The walls of the city glow deep orange from still-raging flames along the Divid­ing Wall. The remains of Zargon’s exploded statue lie strewn about the city like embers. We dart around cor­ners and through dusty alleys, strain­ing to hear the clat­ter of the hoplites’ armor behind us.

As we pass build­ings, shut­ters slam shut, torches blow out. With the watch­tow­ers in flames and the Divid­ing Wall in chaos, natives must be pour­ing through the breaches right now—and every­one on the Akka­dian side of the Wall is brac­ing for a riot.

Kiddu weaves around another cor­ner. Her third left in a row.

“Where are we going?” I yell.

“I have no idea!”

Clank-clank-clank. Two hoplites skid around a cor­ner. They instantly spot us and raise their spears.

“HALT! NOW!”

We run, around a cor­ner, down an alley, across an empty street. Another block and we emerge onto Canal Street. We’re south of the water­way, but the Tem­ple on Nabuk Street is north of it—and there are only so many bridges.

The near­est one is two blocks ahead.

 

The mys­tics have stopped shoot­ing around the city so the sor­cer­ers’ light­ning has died down now. I can finally hear most of my surroundings—flowing water from the canal, clank­ing foot­steps from a block behind. Other sounds too, more dis­tant but more ominous—hundreds of natives chant­ing, the words mud­dled echoes but still clear:

Death to the Empire!
Death to Akkad!

I’m try­ing to keep up with Kiddu. My stom­ach is a knot of pain. I check behind me. Two hoplites from the Cir­cus, still in pur­suit, but now they’re joined by sev­eral other sol­diers. One of the new arrivals is hold­ing some­thing out, glow­ing with a point of blue-white light—

“Kiddu! Watch out!”

I throw myself down on the cob­ble­stones just as a jagged spear of light­ing shoots past. The hoplites’ lit­tle bolt-wands aren’t nearly as pow­er­ful as the sor­cer­ers’ killing light­ning blasts but they’re strong enough to shock you into a col­lapsed vom­it­ing heap.

“Son of a BITCH!” yells Kiddu. The bolt’s aim was bad, but it nipped her. She turns around, hoists me up from the ground, shakes her shocked arm. Her dread­locks stick up in frizzy clouds.

 

We run. The chant­ing gets louder. So does another sound, a rum­bling march­ing. So do the sounds of our pur­suers who, I real­ize with hor­ror, are now more than close enough behind to sim­ply throw their spears at us.

The bridge is right in front of us now, to our left, just a half-block away—

“Oh shit!” says Kiddu.

We turn onto the bridge and I see what she’s swear­ing about—a crowd of torch-carrying natives is swelling on the other side of the canal, flood­ing towards us, and fun­nel­ing onto the oppo­site side of the bridge.

I turn around, think­ing that the bridge is effec­tively blocked. But then I skid to a stop. I see the source of the rum­bling march­ing sound on our side of the canal—an entire pha­lanx of hoplites, ten rows deep and spread out across the whole street ahead of us, a wall of shields behind a for­est of oily black spear­points.

 

The sol­diers march for­ward in per­fect lock-step towards the bridge, a huge weight slowly but inevitably falling against the natives on the other side—and, in the process, on the two of us caught in between.

“Which way?” I say.

“We’re prob­a­bly safer with the natives!”

“Are you sure about that?”

Kiddu is more deci­sive than I. She pulls my arm and we run towards the chant­ing throngs of natives, feel­ing utterly exposed on the crest of the bridge’s high arch. Some of the natives throw rocks that whis­tle over our heads and clat­ter use­lessly against the shield­wall of the hoplites behind us.

I can see the faces of the clos­est natives, dressed in rags, mouths open wide, eyes glow­ing wild in the torch­light. One holds up a flag embla­zoned with the abstract cir­cu­lar emblem of the Sun God, or per­haps the mys­tics’ leg­endary city of Har­rappa. The native notices me, points and yells some­thing over the din—

A tremen­dous flash.

Thun­der explodes from the Divid­ing Wall and from the space in front of me—and a nim­bus of blue-white light­ning rips the yelling native man and every­one around him apart.

 

I’m thrown back from the blast, blinded and deaf­ened. I can’t feel or see or hear a thing.

With enor­mous effort, I push myself up to my knees. It takes my vision a few sec­onds to recover. Through the swim­ming spots of blurry light, I see bod­ies lying sprawled on the bridge.

I have never seen a dead body before.

Faces locked in twisted agony. Flesh charred, clothes burn­ing. That’s not what gets to me, though.

What gets to me is the blood com­ing from their ears. I see this and then I real­ize my left ear feels wet. Pierc­ing, scream­ing pain through the form­less hol­low seashore sounds. I wipe my fin­ger below my ear and look: bright red blood. Then I retch onto the cob­ble­stones.

At this point, I think I may have fainted for a minute. When I come to, the pha­lanx has streamed onto the bridge. Sur­viv­ing natives scream out in pain and ter­ror, stum­bling over corpses as they flee.

“Kiddu?” I yell, I think. I can’t hear myself yell.

Some of the natives have stayed behind to drag still-spasming lightning-shocked bod­ies away, cre­at­ing bot­tle­necks. Oth­ers climb over the bridge’s rail­ing and throw them­selves into the canal below.

“GIL!”

They say you can always hear some­one call­ing your name above the noise of a crowd; I guess they weren’t lying. I spot her—she’s fol­low­ing the natives’ lead, try­ing to climb up over the rail­ing.

“NO!” I scream with­out hear­ing myself. “KIDDU, NO!”

I wave at her with all of my remain­ing strength, try­ing to get her to come back. It works—she pauses her climb—and then a sec­ond bolt of light­ning ham­mers down from the Divid­ing Wall.

This one hits the canal. Every native that jumped into the water screams and dies.

I try to walk towards Kiddu, towards the rail­ing.

Sud­denly, rough hands seize me and throw me to the ground. A heavy foot pushes against my back. An armored fore­arm presses against my face, pin­ning my cheek against the rough cob­ble­stone. Some­one ties my hands in a tight knot behind my back.

I watch as row after row of san­dled feet and greave-covered shins march past my face.

A gruff voice: “Don’t move, boy.”