Abraham Allegiant (Chronicles of the Nephilim Book 4) (26 page)

Ashtart paced back and forth in the king’s chamber of Sodom. King Bera sat on the throne extended to accommodate his blubbery fat. He was eating a leg of mutton with his vomit pail next to his throne. A nervous messenger kept his gaze down to the ground awaiting his instructions.

They had received word that Chedorlaomer had completed his campaign in the southern regions from the gulf of Aqaba all the way back up to the wilderness of Zin. He had defeated the Horites and their giant clans from the hill country of Seir as far as El-paran on the border of the wilderness. Then he turned back and subdued all the country of the Amalekites, as well as the Amorites dwelling in Hazazon-tamar.

The messenger said with a fearful hush of voice, “Chedorlaomer’s forces have beheaded, impaled, and crucified all the giants he could find in the territories, Nephilim, Rephaim, Emim, Zamzummim.”

Ashtart interrupted him, “That is thousands of my children! That son of a whore and his muscle-bound moron Marduk have decimated my seedline!”

It would take generations to repopulate the land.

She swung in a furious rage and lopped off the messenger’s head with the force of her hand alone. His decapitated body fell to the floor. Ashtart snapped her fingers to one of the servants by the king.

“Clean up this mess!”

The servant scrambled to obey.

“How close are they to our cities?” asked Ashtart.

“I do not know mighty Queen of Heaven. The messenger had not told us yet.”

Ashtart cursed herself for her impulsive outburst.

“Well, send a new scout to find out, and contact the kings of the pentapolis to muster their full forces.”

Bera said, “Yes, mighty Ashtart. Where?”

“We will fight them on our turf, where we are the most experienced and they are not: The bitumen fields of the Valley of Siddim.”

King Bera smiled. It was brilliant. An unanticipated belch took him by surprise, and he felt a rise of vomit in his mouth, which he quickly swallowed so as not to distract the goddess.

She continued, “They will think us fools to face them on the plain, but they will be unprepared for the sludge and muck of the tar pits. We will drown half their forces in the trap, and fill their lungs with asphalt.”

She thought to herself,
And that is where I will imprison Marduk, in the deepest darkness of black pitch
.

The coalition forces of Chedorlaomer arrived in the Valley of Siddim within five days. The warriors of Ashtart were ready for them as they amassed in the northern valley, which would draw their enemies to them and into the bitumen pits.

The five monarchs of the pentapolis were Bera of Sodom, King Birsha of Gomorrah, who was a giant, King Shinab of Admah, Shemeber of Zeboiim, and Bela of Zoar. They each stood on mounted chariot behind their forces arranged across the field. Bera had a seat built onto his chariot and reinforced its four wheels and axels. It had to be pulled by a dozen horses because of his weight. Even now Bera was munching on a sack of figs, as he found the sweetness comforting in stressful moments.

The forces of the pentapolis were arrayed in five units, one for each of the cities. They numbered about two hundred thousand to the Eastern Coalition’s three hundred thousand. Chedorlaomer had let a number of the soldiers go home as they made their victorious way through the Wilderness of Zin. He was not concerned about the humans he was facing; it was the gods.

Though Chedorlaomer had Marduk, king of the gods on his side, he knew Ashtart was long experienced and cunning in the art of war, and she was fighting for her very life. Though these gods could not die, they could be imprisoned in the earth until judgment day, which was a fate worse than death for an immortal being. To be alive and confined without movement under millions of tons of earth for thousands of years would be supernatural torture for supernatural beings. There was a titanic showdown on the horizon that would no doubt dwarf any human battle he had ever been in or heard of.

He had sent scouts ahead to get a lay of the land, and they returned with intelligence about the field of bitumen pits they were about to find themselves facing on the battlefield. It was a great disadvantage, but he was confident in his soldiers and he had a few tricks up his armor.

The Valley of Siddim that stretched out before Sodom and Gomorrah was the source of lifeblood for the wealth of the five cities. How ironic that it was now to become a bleeding artery of death in a battle of five kings against four.

The bitumen pits covered the entire valley like a swamp of black pools that gave off a foul and sour stench of sulfur, like that of rotting eggs and vegetation. Some pools were deep, others shallow. Some were not yet excavated, being invisible just below the surface sediment, ready to trap unsuspecting travelers. Some seeped up through cracks in the rock. There were also mining pits where a solid rock form of the bitumen was mined with pick axes, chisels, and sledgehammers.

The Canaanites had grown accustomed to the malodorous smell over the years, but the invaders were not prepared for it. When they lined up for attack, many of them got sick and vomited. Some of them passed out. So Chedorlaomer had his soldiers rip off lengths of their tunics and wrap them around their noses and mouths to filter the air.

The pentapolis heralds blew their war horns and the first wave of warriors took to the field. Because they knew the valley well, they were able to maneuver around the bitumen pits with ease.

The Eastern coalition soldiers marched out to meet them, but because they were not as familiar with the terrain, they lost their formation and many were stuck in pools of pitch.

Chedorlaomer saw what was happening and ordered his archers to launch a volley of fire tipped arrows before his infantry. This tactic was not to inflict damage on the Canaanites, but rather to hit as many pools of pitch as possible. The fire lit the bitumen and created a maze of bonfires that struck fear into the hearts of the Canaanites and created a clear pathway for the Mesopotamian forces to navigate. They had the fire to avoid, but they would not unknowingly fall into the pits.

The two forces met in the midst of the flaming pools and clashed with mace, sword, axe, and spear. The armies of Ashtart were well trained with swords that split their tips like a serpent’s tongue. The armies of Marduk were masters of mace and pike.

Swords ripped bowels of few invaders, but pikes skewered more defenders at a distance before those swords could get close enough to cut.

Suddenly, from behind the Canaanite lines, an unearthly howl screeched over the valley like a hideous portent of doom. It was Ashtart’s war cry.

A monstrous roar bellowed out in return from behind the Mesopotamian lines as a furious reply from Marduk.

The gods were at war.

Ashtart and Marduk both rushed into the mayhem of metal, flesh, and blood like dire wolves to a slaughter. They were racing for each other, both of them about eight feet tall, but unleashing a violent supernatural force as they bowled over their own soldiers in their pathway.

They had both stripped down to minimal garments and necessary weapons. Marduk carried his favorite weapons: A monstrous iron mace in one hand and a battle net in the other. He strapped a large sledgehammer to his naked back. He was barefoot and wore a simple loincloth beneath his leather belt. As a Watcher god, armor was more cumbersome than it was protective. There was something more primal and animalistic about fighting almost bare naked.

Ashtart felt the same way about simplicity in war. But she liked the idea of looking good even as she was slaughtering her enemies and wading through their blood. So she wore a skimpy erotic two piece belly dancing bikini and did her hair up in a tight but stylish fashion. She considered herself quite brilliant at effectively combining her sexuality with her violence. And it worked to her tactical advantage to distract her enemies with her lustfully delicious figure she worked so hard to maintain. Her only weapon: A scythe. Under the strength of a human, a scythe was cumbersome and slow, but under the grip of a Watcher god with the strength of a dozen mighty men, it was a whirling blade of death.

They met at the center of the battlefield. Ashtart spit out, “O mighty King Cumquat! I have been waiting for this for centuries!”

Marduk remained silent as they circled one another, waiting for who would be the first to attack.

Ashtart struck first. She swung her scythe like a ballet, which gave meaning to the phrase, “Ashtart’s dance of death.” If it connected with Marduk, it would cut him in half.

It sliced up nearby soldiers and soaked her frame in gore.

The baptism of blood inspired her. She licked her lips and advanced on Marduk.

But he was ready.

He used his iron mace to block her blade at every swipe, resulting in a shower of sparks that engulfed the both of them and set nearby pools of pitch on fire.

Soldiers moved away from the battling titans and left them with plenty of room to finish what they started, unhindered by human obstacles.

Marduk waited for the right moment to make his move.

He saw it and threw his net on her.

But she was ready.

Her scythe cut the net into ribbons and it fell to the ground in pieces.

“That better not be your best shot, god of garbanzo beans,” she said, “or this is going to be quite anti-climactic.”

Her insults were infuriating Marduk. He knew he had to keep his cool or he would suffer at the hands of her psychological strategy and make the one mistake that would cost him the fight.

But as it happened, Ashtart made the next mistake.

The pentapolis army pushed back the Eastern coalition. They knew the geography better, and the fiery bitumen pits kept the Mesopotamians from engaging their phalanx strategy that had worked to their advantage throughout their campaign. It became a free for all.

The Eastern coalition were battle hardened with their recent experience of their Canaan campaign, but the cities of Ashtart were well trained by their goddess in her art of war. In fact, they fought with such wild ferocity that Chedorlaomer’s soldiers felt they were battling demons.

They were in fact battling demons.

Ashtart had been developing a way to harness the failures of the past into victories of the future. She had worked with her necromancers, conjurers, and exorcists to find a way to call up the spirits of the dead Nephilim from before the Flood. Because the Nephilim were hybrids between heaven and earth, they were neither fully angel nor fully human. So when they died they seemed to have to ability to wander the earth as demonic entities in search of habitation trapped between those two realms of the above and the below.

And there were many of them. Armies of Nephilim spirits.

So Ashtart achieved another miracle. She was able to engage entire regiments of her army with demonic possession of the Nephilim spirits. They were outnumbered, but they were infused with supernatural strength and viciousness.

That vicious strength began to fight back at Chedorlaomer’s mighty warriors.

The mistake Ashtart made in her own fight was to back Marduk up against a smashed chariot and swing with all her might down upon his head, seeking to cleave him in two.

Marduk dodged the blow and the scythe buried itself through the chariot metal and deep into the ground. She yanked it, but it was jammed in the rock and metal.

That is when Marduk made his move.

He clubbed her with his mace right in the temple. She slammed to the ground losing her senses and fighting unconsciousness.

Marduk had her.

He threw his mace to the ground. He wanted to take her apart with his hands. It was more personal that way. He was much stronger than her, his bulging body mass outweighing her slender form by twice the amount.

He sat on her and pummeled her face to a bloody pulp.

But looks were deceiving and arrogance was blinding. Under Ashtart’s wiry frame lay sinews of hidden reserves. And under her female persona was a masochistic tolerance of great pain.

As Marduk beat her, she feigned complete disoriented weakness — until Marduk let down his guard thinking he was triumphant.

Ashtart took that moment to grab the dirk in his belt and jam it into his kidney.

He screamed in pain and got off her, trying to reach back and pull out the blade. But his bulky frame was not flexible.

Ashtart wiped the blood from her eyes and took a running leap, tackling Marduk backwards.

He fell onto the broken chariot and scythe blade. The ground rumbled at the impact. The force nearly broke his back and the scythe handle shattered to pieces, leaving the blade to slice into his shoulder.

Now Marduk was angry.

He heaved Ashtart off of him. She flew fifty feet backward and landed in a flaming bitumen pit with a large splash of the black ooze blanketing the ground around.

Ashtart crawled out of the pit as angry as Marduk. Her hair and outfit were completely ruined by this disgusting sludge.

“This was my favorite bikini, Prince Potato Head. Now, you are going to pay.”