The Tree of Life (Lost Civilizations: 3) Page 2

  “Now, the people are divided into factions. Some wish to remain as artisans and merchants. Others want to become conquerors, and carve an empire from the interior. In other words, the city is ripe for Gog-driven dissension.”

  Adah had been listening closely. Her head twitched now as she spied a dolphin. It leapt into the air and dove down. She smiled at its grace, at its beauty. Other dolphins swam just under the surface, their dorsal fins occasionally flashing in the air. Adah gasped, and her hand flew to her mouth. The last time she’d seen dolphins, the sea-creatures had been fleeing from Nidhogg. The great beast had sped toward their former ship, the Tiras. Joash—

  Adah shut her eyes. Joash was likely dead. How could he have survived Nidhogg? Her eyes snapped open as she stared up at the sky. Then she studied the dolphins sporting around the ship. Joash had loved watching them. She shook her head. It was too painful thinking about Joash. She turned to Lord Uriah, focusing on his lips, listening to what he said.

  Lord Uriah spoke about Carthalo and Gog. Gog ruled Shamgar. Gog the First Born, son of Magog the bene elohim—she shuddered. Gog was like Yorgash of Poseidonis. First Born were worse than Nephilim, possessed of greater power and ambition.

  “Carthalo isn’t that far from Shamgar,” Lord Uriah was saying. “Therefore, Gog surely desires its subjugation. Pildash and Dishon have certainly fallen under his sway.”

  Adah nodded. Shamgar was situated on the eastern end of the Suttung Sea. Then, like a string of pearls along the southern coast, were Pildash, Dishon, Carthalo and Bomilcar. Further Tarsh was on the western end of the Suttung Sea. If one kept going west inland, he soon came to the plains of Elon, where Lord Uriah ruled.

  “If Gog can disrupt Carthalo,” said Lord Uriah, “his pirate galleys would control the Eastern Suttung Sea without any contention. Then Gog could likely prevent League of Peace galleys from stopping Tarag.”

  Adah took a deep breath. Stopping the strange First Born Tarag, the terrible enemy they’d faced in Jotunheim, was the reason the rowers strained at the oars.

  She asked, “How great is Gog’s influence in Carthalo?”

  “Nar Naccara spoke to me at length last night. League spies have discovered that several ranking merchant-princes went to the Oracle last year.”

  Adah stirred uneasily. Like a hidden spider, Gog wove a secret web. With his semi-divine blood, he could peer into the future, not well, but he could catch glimpses. Thus, many folk went to him, offering sacrifices or alliances. In turn, they desired he prophesize for them. With such power, Gog could often foil those who plotted him harm. Tarag and Gog worked together, hoping to win godhood over humanity.

  “Just as bad,” Lord Uriah continued, “a few of the estate families, hoping to gain a hidden ally, also traveled to the Oracle. The outcome of these clandestine meetings is that mobs have surrounded League of Peace buildings. They demand the League leave Carthalo. However, others in Carthalo rose up and beat the paid agitators, driving them away.”

  “Paid?”

  Lord Uriah nodded glumly. “So says Nar Naccara. But one wonders if he reads the city correctly.”

  “How can the merchant-princes and the estate families be so short-sighted?”

  “First,” said Lord Uriah, “not all merchant-princes or all the estate families have gone to Shamgar. It’s the most ambitious who have gone to Gog. And, I suppose, the most ruthless. The First Born fuels a person’s hopes, magnifying them, showing the ambitious how high they can go. In time, when passion, greed and ruthlessness have overcome all wisdom, then Gog wields them to his advantage.”

  “Will you still be able to recruit an army there?”

  Lord Uriah appeared pensive. “Nar Naccara says Pildash is entirely in Gog’s grip. Dishon totters, but there are still men like Captain Graz. Carthalo, a League City and once home to Arioch the Archangel, is another matter. Gog’s schemes chew away at the people’s resolve like termites in a home. Who knows how strong the inner strength is? Only a furious storm will give it the true test. But if in the storm the home collapses...or the city....”

  “By then it’s too late,” said Adah.

  Lord Uriah drained his mug.

  “What do you propose?” Adah asked.

  “That we regain our strength and recruit tough mercenaries. It’s a gamble, but at this point, speed is almost as important as warriors are.”

  “…We must also take baths,” Adah said.

  Lord Uriah glanced at her and laughed as some of the tension eased from his face.

  “And sleep late and eat our fill,” he added.

  Adah stared out to sea. Sleeping, eating and bathing…it all seemed empty now without Joash. She frowned, and she asked, “Do you think there’s a chance any of the others have survived?”

  “It would be good if some have survived.” Lord Uriah sipped from his mug, becoming thoughtful. “But we can’t know if anyone has. We shoulder the entire burden now. It’s up to us to stop Tarag.”

  Adah bit her lower lip. This wasn’t the time to become weak. This was just like Poseidonis, in the jungle when the Gibborim hunted. One needed to stay strong no matter how many the enemy slew. One needed to keep fighting.

  “I’ll need new poison,” she said. “Last time, my arrows had no effect on the First Born.”

  “Poison, guile, gold and arms,” said Lord Uriah. “Whatever it takes, we must stop Tarag before he reaches Eden.”

  ***

  Toward nightfall, Nar Naccara’s flotilla joined a convoy of grain ships from Dishon. They were huge vessels, as large as the Tiras had been before Nidhogg sank it, but the Further Tarsh vessel had been more beautiful, and taller. These tubs were made for short trips between city-states. They wallowed under mountains of grain-sacks and the sails strained to move them. Watching them ride so low in the water made Adah think about Captain Maharbal. He had been able to make the majestic Tiras with its tall stern castle heel like an obedient hound, and race like a chariot horse.

  It sickened Adah to think of the booming captain floating face-first in the sea, or worse, as meat for sharks. How many others would die? Lod had gone to Shamgar. Lod had also saved her from a wretched fate in Poseidonis, the once lovely jewel of the gleaming ocean. Yorgash a First Born had invaded the Isle of Poseidonis together with his children the Gibborim. Now smoke chugged from the furnaces as Yorgash fed souls to further some infernal plot. The First Born had turned the capital of Atlas into a strange city of monumental ziggurats, pyramids and plinths, while hordes of slaves had razed the forests to feed the raging fires. Hers had been the last free people of Poseidonis, a remnant that had lived like rats in the barrens. Then, the Gibborim had taken to hunting the remnant, hunting with sliths—pterodactyls—and with yipping cave hyenas and sometimes with giant weasels that were as big as hounds.

  Adah shuddered. Lod was likely dead. Joash, Herrek and Captain Maharbal were also likely dead.

  She struck a sour chord as she plucked the strings of her lyre. Sitting cross-legged near the stern, she’d been attempting to compose a song, a lamenting chant.

  She hated the First Born and their Nephilim offspring. Earth belonged to the men and women Elohim had made. Earth had not been fashioned for these invaders from the Celestial Realm. It had not been fashioned for the offspring of the invaders who had remained, after their fathers the bene elohim had been dragged to some nether confinement until the great Day.

  Adah concentrated as she strummed her lyre. Playing the chords…. She looked up at the wallowing grain ships from Dishon behind them. From a distance, and in the shadows of a darkening sea, they seemed like a pod of surfaced whales. Their beauty struck Adah so her heart hurt.

  Nar Naccara’s bireme pulled ahead of the grain ships as sailors shouted and pointed out other sails.

  Adah stood up and slung the lyre onto her back. Carefully, she picked her way across the galley, soon coming to a rail near the prow. She squinted and spied Carthalo on the horizon. The great city jutted into the Suttung Sea like a gigantic
thumb.

  “Many ships and merchants are bound for Carthalo,” Lord Uriah said, as he joined her at the rail. With the coming of night, the sea had become glassy-smooth. It allowed the bireme extra speed and they seemed to skim across the water.

  “These ships carry the goods of the world,” Lord Uriah said, as if bemused. “They carry goods from Ir, Iddo, Caphtor and Elon, to say nothing of all the items produced within the bounds of the Suttung Sea.”

  During her days in Poseidonis, Adah had grown accustomed to monumental architecture. But she’d never seen anything like Carthalo. Back then, she’d thought Atlas Harbor the busiest in the world. During the height of the summer-heat, barges had disgorged marble from mainland pits. And long lines of dejected slaves had marched off the cargo ships, heading in streaming lines to the furnaces, there to fuel the fires with their souls.

  Nar Naccara’s bireme led his flotilla, joining a throng of ships across the calm green sea in front of the Circa Harbor. There were large grain ships, some even bigger than the Tiras and the Gisgo had been. Harbor boats, which seemed nothing more than rowing shells, towed the various grain ships. There were many coastal traders with their billowing sails of various hues: red, green, blue and yellow. Many of them looked like sister ships of the Falan, while others had lateen sails and rakish prows. There were also hordes of fishing vessels. The largest had two masts. The smallest was a man in a boat pulling two oars. Many rode low in the water, packed with fish. A faint fishy odor accompanied the breeze.

  The city captivated Adah. She closed her mouth, shook her head and glanced at Lord Uriah.

  “Amazing, isn’t it?” he asked.

  “H…how is this possible?” she asked. She knew how Yorgash would have accomplished it, with tens of thousands of naked slaves driven by whips and white-hot branding irons. Through cruelty and fists, Yorgash’s slave masters might have created what she saw. But Lord Uriah said Shining Ones had built Carthalo.

  The City of the Shining Ones looked as if the Earth had spewed a massive volcano straight out of the seabed. As they neared, the walls seemed to be granite, not lava. It must have once been a huge granite mountain. With picks, chisels, or who knew how, the Shining Ones had leveled the mountain. They had hollowed out its mighty base. The city possessed gargantuan walls, perhaps unbreakable walls. Like busy ants, mule-pulled and auroch-yoked carts and wagons traveled across the top of the walls in both directions. Adah rubbed her eyes. It was a fortress city, a rock of a city, a mountain.

  “Yes,” Lord Uriah said, to her questioning look. “The top of the wall is one of the city’s main thoroughfares. Countless ramps lead up to it. The unique route saves space inside for dwellings, palaces and the marketplace.”

  Lord Uriah pointed. “It might be hard to see now, but the city possesses a single bridge linking it to the mainland. It’s the Syphax Bridge, a massive thing with an incredible arch, chiseled out long ago, like the city. Ships sail through the arch, while wagons rumble across the bridge. The deep water is like a surrounding moat.”

  Adah drank it in. The Circa Harbor had a stout seawall, a mole. The bireme swung around it, and approached an arch-like tunnel to enter Carthalo. Lanterns burned in niches above them, and more than one sailor or passenger shouted to hear the strange echoes. The water seemed inky, as if they moved across the midnight sky. Then Adah spied the bright city, and they were through. Trumpets blared between Nar Naccara’s bireme and the squat Muthul Fortress guarding the approach. Atop the fortress, soldiers glinted in bronze breastplates and held long spears. The harbor was like a lake, with a host of ships moored at the circular-curved stone docks. Wide paved ramps led up into the city. To the extreme left, next to the wall, were hundreds of drying nets and smoke houses. Fishermen and their wives haggled there. To the extreme right were small yachts and pleasure boats. According to Lord Uriah, those docks were saved by decree for the nobility. The forests that the estate families had cut down on the mainland seemed to have sprouted back up in this ship-rich harbor.

  Nar Naccara sped them past the merchant docks and entered a canal. Rock walls rose on either side of the galley. They loomed over the ship and Adah imagined she could reach out and touch the passing walls. It seemed that any moment the oars would break like matchsticks against the pressing stone. Instead, the waves from them lapped against the wall and rebounded back toward the ship. A ceiling put them into shadows, and then they entered a domed harbor, the War Dock.

  “This is incredible.” Adah shivered. “It’s cold in here.”

  Lord Uriah brooded over his ale, his eyes hooded.

  There was a lofty tower in the center of the War Dock. Atop it flickered a continuous flame. Nar Naccara had mentioned before something about a strange, black liquid that fed the fire. The tower sat on a circular stone island. In the island were chiseled berths for two hundred biremes. At each berth, there stood a special marble mooring post. It was decorated with sea-nymphs and mermaids. Military warehouses were nestled around the tower. In them were stored timber, cordage, weapons and the gear of war. This was the heart of the League of Peace’s power in the Middle Suttung Sea.

  “All this was designed and built by the Shining Ones,” Lord Uriah said, as if coming out of his brooding shell. “It’s still considered one of the greatest wonders of the world.”

  “With this fleet, we could storm Shamgar and free Lod—if he’s been captured,” Adah said.

  “Storming Shamgar would never be that easy.”

  “We must do something,” Adah said.

  “That’s why we’re here,” Lord Uriah answered quietly.

  After the docking procedures were completed, Nar Naccara escorted them across a bridge, past stone barracks and up a broad stairway. Soon they entered the city proper. Tall stone buildings towered around them. Wooden structures had been added to some of the buildings, even though a city decree said that no building could be over five stories high.

  Nar Naccara pointed out the manufactories. They were tall buildings, almost reaching as high as the center citadel. In those manufactories was concentrated the power of the merchant-princes. Artisans produced the goods that found their way throughout the Suttung Sea and beyond. Many of the workers there formed themselves into associations that met at common tables. Neither the merchant-princes nor the estate families failed to take into account those workers’ voices.

  “We hope that’s still true,” Lord Uriah said, pointing at a great temple.

  Adah looked on in awe. The only monumental statues she’d ever seen were those of First Born, Yorgash in particular. He had erected a golden statue to himself in Atlas, forcing everyone to bow to it. On the rocky acropolis in the center of Carthalo was a mighty temple to Elohim. It was golden domed, a vast structure. On the pinnacle of the dome, there stood a marble statue with shining wings. One giant stone hand was open, palm upward. The other held a sword.

  “Were the Shining Ones really as large as that?” asked Adah.

  “In spirit,” Lord Uriah said.

  Nar Naccara interrupted the sightseeing by ushering them toward a mule cart, one belonging to him. Soon they entered the city’s main thoroughfare. It was broad like a mighty river fed by many tributaries. As surprising, even as the stars appeared, thousands of people thronged the great avenue. It was a sea in its own right, a sea of noisy, swarming people as the last haggling of the day occurred.

  Here were the goods from a hundred lands. There was perfume and teakwood from Ir. Rugs of Shalmaneser and wheat from Elon. Adah tried to take it all in at once. She saw booths where beer, textiles and raw wool were sold. She spied silks and brocades, bronze-ware and glazed pottery. There were rugs and tapestries, lumber, furs, hides, salt, swords and arrows and chainmail, rings and bracelets. And there were necklaces, belts and sandals, lamps and oils, medicines and meats and grains, and animals such as sheep, mules and trained chariot horses. It was a bewildering affair. Added to the sights and sounds were the smells of animal dung, spices, the smoke from cooking fires, the diz
zying perfume of incense and herbs, the warm glow of candles and finally the greasy smell of oil lamps using animal fats.

  It was an overpowering combination.

  The different kinds of peoples added a flavor all its own. Most of them were stocky and tanned, with long beards and shrewd eyes. But Adah also saw stout, black-bearded Tarshmen pawing at everyone to buy the wares. There were tall Elonites who thronged near the horses. There were dark-haired, scowling Shurites with a love for weapons, swarthy Huri, a hawk-faced Jogli Nomad with large copper earrings drinking beer. And there were short, round-faced Nebo, taller Arkites arguing with a wine merchant and strong Kushites with exotic, jangling weaponry. Among them were smiling women with scarlet mantles, slaves with water pots on their heads, farmers crying out for buyers and countless children running underfoot. It was a veritable jungle of humanity.

  “Hm. I suggest that you stay with me in the Siga,” Nar Naccara said, leaning toward them. The Admiral was a hugely fat man, wearing expensive linen and purple boots. Lord Uriah considered him as one of the shrewdest admirals of the League of Peace.

  “Yes, gladly,” Lord Uriah said.

  “Does the Siga have heated bathes?” Adah asked.

  Nar Naccara gave her a grin. “Ah, but of course, Singer. Surely, it will be as good as anything that your fair Poseidonis possessed.”

  Adah’s features tightened. Swims in slime probably didn’t count, she decided. Ah, but to laze away an afternoon soaking herself clean. And soap! The very idea made her giddy.