He cracked one eye open and scanned the terrain. To his surprise, he didn’t seem to be in any portion of the camp he recognized. For one thing, the dense stands of cedar trees appeared to be sparser here. Second, to his right, he could see Mashu’s peak, high above him. Apparently, he was at the base of the mountain now.
How long have I been out?
There was no telling. There never seemed to be any rhyme or reason to the amount of time between his so-called resurrections. Stab him in the heart, he might wake up a day or two later. Drop a piano on his head, and he might be dancing a waltz in under five minutes. The amount of trauma or the way in which the injuries occurred had little, to nothing, to do with it. All he knew was that he had awakened in some of the strangest places anyone could possibly imagine—which at times, was even more unsettling than the whole ‘dying’ thing.
A soft gasp from behind him brought his thoughts back to his current predicament. Whoever had been lurking about had noticed he was now awake.
“Katea non latrisy,” spoke a soft, high-pitched voice in Akkadian. “Etuo siri Ba’al Marduka niaban?”
King was still picking up the language. Was far from mastering it, but he could get the gist. He turned his head in the direction of the speaker. As he’d suspected, it was the boy, Belshazzar.
“No, I’m not Lord Marduk,” King answered as best he could. At least, he hoped that’s what he said. “Just a soldier. Trying to get you home to your family.”
The kid looked at him suspiciously, which was just fine with King. It gave him a chance to rifle through the loads of historical and mythological miscellanea Deep Blue, his former black ops handler and friend, had forced him to study while leading the Chess Team. If memory served, Marduk was an ancient Mesopotamian god. Depending on who you asked, he was either a benevolent protector or guardian, as the Babylonians told it, or he was a vile dictator and devourer of innocent children, as the Hebrews portrayed him. Either way, he was seen as a fierce warrior and champion of the other gods when they went to war with the mother of all gods... What was her name? Tia-hut? Tia-nep? No, Tiamat. He couldn’t recall much more than that, other than that Marduk had apparently killed her and set himself up as king over the other gods.
So the question was why the boy wanted to know whether he was Marduk or not. Fortunately, he didn’t have to wait long to discover the answer.
“If you are not Lord Marduk, how is it that you control the elements of fire, air and earth?” Mercifully, Belshazzar had reverted to the easier to understand Aramaic language. He moved into view, just as King edged himself up onto his elbows and attempted to sit up. His back burned, as though a thousand white-hot needles were jutting from his spine.
King stared at the boy for several moments before fully understanding the question. The explosive I used to blow open the gate. To the people of this time, it must have seemed like the work of the gods. Or magic.
“I don’t control them. It’s just science.” He knew from history that the Babylonians were quite advanced in the sciences. It was a concept he was sure the boy would understand. “Chemistry. A little sulfur…er, brimstone is what you call it. A dab of zinc. Some pine sap, some clay and a few other odds and ends. Mix them together and you can get quite an—” King fumbled for the word. He wasn’t sure there was one in Aramaic for it, so he switched to Greek and hoped the prince would understand. “—explosion.”
Belshazzar nodded, but King could tell by the look on the boy’s face that he was quite skeptical. “So how is it that Ba’aleti Ereshkigal could not take you despite all her attempts?” the prince continued, using the name of what King remembered to be the Babylonian goddess, or ‘Lady’ of the Underworld. A fancier name for the Grim Reaper. Death.
He took a good look at the kid and smiled. Perhaps ‘kid’ wasn’t the best way of looking at him. In this world, he would be considered almost a man. Could be married off in only a year or two, if his family deemed it appropriate. He could even march off to war if necessary. No, he’d have to stop thinking of the prince as a child and more as a young man.
“It’s a long story.” King pushed himself off the ground and stood. His legs still felt like two sticks of rubber as he attempted to balance himself. “But trust me. I’m not Marduk. And before you ask, no, I’m not any other god either. Just a man that’s tough to kill. If I was a god, that whole debacle up on the ridge would have gone a whole lot smoother.”
Belshazzar still looked doubtful, but he didn’t push the issue. He just pointed over to the campfire and smiled. “I prepared some food with which to break our fast. Some fish I caught in the stream over there. We still have several hours of sunlight left, but I say we should be moving well before the sun sets.”
King glanced at the blazing fire. Its acrid smoke billowed up into the gray, noonday sky as high as he could see. Instantly, he spun around, scanning the horizon while simultaneously drawing his sword from its sheath. It was such a foolish move on the prince’s part. The fire would surely draw Sereb-Meloch’s attention. Even though the priest had insisted that Namtar and Tiamba couldn’t venture out in the light, that didn’t mean his own men couldn’t be on the prowl even now. For all King knew, they were making their way toward the camp…
Wait a minute.
“The camp,” he said, almost to himself. “Last I remember, I was running away from Sereb-Meloch’s camp. I was shot by some arrows and fell. How’d I end up here?” He paused before adding, “And where exactly is here, anyway?”
Belshazzar gestured toward the food he prepared. “Do not worry about the heretic,” he said, as he crouched by the fire and flaked off pieces of the fish onto a slab of wood he’d fashioned into a plate. He handed it to King and smiled. “Eat. Regain your strength. We have a long journey ahead of us.” The prince waited until King had taken the food before explaining. “I must admit, I didn’t exactly follow your instructions last night. I ran as far as the edge of the forest, but then I watched what happened to you. When you were shot, you were propelled forward, toward a slope. The snow carried you far down the mountain—a fall that would have certainly broken every bone in a normal person’s body. I had despaired that you most certainly had not survived the descent, but to my surprise, you had. From that point, it was a relatively easy thing to fashion a gurney and pull you down the rest of the mountain, using the snow’s help. I found a secluded spot to make camp and then waited for you to awaken—after I dressed your wounds.”
“But Sereb-Meloch,” King insisted. “Why aren’t they…”
“Sereb-Meloch is much too focused on the last leg of his mad venture to worry about us,” Belshazzar said. The way he spoke…the way he held himself…it was getting more and more difficult for King to see him as a child any longer. “He will send his assassins, I am sure. But for now, his main concerns are the Girtablilu demons—children of the dread Tiamat.” The prince paused curiously and scrutinized King once more. “If you are not Marduk, how is it that Namtar and Tiamba ceased their assault on you?”
King swallowed hard at the memory. Had he heard Tiamba correctly? If so, how on Earth could they have known his callsign? How could a creature, locked away for centuries, more than three thousand years before he was ever born, know who he was? The questions unnerved him more than he liked to admit. Still, for the time being, he felt it best not to dwell too much on it. He was determined to get the answers, but for now, he’d let it go. He looked back at the prince and shrugged. “I have no idea what that was about. And honestly, I’m not going to worry about it.” He wolfed down the fish, savoring the rich taste. It felt like eons since he’d last eaten anything. “Right now, my only concern is getting you home…to Nebuchadnezzar.”
Belshazzar looked up from his breakfast to stare thoughtfully toward the horizon. Then he shook his head. “We cannot return home. Not yet.”
“Why not? I went to a lot of trouble to get you out of there. The king has offered a very promising reward for you, and though I’m not ordinarily a mercenary, I c
ould use the money.” He paused before adding, “Besides, it’s my nature, but I won’t feel right until I know you’re safe.”
The boy turned to look at him. “This reward… How did you hear about it?”
It was a strange question. King wasn’t entirely sure of the relevance, but he saw no harm in answering.
“A caravan a few weeks ago. Merchants traveling from Babylon. They told me you’d been taken while on a hunting trip with your cousins.” King paused. He’d also heard that Belshazzar’s cousins, along with two bodyguards and three attendants, had been killed during the kidnapping. This kid had been through a lot for someone so young. “The caravan chief told me about the reward, and the rest is history.”
The prince smiled at this. “And this merchant did not specify the terms of the reward?”
“He didn’t really need to. A king’s grandson is kidnapped. The king offers a reward for his safe return. Simple.”
This turned the boy’s smile into a deep throated laugh. “Perhaps where you come from. Or perhaps, if said prince was anyone other than Acolyte Prime to Ba’al Marduk.”
“Um, I’m not exactly following you.”
“The reward. It is not for my safe return, but for my assassination.”
6
The old eunuch bolted up from his bed. Sweat glistened down his brow as he struggled to catch his breath. The dream had been so intense. So vivid. It wasn’t the first time Yahweh Rohi had induced such a vision to guide him. In fact, such dreams had led him to the very place he now found himself—third in command of the great Babylonian empire.
It wasn’t even the first time he’d seen the ‘stranger’ in his dreams. A man from another world. Another time. A fierce and skilled warrior with a heart of rare nobility and honor.
However, it was, he had to admit, the first time he’d felt such dread after one of these visions. Something was happening. Something the world had not seen since the rescue of Mosheh or even Noach’s great flood. And, as he’d predicted nearly six months before, it was all tied to the good prince and the blasphemer Sereb-Meloch.
The king’s greatest fears were coming to pass.
The old man climbed from his bed and moved hastily to the basin to wash his face. His mind’s eye was still ablaze with the nightmarish images. A fallen temple of iniquity had arisen from the sands. Bodies of man and animal alike had been strewn here and there, their blood building into a great river of crimson. Fires had canvassed the horizon for as far as the eye could see, and a tempest of sand and lightning cut through the air like a saber, as the sky turned to the blood red of death.
Prince Belshazzar had stood in the center of it all, as the eye of a fierce storm that would rip the world apart.
The only uncertainty in the entire dream was the part the stranger would play. The old man had seen the stranger battling warrior and demon alike, with a ferocity he’d not seen in his long life. But then the sands had seemed to swallow him whole, and the strange man had disappeared into obscurity.
“What is it you would have me do, Lord?” the old man whispered softly to the empty room.
But he knew the answer already. No need for his God to provide any more instructions. He’d trusted in Yahweh Yireh for the better part of his life and he’d never been disappointed. He’d not start doubting now that he was approaching the winter of his years.
He knew what he had to do. Of course, he’d have to do it without the king’s knowledge. Nebuchadnezzar would never sanction such a venture. After all, he’d already sent out his assassins to prevent this catastrophe from happening. He’d certainly balk at the idea of his most valued advisor interfering with his royal decree.
But the man known by his own people as Daniel had a decree issued from a king far higher than the royalty of Babylon. He would not fail in obeying the command of Yahweh, even if it meant his own death for treason against the king. After all, the destruction of the very world was at hand, and only he knew how to prevent it.
7
Sereb-Meloch raged throughout the camp. With the foreigner’s interference, he’d lost both his prized sacrifice and the dead of night, which had allowed the Girtablilu to travel openly. Granted, the priest had been instructed exactly how to overcome their nocturnal preference. But the setback angered him nonetheless.
“Ba’al, our scouts have been unable to locate the foreigner or the prince,” Jereziah cowered as he spoke the words, his attention frozen on the hulking monstrosities that stood on either side of the high priest. “Zaidu and I have sent out more men. With dawn approaching, it should be easier to…”
Sereb-Meloch’s headdress began to glow ominously, and before the portly priest could finish his sentence, Tiamba’s saber-like arm slashed down, impaling the man with a single swipe of the claw.
“I do not tolerate incompetence, Jereziah,” Sereb-Meloch said to the man, who now lay dead on the snow-covered ground. “You should know that by now.” He glanced up at his scorpion men and gave a brief smile. “You may have him.”
He headed for his tent and didn’t look back as the creatures tore at the fallen man, the sound of ripping flesh echoing wet and sickly in the pre-dawn gloom. The sounds matched his mood, which was growing darker by the moment.
This setback required prayer. The goddess would be most displeased with the news, and he shuddered to contemplate the reprimand he’d face when he informed her of this man Achelous, and the failure to sacrifice her enemy.
Captain Zaidu stood at attention at his tent’s doors. The man’s face had turned a ghastly green, as he’d watched the Girtablilu feast on the fat man, several yards away. Good, Sereb-Meloch thought, let that be a lesson to him as well.
“Well?” Sereb-Meloch demanded of the mercenary captain.
“I have sent scouts ahead to all the nearby cities and villages,” Zaidu said.
Sereb-Meloch thought he heard the slightest trace of a tremor in the man’s voice, now. “The way I see it, they will need horses. Supplies. Babylon is some distance away, and they will not get very far without those things. Which means they will be making their way to the nearest settlements, west of here. The village of Susa is the most likely place. Once they do, my men can track them and send back word on their whereabouts.” He paused. “We will find them. I have no doubt about that.”
The high priest looked the soldier up and down with disdain. “For your sake, Captain, you best hope so.” He briskly waved the man aside. “I will be in my tent, in prayer. See to it that no one disturbs me.”
The mercenary saluted as Sereb-Meloch stepped past him and into his tent. He removed the headdress and other vestments, then stripped down to his undergarments. He lit the sticks of incense at the altar near his bedding, as well as an oil lamp that hung from the wooden beam of the tent, and dropped to his knees.
Calming himself, he began to meditate. He focused on the flame of the lamp, the sweet aroma wafting from the bars of incense. He withdrew into himself and allowed the world around him to dissolve. Soon, he began to hear his own voice resonating in a deep strange tongue he’d never learned. A chant to summon the spirit of his queen. His goddess.
I AM HERE.
He wasn’t sure how long he’d been meditating before the strange voice arose in his mind. It could have been seconds. It could have been days. Time had no meaning when in her presence.
“My Queen,” Sereb-Meloch said out loud. If Zaidu’s voice had harbored a slight tremor, his own was outright quaking. Whether from fear or joy, he wasn’t entirely sure. “Do you know what happened?”
For a long while, there was nothing but silence. After an eternity, the voice—which oddly resembled his own—spoke again inside his mind.
I HAVE SEEN THROUGH THE EYES OF MY CHILDREN.
Whether she was angry or not, the high priest could not be certain. Her voice was always so stark. Dispassionate.
“I am truly sorry, my Queen. I will make this right. I will destroy the foreigner and recapture the…”
KKKIIIIINNNN
GGG.
King? No, he was about to say ‘the prince.’ The king was too well protected. It was why the boy had been chosen instead. But before he could say this, the goddess spoke again.
KING INTRIGUES ME. INTRIGUES MY CHILDREN. MY HATEFUL, REBELLIOUS CHILDREN.
“Not the king, my Goddess,” Sereb-Meloch said. “The prince, you surely mean. We will reclaim him soon. I give you my solemn vow.”
THE PRINCE…THE CHILD OF MARDUK…WILL BE MINE SOON ENOUGH, the voice inside his head said. BUT KING IS NOW MY DEMANDED SACRIFICE. KING WILL BE THE ONE TO OPEN MY TOMB AND RELEASE ME FROM MY SLUMBER. TO UNLEASH MY DESTRUCTION UPON YOUR WORLD.
“But…but my Queen, how is it possible? My men would never be able to take Nebuchadnezzar. We would never…”
NOT HIM. THE MAN YOU CALL ACHELOUS.
The foreigner? A king? But that made no sense. Why would a king be working as a hired mercenary?
YOU WILL CAPTURE HIM. YOU WILL KILL HIM.
“He has proven rather difficult to kill.”
I WILL INSTRUCT YOU ON WHAT YOU MUST DO. MY CHILDREN WILL THEN GIVE HIM THE KEY, AS A FINAL ACT OF REBELLION AGAINST ME. LET THEM. IT WILL BRING KING TO ME.
The high priest didn’t understand. If the man was dead, how could he open the tomb? How could he do anything at all? Still, he would trust in his goddess. He would do what she said and would reap rewards greater than any mortal had ever imagined possible.
Jack Sigler Continuum 1: Guardian Page 4
