“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 millennium 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 picking 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. He leaned against the well. “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 from him.
“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 in 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 wellsprings of the abyss will rise!” “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 the 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 was 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 obscured 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 drain hole. These two objects sat on a field of massive flagstones and behind the throne were remnants of an amphitheater. Evidently 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 from spreading out in a tactical formation.
Lokutis took his seat on the throne and Akahamet stood at his side. Lokutis’s 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’s 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 that 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 smoky glass—was a throne.
Upon this seat sat Marduk.
He was a giant of a man, perhaps half again the height of a normal 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’s 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 t
he 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.”
Echoes of Avalon (Tales of Avalon Book 1) Page 25