Chapters - Nephilim

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when the sons of God went to the daughters of men and had children by them…”

Shivers raced down my spine. I’ve not seen a human face in five weeks, yet I know eyes watch me from the darkness. The wind screamed like banshees through the forest, and from somewhere in the distance, a wolf added its voice to the hellish choir. Small black clouds scurried across the moon like demons.

I hunkered down close beside the dying coals of my campfire, wishful of adding a chunk of wood, but not wishful of risking my hair. Cherokee land this may be, and friendly they are to the white man, but it’s been a hard winter past and many an enemy tribe might venture here in search of game. Yet I threw another stick on the fire and then a second to keep it company.

Soon the flames pushed back the darkness, but it comforted me little. Every swaying branch seemed to reach for me and each sound became a footstep. I searched the dark forest beyond the limits of the firelight. Amid the dancing shadows, I expected to see the red glowing eyes of a werewolf peering back at me.

Disgusted with myself, I reached for the coffeepot. Filling my cup, I returned the pot to a flat rock at the edge of the coals. I tasted the coffee with my left hand while loosening my fighting axes in their scabbards with my right. If death comes for me this night, I will be ready.

A sudden gust of wind howled through my camp with a fury. The forest exploded with snapping branches and the heavy roar of a huge, ancient tree crashing downward, smashing everything in its path. The ground quaked under its thunderous mass, hammering the ground no more than twenty paces behind me. I struggled to dive for cover, but my muscles refused their call to action. I fought against whatever evil spell held me, yet I was helpless to move.

An apparition rose up from my campfire like mist from a grave. It grew to double my height, and took the shape of a man—nay, a giant. He sat there, cross-legged, unaffected by the flames. Pale, soulless eyes stared back at me. The monster wore nothing but a loincloth, and blasphemous tattoos covered him from head to foot. His skin was a canvas painted with impish demons that tormented the Savior as he hung on the cross. My stomach wretched, but I could not look away—I could not move at all.

The giant’s six-fingered hand held a crude, man-shaped doll. A shadowy spirit circled the giant on all fours like a panther, eyes glowing with the red fires of hell. The spirit pounced, cat-like upon the giant, entering into him. The head of the demon emerged, baring his teeth in a snarl, and whispered something into the ear of the giant.

As the demon spoke, the giant’s lips moved in unison. Even the giant’s expression matched that of the demon that controlled him. It whispered again and the giant depressed the doll’s chest. All the air expelled from my lungs. I fought to draw a breath, but could not. The giant rained down curses upon me. I heard no voice, though my spirit understood every taunt. Shadowy hands sought me, reaching, scratching. The giant eased his grip and my lungs filled with air. With everything within me, I fought to pray.

Suddenly, two strange looking warriors rushed from the forest. Surprised by my disappearance, they searched for me, but I was crouched in the shadows beyond the firelight. They were of a tribe I’d never see before. Their hair and entire bodies looked to be covered gray with ashes, and charcoal blackened their eyes and mouths. The result gave them a terrible ghost-like appearance. Who where they? From what far off place did they come? I have traveled three hundred miles in every direction, yet I’d never seen any tribe such as these.

My eyes went to the belt of the closest one. There hung the yellow braids of a girl-child.

Nay, these locks were not so long nor as golden as my sister’s. These are of a child no more than nine or ten. He searched the shadows for me, slowly turning until his back lay exposed. I let fly my left-hand axe, taking him deep between the shoulder blades. Thrown sideways as it was, it slipped between his ribs, severing an artery, for he bled out quickly. His hands fumbled in vain at his back. Then his hands fell limp to his sides, he dropped to his knees and then fell lifeless upon his face, dead forevermore.

The remaining warrior spun around to locate me, his eyes hot with fury. I stepped out from the darkness into the firelight. He snarled and said something in a tongue I’d never before heard. I shook my head and replied in Catawba, Cherokee, Eno and Iroquois, but he only shrugged. Then he slashed his blade through the air and started for me. This I understood.

His blade flashed in the firelight. It was steel and looked to be new. No doubt, a treasure looted from the family of settlers whose scalps now hung like trophies from his belt. We circled each other slowly, warily. He with the edge of his prized knife turned up, ready to slash. That he knew what he was about, showed in every movement. His blade slashed, but I parried with my remaining axe. He was testing me, learning the limits of my abilities. But I knew better than to show him all. I needed him to believe himself my master.

Again and again he came, but I pretended difficulty in fending him off. With each attack, his confidence grew. He was too young, this one. An older and wiser brave might not have fallen for such a ruse. Soon the rage that first burned in his eyes turned to cold, cruel contempt. He shifted the blade in his hand, and his lips twisted into a sneer.

He sat up, staring in shocked disbelief at his entrails that lay strewn in a steaming tangle on the ground between us. Shaking hands desperately gathered them back into his open gut. Only his eyes seemed unpainted by his blood, looking unnaturally large. His fingers fumbled to remove the dirt and twigs from his intestines until they hung like useless clubs. He looked up, the panicked realization of death upon him. He tried to speak, but only choked on a bloody froth. He blinked, slumped over on his side, and the life drained from his eyes.

In death, his face lost its fierceness, looking almost innocent, so much more childlike than the murderous warrior he was. I shook my head. It sickened, and angered me to take the lives of two lads barely grown to men. But if they had their way, it would have been my blood spilled on the ground. I spat.

With my axe, I scraped out a shallow grave and rolled both warriors into it. After filling it in with dirt, I gathered their bows, knives and axes and left them as a marker for their people. I’ve often wondered how Ma would feel if one of us boys never returned. She would take the ache of not knowing to her grave. My tracks leading out of camp and on the trail, they would search for in vain, but their tracks and the events of our battle, I left unmolested. I owed that much to their mothers.

The scalps of the family, I buried in another grave. The mother’s hair was light brown, and long. Two fist size patches of short-cropped hair no doubt belonged to boys no older than two or three. Twins maybe, and toe-headed, they were and curly like their Pa. I laid them alongside their parents. Then I held the yellow pigtails in my hands. How much they reminded me of my sister Rochelle’s, when she was but a wee lass. What made me do it, I know not, but I kissed those pigtails and lay them gently to rest with her family. After filling in the grave with dirt, I covered it with what heavy rocks I could find. With my axe, I fashioned a cross, lashed together with strips of deer hide and pounded it into the earth. I said a prayer, short as it was.

I stared at my heavy pack, feeling drained of all strength. At any other time, an eighty-pound pack would not be a problem. However, twenty pounds of it is gold, which weighs double just by thinking on it. I lifted it to my back, and started down the trail at a dogtrot. The giant’s soulless eyes haunted my thoughts, lending speed to my weary legs.

TWELVE HUNDRED MILES TO THE SOUTH, on the Island of Jamaica, sat a nephilim giant. Pale red eyes peered into a large crystal. His mouth twisted into a snarl, baring double rows of sharpened teeth. A thin spindle of drool fell from wolf-like fangs onto the man-shaped doll he gripped so tight.

“Whelp, I will destroy you, just as I have your father. The masters have demanded it.”

The nephilim set aside the doll of the son and picked up the one in the likeness of the father. He tightened the leather strings that wrapped him like a mummy. The giant studied it with great satisfaction and then hung it on the wall with the others. Below them sat a pile of human bones. Some were picked clean of all flesh, and others were still red with fresh blood. Dozens of skulls in all sizes stared blankly through dead empty sockets.

He turned and walked to the door of his hut and threw it open. Tilting back his head, the nephilim roared with a hideous blast. The howl thundered like a chorus of lions, men and demons. Zombies fled into the deeper forests. Some hobbled stiff-legged, while others crawled on all fours. The villagers stared in wide-eyed terror. The giant closed his eyes and inhaled their fear.

In answer to his master’s call, a pirate came at once. He also, wore a loincloth and as was the nephilim, his entire body, save for his face, was covered in tattoos, painting a story of fallen angels raping the daughters of men, human sacrifice and demons that tortured a terrified Jesus that hung upside down upon a cross.

“Yes, my son. The masters have shown me the secret to the treasure you seek.”

The giant nodded, a thin smile curled his lips. “That it is. The masters have revealed to me what you must do. Go to the place I will tell you of and wait. The man will come to you there, carrying some of the treasure. After you have forced him to show you the location of the goldmine, bring him here to me. The masters have use for him.”

The pirate fell to one knee. “I will go at once. I’ll not fail you or the ascended masters.”

COME WITH ME ROCHELLE. The Lord your God would show you what is soon to be.” Rochelle accepted the angel’s outstretched hand and with a whoosh, they flew upwards at a blinding speed. They raced towards the heavens, piercing the clouds.

“Not on this night, but when you shed your mortal body, I shall greet you; for I am charged with your care.”

“What’s your na...,” Rochelle started to ask when, without warning they began to descend like a bolt of lightning.

Once again, they pierced the clouds, emerging over a large island in the midst of the sea. Rochelle’s eyes caught the faintest flicker of light in the center of the island. The flicker rapidly grew larger as they sped downward.

To Rochelle’s relief, they slowed their blinding pace until at last they hovered a dozen feet above the ground. She marveled at the strange scene before her. Everywhere she looked, half-naked men and women danced around a huge bonfire. To her horror, shadowy beings with eyes that burned like dimly lit lanterns emerged from the forest. Rochelle shrank close in beside the mighty angel.

The angel pointed at a hut, three times the size of all the others. As if on cue, the door swung open, and a hideous giant emerged. Rochelle hid her eyes from the blasphemous tattoos that covered his nearly naked body.

The angel’s eyes hardened, his lips curled in contempt. “This blasphemy has been charged with the destruction of your brother, David. Daughter of God, you must prepare yourself for war.”

The angel’s eyes burned with a holy fire. “You are much more than you know.”

NIGHT TURNED TO MORNING AND THEN TO MIDDAY before I reached the lake. The need for rest was heavy upon me, but there would be more of those strange, ghost-like warriors in that hunting party, and they’d just naturally take it hard that I killed their friends.

I recovered my canoe from the brush, loaded my gear, climbed in, and pushed off onto the lake. When I was a fair distance from the shore, I removed the sack of gold from my pack, and tested the weight of it in my hand. I grinned and thought of Pa. He’ll be fit to be tied. What with this being found no more than fifteen paces from where he found his treasure.

You see, when Pa was barely grown to a man, he and Grandpa were trapping in the mountains. Pa was checking his snares when he scared up a quail. It scurried away, but Pa was set on having it for dinner. It ducked behind a giant boulder, half buried in the hillside, so he figured he had it cornered. Pa crouched down low and snuck around that rock, but instead of seeing the quail, he saw a small hole in the hillside.

Pa was just as curious as he was hungry, so he set to digging and soon he had an opening big enough to squeeze through. He crawled inside, hoping that he’d not come face to face with a family of skunks. Once inside, he reached in his pocket for a stub of a candle, lit it and found himself staring into the empty eye sockets of a skeleton, leaning back against the cave wall. At his side was a rotted bag of gold, half-spilled on the ground. Above the dead man, was a crude map drawn on the rock with charcoal.

Whoever drew it knew nothing of making a proper map. The crude landmarks were nondescript, and the mountains are filled with similar places. To me, it looked more the drawing of a man’s leg, bent down at the knee and again at the ankle, with a long, spindly foot and even longer toes. However, there could be no denying that this be a treasure map, for at the end of the toe was an “X” and the Spanish word for gold, “ORO” written above it.

For as long as I can remember, we have searched for the treasure. Nevertheless, the goldmine eludes us still. I looked at the gold and frowned. What secrets do you hold?

Home had never looked so welcome. Five days of travel, I covered in three. But doing so required missing a meal or two, leaving me famished. However, Ma expects her boys to bring their appetites along after coming off the trail. Several times over the last twenty miles, I could have sworn that I’d caught whiffs of Ma’s cooking.

Mostly I want my coffee. Doing without for the past two days has left me with a thirst. I’m going to have me a gallon of boiling hot, freshly ground nectar, served strong, and alongside a sweet dessert of some kind. My love of the bitter bean runs deep. I expect that if it were my blood that had been spilled the other day, it would have been a little blacker than most.

As I paddled, I marveled at this giant of a lake, for its beauty would certainly rival Eden itself. Moreover, with ten thousand Catawba living along its banks and rivers, there is no safer place on earth. Safer that is, if you are friends of the tribe as we have been since the days of my great grandfather, Max Blade, who was the first of our family to come to this land.

Pirates sank his ship, but not before most of his crew made it ashore. Over the next several months, only a handful survived, including his wife and their newborn son. Then somehow, he managed to rescue the life of a Catawba chief, nursed him back to health and then toted him three hundred miles back home. Naturally, that made him a big man in their eyes, and they welcomed them into the tribe. And now, for these past seventy years, we have lived among them.

Just as the last of the sun vanished in the west, the lights of the buildings came into view. Evidently, they had seen me, or they would have shut the gates as the sun set. Instead, both gates were thrown wide open, inviting their prodigal son home. As I came closer, Zachary came down to the landing to greet me.

Zachary has been with us for several years. He is an artist when it comes to building with any kind of wood. His hands built our boats, furniture, and every building in our stockade. He is only thirty, which no longer sounds as old as it used to, with my twenty-third birthday soon at hand.

Gregory and Donaldo joined Zachary at the landing. Gregory is nearly as old as Eric and Pa. He is a fine smith, and a bit of an inventor. As a lad, he apprenticed in the King’s armory. He crafted my beautiful pistols, fighting axes, and knife. Each is a fine work of art with matching inlays of bone and gold.

Donaldo Mendez is a young Spaniard. A few years back, we found him shipwrecked, and in the merciless hands of the Eno. He joined our party, at least until we can arrange safe passage to Spain. Since we English are presently at war with Spain, it makes his departure unlikely. He is only four years older than I am, but considers himself to be my mentor. He is a bit hotheaded, and given to vanity. His provocations are difficult for me to ignore, but I truly feel he does so unintentionally. One thing I will give him, he is an excellent swordsman. He is the master of many styles and I have benefited much from our daily workouts.

“I see you still got your curls,” Zachary yelled, while I was still twenty yards off.

Smiling broadly, I ran my fingers through my hair, and then paddled the last few strokes to the landing. Gregory caught the front of the canoe, pulling it up on the shore. I climbed out as quickly as I could, giving my cramped legs a stretch.

“It is good to see you, Senior David,” Donaldo said through a perfect smile. “ Rochelle has been growing worried for your safety. Worry is not good for one so beautiful as the senorita. Naturally, I insisted that she join me for a long walk so that I might comfort her.”

I stiffened at the mention of my sister. I don’t know why it should bother me so, and yet, bother me it did. It took every bit of self-control I had not to smash-in his nose. An exercise not lost on Zachary and Gregory, for their eyes watched me nervously. From the hard looks they shot at Donaldo, I think his comment bothered them also.

I forced a smile to my lips. “Donaldo, it is good to see you. Thank you for watching over my baby sister while I was away.”

“Give me a chance to clean up, and get some of Ma’s cooking in me first, and then I’ll tell you the whole story.”

Their jaws hung wide open. I reached inside my pack, pulled out the heavy bag of gold, pretending to strain under its weight. I shifted the gold to my left hand and with my right, I picked up my pack and rifle. Saying nothing more, I started for the house, biting my lip to keep from giggling like a girl.

I took the steps to the porch, three at a time, pushed the door open, and the aroma of Ma’s cooking hit me with a welcome blast. Ma hurried in from the kitchen with Rochelle following close behind her. They reminded me of a mamma duck and her duckling.

I steadied myself for the obligatory hug that always awaits each of us boys when we return after being away. Ma is nearly as broad in the shoulders as I am, and as strong as any man, so when she hugs any of us boys, she naturally succeeds in giving us an eye-popping squeeze. But before she could get her arms around me, I picked her up in the air as far as my arms could reach, and spun her around. Her eyes grew to the size of dinner plates, and her face flushed beet red.

“You stop your silliness, and sit and eat. You are the only one that has lost weight around here, and well you know it.”

Pa stood up slowly, which set his left hand to shaking uncontrollably. It slowed to a gentle roll as he shuffled towards me. It shocked me, for even in my short absence it seemed to have worsened. He took his seat at the head of the table, and then I sat at his left hand.

“I was starting to wonder if you fell into that hole in the back of the cave,” Pa whispered in a voice weaker than I last remembered it.

“I’m just fine boy,” Pa confirmed, whispering a little louder than before. The look in his eyes showed his indomitable strength, revealing the true man underneath.

Rochelle seemed strangely quiet as she poured me a steaming cup of hot coffee. The smile she painted on her face could not hide her troubled eyes. Before I could ask the reason for her worry, Ma sat a platter of eggs, ham, and potatoes before me. I leaned over my plate, inhaling deeply as Ma would expect of her sons.

“Smells wonderful Ma,” I said, as I lifted the gold from my lap to the table in front of Pa. The weight of it caused the table to shake. Every eye stared at the sack, anxious to know if it truly was gold or not. Without saying a word, I bowed my head and took an extra long time giving thanks. When I raised my head, Pa was grinning.

I could feel every eye on me as I leisurely shoveled each bite into my mouth. I chewed at a snail's pace, adding to their agony. I picked up my coffee cup, inhaling the steamy aroma before taking a sip. I fought down the laughter growing within me. Instead of testing the coffee with a sip, I took a large gulp and it burned me badly. I dared not spit it out, so I let it trickle down my scaled throat.

Ma crunched up her eyes. “I swear you are just like your Pa. You’ve had your fun, now start talking or I’ll clear the table.”

Ma’s warning triggered the floodgates of my laughter. My scalding hot coffee erupted out my nostrils, spraying poor Donaldo who sat across from me. Disgusted, he sprang from the table, a cold fury burning in his eyes. Everyone stared in silence.

Rochelle broke the tension with a perfectly timed giggle. She covered her mouth, trying to contain herself. After a few brief moments of suspense, even Donaldo’s face broke into a smile. Soon everyone was laughing, even as I continued choking on the coffee. Ma handed Donaldo a towel, who accepted it gratefully.

I nodded my head in agreement, not trusting my voice yet. Rochelle brought me a glass of water, and took away my ruined plate and cup. I eyed the uneaten mountain of wasted food as she carried it away.

“Don’t look so forlorn. There is still plenty of desert and coffee, that is, if you don’t keep me waiting,” Ma said.

“I found the gold in Pa’s cave, under a half buried rock that looked like a good one to use as a table for my cup. When I dug it out, I saw a leather string where the rock had been. After a little digging, I found that gold in a rotted, leather bag.”

I reached for a fresh cherry pie, and cut it down the middle. As I dished myself up, I felt everyone’s eyes upon me. I lifted my coffee to my lips, but remembered my last attempt at a swallow. I put the cup down in favor of finishing my story first. Pa grinned as if he could read my mind.

“Sure enough. I dug everywhere for the next few days. The only place I didn’t go exploring was that bottomless pit at the back of the cave.”

Pa carefully examined the sack of gold, no doubt remembering the treasure he found as a young man in that very cave. After a few brief moments, he passed it to Eric, starting its trip around the table. Next Gregory tested its weight; however, before he could pass it on, Donaldo snatched it from his hands.

Donaldo’s eyes filled with an odd look, as if he were under a strange spell. He went ashen white as the blood drained from his face. He licked his dry lips. Tension filled the room as he clutched the gold as if he couldn’t put it down.

Donaldo held it out for her to touch, but he insisted on carrying the brunt of the weight. Rochelle gently tried to push his hand from under the gold, but he resisted. Slowly, I started to push back from the table.

“I’m plenty strong enough, Donaldo, now please let me hold my BROTHER’S gold.”

For the first time, Donaldo seemed to realize his actions, and notice the eyes upon him. Embarrassed, he let go of the sack, looking around apologetically.

Rochelle passed the sack to Ma, who bounced it deftly with one hand. She passed it to Zachary who patiently awaited his turn. After bouncing it in the air a few times, he set it on the table with a heavy thud. “I’d guess it to be at least twenty pounds.”

“I will melt it into ingots along with the little we have gathered these last few years,” Gregory offered.

“Thank you Gregory,” I said. “I plan to take it with me when I go to the settlements next week. I figure that this rightly belongs to Pa, so how it’s spent is up to him. Nevertheless, I vote that we use half to provide for an education for Rochelle in London. She always wanted to be a doctor, and this would give her a chance. The rest I figured to invest in trade goods aboard some ship. After all, we already have more income from our furs than we can spend.”

Rochelle’s eyes were huge, and her face turned pale. Her eyes filled with mist and her lower lip trembled.

“Here, here,” everyone said as one. Only Donaldo seemed less happy about my choice of usage for the gold.

Ma took Rochelle in her arms and together they wept. I sat my cup down, fighting back my emotions. To swallow now might result in another embarrassing eruption. Never have I felt so happy, knowing the difference this gold will mean for her life. Rochelle has no chance for happiness here in this lonely wilderness. There are no men from which to choose a husband. Moreover, this will provide the education she always dreamed of having.

“It is a pity Toby and your brothers have not returned yet, for they have truly missed out by not being here,” Ma said.

“I am relieved they are gone, for if they were here there would be none of this tasty desert,” I protested.

Even Rochelle managed a giggle. Ma finally let her go, and Rochelle sat in the chair next to me, but soon laid her head in Pa’s lap. Pa gently ran his fingers through his baby’s hair. Her hand reached for his and held it tight. Once again, the tears of joy spilled from the windows of her soul.

“Do you believe in giants?” I asked, just loud enough to catch everyone’s attention.

Rochelle looked as if she had just seen a ghost. I felt she wanted to tell me something. I gave her a questioning glance, but she answered with downcast eyes. The others thought I spoke in jest, but when I did not smile, they ceased their laughter.

THE HUNTERS RETURNED WITH A VIRGIN as they were commanded. Several brutal women took the girl and after she had eaten, they stripped and bathed her. They covered her with a flimsy garment and escorted her to an enormous hut. She marveled at the height of the doorway, for it was double of any she had ever seen.

A white man opened the door and pulled her inside. It was extremely dark after the bright sunlight. Before her eyes could adjust to the darkness, giant hands grabbed her, lifting her high off the ground. Hot, rancid breath pelted her in the face. Her stomach wretched and her eyes watered. The giant sniffed at her, as would a dog. She screamed and fainted.

She awoke to find herself tied helpless upon an altar of stone. The giant knelt beside her, his eyes gleaming. His hand held a knife pointed down toward her heart. She closed her eyes awaiting the plunge of the knife. A sharp stab of pain, and everything went dim.

The girl’s blood was drained into a large bowl and presented to the giant. The pirate knelt before the monster, who spoke a few words in a strange language known only to him. While chanting, he anointed the forehead of the pirate with a smear of blood from the knife. Then he dipped his fingertips in the bowl of blood, and flicked the blood onto the pirate. He continued this thirteen times, each time repeating his evil incantation.

“It is finished,” the giant’s voice boomed, “set sail in the morning. In three weeks the man will come to the place I have foretold of.”

The giant picked up the steaming bowl of blood, and lifted it to his lips. He drank until the bowl was empty, and then ruefully put it down. Uneasily, the pirate well remembered that fresh blood only increased the nephilim’s insane lust for human flesh. His wolfish appetite lit his eyes like a lantern. He had seen that look before; he knew that not even he would be safe in his presence for long. He felt the giant’s eyes follow him like a hunter follows his prey.

Forty miles from the stockade, in a Catawba lodge, sat two tall white brothers, and a powerfully built black man. A proud falcon sat perched on the shoulder of the stockier of the two brothers. Across from them sat a gray-haired Catawba, with crows-foot wrinkles at the corners of his eyes that hinted at a lifetime of laughter. Next to him, sat a young and powerful Catawba warrior.

Only the black man seemed tortured by the suspense of the discussion. He listened carefully as the man with the falcon translated the words of the older Catawba. The old warrior was a tough negotiator, and he knew the dark skinned one would pay him whatever he asked. Now, the Blade brothers drew a firm line, refusing to translate his ever-escalating demands to the young black man.

“ Joshua,” whispered the black man. “Why isn’t Caleb translating what Redbird is saying?”

Joshua shook his head. “Toby, you are a good man, but a poor trader. The deal is already done, and Redbird knows it. He just wants to see how far he can push you. He reads the desperation in your lovesick eyes and knows he can push you higher.”

“Act fed up,” Joshua said. “Redbird doesn’t know English, nor does Hehu. Say anything you want, only look mad.”

Toby’s jaw dropped open for an instant, and then shut. His lips twisted into the faintest of a smile before they twisted into a snarl. Joshua nodded slightly. Toby’s eyes locked upon the old man, who took an involuntary gulp. The two brothers inched slowly away from their friend, and Toby’s already massive muscles seemed to swell, his fists clinched into tight knots. Redbird straightened himself, determined not to lose ground.

Joshua’s eyes widened. “You’re doing well. Just keep on talking mad. Make him think you’re ready to walk out.”

Toby’s lower lip trembled, and then he half yelled in a husky voice. “I am a blessed man. First, your Pa came to Jamaica and purchased my freedom, and now I am about to be wed. I am grateful for all I have, but my heart breaks for my people who suffer under the yoke of slavery. I’ve got a dream... I want to...” Toby’s voice choked to nothing. A solitary tear fell from the corner of his right eye.

The lodge filled with silence. Then Joshua shook his finger at Redbird, startling the old man. “Keep it up Toby, don’t let up now. Finish what you were saying.”

Caleb shrugged his shoulders. “He said that you’re asking too much and to forget about marrying Itucee. He’s telling him about another maiden in a village down the river, whose pa is asking for half of what you demand for your niece.”

The old Catawba’s eyes narrowed and he pursed his lips together. He started to speak, but Joshua cut him short. “You got him worried, man, now keep it up. Tell us what is this burden you carry?”

Toby’s face lost all evidence of rage. “I aim to purchase freedom for my brothers who still suffer in slavery. I don’t claim to know how, but God will make a way.”

Joshua nodded. “We will do what we can to help. But first, let us finish this business.”

Caleb shrugged his shoulders. “He does not understand the way of the Catawba, and thinks you mock him and do not intend to give him your niece’s hand. Joshua is trying to calm him down, because he’s fixing to challenge you to a fight. It’s the way of his people. They fight for their brides.”

Joshua started inching away from Toby. “If you love that lass, then now’s the time to blow your top. Caleb told him that you are fixing to whip him good.”

Toby bit his lip to keep from laughing and he had to close his eyes. Instead of speaking, his hands made the gesture of ringing a man’s neck. Redbird took an involuntary gulp and then he quickly turned to the young warrior. “Hehu, you are much with the Blades, do you understand them?”

Hehu’s eyes revealed the faintest glint of amusement, but his face and manner remained somber. “Redbird, you are old and wise. If he goes away without your approval, Itucee will defy you and runaway to become his wife. Give you’re approval now and put an end to this.”

Toby shook his head defiantly. “I’m not going anywhere. Just agree to whatever he wants, I can’t imagine life without her.”

Caleb turned to Redbird, shaking his finger. “Every time he agrees to your price, you raise it. What more do you hope to gain? No woman is worth what you are asking.”

Caleb nodded, grinning slyly. “She is as headstrong as she is beautiful. If you don’t let them marry, your life will be pure misery. You know I speak the truth.”

Laugh wrinkles transformed Redbird’s face. “If she does not poison me, then perhaps my wife will. Very well, he may marry Itucee, but he must provide a dozen more axes.”

Redbird shrugged. “You have taken advantage of my love for my niece. Six more axes and I will give my permission.”

CAPTAIN RALEIGH CLINTON was not his real name, but it served his purpose nicely. He stood upon the deck of his ship, eager to be underway. With approval mingled with contempt, he surveyed the lot of bilge rats that served as his crew. They’d steal the coppers that covered their dead mothers’ eyes. Nevertheless, as cutthroats go, no better lot of murderous scum sailed the sea.

As with all the other English privateers that sailed out of Jamaica, they were expected to prey upon the Spanish. However, he secretly had an understanding with the Spanish. He supplied them with information on the English, in exchange for gold and an estate in Spain. Moreover, he wasn’t above preying upon unsuspecting, English merchant ships.

Ignoring the questioning stares of his crew, he went immediately to his cabin, poured water into the basin and washed. His fingers traced the ugly scar upon his cheek, given him by that man called Blade. With a shudder, he remembered the incredible skill of the man. If he had not escaped out the window when he did, he would have died there next to the man he had been paid to murder.

He fled Jamaica as the assassin Smoke Raleigh, but after two short years at sea, he returned to Jamaica with a new identity, a ship of his own, and the giant. Since giving his allegiance to the nephilim and to the devil, nothing could stand in his way. For the mere price of his soul, the world is now his oyster. The future seemed bright with promise, wealth and power.

Eating human flesh took some getting used to; however, with proper seasoning, and a few onions, the taste grew upon him. Soon enough he craved it, even more than a good cut of beef. None of the crew participates in the cannibalism, but they have all tasted human blood mixed with the ceremonial wine.

“Captain, may I have a word with you, sir?” asked a small old man who appeared more a scholar than the devil worshiper he was.

Smoke Raleigh eyed his first mate. He loathed the man for his small stature as well as for his superior education. Worst was the mystery of why the ascended masters have favored him so. Despite all the years of knowing him, he had never learned the nature of the old man’s relationship with Satan.

“It’s not for me,” the little old man lied, “it’s for the men, mind you. We, I mean the crew’s been asking where we are off to in such a hurry. We have no cargo, so unless we will be running up the black flag, there will be no profit. It has been months since our last fat ship and the boys are getting restless.”

“The men are lucky,” Raleigh sneered, “to have a first mate such as you watching over them. So they want to know our plans, do they? Very well, but tell them this only, we are going after gold. However, keep this to yourself for now. The master foretold that men of the forest will come to where we wait, and they will be carrying a great treasure.”

“Of course you will,” Raleigh said, knowing that by nightfall, the whole crew would know.

Never, before last night’s dream, have I heard her speak. She beseeched me to come and save her, and nothing in my heart has ever ringed so true. I know it is my destiny to go to her, but to where do I go? Does she exist, or is she the princess of a fable? Somehow, I know she lives and she dreams of me in the same way that I dream of her. I may be a fool, but I am a faithful fool. For me, there can be none other than the girl of my dreams.

I am twenty-two and I have never even kissed a girl, nor have I faced a man with a sword. I have fought countless battles with knife or axe against Indians, but never against a skilled opponent with a blade. I am as untested with a blade as I am with a lass.

Neither could be said of my brother Caleb. At sixteen, he both kissed a girl and faced a man with a blade on the same day. It was in Jamestown, on a Sunday after Church. We finished purchasing our supplies and were ready to depart after the services.

It was there that Caleb caught the eyes of Bull Swenson’s daughter. It was not twenty minutes after the services ended that the two of them met behind the chapel. There was no sweet-talking and no holding of hands. They simply walked straight into each other’s arms and kissed. It was not a second later that her Pa caught them in the act.

Standing at least six-foot, seven inches, and over three hundred pounds, I cannot fathom why Bull Swenson felt he needed to carry a sword, nevertheless, carry one he did. He came around the corner, saw his pure daughter in the arms of a stranger and smoke poured out of his ears. He roared something unintelligible, drew his sword and charged. Caleb had no choice but to draw his sword and face him.

Seeing the way the man charged, I knew exactly what Caleb’s defense would be. Our father had trained us well. He easily countered the big man’s clumsy swipe and in one fluid move, he disarmed him and smashed his nose with the hilt of his sword. The giant of a man landed with a thud in the mud.

Knowing not what else to do, Caleb stood over the man with the point of his sword on the center of the angry father’s chest. He would have gladly let him up, if it weren’t for the big man’s promise to tear Caleb to pieces. It was in this way they remained until the King’s men came and took Caleb away.

The Magistrate demanded a heavy bribe above the fine, which Pa refused to pay. The man grew furious and insinuated that if the bribe were not paid, Caleb would not outlive his sentence. Caleb was unconscious when they dragged him out and placed him in the stocks. His face was badly swollen and bloody from the beating they threw him.

After the town fell asleep, we came and set Caleb free. We tore down the stocks and set them on fire. To our surprise, some of the good townsfolk brought out a little lamp oil to help the heavy timbers get started.

We have not returned to Jamestown since. Fortunately, there is a new settlement along our coast called Charleston. On our first visit, the town, if such it could be called, was in a bad way and needful of supplies themselves. Naturally, being hunters, we helped as best we could until a long overdue ship arrived in port. On our last visit, we were astonished at how fast the town had grown. No doubt, it will soon grow to the size to envy Jamestown.

It’s unlikely there would be problems for Caleb even if we returned to Jamestown. After all, Caleb was less than six feet tall when he kissed the girl. Now he is nearly the size of Bull Swenson himself, though he wants no part of returning to Jamestown. He claims that he wants no part of the stocks, but more likely, it’s the lovesick eyes of Bull Swenson’s daughter that he fears.

I dressed and hurried down the ladder from the loft. Rochelle saw me coming and filled me a cup of coffee. “Thank you,” I said, accepting it from her hand. She smiled, but cast her eyes downward. Then I remembered the strange way she acted at my mention of the giant. It was as if she had seen a ghost.

The front door flew open, and Zachary came in, grinning wide. “A boat is coming. I think it’s the boys.”

I turned my eyes back to Rochelle, but she only winked and followed Zachary out the door. I shielded my eyes against the glare of the sun. They were still too far off to be certain if it was my brothers or the Catawba. Nevertheless, only a friend would come straight on in the open daylight.

Rochelle laughed then pointed her finger to the boat still far out on the water. “Unless one of them has two heads, I’d say that’s Mrs. Tibit riding on Caleb’s shoulder.”

I watched her excitement, and felt a small pang in my heart. Even in my short absence, she had changed. The difference was slight, but undeniable. She grew no taller, but has filled out the way a woman should. If I can arrange it, she would soon be off to London for schooling. The thought of it gave me joy, but also saddened me. Would I ever see her again?

From the time she was a baby, she has been full of sweetness. I’m not saying that she is not a ring-tailed-terror if cornered, for she surely is. I’d rather face a grizzly with a sore tooth than Rochelle if pushed too far. For someone so slender, you’d not think her so strong. Nevertheless, she is as strong as most of the Catawba boys her age.

The strangest thing of all is, I’ve never really understood how someone as beautiful as Rochelle could spring from our Ma and Pa. I’m not saying that Ma is a homely woman, because she’s beautiful enough in her own way. It’s just that Rochelle is as slim as new-grown reed, and Ma is a big woman, built more like a man. I’ve seen Ma pack fifty-pound sacks, two at a time, and think nothing of it.

Now, as for Pa, I’ve rarely seen him without his beard, but I’d guess he is only borderline handsome at best. As I look just like him, I’d like to claim him to be handsomer than he is. But comparing Rochelle to him is another matter. I just can’t see any feature she could have inherited from him. Rochelle is breathtaking to look upon, and it’s not just my pride as a brother. Even the Catawba are in awe of her beautiful, fair skin, and long yellow hair. In the last year alone, more than a dozen young bucks have come offering Pa enormous sums for her hand in marriage. Pa always tells them politely that she is too young, and to wait a few years.

With her going to London, there is a good chance that when she comes home, she will be toting a lad behind her. And well I hope she does, for there is none about here to catch her eye. But I am only fooling myself. After she gets her schooling to learn medicine, she would be off to some faraway land to do the work of a missionary. She already has a wealth of knowledge of the plants, and their usage as medicine. Added to her experience with bandaging wounds, I’d expect her to make quite a doctor, though Ma says they may only allow her to study to be a nurse.

Rochelle has Ma’s innocence and pure heart, but she has Pa’s sharp mind. She remembers everything she reads, even if read casually. During the couple of years we were in the settlements, she was too young to attend school. She could read and write by her third birthday, and could have done well. But despite the school mom’s desire to admit her, the headmaster would have nothing of it. He was a snobby man, who seemed to look down upon everyone. He had been educated at Cambridge, somewhere over in England. When he said Cambridge, he said it with a special flair, as if it was something quite impressive.

The School Mom was also educated in England, but she had none of the snobbishness of the schoolmaster. She seemed amazed with Rochelle’s ability to memorize things with hardly any effort. She called Rochelle a “Genius”, though she never had any such praise for any of us boys. She watched us boys like a hawk, though not so much Joshua or me, as Caleb. She had good reason to be suspicious of Caleb, for he was always up to his good-natured pranks. Her name was Mrs. Tibit, which was the inspiration for the name of his falcon.

Besides her hawkish watching of Caleb, she also had the longest nose we had ever seen, with an end that drooped down, just like a hawk’s beak. To be honest, the resemblance between the two Mrs. Tibit’s is uncanny. Most of the school kids called her names behind her back, but not us. She was the only teacher that ever showed us kindness. She seemed fascinated by the lives we lived among the Catawba. She and Ma were best friends for the year and a half we lived in the settlements. She came for dinner every Sunday until we returned here to the forest I love.

Ma said she thought she would likely feel honored that Caleb named his pet falcon after her. Considering how he loves that bird, I expect she would be proud. He has taught her to do some amazing stunts and tricks. It took some time, but he even taught her to deliver messages like those pigeons we learned about at school.

But, she is as deadly as she is beautiful. I’ve seen her tear a Tuscarora warrior’s eyes out of their sockets after we came face to face in a clearing. There were seven of them, and just Pa and us boys. They were as surprised to see us as we were them, but it didn’t take long before they drew knives and came at us. Caleb released Mrs. Tibit, mostly just to keep her from getting hurt, but instead of flying off, she attacked the closest warrior. It happened so fast, causing temporary confusion. We were just about as shocked by it all as they were. Their first shots went wild, saving our skins. They grabbed their injured friends and lit out, and we let them go. After all, we were in their territory, so fleeing appealed to us also.

In the years that have passed since that attack, she has served Caleb in countless battles. Furthermore, when flying, she sees a potential enemy coming from a long ways off. We pay attention when something bothers her. I can’t imagine a better watchdog than Mrs. Tibit. Caleb has trained her to do all kinds of uncanny things. All Caleb has to do is whisper one of our names, and she will find us wherever we are.

As if he was reading my thoughts, Caleb released Mrs. Tibit into the air. She covered the remaining mile in no time at all, her wingtips almost touching the water as she flew. After swooping over our heads, announcing their return, she landed on her perch on the porch of the big house.

Paddling hard, their canoe shot through the water. Within a few minutes, they were pulling up to the shore, next to the landing. Surprisingly, they had no game. Pa said they were going hunting, but didn’t explain beyond that. After this many days, I’d expect they would have had at least something to show for their troubles.

Toby was grinning harder than I’d ever seen before. The big man was giggling like a little girl on her birthday. Excited, he motioned for everyone to come closer so he could make an announcement. “Itucee’s uncle gave his permission. We are going to get married along with Joshua and Kawcee.”

“Congratulations,” everyone cheered, slapping their backs and shaking their hands.

It shocked me to the bone. I knew they both had girls they were sweet on, but being two years older than Joshua, I always figured that I’d get married first. But what prospect do I have of ever getting married? Here I am, a fool that’s in love with a girl that exists only in my dreams.

Ma began planning the wedding before I could pick my jaw up off the ground. She rushed to the house with Rochelle in tow, listing all the things they must do in preparation for the wedding. The others followed, but Joshua stood silent, concern written across his face.

His question made me grin. He may be the younger brother, but I don’t even stand as tall as his shoulder.

He searched my eyes. “It’s not fair, you’re older and have not yet met the girl of your dreams. You are the romantic one of us boys, so don’t pretend it does not hurt you. I know your heart, big brother, so don’t deny the truth.”

“The girl of your dreams? You bet I do. Be patient. She is out there, and I’d wager she is thinking of you right now. Look at how long you have been dreaming about her. How old were you when the dreams started?”

“As long as I can remember, but I figure it was mostly Ma’s doing. She had us pray for our future wives just as we prayed for each other. It didn’t take long before she seemed real to me. As time went on, my imagination has simply filled in the missing pieces. Now she is as real to me as anyone I know. It makes me feel like a fool. I am in love with a woman that does not exist.”

Joshua put a comforting hand upon my shoulder. His eyebrows pursed together as they do when he is about to say something profound. “It was the same for me, except it was never a mystery who she was. It was always Kawcee. I just never spoke of it to anyone, and especially not to her. Fact is the first time I ever spoke to her at all was the day I asked her to be my wife. But there was always a feeling between us. And it turns out she’s always dreamt of me too, though she was getting some impatient waiting for me to ask.”

We turned and walked together up the path to the house, neither saying another word. Pa and the rest of the men were sitting on the porch talking. Pa nodded for us to sit and join them, and said in a broken whisper, “It seems we have two houses to build. Zachary, you are the only carpenter among us. What say you?”

Zachary smiled. “We’ve already enough logs, dried and peeled, to build half a dozen houses. I’m thinking of one large room each, with a loft for sleeping. Before you boys leave for the settlements, we will raise the walls and dig two new privies. While you are living it easy in the city, I’ll put on the finishing touches.”

ON THE ISLAND OF JAMAICA, a young woman rocked gently on a porch swing alongside an old, heavy-set woman, who fanned herself in the sweltering heat. A faint sea breeze mingled with the fragrant honeysuckle that clung to the old plantation building.

The younger woman giggled, wrinkling up her nose. She always assumed that Lila could read her mind.

“Come here baby. Lay your head in your Auntie Lila’s lap. You are still my baby, and will be for all your life.”

She lay her head in the old woman’s lap, soaking up the safety and comfort she had found there all of her life. Lila ran her thick, ebony fingers through the girl’s dark hair, pulling it away from her face.

“Do you remember when you were just a baby, even before your Papa died, how I taught you to pray for your Mamma, Papa, Auntie Lila, and the boy God had picked for you to marry?”

“Yes, I do. After Papa died, I even started to dream about him. He is just like the man who came and rescued us from that awful assassin who murdered Papa. He was so brave, handsome and strong. If it weren’t for him, Mama and I would be buried next to Papa.”

“I was there too,” Lila, reminded her. “I remember the man, but he’s not for you. By now he’s got him a big potbelly, and likely as not, he’s missing teeth.”

Both women laughed. Suddenly, the girl sat up and turned to face Lila. “Last night was the first time I ever heard his voice.”

STACKING THE LOG WALLS took three days, and the skeleton of the roofs, another two. As the remainder of the building required the more skillful hands, Donaldo and I were tasked with cutting sod for the roofs, and the others, with the digging of the privies. The work was hard, but went quickly.

During our breaks, Donaldo and I managed to find a little time to practice with our swords. The coming marriage made him lonely, just as it did me. After all, he is even older than I am. What is worse, he is a Spaniard. If he went to the settlements unescorted, he’d be arrested as a spy. Unless he can find a way back to Florida or Hispaniola, then he is likely to remain single.

Our sessions helped us both work through the frustrations of life. He is a fine swordsman, even if he is arrogant. I am bothered by the fact that I have to hide my skill and allow him to win. To him, I am forever his apprentice. I never appointed him as my mentor, but he chose me as his student. I cannot believe he is so dense as not to at least consider that I am letting him win.

In the months since he arrived here, he has become increasingly morose. I know he carries an unspoken pain from his past. He often wears the scowl of a man in pain. But, after a good workout with the blades, he is like a different man and is jovial and quite considerate. Unfortunately, it’s never long before he retreats into his shroud of angry arrogance.

He has started to tell me of it many times. As soon as he speaks a few words, he shuts up completely. On more than one night, I have heard him crying out in his sleep. Each time, it is of a devil in the robes of a priest, drinking blood, and of human sacrifice. I asked him of it one morning and the blood ran from his face. “It was no dream,” he said and forbade me ever to speak of it again.

As the only Catholic among us, our casual ways of worship seems strange to him. We do not hear confessions and receive our penance. Nevertheless, I often wonder if a confession may not be the cure for what troubles his soul.

“Senior David, your point was too low. I could have cut you a hundred times. Listen to me and I will make you into a great swordsman.”

He wore a taunting expression on his face. I fought back the urge to slap it off, but I could not keep my tongue. “Donaldo, I value our friendship, but I am tired of your bullying.”

Donaldo’s face became a study in surprised shock. We said nothing, but I was relieved when he dropped his point and took a step back. He sheathed his sword, and I mine. For several minutes, we stood there, saying nothing. The dinner bell rang, and I turned to follow the path to the house.

“Praise God from whom all blessings flow. Praise Him all creatures here below. Praise Him above ye heavenly host. Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost… Amen.”

The table exploded with activity. Within a few moments, every plate was piled high. All eyes turned to Ma, awaiting her to raise her fork, giving the go ahead to start. Thankfully, she ended our misery by raising it, and the table once again exploded into action. Ma and Pa exchanged amused glances. I never really thought of it before, but I imagine Ma enjoys the respect shown to her when we hungrily wait until she picks up her fork. She never makes us wait long, but there is always a pause. Those brief seconds are a tribute to everything she means to us.

We have dropped most of the strict ways of living that is common in the settlements. Our table manners have become simple, just as our ways of speech. The pomp and pretence is gone from all we do. Nevertheless, Pa insists on these few table manners, even way out here in the wilderness.

Tonight, Ma set out her china and the silver instead of the wooden plates we usually use. The clatter made from the silver on the china reminded me of a Carolina hailstorm. My stomach growled, telling me to stop daydreaming and get down to business. I sank my fork into a thick bite of venison steak. I had shoveled it into my mouth, when I noticed Toby’s continued heaviness. Ma and Pa noticed it also, and Pa winked to Ma, who knew just what to do.

“Toby, what is wrong son?” Ma asked. Everyone at the table quieted their eating or paused, awaiting his reply.

Toby tried to put on a cheerful face, but his eyes told a different story. “I’m sorry Ma. I was just thinking.”

“I was thinking about how unfair it is,” Toby said. “Please know that I love each of you, and I thank God for the day when Pa and the boys found me in Jamaica.”

“We love you too, son, but why don’t you go ahead and tell us what is weighing upon you.”

“Yes Ma. It’s just not fair because I can’t go to town with the boys. I know that if I do there will be problems with the white folk down yonder. It’s just that I’d like to buy some pretty things for my girl as a wedding present. But if I do go, some white man is going to say some hateful thing, and then one of the boys will make a meal of him. I don’t want to cause any problems.

“The color of my skin makes me less than human in their eyes. How can any man be so arrogant? Were not Adam and Eve, the grandparents of us all? I want to do something so black folks can live without fear. I want to tear down slavery, and if I can’t do it everywhere, then let us make a tiny corner here where folks can be free.”

“Amen,” Pa whispered through his weak voice. “This was also the dream of my grandfather, the first of our family on this land. His father was born a slave in England, as was his father before him. There is little doubt that we would be slaves there still, if it were not for my great grandfather winning his freedom with an act of bravery. To this day, none in my family has forgotten what it means to be a slave.”

Toby’s lower lip trembled with emotion, and his eyes welled up. “Because of what you did for me, I have my freedom, and soon I’ll have a wife.” Then Toby lifted his face, and sat up taller. “Pa, God showed it to me in a dream. I’m supposed to build a place for freed slaves. We’ve got plenty of room, and living way out here, there would be nobody to stop us.”

FOR TEN DAYS, we traveled downriver without any sign of trouble. It was no mystery, considering that Kawcee’s brother, Hehu, and thirty other young warriors traveled with us as far as our paths remained the same. It was growing late when Joshua pointed to a small clearing surrounded by swamp.

“Looks good to me,” I agreed, and we pointed our boats to shore. Hehu and the others simply waved us goodbye. I felt sorry to see them go.

Joshua spun around to face him. “You’re talking about the brother of my fiancé.”

Donaldo seemed shocked by the words that had escaped his own lips. “I am sorry. I forgot myself. It’s just that I remember the weeks I spent evading capture after my shipwreck. When they finally got their hands on us, they were monsters. One by one, my fellow Spaniards were cooked alive or had their skin pealed from their bodies. I thank God that you came and rescued me when you did.”

“Aye, you did face monsters,” I said, “but the Catawba helped us to free you. We found you in the hands of the Eno, and not the Catawba. You need to learn the distinction.”

We busied ourselves with setting up camp. Joshua did the scouting, as he is the best among us. Donaldo, Caleb and I, gathered wood. We found a deadfall that had fallen into the swamp in some storm long past. Thankfully, a few of the branches broke off in the same storm, giving us enough to make a meager fire, sufficient for cooking.

“We can chop up the deadfall with our swords, if you so command us, oh mighty leader,” Caleb teased. “Just sit there and await your precious coffee. If there is work to be done, leave it for us, your loyal servants.”

Following Caleb’s lead, Donaldo and Toby got down upon their knees and started bowing with their faces to the ground.

“Very funny,” I said. “But Caleb, you best stay on your knees for a while. I figure some repenting will do you good.”

“Well, why not?” Caleb said. “Privateering or pirating is in our blood, depending on the name you want to call it. Perhaps one of us shall be so again one day. I admit that I often think of going to sea.”

Joshua came into camp and added a few small chunks of wood to our humble pile. He shook his head. It was enough to cook our dinner and to make our morning coffee, but little more. Then I noticed the haunted look upon Joshua’s face, and realized it was more than our lack of fuel that troubled him. The others saw it too, and they stopped their funning.

“Something is wrong with this place. I can’t put my finger on it, but I feel it. I wish we had continued along with Hehu and the others, though I can’t understand why. That thick, swamp mud will make it difficult for the Tuscarora to sneak up on us from the inland side. My mind tells me that this is a safe campsite, but my heart warns me to go on.”

OREIOS, THE NEPHILIM, awaited his dinner. It had been hours since breakfast, though it was a most satisfying meal. When the early morning hunting party returned empty handed, the giant killed the leader. He tore off a leg and ate it while the rest of the man was boiled in a pot.

To the relief of the village, the second hunting party brought back a boar, and a deer. The nephilim could smell the fragrant aroma of the meat stewing. Deer and boar are delicious, but not as savory as human flesh. With his hand, he wiped clean the drool that escaped from the corners of his mouth.

Oreios opened the door of his hut and sniffed at the air. Upon seeing him, the villagers busied themselves with the cooking. The women stirred their pots faster in hopes of appeasing the giant’s wrath. Well he knew that it takes an hour to bring a filled pot to a boil, and another hour before the meat is ready for eating. The meat had not yet reached a boil, though the fragrance already reached his powerful nostrils.

“The son of the man of God, and his brothers, are coming to the place we foretold. But the favor of God rests heavily upon them. They will be too powerful for your son to face alone. Behold, I give you an army of demons to send against them.”

ANNE DROPPED HER SEWING to answer the door. This was not the knock of a casual visitor. This was the knock of trouble. The door swung open, and there stood the tiny Agatha. Anne could see the trouble written in her mismatched eyes, one green and the other blue.

“I go to pray with your mother. Get Lila and join us at her bedside. Hurry, we must pray now.”

Anne turned and ran for the kitchen. Lila looked up as she entered, sweat beaded on her brow as she carried hot loaves from the oven. “What is it, child? Who was at the door?”

Lila needed no more warning. She dropped the last loaf and followed Anne up the stairs. The old woman breathed heavily, trying to keep up. Something was wrong. She could feel it herself. The door stood open to Anne’s mother’s room. Darla lay propped up by several pillows, with Agatha helping her to arrange herself.

“Mamma,” Anne exclaimed, “should you be sitting up? If you feel light-headed, then please let us know. Agatha, what has happened?”

“It is your husband,” Agatha replied quickly. “He is in danger. The Spirit has told me to gather each of you to pray.”