Reign of the Rebel, Chapter 4 (of 4)

The following is a sample from a forthcoming novel by Alexander Lawrence. If you like what you read, please visit the Kickstarter campaign for Reign of the Rebel.

The first four chapters are also available in audio format at https://soundcloud.com/user-243061771/reign-of-the-rebel-chapters-1-4

Click here if you missed chapter three.

CHAPTER FOUR: DAWN OF TERROR

Nine months later

1633 Anno Mundi

The dream acquainted him with terror.

Abel, son of Indubar, woke up abruptly, joints locked, limbs shaking with adrenaline. His mouth was open wide in a silent gasp, but he had taken in no air. Salty sweat stung his eyes and dampened his whole body, as well as the sleeping mat beneath him.

All he could see in the dim light of the hut was the underside of the reed roof. It was a familiar sight, but it brought no comfort, for Abel’s inner vision still displayed the afterimage of the nightmare. He still heard echoes of his father’s scream, still saw his look of agony as he grasped the shaft of the weapon that had been shoved through his chest. The dark countenance of his father’s murderer burned itself into the boy’s memory as the afterimage faded.

The paralyzing tension within Abel suddenly released, and he inhaled, a short, deep breath, like a man who comes up for air after too long submerged. Then he cried. He cried great, heaving sobs as he scrambled to his feet and ran outside into the dawn light to escape the dream.

Abel had never seen one man kill another. He had never heard of war, or imagined it. He knew nothing of those things, and the lack of understanding made the fear of what he had just witnessed all the worse. He had no recourse but to find his family and get their assurance that the nightmare was a fantasy only, or a lie, the work of one of the Lilin demons, perhaps.

Squinting against the sun’s morning rays, Abel frantically scanned the homestead in search of his parents. He spotted his sister, Aya, beneath the nearest cluster of spreading poplars. She was seated on the milking stump, doing just that—milking one of the goats. His father and brother were nowhere to be found, but after clearing away some of the tears with his palms, Abel was able to see his mother picking pistachios in the distance.

Abel dashed to his mother’s side. He buried his face in her skirt and continued to cry.

The boy’s mother, Natori, knelt and put down her basket to embrace her son. “Abel, what is it? What’s happened?”

He answered her, but all she could make out amid the sobs were the words “my dream.”

“Did you have a nightmare?” said Natori as she stroked his matted hair. “It’s okay now… it’s okay. Peace. Breathe slowly and tell me what frightened you.” He tried to do as she asked, and the sobs lessened to whimpering.

“I, I saw Appa…” stammered Abel. “I saw him fall down dead because… because a man with horns put a spear through him.”

“Oh, Cricket,” she said, using his nickname, “that’s a terrible dream. No wonder you’re upset. Banish it from your mind!”

“He was bleeding a lot,” he remembered, beginning to cry anew. Now the words rushed out. “We were all there, you and Aya and Niqpa, and we couldn’t do anything. We couldn’t stop it. He bled and died, and you were holding him. I don’t want Appa to die, Mamma!”

She hugged him tightly. “He won’t die.”

Just then his father and brother came from the river valley hauling the day’s supply of water. They detoured from their path when they heard Abel’s laments, and approached with concern on their faces.

“What’s wrong with Abel?” asked Niqpa as he and his father set down the water skins.

“A bad dream awoke him,” said Natori to her eldest. She related the little that Abel had told her about it.

Indubar scooped up his son and held him so that their eyes were level. “Stop that now, Abel,” he instructed gently. “It was only a dream, however scary. Just imaginings and not real.”

“Yes, Appa,” Abel said, working to plug up his tears.

Natori untied the goat-hair ribbon from the end of her braid and handed it to her husband. He used it to dab at the boy’s wet cheeks. “I know why you had this dream,” his father told him. “It’s because you went hunting with me and the other men for the first time this year. You watched us spear the bison, and you saw the horns on the beasts and how dangerous they are. That was only two phases ago.”

“But it seemed very real, Appa. Not like other dreams.”

“Fearful dreams are sometimes the most lifelike kind. Maybe it’s because we have strong instincts to survive and be safe. That makes sense, don’t you think?”

Abel nodded and looked down solemnly.

Indubar shifted Abel in his arms and made an exaggerated grunt. “Oi! I must put you down this instant, or I won’t be able to use my arms for the rest of the day. You’re far too big now! I thought crickets were supposed to be small and light.”

That made Abel laugh a little. He was getting big, that was true, but it was funny because Indubar was strong from working with metals at the smelting pits every day. A boy of eight summers weighed little compared to the crates of copper ore that came down the Euphrates river from the Taurus mining settlement to their village of Mari.

Natori picked up her basket of pistachios, Indubar his water skins, and they all headed for the huts. Having finished with the goat, Aya came over to them right as Natori said, “I think some comforting food is in order. I could make a sandgrouse soup for breakfast. How does that sound?”

“Wonderful!” blurted Aya. Then her face lost its enthusiasm as she remembered her manners. “I mean, may I also have some, please?”

Natori chuckled. “Of course you can. I meant it for everyone.”

“You should also eat well this morning,” Indubar told Niqpa. “We have a long day’s work ahead of us.”

There had been no shipment of copper ore recently, so Indubar could focus on farm tasks instead of going to the pits. Niqpa, being four years older than Abel, was expected to help with much of the work around the homestead. Currently, he and Indubar were constructing a permanent dwelling to replace the reed huts. They baked mud bricks for the walls and coated them in plaster. Abel was excited to live in it once it was finished, but the house was only half-way done, and that half had seemed to take ages, so his excitement had cooled to a simmer. He did sometimes shape mud-bricks for his father, hoping to speed up the construction process, but that was only when he wasn’t off playing or doing things for his mother. She always had plenty of tasks for him. Not as many tasks as his parents had for Niqpa and Aya, though, and for that Abel was as grateful as a young boy knew how to be.

Natori gave Abel a kiss on the head and set about making breakfast, boiling the fowl with onions and leeks in sour goat milk. To pass the time, Abel quietly followed after his sister as she collected dung left by the sheep and goats. The family used the dry manure in combination with sagebrush to cook food and warm themselves at night, so gathering the fuel was a nearly daily chore for the women. Abel kindly held a basket for Aya while she scooped up the droppings with an old, bleached shoulder blade. He made no conversation, though, only stared at the dirt or out at the blank horizon.

The boy was usually quite boisterous in the mornings, almost annoyingly so, and to see him out of character saddened Aya. To fend off the melancholy, she took to singing. She sang a simple, happy tune that a neighbor’s wife had dreamed up last winter when the women of Mari sat together in the long house making sandals. Aya had a lovely voice, and her use of it lightened the mood.

Breakfast was ready before long, and, as his mother had promised, eating a bowl of her delicious sandgrouse soup worked wonders. By the time he had finished the meal, Abel was back to his normal self, chatting with his family about nothing in particular, making meaningless noises to himself whenever the conversation lulled.

After breakfast, the day proceeded like most any day. The sun was well-mannered and the spring weather as fine one could hope for, and Abel joined up with other village boys to play along the banks of the Euphrates. For a while they occupied themselves searching for the special, flaking kinds of stones that the adults could use to make knives and axes.

It was the time of year when turtledoves arrived in droves to gather in the trees along the river, as they did also in Autumn. The boys took advantage of the opportunity by bringing out their slings and competing to see who could bring down the most birds. Some of the boys, including Abel, scored more than a few birds; others bagged only one or two, and that by luck owing to the sheer number of targets. Only a single child, the youngest of the group, failed to bring down any doves whatsoever. Abel saw the disappointment on his friend’s face, and he felt sympathy. His conscience moved him to share, so he reached into his leather bag and handed over a bird from the top of the pile.

As soon as he had done it, something shot up out of the bag in a flurry of white feathers, striking Abel in the face before ascending swiftly out of reach. The bag dropped from his hands and he staggered back with a look of complete shock. For a second, no one made a sound or even breathed, but the silence was broken as, all at once, the boys burst into laughter. Evidently one of Abel’s prizes had not been dead, but stunned only, and had gotten its revenge on its persecutor. The hysterical laughter at Abel’s expense put them all on their backs, and he himself bellowed the hardest.

Eventually everyone left the river valley together, tittering and skipping, happy with their lot, for there was honor to be had in returning home with any number of animals—whether many or few—for the family to use.

It was midday as the young men walked across the flood plain, toward the village. And it was midday when the strangers arrived.

===

When Abel found them, Indubar and Niqpa were sitting in the shade, refreshing themselves with water and berries. They were both sweaty from working on the house, and tired enough to nap, for their eyelids drooped even as they ate. Abel’s sudden appearance from beyond a half-finished wall startled them out of their languid state.

“Appa!” said Abel, pointing to the east, the direction from which he’d come. “A bunch of men are coming on donkeys. I saw them.”

Indubar put down his cup of water. “What did they look like?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I couldn’t really tell, because they were too far away, but some of them looked very dark. Their skin was darker than normal.”

“It’s too soon for the caravan from Rapiqum, and none of those people are dark.”

The village of Rapiqum, like Mari, sat along the Euphrates river, but further southeast. The men of that village always came to trade at the tail end of both Spring and Autumn, after the harvests. It had been so for as long as Abel could remember, and even after the confusion of tongues, Rapiqum had still sent men to barter. Without shared words it had been difficult to trade, but not impossible.

“It could be Hamites,”, Indubar added, thinking of the black-skinned son of Noah.

“Perhaps they’re from Babili,” offered Niqpa.

“Or one of the new settlements I assume have sprung up since the Tower fell, yes.” Indubar popped a last berry into his mouth and got to his feet. “We’d better go greet these—”

But he did not finish his words, for just then, a woman screamed. They looked toward the sound but could see nothing. Even though the land was flat, several dwellings and bushes stood in the way.

“What was that?” asked Niqpa.

Indubar’s face went tense. “I don’t know,” he said.

“What if they’re bad men?” Abel asked his father.

“I’m going to go find out,” Indubar told him. “Stay with your brother. Niqpa, get everyone into the hut. And take up one of the spears.”

“A spear?” he asked. But the unspoken question was, Will I need to use it on a person?

Indubar was already moving away from them. “Go, son,” he replied over his shoulder.

Abel followed Niqpa toward the hut, but looked back thrice to watch his father recede with quick, long strides, then disappear behind the neighbor’s houses. Worry clawed at Abel like a thorny bramble. He didn’t want his father to go, but he had no say in it, so he stayed silent.

“Mother, Aya, please go inside,” Niqpa said from a distance. “Father wants us all out of sight.”

Abel could see as he approached their work area that Natori and Aya had been grinding grain before the scream; half-crushed heads of barley filled the wide grooves of the stones they used for mortars. But now they were on their feet, looking uncertain, their pestles abandoned as they stared in the direction that Indubar had gone.

There was another scream, accompanied by shouts from angry men. Abel felt his pulse quicken, and Aya stifled sudden tears. Natori ushered them both into the large hut that was their home, while Niqpa went to the smaller hut that the family used for storage.

“Niqpa, where are you going?” Natori said, stress evident in her voice.

“I’ll be right back. Father said to get a spear.”

“Hurry!”

Niqpa did hurry, and soon entered through the hanging animal skins that served them for a door. As soon as he joined them, Niqpa turned, putting the family at his back, and held the shaved tip of his weapon towards the door. Abel could see his brother shaking. Then he looked down at his own hands and realized that he also shook. As much as he wanted to be brave, the tears came back unbidden.

“Niqpa, don’t stab your father if he enters,” Natori warned.

The boy nodded, said, “Yes, Imma.”

Natori grabbed up a femur bone which had been shaped on one end for use as a ladle, and she gripped it hard, like Niqpa was gripping the spear. She stood beside her eldest, facing the door, ready to throttle anything unwelcome that came in. “Get back, children,” she said with a wave of her hand.

Abel and Aya moved to the far end of the hut, which was not far.

“What’s happening? Does someone want to hurt us?” Aya asked in a shaky voice.

“I don’t know,” answered Natori. “Hush, now, stay quiet.”

Aya wrapped her arms around Abel, and they both tried their best to keep to soft whimpers. They waited, motionless, for what seemed many minutes, but was in reality not half that long. Then they heard the thudding of running feet coming their way, stopping just outside the hut. No one breathed.

A hand pulled aside the hide, and a man looked in. Though the light was at his back, they immediately recognized him as their father. Relieved, everyone sighed together.

“Come out quickly,” he said. “We’re in danger.”

Lowering weapons, they filed out, asking questions over each other.

“Strangers are attacking the village,” Indubar explained, “and we need to get away as fast as we can.” As he spoke, he walked swiftly to the storage hut, and the others moved with him.

“How?” asked Natori. “Which direction is safest?”

“These men have mounts. We can’t just flee onto the plains. They’ll ride us down.” Indubar ducked inside and emerged with the family’s hunting bow, and a quiver of arrows. “But if we get to the boats, we can escape by river.”

“No one is upon us yet,” objected Natori, looking around. “If we run south now, maybe they’ll be preoccupied.”

Indubar shook his head. “Maybe, but there’s no time to argue about it.” And with that, he began to run.

Abel heard the conversation between his parents, but it barely registered. A mild shock had overcome him as his young mind struggled to understand not only why this frightening thing was happening, but how he could have known about it beforehand. He was sure, somehow, that this attack was what the dream foretold. Did that mean his father was going to die today? Was it something that could happen, or that would happen?

“We don’t have our things!” Aya cried after her father.

Indubar paused to look at her and make a sweeping motion. “Forget them, we’ll come back later. Let’s go!”

Everyone moved; they did as they were told because they had to. Together, they put the homestead behind them and rushed with all speed westward, away from the invading force. They kept to the outskirts of the village, the dwellings and gathering-places all a stone’s throw to their right. Eventually they would turn north, Father said, and make for the place on the riverbank where two basket-shaped boats were kept.

They ran through a long stretch of rough grass, around a copse of short oaks, and across a plot of unharvested peas that belonged to a man named Eli. The wind was at their backs, speeding them along. The children could not race nearly as fast as the adults, who slowed their own pace accordingly, but even so, motivated by fear, the group covered ground quickly. They crossed a third homestead, passing through a herd of grazing sheep and onto a freshly threshed field.

It was then that a rider appeared at some distance to their right flank. His upper half was naked but for a thick necklace, and only a leather loincloth adorned his lower half. Though he was not old, his head was hairless. Neither was his face encumbered of hair, for he was shaved clean. If not for the fan of hair on his chest, Abel thought, he would have looked like a muscular baby.

The bald rider saw Indubar’s family and started toward them, but stopped when Yadiv the Tanner emerged from his hut to see what was astir. Yadiv asked the stranger something and received no reply. The man just stared, assessing him. Yadiv was unable to see that the mounted invader held a stone mace at his hip on the side which faced away.

Perceiving the danger, Indubar came to an abrupt halt, and his family did likewise.

“Yadiv! He’s an enemy!” yelled Indubar in the hopes of helping his clansman avoid harm. All that the warning accomplished, however, was to make Yadiv turn his eyes curiously to the family, at which moment the invader stepped his donkey closer to the tanner and swung at him with the mace. The blow struck Yadiv in the temple and easily toppled him. The unsuspecting villager landed hard and moved no more. Aya screamed, and Abel squeezed his eyes shut against the violence, but he couldn’t unsee what he’d already seen.

He opened his eyes again almost immediately and saw his father set an arrow to his bow. Abel stepped back involuntarily, then found himself lifted off his feet and carried away by his mother, who anticipated what was about to happen.

The killer kicked his donkey and charged at Indubar. The rider leaned forward to make himself a smaller target, and the defensive tactic worked. Indubar let loose an arrow, but it went high, passing harmlessly over the man’s left shoulder.

“Appa, get him!” blurted Abel.

Indubar notched another arrow and took aim with an intensity of focus that his family had not seen from him before. He did not try to sidestep, did not even flinch in the face of the charging animal which was nearly on him. The attacker, mace held high, let out a feral roar.

Indubar released his flint-tipped missile without a moment to spare. This one flew true, striking the bald man in the upper chest so that he rolled backwards off his mount and was knocked senseless when he hit the ground.

Indubar strafed out of the charging animal’s path and snatched at its reigns as it passed, but his fingers only brushed by without hooking the thing. The creature kept running, free of humans, out to pasture. After spitting a curse, Indubar looked down at the injured stranger and determined that he was no threat to them now. They could move on.

Natori set down her son and went to her husband, cupping his face in her hands. She said something to him which Abel did not hear.

The children stood silently over the felled opponent, morbidly fascinated yet appalled by the sight of the wounded man. They stared, mouths agape, wondering how his injury must feel, and gawking at his peculiar appearance and weapon.

“Ugh. Monster!” said Aya after a moment. She spun away from the bald man.

“Come on, now, quickly,” Indubar said to the whole family. Abel realized as well as did his father that defeating one foe wasn’t going to solve their predicament.

At once they started off again to the west, running faster than before, spurred on by the increasing clamor nearby. As they ran, they glanced repeatedly towards the inner zone of the village, where huts and clay houses were closely arranged, for they were able from their new position to see much of the commotion. Four or five invaders fanned their way through Mari, and frightened locals scrambled to escape them. Few did. The enemies herded people like cattle towards the central long house, felling any who resisted.

Only after Indubar had led his family swiftly across half a furlong of farmland did he turn north. He had blazed a trail through every neighbor’s plot and come to untended plains, and now changed course for the river valley. As they turned to skirt the western edge of the village, Abel and Aya declared exhaustion. They could not push themselves to run any further, so they slowed to a brisk walk. No sooner had Indubar and Natori stopped and picked up their children, Abel in his father’s arms and Aya in her mother’s, and turned to run again, than two riders came towards them chasing another family. That family of three was just close enough for Abel to make out their panic-stricken faces, to read their hopeless eyes as the trailing hoof-beats grew louder. He couldn’t tear his gaze from the sight, even as Indubar spun and renewed his dash for the river, and Abel was jostled in his arms.

Then Abel’s focus shifted from the pursued to the pursuers, and fear and hatred awoke in him at once. He recognized one of the riders, the older of the two—he knew him from his dream. The man had a thick gray beard and skin the color of mud. From the front of his helmet rose two horns like a crescent moon, just as Abel had seen in his nightmare.

He was going to say something about it, but just then his mother began yelling at Niqpa, who had not followed his parents in their break for safety, but had instead run headlong at the riders. Abel realized why: one of the villagers being chased was Niqpa’s best friend. Abel’s brother bravely charged, spear in hand, to his friend’s defense, roaring as he had heard the bald man roar.

“Niqpa, no!” screamed Indubar, but the boy didn’t heed him.

Hastily, Indubar lowered Abel to the ground, freeing access to the bow which he had slung over his shoulders. He nocked an arrow as he ran after Niqpa.

Anxiety for his family now filled all of Abel’s thoughts. He wished with an aching that he had brought his sling or some other weapon, anything at all with which to join the fight, but even as he thought it, he knew that he was too scared to dare attack those grown men, with their fierce faces and strong bodies. Paralysis took him, and he stood rooted to the spot where Indubar had set him.

Threatened, the riders abandoned their original pursuit. They split up, the younger, black-haired man dismounting to face Niqpa while Graybeard rode straight at Indubar.

Abel’s brother lunged with the spear as soon as he was within range. Blackhair dodged nimbly to one side, then to the other as Niqpa thrust again. On the third attempt, the invader caught the shaft and yanked, pulling Niqpa off his feet and into Blackhair’s free hand. In one smooth motion the man discarded the spear, twirled Niqpa until he was facing away, and wrapped a thick arm around his neck.

Meanwhile, Indubar had gotten close enough to make a precise shot but was suddenly blocked by the body of his own son taken hostage. Perceiving the relationship between the young spearman and the archer, Blackhair had smartly shielded himself with the captured youth. Indubar could do nothing but turn and defend himself, for Graybeard was bearing down on him, holding aloft a copper-tipped spear.

By the time Indubar decided to change targets, it was too late. He pivoted but didn’t get the chance to aim before Graybeard let fly his weapon. The spear struck where intended, impaling the archer through the heart as the attacking rider galloped by him. Indubar cried out in pain and shock, spewing droplets of blood from his mouth. He looked down and grasped the shaft that protruded from his chest, as if to convince himself that it was real. Then he fell to his knees, and his hands dropped to his sides like heavy weights.

Natori shrieked and ran the short distance to her husband, leaving behind Aya, who stood affixed with horror. Niqpa, who had been flailing his body in a futile attempt to get free of Blackhair, suddenly went limp. His will to fight had vanished, and he simply stared, mouth agape, at his father. Unnoticed, his friend’s family continued to flee without so much as a backward glance.

“No, no, no! Please don’t leave us!” pleaded Natori as she took Indubar in her arms. “My beloved!”

Face locked in an expression of disbelief, Indubar looked at his wife but his eyes seemed to look through her instead. His last words were: “He knew.”

For a second time that day, Abel watched helplessly as his father died.

===

Sitting calmly atop his donkey, Ditanu kept his spear pointed at the villagers who had been rounded up outside their elder’s long house. These people, about three hundred in number, were held in check by the threat of death, which had been aptly demonstrated on no less than two dozen of their men—mostly the ones of a courageous disposition. Besides Ditanu, ten other members of Kush’s war band, having arranged themselves in an evenly spaced circle, guarded the crowd. Kush and Raamah had gone after outliers, and Ditanu was in charge until they returned.

He judged the captives silently, making a mental note of which ones he favored as permanent prisoners. He and the other Shinareans had not attacked Mari for love of violence—although some violence had been necessary to gain compliance—but out of necessity. These people spoke the mother tongue, Adamic. Kush had learned that many inhabitants of Mari were descended from Shem through Arphaxhad, which was critical intelligence because, of all the descendants of Shem, only those of Arphaxhad’s line had kept their original language after the Change.

Ditanu’s thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of Mitzraiym, one of the sons of Kush. At an easy walk, he led a donkey which was carrying the body of one of their compatriots. The man was obviously dead, draped face-down over the animal’s back. Ditanu knew immediately from the ghostly skin and bald head that the body had belonged to Goru.

“I found him while searching homes,” reported Mitzrayim. “Poor fellow bled out. Got hit with this.” He held up the killing end of a crude arrow that had been snapped in half.

“Was there any indication who did it?” asked Ditanu.

“Someone in a group, judging from the footprints—some large, some small. A family, I guess. They’re long gone.”

“No matter,” said Ditanu. “We don’t need them.”

“The donkey was grazing, but I coaxed it back.”

“Good.”

He was surprised to see that a member of the war band had been killed. Ditanu had expected no loses whatsoever, considering that these inhabitants of Mari were unacquainted with warfare. They knew of war, for they had heard the stories passed down by the sons of Noah, tales of astounding and ceaseless conflicts waged before the Great Deluge, but they had never practiced it themselves. Nonetheless, one of the men of Mari must have brought a killing instrument to bear without much hesitation, for Goru had clearly been shot.

At length, Kush and Raamah returned with seven captives in tow. The bound villagers wore miserable expressions, but four in particular—a woman, a girl, and two boys—were red-faced from weeping. Raamah drove them to the edge of the crowd, then brought his mount beside Ditanu’s. He looked pleased.

“We certainly have plenty to choose from,” said Raamah upon seeing the huddled villagers.

“More than enough,” agreed Kush. Then to Ditanu he said, “Well done on all accounts.”

“Thank you, Lord,” said Ditanu.

Ditanu motioned to the donkey that held the corpse and said, “Unfortunately, we did lose Goru. He was shot with an arrow.”

Kush looked briefly at the pale body, which gleamed under the midday sun. “I dispatched the man responsible for that,” he said, expressing little concern. That wasn’t a surprise; Ditanu hadn’t thought highly of Goru, either. “Give his body to the river, or else these people may defile it when we leave.” Mitzraiym heard his father’s command and moved to obey.

“Now, let us see,” continued Kush. “Which of these women do you think it best to take with us?”

A short deliberation followed. Raamah pointed out a few young women who caught his eye for various reasons, but he also said that it mattered little to him. So long as the band took an assortment, at least one would prove sufficient at matters of language. For practical reasons, post-pubescent females were the only ones under consideration—they were unlikely to offer serious resistance, and they had domestic skills that most of the men lacked—but Ditanu thought putting a limitation on their options might be short-sighted.

“There may be value in taking a family,” suggested Ditanu. “Not the patriarch, of course, but the rest. We can leverage them against each other if necessary. And children learn quickly but require less food.”

“Wisely considered, Ditanu,” said Kush. “Very well, these four will come with us. As will she.” He pointed to a young woman who was slumped over the body of her grandfather, weeping. He had been the elder of the village.

“And one more,” Kush said, combing the crowd with his gaze, “since we now have an extra mount.”

Ditanu indicated with his spear a girl of short stature, whose blond hair was a novelty, and attractive to him. She had delicate features and pale skin, also desirable, and she was almost of child-bearing age. “How about this one?” he said. She cringed under his attention and clung tightly to her father, whose narrowed eyes burned with protectiveness.

“That one will suffice,” said Kush. He looked at Raamah. “Bind her.”

When Raamah moved in and grabbed the blond youth by the forearm, her father exploded in a verbal onslaught. He did not loose his grip on his daughter even when Raamah yelled back at him. In the end, the man had to be rapped in the temple with the butt of a spear before he let go.

Ditanu wondered whether he might one day be able to gain the blond girl’s favor even after cruelly removing her from her family. Maybe, once she was made to understand the bigger picture, she would realize that the attack on Mari had served a grand design worth the extreme behavior. Such persuasion would take much patience, he knew, and tireless self-control, but he thought it possible.

As Raamah retrieved a rope and tied it around the blond one’s wrists, Ditanu inspected the family of four which Kush had decided to keep. The mother was obviously chewing on anger, but in a calculating way that suggested intelligence. None of her children appeared weak or frail, and none were unpleasant to the eye, either. Yes, this family would do nicely.

Raamah saw him staring and said, “That elder boy there has nerve. He could prove troublesome.”

Ditanu nodded. “Not to worry, we will break them all in time, either with little pressure or much.”

“I do not doubt it. Your experience taming beasts will translate well. Men are but inventive beasts—cultivated, but still beasts.” Before the Change, animal husbandry had been Ditanu’s main occupation. Never before had he used those skills on humans, of course, but he agreed with Raamah’s assessment. He was, in fact, eager to try.

After the chosen prisoners had been separated and roped to donkeys, Raamah gave a short blast on a ram’s horn, calling in the five men who had earlier been tasked with looting. They returned with what foodstuffs and clothing they could carry, and loaded them onto the pack animals. One man, Laga, had found and taken a small clay idol of the pregnant mother goddess, which he then proudly stashed in his own bag—for luck, he said.

Kush gave order to Ditanu, saying, “Send two of the men back to Uruk with whatever copper their animals can handle. Havilah will put it to good use.”

Kush had left his son, Havilah, to rule Uruk in his stead. Ditanu thought it somewhat risky to be sending the interim leader a heap of metal that could be used to upgrade his retainer of troops—after all, with well-equipped soldiers, Havilah might be able to prevent Kush from retaking the throne, if such was his desire. But Ditanu kept his opinion to himself. He simply picked two individuals to return home with the copper, and sent them to the smelting pits to collect it.

As the Shinareans readied to leave, Raamah looked over the traumatized population of Mari and frowned. “I feel sorry for them, truly,” he said. “They did nothing to deserve this. But what must be done, must be done.” And with that he put them at his back and rode.

“To the Nile,” said Kush in a loud voice.

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