“None taken. What happened?”
“Well, let’s just say the match didn’t work out.”
“It had to have been more than that. At least this fellow would have been human, and you would have been free from the Temple of Ardis.”
She gave a loud sour laugh. “Just barely! Do you know Tarbet?”
“Son of Rakhau, Line of Adiyuri—we’ve met.”
“Do you know what he’s like?”
“I know he’s popular, and that he’s a womanizer. I know he cares for nothing but power and prosperity.”
“Then let’s just leave it at that.”
“Fair enough.”
“You’re probably wondering why I’m not enthralled with the Powers like most women of my clan.”
“I was rather hoping you would get around to that.”
She scrunched her face, an expression Nu suddenly found cute and girlish. “Where do I start?”
“Try the beginning.”
“It’s a long story. I’m sure you want to, well…”
“I can wait. I’m more interested in getting to know the woman I make love to before I make love to her.”
She looked up at him from her pillow, and her face melted. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t think I would find myself with a man as kind-hearted as you.”
“We’re not all beasts. Tell me your story. Then, if you like, I’ll tell you mine. We have all night and many centuries afterward for everything else. Usually we have a long betrothal before we marry around here, but the national crisis and all…”
She smiled at him—this time her face glimmered in the moonlight with a cool radiance that Nu actually found naturally attractive.
“Okay. First, you already know I was the last child born to my father in his old age, and that my mother, Tzuillaeha, died giving birth to me. She had taken the concubine’s root most of her life, after bearing Tubaal-qayin the Great when she was still quite young. She placed too much importance on her beauty, and all those centuries on the root weakened her health. I guess I take after my father in appearance—lucky you!” She gave a harsh snort, while her eyes took him backward with her in time.
“My mother paid steep for her illusion of youth. She went off the root in the end because she wanted a child in her old age. By then, pregnancy was too much for her. My father’s first wife, Udaha, raised me. She, like me, was the daughter of her parents in their old age—her mother was the last direct offspring of Atum-Ra and Khuva.
“Udaha and L’Mekku had long been estranged, and she too was quite old when I came along. She had a heart for children, and loved me like her own. Though the sons of Tubaal-qayin would have little to do with her, her own children, especially those of her firstborn twins, Iya’Baalu and Iyu’Buuli—you met Sengrist, one of ‘Baalu’s chieftains, at the wedding—loved her dearly. I spent lots of time with them, especially after L’Mekku died when I was only ten. Udaha, being a direct grandchild of the Archronos, taught me about E’Yahavah, whom I know to be the Creator of all.”
Nu cocked his head.
“Yes, that’s right!” She giggled. “It must be hard to believe, but there is, after all, one of those pale-skinned, loose women among that wicked people you call ‘the Qayinim’ who actually follows E’Yahavah. It used to be there were more, but that was before I came along.
“One day, Udaha brought me into the library, where she kept copies of the scrolls of Atum-Ra, Seti, and some from Q’Enukki. She told me the true nature of the Watchers, and said that as long as I called on E’Yahavah, they could not touch me, though they could still frighten and harass.
“As I became a ‘tween-ager, I saw with my own eyes how some women—some of them my close friends—died after being in the Temple fertility chambers. The priests and sometimes even the Powers themselves often just abducted girls barely of age—even from highborn families. The high clans tried to hide this from the commoners, but we in the court sometimes witnessed things most people wouldn’t be allowed to see.
“Usually it was the priests that did all this, but I saw the Powers a few times in material form, once even in broad daylight—not just in my dreams or when I was only half awake in my chambers—all aglow like sickly gray death. Their black eyes contain bottomless hate when they look at you. It usually happened when I was by the Temple Pyramid, and just managed to peek inside. My friends who went inside saw more.
“Afterward many of these girls fell from strange diseases, some to madness, and others from what looked like beatings. The Temple priests would surgically implant things into their bodies—horrible things that seemed to have no other purpose but to cause pain and horror! I never knew if the surgeries had any reason beyond that. Usually those who died were girls of some depth—women who offered more than just well-rehearsed sex for the priests during rituals where the Powers somehow merged with them. That was how they did it most of the time.
“I think the Powers can only take material form for short times and with great effort. It is not their true nature. Mostly they manipulate open minds with hallucinations and false memories to fake having actual human relationships. They plant images and words in our thoughts to the point where it is hard to know what is and isn’t real anymore. At least that’s the impression my girl friends gave me. The toll it took on their personalities ruined them. Just the Powers sending messages to me left me unsure of reality. Please don’t be shocked if you find I’m not quite sane.”
She grinned and giggled with her teeth bared in a way that briefly reminded Nu of a starved wolf-hound. He tried not to shudder.
Na’Amiha continued, “I tried to warn my friends—but even most of my court playmates who had seen the same strange things I had, thought the Powers would enrich their lives. It’s what they were told all their lives. The ones who lived through the ordeal of being ceremonially married to them always seemed to be the shallow worthless ones. They actually enjoyed it, or at least pretended to. And they could pretend pretty well. Sad to say, in a way, but they were the majority—so much so that stories of the others, with evidence so elaborately ignored, fell mostly on deaf ears.
“You can bet I called on E’Yahavah fast and hard, especially after I too began having dreams, and getting night messengers from Temple. But Udaha was right. When I called on the Divine Name, none of them could touch me. She was also right about how they could harass and intimidate. The never had me, though. Of that I am certain.”
Her eyes sank into hollow circles. “Udaha died when I was thirty-two. Then the intimidation really started, while my will began to wear down. Sometimes I could actually see their dead-man hands in the night, and feel them touch me. They don’t just touch the body, but the spirit. It makes you feel sick and helpless all over—like you really have no choice in the end.
“Several times I almost gave up hope when I would wake up to find them gathered around my bed with their big heads glowing down on me like pale gray moons. For a long time it became very hard to believe that I really did have a choice. Sometimes it’s still hard. But when I felt their cold caresses, I would scream out for E’Yahavah again, and I guess he would remember me, and make them go away—for a time. The hardest thing I ever did was return to Bab’Tubila after my betrothal to Tarbet failed.”
Her eyes narrowed, and her voice became cold steel. “I vowed not to give in! So I made myself like stone, and waited. I kept up with the world situation, and played whatever political games I had to—short of giving myself to the Powers—while I looked for my opportunity. I’m not proud of everything I did in those decades, least of all, in what I finally used as my gambit—when Salaam-Surupag fell, and this tragedy struck you and your clan. I’m so sorry!” Tears rolled down her cheeks and into her pillow, as she stared up at the tent top, as if afraid to look at him.
Nu gazed at her, his mind in the grip of strange epiphanies. He knew this was no act, though he didn’t quite know how he knew for sure—she was certainly melodramatic enough to be playing on his sympathies. Maybe there was j
ust something honest in her eyes. Honest and scary.
It is not to save the line of Qayin that E’Yahavah has done this to me. It’s her! He just wants to rescue her!
He fought to keep himself from trembling with—was it rage, hope, bitterness, shock, awakening passion, or despair? No! I can’t do this!
“You must do it. It is the only way,” said an internal whisper that A’Nu-Ahki knew Na’Amiha could not hear.
But Emzara! Why my Emza?
“Good people go to Heh’Bul’s Fields before their time. Did you imagine an exemption for Emza? You will see each other again.”
But it hurts too much! Now this strange woman is in my bed! Her eyes! It’s weird! What am I doing? How did I get here?
“I brought you here, and I will bring you through it.”
Nu wanted to shout that it was not enough—that it could never be enough! His best friend—his Lady—the too-recent memory of a woman he found so intoxicating in ways that went infinitely deeper than mere physical attraction… The outrage was too much to face alone!
“But you are not alone. You will never be alone.”
Then he saw Na’Amiha truly for the first time—vulnerable, frightened, and waiting nobly to suffer his wrath against all her brutal honesty. She shook as he did, if for different reasons.
She could never compete with Emzara, especially by the crass standards of mere sex—which Nu’s body ached for more than he had been willing to admit. Yet this plain woman from Bab’Tubila somehow shared Emzara’s deeper beauty—or at least something akin to it.
Nu peered into her eyes, and surprised himself that he was no longer angry—not at her, and even more strangely, not at E’Yahavah. But can I ever really love her? He wondered. Then it struck him that he was asking the wrong question. How do I dare not to love her? She has to be highly prized for E’Yahavah to have worked on her behalf this way.
He began to understand, if only a little. The love he would have for her would be something placed in him from above; tenderness from the heavens that did not originate from his own desire, though he knew desire would eventually come—was already approaching.
As if to prove to himself that he would not recoil from her, Nu gently slipped his arm around her. She suddenly did not seem so strange. He wiped away her tears with his finger.
When he went to kiss her, she stiffened like a corpse.
He drew back, and released her. “I’m sorry. I just want you to know that I accept you—from my heart. You never need fear them again.”
“I should apologize to you. I am, after all, your wife.”
He brushed her hair back, where it had stuck to the wetness on her face. “No, my mistake. I’ve been used to the familiarities of marriage a long time. My loss is still recent. I promised to tell you all about myself first.”
“So tell me.” She sniffed then laughed—not quite so loud this time. “What is it to be a seer?”
Nu told his story, careful not to dwell too much on Emzara and his children. Dancing around them was not easy, and he had to tell her some.
Na’Amiha promised she would bear him other children—not to replace the ones he had lost, but to add new memories of hope. Eventually they fell asleep in each other’s arms.
They never did consummate that night.
I, Enoch, was blessing the great Lord and King of peace. And behold the Watchers called me Enoch the scribe. Then the Lord said to me: “Enoch, scribe of righteousness, go tell the Watchers of heaven, who have deserted the lofty sky, and their holy everlasting station, who have been polluted with women. And have done as the sons of men do, by taking to themselves wives, and who have been greatly corrupted on the earth; That on the earth they shall never obtain peace and remission of sin. For they shall not rejoice in their offspring; they shall behold the slaughter of their beloved; shall lament for the destruction of their sons; and shall petition for ever; but shall not obtain mercy and peace.”
—1 Enoch 12:3-7
Ethiopic Manuscript
10
Samyaza
T
he pilgrims never stopped coming, even after seven decades. Akh’Uzan sat so conveniently near the road to the perpetual carnage of the Southern Front that warriors of every stripe could easily detour a single day to visit the Gryndel Slayer. First they had come out of the Brotherhood of Dragon-slayers from every remaining city-state of Seti, then from the lore masters, but now—and most intolerably persistent—came the titans of Lumekkor.
A’Nu-Ahki had gotten so tired of it that to appease the influx he had printed up a scroll outlining the wurm’s weak spot. The acolytes down in the village handed them out for a small printing fee. This seemed to satisfy most comers, except the titans, who considered themselves important enough to warrant personal attention from the “Wurm’s Bane” himself.
“Gronka fight! Gronka learn from holy man!” insisted the latest Cyclops, his single eye slightly off center below a beetle-browed, apish forehead. It rolled in its socket, a demented marble window into a house filled with warlord ghosts waging eternal combat with each other. Facial muscles twitched at every shadowy blow. Every so often, it seemed as if a single demonic entity would gain mastery over the others for a moment, and peer out at the twilight world through that bloodshot hole from the Abyss.
The creature’s entourage stood at the monastery gate, bathed in the wine-berry sunset. A’Nu-Ahki stood with them outside.
“It’s not like there’s any special technique,” Nu said. Cold sweat crawled like maggots from every pore in his body as he stood alone under the Beast’s flaring gaze. “The mating claw is a weak joint. Either cut it or twist it off if you’re big enough for the leverage. I’m no martial art master!”
“Gronka is patient. Gronka learns fast and practice hard! Good little holy man show. Gronka bring gryndel tomorrow.”
“No gryndel!” Nu snapped, no longer afraid of getting his head torn off. At least it would put an end to this nonsense!
The Cyclops tilted his head with an almost childlike whine. “Why?”
“Not a game! That’s why! You want to learn so you can call yourself a Seed of Promise! So you beat a stupid dragon to pulp in some arena! What does it prove? Men still die! The war goes on! Evil grows! Goodness withers on the vine! I’m not your master, and I certainly won’t be your slave! So take the little scroll and tell all your titan friends not to bother me anymore!”
“Ahhh! Gronka tired of you! He go now! You not so smart! Could be big man! Big power in North Country, if you smart. But you not smart!”
“That’s right!” Nu said, “Gronka right! I not smart!”
The Cyclops waved him off with a gesture of disgust, and turned back down the forest trail.
“I thought he would never leave,” said the low voice of Na’Amiha from just inside the gate.
“I’m surprised he didn’t clobber me!”
“You don’t know Cyclopes like I do. The Temple only use them as guards, mostly for ceremonial stuff—either that or as shock troops—not much brains for anything else. The fact that you’d killed a gryndel probably was more than he could handle. He fears your sorcery.”
Nu joined her inside the courtyard, pulled the gate shut, and barred it behind him. “That was over seventy years ago! What is wrong with these people! How long can this stupid war go on?”
‘Miha said, “Last I talked to Tubaal-qayin, he said everything had stalled again. Since the Samyazas captured some of our Behemoths and began to produce their own self-propelled chariots, all we can do is throw men and machines at each other. I think my nephew used the ‘stalemate’ word again.”
“That’s not good. But not unexpected either.”
“He predicted that the fighting could still go on for decades.”
Another bell-ringer outside the gate signaled for admission before they could even start back across the courtyard to the common hall.
“Who is it now?” Nu growled, half expecting Gronka with a gryndel. He turned back
while Na’Amiha continued to their loft above the library.
“Please open up!” called a muffled voice from outside.
“Gronka, if that’s your spokesman, give it up! I’m not going to teach you how to fight gryndel!”
“It’s not Gronka, if he was that Cyclops I passed on the trail a moment ago. I’m a courier from the front. Tubaal-qayin Dumuzi needs to confer with a certain seer named A’Nu-Ahki. It’s a matter of urgency!”
A’Nu-Ahki unbarred the gate, and let the messenger in.
The young soldier immediately handed him a sealed scroll.
Nu broke the wax circle and carried the roll into the hearth hall’s firelight. The courier followed at a respectful distance.
He read the message silently and then re-rolled it.
“I need to confer with my elders,” Nu told the courier. “Wait here and refresh yourself—there’s wine, bread, and cheese in that cupboard by the fireplace. I’d serve you, but this is fairly urgent. Please help yourself, and make yourself at home.”
The soldier thanked him.
Nu rushed out the door again, across the courtyard, to Lumekki’s tower, where he climbed to his father’s turret suite. He found the old Tacticon sipping tea by his hearth, as if readying himself for bed. A’Nu-Ahki did not even wait for an answer to his knock before entering the room.
“What’s the matter, Son?” Lumekki asked.
“Take a look at this.”
Lumekki grabbed the scroll and unraveled it; laying it across a small reading table he kept by his fireside chair.
A’Nu-Ahki’s father pursed his lips in disbelief, and then read the communiqué aloud: “Tubaal-qayin V ‘Dumuzi,’ to the Seers of Akh’Uzan, especially A’Nu-Ahki, my kinsman through marriage; greetings. I send this urgent message because the two eldest sons of Samyaza have signaled from across the front that they wish a truce and a parley with the sons of Q’Enukki. If there is any chance we can achieve a negotiated end to this war, I ask that one of you should come as a delegation to speak to them. I await your answer, and ask you to think of the many lives that could be saved.”
Dawn Apocalypse Rising (The Windows of Heaven Book 1) Page 14
