People of the Tower (Ark Chronicles 4) Page 11

“Have you already lost your nerve?” Nimrod asked.

  “Lost it? I never would have thought to desire this in the first place.”

  “Strange words from the one who first put humanity on this path,” Nimrod said.

  Kush scowled.

  Behind him, Canaan peered upward in terror. Semiramis seemed drugged; she wore sheer garments and bore a royal crown. Nimrod wore his leather hunting clothes, with his heavy bow slung across his shoulders.

  “The least you could have done was dress properly for the occasion,” Kush said.

  “I have,” Nimrod said. “As a hunter I gained power and as a hunter I rule. This is more than a symbol of my authority. It is my bedrock.”

  “I can’t do it,” whispered Canaan. “I yearn for secret knowledge. This I confess. But I…” He shook his head. “This isn’t the way to appease the gods. We march too proudly, too arrogantly.”

  “We’re not trying to appease them,” Nimrod said. “Now quit sniveling. Square your shoulders. If we’re going to die tonight, at least face it manfully and perish cursing them with ruin.”

  “Why curse?” Kush asked.

  “Can my arrows harm them?” Nimrod asked.

  “They are spirits,” Kush said.

  “Exactly. Yet didn’t Ham teach you that man is part spirit and part flesh.”

  “That’s what Noah taught him.”

  “Then perhaps the spirit part of me can make a curse stick,” Nimrod said, “especially if I’m raging.”

  Kush studied his son. “My anger is but a candle against your fire.”

  “That may be,” Nimrod said. “But at least you’re not sniveling. I’m beginning to see why Noah fingered Uncle Canaan as the slave.”

  That brought a look of reproach onto Canaan’s waxy features.

  “There!” Nimrod said, slapping his uncle on the back. “You’re as ready as you’re going to be.” He took Semiramis’ hand, gently tugging her. Together, the four started up the stairs.

  “What’s wrong with her?” Kush asked, halfway up.

  “Nothing,” Nimrod said.

  “Did you drug her?”

  Semiramis laughed in a throaty manner. Languidly, from beneath heavy-lidded eyes, she peered at her father-in-law.

  “What did you do to her?” Kush asked.

  “What I should have done to myself,” whispered Canaan.

  “You gave her one of your potions?” Kush asked.

  “She took one of her own,” Canaan said. He wrung his hands, and admitted, “In truth, she has more and varied draughts than I do. In this area, she teaches me.”

  “You shouldn’t have let her drug herself,” Kush said.

  “You forget yourself, Priest,” Nimrod said.

  The normal scowl lines deepened as Kush’s eyes took on their customary glower.

  In time, they reached the top, the fifth level, and entered the sprawling tent. Semiramis took a hot coal from a tiny clay pot dangling from her neck. One by one, she lit the four braziers around the brass shrine.

  “Where do you want us to stand?” Kush asked.

  “Behind me,” Nimrod said.

  Canaan hid behind the Mighty Hunter. Kush hitched his thumbs through his scarlet belt and took a wide stance. Semiramis swayed, with a secret smile upon her lips.

  Nimrod raised his hands.

  “Wait,” Canaan whispered.

  “What now?” Nimrod asked.

  “Where’s the sacrifice?”

  “If you don’t shut up, it’s going to be you.”

  Canaan knelt, bowing his head.

  Nimrod raised his hands. Eager expectation softened his features. “Lucifer, Leviathan, the Great Dragon of Heaven. You named Light-Bearer and called by others Satan. I have come tonight to speak with you. I do not beg, for I don’t believe you delight in simpering fools. I have brought no sacrifice, because my entire life has been one of devotion to the path scripted by you. However, I have begun to doubt your promises.

  “The reason is simple. Noah thwarted us the last time we attempted to bring the others under our sway. To butt heads with his favorite son, the one closest to Jehovah, gives me pause and makes me wonder if Bel is who he claims to be. For that matter, I wonder about you, Dark Lord. Are you a god? Or is Ham right? Are you a rebellious archangel who leads the rest of us to our eternal death? Tonight I want to clear this up to my satisfaction. Does this mean I think myself greater than you? I am not so foolish. Yet I am humanity’s king. I will rule and me they will worship, for I am like a god. What then are you?”

  A mote of light appeared above the brass shrine, a beautiful light, scintillating like a gem of rarest worth. It twirled and sparkled, shimmering and lovely and strangely haunting and hypnotic. Canaan sucked in his breath. Semiramis crooned and clapped her hands. Kush scowled, his mouth a line of disapproval. Nimrod watched like a hunter, waiting, with his hands lifted.

  The light pulsed and grew at each beat, bigger, larger, until it encompassed the shrine’s top.

  “Nimrod, Semiramis, Kush and Canaan, four of my finest pupils,” came a rich, melodious voice out of the air.

  “Dread Lord,” Canaan said, throwing up his arms.

  Kush knelt in a dignified manner.

  Semiramis collapsed, with her garment blooming like a flower around her waist, her head drooping and her dark tresses spread like freshly mown reeds.

  Only Nimrod remained upright, peering into the colorful light.

  “Nimrod the Mighty Hunter, bold lion of man, scion of Kush the Proud.”

  “You are Satan?” Nimrod asked.

  “I am.”

  Nimrod dipped his head as one equal to another. “I am the ruler of men.”

  “You are a hard taskmaster.”

  “Discipline brings unity,” Nimrod said, “Otherwise, there is chaos.”

  “True, my child. But you did not seek me in order to boast. Tonight you wish knowledge. Yes, I have long wished for one like you, Nimrod. You warm me with your boldness, with your courage and daring. One among men, I thought, must surely have the wit to throw off his chains and fight for freedom, fight for dignity and his humanity. No simpering coward you. No dupe who gladly wears his chains of servility like Noah and Shem. At last a man has arisen to lead his people to paradise. Yet now I find you wavering. Bel brings me word of double-guessing, fright and hesitation.”

  “I am a man, as you say,” Nimrod said. “As a man, I know only what I see. Noah halted us once by raising his staff so the thunderclouds rolled. It has given me pause. I’ve admitted that. Thus, tonight, I must know the truth.”

  “Is that all?” Satan sneered.

  “Grave Lord, Master of the bene elohim, I have been born into a world destroyed by flood. Jehovah did that. Word has also come to us that many of your kind were dragged to dark dungeons, never to be seen again until the end of days.”

  “Those are foul lies.”

  “So says Bel,” admitted Nimrod.

  “Do you think he spins fantasies?”

  “I think Noah stopped us by raising his staff and making the thunderclouds roll. I think Jehovah wiped out humanity once already, using a universal flood. How can these things be if you and Bel are gods just like Jehovah?”

  “You desire wisdom,” Satan said. “Then see the world as it was in the beginning. Learn how it began as you gird yourself for grim reality. Hold onto your sanity as you behold sights that no mortal has ever seen. Back in time, back to the beginning—before the Garden of Eden, before the Earth had been formed—let us go back to the original mass of watery vapor. I speak of the void, the swirling mass of chaos.”

  The ball of light expanded with scintillating colors: blue, red and green gems of brilliance. Nimrod gazed in awe, spellbound. Then he neared the beautiful vision.

  It expanded, and it seemed to Nimrod as if he was in it, swallowed up in another moment. Timelessness filled him with foreboding as he tumbled end over end, although he knew this was but a vision. A vast watery cloudy expanse spread everywhere,
dark and gloomy, with a far off glow of unknown origin. Dread pounded in the Hunter’s chest. There was no Earth; it was without form and without foundations, a voice whispered to him. There was only this endless void of watery chaos, the primordial, primeval matter of the beginning.

  Then an amazing thing filled Nimrod with wonder. Bright beautiful beings, lovely and blazing, with skin like molten gold and flaming eyes, rose up out of the watery chaos. Thousands, millions of them fluttered silvery wings. They called to one another in musical tones. Yet one among them outshone everyone. Bigger, brighter, glorious and matchless in grace, that one left Nimrod speechless. Beauty unbelievable, as never he thought possible, confronted him.

  “As I was in the beginning, Mighty Hunter,” Satan whispered. “Behold, Lucifer, the Light-Bearer.”

  He is a god indeed, thought Nimrod. Satan is angelic, ethereal, spotless and pure.

  He sensed the beings—the angels on the day of their birth—delighting in their newborn awareness. They sang and marveled at this thing done to them. And One swathed in light, a being of mass indescribable, awesome, all-powerful, majestic and supreme, approached.

  Nimrod turned to regard the One. Terror filled him, fear, dread and horror. Jehovah called the angels to Him.

  The Mighty Hunter sensed a sudden bafflement in Lucifer. Questions formed within the Light-Bearer. Who was Jehovah? Where had He come from?

  As Nimrod tumbled like a leaf in a hurricane, blow out of the glorious vision, out of the globe of light, the Mighty Hunter sensed a last fleeting scene. Lucifer, in all his glory, beauty and ethereal wisdom, urged fellow angels to heed his thought. They met in secret on a holy mountain covered with shiny stones.

  “Who is Jehovah?” Lucifer asked.

  “Our Maker and our Creator,” another angel said.

  “No!” Lucifer said. “That is a lie. Jehovah is the elder. I grant that as self-evident. But look to the facts. We came whole from the watery chaos. We sprang forth full born, self-created and self-wrought.”

  “How is that possible?” another angel asked.

  “An evolution of matter,” Lucifer said. “Perhaps it occurred over an eon of time. It only seemed sudden to us because with our birth came awareness.”

  “And Jehovah?”

  “He was the firstborn ahead of us. Yes, I grant you that his power is vast. But the idea that he was our Creator… No. That is a lie so you will meekly submit to his authority. But I say to you there is another way. We must band together and topple him from his throne. We are as good as him. The fact that we sprang forth second shouldn’t mean we’re his slaves forever. Rise up, angels! Become gods in your own right.”

  Then even that vision faded, and Nimrod found himself back in the tent atop the Tower of Babel—if they had ever left it.

  For a time, each blinked and shook his or her head, attempting to orient back to reality.

  “It was beautiful,” whispered Canaan.

  “Uncanny,” Semiramis said.

  Nimrod narrowed his eyes in thought.

  Kush said, “What did we see?”

  “The beginning,” Satan whispered from the air.

  “Your beginning?” Kush asked.

  “Of me and the others,” Satan said.

  “What of Jehovah?”

  “As you saw,” said Satan. “He was already there.”

  “Before you?” Kush asked.

  “Before me by seconds only,” said Satan. “Jehovah is clever and quick, never doubt it. Yet his claim to holiness and perfection—ha, I claim otherwise. If omniscient, why did my rebellion catch all heaven by surprise? If omnipotent, why with a third of the sons of the morning have I been able to not only hold my own but take territory?”

  “What territory?” Kush asked.

  “Earth, for a beginning,” said Satan.

  “Did Jehovah really destroy the Earth by flood?” Nimrod asked.

  “You know that he did,” Satan said, “although he has sworn an oath never to do so again.”

  “Why did He swear?” Nimrod asked.

  “Out of fear, is what I think,” Satan said. “He knows the other poor deluded angels will turn on him if he tries that a second time.”

  “Then you can defeat him?” Nimrod asked.

  “Yes,” Satan said. “I can topple Jehovah from his throne, for he like me is self-created from the watery void. Thus, he is not the Maker. Matter is first, not Jehovah, and therein is our hope.”

  “Hope?” Kush asked. “Victory is not certain?”

  “Mighty Hunter,” Satan said, “when you stalk a lion, is victory certain?”

  “No,” Nimrod said. “You must bring all your skill and daring into play and then achieve greatness.”

  “So it is in the realm above,” said Satan. “But look you: all humanity is almost under your authority. Together, we shall forge such a host as will storm heaven and the entire universe. Every day we’re closer to victory. Nimrod, advance on Shem and you will be victorious. Wield your empire as world-conqueror, knowing another flood will never be sent against you. Teach mankind these truths. Let them know that their gods have sprung full born from watery chaos. In such a way, fear of Jehovah shall be destroyed, weakening his power here on Earth.”

  With that said, the mote of light began to shrink.

  “Wait!” Nimrod cried. “What boon will you give me? I demand longer life and that you teach me self-creation into a higher form.”

  “Another time, Mighty Hunter,” Satan said. “When you have finished the Tower and weld an unruly people into true obedience, then we shall see.”

  The mote vanished, and the braziers flickered in the sudden darkness.

  7 .

  Far away on the upland plain of Nineveh, Hilda strolled through a field of flowers with Odin. It was her first time alone with him. She plucked a flower, sniffing it, and she felt odd for a moment in her knee-length dress, with her arms bare. She wondered if she should have picked a different sort of outfit. She jabbed her javelin into the soil and fixed the flower into a braid.

  She blushed, and she wasn’t certain why she had put the flower there. She snatched her javelin and tramped through the flower field.

  Odin wasn’t handsome like Gog had been. Oh, beautiful Gog had been strong and tender. Odin was fat, although he moved with agility. And his beard made him seem older than he was. Yet she admitted that it was a handsome beard. She wondered what it would feel like to run her fingers through it.

  Her father didn’t trust him. Odin’s story—the reason why he had fled Babel—was an ugly one. Some people didn’t believe it, although she knew Ham did. Odin had been a Mighty Man, one of King Nimrod’s bodyguards. One evening in Babel, Nimrod’s oldest brother Seba had been escorted into the palace. Uruk and two others had marched him to the throne where Nimrod sat. Odin had been one of the bodyguards lined against the walls, ready to hurl his spear into anyone who dared threaten the king. Nimrod had spoken softly to Seba. The heavy-faced man squirmed in Uruk’s grip. With his foot, Nimrod had shoved a small chest forward.

  “Open it.”

  Uruk released Seba. Frightened, Seba knelt, drew back the lid and fell with a scream.

  Odin jumped near, cocking his spear. Then he saw the overturned chest. Thick granules of salt poured onto the floor, while out rolled the bloody head of Seba’s youngest son.

  “I am Nimrod. I am King. Your sons disobey me at their peril.”

  Odin fled Babel soon thereafter.

  Beor said the man’s story was a trick to lure them. Her father predicted war with Babel. He trained a small band to make swift raids and surprise attacks.

  Hilda sighed. She didn’t want to think about chariot raids and javelins. Today, with Odin the Spear-Slayer beside her, she walked through a field of flowers.

  Odin cleared his throat. “I think instead of Hilda, I’ll call you the Huntress.”

  “Isn’t that what they call the moon goddess in Babel?”

  Odin grimaced. She remembered then that people s
aid he didn’t like talking about Babel.

  Hilda smiled to take the sting out of her words. He seemed to misinterpret her action, taking her hand, and saying, “Hilda…”

  A sudden noise made them turn. Her father rattled to the edge of the flower field on his chariot. He pretended as if he’d stumbled upon them and now avoided them as a matter of courtesy.

  “What were you going to say?” she asked, trying to ignore her father.

  “Doesn’t your father trust me?”

  “Yes,” she said, “as long as you’re within range of his bow.”

  “Should I call him here?”

  “Whatever for?” she asked.

  Odin smiled, and he waved to her father. Beor didn’t wave back. Instead, he halted to let the donkeys munch grass.

  With several emotions working across his face, Odin strolled to a rock and gestured that she sit there. Odin leaned on his spear and kept her father in view. Beor shaded his eyes, pretending to watch birds but clearly seeing what was going on with her and the Babelite, as he spoke of Odin.

  “This is too much.” Odin stomped through the flowers toward her father.

  Hilda sighed. The sun felt good on her face, but she wondered on the wisdom of Odin’s course. Her father stepped aside for no man. After visiting Noah and during his months as the preacher, he had seemed to change, to become…softer would be the wrong word. Perhaps more godly. But the incident with Semiramis had shaken her father to the core.

  Hilda sat up, watching the two men. When Odin had first come to the plain of Nineveh, he had begged Beor to let him be a Scout. “What I know is fighting,” Odin told her father.

  Beor had reluctantly agreed, and they had hunted wolves, bears and lions together. Many a night, her father and Odin had discussed battle tactics while sharing a wineskin and trying to wrinkle Nimrod’s weaknesses from their memories of him. Finally, Odin had won permission to walk alone with her, and after many no’s she had changed her mind and said yes.

  “Do you need a ride back to the settlement?” her father asked Odin, loud enough for her to hear.

  “What’s the matter with you?” Odin asked. “How come you have to spy on us?”

  “Don’t like it, do you, boy?” Beor asked.