Chapter Two
Carthalo
Your domain was on the high seas; your builders brought your beauty to perfection.
-- Ezekiel 27:4
A small woman and a man with a freshly trimmed white beard stood on the aft turret of a bireme. It was a green galley, and its two banks of oars moved in unison like a giant centipede’s legs. From inside the hull came a rhythmic drumbeat as the vast oars creaked and drove the bireme with such
speed that foam boiled over the bronze ram at the prow.
Unlike the pirate vessels of Shamgar, freemen rowed this League of Peace bireme. Because the rowers were free, the captain could coax them to greater effort. He’d promised each a silver shekel if they reached the city by nightfall. The passengers had desperate need of speed. For them, it might already be too late.
The aft turret was a small timber castle with wooden merlons. During battle, archers crammed the turret and fired arrows onto enemy galleys. Presently, the man and woman stood alone, she with her hands on a crenellation that alternated with the merlons on the battlement. The man cradled a stone mug of ale.
“I’m filthy,” Adah said. Her eyes were like ink, pools of darkness surrounded by fiercely-tanned olive skin. Her rich cloak was a swirl of deep-sea blue and a scattering of yellow starfish and moon designs. On her back hung her bow and a quiver filled with parrot-feathered arrows. Adah was beautiful, if haggard from her latest ordeal.
Lord Uriah gave her a tolerant smile. He towered above her. A rugged, handsome man, he was over five hundred years old. He was the Patriarch of Elon, and one of the hardest men to kill on Earth. The promised shekels that the rowers would receive would come from his purse.
“I wonder how many baths it will take to rub the accumulated dirt from my skin?” Adah said.
“A single Carthalo bath should do the trick,” Lord Uriah said.
“I doubt it.”
Lord Uriah sipped ale as he moodily studied the horizon.
They were on Nar Naccara’s flagship. A banner flapped on the mast above their heads, driven to its antics by the galley’s movement. It was the Admiral’s white hawk emblem. Lord Uriah and Adah spoke together in the morning air. Last night, the entire ship’s company had stayed on a sandy shore at a place midway between Dishon and Carthalo.
Last night, the bireme had proved shallow-drafted enough to haul onto the beach. No crew liked to spend a night aboard a crowded ship, and certainly not along this rocky coast with its treacherous shoals. Everybody wanted solid land in order to stretch, cook and perform the various toiletries. With dawn and a friendly tide, the galley had quickly found itself back in the water.
“I’ve never been to Carthalo,” Adah was saying. “I wish I could bathe, and put on fresh clothes
before
entering the city.”
“In Carthalo, they heat water with coals and pump it into the baths.”
“That sounds like a miracle,” Adah said.
“The Shining Ones built it,” Lord Uriah said. “It’s a fascinating city, as much for its architecture as for its sea wall. In all the Suttung Sea, there’s not another city like it.”
Adah watched the passing shore a half-mile from their galley. It was no longer a forest-filled wilderness. Instead, she saw vineyards and carefully cultivated barley fields. Sometimes, they passed quaint fishing communities, with peaked-roofed houses and industrious fishermen hauling their dawn catch into harbor. The fishermen shouted pleasantries to the bireme’s mariners. The mariners shouted back, waving.
“Carthalo is said to be the new Further Tarsh,” Lord Uriah said, growing expansive. “Its merchant-princes rival the mother city, and its wealth is perhaps greater. One of the reasons for that is the great swath of interior land the richest families have carved from the forests. Indenturing bondsmen, the rich cultivate the land as if it were a giant garden. Bondsmen removed all the trees and rocks, and add huge quantities of fertilizer. The abundance of the fields and vineyards has to be seen to be believed.
“Unfortunately, the wealth has brought strife between the estate families who farm inland, and the merchant-princes. The estate families hired an army of mercenaries and set their sons as officers in that army. The force was needed to keep the primitives of the interior awed and quiet, allowing the farmers to plant and sow in peace. The merchants-princes grumbled, as they helped pay for this army. Realizing it gave too much political authority to the estate families, they attempted to counter-balance by increased sea-trade. So they created new crafts. Their workhouses dyed wool, spun pottery and forged shovels, swords and nails. As their coffers filled, their prestige increased.
“Now, the people are divided into factions. Some wish to remain as artisans and merchants. Others want to become conquerors, and carve an empire from the interior. In other words, the city is ripe for Gog-driven dissension.”
Adah had been listening closely. Her head twitched now as she spied a dolphin. It leapt into the air and dove down. She smiled at its grace, at its beauty. Other dolphins swam just under the surface, their dorsal fins occasionally flashing in the air. Adah gasped, and her hand flew to her mouth. The last time she’d seen dolphins, the sea-creatures had been fleeing from Nidhogg. The great beast had sped toward their former ship, the
Tiras
. Joash—
Adah shut her eyes. Joash was likely dead. How could he have survived Nidhogg? Her eyes snapped open as she stared up at the sky. Then she studied the dolphins sporting around the ship. Joash had loved watching them. She shook her head. It was too painful thinking about Joash. She turned to Lord Uriah, focusing on his lips, listening to what he said.
Lord Uriah spoke about Carthalo and Gog. Gog ruled Shamgar. Gog the First Born, son of Magog the
bene elohim
—she shuddered. Gog was like Yorgash of Poseidonis. First Born were worse than Nephilim, possessed of greater power and ambition.
“Carthalo isn’t that far from Shamgar,” Lord Uriah was saying. “Therefore, Gog surely desires its subjugation. Pildash and Dishon have certainly fallen under his sway.”
Adah nodded. Shamgar was situated on the eastern end of the Suttung Sea. Then, like a string of pearls along the southern coast, were Pildash, Dishon, Carthalo and Bomilcar. Further Tarsh was on the western end of the Suttung Sea. If one kept going west inland, he soon came to the plains of Elon, where Lord Uriah ruled.
“If Gog can disrupt Carthalo,” said Lord Uriah, “his pirate galleys would control the Eastern Suttung Sea without any contention. Then Gog could likely prevent League of Peace galleys from stopping Tarag.”
Adah took a deep breath. Stopping the strange First Born Tarag, the terrible enemy they’d faced in Jotunheim, was the reason the rowers strained at the oars.
She asked, “How great is Gog’s influence in Carthalo?”
“Nar Naccara spoke to me at length last night. League spies have discovered that several ranking merchant-princes went to the Oracle last year.”
Adah stirred uneasily. Like a hidden spider, Gog wove a secret web. With his semi-divine blood, he could peer into the future, not well, but he could catch glimpses. Thus, many folk went to him, offering sacrifices or alliances. In turn, they desired he prophesize for them. With such power, Gog could often foil those who plotted him harm. Tarag and Gog worked together, hoping to win godhood over humanity.
“Just as bad,” Lord Uriah continued, “a few of the estate families, hoping to gain a hidden ally, also traveled to the Oracle. The outcome of these clandestine meetings is that mobs have surrounded League of Peace buildings. They demand the League leave Carthalo. However, others in Carthalo rose up and beat the paid agitators, driving them away.”
“Paid?”
Lord Uriah nodded glumly. “So says Nar Naccara. But one wonders if he reads the city correctly.”
“How can the merchant-princes and the estate families be so short-sighted?”
“First,” said Lord Uriah, “not all merchant-princes or all the estate families have gone to Shamgar. It’s the most ambitious who have gone to Gog. And, I suppose, the most ruthless. The First Born fuels a person’s hopes, magnifying them, showing the ambitious how high they can go. In time, when passion, greed and ruthlessness have overcome all wisdom, then Gog wields them to his advantage.”
“Will you still be able to recruit an army there?”
Lord Uriah appeared pensive. “Nar Naccara says Pildash is entirely in Gog’s grip. Dishon totters, but there are still men like Captain Graz. Carthalo, a League City and once home to Arioch the Archangel, is another matter. Gog’s schemes chew away at the people’s resolve like termites in a home. Who knows how strong the inner strength is? Only a furious storm will give it the true test. But if in the storm the home collapses...or the city....”
“By then it’s too late,” said Adah.
Lord Uriah drained his mug.
“What do you propose?” Adah asked.
“That we regain our strength and recruit tough mercenaries. It’s a gamble, but at this point, speed is almost as important as warriors are.”
“…We must also take baths,” Adah said.
Lord Uriah glanced at her and laughed as some of the tension eased from his face.
“And sleep late and eat our fill,” he added.
Adah stared out to sea. Sleeping, eating and bathing…it all seemed empty now without Joash. She frowned, and she asked, “Do you think there’s a chance any of the others have survived?”
“It would be good if some have survived.” Lord Uriah sipped from his mug, becoming thoughtful. “But we can’t know if anyone has. We shoulder the entire burden now. It’s up to us to stop Tarag.”
Adah bit her lower lip. This wasn’t the time to become weak. This was just like Poseidonis, in the jungle when the Gibborim hunted. One needed to stay strong no matter how many the enemy slew. One needed to keep fighting.
“I’ll need new poison,” she said. “Last time, my arrows had no effect on the First Born.”
“Poison, guile, gold and arms,” said Lord Uriah. “Whatever it takes, we must stop Tarag before he reaches Eden.”
***
Toward nightfall, Nar Naccara’s flotilla joined a convoy of grain ships from Dishon. They were huge vessels, as large as the
Tiras
had been before Nidhogg sank it, but the Further Tarsh vessel had been more beautiful, and taller. These tubs were made for short trips between city-states. They wallowed under mountains of grain-sacks and the sails strained to move them. Watching them ride so low in the water made Adah think about Captain Maharbal. He had been able to make the majestic
Tiras
with its tall stern castle heel like an obedient hound, and race like a chariot horse.
It sickened Adah to think of the booming captain floating face-first in the sea, or worse, as meat for sharks. How many others would die? Lod had gone to Shamgar. Lod had also saved her from a wretched fate in Poseidonis, the once lovely jewel of the gleaming ocean. Yorgash a First Born had invaded the Isle of Poseidonis together with his children the Gibborim. Now smoke chugged from the furnaces as Yorgash fed souls to further some infernal plot. The First Born had turned the capital of Atlas into a strange city of monumental ziggurats, pyramids and plinths, while hordes of slaves had razed the forests to feed the raging fires. Hers had been the last free people of Poseidonis, a remnant that had lived like rats in the barrens. Then, the Gibborim had taken to hunting the remnant, hunting with sliths—pterodactyls—and with yipping cave hyenas and sometimes with giant weasels that were as big as hounds.
Adah shuddered. Lod was likely dead. Joash, Herrek and Captain Maharbal were also likely dead.
She struck a sour chord as she plucked the strings of her lyre. Sitting cross-legged near the stern, she’d been attempting to compose a song, a lamenting chant.
She hated the First Born and their Nephilim offspring. Earth belonged to the men and women Elohim had made. Earth had not been fashioned for these invaders from the Celestial Realm. It had not been fashioned for the offspring of the invaders who had remained, after their fathers the
bene elohim
had been dragged to some nether confinement until the great Day.
Adah concentrated as she strummed her lyre. Playing the chords…. She looked up at the wallowing grain ships from Dishon behind them. From a distance, and in the shadows of a darkening sea, they seemed like a pod of surfaced whales. Their beauty struck Adah so her heart hurt.
Nar Naccara’s bireme pulled ahead of the grain ships as sailors shouted and pointed out other sails.
Adah stood up and slung the lyre onto her back. Carefully, she picked her way across the galley, soon coming to a rail near the prow. She squinted and spied Carthalo on the horizon. The great city jutted into the Suttung Sea like a gigantic thumb.
“Many ships and merchants are bound for Carthalo,” Lord Uriah said, as he joined her at the rail. With the coming of night, the sea had become glassy-smooth. It allowed the bireme extra speed and they seemed to skim across the water.
“These ships carry the goods of the world,” Lord Uriah said, as if bemused. “They carry goods from Ir, Iddo, Caphtor and Elon, to say nothing of all the items produced within the bounds of the Suttung Sea.”
During her days in Poseidonis, Adah had grown accustomed to monumental architecture. But she’d never seen anything like Carthalo. Back then, she’d thought Atlas Harbor the busiest in the world. During the height of the summer-heat, barges had disgorged marble from mainland pits. And long lines of dejected slaves had marched off the cargo ships, heading in streaming lines to the furnaces, there to fuel the fires with their souls.