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Arts and Entertainment > Revenge of the Tiamat [Chapter One]
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Article rating : 0.00, 0 votes. Author : Dennis Siluk
Revenge of the Tiamat
[6,820 BC]
Chapter One
Sinned at home, on leave from the Army
In the State of Dreaming
[The Camel Market]
Outside of the ancient city of Heliopolis, otherwise known as the: “City of the Sun,” in Egypt, down the road twelve-miles or so, is a camel market; I was there when I was eight years old, but I remember it well. You treasure such moments in life, when the mighty God of Heaven takes your father away. A mighty demon killed him, -- her name is the Tiamat. As I was saying, or is it thinking, I don’t know, I was there, twelve-years ago. I thought at the time, the camel keepers were cruel for tying their camels one leg up, folded kind of, up against their upper section of their leg, so when they walked they couldn’t escape by running out of the market place, or for that matter I suppose, running its owner to death. How could they with only three legs. So I told myself at the time.
I am twenty-years old now, looking at the camels again, I remember on the way to the market there were many of them along side the dirt roads, some half dead, some dead, and others in small groups being brought to the marketplace; they were so thin, you could see their ribs sticking out. I kept thinking at the time [when I was young that is]: --drink some of that water from your humps, fill them up.
When we got to the huge white gates of the market in Egypt, we went through the towering archway which leads into the center of the market, where we initially headed. I knew very little about Egypt (it culture, religious beliefs, customs, norms), coming from the Near East [Asia Minor], that is, and being so youthful, only that to the Egyptians, their Circle of Life as they called it, was governed by a deity called Ma’at, [goddess], by the way of Ra [primal sun-god], through their king whom was the embodiment of god, as they knew him to be. That is why the symbol of the Falcon was all about Egypt I think, you couldn’t miss it as you visited the busy Heliopolis streets and shops, The Great City of the Sun, as they called it, such statues, with of these images were everywhere.
My father told me not to talk about our spiritual beliefs with anyone; it was to be strictly, and he was stern when he said: ‘…strictly a military mission,’ and he added: to buy one-hundred camels, for a military campaign that was going to take place; along with gathering information for our elders at Yort, about their city itself, if we could: the market place, and their military strength and so forth.
—The sun seemed to be on top of me this early afternoon, as if it was dancing on top of my head, even though I had a covering over it. And here I stood in the middle of this huge marketplace, people all about, some feeding their camels, others feeding their own faces, people and camels, camels and people, uncountable. Some tying the legs of the camels the way I had mentined before, others buying and selling them. And there, there, right over there is that little camel, it draped my heart. He will come to me in a minute, he always does in my dream, just like he did so long ago; yes, yes here he comes, right to me, right over here, right to me. I pat him on his neck, I always pat him on his neck, I think he likes that, yet I can’t remember if he is a he or a she; in any case, then comes that young boy who was riding back and forth on that huge camel, he’s looking at me and the twenty-soldiers with my father, with my father and I that is. He is but only a few years older than me, not much bigger, no, smaller, maybe the same size.
The boy rode up to the little camel looked at me, as he always does (the good thing about dreams is they can come out the same way always, or nearly always), and rode away. What a show off he is I thought, thought back then that is. But now that I’ve had the dream a few times, a few too many times, maybe it was his job though. I don’t know, I never knew, and my never know.
As I watched my father walking to and fro, here and there, looking at camels, I sized up this huge marketplace, with my little eyes back then. It was bigger than Yort’s market by far. It was all of six-acres. A sex foot brick wall surrounded the market place, all the way around like a fortress. And as I stood somewhat in the middle, looked straight ahead, it seemed to go straight forever. I had modest sight back then, if I’d go there today, I’m sure it would seem smaller to me. Nonetheless, along the sides of the market to my left were areas for the camels and the owners to rest and feed their camels, and doctor them up; it was kind an area sectioned off, enclosures, made of brick, and painted white. To my right was where they were tying the left legs of the camels up, and some right legs. Many of the keepers were feeding them lightly, and doing most of the selling. It is where the shade was, where the business huts were, the same side my father was most interested in.
As my father bought the first few camels, I thought them to be quite expensive; two months wages for one camel, and my father being a high ranking officer in the military, that was expensive, but then, he was paying with tax money from Yort.
The sun continued to dance on top of my head this day, dancing and dancing as if it had found me, among all the rest here, found me and was tormenting me along with the camels. I think I was the only one noticing it, but on the other hand, I was the only one possibly without a job, just an observer.
As the day passed on a cool, a breeze set in, and I thanked Leo and all the other constellations in the heavens, yet the winds filled my lungs, nostrils, mouth and unseen areas with smells, dust and more dust, so much dust, it filled the holes in my inner nose, so I could not breath through them, and had to hang my mouth open for air. I seemed to be drying up like a prune, like a dying cactus. But I loved this journey, I loved it so very much, it was the highlight of my life with my father, I’d never, ever forget it, never in my whole life. It was my first and last journey I would have with my father. And that is why I can’t seem to let this dream go, for although it is a dream, it is real, or was real at one time, if I could write my memoirs I’d write this dream, about my father and me. I seem to be simply reliving an old memory, over and over again—I guess I’m still a little sad, and I suppose, like mom says: we all grieve different, therefore maybe I grieve little by little in my dreams. In a like manner, my father always said: “If you’re sad, it is because you lost something good. If you’re mad, it is because you didn’t get to do or say what you should have (so make sure you do it before hand). And if you are dreaming, you are either trying to deal with fear, desire or happiness.” It’s funny how you remember such things. I guess I’m doing a bit of all that.
—My father had now purchased all the camels that he could find that would be making the trip back with us. He told me in passing, on our way back that is, he needed to stop along the way, along the way back to York that is, we’d have to stop at a military site, or compound, or area, I can’t remember the name he used, something similar to those, but we had to drop off one half of the camels for their campaign, and then we’d head on home to rest.
As he paid in gold bulk to the seller, thereafter, we headed toward the gates we had come through. The small camel ran back up to me, just before I entered under the arch of the gate. I wanted to take him with me, I remember thinking that, but I just stared into his big eyes, stared it seemed for the longest time. Plus, it surely was not possible, how on earth could I take him back with me, a dog maybe, a cat possibly, a camel, no way, and so I didn’t know what to tell the camel at the time, it was like I wanted to say something, something to let the camel know, I cared for him, but what? And I didn’t say a word; I just gave a kind of silent goodbye; --for that was not part of the program. Then behind the small camel appeared the boy who I seen before, he was riding back and forth, here and there, on that big camel, that huge monstrous camel. As we went through the gates he quickly took a stick and guided the small camel back to its owner; as I noticed turning about on my own camel, our eyes were now both—the camel and I—going in different directions, and life had different roads for me, as it did for him; yes, we had to march down…
as I started to toss and turn in my bed, I knew I was half asleep, but I was fortunate to be able to finish the dream I thought almost to its end—for I knew once I fell to sleep completely, into a dead sleep, one that you remember nothing until you wakeup, I would not have been able to finish it, or get as far as I did. Now I knew when I woke up, I would be feeling grateful for my father’s memories. It would be a good day.
—“Wake up Sinned!” my mother called from the kitchen. I tried to hide and pretend I didn’t hear her, but again came the echo.
“Breakfast is about ready,” she explained in her strong but mellow voice.
I loved the smell of sweet bread, and the aroma of the wine; the fresh fruits she always had.
‘OK,’ I told myself…I am getting up.’
“I’ll be down in a few minutes mom,” I said with a dreggy voice. I had a good sleep last night, and a wonderful dream I told myself, as I tried to pull myself out of the bed.
I am but twenty-years old and I have already spent four-years in the military; I got thinking, twenty-years old, only twenty-years old. I had heard about the legend of the Tiamat, my father had told me many stories of her, and had a run-in with her concerning our national monument the Mesopotamian Stone, when I was quite young; the Tiamat killed my father. But King Thesas I brought the stone back, and my father was a hero, as was the king. My mother married another military man after the death of my father, and he too, has been threaten by the hands of this demigod, this sea beast. But to be quite honest, she is just a name to me, and that is all it is to me at this time. She has not stolen my memories and my dreams yet.
She was the breeder of evil spirits I was told, older than written time, I think. They say she was born before Atlantis was built or before the great world of Lemuria existed; Lemuria of course was beyond our reach, just another legend of sorts that was beyond the Pillars of Hercules, way beyond in another area of the world. They both sunk, that is, Atlantis and the land of Lemuria I was told. They both disappeared as did the known 3rd world when the Angelic Renegades and the Nefilim Warlords, both ancestors to the demigod race, and the giants another form of angelic-demigod, disappeared. At that time, many giants walked this earth. Giants that reached six-hundred feet, or so I am told, other giants of 13-feet or so.
As I put on my garments, I got thinking, as I smelled the bread from the kitchen, I live in a time when the world is upside down I believe. I wonder often what man would say 10,000 years from now; no let’s say only, only 5,000 years from now, what will they say about…about our society? Will they judge us fairly, and what is fairly, I dare not say? Will there still be demigods then like now; surely they will have some kind of destructive force facing them, for it has always been that way. The angelic forces of yesterday; the evil ones of today that is, the demigods of today, something always haunting society? I dare not think too hard, what for, tomorrow is tomorrow, and I will not be part of that. My imagination, my thinking never stops, and so my mother has told me so.
I know many of the giants have vanished, but we get the next best thing, these damn demons. What next is in store for mankind? God only knows. Will the future judge us accordingly, or by guesses? Only God knows this statement-question. I like talking to myself, assuring my thinking is kept in balance, but if he was to be in our sandals, what then, the future people, that is who I am talking about. You know if the future man was to be ruled by these demigods. Maybe then they will be invisible. Who cares, I will be dead, long gone by then, long buried by time, and I will look like a fossil, inside of a fossil, I have seen in the brownstone these things, creatures in them, in stone, down by the river. Maybe we are the last this world will see of mankind. The demons seem to be taking over.
I love my city of Yort, I always have, and it is where I was born, where my father came back to when we left the camel market in Egypt. It is impregnable. No city in the world has such strength to offer its citizens.
The Mediterranean is the only ocean I know, although I heard of another, but I have never seen it, so I am not sure it exist; there is only one fortress though, like ours, which is ours, and only ours, no, no—there is no city like ours. Maybe there are two oceans or even three. It doesn’t really matter, I’ve never seen them. For I have been to the coast lands of three continents that surround this Mediterranean Sea, that is my ocean, Africa, Europe and Asia and have not seen anything equal. Can these other oceans offer this? I doubt it.
“Sinned, are you coming to eat, the bread will get cold?”
“I’m coming mom,” she gets a little impatient, but then I have not been home for awhile, she likes it when she can still be useful to her one child, her one and only son; she wants to be useful, it makes her feel needed, worthwhile to live, she is a good mother.
As I put on my sandals I got thinking, of my step-father, for he told me sometime back, that there is an island called Gozo where giants built a huge temple called Ggantija [xaghra, Gozo], it was where a few of the Yortites from our city went 1,000-years ago to learn how to build such huge fortifications as we have today. On this little island, it is said the Calypsos live, giants with one eye. They were, or are, demonic in nature, these giants of old; it was why the designers of the city left so abruptly; that is, after six-weeks on the island they darted back to Yort. But 1,000-year’s a long time; I may have gotten some of my figures wrong. But on the other hand, some sailors have told me the great temples of the islands still remain.
As I walked down stairs to the kitchen, I sat in the chair by the window. I always liked looking out windows; I like the sun hitting my face. I think I got that from mom. You get to eat, and see life in motion also that way, be it animals, or vegetation, or people. Mom gave me some sweet bread, some apples, and wine. She smiled, and I simply remained silent taking in the new day; thinking about her smile, the sun, the simple things in life, yes, that is what life is made up of, a bunch of simple things all put together, and a few big things on the road of life.
My step-father is now retired, and keeps my mother busy with that old kind of tender loving care thing, when I say thing I guess I mean attention. King Thesas I is our ruler. His son is but 10-years old now. He seems like a good sort of kid.
I love being a soldier, I always have, even when I wasn’t I loved thinking one day I’d be one, there is nothing like it in the world, nothing to compare the adventure to. Life was great, adventurous, and what more could a young man like me ask for. It was my wine away from home, my high in life. I am the 4th to the commander, an officer of sorts. I am in charge of keeping the armory in good condition, and then when we have a battle, I am an infantryman, with those same men, but in charge. I have a squad of twelve-men I am in charge of. I know, not many, but I am young, give me time. I like the way the men respect me when they say, “Sir,” or “Commander, Sinned.”
My father always said battles are won if not in battle, in waiting for the battle; kind of a mind thing I guess. I had already seen this philosophy in action. We were about to have battle with some of the Spanish a year past, when our commander told us to wait. I wasn’t sure why, for we had 20,000 soldiers, they had but 5,000 at most. When he had me become the messenger, I rode out to their camp and gave them our Commander’s demands, which was simply, their gold, some of their women, for he liked to have several on hand to serve the men naked at night, not sure why, but it was entertaining, and he wanted supplies. Three times I went to the camp demanding these things. The commander ended up with all of this, and not one, not even one soldier killed. For each time I went I would tell them of how many soldiers we had, and of our Fortress at Yort, and our Armory. They slowly became scared, and gave us even more than the Commander expected. And paid or supplied gifts to us, or agreed to, once a year, as a tax to leave them in peace.
And so I learned, battles were not always won, not at all times by fighting; likewise, wars are not always won by a single battle, or for that matter, battles at all. But I was about to go on a journey of a lifetime.
As I finished breakfast, I kissed my mother on the cheek, and took a walk down by the city’s cannel.
See Dennis' web site: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com
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