Thus the Council was closed, and the banquet opened. Exquisite delicacies from all corners of Thebel, north and south alike, were served in long tables outside, and seasoned with the salty air coming from the sea. And Sanquivio ate, and drank, and laughed, and danced, as naturally as if the Council had run smoothly. For him, certainly, it had. For all the others attending, the food fell on their stomachs as heartburn.
The pontiff, though, sought to keep good spirits. Certainly, this was not the peace he envisioned, but peace it was nonetheless. Yet his heart felt weighed down.
By the seaside, a new wall of clouds rose like a castle on the horizon.
***
When she returned to Ophir, Princess Inimois instructed her subjects to rebuild the gates torn down by the Dark Beast. Sanquivio’s conduct during the Council did not inspire any trust in her. Though the war was ended, it seemed to linger in a subtle, latent way. Nephil could strike at any moment.
The logizkal were giants, but still mortals. Their walls of brick and mortar could not equal the old walls, erected by the tremendous force of a heavenly fireball digging furiously on the ground. But they hoped the sphinxes could bequeath their protection upon these sorry brick patches. The Ophir dwellers had recovered both the Sphinx of the Sword and the Sphinx of the Club. Even if toppled by the Dark Beast, they seemed unscathed. But would their magic still be intact? They did not know, yet felt they had no other choice but to try.
A few days into the rebuilding, Ophir was startled by a terrible, yet familiar noise: War drums rolling. And as they heard, they thought: “War is at hand, and we are defenseless.” And soon their eyes attested to the frightening truth: A mighty nephilin army had come. Towards Ophir’s main gate it marched.
So unsettled was Ophir, it did not even notice that the drum roll was not at all threatening. Nor did they perceive how the drums were not accompanied by swords or lances, but by trumpets, flutes, and sitars. A song it was, perfectly balancing beauty and liveliness, if one would be willing to listen to it.
The crizia happened to be at the gate, surveying the reconstruction. Amizdel and a few other guards carried her to the top of the battlements at a still-intact part of the wall. They would have brought her back to the palace at once, but she decreed severe punishments to whoever would force her to abandon her station. She would stay and command her subjects from as short a distance as possible. If she were captured and thus averted more bloodshed, so be it!
Only then did she notice the melody. She was the first to truly listen to it, as all others were deafened by fear:
Oh Gold, of the metals most fair,
Thy face is most bright, as the sun's flare!
But envy was borne of beauty so rare:
“Thou shalt fall”—so Iron did swear.
From that day onward, it is foretold:
Iron will come wherever is Gold!
Oh Iron, of the metals most stout,
Thy face is most hard, as a rocky mount!
But Gold’s seductions in Iron sowed doubt,
And he was appeased of his maddened bout.
From that day onward, it is foretold:
Iron will fall for the allure of Gold!
Oh Gold and Iron, most blissfully wed!
Once foes, now share the marital bed!
Iron melted before Gold, and said:
“Wherever is Gold, there Iron shall tread.”
From that day onward, it is foretold:
Iron will protect the might of Gold!
The crizia heard this song, and was entranced by it. What did it all mean? It seemed to bear no hostility at all… but then, why did she feel perturbed? While she pondered all these things in her heart, a sudden gust of wind rattled her scarlet mane and the pleats of her dress. And she would have been swept as a dandelion seed and fallen off the wall if Amizdel did not sustain her with his strong hand, for the wall’s battlement upon which she stood was the size of a giant, and she the mere size of a human.
This happened as the song ended: As the harmony broke, a subtle sound remained. It was laughter. A cheerful laughter. One could not know if the laughter had always been there, drowned by the music, or if it had started with the gust of wind and Inimois’ near fall. This laughter infuriated the crizia, so that she no longer felt fear:
“Do you laugh, my lord? Would you laugh if an army stood by your doorstep? Are our defenses amusing to you? Then come and challenge them: For your father laughed as well, but his laughter is no more!”
Sanquivio did not seem to mind Inimois’ censures. Truly, they made him laugh all the more, as invisible hands tickling beneath his armour. And how did his armour shine, as the sunset bestowed upon it a reddish glow, similar to the red of the crizia’s hair.
“Hail, oh Princess of Ophir! Glory and prosperity upon your head!” greeted Sanquivio, as soon as he was composed enough. “And what a splendid head do you bear! Not your defenses, but your head, surging in the wind, is the source of my laughter.”
“Explain yourself at once!” she yelled, more irritated than ever. Had he just mocked her head?
“Your hair! Your magnificent hair! It was as if the music I offered you had become a sylph and invited your hair to dance! Oh, how I wish to be wind as well, so as to dance with your hair so, oh crizia!”
“What is the meaning of these words?” said she, as she tried to tame her hair with a coyness her wild curls rejected. “Moreover, what is the meaning of all this fanfare?”
“Not a fanfare. A serenade, my lady! Also, gifts. A gift I came to offer you, as a token of my respect for your greatness, oh Aigonz’s only daughter! A gift I came to offer you, as an apology for the aggressions you have been subjected to! And a gift also, which I come to offer you as a symbol of my affection and friendship, that the bonds between our two nations may grow stronger and fruitful!”
“Oh…” Inimois could not but stammer for long moments, while the sun’s last remnants dissolved sweetly into the coming night. “Thank you…” These were the only words she was able to muster in the end.
“My pleasure. I hope to bring you similar gifts in the near future.”
“Oh yes, for sure. You shall be most welcomed here.”
“My lady…” Amizdel intervened, for he was Captain of the Crizian Guard. “This is most unwise. Remember, you may be bringing an enemy inside your walls.”
As Amidzel spoke, Inimois realized her mistake:
“Well… I mean… there is no need that you should bring me any gift, for I can go to you and fetch it if…”
“My lady,” Amizdel whispered once more “this is worse still! Then you shall keep Ophir safe, but you will be the one falling into the trap, for you will be in enemy territory!”
Inimois did not know what to say, since she feared that outright rejection of Sanquivio’s gifts would result in a diplomatic disaster. Also, her heart fluttered with curiosity of what those gifts might be. But the king noticed her embarrassment and sought to remedy it:
“Do not fret, my lady,” he said, smiling. “These gifts are meant to please you, not distress you. If you so wish, we can postpone them till your walls are repaired, and healed the wounds in the heart of your city. My city yearns for healing as well.”
Her gentle heart was moved by this confession. At that moment, she yearned to comfort him. But the pharaoh did not stay longer. He smiled, respectfully bowed, and withdrew with all his army. Not one of the nephilin soldiers even glanced at the wall’s breach as they went away.
From that day onward, Sanquivio came to Ophir’s main gate at each new moon. There, alone, he would declaim a nightly serenade to the princess. And Inimois would be there, by the walls, to listen to his song. Nearby, the Sphinx of the Lance’s eyes would be lulled to sleep by the beautiful notes issuing from the king’s sitar. There was not a moon when the serenade was the same, even if Inimois begged Sanquivio to repeat serenades he had already performed before. And, as the moons went on, her heart burned more and more when he sang, and ached more
and more when he was gone.
***
During the next years, Sanquivio dedicated himself to the prosperity of the Five Cities. In this he was most successful, and his name grew in honour both in the north and the south. In the beginning, many nephilin kept murmuring amongst themselves as to when the pharaoh would decide to overthrow the crizia and thus prevent the fulfillment of Nod’s prophecy. But Nod came forwards and prophesied that the ophalin would not rise during Sanquivio’s reign, and that Sanquivio’s rule was necessary for the logizkal’s final triumph. So the nephilin’s consternation abated, and they did not rebel against the pharaoh, but gladly partook of the sweet fruits of his enlightened rule.
Sanquivio could now devote some of this new prosperity to the building of a new city, since Lamech had been razed when Skillotz was defeated; and the new pharaoh had no city to call his own. But he did not wish to recreate a Warrior City, as Lamech had been. Rather, he wished for a splendorous city, the greatest of all cities in Thebel: a city that would reflect the glory of his crown for all generations.
During one of his serenades, Sanquivio asked for Inimois’ help for this project. On this, she gladly obliged. She sent the best architects of her city, scholars renowned for their studies on the building of Ophir. They knew how to emulate Faris-Romil’s artistry in everything but his magic. The pharaoh was most pleased with this offer and this is the reason why his city’s architecture was so similar to Ophir’s.
But the sages say, as Ophir’s craftsmanship could not have come solely out of clumsy giant hands, so also the Pharaonic city could not be erected without the aid of sylphs. So Nod went to some aerial sylphs blowing in the wind and, with her seductive voice, convinced them to aid in the chiseling of the new metropolis.
Unlike Lamech, the buildings no longer stood out for their sturdiness. No longer were the houses built with straight lines of strength and austerity. No, the walls were now, as in Ophir, made of beams and columns joined together by colored glass, supported by imposing buttresses. Abandoned were Lamech’s pointed roofs, replaced by pinnacles, and spirals, and pointed arches. No pyramids were they, fashioned out of brick, serving military practicality. Now they were works of art: stone and glass minutely sculpted like a leaf’s ribs, or the trunks of secular trees.
Of course, the pharaoh did not wish his city to be a mere reinvention of things already tried. He did not wish his new city to be called “Ophir refounded.” He wanted the city to be as stupendous as Ophir, but also to have his own will imprinted on it. So, instead of Ophir’s limestone, he dug new quarries near the Forbidden Lands. For his subjects’ homes, he used a rock which we now call “granite”; for this was most hardy, much more than brick. This granite embodied Nephil’s might and strength, and the nephilin could take refuge under its sturdiness. But for the palaces, temples, and other monuments, the king used a stone which we today call “marble.” Unlike the marble of today, though, this stone was dark, recalling the coal and the insides of the forges where ironcraft had been perfected.
The glass, too, was different than Ophir’s stained glass, because Sanquivio decided to use a kind of glass he already possessed in plenty: the glass of iron slag created inside Enoch’s furnaces during the war, which now rotted away in the swamps of the Ergon river. The pharaoh ordered the nephilin to gather this glass and also to rekindle furnaces so as to produce more. This slag glass was more opaque and unruly than Ophir’s stained glass, but Sanquivio did not care. Instead of magnificent rosettes depicting heroic scenes, the king preferred the beauty of the chaotic patterns engraved in the glass he created with his own hands.
The building of this city took many years. The pharaoh ordered that a palace be built to harbour his throne, and also a library, an academy, and a colosseum. He sent scribes and copyists to Melchy-Zedek, so as to gather the Blessed City’s knowledge and fill up his own library. He enticed some of Thebel’s best erudites to instruct Nephil’s most gifted giants, so that they could teach in the new academy. He organized several tournaments and sporting events in his colosseum, hosting athletes from all around the world. And everyone, north to south, said:
“Great is the pharaoh and his glory! For his city now rivals Melchy-Zedek and even Ophir! No such thing was ever seen in Thebel, perchance even amongst the heavens!”
The iperborin so spake, and their mistrust for Sanquivio waned in their hearts. But the isthmus folk would never dare utter those words, for jealousy now added to their resentment. And the more the Pharaonic City grew, the more the brobnin feared they would be powerless to exact their revenge upon the nephilin. This vengeful desire never grew cold in the isthmus.
And Sanquivio named his new city Nemrod, which means “Nephil’s glory.” And he brought Moab to the city, where the statue overshadowed his palace.
Chapter
25
Titan Scaling the Mountain
One beautiful night, Sanquivio brought many flutes and sitars to accompany his words: He intended to show the first fruits of his academy, and the fine musicians it had borne. Inimois was most dazed when she heard it, but what dazed her more than the display of skill and instruments, was Sanquivio’s voice. That night, however, the pharaoh ended his serenade with the following note:
“Oh radiant crizia, jewel of all Thebel! Thanks to your generosity, Nemrod’s construction moves forward as a ship impelled by favourable winds! Please, allow me to offer you a token of my sincerest esteem!”
The princess got up from the wall whereupon she rested while she delighted in the king’s song. She remembered Amizdel’s counsel, when Sanquivio had offered gifts for the first time:
“No need is there for gifts, my sweet lord. Your esteem has been sufficiently shown through poems and hymns! Who could compose such odes if esteem did not beat within his chest?”
“My lady, do not deny myself the pleasure of gifting you. It is not a burden you impose on me, for my heart delights in your happiness. Therefore, it is I who will be in your debt if you accept, for then you will have brought me great joy.”
“Then… how could I refuse?”
As she agreed, Sanquivio made a signal to some servants behind him. Those servants, in turn, signaled other servants in the distance. These brought a wooden litter on their shoulders, small according to a giant’s stature, but roughly the size of a carriage of today. On each side of the litter was a carrying pole, and each pole was brought by two giants. Four giants, therefore, brought the litter with them, and it was an open litter, with some sort of container on top.
But Amizdel had been listening as well. Every serenade he would accompany the princess and sit down by the ramparts, ready to come forth at the slightest sign of danger. And, even as the successive serenades softened Inimois’ heart, never did Amizdel cease to be vigilant. Now he saw the peril, if the princess opened up the gates to accept Sanquivio’s offer.
“My lady,” said the captain, “please tread cautiously. Inquire very carefully about the terms of this exchange. You see musicians accompanying Sanquivio, I see soldiers. Do not expose yourself, lest they take you hostage… or worse yet, kill you.”
There came a favourable reply to the captain’s plea—not from the crizia, but from the pharaoh himself on the other side of the wall:
“You must heed your captain’s prudence, my lady! It is not suitable for a ruler as yourself to expose herself needlessly to danger. But hear my proposition! I shall send my musicians away, and stay here all by myself, exposed, where I can be taken hostage or even worse, killed. When the dawn comes, you will be able to see the gift by my side. Send some of your guards to inspect my offering then. Only then will you decide whether you shall accept it or not.”
The crizia glanced at Amizdel. It was clear she did not want the captain to impose undue burdens on an already reasonable proposal. Cornered between Inimois’ glare and Sanquivio’s cunning, Amizdel gave in. At once, the pharaoh bade all his retinue to leave him be. They placed the litter with the container on the ground, and went their way
. The rumble of the giants’ feet moved farther and farther away, and left behind only the whispering sighs of the crickets.
When the dawn cast her glow over the morning mist, the princess and captain could see only two shapes against the dark backdrop of the night: one belonging to Sanquivio, sitting on the ground; the other—presumably—was the pharaoh’s present. And though this present was much smaller than the logizkal, it moved as if it were alive.
Amizdel wanted to lower the drawbridge and send some sentries to inspect the gift, as agreed. But Inimois grew impatient and demanded to await no longer—she too would be there when the present was inspected. So the captain carried the small princess on his shoulders and went down, following behind his soldiers at a safe distance from the pharaoh or a potential ambush.
As they approached, Sanquivio did not move. He remained sitting on the ground, so as to pose no threat. Now, under the morning light, they could see the beauty of the litter: made of wood, and magnificently carved with the same intricate floral patterns embellishing Ophir’s houses. The rings upon which the carrying poles were inserted were made of pure gold. Thus the pharaoh sought again to show the artisanship of those attending his academy.
Upon the litter was set a giant clay pot, filled with water to the brim. Peering into the water, one could see a creature swimming inside. Only then did Sanquivio bestir himself: He whistled; the creature answered his call, emerging from the water, and the sentinels were on guard.
A mermaid it was. Her skin as fair as Nod’s; her hair as red as Inimois’; her beauty lesser than the other two, but still enough to leave the crizians awestruck. They had never seen a mermaid before, since merfolk tend to dwell deep underneath Meribah’s subaquatic realms. The giants had not crossed paths with a mermaid since they had left the ocean, uncountable generations ago. They knew not that this mermaid had not in fact come from the seas, but from Moab’s belly.
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