Noah Primeval (Chronicles of the Nephilim)

by Brian Godawa

  “Prepare to be an eternal meal!” yelled Tubal-cain.

  Uriel was not about to let that happen. He sheathed his sword, reached in his cloak and pulled out a ram’s horn he had secreted from them until now. He put it to his mouth and blew for all his life. The deafening sound rolled out in shockwaves, blowing down shades with concussive force. It spread out in a ring around them.

  “You are full of surprises,” said Noah.

  “I take back my criticisms of you,” said Methuselah.

  “It will not last,” said Uriel.

  Methuselah wondered briefly if Uriel was talking of his effect on Methuselah or on the shades.

  The effect did not last. The downed shades were soon over-run by a new wave of shades, climbing over the others, mouths munching, tightening their circle once more. Uriel gave another hearty blow. The sound waves pushed the swarms back again. But this time, not as far. It had decreasing effect.

  Uriel put the trumpet to his lips a third time. But before he could blow, they were all thrown off their feet by a massive earthquake. The ground exploded upward all around them. Seven giant ten-cubit tall warriors burst out of the ground. They rose from the earth like rulers standing to make judgment. They looked like Nephilim, but were taller and more regal. The shades laid down in submission before them.

  “What are they?” asked Noah.

  “Rephaim,” replied Uriel. “Souls of the giant warrior kings. Demigods like the Nephilim, only more powerful. These were imprisoned here at the Titanomachy.”

  Memories flooded into Methuselah’s mind. One of those Rephaim had killed his wife’s family and he had given it a permanent limp with his blade.

  “Is that who you were calling on your trumpet?” said Noah.

  “No,” said Uriel.

  Methuselah put in his two shekels, “I have a feeling we would prefer to be eaten by the shades.”

  Uriel made one last blow on his ram’s horn.

  It was a quiet evening in the city of Kur on Mount Hermon. The new moon sacrifice was still weeks away. The villagers were in their homes asleep past the midnight hour. Hardly anyone noticed the faint echo of Uriel’s trumpet resounding from the depths of Sheol.

  Higher up the mountain on the north slope, just below the tree line, the nightlife fell silent. The crickets stopped. Wild rodents froze in their tracks, their eyes darting around in fear.

  A blindingly brilliant light abruptly burst from the heavens above to the forest floor. It cut through the night like a dagger, and just as suddenly, it was gone. Darkness filled in the breach.

  In a matter of seconds, three dark riders on horseback burst out of the brush from where the light had burned its path to the earth. The savage looking warriors, with armor that looked similar to that of the Nephilim, urged their fierce stallions onward. They rode with deliberation down the mountain toward the ziggurat on the south side.

  Chapter 16

  Lugalanu stared into the flames of his hearth. He was heartsick, and his mind drifted into the consideration of new directions for his life.

  A maidservant interrupted his thoughts. “My lord?” she said for the third time. It was the first he heard. He looked up at her and she nodded. In a flash he was up out of his chair and rushing down the hallway to the maidservant’s quarters.

  He arrived in time to hear the wail of a newborn child filling the darkly lit chamber. He rushed over to the quarantined area and whisked the curtains aside. Emzara lay cradling a baby boy in her arms. She was drenched with sweat, beaming ear to ear. Lugalanu smiled at her.

  She had rejected the ashipu shaman and his birth magic, and refused to cradle the traditional bronze amulet to fend against infant death. The amulet carried an image of a pazuzu on one side and an incantation on the back for warding off Lamashtu, a demoness believed to cause miscarriage. Emzara clung instead to Elohim as her protector and provider. She needed no other.

  “His name shall be Canaanu,” said Lugalanu in anticipation of their naming ceremony.

  “I shall call him Ham,” she said. They had agreed she would have the right to call him her own name in secret, just as he had allowed her to retain her own family name within their private company.

  The other maidservants cleaned up the bed sheets and tidied the room in preparation for Emzara’s recovery. Lugalanu drew close to Emzara and whispered affectionately into her ears, “Emzara, if you were my wife, I would take no other bride.”

  “Why do you desire me so?” she asked.

  “Why do you resist me so?” he responded.

  Two priestesses of Inanna arrived with a bassinet. Their bald elongated heads and tattooed bodies still repulsed Emzara. Especially when she considered what they were there for and what they would do to her only son. That son was her only link to her beloved husband who she was not supposed to know was still alive, who may never discover that she was still breathing.

  Emzara’s eyes filled with pain. Lugalanu had been good to her, but she had no choice in this matter. Slowly, she raised the child to the priestesses, who took him and gently placed him into the bassinet.

  “He will be a servant of the goddess Inanna,” Lugalanu said. “He will serve in her temple for the rest of his life.”

  “At least he will live,” she sighed in resignation.

  “At least,” said Lugalanu. It was a great pain to him to do this. He had become deeply in love with this woman. Even though he detested everything the child was, even though his instinct was to kill it, as one would obviously destroy every last seed of one’s enemy, he would not do so. He knew that would forever destroy his chance to win Emzara.

  He was beginning to wonder if he was only deceiving himself. He had been so confident he could woo Emzara over the last year. He would take ten years to do so if he had to. A hundred years even. It represented the one thing that was unattainable in his reality, and it became the one thing he wanted more than anything else; more than the riches, more than the power, more than his exalted status with the gods and rulership of the people. As he looked into her eyes, he could see the goodness, the truth, the beauty that had evaded him his entire life, and he wanted it to all be willingly surrendered to him. The one true thing he could not have was the one thing he was willing to devote the rest of his life to get. He would wait. He would remain patient, no matter how many years it took.

  A messenger entered the room and approached Lugalanu. The priest-king lost his temper, “Must I be constantly interrupted? May I have one moment of peace?”

  “I am sorry, your lordship. But the Gibborim have returned.” Lugalanu looked up, surprised. He did not see that Emzara’s eyes went wide with anticipation.

  Lugalanu asked, “Was their mission objective achieved?” He had forgotten that Emzara saw him commission the Nephilim that day months ago. He certainly did not know she was aware Noah was still alive. So he spoke in generalities, referring to official matters that he expected she would not understand.

  Emzara hid her emotions in response to the news of her beloved.

  “No, my king,” said the messenger.

  Emzara’s heart leapt for joy. He got away? Her Noah had escaped the mighty Gibborim?

  “That is, there was no capture,” the messenger continued. “Their quarry, I am told, fell into Sheol.”

  Emzara’s heart broke. She trembled. It was all she could do to keep from weeping. But her life depended on it, and the life of her son too, so she held back with all her might.

  “Sheol,” repeated Lugalanu. “Hmmm. The jaws of Sheol are never satisfied, and he who goes down does not come up. I suppose I could not ask for better news.”

  Emzara could not ask for more crushing news. Everything she stayed alive and fought for was just murdered in front of her eyes. Questions flooded her soul. Was Elohim truly in control? What about the Revelation? How could he let such evil prosper and have victory, while the righteous perish? Had she wasted her entire life believing in a God whose will could be thwarted?

  Her faith hung on by
a slender thread. She did not understand Elohim, but she trusted him. This was another opportunity to express that trust, if it was as real as she had claimed.

  The priestesses took baby Ham through the underground tunnel into Inanna’s temple district. There, in a special room, they immediately began the process of cranial modification for servants of Anu. Newborns have soft pliable skulls whose plates were not fused for the first couple years of their lives as their skulls accommodated brain growth. The priestesses placed two curved pieces of wood on the front and back of Ham’s little head. In effect, they maintained the original egg-like protrusion of the skull after birth. The pieces of wood were held tightly in place by connecting twine cables wound around a knob that could be tightened to increase pressure. They had to be careful not to crush the infant’s skull.

  Ham’s frightened crying would soon be mitigated as he got used to the contraption. As he aged, less constrictive means could be used to finalize the head binding process until he was about two years old.

  Herbal potions to kill all the hair on the body would not be necessary until the child was at least a teen and became more involved in the duties of the temple. Body piercing and tattooing would finalize the child’s dedication to temple service around age sixteen or so. The entire process was rather monkish. Emzara would not be allowed to see her son until he was publicly dedicated at age sixteen. Even after that, he would be withheld from her. Priests and priestesses were not allowed to fraternize with the court servants. The caste system was harshly enforced throughout the kingdom. The only way Emzara would ever be able to have satisfying contact with her son would be if she became royalty by accepting Lugalanu’s hand in marriage.

  The Tigris and Euphrates Rivers poured into the Lower Sea at the edge of the earth. The body of water teamed with life. Seagoing vessels traded with distant lands. Others fished for the river cities close to the sea, like Eridu. Eridu was the oldest Sumerian city and was ruled by its patron god of the Abyss, Enki. It was the city of the first kings when kingship came down from heaven. Eridu’s status had dwindled over the years as kingship transferred to other cities, ever since Inanna’s treachery toward Enki.

  Legend said that Enki had originally been given guardianship of the Tablet of Destinies, a tablet containing the universal decrees of heaven and earth, including godship, kingship, war, sex, music as well as magic, sorceries and occultic wisdom. Enlil, the Lord of the Air, who reigned over the city of Nippur up the river, collected the information on this tablet. Enlil had given it to Enki for safe-keeping, but Inanna was envious of Enki and crafted a plan to wrest the Tablet away from him and bring it to Erech.

  She took her “boat of heaven” down the river and visited Enki, who laid out a feast of celebration for her. Enki fed Inanna butter-cakes and beer, but Inanna was calculating and got Enki drunk enough for him to hand over the Tablet to her. She then fled back to Erech with it on her boat of heaven. By the time Enki had come to his senses and sent his vizier after Inanna, it was too late. She had delivered the Tablet of Destinies to Erech, which became the new center of culture and civilization. Enki brooded bitterly at being double-crossed so boldly by Inanna. He had not even gotten an act of copulation out of the exchange, which made him even more furious. One day, he would have his revenge on Inanna. But he would have to be patient. Besides, he was not the only one betrayed by the machinations of the goddess. Her reckless pursuit of power would surely one day result in more than one deity seeking vengeance against her.

  One of those deities who might consider joining in revenge against Inanna was Enlil, Lord of the Air. Originally, he had shared patronage with Inanna over the city of Nippur, before the Titanomachy. Even though she had been humiliated after her failure in that war, losing the city to his kingship, he still carried the scars of her conniving skullduggery against him. He would never be satisfied until she was bound in the earth.

  Ninhursag, the earth goddess, also had a grudge against Inanna. Ninhursag was patron deity of Kish, which lay farther up the Euphrates, past Erech and Nippur in the northern regions. But because of her cavorting liaison with Enki, she also had a temple in Eridu. The Watchers’ myths, which sought to replace Elohim’s creation story, gave Ninhursag the titles Ninmah, “Great Queen,” and Nintu, “Lady of Birth,” claiming she created man out of the clay of her womb. She knew Inanna had her eye on Ninhursag’s throne, because she was the one “female” deity of the four high gods And Inanna envied Ninhursag’s amorous entanglement with Enki.

  The hierarchy of the pantheon was always at risk for challenge, and it was no secret Inanna was the most ambitious of them all. She had managed to make herself consort of Anu, which was clearly positioning. Anu did not seem to care. He enjoyed the heightened experience that her passionate temper brought to her sexual perversions. She was creative and bizarre. Anu took pleasure in the bizarre.

  Inanna, it seemed, was building up a cadre of enemies within her own camp that did not bode well for her future.

  The Lower Sea was a couple leagues downriver from Eridu, with its western shoreline along the winding desert coast. Just off this shoreline, the bodies of Methuselah, Tubal-cain, and Jubal floated dead in the water.

  A fourth figure broke the surface and grabbed the bodies. He swam toward shore with a mighty strength.

  Uriel dragged the bodies onto the sand. He massaged their lungs and squeezed their stomachs until they coughed up the water in their lungs and gulped air. Jubal, being the youngest and healthiest, came to first. One by one, Uriel revived them all.

  They were alive. At first, they did not know where they were or how they got there. But it started to come back to them. They had been captured by the Rephaim in Sheol and imprisoned by their gigantic captors. But they had not been privy to the details of the negotiations for their release.

  “Why did they let us go, Uriel?” asked Tubal-cain.

  “They cannot hold archangels in Sheol. And I would not leave without you.”

  Methuselah spat sand from his mouth. “Where is Noah?” he asked.

  “They required a ransom for those released,” Uriel replied.

  Methuselah did not follow this logic. “Noah is trapped in Sheol? Why on earth would you leave behind the one man who should not have been left behind? I would have given myself in his place.” His anger with this so-called guardian rushed up.

  “Noah gave himself in your place,” said Uriel. “I could not stop him. He told the Rephaim he was the Chosen Seed.”

  The men could not believe what they heard. They refused to accept it.

  “We have to go back,” said Tubal-cain.

  “No.” Uriel responded as quickly as they had.

  Methuselah would have none of it. “Are you shirking your responsibility, or are you planning on storming Sheol by yourself, you crazy angel?” he shouted.

  “No,” replied Uriel. “I have a few crazy associates who are going to help me.”

  Methuselah looked behind them. On the beach, three warrior horsemen waited. They got off their steeds and walked toward the men like wraiths of judgment. Jubal and Methuselah gasped in fear. But the men had nothing to fear. Their wrath was for the Rephaim holding the Chosen Seed in the pit of Sheol.

  The three warriors walked right past them. Uriel joined them. They walked into the water up to their waists and dove in, disappearing from view. Before he dove after them, Uriel turned and shouted to the men, “Go to the Hidden Valley as Noah commanded. Methuselah, you have the plans.”

  Methuselah responded, “Uriel, if you find one of the Rephaim with a limp, give him my special regards.” He was referring to the Rapha named Yahipan. He had permanently wounded the giant many years before in the uprising called the Gigantomachy. Uriel knew the personal loss that Methuselah had suffered at the hands of Yahipan. He would be sure to deliver the message with deadly accuracy.

  With that, Uriel turned back and disappeared beneath the surface.

  Methuselah pulled out the leather piece tightly packed in his clo
ak. He opened it up and looked at the cuneiform Noah had scratched into it.

  “You heard the archangel, men. We have a commission, now let us fulfill it,” barked Methuselah.

  Chapter 17

  The pit was unimaginably deep. It was only about ten cubits in diameter, its walls black, and solid, unbreakably hard, unscalable rock. It dropped down immeasurable leagues. It was so deep, one could not see the bottom. But there was a bottom eventually, and it was the furthest depth of Sheol. It was Tartarus, a place of imprisonment at the uttermost distance from the presence of Elohim. Perpetual darkness, impenetrable silence, and absolute isolation. It was said that Tartarus was as far below Sheol as the earth was below the heavens.

  Noah was incarcerated at the very bottom of those depths. He had a flat stone to sleep on. A single oil lamp, refueled only when food was occasionally lowered down in a basket, gave a little patch of light. Noah was, after all, still alive. It would not do well for the forces of darkness to have the Chosen Seed dead, for he would only be replaced by someone else. His captors were so certain of their prison, they took nothing from him, leaving even his dagger on his person.

  Noah looked up toward the heavens, which he could only imagine were so far away it would not matter what he yelled. But he yelled anyway. “ELOHIM! WHY HAVE YOU DONE THIS TO ME?!”

  His voice did not echo up the leagues of empty cavern walls as one would expect. Instead, it was stifled like whispers in a coffin, as if the words could not go beyond his own hearing, as if the words did not extend beyond his lips. He sat in a vortex where sound and reality swirled right back into him in absolute solitary confinement. Noah had complained for so long about wanting to be left alone. Now he had his wish—to the utmost. He was finally, totally and utterly, alone.