Lod the Galley Slave (Lost Civilizations) (23 page)

“Where is your axe to chop down Yggdrasil?
The copper blades of the Holon won’t do that.”

Zared lifted his
firepot. “I do not need an axe.”

“A simple fire to burn it down?” asked Lod
, dubiously.

“This is no simple fire.” Maybe Zared saw Lod’s questioning glance. “Long ago
, in the days of war against the
bene elohim
, the greatest shining one summoned balefire from the heavens. I was there. I saw it fall like lightning and burn with great haste. What’s more, I went to that strange fire as it died down. I dared poke a branch into the supernaturally hot flames. It nearly consumed my stick. Yet I managed to bring the flame to a box of coals. I have kept the fire burning throughout the centuries, Lod. Once these flames are fed fuel, even green wood… Believe me, once I salt the tree with these coals, it will burst into fire, consumed with startling speed.”

“What other marvels are you waiting to unveil?” Lod asked.

Zared didn’t answer. Instead, he watched the approaching shore.

“Where is the bird?” Lod asked.

Zared glanced around. “It is gone. It has hurried into the jungle.”

“To the ruins, you mean?”

“Yes, to the ruins, I suppose. Now let me watch in peace, Lod. I must set my mind for the coming task.”

-5-

The Holon would not leave their places on the oar benches. They sat like statues, their chests slowly rising and falling. It was the only indication they yet lived.

“What does this to them?” Lod asked. “I think you must know.”

“Ancient sorcery, my friend,” Zared answered. “You felt the power of the obelisk. There are others on the island.”

“Only those with rings like yours can move
freely, is that it?” Lod asked.

“You move.”

Lod stared at the old one. There was something dreadfully wrong with this island.

A wan smile twitched
across Zared’s lips. “You are a Seraph. I knew men and women like you. The fires of zeal burn hot in you, protecting you from many evils. It allows you to resist the sorcery. Yes, I feel I must finally confess.”

Lod grew tense.

“I had a prophecy concerning you, a helper in my hour of trial.”

“To
help you burn the tree?” asked Lod.

“And other things,” Zared
said. “Come. It is time.”

“No,” Lod said. “
First you must tell me everything, not just toss me hints.”

“I have
told you all. We are here to burn the tree and collect Tubal-Cain’s sword.”

“And what else?” Lod asked. “Why does the archaeopteryx have the stink of sorcery about it?”

Zared’s ancient face grew leaden, and he turned away before saying, “I am afraid that we are also here to kill, Lod. More I will not say. More I do not dare, not here, or she might hear. Are you with me or will you remain on the barge until I return?”

“Is it safe to leave them here?” Lod asked about the Holon.

“We must hurry. Otherwise, I fear for their lives. Keep on your guard, Lod. We are in great danger.” Without another word, Zared jumped over the gunwale, landing on the gray stones of a sunken dock.

Lod followed, also landing on the heavy blocks. At Zared’s command, he
had driven the forward part of the keel onto these ancient cyclopean stones. According to Zared, the blocks had once stood taller than a man. Over time, they had sunken into the beach so they covered it like shingles of stone.

Zared led the way. He carried
his firepot in one hand and a gnarled staff in the other. Lod followed, with his two-foot dagger snug in its scabbard. He also had a pouch of throwing stones that he’d collected throughout the trek.

Lod stopped at the jungle
’s edge. Zared paused, looking back at him. Frowning, Lod tried to pinpoint his unease. He stared back at the barge, listening to the lapping waves. Wood creaked at times. It was the only noise. No…he heard a distant rumble. He realized it must be the volcano gurgling with lava. His eyes narrowed as he concentrated.

“Are you
ill?” Zared asked.

Lod raised a hand. What was— He snapped his fingers. “I don’t hear any birds, any insects. Why is that?”

Zared moved his shoulders uneasily. It might have been a shrug.

“Are the animals hiding?” Lod asked.

“I doubt it,” the old one muttered.

“You know
what’s wrong, don’t you?”

“I have a suspicion, nothing more.”

“Tell me,” Lod said.

“I think the animals have fled the island.”

“Did the insects also flee?”

“I suspect so
, yes.”

“No,” Lod said. “I don’t believe you.”

Zared raised his eyebrows.

“Nothing lives on the island, no animal, insect or man or woman.
They did not leave. They died.”

The ancient one blanched. “That is a remarkable conclusion. How did you reach it?”

Lod snarled as he peered at the jungle growth before them. Why would all the animals and insects die? It was unnatural. “Is this a product of the sorcery?”

“Come. We must hurry.”

“Why can the archaeopteryx live here if other beasts cannot?”

“You are a fount of questions, Lod. You weary me. Good-bye.
I have no more time for you.”

With a nimbleness he hadn’t shown before, Zared strode into the jungle. Lod almost let him
go alone. He debated returning to the Holon and leaving this godforsaken land. Instead, with his heart beating with fierce emotion, he followed the old one. He was determined to burn Yggdrasil and keep its fruit out of Nephilim hands.

Soon enough, he reached the fast-moving Zared. The old one nodded
in greeting. Then the ancient concentrated on his footing, often disengaging a sandal from tangled roots or stepping over a mossy fallen branch. It didn’t get any easier as the two men trekked deeper into the gloom. Damp heat oppressed them, and the jungle was as silent as a tomb except for the thud of their boots and sandals. The air burned down Lod’s throat. He felt vile sorcery tickling against his mind, against his soul, a dank force that attempted to still his limbs and quell his beating heart.

“Stay close to me,” Zared said. “Perhaps the influence of my rings will protect you.”

That seemed an odd comment. Then Lod noticed a faint nimbus glowing from the hieroglyphics on the rings. That set his teeth on edge, and he realized despite Zared’s words earlier, there was something tainted about those trinkets.

“Where did you get those?” Lod asked.

Zared paused as he climbed over a large mossy bole. He peered as the rings as if looking at them for the first time. “I think they were a present. Yes, that’s right.”

“From whom?” Lod asked.

“Long ago…long ago…Naamah gave them to me.”

“The sorceress?”

“Yes. She made them in the days she was my captive.”

Lod scowled. “They shine. Do you see that?”

“Because she is near,” Zared said.

“Do they corrupt your thinking?”

Zared seemed to ponder that until he shook his head, and he slid onto the other side of the fallen trunk, continuing through the jungle.

Lod followed, more uneasy than ever. Then, past several large trees, he spied a plinth of black stone. It
lay to their right, and large golden hieroglyphics shone upon the gneiss.

“Ah!” Zared cried from ahead. “Here it is.”

Lod bulled past a wall of vines in time to see the old man alight onto a forest path. Zared hurried out of view.

Sweat streaked Lod
’s face and his mouth was parched. He shrugged off the strap of his canteen and let warm water trickle down his throat. In the hidden distance, the volcano rumbled with greater noise. He waited, half-expecting it to blow. Finally, he capped the canteen and hurried along the trail, gaining speed. He was about to shout for Zared to tell him to wait. As he drew down air, he burst into a huge clearing.

Lod stopped in amazement as his head craned upward. Before him towered a great
ziggurat of stone. It seemed to reach upward into the heavens. Each section was smaller than the one it sat on, although a mighty set of stairs led upward. To see this here in the middle of the island—how many thousands, tens of thousands of slaves had toiled and died to construct the monument?

First
, the same slaves must have torn out hundreds of trees to make room for the ziggurat. The jungle fought back, though, seeking to reclaim what it had lost. Gigantic vines snaked over the great edifice, as if they could choke the stone and crush it. Upon the thick cables bloomed hundreds of thousands of large purple flowers of gorgeous color. The vines and flowers sought to bury the ziggurat, leaving only the stairs and the scintillating golden house upon the towering apex bare.

Zared stood several feet away
from the base of the stairs, staring at the mighty monument. Maybe he heard the scuffle of Lod’s boots. The old man turned suddenly, and he said, “The flowers are the purple lotus. You must be careful here, Lod, not to breathe too deeply. Otherwise, you will never awaken again.”

“Purple lotus, you say?” Lod asked, with his hackles rising. “I have heard it said that necromancers use the evil bloom for their incantations.”

“Yes,” Zared said in a soft voice. “It is true.”

“Listen to me,” Lod said. “Tear off those rings. They bewitch you. Then u
nleash your balefire. Use cleansing fire and devour the lotus. Burn down everything. We must hurry and do our appointed task, departing before this place destroys us.”

“We must first reach the top
before we attempt such a thing.”

“Why? Wh
at lies in the golden house?”

Instead of answering,
Zared took a step toward the ziggurat.

Lod grabbed one of the ancient’s arms.
Given the shrunken muscles, he was surprised to feel the man’s strength. “I know about ziggurats, Zared. The evil ones cut out the hearts of the living high on top. This is a dread place, filled with ancient evil. You must listen to me and tear off those rings. They corrupt your thinking.”

“
No!” Zared shouted, and he tore his arm out of Lod’s grasp. Before Lod could grab him again, the ancient one bounded forward and reached the steps, moving up them with the agility of a goat.

Lod scowled. He liked this less and less. He could feel the
island’s oppressive weight of sorcery, the doom of thousands, tens of thousands perhaps, and the lost, shrieking souls of the damned. Vilest necromancy had been practiced here, the worst of the demonic arts. What was wrong with the old man that he raced up there? Why did he wear a sorceress’s gift of rings? Zared had a secret, and Lod didn’t like it that this was the place where the ancient would probably reveal it.

This was the moment of decision. What should he do?

Lod watched Zared scamper up the steep steps. The old man meant well, and he had a worthy goal. But this place reeked of sorcery and it had probably unhinged Zared’s mind. Maybe that’s why his plank had drifted in this direction these many weeks. Elohim had sent him to help Zared. Lod felt his heart hammer in his chest. He knew the truth. For twenty long years he had urged the One Above to break his chains so he could hunt the Earth as the avenging blade of Elohim. Now he had the opportunity to act his part. Dare he turn away and run for safety?

“No,” Lod muttered.
With a growled oath, he set his face and marched for the ziggurat, reaching the bottom steps. He put his boot on the first one and began to climb. The steep stairs rose upward too far. Soon, sweat sprung onto Lod’s face and his breathing came in heaving gasps. How did that old goat find the stamina to run as he did?

Lod cursed under his breath as he watched Zared disappear into the golden house. “Old fool,” he muttered.

Instead of increasing his pace, Lod steadily strode upward. The jungle floor grew farther away, the treetops neared and then he spied the volcano. A thin line of black smoke trickled from the cone into the cloudless sky. As he continued up, he listened to his own labored breathing and the thud of his boots. Then a terrible scream broke the silence. It echoed out of the golden house. A second later, the archaeopteryx shrieked triumphantly from within.

With a hiss of steel, Lod freed his blade
, and then bounded up the steps as fire burned in his blue eyes. The soot-colored bird with its lizard tail flapped out of the golden house and shrieked at him as it climbed into the air.

Lod ignored the archaeopteryx.
He didn’t think it had made Zared scream. In seconds, Lod reached the top of the stairs. He had climbed to a dizzying height. The golden house stood before him. It loomed large like a temple, with marble columns adored with wicked designs of powerful men holding down naked women of great beauty as they raped them. The scenes reminded Lod of Gog’s Temple in Shamgar. He snarled as he plunged into the gloom, passing a heavy door, entering the structure.