CITY OF THE GODS: FORGOTTEN (51 page)

“. . . So then Eros carried me back to the City and I continued my search for you. The trip is much shorter when a god is flying you. Some of them can travel at tremendous speeds.” D’Molay stretched, yawning, as he sat beside Aavi.

“I’ve been carried by someone in the air at least twice, but I don’t remember much,” Aavi commented. “I wasn’t really awake either time. Oh, and the High Sulgi flew me out of his balcony and to the ground, but that was a very short distance.” Then she imitated D’Molay’s stretching motion, twisting her body from side to side. As she did, she noticed something she had not seen before.
 
At first, she thought that it might be a trick of the dim morning light, but after staring at the stacked urns for almost a full minute, there could be no doubt. “D’Molay – the urns! They have a glow!”

He turned to look, hoping to be able to see what she did. He saw nothing unusual about the urns at all, but then he had never seen any of the soul glows Aavi saw around people. “What do you mean? Are they glowing like they have a soul?”

She continued to stare at the clay urns, all still tied up only a few feet away from them.

“Y-yes.
 
That’s exactly what they are doing. I’ve never seen a glow from anything except people, until now. What does it mean?”

“I don’t know, Aavi. How are they glowing and what color?”

“Each urn has its own glow, but they are all the same color, a sort of pale yellow. They are fairly steady. I mean, they don’t change colors or swirl around, but they do sort of shift in intensity a little bit. They kind of shimmer.”
 
Aavi got up and went to the nearest urn to put her hands on it. The urn felt slightly warm to her touch, but she could not be certain that meant anything. “I wonder what’s inside?” she asked more to herself then D’Molay.

Suddenly she felt D’Molay’s hands upon hers. He did not grab her, but it was clear that he intended to keep her from attempting to get too close to the top of the urn. “Aavi, no. There might be something dangerous in there. We don’t know what might happen if you open that urn.”
 
His gaze was stern and resolved.
 

“Something dangerous?”
 
Those were the two words that stood out to her. She hadn’t even thought about the urns’ contents being harmful. “But shouldn’t we try to find out?”
 
Something about the urns tugged at her curiosity, more strongly than anything else she had seen so far in her travels.

D’Molay sighed.
 
“We can’t, Aavi. We’re in the middle of the great lake. If the Captain decides we are up to something with his cargo he’ll toss us over the bow and leave us to drown”

She realized what he meant as she confirmed by a look over the rail that land was very far away.
 
“All right then, but it’s so odd to see something other than people glow like that. I just have to know why that is happening.”

“How about this?” D’Molay compromised. “I’ll try to find out what I can from the crew and if we come across more urns in a safe place, we can try to open one.”

“Alright.” She resigned herself to the idea that she wasn’t going to get to see inside, at least for now. Slowly, she took her hands off the clay urn and took a step back from it.

“Aavi, I’ve traveled the realms for many years, and you’ll find that they are littered with mysteries and unanswered questions. Sometimes the answers reveal themselves with the passage of time. But if not, we’ll try to see what we can find out after you have your memories back.
 
That needs to be our top priority for now.”

She nodded, tugging absently on the bone whistle around her neck as she gazed at the urns.
 
“I wonder if something inside the urns is alive.”

Set felt the touch of Aavi’s fingers as if she caressed his throat rather than her own. The vibrations actually caused him pain, something Set was more comfortable giving than receiving. His right hand rose, stiffly, to rub at the spot. At least the ache was a sign that the tracking device Kafele had so cleverly planted on the girl at their first meeting was still at work. The innocent bird whistle was singing Aavi’s every move to Set. It had led his servant to her at Namtar’s den, and now it was leading his army to Olympia. Why she had chosen that destination was a mystery, but Egypt and Greece had battled many times. There was almost a sense of destiny about the matter.

From the tall viewing platform deep within his greatest pyramid in Egyptos, Set used his acting skills to reassure his forces that he was strong and whole again. Although he had survived Aavi’s brutal power burst admirably, considering it had destroyed everyone else in range, his wounds ran deep. He had never been so severely affected by any attack, even those from other gods. His bones throbbed as if fractured and his muscles burned under his skin. However, his anger at being bested was greater than his fear of being hurt again. Crushing Aavi was a driving goal that he would pursue no matter what. Pretending to feel fit and fine was just part of the plan.

Below him, his generals were lined up five rows deep. Those in the front ranks were commanders whose talent Set held somewhat in doubt. They believed they would have the honor of being the first to engage the Greek forces. That was true, if they managed to survive that long. Set’s true plan for these expendable leaders involved keeping Quetzalcoatl’s men out of his way should the crafty Mayan also be on Aavi’s trail. Fearless as the Feathered Serpent’s human warriors were, Set was confident that they would break and run when unexpectedly attacked by his eternally hungry Crocodilians.

Set surveyed the deep ranks of those identically dressed fighters. There was little visible difference between one Crocodilian and the next. Between the generals and their soldiers, heads of crimson rather than black were the only demarcations. Either color of brilliant scales would flash blindingly under a desert sun. Set wished the coming field of battle was in a drier clime so that this effect could be better used. Unfortunately, the river terrain where his forces would meet the Greeks was greener than he liked. All the same, his army would appear magnificent as it charged through the grass and reeds.

Set’s newest messenger ran back and forth between the great god and the generals to brief each unit on its role. Set kept his distance. He could not afford for any of his forces to notice his lingering weakness from Aavi’s attack. He sat stiffly atop a ceremonial mahogany bench that was inlaid with gems and strips of gold. It would have been the best spot from which to operate, even if Set hadn’t been trying to hide his condition. This fact reinforced the illusion that nothing was amiss to the inexperienced servant who now served as Set’s courier. The human was formerly one of his temple builders who had never before been allowed in the god’s presence. Set’s former courier would have immediately seen that the god had been injured, and Set would have had to dispose of him. His incapacitation had to remain as secret as possible or he’d have more gods than Quetzalcoatl and Lamasthu seeking to exploit his weakness - his temporary weakness, Set reminded himself. He counted himself lucky that all the servants who knew him best had been killed in the explosion. That saved him the time and trouble of a purge.

As he mused on his personal efficiency, he wondered if Quetzalcoatl’s forces were already on the move. He highly doubted it. Quetzalcoatl had only human soldiers, many of them burdened with other duties than war. For centuries, Quetzalcoatl had been forced to maintain the charade that his vast collection of humans was necessary to service the pyramids, farms, and extensive public works of his realm. His ruse had worked well enough to keep the Council from sending spies to make sure that peace was maintained, but the societal structure had compromised his resources. As new generations were born into labor, elders forgot to relay the true purpose of their service. Set knew that Quetzalcoatl could quickly gear up his men with maddening potions and mob energy, but he was confident that his own army had the edge in deployment. Even with flying dragons to transport the Mayans to the battlefield, Set’s army could move faster.

The messenger came running up the stairs and knelt before Set, his prostrate position signaling that he had finished relaying orders to each of the massive army’s units. “Lord Set,” he began breathlessly. “All summoned forces have arrived.”

“Read the accounting,” Set demanded. He leaned forward in his seat, interested to hear how well the preparations he had put in place eons before had held up. His forces had been summoned to this gathering place through magical passages which led from the tombs and lost cities of every society which had ever worshipped Set. These beings had been sleeping through the ages, hidden in pyramids and chambers buried by the silent sands. It had been a convenient deceit to convince the pharaoh kings that the statues of beasts and minor gods buried with them would be their servants in the afterlife. In reality, the creatures, weapons, food, gold and the mummified rulers themselves belonged to Set. The pyramids were not burial chambers. They were Set’s armories. The secret brotherhood of priests who conducted the pharaohs to their final resting places placed hidden enchantments on every item in the death procession. This ensured that Set could one day call those things home and put them to use.

“Crocodilians, 15,000. Fire Jackals, 2000, with 100 handlers. Reanimated charioteers, archers, and infantry, 25,000. The supply caravan and bearers number close to 700. That is all, Lord Set.”

“No, that is but a beginning,” Set corrected. He waved a hand and the servant quickly backed off. Then Set stood to address the army, forcing himself to move smoothly to the edge of the platform, where he clapped his hands once. A thunderous boom brought silence to the milling troops. His hands stung from the effort.

“You have only one duty,” Set’s deep, threatening voice announced. “To destroy the armies waiting in Olympia. Do not stop for anything on the way. You are to elude any forces that may try to engage you while crossing Babylonia and the Celtic lands. Run fast, run like the flooding Nile. Go! Go!”

The soldiers responded with an eerie chorus of snapping jaws, undead groans, and animal barks. Set turned back toward his bench and stepped firmly on a stone near one of its claw-shaped feet. The blocks of stone on the left side of the chamber began to shift and within moments a large passage opened. The burning sun of Egyptos poured in as the army of Set spilled out.

Set Goes To War

Digital Collage (Steve Crompton, 2010).

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Vineyards dotted the hills of Dioscrias. D’Molay could pick out many white stucco buildings perched along the slopes, but his eyes were soon drawn to a palatial home, which was probably the town ruler’s keep. One of the crewmen he’d befriended beckoned for him to come over. He sat upon a barrel, eating from a bowl cupped in both hands. D’Molay waved back as he approached him, walking past the urns.

“We are almost there now. Want some food?” the man said before D’Molay could offer a greeting. Pelagios, as he was called, had curly salt and pepper hair that crowned a leathered, sun-worn face. His smile revealed he was missing several teeth, not unusual for a man in his fifties with no favor of the gods. “If the rest of the crew hasn’t had it all, there’s gruel and hardtack.
 
Just go to the hold and get yourself some.”
   

A moment later D’Molay returned with two bowls of gruel, one for him and one for Aavi.
 
Rather than give it to her, he put it down to speak with Pelagios. “So, what’s this port like?
 
Have you been here often?”
 
D’Molay took a sip of the bland tasting mixture as he awaited an answer.