Navigator – Chapter 13 – A Sunday Short Story

Posted bySuzette BenjaminPosted inSunday Short Story
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Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12

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Chapter 13

She knew she could outrun and outclass Setho Zang, queen of the harpies’ parlor tricks–

However, Isabella sped full blast along the sandy Jumeriah beach boardwalk as if the fabled Armageddon, god of destruction and speed, himself was chasing her, replete with his sickle in hand and his name tattoed on his forehead.

She did not look back. But Isabella could sense Setho Zang, huffing and puffing Brothers Grimm style, back there somewhere on the boardwalk feverishly attempting to catch up.

Isabella’s moniker, Navigator was not a nautical nod to a sea captain’s prowess.

It was the nickname Isabella’s grandmother Clemora gave her because of Isabella’s gift to run so quickly that she could slip into the sliver of time over which she had control, from a running start.

Isabella would then “reappear” seconds later further along the same path, all the while, neither missing a step nor losing her sense of direction.

Isabella revved up her pace as she readied herself to “jump” into time. She needed his help.

The help of the guardian angel she had never met, and only knew by name— Methuselah (Mattūshalakh). He had been the guardian angel of her family for generations since the time of Noah after the deluge.

Her grandmother Clemora had told her to contact Methuselah if she was ever in divine peril. The current state of things seemed to Isabella, to fit the bill.

Therefore, without breaking her stride, Isabella slipped into the sliver of time/space outside of known reality, which to the naked eye looked like angels’ wings, as she folded herself into her shadow and… vanished.

In fact, at that moment, Isabella was nowhere and everywhere at once…

Concentrating her willpower, Isabella spoke out loud into infinity’s ether, where she now stood:

“Help me right the wrong I have begun, send me to Methuselah. Please, open the “other” door which only you can shut.”

Then, there was silence for what seemed like an eternity…

And moments later…

Isabella “arrived ” as she had requested…

Somwhere else, and much Earlier than the present time...

Isabella exited the infinity slice of time following her request…

Then, for what seemed like hours, she plodded along a dark uninhabited street in the dead of a mid-Summer’s night.

From the sights, smells of spices and incense, and the elaborate carpet stalls boarded up for the night, Isabella assumed she was in 17th century Morocco in the reign of perhaps, the Tafilalt….

But, she was mistaken.

Suddenly, she saw a light and heard music at a nearby door with a sign on its doorpost.

Isabella translated the small sign. It read:

” رقم 28 ” (number 28)

Tentatively, Isabella pushed the heavily lacquered acacia wood door with golden handles. She walked into the “establishment” still dressed in the t-shirt, sweatpants, and slippers from her machinations at the Jumeirah hotel.

Sweet-smelling smoke from a choir of hookahs lined the cactus silk carpeted floor.

Smokers, twenty-eight of them, all male sat crossed-legged in expensive-looking imported pure silk flowing robes covering their feet. All twenty-eight men sat on soft exotic indigo-dyed cushions with dragon artwork and embroidered tassels.

Strange music permeated the air—wafting, melodic, in sync with the thick smoke plumes, it seemed. Its notes haunting lilting, flute music, and a lone drummer.

The lone drummer seemed the only “sober” non-smoker in the place. He played rhythms that sounded like they would cast out demons if any of his audience were coherent enough to catch the true drift of what and why he played.

As Isabella took another step into the hookah bar, the music stopped…

The smokers did not miss a beat, however, continuing their willing self-comatose inhale of the costly Gehenna-laced concoctions.

Suddenly, the drummer stopped playing and rose to his feet. He stretched. The top of his head touched the seven-foot-four (2.23 meters) lavishly ornate Byzantine mosaic-tiled ceiling.

Isabella walked further into the hookah bar— like she owned the place. Her head tilted upwards, and her lips calmly pouted. She tossed her tresses out of her face with an exhale of her breath.

She spoke, fighting back, the urgent choking-coughing fit she felt galloping up her esophagus, thanks to the smoky-dimly-lit silence’s largesse.

“I am looking for a friend. I have come a very long way…Methuselah?”

The smokey silence offered no reply…

Suddenly, three very large men with sheathed, but highly visible Nimcha/scimitar swords strapped to a purple sash around their respective waists stepped angrily into Isabella’s path.

Pointing to the door behind her, the three large men repeated in unison, as if they had practiced all night:

“No women. Go!”

Undaunted, Isabella repeated her request.

One of the three large men with swords placed his left hand on the hilt of his sheathed Nimcha sword.

The drummer rushed to the scene and whispered into the left ear of one of the three large sword-toting men.

In minutes of some sort of bartering dicussion, money of some kind changed hands. And then, the three large men with the Nimcha swords walked away.

“What did you say to them?”

“We better hurry child, come. I have been waiting for you.” Replied the drummer.

The drummer and Isabella charged out of the hookah establishment’s acacia door only to be greeted by the swipe of a glistening Nimcha blade across the drummer’s face just missing his nose…

Isabella ducked low. The drummer leaped backward hitting his shoulder on the entry doorpost of the hookah bar.

He held his position, in an effort to launch himself on their assailant who hid in the shadows of the hot summer night, repeatedly wielding the Damascus-patterned-steel Nimcha blade with malicious intent.

The whooshing sound of the blade’s wavelength energy tossed Isabella’s hair as she crouched on the ground ducking left and right from every swipe of the well-crafted steel blade.

Meanwhile, the drummer yelled to Isabella:

“Get up, cover me!” as he launched himself into the dark night and caught hold of the assailant’s sword-wielding arm.

Isabella twirled in the dark humid air and flung her body full force towards the shadows where the drummer’s voice had called out for assistance.

Now aiding the drummer to restrain the assailant. Isabella grunted as the two struggled in the humid dark mucky ooze of the unpaved alley.

Now, while the two struggled with the assailant, they still had the bother of ducking and weaving from the assailant’s unflagging efforts even while prostrate on the ground, relentlessly wielding the sword.

Isabella asked as they both tried to pry the sword from the incredibly strong assailant’s unflinching hand:

“Cover you with what? He’s human. My sword is forbidden against humans!”

The drummer replied: “Except for you, Navigator, nobody here is human.”

“****To Be Continued Next Sunday****

Published by Suzette Benjamin

Positive thinker, inspirational, writer, faith

105 thoughts on “Navigator – Chapter 13 – A Sunday Short Story”

  3. Isabella never seems to have things made easy for her. She goes from one confrontation to another and always seems, in a miraculous sort of way, to pull through. Exciting beyond words!

    Liked by 1 person

  5. ⚒However, Isabella sped full blast along the sandy Jumeriah beach boardwalk as if the fabled Armageddon, god of destruction and speed, himself was chasing her, replete with his sickle in hand and his name tattoed on his forehead.⚒

    With this image in mind she should outrun the old girl

    ⚒She did not look back. But Isabella could sense Setho Zang, huffing and puffing Brothers Grimm style, back there somewhere on the boardwalk feverishly attempting to catch up.⚒

    I have never heard of the Brother Grimm Style. This is interesting.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Yes, the “old girl” I like that moniker 😊 is pretty slow without wings.

      Ah Brothers Grimm style is just the author’s license for mixing fables of Little Red Riding hood and other wolves stories by Brothers Grimm with the Old English Fairy tale of “Three Little Pigs” all smooshed together….hehehee..

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Oh I see, I thought she would still keep her strength and agility.😔

        Ah I see what you were getting at.
        My initial thoughts were all these Grimm tales, but I wasnt sure.

        Liked by 1 person

  6. ⚒was the nickname Isabella’s grandmother Clemora gave her because of Isabella’s gift to run so fast she could slip into the sliver of time over which she had control, from a running start.⚒

    Amazing jump out of the starting block and acceleration

    Liked by 1 person

  7. ⚒Isabella would then “reappear” seconds later further along the same path, all the while, neither missing a step nor losing her sense of direction.⚒

    An excellent control in vanishing speed and control of her inner compass

    Liked by 1 person

  8. ⚒Therefore, without breaking her stride, Isabella slipped into the sliver of time/space outside of known reality, which to the naked eye looked like angels’ wings, as she folded herself into her shadow and… vanished.⚒

    Terrific visualization, superbly crafted.

    Liked by 1 person

  9. ⚒for what seemed like hours, she plodded along a dark uninhabited street in the dead of a mid-Summer’s night. From the sights and sounds, she assumed that she was in 16th century Morocco.⚒

    Oh my word, she landed in Morocco 🇲🇦, what a time and place to be, in this very moment of Morocco’s place on world sporting history.

    Liked by 1 person

  11. ⚒Smokers, twenty-eight of them, all male sat crossed-legged in expensive-looking imported pure silk flowing robes covering their feet. All twenty-eight men sat on soft exotic indigo-dyed cushions with dragon artwork and embroidered tassels.⚒

    With the pen of a historian you take us back in time, with exquisite precision the lavish lifestyle of the bedoiun is portrayed

    👏👏👏excellent

    Liked by 1 person

  12. ⚒Strange music permeated the air—wafting, melodic, in sync with the thick smoke plumes, it seemed. Its notes haunting lilting, flute music, and a lone drummer.⚒

    Would the strange music be in the flamenco style or older sounds with Spanish influence accompanied by the african drum?

    Liked by 1 person

  13. ⚒He played rhythms that sounded like they would cast out demons if any of his audience were coherent enough to catch the true drift of what and why he played.⚒

    What a precious gift.
    Who was playing the flute
    Or was he doing both?

    Liked by 1 person

  14. ⚒Suddenly, the drummer stopped playing and rose to his feet. He stretched. The top of his head touched the seven-foot-four (2.23 meters) lavishly ornate Byzantine mosaic-tiled ceiling.⚒

    Wow, a giant so to say?
    These ceilings have Christian influences in the “17th century Morocco in the reign of perhaps, the Tafilalt…”

    Morocco has such an intricate history of different people coming together I’m trying to picture all these fellows.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Yes, you are so right. The influences in Morocco during those times included a host of cultures: Berber, Mediterranean, Saharan, etc. And their trade with the East on the Silk Road etc. Lots of exotic connections.

      Liked by 1 person

  15. Such an exotic environment for this scene! Something seems to be off in the format though. In the mobile Reader app all of the text is right justified and some of the punctuation is also off. It was very hard to read, but when I went to the website it was fine. I can take a screen shot if you want to know what I mean or need help with WP. Maggie

    Liked by 1 person

  17. ⚒One of the three large men with swords placed his left hand on the hilt of his sheathed Nimcha sword.⚒

    Gosh, imagine traveling back in time to face one of this swords?

    Liked by 1 person

  18. ⚒The drummer and Isabella charged out of the hookah establishment’s acacia door only to be greeted by the swipe of a glistening Nimcha blade across the drummer’s face just missing his nose…⚒

    Oh yes, it is an establishment and not a cathedral as such

    Liked by 1 person

  20. ⚒He held his position, in an effort to launch himself on their assailant who hid in the shadows of the hot summer night, repeatedly wielding the Damascus-patterned-steel Nimcha blade with malicious intent.⚒

    This gets even more interesting, a Syrian sword in the middle of Morocco somewhere!!

    Liked by 1 person

  21. ⚒The whooshing sound of the blade’s wavelength energy tossed Isabella’s hair as she crouched on the ground ducking left and right from every swipe of the well-crafted steel blade.⚒

    Oh gee, crouching and hoarding off a Nimcha sword!!!
    She knows what she is doing?

    Liked by 1 person

  22. ⚒“Get up, cover me!” as he launched himself into the dark night and caught hold of the assailant’s sword-wielding arm.⚒

    YE!!!
    Before heads are toppled

    Liked by 1 person

  24. ⚒The drummer replied: “Except for you, Navigator, nobody here is human.”⚒

    What now? She can use the sword of the assailant to destroy all of them.

    Why did she need to cover the drummer?

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Actually, she was referring to her own sword carried in her blood stream – the divine sword flaming fire etc, that materialized when she needs it.

      Regarding your question:

      “Why did she need to cover the drummer?”
      Of course “cover” meant watch my back in some fashion since we are in a battle.

      And you noted that although these two had not introduced themselves to each other in the story; the drummer seems to knows who Isabella is, since he addressed her as “Navigator” in the last sentence here.

      So the question is who is the drummer? More to come…

      Liked by 1 person

  25. Exciting chapter
    I enjoyed the turn of events
    From Dubai to Morocco
    And the featured scenes of traveling back in time.
    I at first thought she found the 28 at a church for some reason, dont ask me why. I think the ceiling gave me this impression, but instead it was a hookah bar – “Isabella translated the small sign. It read:

    ” رقم 28 ” (number 28)”

    Which adds up to 1.
    Interesting
    Exquisite detailing of time, I need to brush up on the history of Morocco.

    Super read
    Where is the aged panting Setho hiding?

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Glad you enjoyed the trip (time travel, etc) It’s a pleasure to travel around half the globe without leaving home, much less costly.

      Regarding #28 and its connection to the number 1 –well spotted! Yes, there are spiritual connections to the number 28 at play in the story thus far.

      Regarding “Where is Setho Zang..? Still “panting” for sure, back there somewhere in the other timeline on the beach boardwalk…More to come…

      Glad you enjoyed the read. I appreciate the amount of time you take to pen such intricate comments from your diligent and discerning read of the text.

      Thank you, seems insufficient praise to express my gratitude!💖

      Blessings to you. Peace to your day and upcoming week.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Lol, yes I love the cyberjet for my globetrotting as well 😄. So convenient too.

        Thank you, I felt that about the number.

        Oh dear poor soul. She sacrificed. Either way the end is nigh.

        An intense read. Thank you for all the help. I became pretty muddled up along the way. Everything is clearer now.

        Have a wonderful Sunday Poet. Peace and enjoy the week. 🧡

        Liked by 1 person

      2. Me too the safer way to fly these day for sure.

        Sorry for any mixup in themes and connections (not clearly made). It is My job to make the links clearer. For that I apologize. Not your fault at all.
        Thank you for your patience to tease through the embers.

        Thank you.

        Like

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