The Tree of Life (Lost Civilizations: 3)

by Vaughn Heppner

  “How so?” Joash asked, wondering upon the Nephilim’s logic, and his open disgust of Gibborim.

  “The Gibborim are mighty necromancers, this is well known. Of all the Nephilim, they’re the most proficient at that dangerous art. But they do not steal the souls of animals. In fact, I’m not sure animals have souls. Not as we’ve come to understand the concept. Necromancers use humans. I’ve heard of half-Nephilim, and even Nephilim, who the Gibborim have used in this grim way. This fact of souls proves that humanity is a higher form of life.”

  “Why then, do you use men as beasts?”

  “Ah, because they’re not Nephilim,” Mimir said with a grin. “We giants are not so addled as to fool ourselves about the true nature of things. Thus, we appreciate bravery in a human. Thus, I talk with you. Thus, I understand how you see yourself without my also becoming enraged at your arrogance. Other Nephilim are not so strong. Giants, as you can clearly see, are the most superior form of Nephilim.”

  “Why do you think the giants are like this?”

  “Because of our father, Jotnar,” Mimir said.

  Joash digested this. He soon asked, “Do you think the art of necromancy twists Nephilim?”

  Mimir seemed uncomfortable with the idea.

  “You do,” Joash said.

  “No. Nonsense,” Mimir said, brushing the idea aside with a wave of his hand.

  “Why aren’t you a practitioner of the art?”

  “I’m a warrior,” Mimir said, spitting some chewed raisins as he did. “By my axe and wits, I mold reality, not through spells.”

  “Why not by necromancy?” asked Joash, who stepped over a smear of raisins that lay on the trail like bird guano.

  “There’s always a price to be paid. I don’t wish to pay this price.”

  “You’ve given me much to think about,” Joash said.

  “Oh?” the giant asked.

  “I wonder if giants are less evil than Gibborim.”

  Mimir’s hand remained in the raisin pouch instead of automatically returning to his mouth. “We’re superior, not less evil.”

  “Don’t you like being allied to Gibborim?”

  Mimir laughed harshly. “Do you think I’m a simpleton? Do you hope to trap me with words?”

  “I don’t understand,” Joash said.

  “Humph.” Mimir strode in silence, except for the constant clink of his mail. He soon nodded. “Maybe you don’t understand. Let me just say this: I’m glad to ally myself with Yorgash and his Chosen. The Gibborim will help us conquer the Overlord and his addled minions.”

  ***

  On the afternoon of the fifth day since refusing to say ‘High One’, Joash was troubled. They were deep in the Hanun Mountains. Before, there had been signs of mountain tribes, footprints, broken flint tools, pieces of rope and an arrow in bleached bones. Those signs had disappeared. The band now marched in a pristine mountain valley. Pine trees surrounded them, and in the clearings, were herds of fat deer that seemed strangely unafraid, or unused to men or giants. The sabertooths feasted well, and the giants speared meat for tonight’s spits.

  Joash wondered why the man-signs had disappeared. This valley was alive with game. It was secluded, surely the perfect place for a tribe who wished to live in peace. Mimir dropped back and marched beside him. At a signal, the white-haired Gorts hurried ahead.

  “You seem pleased,” Joash said.

  Mimir’s secret smile grew.

  “What is it?”

  “Keep walking, manling. You’ll see it soon enough.”

  Joash was intrigued. He lengthened his stride, and after a turn in the trail, he stopped and stared. The forest had split into two. Running between the halves was a road paved with cyclopean blocks of gray stone. No grass or weeds grew between the monstrous blocks sunken into the flinty soil. The road was smooth, although worn, and it had the feel of incredible age. Four chariots abreast could’ve raced upon it. It was a road for giants or for beings bigger, and more powerful than giants.

  “Where does it lead?” Joash asked.

  “To the Valley of Dry Bones,” Mimir said.

  Joash shook his head. He’d never heard of such a place. It sounded ominous.

  With a shove, Mimir propelled him onto the road.

  These were ancient blocks, put here when the world had been young. Who’d made the road, and why?

  “Are there cities in these mountains?” Joash asked.

  “Long ago there were. But not any longer,” the giant said, maybe with a touch of sadness.

  “Who lived here?” asked Joash.

  “In these mountains was one of the capital cities of the bene elohim. Babel the Mighty, it was called, and fell indeed was its reputation. Upon this road, marched thousands of doomed slaves into Babel, and out of Babel marched bene elohim-led hosts. If you listen closely, and open yourself to the road, you’ll hear the ghostly clank of armor, the jangle of spears and chants of conquest. If you’re lucky, you’ll hear one of the mighty heroes of old shout a word of wisdom to you.”

  Joash dreaded the idea, and suddenly felt small and insignificant. But for just a moment, a fleeting instant, he thought to hear the crash of iron-shod feet. It made him start.

  “You hear,” Mimir whispered.

  Joash shivered himself out of the reverie and wiped cold sweat from his brow. In that moment, he saw the giants, not as huge and overpowering, but as a shadow of what had once been.

  “You understand the ancient glories,” Mimir said quietly. “I see it on your face. Aye, those were mighty days when the Elder warred for domination.”

  “But in the end they lost, Nephilim Mimir.”

  “Oh?”

  “The bene elohim warred and conquered, but in the end the Shining Ones took them off Earth, chained in adamant.”

  Mimir laughed. “Is that the nonsense Seraphs are taught these days?”

  “It’s the truth!”

  “Someone’s been feeding you lies.”

  Joash calmed down. It made sense the Nephilim thought otherwise. How else would they dare to raise their fists against Elohim? Still, it didn’t make sense. Tarag had witnessed the Thousand Years War. So had many Nephilim, maybe even Mimir himself.

  “How can you claim the bene elohim didn’t lose?” Joash asked.

  “How can you claim they did?”

  Joash snorted. “Look around you. There are no bene elohim on the Earth.”

  “Equally so, manling, there are no more Shining Ones.”

  “There is the guardian Cherub.”

  “Yes, there is the one. The others were forced from the Earth.”

  Joash had never heard that. Then, he understood. “Nephilim have invented tall tales to bolster their courage.”

  “I’m surprised you don’t know. It was part of the treaty.”

  “There wasn’t any treaty. ”

  “You’re gravely ignorant. A treaty ended the Thousand Years War, and left the struggle to us.”

  “If there was a treaty, why haven’t I heard about it?” Joash asked.

  “Because the Overlord’s minions are given lies to bolster their courage,” Mimir said. “It’s a common practice, just as it is common for a person to accuse another of his own fault. Liars are quick to spot lies, and thieves worry more about theft than anyone else does. I’ll admit your ignorance has some benefit. Look at you. A puny human, yet you’ve courage. It comes from your faith in lies.”

  It intrigued Joash there could be a different story to the end of the terrible war. “What did the treaty say?”

  “I commend you on wishing to learn the truth,” Mimir said. “Such yearning is rare. Usually, the well taught one refuses to consider anything other than what he was taught. You’re clearly made of sterner stuff.”

  Joash ignored the praise, knowing this was another of Mimir’s attempts to confuse him. Still, he was curious what Mimir had been taught. Therefore, he nodded.

  “Yes, the treaty,” Mimir said. “It was decided that the war was too co
stly, the sides too evenly matched. Therefore, Azel suggested a parley. Although Arioch tried to ambush him, they agreed the bene elohim and Shining Ones should leave the Earth. But the Shining Ones knew their allies, the so-called Empire, would need a legend to keep them from despairing and surrendering. The bene elohim agreed to this deception because they knew their progeny were superior to humans. Thus, it appeared to those left on Earth that the bene elohim left in chains, but it was a clever deception.”

  “And you believe such a tale?” Joash asked in wonder.

  “It is self-evident,” Mimir said.

  Joash worked to keep the laughter out of his voice. “I fail to see that.”

  “If the Overlord had the power you ascribe to him, he could easily conquer us. But he hasn’t. Therefore, he doesn’t have the power.”

  “You don’t believe Elohim created the Shining Ones?”

  Mimir brayed laughter. “What gross errors you’ve been taught. The Overlord is a mighty Cherub. But he’s weaker than Morningstar and certainly not the creator.”

  Joash violently shook his head.

  “Of course that’s the case,” Mimir said. “It’s so simple to see, that even you should understand. A third of the Shining Ones joined Morningstar. A long war in the Celestial Realm followed. In the end, Morningstar retreated. The Overlord had two thirds of the Shining Ones. Even with such advantages, all he was able to do was drive out Morningstar. He was never able to slay Morningstar. So it’s with simple logic I deduce that Morningstar is the mightier of the two.”

  “What about the Garden of Eden?”

  “What about it?” Mimir asked.

  “Who made it?”

  Mimir said with a nod, “Morningstar and the Overlord did, jointly, when they were still friends. It happened before the Overlord became jealous of Morningstar’s greatness.”

  “Why would the bene elohim agree to let a Cherub guard the Tree of Life?” Joash asked.

  “Because they knew, that in the end, their children could defeat the Cherub,” Mimir said. “Because during the parley, they were more cunning than the Shining Ones.”

  Joash’s mind spun from such a pack of lies. He wished he could think of something truly clever to say or ask. “If he’s so powerful, why doesn’t Morningstar simply smash aside the guardian Cherub?”

  “That would break the treaty.”

  “So?”

  “So the Overlord still has two thirds of the Shining Ones. Now is not the moment to change the agreement. Maybe after more Shining Ones see the light and join Morningstar... Still, that’s in the Celestial Realm. I’m more concerned with matters here on Earth. We’ve been left to war it out, and that suits me just fine.”

  “Were you alive at the end of the war?” Joash asked.

  “Alas, no.”

  “Were any of the giants now marching with us alive back then?”

  “Ygg the Terrible was there, and so was Ymir One-Eye.”

  “They believe what you say?”

  “Would you believe me if I said the sun will rise tomorrow?

  It angered Joash that Mimir could say such things. The Overlord wasn’t a Cherub. He was Elohim, the Creator of the Shining Ones, the Creator of the Earth and the Tree of Life. Why He didn’t obliterate the evil ones, Joash didn’t know. The priests back home said it was because of love, because of great, overwhelming patience. That even now, Elohim was merciful to the fallen bene elohim who’d raised their fists against Him. But, the day would come when the mercy ended.

  Joash smiled tightly. When given Nephilim lies, he would tell himself Elohim truths.

  “The truth is difficult to accept, I suppose,” Mimir said.

  “Not for me it isn’t.”

  “Oh?”

  “In a way, I pity you,” Joash said.

  Mimir’s dark eyes hardened.

  “You, one so wise, so knowledgeable, and yet, you accept such obvious lies. I’d not thought you so gullible. I’m disappointed.”

  The anger in Mimir’s eyes grew. “You are the fool, the one who believes lies. That gives you some strength—”

  “No,” Joash said. “Only the truth gives strength. What you have is hollow hope. I’ve begun to wonder whether you can turn away from your evil past.”

  Mimir spat on the road.

  “For man also is born into evil,” Joash said. “Did not our father Adam and our mother Eve rebel against Elohim when they ate from the Tree of Knowledge?”

  “Do you say that the Overlord enjoys ignorance?”

  Joash ignored the question. “So, if humanity can turn to Elohim, even though we’ve been born into a fallen world, then surely Nephilim can repent and turn to the truth.”

  “Bah!” Mimir said, with sudden rage. “Enough prattle! March. We must catch up with the others.”

  ***

  Joash marched with the Gorts. Each of the beefy servitors marched under a large load, their mouths closed as they breathed easily through their noses. Joash was still troubled by Mimir’s tales (and by his fleeting vision). How did he, Joash, know he had the truth?

  Then, it came to him.

  The First Born and Nephilim lived violence-filled lives filled with hatred and strife. Even allies hated each other. Compare them to Lord Uriah, Zillith, Adah, Captain Maharbal, Amery and Ard. Each of them had had their faults, each of them was human, but each wasn’t cruel, vile and vindictive. And why was that? Because each of them lived by Elohim’s rules. Who would he believe? The side that hated each other or the one that loved each other, despite their flaws?

  Joash rounded a bend in the road and beyond a screen of trees he saw it. It towered above the pine trees and was black like the interior of a cave. On it, words gleamed golden. Some of the giants had stopped, and now read the words. They nodded, and clapped each other on the back. Of Tarag and the Gibborim, there was no sign.

  Soon, Joash stopped before the towering obelisk. It was of black obsidian, with golden marks inlaid upon its glassy sides. The obelisk jutted upward, half again the height of the tallest pine trees. The monument seemed ill-placed and unwholesome, an affront to the nearby forest. The golden marks were cuneiform, wedged shapes that were a form of writing. The obelisk had four sides and a pyramidal top.

  The obelisk felt evil. There was something strange about it. Joash noticed that stone slabs lay around it. One of those slabs was crooked, lifted up so it lay upon another. The open space below was black, as if it was a deep hole. He wondered if vipers or scorpions lived there, something poisonous.

  Joash couldn’t read the cuneiform, but the thing unsettled him. He stepped out of its shade and into the cleansing sunlight. He squinted more closely at the strange writing. Then he recognized the script. It was the same as the strange marks that had been on the map that led them to Draugr’s Crypt. In alarm, he stepped away from the obelisk.

  “Do you know what this is?” Mimir asked.

  Joash shook his head. There were other giants around. He would keep his bargain, and show submissiveness.

  “This is the Obelisk of Azel,” Mimir said.

  “Why tell him?” asked a giant.

  “He’s the Seraph,” Mimir said. “I’m teaching him the greatness of the bene elohim, and about Jotnar and the giants.”

  “A waste,” said the giant. He had long red hair, and bore a grim scar on his cheek.

  “I’ll decide what is wasteful,” Mimir warned.

  “I beg your pardon, Mimir.” The giant nodded to his fellows, and he and several others departed.

  “This is the Obelisk of Azel,” Mimir said again.

  “What do the words say?” Joash asked.

  “You should whip him,” Ygg said. “He does not address you properly.”

  Mimir cuffed Joash, making him stagger. “Remember your place, manling.”

  Joash meekly lowered his eyes.

  “To answer your question,” Mimir said. “This tells of Azel’s victories, of his glories, and of his contempt for the Overlord.” The giant read from the g
olden cuneiform.

  “For a distance of one month and twenty-six days, I—Azel—have devastated the districts of Pao. I spread salt and thorn-bush (to injure the soil). Sons of kings, sisters of kings, members of Pao’s royal family young and old, prefects, governors, warriors, artisans, as many as there were, inhabitants male and female, big and little, horses, mules, asses, flocks and herds more numerous than the a swarm of locusts—I carried them off as booty to Babel. The dust of Tubal, of Heshbon, of Er and of their other cities, I carried it off to Babel.”

  “No more!” Joash cried. As Mimir read, it almost seemed as if he could hear the ancient bene elohim speaking.

  Mimir grinned. “You are close to the Valley of Dry Bones. This is the final marker. Alas, all the others have fallen. Once, I’m told, there were thousands of obelisks lining the road.”

  “Why tell him?” asked Ygg.

  “Because the Seraph will help us search for the fiery stone.”

  “Ah,” Ygg said. “I didn’t realize. Yes, teaching him of our former glory is wise.”

  “Tarag thinks that because he is a Seraph,” said Mimir, “that he might actually be able to see the stone.”

  “An interesting test,” Ygg said. He picked up his spear and walked on.

  Joash approached the black tower, reached out and touched it. It was warm. “Why doesn’t this one fall?” he asked.

  “Azel made it,” Mimir said. “He was cunning in his choice of stones.”

  “Why hasn’t it been torn down?”

  “Who would dare?”

  Joash decided that if he ever stopped Tarag, that he would return someday and destroy this affront to Elohim. For now, he nodded curtly, turned away and followed the giants.

  Chapter Eight

  Herrek

  “If you don’t run for your life tonight, tomorrow you’ll be killed.”

  -- 1 Samuel 19:11

  The stony mountain path finished off Herrek’s sandals. The trolock’s pace had been merciless, and Herrek swayed as he toiled to keep up. If he failed to match the monster’s pace, he’d die. It proved to be sufficient incentive.

  The ex-sandals were indicative of Herrek himself. He did not look like the man he’d been. His clothes stank. The constant wear, sweat, dirt, blood and the chaffing of chainmail, had given them a ragged, odorous quality. Nor had the chainmail fared well. It was rusty, dirty, soiled, but still effective for all that. Dew, and lack of oil, had been the primary culprits for its appearance. Yet, all those changes were minor compared to those in Herrek.