“I will not go into the specifics of the dream, because it was pertinent to political matters at the time, but there was one portion that was completely out of place with the rest, as if Yahweh-Yireh had placed it there solely for my benefit. Solely for a time such as this.” He paused as he examined the metal piece more closely. “I had not thought of it in years, but this medallion reminded me of the dream. I saw a great star falling from the sky and crashing into the earth. The star, I have surmised, was the goddess Tiamat. That much was clear to me. What I could not understand at the time, however, was how there could be creatures living inside this goddess...slaves and masters, priests of Tiamat, all working daily to keep her aloft in the Sea of the Void, which hovers above us all.”
“Space. You’re talking about space.”
The old man shrugged. “I suppose. But Tiamat was seen, by those who believe in such tales, as the god of the primordial salt waters that existed before all of creation. These salt waters were in the firmament. Space, as you call it.” He paused to gather his thoughts, then continued on with the events of the dream. “When Tiamat fell to the earth, she crashed into Apsu and the two became entwined in carnal passion.”
“Apsu?” King asked. There was something about the name in his studies, something that disturbed him. But he couldn’t quite place it.
“Apsu was the god of fresh water. The goddess of salt water and the god of fresh, co-mingling together in perfect harmony. The myth goes on to say that this, in fact, was how all life came into existence.”
“Apsu… Apsu... Wait, is that the same thing as Abzu? The mystical waters said to flow in underground aquifers under…”
“Under the ziggurat at Eridu. Precisely.”
King stood dumbfounded. “Sonuva...”
Now he knew exactly where he’d heard the word before…as well as where he’d heard of the city of Eridu. It had come up during the research for one of Chess Team’s missions. They’d been searching for the place where all language on earth was said to have originated. The Tower of Babel. And although that mission had eventually led to Turkey, Eridu and Abzu were names he had come across.
If Daniel noticed King’s obvious consternation, he didn’t act on it. Instead, he continued with his narrative unperturbed. “After the great beast had copulated with Apsu, I saw the surrounding landscape do the strangest things. The air became unbreathable. Green-tinted vapor arose from the earth, smothering everything for miles. Plants and animals withered and died. In their place, new kinds of vegetation bloomed, but soon, they too, perished and the desert overtook everything.
“Soon, men came to where the great goddess lay within the marshy arms of her lover. She was barely breathing at this point, and in agony. The vapors had all but dissipated and the creatures living inside her were weakened by her impending demise. Most were slaughtered by the invading men. In my dream, I saw a handful of the creatures surviving. They fled deeper into the safety of the goddess’s womb, to a place inaccessible to their attackers. They sealed themselves in the very bowels of the great beast, protected by great crystals of ice. In essence, they cut themselves off from their comrades and the rest of the world. Those of their kind not fast enough or wise enough to follow, perished a most gruesome death. Even their priestly masters, with all their great might, had been too weakened by the crash to offer much resistance. Like you, they had been resilient in the best of times—difficult to kill—but without the breath of their goddess to sustain them, they all fell by the swords of men.”
King stared at the old man, waiting impatiently for him to get to his point. But when Daniel spoke no further, he arched an eyebrow. “Well?”
“Well what?”
“What does that have to do with me? What’s the point of all this?”
The old man lifted the medallion into the air. “This,” he said quietly, almost reverently. “I saw the creatures use a medallion just like this to seal themselves into Tiamat’s bowels. Those creatures were the same as Tiamba and Namtar. In my dream, they had been enslaved. Forced to labor, day and night, on behalf of the goddess and her strange, demonic priests. They rebelled against their masters, and it was their rebellion that had forced the goddess to fall from the salt void.”
King recalled Sereb-Meloch’s reference to the Girtablilus’ rebellion and his later comment about King being their last hope. But what does that all mean? It still didn’t explain their knowledge of his callsign, or why they’d given him the medallion in the first place.
He pondered Daniel’s dream silently. If he understood what the prophet was saying, Tiamat hadn’t been a goddess at all, but rather some sort of spacecraft that had crashed to earth nearly three thousand years before. The Girtablilu had been a slave race, forced to work by another species of aliens.
He couldn’t help chuckling in spite of the dire situation. Back in his own time, before joining Chess Team, he would have found such a tale ludicrous. Now, it just seemed like another day at the office.
“So why do you think Tiamba gave me this medallion? What does it have to do with me or my plans for Sereb-Meloch?”
Daniel was prepared for the question. “Because I think the prince’s instincts were correct from the start. I think it is essential that you get to Tiamat’s tomb before the blasphemer and his army,” he said. “Despite your skill and your unearthly abilities, Sereb-Meloch’s forces far exceed anything you are capable of doing alone. You have his mercenary army to contend with. His personal guard of warrior-priests. And, though I am not sure how he is controlling them, Tiamba and Namtar. You can attack them day after day…die a thousand deaths for the next thousand years…and never overtake them. What you need is your own army.”
“Now that you’ve told me what all this is about, I’m not sure I understand why it’s so important.” King paused. “From what you’ve described of your dream, Tiamat isn’t a creature that can be resurrected. She’s not a goddess or a demon or even a beast. She’s a spaceship…er, a vessel used to travel the, um, salt void, as you call it. So what’s the big deal if he ends up opening the tomb? He’d never know how to operate the damn thing. Why not rush in, grab the kid and run? What would really happen if he succeeds?”
If King’s revelation regarding Tiamat’s nature was a surprise to the old man, he didn’t show it. Instead, he simply nodded his understanding, bent down and plucked a small desert plant from its root. “Because of this, King. Because of this plant. The dirt. The air all around us. Should Sereb-Meloch succeed in awakening Tiamat... Well, do you remember what I said happened to the land surrounding her body once she fell from the sky?”
“The indigenous plant and animal life died. They were replaced by new species of... Oh, God.” King understood everything. Well, almost everything—he still didn’t get his relationship to the scorpion men—but he now knew enough to comprehend the complete and utter devastation that would occur if the mad man succeeded in his quest.
“Do you think Sereb-Meloch knows?” King asked. “I mean, the truth behind just what Tiamat really is? The power she possesses?”
Daniel nodded. “I have no doubt,” he said, handing the metallic disc back to King. “The army of men that destroyed the demon creatures residing in Tiamat’s belly was led by one man. A brilliant king. A philosopher, a great hunter and a world renowned scientist.”
“Let me take a wild guess and say it was Nimrod.”
“Exactly. But what you may not know is that many believe he is the basis for the legend of Marduk, the god who is said to have killed Tiamat to begin with. After his conquest, Nimrod constructed a great pyramid on the remains of the dead goddess, and then he built the city of Eridu around the pyramid. Once construction was complete and Eridu the city of his dreams, Nimrod closed the tomb, using his own blood, mixed with a magical incantation to seal it off from the rest of the world forever.”
“Which is why Sereb-Meloch needs Belshazzar,” King added. “If his royal ancestry goes back that far, then he’s Nimrod’s descendent, and ther
efore carries the same DNA...er, he’s of the same bloodline. His blood should be a close enough match to open the sealed tomb.”
“Yes,” the old man said, “but here is how I suspect the high priest knows the secret of Tiamat’s tomb. Why his aspirations are so dangerous. For nearly two decades, Sereb-Meloch served as one of Nebuchadnezzar’s chief magi. The official keeper of the kingdom’s arcane secrets. Some of those secrets, I later discovered after his banishment, included several very rare artifacts handed down from Nimrod himself. These artifacts were obviously of unearthly origin. Demonic at their very core. Though, thankfully, dormant. But among these artifacts were several tablets containing detailed accounts of tales passed down by Nimrod. They regarded his encounter with the dying Tiamat and her children, as the creatures inside her womb came to be called. When I began cataloging these tablets, as well as the arcane trinkets and talismans within the collection, I discovered a few were missing. When banished from the Kingdom, Sereb-Meloch must have taken the objects and documents most important to his goal. I have no idea what these tablets said, but I daresay they revealed the dark secrets that lay within Tiamat’s resting place.”
“Which is why I need to get to the temple at Eridu before he does,” King said, swinging himself onto the back of his horse with a grace that belied his fire-scarred body. The pain was intense, but bearable for the moment. He tucked the strange disc in the pouch at his belt and looked down at Daniel.
“Anything else I need to know, old man?”
“Just two more things,” he answered. “First, I will be following as soon as I can. I am not sure what these old bones can do to help you, but my prayers are strong, and I do have a few tricks I have learned over the years that might assist.”
“And the second thing?”
The old man chuckled. A glint twinkled in his eyes as he smiled up at King. “I will tell you the second thing when all of this is over.”
King smiled back at him and nodded. “Fair enough.” He then spurred the horse forward and bolted toward the decaying city of Eridu and a goddess’s tomb.
18
Wasteland, Southwest of Uruk
King drove the horse as hard as he dared. Though dangerous in the deep sand of the desert, they rode on through the night and on until the afternoon of the next day. Sereb-Meloch and his crew had a full day and a half head start. But as Daniel had pointed out, the majority of his army was on foot. Belshazzar was in a rickety, mule-driven cart. The going would be slow.
Though every fiber of his being wanted to forget about Eridu and go directly to save the kid, King knew it would be a mistake. He’d sworn an oath to protect the prince, but if what the prophet had told him was even half true, there was too much at stake. Tiamat’s high priest could not be allowed to enter the tomb. Could not be allowed to revive her.
King knew what the Tiamat ship was, what it was designed to do. The realization of just how close the world had come to obliteration thousands of years ago sent chills down his spine. The clue had been the plant and animal life. The reference to the ‘last breath’ of the ship and the remaining Girtablilu descending deep into its protective womb just added to his certainty. He knew precisely what Tiamat was capable of, and the legends of its ability to unmake all of creation could not have been more accurate.
Of course, he was taking the word of a man who could very well be completely out of his gourd, but he didn’t think so. It was the Daniel, after all. One of the greatest prophets of the Old Testament, if one believed in that sort of thing. Though his rational mind rebelled against it, after meeting the man himself, there was little room for any doubt. Daniel knew what he was talking about, and that meant King had to trust what he’d heard.
He shuddered with another chill, pulled his steed to a halt and wrapped his cloak and turban more securely around himself. His skin had nearly completely healed, though he still had patches of bark-like charring over half of his face and his entire left side. What made things worse was that his nerves were beginning to grow back, making every movement, every gentle breeze against his skin, sheer agony. But agony was good. It meant he was alive. Meant he was getting better. Stronger. More capable of unleashing hell on the man who had done this to him.
King ground his teeth at the thought, before kicking his horse into action again and toward his destiny.
The sun was setting on the following day. King adjusted his position on the mare’s back. Since saddles as King knew them hadn’t been invented yet, staying comfortable during a non-stop ride like this had not been the easiest task. He now added a bruised tail bone to go along with all his other healing injuries, and it annoyed him.
The view just over the ridge on which he and the horse now stood, however, was enough to further sour his dark mood. A mile away, Sereb-Meloch’s men busied themselves setting up camp for the night. The sheer number of mercenaries that were now encamped was impressive. The last he’d seen of the high priest’s forces, they were no more than one hundred and fifty men. Now, looking down in the shadowy camp, he estimated a group of nearly five hundred.
Sereb-Meloch had picked up reinforcements somewhere along the way.
But why? King wondered. The only opposition they faced was from me, and they think I’m dead. This many soldiers is overkill.
As he scanned the camp, his eyes came to a sudden stop, and a wave of relief washed over him. Though he had nowhere near the vision of his friend and teammate, Knight, he could see enough in the dwindling light to ease his mind, at least a little bit, about his predicament. Belshazzar rested, in the confines of the wooden cage. From this distance, it was difficult to be sure, but he appeared unharmed. The two Girtablilu stood at opposite corners of the cage, guarding the boy from any attempts at rescue, King assumed. At that very moment, one of Zaidu’s mercenaries tossed a bowl full of slop through the cage bars. Not very appetizing to be sure, but at least they were both feeding and hydrating the boy. Keeping him as healthy as possible until they made it to their destination.
At the rate the processional was traveling, they’d probably arrive in Eridu sometime mid-afternoon the following day, depending on what time they broke camp in the morning. He wasn’t sure why the priest wasn’t demanding they push on through the night, but he surmised that such a nocturnal trek would prove—
A sudden thought struck King like a Mack truck. The Girtablilu. It had been two days since King had been beheaded and set on fire. And now, though the sun was indeed setting, they were out in the open...had obviously been traveling throughout the day. But when Sereb-Meloch had impatiently worked to release the two from their cavernous prison inside Mount Mashu, he’d insisted that they could not be released during the day. He’d implied the creatures were nocturnal in nature.
So what’s changed? Are they nocturnal or aren’t they?
King wondered whether it even mattered, but something in the back of his mind told him it most certainly did. Sereb-Meloch had somehow managed to gain complete control over two alien creatures with a track record for rebellion. The question was, how? And did the time of day have anything at all to do with this control? Could King somehow use the answer as a means of undoing the high priest’s machinations?
He decided it was worth filing away for a later time. For now, if he wanted to beat his enemies to the prize, he needed to leave. With any luck, he could be there by morning.
19
Ruined City of Eridu
The sun had been up for less than three hours and already the air around King felt like the inside of a brick pizza oven. To make matters worse, it wasn’t the typical dry furnace of the desert, but a drenching tropical heat from the nearby marshy land in the valley below—the valley containing the sand-swept remains of a nearly forgotten city: Eridu.
Climbing down from his horse, he edged up to the nearby ridge and glanced down at the vast wasteland below. The ancient city—by all accounts, one of the very first cities ever constructed—was barely visible now. The walls, once a great barrier against inva
ding hordes, lay in piles of rubble and debris. Buildings, temples and homes were little more than sand mounds, dotting the terrain. Little else of the old metropolis could be discerned among the sand and swamp land, except for the peak of a massive step-pyramid that lay dormant on the far end of the city.
King knew from his studies that the place wouldn’t be fully excavated until sometime in the late nineteenth century. So why, he wondered, was there a full regiment of soldiers, workers, servants and engineers currently surrounding the ziggurat? Why had four hastily-constructed watchtowers been erected on each side of the city? And why were teams of slaves digging furiously to uncover the entrance to the temple?
Of course, he already knew the answer. The multi-colored standards that flapped in the marshland’s fetid breeze told him as much. Nebuchadnezzar had sent in his troops to prevent Sereb-Meloch’s forces from entering the Tomb of Tiamat.
Now King understood the unexpected reinforcements within Sereb-Meloch’s camp. His scouts must have discovered that the Babylonian ruler had stationed troops in Eridu, and he’d been recruiting soldiers ever since.
At first, King was elated at the revelation. He now would have help in his mission. Backup. A full battalion of nearly four hundred well-trained and heavily armored Babylonian soldiers could effectively crush the high priest’s horde of mercenaries, cutthroats, warrior-priests and even the two Girtablilu. Granted, Sereb-Meloch still outnumbered them slightly, but King had no doubt that Nebuchadnezzar’s forces could easily outmatch the others in terms of skill and weaponry.
King scrambled closer to the edge and lay flat on his belly to watch the ant-like workers clearing away the sand and rubble around the pyramid. What are they doing? If they wanted to keep the high priest out, why would they be clearing the doorway for him? Why make it easier for the madman to reach his goal?
Jack Sigler Continuum 1: Guardian Page 9
