Dawn Of The Aakacarn
Genesis Of The Maestros: Book One
By John A Buttrick
Copyright 2017
Cover Art By Jennifer Buttrick
Books by John A Buttrick:
Fighting Temptation - Non-fiction
Christ’s Lesson’s On The Mount – Non-fiction
The Wanderers – Fiction 12+
The Maestro Chronicles
Book 1 - To Cast the First Spell – Fiction
Book 2 - To Challenge a Maestro – Fiction
Book 3 - To Be Chosen - Fiction
Book 4 - To Be A Maestro – Fiction
Book 5 - To Be Grand Maestro – Fiction
Book 6 - To Be Victorious – Fiction
Genesis of the Maestros
Book – 1 Dawn of the Aakacarns - Fiction
Forth coming books:
To Wear the Trident, The Maestro Chronicles Book 7 in 2018
Fall of the Aakacarns, Genesis of the Maestros Book 2 in 2019
Contents
Chapter One: The Hunt
Chapter Two: The Purpose
Chapter Three: A Certain Glow About Him
Chapter Four: Scouting Ahead
Chapter Five: And The Rains Came Down
Chapter Six: A Good Place To Settle
Chapter Seven: Let The Lesson Begin
Chapter Eight: Semidon.
Chapter Nine: A Better Way
Chapter Ten: The Cost Of An Arrow
Chapter Eleven: Useful Resources
Chapter Twelve: Visitors Are A Distraction
Chapter Thirteen: Who Rules?
Chapter Fourteen: What Might Be Possible
Chapter Fifteen: Progress
Chapter Sixteen: Vantage Points
Chapter Seventeen: All Settled In
Chapter Eighteen: The Need To Act
Chapter Nineteen: Fight or Flight
Chapter Twenty: We Go Tonight
Chapter Twenty-One: Extraction
Chapter Twenty-Two: Confrontation
Chapter Twenty-Three: Consequences
Chapter One: The Hunt
Jubal scanned the forest floor while trying to settle his mind and gain better control of his emotions. A broken twig here and a paw print there were signs leading to what he sought. His pulse throbbed at a wild rate, he could feel it in his ears, not because of the speed at which he moved or the great distance travelled, it was pure horror at the image burned into his mind that had his heart pounding a rapid rhythm. He should have been afraid of the danger but sorrow and anger were so strong in him there was little room to feel other emotions, certainly not enough to fear for his own safety.
He could run hours more without overly taxing the energy of spirit that powered his limbs, so had no fear of being overwhelmed by physical exhaustion, at least not yet. It was the mental stress that had him on the verge of collapse.
Dark shadows cast by tall trees stretched away from the sinking sun and made the hunt all the more difficult, yet not enough to thwart him, not a man of his skills. He ducked under low hanging branches and ran through thick foliage, resolute his quarry would not get away and justice would be served.
He spotted a pair of paw prints, dropped to his hands; one fisted on the ground and the other gripping his spear, and determined upon closer examination, the beast made a lunge to the right, at least one of them did. The two had separated quite a ways back and he could only follow one, so had no clue where the other went. Judging by the size and depth of the impressions, the creature he intended to catch was no small animal to contend with, but that much was already known.
The vivid and fresh memory of the torn body kept flashing in his mind’s eye and he needed to regain control of himself or risk running into disaster. He stopped, leaning against an oak, not to catch his breath, but to organize his thoughts. After a brief period of silent meditation and glancing right and left, he took up the chase at a slower, more deliberate pace.
Two hundred strides brought him to the base of a tall tree on the edge of a clearing as stories told by his mother, father, and grandparents, came to mind. Picking one of the tales would hopefully allow him to keep his eyes and ears sharp while clearing his head of the ghastly images; mainly entrails and mangled body parts strewn all over the ground. The last thought did not help so he dug deeper, to a time of greater distress.
The great deluge was a mere two centuries in the past, one hundred eighty years before he was born, and had changed the world forever. Neither Shem nor Noah, not even Herara or Vivian, would say in what way, other than to tell of a world that had been full of violence and corruption. Perhaps they were afraid a detailed account of the earlier goings-on would lead to a repeat of the evil practices and consequently earn again the wrath of the Almighty, which nobody in their right mind wanted to do, not even the heartiest of swimmers.
The thought prompted Jubal to wonder if he was in his right mind, him hunting solo in the wilderness, yet thinking of his elders and the Creator helped to lower his heart rate, gain perspective, and to believe he had made the correct decision in going out.
The elders seemed bent on forgetting the failures of old and looking to the future and Jubal pondered the wisdom in that. “Yes, I’ll look to the future,” he thought but did not say out loud for fear of making a sound. He sensed his quarry was near.
The forest was quiet, which meant the critters were hiding either from him or something that frightened them even more. He was keenly aware of the different tones made by all sorts of creatures, even the natural elements like thunder and wind, and the sudden absence of what he came to think of as notes, the varying pitches and rhythms of sound emanating from the world, stood out starkly in contrast.
Being a hunter meant he killed in order to provide meat for people to eat or to protect them from predators, his was a violent occupation, and yet never did he use his skills to harm people. Violence among men was on the increase and that worried him some. Could their striving against one another lead to another deluge? Surely the elders would warn everyone if the world was getting close to the level of violence that triggered the flood, would they not?
His eyes swept the area while his thoughts went to the pair of ancients. “Live in peace, be fruitful, multiply, and fill the earth,” they would say whenever asked what was expected of humanity.
The wayward thoughts were not settling his nerves so he concentrated on something that would. He had a talent for producing and arranging tones in a manner pleasing to the ear and had even created a written form, most often set in clay, so others could play their flutes and lyres along with him. Well-played tunes were a balm to the soul and could bring a great amount of joy to the performer as well as the listener.
He noted winged insects fluttering nearby and the sight inspired a pleasant series of tones along with a joyous rhythm. Within a few minutes his heart was much lighter, even though he never lost sight of where he was and what needed to be done.
The task he had taken upon himself would correct a problem to the benefit of the community, although it had more to do with protecting human life than increasing the population. He intended to do his part in meeting the overall expectation to be fruitful and get back to it just as soon as the current mission was done. A life had been brutally taken. The population had recently suffered a decrease and he meant to do something about that.
People were taking the command to be fruitful and multiply to heart and a whole lot of babies had been born in recent years and all males and females of marrying age were encouraged to enter matrimony. Those who waited too long in the judgment of the elders had their mates selected for them. Not all of those marriages turned out to be happy ones, Jubal had observed.
However way
the marriages were formed, there were few unwed couples and many pregnant women. The average woman gave birth to a child every other year and it was not unusual for some of them to give birth to twins or triplets. Even as he contemplated the fact while sniffing the breeze in an attempt to catch the scent of his pray, babies were being born.
Unfortunately, flowerily scents overwhelmed all of the other smells being carried by the wind and nullified the attempt to use his nose to locate the predator. Rather than be frustrated at the failure, he thought of the woman waiting for him to come home. Thinking of his newly-wedded wife always made him feel more confident.
When married; each person would leave their father and mother, come together, build a dwelling, and begin raising a family of their own. It was a practice that remained unbroken since before Jubal was born and was likely to carry on into the foreseeable future.
He had waited longer than most to formalize a relationship, being in no hurry until receiving unsought for but timely advice. “You better ask Vashti soon,” his older brother Arphaxad, older by eight decades, had warned him, a warning heeded shortly thereafter, especially when Arie added, “Mother is looking over several prospects for you and you know when Herara makes up her mind there is no changing it.”
Jubal knew full well the futility of shifting the lofty woman who had given birth to him from a set course of action and so a day later he married Vashti, one of the many daughters of Japheth and Lilith. Half a month into their efforts to increase the population, the tragedy occurred. The thought brought his mind back to the reason he was far from her and standing under a tree.
Jubal wished he was by her side rather than out in the cold with evening on the way, yet necessity dictated otherwise. It was not so much necessity; he had to admit, but a deep and perhaps reckless need to take action. He had ventured alone into the wilderness, after all, instead of waiting for his fellow hunters to assemble.
His two decades of life seemed as nothing compared with the years of his father, Shem, who was over three hundred, and grandfather, Noah, who was over eight, yet Jubal had a difficult time believing the dangerous years before the flood could have been any worse than being alone in a dense forest with hungry lions on the prowl, not to mention wolves, bears, and venomous serpents.
Elam, Asshur, Medica, Arphaxad, Lud, Aram, Kronos, and the triplets; Zeus, Hades and Poseidon were decades older than Jubal and the rest of his brothers and sisters ages ranged down from there, except the last. Victoria, at age seventeen was the last child of their mother and no one knew if Herara would give birth to another, she being as old as Shem. Of all the children born to the couple, Kronos, the triplets, Jubal, and Victoria were the only Nephilim, the rest were tiny like the vast majority of humanity, although all of the triplets’ sons and daughters were Nephilim, as were the children of Kronos and his wife, Rhea. Jubal and his siblings, actual age of each aside, were first generation, first-gens, being sons and daughters of Shem and Herara.
The chilly breeze was strong enough to rustle leaves and sway the branches of the tree he was hiding behind, but the cold did not loosen the grip on the spear clenched in his right hand, nor did it interfere with his concentration. Thoughts of Vashti and his nephew kept haunting his mind and were greater threats to staying focused than were the outward elements.
His mottled green and brown wool clothing, pants and coat, made it easier to blend in with the surroundings and sneak up on bucks for food and skins or the many predators that were a constant danger to anyone who wandered into the woods. A crocodile-skin pouch containing a tinder box and flint was strapped to his left hip. Deer hide boots kept his feet warm and were tough and thick enough to protect from thorns and stickers, of which there were many varieties in the wilderness, a wilderness that went on and on in every direction for as far as the eye could see. Few people were brave enough to venture away from where the three patriarchs had settled after leaving Ararat.
The population was increasing rapidly and also the number of dwellings each new family required. He and Vashti had recently finished building their own home out of logs, a square, one room structure they could expand upon in the future.
“Fill the earth,” was the command given and while reproduction was not a problem, actually leaving the safety of the community to establish new settlements just was not happening.
Being far in the wilderness caused him to believe a case could be made for venturing out into the unknown to achieve the requirement to fill the earth, if the hearty souls survived to establish another community. They would need men like him to make such an endeavor feasible. He made an excellent living as a weapocarn, trading meat for fruits and vegetables, as well as crafted goods. Some folks even paid in coins, copper, silver, and sometimes gold, but that was only when requesting meat for a feast. Vashti handled the selling aspects of the trade. His skills and those of his fellow hunters would be needed for a long time no matter what the elders eventually decided, of that he had no doubt.
There was a good argument to be made for creating other settlements in the region that had come to be called Mesopotamia. The increasing demand for space in the community forced expansion into the woodlands on either side of the river. He could see both sides of the issue. Trees were removed to make family dwellings and the land tilled for farming, orchards, and vineyards. Fields were expanded for grazing flocks and herds. The first case was fraught with danger and the second solution, which seemed to be the way humanity chose by default, while much safer, filled the area, but would take a very long time to fill the earth. Did the timing matter? That was a question to be considered later and by people much older and wiser than he, of which there were plenty.
The settlement had lost many stray sheep and goats to the huge felines he was tracking and worse, Jubal’s nephew Gero, youngest son of Arphaxad, had been mauled to death, and the boy had not strayed far into the woods, which meant the beasts had ventured closer to human habitation than ever before.
Words did not adequately express the deep sorrow filling Jubal’s heart. A tear formed in his eye. He loved that little boy and was determine to see to it that no other youngsters would be victims of the mighty cats. He was in awe of the grace, speed, and power of the beasts, but that would not keep him from doing what must be done. “Man’s blood has been shed and there is a price to be paid for that,” he spoke under his breath, and used the determination to sharpen his focus back on the present.
Time was passing, the sun would be down soon, and darkness would be upon the land. He grew concerned over the possibility of hunting the beasts in the night, yet knew Roddy would laugh him to scorn if he came back without a kill, especially after such a dramatic departure and public declaration of intent. Kronos and Set definitely would seize on the failure, but Jubal cared far less about their opinions.
Nimrod, of the tribe of Cush the son of Ham, though Jubal’s age and born on the same day, was chief of the hunters, and mightiest of all. His prowess was so high even Ra, who had been the chief for decades, did not question Roddy’s right to the title after winning the challenge the previous year.
The rivalry between Jubal and Nimrod was a friendly one and Jubal took the few victories he achieved over his cousin when and wherever he could get them, which were seldom and far between. Two more kills would give him one more than Roddy. Unfortunately, Jubal contemplated, time was running out and it seemed he was going to have to settle for matching the number. “So be it,” he told himself silently, “tomorrow morning the hunt for the other brute will be taken up again.”
A twig snapped, the sound came from the other side of the tree, and he stretched to the right, silently and without moving his feet. Bending his torso around, he peered at the source of the soft crunch. A tawny lion with a great mane was crouched low in the clearing and sniffing the air, which was blowing toward Jubal and thereby keeping his scent away from the powerful predator. He could not have prayed for a better position.
In fluid motion he stepped from behind the tree
with his arm cocked back, spear leveled, and let fly with a mighty throw. The shaft flew straight, pointed-obsidian head leading the way, a deadly missile destined to go right between those out-stretched and sharp-clawed paws and into that open mouth. The lion sprang up at the last moment, presenting a different target, and the spearhead ripped through fur, skin, and bone, plunging deeply within the predator’s chest just as those powerful back legs came off the ground, increasing the force of the impact.
The snarling cat tried to snap at the shaft protruding from its chest, but could not bring its jaws in line to reach it, and then, too late, the dying animal tumbled to the ground, its great weight snapping the shaft in the first of three heavy head-over-tail rolls, and the powerful male came to an abrupt halt. The entire event happened quicker than Jubal could bring his throwing arm back down to his side.
“That was for Gero,” he felt the need to say, although did not know for sure if the beast lying on the ground was the same one that had killed his nephew or even heard or understood the declaration of justice served.
The roar of the vicious animal reverberated through the forest and Jubal marveled at how a creature with a punctured lung could make such a sound, until a motion in his peripheral vision caught his attention. Suddenly he had more than a clue of the whereabouts of the other lion, perhaps brother to the one dying thirty strides away. The newly arrived chief of beasts sprang at him, mouth wide open, pointed teeth ready to tear, and claws, sharper than obsidian, made to rip and gouge tender flesh. He could well imagine the damage those natural weapons could do to his body.
With his spearhead still in the dying cat and no other weapon to hand, Jubal did the only thing he could. When the leaping lion was in the air and only moments from reaching him, he jumped upward, caught hold of a swaying lower branch, and did a pull-up, bringing his neck and shoulders above the limb. Both legs cleared the ground as he swung high enough for the lion to pass under him.
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