FALLEN ANGELS OF EDEN

Prologue

South Central Africa: 1,003 BC

The moon rose over the flowing water in the west like an old, yellow skull.  Soft, rippling sounds issued off of the hull of the ship as the oarsmen, like a metronome, dipped their oar blades into the brownish surface of the river.  The ship and its furnishings were crafted from the straight pines of the foothills around Tigre on the eastern shore of the Mediterranean.  Its mast was furled in the night.  Now, only the oarsmen plied their trade.  The air was warm and still—full of humidity, the flottsum of decaying, tropical growth lazily circled in eddies and offered the 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 resolute up-river.  It had been more than two years since they had cleared the Pillars of Baal.  They had cruised down the west coast of this dark Continent, and had survived the terrible storms of the southern tip as they, then, plied northward.  The necromancer of the ship had gone into a fit as they drew near to the mouth of the great river—frothing and sputum flung in 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.

Now, three moons later, the leather jerkins chafed and the armor weighed down Hiram’s spirit . . . as well as that of his crew.  They had been under attack for some two days—the arrows issuing from the banks of vegetation like clouds of flies, pestering the ship and its warrior contingent.  Calmly and with a resigned air, the oarsmen 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 acting as a turtle’s shell.  The small and black arrows 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 back.  The black projectiles pinged and sounded their tinny presence as they slid off his armor.  Resigned, he continued the cadence of the crew, speaking encouragement to them as he sounded the drum—the heart beat of the ship.

            Dawn was a whisper in the eastern sky as the ship continued its upriver voyage. Gone now were the dark wildings—the attackers of the night.  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 sleeping a shift now—only half of the crew soaking their paddle.  The strokes sounded soft and half-hearted in the lonely hours of the morning.

            The beacon of light came as a raw thing—searching toward the ship with an unblinking eye—green and azure spider webs of light circulating at the core of the beam.  Hiram was roused from his dozing as his crew became noisily awake.  The banks of the river streamed with dark bodies—as columns of ants in the pre-dawn.  The light shone the way to the ship.  Then, a singing sound filled the air as the streams of tribesmen issued from the banks in dugout canoes and surrounded the ship from Tigre.

            Instead of the confrontational posture of the warrior, the inhabitants of the canoes hung their heads in a mutual obeisance.  The light and singing sound 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.  To the man, the crew turned their helmeted heads toward Hiram, each finding strength in the warrior—his gaze unafraid and grim.

            Just as suddenly as it had started, the siren sound 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 could hear 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 Tigre 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 head down.  Yet, then, in an incredibly loud voice they all issued, a cry, “Leza!”

           The keening sound again claimed the early morning air as the beam of spider webs focused on the deck of the ship, seemingly enveloping Hiram within its entrapment.

            Pulling his sword from the deck, Hiram’s vision closed to a small circle and then, went totally black.  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 keening of the river went silent and Hiram found a peaceful sleep and silence within the spider web of light.

            Hiram’s eyes 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 like 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.

            Hiram watched as the throng of hairy, near-humans squatted amidst the boulders and shrubs, and interacted amongst themselves with orderliness and protocol.  It was then Hiram heard the voices seemingly knitting together the siren sound, coming 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 species.  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 voice in 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 to hold us accountable and responsible for things we do not understand.”

            “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.  They are artists of wood and stone sculpture, but little else.  Have you the knowledge of construction my warrior friend?”

            Hiram smiled and said, “The men of Tigre 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 will have.  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 the world.”

            “Your claim and proposal will be considered, man of far shores,” said the voice in Hiram's head.

            “Who will consider my proposal?” asked Hiram.  “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.  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 amongst 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 seeming contentment.

            The small, hairless man looked up directly into Hiram’s eyes and said, “Satisfied my warrior friend?  Or are you still skeptical, and feel you are only dreaming that which you see?”

            Hiram drew his sword from its scabbard and pointed it at the small man and said, “Does this lone naked child thing pretend to dictate terms and direct the lives of Hiram of Tigre and his crew of a hundred warriors?  Where lies your authority, little man?”

            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 Tigre?”

            Hiram’s mind was racing—trying to discern substance and reality from strange dreams or the scourge of old food.  Resolute in his own reality and skill, 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 to the neck of the man thing.  The ape men quickly scattered but turned about and bared their teeth as they struck aggressive poses.  The naked man thing was gone.  The keening wail returned and grew in intensity.  The ape men cowered and lowered themselves to the ground.  The sound entered Hiram as a living thing.  His sword shattered and the shield cracked and crumbled, falling to Hiram’s feet.  The naked man thing, still smiling, again walked amongst the ape men—soothing them with low missives and gentle strokes and scratching.  The man thing looked at Hiram with his dark, almond eyes and seemed to smile even wider.

            “My warrior son, is it not true amongst 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 wind off of the Red Sea blew into Hiram’s face.  The wind bore the scent of soil and vegetation as they 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 came to the kingdom of Solomon some six years after leaving Tigre, with two-score less warriors on board.  Most had given up their lives to the strange sickness of fevers, and a few to building accidents—as large boulders teetered and toppled over on to the workers of the stone.  Only one was lost in combat—strangely, when one of the ape men escaped to inspect its new home.  The ape man encountered the Phoenician mason who drew his sword to summarily dispatch the thing.  The ape man’s attack was unexpectedly aggressive and resulted in death through the loss of blood from a severed artery in league with acute head trauma perpetrated with a convenient stone.

            Hiram, now seeing the docks of Solomon, thought back to his placing the seal and tablet in front of the large structures and enclosures he and his men had made in the womb of that dark continent some two years before.  The necromancer had instructed the head mason in the chiseling of the new signs into the stone seal.  As if autographing a work of art, Hiram testified as to their accomplishments as the lines and marks were chiseled into soft rock.

            King Solomon himself was waiting their arrival as the sail was dropped and the oarsmen guided the ship 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, himself, Hiram directed the off-loading of treasures.

            There were long lines of slaves, each bearing over their shoulder, huge, ivory tusks that were dispatched from the ship’s hold.  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 went well into the afternoon.

            The thrill and pageantry eventually degraded and few remained on the docks.  Solomon, however, remained seated on his bier as Hiram came to formally offer him fealty.

            “Great King Solomon.  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 became greatly agitated.

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

            Hiram, looking long at the creature within the cage said, “No, my Lord.  This creature is much beyond the apes I have procured for you in the past.  This creature seems to actually . . . think.  As well, it makes and uses tools.  It is not nearly as hairy as the apes I have procured for you in the past, and the head is shaped much different from the dumb beasts previously delivered.  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 as he extended his hand near the cage of the ape man.  The ape man nuzzled the fingers of Solomon and the king formed a cuff of hand as he looked at the caged creature and sought its ears.

            “Who are you, father of man?” Solomon addressed more to the open sky.

Home