20. Bowie & Oakley
“Welcome,” the Scapegoat greeted Nyaamah to his heavenly abode. He was waiting at the Pearly Gates, some replica of imaginary fairy tales left behind in picture books pre singularity 2030.
Nyaamah was decorous. Dressed elegant in a gown befitting royalty. She had come to deal. To ensure, not just concerning safety, but prosperity, for her boy and herself.
Noah was under Tubal-Cain's radar. Lamech dead meant the young boy was no longer protected by royal decree. The new king had no animosity toward the lad; he was just a stickler for rules.
In Nyaamah’s opinion, her brother of the same mother, murderer of her daddy-lover, is not fit to rule. Sure he has the muscle, a blacksmith's skill…but no brains. That's why she is here, talking to Azazel. Before Tubal-Cain does something rash, in self-righteous judgement.
Nyaamah is a woman of composure, always calm under pressure. She knows what she wants. She is the rightful heir, though an only girl and the youngest of four. Not to mention, she was also Lamech's consort. But no more. She is her own woman now. A bureaucrat, a muscle man and an escapist, even if combined, are no match for her inherent capacity to rule. Not that Tubal 2 desires to, or even Tubal-Cain who only yearns to expand the borders by the art of the hunt, hoping to encounter other hominin tribes to slay and ransack. Or to bring down dinosaurs, neo-species which are all the rage right now, massive reptiles with razor teeth, apex predators genetically engineered from fossils and reintroduced by Azazel to disrupt Ari's natural order.
The only one of her siblings with any real ambition to oversee others is Tubal 1. He would make a good aid. A master of coin, brilliant strategist, but no charisma. Easily controlled.
“I want immunity,” Nyaamah put in her intention.
“I can give you command,” the Scapegoat replied, to Nyaamah’s pseudo astonishment.
They were seated at a table, served by automatons for a meal suited for the Sons of God.
“But there is something I require in return,” Azazel added. “In fact, not just command,” he absentmindedly reverted to the lady's original demand, “but I can make you legend. A god…or demon…depending on who you ask,” the old man waved his hands, smirked. “Immortal.”
Nyaamah had arrived at Azazel's cloud station by voice and the ching-ching of her tambourine. Lamech had taught her the correct sequence of musical notes and rhyme for petition, and if the Scapegoat favoured the tempo, the petitioner would find himself, or herself, teleported by vibrational strings to an angelic courtyard.
Instinctively, Nyaamah knew her request for an audience would be granted. So she was not surprised by the instantaneous, gut wrenching ride by spontaneous combustion even as her molecules and consciousness were transposed from earth to sky by quantum entanglement. Nyaamah found the thought both amusing and upsetting that data copy of who and what she was lay dormant in Azazel's laboratory. By scientific definition, her earthly body was dead, vaporized; so how was Nyaamah, the current Nyaamah, to know if she was a clone or if she was original. Regardless, the lover daughter of Lamech felt no loss of memories, and other than a mild vertigo, her senses and person were intact, so she intuited.
This got her thinking that her entire being was fully immersed in the experience of being ‘Nyaamah,’ no more no less; so when Azazel mentioned about making her legend, a god or demon, immortal, she only regarded it as an expansion of her consciousness to become more than ‘Nyaamah.’
“So what do you want me to do?” She asked the one who was prior a Watcher.
“Start a trend. I see you as an influencer,” the Scapegoat said. “Marry your son, and rule.”
Nyaamah was silent.
“You seduced your father. To your benefit. What stops you from seducing your son? If it brings greater benefits.”
“Why?,” was all Nyaamah could muster.
“Like I said, start a trend. All saviours of the world are incestuously linked to their mothers. From Isis and Horus to Mary and Jesus. Or my favourite, Semiramis and Nimrod.”
Nyaamah hadn't heard of any of those names. But, she liked the idea. The idea of starting a trend, becoming an influencer. Stepping out of her body, ‘Nyaamah's,’ and becoming legend, a god, demon. Immortal.
AI generated art prompted by author
Any similarities to persons and events are coincidental. Use of names of public figures, places and events are purely fictional and are not representative of them.