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 19 - Bitter
Music drifted from plains of Nod. Cymbals clamored for attention over the pounding drums and clapping hands. Laughter tinkled along with the timbrel. But, Letah moved like a deaf man.
The music, the fragrant smell of fatty meat, the colorful robes of the people, jostling him as he made his way against the crowd, brought him no joy. It only fueled his anger. Something deep in his belly turned sour. He quenched it. Must be the roasted meat gone bad. Letah ignored the rumble, the taste of bile, and concentrated. Which tent did Zillah say? Ah, yes—there. Letah moved closer toward the flap wavering in the breeze. He could see a shadow moving about inside. He was there just as Adah said he would be—the tray was there too. Lamech. Letah’s mouth twisted into a remnant of a smile. We will see who the fool is now.
Letah approached the two men guarding the door quietly. “May the Ancient show you favor.”
One of the men lifted a large rod with spikes and blocked the entrance.
The other raised his hand and waved the man with the weapon away.
“It’s just Letah, Eli. No need for that. What is it Letah?”
“A meal for Father Lamech is all.”
“He already has his meal.” Eli pointed to the tray of steaming meats and bread sitting by door.
“Oh no— no, that is the wrong tray,” Letah said, shaking his head vigorously, “this one has been prepared by Mother Zillah and Mother Adah. They made it special, just for the ceremony. It—it has all his favorites.”
Eli frowned.
“The sebassi just brought this tray. Why didn’t Mother Zillah and Adah send it by them?”
“They did, but the foolish girls—they are new to their duties and unlearned. They picked up the wrong tray. This one is for Tubal-Cain. See.” Letah pointed toward the plates. “It only has meats and no figs. You know Father Lamech will be furious if—”
“Fine,” Eli said quickly, exchanging the trays, “I’ll carry it to him now.”
“Thank you,” Letah bowed and nodded as he moved backwards, “I will take this one to Tubal-Cain.”
Letah kept bowing and nodding until he could no longer see the guard. Then, he turned around and set the tray down beside the nearest tent. This family will be glad for Lamech’s choicest portions instead of the scraps for a change. Letah edged along the side of the tent, staying in the shadows, until he could see Lamech’s dwelling again. Mother Zillah was speaking with the guards, her arms and hands flailed about as she gestured wildly. Eli and the other guard ran off, leaving Mother Zillah alone. She paused for moment, staring into the darkness.
Letah’s heart pounded. He placed a hand over it as if it could stop the blood from racing.
“Now!” Her eyes seemed to say, though Letah knew she couldn’t see him. She grabbed the tray and took it inside the tent. Seconds later she came out, glanced around, and then strode down the beaten path leading to the center of Nod.
Letah waited.
A trickle of sweat made its way from under his arms down his side. Letah ignored it and the knot in his stomach as he crept toward Lamech’s luxurious abode. This should be my night. He promised. I served him, didn’t I? I did everything he asked. Yes, Father Lamech. Of course, Father Lamech. Certainly, I can wait Father Lamech.
Letah balled his palms into a fist. The knot in his stomach felt cold and hard now. That coldness spread through him, seeped through his veins chilling him, calming him. All that time, all that time wasted, and now my Naamah waits for another man. Elohim indeed! Semjaza is no better than a son of Adam. No! He is worse. He is without honor—just like Lamech.
Letah threw back the folds of the tent. Lamech stood hunched over the tray with his back to the door.
“Eli, I told you not to disturb me again,” Lamech said, swinging around. His hand caught the edge of the tray and sent it sprawling to the floor.
“You—Letah you—fool!” His craggy voice was slurred as he stumbled over the plates still clattering on the ground. He staggered backwards, bumping into the shelf behind him. More cups, bowls and tools fell from their places. Father Lamech’s hands searched frantically for something steady. He swayed again as his eyes grew wide with awareness.
Letah smiled.
“Get—out!” Lamech said. But the command was no more than a hoarse whisper.
Letah sauntered toward the hunched figure lying on the ground, clutching his stomach and sweating profusely.
“Here.” Letah grabbed a cloth from a basket and threw it at Father Lamech. “You’re sweating like a pig.”
Letah laughed. “Is there a problem Father Lamech? Should I call a Medici for you? I know—I should call Semjaza. He will heal you, right?” Letah laughed louder, shaking his head.
He stooped down and peered into Lamech’s eyes. “You shouldn’t have done it, Lamech,” Letah said, picking up the cloth by Lamech’s face.
“The—the guards will be back soon,” Lamech whispered.
“No, they won’t.” Letah stared into Lamech’s eyes as he covered Lamech’s nose with the cloth. “Your wives will see to that. Eli and his friend are running a little errand right now.”
A spark of anger burned in those eyes. Father Lamech tried to lift his arms.
Letah pressed the cloth harder into the craggy face.
Lamech’s head turned from side to side struggling to find air.
“You may have made a better deal with Semjaza,” Letah said, speaking softly into the desperate eyes, “but, you’ll never live to—”
Whack!
Lamech’s head surged forward, then back to the ground with a thump.
Letah fell back, holding his forehead. He stared in confusion. Pain pulsated in waves. His head throbbed. The room swirled before his eyes. He tried to sit up, but the ground was moving. Lamech’s hot breath, sick with the acrid smell of kulu brushed against his cheek. A fresh burning sensation pierced Letah’s heart. Lamech bent over him gasping, watching. He seemed so far away. Letah tried to reach for that craggy face, squinting at the distant figure. But cold, flowing like an icy river, sprang from his toes, traveled up his legs, and filled his belly and arms, trapping him. Finally, the cool heaviness washed through his chest, taking the pain with it.
Am I? Letah tried to ask before he gave in to the cold tide, to the dimming—to the darkness.
###
Lamech ripped the short knife from Letah’s chest. Bright red blood oozed down his hand as he fell backward, next to Letah. He tried to sit up again. My legs— Lamech pounded the two useless logs with his fists until pinpricks of pain forced him to give up the idea.
Lamech grunted and rolled over onto his stomach instead, using his elbows to shift his weight from side to side as he dragged himself across the floor.
“Help!” Lamech yelled. He bit his lip when he realized the pathetic voice, barely audible, was his.
“Help—” the weak voice called again. It’s no use. No one can hear me. Lamech listened to the drums and the singing in the distance. It was louder now. A tear rolled down the deep chiseled cracks on his face. Perhaps, they didn’t use enough kulu to steal my essence.
Lamech swallowed. His tongue felt thick and foreign inside his mouth. He grimaced from the bitter residue of the kulu leaves and dropped his head onto the dirt floor. His forehead was throbbing from the impact of the head-butt.
Fool couldn’t best a flea. Lamech tried to encourage himself as the tingling pinpricks attacked his arms. What was that sound? Someone gasping for breath. It was even louder than the noisy timbrels shaking in the night.
That’s strange. My head doesn’t hurt so much anymore. He felt light now—so light he could float away like a dandelion drifting with the wind. He imagined himself soaring over the Seti of Nod, watching the women in their best garments, laughing and dancing around the huge fire at El Teva. Adah and Zillah drinking heartily while they giggled at the antics of the tumblers swirling around the people.
“Father!”
What’s that? He thought he heard someone calling him from below.
“Father—please, Father. Wake up!”
Not now, Tubal-Cain. The dancers are just getting started. Go tell that fool to stop groaning.
“Father!” The voice was persistent. Now it shook him too.
“Wake up. Wake up!”
“Agh!” Lamech growled, reaching wildly for his pounding head. He shivered uncontrollably as cold liquid ran down his face making a puddle. Lamech sputtered and spit the muddy mixture out his mouth.
“What!” Lamech said. The shout startled him. My voice. Lamech touched his throat and looked up.
Tubal-Cain stood over him and forced him to swallow the rest of the sopani.
“Father what happened?”
“That fool—that fool Letah, tried to kill me.”
“How? What did he—”
“Never mind that now,” Lamech said as Tubal-Cain helped him to his feet. “Give me your weapon.”
“Father, we need to get you to a Medici. We don’t know if—”
“Just give it to me!”
Tubal-Cain pulled his razor-sharp scythe from its ceremonial sheath and gave it to Lamech.
Lamech stumbled over to the lifeless man lying in a pool of crimson and heaved the scythe high into the air.
Swop!
Tubal-Cain stepped backwards, dazed at the image before him.
Lamech swung around and smiled with satisfaction.
“Come, my son, let us go to the wedding.”
###
El Teva stood magnificent in the grassy plain. Every trodden path in the Seti of Nod wove its way eventually to the gathering place of the Sons of Cain. The height of the silvered stones hewn from the cliffs of the Seven Hills stood in stark contrast to the fertile green meadow. Twelve impressive pillars, standing thirty-five lengths tall and five lengths wide, formed a circle of protection for the humans seated on the earthen steps going down to the smooth paved floor below. Flowering vines grew up the length of the pillars and formed a canopy overhead. It had been Mother Azura’s idea to hang long, silken banners of red, purple, gold and green from the pillars. They now billowed in the evening breeze beckoning air and people to flow freely inside.
Delmar and Azam sat on the pillar of the Golds completely unnoticed.
“What are we waiting for?” Delmar asked, “We can stop this.”
“No, we cannot.”
“Yes, we can.”
“Our mission is to protect Delmar, not interfere.”
“These Sons of Adam need our protection more than ever. Just—look at them!” Delmar thrust an accusing finger toward the crowd below.
Azam’s eyes glazed over the gathering, reluctantly. The mark of that which should not be, had already begun. Even from his distant position in the canopy, towering high above, he could see it. The darkening of the eye, the first sign, had come and with it—lawlessness. Though these sons of Adam did not know the Angelic Code, the Ancient One’s highest orders, they had until this point followed them almost instinctively. But this eve was different.
Azam ran his fingers over the weapons obscured beneath his cloak. He grimaced, clenching his jaw. Two young women revealed more than they ought while a group of men, jeering and clapping, spurred them on to wild abandon. Others sat drinking bowl after bowl of osi, the drink of power. Right in the middle, Watchers joined in heartily. Semjaza’s men were everywhere. Azam knew they would be here, but his reaction surprised him. Azam clenched his saber, his head reeling at the scent wafting up from below. It reminded him of another gathering, long ago. Not again he thought.
“You smell it too.,” Delmar said, pressing an alroue leaf to his nose, “I can tell—”
“The celebration is becoming—”
“It is out of bounds, Azam, you know I am right. We should—”
Azam turned just in time to see Delmar slip.
Delmar dangled silently, clutching a heavier branch over his head, as he watched the broken limb tumble downward, tussling from vine to vine until it almost hit two of Semjaza’s men before landing with a thud.
Hazazel and Yamezerak looked up, searching for the cause.
Delmar, almost simultaneously, transformed his golden hues to imitate the evergreen beneath his palms.
Azam, not possessing Delmar’s gift, merely glared back and waited.
“What was that?” Yamezerak frowned. ‘I almost lost my drink, I did.”
“It’s absolutely nothing.” Hazazel laughed heartily, taking a slug of the dark brew from his bowl as he kicked the limb away. “This place is just falling apart is what it is. It needs a little touch from the Elohim is all.” Hazazel laughed again as he hit the rounded bottom of a young girl passing by, tearing her covering off with his grip. She squealed and ran ahead, laughing over her shoulder as she flew toward the sound of the timbrels.
“You sure?” Yamezerak squinted at the canopy.
“Of course, I am sure old friend,” Hazazel said, running to catch the girl. “Now stop worrying before you spoil the fun.”
“Interesting,” Azam said after Hazazel and Yamezerak went to the large tent in the middle of El Teva. “I don’t think they can see us.”
“Sure they can,” Delmar said. “They were probably just distracted.”
“No, Yamezerak looked directly at me. His sight is keen enough to spot an Elohim at least five times the distance I was from him and we are only 35 lengths away—”
“That’s impossible,” Delmar said. “Even if he didn’t see you, he should be able to discern your aura.”
“Exactly, my point. Think about it. Why haven’t our own brothers noticed our presence and how could a B’Nai be distracted? Our arrival was much too easy. I expected someone to stop us and question us, or at least greet us. It’s strange.”
“Maybe you’re right.”
“Only one way to be sure,” Azam muttered, checking his weapons.
“I thought you said we were just going to observe.”
“We are,” Azam said, tightening his belt. “But who says we can’t be up close. Follow me.”
Delmar turned to make a careful descent down the pillar.
Whoosh!
Delmar felt the quick burst of air and looked over his shoulder, just in time to see Azam leap from his position and land smack in the middle of Semjaza’s men.
They did nothing.
“Right again,” Delmar muttered and jumped. His feet hit the ground next to Azam with a soft thud. He tried to step aside as one of Semjaza’s guards rushed toward him. Delmar put up his arm to block him.
Whoosh!
Delmar shivered at the sensation.
The Elohim passed right through him.
“Did you see that?”
“What I suspected is true,” Azam said, shaking his head. “Our brothers are losing their essence in this state. Not sure it’s permanent, but for now—they are like the humans. We can move about freely.”
“But what about the Fallen?” Delmar waved his hand in front of the guard. “If he can’t see me, he can’t see the Fallen either, right?”
“Probably not.”
“What if the Fallen attack them?”
“They must resist.” Azam grimaced, turning away from the lewd gathering. “Wait here. I am going to find Semjaza.”
###
Azam strode through the Elohim settlement just outside Nod with ease. They were busy—and blind. As he approached Semjaza’s dwelling, Azam passed right through one of his own, guarding the door. The Watcher had no substance whatsoever—his fall complete. Azam shivered. Only once before had he encountered such absence, such terror—it was in ages past at the Great Hall in Heaven’s Realm—
Azam had entered the crowded auditorium just as the Score folded their wings and ended the anthem. “You’re late!” The Director mouthed the words silently and glared at Azam—the only upright being in the room. The rigid instructor sent sparks of light toward his head as he waded through the sea of worshipers. Azam flicked them away with a shrug. The other spirits were mesmerized as usual. Azam slipped into an empty space and kneeled. He raised his head to gaze at the object of their affection. Immediately, a strange sensation entered him. Intense heat. No—cold, light filled with emptiness surged through his body. What is this? Energy intertwined with yearning and unfamiliar ideas poured into his mind. He struggled to look away. One by one, he saw the citizens around him transform at the foot of their—Oh, not him!
Azam trembled at the reaction rocking the crowd into a frenzy. By the Ancient’s stars I must—
He fought to hold on to his will. Leave now! Unable to stand, Azam rolled onto the floor, writhing as if drunk from power. He hoped no one would notice as he edged toward the exit.
Semjaza was at the door, his arm outstretched. It took every bit of Azam’s strength to crawl toward that hand, and he was strong. He was so tired of resisting. Wouldn’t it be better to rest awhile? After all, the Ancient does not know everything, does He? Who is to say He was first at all? Who was there to prove it? The melody was so soothing—so new and reasonable, but the cold, so empty and void. Azam thrust his arm out with all his might.
Semajaza grabbed his hand and snatched him out of the Great Hall. They both stumbled as momentum and Azam’s weight toppled them into the warm glow of the courtyard.
“Are you well?” Semjaza drug him to his feet.
Azam opened his mouth and collapsed.
Dazzling brilliance appeared next to Semjaza and spoke, “He will be.”
Azam remembered the Beloved’s words, hopeful. He knocked on the door—three quick taps, followed by two slow. Would Semjaza remember that game? The two captains had always used it when they wanted privacy.
“Leave me be,” Semjaza said to the officer. “I have business to attend to.”
“Certainly, Captain.” The underling brushed past Azam, without a glance.
Azam paused a few moments, then assumed a suit of flesh before entering.
“Greetings, brother.” Semajaza smiled, waving him into the room. “What brings you my way? And with such secrecy too. I pray nothing is amiss.”
“I should hope not,” Azam said. “Haven’t seen you on Mt. Arata lately.”
“My assignment brings me here,” Semjaza said. “It is pleasant, is it not.”
Azam surveyed the spacious home. The design was simple, but elegant. “I suppose.” Azam picked up a sketch nailed to a wall full of designs. Dozens more were piled onto a table. Dimensions were neatly drawn, and basic instructions etched into thin wooden plates with a fine hand. “Looks like you have big plans—alchemy, weaponry, tools, pharmacia—even cross-breeding.” Azam flipped through specification after specification. “I was not aware our assignment included enriching the tribe of Cain.”
“Mere tokens of friendship to a youthful race.” Semajaza sat at his desk, drafting another plate. “My comrades and I are on special assignment from the Beloved. As kind observers, we share these principles to ensure their survival, nothing more—”
“Seems an unfair balance.” Azam picked up a tablet from the bottom of the stack. It was a ledger.
“The sons of Seth have their alroue, do they not?”
“Obtained by their own efforts, not ours,” Azam studied the names and quantities listed in the document. “Why is a ‘DWB’ worth three times as much as a ‘TF’?” he asked.
“That’s of no consequence.” Semjaza yanked the plate from Azam’s hand and moved the stack of specs to a small room, latching the door behind him. “Just some juvenile scribble from one of the humans.” He turned to face Azam. “I thought you had some urgent need—”
“I thought you might,” Azam said. “Your aura is amiss. I have been signaling you for days, with no response.”
“Just a glitch in my spectrum, nothing to worry about,” Semjaza said.
“I came to take your hand.” Azam discarded his suit of flesh and extended his arm to Semjaza. “This planet’s atmosphere can be intoxicating. Let us go home and strengthen our spirits. A kindness, for your kindness—”
“Perhaps later.” Semjaza shielded his eyes from the light. “I have much work to do here before the—well, even the Beloved Himself expects me to complete this task.”
Azam bristled at the lie. “Goodbye, brother.”