“You always defend and promote him over yourself,” Cassiopeia evidently felt the need to point out.
What she said was likely true, but his statement took more into account than the impulse to defend a friend. “The chief Weapocarn is the only Aakasear. The rest of us Nephilim can only become Aakacarns. Just so you know, the Anakim and Tinies cannot be Melody wielders, and will die if they try,” Cassi and a few close by fellow giants sighed at the news, “in fact it is not safe for us, but I will go into more detail after the coming crisis is over, and a class can be set up.”
Artemis nodded acceptance and pointed forward. “The wind is picking up speed, which means time is fleeting. I see thick forest ahead and an arrow pointing to the right in that tree. How long before we reach high ground?”
Jubal looked back at the long procession and figured in his mind the pace at which they were moving. “A little over two hours,” he replied, and noted the broad smiles the news brought to the many faces.
Word spread quickly on down the line and more so as he began to describe the spring of water and the lay of the land. A hundred strides later the head of the caravan turned south with the long procession winding behind, the end of which was out of sight along the back-trail. Soon enough the back end came around and they were all headed south and no one expressed any doubt about reaching their destination before the flood waters came. No, they had something else to occupy their minds. Folks kept pestering him to demonstrate his new skill along the way, until he flat out refused. It took him half the water-skin to quench the thirst from so many performances.
They arrived on high ground very close to the time he estimated and began setting up camp. Three quarters of an hour later Nimrod’s group arrived, and an hour before noon, Loki, of the tribe of Japheth, leading the final caravan, reached the huge encampment. Jubal decided to release the Da Capos that held the wolf pack suspended in the air, desiring to give them a chance to flee ahead of the storm and perhaps survive.
He stood in the pavilion erected as a meeting place for the leaders of the caravans. Roddy, who had not yet graced them with his presence, was still working to get his people situated, but Set, the second son of Ra, stood over to the right. The brother of Osiris had braided his long black hair and stood with his chin up so he could look down on the other attendees.
At nine and a half feet from the bottom of his feet to the top of his head, no one in the pavilion matched him in height, and yet no one else cared who was tallest, only him. The bronze-skinned, clean-shaven, man wore a sand-white shirt and pants and a vest made of crocodile hide. He hunted on his own and chose not to join the Weapocarns, preferring to catch the food for himself and his household, trusting in his spear and strength of arms to survive. Jubal hunted for food and killed predators in defense of the community; Set did so because he loved to kill as if it was a sporting event. He had a following of Nephilim and Anakim, even a few Tinies; most were malcontents, and often behaved as if they were being cheated. They were among the first to complain, first to criticize, and the last to actually help solve a problem. Jubal wished Roddy had sent a better representative. Perhaps he wanted the irritating man out of the way.
Apollo, Hades, Poseidon, and the Anakim; Orion, Cassiopeia, and Andromeda were also under the shelter. All of them were listening to Artemis while Jubal leaned against a pole while sipping water from a mug. Loki, dark haired and pale-skinned, entered while she was speaking. He had on a white robe with gold trim and would no doubt be giving a similar speech of his own, after Set, neither of which Jubal looked forward to hearing.
“And so when the head count is complete I can say with certainty every person who left with me has arrived in good health,” Artemis finished the highly detailed and rather long winded oration.
It was at that moment Jubal’s much older brother Asshur and his weeping sixteen year-old daughter Elena, neither of whom were Nephilim, came running into the pavilion, but it was not to Poseidon, Hades, or Artemis he ran. “Jubal, Rue is missing. We cannot find him anywhere. Peleg, his father, had assumed the boy was with my daughter, who thought he was with Shelah and his children.”
It was a mark of Asshur’s high anxiety that he felt the need to identify Rue’s father, seeing as Jubal was Peleg’s great uncle, although ten years younger. Shelah was Arphaxad’s firstborn son. Elam, Asshur, Arphaxad, Lud, and Aram were all Tinies but also leaders of their own tribes and men of renown, being the first five sons of Shem and Herara. Of course Jubal knew the offspring of his brothers, but was a little surprised Asshur had chosen to travel with the caravan rather than stay at the settlement. Perhaps like Zeus, he wanted to be sure Artemis could handle the responsibility. Jubal wondered if he would see Elam, Lud, Aram, or Arphaxad out among the tents.
“The boy could be anywhere,” Loki stated what everyone else standing around understood almost immediately. His pale blue eyes darted right and left as if in search of someone who might say otherwise.
Set shook his head and those beady eyes narrowed. “Our caravan lost not a single person in spite of the haphazard markings Jubal carved into the trees. Perhaps he would have done a better job if he had not been playing around with the Aaka my uncle taught him.”
Jubal was not surprised to know everyone in the three encampments knew about his wielding of the Melody, all would have seen the wolves and heard about the demonstrations. The son of Ra being the first to voice criticism also came as no surprise.
“He found us the best possible route,” Apollo was quick to defend his uncle, bless the man’s heart, “and if you and yours felt differently, the descendants of Ham were free to make their own way to high ground.”
“If my father had placed me in charge we would have,” Set replied smugly, “but he gave the task to Nimrod, who for some reason trusts Jubal.”
The fact they had followed the arrows and arrived safely was testimonial enough. Continuing to speak of something trivial was taking away from what really mattered and contributed nothing toward solving the problem. Turning his back on Set, Jubal focused on his brother and niece.
Asshur and Elena both wore white robes, although hers had a light green sash that emphasized her feminine curves. Both father and daughter had auburn hair and dark eyes.
“Why wasn’t the lad taken to Shem’s hill?” Artemis asked a question, the answer to which would get them no closer to finding the lad.
Her voice conveyed a sense of frustration, for the missing boy or the inability to claim all under her care had safely arrived was impossible to determine, perhaps the strain reflected elements of both. She had never taken failure well and certainly would be concerned about Rue’s welfare. Having the problem brought to her attention by a tribal leader probably added to her anxiety, especially when he directed the concern to Jubal rather than the head of the caravan.
“His mother, Hadassah, was about to give birth at the time and Rue wanted to go with his father,” Elena answered, giving a quick glance at the caravan leader and then focused on her uncle.
Jubal had a better question, “How many goats are missing?” he asked, remembering the boy had a pet ram.
“I covered that subject just a short while ago,” Artemis informed him as if she expected he had been hanging on her every word at the time.
Many things had happened from the death of Gero to the moment the pavilion had been erected. Jubal had allowed his mind to wander a bit during her speech, so what?
“Thirteen,” Apollo kindly gave the answer.
“I bet one of them was Gebee,” Elena remarked, and when most of the people stood blank-faced at her comment, she added, “That is the name of Rue’s feisty goat. The top of his head is black and the rest of him is pure white.”
Thunder boomed and it was then they noticed the dark clouds on the horizon. “The storm is coming,” Loki informed everyone, again stating what only a simpleton would fail to conclude. “No one could possibly find the boy and be back before that deluge hits.”
Jubal remembered
the glimpse of the future Mel had told him about and made up his mind. “I can,” he stated and took off running, knowing most people would accuse him of being rash, and cared not in the least if they did. The need to go was simply too great for him to ignore.
Thunder boomed again, making him sure he could find Rue, but not so certain he could get back to high ground ahead of the downpour. Jubal did not allow the doubt to slow his steps. He was one of the few who had a possibility of surviving alone in the wilds and the lad was not on that small list of names.
“This is why he will always be an errand runner rather than a leader; he didn’t even take his bow. All the fool has is a knife,” Set’s voice followed Jubal out of the pavilion.
Thunder rumbled ominously and whatever else was being said as he ran through the encampment could not be heard over the deep bass tones warning him to hurry. “Rue must live,” the mantra in his mind spurred his every long-legged stride, driving him onward.
Chapter Five: And The Rains Came Down
Jubal reached the half way point between high ground and the settlement, doing so far faster than when he was marking the route, and had found no sign of Rue. The wind had picked up speed and was making an ominous sound as it rushed between branches of tall trees, ripping leaves from the treetops and sending them flying in swirls through the air. Flashes of light, followed closely by rumbles of thunder, were a reminder, if he needed any, of what he faced even after finding the boy.
“Rue must live.”
A crackling bolt of lightning struck the tree to his right, a charge that travelled down the trunk, sending dirt and tiny rocks flying every which way, pelting his pant leg without breaking his skin, for which he gave thanks. The explosive boom made his ears ring and within seconds rain poured from above. Thick trees and branches sheltered him from the worst of the wind as he splashed through puddles, but did not stop the water that flowed down the trunks and off of thick boughs.
“Rue must live.”
He did not know if the cut in the sole of his foot had reopened because his boots as well as the woolens were soaked with no chance of drying anytime soon, but that was the smallest of his worries. At least his tinder box within the crocodile-skin pouch would likely stay dry, he hoped. Checking the contents would expose them to the water and make lighting a fire impossible, so hope was the best he could do.
“Rue,” he called in vain as peals of thunder rippled across the land, overwhelming his voice as easily as a raging river swallows a drop of water.
He ran two more spans while desperately looking left and right, trying to see any sign of the boy, yet found none. Soon he was sloshing water running calf deep. A fish slammed against a tree to his left and then flipped back into the current. The Euphrates was rising, seven and a half spans inland, and bringing its aquatic residents along for the ride, some of which could be dangerous, poisonous snakes being high on the list.
Through it all the words, “Rue must live,” spurred him on.
The forest floor had become one big puddle with no dry area in sight, slowing his pace, and increasing the likelihood of stumbling over a root. The desire to hurry had not diminished even after the water had risen another foot.
“Rue,” he called during a break in the thunder, but heard no response.
The water level continued to rise and while he was looking to the left, something struck against his right thigh. Reflexively he brought his hand down and grabbed hold of what turned out to be a horn. He lifted it out of the water along with the drowned goat attached to it. The top of the ram’s head was black and the rest was white. “Gebee,” he spoke the name under his breath and released his grip on the pet.
He moved off the route, to the right, figuring Rue had to be upstream. Jubal shouted the boy’s name over and over again while earnestly hoping to find the lad in better condition than the goat. The outlook grew gloomier by the moment, yet he refused to allow the probability of failure to deter him in any way.
He was wading waist deep in the water and on the verge of giving up and resuming the search downstream, but on impulse decided to call out, since thunder had overwhelmed his voice at least half the time and possibly the boy’s reply. Bolts of lightning forked from the sky, followed by crackling booms, and when nature’s display finished its course, he called out, “Rue!”
“Help,” a small voice sounded, not from ahead or left or right, but from straight up.
Jubal scanned the trees while water droplets descended on his face, interfering with his vision. He persevered and the effort paid off, provoking a sigh of relief. On an upper branch belonging to the oak to his left, was Rue, dressed in a linen tunic, and clinging to the limb with all of his might while water poured over him, threatening to break his hold and sweep him off. Jubal had to admire the tenaciousness of Peleg’s small son.
Three lower limbs made it not only difficult to see the lad; they were in the way of a direct ascent.
What to do?
Jubal had found the boy and had as yet no safe place to take him. The weather conditions were bad, would only grow worse, and he knew both of them would die if they tried for the settlement or the encampment on high ground. They were in a predicament with few good choices.
“I will be right up,” Jubal shouted after making a decision and wishing he could think of a better option.
The Melody played in his mind, filling him with might, making him feel powerful, stronger than the storm, and able to accomplish anything. He focused that energy beneath his feet.
Up he went; buffeted by wind and rain, yet refusing to allow the elements to interfere with his focus. Even so, concentrating would have been a lot easier if the wind was not howling in his ears and lightning bolts were not lighting up the darkly-cloudy sky.
Water poured on his face, obscuring his vision, but not enough to hide what his head was about to smack into. He levitated to the right, just missing the first of the lower branches that blocked his ascent. His right shoulder scraped against an adjacent limb, breaking off a few of the twiggy offshoots, and ripping a tear in his wool coat. He moved back to the left, avoiding another branch, and then zigged around the third and final obstacle, bringing himself level with Rue.
The boy’s eyes were closed tight and he seemed to be completely unaware help had reached him, such as it was. Very carefully, so as not to startle the lad, Jubal settled on the limb and right behind Rue, then grabbed hold of the limb, gently but securely pinning his nephew against the branch.
He could feel the startled reaction ripple through the much smaller body. “I have hold of you and will not let go,” he said while ceasing the Melody to conserve energy.
“Uncle Jubal?” The high-pitched voice replied.
“Yes, Elena and Asshur told me you were missing, so I came looking.”
“Am I in trouble?”
Of course he was in trouble. Jubal thought about giving a scolding to the little fellow, but decided to leave that to Peleg, and answer the question. “We are both in trouble.”
Thunder boomed as if to emphasize the point.
“I don’t think my father would yell at you,” Rue’s voice had taken on a calmer tone even though water was splashing his head and face. His normally curly brown hair was plastered to his head and dripping wet.
No doubt he was still frightened but took some comfort in the presence of someone much bigger and stronger than him. In spite of the seriousness of the situation, Jubal chuckled at the remark. “No, I don’t suppose he would.”
“Then how are you in trouble?” Rue clearly believed all would be well, as if his uncle could make the storm go away and the flood waters recede. He evidently did not realize the precariousness of the situation if a scolding in his way of thinking was the worst scenario.
Which would make the lad feel better, a lie that would soon prove to be such when the weather deteriorated further, or the truth?
Jubal made up his mind. “The storm could last all day, maybe into the night, and it looks to me like
the water running below us is over my head,” he explained while a crocodile passed beneath them, “which means we cannot leave this tree until the level goes back down,” he finished without mentioning the deadly reptile.
“It isn’t very pleasant up here,” Rue commented. “I’m cold.”
“No,” Jubal agreed, “it certainly is not pleasant, but we will have to endure as best we can.”
“Did you know Nimrod can float in the air?”
Jubal marveled at how well the boy accepted the situation without further complaint. “Yes, and he showed me how.”
“Really, can you teach me?”
He must have thought his uncle had climbed up, since the lad’s eyes were closed at the time.
“It seems only a Nephilim can do it without getting hurt.”
Silence ensued but did not last long. “It took me a long time to find Gebee and by then the caravan was gone. I tried but could not hold onto him.” Rue sneezed and then continued, “It was hard to climb while he kept wiggling, but he slipped free before I reached the first branch, and I did not dare go back down after the rain started.”
“You made the right choice,” Jubal assured him.
The conversation continued, mostly to keep Rue calm, even though the howling wind made hearing each other difficult, and thunder would stop the flow of words altogether. It seemed as if lightning bolts were hurling out of heaven, aimed very close to where the two of them were clinging onto the branch for dear life.
The storm raged on and the water covered the first branch. Smaller trees had been uprooted and were floating in the current. Some of those hit against the oak and Jubal wondered how much weight and force his place of refuge could stand against. Was the root system being undermined by the moving water?
A tingle started in his scalp, along with a profound sense of danger, and as the sensation began to build, he felt the urge to play the Melody in his mind. Life-force energy flowed into him but not with the confidence he had come to expect. The sense of dread was so overwhelming; he slipped his right arm around Rue’s waist and levitated off the branch.
Dawn Of The Aakacarns Page 9