The Last Guardian Read Free

founded it upon the seas and established it upon the waters. Who may ascend the Hill of the Lord? Who may stand in his Holy Place? He who has
clean hands and a pure heart, who does not lift up his soul to an idol, or swear by what is false.”
    He walked to the trembling stallion and saddled him. Then he gathered what remained of the food, stepped into the saddle, and rode from the cave.
    Behind him the fire flickered … and died.

2
THE CITY OF AD—9364 B.C.
    T HE TEMPLE WAS a place of great beauty still, with its white spires and golden domes, but the once-tranquil courtyards were now thronged with people baying for the blood sacrifice. The white tent at the entrance to the Holy Circle had been removed and in its place stood a marble statue of the king, regal and mighty, arms outstretched.
    Nu-Khasisatra stood in the crowd, his limbs trembling. Three times the vision had come to him, and three times he had pushed it aside.
    “I cannot do this, Lord,” he whispered. “I do not have the strength.”
    He turned away from the spectacle as the victim was brought out and eased his way through the crowd. He heard the new high priest chant the opening lines of the ritual, but he did not look back. Tears stung his eyes as he stumbled along the corridors of white marble, emerging at last at the Pool of Silence. He sat at the pool’s edge; the roar of the crowd was muted there, yet still he heard the savage joy that heralded the death of another innocent.
    “Forgive me,” he said. Gazing down into the pool, he looked at the fish swimming there and, above them, his own reflection. The face was strong and square, the eyes deep-set, the beard full. He had never considered it the face of a weak man. His hand snaked out, disturbing the water. The sleek silver and black fish scattered, carrying his reflection with them.
    “What can one man do, Lord? You can see them. The king has brought them wealth and peace, prosperity and long life. They would tear me to pieces.” A sense of defeat settled upon him. In the past three months he had organized secret meetings, preaching against the excesses of the king. He had helped the outlawed priests of Chronos escape from the Daggers, smuggling them from the city. But now he shrank from the last commitment; he was ashamed that love of life was stronger than love of God.
    His vision swam, the sky darkened, and Nu-Khasisatra felt himself torn from his body. He soared into the sky and hovered over the gleaming city below. In the distance a deeper darkness gathered, then a bright light shone beyond the darkness. A great wind blew, and Nu trembled as the sea roared up to meet the sky. The mighty city was like a toy now as the ocean thundered across the land. Huge trees disappeared under the waves like grass beneath a river flood. Mountains were swallowed whole. The stars flew across the sky, and the sun rose majestically in the west.
    Looking down on the city of his birth, Nu-Khasisatra saw only the deep blue-gray of an angry sea. His spirit sank below the waves, deeper and deeper into the darkness. The Pool of Silence was truly silent now, and the black fish were gone. Bodies floated by him … men, women, tiny babes. Unencumbered by the water, Nu walked back to the central square. The statue of the king still stood with arms outstretched, but a huge black shark brushed against it. Slowly the statue toppled, striking a pillar. The head sheared off, and the body bounced against the mosaic tiles.
    “No!” screamed Nu. “No!”
    His body jerked, and once more he was sitting by the pool. Bright sunlight streamed above the temple, and doves circled the wooden parapets of the Wailing Tower. He stood, swept his sky-blue cloak over his shoulder, andmarched back to the courtyard of the Holy Circle. The crowd was milling now, and the priests were lifting the victim’s body from the flat gray sacrifice stone. Blood stained the surface and had run down the carved channels to disappear through the