TAKEN--A Metaphysical Fantasy Audio Drama

DIVIDED: #3 - Flight or Fight?

May 05, 2021 V. Morrow Season 2 Episode 3
TAKEN--A Metaphysical Fantasy Audio Drama
DIVIDED: #3 - Flight or Fight?
Show Notes Transcript

SET YOUR MIND on things above with TAKEN--A Metaphysical Fantasy Audio Drama. AND NOW the ADVENTURE CONTINUES with DIVIDED--The Days of Peleg.

Bow to the Image! Has the whole world gone mad? Or is there something wrong with a statue that speaks and the giant man who makes the people worship it? Peleg is virtually alone in his misgivings. Meanwhile, all the rest of Shinar follows the mighty hunter Nimrod in building a Tower to reach the gates of heaven and even the Ancient One Himself. Could the mysterious encounters and cruel whispers heard since the Tower Temple's construction lead to something good? To Peleg the matter is simple, find someone who remembers the truth, someone who still hears The Voice—before it's too late. So, Peleg embarks on a journey to learn the secrets his great ancestors Methuselah and Enoch knew. Little does Peleg realize, Enoch—the very one, taken so long ago to a dimension outside space and time—and his son Methuselah are both working just as fervently toward the same goal. With the aid of a wise, old King, the tales from the stones, and the "knowing" that burns, Peleg may be mankind's only hope to stop the darkness descending from the Tower. Never again will a Flood destroy the earth, the Ancient One promised—next time it will be Fire!

Also please check back for upcoming chapters on this Podcast channel. 

 Remember, “Eye has not seen, nor ear heard, Nor have entered into the heart of man, The things which God has prepared for those who love Him.”  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

Chapter 3 – Flight or Fight?


Tubal-Cain crept past the homes of the Divine, advancing silently toward the largest home in the clearing. He kept in the shadows, careful not to alert the guards. I must distract them. Tubal-Cain’s hands reached instinctively toward the pack on his waist. He felt for the hard wad of flesh at the bottom. He grabbed it and threw it far across the clearing into the woods on the opposite side of the dwelling. Perfect! Tubal-Cain knew the wolves roamed this part of Nod at night. They wouldn’t be able to resist the scent of raw flesh. 

A lone howl echoed in the darkness. 

Then another a few moments later, and another. 

Soon their howls filled the night air.


“Aye, that’s my boy!” Father Lamech muttered, almost too loud.

Two B’Nai Elohim left their post by the door and walk toward the woods with bows raised.

“Better put these pitiful beasts out of their misery before they wake the childling,” one said. 

“Or maybe we should wake the childling and let him deal with them!” replied the other Elohim with a laugh.

Father Lamech waited until the men disappeared into the woods before scrambling toward the back of the structure. Fortunately, it had several openings Captain Semjaza called windows. Fool. No son of Cain would place openings all over his dwelling. Tis’ foolish indeed! Now, all he and Tubal-Cain needed to do was peek inside to find Naamah’s childling. He bent low, took a few steps, and peered into the first opening. Nothing. There was just a bare room with stacks of trays piled high. Looks like the sebassi are in for a scolding. They haven’t cleaned this place in days. 

He inched forward, pausing when he heard the barely audible sound of footsteps nearby. He stiffened. The low whistle of a night-lark hooted three times. He relaxed when he heard the signal. It was just Tubal-Cain checking the windows on the opposite side. He repeated his search methodically. No childling. 

He took another step, and almost collided in to Tubal-Cain. Tubal-Cain raised his finger to his lips and then pointed to his ears. Father Lamech heard it too. Short, muffled groans were coming from just inside the window. Something snapped. He looked toward the woods. Tubal-Cain shook his head and pointed toward the window. Silently, they both raised themselves so they could look inside.

Tubal-Cain put a hand over his mouth. 

Inside was the childling if you could still call him that. He had to be at least three and a half cubits tall—already half the size of a grown man! He sat on the floor with his back to them, surrounded by bones—piles and piles of bones, all picked clean, while he gnawed ferociously on a thighbone from a four-runner. 

Tubal-Cain looked at Father Lamech. His mouth hung open, poised to curse.

Before he could say a word, Tubal-Cain grabbed him, covered his mouth, and motioned toward the woods behind them.

Father Lamech nodded.

Slowly they stepped backwards toward the cover of the trees, keeping their eyes on the window. 

Something snapped.

Father Lamech rested on top of a thick branch now broken in two under his feet.

Tubal-Cain silently formed the words with his lips. “Be still.”

Father Lamech nodded—glad they were wearing the dark garments his son used for hunting.

They both watched the window.

A pale face, beautiful and fair, peered out, searching. His hair was golden. His eyes dark as Naamah’s. His cheeks were stained with blood.

He stared straight at them and squinted.

Tubal-Cain held his breath. 

“Oh, Father,” the childling said, turning his back to them. “I thought I heard something. I am glad it’s just you. I missed you so and I am still so very hungry.”

A loud thud from the dwelling and the voice of Semjaza broke through the still night.

“Look what the Elohim just caught for you—wolves. A growing boy like you must keep up his strength,” Semjaza said. “Why don’t you try to occupy yourself with carving while we have the sebassi cook them for you? You must learn to eat like an Elohim.” 

“Oh Father, can’t I just have them now?” the boy pleaded. “I prefer them fresh, and I find it hard to concentrate on anything when I am hungry—”

Semjaza cut him off. “Do not whine! Try to busy yourself with some of the books from Uncle Hazazel. It will take your mind off your appetite—”

Tubal-Cain and Father Lamech exchanged worried glances, turned, and ran into the darkness. 


Yabbesheth pulled the curtains shut and faced the last two men to enter the gathering. “Well,” Yabbesheth said, “did you find it as I said?” 

Tubal-Cain shook his head as he sat down next to the stone pit. 

Father Lamech spoke first. “It was worse than you described.”

“A fine specimen, but nothing we are accustomed to,” Tubal-Cain added. “Even larger than before and plagued by the blood lust.”

Father Lamech shared the details and appealed to the elders for wisdom, while Yabbesheth filled each man’s cup with the drink of power. 

“Brothers, this ‘wolf’ demands a response before it starts preying on our kinsmen,” Father Lamech said, opening the floor.

“Aye, Tis’ a shame, but we must reconsider our former-position based on this development,” replied another elder.

He paused while the others began talking over each other.

“There are many things to consider. What if the wolf’s pack found out and attacked the tribe? What if it was not alone? What would the Ancient One do if a wolf was killed in that manner?” said another.

Finally, after discussing the possibilities of such a move Yabbesheth said, “Something must be done about the wolf.” 

“A group of hunters could easily take down the wolf,” Tubal-Cain said, “and then cleanse their lair, that way no one in the seti would be harmed.”

“Aye, it sounds like a fair plan,” Father Lamech agreed. “How many men would you need for the hunt?” 

They spoke in generalities using the code agreed upon earlier just in case someone was listening.

Someone was listening. But it was clever. It knew just what the humans meant by ‘wolf”. “Swizzwhisspah—ha-ha-ha-ha! I ha-hate monkeys.” It snickered in the shadows. Molech’s response was unheard by human ears. “There will be no wolf hunt, monkeys. Not on my watch.” 

Molech scampered down the roof and onto the dirt path. He signaled to three lessers meandering near the trail, harassing any son of Cain who happened by. “Make haste idiots!” Molech barked the command. Instantly, the underlings came to attention.

“Follow those monkeys,” he said, pointing at Tubal-Cain and Father Lamech. “I want to know their every move and word spoken, especially any talk of a wolf-hunt. I must be off to Sheol to inform the Great Leader. I guarantee he will want to know every detail of their treachery.” Molech glared at the lesser crouching closest to him as he raked a long talon down the side of the underling’s face. “So, for your own sakes, do not err.”


Methuselah’s Time: Location—Sheol, Adamah, First Dimension.

“Where are the garments?” Lord L asked. “My patience wears thin—”

“We have the other items needed for the raising—the incense, the oil, the bitter herb—”

“Yes, I can see that.” The Great Leader waved his hand over the elements displayed on the stone table. “Where is the garment and the sacrifice—”

“Lord L!” a voice yelled from the entrance to the Great Hall, “I came as soon as I could.” Molech burst through the entrance panting. “The monkeys, the monkeys are going to kill it. They are going to—” Molech skidded to a halt as he collided into the table, sending all the carefully arranged elements to crashing to the floor.

The Great Leader swung around toward the commotion. “Oh, please pardon me Semjaza,” I spoke too soon. “I see you have the sacrifice right here.” Lord L snatched up Molech by the collar with one hand, held him high in the air over the table, and in one motion pressed a dagger into his neck with the other hand.

Captain Semjaza laughed, using the distraction to formulate his next answer carefully. “Well, his timing is perfect, even if he is not.”

“Too true,” Lord L said, dropping Molech in a heap on the floor.

“Yes, too true,” Molech said with a cold stare as he pulled himself upright and brushed the fragrant oil off his skin—it burned. “Plus, you won’t have any way of knowing how the monkeys plan to kill the childling.”

“What!” the Great Leader said. “Semjaza, what is he blabbering about?”

The blood drained in Captain Semjaza’s cheeks. “I’m sure it’s nothing my lord.”

“How dare you allow monkeys to roam near my child—” Lord L said. “Wild animals have no place in—”

“No, no, my lord. You misunderstand. Monkeys are sort of a “pet” name we have given the humans. Of course, we wouldn’t allow wild animals near my childling,” Semjaza said.

“I do see your point,” Lord L said. He chuckled. “They are rather like monkeys, aren’t they?” Just as quickly, his expression turned cold. “But monkeys do not plot, do they Semjaza? Why didn’t you know of this? Why would an underling like Molech be more informed than you? What steps have you taken to eliminate them?”

“My lord, with all due respect,” Semjaza said, “these are just the babblings of an ambitious, but ignorant, lesser. We have no proof anything is afoot.”

“Proof is coming,” sneered Molech. “Proof is on the way. My lessers will bring a full report by sunrise and we will see who is ignorant.”

Lord L grinned. “Gentlemen, gentlemen,” he said as he stepped between the two beings, “There is no need to be at each other’s throats—yet. As always, I have prepared for these mishaps and built them into my plan. I have a two-fold strategy that should solve the problem. “Semjaza, proceed with your original promise to teach the humans access how to forge weaponry and how to conjure that which is forbidden. Make a big production out of it. Show them proof of its effectiveness. Introduce them to medicines that alleviate their aches and pains and help them escape the misery of their wretched existence. Teach them to build—to make beautiful dwellings. “Make life easy for them. Their comforts will distract them from the truth until it is too late,” Satan advised. “Once the Nephilim increase in numbers, it will be too late for the sons of Cain to do anything about it.”

“Meanwhile, Molech, I want you and your lessers, since you have proven to be effective, to get me the garment of Mother Eve in three days’ time. It is all I need to raise our latest addition. With Naamah alive, we can ease the suspicions of the sons of Cain until the rest of the Nephilim children are born.”


Methuselah’s Time: Location—Seti of Seth/Seven Hills, Adamah, First Dimension.

Mother Eve stared out the window facing the valley below, down the craggy slopes leading to the grassy plain. It was the cool of the day. She breathed deeply. For a moment she thought she smelled the fragrant aroma of The Tree again. She remembered its delicate petals, the rushing waters that flowed through and around its base, filling the entire Garden with its scent. Is that the Voice walking? Eve leaned forward and peered down the trail outside her dwelling, expecting Him to appear. She saw only a few sebassi rushing their childlings inside before sun sleep. No, I am imagining things. A tear rolled down her cheek.

“There, there, Mother Eve,” Medici Dinah said, bustling into the room, “the broth I made was full of alroue. You will feel much better soon.”

Mother Eve didn’t answer. Speech was unbearable now. She remembered when all Adamah would respond to her thoughts. The creatures would come and go. Flowers would bloom. Fruit would fall from the trees in response to her slightest desire. Speaking words had been a novelty, a game her and Adam played to amuse themselves. Now words were a necessity. But they were inadequate—cold, cumbersome things that reminded her of what she had lost. So, she said nothing.

“Will you be needing anything else? A fresh cup of ketu would do you good?”

Mother Eve was silent.

“Well,” Medici Dinah said as she draped a heavy covering over the grieving woman’s shoulders, “if there is nothing else, I will leave you to rest. Just a little closing of the eyes is all you need. You will rise feeling the strength of the Hidden Father in your bones. I am sure of it.” She leaned over Mother Eve’s ageless form, kissed her forehead, and closed the door gently behind her.

Mother Eve’s eyelids grew heavy. Medici Dinah must have put idleweed in my broth too. Sly girl! Normally she would have been furious if a Medici gave her the herb without her knowledge. But she had not slept soundly in many cycles. For truth, I am glad for its aid. She relaxed and drifted.

The sound of footsteps approaching her door, startled her. 

Three timid knocks followed.

Eve sighed. “Agh, Medici Dinah again.” She pulled herself upright. That girl never waits ‘til sun’s birth. If I do not say something to assure her, she will never give me peace. “Come in daughter.”

The door swung open and in she came carrying a huge bundle of flowers.

“A little something to bring you cheer,” the raspy voice said.

It was not Dinah.

It placed the flowers on the base of the window and hovered just inches above Eve’s face.

Cold, cunning eyes glared out from a deformed, hairy face.

“Eve, you are still the very image of beauty, ha-ha-ha.” 

It’s rancid, hot breath stung. More whispers filled the room. S-S-W-H-I-S-S-Z-Z-W-H-I-S-S-H-P-A. Dark shapes surrounded her, grasping, pinching.

Eve cringed, pulled the heavy covering up to her chin, and kicked with all her might.

Two thuds hit the ground.

“You will pay for that!”

“Get away from me, you beasts!”

Eve twisted from side to side as they clawed at her. 

“Who are you to call us beasts, monkey girl?”

They laughed.

“I am made in the Image. You will leave now.”

“We will do whatever we want, and we want it now!”

One yanked the cover off and pulled at her tunic, almost wrenching it from her body.

Another pulled at her feet.

Something snatched her garment away completely.

Eve kicked and flailed wildly. She writhed her fist free and hit something hard. It fell back. 

Eve jumped to her feet. She snatched the tunic back, pulling it tightly around her frame.

It lunged at her.

She stepped to the side and grabbed the oil from her table. She threw the bottle at its head.

It missed. 

“Stupid monkey girl!” It laughed. “We will have it.”

“Oh, Hidden Father, help!” Perhaps this is His will that I die violently at the hands of His betrayers.

It lunged for her again, skidding in the oil. 

She grabbed Adam’s staff from the wall and held it out, ready to jab the other beasts. But it was unnecessary.

The shadows scattered.

On the floor, one Elohim lay crumpled in pain. For just a moment, an elegant frame with flawless skin and perfectly symmetrical features glimmered through the ghastly beast-like form. Unimaginable agony peered through intelligent eyes. “The oil, the oil—” He writhed on the floor. “You prayed over it. I used to carry the oil. I was the—”

Then it vanished.

Her heart raced. She looked around, expecting more Fallen to enter the room at any moment.

Eve walked slowly to the basin, shaking and drenched with sweat.

Her body ached so. Movement was difficult. She cupped her hands full of the cool water and rinsed her face. This is strange. She paused, feeling the rough skin, the deep lines. Then Eve held out her hands. Veins protruded. Brown spots dotted them.

She peered into the metallic basin. 

An old woman stared back.

A calm knowing filled her. The tunic. It had come off for just a moment. Why did they come for my garment after all this time? How was I able to fight them off? Then Eve remembered. It must be given, not taken. She knew what she had to do.

Eve pulled the cord, forcing the loud bell to chime for the Elders and the Medici. Hurry.

Eve reached for the broken bottle of oil and clutched it in her hand. Where is Medici Dinah?

She prayed they would arrive before the Fallen returned.


Methuselah’s Time: Location—Plains of Avenland, Adamah, First Dimension.

With the soft wind blowing against her face and the sun warming the morning chill from her limbs, Tiph’arah almost forgot her recent losses. First Naamah, now Enoch. The only two people she could really talk to were gone. Even Father Seth didn’t understand his own daughter’s independent spirit. ‘Why can you not be more like the other daughters of Eve?’ Even now, her father urged her to settle down. ‘Tiph’arah you will not always be a beautiful gazelle. It is time to consider one of your tribesmen and become a good helpmate.’ But how could she? They were so boring, so afraid. They all tried to stop her from hunting, stop her from tracking and sparring. She had met one interesting man. If there was a man in my tribe like him, perhaps I would consider it. Tiph’arah broke away from the thought, glad no one was around to see her blush. She shook her head, tossing her wild curls in the process. No! Watchers be off limits, even ones as kind and exciting as Onami. “Oh, Ancient Father,” she whispered softly, reaching for the One Mind, “It is almost too much to bear. Please help me.”

Onami smiled at Tiph’arah’s thoughts as he hovered in the distance, waiting for Methuselah to catch up. I know she will forget our meeting eventually. Still, it was nice to be admired. Onami restrained himself, remembering the Beloved’s order to protect Methuselah and remain unseen. I can’t wait to tell Delmar I’m considered exciting—not noisy and over-zealous with a real lack of propriety.

Onami froze in place. Wait. Why can I hear Tiph’arah’s thoughts? I am not in range.

Tiph’arah stopped at the sound of hooves pounding the earth behind her and looked backwards. Methuselah was gaining.

“You will never catch me!” she yelled, laughing. The hills of the Seti of Seth were in sight now. Tiph’arah flew past the clusters of blue bushes and rolling grass along the foothills and began the rocky ascent.

Onami sighed. The ride through the plains of Avenland reminded him of Heaven’s Realm. “I wish I had my stallion,” he muttered. He was delighted with his new rank as Captain, but this new assignment was a little lonely, especially without Delmar around to tease. 

“Whoa!” Onami jumped when Blue Star appeared next to him, waiting to be mounted. “How did you get here, boy?” Onami said, brushing the black stallion’s mane, whose coat was such a rich ebony, it gleamed blue. “Well now that you are, at least I don’t have to talk to myself,” Onami laughed and mounted in one fluid motion. “The One Mind honored my desire. Being a Captain has its perks.” 

Onami flicked the reins once, “Come to!” In an instant Blue Star rode side-by-side Methuselah. Onami leaned over and whispered to Methuselah’s four-runner. The creature surged forward, gaining on the animal galloping just ahead.

Methuselah pressed his heels in the side of the four-runner. “Do not be deceived dear Medici Tiph’arah,” Methuselah laughed. “You are not a Tracker yet.” With a final burst of energy his four-runner raced ahead until the two creatures were almost neck-in-neck.

“Well bless the Ancient!” Tiph’arah looked over her shoulder. “You might be our only hope if anything happens to me. How did you—” suddenly Tiph’arah pulled in the reins. Her four-runner reared its hind legs.

“Whoa!” Methuselah slowed his four-runner before it crashed into the pair ahead. “What troubles you, Aunt?” he taunted. “Afraid of losing?”

“Of course not,” she pointed toward the hills. “Look there.”

In the distance, a group of trackers clad in full regalia raced down the craggy slopes of the Seven Hills carrying the banners of Seth, half-staff. Runners wearing formal headdresses meant only one thing—they carried an urgent message for someone. Once the runners descended the hill, they would split, branching out in all directions until the recipient of the message was found. 

The runners did not split. Instead, one of them pointed, then headed straight toward Methuselah and Tiph’arah. The rest followed.

Tiph’arah felt a knot in her stomach. 

“Praise the Light! This is good news. The Elders must have already decided to send word to the Seti of Nod requesting to attend Naamah’s—”

“This is not about Naamah,” Tiph’arah said quietly, edging her four-runner ahead. “There are too many stripes on their faces.” The paint on a runner signified who the message was from. Minimal paint meant the message was from someone with low status. Full paint and regalia were reserved for elders.

“You’re right,” Methuselah said. He held his hand over his eyes and squinted, “I haven’t seen so much paint since Father—”

Simultaneously they took off toward the runners. Bridging the distance between them in a matter of moments. Tiph’arah leaped off her four-runner as it slowed to a trot and ran forward to meet the tracker.

“Medici Tiph’arah, Medici Tiph’arah!” the young man yelled, panting. “Come quick, there is not much time.”

“Speak now!” Tiph’arah commanded. The knot in her stomach lurched. “What happened?”

“It is Mother Eve. She calls for you. You must hurry. Follow me!” The runner took off. 

Tiph’arah followed him up the stone path leading to the homes of the Soku, reserved for the elders of the first generation and their immediate offspring. They darted up the steps winding around the hillside. Banners were raised from every dwelling. The faces of her kin passed by in a blur. They were all kneeling and praying. Dirt covered their hair, arms, and legs. Tears filled her eyes as the reality sunk in. Not a Medici was in sight. They must already be with Mother Eve, helping any way they could. And where was I when she needed me most? Tiph’arah brushed the thought aside as she neared Mother Eve’s dwelling.

Medici Dinah opened the door. “Finally! We have been searching for you. Where in Adamah have you been?”

Tiph’arah brushed past her and rushed to Mother Eve’s side. She gasped at the matriarch’s appearance, but quickly composed herself. Mother Eve’s skin was pale and ashen. Her jet-black hair was now completely silver. Wrinkles lined her once smooth cheeks. Veins protruded from her throat and arms. She strained for air as if each breath was a chore. What is this? The curse did not set this suddenly when Father Adam’s journey ended. Why just two sun sleep’s ago Mother Eve still had the youth of the Ancient One flowing through her veins! Tiph’arah looked at the Medici surrounding Mother Eve for answers. They had none. Most were holding back their dismay, not wanting to frighten Mother Eve. 

“We have done all the Hidden Father has revealed. The alroue is not working,” Medici Dinah said flatly as she laid another blanket across Mother Eve’s trembling body. 

Tiph’arah joined Father Seth, who kneeled by Mother Eve’s side. “I am here now. What can I do Mother? What caused this?”

“Tiph’arah!” scolded Mother Dinah, “you should be ashamed of yourself. This is not the time to ask—”

“It—it is fine,” whispered Mother Eve, “Leave—leave us. I must speak with Tiph’arah—alone.”

“But Mother—” one of the elder Medici started. “Medici never leave the side of the ailing until the curse be lifted or—” she trailed off, not wanting to give voice to her fear. “Our vows forbid it.”

“I am sure,” Mother Eve said with all the strength her voice could muster. “Tiph’arah is Medici. Her presence will honor the vow and keep the circle complete.”

The circle of healing women looked at each other to see if anyone would object. Even now, none dared question Mother Eve.

“Well, if that is what you desire,” said Mother Dinah. 

Father Seth began to rise. Mother Eve grabbed his arm. “You stay,” she said, giving her son a weak smile.

The Medici pulled the door shut as they left the room.

“Tiph’arah,” Mother Eve said, straining, “You must promise—.”

“Yes, of course—anything,” Tiph’arah said, “what can I do?”

“Help me,” the aged mother tried to sit up. “I have something for you. But first, you must promise to protect it—guard it with your life—they might—they might come for you.” She fell back toward her mat. Father Seth caught her.

“Mother, please—” he begged. “Do not strain yourself.”

“Who might come, Mother?” Tiph’arah asked.

“The Fallen,” she said, “It be the Fallen who did this.”

“What did they do?” asked Father Seth.

“They tried to—they tried to—take it—they want it—I must give it to you—” Mother Eve sat up. She began to take off her outer garment.

“Mother no!” Tiph’arah whispered. “I cannot accept it. It be for the eldest Medici.” Tiph’arah tried to push the garment back into Mother Eve’s arms.

“No—no, my child,” Mother Eve said, “it be for the strongest.” 

Using all her strength, Mother Eve draped the tunic over Medici Tiph’arah’s shoulders, and began to speak the blessing of the Ancient One, “Ne es shu tevah. Ke meno ve es rae su sha—”

Father Seth bowed his head.

Tiph’arah bowed. Tears flowed down her cheeks. She did not try to stop them as Mother Eve weakened before her eyes. Within moments the Great Mother paled and withered.

She squeezed Father Seth’s arm. “Seth, tell Cain—” Mother Eve said. 

“I will send for him Mother,” he started to rise.

She clenched his hand. “No time now,” she said softly, “Tell Cain—I forgive him. Now I will rest. I see my Adam,” she said smiling, her eyes distant. “Look! My son, my son—” 

“I am here Mother,” Father Seth said, bringing his mother’s hand to his lips.

“Come—come close girl,” she gasped.

Tiph’arah leaned forward. “Yes, Mother?”

“Be careful,” Mother Eve whispered, “it has power.”