Dawn Of The Aakacarns

by John Buttrick

  “So be it, I will do my best to instruct my fellow Nephilim and point the way,” Jubal replied, not the least sorry to accept the responsibility but wishing he could get a better understanding of how to distinguish one of his frequently occurring impulses from the kind he dared not ignore.

  Mel glanced upward and then nodded his head. “I have just been blessed with a glimpse of the future. Two Daniels will descend from the line of Shem; one will be a distant grandchild of yours and the other a distant grandchild of Rue.”

  Vashti and I are going to have a child and our line will survive on into the distant future, was the first thought that entered Jubal’s mind, although he did not give voice to the words, Rue is the great-great-grandchild of Arphaxad and only seven years old, was the second thought that he kept to himself. Neither Arie nor any of his offspring were Nephilim, proving even the Tinies had important roles in the future.

  “As significant as your progeny will be, Abram and his descendants will have an even greater impact,” Mel continued the foretelling.

  Jubal did not recognize the last name given, perhaps it would be the name of Rue’s son or grandson or great-grandson. “Thank you for coming here and sharing these things with me,” he said and truly meant the words, not just because it was the right thing to say to the seemingly timeless man.

  Mel folded his hands, “Farewell, we shall meet again,” he stated, turned, and left, politely closing the door behind him.

  Jubal glanced at the oblong box, it was the only one big enough to fit the essentials he wanted to pack and transport to higher ground. People were being allowed only one container and so had to prioritize what they wanted to save. He completed the task, including the transfer of Aakatools into the one box, and then wrote Roddy’s Melody in clay, wrapped it carefully, seeing as there was no time to let it harden, and placed it with the others that were outside in the oven. The tablets were too numerous and weighty for transport, so Jubal stored them all in the safest place and hoped for the best.

  The admonition to practice summoning and wielding potential came back into his head so he sat down on the couch. Mel indicated playing the Aaka mentally would work as well as performing the Melody with an instrument, so Jubal concentrated on the notes while being mindful of the bump on his head. “Take it slow,” he spoke softly.

  When he reached the crescendo at the end of the stanza ending on the high C, energy poured into him, and the room once again filled with his indigo blue radiance. The heady rush of feeling almighty nearly broke his concentration on the notes. “You are a man, animated dirt, and have no reason to be so arrogant,” he spoke in an attempt to humble himself, and nearly silenced the Melody, causing the radiance to dim.

  Focusing on the notes was what he needed to be doing, not adding distracting thoughts. The Aaka and what he wanted to do with the energy became his focus.

  As he repeated the stanzas over and over again, his body arose from the couch and he folded his legs under him. With great intensity of thought and imagining a decrease in volume, he stopped his ascent midway between the couch and the ceiling, but doing so took so much concentration he could not begin to focus the radiant energy in any particular direction.

  He noted it had taken more power to levitate when the Aaka was performed mentally than when it was played on the flute. Clearly the instrument acted like a crescendo, increasing the volume. With the flute it took less personal power to accomplish the task or the Aaka tool could be used to give the same amount of personal power a greater impact.

  A third of an hour later and after multiple levitations, it was time to work on the other aspect, actually taking hold of the radiant energy and directing it on something other than him.

  His mouth was so dry it felt as though not a drop of water had passed between his lips in ages. He grabbed the clay pitcher and drank straight from the container, something Vashti would have commented on and not in a positive way had she been home. Not a drop of liquid was left by the time he finished gulping down the contents and placed the pitcher on the box in front of the couch.

  “Melody wielding is thirsty work,” he decided and then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’m going to be drinking a lot more water from now on.”

  With his thirst quenched and a strong determination to gain mastery of his new ability, Jubal played the Aaka again in his mind. When the feeling of being all powerful flooded into him and the brilliance of his life-force energy brightened the room, instead of allowing the potential to gush out of him, he pictured an arrow, aimed it at the pitcher, and then, after a few moments holding the image, mentally let it fly. An indigo blue arrow shot from between his eyes, flew the short distance, slammed into the clay pitcher, and not only did it move, the head, sharper than any point fashioned by man, pierced the container in an instant, sending shards of clay all the way to the door. For a moment, while the Melody was still playing in his mind, and before he lost concentration, the glowing missile was against the door, and between the point and wooden board had been a piece of clay. With the Melody ceased, the arrow vanished and the shard dropped to the floor.

  “Perhaps an arrow was not a good choice,” he muttered, and thought of a better visualization.

  He played the Melody again and when the energy level reached where it had been before he had launched the arrow, he imagined a long arm with a powerful grip. Instead of releasing the potential in a mighty burst, he held onto it while mentally extending the hand across the room, and when the indigo appendage drew near his chosen object, he flexed the fingers, grabbing hold of his bow, and lifted it into the air.

  It worked!

  The success would have made him feel even more almighty, except he realized it would have taken far less effort to simply walk over and physically pick up the bow. Still, he had succeeded in doing something more than float in the air and break a perfectly good pitcher.

  How much could he lift using the Melody? It was a good question and worth discovering. Instead of speculating, he performed the Aaka, and when the flood of power had him glowing like a bonfire, he imagined the appendage, and took hold of the heavy box containing everything he and Vashti considered to be worth saving. It became necessary to make the hand bigger, but that had only taken an extra moment of thought. As easily as he could raise his actual arm, the indigo blue appendage responded to his will, and with hardly any effort, the oblong container floated into the air.

  “Jubal you have to come see what Roddy...,” Vashti’s voice came from the doorway, and fell silent before completing the sentence. Her eyes went to the floating box, to the pieces of clay all over the floor, and then fixed on her husband. “You are glowing.”

  “I can explain,” Jubal manage to say and lost concentration, causing the radiance to cease, and the box to fall crashing to the floor with a loud thump.

  Chapter Four: Scouting Ahead

  “This is amazing,” Vashti stated after hearing everything Mel had revealed to Jubal. “I especially like the part about a distant grandchild of ours doing something significant in the far future. Anyway, the reason I ran home is to tell you Roddy is out there playing his flute and floating in the air,” she took a breath and added, “That is what I wanted you to see, but now I know you can do it too, and without a flute!”

  The purple gown highlighted her violet eyes which seemed to glow with an inner light. She was truly excited and extremely huggable, although he always considered her to be so whenever they were together.

  Jubal nodded acknowledgment and settled for taking hold of her hand while seated beside her on the couch. “We should go see Roddy just in case he gets into trouble.” It was unlikely the man practiced the way Jubal had and as a result could fall if a distraction caused the chief Weapocarn to stop playing the Melody.

  Vashti nodded her approval of the notion, glanced outside, and then began shaking her head. “Nimrod might need you or maybe he will not,” she replied and sighed as if coming to a conclusion she did not care for. “What a shame, I
don’t think there is time for me to play the Melody off the tablet and find out if I too can glow and float,” she stated fretfully, but quickly brightened up. “Oden has assigned me to care for the pregnant women who have been taken to Japheth’s hill. I rushed here to tell you about Roddy, and will soon have to get back to my post, especially with Natura so close to delivering, but I want to learn that Aaka when the flood waters recede.”

  His wife genuinely cared about people and the sparkle in hers eyes as she spoke reflected her joy and how well Oden suited individuals to a task. “I will teach you,” Jubal promised while standing from the couch and pulling her up as well.

  Vashti nodded. “Quickly, put on your boots,” she instructed and nodded again when he complied.

  After a passionate kiss they headed out the door with her pulling him along. The entire settlement was bathed in flickering torchlight. The illuminations came from poles in front of thousands of houses of varying shapes and designs. Most dwellings were built of logs, some were made from cut stone or bricks, most of those were in the area the Cush tribe inhabited, and other homes consisted of not much more than animal hides stretched over wooden frames. The houses also varied in shapes. The most popular were boxy but some were A-frames and more than a few were cone-shaped. Ra called his dwelling a pyramid which was designed by his cousin Imhotep. Torches also lit up the hills and the huge rectangular buildings at the peaks where thousands of people were busy preparing for the storm. A goodly portion of those workers were heading downhill in one direction and streaming across bridge number one toward the amazing sight.

  All work in the immediate area seemed to have come to a halt as folks were gathering around a man floating well above their heads. Nimrod had become the focal point of the community.

  Vashti ran, navigating through the crowd, eager to get closer to him. The tops of most people’s heads were level with Jubal’s tummy and her chest, so individuals moved aside as she bulled along with husband in tow.

  “Semiramis was bragging about Roddy’s newfound ability and how it sets him apart from everyone else,” she managed to say while shouldering past Fileeman, a son of Javan and grandfather of ten, and then coming to a stop.

  “Pardon us,” Jubal told the relatively young man who still had plenty of time to father more children, if he survived the coming storm.

  There were still many people between them and Roddy, but all of those were Tinies and the view was good enough. Nimrod’s wife stood in the middle of a circle of people and looking up at her husband. Folks all around were craning their necks at the spectacle and others stood pointing. Roddy clearly enjoyed being the center of attention, and by association, so did Semiramis. Jubal understood the couple to be ambitious and did not consider the trait to be a fault, but wondered what would happen when their plans eventually conflicted with the designs of other equally ambitious couples.

  “He floats up there playing his fancy flute and glowing as bright as a hundred torches,” Thoth commented on what was in plain sight, from right behind Jubal, and then stepped up beside him.

  The man was the fourteenth son of Ham, the oldest among the Nephilim born to Sheba, and extremely intelligent. He stood nine and a half feet in height, had dark curly hair, and a smooth-whiskerless face, which was the result of him choosing to shave every morning. The one hundred ten year-old was clearly not above stating the obvious, but always seemed eager to learn something new. “How do you think he is managing to do that?”

  “All I see is one of you big louts floating in the air,” Fileeman shared his perspective as well as a negative attitude. Some of the male Tinies resented being shorter than the smallest of Anakim and Nephilim, and especially resented being smaller than the females. “The only light I see is coming from the torches.”

  The top of the little fellow’s head was at the height of Jubal’s elbow, yet the man had a resonant voice that could be heard clearly over the murmuring crowd.

  Thoth pointed at Roddy. “How can you not see that radiance?”

  “Perhaps it is because he is not a Nephilim,” Jubal suggested, which caused Fileeman to frown as if the statement could have been a reference to his height.

  Everyone; men, women, children, and Anakim, standing within earshot turned their attention to the speaker of such a definitive statement, soundlessly demanding an explanation. “The priest told me the Nephilim are the only ones who possess the power to do what Nimrod is doing, so it makes sense only a Nephilim can see the glow.”

  Most of them, even Fileeman, nodded the moment Jubal mentioned the priest, but that was not enough explanation for Thoth, who began shaking his head. “None of us has given off such a glow nor have we floated above the ground.”

  Vashti looked at him and smiled. “None of us have played that Melody on a flute, except my Jubal.”

  Thoth and those standing by fixed their stares on her husband, who really wished she did not feel the need to put him forward.

  “Too bad he did not bring his flute,” Fileeman spoke in an even tone, making it difficult to discern whether he believed the claim or was skeptical. “I would like to see this young Weapocarn meet his chief in the air.”

  Vashti tapped Jubal on the shoulder. “Show them what you can do.”

  He was about to comply with her wish when a deep voice sounded from behind. “I am sure it would be most entertaining to see your husband attempt to do what my younger brother is doing, amusing as that would be to see, but Nimrod was supposed to be sleeping while the rest of you should be preparing for the storm,” Ra stated while striding into the group and not bothering to stop.

  The big man strode through the crowd, which gave way easily, parting like leaves in a draft. He reached the center of the circle and announced, “The concert is over. Brother, while I am pleased you found another way to exalt yourself and by extension the offspring of Cush, there are thousands of people from our tribe who need help in making preparations for the journey,” he paused and looked over the gathering, no part of which had yet to move, then refocused on Roddy. “Since you obviously have no intention of resting, the remaining two of the three hours I granted you will be better spent organizing the ox carts.”

  Without a word of protest or complaint, Roddy ceased to play and immediately dropped three times his height to the ground, landing on his feet. The applause was thunderous and it was not surprising to see him twirl the flute in his hand and take a few bows before walking away with his older brother. Nimrod certainly had style.

  Jubal and Vashti were the only ones standing in place as the crowd began to disperse. Floating up in the air would bring them back, yet he agreed with Ra and decided not to distract people from their work just to watch a fete they had already witnessed, considering the many tasks that needed to be completed ahead of the coming storm to be of greater importance.

  “I was on my way to your house to collect you when Nimrod began his performance, but stopped to watch,” the contralto voice of Artemis came from off to the right, about twenty strides away. Jubal turned to face the twin of Apollo directly.

  “That certainly wasn’t a fete one sees every day,” she commented as she came to a stop in front of her uncle. “I would have questioned him to find out how he managed it if Ra had not come. Even so, I am glad you and Vashti are here, it saves me a few steps and gives you an opportunity to say your goodbyes.”

  Collect you and say your goodbyes, those words had immediacy about them and Jubal wanted to know what prompted the urgency.

  “I had the impression my services would not be needed for several hours, yet it sounds as if you want me now. Our stuff is packed and ready and all I need is a cart, but..,”

  A warm hand touched his shoulder. “A cart and a donkey are on the way. Our belongings will be brought up and stored on the fourth hill,” Vashti informed him.

  He turned, wrapping his arms around her, knowing it would be days before they could hold each other again. After a time that was in no way close to being long enough, they rel
eased one another and stepped back. “You think of everything.”

  “One of us needs to,” she told him and then headed for the nearest of three bridges that crossed the Euphrates in order to reach the older section and the hills of the elders.

  Each bridge arched high enough for fishing boats to pass beneath. Barges were being used to transport most of the belongings and Jubal could see ox and donkey carts using the second and third bridges for the same purpose. The first bridge was thick with foot traffic and flowing at a slow but steady walk.

  Ra’s words had dispersed the crowd, leaving Jubal and his niece alone on the dirt street in front of Roddy’s triangular house. Semiramis was gone, either into her home or off to finish whatever task she had been assigned.

  Artemis gestured with her head to the right. “Walk with me.”

  Jubal did not offer to explain about the new Aaka, being more curious about what she had in mind for him to do, and so remained quiet while following her across the settlement to a torch-lit pavilion. Inside was a table with charts of some kind. Four Nephilim, three Anakim, and one Tiny were sifting through the scrolls made of papyrus.

  He greeted his siblings; Hades, Poseidon, along with his nephew Apollo, and then acknowledged the Anakim; Orion, dressed in mottled-green and brown woolens with an oversized bow and a quiver strapped to his back, who was standing next to Jubal’s slightly older sister, Cassiopeia, whose dark hair, hazel eyes, and peachy complexion were a match for those of Vivian. Beside her stood the darkly pretty Andromeda, who was using a spear to hold down a scroll.

  Jubal knew the temperamental Xerxes and gave him a nod. The Tiny wore a crocodile tunic and had a pair of obsidian blades sheathed and strapped about his waist. At best he stood a little over six feet in height, but it was the scar parting the whiskers on his left cheek that drew attention to his face. He once had a disagreement with a leopard that ended in a draw when the spotted cat ran away after receiving a few deep slashes to make the encounter memorable for both of them.