“A lie works fine in the short-run to evade painful realities, but the truth eventually catches up. Denying truth doesn’t work in the end. Living under the authority of a real Creator who has the right and power to give and take life in the real world—like anything else in reality—has a down side. Even so, it has unending advantages over believing in something we create in our own imaginations simply to comfort ourselves.”
“What advantages?” The indignation in her eyes burned.
“Only a God who is really there can help. Our comfort fantasies—even when couched in Seti’s religion—have only our own affections behind them. They seem to work if life does not demand too much of us. But they were not enough to help me through the loss of my first wife and family—though I used the very prayers of the Seer himself, when I prayed at all.”
He mopped the sweat from the unburned side of her brow with a towel. “Truth is I was mostly too tired even for that. But the Great Maker responded to me anyway. Call on him. I’ll not inflict any further litanies on you. They tend to sound too much like mockeries when we’re inside the cauldron. I’ve found that E’Yahavah understands this too.”
“Is your litany any less a mockery?” She swiped his hand away.
“Perhaps not, but my words aren’t meant to mock you. You asked me and so I’ve answered. I say that if you trust him, E’Yahavah will see you through this. Beyond that, I know little.”
“Then you don’t even know that much! If this is how he shows his love; who will there be to help us when he shows us his hate?”
“I don’t pretend to have the answers. My first wife and my children were my entire world. Even so, I know he has not abandoned us.”
“Leave me alone. I have too many dead babies to count. One… Two… Three…”
A’Nu-Ahki rose to leave her in peace.
“Make that woman shut up!” the Priest demanded again.
Nu dropped to his knees again and stuck his finger right in the fellow’s face. “You shut up and let her count, or I’ll let you miss a few doses of opium powder, and see how well you like the feel of things! Get it?”
“So it’s true,” the Priest said. “You really are a heretic. Only a heretic speaks so to a priest of the Altar.”
But he gave A’Nu-Ahki no further trouble.
T
he new light cannons pointed skyward like angry needles in the sunlight. They surrounded the small military compound at the crossroads village in the mouth of the Akh’Uzan Valley. Wreckage from four Samyaza airships still burned in the outlying fields.
The Titan straticon snarled, “It’s a waste to station so many sky cannons this far back. Samyaza gains ground beneath his air fleet!” His huge misshapen head reminded A’Nu-Ahki of a lumpy up-ended pear.
Lumekki said to Tubaal-qayin Dumuzi, “Lord, you cannot allow the continued disruption of your supply line.”
The Titan scowled down at Nu’s father.
Tubaal-qayin did not. He nudged his signalman. “How soon?”
“We should see them any moment, Lord, if the last oracle dispatch is accurate on their departure time.”
The Emperor scanned the northwest horizon over the grasslands, and then turned again to the small knot of officers and local elders he had called to meet him. Nu had accompanied his father down from Q’Enukki’s Retreat more out of curiosity than anything else.
Since Dumuzi gave each village a mobile sky cannon unit, the “Samyaza Gas Bags” had begun to take as good as they gave out. New casualties at the hospital tents began to decline after months of carnage.
Tubaal-qayin said, “Gentlemen, the issue is now moot.”
A’Nu-Ahki heard a buzz out of the north, like a giant swarm of angry wasps. He gazed over the meadows to where the Dumuzi watched.
What looked like a cloud of locusts began to take shape over the horizon. As the objects drew nearer, Nu saw that they did in fact resemble giant insects, though they flew a straight course toward the military camp. When they arrived, the small flying machines began to circle overhead, where Nu got a better look at them.
They had no gas bladders, but a wide sandwich of fixed wings attached perpendicular to twin cylindrical bodies that housed large rotary engines. Between the two engine nacelles, at the wing layers’ center of gravity, Nu could see the pilot cabin and its sky cannon mount. The invert pentagram of Uzaaz’El emblazoned the underside of each wing.
One by one, the strange flying machines began to dip down like birds to light upon the open fields outside the army camp.
“I call them aerodrones,” Tubaal-qayin said to his dumbstruck guests. “Faster and more maneuverable than Samyaza’s lighter-than-air ships, they shall soon cover a huge counter-offensive in the south that will outflank Assuri’s drive on Kushtahar and the Great Havens.”
Lumekki said, “They look like mating dragon flies.”
“We’ve actually been working on them for a few years—even before Samyaza unleashed his air fleet,” said the Emperor. “The trick was to develop a grain-spirit-fueled engine light enough to provide the thrust needed to cause moving air to lift under the wings.”
Nu said, “More help from Uzaaz’El?”
“Not much. The power plants are air cooled, which got rid of the water weight of a conventional coolant system. In fact, I actually ordered them built and flown south against Uzaaz’El’s wishes.”
“Why would he not wish you to use them?”
The Emperor laughed, which seemed to rankle his titan straticon. “He wanted us to explore an air route over the Kharir Aedenu—fat chance! Every time we sent a drone up into those peaks, it never returned. I decided to quit wasting prototypes, and mass-produce a combat model. I hear my glowing friend was furious, but he’ll get over it.”
Nu was glad to hear there were still some limits the Watchers and their minions could not violate.
“How far can they fly before refueling?” Lumekki asked.
Tubaal-qayin shook his head. “No statistics, gentlemen. The foray into the Mountains of Aeden was to search out advance bases—the drones would not have made it all the way through to Assuri and back. Likewise they can’t cross your Haunted Lands to Samyaza’s industrial centers.”
Nu asked, “Will these machines enable you to win the war quickly?”
The Emperor shrugged. “Eventually—unless Samyaza produces drones of his own. There’s no magic answer here, but I’m hopeful.”
Nu disliked the lack of assurance in Tubaal-qayin’s tone. It haunted his ride back up to Q’Enukki’s Retreat the following day and well beyond.
The Dumuzi’s words proved more prophetic than any Divine whisper A’Nu-Ahki had heard in a long while.
The better aircraft tipped the scales of war over to Lumekkor for a time. Tubaal-qayin Dumuzi soon retook the ground lost to Samyaza during Assuri’s air superiority, and even make good his counter-offensive. It did not take long, however, for several of Lumekkor’s craft to crash inside enemy territory. Within a year, the Assurim copied the technology just as they had everything else.
The fighting stalled again at a pitched line just a few days journey southeast of the old fortresses. By the end of the second year into the Age of Flight, it was almost as if nothing had changed—except that casualty counts were higher, and life behind the lines for soldiers on rest leave had lost its recuperative quality due to the persistent threat of air attack.
The constantly improving aerodrones of Lumekkor ensured that few Samyaza raids ever reached as far north as Akh’Uzan again. Soon the countryside was dotted with landing fields, until rarely a day went by that Nu did not see or hear at least one of the machines buzz overhead.
Again, the years of distant warfare stretched on, while Nu and his wife settled back into their dull routine. It became hard for him not to wonder if the Divine Name had simply forgotten them. The world changed quickly outside, while life in Akh’Uzan seemed frozen in its timeless cycle of watching and waiting. Nu could not help but ask, waiting for what?
He didn’t know that he was asking the wrong question.
In 1938, Dr. Wilhelm Konig, an Austrian archaeologist rummaging through the basement of the museum, made a find that was to drastically alter all our concepts of “ancient knowledge.” A 6-inch-high pot of bright yellow clay dating back two millennia contained a cylinder of sheet-copper 5 inches by 1.5 inches. The edge of the copper cylinder was soldered with a 60-40 lead-tin alloy comparable to today’s solder. The bottom of the cylinder was capped with a crimped-in copper disk and sealed with bitumen or asphalt. Another insulating layer of asphalt sealed the top and also held in place an iron rod suspended into the center of the copper cylinder. The rod showed evidence of having been corroded with an acidic agent. With a background in mechanics, Dr. Konig recognized this configuration was not a chance arrangement—the clay pot was nothing less than an ancient electric battery.
However, Dr. Konig also found copper vases plated with silver in the Baghdad Museum, excavated from Sumerian sites in southern Iraq, dating back to at least 2500 BCE. When the vases were lightly tapped, a blue patina or film separated from the surface, which is characteristic of silver electroplated onto copper base. It would appear then that the Parthians inherited their batteries from one of the earliest known civilizations.
—Lumir G. Janku
The Modern Past: Batteries of Babylon
13
Firedrake
T
he summons had roused A’Nu-Ahki from the tedium of hovering anxiety and dwindling hope. The regular clop-clop of the onager-drawn carriage reminded him of his own existence—how he simply did what as expected of him year after year, like a bridled beast, just tolerating life. He tried not to let it show around ‘Miha. When she noticed the distance in his eyes, she tended to blame herself. But this wasn’t her fault.
Lumekki sat next to him, while Muhet’Usalaq snored on the seat across from them.
The Old Soldier raised his tufted brows. “What’s wrong, Son?”
Nu became aware that his father had been watching him for some time. He wasn’t sure how, or even if he wanted to answer.
“Just looking for some sort of sign or direction—been looking far too long,” he finally said, after his father would not turn away.
“Ahh, the Big Divine Silence—I know it well. At least you’re still looking.”
Nu chuckled without much mirth. “Guess I’m too much a son of the Seer Clan to ever stop doing that entirely.”
“But you’ve slowed it down a bit. It’s good you go forward, even if slowly. E’Yahavah doesn’t reveal everything clearly. Often, you just have to ask for wisdom, trust that it’s been given, and then take your best shot. ”
“I feel the energy of my youth shriveling up. Is it me or have all the villages of Akh’Uzan tripled in size since I last came down this road?”
“A common malady once you settle into your four-hundreds. Gray patches in the beard, a less forgiving back…”
Nu cut him off. “That’s not what I mean.”
“Na’Amiha’s worried about you.”
A’Nu-Ahki stared out the window. “You know, I’ve been married to her now for almost as long as I was to Emza—can you believe that? I listen to her bubble along about her days—a husband’s supposed to listen—I say the right things at the right time. But the truth is… by Aeden, we’ve done nothing here! And the time—it just slides by faster and faster while this infernal war goes on and we lose what little vitality remains…”
If the summons had roused A’Nu-Ahki, it only left Na’Amiha with a worry-creased forehead. She’d opted to stay home, which was just fine with her husband. He would never deliberately hurt her feelings, but he needed a break from her—could he tell his father that?
“I know she didn’t want you to come,” Lumekki said. “She’s afraid because she loves you. Whenever her nephew calls, I see it in her face…”
“I know. But I really needed to get away.” She’s been insatiable lately. It’s either feast or famine with her! Only now, I’m the one who can’t perform! Never saw that coming…
“All couples need a break from each other now and then.”
“I never needed one from Emza.”
Lumekki frowned. “You and Emza were young. You’re not…”
“No, of course not!”
“I didn’t really think so.”
“No worries Pahpo, you saved our marriage a long time ago. It’s just that lately I feel like I’ve lost the ability to hold up my end of things. It’s like she needs something from me that I just don’t have—and I’ve no idea what that is or how to get it. Am I just not affectionate enough?”
It’s more than just the bedchamber, Nu wanted to add, but didn’t. Her clingy hunger is as spiritual as it is emotional and physical. No number of walks to Grove Hollow, no amount of quiet evening conversation, no deluge of affection is ever enough! I can’t even go to the water closet without her fearfully asking me where I’m going and when I’ll be back!
Lumekki shrugged. “I can’t help you there, Son. You seem attentive. Sometimes, you just have to do what you have to do when it’s time to do it. She’s a good woman—better than I ever expected from her background—much better than you would have done locally, I’m ashamed to admit.”
“I know.”
“The Zaqen and I were not too happy about the sudden journey either, but I guess a day’s ride to Farguti Crossroads is little more than an inconvenience really. And it’s time you show your face around the Dumuzi again, whether he likes it or not. Besides, you needed to get away.”
Nu felt the carriage turn through the gates of their destination.
The once-tiny hamlet at the mouth of the Valley of Akh’Uzan had expanded much even in the few years since Nu had last seen it. Over a century of soldiers and war matériel passing through it to the Southern Front had enriched the house of Farguti son of Urugim far beyond the wildest dreams of avarice. Nu found that ironic, since Farguti had been one of Urugim’s many younger sons that had refused his father’s call to Paru’Ainu, and had only relocated later to Akh’Uzan because of the military service exemption provided by the acceptance of Muhet’Usalaq’s fosterage.
The Prime Zaqen—who woke up as the coach bumped to a halt—had found Farguti’s fortune far more than just ironic. Earlier, on the road down from Q’Enukki’s Retreat, he had grumbled that it was a personal insult to have the conference at this man’s gigantic and overdone new home.
Nu found Tubaal-qayin Dumuzi’s presence at the gate unsurprising —though usually one of such high rank would have left the greetings to professional courtiers. The Metalsmith-king’s titan bodyguards, who tried unsuccessfully to blend into the floral background scenery, surrounded the place like gigantic bronze sculptures done by an artist with extremely poor taste. The “Shepherd” wants something again. Nu saw that the Dumuzi had that ‘please help the pathetic satyr’ look in his sunken eyes.
Despite A’Nu-Ahki’s negotiation debacle with Isha’Tahar a few decades ago, the Emperor of Lumekkor had continued to rely on Lumekki as an informal advisor. Military thinking was timeless in some ways. Aside from the wisdom of Nu’s father, who tried to keep his tactical theory up to date for the latest battlefield technology, Tubaal-qayin also knew where his army’s bread, ore, and lumber came from.
“Welcome, and thank you for coming.” Tubaal-qayin extended a hand to each of them in turn. “I leased this wing of your kinsman’s house for our meeting because I did not want to inconvenience you too much. Please come inside and refresh yourselves.”
“Thank you, Your Highness,” Lumekki said, once it became clear that Muhet’Usalaq was going to play things tough, sour, and silent.
Nu realized immediately that his father would do most of the talking, while the Prime Zaqen observed. He also knew that his grandfather was not just being difficult. Rather, it was for the purpose of plausible deniability—if it seemed that Lumekki got into trouble in his representation of Seer Clan policy, Muhe
t’Usalaq could always claim that his son had misspoken.
Nu also understood with a shudder his own place in this relationship. He was supposed to be the “expert” adviser—and indeed his expertise ranged to a variety of things. If both Lumekki and Muhet’Usalaq found themselves buried by their own words, A’Nu-Ahki existed mainly to take the political fall for having mis-advised them. The approaching doors to the mansion began to feel like the jaws of some huge animal.
Inside Farguti’s gigantic ante-chamber lay a banquet table. The travelers from Q’Enukki’s Retreat stacked themselves each a moderate plate, but limited their drink intake to a goblet of sweet new wine apiece. Nu made sure to take only a single sip for courtesy’s sake, and to leave the rest stand.
After everybody had eaten, Tubaal-qayin signaled the conference to begin by ordering the servants out, and the big doors shut. The whole time, his cordial smile never met his eyes, which seemed to sink further into his skull as he spoke. Nu figured that a century and a half of trench warfare would do that to a man—usually worse. This one didn’t seem smart enough to change a foreign policy that was bleeding his empire dry, however. Maybe he was too oblivious to notice the uselessness of his strategy, and too unimaginative to think outside that paradigm.
Kings had been so foolish before, but not usually for so long. Then again, maybe by now his titan generals were the ones really in control. Nu had heard distant rumblings to that effect.
Tubaal-qayin said, “I’ve called the Seer Clan because what we’ve recently discovered affects them as much as it does our general war effort.”
Nu didn’t know whether to be frightened or excited. Either way, the Emperor’s opening words ensured that he would be attentive.
“First, let me assure the Seer Clan that I fully intend to respect the terms of Iyared’s Oath for the Archonic Line. My logistics status is greatly enhanced by that agreement, and I will not threaten so important a treaty.”
A’Nu-Ahki felt a momentary relief—until he heard the rest of what Dumuzi “the Shepherd” had to say.
Dawn Apocalypse Rising (The Windows of Heaven Book 1) Page 19
