The Descent of the Gods

Renew

Azrael found Naamah at the river's edge, beating wet clothes on a rock - a task he remembered her doing a few times as a child, but with her mother's servants combing the citadel, it wasn't something she had done since. 

Although she was sweating and breathing heavily, he thought she looked beautiful.  He noted the force she put into every blow - each meant to purify and cleanse that which was unclean and rank. Renewal often meant pain and struggle. 

"Why does a daughter of Lamech do the work of a slave?" He asked.

She looked up. She blushed as she saw that it was Azrael, but didn't halt in her work, throwing a wet shirt onto a pile, and then plunging another into the river.

"There is much to do. My mother is doing her part, and the servants of our household and the citadel have been put solely at Semyaza's disposal."

"I told him we needed not slaves."

"You can't do it alone."  

"Where is the girl you rescued from death at a slaver's hand?"

Naamah stopped at this comment. 

"You knew of that?"

"I watched it unfold, yes."

She thought about that a long moment, before resuming washing the cloth in her hand.

"Maori is with Sariel - keeping drawings of the new bridgeworks organised, I believe."

"Are you willing to give her up to our service?"

"You've undertaken a great task. And you're only human, right?"

Azrael smiled.

"So it seems. Although I'd prefer you at my side over a score of your mother's best trained slaves. You put faith into everything that your hands can do - even the work of a slave."

She lifted the wet shirt, wringing it hard and then tossing it on the pile.

"It's my home. I'll do whatever I must to put it back in order. To renew it forever!"

Azrael smiled.

"We are making sure of that. Come, enough laundry for today. Let me show you our vision for your home."

Together, side by side, angel and young woman walked through the city that buzzed with the frenzy of activity taking place in every corner.

Naamah knew of the projects the angels had implemented - walls of stone mined from the rock outcropping, new bridges to span the Euphrates made of heavy timber that raised and lowered by a system of ropes, gears and wheels, new weaponry and much, much more. But she knew not how stone could be separated from other stones in perfect square blocks. Or how by using grease, round logs, and some beasts of burden, a few men could move and raise such blocks of stone to form impenetrable walls. She could not imagine how the more pulleys you added, seemingly thin ropes could raise bridges weighing tons. It had all seemed like magic.

Azrael showed her how these things were not impossible, but actually applications of things she already knew. He walked her through and around every project. When Azrael appeared, all workers fell silent and would begin to bow in reverence. Each time he would prevent them.

"Our task, should stop on the account of no one. Continue!" He would say. 

Everywhere Naamah looked, she saw angels overseeing the work. At their sides were Zillah's citadel slaves - carrying messages, bringing water and doing anything needed to help their charges. 

As they made their way from project to project, Naamah caught sight of Maori through the laboring throngs. The girl was standing a few paces back from a table where Sariel stood, surrounded by foremen and a few other angels. Eagerly attentive, Maori held clay tablets, producing required tablets when needed by Sariel in his discussions with the workmen.

Just before Maori was lost to her view, Naamah saw her step up to the table, pointing to some tablet and speaking to Sariel. The men around the table seemed surprised by the intrusion, but Sariel listened to her words with absolute concentration. Suddenly, his eyes lit up and he was nodding vigorously and smiling at her contribution. Naamah watched as she witnessed something she had never seen before - Maori was beaming under the angel's smile. 

She stole a glance at her guide - Azrael. She wondered if others could observe her own pleasure at Azrael's presence and attention? She hoped not.

At one point on their tour of the drawbridges project, they came upon a Cainite solider beating a slave. Azrael had been so wrapped up in explaining the mechanics of how this series of drawbridges would extend from Nod to large rocks that jutted up from the Euphrates, he did not seem to notice the beating until he realized that Naamah was looking at.

Azrael quickly stopped the beating.

"Our task does not require blood, just willing hearts and hands," he said to all gathered.

It was hours before Azrael sank into a chair, exhausted from uninterrupted and passionate explanations during their tour. Naamah sat across from him. A servant rushed to their side with cold water served in gourds. Azrael drained his in a gulp, and the servant rushed away to refill it. He wiped sweat from his brow, looking at it glistening on his palm.

"By your own sweat will you eat..." His words trailed off. He was lost in a memory from long ago. A memory he never would have guessed he would bear the implications of.

"...until you return to the dust." Naamah finished for him. He snapped out of the memory.

"You know it." He said.

"Cain's wife, she taught me that after man's fall from paradise, that all men die."

Azrael nodded.

"What of angels? What of you? Can you die?"

Azrael looked into her questioning eyes. Out of all her many questions throughout the day, he could see in her eyes that this question was not like the others. This question was asked from fear - from the heart.

"I don't know." 

Naamah searched his face. No lie or concealment was there. 

"You risked much coming here."

"Was it worth it, do you think?"

Naamah gazed at the mountain on the north edge of the island. It seemed that one thousand slaves crawled on its face, mining stone. As Azrael explained their techniques, she noticed something. The stone was being mined at precise 45 degree angles from the mountain slope. Slowly, stone by stone, the rugged mountaintop was being formed. 

"What will you make from the mountain?" 

Azrael just laughed.

"Oh, that's Semyaza's idea, not mine."

From an alley behind them, a man watched Azrael and Naamah intently from under a hooded cloak. He wore a necklace made from leather. From it dangled the rough image of a serpent.