Chapter 3. Death Is Glory

We halt at a distance where the gray walls of Golem come into view. I see a ravenous flame, burning like hell is alive, and dense black smoke, darkening the sun as shriveling screams tear through the space.

As my gaze scans the expanse, the most terrifying thing I see is not even the flames but the look in Meizza’s eyes. I see it for the very first time, fear.

All our lives in the Crypts of Bane, we have been training for war, built to be the strongest, fiercest, and fastest warriors ever known in the history of mankind. Just one Neem can weaken an entire army, save a city, or assassinate a king and his princes in one night. The only thing we are ever warned about is the fire! The Neems fear it, we revere and worship it, and we pray to the God of fire, Asure.

I have seen my brothers tear lions apart with bare hands, murder a hundred Babylonian soldiers at a go, and do many incredible things. But I have never seen them scream like this! This is different; it is not a scream of war; it is of fear, a cry for salvation.

A hush engulfs us, and cold chills travel down my body from my cranium. Our fifty thousand-strong army, camping in preparation for the first war campaign against Babylon, has just been reduced to a few thousand or hundreds, maybe.

While we still dwell on this, a faint sound of battle drums and war songs breeze through. Meizza raises his index finger as an instruction for us to keep silent, and we obey. Then, the sound of trumpets becomes audible too.

“The gods of fire are here with the same strategy that lay Nineveh desolate.” He laments. Although I do not understand what he means by this, I do not believe in the gods. I despise them.

“Someone who knows the prophecy of the fire has been strengthened by the devil himself.” One of his horsemen adds. Neems do not talk too much, but this particular warrior does not shut his mouth.

“Only the Medes ride to war with drums and elephants. They are numerous, like the sands of the earth, and swarm like bees. I hear rumors that they have allied with King Nebo and his son Nebuchadnezzar of Babylon...”

The talkative goes on, and my courage begins to fall flat. If he is Meizza’s minister of information, he is bad at his job.

“The Medes are no match for us. They are the least of our worries.” Another warrior, a female, replies to him.

“True. But what strategy do we employ against the fire that rains from the sky?”

Somehow, an impish smile creeks up the side of my lips at his question... The fire that rains from the sky? Impossible!

As I expected, he gets no reply. All eyes fall on Meizza, who, for some reason, shuts his eyes, meditating. His level of calmness is incredible, even in the face of a raging fire.

I glance at Karen, and her eyes are shut as well. She appears calm, too. But my head swells, and drops of sweat trickle down my brows, especially as the sound of war drums grows louder.

I turn to Meizza again, my heart racing at the speed of light. But he persists in silence. My goodness! I must calm my nerves and breathe.

I inhale deeply a few times, and as I do this, smooth dust particles brush against my face, the sound of whistling winds harmonizing with that of war drums, causing a beautiful melody in my ears. It is as if everything is slowing down, even my heartbeat. And for a moment, peace rings supreme.

“... We give them hell!” Meizza’s roar jerks me back to life. I see his horse rising in glory.

“All our lives, we have trained for today, a day when a few of us will take down mighty elephants and a large number of Barbarians and infidels. I was born and bred for this day, for I am Neem from Golem. Look over there!” He points at the dreadful view.

“I never thought I would be given the honor to fight against the God of fire and a joint army of Babylonians and Medes! But here it is! My glory, our glory!” He laughs. “We fight and die as the greatest Neems who ever lived!”

Raised crescent-shaped swords glitter under the gloomy sky as the horsemen raise their expensive blades, slanting them toward our commander, the Prince of Neems. The trainees follow suit, except Karen and me.

“You two!” Meizza points at us.

...Me?

“Ride into the Crypts of Bane and escape with my baby brother, the true blood and heir to the Assyrian throne. Ride to Persia, the land of the free, and stay there until he is old enough to avenge our adversaries. Also, write to Egypt, our coward ally. Tell her of our glory, the glory of Neems!”

I observe Karen bow slightly and beat her chest with a clenched fist, a symbol of acceptance of the task. I remain with a dropped jaw.

“You are the weakest, Razal.” He continues, and my eyes widen. He is referring to me! The fact that he remembers my name makes me momentarily ecstatic. He points his rapier at me, his horse, trotting up and down.

“...But you have the sharpest mind in literature. You can read, write, and tell the times.” He continues.” Teach my baby brother so he is able to read like you. Tell him our story, the story of victory.”

I try to respond, but I’m not sure how to. A nervous grin appears on my face. Perfect.

“Karen, you teach him the ways of the Assyrians, that he fights like you and has your heart!”

“Yes, my lord!” She beats her chest and bows slightly again.

“You trainees! Today, you become true Neems, the ones privileged to witness the greatest war against the gods of fire!” He swivels his horse and faces Golem.

“Embrace your destinies as we ride to glory!” He roars, and a charismatic shout from my brothers follows. And amid the gloominess, numerous glowing gray eyes become conspicuous. The ground quivers slightly as they begin to charge towards the fire with their curved swords. The great Neems. The Babylonians and Medes don’t know what is coming their way.

“Come on!” Karen hollers, flapping the reins of her horse. To the Crypts of Bane, we go. Where it all began.