Jeremy Robinson - Threshold

For Norah, Solomon, and Aquila,

because youre at your best when youre together.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Threshold is my seventh novel. My third hardcover. And my best book to dateI know, I know, I have to say that, but its true! As I look back at the past few years Im amazed and thrilled to see that the same people who supported me when I self-published my first novel, when I used three credit cards to start my own small press (Breakneck Books), and when I moved on to Thomas Dunne Books, are still in my life and as supportive as ever. So its with great appreciation that I thank the following.

Stan Tremblay and Walter Elly, you guys get top billing this year. The time and effort you two put into helping me with web design, social marketing, and something Im typically not prone to do: relaxing, is amazing. Some people say that it takes a village to raise a baby. Well, I say it takes a village to write a novel. You guys are my village. Cmon, group man-hug!

For consummate proofreading and story comments, I once again thank Roger Brodeur.

Thanks to my agent, Scott Miller at Trident Media Group, who discovered my first self-published book, signed me on, and has been a shrewd counselor since. Thanks also to MacKenzie at Trident Media for being fast, diligent, and fun. Go team Miller!

Now for the people at Thomas Dunne Books, who put the Jack Sigler series on the map. Thanks to Peter Wolverton, my editor. Your advice has improved my story telling immensely, a gift for which I will always be grateful. Anne Bensson, you are an amazing source of fast answers to my endless questions and an awesome support. Rafal Gibek and the production team, if not for your awesome copy-edits, people would think I was a dolt. For the incredible jacket design, thanks to art director Steve Snider and illustrator extraordinaire, Larry Rostant, whose work has always impressed and inspired me.

And always last in my acknowledgments, but never least, I thank my kick-ass wife, Hilaree, who was graced with the ability to put up with and love a moody author and artist. And to my children, Aquila, Solomon, and Norah, you remind me what it means to be a child and help keep my imagination free of the prison known as adulthood. I love you guys.

Sick I am of idle words, past all reconciling,

Words that weary and perplex and pander and conceal,

Wake the sounds that cannot lie, for all their sweet beguiling;

The language one need fathom not, but only hear and feel.

George Du Maurier (18341896)

5 But the Lord came down to see the city and the tower that the men were building. 6 The Lord said, If as one people speaking the same language they have begun to do this, then nothing they plan to do will be impossible for them. 7 Come, let us go down and confuse their language so they will not understand each other.

Genesis 11:57

Mathematics is the language in which God has written the universe.

Galileo Galilei (15641642)

Contents
PROLOGUE The Past

HE CONTROLLED THE world through fearmerciless fearconjured by the memory of genocide. He had scraped the earth clean, leaving only a single bloodline alive. To remember. To fear.

But Nimrod saw through the fear, watching how it manipulated the populace like silt stirred in the Euphrates. When the rains came and the thunder boomed, the people cringed and turned to the mysterious Originator for direction. When food was scarce, they tore at their clothes and begged for mercy.

The Originator demanded nothing less, despite his promise.

Nimrod doubted that such a promise had been made, just as he doubted the validity of the mass extermination story. It had been, no doubt, conjured by his great-grandfather to control the people. And he would not fear something or someone that was not real. He would not be controlled.

As a man, he learned that fear could motivate men to do his work. With whip, club, and spear, he had instilled a greater fear in men than the Originator could with the story of a deluge that few living people claimed to remember. It was with this fear that Nimrod came to power and laid the foundations of his kingdom. The cities of Uruk, Akkad, and Calneh flourished under his rule, finding plentiful food and water on the shores of two mighty rivers. But it was Babylon, nestled between the Tigris and Euphrates, that had become his greatest achievement.

But even glorious Babylon would soon be outdone and the Originators annoying voice would be reduced to a faint whisper, fading along with an age of paranoia.

As a direct descendant of his peoples founding father, he had been privy to the secrets of the language supposedly taught to mankind by the Originator himself. Not only could words move the hearts and minds of men through fear, but they could also move mountains. And move mountains they did. For with them, he had constructed a tower unlike anything humanity had ever seen, rising toward the sky, higher than any thought possible. Its ominous presence instilled fear into all who saw it.

Nimrod stroked the long, gnarled hair growing from his chin. It was black with a thin streak of gray. His face, thick and leathery from long days in the sun, was just beginning to show signs of his age. But his body was healthy and fit. Combined with his formidable height and baritone voice, it wasnt hard for him to subjugate the people.

But even fear, it seemed, had its limits. For on the eve of what was to be the consummation of his greatest achievement, he had learned some distressing news.

Treachery.

It seemed his family shared some of his resistance to the compulsion of fear. But rather than use the fear, his great uncle, Shem, conspired against it.

Against him .

So as he sat alone in the central chamber of his newly constructed ziggurat, he considered the available options. Speaking to his uncle was out of the question. Leniency would reveal weakness, and weakness would give strength to the opposition. But without knowing the true strength of his enemies, or their numbers, he was acting blindly. A dangerous undertaking.

He needed something definitive. Something that would be feared for generations.

Thats when he saw the hands. Strong and unyielding. Impervious to sword or spear, and loyal to himthe creator of gods. The statues surrounding him in the large central chamber stood fifteen feet tall, and featured the heads of wild creatures and the bodies of menimages of the heroes of old. The men of renown. The gods given shape by his hands and life by his words.

As though a block had been removed from a dam, ambition surged into his mind, filling his thoughts with images of a magnificent future. The true capabilities of the power hidden within their language were further reaching than he had ever dreamed.

The Originator, living or not, had abandoned them. And he would be replaced by someone who truly understood how to instill fear and gain loyalty all the while being praised.

He looked at one of the tall statues, whose mighty hands now stretched up to the ceiling but had just months ago laid the very stones of the ziggurats foundation. It would begin with them.

The people had grown accustomed to their presence, but still trembled at their passing. Now they would witness their fears made real.

Nimrod stood from his chair, and walked to the nearest statue. He leaned into the marble, looked up at the large blue eyes, and spoke in the language of his forefathers, using the tones and inclinations taught to him alone.

Versatu elid vas reeish clom, emet.

He moved on to the next statue and repeated the phrase. He continued around the room, speaking the words into stone, ten times.

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