The Tree of Life (Lost Civilizations: 3) (9 page)

Herrek peered at Harn, who sat ten feet away from the trolock. It was true. A black arrow was fixed to the collar. But....

“What does the arrow signify?” the trolock asked.

Herrek had no idea.

“Ah, surely it signifies the gnat,” the trolock said.

“How can fleas trouble stone?”

“You fool. The gnat tracks me. He is near,” the trolock said, alert, wary, ready.

Herrek noticed the trolock no longer held the leash. With a tripping heart, Herrek asked softly, “How long has this person tracked you?”

“Since the steppes.” The trolock eyed the forest, searching, measuring.

Harn still hadn’t moved.

“The steppes,” Herrek whispered to himself. He remembered the Huri, Sungara, who was also a Seraph. No man could have marched that far in so short a time. Only Nephilim could have done so, and a trolock.

Someone whistled from down the road.

Herrek looked back, but saw no one. The whistle came again, an Elonite song. Herrek didn’t think, but grasped at this lone chance. He turned and ran, his leash trailing behind him. The trolock laughed. In moments, the heavy clack of stone on stone told Herrek of a running, chasing monster. He looked over his shoulder. The trolock, although not swift, was also not slow. And he was tireless. He was catching up. Herrek bent his head and ran. His heart raced and his legs ached. He ran around the bend.

Like a crashing millstone, the trolock smashed behind, always closing the gap.

Herrek jumped over a heavy rope stretched across the way. Moments later, he heard a loud noise. He looked back. The rope was tight, stretched between pines on either side of the road. The trolock sprawled full length, the rope behind him.

The trolock began to heave itself to its knees.

In that moment the squat, powerfully built Huri, that Herrek had last seen on the steppes—the giant dwarf with stocky, almost misshapen, gnarled oak-like shoulders and limbs—leaped from behind a pine and dashed toward him. In the Huri’s tangled black hair waved his cluster of eagle feathers. His bare feet slapped on the stone road.

“What?” was all Herrek could mutter.

Sungara didn’t pause. He bent, and used his hands to propel Herrek onto his broad back. Sungara grunted, but he was powerful, and perhaps filled with fear of the rising trolock.

Harn barked, and raced after them. Sungara bore Herrek’s heavy weight and ran away from the Valley of Dry Bones. Behind them followed the trolock, but he was not as fast as Sungara. Bit by bit, they pulled away.

“How long can you run like this?” Herrek whispered.

“We see,” was all Sungara grunted.

Chapter Nine

The Valley of Dry Bones

I saw a great many bones on the floor of the valley, bones that were very dry.

-- Ezekiel 37:2

“I am not convinced of your methods,” Tarag snarled.

“High One,” Mimir said, as he bent on one knee, “he’s a stubborn man. And I was under the impression time was critical.”

A fire crackled. Sabertooths licked the last bits of meat off wild goat-bones. The air was sharp, the stars cold and clear.

“The Seraph does not suspect the truth?”

“I think not, High One.”

Tarag’s great, glowing cat-eyes showed worry, concern. “I must have the fiery stone,” he rumbled.

Mimir nodded, waiting to ask his question.

“The guardian Cherub will be strong with the presence of the Celestial Realm,” Tarag said. “I must become accustomed to that.”

Here was the chance. Mimir cleared his throat.

“What?”

“High One, does not the adamant armor, shield and sword confer some of that presence?”

Tarag’s eyes flashed. “Thou cunning schemer, giant. You probe and pry, even as you play the faithful servant. Well did thy father choose his ambassador. Rather than calling you ‘the Wise,’ I will call you ‘the Cunning.’ It suits you better.”

Mimir knew when to say nothing more.

“Did you think I would rely solely upon the young man?”

“I do not know your inner plans, High One.”

Tarag laughed. It was a cruel and mirthless sound. “Talker with the tongue of honey, counselor who keeps his own thoughts hidden, I
hope
I’ve not yet revealed myself to you. Your death would cause me problems.”

“Yes, High One.”

“Ah, yes. You know that well, don’t you, talker? You hold your giants in check, for how they hate the Gibborim. And bewitching Lersi, do you think the reasons the Gibborim have not yet rained dreadful spells on you or your giants is because of fear of you?”

“No, High One.”

“No?”

“The Chosen of Yorgash are Nephilim, High One. While giants pride themselves upon their valor, not all of us have lost the understanding that other Nephilim don’t take to insults.”

“Lersi yet rages,” Tarag said, watching Mimir.

“I suspected as much, High One.”

“She, too, holds her brethren at bay. She, too, waits for the plunder before the bloodshed. On this point, Nephilim are superior to humans.”

“Yes, High One.”

Tarag brooded, although he stirred and caused his adamant armor to clink in a musical way. “The adamant
does
confer unto me Celestial presence,” Tarag said at last. “It’s why I’ll diligently search for the fiery stone. It’s why, after hundreds of years, I’ll truly have a chance at discovering it.”

“Yes, High One.”

“In the end, however, the Seraph, he’ll find the stone, not any of us.”

Mimir kept his curiosity in check.

“Gog did not foresee that, by the way,” Tarag said, “the young man finding the stone.”

Mimir wondered if Tarag toyed with him, as cats sometimes do with captured prey. The idea made him uneasy. Tonight, Tarag had dropped his normal impatience. Tarag desperately wanted the fiery stone.

For centuries, First Born, Nephilim and human necromancers had searched the Valley of Dry Bones for the last fiery stone. Its origin was otherworldly. Mimir had learned from his father that Azel, along with stealing the Rod of Creation, had also taken other precious things. In the Celestial Realm, on the Holy Mount of Elohim, (no, merely the Overlord, Mimir tried to convince himself for the millionth time) was the Garden of Fiery Stones. Morningstar had once been allowed to walk through the garden, and Azel had desired the precious stones for eons. Before the Great Rebellion, when Azel stole the Rod of Creation, he also climbed the Holy Mount, and purloined several fiery stones. These he kept when he invaded Earth. And these, when he ruled on the Earth, he had fashioned into a crown of supernatural glory. In the Last Battle, Azel had dared wear the crown. He’d been mighty in the battle, but he’d taken many blows. It was said, in the old lore, that in the midst of battle, one of the fiery stones had fallen from the crown. The Shining Ones, who had cleaned up and taken much from the battlefield, had left the lost fiery stone behind. So had claimed Surtur, a Nephilim giant who’d stood apart from the battle. During it, he’d witnessed many strange sights. Why the Shining Ones had left the fiery stone none ever knew, just as none of the First Born could ever understand why Draugr Trolock-Maker’s lich had been left sealed in the crypt. However, the reason was unimportant. The
fact
of the fiery stone and the adamant armor, shield and sword was the thing. Strange powers flowed from the fiery stone. Perhaps its most powerful use would be the aura of the Celestial Realm that flowed out of it. The fiery stone would inure Tarag to the Celestial aura. Thus, the guardian Cherub would not be able to blind the First Born with his unveiled radiance.

Alas, the fiery stone, although searched for many a dreary century, had never been found. Yet the essence of it had turned the Valley of Dry Bones into an awesome place. It had also made the cyclopean gray stone road that led to the valley a place to fear. Strange, unearthly powers lingered there because of the stone’s nature.

“The young man is filled with Seraph power,” Tarag said slowly. “He will be better tuned to the fiery stone than any of us.”

“Has anyone ever used Seraphs before, High One?”

“I think not.”

“Did Yorgash think of this scheme, High One?”

Tarag sneered. “Yorgash is a creature of necromancy. He would never think of such a thing. He is too far-gone in his love of death and putrefaction. No, it was I, Tarag, a being of the field, of the stream and of the open sky, who reasoned it out. Just as I knew the Overlord would send waves of Seraphs upon us as we approached the Lair of Draugr Trolock-Maker. I’ve studied the Overlord’s ways. The young man will yet try to trick us. That’s why I disapprove of your treatment. He’s far more dangerous than I think even you, schemer, can realize. Breaking his spirit might be wiser. And yet....” Tarag shook his monstrous head.

Mimir was surprised at this statement and at Tarag’s uneasiness. The young man was human and a fool with inflated passions. Tricking him was simpler and faster than breaking his spirit. And time, that
was
the important thing. They had to move fast, before armies blocked the avenues into Eden, or before other First Born and their minions learned the truth of what they attempted.

“The Overlord is cunning,” Tarag was saying. “He turns well laid plans into traps. I’ve seen that happen many times. I saw it happen to my father, Moloch the Hammer. It’s why I left his presence. For even then I saw the coming of the end. I knew the Shining Ones would win. Yet, I knew also that my chance would come far in the future. Now is that time. I do not plan on being thwarted.”

“What if we cannot find the fiery stone, High One?”

“It will be found.”

“May I ask how you know, High One?”

Tarag laughed. “I’ve studied the enemy. I know his ways. It will be found. The trick will be in acquiring it after that, and in keeping it.”

Mimir frowned, not understanding Tarag’s words. The First Born had taken to brooding again, staring at the fire. “By your leave, High One?”

Tarag grunted.

Mimir returned to his bed. Tomorrow they would enter the Valley of Dry Bones. Tomorrow the search would begin. He tried to sleep. It was a long time coming. When it finally did, strange dreams came.

***

Joash was troubled. His dreams last night had been strange. Even the sabertooths looked wary, as if they too sensed the oddity of this place. Joash bolted the rest of his meat because he saw the others were ready.

They returned to the gray stone road. They passed stone pedestals, but of towering obelisks there were no more. The pines trees had fled, the grasses grew thicker. Surprisingly, there were few large animals. Instead, there was an abundance of rabbits, marmots, ground squirrels and birds. The animals didn’t approach the gray stone road, although a few snakes slithered off it.

The road rose, while all around the mountains that made this valley, rose to the right and left. Snow crowned the peaks, and until the sun had been up for an hour or so, Joash saw his breath. A great golden eagle cried at them, as if challenging the band. Tarag roared at the Gibborim. A flapping slith chased away the eagle.

Flowers opened. Purple, red, orange and yellow fields radiated their glory. It was a beautiful sight. Colorful butterflies swarmed the flowers. Soon after them came hugely fat bumblebees, who buzzed with indignant volume.

An hour later, the sabertooths roared as their manes stiffened. Tarag went to his cats. They roared again, as if frightened. Joash was fascinated. Soon, Tarag nodded. The sabertooths retreated.

“What happened?” Joash asked.

“I don’t know,” Mimir said. They stood apart from the white-haired men and from the other giants. Mimir’s eyes were red-rimmed. Maybe he hadn’t slept well. He’d been strangely quiet today.

“The Valley of Dry Bones is near,” Mimir said.

“Is it really filled with bones?”

“Yes.”

“The bones of defeated
bene elohim
?” asked Joash.

“And Shining Ones.” Mimir looked down. “There was a great war here once, a mighty battle. So great were the losses, that a pit was dug and the dead thrown into it. The dirt was uncovered later, and the bones exposed.”

“What about Babel the Mighty?” Joash asked.

“It was sacked, I’m afraid.”

Joash grinned.

“You may smile, thinking the Shining Ones won a great battle. In truth, the razing of Babel cost the Shining Ones more than it did the
bene elohim
. The slain Shining Ones were one of the reasons why they agreed to the treaty. They came in arrogance, razed Babel, but wept over their losses.”

From the van, Tarag motioned they continue moving.

“You’re not telling me the entire truth,” Joash said.

“Oh?”

“The Shining Ones won such a great victory that it was the last great battle of the Thousand Years War.”

Mimir snorted.

“Maybe I shouldn’t speak with such authority,” Joash said. “But I dreamed about the battle last night.” He concentrated, and then his eyes opened in surprise. “I remember a strange poem. It came from the dream.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

Joash closed his eyes. Then he smiled.

“Woe, woe, O great city,

“O Babel, city of power.

“In one hour your doom has come!”

Joash looked up. The giant stood mute, pale and began to blink. “Impossible,” Mimir whispered.

“I saw a vision,” Joash said. “Lighting fell from heaven. Huge walls exploded. Masonry rained everywhere. There was a mighty shout, and the armies of Elohim closed in for the final butchery. Blood ran red. It was the blood of
bene elohim
, First Born and Nephilim.”

Mimir made an odd sound deep in his throat and a haunted look filled his eyes. He worked his features until a grin spread. “You had a dreamweaving.” The grin hardened. “Yes,” he said, his voice firming. “You had a dreamweaving. It’s a gift. I know a giant who has it. He claims he can tell what happened in the past through his dreams.”

“That wasn’t a gift,” Joash said. “At least, not how giants consider such things.”

“Then you weren’t dreamweaving?”

“It was a vision, maybe from Elohim.”

Mimir shrugged, but he couldn’t hide his anxiety.

The hilly terrain rose. A mile later, it dipped sharply.

A giddy feeling began to work through Joash. Maybe it was the dream, the possible vision. The air was different. He felt expectant.

“What’s the fiery stone?” Joash soon asked.

“Didn’t you dream about it?” Mimir sneered. He chuckled then, as if embarrassed or surprised by his reaction. “The stone was an artifact fashioned by Azel.”

“Why does it lie in this valley?”

Mimir nodded sagely. “The fiery stones have a long and noble history. Azel decided not to search for his lost stone that had fallen from his crown as he’d warred. He left it as a testament to the might of
bene elohim
and Shining Ones. Now, however, a great need is upon us.”

“Maybe it is wrong for me to help you search for it,” Joash said.

“Help or not,” Mimir said lightly. “We know its whereabouts. I was thinking about you, actually. It will be boring in the valley. And the ghosts always haunt the vicinity.”

Joash became thoughtful. Ghosts, fiery stones, the strange obelisk behind—the objects from the Thousand Years War were frightening. Living back then would have been frightening. Armies of Nephilim, First Born captains and
bene elohim
champions, would there have been any room for men? Why did the giants want the fiery stone? It would obviously aid them. He had given his word to help find it, but if it helped Tarag against the guardian of Eden, he would have to break his word. To help Tarag would mean helping to subject the world to greater supernatural occurrences and greater evil.