Abraham Allegiant (Chronicles of the Nephilim Book 4) (22 page)

The village of Kiriath-Arba rested on the side of a large hill overlooking a valley rich with springs and wells. It was a prime location for defense. They could see the valley all around them for miles. The backside of the hill was virtually inaccessible. They were a clan of only a few hundred giants, but were well-trained warriors between eight and eleven feet tall. They were a fair-skinned people with blonde and red hair, a sixth finger and toe on each hand and foot, and unusually long muscular necks that gave them a look of fierceness in battle. They seemed to be built for war.

King Arba had plans to expand his territory when he had the numbers. He actually had designs on the whole of Canaan. It was quite ambitious and Queen Naqiya would often tease him by calling him “King of Canaan.”

They used regular humans as servants and lived in stone built homes. They built a circular religious site at the top of the hill with megalithic stones that were aligned with the stars to create an astronomical microcosm of the universe. They believed that by aligning themselves with the stars, they would be aligned with the gods.

In the center of the megalithic circles was an upraised altar for excarnation, the practice of leaving the dead out to be de-fleshed by vultures before having the bones placed in ossuaries for burial.

A giant was out amongst the megaliths tending to a recently dead relative when he saw the approach of the caravan of donkeys in the distance. He ran and told the King, who came out to meet the caravan arriving at the village.

The caravan consisted of twenty mules carrying loads of gold, silver, copper, and gemstones. It had come from the Oaks of Mamre, or more accurately, was returning from the Oaks of Mamre.

When Arba saw the payload of precious metals and jewels, he screamed with anger at the top of his lungs. He stomped back to his stone palace and began demolishing things. He crushed two human servants to death before Queen Naqiya arrived to try to calm him down.

She was newly pregnant.

When she arrived, she was disgusted at the sight.

“You are pathetic,” she said to him.

He was weeping with tears of anger. He looked up at her, breathing hard. His eyes filled with hatred.

But she did not stop.

“How dare you ransom our village wealth to satisfy your juvenile fantasies of that bitch whore.”

He stared at her. She was referring to Sarai of course, and he did not hide it from her. Naqiya had what she wanted in carrying the royal seedline. His physical desires were unquenchable and he required more than she could give him.

“Look at you. You are like a little child throwing a tantrum because Abram does not want your toys, but you want his. And he has more moral character than you to send back your bribe, which makes you look even more inferior and pathetic.”

It was true. He could not deny it. Arba had been obsessing over Sarai the entire year since he had first seen her in that feast in her Egyptian finery. He could not get her out of his mind. He would fantasize about her while spilling his seed on the ground; he would picture her when he had sexual relations with his wife and concubines. He wanted her and he could not have her. And he was going mad because of it. He was sending spies to report to him her every whereabouts. He was losing his concentration on ruling and taking risks with the community.

This latest was the most foolhardy. He thought that by sending a caravan of half his riches with trust to Abram, it might impress him
and tempt him to consider the offer as never before. These were riches accumulated from around the world. Exotic ornamentation and rare gems that would appeal to any man’s greed. Or so Arba thought.

But he was wrong about Abram. And it made him flush with rage.

“You are ruled by your little head, and have endangered this village with your piggish slavery to your lust. What kind of king would give away half his kingdom for the momentary pleasure of violating a dried up old slut?”

Arba stood up and walked up to Naqiya — and punched her hard in the face with his fist. She grunted and fell down to the floor with a gushing bleed from her broken nose.

She tried to get up in an irrational shocked response to the violence. He stomped down on her hand and crushed it with his heel, breaking it with a crunching sound. She screamed in pain. He kicked her in the face and she crashed back down to the floor.

He reached down and pulled her up by her hair, almost ripping it from her scalp. He lifted her up to his face. She was too dizzy to see straight. She started to pass out. He slapped her back to the present. Her bloody blackened eye was blinded. But she could see him through her other eye clouded with tears.

“The only reason I did not kill you is because you carry my son. Never speak to me that way again, or I shall cut my offspring from your belly and drink your blood as it drains from your body.”

He dropped her to the floor and turned to leave.

A servant staring silently with eyes wide open in fright accosted him.

“What is it?”

“M-my Lord,” said the servant. “You have some visitors.”

“Who?” he barked.

“Traveling hierodules of Ashtart.”

Arba had wondered what in Sheol hierodules of Ashtart would want with him. But he was commissioned by Ashtart in Sodom, so he knew it was not wise to keep her waiting or cross her in any way. He met with them out by his stone palace entrance.

When he arrived, his Naphil sixth sense made him pause. He saw before him small slender hierodules dressed in traveling robes. But he knew they were dangerous. They were tattooed as appropriate for the temple and were as a matter of fact quite attractive. There was something inhuman about them but he could not place it. Their eyes were the only visible giveaway. One had bright ochre irises and small pupils and the other had completely black eyes with no white at all. And then he realized what the second one reminded him of: A peregrine falcon. He was a falconer himself and knew those eyes anywhere.

They were accompanied already by two of Arba’s guards so he thought he would not order more guards for security. It might alarm these strangers. Although they were quite small and manageable, he knew that such disadvantages could afford the element of surprise with secret fighting skills or hidden sorcery.

They bowed and spoke in his tongue, “Your majesty.”

“Please forgive my minimum guard,” he said to the visitors. “It is royal protocol. Please, allow me to entertain you in my chambers.”

The guards led the female visitors to a meeting hall in the stone palace. Once inside the room, Arba noticed how they moved with preternatural grace and elegance. Arba was wondering if they would be willing to perform any cultic sexual congregations with him.

He made a chirping whistle and servants brought out some bread, fruit, and wine.

“You must be tired from your journeys,” said Arba. “You are not from around here?”

The feline one spoke. Her voice was soothing and sensuous.

“My name is Zula, and this is Laliya. We have been commissioned by Ashtart of Sodom to find a rogue individual who may have been in these parts. We request your kind help, good King Arba.”

It made sense to him. Nothing seemed out of place.

“Do you have your commission from Ashtart?” he asked.

“Unfortunately, we do not,” replied Zula. “We were robbed in the Negeb.”

That sounded about right. The Negeb desert was crawling with nomadic Amorites who were notorious for their pirate activities. But for these two beautiful slight women left unscathed? That did not seem right.

The falcon-eyed one interrupted Arba’s inner questioning. She decided to be as bold and frank as possible to spare the doubts.

“We are looking for a man named Abram of Haran. We believe he has a wife named Sarai and a small clan. Our interest is private, but we do provide reward for any help that may lead us to him.”

Her boldness worked. It was the honesty that washed away all the previous questions.

Arba now knew Ashtart did not commission these two women. And he understood why they had been able to travel unmolested in this brutal country, and why his sixth sense of danger alerted him in their presence. But their deception did not bother him anymore, because he knew he was talking to a pair of assassins. And if a pair of assassins was looking for Abram of Haran, then he might finally get what he had been lusting after for too long.

He replied, “Rejoice this day, hierodules. For your search is over. I know the man of whom you speak.”

They looked at each other with their otherworldly eyes.

“And I only ask for one small reward in return.”

The city of Borsippa was about eleven miles south west of the ruins of Babel. It was a sister city that Nimrod had turned into his new center of rule. Unlike Babel, it did not have protective walls, so when Nimrod received word of Chedorlaomer’s approach with his armies of Elam, he knew he would have to muster every soldier from the surrounding cities of Kish, Akkad, and Sippar, as well as every civilian who had a pitchfork or tree ax to fight for their lives. Without walls to hide behind, they needed large numbers to face the trained armies of Elam.

Nimrod had gathered seven hundred thousand soldiers and civilians in the plains of Shinar to meet Chedorlaomer’s mere five thousand elite warriors. That was fourteen times the number of Elam’s forces, but it would not be as easy as it seemed.

Unfortunately, Nimrod’s armies were not trained, so he knew he would have to pour myriads of souls into the slaughter with the hopes of wearying the king of Elam’s fighting forces with too many to kill. Then Nimrod would ride his small guard of Nephilim into their exhausted ranks and seek to take out the king himself.

Nimrod cared not one whit for the lives of his subjects. He would sacrifice them all in order to achieve victory. He would sacrifice his own family if he could.

It was time for Mardon to experience battle, so he was to lead a unit of the giants into battle as well. Nimrod was hoping that Mardon would be killed in combat, so he could rid himself of his vile miscreant of an offspring. This would jeopardize his other plans for a legacy of destruction, but he would restrategize if that happened.

Mardon had been taught leadership and fighting skills by his father. He had the soulless hardness of heart that would make him capable of handling the horrors of war. But torturing captive victims
and beating servants was not the same as facing trained warriors. And for that he carried some anxiety, which is why he commissioned two of his best Nephilim warriors to guard him in the fight.

When Semiramis heard of the impending war, she called Mardon to her private chambers and sought to inspire him in the way she best knew how — sexual depravity.

In the throes of ecstasy, he bit a small piece of her ear off and ate it. When Semiramis slapped him and clutched her bleeding ear in pain, he claimed it as a means of absorbing some of her power into his own for the battle. It was like eating the flesh of deity he said, and they finished their perverse tryst under the hidden watchful eyes of Nimrod’s spy.

As they lay on the sheets catching their breaths, Mardon told her, “The plans are set. I have spoken with my contingent of Gibborim warriors.”

She looked at him with surprise. “They are loyal to you?”

He said, “They are just as dissatisfied with their father and king as we are — as all of Shinar is. They even believe the other Nephilim will join us when we carry it out.”

Semiramis smiled. “We may yet have our day, dear son.”

• • • • •

It was morning when the armies faced each other on the battlefield plains of Babel. Nimrod and Mardon commandeered their two ranks of a hundred giant warriors each at the rear of their seven hundred thousand-man army. They were scattered without formation and suffered the lack of proper combat gear and weapons. They were overworked and underfed from Semiramis’ opulent demands on the king’s treasury. They were rebuilding a kingdom after all.

Before them stood the warriors of Elam led by Chedorlaomer. Five thousand of the best-trained men of the Eastern kingdoms. In the lead were their phalanxes of soldiers with square shields held
tightly together and their long spears thrust through openings. It created an impenetrable porcupine type wall used for attacking. Behind them were the regiment of archers carrying the newer developed composite bow made of horn, wood, and metal that would launch arrows twice as far and with twice as much force as the normal bows.

Nimrod saw what was coming. It was going to be a massacre. But he had no other choice.

The horns of war bellowed.

Chedorlaomer raised his sword and the phalanxes began to inch forward. They were in no hurry. But the forces of Nimrod saw the attack and began to rush the field.

Behind the phalanxes, the archers drew their bows, a thousand of them, and released a volley of death from the air upon the advancing soldiers of Shinar. They quickly reloaded and refired, over and over again. It was a thunderstorm of lightning bolts piercing the armies of Nimrod by the thousands. They had to climb over their own dead just to keep advancing.

By the time they met in the field, the phalanxes with their disciplined maneuvers were skewering the random untrained forces like shiskabobs. They pushed them back but then were stopped in their tracks. Nimrod had been right. The dead bodies were too high for the phalanxes to climb without breaking ranks, which would leave them open to attack. So they backed off.

Several hundred thousand had already been killed. Nimrod was right again. It was a massacre. A bloodbath of carnage. But he made the mistake of angrily sallying forth with his soldiers around the heaps of the dead.

Another volley of arrows from Elam filled the sky. Mardon was staying safely behind the field of combat. But he was not safe from the two arrows that pierced his body, one through his liver and the
other through his lung, grazing his heart. He fell from his horse and yelled out to his guard, “Go! Now! As we planned!”

The Nephilim guard left him and galloped off toward Nimrod. Mardon cursed the gods and fate through wheezing breaths.

The giant warriors had been commanded by Mardon to kill Nimrod in the course of battle so that Mardon might rise to the throne and end the tyranny. But what they did not count on was that their brothers guarding Nimrod were still loyal. So when the Gibborim conspirators arrived, Nimrod’s Gibborim countered them. It created enough confusion for Nimrod to lose control of the battlefield.

His forces ran into a slaughter. By the time they surrendered, only a hundred thousand were still alive. Six hundred thousand soldiers had been wiped out.

The Nephilim had almost killed one another in the fight over Nimrod, but the survivors were captured along with their king.

The field lay saturated in blood, and the cries of dying soldiers filled the air. The forces of Elam moved in on the city, Nimrod was chained and brought to the prison.

Over in the rear of the Shinarian army, Mardon had passed out. When he came to, he stared up into the sun at the face of a god. It was the mighty warrior Marduk. He leaned down into the blood and mud and stroked Mardon’s hair.

“You are the son of Nimrod,” he said.

Mardon shivered with fear. “Have mercy.”

“Mercy, I am afraid, is not a virtue I hold dear. But you are dying, human. And my plans are not for you, but for your father. I have no further use for you.”

Mardon wondered if Marduk would leave him there to die or crush his skull and get it over with.

Marduk continued with a smirk, “You know, I remember at Babel that you once had a fancy for me. I believe it was a prayer of
yours to one day have sex with a god, since you had already had sex with everything from cattle to corpses.”

Mardon was not too fancying at this moment. He was just trying to breathe.

“I think I am going to answer your prayers,” said Marduk.

Marduk then broke off the arrows that were in Mardon, ripped off his clothes with one jerk, and proceeded to violently rape him.

He could feel the life breath leaving Mardon just as he reached his own climax of release. It was a powerful experience with spiritual symbolism for Marduk. The spasm of sexual release unified with the spasm of death. Pure poetry.

He threw the cadaver to the ground and continued on his way.

Semiramis drew her bath with very warm, almost hot, water. She let her naked body down into the water of the ground pool. The steam penetrated her nostrils and the heat warmed the chill of her body. Two servants scrubbed her body lightly with sponges. The water slid down her breasts, onto her belly, and into the water.

She was cleaning herself for her meeting with Chedorlaomer, the conquering king of her city, of her kingdom.

She had always felt she deserved the kingdom far more than Nimrod, who was just a brutish boor trampling everything without discretion. But she had found out that her son Mardon was dead, so she would never see that dream fulfilled. She heard Nimrod was confined in the prison, probably to be dragged through the streets in triumph and hanged from the gallows before the watching world.

Another servant anointed her hair with oil. Some of it ran down her face and stung her bruised eye.

She dismissed her servants and relaxed beneath the cleansing waters.

She had fought so long and so hard to achieve her desire of power, and now she felt like it had all come crashing in on her. It was not fair. She was a woman. She had few advantages in a world of men. She was the useful tool of Nimrod, now she would probably become the useful tool of Chedorlaomer.

She had told herself long ago that she was never going to be the tool of any man again.

She pulled a dagger out of her bag and clutched it with deep sorrow.

She put it to her wrists and cut long way down her veins, slicing them open irreparably.

The blood poured out of her and into the pool in a spreading stain of red.

She became lightheaded, dizzy.

She slipped into unconsciousness and then oblivion below the waters.

She was dead.

She had finally escaped her miserable life.

But would she escape her Maker?