A strange smile seemed to pass across her black lips and her yellow eyes seemed to glow a little more brightly. “That is acceptable. Make sure you can provide me with those kinds of numbers in the future.”
“I will make certain of it, Mistress.” Namtar wondered if Lamasthu knew that obtaining slaves was becoming a more difficult task to perform. There were plenty of humans in the realms, but virtually all of them were bound to other gods. Most new births were quickly dedicated to the deity of their parents. Stealing them without cause or recompense was a fast path to war or severe punishment from the Council. Namtar kept his concerns to himself. He knew well that Lamasthu would neither care nor offer help.
“I’ll send my priests to take them back to the Hanging Gardens.” Lamasthu turned away and flicked her tendrilled hand in a dismissive manner, ready to move on. “And have the other sales enriched the realm of Babylos?”
“I have 12,000 gold for the realm. We just had our best sale in the last hundred years, Mistress Lamasthu.”
She spun to look at him with a genuine expression of curiosity on her slimy dark green face. “Oh? And to what do you owe this increase?”
“We had a very successful auction. One sale of a slave girl brought in over a thousand gold.”
“For one girl? What made her so special? Did she have four arms or magical abilities?
Namtar answered truthfully, but took care not to sing the praises of Princess too highly. Lamasthu might be angered that such a special slave had not been saved for her use alone. “She was an exquisitely beautiful virgin who caught the eye of several buyers. It was a lively auction, mistress.”
Lamasthu snorted. “So who bought her? What fool paid that much for a virgin?” she asked with an air of superiority.
“It was an Egyptian healer. He outbid two other gods to get her. I think he had examined the girl when she was first discovered. He must have taken pity on her, Mistress. It happens from time to time.”
Lamasthu’s eyes narrowed with displeasure. “How would an Egyptian healer be able to spend so much for a harlot slave? They don’t earn that much in a dozen lifetimes. Are you certain there was nothing else unusual about her?” She approached Namtar with menace, determined to extract the whole story from him.
“Well, she never got dirty. I dropped dust on her once and it just fell away from her. And she claimed to have no memories of her past. Then there was the missing navel.” Namtar spoke ineloquently, growing more nervous by the moment
“Missing navel?” Lamasthu snarled. “What are you talking about?”
“She did not have one. I noticed it the first night we had her. But I hid that fact from the buyers. I didn’t want that to lower her selling price.”
“You fool! You said the healer had examined her. He must have known about it.” Lamasthu crossed her arms and stroked her chin with her tendrilled hand. What did the lack of a navel mean? She paced around the room, thinking to herself. After a few seconds of silence, she turned back to Namtar. “What’s the name of that healer?”
“Kafele, who is in the service of Set,” Namtar immediately supplied.
“Set? I might have known. Leave me; I have other matters to attend to.”
She dismissed Namtar with a wave of a tendril and moved to the balcony. A distant outline of a large pyramid in the Egyptian quarter dominated the horizon as the late afternoon sun shone over the city. She would be adding the acquisition of this unusual slave to the agenda of the meeting she had come here to have with Set.
* * *
Set glared at the figurines representing his brother and sister gods. He had arranged them on a golden table in order of their troublesomeness. Sekhmet stood at the front of the line this season. She had been gathering allies from other realms at an alarming rate, and was winning fierce devotion from her mortals. It seemed she was taking a page from Set’s own playbook.
“It will do you no good,” he growled at the image of his feline rival. The small statue, like most images of gods in the City, had a spiritual connection with its real counterpart. The miniature Sekhmet magically responded with an irritated flick of her tail and looked away, as if completely disinterested in Set’s opinions. Set grabbed the disrespectful figurine and squeezed it. As Lamasthu crept into the room, it began to bite and claw the dark god’s fingers.
“I like your toys,” she said, surprising him. “Let me play.”
Set tossed the Sekhmet statue back onto the table, where some of the other effigies grouped around it protectively. “You’re late, Lamasthu.”
“Perhaps if you’d told me your secret I wouldn’t be. I had to hear it from Namtar, and he’s such a bore I nearly slept through the news.” Lamasthu moved from where she stood partially protected by a rack of ceremonial spears to stand opposite Set. “How ever did you find our little stray? Did you beat the bushes like Quetzalcoatl? Go anywhere in the realms and you’ll trip over one of his hunting packs.”
“The universe knows of my interests and caters to them,” Set pronounced, a conceit that sent Lamasthu into gales of laughter. When she recovered, she guessed the truth.
“Your man stumbled over her, didn’t he? How much do you want for that healer? I could use a servant of superior competence.”
“He’s not for sale.”
“Is the girl?”
“Of course.” A smug quirk of Set’s heavy lips told Lamasthu his words did not mean what they seemed. “Someone will pay dearly for her.”
Lamasthu sidled up to him and tickled his side with her long fingers. “Do remember to share your profits with me,” she counseled. “Spare me that tedious trip across the realms to cut a deal with the Feathered Serpent.”
Set realized that a short-term alliance was his best strategy, and fought down the anger that was tempting him to test his physical strength against that of the Babylonian goddess. Nothing would send her into Quetzalcoatl’s camp quicker. “When we see what we have,” he said cautiously, “you can tell me what you want for it.”
“Good. I like to have first pick. In the meantime, don’t break her. You’re very hard on your poor little playthings.”
From the table, the tiny Sekhmet hissed at them both.
Chapter 21 - The Search Continues
And he wins again,” Eros said dryly, shaking his head at Zeph’s misplaced belief that he could actually win a game of dice with the god of trickery. Zephyrus stared at the dice that betrayed him with an innocently confused look on his face. Hermes stretched, reaching up to scratch at the fluttering golden wing attached to his hat. He appeared years younger than Eros and Zephyrus, preferring the form of a teenaged youth to that of an older male. The guise added much to his ability to maneuver and deceive. Older gods often wrongly assumed he was green and inexperienced.
“That’s ten more sheep to steal for our shepherds,” Hermes accounted. “I hear the Mayan realm has a good selection this time of year.” He adjusted the new clasp on the shoulder of the chiton he wore, which he’d stolen from Apollo’s chambers.
The three gods were passing the time at a busy trading center. Hermes resided here when he wasn’t up to his own tricks or engaged in delivering messages for the other major gods of the Olympian realm. After the capture of the beast, Eros had brought Zephyrus here to recover. Frankly, he was a little worried about him.
“Is it really fair to gamble with him right now?” Eros asked Hermes. “He took a pretty hard knock on the head.”
Zephyrus brushed off the suggestion that he was hurt. “I’m fine! That beast would never have managed to kick me if I hadn’t been distracted by one of those half-naked dryads.”
Unlike the Wind, it took more than a show of skin to scramble Hermes’ wits. “Seen one naked nymph, seen ‘em all. Right, Eros?” he dismissed.
“Maybe,” Eros partially agreed, “but I never saw anything like that beast. I wonder what Ares and Zeus are going to do with it?”
“If I know Ares,” Hermes said, pushing his chair away from the table and putti
ng his feet up, “he’s either trying to make a pet of it, or coming up with a way to use it in battle.”
Zephyrus frowned as Hermes’ feet scattered the dice and signaled the end of the gambling. Then a sneaky expression replaced his glower. “Care to make a bet?”
“What kind of bet?” Hermes asked. He’d win the tunic off Zephyrus’s back if the fool kept trying to beat him.
“A bet about what Ares is doing with the beast. We each make a guess, and then we’ll fly over to the fortress and see who was right.”
Eros groaned. “Like I said,” he reiterated, “don’t listen to the god with the head injury. Apparently the piece of his brain dedicated to not annoying war gods fell out somewhere.”
“Ah, it would annoy him, wouldn’t it?” Hermes grinned. As one of the twelve great Olympians, he had no reservations about toying with his brothers and sisters. “I like the idea on that basis alone.”
“All right,” Eros said. “I can see I’m outnumbered here, so let’s get it over with. Zephyrus, what’s your guess?’
Zephyrus was immediately pleased that he had first choice, then suddenly doubtful. Once he spoke his idea, the others might be able to come up with something better. But if he gave up his advantage, one of them might pick his idea. “This is hard!” he complained, thinking. “We’re betting for beer, right?” The other two laughed at him, which he tried to ignore.
“Beer will do. But hurry and make your wager before Ares gets hungry and eats the thing,” Hermes nudged.
“Fine. I think he’ll keep it in his dungeons and feed prisoners to it,” Zephyrus stated.
“I can see that,” Hermes mused. “But I think he’s more likely to keep it hungry until he wants to unleash it on some unfortunate army. So you say he’s feeding it, I say he’s not.”
Hermes and Zephyrus looked at Eros. They noticed that despite his assertion that this was a stupid thing to bet on, he was putting a great deal of thought into his guess.
“And the love god says . . .” Hermes led.
“Bait. He’s using it for bait, like a hostage. He and Zeus want to see who or what is going to come after it,” Eros reasoned out.
“How are we going to know if that’s s-so,” Zeph protested. “That’s too complicated! It’s not easy to check, like whether it has food or not.”
Hermes nodded. “He’s right. Eros, I release you from this bet. It will just be between us.” He made a magnanimous gesture toward Zephyrus, which flattered the naïve Wind. “Eros can be impartial,” Hermes went on. “He will come with us to see, and if there is any doubt, I trust him to decide which of us wins.”
“Agreed!” Zephyrus said, thinking himself to have the advantage because Eros was his best friend. “Let’s go. I’m already getting thirsty.”
The three flying gods headed off for Ares’ Fortress. It was a considerable journey, as it lay on the opposite border of the realm. But such a distance was nothing for speedy Hermes. Eros and Zephyrus could not keep up with him and he arrived at the fortress well ahead of the others. While he waited, he considered going in to the beast’s prison and rigging the bet to his advantage; but the stakes of a single beer wasn’t worth the trouble. When the others arrived, Hermes led them to the courtyard where a magical cage held the beast, enthusiastically chewing through the nets which held it, and a group of humans, frantically trying to dig their way out of the prison before the beast got loose.
“Ha! I win!” Zephyrus gloated. “The beast is being served Greeks under glass for dinner!”
Eros studied the scene and agreed. “I’m afraid he’s right Hermes, there’s no doubt - D’Molay? What are you doing in there?”
D’Molay looked upon the three gods with considerable relief. “I’m trying to escape,” he said. “And help would be greatly appreciated!”
The Greek soldiers who were exhausted from digging trudged over to D’Molay’s side of the cage and yelled out for help as well. Hermes stepped up to examine the bars that were holding the men. “This old trick again,” the god said smugly. He turned to his companion gods. “If they deserve to be free, tell me, and I’ll let them out. I always did have a soft spot for criminals.”
“Free them,” Eros said immediately. “That man was on a quest which we had to interrupt for this business. He’s done what he was pressed to do.”
D’Molay nodded thankfully to Eros then turned to Hermes. “If you open a small hole, all these men can escape but the beast will remain trapped,” he suggested.
“Human, of all the gods, I am the least in need of suggestions for breaking prisoners out of jail,” Hermes scoffed. Hermes took action immediately. He chose a point where the bars crossed and danced his fingers over the seemingly impenetrable metal. The bars snapped like brittle twigs, leaving an opening large enough to let the men out. They immediately began hoisting each other to freedom.
Herikos looked back at the wagon they would have to leave behind. “If that monster gets loose, it will eat the oxen,” he said regretfully. This remark made Hermes laugh.
“Do I understand you would like me to steal some livestock as well?” With a twinkle in his eye, he temporarily widened another hole in front of the team. Herikos hurried over to unhitch the animals and prod them toward safety. He followed them out, thanking Hermes for his kindness.
“If I did not fear Ares’ wrath, I’d ask them to put Panos in here,” Kastor said to D’Molay as he assisted him to escape.
“Thank you, all of you,” D’Molay said once all had been freed. He suddenly realized he was the only one standing as the Greeks knelt down to properly thank the gods that had come to their rescue. Feeling out of place, he moved to leave. D’Molay’s mind was filled with what he had learned from the beast. It was more important than ever that he find Aavi. As he ran out of the fortress, the last thing he heard was Zephyrus demanding to be served a beer.
His enthusiasm carried him about half a league before his common sense kicked in. He had been flown a great distance from where he and Mazu had camped and she would have surely moved on since then. D’Molay came to a halt. The road ahead stretched endlessly. Realizing it would take him weeks to traverse the realms and return to the City, D’Molay cursed, looking back toward the fortress and wondering if he dare return for help.
At that moment, Eros felt an itch in his wing. He reached under his arm and scratched, his fingers encountering D’Molay’s metal relic. He pulled the lump free of his feathers and observed it as it rested in his palm. A prickly aura of static danced across the metal. Eros glanced over at Zephyrus, Hermes, and the Greeks, who had rounded up some of Ares’ servants to bring them liquor and food. Their loud celebrations rang through the courtyard. He wouldn’t be missed if he snuck away to get rid of the tracker’s stone.
Eros flew off, speeding in moments to the spot where D’Molay stood. “Tracker,” Eros said, landing before him. “I have something for you.”
Eros held out his hand, but D’Molay was only looking at his wings as a wide smile broke across his face.
“Eros - Please fly me to the City!”
“That’s not why I -”
“Take me there, I beg you. The life of my friend is in peril.” D’Molay said forcefully. An anger deep inside him that he’d set aside long ago was rising. On Earth his commands would have been obeyed without question. Part of his soul rebelled at being always under the authority of the strange beings that held power in this City.
Eros felt the passion behind the Freeman’s demand. It was raw, and it spoke to him.
“You will owe me service if I do this,” Eros warned, putting the lump away. It would be useful in finding the man later when he had need of him.
“I agree, yes - can we leave now?” D’Molay had no care of what giving his word to the Olympian might mean. Only moving on in his search for Aavi was important.
“Where are we’re going?” Eros asked as he hoisted D’Molay into the air.
“The Great Library,” D’Molay answered.
Thank
s to Eros’ speed, the Great Library soon appeared in the distance. A huge white dome sat atop a square pedestal surrounded by hundreds of columns. The dome was over two-hundred feet high and perhaps a thousand feet across. On each corner of the pedestal were other large white buildings topped by peaked roofs. Each of these buildings was decorated in the manner of one of the major realms so that the whole complex represented all the gods. One building stood for Egyptos, one for Asia’s deities, one for the Mayans and one for the Hindu. Olympia was represented by the large dome in the center, and midway between each of the four buildings were four structures styled for the remaining Pantheons: Celtic, Afrik, Babylos and the Cold Realms.
“Can you set me down there?” D’Molay asked as they arrived, pointing toward the Afrik building. Without question, Eros veered and soon D’Molay felt his feet drag against the dirt pathway outside it. Before he could turn and offer his thanks, Eros had darted back into the sky. D’Molay paused for a moment to rearrange his windblown clothing before proceeding inside. His destination was the Sacrificial Registry.
Although the information Glaucus had provided suggested that Aavi had been taken to live as a slave, another dark possibility existed. Some slaves were bought specifically to be used as sacrifices. It was a horrible practice that had been warped by the gods of the City into an honorable fate for the unfortunate slave. The Afrik wing held the great register of life and death. All humans that were sacrificed to the gods were supposed to be listed in the great book, though D’Molay had some doubts about who was responsible for it and how accurately they kept track of all the sacrifices. Perhaps some magic on the part of the Council automatically added the names, but only the high priests and the scribe gods knew the details of how it all worked. D’Molay’s greatest fear was that he’d see Aavi’s name there.
There were no guards standing vigil for the library was open to all, though D’Molay was sure the Council had unseen methods of protection put in place after the War of the Gods almost five hundred years ago. He had never entered the Sacrificial Registry before. D’Molay walked up steps and through an arched entry flanked by white marble carvings of a giraffe and a zebra. Even those creatures might be some kind of protection, coming to life when needed. Beyond the archway, he noticed that tiny blades of grass were poking out of the stone tiles. With each step he saw more and more of the grass appearing, until there was no tile to be seen, only green savanna grass and roots. The walls underwent a similar change. Clinging vines covered them, snaking among large ceremonial masks, spears and the shields. Carved faces of numerous Afrik deities peeked out from the foliage. The vines covered the ceiling as well. After walking about fifty paces, D’Molay felt like he was deep inside a jungle rather than inside a building. The air was moist and refreshing. It smelled of rain and fresh grass.
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