Paradise Lost Boxed Set

by R. E. Vance

  The screen flickered back on Brian, who was shaking his head. “Nothing. Sorry.”

  “That’s—” I started, when the trumpet blew for a second time.

  “Citizens of the world,” The BisMark’s voice said, booming over the speakers that were installed at the hotel. Even though his voice was distant, it sounded confident and serious. “I address you today because a great calamity is approaching the shores of Paradise Lot.” The BisMark’s face appeared on the screen, his peacock feathers no longer the audacious greens and blues, but rather more sombre charcoal grays. The center strip between his lapels was a powerful shade of red, and his posture was very … Presidential. I don’t have another word to describe it. He looked like he was giving the State of the Union Address.

  “This event has many names,” The BisMark continued. “Ragnarök, Kali Yuga, the coming of Tzitzimitl … Revelation.”

  “Holy crap,” Brian’s voice cracked in. “This guy is everywhere. Look.” The screen flickered to every major network. CNN, BBC, FOX, NHK … All of them were broadcasting the same feed of The BisMark speaking.

  “The gods didn’t see it fit to take their weapons of mass destruction with them, nor did they switch them off so that they could no longer harm us after their departure. Rather, they chose to irresponsibly leave them—or her—behind.

  “It started with an earthquake—the one you felt this evening—and it will end with this.” The BisMark extended his hand outward, and an image of massive amounts of water being disturbed filled the screen. Four aircraft carriers struggled to keep up with the disturbance. In the wake of the parting water they looked tiny, their combined length less than half of the ripples. A single tentacle rose from the water and swatted at the carriers, smashing the first one in half and capsizing the second one. The other two immediately slowed down.

  The scene turned back to The BisMark. “The creature that approaches will end the world, starting with Paradise Lot.” He paused, letting the magnitude of his words sink in. “But it can be stopped … I can stop it. I was there when the gods created the protocols, and I know how to access the safety switches. They’re switches that I built in myself, at the dawn of time, to avoid such an event as this.

  “Tiamat will arrive at dawn. It will be then that I will send her back to the deep. That I swear to you all. Until then, I ask one thing of you. Be patient, be brave, be diligent. The gods tried to end the world before and failed. This will be no different.

  “Life will go on.

  “Life will always go on.

  “Thank you!”

  And with that, the screen went blank. There was a moment of calm as we absorbed everything we just saw and heard. Then there was a screech outside, and the Others resumed their attack on Sally’s salon.

  END OF PART 2

  Part VII

  Prologue

  Ten Years Later—

  Astarte sits on her throne.

  Before her there are entwined bodies pulsating with the rush of passion. Gods and humans, Others and mortals are equal in Astarte’s temple; for equality can be measured by ambition, and everyone here has but one: pleasure.

  Their ambition is fulfilled. This much is made obvious by the smells of sweat and lust that overpower the temple.

  Astarte ignores the carnage of pleasure around her. Usually she would be leading the festivities, but today her mind is elsewhere, distracted by memories of lovers past.

  She shakes her head. It is not like her to think of before when now is so tantalizing. She needs to do something special to bring her mind to the present. Extra spice for her lustful endeavors.

  As if the First Laws of Nature and Chaos hear her, an attendant approaches with news of visitors. It seems the three gorgon sisters stand at the temple door.

  Mmmm, gorgons … with all those appendages … This will be a wonderful night, indeed.

  Astarte claps her hands in three rapid successions and her attendants begin the preparations for an exquisite orgy.

  Rising from her throne, she goes to the temple gates to greet her visitors.

  ↔

  Medusa slithers into the temple with her two sisters, Stheno and Euryale, and from the fury in their eyes, Astarte knows why they are here. Jealousy. This is the second most common reason why people come.

  The first is desire.

  They are here because one of them has a lover visiting Astarte’s temple without them. From the rage in her eyes, Astarte knows that it is Medusa who was wronged. And her anger is focused on Astarte. The problem is, Astarte has been with so many humans, Others and gods, that she doesn’t know who they are jealous of. Nor does she care. She will deal with them as she has dealt with so many—by turning their anger into desire …

  “You.” Medusa points at Astarte. The succubus prepares for the usual tirade of You thief, you whore, how dare you tempt him, how dare you take him away from me. But the gorgon says none of those things. Instead she hisses, “He doesn’t love you.”

  “He loves her,” says Stheno, Medusa’s eldest sister.

  “He has always loved her,” hisses Euryale.

  Love? What does love have to do with a place like this? For reasons that Astarte cannot place, her mind immediately goes to Gilgamesh. It has been ten years since the young king left her temple, and in that time no amount of exquisite, multiple and crescendo-reaching orgasms have erased the memory of him. She hears that his kingdom is growing. She also hears that although he reigns over the most enlightened kingdom ever devised, he is a cruel, petty man, treating all those who oppose him with brutal finality.

  Medusa’s snakes hiss in unison as she repeats, “He doesn’t love you. He loves me. Me! You’re an interim wife to be used and disposed of. Nothing more. He’ll come back to me, you’ll see. And when I’m elevated to godhood, I’ll devote all my time and power to destroying you.”

  Oh, Astarte thinks, this is about Poseidon. “No need for that,” the succubus says. “Have him.”

  The gorgon’s eyes narrow in confusion as several of her snakes turn their heads to see her reaction. Before she can say anything, Astarte speaks. “I don’t want him. Never did, and based on the company he keeps, I doubt I ever will. So please, take him.” She lets the words sink in before offering her final blow. “If, that is, he’ll have you.”

  Medusa’s face turns red with rage, then green with envy as she screams so loud that the temple shakes under her power. Gorgons are not to be taken lightly. If they had the mind for it, they could turn Astarte and everyone else in the temple into stone. Astarte is fairly confident that she will not do so. After all, it would displease Poseidon.

  But Astarte is only fairly confident, so she turns her gaze to the ground. Seeing her fear, Medusa’s lips curl upward. “You’re right,” she says. “He doesn’t want me now. But that will change. You’ll see. Come, sisters … let’s leave this loveless shell to her pathetic followers.”

  Astarte watches as the three gorgons leave. This is yet another example of how love blinds you, she thinks, before her mind returns to Gilgamesh.

  ↔

  Uruk is a great city. Magnificent ziggurats accentuate the city streets; temple towers reach for the clouds as if they are little hands trying to catch smoke. The city is protected by the highest and strongest wall the world has ever known, while the orchards and fields that surround the wall pronounce the peace and the goodwill other kingdoms have toward them.

  But that is not what makes the city great.

  Uruk is great for much less tangible and progressive reasons. Agriculture is sustained through the regular crop rotations to ensure that the land is always fertile. Gaming is regulated so that the animals have time to replenish their populations. The streets are kept clean to prevent the spread of disease. Trade is carefully monitored to avoid monopolies.

  It is said that Uruk is impervious to drought or famine, that neither disease nor war can shake its foundation. It is the closest thing the humans have to immortality; as long as the gods leave the Kin
gdom of Uruk to its ways, it shall last forever.

  Its secret is education. The Uruk schools and universities have amassed all the knowledge the human world has to offer, and they impart that knowledge to all the artisans and philosophers, teachers and doctors that pass through their halls. The best and the brightest are cultivated here, and once matured, they use their knowledge for the betterment of the city.

  There is no doubt that this kingdom is the greatest the mortal world has ever seen.

  At the heart of it: Gilgamesh, Uruk’s wise ruler.

  But wisdom does not mean benevolence, and Gilgamesh is feared by his people. His quest for knowledge carries with it the burden of a cold and unreasonable justice.

  Astarte walks into the gated city. She sees mortals going about their daily life with downtrodden eyes. They are constantly moving, lest they draw the attention of Gilgamesh’s elite guard.

  Astarte feels guilt over these people’s suffering. If only she had not tortured Gilgamesh so, perhaps he would have done what he has done with peace in his heart.

  She walks along the city’s pristine streets and is drawn to a small back alleyway, where several men and women are burning incense and praying. They are praying to her sister, begging Atargatis to save them from Gilgamesh. This is dangerous. There is a chance her sister will hear. After all, if Astarte was drawn to them, her sister will be too.

  Atargatis does not come. It is Gilgamesh’s feared guards that enter. Seeing the icons and smelling the incense, they act swiftly and without mercy, cutting down every one of the zealots without so much as a thought.

  This is bad, Astarte knows, for to spill blood on sacred ground is to ensure the gods will hear you, and Astarte knows that her sister will answer their prayers.

  Gilgamesh has never been in greater danger than he is now.

  ↔

  Astarte wonders if she should help the wayward king. After all, his own people prayed for his death. Perhaps she should remain neutral. But she hasn’t so far, has she? Was it not her cruelty that made him the monster he is today? Perhaps, if she had not been who she is, she could have guided the king, helped him become something more, something good.

  Astarte does not know what to do. It has been so many years since she has seen him. Maybe she does not desire the man, but rather the memory of the man. She must know. Reaching into the well of unlimited magic, Astarte summons Gilgamesh. It takes several minutes, but in the distance Astarte can hear a horse-drawn carriage approach.

  They are speeding towards the city center. Astarte turns herself into a little girl and stands in the road. The horses nearly trample her as they pass. A voice from within the carriage calls for a halt. Astarte watches as the door swings out, and from it emerges Gilgamesh. But he is not the doe-eyed, naïve boy Astarte once knew and loved, but rather a man with premature crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes and deep thought wrinkles across his brow. Although he is older, he is not old. This man, this king, stands stronger than ever.

  Astarte will never admit this, not even to herself, but seeing her former lover causes her heart to stand still, if only for a moment.

  He reaches his hand to the little girl, not knowing that she is Astarte, and asks if she is hurt. The girl shakes her head. That alone is common decency, hardly enough to show if Gilgamesh is a good man who has fallen to evil or just an evil man. He bends down, asks her if she was frightened. The girl nods. He tells her that fear is but the mind trying to protect the body. It is nothing to be ashamed of.

  “Do you understand?” he asks. Again the girl nods. He removes a necklace and puts it around her neck. There is an insignia pendant attached it. “I’m sorry,” he says, “for frightening you so. Take this pendant … Wear it, so all know that you are now and forever under my personal protection.”

  He stands, calling the driver before him. Then, without warning or hesitation, he punches the driver so hard that he is thrown several meters back. “Stand up,” the king says. “Next time you run through my streets, remember to take care.”

  And with that, Astarte knows that he is a good man fallen to evil ways. Astarte returns to her normal form, no longer disguised as a little girl. She rolls the pendant he gave her between her fingers as she makes up her mind.

  She will help this wayward king.

  ↔

  Atargatis’ vengeance comes in the form of a man. But not any man—a beast, coming in from the west. He is unkempt and wild. He approaches the city of Uruk, terrorizing the local farmers as he calls out their great king for a one-on-one battle. It is only a matter of time until Gilgamesh answers his call. And then he will surely die.

  Astarte, drawn by the power of this WildMan, goes to the fields where he has taken shelter. He lives with the animals, suckling from their teats, grazing in their meadows and eating their flesh. He is both lamb and lion. His name is Enkidu, and he is the Avatar of Chaos. Well, one of them, at least. Chaos has many guises, and the gods call upon them when needed.

  Atargatis called forth Enkidu because he is the opposite of Gilgamesh. Whereas Gilgamesh is educated, Enkidu only knows what his instincts and senses tell him. Whereas Gilgamesh calculates, Enkidu acts. Whereas Gilgamesh is civilized, Enkidu is tempestuous.

  And what better way to destroy civilization than to send a devastating, unstoppable storm.

  Gilgamesh will not be able to defeat Enkidu with reason. And the king, despite having studied the art of war, will not be able to devise a plan that will overcome Enkidu’s chaotic nature. Of this much, Astarte is sure.

  But Gilgamesh can defeat any civilized man.

  And Astarte is, after all, the great tamer of men.

  ↔

  Three days and three nights is the time it takes Astarte to tame Enkidu. Once done, Astarte slips away. She knows that her seduction has only dimmed this WildMan’s fire, not extinguished it. She also knows that if Gilgamesh is to strike, it is now. Tonight, if possible.

  With limitless time to burn, she whisks away to where the king sleeps.

  Seeing him sleeping there, she slides on top of him, straddling him under her powerful, experienced thighs. What is that old expression? “Fun habits never die.” Gilgamesh stirs as Astarte nibbles on his ear, and he wakes to her lips on his.

  “What? Is this a dream?” the king asks in the haze of slow waking.

  “No, but it can be.” Astarte’s nature takes over as she seeks to have him. What harm can an hour or two of delay be? she thinks.

  Gilgamesh takes her into his arms before waking fully, but then reason and caution return to him, and he pushes the succubus off. “You left me,” he says with prideful scorn. “You don’t get to return so easily.”

  He is so strong, Astarte thinks. Patting the bed next to her, she says, “Not even if I’ve come to save your life?”

  “Bahh … Nothing can kill me.” Gilgamesh stands and robes himself.

  “Oh, lover … Don’t cover the best part of you.”

  “What do you want, succubus?” His words may have spewed from his lips, but try as he might, Gilgamesh cannot hide the desire in them.

  Astarte’s lips curl. “My sister wants you dead. My family wants you dead. And by association, so should I. But I don’t, and for the immortal life of me, I cannot understand why.” Then it comes out in a torrent of information: Chaos and Nature’s war, his role in ushering in the New Ways, Enkidu and the prayers that Gilgamesh’s people have done against their king. Everything, save two little details: her betrothal to Poseidon and her seduction of Enkidu. Why cloud his mind with thoughts of other men?

  Gilgamesh takes this all in, showing neither fear nor anger. “And where is this WildMan now?” he asks.

  “Sleeping in the fields beyond the north wall.”

  “You say he is at his weakest.”

  Astarte gets to her knees on Gilgamesh’s bed and crouches. She is almost eye-to-eye with the standing king. “Yes. Take out your army, cut him down and end this threat.”

  “No,” Gilgamesh says.


  “But tonight is your best chance. To do nothing means death.”

  “But, oh dear Astarte, I plan on doing much more than nothing.”

  ↔

  Gilgamesh’s plan is simple: meet Enkidu in the field for a one-on-one battle—but not before setting a few traps to slow him down. After all, Gilgamesh is a man who uses calculation and study as his sword and shield. The right plan can destroy the world, should it be designed correctly.

  Astarte, on the other hand, knows that even in Enkidu’s tamed state, despite Gilgamesh’s tricks, he will be nearly impossible to defeat.

  But Gilgamesh, twenty years older than the man she knew and a thousand times more stubborn, confident and resolute, says she cannot argue against him. “If I cannot fight the gods’ assassin and win, then what will stop them from attacking me again and again?” It is true—if he hides behind his army, he will show himself as weak, and Atargatis will send assassin after assassin. But if he wins and manages to kill the WildMan, then she will have to think about her next move. And in the world of gods and immortality, contemplation and calculation can take years. Often a lifetime in mortal terms.

  Gilgamesh is right.

  Still, Astarte is not comforted. She vows that, should the WildMan start winning, she will intervene—not with seduction but with a dagger.

  ↔

  It is dawn. Gilgamesh stands with his back to the sun. “Enkidu,” he says, like a father to a waking child. “Enkidu, come … Wake up. You have a job to do.”