All Living : A Seedvision Saga (9781621473923) (24 page)

A low growl escaped from the back of Irad’s throat, and his men bristled like wild dogs.

Jorel, sensing that he was at a branching path in the conversation, tried to choose his words carefully. He held up his hands, palms outward, “I’m not trying to anger you, Irad. Perhaps you would accept our invitation to come back to the home camp, and share a feast with us. Tonight we shall dine on the flesh of the hrak.”

“Ah, I see,” said Irad. “Perhaps I have not made myself clear. We will not be eating hrak with you tonight, camp-dwellers, for you will not be eating hrak tonight, unless you have it in you to wrestle the left-overs from the lions. These are our hunting grounds and these are our beasts. You have spoiled our hunt today, and we will accept these three hrak from you so that you might make amends for your encroachment into our territory. With the understanding that you will never allow it to happen again, or you will forfeit more than your hunting trophies.”

The men from Adam’s camp were incensed. “Irad, how dare you speak to your betters in that manner,” he said through clenched teeth, stepping right up to Irad so that their faces were nearly touching.

Three of the men with Irad pushed their spear tips up against Jorel’s belly. Irad laughed in his face. “My betters? Oh, now I have heard everything, Jorel. You sheep-kissers have thought too highly of yourselves for far too long. It’s time you were taught a lesson. Perhaps you’d like to take another step forward and discover that a spear tip slides into a man just as easily as it does an animal.”

Kole had heard enough. There was only one way to avoid the violence that these men were lusting after. For the last couple of minutes he had been fading in and out of the
seedvision
and had determined that Irad and his brethren were filled with so much hatred and violence that it was oozing out of their bodies like pitch. Their once bright auras were rotten with it, and the sound of their existence was discordant and acidic, consuming the beauty of the world around them and leaving destruction, much like the stomach devours food and then squeezes out its waste.

Irad’s men had Jorel and the others outnumbered more than two to one. Kole could tell that Irad was not going to relent or find satisfaction until he humiliated someone. If many more words were traded, blood was going to be spilled and Kole could not stand idly by and watch another of his brothers die. He still had his hrak horn in one hand but he set the spears down and the water skin that he had been holding and started walking toward the remaining hrak, lying by itself a hundred paces further along the shore.

“Hey, where is he going,” shouted one of Irad’s men.

The arguing stopped as everyone there turned to watch Kole walking away as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Irad could not believe his audacity.

“Where do you think you’re going?” shouted Irad, but Kole neither stopped, slowed nor turned around.

“Perhaps if you yell louder he’ll hear you better,” said one of the men, standing behind Jorel. Kole thought the voice sounded like Shad.

“You better stop now if you know what’s good for you,” screamed Irad, sensing that he was losing control of the situation. Kole continued to walk toward the third dead hrak.

“Go get him,” said Irad. “Make him stop. Break his legs if you have to.” Five or six of the the spear-toting men turned to chase after Kole. It seemed impossible that they would not catch him and beat him into submission. The men ran as fast as they could and Kole was only a short distance ahead of them, but no matter how fast the men ran it seemed that Kole was always just out of reach.

“Stop him.” Irad’s voice cracked as he bellowed out the words. The men chasing Kole sped up and Kole seemed to slow down yet still added to the distance between them. The earth, the air, the sunlight, all the elements of the world working against Kole’s pursuers while Kole himself seemed to barely touch the ground. It was like watching cold honey chase warm grease.

Kole reached the fully-grown cow and turned around to watch the men. They came to a stop even though they were still fifteen or twenty cubits away from him. Kole smiled and seemed to be singing to himself. Irad was turning purple with livid rage. How dare this unknown upstart challenge his authority. He should have caught him himself and cut him down mid-stride. “What are you waiting for?” he yelled at his men.

“Yes, what are you waiting for?” Kole asked quietly to the men who had chased him. They did not say a word nor move an eyelash.

“These animals are ours,” said Kole, “and you will not have them. You were invited to share in this abundance but your pride has insured that you will go hungry tonight. When you return home all your food will be spoiled. Your children will cry for bread but there will be none. Your babies will hunger for milk but every breast will have dried up. Your water will taste bitter in your mouths and your lips will crack from the lack of it. Your women will curse you and the bowels of your animals will loosen. This night for you will stink, in more ways than one, unless you turn to the Lord and repent of this violence that you have conceived in your hearts. Now go, return to your brethren.”

The men came out of their stupors and began to mill around, two of them turning to walk back toward Irad, who was watching with disbelief, the others trying to fight the softly spoken command that Kole had just given them.

Kole turned around and faced the dead hrak. He tucked his horn into the belt that he wore, bent down, and grabbed the animal by its front and back legs. With little more than a grunt, he lifted the huge animal up into the air and swung him up over his head. He balanced the animal on his shoulders with the legs hanging down over his chest. The animal had been gutted but not skinned. The blood of the hrak had smeared across his face, neck, and shoulders when he had lifted it and it gave him a wild, dangerous look. With a final glance at the wasted innards that were left to lie, he walked back toward the groups of men.

Not a word was spoken. No man present could believe what they were seeing; that a man alone could lift a fully grown hrak. It was impossible. The animal weighed at least as much as ten or twelve grown men. Kole walked up and stood before Irad. He said nothing.

The man from the city of Enoch swallowed his fear and hid it beneath his well-polished bluster. “Very impressive trick,” he said, in a surprisingly controlled voice, “but I don’t believe I know you, sir. What is your name?”

Kole answered, with carefully measured firmness. “No, I don’t believe you do know me, sir.”

Taken aback but nonetheless defiant, Irad used his words to push at Kole again. “I am not impressed by this act. Standing there as if that animal weighed no more than a goat. Clearly your legs are about to buckle and your spine to crack. You are strong, I will give you that, but you are no match for my men and their weapons. You and yours are outnumbered by superior hunters and you will give us what we want.”

“Will we?” said Kole softly, shutting his eyes.

“We will take what we want,” said Irad, “whether you give them to us or not. And since you have caused us so much trouble today, we will take your women too. They will make fine wives for our sons, after we’ve taught them a lesson or two of course. After this day, the sons of Adam will remember never to resist a command from the…”

Irad’s voice faded out as he finally saw what the rest of the people standing around him saw.

“Lions,” someone whispered.

Behind Kole, streaking with inhuman speed like two yellow blurs of motion and teeth and claws were the two lions, who had apparently eaten what they wanted from the hrak that they had killed and now had a taste for human flesh. The men all backed up a step or two and watched as the two lions shot through the grass directly at them. They did not crouch or prowl or stalk. They were in full kill mood and they came across the valley floor like bolts of amber lightening.

An evil grin touched Irad’s lips. Kole could not see the lions but the lions could see him. He was the closest one to them and stood there defenseless with a dead, bloody hrak draped across his shoulders. He could not run, and he could not fight.
This was going to be good,
thought Irad.

“I believe you have made your last mistake, stranger,” said Irad wickedly.

“Do you?” said Kole.

Every eye watched the approaching feline hunters. Kole stood apparently oblivious to their approach. Irad was eager to see the look of surprise on his face that he would wear for only moments before he was torn apart.

The lions were close, twenty cubits, ten. One of the women screamed. The lions leaped into the air and landed at the same time, one on either side of Kole, two snarling, growling, hissing dignitaries of death.

“As you can see,” said Kole in a soft voice, barely loud enough to be heard over the hungry snarling of the cats, “these particular lions are not here for me.”

Irad could not hide his fear this time. He stammered something unintelligible before finally uttering, “What manner of devil are you?”

“Whatever I am, I am the Lord’s,” said Kole. “And He does not sit idly by while evil pursues those He has chosen. Now go, while there is yet time. Take your men and flee to your houses. There will be no sleep for you tonight. No peace. You will not rest until the meat from these three hraks has been entirely consumed. You had best pray tonight that we do not choose to salt and smoke it for later.”

Irad and his hunters just stood there.

“Go,” said Kole, raising his voice and putting power into it.

The men looked around at each other, confused by this sudden reversal of fate. The two lions stood up on all fours and roared simultaneously, a sound that wrings the fear out of a man’s bowels.

They ran.

Irad was far across the valley when his voice rang out one last time. “This is not the end,” he threatened. “We will come for what is ours. We will come to your camp and kill you in your sleep. We will take your food, steal your children, and abuse your women. We will burn your houses and desecrate your bodies. There will no longer be peace between the city of Enoch and the camp of Adam.”

Kole nearly stopped himself from responding but thought better of it. “We have left a gift for the scavengers, Irad. Take the innards of this beast home with you. They are there by your feet. Perhaps if you have the guts, your own women will not despise you.”

Irad could think of no reply. He spat on the ground, turned, and ran after his men.

Jorel, Aben, Lamesh, Shad, and all the men and women with them stared at Kole in wonder and awe. Kole turned to the two lions and spoke to them in soft tones. “You have done well, noble creatures and you are blessed. This valley where pride has been the seed of so much grief will become for you an identity. You will wear it for the children of the Lord. Forevermore your families will be called ‘prides’ and you shall strike fear into the hearts of all who hunt you. Guard this valley and hunt in it. It belongs to you as much as to men. Be swift and strong and fearless, for you are a tool in the hand of your Creator.”

Kole sighed and turned to his brothers. “Let’s go home.”

Lester’s eyes hurt. He finished the journal and set it down. He sat stunned for a minute, overwhelmed. So hard to compare this antediluvian superhuman Kole with his down-to-earth friend Al. That someone like Kole could even be real, much less meeting him for lunch tomorrow just blew his gaskets. He rubbed his eyes, bleary and red-rimmed, they felt like ash. He picked up his miracle cigarette and took a drag. This thing is gonna save me a lot of money, thought Lester, letting the smoke drift out of his mouth and back into his nostrils.

At some point while he had been reading it had started to rain. He hadn’t heard a thing. He looked over at the window and thought he saw someone duck out of sight.
What the heck?
Lester stood up and walked quickly into the kitchen, his heart racing. Beside the refrigerator was his emergency baseball bat and he picked it up. He walked over to the front door and turned on the outside light before opening it. He leaned out and was glad that he had a bit of an awning over the porch. It was pouring. There were already several large puddles lining his gravel driveway. He looked down alongside the house but saw no one. He stared into the hydrangea bushes and pampas grass, half hoping not to see someone crouched there, and he didn’t.

Must have been my imagination,
he thought.

Down the street a car started up and drove away. He watched the red taillights, blurred from the rain, as they receded into the distance. The thought crossed his mind to get a flashlight and look for footprints in the mulch under the window, but then a gust of wind blew the rain in under the shelter of the eave and it was cold, too cold to worry about putting on shoes and a coat to satisfy his curiosity. “Probably just kids messing around” he muttered.

Closing the door and locking it, he glanced up at the wall clock and noticed it was nearly three-thirty in the morning. “Sheesh, I gotta get some sleep.” He didn’t have any window-cleaning jobs lined up for the next day, which was good. He wanted to spend tomorrow talking to Al. He had so many questions.