Chapter 03
Journey up and over
They had barely been over the first ridge. Mahalaleel looked forward to their next stop, when he could sit and treat his achy muscles to a warm beverage. Having passed his sixth century five years ago, he wasn’t the only one who couldn’t help but to be somewhat amazed at Great Grandfather Seth’s stamina – the group’s oldest elder was five years shy of being three quarters into his eighth century. Seth and another elder led the party; the two had previously journeyed into the mountains. The group had only left their community behind, three days previous - and had a long journey ahead - but it was almost like his grandfather was trekking circles around men three hundred years his junior. Mahalaleel had also noticed such was about the same with his great grandmother; while traveling among the women, a dragonfly had caught onto and displaced her headpiece; her long hair was more auburn than gray. Quickly, the lady rewound and covered her tresses. While Mahalaleel harbored no complaints, his wife’s glory was as much gray as brown. Made sense - the Fall’s compounding effects over time.
His stomach growled, it wanted, of all things, a piece of his wife’s pineapple upside down cake – but that wasn’t going to happen for a while. He reached into a pocket and drew out a piece of broken rice and bean cake. Bland as all get-out, but he - as well as everyone else - would have to get used to trail-fare. At present, however, his mind, wasn’t cooperating; instead, his memory drifted back to Great, Great Grandmother Eve’s peach pie. The particular recollection was but a typical family gathering; Great, Great Grandfather Adam had just finished plowing a field; seated at table, with knife in hand, he was ready to dig in. The table had been laden with all sorts of breads, fruits, lentils; upon the sideboard sat a dozen various pastries. At the time, both Adam and Eve were into their nineth century.
What time was it? Within the thick forest, the only accessible clocks were the calls of birds and beasts. It was coming on mid afternoon. Soon they would find a place and settle in for the night, gather fire wood - and plenty of it; lest the fire grow weak, and nocturnal beasts take the opportunity to snag an easy meal. In addition to firewood, gather whatever provender for the animals which they had brought along with them – a hard pass, in places where the trees grew close. Forest animals’ calls and scampering also provided the sub-group of forty or so, with the means of determining their approximate topographical location. A less welcoming communication had been the growl from a dire wolf; as if to remind the people to, quietly, remember their place, as landless peasants, at the mercy of their four-footed betters.
The following morning, the camp had gotten off to a later start, for the previous day, they had been huffing it - away from the dire’s territory. Lamech was chewing upon a blade of grass, and generally keeping an eye on the surrounding forest, when he laid eyes upon another surprise. The trail behind them was already covered with young spouts. How th'...? Among the tender leaves, already lurked those sticky briars; creeper-vine, but out here, probably a more aggressive sibling. That’s what their healer had said; and if anybody knew, it would be her. The part of him which had debated with himself, whether or not, he had made the right decision, had concluded, there remained one answer to that question: forward.
“And Mahalaleel lived sixty and five years, and begat Jared: And Mahalaleel lived after he begat Jared eight hundred and thirty years, and begat sons and daughters:” Genesis 5:15-16
"And the LORD God prepared a gourd, and made it to come up over Jonah, that it might be a shadow over his head, to deliver him from his grief. So Jonah was exceeding glad of the gourd." Jonah 4:6
By mid-afternoon, the pilgrims took a break, one long enough to give themselves, and their animals, some refreshment. Meanwhile, about thirty furlongs (about four miles) or so, in the glade before them, and just a bit off to their right, a female mountain gorilla was looking for her youngster. At some two or three years old, her little one was starting to explore his world; keeping up with him, to ensure his safety, was becoming a full-time job – and some. Not even a half moment ago, the youngster had been pulling a young shoot from a bush, which grew just beyond the edge of the small clearing. She sniffed the air. Something was wrong. That something wasn’t just pack lizards; she had run off three or four of them. By this time, they had likely made other accommodations. Toward her left side, she heard a twig snap, and a rustle of leaves. Peering into the foliage, she sensed another intruder - watching. She struggled against panic setting in, because that wouldn't be helpful. She called for her mate, while continuing her search.
The people were back on their feet, continuing their silent and careful way. Above around the middle of the column, a largish bird of prey flew from a nearby tree, heading in a northeasterly direction. A moment later, its smaller, less colorful, mate followed suit. "Holy buckets! You see the size of that...?" a youngster commented, but was quickly shushed – for listening, and not talking, was key. Barb had also had seen the creature; she immediately grabbed up her eleven-year old son, who was walking at her side, safeguarding him close – the youngster was anticipating when he would be big enough to join the older boys, and carry a real weapon - not just a stick. He chafed at being fussed at, as if he was still a little boy.
While at the same time, Tommy knew he needed to be where he was, for his younger cousin, Bryan, was walking nearby. The rather delicate youngster strove to keep a flint-face, but it was evident enough to Tommy, the boy was uneasy about the relatively unknown which lay before all of them. That morning, the two were feeding the lambs their breakfast, Bryan had confided a question to Tommy – were there in the mountains, big dragons that ate people? “Yeah.” Tommy’s matter-of-fact nod was non-judgmental, and so gave the youngster a leg-up.
Later in the afternoon, a series of loud guttural howls had broken out from the direction to where the birds had flown. Anyone over the age of fifteen or so could about decipher that breaking news story – a story, any story, for a group, half-starved for conversation. Anyone over the age of around thirty, knew the follow-up would headline the evening report. About the time the people were gathering firewood, provender and unpacking things they would need for the night and following morning, the noises started up again. This time, with roaring and chest poundings, interspersed with tussling branches, snapping twigs roaring, panting - and what sounded like sobs.
"Lovely!" the old healer murmured, for the noise was likely to continue into the night.
“Poor thing.” Barb mouthed as she passed along a wooden trencher of supplementals of which the women had been able to gather along the way. “I lost my mate too.” She whispered into the darkness. But at least they let me have my young one – well, for now, the thought kept her from launching into a private pity-social – unlike the she-gorilla, whose little one had likely been slain by the intruder.
The stench was so bad, it caused one of the headmen to lose his breakfast – of which hadn't been much, just a few berries, leaves and roots. Wending their way up the second mountain, a wheel on one of the carts had slipped, sending the cart on its side, scattering its precious contents. A few of the items had been retrievable, but many were not - for the incident had taken place upon an outcrop; not a safe place to remain for any longer than absolutely necessary. In the distance - but not enough of one, as far as all were concerned - BigUgly cruised the sky, in search of her, and her hatchlings’ breakfast. The group, especially now, was running low on supplies; and the distance they had already endured, could hardly qualify as the first leg. And to think, had Grandfather Seth, - and later Enos – along with several of other men, not have previously made this trek, all those centuries ago, getting through that narrow pass – with its hidden …surprises; could have ended way worse.
Bear wrinkled his nose. The recently-shed length of scales, smelt like death - overdone. And it was huge. The belly-crawler must have been about the thickness of a gramma-gator - there was a children's story about that... "Grandmother, what big..." So, the thing was probably in the area. That meant, wasn't a good idea to pop, more than four or five cubits, into the bushes for a quick pee. Not a problem for men and boys; they just headed for the group’s perimeter, turned aside, shifted their raiment, and let it go. Women and girls? That was another matter. Women! They were good for, one other thing – besides separating friends. Always needing to stop…if it wasn’t answering nature’s call, it was certainly another. And they, like children, made too much noise. Bear grimaced; they’d be about twice the distance, if it wasn’t for…them. Though it didn’t cross Bear’s mind, Matt, their wheel-wright, was about as slow as the old women – one of his feet was a wooden peg.
Onward and up, over the second ridge, and down again, just a way, wouldn't be too long now, they would be out of that thing's territory, and would be stopping for the night. Having crossed the ridge, several of the women honed in on a group of second-phase fig trees, and the lower hanging fruits were over-ripe, but the old saying about beggars’ choices. At least the mushy figs were serving as a break from wild, and wormy ☹, apples. The women and girls were able to gather a half-decent amount. The group could have stood for more, but they were hindered. The Lady of the Manor had suddenly appeared; spiraling down from her private sun room, her feet hit the ground, powerful arms swinging, her mouth grunting very real threats of serious thrashings. The half-starved have-not's quickly fled, spilling about half of what they had managed to snag – either from branches or from off the ground. The baboon snarled in disgust. Hardly a moment later, a second baboon poked its smaller head and upper torso from the leafy medium. The furry patrician looked up, cooing and gushing at her little one, who was chewing on a plump juicy fig, while dismissively throwing aside another – one that was hardly overripe. The mother baboon gleamed and grunted with pride at the discriminating qualities of her young prince.
Barb took three of the figs from the trench, and passed it along. She handed two of the "better" ones to her boy: he was growing a bit spindly. Tommy had started the journey with goodly flesh upon his frame – thanks to his great, great grandmother, Debra’s, bounty. His raiment was of good quality as well – extras of which Barb had been unable to provide. She looked around. What was this place? An rfd version of Enoch? She had heard about the city – how, the poor were run off, from one place to another, before they had a chance to at least partially fill hungry bellies and get some relief for their tired feet, only to be run off again - if not rounded up, and dispatched to the work house. She had also heard, while Enoch always had its poor; back in the day, if you ended up “outdoors, ya know,” there were plenty of benches in the park. A line from one of, Jorg Thorgud’s songs played in her head, “evrh budah funni, now you funni too.”
The ditty still made her smile; his was the last concert Tom and she had attended – or had it been the next to last? No wait, she recalled, it was the last, because a woman sitting nearby had been telling her cousin something about great, great uncle somebody having back trouble, and being disgruntled about some perfectly good, and comfortable, park benches having been “rudely yanked out” and replaced with backless seats, ones with bars between them. “Aggressive architecture,” that was the word the woman had used. Also, that following year, Tommy was born, and so, there were more important directions to earmark precious coppers, than for the purchase of concert and theatre tickets.
Striking difference, between the line of Cain, and that of Seth, Barb continued pondering. Among Sethites, and their tributaries, poverty was rare - and usually temporary. Barb’s parental lines had a history of not always getting along, but being country people - anyone's crops could suddenly come to ruin, through absolutely no fault of one’s own. Among the Cainites, a different outcome; when circumstances turned south, was more along the lines of..."inhales” to be you." That was one of the few times she had heard her late husband make an off-color remark; he and his brother had been out back building that shed - between them, a midsized jug sat on the ground, half spent.
Nearby, the trench, and two or three other vessels, sat empty - save for a piece or two. Whether bellies were adequately filled, that was doubtful. And she and her boy, were just two more - two living, more or less, upon charity. It had been, over a year and some, since her late husband’s passing - the three mangey hood-rats had been following him at market, bugging for coppers. Word was, he had said no, and they became wroth. The pottery merchant, nearby, had ended up with shards, and the neighboring cloth dealer with ...bolts landing willy-nilly in the street.
S'matter with that boy!
Mash grumbled to himself, as he made his way back from his turn at watch. Forty-somethin’s, they got no sense! He was still upset with Bron, his 2nd born, who had come this close to getting himself jawed. Over what! Retrieving a stupid lance! Had it not been for Cappy having grabbed him, and pulled him back…Mash didn’t want to think any further into what had almost been the outcome. Thank the Most High, his wife was huddled with their daughter; both were sound asleep – thus relieving him of having to deal with panicky womenfolk. Brr, the moist night air did have a chill about it. The family was down to two blankets – and one of them, hardly qualified; their third was given to a family, who had lost nearly everything they had; for theirs was one of the carts which upturned. Mash and his wife, Rachael, could make do with the thin covering; the other family, however, had an infant and a young child. Mash recalled overhearing Seth’s comment to Pastor Jason, along the lines of back in the day not having felt the chill. Their pastor had responded with something along the lines of the chill being “the other blessing,” though a less than comfortable one, but one certainly less dangerous than the uglies. It was a small comfort to proud Mash, that he, certainly, was not the only man who greatly feared those fire-breathing things.
He scrunched up against his wife’s back. Her body felt warm, and certainly inviting - another time, another place. Within a few moments, Mash was sound asleep. Midway into the 4th watch (around 4:30 am) something had stirred him awake; he knew not what. A dream? A noise from the surrounding forest? Except for random chirps from nightbirds, and a rustle here and there from the forest, the early morning was quiet. More likely what had awakened him was the coffee he had drank while on watch. That had to go. As before, he had considered giving up the beverage, at least by certain hours, but had reconsidered; caffeine-free guard stints weren’t a good idea – especially in this particular part of the forest. He arose. He caught a glimpse of Bron, sitting beneath a torchlight, stripping a stick from its inner-bark. Even from Mash’s vantage, his son’s face held a glum, but determined, expression. He should be getting in some shut eye. Kids…
The bush he was nearing, had become occupied. What was it with women, taking so dern long! Mash’s back teeth were beginning to float. He had been edgy here of late, and becoming more so. With everyone needing to keep close ranks, goes privacy out the lattice. The coffee out of his system, he buttoned his trousers; he wrinkled his nose, his garments needed a wash – like everything, and everyone, else. Their journey was still in the beginning stages, he – and likely the other men – were missing the everyday comforts, for which they had taken for granted. He had begun to question how various outlying tribes could stand themselves; some were notorious for being, filthy – even in places where clean water was close at hand. Their habits, of course, had come up numerous times within Pastor’s sermons.
Whuh??
Mash was making his way back, when, the shadowy scene just ahead of him, compelled that he take an alternate route. Oh, and in the nick of time! He didn’t care for a close up of…that. He shook his head, even though it was still dark, and most everyone was still asleep; still the couple’s lack of restraint. Had the two been newlywedded, the incident would have been somewhat understandable.
Monkey business
They were almost to the valley floor, when about the time, an overly sweet smell had tickled some nostrils. A modest grove of coconut trees, of a hardy variety, had been spotted. Quite accidently, for one of their sheep had wandered just a bit, and then took off running ahead, but veered off a bit to the side. A boy, followed, by two others, took off after it. Two or three of the young men were on it. Hardly a moment later, the boys gave a whistle – one that spelled, “FOOODD!” The area appeared reasonably safe, at least for the time being. Several women and girls began sorting through the smallish coconuts hanging upon lower branches or laying upon the ground; though obviously past their season – and by their cloying scent, nothing like the lovely coconuts they had been accustomed to. Still, food was food, and they gathered up the fruits that weren’t…too rotten.
As one of the women carefully laid one of the too soft coconuts in her basket, she looked up. Her face fell. Just on the other side of the trees, two grown male chimpanzees appeared from the bush. The primates seemed uneasy about something. She gently, nudged her daughter behind her; the child, knew the drill: walk back carefully, slowly, and don’t make eye-contact with the chimps; the girl knew these creatures weren’t the cute, agreeable characters from the story her grandmother had bought for her from the traveling merchant. The other women, began backing up, two or three leaving their baskets. If that wasn’t already enough, on the grove’s other side, appeared a single male chimpanzee – but he appeared big enough to take on the two with no difficulty. The three of them began making a lot of noise. The larger one, now standing in the clearing, began pounding the ground with his fists; the other two paused a moment. The larger, sensing fear-based indecision from the other two, just grinned, then launched into mocking noises. One of the two, evidently having had his fill of insults, inched forward and fired off a round of his own; the second, evidently sensing he would need backup, picked up a nearby stick. The two inched further from the bush. Any second, the territorial rumble was to be on.
This wasn’t good.
While even an older boy’s spear thrust might bring down a chimp, the problem was: one couldn’t always determine their number or their mindset. At least, with an andy, or a bear, you basically knew what you were up against – but chimps? They were too much like …men. The women and girls, were now either within the safety of their menfolk, or in that proximity; arrows were on ready, as the people – as quietly as possible – backed toward the trail. But, of course, the subgroup of fifteen individuals couldn’t slip away quietly enough. The larger primate’s vocalizations and body language, toward the other two, had taken on a different tone.
Though the two younger chimps, still somewhat hesitant, were nearing the midst of the grove, where the larger stood pointing, and mocking the now retreating bi-ped intruders. To think, hardly two moments ago, it looked like the two smaller primates were in for a serious whopping from the larger. The three of animals were now in league, making faces and hand-signals at the humans. One bent over and began throwing rotten coconuts, the big one followed suit; the third chimpanzee, with stick in hand, climbed the nearest tree; his stick whacked one of the fruits – one which was quite rotten, but hadn’t yet fallen from the branches. Hitting it out of the park, the primate version KaseyGones upped his batting average as he ascended the branches. The big one, still on the ground reached for a stick, but it was rotten, so instead, he just yanked off a nearby branch and began swatting lower hanging fruits or chunks. Whatever the third was doing, who knew or cared! The fruit-spattered urchins were back on the trail, the primates’ noisy mirth filling their ears, while hunger remained in their bellies.
That evening, when the camp had turned in, a little boy whispered to his mother, that when he “got big, he’d come back to see if the chimps had become men.” The woman, narrowing her eyes, had responded with something along the lines, of “that professor being full of monkey stuff.”
"Choosing rather to suffer affliction with the people of God, than to enjoy the pleasures of sin for a season;" Hebrews 11:25
Oh finally!
The column had stopped for the coming evening. By tomorrow, around this time, they would be about over the foothills of yet a third mountain. Was there yet another two on which to trudge up and down? The old medicine woman wasn’t sure. Oh well, tomorrow. She, as everyone else knew, they had needed to get far away, from the corruption, and the sickness, to a place, where and people and beasts – even those horrid pack dragons - were free to be as they were created - just going about their business.
It was a given: animals attacked each other - when their boundaries were crossed; they fought over resources growing in border regions. A day earlier, two male tigers had been going at it; and not too far from the ruckus, a young female casually lay below a walnut tree – one a bit too close, as far as the transients were concerned; she had been enjoying the round hard snacks while watching, waiting, anticipating - her tail, flipping this way, and that, to go off into the bushes with the victor.
She reached into a pouch, pulled out a little bag, opened it, and pinched a rather sizable smidgen of grayish green powder into a little cup, stirred it, then sipped the bitter liquid. Being on the trail, there was no time to mix it with anything to make it reasonably palatable – let alone, more effective. The old woman had been experiencing chest pains. Nothing new. Ever since that fever had made the rounds, she had been dealing with them, on and off. For the most part, more of an annoyance than anything, half a day’s rest had usually taken care of the problem.
But the medicine wasn't working like it did, back...back home.
The Most High God is so good to us. The rag-tag group had reached a clearing, looked up and down the crisp, flowing stream. Here, with plenty of soft grasses and fruit bearing trees, they and their animals could rest awhile. Had to have been God's direct mercy, for the trackers found no recent evidence of any local four-footed baron, enroute to send the ragged peons running for their pathetic lives. Nor did there appear to be any evidence of creepers; a predatory vine, which if one wasn’t careful, could wrap itself tightly around a leopard, or a man . Before getting too comfortable, several men and women – most familiar with wild plants – surveyed the area, to make sure none of those vines grew in the area. Unlike that other, seemingly inviting place, which was but a day’s journey, from where they were currently unpacking various items, they would need for the evening.
During the journey the people had been careful to not happen upon other such vines, which, depending on the type or time of day, were known to shot out deadly poison, if one came too close. It took a trained eye to distinguish the types – better yet, to just avoid them. But even those, had a place in the LORD God’s world. Their medicine woman had joined in the walkaround, and, at the same time, was able to replenish some of her stocks. Various poisons, properly mixed with other herbs and diluted into beverages, fought infections, and relieved aching muscles. At last, she had the ingredients to quell the chest pains, though, the mixture wasn’t one that could be properly mixed and refined; that required a settled existence - for which all were longing. But the concoction would have to suffice.
Over the next several days, the women washed and mended clothes, wove baskets, gathered produce, while the men repaired or replaced their weapons, tools, vehicles, tools, and had built several temporary structures. A hand cart had been damaged, when three rodents - one male, who must have weighed almost as much as a man, and the two of his females - not the normal, “the male and his female” - had decided to snag a free meal. The smaller female, judging by the marks upon her body - some in the process of healing - evidently was taking some ongoing guff from the other two. Nasty creatures.
Glorianna took in the scenery around her. Clean blankets, clean raiment, clean hair, clean…everything, she sat upon a rock and dangled her clean feet in the gently flowing water. She spotted a purplish gemstone lying in the shallow creek bed. Running her hand over the gemstone, she estimated it would certainly be more than enough to afford her maiden daughter and herself a lovely afternoon in Purveyors, shopping for fabrics, and getting their hair and nails done. She debated with herself whether or not to keep the nugget, but what was the point; they had a long journey ahead of them – and even farther away from any shop. She bent down, and returned the nugget to where she had found it.
A little way downstream from her, Mash, while washing his hands and face, had a similar debate going on in his head; the answer was close, but not quite the same. The nugget he held in his hand would have bought a certain muted pink gown and matching cloak; so, so Rachael, but the sweeping ensemble had been beyond his means. He opened his pouch, but then recalled a certain illustrated dreadful, he had read as a boy, entitled, “The Shimmering Beach.” One which, he had never forgotten. A seaside tale, where three young men, out for adventure, sail a boat, but the current turns contrary; they end up washed ashore upon a beautiful coast, where plenty of provisions were for the taking, while the men rested up and made repairs to their craft. They had, however, ran into trouble from exceedingly large, ferocious beasts – shortly after one of the fellows had succumbed to greed, and had started packing pebbles.
The ending paragraph - where the two had confronted their gem-grasping mate. Following a very close call with a centipede – one about the girth of a merchant’s house, and the length of Purveyor’s main street; how the giant insect chirped and screeched – to this day, still was enough to give Mash the willies. The two fellas were about to knock the third’s block off. They had, instead, given him one of two choices: either become rich, and stay marooned, or remain poor, but among his fellows. The tale had ended with the would-be grasper, saying, “What? Not even one?” The story’s very last sentence had been, “Nope! Not a one.”
The stone hit the water, just a cubit or so, where Mash had retrieved it.
He happened to glance near the bank, to where the flow parted around an outcrop – about the same color as that ensemble. This waterway was probably like the one back home – a few minerals, in the bed, but more beneath. And left undisturbed, for those lying beneath, belonged to Earth’s holdings. Earth sustained them, to whom, his people were vassals. A memory, from out of nowhere, raised a chortle.
Richard. And those two kid brothers of his. How that middle-kid wailed – like a girl. Had been around this time of year, when the three young men, the eldest having been no older than his 40s, had been caught digging in the creek bed – within Sethite territory. Rich no snitch, Mash had to grant him that. But then again, who would want that be known? Had been Bear’s idea, guy could come up with smart ones, when he had the mind to – the three thieves, had been hung upside down and paddled, with wet hickory.
A day or so later,
Ruthie and several other girls were playing a game, a form of bat-ball – in this version, however the ball was somewhat larger, and softer, than the one used in the regular game. The ball was pitched to one of Glori’s daughters, who stood at home base – one, which was a random orange shaded flat stone; one of the other three bases wasn’t even a stone, but a pottery shard. A somewhat glum expression briefly washed over her face, to which was answered by the young woman up at bat, “When we get to the new land...” There was nothing else needing added, for the two friends had already planned to weave real bases - ones that matched. As for the old set, the one or two of the mats - which had managed to survive the gulch - were standing in as seat cushions for an elderly aunt or grandmother.
At a short distance, several of the girl’s moms and aunties had taken a break from whatever work they were finishing up. Even from her vantage, Rachael noticed the dust and debris ground into the front of Ruthie’s frock – all for what! To score third base – a piece of mossy bark. She could only resolve to just let things pass – to let the girl enjoy herself; perhaps it was all for the best, considering what they had all endured. The girl, at home plate, whacked the ball a good one, sending it way into a nearby thicket – which impressed a boy, who happened to be passing nearby; wow, she could bat almost as good as a young man. Ruthie, playing outfield, ran to retrieve it. “Oh, no-no-no!” Rachael took off running in the same direction. “Ruthie? Ruthie!” Rachael’s voice was drowned out by sharp caws from atop a nearby tree, where two crows were fighting over … something – while several other crows were doing their version of either cheering or booing.
Unbeknownst to Rachael, her daughter had safely come out a short way from where she had entered, and had already rejoined the game; one which the girls had halted, and moved to a better location, away from clumps of weeds and bushes – and those horrid little puff stickies. Meanwhile, within the thicket, the game was on. The crows’ double-header had drawn a winged, and very noisy crowd. It was at the bottom of the ninth, and neither the two birds were backing down. A third flew in (the umpire?) and put a stop to the carryings on. With nothing further to see here, the spectators began departing – though not much quieter in making their exit from the gnarly stadium.
Eeech! That was close. The one flying just overhead, had dispersed a digested version of a juicy, delicious ball-park frank, of which the crow had obtained from a hole-in-the-bark concession stand. A sudden tussle of greenery, alerted Rachael: there were far worse hazards than bird dooey in one’s hair or upon one’s clothing. “Gga-goik, goik.” Her eyes became saucers.
“Ruthie, RUN!!” Rachael’s arm grasped the nearest branch, of which she began shaking, but not too vigorously - bird-lizards were smart – in order to draw the dragon’s attention toward her, and away from her child. “Go, go NOW!”
“The girl’s safely with her friends.” The man’s voice, coming from toward her side, spoke, matter-of-factly, though between chuckles. “Oh, thank the Most High!” She buried her face in his chest, then added, “you scared the perdition out of me!” Her child safe, Rachael was too relieved to be upset with her husband for pulling that stunt. Men… Her legs still wobbly, she looked around. “We should be getting back.” She turned in the direction of the voices which were coming from several reeds forward. “Why?” Mash grinned, not letting go of Rachael’s arm. “Oh, no!” Rachael backed up a step, “Not on the bare ground, like…like animals.” His face lit up, his eyes narrowed, from his throat came a growl.
Meanwhile, not far from the creek
"Sweetie, now don't go far." Tommy ignored his mother’s voice; he was in his glory, because he had drawn the short straw. "I'm the GARGOYLE, slimy, and MMEEAANNN!" He took off running. Barb, his mother, watched while retrieving a garment from off a clothesline. As she stood folding it, the mist-generated breeze ruffled the other items, and pressed against the layers upon her person. Her-slim figure was not going unnoticed by a certain man, who was swinging his axe into the log, which he had a few moments previous, had carried upon his shoulder.
Bear paused his work for a moment to put an eye upon the tree line where the boys were playing "Bird-lizards verses the Gargoyle." Like the other men, he also kept an eye, while about his tasks; especially here, in a land where they all were but transients, watching their step within the holdings of the four-footed gentry. Bear liked that kid. While no boy wanted to draw short - and end up being the gargoyle, the widow's son went full tilt; he had even smeared mud all over himself for the roll. Pray you never meet one, son. Bear's grin, turned to a frown. Casting down the memory – one which had, from time to time, sought to defile his head-space - he took up his axe, reducing the five-cubit log into firewood.
A mountain dragon had been spotted downstream, soaring high between the treetops. The men watched, and listened to the calls of other birds, and creatures dwelling high in the trees. Since they weren't sounding alarms to their fellows, the dragon was a stoner; as he approached, his zig-zaggy flight path indicated he had enjoyed a recent luncheon at one of cannabis café’s many convenient locations. He then veered off in another direction, and was gone, probably in search of a patch of wild grapes. Stoners posed minimal danger to people and animals; they were more a nuisance – ask any vine master. The females? They were a whole different story! It was none but the LORD God's mercy which kept the larger females mainly to ridges, where they worked full-time keeping their young fed - for unlike most other animals, they usually raised their young without the help of a mate. Had the dragon been a female, the gongs – hanging on ready from branches - would have sounded, alerting everyone to quickly take cover.
As the women and girls finished setting the communal serving tables – which were hardly more than rough boards sitting upon stumps - and taking their respective places among their family group. Tommy was more or less playing with his food. He had a question, which had been pressing him, from time to time, over the past several days. “Mamma,” he pointed to the thicket, “if Big Centipede lies in wait, why don’t the men join and go in together?” A pea escaped out of Barb’s mouth. The boy’s question raised a few nearby chuckles. “Honey, she coughed, “I’ll tell you about that, when you’re a bit older. Okay?” Grown-up stuff…meh. Tommy’s attention turned to his food, and to the games he and his friends would play, while the women and girls cleaned up.
As the grown-ups were enjoying their final evening, in this pleasant place, a young father reached for an instrument that looked like a harp, embedded into an oval shaped box, with a long stringed bar extending from it. "Me and you, and our little boy too," the man beamed at his son – who was maybe three or four – and a bit too young, and too tired to play any additional games. He then continued, "trav’lin’ an’a, livin’ off, the la-and. Me and you," he kissed his wife on her forehead, and continued, "and our strong son too," he paused, beaming again, "how I love been’a, a free-e man.”
Melodious and beautiful, Rachael had so taken the music all in. It was if the songs kept at bay a certain fear which, shortly after departing from their homeland, had begun to take root in her mind – and lately had begun to sprout seeds. Would a long-ago publication of Toff’s prove to be factual? She couldn’t recall the title of that book, the one of which she had taken great offense, but, nevertheless, had read three times – perhaps evidence that her humanness, and everyone else’s, was beginning to slip. Surely, she wasn’t the only person who was forgetting things. Or remembering...she blushed, rubbing her knees together.
Not far to her right, two boys were stuffing light brown grasses into the back and sides of their trousers, then binding the grasses with vines; they ran off, pounding their chests and making animal noises. “SILBERBACKS DON’T GO RRAAAH!” one boy corrected his companion. They took off running past the thicket, from where an older couple had emerged. From behind Rachael, she heard the snap of the young father putting away his musical instrument. Dusk was coming on, and people began to depart to their respective lean-tos to get needed shut-eye, for the morning would come quickly, and they would be back on the trail. Back to only necessary statements by day, and being too exhausted to say much of anything, come days’ end.
"And the fear of you and the dread of you shall be upon every beast of the earth, and upon every fowl of the air, upon all that moveth upon the earth, and upon all the fishes of the sea ; into your hand are they delivered." Genesis 9:2
The sojourners were crossing the ridge, where a terrible smell assaulted their nostrils. The source of it was, from all appearances, an abandoned big-ugly's nest. Wisely, giving the hastily built, ratty thing some distance; outside of it laid the decaying body of a hatchling. A baby stoner, who likely had been unable to hold his own, in the face of his female sibling's sharp and ready young claws and beak. The people could only surmise, there was only so much the overly burdened mamma-ugly could bring back. Retired Chief, Enos, Father of Chief Cainan, gave the nest a wide berth. Back in his younger days, a male dragon usually remained with his female; together, they were highly dangerous – raising two, even three, young, who usually made it to adulthood. He had come too close to having been snatched up, carried off, and dumped into one of those nests – yikes!
The tickey-tack state of the nest had brought to mind, a hut, Barb, as a child, had seen. She and her mother, Tamar, on their way to market, had passed the rickety place; the small garden and two or three fruit trees had been, for some time, overgrown with weeds and nettles. From inside, came a sour odor of unwashed raiment; a broken lattice sort of hung in the doorway: behind it, a dirty threadbare curtain. A woman had, apparently, snarled words she had never heard a grownup use; the mother's rebuff, had caused the youngster therein to wail. Having been only about seven or eight at the time, she had asked her mother why the woman was so mean to her child. To which, her mother had murmured something along the lines of “no oxytocin,” then had simplified her answer. “Not having a husband - willing to see to…things – surely vexes a woman into despair, frustration – giving way to the pit of anger and bitterness.”
Pit. The old pastor, Enoch the Walker, used that word – more than a few times – in his preachings. Reflecting back, there had been one sermon, where he said the wicked stronger push the weaker therein – only to recompense themselves, the same.
"I went by the field of the slothful man, and by the vineyard of the man void of understanding; And, lo, it was all grown over with thorns, and nettles had covered the face thereof, and the stone wall thereof was broken down." Proverbs 24:30-31
“Yet ye say, Wherefore? Because the LORD hath been witness between thee and the wife of thy youth, against whom thou hast dealt treacherously: yet is she thy companion, and the wife of thy covenant.” Malachi 2:14
Several weeks later,
Of all times. Rachael recounted the knots; the sum equaled the same – #LATE! Not that she was surprised, Prior to having ended their, affectionately dubbed, “Midway Va-ca,” Rachael had suspected she was no longer just one person. It was the timing which had her upset. Upon and after reaching their destination – wherever, and whenever, that would be – an overwhelming amount of work awaited all of them. During that window period, a few weeks back, she had tried to reason with her Husband, to wait until the morrow, but to no avail. Further up, and toward Rachael’s right, Marcella - Pastor Jason’s wife – was contentedly folding a blanket. She was showing. Into her third trimester, their baby would likely come into this world, not too far up the trail.
Onward and upward
Those few weeks of at least semi-privacy, made trail routine twice as difficult. Once again, keeping an eye out, in all directions, was the proverbial rock and a hard place. A sudden snapping of twigs and the flutter of leaves, caused the natural response of a man nearby to look over. He wished he hadn't, for there was neither tooth nor claw ready to attack. Through the fluttering leaves...he saw way more than what he needed to; his neighbor's wife was readjusting her shift.
Combined with a lack of privacy, being in transit neither afforded the women adequate time nor space to fully wash and dry towels and handkerchiefs. Not too long, following the group’s meal break, one of the men’s victuals had refused to stay down, and instead had come back up, and with a vengeance. More than two or three of the men had experienced similar embarrassment, at one point or another during the journey. Still, it was just one of those things, if a woman or child vomited in public; kids are kids, they get sick. As for women?? Well, basically same difference, they're neither men, nor even young men.
The dense foliage wasn't letting up; the people were about at one another’s heels. Conversation wasn't a wise idea, while hemmed together by the dark green branches, and shoots - striving against each other, for at least a bit of sunlight. For they needed to listen carefully to the chirpings, calls around them. Not that the people had much to say to one another, nor much song in their hearts. Earlier in the afternoon, two of the men had some sort of disagreement; for a moment, it had appeared, the two had wanted to go at it. Meanwhile, Rachael, the mother the girl, whose basket had been tramped upon, by "bird-brat," kept a berth, as wide as she was able, from Glorianna, bird-brat’s mother. Every once in a while, she caught the woman's glare. Rachael wasn't the only woman in their village who had found herself, a time or two, stepping rather carefully around the stout woman. Of course, everyone was on edge.
Thankfully, wouldn't be on the trail forever. Upon reaching the new land, they would all be too busy putting together both house and spacious yards to be getting upon each other’s nerves. Daily life, however would, for quite some time, would remain harsh; no time nor room, for the little luxuries and indulgences they had formerly taken for granted. The young widow, Barb, which the group had, according to several, had been indulged for, now well over a year, and reaching into the second – too long a time; that had to change. There wouldn’t be spare resources, for the community to aid her in maintaining a place and furnishings of her own. Here and there along the journey, Rachael couldn’t help but recall the day the groups had separated. A bit of conversation between, Barb’s father and…ugh, shaggy-beard. Rachael wondered if her young friend knew.
The man seemed to have a likable disposition, and though he’d a century on her, he wasn’t, well…too old. But marriage? Barb reflected on things, while keeping an eye on Tommy, who had insisted upon walking with some of the older boys; though tired, like everyone else, her son was enjoying the adventure of passing through uncharted land. Barb, on the other hand, was thinking about “home.” Home, where she had passed downtime portions of the afternoons, relaxing upon the roomy Head seat, with story-scroll upon her trousered lap. Not long after journey’s end, would spell the end of her freedom, as a sovereign person; she would have to give consent to, for all intents and purposes, becoming a man’s…vassal. No other way around it.
Just up the trail, the foliage had spread out enough to actually let in some of the afternoon sun. The column was able to spread out a bit. The ground beneath their feet was leveling out. Soon they would be stopping for the evening. Tomorrow, perhaps - before heading down the other side – their communications operator would be able to respond to the call they had received two - or was it three - days ago, from the other two groups. Perhaps, tomorrow, they would be outside of this latest no-call zone.
“Figures…” Cappy wrinkled his lip, while pouching tube and tinder, for the air currents would have sent the blueish smoke willy-nilly. “NO!” he called to his son, Joel, who was about to place his foot upon a nearby branch – for tucked within a gnarl, appeared to be a young adder, just waiting for a yummy gnat or whatever other winged morsel. “Go that way.” The boy, naturally, minded his father, for the simple reason that grownups see things that kids don’t. Having descended another six or seven reeds, (about 60 feet) the youngster paused. In the distance, he saw the source of a rather unusual barking sound. From the underbrush, appeared the head and upper torso of a dire wolf. At less than a safe distance, a young deer – who had been nipping at some random grasses – evidently, had not been paying attention to his surroundings.
The deer looked up – and froze. As did the boy. He wanted to cry out, but such would only startle the deer, and make his situation worse. From Joel’s vantage, it was obvious enough, the granddaddy wolf had the deer in his sight. But instead of lunging for a quick, convenient lunch, the old dire continued barking – a repeating sequence. The deer then turned tail, and took off into forest. The boy looked to his father, the father to his son. The wolf turned his head, toward the biped-occupied tree. For a moment, he continued barking, but the sequence changed - more growls, than barks. The wolf then muttered something, turned, and went his way.
Father and son continued their descent. At around three or four reeds (about 30 feet) from the leafy ground, the boy wanted to jump, but his father nodded a no – for ankle strength was needed to be conserved for the long journey ahead of them. At about one to two reads (12 feet) Cappy gave his son the okay. Where did these kids get all their energy? Cappy simply wanted to get some lunch, and puff on the tail end of a cigar he had rolled the day or two prior.
"That which hath been is now; and that which is to be hath already been; and God requireth that which is past." Ecclesiastes 3:15
Urban spaces
Lamech, son of Methusael, relaxed upon a sofa, in Zillah's parlor. He bit into a cucumber sandwich, while reaching for another. Upon the plate, bordered with various bite-sized fruits, were also a few small loaves of corn bread, several pecan tarts, and a dark sort of confection shaped like rounded pyramids. Zillah eyed the little treats, but did not add any to her plate - lest Lamech give her one of those "concerned" looks. Or worse, make some remark concerning "Sethite" livestock, ending with a "mmmooooo." Hhmmph, he didn't complain whenever they were ... in the adjoining room. But no matter, she requested her Husband's presence, because she had something of utmost importance to discuss with him. But first, of course, she listened while he spoke. Predictably, he brayed on, about this, that, and the other. He was so beside himself over quite of money saved in drawing up the prenup. And the final draft was about done - already.
Zillah, being no legal expert, nevertheless, was focused upon two or three certain paragraphs, the rental complex in town and the WadStreet portfolio - forget a few silly diamonds, a woman's best friend, are things which - in the case of widowhood, or divorce - will provide a roomy house in a safe neighborhood, a few servants, and funds to keep her daughter, Naamah, in decent raiment. Lamech reached for a fold, pulled out a scroll and handed it to her. She immediately honed in upon those certain parts, but also carefully read the others - while her Husband polished off most the refreshments. Enjoying the "pyramids" especially, he rubbed the spare wheel around his middle.
She rolled up the document, handing it back to her lord. "I'm amazed, so quickly." Zillah expected the negotiations to drag on a few more weeks. Lawyers..!
"Thought they could dig their polished little mandibles in this one, HAH!" The proverbial bull in a china closet slapped his side, knocking over a small vase. It rolled on the floor, leaving puddles and torn petals in its wake. Zillah glowered, for the vase, though nothing fancy, had belonged to her late grandmother. "Adah saw it, a mile away." He pointed at the front of his skull, beaming. "She's SMART!"
That, Lamech’s senior wife certainly was. While Zillah did harbor some jealousy toward her older competitor, the fact was: the woman WAS smart. And well able to start a legal practice on her own. Wasn’t fair, she worked long and hard, taking care of all the legal issues – which are bound to happen upon a vast estate. Oh, the gold and silver coin saved. Zillah, however, had reason to doubt whether Lamech had upped Adah’s allowance, despite all the effort she had put in. Evidently not, for shortly ago, while passing in the corridor, Zillah had overheard Adah asking Lamech for two or three extra silver pieces, and then their husband mumbling something about “You women…” he then had continued with their “having enough to stock both Lord Traylor’s and Macie’s for the next few seasons.” The tone of his voice had been a mix of dismissive and irritated – more, however, the former, than the later.
“And Lamech said unto his wives, Adah and Zillah, Hear my voice; ye wives of Lamech, hearken unto my speech: for I have slain a man to my wounding, and a young man to my hurt.” Genesis 4:23
Meanwhile, back at the ranch
Hearing a racket, of what sounded like metal churning, banging and clanging together, Jabal lit out of his tent, as did the armed men with him, exit theirs as well. Upon recognizing his half-brother, Tubal-Cain, in an approaching cloud of dust, Jabal held up his arm - signaling his men to stand down their weapons. It worked. He was amazed. While Tubal Cain had explained that metal could move, if powered by petroleum, seeing an automated chariot go - and go FAST - without horses pulling it...what a marvel. But why? What for? While a horse took longer, horses didn't make a bang, clang racket - which Jabal was certain half the valley was all ears, and by now, probably irritated. The horses in the corral weren't too happy either. Horses didn't need that gunky stuff - that could blow up on you, if you weren't careful. Horses needed but oats, grasses, water, shoes now and again, and brushings. Horses didn’t cloud the air with noxious smoke. Jubal let out a cough, while fanning the air before him.
Finally, the three-wheeled contraption came to a stop, the noise ceased when Tubal turned some sort of metal bar that was embedded in a slot. He removed a padded helmet from his head, and suspended it upon a hook nearby some sort of bent stick-like thing, which had a knob at its top. After taking some refreshment, which had been served by Jabal's wife - who then, like any other "servant," spoke not a word, but went her way - leaving with a quiet rustle of skirts in her wake. The ringing in Tubal-Cain's ears, now abated, he and his brother got caught up. The petrol-powered chariot, was just a prototype. For now, running it, took way too much fuel; an ephah’s worth (8 gallons) got you, 40 furlongs (5 miles) – and that was on relatively flat territory. Tubal-Cain was also working on a "silencer.” After all, why, at least for the time being, advertise one's business to the entire valley, while jarring the insides out from everyone’s ears.
Experiencing technical difficulties
Lamech, father of Tubal-Cain scratched his head, as he looked at the hollow tube which lay upon a table in his son, Tubal-Cain's workshop; Lamech didn't get it. Why not just shoot an arrow, or launch a spear? This technology was getting too fast, leaving the elder insulted, frustrated with the ever run to catch up – and not quite getting there. "See that tripod over by the shelf?" Tubal pointed to a corner. Lamech was getting more confused; what good was a weapon if you couldn't run with it? As for defending one’s compound or town, a good old-fashioned catapult did just fine. The city had used another time-tested, no-hassles weapon. The men had simply dumped pans of hot greasy stuff, when that gang of ...how did Adah, his senior wife, describe them? Oh yeah, overgrown “juvenile delinquents;” when the young horde had decided to scale Enoch's walls - that was a few years ago; city hadn't had that sort of trouble ever since. Then again, maybe their fathers had gotten wind, but somehow Lamech doubted if those "boys”' fathers were around - or cared.
"Father, the tripod is lighter, more portable than a bulky catapult - and no rocks to have to deal with." Tubal held in his hand, what resembled an oversized graphite filled writing instrument, which had been sharpened so many times, any giant schoolboy would have difficulty holding onto while writing out his arithmetic or writing lesson. Dismissing the absurd thought of one of those monsters actually studying, Tubal-Cain placed one of the projectiles into his father's hand. "Just one of these, packs more punch, than some clunkety rock."
Lamech paused. There was something else to all this; connecting the dots, led in the direction of Jabal's ranch - probably cattle rustling. "JimmyJames gang, again?" Lamech ventured. "No, father," Tubal Cain replied, then added, "the JJs wear sandals, and their feet," Tubal Cain extended his forearms, spreading his hands, a good cubit and a half "aren't this big."
A short while later,
Tubal-Cain looked over the blueprint of a new type of petroleum-powered machine. One that rode smoothly, but not over land; the model he had made, had flown. Well, at least for a short while. One of the problems, was the fuel; the flying machine needed a more refined grade. He rolled up the plans and put them back in their leather tube, and filed them back in their slot - beside two or three other ideas in the making. Projects which would have to wait. While the flying machine could do circles in resolving the big problem facing Enoch and its surrounding communities, the best plan was to build more of the fire tubes. Already, he had been able to construct less bulky models - ones that didn't require carting around tripods; ones which a man could carry; these lighter ones, of course, hadn't the firepower nor distance, but using both was proving effective in stamping out the feet infestation.
To think of juvenile males as an "infestation" was a bit difficult, but at the same time, these pre-adolescent "boys" weren't, by far, the regular young hoodlums who roamed the poorer neighborhoods, stealing apples from vendors then throwing them through windows or at people. Tubal-Cain had tried that sort of thing - but only once; it had been all fun and games, running the streets, committing random acts of petty vandalism. Fun time, that was until Lamech, his Father, just happened to step around the corner. The boys he had been with, had all taken off like big uglies. For young Tubal-Cain, it had been very game over.
The feet were...what was that word Stepmother used? Mutations. The professor, from over at the college - which Tubal-Cain had attended for a short while, but sitting in a classroom, listening to some professor drone on about ... bla, bla bla. Hadn’t been Tubal-Cain's thing. But the professor's recent article did explain, these creatures were not merely boys too big for their britches. Most pillaged about buck naked. And STANK! like, a mix between rotten eggs and the dung of an animal which had eaten something disagreeable. The newspaper also had an article, about a mother having been found upon the floor of her kitchen; the woman's head bashed in. Beneath the overturned table, was an upturned serving bowl, a serving spoon, both face down, in a puddle of oatmeal. Beneath the crockery had been a placemat. This latest incident had a probable witness; a neighbor who, moments before, believed she had heard the overly burdened mother ask her oversized boy to "please, please take out the garbage."
No father, of course, had been mentioned.
Poker Flats
In a small dingy saloon, somewhere east of Enoch, an aging off-duty barmaid sat at a table, playing poker with two of Jabal's ranch hands. She was plainly dressed, just as any other working-class woman - for she given up her oldest profession. These days, she only served the men beer, grog, or whatever strong drink was available. A raggedy, dusty man walked in, unnoticed by the three playing cards, or the four or five other men, in whatever state of drunkenness, they were choosing for that particular afternoon. The barkeep wasn’t sure about the looks of the new arrival - struck him as the type who would start trouble; that usually ended with things getting broken. The place had three tables - actually two, because the one in the corner was truly upon its last legs.
The dusty and dazed man fumbled in a fold, pulling out a copper. Whatever was wrong with him, it was definitely something, but wasn't the barkeep's problem. He served the dusty a bit a grog, then went about his business, while keeping an eye on the strange man. Come to think of it, he looked a bit like...nah, couldn't be Darryl; that dude was loud, and known to start fights - for basically no reason. He just sat there, nursing his grog; his face was nearly as white as a sheet. Whatever had happened to the man, wasn't the barkeep’s problem - as long as pale dusty didn’t go off and start trashing the place.
The strange man had evidently walked for some distance; his one sandal in bad shape, the other, not much better. He finished his drink, and left the saloon. The last standing Jimmy-James member had just enough on him to buy a horse, get something to eat - if his stomach was able to keep it down - and get far away. Maybe head southwest.
Anywhere. Far away from the big feet.
Just another Enoch-U Thursday,"
Professor Toff was lecturing his students. As usual, he was less than pleased with the caliber of most of them; the young men were more interested in either drinking in the dens, betting on the chariot races, or sporting at the brothels...on their father's coin, of course. Fortunately, the board had rejected a proposal, which would surely have further distracted the young men - co-education. At least for the time being, no female students - a flagrant contradiction in terms, as far as Toff was concerned - would be enrolled within the college's marble walls, and smelling up the classrooms with their perfumes, and half-settled nail-polish. "Semi-evolved..." a brilliant description, if he had to say so, himself. His publication had been almost unanimously approved by the peer committee. Not to mention, the extra income would keep himself in billiard club dues for a while.
His publication focused upon recent findings, which appeared to prove, mankind had, descended from some sort of chimpanzee creature - there was, of course, some loose ends, but overall... However, the recent evidence had also indicated, those - his face wrinkled at the very thought of ... those bumpkins. Of course, their ancestry had to trace back to the baboon.
The Prof had traveled to the abandoned village; their huts - yes, they slept in those tiny structures, which were more like several lattices strung together in a circle, and two or three running across the top; leafy vines, wove themselves about the framework. Their waking hours, they spent outside…like animals. The only other “room” was their storage area – not that they were known to possess more than two or three changes of raiment; same with other textiles, such as covers for their supper table, which sat outside, next to the open-air pantry; the rough-hewn furnishing – or what passed as such - sat beneath a canopy, which was more leafy vines than an actual structure. He had gone inside several of the huts; one having been the “house” – he chuckled at the word – of their Chief; the enclosure wasn’t much, if any, larger those of the other savages. The only furnishings within, was a raised sleeping board - it being about half of the size of his soft bed – and a chest. Frankly, he couldn’t imagine passing the entire night sleeping so close. But they were primitives, so it only made sense, they were unable to remain evolved, and instead, had reverted back to their natural state.
While at the site, the professor and his team had personally witnessed, a young female baboon with a veil on her head – though, the headgear leaned to the side - running out from one of the structures. Right there, in plain sight, a male baboon approached her. And then, the both of them had gone at it - she louder than he - right there, in plain view. What sealed these findings was: having questioned the primitives in the area, they were either vague, or silent. More like, ashamed, of the stark fact, their relatives had devolved back to animals - and likely feared the same for themselves. So much, for evolution requiring great age - chance and change can happen quickly.
"But Professor!" a first-year student, quite disturbed by this recent evidence, raised his skinny hand. "Ca-could devolution ha-happen to us? Instead of having at least half a heart for the distressed young student, the professor made a dismissive face, then snapped: "Young man, evidently, YOU were not paying attention." The professor huffed, then continued, "Those people, come from a brute beast, WE are the descendants of a creature, more akin to the noble chimpanzee."
“Well, jeepers, why didn’t he just bite the kid’s head off!” Another student, a few years older, had turned and whispered to his fellow jock – who were both enrolled in the class, because they had to be. Upon turning back, his eyes met the professor’s cold glare - and that familiar movement of Toff’s little mustache; for he had muttered his equally familiar line concerning “pupils, these days…” The first jock then trembled, having not been wise enough to wait until after class, before making the snarky comment. Had ProfToff had been in one of his moods, the young man trembled just a bit, for ProfToff could have easily had him sent to the disciplinary unit; where even sports stars, whose fame brought in much gold and silver coin to the institution, have been stripped naked, and whipped - while the other young men were forced to look on. The jock could only recall one time, when a student’s father had contacted the Dean. Most the young men’s fathers, of course, sided with the college – likely, because they had been students in the same situation.
Earlier in the semester, such had been the fate of a young man, who sat nearby; the fellow had done…well, nothing really – certainly nothing to merit anything more than an additional load of outside coursework. The young man, was indeed very busy with coursework – his chosen field (or, more likely, that of his father) was journalistic sciences, and an additional career path; one which he was determined that no body – not a one – would stop him. He had already published, and word among the fellows was: he vowed, that when his publications garnered a wider readership, he was going to put ProfToff in a story.
"And with all deceivableness of unrighteousness in them that perish; because they received not the love of the truth, that they might be saved. And for this cause God shall send them strong delusion, that they should believe a lie:" II Thessalonians 2:10-11
[Get the mean teacher source from “Roman Literature in Translation” about the writer do DID in fact, put a switch wielding former teacher in a story.]
Real devilry
were to have been carried out. But, hadn't been, because Azel had more important things on his agenda - namely, turning on the charm to this or that debutant. At present, his scaley hide - corseted within a prince-charming body mask - was seated, alongside some dean's rather plain-faced daughter. The season's Durwin banquet was going on – despite, yet another famine. A rather dull affair, but anyone who was anyone in the city of Enoch’s society would be in attendance. As with most of those functions, way more glitter than gold - skimpy portions, so artfully served upon fish-shaped plates, with legs.
Mouth had to laugh, at the thought of Azel enduring those long speeches, while his near empty belly groaned - and his full ... simply wanted to have its way. "Any would do, 'cause it didn't matter who." "Ha," Mouth twirled his body, at the, what he perceived, catchy tune. He spat; from his maw came forth ... ugh! He would have indulged in his rock-star fantasy - where He is top billing, while Azel can barely get a gig in a Nu-Market dive - but Mouth had to get real, had to get busy, for he didn't have a lot of time to upstage Azel. The banquet wouldn't go all night, and neither would the brothels – most of them closed around the start of 3rd watch (around 12:30 am) – prostitutes, like anyone else, needed food and other supplies, had to be up in time to take their baskets to market. More often than not – especially nowadays, if one wasn’t at market by mid-morning, you would end up having to settle for spotty apples, sour grapes, over-ripe bananas, dried up apricots, limp lettuce. For the most part, Sethites were no longer around to bring their produce to market; food insecurity had only increased.
Mouth took off to a certain planetary system, the one just southwest of the big dipper. He set in motion a round of pinball-from ... perdition. BOOM!! went the jupiter-sized planet; its fragments, collided, just ever so, into others, and their moons. The fragments scattered in every direction, but parts of the mess, were heading in the "right" direction. Mouth was in his glory.
In his glory, but only "for a season."
And that “season” was to be shorter than Mouth was to realize. In his haste to get his statue reared up, in the hall-of-infame, he forgot one little variable. Had he held off, for just an hour or two, the holy angels’ quark ping-pong tourney would have been over; and they would have already gone back to their respective mansions - before second watch had gotten much started (9:30 pm). Another holy angels’ habit which launched Mouth into fits of scoffing – come on, the action’s hardly in gear, when “gawwd’s” angels are all behind mansion walls, and missing out on the fun. Oh, but had Mouth the foresight to have waited, before setting off that large rocky planet, a certain fragment would have become a future extinction event - not only that, but a deliciously slow one. One that would have dragged on, rendering both human and animal in a constant state of nothing but raw survival mode - and losing ground, every step of the way. Had Mouth paid a bit more attention, when the directive from on low had been posted, but, instead, he had been running his yap.
This earth-destroying attempt had been overthrown by the simple act of one of the holy angels, who had been going on about the match; his arms flailing this way and that, had sent the fragment, just a tad off-course. Neither the angel, nor his team mate, had given the fragment a single thought, as they were both going on about that game, play by play. The fragment did, indeed, kick off a chain of events, giving rise to a certain barrier to any subsequent near extinction events. In another 5,000 years, that thick hedge of mountain-sized rocks and tiny pebbles, would be known to about every 5th grader, as the OrtCloud.
“Choosing rather to suffer affliction with the people of God, than to enjoy the pleasures of sin for a season;” Hebrews 11:25
Promotions…phooey
A high-ranking holy angel conversed with his colleague. Both having worked a long stretch, were on the way, and so looking forward to catching at least part of the All-Stars atom-smash. Being 5th and 6th level supervisors, such positions meant less leisure time for things like ball-games, or even multi-dimensional scrabble. One of them, had so badly wanted to see a certain star actually start into its silicon-burning phase, but that didn't happen - he had a stack of reports, and so had to miss out on that one.
"Yeechh!" A big cloud of slime, among some smaller ones, floated before them. Both scowled, and fished into their robes, each hoping the other had brought along a litter bag. Wasn't like they could just leave such vile ... stuff to float around, defiling their LORD'S outer space. Especially this sort of slime; it didn't come from just any imp or devil. It was evil, super concentrated: it had come straight out from ... ew, Mouth.
The two rounded up, and bagged the ... unspeakable toxin; they headed for a certain black hole - not just a regular one. The stuff in the bag was too vile to be dispatched into Hell. Nope, this package was bound straight for Tartarus. The angels opened the black hole, but only wide enough to toss the bag inside. From within came up the most horrendous screams and wails – not to mention, nostril-tearing stench - from a certain group of apostate angels who, at one time, enjoyed the courts of the LORD'S heaven, but were consigned, eternally, to the lowest dungeon, bound in everlasting chains, under darkness. Soon enough, another cohort of rebel angels would be thrown headlong into that unspeakably horrible place. The cleanup accomplished, their Most High Majesty's outer space, made fit – at least this sector, for now - both angels felt soiled, and so headed off to a somewhat nearby gaseous giant - where they could steep themselves and their raiment within thick clouds of ammonia methane.
Later, when the two – along with the other Holy Angels - were gathered in the central throne room, anticipating the arrival of their Everlasting King. While waiting to behold His magnificent appearance; from roundabout, there were than a few good-natured snickers. “Say, who spilt the cleaning solvent?”
“And the angels which kept not their first estate, but left their own habitation, he hath reserved in everlasting chains under darkness unto the judgment of the great day.” Jude 1:6
“Aw canna-fella enjoy his cocoa in peace,” The devil muttered, looking into the cup. He pulled out a shard which had landed between two or three of the mini marshmallows floating on top. The cup contained the next to the last of the packets remaining in the box, upon which was printed a cartoon image of a pig-tailed, freckle faced little maiden, who lived in the hill country. Reaching in, with one of his talons, he flicked it out, taking another sip. Apoloyn the Destroyer continued his rant; he swore he would find the culprit. As for the imp who had messed up on the order – and instead, had brought chamomile tea – oh he would pay DEARLY!
Apoloyn wasn’t done. The devil rolled his slitty eyes. The hot-headed idiot! The devil hadn't been real keen on the slow-extinction idea, to begin with. Having checked his watch, crunched the figures on calculator screen, the meteor - the big one - would have hit the earth, somewhere near its equator, in about two or three hundred years. After all, what's so fun about that? What! A few million souls? If even that. Uh-uh, the devil, unlike his underlings, was very able to delay gratification. He was patient. His plan was much satisfying - instead of a mere few million, far better that billions of those clay potties end up as shattered melted shards, burning and popping throughout all eternity.
Apoloyn, still at odds with his boss, but satan had the upper-hand. For now, he brooded, while lounging upon his basaltic throne. The seat, arms and back were padded with layer upon layer of matted animal skins - which reeked of blood and whatever had remained, when the demon grabbed whatever unfortunate bear, wolf, lion, cresty...and literally had torn them to pieces. He thundered to his servants - both demon, and human - to bring forth the captives. His servants, were so evil and craven, but they weren't stupid; quickly, the captives were grabbed, and thrown forward. "P-pa-leze, it wa-wasn't my fa-fault!" Azel blustered like a naughty girl, caught telling a fib. "Ee-it was..."
"SILENCE!" Apoloyn thundered.
Both Fool and Bull kept their heads down; neither dared to even cast their leader, Azel, a dirty look, for having dragged them into this mess. As if their dire situation couldn't get more so, Bull could no longer contain that, which he, earlier, had overstuffed himself; a pig - sans the blanket - a bushel of potatoes and cabbage – fried in deliciously rancid grease, and washed down with a keg of NightTrans wine. If the Destroyer wasn't mad, prior to the mess, he sure was now. Mouth trembled between the two, who were crouched behind their VERY fearful leader; Mouth nudged himself away from Bull, and toward Fool - in a very pointless attempt to escape Apoloyn's notice.
"Ged offa me!" the Destroyer shoved an imp, who had been sitting in the destroyer's lap, onto the filth-matted stone floor. From beside and in back of the throne, several imps smirked at the little playmate-of-the-month's public dismissal. Destroyer motioned Mouth to come forward, patting an area of his lap. Mouth, of course, was so terrified, he peed himself, as he approached the filthy throne; he had reason to fear, especially after that ort-cloud incident. "There, there, are you comfy?" Mouth's eyes bulged out, because the answer to that question was ... youch. The destroyer began to gush, "You're so pretty." He whispered in Mouth's slime encrusted, pointy ear.
"AS FOR YOU," he thundered at the three hapless devils, "CLEAN UP THIS MESS!" He then signaled to one or two of his servants to bring to the three trembling reprobates, each a small bucket and a mop, suited for female children’s hands and backs – a rite of passage for little girls, because the pink buckets and mops meant, they were no longer babies, but were now big girls, helping their mommies.
“Enter ye in at the strait gate: for wide is the gate, and broad is the way, that leadeth to destruction, and many there be which go in thereat: Because strait is the gate, and narrow is the way, which leadeth unto life, and few there be that find it.” Matthew 07:13-14
“YOU MISSED A SPOT”!! Apoloyn roared. The high-level fallen angel then motioned to one or more of his bruisers. Oh, they were more than ready and willing, for any reason to rough up the three trembling mid-level reprobates - Azel, Fool and Bull, who struggled to clean up, with the completely useless equipment with which they had been forced to make due. Two of the little mops, were way past done; only a few filthy strands remained, fastened to the child-sized handle. The third mop was in better shape, though not by much; but good enough for the hapless three to get into a scuffle - one that proved to not be worth the roughing up, they had endured. So, they kept mopping, and rinsing in what was left of the filth saturated water which remained in the grud-encrusted "Little Helpers" buckets – one of which, still – but barely – showed an outline of a smiley-faced little girl and her mother enjoying tea-cakes; barely legible, was a caption, engraved below, and surrounded by what remained of sparkling tiles, surrounding a caption which read, “A J b We l D ne.” The other bucket, was off topic; for upon it, could be seen part of, what might have been, a cutsie - and highly fictional – unicorn. As for the third bucket? Who knew! The thing was past done; a fetid puddle was gathering around, for it had a gap just above the bottom.
Mouth, having been summoned from the Destroyer's harem of imps, minced toward the foul throne; clad in a long sweeping cloak of the finest silk, it billowed in the stale, still air - and in the faces of Apoloyn's past playmates, who were basically regarded as june's and july's calendar pages, when it's october. To add more insult, the forgotten "months" had the task of having made ready their Master's current one. Mouth's sway only intensified their ever-churning jealous rage, for which they dare not act out; they were absolutely lime-green over Mouth's jewel-encrusted mini-halter and micro hot-panties set, and the matching spiked heels. Oh, and the little bat-clip clutch too. Circling mouth's neck, was a string of tightly bound frog's - each struggling to breath, for their mouths had been stuffed with various gem stones; several of the creatures had lost the struggle, and had expired.
Catching the scent, Apoloyn gushed, "Oh my dear, you smell lovely." He patted a certain area of his lap. "Bring my lovely to me." Apoloyn commanded his past favorites, in a rather dismissive tone of voice, but one which the imp harem dare not even give a hint, upon their faces, of their desire to slake their increasing thirst for revenge. One of the imps, so wanted to pinch Mouth upon his heeled ankle, as he and the rest, lifted up the favorite, face forward.
Apoloyn, then soundly smacked one of the imps for, supposedly, being clumsy. He then called for two of his ruffians, then growled, pointing to the imp, who, startled, was picking himself off the greasy, mirey floor. "That one needs a few lessons on how to behave, when his Master calls." The imp, now begging and pleading, but to no avail, was dragged off by one of the roughs; while the other rough detailed the fun, both would enjoy administering the lessons, within one of the dungeon rooms. While Apoloyn was all stretched out, enjoying himself, with Mouth, the trembling, and very exhausted, cleaning crew toiled on. Below the chamber came muffled screams which were answered by "tha-wack" after "tha-wack."
In a boarded up little restaurant, somewhere on Enoch's east side, two imps stood outside, peering into the cracks. Both were furious, because inside, the Destroyer was wining and dining his flavor of the month - the very same little flavor from last month. Inside the dilapidated structure, both devil and imp were all goo-goo eyed as they partook the carefully prepared dishes of lizard brains - the bound little creatures were still alive, as well as various other small creatures, who had also been unable to get away. The grimy dishes sat upon a once white tablecloth, now matted in various shades of dried vomit - and whatever fetid else. Both noisily chewed, their mouths open as they made conversation and kissyface. Mouth was wearing a backless cocktail gown, of fine silk; he was so beside himself with his double D augmentation, which wanted to pour forth from the mini-gown's plunging neckline.
The one has-been, looking upon, was very miffed; the best he had ever scored was an order of burgers and fries from McDees - the one that had shut down, due to pricing issues. But he was way ahead of the other loser, who was also looking on - he didn't even get that; just a quickie in the corridor, then getting tossed off the throne, inside of two weeks. He-he-he, the first imp smirked.
"Daddy has a little surprise for his lovely." Apoloyn pulled out a medium-sized package. He placed the bowed and ribboned mire-spattered parcel upon the table, sliding it towards Mouth. Mouth looked on, anticipating. "Well, open it up, My dear." Mouth tore open the package, and squealed with delight. Another plaything, to try out upon the hapless prisoners chained in Apoloyn’s dungeons.
Apoloyn slid his filth caked ornate chair back from the table, sprawling himself upon the seat. His belly-full of mass quantities strained at the top button of his trousers. While undoing it, and then another, he bellowed to the waiter to bring more wine. The terrified human scampered in right away, pouring some sludge into, what was once a clear crystal glass. "And DON'T spill any!" Destroyer barked. The waiter blubbered, then got himself out of there as quickly as possible. Apoloyn then pointed to the undone fasteners. The opened package was, predictably, attached to cart ropes. Several hours had passed, for strong drink is known to render a certain part sluggish.
"For all tables are full of vomit and filthiness, so that there is no place clean." Isaiah 28:8
Highlands journey continues
Last leg
What? Isn’t this forest vast enough for every one that moves? The old medicine woman was more than irritated. Rachel and her daughter, Ruthie, had helped the old woman to her feet, while gathering the elder's things, which had also tumbled, when a wild nanny goat decided to brush the humans aside. As predicted, a billy was on the nanny’s trail; they had been running along ridge rocks, and decided to make their pass through this part of the forest - as if everywhere else was Enochian sprawl. If she wasn't tired, and achy enough, she had also sprained her wrist.
Most pressing to the old woman was, she didn't want to die out here, in the wild, where rocky ground and prowling beasts, might only afford the men to dig a quick grave. To be buried, alone, far from a cemetery, and soon forgotten - among people who, frankly, had more than enough on their plates... She had been, for some time, praying to the Most High. The answer had been reassuring, but not quite what the old woman had wanted to hear. "My grace is sufficient for thee."
There for a while, especially, those several lovely days, by the river, where they had all enjoyed some rest, the tightness in her chest had subsided to where she had, more or less, forgotten about it. But it was back, and her trail-processed medicine wasn’t as effective, for the ingredients needed at least two weeks to dry upon the lattice. While she had been able to collect one or two items to serve as a substitute, while retrieving one of the last ingredients – one which, had side effects - a rhino, in his language, had trumpeted, "GET OUT!” Had that not been enough of an injury, up the trail a bit, the big beast decided to add insult to the poor tired humans. He and his female had chosen a restful place - which the people had seen from a distance, and were planning to stop, for just a bit. Nope. The two beasts just had to choose that area, and not only that, but a further kick in the seat. The two rhinos were, noisily, making a little rhino.
The people could only trudge onward.
"For this thing, I besought the Lord thrice, that it might depart from me. And he said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness. Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, upon that power of Christ may rest upon me." II Corinthians 12:8-9
Later that evening
“So, what were those two rhinos doing on a mountain, anyway?" Rachael quietly asked Mash, her husband. She then glanced to their daughter, who was sound asleep. "I can only guess they also are on the move, wanting a good distance." He didn't care to elaborate how accurate his "guess" had been. It had been, maybe three days into their journey, a cresty had been making, he believed, "her" way near their path; the great beast had been close enough - uncomfortably so - for him to have noticed, a certain etched in scar, and two or three other lesions upon the animal's body - one had looked especially nasty. Nope, those kind or scars didn't come from losing territorial fights with other beasts.
"They're particular about their space too, I guess." Mash added, while patting his tool pouch. He had just finished sharpening a hand-axe, it wasn't the best job, but would have to do, until he was able to replace the flint, with one that didn’t have a gash. "But you would think both the cresty and the two rhinos would have settled in one of the lower areas, after all, we crossed enough valleys," Rachael responded. Their daughter stirred, turned over, and was back to sleep. "I was thinking the same thing." He leaned toward her, looked around, then continued. "Frankly, we left bad enough, but I think," he leaned closer, then lowered his whisper "they've been leaving worse." Rachael had heard, while the cresty’s bone structure - unlike the rhino’s - wasn’t designed to haul ore-wagons, the former were put into the arena – already vicious enough in their natural habitat, were made more so by the cramped and filthy conditions, under which they had been bound.
As with everyone else, the couple turned in.
What’s wrong with people! Rachael muttered to herself – she had also seen scars upon animals. Why wouldn't, why shouldn't, beasts be angry with people!
In response to the signal flare from the others. Elam’s group had, two days ago, sent up another one, and would have responded, but the air currents were still being contrary. They had lain the drowned young man, one of Richard’s and Roxanna’s, to rest, and were grateful to the Most High God for His allowing the current to bring the young man to the bank, instead of washing him so far downstream, to where - between deeper waters and denser forests, his body would have not been recovered. Such was the case of a great grandson, so many years ago. The young man had been doing about the same thing - horsing around with his cousins.
"No, I won't tell anyone." Elam assured his great, great, great, great grandson, who sat upon the elder's knee, then added, "Even fully grown men cry when losing a brother." The boy hugged the old man, then ran off. He had found the lad whimpering beyond the thicket – not a safe place to get alone. The old man grimaced. Not that he could blame the boy’s father for discouraging his sons from emoting, but still …a bit much to expect from a five, maybe six, year old. Richard Junior, his firstborn great, great, great grandson, could stand to tone down the harshness a notch or two; his boys were afraid of him.
Elam took consolation in somehow, having the assurance the young man was, truly, in a better place. Not so, for many who, go on ignoring the LORD God, and then, leave this fallen word – the same people you know and love; people who work hard, take care of their families, people who don't take things which belong to others, people who help their neighbors – even at much sacrifice to themselves. That was great cause for sadness – one, having sent him into the thicket, on more than two or three occasions.
The men, who had shimmied up trees, saw the smoke coming from the valley below the next ridge. Soon, they would be settling, and building real dwellings - not just lean-tos, which let in the pre-dawn mists, making them and their belongings damp and musty. How the people - the women, especially - longed to have things like clothes lines to dry garments and blankets, and to have on-hand things like lavender, roses, and patchouli to make textiles smell nice - never mind, enough food to have the time and energy for the work involved. Soon, they would once again be landed, not homeless beggars, run off by yet another four-footed duchess guarding her patri-line's grape grove or small clearing where wild wheat and potatoes grew. Foraged provisions, of course, weren’t as tasty, and were more of a hassle to prepare, than were the cultivated foods, but, better than going hungry. The three or four apple trees, they had happened upon, the apples were small, rather hard, and more than a few of them had worms. Nothing like taking a bit, and finding half a worm ☹
Meanwhile, one ridge over,
Barb’s father headed the third group. Per the color of the signal, they had run into some sort of difficulty. “Brother!” Barb muttered shaking her head. Sir Golden, her brother, was the proverbial chip off the old block. She could only wonder what beast those two…berserkers had decided to challenge – instead of, wisely, giving space. From behind her, and over a way, she heard a man’s comment to one of his fellows, “Glad he’s on our side.” Guffaws and high-fives ensued. Tommy, beaming with pride, followed up with a whispered, “Grampa Amnon can slay any beast.”
Barb’s stomach was acting up; she reached for a pellet, of which their healer had shown her what to mix, and how to compact.
"Mama, when we git land," Barb didn't bother about her son's pronunciation; knowing the partial source of it, because a certain man, her son was head over heels, used words like “git.” "Mama, when we git land," Tommy spoke in a somewhat loud voice, for they had taken a break, and there was much chatter. Barb didn't bother about her son's pronunciation; knowing the partial source of it, because a certain man, her son was head over heels, used words like “git.” The other part? Well, the neglect of the boy’s lessons, that was on her; Barb knew it; she had been reminded of just that, more than necessary – with a not-so-covert comment or two, thrown in, here and there, concerning her fitness as a mother. That was yet another trail, for another day; a day when huts were built, fields planted, bedding made ready - she didn't want to think about...the inevitable. Neither she, nor her son, could go on living off people's charity; just wasn't right, she would have to ... learn new skills. The boy continued, “I'ma gonna grow BIG fig trees, and if’n that baboon comes around, I'ma WHACK her a good one!"
"Sweetie," the muted word was out before she could call it back - her son wasn't a baby anymore. "Son, the animals can only eat what's available; we can grow things."
It was time to get moving.
That baboon was still the evening talk of the mobile town; a real low point in their journey. Though on the last leg on it, the lack of food and rest was taking a toll on all of them. Glorianna ran her fingers through her hair, for her brush was not readily available, nor was she sure which pouch. Neither was the present, a good time to be patting parcels. A tress caught hold of a jagged fingernail; she redid her bun. Wrapped in her fingers were more than a few strands which, from stress and malnutrition, had fallen loose. She wanted to sob, but wouldn't allow herself - not one single tear.
“He looketh upon men, and if any say, I have sinned, and perverted that which was right, and it profited me not; He will deliver his soul from going into the pit, and his life shall see the light.” Job 33:27-28
The people had stopped in the late afternoon to make camp. While anxious to put this long, arduous, and nerve-wracking journey behind them, still, they were just flat out tired. It was decided to make an early camp of it, then be ... well, reasonably rested enough to get on the trail in the morning, following breakfast. Estimates were, they would be off this mountain by the following day, and two days after, going up the final mountain. So, a few more days yet, but probably more like a week – if not longer. According to the tallies, which two or three of the people had been keeping count, they had been on the trail for several months, and had travelled about 6,000 furlongs (about 750 miles). A terribly long distance, but it had been decided, before the groups had so much as set one foot before the other, the trek would count.
As if the physical hardships weren't enough, as they trod over yet another mountain, the reality of leaving civilization behind, never again to visit a marketplace, where time-saving implements and some little luxuries were available for purchase, had settled hard upon most, if not all, of them, at one or more points. Glorianna's nails were all broken and jagged; the lovely pastel pink long worn away
The little nail booth had been in one of Glori’s dreams, the night before last. Into the shop, she had taken her granddaughter - whom she hadn't seen in a while, since the girl’s mother, was with Elam’s group. Grandma and granddaughter, with their nails all done up, then strolled among the booths, where beaded handbags and such were sold. It was as if, Glori could smell the scented soaps and candles. As she was about to purchase a tiny unicorn pin for the little girl, the wonderful afternoon faded to musty blankets, body odor, smokey embers, and the first haze of dawn breaking in the eastern sky. The matron fought back the tears ready to drip from her eyes, but lost the battle.
Meanwhile, one ridge over
“Mommy,” a little girl had just awoken, “I dreamt we were at gramma’s.” Roxanna, the girl’s mother, placed a finger on her lips, and turned her head slightly. In the distance, the sky had only begun to lighten; it not quite time to rise. Richard, her husband, still lay sleeping; he had taken second, and part of third watch (from about 9 to around 2 pm). Their eldest, Richard III, was laying nearby, was busy sawing logs. Another had already stirred – he had been on the same watch. Kids... where do they get the energy.
Energy. A smile crossed her lips. Then a scowl, she had to pee. Some maneuvering was in order – her garments were a lumpy mass around her neck and upper chest. She smoothed them down, as she arose.
"Will the unicorn be willing to serve thee, or abide by thy crib? Canst thou bind the unicorn with his band in the furrow? or will he harrow the valleys after thee?" Job 39:9-10
Perfect place, Glorianna noticed, a large tree, growing near the clearing’s edge – but not too near - its many branches spreading out in all directions, affording enough privacy... "AH-AH-AH!" she called out to her daughter and the girl with her. "Stay close." The girls stopped in their tracks. The other girl's mother also nodded the same message. Glorianna's daughter, pointed to one of three boys running along near the tree line. "THEY'RE BOYS." Mama bear ended the discussion, with a hand signal for her daughter to come help with the cleaning up and packing away the supper things. The girls trudged toward their respective mothers, while muttering something about boys being lucky, because they could whatever they pleased.
The old medicine woman tried to catch the plate, but her bony trembling hand wasn't cooperating; the travel-jostled serving vessel fell to the ground, and broke into several pieces. "I'm so sorry." She apologized to the woman who had brought it along. "I'll get you another tomorrow, in town." She then said something about hoping the caravan having made it in, because the merchant had said about expecting a certain line of crockery.
"No honey," Rachael whispered to Ruthie,"...not out of it...sometimes our brains...uh, pretend, in order to keep us moving forward." The mother's vision landed upon the source of the uncalled-for phrase. Rachael had no intention of saying anything to Anak’s mother – it wasn't necessary. Was only a matter of time, before Anak would be "out of it," after his father caught him at whatever sort of foolishness. Rachael, blinked back tears, while watching another woman dispose of the pieces. No more pretty cups and platters, embroidered covers, gracing smooth tables; just rough-hewn vessels upon heavy rough-grain tables. No more pretty gowns and slippers, just hastily woven shapeless sacks tied with hemp-rope. Living more like...baboons, than as people.
“HEY, what th...’”? a woman exclaimed, as several grain cakes, along with a ceramic bowl, flew off the wooden tray she had been carrying from where the men and boys had been taking their breakfast. The last of the cakes lay broken upon the ground; the women, who had been up awhile preparing them, had two choices: broken pieces, or none at all. "THA-WUNK!" a man's fist met another man's jaw. The other man reciprocated with a punch to the nose; then both were rolling on the ground, punching and kicking one another. The cakes forgotten, most the group gathered around to watch the a.m. news update - for it was no surprise, something had been brewing between the two men.
"THAT IS ENOUGH!" Cainan (Lamech’s great, great, great grandfather) their Chief approached the chattering crowd, some of whom had started placing bets...with whatever they barely had. "I SAID..." Their chief having to repeat himself?? That was enough - the men, women and children quietly dispersed, back to whatever they had been doing, prior to the news update. And until their leader was out of earshot, the people withheld from one another, their post-broadcast commentaries.
Both men however, were still itching to settle whatever matter was between them, but were unable, since the one who threw the first punch was kept from delivering a subsequent one, as remittance for the clobber he, a moment ago, had received. Restrained, by the big man who held his arms in check, he instead, bellowed out a few choice words. The other man's restraint wasn't however that of stronger arms, but the voice of his Chief. Hothead, however wasn’t ready to let it go. "...knock yer %#=$ block off, sonnyboy, ya HEAR ME??" The Chief’s great, great grandson, Methuselah’s, patience was wearing thin; he calmly raised his hand, as he approached the balding hothead, who then immediately ceased his ranting and carrying on. The warning was understood, and feared, by every man - young and old. To receive a headman’s slap was worse than a thrashing; the latter given by men to disorderly men, but the former given by husbands and fathers to their insubordinate wives and daughters. Hothead immediately lowered his gaze, and bowed his head; the pair of strong arms loosened their grasp, releasing him.
But not everyone had attended the brief two-act a.m. drama. Over by the flat stone, where the meal had been prepared, a lone woman sat, rocking herself a bit. In her hands was part of a broken ceramic bowl, the rest of it, in pieces. Nothing fancy, just one of those three-for-two-coppers deals from Kresgey's booth; the matching dish had gone over the cliff, some ways back. "The big lummox," Barb sobbed quietly, cradling the piece. She then wrapped it into a rag - one of few mementos of her brief decades with Tom. Blinking back tears, she placed it in one of the satchels, upon her person. Nearby her right foot, lay a precious gemstone; she noticed it, but didn’t bother picking it up – even a full money-bag of them, couldn’t restore the carefully wrapped treasure which lay in her satchel. The sun was well up in the sky, reaching toward the mid-morning. Around her, the sounds of things being packed onto carts, onto backs, shoulders, around waists; their few animals being led to their places along the trail. Her son, Tommy, who had been helping his young cousin load something onto a wagon, finished up then ran toward his mother. Both took their place upon the trail.
It was time to move on.
For safety’s sake, the people and their animals had to press in, for they were traveling near bird-lizard territory. Of all times, that’s how it goes. Just in the nick of time, Rachael was able to slip behind a nearby shrub; but it offered virtually no privacy. Expelling the sourness from her stomach, she blew her nose on its leaves, then wiped the remains with a half-soiled rag – again, now wasn’t the time to give attention to sorting through pouches. They had passed a brook, but – considering where they were - had only stopped long enough to fill their bottles – and not all of them. If this, and other privations, weren’t irritating enough, upon returning to her place within the column, from behind her she overheard a muffled flapping of a large beak – one belonging, not to a winged fowl, but to Peninnah. It was only a matter of time, before the others… The sheer monotony of putting one foot, before the other, bipedal beaks would certainly flap and twitter all the more. Rachael had “tossed her breakfast” yesterday. At this leg of the long journey, she knew the drill; half the community would know that a little Mash was on the way. Really, she had wanted be the first to tell her Husband – but such is trail life.
“Can we go home now?” Barb murmured in a low monotone. Her son, Tommy, struggled to break free of being held, for he was almost an older boy, not a baby, and certainly not a girl. "Can we go home now?" the widow repeated, oblivious to a swift kick to her upper leg, followed by another near the same area. "Honey," the old medicine woman, placed a bony arm around Barb's shoulders. "It's alright now, Tommy is safe." She patted the Barb's shoulder, "Honey, let him go, so he can run over and thank that nice young man..." Glori nearly let out a chuckle for she and Bear were about the same age - she reconsidered, to be 700-something, people in their 200s and 300s must seem like kids.
"...wanna go home...can we...? The woman had seen the bird lizard jump from the thicket, for one of their lambs, but her brain was working overtime to, at least for now, unsee those pointed teeth. She stood motionless, staring, "...please, can we…?" Around her, the people were calming their animals, and each other. From behind her, young boys, circled around the two women, to get a closer look at the slain therapod, and the bloody spearhead, which Bear had pulled from the animal's side. "...there's two out of it," Anak, the younger, snickered to his fellow; a certain sound from Anak’s mother, clearing her throat, however, made him wish he could recall the remark. The youth's father had also heard his wife’s familiar "ahhmm, ahmm." The people had to get moving, for the slain beast would attract predators.
"Just a little ways, sweetie." The old woman pointed a bony index finger. "We'll be home soon, you'll see!" The old woman took off her wrap, and placed it around the younger, “We'll first stop at my house,” she gleamed, “and I'll make us a nice pot of raspberry vanilla tea," the elder coaxed the younger forward. "Oh, and I have some of those little cakes - the ones you like so much." The old woman reached into one of her bags, and pulled out a small bottle, opened it, and poured a tiny bit of purplish liquid into a cup, "Honey, you drink this.” The old woman handed Barb a small cup, and continued, “will take the chill off, until we get there, okay?" The liquid’s aroma drifted, Larry’s nostrils caught it, he deeply breathed in, that which would not be available until awhile after they were settled.
A few hours later, the group having made camp, and settling in for the oncoming moonless night, a teary-eyed little girl pulled her mat closer to her mother. “Mamma, is the widow-lizard gonna come back and git us?” “No honey,” the girl’s mother, responded dabbing a cloth to her youngest’s cheeks, “she’s about headed up the ridge, to chortle for…” Glori stopped herself, for her thoughts had been preoccupied. She then continued, “for a mate.” Inwardly, the mother of several, was of a mind to do a bit of chortling herself, but upon the trail, there was neither time nor space for husbands and wives to get alone with one another – especially now. To get alone, for real. Sure, the stolen moments here and there, under darkness, behind this or that bushy tree, was better than nothing, but still, wasn’t the same.
She blew her nose, the threadbare cloth was yet another reminder of trail-life privations – no, trail existence. She didn’t mean to be ungrateful, to the Most High, for His blessings - they were above ground, and, so far, none of them had fallen prey to tusk, tooth, or sickled toe-dagger - nor had ended up being dragged off somewhere into the surrounding forest, to be eaten, perhaps, while yet alive. But oh, how she longed to immerse and suds herself in clear running water; this being dirty and smelly, and wearing and sleeping in the same, was getting old – and RANK!! What made things even worse was, that time of month – again. Nasty!
Barb held in her lap, what would, at not too great of a distance appear as simply be a bundle of blankets and clothing. The top-most layer was her gown. "She's home now." Barb spoke monotoned to the woman who had awakened, and had come over to check on them both. "But there's no fire there.", Barb added. A nearby woman stirred, joining the other. "What do people do, if they've no warm clothing? Must be cold there...if hell is hot then, Paradise must be..." Barb paused, then began to quietly sob all over again. The two women, glanced at each other, shaking their heads. "Sweetie," the first woman spoke up, while nodding to the other to go get help, "She's safe, in the place of comfort, Pastor says..." The people around the two stirred awake. "You put this on," a woman handed Barb a gown – for Barb was sitting, shivering in only her shift, but was oblivious
"But Abraham said, Son, remember that thou in thy lifetime receivedst thy good things, and likewise Lazarus evil things; but now he is comforted, and thou art tormented." Luke 16:25
"Give strong drink unto him that is ready to perish, and wine unto those that be of heavy hearts." Proverbs 31:6
“I GODDA WWHUUT?? Baphomet whined. With such a short time - and growing shorter, the last place he wanted to spend any of his remaining time, was stirring up trouble among a bunch of hymn-howling yokels. "Seriously, what the...heck!" The h-e-double-golf-clubs word wasn't one which the part male, part female, and part beast (and all corrupted) cared to utter - much less, think about. "Why can't you send...? "Baphomet’s surly question was cut off. "Because I am sending you." Satan countered, his voice confident, calm, low-key, but very irritated with his board member. "Now, kindly do as I request. And please, get your slimy tail OFF my conference table; I just had it buffed." The devil sniffed, shaking his triangular horned head, while pulling a hankie from a silken front pocket; he began rebuffing the spot, but another incident stopped his effort. "Oh no, not again," he moaned. "GROT, really!" Satan shook his head. As Baphomet headed out the conference room doorway, the prince of darkness called out, "and take Grot with you” he then added, “there, he' will have entire forests to ... muck up."
Baphomet was not happy with his assignment. Why couldn't Bully do the job? But nnooo, Bully gets to continue possessing KingPin - a certain pimp, who operated in one of the better sections of Enoch. That's where the action is. Baphomet hated human females, but at least Cainite ones, especially the city dwellers, were entertaining - unlike, like those obedient to their own husbands - Sethite kine. Cainite gals were skilled at stirring up trouble – and even poisons to offload husbands or lovers. Unlike those simpering Sethite broads, who kept themselves layered up, even in the afternoon heat, for no better reason than their respective father's and husband's say so. Cainite hookers, if not viciously fighting one another, lured unsuspecting clients into situations - where these men would be robbed, beaten to a pulp, or both - Sethite girls and women, generally, were cooperative with one another, as they quietly served their fathers and husbands even the better food and drink, while they, themselves, would making do with lesser portions.
Disgusting. And even more so, was the activity around him. Both devil and imp had arrived on the scene, a few hours after sunset - though Grot was contentedly doing his business in the forest. The human’s muted conversation was as expected; they strove to keep their voices down, and their ears up. Huts to be built - the first, of course, would be the worship house...ghaaggg!!! Fields to be plowed, corn, peas and flax to be grown, thread to be spun, clothing to be woven, children to be born. CHILDREN!!! BLUUCH. How pathetically monotonous is that?
Later in the evening, when all were asleep, except for several men on guard-shift, a little bunny rabbit scampered over to a plant, but it didn't smell right. Unfortunately, the creature, had dawdled for a second or two, too long. It fell over dead.
"That they may teach the young women to be sober, to love their husbands, to love their children. To be discrete, chaste, keepers at home, good, obedient to their own husbands, that the word of God be not blasphemed. Young men likewise exhort to be soberminded." Titus 2:4-6
"Husbands, love your wives, and be not bitter against them." Colossians 3:19
“Holy Hannah!” Glorianna’s jaw dropped. A unicorn stallion galloped a distance from them. Nothing at all like that cute little necklace she had bought for one of her granddaughters. This creature was about the size of a wooly mammoth, and certainly not one you would want to pet and gush over; nor would a strong man, not even Cousin Bear, would attempt to approach, let alone ride. They had reached a rather large clearing, which was, for the present unoccupied; based on the several mounds about a cubit or two in height – upon which flies and beetles feasted. A family of long-necks had evidently been feeding here several days past; their footprints about a long and wide as Glori was tall. Plant eaters - as long as you didn't end up getting stepped upon, you were fine. Her youngest, scanned the clearing, which was spotted with young trees, now rendered almost leafless. That meant...but the little boy, needing assurance, concerning predators following prey, asked his mother. "Will the other kind, not come around?"
"Oh goodness no, they've gone." Glori, then paused, remembering, a day or so back, coming down off the mountain, when they had seen a female thunder-lizard. "You needn't worry honey, by now, some ole buck's probably Barb's eyes shot wide open, her hands immediately lowered to cover Tommy's ears, but it was too late; the phrase was out. “Hmmph, all that woman ever thinks about…that, and babies. Wasn’t eight enough? Both Tommy and the youngster then darted over to a group of boys, who were clearing branches. The entire area was littered with them. To the giant plant eaters, mere crumbs; to the people, more like a collective house-warming gift. Over the next few days, wood and temporary sheltering, an easy gather.
Their very first construction, was an altar of unhewn stone. Upon it, a lamb had been offered up to the LORD God. The sacrifice was to give thanks to the Most High for getting them safely there, and to pray the well-being of the other groups, of whom – based on their last signal, the second group was yet a day, maybe two, days out. The third group’s current location, would soon be updated, when a certain species of bird began its mid-day chirp – and several of the men would shimmy up tall trees, and look out over the southern sky for updates, scribed within the curvy column of greenish smoke.
The first few days were taken up with gathering whatever fruits and roots were edible. There were plenty of wild potatoes and carrots growing here and there. While the apples were yet a bit too green, a grove of wild grapes were ripe, though not as tasty as the ones cultivated back home. The people were simply grateful to be able to gather enough, and not end up going to bed only half sated, if that. Around the second or third day, the men had located materials needed to repair and replace tools. Implements with which they had cobbled together a temporary dwelling – one sufficient for women and their young children to take nighttime shelter from the chill mountain air. A beautiful stream swirled its way through the area, and connected to two or three other waterways.
The first permanent building, was their Worship House. Over the following days greenery had begun to climb upon its latticed walls; already several shoots had already begun to wend their ways in and out the latticed roof. The rough-hewn pulpit would be smoothed out at a later time; three or four benches were in place – offering, at least some of work-weary moms and grandmoms a place to sit under the preaching. Pastor’s initial Sabbath Day sermon, in this new building, was brief; the songs - which preceded, and had followed - were but a few, everyone was tired, and needed to simply rest.
Even Bear’s muscles ached; the previous night’s moist chill didn’t help matters. While prior to having made this long journey, he had passed several nights upon the first mountain – so it wasn’t like mountain chill came to him as any major surprise; what he, nor anyone else, had anticipated, was, even the valleys were cooler, and moister, than their native foot-hills. Bear didn’t even own a blanket; only his tattered cloak, which had been more than sufficient in the balmy lowlands. The service concluded, he found himself noticing two or three of the couples departing to their respective homesteads – wives and husbands generate warmth between them, whereas a single cannot.
Reunion
One of the women - from the third group, who had arrived the previous day - had immersed and scrubbed a blanket, and was presently hanging it to dry upon lengths of rope, suspended between tow posts, "The musties are gone!" She exclaimed in amazement, for normally, once that sour stink gets into things...A nearby woman sniffed at the things she had hung to dry. She smiled, giving a heart-felt Thanks to the Most High, for she had only had one other shift; her third she had given to a woman who had arrived with only the raiment upon her back – Group #3, after having gotten a bit turned around, had ended up taking a somewhat alternate route; unfortunately, that meant crossing where the river, two ridges south of them, became rather turbulent.
Much work was to be done. While there was some flax and cotton growing wild here and there, and some wool to be harvested from the few lambs, there wasn't enough to yet replenish, the people's textile needs. And even more so, for they had received the smoke signal from Group #2 – who, apparently, had also run into problems, but were, evidently, all right, and on their way. For now, the people had to make do with what they had. The women were grateful they and their families could wear, and sleep upon, fabrics - however few – which no longer harbored that unpleasant trail smell. On down the line a bit, two other women and a daughter of one of them were busy hanging their items, while folding others which were now dry.
“And there shalt thou build an altar unto the LORD thy God, an altar of stones; thou shalt not lift up any iron tool upon them. Thou shalt build the altar of the LORD thy God of whole stones: and thou shalt offer burnt offerings thereon unto the LORD thy God:” Deuteronomy 27:5-6
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