by Dana Fredsti
“That’s enough, thanks.” Amber said, then she added, “How big are we talking?”
“From our current position, the opposite shore is approximately nineteen kilometers away. In addition, there appears to be a large man-made structure not far off of our current heading.”
* * *
They continued along that course until the far shore appeared, another green line stretching across the horizon. Shortly after that, the structure came into view.
“There, up ahead.” Amber pointed over Cam’s shoulder at what appeared to a large, seemingly intact Egyptian monument of some kind, rows of high pillars and statues towering over an open-roofed courtyard. “Let’s check it out.”
Cam nodded and turned the bike toward the ruins. As they drew nearer, the details of the structure became clearer. For ruins, they were in remarkably pristine condition. Amber lifted a hand to shade her eyes.
“I don’t think these are ruins.”
As if on cue, a figure appeared between the rows of pillars, his back to them. Then a faint echo of music sounded, growing louder as a large procession emerged from the complex. There were masked figures and musicians, and at the very head of the parade, a pair of mummies being borne aloft.
The figure, a tall bald man in green body paint, raised his arms and began a loud invocation in ancient Egyptian. It was odd to know that, and to feel the implant working to translate his speech in her head.
“O Sobek-Ra, Pointed of Teeth! O Petsuchos, his holy image!”
“We’re interrupting a funeral,” Cam said. “It would not do to violate sacred rites.”
But Amber’s eyes were drawn to the mummies.
They were struggling.
* * *
“Accept now these our offerings…”
“Holy shit!” Amber gasped. “No we’re not—we’re interrupting a human sacrifice! We’ve got to stop it!”
Cam glanced back at her, prepared to argue—until he saw the determination in her eyes. If she is willing to defy a god, then so am I. Facing forward again, he stood high in the bike’s saddle and revved the engine.
“Andraste and Camulos!” he shouted. “Marvos no an sego!” Death or the victory!
His war-cry tore a collective cry of alarm from the shocked worshipers and brought the music to a jangling, chaotic end. Their eyes wide with horror, the crowd stared at the unholy apparition charging them from out of their sacred primal waters—an alien warrior riding an unearthly steed that flew through the very air.
* * *
The High Priest spun about to see who dared blaspheme their ritual. Outraged, he turned back to the men bearing the victims and pointed to the pool.
“Cast them in! Now!” he commanded.
They hastened to obey, tossing in the squirming bundles.
* * *
“Hurry!” Amber urged.
Cam nodded, and aimed for the broad stairway that rose up from the lake to the temple courtyard. Once again he gunned the engine, sending the hovercycle flying up the stone steps.
A long, wide pool dominated the courtyard. The cycle launched into the air, skipping over the surface of the pool with a huge spray of water. Without warning, a huge mass of angry Nile crocodile reared up, twisting around to snap hungrily at the flying intruder. It crashed down again with a splash as Cam and Amber flew past.
The priest raised his arms in fear, screaming for his gods as he dove backward to avoid being swatted by the rushing machine.
Wheeling the bike to a sidelong halt, Cam dismounted and drew his sword just as two temple guards rushed up, brandishing their sickle-swords. He gritted his teeth and slashed out at them. His flashing blade sliced the first guard’s copper weapon in half. Then a return swing cut both guards, the weapon’s diamond edge passing through their armored chest plates with unnatural ease.
“I am Camtargarus, son of Cattus, of the Trinovantes!” Cam shouted in perfect Egyptian, loud enough that his gods and theirs could hear. Whirling around, he pointed a finger at the crocodile, which was closing in on its bound victims. Issuing a battle-roar, he leapt into the pool, raising his sword overhead. It was hard to move in the chest high water, but he had supreme faith in his enchanted blade. He charged forward to meet the crocodile—but the reptile had the advantage. It glided effortlessly toward him while he struggled to find solid footing. With a tremendous rush of speed, it snapped open its jaws.
Gritting his teeth, Cam brought his sword down with a two-handed grip.
Man and reptile collided in a bone-rattling impact, stunning them both. Cam’s blade gouged a deep red cut into the crocodile’s jawbone before rebounding off again. The beast reeled, and Cam flew backward as well, his body thrust under the water. Flailing his arms, he tried to breach the surface and regain his footing before the next strike.
He failed.
The crocodile cut through the water, coming straight for him. Struggling to right himself, Cam did not see the attack coming until it was too late. The young warrior tried to stab out at the dark shape, but the crocodile was faster. It slammed into him, smashing him into the stone wall with a painful crunch. All the air in his lungs came bubbling out at once, gone in an instant. And then the terrible toothed jaws had him.
He did not scream when the reptile clamped down with jagged teeth and jerked hard on his sword arm. He could only fight to stay conscious and strive to hang on as the great beast twisted into a death roll.
* * *
“Cam!”
Amber watched Cam’s leap with horrified disbelief before jumping off the cycle, crossbow in hand. All around her, worshipers fled in turmoil. Ignoring the mayhem, she pushed past them to the edge of the pool just in time to see the crocodile bite down on Cam’s arm. The mummified victims thrashed about, trying to keep their heads above water.
As she tried to get a clear shot, the reptile threw its tail up in the air and then snapped it to the side, putting its massive body into a spin. Cam’s body whipped about like a rag doll. She kept her arm steady, waiting for her chance. If she fired too soon, she might kill Cam herself. If she fired too late…
“Kill her! Kill them both!” someone yelled behind her. She risked turning her head to see the priest barking orders to the Egyptian soldiers rushing up from the subterranean interior. Spearmen pushed through the fleeing worshipers, running toward her. She turned back to the pool.
If she didn’t shoot now—
Something streaked through the air toward her.
“Amber, take cover at once,” the rover’s amplified voice commanded. Behind it, a colossal shape that dwarfed the crocodile rose up from the stairs. It lifted itself step by massive step, on limbs the size of tree trunks.
It was the Sarcosuchus imperator.
And it was still hungry.
* * *
The screams of the crowd reached a fever pitch, joined now by many of the soldiers. The giant beast turned its triangular snout first one way, then the other, trying to make up its mind which screaming morsel to eat first. Then it spotted its choice of entrée. The prehistoric monster crossed the front of the courtyard and splashed into the pool, nearly filling it with its bulk.
The Sarcosuchus plunged its head into the water as fast as a crane darting after a fish, snatching up the creature the robed man had called “Petsuchos”—swallowing its entire back end in one bite, while it thrashed in desperation. The Sarcosuchus gave its smaller cousin a vigorous shake, and with a loud rasping hiss the thrashing crocodile released its grip on Cam. He tumbled back into the water next to the sacrifices, still struggling with their bindings.
The emperor croc paid them no mind, lifting its head high to better gulp down its struggling meal. Amber froze, transfixed by the spectacle just as much as the terrified Egyptian soldiers surrounding her.
“Amber, it is imperative that you seek cover at once,” the rover urged her. She remained paralyzed. The robot flew closer to her. “AMBER!” it called out in loudspeaker mode. Startled, she dropped her crossbow and quic
kly hopped back on the hoverbike.
No way to kill it, she thought. Have to distract it from Cam. Wheeling it around, she sped directly away from the monster, gunning it past the thunderstruck priest and through his soldiery to the rear of the temple courtyard.
* * *
Finally swallowing the last of its main course, the Sarcosuchus turned at the sound.
Tracking the shiny object, it lifted itself up and out of the pool, only to become distracted by all the delicious little tidbits that surrounded it, waving their tiny sticks.
The closest was the screaming priest, waving his arms for divine aid that was not forthcoming. The Sarcosuchus snapped him up in a single bite. The bravest of the temple guards closed in with their spears, but the reptile was too busy digging into the sumptuous buffet to realize it was under attack.
* * *
Amber cleared the temple and risked a look back, hoping to find the supercroc in hot pursuit. Instead, she saw a reptilian hurricane—the monster was stomping through the temple, whipping its tail in excitement as it snapped up one soldier after another. She wheeled around to a stop, dismayed.
She hadn’t distracted it—she’d created a feeding frenzy.
Now what?
“Ship, can you put up a screen to hide Cam from that thing?”
“I can attempt one, but considering the crocodyliform’s agitated state, it most likely will not be effective for long—if at all.”
They needed a plan B.
“It seems fixated on this hovercycle—can we put it on autopilot?”
“Not to any degree of sophistication. I’m afraid this particular vehicle was not constructed to those specifications.”
“Nothing fancy,” she persisted. “Just make it takeoff in a straight line, on my signal.”
“That is entirely possible, but I advise against it. Bringing the hovercycle close enough to attract its attention will place you in extreme danger.”
“Can you do it?” she demanded.
“Yes. Ready and awaiting your command.”
“Then here we go.”
Heart pounding with fear-fueled adrenaline, Amber headed back, the rover next to her, dodging around the few remaining soldiers spilling out of the temple. The Sarcosuchus still thrashed around the courtyard, rooting about for more Egyptians to eat. Then it spotted her and the cycle, immediately lumbering toward her. She pulled to a stop just a few yards away from its charge.
“Now!” she shouted, leaping off the bike. The hovercycle streaked off again, heading in a straight line toward the lake. As the bike sped past it, the croc, engrossed by the sight and sound of the flying object, twisted its head to try to catch it on the wing—and succeeded.
The monster snapped it up like a bug, crunched down and chewed it to bits in seconds. Then it turned its eye back on Amber, still sprawled out on the courtyard.
This was a bad plan, she thought as she reached for her crossbow, only to find the holster empty. There it was, yards away where she’d dropped it near the pool. Still on her back, she scrambled away on the stone floor, but the croc was already moving toward her. Amber stopped where she was and drew her machete—the only weapon she had.
The supercroc opened its mouth, exposing a maw large enough to swallow a Volkswagen. The mottled pink tissue of its throat was stained with rivulets of blood, tattered ribbons of man flesh littering its rows of jagged teeth. Then it rushed her.
Amber knew she was dead.
The whine of the hovercycle came to life behind her. And there it was again, back from the dead, speeding past to distract the Sarcosuchus. The croc lunged to catch it again, snapping its gargantuan mouth. It seemed to catch hold, but this time the hovercycle had dodged the clamp of its jaws. In frustrated prehistoric rage, the reptile wheeled and stomped off down the courtyard in pursuit, shaking the temple’s foundations with each thunderous footfall.
“I’ll be back shortly,” the rover called out.
Amber sat up, watching as the holographic hovercycle blazed down the steps and tore off across the great lake, just fast enough to lead the croc on a merry chase.
When she caught her breath again, she surprised herself by laughing.
28
The Island of Pharos
Alexandria Harbor
Seven days after the Event
Calix and Hypatia were not the only ones hurrying to see the prefect. By the time they reached the palace, the council chamber had filled with all the city leaders, as well as a trio of notable citizens who mutually despised one another—the Greek poet Aretitus, Ezekiel, the ethnarch of the Jewish quarter, and Bishop Cyril, the Christian patriarch of Alexandria.
Gray-haired Aretitus had been a priest of Serapis, back when that still meant something. Now that all the temples had been closed, razed, or converted to the service of a newer deity, he ostensibly made his living as a poet and dramatist, though some whispered that he never truly stopped being a pagan priest.
He certainly sounded like one now.
“We have abandoned the old ways that made us great,” he said as loudly as he could, lanky arms raised up to implore the council members. “We have spurned the gods that bestowed their favor upon Rome, and look what has happened! Our empire is torn asunder, the sea rages against us, and now, all around us chaos abounds, to our grief and our shame. Look now…”
Aretitus aimed a finger at the window, pointing to the sky.
“We have forgotten Olympus—but Olympus has not forgotten us! See what miracle they have sent us this day. Who but Apollo could create such a magnificent bird from steel and light? Who but merciful Zeus could dispatch such a herald of a glorious new age? Did you not hear his promise? Did you not mark his name?
“János… János. It could not be clearer to those that have remained faithful. To those that honored the old ways. He is Janus, the god of past and future. The opener of doorways, the beginner and the finisher, the god of duality, the god of transition, the god of time. He who restores our glorious past with a glorious future, making them one!”
“Forgive me, noble councilmen,” Ezekiel called out. “No one told me our worthy playwright was previewing his latest tragedy for us today. Or is it a comedy?”
Aretitus, his thunder stolen, fumed as some of the council chuckled.
The ethnarch raised a hand. “I have nothing to say regarding any gods which our beloved Emperor has declared false. But as our friend Aretitus suggests, do let us look at this herald’s name. János—from Johanan, a most ancient and honored name among my people, meaning ‘The Lord is gracious’ in the language of the wise.
“And Mehta,” he continued, “the name of the angel Metatron. For as the Book of Enoch tells us, Enoch—seventh from Adam, the father of Methuselah, the great-grandfather of Noah—pleased the One Above, thus the Almighty took him, translating him into paradise that he might give repentance to the nations as the holy angel Metatron, the Scribe of Judgment.
“This is indeed a divine miracle—sent not by hollow idols or the false and forgotten gods of the nations, but the Lord of Moses and Abraham!”
“Such blasphemy,” Bishop Cyril said softly, stepping forward. His voice was smooth, calm, and dangerous. He faced off against the ethnarch as though about to commence a duel. “The Jews have long since lost their claim to speak for the Lord God. Their hearts have hardened against the scriptures revealed to the apostles and the evangelists. For the word of the Lord to us, his true children, is clear, given in the word of Paul and the Book of Revelation.
“In these, the Last Days, one shall come,” he said, “with two horns, with a harlot, speaking like a dragon, and he shall lead many astray with powers, signs, lying wonders, and every kind of wicked deception. We should not marvel that he speaks pleasingly, in a pleasing form, or that he tempts us with worldly gifts of mammon, fine jewels, and gold.
“Of course his artifice gives him flight—because he is the Prince of the Power of the Air. This ‘János Mehta’ is no false god of the vanquished pagans,
no archangel of some mystical Hebrew delusion. Make no mistake—we must rebuke him.” Gaining momentum, his voice became louder. “He is the False Prophet of the Beast, the tool of that old serpent, the Devil. And by the Word of the Lord in the Book of Revelation, he and his master Satan, and all those who fall prey to their lies shall be thrown alive into the lake of fire, to be tormented day and night, forever and ever!”
“I cannot hear any more!” Ezekiel cried out, clapping his hands over his ears. “You Christians cannot even understand your own scriptures. You rewrite them and re-interpret them to suit your capriciousness. If you truly knew what you only pretend, you would know your Book of Revelation only spoke of the reign of Nero.”
“Bah!” Aretitus chimed in. “Both your piles of holy books are nonsensical—each as much as the other. What you Jews and Christ-mongers call God is nothing more than the All-Father Zeus, by another name!”
“Enough!” Orestes bellowed, rising from his seat of office. “Enough!” The bickering trio froze in place. The prefect cleared his throat and composed himself.
“My most excellent worthies,” he said. “We thank you all for sharing your insights and wisdom. Now the council must respectfully take our leave to deliberate your words. Tribune, kindly escort out our honorable spiritual leaders.”
The unhappy threesome made perfunctory bows, and took their leave.
“We will not soon forget your words—neither I, nor my faithful parabolani,” Bishop Cyril muttered to Ezekiel as they strode away.
“You think the sons of Israel fear your pack of dogs?” Ezekiel replied. “Come to the Jewish Quarter and see.”
“And you, Aretitus,” the Bishop turned on the poet, “you pagan reprobate. Your secret is out now, heathen infidel.”
“What of it?” Aretitus snapped. “You’ll find that I’m far from the only one—you and your precious bully-boys.”
The three kept up their mutual threats all the way down the hallway, until they were out of earshot of the council chamber. Orestes watched them depart, a grim look haunting his brow. Once he was satisfied they were well and truly gone, he turned to his councilors.
