The sound of far away drums echoed on the
mountaintops of Armon. From a distance, the lights of the campfires reminded
the surrounding residents there were giants in the land. The seven tribes that
were distributed throughout the elevations were the descendants of Azael and
Uzza…The Mighty Birds.
Since their arrival, they had brutalized
the people, stole their women, and forced their agenda on the population. The
oppressors referred to their victims in the not-so-loving term of
“grasshoppers”; good for nothing more than consuming the land’s resources, and
forever multiplying.
Azael returned to Providence and convinced
four more Watchers to join them, promising them all the riches of Earth; and
so, the Mighty Birds in all counted as six.
From the north, a warlord named Seymyaz
from the Vampire clan heard of the giants and traveled down to join forces with
them. He was always on the lookout for an opportunity to exploit and to expand
his feeding grounds.
Men were being forced into slavery, and
women were stolen and raped; the entire Negev was in a state of terror. These
fallen angels, or Nephelium as the peasants called them, were from the elite
class of Michael’s forces—the Grigori—a division of the Provincial Guard, who
were stationed in the Fifth Heaven; Archie and the Council simply called them
“The Watchers.”
The night had a sting to it, and many were
huddled around the campfire. The old women were busy stewing pots of kid’s meat
in milk, a process that took seven steps. The sound of laughing could be heard
from the young women as they ran across the camp trying to avoid capture from
their amorous pursuers.
A solitary man beat a trance-inducing
rhythm on a drum, giving the camp a hypnotizing atmosphere as the smell of incense
filled the air. Enim restlessly walked the camp as he did every night. Sleep
never came for the Mighty Birds; they were called that because of their wings.
They also didn’t eat, but they did lust.
Although blessed with beauty, immeasurable
power, and immortality—all bestowed upon them by Providence—they were far from
satisfied. They longed to lie next to a mortal woman; to feel her softness, and
the ecstasy, but the flesh had corrupted them.
And so, as he’d done so many nights before,
Enim turned away from the path of Providence; he was out looking for the
consoling arms of a woman. He stopped to admire her as she danced before the
fire. Her bronze skin shimmered in the flames’ amber glow. Long black curls
cascaded down the side of her face and swayed in the breeze in unison with her
hips. Her long arms swirled in and out over her head as she hummed a haunting
melody to the percussionist’s steady beat.
The sea of flames sent waves of embers
streaming out behind her like tiny fairies in an accompanying dance troupe.
Each twist and turn of her curvaceous body sent a silent sensual message to her
captive voyeur. Once again, he would surrender to his weakness as he was
overcome with passion and desire.
She glanced his way and their eyes met; the
weight of his earthbound feet became a distant memory as his tumble down from
Heaven replayed again.
A name, he must have her name!
The old women lined up earthen bowls before
the fire and scooped up the creamy soup of milk, meat, and lentils, with large
ladles made from deer bone. A silence fell over the camp as the musician
stopped to collect his evening meal. Fitina found herself a place next to the
warmth of the fire, nevertheless, the mystic henna symbols that adorned her
body refused to relinquish the dance as the pyre’s light flickered across her
body.
Enim’s breathing intensified. His broad
chest heaved with excited breaths; the great bulk of his arms spread back
against his raven wings, expanding as they fluttered, coursing a flame of blood
through his veins in erotic anticipation.
An elderly woman handed her a bowl of the
steaming brew. As Fitina reached forward, her firm, round breasts spilled over
the top of her leather bodice. She was not aware she had a spectator as she
ate.
Enim’s eyes were transfixed on the spoon as
it reemerged from her alluring ruby lips. Cautiously he approached her,
intimidated by her exotic aura. She tilted her head to one side; her eyes
followed the contour of his muscular legs. Stopping briefly at his torso, she
continued on until she greeted him with a seductive smile. She patted the
ground beside her and invited him to sit.
It wasn’t the force of gravity that pulled
him down; his legs folded in on themselves as he fell, once again, to the
Earth. She reached out and offered him some of her meal, and then lifting her
hand, she forced back a giggle.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot, you don’t eat.”
“That’s open for debate.” He regretted
saying it as soon as the words left his lips.
Unexpectedly, she began to laugh.
His eyes turned to molten bronze as her
laugh sent shivers of desire coursing through his body.
The
drumbeats started again, she stood up and extended her hand out to him. He
reached out and took it willingly, and then she led him to her tent…
Elizabeth Rose by Janus Gangi
