Ark(18)
Japheth halted, his throat dry, memories assaulting him. “I vowed to kill myself, or get myself killed before I let that happen to me. He took me from the bunch of prisoners and tortured me for several hours . . . perhaps longer, I don’t know. I thought for sure he was going to violate me as he had so many others, and I think he meant to, eventually, but Emmen’s messenger arrived before he could get to me. The king had bartered for us: two thousand slaves, a thousand oxen, and some gold for all of the prisoners taken in the battle.”
Zidan interrupted, “Why would Emmen barter for a bunch of humans?”
“There weren’t many other humans among the prisoners; it was mostly Nephilim. One of Emmen’s sons, Dummuzi, was among the prisoners, and he had to get him back without giving away the fact that he was there. No one had noticed, I guess, because it was Dummuzi’s first battle, so he hadn’t made a name for himself yet, not like Kichu or Algar. Dummuzi was one of the poor bastards Sin-Iddim sodomized, and the boy has never been stable since. It turned him nasty, that experience, and I don’t blame him.
“That throne room was awful, Zidan. I thought perhaps I’d been killed after all and had been dragged down to Kur. Emmen keeps a clean court in comparison, I tell you. He kills and tortures, and perhaps tumbles a whore every now and then, but nothing like what went on in the court of Sin-Iddim. That demon sat on his throne the whole while, watching it happen and smiling like he found it delightful. I don’t know if Dummuzi ever told his father what happened—I’m not sure even Emmen would marry his daughter to that man if he knew what he was really like.”
Zidan looked pale. “I . . . I had no idea, Japheth.”
“I know you didn’t, Zidan. I don’t talk about it much, and now you know why. And you also know why I have to get her back, somehow.”
“It’s impossible, Japheth. She’s a queen now. She’s out of your reach, and there’s nothing you can do.” Zidan hauled Japheth to his feet. “Listen, I’ve got some work lined up. Come with me, and I’ll share the profit with you. It’ll be easy—we’re escorting a fat old cloth-seller to Ur. We’ll break a few heads on the way, find some whores in Ur, and you’ll forget all about this fancy Nephilim girl. I promise you.”
Japheth just laughed, a joyless bark of sarcasm. “Zidan, I’ll never forget her. I can’t. I’ve been trying.”
“You’ve been drinking yourself into a stupor, you idiot. That’s not forgetting. The only way to forget a woman is to live on and find another.”
“The wisdom of a lecher.”
“But I’m never heartsick, am I? Now come on. Urugan is waiting.”
Japheth hauled himself to his feet and followed after Zidan, his head throbbing and his heart cracked.
Urugan the cloth-seller was the fattest, shortest man Japheth had ever seen. Barely five feet tall, he was almost completely spherical, tottering about on stubby little legs, waving pudgy arms with busy, gold-ringed fingers. Porcine eyes and fleshy lips gave him the impression of weak-minded stupidity, but Urugan was a wealthy cloth-merchant and anything but stupid. He sat in a little two-wheeled wagon pulled by four large, braying onagers, popping dates in his mouth and shouting for the caravan to move faster—the customers in Ur were waiting. Japheth plodded on foot next to Urugan’s wagon, listening to the sweaty little man babble; he kept up a nonstop prattle like a child, commenting on everything he saw, speaking every thought that entered his head, and if Japheth tried to so much as respond, Urugan would throw a date at him.
Zidan had promised this trip would help him forget about Aresia but, so far, all it was doing was depressing him further. Mile after mile on foot, with nothing to do but think about her, remembering their nights together, remembering that last kiss, remembering the way she’d first approached him, swaying her hips, remembering the feel of her arms around him, her golden eyes inches from his as they moved together. Gods, the woman was beautiful . . . too beautiful for an ugly old sodomizing demon like Sin-Iddim. Too beautiful, too good, too kind. Sure she was a little arrogant, but what Nephilim wasn’t?
Descended from angels, they claimed to be, and it was possible. Stronger and taller than humans, and longer-lived by far, they were assuredly other-than-human. They ruled the cities, dominated over humans, swaggered like gods and took what they wanted. Unstoppable in battle and brutal in everything they did, the Nephilim indeed seemed like angels made flesh, gods clothed in vileness and evil and selfish conceit. Noah, Japheth’s father, claimed that one day Elohim, The One God, would get sick of watching the sins of his once-perfect creation and wipe them all out. Japheth wasn’t sure he believed in Elohim any longer, but if He did exist, Japheth earnestly hoped He would wipe out the Nephilim.
Ur was a huge, bustling place with a ziggurat on every corner, dedicated to every god, major and minor, that one could think of. Priests and acolytes shuffled by with their noses in the air, hands clasped importantly behind their backs, expressions of holiness and self-righteousness on their haughty faces. Worshippers ascended long stairways to the temple-tops, offering grain and gold and meat and slaves to the priests in return for blessings of a prosperous season or in propitiation for sins committed, or simply to appease the ever-hungry gods.
Barely-clothed prostitutes swayed up and down the streets, making eyes at any male they saw, offering days and nights of endless pleasure, lifting skirts and pulling aside bodices to display their wares. Guards from the palace patrolled the streets, clashing and scuffling on occasion with temple guards and mercenaries like Zidan and Japheth.