The Third Jewel of Earth

By James W. Greenhalge

It is a love storya wedding feast with all of the guests absent without cause. It is a mathematical equation, thrown into chaos by disruptive variables, but struggling to return to symmetry. . . . He leaned forward in his chair for emphasis. It is war! Everyone playseveryone travelseverything that is good and perfect about this life for all eternity is at stakeand the winner takes all.

The traveling continues! The Third Jewel of Earth follows the ongoing journal of a solitary man swept up into a fantastic battle to save his world. But is it really his world? Centaurs, trolls, and animal-headed human compromises inhabit this strange new reality, with malevolent eternal enemies bent upon his destruction. And the pendant about his neck glows with the presence of the first two Jewels. Shouldnt Wisdom and Knowledge be enough? Sequel to his popular novels, The First and Second Jewels of Earth, the author takes you on another journey to the distant past, surveying Biblical prophesy, ancient history-and your future!

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Nov 10, 2005
• ISBN: 9781468520088

James W. Greenhalge

Even as a boy, your author has always had trouble staying fixed at one moment in time. While an overly active imagination is charming in a young child, a mature adult should behave better. Your author's interests flow easily from one topic to another…past, present and future. Fascination with the scientific method, the reality of faith, and a study of the law leads smoothly into the imagination of science fiction. A love of History and human culture compete with a sense of the mystical and the magical. His friends and family will be overjoyed about the re-publishing of this book; now, someone else can listen to his flights of fancy! A traveler at heart, your author is comfortable at home or on the road, in foreign countries or in a local coffee shop. A college graduate, an Army officer, an orator and Christian church leader, a college professor, a licensed attorney, and a prolific writer! And he loves computer-generated games! When some grounding in this reality is required, he is a private practice attorney in Grand Junction, Colorado. His loving wife, Mary, has traveled with him for more than forty-six years, and their son is also married, and has given them a wonderful daughter-in-law and three marvelous grandchildren, and a grand-dog. "If we begin with the premise that there is a design to this universe," says the author, "the truth of its construction is just waiting to be discovered. Life is a journey of discovery, and we are all travelers. I hope you can see yourself in the pages of this book. It was written with you in mind!"

Book preview

© 2005 James W. Greenhalge. All Rights Reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 10/19/05

ISBN: 1-4208-9205-3 (sc)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2005909134

Printed in the United States of America

Bloomington, Indiana

Contents

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 30

CHAPTER 31

CHAPTER 32

CHAPTER 33

CHAPTER 34

CHAPTER 35

CHAPTER 36

CHAPTER 37

CHAPTER 38

CHAPTER 39

CHAPTER 40

CHAPTER 41

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

CHAPTER 1

He drank deeply from his coffee cup, enjoying the rich sensations —the weight of the cup in his hand, the taste of the liquid on his tongue, the warmth in his throat. He really missed drinking coffee when he traveled for the King. Once it was almost impossible to imagine a world without coffee. Now he had been there twice. Even still, it all seemed like an illusion.

Patrons, the library closes in ten minutes. Please make your final selections at this time and proceed to check-out.

He smiled contentedly, recognizing Amanda’s voice over the intercom. That was no illusion. He had made his final selection concerning this woman and she was wonderful. In the weeks since returning from the last mysterious adventure, they had spent every evening together talking about their experiences, their ambitions, and their hopes for the future. Discussing the incredible insights and personal growth gained from these strange experiences with another person was so liberating. He had never fully realized how the burden of being alone on these supernatural quests—the only mortal involved—was affecting him. But now he was not alone! There were others! He could share the experiences with Amanda. His world was transformed.

Romance was another new adventure for him, as well. Exploring uncharted territory, every moment with her was a new revelation. Before being touched personally by this feeling of love, he always suspected romance was just silly emotionalism—certainly not meant for him. You could not prove the existence of love to someone who had never experienced it. Now immersed in its warmth and intimate embrace, he could not imagine his world without it. What was it like before tasting love? He could not remember.

Colors were more intense—music was brighter—time passed differently. His senses were heightened. Anyone outside of this wonderful experience would accuse him of making it all up, but those blessed few who had been truly touched by love in their lifetime would understand. Love seemed unattainable—now life without it seemed inconceivable. What had once been complete romantic nonsense to him suddenly became his new reality. Though he could not see it or prove its existence, love was real to him. So much of his world had been changed with his own experiences.

Like his world before tasting coffee—or his shallow perceptions of reality before the last adventure—mused the man absently as he gently swirled the contents of the cup in his hand. To someone who had never tasted coffee, the sensation was almost indescribable. The first sip was bitter and repugnant. But then something changed and a new world with coffee replaced the old one without it. He stared out of the library’s window, watching the last rays of the day lengthen and turn golden with the sunset. Someone who had never experienced the world from the King’s perspective would think his last two adventures were just elaborate fairy tales!

Final selections have indeed been made, said a strong masculine voice behind him, and the time is rapidly approaching for checking out.

He cringed. Not again—not now!

He was finally happy and fulfilled. Life was good! They could not take that away! A sense of panic swept over him and he quickly placed his cup on the table. It had been so long. One selfish part of him secretly hoped the journeys for the unseen King of another reality were over. To be transported out of a life that he disliked was one thing—an easy sacrifice after the first adventure—but life was finally turning in his favor. It was cheap and exciting to serve the King out of his poverty because there were no better options. Now he had something far more valuable, something that might be lost in His service. The personal risks had significantly increased after the second adventure. Amanda!

Footsteps approached his table.

You seem well-rested, Traveler, observed the companion behind him.

Yad’el, affirmed the stunned man, staring at his hands clasped apprehensively before him on the table. He did not turn in his seat to greet his friend.

Asked and answered, responded his taciturn companion, amicably. However, you seem less than pleased to see me again.

The man dropped his chin, noticing the marvelous jeweled pendant hanging about his neck. He had been trying to ignore the pendant—trying to deny the incomplete commission that it represented—but instinctively he knew this day was coming. Just not now!

It has all been so good, muttered the disappointed man.

"Has been good—the past tense?" Yad’el came around from behind him and sat down in the chair opposite the man at the table. The ethereal companion was just as he always was—blonde-haired, muscular, and handsome—twenty years old or twenty thousand years old—he could never tell. To anyone else watching them, they appeared to be two friends waiting for the library to close. But he knew this strange companion could alter everything in his existence—effortlessly—without warning.

You’re going to take me away from all this? asked the man anxiously, expressing his deepest fear. I knew it was too good to last.

Said not! answered Yad’el curtly, losing none of his good humor.

The man brightened. You’re not taking me away from here?

I have never taken you away from anything, corrected his companion. These are your missions, Traveler. Remember? You are a volunteer. Do you still serve the King?

I want to, Yad’el - you know I do. But there is an element of danger being with you. He leaned forward earnestly, glancing at the closest library patrons at adjacent tables, making sure that they could not overhear this conversation. Could I really be killed when I am traveling with you?

Yad’el also leaned forward, mimicking his sincerity. You are mortal—here, there, and everywhere.

"You see? The man snapped back. Following you could get me killed."

Death can find you wherever you are. Yad’el relaxed back in his chair, looking around the room. And you do not follow me, corrected his companion, growing increasingly cross with this line of questioning. Together, we follow the King.

Enough of those old riddles, Yad’el. It is all just semantics anyway, argued the man, hotly. I never know where we are going when I am with you, or what we will be doing when we get there! If it were my choice, I wouldn’t be leaving here at all.

I see, said his companion solemnly, turning his head toward the front desk of the library. Your priorities have changed.

Please leave Amanda out of this, interjected the man quickly, growing agitated. I don’t want to see her hurt.

Hurt? Yad’el leaned back further in his chair. He focused his deep brown eyes on the man sitting before him.

She’s mortal, too! explained the Traveler.

Yad’el nodded in solemn agreement. Yes, I know—just as mortal as you are!

A dark and sinister doubt crossed the man’s mind.

You wouldn’t hurt her, would you? he asked, suddenly unsure of his companion’s loyalty. He had seen and experienced so much—and yet he knew so little about this amazing creature sitting across the table from him.

Is that all the better you know me? asked his companion, his gaze narrowing. The furnace deep within his eyes grew hotter. Is that the extent of your trust in the King’s provision?

It is so dangerous following the King, objected the Traveler.

Life is dangerous, pilgrim, returned Yad’el, coldly. You are simply being allowed to see the broader horizon—how dangerous your mortal life truly is!

A broader horizon that could be avoided entirely, if we simply didn’t travel there.

Yad’el shook his head slowly. Another lie of the enemy in rewriting human history—the vague belief in some benign, neutral ground in the conflict, safe haven from the gathering storm. There is no island of calm untouched by the struggle, Traveler. We all travel! There is no avoiding the decisions that must be made. Decisions and consequences. Failing to choose sides is one of your choices—a very poor one.

There is no way to avoid it?

You cannot avoid the future for yourself, nor can you make those decisions for others. It is a crisis that comes in every life.

Just mortal lifetimes? questioned the man, pensively.

Yad’el looked away. Every lifetime! The consequences may be different, but the decisions are common to every sentient creature within this Creation. We all travel!

But mortals might die if they choose badly, persisted the man.

Mortals will die, whatever choices are made in life, corrected his companion, harshly. And there are consequences to bad choices far worse than death.

But what about love, and peace, and security? begged the Traveler, looking in the direction of the library entrance and Amanda. You once said that this was all a love story! Where is the chance for personal happiness within these awful choices?

Personal happiness as the ultimate goal of your traveling? summarized his stern companion. He shook his head skeptically. No, Traveler. Peace, happiness, and security defined by your circumstances are shallow and hedonistic illusions. By the very definition of mortality, those conditions cannot last. The worst lie is believing that by grasping for a moment’s happiness you are taking hold of all there might be in your life. Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die! His penetrating eyes were fixed steadfastly on the man. That is short-sighted and selfish; you must have faith in the King’s greater provision for you. His reach far exceeds your grasp.

Is my own happiness too much to ask for in exchange for service to the King?

How do you define your own happiness? asked Yad’el sharply, following the man’s gaze toward the library entrance. A few happy years spent with her, hiding from the conflict, hoping to pass through this life unnoticed and unscathed. That is truly believing in fantasies, mortal—more fantastic than a world populated by centaurs, elves, and jinns.

Or angels and demons, interjected the man.

Even angels and demons, affirmed his companion. You must believe in the plan.

So how am I to define happiness? asked the man, frustrated and deflated by the grim assessment of a future based on endless conflict.

What have you learned in your travels? asked Yad’el, gesturing toward the pendant hanging about the man’s neck. Of course he could see it—he came from the same supernatural reality. No mortal eye could see the object of his inquiry.

What I fear comes upon me, recalled the man, slowly. The fear of the King is the beginning of Wisdom. Your life must be stripped bare of preconceptions, prejudices, and affinities to find Truth. Wisdom is the vertical alignment with revelation from above, while Knowledge is the accurate, horizontal perception of reality around you. Together, they form Truth.

Yad’el sighed deeply, clearly disappointed by the man’s incomplete answer. I wish it could be that easy for you, but humans always struggle with grasping Truth. They can possess the gifts of wisdom and knowledge, and still deny the truth placed right before their eyes.

What is the point of all this traveling? snapped back the man, angry at the rebuke. Library patrons nearby looked up in his direction, expressing their indignation with their eyes. No one would believe this story if I told them! he whispered. He grasped the pendant and held it up to his companion. I have the jewels and I don’t understand it.

Yad’el nodded, crossing his arms and staring intently at the man across the table. And your progress is measured by your own understanding?

More riddles! The Traveler slapped the palms of his hands on the table. The pendant swung back to his chest. I found the jewels of Wisdom and Knowledge, but they have not provided me with more understanding!

There is more to accurately comprehending reality than what you can perceive with your senses, answered Yad’el. He pointed to the pendant swinging free beneath the man’s chin. How do Wisdom and Knowledge explain love, or hope, or loyalty?

The man clenched his jaw and looked away.

There is substance to things unseen, affirmed Yad’el confidently, trying to encourage the frustrated mortal sitting before him. You must believe in the plan. The first jewel can give you insight into His purposes, and the second jewel can allow you to see the plan, but there is more to traveling than merely accepting what is empirically provable. The King has chosen you for this mission. Must you understand why?

I need something to hold on to, muttered the man through his clenched teeth. Otherwise, everything becomes speculation.

Yad’el leaned forward, slowly rising from his chair. It seemed to the Traveler that the companion increased in size and power as he approached. The Traveler instinctively recoiled, but his companion merely stood over the table, placing his left hand flatly on the tabletop, and gestured for the man to lean forward with his right hand. The Traveler hesitated, but Yad’el smiled warmly and repeated his gesture. The man leaned slowly forward.

There is substance to things unseen, mortal, just as surely as there is love and hope in the world, said his companion. He solemnly reached across the tabletop and reverently touched the Traveler’s pendant with two outstretched fingers. The central blue stone glowed brightly in response.

Hold out your right hand, instructed his companion, quietly. He cupped his own fingers to open his palm beneath the man’s pendant, as if to receive something from it. The man swallowed hard, slowly raising his right hand from the tabletop and rotating it palm upward.

Yad’el’s expression softened, his focus totally transfixed by what he now held in his outstretched hand. Wonderment and awe radiated from his eyes. He solemnly lowered his own right hand away from the pendant, cradling its contents.

The Traveler saw nothing there. He started to object to this inexplicable behavior, but the rapt attention on his companion’s face silenced him. His companion believed! Yad’el brought his right hand adjacent to his own, also palm upward over the table.

Some things are earned on these travels—others are unmerited gifts from the King—while still other things simply fall into our hands, continued Yad’el reverently, studying his own empty palm. And then there are those illusive things that cannot be measured or understood, learned or fully appreciated—only received and nurtured. He raised his gaze. Their eyes met.

I do not understand all of these things, Traveler, but I believe in the plan! Yad’el looked back down at their open hands poised together over the tabletop. We are joined together in this quest. We succeed or fail together! He rotated his palm slowly, as if to transfer its contents to the man’s hand. I do not understand how you have been entrusted with this, but you have! You must believe in the plan.

The man stared at the two open palms before him. There was nothing there! Yad’el continued to rotate his hand.

Suddenly, it was there!

He could not see it, but there was an icy sensation that sent chills up and down his spine. Something like a cold, round sphere rolled into the middle of his own palm! His eyes widened in surprise. It had substance—weight and volume—yet his open palm appeared to be empty.

Yad’el slowly withdrew his hand, straightening his back and exhaling. Final selections have already been made, Traveler, he said quietly, from the very beginning of Time. He inhaled deeply, looking around him. It is closing time for humanity’s library. Many books are worthless—distractions and distortions deposited here by the enemy. But some … some wonderful volumes are well-worn and cherished. They are long and full of life. Others have never even been opened. No one takes you from the library, mortal! You must willingly leave it behind!

The Traveler stared at his open palm—empty to his sight, but filled by his other senses. Tears welled up in his eyes. He looked at Yad’el, shaking his head in confusion.

I do not understand it, repeated Yad’el, but I know it is there. He folded his arms across his chest. It is yours, given to you with the pendant!

Mine? The question came to the man’s lips, but Yad’el shook his head.

I am the wrong one to ask about those questions, said his companion. This is not part of my … job description. He smiled, sympathetically. They both knew he was hiding nothing from the man—even these amazing creatures had their limitations. Some things in this creation were left for Mankind to discover.

Place your hand back over your heart and return the jewel to its place in your pendant.

The Traveler stared at his empty palm for a long moment, his senses warring with his mind. Nothing there—yet something cold and bracing was centered in his hand. He raised his right hand slowly to his chest, until it brushed up against his pendant. The unseen jewel rolled away, yet it was not gone. He knew it was there—unseen in the pendant—occupying one of the five empty facets. The brilliant blue center stone sparkled richly with the presence of the new jewel, as though deepened and magnified by its arrival. The red stone called Sophia burned with an inner fire, fanned to furnace heat by its addition to their constellation. And the orange stone called Galah joined in happy concert with the others, shining with a bright confidence. Then he heard it again—the throbbing rhythm, the strident melody, the soaring harmonic chorus. His world was filled with the song of creation—his very body vibrating in time with its ethereal chords.

Traveler?

The pendant was always so captivating. He had tried to ignore it, but the revelation of the unseen third stone seemed to rekindle its magic, encompassing him once again within a sphere of belonging. He did not understand it—perhaps he would never understand it—but in that moment understanding was not half so important as belonging.

Traveler?

Yad’el’s hand was on his arm and the companion was standing beside him. He blinked in surprise.

We must be going, affirmed the Traveler distantly, slowly returning from that wondrous, celestial concert. He was touched by something that transcended happiness—even beyond fullness, peace, and security—there was wholeness and belonging, symmetry and oneness. There was … love!

Something for you to hold on to? asked Yad’el.

The Traveler nodded. He could leave the library now.

CHAPTER 2

In a swirl of color, texture, and temperature, the scene around him abruptly changed to a kaleidoscope of impressions. He was growing more accustomed to these sudden sensory disorientations, but traveling with his companion was still so startling. One moment he was studying the marvelous pendant cradled in his hands while standing in the library, in the next flashing instant he was translated to a verdant pastoral countryside bathed in bright afternoon sunshine. The undisturbed blue vault of heaven stretched to the horizon over his head in every direction. The Traveler squinted at the sudden brightness. Yad’el released his grip on the man’s arm and gestured toward the treeline to the south.

Where are we? Thinking of a better question, he added, When are we? His clothes were transformed—his sweater and jeans were gone—he was wearing the coarse linen jerkin and leather breaches of his previous journeys. The broad leather belt called Emeth girded his loins—the large silver disk with the dreadful rampant lion centered over his abdomen. His sneakers were gone—his feet once again shod with the magical elfin sandals that never wore out and guided him in the pathways of peace.

Yad’el smiled. I believe it has something to do with your quest, answered his companion, slyly.

The Traveler returned his gaze to the pendant still cradled in his hands. Although his clothes, the time of day, and the location had all changed in that moment, the pendant remained constantly above his heart. Will she miss me?

Yad’el immediately understood the man’s question—Amanda was left behind in the library. He sighed, considering his words. Partings were hard for temporal creatures—they were so keenly aware of the linear timeline lying before them. They could only see the departures and the painful absences. To him and his own kind, time was circular and continuous—absences automatically became reunions.

She would want you to fulfill your destiny, explained his companion solemnly, even if it meant an absence from her. Wouldn’t you accept the same sacrifice for her?

The Traveler shook his head, unsure of his willingness to trust in an uncertain future. He was being asked to believe that it would all work out in the end, when he was painfully aware that there were unseen dangers lurking all about him. Things did not always seem to be working out well in the present. He studied the distant treeline and the surrounding countryside.

This isn’t the Kannim, he surmised, changing the subject. The distant trees to the south were tall, deciduous hardwoods and the flat, verdant pastureland around them rolled away evenly into the distance in every direction. To the north, in the far distance, shimmered a large body of water. It was serene and lovely. He carefully replaced the pendant onto his chest.

No, it is not, agreed Yad’el. We are hundreds of miles north of the region that will eventually be known as the Kannim. This area will not even be named on the maps of your century.

The Traveler grimaced—another contradictory riddle. How could a place not have a name in his own century?

Yad’el only smiled, enigmatically. Regarding the time, his companion hesitated, making some calculations, we are much earlier in time than either of your previous adventures, except for the day spent in the Garden.

The Garden? repeated the Traveler, reminded of yet another aching disappointment with these strange quests. He was separated from that vision of happiness, as well. There was a gate, a wall, and an ethereal guardian preventing his return. He rubbed his chest, experiencing once again the bright orange pain of Azriel’s sword dissembling his mortal existence. The Garden—so beautiful and full of promise—so distant and forbidden. How was he expected to believe in a benevolent future when there were so many losses in the present?

And the reason why we are here? asked the Traveler.

Yad’el grinned. That is in your job description—and your future. He worked a small leather purse loose from his own belt and handed it to the Traveler. There is something valuable to be learned in living every day.

You’re leaving me again?

Asked and answered, affirmed his companion, beginning to fade from view. The habitations of men make us uncomfortable. Particularly these men and their habitations.

The Traveler looked around him. There was no evidence of humanity in any direction.

Where are you going? he asked quickly, reaching for his disappearing companion.

Also asked and answered, responded Yad’el pleasantly, as his image merged with the gentle breeze. I am always with you, even when I am not there.

The Traveler grimaced —another riddle. "And where am I going?"

You are going to grow in your belief in the plan. His companion was gone from his sight.

Right, sighed the man, turning in place. There was no clue to his direction of travel, but Yad’el had gestured toward the south. He began walking in that general direction.

His dark and brooding thoughts began to fade as he walked toward the treeline. It was a warm and pleasant day. The grasses and flowers surrounding him were in full bloom, rejoicing in their abundant life. Insects made their rounds. He would have to trust Amanda and the Garden to the future—what other choice was there? He ran his fingers around the heavy filigree etched across the face of the disk on his belt. He could feel the reassuring regularity of the silver roping running around the circumference of the disk and the sharp teeth of the rampant lion ready to pounce upon its prey. What was it he learned on the first adventure—what you fear comes upon you? He nodded his head in agreement with that strange benediction. It was simultaneously a grim prediction of danger and a strangely comforting reassurance of assistance. The choice was always his—who or whatever would he fear? The circumstances surrounding him were only temporary. Depending on his choices, that which he feared would come upon him!

There was a gentle upslope to his climb toward the treeline. It seemed he was walking slowly toward the edge of some great saucer-shaped valley. As he neared the verge of the forest, he could see a narrow, dusty road outlining the closest edge. It was obviously man-made. His senses heightened and he searched for other signs of human habitation. Only then did he hear a strange sound reverberating in the distance—an odd clop followed by an extended silence. Then another identical clop. Having no other clues to follow, he headed in that direction.

Reaching the roadway, he followed it westward. It was more like a narrow dirt rut worn into the deep sod by repetition, flanked by two broader paths marked with large, cloven hoof prints. A woodsman dragging trees behind oxen? The Traveler scanned the forest to his left. Birds chirped happily in the younger trees, squirrels went about their business, undisturbed by the repetitive "clop" in the distance. After a few hundred yards, the road turned abruptly into the forest. He followed it southward.

The air was immediately cooler under the canopy of trees overhead and the gentle breeze smelled of verdant life. The undergrowth surrounding him was composed of short grasses and small shrubs, leaving him a wide view into the surrounding woods. While the Traveler was apprehensive about who he might run into, what were his choices? He had no weapon. He ran his fingers along his sternum, searching for the invisible sword that he knew was there, affixed to the magical breastplate that would appear when summoned. He considered summoning them now for his own reassurance, but that seemed petty and inappropriate. It was the King’s armor after all, reserved for the King’s purposes. And there was no apparent danger here. He peered into the foliage until he could no longer see the trees as they merged into the forest. Several small, ocher-colored deer were surprised by his arrival in their world. Ears and tails went up, black eyes peered back at him for a long moment, then in a flashing leap they were gone. As he penetrated deeper into the woods, the trees grew much larger, taller, and more mature.

Clop. The repetitive sound was much closer now.

He did not recognize the species of tree surrounding him, but they were tall, leafy hardwoods. Sunlight filtered through their green boughs. It was disarmingly warm and beautiful. The Traveler forced himself to be more careful. He slowed his pace and began looking for the source of the strange noises.

The sunlight gradually brightened as he approached the edge of a large clearing in the midst of the forest, hundreds of ragged stumps bearing witness to the work of the woodsmen. Across the clearing, another hundred yards away, were four men working on a fallen tree. One man, obviously the oldest, was pulling away branches shorn from the trunk. Another younger man was tying a heavy rope to the base of the tree, while the remaining two woodsmen worked further up the trunk, shearing away the branches and the bark. One man knelt on the ground holding a sharpened stone wedge against the base of a branch, while the other muscular man swung a heavy stone mallet.

Clop. The stone mallet bounced off of the wedge.

The Traveler stopped to consider this surprising revelation. An axe would be so much more efficient, he reasoned, but there was no evidence of metal being used here. How far back in time had he come? These were primitive men. His previous excursions had been to the late Bronze Age. He had learned to trust the pendant hanging about his neck to translate their language for him—it was only one amazing characteristic of the King’s commission. That was good news! He always had a language in common with humanity, wherever he traveled. But he wondered if these primitive men would have a language that could be translated? So much had changed in the intervening millennia, so many advancements in technology and human progress separated them. Deciding he had no better option, he began picking his way across the clearing.

Clop. The stone mallet swung in its arch.

The four men were dressed in leather leggings with furry boots. All had full, heavy beards, and shaggy, uncut hair braided back from their faces. The oldest man was gray–headed, but they were all lean outdoorsmen with skin as dark as the leather they wore. The three younger men were stripped to the waist for work, well-muscled and healthy. The old man wore a thigh-length leather jerkin decorated with bright beads and moved more deliberately. They were surprisingly tall and handsome—the Traveler shook his head. Shouldn’t they be brooding, primitive Neanderthals—short and heavy set with sloping foreheads—naked or clad in crude animal skins?

Clop. The man holding the wedge looked up, complaining about the near miss that threatened to strike his outstretched hands. He was going to yell at the chopper, but he stopped when he saw the Traveler approaching them. A warning was given and all four men turned to face him. The man at the rope ran to a pile of supplies next to the team of oxen standing nearby and armed himself with a stone-tipped spear.

The Traveler stopped, his hands open and spread apart. What period of history preceded the Bronze Age? He tried to remember his ancient history—never his best subject. The Stone Age—new uses of stone and wood—the Neolithic Age? Then there was also a Tool Age somewhere back then. He was not sure of his facts. Surely these people were supposed to be primitive barbarians. There must have been some mistake in this assignment. What lessons could he possibly learn here?

I mean you no harm, shouted the Traveler, surprising himself with the string of guttural grunts and vocalizations that came from his mouth. It was certainly not Chalvean, nor any other language he had encountered in the Kannim.

Who you? shouted the old man, suspiciously. The two younger men working on the tree moved to join him, bringing the mallet and the stone spike with them.

A nomad—far from lodge, answered the Traveler. It was not what he intended to say—he was going to say he was a traveler far from home.

Go away! shouted the old man. We have no words with you!

Nephala? asked the youngest man, turning to address the older man. Father—son! It had to be, reasoned the Traveler, watching their familiarity. The old man gestured for silence.

The Traveler glanced around him, listening for any coaching from his invisible companions. Yad’el and Latris had helped him before, but there was a decided tendency to let him fend for himself. Nothing—perhaps a chuckle carried on the gentle breeze.

I would talk with you.

The old man gestured at him rudely, dismissing him. Be gone. No time for words!

I help you? offered the Traveler.

No help. No words. No time.

The Traveler sighed. This was unexpected. He backed up, indicating his assent to the old man’s orders, then turned and began following the crude road back toward the closest woodline. Another waste of time, he argued with himself. How had he picked this course? He was going to find Yad’el and get better answers.

As he neared the edge of the clearing, he noticed again the shallow rut worn into the sod, and the complete lack of felled trees in the clearing. These men had been working long and hard on a large project involving a great deal of lumber. He turned to look back at the four woodsmen. A heated debate had broken out amongst them after he left. They all argued their position, then the old man directed them back to work. They all resumed their duties, but the strange intruder was now under constant observation. The Traveler went over to a stump roughly sheared away a few feet above the ground and leaned against it. He would wait until they were done with their chores. Then there might be time for words.

It took another hour of hard work to denude the fallen tree of its branches and bark. By then, the base of the tree was tied by a thick rope hitch to two large, indolent, and hairy oxen with long sweeping horns. The rope was attached to a crude, wooden harness lying across their broad, muscular shoulders. Satisfied with their preparations, the old man directed his crew to pack up their gear. A leather switch was snapped over the heads of the cattle and the two huge beasts leaned into their harnesses. Slowly, encouraged by the shouting and cajoling of the three younger men, the oxen stepped forward and the log began to move.

It was slow progress for the work party. Dragging was so much slower than rolling. But these men had not yet invented the skid, let alone the roller or the wheel. It was hard labor - human and animal - being converted into slow and grinding progress. The Traveler had never considered the procession of civilization over the centuries in quite this way. And even this limited progress was infinitely better than the age before the domestication of animals, an age when humans were merely hunter/gatherers relying on their own limited strength. How many centuries had passed between him and these crude men?

They worked their way slowly past his position, all eyes on him, but avoiding eye contact. No one spoke to him. The wild and hairy oxen walked on either side of the central rut, pulling the log behind them. The youngest man coaxed the oxen forward, while the other two men carried the gear. The old man walked behind the procession, using the crude spear as a walking stick. The Traveler allowed them to pass by and proceed well into the woods before falling in behind them. He kept his distance, obvious but not threatening. At first they checked on his presence continuously, but after an hour of slow plodding, the checks became more random. Apparently they had decided to ignore him in the hope that he would go away. They cleared the woodline and turned to the east, following the rut. The Traveler tagged along behind, arguing to himself about the waste of his time.

It was approaching sunset when they finally crested a long rolling hill that ran northward down to a lakeshore in the far distance. Off to their right, much closer to their direction of travel, was a low, crudely built greathouse made of stacked earthen bricks of sod and rough-hewn timber, surrounded by several other smaller houses of similar earth and wood construction, and a single great oak tree to provide shade in the beaten earth of the courtyard. An incredibly large and primitive wooden barn was being erected directly behind them. The barn was being built into a draw on the hillside, so that they could use the grassy slopes on either end of it for their scaffolding and braces. It appeared to be almost completed. The air smelled thickly of pine tar. Two young women worked at a large open-air furnace with a crude stone vat built on top of it. A dark, viscous liquid boiled in the vat, and a dark billow of smoke rose from the fire beneath it, adding a gray haze to the surrounding area. Off to the left, a mile or so away, was a small human settlement of similar crude huts surrounded by coarsely tilled fields. Even further away, along the distant lakeshore, were more huts and small fishing boats. There were people moving about the town and fields, but much too far away for the Traveler to make out any details.

The four woodsmen and their oxen turned to the right, following the rut to their simple open courtyard. Lighter gray smoke curled upward from a stone hearth in the center of the greathouse. A few birds vaguely resembling chickens sat perched in a row along the western edge of the hovel, like a gaily colored choir. An old woman dressed in coarse brown clothing, with hair back in a bun and bare feet, was sitting on a simple, wooden bench beneath a broad oak tree. She was working with a wooden spindlelike device hanging between her legs that was attached to a strand of wool. She looked up at their arrival and set aside her work. Getting up slowly, she started into the greathouse, but stopped abruptly when she saw a fifth figure following the men home. Shaking her head, she passed out of view.

The Traveler found a convenient boulder off to the right side of the road, quite some distance from their home, and sat down facing the encampment. It would probably be viewed as threatening to enter their homestead uninvited. He would wait until the evening chores were done, then see if they would receive him in any better spirits. They were not hostile, only suspicious and inhospitable. Glancing toward the left, he considered walking on into the town, but it would only mean provoking other awkward encounters.

The old woman came back out of the greathouse to greet the men when they arrived. Clearly, the Traveler became the immediate subject of their conversation. Gestures were made in his direction by the old woman and the three younger men, while the old man dismissed them all. There were chores to be done. They were dispatched to their duties and the stranger could wait.

The Traveler nodded and examined the scene with the detachment of an anthropologist. He surmised it was some sort of an extended family unit—parents and adult children—but there was no presence or evidence of smaller children in the homestead. He counted two young women at the fire and a third one crawling down from the scaffolding around the barn structure. Eight of them, four pairs? Odd that there were no children, considering that the three younger couples were all of child-rearing age.

And why such a large barn? It had no windows on its lower floors and only one large door centered in its closest long side. At least three stories tall, the building was ungainly and rectangular, blackened with pitch from ground to roof, and slightly broader at the top than the bottom. The roof was flat with a smaller cupola and small windows centered in the featureless expanse of black tar. It was crude and ugly, but still an amazing edifice for such a primitive culture.

After another hour of chores, the youngest of the four woodsmen left the encampment and moved toward his location. Although he moved confidently, there was still a slight hesitation in his step. As though he were bravely confronting the unknown, surmised the Traveler, watching his approach. He decided to remain seated on the boulder until the man spoke. It would be less threatening.

It is late, stated the man when he was still ten feet away.

The Traveler nodded.

You Nephala?

The words translated for him, but it had no meaning. The pendant could only interpret languages for the Traveler; foreign concepts required a common frame of reference to be fully understood. The Traveler shrugged his shoulders.

I do not know Nephala, he responded.

No beard – no hair – rocks that dazzle, said the younger man, pointing to the Traveler’s belt.

No beard and short-cropped hair! The Traveler suddenly understood how unusual he appeared to these people. And his belt! The Traveler looked down at the large round disk with the rampant lion centered over his abdomen. How would he explain metals to this primitive man? And even he did not know what the metal was in reality. Light as aluminum, yet hard as steel. He shrugged again.

The way of my people, he said, the words sounded clipped and foreign to his own ear.

Why you here?

I wander, responded the Traveler, realizing that the answer was unsatisfactory, but he could supply no other reason. Why was he here?

My people wandered many moons ago, offered the young man, perhaps twenty years old. His long, blonde hair was knotted behind his head, and his facial hair had not reached the luxuriant fullness of his father’s graying beard. You wander alone—no food or weapons?

The Traveler sighed. It is a puzzle, he agreed.

We not told about you coming here, admitted the younger man, gesturing back toward the camp behind him. Father says you sleep by tree, but in morning you be gone.

The Traveler rose from his boulder and gestured for the younger man to lead the way. He was a good foot and a half taller than his guide. Not told? Not told by whom?

Father guided by Great Spirit, explained the younger man, with little personal conviction. Keeping a few feet between them, he added, You not spirit?

No, not spirit, affirmed the Traveler, wondering about the strange admission. Guided by spirits? Venturing a guess, he asked, Spirits are Nephala?

The younger man shook his head grimly. Nephala high men like us. You not from here. Not like us! Spirits are spirits. Evidently the look of incredulity on the Traveler’s face betrayed his thinking, because the younger man bristled. You like high man, but not like us. Not like Nephala. Who you?

The Traveler struggled for words. High men and low men? Nephala—men from another planet? Spirits visiting regularly? The demonic rebellion in another form? Perhaps he was misunderstanding the translation given to him by the pendant. He examined the surrounding countryside more closely. Everything appeared to be consistent with the Earth of the distant past, after the end of the last ice age, but this man’s explanation was so strange and inconceivable. What was he doing here?

The Nephala—they from another place?

The younger man obviously had his own doubts about the strange intruder walking beside him. He regarded the Traveler suspiciously. Nephala here. He jerked his head toward the distant village. Where you from?

The Traveler gestured vaguely toward the west and the setting sun. Many days wandering. That was true, both geographically and temporally. So much more than language separated these two men.

The younger man shook his head in denial. No villages west of here—all the way to end of world. Father has said it!

End of the world? More puzzles! The simple man clearly thought this broad valley represented the entire world. And why not? In his entire lifetime, the young man may not have traveled more than a day’s journey from here in any direction. These people were not the nomads the Traveler had expected. The soil was fertile and wild game was abundant. To this man walking beside him, this valley was the entire world. Deciding that there was no explaining his own arrival here, the Traveler pursued his original line of questioning.

But the Nephala—they from here?

Only low men from here. First fathers of Nephala were at the beginning, just like our first fathers. They joined with daughters of low men. They left Way. Now they lords over low men.

The Traveler tried to find some meaning in the man’s words. Perhaps this litany was part of some elaborate religious training to explain the unknown? Beginning of the world? End of the world? Two races of men? These people thought he might be Nephala, and he was certainly a stranger to them. Perhaps Nephala was just another name for stranger?

You see Nephala?

The man nodded, picking his way downhill along the roadway.

You not Nephala? asked the Traveler.

The man nodded again. We stay on Way. They fallen.

I not Nephala? asked the Traveler, trying to understand the man’s meaning.

The man looked at him closely out of the corner of his eye. Not Nephala! Not us. Not spirit. Not animal. You strange one!

The Traveler was forced to agree with him on that point. He was certainly a stranger here in this place and time. Yad’el said it was many miles north of the Kannim, far earlier than his previous traveling. The Traveler surmised he was in the late Neolithic age in a far more temperate region of the planet, talking with a man who fully appeared to be Homo sapiens describing another race of men inhabiting the earth. The story was totally incredible.

The two of them reached the edge of the open courtyard and the younger man gestured toward the base of the lone oak tree. You sleep there. Fallen wolves—fallen lions—not come here. You safe for night.

Fallen wolves and lions? asked the Traveler, incredulously. You said Nephala fallen.

The younger man nodded, equally surprised by the man’s complete ignorance of such a common fact. In beginning time, highborne animals come with first High Man. Peace all around. Now, war! Bad highborne animals take blood—just like Nephala. Evil times.

The Traveler dropped down onto the crude bench beneath the tree, shaking his head in disbelief at this complete nonsense. Surely this was not part of human history—his own history! The younger man left him there beneath the tree and entered the greathouse, leaving the Traveler alone with his turbulent thoughts. What could he possibly learn here with these strange, ignorant people? He called out softly for Yad’el, but there was no response.

CHAPTER 3

The temperature dropped quickly with the setting of the evening sun. He hugged the light jerkin closely to his body. It was colder here, much colder than his recent memories of the Kannim. A long-legged, rangy-looking dog came out from underneath the pelt serving as a makeshift door to the greathouse. He stopped on the stone threshold, gave the strange arrival by the oak tree a long and measured surveillance, then ambled away into the growing darkness without comment. Apparently the foreign visitor was to be tolerated in the camp—the dog did not seem interested in him.

The Traveler caught a whiff of freshly baked bread and felt a burst of heat from a warm hearth inside the greathouse. His stomach gnawed at him. Was this some kind of test? Could he offer to buy some food and a seat by the fire? He fingered the purse Yad’el had given him, wondering what served as collateral here. The brightest evening stars already gleamed coldly in the night sky overhead, providing him with no insight into his problems. A light breeze blew through the branches above his head.

A few minutes later, the pelt hanging across the doorway was drawn fully back and a shaft of orange firelight darted across the courtyard. The younger man he had met earlier that day emerged from the greathouse with a crude earthen bowl in one hand, a half-eaten loaf of bread under his arm, and an animal skin draped over his other arm. He handed them unceremoniously to the Traveler.

Father say food and skin wasted on you, he explained, but Mother say we no need food and skin now.

Thank you! And thank Father and Mother for me, said the Traveler gratefully, wrapping the animal skin around himself. Especially Mother! The younger man was now wearing a tanned leather pullover decorated with beads and strings, not unlike the outfits worn by early American Indians. He seemed willing to talk. The younger man waited, leaning against the sod wall of the greathouse, while the Traveler started on his meal. It was a hearty lentil and bean soup, seasoned only with salt, but it was warm and filling. The bread was heavy and freshly baked, made with coarsely ground wheat flour. Occasionally, his teeth grated on bits of stone as he ate it. Another test? No, probably the wheat was ground on a flat stone with another stone crushing the kernels of grain. He spit out the bits of gravel.

You say animals take blood? asked the Traveler between bites, returning to their previous conversation. You say that bad? Carnivorous animals always killed their prey—why was the taking of blood surprising to these people?

Animals who come with first High Man had Life. Life is blood. Evil take blood!

The Traveler pulled the animal skin tightly around him. But you wear leather! Leather from animals. He gestured to the skin wrapped about his shoulders. You use animal hides. There was killing and taking of blood.

The younger man was obviously disgusted by the Traveler’s crude comparison. He grimaced and stiffened. We honor lowborne animals—given for needs. No eat them! Not the high Way!

Vegetarians? The Traveler looked down at his bowl. Broth and bread. These people were not obsessed with the taking of life as he had first thought—they were concerned about the eating of it. Some of the animals, and apparently the Nephala, had become carnivores over time. Perhaps Nephala indicated a flesh-eating human. Suddenly, a small part of the man’s narration earlier that day began to make some sense for the Traveler. There was a natural order to their life here in this wide valley that included the entire animal kingdom. The Nephala were intentionally violating that natural order.

You no take blood for eating? confirmed the Traveler between mouthfuls.

The younger man nodded his head once, confirming his theory.

High animals no take blood for eating, added the Traveler. But Nephala – they take blood for eating. This bad?

The younger man nodded again tentatively in agreement with his assertions, seeming to follow his thinking.

But some animals - always eat meat, yes? pursued the Traveler.

Only lowborne animals, objected the younger man, shifting his weight to his other foot. Highborne animals keep the Way. But like fallen men—fallen animals take mates from low animals. Evil times now.

High animals and low animals? repeated the Traveler, shaking his head. I no see your words. This primitive language was so frustrating. The primitive man’s complex thoughts and nuances were reduced to short, guttural sentences that failed to convey his meaning.

The younger man crossed his arms defiantly. You not know high Way?

Perhaps we call it another name, admitted the Traveler, equally puzzled by this new information. You show high Way to me? He continued with his simple, but filling meal.

Show? The young man was exasperated at having to explain something so obvious and self-evident to a fool. When first High Man leave Garden, he and first High Mate come here. They had Life. High animals come from Garden, too. They had Life. High Man lord over all high animals. All good! His narrator paused, as though collecting his thoughts, and assessing how much this stranger was comprehending.

Some high men join with low women. High animals mate with low animals! They all leave Way. Nephala!

Wait, interrupted the Traveler between mouthfuls. You say first High Man and his Mate once live in different world?

Garden, answered the younger man, belligerently. No new story.

No, agreed the Traveler. I hear this story before, but no words like this. High animals come with High Man from Garden—high animals have Life? The Traveler sorted through his thoughts and memories of the ancient Biblical version of this same bizarre story. One fact he was sure of—at least, he thought he was sure of it. Only first High Man and High Woman have life!

The younger man shook his head contemptuously, disregarding the Traveler’s ignorance of the truth, and waved his hand in dismissal. The stranger was hopelessly ignorant. He turned to leave.

Wait, begged the Traveler. I not see! Help me see!

The man hesitated, then breathed deeply and finished his story. Fallen world displease Great Spirit over all things. Take blood. Leave Way. Man leave Way. Animals leave Way. Evil all over! Evil must end! The young man looked around him at the beautiful evening sky dappled with stars, the great tree in their courtyard with its branches waving gracefully in the gentle breeze, and the starlight glittering off of the distant lake. Sounds of music and laughter could barely be heard emanating from the distant village. The idea of these expected endings clearly saddened him.

Whose words say it must end?

Great Spirit talk with Father. Father tell us. Soon!

I would speak with Father about Great Spirit.

The younger man shook his head and prepared to reenter the greathouse. No time. No words. He was gone.

The Traveler finished his meal in silence, wiping his bowl clean with the last crust of bread, pondering what he had learned from the young man. Surely this ancient belief system was somehow connected to the Garden and the human couple he had followed out of there on his previous adventure, but the facts were far different from the stories he had been taught as a child. Was there anything in his religious training about them being vegetarians? Or this high Way that the young man described? And this obsession with high and low animals? Two kinds of men—two kinds of animals—and an evil world. That was definitely not part of the training from his childhood. And yet, the younger man told the story like it was recent history. He finished his meal and placed the empty bowl on the stone threshold of the greathouse.

Hugging the tanned animal hide tightly about him, he headed out of the encampment back in the direction he had come earlier that day. Climbing up the gentle slope and reaching the same boulder and primitive crossroads, he turned and sat down facing the greathouse. A full moon was rising off of the eastern horizon, bathing the surrounding landscape in gentle, white lighting. In the distance, he could see bright orange torches blazing in the village and could hear the sound of a raucous party in progress.

Yad’el? called out the Traveler. I have a lot of questions!

The gentle evening breeze worked its way across the grassy hillside, but there was no response from his mysterious companion. He sighed, enjoying the beautiful, pastoral view of the countryside by night. It was not an evil world—at least not tonight. The people in the distant village sounded happy and carefree. Perhaps he should go there? Certainly they would have another perspective on these strange events. Besides, the patriarch of this small human clan had been so dismissive of him, anyway.

The Traveler was startled by the plaintive howl of a wolf coming from the darkened line of trees immediately behind him. He jumped up, whirled around, and peered into the darkness. Nothing moved, but the howl seemed very close. Licking his lips nervously, he recalled the young man’s admonition about low wolves taking blood. Was this a low wolf, or a high wolf? Was there a difference? He gauged the distance to the village and decided against it. Too far—too dark! Calling out for Yad’el again, a little quieter this time, he waited a few seconds longer. Hearing no response from his companion, he pulled the animal hide about him and headed back toward the greathouse.

As he came down the hillside, he was startled by the sight of a large, slinking black shadow moving silently across the courtyard below him. Wolves in the compound? These humans mistakenly thought they were safe from the predators. He started to call out a warning to the family in the greathouse, unaware of their imminent danger. But without hesitation, the slinking form nosed underneath the pelt strung across the door opening and entered the greathouse.

The dog!

The Traveler sighed in relief, recalling that he had seen the rangy animal leave the house earlier that evening. Dogs had become such an important addition to a human tribe. Once domesticated, they supplied men with hunting expertise, incredibly enhanced senses of smell and hearing, an early warning system against enemies, and loyal companionship at their hearth. Unlike so many other domesticated animals that seemed to keep some part of themselves wild and untamed, the dog’s alliance with Mankind was strong and enduring. The Traveler tried to imagine human history without the assistance of the faithful dog. How much longer would the transition from scavenger to hunter have taken Mankind without their assistance? How much darker and more threatening would the long nights have been without the reassurance of their canine senses? He glanced over his shoulder. It was certainly dark and threatening to him now.

As he reached the outlying buildings, the pelt covering the entrance opened once again, sending another shaft of bright orange firelight knifing across the courtyard. The Traveler moved quietly into the dark shadow cast by the building beside him and waited. The dark figures of a man and the dog were now standing on the stone threshold, motionless for a long moment. The man was clad in a crude animal skin jacket for warmth, with a thick ruff of fur left along the shoulders, and leather lacings down the front. In his right hand was the stone-tipped spear. He looked down at the empty serving bowl on the threshold and peered into the surrounding darkness. The dog trotted away to the left unconcerned, then hesitated for the man to follow his lead. Once his eyes were adjusted to the darkness, the man moved in the opposite direction toward the bench and the great tree. Again, he peered intently into the darkness, as though looking for something nearby. Not finding it, he turned and followed after the dog, using the spear as a walking stick.

So it was the old man, reasoned the Traveler, and he had sought out the Traveler’s sleeping location before he left the house. Having not found him near the tree, the old man probably decided that the Traveler had headed on into the village after begging a meal. Satisfied, the old man was resuming his business with the dog. Where were they going in the middle of the night? The Traveler waited in the shadows until they had both gone around the far end of the greathouse, then hurried silently across the courtyard to follow them.

At the corner of the greathouse, he peeked around it to see them both walking slowly toward the far end of the towering barnlike structure The furnace still glowed brightly, darkly illuminating the area with a ruddy light. Further beyond, brightly illuminated by the moonlight, the oversized barn cast a long, opaque shadow across the open hillside behind it. The solitary door in its long side faced toward him, open now and hinged along the bottom. It served as a ramp, but it could be raised as a heavy drawbridge if needed. The interior in the barn was opaque blackness.

Rather than follow them directly and risk discovery by the dog, the Traveler decided to move perpendicular to their course and go around the opposite end of the towering barn structure. He trotted silently over to the furnace, which was still emanating warmth from the