Eliphaz left his hiding spot and continued onwards. More vigilant than before, he hid several times as travelers approached, observing from afar as they trotted past, oblivious to his gaze. No more soldiers crossed his path, but Eliphaz remained wary. He stuck out like a sore thumb, Narina leaning on his shoulder, his face still swollen. If questioned people would almost certainly remember him.

Eventually, avoiding other travelers became an impossibility. Eliphaz neared the city, the road widened and grew paved with flat stones. Caravans and traders joined from branching roads from the East. They rode along in gray camels and dromedaries, mules carrying buckling loads of grains and spice, slaves walking alongside leading the beasts and livestock. Eliphaz didn’t dare look them in the eye. He wrapped his cloak around his head like a cowl, and hoped the afternoon sun would cast his face in shadow.

As the sun touched the peaks of the distant mountains, Qadesh appeared in the distance. It was a fortress of a city, with walls far higher than Shechem’s, wide enough that Eliphaz could spy soldiers walking along its parapets. Before the walls a free-form market sprawled in every direction, hindered only by the waters of the Arantu which flowed past the city wall on the right.

The market was a city in its own right, a grand collection of tents and stalls, as well as more permanent structures built of earth, wood and clay. People milled in every corner, shouting, peddling, haggling, running about on their personal errands and shoving their way through the crowds. Eliphas senses were assaulted with noise, the scent of human and animal excrement, sweat, smoke and incense, food and spices, wine and searing alcohol. He’d never seen so many people, such human chaos that nonetheless operated within certain boundaries that prevented an all-out brawl from breaking out. His horse snorted in alarm as a cart veered dangerously close, carrying goats with snake-like eyes that screamed in his direction. Eliphaz jumped in alarm and Narina seemed to react as well, groaning softly and clenching her fists.

“It’s alright,” he said. “We are so close.”

—

He found a stable in a slightly less populated corner of the market. Less a stable than a ramshackle hut, roughly hewn planks shoved into the mud and tied together with twine. In front stood a short, gray-bearded man with a hat far too small for his balding head. He gave Eliphaz a curious look as he approached, as if prepared to pepper him with questions.

Eliphaz returned the gaze with his own weary eyes. Please don’t ask, he tried his best to communicate.

The man simply sighed. “Fine breed, boy. Far too expensive—in fact—for your kind. And unfortunately I am no longer in the business of buying stolen horses.”

Eliphaz shook his head. “I’m not looking to sell. I am heading into the city and should be back before nightfall. Will this suffice?” He pulled a piece of silver from the folds of his cloak.

The man took the shekel and inspected it, biting into the soft metal with his yellow teeth. He grunted in assent. “Very well, but be careful. I know not your business, but the Egyptians have been gathering in Qadesh for days now. Something is clearly amiss. I will keep your horse—but know that my tongue is worth more than a shekel.”

“Understood, elder.” He dismounted before pulling Narina into his arms, cradling her like an oversized child.

The man nodded as he walked away. “Peace be with you, child.”

—

Sneaking into the city proper of Qadesh was surprisingly easy. There were three gates where people passed through the city walls, each overseen by the Pharaoh’s men who watched and questioned—but mostly just watched. Eliphaz chose the widest of these gates, where foot traffic intermingled with larger parties of beasts and livestock. He hoped the additional chaos would ensure his presence was overlooked.

Eliphaz wasn’t sure what to make of the old man’s words. For one, he was clearly correct: soldiers were everywhere, their bronze armor standing out from the throngs of the general populace. They surveyed the crowds, but what for, Eliphaz couldn’t say. If the Pharaoh’s military force had been gathering for days, at least their concern wasn’t Eliphaz. He hoped that it would remain that way.

He held his breath as he passed under the arch of the gate, standing as far as he could from the overseeing officer. The sandstone walls on either side were carved with coiling figures of dragons—the great leviathan beasts that it was said the Creator killed before the birth of the world. Eliphaz looked into the maw of one such monster, pretending to take a special interest in the carving of its jagged teeth.

“You may enter,” the Egyptian called out from the other side of the gate. He had just finished inspecting the papers of a merchant from Ur, or at least so Eliphaz thought, based on the blue robes the dark skinned man wore. Now, the whole caravan was ushered through, and Eliphaz slipped in as well.

Within the city walls all was cast in stone and brick—far cry from the makeshift constructions of mud and sticks in the market outside. Eliphaz immediately found himself within a square, cobbled walkways surrounded by olive trees with their fanning leaves of delicate green. The near-setting sun covered the scene in a pinkish hue.

The people, too, looked distinguished and of an entirely different breed than the rabble of the market. Eliphaz felt self-conscious as he crossed the square, in his improvised cloak, clearly struggling to carry the girl who hung limply at his shoulder. The thought of prying eyes dug into his back, but it was only an illusion—or so he told himself.

He found the least intimidating person he could find to ask for directions: an old man in a faded robe, who sat smoking a pipe on the stoop of one of the residential buildings. Something about the way the man sat, his nose proudly and defiantly pointed towards the sun, reminded Eliphaz of his grandfather.

“Honored elder,” he said, bowing as best he could under Narina’s weight. “My sister is sick and I’ve traveled a long way to seek the Kotharat’s wisdom. Kindly point me in the direction of the goddesses’ blessed temple.”

“Kotharat, eh?” The man squinted at Eliphaz’s face. He gestured upwards with his pipe. “You’re looking at them son.”

Eliphaz followed the motion and looked up, beyond the low-rises of residences and apartments. Further towards the center of the city, a large structure loomed, circular in shape and with seven pointed spires emerging from its form.

“The Kotharat, the seven assistants to Nintu, our great Mother.” The man returned his gaze to Eliphaz. “The stairways behind the square will take you to the second terrace, and from there finding the entrance to the temple should be trivial.”

“Thank you, grandfather.” Eliphaz bowed again and prepared to be on his way before the man raised a hand, stopping him.

“I pray for your sister’s health,” he said simply, and outstretched an empty palm. Not empty, Eliphaz realized. A single red bead lay within the folded creases of the old man’s hand.

Bowing for a third time, he took the bead and went on his way.

—

Eliphaz had little trouble finding his way to the temple. Like Shechem, the city was built on terraced levels, though in Qadesh they were far steeper, causing Eliphaz to drip with sweat as he carried Narina up the tall steps. Qadesh wasn’t built on a hill at all, Eliphaz realized. Instead, the dramatic elevation of the city center was a defensive measure, a means to defend the core as well as seeing hostile armies from afar. Distracted by his thoughts, Eliphaz barely caught himself before walking off a ledge where the narrow street abruptly cut off. Peering down, he saw a rush of water flowing several fathoms below him. A kind of sewage system, a deep canal that carried water and waste out of the city. Looking outward, he could see where the canal eventually exited through the city wall, joining with the Arantu river.

But aside from that one unexpected detour, Eliphaz soon found himself at the doorstep to the home of the Kotharat. The sight of the grand entrance reminded him in some ways of Molek’s temple, stirring apprehension in his gut. He shook the thoughts away. Shechem, Molek and his priests were far away. He had no reason to fear such dangers here.

Within, the temple was darkly lit, the smell and smoke of incense thick in the air. Several young apprentice priestesses stood behind stone altars, prepared to hear the needs and prayers of the public. The one Eliphaz approached wore a humble dress of white cloth, tied at the waist with string. Beneath her hair (which was parted on either side) a diadem of tarnished bronze crossed her forehead. She kneeled before the low altar, arms awkwardly raised and fingers crossed like a statue.

Looking up at Eliphaz, she moved as if to make a slow, ceremonial bow. He ignored her and placed Narina on the altar, struggling to do so without revealing the exhaustion of his limbs. He held her head, allowing it to gently rest on the roughly hewn granite.

“She’s sick—no dying—and fast. System related, not sure what exactly. What can the Kotharat do?” The words tumbled out, coarse and disordered. Eliphaz nearly slapped himself for displaying such poor manners, but luckily the priestess didn’t seem to mind. She stared at him with dark, hollow eyes. Then, she slowly placed her palm over Narina’s head, three fingers resting on her temple while the fourth touched against the unconscious girl’s cheek.

The priestess closed her eyes and Eliphaz waited. He counted the wisps of smoke as they blew out of a nearby incense receptacle in measured waves. One, two, three, four… four-and-half? Eliphaz wasn’t quite sure how to count them.

Finally the priestess withdrew her hand. She didn’t open her eyes, but shivered as she spoke. “Dark things…dark things. My young eyes can’t quite make out the true nature of her affliction. But yes, death is certain unless action is taken soon.”

“What can the Kotharat do? Can she be saved?”

“Nothing is certain—such is the nature of faith. Fate has marked her for death, but an appeal may be made. An appeal to the gods. Made under the sacrificial knife as blood is spilt and burned into divine sustenance. Tell me, young man, are you prepared to make such an appeal?”

“Yes,” Eliphaz replied, and he pulled his purse of silver from his cloak. “I hope this humble offer is enough to please the Kotharat.”

The priestess took the purse, and eyes still closed she weighed it in her hands. “This should suffice,” she finally said.

She stood up, folding the creases of her dress, and opened her eyes to speak directly to Eliphaz. “I will need to take her to our inner chambers, where only women of the Kotharat are allowed and where our High Priestess leads our most sacred rituals. Tonight a sacrifice will be made and either the gods will intervene, or they will not. By dawn we will know where her fate lies.”

With those words she called for another apprentice, and together they carried Narina away. Eliphaz followed their movements until they disappeared behind a dark recess, and then they were gone. He collapsed to his knees, suddenly relieved as an invisible weight lifted from his chest. For days and days his thoughts had never been far from Narina, the thought of her invisible hit points slowly slipping away while he could do nothing to stop it. His desperation had boiled over at the rocks of the Arantu, as Eliphaz had bloodied the river in order to preserve his mission. Fate had done its best to confound him, but he persevered, stretching his body and mind to the brink in order to deliver Narina to the Kotharat.

He had done all he could, and now he could only wait and hope and pray that the Order’s appeal to the gods would succeed. A kernel of doubt remained in his mind, but yet Eliphaz felt he somehow knew Narina would survive. Obviously this was just a trick of his mind, and he chided himself for thinking so fancifully—and yet the thought remained.

He walked over to one of the windows of the temple, a slim rectangle that overlooked the square where Eliphaz had first entered the city. The sun was setting over the distant, snow-tipped mountains, the sky bathed a vibrant blood-red. Beyond the city and past the Arantu river, Eliphaz could see a dark marsh with heavy, half-sunken trees and an endless field of reeds.

A crowd was gathering in the square lined with olive trees. A messenger had arrived, and read his proclamations from atop a wooden stage. His voice was crisp and well-projected, bouncing off of the city walls and structures so that Eliphaz could clearly hear the words said:

“...and now an important announcement for all citizens of Qadesh and travelers in our lands. The Empire has issued warning of a dangerous vagrant believed to be within our city or its vicinity. Suspect is believed to be a young man of average build, dark red hair. Appearance indicates some affiliation with the habiru or other outlawed tribes. Often seen dragging a girl who is drugged, possibly dead. The suspect is dangerous, prone to violence, suspected Hittite spy or agent. Wanted in connection to the murder of three imperial officers. Any pertinent information will be generously compensated by the Pharaoh’s officers…”

Eliphaz felt the hairs on his neck stand straight, felt his hand instinctively go for the hilt of his sword.

His grandmother—Rebekah—had a saying, when things went from bad to worse. When the sheep and their young survived the starving dry season only to get washed away, left to helplessly drown in the winter floods.

“Out of the cauldron,” Rebekah would say, “and into the fire.”