Sanquivio nodded, and Moruzio commanded. The nephilin army flew up above and flanked the beast—at a safe distance, lest they be struck by some wayward bolt or flame. The pharaoh caressed his iron crown Razil, which bequeathed him control over the fierce beast.
That day was the Fall equinox.
On the other side of the barricade, the obscured firmament frightened Melchy-Zedek. This was the first time the Dark Beast had set foot on the north, the first time northern eyes had seen such a vision. With burning concern, the Pontiff watched it all from a window in his house.
“We are doomed!” exclaimed Fugizlo, as he raced through the pontifical court, taken by sheer panic. He was one of the brobnin who had taken refuge in the Blessed City.
“Who is doomed, if Aigonz be with us?” replied Bilidio, placing his hand upon Fugizlo. And never did the pontiff’s countenance look stronger than that day, even if he did not wield his pontifical staff.
“Aigonz with us? Did the isthmus not get conquered, and all the north as well? How can you say Aigonz is with us? Behold the Dark Beast coming against us! This would be a lost battle if we were against the might of the nephilin hordes… but who can withstand the might of the Beast?”
“Aigonz can. And Aigonz will.”
So saying he went out to join the terrorized melchin crowd. But he did not come out empty-handed. He had brought something from his house. He rolled down his sleeves and covered his hands, so as to bring this most sacred relic outside: the Amozia, which Inimois had relinquished.
“To me, Melchy-Zedek, to me!” Bilidio ordered from the city’s main plaza. “Let not one amongst you take refuge in your homes or in any hidden corner, for there you shall not be safer than if you follow my instructions! Come to the light of day, for we will need all the soldiers we can get!”
Fugizlo had also come out of the pontifical house, and he also was not empty-handed. He had drawn his bronze sword at the hearing of Bilidio’s words:
“If a soldier you request, here a soldier you shall find! I may be doomed, but will not be doomed without a fight!”
“Put away your sword, Fugizlo, for our foe is not made of flesh or iron, but of a matter which transcends us! Hands will not trounce it, only strengthen it! Knees, not hands, may defeat it! Kneel! Kneel you all and pray to the only one who may save us! Pray to the stars that Prince Livionz come to our aid, as centuries long past, when he single-handedly vanquished all the monsters!”
One by one, the melchin kneeled before Amozia, as it was held high by Bilidio’s shrouded hands. Fugizlo hesitated to put away his sword, but in the end obeyed. As he knelt—the last one to do so—the Dark Beast had already set its famished eyes upon Melchy-Zedek and was charging against it with the corpulence and fury of a gigantic ox. It was distant, but also swift as a gale: In a few moments, it devoured the distance separating the Corona Borealis from the Blessed City.
“The beast is coming!” Fugizlo yelled, as he saw a shadow darkening the ground. Many glanced back and saw he was right: The Dark Beast was already upon them.
“Fools! Do not turn your backs!” the pontiff cried. “It is but noise and hot air! If you wish to save yourselves, keep your hearts steady!”
So the pontiff said, and yet the Dark Beast’s burning mouth was already towering over their roofs.
There came a flash like an explosion. It took everyone by surprise, including the Beast. The entire city transfigured itself, its white walls more luminous than the sun. And a beam pierced the glass dome containing Amozia, shooting forth as a blade of light. This light was like unto the Golden Sphinxes’ eyes when the Dark Beast was defeated for the first time. And this radiant blade, likewise, beheaded the Dark Beast.
The Beast’s head rolled back from its shoulders and fell at the doors of the Blessed City, by the pools where the purification rituals took place. As for the rest of the beast’s body, even in death it was taken by the speed of the charge, and raced into the sea beyond Melchy-Zedek, where it fell, its severed neck gushing out scorching blood and a hissing squeal of agony.
So did the Dark Beast perish for the second time, and it would not raise again till many ages had passed. This age, though—the Age of the Giants—was at its end.
***
From afar, Pharaoh and Inimois also witnessed the Dark Beast’s inconceivable destruction. What had happened? Sanquivio did not know. For the first time in his life, he was at a loss. For the first time, a plan of his had failed to come to be. He saw the white light seeping from the Blessed City and did not understand it. His mind throbbed with memories when the Dark Beast was slain by Ophir’s Golden Sphinxes, but in his pride he blinded himself to the echoes of the past. Thus he made the same mistake as his father:
“No matter. We… we still command our armies, much superior to theirs,” he said, trying to keep his usually serene poise. This serenity was but a mask. It could not cover the thick drops of sweat crowning his forehead, alongside Razil. His hands faltered, for they felt control escaping from betwixt their fingers, and his arms shook as branches abandoned in the wind.
Inimois sought to comfort him, reaching her kind arm to gently stroke Sanquivio’s thigh. But this did not comfort him; rather it irritated him: It was proof he could not disguise his doubt anymore. The giant kicked her away, knocking her on her back. Only then did Sanquivio notice how, by doing so, he had bared the tumult inside his soul. He coughed, but could not longer fool anyone:
“Moruzio! Go forth!”
The captain did not fulfill these words immediately. He hesitated, for he too was taken aback by doubt. Whilst the pharaoh could close his eyes to memories of past errors, Moruzio could not. But his dithering went not unnoticed:
“Have you not heard what I ordered?!” the pharaoh reprimanded him. “Charge at once! Crush those vermin! No fear! No mercy! Now!”
Moruzio blew his horn, spurred his gryphon, and brandished Rubizioliz. A guttural roar, similar to a prowling wolf’s howl, spewed from Moruzio’s jaws and echoed inside his iron helmet. He thrust himself forward, flying at full speed. And the might of his army followed in his wake.
“Now!” yelled the pontiff. “Now approach our foes made of flesh and iron! Draw your weapons and prepare for battle!”
There was a trumpet blast on Melchy-Zedek’s side. The melchin rushed to their hippogriffs, crying out shouts of courage and hope which ascended into the heavens beyond the confines of Dumah. Animated by the power of Amozia, the northerners sallied against the invaders.
But soon, even before both armies could even meet, all this cacophony was silenced by a single command, stronger and louder than trumpets or roars of war:
“Enough!”
The hippogriffs halted mid-air, the gryphons as well, and even the very thoughts of everyone, northerners and southerners alike. The sylphs themselves, in the winds and stars, seemed to stop at this unknown sound. A cold shiver pierced all ears and raced down their spines. They turned and saw a single giant, flying in his lone hippogriff:
“Nephilin, turn back and trouble us no more. Do so, if you wish to live!”
But the cold shiver gave rise to a sigh of relief. It was Oiskal, the melchin priest. Moruzio, the captain of the titanic forces, laughed and said:
“We did not retreat before a northern army charging against us! Why would we then retreat before vain threats?”
“Those are not vain threats, rather friendly advice.”
“And how are you going to do so, you who have come alone and unarmed?”
“I have come not alone.”
On a sudden, from behind Oiskal, there appeared an immense crowd of logizkal, flying on the backs of white hippogriffs. But this was not just any northerner squadron. Some of the riders the nephilin knew from history books, or from statues in the streets, or from high reliefs on temple friezes. Others the nephilin recognized because they were still alive when the southerners had met them. They were all of Thebel’s pontiffs, from Bizimonz to Faris-Romil. With them there were many others: sa
ges and priests, judges and heroes of yore.
Thus was the plan that Bilidio weaved in secret with Oiskal made manifest. For the first time, a giant had crossed Mathusal’s threshold, not because he had grown tired of living, but because he was animated with the will to live. Bilidio vouchsafed his pontifical staff to Oiskal and sent him to the City of Ancestors. For Bizimonz, the first pontiff, had so said: That staff would be the key to open any gate of any city, without failing. Only thus could Oiskal plunge into the necropolis’ darkness and leave without joining himself to those who forever slumbered, for Mathusal is protected by fearsome sphinxes and scorpions.
Oiskal had flown to Mathusal the previous day, and spent the whole night awakening all of the dormant giants from their slumber. It had not been an easy feat. When the logizkal are taken by the everlasting weariness, there is no scream, push, or slap that can awaken them. But Oiskal cried out his account of these most heinous evils, which could awaken the dead themselves. Bizimonz, the first pontiff, and Faris-Romil, the last pontiff to sleep there, awakened before all others. And as they stood, all the rest at Mathusal were awakened by the might of their steps, treading the ground once more.
Chapter
31
The Great Calamity
The nephilin army stood still for long moments, aloft in silent skies, staggered by these apparitions. They did not know how to proceed. Their gryphons seemed to know more: They stirred uneasily, and only a great tightening on the reins stopped them from returning to their stables at Nemrod.
At that moment, there was also a choir of deafening shrieks. Thousands of swallows had taken flight and banded together in massive black clouds. Taken by an irresistible terror, they fled north with such fervour, they flew past the nephilin soldiers and almost jostled them. Never again were swallows seen, not even during summer months, and will only return when the prophesied time comes.
The swallows, however, wrestled Moruzio away from his surprise. As captain of Nephil, it behooved him to lead his hosts away from that startled silence:
“Hail, you who wear such fancy disguises! Why do you feign to be such illustrious lords of the past? Are you jealous of them? Are you fools? Worst yet, do you take us for fools? For we would be fools indeed, to fall for such foolish trickery!”
He heard some laughs behind him, though not as many as he wished for. But Faris-Romil came forth and spake. His voice was unmistakable. Many of them had heard him speak when he was pontiff, when the southerners still went on pilgrimage to Melchy-Zedek:
“You ask us if we take you for fools. I will answer you: Yea. We take you for fools. You all are fools for challenging Aigonz and spilling your brethren’s blood. No trickery this be: Rather, it was to avert your sacrilege that we have come before you! If you proceed, a great calamity shall fall upon your heads! But it is not yet too late! Go back, go back to your lands! Cease this futile dispute and your lives will be spared, your sins notwithstanding!”
Moruzio was not scared. He had Nod’s blessing upon his head, that he could never be defeated by any being made of flesh. Those giants before him might be dead, but of flesh they were nonetheless. The captain brandished Rubizioliz three times and replied:
“I do believe you are here to avert the spilling of blood! Your blood! The blood of our enemies! You believe that, by tricking us, you will save your lives. In vain do you think so, for behold! Gaze upon this axe, which is invincible, and yet is but the sword of my lord, the pharaoh, King of all Thebel! Victory is within our grasp! What can we fear?”
So the captain spake, but his soldier’s hearts faltered. Moruzio felt the cold in his back and raised Rubizioliz once more, hoping the axe’s glimmer could thaw the courage of his hosts. He said:
“Even if these impostors were who they claim to be—and they are not!—behold their numbers! They are but a few dozens, whilst we are thousands! What have they done throughout their lives but to sit in comfy thrones, while writing books and speeches? Even Bizimonz over yonder, who supposedly vanquished many monsters in ages long past—what has he done that compares to our deeds? You, who have conquered the whole world? He is a giant who has slain monsters and you are giants who have slain giants! Is not he, too, a giant? Are his limbs not numbed by centuries of sleep? Do you believe he retains the same vigour as before? These you see before you are the greatness of the past, while we are great now! And is not present greatness greater than greatness long spent? They had their statues in northern plazas, but we have razed those plazas to the ground! Now, it will be your statues which will be raised in the plazas, so that your children may fear you as you now fear them! Why fear heroes when you are heroes yourselves? Let us purge them from our memory, and rewrite history as we see fit!”
Slowly, the nephilin chests warmed to these words: They thawed and were set ablaze! Now, the nephilin wished that those before them were not impostors, and rather the true heroes of yore. They yearned to tell their grandchildren: “I was the one who slew Bizimonz and brought his severed head on a spear in a triumphant procession through the streets of conquered Melchy-Zedek.”
But just as Faris-Romil had gone forth to talk with Moruzio, now it was Bizimonz who did so. The first of all pontiffs spake thus:
“Do you believe your exploits justify so much presumption? Do you believe your conquests worthy of song and memory? Do you believe history will look kindly upon you? How deceived you are by the illusions of fortune! Your strength is but a mirage, since it is born from entities far more powerful than you! Just so the foolhardy sheep thinks the wolf fears her, whilst the shepherd from behind casts the protective shadow of his staff over her! If you have triumphed over the Republic for so long, it is because the stars kept silent! But no more! For this reason did the stars allow the very laws of nature to be overturned, and Mathusal dwellers to appear before you! Woe betide you if you come against us or Melchy-Zedek, for then your sins will have been consummated and the stars will unleash their power against you! What mortal being can withstand it, let alone bear it?”
Moruzio did not reply, save with a laugh. The captain fell upon Bizimonz and Faris-Romil with his axe held on high. His legions followed him, as clouds of locusts plunging over a wheat field. The pontiffs, however, did not even move. All they did was shake their heads and glance towards Melchy-Zedek.
“Not even a sword have they unsheathed!” Moruzio celebrated. “They are ours already!”
Nod, however, felt disquieted. As all these things were unfolding, the pharaoh had stayed behind, with the princess and the sylphid by his side. Nod’s gaze was fixed, not on the battlefield, but on the firmaments. Her sylphic eyes could perceive what mortal eyes could not. And her lovely teeth gnawed at her nails.
“Pharaoh, my lord! There is not a minute to spare! Thou must bid thy troops retreat!”
Sanquivio shook his head, as if awakened from a dream:
“What? What say you, oh sylphid?”
“Thy life is in grave danger! If thou wishest to survive with thine army, thou must flee at once!”
“I shall not! I shall not withdraw as the gates of victory open before me!”
Nod pointed towards the sky to the northeast. Therein one could glimpse at a pillar of light, at times similar to a cloud of vapour, other times to a cylinder of fire:
“If thou dost not follow my advice, thou shall contend with the stars themselves! Behold, that fiery blade belongs to Moriah, the Executioner, a Higher Sylph!”
“What have I to do with it? I am Pharaoh! I promised I would measure my strength with the stars and so I shall! Are you not a sylphid as well? Then I command you, go and wage war against Moriah yourself!”
“I see thou hast so intoxicated thyself with the power I have given unto thee, thou hast lost all sense and reason! No matter: I have a good antidote for thy drunkenness!”
She spake thus and tore away every semblance of tenderness from her face. For the first time since they had met her, the mortals could see her countenance wrinkled with such fierce anger, t
hat alone would be enough to overwhelm any giant into submission. But as the pharaoh’s knee refused to bend—one did not know if out of pride or astonishment—Nod lit up as a silvery torch, a furnace burning with the very lightning of heaven. Her glow kept growing and growing, her irate features dissolving in an icy-blue incandescence, till not even the pharaoh could bear it. The king’s spine melted as a wax candle and his face tasted the dust of the ground, since his eyes burned with the sylphid’s power:
“Dost thou enjoy it? ‘Tis naught compared with what I can do! And ‘tis naught compared with what Moriah can do as well! Observe, oh King, and diminish to thy pathetic, carnal insignificance! Whenever thou feelest tempted to challenge me again, remember what thou hast seen! Or thou shalt be consumed by my wrath!”
Nod then raised Sanquivio from the ground and with a disfigured voice, ordered him:
“Now call back my army at once, before I lose it!” But as she said these words, the tip of Moriah’s sword touched the northern horizon. There came an incandescent lightning, far superior to anything Nod could conjure. Then Moriah’s corpulent body could be seen rising from the skyline, his stomach thin, his shoulders broad, as a colossal mushroom growing beyond the boundaries of the world. The matter forming Moriah’s body was like pure fire blended with clouds of smoke, similar to the Dark Beast, but reddish and luminous. And there was a halo of ire about him, his eyes flaming towards the nephilin. Then was Moriah’s voice heard:
“For too long have the stars kept silent!” And his voice resounded across the whole earth, and the firmament, and the abyss. “Because of Mamreh’s intercession have I forgiven you seventy times seven: For she is the keeper of life and abhoreth all death, even that of the wicked! But ye abused this celestial benevolence to profane the sacred harmony which ruleth over this land! Enough! My anger can no longer be contained, nor my judgment postponed! Should I not annihilate you? Is there any other way to end your most heinous deeds? So be it! Let ye perish for your sins!”
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