David Ascendant (Chronicles of the Nephilim Book 7) Page 8

  David could see by the looks in the faces of the fearful elders and his family and townspeople that they were not getting their wish today. David slowed his pace as he walked through the crowd toward his father and Samuel. He wondered if he was going to be in trouble for his advances on Miriam, and how the Seer found out about it. Unless the other girls of the town finally spoke up too.

  The old Seer waved impatiently. “Come quickly, lad! Do not dawdle!”

  David jogged the rest of the way up to the altar. He stood by Jesse. “What is wrong, father? Did I do something wrong?”

  Samuel stared at him with a scowl.

  David almost blurted out an apology. He was about to start crying and admit that he had sinned before God and man and that he would never again try to touch a girl before they would marry.

  Before he could incriminate himself, Samuel stepped up to him. David froze. He saw that Samuel had the high priestly ephod on him, a vest with a pocket that carried the mysterious Urim and Thummim, the oracles of Yahweh. David shivered. He loved the cult of sacrifice, so he had learned everything he could about the priesthood, what they wore, and all the rituals of sacrifice. He didn’t want to become a priest, but he reveled in the beauty of sacrifice and how it cleansed the transgressions that sullied his soul.

  Samuel said to David, “Son, how old are you?”

  “Seventeen.”

  “You are small but ruddy of complexion,” said Samuel. It was a reference to David’s vibrant colored skin. “You are handsome and you have strong, bright eyes.”

  David did not know how to respond to the Seer. It was as if Samuel were considering him for auction.

  “Each of your brothers have passed before me and I have sought to discern the will of Yahweh. Your siblings are taller, stronger, older and more experienced. But Yahweh has said to me, ‘Do not look on their appearance or on the height of their stature.’ For Yahweh sees not as man sees: man looks on the outward appearance, but Yahweh looks on the heart. And Yahweh has not chosen any of the others.”

  David shivered again. What was he choosing for? And what interest would Yahweh have in the least of eight sons of an insignificant commoner?

  Samuel reached into the special pocket of the ephod and pulled out two precious gems. David’s eyes went wide. The Urim and Thummim, or Lights and Perfections.

  Samuel held them in his hands and closed his eyes to pray. David followed suit, more out of fear that he didn’t want to see what would happen than from prayerfulness.

  Samuel prayed, “Yahweh show me your will. Is this son of Jesse whom you have chosen?”

  David could hear a hush go over the crowd, followed by some gasping and then excited murmuring. Then he felt a bright light flashing on his closed eyelids. He opened his eyes to see the glow of the Urim and Thummim casting their perfect light upon his face.

  David looked up at Samuel. His crotchety old face had transformed into a bright smile. He put the Urim and Thummim back into the pocket. He held out his hand to an accompanying servant who handed him a horn of oil.

  David felt dizzy, as if he was going to faint. He shook himself back. This could not be happening. What was happening?

  Samuel took the cap off the horn of oil and simply poured a stream over David’s head. He blinked his eyes as the holy ointment flowed over his head and face and onto his clothes.

  Samuel croaked as loud as his old voice could carry, “I anoint you, David, son of Jesse by the authority of Yahweh, god of Israel!”

  The townspeople applauded. But they still did not know for what purpose David was being anointed. There were few offices that such consecration was used for: elders of Israel, prophet, priest or king. David was too young to be an elder. Could he be a prophet? He was not a Levite, so priesthood was not a possibility. Kingship was out of the question. Saul was clearly Yahweh’s chosen one for warrior king. The people murmured and debated amongst themselves.

  Jesse gathered up the courage to ask Samuel what everyone else was wondering. “Pray tell, Seer Samuel, for what purpose is my son being anointed?”

  Samuel gave a long hard stare at David, who felt his skin crawl with the holiness.

  “Yahweh will reveal in his own good time.”

  Suddenly, a rushing wind blew through the town square. David felt a gust enter him like a breath, and he knew everything had changed. Everything was different.

  Samuel capped the horn, and drew his servants near him and walked away through the crowd.

  David and the others were confused. David called to Samuel.

  Samuel just kept walking.

  David ran after him. “Samuel! Samuel! Where are you going?”

  “Back to Ramah.” He kept walking. David had to keep up.

  “What am I supposed to do?”

  “I have told you everything I know. Yahweh will let you know more when he is good and ready.”

  “What am I supposed to do until then?”

  “What do you do now?”

  “I shepherd. Play music. Train for battle.”

  “That sounds good. Keep it up.”

  He stopped in confusion, watching Samuel depart from him. It seemed so unclear to David and to everyone. They all thought Yahweh would be a bit more specific about such an important calling. It was like a herald announcing the important arrival of a royal figure to an event and then not saying who it was.

  And what role could he possibly be anointed for? None of the usual considerations seemed feasible. Did the Seer have a new reason in mind? Only Yahweh knew.

  Chapter 18

  At the same moment that a rushing wind blew through the square of the town of Bethlehem, nine miles away in the city of Gibeah, Saul sat brooding over his fate. He had locked himself at the top of the palace tower for several weeks in despair. He could not believe that Yahweh had rejected him and promised to take away his kingdom. He thought he had done so well as a victorious warrior king for the nation of Israel. He led them to many victories over the Ammonites, the Edomites, the Moabites and even the Philistines. It was true that he had cut corners and moved ahead with impatience. But at least he got things done. He had been condemned by Samuel for being too small-minded of his own status. What did Yahweh want, an arrogant self-important tyrant? His palace was the smallest in Canaan, and used little to no adornment of its facilities.

  He had been turning these thoughts over and over in his mind for weeks. He barely ate, and barely slept. His despair grew with every day, along with a mounting anger. Who else could this Chosen One of Yahweh be? He knew of no one in the kingdom who matched him in excellence, or statesmanship, or even moral character. He was heads and shoulders above any man in all of Israel. He had heard that more than once, and it certainly was true of him in more ways than just his physical height. He was a mighty warrior king. He was a gibborim.

  What kind of a god chooses a mighty man to rule and then changes his mind? That is a temperamental capricious deity if you asked him. He could not get the image out of his head of Agag’s chopped and bloody body laying on the prison floor, cut to pieces by his own sword, in the hand of Samuel instead of his own. Agag’s eyes were open and staring at Saul in terror. It returned to him in his dreams as well, haunting him with accusing bloodshot eyes. A decapitated head of a giant staring into his soul.

  Suddenly, a gush of wind seemed to flow through the room. It was more like a sucking of air leaving him breathless, and the air thick and heavy. A new despair came over him, but not from his confusion and unanswered questions. It was more like the answer to all his questions. He felt it deep in his soul.

  He knew with a clarity he had never known before that Yahweh had departed. He had left Saul, and he was never going to return.

  Saul panicked. Then he boiled with anger. So Yahweh would leave him like that just because he was not a perfect king? Yahweh would remove his presence and stop speaking to Saul? He would abandon the very king he placed on the throne because he was looking for another prince? The eyes of the dead Agag pierced
into him and he remembered the words he told him, “The Ob of Endor told me your kingdom shall not continue.”

  “The Ob of Endor told me.”

  The Ob of Endor. Ironically, Samuel had told him his disobedience was as the sin of divination—the actual occupation of the Ob of Endor. So Yahweh was looking for a better king to rule his people? Well, if Yahweh would not speak to him, if he would not reveal his truth, then Saul would go to someone who would.

  “I am still king of Israel,” said Saul to the air, as if to Yahweh. “You want me to think more of myself? I will. I will give you the greatest king who ever lived.”

  Chapter 19

  Endor lay sixty miles north of Gibeah, just southwest of the Sea of Chinnereth. It was on the plain of Megiddo, near the Jezreel valley in Philistine territory. It had taken Saul some time to find his way there, because he traveled incognito with a small bodyguard of his six best warriors. He wanted to avoid being discovered not only by the Philistines, but also by his own people.

  Obs were mediums and necromancers condemned by Torah, the Law of God. They were to be executed by the state for their spiritually heinous activity of consulting the dead and divining spirits. In Philistia, such activities were not outlawed as they were in Israel, but were rather encouraged.

  The Ob’s residence stood on the outskirts of the city near the foothills, because of the spiritual nature of mountains as cosmic connections between heaven and earth, and as gateways to Sheol.

  It was a humble home bedecked in theatrical ornamentation. The gateway was a mass of tangled thorny barbs, and the path to the entrance was lined with torches. The walls of the building were embedded with skulls and bones of animals. Even Obs had to make a living, and using such occultic embellishments aided in confirming the image of the underworld to those who sought to pay for her services.

  When they arrived at the entrance, Saul removed his cloak. A beautiful young woman came to meet him. She appeared to be the Ob’s assistant. She wore a hooded cloak that Saul could see barely hid a small snake draped around her neck.

  He said, “I have come to see the Ob of Endor.”

  “Who seeks the Ob’s audience?”

  “King Saul of Israel.”

  She gasped with terror. “What have you to do with me, O king of the Israelites?”

  “You are the Ob?” Saul could not contain his shock. He had expected an old ugly hag based on her alleged age of ninety-nine years. But this one was so young and so alluring. It made him feel more at ease. More trusting. Her pupils seemed to be slivers in bright lapis lazuli irises. She pulled down her hood.

  “I am the Ob, possessor of the pit,” she said.

  He could not help but blurt out, “You are beautiful.”

  “What did you expect,” she said, “an ugly hag?”

  “Forgive me,” he said.

  “Me forgive you? Now, that is a surprise.”

  “Do not fear. I am not here to take you from your people. I am here to inquire of the dead.”

  “Are not such things against your law?”

  “I am king. I do as I please. And I am not within Israelite territory.”

  She smiled at his rationalization and thought, This one is corrupt. I can play him.

  She turned her head in curiosity, much like a dog would. She squinted her reptilian eyes with revelation. The spirits in her twitched her body with ticks. She sensed something in him. Or rather, something not in him.

  She said, “You are alone.”

  He said, “I have my bodyguard.”

  “Yet, you are alone.”

  He could see in her eyes what she was not saying explicitly. She sensed Yahweh was not with him.

  She said, “Why do you not consult with your seer?”

  “He is not speaking to me.” He knew he could not gain her trust by lying to her.

  She spit out venomously, “Samuel.”

  He thought she had stressed the “S” like a hissing snake.

  Saul looked around. He saw movement in the dark corners, like that of slithering shadows. He wondered if the walls were alive. Some of the shadows became more visible in the low torchlight to reveal serpents of all kinds. He felt a shiver down his spine. They were in a cave crawling with snakes. He stepped back in self protection. His two men stepped closer to him, hands on swords.

  The Ob whispered. “Do not worry, king. They will not strike — unless I command them.” She gave him a toothy grin and he could see she had sharpened teeth.

  He gathered his courage and said, “I want you to bring up someone for me from Sheol.”

  Another turn of her curious head. She twitched, as if something unseen touched her head.

  “And who might that be, O king?”

  “I want you to bring up for me the greatest king who ever ruled on the face of the earth: Nimrod of Babel.”

  Her eyes went wide with surprise. She shrugged. “Impressive. Bold. Dangeroussss.” That slithering “s” again.

  Saul knew she was not exaggerating. Raising up such a powerful entity was a danger. He might unleash a force he could not control. But he had to do it. Yahweh had wanted Saul to be a mighty king. Samuel had condemned him for his timidity, disobedience, and foolish decisions. He had cut Saul off from Yahweh. So Saul concluded that he would seek the help of this mightiest king of history to become a gibborim in the face of Yahweh, just as Nimrod had been. He would make them sorry they ever rejected Saul ben Kish from being king over Israel.

  The Ob said, “What you ask for carries serious ramifications. How will you guarantee to spare my life for my participation in this secret?”

  “You have my word. No one will know that I was here, for it would jeopardize my rule.”

  “Exactly,” she said with a grin and a twitch of her shoulder. “Which is your incentive to kill me when we are done.”

  He knew she was right. He had to give her the only thing she could rely upon.

  “I will cut a blood covenant with you,” he said.

  She smiled in agreement. A blood covenant was universally respected among all the nations of Canaan. And universally reinforced.

  “You will vow to spare my life, and should you have victory over the Philistines or annex my town, you will also spare my life.”

  “Agreed,” said Saul.

  They cut a lamb in half and poured its blood out on the ground and passed a torch between the halves to sanctify their covenant. Saul pronounced his promise of protection and a self-maledictory oath that would curse him should he violate the covenant. But she was not confident enough of the covenant being sworn before his god with whom he was not in good graces, so he had to swear by Dagon as well.

  Satisfied that she was appropriately protected, the Ob proceeded to engage in her necromancy ritual to call up the ancient king Nimrod. The ritual was drawn from Hittite and Assyrian Chthonic conjuring rituals.

  She placed bread around a deep pit that operated as a portal to Sheol. Next, she poured honey, milk and wine into the pit as a libation offering. Saul thought of how the honey was forbidden as a libation to Yahweh. He looked around him. He realized that all the moving serpent shadows around them were still.

  Then, the Ob cut the throat of a black pig—another abomination in Israelite sacrifice—and placed it at the edge of the pit, with its blood flowing down to the bottom. Saul then was instructed to cast in a piece of his own silver. It was all part of luring the conjured spirit up out of the pit. And no doubt, as monetary reward for the Ob afterward.

  The Ob lit incense bowls and lowered them to the bottom of the pit. The smoky odor filled Saul’s nostrils and made him dizzy. He shook it off and breathed in more heavily the intoxicating fumes. After a series of incantations calling upon Mot, the Canaanite god of death, to open the gates of Sheol, the Ob then engaged in a cutting ritual.

  She made a cut in Saul’s palm. She had him squeeze his fist and dribble his blood into the pit. Saul coughed from the excessive smoke filling his nostrils.

  The Ob raised her
hands and bellowed, “Nimrod, the Great Hunter, mighty gibborim, ancient Nephilim, who is two thirds god, one third man, we implore thee, come forth from the depths of Sheol!”

  Saul felt a rumbling penetrate his body. He was not sure if it was a physical quake or something that happened inside him. He was also not entirely sure of what he was seeing before him in the hazy atmosphere. His eyes went blurry. He thought he saw the head of the Ob become a blur of movement. It was as if the ticks and shudders he had been noticing in her had became multiplied at a supernatural speed. Her face became lost in the smear of motion.

  He looked back at the billowing cloud and saw a dark figure rising from below. It was massive, at least nine feet tall. Saul had only heard stories of Nimrod, but did not know what he would look like. He could not see the face or any details of the shade, only its eyes staring brightly into Saul’s own soul. He felt dizzy again.

  The Ob spoke first. Her voice sounded different, like a multitude of voices. “I see an elohim rising up!” Elohim was a reference to gods or divinities of the spiritual plane. It was also the proper name used as a generic reference to Yahweh. Yahweh was Elohim of elohim, god of gods, but other elohim were not Yahweh. But Saul cared little for the nuances of religious particularities. He stood before a god.

  The shade spoke, “I am Nimrod. I am Rebel. I am Empire. Gilgamesh reborn as First Potentate. Who is it who disturbs me with his summons?”

  Saul’s throat was dry. His voice cracked, “I-I am Saul ben Kish, f-first king of Israel.”

  The being paused. Saul could tell it seemed surprised.

  “What is it you seek?” said the phantom.

  Saul no longer cared that the Ob would know the intimate details of his quest. He spilled everything.

  “Yahweh Elohim of Elohim has made me king of his people, but has withdrawn his favor and rejected me. I seek you, mighty Nimrod to be my suzerain and lead me in the ways of kingship. I seek glory and honor and power.”