SET YOUR MIND on things above with TAKEN--A Metaphysical Fantasy Audio Drama. He was wanted a cure. He found the Creator.
SYNOPSIS:
Enoch, an alpha-tracker and possessor of the One Mind, lives in a time of turmoil at the dawn of mankind. The curse promised by the Ancient One has come to pass. First Father Adam is dead and the dreaded plague that almost decimated the tribes 291 years ago has returned. Murder they understood. Father Cain taught them that. But, this sudden disappearance of the life force terrifies the clans of Adamah. They must find the “Bearer of the Seed”—the son of Eve the prophecy declares will cure the sickness and defeat death. Enoch and his powerful rival, Tubal-Cain, are chosen for the quest of a lifetime or rather the quest that will end their lives—find the cure, a miraculous healing plant known to grow near the Forbidden Garden, and stave off death once more. Only a fool would risk the dangerous trek to the Edge and the wrath of the terrible creatures guarding it. Only the favored son would find the way and return. Enoch quickly discovers he is not enough, but also he learns, he is not alone. A mysterious stranger leads Enoch through a portal to a metaphysical realm where past, present and future collide and now he finds himself in the middle of an ancient war. Supernatural forces are plotting too—one with a mind to destroy Adam's kind and the other with a heart to save it. Enoch must choose—angel or demon, friend or foe, dark or light before death overcomes and the Seed is destroyed forevermore.
--PLEASE share this UPLIFTING READ with your friends and get ready to SOAR. THANK YOU AGAIN FOR LISTENING and MAY THE FAVOR OF THE ANCIENT ONE BE ON YOU. Want to know the Beloved? – Visit - https://youtu.be/Bn4M7t69mB4
--DOWNLOAD TAKEN EBOOK FOR FREE through Amazon Kindle - https://tinyurl.com/y2v29fn6 OR through Barnes and Noble at https://tinyurl.com/cjpb5c6n
--VISIT https://karasmatic.com/TAKEN for updates.
MUSIC/SOUND SOURCES:
SET YOUR MIND on things above with TAKEN--A Metaphysical Fantasy Audio Drama. He was wanted a cure. He found the Creator.
SYNOPSIS:
Enoch, an alpha-tracker and possessor of the One Mind, lives in a time of turmoil at the dawn of mankind. The curse promised by the Ancient One has come to pass. First Father Adam is dead and the dreaded plague that almost decimated the tribes 291 years ago has returned. Murder they understood. Father Cain taught them that. But, this sudden disappearance of the life force terrifies the clans of Adamah. They must find the “Bearer of the Seed”—the son of Eve the prophecy declares will cure the sickness and defeat death. Enoch and his powerful rival, Tubal-Cain, are chosen for the quest of a lifetime or rather the quest that will end their lives—find the cure, a miraculous healing plant known to grow near the Forbidden Garden, and stave off death once more. Only a fool would risk the dangerous trek to the Edge and the wrath of the terrible creatures guarding it. Only the favored son would find the way and return. Enoch quickly discovers he is not enough, but also he learns, he is not alone. A mysterious stranger leads Enoch through a portal to a metaphysical realm where past, present and future collide and now he finds himself in the middle of an ancient war. Supernatural forces are plotting too—one with a mind to destroy Adam's kind and the other with a heart to save it. Enoch must choose—angel or demon, friend or foe, dark or light before death overcomes and the Seed is destroyed forevermore.
--PLEASE share this UPLIFTING READ with your friends and get ready to SOAR. THANK YOU AGAIN FOR LISTENING and MAY THE FAVOR OF THE ANCIENT ONE BE ON YOU. Want to know the Beloved? – Visit - https://youtu.be/Bn4M7t69mB4
--DOWNLOAD TAKEN EBOOK FOR FREE through Amazon Kindle - https://tinyurl.com/y2v29fn6 OR through Barnes and Noble at https://tinyurl.com/cjpb5c6n
--VISIT https://karasmatic.com/TAKEN for updates.
MUSIC/SOUND SOURCES:
Chapter 18 - Fallen
Tumuril pushed back the dense undergrowth as he crept silently through the woods. He stifled a curse when the lesser he’d brought along bumped clumsily into his back.
“Blast it, Sheroth! Watch yourself you stupid oaf!”
I knew I should have come alone. These lessers are more trouble than they’re worth. Tumuril rubbed his throat absently as he moved forward. It still ached from Lord L’s little demonstration. Well, I deserved it for letting that ogre, Molech, get the best of me. Next time I’ll be ready for his deception.
“Sheroth— move!” Tumuril pushed the lesser toward a clump of bushes just outside the road leading to the Seti of Nod.
Sheroth limped toward the bushes, but not before he felt a sharp pain in the back of his head.
“Ow,” Sheroth whimpered. “You hit me—”
“Stop stupid! Not those bushes,” Tumuril gestured toward a different cluster.
“You didn’t have to hit me,” Sheroth lumbered to the large line of thorny shrubs.
“Keep it down, fool—I hear something.”
“But, Tumuril,” Sheroth cried, rubbing his arms, “these are prickly.”
“Shhh! Shut up or I swear I’ll crack your skull next time.”
Sheroth obeyed, but his red eyes filled with hatred. “If you get a next time.”
###
Azam sifted through the dense undergrowth, forging a path for Delmar who trailed a few steps behind. The hum of chickadees and a hooting owl added to the symphony of the night. Azam hoped the sounds of the forest creatures, searching for their evening meal, would cover the noise of their approach to the Seti of Nod. Of course, no son of Adam would discern their footsteps, but if Semjaza had placed any of his men in the woods, well, that was different.
“Azam, what do you suppose happened to Onami?”
“Not what,” Azam whispered as he stepped over a dry branch, “Who? Only the Beloved can cause a change like that.”
“You’ve seen that display before?” Delmar asked.
“Not first-hand, but I heard—”
Azam stopped suddenly and raised a finger to his lips. The pale moonlight emphasized the golden glow surrounding him. But with his coal black features, he seemed a part of the night and his aura a misplaced ray of light.
He pointed to a cluster of thorny bushes about ten lengths ahead, motioning for Delmar to move ahead.
Delmar nodded. He saw it too—a pair of identical red dots, gleaming in the darkness. Without a word Delmar took the lead position and disappeared before Azam’s eyes.
Azam could no longer see his friend, but he could feel him moving forward. He followed, taking advantage of the shadows. He could assume human form and, without his aura, be virtually invisible himself—but that would make him susceptible and weak. He couldn’t afford either right now. Azam wrinkled his nose. He reached for the alroue leaves tucked inside his cloak. Azam focused his thoughts on Delmar. Use the leaves Delmar. He hoped his friend heard.
Delmar pressed the alroue to his face and breathed deeply.
Azam’s sword glimmered just before slicing the thorny shrubs.
“Aiieeeee!” a voice cried out.
A contorted mound of flesh, sallow and grey, lay writhing on the ground.
Delmar stepped back in surprise.
“Sheroth, get up you fool,” another voice said behind him, “get up and greet our guest.”
“But, Tumuril he has a sword.”
Azam flinched.
Delmar hesitated. Azam never flinched.
Tumuril took advantage of the split-second delay, drew his sword, and pointed it at Azam’s temple.
“To what do we owe the honor of a visit to our woods?” Tumuril spoke just inches away from Azam’s ear.
“These be no woods of yours, Fallen,” Azam said, staring straight ahead.
Sheroth snickered, moving clumsily, as best as his curved back would allow, to an upright position.
“I would save the laughter for better times if I were you,” Delmar said as he revealed himself and the blade now pointing at Tumuril’s neck.
“Ah,” Tumuril said, lowering his sword, “it seems we are even.”
“Yes, even,” Azam said, “is a good place for explanation. It’s a bit early for you to be harassing souls. Why are you not in Sheol as ordered?”
“First of all,” Tumuril snorted as he spoke, “we do not follow orders. Well, not unless we decide it is in our best interest. Lord L has given us free reign of this wasteland. We have a right to be in this forest or anywhere else for that matter. Why are you here, Watcher?”
“Our business is no business of yours, Fallen,” Azam said sharply.
“The name’s Tumuril, Azam. Or, have you so quickly forgotten your comrade?”
Without notice the singed creature standing before him with sunken eyes and sallow skin transformed into the likeness of the Glorious Ones. A brilliant display of light washed through the stillness of the trees casting large shadows around them.
Only the sudden twitch of Azam’s eye revealed his surprise before he resumed his usual stoic gaze.
“What’s the matter Azam?” Tumuril savored his discomfort. “Do you really believe we have no light of our own?”
Azam stared straight ahead, silent.
“Too bad you can’t rid us of your stench as well,” Delmar whipped his blade out again and pressed it into Tumuril’s neck.
At once, Sheroth produced a spiked club and swung it toward Delmar’s head.
Azam intercepted the blow with a slice from his sword and sent Sheroth tumbling to the ground.
Delmar never moved.
Tumuril flickered, wavered, and then faded under the pressure from the blade. This sallow creature was greatly diminished, even pitiful.
“You know there’s really no need for such violence,” Tumuril said, “our victory is at hand. If I were you, I would put that silly dagger away and pray that I will forgive this insult when Lord L assumes his throne.”
“There is no victory for you satans. The prophecy has been spoken.”
“Ah, it has at that,” Tumuril took advantage of the split-second hesitation to leap to a dangling tree branch. He hung from it now and smiled.
“But, if the seed is spoiled, the prophecy is useless, is it not?”
“What do you mean, Fallen?”
A cackle disturbed the leaves overhead as Tumuril disappeared.
“You’ll see Watcher.” Tumuril laughed in the distance.
“You,” Azam said, thrusting his sword toward Sheroth, who still cowered at his feet, “what is he speaking of?”
“I do not know Glorious One,” Sheroth whined. “Look at me—I am just a lowly servant. The rulers do not share their plans with me.”
Azam stared deeply into the Fallen’s eyes, studying the malformed creature sniveling on the ground. He replaced his sword in his sheath.
“Get up,” Azam said gruffly, “get out of here, before I change my mind.”
The awkward figure stumbled into the night, snapping twigs as he hurried after his master.
“Why did you let him go?” Delmar asked, “You know he was lying.”
“The mercy of the Beloved stayed my hand. Destruction is not His will this eve.”
Azam readjusted his concealed weapons.
“Maybe later,” Azam said solemnly as he walked toward the seti. “For now, let’s see what evil the Fallen have wrought in Nod.”
###
The Nesh Pa Nel had left for Nod well before first light, careful to follow Enoch’s instructions: observe the ways of Cain’s tillers and bring word of Naamah’s well-being—unseen. They had completed both tasks. Well, Methuselah did his part—observing a full day’s labor in the fields, memorizing every detail until he could recite them by heart. Exciting. “Did you slay a wild beast? Did you rescue a daughter in distress?” his little brother Dani would bombard him with questions when he returned, demanding a valiant tale of a day in the life of a Nesh Pa Nel. He would not disappoint. Somehow, he would make lying on his stomach next to piles of dung in the blazing heat sound thrilling.
Methuselah touched the tender spot on his forehead again and winced as he remembered his outburst. He tried to apologize to his father privately, but it was hard to catch The Bearer alone. He applied a thin layer of the Medici’s paste to the throbbing wound. He looked over his shoulder to see if any of the other scouts noticed. The Nesh Pa Nel were too busy stuffing their pockets with heads of grain as they crept through the cultivated rows, to pay him any attention. Methuselah walked ahead of the pack, relieved. He appreciated his father’s connection with The One Mind and all that, but why did he have to give him a name of impending doom—surely, that had been a mistake and the source of needless teasing. Anytime he was ignored was a blessing.
Finally, the pack caught up with him.
“Come to, Methu!” The rowdy scout patted Methuselah’s head. “How’s the wound?”
“Fine.”
“Still alive no?” The pack leader took a swing at Methuselah’s face.
Methuselah dodged the jab easily and kept walking. “I am fine.”
“You hear that, scouts?” he called the others, mocking. “He’s fine. The ‘Ender’ has spoken. Looks like we’ll all live to see another day.”
“So, did you accomplish your task?” Methuselah changed the subject.
“Of course, we did, Ender!”
They all laughed at the jest.
“Well, how is Naamah?” Methuselah said. “The Bearer said we must ensure her safety.”
“No need for concern—” the pack leader said smugly. “Naamah is completely guarded by the Elohim—no one can get to her—not even Father Lamech.”
“I see,” Methuselah said, “and you don’t think that’s a problem.”
“That’s the trouble with you Ender,” the rowdy scout said, “you see misfortune around every bend. Me? I see possibilities. The daughters of Cain were most beautiful—there is no need for us to avoid them.”
“We were sent to scout, not court,” Methuselah said, dashing up the trail to the Father Tree Tower. “I hope you brought evidence.”
“Right here, in my pouch,” the leader said, scooping out a handful of grain. “I hope you discovered their methods.”
“Right here,” Methuselah said, tapping his head.
Suddenly the pack leader, dropped his sack and plowed into Methuselah. “You think you are so smart just because Enoch is your father.”
Methuselah pushed back with all his might, swinging punches. They were surrounded now, by Nesh Pa Nel, chanting. Methuselah knew this was the fight they had all been waiting for—he finally took the bait and gave the pack leader another solid jab to the gut just before he was maneuvered into a choke hold.
“Ho!” Medici Tiph’arah came running out of the Father Tree Tower. “Everything okay here?”
“All in good fun, Medici Tiph’arah.” The pack leader released Methuselah, “A good scout knows how to spar—right, Methu?”
“Yah, sure,” Methuselah rubbed his throat.
Without warning, Tiph’arah threw her dagger straight at the pack leader, slicing off a chunk of his hair before hitting its mark in the Tower behind him. “A good pack leader should also know when he is being followed.” The Nesh Pa Nel unpinned the groaning figure from the Father Tree. “Looks like someone needs to do less sparring and more scouting.”
Zohar!” Methuselah snatched the bag of alroue from him, “You dare steal?”
The pack leader grimaced, shoulders slumped, as he examined their captive and tied his arms with rope.
“Unbind my arms!” Zohar yelled, twisting at the constraints, “You have no right to detain me. I only want what is rightfully ours!”
“Rightfully yours? You have some nerve,” Methuselah said, “call the Elders!”
“So, you’re giving orders now?” the pack leader bristled, snatching the stolen bag from Methuselah.
“The Elders are at the Cave of Treasures,” Medici Tiph’arah said, mounting her four-runner, “I will send for them.”
“Take him to the vault!” The pack leader commanded.
“Remember what happened to Father Seth?” Methuselah said, “no one is to stay there for more than—”
“Do as I command, Methu,” the pack leader said, “before I finish what I started.”
###
Before Enoch could leave for Avenland Forest, he was summoned again, first to the Cave of Treasures to meet with the Council, privately. Urgent business they said. Enoch had no sooner adjourned the session, when Tiph’arah arrived, breathless as usual, and told him The Council was needed at the Tower, again. Urgent she said. “What next?” Enoch muttered, trudging back to the storehouse. Being the Bearer was more work than he’d realized.
“We caught Zohar with bags in hand, Bearer!” The pack leader strutted over to him and saluted.
The young scout dropped the evidence at Enoch’s feet. “I alerted the elders of Cain right away, and the Elders of Seth are waiting for you at the Tower.”
“That was quite unnecessary,” Enoch said as he picked up the sack and followed the scout. “There was no need to bring them to our Tower without—”
“You trying to woo the maidens, Seth?” Lamech jeered at the elder’s black mane. “Give up old man—”
“Tis no vanity.” Father Seth rubbed his hand across his ebony hair. “Just the benefits of obedience and alroue.”
“Well, where is he?” Tubal-Cain examined the Tower. “I appreciate the chance to see your pretty tree-house, but some of us work for our bread.”
“We would be more than happy to judge your thief,” Enoch signaled to the Nesh Pa Nel on the upper decks. “But we thought you might want to atone for his trespass before his offense causes more trouble.”
“Trouble? You are the instigators!” Tubal Cain lunged at Enoch. “You sent scouts to steal our methods. You’re the thieves—”
“Enough, my son.” Lamech restrained Tubal-Cain with a forceful hand. “Ignore his envy. We are above such pettiness now.” Father Lamech gazed upon the storehouse and clasped both hands behind his head. “Let them have their revenge—it is all they have.”
Tubal-Cain caught his aim, paying more attention to the Tower’s layout. “I say we tie the fool to the Tree and lash him here and now!”
“Indeed, serves him right for rebelling,” Lamech said.
The Nesh Pa Nel drug Zohar into the clearing, untied his arms and legs and ripped the bandage off his mouth. He toppled to the ground.
“What do you have to say for yourself, boy?” Tubal Cain asked. “Stand up!”
Zohar struggled to pull himself upright. He babbled incoherently.
“Speak like a man, boy!” Father Lamech said.
Zohar drooled. His smile was silly. His eyes empty.
“What’s wrong with him?” Tubal-Cain said.
The Nesh Pa Nel seemed bewildered.
The pack leader stared at Enoch’s sandals.
“I told you not to put him in the vault,” Methuselah said.
Father Seth ran a hand over his hair. “How long was he in the vault?”
“Only since last eve—” The pack leader mumbled.
“Last eve!” Father Seth said. “The alroue is too potent for—”
“Zohar, speak.” Tubal Cain shook the youth.
Zohar giggled and fell again.
“He is an idiot!” Lamech spat in the boy’s face.
Zohar whimpered and curled into a ball.
Enoch examined the young man. His face was tender, coarse hair now curled in ringlets. “No, more like a babe—”
“This is your doing!” Tubal-Cain grabbed Methuselah and pressed a dagger to his throat. “A son for a son, I say.”
“Leave him be!” Enoch brandished his own blade. Everyone stepped back, honoring the challenge.
Methuselah struggled to free himself, as Tubal-Cain drug him by the neck, keeping him just out of Enoch’s reach.
A trickle of blood dripped down Methuselah’s neck. His eyes rolled back.
Enoch lunged toward Tubal-Cain. Fire coursed through him. “Be still,” the Voice said. Enoch froze.
Zohar was crying now and sucking his thumb.
Methuselah gagged.
“Finish him!” Lamech shouted.
Tubal-Cain squeezed harder.
Methuselah’s body went limp.
“That’s my boy!” Father Lamech laughed, until Tubal-Cain was propelled over the youth’s shoulders, head-first, to the ground.
Methuselah used the burly man’s weight against him as they wrestled. They toppled over each other as Methuselah repeatedly maneuvered himself on top, pinning Tubal-Cain. Finally, the brawny man lay on his face, heaving with his arm held behind his back. Methuselah grabbed Tubal-Cain’s dagger and jumped off, allowing the bigger man to stand. They circled each other, standing-off.
Every Nesh Pa Nel came out the Tower, watching.
Tubal-Cain panted, dripping with blood. Minor cuts dotted his frame.
Methuselah was dirty, but fine otherwise.
A dagger sailed over Tubal-Cain’s head.
Methuselah caught it and threw both his daggers over Tubal-Cain’s head.
The feathers off Lamech’s headdress, fluttered to the ground.
“That was low,” Enoch said, catching the blades, “even for you.”
“Tis’ that fool prophecy, again,” Father Lamech said, “the Ancient One spares him for greater judgment than we can give.” Father Lamech turned to leave. “Come, we have wasted enough sun here.”
“What about Zohar?” Tubal-Cain gathered the youth into his arms.
“Take that cry-baby to his mother,” Father Lamech said. “Serves him right for disobeying his elders.”
One by one the Nesh Pa Nel congratulated Methuselah.
“Good fight, Methu,” the pack leader said.
“Never seen Tubal-Cain bested.” Another one patted him on the back.
“Can you spar with me, Methu?” Another asked as they returned to their duties.
“Methu, wait!” Enoch pulled him aside and hugged him tight. “Don’t tell your mother,” he whispered.
“Not a word, Bearer.” Methuselah saluted and ran to catch up with the other scouts.
Zohar’s limp figure disappeared down the trail, jostling like a sack over Tubal-Cain’s shoulder.
“Tis a shame about the boy,” Father Seth said, picking up the stolen sack. “But thieves get their just reward—”
“—and a man must reap what he sows,” Enoch said, light surged through him again, illuminating the evening sky.
“Indeed,” the elders agreed.