Abraham Allegiant (Chronicles of the Nephilim Book 4) (20 page)

She snorted, “You are the one who is always talking about Zimri-Sin’s penchant for tall tales. There is no telling what
that
is going to be like.”

This time, Abram did not respond. Instead, he simply said to her, “Sarai, what is wrong, my love?”

And she broke down into tears.

“I am sorry. I am so sorry. I have been a nagging wife and I have not supported you. I am so sorry, Abram. Please forgive me.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” he said. “My heart is broken that you have no children to raise. I cannot help but blame myself.”

“No, my love,” she said. “It is not your fault. It is mine.”

“Listen to me, Sarai,” he said. “You have sought to please people all your life with never a thought for yourself. You were born into a family as an outsider and you placed them over your own concerns. You married me, and you became a support to my calling from El Shaddai.”

Everything he was saying was true. He knew her better than anyone. All her faults as well — and loved her still.

“To be barren must feel like mockery to your soul.”

She hugged him tight, and dried her tears in his shoulder.

“Maybe all this time, El Shaddai is trying to get your attention. To show you that he cares about just you and not how you can empower other people to fulfill their purposes.”

His words penetrated her heart. She had been so busy concerning herself with others that she had considered herself unworthy of El Shaddai’s interest. It was an insult to her Creator.

She looked up into his eyes. “Thank you, my lord. You have led me with compassion, understanding, and strength.”

She smiled with irony, “You have made me feel more beautiful than I ever imagined I could be.”

He smiled and kissed her back. “You have given me more beauty than I could ever appreciate in a lifetime.”

Uh oh. Here he comes again
, she thought with amusement as she could feel his aroused form pressed against her.

Even at his age, every time he got around her, he could not keep his hands off her.

“I cannot get enough of you,” he said wistfully.

“And I cannot get enough of you,” she said in return.

“You are lucky I am no longer fifty years old,” he said.

He was referring to the fact that when they were newly married, he was young and virile enough to make love to her every day, and sometimes twice a day. He would exhaust her with his love.

She giggled and tickled him. “Let us see if we cannot do something about that, Mr. Love Tusk.”

She kissed him passionately.

At that very moment, Eliezer walked by and remarked wryly, “Get a tent, you two.”

They chuckled and realized they were a bit out in the open. A group of children had gathered who were giggling at them.

So they got a tent.

The Oaks of Mamre were a couple miles north of Kiriath-Arba. They were a sacred grove of trees that were as ancient as the Great Flood. They rose to heaven like the pillars of the earth and inspired awe in the caravan of Abram as they arrived at their destination. The grove was owned by Mamre the Amorite. Mamre’s two brothers, Eshcol and Aner, settled their tribes around the forest in a triune confederation and now embraced Abram’s tribe as a fourth member.

Amorites were descended from Canaan the cursed son of Noah. They inhabited the southern hill country around Kadesh-Barnea and west of the Salt Sea. Some of them were giants, and all of them were warriors to be reckoned with.

When the confusion of tongues had occurred in Babel, Abram was living among the Amorites, so he had received the same language as his host people, which was another good reason for living among their brethren in Canaan.

When Abram arrived at the entrance to the forest, Mamre, a very big and fat fellow with a jovial temperament, greeted him. His brothers were leaner and more serious minded.

“Abram the Habiru!” yelled Mamre. “What took you so long? My brother Zimri-Sin has told me so much about you!”

Habiru was the term for rootless foreigners and invaders. It was a jest by Mamre who always kept a light heart about everything. He loved to tease, but he loved the people he teased.

Eshcol and Aner were there to greet him as well. They grabbed wrists and kissed each other’s cheek.

Then they saw Sarai. Eshcol gasped. Mamre said, “Abram, I see you are the luckiest man in the world, or I have just arrived in heaven.”

Sarai blushed.

“Yeah, I hear that often,” said Abram. “This is Sarai, my wife.”

“It means
princess
,” said Mamre, “And what an apt name indeed. Welcome, princess with the ruddy husband.”

They laughed.

Abram had always felt like he was a bedraggled cave bear next to a stunning sunrise when he was with her. He knew men looked at him and thought, How did
he
get
her
?

She was living proof that El Shaddai was good to him beyond his wildest dreams.

“Where are your children?” asked Mamre.

Abram sobered, “We do not have any, I am afraid.”

“Oh, forgive me then,” said Mamre. “May the gods grant you blessings without number.” He leaned in, “But may they be mostly boys, because I can tell you my five girls are driving me up a tree.”

Everyone chuckled again. Tragedy averted. Mamre was quite the host.

He noticed Sarai staring south to the plateau that rose above the valley. It was several thousand feet high and sported a village that looked quite active on its incline.

“I see you have found our neighbors, the village of King Arba,” said Mamre.

Sarai looked at Abram as a chill went down her spine.

“A giant clan. But do not worry, there are only a couple hundred of them.”

“What are they like?” asked Sarai. “Are they hostile?”

“You can see for yourself,” said Mamre with a smile. “We have invited them to your welcoming banquet.”

Sarai fainted.

When Sarai came to, she was resting on a large comfortable cushion. She looked around the room. Strange. It was not a tent; it was a wooden structure, made of oak. It was warm and pleasant. She sighed, stretched her arms, and just lay there a moment taking it all in.

These Amorites were quite the cosmopolitan society. They seemed to have an eclectic interior design that reflected their wide spread travels. Tapestries from Haran, golden lampstands from Egypt, an elaborate bed from Elam, and their own wooden carved life sized idol of Amurru, god of the Amorites. Sarai winced with disgust.

She got up and paced over to the doorway. She opened the door to a large porch with a railing on it. It was night. She must have slept from the exhaustive ride after fainting. But there was the glow of fires and lamps all over. She noticed the trees all around her. But they were not the roots of trees on the ground; they were the height of the trees up in the air.

She walked to the edge of the porch and looked down seventy-five feet to the ground and her stomach churned with butterflies. The home she was resting in was part of an entire tree village, built into the forest fifty or so feet above the ground.

She looked around. Though it was dark, there was enough light from home lamps and bonfires below to allow her to see a vast interconnecting network of ladders, ropes, and bridges joining all the homes clinging to their large trees all about. Some had spiral staircases going up higher into the branches to other homes. Because the trees were plentiful and quite close, many homes used several close trees as pillars around which to anchor a single home. Others were built around the shaft of older larger trees. All of them
displayed solid well-crafted workmanship. Amorites were a warrior culture, but these Amorites appreciated quality in their living space as well.

It took her breath away.

It must have been a village of a couple thousand by her impression. She saw several large bonfires with what looked like a village feast in process. There was some dancing and general murmur of party noises. Abram must have left her to recuperate while he joined them. He was always so thoughtful of allowing her the rest she needed.

She felt like she was missing out on the community because of her faint heart and got angry with herself.

Next time,
Sarai, she thought to herself,
have a stronger constitution, will you? In fact, I think I will start today.

She rushed back in to the tree house to get ready. They had brought her trunk of clothes from the caravan up to the home, so she had everything she needed. Since these Amorites were so worldly wise, she decided to be a bit risky in her presentation. Sarai was a modest woman. But Abram had bought her many exotic items of clothes and make up from his own experience with foreign traders.

She did not like to wear them in public because she did not want to draw attention to herself. But she would please him by modeling them in their sleeping quarters for him because he always told her how he loved to just look at her in different garments of beauty.

But these Amorites were a bit looser in their dress. The few women she saw at the entrance of the grove were dressed like harlots from her perspective. So she decided to step out and be a bit more risky tonight because she would not be standing out like she might have back in Haran.

She decided to go Egyptian. She wore Abram’s favorite expensive tightly woven white linen dress with a slit in the right leg for walking. She put on her rings, earrings, necklace, and multiple bracelets, as well as another favorite of Abram’s, a golden outer corset and belt.

She painted her eyes with black kohl eyeliner and used a green hue eye shadow. She finished with henna dye on her lips and nails. She did not wear the black wig, but instead just wore a gorgeous headdress she received from Pharaoh himself when she was in his keeping. She did not want to look like she was an Egyptian, just to wear it as a style, so her normal wavy blonde hair kept that distinction clear.

She hurried as fast as she could and was ready within the hour.

She pushed her way out to the balcony and found a roped elevator with a hand drawn pulley system that was easy enough to figure out. She let herself down to the ground to find her husband. She got butterflies in her stomach knowing she would surprise him with great pleasure, and knew exactly what he would be needing when they got back to their lodging for the night.

His oft spoken words echoed in her mind and made her smile,
When I see you, I just cannot help myself, so I help myself
. She loved being a feast for his senses. She loved having her husband desiring her all evening. She knew it would be difficult for him to enjoy the party because once he saw her; he would not be able to think about anything else till they got back to their love nest. And she loved how he made her experience the dizzying heights of ecstasy.

She shivered again with excitement as she hit the forest floor and got off the elevator. She moved toward the feast to find her Abram.

As she approached the main body of people, she heard the music rise above the din. It was quite engaging.

She thought,
These people know how to enjoy themselves.

She could not see through the large group of bodies pressing in to get a good view of the festivities. She recognized some from her
own caravan and figured it would be where Abram the guest of honor would be. She began to excuse herself as she tried to make her way through the crowd.

But suddenly, the men started to notice her and began to stare. Then others began to step back and let her through. They began to form a pathway for her like some kind of gauntlet. It sent a chill down her spine to have so many men looking at her.

She hated the attention and thought to herself,
I knew I should not have dressed up like this. I thought it would be no big deal. I thought I would not stand out from the other women.

Technically, she was right. The other women were dressed most lasciviously, and Sarai was very modest in comparison.

So why is everyone looking at me?

She kept walking on, hoping she would find Abram so she could hide herself behind him.

Finally, the gauntlet opened up to a group of dancers before a dining table staffed with dignitaries and in the middle was Abram.

She saw him and instinctively went toward him. What she had not noticed was that the crowd had not merely been parting for her; it had been quieting down, as more men and women saw Sarai approaching.

Suddenly, the music stopped, the dancers stopped, and Sarai found herself in the middle of the dance floor all alone in an unexpected silence with everyone staring at her.

She started to panic. She was trembling.

Until Abram saw her. At first he looked at her as if he did not know her, because he really did not expect to see her dressed as she was. So it took him by surprise, and she could see in his eyes, an attraction she remembered when he first saw her. It was like being noticed all over again.

And then familiarity came to his eyes and he smiled.

And she felt safe again.

Until she saw a giant stride out in front of the dinner table and bow to one knee. He was adorned as a chieftain, a giant chieftain about ten feet tall. She suddenly remembered that they were to meet the Nephilim king Arba of Kiriath-Arba.

She filled with fright.

When the giant spoke, she could not understand him. A human translator accompanied him and announced for everyone, “What goddess has graced our presence this evening? Anat? Asherah, escort of the mighty El?”

She was frozen in terror. What was he talking about?

She looked around her to see if there was some goddess who had stepped in behind her. Maybe that was why everyone was acting so strangely.

But there was no one behind her.

She turned back to see Abram approaching her with arms open wide, and his own translator echoing his words in a foreign tongue.

“Good King Arba, this is a woman far more glorious than any Queen of Heaven. This is my beautiful wife, Sarai!”

Everyone applauded.

It was the moment Abram needed to reach Sarai and whisper in her ear, “fear not, my beautifulicious. Come with me.”

He led her over to the worshipful eyes of King Arba, still on his knee on the ground.

From behind him, came the voice of one very jealous wife, “Okay, Arba, stop your gawking, she is no goddess.”

His wife appeared next to him as Abram introduced them.

“Sarai, this is King Arba the founder of Kiriath-Arba, and his Queen, Naqiya.”

His translators repeated his words for Arba.

Sarai bowed respectfully to the two giants who towered over her by almost twice her size. They were large boned people with fair skin and blonde hair like her own. They had thick large necks that were disproportionately long, but extravagantly ornamented with huge gold and jeweled necklaces. She also noticed that they had the extra sixth digit on each hand common to the Nephilim. They were at once, both terrifying and regal. Sarai could not help herself from staring right back.

Arba was hypnotized by Sarai. Naqiya rolled her eyes. “You might want to stop drooling, my king. It might offend our visitors.”

“My apologies,” said Arba, wiping his mouth. “It is a pleasant surprise to meet you, Sarai. You are as lovely as your husband has warned us.”

His human translated.

Sarai looked down embarrassed, “Thank you, King Arba.”

Abram muttered under his breath to Sarai, “
More
lovely and beautiful.”

Arba continued, “I dare inquire you are well from your fainting spell of earlier?”

“Yes, I am, thank you,” she replied. “It was an exhausting journey.” She tried to avoid the other reason for her passing out.

Mamre stepped up and said, “Come, Sarai, I have put out plenty of food and spirits to raise your countenance!” He pulled Abram and Sarai back to the table.

Arba stood there watching Sarai as they walked back to the table.

Naqiya pulled Arba along whispering in his ear, “She is not a meal to eat, husband. We have plenty of that on the dinner table.”

Arba shook himself out of his trance and followed her back to their positions to continue the feast.

The music resumed, the dancing continued. The feast was back on.

All through the dinner, Arba could not take his eyes off of Sarai. He was clearly smitten with her beauty and she could see the lust in
his heart. It was creepy. It filled her with fear. So she clung closer to Abram, who tried his best to divert the king’s attention onto exciting stories of Mesopotamia and wild tales of earthquakes, tumbling towers, confusion of tongues, and the fall of the Kingdom of Nimrod.

The feast was in Abram’s honor, so he could not leave early. It would be disrespectful. Arba was graciously accepting their new settlers to the forest without hostility. Though Mamre and his brothers were not subjects of Arba, it was good diplomacy to allow their Nephilim neighbors the friendly gesture of meeting the intended new residents so as to communicate the lack of aggression on the part of the Amorites.

Finally, as the night was winding down and many were leaving, Arba pulled Abram aside, looking around to make sure his queen was not nearby. His translator shadowed him.

“Abram,” said Arba, “I am a very rich king. I have gold, silver, and jewels beyond measure. Just tell me what you want and I will give you your hearts’ desire in exchange for your Sarai.”

“She is my wife,” said Abram, insulted by the impertinence.

“So?” said Arba. “Do you not have others to spare?”

“No. But even if I did, Sarai is the most glorious treasure I could ever have. She is beyond riches. She is not for sale, and I would die for her.” Abram had determined he was never going to let another Egypt happen again. It was the biggest mistake in his life, and he was only too blessed to have a wife godlier than he that forgave him for such a cowardly act. Yet he was faced with the same problem as before, a greedy lustful ruler with an insatiable hunger for Sarai.

He was glad he had been practicing the way of the Karabu in late night secrecy, because his body was becoming wired and ready to spring into action should this pompous oaf become aggressive.

Arba thought to himself,
One day you will die for her, little man.

But finally, Arba backed down. “Well, I applaud your devotion and I welcome you and your priceless wife to our land in peace.”

It was a complete switch. Arba dropped his pursuit like a child with a deficit of attention and moved on to the next item of interest. Now, he was all business.

“I only ask that you keep your flocks from grazing on the northern acreage of the plateau.”

“I will respect your wishes,” said Abram. “And I thank you for your understanding and gracious acceptance.” He was hoping he had dodged a dagger.

But Arba had not dropped Sarai from his mind at all. It was merely a ploy. No, he would never forget Sarai, the most desirous object of lust he had seen in all of Canaan. The fact that she was a bit older than usual made it all the more unique and tasty to him. It would only benefit his cause for Abram to be lulled into a sense of safety and acceptance. He did not know how he might take this goddess of beauty for his own without all out war. But he had time to think — and plan.