The Fertile Crescent, 75 Miles West of Eridu, Eleven Months Later
Sereb-Meloch couldn’t stop shaking from within the pitch blackness of the cave. It had been nearly a year since the debacle at Eridu. Yet, he couldn’t stop looking over his shoulder. Couldn’t stop imagining every sound—every drop of water falling from a stalactite—was the sound of stealthy footsteps coming for him.
If you do this, Sereb-Meloch relived the words Achelous had uttered, as Zaidu had prepared to remove the man’s head. I swear to the one and only God that matters... I will make you suffer more than you ever imagined possible.
And somehow, the man had actually survived decapitation and purifying fires. No mortal man could survive such destruction.
Achelous is not a man, Sereb-Meloch thought. Perhaps he is Enki. Or Enlil. He shuddered at his next guess. Or perhaps my soldiers were correct in speculating the foreigner to be the earthly incarnation of Marduk himself?
After all, Marduk had defeated his goddess once before. No one else could have been capable of such a feat. Certainly no mortal.
Achelous’s own words gave a clue as to his true identity. I swear to the one and only God that matters, he had said. He spoke of Marduk, hadn’t he? He was the greatest of all the gods, after all. Everyone, other than the deluded Hebrews, knew the truth of that.
A sudden rush of dread swept through the priest’s limbs, as he huddled over the abysmal fire he’d managed to strike up in the safety of his cavern. He’d angered the king of the gods. He’d earned Marduk’s wrath. Surely there was nowhere on Earth that he could hide from such a being.
And yet, he remained sequestered deep in the bowels of the mountains, living on the blind fish, insects and snails he managed to scavenge in the cave. He dared go out only at night and even then, for short treks in search of wood and other supplies he might need during the day. He’d become a bedraggled excuse for a man, a beggar whose cup was filled only by the natural world around him.
He threw the last remaining piece of wood on the fire and shivered. “What could be a worse torture than what I did to Achelous?” he mumbled, remembering the threat all over again. What horrible fate awaited him, if this god-who-resembled-a-man ever found him?
A strained giggle slipped unbidden past his lips.
What fate? What fate? What fate? he repeated in his thoughts.
The giggle intensified as he plucked a squirming slug from the fire and slid it into his mouth.
What will he do to me when he catches me?
What fate?
What fate?
The giggle avalanched into a deep throated fit of laughter. Sereb-Meloch knew he should be quieter. He might attract the attention of the gods. But he couldn’t help himself. Achelous’s words to him just before the axe had fallen across the man-god’s neck just wouldn’t go away.
I will make you suffer more than you ever imagined possible.
“Sereb-Meloch…”
The priest flinched, spinning around.
He was still alone.
A warbling shadow darted across the wall, tearing a scream from his lips.
“Behind you,” came a whispering voice.
He spun and found no one.
A tug on his head made him yelp and turn back in time to see a clean cut clump of his hair float down into the fire and curl in on itself.
“Achelous!” the priest shouted. “Finish this!” He knew his mind was faltering and longed for release, but he lacked the bravery to end his own life.
The tick of a rock falling turned him to the left.
The shadows moved.
The priest stood on shaking legs and walked toward the darkness. “Achelous! Take me now!”
Silence.
The shadows remained still.
He stood there for minutes, peering into the darkness.
Two eyes suddenly appeared, no more than two feet away. “Boo.”
Then they were gone, and as Sereb-Meloch screamed and screamed, his voice was joined by the laughter of a man who could not die. The priest fell to the ground, thrashing and wailing, knowing that his torment had only just begun.