit.

  Azazel was pushed back. He blocked with Karabu grace, but each impact resonated through his body like a shockwave.

  But rage made Gabriel sloppy. And Azazel saw his moment.

  He blocked an overhanded swing with his swords crossed.

  Azazel circled Gabriel’s blade, locked it in his own, and jammed it into the ground.

  Gabriel looked up in shock.

  Azazel spun in a circle to get extra force, and struck out at Gabriel’s neck to cut off his head.

  But instead, his sword connected with Mikael’s sword with a loud clang.

  Mikael’s strong steel sword.

  And Mikael advanced against him. Their blades connecting like a whirlwind of metal, raining sparks that hit the lake and caused it to flame up.

  Mikael backed Azazel up to the edge of the lake.

  The Watcher pushed back with fear, because he now realized what they were planning on doing all along.

  But it was too late.

  Mikael screamed, “Now!”

  Gabriel came at Azazel from the side. But he was not carrying his sword. He had Cherubim hair between his hands.

  And the two archangels launched themselves at him, tackling the Watcher—right into the black ooze of the lake.

  They landed with a splash of fiery pitch and began to sink.

  Swords were gone.

  It was now Watcher versus archangels wrestling for control.

  They were sinking through the depths until they came through to a water layer and kept dropping.

  Gabriel and Mikael had managed to tie his hands in the indestructible binding.

  Azazel panicked.

  They held him tight.

  They bound his feet with the Cherubim hair.

  And then they breached the bottom of the Abyss and broke through into Sheol.

  They landed on the ground. Gabriel looked up. The water of the Abyss was the ceiling of Sheol.

  The air was dank and thick, barely breathable. It was a dark lifeless land of rock and dead gnarly tree roots sticking out of the ground as if trees were inverted.

  Within a short running distance was the Rephaim mountain that contained the pits of Tartarus.

  Mikael said, “Let us get going before the Shades find out we are here.”

  They heard the chomping and grinding sounds of the Shades already finding their way toward them. These creatures had no eyes to see, but could smell and feel the presence of living things a mile away.

  The Shades were the resident dead of Sheol. They were bodies whose innards were animated by worms and maggots that never died. They had lost all identity from the world above and were transformed into eating monsters with no eyes, but large chomping mouths that were always seeking flesh to eat, yet were never satisfied.

  The living dead that they had encountered at Edrei were but pale reflections of the horror of the Shades of Sheol.

  And the Shades were innumerable.

  They picked up the inert form of Azazel together and sprinted their way to the small mountain.

  They were carrying a Watcher, but archangels are powerful beings and can run like the wind.

  When they arrived at the mountain cave, they entered, but found the Rephaim gone.

  Not one to waste time figuring out why they were so blessed, Mikael led Gabriel over to the ledge of the pit. There were many of these, and some of them were already housing other Watchers that were imprisoned
at the time of the Flood.

  Azazel struggled, but he could not withstand the strength of the Cherubim hair.

  He screamed, “NOOO! Please, do not. I will do anything. Anything. I will be your slave! I will repent!”

  He began to weep like a frightened little child. A very selfish and devious little child.

  “Tell Yahweh, I am sorry. I will grovel at his feet. Please!”

  Gabriel and Mikael looked at each other with disgust for this pathetic monster of deception.

  Then suddenly, his tears stopped and he became lascivious. It was astounding how instantly he could change, and how mesmerizing his sensuality could be.

  “Wait a minute. There is one thing I know you must want to know. Do not tell me you have not been tempted as the Watchers were. Surely, you have wondered what heights of delirious sexual release you could have if you only took a chance and ventured out.”

  Mikael was amazed at Azazel’s ability to arrest the attention of any male creature, even an angel, with his feminine façade. But it would take more than that to draw him away from the living God.

  “Do not forget, archangels, I am the goddess of sex. I could be your slave. You could do whatever you wanted with me. Whatever. And I would exist only to please your appetites. Imagine the pleasure you could experience. Ask Ba’al. I do fulfill my promises.”

  Mikael and Gabriel stopped. Looked at each other. Then Mikael said, “No thank you, Azazel. You can spend the rest of your time pleasing yourself in the depths of Tartarus.”

  With that, they heaved Azazel’s body over the ledge and he fell into the depths. It was a hole that went on for miles of utter darkness and silence. There was no echo of Azazel’s scream on the way down. The walls swallowed up the sound instead of echoing it.

  When he hit the bottom, he would be at the farthest point in Sheol. And Mikael’s words were meant with irony. The fact was, Azazel would have no pleasure in the pit. His bindings were indestructible, and he would be unable to do anything for seventy times seven generations until the judgment.

  What is more, he would be watched over by the mighty Rephaim. The very ones he had abandoned at the War on Eden. These were the mighty kings who were dragged down into Sheol by Rahab and her helpers, Leviathan and other creatures of the deep.

  They would not be happy to see him. They had many eons of vengeance to make up for until the judgment.

  Chapter 23

  Rahab was brushing her sister’s hair when she heard the horns of Jericho announce the closing of the gate and the calling of the guard. It was not a good sign. Something was wrong. They never closed the gates and put up guards unless trouble was coming.

  Rahab rushed out of her inn and made her way to the main gate. When she arrived she saw the guards posted along the main thoroughfare. Some of them were forcibly leading some travelers out of the city.

  As she got closer, she saw the Chief Commander Alyun-Yarikh above the gates, looking out over the walls, and his Right Hand Jebir a short way from him.

  She climbed the ladder to Jebir to find out what was going on.

  “Greetings, Rahab,” said Jebir. “I trust all goes well?”

  “Greetings, Jebir,” she said. “What is happening?”

  She looked out and saw a train of travelling common folk. Hundreds of them. It was not a trading caravan. It looked more like refugees.

  “Those are Amorites fleeing from Bashan. We cannot allow them refuge here. There are too many. And we fear they may bring an enemy upon us.”

  “The Habiru again?” she asked.

  “Yes. I spoke to some of the refugees. Evidently, the Habiru have taken over the entire Transjordan.”

  A chill went down Rahab’s spine.

  She observed what the Commander was overseeing: A large display of the armed forces of Jericho engaging in battle exercises just outside the walls.

  Jebir said, “They decimated Og of Bashan’s forces. Cut off his head, burned his city, and cannibalized his body.”

  She doubted that last rumor. It was not like the Habiru to do so. She felt she knew these people just from her study of the several poems she held secret.

  “After the fall of Og, they captured his sixty cities within a fortnight and secured all of Bashan. It is quite frightening.”

  “Quite frightening Indeed,” said Rahab. Inside, she was filled with excitement.

  “Does that include Gilgal Rephaim and Banias?” she asked.

  “I am not sure. Most likely.”

  He added, “But these Habiru are monstrous. They kill every man, woman, and child. They leave no survivors, and strike down everything that breathes. It is utter destruction.”

  Because of her involvement with the Commander and other military officials, Rahab knew that this was the language of military conquest in their world. When a nation defeated an enemy they would often say that they utterly destroyed every living thing and left no survivors. It was a form of power hyperbole. A way of saying that the entire city or region was now under their king’s fist of rule. It was not a lie or even an exaggeration; it was their way of expressing conquest.

  But in any case, it gave her heart great joy to know that the inhabitants of Gilgal Rephaim had been beaten and brought under the rule of these Habiru and their god. It was a strange feeling inside her. It was not just that she was avenged. She also felt strange warmth in her heart for a deity she had not yet met.

  Though she had been living as a woman without a tribe for a long time, she found herself rooting for this people and their advancement. She felt the curious thrill of what would happen if they came to Jericho.

  She wanted to know this god.

  It was a dangerous thrill. For she suspected the Habiru would most likely kill her along with all the others.

  But she had to know. She had to find out more. She had to see if these Habiru had truly liberated her from her past and from her perpetual fear of those who would track her down one day.

  • • • • •

  It was evening. The Amorites had camped a mile from the city. They did not know where they would go next.

  Rahab disguised herself in a cloak and made her way to the camp.

  There were a hundred tents and dozens of fires all haphazardly arranged. The refugees were from tribes all over Bashan with no central organization. It would be easy for Rahab to avoid detection because of the lack of tribal familiarity.

  She walked through the camp trying to appear inconspicuous as she scanned for signs of refugees from Banias or Gilgal Rephaim.

  She found none.

  She decided to talk to someone. But who? Who could she trust to reveal herself to? Who would not become suspicious?

  She saw a young girl, about eleven or twelve years old, standing alone by some vacant tents as if observing the people around her. Most of the people were gathered around the fires closer to the center of the camp.

  She was wearing a modest robe that looked like something from the Heshbon area. She reminded Rahab of herself. She had that distant look in her eye, a look of separation from her own people. A look of wisdom beyond her age.

  Rahab approached her.

  The young girl looked up at her.

  Rahab pulled down her hood to be inviting.

  “Hello, young girl.”

  “Hello.”

  “You look thoughtful this evening,” said Rahab.

  The little girl said nothing.

  “My name is Rahab. What is yours?”

  “Donatiya.”

  This was good. She was not fearful or suspicious.

  “Which tribe are you from, Donatiya?”

  “Heshbon.”

  Rahab had guessed right. She was confident she could read this girl well. She only hoped she was right about her being like Rahab.

  “You look lonely out here all by yourself. Are you well?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you happened upon anyone from Rephaim Gilgal or Banias?”

  Donatiya looked at her with curiosity.
She knew Rahab was fishing for information. That she probably was not with the refugees.

  Rahab tried to cover, “I have relatives there. I just want to know if they are well.”

  Donatiya shook her head no. Then she asked, “Were you kicked out of Jericho?”

  Rahab could tell this girl was too clever to tell complete lies to. She would have to tell half-truths in order to appear believable.

  “No. But I am a woman of ill repute.”

  “Would you take me with you back to the city?”

  “There is no place to hide. They would discover you and exile you from the city.”

  “I could be one of your relatives.”

  So Rahab was also right about Donatiya being like her. Clever.

  “I am sorry, Donatiya, but my house is already full of family.”

  “I could learn your trade. I would pay my way.”

  Rahab sighed. “My sweet dear girl. You are much too young for such things.” Rahab could only think of how damaged her own soul was in losing her innocence at such a young age.

  “I am twelve years old,” she said. “I do not think I have much of a future with this rejected group of Amorites. The men have already been telling me how pretty I am.”

  She knew just how to strike at Rahab’s heart. A clever girl indeed.

  But Rahab could not risk it. She had suffered too much and had risked all to get to where she was. It was not just her own safety that she might endanger. She had her entire family to protect as well. As much as it tugged at her heart, she could not take this girl with her.

  “I am sorry, Donatiya. I cannot.”

  Rahab turned to walk away before she changed her mind. It ripped her apart.

  She stopped for a moment. Turned to look back at her. Maybe she should try anyway. Maybe this Yahweh god would help her.

  But Donatiya was gone.

  Rahab turned back to leave the camp. She stopped in the face of a woman leaving a tent. She was older, graying. She had one glazed blind eye, and the facial tattoos of a sorceress—a sorceress of Gilgal Rephaim.