Slaying of the Tiamat, in the Valley of Death

(A story of the Death of the Tiamat)

Note: for those who have not read the short and three books of the Tiamat of the Author’s, here is a fragment, he spat quickly onto the fire for his new readers. In the trilogy of the books of the Tiamat, she fights with Murdock and is killed, but this fragment was left out, now you have it. The Tiamat series was originally written in 2000.

By Dennis L. Siluk

It was said she, the Tiamat was singing when she descended back to the underworld, descended into the bowels of the earth, to the cold, wet part of the netherworld, where the Manta core, her old friend, and her daughter, Gwyllion, resided, lived among the ice worms and horrors of darkness, and all the demigods that once roamed the streets of the great city called Yort, in Asia Minor in the lost millennium, some 8800-years ago (6800 BC).
When Murdock, mangled her outside of the gates of Yort, in the valley of death, the old spat did not stop there, she swore she’d return, she paused impassively as her essence left her physical body, to the darkly overcast, a hundred human beings looking tragically on this once servant, or almost servant of the great demon Murdock, this big blood thirsty beast, shredded by its equal, or so the world of Yort thought. At that moment she was mentally deaf, lost in a daze, her hands twitched; her pale dark green eyes stared at Marduk, eyes that suddenly were crossed eyed, hanging out of its sockets. Her frame was colorless, illumined by the dim sun showing only dark shadows, the creeping in of moonlight darkened it further, throbbing around her as if she was a ghost.
The unexplainable truth is that Marduk wanted all of Yort and her worshipers in particular to be subject to him, plus, she failed in her task to unravel the mystery only Sinned knew, Sinned the philosopher of the city, and he knew when the end of the world was coming, as Murdock wanted to knew it; actually they both really wondered what Sinned knew, but the Tiamat was always afraid of Sinned’s magical whim, or so it seemed, he had the power cast her into the abyss, or at least so she heard.
Now at hand was the Tiamat’s death, her eerie shaped spirit floated above her collapsing physical body; such debasement was always in the back of Murdock’s mind, his fancy you could say, that is to say, to slay the Tiamat, he was now glad enough to watch and dispose of her at this gully, this hollowed out gorge in the valley of death, cliffs to one side, Yort above, its inhabitants looking down.
Yet she sung, sung so all could hear, sung on her decent to the imagination of course of all who heard, sung the song of revenge. They tried to dismiss it, vaguely they were all terrified of her revengeful song, all but Murdock, terrified I say, because they all felt she was impossible to kill in the first place, yet the impossible happened in front of their eyes, and it would not pass away away.

The other demigods of Yort, were troubled by this battle of course, troubled because Yort was changing, slowly changing from a multi demigod city, into a one demigod city, one by one they were being dismissed by Murdock, killed, mangled, limbs and inner organs torn out of their bodies—oh yes, Murdock could have killed them easier, but he needed to put on a show. Now it was this battle they all watched, and watched the weak and dizzy, incapacitated Tiamat fall—fall, fall… curiously puzzled she was but she fell—and they all witnessed it, perhaps thinking: when was their day coming? It was, yes it was, becoming all too obvious for the on looking demigods. Up to this point, Murdock’s cheerfulness was quenchable, but now they were all doing a odd grumbling as they watched the mighty voice of the Tiamat sing its way down into the belly of the flowerless underworld.
One of the demigods commented lightly, “We had better stick together, lest we be hunted down like the Tiamat by Murdock.” Then another voice said, “Hell, no, no Murdock always had it in for her, he doesn’t’ care about us.”

Birth of the Devil-goat

By Dennis L. Siluk


Part I

Chapter One: the Birth

It was in a little lot of farm land outside of Cairo, Egypt, 1998 that this happening, took place that a voice of a demon, and a figure of a devil peered through the skin of a goat, upon its birth, the old man shuddered at its appearance, his niece, who farmed the land with him, remained still, paused impressively as the birth took place, the old man demanded she kill the freak quickly if not instantly, crying, “Kill, kill, kill the freak…!” You could hear in the tiny head of the creature, its voice humming a death song for the old man, a chant, as it lay in an open shed, next to a large bull; a few cars drove by, a hundred-yards from the open shed—it was early, the sun just appearing lightening up the closed shack next to the shed where the two individuals lived. The old man’s hands stretched up to heaven, and he cried “Allah…!” and he fell to his knees, his niece still in amazement at this extraordinary birth, in this intriguing but not much more than a dirt farm batch.
For the rest of the brief five minutes, they witnessed from this little farm, as they remained in silent, the birth of a devil-goat, so the old man called it inside their minds, in lack of a better name.

Fatima was an orphan taken in by her uncle several years prior, her mother had died earlier because of her delicate health, she died on top of a Cairo bridge, that crossed the Nile River, under a cardboard box she had used for shelter, there Fatima remained until her uncle, Solomon, found her, and took the child to the rented out piece of land he now plowed and planted and harvested. The lonely stony plot spreading to the highway produced vegetable, and for the most part, the owner charged little for it, feeling it better to keep the price reduced and someone, thus, having someone to watch the land, and kill two birds with one stone. It was really just a large patch of land, being farmed, not a farm in the sense of a large piece of land.

The road wound past several small farms, the edge of the lot, crossed the road it was all plateau here, and the great pyramids were not far away, a beautiful sight for the tourist driving by, should he not look at the dirt farm on the other side and be disenchanted, and in front of the lot, was an old hinged fence, long was the fence in front of the roadway, and tall was grass along side of it. The old man’s face twitched with his dull and dim dark eyes as he stared at the creation of this suddenly new birth of a creature, a voice that sounded like the beating of an old deep and rustic metal drum came from its frame. It leaped up and onto its hind hoofs, Solomon was saying at the time: “See I told you to kill it…!” (Just how to kill it he d not mentioned.)
She left him presently, stepped a few feet closer to the creature, “You’ll have a chance to live,” she mumbled as she looked down upon the creature, the old man clutched fisted now.
The harsh throbbing voice, faint as it was, could somehow understood Fatima, it spoke in a foreign voice, foreign to any other language ever produced on earth, yet she could understand. She had many questions in her mind: such as, where did it come from, how did it get here, what exactly was it? She didn’t ask those questions out loud, she just thought them.
(I can answer all these questions for you though, but she would never know it for herself, not exactly anyway. It was a tragic thing that took place, casual as it seemed in the sense, one day a persons life is as it always was, and then an abrupt change takes place, but after a moments time, it all seems somewhat normal again, hence, the breath of life entering a young goat, life from another species, horrible looking, shockingly creating a goat like demon, is not casual, but it seemingly became so in time, in a short period of time for Fatima anyhow. It came from a place called: “The Prison House for Angels”, these angels were fallen angels. You’ve never heard of it you say, well, if not, don’t be incongruous, for there is and was a place called that, it was beyond Orion, created by God, long before the earth was created. It was needed more than ever back then, for when the angels rebelled, where would the damned go, God spread out a village for the damned in the dark hidden parts of the universe. Here no one could hear the faint, ghostly cries of the voices behind the invisible wall, like lions in cages they were. All floating in space and quivering in the darkness, dying in their silence from the rest of the universe, this was their abode, showered with streaks of crimson fires far beyond their reach. And then, Azaz’el was released, to be brought down to earth’s hell, for what reason I do no know. And somehow he escaped and now he was being reborn in this goat, secretly you could say, for who beyond God Himself would realize such a birth was taking place, surprisingly on the very planet the two angelic beings were to bringing Azaz’el, but of course to the lower chambers of the earth.)

Terror had swamped Solomon, yes that is what the goat-devil saw in his eyes, as it stretched out its new body to several feet; now a hoofed beast, with three horns, naked with wet hair from foot to crown. Solomon now showed more poignant terror than anyone could imagine. But the adolescent feared not, actually she started to laugh lugubriously. (The creature lost something in its birth process, something it had when in the “Prison House for Angels,” it lost its matured mind, it was now deformed, defected, reduced to a lower capacity; it knew, but didn’t know—you could say, it heard the voice of the girl, fragmented, and it stared blankly at her, he called out: ‘Mother!’ The creature was a child beast, a devil-goat, so it looked. It may have escaped one destiny, only to find a dreary new one.)
It noticed a faint skeptical smile on the girl, heard her humming softly, “You are right, uncle, I should have killed the creature, but I can’t.” she said.
The uncle tried to brush away her crazy talk, her new obsessed caring for the creature, as the creature now was all of eight feet tall, broad at the shoulders, the Uncle horrible tense, standing by that open shad, the bull uneasy, brooding about the hay.



Chapter Two: The Light


It was early morning, and light starting to stretch out over the land, the struggling birth was over; the goat’s mother had died giving birth to the creature. And Fatima was now its new mother, or so the creature thought. Fog was disappearing from the roadway, and the old man was dune quivering, all sat back against the woodened wall of the shed, seemingly like ghosts. The foreign language of the creature seemed to adjust to Fatima’s mind, although to the uncle it seemed to be nothing more than grunts and groans. The ghostly death of the mother goat, in the early silence of the morning was no more than a blur now. The old man had buried the goat, in fear if he ate it, or cut it opened, it might trigger a new development, one he didn’t want. Thus, he took the goat behind the shed and buried it. Perhaps that sounds foolish, I know, but I can only tell you how it was, foolish or not. Now flashing lights from the roadway appeared. “Damn it,” the old man said as he walked around the shed, looking at the fog lift, the car lights, “Damn it, you can’t live with this thing, it’s deadly, and it will murder us in the middle of the night.” Then as he became visible to the creature and Fatima, he went blank in the face, as if not to show any signs of complaint, said nothing distinguishable, only mumbles as old men often do. He went over to the two, pushed the dark black huge bull to the side, it moved quickly, then the old man said to Fatima, “You thought you heard a dead mans cry earlier within the birth of this creature, I do believe it was his mind changing, agonizing in the process, it went like a leap, from what it was to a child, look at it, it seems to be bloodthirsty and at the same time, excited over you looking at it, as a child to a mother. It’s a real thing for sure, but who owns it, is a different story.”
(What was going through his mind perhaps was: could he be so lucky as to try to control this freak of nature, and make money off it in the near future—like ‘King Kong’? I mean, was this a chance in a life time, or was this strange creature indeed too dangerous to play such a game with, for the old man said to Fatima: “Strangeness nowadays, people pay to see that!” It was more of a question-statement, but Fatima did not answer, and the creature simply looked at Solomon when he spoke, then looked at Fatima, somehow feeling if she looked decrepit because of his voice or words, he was dead, or soon could be. But she held her facial features, likened to flat. At this point the old man looked confused, an echo went back and forth in his brain; again he stood clutching his fists, almost fearful, but now with more force, and with anger…he shrugged his shoulders, started to walk out of the shed, and with a leap the creature grabbed him by throat, lifted him up above the ground, his feet dangling, Fatima just looked, and looked and looked, and his mouth opened, and its teeth showed and it was hungry, and Fatima looked, and looked and looked again, and the creature’s teeth were sharp like the fangs of a huge dogs, and it seemed like he wanted to swallow a good portion of the old man’s right limp, it was dangling in front of his eyes, and he was hungry, and his limbs were just dangling helplessly, a rip, a quick rip is all it would take, then the creature smiled as it looked at Fatima, as if awaiting for permission to eat, and he’d be fed, and she smiled…!)


Part Three: The Harm


“Let me go,” yelled the old man. But as the Azaz’el looked at Fatima, her face suggested with some bitterness, not to, she had and held a cold look, reprovingly saying ‘no’ and quicker than the sheering of sheep’s wool, the creature had in its mouth a limb, the right arm of the old man, and you could hear the crunching of the bones, and in his throat, which was now lumped with the limp, the creature tried to swallow…it came to look again upon its mother, Fatima, its hair long now on its naked body. He dropped the old man to the ground, her eyes widened, “Why,” cried the old man, “I took you in as a child, why did you not stop the creature, he is some sort of devil beast and animal?” The beast crawled now on its knees, rampaging around the shed like a devil-dog. The old man stayed put, not wanting to get near him Then Fatima assured him, that the creature would not harm him again, that it was a lesson for him, a terrible one yes, but nonetheless a lesson for him not to decide to do her child harm, and the sabertooth creature now clasped her hands, and kissed them.
“Oh Uncle Solomon why? Why do you think such things of Azaz, he is just born and you want to harm him, he came alone into this empty hearted world; this is a warning for you.” She was irritated with him; she glanced at him with a look of pleading almost, yet visibly wilted.
“You mean to tell me,” said the old man, bleeding from his shoulder, “a girl like you is the mother of this creature like man, or devil, it fails me?”
“Certainly I am,” she said quickly.
“Well, I’ll be—“ said the old man as he began to fall into a bewilderment, drift off to sleep, the pain was too much, and there was no relief, and when he woke up, several hours later, his wound had been attended to, one arm less of courses.


Part II


Chapter Four: The Condemned

He had awoke two days later, in the gray cold light of the morning, he felt condemned, his executioner was not far away from him in the shed, Fatima was not in the room … he could hear her voice outside talking to the bull…



DR (10-24-2007)

Hurry up and Die

(A Short Story)

They lived across the street from one another, on Albemarle Street, they hadn’t got along for the past two years, and the son-in-low knew, the old man was moving out, away from it all. Often the old man’s daughter would walk through his yard, not say a word on her way to the bar that was across the alleyway. Her husband, Mike worked at the bar off and on. John and his wife, moved into the house with Jean lee; they worked for the old man for a few years, often took what they could get away with in merchandise, and John overcharged the old man for much of the work he did on his rental property he was for a long spell his manager of sorts (the old man gave him free rent, electricity, water everything was paid plus a salary); yet knowing the old man was ill, and had no one else to rely one, he would take advantage of him, along with the blessings of Mike and Jean lee. Then one day he up and quite on the old man, and when he found out life was not as sweet on his own, he tried to get his old job back, but the old man would not accommodate him.
Mike was not a very good helper you could say although he got reduced rent from living in one of the old man’s houses for years and he and his wife a paycheck, working for his father-in-law, he’d create jobs with John, robbing the old man when he could, even told the inspectors who would check the old man’s houses, to condemn them, when he saw something wrong, something he should of, or John, had taken care of for the old man. In addition, Mike would push gossip to the neighbors that his father-in-law was nothing but a creature, and pile lie upon lie, to the point of annoying the neighbors, yet for some reason, the neighbors wished to believe the ogre.
But this is not where the story begins, it is simply the background to a short story that sadly took place, and never should have, but too often is it not true nowadays—too often it does take place, with children badmouthing their parents, or in-laws, those who feed you. In any case, Janet the neighbor took a disliking for the old man now, whom once she had a fondness for, if not respect. But again, this is not where it all started, it started the day the old man sent a letter over to his daughter, the one who would not talk to him because of a prideful and greedy husband, the husband that grabbed him eighteen months earlier, and tried to break his ribs with a bear hug because he told him to fix the kitchen floor on one of the several rental properties he had worked on and done a bad job, the old man being a hundred and seventy pounds, the son-in-law, a hundred or so pounds more, and a few inches taller, he did survive that of course, and when the husband was told to leave, he whispered, “You’ll never see your two grandchildren again,” (ah, poor Willie and Keith) and he’d try to keep his word, for every time the kids seen the old man setting on his steps, or porch, and they’d walk by, if the kids would look at their grandfather, the husband would slap them in the head, “Turn around, don’t look…!” he’d tell the kids. And on they went.
But as I said, it all started with a letter the old man sent, saying in essence, he was moving away, far away (not giving any specifics), but it was hard on him to remain where he was, and not be subject to abuse by his daughter and her husband. So he gave her the remaining pictures he had of them, and her birth certificate, along with other items he had been safekeeping for her. She never did return an answer to the letter, although an answer was not asked for.
And so what took place was this:


It was the winter of 2004 that the old man had sent the letter, indicating he was leaving, and not ever returning, it would be in March of 2005, he would go, although Mike and his wife did not know of the exact date. Thus, Mike talked to John, saying: “I’ll never get a dime from him, he’ll spend it all now…!” For some odd reason, John came and told the old man of this, but he just smiled and walked away. Yet John and Mike were concerned. The old man, according to them had a lot of money, and was selling all his rental property, one right after the other, and they saw this, plus they say the old man’s brother coming and going with folks buying items in the house, so they had to make their move, if indeed they were going to. So they devised a plan, and they would carry it out.
It was 2:00 AM when the old man and his wife went to sleep. Janet was watching from her window next door, she called Mike up, saying, “Ok, he just turned off the lights…!” And John and Mike got out of bed, got dressed, their wives still sleeping and the kids, and then walked across the street to the old man’s house. Mike still had the keys to the old man’s garage (and perhaps John did also), and he figured, one of his old residents would get blamed for what was about to take place, but the resident was now in prison, so it would eliminate him from the suspect list. In any case, John and Mike opened up the garage door, a double garage, Mike thinking, it was now or never, Janet watching, and considered somewhat, she might be implemented, plus, she didn’t want her property destroyed along with the old man’s.
Mike walked about the garage, gathered some wood, a few brooms, papers and other flammable things, put them together, poured gas on them, then poured gas from where these items were (John watching, leaving his foot prints in the snow, hoping the bedroom light would not go on), to the car in the next stall, lit the fire, and smoke poured from the low lit flames, to the point they had to leave the garage early or be absorbed by them; soon the fire would surely burn the cabinet of wood next to it, and then being attached to the house, burn the whole place down in a matter of minutes, it just needed to burst into flames more.
During this time, the smoke seeped through the metal door, into the pantry and onto the kitchen, and slightly around the corner to the old man’s bedroom, in which the door was shut. (Had not the old man but a metal door in place of the old wood door by the garage, it would have allowed much more smoke into the house by now, for it was at least ten-minutes the smoke had been infesting the garage—circulating around it, and Mike and John had made their way out of the garage, back home across the street, and into their beds, as if nothing had happened.
The old man was sound to sleep, and his wife, some years younger, heard a voice, it sounded like her mother-in-law’s, Elsie’s voice: “Ros-a! …Ros-a!” And she woke to find out who it was, for Elsie had been dead going on four months. When she opened the door, the smoke almost smothered her, it engulfed her, but not to the point of subduing her. She looked for the fire, called her husband, “Fire…fire…!” But where was it, I mean the smoke was there almost everywhere, and her husband half in a daze, ill, said “Check the garage,” and she did, and there in the garage, it was worse than in the house by far. Next, she ran back into the house, grabbed a wet towel and covered the small fire, and opened the garage door, by that time the old man came into the garage coughing (and counting his blessings).
Had they not stopped the fire, when they did, as the Captain of the Fire Department would say later, “The way the fire was positioned against the cabinet, the whole house would have gone up once the flames got stronger, and you with it!”

And so I leave the good reader with this: beware of those who you try to love to death, for often they are the ones who wish deep in their hearts to harm you. For what comes out of their actions, and mouths, is from their heart.


Note: Written 10-22-2007