Ark(26)

Japheth’s blood boiled, and rage tightened his grip on the short sword. Before Zidan could stop him, Japheth was skulking behind the evil priest. The priest was oblivious to Japheth’s presence behind him until it was too late. Japheth lunged like a pouncing lion, one hand clamping around the priest’s mouth, the short sword lifting to press against his jowled throat.

“Where are your false gods now, priest?” Japheth rasped. The priest grunted and thrashed, but Japheth was far more powerful than the spent old Nephilim. Japheth dragged sharpened iron across papery flesh, holding Mesh-te still until his flailing stopped. Japheth dropped the corpse to the floor and rejoined Zidan in the main hallway, the entire process having taken less than a minute.

“Feel better?” Zidan asked.

Japheth watched blood drip from the tip of his sword. “No, but it’s a start.”

Zidan only snorted in reply.

Outside the temple, the city was sleeping, dark and quiet and moonlit. Japheth noticed for the first time Zidan’s temple-guard uniform, which explained how they’d managed to walk out without trouble. Zidan was hurrying Japheth down the ziggurat steps and onto the main thoroughfare, getting them as far away from the temple as possible. Mesh-te’s body would be discovered soon, and the farther away Zidan and Japheth were, the better. They rounded a corner and Zidan paused to discard the temple-guard uniform, keeping the spear, a rectangular shield, and a breastplate, which he gave to Japheth.

“Now what?” Japheth asked.

“Now we rejoin the fat little merchant and go back to Bad-Tibira with the sunrise.”

Japheth finished buckling the breastplate and leaned back against the wall, suddenly tired as the adrenaline left him. “For you, maybe.”

Zidan shook his head, yanked Japheth back into a fast walk. “Boy, you are a bigger fool than I thought. You cannot honestly think you can rescue your Nephilim princess, do you? She’s a queen, now! And not just any queen, but Sin-Iddim’s queen. You fought against the old demon—you know the kind of forces he’s got. What do you think you could do alone against an army?”

Zidan shoved Japheth against the wall and held him there by the throat, fury in his eyes.

“I did not save you from that gods-damned priest to have you throw your life away for a Nephilim, whether she’s a princess, a queen, or a commoner,” Zidan said. “She’s gone, Japheth! There’s nothing you can do.”

Japheth slapped Zidan’s hand away, then slammed the butt of the spear into the dust, cursing. “Don’t you think I know that? You think I meant to fall in love with a Nephilim girl? Gods . . . I thought I’d tumble her a time or two, and she’d be gone. I killed for her, and I would again. If I have to, I will wade through a river of corpses to get to her.”

Zidan was silent for once, seeing the dangerous light in Japheth’s eyes. Knowing he had no other choice, he stepped aside and let Japheth go and meet his fate.



Larsa seemed small and shabby compared to the mammoth grandeur of Ur. Zidan had given him some coin, and Japheth had spent a few nights in an inn regaining his strength and then had joined a caravan heading to Larsa. He had no real plan, only an unformed notion of trying to get close enough to Sin-Iddim to try and kill him. It was a suicide mission, but it was all he could think of. He’d heard rumors of war in the inn’s common room and the other guards in the caravan confirmed that Ur had indeed sent an army against Uruk. That didn’t necessarily mean Larsa would get involved, but even being in the same city meant he might be able to formulate some sort of plan. And, if nothing else, joining the Larsan army meant work, which meant a distraction.

So, as the caravan approached the walls of Larsa, Japheth took his leave of the caravan and found the gate captain.

Japheth rattled the hilt of the second-hand short sword in its scabbard at his right hip, wishing for the thousandth time he had his sappara back, but wishes were futile, so he had to content himself with promises to buy one as soon as he could. Short swords and spears were fine, but they didn’t suit him, not like the sappara.

A brawny Nephilim gate-captain stopped Japheth with a lowered spear. “What’s your business?”

“I’m here to join the King’s army,” Japheth replied.

“Have you fought before, little man?” The gate-captain was easily three feet taller than Japheth, with arms thicker than Japheth’s waist.

“I’ve fought for Bad-Tibira, Uruk, and Kutallu,” Japheth answered, truthfully.

“A mercenary,” the Nephilim spat the word like a curse. “Well, I know His Majesty always needs bodies to fill the front ranks, and I suppose you’ll do. Ask for Ulun at the barracks, down that way.” The guard jerked a thumb to show the direction meant.

Japheth nodded and set off.

Aresia was lost to him and, as Zidan had told him countless times, there was no way to get her back. He hadn’t been home in more than seven years, and he doubted his family even thought of him anymore. He could admit to himself that there had been a few times when he’d considered returning home, especially when work was scarce and his belly empty. But even the desire to see his beloved mother, Zara, was not enough for him to stomach the idea of groveling before Noah the righteous, Noah the unbendable.

Japheth did miss his mother though. She’d always been the one to soften Noah’s harsh and unforgiving ways, and although she never subverted her husband, she always managed to find ways around his dictatorial edicts and immovable morals; Zara was kind and sweet, and still beautiful despite her age.