Herrek tapped Gens’ shoulder and pointed. Gens nodded. Herrek readied his lance again, having spotted a Gibborim. Her hand flickered with sinister fire. Near her laid the smoking remains of ten Shurites.
“For Elon!” Herrek shouted. Lersi turned in surprise as the fire on her hand winked out. In her left hand was a skull. The skull crumpled into dust. The reek of burnt flesh surrounded her. Then, she groaned as steel passed through her body. It was a clean kill. In their chariot, Herrek and Gens thundered past her fallen remains. They charged Tarag.
Suddenly, however, Thurus the Valiant, still bleeding from Auroch’s sword thrust, smashed the chariot with a hurled rock. Herrek and Gens went flying. Lord Uriah followed, and hurled his spear. A rock also smashed his chariot, and the hurled spear bounced harmlessly off of Thurus’s armor. The third, and now final chariot, kept coming. Thurus bent low to pick up yet another rock. He rose, and the charioteer stabbed him in the throat.
Thurus the Valiant crashed to the ground.
***
Near the trolock, where only Mimir now stood, Tarag roared as he closed. Mimir stepped back in relief, having witnessed a dreadful slaughter of giants.
“Desecrator!” the trolock thundered. “Now you will atone for your blasphemy.”
Tarag roared with rage and bounded the last distance. The trolock raised a bloody giant maul and swung. Tarag nimbly blocked the blow with his adamant shield. Then, the two mighty titans fought in earnest, hammering blows at each other. The sound of the maul smashing against the adamant shield was deafening. But the damage done to Tarag by those blows was negligible. The adamant sword, however, cut huge chunks of granite from the trolock. The trolock suddenly staggered. Tarag darted in. The trolock laughed, grabbed his maul two-handedly and snaked the great iron head past the shield and against Tarag’s chest. The blow rocked Tarag. The trolock had tricked him. But the trolock also stumbled forward from his momentum. Tarag recovered more quickly, despite the look of pain on his face. He hewed with desperate strength. The trolock’s head was parted from the body.
In that moment, a shriek of wind blew out of the stone. Then all was silent and still, except for the clatter of tumbling stones.
“Lord Skarpaler has at last joined his wives,” Herrek whispered, helping Gens from the ground.
***
Tarag turned, and saw that almost all of his allies had perished. The humans, the knots of them that still stood, slowly rallied. In his feline-like mind, bloodlust raged. He must kill, and murder all these base fools. But godhood beckoned. The chariots had been destroyed, and the way into the Forbidden Territory was open. He charged the group of Elonites and Gorts who harried Mimir, slaughtering a few. The others fled from him. Then Tarag, the King of the Sabertooths, the First Born son of the bene elohim Moloch the Hammer, grabbed the only giant who could face the guardian Cherub with him. Together, they raced for the other end of the pass.
Several Snow Leopard Warriors barred the way. Tarag roared. Their courage, which had withstood so much today, wilted in the face of this monster. They leaped out of the way, letting Tarag and Mimir make the last leg of the journey to the Garden of Eden and the awaiting guardian Cherub.
***
Ymir One-Eye saw Tarag flee the battlefield. He’d been in horrible fights before, recalling times from the Accursed War. With desperate courage, Ymir hewed his way to mighty Surtur, the last standing giant beside himself. Together, the two giants raced for the head of the pass where they’d first entered.
A band of grim-faced men stood before them. A horn pealed, and from the rear of the pass, Lord Uriah signaled the warriors. The band of grim-faced men stood aside and let the giants pass. Thus, Ymir One-Eye and the giant, Surtur, escaped to whatever freedom lay beyond.
The battle at the pass was over.
Chapter Sixteen
The Last Stand
Reaching into his bag and taking out a stone, he slung it and struck the Philistine on the forehead. The stone sank into his forehead, and he fell face down to the ground.
-- 1 Samuel 17:49
Several hours after the battle, the first scouts of the Arkite host staggered into the camp in the pass.
Herrek, although depressed at the death of so many brave and splendid warriors, went out to greet them. Soon, the first chieftain arrived, a wiry old man, with a necklace of orn talons. He was Caleb of the Orn Men, a gray-haired warrior, with a long feather cape and an iron sword strapped to his side.
Caleb inspected the battle-site, listening to Herrek describe the fight. After striding off the height of the fallen Thurus and measuring the breadth of the dead giant’s shoulders, Caleb turned to Herrek. “You and your companions fought valiantly. I honor you, and I bless your name. Alas! That we arrived too late to help.”
Fifty veterans, champion Orn Men, rattled leather mallets filled with tiny orn bones. They rattled in tribute to their chieftain’s words.
“You haven’t come too late to help,” Herrek said.
“No?” Caleb asked.
Herrek told the chieftain about Rog the Fiend. That Nephilim’s murderous band had ravaged Arkite Land.
“Surely, Tarag and Mimir have joined with Rog, and even now, march deeper into the Forbidden Territory,” Caleb said.
“Perhaps not,” Herrek said. “For Beron has said, at least as he heard it from the Prophet Irad, that after the pass, there are many different trails to the Garden. Tarag and Mimir may therefore miss Rog. If fact, we think it quite likely that Rog, his fiends and his Nebo allies, march toward us even as we speak.”
Old Caleb’s eyes lit up. His hardy Orn Men clapped one another on the back. They congratulated each other that the One Most High still had a task for them to complete.
Other Arkite chieftains entered the pass. In two hours, Lord Uriah’s army grew to three times its former size. The Arkite’s, emboldened at the Nephilim giants’ defeat, and wanting to at least match Herrek’s exploits, readied themselves for battle. Nephilim could be beaten, and now the humans knew it.
***
At the approach of dusk, Rog and his fiends, with their Nebo allies, marched into a trap. It seemed that Tarag and Mimir had missed meeting with Gog’s warriors.
The fiends fought with berserk valor. Rog, with a single companion, managed to break free to the other side of the pass. All the Nebo, however, perished. Tarag and Mimir would receive no new reinforcements. Whatever occurred in Eden, at the East Gate, would be achieved solely by their evil efforts.
***
Mimir had been troubled ever since he’d been forced to flee from the pass. That had been two days ago. Now, he finally gathered his courage. He dared to touch Tarag’s arm.
“You lay hands upon me?” Tarag snarled.
“High One,” Mimir said. “I ask your pardon. I wish to speak with you.”
Tarag nodded.
“What are your plans?” Mimir asked.
Tarag looked shocked. “We’ve almost won through to Eden. One more rest, then we’ll climb the stairs and come to the East Gate. Then, you and I shall slay the guardian Cherub. Life eternal will be our prize.”
“We have no necromantic skulls,” Mimir pointed out.
Tarag shrugged.
“Hrungir and Motsognir are dead.”
“True,” the First Born said.
“High One, do we still have the strength to defeat the guardian Cherub?”
Tarag’s eyes glittered. “Do you doubt my power?”
“No, High One.”
“I have the adamant mail, shield and sword. I’ve become inured to divine glory, as have you. I’ll slay the guardian Cherub. You, because of your faithfulness, will share in the wonder of eternal life.”
“It’s a Cherub we face.”
Tarag studied Mimir, nodded slowly.
“Do you feel yourself a match for a Cherub?” Mimir asked.
“I am Tarag. I am the King of Sabertooths. Divine blood, and the bestial blood of the sabertooth, flows through my veins. Maybe, if I were
as other First Born, with human blood diluting me...” Tarag shook his huge head. “I can slay the Cherub. Before, with the necromantic skulls, ah, then it was certain. Now, the contest will be fraught with peril. But I will overcome, as I have overcome all my life. I have adamant mail, shield and sword. And I have a staunch ally, a giant who can stand the Cherub’s glory. Come, let us earn for ourselves immortality.”
“Your words sway me,” Mimir said. “But—”
Tarag held up his right hand. “You will march ahead of me.”
“High One—”
Tarag continued to hold up his hand. “Speak no more to me about this. You are my ally. If you try to desert, then I’ll slay you. Do you understand?”
“…Yes, High One.”
“Good. Now let’s march. Godhood awaits us.”
***
The journey to Eden had been tiring and more than perilous. The beasts here were dangerously intelligent. If not for Joash’s new power, Adah was certain they would have perished long ago. She wondered how Irad the Arkite had ever made it to Eden. He must have been an incredible man and hunter.
Joash, with the reins in his hands, urged the Asvarn stallions on. An eagle had just reported to him. Tarag and Mimir were near.
The vast fortress mountain loomed before them. The mighty waterfall in the distance was glorious, and thundered its power. The fabled Garden of Eden stood on the mountain. There waited the last Shining One, the only celestial to walk among mortals. Adah shivered in dread. She didn’t know if she had the courage to journey all the way up. Joash had not spoken about it. In fact, he’d become rather quiet the past few days. His face shone as radiantly as ever, but his eyes had become hollow and his cheeks frightfully lean.
He continued to drive with reckless speed.
In an hour, they were almost to the mountain’s base. The grand sight towered above them, as they were cast into shadow. An eagle swooped low, screeching and reporting to Joash in that eerie way of theirs. Joash looked back, taking his eye off the terrain ahead of them.
“Joash!” Adah yelled. It was too late.
The Asvarn stallions, weary now, stumbled, as the chariot wheel struck a hidden rock. The cart, weakened by their reckless drive to Eden, broke apart. Joash had time to yell, while Adah bit her lip. Adah heard the audible crack of bone, and the pain to her ankle was intense. Then, her head struck the ground. She came to almost right away.
“What happened?” she asked, for Joash sat beside her.
“Your ankle is broken,” he said softly.
She groaned, then said, “I’m sorry, Joash.”
“You’re sorry? No, I’m sorry. I should have driven better.”
“It doesn’t matter now,” she said, trying to be brave. She looked around, as she sat up. “Help me hide over by those rocks and bushes,” she said. “Then, you must make the final journey.”
He didn’t say anything for a time. At last, he nodded.
“I’ll be back,” he said later, giving her his water-skin.
“I know you will,” she said, wondering what the next half-day would bring, and if she would ever see him again.
Joash kissed her on the forehead. She grabbed his face and kissed him on the lips. “Luck,” she whispered.
He smiled faintly, then straightened and set out to climb the mountain on which Eden stood.
***
Several hours later, Adah still hid behind a clump of rocks where bushes grew. She’d been dozing, but now alertly peered through the bushes. Tarag and Mimir approached.
Adah wondered whether either Tarag or Mimir could catch up with Joash in time. Maybe. She carefully drew her bowstring. Neither Tarag nor Mimir approached closely, however. It would be a long shot. Once past her hiding spot, the First Born and Nephilim would be able to begin the ascent up into Eden. Adah cursed her ankle. She couldn’t sneak closer, nor could she flee. This would be her only chance to hurt the Nephilim a little.
She grinned tightly, remembering the horrible game hall of Yorgash’s. It delighted her that they had been able to thwart most of the Nephilim, especially the hated Gibborim. Suddenly, she blinked in surprise. She realized that ever since Joash’s return, she hadn’t thought of, nor dreamed about, the game hall. Why not? she wondered. Her tight grin spread into a happy one. The horrible curse of the game hall, the bitter memory, it seemed to have left her. Oh, she could recall it all right, but it didn’t make her stomach queasy or her throat tight.
“Thank you, Elohim,” she whispered. She knew that from here on, she’d no longer have nightmares about the game hall. Something about Joash had changed her... She shook her head. The change had been within her. She had learned to truly love again, and she’d come to a certain peace within herself.
She peered through the bushes with greater zeal.
Mimir, who marched ahead of Tarag, paused suddenly. He removed his helmet and scratched his head.
Tarag snarled at him.
Mimir reached down for his water-skin.
Adah pulled her bowstring as far back as it would go, sighted the huge giant and released. The arrow left with a hiss and arched the far distance between them. It hit the water-skin in Mimir’s hands, and knocked it to the ground.
Both the giant and the First Born leaped back in alarm, looking about wildly.
“Run for the mountain!” Tarag bellowed.
Adah pulled back, and shot again, but the arrow fell short of Mimir. The two were now out of range.
Tarag glanced back once more, studying the terrain. His eyes lingered on the bushes were Adah hid. The huge First Born laughed and shook his sabertooth-like head. “It’s the woman,” he said to Mimir, loud enough so Adah heard. “The one from the crypt.”
Mimir muttered something that Adah couldn’t hear. She was certain that they’d come to kill her now. They didn’t. Instead, they turned toward the mountain and began the ascent.
She realized why Tarag hadn’t turned back. She didn’t matter. If she had wounded one of them, she’d have mattered. Now godhood beckoned them. If they won, they could kill her at their leisure. If they lost, well, then none of it mattered, did it?
“I tried,” she whispered. “At least I tried.” Now, she’d have to wait for the outcome, like everyone else but Joash. She began to pray for him, that Elohim would give him the courage and the wisdom to make the right decisions.
***
Joash trembled, as he knelt in front of the guardian Cherub. The Cherub was larger than a man and dressed in linen. He wore a belt of gold around his waist. His body was like chrysolite, his face like lightning, his eyes like flaming torches, his arms and legs like the gleam of burnished bronze, and his voice was like the sound of a multitude.
Behind the Cherub, through the stone arch of the East Gate, was beautiful Eden, with its gardens, streams, terraces, birds, animals and flowers. Joash yearned to enter, but knew it was forbidden.
“I have the fiery stone,” Joash said, his head bowed.
The guardian Cherub said nothing.
At last, Joash looked up. He could look without squinting. The Cherub smiled gently. Joash untied the mammoth-skin bag and took out the fiery stone. It shined with the same radiance as the Cherub. Joash handed the stone to him. The guardian Cherub set the fiery stone within his garment.
“You have done well, Joash,” the guardian Cherub said.
Joash couldn’t speak, too overcome with awe.
“In the Celestial Realm, they speak of you, young one,” the Cherub said. He stepped closer and put a hand on Joash’s shoulder. “Now, brave Joash, ask the question that burns in your heart.”
“Will... Will I always be able to talk to animals?”
“No. That power is gone. You possessed it only as long as you carried the fiery stone.”
“What next should I do?”
“Rest, for you have striven hard and long. When you awaken, you will take word of what transpired.”
“What do you mean?”
“Rest,” the Cherub
said. “When you awaken, you will understand.”
Joash ate the bread set for him and drank the wine. Soon, he rested his weary head beside the right corner of the East Gate.
He awoke later to a terrifying sight.
Tarag and Mimir marched toward the guardian Cherub.
Joash leaped up in alarm. The huge First Born showed no fear. Tarag’s adamant mail shone as brightly as the Cherub did, and his savage bulk was more. Green, almost shining cat-like eyes glared fiercely, and the fur on Tarag’s body bristled with his anger. The heavy adamant sword seemed more than a match for whatever the Cherub could wield. In fact, Tarag loomed above the smaller Cherub, even though the Cherub stood taller than a mortal man did.
Behind Tarag, as if he were a servant or a groom, followed Mimir in his polished Bolverk-forged mail. Now, however, the earthly mail seemed soiled, much less than the armor of those around him.
“Greetings, Tarag, son of Moloch,” the Cherub said, in a loud voice.
Tarag paused, taking in Joash. He nodded slowly. “The Seraph proved stubborn. Your master chose his vessel well.”
“You may yet turn back,” said the guardian Cherub.
“You speak vainly,” Tarag said. “The prize lies before me. All I must do is defeat you.”
The Cherub drew a flaming sword.
Awed, and afraid of the fiery sword, Joash stepped away from the Cherub.
Tarag unlimbered his adamant shield and lowered a visor from his adamant helmet. He clanked closer to the East Gate and immortality.
“You may not pass, son of Moloch,” the Cherub said.
Tarag rumbled laughter. “Do you think, O guardian, that I would attempt this thing unless I was assured of success? No, Tarag is not so foolish. I lived through the Accursed War. I saw the vain striving of my father and his brethren. Yet I also saw defeated Shining Ones. For centuries, I’ve planned for this moment. O guardian, Tarag is no fool. I can defeat you, and you know it.”
“You will never gain the Tree of Life,” the Cherub said.
“O, but I will,” Tarag said, stepping closer still. “Yes, indeed I will. Mimir! Be ready!”
The Tree of Life (Lost Civilizations: 3) Page 18
