by Nancy Madore
There was no denying that their king was behaving badly. It wasn’t just the foreign wives and his growing tolerance for other gods. ‘Solomon’ was pushing the northern tribes too hard, imposing forced labor and higher taxes on them while bestowing all kinds of unfair advantages on the south. The north was starting to resent the south.
But the tension didn’t stop there. The king was also showing favor to a longtime adversary of his son. He had taken young Jeroboam under his wing, while practically ignoring his own son, Rehoboam. It wasn’t just Rehoboam who resented the young upstart, but others as well, including Solomon’s own mother, Bathsheba, who sought to protect the interests of her grandson. Everyone was beginning to wonder where Solomon’s loyalties lay.
The pot continued to simmer while Asmodeous continued to alienate himself from his people. The Israelites were confused and resentful. Their king seemed preoccupied and indifferent. He was completely out of touch with what was happening in his kingdom, let alone his own household. Like the northern tribes, Rehoboam suffered one indignity after another, while Jeroboam and the southern tribes enjoyed the king’s unending support. The northern tribes were beginning to rebel through small acts of violence against the south. Meanwhile, idolatry was becoming more prevalent in Solomon’s household. And now, Solomon was raising taxes in the north yet again. The murmur of discontent was growing into a squall. Even the priests were ready to snap. Everyone turned to the prophets, desperate for a sign. “Are we to wait for God’s anger to rain down upon us before we finally take action?” they grumbled miserably.
When it seemed that the whole thing was about to blow up in their faces, Asmodeous called for Ornias. “It is time,” he said, “for us to reclaim our homeland from these imposters.”
Ornias noticed that Asmodeous seemed weary, and he knew that it was something more than just the unrest in Israel that made him so. He wondered if it had anything to do with the still missing Book of the Dead that he knew Asmodeous had never stopped searching for. Asmodeous looked at Ornias knowingly. “The soul within this body does not give up,” he confided. “It struggles against me incessantly.”
Ornias understood. That was what he hated most about coming into a new body; that initial struggle. Even after they finally stopped fighting you could still feel them, watching and resisting. It was like an unwanted visitor, observing you from within. Sometimes you would have a stray thought, and realize, suddenly, that it was not your own. It was quite disconcerting. But to have it continue for so long! Ornias couldn’t imagine it. The soul of Ahijah had long since faded into little more than an occasional hiccup.
“Maybe the former king had some Qliphoth blood in him,” Ornias suggested, “…for his soul to be so strong!”
Asmodeous seemed to consider this. “That would be something,” he said. “But it would not surprise me. It would also account for his so-called wisdom. The sons of men are not overly burdened with intelligence.”
“So what do you plan to do next?” Ornias wondered.
“Not me,” Asmodeous told him. “You.”
Ornias raised his eyebrows with interest. But he was nervous, too. Though he would never admit it to Asmodeous, he was enjoying his life as a prophet. It wasn’t just the power—though that was certainly pleasing in and of itself. But what he liked best was the opportunity to express his creative side to such a riveted audience. He loved coming up with dramatic stories to make his point. And the people listened so much better when they thought it was coming from God. The temple prostitutes adored him. No; he was not anxious to leave this situation.
“You will have a vision…or whatever it is you call them,” Asmodeous told him. “And you will relate the prophesy to my son’s sworn enemy, Jeroboam.”
“What prophecy?” Ornias asked.
Asmodeous smiled. “That Jeroboam is to be king of the ten tribes in the north. He will lead the rebellion from the house of Solomon.”
Ornias was aghast. “Jeroboam! In the north! Do you think the people will agree to it? Do you think he’ll agree to it?”
Asmodeous laughed. “Jeroboam is an arrogant young man, and I have intentionally fostered that arrogance. He will be very pleased to have been chosen.”
“Yes, but isn’t Jeroboam rather fond of you…or should I say, the king?”
Again Asmodeous laughed. “He is fonder of power, I think.”
Ornias gulped. If this went badly he would be the one blamed. There was nothing more despised in the land of Israel than a false prophet.
“I will send him on an errand,” Asmodeous continued, heedless of Ornias’ reservations. “You will meet him outside Jerusalem and deliver the good news there.”
Ornias was a nervous wreck. Yet his flair for intrigue had been piqued. An idea was already brewing for how to convey the ‘prophesy.’ One way or another, he would be making history—he might as well make it memorable.
So Ornias met Jeroboam outside Jerusalem as instructed, wearing a beautiful new cloak that he had purchased especially for the occasion. Jeroboam seemed surprised to be approached by the eminent prophet, and Ornias was reminded of all that he would lose if things didn’t go as Asmodeous planned (though perhaps a dreadful end to Ornias’ happy life was precisely what Asmodeous had planned, Ornias couldn’t help thinking resentfully).
Having Jeroboam’s full attention, Ornias whipped the elegant cloak from his shoulders with a dramatic flourish and tore it into twelve pieces. He handed ten of the pieces to Jeroboam, saying; “Take ten pieces for yourself, for this is what the God of Israel says; 'See, I am going to tear the kingdom out of Solomon's hand and give you ten tribes.'"
Jeroboam stared at Ahijah in astonishment, but Ornias could also see ambition burning there. “But—why would God do this?” he asked.
Ornias had his answer ready. “Solomon has displeased the God of Israel,” he said piously. “For God Himself said to me: ‘The reason why is that the house of Israel has left me and begun to bow down to Ashtoreth the goddess of the Sidonians, and to Chemosh the god of Moab and to Milcom the god of the sons of Ammon’”—these were, in fact, the very gods Asmodeous had encouraged his wives to worship—“And,” continued Ornias, warming to the part he was playing in this drama—“God went on to say; ‘Solomon has not walked in my ways by doing what is right in my eyes and my statutes and my judicial decisions like David his father. But I shall not take the entire kingdom out of his hand, for the sake of David my servant whom I chose, because he kept my commandments and my statutes.’”
Ornias examined Jeroboam’s face to see if he believed what he was telling him. There was no doubt that he wanted to. Ornias could see that the idea appealed to him.
“God has made you a promise,” Ornias was quick to add. “God said; ‘And it must occur that, if you obey all that I shall command you, and you do walk in my ways and actually do what is right in my eyes by keeping my statutes and my commandments—just as David my servant did—I will also prove to be with you, and I will build you a lasting house, just as I have built for David, and I will give you Israel.’”
By now Jeroboam was glowing so radiantly that he might have actually been the chosen one of Israel, for all Ornias knew. They were both completely mesmerized by the roles that Asmodeous had created for them.
Jeroboam believed the prophet and immediately began campaigning for his new post, brazenly enlisting supporters from the northern tribes in his confidence that they were already his. With God on his side, what had he to fear? He discussed strategies for becoming king with the priests, who by now, had been brought in on Ahijah’s prophesy. Most of the priests encouraged Jeroboam. After all, they, too, were outraged by their king’s appalling behavior. But then, just when it seemed like everything was going to turn out exactly as Asmodeous predicted, it was Asmodeous himself who turned it all upside down, by issuing an order for Jeroboam’s death! Without a word to anyone, Jeroboam fled Israel to hide out in Egypt.
The people of Israel were stunned, particularly the northern tr
ibes who had supported Jeroboam. Running away was an unusual thing for a chosen one to do. It didn’t say much for his faith in God’s ability to protect him. All eyes turned toward the prophet who had named him. Ornias was livid.
“The coward! The slinking, slithering son of a Babylonian donkey”—in his anger Ornias often lapsed into the talk of the local priests. “I’ll smash his conniving brainpan against the temple walls. I’ll sacrifice his entrails to the gods. I’ll…!”
But Asmodeous remained unperturbed. “Ornias, you would think to listen to you that you really were a prophet for the God of Israel,” he observed, amused. “Has the heat of the sun turned your brains to pudding? Jeroboam has acted exactly as I hoped he would.”
Ornias just stared at Asmodeous resentfully. This seemed to amuse Asmodeous all the more.
“Now that Jeroboam has gathered supporters against Solomon and his son, Rehoboam, our plan is secure,” Asmodeous assured him. “I had to get him out of Israel before Rehoboam killed him. Otherwise it would have all been for not. No, it is good that Jeroboam is in Egypt. He will be safe there until I die.”
Ornias continued to simmer silently. What of my life, he wondered. What will happen to me?
“Tell the priests that God sent an angel to warn Jeroboam of my plot to kill him.” Asmodeous continued. “Say that God wanted him to await my death in Egypt. Yes, Ornias, you’ll be saddened to know that your beloved king is not long for this world,” he added dryly. “I shall be moving on presently. And then all of you shall be freed from the power of the ring.”
Ornias was suddenly embarrassed. With the disaster seemingly averted, he was a little ashamed of his cowardly behavior. Not to mention his strange attachment to the people of Israel—who had done everything in their power to destroy the Qliphoth. And too, he couldn’t help feeling a little grateful—even if begrudgingly—of Asmodeous’ ever constant concern for their future. Ornias sighed heavily. It was the ever present influence of the flesh. One couldn’t help growing attached to it, and everything it was connected to, including, even, its possessions. Only Asmodeous seemed immune to it. In fact, he seemed to be looking forward to this opportunity to move on.
Despite these realizations, Ornias couldn’t help feeling a little bit pleased. If he so chose, he would be able to continue in Israel as one of the most powerful prophets of their time—provided it all turned out the way Asmodeous said it would (and by now, Ornias was beginning to think that Asmodeous was never wrong). In that case, Ornias would live out his days in comfort. He thought of the prostitutes outside the temple walls and sighed contentedly.
“It was God who sent Jeroboam to Egypt,” he told the priests confidently. “It is His wish that Israel remain united until Solomon’s death.” Ornias was in up to his neck now, and he was determined to see it through. He had quoted God directly in claiming that Jeroboam would be king of the ten northern tribes. He was already doomed if that didn’t happen.
King Solomon died, Asmodeous disappeared without a word and the Qliphoth of Kiriath Arba were freed. The ring that held them—Solomon’s ring—was nowhere to be found. Whether it had been destroyed or hidden Ornias couldn’t say—but if it had been destroyed, they reasoned, countless other Qliphoth who’d been trapped in it by the Israelites would have been released. There was no sign of these. Perhaps they were caught up in the parallel world that separated the living from the dead. Or perhaps Asmodeous had taken the ring with him after releasing his brethren. There was no telling with Asmodeous. He acted on his own, but always in the interests of the ‘greater good,’ for the Nephilim race. He would do what he thought best, regardless of the consequences to others.
Upon Solomon’s death, his son Rehoboam was instantly proclaimed king over all of Israel. But Solomon’s son was headstrong and spoiled, and—thanks to Asmodeous—bitterly jealous of Jeroboam and resentful of all who supported him. As a result, he hated the northern tribes.
Everything appeared to be going exactly as planned. But then, in a surprising gesture, representatives from the northern tribes approached Rehoboam in an effort to reconcile with him and the two remaining tribes in the south. They would support him as their king, they said, if he would ease the burden placed on them by his father. Rehoboam, usually so rash and arrogant, actually agreed to think about it.
Ornias was worried sick. To make matters worse, the priests unanimously embraced this opportunity and urged the young king to reach out to the people in the north. The prophets, however, seemed reluctant to take a stand. Ahijah had an impressive record. What if he was right? But then again, what if he was wrong? Whichever way they went, they risked being a false prophet. They blamed Ahijah. His prophecy was, quite frankly, too precise. Better to remain obscure at the outset and fill in the details after the fact—on the historical end. For him to have made such extraordinary claims so far in advance—perhaps it really was a message from God! Why else would Ahijah take such a chance? Many believed on the sheer brazenness of the prophecy. Others thought the prophet had gone mad.
Ornias roamed about the temple like a jilted puppet. But though his insides were quaking he remained adamant. “God has spoken,” he kept insisting. In fact, it was all he could say. Any further effort at speech would have surely resulted in the cracking of his voice and then a total, complete meltdown. At night, in bed, he gave way to weeping, and actually prayed a few times for a sign, for old time’s sake, if only to preserve the life of the prophet Ahijah. All logic had left him. He didn’t want to give up his life in Israel. What was the point, after all, if you couldn’t put down roots?
In a desperate move, Ornias began to spy on Rehoboam, with thoughts of everything from bribery to murder. He admonished the priests on the futility of trying to delay God’s will, and even hinted at the wrath that would be stirred towards those resisting it. He asked Rehoboam’s advisors; “Does a king begin his reign by apologizing for the actions of his father? And what if he does give the people what they want? They will only despise him for his weakness in the end. His only hope is to assert his authority now!”
At last King Rehoboam reached a decision. Ornias held his breath as he waited for the young man to speak.
“My father, for his part, made your yoke heavy,” he began in a quiet voice. He seemed thoughtful, and even rather kingly, Ornias couldn’t help thinking as his knees began to buckle. “But I, for my part, shall add to your yoke!” finished the foolish king.
Ornias almost fainted with relief. Everyone else stood frozen in stunned disbelief. Ornias examined the king, but he could not detect Asmodeous in his countenance. Could Rehoboam really be this reckless? It was not just a rejection of the ten tribes’ offer. It was a mockery of it.
“My father chastised you with whips,” Rehoboam continued, his voice rising with authority. “But I shall chastise you with scourges.”
The people were aghast. Even Ornias was astounded by the king’s audacity. He could see the men turning angry and cold. It was all he could do not to jump up and down with glee!
The northern tribes, of course, revolted, and Jeroboam returned to Israel to become their king, exactly as Ahijah foretold. Rehoboam was left with the two remaining tribes, Judah and Benjamin, which from that day forward became known simply as, Judah.
Chapter 33
Fort Greely, Alaska
Amanda gazed, unseeing, at the computer screen in front of her, wondering how she would endure another day. The hours seemed to drag on interminably. It was only mid-morning, but it already seemed like the longest day of her life. She couldn’t rest—she didn’t dare rest—for, when she did, she seemed to come out of it weaker and…dimmer. It was as if she were evaporating. It had been a particularly long night though, and Amanda could feel herself waning despite her efforts. It was getting harder to distinguish her own thoughts from those of the creature inside her. Throughout the night, she’d thrashed about helplessly in a flurry of strange and unfamiliar notions, like an insect caught up in a whirlpool. While the creature slept, shock
ing images, unlike anything she’d seen before, flashed before her eyes. Yet they seemed so real! She saw foreign lands and outlandish people—little people, much smaller than her! It was a peculiar scene that might have been fascinating, but was, instead, inexplicably disturbing. The images filled Amanda with a tremendous sense of loss. She wondered, vaguely, if she was dreaming. It seemed more likely that these were the dreams of the creature sleeping inside her.
This idea both shocked and intrigued Amanda and she felt herself opening slightly, to allow the encroaching thoughts in. She saw a man who was masculine, masterful and unspeakably beautiful. Her soul seemed to shudder and jolt—until she realized that the man was not really a man at all, but a fierce monster. He was one of them! And oh, how fearsome he was—unlike anything Amanda had seen so far—with two heads that were so dissimilar they appeared to be at odds with each other. The sight was both awe-inspiring and devastating. And yet, somehow, Amanda knew that the monster was really a man, for she recognized the haunting beauty and amazing strength, both of which remained intact, regardless of the shape he took. The sight of the man-monster filled Amanda with strange longings for things she couldn’t identify. She realized suddenly that the man-monster was speaking to her—imploring her to do something—but she couldn’t understand what he was saying. And yet she comprehended that something terrible was about to happen.
And then she saw another man. He was an ordinary man, just like her, but he was disguised as something else. He wore a mask that looked like something that had been recovered from an ancient burial ground. Her mind seemed to be replaying a scene from a drama she’d never seen before. She felt a strange, inexplicable hatred for the man—who abruptly silenced the beautiful monster and trapped him inside a ring!
Asmodeous! The word shot through Amanda with surprising force, like an electric current, and it took her a minute to realize that she had spoken the name out loud. Was it Amanda or the thing inside her that said it?