Army of God

by Dennis Bailey

  “Trouble sleeping?” Shechem said.

  Malluch sighed and nodded.

  “Nightmares?” He hated that his friend was being tormented.

  “Yes. Getting worse. They were gone for a while, but they’ve returned.”

  Malluch’s dreams had begun to haunt him shortly after his father and brother were killed. His wife said he would often call out to them in his sleep. On other occasions he would wake up screaming, or smacking his body to extinguish flames that weren’t there. “What’s the prince say about a return to the garden?”

  “He’s still reluctant.”

  “Together, the armies of Enoch and Eden total more than twelve thousand men. What does he have to be reluctant about?”

  “He fears the guardian may be invincible.” Malluch had refused to refer to the angel of the garden by his heavenly title, choosing instead a more functional description.

  “Against twenty-five maybe, but against twelve thousand?”

  “I know. He never thinks about the reward, only the cost. And given you and I were there to see it, it’s hard to argue with him.”

  “He doesn’t care about immortality?”

  Malluch shook his head. “Fortunately, we have allies here.”

  “Parents of those slain at the garden?”

  “Exactly. Some wield a great deal of influence and are never far from the prince’s ear. And their desire for vengeance is as strong as mine.”

  “You think he’ll heed them?”

  “Eventually. But it needs to be handled tactfully. Ramalech is not a man easily pushed. And immortality or not, he won’t commit Enoch’s army unless he’s convinced they’ll return victorious—and with a minimum of casualties.”

  “How do we accomplish such a feat?”

  “I don’t know yet. But the pressure from the families of the dead is nothing compared to what he’d face if he sacrificed another ten thousand men.”

  Shechem scratched his head. “I see what you mean.”

  “But know this, my friend. If Ramalech refuses to bind the army of Enoch, we will return to the garden alone.”

  “With twenty-five hundred?” He was fairly confident in his army’s ability to handle the angel. But after the defeat at the garden, he preferred the numbers a joint campaign with the soldiers of Enoch would provide.

  “With whatever we have.”

  “Then why not let me lead our own army back now?”

  “You saw what I saw, how the guardian fended off every attack to slaughter everyone in our company. And although I’m reasonably certain he could not withstand twenty-five hundred, there is always a risk. Besides, were I to send you now and you were somehow defeated, Ramalech would never agree to send his army.”

  Shechem nodded.

  “Better to wait a while longer,” Malluch said. “Let his own citizens work on him, and hold out for an army no guardian can overcome.”

  Shechem grasped his friend’s arm. “Why don’t you try again to get some sleep.”

  “I would if I thought I could.” Malluch glanced at the two sleeping bodies and smirked. “You go ahead. I’ll find something to occupy my mind. Thanks for looking in.”

  Closing the door behind him, Shechem turned right to avoid the temptation of the goings on around the corner. Though it meant having to negotiate the palace’s labyrinth passages back to his room, better to chance losing his way than his dignity.

  He entered his room and lay on the bed without bothering to remove his clothes. As he often did when his mind was troubled, his thoughts reverted to a time and a person he found more comforting.

  Similar to the same way other children had grown up in Eden, Shechem and Elisheva spent their younger days working on their family farms. There were always goats to milk, beans to plant, or wheat to cut. But when the day’s chores were done, most young people enjoyed the company of friends. These two were no exception.

  Often they’d spend time with other friends playing games, exploring a neighboring village, or racing down to the river for a swim. Shechem even taught Elisheva how to use a sling to defend herself against, as he put it, “any wild animal coming around the house.” Other times they would sit alone and talk, sometimes for hours, about life, the future, all manner of subjects. No topic seemed to be off limits for two people who often seemed to read each other’s thoughts.

  One evening, when they were walking home, he intentionally brushed against her arm, a gesture Elisheva seemed to accept by closing her hand around his. Nothing monumental, just a touch, and something he would never dare do in front of their friends. But alone in the twilight, it was worth the risk. After that, he had to restrain himself from reaching for her every time they were together. He didn’t want to seem pushy. And even on those occasions when they did hold hands, he could sense it meant more to him than it did her. But he could accept it, so long as they remained friends.

  One day everything changed. Some tall, rugged-looking grandson of the governor started paying Elisheva court, and she no longer had much time for Shechem. Naturally she denied it, accusing him of being too sensitive of her desire to have more friends, but he knew in his heart he’d lost her. He tried to rationalize why he was even jealous, not that they’d ever been passionate. Other than the handholding and that kiss on the cheek she’d given him when they were ten, there had never been a hint of intimacy between them.

  Even more maddening was the fact she continued in her own sweet way to treat him like the friend he’d always been. He found himself wishing she would spurn him outright so he could feel good about hating her. But he couldn’t bring himself to do the same to her.

  He remembered exactly where he was when he heard the news about Elisheva’s betrothal. It sent him running out the back of his family’s house and down to the river, to where he and Elisheva had spent innumerable days. He stood on the riverbank staring into the moving water. As children they’d been inseparable. Now it appeared he would never possess her. Why hadn’t he ever expressed his true feelings?

  He turned to see if anyone was around, climbed the same outcropping of rocks Elisheva had slipped from so many years before, sat, and wept.

  Now, a burst of laughter from the hallway kept him from dozing off. He got up to remove his tunic, having every intention of returning to bed. Instead, he stared for a few moments at the empty bunk before walking out into the corridor. Nine parts later, he leaned against a doorway peering in on a mass of entwining flesh.

  This time, he was successful in pushing Elisheva and all guilt from his mind before stepping into the room.

  Chapter 19

  Noah joined Japheth who stared out a north-facing window. He had barely said a word at the evening meal. “Is there something troubling you?”

  Japheth’s focus remained outside. “I was thinking about Grandfather. What he must be doing now. It’s been what, twenty-five years?”

  “Your grandfather is not only a strong leader, but a shrewd statesman as well. He will have found a way to adapt to the changes that took place in Eden.”

  “But what kind of life must it be for him? Surely Malluch must have seized power.”

  “Undoubtedly.” His son’s questions raised old fears. What would Noah do if he learned his rival had harmed his father? Would he abandon the work of God and return to Eden to seek revenge? Not wanting to consider the answer, he quickly pushed those thoughts from his mind.

  “Then for all we know, he could have thrown Grandfather in prison. Or worse. After all, Malluch hated him as much as you for what happened at the garden.”

  “Your grandfather was still the governor when we left Eden. And what you once pointed out is true. He has many loyal allies there.”

  “But—”

  “Even if Malluch has assumed control of the government, the patriarchs are still greatly revered by the majority of citizens in Eden. Given your grandfather’s lineage, I doubt even he would be foolish enough to have him harmed. Better to wait until he dies naturally than to risk a revolt b
y the people.”

  Japheth nodded toward his youngest brother talking with Shem on the other side of the room. “And what about him?” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Doesn’t it bother you Ham has never seen his grandfather, or that Grandfather doesn’t even know he has another grandson?”

  His words cut Noah to the heart. His only hope since they’d left Eden, other than Shiphrah’s salvation, was that somehow they should come face to face. “Terribly. What would you have me do? Risk all our lives in a return to Eden just so the two of them could meet?”

  Japheth’s arms dropped to his sides. “I guess not. I just wish I could know for certain he was well.”

  “I told you, God has a plan for your grandfather, a merciful one that will spare him the coming terror. Right now, our job is to remain obedient and complete the task the Lord has given us.”

  “That’s not much comfort.” Japheth remained at the window for another nine parts in silence before heading for the front door.

  After he left, Ham approached his father carrying a wineskin in one fist and a cup in the other. “It’s unlike Japheth not to say anything through the meal,” Ham said. “Is he all right?”

  “Your brother misses your grandfather. They were extremely close.”

  “He told me. He said Grandfather used to take him hunting for the jackals and hyenas that came in to attack the cattle.”

  “When he was fourteen, he taught your brother carpentry, how to forge weapons out of bronze and iron, even how to make wine.”

  Ham’s eyebrows rose at the mention of strong drink. He filled his cup. “Sounds very instructive.”

  From the age of twenty, Ham had developed a taste for wine that exceeded each of his brothers. It was a penchant that seemed to increase steadily over the past five years, to the point now where it had become a concern. “Of course, he did a lot of those things with Shem as well, but with Japheth being firstborn, he was your grandfather’s favorite.”

  “Why wouldn’t he come with you the night you fled Eden?”

  “Two reasons, I think. First, he was still the governor. Even though his rule was being threatened, I’m sure he felt an obligation to the citizens of Eden.”

  “And the second?”

  “Your grandfather is a man proud of his heritage. He never expressed it in words, but I think it was important for him to die and be buried in the land of his fathers.”

  “I wish I could have met him.”

  Noah smiled softly, placing a hand to his son’s chest. “Me too, son. Me too.”

  Ham filled his cup again.

  * * *

  Shechem awoke near midday to the sound of a loud, slowly beating metallic tone resonating throughout the palace. He’d returned to his room near dawn to grab a few hours of sleep following his night with the women of Enoch. But the ringing in his ears reminded him he was late for a ceremony. He rushed to dress, then moved quickly through the palace corridors before coming to a large open vestibule where Ramalech, a six-man entourage, Malluch, and Bohar waited. “Commander,” Ramalech said. “I trust you slept well?”

  “Like a bear in winter.”

  “Please join us on the balcony for a ritual no one outside Enoch has ever witnessed.” Ramalech led them onto an upper side balcony overlooking the center of the city and the altar Shechem had curiously viewed.

  At one of the corners atop the altar, a man with a club struck a large convex-shaped bronze disk. He was joined at the pyramid by four men in purple tunics trimmed in gold. Each wore an elaborate headdress. Priests. One positioned himself at the top of each of the four staircases cut into the pyramid. Slaves threw wood into the center of the altar-pyre to feed an already raging fire burning in the pit.

  What a stark contrast in scenes from the night before. A few hours ago, an unbridled populace roamed the streets like wild animals. Today all was calm and orderly. Hundreds of Enochites gathered quietly around the base of the altar, their children clinging tightly to their necks or against their thighs. Many more people streamed from their homes, the dirge of the gong drawing them toward the altar from every quarter of the city.

  They all had one thing in common: Each family included at least one child.

  Shechem stretched to peer over the edge of the balcony, then leaned in to Bohar’s ear. “Where are the animals?”

  Bohar snickered. “There are no animals. Watch.”

  As the last arriving families gathered around the altar, the beating stopped. Three of the priests joined the fourth at the top of the staircase closest to the balcony. The four men knelt in a circle, each pulling from inside his garment a medium sized cube. The cube’s six faces bore some kind of markings, with each side also being colored either black or white. The four men cast their die, examined the results, then rose while returning the cubes to their pockets. One of the men stepped forward. “Males—age one to three.”

  Some in the crowd gasped, while others seemed relieved.

  “What’s it mean?” Shechem said.

  “The honor of sacrifice has fallen on the male children of Enoch between the ages of one and three,” Ramalech said.

  So the rumors had been true. Now it became clear to him why he hadn’t been able to identify the skulls he’d seen here twenty-five years ago. He’d been trying to figure out what kind of animals they were when they weren’t animals at all. “Children? You mean this altar isn’t for crops or livestock?”

  “Come, come, Commander. The sacred bones of our father, Cain, lie beneath this altar. Would you presume to satisfy the gods of Enoch with a bushel of wheat or the flesh of an animal?”

  What disgusted Shechem most was the way the crowd reacted to the pronouncement. After the initial shock, they grew strangely quiet. Faces grew long and mothers sobbed, but for the most part, the people seemed to accept the sentence. No demonstrations, no outcries for mercy. Some even made preparations, with parents passing their condemned sons into the arms of older siblings to say good-bye.

  With a nod from one of the priests, the striking of the gong resumed. Women kissed their sons one last time before handing them over to their husbands. Fathers carrying their infant and toddler sons moved to the bottom of the four staircases to begin their ascent. One unlucky father carried twin sons, one in either arm. At the direction of the priests, the first in each line stopped one step from the top, their neighbors lining up single file behind them down the stairs.

  Once more the thundering disk was silenced by a wave of the head priest. Those at the top of the staircases handed their sons over to the four priests. Three stood holding the children in their arms while the head priest raised an infant above his head. “Glory be to the god of the sun—to the god of the moon—and to the god of the stars,” he said. “Accept these sons of Enoch, and continue to shower us with blessings.”

  He and the other priests turned and threw the children into the fire. Their young screams lasted but a few parts.

  Shechem never considered himself squeamish, but he found this sickening. As a father, his feelings about the murder of children matched his views concerning the rape and torture of women. He considered both practices taboo.

  Still, he didn’t want to appear weak in front of the others and so forced himself to keep from turning away. He closed his eyes, reaching inside his tunic and clasping his hands together to quell the quiver moving down his spine. Once the cries faded, he mistakenly tried to peer through half-open slits, only to witness the priests pitching the next group of children into the fire. More screaming followed. This time he couldn’t help himself, averting his look to what proved an equally revolting sight. Bohar’s face contorted into a malevolent grin.

  While the priests continued to feed the fire with the flesh of Enoch’s children, Shechem again found himself appalled by the people’s reaction. He’d fully expected the parents of the condemned to depart quickly once their sons had been sacrificed, only the opposite was true. Husbands surrendering their sons descended quickly to comfort their wives and remainin
g family members, but not a single Enochite left the altar site during the ceremony. They seemed to be bound by a sense of duty to watch the massacre of their own flesh.

  Commotion on the left-side staircase drew the attention of everyone on the balcony. A woman screaming her son’s name dashed up the pyramid two stairs at a time just as her husband was handing their child over. When she reached them, her husband tried to grab her, but she broke free and snatched the infant from the priest. He and the other priests moved toward her and the woman ran to the edge of the pit, flinging herself headlong into the fire.

  “Foolish woman,” Ramalech said to Malluch. “At her age, she could have had a dozen more sons. Who will bear them for her husband now?”

  Malluch nodded.

  Shechem wanted to cheer. The woman was a hero. The only one willing to stand up in this herd of sheep and defend their own child.

  After an hour, the lines on the staircases grew shorter while the last of the condemned were cast into the flames. He estimated close to two hundred of Enoch’s male children had been slaughtered. The smell of burning flesh hung heavy in the air around the balcony, leaving a putrid taste at the back of his throat.

  “Who’s hungry?” Ramalech said.

  Shechem swallowed hard to push the acid back down to his stomach.

  Chapter 20

  In the 530th year of Noah . . .

  Noah was relieved to finally have a barrier separating the spectators from his family. Completion of that side of the ark’s hull not only protected them from flying debris, but did much to mute the flying insults as well, which had grown louder and more scornful.

  More than a hundred people a day visited the ark now. A handful turned it into a rest spot, pitching tents and staying for several days. Sometimes, those spending the night let off steam by raising a wineskin before using the ark for target practice. Come first light, his family often found the outside of the hull splattered with eggs, tomatoes, or melons.

  One morning they found dung.