The Descent

drew  in  a  great  gasp.  The  fire  poured  down  his  throat.  He  exhaled,  and  the  flames shot  from  his  mouth.  His  vocal  cords  seared,  Thomas  was  silent.  There  was  a  soft clatter  of jade scales falling to earth  as the gold sutures  holding them together  melted. The  warlord towered  above  her. It  seemed  he had to topple. But  his  will  was  strong. His  eyes  fixed  on  the  heights  as  if  to  fly.  At  last  his  knees  sagged.  Ali  felt  herself plucked from the ground.

Ike  carried  her,  racing  for  a  toppled  pillar  in  the  gloom.  He  threw  her  behind  the pillar and leaped to  join  her  as  Shoat's  havoc  commenced  in  earnest.  He  was  an  army unto  himself,  it  seemed.  His  ammunition  struck  like  lightning  bolts,  detonating  in bursts  of  white  light  and  raking  the  library  with  lethal  splinters.  Back  and  forth,  he strafed  the ruins and hadals fell.

The  carved  pillar  gave  cover  from  incoming  rounds,  but  not  from  the  ricochet  of fléchettes. Ike  pulled bodies on top of them like sandbags.

Ali  cried  out  as  precious  codices  and  inscriptions  and  scrolls  were  shredded  and burst  into  fire.  Delicate  glass  globes,  etched  with  writings  on  the  inside  through  some lost  process,  shattered.  Clay  tablets,  describing  satans  and  gods  and  cities  ten  times older  than  the  Mesopotamian  creation  myth  of  Emannu  Elish,  turned  to  dust.  The conflagration  spread  into  the  bowels  of  the  library,  feeding  on  vellum  and  rice  paper and papyrus  and desiccated wooden artifacts.

The  city  itself  seemed  to  howl.  The  masses  fled  downhill  from  the  ruins,  even  as martyrs  piled  around  Thomas   in  an  attempt   to  protect   their   lord  from  further desecration. With a shriek, Isaac launched into the darkness  in search of the  assassins, and warriors sped after  him.

Ali peered  around the pillar. Shoat's muzzle flash was  still  sparkling  at  the  eye  of  his distant  sniper  nest.  A  single  shot  would  have  accomplished  everything  Shoat  needed to escape. Instead,  his rage had gotten the better  of him.

While  the  chaos  still  held,  Ike  went  to  work  transforming  Ali.  He  was  rough.  The flames,  the  blood,  the  destruction  of  ancient  lore  and  science  and  histories:  it  was  too much  for  her.  Ike  began  yanking  her  clothes  away  and  smearing  her  with  ochre grease  from the bodies around them.

He used his knife to  cut  tanned  skins  and  hair  ropes  from  the  dead.  He  dressed  her like them, and stiffened her hair  into  horn  shapes  with  the  gore.  Just  an  hour  ago  she had  been  a  scholar  excavating  texts,  a  guest  of  the  empire.  Now  she  was  filthy  with death. 'What are you doing?' she wept.

'It's over.  We're leaving. Just wait.' The  shooting stopped.

They'd  found Shoat. Ike  stood.

Crouched against the bonfire of writings, while the wounded still thrashed  about  and minced  blindly  across  the  needlelike  shrapnel,  he  pulled  Ali  to  her  feet.  'Quickly,'  he said, and draped rags across her head.

They  passed  near  Thomas,  who  lay  heaped  with  his  faithful,  burned  and  bleeding, paralyzed  within  his  armor.  His  face  was  singed,  but  intact.  Incredibly,  he  was  still alive. His eyes  were  open and he was staring all around.

The  bullet  must  have  cut  his  spinal  column,  Ali  decided.  He  could  only  move  his head. Half-buried with Shoat's other victims, he recognized Ike  and  Ali  as  they  looked down  at  him.  His  mouth  worked  to  denounce  them,  but  his  vocal  cords  had  been seared  and no sound came.

More  hadals  arrived  to  tend  their  god-king.  Ike  ducked  his  head  and  started  down the  ramp,  towing  Ali.  They  were  going  to  make  a  clean  getaway,  it  seemed.  Then  Ali felt her arm grabbed from behind.

It  was  the  feral  girl.  Her  face  was  streaked  with  blood,  and  she  was  injured  and aghast.  Immediately  she  saw  their  scheme,  the  hadal  disguise,  their  run  for  the  exit.

All she had to do was cry  out.

Ike  gripped  his  knife.  The  girl  looked  at  the  black  blade,  and  Ali  guessed  what  she was  thinking.  Raised  hadal,  she  would  immediately   suspect   the   most   murderous intention.

Instead,  Ike  offered  the  knife  to  her.  Ali  watched  the  girl's  eyes  cut  back  and  forth from him to her. Perhaps she was recalling some  kindness  they  had  done  for  her,  or  a mercy  shown.  Perhaps  she  saw  something  in  Ike's   face  that   belonged  to  her,   a connection with her own mirror. Whatever  her equation, she made her decision.

The  girl turned her head away  for a moment. When she  looked  back,  the  barbarians were  gone.

I went down to the moorings of the mountains; The earth with its bars closed behind me forever; Yet You have brought up my life from the pit.

– JONAH 2:6

28

THE ASCENT