Tear Down Heaven: Urban Fantasy Action with Witches and Demons, page 31
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ADRIAN THOUGHT HE WAS braced for anything at this point, but the top of the stairs still took him by surprise. Given the beautifully carved cavern they’d just climbed out of, he’d expected a golden ziggurat or a long-lost temple of the gods. Maybe they’d step out into the ancient fields of Uruk or a palace floating in the sky. All kinds of wild imaginings had flitted through his mind’s eye as he climbed the narrow steps behind Bex, but when he finally stepped into the blinding light, what Adrian actually saw was desert.
He recoiled so fast that he almost slipped back down the stairs. The cavern let out into the center of a very black, very familiar desert. Black dunes of sin-iron dust rolled away in every direction like waves on the sea, making him instantly afraid for Boston. If touching the sin-iron chains had made him sick, a whole desert full of powderized particles might kill him in minutes.
For once, though, Gilgamesh’s dedication to artificiality seemed to be working in their favor. Despite the sea of sin iron that stretched out around them in all directions, the platform where the stairs came up was spotlessly clean. The black dunes came right up to the stone’s edge, but with no wind to push them around, the dust seemed to be staying in place. Boston certainly didn’t appear to be in distress. He’d already gone up on his hind legs, nearly falling off Adrian’s shoulder in his efforts to see more of what was hanging above them in the sky.
That part of the black desert was exactly as Adrian remembered. The sky overhead was as sunless and cloudless as ever, its pale-blue dome interrupted only by the crisscrossing lines of thousands of black chains that bound the gigantic wheel that spanned from horizon to horizon. If Adrian looked hard enough, he could actually see it straining against its shackles. No matter how hard it tried to turn, though, the wheel did not move.
Nothing here did. Bex had come out swords first, but as far as Adrian could see, there was no one to fight. The stone platform where the stairs came up—which was also the top of the cavern they’d just walked through—was quiet and still. There were no chains or golden war constructs or piles of quintessence. In fact, the only thing Adrian saw that wasn’t black dust or clean-swept stone was a large golden structure filled with corpses.
He knew that made no sense even as he thought it, but those were the only words that came to Adrian’s mind. Directly across the stone platform from where they’d come up was a wall fifty feet tall and at least a hundred feet wide made of gold-and-glass tanks. The tanks were stacked on top of each other in a neat grid, and each one was big enough to hold a fully-grown man. Adrian knew that last part for a fact, because that was what was inside them.
Through the tanks’ glass fronts, he could see rows and rows of young men floating in what appeared to be the glowing blue deathly water that Bex drank. They were all dressed in the same white-silk pajama-looking tunic and trousers that Adrian’s princess had always badgered him to wear. But while the men’s eyes were closed in what appeared to be merely sleep, not death, every one of them was injured. Seriously injured, as in missing limbs or sporting fist-sized holes through various important parts of their bodies. A disturbing number were even missing their heads, but what really creeped Adrian out was how much they looked like him.
Not exactly the same. He wasn’t looking at an army of clones, but the resemblance was still striking. Every one of the sleeping men had the same dark hair and olive skin that he did. Several also had his nose, shoulders, or feet. The genetics were all right there in front of him, but it still took Adrian an embarrassingly long time to reach the conclusion Bex had apparently figured out the moment she came up the stairs.
“Check out all the princes,” she said, carrying her swords over to the wall of tanks for a closer look. “I’ve never been good at telling them apart, but Drox is pretty sure those are all sons of Gilgamesh that I’ve killed in my past lives.”
“But why are they here?” Adrian asked as he ran nervously to join her. “I’d heard that Gilgamesh puts his damaged princes in something called the Sleep, but why’s he got them on display in the middle of a sin-iron desert?”
“And why are there so many?” Boston added, hooking his claws into Adrian’s shoulder as he leaned back to get a count. “Seven tanks tall by forty tanks wide is two hundred and eighty princes! I had no idea Gilgamesh had so many sons.”
“I’m more concerned that he’s displaying them in jars,” Adrian said with a shudder. “Even by Gilgamesh standards, that’s weird.”
“Super creepy,” Bex agreed, flexing her hand around the hilt of Ishtar’s sword. She did this a few more times, wiggling each finger individually like holding the weapon pained them, before finally giving up and sliding the divine blade back into the sheath on her hip.
“Let’s keep looking around,” she suggested, pulling Drox back into his ring as well as she turned away from the wall of bottled princes. “This is the top of Heaven and the place where all the chains connect, so Gilgamesh has got to be around here some—”
Her voice cut off. When Adrian’s head snapped over to see why, Bex was standing perfectly still with her foot raised like she was a video that had been paused midstep. He’d just grabbed her frozen shoulder to see what was wrong when a weight fell over his body.
It felt like he’d been trapped inside an invisible block of iron. He could still breathe, but no other part of him could move. He couldn’t even slide his eyes over to see if Boston was in the same predicament, though from the perfect silence on his shoulder, that seemed to be the case. He was wondering if they’d triggered some kind of automatic trap when Adrian heard the soft tap of a man’s footsteps walking over clean-swept stone.
“I was wondering when you’d show up.”
The voice was the exact one they’d come here to find, but Adrian still felt unaccountably surprised when Gilgamesh stepped around the wall of preserved princes and into his frozen line of sight.
He was dressed like Malik again. No golden armor or Crown of Anu on his brow, just a breezy natural linen shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, perfectly fitted blue jeans, a leather blacksmith’s apron, and comfortable-looking calfskin loafers. His scarred hands were decorated with ancient golden rings, but the rest of him looked like a wealthy retiree on vacation, and the more Adrian thought about that, the angrier he got.
“Don’t give me that look,” his father scolded, even though Adrian’s face was frozen and thus couldn’t look like anything. “I’m sure this isn’t the reunion you were hoping for, but I’m actually glad you’re here. Alexander was as loyal and competent a son as any father could ask, but between you and me, he could get a bit dull.”
He walked over to clap Adrian on the shoulder that wasn’t currently supporting a cat. “No one could ever say that about you, though! You’re always a surprise, Adrian Blackwood. A man my age needs those, so why don’t you come along and let me show you what I’ve been working on? I’d appreciate your unique perspective, and I’m sure the fabled Queen of Wrath won’t want to miss this.”
He reached out to pat Bex on the shoulder as well, and though she was still frozen, Adrian swore he saw her twitch. He half expected her to rip through whatever magic was holding them and bite Gilgamesh’s smirking head off. But whatever magic was holding them in place must have been a sort even the new Queen of All Demons couldn’t fight, because Bex didn’t even move her eyes to follow the king when he stepped away.
“I’ve prepared refreshments,” he announced as he walked back the way he’d come. “It’s a joyous day, after all, so come. Let me be your host one last time before the end.”
Gilgamesh flicked his scarred hand as he finished. There was no sorcery spoken, no flux of magic. He simply twitched his fingers, and Bex and Adrian with Boston still on his shoulder floated into the air, trailing behind the Eternal King like balloons as he led them around the glowing wall filled with his preserved sons to the other side of the stone platform.
This half was very different. When Adrian and Bex had first come up, the desert, chains, and tanks of sleeping princes were all they could see. Here on the other side of the wall, though, the swept-stone platform was covered in furniture. There was a golden table set with artful trays full of beautifully prepared food, a drink cart with tea, wine, and other refreshments, and what appeared to be a weapon forge made of the same black metal as Bex’s Drox.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” the king asked as he made his frozen guests sit down at the lavish table. “That forge belonged to Enki himself, you know. I salvaged it from his workshop on the banks of the River Lethe along with several other choice pieces, including that table. It used to be for etching, but as you know, I like to reuse things. I promise it’s clean.”
He beamed like he thought they actually cared about the hygiene status of the stolen table they were being forced to sit at with magic, and not for the first time, Adrian wondered if Gilgamesh might be mad.
“Go on,” the king said, waving his gold-ringed hand. “Eat! That spell only restrains threatening movements. It won’t stop you from enjoying hospitality, so please help yourselves. The food will go to waste if you don’t.”
The moment Gilgamesh said that, the magic freezing Adrian’s muscles went slack, allowing him to rest his arms on the table. Boston jumped off his shoulder a second later, shaking his fur like he’d just been dunked in water. Bex was the only one who didn’t move, probably because she’d never stopped contemplating violence. Her hands were under the table, but Adrian could see her arm moving one fraction of a millimeter at a time toward the sword on her hip. Actually reaching her blade would take a century at that rate, but Adrian decided to go ahead and stall for time, just in case.
“Thank you,” he said, reaching out to take a slice of quiche both to show that he wasn’t planning anything threatening and because the food really did look delicious. He hadn’t eaten anything since before he’d grown his tree, and he was starving. He was also reasonably certain Gilgamesh wouldn’t stoop to poisoning his guests, so Adrian went ahead and made himself a plate.
“May I ask you a question?” he said as he carefully spooned a serving of pâté onto a second golden plate for Boston.
“If you don’t mind me working while I answer,” Gilgamesh replied, walking back over to the forge, which shone with the brightness of a supernova when he opened the protective door. “I’m running slightly behind schedule.”
“I don’t mind at all,” Adrian said, which was one hundred percent true. If Gilgamesh hadn’t finished his plan yet, maybe there was still time to talk him out of it. “Earlier, you said this was a joyous day, but I don’t understand how you can call it that. You’ve lost three princes this afternoon, four if you count Leander’s defection. I know you don’t care much for the lives of your children, but—”
“Nonsense,” Gilgamesh countered. “I care deeply for all my sons. Your murderous queen there is the one who killed them, so if you’ve got complaints, take them up with her.”
“Bex had to defeat them to stop you,” Adrian told him angrily. “If you actually love your princes, why are you destroying the world they live in?”
“Destroying?” Gilgamesh repeated, closing the blinding forge before turning around to give him a puzzled look. “Adrian, just what is it exactly that you think I’m doing?”
The way he said that opened a yawning hole in Adrian’s stomach. “You’re… Aren’t you going to reset the world?”
“Reset the world?” his father repeated, his face splitting into a smile like that was the most absurd thing he’d ever heard. “No, no, no! It’s nothing like that. Honestly, Adrian, I thought you understood me better. You’ve seen my art and collections, all the beautiful things I value. I already lived through the Bronze Age once. Do you really think someone like me would roll the world back into that wretched darkness?”
Not when he put it that way.
“So you’re not going to reset the world?” Adrian confirmed.
“Absolutely not,” Gilgamesh said, walking back to the table to take a sip from his wine cup. “The gods are the only ones who benefit from a fearful and ignorant humanity. My views are the complete opposite. I’m a humanist, a proud defender of literacy and culture. Everything I’ve ever done has been for the preservation of mankind, not its ruination.”
“Then what are you doing?” Adrian demanded, losing his patience at last. “You dragged me into Heaven to fix the Queen of Pride’s horns then ignored me for an entire week. You worked Bex’s demons to death producing sin iron and tried to drown the entire Hells. You’d never waste resources like that unless you were working on something apocalyptic, but I don’t understand what. Why did you lock yourself up here? Why did you send all your sorcerers to attack the Blackwood? Why did you leave Alexander to fight to the death to keep us from reaching this place? Why?”
He was shouting by the end, but his father didn’t look offended. He actually looked delighted by all the questions, which made sense in hindsight. Even back when he’d been pretending to be Malik, there was nothing Gilgamesh seemed to enjoy more than talking about himself.
“Why indeed?” he replied gleefully as he walked over to the furnace. “There are five thousand years’ worth of answers to that question, but I think the easiest way would be just to show you.”
He stuck his hand inside the forge as he finished. Given the blasting heat Adrian could feel all the way back at the table, that looked like a quick way to lose an arm, but Gilgamesh must’ve had something shielding his bare hand, because his gold rings weren’t even warped when he pulled his arm back and held up a sword.
Again, that seemed like a terrible idea. Adrian had never been much of a blacksmith, but even he knew that superheated metal needed to be treated with the utmost care, not waved around. But even though it had just come out of a blazing furnace, the sword—which was long, slender, and white as snow—already looked finished. It had a guard and a hilt made from the same white metal as the blade, and its dual cutting edges were already sharpened to gleaming points.
Even its flat had already been decorated with motifs of rampant lions, which was just ridiculous. Again, Adrian was no swordsmith, but who put a fully finished blade back in the forge? He also didn’t understand what the sword was supposed to explain. Its decorated blade and hilt were fancier than the ones the princes used, but otherwise the white sword looked like just another Blade of Gilgamesh. He was trying to puzzle it out when Bex suddenly spoke beside him.
“What in the Hells did you do?”
Adrian glanced at her in surprise, and not just because she’d managed to stop wanting to kill Gilgamesh long enough to move her mouth. He was alarmed because Bex sounded horrified. His first thought was that she must’ve seen something in the sword that he didn’t, but when he looked harder at where her eyes were pointed, he realized she wasn’t looking at the blade at all. She was staring into the furnace the sword had come out of. The blazing white inferno, which, now that he was squinting at it as well, Adrian realized was fueled by a pile of severed women’s hands burning like charcoal briquettes at the very back.
“You monster!” Bex roared, jerking against the binding magic so hard she almost managed to knock herself out of her chair. “What did you do to my sisters?”
“Nothing, for once,” Gilgamesh replied calmly. “That is Enki’s forge, not Ishtar’s. Her daughters can’t affect it at all. Their swords, however...” He chuckled. “That’s another matter.”
He slid his white sword back into the glowing oven and tapped its point against a pile of dark objects sitting at the center. They were so small, and the light was so bright, Adrian didn’t realize what he was looking at until Gilgamesh actually pulled one out to show them a smoking black ring. The same sort of black ring Bex was currently wearing on her finger, except the one Gilgamesh had removed was cracked and burned like an old piece of scorched wood.
“Enki’s forges are powerful but finicky,” the king explained as he tossed the burned ring back inside the oven. “The only way to make them run properly is to fuel them with sparks of his own creation, which these days can only be found inside the rings of Ishtar’s daughters. Obviously, that makes forging anything using this setup a one-time affair, which is why I waited so long. I knew I’d only get one chance, so I had to make sure that it was perfect.”
“Perfect for what?” Adrian demanded. “Whose sword is that?”
“Mine,” Gilgamesh replied proudly, pointing the blade at Adrian so he could see its perfect straightness head-on. “What you are looking at is the ultimate pinnacle of sorcery. A divine weapon forged by human hands.”
“Okay, but don’t you already have plenty of divine weapons?” Adrian asked, taking great care not to look at the Sword of Ishtar on Bex’s hip.
“All except the Blade of Wrath,” Gilgamesh acknowledged, smiling at Bex, who growled inside the prison of his magic. “But although I did manage to make use of all of them eventually, they were never truly mine. My mortal soul simply could not unlock the full potential of weapons made for the gods’ divine creations. But a good engineer never accepts defeat gracefully. I knew how the weapons were made because Enki had described the process to me in detail back when I was his student. Not being a god myself, I was unable to duplicate his exact method, so I began to experiment. I made good progress in the beginning, but none of the materials I had access to were strong enough to withstand the forging process. Even sin iron fell apart when exposed to the raw powers of creation. I was starting to think the whole idea was hopeless, and then I found you.”
He waved his sword at Adrian, who winced.
“I told you when we talked in your forest that sin iron has always been an incomplete creation. To balance its formulation and bring out its true potential, I needed sins collected by all nine of Ishtar’s demons, and I only had access to eight. Seven, really, because while the sleeping pride demons were still technically able to collect sin, the power it should have contained was missing, a void just like their shattered queen.
