The mighty feline slammed face first into the trunk of the tree with its front paws flying wide and wrapping around the base at the abrupt cessation of momentum. The tree did not budge. Heartbeats passed, he knew not how many, before the beast so much as made a sound.
“That had to hurt,” Jubal called down from his perch. He might have felt sorry for the beast under different circumstances, but could not summon the emotion with the death of Gero so fresh in his mind.
The lion shook its huge head, understandably stunned by the blow, but otherwise uninjured, except for a slight cut below one of its right whiskers. It looked up at the sound of Jubal’s voice, backed a bit, roared, and set its hind legs for a spring. The beast launched itself from the ground, claws reaching upward, and at the same time uncommon energy filled Jubal’s limbs. He reached for the branch above, locked his grip tight, and pulled up with all his might.
He felt a painful pierce and a slight tugging on his right foot, but had no time to consider the injury, survival was his primary focus. Once settled, he glanced down and beheld the clearly frustrated lion falling toward the ground. Naturally the beast landed on all fours with the grace the species was known for.
Upon bringing the appendage into view, he discovered the burning sensation coming from his foot was the result of a claw tearing through the bottom of the boot and ripping a bloody line in the sole of his foot. Fortunately it was a shallow cut, truly little more than a scratch, else he would be in deep trouble, deeper than he already was, he considered on second thought. On third thought he wondered, “Why do cuts on the feet bleed so much?”
His spearhead was in the dead body of a lion whose very-much-alive brother was pacing around the tree, the sun was close to setting, and he doubted anyone in the settlement knew precisely where he was. The word, trouble, did not adequately describe the predicament he was in. Some folks knew he had run out carrying his spear after the death of Gero, but none could know where he went after disappearing into the forest.
The lion roared and sprang up much faster than the last time, rising higher, doing so barely an eye-blink before a second spear drove deeply into the trunk. The great beast sank its claws into the bark and began climbing toward Jubal, who quickly stood up in perfect balance, ignoring his injured sole, and reached for the next highest limb. Felines were excellent climbers and the one getting closer was certainly living up to the reputation, dangerously so.
He stared into the open maw coming toward him, a mouth full of sharp teeth promising a painful death, and almost missed seeing the fist-sized rock that struck the back of the lion, causing the cat to swing its head around and look down. It roared, retracted its claws and dropped, snapping the spear just before hitting the ground. Jubal was nearly as surprised as the jungle cat at seeing the thrower of the rock, who was also the source of the second spear.
“Die beast!” the powerful man yelled while running forward.
His garments were like those of Jubal except the coat was sleeveless, revealing thick arms bulging with muscles as they pumped back and forth in time with each long-legged stride. The pants, like those worn by all of the hunters, extended down to just below his ankles. The design gave greater freedom of movement than did the robes and tunics of wool, linen, or animal hide preferred by the rest of the population. Roddy demonstrated the superiority of the outfit as he sped swiftly toward almost certain doom.
His spear was broken on the ground beneath the feet of a lion, yet the man ran on, unarmed, straight at the huge cat as if totally unafraid. Clods of grass and countless leaves flew up as the opponents’ feet propelled them toward each other. Jubal drew a deep breath and held it as the huge predator leaped in the air, rapidly closing the final distance between itself and the daring challenger. For the second time that day it seemed as if another human would die by tooth and claw and the population would decrease by one more.
At the last possible moment, Roddy made his leap, slightly to the right of the reaching paw, twisted in mid-air, and grabbed hold of the golden mane. His mighty left arm flexed, swinging him around and onto the back of the beast. Powerful thighs and legs clamped onto the torso of the lion just as thick arms wrapped around its wide throat. Nimrod’s hands smacked together, fingers interlocking in a solid grip, a grip capable of cracking bone.
The cat’s neck could not bend far enough around to allow those wickedly sharp teeth to sink into the flesh of the huge human male on its back. Incredibly strong arms were squeezing harder and harder, making it difficult for the lion to breathe. The creature did the only thing that it could, rolled onto its back.
Jubal thought for sure his cousin was about to die, and not for the first time, but the greatest of hunters held on, taking the punishment. His backside was going to be one big bruise from shoulders to buttocks if he managed to live. The beast had to weigh two, maybe three times his weight, yet those arms held tight and those legs did not come loose. The lion began to squirm and could not even take in enough air to let out a roar; still Roddy clung to the animal as if his life depended on it, which of course it did.
Like Jubal, Nimrod possessed uncommon vigor and could run for long periods of time before tiring, a trait common to the Nephilim, as is the ability to metabolize water faster than other humans. The capabilities served them both well in the past and was certainly serving Roddy well at the moment. Not all of the men and women who had been chosen to be hunters had that extra energy, but the rest were Anakim and therefore much bigger and taller than the vast majority of the population. Ordinary people, being tiny, naturally looked up to their giant kin for protection.
The lion sprang, hurtling itself sideways and hard against the trunk of the tree, right below Jubal. He winced, exhaling the breath he had been holding, knowing the impact had to hurt his cousin, yet when the beast bounced back, landing on its feet, Roddy was still in place.
The apex predator launched into the air, flipped over, and landed heavily upside down, eliciting a grunt from the hunter. The animal began thrashing about, scattering leaves and uncovering rich dark soil, yet it could do nothing to dislodge the troublesome human clinging to its back and throat.
Roddy’s face was flushed with strain. Veins feeding blood to his muscles stood out like corded ropes, and somehow he managed to squeeze tighter. Teeth bared, he let out a yell that matched the trumpet of an elephant in volume, and then the squirming stopped. Jubal stared in awe of his cousin who had just killed a full grown lion with his bare hands.
Jubal peered down at a man who, though darker of complexion, had brown eyes, hair cut short at just above the shoulders, and a short black beard matching his own, “I see, I slay a lion with a spear and you just had to one up me by making another kill,” he began while climbing down to the next lower limb, jumped the rest of the way, and finished the sentence with, “bare-handed,” the moment his feet hit the ground. He winced, being instantly reminded of his injury, but quickly dismissed the minor inconvenience in light of what he had just witnessed.
The flippant remark came naturally, the kind of banter the two enjoyed, but he could not match his facial expression to the words. Such a kill in that manner had never been seen before and it was impossible not to be impressed.
With a mighty heave, Roddy shoved the lion off to the side. “You might also note that I slew the bigger of the two flooding lions.”
Humility was not one of his virtues, nor was his frequent use of curse words. Lions do not flood, but the non-referential word provided a way for him to express his otherwise inexpressible emotion.
Jubal nodded acknowledgment while reaching down, then clasped hands, and helped his cousin to stand, not that help was needed. “Which is why I left the big one for you, obviously my kill is lighter and much easier to drag home.”
Roddy laughed heartily at the remark at first, but soon his face sobered. “I heard about Gero and came as quickly as I could, figuring you would need some help on this hunt.”
He did not have to say it was foolish and more th
an a little hasty for one man, even a Nephilim, to run off into the woods in pursuit of a pair of lions, but Jubal knew the truth. He had acted on emotion rather than intellect. The two successful kills in the end did not alter the rashness of the decision. “It turns out you figured right.”
“Naturally so, I almost always figure right, and I know how impetuous you can be at times,” Roddy replied, as if wrestling a lion did not count as being impetuous. The man exuded confidence, which was likely why he seemed to have no problem tackling the chief of beasts.
He ripped a strip of wool from the hem of his coat. “Now, sit down and let me tend to that wound. No, don’t shrug it off as nothing. Half way to the settlement you’ll start complaining and then expect me to drag your carcass the rest of the way with you clinging to my back.”
Arrogance was a large part of his personality, but he did care about people, and would often mask that concern with a dose of what for him passed as humor. Knowing that, Jubal stifled his objection and did as he was told, even though he would not have complained, sought to be carried, or asked his cousin to drag the other lion, and both of them knew that. The wording merely insured there would be no argument.
“Tell me, do you still dream of living in a pyramid made of rubies?” Nimrod asked as he began wrapping the wound.
“Upon occasion, yet I am content with my home as long as Vashti is in it, and the dream is no more than a fancy,” Jubal replied. “Do you still dream of being the leader of all men?”
Roddy gave a single nod of the head. “Often I dream such and it is wonderful, but sometimes the fantasy turns sour and I am giving orders but few people seem to understand my words. It is frustrating when that happens.”
“I never dreamed a lion would rip a claw through the sole of my foot,” Jubal pointed out. “We have enough to contend with in the waking world, the dreams are, as you say, fantasies, and so should not be taken too seriously; unless of course, like the great lady and my Anakim sister, the dreams are actually visions of the future.”
The chief hunter finished wrapping the strip around the injured foot, but paused and said, “My dream is not a vision of the future, but the part about uniting all men under my rule has become a goal I will bring to reality, as real as this slash in your foot. The sour part I will regulate to the realm of fancy.”
“You are a good chief Weapocarn and would likely make a fine leader if the ancients and tribal elders ever arrive at the same conclusion,” Jubal meant the words, they were not flattery.
Roddy tied off the bandage. “You and I know this truth; it is others we must convince.”
Six Nephilim entered the clearing. Evidently they had no difficulty following the tracks of a fellow hunter. Perhaps Nimrod was not the only one possessing a streak of arrogance, Jubal self-evaluated. His over confidence caused him to be in a tree with a vicious lion trying to kill him and led him to consider the other Nephilim incapable of follow his trail.
In the lead was Ra, without a doubt the tallest and most massive man on earth, six and two thirds cubits from the bottom of his feet to the top of his head. He would say ten feet, since the children of Cush measured from heel to toe rather than elbow to fist. Whichever way one chose to size him up, he was big. Jubal was six cubits, which made his cousin a foot taller than him. Since everybody had different-sized limbs, the official standard was set by Noah, and measuring sticks were made according to his dimensions.
Roddy’s older brother was more than four times his age and like him had skin the color of bronze and a muscular chest. The man chose to be clean-shaven and not just his face. Ra took an obsidian-edged razor to his entire body, claiming it made him more comely and also kept away lice, which, Jubal had to admit, was a solution to a problem that cropped up from time to time. Whether or not having no hair made a man more attractive was a matter of personal taste, but hair or no Ra was impressive. He often and presently wore the coat open so all could see his broad-hairless chest and rock hard abs.
Following him were Isis and her husband, the first born son of Ra. She had long silky black hair and bangs cut evenly across her forehead and her normally lithe curves revealed a slight bulge, indicating she was approximately four months into pregnancy. She stood two finger-widths shorter than her chosen mate, who was nine feet tall and also had shaved his hair like Ra, except for a topknot hanging from his head to half way down his back. Osiris had the lean form of a long distance runner with muscles that were well defined rather than bulky. Jubal’s physique was somewhere in the middle, more like Roddy’s, but nowhere near as massive as that of Ra.
Behind them came Zeus, carrying a spear in his left hand, and with two of his many children keeping pace with him. The twins, male and female, carried bows and each had a quiver of arrows rather than a spear. Jubal had a set and spent many days practicing with the idea of using the new device as his primary weapon. Both brother and sister had taken credit for inventing the weapon system, and which sibling actually did was anybody’s guess. It was a matter of which twin the person asking the question wanted to believe. The pair seemed to enjoy teasing people. What really mattered was how effective those arrows were at bringing down prey and killing predators.
Both siblings had light skin, dark hair, and blue eyes like their father. Apollo and Artemis were two years older than Jubal. It was not uncommon for a niece and nephew to be older than their uncle, sometimes by decades, but that was how things were when no couple, with the exception of Noah and Vivian, had stopped having children, which was why the population had grown so very quickly. It was not clear if Herara and Shem were taking a break or if Victoria actually would prove to be their last child.
“Good evening, brother,” Zeus called out while each of his offspring ran to one of the dead lions.
Hades and Poseidon must have stayed behind or were on a separate patrol. Often it would be one or both of them accompanying their triplet rather than the twins. Hades was probably busy doing something morbid, like digging up objects, even bones, from the time before the flood, and Poseidon was likely swimming in the river. That man absolutely loved being in the water.
Zeus came to a stop a few paces from Jubal and rested the butt of the spear on the ground. “It seems we missed out on all the fun.”
“Good kill,” Apollo shouted. “Too bad the spear broke. You know Tubal is working on weapons of bronze and iron, although he says the second type is harder to forge. I think even the bronze will be an improvement over what we are using now.” He picked up what was left of Jubal’s spear. “Obsidian heads and weak shafts will become a thing of the past.”
Jubal nodded his head over the pronouncement of a good kill and also agreed Tubal’s work would change things for the better, not just weapons. “I slew that one,” he pointed at the lion Apollo stood over, and then added, “The metalsmith is truly talented. Tubal also works with brass. I sent him some drawings and he will soon begin making my designs a reality.”
Ra shook his head and fixed a stare of supreme patience. “Knowing you, they are probably things one must blow into or pluck to create Aakas, those series of tones you love so well,” he stated in a deep resonant voice, waved his hand in the air as if dismissing the entire notion, and then added, “What we need, little cousin, are knives of bronze, stronger spears with points made of metal, and swords like those said to have been crafted by the original Tubal of ancient times.” The current Tubal was the fourth son of Japheth and an older brother of Vashti.
“Some of us call them melodies,” Apollo remarked, “and I have a few designs for instruments to be made by the Weaposear. I hope my uncle here did submit detailed drawings for melody making devices, he has inspired me to do so as well.”
Ra shook his head and pursed his lips as if he could not believe what he was hearing. “A sword would be far more useful and the weapon-maker’s time should not be taken up with creating Aakatools for entertainment.”
Jubal was about to remind the big man those swords had been used in the old world t
o kill human beings and men were becoming violent enough with the tools they already had, but just as he opened his mouth, Artemis called out, “I cannot find a mark on this beast other than a small scratch on its snout.”
Roddy slapped his thighs and then raised his fists up high. “These are the weapons I used,” he proclaimed without a trace of modesty, which was the way he usually spoke of his exploits and successes. The honest truth of his words often came across as bragging, but perhaps he had a right to speak proudly of his accomplishments.
Zeus began stroking his full beard and naturally his eyes fixed upon his younger brother, demanding of an explanation. Just because the man was fifty years older than Jubal did not give the fellow any special authority and normally he would have been told so, except the others, going by the raised eyebrows on Osiris and Isis, and the askance angle from which Ra was suddenly staring at his younger brother, nobody believed the boast, except possibly Artemis whose mouth was wide open. Apollo actually laughed as if it was the funniest joke he had heard all day.
“The mighty Nimrod strangled the beast while I watched from up that tree,” Jubal verified while pointing at the branch he had been sitting on at the time.
Ra’s eyebrows, the only hair on his body other than his lashes, arched up, and the big man grinned. “Once again you have done our tribe proud, little brother. They were both good kills but yours was exceptional,” he stated and then slapped Roddy on the back. His grin quickly transformed into a frown.
“Jubal, you are an excellent Weapocarn and as a weapon-wielder, your hunting skills are sharp and your strength and courage cannot be denied,” he began with a positive review that was sure to turn negative. “But your judgement leaves much to be desired. Running off alone to seek the lions that killed your nephew was foolish and such rashness is probably why you do not lead a team of your own. If you ever intend to be more than a Weapocarn, start making better choices.”
Dawn Of The Aakacarns Page 2