Seven Wonders Book 2: Lost in Babylon (12 page)

I
HAVEN'T HAD
the Dream in a long time
.

But it's back
.

And it's changed
.

It does not begin as it always has, with the chase. The woods. The mad swooping of the griffins and the charge of the hose-beaked vromaski. The volcano about to erupt. The woman calling my name. The rift that opens in the ground before me. The fall into the void. The fall, where it always ends
.

Not this time. This time, these things are behind me
.

This time, it begins at the bottom
.

I am outside my own body. I am in a nanosecond frozen in time. I feel no pain. I feel nothing. I see someone below, twisted and motionless. It is Jack. Jack of the Dream
.

But being outside it, I see that the body is not mine. Not the same face. As if, in these Dreams, I have been dwelling inside a stranger. I see small woodland creatures, fallen and motionless, strewn around the body. The earth shakes. High above, griffins cackle
.

Water trickles beneath the body now. It pools around the head and hips. And the nanosecond ends
.

The scene changes. I am no longer outside the body but in. Deep in. The shock of reentry is white-hot. It paralyzes every molecule, short-circuiting my senses. Sight, touch, hearing—all of them join in one huge barbaric scream of STOP
.

The water fills my ear, trickles down my neck and chest. It freezes and pricks. It soothes and heals. It is taking hold of the pain, drawing it away
.

Drawing out death and bringing life
.

I breathe. My flattened body inflates. I see. Smell. Hear. I am aware of the soil ground into my skin, the carcasses all around, the black clouds lowering overhead. The thunder and shaking of the earth
.

I blink the grit from my eyes and struggle to rise
.

I have fallen into a crevice. The cracked earth is a vertical wall before me. And the wall contains a hole, a kind of door into the earth. I see dim light within
.

I stand on shaking legs. I feel the snap of shattered bones knitting themselves together
.

One step. Two
.

With each it becomes easier
.

Entering the hole, I hear music. The Song of the Heptakiklos. The sound that seems to play my soul like a guitar
.

I draw near the light. It is inside a vast, round room, an underground chamber. I enter, lifted on a column of air
.

At the other side I see someone hunched over. The white lambda in his hair flashes in the reflected torch fire
.

I call to him and he turns. He looks like me. Beside him is an enormous satchel, full to bursting
.

Behind him is the Heptakiklos
.

Seven round indentations in the earth
.

All empty
.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

..................................................................

“I
DON'T GET
why he doesn't just fall over,” Marco whispered.

Bel-Sharu-Usur walked briskly up the stairs, with Daria tagging along behind him. Behind her was a gaggle of
wardum
with fans made of palm fronds and sacks of food and drink. The entourage for the king's son.

His eyes never rested in one place. He reeked of fish, and something sickly-sweet, like athletic ointment. His hair was dark at the sides and white down the middle, giving him the appearance of a drunken skunk. At the top of the stairs he looked over the city and took a deep breath, blasting us with a gust of foul air.

“Dude, what was on the breakfast menu?” Marco said. “Three-day-old roadkill?”

He gave Marco a twisted expression that could have been a smile or a sneer, then began babbling to Daria.

I eyed a large vase on a wall shelf. From this angle I could see the eyes of a bull and the hindquarters of some other beast. I'd put Daria's pouch inside that vase for safekeeping. It contained some feathered needles, maybe for knitting. I made a mental note to give it to her at some point when Bel-Sharu-Usur wasn't all over her.

Aly trudged out from her bedroom, looking exhausted. “What's that smell?” she murmured.

As Bel-Sharu-Usur barked questions at Daria, the odor of his tooth decay settled over us like smog. Inches away from him, Daria nodded respectfully and (remarkably) managed not to barf. She seemed to be giving him a long report about us, as we nervously ate fruit that the house
wardum
laid before us on a table.

“Do you understand what she's saying?” I whispered.

“No,” she replied. “I was teaching her English. She wasn't teaching me Babylonian.”

Daria and Bel-Sharu-Usur went at it for a few minutes in rapid Aramaic. Finally Daria turned to us with an exasperated face and said, “He will walk us.”

“Walk us?” Aly said. “Like take us on a tour?” She walked with her fingers out over the rooftop.

“Nice!” Marco said. “Tell him we love gardens. Especially hanging ones.”

“Yes, a tour,” Daria said, looking at Bel-Sharu-Usur uneasily. “See us Babylon.

He does not say, but I think he must watch you.”

“He doesn't yet trust us?” I offered.

Daria shrugged. “We must go now. And be careful.”

We rushed out. It wasn't until we were walking away from the house that I remembered I'd forgotten Daria's pouch.

* * *

“Chicken . . . clucks,” Daria said. “Ox . . . pulls. Pig . . . oinks. Boar . . . snorts. Pine tree . . . grows tall. Sun flower . . . is round. Fence . . . has posts. Temple . . .”

As we walked through the palace grounds, Aly didn't miss an object. And Daria repeated everything perfectly. Bel-Sharu-Usur hung with them, listening intently. It was impossible to tell what he was looking at or listening to. His strangely disabled eyes flitted all over the place, and it was miraculous he could even walk straight. Still, I could sense that he was noticing every movement, every gesture we were making.

His entourage hung behind him closely. Two
wardum
fanned him with gigantic palm-shaped leaves, muttering chants and making sly faces when he wasn't looking. Two others carried buckets of water, stopping to hand him a ladle every few yards. Before us, two trumpeters blew a fanfare at each turn in the road.

All around the entourage, people took a wide berth. Gardeners, workers, wealthy people—all of them dropped into a fearful silence at the sight of Bel-Sharu-Usur.

“He makes me nervous,” Cass said softly.

At the whispered words, Bel-Sharu-Usur's ears pricked up.

“Dude, anyone ever tell you that you look like a cross between a warthog and a cracked dirt wall?” Marco asked him out loud, with a broad smile. “Just sayin'. Peace out.”

Bel-Sharu-Usur looked momentarily confused. He glared at Daria, who told him something that made him smile uncertainly.

“I guess she covered for you, Marco,” Cass murmured.

“She's hot
and
smart,” Marco said.

“Oh, you think she's hot too?” Aly said. “Hmm. You and Jack . . .”

Daria turned to Marco with a smile. “Not hot. Is cool in the morning.”

I looked at the ground to avoid cracking up.

“What do you call this place, Daria?” Aly asked, gesturing around the palace grounds. “Does it have a name?”

Daria thought a moment. “In language of Sumer people, is Ká-Dingir-rá. In language of Akkad people, is Bab-Ilum. Means great gate of god.”

“Bab-Ilum!” Cass said. “Probably where they got the name Babylon. Looc os si taht.”

“Can't get a word of Babylonic, but it worries me that I'm beginning to understand you,” Marco said.

We walked briskly past a temple whose walls were pitted, cracked, and choked with weeds. A great wood beam along the roof looked about ready to buckle. “This is—
was
—palace,” Daria whispered. “King Nabu-Kudurri-Usur. Two.”

“Who?” Marco said.

“Nabu-Kudurri-Usur is Aramaic for Nebuchadnezzar,” Aly said. “‘Two' for ‘the Second.'” She turned back to Daria. “That king lived here?”

Daria nodded. “He was good. Then more kings—Amel-Marduk, Nergal-Sharu-Usur, La-Abashi-Marduk. All lived in palace. Kings supposed to live in palace. But Nabu-na'id . . . no. Lives in Etemenanki.” Her eyes darted toward Bel-Sharu-Usur uncertainly, and she dropped her voice. “Etemenanki is holy place . . . not king place.”

Aly shot me a look. I could feel Cass's and Marco's eyes too. None of us had expected that statement. I knew her English wasn't perfect, but the tone was unmistakable. Our friend Daria didn't seem to like the king very much.

Any lingering mistrust of her was melting away fast.

Bel-Sharu-Usur was picking up the pace. We jogged after him, entering a grand tiled walkway, its bricks glazed with blindingly bright blues and golds. Inlaid into the tiles was a procession of fierce lions of smaller gold and yellow bricks, so lifelike that they seemed about to jump out. Bel-Sharu-Usur raised his wobbling eyes to a shining fortress of cobalt blue rising at the end of the processional path. It was topped with castle-like towers, the great protective city wall extended from either side. The trumpeters blew again, nearly blasting my eardrums.

“Ishtar!” barked Bel-Sharu-Usur.

“Gesundheit,” Marco said, gazing upward.

“It's the
Ishtar Gate
,” Cass said. “One of the three most famous structures in Ancient Babylon, along with the Hanging Gardens and the Tower of Babel, aka Etemenanki.”

“Thank you, Mr. Geography,” Marco said.

“Not bad for someone who thinks he's lost his memory powers,” Aly said, a smile growing across her face.

Cass shook his head dismissively. “That was easy stuff. You knew it too, I'll bet.”

If we weren't in a parallel world, I'd be taking a zillion photos. Along with the sculpted lions were other elaborate animals—mostly bulls, but also a hideous-looking creature I'd never seen before. It had a long snout with two horns, the front legs of a lion, rear legs with talons like a raptor, and a tail with scorpion pincers. I ran my hands along it, and the tiles were so sharp they nearly cut my skin.

Daria winced. “Is mushushu. Good for people of Bab-Ilum. Means youth. Health. Also means . . .” Her voice dropped to a respectful whisper. “. . . Marduk.”

“What's a Marduk?” Marco asked.

“Not what—
who
,” Aly said. “It was the name of the Babylonian god.” She turned to Daria. “The mushushu is, like, a symbol of the god? A representation?”

Daria thought a moment. “Representation . . . one thing meaning another. Yes.”

“Is it a real animal?” Cass asked.

“Yes,” Daria said. “Was in cage. In Ká-Dingir-rá. But escape when Nabu-na'id near. Mushushu bit foot. Bel-Sharu-Usur tried to help father, but mushushu attack face.”

“So this creature is the thing that mangled the king's foot?” Aly asked. “And it injured Bel-Sharu-Usur in a way that caused his eyes to move funny?”

“All because they had it in a cage,” I said. “But why would they treat the mushushu like that? If it was the symbol of a great revered god—”

“King Nabu-na'id does not honor Marduk,” Daria said. “Each year we have celebration—Akitu—for new year. For Marduk. In this celebration, guards slap king, kick king to the ground.”

“Sounds like a laugh riot,” Marco said. “No offense, Dars, but that's a pretty weird way to celebrate.”

“It is to remind king that he is a man,” Daria said. “He is not god. People love their king even more after this. But when Nabu-na'id becomes king, he does not come to Akitu. This makes Marduk angry.”

As we got closer to the gate, guards bowed to Bel-Sharu-Usur from the two turrets at the top.

As the trumpeters moved into the gate, Bel-Sharu-Usur gave a harsh command. Nodding, the two men reversed course and scampered out of sight. He bustled on through, with the rest of us following behind. We hurried out the other side of the gate and onto another tiled, walled walkway. The walkway soon emptied us into another part of the outer city. This section was less built up, a scattering of buildings among fields, leading to the outer wall in the distance.

To our right was a small field, and just beyond it a temple that was cracked and neglected like Nebuchadnezzar's palace. At the base of the temple wall, a group of
wardum
knelt in worship. Bel-Sharu-Usur stormed toward them.

Immediately Daria sang a high-pitched tune of four notes. Hearing it, the
wardum
leaped up and scattered. Bright potted flowers and bowls of food had been placed on the warped windowsills, and Bel-Sharu-Usur quickly moved in, sweeping them to the ground.