Chapter 3
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Chapter 3
And he said, take now thy son,
Thine only son Isaac, whom thou lovest …
And offer him there for a burnt offering…
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Genesis 22:2
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Carthage: 311 BC
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“Daddy says Bormilcar isn’t to be trusted.” Elissar's curls surrounded her rosy cheeks like a golden penumbra as she handed Azrael a flatbread to feed his doll. “Mommy thinks I’m too young to understand, but she’s really worried.”
Azrael glanced down to ensure his recording device caught their conversation. Elissar was a wealth of information about the inner politics of Carthage, the various political factions, their family dynamics, as well as those of the surrounding empires. The child was like a sponge, drinking up whatever gossip the adults around her foolishly presumed she was too young to understand and making her dolls chatter about the political intrigues of generals and kings, economics, and the movements of armies.
“Why?” Azrael pretended to play nursemaid to his crude wheat-stalk doll, wrapping a bandage around its leg. Thank the goddess none of his barracks-mates were here to observe him playing dolls with a precocious eight-year-old. Especially because, truth be told, he enjoyed her company more than theirs.
“Agathocles … that’s the Sicilian general.” Elissar tied a tiny rag sling onto her own doll's arm. “Daddy says he’s too wily to stay contained with a simple blockade. But Bormilcar insists we'll be safe if we just pray to the old gods for salvation.”
“The old gods?” Azrael glanced down at the statue of Moloch which dominated the family compound. “You mean that old god?”
“Nobody in their right mind really worships Moloch,” Elissar said haughtily. “We keep a statue of him in our yard because it’s expected. My tutor taught me the real history of our ancestors who came here from Tyre.”
“And what was that?” Azrael hoped to get something on cassette since Major Skgrll kept denying his requests for enough security clearance to learn more about the real reason for the armistice.
“My ancestor,” Elissar said. “The one who was like you? He helped lock Moloch in hell. Hezekiah says we’re supposed to protect our cities from Moloch! Not sacrifice the children of slaves to him.”
“Wh-wh-what?” Azrael sputtered.
“Oh … everybody does it,” Elissar nonchalantly splinted her dolly's leg. “The little boy you sometimes see? The one Mommy won’t let me play with so I don’t get attached to him? He’s my Moloch-brother. Daddy bought him from a slave woman so he’d have a son to sacrifice the next time the citizens get nervous about some military campaign.”
Azrael’s eyes widened in horror. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. A shudder of revulsion rustled through his feathers, communicating to his observant young research subject that what she'd just said was not acceptable.
“All the noble families do it.” Elissar's lips trembled as she realized she must have said something wrong. “Otherwise, the priests would expect them to sacrifice me.”
“Elissar!” Azrael flared his wings to their full 30-foot wingspan. “That’s … just … wrong!!!”
“But all the gods demand sacrifice!” Elissar squeaked.
“God doesn’t want those kinds of sacrifices!” Azrael shook with anger. “Not even the child of a slave!”
Elissar clutched her doll to her chest as though she expected to be beaten. Tears sprang to her silver eyes. Azrael realized he was acting like a bully.
“I’m sorry—” he tucked his wings against his back. “It’s just that you humans have some really strange ideas.”
“You sound like my tutor," Elissar said. "Hezekiah warned me to never tell anyone he thinks the same things that you do. Not even my father.”
Why would a tutor risk shaping the ideas of such a young student when one slip of Elissar’s tongue would get him killed. For that matter, why did he trust Elissar to do the same thing? One word would have archers hidden in the courtyard before dawn. General Hanno was their nation-states highest ranking military leader and Azrael was essentially a spy. And yet the child remained silent, even though she understood what spying was and how it undermined empires. She understood he played with her because he was here to observe, and yet she knew the difference between his observations and the washerwoman she’d turned in for eavesdropping when her father discussed naval blockade strategies with his admirals.
“Your tutor is right.” He gave his most disapproving look.
“I’m sorry,” Elissar wept. “Please don’t go away! You’re the only friend I have.” Her tearful eyes were those of a child forced to become wise before her time. She was only eight years old!
“This Hezekiah sounds like a wise man,” Azrael said. “But you must never repeat the things he teaches you to anyone but me, or the bad men who kill children will have him killed, as well.”
“Hezekiah says one day I’ll marry a powerful nobleman,” Elissar said. “He hopes I’ll influence him to get rid of Moloch as the patron god of Carthage. Then children won’t need to be scared their parents will sacrifice them if they’re disobedient anymore.”
Azrael realized Hezekiah planted seeds of political change that would not flourish for decades, until Elissar matured enough to start wielding influence of her own. Who was this tutor?
“You’re just a child,” Azrael stared at his makeshift doll. “It’s wrong to force you to grow up before you’re ready.”
Guilt sat like rotten meat in his gut. He also used her, pretending to be her friend so he could pump her for information.
“But that’s what’s expected of me,” Elissar said. “None of the other nobles have daughters. They sacrificed them in return for favors from the gods. Mommy said it’s so they don’t have to pay the dowry to get rid of them. It’s why … it’s why you’re the only person who will play with me!”
Azrael realized he was no better than the humans! Exploiting a child for his own gain! She thought of him as her friend, while he deliberately tried to maintain his scientific impartiality by simply referring to her as ‘the subject.’ Well … it was all a lie. Truth be told, Azrael looked forward to the time he spent with her and had begun to agonize about how much he would miss her once this assignment ended. He clicked off his recorder.
“Come here.” Azrael held out his arms. Elissar crawled into his lap, bleating like a lost little sheep, every bit as heartbroken as his little sister had been whenever he'd been cruel to her.
“I’m sorry I frightened you.” Azrael's heart filled with a feeling of protectiveness. “I would never hurt you. It’s just … your tutor is right. You shouldn’t worship the bull-man. Ever. He’s the most evil creature the universe has ever known.”
“Do you have stories of him?”
Azrael wasn’t supposed to divulge information that would interfere with human evolution. On the other hand, Elissar already had a source of information, the elderly tutor who came each morning to teach her reading, rhetoric, and reason. He would plant a listening device and shadow the man home. In the meantime, since his own knowledge was little more than legend, he’d tell her a story.
“Once upon a time, there were two gods. Ki … a goddess of chaos. And Moloch … a god of creation. They were married…”
“And lived happily ever after?” Elissar asked. Her face was eager with curiosity as she snuggled into his lap the same way his little sister used to sit with him to read a story.
“No,” Azrael said. “Moloch was a bad husband. Ki gave birth to many children, but when Moloch saw they were made of light, he grew so hungry that he devoured them. Then one day Ki gave birth to She-who-is. Ki didn't want to lose any more children, so she sang the Song of Creation to entice the darkness to protect her. He-who’s-not, primordial chaos.”
“My tutor has told me of She-who-is,” Elissar said. “And her husband, the Dark Lord. But he’s warned me to never speak of them. He said she’s the real goddess who rules the universe.”
“Your tutor is right,” Azrael said. “But there are lots of other gods. People who were once like us, but were so good and pure they became gods, too. Like the Eternal Emperor. He’s a god, but he’ll be the first to tell you he’s not perfect. He tries really hard to always do the right thing.”
“I think I’d like your god,” Elissar gave him a shy smile. “Maybe someday he’ll come and rule our city?”
“In a way,” Azrael said. “He already does. But so does another god. Shay’tan. They’re always squabbling. They disagree on just about everything that can be disagreed about except for Moloch. The bull-god is bad. Your father shouldn’t be raising a slave child to sacrifice to him.”
“I’ll tell him that when I see him again," Elissar said. "Though Mommy says we won't see him for a while.”
“Why not?"
“The council appointed daddy and Bormilcar to go conquer the Sicilians together,” Elissar said. “Mommy’s really worried. She says Bormilcar will double-cross daddy the first chance he gets.”
Elissar's silver eyes filled with worry. She adored both of her parents and her two elder brothers. She couldn’t have chosen a better family in all of Earth to be born into, and yet with this privilege came acute loneliness. She slid out of Azrael's lap and resumed playing with her dolls.
“Don’t you worry—” Elissar told the doll, snapping a twig to make a makeshift crutch. “Azrael is our guardian angel. He’s going to make sure everything is all right.”
Azrael wished to reassure her, but he was forbidden to interfere. The only reason he spoke with this child at all was because the Emperor had ordered it. The fact this child reminded him of his little sister Gazardiel, the one he missed so terribly it made his heart ache, was irrelevant. He was here to do a job.
He clicked on his recording device and resumed his friendly ‘interrogation’ under the guise of play. He would, however, contact his mother and request a certain item be included in the next mail shipment.
“Tell me more about your tutor…"
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