“Eliphaz.”

A whisper cutting through the blanket of night. It was Narina.

“Yes?” he asked.

They were laying in the soft grass of the gilgal, the last embers of the fire smoldering beside them. Besset had retreated to the horses, intending to watch over the beasts as he slept.

“I can’t sleep,” she whispered.

“Me neither.”

There was the soft exhale of breath, muffled laughter. Eliphaz could imagine Narina smiling. Then silence.

“I’m sorry,” she said at last. “I shouldn’t have looked through your things, and I shouldn’t have pressed you with questions you didn’t want to answer. I wasn’t thinking. I hope you understand.”

“Of course. I’m sorry for getting angry at you, too—by the way.”

More laughter. “You’re forgiven, of course.” Narina shifted onto her back, her face pointed up at the sky. The moonlight filtered through the trees, the profile of her face blurry in the darkness.

There was silence for a while, as Eliphaz thought of what to say.

“I can tell you a story, if you’d like?” he suggested. “Not of myself, but of the Fathers from which I descend. They were all considered great men of God, or at least so the stories go. Perhaps you would be interested.”

“Go on, Eliphaz. Tell me a story.”

“It all begins with my great-grandfather, of the name of Abraham. He was born far-away from here, within the fertile crescent of the two ancient rivers which descend from the Land of Eden. That is where he was born and where our story begins.

“Abraham was a shepherd, and so he was restless by nature. He was a seer too, like yourself, and it is said that he wandered through the land, on moonlit nights just like this one, searching with restless abandon. What was he searching for? Surely not the divine, for as a holy man Abraham felt the divine in everything he touched; in every piece of earth, every plant or creature, he saw the will of the gods. No, what he searched for, what he obsessively sought for years, was the Highest; The Supreme God, who ruled over all, the One from which all flowed, and to which all would return.

“First he looked down at the earth, from whose bounties humanity flourished and celebrated their gods. Was this, perhaps, then the Highest? No, Abraham thought, for the earth was only nourished by the waters which fell from the sky. So then, was it the god of the sky who was the Highest? No again, Abraham reasoned, for the temperament of the sky was governed by the heavens, the grand movements of the sun, moon, and stars. Then it must mean that one of these mysterious beings, who resided in the heavens, was truly the god who lorded over all others, the most High of all that existed.

“But again you would be wrong! For Abraham took a great leap, realizing that even these celestial gods must move according to the will of something greater. And when he realized this, having uncovered the knowledge of a Heaven beyond the heavens, it was then that God first spoke to him.

“Abraham named this god Elohim. For like El, He is the creator of the world, but unlike El, He is more than that. He contains the multitudes of all the gods, and if El is singular for “god,” then Elohim is all-encompassing, the many gods contained within the name of the One.”

Narina took several minutes to take in his words, carefully thinking over everything Eliphaz had said. “So if Elohim is the one true god, what of all the others? They still exist, that fact is undeniable.”

“It is,” Eliphaz agreed. “What great-grandfather would say is that Elohim is the most powerful of all the gods, and that the lesser gods cower beneath his will. And that may be true, but it is not the whole story. For when Ishtar spoke to me, it was clear that she feared Elohim, yet chose to oppose him. She hid from him, buried beneath the desert where He couldn’t find her.”

“So Elohim is powerful, but not all-powerful,” Narina said. “The world is big, far bigger than we can imagine, so big that not even the greatest of the gods can be aware of everything. It would be a bit like me looking down upon a hill teeming with ants, scurrying to and fro, far too chaotic and far too many to make sense of all at once…”

“Sure, kind of like that. But I wasn’t finished with the story! I was just getting to the good part.”

“Oh, sorry! Please continue.”

And Eliphaz continued: “Now, when Abraham lived there also lived a great King, whose name was Nimrod. Nimrod claimed to be a descendant of the gods, forcing all of that land to bow down before him. He was extremely self-obsessed, constantly devising ways to elevate himself, much to the anger of the gods. It is said that he attempted to build a great tower to reach all the way to the heavens. Of course as soon as Elohim noticed this He put an end to Nimrod’s scheme, putting the King in his place.

“So you can see why a King such as Nimrod might fear a man such as Abraham, who said that all gods and kings were nothing before the power of Elohim. Hoping to make a fool of the simple shepherd, Nimrod brought Abraham before his court, where he questioned the holy man before all his priests and nobles. It went something like this:

‘Why don’t you worship fire, that which devours everything?’ Nimrod said to Abraham.

‘Should I then worship the water, which puts out the fire?’ Abraham asked the King.

‘Then worship water, stupid old man!’ Nimrod cried.

‘So I should worship the cloud, which carries the water?’

‘Then worship the cloud!’ Nimrod shouted, growing exasperated.

‘If so, I shall worship the wind,’ Abraham said. ‘For that is the force which scatters the cloud.’

‘Enough with your stupid words!’ Nimrod yelled, for he realized Abraham had only made a fool of him before his court. ‘You use your nimble speech to defy your King, who demands you bow before him!’

“Nimrod’s rage was so great, he ordered his soldiers to throw the shepherd into a fiery furnace. But a day later, Abraham emerged, for Elohim had granted him Fire Resistance, a passive ability which shielded him from the flames.”

“What a funny story!” Narina laughed softly. “But...there’s one problem. If Abraham lived during the time of the great tower, that means it was many hundreds of years ago. How could he then also be your great-grandfather?”

“Well, it’s not so simple.” For a moment Eliphaz struggled to put his thoughts into words. “A name can be more than one thing. My great-grandfather’s name was Abraham, but Abraham is also the ancient man of God, who first discovered Elohim and passed that divine knowledge through the generations. A name is not just a name, it has a meaning, it has a role. And my great-grandfather inherited that role, probably from his great-grandfather, who was probably also named Abraham. Does that make sense?”

“I think so. Does your name have a meaning, Eliphaz? A special role, tied to itself?”

“No,” he replied.

“Maybe one day it will.”

“Perhaps.”

In the silence the moon rose above the trees. The clearing, the stones, the two resting figures were bathed in otherworldly light. Eliphaz turned to Narina, her face all but illuminated, except for those dark, infinite eyes.

“Can you promise me something, Eliphaz?”

“What is it?”

“After all this is over, after the monster is dead and everything is back to normal. Wherever you go from here, can you promise to take me with you?” Her voice was focused, refusing to acknowledge any doubt or other way the future might go.

“I...don’t know if I can promise that. I don’t even know where I will go next.” He turned away from her gaze. “The world is a dangerous place, Narina. I’ve already saved your life once, I don’t see why I should ever drag you back into danger.”

Narina took a deep breath, her voice growing cold as she spoke. “My mother used to speak of fate, that the gods had chosen me, that I was destined for great things. I believed that for so long, even after she died, even after that thing took everything I had away. I still had a voice inside of me that reassured me that the divine will was still watching, waiting. That hope went away the night I was taken, the night of the rituals, the night before the priests intended to slice me open and feed my blood to the gods.”

An intense fervor rose in her, her voice wavered as if she was shaking. “I thought I was dead, I thought the gods had abandoned me...until I saw you. You saved me, and more, you were sent by the gods, your System marked you as a servant of Ishtar.

“There used to be a goddess of fate. Ashima was her name, but she is no more. Do you know who the goddess of fate is, Eliphaz? My mother taught me her name: Ashima-Ishtar, she would say, Ishtar, the one who guides our purpose.” Her voice, still hushed, grew with fear and excitement. “Do you understand what this means, Eliphaz? By fate, Ishtar brought us together. She knows that only we can defeat whatever awaits us, we are the divine instrument through which she acts.”

“I…think I understand,” Eliphaz whispered, staring up at the stars. They looked down upon him, so clear in the sky yet so cryptic, a realm so far away it could never be reached.

“You and I,” Narina continued, “we are linked by fate. For whatever reason the gods have brought us together. Do you understand Eliphaz? When I say we have to stay together, I am not only speaking for myself. I am speaking for the divine will, the will of the great universe that surrounds us.”

“I understand.”

“Whatever happens, we stick together.”

“Whatever happens,” he agreed.

—

In the morning, the journey continued. As they loaded the horses and set off, Eliphaz thought over what Narina had said in the night. He did not share her deep trust in the gods. Once, he may have believed that Elohim watched over him, cared for him, but such idealism had crumbled after Jakob had so easily stolen what was rightfully his. What was the life of a man in the eyes of a god? Nothing, Eliphaz thought. To them we were like hapless ants, to be watched and toyed with until our usefulness ran short, eventually discarded without a second thought.

Even if what Narina had said was true, that Ishtar had brought them together, that fate had bound them for some great purpose, to Eliphaz it didn’t matter. What was fate anyway? I am as I am and will do as I will, Eliphaz thought. Ishtar’s will be damned.

—

By midday they made it to their destination. Besset was forced to ask some local peasants for directions, who at first played dumb. “No such attack around these parts,” they mumbled, eyes averted as they nervously fiddled with their tools.

Their manner changed only after Besset showed them his ring of gold, its flat surface decorated with a ram-headed sphinx beneath a solar disc: the symbol of Amun, the mark of the Pharaoh. Then did the peasants acquiesce, tripping over themselves to apologize in flustered phrases: “We misunderstood your question, great soldier!” they cried, “our minds are coarse and weak, forgive us for our foolishness!”

“These poor locals,” Besset muttered to Eliphaz as they went on their way. “They fear us, soldiers of the Black Land, and for good reason. Rumors abound of Pharaoh’s men. In Retenu, they extort, they steal, they kill. So the people say. And as long as they bear the mark of the Pharaoh, no local court can judge them, and so their crimes go unpunished.”

—

“This place, it feels like home.”

Narina stood in a clearing, wild oats reaching up to her waist. They were well into the lowlands now, where the earth was rich and the air carried the faint scent of the distant sea.

Besset was beside her, kneeling on one knee as he inspected the ground. “Small traces of ash and soot. Whatever fiery end these people met, the evidence is nearly gone.”

“Who were they?” Eliphaz asked.

Besset shrugged as he stood. “Nomads, travelers with wares and livestock. That is what the locals said.”

Eliphaz shivered. “And now they’re no more.”

Besset ignored his comment, turning to Narina. “Find anything yet?”

“Not yet.” Narina shook her head and heaved a wistful sigh. “This place, all around here, it feels so familiar. I can almost imagine mother and father in this place. It’s like encountering somewhere you only thought existed in a dream.”

Besset raised an eyebrow. “Anything else?”

She frowned, looking both frustrated and resigned. “The whispers are faint, difficult to decipher. Give me some time, and I’ll see what they reveal to me.”

Eliphaz looked on as Narina closed her eyes and began to listen, feeling rather useless. Afternoon was settling in, the sun’s warm rays diffusing through the ancient oaks and acacias that covered the land. The air was warm but the wind was cool. In the distance, Eliphaz thought he could make out a small herd of gazelles, slender horns quivering as they raised their heads to listen. There was the gentle buzz of insects, the whispers of leaves and grasses.

What was Narina hearing? Eliphaz wondered. What could she see, what could she feel, that he could not?

Finally she called for them. Not with her voice, but with a simple gesture of her face, a nod which seemed to say, follow me. They followed.

—

The forest thickened. The ground grew damp, covered in moss which hid earthworms and beetles. The sun hid behind branches and leaves, the world below covered in shadow.

Eliphaz wanted to ask Narina where they were going, where she was leading them, but he dared not break the girl’s silent reverie. She walked in front of them, occasionally stopping, closing her eyes as if to listen, only to open them and adjust their course.

It was Besset who broke the silence at last. “Stop,” he said, and they stopped.

“Listen.”

The sound of feet and hooves breaking through dried leaves stopped. In its wake, a curious noise could be heard. A gentle undulation of tones, brittle chime-like sounds that danced above them.

Eliphaz looked up. On the branch of the oak which towered over him, he spied it. A little bell, dull and brown, hanging from the tree. Looking further, he saw more of them. Bells tied to branches, each rattling in the breeze, each contributing to the quiet cacophony of the forest.

He turned to Narina, and found her entranced in the odd discovery. “What is the meaning of this?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she whispered.

His curiosity piqued, Eliphaz summoned a slender vine from the earth, watching as it grew towards the trees. It wrapped around the nearest bell, snapping the twine which tied it to its branch. Then it descended, dropping the little object in Eliphaz’s hands.

He inspected it. It was smaller than his fist, made of a glazed clay that was smooth and cold to the touch. On one side it bore a simple inscription, etched in a cuneiform script that Eliphaz couldn’t make out:

𐎅𐎄

“Can you read this?” he asked, handing the object to Besset.

The Egyptian commander examined the text. “Hadad, it says.”

“Hadad,” Narina echoed, “god of the winds and storms.”

Eliphaz was perplexed. “What is the storm god’s name doing on a bell? What is the meaning of this place?”

His questions were met with silence.

“We have to continue,” Narina said. “What we’re meant to find, I’m not sure. But this place is important, that is why it led me here.”

An ominous feeling grew in Eliphaz’s chest. Narina was leading them into the unknown, that is all he knew. What they would find within this dark forest of god-marked chimes, only fate could tell. It was too late to run away, to turn his back on his companions who depended on his strength. He felt whatever control he believed to once have slip from his grasp.

“We have no other lead,” Besset acknowledged. “Proceed carefully, Narina. For we have no idea what lies ahead.”

—

On they went through the woods, as the sun descended and the sky turned red. The darkness of the forest floor deepened, the shadows playing tricks on Eliphaz’s vision as he scanned his surroundings. They reached a part of the woods that was far older, fallen trunks lying half-sunken in the earthen rot. A damp smell pervaded the air; the smell of death, desiccation, and rebirth.

Bells still hung overhead, the hollow rattles of their movement echoing through the trees. The effect was unnerving, Eliphaz thought, the ever-present sound getting under his skin.

When Narina stopped walking, Eliphaz didn’t see it at first. He assumed she was staring at a large boulder that blocked their path.

His eyes adjusted. It was not a boulder, but a large hut, built of curved boughs and covered in moss. A dirty, ragged cloth hung over the entrance.

Eliphaz felt himself move towards the opening. His body was no longer his own, it went where it pleased, despite whatever fear that racked his mind. He gripped the Sword of Lamech, which rested at his side.

The cloth was pulled back. Inside, an old woman sat before a small fire. She looked ancient, her face was dark and wrinkled and covered in sunspots, frail wisps of white hair falling from her forehead. One of her eyes was a pure, misted blue, with no pupil or iris to speak of. The other was wide and black, staring at the three travelers who stood at her doorstep.

She spoke:

“Weary travelers, come in! Sit by my fire. No need to explain yourself, for the gods have already told me what I need to know. Time is of essence, I fear. Let us share our words quickly, before fate takes its course.”