Dawn Of The Aakacarns

by John Buttrick

  “Nimrod’s demonstration of his talent has taken his maneuvering for power and influence to a much higher level. Up until recently he was a skillful chief hunter and respected in those circles, but since his performance, floating above the heads of thousands of people, his popularity has grown in a matter of days. Some have referred to his power as bordering on the divine,” Oden paused for dramatic effect.

  “My time-challenged youngest brother can accomplish even more and without a flute. From what I heard, he does not have to even be present to keep something in the air. Twenty-three minutes ago I saw him levitate from Noah’s Hill to that of Japheth,” Kronos mentioned what Oden would have added had he not been interrupted, although would not have been as precise about the time of the event.

  Ra nodded his head. “The spectacle is what caused me to agree to this meeting on such short notice. Seeing Jubal floating in the air with a boy on his shoulder prompted me to wonder what else the rash young man could do with the weapon Nimrod provided.”

  “The question is; who will Jubal follow?” Oden threw the thought out for their consideration, attempting to steer the conversation where he wanted it to go.

  Zeus leaned forward, right fist resting on his knee. “He hunts for Nimrod; the two have been practically inseparable since early childhood. Never-the-less, Jubal did not hesitate to heed the words of Herara and follow my direction during the current crisis. He even took orders from my daughter. Like Kronos, I do not know what our highly impulsive brother might do with his new found skill, but I am sure he will not try to seize power from us.”

  Oden thought of his younger sister. “I have made every effort to keep Vashti informed of who the influential people are, what to watch for, and to recognize who is maneuvering for power. I may have taught her too well. When it comes to prowess, Jubal is nearly a match for Nimrod, and may have exceeded him in skill at wielding life-force energy, but five days ago I could not imagine Roddy’s second going out of his way to draw attention. Jubal did exactly what his chief would have done and I think it has something to do with Vashti. You could safely wager shekels of gold it was my sister’s influence that prompted him to act.”

  “Are you saying Jubal will try to seize power?” Zeus’s voice quivered on the verge of laughter.

  Oden waved his hand in dismissal of the notion. “I am not saying that he would do so, only that it is possible he could, and especially if influenced by someone else to do so.”

  “The time to act is now,” Kronos suggested, “before the caravans return. Roddy would be naturally suspicious of anything we, mostly you three, might do. He knows your ambitions and will take steps to consolidate his power and so will Semiramis.”

  Ra leaned forward on the bench and looked to his left, beyond Zeus, at the white-haired time keeper. “I agree we should start soon, but it sounds to me like Oden is proposing we somehow pit Jubal against Nimrod, which would be sheer folly. Those two wield a power we possess but cannot as yet draw upon. Sure as sunrise they would team up against us and then we would be far worse off than if we had done nothing.”

  Oden shook his head, realizing he allowed them to draw the wrong conclusion. “Jubal is the key to our staying in power. What we need from him is to learn how to wield life-force energy; that is all I am proposing for the time being. I want to learn this new Aaka Nimrod has composed and any future Melodies of power the youngest son of Cush produces.”

  “Speaking of my father,” Ra began, seizing on Oden’s use of the name, “of the sons of Ham, he is the most ambitious, and least likely to willingly relinquish authority over his tribe. Cush may not be the only elder who wants to hold onto power, but he is the most tenacious.”

  Kronos nodded agreement and added, “Aram and Magog cannot be pleased with the notion of relinquishing power and will also need to be dealt with, respectfully, but in no uncertain terms. You three should meet with the elders now and talk to them until you have reached an understanding. I will go to Jubal to request instruction in the use of the new Aaka.”

  Zeus smiled, causing Oden to wonder what the man found to be happy about or if there was something amusing about what had just been said. “We three who have been appointed leaders of the Nephilim should go to Jubal and bestow an official title on him, an authority given by us, thus ensuring he will feel obligated to teach us the new Melody. Yes, Kronos, we also need to have a long conversation with Cush, Canaan, Magog, and Aram, and any others we feel might be hesitant to relinquish their authority, and soon, but visiting Jubal should be put off until the evening.”

  The other son of Shem focused steely eyes on his younger brother and took a deep breath, clearly displeased by the suggestion. “Time is of the essence and you would squander it?”

  “I see why,” Oden spoke up after a moment’s consideration. “If any of us interrupts Jubal’s reunion with my younger sister, neither of them would be pleased. If we handle the situation correctly, Vashti might even see the opportunity for him to stand apart from Nimrod’s shadow. I do not see the chief Weapocarn as someone with enough patience to be a teacher, but Jubal does possess the quality and would be able to take up the task easily. He would have a certain amount of power and influence, linked to his association with Nimrod, and yet a title that is uniquely his, given to him by we three appointed leaders.”

  “What you say has merit,” Ra responded positively, for which Oden was grateful.

  Kronos sat stroking his beard, the color of spun copper, if copper could be spun, and after a few moments of quiet contemplation, nodded his head. “Timing is important and it seems, given my youngest brother’s notoriously rash behavior, the delay in this instance would be advantageous.”

  Zeus eyed each individual and then arched his left eyebrow. “I want to do more to ensure our respective places in the community and want you all to understand something; getting Jubal to teach us the Melody is merely a start.”

  Oden agreed. “Yes, but it is critical this be our first step, innocuous as it seems on the surface. Only after we achieve mastery of our potentials can we seize back control..,” he began to say.

  “Master potential and seize control,” Kronos repeated, emphasizing the point as if taking the two words to heart, and then motioned with his hands for Oden to continue.

  “That is what I said. Until then we treat Jubal as a respected teacher and listen and agree with whatever Roddy proposes. As it stands those two literally wield the power we all crave and working with them seems much wiser for the time being. They are young and will need us; there are ways we can make sure of that. To them we shall become indispensable, to the point we will be the true rulers of mankind.”

  A knock on the door drew everyone’s attention. “Enter,” Oden called out.

  In came Zerubbabel, son of Canaan. The young man’s robe was made of fine wool and his dark beard, neatly trimmed. “I apologize for interrupting but was told the leaders of the Nephilim and Anakim were in this room,” the tiny man began while eying what was from his point of view four giants who were taller than him even while sitting. “But my father sent me to invite,” he broke off, glanced briefly at Kronos, and then continued, “He sent me to invite you, Oden, Ra, and Zeus to have the midday meal with him.” The man cringed when Kronos frowned at him, but did not take a step back or amend the invitation to include the official keeper of time. He probably would have extended the invitation, but doing so was not his decision to make. Clearly he knew his place in the order of things.

  Oden smiled, realizing the timing was so perfect even Kronos soon changed his expression from annoyance to one of approval. Oden eyed his fellow Nephilim, who nodded their agreement, and then replied, “We would be delighted to dine with your father.”

  -----

  Vashti had faith in Medica and knew the experienced healer had done a good job on her husband’s foot, unlike Roddy’s crude field dressing, so decided to leave the poultice alone, but stripped everything else off of Jubal. She had done so in part because she enjoyed see
ing his body, but also to be sure he had taken no other injuries. The man had a habit of treating a deep cut as a minor scratch and so she had every reason to be thorough, slowly caressing every inch of his skin. He seemed to enjoy the scrutiny and also the fact that she had chosen not to wear any clothes.

  The entire time she had been examining him, he was telling her, in a less than steady voice, depending on the sensitivity of the area being examined, everything that occurred from the moment he went in search of Rue up until he arrived on Japheth’s Hill. It had truly been a remarkable tale, making her even more eager to learn the new Melody, but Jubal was her main focus at the time and the lesson not nearly as important.

  After being satisfied he had taken no additional hurts, they made love for several hours or so. She had lost track of the time and could not be sure precisely how long they had been at it, yet did not worry over the loss. Her husband, the man she loved, was back and that was all that mattered.

  When news of his death first came she felt as if time had stopped, sheer terror and sorrow swept over her and would have been overwhelming if not for the revelation given by the priest. Even so, her faith wavered just a bit until everyone started shouting about Jubal being alive and well and flying over the water. All she wanted at that point was to get him alone.

  The little chamber assigned to her had one chair and a small bed, barely large enough for one Nephilim, let alone two, forcing them to hold each other close. She had no objection to cuddling, quite liked it actually. His head was on the pillow and she lay resting on him, allowing her to hear the steady beating of his heart.

  She drifted off to sleep shortly before sunset and was awakened some time later by the shifting of his body. “I didn’t mean to disturb you,” he spoke softly, his deep voice reverberating with each word in her ear, which was still against the warm flesh of his chest.

  “I am quite content and find nothing about your presence to be disturbing,” she replied. “You are awake now and so I also want to be awake.”

  His stomach rumbled; that too she felt as well as heard. “Much as I enjoy lying atop your hard body,” she began to say and paused, thinking the notion of something hard being enjoyable to recline on to be somewhat of an oxymoron, yet completely true, and then continued, “you need to put some food in your belly.”

  “My body would call me a liar if I try to deny the need,” he replied and sighed when she moved off of him and started dressing.

  While standing at the large wooden box containing their belongings, which also served as a table, she sliced figs, dates, and plucked some grapes off of the cluster she had collected before the storm. She did so while watching him get dressed. His small cloth was clean enough and fully intact, but the wool pants he was reaching for were ripped on both sides, frayed at the cuffs, and torn at the knees. His coat had barely covered that broad chest and while she enjoyed seeing the muscles she had been recently caressing, the idea of other women eyeing his flesh and possibly enjoying the sight did not appeal to her in the least.

  She trusted Jubal to be faithful to her, yet did not want any conniving female even attempting to put his commitment to the test. She was possessive, so what? He belonged to her and anyone who doubted the fact would be swiftly disabused of the notion.

  While he stood in his under garment, she pointed to the white robe he owned for formal occasions, which he rarely wore even on those. “Wear that until we can have a new hunter’s uniform made,” she more than suggested.

  She wondered how long it would take for him to realize he would probably not wear the new set very often in the future, and then decided to help him come to the realization, but not before putting some food in his belly.

  He pulled on the robe and then sat down on the end of the bed while she sat down in the chair with the box between them and one large plate on the surface. She picked up a grape and tossed it into her mouth while he took a slice of fig. After a few quiet minutes where he ate a lot and her very little, the food was gone. The snack had been enough to satisfy her mild appetite, after all it was his belly that had rumbled in protest; not hers.

  “Will you teach me the Aaka now?”

  He smiled at the question, clearly having expected it. “Our oven is under water and with it the clay tablet. If you have a sheet of skin or papyrus, a quill, and some dye, I can write it out musically.”

  She had swaths of leather for the binding of appendages. She quickly took one. She had a jar of red dye, but it took her a while to find something to serve as a quill. Like Jubal with his method of recording melodies, each tribe was in the process of developing their way of recording information. People expressed themselves mostly with ideograms, which were in use before the flood, but recently pictograms, glyphs, runes, and various forms of script were becoming popular and varied widely from group to group. She made it a point to keep up with the newest trends in recording information, but if there was no melody involved, Jubal paid little attention to such things.

  The thought of him writing the melodies in clay gave her an idea, leading her to set aside the plate, open the box, and remove his stylus. “This will have to do,” she told him while handing him the tool.

  “I suppose it will at that, if I use it with a light touch so as not to tear or smudge the tanned leather,” he replied and nodded toward the open box. “You might as well pull out the two long flutes.”

  Since the lid was blocking his reach, it was more convenient for her to grab the instruments, so she did, and then closed the container of all their worldly possessions. For the moment she ignored the fact that he only had two left boots, the lion had ruined the first right boot and he apparently ruined the spare when his foot had swollen up. Eventually she would provide him with proper footwear, but thought it best, for the time being, that he stay indoors. Her spare pair of sandals in the bottom of the container was too small for him and so he had nothing to put on his feet. He would get new boots when she deemed he was ready to be out and about, unless of course he acquired a pair on his own.

  Marriage was new to her and no one had told her husbands could be so independent, although she should have suspected it about her man, seeing as getting Jubal to propose took planning. Her only regret was not asking Arphaxad to speak to him sooner than she had. The man sitting on the edge of the bed still had no idea his wife had initiated the push toward matrimony. Two years of hinting did not work, but whatever reason Arie gave succeeded better than any phrasing she ever used. The proposal came within two turnovers of a sand glass and marriage, the next day.

  Jubal dabbed the tip of the stylus in the jar of dye and began writing the Aaka on the skin. Vashti watched anxiously, eager to summon her potential, and learn how to properly focus the life-force energy. He did have a light touch for a man with such large hands, so delicate that when he was finished, the seepage into the surrounding leather was so minimal the red symbols were nearly as neat as any he had etched in clay.

  He turned the swath toward her so she could see the Aaka right side up. “Go ahead and play. As you perform the tones as written, energy will start to build up and you will feel it. After you blow the last note, the feeling of being all powerful should come upon you. At that point keep playing the Melody until you levitate up out of the chair.”

  She nodded and began playing the notes. He was right, as she blew each tone a sense of internal strength began to build up, as did her anticipation of what was going to happen when she blew the last note. She played the high C and immediately started the Aaka all over again, but rather than blast forth, the sense of power evaporated. She lowered the flute in frustration.

  “Why did it not work for me?” She wanted to know. “I was feeling the buildup of energy and then poof, it was gone.”

  It just was not fair. He sat there calmly on the edge of the bed, all patience and knowing and able to perform the relatively simple Melody in his head, yet she could not manage to get through it once with a flute. She was a better player than Roddy, maybe as good as Pa
n, and should have done splendidly.

  “You blew every note correctly but the last one you held for only three beats before going back to the beginning. Most of us compose in three, but Roddy’s Aaka is definitely four beats per measure,” Jubal told her. “It was a nearly perfect performance, but with a Melody of power, nearly is not enough. Don’t be discouraged, try again. I am sure you can do this.”

  She could have sworn over a basket of dates she had not shorted the last note, but knew her Jubal to have a good ear when it came to distinguishing tones and durations. He smiled and nodded, his face reflecting confidence in her ability to succeed.

  As Vashti performed the Aaka as written, the sense of power began to build like a wineskin being gradually filled. By the time she reached the high C, it felt as if the container was on the verge of bursting. She held the note four beats and suddenly she truly did feel all powerful, as if she could reverse the flow of the river or level a forest with a single thought. Without missing a beat, somehow she knew that was critical to maintaining the energy flow, she began the Melody again, and the incredible feeling of omnipotence continued.

  “Your radiance is the shade of a flamingo’s plumage,” Jubal informed her.

  She heard him clearly, but was concentrating so hard on playing the correct notes; responding to him was out of the question.

  Jubal stood up. “You are floating.”

  She took her eyes off the skin for an instant, noted she was out of the chair and head and shoulders above him, but then concentrated back on the music. Moments later her head bumped into the ceiling, out of her mouth came an involuntary squeak rather than the next note in sequence, the music stopped, and so did the feelings of supremacy. She dropped straight down into the arms of her husband, who clearly anticipated what would happen.