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 26 - The Pit and the Cloud
Nebat scurried along in front of Tumuril, wincing as his backside caught the tail-end of his commander’s whip once again. He fumed but knew better than to complain. That would just land him more abuse plus the attention of the Powers who loved to join in a good reprimand when they weren’t engaged otherwise. Instead, he tried reason. Perhaps if I explain, I can gain Tumuril’s favor and a chance to complete my assignment.
Nebat shuddered in the familiar darkness leading to Sheol as he thought of the alternative. I don’t want to end up like Sheroth. Sheroth should have been among them this eve but Tumuril blamed the lesser for blotching up the last encounter with the Watchers. He’d told Lord L that Sheroth’s blunder permitted the Watchers to escape unscathed. So Lord L promptly turned Sheroth over to the Powers for rebuke. The Powers thought it great fun to throw lessers into the boiling pools and bet on what types of disfigurement the drenching would cause. Or worse yet, Lord L might order him sent to the depths where there were rumors of a fathomless pit. No one knew for sure what horror dwelt there since the unfortunate lessers who had somehow returned raved with madness. Nebat had attempted to converse with Sheroth to find out what happened after he’d surprisingly made his way back from the Pit to the Grand Hall. But, his efforts to communicate only increased Sheroth’s incoherent babbling and desperation. Those who returned were only good for one thing.
Digging.
Sheroth now joined the ranks of the Despised, the cursed lessers who dug and dug with the threat of the Pit and the sting of whips driving them deeper and deeper into Sheol. Therefore, Tumuril chose Nebat to fill Sheroth’s vacant post. Nebat had welcomed the opportunity to leave the confines of Sheol for the surface. He dreamed of a promotion, the chance for—
“Nebat!” Tumuril screamed as he snapped the cord against Nebat’s bottom, shaking him out of his reverie. “Do I look like I have time to break your back? Pick up the pace. The Powers are waiting. And you’d better have a really good reason why you let Enoch escape, or I’ll toss you into the Pit myself.”
Nebat increased his tempo until he was almost running down the path. “Yes, my lord. I will hurry.”
Nebat scurried into the Grand Hall, slowing when he saw the gathering. This was more than just the Powers looking for a diversion. It seemed as though all Sheol itself waited for their arrival. Legions of lessers and the upper echelon lined the risers carved out of the walls. A large iron contraption was alone in the center of the room. Bars criss crossed each other to form a thatch-work wall with chains protruding from it. Spikes poked through the openings with painful precision. Behind this, Lord L sat high on a throne as elaborate and ornate as the lessers could construct—waiting.
“Nebat, so glad you decided to join us,” the Great Leader said as he leaned back and crossed his arms behind his head. “I was beginning to think I had offended you in some way.” Lord L motioned to one of his lieutenants who promptly drug a heavy chair and placed it squarely in the center of the room. “Please do have a seat I would hate to keep you waiting. Of course, not unless you have some other mission that needs screwing up right now.”
Nebat bowed low staring at the paved floor, thinking, stalling. I will not go the the Pit. This is the last time Tumuril will blame his incompetence on someone else. “Lord L, a thousand pardons,” Nebat said, rising slowly, “but I wouldn’t dream of sitting in your presence. Not when Commander Tumuril has spent the past day chasing us lessers around as he tried without success to have the man Enoch captured. It is he,” Nebat added with a flourish of his maimed hand toward the iron chair, “who should be seated.”
“Indeed,” Lord L sprung from his throne to face the surrounding horde. “I must say that is surprising news and I do have only one chair available. I think I would rather hear my commander explain this catastrophe. But I am just, so I will not make the decision on my own.” The Great Leader called out to the multitude raising his voice over the snickers already erupting in the hall. “Tell me my brothers, who should I question—the lesser Nebat or Commander Tumuril?”
The cacophony exploded with glee as feet stomped and fists pounded adding to the ruckus. “Tumuril, Tumuril, Tumuril—”
###
Tumuril walked calmly to the chair. His face, a mask of apathy, covered the hatred seething inside. He allowed himself one last glare at Nebat as he whispered, “I will return.”
“Now Tumuril,” the Great Leader said, “tell me why do I not have Enoch seated before me? I am extremely disappointed as we went to so much trouble to have this chair especially prepared for him. And you, unfortunately, have the task of convincing me why I should not do to you, what was intended for him.”
Tumuril swallowed and opened his mouth to answer. Only a thin rasp responded. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Well Lord L, you see, it was—it was an unpredictable and unpreventable mistake.”
“So, you do have the sense to admit you made a mistake.” The Great Leader flicked his hand and on cue a metal track popped up from the floor, latching on to the metal chair. “Unpredictable perhaps, but unpreventable? No. I am not convinced it was unpreventable. Are any of you convinced?” He lifted his arms to the gathering, inviting their response.
“No, no, no.” They chanted as they pounded their feet and for some, what counted for feet, in rhythm.
“No, my Tumuril, unpreventable is simply unacceptable. Surely there was something you, an Elohim with excelling strength and cunning, could have done to prevent a mere dirt beast from escaping. Or, are you suggesting that he is somehow greater than—”
“No, not at all, Lord L,” Tumuril said quickly. “Of course not. But, this was the doing of the Beloved—”
“Don’t you dare say that name in my presence!” The Great Leader’s face turned to fury as he flicked his hand again. This time the chair lurched backwards, sliding into the metal grid with a clang.
Tumuril bit his tongue and clutched the sides of the chair. He was about to stand when circular rings protruding from beneath the seat and under the chair arms opened with a click and snapped shut, forcing him to remain still.
Tumuril took a deep breath—willing indifference back on his face—as he attempted to correct his blunder. “I tell you with a surety, my lord, that the Great Deceiver himself gave the man Enoch power that was not released even to us. The one called Enoch merely spoke and—”
“He spoke and what! What happened?” The Great Leader bellowed, silencing the leaders and their minions. He stalked towards Tumuril, who was firmly secured and sweating profusely.
Tumuril preferred the noisy rabble to this. He twisted in his chair, but not much—the spikes surrounding him prevented that. He will hate the truth, but if I withhold, he will torment me more. “My lord,” he said, dropping his head, “Enoch only said he wanted to leave and—he vanished. We had him, and he just disappeared.”
“Impossible.” Lord L mumbled and turned away. He flicked his wrist again absently, still pacing.
A circular track popped up enclosing the space around the chair.
Not one in the assembly dared to speak. He stopped abruptly, swinging around to face Tumuril again, but then hesitated and stared at Nebat who had somehow inched as far away from Tumuril as he could without notice. Now Nebat trembled just outside the perimeter of the circular track.
“Nebat!” The Great Leader said curtly. “Is this true?”
“Yea, my lord, he speaks the truth,” Nebat said in a voice so small it made his monstrous form ridiculous.
“Very well then,” the Great Leader said with another flick of his wrist. “That is all.”
With that motion, the ground holding the contraption gave way and plummeted to the depths below sending a burst of steam into the Great Hall. Tumuril’s scream echoed throughout the chamber.
###
The Great Hall was quiet as Lord L resumed his seat on the makeshift throne. He surveyed the beings around him, curling his lip at the sight. These pitiful creatures with their grotesque features disgusted him. I will surround myself with beauty once more. But until then, I must suffer their presence. “Molech!” he yelled. “Give word regarding your mission.”
“Yes, my lord,” Molech said as he walked, tail slinking in tow, to the throne. He bowed low then raised himself to stare at the Great Leader eye-to-eye.
“Well, well,” Lord L said, “you must have good news indeed to parade yourself, dog that you are, in front of me with such—confidence.”
“Yes, my lord, these markings are but a small price to pay to serve you. But I assure you, you will be most pleased with my results.” Molech paused, relishing every second, as if he might entice Lord L with something precious. “Surely my time has come for elevation, now that Tumuril, that snake, is gone.”
“Really?” The Great Leader sat up—finally something interesting. “Proceed.”
Molech leaned forward with a grin as he eyed the Powers seated around the throne.
“My lord, your perseverance has paid off. The childling is coming.”
###
Naamah screamed as she doubled over with pain. The Medici circled her, mumbling over her in their strange way. She could hear Semjaza outside laughing with the Elohim and elders, his voice boisterous and jubilant. Her head reeled as the next contraction hit. Someone was talking to her. What?
“Push!”
Naamah stared at the woman with glassy eyes. She strained to hear. Why is she so far away? She heaved against the pressure in her abdomen, her face contorted and flushed with the strain. She blinked rapidly at the dark shadows flickering across the sunlit room. What? What did you say? They were talking to her.
“Swizzwhisspah. O Naamah—Ha ha ha ha!”
“No, Naamah. Don’t stop. Push!” ordered the Medici. “I can see the head—”
Naamah obeyed the command and gave one last thrust. She could hear the baby crying. She tried to sit up, to reach for her baby, but the women wrapping up the bundle kept shaking her and calling her name.
“Please, please! I want to see my baby!” she said again and again. The women ignored her.
The shadows spoke.
“Swizzwhisspah. Naamah. Ha ha ha ha. They can’t hear you.”
Naamah screamed, struggling against the icy hands’ grip. A grotesque misshapen head smiled crookedly and yanked her away.
“Help! Stop! Get your hands off me!” Naamah yelled at the top of her lungs. “Please Mother, help me!”
Naamah wrestled, reaching for Mother Zillah.
Captain Semjaza was holding a baby, her baby, laughing.
“Semjaza!” Naamah yelled. “Semjaza, help me!”
The Medici pulled a blanket over the girl’s face.
Mother Zillah was crying over the beautiful girl lying motionless on the cushion. “Send word to Mother Eve. Ask for alroue. There must be something we can do!”
“But Zillah, there is no rhythm—” the Medici woman said.
“Just do as I say!” her mama screamed.
###
Tumuril groaned in agony. Molten liquid poured over his body. He thought the fire would consume him, but it did him no such favor. Only torment kept him company. Were the others here? He tried to hold on to the fragment of thought but could not. He squirmed and struggled in the cruel seat. It too was merciless. Though he knew there was no hope, he could not control the desire to wrench away from the bonds holding him, so he writhed and twisted again and again, jerking against the restraints. Nor could he resist the urge to breath, though he needed no air to sustain him—so he sucked in gobs of searing lava. It burned through him. Why am I not destroyed? The almost indiscernible sound of a bond breaking severed the thought.
He was free. One by one the restraints were dissolving. He was floating—up, up toward—oh no! Am I falling?
Tumuril lost track of time and even a sense of himself. There was only pain and this sensation of nothingness. Had it only been a few seconds or millennium since I faced Lord L in the Great Hall? He tried to remember, but the terrible heat seared his memories too. They fell from his mind like jagged shards of unbelief, leaving only the reality of this infinite torment. If I can just remember one thing, maybe I can hold on to reason. Now, uh—what is my name? I am—Sheroth. No, that’s not it. I am—my name is Tumuril—
Just then Tumuril burst through the boiling lake, spewing out the soupy mix of fluid and fiery earth. Would-be tears evaporated from his eyes as he inhaled the stench of methane and sulfur. Bursts of fire exploded as the two volatile elements collided and fought for control of the sparse oxygen floating around the expansive cavern. Tumuril bobbed precariously in and out of the lake; each time he broke surface he swung his arms out to steady himself. He squinted through the reddish haze, looking for the boundary to this madness. He swirled from left to right gasping, grabbing. As far as he could see was sameness so oppressive it reminded him of a liquid desert, rippling tirelessly. No this can’t be. There must be—Tumuril stilled himself, treading, staring, hoping. There above the mist, he saw it—hovering. What is that? A way to the surface? Tumuril focused on the bluish cloud. It must be cool in its midst. If I can reach it—maybe?
Tumuril swam furiously toward the cloud, ignoring the agony of each stroke. As he neared his goal, he could make out the shoreline and the form of a cliff. Tumuril drug himself forward, slushing through the marsh until he collapsed onto the coarse gravel. He winced. Something sharp sliced his knee.
Tumuril clutched a handful of the sandy stuff, panting as he looked straight up at the cloud, incredibly high, but directly above his head. Leading to it was a wall of granite, ominous and black like cobalt, reaching for the heights. It was curiously smooth. The surface sparkled like the stars of heaven. He stood slowly, putting a hand over his eyes as if the motion would improve his sight. It looks like it is moving. Tumuril walked toward it. No, it’s not moving—they are!
Dozens, no hundreds of manlike forms, scaled and then fell off the cliff, again and again. Some almost reached the top before tumbling to the rocky shore. He watched them, their burnt flesh in shreds, screaming and cursing as they plummeted to the floor. Now he heard them plainly. Why didn’t I hear them before? The cacophony was deafening. He wanted to ask them what was inside the cloud. Did anyone know?
“Excuse me? Can you tell me—” Tumuril said.
The charred man cursed and mumbled, ignoring him completely, but not before Tumuril got a good look at his face. Tumuril gasped. I know him! That is, he is—Tumuril shivered violently, despite the heat, when he realized he could not remember his name no matter how hard he tried. All he could think of was the Cloud. He looked at it, longing. He could almost taste it. Tumuril stared into its wispy depths and caught a glimpse of something. No, it couldn’t be. A lump of recognition grew in his belly making it ache. I must know.
He too began scaling the flat surface of the cliff using two jagged rocks he’d picked up from the dreary beach. The translucent pointed edges that sliced his knee now served him well as he drove them into the surface and picked his way upward. He ignored the snarling forms doing the same thing, hurling all within his path away from the cliff. If anyone makes it to the Cloud, it will be me.
Tumuril panted more from excitement than exertion as he closed the distance between him and the vision. His eyes glistened. Tears fell down his parched cheeks. He could see it now, through the vapor, was a lake, crystalline and pure. It was surrounded by lush grass, green as emeralds. From the covering, flowers of every kind sprung forth in radiant glory. It was the glory from that other place.
Tumuril laughed, his eyes bulging, and reached for it. Just before his hand made contact with the soft, cool earth, a face peered out from the mist. The perfection of that image startled him. Tumuril lost his grip, but not before he felt the sting from the touch of that Cloud and the knowledge of who dwelt there. He screamed his name as he fell back, back, back toward the boiling lake—
“Adam!”