FALLEN ANGELS OF EDEN

Prologue

South Central Africa: 975 BCE

Like an old yellow skull, the moon rose in the west and shone over the dark, flowing water. Soft, rippling sounds swept along the hull of the ship as the oarsmen dipped their oar blades into the brownish surface of the river. The ship and its riggings were crafted from the straight pines of the foothills around Tyre, on the eastern shore of the Mediterranean. Its mast was furled in the night. Now, the oarsmen plied their trade. The air was warm, still, and humid. The flotsam of decayed, tropical growth lazily circled in eddies and offered a pungent scent of old rot that blanketed the river.

The grunting of the large water horses echoed against the hills. Coughs and the spitting of phlegm quietly gave witness to the humanity of the ship, cruising resolutely up-river. It had been more than two years since the Phoenician galley had cleared the Pillars of Baal. They had cruised down the west coast of the Dark Continent and had survived the terrible storms of the southern tip.

Then they turned north. The necromancer of the ship had gone into a fit as they drew near to the mouth of the great river. Froth and sputum ran down the shaman’s face as the man was claimed by great ticks and spasms the closer they drew to the channel. Hiram, the Admiral, had taken the signs seriously and ordered their entry into the strong, flowing water, full of silt and life.

Now, three moons later, the leather jerkins chafed and the armor weighed heavy on Hiram’s spirit . . . as well as that of his crew, he reflected. They had been under attack for two days now—the arrows flew from the banks of vegetation and buzzed like clouds of flies, pestering the ship and its warrior contingent. Just then a new volley of arrows filled the night air. Hiram saw with some pride, how his troops calmly and with a resigned air donned their metal helmets and slipped their arms through the leather thongs of their shields—maneuvering their shields to protect their exposed backs.  The iron armor acted like a turtle’s shell. The small, black arrows now danced off of the sailors’ armor and skittered off on the deck of the ship.

Hiram grimly looked down as he drew his shield over his own back. The black projectiles pinged and sounded their tinny presence as they slid off his armor. Resigned, he continued beating the cadence for the oarsmen, speaking encouragement to them as he sounded the drum—the heart beat of the ship.

“Steady you go men. ‘Tis the same as before. A child’s war they wage. Also a coward’s war.”

Some hours later, dawn was a whisper in the eastern sky as the ship continued upriver. Gone now were the dark wildings—the attackers of the night and their plague of arrows. Hiram drank deeply of the water and inspected some dried figs and dates, which he threw down his gullet more from need than from hunger or interest. Every other oarsman was now sleeping a shift as the other half of the crew soaked their paddles. The strokes sounded soft and half-hearted in the lonely hours before dawn.

Hiram leaned on the ship’s tiller, almost dozing, when he came fully alert.  The beacon of light came down the river—searching the river for the ship like an unblinking eye. Green and azure spider webs of light glowed at the core of the beam. Hiram was now fully roused as his crew noisily came awake. A writhing mass of dark bodies packed the mud banks in the pre-dawn. The light shone the way to the ship. Then, a high-pitched wail filled the air as the streams of tribesmen issued from the banks in dugout canoes and surrounded the ship from Tyre.

Instead of the confrontational posture of the warrior, the inhabitants of the canoes hung their heads in obeisance. The light and singing continued as a loud keening issued forth from above the gathering tribe, surrounding the ship in the river. Hiram listened and amidst the haunting noise, he heard only the sounds of his crew’s fear and dismay. Hiram saw that to the man, the crew had turned their helmeted heads toward him.  Each seemed to find reassurance from his presence—and his unafraid and grim gaze.

Just as suddenly as it had started, the keening went silent, seemingly swallowed by the dark river. The great beacon of light, however, continued to illuminate the scene, turning the pre-dawn into midday.

Hiram heard the mumblings and saw the signs made by his crew against Mot, the God of death.

“Tis Baal, captain, or his son Mot. Whichever, he comes for us—sent by the meddling priests of Tyre I reckon,” said Hiram’s first lieutenant, Baskos.

“Nay, Baskos, even Baal knows not of this place. We are beyond our Gods’ wrath in this infernal land.” Then, hastily considering his choices, Hiram issued his orders in a strong voice. “Quickly, every man, back to back with your mate—shields forward—swords at the ready! Baskos, throw the stones.”

Baskos heaved the heavy stone anchors over the gunwale of the ship. With clanking armor and the quick shuffling of feet on the wooden deck, the crew formed a rod of steel along the center of the ship. Hiram remained at the tiller and slowly drew his sword and casually stuck it into the wooden deck by his feet.

The dozens of surrounding canoes held position around the ship. All in the dugouts continued to hold their heads down in the shadow of the great light. Yet, then, in an incredibly loud voice they all cried in unison, “Elo Yam!”

The keening sound again claimed the early morning air as the beam of spider-web light focused on the deck of the ship, enveloping Hiram within its star-fire luminescence.

Hiram hurriedly pulled his sword from the deck.  He shifted his feet into a wide stance and stood there, with his blade poised and ready.  But then, his vision closed to a pinpoint of light.   Then his sight went totally black. Blind, Hiram fell into a great darkness.  The keening sound seemed to support him as he floated free of the heat and humidity of the river—the burdens of his jerkin and armor no longer an issue.

The noise stopped. Hiram drifted into a peaceful sleep within the silent spider web of light.

The strong smell of animal sweat woke Hiram from his dreamless sleep.  His eyes slowly came open to behold the strangest of sights. Before him were creatures that were human, yet not at all human. Their beetled brows and protruding muzzles looked distinctly similar to the apes Hiram procured for the royal court of King Solomon. Yet their motions and facial features were as human as the zookeepers of Phoenicia.

The throng of hairy, near-humans squatted amidst the boulders and shrubs, and groomed themselves with orderliness and protocol. Then the singing voices Hiram heard knitted together in a siren sound that came from within his own head.

“Behold your fathers and mothers, son of man. Perhaps your memories include them—perhaps not. Regardless, we maintain our brood stock, hedging against the frailties of your race. After these years of observation, we may yet need to start anew. For that reason we maintain our breeding line.”

Hiram, without fear or nervousness questioned the source of the voice that was within his head. “What is it you wish of me and my crew? We have journeyed far from our Gods yet, it seems as if a new God has found us. Is it that you hold us accountable and punish us for things we do not understand?”

Hiram heard what could have been soft laughter.  “That is not our intent. We wish for you to make us structures to house our work as well as our subjects, Admiral. Make us a wonderful enclosure within which your grandmothers and grandfathers may prosper, and make us a large structure to house our priests. These dark people from the north have few building skills to suit our needs. They are artists of wood and stone sculpture, but little else. Have you the knowledge of construction, my warrior friend?”

Hiram smiled as he looked up toward the sky, addressing his unseen host.  “The men of Tyre are born with the strong grip of the mason. If it is structures you want and hold as bait for our freedom, well, then wonderful stone structures you could have. But how am I to be sure that your word will be as good as our labor?”

There was more soft laughter.  “You really have no way to be certain of anything we say, my brave friend.  But you will have our word.  And you will quickly find that our word is as true as your own.”

Hiram knew he was in no position to deny any offers that could give him and his men more time plan and execute an escape from this river and its gods and their voices. 

“Keep from us the dark wildings and leave me to my crew, and within thirty fortnights you will have your enclosure and temples unique in this world.”

“Your claim and proposal will be considered, man of far shores,” said the almost whispering voice in his head.

“Who will consider my proposal?  Who are you and what are your numbers? Beyond a voice in my head, is there any substance? Are you frightened to show yourself? Perhaps I am only dreaming a strange dream—the result of old food taken on an empty stomach. I will find it difficult to seriously consider only that which is a voice in my head.”

“Fair enough . . . Hiram of Tyre. See for yourself. Believe or remain the skeptic, it matters not as long as your words are true. Build for us that which we require. Do this, and in consideration of your efforts, you will be compensated much beyond the saving of your own skin.”

Then Hiram beheld a small form walking among the ape men—luminescent and hairless with huge, oval eyes. It appeared naked, without armor or wrap. It had genitals as a man, but totally lacked body hair, and the face was without line or crease. The head was largish and seemed to wear a perpetual smile. The creature walked slowly, gently stroking the ape men—scratching one behind its ears and gently cuffing another—wearing that perpetual smile of contentment.

The small, hairless man looked up directly into Hiram’s eyes.

“Satisfied, my warrior friend? Or are you still skeptical, and feel you are only dreaming that which you see?”

Hiram suddenly drew his sword from its scabbard and pointed it at the small man.

“Does this lone naked child thing pretend to dictate terms and direct the lives of Hiram of Tyre and his crew of a hundred warriors? Where and what is your authority, little grub?”

The small hairless creature chuckled, a glint of mirth entering his large, oval eyes.  “Many of your kind would call us by the name . . . Elohim, my backward son. We are the creators—the makers of man. Why, my sea-faring warrior, we made you and all of your line! What say you now, Hiram of Tyre?”

Hiram’s mind was racing, trying to discern substance and reality from strange dreams or the scourge of old food. Now, somewhat more certain of his own reality and physical prowess, he walked toward the hairless man thing and readied his sword arm, tucking his shield’s edge under his chin and nestling the lower rim into his left, upper thigh.

Hiram said, “Baal made me and mine. Now, you will pay for the affront to my God with your life, little man thing.”

Hiram swung a mighty blow at the neck of the child thing. The ape men quickly scattered but turned about and bared their teeth as they struck aggressive poses.

          The blade struck empty air. The light creature was gone.

The keening wail returned and grew in intensity. The ape men cowered and lowered themselves to the ground. The sound entered Hiram like a living thing. His sword shattered and the shield cracked and crumbled, the fragments falling to his feet.

Then the naked man thing reappeared. Still smiling, he again walked among the ape men. He soothed them with low whispers and gentle strokes and scratching. The naked creature looked at Hiram with its dark, almond eyes and seemed to smile even wider.

“My warrior son, is it not true among your kind that you cannot raise your hand to your father? Well, as such, you cannot raise your hand to me—he who created your father’s father. These challenges and this heroic posturing will now be at an end. You will sleep, now, and when you wake, you will begin to build as is our bidding.”

- THREE YEARS LATER -

The sail billowed on the vessel as the sea wind blew across Hiram’s face. The wind bore more than the salt of the sea. Now, the scent of soil and vegetation was also carried on the wind as the ship approached the docks of Solomon. The vessel rode low in the water—its store of treasures a wonderful burden below in the hold of the ship.

They had returned to the kingdom of Solomon some six years after leaving Tyre, with two-score less warriors on board. Most of the dead had given up their lives to the strange sickness of fevers, and a few to building accidents when large boulders teetered and toppled over on to the workers of the stone.

Hiram could see that King Solomon himself was waiting on the pier. The sail dropped and the oarsmen guided the galley to the wharf. Hiram was the first to step on the familiar soil of land and was received by Solomon’s entourage. After a brief conversation with the King, Hiram directed the off-loading of treasures.

Long lines of slaves snaked out of the hold. Some bore over their shoulders huge ivory tusks. Others struggled under the weight of gold ingots stacked on ebony planks. Trusted members of the ship’s crew carried casks of diamonds and precious stones toward the bier of Solomon.

The off-loading continued well into the afternoon.

The thrill and pageantry of unloading the strange and wonderful treasures eventually waned, and few remained on the docks. Solomon, however, remained seated on his bier as at last, Hiram came to formally offer him the manifest of his fealty.

“Oh Great King. I leave the oddest for the last. My last gift to you is strange beyond all ken. Behold, that from which we have been born….”

Six members of the crew lifted out of the hold a wooden cage within which sat the strangest of creatures Solomon had ever seen. The ape man studied the great king and bared its teeth and growled threateningly with its eyes wide and wild.

“Is this another of the great apes as you have acquired for me in the past, Hiram?”

 “No, my Lord. This creature is much beyond the apes. This creature seems to actually . . . think. As well, it makes and uses tools. It is not nearly as hairy as the apes from the dark forests, and the head is shaped much differently from the dumb beasts I have delivered before. Despite all those differences, I find the eyes to be most telling. My great King, when you look into the eyes of this creature, it is as though you are looking into the eyes of your brother.”

The sun hung low over the land of Solomon. The great king walked casually toward the creature as he extended his hand near the cage of the ape man. The ape man smelled and nuzzled his fingers. The king formed a cup of his hand as he looked at the caged creature and sought to scratch its ears.

“Who are you, father of man?” Solomon said as if addressing the darkening sky.

Feeling the hand on the back of its head, the ape-like thing again bared its teeth—fear and determination in its eyes as it gauged the measure of the great king. Solomon slowly extended his hand further into the cage and the knuckles of the ape man gently touched his as the sun bled crimson into the sea.