The Descent of the Gods

Idol

As his prison wagon finally crossed the rickety bridge spanning the wide Euphrates river, Enoch watched as Cainite soldiers rushed to set the bridge on fire and sever any chances their enemies could use it to cross into Nod. Hurriedly, they piled kindling and chunks of wood against the support beams, while others stood by with torches, which threw trembling light through the darkness that had descended over the city with the coming of night.

 The streets were choked with people running here and there - the story of the terrible Herabite ambush had spread. Never before had any Cainite force suffered such a dreadful loss of life, in such savage circumstances. Enoch watched horses and pack animals wandered aimlessly through the streets, abandoned by their owners, who now only were wondering if they would live to see another nightfall.

The prison wagon continued it's stop and go pace into the heart of the city. Enoch could clearly see the citadel looming ahead of him. 

"Look!" One of his fellow captives exclaimed, pointing out the barred window on the other side of the wagon. Enoch crossed to the other window and looked out. He could see a wide open, arena-like area - a flat sandy area surrounded by ascending stone walls and naturally stepped stone jutted out in rising concentric circles from the center, creating natural seating areas. People were perched on these outcroppings by the hundreds, if not thousands. They held torches that filled the area with light.  

But Enoch's eyes were drawn to the center. The flat area in the middle of the arena was filled with bodies rising and falling in adoration and supplication of the very central object - an ancient stone altar supporting a gaudy statue of a man. A man with a mark etched into his face, and his fist raised against heaven, his eyes bitterly squinting into the dark sky above them. 

"Is there no man to challenge me?" Enoch whispered, remembering the words he had heard Cain utter years ago. Just as he spoke, a hooded figure passed by his wagon, striding swiftly in the direction of the arena. The figure appeared female, but Enoch couldn't see her face. The first woman was followed by a second, who Enoch saw and to his great surprise, recognized. It was the girl he had seen locked up in prison wagon in his own village just days earlier - Maori. 

He reached out the window suddenly to get her attention. She jumped back at the surprise hand appearing in front of her, and hurried to catch up to the other woman as quickly as she could in the throng. She didn't see him. He saw that she carried a mallet, one that might be used to forge metal. She staggered just a little under the weight. 

Naamah threaded her way toward Cain's statue, her heart pounding so hard and fast that she thought she might explode. Her countrymen did not pay any attention to her as she approached the altar. Their eyes were fixed on the visage of their marked leader, a face made all the more fiercely grotesque in the firelight from a thousand torches. Naamah slowed, held by the cruelty in those hollow clay eyes for a long moment. Cain seemed to be mocking her for what she was about to do. Was she really so foolish as to put actions to the thought that had been implanted in her mind just moments before? She would not dare. If she dared, she would die.

Azrael watched her slow. He could feel her resolve melting under the image's deadly stare. Perhaps this was too much for her. He began moving toward her, thinking of all the words of courage he would speak to her. It was now or never. Then he stopped, in awe. 

She shed her cloak, leaving only her plain white dress, and strode forward. One hand on a top altar stone, she dug her foot into a crevice between two other stones and launched herself upward. She stood, reaching one hand out to rest on Cain's thigh to steady herself. The drone of prayers and supplications faded as the people watched in confusion as the girl stood on the altar, dwarfed by the image. 

She looked out over the masses with fury in her eyes. 

"Why do you pray to Cain?" Her voice echoed throughout the hushed space. "His cruelty has brought this evil on us! Pray rather to his Creator, and we may be spared!" After her words had ending their rebounding from the rocks, a moment of deathly silence followed before a murmur of confusion met her cry. It took the listeners several moments before they realized exactly how blasphemous were the words they had just heard.

The rising moan of confusion emanating from the crowd began to turn sour and dangerous. Naamah looked down to see Maori standing below her, Tubal's blacksmith hammer in hand. Naamah reached for it, and Maori heaved the heavy hammer up to her. Her job complete, Maori melted away into the crowd.

Naamah swung the hammer over her head, her body almost buckling underneath the weight. And with a heave, she let the hammer fall against the statue's ankle. A crack resounded in the arena as clay shards when flying. The crowd gasped. 

Naamah picked up a chunk of clay, holding it out to them.

"Don't you see?" She cried. "It is made of nothing more than clay, like your own flesh! Beg rather the one that breathed life into the earth and made mankind, and maybe he will spare us from our enemies!"

Enoch's hands were white, he was gripping the bars of his small window so tightly. He could not believe what he was seeing. He had never heard of anyone brave enough to defy Cain. His own father had attacked Cain in battle, but he had done so not knowing it was Cain until it was too late. But this girl - a Cainite and from an important lineage, from the looks of her apparel - was standing against Cain and every one of his devoted worshipers. 

"How can anything good come out of Nod?" Enoch whispered.