The Wayward Godking (39 page)

“Oh?” Lucio’s eyes widened. “What can I do, Lucia? I am only a man. Anu brought me here. How can I go after him? He is a god.”

“Well spoken and so very wise,” Barshak agreed as he straightened a painting that hung askew on the wall. “Anu would not look kindly upon interference from mortals.”

“My father is not mortal!” She snapped at him.

“Well, that remains to be seen, young tigress.” Barshak smiled slightly and stepped down into the bed where Luke lay, and began to straighten the covers and plump the pillows. “I must be off. Destiny calls and I am no longer needed here.”

“Where are you going?!” Lucio asked as Barshak turned to leave them. “You haven’t dusted the lampshades!”

“I am going to the Queen’s gathering,” he said over his shoulder. “I expect that is where I shall find my master. It is time to go home. I have enjoyed my stay, but I shall miss my dark princess.”

“Wait!” Lucia ran after him. “Take us with you! We must find this Anu again. Do you think he would go to the Queen’s gathering as you call it?”

“I should think he may very well go there, himself,” Barshak nodded as he walked along the corridor. “She is, after all, his daughter.”

((((((((((((()))))))))))))

Despite the Queen’s every attempt to break up the fight, the brawl kept escalating as more and more people found their way into the fray. With the stinging clarity of hindsight, she realized that she had built the meadow too close to home. She had not thought such a thing as this could happen. She followed after Marduk and Mark Andrew relentlessly, imploring them to cease and desist. All around her flowed a seething crowd of Knights, elves, Boggans and clurichauns bent on ‘helping’. Nergal was on her heels, pleading with her to come away and let them kill each other. His attempt to stop them had been in vain. Zaguri lay in pieces on the floor of the chamber where Mark’s blade had shown no mercy and Marduk was appalled that Mark had killed one of his servants. The situation was intolerable. Even the Queen’s great power could not stop them. The two immortals hacked away at each other in complete oblivion to all else around them. They had destroyed the Queen’s crystal flower garden and her bed, trampled poor Abaddon and frightened Inanna completely out of the chamber. The noise of the combat had even awakened Simon who stood between his sons on top of the ledge, watching the proceedings in horror while his grandsons and Barry of Sussex tried to free Edgard from the Queen’s fiery cauldron.

Mark Andrew fell against a formation of translucent boulders and rolled aside as Marduk’s blade clanged on the stone next to his head. He pushed himself up quickly and stepped up onto the rocks to gain the advantage of height. Water dripped from high in the caverns onto his head, plastering his hair to his scalp. He’d lost his shirt somewhere in the fight and now stood looking down at his old enemy from atop the pile. A silvery light permeated the misty water fall and gave his silhouette a surrealistic quality, leaving his face in darkness as he swayed slightly back and forth, looking for the best opportunity to strike another blow.

Marduk backed away a step or two and stopped, frowning at the unnatural scene that somehow seemed to give Mark the advantage, as if the gods were favoring him. The wet stones under his feet were slick. They’d fought their way around the chamber until they’d come to the small room that Ereshkigal whimsically called her bath. It was nothing more than a natural cleft in the rock eroded by eons of water flowing down from above. It was filled with fanciful formations, stalagmites and stalactites in a multitude of colors. They were very close to the surface here and could almost smell the salt spray from the ocean. The constant sound of the pounding surf echoed eerily down the chute from above.

Mark instinctively curled his free hand and motioned for the Lord of the Sixth Gate to step closer.

“Come on over here,” he said in a low voice. “Come and finish this. I’m tired of you.”

Marduk had no intention of following Adar’s instructions. He looked for some way to get within striking range without losing his head. As it was, they could stay in these positions forever to no avail. Outside the enclosure, a throng gathered behind the Queen as she continued to shout at them to lay down their arms and come out.

“Come down here, my friend,” Marduk tapped the floor with the tip of his silver blade. “Stop this cowardly nonsense and come down here where we may meet face to face. I will be glad to end this thing for you.”

Ereshkigal shouted once more for them to come out and then turned to make her way back through the crowd in disgust. She picked up her skirts and leapt here and there amidst the broken stones, making her way to the ledge where Simon waited with Reuben, Simeon and Lydia.

“Healer!” she shouted to him as she approached. “Come with me! Quickly!”

The elder d’Ornan brothers helped their father down the ramp and into a small passage lit by an orange glow. Lydia stopped at the entrance, afraid to enter, but they continued on and were soon out of sight in spite of Simon’s wife’s pleas for them not to go.

The Queen stopped in front of narrow crack and took hold of Simon’s arm.

“I will take him from here,” she told his sons. “Wait for us. This won’t take long.”

Simon breathlessly nodded his willingness to accompany her to his sons. He could barely breathe this close to the Queen. His hands and ankles were covered with blood now as the stigmata returned worse than ever. It was only the second time since his suicide that the affliction had bothered him. She virtually dragged him into the crack that seemed ready to close on them at any moment. Just when he thought he would faint from claustrophobia, they emerged into a larger compartment.

The Healer gasped again as he focused on the vast array of treasure in the tiny enclosure. The Queen’s horde. Any dragon would have been pea green with envy. When his eyes fell on the Ark of the Covenant sitting near one side of the pile, he clasped his hands over his eyes and cried out in terror. The lid was thrown back and the golden cherubim hung sideways above the Mercy Seat. He stumbled backwards frantically, but the Queen jerked his hands from his face and held him in place.

“Stop!” she shouted in his face. “It’s all right. There is nothing to harm you here.”

“The Ark!” he shouted and refused to open his eyes. “I can’t touch it. I’m not consecrated. It will kill me!”

“No it won’t,” she told him and dragged him forward. “Trust me.”

Simon drew a ragged breath and opened his eyes. He stood directly over the golden box. His chest constricted in fear, and he tried to run again, but Ereshkigal would not let him move.

“Look it in, Healer,” she whispered in his ear from behind him. “Look inside the Ark of your forefathers and see that their god has abandoned them.”

Simon could hear his own heart beating in his chest as he peeked over the edge of the box. At first, it seemed empty and then he realized that it was an illusion. In the bottom of the box, nestled in a lambskin were two stone tablets, mercifully he saw no engraving on them. In one corner, another bundle wrapped in a colorful lamb’s wool blanket, lay atop the stone tablets and across the stones at an angle, was a wooden staff.

The Healer could not speak.

“I opened it, Simon,” she told him in the same alluring whisper. Her voice was like silk and honey in his ear. “I took out the staff. I tasted the manna from the golden pot. I read the words of your god, and I still live.”

“You are not human,” he told her pitifully when he found his voice. “You have defiled the Ark of my fathers.”

“Defiled?” She laughed softly, but did not let go of him. “This may be the Ark of
your
fathers, Simon, but these tablets are the work of
my
father. Inscribed with the ten simple laws he gave to your people that they might become civilized men instead of barbaric creatures groveling in the dust. And yet, they could not obey ten simple rules. Again and again they turned away from him. Does it surprise you he would abandon you?”

“No!” Simon closed his eyes as she reached around him and took out the rod of Aaron from the Ark.

“Take it!” she thrust the staff in his hands. “Take it and go back to the time of your forefathers, Healer. Take it and stop this nonsense. The power of Anu is in your hands. Your blood reddens the staff and empowers it with the blood of your people. Bloodshed for Anu and the laws he gave you. Stop them before it is too late.”

“Why? Why me?” Simon looked up at her. “Why should I stop them?”

“Because it would please my father.” She smiled at him slightly.

“Why can’t you do it?” he asked and tried to hand the staff to her.

“Because I am not a Child of Israel. I can’t use the damned thing!”

“Release my father. He is better equipped than I.”

“Nay, he is not a child of Israel.”

“But he was Solomon the Wise.”

“Nay, he used Solomon the Wise when Solomon fell from grace and worshipped Nebo on the altars of his wives. Your lineage comes down to you through your mother. You are a son of Israel. A priest of the line of Aaron, the Levite. The staff is yours. Look at it.”

Simon’s eyes widened as he beheld the smooth wood he held in his hand. It was not over long, but more like a quarterstaff or a cudgel than a walking stick. As he watched, buds appeared along its length and tiny leaves sprouted before his very eyes. In spite of his fear and his trembling hands and his faint heart, he smiled.

“Go ahead,” she whispered. “Try it.”

Simon raised the rod over his head and then cast it suddenly upon the pile of sparkling gold and silver coins lying at his feet. The rod struck the ground and then began to move, transforming itself into a serpent with glistening scales of bright red. He tried again to break the Queen’s hold on him in order to flee from the writhing snake at his feet. The serpent twisted and turned and attempted to strike at his boots.

“Take it up, Simon of Grenoble,” she told him. “Take it up by its tail. It cannot harm you. It is here by your command. You
are
the Master.”

Simon reached slowly for the snake’s tail, and then grasped it suddenly, closing his eyes and expecting to feel the sting of its fangs in his flesh. When he ventured to look again, the snake was gone and the budding staff was in his hand.

“Now go and stop this madness before everything is ruined,” she shoved him slightly toward the cleft in the rocks.

Simon nodded as if to reassure himself, and then pushed his way quickly back through the narrow crevice toward the echoing sounds of clashing blades and shouts and grunts.

Halfway up the corridor he was stopped in his tracks by a lone figure, tall and commanding of bearing, dressed in a silvery robe, adorned with gold and silver armbands, belts and necklaces. Precious gems sparkled on his fingers and intricate silver earrings hung from his ears. His hair was long, falling down over his shoulders and he stood arms akimbo in the center of the passage, blocking Simon’s advance. His face was in darkness, but the form was familiar enough.

The Healer frowned and drew up short. His sons had disappeared.

“So you’ve come to your senses?” Simon asked him, mistaking the father for the son.

“Something like that,” Anu answered him and then stepped into the light. He bent over the shorter man and looked into his eyes. “Ahhh, yes. Very good. Very good, indeed.”

“I’m sorry, Your Grace,” Simon backed up instinctively and bumped into the Queen.

“Father,” she spoke up quickly. “The Healer is going to put a stop to this nonsense. I don’t know what’s come over them. I hope you won’t blame
me
for this insanity. You know that Lord Marduk and Lord Adar have never been very close.”

“They seem to be close at the moment… quite close indeed,” he added as more shouts went up behind him and several clangs echoed down the passageway. “I’m afraid your party will have to wait, my daughter. One of the Healer’s old friends is in serious trouble in the overworld and it is time to begin the new era.”

“
Pardonne moi
,” Simon’s voice was a bare whisper.

“The good priest, Paolo Gambrelli… you have heard of him, have you not?” Anu narrowed his eyes.

“He is not my friend,” Simon told him abruptly. “I haven’t seen him in ages and our last meeting was a bit less than cordial. He is ambitious and avaricious. His own greed has gobbled him up. He can rot in perdition for all I care.”

“Now, now, my son,” Anu said and wrapped one arm around the smaller man’s shoulders and turned him toward another, darker passage. “That is not a very Christian thing to say.”

“I don’t feel very Christian today, sir,” Simon admitted as they walked along, away from the Queen.

“These things come and go.” Anu shrugged and waved one hand behind him. The Queen was unable to follow them. She stamped her foot in frustration, and then stampeded down the corridor toward her ruined boudoir, shouting at the top of her lungs for Plotius.

“I am unworthy of this staff, Your Grace,” Simon looked down at the rod in his hands. “I constantly fall short of the glory of God.”

“As do we all,” Anu commiserated with him. “Sometimes I wonder why we carry on, year after year, eon after eon, but it is what the Father wishes and who can go against the wishes of the Father? You are no more, nor less than any other of your kind, Simon. This Paolo fellow… you don’t believe that he can be converted? Do you believe that he is lost? That he is a hopeless case?”