Leviathan (Lost Civilizations: 2) (10 page)

Sweat poured from Irad. His muscles quivered. He climbed, and tried from time to time to position himself over the fiends. They were too canny for that. Once, however, as he panted on a two-foot ledge, he saw that if he heaved rocks to the left, that perhaps they would bounce, hit and hurl the fiend to the bottom of the mountain.

He picked up a heavy rock, worked it up above his head, and almost lost his purchase, as he heaved it at the unwary fiends. The rock plummeted, and hit the mountainside with a sharp clatter. The fiends jerked up in surprise. The one with the golden medallion threw himself against the mountain. The rock missed by inches.

Irad cursed, and breathing hard as he uncoiled his rope, he began to climb. He searched for ways to move directly over the fiends, but now they were alert. For a long time he couldn’t spot them. He climbed and climbed. Then, he saw them. They were off to his left. His only chance now was to reach the summit first, and find some way to outsmart them.

In the late afternoon, Irad discovered steps. They were worn with age and wound toward the top. It seemed that once the steps had gone all the way to the bottom of the mountain fortress. Later, a section of cliff must have sloughed off and destroyed the stairs. He coiled the rope around his torso, and forced himself to hurry. On either side of him, was a smooth wall. There were no crevices or rocks for him to use to climb over the stair-walls if he became so inclined. Irad’s fatigue was extreme, but a lifetime of hunting had hardened him to great endurance.

In his exhausted state, he didn’t notice the warmth from above, or the beautiful scents that wafted toward him. Delicious fragrances swirled around him, and the tinkling of sweet sounds tickled his ears. He seemed to derive strength from them, even if he didn’t consciously notice them. His stride lengthened, and the bloodshot state of his eyes lessened. At last, he peered around in curiosity. Golden flowers lined the sides of the stairs, and above, not far away now, he saw tall and stately trees: cedar, pine, fir and branching palm. Birds of wonderful hues sang in the trees. He laughed. The place beckoned him. At long, long last, he was coming home. He forgot his pain, and he forgot about the fiends. He yearned to walk in the garden, and play in the soft streams that he knew awaited him. He paused to smell one of the golden flowers. Its fragrance was delightful.

Irad almost
shed his weapons, furs and coiled rope. They seemed disgusting to him, filthy. Then, the stairs ended, and he came to an upward angling plateau. He saw in the distance a floral delight, a mass of greenery, terraces, gentle waterfalls and beautiful animals prancing in the greens. The wonderful scents grew in power. He was smiling. A laugh bubbled out. Paradise stood before him. Eden. The perfect place made by a perfect Elohim for humans who knew not sin, nor wrong, nor any imperfection. He ran toward Eden, all thoughts of death, fiends and ancient warnings forgotten.

As the plateau ended, he saw that he must enter through a wide stone gate. The east gate, he realized.

He slowed, a bit of his old caution yet left within him. He turned, and saw that the fiends were only two bowshots away. They too looked struck with awe, but in their hands were weapons of war. The fiend with the golden medallion led the way. His shield was blazoned with a red trident, and his sword looked sharp.

Irad ran toward the east gate. The fiends didn’t charge after him, but they watched with expectation. When Irad turned toward the gate, which was near, an awesome being stepped out, and barred the way.

Irad was struck numb with terror. He fell to his knees, unable to move. The being looked on him not with wrath, but with gentleness, yet still the being’s presence was overpowering.

The being that barred the way into Eden was larger than a man, and dressed in extremely bright linen. He wore a belt of gold around his waist. His body and face shone with dreadful majesty, and his eyes held terrible power.

“Halt!” he said in a loud voice to the fiends.

The fiends dared advance to where Irad knelt. They held their shields before their eyes, as if to bar the terrible sight of the Cherub. Each fiend’s shoulders were hunched, and each hand gripped its sword with awful strength and terror.

“Go back from whence you came,” the Cherub said.

Two of the fiends looked to the one with the golden medallion. That fiend took another step forward, and lowered his shield until the Cherub was in full view. The fiend’s eyes were squinted into slits, and his head was hunched, as if enduring a great heat.

“You stand in our way,” growled the fiend.

“You may not enter Eden,” the Cherub said.

“You would try to stop us?” asked the fiend.

The Cherub didn’t answer.

“Why do you still hold your post when all the other Shining Ones have left the Earth?” asked the fiend.

Still, the Cherub said nothing more.

“You have no right to bar our path.”

The Cherub pointed in the direction they should go.

“Your kind has left the Earth,” the fiend said. “Shining Ones, because of overwhelming numbers, defeated our father’s fathers. But, now the contest is between mortals. Why, then, do you still hold your post?”

“As long as the tree stands, so I stand here,” the Cherub said. “You may not eat the fruit of the Tree of Life.”

“Who said that is what we wish to do?” asked the fiend. When the Cherub said nothing, the fiend retreated, and spoke to his fellows. He stepped forward again.

“You have been charged to bar the humans from Eden, but we are not human,” the fiend said.

“You have been born of women,” the Cherub said. “You will die, and return to the dust from whence you came. You are mortal.”

“We’ve been cheated!” raged the fiend. “In our veins is also the blood of your kind! Why, then, must we know death?”

“You are an abomination,” the Cherub said. “Yet, in His mercy, Elohim has allowed you to live out your days. Turn, I say, from your path of ungodliness, and fall on your face before Him. Beg for forgiveness. Do not practice the folly of your fathers. Do not let false pride ensnare you. Throw yourself on Elohim’s matchless mercy.”

“We’re not like them!” the fiend snarled, pointing at the unmoving Irad. “They’re cattle!”

“They are Elohim’s creation,” the Cherub said. “Their souls are divine. They are not cattle, but will one day be higher than the Shining Ones.”

“Bah!” the fiend snarled, his rage growing. “We feast on them. They are indeed cattle. Look, he cannot endure your glory, but we can. And, as our father’s fathers sometimes did, we can wound you, and drive you from your post.”

“Pride goeth before the fall,” quoted the Cherub. “Do not be deceived, Elohim shall not be mocked.” When the Cherub saw that his quoted words had no effect upon the fiends, he said, “Eden is barred from mortals, thus it is barred from you. Turn away while you can. Live out the days allotted you. Perhaps, in time, you will learn wisdom, and beg Elohim for forgiveness.”

“You prattle weakness!” snarled the fiend with the golden medallion. “Look at yourself. Why not dare to make your
own
choices? Why be the slave, when you can be the master?”

“By the trident emblem on your shield, I see you are the slave of Gog, son of Magog, who served Morningstar, who rebelled against Elohim,” the Cherub said. “There are only two masters in the universe, Elohim and Morningstar. Either one or the other will be served. Yet in the end, Morningstar and his brood will be cast into the Lake of Fire. No, I will not desert Elohim’s cause.”

“You say then that might makes right,” the fiend asked, slyly.

“Elohim is holy, good and righteous. His ways are high above your ways or mine. Turn to Him if you can.”

“No!” howled one of the other fiends. “I am not a slave! I am my own keeper. I choose! And today, I choose eternal life!” He beckoned the others. His companions howled, gnashing the air with their teeth. But, the fiend with the golden medallion refrained from closing with the guardian Cherub.

The Cherub drew a flaming sword. It crackled with power. The two fiends charged, slowed and held their shields ready.

“You fools rush forward where ones greater than yourselves feared to go,” the Cherub said, although there was no mockery in his voice.

With incredible swiftness, the two fiends lunged. The Cherub parried one thrust, shearing through the metal sword. Then, a fiend lay at his feet, his chest a gory ruin. The other sword moved toward the Cherub. He stepped aside, and the second fiend lay at his feet, his death-wound flickering with tiny flames.

“Go!” the Cherub said to the fiend with the golden medallion, the one who had wisely not closed with the Celestial Immortal. “Tell your brethren that the way to Eden is forever blocked. The flaming sword has remained. The Tree of Life is forever beyond their reach.”

“Your kind have been wounded before,” the fiend snarled. “The
bene elohim
drove you from the Earth.”

“They are no longer here,” the Cherub said. “They have gone to a new place, one specially made for them.”

The fiend turned to Irad, and lifted his sword for a death stroke.

“Harm him not,” the Cherub sternly warned, “or I will surely slay you in return.”

The fiend cried out in fury, lifting his shield to interpose it between him and the Cherub. He slammed his sword into its scabbard, and hurried away.

The Cherub stepped out of view.

Later, Irad shook his head. He knew something terrible had occurred, and he knew that he would not be allowed to enter Eden. He also knew that one of the fiends had survived the meeting with the guardian, and no doubt now awaited him below. To his surprise, he found wine and bread before him. He ate, grew refreshed and looked once more at the east gate into Eden. Then he picked up his spear and departed this grand, but frightening place. As he descended the stairs, he wondered how the first man and first woman had felt when driven from the garden because of their sin. He increased his pace.

Chapter Ten

From Dreams to Nightmares

Fear of man will prove to be a snare.

-- Proverbs 29:25

Joash gasped with pain, and released Irad’s hand. Joash opened his eyes, tried to stand and fell onto the wooden floor. Lord Uriah helped him up, and sat him on the stool where he’d received the vision. He tried to speak. His stomach cramped and he curled over and groaned.

“Lay him on the floor,” Zillith ordered.

Lord Uriah did so.

Joash felt the timbers shift underneath his back. A heavy blanket was draped on him, and a cool cloth put on his forehead.

“Drink this,” Zillith told him, as she put her hand under the back of his head, and tilted him up.

Joash sipped. The liquid was hot, but soothing. His guts no longer knotted with pain, and he was able to relax. The sweat that had oozed from his skin began to dry. His eyeballs, however, felt scratchy. It bothered him each time he blinked.

Before Joash could complain about his eyes, Irad made a noise. Zillith turned to him. Joash saw that the Arkite’s breathing seemed nonexistent. Suddenly, Irad gave a convulsive shudder. Then Irad the Arkite, he who wore a necklace of cave bear claws, skilled hunter of the Snow Leopard Tribe who had gone to the east gate of Eden and back, was no more.

Zillith solemnly pulled the blanket over his head.

“He was a brave and mighty man,” Lord Uriah said.

Zillith spoke no words, but kept her hand on Irad’s covered head as she bowed her own head.

Lord Uriah helped Joash to his feet, and with the blanket wrapped around his shoulders, Joash was propelled into Captain Maharbal’s room. Soon, Joash found himself retelling what he had seen. Captain Maharbal entered as he spoke, as did Herrek, and later Adah. They listened with awe, glancing at one another, but mostly staring at the floor, as they heard the awful truth.

“What does it all mean?” Herrek asked, when Joash stopped.

“They yearn to eat the fruit from the Tree of Life,” Adah told Herrek. She strummed her harp, and spoke in time with it. “The first man and woman were driven out of Eden, lest they eat of the fruit and thereby live forever. For if they lived forever with sin in the world, they could never be reunited with the Creator. Elohim had made man for many reasons. Like any good artist, He desired to create, and what a noble thing he made the Earth, and man, to be. Nor did He make us so we would feel pain, sorrow and gloom, but that we would know happiness, joy, love and usefulness. But He did not fashion automatons, things without will or a mind. He desired that we worship Him freely, that we have fellowship with Him, that we love Him and enjoy His company. How could humanity do those things unless they had the freedom to choose otherwise? Thus, He planted the Tree of Knowledge in Eden. Then, because of Morningstar’s cunning, and man’s disobedience, sin entered the world. The holy fellowship with Elohim was broken.

“Elohim is just, holy and righteous. It is not in His nature to be able to abide rebellion and lawlessness. Is it possible for a judge to be called just if he lets the murderers of children go free? If a judge laughs, shrugs and pats a heinous murderer of children on the back, instead of passing the lawful sentence, is he then any longer a just judge? No, of course he is not. Nor can Elohim abide sin, and still be true to His nature. But, in His mercy, Elohim said: ‘I will provide a way for man to regain the holy state, and thus live again with Me in peace. Once a man accepts this way, and passes from the veil of this life, I will bring him to the Celestial Realm to abide with Me forever.’

“If Elohim had not been merciful, then He would have let Adam and Eve eat from the Tree of Life. They would have lived forever in this world, filled with its misery, pain and suffering. Now, however, the corrupted ones, those filled with the blood of the
bene elohim,
and those with wicked plans, those who openly shake their fist at Elohim, now they plot to live forever. If they’re successful, in time, a hell will be produced on Earth.”

“That is the first fear,” Lord Uriah said, as Adah quit strumming.

“Can there be any other?” Adah asked.

“Indeed,” said Lord Uriah.

“Wait a moment,” Herrek said, who rubbed his forehead and frowned in concentration. “The fiends, terrible foemen it seems, able to slay a gigantic cave bear with the same ease with which we could slay a jackal, were easily felled in turn by the guardian Cherub.”

“Correct,” said Lord Uriah.

“In the fight at the east gate, the sword of the fiend was sheared through by the flaming sword,” Herrek said.

Lord Uriah nodded.

“
Bene elohim
and Shining Ones once fought each other on the Earth,” Herrek said. “Surely other flaming swords, or weapons like them, were in existence then.”

“Such seems reasonable,” Lord Uriah agreed.

“And so do many of the ancient legends tell us,” Adah said.

“So, because of the flaming sword, Tarag has dared to enter Draugr’s Crypt to gather adamant armor and weapons,” Herrek said. “Do you believe that adamant armor is proof against the flaming sword?”

“I do,” Lord Uriah said.

Zillith nodded agreement.

“The substance from which adamant armor is made,” Adah said, “is only found in the Celestial Realm. There, too, was the flaming sword fashioned.”

“Very well,” Herrek said, “but does Tarag really have a chance in defeating the guardian Cherub?”

“That,” said Lord Uriah, “is the primary question. Adah has told us why that would be a terrible event if Tarag won. The First Born, in time, will all die. They have lived for thousands of years already. Surely, some of them now approach death. But, more than any living thing upon the Earth, they must fear the act of dying. The longer-lived a man, the more he clings to life, the more he protects, and safeguards himself. Now, the First Born attempt a path that will put them out of death’s reach. Then, they will wax ever greater in their evil, and attempt more wicked schemes. Then they will produce broods of Nephilim children.”

“Yes,” Herrek said, “but can Tarag defeat the guardian Cherub?”

Lord Uriah shrugged, admitting, “It seems unlikely.”

“Such is my own view,” Herrek said. “As a fiend is superior to a man in fighting prowess, so Tarag is superior to a fiend. But, so must the guardian Cherub be superior to a First Born.”

“What if a
host
of First Born attempted this?” Captain Maharbal asked.

“Or, what if they pool their powers into one warrior?” Zillith asked.

“Wouldn’t simply more Shining Ones descend from the Celestial Realm?” Joash asked.

“I don’t believe so,” Lord Uriah said. “For the prophets of old told us that after the Thousand Years War, Elohim would never again, until the final day of Armageddon, let the Shining Ones march like men, and fight on the Earth.”

“Setting the guardian Cherub in Eden was an act done
before
the coming of the
bene elohim
,” Adah explained to Joash. “So, he is not included in Elohim’s ban.”

“You spoke about another danger,” Herrek said to Lord Uriah.

“Yes,” Lord Uriah said, thoughtfully drumming his fingers on the oaken chest.

“What is it?” Herrek asked.

Lord Uriah abruptly arose, opened a cabinet in the corner and lifted a crock of ale. He poured himself a mug-full. He savored the ale, licking his lips, and poured another. Then, he sat and regarded Herrek.

“No one knows the power of the flaming sword,” Lord Uriah said. “I believe that only a portion of its might has ever been used. Now, let us suppose the First Born have a good idea of the strength and fighting ability of the guardian Cherub. Remember, some of them fought in the Thousand Years War. Here is what I fear: That in the fight, the Cherub will unleash the full fury of the flaming sword. In their turn, the First Born will unleash all their stored powers. I fear that in this terrible fight, the Tree of Life will be destroyed. Surely, if the Cherub suspects that he could lose, he will use the sword on the Tree of Life. He has been bidden to let no mortal eat from the tree. He will do anything to execute his charge.”

Herrek laughed. “Why would that be a problem? Then all our worries would vanish.”

“No,” Zillith said. “Asvarn the Prophet long ago prophesied, that when the Tree of Life perishes, the Earth will be washed clean, and all that walks on land will be destroyed.”

Herrek frowned. “What does that mean?”

“That if I’m right,” Lord Uriah said, “and the flaming sword and all the wicked powers unleashed by the First Born clash in or near Eden, that the end of our age is upon us.”

A deadly silence filled the room.

“Why otherwise,” Zillith said, “would the great Asvarn have prophesied about the perishing of the Tree of Life, unless, at some point in the future that event takes place?”

“What must we do?” Herrek asked.

“We must stop Tarag from fighting the guardian,” Lord Uriah said sternly.

“Yes,” Zillith said. “As long as Tarag has the adamant armor and weapons—”

“—And whatever other tools their clique gathers,” Lord Uriah said.

Zillith nodded. “Yes, and whatever other tools they gather. Then, we must fear the meeting of Tarag with the guardian Cherub. Then, we must fear that the end of our age is at hand.”

“What does it mean that everything will be washed clean?” Joash asked.

“A world-wide flood,” Zillith said quietly.

“Which do you think is the more likely outcome?” Captain Maharbal asked Lord Uriah. “That Tarag will win, or that the Tree of Life will be destroyed?”

“As to that,” said Lord Uriah, “I don’t know. Either would be a fearful event. If all that walks upon the land is destroyed, then all that we know will perish. But, if the First Born eats the fruit from the Tree of Life, oh what a terrible place the Earth will become. Then we, and people like us, might welcome the end of the age.”

A period of thoughtful silence ensued. Herrek soon arose, and excused himself. Next, after quietly speaking with Joash, Adah departed. Captain Maharbal told Lord Uriah and Zillith to use his room as long as they desired, but that he had certain ship’s business to attend to.

Lord Uriah arose after the door closed, and took out the crock of ale, setting it on the oaken chest. He drained another mug.

“You would be better served to devise a clever plan,” Zillith told him.

“I’m attempting to do just that.”

“Drinking ale merely addles your wits.”

“Haven’t you heard, dear sister, of the Thoas manner of counsel?”

“Who are the Thoas?” Joash asked. He still felt weary from his vision.

Lord Uriah said, “They were a tribe who lived along the Ammon Gulf. Noted for their fishing skills, and prudence in most matters, the Thoas devised an ingenious method for testing their ideas. If they sat around their wine cups, and drank until they were drunk, and made certain plans, they would not implement those plans until they had become sober again, and carefully reconsidered each of the details. In the same manner, if they made any plans while sober, they would drink until drunk and see if they still found the plan to their liking.” So saying, Lord Uriah made the gesture of a toast and drained his mug.

“Of course,” Zillith said, “the Thoas are no longer with us.”

“What happened?” Joash asked.

“They were deep in their cups making plans, one eve long ago, when certain Jogli Nomads chanced upon their town,” Zillith said. “Seeing their intoxication, the Jogli drew their knives and slew every man in the city. Now, the Thoas are just a memory.”

Lord Uriah nodded glumly.

“What will we do?” Zillith soon asked.

“Our task is daunting,” Lord Uriah said.

“At last we know what it is,” she said.

“Yes... Yes.” Lord Uriah peered at the crock of ale. He sighed and corked it. “I think—”

A loud knock interrupted him. “Enter,” he said.

Huge Auroch the Pirate ducked his head and peered in. “May I speak with you, O priest?” His handsome face was lined with worry.

Joash wrapped his hand around his dagger-hilt.

“I spoke with Captain Maharbal,” Auroch said, who had not yet entered the room. “He gave me permission to speak with you, and told me where you were.”

“Please enter,” Zillith said.

Auroch squeezed in. He sat on a stool so he could hold his leonine head upright. Now that he’d slept and refreshed himself, Auroch seemed even larger and more powerful than before. His strange, yellow eyes held power and command. His herculean shoulders seemed like they would rip out of his tunic. His neck was a mass of muscle.

Zillith motioned Joash with her head. She meant that he serve the pirate ale. Joash didn’t move. Finally, sighing, not knowing the reason for Joash’s silence, Zillith set the stone mug before Auroch. The pirate poured ale and drained it. He clunked the mug onto the chest.

“I do not know what to tell you first,” Auroch said.

“That you killed my brother!” Joash shouted, drawing his dagger.

Auroch gazed at him in surprise, as did Lord Uriah and Zillith.