The Glooming (Wrath of the Old Gods Book 1) (36 page)

Boland shook his head. “That’s for you, just in case that old man’s hostile.”

“He won’t attack me, I can feel it,” Gyle said as he offered him the gun again.

This time Boland took it and placed it on his lap. “Okay, if you get into trouble, don’t make me come limping after you, G.”

Gyle nodded as he opened the front door and slid out of the driver’s seat. As he stretched his back, he began to survey the area. The mountains didn’t look particularly tall, the highest elevations looked to be around a hundred feet, though he had a feeling that he wouldn’t have to climb since his last dream was of a cave, which meant that he needed to look at ground level.

The late afternoon sun was being blocked by the mountains so it gave the wadi an overcast look. Gyle began to walk along the dried riverbeds that had naturally carved their way along the base of the mountains over the centuries. For an hour, he did nothing but follow the smooth paths of sand as he walked deeper into the base of the mountain range. As he made another turn by just walking along the dried riverbed, he noticed a large desert bush at the end of a trail that led to the base of a rock spire just ahead of him. A strange feeling came over him as he realized that he was close.

Gyle walked over and stood in front of the dried shrub, he realized that there was a soft breeze coming from behind it. As he walked around it, he saw that it actually hid an entrance to a cave. Taking the flashlight from his belt, he turned it on and crouched down as he ventured inside.

Whether it was formed naturally or hewn by hand he couldn’t tell. He crouched and made his way in further. A slight upward draft of cooling air continued to drift by him. Gyle could smell myrrh and cedar coming from somewhere. The descent along the cave tunnel was narrow and he nearly fell as his boots slid down the smooth limestone floor, until he slowed down and began to gingerly choose his footing. Gyle reckoned he had gone down about a hundred feet below the mouth of the cave when the tunnel finally ended, and he stood before a massive underground chamber.

Fist-sized rays of light illuminated the cavern, so he turned his flashlight off and clipped it back on his belt. As he looked up, he figured there must have been thousands of these tiny holes up on the cave ceiling that led out into the sky, it gave the effect of standing over a night sky full of stars. Looking around, Gyle saw that a small, underground stream of flowing water crisscrossed the cavern floor and wild plants grew all around him. The far side of the cave had a cliff side loft with a makeshift wooden pallet that was apparently used as a cot. Peering further out, Gyle could see that near the bed was a wooden chest, as well as a metal cooking pot near a smoldering fire pit. A handmade wooden table with various tools lay nearby. As he kept looking around, he soon heard the sound of footsteps.

Gyle reacted quickly by crouching down as he slid into the side of the cave tunnel, away from the beams of light shining down, and into the shadows. As the sounds of movement got closer, he noticed an old man appearing from where the loft was. The man started to make his way down using a narrow trail along on the side of the limestone wall. He could see that the old man was clothed in nothing but a tattered robe and wore sandals, his long white beard and wild mane of hair made him look like a stereotypical hermit of the sort that one usually sees in old movies. As the old man made it to the base of the cavern, he raised a bony hand in a gesture of peace towards Gyle.

Since he had been obviously discovered there was no point in hiding any further, so Gyle stood up and faced the old man as he walked into the center of the cavern. The old man didn’t seem to be hostile, so Gyle raised his hand with an open palm at him in return.

The old man smiled and gestured at him to come closer. “Welcome, my friend. I am of no threat to you. Would you like some tea?”

Gyle took a step before stopping abruptly. Even though events of the past week had shaken his beliefs in practically everything, there was still a part of him that couldn’t believe it at all so he compensated by returning back to his old, cautious ways. “I saw you in my dreams. And you speak English. Who are you?”

The old man nodded. “Ah, that is the way with dreams. I saw you in my dreams as well along with some others, like the woman with the scar, and the two children, wandering all by themselves in the netherworld. Dreams are important because it is the god’s way of talking to you, especially when they have no voice. As far as my speaking to you in your language, I have had plenty of time to learn most manner of tongues that all men speak.”

Gyle came closer. “So let’s talk about dreams then. I dreamt of this very cave and it led me from Baghdad and across the desert. I’ve seen many people die on my way here and I am no closer in knowing what the hell is going on than I was when I first saw those demons in the dust.”

“I was not calling you with my dreams,” the old man said as he bent down, then he started to take some leaves from a flowery plant growing at the edge of the underground stream. “But perhaps the gods are using us as part of their plans. But then again, who really knows the will of the gods except maybe the gods themselves.”

“For the last two days, every time I closed my eyes, you kept appearing before me and you’d tell me the same thing.”

The old man stopped and looked up at him. “And what were these things of which I would tell you?”

“You kept saying that the world was in danger and that I was needed,” Gyle said. “But for what, I don’t know. The dream just ends without any further explanation.”

The old man looked up at the ceiling as if thinking to himself before sitting down on a smooth rock near the stream. “That is strange. My dream is of you wandering the desert. Then I dream of the others, and they are also making their way across different parts of the world.”

Gyle shook his head. “I don’t know of the others. My name is Patrick, and you still haven’t told me your name.”

The old man smiled as he shrugged. “I’ve been called many names. I remembered the time they called me Ziusudra, then later on they called me Atrahasis. Then after that Utnapishtim, but I guess my most popular name is Noah. Ah well, they are just names, names that are ultimately lost through time. As far as the others, I have a feeling that you will meet them in your journeys.”

Gyle sat down near the other side of the stream. He was weary and just wanted to rest, but the way the old man described things meant that his ride still had a long way to go. “I thought this was the final leg of my journey. So you are that Noah then? Of the great flood?”

The old man grinned. His crooked teeth were stained yellow. “That story has been told many, many times, with each time a little different than the last. First it was said that there were many gods, and one of the gods took pity on me and my wife, and told me to build a great ark. Then the story changed again into just one god that told me to build a ship to contain all the land animals of the world, to keep them alive until the waters receded. And so on.”

Gyle looked at him closely. “Well, what really is it then? Was it a number of gods or just one god telling you all this?”

The old man just shrugged and put up his bony arms in a gesture of resignation. “It was such a long time ago, I don’t remember anymore. Then again what does it matter if it was one god or many?”

Gyle leaned over so the old man could see he was serious. “It matters because the whole world is under attack by either many gods or all under the guise of one god, that’s why. I need to know what can be done to stop them. If there’s a way to kill them.”

The old man waved a crooked finger at him. “Ah, you are a warrior and warriors always try to find a way to kill things. Remember, you are no longer fighting other men, but gods and their allies now. You may know of ten thousand ways to kill a man, but killing a god? That is another matter entirely.”

Gyle sighed. “Okay, I guess I might as well call you Noah. So tell me, Noah, how do I fight these gods if they cannot be killed?”

The old man thrust out his lower lip. “I don’t like the name Noah. Too common nowadays.”

“Okay so what do you want me to call you then?”

The old man looked up again as if deep in thought. “Let me see … the oldest name I can remember is Ziusudra, which means ‘found long life’ but… ah, that is too much of a braggart’s name. Let me see … okay, how about the second name that I remember having which is Atrahasis, meaning ‘extremely wise’ … so, yes … I think that name is better.”

“If it means genius, then isn’t that as cocky as naming yourself Ziusudra?”

The old man laughed. “You’re right, but I would rather be known as someone smart than as some immortal. Living forever is not something to be proud of.”

“You have a strange sense of pride.”

“Being called an immortal sometimes gets to me, you know,” Atrahasis said. “All those years, staying alive, while the people around you die. Or of that great hero coming to visit me and asking for a way to live forever, and I had to tell him that it was a doomed journey. But he insisted, so I told him where to find a magical flower to keep him young forever, yet he lost it after only one night because he was careless, and it was that lesson that finally made him give up his vain quest.”

“You mentioned that you had a wife,” Gyle said. “Is she an immortal too?”

“Yes, she was,” Atrahasis said ruefully. “She left me a long time ago to be off with other men. I do not know where she is now. I have heard of some stories that she went mad when all of her other husbands died of old age or of sickness, while she never did. It was so long ago I even forgot her name. I am sure she is still out there somewhere, and I hope she has found some happiness at last, if only for a short time.”

Gyle looked down at the stream. He noticed there were luminous cave fish swimming in it. “I also have a wife, and children. And I’d move Heaven and Earth just to be with them again. I hope they’re alright.”

“Do you wish for the world to return as it once was? You realize that is no longer possible.”

Gyle stared at him. “So what’s your solution then? Do nothing? My country is being ravaged by other gods, creatures of pure evil, and even now my family might be dead. I’ve got to do something. There must be a way to defeat them.”

Atrahasis contemplated his words before speaking again. “The gods are immortals and they have great power over us, that is why we call them gods and we are but men. On the other hand, these gods are very much like us, for they have the same feelings as men for they too fall in love. They hate, and they too feel sadness. There are other means with which to defeat them than battle.”

“I’m a soldier,” Gyle said. “It’s what I do. I don’t know how to do anything else. Will you help me? Please?”

The old man reached into his torn and dirty robes, then took out a withered petal as he held it aloft for Gyle to see. “When I told you the story of this great hero who went in search of immortality, I told him to find this flower at the bottom of the deepest sea. That he did, and he showed it to me and allowed me to take a piece of that plant before we parted ways forever. All I have is this little petal. It will not endow you with immortality, but it may grant you some strength and power over men. But beware, for this power has a curse … it will transform you and your lifespan will be shortened because one cannot be like the gods when one has the body of a man.”

Gyle thought about it for a moment as he recalled the good times he spent with Marie, with the twins. He remembered his time in the military and his friends. All that was gone now. It was now nothing but gods and death all around him. And all he knew was how to kill. “I’m willing to make that sacrifice,” he said with finality as he moved closer.

“Very well,” Atrahasis said and gave him the petal.

Gyle examined the withered leaf. It still seemed soft to the touch and it glowed with a strange amber luminescence, as if it was still alive. He placed it into his mouth and chewed for a bit before swallowing it. The taste was strange, like chewing on a strange herb that tasted unlike anything he had ever eaten. As it traveled down his throat and into his stomach, it began to feel like molten lead had been poured down his gullet. That was when a sudden wave of nausea overtook him. Gyle began to retch violently before he vomited a stream of yellowish bile on the cave floor.

“And so it begins,” Atrahasis said as he stood up and looked down at him.

Gyle’s body was wracked by sharp, searing pangs of pain. His eyes began to tear blood from the pure, unadulterated agony that was now overwhelming him. He could feel his skin as if it was on fire, just as the pores began to pop and blister. Gyle was now lying on the floor as he struggled violently with himself, his kicks and spasms were like those of a dying animal. He felt as if his heart was going to explode and he could not catch his breath. He began to wonder if the old man lied to him, and what he ate was nothing more than virulent poison. Then the pain was simply too much and everything faded to black.

When he opened his eyes once more, he noticed at least six men were standing over him. They all wore tunics, flowing cloaks, and head cloths that hid their faces so all he could see was their eyes. At first glance, he thought they were Bedouins because that was what they would normally wear, but he soon realized they were in fact imposters because of the way they carried themselves, and of the weapons that they had brought with them.

As he tried to get up, one of them immediately made a flatfooted kick to his shoulders that sent him once more on the ground. Gyle noticed that Atrahasis was sitting on the far edge of the cave and they were placing handcuffs on him. One of the other men who had been staring at the old man being bound turned around and made his way towards him.

Gyle’s voice came out guttural, almost as if it was an animal who tried to speak for the first time. “What are you doing to him?”

The man looked at him. “You are Patrick Gyle of the CIA, are you not?”

“Yes,” Gyle said as he realized who they were from their heavy accents. “And you are our allies, you’re Israelis.”