CITY OF THE GODS: FORGOTTEN (13 page)

At the largest of the altar fires, the oldest priest stood resolutely in defense. The beast pounced and shoved the man into the flames. Drawn to linger by the howls of the burning man, the creature casually rolled over both him and the fire, like a giant dog playing in the wet morning grass. The sacred flames were quenched by the creature’s impermeable hide and the stench of its burning hair was added to the miasma of blood and bowels and smoke. Axion fell to his knees, his torch forgotten now. Whimpering, frantically crawling away, he froze as the beast’s shadow fell over him. He heard the buzzards flapping and cawing, descending to share the feast.

*
       
*
       
*

“Look at them run,” Eros remarked. The orchard on the hill where he and Zephyrus had paused to rest in their hunt for Venus’ transgressor gave them a prime view of a well-traveled dirt road. Two centaurs were racing down it at top speed.

Zephyrus spit out a chunk of golden apple core. “I bet two tankards on the black one.”

“Wager taken.” Eros wondered why the centaurs were running. He knew Zephyrus didn’t. Most events were just random amusements to the winds, who believed themselves far removed from happenings on the ground below. But Eros considered things, and focused his attention on the horse-men to see what he could learn. “I sense no lust here. There’s no delectable virgin luring them to stampede.” He cocked his head, sifting through his impressions of the area. He ignored Zeph’s enthusiastic cheering as the black centaur surged ahead of his companion at a bend in the road. Eros looked to the horizon. “Can’t be fire. There’s no smoke.”

Zephyrus shrugged, looking forward to collecting his winnings. “That’s two you owe -”

“The sacred fires are out,” Eros interjected in alarm as he realized there
should
have been smoke. He sped down the hillside, his figure blurring to a smear of prismatic light darting from point to point as he exerted his supernatural speed.

“Welcher!”

Zephyrus roared after him, the limbs of the apple trees whipping from the force of his stormy passage, fruit raining from branches to roll downhill in a bouncing avalanche. A more powerful god than he, Eros was not one easily caught in such a race. However, Zephyrus thought fortune was with him when Eros suddenly stopped under an ornate iron gateway tipped with stylized flames. “A shrine? Fair enough. They should have some beer,” Zephyrus said as he caught up with him.

“It . . . was a shrine.” Eros put his hand on Zephyrus’s shoulder to keep his oblivious friend from stumbling into the disaster. Ahead of them, a jerking black mass covered the ground. A bloodied, featherless head poked out of it, turning an eye toward them as it tilted back to swallow a viscous tidbit.

“Vultures! What are they . . . “

“The priests,” Eros answered as the horror of the scene dawned on Zephyrus. Eros looked down and saw a small severed hand lying pale in the dirt. “The acolytes.”

A furious expression sprang across the wind’s visage. “Damned birds!”

Eros, irritated with his companion, gave him a slight shove back. “Don’t blame the vultures. This is their sacred grove. They’re cleansing it the only way they can.”

Leaving Zephyrus behind, Eros moved through the iron gate, stepping carefully around the feeding flock. As he made his way toward the central altar, he checked any points of possible shelter for survivors. The stone chambers once home to the priests had been tumbled from their foundations. Once-towering stacks of firewood lay scattered into random, teetering piles. Pausing by the shrine’s well, Eros called hopefully down into its dark depths, but not so much as a frog responded to his voice.

“Eros, here!”

Eros turned to find Zephyrus pointing to a line of damaged saplings and trampled brush. Red streaks of human blood painted their trunks and leaves. “The beast! I’m after it!”

“Wait.” Eros spun quickly and moved to intercept Zephyrus before he plunged headlong down the trail. “There is no one but us to report this desecration. You know the new laws. We have to go before the Council as witnesses.”

“Damn the laws, and damn Prometheus for going into hiding.” Zephyrus ran a hand through his disarranged hair, keeping his eyes trained on Eros’s face so he wouldn’t have to see the gore near his feet as he recalled the rules. When the realms declared peace and came together to create the City, laws were established to allow order to prevail. One of those decrees ruled that in the event a deity could not personally appear to avenge his followers, the first gods on the scene were bound to bring the matter before the Council. If Zephyrus and Eros ignored the edict, they would bear nearly as much responsibility for the massacre as whatever had caused it. “We’d better go.”

“And quickly,” Eros agreed. He’d be happy to buy Zephyrus those two mugs of ale he’d lost on the bet. He planned to drink at least twice that many himself to blur the memory of what they’d seen.

“I don’t know. He seems a bit scrawny to me,” said Namtar, the High Sulgi in the employ of Lamasthu at the Slavers’ Temple. “What do you expect me to pay?” He feigned disinterest in the young Egyptian he was being offered, wondering if his act was fooling Ptahetep. Ptahetep was a dark-skinned man with many short braids that came to just below the bottom of his ears.
 
He wore a gold headband with the symbol of his god, Set, in the center. A thin, white linen robe and a gold belt detailed with hieroglyphs covered his body.

“You know the value of such a young slave. He has many years of good use ahead of him and he’s in fine shape,” Ptahetep said with confidence, familiar with Namtar’s tactics. “You will pay two hundred and twenty-four gold.” Ptahetep held his ground, looking the hawk-headed Namtar right in his large, round, black eyes and ignoring the implied threat of his sharp, yellow beak.

Namtar needed no shirt, for his torso was covered with brown feathers. A gem-studded sash that crossed his chest and attached to a similar belt displayed his rank and rights as High Sulgi. The High Sulgi’s duty was to obtain the best servants for the use of the gods, all for the glory and honor of Lamasthu. In practice, this meant that Namtar was in charge of kidnapping anyone or anything that was not already bound to a god and then selling them to the highest bidders. Most of the profits kept the slave trade going. Lamasthu was given twenty-four percent of the gross, which she used for other even less savory endeavors.

Namtar folded his arms and turned his head at a slight angle. “I’ll give you forty gold for the boy,” he retorted, emitting a noise from his beak midway between a scoff and a humph.

”Surely you have more coin than that in your fine embroidered kilt! One hundred and twenty gold,” said Ptahetep.

“Seventy-two, or nothing,” said Namtar with an air of finality.

“Very well, High Sulgi, but know that Set will not be pleased,” Ptahetep said with a hint of resentment in his voice.

“I’m not here to please Set. My loyalty is to Lamasthu.” Namtar turned to a nearby servant, flexing the wings on his back as he closed the deal. “Pay seventy-two gold, and take the boy to the slave pens.”

As Namtar turned to go, he almost stepped on Mordecai who had inched close to Namtar’s legs in his eagerness to report his latest catch. “Master Namtar - upstairs, special!” Mordecai rasped in his strange wispy voice.

Namtar looked at the human-sized, misshapen creature. He tolerated Mordecai, who had been given to him by Lamasthu as a gift.
 
He had to admit that Mordecai was very good at finding and bringing him fresh slaves at very little cost. “Let’s see what you’ve found. It had better be good this time,” Namtar said, not entirely disguising the disgust that always rose in his craw when he looked upon the ugly creature.

“Mordecai do good, you see!” the bat-thing replied happily, as he escorted the High Sulgi to the room with the iron cage. The creature flapped up to crouch proudly on the top of the cage above its prey as Namtar examined the sleeping form inside.

“Very nice. Where did you get her?” Namtar asked, only half-interested in the answer.
 
He was far too busy admiring this latest acquisition.
 
She was a truly beautiful specimen. A flawless, perfect body, porcelain skin, hints of pink in all the right places, and that luxurious, golden hair that cascaded all the way down her back. Namtar picked up a knife, unlocked the cell door and entered.

“Found her in Asia realm. Don’t think she’s from there,” Mordecai said.

“Really? What clued you in?” Namtar responded sarcastically as he began cutting the clothing off the unconscious woman.

“Golden hair, High Sulgi. Don’t see much gold hair when I fly over Asia realm.”
 
Mordecai proudly replied, oblivious to its master’s derogatory tone.

“No, I suppose you don’t,” Namtar said distractedly as he sliced along the arm of the woman’s robe and pulled away the fabric. He was careful not to cut her; she would be more valuable if she was undamaged. After he had removed all her clothing, Namtar stood back to reassess his new-found treasure.
 

The girl lay face up, eyes closed. A calm, peaceful expression graced her heart-shaped face. One hand was draped across her chest and the other rested near her face, palm up. She had two soft, goblet shaped breasts with rose-tinted nipples, a tight, hour-glass waist, and beautiful hips. “Yes, she will bring an excellent price on the slave market,” Namtar said, leering at her. Then he noticed something odd. He hadn’t seen it at first, as there was so much of her beauty to take in, but this woman had no navel. He leaned in closer to get a better look. The indentation was definitely missing. “How very odd. What is she?” Namtar mused aloud.
 

“What odd?” Mordecai asked, worried that he had done something wrong. He didn’t like to displease his master. It would mean he would get yelled at and he hated to be yelled at. His large, fur-tufted ears were extremely sensitive to loud noises.

Namtar had all but forgotten that his servant was still there. “Hmm?
 
Oh, nothing, nothing. You are quite sure she was alone when you found her? No one saw you grab her or tried to stop you?” he asked, worried that this catch was too good to be true.

Mordecai answered quickly in its raspy voice, “No, no. She all alone. Walking down path, just her!”

“All right. I believe you Mordecai. You’ve done well.”
 
Namtar took a small bag of coins from his belt and tossed it to him. “Now go do whatever it is you do in your free time. I have to evaluate this new girl a bit more carefully,” Namtar finished.

“Thank you! Mordecai go fly now.” The bat creature backed away toward the open balcony and lurched off into the night sky, carrying the bag of coins with it.
  

Namtar turned back to his new prize. If she was missing a navel, there might be other defects. It was his duty to find out, and the job would pleasant to perform. He carefully verified that she had no brand of a Freeman on her arm, for if she did, she could not be enslaved. Encouraged when no mark was found, Namtar investigated her body completely. Her teeth were sound, her fingernails were neatly manicured. He was pretty sure she was a virgin. The price he could obtain for one as lovely as this girl would equal a prince’s ransom. He resisted the urge to take her while she slept.
 

Besides the lack of a navel, there was one other odd thing about this woman. She was too well groomed.
 
Her hair was untangled and clean, despite the fact that she had been grabbed by a giant filthy bat, carried miles through the air, and then dumped in a dirty cage. Her breath smelled pleasant and even the bottoms of her feet looked like they had never touched the ground. “No one looks this good,” Namtar muttered to himself.

He picked up a handful of dirt from the corner of the cage and held it over her smooth stomach. It trickled out of his hand onto the girl. The tiny rocks and dust merely rolled off her skin. Within a few seconds, there was no evidence that he had sprinkled anything on her, though he could see the grime on his own hand from when he had held it. This unusual trait caused Namtar to worry that she might be a goddess of some kind.

It was illegal to sell deities; the penalty was death. Any other sentient beings could be sold as long as they weren’t bound to a specific god or goddess. Luckily for Namtar, there was a test he could perform to keep him on the right side of this harsh law. He went over to a tall wooden cabinet and took out a dark, irregularly-shaped crystal. The Council issued these to all flesh merchants so that deities could be discerned from other beings. As he walked back to his captive, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had to use the crystal. If it changed color, Namtar would know by the shade and brightness if her sale was forbidden.
 
Using the crystal would also leave a record that he had checked her thoroughly in accordance with the law. Namtar passed it over her, his hand stopping briefly as he thought it dimly pulsed for just a second. But as he peered intently at the crystal, there was nothing more. Try as he might, he couldn’t get it to glow again.