Caleb Vigilant (Chronicles of the Nephilim)

by Brian Godawa

  Gabriel shouted, “Uriel!”

  He threw the sword into the air at Uriel, who had already turned to catch it and continued in his windmill fury without losing a beat.

  Now he had two blades of fury.

  Gabriel proceeded to spin his new weapon like a scythe and cut down attacker after attacker.

  But these creatures were strong. They could take a lot of hits before they succumbed to their wounds.

  Uriel had cut off two arms on one priest, but it kept coming at him with chomping teeth. It was not until he disemboweled the villain, that it finally dropped dead.

  But the next one was already upon him.

  Four demon priests surrounded Raphael at once. They pressed in with their swords and he kept them at bay. But when he killed one another one replaced it before he could gain an advantage. He was starting to wear down.

  He kept hearing numbers yelled out, but had lost track of who was saying what.

  “Eleven!”

  “Twelve!”

  “Thirteen!”

  “Thirteen!”

  Gabriel barked out, “Will you two keep it down? You are distracting me with your rivalry!”

  The next words were softer, but just as annoying if not more so because now they were like whisperings.

  “Fourteen.”

  “Sixteen.”

  “Eighteen.”

  They had killed over half the priests, but they kept coming. They were relentless.

  And then Raphael was surrounded by six demon priests and could not see the one behind him lift its battle-axe.

  A painful war cry resounded from behind Raphael and a limping Mikael with gritting teeth chopped off the demon priest’s head. He had only half his body available to help, but it was his right half and he was right-handed. It was as if he had a surge of power that came over him.

  Every movement, every swing, every contact, caused intense pain in Mikael’s burnt flesh. But he had to keep going. He was not going to sit back in misery as his comrades fought this demonic horde on his behalf.

  Suddenly, the air was filled with the sound of a deep long horn from on top of the mountain.

  The demon priests responded by melting away and running back up the mountain.

  It was over as quickly as it had begun.

  The angels stood with heaving breaths over the bodies of over sixty Ba’al priests bleeding out or bled out.

  “Well?” said Uriel looking at Gabriel. “Total?”

  “You first,” said Gabriel.

  “I asked you first,” said Uriel.

  “No exaggerating,” said Gabriel.

  “No exaggerating.”

  “Okay.” Gabriel paused. Then he said it like a confession, “Twenty two.”

  Uriel gave him a surprised look. He had been one-upped.

  “Truly?” he said.

  “Yes, truly,” said Gabriel with a twinge of anger. “I do not lie, Uriel.”

  “Twenty two?” he asked again.

  Gabriel started to grin, and said with devious triumph, “And what is your total, little angel?”

  Uriel sighed.

  Then he whispered, “Twenty five.”

  Gabriel’s smile turned to stupor, as Uriel’s frown turned to a smirk.

  “You trickster,” complained Gabriel. “I ought to…”

  They were interrupted by Raphael, “Stop your quibbling, you two, and help me!”

  The both of them saw Mikael on the ground again, but passed out. Raphael was wrapping Mikael’s wounds now with cloth from the garments of the dead priests.

  Gabriel helped Raphael, but Uriel stood looking down on them as if he had just figured out the secret to the universe.

  “Wait a minute, archons.”

  They looked up at him.

  “With all the surprise that has taken us off guard, has it even entered into any one of our thick skulls to pray for healing from Yahweh?”

  The angels looked at one another dumbfounded.

  Gabriel said, “I guess we were so busy fighting one devilish fiend after the next, that we must have taken our eyes off Yahweh.”

  “Indeed, we have,” said Raphael humiliated. Then he just fell to his face in the sand and prayed, “Yahweh forgive us for our neglect.”

  They prayed over Mikael as only archangels can pray. If a human were there, he would have said it sounded like heavenly tones of music. There was nothing quite so elevating of the soul as the beauty of archangel sonic harmony.

  They sang praise to their god and maker.

  They prayed for the healing of their leader.

  And when they were done, they looked at Mikael. He was awake. But he was still softly groaning from his pain.

  He had not been healed.

  Uriel looked up into the heavens to make sure Yahweh had been listening.

  But they knew he heard them wherever they were on earth, in the heavens, or even in Sheol. They knew that when the righteous cry out, Yahweh hears them.

  But Mikael was not healed.

  “Well,” said Raphael, “I guess Yahweh has other plans for our brother Mikael that he has not revealed.”

  “He is inscrutable,” said Gabriel.

  Uriel added, “And humans think they have it difficult. We are archons of Yahweh’s heavenly host and even we do not get things our way sometimes.”

  “Stop your grumbling and complaining,” Mikael butted in. “You are starting to sound like Israelites. Now help me up, and let us find the temple of this bully deity, Ba’al.”

  Gabriel and Uriel grabbed Mikael and they started toward the top of Mount Sapan looming before them.

  Uriel looked up. “This is one high mountain.”

  “Yahweh’s footstool,” said Mikael.

  He groaned in pain and stumbled. It was going to be a very high footstool for this severely wounded angel to climb.

  Chapter 63

  Caleb oversaw the retrieval and burial of his four hundred and fifty dead warriors. More than half of them were their Gibeonite allies. But he also made sure to use psychological warfare against the Anakim that he had learned from the Rephaim. Because of Caleb’s archery tactic, they had thrown off the giants and were able to kill close to one hundred attackers. Of these, Caleb impaled fifty bodies on poles before the city walls and burned the others in a bonfire of giant flesh on the field in full sight of the Anakim inhabitants.

  Since the Israelites were in the midst of war and were too far from home camp, they would have to bury their dead in the wilderness area near their war camp. But this would be entirely appropriate because this land would be theirs so they were simply the seed of death that would bring forth the fruit of conquest of this very land.

  It was a mass grave, but the bodies were laid side by side rather than in a heap, which would have been degrading. They were dressed in their war garments as a symbol of their sacrifice for the people of Israel. It marked their communal unity in the pursuit of Yahweh’s war. For a soldier in such a holy endeavor, it was a more important connection than even family burial, since they were a brotherhood of shed blood, as opposed to born blood. And faithful sacrifice was deeper than blood.

  Caleb looked over each and every one of the dead warriors. Some of them he recognized and had fought beside. But all of them were just as important to him because he knew that each one was a special child of Yahweh. Each had a family just like him. Each had a story, a history, just like him. Each had an entire life of human connections and bonds to dozens of beloved family and friends, who would suffer the emotional pain of tragic loss—just like him.

  The true spiritual reality of war swept over his soul like never before. These were not statistics or numbers of men, these were hundreds of precious human lives interconnected to others who were ripped from their hope and cut short of their promise for the sake of others.

  The true cost of this war of Yahweh pierced his entire being and he broke. He had tried to pray and devote the warriors to Yahweh, but he could only weep for their misfortune.


  Othniel finished the prayer for Caleb.

  The men were covered with the dirt of the Land of Promise, their inheritance.

  Caleb stayed on his knees with his face in the dirt.

  Until he felt a hand touch his shoulder.

  But it was not Othniel’s hand.

  He knew that touch, that lightness, that very presence. It could not be.

  He stopped and looked up—into the face of Rahab, eyes wet with pain for him.

  “My beloved?” he said. He thought it was a vision.

  She smiled. It was not a vision; it was her flesh and blood.

  He jumped up and grasped her tightly in his arms.

  “How did you escape? Where is Joshua?”

  “There is a civil war within the city. Two brothers are fighting for the throne.”

  This was good news to Caleb. Great news.

  She told him of their escape and how Sheshai helped them to the catacombs in exchange for his freedom to overthrow his brother’s regime. She told him how it was only a temporary truce for a mutual enemy.

  Then she swallowed with difficulty, and said, “Joshua went back into the city to assassinate Sheshai after his coup.”

  At first, Caleb was horrified that Joshua would attempt such a suicidal mission.

  But then he knew Joshua and his spirit of tenacity. He would not let anything go, especially in a situation like this. He was so close to the heart of iniquity he would not pass up an opportunity to pierce that monstrous heart with a stake of death.

  Caleb could see Joshua’s strategy as if it were his own: Killing the top three brothers in chief of their clan would devastate their morale, and tremendously weaken their military organization. Joshua’s plan could well be the Israelite’s victory call—and the Anakim’s death knell.

  Caleb turned to Othniel and said, “Have the commanders muster the forces for attack. We have little time.”

  Othniel said, “Yes, commander,” and left the gravesite.

  Caleb turned to the gravediggers, “Finish the burial and report immediately to your sections for orders.”

  He wondered if he would be ready in time to coordinate with Joshua’s mission behind the enemy walls. If they could breach those walls at the right moment, they might be able to save Joshua before he was caught and swallowed up by Anakim retaliation. If they were too late, Joshua would not have a chance to survive his deed.

  It seemed impossible to Caleb.

  But he remembered that he served the god of the impossible, so he bowed his knee and prayed to Yahweh.

  Then he looked up to Rahab. “Can you show a strike force where that tunnel is?”

  “Yes,” she said. “But it is very small. You will not be able to use it for anything like a major breach.”

  “I do not want it for a breach. I want it for an extraction team. We are going to rescue Joshua.”

  Chapter 64

  The four archangels made their way up Mount Sapan’s lofty heights. Raphael helped to carry Mikael on his shoulder as they pushed through the wooded forest at the base. When they broke out from the tree line, they saw the summit was veiled in cloud, and the sky above was turbulent. Thunder was already rumbling in what was sure to be a storm of large magnitude.

  “Well,” said Uriel, “I can see the storm god is preparing for us. They do not call him ‘Cloud Rider’ for nothing.”

  Cloud rider was a term in Canaanite religion that symbolized control over the weather as a tool of judgment. The phrase “coming on the clouds” or “riding the clouds” was a symbolic statement of the storm deity arriving to punish his adversaries.

  Uriel chided, “Yeah, well, Yahweh is coming on a swift cloud to Mount Sapan.”

  Somewhere in the midst of those clouds, they knew they would find the palace of their enemy storm god, Ba’al.

  But the final leg of their journey was a four hundred foot steep rocky ridge with difficult overhangs to traverse. Beyond that towering edifice of rock was their target.

  Uriel whistled. “Whew, that is steep.”

  “We can hoist you up using rope,” said Gabriel to Mikael.

  “Our rope went down with the ship,” said Mikael through clenched teeth of pain. His body would heal, but not quickly enough.

  Raphael said, “You can hang on my back and I will carry you.”

  Gabriel said, “That should not be too difficult. Even Uriel was able to carry Noah on his back out of the pit of Tartarus in ancient days.”

  Uriel was offended. “What do you mean, ‘even Uriel’? Do you realize how deep that pit was?”

  Gabriel raised his hands in mock surrender.

  Mikael said, “You three will be facing the king of the gods at the seat of his throne on his sacred mountain of power. You will need all your strength focused on binding him, not protecting me in my weakness.”

  They were silent. They knew he was right.

  Uriel said, “It still vexes me that Yahweh would not answer our prayer for healing when we need it the most, on the person who needs it the most.”

  Mikael said, “Apparently, Yahweh wants you to rely on his strength and not mine.”

  Uriel said, “You always see the clay pot half full.”

  Gabriel said, “And you never see the clay pot.”

  Uriel said, “Gabriel, the next clay pot I see, I promise to break it over your head.”

  “Enough, you two,” said Mikael. “I think we have all missed the point. This is more than a simple lesson of faith. My incapacity is Yahweh’s intent for a strategic offense: Prayer. I will plead to the Lord of Hosts as you are fighting his nemesis.”

  “Of course,” said Gabriel. “How could we be so thick of head twice in a row?”

  “Speak for yourself,” said Uriel.

  Raphael said, “What if those surviving minions discover you here alone? You have not the strength to defend yourself against their numbers.”

  “I will be all right. Raphael. Now get going. The more you delay, the more ready Ba’al becomes.”

  The angels began their climb. Mikael grunted and got up on his knees. Sharp jolts of pain burst through his burned knee like lightning bolts. He felt faint, but continued through until he was on his face prostrate in prayer, and began to seek Yahweh’s face.

  It was not the four hundred foot climb that was difficult; it was the massive overhangs where the angels had to literally hang by their fingertips with feet dangling over a death drop of six hundred feet down. As angels, they could not die. But the fall would place any one of them in a worse condition than Mikael and guarantee failure on their mission.

  As they were breaking the ridge past the overhang, Gabriel was in the lead. He was moving too quickly out of an impatient desire to attack their enemy.

  His foot slipped.

  But when he grabbed a rock to catch himself, it gave way and he plummeted past Raphael.

  Uriel was at the tail end and saw him coming. He fastened his foot firmly and reached out to grab Gabriel.

  He caught his wrist with his right hand and gripped the rock for all his life with his left.

  The jolt almost ripped him from the ledge. But he held it.

  Gabriel hung over the ledge, the death drop below him.

  He looked up at Uriel with gratitude.

  “Thank you, Uriel,” he gasped.

  Uriel managed a jab through gritted teeth, “I guess I saw that clay pot coming.”

  “Very funny.”

  Then Uriel crowed, “Would you like me to carry you the rest of the way? You know, like I did Noah. Since you do not seem strong enough to make it.”

  Gabriel was not going to apologize just because he was dangling over a precipice. “Why do you not just let me go? Unless you think you need me.”

  Uriel smirked and pulled Gabriel up so he could get his footing again.

  Gabriel said, “I do believe I got you on that one, brother. You have to admit it.”

  Uriel would not.

  “Come on, Uriel. I got you and you know i
t.”

  They cleared the ridge and all bickering went silent.

  They stood before the entrance of the palace of Ba’al.

  It was magnificent. It towered over them like an imposing giant. Huge pillared columns surrounded the massive entrance.

  Uriel noticed it first. “Hey, this is a counterfeit of Yahweh’s heavenly temple above the waters.”

  It was true. Ba’al’s past as one of the Bene Elohim, meant that he was intimately acquainted with the architecture of Yahweh’s temple. But whereas the heavenly temple was marble with gold trimmings, it appeared that Ba’al’s palace was megalithic stone blocks and gigantic cedar trees gilded over with silver and gold.

  Ba’al had sought to ascend to heaven above the stars of Elohim, and to set his throne on high in a new mount of assembly of the gods.

  Uriel mumbled to himself a paraphrase of a well-known Canaanite myth from the city of Ugarit, just south of their location. “I will ascend above the heights of the clouds. I will make myself like Elyon, the Most High.”

  After a pause, he finished the verse with his own words of biting contempt, “But you will be brought down to Sheol. To the far reaches of the Pit.”

  Gabriel stepped up next to Uriel and said, “Let us go bind this son of Belial and be done with him.”

  Belial was a derogatory name given to the satan Mastema for his heinous crimes against Israel. It carried the meaning of malevolent lawlessness.

  Raphael found a golden plaque at the entrance that said “House of Ba’al. Built by Kothar-wa-Hasis.”

  Uriel said, “Whoever this Kothar-wa-Hasis is, he will be one disappointed deity when we are through.”

  They drew their weapons and stormed into the palace ready for a fight.

  But the storm god was not awaiting them inside.

  The palace was empty.

  They walked cautiously into its hallways and rooms. One led to another and to another. And no one was present anywhere. It was not long before they realized that the entire edifice was like a giant maze meant to reduce one to madness. Once you were inside, you could not find your way out.