Jhove’s Tower
by
Adam Copeland
The
end of the world began with sand hissing against a tent, a sound like the
grains disappearing down the throat of an hourglass. Lokutis
sat up clenching his chest, legs hanging over the edge of the mattress, and
waited for a long moment until a deep breath rattled out of his lungs, and then
he collected himself. He wrapped a crimson robe about his pale shoulders and
ducked outside to wait for dawn.
As
the tent flap fell shut, the air filled with the sound
of fluttering wings. Something large had been resting above the tent door, and
was taking flight directly into the sunrise. A solitary sand-colored feather
drifted down to him, and he shielded his eyes to get a better look at his
visitor. It looked like a large vulture, but the crimson light tangled around
its silhouette. Something about the creature struck him as odd, but it was
gone, and other problems weighted his thoughts.
Lokutis
plodded through the sand, picking his way through obstacles that were at first
just rocks, then mason stones, and then broken portions of walls. He looked
back one more time, just to check. The tent was of the nomads’ design, but
enlarged to make a small mountain of shimmering silk, crimson like his robe
with gold trim. His simple black banner oscillated serpent-like from the
pinnacle. The sky above it was empty.
He
stopped at a waist-high circle of mortared stones that contained a spring⎯the pool spilled continuously over the
stone lip and soaked into the sand. He thrust his hands into the cool water and
splashed his face. He let the water run down his throat and robe. Then, leaning
heavily on one elbow, he cupped more water in his palm and wiped it across the
back of his neck. He let the liquid wash away the night’s sweat, but it could
not wash away the memory of the nightmare.
“Magnificent,
isn’t it?” said a voice behind Lokutis.
He
turned and saw his advisor, awake, silhouetted in the first razor thin line of
sunlight. His violet robe and black sash fluttered around his lanky form. His
skin was as dark and as smooth as obsidian. His strange almond shaped eyes did
not rest on his master, but gazed past his shoulder to the tower.
“Indeed,
Akahamet,” Lokutis replied.
“Do
you intend on finishing it?” Akahamet asked, arching
a painted eyebrow. The rising sun glinted off his shaven head. “Is that why you
asked that the meeting take place in its shadow?”
Above
the valley walls the sun washed the ruins, turning them surreal and red, more
alive than at midday when everything became the same dead color as everything
else. A field of toppling columns sent fingers of shadow across the valley
floor, toward the megalithic ruins, ruins so huge that from a distance they
easily would have been mistaken in the darkness for another of the valley’s
craggy peaks.
A tower. A monster.
Well,
it should have been. A broad road started at the base, then circumscribed the
bottommost tier and appeared on the outside of the next highest, now more narrow.
This concourse continued ever so higher right up to the point where
construction had ended. Even there, if the dimensions stayed relative, the road
must have been broad enough to
allow
four oxcarts to travel abreast of each other, miles above the valley floor.
In
the distance a large pair of wings coasted around the tower, hunting. It was
probably the thing that had crept up to his tent⎯probably
a vulture that had been enticed by the smells of his camp. It circled the road
and disappeared around one side of the tower, the side that was partially
collapsed. There, the architecture was exposed, and probably sheltered many
rodents in the great halls meant for men.
Each
of the tower’s tiers was a man-made shell circling the outside of a core of
natural rock—the tower was constructed around a landform. Monstrous arches
fixed the shell walls to the mountain core and six of these radiated outward at
each tier. Between the arches stretched out secondary arms, from each corner,
that united at the center of
space forming a vaulted ceiling for one section of a tier, which in turn would
be the floor for another. The network of keystones that kept the megalithic
bridgework suspended in air was mind-boggling.
The
mountain core was un-hewn at its lower portions, but its peak had been shaped
into a perfect cylinder—chiseled down to a smooth circular platform. Not
satisfied with the height at this point, the builders had used this platform as
a new base for a lattice of arches that supported yet another tier.
It
was at this point that construction had come to an abrupt halt. Arching spans
hung incomplete. The shell wall was only partially bricked, exposing the frame.
The winding road emptied into nothingness.
Judging from the width of the last level, there was plenty of room to
continue skyward with the tier within tier method of construction before it had
to come to an inevitable tip.
With one level growing out of another, reaching ever higher, the tower gave the
impression of something organic: like a hollow reed of marsh grass. Or perhaps,
with its side crumbled away, revealing a thousand-score arches and chambers, a
honey comb. Another impression was of peering into the broken shell of a
nautilus. Were the builders trying to copy nature? Improve upon its perfection?
Or was it that some designs were just simply inevitable?
In
any case, the tower was a wonder. To see a man made
structure rising from the valley floor, subduing an entire mountain, first
inspired shock, followed briefly by disbelief, and then paralyzing awe. It was
a city in the sky.
“Were I to finish it,” said Lokutis,
“Jhove would curse me and thwart my efforts, just as
he has done to every generation that has presumed to build on it.”
Akahamet
nodded. “How long is man’s memory? A thousand years? It seems that every
millennia some king tries to complete it...believing that he is the one whom Jhove will overlook while they build a monument of
self-aggrandizement. But you would know more about that than I.”
Lokutis
raised an eyebrow. “About what? Self-aggrandizement?”
Akahamet
laughed. “That too, but I meant more about the time between attempts. You are
the ancient one, the Nephilim, not I.”
Lokutis
laughed as well. He liked his advisor’s sense of humor. “No, I will not be finishing the tower,” he
said, splashing more water in his face. “Jhove may be
an absent god, but the minute you do something to capture his attention—” he
gestured at the tower, “—he will make up for all the millennia he was silent. And not by way of a friendly apology. No, I prefer to keep
to the shadows and run my little empire from there. As for who will build on it
next, I don’t know. Perhaps it will be Marduk.
Perhaps that is why he asked for this ridiculous transaction.”
Lokutis turned to
the camp and started back towards the array of tents. They looked like paper
lanterns strewn among the sand and rocks. The sight of his own tent door
reminded him of his abrupt awakening; he had gone out seeking water, hoping to
ease the knot in his stomach brought on by the dreams. He rubbed his temple,
rubbing at the images of jeering children, their rocks hurling at him. Their
shouts and taunts.
Akahamet
trailed behind. “In all seriousness, my lord, your captains are wondering why
you chose to hold the meeting here.”
“What?
Oh. Marduk and his people are a superstitious lot.
They will be less likely to commit treachery while in the presence of a
testament to what happens to oath breakers.” And he added, “It is practical,
too. The captains should understand that. We may need the narrow valley mouth
and our soldiers today.”
“You
are worried, then?”
“No,
not worried. But it pays to be cautious.”
Movement
commenced in the camp, slow at first, then picked up
pace as tent flaps were flung open and a few of the captains and the camp
herald prepared for their duties.
Akahamet
said, “You rose early for some reason, my lord. The dreams again?” When Lokutis
did not respond right away, he added, “But it is none of my business.”
Lokutis
grunted, and mused out loud, “The past should stay buried, and not resurface in
dreams. The dead should stay buried.”
An
awkward moment passed. Akahamet turned his attention
back to the tower.
“You
know what I think?” he said. “It’s as you say: Jhove
is an invisible and silent god. The people build this tower, over and over
again, not to flaunt their accomplishments, not to compete with his
creations...but to get his attention. So he will react. It’s like a child
acting out. A cry for attention. Even bad attention is
better than none.”
“You
are wise my friend,” Lokutis said, smiling. He placed
a hand on Akahamet’s shoulder as they walked. His
advisor knew the story, and his oblique comfort found its mark. “Godhood, it’s about giving the people what
they want. I fulfill their needs and they worship me for it. I fill the void
where Jhove is absent.”
“You
needn’t be a god or even a Nephilim to receive my
thanks and praise, my lord,” Akahamet said, his voice
once again deep and sincere. “If it were not for you, I’d still be a slave in
Cush.”
Lokutis
faltered briefly, an image of shackles around his own wrists flashed across his
mind. “If you really wish to thank me, you can stop calling me Nephilim. It sounds too much like ‘half-breed’ to me. ‘God’
will do just fine.”
They
both laughed and Lokutis felt the knot in his stomach
completely unravel. The sound of jeering children quieted in his head and the
image of a dirty boy hiding under a building blurred away. The laughter felt
good and he let the morning breeze carry his tension away.
“Woe!” boomed a
strange voice.
They
spun in its direction. On top of a weather worn pillar
was a peculiar creature. It was about the size and shape of a leopard, but with
plain sandy colored fur. Its feet were chitinous
talons, like a hawk’s. On its back, extending from between its shoulder blades,
were a pair of great motley wings, and if all that were not strange enough, its
head was crowned with a mane like a lion’s, but peering out from it was a
vaguely human face.
“Woe!” it cried again. “Woe to the beasts, the creeping
things and the birds of the air! But most of all, woe to man! The sun also
rises, but too late for today! The sun also rises, but it is too early for
today! Only gopherwood!”
“What
by the stars is that?” said Lokutis, brow furrowed at
the gibbering creature.
Akahamet
grunted, but he wore a look of mild awe. “It’s a sphinx, though I’ve never
heard of one this far north. They are not uncommon to the lands south of
Egypt.”
“Terry, terry, terrestrial!”
It continued with its tirade. “Wisteria! Nameless and blameless!”
“What
the devil is it ranting about?” Lokutis asked, and
blinked when the creature’s head rotated a full circle, yet its eyes stayed
fixed on him.
“Pay
it no attention, my lord; they are full of lies and nonsense. They are known to
taunt their victims with riddles, promising not to eat them if they answer
truly. However, their riddles are meaningless.”
“The
flood gates of the sky will open! The well springs of the abyss will rise!” the
sphinx cried.
“Shoo!
Be gone, stupid creature!” Lokutis shouted. He bent
over to retrieve some rocks and threw them at the oddity. He missed, but it
ruffled its feathers.
“Woe
to you O human! Woe!” Its head rotated again.
“Oh really?
Riddle me this,” Lokutis said, and snapped his fingers.
There was the sound of thunder, and a portion of the pillar just beneath the
sphinx burst into a shower of dust and rocks. With laborious flapping, it flew
away and disappeared among the craggy peaks of the valley.
“That
will teach you!” Lokutis called after it. “Threaten
me? I’m a god!”
“We
should be going, sire, Marduk and his entourage shall
be here soon,” Akahamet said.
Lokutis
pulled away from the scene and headed back to his tent. He had been more amused
by the encounter than anything.
Akahamet,
however, paused before turning to leave. He looked in the direction of the
sphinx, a hint of concern creasing his brow.
#
By
early afternoon, Lokutis stood in his tent with his
arms outstretched as Akahamet dressed him. Being a
god was delicate business, and he wouldn’t let just anybody dress him.
His
robe was of luxurious lavender silk, tightly belted at the waist with a gold
chain. A gold breastplate adorned his chest with at least one of every kind of
precious gem. A gold ring encircled each of his fingers. Rings also dangled
from his long pointy ears, which seemed to move independently of his head,
scanning the room for the faintest of sounds. His dark hair glistened with
expensive oils and perfumes, as did his beard, which hung in coiled ringlets
from his angular chin. A pointy bronze helmet held a pair of boar’s tusks above
his brow, each of which was sleeved in bronze.
“Marduk approaches?” Lokutis
asked.
“Yes,
my lord,” Akahamet was almost as richly dressed. His
garb was his customary violet robe and black sash, but now he wore a bronze
skull piece that fit the contours of his shaven head. His wrists were covered
in bronze braces. A large gold ring hung from his ears and nose, and an
ivory-handled short-sword hung from his hip.
“He
is accompanied by the agreed upon number of men?”
“Men,
yes,” Akahamet said. “But he pulls in train twenty
women, most likely as tribute gifts or as incentives for the transaction.”
Lokutis
scowled, deep in thought. Akahamet now applied kohl
to his master’s eyes. He had already painted his own eyes and brows with gold
dust.
“Speaking
of the transaction, does it appear that they bring the gold?”
“It’s
hard to tell. Their beasts of burden pull heavily laden wagons that leave deep ruts in the earth, but the cargo is shielded by cloth.”
Again
Lokutis scowled. “And what do the scouts at the
valley mouth report?”
“All
is well. There are no others in sight. If Marduk
brought an army, it is well out of range.”
“But
none of this is what troubles you, is it Akahamet?”
His
advisor paused in applying the kohl, but then continued with his strokes. “It’s
nothing. Mere foolishness on my part, really.”
“Out
with it,” Lokutis insisted. “You are my closest
advisor for a reason. I trust your intuition.”
Akahamet
drew in a breath. “It’s the sphinx, my lord, and all its talk of doom,”
“But
it was you who said that was just nonsense.”
“If
that were all of it I’d agree. But that, the strange nature of Marduk’s request, the location we’ve chosen for the
transaction, the storm brewing in the East, and now I hear from the scouts that
they have come across a crazy man and his family outside the valley who have
fashioned a giant boat in the desert. All ill portents.”
“A giant boat?” Lokutis said. “Surely
you’re jesting.”
“No my lord.
The man is a simple farmer, Noam by name, who claims a flood is coming and has
convinced his children and their families to take refuge in the boat.”
“There
isn’t a large body of water for hundreds of leagues from here. Sounds like a
crazy, harmless old man whose family is humoring him.”
“Perhaps,
but it’s the sheer size of the boat that concerns me,” Akahamet
continued. “It’s the size of a fortress. Large enough to hold
a thousand families. No small amount of time and resources went into its
creation. It wasn’t made on a whim.”
“A
fortress you say? Did the scouts thoroughly check it out?”
“Absolutely.
They said the insides were just more craziness: doors that opened into nothing,
stairs that ended at the ceiling, cubit after cubit of stalls, but no animals.
A group of locals that were there jeering him said that he had been working on
it for months—longer than when we had first made plans to meet Marduk here.”
“Well,
there you go,” Lokutis pointed out. “It has nothing
to do with Marduk, thus nothing to worry about.”
“As I said, my lord, just foolishness on my part.”
A
horn sounded somewhere in the camp.
“Speaking
of Marduk,” Lokutis said. “Akahamet, my cape.”
Akahamet
retrieved another swath of dark silk from the full-sized wardrobe Lokutis took with him on his journeys. He hung this on his
master’s thin frame, propping up the collar and clasping the chain across his
throat. Lokutis grabbed its edges and spread his arms
like a great bat, revealing more of the lavender lining.
“How
do I look?” he asked, turning his head in profile.
Akahamet
smiled. “Truly like a god.”
“That
was the correct response. For your reward I shall let you live another day and
not destroy you.”
They
both laughed and exited the tent.
#
A
light haze was obscuring the sun and on the eastern horizon, dark clouds
confirmed Akahamet’s report. Fortunately they looked
far enough away that the day’s business would be concluded by the time they
blew in. The morning’s breeze had turned into light yet persistent wind that
whipped up dust devils.
“All
right already,” Lokutis snapped at the herald, who
announced the arrival of Marduk and his entourage. “I
can see them.”
The
herald tucked his ram’s horn under his arm, bowed to Lokutis
and stepped down from the stones.
The
meeting place was perfect for this transaction. A natural throne rose before a
slab of rock that had been a sacrificial altar at one time, complete with
blood-gutter that ran to a drainage hole. These two objects sat on a field of massive flagstones and behind the
throne were remnants of an amphitheater. Evidently the sacrifices were popular.
Opposite the throne, altar, and seats was an open space surrounded by columns
in various stages of collapse. It appeared as if there had been an enclosing
wall of mortared stone at one time, but villagers seeking a ready source of
quarried stone had scavenged it over the millennia.
Marduk
entered the field enclosed by the columns as Lokutis
had planned. Here there was enough space for Marduk
to feel comfortable, but confined enough to discourage his men spreading out in
a tactical formation.
Lokutis
took his seat on the throne and Akahamet stood at his
side. Lokutis’ one hundred soldiers and scores of
servants stood on the amphitheater seats. They wore his black and purple, and
the soldiers also wore headscarves that covered their faces in the desert nomad
fashion. They carried Lokutis’ black pennants, which
flapped in the rising wind.
For
Marduk, all was red. His approaching entourage looked
like an ocean tide rolling in, tinged with red foam. The sort
of foam that occasionally washed into coastal towns after a war on an opposite
shore, or when the tide carried poison that left gull and seal and fish
carcasses strewn along miles of beach. Lokutis
did not plan on being a casualty of such a tide today.
The
bulk of the entourage was a regiment of crimson clad soldiers each carrying the
black-fringed banner of the House of Marduk. Belted
at their waists were scimitars. Their uniforms were spacious black pantaloons,
and their feet were covered in leather and silk slippers whose toes curled in
on themselves, and short, tightly wrapped turbans. Their faces were hidden
behind bronze masks fashioned into the appearance of a bearded man, albeit a
man with a single slit for an eye. These masks shone like mirrors.
Behind
the soldiers next came servants pulling a silver chain that connected a train
of twenty women bound at the wrists by silver shackles. They stumbled along
mostly concealed in bright blue burqas. Though only
their eyes were exposed, they were certainly women and not soldiers in
disguise, as the thinness of wrists and shortness of stature attested.
Next
came four wagons pulled by oxen which kicked up a large cloud of dust. Tarps
concealed their payloads.
And
above all, surrounded by the soldiers in a sea of red flags, was Marduk’s barge. It was a magnificent yet functional work of
art: a colossal elephant’s head, plated in gold, ears fanning out to either
side like two great wings. The tusks were real, taken from some mammoth or
mastodon from some far corner of the world. All around the fringe were
fist-sized rubies that flared in the sun. At the center of the barge was a flat
stage from which the elephant trunk extended and curved back on itself, forming
a staircase to the platform. At the back of the stage,
recessed between the elephant’s eyes—which were made of some smoky colored
glass—was a throne.
Upon
this seat sat Marduk.
He
was a giant of a man, perhaps half again the height of a normal tall man. His
bare chest was broad and muscular, as were his tree-like limbs. His head was
shaven; his dark beard was fashioned into three separate jagged points like
three black lightning bolts shooting from his jaw. His brow was so prominent
and thick that it overhung his eyes and hid their nature.
Each
finger was bedecked in a gold ring of some gaudy design. Gold bands, one of
which was a serpent creeping elaborately up his forearm, encircled his wrists
and upper arms. Both his massive nipples were pierced with rings almost the
size of ox leads.
The
red tide came within speaking distance of the throne and stone altar. As it
did, the soldiers before the barge parted to allow an unobstructed view of Marduk in his splendor. The train of blue robed women took
up position to his right and the wagons to his left.
When
the soldiers parted, Lokutis saw that the barge
hovered above the ground by no apparent means of suspension.
Marduk
stood and extended to his full height, crossing his arms over his massive
chest. He wore only a white girdle about his waist and sandals whose straps
laced up his corded calves to his knees. His skin was deeply bronzed by the
sun, in deep contrast to Lokutis’ skin which was so
pale it was almost transparent. It was, however, just as smooth and blemish
free as Marduk’s.
Bronze
and alabaster squared off as the barge slowly descended to the flagstones.
“Nice
transportation,” Lokutis said. “You’re not trying to
compensate for something, are you?”
Marduk
ignored the statement and continued to glower from underneath the jutting brow.
A man stepped forward, similarly dressed as the flag-bearing soldiers.
He
drew himself up and boomed: “My Lord Marduk graces
you with his presence! Marduk, God of the Eastern
skies! Bringer of Thunder! Vanquisher of Tiamat! Lord
of the Wind! Ruler of Nibiru! Architect of Eridu! Slayer of Kingu! Overshadower of Enlil!”
When
the herald at last was silent, Lokutis rolled his
eyes and bowed at the hip. His entourage followed suit. When this was done, Akahamet stepped forward, made a flamboyant gesture at Lokutis and boomed right back: “Lokutis,
God of the Mountain, Lord of the Fires of the Earth, Proprietor of the Forge of
Power, Maker of the Food of Kings and Gods, Guide to the Netherworld, Provider
of Dreams, Bringer of Pleasure and Might... is well pleased to tolerate your
divine presence.” Akahamet bowed deeply and stepped
back.
Marduk
sneered and his balled fists quivered, but after a long pause he bowed at the
hip and his people followed suit.
“Well
now that we have that nonsense out of the way,” Lokutis
said, sitting back in the throne and crossing his legs, “let’s get down to
business shall we?”
Marduk
remained standing, arms still folded. “Yes, let’s.”
His voice was booming and unnaturally deep. A sure sign of
his own Nephilim nature. “You have the Mizkift?”
“Yes,”
Lokutis responded.
Marduk
looked around, being slow and obvious about the gesture. “I don’t see it. Nine
pillars’ worth of Mizkift should be fairly obvious.
Where is it?”
Lokutis
stood up from the throne and stabbed a finger at the five wagons. In particular
at one whose concealed load was smaller than the rest.
“And
where is the five pillars’ worth of gold as compensation? I see, at best, four
and a half. No trickery in this exchange will be tolerated!”
Marduk
sneered again and gestured with his chin to his men near the wagons. “I knew
you would go into a passion over that. Allow me to enlighten you.”
The
wagons were uncovered to reveal brick upon brick of lustrous gold neatly
stacked into trapezoids. All save the smaller load, which glistened silvery in
the sunlight.
Lokutis’
back went rigid and color entered his fair face. “This, for
my services and my product? Even if your mines were empty of gold,
there should be four pillars’ of silver to compensate, not half of one!”
“Lokutis! Be still!” Marduk’s
otherworldly voice stirred the black and purple flags. “It is not silver.” Marduk gestured, and one of the wagoneers
laboriously removed an ingot of the material and walked it towards the throne
and altar.
“You
may be the master of converting gold into the highward
firestone, what you call Mizkift, but I am the master
of smelting gold from ore.” Marduk’s voice was calm,
and bore a touch of pride. “Only those accustomed to mining and smelting as
much gold as I in my empire are aware of this material.”
The
ingot was half the length of the servant’s forearm and twice as thick as his
wrist. He approached the altar, and Akahamet
intercepted him and took the object. In doing so, a surprised look crossed his
face. He hefted it and carried it to Lokutis.
“At
first we deemed it a troublesome impurity that was difficult to separate from
gold in the smelting process...”
Akahamet
handed the brick to Lokutis, murmuring, “It’s true my
lord, it is not silver. It is much heavier.”
“...but
then we performed experiments on it. It is its own noble metal. More lustrous than silver and more dense. It does not
tarnish nor corrupt. It his harder
and stronger than both silver and gold. And most of all…” Marduk paused for emphasis. His smooth voice would have
belied his brutish appearance, but when he smiled, he revealed many sharp
teeth. “It produces almost twice the amount of Mizkift
as gold when fired.”
Lokutis
examined the metallic brick in his hands with raised eyebrows. After a moment
he handed it back to Akahamet.
“Platinum,”
he said simply. “I am not ignorant of its existence.”
Marduk
motioned to his herald, who approached the altar with a clay tablet. Again Akahamet intercepted and took the item.
“The
calculations for formulation are noted on this tablet, and the resulting
yield,” Marduk said.
Akahamet
handed the tablet with a multitude of cuneiform chicken scratches to Lokutis, who merely glanced at it and handed it back to his
advisor.
“Being
the Lord of the Forge, whose prowess for creating the purest of Mizkift is legendary, you should be able to coax more than
three quarters of potential yield from the platinum. Right?”
Marduk flashed his sea-monster teeth in the most
condescending of smiles.
“You
assume a lot,” Lokutis sounded none to pleased. “None of this was
agreed upon. Despite your calculations, I could stand to be at a
disadvantage. You could walk away with more Mizkift
than I with noble metals, and that’s even taking into consideration the ten
percent extra you are to have brought in consideration of my stores. Do you
have any idea how far you’ve depleted them, ordering your ridiculous amount of Mizkift?”
“I
understand.” Marduk sounded uncharacteristically
contrite. “It is unexpected, and some measure of risk comes with accepting new
terms. That is why I am prepared to offer you these to offset any potential
shortfall on your part.” Marduk swung a hand in the
direction of the chained women. His herald moved towards them. “Personally, I
think you are getting the better of the deal. But this transaction is important
enough to me that I’m willing to pay a premium.”
His
herald tugged the foremost woman’s veil; her burqa
hung from her bound wrists. She certainly was an exquisite creature. Narrow of
waist and broad of hip, she stood gracefully in gauzy colorless silken
pantaloons. Two strips of the same transparent material crisscrossed her torso,
covering but not concealing her breasts. Her abdomen rippled with muscles, as
did her arms. A dancer’s physique. Her skin was the
color of coffee, her lips full, and her hair was a dark silky mane hanging down
her back, braided in gold strands. Her eyes were almond shaped, and despite
looking down demurely, Lokutis could see that they
were a strikingly rare emerald color.
Lokutis
took in the sight, and Marduk let him, remaining
silent. Lokutis cleared his throat and mentally
slapped his own face to recompose himself. Marduk
certainly knew his weaknesses.
“You
are very fortunate that I have knowledge of platinum, otherwise I’d put an end
to these proceedings,” Lokutis sniffed. “As it is, I
accept your gift and we can proceed.”
“I
thought you might,” Marduk said, not-so-contritely.
“But that does bring us back to my original question: Where are the nine
pillars of Mizkift?”
“Why,
they are right here.” Lokutis gestured to Akahamet who moved around the amphitheater seats and
gestured to yet another helper. He stepped out from behind the seating and
approached a clay amphora situated among the rubble. He was dressed all in
white, in a material that looked more like finely woven metal than cloth. He
wore gauntlets and a hood of the same material, and the hood was fitted with
two glass disks over the eyes. A breastplate on his chest bore several stones
that glowed with an inner light as he drew near the amphora. He reached up to
its lip, which was a little higher than his head, and removed a loop of densely
woven copper wires from a metal pole in the lid. The copper loop was the terminus
of a copper cable leading away from the amphora, partially buried in the sand.
The cable split in many directions, and drawing a subdued collective gasp from Marduk’s entourage, their terminals revealed themselves.
A multiple sunburst of white light strobed the area.
Nine objects slowly materialized in the air. Each object was a trapezoidal
stack of white ingots similar in size and shape to the gold and platinum bars.
A line of the copper cable ran to each stack and was sandwiched between the
bricks. And just as Marduk’s mobile throne had been
levitating above the earth, so too were the piles of white material. But the
moment the copper loop was lifted from the jar, they slowly descended to the
ground.
Marduk
raised an eyebrow, and then said somewhat grudgingly, “Truly you are a magician
of the highest sort, and with a flair for the dramatic.”
“Why
thank you.” Lokutis bowed to the rare admission.
“Please have one of your people choose a sample at random.”
Without
having to be told, Marduk’s herald scurried forward
and gingerly removed a brick from the nearest pile.
“That is clever to hide the Mizkift within the Plane of Light right before us,” Marduk said, then gestured at the amphora. “Though I can’t
imagine what your plans would have been had the negotiations gone sour and the
charge of electrikus in the capacitor had been
depleted.”
Lokutis
shrugged. “I knew you were good for payment.”
Marduk
smirked.
The
herald placed the white substance on the altar and another red-clad servant came
forward with a tray holding cups and a flagon. Akahamet
positioned himself before the altar. The herald placed a cup before himself and
Akahamet. He then raised the flagon with one hand by
an ornate handle on its side and steadied it with the other hand at its base.
He presented it to both camps. “This is Nektar, drink
of the gods. This I attest to.” He placed it back on the tray.
Akahamet
reached over and took the brick of Mizkift and raised
it above the flagon. “This is God-Cake,” he announced loudly, and broke off a
chunk of the substance in his hand, crushing it into a powder that dropped into
the flagon. “Purest of Mizkift, the
highward firestone. This I attest to.” It was Akahamet’s turn to grasp the container. He moved it in a
circular motion, mixing the contents inside. He then re-presented the flagon,
stating, “Nektar and Mizkift
create Ambrosia, food of the gods.” He then set it back on the altar.
The
herald picked it up and delicately poured into each cup. A pale rose-colored
liquid filled each one. When this was complete, each servant dutifully carried
their chalice to their respective master. Marduk and Lokutis saluted each other with their cups and took a long
drink.
Though
he had drunk the Ambrosia elixir many times before, Lokutis
couldn’t help but feel that the first taste always felt like his first. By
itself, Nektar was heavy and sweet and imparted a
deep-seated euphoria. With Mizkift added, the
sweetness was tempered by the metallic bitterness of the powder, which
transformed the Nektar euphoria into an acute
awareness of the universe.
Lokutis
was vaguely aware of handing the cup to Akahamet as
his eyes rolled into the back of his head, which lolled towards the sky. The
taste assaulted the back of his tongue, first smothering it with an overwhelming
berry-honey taste, and then followed by a metallic tartness that drilled
ruthlessly into his taste buds. As the euphoria settled in his chest and loins,
the tartness shot through nerves like lightning to his brain. A simultaneous
burst of light exploded at the center of his mind and across his vision,
leaving an after image even as the initial explosion turned to sputtering
shooting stars. As the initial sensation receded, Lokutis
opened his eyes and looked around.
The
world around him was transformed. Everything was sharp and crisp. Colors were
more vivid. Lokutis could count the pores on Marduk’s skin, which had previously seemed as solid as
polished bronze. He could hear the heartbeats of all living creatures around
him and the hum of the giant jar-capacitor. He heard the frenzied work of fire
ants under the ruins⎯it was scrabbling,
hurried, frantic work, exceptional even for their hardworking kind.
The
swirling dust and sand and the flapping banners had meaning. Their movements
were not the least bit random. The rocks themselves had a story to tell by
their very resting positions and Lokutis could hear
them whispering their deepest desires, where they wanted to move to next... and
when. Their desires were urgent and immediate; the stones were impatient to go.
If he had the time and elixir to spare, Lokutis was
certain he could study the air and discern the equation Jhove
used to create it. Maybe even improve upon it. Lokutis
became more and more aware of his people and those of Marduk.
Their heartbeats became a deafening drum and their breaths a howling wind. The
blood flowing in their veins was a rushing river and their minds were screaming
in awe at being in the presence of gods. Their adoration and their love were
suffocating.
Lokutis
squeezed his eyes shut, overwhelmed by it all. He rubbed his temples and took
deep breaths until eventually, inevitably, the sensation passed and he was left
with a more manageable feeling.
When
he opened his eyes, he was gratified to see that Marduk
was still under the effects of the elixir. The big man was laid back in his
throne, massaging the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger.
Lokutis
was also pleased to see that Marduk’s head servant,
the herald who had introduced the Ambrosia, was swaying himself from having
partaken of the ceremonial drink⎯unlike
wise Akahamet, who still held the cup, alert and
ready for action should it prove necessary during his master’s brief moment of
vulnerability.
It
wasn’t much longer and Marduk stood.
“The
quality of the product is satisfactory,” he sniffed.
“Your
Nektar isn’t half bad either,” Lokutis
smirked, knowing full well the Mizkift was more than
just satisfactory. “Someday you must tell me who your supplier is among the
Olympians.”
Marduk
ignored the comment.
Several
crimson clad individuals moved among the stacks of Mizkift
with clay tablets and styli, tallying the product for their accounts.
Likewise,
black and purple clad men moved among the women, removing their robes to ensure
the quality was consistent. Lokutis wouldn’t put it
past Marduk to hold up one beautiful flower as an
example among many concealed weeds. So far, Lokutis
liked what he saw.
Marduk
sat and glowered while his people counted the Mizkift.
Lokutis sat as well, throwing a leg over an arm of the
stone chair.
“So
Marduk, what on earth do you need so much Mizkift for? Such a quantity is unprecedented.” The big man
did not react immediately to the question. He merely drummed his fingers on the
arm of his throne. “Do you need a lifetime supply of repelling force for your
floating chair? Hmm?”
“It
is none of your concern,” Marduk said at last,
glancing at the accountants anxiously. “You have been paid in full. What I
intend to do with it is my business.”
“You
see, that is where I disagree,” Lokutis said. He
swung his feet to the ground and stood, and his tone was still deceptively
light. “This is a huge amount of Mizkift to be loosed upon the world all at once. Surely something unusual
is afoot, and I don’t like the sound of it.”
Lokutis
made a waving gesture with his hand in the direction of the Mizkift.
The stacks levitated and disappeared in a sunburst of white light, leaving Marduk’s accountants stumbling back with open mouths.
Marduk
was on his feet, looking in disbelief at the empty space. Lokutis
had accomplished the feat without having the capacitor jar reconnected to the Mizkift. “What is the meaning of this?” He turned to Lokutis. “Do you dare forfeit on the agreement?”
“I
am not forfeiting! You will get your God-Cake, just as soon as you tell me what
you are going to do with it! However, be quick about it. The longer it rests in
the Plane of Light, the greater the risk of it being lost there.”
Marduk’s
entire head turned red and the cords in his neck stood out. Men in both camps put
hand to sword hilt, but stopped short of drawing them. Despite the escalation
of tensions, Lokutis suppressed an urge to chuckle at
Marduk’s comical appearance. That alone was worth the
trouble to meet.
“Disclosure
was not a part of the original agreement, Lokutis.
Why do you care?”
“Because
I care not for letting you manipulate me into slitting my own throat.”
Marduk
raised an eyebrow. “Oh, and just how do you come to
that conclusion?”
“This
amount of highward firestone is only meant for one of
two things,” Lokutis’ voice was becoming shrill and
his movements agitated. Eclipsed by his legendary temper, the little mirth he
was feeling withered. “Either you plan on weaponizing
it and using it against me,” he continued, “or you plan on disseminating
and selling it yourself at a considerably lower price just to drive me out of
business and out of the region.”
Marduk
bared his teeth, shook his head and laughed. “You are truly paranoid, even to
the point of destroying a perfectly good business transaction.”
“You
deny it?”
“I
don’t need to convert Mizkift to light energy or even
to bankrupt you so elaborately. I can crush you anytime. Take my gold, my
platinum, my women and leave. You needn’t concern yourself with me any longer.
Now bring it back!”
Lokutis’
face felt hot. “How can I possibly leave you with this much power and turn my
back on you?” Spittle was flying from his mouth. He was losing control of
himself, letting fear get the better of him, and yet he couldn’t keep his mouth
shut. “You had to have emptied your entire treasury to come up with this much
gold! You must be preparing for some sort of final attack to consolidate your
power!”
Marduk
paced back and forth in a rage. He glanced between the empty spot, his soldiers
and those of Lokutis, weighing his options.
“Very well!” Marduk boomed. His voice echoed up and down the valley,
shaking the rocks. “If it will get me out of here sooner, I will tell you.”
There was a moment of silence. He paced closer. “I intend to permanently enter
the Plane of Shar-On, the Plane of Light.”
Another
moment of silence as the gods faced off.
Lokutis
blinked and shook his head as if to clear it. “Come again?”
“You
heard me. I intend to use the Mizkift to open a
portal into the Plane of Shar-On and enter.”
Lokutis
once again shook his head in disbelief, but on a grander scale. “What? Are you
mocking me?”
Marduk
stood with arms crossed, unresponsive.
“Nobody
enters the Plane of Light! It is a dimension of energy where Mizkift goes when sufficiently energized. That is all.” Lokutis scoffed. “The only ones who believe otherwise are
the pharaohs who have some notion that, after a lifetime of ingesting the cake
and saturating their flesh with it, they will wake up there after death. And I
know what you think of the pharaohs.”
“You
don’t exactly dissuade them from that belief, Lokutis,
do you?”
Lokutis
feigned shock. “Of course not. Who am I to trample all
over somebody else’s dogma? It would be bad for business.”
“Bad
for business indeed,” Marduk sneered. “Which is why I don’t understand why you’re willing to make an
exception in my case.”
“The
Egyptians do not demand this much all at once! It is suspicious!”
“This
much Mizkift is necessary to force a doorway open.
And as I pointed out, if I am successful, you’ll never see me again. There’s as
good a reason as any to bring it back now.”
“Even if you were to force your way into the
dimension, assuming you didn’t blast yourself out of existence in the process,
what do you expect to find there?”
“A
new beginning,” Marduk said solemnly. “An escape.”
Lokutis
stared. “From what? Reality?
All you have to do is mix a little Mizkift with Nektar to make Ambrosia to do that. You don’t need nine pillars
of it.”
“I
do not intend to hide in a drunken stupor, but to literally escape this world.”
Marduk took to pacing again like a caged animal.
“Another world?” Lokutis scoffed. “You
wish to conquer another world? Then invade one of the sanctuaries of the Elohim. Again, a feat that does not
require a mountain of highward firestone.”
Marduk
stopped his pacing. He did not respond. Rather, he looked side-long at Akahamet and to his own herald. Something about Marduk’s manner struck Lokutis as
strange. Over the ages he had come to expect certain behavior in his dealings
with Marduk as normal: pomposity, arrogance, bravado,
megalomania. The sort of fare that afflicted all the gods.
The sort of conduct from which Lokutis himself was
not immune.
But
now, there was sincerity in his voice, as well as something else. That same
something that was in Akahamet’s voice when his
advisor had spoke of the approaching storm, his
misgivings of the meeting place, the appearance of the sphinx, and the mention
of the madman, Noam, building his ark on dry land. It wasn’t just concern, it
was fear. But this was coming from a god.
Lokutis
narrowed his eyes and chewed on his lower lip. The horizon behind Marduk’s head had become deep-purple, with occasional
streaks of lightning. His crimson host shifted uneasily, glancing nervously at
their god, and Lokutis could sense his people were
doing the same.
He
turned to his trusted advisor. “Give us a moment, will you Akahamet?”
Akahamet
blinked in surprise at the request, but dutifully bowed at the waist and
withdrew a respectful distance. Marduk likewise made
a sharp gesture to his herald, who seemed pleased to put distance between
himself and the feuding gods.
“A sanctuary?” Marduk said at last, bitterly. “One of the hidden realms
created for those Nephilim beloved of Jhove? That is precisely the last place I should go. You
and I are perceived as monsters by Jhove. Freaks! Mistakes!” He allowed a moment for the words to bite, and
they did. Then he said, “But the Elohim, the Shining
Ones, Jhove had pity on them even though they had the
same Grigori fathers and mortal mothers as we. And why? Because they were beautiful?
Bha! Should I force my way
into one of their kingdoms hidden behind walls of air, Jhove
would strike me down in a heartbeat. No Lokutis, I intend
to hide this face in a realm even Jhove cannot
reach.”
At Marduk’s words, Lokutis remembered the dreams from earlier that morning,
followed by the memory of an angry man beating him with a switch. Fatherless bastard. So many
accusations. Then a woman, throwing herself across his bleeding
body, taking the lashings and pleading for the man to stop. Yes, the Nephilim, the Elohim—they were
mistakes. Never meant to exist. Incomprehensible
creatures, born different, children of the Grigori,
the Watchers. These were servants of Jhove who
were sent to teach mankind, but instead ended up falling from grace and being
banished for lying with mortal women.
Lokutis
closed his eyes and rubbed his temple. The image of the woman being strangled
by the angry man wouldn’t leave his thoughts. He rubbed harder when the memory
turned to the woman’s eyes going lifeless, her head lolling to one side. He
opened his eyes and stopped the rubbing. It wouldn’t pay to show signs of
weakness before his fellow god. Even as he told himself this, though, he
thought of the angry man brushing a spider into a jar, and tossing it away.
Somehow that image, the hairy creature in its glass vessel, was worse than the
memory of his mother dead at her father’s hands.
What
Marduk desired was not unfounded, so Lokutis was stern but not unsympathetic when he said, “The
Plane of Shar-On is not a place one can go to. If you
truly are looking for a change of habitat, then you should invade a sanctuary.
If for no other reason than because it is our birthright. We belong there just
as much as the Shining Ones.”
Marduk
ground his teeth. “I have reason to believe Jhove
will lay waste to this world he created, to wipe it clean of all the mistakes
that populate it. Just as he did to this accursed place eons ago.”
He thrust his finger at the giant tower that loomed in the background. Its
uppermost portions had become veiled by heavy grey clouds. “But it won’t be a
localized event this time. It will be the entire world. And I intend on not
being here, nor in an Elohim
fishbowl where it will be easier for Jhove to see
that he missed one of his mistakes.”
“Who
is paranoid now? Wherever did you come by such prophecy?”
“The
signs are all around you, Lokutis, if only you would
look. Mostly it says so in the stars. You would know that if you spent some
time outside that cave of yours on that mountain. Even that fool villager
crafting that giant ark outside this valley knows it.”
It
was Lokutis’ turn to pace.
“Really
Lokutis,” Marduk growled,
no longer staring at the empty space where the pillars of Mizkift
had stood. His voice was now full of soothing and rationale, at odds with the
sweat that started to bead on his pate. “If I am wrong, then I will destroy
myself in a blaze of white Mizkift-light. If I am
successful, then I will enter either an airless field of energy and perish, or
enter a new world and you will never see me again. In any case it will be a
boon to you. My empire will need a god.”
A
bead of sweat fell from his temple. His smile was strained.
Lokutis’
eyes narrowed as he returned the big man’s gaze, weighing all the information
and possibilities. The sky was now dark and distant thunder rumbled. The gentle
desert breeze was now a full-grown gale.
“Liar!” Lokutis at long last cried, stabbing an accusing finger at Marduk. “Surely you must take me for some kind of fool with
this preposterous excuse! I still say you are up to no good...and in this
world, not the Plane of Shar-On!”
Marduk
dropped all pretenses of calm and civility. “You miserable
wretch! You had this planned all along, didn’t you? You never had any
intention of handing over the Mizkift! You mean to
take my gold by force, don’t you?”
“Don’t
change the subject!” Lokutis shouted. “This is about
you taking my God-Cake and using it against me!”
A
shouting match ensued and they gestured furiously at one another. Their
respective camps held hands firmly to sword hilts and their eyes flicked from
one enraged god to the other.
Inevitably,
somebody drew a sword, setting into motion a scraping chorus of metal drawn
from sheathes on all sides.
“Lokutis, this is your last chance. Relinquish the God-Cake
or I will squeeze from you the knowledge of how to retrieve it myself.”
“I’d
like to see you try!” Lokutis shot back.
Marduk raised
his wrists and banged together the metal jewelry.
At
the sound, the women slaves tugged apart their shackles, made space between themselves, and commenced to whirl the chains above their
heads. The once demure eyes were now intense and focused.
Lokutis
bared his teeth at these women, who, as it turned out, did not have the hard
bodies of dancers, but the hard bodies of warriors.
Marduk’s
force now stood one hundred twenty to Lokutis’ one
hundred.
“I
thought you might try something,” Lokutis sneered. He
snapped his fingers as he had done earlier to drive the sphinx away.
The
earth rumbled and shook, and outside the ring of columns forms rose from the
ground. They spilled sand and dirt from their bodies. They were pale and dirty
giants, bipedal like a man, and stood another man’s height above Marduk. Their limbs were long and deformed with gnarled
muscles. Many were bow-legged or hunched, others better formed, but all bearing
the heavily muscled bodies of labor and the scars of battle. Naked, hairless,
their heads were oblong. Their mouths hung open and trailed strands of drool.
These creatures numbered ten and circled the meeting place, encompassing Marduk’s forces—including his warrior women.
After
a dramatic pause, Marduk spoke. “You can call upon all
the help you want, but you and your menagerie of freaks will not keep me from
what is rightfully mine.”
Lokutis tsked. “Come now, is that anyway to talk about your Nephilim brothers?”
“I
no more claim these creatures as brother than the Elohim
claim you and me. And I tell you, Jhove is coming
soon to cleanse this world of such as these,” Marduk
responded.
“Enough of that ridiculous story! It is obvious you have treachery in mind!” Lokutis gestured toward the warrior women.
Marduk
clenched his fists, drew a deep breath and with his unnatural voice rising as
he spoke, shouted, “Give me the firestone you insolent little bastard!”
Lokutis
froze at the word. His face contorted into a caricature of itself⎯fangs
grew from his upper jaw and his eyebrows turned into bat wings above slitted animal eyes blazing lavender. A shimmering aura
surrounded his body that seemed to melt his clothes away and his stature
tripled in size, becoming a muscled giant. Great bull horns sprouted from his
head, toppling his ornate helm, which fell to the sand. He held out fists
engulfed in balls of purple flame.
“How
dare you talk to me like that!” he growled in an otherworldly voice.
No
sooner had Lokutis started his transformation than Marduk commenced one of his own. He too grew in stature,
but not much more than he already was. His fangs lengthened, and his eyes
melded into one great cyclopean fireball. He snatched the serpent shaped
bracelet from his wrist and made a flinging gesture. It elongated in his hand
and turned into a fiery whip.
“Your
true face does not frighten me! Jhove will not have
to wipe you from the face of the earth, for I will!”
“Woe!” cried a new voice. “For the hour is at hand!”
The
opposing forces turned in the direction of the voice.
There,
sitting on top of a column, was the sphinx. Its head rotated oddly.
“Woe
to the beasts, the creeping things, and the birds of the air!”
“I
told you, Lokutis, your monsters will not stop me!” Marduk exclaimed, shaking the whip at his adversary. It
writhed like a living thing, throwing off sparks.
Lokutis
scowled. “Deception does not become you. That is one of your agents, sent from
the start to distract me.”
“Son
of Ea,” the winged creature said to Marduk, who started at being addressed as such. “Your time
has come! Hewn down by the messenger you shall be! There is not even hope of
resting among the stars!”
Marduk
turned to Lokutis. “What trickery is this? First you
make Mizkift disappear without the aid of a
capacitor, now you know the true name of my father?”
“Long wanderings!”
The beast now turned to Lokutis. “Slow fade! Power
drained from your heel! The green man will cut you down and send you to the
venomous cave. Only in the last days will you be set free again, just long
enough to be destroyed by the bridge-god on the rock of Ragnor!
Woe!” The sphinx took flight and flew away from the
tower in swooping arcs, down the valley, to the scene unfolding there.
The
mouth of the valley had become a swirling mass of thunderheads, a vortex crisscrossed
with lightning. Something that looked like an ocean of water and light was
gurgling forth from this tunnel as from an overturned urn, splashing and
foaming its way down the valley, breaking against the rocks and hurling loose
boulders in front of it.
Wading
through this miasma was a titanic figure around whose ankles the water broke.
Humanoid in form, it stood almost as tall as the nearest cliffs and light
radiated from it as if it were made of it. Though difficult to look at
directly, it could be discerned that it bore richly decorated armor, etched in
some arcane script. Girded about its waist was a broad belt with a sword in its
scabbard. The light-being grasped in both hands a scythe, which it rested on
one shoulder as it strode forward. Spreading from its back were great wings
opening and closing like respirating lungs. These
looked for a moment like clouds, but soon coalesced into solid feathered
attachments.
The
first impression was of sheer size, a column of light, radiating mist. But the
being’s head was what riveted one’s attention, and inspired terror.
Whereas
its body glowed, its head was absolutely ablaze with fierce lightning. It had
not one but four faces, rotating above its shoulders like the sphinx’s. The first face was nominally human, with eyes,
nose and mouth. The next was a bird of prey, with piercing eyes and a raptor’s
hooked beak. Another rotation revealed a snorting bull, and the final, a
roaring lion.
All
who beheld the creature were stricken immobile. It wasn’t until a great horn
sounded that Lokutis and the others awakened from
their reverie and turned to see where the sound was coming from. A similar
creature had perched on the mountaintop and bellowed through a long trumpet.
Extended sonorous blasts shook the foundation, causing rocks to slide from the
cliffs and the ground to shake.
With
the first trumpet blast large drops of rain pelted the dirt, the wind picked up
and thunder and lightning rent the sky over their heads. A gushing noise drew Lokutis’ attention to the spring where he had splashed his
face that morning. It hissed and frothed as if a subterranean sea was rising to
the surface.
Servants
and soldiers broke and ran in every direction. They collided and scrambled over
the top of one another, forgetting in their panic that only moments before they
had been prepared to put their swords in one another. Marduk
whipped his people, cursing them to stay put.
Akahamet
stood firm at Lokutis’ side. “What are they?” he asked, a mixture of fear and awe in his voice.
Lokutis
looked on with disbelief. His form shrunk from the bull-horned monstrosity back
to that of a slight man. His frame shimmered and his rich clothing reappeared.
He
said simply: “Archangels.”
“I
am with you, my Lord,” Akahamet said, reaching out
and touching his master’s forearm. Lokutis barely
took notice. The storm angel drew back its scythe and cut down Lokutis’ deformed giants. It hooked their bodies and flung
their severed torsos into the air. Another swipe sent crimson- and black-clad
corpses scattering.
The
trumpet blared without cease now, and the rain plastered Lokutis’
hair and clothing against his skin, and the scythe-wielding archangel was
almost upon them reaping its grisly harvest.
To
his credit, Marduk stood his ground and lashed out
with his whip, sending bolts of red energy at the thing. But it was to no
avail, for the bolts passed through it as if it were made of mist. Marduk cast aside his whip and the sparking, sputtering
weapon turned back into a coiled piece of metal. And even as the scythe bore
down on him, he raised his fist and raged.
The
weapon passed through him swiftly, yet did not cleave him in half. He went
rigid, and a ghostly image of himself was ripped from his body in two pieces.
The top half was Marduk’s face, contorted in torment,
and the image faded into the wind. His body collapsed. On the ground his head
lolled to one side and Lokutis could see that his
eyes were glazed with cataracts as if he’d been dead for hours.
“My
lord, look out!” Akahamet cried and pushed Lokutis aside.
The
scythe plunged. Lokutis crashed to the ground and saw
Akahamet take the blow. As the man’s body fell on top
of him, Lokutis saw Akahamet’s
forlorn specter float away. He struggled out from under the body, but froze
momentarily when he made eye contact with Akahamet’s
white lifeless orbs.
He
snapped out of his horror. The archangel stood above him, raising the scythe.
A
wall of water engulfed him first, obscured his assailant, and lifted him off
the ground and swept him away.
He
flailed in a turbulent current, reaching and grasping for some sort of hold,
hoping he wouldn’t be pounded against one of the stone columns. His lungs
started to burn, and he struggled out of his breastplate and cape. When he was
free of the metal, the current popped him to the surface.
The
landscape, or lack of thereof, was now completely
different.
Gone
was the threatening archangel. Gone was his tent. Gone were Marduk’s
corpse and the gilded elephant. Even the meeting place, with its altar, throne,
and amphitheater were gone, replaced with a foaming, swirling, disorienting
sea. Though much of the tower was still visible, the
tips of the valley’s mountains just protruded above the water, and those were
quickly being swallowed.
Lokutis
flailed around to find some for a haven of safety. He had no immediate foothold
on anything, and he considered swimming for the tower, even though it was
leagues away. And should he make it? Then what, hide in its honeycomb vaults in
the sky, snacking on rats?
He
squinted into the driving wind; the rain beat his face and he couldn’t see. He
paused in his treading water long enough to shield his eyes with one hand.
The sea-foam was lifting off the surface of the
water and gathering in the air like a flock of birds, migrating as a collective
towards a light in the sky, a light brighter than any sun. It lit the foam around him, and made it glow like
the luminous plankton of the oceans.
Except
it wasn’t plankton.
Roughly
the size of his fist and alternately round or spherical, depending on how you
looked at them, they were little creatures covered in eyes. Human
eyes.
They
turned like fiery little wheels and bobbed like bubbles in the water. They
behaved just as sea-foam, but then rose like smoke or mist, pausing just long
enough to stare curiously with that multitude of eyes at Lokutis
as they passed by.
“Thrones,”
he said, calling the angels by their name in the hierarchy of the Heavenly
Host. Never had he heard of the beings coming anywhere near Jhove’s
earthly creation. Not since it was first made. Many, many
millennia ago. Lokutis now understood what he
had seen earlier, pouring out of the maelstrom in the sky like water out of a
gourd. It had been the Heavenly Host coming forth to purge the earth of its
wickedness and its monsters. Monsters like him.
Marduk
had been right.
The
last of the shining beings floated away from him and then suddenly something
obscured the light in the sky and cast him in shadow. When his eyes had
adjusted, he got a good look at what had blocked his vision: It was a giant
boat, simple but sturdy. Essentially a cube with another cube
on top, a sort of cabin surrounded by a deck.
And
just when he thought things couldn’t get any more surreal, Lokutis
saw all manner of animals gathered on the deck, in particular a pair of
giraffes staring down at him as if he were the oddity.
A
violent undulation of the water took the vision from his sight and he was cast
among the flotsam. Tree branches, uprooted shrubs, the
carcasses of dead birds and domesticated animals, and even the corpses of his
own servants. Another heave of water shifted his view again, this time
setting him before the great tower, still far away.
The
light in the sky burned above the tower like an eye, lighting up the carved
cylinder of the mountain. He was amazed to see that a significant portion of it
still rose above the waters, but the dark currents clawed at it stones like
demons. An arch collapsed and sent a portion of the shell wall falling in a
cascade of stones, striking the water and sending up a wall of spray. Though
this caused more of the innards on the upper tiers to be exposed, the lower
ramparts survived the assault.
The
last of the Thrones disappeared into the light, which began to shrink. The
tower darkened with shadows, starting at the base then working their way up to
the top. As the shadows grew, a chill that had nothing to do with the water
crept up his spine and he watched helplessly as the light slowly collapsed in
on itself. The light winked out. The world became bereft of light and warmth,
as if a door had closed. Only the cold rain, the turning waters, and the tower,
somewhere in darkness, remained to watch Lokutis’
slow death.
As
he struggled to stay afloat, a revelation came to him. The entire world was
destroyed, wiped clean this day. Yet the simple villager, Noam, and his family
most likely survived in the ark. This wasn’t the end of all things.
Jhove
meant to start anew, and he had left the future generations something: The
tower.
When
the waters had subsided and Noam’s descendants repopulated the lands, they
would eventually come across the tower again.
And
it would call to them.
Tempt
them.
Just
as in the ancient stories, where Adam and his wife were set in a beautiful
garden with a forbidden tree in it.
That
is why Jhove left the tower standing and intact, yet
incomplete. Future generations would have to decide for themselves whether to
leave it alone, or try to finish it.
Lokutis
didn’t have much time to ponder what the chances of either happening would be, for
another great wave overcame him and this time all went dark.
#
The
sound of the surf told Lokutis he was still alive.
Salty air washed over his skin, and all around, seagulls made their excited
cries. He could not move, and to open his eyes was to drag shards of glass
underneath his lids, and to swallow was to gag. But there were voices and
movement around him, so he forced himself to open his eyes.
The
light hurt. He wanted to be blind. But then the brightness coalesced into forms
and colors, and he was staring into a blue sky, at wispy clouds, at sea gulls
coasting on arched wings.
“Ah,
our guest is awake,” a deep voice announced.
There
was more movement about him and a face swam into view. This person reached down
and helped Lokutis sit up.
“I
imagine you have an incredible tale to tell,” the
voice said, and eased something soft behind Lokutis’
back to prop him up, “but by the looks of yea, the tale will have to wait a
spell. No matter, you are in good hands now.”
Lokutis took
a good look at the owner of the voice, who now crouched before him. He was a
large man, with full beard and head of hair so dark that it had a blue sheen to
it, and was streaked with silver. His skin was very pale, as pale as Lokutis himself. His eyes were piercingly blue, set deeply
and fringed with crow’s feet. His teeth were big and straight on an expansive
face; Lokutis assumed he was a nobleman in some
faraway land.
“Can
you at least tell us your name?”
Lokutis
swallowed the rocks in his throat and licked swollen flaking lips. Even his
tongue was dry, but he managed to say, “Lokutis.”
The
large man frowned, yet maintained his fatherly smile. “My, that’s a mouthful.
How about we shorten that to something more manageable, shall we? Loki.”
Loki
moved his eyes around his surroundings. He was on a rocky beach at the foot of
a slope. Snow and scree rose up to a high mountain peak. The air was cool and
the rough, grayish foliage was alien. The only thing that looked remotely
familiar were the trees, some relative of his native cedar. His host wore
coarse clothing of wool, leather and animal skins.
Loki
lay on wool blankets, under a pile of skins. The pleasant smell of roasting
meat drew his attention to a campfire nearby on the beach. What looked like a boar
was turning on a spit above the flames. A kettle boiled in the flames. Many people, dressed as roughly as his host, were gathered there
and drinking from horns.
“Frigga, bring our guest some broth, he must be
famished...and something to drink.”
A
stout woman acknowledged the request and bent over her kettle.
The
man turned back to Loki. “Frigga, my wife, she will
fix you up nicely.”
Loki
gestured weakly. “W-where am I? Who, you?”
“I
am Woden, son of Bor, and
you are in the highest reaches of Midgard, where we
retreated from the Deluge. We have been here well over a moon now, waiting for
the waters to recede. I sent out my birds to see if the waters had started to
do so, when they came across you, clinging to a log.” Woden
gestured to two large ravens sitting nearby on a tree branch. “You have Hugin and Munin to thank for
being rescued; otherwise you would have floated right by us.”
The
ravens bobbed their heads. “Drowned rat! Drowned rat!”
they croaked.
The
woman Frigga brought a steaming bowl and a large
wooden spoon. She was large of girth, but had a friendly round face that was
not at all unattractive. Her blond hair was braided into a rope as thick as
Loki’s arm. Woden took the bowl, spooned some broth
and put it to Loki’s lips. With his aid, Loki managed to swallow some.
Considering the circumstances, it was the most delicious thing he had ever
tasted.
After
a few spoonfuls of the broth Woden
reached for the drinking horn. “I imagine everything and everybody you knew
previously are gone now. But as I said, you are in good hands. You are one of
us now.”
“There
you go again, taking in strays,” somebody nearby scoffed. “Someday it will be
your undoing.”
Loki
looked in that direction. Sitting apart from the fire was a giant of a man with
a flaming red beard and wild head of hair. He scowled as he wrapped a leather
strap about the shaft of a great war hammer. The
weapon was so huge that no normal person could wield it. But the redheaded
stranger had arms as big around as Loki’s torso. All in all, he made Marduk look like a child.
Woden
ignored the comment, but lifted the drinking horn to Loki’s lips. “My son Thor,
he is a dour and taciturn sort who is slow to trust and even slower to
befriend. But you needn’t worry; he will love you as a brother soon enough and
there is no greater ally.”
Loki
sipped at the dark liquid in the horn, and almost immediately gagged. His
reaction drew much laughter from those gathered around the fire.
“Mead
is an acquired taste,” Woden admitted.
“Father, look!” A new voice cried.
All
in the camp turned towards a figure standing on the rocks at the ocean’s edge.
He was another large man, and an elaborately carved horn hung from a strap
around his neck. He pointed out into the sky. A hushed gasp rippled through the
crowd. Arching across the heavens was an iridescent arc of many colors which
was simultaneously solid and ephemeral. Light emanated from it powerfully, so
much that Loki could not look at it for very long.
“Isn’t
it beautiful?” The man on the rocks said.
“What
is it?” Frigga asked, mouth
agape.
“It
has something to do with the Deluge, I’m certain,” Woden
said.
“Hemdal,” called Thor. “What do you make of it? Nobody knows
the powers of the earth and sky as you do.”
Rapt
with the bow in the sky, Hemdal turned to address the
camp. “It has much power, I am sure. As if the song of the
world itself was harnessed and made manifest. I can only imagine that it
comes from the Creator himself. Why he would leave such a powerful thing
unguarded, I do not know.” Hemdal seemed entranced,
and his gaze turned inward. “What one could do if they could make it their own!”
Loki
groaned.
Though
he had floated to the ends of the earth, as far away from the tower as
possible, he still bore witness to the sort of folly that lead to the Deluge.
He did not know the true meaning of the prismatic bow, but he was sure Jhove had not put it there to be coveted.
As
the camp stared in wonder at the beautiful arch, Loki reached for the spoon and
bowl and sipped the broth gently.
Jhove’s Tower
Adam Copeland 2