Eliphaz and Narina went with Mina, who led them through what Eliphaz guessed was the servant wing of the palace. Mina chattered as they went, clearly used to holding a conversation all by herself.

“I’m sure our gentle prince will enjoy your presence, he spends far too much time within these walls, idle—yes—but in that rather gracious manner of nobility. A little excitement is precisely what the royal physician has been calling for, though the prince will hear nothing of it. I admit I am in agreement with that dear old doctor, a little vigor would do our lord good.”

Mina was old, though Eliphaz could only guess at her age. Despite her youthful face, her hair was streaked gray and she walked with a dignified and thoughtful limp.

“I heard there was quite the stir out in town today—some servants were saying terrible things but I’m sure half of it is just gossip. You will have to tell our lord all about it. But first I suggest a little cleaning? The prince is a refined gentleman, his sensibilities are of the highest order. It would be a shame for a dusty appearance to hold back the lustre of one’s words.”

Mina’s diplomatic speech spoke lightly of the pair’s appearance, which could be described as truly wretched. As they walked through the palace, Eliphaz felt the stares of the servants who were probably wondering why the Keeper of Guests was bringing two dirt-smeared beggars before the prince. Narina was clothed in a little more than a sackcloth, black with soot and splotched with brown blood. As for himself, Eliphaz still wore his desert garb, now torn and ruined. He felt the dull pain of a bruise on his forehead where the Moabite had struck him, but other than that his previous wounds caused him little pain—likely the result of the blessing Ishtar had bestowed to him in the desert.

And so they were brought into separate chambers where servants provided everything they needed in order to not offend the prince’s delicate sensibilities. Eliphaz was brought spring water, scented with oils and warmed by coals, which he poured over himself with a wasteful abandon that would have horrified his mother. He scrubbed himself with a porous rock before rewrapping the cut by his ribs and throwing on a shirt made of linen—though he first marveled at how smooth it felt between his fingertips.

When Eliphaz emerged he felt like a new person, he couldn’t remember the last time he had been so thoroughly cleansed. And standing across from him was a young woman, dressed in an elegant, flowing robe with eyes as black as the night—

“Narina?”

Before he knew it she embraced him, her head pressed tightly against his shoulder.

“I never thanked you for saving me. I thought it was the end. That I would die before that wicked god who would feast on me, what would become of my spirit beneath the—”

“Hush now,” Eliphaz murmured. “You’re safe. Molek has abandoned this city, and once we speak before Prince Hemor I will ensure that he never returns.”

Narina smiled, her eyes wet with tears. “What I meant to say is, I owe you my life. There is nothing for me in this city. Wherever you go, take me with you.”

Eliphaz sighed, though at the same time his heart swelled with pride. He had saved someone’s life, had proven himself more capable than he ever imagined. Yet what use would Narina be to him?

“We shall see,” he said. “My path from here is unclear and for all I know still fraught with danger. To follow me would be no different than following a blind beggar: I cannot lead you to whatever it is you seek.”

“But don’t you see? Ishtar brought you here!” In hushed tones she whispered the name of the goddess. “She led you to Baal-Molek, did she not? And what did you find within his sanctum but me? No one can understand the gods, but we know that they hold the strings of fate, and when they lead us they do so with heavenly knowledge and foresight.”

“I think you are reading too much into things,” Eliphaz replied, his gaze tempering the girl’s hopeful eyes. “Ishtar told me to challenge Molek, and as a consequence I saved you. To believe otherwise is to pull meaning out of coincidence.”

Narina stepped back, somewhat dejected. “For a prophet you have little faith. It’s not what I suspected of someone who has spoken with a god.”

Eliphaz snorted. “It was a rather one-sided conversation.”

—

Prince Hemor waited in the royal chambers, seated atop an oaken throne carved with deities and monsters. It had been a gift of a prince of Amurru, the steward of Byblos and Hemor’s brother by marriage.

“As you govern from your seat of power,” the nobleman had written, “may the stories of the gods inspire your courage. For just as Martu fought against the serpents of chaos, we fight for the peace of our nations.”

Not that Hemor spent much time on his “seat of power.” The fact that he sat here at this very moment annoyed him a great deal. He had spent the morning in the House of Women, entertained by his favored consort, Adillah, who would sing softly into his ear while strumming her lute.

“Oh, my fearless lord, provider of this blessed city, idol of the gods and hero of Retenu…” she whispered. Adillah had mastered the art of complimenting the prince while also playing her lute with one hand, for with the other she fed him grapes. “Great prince, do I dare admit it? Seeing your graceful figure awakens something deep within me, igniting desires I dare not name!”

“What is it my favored wife? As your lord and husband I demand to hear more!” Hemor’s eyes widened and his sad little heart fluttered.

“Oh...oh!” Adillah turned around in shame. “I cannot say, I dare not speak such horrible things before a great prince.”

Hemor reached for her waist, but she slank away, out of reach from his divan.

“No, do not touch me my lord...not yet,” she cried. “I am not worthy! For just as man should not lie besides the gods, I cannot speak obscenities before you, the sun of this city, its divine defender.”

Adillah’s distress only worsened his palpitations. The prince tried to get up, but he became dizzy as blood rushed to his head.

“I take it back!” he exclaimed with fervor. “My love! My Adillah! That you do not feel worthy fills me with great sadness, but I know I will prevail. In the meantime, let me shower you with gold until you shine as bright as the sun!”

Adillah stepped forward and smiled sweetly at the prince. Gently he took her hand and placed upon it a ring with a golden scarab. The insect pendant rested upon her middle finger, adorned on either side by countless jewels and rings.

Hemor’s face took on a dreamy quality as he thought of his wife Adillah. And of course, those thoughts couldn’t help but remind him of Mutemi, his little lady of the underworld. Or Yara, his princess of the Assyrian plains. And who could forget Zillah, who danced so beautifully before the moon. Or even—

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“Prince Hemor,” a voice, brusque and businesslike, called out. It was Besset.

“Yes, Commander?” The prince groaned as he massaged his temples. Why on earth had the Egyptian demanded his presence?

“I assume you were informed of what took place this morning?”

Hemor wasn’t quite sure what Besset was talking about. A scribe had interrupted him at breakfast, but his rendezvous with Adillah had left him feeling lightheaded and unable to concentrate on the messenger’s words.

“Yes, I was duly notified,” the prince replied. “But what is it that you want from me?”

Besset raised an eyebrow. “So...then you are aware that Molek’s Order has been purged? That High Priest Melzichek is dead and that the surviving members have fled the city?”

“Naturally I...er...what?” For several painful seconds Hemor sat in awestruck silence, his eyes bulging as he swallowed his words. His hands clutching the arms of his seat until his knuckles grew white, Hemor struggled to retain his composure. Finally, he was able to speak, though only a single word whose dignified tone was somewhat ruined by an uncertain, upward lilt:

“Yes?” Hemor said.

Besset nodded slowly, trying to decide whether the prince’s response had been a question. He decided it was probably for the best to simply move on.

“In that case, my lord, allow me to introduce the one responsible for Molek’s banishment. He wished to speak with you rather urgently, and I saw no reason, or way, to hinder his request.”

Out of the shadows of the chamber a young man—no, a boy—emerged. His auburn hair fell over a pair of narrow, suspicious eyes which rested atop a freckled face. The boy was slender and not exactly physically imposing, yet a certain sharpness of nose and chin lent a severity to his gaze. Nonetheless, he slowly fell to his knees, bowing deeply until his forehead touched the floor. He raised himself up and began to speak.

—

Eliphaz had confided with Narina what he should say to the prince, and prepared a general outline in advance. So after paying Prince Hemor his respects, he wasted no time in beginning his speech.

“Great prince of this city, I come with peaceful intentions, and state so outright so that my words align with my gestures of respect. You were no doubt alarmed when you heard this morning that your city was besieged, that an outpouring of vines threatened your soldiers and civilians. You are probably wondering if it is I that am responsible for this and other heinous deeds. Well, the short answer is yes.

“The long answer would be to tell you of my divine orders: for the great god whom the Assyrians call the Queen of the Heavens spoke to me from the Beyond. She told me of the savage Baal-Molek and ordered me to fight him. And so I fought his order and when I reached the inner sanctum of his temple I found a helpless girl, bound upon his altar of sacrifice.”

Eliphaz gestured behind him, and now Narina appeared before the throne.

“This remarkable young girl, a natural-born seer, should never have been placed upon that altar. In fact, no human being should. I will not apologize for my actions, or beg for your mercy or forgiveness, for I saw with my own eyes the savage evil of Molek and I do not regret freeing your city of this demon.”

A slight waver in his voice revealed Eliphaz’s fear and uncertainty. He did not know how the prince would react to his forthright thoughts. Eliphaz saw no other option than to speak truthfully and hope for the best.

“So what do I ask of you, great prince of Shechem? I have no interest in wealth or power, and would be happy to depart Shechem after visiting this place of honor. I only request that you promise me that the worship of Molek is forever banned within these city walls. And also that you look after this girl, and ensure she leads a life worthy of her potential.”

Having finished his speech, Eliphaz looked up at Hemor. The prince was middle-aged, though looked rather old, which is often the case of those who partake too eagerly of life’s pleasures. In an exotic, purple robe he sat at a slumped diagonal on his throne, his face frozen in a curious expression. His right eye twitched slightly while inscrutable wrinkles lined his steep forehead. He stared blankly at Eliphaz.

Eliphaz was concerned. Had he done something wrong? He looked over at Narina, widening his eyes in a plea for help.

Your name? Narina mouthed silently.

“Oh, and my name is Eliphaz,” he hastily added, turning back towards Hemor.

More silence. Eliphaz remained silent, shuffling his feet. For a moment he looked down at the floor, unsure if it was rude to stare at a prince.

Finally, Besset stepped in.

“My lord, this young man is responsible for the vines that fought this city and that led to—”

“I am well aware, Commander!” Hemor interjected. “I am just coming to...grips with the situation. Oh, what woe, what responsibility! And for it all to fall unto me…”

The prince fell forward and cradled his head in his hands, his body shuddering with panicked sobs.

Eliphaz was surprised and offended. “Why are you upset at this news? I would expect that Molek’s end would give you some relief, but instead you act like your city has fallen? Molek ruled out of fear, yet you mourn the end of his savagery?”

“Savagery!” Prince Hemor shot back, staring at Eliphaz with furious, bloodshot eyes. “You act as if my city descends into savagery for its own sake. Let me tell you, savagery comes out of necessity: so it was taught to me by my father, who learned it from his. For peace, for prosperity, sacrifice is necessary. Sometimes even human blood must be spilt.”

“How can you say something so disgusting!” Eliphaz flared. He thought of Narina, tied and helpless before the firepit, what would have happened if he arrived too late—

“Don’t lecture me, boy,” Hemor spat. “I know what you are, a habiru, a child of dirt and nothing else. You speak of heaven and its will yet refuse to see the evil that goes unpunished. Do you really think Molek, in all his savagery, is the worst thing that stalks this earth?”

Eliphaz didn’t know what to answer, and the prince sneered at his silence.

“That’s what I thought,” Hemor continued. “Molek may be evil, but he can be reasoned with. He demands blood, but he offers something in return: Protection. For there are evils that can’t be reasoned with, evils whose nature is pure hunger, who would destroy everything that we’ve built.”

“You speak with something in mind,” Eliphaz said. The prince’s eyes were wide with fervor, his demeanor completely transformed.

“I do.” Hemor replied, relaxing somewhat. “Due north of Mount Gerizim, past the farms and fields, lies a cursed forest of pines. A creature lurks therein, an agent of destruction. It hunts men, you see, crawls upon homesteads and tents leaving nothing but burnt remains behind.”

“A creature?” Eliphaz asked. “Some kind of fire-breathing animal?”

“No one knows. Presumably everyone who has seen it has died by its hand.”

“And Molek...he protects this city, in exchange for sacrifice.”

Hemor nodded. “Do you see now, why ridding the world of savagery is no simple task? For if you remove one layer, beneath you find only more ancient horrors. I have no love for Molek, but when he spoke through his priests I knew I had no choice but accept his conditions, just as my father did, and his father before that.”

“But isn’t there a way to end this cycle?” Eliphaz said, refusing to back down. “We can hunt this creature down, destroy it forever, banish both it and Molek in a single stroke.”

The prince laughed weakly. “You think no one has tried that before? This creature is as silent as the night. You will spend many moons searching and when you least expect it, it will find you and kill you in seconds.” Hemor sighed and looked at Eliphaz with worn eyes. “You are a boy of courage, there is no doubt in that, but to hunt this monster would only spell death.”

Eliphaz didn’t know what to say, for the prince spoke with a despair that left little room for hope. Ishtar had granted him power, but what means did he have to track down this strange creature? He could not doubt the truth of Prince Hemor’s words.

He felt a hand touch his shoulder. It was Narina. She curtsied lightly before the prince and began to speak.

“Dear prince, I stand before you as little more than a footnote of this tale, the sacrifice that was spared by Eliphaz’s hand. Yet I think I may offer you both something of value. As a seer, I have always sensed things that were not there, beings and spirits beyond the veil of this reality. It’s another form of seeing really—just as one sees the System which lies somewhere between the worlds.”

“What are you saying?” Eliphaz asked. Narina looked at him, a hint of a smile on her lips.

“I’ve seen the creature of the cursed forest. Sensed it. It is a terrible monster, and wherever it goes spirits wail in horror, for there is something deeply wrong with that creature.”

Narina shuddered, her eyes growing cold and distant.

“I’ll never forget that feeling,” she whispered. “And I’ll know it when I find it again.”