Dawn Of The Aakacarns

by John Buttrick

  Every scroll was dyed black and had white dots that reminded Jubal of the stars as he approached the table. The big circle had to be the moon, so the charts were of the night sky. After a close examination of the one being held down by Andromeda’s spear, he wondered if inking his Aakas onto papyrus would be better than etching them in clay.

  “Isis and I have been making these for years,” Artemis told him with no small amount of pride in her voice. “I can determine direction and calculate where the heavenly bodies will be at each watch of the night.” She shook her head as if in answer to a stray thought. “The charts might need constant adjusting until the axis settles in a fixed position. Even though many people believe the world is flat, the priest seems to think otherwise and has yet to be proven wrong when it comes to such statements.

  Jubal was impressed. “I didn’t know such charts existed and as for the priest, it seems wise to heed his words.” The last he added while thinking of Aakacarns and the rest of what Mel had told him.

  “Neither did most of us know of the charts,” Hades admitted. “As for the priest, his word is accepted as fact by the elders and that is good enough for me.”

  His robe of black wool extended down to the dirt floor of the pavilion. On the hunt he would be wearing the mottled green and brown pants and coat of a Weapocarn.

  Torchlight reflected in his green eyes, his dark beard was neatly trimmed, and yet no one could know just by looking at him how morbid his hobbies were.

  Poseidon, standing next to him and wearing a truly unique turquoise-colored robe, looked much like his fellow triplet except for having blue eyes, a darker complexion, and a greenish tint to his coppery skin. “We hunt by day and rarely venture out in the dark,” he added to the conversation. “What need did we have of charts until now?”

  Good point, Jubal thought, and figured the two were sent by Zeus to be advisers to his daughter, her being young and the mission so vital.

  Artemis shook her head “No need until now. We are not the only ones who have mapped the night sky,” a chuckle escaped, causing her to pause until she regained control. “Semiramis also has charts depicting the heavenly bodies and hers has lines drawn, connecting the dots into shapes to which she has given names. She not only can calculate where each body will be, she claims her zodiac, that is what she calls it, can determine future events as well.”

  “I bet she did not see this flood coming,” Cassiopeia remarked, mockingly.

  She not only matched Vivian in hair, skin, and eye color, Cassi had the same talent for visions. The idea anyone without in-born talent could use a chart of the sky to predict future events seemed to be difficult for her to accept. Jubal did not know enough about the subject to make a definitive comment, so chose not to respond.

  “She will claim to have predicted the storm and a lot of people will believe her,” Andromeda stated with a high degree of certainty in her tone. “I think that woman could talk people into believing the sky is green.”

  Roddy’s wife had a gift for speaking, a voice able to hold the attention of even the most stubborn of listeners, but Jubal was more interested in the charts and his role in the evacuation. “I see these as tools to keep us going south without getting turned around. We will be going farther than we have ever been and I am not sure how much of the sky will be visible above the forest,” he shared his concern. “What I have seen in my hunts in that direction is a lot of shaded areas where the sky can barely be seen during the day and sunlight streams down in a multitude of bright beams.”

  Orion nodded his head. “You have traveled farther south than any of us and so we take your word regarding the density of the forest.”

  “Which is why I have a special task for you,” Artemis spoke up while unrolling a green chart with circles, boxes, and triangles representing the buildings of the settlement, divided by a blue thread representing the river, and then she pointed to an oval. “This is where we need to go. As you can see it is a goodly distance. Our settlement is five thousand paces across, north to south, and so I have deemed it to be one span.”

  The distance across was three times as much east to west, but that did not change the scope of the task.

  Jubal’s eyes widened, not at her skill in determining scale, but at just how far high ground was from where he stood. “That means leading thousands of people in the dark through a dense forest at a distance equal to strolling twenty times across our settlement. How did you even determine that oval is where the high ground is?”

  Artemis raised an eyebrow as if she was surprised he would question the accuracy of her chart. “I estimated the speed at which a group of eight thousand people with flocks and herds can walk in half a night and half a day, then used that number to calculate the distance. High ground is twenty spans south of here.”

  She had spoken with confidence, almost daring him to find an error in her methods.

  Jubal did not mean to question her careful calculations, but felt the need to point out a flaw she might not have taken into account. “You mean twenty spans as the crow flies,” to which she nodded agreement, so he continued, “a viable path is likely to be neither level nor straight the whole way. Also, the priest said we could reach high ground before the flood waters come and you only accounted for your group. There are two other groups as big making the trip and they will either be following us, beside us, or ahead and possibly slowing us.”

  Poseidon chuckled. “Yes, but we will be in the lead,” he said and then winked, causing Jubal to suspect a joke was coming at his expense. Older brothers had a habit of doing such things, yet the man spoke so confidently it was hard not to believe him.

  “Isis said earlier she would take you on her team in a heartbeat as did Osiris, to which Nimrod declared, ‘Jubal hunts for him.’ You are recognized by many as a valuable asset and Herara put you under the authority of Zeus and he gave your services to me,” Artemis explained, and there was no missing the smugness in her voice. She seemed genuinely pleased to have him, a male, on her team. The responsibility given by Zeus must have sparked broad changes in her attitude.

  It took a few moments for her meaning to dawn on Jubal and for him to figure out what his special task would be. “You want me to scout the way.”

  His niece nodded. “You are going to leave immediately with one of these charts and go on ahead to high ground, learning the best path for a group of our size to take, and then you will come back and guide us,” she finally began to share her plan. “I will lead the people into the wilderness within the hour, well before the other groups start out, and follow the markings you place on the trees until you come back to guide us the rest of the way.”

  She made it all sound so simple.

  “Hermes can run faster than me if swiftness is what you need,” Jubal pointed out, not that he had any problem doing what she asked, only wanted to see if she recognized the difficulty of the task.

  “Your responsibility will be to point the way,” the words of Mel echoed in the recesses of his mind and a sudden impulse to take the assignment would not allow him to refuse, had he wanted to do so.

  “In a short sprint you would be correct, but not on a long run. My brother is two years younger than you and has far less experience in the wilderness. He will probably be a fine Weapocarn someday, but presently he is more likely to be killed by some predator. No, you are the fastest hunter, making you the one for the task.”

  Jubal nodded his head, which she likely took as acceptance, but was meant as a positive answer to his own lines of thought.

  She did realize the difficulty of the task.

  “Speak of a demon and he’ll show up,” Xerxes mumble and pointed to the rear.

  Jubal turned to see a lanky young man with golden locks enter the pavilion. In his hands were a bow and quiver of arrows that looked very familiar, especially since they had been last seen in a corner normally occupied by a certain spear that had been recently broken by a dying lion in its death roll. “Sister, I brought what y
ou requested.”

  “Very good, Hermes; give the weapons to Jubal, and then wait over there to the left. I will have a message for you to deliver to our father in a short while,” Artemis responded.

  The fellow was only eight feet high but his skinny frame made him appear taller than his actual height. He grinned and there seemed to be a sparkle in his amber eyes while handing the weapons to Jubal, who secured them to his back.

  Apollo handed over a water-skin. “Take this, uncle. You may get thirsty along the way,” he said and then stepped back. The older man always seemed to enjoy referring to the younger as uncle.

  Artemis pulled out a scroll that was about a third of the size of the others. “Use this to determine your direction in the woods,” she said and then handed him an obsidian blade. “Use this knife to mark the trees so we can follow you.”

  He nodded and secured the weapon to his belt. With a water-skin over his left shoulder and a bow and quiver of arrows on his right, he walked silently out of the pavilion.

  “We are counting on you, little brother,” Hades shouted loud enough for his voice to carry well beyond the pavilion, almost as if Jubal might not realize the importance of the task and needed a reminder.

  “We will see you again soon and well above high water,” Poseidon’s voice came a moment later in a positive tone, reflecting confidence the assignment would be accomplished.

  Jubal grabbed a torch, raised it in acknowledgment, and then started jogging to the south with the scroll tucked into his coat. Cassiopeia caught up with him and spoke softly, “Be very careful. My vision for you is unclear. I see success and great peril coming on the heels of each other. Darkness and light and terrible noise will challenge you to the utmost. The viewing went no further, but has left me with a sense of dread.”

  Countless stars twinkled in the sky above. Seeing their silent beauty made it difficult to believe a powerful storm was on the way, let alone great personal peril. He wanted to shrug off her warning or inquire smartly if she had anything encouraging to say, but knew his sister well enough to know she was deeply concerned or would not have followed him out. “I will be careful and see you in the morning,” he responded, while wondering if he had enough control of his potential to survive. Her viewing reminded him of Mel’s warning about draining the pool of energy.

  She pursed her lips doubtfully, nodded, and then circled back toward the pavilion while he continued his pace south. Folks waved their greetings to him as he passed dwelling after dwelling and soon he was running alone through the orchard. People were off harvesting the fields, leaving the groves vacant, no doubt figuring the fruit trees had a chance of surviving while the ground-level crops had none.

  Suddenly a burly man came from behind a stout tree and began jogging beside him. The Nephilim had brown hair and a beard, both wooly, and his clothing was that of a Weapocarn, although he presently bore no weapons. The hunter was only a finger nail taller than Jubal but that thick hair added three finger-widths, making him appear much taller. “I came to say I wish it was me scouting the trail.”

  Was there a slight twinkle his the amber eyes? Was he seriously disappointed, envious, or trying to make a friend feel special? With that beard it was difficult to determine.

  “Pan, you are definitely the greatest at woodcraft,” Jubal replied to his slow and bulky, but often sure-footed friend.

  “Aye, but I don’t have the speed required and that is what Artemis needed in this particular situation.”

  The skilled flute-player’s response saved the conversation from becoming awkward.

  They often worked together in the past, got along well, and had certain skillsets that complimented the other person’s. Jubal, being swifter, would flush the prey toward the silently moving Pan, who would seemingly pop out of nowhere and snare the prize.

  The wooly man began to whistle, a cheerful tune that showed he truly held no hard feelings over the fact his friend had been chosen over him for the task. The notes were pure and matched any tone a flute could produce. Pan could mimic any bird and do so in perfect pitch. Jubal could do neither, his whistles caused people to cover their ears and animals to take off running.

  “So what task did Zeus assign to you?”

  The whistling stopped. “Your brother has me pulling a cart. He says I am as strong as an ox and three times as smart, making me the more useful brute,” Pan replied.

  Jubal glanced to the side at his bulky friend. “No, I think you may be stronger than an ox.”

  “Aye, I am that, and more flooding handsome, but I take exception to being called a brute,” Pan held his face blank for a few moments and then broke into laughter.

  He had a fierce appearance on the outside, but the big fellow had a soft heart, and anyone who spent time with him would never call him a brute, clearly Zeus did not know him very well. Jubal clapped his friend on the shoulder. “I don’t think any number of oxen would have figured out a way to stay on Japheth’s Hill where his wife, a daughter of the patriarch, was about to give birth. It seems my brother has been outsmarted.”

  Pan laughed louder. “It sometimes helps to allow other people to underestimate you, try it sometime and you will see,” he replied in between breaths. Running was not conducive to talking and laughing at the same time. “Your wife is with my Natura and I trust Vashti to take proper care, so don’t think I doubt the skills of your woman, but there are two distinct heartbeats coming from Natura’s belly and I want to welcome our babies when they arrive.”

  Jubal had witnessed the births of many animals, but never a woman giving birth. He felt sure any midwife would order him to stand out of the way, but might actually give in to the calf-eyed Pan. He could appear quite pitiful when the situation warranted and the skill served him well.

  “Hey, I think it is great for you to be near your wife when she gives birth and I look forward to meeting the twins when I get back,” Jubal replied as they reached the outer end of the grove.

  “Aye, and I look forward to showing them to you,” Pan replied and veered to the right. “I know you will succeed in blazing the trail.”

  Jubal lifted the torch higher in salute and pressed on in the night. His thoughts shifted to his duty to not only find high ground, but to mark the quickest way for everyone, their carts, herds and flocks, to reach safety before the flood waters came. It was an awesome responsibility and no wonder Hades felt the need to give words to the fact. Jubal did not blame him for doing so, even if the reminder had been a trifle irritating at the time.

  Two hours into the woods brought him to the farthest point he had reached in the past. Hunting had been good to the north and east of the settlement so the Weapocarns often went in those directions rather than south or west, but never farther than half a day’s journey in any direction. They always wanted to be back before dark.

  His path for a while was straight, but soon required adjustments, which would not have been necessary had he only himself to consider. The trail needed to be wide enough for the entire caravan and he had to mark the trees with an arrow, the carving being point-up for straight ahead, or pointed left or right, depending on the best route. Artemis and her procession should have started out within an hour of his leaving and so would be well into the wilderness and much in need of those signs, and so would the other two caravans trailing farther behind them. Scouting out the best route was slowing him down but helped them immensely.

  The canopy of branches above had made the chart useless half an hour earlier, but he remembered which way was south from his previous hunting trip, and was confident of his heading.

  He could see tiny eyes glowing as the orbs were touched by the torchlight. Fortunately the sources of those glowing dots either scurried out of sight or stood perfectly still, and either way seemed to pose no threat.

  The night breeze carried a chill, but the pace he set kept him warm enough. He came to a stop and took a few moments to sip from his water-skin and that was when the howling started. The wind was blowing
out of the south and the sound of the wolves came from the west, which meant the pack was hunting but unlikely to have picked up his scent. The eyes of the canines were so keen at night they could perceive light of any kind even if the beasts could not yet smell him. The torch in his hand was a blessing and a curse, he could not see without the flame, and yet the flickering flare would be a beacon for the hungry predators.

  The howling drew closer as he contemplated the dilemma. “Fileeman could not see the glow coming from Roddy,” he began to reason, and then his earlier realization came back to him, “Only a Nephilim can see the life-force energy.”

  Nimrod’s Aaka played in Jubal’s mind and at the end of the first stanza his indigo radiance, powered by a flood of energy, lit up the area, making him feel almighty. Even so he refrained from actually focusing the potential, having a desire to keep his feet on the ground.

  He could see clearly and decided it was safe enough to extinguish the torch. After digging a hole with his knife, he rammed the flames down, smothering the fire with dirt while continuing to perform the Melody in his head. The life-force energy gave off an even glow and he preferred that over flickering flames; better still, the tiny eyes were gone, which meant the new light source did not reflect off the little watchers’ orbs.

  He walked over to a cedar and carved an arrow point-up in the trunk and then moved on. A half hour later the howling seemed to be coming from the north and the wind was still blowing out of the south, creating what could soon prove to be a problem.

  Could the threat have something to do with Cassi’s viewing of great peril?

  The thought broke his concentration, causing the Melody to cease, and resulted in plunging him into darkness. Within moments he tripped over something, probably a root, and was in the air. A split second later the ground slapped him in face, the unlit torch flew from his hand, and he lay sprawled on the forest floor. All thoughts of feeling almighty ended while he was spitting dirt and leaves out of his mouth.