Dawn Apocalypse Rising (The Windows of Heaven Book 1)

by K. G. Powderly Jr.

Telemnuk handed the tiny cargo manifest scroll over to the Lead Assassin, who secreted it inside his cloak.

  Nu asked, “How will I make contact with the woman?”

  “That has been arranged by the merchant at that address. He will have you deliver some wares to her husband’s house. Then it is up to you.”

  “What can you tell us about the increased air patrols near the pass?” asked the Lead Assassin.

  Telemnuk lowered his eyes. “Honestly, I feared for you when I saw four of them fly toward the mountain from my upper terrace flat these past two days. We’re halfway between the North and South Sky-Lords’ fortresses here. Airships from both bases reach us. My sources have heard rumors for months now that the Demigods grow concerned about the passes into the Haunted Lands. The increased patrols may be a coincidence.”

  “I think not,” the Assassin Chief said. “They may have seen through our vehicle’s camouflage or spied tread marks on a low pass over the highland meadows. Our Guild crew can keep things hidden well enough, but I’m concerned about ground patrols—they’ll have more than enough time to bring them in before I can get our guest back over the pass.”

  “Our guest may be a welcomed foreman,” the Rubber Planter said.

  Nu said, “Hold on, gentlemen; I came as a personal favor to the Emperor! I have other responsibilities! I will get back to that Firedrake on time, with or without your help.”

  “Easy, Jek. That’s still the plan.”

  Telemnuk seemed distressed that he had upset his guest. “I was only speaking of a worst-case alternative, my friend. Please do not be offended.”

  Nu suddenly realized that his host was offering to put himself at great personal risk in the event that something bad happened to the Firedrake. “I am grateful, not offended, Telemnuk. Your home is as fine as any I’ve ever seen, and I’m sure we would get along well together.”

  The corpulent plantation owner nodded. “My home has seen happier days and I can’t say I wouldn’t be glad for the company. Still, I understand your fear. I will keep my eyes open while you are away south.”

  Soon after the business was concluded, all the assassins except the leader excused themselves and were ushered by servants to a higher platform where they could sleep. The Lead Assassin poured himself another goblet of wine, and retreated to a cushion in one of the hall’s triangle points where he sat and drank quietly. His eyes never left A’Nu-Ahki, who was not tired and had remained behind with their host. Nu suspected that the ranking assassin wanted to insure that “Jek” did not let the wine loosen his tongue too much.

  Telemnuk also seemed eager for another goblet of wine, but even more for conversation. Nu sensed a loneliness in the man—a naturally social and jovial fellow surrounded by people he could never fully trust enough to open his soul to. There were no signs of a family in the house.

  “Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?” Nu also accepted some more wine from his host. He looked around to make sure none of the servants had returned.

  Telemnuk shrugged. “I am but a scroll unfurled.”

  “Why are you helping us?”

  The fleshy rubber planter’s eyes sank for a moment. “You mean, why have I betrayed my gods?”

  “I don’t believe Samyaza and his Watchers are gods. Certainly their sons are not.”

  “No, I suppose not—especially the sons.” Telemnuk’s face darkened as his hand gripped the cup so tightly that it looked like it might burst in his clenched fist.

  “What happened?”

  Telemnuk looked up, his eyes pleading with A’Nu-Ahki. “It is not something I often speak of, though I find myself strangely drawn to speak of it to you. Do you always engender such instant trust from people?”

  Nu chuckled, “Not always.”

  “Perhaps it is that we share something in common. I know by your speech that you come from Salaam-Surupag. I understand the nature of your mission far more deeply than would normally be wise for a man in my position. You had daughters taken, didn’t you?”

  At these words, the Lead Assassin perked up from his wine, and decided that it was already time to pour another. When he drew closer, his flared eyes warned Nu to speak carefully.

  “Yes, I had daughters taken.”

  “As I thought.” Telemnuk sighed. “A man is connected to his daughters in ways that are both holy and wonderful. Mine was a dark beauty with eyes of lapis lazuli and laughter like the forest brooks. Her singing once echoed through these halls like a melody from the Ninth Heaven. I so miss that sound. There is no peace for me without it.” He looked down quickly to hide the flood of tears in his eyes.

  “Samyaza?”

  “Na, one of the lesser ones. They make forays from Assur’Ayur to gather new wives—though I use the word wife in its loosest sense. It is more like abduction than marriage. We saw the shining halo above the tree that supported my Lyria’s suite for only a moment. I rushed up to her room and found her taken from her bed. She was barely a lass of thirty summers. A month later, I received an official courier who informed me that my daughter had been ‘honored’ by being chosen as a wife for one of the gods—they never said which one. They never do, unless it’s one of Samyaza’s High Seven. A dowry of a thousand gold skels came with the notification. I heard nothing more for over three years.”

  “But you did hear from her again.”

  Tears broke from his eyes. “Oh yes. She appeared again in her suite after three years, in the same way they took her. With her were two sons—both Cyclopes, with their single eyes offset on the left side their malformed faces! I would have thought them at least ten years old, but neither was weaned.

  “My Lyria’s spirit was broken. The twin ogres demanded and got every bit of her attention. They devoured her joy and strength like ravening wurms! Never again did she sing since her return. Though she remained with me nearly two more years, it so changed and destroyed her that I hardly knew her. Her eyes had lost their luster, and she could barely eat, though those two monsters nursed her dry and refused weaning!

  “I would hear her weep in the night and wish for something I could do to console her. It got so that she would hardly leave her room. She would only speak to me at her door, as if to protect me from… them! The servants feared even to go near her stairs.

  “Those sons of that god who is not a god often made a horrendous racket. They would quarrel and throw things about, until they reduced my daughter’s suite to a filthy den! The Temple couriers that came by periodically to check on her warned me that it was best to leave them be. The messengers always came laden with more gold, and left with invocations of blessing on my household that sounded blasphemous to my ears. Each time, they reminded us of how women in the cities competed for such status in great beauty contests and ritual arena sport.

  “Then one day, I heard horrible growling from her suite, muffled by the door at the top of the stairwell. The sound sucked my strength away, as I climbed the steps to check on my girl who was no longer my girl at all. It took my last remaining courage to open that door.”

  Telemnuk buried his face in his hands. “You must think me weak, A’Nu-Ahki. How could I have let this thing go on in my very house? I would not blame you if you had no respect for me! I have none for myself any more. I was afraid—not just of what I would find behind that door! Afraid—all along, and in every way! I’m still afraid. Things happen to men who resist the gods of Assur’Ayur—terrible things that I will not describe.”

  A’Nu-Ahki rose, and rested his hand on the man’s shoulder. “I think no ill of you. We live in a world where the evil has grown beyond any of us. I fear none of us would pass such a test completely—if any would pass at all. What happened to your daughter?”

  Telemnuk reached up and clutched Nu’s arm, as if for support. “She lay dead on the floor, her wrists slashed by her own hand. I could understand her despair! But those filthy cyclopean sons of that god—they hunched over her and tore into her flesh like carrion wurms! Right here in this house—
their blood-smeared faces looked up at me indifferently and then buried themselves back in their feast on their own mother’s corpse! And I stood there, unable to think, unable to move, unable even to scream in the madness that still chases me in my nightmares!”

  Nu clasped the poor wretch’s shoulder, his mouth as paralyzed as Telemnuk’s body had been at his daughter’s door. Now the same madness had spotted him also and turned to the chase. All during the Rubber Farmer’s horrendous tale, Nu had seen the identical faces of Uranna and Tylurnis in the place of Lyria’s in his mind. His legs felt like rubber and the room seemed to spin.

  Telemnuk reached for more wine, and recovered some of his composure. “The sacred disk came once more, even as I stood over my little girl’s body. The glowing ones somehow entered the suite, and took their filthy brood with them into the sky—I suppose back to Assur’Ayur.

  “Once more a Temple courier arrived with gold, and thanked me for my patriotism and my sacrifice to the gods. I used that gold to finance this network of subversives against Samyaza—men like I am who had daughters or wives—men who dared again to feel a little like men, although it meant a burden of shame too heavy to bear! The rest is as you see it.”

  T

  he gilded ceilings of the greeting hall inside the Northern Demigod Military City in Satyurati sparkled down on the speakers, amplifying the shafts of quickfire light like golden sunbeams that promised warmth, but gave only a cold metallic sheen.

  Inguska stood at attention with his squadron commander before their Divisional Titan. It was the first time he had ever been so close to such a high level of divinity, not to mention that the fellow stood over a cubit taller than did even his commander.

  “I’m afraid even a company-sized detachment is out of the question,” answered the Titan. “We need every man for the next offensive.”

  Inguska’s chest tightened at the denied request for ground patrols.

  “I understand, Lord,” said the Commander. “May we increase the ordnance our sentry ships carry? We need something that will pierce armor.”

  The Titan grinned. “Of course, Zhaka. I’ll increase your allotment by as much as you need. The gods are well pleased with the good work you both do. I will also notify Internal Security at all the Temple cities to step up their watch. Our young winged basilisk here speaks with prophetic wisdom when he says that something may be up.”

  “One other thing, My Lord…”

  The Titan leaned in to hear Inguska’s squadron commander more clearly. He nodded eagerly when the Demigod officer finished. “You have my approval for this too.”

  P

  illars of fire and smoke dominated the sky-line of Iglat-Meldur, belching sacred obelisks lined atop blast furnaces and wood-burning quickfire dynamos that, for all their exquisite Temple architecture, only fouled the city with soot. To the west of a bustling seaport, pyramids hoary with age stood in decayed grandeur, no longer useful for their traditional purpose of star-gazing because of the continual brownish haze.

  According to Telemnuk, the Temple had long ago converted the old observatories to service the arcane activities of the gods more directly. Doubtless charting the heavens no longer seemed so critical centuries after the “divine ones” had descended to earth. Whatever activities these gods engaged in was a topic on which the average Assurim dared not speculate—or so Nu surmised during the long journey down the North Forest Road.

  The city gates sloped downhill from the gentle rise where the woodland ended. A’Nu-Ahki crawled into the back of the wagon amid the cargo, lest he should accidentally speak and arouse suspicion. The two Imperial Assassins from Ayarak drove, since their speech patterns were naturally closest to the Assurim. Behind them, next to where Nu had moved back from, the Lead Assassin leaned out from the cargo cover and continued to scope out the city. The other three members of the team had separated from the wagon back in the forest, to enter the city on foot by other gates.

  Nu practically held his breath as the ten-onager team slowed before the gate. He saw only slightly past the Lead Assassin, just enough to pick out the heavily manned guard stations in the walls on either side of the road.

  One of the guards called to the wagon, “Hail to Lord Samyaza, mouthpiece of the God of Heaven and mediator of his law on earth!”

  “In the name of Ar’Murras, patron god of munitions, and of this day and hour, we greet you,” the driver responded in a perfect timberland twang from Telemnuk’s region.

  Nu immediately knew something was wrong when he heard the clatter of other armed guards approaching the wagon from either side.

  “Step you all down,” commanded a new voice.

  The Lead Assassin motioned for Nu to come forward and dismount.

  “You’re a mute,” he whispered, as Nu struggled past him. They both dropped down from the wagon together.

  The guards opened the back cover and searched through the cargo.

  The man who had commanded them to dismount wore a red cape and priestly nemes headdress modeled after the Setiim style. He lined the assassins up, all of whom looked down to their feet to emulate the expected Assurim fear of offending a representative of the gods.

  Nu did likewise.

  One of the priestly guards searched them, one at a time. Fortunately, Nu’s trembling seemed entirely appropriate to the situation when the sentry patted him down. None of them carried weapons in any event. The Lead Assassin had told Nu earlier that concealed weaponry was more of a liability than an asset for this kind of work. That was easy for an assassin trained in dozens of ways to kill with his bare hands to say.

  The red-caped Priest-commander asked, “Who is overseer?”

  The Lead Assassin stepped forward. “I am, Sacred Mediator.”

  “Your name?”

  “Loxal of Satyurati, Lord.”

  The Priest-Captain positioned himself directly in front of “Loxal” and tapped the side of his face with a small wicker baton. “And do they not recite the holy days and their patrons in Satyurati?”

  “Forgive our venial blasphemy, Sacred Mediator. We have traveled many days, and I am sure the driver simply lost track of what day it is.”

  “Then you shall atone for your servant by reciting the correct patron god for this day, pay a half-skel of silver, and it shall be enough.”

  “Gladly, to make our hearts pure and bring blessing to our journeys again,” answered the Lead Assassin. “In the name of Rasu’El, patron god of medicines, and of this day and hour, we greet you.”

  Nu’s heart pounded in his throat. The Sentry Priest remained silent.

  The guards that searched through the cargo finished, and informed their leader that it was just a normal shipment of earthenware pots.

  “Your cargo manifest and destination?” the Priest demanded.

  Nu heard the Lead Assassin reach slowly into his cloak to produce the tiny scroll that Telemnuk had given him.

  “And your penalty fine?”

  The Lead Assassin lifted his outer cloak, and produced his money cord. Nu heard him unfasten it and slip off a half-skel-sized ingot of silver.

  “Be you blessed of Samyaza, and may you find the joy of walking in the light of his holy patrons. Go in peace.”

  Nu did not breathe again until he was back aboard the wagon and they had passed beneath the city arch. “Why a priest on guard duty?” he whispered to the Lead Assassin.

  “Unlike Lumekkor, they have no Guild, Jek. These people make nothing of themselves—only their Watchers, titans, and high priests have the know-how. The workers just follow orders and do the repetitive no-brain jobs in the foundries and assembly plants. This be a Temple-run city because it be their main industrial center.”

  Yeah, and the only reason it isn’t the same in Lumekkor is because the first Tubaal-qayin already had his foundry and had learned his physics under Q’Enukki before the Watchers came down, Nu didn’t say aloud.

  A’Nu-Ahki was now certain of one thing; his sires had grossly miscalculated their
“Plan Leviathan” escape route in many more ways than one. The superstitious children of Assuri would have never permitted the Seer Clan passage to the ocean. Not with everything regimented right down to which “god” to invoke in common greetings on any given day.

  A wild desperation spawned by fear of the Lumekkor Alliance must have driven Muhet’Usalaq and Lumekki during the last days of Salaam-Surupag. They had seemed so sure of themselves, despite what they had known of the situation in Assuri since the Regati Slaughter. Although Nu’s fathers had an intense hatred for Samyaza, they had underestimated the Watcher’s ability to condition the masses on a grand scale. On top of that, they had missed his falling-out with Uzaaz’El entirely. Their lack of up-to-date intelligence had also been a function of the down-sizing of Sa-utar’s defense budget, which had begun long before Iyared was Archon.

  Nu did not know whether to weep for the shortsighted sins of his father’s fathers or to scream.

  T

  he morning had been a tedious exercise of wandering about the city. Actually, Nu simply followed the drill his assassin tutors had conditioned into him during the long caravan ride. They had to assume that Samyaza’s agents had followed their wagon from the gates yesterday and take countermeasures. The assassins had tagged three city dwellers possibly shadowing them after they entered Meldur.

  Their local merchant contact had a network of watchmen stationed throughout the city, monitoring Nu as he passed them. They checked any followers or repeat followers. The last such sentry had finally scratched his head, giving the “all clear” signal. It was time to do the job. Nu picked up a small pushcart full of pottery placed out for him at a nearby market shanty and began to roll it toward his destination.

  The house of the woman A’Nu-Ahki was to contact lay on a narrow side street close to the foundries. A dark, cramped structure, it almost seemed that its builder had squeezed it in like an afterthought between two larger homes equally as depressing. The city’s black grit smudged the masonry and a slender wooden door that opened almost onto the street. The merchant at the address Telemnuk had given them had mentioned that the woman’s husband worked as a foundry overseer, and would be away most of the day.