The Wolves of Eridu

James Goede
 














































Copyright © 2020 James Goede
First Edition
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any means without permission in writing from the copyright holder, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.
ISBN 13: 9781091097445          ISBN 10: 1091097445




























Siduri said,
	“Gilgamesh, whither are you wandering?
	Life, which you look for, you will never find.
	For when the gods created man, they let
	death be his share, and life
	withheld in their own hands.
	Gilgamesh, fill your belly.
	Day and night make merry,
	let days be full of joy,
	dance and make music day and night.
	And wear fresh clothes,
	And wash your head and bathe.
	Look at the child that is holding your hand,
	And let your wife delight in your embrace.
	These things alone are the concern of men.”
~ Epic of Gilgamesh, c. 2100 BCE
 
 
 
 
0

Fate is a raging storm blowing over the land.
Sumerian proverb

ANOTHER WARM SPRING NIGHT in the month of the bull was upon the land, and the marshes sang.
A day’s walk southwest from where the two river-sisters met the sea, from the great capitol where humanity asserted its claim against the earth, rested the weathered shell of an ancient city.
Ruut, a mindful young scribe, was at the end of his nightly stroll. The crisp night air helped him to focus. Though heavy with fatigue from analyzing the temple’s daily tablets, his were the bright and piercing eyes of a scholar.
He was moments from home when the eerie, triumphant howling of wolves tore the night air. The sound was unusually close to the city. The dogs of Eridu were soon crying a mournful response to their wild cousins. Ruut heard what could have been a human scream from within the chaos.
His curiosity was piqued, his mind yet restless. He found himself drawn to the chilling sound. No fool, he borrowed a smoldering torch and an intricate khopesh from his hearth shrine and rushed back outside.
The torchlight from the temple atop the ziggurat burned deep yellow on the rolling lakes to the west. A broad sea breeze crested the tall date palms and cedars dotting the landscape.
Ruut soon met the naked edge of the city, where the marshes crept into the ruins, and the only light was his. He broke into a run when panicked voices joined the howling.
His khopesh, the only weapon in the house of a peaceful man, was battle-sharp despite being made for display. Ruut was thankful for this as he barreled out onto the old footpath and confirmed what the wolves were hunting.
A man and a woman had drawn the attention of the pack. The woman’s awkward gait indicated she was clutching a child in her arms. Ruut rushed toward the young family, eyes flashing between them and their shadows as the howling grew louder.
“Run to the city, to the temple!” He shouted, but they did not seem to understand. With no time to waste, he brandished the torch in what he hoped was a menacing manner. His blood was already hot with action and churned through him as a raging river. His darting eyes struggled to make sense of the darkness.
The torchlight reflected from three pairs of unblinking eyes. A confident she-wolf strode forward into the reach of Ruut’s defensive glow, licking her lips and not even bothering to bare her teeth. Her lesser comrades crept forward in her wake. Ruut’s gaze did not break from hers until he heard the baby cry out, and he turned to verify the family’s safety.
But he had miscounted, as two more pairs of eyes were yet focused on their original prey. The father held a shaking knife between his enemies and his family, his frantic shouting and slicing of the air doing less and less to deter their approach as the seconds passed. He yelled something Ruut couldn’t understand.
Wary of his own sudden plight, Ruut turned to face the trio of wolves. It seemed they had already spotted the opportunity the other two created, and decided Ruut was not worth the effort. Ever fearless, the alpha led her pack toward the family. The woman now held her own knife, her face contorted in anger and terror. Her voice broke as she screamed curses at the indifferent hunters encircling her, threatening to claim her entire world. 
Ruut was not going to allow this. Drawing on the gods for courage, he roared and rushed the nearest wolf. Not yet knowing the sting of flame, it leapt 
fearlessly toward him, only to meet Ruut’s swinging torch with the tip of its nose. It yipped in pain, batting coals from its face, and clumsily withdrew into the marshes.
The alpha moved with terrible purpose toward the father, who drew himself up and thundered at her, only then earning her snarl.
The baby cried out from its mother’s arms. The alpha licked her lips again, sniffing the air.
Another wolf sprung at Ruut and was quickly felled by a skilled swing of the khopesh, its neck letting warm blood into the dust. Ruut screamed, desperate to draw the wolves’ attention away from the infant and its parents.
The child’s father lunged at the alpha, emboldened by Ruut’s bravery, and his knife found a home in her shoulder. She clearly did not expect any formidable resistance from her prey, as she snarled in pain and surprise, quickly retaliating with a savage bite to the man’s forearm. Feeling contact, she sunk her teeth in, and he cried out.
The last two wolves sensed the break in the family’s defenses and made their move abruptly. One joined the alpha in attacking the man, and the other bounded for the woman. Ruut was already swinging his torch down onto the alpha’s head with all his might. She released her terrible grip on the man’s arm as she and the torch’s flames were smitten to the ground at last.
Before the man could regain his poise, a vicious young wolf found his throat with its teeth and thrashed him in its clutch. The life was gone from his body before Ruut could slash the beast’s neck.
The mother shrieked in despair along with her baby as her husband fell to the earth, her knees giving out beneath her. The last wolf set upon the woman, who did everything she could to put herself between her child and the demon, exposing her to its violence.
She managed to slash her knife across its face and chest, and kicked at it frantically until Ruut made it to her side. He hacked at the wolf’s leg, breaking it easily. It recoiled and screamed a wretched scream, limping and snapping its teeth at them. Ruut managed to cut its throat as it writhed, leaving it silent at last.
The child’s scream pierced the night air, and the mother panicked. She checked urgently for any signs of harm to her child, and, finding none, sighed deeply. She closed her eyes and began to sob quietly with relief, pressing her lips to her baby’s forehead. Ruut pulled her arm around his shoulders and carefully helped her to her feet.
“Are you okay? Is the baby safe?”
He gestured with concern to her small charge, unsure if she understood him. After a moment of consideration, she nodded and smiled through her tears.
Her gaze drifted back to her husband, motionless among his killers. She cried and coughed incoherencies, falling into Ruut’s chest. He felt her knees lose strength. When she once more drew steady breath, Ruut guided her through the lonely, black city.
As they walked, the mother comforted the fussing child until it finally seemed to fall asleep. When they finally reached the safety of the ziggurat steps and sat down, the woman spoke.
“We were following the river. We just wanted…” She tried, but her voice caught in her throat, and she braced a hand over her mouth as tears threatened. She seemed to be from much further north, as she spoke the old Akkadian language.
Ruut placed a gentle palm on her shoulder and tried to meet her gaze. The woman steeled herself and started again, her breathing still somewhat labored.
 “This morning we were following the river, trying… trying to fish outside of the city. A pack of wolves smelled our catch and began to stalk us, so we tried to make it here before sundown. We used all our arrows to keep the damned creatures away. We left some of the fish so they would leave us alone, but… If we had been quicker, if I, if I hadn’t needed to rest… my poor, sweet Araz… my love… I’m so sorry…”
She grimaced and clutched her stomach. “Ersetu take those beasts! I am Hilia, and this is Kurzu. Please, hold him for a moment.” She made sure to meet Ruut’s eyes as she handed the baby over, perhaps seeking confirmation that her savior could indeed be trusted with her most precious.
“My name is Ruut. You are both safe now, Hilia,” the scribe assured her as he held the child. He smiled at the baby boy in his swaddle.
“I am so thankful for your help,” she whispered, gently lifting her tattered robes. Deep scratches and bites were carved into her abdomen. A significant section of flesh was missing. The wounds bloodied with each pained breath she drew, and her body shook as she exhaled. Her eyes welled as she looked desperately at her son, her imagination drawing terror on her face.
“Gods alive! You need a healer right now!” Ruut gingerly handed the child back to her and shot to his feet. “Stay here, I will return!” He shared a look with her before sprinting to the other side of the temple steps, where the priests were sleeping.
Hilia gazed with great love at her child, who now was falling asleep in her embrace. “I will not leave you, Kurzu, my beautiful boy. I won’t let anything happen to you. I will keep him safe, Araz. I am here, I am here, shh…”
She produced a small clay amulet from around her neck. It was inscribed with the profile of a wolf. She sighed and tucked it safely down on her baby’s sleeping form.
“The gods are cruel, my son. But you will live to understand them. I love you. That’s it, there is nothing to fear, shh…” She traced his forehead with her thumb, trying to keep her pained tremors from disturbing his rest.
Within moments Ruut returned, winded and sweating, with three priestesses. They bore poultices, salves, and a jar filled with holy water from the pool at the temple entrance. A lovely young lady of noble bearing knelt at Hilia’s side. She wrapped the woman’s shoulders in a woolen blanket and rested a sympathetic hand on her back.
“All will be well, my dear. We are here now,” she smiled. “We will help you. I am a priestess. My name is Enshanesha. And who is this brave young warrior?”
“He is Kurzu,” she sniffed. “I am Hilia.”
“Okay, Hilia, if I may hold Kurzu for a moment, we can begin to treat your wounds. Now, if you would…” She received the baby gently. Both the baby and 
woman cried out instinctively, but another priestess came to Hilia’s side and eased her with gentle words.
The eldest of the priestesses carried a clay bowl of salve made with wine, willow bark, and mustard seed. Gauging the severity of the wounds, she bid the others to help guide the mother back to the house. Enshanesha followed close behind them, smiling and humming to the child in her arms. 


 











PART I


Peace










 
 
 
1

The time passed, and what did you gain?
Sumerian proverb

Kurzu popped the last bite of sweet goat cheese into his mouth, dropped a silver shekel in the lively vendor’s cart, and slipped back into the crowd.
He reveled in the small joys he could find in the market. Most of his time was spent studying or assisting Ruut with the accounting. He fought the monotony by crafting pottery and figures from clay, a lifelong hobby. When he could get away from the temple, he pursued the reckless endeavors of youth with his friends.
Kurzu was of normal build for a young man, though many of his peers were taller. His hair grew short and black, like nearly all the Sumerians. Behind an easy smile were eyes that seemed always to be tired for their age, searching for some unnamable thing. He wore a simple but well-crafted brown kaunakes around his waist.
His mind was elsewhere when a misstep on uneven ground threw him over onto his hands and knees. He shot to his feet and moved on promptly, not daring to see if anyone in the busy evening market had witnessed it. Someone had, though, as he heard a giggle from nearby.
It was Nira, a young girl Kurzu had known all his life. She was a year younger than him. Her features were dark and rich, and though she was rather petite, her eyes held a precocious fire intimating her critical mind. She was wearing her favorite green shawl, an unadorned, wispy thing with a silky sheen.
Nira did not try to contain her laughter at his clumsiness, and he couldn’t help but blush as he laughed and joined her. Kurzu clutched the simple amulet he wore and held it to his heart.
“What are you doing?” She teased him. “You’re going to get yourself killed.”
“It’ll take a little more than that to bring me down,” he countered with a grin.
Nira shook her head and punched his shoulder. “So, are you ready for the Great Hunt tomorrow night?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be. Are you?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
They walked in silence for a long time, headed toward the beach to the east. Infrequent pastoral homes formed small villages amid marshlands and barley-laden prairie. The ceaseless insect drone from the tall grass provided a somewhat comforting complement to their journey.
Kurzu had been told all his life about the ways in which a man might find happiness, whether in subservience to gods and kings, skilled labor as a craftsman, or even hard work in the fields and orchards. He found himself drawn to the occupation his father had chosen, though some wild part of his soul resisted the very nature of the profession. At age sixteen he was nearly finished with his training as a scribe, but he felt he had been ready for a long time. Being a scribe of Enki at the House of the Cosmic Waters would give him the chance to learn about the world, and proximity to the market would allow him to continue sculpting.
Kurzu stole a good look at his companion and smiled, finally returning his gaze to the horizon.
The night sky was clear and serene. It was an awe-inspiring sight – a hundred million lights that hung in the blackness every night. They glowed in patterns the priests determined were signs from the gods, and so were given names. Soon the steer of the heavens, the great bull, would give way to the lion, who presided over the summer, when the tributaries and lakes would quickly diminish. Their water would slake the boundless thirst of the gods, who despair of the heat.
The silence suddenly weighed on Kurzu. “It’s very humid today. Do you think it will rain tonight?”
“It might. I hope so, I have been praying to Ishkur and Enki for that very thing. My onions need the water. Hey, are you still thinking about being a scribe?”
“Yes. In fact, I’m looking forward to it.”
“Hmm, really? The temple life doesn’t suit you.”
“Don’t you think so?” Kurzu laughed. “What suits me?”
“I don’t know, something stupid and pointless, maybe?”
“Oh, that hurts, Nira. You bite like the serpent.” He frowned in a comical way, feigning tears.
“You see? There is no way you have what it takes. But honestly, I wish you luck. Gods willing, you’ll be great, Kuku.”
“Don’t call me that!”
“The more you fight it, the more it sticks, Kuku.” She smirked at him.
At the shallow beach of the lake, a rocky outcropping served as a favorite retreat for the local youth. At last they reached the rocks on the beach and sat behind them, far from the sight of watchful Eriduan eyes. Kurzu pulled a heavy rock to one side, trying to make it look easier than it was. 
He proudly produced a short, lidded jug from the cleverly hidden opening behind the rock. It had two handles and many delicate carvings and designs across its surface. He then took two reed straws from the same location and slipped them into the jug. He smiled deviously and offered a straw to Nira, who accepted it with glee.
“Is this what I think it is?” She asked, pulling a sip through the straw.
“It’s good, right? I siphoned it from the jugs in the temple. I think this batch was seasoned with dates. Maybe some honey, I think.” He decided not to tell her how he dropped the first jar he tried to steal.
The beer was strong, thick, and bitter, but held a distant sweetness that inspired Nira to take an extra-long sip.
“Hey, save some for me!” Kurzu took up the other straw and drew deeply, meeting Nira’s eyes for a moment. He felt his heart flutter and nearly choked.
Nira laughed and spilled a little beer from the corners of her mouth, coughing a bit herself as the powerful drink began to take effect. “What did I say before? Don’t go and die on me!” 
2

I looked into the water. My destiny was drifting past.
Sumerian proverb

The next night, Kurzu snuck out when he was sure the normally nocturnal Ruut was fast asleep. The rocky beach he sought, as he had many times before, was nearly an hour’s walk to the east.
Along with the constant hum of marsh fauna, the distant, sporadic howling of wolves accompanied his otherwise silent journey. For some reason, the sound made his skin crawl. He tried to think encouraging thoughts as he pushed onward through the darkness pervading the sandstone crest.
The faint sound of laughter arose from somewhere in the darkness, and he knew he was close. He began to hear the excited conversation of his peers. From a small hill he detected the gentle glow of a campfire casting dozens of trembling shadows into the black. Two figures rushed from the camp to meet him, recognizing him before he recognized them. It was Nira, along with a tall young man called Alduni, who was a lifelong friend to them both.
Alduni spoke first. “It is him! Kurzu! I thought you’d been caught. What took you so long?” He was wearing a common tan kaunakes and a leather belt accented with various colorful feathers that stood out even in the moonlight.
“It’s a long way out here, you know. I came as soon as I could.”
“Well let’s get ready, yeah? It won’t be long before Utu returns the sun and the Hunt begins. Did you two bring everything?” He held his arms aloft impatiently.
“Oh, I brought my sling!” Nira produced a leather sling as long as her arm and a small bag filled with sharp rocks. “I’ve been practicing. I hit that scrawny tree outside the market almost twenty times in a row last week. From pretty far back, too.”
“If we run into any aggressive trees, I am relieved you can protect us,” Alduni prodded. Nira scoffed, somewhat offended.
Alduni opened a satchel on his waist and revealed a beautiful cast bronze knife with a polished wooden handle. The holy names of Inanna and Utu were inscribed on the blade. “Nice, right? I made it myself. Kurzu? Did you bring the thing we talked about?”
“Yes, yes, my friend. Take a look at this.” From a sash on his back, Kurzu produced the most beautiful weapon any of them had ever seen. It was a scythe, cast in the purest bronze and decorated with various inlaid gems and engravings. It was extremely sharp despite being designed for display, something Kurzu was thankful for as he enjoyed the wonder and disbelief in his friends’ eyes.
“I can’t believe you managed to get this! Ruut keeps it next to his bed, doesn’t he?” Alduni motioned to take it for closer inspection, but Kurzu pulled away.
“Kurzu, if your father finds out you took his khopesh, he will send you straight to Arali,” Nira scolded him.
“I didn’t steal it or anything, I just borrowed it for the Hunt! It will be fine, I promise. He’ll never know it was gone.”
Pushing Alduni away again, Kurzu put the khopesh away and motioned toward the fire, where their fellows were waiting.
As if on cue, a girl’s shout came from that direction. “Get over here, you fools! The sun is coming up soon!”
The trio rejoined the lively group moments later. Dozens of young men and women stood in small clusters. Some were laughing and talking, some wrestled with one another, and a few attempted to be amorous without drawing too much attention to themselves. An older boy decided it was a good time to begin the ceremonies. He climbed up on a flat-topped rock and gestured to the crowd in a satirical royal fashion, clapping his hands and beckoning their attention with a practiced conceited grin.
“Welcome, my friends, welcome! Welcome to the Great Hunt. Every sixth year since ancient days, we, the youth of Eridu, have engaged in this tradition to prove that we possess power, intelligence, and instinct to rival King Gilgamesh himself!”
Applause and some playful heckling arose from the crowd, and it took a few moments to die down.
“But make no mistake. This world is brutal and strange, my friends. We will need discipline, we will need cunning, we will need patience, but most of all, we will need each other.”
Kurzu glanced at Nira but found Alduni’s gaze instead. He smiled, nodded, and returned his focus to the speaker.
“You have chosen your companions. From today, they are your family. This sacred bond shall be unbreakable through all time, should you succeed in your Hunt… or not.
“The rules of the Great Hunt are simple. As a group of three hunters, you must collect one each of three rare treasures. The first is simple enough. You must locate and capture the small blue marsh bird known as a tumibi. If you somehow have never seen one, it has feathers of blue like the summer sky, and its breast is brown like the clay. Alive or dead, though alive is much more impressive. The second item is the rare and beautiful blackstone. It is remarkably sharp when broken, so handle it with great care unless you want to lose a finger! Lastly, you must find a beautiful white flower with twelve petals, which blooms only on the lakes surrounding the city.
“This secret tradition represents mastery over sky, earth, and sea, and in acquiring these three items, you will demonstrate that mastery. Now, let’s get ready. When Utu’s fire emerges, we will have only until it crosses the sky three times to find all three treasures. When you are finished, or when the time is up, return to this place and find your reward. Best of luck to you all, and stay out of my way!”
More applause came, and the excitement in the air was palpable as the crowd dissolved. Whispers and friendly wagers began to take form as the kids moved off in all directions and waited for the sun to rise. Kurzu, Nira, and Alduni elected to head to the far side of the lake first, in hopes they could score all three items with luck and the gods on their side.
The sun was just beginning to break over the edge of the world when the boy who had spoken earlier once again climbed the rock. He blew a clear whistle of carved bone. The Hunt was on.
As the sound echoed out over the water, Alduni leapt to his feet and took off at a jog down the lakeshore.  Looking back at his sluggish partners, he sang out to them, “Get moving, it won’t be long before the heat comes!” 
3

The fowler, in the trap is what he eats.
Sumerian proverb

The sun was beating down long into the evening on the first day. 
They had made a good pace to the outskirts of Urim, the capitol city, where they hoped to find the tumibi. Stories of past Hunts suggested they could be found in the swampy lagoons at the edge of the sea. According to Alduni’s father, who was the most celebrated blacksmith in Eridu, blackstones could be found anywhere in the region, although with consistent difficulty. However, they were reputed to exist in higher concentrations where hot springs flowed. Kurzu suspected this rumor may have been an implicit excuse to bathe in the springs during the Hunt. And the flower, that would be no challenge at all.
Kurzu was thankful for every moment beneath his makeshift grass hat. He had learned grass weaving as a child from an Eriduan priestess called Enheduanna, named for the poet-priestess who was the great King Sargon’s daughter. His envious companions made him promise to prepare a hat for each of them before bed, to which he agreed, on the condition they prepare his lean-to.
That evening, Kurzu sat next to the fire making the grass hats, waiting for Nira and Alduni to return from fishing. He kept the fire roaring to ward off the biting flies gathering in the twilit marshes. As he gazed into the glowing embers, he found his mind wandering into the past.
The gods had dealt him a strange fate, taking with one hand and giving with the other. Enshanesha used to tell him that when the gods cast him from the water and clay, the loving god Enlil added to his primordia a drop of ambrosial honey from the apiary of the gods, and it made him the sweetest boy in the world. Ruut told him that he had been born in a small fishing village near the sacred city Nippur, which stood days upriver from Eridu. Kurzu promised himself that if he ever got the chance, he would try to find the house he was born into and, if possible, meet his relatives.
Somewhere deep in the marshes, a hyena screamed. Kurzu’s hand moved to the amulet around his neck and grasped it tightly.
Enshanesha and Ruut had given to him more than he ever could have gotten from the fluvial life of his birth. Their positions in the temple afforded him the opportunity to learn letters and numbers, and the ways of the gods and the earth.  As an orphan, he would have been made a temple servant if they hadn’t adopted him and given him a future. He always had enough to eat and drink, and never sought a place to lay his head. When he made small figures of animals and gods from the clay, they praised him and fired his works in the kiln among the works of the temple’s master artisans.
Yet, in quiet moments alone, he still felt a part of him was missing, some aspect of his life forever taken from him. The knowledge that he had survived an attack which claimed the lives of his parents made him feel guilty, as if he had claimed for himself something that should have belonged to them as well. More than that, he wished he could have known them better. What could have been would always haunt some corner of his mind, but the gods clearly had other plans for him.
He was shaken from his thoughts by a rustling in the grass on the other side of the fire. The flame blinded him to the darkness, so he set down the near-finished hat and lay a ready hand on the scythe’s handle, unblinking eyes hungry for any sort of movement. He remembered the hyena and a chill ran through his veins.
“Be careful, Nira. He is a wolf, ready to pounce!”
He relaxed and smiled as he recognized Alduni, who had at last returned with the laughing Nira from the marsh. Strung up on a reed carried between them were six brownish-yellow fish called bunni fish, renowned for their flavor. Nira carried a handful of sturdy reeds for roasting and handling the meat.
Kurzu was delighted at the sight of the catch. “Yes! Well done, well done! Nanshe has blessed us!” He was glad for a reprieve from his thoughts, not to mention quite hungry.
“Get the fire hot, because I am starving! I haven’t eaten since last night,” Nira exclaimed as she sat down. “Two for each of us, you see, because I am the grandmaster of fishing.”
“Only because you used my hooks,” countered Alduni as he began to clean the fish. “Hey Kuku, how are those hats coming?”
Nira burst into snorting laughter as Kurzu glared at them both, shaking his head. “You are lucky you brought dinner, my friend. That’s all I can say.”
“I think we should head north tomorrow,” suggested Nira, changing the subject quickly. “I heard that lots of blackstone can be found north of Urim, over the river.”
“Over the river, seriously? It’s going to take us a whole day and night to get all the way there and find a way across Euphrates, especially this time of year,” Kurzu said.
“Not a whole day and night. Not if we’re quick, and we are,” she answered.
“You know, I’ve never been to Lagash. We should try it. Plus, I’ve been dying to see the cedar forests that lie between the rivers.” Alduni pulled the last of the innards from the fish and began scaling them with his knife. “Hey, Nira,” he called, “you should make the sticks.”
“Sure. I think I’ll need a blade, though. Kurzu, can I use your khopesh?” She flashed him a saccharine smile.
“Sure, just a moment.” He pulled the scythe from its sash and carefully handed it to Nira. “It’s very sharp, so be careful.”
“Yeah, I know, I know.” She set to narrowing the ends of the reeds into sharp points.
Kurzu resumed his hat weaving and for a few moments, the three friends sat quietly, each consumed with their task.
Nira broke the silence when the roasting sticks were ready. “So, Lagash tomorrow? Boys, what do you think?”
“We could find everything we need in one place if the gods make it so. I vote yes,” reasoned Kurzu.
“You already know I say yes. Lagash it is!” Alduni cried.
“Lagash it is!” They echoed.
They had set a flat-topped rock in the fire to heat it into a suitable cooking surface. Nira collected a trickle of water from her goatskin and sprinkled it on the rock. The droplets hissed and vanished.
“Perfect, it’s ready. Now where is my fish?” Nira demanded.
Alduni threw one to her while she was unprepared, and she flailed like a fish herself to only just save it from the dirt. 
“That isn’t funny!” She chided him. Their laughter said otherwise.
Nira carefully laid the fish on the sizzling rock with an indignant sigh. “As Kuku said, you’re lucky you brought dinner.” 
4

The heavens were destroyed, the earth was shaken. After the heavens were destroyed and the earth was shaken, the people were still standing there on their own.
Sumerian proverb

Seventeen long years before the three young hunters roamed the marshfield, King Utu-Hegal had stood proud on the bridge he helped to build in his youth. Though it served its purpose well, bridging a narrow but essential branch of mighty Euphrates, the river would soon be dammed downstream. The water would overtake the bridge. He regretted the loss of such a fine creation, but his truer accomplishment had been much more profound.
The ruinous raiders of Guti, whom he called the dragon of the mountains, had once descended from the highlands with ruthless force and murdered the noble kings. They were clueless about the civilized ways of the black-headed people. Under the hundred-year rule of the Guti, the grass on the highways of the land grew long, the people grew hopeless and violent, and the holy places fell into ruination and despair. Their rough, primal ways spit in the faces of the gods and drove Sumer into cultural and agronomic poverty for decades.
Seven years before this day, Utu-Hegal banded together with his brothers-in-arms and led the uprising known as the Reclamation. They sought to oust the Guti and restore the old ways. They drove the barbarians back, past the deserts of Elam and into the territories of Gutium, deep in the sprawling Zagros Mountains. The cold rivers filled with warm blood. On the churning eastern sea, the red tide rose.
The affairs of the newly restored capital city of Unug seemed blessed by the gods. Though some northern cities remained under Guti control, the strained Sumerian people considered Utu-Hegal’s military success to be nothing short of an endorsement from the gods; an omen of the full recovery of their national standing.
Although the power of the small region between Euphrates and Tigris was divided between many governorships and kingdoms, the best interests of each of them fell in with Utu-Hegal’s struggle for sovereignty against King Tirigan, who Utu-Hegal had ensured would be the last of the twenty-one Guti kings.
Urnammu, the foremost general during the Reclamation, had fallen entirely in love with Utu-Hegal’s daughter. Together they had given him a grandson, who was called Shulgi.
The king’s attention was drawn away from his thoughts when he noticed a familiar figure moving across the bridge. It was his radiant daughter, Siatum. Siatum was barely twenty years old, yet already carried herself with the arrogance and expectant impatience one can only find in royalty.
“Father, there you are! The foreman seeks your approval of a design. I believe it was for a method of lying bricks?” Siatum called breathlessly when she was in earshot of her father.
“Hello, Siatum! Yes, I have been lost in thought. Let’s go to the dam. Thank you. But why were you sent? You should not be exerting yourself.”
“I wasn’t ‘sent,’ I wanted to come. I am not as delicate as you might think me! After all, I am your daughter.”
“As always, you are right, my dear. Let’s go.”
The sun was hidden behind clouds for much of the day, lending a grey tone to the world. Yet it still shone through in random patches, projecting visible rays that lent a surreal glow to the sky. Siatum thought she caught a glimmer of sadness in her father’s eyes.
“You know, I am deeply proud of you. Without you, our people would still cower from the savage hand of the Guti.”
“Gutium, hah! Don’t even get me started. The domain of shitbrained dogs! If there is any justice, Utu’s great fire will burn it to cinders!”
Siatum managed to withhold laughter at her father’s sudden profane outburst, a quirk of his personality. “You speak the truth, Father,” she offered. “They are scum, and the gods will see them destroyed utterly.”
“Did you know that snake Tirigan ran away from battle rather than face me in the end? I had to hunt him down in Dabrum. I took his eyes and threw him before my throne. He squealed when I put my heel to his neck!”
After a short walk downriver, the two found themselves at the dam. It was to be a beautiful thing, a landmark achievement to withstand the ages. It would bear fresh water to the people of Larsa, which lie a short distance east of Unug, seat of Utu-Hegal’s burgeoning kingship. The dam was to be made from hewn cedar trees and reinforced with oven-baked bricks of clay and bundled reeds. With proper maintenance, it would last for generations.
Though the structure for the dam was still skeletal, it was possible to cross the divide with the rudimentary rope bridge the workers had installed. The king resolved to traverse the dam in order to speak with the foreman, who stood at the top overseeing the construction, barking orders and reprimands to the crew.
As he navigated the precarious crossing, Siatum watched from the ground with a wide grin. Her father was always known to be surefooted even in battle, with all manner of chaos descending upon him. He had navigated many hazardous structures in his time, and still retained a youthful spring in his step.
It, perhaps, was because of this Siatum did not grasp what was happening when his foot slipped.
Perhaps it was disbelief that held a shadow of her grin as his head struck a beam and he tumbled gracelessly into Euphrates.
Perhaps it was disbelief that stayed her feet when the king did not resurface.
Perhaps it was disbelief that stayed her tears when he finally did.
Utu-Hegal had been an enormously popular king and folk hero following the success of his rebellion. Though his untimely death left a large hole in the hearts of the public, his son-in-law held no small place there himself. It wasn’t long before the name of King Urnammu was on the praising tongues of everyone in the region.
Urnammu, shrewd man that he was, wasted no time in moving to annex Unug and relocate the seat of power to Urim, where Euphrates bled into the gulf.
Siatum’s influence helped to assure Urnammu’s advancement, but there were a few skirmishes, riots, and at least one attempt on his life during the transition. Siatum saw personally to the punishment of the failed assassin, whose fate she never disclosed.
And then, for nearly eighteen years, King Urnammu reigned. 
5

Now, you should not sleep in the reedbeds. The marsh rats will eat you.
Sumerian proverb

The dawn on the second day was pink, orange, and red. An uncharacteristic silence followed the three hunters as they marched beneath it along the winding, unkempt trail leading through the marshes. They had spent their entire first day searching in vain for any of the treasures they required, and an unsettling anxiety had already begun to descend on Kurzu’s heart.
They woke as early as they could to get a start on the journey north, but there was a long way to go, and their water supply was disappearing quickly. Many of the lakes and streams nearby were far too salty to be potable, and the best sources of freshwater came from primary channels of Euphrates, from which they were still a day away. Kurzu was drifting away into his mind when Nira rapped on his chest to get his attention.
“Look, look! Do you guys see that?” She pointed to a small hollow in the hills, hand to the brim of her new grass hat.
“What am I looking for?” Kurzu asked. As soon as the words left his mouth, he saw it. Steam, rising smokily from the hollow. It appeared to be coming from a crevasse between two rocks. With their footsteps silenced, the gentle and unmistakable sound of bubbling hot water emerged.
Alduni, who was in front, turned and spotted it fast.
“Steam! That means hot springs, right?”
“Maybe,” Nira said. “Only one way to find out.”
Ten thousand images flashed through Kurzu’s head, not all of them unpleasant. All three rushed over to the hollow, each one’s imagination carrying their feet.
Alduni was the closest and reached it first. He did not react when he looked down, and a second later Kurzu saw why.
Before them was a hot spring, yes, but instead of a welcoming pool, they discovered a thin chasm that was perhaps the width of a man’s head, and as long as a man is tall. It was steaming enticingly, and yet for them, amounted to nothing. Just as they were about to turn back, Alduni threw up his hands and laughed.
“Hah! They were right! Do you see that?”
His friends looked at him curiously.
“Right here!” He knelt down near the spring and lifted a dark, wet rock, holding it up to his face triumphantly. “Blackstone! This is it!” It was the size of a clenched fist, a valuable find in any part of the world.
“Are you sure, Alduni? It’s blackstone?” Nira stepped forward, skeptical of such good fortune.
“My father is the best blacksmith in the world, so believe me when I say I have seen my share of blackstone. This is what we’re looking for.”
“All right, all right. Well done, then! One down, two to go!”
“It’s a shame about the bath, though,” Kurzu sighed.
Nira shot him a sly grin. “The bath, eh? Are you feeling dirty, Kuku?”
Kurzu laughed nervously, and Alduni laughed hysterically.
“I hate to be the one to say it, but should we still go to Lagash?” Kurzu asked.
“It was Nira’s idea,” Alduni said.
“I think we should. There’s no reason to backtrack when we still have so much to do,” argued Nira. “We can make it back if we find what we need today.”
“Agreed,” the boys replied.
After continuing for a while, the hunters spotted someone far up the trail who appeared to be coming their way. Kurzu was able to make out two shapes, one large and one small. Before long they determined it was an older man and what must have been his granddaughter. She was likely four or five years old, carrying a stick and running back and forth gleefully as the man tried to keep her from running too far into the marshes.
The man hailed them as they approached, and reigned in his young companion, holding his hand out and smiling. The young girl grew timid and hid behind her grandfather.
“Good morning, good morning! Take care, it’s likely to rain today! Ishkur will nourish your fields, but mind the foundations of your houses!” He spoke in a weathered but friendly voice.
“Thank you, sir,” Nira replied, smiling warmly.
“You’re quite welcome, young lady. And keep your eyes open further up the trail, I thought I heard a commotion as we were on our way out of Urim.”
“We’ll do that, thank you, sir,” Alduni called out as they passed.
“Wow… I miss the days when I could run with a stick,” Nira sighed.
“You can still run with a stick, can’t you?” said Kurzu playfully. “It’s not difficult.”
“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” she laughed. Kurzu savored the moment.
The trio continued down the trail for an uneventful hour, eventually stopping to eat some prepared goat jerky Kurzu brought.
The world seemed to grow smaller as they ate and drank. Tall, dark thunderheads drifting in from the north began to gather above. The wide horizon allowed for an incredible perspective on the growing storm.
Heavy spring rains always caused flooding in Eridu’s water basin. But the annual surge of silty, brackish water that once brought life to the region had overstayed its welcome, and brought wheat growth to nearly nothing. It was fortunate for the black-headed people that salt-tolerant barley was suitable for preparing beer and bread.
The animals of the marshlands began to stir, sensing the oncoming rain, and filled the heavy air with sound. The sky took an ominous tone.
“We should try to find shelter,” Nira suggested. The boys agreed, and they elected to hurry down the path in search of a house they could attempt refuge in.
After a few minutes of quick walking, thunder echoed from the flashing distance at last. The wind picked up, causing the leaves of the palm trees to thrash like flags. A storm was indeed coming, and its growing thunder rolled across the sands and waters. They identified a tiny village on the outskirts of Urim that wasn’t too far away and made a bee-line for it.
The storm hit as they reached a gentle hill on the edge of the townlet. A great wall of rain swept the countryside, and overtook them as would an avalanche in the peaks of the Zagros. It was surreal to see the distinct wall of rainfall approaching from across the landscape at such a rapid speed.
“Isn’t it just our luck, to nearly make it?” Kurzu chuckled as the water found them.
His comrades gave no response, but dashed down the hill toward the nearest house. It was an unusually well-constructed claybrick house for being so far from a proper city, with a wooden door, and a roof thatched with reeds and overlaid with various leathers; a dry place in which to wait out the storm. It was hard to tell through the sheets of rain, but Kurzu thought he could make out a little smoke wafting from the stone chimney.
The boys shouted greetings and knocked on the door, trying to get the attention of whomever might be inside. They could not elicit a response, no matter how they tried.
“No one is home. Should we try the next house?” Nira suggested.
“The next house? No, I say we try to get in here. This rain is freezing and there’s no way we’ll do better,” Alduni replied. “What do you think, Kurzu?”
Kurzu thought for a moment, his every internal argument swayed by the rain pelting his hat. “I don’t like breaking in, but I need to dry off, and I think there’s a fire in there. I’m with you.”
“The gods are not going to like us trespassing like this!” Nira warned, crossing her arms. “And neither will the owner of the house! I don’t feel like being killed today.”
“With this storm as rough as it is, I’m sure they’ll understand we are just taking shelter and that we aren’t thieves. Come on, already,” pushed Alduni.
With that, he moved toward the door and pulled it firmly until it opened, its bronze hinges creaking eerily. A soft orange glow emanated from within the house, and a breath of warm air flowed out from the door as soon as it was opened. Nira and Kurzu needed no more convincing, and they were inside right behind Alduni in seconds, closing the door behind them. 











	 
6

Build like a slave - live like a lord!
	Build like a lord - live like a slave!
Sumerian proverb

The house was plainly furnished, with a few small clay pots and a modest pile of furs gathered near the downset fireplace in the corner.  The embers were still warm and glowing, which suggested they had been tended recently. A wicked machete was leaned against the wall with other farming implements, its patina-tinged blade gleaming in the firelight.
“I don’t like this,” Nira spoke up again, a churning geyser of anxiety in her chest. “We should go.” She made a move toward the door, just as the lightning and thunder split the air outside and stopped her in her tracks. The storm was close enough that the sound and light came together, meaning there was a real danger of being struck if they tried crossing the near-treeless plain.
“I knew it!” Nira cried, her nerves fraying by the second. “I prayed to Ishkur for rain, and now that we trespassed in someone’s home, he throws the sea at us from the sky! I am so sorry! Ishkur, forgive me!” She hid her face in her hands and breathed heavily. Alduni stared forlorn at the fire, picking at a spot on his leg, unsure of what to do with himself.
Kurzu placed an arm around her shoulders. “You are not responsible for this, Nira. It’s only a spring storm, okay? Get that thought from your head.”
Nira wiped her eyes and took a deep breath. “No, no, you’re right. I’m just so stressed. None of this is what I was expecting.”
“Hey, me either. But that’s why we work together, so we can have each other’s backs. If some raving lunatic comes in here looking for a fight, we will protect you.” He pulled her close, and she did not resist him.
“That’s right!” Alduni called from the fire. “We won’t let anyone mess with you.”
“I think I’d be the one rescuing you two, actually,” Nira laughed through her tears, shaking her head and pulling away. The boys chuckled in response.
A flash, then gentle thundering came from above them. “Ishkur is laughing, too!” Nira reflected. The striking absurdity of the last few minutes fell upon her all at once as choking dread gave way to relief and mindfulness with every breath. She started giggling uncontrollably, and soon the boys had joined her. The world seemed, for a fleeting moment, to make some sense.
Suddenly the door rattled and flew open. A young man in drenched farmer’s garb appeared in the threshold.
“What are you doing?” The man shouted over the rain. “You have to get out of here!”
Nira, to her credit, stepped forward first. The boys shot to their feet and crept forward tensely in her wake, both with a hand ready to grasp a blade. “We were just looking for shelter, don’t hurt us!”
“What? No, I’m not going to hurt you, but you have to get out now! This house is in a floodplain!” The young man beckoned them out, clearly frustrated at their lack of insight. “My house is up the hill; we’ll be safe there. Come on!”
The young farmer took off back into the storm. Nira looked back at her friends for confirmation and saw they were already moving toward the door.
As they stepped outside and shut the house tightly behind them, they saw through the downpour that the waters were already overtaking sections of the trail they had walked on only minutes before. They caught sight of the young man hustling up the hill toward another lovely dwelling. Already missing the fire, they sprinted through the puddles to catch up with him. Nira’s grass hat, with its tight weaving, did an admirable job of keeping the rain from her eyes.
Thankfully the hill had not yet turned to mud and the hunters were able to scale it without much trouble. The young man held his door open for them to run inside, which they did without hesitation.
Now within the second house, they discovered a much different scene than the first. There were two children and an old woman seated around this fireplace, which burned bright and hot. A few young pigs and a goat were huddled in one corner, terrified by the storm. The hunting trio, wet to the bone, looked gratefully at their new hosts. The children, a boy and a girl, ran over to stare at the strange visitors. 
“Well then, what brings you young ones here?” The old woman asked from beneath a robe of thick furs. She was chopping onions, root vegetables, and various herbs on a stone tabletop.
“They were taking shelter from the storm down at your house, mother.” The young man who had retrieved them answered before they could. “I don’t think they’re thieves.”
“No, no, they aren’t thieves,” the old woman replied, laughing. “I’ve nothing of value, anyway.”
“You know, mother, I wish you’d move out of that house and go stay with my father. Every year we built trenches to try to stop the flooding, and every year the rains overtake them with ease.”
“You already know I will not be staying with your father, so where would I move to, eh? One moment…Why, is that Alduni I see there? Your father is Eridu’s blacksmith?”
“Yes, that’s my father. Have we met before?”
“Oh, I first saw you when you were knee-high! I visited your father’s forge about fifteen years ago, when my husband and I were searching for a gift for my son, Osio, whom you’ve met.” She nodded toward the young man, who nodded himself when Nira turned to meet his gaze. “Your friends, I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting yet.”
“I’m Kurzu.”
“Nira, nice to meet you.”
“And you. My name is Mishaligu. I am born and raised in Urim, the greatest city in the world. The question stands, what brings you here, so far from Eridu?”
After a few moments of trained silence on the matter, Nira spoke up. “We have a local tradition we call the Great Hunt. We got caught in the storm, and it led us to your door. I’m sorry we’re bothering you this way.”
“Nonsense, child, think nothing of it! Ishkur’s are mixed blessings at times, to be sure. Refuge from a storm is something I can find it in my heart to grant.” She smiled widely.
Nira finally let relief settle into her heart, and she eased the muscles in her back and jaw she didn’t realize she had been tightening for the last few minutes. She realized the children were still staring at them blankly, so she attempted to break the ice and waved at them, to no avail. A funny face with crossed eyes and protruding tongue made them laugh, and apparently satisfied, they ran back to their playing.
“While you are here, would one of you care to help Osio with the mustard greens? I’m used to having my eldest granddaughter help me. Her grandfather is out with her now, and I don’t think they’ll be keen to travel in this weather.”
Kurzu’s eyes lit up. “We met them, I think! A little while before we came here! They were heading southwest.”
“That’s them,” she said, laughing. “Oh my, I hope they aren’t caught up in the rain already. I imagine Belilu will be terrified of the lightning, the poor girl. Rashugal will keep her safe, though. He’s a good man. A physician at the court of King Urnammu, you know! Always trying to help people. Such a good man.”
“There are some shrines to take shelter in along the trail, don’t worry too much about that,” Alduni suggested.
“Ah, before I forget again, would one of you help Osio with the mustard greens? The children are getting hungry.” Mishaligu gestured to the two kids playing with bone dice in the adjacent corner.
Nira volunteered and walked over to the other side of the house with Osio. 
Kurzu stood and went to the doorway. He peered out a seam in the door and caught sight of the old woman’s house. The gathering water from the puddles on the property had begun to encroach on the building, and it was now under a few inches of water. It was lucky they hadn’t fallen asleep in that house, or they’d have woken up floating.
“Excuse me, miss, but your house is starting to flood!”
“Yes, yes, I know. Thank you, boy.”
Kurzu shrugged and went to sit back down.
“You two are lucky it’s raining,” Mishaligu said. “Normally when I have guests for dinner, I work them in the garden.” She gave another wide smile.
Across the house, Nira was talking with Osio as they prepared the mustard greens.
“Hello, I’m Nira.” She held a hand up in greeting.
“Hello, Nira. I’m Osio. I like your hat.” Osio flashed her a smile, which she returned in kind.
“Thank you! You have a lovely house.”
“My wife and my father helped me build it.”
“Your wife?” Nira was somewhat disappointed to hear this handsome man was taken, and it came through in her tone.
“Yes, her name was Yulana.”
“Was?” She put it together just as the word left her mouth.
“She undertook her journey to Arali a few years ago. A sickness stole her breath. I would prefer not to talk about it right now, not with the kids around.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean… I didn’t mean to bring up something painful.” Nira was mortified, unable to look up from the mustard seeds she now mashed idly in the mortar and pestle.
“It’s okay. Tell me about Eridu; I’ve never been there.” Osio grabbed a pinch of salt and tossed it in with the greens. “Could you hand me that oil?”
Nira took a deep breath and smiled, self-conscious and still flush with embarrassment. She handed Osio the small jar of oil. “Eridu is a nice enough city. It’s a little run-down in some areas, which is to be expected of such an old place. The new ziggurat commissioned by King Urnammu isn’t finished yet, but it looks beautiful so far. Not as nice as the one in Urim, I imagine.”
“I’m sure that’s not true. And, I’ve heard the marshes to the south of Eridu are lovely this time of year.” He added a touch of oil to the greens and tossed the mixture together confidently with a reed fork.
“Yes, I suppose they are.” Nira focused once again on her task, trying not to stare at Osio too much.
“Would you pass me the coriander?” His eyes met hers, and she felt dazed for a moment.
“Ye… yes. Sorry, yes, here.” She grabbed a sprig of coriander from the rough stone bowl and set it in his reaching hand. Her fingers brushed his and she blushed. She instantly scolded herself mentally for being so ridiculous, shaking her head.
“That spring rain is cold. I hope you’re feeling all right.” Osio ignored it for both their sakes.
“I’m… yeah I’m fine, thanks. It’s been a long day,” she confessed, half-forcing a nervous laugh. “But you, your mother’s house is flooding! Does this happen all the time?”
“Believe it or not, it does,” Osio sighed. “We dig canals every year, but these larger storms overrun them. My mother loves her house, and she loves the view she gets of the city from that spot. So, every year the spring floods come and every year she stays. I think she loves that house so much she’d rather rebuild it a hundred times than move away. Of course, I’m the one who does the building.”
“If we are too far from the city, we won’t make to the market half as often, and if we’re within the city, we’ll be subjected nightly to those drunken thieving swine at the temple beer hall!” Mishaligu apparently overheard and felt compelled to interject.
*
Alduni and Kurzu were staring through the cracks in the door, watching the endless rain with a mixture of awe and discomfort.
“I don’t think we’re going to win,” Alduni said after an extended silence. A goat scolded a nervous pig in the corner to their left.
“No, I guess we won’t. Even if we went back out right now, all the tumibi are nesting, and the lake flowers are being annihilated as we speak.”
“Yeah,” Alduni sighed and leaned back on his elbows. “This rain noise is putting me to sleep, brother.”
“Almost maddening, isn’t it? This storm is so loud.”
“No, it’s peaceful if you close your eyes. Try it.”
Kurzu slid down the wall and leaned his head back against it, letting his hat slide over his face. The claybrick was hard, but his head found a comfortably concave spot, and he soon found his eyes were quite willing to close. He basked in the clarity he found in this relatively calm moment, when the only sound was of the indistinct conversations and animal murmurings of the house being washed away in Ishkur’s rain.
	
	
 
 

 
7

While you still have light, grind the flour.
Sumerian proverb

With the new dawn comes new opportunity – this was one of the mantras Ruut employed to keep his mind and heart focused. It was the mantra that came to him as he woke in the pleasant hours just before the dawn, when the birds are beginning to sing and the world feels reborn. He stretched luxuriously and sat up to wash the sleep from his face in the bowl at his bedside.
The wind lapped gently at the cloth canopy that hung between his rooftop bed and the sky. He took a moment to enjoy the simple beauty of its many rich colors dancing in the delicate breeze. A brief glance over the wall indicated only a handful of people were awake.
Kurzu was surely fast asleep somewhere in the bush, he thought. Though the boy was capable, Ruut still worried for him. He was young, after all, and no half-remembered education could outweigh the virtues of experience.
Ruut pulled his clothes on, thinking back to the time when he himself had undertaken the so-called Great Hunt. It was just as much a tradition for adults to pretend not to know about it as it was for the children to try and keep it secret. While he was on his own Hunt, Ruut had felled a tumibi from a significant distance with a bow and arrow – a feat his hunting party found both impressive and frustrating, as the capture of a live bird is considered the greater deed.
Thoughts of Kurzu brought back the night the boy had come to Eridu in his mother’s arms. He would never forget the desperate fight to save their lives. Instinctively, he looked to the spot under his bed where the khopesh handle usually protruded. He frowned and walked to the bed corner. The khopesh was gone.
Ruut quickly suppressed the vein of rage he felt bubble up inside him. Kurzu was a teenager, apt to test to no end the limits of his surroundings and the patience of his elders. If it hadn’t been the Great Hunt, he would have caught the hiding of his lifetime. Ruut decided that if he came clean upon his return, Kurzu would receive no punishment for this transgression. Instead, he thought, perhaps he should give it to him. After all, it held a special a place in Kurzu’s life, whether the boy realized it or not. If he could bear it with wisdom and courage, why shouldn’t he have it?
*
The morning brought Utu’s fire back to the sky, but Kurzu found himself wishing the world would have remained in its shroud of rain. The sun quickly dried up much of the water and made the air unbearably muggy. After a short breakfast of waterfowl eggs and leeks with Osio’s family, prepared expertly by the man himself, the three hunters said their goodbyes and headed back out to the main road. 
They passed Mishaligu’s house, which had suffered tremendous structural damage. The once sturdy walls were slowly dissolving into the puddles and pulling apart at the seams. The land around it was unrecognizable, with gentle hills eroded to mud pits and garden plants drowned in their beds.
Even with the sunbaked earth rapidly drinking the rainwater, the road was still flooded in many spots. Their leather shoes had only just dried out from hanging near the fire all night. At least half the road was underwater, and what remained would be hazardous and frustrating to cross on foot. They stood awkwardly at the roadside for a time, no one sure of what to do.
“We ought to find a boat to take us to Urim. The rivers are running high right now, so it should be safe passage, and I’m sure our prayers will move the gods to help us,” Nira thought out loud as she surveyed the extent of the storm damage.
“I have some shekels on it,” Alduni agreed, patting the money sack tied around his waist.
Kurzu merely nodded his approval and sighed, gazing hopelessly at the saturated landscape. “What a mess.”
After a moment, Nira exhaled with a smile, as if suddenly refreshed, then reached down to remove her leather-bound sandals. She tied them together and took them in her hand, then dashed into the mud and stood there, turning with a keen smile for the boys. 
“What are you waiting for?” 
With that, she began her inelegant trek through the mud, laughing all the way, and occasionally losing her balance as she pulled her feet free with a comical shuck, shuck noise.
Alduni laughed. “Well, she’s in a good mood.”
“She got the lion’s share of the food this morning,” Kurzu grunted.
They both followed Nira’s example, and soon the three of them were trudging along the flooded road with their shoes in their hands and their legs caked in cool, heavy mud.
They carried on this way until midday, when the heat of Utu’s fire was the most unforgiving. At last, the water subsided and the path became dry enough to walk on in a regular manner. The hunters diverted to a stream to wash themselves and take a generous break, for traversing the mud was exhausting and befilthing work.
They were minutes from Euphrates, the mightiest of Enki’s rivers, which brought life to the land. When the mud had been washed from their ankles, they headed due north to the water’s edge. They spotted a boatman as soon as they approached. The boatman had a streak of salesman in his blood and enthusiastically beckoned them to his reed longboat.
“Hello, my friends! Are you looking to cross today? The water is high and safe, perfect for visiting the lands to the north. What do you think, my friends?” His gaze lingered on Nira, though he made sure to give each of his potential customers a white smile.
“Yes, actually, we are looking to cross,” Nira responded. “What will it cost for the three of us?”
“For three of you, it will be six shekels, young lady.”
Alduni pulled the sum from the sack on his waist and held it out for the man, who accepted it gladly.
“Thank you, sir. Right then, let’s disembark. Let’s go, while the sun shines again!”
The cheery boatman engaged them in talk about the weather and made a few jokes. He told them of his wife and two young daughters, who were at home in a village near Unug. He built his boat himself and had proudly operated it for years to make a living. His wife, he laughed, always bantered him about choosing a side of the river and sticking to it.
After a short while of rowing, the boat finally met the shore on the other side of the river. The trio said their goodbyes and resumed their journey to the north.
While they refilled their goatskin canteens in a bubbling stream minutes down the trail, Kurzu noticed something moving from the corner of his eye. Something blue. He glanced up to see none other than a tumibi, resting for a moment in a tree just across the stream.
“Hey. I see a tumibi, but be careful not to startle it,” Kurzu said evenly. “It’s sitting in the tree right in front of me, up there.”
“I see it!” Alduni whispered intensely. “Finally!”
“Hold on, I’ve got it,” added Nira, deftly retrieving her sling from the pouch around her waist.
“What? No, what are you doing? There’s no way you can hit it!” Alduni claimed.
“Yes, I can! Just watch.”
“Nira, you don’t have to prove anything, okay? We know you- “
“Hey, don’t patronize me. I can hit it.” Nira loaded a small rock from the streambed and placed the ends of the sling between her fingers, never letting her eyes stray from the bird.
“But… fine.” Alduni crossed his arms and sighed. Kurzu shrugged, cynical despite himself. He prepared to chase the bird if she should fail, but hoped she wouldn’t.
Nira began to swing her weapon around her head, but the tumibi took off without warning.
Nira jumped up and took off after the tumibi, not bothering to see if her comrades followed her. They did, of course, and soon the three of them were sprinting and leaping across the landscape in pursuit of the foolish bird who drew their ire with its fateful blue feathers.
Kurzu rejoiced in this freedom, in moving quick enough to feel the wind on his face, in pursuing this dramatic goal with his closest friends. His focus was on maintaining even footing among the patchy ground, and taking care not to plunge his toes into the tall grass where snakes dwelled.
A sturdy hand on his chest took him by surprise and brought him to a stop. It was Alduni, whose intense gaze was transfixed on some distant thing beyond him. Alduni dragged Kurzu down behind a boulder, where Nira was already hiding.
“What’s the matter?”
Nira motioned for him to be silent, and the look in her eyes moved him to comply immediately.
Alduni leaned over and whispered, barely audible, “Guti.”
Kurzu couldn’t believe his eyes. Why were there Guti warriors so far south? He had learned to recognize the leather armor the mountain folk wore after many history lessons at the temple academy, but to see it in person felt unreal. Though the seven were moving laterally to their position, Kurzu moved a hand to the grip of his khopesh.
Then he noticed something was different about one member of this strange company. He was quite young and wore very distinct clothing; it was not rough leathers but the attire of a Sumerian socialite. The complexity and length of the kaunakes he wore indicated he was of the very highest social standing, perhaps even royalty. He appeared to be bound and compelled along at the tip of a sword.
“They have a prisoner!” Kurzu whispered.
Surely the reason these men came so far south was to acquire this prisoner and ransom him to his wealthy family. They had done this despicable thing many times since their fall at the hands of the great kings.
As the seconds passed, no one said a word until the menacing warriors marched well out of earshot.
“We have to help,” Nira decided. She rose from behind the rock and began stalking her new quarry. Again, the boys were already on the same page and were behind her within moments.
It was a miracle the trio weren’t spotted right away. The Guti did not seem to be in a hurry, but they were acting very defensively. This would make it easy to track them, Kurzu supposed, though getting close would be suicide.
Kurzu gripped his amulet and steadied his breath. There was no time to find help; this young man’s life was in their hands. With their water-skins and their stomachs full, they committed once more to the great hunt, this one greater than any before. 
8

Good is in the hands. Evil is also in the hands.
Sumerian proverb

Urim, the capitol city, stood resolute on the edge of the sea.
The imposing ziggurat at the city’s core was erected over the ruins of the old one that stood centuries before. As in Eridu, it was unfinished. The construction for both was started by King Urnammu, the hero who was called the advocate of Sumer, the ornament of the assembly. Urim was surrounded by a mighty wall of bright stone, shining with Utu’s fire, signifying the protection and stability Urnammu brought to the lives of his people.
Long ago, the competitive city-states of the region were sovereign, and each commanded as much influence as the gods pleased. The more successful a ruler, the more clearly that ruler expressed their divine will. The cities warred with one another for millennia, power ever shifting between them like the path of the wind. That is, until the Guti descended from the Zagros.
Urnammu had finally begun to consolidate the kingship in Urim. The gods had led the black-headed people on a strange, bitter path for over a century, but it finally seemed as if the universe was being set aright.
This was the sentiment Siatum was trying to impress upon a dozen nobles in the royal court at Urim, in the bright throne room of Urnammu’s elegant new palace.
Suddenly, a bleary-eyed teenager staggered in and brought Siatum’s world crashing down around her in a matter of seconds.
“My queen, please forgive me,” the messenger blurted out, falling to his knees. His tears fell and he clutched his heart, breathless. “King Urnammu… the king is dead!”
The room fell silent, apart from the boy’s heaving breath.
Siatum’s eyes widened. She felt blindly for the arm of a luxurious chair and slumped into the cushions, staring unfocused at the news projected onto her imagination. At more than forty years, she appeared younger than most her age thanks to a lifetime of royal pampering, but in this moment, she looked weathered and beaten.
“Everyone but him, out,” she called wearily.
Ever-stoic soldiers began to guide the court advisors out, on whose faces showed varying degrees of stunned and heartbroken. One woman, a trade advisor, melted into tears and gloomed at the queen as she stepped into the hall. An excitable, foreign young spice trader shouted, “King Urnammu is dead, long live King Shulgi!” The disgust on the face of his peers silenced him, but another among them repeated the phrase, and before long the news was coursing through the palace like water burst from a dam.
When the room had cleared, she beckoned the messenger forth with a finger and made room for him on the chair. He skulked uncomfortably to the queen’s side. 
When he was seated, Siatum took his face in her hands and stared intensely into his eyes. The boy felt compelled to look away, though he dared not. His eyes watered with the tension.
“Tell me everything,” she articulated, finally releasing him from her ringed fingers. He drew a deep, shaking breath and slowly exhaled, enduring the queen’s piercing gaze.
“I live to the north and east, in Lagash. Our house is near Tigris, and it was there I saw them. It was the Guti! I knew them from their light skin and the leather they used for their armor. My father fought in the Reclamation, and sometimes he tells me stories. He used to-”
“The king.”
“Yes, my queen, I’m sorry. It was two days ago, in the morning. When the king’s company travelled through the outskirts of the city, where my house stands, the Guti ambushed him from the shadows. I was there, and I hid in an empty date barrel. There were so many of them. I lost count after fifty. It was terrifying, my queen. Only a half-dozen of the king’s men were there, but they fought bravely. The king was doing well until his chariot stuck in the mud. He shouted curses and fought, until the chariot suddenly pulled free and threw him from his feet, and they… they overtook him. I’m so sorry, my queen. There was noth- “
“Nothing you could do, of course. Now, you must think very carefully. Did any of the king’s men survive?”
“I saw some flee into the city when they saw the king fall. Three of them, if I remember.”
“Only three? Are you sure?”
“…Yes, three.”
“Thank you, child. You may go. Tell your father his queen thanks him for his service. Tell him his son carried a heavy burden for her today.”
The boy stood and bowed, then ran from the throne room without a word. As his footsteps faded, a thin-faced guard approached the queen. 
“Lagash,” Siatum snarled. “Three of my husband’s guard are deserters. You have served me long enough, and you will know their faces. Those faithless cowards left him to die at the hands of his enemies. Bring me their feet, and then we shall see how they run from their king’s side. Six minas of silver for each foot. Also, put together a detail for retrieving my Urnammu’s… for retrieving your king. Do it now.”
“Consider it done, my queen.” He bowed long and low.
Suddenly, another messenger crept into the room, an olive-skinned girl of no more than twenty years, escorted by a guard. 
“What?!” Siatum demanded, absolutely not in the mood.
“Apologies, my queen, but this slave says she has urgent news.”
The man with the thin face began to leave, but the queen gestured that he remain.
“Thank you, you may go,” Siatum instructed. The other guard did as he was told and ducked out of the room.
“Speak, girl.”
“My queen, I’ve only just heard… I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Of course, you are. Is that what you came here to say?”
“I… no, I…” The girl stammered.
Siatum sighed. “Your condolences are accepted. Open your little mouth and tell me what you want.”
“My queen, the prince has not returned from his hunting trip. I saw him leave before dawn two days ago, and he asked me not to speak of it to anyone, but he was to return at first light this morning, and with what’s happening, I thought…”
Boiling anger wrested Siatum’s control from her. She found herself throwing her fists against the wall over and over, frustrating herself further with the pain and growling any obscenity that came to mind. The girl cowered near the door, hands nervously clasped and downcast eyes shut tight like a child. The queen’s weapon stood quietly, his eyes shifting between the queen and the slave.
“A hunting trip? That stupid, careless…  And you! You waited until now to tell me?! Are you not one of his filthy attendants? What is wrong with you?” 
She held her face in her hands, pacing the room and murmuring to herself.
“M-my queen, I cannot even im- “
“Shut up!” Siatum wheeled around, turning all her fury on this helpless girl. “Shut up, shut up! Do not even breathe, you wretch! I am trying to think! …Who else knows of this?”
“I-I…. I came here as soon as I realized he had not returned! I’ve spoken to no one, I swear!”
“See that you don’t. Now get out of my sight!”
“Yes, my queen.” The girl bowed low and rushed to the door as quickly as her composure would allow, tears brimming in her eyes.
“Girl! Remind me of your name?”
She froze in her tracks and turned back to face Siatum, her gut full of rocks.
“Yes, my queen. Qe… I’m Qesma.”
“Qesma, if I hear a whisper of what we spoke of here, I will slaughter you like a lamb.” Siatum smiled at her in a hauntingly jovial way. The girl ran and did not look back.
Siatum turned to the thin-faced man. She marched up to him and glared, her long legs bringing her nearly to his formidable height.
“That other matter can wait. That slave…” She sighed, weighing her options. “The security of my son’s rule may depend on this. I won’t have Unug trying to muscle me out. Those vulturous halfwits in the White Temple have been breathing down my neck since my father died, slavering for an opportunity like this, and I am sick of it! Ugh, just… go kill her and throw her body to the marsh rats. Then go to Lagash. I can’t deal with this right now.”
“Yes, my queen.” He parroted Qesma’s obedient, frightened tone and chuckled cruelly as he walked away, leaving the queen alone at last.
Siatum stared at her surroundings. Even now, with no one to see, her tears would not come. Instead she felt an abyss within her, as if all life and joy had been permanently drained from her soul. It was the same emptiness that had enveloped her all her life. She had learned to find peace in it, to work it in her favor, to protect herself with it. Now, it suffocated her and left her with the only emotion that ever felt real to her – hatred.
She had never been one to invoke the gods, finding the common prayer distasteful and pathetic. The gods surely did not take pleasure from the groveling of human subjects, but rather from their actions undertaken for the glory of the pantheon.
Why should Enlil, who rules the universe, care for which airheaded trollop falls for a lovesick man?
Why should Inanna, who is the mother of humanity, trouble herself over that trollop’s fertility?
Why should Utu, who is the bringer of all light, be concerned with how many filthy sheep some louse-ridden peasant slaughters in his name?
Why should Enki, who holds all knowledge, worry about the fate of that peasant’s meager barley crop?
If she were a goddess, Siatum thought, she would be ambitious and clever like Inanna, who felt no qualms about shaping the world the way she saw fit – a woman, a goddess, after Siatum’s own heart. She, too, would stir up the hearts of great men to exaltation, and bid lesser men to give their lives to make it so. She would answer no superfluous prayers, grant no amnesty to criminals. If only, she thought wistfully.
Her husband had ruled wisely and with great reverence for both the gods and the common people in the seventeen years since her father’s death. He was a beautiful man with the heart of a lion. For Siatum his love was a blessed drop of oil come through the muck, a reprieve from the naked despair of the world that even a lifetime of royal privilege could not soften.
However, Urnammu’s devout piety and diverse efforts to restore the glory of the old Akkadian empire to Sumer had not stopped the gods from abandoning him in the dust like a broken jar. First the gods had taken her father in a way devoid of glory, making him to slip like a sickly old man. Then came this cowardly strike from those mountain snakes in Gutium, who unfairly claimed her husband in his prime.
With his death, the kingship would fall to their son, Shulgi, who was now lost in the wild like an orphaned gosling. He may have even fallen into the hands of the honorless Guti who slew her husband.
Would the gods truly show no mercy to her? Would they press upon her this darkest of hours and draw its pain out to eternity, taking from her everything that made her who she was? Would they truly choose to turn their backs on Sumer and snuff out the line of Urnammu?
After all, she was named by the gods themselves to guide the sons of Sumer to glory. Her father, her husband, and now her son would rule, and no youthful recklessness on Shulgi’s part would threaten that claim. Though the gods now seemed to turn against her, even their capricious will would not take from her the throne of Sumer. It was hers and hers alone to protect, to cultivate.
The people could not know of this misstep in the succession. Shulgi needed to take the throne without incident, or else the people would begin to doubt the hand of the divine that guided Siatum’s own. 
She would never allow that to happen. 
 
9

Although the number of unhappy days is endless, yet life is better than death.
Sumerian proverb

The queen’s wrath left Qesma shaking. Her every hurried step felt unsure beneath her as she descended the wide palace steps, passing dozens of people who had their own business and didn’t give her a second thought. The news of the king’s death had spread quickly. People in the street were gathered in close circles with somber faces, whispering in defeated tones of the cruelty of the gods and the fate of Sumer.
She felt vulnerable, even more so than usual; slaves were not offered the same legal protections that free people held.
Because her father had murdered his mistress in a rage, he had been put to death. Qesma, her mother, and her young sister, Shakhet, had been made slaves as recompense. They would have belonged to the mistress’s family, but as she had none, their ownership passed to the crown. Her mother did not survive this punishment long - the strain of slavery coupled with her profound sorrow claimed her health, and then her life, within a year.
The price for Qesma’s release had been set obscenely high at two-thirds of a mina of silver, equivalent to forty shekels, a sum she would save and scrape to earn as soon as possible. Her sister’s price was the same, though her young age meant she was fit only for pouring wine until she could do manual labor.
Three years had earned her only a handful of shekels she hadn’t needed to part with for some unforeseen expense or bribery. Qesma was determined to free Shakhet and deliver her to safety, no matter what it took.
As she worked and lived in the palace, her life was relatively lush for that of a slave. Though her days were filled with menial chores, Qesma had access to the same food and living space that an affluent free citizen might enjoy.
She found viewing her lot in life as an occupation rather than a conscription helped to make things seem less hopeless. Yet at times like this, when she was abused for things beyond her control, she truly felt the weight of slavery hung around her neck.
Though some part of her never again wanted to lay eyes on the palace, as she reached the bottom of the staircase, she paused to look back at it. The stone eyes of Nanna engraved on its intimidating façade looked northeast, to the mouth of Euphrates. Even knowing the palace housed such a beast as Siatum, she found it beautiful in the bright sunlight. It was a different sort of beauty than the brilliant white radiance of the great pyramids of her homeland, Kemet. Something about it reminded her of a dream.
Just as she was turning toward the market, her mind on date cakes and catharsis, she spotted a familiar face descending the stairs. His untelling eyes honed in on her like a bird of prey. Siatum’s despicable royal guard, who had made advances on her since she had come to the palace, and whom she had witnessed taking pleasure in violence and cruelty many times, was now coming at her with terrible purpose. The queen only ever dispatched that man for one reason.
Qesma started off walking as quickly as she could without drawing attention, trying not to look like a slave running from a guard, as uninformed citizenry might intervene and give her up.
Her face betrayed her, however, as she was just barely able to keep herself from screaming in abject terror. She needed a place to hide, somewhere he wouldn’t find her. Her old house – the one her family owned before her father’s crime. It was her only chance.
The house was on a haphazard side street in the depths of the city’s sprawling residential area. It stood, as most houses did, three stories tall, sharing walls with neighboring houses, one of which was very much inhabited. But her house had been empty for years. Few people wanted to inhabit the home of a murderer, for fear of dark spirits, and of testing the fickle will of the gods.
Her father and mother were buried there, beneath the old house. Despite his crime he was offered a proper burial, or else his disquieted spirit might have returned to haunt his living relatives. Her poor mother was allowed to be buried there with him, thanks to the good king’s blessing.
She visited sometimes and tended to their graves, though they were unmarked save for stones upon the floor bearing their rough likenesses. Qesma made sure they were free of dust, and prayed for blessings regularly.
Her feet knew the old familiar street well, but it felt foreign and strange now as she raced toward refuge. Her house was still abandoned, and she thanked the gods the street was relatively well populated in case the man tried to follow her.
Sure enough, she had not yet hidden behind a window for a minute when she saw him turn the corner. Why was he coming to kill her? Would the gods be so cruel? She tried to shake the thought but it was insistent, distracting her and making her nauseous.
She saw the guard inquire at the house at the end of the street, and after a few moments, he moved to the next one. He would be upon her in a matter of minutes. 
Qesma wracked her brain, desperate for a plan, when it suddenly came together. She moved as quickly and quietly as she could up the stairs.
Once on the roof of the house, she crept to the edge of the decrepit half-wall and waited, peeking out over the edge at the street below. He was now entering the empty house next to hers, and she could hear his armored footsteps clamoring up the staircase. He poked his head up and she pulled hers down, not daring to breathe. After a few moments, Qesma heard him descending the stairs.
This was her only chance. She carefully climbed over the wall onto the other roof and waited until she heard him coming up her own house’s stairs, then dashed down through the empty house as fast as she could and out the door, her bare feet carrying her soundlessly.
Urim was no longer safe for her, if it had ever been. It pained her heart to leave her young sister behind, but there were plenty of matronly servants in the palace who cared for Shakhet when Qesma could not. She would be safe until Qesma could return for her.
Perhaps she would follow the river northwest to the mountains, or try her luck on the swampy roads to the south. Eridu, she heard, was a lovely place to see this time of year, when the waters ran high, and the nesting birds sang out for one another. 
10

Do not start a fight with a dog. Will that dog not bite you?
Sumerian proverb

For the rest of the day, the young trio followed their new quarry north, resting in shifts as the warriors did. They maintained their distance in the grassy plain, lying low at all times, leopards shadowing gazelles. Unable to light a fire or roam for hunting, they subsisted on the goat jerky Kurzu had packed for the Great Hunt and whatever edible berries and greenery they came across in the bush.
The first night was cold. The ants and mosquitos were everything. There was no conversation.
At one point a pack of jackals nearly gave them away with their whooping and howling, but a wary Guti threw rocks at the beasts and drove them back into the prairie.
Finally, at the end of the second day, the kidnappers came upon a vast cedar forest, at the southern edge of which they made camp for the night. They pitched a small tent of canvas and leather, and drew up a hammock in the tree line. Birds and monkeys near the edge of the trees screeched at the intrusion. Through the noise, Kurzu heard a familiar call that made him shake his head and chuckle.
“A tumibi… are you kidding me?”
Kurzu took the watch while his friends slept behind him on the gentle hill overlooking the camp.  It was here they were finally able to get close enough to identify the prisoner.
Kurzu’s training and education at the temple had taught him of the identifying fashions of the royal court. Even by the soft light of the moon and the fire, this prisoner could only be Shulgi, son of the great King Urnammu. What twisted fate had the gods wrought for him to bring him so low?
The Guti made the prince to sit down near the fire and seemed to make a game from prodding him with sticks, trying to make him angry, which to their great delight worked more often than not. He was especially irritated when they stripped him of his cloak and kaunakes and fought over their new ownership, leaving him naked in the crisp night air. When they grew tired of this, they roamed about the camp, collected firewood from the underbrush, and paid him little attention, aside from hurling the occasional rock or unintelligible insult.
Over the course of the pursuit, the hunters had noticed that one of the men often slept during his shift, and another would roam restlessly, seemingly lost in thought. It so happened that on this night, against the cedars where the gods dwelled, beneath Nanna’s bright crescent moon, these two bore the responsibility of guarding their prisoner together, each expecting the other to pick up his slack.
Hours into his tedious watch, Kurzu sensed an opportunity. Each guard was expressing his respective failure. Unfortunately, Kurzu realized in this moment that despite his tracking skills, his lack of martial training would be a serious disadvantage. Even with his friends at his side, it would be impossible to win a fair fight against trained, well-equipped soldiers. Stealth was their only option.
“Alduni, Nira, wake up. Wake up, we have a chance.”
After taking a few moments to collect their senses, Alduni and Nira armed themselves and joined Kurzu at the crest of the hill.
“Firstly, I have some big news. That prisoner they have is actually Prince Shulgi!”
“I knew it!” Alduni frowned.
Nira peeked out over the hilltop in shock, shivering from her cold sleep.
“I’ve been watching them, and I have a plan,” Kurzu continued. “We take out The Wanderer and The Sleeper, then we free the prince and escape together. What do you think?” Kurzu bit his lip and held his breath.
“You want to kill them?” Nira asked in disbelief.
“Actually, I was hoping we wouldn’t have to kill anyone, and we could just sneak him out,” Alduni said. Nira nodded her head in agreement.
“It’s not like I want to kill anyone, either, but what choice do we have? There’s no way we can get him without making noise. And I know we won’t forgive ourselves if we leave him there. And neither will the gods. I’m sorry, but we have to do it.”
“Couldn’t we at least try to sneak him out?” Nira asked, peeking again over the edge of the hill.
“That’s what I wanted to do. But listen, if we make a mistake, we’re all dead. We don’t have the luxury of getting to try again if we fail.”
Nira gazed at the ground, and Alduni itched his arm.
“Come on, you must have known it would come to this.”
“Kurzu, I have to be honest. I did not expect this from you,” Nira confessed. “I was prepared to kill a bird, but these men… Guti or not, it doesn’t feel right. I don’t think I can do it.”
“However this goes, I’ll follow you two,” Alduni said. “But I don’t want blood on my hands, brother. There has to be another way.”
Kurzu held his forehead between his fingers. They were making him feel like a monster. Why should he feel conflicted over saving an innocent life? The life of the prince, at that?
“Those men down there, they would kill you just for being who you are, Nira. They kidnapped our prince. Only the gods know how many people they killed to get to him. And, if I remember my history correctly, they’ll probably drag him back to the Zagros and kill him in the middle of their awful capitol. Put his head on a spike.” Kurzu could feel his friends’ poise slipping, and there was no room for hesitance in so delicate a situation.
“But if we fight them, we’ll die for sure,” Nira insisted.
“That’s why we’re sneaking up on them, so they never know what hit them, and we can escape with the prince.”
“Yeah, I just…” Nira sighed deeply. “We have to help him, don’t we? We’ve come this far, and we have to help him.” She looked at Alduni, who sighed as well and tightened his grip on his father’s dagger.
“The whole point of this crazy thing we’re doing is to save him, and now we have to go and save him,” Kurzu confirmed.
“Do it quickly and there will be no suffering,” Alduni said, trying to convince himself.
“No suffering. We can do this. We can.” Kurzu drew and released a deep, even breath and turned to face the camp.
“I’ll free the prince,” Nira volunteered.
The hill was situated at the southern end of the camp, and the forest bordered it to the north.
The one they called The Wanderer was standing on the western side of the area, his attention fully captured by the stars.
Alduni crept forward through the soft grass. He mentally prayed to Inanna as he moved, asking to be imbued with courage and strength, and above all, silence. As he drew up behind the distracted man, taking every step with extreme care, he thought he knew what he was about to do.
The weight of it didn’t hit him until he felt the man’s body seize in shock as the bronze knife slid across his throat. Alduni grimaced in disgust, and carefully guided the slumping form to the ground. The flowing blood smelled of metal, and it turned his stomach. He could not bring himself to look at the man’s face.
Across the camp, Nira moved to the fire while Kurzu came up behind The Sleeper.
The man was hunched over with his chin on his chest and his arms crossed. Kurzu drew and released a silent breath, trying not to think too much. He could feel his heartbeat in his ears. He mouthed a quick prayer to Inanna, who was patroness of war, and hoped that Nira wasn’t looking as he gripped his khopesh, pulled the man’s head back by his hair, and quickly sliced his throat. The man’s eyes flew open just long enough to witness his end under the stars and the cedar boughs. He never saw what killed him as he collapsed forward into the bloodying dust.
But Nira did see. She grasped her mouth with her hands and cried out into them, her eyes instantly apologetic and fearful. She had never witnessed such brutality. Kurzu, kind and intelligent, was capable of killing. Alduni, carefree and genuine, was capable of killing. She wondered if she was, too.
Somewhere deep inside the cedar forest, a chorus of monkeys began howling and chanting excitedly.
The prince stirred, and Kurzu and Nira both motioned for silence, desperately hoping he would understand what was happening and keep his mouth shut. To his credit, he nodded in understanding upon taking in the scene and indicated for his restraints to be cut. He was a tall, rugged young man with an athletic build, a few years older than Kurzu. He wore a trimmed beard and short, neat hair. His right eye was swollen.
Nira said a silent prayer and carefully slit the ropes.
Alduni had now made his way back over to the fire. The prince retrieved his kaunakes from the log and silently dressed himself, shaking his head.
Suddenly, a long-haired Guti warrior emerged from the tent. He raised the alarm in his strange language, and in seconds his three comrades joined him.
The game was up, and for the first time, they heard the prince’s voice.
“Get my bow. It’s in that fur wrapping beside the fire.”
Alduni and Kurzu brandished their respective blades. Nira had already gathered her wits and was preparing her sling.
The kidnappers flew into a rage as they noticed their fallen brothers and began to scream curses at the group.
“Boy, get my bow now! Or do you wish to die today?”
Shulgi now made it clear he was addressing Kurzu, who did not realize he was the closest to the bow. He knelt and quickly unwrapped it as the four half-dressed Guti drew their weapons.
It was a handsome bow of cedar and sinew, with a uniquely shaped body and a hemp-rope drawstring, detailed with golden floral inlays and an inscription on the grip bearing Shulgi’s name. The handsome quiver held twelve white cedar arrows with tips made of blackstone and feathers of bright blue. As Kurzu handed the bow back to the prince, he couldn’t help but smile.
The warriors stalked across the camp as Shulgi quickly took aim. The kids moved closer to each other and tried to look menacing, but if the Guti had any fear of these four Sumerians, they did not show it.
Shulgi loosed the arrow he had drawn, and it plunged deep into one of the soldiers’ eyes. He fell to the ground immediately, making some half-hearted moan. The dark swirled around his remaining eye, and he moved no more.
The three remaining warriors moved unpredictably, freshly enraged and rushing to take advantage of the moment as the prince loaded another arrow.
Within seconds they were upon one another, and the battle began in earnest. Alduni managed to slice at one soldier’s legs, but his dagger was nothing compared to the wicked sword wielded by his enemy. He dodged a slash at his throat with a luckily timed backstep, and tried to catch the Guti off guard by springing back at him. Alduni’s dagger connected, and he managed to damage the man’s left leg such that he could focus only on the pain. 
As Alduni tried to cut his foe’s throat, screaming in rage and terror, his right arm was suddenly seized and he was thrown over the man’s shoulder, landing flat on his back, his arm still in the soldier’s clutch. The man growled some Guti curse and swung his fist with considerable strength into Alduni’s elbow. There was a sickening crunch. Alduni couldn’t process it at first, until he felt himself fading from consciousness from the unbearable pain – his elbow was bent in the wrong direction. A broken bone protruded from his skin. 
An arrow suddenly punctured the Guti’s neck with a bloody pop, and he fell forward onto Alduni, the tip of the fatal arrow missing his torso by next to nothing. Once again, he felt in far too personal a manner the surreal convulsions of the dying.
Alduni tried to push the man off, but the effort almost made him pass out. His every breath was agony, and the state of his arm nearly sent him into shock. He resolved to wait to die, or else to fall into merciful sleep, closing his eyes and trying desperately to think of anything but the pain.
Meanwhile, another soldier had rushed the prince, leaving Nira unassailed. Unwilling to kill his prize, the Guti punched Shulgi in the jaw, knocking him to the ground.
Nira had already loaded her sling, and swung it above her head to build momentum, the enemy in her sights. She took great pleasure in landing a rough stone directly on the warrior’s skull. Though staggered and bleeding, he remained standing, and thundered his fury at Nira.
She fumbled for another stone to sling at him, but there was no time. He tackled her frail form to the ground and pulled his sword back, saliva flying from his mouth as his bestial roar deafened her. She closed her eyes tight in fear, wishing for it all to stop. She screamed out a pained breath, feeling his great weight pinning her lungs to the earth, and held her hands up feebly in defense.
The sword came down. Nira felt an obscene burning pain in her right hand. She reached with her other hand to brace it, but something was wrong.
She felt only warm wetness, and… nothing. Her hand was gone. It was gone. Blood spilled from the wound. Her eyes flashed and struggled to focus. Pain and fear became her entire world.
The animal uncovered himself and tore at her blood-spattered skirt with a chilling laugh. He drove a rough hand down onto her neck and grunted, spitting in her face.
She tried to scream again and again, her voice breaking in agony and fear, becoming only a breath. If Shulgi’s singing arrow had not found that beast’s laughing throat, it might have been her end.
The Guti hopelessly grasped at his neck as the blood spurted out, and fell back twitching over her legs. She frantically kicked the body off and away from her. She crawled toward the large rock at the fireside where the imprisoned Shulgi had sat, and curled up into a ball.
Kurzu fought the last warrior, and for a few moments they appeared to be evenly matched, clashing their weapons together and exchanging curses that neither understood. Kurzu heard Nira cry out and let it pull his attention from the fight. The Guti saw an opportunity and swung down on Kurzu’s head with his sword.
Somehow, he managed to block it in time, but the soldier brought his other hand around and smashed Kurzu’s nose, knocking him to the dirt. Like a dog on a wounded chicken, he sprang on Kurzu and bashed his nose again, this time with the grip of his sword. The pain was blinding.
The Guti laughed at Kurzu’s pained cries, and had just gripped Kurzu’s hair firmly when a fourth arrow from Shulgi’s bow found its home in the back of the man’s head. He collapsed on Kurzu, who with great effort pushed the body off him and struggled to his feet.
Kurzu’s eyes were watered and unfocused from the incredible pain in his nose, and he could only breathe through his mouth. He coughed and spat blood into the dirt. Through his tears he could see Alduni lying still on the ground, half-pinned by a corpse, his chest heaving. Nira sat up against the rock, cradling her hand and crying. Only Shulgi, who stood rubbing his jaw with a frown, held any sense of composure. 
11

A man without a god - for a strong man it is no loss.
Sumerian proverb

There was no doubt in Kurzu’s mind that Shulgi had saved them all. He watched as the prince put away his bow and ran to Nira, kneeling at her side. He pulled an extravagant blue shawl from his bow bag and tried to gently grab her arm, but she jumped away, yelping in shock.
“No, no… no…!”
Shulgi saw the blood flowing from between her fingers and sighed. He waved to Kurzu. “Hey, you’re on your feet. Come here and help me. And tilt your head back.”
Kurzu stumbled over to the rock and carefully crouched down on Nira’s right side.
“I’m not going to hurt you, I’m going to help you. Trust me, I’m Prince Shulgi.” He flashed her a winning smile and tore his shawl in half.
“Here, keep this clean for a moment,” Shulgi said, handing him some of the fabric. It was intricately woven and embroidered with rambling floral patterns of gold and silver thread. Shulgi used his half to tie a tourniquet around Nira’s upper arm, and slowly pulled it tight until she hissed in pain, then tied it off and took the second half from Kurzu, draping it around his neck.
“Get me two sticks, one with strong embers from the fire and one without. Not too thick. Two fingers wide will be fine. Now!”
Kurzu was slightly irked at being ordered around in such a way, but it was an emergency, and the orders were from a prince. He found a perfect stick jutting out of the fire and snapped it over his knee, then returned to Shulgi and Nira.
Shulgi took the unburned half first. “Girl, I’m going to seal your wound, but you will have to let me see your hand. It’s the only way.”
After a few moments, Nira produced her red stump, shaking from the shock of her injury. Neither of the boys had seen the extent of her loss. Kurzu’s heart sank when he realized what had befallen her.
“I am so sorry. I know you endured this because of me. Here, bite down on this. Keep your tongue clear.” Shulgi put the unburned stick in Nira’s mouth and took the stick with embers in his hand.
Nira’s eyes widened in fear, and her breathing quickened. She scrambled and twitched.
“Hold still, now. Kid, can you help her be still, please?”
Kurzu went over to Nira’s right side and took a knee, carefully grasping her arm. Shulgi blew on the glowing end of the stick until it burned clean and bright. Nira struggled to look away, desperate to be somewhere else. After a quiet count of three, Shulgi pressed the ember to her wrist with a sickening sizzle, and she groaned and shrieked through the branch.
Kurzu felt her body tremble with the pain. He smelled the sickening singe of her flesh. He glanced at the cedar forest and silently asked the gods to grant them strength, though it felt like the gods were far from this place.
Seemingly unfazed, Shulgi finished and threw the stick aside. He carefully began to wrap her wrist with the other half of the fabric, her dark blood contrasting wildly with the light blue fabric in the moonlight. Nira winced and moaned constantly as he worked, finally grunting and pulling the stick from her own mouth to throw it into the darkness. She spat slivers of bark from her teeth.
“You’ll want to change that in the morning, or else the wound could fester,” he said gently to Nira. “You won’t bleed out, though, that I can promise you. Kid, let’s go help your other friend.”
“I’m Kurzu. This is Nira, and that is Alduni.”
“Shulgi, prince of Sumer. Let’s go.”
Nira stared in unblinking disbelief at her delicately wrapped injury, gripping her knees desperately. Her body shivered as if she was freezing.
The prince stood and jogged over to Alduni, who lay on the ground silently, his chest still heaving with labored breath. His right arm was swollen and twisted grotesquely, his elbow purple and red in the moonlight. The feathers of his belt were stained with blood. Kurzu felt sick again.
“My friend, can you hear me? Can you hear me?” Shulgi stood over Alduni, who gave no response, and tapped his cheek with his fingers. He appeared to have lost consciousness from the pain.
“We need to get him back to Urim.”
“Urim? That’s on the other side of the river,” Kurzu said, spitting out blood. His whole face hurt, and it was hard to focus his watering eyes.
“Well of course it is, but it’s our best chance of helping him. Our only chance.”
“How do you propose we move him, then?” Kurzu countered.
“Shut your mouth and listen to me. We are going to put his arm back in place, then we will cut down that tent and drag your friend back to safety. Do you understand?” Shulgi was clearly not used to being questioned.
“… Yes.”
“Good, we may save him yet. Take that khopesh of yours and get to work on the tent. I can handle this part.”
Kurzu didn’t mention how thankful he was to not have to participate in setting Alduni’s arm. As he walked toward the tent, he saw that Nira had made it to her feet and had calmed herself considerably. She clutched her missing hand close to her chest like a mother with her child.
“Is Alduni okay?” She asked, her haunted eyes fixated on her friend’s supine form.
“He should be if we take care of him right now,” Kurzu replied. “What about you, are you okay?”
Nira’s eyes fell. She shook her head.
“Shulgi wants to carry him back to Urim on this tent,” Kurzu sighed.
“On the tent? Hmm, that’s not the worst…” she stopped, witnessing over Kurzu’s shoulder as Shulgi braced Alduni’s arm and snapped it back into place. Alduni remained unconscious, which was for everyone’s benefit, as the pain would have been unimaginable. Nira shut her eyes and clapped her good hand over her mouth in shock.
The patchwork nature of the tent made it easy for Kurzu to tear sections away from it merely by slicing the fiber used to hold it together. He selected a decently sized part of the tent, about as long as a man is tall, and draped it over himself as he carried it back to Alduni. It smelled strongly of raw leather and smoke.
Shulgi had already torn the bottom of his kaunakes off and fashioned it into a sling for Alduni’s arm. He pulled it around Alduni’s shoulder and situated his arm inside it, then motioned for Kurzu’s help. Together they carefully pulled Alduni onto the tent section. The spattered blood on Alduni’s colorful feathered belt was black in the cold moonlight.
Nira approached Shulgi. “Thank you. I don’t know what would have happened without your help.”
“Nira, right? You would all be dead, I think,” Shulgi said, somehow able to smile despite the grim business of the evening. “I have no doubt I would soon be dead as well. Traveling at night in the country is suicide. Let’s make camp here, and perhaps your friend will be able to travel in the morning. You two, help me move him.”
Nira joined the boys and clutched the tent with her left hand. Together they carefully made their way back to the fire.
“You just relax, okay?” Kurzu said gently. “Prince Shulgi and I will take care of this…. I’m so sorry.”
Nira said nothing. She sat down next to Alduni while the other two dragged the bodies into the woods. She stared unblinking at the flames. Her attention was drawn to a glowing ember near the edge of the fire. She imagined herself as a tiny being trying to navigate the topography of the ember, unburned by the flame yet trapped within it. Unburned. Her missing fingers ached.
All at once she felt incredibly tired, and before the boys had finished with their grim task, she had fallen asleep.
Kurzu and Shulgi pushed the last body into the shallow grave they had produced in the brush. A proper burial was impossible given their injuries, but to leave the dead beneath the stars, exposed to corruption, seemed ghastly.
Kurzu lay down on the ground and breathed deeply, gazing up through the cedar boughs webbing the starlit sky. But the burning eyes of his fallen foe flowed through his mind as the deep sea’s dreadful red tide. Though he looked at the stars, he did not see them. Only the eyes.
Shulgi sat down next to him on the dirt. “I never thanked you three for risking your lives to save me. So, thank you.”
“You saved us in return, so don’t even worry about it. Thank you for helping Nira and Alduni.”
“Of course. Would you believe I’ve never sealed a wound like that before?”
“Yes,” Kurzu said.
The prince laughed, and Kurzu joined him. A few moments passed.
“I think this was the worst day of my life,” Kurzu said.
“None of you have seen battle before. I can tell. It’s an ugly, brutal thing. May none of us see it again.”
“…I killed one of them. I’ve never done anything like that before. I don’t know how to feel.”
“No, my friend. You saved my life. These mongrels were already dead. It was them or us, and it was never going to be us.”
“Thank you for saying that.” Kurzu let out a long breath.
His eyelids demanded to be closed, and he closed them gladly. He fought away visions of blood pooling in the dust, but they persisted.
“How did you find me all the way out here? Did my father send you?”
Kurzu laughed, his eyes still closed. “The king? No, he didn’t send us. We’re from Eridu.”
“Eridu? What in Arali are you doing all the way up here?”
“I could ask you the same thing. Urim is just as far away, I’m pretty sure.”
“I asked you a question,” Shulgi said with sudden harshness, and was met with silence. “I’m just kidding, relax. Your business is your own.”
“We were actually on our way to Lagash for a local scavenger hunt that kids in Eridu made up. Young adults.”
Shulgi sighed. “Lagash is a long way from Eridu. Nearly two days. You probably won’t make it now, I would guess.”
“Yeah, probably not.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes, watching the stars and thinking deeply.
“We should move to the fire,” Shulgi said. “I gave up half my clothing for your friends’ injuries, and I’m starting to notice.”
“Do you think they have any sleeping gear in their tent?” Kurzu sat up on his elbows and looked at his new friend.
“Let’s find out, shall we?” Shulgi jumped nimbly to his feet. “I am sure these miserable barbarians have some measure of comfort we can claim.”
When they were in range of the firelight, Kurzu saw Nira fast asleep and smiled.
“In case you were wondering, you look absolutely hideous. Remind me to have a mask made for you,” Shulgi teased. “Children and women, you know… they don’t want to see that sort of thing.”
“Nonsense, I still look good,” Kurzu said. The prince’s attitude was infectious.
Shulgi ducked into the tent and rooted around for a moment.
“Aha! These fur blankets will serve us nicely! Catch!”
He emerged with the pile in his arms and threw it toward Kurzu, who caught most of them and laughed. 
Kurzu pulled a blanket over each of his sleeping friends, then chose one for himself, extending his sore feet to the edge of the flame. “So, if you don’t mind me asking, how did you get captured?”
“It’s quite embarrassing, actually. I was on a hunting trip, seeking to fell a pair of gazelles for a friend of mine in the palace who is fond of taxidermy. Taxidermy, of all the things to be fond of! Anyway, I set out alone in the early morning, it must have been about a week ago, and no sooner had I crossed the river than I was abducted by this pack of stray Guti dogs. They tormented me and dragged me along to who knows what imagined end, and you know the rest of the story. And now, here we are, in the middle of nowhere, half dead and hungry as winter wolves.”
Kurzu nodded as the prince spoke, considering his words with a mind craving rest. He still couldn’t breathe through his nose, which throbbed painfully with every heartbeat.
“Prince Shulgi, if you’re hungry, I’ve got some goat jerky in my satchel. There’s a little more left.”
“Jerky, eh? I suppose it’s better than nothing. With which spices was it prepared?”
“I don’t know, actually. Ruut – my father bought it in the market, and I… he let me use it for the hunt.”
“Eriduan goat jerky. I must say, I’m intrigued. Give it here.”
Kurzu removed from his bag a small burlapped mass, which he unwrapped to reveal five large strips of jerky. He handed one to Shulgi, who immediately took a big bite.
“Hmm. Hmm, not bad at all. I’m enjoying the sting of flavor that comes after the savory texture has given way to the teeth. Very impressive, Eridu. I’ll take another in the morning, if you can spare it.”
“Of course,” Kurzu said automatically. That meant there were three left. A half-decent breakfast for him and his friends, he thought, and then they’d be ready to travel. Hopefully.
After eating most of it, ravenous, Shulgi offered the last piece of his jerky strip to Kurzu.
Kurzu suddenly thought of Nira’s hand and declined.
“You know,” the prince observed through a mouthful, “a lot of that tent is intact. Even if it smells like a thousand unwashed Guti, I prefer its meager comforts to those of the ground. Sleep well, Kurzu, and thank you again for your help. We owe each other our lives, which means we are friends.”
“I feel the same way,” Kurzu smiled. “Good night, Shulgi.”
“You will address me as ’Prince Shulgi the Magnificent and Powerful.” Shulgi spoke with that haughty tone again, then broke into laughter and a wide grin. Nira stirred and he cleared his throat to stop himself, then dipped into the tent for the night.
When Kurzu was alone at the fireside, he felt his exhaustion overwhelm him. He tried to think of home, of happier times. The flames still crackled brightly, and the warm light kissed his eyelids, playing out calming reveries in his mind’s eye as sleep found him at last. 
12

Like a raven, when something is thrown in front of your mouth, you watch your own shadow.
Sumerian proverb

A handful of silver shekels would have been a great boon toward finding a cart to take her south, but Qesma dared not return to the palace while the queen still raged, if ever again. Instead she made her way with nothing to trade, a dire prospect for a young girl travelling alone. Having only sticks and rocks with which to defend herself, her heart seized in fear at every foreign noise, and her feet bid her to run wildly when the mud did not overwhelm her step.
Morning soon gave way to afternoon heat. The mighty light of Ra bore down on her without mercy, and the drying rainwater made the going humid and miserable.
She found occasional respite in the wayhouses the king had installed on the main roads, but dared not stay long, for the royal guard patrolled the roads. The sun was setting by the time her toes met the marshlands.
The high walls of the sorrowful city of her bondage now fading on the horizon, she thought of her sister and her own empty stomach, and pulled her weary, mud-caked legs toward Eridu. The great ziggurat had been her beacon, the thing that kept her from giving up during the arduous journey, and now it was close enough for her to hear the cacophonous melody of activity from the city. It was hard to tell, but it seemed the news of the king’s death had not yet reached this place.
Her heart ached for his loss as did the rest of the land, perhaps more so than most due to her proximity to his private life. Urnammu had been a good man and never pressed himself upon her, nor did he order such a thing for any slave as far as Qesma saw during her time at the palace. Though he never paid her much attention, he was kind and good-humored when he did, and treated her with a measure of respect, which was more than she could say for the queen.
Siatum, too, paid little attention to her servants. However, their welfare was of no concern to her. She cared only for how they might be useful to her often-malevolent ends. She was demanding and cruel, but in Qesma’s eyes her worst offense was being two-faced. Siatum was a master manipulator, and her skills were backed by her unshakeable self-confidence. Qesma had no idea what drew Urnammu to the coldblooded queen, except perhaps that she was a picture of a Sumerian king’s ideal queen – strong, shapely, clever, and beautiful. A most dangerous combination in the wrong hands, and hers were the hands of power unabated.
Before Qesma approached the city proper, she sat down at a small bubbling creek and tried to clean herself up. She could not make a good impression on anyone while covered in mud. Her best hope for survival was to appear as a free woman. It was an uphill battle as she had no money, no proper clothes, and her hair grew out in the natural fashion of the servant class.
As she wiped the muddy water from her feet, she tried to formulate a story that would let her move unimpeded through the city. Under the laws of the late king, anyone who returned an escaped slave to the owner was to be paid a reward, and the promise of a generous reward from the queen of Urim was a death sentence for Qesma. Even if her life was spared, her face would be forever branded with the mark of a runaway slave, which to her was as good as death. She had either to blend in, or to die, and she had come too far, endured too much to die.
Her lips were cracked from thirst, and her heartbeat throbbed in her head. She took up a stick and began to pry up the earth next to the water, a technique she had learned when she used to roam the marshlands with her parents. When the hole was deep enough, water began to seep through the dirt and fill the bottom. She reached in with cupped hands and drew the water to her lips, drinking deeply. It tasted fresh despite its murky color. Though her hunger remained, she felt life flow through her again.
The ziggurat, whose sunlit grandeur had drawn her, seemed her best option. In her ragged brown skirt and filthy grey shawl, she looked nothing like the elegant priestesses, nor could she hope to imitate them. In another life she might have been educated alongside the daughters of the wealthy and powerful, but when she was enslaved, all such prospects vanished.
As Qesma walked into the Eridu city limits, she was once again thankful she did not draw the unwanted attention of any guards. These soldiers seemed less intense than those in the employ of the royal house, and they joked with one another as she passed, just one more face to ignore. She couldn’t shake the fear that they somehow knew her, knew where she had come from, but they made no indication.
The steps of the ziggurat led even higher than in Urim, owing partly to the ancient foundations on which the ziggurat was build and rebuilt over the ages. Though her legs were sore, she drew a deep breath and began. She tried to focus on one step at a time, as looking at the distant terrace nearly defeated her will to make the climb.
As she ascended, she took notice of the beautiful view offered by such heights. It reminded her of the first time she had laid eyes on Sumer, when she was free.
Qesma was born in Waset, in the kingdom of Kemet, at the shore of the great river Iteru. Iteru flowed from south to north and carried the bounty of Kemet’s pantheon. Her father had brought his family east across the sands with the caravans. They rode the King’s Highway up through Memphis, Aqaba, Damascus, Ebla, Tuttul, Mari, Babylon, and finally to Urim, where girls could be educated if their families had money or influence. Her family possessed both.
Her father was a successful trader of fine gems and metals, and her mother learned to craft beautiful jewelry from his wares and sell them at a steep profit. They taught Qesma their skills between her school lessons, and together they prospered. It was a lovely family enterprise, and Qesma suspected with deep regret that it might have continued that way had her father not given in to vulgarity and sin. Instead, her family’s assets were seized by the crown, and her nightmare began.
Her gods were not recognized here, but she felt them in the gods of the Sumerians. In her private prayers she used their names as she knew them – Ra, Ma’at, Osiris, Isis, Horus.
When she finally reached the top, her heart was pounding and the pain in her feet had spread through to her calves and thighs. She decided to sit and rest until she recovered her strength, lying back on the ground and breathing heavily. She gazed at the stars, which felt no closer for being at the top of the world.
By chance, Qesma saw a streak of light flash across a small section of the sky. Just as soon as it came it was gone.
A message from the gods? Surely it wasn’t meant for her, but some priest who was outside at this hour watching the sky. And yet she was alone, and it was she who witnessed it.
Her exhaustion kept her from questioning the event too deeply. The weight of her head overwhelmed every effort of thought. She might have fallen asleep right there had a scribe of Enki not spotted a body lying on the ground atop the ziggurat steps.
It was none other than Ruut, who had finished his chores for the day and was about to go back down the stairs to his modest home. Upon seeing her, he called out and starting running to her side, immense relief showing on his face as he saw her lift her head.
Qesma scrambled to her aching feet, anxious fears flitting through her head as bats from a cave. She was caught. She was dead. But no, this was not a guard. There was no hardness in his eyes.
“I cannot tell you how glad I am that you are not dead,” he wheezed, hands on his knees.
Qesma found the man instantly charming. “I could say the same about you,” she said wryly. He must have been the one for whom the gods intended the cosmic message. “Thank you for your concern. You saw the message in the sky, I imagine?”
Ruut stood up straight, looking up at the sky, then back at her. “Message in the sky?”
“The light. It happened a few moments ago, I thought it was meant for you. You’re a priest, right?”
“The light, you say… what did it do? Where did you see it?” Ruut stepped forward, and she recoiled instinctively. “I didn’t mean to startle you, I’m sorry.”
She smiled at the ground, embarrassed. “It’s okay. Ah, the light was just between those two stars there.” She pointed, looking up and consulting her memories. “It was short and fast, moving… southeast from between those stars.”
“A good omen from the gods, to be sure. My name is Ruut, what’s yours?”
She froze for a moment, unsure of how to proceed. This man seemed trustworthy. “Qesma,” she said at last.
“It’s a pleasure, Qesma. I don’t think I’ve seen you around, are you new to the area?”
Time to put her plan into action. Though he seemed nice, she couldn’t risk anyone finding out the truth – not the whole truth, at least. “Yes, I’ve come from Urim. I’m a jeweler by trade, but my store caught fire a few days ago, and scavengers took what remained of my inventory.” She watered her eyes, which wasn’t difficult considering the stress of her day. “I’m looking for a new start in Eridu, but I don’t know anyone, and I don’t have any money…”
Ruut, the gentleman he was, took the bait without hesitation. “I am a scribe here at the temple, serving the great lord Enki and the people of the city. If you truly have no place to go, the temple has lots of room and supplies allocated for the ill-fortuned.”
Qesma’s face lit up. She felt bad about lying, but it had been partly true, and she was not about to turn down her only chance at a warm bed. “You are too kind!”
“We could always use a pair of hardworking hands at the temple, and I can offer you room and board as pay. Think it over.”
She followed him across the terrace, the tension in her chest finally easing. Perhaps the message from the gods was meant for her, after all.
Suddenly her head grew heavy, her knees buckled, and her vision faded to white. The next thing she knew, Ruut was looking down at her with grave concern, holding her head aloft in his hands.
“Gods alive! Qesma, can you hear me? Are you all right?”
She nodded, blinking as if exposed to a bright light. “I think so, yes. I’m sorry, I haven’t eaten today. I’m so tired…”
“Can you stand? I will guide you the rest of the way. It’s not far, just inside the palace. You’ve done the hard part already, getting up here. By the gods, those stairs will be the death of me.” He smiled warmly.
Ruut pulled Qesma to her feet and held out a sturdy hand with which to brace herself.  They moved to the side of the House of the Cosmic Waters, to a small arched doorway leading to the ground floor of the palace. She detected something delicious on the air, and her stomach roared.
“This is the daily meal for the temple staff. You are welcome to your fill. There is more than enough.”
Once inside, Qesma saw what Ruut and her stomach had been speaking of. Waist-high mountains of artisanal bronze bowls contained beans, peas, and even fresh cucumbers. A bowl piled high with dates and figs held Qesma’s attention and made her mouth water. A string of smoked fish hung above a table loaded with dozens of loaves of bread. There was even a cloth laid out with what had to be dried mutton, spiced to aromatic perfection.
She had seen beautiful meals prepared daily in the palace of Urnammu, though she was never allowed to partake of anything but leftovers and scraps. This feast, she thought, could rival any from the royal kitchens. She eagerly looked back at Ruut to confirm, then dashed to the tables, only then thinking to act as if she was not starving. 
13

A palace will fall of its own accord.
Sumerian proverb

Queen Siatum was restless on her lonely throne. Her scowling eyes drifted every few seconds between the window and the empty seat beside her.
The official story was that Shulgi hurried from the city in a passion to find his father’s killers the very instant he heard the grim news. It was flimsy, this she knew. The nobles who were present when that foolish messenger boy revealed her husband’s death knew what they knew, and they were all far too high in profile to silence. Besides, the news had spread far and wide by now. Her only other option was damage control. If she could control the narrative, she could predict her enemy’s moves.
In reality, she was flying blind, trying to keep inquisitive eyes and ears far from the truth. There was no one to turn to, no one she could trust completely.
With an impatient sigh, the kind she had mastered early in life, she stood and announced to no one in particular, “I am going out for a walk to clear my head. The usual accompaniment will not be necessary, as I am not leaving the palace grounds.”
One young guard, who must have known what it meant to refute her, nevertheless spoke up. “My queen, it’s not safe for you to travel alone. With the king’s death- “
“What do you presume you can tell me that I don’t already know? Were you one of the sniveling cowards who left him to rot?”
The thin-faced guard sneered at his fellow.
The young man cast his gaze downward for a moment, but bristled and looked into her eyes. “I speak only out of concern for my queen’s safety,” he said resolutely.
Siatum stared at him as a serpent stares down a cornered rat, and smiled the same way.
“I suppose one little puppy can follow me. Since you are so concerned for my safety in my own home, it will be you.”
“Yes, my queen.”
The thin-faced guard’s sneer was gone, replaced with contempt. Siatum turned to address him, and he broke the look as fast as he could. “If someone comes looking for me, tell them I am on a walk and will return whenever I please. If my son returns… well, he is the king, he will tell you what to do.” He nodded.
“Let’s go before I change my mind and leave you to stand here all day with no one to guard,” she said. The queen set a brisk pace out of the throne room.
The young guard drew a deep breath and trailed into the main hall behind his queen.
“We are going to the docks to see the boatmaster, then the customs official, and then we will be off.”
“But- “
“I lied, you simpleton. These people need to believe my strength is still present or they’ll panic. With my husband dead and my son busy avenging him, their burdens fall to me. Our enemies are looking for an opportunity to crush my son’s inheritance and take it from him. We are going to Unug to visit the White Temple and strangle any revolt we sniff out in its infancy.”
“Yes, my queen, but the governor-king at Unug has many guards. Surely you don’t seek to fight them?”
Siatum smiled the knowing smile of experience. “Don’t worry, we won’t spill a drop of blood, and we will never be in any danger. I’ll need your name, though, if they are to believe you are my captain of the guard.” She stopped and turned to face him.
“I am called Ziusudra, my queen.”
“Congratulations on your promotion, Captain Ziusudra.”
The queen and her protector descended the final stairs leading to the market terrace. They were heading toward the oblivious crowd when Siatum came to a stop.
“Well? Are you going to clear my path?”
Ziusudra stepped forward and cleared his throat before shouting, “All clear, and make way for the queen! Get out of the way! Get out of the way, the queen is passing through.”
Though she could not spare a smile, Siatum touched his shoulder as she passed and pulled him behind her.
As they moved through the murmuring and reverent crowd, Ziusudra spoke up in a harsh whisper.
“My queen, I cannot help but feel I am ill-trained to handle your protection on my own.”
Siatum responded without turning around. “Captain, I am not some spring fawn in need of constant watch, nor am I half as delicate as you think. If I change my mind about your abilities, you will be the first to know. Now be quiet, I have a lot to think about.”
She smiled at last when he gave no response but the booted shuffle of his footsteps at her heel.

Rowing a reed boat against the current was a futile effort, especially when the rains made Euphrates run high and fast, and so Siatum elected to travel on the roads instead. She ordered a chariot team of two drivers and six donkeys to take herself and Ziusudra north, determined to demonstrate the unbreakable will of Urim’s royal family.
As the chariot neared Unug, she peered out from the white cloth tent that hid them from the elements. The muggy marshlands were alive with insect noise in the wake of the storm, and she was grateful for being shielded from it. The gods made so many unnecessary creatures.  What was the point of so many flies, mosquitos, frogs, birds? Hunters and fishermen roamed the shores, staring at the chariot as it passed. Why some people chose to live among the weeds and the bugs, she would never understand.
Ziusudra, by contrast, seemed utterly charmed. He eagerly pushed the folds of the canopy aside. “This is great! I’ve never been to Unug,” he beamed, unable to mask his enthusiasm. “It’s where King Gilgamesh was born. Thank you for bringing me, my queen.”
“The White Temple is nice enough, but the governor and his wife are ruthless fools. They’ll sell your life in a second if they think it can turn a profit. Trust no one but me, do you understand?”
Ziusudra responded, still enthralled, “Yes, my queen.” 
14

A great river is a grave.
Sumerian proverb

Euphrates was intimidating and beautiful as ever as Kurzu rinsed his tired feet in its clear, glowing waters. The world reflected from its calmer spots in such a striking way as to make his heart soar, and he couldn’t help but smile at the simple beauty. His nose was still swollen and sore, but the bleeding had stopped while he slept. Though his night was cold and rough, even the relentless headache hadn’t stopped him from sleeping well into the morning.
Shulgi had woken bright and early in order to hunt with his bow. He proudly returned with a gangly water-diving bird called a gamgam within minutes of leaving. With the remnants of the jerky, the gamgam made a fine breakfast. It cost him an arrowhead, however, leaving him with only six.
Kurzu’s friends were considerably worse off, with Alduni’s wavering consciousness and Nira’s lifeless behavior marking a severe drain on morale. 
Nira appeared to have no sense of what to do with herself. She aimlessly wandered the shoreline, her eyes focused on those horrible moments that now lie beyond all but memory. She comforted her damaged hand compulsively.
The section of the river they had approached was running particularly fast, and there were no boatmen in sight.
“How do you think we should cross? We’ll need a big boat to hold all of us,” Kurzu mused.
Shulgi shielded his eyes with his hand and surveyed the shoreline. “We can split up from here and check the shore in either direction. If one of us finds a boatman or a village, we report back here and wait for the others to regroup.”
“Understood.” Kurzu itched his cheek, careful not to touch the sensitive flesh of his nose. Though only his face was injured, the pain made his whole body ache, and he found effort made him wearier than usual. His eyes sometimes lost focus when he stood up or exerted himself. He could only imagine what Nira and Alduni were enduring.
*
Nira was awake when Kurzu and Shulgi effected their plan. She bid them farewell, then planted herself against a boulder and let a slow, shaking sigh. It was time to replace her bandages.
She carefully unwrapped her injury, the air feeling strangely cold against her freshly exposed skin. The flame had done its job and prevented the wound from becoming infected, though the pain Nira felt was still intense. Burns, after all, hurt long after their source is gone. She nearly cried as she saw the grotesque stub where her hand had been.
Fighting through the pain, she rewrapped her wrist, pulled the bandage tight. She kept herself from screaming.
Nira wiped the dead skin from her lips and pinned her canteen between her knees to pull the cork with her left hand. She drew from it deeply, panting as she pulled it away and leaned her head back against the rock.
She had no idea how long the boys would be gone, and Alduni was still asleep, so she decided to take a nap while she had a chance. Crossing the river would be dangerous and difficult. She would need all the energy she could get in case she had to handle an oar. Alduni would most certainly be out of commission for the journey. She looked over at her friend and bowed her head, massaging her swollen palm.
“Inanna, please grant us the strength to continue. Enki, please grant us insight and safe passage over the waters. Enlil, let us cross the distance to our homes with your divine breath at our backs. We are wounded and far from home, and I don’t know what we’re going to do. We fought bravely to protect your son Shulgi. Though I have nothing to sacrifice, and though I have sacrificed much already, I will give whatever price you wish for your blessings.”
Just then, Kurzu returned through the brush and silently joined her at the fire. Together they stared at the fire for a time, Euphrates whispering at their backs.
Nira once again imagined scaling the embers as a miniature version of herself. She conquered the burning branch with her mind, spanning with heroic leaps the flames reflected in her eyes.
“I wish I had my tools out here,” Nira sighed. “Everything would be so much easier.”
“Nira! The blackstone!”
Yes, the blackstone, she thought. What of it? Then it hit her.
“Arrowheads, right?”
“And knives, and any other tool we might need.”
“Shulgi will be delighted, but we still need to figure out how to cross the river.”
“Yes, we’re working on that,” Kurzu said with a hint of edge. “Shulgi is searching the shoreline, and I was doing the same when I remembered the blackstone.”
Nira said nothing, but sat considering it all.
Kurzu stepped nimbly over to Alduni’s sleeping form. He reached into the satchel on Alduni’s waist and produced the blackstone. He also grabbed Alduni’s knife and carried it over to Nira, who looked at it and then him with disgust.
“He’s not dead, you know,” she said flatly.
“I know he isn’t dead. I’m handing you his knife because he’s in no condition to use it, and you still have a good hand, so take the knife.”
She hesitated. It didn’t feel right.
“Take the damned knife, Nira!”
She reached up and quickly took the knife, avoiding eye contact with Kurzu. It didn’t feel like she knew him anymore. 
Kurzu walked away a few steps, cradling the back of his head with clenched fists, staring up at the blue sky. “Look, we have all been through a lot, and I am just trying to get us back home.”
“I know.” She wished he would just stop talking.
“I know you’re in pain. We all are.”
“In pain?!” Nira seethed with tears she could no longer stop. “Kurzu, my hand is gone! The gods have cursed me. My life is over! No one is ever going to take me seriously! No one is ever going to love me!”
“I love you!”
Nira’s heart plunged into her stomach. There was no way he dropped that on her. Not now, when she was falling apart. She felt faint and staggered.
“What… What did you just say?”
*
Kurzu realized what he said. His heart felt as though it would implode.
She stared at him now, her jaw agape.
“Kurzu, how could you say that to me right now? We are stuck in the middle of the stupid wilderness. We failed the stupid Hunt. I’m starving and exhausted and, and mutilated! I can’t stop thinking about it, I feel like I’m losing my mind! And Alduni almost… we all could have died. And now you’re… saying that crazy thing to me. What is wrong with you?”
His knees grew weak, his vision tunneled. He could summon no words expressible by a mortal tongue.
Kurzu dropped the blackstone and ran down the shore. He looked up at the sky. Its delicate peacefulness seemed to mock him in this moment. Someone called out his name as he ran, but he could not hear it now. All he heard were the echoes of her voice, tearing him to pieces as a violent wind against the orchards.
*
Nira was cradling her hand and staring blankly into the fire when Shulgi returned with two fewer arrows, another gamgam, and a wide smile on his face.
“You know, I came out here looking for a hunting trip, and I’ll be damned if I didn’t find one!” He announced cheerfully to the camp, looking around curiously. “Kurzu still isn’t back yet? And I thought you would all be waiting on me.”
“Trust me, I’m very hungry,” Nira replied. “I’m happy to see you, and he’s… I’m sure he will be happy when he gets back.”
“I’ll save a leg for him. He’ll be ecstatic.”
“Oh, we have a surprise for you!” She had retrieved the blackstone and hid it in her bandages. “It’s blackstone! Are you familiar?”
“Am I? My arrowheads are blackstone, Nira! What luck that you’ve found it! Where did you find such a thing, right here in the camp?”
“No, we’ve actually had it all along! Do you know how to make the arrowheads?”
“You’re asking me a lot of obvious questions today.”
She laughed – for the first time since her injury, she realized, catching a glimpse of her reflection in the glassy gem.
He gestured for her to throw him the blackstone, and she complied. Her eyes lingered on Alduni’s knife lying in the grass.
“It’s lovely. I’ll be able to make dozens of arrows with this. Thank you, Nira.”
She hadn’t meant for him to keep the whole thing, but it would feel strange now to retract such a simple gift.
“Of course, Prince Shulgi.”
After a few moments of watching him admire the stone, she hatched an idea. “Can you teach me how to make arrowheads from a core? I’ve never seen it done.” Anything to keep the darkness from her mind.
“Yes, but only if you help me prepare this gamgam. I need your Eriduan expertise to bring out the full flavor.”
She smiled. “It would be my pleasure.”
“Come sit with me and we’ll get started. We just need another rock with which to chip off potential arrowheads…” 
15

What is placed in the fire has a valuable role to play but leaves nothing behind when it’s gone.
Sumerian proverb

The White Temple was radiant in the sun, but the effect was lost on Siatum as she scowled up at it.
She had decided to be forthright about her identity, determined not to show weakness or fear – not that she possessed any. The guards were surprised at her unannounced presence in their city, and tried to be as respectful as possible in holding her at the gate while word spread to the governor-king of Unug.
Before long, confirmation came in the form of a trio of royal guards, and they led the queen and her companion through the city. Unug’s residential areas were much like those of Urim, with somewhat disorganized streets and houses built atop and against one another. Citizenry climbed up the ladders leading to their roofs in order to better see the queen pass.
“The king is dead!” A man shouted at her from his rooftop. “Long live King Aradlugal!”
The statement was inflammatory and political. To Siatum, it was also personal. Despite her better judgment, she called out, “You are dead as well if you provoke me, insect!”
A mix of cheers and boos followed them aggressively to the steps, only subsiding when the Unug guards drew their weapons and declared that peace would be preserved without exception while the queen was present.
As they ascended, Siatum took in the views of the city. Unug was widespread and visually impressive, divided as it was into nine districts. Each district was bordered by the great elevated walkways leading inevitably to the White Temple at the city’s apex. Though Unug was the city of Siatum’s birth and of her father’s rule, its charms had soured on her. The climbing of the sun-roasted stairs was just as tedious and tiring as in Urim. Reaching the summit left the whole group sweaty and winded.
No sooner had they recollected their poise than the ennobled denizens of the White Temple emerged. The rulers of the city-state Unug were Aradlugal and his much younger consort, Bareshba. His long beard was braided with gold and silver ribbons, oiled and perfumed, and woven together in the style of the kings of Old Akkad. Bareshba’s hair was long and braided as well, and her dress was delicate linen of sky blue. Both of them wore extravagant golden jewelry and rings in excess.
They were portraits of arrogance and conceit, and worst of all, garishness. If Siatum was ever guilty of such things, these two certainly were. In her opinion, however, they lacked every one of her redeeming qualities.
“Ah, what a charming surprise to see you here, Siatum!” He omitted her title on purpose, to irk her. She would not give them any ground.
“And you two are looking as fit as ever! Aradlugal, so lean and scrappy, as a young man! And you, you’re looking very well-fed, Bareshba. You positively glow!” She intoned every word with well-concealed hatred.
“You are too kind. And who is this? Might it be Prince Shulgi?” Bareshba looked Ziusudra up and down.
“This is Ziusudra, my chief guard, and he will not be speaking or doing anything else unless I tell him to,” she said firmly, casting a vicious glance sideways.
Ziusudra, who had been eyeing Bareshba, clammed up at once and stared straight ahead.
“I hate to get straight to business- “
I’ll bet he does, the greedy little shit, Siatum thought.
“-but I have to ask why you’re here. With your husband’s death… We were devastated to hear of it.”
“It’s true,” Bareshba chimed in, furrowing her painted brow.
“And you know, it’s such a long way upriver. We seldom get visitors who are-”
“From the capitol?” Siatum smiled with her teeth.
“Hmm… I was going to say ‘so highly regarded.’” He exchanged a look with his wife. “Shall we go inside? The heat today is unbearable.” Aradlugal gestured inside and smiled his politician’s smile – the type Siatum was very familiar with.
The interior was admittedly beautiful, the two-story grand hall whitewashed the way the exterior was. Utu’s fire shone through the small triangular openings near the ceiling, and even more brilliantly through the intricate wooden windows at the bottom. Embers burned low upon waist-high circular brick fireplaces on either end of the room. There were no torches lit here, the effect of the sunlight keener for it. The potent scent of cedar resin and cinnamon bark burning from incense trays wafted through the stone halls. It was all wasted on these two, Siatum thought. She was not so easily impressed. She, too, was looking to get straight to business.
“Do you think we can have some privacy? No guards, just the two… the three of us.” She gave a smile to Bareshba, who returned one. “It makes for more intimate conversation.”
“Agreed. See your chief guard waits outside with ours. Let us be disturbed for nothing, as this is royal business.” Aradlugal nodded to his own guards and then Ziusudra, who waited for Siatum’s confirmation before following the guards and various slaves out of the temple. She was impressed.
“Since I know you’re both very busy, I’ll get right to the point. With my husband’s death, the kingship has come to my intrepid son, Shulgi. As Unug was the birthplace and seat of power for my late father, the great rebel king Utu-Hegal, I have come to see that Unug’s interests remain aligned with those of Urim.”
They exchanged that look again, that look that said they knew something she didn’t. Siatum hated them so intensely, it made her fingers anxious to crush their throats.
“Siatum-”
“Queen Siatum,” she seethed, letting her mask slip for just a moment.
Aradlugal hesitated for a few seconds, then continued. “We have been talking, and we believe that with Urnammu’s tragic passing, the will of the gods has been made clear, and that will… is that the kingship should return to Unug.”
Siatum smiled with her teeth again and walked toward them, speaking slowly and deliberately.
“The will of the gods? Aradlugal, you must not have heard me. My son Shulgi is the king of kings in Sumer. The gods have not made any sign to the contrary. My mystics would have told me.”
“Sia… Queen Siatum. I can think of no other way to say it; we feel that Urim no longer has the favor of the gods. Putting your son on the throne would only incite their wrath.”
“You presume to know their favor, do you? Your astronomers and your priests believe they can guess the minds of the divine from what, my husband’s death? He was murdered by savages, not the gods!”
“Even your own father knew Unug as the true seat of the kingship!” Bareshba argued, stepping toward her.
“My family is the foundation of this kingdom, and that foundation is in Urim!”
Aradlugal took a step toward her as well. “We are talking in circles. As children of the gods, we owe our allegiance to those- “
“You owe your allegiance to me!” She snarled.
Siatum suddenly flew upon the young pretender, pinning her against the smoldering fireplace. She drew a small knife from within her sash and held it to the young woman’s throat. Siatum savored the fear in Bareshba’s eyes as she fought for precious balance between the heat and the blade. It was amusing how easy it was to frighten this so-called queen, Siatum mused. A little pressure and she crumbles like ashes.
Aradlugal rushed forward, stopping himself when Siatum met his eyes and moved the blade down to Bareshba’s abdomen. He covered his mouth with his hand, and Bareshba whimpered.
Siatum smiled. She felt that same old sweet surge, the absolute pleasure of control over life and death.
“I knew it. You carry this wretched old donkey’s child. You simple whore.” She whispered, venom in every word, watching the girl’s eyes try to escape her reptilian gaze. She pressed the knife to Bareshba’s oiled flesh, and the girl cried out softly.
“I could take it from you, right now. I could slice you open like a pig, rip the child from within you and dash it upon the floor, a piece of moldy fruit from a rotten tree.”
“P-please, no… please… please…”
Bareshba was terrified beyond all reckoning and began to wet herself in fear, whimpering like a hurt puppy. Aradlugal was on his knees, teary-eyed and shaking, begging his wife’s name. Siatum’s plan was working perfectly, but today was not the day. Not yet.
She abruptly withdrew the knife and pulled the shaking Bareshba back from the flame, speaking again with a jarringly upbeat change of tone. “Well, I’m sure it won’t come to that. Your support means the world to King Shulgi, and of course, to me.”
She smiled again, as if she’d encountered an old friend, watching Bareshba and Aradlugal run to meet each other. The girl hid her face in his chest, sobbing and gripping him desperately, and he stared at Siatum in horrified silence as he stroked his wife’s hair and kissed her head.
“I will be sending slaves for the gold and silver you so generously offered as a tribute to the new king. Six hundred minas of each for every month of the next year, wasn’t it? Thank you again. I am glad to know I have friends in Unug. The gods bless you, and may they bless your child when it is born at last.”
She turned and walked out, her lively steps echoing in the White Temple’s great stone halls.
As she passed Ziusudra, she looked at her weapon and noticed the tip held a touch of red. She laughed out loud.
“It looks like I did spill a drop of blood.” She wiped the blade on her baffled chief guard’s shoulder, replaced it in her sash, and walked out of the building. Ziusudra briefly looked back inside with concern before taking his place at his queen’s heel. 
16

He who has silver, he who has lapis lazuli, he who has oxen, and he who has sheep wait at the gate of the man who has barley.
Sumerian proverb

The search for a boat to take the group across the river had been a hard-won success. An hour’s walk downstream, to the east, Shulgi had located a narrow part of Euphrates on which an elderly man operated a ferry service. He was reluctant to carry four passengers, but when Shulgi laid in his hand a half-mina of silver imprinted with the lion’s head seal of the royal family, his face lit up and he all but ran to his boat.
The ferryman was very professional and didn’t ask many questions, even helping to move Alduni onto the boat. But his eyes kept drifting to Nira’s hand. She noticed and tried not to appear too self-conscious. Meanwhile, Kurzu focused his attention on helping to row and avoiding eye contact with Nira. Thankfully, Shulgi did not press the clear awkwardness between them and instead focused on one-sided conversation with the old ferryman.
“… Well, old Nanna-sur-ibbi didn’t think I had the discipline to make such a shot. But sure enough, my arrow struck that gazelle right between its ribs and pierced its heart! Inanna herself guided my hand, he said, as no child of eight years ought to have the skill to fell such a beast! …”
“… The poor girl looked at me like I had bitten her. She said, ‘my prince, what is that terrible smell?’ It was only then I realized I had left the dates in my bag, and weeks later they had turned to rotten mush. All that work, and it amounted to nothing! Have you ever heard of a boy so unlucky in love? …”
“… The Kishian archer proposed he could outdraw me – a foolish proposition, as you well know. My arrow met its target before his had even been loosed! The poor fool had bet ten minas of silver on it! I forgave the debt, of course, but only because he agreed to pronounce to all in his hometown that Prince Shulgi had bested him. …”
“Amazing, truly amazing!” The old man was a hungry audience, and Shulgi had no shortage of stories to feed him. At times in the crossing, in fact, Kurzu seemed to be doing all the work. The smell of the murky, algal water was inescapably strong, and he found himself thankful for swollen nostrils and a resilient stomach, if nothing else.
After what felt like entirely too long for such a trip, they finally made landfall on the south side of Euphrates. Before them to the southeast stood Urim, visible even from this distance. At the edge of the far southern horizon was the top of Eridu’s magnificent temple, the House of the Cosmic Waters. It warmed Kurzu’s heart to see it, even if its familiar glory tasted bittersweet. His fingers found the amulet hanging against his chest.
They had entirely missed the deadline for the Great Hunt, as well as the subsequent after-party, not that such things mattered now. It felt like a lifetime ago that he ran with Nira and Alduni through the marshlands, concerned only with his footfalls.
“I have been thinking a lot about our strange state of affairs,” Shulgi remarked as they laid Alduni in the shade of a craggy old cedar. Kurzu nestled up against the trunk with a heavy sigh, his eyes closed. Nira sat cross-legged on its exposed roots, absently watching the shadows of the leaves play on the sand.
“It occurs to me that although I know next to nothing about you, you three are already closer to me than most people I’ve ever known.”
The prince’s eyes drifted to Alduni, who was comatose in the shade. “You nearly gave your lives to rescue mine.”
Ever assertive, he pushed through their silence, walking over to sit between them on a large root. He brushed a beetle from the spot before sitting. “I’ll get to the point. I want to officially offer you each a prominent place in the royal court at Urim. My father the king will be glad to have you; he is a wise man with a generous heart. Your responsibilities shall be whatever you most desire, and your families are more than welcome to join you. Please think it over. With any luck we will be on Urim’s soil before nightfall.”
The prince’s words hung in the air for a time, the only response a stiffening of the breeze. Kurzu had merely half-heard Shulgi. His worries overtook his every thought. One of his best friends was critically injured, and the other was maimed and all but lost to him. He was hungry, exhausted, and miserable, and on top of it all, his nose was broken and swollen. The court at Urim, and indeed the gods themselves, felt a thousand worlds away.
Even Shulgi seemed to have run out of words, and the group found themselves taking a nap beneath the boughs of the great cedar.
Nearly two hours passed as the clouds drifted lazily overhead, and the swells and streams of Euphrates bubbled and broke on the stony shore.
Quite unexpectedly, it was Alduni who woke first, and he immediately began to groan and cry out. The other three stirred at the commotion.
“Where… where am I? Hello?! Ugh…!” Alduni carefully moved his good arm up and felt the other, realizing he had received medical care. “Hello?”
“Alduni, you’re awake!” Kurzu was the first on his feet.
“I thought I was dead. How am I not dead?” He groaned again, his eyes still closed.
Nira spoke up for the first time in hours. “The prince saved your life. He saved all of us.”
“Nira! The prince? Is he alive?”
“Yes, I’m doing fine. Much better than you are, in fact,” Shulgi remarked, climbing to his feet. He and Kurzu moved to stand over Alduni, and Nira followed suit.
“It’s good to see you’re still alive, Alduni!” Kurzu laughed through the aching pain in his face.
“Hah! The same goes for you. I thought for sure we were all dead. The Guti…” His eyes were still closed, clenched tightly in pain. His breathing was choppy and strained, and he winced constantly. “My arm hurts so much… where are we?”
“We made it back across Euphrates! We’re northwest of Urim right now, right by the shore. We carried your lazy ass all the way here.” Seeing that Alduni appeared to be recovering lifted Kurzu’s spirits. Perhaps all was not lost. He managed to crack a genuine smile, a trace of relief at last.
Alduni pried an eye open and took in his surroundings. “You all look terrible,” he labored. “Especially you, Kurzu. That face was your only asset.”
They all laughed heartily, even Nira. It was good to hear her laugh, even at his expense. Kurzu’s heart ached again, but he ignored it and held his grin.
“How does your arm feel?” Shulgi asked him. “I set it while you were out. Does everything feel like it’s in the right place?”
“It feels like my arm is crushed beneath a boulder, which is then being jumped on by a fat man.” He drew a sharp breath and closed his eyes again.
“When you’ve recovered, I have an offer to extend to you, the same offer I’ve extended to your courageous friends. You shall have a place in the royal court at Urim if you accept, and I hope you will. I will be king one day. I should like to have the counsel of people I trust, not those whose hearts are bought and sold with silver.”
“Hey, look, soldiers from Urim!” The boys followed Nira’s eyes across the savanna to a handful of men clad in the shining bronze armor of the royal guard. They had not yet spotted the group, and were sticking to the road.
“At last, salvation from the elements!” Shulgi exclaimed. “I am all too ready to eat a proper meal and rest my bones in a proper bed. Come on, Kurzu, let’s do it.”
Kurzu yawned and stretched his limbs, refreshed by laughter and shade, and joined Shulgi at Alduni’s side. The injured boy was still awake, and he groaned as they lifted him. Kurzu whispered an apology and the weary youths started the slow shuffle toward the Urimites. The going was slow, with Nira shuffling behind Shulgi and Kurzu as they carried Alduni forward.
The sharp-eyed soldiers soon spotted the haggard quartet and rushed to meet them. There were five soldiers, and they moved to relieve Kurzu and the prince from Alduni’s care.
“My good men! I cannot tell you how glad I am to see friendly faces behind your swords.” Shulgi laughed cheerfully, shaking each of their hands. “These young warriors are my friends, Kurzu, Nira, and Alduni.”
One of the soldiers spoke up. “We are overjoyed to see you and your hunting party are well! Has your mission been a success, my king?”
Shulgi chuckled, amused for a moment at being addressed as king. He started to correct the soldier, but stopped himself. 
The realization slowly spread across his face like a cloud covering the sun.
“Do you mean… My father…?” 
Their silence told him everything. As his mother had, Shulgi stared into the distance at something only he could see. He stumbled, and two of the soldiers rushed to hold him up. Shulgi steadied himself and pushed them away.
The guard who had spoken was horrified and confused. With great courage, he managed to speak again. “Your mother the queen said you sought vengeance for his death…”
“How?” Shulgi demanded. “How did he die? He was healthy, who killed him? Who?”
“In Lagash, the Guti- “
“They are dead. All of them, dead! Dead!” 
 
17

All the birds flew away. The mother alone stayed.
Sumerian proverb

Enshanesha shook her head and sighed in frustration at the window, her eyes trained on the horizon as yet another day passed with no sign of Kurzu. The morning was waning, and he and his friends had now been gone for three days too long.
Her lovely husband had brought in a young woman seeking aid, a destitute jeweler from the capitol. Enshanesha introduced herself, and the two became instant friends. Qesma offered to teach Enshanesha how to identify the quality of gemstones, and in return she would teach Qesma the refined Eriduan techniques of brewing beer. She found the girl to be polite and thoughtful, a welcome change from the sometimes insufferable populace.
Enshanesha’s marriage to Ruut allowed her to live in his house. The three-story claybrick house was humbly furnished for one belonging to a man of his dignified vocation, and shared its walls with other affluent homes. 
In large, modern cities like Urim and Unug, priests and priestesses resided in the stuffy central city, abiding in the shadow of the mighty ziggurat. But in Eridu, the dividing walls of the temple precinct were long since crumbled.
“Ruut, are you still in here?” Enshanesha turned and called sweetly through the house.
“I’m out here,” came the grunting reply from beneath the window. Ruut was helping some slaves to exchange tablets from the temple above. Life as an administrative official meant this accounting was a daily task, and one that could not be ignored lest the temple’s affairs grind to a halt.
She looked down and frowned. “Ruut, I am worried about Kurzu.”
“I’m sure he is fine, and having the time of his life. He has my khopesh, after all,” Ruut said wryly.
“Yes, but he has been gone for almost a week. It is not like him to disappear this way!”
“Maybe not, but he is getting older, and a young man’s heart seeks to test its mettle.”
“Are you not worried in the least for our son?”
Ruut laughed. His cavalier attitude toward important matters like this annoyed her to no end. He was lucky he was cute.
“Nesha, Kurzu is never far from my mind. Every morning and every night since he set out, I have prayed to Anu, to Enki, to Inanna, to Enlil, to Nanna, to Utu. The gods will protect him. And all that besides, he’s young, armed, and with two capable friends.”
“Will you come up here? I hate yelling out the window for the whole city to hear.”
“My hands are rather full, can you come down?”
She sighed and turned from the window to walk down the stairs. As she descended, she heard her husband’s voice echo through the house.
“Nesha, darling, will you please bring me my seal? Thank you!”
She sighed again with a grin, rolling her eyes and shaking her head. She turned to tread back up the stairs. Once on the top floor, where their treasured belongings were kept, she walked impatiently to the plain looking felt-lined cedar box that served as the vessel for Ruut’s personal seal.
The seal, an ornate cylinder of delicately carved lapis lazuli, was detailed with men and kings bowing and serving Enki. Enki’s eyes and hands were open wide, and fish-laden streams flowed from his oversized body. Enshanesha took it up from its resting place and marveled for a moment at the intensity of its color – a thick, saturated blue that might reflect from the sea in a dream. It was cool to the touch, and heavier than it looked.
When she made it outside, Ruut was shaking hands with the official. Two slaves effortlessly exchanged the tablets from the donkey-led chariot and Ruut’s tray cart. He turned and smiled as his wife approached with the seal in hand.
“Good evening, Sin-Manugal. Hmm, a slow day?”
“Good evening, Enshanesha. Yes, a slow day. Good for the treasurer, but bad for the treasury.” He laughed at himself as Ruut took the seal and carefully rolled it against the prepared soft clay tablet, which lay on a thatched mat of grass. Enki looked up from the clay, eyes wide and all-seeing, and the reverent faces of the mortals expressed their absolute devotion. Such clarity would be welcome in this life, Enshanesha thought.
“Thank you, Ruut.  Good evening, Enshanesha. Let’s go, boys!” Sin-Manugal and his workers finished loading their chariot and set it rolling, the slaves leading the donkey down the street.
Ruut kissed Enshanesha as he walked past her into the house to rinse the seal clean, but she didn’t forget what was on her mind. 
“I cannot wait any longer. I have to do something, Ruut!” She suddenly felt flustered, and quickly reigned her emotions in. “I am going to look for Kurzu.”
“I understand. I still have some work to do. Why don’t you ask Qesma to join you?”
“Yes, I will ask her along with me. I am going to check around the marketplace first. Do you need anything?”
“No, I… actually, yes. Visit that bakery around the corner, if you would, and bring me some of those cinnamon honey cakes.” He wrapped the seal in cloth for drying and set it on the table.
“Good idea,” she said. “Kurzu and I love those. I will try to be back before dark.”
She kissed him goodbye and left for the stairs just around the corner, only to see Qesma already coming down the street toward the house. 
Qesma was wearing a bright yellow scarf of the finest linen, a gift from Enshanesha. She smiled just as bright when her eyes met those of her priestess.
Before long they met and exchanged a hug. Enshanesha’s honest face illustrated the worry in her heart, and Qesma gave her an inquiring look.
“Is everything all right?” She took up her friend’s hands when Enshanesha sighed as a response.
“Qesma, dear, I am going to look for my son in the market. Will you help me?”
“Of course, I will. Just let me deliver these cinnamon cakes to Ruut. I know he loves them, so I got a dozen!”
Enshanesha glanced back at the house and chuckled. “He has plenty. Let us split them ourselves, shall we?”
Qesma smiled deviously and gestured toward the market.
“After you, Priestess.” 
18

When present, it was considered a loincloth; when lost, it is considered fine clothing.
Sumerian proverb

After a leisurely walk and a cake or two, the women found themselves at the outskirts of the market on the far side of the city, with the expansive residential areas on either side. Hundreds of people wove through the lively market each day. Potters, farmers, seers, tailors, builders, and all sorts of artists and food vendors hawked their wares to the countless passersby. An elating and potent blend of sights, smells, and sounds carried the market’s energy on the wind.
Qesma grinned wistfully, wiping her brow as she watched the people trade their goods. Despite her years of servitude, she still held a spark in her heart for commerce and the joy of craftsmanship, and she felt that spark burn hotter in lively places like this. The treasury was promising enough, with a high wage and no public interference, but offered little satisfaction for her artistic appetite.
Her new job consisted of counting and weighing gems and precious metals, and not much else. She kept count on a daily tablet, denoting which coffers contained which treasures at any given time. The stifling and irregular bureaucracy of the kingdoms was alive and well in Eridu, though it was a far cry from the misery of slavery.
The worst part by far was the management of her attending slaves, casually assigned to the treasury in order to assist her. They were three women who rose above fieldwork with their accurate memories and their talent with mathematics despite having not a day of education between them. They were professional and quiet, and as it turned Qesma’s stomach to give them orders, she had settled on asking them nicely to do things, though the option to decline her requests was an illusion.
The former accountant passed away before Qesma’s arrival, and his assistants had been set free. She promised herself she would see her ladies freed along with her sister. Slavery was, to her mind, the worst thing one person could inflict on another. There was no way she could ever return to such a life. She would sooner die than live one more day as someone else’s property.
A gentle hand on her shoulder – Enshanesha was looking at her with concern. Qesma realized the comical frown she had been making and laughed, shaking her head.
“It’s nothing, I was just thinking about something.” Qesma adjusted the pale yellow scarf around her neck, a handmade gift from her talented hostess. She wore it everywhere now, reluctant to part with it for any length of time. It smelled like her.
“I am glad to have you back,” the priestess smirked. “I doubt I will find Kurzu without your help.”
Enshanesha blended in easily with the public and did not draw much attention to herself despite being a priestess, one of the most prominent stations in existence. She shared the understated style of her husband, and wore a lovely light blue dress with white beads emblazoned across the neckline.
“Speaking of Kurzu, I have no idea what he looks like. What am I looking for?” Qesma squinted into the crowd, taking in the multitude of new faces.
Suddenly, she thought she spotted the queen’s wretched guard. Her heart skipped a beat and her eyes went wide. She fought the urge to run, and felt the singe of embarrassment as she realized she was, of course, mistaken. She forced a laugh, and found herself infinitely grateful that Enshanesha was still focused on the crowd.
“Ah, I am sorry, you asked me something. Enki knows my mind is elsewhere. What is the matter, my dear?” Enshanesha smiled warmly.
Truly this woman was a gift from the gods themselves, Qesma thought. Enshanesha was beautiful, kind, intelligent, genuine – everything Qesma wanted to be. The woman’s presence was at once comforting and intoxicating; it was no wonder she had become a priestess. She shook her head, putting the distracting thoughts from her mind.
Qesma cleared her throat. “I’m just wondering what Kurzu looks like.”
“Right. He is taller than both of us, about the same height as Ruut. Very handsome. His skin tone is a bit lighter than mine – almost like yours, actually. His hair is short, and I think he is trying to grow a beard. He has admired his father’s beard all his life, and now, oh, he is growing up so fast! I am losing my mind with worry.”
The sound of a lyre started up somewhere nearby. A small crowd began to gather around the musician, a scruffy young man with bandages on his feet and his right eye. Soon a trio of women were singing along with the lyre. They sang of water upon lettuce and of honey upon lips, of trees bearing fruit and of barley stalks strong enough to withstand Ishkur’s spring rains.
The music calmed Qesma’s heart and mind, and she closed her eyes to enjoy the moment. The world faded away around her, and for the first time in years, she knew real peace.
Enshanesha’s hand found Qesma’s shoulder again.
“Qesma, I think I see a girl who knows Kurzu. She is the singer on the left, in front of the lyrist.”
Qesma returned herself to reality and followed her friend’s gaze. The girl Enshanesha referred to was tall and thin, and she sang joyfully with the other two girls, who must have been her sisters as they all shared a similar appearance. Qesma had the strange feeling she recognized this girl somehow, though she knew it was next to impossible. She had spent her Sumerian life in Urim, and before that she lived as a child in Kemet, which was far to the west.
When their song had finished and the crowd had paid its respects to the musicians, Enshanesha approached the girl. Qesma trailed behind her, more uncertain than ever that she could be of any help.
“Hello, dear, do you have a moment to talk?”
The girl recognized Enshanesha and bowed her head in respect. “Uh, priestess, of course! I have all the time you need. Is something the matter?” The girl exchanged a look with her sisters.
“I am afraid there is something. Have you seen or heard anything of my son, Kurzu? He and his friends set out a week ago for the Great Hunt and they were due back days ago. I am getting worried.”
“The… Great Hunt? What is that?” The girl was not very good at lying, and she must have known it, giving in seconds later. Qesma smirked at the attempt.
The girl leaned in closer to the priestess, clearly worried someone might discover she divulged the secret rite to an adult.
“I know it is a secret, but I do not have time to play those games right now. Please tell me if you know anything,” Enshanesha pleaded.
The girl sighed and looked around before answering.
“I thought they would have been back by now. We all met up after the Hunt, but Kurzu’s group didn’t show up. We figured they got lost, or lost track of time. I’m sorry, I have no idea where they are.”
Enshanesha was crestfallen, and her honest face showed it.
“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, I don’t know where he is. I’ll let you know if I hear anything, okay?” The girl was crushed at being a source of the beloved priestess’s pain.
“It is not your fault, child. You have nothing to apologize for. Come see me at the temple if you learn anything. Thank you for your time.”
“Thank you, priestess. I hope you find him soon.”
The two women started walking again, when suddenly Enshanesha turned and embraced her friend. The jeweler felt her shoulder grow wet beneath Enshanesha’s face. She was crying. Qesma felt a stone drop into her gut.
“I really thought she would know. I thought…”
Qesma held her tightly and stroked her hair, her heart breaking with every tear.
“I know, I know. You will see him again. The gods are protecting him, Enshanesha. You will see him again, and soon. I promise. Let’s keep looking.” 
19

My fingernail that hurts is clutched in my embrace. My foot that hurts is in my sandal. But who will find my aching heart?
Sumerian proverb

 “…Nanna, his heart is broken, 
	His arrows are splintered, 
	His fields are salted, 
	Nanna’s fields are salted.
	Nanna, his sword is rusted and brittle, 
	His throne is crumbled, 
	His crown lies bent in the dust, 
	Nanna’s crown lies bent in the dust…”

The lamentation did not include his father’s name, which both relieved and annoyed King Shulgi. He always appreciated a touch of subtlety and finesse. Though the words were dry, the singer accompanied himself on a lyre, his mournful dirge dripping with sorrow.
Shulgi appreciated the sympathy of his citizens, but more often than not, it seemed hollow. They didn’t know the man Urnammu, only the poems and stories. They saw his name imprinted on the bricks of the shining temples; they heard it pronounced with the laws of the land; they invoked it in the name of justice and resilience; they whispered it in their prayers and their legends of the Reclamation. 
But they never considered that although he was Urnammu, governor of Urim, king of Sumer, hand of the gods, he was also Urnammu, father, husband, gardener, falconer, artist. Urnammu, teller of bad jokes, master mimic of birdsong. This sad-eyed musician, at least, knew what real loss was.
Shulgi’s mother, now the queen mother, stood by his throne along with her foremost guard, her hand grasping her son’s shoulder too tightly. Her icy glare softened to loving reverence as it fell upon her son’s face.
Siatum was a troubled woman, and it pained Shulgi all his life to see her state of mind turn all too often to paranoia and malice. The only time she ever seemed content was when she and Urnammu were together. Neither Shulgi nor his father were blind to the darkness that dwelled in Siatum’s heart, yet she was fiercely loyal to them, and they loved her all the same.
Shulgi and his friends had returned to the city only yesterday. Since then, his mother had alternated between scolding him mercilessly and praising the gods for his safety. With some hesitation, Shulgi agreed to Siatum’s cover story about revenge for his father. There was no need for the world to know he had been caught off guard in the wilderness and captured.
When the song finished and the reverent nobles adjourned, one remained behind and approached Shulgi hesitantly. It was one of Urnammu’s most trusted generals, Adulshurasa.
“My king,” he began. He saw the sting on Shulgi’s face at being addressed this way, but pressed onward. “I am sorry to lay these worries upon you when we all grieve so, but there is the matter of retaliation against the Guti swine who committed this atrocity.”
Siatum responded before her son could open his mouth.
“They will be killed, one and all. One and all! I will tear them to pieces myself! I will… flay their faces! I will split their tongues, and burn the eyes from their fucking skulls!” Her eyes welled up with intensity, and her fingernails bit into Shulgi’s shoulder. She finally relaxed her grip at the gentle touch of his hand.
The general, used to such outbursts, remained absolutely silent and calm.
“Mother, I can handle this. Please, go and rest a while. I’ll have the servants bring you some honeywine.”
Siatum opened her mouth to protest, but merely nodded and walked away. At the door, she stopped and turned to her son.
“Your father… he was my light, and without him I see only darkness. I need to lie down.” She wrung her hands absently as she walked stiffly from the room, eyes downcast but filled again with ice. Her young guard followed.
“The rest of you, give me some time with the general. We will be discussing sensitive information. And see that my mother gets her honeywine.”
The three remaining soldiers silently vacated the room. Shulgi was alone with his general, who waited patiently with his hands folded behind his back.
“Tell me what you know about the ones who killed my father,” Shulgi said firmly.
Adulshurasa bowed. “They were reported to be Guti, as you know. Based on their historical tactics, I suspect they are encamped on the far side of Tigris, and that the group which attacked your father was but a fraction of a larger invading force.”
“Were there any survivors from my father’s party?” Shulgi shifted in his seat.
“Yes, the boy reported three soldiers were able to escape, and another witness from the scene gave the same story when questioned. However, we have been unable to locate any of them thus far. I have my best men scouring Lagash as we speak.”
“Thank you. Keep me up to date on everything you learn, as you learn it.”
“Of course, my king.”
“In the meantime, send envoys to the leaders of the region. I would seek counsel concerning our next move toward crushing Gutium forever.” The word tasted sour in his mouth. “We will meet here in six days, before the dawn. Each and every provincial king will send a general to attend, along with six hundred men armed with helmets, shields, spears, and swords. As you know, that will be the evening on which half of Nanna’s moonlight is withheld. I will hold a feast for my armies. They will march on our enemies with vigor and fury.”
“Consider it done. Is there anything else you might need from me?”
“That will be all, thank you. I wish to be alone now. Ah, but as you go, please tell the first servant you see to bring me a status report on my friends in the infirmary.”
“Of course. Good evening, King Shulgi.”
Alone at last with his thoughts, Shulgi closed his eyes and sighed. In his mind’s eye he saw his father seated upon that very throne, and at once he felt like an imposter. He stood up and paced, allowing himself a moment to feel the doubt and anger that burned in his heart.
He had expected his father to grow old and sage. Urnammu was meant to witness the fruits of his labor unfold through the ages, and pass peacefully surrounded by love and luxury. Instead he was struck from the earth by Gutium. No matter how many times they were smitten, the surly mountain people rose again, like a sickness that would not be quelled by any medicine.
His grandfather resurrected Sumer’s autonomy and drove them from the palaces, and yet could not keep them from crossing Tigris. His father cemented their defeat and saw them fall at his own hands many times throughout Shulgi’s life, and yet they claimed him in the end. Shulgi itched for their destruction, and he found himself empathizing with his mother’s furies more than he was comfortable with. The frustrating injustice weighed heavier on his chest with every second.
Some would have prayed to the gods, but Shulgi did not find cause to put his faith in them. Despite the stories his devout parents had told him, the world seemed to operate solely at the whims of people. The only signs the gods provided were obscure and far-reaching in scope, such as the weather and the movement of the stars, left to be interpreted by men whose own ideas are overwritten by scripture and doctrine as a rule.
The rain fell and the sun shone, to be sure. The barley grew where it was planted with only sun and water provided to it, this he could not deny. The great rivers waxed and waned with the seasons – to claim this impossibility did not demonstrate the power of the gods seemed foolish, he could admit. Even his mother, for all her resistance to any path but her own, seemed to consider them with the same awe and reverence as anyone else.
Yet he never once heard a god’s voice, or looked upon a divine face. He never saw in any definite terms an omen or a sign that there was anything but emptiness in the starry heavens. He felt very alone in his beliefs, and as his station depended on his ostensible connection with the divine, he kept them to himself.
An elderly physician and his shy servant entered at that moment, and Shulgi found his composure. The physician stepped forward and bowed.
“My king, I have come from the infirmary. I understand you have some questions.”
“Yes, thank you for being prompt. Forgive me, what is your name again?”
“I am Rashugal, my king.”
“How are my friends, Rashugal? Will they be all right?”
“Alduni is in stable condition. He was developing a sickness in his elbow, but I have drained it hourly and I believe amputation can be avoided.”
“Good, good, and the others?”
“Kurzu’s nose is broken, but with a diet of herbs, fish and wine, inflammation will go down and I expect a full recovery with little disfigurement. Nira is having a difficult time coming to terms with the loss of her hand, though she tells me you saved their lives.”
“They risked their lives for mine. I would do the same for any person of such courage.”
“She very well may have bled out without your intervention, my king. I congratulate you on the clever sealing of her wounds.”
“I trust you will take every precaution to see their health restored. And listen now, this is important. I would like for you to place an order with the most talented artist you can find. You are going to work with that artist and create an elegant replacement for Nira’s lost hand, one she might feel comfortable wearing in the public eye. She will be there from now on.”
“My king, I will do my best in every one of those matters. I think I may know just the craftsman for the job, as well. I would ask you for, hmm… six weeks, and I can do this.”
“Take as long as you need to do it exactly right. Though obviously, sooner is better. And I want to be the one to tell her.”
“Of course, my king. Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“Yes, take me to see them. I would like to speak with them before I go to bed.”
“My king, with the sincerest apologies I must insist they rest. I have given them each a narcotic compound for pain, and they are now in a deep sleep.”
“Perhaps later, then. Please, go and resume your duties.”
“Yes, my king.” Rashugal bowed and made his exit with his silent assistant in tow.
Shulgi was alone again. 
20

A lame man spoke: “Oh feet of mine, walk!”
Sumerian proverb

Kurzu stood alone on grey sand at the edge of a vast, murky lake, one that seemed to reach forever beyond the sunset horizon. At his side appeared Imdugud, vibrant and terrible thunderbird who was the enemy of Enki. His body was that of a great yellow and white eagle, and his head was that of a lion. At Kurzu’s other side appeared Inanna, beautiful and powerful beyond measure. Her fearless golden eyes met his, and at once he knew what she meant for him to know.
Imdugud flew out across the lake, from which arose a great churning wave that darkened the sky and swallowed the beast in its depths. Inanna, too, was gone, but Kurzu felt no fear. He knew this wave was the beginning, not the end, for the wave was Enki himself. He closed his eyes and felt the immutable power engulf him, the wave crashing deafeningly around him in brilliant splashes of white light.
The noise faded, the light faded, his body returned. Kurzu opened his eyes in an unfamiliar room. Utu’s fire was gone, but there was no way to tell if it was the evening or the morning. His body felt incredibly heavy, and with some effort he managed to pull himself up to his elbows. Beside him was Alduni’s bed, but he did not see Nira. As he sat up and rubbed his eyes, his memory began to return. He had collapsed from exhaustion just outside the city, and the last thing he could remember was the soldiers carrying him through the gates of Urim.
Though he still couldn’t breathe through his nose, the pain was beginning to dull. He took a closer look at Alduni, who was still fast asleep. His arm was bandaged, but the redness and swelling seemed to have gone down considerably since the last time they spoke, out beneath that tree at the riverside. He saw the image of Inanna from his dream, epiphanic and fleeting, and he shuddered. His fingers found his precious amulet, and he breathed a long sigh of relief.
An elderly man entered the room, holding a small knife and a handful of cloth bandages. He was accompanied by a younger man carrying a plate of food.
“Ah, good, I thought you might be awake by now. After all, it has been almost two days. Eat this. It will help you recover your strength, and the use of your nose, gods willing.” The young servant brought the plate to Kurzu’s bedside, bowed, and departed quickly. Something about the older man seemed familiar.
“I remember you! We passed you on the road last week! You had your granddaughter.”
The healer smiled. “That’s right. Your memory seems to be fine, at least. That’s a good sign. Many who endure what you have aren’t so lucky. It seems you’ve covered a lot of ground over the last few days, haven’t you, Kurzu?”
“You know my name?” Kurzu asked.
“Yes, and I am Rashugal. Now you know mine.” Rashugal approached the sleeping Alduni and began to carefully remove his bandages.
“Where is Nira? Is she okay?”
“Yes, yes, she is doing well for someone in her condition, as is your friend Alduni. Now, he is one fortunate boy. Another day out in the sun and his arm might have been lost, but I am sure it can be saved.”
“Where is she?” He repeated the question.
“She is outside getting some fresh air. The air at night is purer and helps to heal the body and the soul. When you are strong enough to stand, you may do the same. For now, eat that food. It is part of your treatment.” 
The healer carefully bled Alduni’s arm through a thin reed straw into a bronze pan for a few seconds. Kurzu could hear the tink, tink of the blood dripping into the empty pan. Rashugal then wiped the wound and the knife clean.
Kurzu started to struggle to his feet, but collapsed back onto the bed, breathing heavily. For some reason the effort exhausted him, and he broke into a cold sweat. It was embarrassing and frightening to be so feeble.
Rashugal sighed as he cleaned the sleeping boy’s wounded arm, looking sidelong at Kurzu as he worked. “Don’t make me stand here and watch you. Your body has endured much on very little, and you need to eat. If you don’t like it, well, that does not matter to me one bit. This is what you need, and it’s what you’ll get. Orders of your friend the king.”
Kurzu looked at the plate. It did look appetizing – a freshly roasted fish fillet, expertly seasoned, with grilled leeks and a piece of buttered bread. A small cup of red wine sat next to it on the tray. He groaned and fell back onto the bed.
“The priests don’t eat the offerings of fish or leeks, which means neither do the gods, so there is plenty to go around for the rest of us. Lucky for you, it’s perfect for reducing swelling from smashed faces.” Rashugal inspected Alduni’s arm carefully, checking his work and listening to his heartbeat. He wrote something on a small clay tablet he held on a thatched reed board. “Not bad. I’ve seen worse, no doubt. Not bad at all.”
Kurzu looked at him blankly for a moment, trying to process all the new information. This doctor loved the sound of his own voice, it seemed. Maybe it was the headache.
“Why do I feel like this?”
The doctor finished wrapping the new set of bandages and wiped his brow. “I gave you some sedatives so I could treat your wounds without causing you too much pain. The same goes for your friends.”
“…Thank you, Rashugal. For everything.”
“Think nothing of it. Eat everything on that plate. I’ll come back later to check on you.”
Before he left the room, he turned to Kurzu. “Oh, you will be happy to know the king has ordered a piece be made for Nira to wear on her hand. I believe he wants to tell her himself, so keep it a secret for now.” He winked and disappeared.
Kurzu ate in silence. The food was delicious, even if the strange drugs Rashugal administered suppressed his appetite and made all the textures feel strange in his mouth. As his jaw began to ache from the effort, he realized it was the first thing he had eaten in days that wasn’t jerky or nuts and berries scrounged from the environment. He felt his face again. The swelling did seem to be going down, and his nose didn’t sting so much at his touch.
Nira wandered into the room, lambish and sullen. She noticed Kurzu was awake and stalked over to the beds, sitting down on the one she had occupied.
“Can I have a piece?” She was withdrawn, demure, still not making eye contact.
Kurzu offered her the plate without a word. She grabbed a piece of fish. They sat in silence, eating together as they had so many times before.
“Kurzu, I don’t like this,” Nira sighed resolutely.
“It’s all they have,” he shrugged, picking up another piece for himself.
“No, I mean, I don’t like the way things are between us right now. It’s too strange. Can we please just move past this?”
“… I don’t know. I don’t know.”
Nira stood and began to walk away.
“Nira, I’m sorry, okay? I’m just… all this has been so much more than I ever expected. I never meant to… I’m sorry. You are my friend.” His gut was in his throat.
“Thank you, Kurzu. I’m sorry, too.”
“Hey, it’s probably supposed to be a surprise, but…”
“Hmm, what is it?”
“Well…” He drew the word out, savoring her interest.
“Come on, tell me already!”
“Actually, I shouldn’t spoil it. You’ll just have to wait.”
“Kurzu…”
“No, seriously! It’s a real surprise, and I’m not going to tell you what it is. Orders from our friend the king.”
She narrowed her eyes and frowned, studying his face. For the first time since the fight beneath the cedars, her eyes held the spark of life.
“Okay, fine. I can wait. You had better not be fooling me.”
“I swear on the gods, you’ll be glad you waited to hear it from someone other than me.” He smiled genuinely at her, and she smiled back – something he’d recently thought would never happen again. Despite his better judgment, he found joy in this moment.
“Well, we made it to Urim,” she said, looking around at the medical room. Urnammu’s palace was new and clean – so new, in fact, as to be unfinished in some areas. Such was the fate of many ambitious projects the late king had begun, Kurzu reflected. The architecture was familiar, but the atmosphere of the place was different – Urim was alive in a way Eridu had lost centuries ago.
“I know Shulgi offered, but I don’t think we should stay here,” Nira said. “Our families are in Eridu. I can’t just leave my father behind, and you and Alduni can’t just leave your parents, either.”
“Nira, this is embarrassing, but would you help me stand up? These drugs have taken my strength, and I’d like to see more of the palace while we’re here.” It felt strange being vulnerable in front of her again.
But Nira nodded and walked to his side. She wrapped an arm around him and dragged him a few inches.
“Wow, you really are weak.” She hoisted him to his feet and helped him keep his balance, then reached over for another piece of fish and popped it into her mouth. “I didn’t think you could be any more disappointing.”
“The serpent strikes again! That’s cold, Nira. Cold.” He chuckled and took an uneasy step forward.
“Hmm, I think I like that name. The serpent strikes again!” She giggled and pulled him forward. “Come on, you dork. You have to help me here. Get your legs working so we can go home.” 
21

The wild bull is taboo for the plough.
Sumerian proverb

For the next few days, Rashugal kept a close eye on his patients. The doctor decided to keep the boys for examination, as Kurzu’s nose was still too swollen to allow him to breathe properly. Alduni slept most of the time, kept sedated so that his arm could be regularly cleaned without causing him too much pain. 
After examining Nira’s wounds thoroughly, and though they were still somewhat raw and painful, Rashugal concluded no sickness had manifested in her wrist. He told Nira she was well enough to leave the infirmary if she wished.
Nira spent the day silently wandering the palace and staring out the windows. When asked, she elected to speak with a priestess.
The priestess came in the evening to collect Nira from the infirmary, and led her down the long splendid hallways, past unique and extravagantly furnished chambers of many shapes and sizes. She was still young, perhaps ten years older than Nira. Her hair was grown past her shoulders and intricately braided, and she wore simple green dress robes. Nira noticed as they walked that the priestess had a limp, but she was far too polite to address it.
They stopped at a well-lit balcony overlooking the city, which was dark except for trace amounts of torchlight here and there. Urim rested in the river bend where Euphrates flowed into the harbor, where dozens of ships and boats were docked and dozens more floated in from the river and the coasts each day. The royal palace stood on a hill in the heart of the citadel, an inner district which held all the important and holy buildings in Urim.
The glorious citadel was surrounded by the residential areas and farmland, which was then enclosed in rising walls of brick and stone. The enormous ziggurat with its shining temple crown stood like a proud mother at the far end of the citadel, towering over all.
“The second loveliest view in the city,” the woman said after a moment, walking out onto the balcony and stopping at the edge.
She waited, seeing if Nira would take the bait, but the girl remained in the shadows, staring at the floor. The wind bristled through the palms in the courtyard below.
“Which view is the best?” Nira finally asked.
The young woman chuckled and smiled, pointing across the city. “The view from the doors of the temple, way up there. It is absolutely breathtaking. The great king Urnammu rebuilt much of this city. We are fortunate to live in these times, when Sumer is born anew.”
“That’s nice,” Nira said flatly, her arms crossed tight across her chest and her gaze averted.
The priestess smirked. “My name is Enthiavasa, by the way.”
“…Nira.” Nira approached at last and looked out at the extraordinary view. “You were right, this place really is beautiful. It reminds me of home.”
“It is wonderful to meet you, Nira. I heard you are from Eridu. Is that right?”
Nira nodded, her eyes upon the city. Somewhere below, a rumbling sound began to arise, almost like the sound of a distant waterfall. It started as a whisper, but slowly grew louder as the moments passed.
“I have been there once,” the priestess continued. “It was a very moving place to visit. You can truly feel the presence of Enki in the House of the Cosmic Waters.”
“I agree. I get to go there once in a while. My friend Kurzu, the ugly one,” she giggled. “His father is a scribe there, and his mother… Do you hear that rumbling sound?”
“A scribe, you say?” Enthiavasa turned, interested. “Has your friend taken the occupation of his father?”
“I think he’s going to try. Why do you care?”
From far below came an authoritative shout as the rumbling peaked. The girls looked down to see hundreds of soldiers rounding the corner, coming from the largest gate in the citadel’s walls and surging through the street like a flash flood. 
Each man held a weapon and had been fitted with a leather and bronze cuirass, a helmet, a pair of leather boots, and a rectangular wooden shield bearing the lion’s head crest of the royal family. In front of the legion was a general and a collection of commanding officers shouting at their subordinates. They carried banners of white with blood red cuneiform letters spelling out the name of Enlil, patron god of Nippur, the holiest of cities. 
Behind them marched another legion. These soldiers carried blue flags bearing the eagle crest of Lagash.
“What are they all doing here?” Nira asked. It was by far the largest force she had ever seen. Though they were allies, she felt a sting of terror at the sight of so much hardware made for death and violence.
“King Shulgi seeks justice for the murder of his father. He sent word to the regional governor-kings of the realm about a week ago, and it appears they have come to assist him.”
They watched in silence as the thundering army marched through the street, heading to assemble in front of the ziggurat. It was there that Engubanni, the high priest of the city, the high priest of Nanna, would descend from his smoky chambers in the temple and decree the will of the gods for men and kings to obey.
“Can I show you something, Nira? Something very personal?”
Nira hesitated, searching the priestess’s deep brown eyes.
“I guess so.”
Enthiavasa looked down to her feet and pulled her robes up to her knees, carefully slipping her left foot from her elegant sandal. There were dozens of thin, dark strips of leather webbed around her leg, leading to a prosthesis in place of her foot. It was some kind of imported wood, expertly shaped and polished, and matched her skin tone perfectly. One might not even see it if they didn’t look twice.
“When I was six, I lived in Mari. My father used to take me to play with the other children, and more often than not, we would find our way into the hills. One day, when we were climbing a steep hill, there was a rock slide. A great boulder rolled onto my foot and crushed my toes. I had never felt such pain, and have not since, thank the gods. My bones were shattered to bits. The priest said if my foot was not removed, it would take on a sickness that would spread through my body and corrupt me. So, they did what they had to do.”
“I’m so sorry.” It was all she could think of to say. How else could anyone respond to such a tale? Nira gripped her bandaged hand and realized with some shame that she had been staring, looking away quickly.
Enthiavasa replaced her sandal and looked out over the balcony again, her hands folded.
“Will you tell me your story, Nira?”
Nira felt some resistance to the notion, but remembered it was the point of this meeting. The thundering noise had faded, but now it started to build again. Were the troops moving already? She sighed deeply, her eyes scanning the black horizon.
“It was by the holy cedar forest in the valley up north, over the river. We saw Shulgi and the Guti, and we followed them… I actually thought we could help him. I was so, so stupid. I had never seen someone die before. I mean, my mother died, but not like that. Not… bleeding out in the dirt.”
Her voice broke. “And then they came out of the tent, and everybody started fighting. I didn’t know what to do… I thought I was going to die. One of them pinned me down, and he did this! And then… he…”
Her eyes began to well as she dredged the memories up, and her voice died in her throat. She cradled her hand again and fought to draw deep breath, looking for something to focus on in the black city, something to draw her mind’s eye from that terrible night.
Below them, another regiment filed into view at last – this one just as large as the first, if not larger. It was being led by another group of officers and generals, and they carried the blue and gold banners of Unug. Within the rows of soldiers there were slaves who pulled carts filled with gold and silver.
“I know I should have fought harder, okay? Or ran away, or never followed them at all. I want it to be a bad dream, but every time I wake up, I… I don’t know… I don’t want to be like this. I don’t want to be like this anymore! I want to be normal!” She threw herself at Enthiavasa, who caught her in a gentle embrace as the girl broke down in her arms, gripping her like some poor shipwrecked soul clinging to driftwood.
“My dear, sweet child, you are normal! You always were, and you still are. So many people I have met have endured the same evils, or worse, and they have prevailed. Hah! Look at me, I achieved all my success after my accident. Nira, you can have a normal life, a happy life!”
“But I’m not a priestess! My father is a farmer and my mother is dead! I could never afford anything like what you have.”
“But, you… have you not heard?” Enthiavasa laughed and smiled tenderly. “I thought you would be the first to know.”
A flourish of real hope filled Nira’s heart, the first she had felt since the moment that barbarian’s weight had fallen upon her chest, and it must have showed on her face.
“Well, I am happy to tell you. The king has ordered that a device be crafted to fit your hand. It will be made to look as natural as possible, and will be designed by the finest artisans this blessed city has to offer, just like mine.”
Nira could hardly believe it. Her emotions were already running high, and this news was surreal. Her gaze shifted between her bandages and the priestess.
“Really?” She managed, choking up again.
“It will take some weeks,” Enthiavasa continued, “but in the meantime you are welcome to stay here in the palace. You are special guests of the king, and of the gods, and heroes to all. You risked your lives for my… for our dear Shulgi.”
She thought of Kurzu, and his promised surprise.
“Kurzu, you imp!” She giggled, starting to cry. “I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what I’m feeling right now.”
Enthiavasa laughed and embraced her again.
“Now, the other bit of good news. According to Rashugal, you don’t need those bandages anymore. You can keep them on if you like, but all you need now is a daily salve to minimize the scarring.”
Nira looked at her bandages.
“Maybe just a little longer… No. I’ll take them off.”
She wiped away her tears and cradled her hand once more, but now began to unwrap it. The breeze was constant and refreshing at this elevation, and as the layers pulled away, cool air finally reached her unbound skin. 
She winced at first glance, but then, at last, she looked on the new form of her wrist without fear of it, without wanting to hide it from herself. She let the bandages fall over the balcony, the wind twisting them through the air like a mad serpent. 
22

A troubled mind makes you sick.
Sumerian proverb

Siatum scratched her neck with a scowl and took a sip of her honeywine from the night before, though it had long since grown stale. The candles were burning low in her private quarters, and the world outside her dramatically curtained windows was dark and quiet, save for a distant storm front. 
She was exhausted and beyond impatient. He was to have come to her at the darkest hour of night, which it most certainly was. If he laid anything but complete success at her feet, she might just have him kill himself, or she might be compelled to see it done by her own hand. Either way, his failure meant his death.
He had let her down once already, allowing that guileless slave girl to escape, and she was not in a mood to forgive anyone twice. That miserable man’s reputation was already well known around the palace. Every last soul within and without its walls would understand that she had no choice, that she was defending herself, that she had always trusted him, that she held herself in regretful contempt for putting her faith in a traitor.
Ziusudra could do anything he could do, she figured, though he yet possessed an irritating innocence and persistence of character. She sighed. Perhaps the boy was better suited to public affairs, and not clandestine work. Why should it be so hard to find a worthwhile assassin?
She made a mental note of every object in the room in case she needed to catch him by surprise. Siatum had no doubt he would fight back, unlike many of the others who had been too terrified to raise a hand against her, even to save their own lives. She thought of Bareshba’s pathetic face, of her spineless sobbing husband, and laughed out loud.
As if on cue, three evenly spaced knocks came from her chamber door. She waited. Three more followed it at the same pace, and she smiled.
She walked to the door and opened it, waving him inside. He held a thick, dark red wool bag containing some awkward cargo.
“I trust you have not disappointed me.”
He smiled a grim and humorless smile that even Siatum found repulsive, and offered the bag to the queen mother with respect. She received it with the character of a child accepting an unexpected gift. She carefully set the bag down on her bed, pulled a wicked knife from her waist and cut the rope seal.
Six human feet, hewn roughly from their hosts at various lengths of the shin, lie bloody and ragged before her. The half-lit moonlight from the open roof cast a ghastly pale on the gore. Perhaps it had not been the bag that was dark red. She gasped in horror or delight, dropping the knife and covering her mouth with her hands.
“You are absolutely sure?” She crept forward with extreme care, as if afraid to break the dream.
The thin-faced man nodded, smiling again, pleased with himself. He looked on his work and laughed low.
“This is… you have done a great thing for your queen, and your king as well. Three traitors now roam Arali on their bellies, naked and starved, the betrayed eternally hunting them as lions!”
Siatum sighed happily and fell to her knees, looking with great love on her morbid trophy. Something like thunder began to rumble through the cool night air.
“Justice… This is only the beginning.” She took it all in with a glint of madness in her eyes, then sprung back up and clapped her hands together.
“I have another task for you, and this one is worth much more. Speaking of which…” She leaned behind a table and grabbed a large bag, this one sparkling white and sealed with a golden cinch.
“I hope you’ve washed your hands. Thirty-six minas of silver, the agreed upon sum. Congratulations, Ezerudu. You are now among Urim’s wealthiest citizens. Now, you will travel to Unug. For eighty minas of silver, a queen’s ransom, if you will.” She chuckled at her own humor. “Bring me the ear of that pretender slut, Bareshba. Hah, and ten extra if her tacky jewelry is still attached.”
She turned and paced the room, her eyes ever on the bag.
“Hmm, I suppose I may as well keep her alive for now. Her child might come in handy later. Just the ear, don’t let her bleed out. But kill her husband if he tries to stop you, though I doubt he will. He’s a sniveling coward. Obviously, you will have to kill any guards who suspect you. Who knows, it might even be fun. I will need you here for the ascension rites, but you will leave for the task as soon as Shulgi comes into his power.”
Ezerudu bowed low. “Yes, my queen,” he whispered, grinning as he hefted his new wealth over his shoulder.
“Oh, one more thing. If you do kill Aradlugal, bring me a trophy. I’ll let you decide which bits would be the most entertaining to acquire.”
He nodded and shut the door behind him.
Siatum turned back to her prize, the penance of the treacherous made manifest at her unwavering command. She dropped again to her knees in front of the bag, and smiled as she ran a finger gently over the dried blood. Such butchery held a visceral intensity as to make her swoon, almost like a girl again.
Justice, revenge, retribution, all names for the same wonderful feeling.
“The gods are smiling, Urnammu. I can feel it… Shulgi is going to endure. I won’t let anything happen to him; I promise. He will rule for a hundred years.”
Outside, the thunderous sound was growing. 
 
23

The battle-club does not find out his name, it just finds his flesh.
Sumerian proverb

His beard was long and ornate, and he wore a complexly woven wool hat with gold leaves and swirling cosmic trimmings. His shimmering white robes fell over his feet, causing him to drift weightlessly over the ground, as if he was only a dream, a phantom-like avatar of some divine being. This was, in fact, exactly the intention. 
Engubanni, the high priest of Nanna, had come down at last from the House of the Great Light to meet the king’s horde that stood patiently awaiting his prophecies. As he reached the appropriate step of the ziggurat, he stopped and raised his hands, calling for silence. He spoke with a loud, resonant baritone which needed no repeating.
“My children, the gods have spoken to me. They bless King Shulgi and install their full power across his back and within his hands. Enlil, crown of the pantheon, speaks of a great change coming to the world. Anu, whose ancient house lies beyond the stars, now makes known his unshakeable will. Enki, who knows all there is to know, has shown me visions of what is to come. Nanna, whose great light pierces the darkness, has illuminated the true path. Inanna, whose potency carries our feet forward, makes the way clear. King Shulgi shall rule! He shall lead us to holiness and glory, and his efforts shall be without reproach! So it has been told to me by the gods, and so it has been told to you. Praise the gods!”
The high priest bowed his head, and every person present soon did the same, including King Shulgi, who stood at the bottom of the steps with his generals, arms across his chest.
“We thank you, lords of the earth, sea, and sky. Your blessings in this troubling time grant us deliverance. May King Shulgi see only victory, and may Urim stand strong for thirty-six thousand years!”
Engubanni turned abruptly to ascend the stairs back to the temple. The soldiers murmured their private prayers while Shulgi took his place on the steps.
The king’s cloak, like the robes of the high priest, draped to his feet. He moved slowly on the stairs, to demonstrate resolve and power, but also to keep from taking a false step.
The soldiers filled the area beyond capacity, spreading through the square framing the ziggurat and down through the streets. One of his generals, Adulshurasa, cupped his hands to his mouth and screamed over the mass.
“Attention, now, for the king! The king speaks! Attention!”
A full-fledged army stood before Shulgi, their clubs and spears clattering against their shields as they cried out his name and cheered their support. As the noise died down, he knew it was time to address the crowd. He had given speeches before, but never with absolute authority, and never to such a number. It still felt strange not to have anyone to turn to but those who would serve him. He felt his father’s absence now more than ever, but his voice did not waver.
“By now you all have heard the news. It is the news that brought you here, that brought me here. The injustice, the travesty of my father’s death. Murdered by Guti cowards as he passed through the storied city of Lagash, where the great King Gudea once presided! King Gudea held strong, nearly fifty years ago, before the Reclamation led by my grandfather, Utu-Hegal, when the Guti scum held the land of the gods in their grip! King Gudea kept our ways sacred and safe behind his walls, when the raiders crept down from the mountains and burned us in our sleep! When they took our children and our wives, and drove us from our lands, from our homes, with clenched fists!”
Boos and scorn filled the air around the king, his heart galloping as the wild horses of the southwestern steppe.
“You all know the pain that wicked nation has laid at our feet. They have trampled our fields; they have killed our families! They have crumbled the statues of our gods beneath their wretched heels! They have brought evil and death to our houses! But no more! No more! Gutium is banished from the land of the black-headed people! They will be smitten across the mountains and the deserts, across the rivers and the seas!”
The soldiers cheered in a deafening roar, crashing their shields. The generals nodded, stern and silent.
“In the days before the Guti first came against us, there ruled that king of Old Akkad, that grandson of Sargon the Great, Naram-Sin. He was the first mortal man to be granted divinity, and he sits now among the gods themselves, the eternal king of the four quarters of the universe. When there was yet unending war between the city-states, Naram-Sin kept order, and expanded our influence in all directions. He marched with his troops from Elam to Kemet, from Urim to Urkesh. Think of Naram-Sin now, and remember the glory of Sumer!”
Cheers arose, especially among the older soldiers.
“When death found Enkidu, that fierce and feral man of Enki, my ancestor who is the great King Gilgamesh sought to the ends of the earth, and even into the afterlife itself, for a way to bring him back. I wish for the strength of King Gilgamesh now, for I would gladly undertake the same journey to bring my father back.”
Shulgi paused, but now there was only respectful silence, or as much silence as can be had from a throng of battle-armed soldiers. There was some solemn murmuring after a few moments.
“Seven years ago, King Urnammu destroyed Gutium. We imagined their destruction would be permanent, but they arise again and again, like strangling weeds in our garden. Many of you fought in that campaign, and your return to service is more valuable to me now than all your weight in silver and gold. I see you here now, one and all. Eriduan, Kishian, Urimite, Unugai, Lagashi, Larsan, Nippuri, Isinian, Babylonian – no matter from whence you hail, you stand here with me tonight, and I thank you. In fact, I have prepared a feast in your honor. Let every man eat and drink his fill tonight!”
The legion cheered again, and there was some applause.
“My father, King Urnammu, the great shepherd of Sumer, will not be forgotten. He will be avenged! I know not all of you come to me now as true soldiers. You are farmers, smiths, canalsmen, bakers, clothiers, tax collectors…” This last remark earned a smattering of light-hearted boos, and Shulgi grinned for a few seconds.
“But, each and every man here with a lust for vengeance and righteousness, hear me now! Find in your hearts the strength to defend with blood and bone your homes and your families! Descend on those lowly posts where Guti blood still resides, and drive that scourge from our kingdom! Carry the peace of the gods to your homes, and plant it there firmly! Carry the wrath of the gods to your enemies’ homes, and plant it there firmly! Send every Guti you find across Tigris, and if they do not go…”
Shulgi raised his hands and bowed his head.
“Send them instead to Arali.”
The army howled their approval to the heavens. Shulgi could swear he felt the stone steps of the ziggurat shaking behind their vigor. The sheer energy of the moment gave him chills, and he found himself smiling as he waved to the crowd, looking at each of their reverent faces. They began to chant his name once again, calling for his eternal life.
Adulshurasa approached him as he stepped down from the stairs, the concern on his face apparent even in the moonlight.
“I am sorry, but I bring a great burden to you. My king, I have just been informed of a Guti attack outside Lagash, committed only last night. Dozens of farms have been burned, and hundreds have been killed. We believe they have spies reporting our troop movements, and they are attempting to capitalize on your father’s death.”
Shulgi covered his face with his hands, exhaling a deep sigh and walking a few steps. “So, my first days as king are to be red days.” He looked out on the vast force assembled before him, which was now starting to calm and break into its units, the officers leading them like shepherds through the winding streets. Before they dispersed, before they retired to the feast awaiting them, they needed to know. It wasn’t right to keep it from them another second.
“Friends, hold!” Shulgi yelled as loud as he could, and he heard his own words echo back from the distance – a curious sensation, to be sure. Now that they knew his voice, every soldier within the considerable earshot of the king’s shout turned back, and soon the ocean of bronze and leather flowed back toward its host.
“Friends, I have just learned even more terrible news. The gods stack burdens upon burdens for us, and deliver death to my kingdom once again. Lagash, that fortress of Sumerian order, has been set to the torch. Its fertile lands have been razed. You can guess who is to blame! Yes, gutless Guti scum! Perhaps the same band of murderers who felled my beloved father, King Urnammu. This injustice makes my blood boil! It makes my stomach turn! I speak to you now from the heart, as I do in all matters. Go now with renewed vigor! Eat, yes, and drink your fill. But tomorrow, the fires of vengeance glow white hot! Let our blades taste blood, and our clubs crush bone! Let our arms and our legs deliver the wrath of Sumer unto them!”
The forces stirred and grew restless as anger and discontent swept through the ranks. The officers regained their hold, and once again the roiling mass was moving back through the citadel, on the first steps of its war path.
Shulgi turned away and approached his prime general again, speaking low. The king’s face showed a young man already world-weary, but he yet held ferocity behind his brown eyes, slightly misshapen as those of his father, and which in this dire moment were equal in temper to those of his mother.
“I must return to the palace. Take a regiment and plan a counter-attack immediately. Begin training anyone who needs training, and get the veterans into officer positions if you haven’t already. We are going to war, and if history can teach us anything, Gutium will not fall without a bloody fight. I can attest to that personally.”
“Yes, my king.” Adulshurasa beckoned two officers and began to explain the situation as they walked away together.
Shulgi approached one of the palace guards who had accompanied him to the ziggurat.
“Have my Eriduan friends in the infirmary meet me in the throne room. They are probably asleep, but this matter cannot wait.”
“Yes, my king.” The guard bowed and hurried away to fulfill his task.
Clubs, swords, and spears clacked against shields in the distance, and thousands of rowdy voices carried over the citadel walls and into the night. 
24

Whatever the man in authority said, it was not pleasant.
Sumerian proverb

When Kurzu reached the throne room at the behest of some official, he found his friends already there. They were standing with the general, Adulshurasa, and a handful of other military leaders. Nira’s bandages were gone, and Alduni was finally on his feet for the first time since Shulgi’s rescue. The intense presence of the military leaders was heavy in the room. Kurzu wanted to say something to his friends, especially Nira, but his mind went blank.
Within moments Shulgi entered, accompanied by an entourage of even more military men and servants. Even knowing he was of royal blood, it was strange for Kurzu to see his new friend in such a procession. Though the young king’s heart was certainly heavy with grief, he smiled as he approached them.
“My friends, I’m glad to see you’re all doing better.”
“Better is not the word I’d use,” Alduni muttered.
“What did you need from us, my king?” Nira said, bowing her head.
“Oh, no. Not you three, please. Call me Shulgi, just like before. I have heard far too much of ‘my king’ in the last few days. It already begins to lose its meaning.”
The three Eriduans looked at each other and at Shulgi, uncertain of what to say or do. An awkward moment passed.
“What can we do for you, Shulgi?” Kurzu finally asked.
“Ah, yes. It’s been a very long day. The time has come for me to appoint my advisors. As I promised in the bush, I offer you each a place of prominence here in Urim, as my close council. More than ever, I need people of integrity and resilience at my side.”
There was murmuring between the generals. Shulgi cleared his throat and looked around the room sternly. The murmuring stopped. Kurzu felt a strange combination of embarrassment and pride.
“Now, any relationship such as ours will be based on mutual trust. To that end, I have something to tell you. The forces of Gutium are rising again, even as we speak.”
He approached the throne and sat down wearily, beckoning them to his side. The generals grouped around the throne, maintaining their composure and a respectful distance.
“This generation is just as aggressive and narrow-minded as the ones whom our parents fought so hard to evict. Now they have struck us at Lagash. According to my scouts, they have burned dozens of farms and kill all who stand in their path with impunity. They must have seen Lagash’s army traveling here, to my rally. This will not stand unanswered.”
The generals murmured to themselves again.
“You have our full and undying support, King Shulgi,” spoke Adulshurasa. “The might of Sumer and Akkad is behind you.”
“Thank you, Adulshurasa. Thank you all.”
Shulgi turned his attention to the three teenagers at his side.
“Though I might command it, I consider you three my friends, and I will only ask you to stay. Will you join my court?”
As he spoke, the trio grew quiet and solemn. No one said a word for a few moments. Even breathing felt intrusive.
“I am meant to inherit the forge from my father…” Alduni said quietly, looking between his friends. “I don’t know if I can commit to such a thing.”
Nira shook her head, emboldened by Alduni’s refusal. “I’m all my father has left. I need to go home, I’m sorry.” A few of the generals smirked.
Kurzu remained silent and thoughtful, staring ahead with eyes unfocused.
For a precious moment, the distant, haunting song of the marshes found its way into the throne room. Kurzu heard it, a message from the gods. As he wrapped his fingers around his amulet, he remembered Inanna’s unblinking golden eyes, and he knew what he had to do.
“I will stay. I will help any way I can.”
“Kurzu, what are you doing? What about your parents? Or your training?” Nira protested, looking at him with great concern.
“I won’t be gone forever. I have to help here. My father will understand.”
“And Enshanesha? Kurzu, your mother will be devastated. I’m sure she misses you even now.”
“Did you say ‘Enshanesha’?” Shulgi interjected excitedly. “Do you mean to say your mother is a priestess of Enki?”
“Yes…” Kurzu replied hesitantly.
Shulgi stood and raised his hands in a gracious gesture. “Gentlemen, please give us the room. Thank you all for coming at this late hour.”
There was some hesitation, but the collection of stern military leaders shuffled out of the throne room, murmuring among themselves once again. Shulgi waited until the room had cleared before continuing.
“Here is what I’m thinking. My mother has informed me that despite my lineage, my rule is not without contest. There are some in the kingdoms who doubt my divine placement on the throne, and to let them gain political traction is to let my life – and my crown – fall into their hands. Kurzu, if we could get your mother to bless my coronation and invoke the gods as the high priest has, it would go a long way toward keeping our brothers and sisters focused on the enemy. Others will follow her example.”
Kurzu couldn’t help but feel a flash of resentment at the suggestion his pious mother be used as a political tool, but he knew what a blessing from a priestess would do for the morale of his people. The stakes were too high.
“I will ask her. She might not say yes,” he lied, for no real reason. He chalked it up to being protective of his family. Of course, she would say yes.
“So be it. Alduni, I wish you all the best. I may soon request your family’s professional services. If war is truly on the horizon, I will need thousands of reliable swords and spearheads. There are masterful smiths in Urim, but I would see some of my war chest poured into your hands. May you recover your strength quickly.”
“Thank you,” Alduni said, framing the possibilities in his mind and massaging his shoulder.
“Nira, I hope you will reconsider. I could use someone with your keen mind in the weeks to come, and besides, you have more reason to stay than anyone.”
“I do, don’t I?” She grinned and blushed.
Kurzu smiled at Nira. “Oh, you found out?”
“Yes, I found out! You jerk, keeping that from me!” She laughed, smiling wide. “Thank you so much, Shulgi. Thank you so, so much.”
“It’s the least I can do. You deserve to be whole,” Shulgi replied, returning her gleeful grin.
“Did I miss something?” Alduni asked.
Nira sighed, glancing out the window into the darkness. “I think I can stay for now. But my father needs help. With his back he can’t sow the seeds the way he used to. He is too proud to ask for help, but not to accept it. And I have to go home before the harvest.”
“I’ll send a team to assist him for now, and to tell him of your loyalty to me and my cause. He will be more proud of you than ever when you return home… before the harvest. Each of us will spend the winter with our families.”
“Gods willing!” Nira added.
“The gods will guide us all,” Shulgi said half-heartedly, drawing a deep breath. “Tomorrow I will perform my purification rites in Eridu, at the House of the Cosmic Waters, and I would like you all to be present as a show of solidarity. I would have the public celebrate your heroism at my side, along with my mother.”
They each nodded in agreement.
“Will we get to meet her?” Nira asked hopefully. “I grew up hearing stories of Queen Siatum, the beautiful and powerful. I always wanted to see her in person.”
Shulgi laughed. “Yes, I don’t think she would miss such a spectacle as my purification rites. She is committed to the gods and the showing of proper respect toward them. She looks forward to giving you her thanks for your invaluable assistance.”
“Really? She wants to meet us?” Nira lit up. “Me? I didn’t even do anything!”
“You gave far more than any of us,” Alduni spoke up. “To suggest otherwise is madness, so don’t do it.” He rubbed his slung arm and cracked his neck, and the others nodded in agreement.
“Thank you, boys.” She blushed, smiling and closing her eyes for a moment.
“Get plenty of rest. Tomorrow is an important day for us all, and I fear it will be the longest of my life.”
“Don’t worry, Shulgi,” Kurzu said. “You’ll do fine.”
“Those Guti assholes will pay for what they’ve done to us,” Alduni said, his good hand on the king’s shoulder.
“Of that, you can be sure,” Shulgi replied. 
 
25

A sweet word is everybody's friend.
Sumerian proverb

 “Queen Mother, it is time for your meeting with those Eriduans.”
She almost didn’t hear the advisor. She couldn’t remember his name, but it didn’t matter.
“Why are you telling me? Go and fetch them,” she commanded. “Now, you clown.”
Siatum was in no mood to have such a meeting, but there was far too much to be done to put it off any longer. After all, she was a woman of her word. They did help Shulgi, she supposed. They had earned some measure of kindness for that. She would smile and thank them. Then, to important matters.
When two boys and a girl finally appeared in the throne room, Siatum donned her most amiable smile, and they returned one each. How could these teenage rubes be of use to anyone?
“At last, we have the chance to speak,” Siatum began. “Things have been so busy lately. Firstly, I must thank you from the bottom of my heart. From what he has told me, you have each contributed to saving my son’s life. And so, whatever you would ask of the crown, I will see it done.”
The girl bowed her head. “Thank you, Queen Mother.”
“You may call me Queen Siatum. And what shall I call you?”
“It’s an honor and a pleasure to meet you, Queen Siatum. My name is Nira.”
“Ah, a lovely name.” She turned and looked expectantly at one of the boys, smile never fading.
“My name is Kurzu, Queen Siatum.”
“A pleasure, young man.”
“I’m Alduni,” the second boy said. “It’s an honor to meet you, Queen Siatum.”
“Welcome to Urim, my dear. If the three of you continue to show your loyalty and courage, there may be a place for you in the royal house. We reward such noble traits.”
“King Shulgi spoke to us about that as well. He asked us to be his council. Thank you for the offer,” Nira beamed.
“Has he now? How generous. My Shulgi is a complex boy, but you three seem to have his heart.”
Siatum took a step toward them, and just for a moment, she showed them her true face.
“You protected him at all costs. I trust you would do anything, no matter the severity, to keep him safe. That is something we have very much in common, children.”
They all seemed to understand.
*
Enshanesha sat quietly on the second floor of the house, defeated and exhausted. Qesma idly cleaned the room.
After days of searching they had found no success, no indication of Kurzu’s whereabouts. News had begun to spread through the city about the missing children, though no one had any idea where to begin looking, and the death of the king drew nearly all public concern.
Enshanesha wanted to look for Kurzu, but the wilds were vast and dangerous. Any search party would have to be well prepared, or else be lost themselves.
Like anyone else, Enshanesha felt great sorrow for the loss of her holy king. But the demands and the luxuries of priesthood inured her to the truest suffering of the world. She allowed herself to feel real love only for her friends and her family. The loss of one of those people turned her world upside down every time, and Kurzu was no exception.
She found herself staring at a spot on the wall, her mind trying in vain to think of a way to find him. Her expression must have been troubling, as soon her friend was beside her.
“You can’t trust those thoughts that creep in from the dark places,” Qesma told her, placing a warm hand on her shoulder.
Enshanesha gave into an uncharacteristic slump, her weary eyes and vacant smile cast to the ground. “I know. I know you are right. It is just so hard…”
“Is there anything I can do for you?” Qesma gently asked.
The girl has lost everything and more, and yet she is the one to offer aid, Enshanesha thought. “Just having you here with me in these lossful days is everything. Thank you, my dear. You are so good to me.” The priestess took the girl’s hands, met her worried eyes and smiled.
Something clicked in Enshanesha’s head. Why didn’t she think of it before?
“Qesma, I understand you have not known us long, but will you stay here, with us?”
The girl was awestruck and speechless. Enshanesha filled the silence, anxious she had somehow caused offense.
“We have plenty of room, and you would not be a bother. We would love to have you here. It is much more comfortable than the public beds in the temple. If you wanted, we could help with- “
“Yes! Yes, I will stay. Thank you… Thank you.” Qesma gripped her friend’s hands tighter and laughed joyfully.
“I am so happy to hear it, my darling!”
A blushing smile followed by a flash of terror rolled across Qesma’s face. She leapt to her feet, bolting down the stairs and out the door.
Enshanesha was horrified and confused, and followed her outside at once.
“Hey, are you okay? Qesma!” She took the girl’s hand, but it was pulled away. The priestess’s heart sank.
“I’m sorry. I can’t, okay? I… I just can’t.” Qesma stammered, her eyes welling.
“What do you mean?”
“I can’t stay.”
“Of course, you can stay… why would you say that?” Enshanesha asked.
“You don’t understand…!”
“What- “
“I’m a slave!” Qesma hissed into her hands.
“What? What do you mean?”
Qesma turned to her at last, her face wet with tears. “I’m not a jeweler. I mean, I was, but I’m a slave. I had to get away from the queen. She is… evil, Enshanesha! She tried to have me killed for nothing! But my sister, Shakhet… my sister is still there, and I can’t leave her. And I can’t lie to you any longer. Gods forgive me. I’m so sorry. I-I have to go. I’m sorry.”
She turned and ran into the night, toward the market and the merriment that always poured from the taverns when the working day was done, and the light of Utu’s fire had faded.
“Wait! Qesma, please!” Enshanesha shouted after her, but the girl didn’t stop.
Enshanesha hid her face in her own folded hands, trying to process this. She shook her head and stomped her foot in frustration.
“Qesma, it does not matter! Let me help you!”
Enshanesha ran after her, her eyes adjusting to the darkness as she moved.
A sudden pain in her foot, and she was tumbling forward. She had tripped on something, though she never saw what it was before everything went black. 
26

The lives of the poor do not survive their deaths.
Sumerian proverb
 	
The night air was cool on Qesma’s tearstained face as she ran through the street, hating herself more with every step. She had found something good here, better than she ever hoped to find, and then she threw it away. But she knew it could not have lasted. It was all based on a lie, and an affront to Ma’at, who was truth incarnate in the pantheon of Kemet.
She was out of options. It was time to rescue Shakhet and go west, to freedom. It was time to go home.
The street was filled with people from the furthest reaches who sought to attend the rituals, and who were out enjoying the ancient city at night. She wove through them for a while, eventually wandering down a lonely walkway. She slowed to a stop as her knees fell beneath the weight of her heart.
 “No house long stands on shifting sands,” a woman’s voice called out to her.
Qesma scrambled to her feet and looked around in the darkness. She could hear her own throbbing heartbeat, and she was embarrassed to find her voice quivering as it left her throat.
“What? Who is it? Who said that?”
“Over here, young lady. Don’t be afraid. Please, give me a moment of your time, would you?” The voice was gentle and kind. Qesma found herself shuffling toward it.
“I’m not afraid,” she told the darkness.
From a doorway emerged a small old woman wearing a common brown dress and a scarf around her head. With steady hands, she picked up an oil lamp resting in her small front window and waved the girl over.
“Please, come in, come in.”
Qesma cautiously stepped inside the house, but left the door open. She wiped her eyes and looked around.
Though this house belonged to a poor old woman, it was relatively large and sparsely decorated. The courtyard, standard to Sumerian houses, was ill-kept and weedy. There was a single hen asleep in a makeshift nest in the corner, and a young white goat snored softly on a bed of dry grass. Some assorted pottery and wooden buckets were stacked beneath the front window. A small table with an assortment of cutlery was pushed into the far corner, with dried herbs and vegetables hanging above it on fibrous strings.
“What I said was, ‘no house long stands on shifting sands.’”
“What does that mean?”
“I think you understand well enough. My name is Dilani. I am a seer, a humble mortal blessed with knowing, and I know something about you.”
The dancing flame from the lamp spout played sharply off the woman’s features as she spoke, casting frantic shadows against the walls.
“You are both more and less than your appearance suggests, young lady.”
Qesma’s heart sank at the idea of being seen through so easily. Perhaps she had let her practiced façade slip. She feigned unconvincing innocence.
“I don’t understand. What are you talking about?”
Dilani sighed, as if disappointed. “You know what I’m talking about. You have nothing to fear from me, Kemetite.”
Qesma was skeptical, nervous, yet enchanted. For some reason, the seer’s acknowledgement of Qesma’s heritage brought her comfort. At least she wasn’t recognized as a slave. She felt the knot in her stomach loosen, though she kept her guard up.
“…How did you know?”
A woman’s scream cut through the night a few streets from the house, and a collection of howling laughs followed it. Qesma tensed at the sound and tried to shut out the horrible images flooding her imagination. The chilling scream echoed and amplified in her brain. She told herself it was just the intoxicated antics of the night life and shook her head, trying to rid herself of the dread.
Dilani heard it, too. She beckoned Qesma further into the house and closed the rickety door, locking it with a bundle of reeds angled between the handle and the floor. She carried the lamp toward the staircase. Her behavior did nothing for Qesma’s anxiety.
“You don’t live as long as I have without learning when to mind your business,” the old woman remarked as she labored up the stairs. “Come on, then. I made biscuits yesterday. My grandsons churn butter at the temple. You haven’t lived until you’ve tried aged ghee on my homemade biscuits.”
Qesma was only half listening, keeping an eye on the door as she crept to the staircase. Were they in danger? Why did she barricade the door?
“I’m not hungry. What’s happening out there?”
“That can’t possibly be the question you came to ask me,” Dilani smirked, halfway to the top with Qesma at her heel.
Qesma took offense at the diversion. “That’s not an answer. And you invited me in, I didn’t come to you.”
The second floor was a large windowless room with many blankets and furs spread on the floor, laid in such a way as to draw the eye to the center. The only light was another oil lamp, resting on a clay pedestal against the far wall. Its tenuous light just touched the central area, where the furs were piled highest. There was a strange, intoxicating smell here that made the air heavy.
“I called for you, yes, but you came to my door, and then you came inside, knees shaking like a fawn. You have nothing but questions.”
Qesma usually would have been put off by such a patronizing attitude, but she was distressed.
“Maybe you’re right,” she conceded. “But how did you know I was from Kemet?”
“Easy,” Dilani chuckled. “I can hear it in your voice, see it in your face. You know, I visited your homeland in my youth. I saw the pyramids, mighty and brilliant, like Shamash in the blue sky. I tasted the fresh ma’amoul of the Memphis bazaar. A beautiful place to be from.”
Qesma was old enough to remember her own days in the kingdom of gold. For a brief, blessed moment, she forgot about everything that had happened since.
She sighed and held her forehead, trying to sort her thoughts. She let her eyes close. There was pain, yes, and fear, but Enshanesha was there. And Shakhet, and Ruut. Even her mother and father, smiling. Everyone was smiling, calm, happy. Her priestess was holding her hands in hers again.
But no, it was cold, hollow, a fiction. She grasped too tightly and the reverie was lost, smoke in the wind.
Another scream carried through the night, this one from the direction of the ziggurat. She opened her eyes.
Dilani sat on the floor near a small wooden table in the center of the room. Qesma remained standing, watching the woman carefully, though more out of curiosity than concern.
“When folks are born elsewhere, you can usually tell from the way they speak,” Dilani said. “It is a subtle thing, my dear.
“I myself am Akkadian. But I was truly born in Old Akkad itself, the center of the world, in the dark days of the Guti. I grew up speaking no Sumerian. I imagine the same goes for you. My life and my trade were shaped in the ceaseless flows of Euphrates. You are shaped by great waters as well, but of a different sort. So, I look like an Akkadian, and I am. You look like a Kemetite, and you are.”
“Is that what you meant when you said I was more and less than my appearance suggested?” Qesma finally sat on a blanket made from goat hair, drawing a deep breath and releasing it evenly. The way this woman spoke put her in a strange mood.
Dilani poured two cups of liquid from a bronze decanter and set both on the table between them.
“On a night like this in a distant eon, the great god Ea, called Enki in this place, lost the kingship to a young goddess called Ishtar. These Sumerians call her Inanna, you call her Isis, but the gods are the gods, no matter what name you give them. You know that as well as anyone.”
Dilani drank, and gestured for Qesma to do the same. She made a face at the smell, and Dilani laughed.
Qesma took a sip, but it was not water or beer. It tasted bitter and thick, though not altogether bad. It reminded her of something she could not quite place. Some sort of fermented root, perhaps. The taste lingered on her tongue and clouded her throat. Had Dilani not drank of it herself, this strange feeling would have been more unsettling.
“Ishtar manipulated Ea, you see. She brought him beer and honeywine, and drank with him until he was beyond wit and wisdom, and in that sorry state he agreed to give up the kingship to her. By the time Ea had awoken, Ishtar had already carried the kingship to her own beloved city, Unug.”
“Excuse me, what are we drinking?” Qesma tried not to overreact. This visit kept getting stranger by the minute. It may have been her nerves, but she felt her heart begin to race.
Dilani did not respond to this, but smiled and drew deeply from her own mug. She dropped the empty cup at her side, let the drink settle, and sighed serenely. Qesma shrugged, took another sip, and set hers back on the table. A pleasurable, venomous sensation spread through her. It felt as if she was sinking into a warm bath.
“When Ea realized what Ishtar had done, what he himself had done, he felt anger and grief beyond reckoning. Even when his rage abated and he decided to honor his drunken word, his sorrow remained. In your eyes I see Enki’s grief, the pain of loss such as should never be placed upon a young girl. And yet, I also see the glimmer of Ishtar’s cunning. Her ambition. Come, let us see what the gods have written for you.”
The air was still very thick. It was making Qesma sleepy, and she found herself reclining on the bed of furs on the floor. They seemed impossibly soft, and she reveled in their gentle touch on her skin. Such comforts were so foreign to her, it felt like finally breathing fresh air after years of drowning. Her head swam.
“You and I do not shape the world, as we are neither gods nor kings, so reading signs of the entrails or liver will not uncover the truth. Nor do you bear any malformity that would prescribe your destiny. No, to learn your fate, we must turn to other methods.”
“What did you mean before…?” Qesma felt her eyelids growing heavy. A sweet, pulsing wave of sensation began emanating from her abdomen. “What methods? What’s happening to me?”
“We are going to visit the place where the gods dwell. They will tell us their plans with their own tongues. We shall return to this world by the morning. Do not be afraid, Qesma.”
Dilani began singing softly in a language Qesma did not understand, though she found the words soothing. Her eyes were closed now, and she felt as though she was lifting out of her body as the seconds passed. The seer’s voice sounded far away. Qesma was only faintly aware of her body writhing on the cushioned floor, awash in feeling. Her pain had dried up as a puddle in the sun.
All she could see were the faces of her family, clearer than ever as they stood over her. Enshanesha was there, and Shakhet, and even Ruut, and everyone was smiling, laughing. And Isis, whom Dilani calls Ishtar, she smiled too, and took Qesma’s hands in hers. 
27

Fate is a dog walking always behind a man.
Sumerian proverb

Even from a distance, Eridu was a sight to behold on the day of Shulgi’s purification rites. A host of artists, designers, and construction workers, along with six times as many slaves, had been hired on short notice to prepare the city for the ceremony and subsequent feast. It was tradition for a ruler to be inaugurated before the gods and the public at the altar in Eridu, and to perform the cleansing rituals to the letter. This was the only sure way to appease the divine.
In millennia past, Eridu had shone brightly. Nearly ten thousand citizens once dwelled within its walls and the fruitful farmland surrounding them. Now, its population was a tenth of that, and many of the people even now were leaving the archaic city for Urim and Unug. To those who remained, war and disease brought death, whose cold and terrible grip never seemed to loosen. But to Kurzu, this place was everything.
The royal party was riding comfortably down the holy Susuka canal in a canopied longboat. The Susuka flowed to the southwest between Urim and Eridu, and was one of many bringing life and regularity to the region. The gods crafted the rivers, Kurzu thought, but so did man. This river was wrought by mortal hands.
Kurzu had never been so long and so far from his home, and returning now felt like reuniting with an old friend. The events of the last week made it feel like years had passed. He took pleasure in imagining the looks on his peers’ faces when he would parade into town in the company of the king.
Kurzu sat with his friends at the front of the boat. Kurzu and Alduni each wore a gold-fringed kaunakes that hung to the knees, a garment of reverence. The boys wore their own weapons on their waists, the knife and the khopesh glinting in the sunlight.
Nira wore a bright white one-shoulder dress like those often worn by Siatum. Hers was less ornate than that of the queen mother, of course. She hid her right arm in her clothing. Her sling was lost, and she had long since discarded the dread blade wielded by the fallen Guti, but she welcomed the weight of an Urimite officer’s sturdy knife on her left hip. Her delicate wrist flicked in its direction now and again, fingers poised.
Siatum, Shulgi, and Enthiavasa quietly occupied the luxurious, shaded stern. A handful of elite guards with brilliant shields and feathered spears stood vigilant at the edges of the boat, facing outward in all directions. Twelve male slaves rowed the boat and directed it down the canal.
Behind them, towed and floating in its own lavish boat, was the shrouded body of Urnammu, the wise shepherd of Sumer. Hundreds of flowers and leaves of gold and silver decorated his form. Golden bowls, cups, and weaponry were laid around him, a fraction of the wealth to be sent to the underworld with the king.
“I… I feel…” Alduni mumbled, drawing shallow breath and holding himself up with the side of the reed boat. A few slaves looked at him.
“Whoa, are you okay?” Kurzu held his friend’s good shoulder. The boy had broken into a sweat. His muscles were tense, his skin clammy.
Nira, who was seated on the deck, looked up at Alduni with concern. She opened her mouth for a moment, but said nothing.
One of the guards smirked. “The kid can’t take the heat.”
“I’ll be fine,” Alduni insisted, releasing his grip and scowling at the soldier. He cracked his neck loudly. “I’m fine.”
When the boat had gotten as close as it could, the party disembarked and made its way into Eridu. Not once in his life had Kurzu ever seen the city so alive. People must have journeyed from all around the empire to see Shulgi come fully into his power. The energy in the air was spine-tingling.
Hundreds of cheering people crowded the group as they walked. Shulgi moved at the front with determination, but his natural stride was broken by having to wait for his elite guards to clear the way, so he set an easier pace. Siatum and her guard captain were behind him, followed by the three young heroes.
Kurzu recognized many of the faces in the crowd, including some of his fellow young Hunters, but he did not see his parents. They were leaders of the community, of course, so they would probably be waiting at the temple for the royal party to arrive. They’d certainly never expect to see their son at the king’s side.
They endured a long and noisy procession, during which Kurzu and Nira flanked Alduni for support. Nira waved with her good hand, hiding the other against Alduni’s back. Behind them now walked rows of Eriduan soldiers equipped with painted shields and shining swords.
Kurzu had never experienced anything like this. Colorful banners billowed from every window. Drums and horns sounded random joyful tones through the city.
Though the people cheered for the king, many eyes fell on Kurzu as well. More than once he thought he heard his name. He smiled and waved at everyone just in case. It felt like a dream.
At last they drew near to the ziggurat, music and cheering following them through the streets. Kurzu finally began to feel at home again as he saw the stairs of the monument.
As they approached, the crowd thinning as they moved, Shulgi paused and turned to his young companions. The whole royal company shuffled to a stop to match him. Siatum audibly scoffed at the interruption.
“I need some time to prepare,” Shulgi said. “You should visit your families. I’m sure they would love to see you. The rites will be performed at the ziggurat steps, so head there when you hear the horns. Enjoy your time at home.”
The three thanked their friend and took their leave, passing into the crowd together. Shulgi’s party continued to the ziggurat and began to climb.
When they had separated themselves from the gawking crowds, the three found their bearings and a shady corner in which to talk. The comfortable smell of baking bread wafted through the air.
“I thought I’d never see this place again,” Alduni mused, leaning against the wall, already sweating.
“I think we all felt that at some point,” Nira replied.
“It’s kind of strange… like it’s all different, but then it’s all the same,” Alduni continued.
“I know what you mean. The whole city almost seems smaller,” Kurzu added. “But the ziggurat is big as ever.”
Everyone looked away from each other, deep in thought, listening to the cheering crowds diminish.
Nira shuffled her feet, pointing herself east, toward her home in the outer rim of Eridu, on a small patch of farmland just north of the flood lakes.
“I should go see my father. He has no idea where I’ve been, and I can’t bear to make him suffer another second. He will be devastated when I tell him I’m going back to Urim… and when he sees my hand.”
“Me too,” Alduni sighed, looking down at the broken arm still slung to his chest. “My father will have something to say about this.”
“He’ll be proud of you. You helped save the king’s life, Alduni,” Kurzu said. “He was a warrior, right? He’ll understand.”
“I threw away my profession. No one is going to hire a blacksmith with a fragile arm, not even my own father. He takes too much pride in his work for that. The gods are laughing at me.”
Nira stepped forward and took Alduni’s good hand in her own.
“I don’t want to hear that from you. You can have a normal life. Your arm is still attached, isn’t it?”
She held her wrist in front of his face. Alduni kept his gaze within hers, but looked quickly.
“You’re not this bad off, are you?”
“No… no, you’re right. I’m sorry. You’re right,” Alduni conceded.
“That’s better. I’ll see you two later, okay?”
She drew Alduni into a careful hug, which he wasted no time in returning. She then waved Kurzu over, and he embraced her.
They held each other until Nira softened her grip, and they slowly pulled apart. His heart stung as his fingers parted from her skin, but there were no more words left to say.
Trumpets and drums sounded through the streets. The three young friends turned and went their separate ways. 
 
28

He could not overcome his fears, so he cut off what was fueling them.
Sumerian proverb

Nira finally reached her father’s small house on the edge of the city. The small chimney was smoking away merrily. Her father was home, as he always was. It smelled like he was cooking waterfowl with fennel and onions, her favorite meal.
Yamesh was a kind older man. He had married a younger woman in Nira’s mother, Arasilba, and she gave him Nira before passing from illness six years later. Since then, they had kept each other afloat in the frequent hard times.
She strode to the door of her house, peeking her head in. She watched her father cook over the fire for a few moments. He was humming and mumbling to himself as he added salt to the pot and stirred with a reed spoon.
“That smells delicious,” she grinned.
Yamesh looked up. He dropped his spoon.
“Nira! My little lamb!”
She ran to him, laughing, and gave him the biggest hug of her life.
“I’m so happy to see you!” She sang into his shoulder.
“I’ve been worried sick. Tell me where you’ve been! You’ve never been away this long.”
“I’ve… been through a lot. I’m sorry, Father.”
She held up her hand. It took everything in her to keep her eyes straight. Her father’s jaw dropped, and so did her heart.
“What… what happened? Who did this to you?”
“A Guti skirmisher. But King Shulgi saved me. Everyone did.”
Yamesh pulled his daughter into another hug and stroked her hair. Nira felt a tear run from her watering eyes. She had missed his comforting arms around her, and returning to him along with recounting her assault left her shaking.
“A Guti… I’m so sorry this happened to you, Nira. I’m so sorry.”
“I’ll be okay, don’t worry. I’m going to get beautiful false fingers to wear, so no one will look at me twice. Don’t worry.”
“I’m sure the boys look at you more than twice.”
“Father!” She laughed and playfully struck his chest, wiping the tears from her face.
He smirked at her. “I’m joking, of course. I’ll thrash any young pup who comes sniffing around your window. But the king, I knew it! They said three young Eriduans befriended the new king on the day of his ascension, and when you didn’t come home, I knew it was you.”
“Yes, it was me!”
“You’ve always been good at making friends.”
“I’m actually supposed to attend Shulgi’s purification rites today. Father… King Shulgi invited me to join his court in Urim, and I said yes. I said yes.”
Yamesh said nothing.
“But I wanted to tell you that he promised to send along a crew of workers to help out with the farm. And I’ll be coming home in a few weeks, as soon as my false fingers are ready, so you’ll barely even get a chance to miss me while I’m gone.”
“While you’re gone? No, no, I don’t need any crew of workers. I have you.”
“But-”
“You can do the work of five lazy contract men with their hands in the king’s coffers. No one knows this dirt better than us. No one.”
“Father, I know, but listen. Please just listen. I don’t want to leave you alone, so I asked for him to send someone here to help you. I’m sorry, Father, but I want this. I want to go and do important things.”
Yamesh took a moment to consider this. Nira’s heart raced as she watched his face.
“I’m going to miss you terribly. I already do. And I’ll worry about you every moment. But you’re much smarter than I am. Stronger, too, just like your mother. You can do anything. Arasilba would be so proud to see you standing here. Go on, do good things. Do important things. But never forget where your home is.”
“Thank you, Father. I love you.”
They hugged again. Nira gripped her father tightly and closed her eyes.
“I love you too, little lamb.”
*
Alduni walked toward his house with a smile. It felt good to be back in Eridu again. The upbeat attitude of the people around him was irresistible. Despite his damaged arm, he felt good.
The smell of burning charcoal and curing leather brought him back to reality. He remembered who he was going to see. No matter what his friends said, his father would be furious that his only son was going to have to give up his birthright. Jushur was known throughout the region as the best blacksmith in Eridu. The son of Jushur would be expected to carry his legacy forward.
His father’s shop was right next to the house. It was a room of half-walls with two chimneys and a low clay ceiling. The embers from the giant clay forge spit through the chimney at all hours, kept alive with hewn cedar logs imported from the mountains. It was within cedar that the gods dwelled, and its resin was the scent of divinity.
Jushur was a religious man. Each morning he added a cutting of juniper to his forge as a sacrifice to the gods. Each night he burned incense of cedar, juniper, cypress and tamarisk. Jushur aged his juniper berries and added them to his generous daily libations, praising the gods as he drank.
Alduni discovered his father exactly where he expected. Jushur was standing at the forge, focused on the flames. He stoked them with a marsh reed, which the flame was quickly consuming. Light reflected from the name of Ninagal, patron god of the forge, cast in shining bronze and displayed above the hearth.
Alduni was happy to see him, but terrified. He mustered himself and wiped the sweat from his brow.
“How has the forge been without me?”
Jushur turned and looked at his son. He dropped the charred reed and hurried to embrace him, but stopped when he saw Alduni’s heavily bandaged arm.
“Alduni, what happened? What happened to you?”
“My arm was broken in battle with the Guti. I fought at King Shulgi’s side. I’m sorry, I don’t think I’ll be much of a blacksmith now. I’m so sorry, Father.”
Jushur gasped, and was silent for a moment. Alduni’s stomach was boiling over with anxiety as he watched his father’s stern face analyzing him.
“You fought for the king. And you won the battle. Well done, Alduni. I knew I raised you to be strong.”
Alduni exhaled and broke into a smile, eyes welling. “The rotten bastard caught me by surprise, but I got him back.”
“Good on you, boy! By the gods, I bet that son of a bitch was sorry he ever crossed your path.”
His eyes flashed as he thought of the arrow popping through his enemy’s neck, and the way the body had twitched on top of him. He thought of the way The Wanderer’s hair had felt in his hand as he gripped his prized knife and pulled it across his throat. He wondered what went through the man’s mind as he bled out onto the sand. He began to feel faint again.
“Father, I don’t… I don’t feel good.”
Alduni felt his knees grow weak. He stumbled forward, and his father caught him. His slung arm screamed at him as his father’s stone grip held his shoulders. His heart thumped in his ears.
“Alduni, what’s the matter? When did you eat last?”
Alduni’s chest grew heavy, and it became difficult to breathe. His vision began to whiten. His bad arm was numb.
“I don’t remember. My arm … I need medicine.”
“Come on, let’s go. Gods help us. Protect my only son.”
Jushur lifted his son and carried him down the street toward the nearest healer, praying under his breath. Alduni pried open a blurring eye to watch his old, familiar street slide past him. 
 
29

Like a mountain mined for metals, this man is not in a right state of mind.
Sumerian proverb

Kurzu continued down the road to his house, passing the intimidating soldiers guarding the ziggurat steps. Normally the way was open to the public, but the king’s presence called for increased security.
Eridu was making its final preparations for the purification rites. Dozens of slaves climbed the steps carrying jugs of beer and bowls of fruit and meat. All at once Kurzu realized how hungry he was.
Truly alone for the first time in days, he reflected on all that had transpired since he snuck away on that starless night. The trials of the Hunt, his feelings for Nira, the continuing pain in his broken nose, his newfound friend in King Shulgi, the Guti blood on his hands - all of it swirled together in his mind. His gut churned as if he was falling from a great height.
His house looked darker than usual. As it stood in the shadow of the massive ziggurat, Ruut and Enshanesha always had a handful of lamps burning in various corners of the house, emitting a welcoming glow into the street at all hours. But today, there was no light.
As he approached, an older priestess exited the house carrying a bowl and some rags. Visitors were a common sight, but the woman’s solemn expression set Kurzu on edge.
No sooner had he reached the door than Ruut burst from out of the shadowy doorway and embraced him. Kurzu was tense from surprise, but slowly relaxed in his father’s arms.
“Kurzu! Where have you been?! Your mother… your mother and I were worried sick.”
Ruut finally released his son from his grasp, but kept hands on his shoulders.
“What happened to your face? Are you okay?”
The genuine concern on his father’s face made Kurzu smile despite the storm of emotions inside him.
“It’s good to see you again, Father. I’m okay, we’re all okay,” he grinned wistfully. “This week has been one trial after another. We were on the Great Hunt, but then we… “
He remembered his promise to Shulgi that he would keep the true circumstances of their meeting a secret.
“By the whim of the gods, we encountered King Shulgi in the bush, and we decided to join him in his search for the ones who killed King Urnammu. We found them, and we ended up fighting them. Nira, she lost a hand. Alduni’s arm was broken, and they smashed my nose, as you can see. But we won, we survived, and Shulgi invited us to join his royal court in Urim. Father, I said I would go.”
Ruut took a few moments to process this, searching his son’s eyes. He continued to grip Kurzu’s shoulders.
“You’ve been through so much, and still you made it back to us. That’s amazing, truly. I’m immensely proud of you. Listen, you need to come in and see your mother. She had an accident, but she’s okay. She’s going to be okay.”
“Kurzu, is that really you?” Enshanesha’s voice cracked as she spoke, calling from the dark house.
“Yes, Mother, it’s me!” Kurzu broke into a grin and rushed into the house, relieved beyond measure to hear her voice. Ruut followed him inside.
The only light in the house shone through tiny windows, casting dusty sun rays through the building. Enshanesha broke down sobbing the second she saw her son’s face. Her left eye and forehead were bandaged heavily.
“Oh, thank the gods! My beautiful boy…! Thank the gods! I thought they had taken everything from me. I thought…” Enshanesha fell into incoherence. She staggered forward, her steps hampered by emotion.
“I’m here now, it’s okay. I’m safe, Mother. Everything is okay. What happened to your eye?”
She wiped her tears on her sleeve, sniffling.
“You had me terrified! Where have you been? And your face, what did they do to you?”
“It’s a long story, but we met King Shulgi and I’ve been invited to join his court at Urim. I got into a fight, but I’m okay. What happened to you, though?”
“I think you mean King Urnammu.”
“No, King Urnammu is dead. Shulgi’s purification rites are today, remember? He is the king.”
“Oh… right, yes, yes, I did hear that. I know that.”
“Mother, what happened to you? How are you feeling?”
“Oh, it’s not as bad as it looks. I guess I fell last night and hit my head. Have you seen the girl?”
Kurzu looked at her, confused. “What do you mean, which girl? Nira? If you fell and hit your head, you should be lying down. Come on, I’ll help you.”
“No, not Nira. You know, that girl. The one who has been staying here.” Enshanesha doubled over for a moment, dry heaving, nearly losing her balance. Kurzu grabbed her back and steadied her.
“Mother!”
Ruut stepped forward and took his wife’s hand.
“I think you should get some rest, darling.”
“Where’s the girl, did she come home yet?”
Kurzu took Enshanesha’s shoulder and turned to his father, horrified. “What is she talking about?”
Ruut nodded, saying “Don’t worry, she’s just talking about Qesma. Hopefully you will get to meet her later, but listen…”
“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here!” Enshanesha suddenly shouted, but the effort seemed to exhaust her. She doubled over again with a groan, gripping her knees and coughing.
“That’s what it is. Qesma.” She cleared her throat and spat something out. “Qesma. Such a sweet girl. Where is she?”
“Come on, let’s go lie down. You’ll feel better after you sleep a little bit.” Ruut guided his wife to the stairs. She had some difficulty getting started, so Ruut simply swept her up in his arms and carried her upstairs.
“You haven’t carried me like this in years,” she cooed as they ascended. “Not since I was just Shanesha.”
Kurzu stood there confused and worried, wandering to the stairs and looking up into the darkness. He heard Ruut tuck her into bed before saying something he couldn’t make out and walking back down the steps.
“Father, what is going on?” Kurzu asked as soon as his father had rejoined him. “Something is wrong with her.”
“She’s been this way since this morning. I heard her and Qesma shouting last night, and when I came down to see what was wrong, I found her just outside on the ground, and Qesma was gone. I carried her in here and patched her wounds. She doesn’t seem to remember what happened.”
“Who is Qesma?”
“She’s a girl we took in after her shop in Urim was looted. We got her a job in the temple treasury. She has been a good friend, but now she’s disappeared. I’m worried about her, to be honest.”
From upstairs, Enshanesha fell into a loud coughing fit. A sound like something delicate being thrown across the room pierced the stagnant air, echoing down the stairwell. Ruut and Kurzu froze for a moment, listening.
“Why did the gods let this happen?” Kurzu crossed his arms and paced. “Shulgi’s rites are happening today. There’s no way she’s going to be ready. I told Shulgi she would be there to support his kingship.”
“Well, you’re right, she isn’t going to be ready. But you’ve got the ear of the king now, don’t you? You can be there on her behalf. I need to stay here and keep an eye on her.”
A chorus of horns sang out across the city, signifying that Shulgi was ready to perform the ritual. It was sooner than he expected. Kurzu sighed.
Another shattering sound from upstairs, and a frustrated Enshanesha shouted “Stop the horns! My head, please stop!”
“You’d better get going, son. We’ll be here when you get back.” Ruut gave his son another hug.
The boy looked up at the ceiling, his heart sinking as he listened to his mother thrash in her bed.
“Let me know if you hear anything. I love you both.”
Kurzu walked back toward the door, but detoured to the cloth-covered bowl of barley bread resting on the counter. He grabbed a hunk of bread, opened the ghee jar, and dipped the bread into it. Some crumbs were left in the ghee. He stared at the bread as he stepped back into the light, taking a distracted bite as his gaze turned to the ziggurat.
Among the maze of people who now filled the streets, Kurzu saw a disoriented young girl emerge from a small alleyway just down the street. She seemed to be drunk, or perhaps extremely tired, as she wore a look of constant bewilderment and shuffled around absently. Despite her weathered appearance, her dress was of high quality and her hair was elaborately styled. She lost her step and fell against a building, grasping at the wall as she slid to the ground. 
 
30

The course of its ritual was changed. The order was destroyed. Its cult was annihilated. You should not change the course of its rituals! You should not destroy the order! You should not annihilate its cult!
Sumerian proverb

As the horns continued to sound from the top of the ziggurat, Qesma gripped her ears and hid her sunblind eyes between her knees. She had never had such an awful, throbbing headache in her life.
Nightmares had plagued her all through the night. When Qesma awoke in that strange, windowless room, the old woman was nowhere to be found. The front door had been left unlocked. After such an encounter, Qesma considered herself extremely fortunate to still be standing, if not literally, as she sat in the narrow shadow of some building. Her head and her gut were filled with rocks.
Crowds of people hurried past her, none giving her a second look. To them, she was one more wretched soul on the street, too lost in her own mind to recognize the momentous occasion happening around her. They could not mend her sorrows, and to try would only ruin their own excitement. In this moment she hated each and every one of them.
Finally, the piercing horns fell silent. Qesma heard footsteps. She looked up to see a well-dressed young man had approached her.
“Are you all right?” He asked, bending down with a look of concern. He appeared to have a broken nose.
“Yes… yes, I’ll be fine. I just had a very, very long night. What about you?”
She gestured weakly to her nose and mustered a grin.
“I’ll survive.”
“This whole week has been a nightmare.”
“You can say that again,” he groaned. “Hey, do you want this bread? I’m not that hungry.”
Qesma took one look at the bread and gagged.
“Gods alive! Here, let me help you up.” The young man threw away his bread and reached under Qesma’s shoulders. She let herself be lifted to her feet, and braced herself against him.
He smelled nice. She found him to be quite handsome when their eyes met, even with a broken nose.
“Not a fan of bread?” He smirked, arms firm beneath hers.
“I’m sorry,” she sighed, her eyes closed in the bright sunlight. The rocks in her head were rattling. “I drank something last night and I didn’t really sleep. Do you know where I can find some water?”
“There’s fresh water flowing at the purification rituals. They’re happening right now. Come on, I’ll help you.”
“You better be real. I can’t take any more of that.”
“Don’t worry,” he laughed, “I’m real. So are you, if you were wondering.”
“I was hoping I wasn’t, actually.”
Together they stumbled toward the growing mass of people gathered at the ziggurat steps. As they approached the crowd, the boy led her off to the side. They stood in the shade, where an older enslaved man was dutifully operating a turnstile mechanism that kept the large trough of drinking water churning.
The boy pointed Qesma to a stack of clay bowls and said “There, grab one and drink your fill. I have to go. Take care of yourself, all right?”
Qesma nodded as the boy walked away, but kept her eyes on the old man. She filled her bowl and handed it to him. He gripped it firmly with both hands and drank, closing his eyes.
Qesma grabbed another bowl and filled it for herself, then did as he had done and downed the entire thing.
As she found her way into the gathering crowd, pieces of her psychedelic nightmare still bounced around in her mind. Her eyes burned in the bright sunlight, so she let them close for a few blessed moments.
The faces of her dream filled her vision. Their smiles were full of love, but their eyes had all turned to black. Enshanesha’s eyes, too, had turned to black. To look into them felt like looking down from a great height.
She opened her eyes in a panic to find the crowd had paid her no mind, and instead were focused on the temple above. They awaited the descent of their king.
Qesma noticed some familiar faces on the steps, but not the one she was expecting. Not the beautiful face she was hoping to see.
She spotted the kind boy with the broken nose in a prominent place on the steps. He kept looking around and whispering to the girl standing beside him.
And there, in prominent position, was Dilani. The old woman seemed in high spirits, and with no sign of the sickness that still pained Qesma. She wore her silver hair in the style of the high priestesses, and her dress matched that of Eridu’s leaders.
Qesma glared, but Dilani did not see her.
She still saw no sign of Enshanesha, and her heart sank.
At last, the horns sounded a short fanfare, and Shulgi emerged from the temple. The king led a procession of important priests and priestesses down the steps, followed by a few elite guards, another priestess with an awkward gait, and the queen mother, Siatum.
If Siatum saw her, she was dead. She did not want to wait for the queen mother to pick her out of the crowd, but they were deepening around her, all pressing toward the front to get a better view.
Shulgi waved to everyone as he reached the balcony, then held his hands up to quiet the gathering throng.
“My friends, thank you for coming! Welcome to my purification rites. This should be a day for celebration, but sadly it is a day of unthinkable sorrow. Later today, we will perform the funeral rites for the fallen king of the world, my father, Urnammu, the great shepherd. And yet, as we speak, the combined armies of all my kingdoms march north. They march for blood, and they march for justice!”
The crowd cheered.
“Before we begin, I want to thank my new friends, three brave Eriduans who fought at my side to avenge my father. You may recognize them as your friends, your kin. They are now my friends, my kin, as are you all.”
He gestured to the two nervous kids in noble dress as the crowd applauded generously.
“Today, I will make a covenant with the gods, and they will grant me their full blessing, speaking through my mouth and acting through my hands. Today, in the place chosen by the mouths of the two sisters, Euphrates and Tigris, in the place where the holy canals were first dug, I will be purified with the sacraments of Enki.”
Everyone cheered and clapped. Qesma made up her mind to get away before she was spotted. She pushed through the people around her, trying to navigate back toward Enshanesha and Ruut’s house - what might have been her house. But the crowd was simply too thick to penetrate. Qesma hid behind a tall man and tried to look inconspicuous. She forced herself to cheer and clap with the rest of them.
Shulgi held up his hands again. “And now, Eridu’s foremost seer and priestess, Dilani, will begin the rites.”
It was Dilani’s turn to speak. She shuffled to Shulgi’s side as the other officials stood behind him and watched with reverence.
“In Eridu, the mulberry in a pure place has grown; its light of fresh lazurite above the abyss is overstretched, the root of which is the Underground world…!”
Dilani pushed her open hand toward the sky, looking up through her fingers. Some of the people in the crowd mimicked the gesture.
“Pure waters, waters of Tigris rising, waters of Euphrates that in a pure place are created, waters that from the abyss are carefully brought up, pure lips of Enki have cleared. Sons of the abyss - seven they are - have consecrated water, have cleared water, have forced water to shine. Before your father, Enki, before your mother, Namma, let it be pure, let it be clean, let it be shining!”
She waved her hand, and two nude slaves carried up a tall, thin clay jug filled with water. A procession of more slaves followed bearing bowls of ingredients. A group of exorcists stood off to the side, chanting incantations under their breath.
As Dilani announced each part of the spell, Shulgi grabbed a bit from each bowl and added it to the jug.
“Tamarisk… soapwort… young date palm…”
Qesma hid herself behind her tall shield of a man as the queen mother’s gaze swept the crowd.
“Shalalu reed… horned alkali salt, which rinses the mouths of the gods…”
Surely she wouldn’t be recognized in her new clothes? But it was not a thing worth testing.
“Shavings of cedar… shavings of cypress… leaves of juniper…”
Siatum lingered on the section of the crowd Qesma occupied. Qesma cowered.
“Terebinth… white cedar oil… red cedar oil… oil of a nikiptu plant…”
Qesma poked her head out. Siatum met her eyes. Her heart froze.
“White syrup… pure cow-fat… gold…”
This was the moment she had been dreading. Why did the rituals have to be done in Eridu, of all places?
“Silver… quartz … serpentine…”
The queen mother looked away. Perhaps she had not seen Qesma?
“Black-banded agate… carnelian… lapis-lazuli.”
Dilani took up a long rod and began to stir the jug. The stones gently clinked against the bottom.
“Now the king will thrice recite the spell to consecrate this water and inaugurate his holy covenant with the gods.”
There was some applause. Shulgi held his hands over the jug and closed his eyes.
The crowd fell silent, and Qesma realized how hard she was breathing. She held a hand over her mouth and crouched behind the man, trying not to hyperventilate. Her hands grew numb as she felt the water stirring up her insides.
Shulgi plunged his hands into the water and anointed himself on the forehead. He rinsed his hands in another water basin that had been set aside, and held them aloft for the crowd, his every movement dripping with theatrical gravity.
“Let it be pure as the abyss, let it be clean as the Earth, let it be shining as the Middle of Heaven!”
Again, he dipped his hands into the jug, drew the water upon his forehead, and rinsed them.
Qesma couldn’t help herself. She looked up. Siatum was watching the king. She ducked back down. Her stomach churned again.
“Let it be pure as the abyss, let it be clean as the Earth, let it be shining as the Middle of Heaven!”
She couldn’t hold it any longer. She tried in vain to run through the tightly packed crowd, but it was too late.
Qesma dropped to her knees. Tar-black vomit sprayed from her mouth, splashing the feet of her tightly packed neighbors. They all immediately recoiled in disgust. It burned her sinuses.
One man was particularly offended. “You stupid girl!” He yelled. “You are disgusting! Get away from me!”
The whole ordeal was close enough to the front that it drew the attention of the officials on the steps, including all the attending holy ones, and Shulgi himself, who paused his sacrament. And Siatum. Qesma would have thrown up again if she had anything left in her stomach.
The priests and priestesses began shouting at the distracted crowd.
“Be quiet and show respect for the gods!”
“Stop interrupting the rites!”
“Someone get her a bucket,” Shulgi exclaimed. The crowd burst into laughter. The holy ones were horrified.
She looked up through teary eyes to see her fear had come true, and it was all her fault.
Siatum was looking at the sick girl hunched over, making a scene, and she began to laugh hysterically. Anyone who wasn’t laughing before must have started now, because it was all Qesma could hear. She wanted to disappear. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if Siatum killed her, she thought.
Qesma saw a grinning man actually carrying a bucket toward her, and that was the last straw. Now that everyone’s attention was on her, and because no one wanted to touch her, she was able to cut a path through the jeering crowd. She kept her eyes on her own feet, counting the seconds until she was alone again.
As she finally broke free, face burning with shame, she heard Shulgi’s voice echo out over their heads.
“Let it be pure as the abyss, let it be clean as the Earth, let it be shining as the Middle of Heaven…!” 
 
31

A fox trod on the hoof of a wild bull: "It didn't hurt?"
Sumerian proverb

Two well-clothed men strolled together through the fringes of the king’s audience. They wore dark, draping vestments of the highest quality, emblazed with the blue lion crests of their house.
“There are too many dogs around. We won’t be able to get close to the pup,” one of them whispered. He bore a wispy, untamed beard and eyes weary with anger.
“Stop worrying. The bitch is too self-absorbed to notice, and far too arrogant to suspect.” This other man was bald and shaved, with eyes that darted between every face in the crowd.
“Threaten our little sister? Threaten her unborn child? Seize our family’s wealth? There will be consequences. I’ll gut Siatum myself,” promised the wild brother. “Slow.”
“Have you no sense of discretion? Gods alive!” whispered the other.
They were within earshot of a group of royal guards, but none of them took notice.
A distressed young girl suddenly tore across their path, her hands over her mouth. Drops of black marked her footsteps. A determined guard was moments behind her, cutting roughly between the two men.
“What in Arali was that about?” the wild one asked. “That ugly dog needs to be taught some respect.”
“Let it go. We are only going to have one chance to do this. Focus, Igaru.”
“Nobody shoves me and walks away. No wonder his girl runs from him.”
“I said focus! Why don’t you listen?”
“Don’t talk to me like I’m an idiot, Gassu. You always do that.”
Gassu took his thin nose between his fingers and sighed, impatient.
“Okay, fine,” he said. “You are not an idiot. But take a moment and listen to me. This is far too sensitive to discuss in the open. Just hold your tongue and don’t be foolish.”
“Your will, my hands, o king,” Igaru smirked at his brother.
“Ass. This way.”
They climbed a ladder to the top of a tall granary house overlooking the square near the ziggurat. It provided an excellent view of the spectacle, placing them just above the king’s step. The people crowded in below, every eye on the colorful king. Guards, too, kept their eyes focused on the king, determined to protect him from any approaching threat. Not that any would dare to try.
From a handsome leather case draped over his back, Igaru withdrew a longbow and quiver. The longbow bore the insignia of the Urim royal guard. He took one arrow, tipped with blackstone, and handed it to his brother.
Gassu sat with his back to the wall and removed a small glass vial from his satchel. He uncorked the vial and carefully let three drops of liquid coat the arrowhead. He sat up and handed the arrow back to Igaru.
Igaru exhaled and notched the toxic arrow, taking great care to not touch the tip. A skilled marksman, he dropped to one knee and steadied his bow against the roof wall. With the king in his sights, he slowly drew the arrow back.
“Wait!” Gassu barked. “Those guards are facing our direction. Wait until they turn back to the king or they’ll see where the arrow came from.”
“No, I have the shot. I’m taking it.”
“They will kill us, you fool!”
“I’m not about to let these mongrels steal the kingship again. It belongs to our family, our city.”
“If we die today and he lives, all of this is for nothing. Wait.”
Igaru sighed and let his bow arm loosen.
“You’re probably right,” he said. “I’ll wait.”
Shulgi’s resonant voice carried on the wind as he held his arms aloft and addressed the throng at his feet.
“The pure, flowing water of this holy place, the cosmic waters of Enki, has been consecrated. The gods are pleased. I, Shulgi, am elevated by the gods! I am the ruler of the four corners of the universe!”
“Gods, I hate his voice,” Igaru grunted, pretending to draw his bow with one finger. “I want to kill him now.”
Gassu looked over the edge.
“In fact, all the guards are facing him. Now is our chance. Aim true and be ready to move.”
Igaru grinned and took aim in earnest, his bow creaking with furious tension.
Shulgi was slowly descending the steps now, arms still outstretched to the people. He wore the bejeweled golden crown that once belonged to his father.
“You smug little shit. For Bareshba.”
Igaru loosed his fingers. The arrow flew.
The speeding arrow shot past the king’s left ear, shattering against the ancient stair.
“No!” Gassu growled.
“What was that?” Shulgi demanded, gripping his ear.
“I think it sliced him. That might be enough,” Igaru said.
Igaru quickly pulled the quiver and bag from his shoulder, dropped in his bow, and joined his brother in descending the ladder. He left the bow bag on the roof beneath a pile of clothes.
The crowd grew restless as the first stage of a public panic set in. A handful of guards rushed to protect the king, but he pushed them aside.
Once again he held his arms aloft, but spoke now with anger in his voice. Beads of blood dripped from his earlobe.
“Where is the vile coward who loosed an arrow at his king?”
The crowd began to shift with nervous energy. Everyone’s heads spun, trying to locate anyone suspicious. Dozens of soldiers swarmed through the people.
“Listen to me, friend and foe alike! And listen well if you value your lives! I am the hand of the gods! I am the lightning and the thunder! All who would oppose me shall break as waves against the stone!”
The brothers swiftly made their way back into the crowd, anonymous once again, insincerely clapping with the rest of them.
“While my guards locate the snake, all of you will join me at the river. Together we shall see my father’s soul to Arali with respect and love worthy of the Shepherd of Sumer. But then, my festival of ascension shall begin! Six days and six nights of feasting, dancing, and entertainment for all! Honor me, King Shulgi, and honor the gods!”
The people cheered as Enthiavasa rushed to Shulgi’s side and applied an ointment to his ear, whispering something as she did so. He smiled. 
32

He snatches things like a pig, as if for himself, but also for his owner.
Sumerian proverb

All the people in the city were attending the coronation, leaving Qesma alone in the decorated streets. She soon found herself in a secluded private garden. She located a polished stone bench beneath festive torchlight. Tears threatened, but she hardened herself.
She sat and stared at the weedy sand between her feet. Her hair was once again a tangled mess, a far cry from the fine braiding Enshanesha had done for her. Dirt and other horrors stained her beautiful dress.
Her insides were finally settling, though her head was still heavy. A faint memory surfaced, as a forgotten relic rises from the murky seabed. She had known this strange feeling before.
Qesma suffered from stomach ulcers as a child. A talented sunu treated her with a tincture of henbane and apemum, the root of the demon. It healed her disease, but the medicine put her in a fog and made her nauseous for hours. Then, too, she saw visions of her loved ones as she slept. They taught her fleeting secrets in that surreal, gnoscient way only dreams allow. And her sick was black.
But her visions of a tower, those were new.
How irresponsible of Dilani to feed her such a concoction! And then to leave her alone, sick and confused. For a woman of high standing, such behavior was ill-fitting.
She heard one of the small public aqueducts somewhere overhead. The gentle bubbling was comforting and tranquil.
Qesma laid her head down on her arms, stretched out on the bench, and tried to find some peace.
The distant sounds of the crowd soon merged into the sound of the water, punctuated by Qesma’s breath. Slowly her body grew numb with rest.
“Found you.”
It was a deep voice, one she knew. A voice always filtered through a grim smile. She opened her eyes.
Ezerudu stood over her. She scrambled to her feet, but he caught her shoulder with a quick hand. She froze. Her brain screamed to run, but his grip was firm and his eyes were dead.
“I didn’t tell anyone, I swear! I didn’t say anything!”
He pushed down on her shoulder, digging his fingers into her muscles. She winced as he forced her back down to the bench.
“Let go of me,” Qesma said.
He didn’t let go.
“Let go of me!” She demanded.
Ezerudu quickly reached his other hand up to her lips and painfully pinched them shut.
“Don’t talk,” he said, finding her eyes with his, though she fought to look anywhere else.
Her eyes lingered at the dagger on his waist.
He laughed and released her face, dropping his palm over the hilt. He squeezed her shoulder harder, making her cry out.
“Don’t worry, that comes soon enough.”
This can’t be the end, she thought. Not like this. Not yet.
Her eyes welled up. She thought of Shakhet and started to struggle. There was no way she could die right now.
“No. Get away! Help!”
His strong hand cracked across her cheek. It stung terribly.
“I said don’t talk.”
“Please… please no. Don’t do this. Please!”
He struck her face again, harder this time.
“One more word and I’ll cut out your tongue. In fact…”
He grabbed Qesma’s hair and pulled the sharp knife from its scabbard.
“Open your mouth.”
“No, no… no!”
She frantically pushed him and hit him, but he was strong.
“That was three,” he said.
He jammed his fingers into her mouth to pry her jaw apart like a dog. She had never felt so degraded, and that was a lot to say for a slave girl. She could taste his fingers. She gagged.
She felt her mind escaping already, trying to cope. This can’t be real, she thought.
But it was. She had to fight. Now.
Qesma bit down as hard as she could. She felt a sickening crunch echo through her head. Ezerudu screamed.
She spat two bloody fingertips into the dust and wiped her mouth.
“I told you to fucking let go!”
Ezerudu staggered, but gripped his knife and sliced at her face. She held up her forearm and absorbed the cut, screaming out in pain.
“You bitch! You’re already dead!”
Furious and terrified, Qesma shot to her feet and sprinted into the night. Ezerudu was right behind her.
She only made it a few steps before he tackled her into a wall and pinned her there. He grabbed her hair and smashed her face into the wall, stunning her. It hurt so much, but she had to keep her wits about her. There was no time for pain.
Qesma’s ears were ringing. She couldn’t make out what he spat into her ear as he gripped her hair with his injured hand, his blood dripping down her face. She heard the tink of his knife against the claybrick wall as he pulled her head back.
She pushed back with everything she had, but felt her muscles fading with effort. She had failed, and this was her fate.
She closed her eyes.
“Die, you sick fuck! You sick fuck!” A girl’s voice.
An ugly spurting sound.
Ezerudu’s grip went limp. He collapsed into the dirt, nearly dragging Qesma down with him.
Qesma saw a wisp of a teenager standing before her, the girl’s eyes welling with intensity. She wore a white one-shoulder dress much like that of the queen mother, but it was marred with blood. The girls stared at each other.
Qesma glanced at her foe, now prostrate on the ground, and saw the knife handle protruding from the back of his head. Dark red blood was pooling. She screamed in fury and delivered a swift kick to the fallen beast’s head, driving the dagger in deeper. She stumbled a few steps away and tried to draw a deep breath.
“Are you okay?” The girl asked, her voice tense.
“I don’t know… yes. Yes, thank you. Who are you?” As the words left her mouth, she recognized the girl. “I saw you at the ziggurat, with the king.”
“Yes, that was me. I’m Nira. We saw you in the crowd. It was hard not to.” Nira forced a tiny grin, but it faded.
“How did you find me?” Qesma spat blood into the dust. She wasn’t sure whose it was.
“Kurzu recognized you. We thought you might need help. He had to go check on our friend, Alduni, so I followed you. For a minute I lost track, but I heard… screaming.”
The girl looked down at her own red fingers. She was missing her right hand.
“You were cut. Is it deep?” Nira gestured to Qesma’s arm.
“…No, I’ll be okay, I think. I’ll look at it later.”
The girls stood silent for a few moments.
“Let’s go,” Nira decided. Qesma followed.
“Wait. Did you say Kurzu?” 
 
33

Be not hostile to the weakling, do not cry for the strong one.
Sumerian proverb

The weight of the khopesh made running awkward, so Kurzu pulled the strap over his shoulder. He imagined the worst.
When he reached the home of the old healing priest, Kurzu rushed through the door. Alduni was being treated in the front room, lying down on a soft bed of wool. The azu was gently bending Alduni’s damaged elbow by degrees until the boy, now conscious again, protested. Jushur was silent in the corner, arms folded, eyes locked on his son.
“Alduni! Are you okay?” Kurzu asked.
“I am determining that now. Sit down, rude boy,” the healer said.
Kurzu sat and watched the old man work. The azu’s hands were steady.
“Bend your fingers for me, one at a time. Now, try to crush my hand with yours. You can’t hurt me, I assure you.”
Kurzu’s view was obstructed, but the healer was not impressed by whatever he saw.
“Hmm. Rude boy, go to my desk. Bring me the hand-length bronze tool in the upper right corner.”
The tool looked much like a short metal arrow. The azu grabbed the tool from Kurzu and applied it to Alduni’s arm in a few spots, measuring the boy’s reaction.
“How did this damage come to be?”
“I… was in combat.”
“Ah, another young soldier. My boy, I am afraid you have been struck by the hand of a ghost. Since you sit here before me, drawing breath, I must conclude the ghost of the one who dealt you this injury is the cause of your suffering.”
The healer replaced the tool on the counter, shaking his head and whispering a short incantation.
“What can I do?” Alduni asked evenly.
“A ghost of vengeance cannot be appeased, except by your death, which we shall try to avoid. No mortal can undo this. But through the gods, all things are possible. Make sacrifices of grain and flesh to Bau, the great healer. Ask that she spare you the wrath of this ghost and restore your arm. Rest, prayer, and sacrifice.”
“So I won’t ever be…” Alduni trailed off.
“Are you listening? Rest, prayer, and sacrifice. For three months, you must daily wash the skin of the arm with oil of the cedar while chanting the words ‘cleanse me of evil, o holy goddess Bau.’ Also, you must imbibe two drops of quicksilver each week. And eat of the onion root as often as you can. I am sorry to say there is no quick relief to this numbness. But, with the grace of Bau, you may yet overcome. Do you understand?”
“…Yes.” Alduni stared at the floor.
Jushur spoke up. “It will be done. I will make sure. Thank you for your help.”
“Now, then, on your feet and out of my house. I have much to do. And you, rude boy, ought to come see me about that nose.”
Alduni walked out on his own, with Kurzu at his side.
 Jushur followed the boys back out into the street after paying the azu for his services.
“Alduni,” he called, jogging to catch up. “I’ve heard about your friendship with the king. I know you have to go. Take care of yourself. Don’t make me carry you again.”
“Yes, Father,” Alduni answered. “I promise.”
The boys left Jushur and made their way down the street, passing a growing crowd of people who were flowing down to the river.
“What happened to you back there? You missed the rites,” Kurzu said at last.
“I can’t feel my fingers. I can barely move them… What were the rites like?”
“A disaster,” Kurzu chuckled. Alduni smiled. “Right in the midst of the ceremony, Shulgi was interrupted by this poor girl getting sick in the crowd. Oddly enough, I had met her just before that. She is a sweet girl. Nira went to check on her. What about you? Are you okay?”
“I suppose,” Alduni said. “Still standing. That’s good enough after everything we’ve seen.”
“Never doubt it,” Kurzu said, patting his friend’s good shoulder. “I told Nira we’d meet at my house. Are you up for it?”
“You don’t have to ask,” Alduni said, taking the lead with a bit of a huff.
When the boys reached Kurzu’s house, they found Nira waiting as promised. She was standing with none other than the sick girl Kurzu had met earlier. The girl met his gaze and gave him a strange look.
“You found him! Alduni, are you okay?” Nira asked, running up to them.
“I’m okay,” Alduni replied. “Don’t worry about it.”
“The boy with the broken nose. You must be Kurzu,” the girl said, approaching him with that strange look still on her face. “Thank you for helping me earlier today. It seems kindness runs in your family.”
Suddenly, it all made sense.
“And you must be Qesma. It’s good to meet you, again,” he said with a grin.
“You too.”
“Are you feeling better?”
Qesma drew a deep breath. “Yes, I’m going to be okay. Nira helped me a lot, and so did you. You all have been so amazing to me.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Alduni said. “I’m Alduni, by the way.”
“Yes! I’m sorry. Qesma. It’s good to meet you.”
“Qesma, do you know what happened to my mother?” Kurzu asked. “We’ve been trying to figure it out because she doesn’t remember. It seems like she tripped, but we don’t know for sure.”
“We were all just talking about that. I’m so sorry but I don’t know, I had left the house for the night before it happened. I actually met a bizarre old woman. I spent the night talking with her, and she gave me a strange drink… that’s why I was sick today. But I have no idea what happened to Enshanesha. She’s sleeping now. Ruut asked us to stay out here, so as not to disturb her. I didn’t even get to see her. I’m sorry, Kurzu.”
“It’s okay, thank you. How did you meet my parents, anyway?”
“I met your father up at the temple. It’s a long story. I owe you, so I promise I’ll tell you the whole of it later.”
“Fair enough.”
“By the way, what happened to your nose? I never got to ask.”
“It’s a long story…” he led her.
“Okay, I get it. Later, the whole of it.”
A royal guard with long hair approached and addressed the group. “The king has requested you three join him at the riverside. Due to the attempt on his life, I will escort you.”
“Attempt on his life? What happened?”
“An arrow was loosed at the king following the sacred rites. We are already pursuing leads, and security is heightened.”
“Gods alive! Is he okay?” Nira asked.
“The king is in good health, thank the gods. We will be watching him at all times, so you have nothing to worry about. Now, let’s go.”
“Are you coming, Qesma?” Kurzu asked. “I’m ready for a good meal and a warm fire.”
“Today has already been far too long for my taste. I don’t need any flying arrows to worry about. I’m going to find a bed.”
“I know how that feels,” Kurzu smiled. “Are you sure you don’t want to join us? We would love to have you.”
“Thank you, Kurzu,” she smiled back. “You know, I think I will join you. But just for a little while.”
Before departing with the others, Kurzu stepped inside the house. He approached his father’s shrine, drew the khopesh, and replaced it on the wall. 
 
34

Don’t choose a wife during a festival!
Sumerian proverb

The brilliant sunset stretched out over Euphrates.
Hundreds of workers, mostly slaves, had somehow set up a massive festival over the course of the day, complete with food stands, music, and games. The smell of roasting meat and vegetables carried on the breath of the river. Thousands of voices and sounds melded together, the sounds of life. Qesma was already glad she had decided to attend.
Kurzu, Alduni, and Nira had been entertaining the questions of their young friends, many of whom they hadn’t seen since the Great Hunt began. Qesma stood quietly to the side, listening and learning about her new friends. After a while, Kurzu managed to slip away, and Qesma joined him.
Perhaps it was dangerous for her to be here. In accordance with her generally rotten luck, her new companions seemed to be not just prominent, but friends of the king. If he or his mother should see her, they would surely recognize her, and her fate would be sealed.
But in this moment, the risk was worth it. She was a natural talent with every carnival game, and it wasn’t long before she seemed to develop a notorious reputation among the gamemasters. She felt like a real person again.
Qesma and Kurzu were strolling through a torchlit aisle of food vendors leading down to the water. “I haven’t been to a festival like this in years,” Qesma said, her eyes aglow with fire.
“Me either. Until recently, I’ve never seen royalty in person, either. This has been a very unusual month.”
“That’s one way to say it.”
“You have an interesting accent,” Kurzu noted. “Where are you from? If I may ask.”
“I was born in Waset, in Kemet. My family moved here when I was thirteen.”
“Where is your family?”
She said nothing, and Kurzu understood.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she said.
“…I grew up here, in Eridu, but I wasn’t born here. I actually don’t know where I’m from. My birth parents died when I was a baby. Ruut and Enshanesha are my parents now, and I love them, but… sometimes I wonder about who they were, what they looked like. I don’t remember anything.”
“I’m sorry, Kurzu.”
“It’s okay. Oh, have you ever tried mersu?” His awkward yet sincere segue made her laugh.
“Mersu? No, I’ve never even heard of it.”
“This way, you’ve got to try it.”
He grasped her hand, and she let him lead her through the booths.
Something about this boy made her smile.
In a few moments, they reached a small vendor booth, from which issued the delightful scent of baked sweets.
“It’s made with dates, butter, and nuts. Don’t worry, I’ll pay.”
Qesma kept her eyes on Kurzu as she slipped the small delicacy into her mouth. It was soft, sweet, and bursting with flavor. She couldn’t help but laugh with pleasure, causing Kurzu to laugh as well.
“What…?” He grinned, puzzled.
“Nothing, it’s just so good. Thank you, Kurzu.”
A funny idea came to her, and she leaned up to kiss his cheek. It was the least she could do for him. And she liked him.
The boy was startled, but smiled wide. His eyes stayed on her but softened, and he moved a bit closer.
Over Kurzu’s shoulder, Qesma spotted Dilani.
“Hey, that’s her. That’s the crazy old woman who drugged me last night!”
Dilani, who still wore her ceremonial trimmings, walked through the crowd as would a queen, smiling and mixing with the people.
“You must be joking. That’s Dilani, the high priestess of Eridu. She’s not a crazy old woman.”
“Yes, that’s her. I need to ask her something. I’ll be right back.”
Qesma touched his arm for a moment, and started for Dilani. Kurzu kept a respectful distance and occupied himself with a stand selling festive drums.
“Excuse me,” Qesma called when she was within earshot of the old priestess. “Dilani, can I speak to you privately?”
Dilani turned and met Qesma’s eyes. She wore a grin as she approached.
“Ah, young traveler. It’s good to see you.”
“I wish I could say the same. Why did you give me that drink and abandon me? And why did you hide who you were?”
“I oversaw your visions as you slept. When the dawn came, you had not yet returned from your journey. You would not awaken, no matter how I urged you, so I left you to sleep. I did leave a short while to prepare for the holy rites, but when I returned, you had gone. I am truly sorry.”
“I have been sick all day and it nearly got me killed. Do you understand? Today was one of the worst days of my life.”
“Perhaps it was. Life is a strange and winding road. But you learned much on your journey with the cow’s eye, didn’t you?”
“Cow’s eye? What are you talking about…?”
“What we drank is known as cow’s eye. But do not worry, it’s not what it sounds like,” she laughed. 
Qesma was not amused.
“To drink of the cow’s eye is to journey inward and traverse the domain of the gods. It will shine a light on the dark recesses of the mind, and show you to yourself.”
“But then… how did you know my name? I never told you, I remember that. But you knew.”
Dilani laughed in her sweet yet irksome, knowing way. “My dear Qesma, I am a seer. I meant and mean you no harm. It is my sacred duty to guide souls to contentment and self-realization. In fact, I often use that very house where you found me to connect with the people, and to perform that duty. It’s secluded, you see, far from the activity of the temple. Now, what did you learn on your journey?”
“My journey?”
“Your dream, child. Where did you go?”
“I don’t know. I only remember bits and pieces. I think there was a tower.”
“A tower? What did it look like? Close your eyes. Your dreams are hidden away in your memories.”
Qesma sighed and closed her eyes. She felt Dilani’s gentle hands on the sides of her head, and her thumbs on her temples.
“Find your dream, and show it to me. Show me the tower.”
Qesma focused on her breathing. The lights and sounds of the festival fell away as she concentrated. Suddenly, it all came back to her. She grasped Dilani’s hands upon her face.
“At first, I saw my family. My parents were alive, and we were all together again. I was back home in Kemet. But… their eyes were wrong. They were all black. And then they were gone, and I was somewhere else. I was in front of the tower.”
In the dream, she had been standing alone in the mountain woods. Before her stood a tower, tall and narrow, and built of the same shining stone of Kemet’s pyramids. A large door of engraved copper was built into the side of the tower. She couldn’t quite make out what the engravings said, but they seemed familiar.
“It was bright and tall. Very tall, almost reaching to the sky. There was a large metal door.”
“Did you enter the door, Qesma?”
When she approached the door, it swung open to reveal a room full of gold, jewels, and furs. She took a step toward the treasure, when suddenly some impossibly strong hand gripped her neck, flung her inside, and slammed the door. 
The room was freezing and utterly black, and she heard her scream for help echoing into darkness stretching far above her. She ran to where the door should have been, but found only a cold wall.
“Yes. It was full of gold, but then I was trapped inside, in the dark. I couldn’t get out, it… it didn’t make sense. It wasn’t fair.”
The ground began to shake. A sudden ray of blazing sunlight came through the crumbling stone as the tower buckled above her.
At last she spotted the door. She ran to it and beat on it with her fists, pushing as hard as she could on the cold rough handle. She looked up to see the massive stones plummeting toward her.
“And then it all collapsed on me. I think I died.” A dreadful chill ran across Qesma’s skin. It might have been the wind.
“To see your own demise means you are undergoing a great change. You sought stability and serenity in the tower, but you feel unworthy of those treasures. You feel as though you have failed, and that there is no turning back.”
Qesma opened her eyes. She didn’t know what to say.
“Your tower, bright and tall, will not collapse so easily. Do not be afraid of the future. Look into your own eyes, and you will see what I see. It is not darkness, but the light of Ishtar, shining within you.”
Dilani placed a hand on Qesma’s shoulder, then turned and walked back into the crowd. 
35

He who says "I will live for today" is bound like a bull with a leash tied to his nose-ring.
Sumerian proverb

Despite the levity on the first night of the ascension festival, the funerary rites for the fallen King Urnammu lent a solemn tone to the following morning. The kingdom stood behind Shulgi and watched with him as his father’s death ship burned and sank into the water. But soon, the music and the food were reintroduced, and the people celebrated their new king with full hearts.
As the festivities of the sixth night waned, and the people flowed back into the city to find their beds, Shulgi stayed awake.
He stood once more on the dais dividing the ziggurat steps, looking up at the stars.
Shulgi had done his best to hide the sudden illness that overtook him after the poison arrow grazed his ear. Lovely Enthiavasa’s salve helped, but he still felt dizzy and nauseous. The poison affected his mood and his patience. Once he had even snapped at her for some petty indiscretion, though she forgave him.
In the course of investigating the assassination attempt, his guards uncovered a bow that had been stolen from their own armory. It was found on a rooftop overlooking the ziggurat steps. The residents of the house were detained and questioned, but claimed to have no knowledge of how the bow got there.
The bow implicated one of the royal guards, but the Guti were involved somehow. He felt it in his gut.
Why could his people not know a single day of peace? If the gods were really there, if they had any interest in the lives of mortals…
Enthiavasa entered, moonlit and radiant. Her face lit up when she met his eyes. Shulgi caught the scent of jasmine as she floated to his side and kissed his cheek.
 “How are you feeling?”
“My ear is still sore, and my body is still burning. But even to my fevered eye, your beauty is unmatched.”
“You’re well enough to be charming, so I suppose I shouldn’t worry,” she smirked. “I brought you more salve.”
“Thank you,” Shulgi said. “Can I talk to you about something, my love?”
“You know you can trust me with anything in this world. What’s troubling you, my handsome king?”
“My father… I should have been with him. He asked me to join him on his journey to Lagash. We were to choose the site for a prospective new temple together. But I chose to remain here and go hunting. I could have protected him, but instead I was captured and nearly killed, like a foolish child. None of this was supposed to happen.”
“Do not blame yourself, Shulgi. Do not dare to blame yourself for the actions of those vicious raiders. Mighty as your father was, even he was felled in that battle. You might have fallen as well if you had been there, and then we would truly be lost. The kingdoms, your dominion, they need you.”
She leaned up to kiss him.
“I need you.”
“And yet I might have made a difference. I might have saved him, but I didn’t. I couldn’t.”
Enthiavasa took his hands in hers, and his aching heart felt a moment of relief.
“Regret brings only sorrow. The only way to prevent a mistake from being senseless is to learn from it.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
“And truly, Shulgi, you cannot blame yourself. The fates of kings lie always beyond their own grasp. Only the gods know.”
“I just thought I would have more time with him.”
She wrapped her arms around him. He felt safe in her arms, more so than anywhere else.
“I… don’t know if I can do this.”
She held him tighter, speaking into his shoulder.
“You will endure, my love. You are King Shulgi. The world is yours. The gods speak through your mouth, work through your hands.”
She interlaced her fingers with his.
“Our people are still in this endless war with the damned Guti. I just committed my father’s body to the cosmic waters. And now, I’ve been poisoned! It’s too much, Enthiavasa. It’s all too much.”
She found his eyes.
“Shulgi, listen to me. You doubt yourself, but there is no cause for it. Name for me an unbreakable strength that is not forged by unbearable weight. Name for me a roaring fire that is not stoked by the most bitter of winds. Name for me a great king who is not made immortal in the blood of his enemies! You will endure.”
Shulgi sighed. A sudden weariness overwhelmed him.
“Thank you, my love. I need to lie down. Join me?”
“Of course, my king.”
“Please, just call me Shulgi. Like always.”
Enthiavasa kissed him and held his face in her soft hands.
“Shulgi.”
She led him up the ziggurat steps. 
 
36

A fish in the deep is as good as a carp in the reeds. 
Sumerian proverb

The long week of ceremony and festivity was finally over. The king and his friends rested together in the canopied wagon, rumbling down the dusty road back to the capitol. Enthiavasa slept soundly under Shulgi’s arm as the others tried to get comfortable.
Kurzu hung his arms limply over the side of the wagon, sorely missing the smooth motions of a floating riverboat. His head throbbed with every bump.
“I never thought I would tire of celebration,” Shulgi coughed into his shoulder, shielding his eyes from the cruel sun.
Nira and Alduni muttered their agreement.
“How are you holding up, Kurzu?” Alduni’s voice was hoarse with morning dryness.
“Still alive,” Kurzu groaned. He had recently relegated the contents of his stomach to the path behind them.
Kurzu thought of Qesma. Due perhaps to some unholy gift from the gods, the girl had the weakest stomach for beer that Kurzu had ever known. After a single sip on the first night, she declared herself sick and refused to touch another drop for the rest of the festival.
They had a lot of fun together, and it made him sad to leave her behind. She was a unique and interesting girl. And she seemed to understand Kurzu in a way no one else ever had. She, too, knew the pain of loss, of longing. He remembered feeling proud to be seen with her. He remembered the way his heart came alive when she kissed him. He remembered the way her eyes reflected the firelight.
Despite everything, Kurzu smiled.
“Friends, listen. I have been thinking a lot this past week,” Shulgi said quietly. “As I said before, I need people I can trust, and I trust you.”
He carefully moved himself from Enthiavasa’s grasp and sat upright, clearing his throat. She stirred but let the king escape.
“Kurzu, I would ask you to join me as my personal scribe. You will record my words and my deeds. Your hands will shape my image upon the clay. But my hands will shape the world, and I wish for my people to know me. Will you join me?”
Kurzu considered this. He had always wanted to be a scribe, and this was the most prestigious scribal position in the world. He gripped his amulet and smiled.
“Yes, I’ll do it. Thank you, Shulgi.”
“Nira, you have a keen mind. As an archer, I know the signs. But you also possess a strong heart. These men of my military council, death has made them hard and cold. To be sure, each of us here has seen death with our own eyes. But warm blood yet churns in you. I would have you at my side to help me keep my humanity. Help me save lives.”
Nira sighed deeply. “If you promise to keep me away from the fighting, then… I can help you. But I still have to return to help my father.”
“This I can promise. Thank you. Alduni, we have much to discuss. Your family’s talents with wrought metal are renowned. I would not see your gifts wasted. Create for me a lion’s head standard of such magnificence and ferocity as to inspire fear and love of me in all who behold it. I would have you accompany me at the front line, to carry my standard. Inspire them all to defend our kingdom from the enemy.”
Alduni, too, sighed deeply. “I’m honored, but you should know my arm is cursed. The anu said the hand of the ghost who did this to me still lies upon it, and I can’t use it. I’m sorry.”
Shulgi met his young friend’s gaze.
“I am truly sorry to hear that. It seems your path, too, is long and twisted.”
Alduni nodded solemnly.
“We need only modify my original plan for you. I still require your singular talents at the forge. When the standard is complete, you will design and construct a shield that might be mounted on your arm. I will provide you the finest metals in the world. Your father’s anvil will sing its greatest beauty for you. Your curse shall be made a blessing. What do you say?”
 “…I accept.” The faintest trace of a smile.
The wagon rolled over a deep rut, jolting its passengers. Enthiavasa groaned with a yawn at the disturbance.
Nira snapped a hand to her mouth but failed to prevent a remarkably loud belch. She was the first to burst into laughter, and soon everyone followed her.
Kurzu reflected on the most peculiar and chaotic month of his life. Everything was so different now. He strained to look into the bright sky, where the gods dwelled, and wondered what other plans they had made. 
 











PART II


War










 

 
 
37

On the battlefield, plants are torn out.
Sumerian proverb

Nira cracked her back and sighed, staring at the opening of her heavy canvas tent. An early morning wind was blowing gently through the prairie hills, bringing her the smell of death.
Less than an hour ago, a large group of Guti raiders had been intercepted some distance outside the camp, and a terrible battle arose. The sickening smells and sounds of combat did not always reach the camp, but today they were pervasive. Groans and screams, clanking and cutting, echoing from across the summer fields. The scent of blood, of fire. She could not escape it.
In the weeks since she and her friends journeyed with the king to the combat front, Nira had done everything she could to distance herself from the brutality of war. She endured the early days in her tent, trying not to imagine what was happening around her. She had the favor of the king, and was treated so. Shulgi did his best to accommodate his promise to her, and ensured she was never present during combat. And, true to his word, he sometimes sought her advice in matters of strategy and philosophy. They even found moments of friendship between the bloody hours. Nira did her best to advise Shulgi honestly, but her distaste for the campaign often left him cold to her suggestions. His visits grew further and further apart.
But the weight of doing nothing was heavier than she could bear. She soon spent most of her time assisting at the medical tents, as there were never enough hands or supplies. She wanted to avoid death, but as the days went on, she felt she had witnessed more lights extinguished than the mightiest veteran.
The blood she spilled to save Qesma flowed into her dreams. She never saw that awful man’s face – she intentionally did not look - but he haunted her still.
She washed her hands often, unable to make them clean enough. Her beautiful new false fingers, polished and shapely, were beginning to stain.
Kurzu and Alduni left on patrol at dawn every day. They were at Shulgi’s side, helping him to invigorate the men who had come to fight for Sumer. They carried their weapons with them, allowing Shulgi to parade the boys as beacons of strength and perseverance. Talking to them made her feel less alone, but it wasn’t enough. She could only ever wonder if it would be the last time. Nira could not bring herself to join them, even if it meant she was left behind.
As the slaughter over the hill continued, Nira had endured all the waiting she could stand. She wrapped herself in her soldier-issue studded war cloak and exited the tent. It was impossible to prepare for what she might see, but she braced herself all the same.
She spotted an elderly man who had made himself useful as a cook. He stood over his pot, but his eyes were on the skyline.
Nira followed the old man’s gaze. The fighting seemed to have moved closer to the camp in the past few minutes.
Suddenly, a young medical officer rushed into the camp, nearly tripping over himself.
“I need bandages now!” His voice was rough and choking.
Nira grabbed a pile of coarse cloth. She rushed to hand the bunch off to the officer, but he grabbed her shoulder instead.
“You have a hardy soul. I admire that. Now get down to the skirmish, there are dozens in need of your help.”
She wanted to protest. But the look on his face overthrew her. Her heart sank as she gave him a solemn nod.
Nira swallowed hard and began her trek down into the mud and horror.
All around her, men were being treated for grievous injuries. Twice as many more were meeting their pitiful deaths. The foul cacophony of war was an ocean, and she was already drowning in its red shallows. Her fingers ached.
She automatically moved toward the nearest downed soldier, a very young man who had been slashed across the belly. His breathing was labored and his eyes watered with pain.
As Nira approached, the boy turned his head away from her. Nira knelt at his side and began to dab his wound with a cloth. It surged with dark blood. It touched her fingers.
“It doesn’t hurt,” he groaned.
As Nira began to wash the wound, trying not to look directly at it, she heard screams, even more terrible than before, echo from over the hill. Her eyes watered as a new smell on the wind found her.
It was a smell she knew from her living nightmare. Burning flesh. Her fingers ached - but, no, they were gone.
After a moment, Nira noticed the boy had stopped reacting to her treatment. His eyes were still. His chest was still.
She turned away, fought to her feet, and started to move.
A few minutes of chaotic noise and light passed, or were they hours? Nira at last found herself walking toward the fire and blood. Then she saw him.
At first, he was just another broken soul among the broken, a body burned and sprawled out in the tainted grass. Then she saw his face. Though part of it was charred, she knew him.
It was Osio.
It was too much. She wanted to wake up.
She forced herself to walk to him. As she approached, she saw his arms were gone. He did not move. Nira began to shake. Her eyes watered with intensity.
“He is with the gods, now,” someone from behind her said. “Look for the living and try to keep them that way.”
But Nira could not pull her eyes from Osio. Mere weeks ago, she met his family. She heard his voice, saw his eyes. She touched his hand. She wanted to touch it now, to touch his hand with her fingers, like she had done before. She wanted to hear his voice and see his eyes.
After a while, she stood in the sensory overload. Her eyes unfocused, her ears deafened to all but her own thoughts. She slowly staggered back to her small camp. The old man was gone.
As she drew the canvas flap of her tent, she saw the drying blood streaks on her fingers, both false and real. Red again, she thought. No need to wash them, as they’d just become red again.
She plunged her face into the lumpy pillow and hid her ears from the screams. Red again, she thought. Red again. Red again and again. 
38

The poor men are the silent men in Sumer.
Sumerian proverb

The morning sun was warm on her face as Qesma climbed the steps. Today was the day the temple staff received their weekly pay, and the day she would finally keep her promise.
After the events of the ascension rites, she had decided to keep her head down and work on her plan. She still held her place at the treasury, but could barely stand to be at the house. Enshanesha did not seem to remember Qesma’s confession, among other things, and her tragic fits had grown violent. Qesma spent as much time as she could elsewhere, working late or watching the stars. She often slept on a mat in a poorhouse near the temple.
Eight tedious months of meager income had not amounted to anywhere near what Qesma hoped. She had almost managed to raise enough to free her three attending slaves, but it took nearly everything she could scrape together. Temple staff had little actual income, as they were expected to live off their generous share of the temple offerings. Qesma’s position presented the same difficulty; she had plenty to eat, but very little money. To further complicate matters, the people had been informed via proclamation that silver was needed to fund the war effort. Coins were becoming scarce. But today, this day in early spring, she would finally reach her goal.
She had avoided contact with the enslaved women when she first gained her treasury position. With so much at stake, and with the queen mother still a threat, Qesma was uncertain if they could be trusted. However, she had not been able to keep her humanity from them for long. They soon knew her by name, and she knew theirs.
The temple payroll administrator, wordless as always, needed only a moment to locate Qesma’s designated bag of silver shekels. He neatly set the bag before her, along with a stylus. She marked the tablet with her usual signature, the cuneiform letter Q. Qesma smiled and turned, promptly making her way across the temple to the slavemaster. As she walked, she opened a larger bag from her sash and poured her pay into it, then cinched it shut.
The elderly slavemaster of Eridu’s temple slammed his fists on the desk the moment he saw her. It took everything in her not to panic; even months undercover as a free woman never completely erased the foul taste of slavery from the air. In this room, with this man, she could practically smell it.
“I don’t know where those damned minas are! Leave me to my business, foreign-tongued bean counter.”
Her panic was suddenly eased by a new, hot wave of indignation.
“I wouldn’t insult anyone if I were you. The mouth of the underworld opens widest for dark souls. And I’m not here about that. I’m here to purchase three slaves from the crown.”
“Which ones?”
“Muranna, Anteba, and Urshivum.”
“Who?”
"The women enslaved in the treasury house.”
“Oh, the three little mice who stole in from the fields. Quiet and diligent, they are. I need one hundred and twenty shekels. What makes you think you can buy them out, hungry kitten?”
Qesma tossed a heavy sack of shekels to his feet, cold stone in her gaze.
The first to have her freedom was Muranna, a perceptive girl younger than Qesma who had sold herself into slavery to pay off her father’s immense gambling debts. The pain Qesma had seen in her eyes was the same she recognized from her own reflection: the pain of family sin. To see it relieved became a memory Qesma would not forget.
The second was Urshivum, a grey old woman who had known a lifetime of slavery due to a string of livestock thefts committed in her distant youth. Decades of forced humility had made her timid, but Qesma yet recognized a fire in her. She remembered some part of her heart hoping for disorder to come to this strange, harsh world when she sent the grinning Urshivum on her way.
The third was Anteba, another grey woman, of rather sour disposition. Qesma did not fault her for this, of course. No slave could be expected to enjoy their condition. Anteba’s sourness, however, was deep-rooted and allegedly preceded her enslavement. She would disclose the source of neither to Qesma, saying only that the gods give people what they deserve.
Anteba bore her signature thankless scowl even as the light of freedom finally warmed her face. Qesma could only wonder at what strange creatures the gods saw fit to create.
Her promise between herself, the gods, and those women was finally fulfilled. The weight on her shoulders lightened, but would not lift completely, for the freedom she had given them was something she could not have for herself, not while Siatum yet lived. Shulgi, perhaps, would grant her amnesty, forgiveness for what she knew and what she had done. But even he would be unable to stop Siatum’s darkness from swallowing her whole. The queen mother was too eager in her cruelty to be dissuaded by obstacles. Qesma would ensure Shakhet, at least, lived far from Siatum’s shadow.
When she finally made it back to her corner of the treasury office, Qesma found the candle she lit earlier had blown out. The office was empty now, and as quiet as she had ever seen it. She felt a sort of loneliness for just a moment, but smiled when she remembered why.
On her way out of the room, she grabbed her favorite stylus, a thin piece of carved whalebone with an elegant chisel tip. A memento for what she had accomplished here. It had been many years since she felt an experience was worth remembering. This taste of normality, of another world she might have been allowed in a different life, it was good enough. For now. 
39

Friendship lasts a day, kinship forever.
Sumerian proverb

Kurzu smiled as the famous river city, Babylon, came into view.
Shulgi had led his forces northeast, to the mountains, and back. Nearly eight long months in the mountains and prairies left the war party exhausted.
Kurzu was always present at the king’s side and rarely saw combat. Shulgi had little interest in objectivity, preferring a dramatic tone. And so, it was up to the young scribe to capture Shulgi’s most compelling words and actions, and to relate them in clay for the masses.
He learned from his time with Shulgi more than he ever imagined there was to know about people, and influencing their thoughts. A particular word here, a way of phrasing there. He discovered there was a hidden art to speech, a finesse that meant recognizing profoundly the mind of the person whose attention one holds.
Kurzu began to weave these subtleties into his own words. He could almost see them extend across the distances, waves into the abyss, to lap at some grey shore, or even build to a destructive crest. He felt powerful.
However, he had no taste for violence, even after claiming a life defending himself at the far shore of Tigris. The soldiers, and Shulgi himself, congratulated him on his victory. But he did not feel any pride. Instead, that Guti man’s blood mixed with the blood of The Sleeper, dripping always into the dust under the pale judgement of Nanna’s light.
Now, after so much suffering, most of the men who had left home were gathering in the city of Babylon, war prisoners doomed to slavery in tow, for the annual celebration of Akitu was upon them.
Nira had long since returned home to her father, and Alduni had gone to join the reconnaissance units, so Kurzu rarely saw either of them. Akitu was always a joyous occasion, a weeklong festival of religious ceremony and celebration. He was interested to see how Shulgi would handle the unique royal challenges of Akitu’s fourth day. Not every ruler had the composure to be slapped in the face, but the gods demanded humility.
The very moment he rode his trusted camel through the newly constructed archway at Babylon’s north gate, he heard a familiar voice.
“Kurzu!”
It was Nira, whose hair had grown longer than he had ever seen it. She held her arms aloft, outstretched to him. She was not wearing her prosthetic.
“Leave that poor camel alone and come give me a hug,” she demanded with a sly grin.
Kurzu smiled and dismounted, leaving his wartime friend to the handlers with a gentle nose pat. He met Nira’s reach with a warm, full embrace.
“Nira... It’s been too long.”
“Look at you! How can you still be so scrawny? I thought your soldier friends would teach you about hard work.”
“It’s good to see you too,” Kurzu laughed. “Are you ready for Akitu?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Nira said.
“I have been starving for familiarity since the day we left. Speaking of which, have you seen Qesma or my parents? Or Alduni? We were separated months ago.”
“No, I only just arrived myself.”
The soldiers whooped and hollered as the two walked away together. Kurzu smirked and gave them an obscene gesture in return.
It wasn’t long before Kurzu noticed a degree of reverence from the Babylonians directed at the two of them, but with differing expressions.
 “Kurzu the Stone! Your war reports renew my hope. Death to the Guti!” A grizzled man with an eyepatch raised his drink to Kurzu from the streetside. Kurzu waved awkwardly to the man.
“The Stone?” Nira inquired. “Since when?”
“I didn’t know anyone called me that. I’ve been writing reports from the war front onto tablets. Shulgi had me send one every six days.”
“Well, look at you. I thought you became a meathead soldier.”
Kurzu gave her a look, but her gaze was elsewhere.
“Kurzu, do you think there’s- “
“Keep your mission of peace, Serpent! Gods bless you!” An older woman cheered her on as she passed.
“The Serpent… I remember that! What’s your mission of peace?”
“I’ve been working with the community in Eridu, and I plan to do the same here in Babylon. We’re trying to bring peace between ourselves and the surrounding kingdoms. Right now, we are working on ways to find common ground with Guti people still living in the region. We want to discourage violence and xenophobia.”
“That’s… a noble effort.”
“You don’t approve,” she sighed. “I should have guessed.”
“What? No, I approve, I’m just surprised. Pleasantly surprised, if that was unclear.”
“I’m sorry, it’s just… we’ve been meeting a lot of resistance. So many people are not interested in peace. I tried out there, Kurzu. The things I saw, the things I heard… smelled. You have to know why.” She met his eyes. Hers brimmed again with that old pain.
“I know, Nira… I understand.”
*
Shulgi let the priest pull his crown from his head. The priest, who now represented Marduk in the material world, held Shulgi’s scepter in his other hand. In a dramatic showing, the son of Enki lifted both above his head and let them clatter against the ground.
Shulgi dropped to his knees. Loud and clear, he recited the ritual words.
“I have not sinned, O Lord of the Universe, and I have not neglected your heavenly might.”
A moment later, a swift hand tore across Shulgi’s right cheek. It hurt, and it was meant to hurt. Marduk, the son of Enki, delivered a second blow in the same spot. A third. Shulgi’s eyes began to well. A fourth. A fifth, at last bringing tears.
“Do not be afraid of what Marduk has to say, for he will hear your prayers, extend your power, and increase the greatness of your reign.”
Shulgi rose to his feet and faced Marduk. Even Shulgi’s sense of humor could not shield his pride from being wounded in such a humiliating display. He knew that was the intent, yet it hurt all the same.
Marduk delivered a sixth and final strike to Shulgi’s stinging, numbing cheek.
He received his scepter and his jewelry, and lastly his crown, the symbol of power. He turned to the crowd and let them see the wetness of his eyes. A tremendous roar of applause arose at once. Marduk had returned the power of the gods to the hands of humanity, but not before demonstrating in certain terms the dominance of the Pantheon. When that tear of pain descended his stoic face, Shulgi’s covenant of humility and faith with the gods was sealed.
When the spectators had dispersed and Shulgi had replaced his normal vestments, a bewildered young messenger arrived, escorted by two sullen guards. He was a foreign boy, of clear Guti descent judging by his skin. Shulgi’s heart sank – it had been a long stretch of bad news, and he dreaded another burden.
“What news do you bring?”
“King Shulgi, I bear strange and wonderful news! The Clannate have relayed a message to you. We do not mark the clay as you do, but I have memorized their speech. King Shulgi, if I may, I will now recite to you the message. The words are theirs in entirety, delivered on my tongue.”
“Out with it, young friend.”
The young man bolstered himself and began.
“Shulgi, King of the Marshes. My name is Rashkit. I am Chief of the Grass Clan. I speak on behalf of the clan chiefs, who wish to convene with you in the name of peace. Make the way clear for us, and we, the six clan chiefs, will travel to your lands with our entourage for this purpose. As a show of good faith, we offer you the service of the messenger before you. Do with him as you will. His memory is clear, his feet are swift, and his talent in your language is keen. I await your affirmative reply.”
The king raised his eyebrows at the last parts. The messenger tried not to look nervous.
Shulgi took a few moments to consider this surprising message. He wanted to believe it was sincere, but the recent death of his father weighed heavy on his every thought. He decided to heed his instincts.
“Return to your people. Tell them I agree to a peaceful summit. We shall meet here, in Babylon, the thirtieth day from today. As you pass my outposts, present this seal – it will grant you safe passage. Deliver the seal to your clan chiefs, and with it, they will pass freely under the walls of Babylon. Let it be known that any who impede their progress, or yours, are thereby impeding me, and shall be put to death.”
Shulgi reached into his robe pocket and produced a lion’s head medallion of carved red stone. He extended the seal to the messenger, who carefully approached and received it. The boy bowed his head in deference and quickly departed.
Adulshurasa, who was usually present at the king’s side, spoke up immediately.
“My king, this is foolish. I do not intend to criticize you, but- “
“I should hope not,” Shulgi countered. He knew the general meant no offense, but Shulgi was feeling particularly sensitive about his pride.
Adulshurasa took a moment to digest his humility.
“To speak plainly, I am afraid of this path. Shulgi, I am afraid for your safety in a room full of our enemies. Consider the attempt on your life only months ago! Your father…”
Shulgi sighed. As always, the old man was right, in his own way.
“Adulshurasa, I understand your concern. In fact, I share it. But I cannot hide from this request, nor can I deny it. To do either would appear cowardly or bloodthirsty. We have fought, we have died to defend our land and our people. We have spilled blood. But those dark acts, if we should commit them, must always be the means, and never the end. The light of civility will guide us to peace, even if the path is stained with blood. You must understand.”
“I understand, my king.”
The clouds flowed through one another as eddies in the river.
“With any luck, the stability my father died to protect will hold strong.” 
40

Commit no crime, and fear will not consume you.
Sumerian proverb

With Dilani’s enigmatic words from the ascension festival still echoing in her mind, Qesma rode through the tall gates of Urim for the first time since her escape. 
Safely in the city limits, she dismounted her camel. She had borrowed the animal from a sleepy farmhouse outside Eridu. It huffed and spat, breaking from her grip. With a last glance of annoyance, it turned and lumbered for its home. Qesma smiled sadly.
It had been easy enough to slip away from Eridu. The most difficult part was leaving beloved Enshanesha and Ruut behind without telling them where she’d gone. But Kurzu was a friend of the king. Of all the rotten luck! She could not risk discovery while Shakhet was still enslaved, no matter how it broke her heart.
She would miss that boy. Perhaps they would meet again.
It would have been too much for her to say goodbye, so she slipped out the door in the dead of night. She took only the lovely yellow scarf given to her by Enshanesha, and the broad old bejeweled scythe-sword that hung in the front room of the house. She promised herself to return it as soon as Shakhet was safe.
On their front table, she left a fresh tablet with a pair of symbols engraved upon it: the cuneiform sign, and the hieroglyph, for the letter Q.
Urim was sparse now, for the final night of the king’s festival drew the biggest crowd. The infirm and the broken of mind yet occupied the gutters of the capitol city’s dramatically wide streets.
Qesma found her way to one of the darker streets, the one she knew. Her house had not changed at all. Though the moonlight barely touched this place, she recognized the memorial statues of her mother and father. She reached out in the darkness and brushed them clean.
It would still be a challenge to gain entrance to the palace without being discovered. The money Qesma brought would cover any bribes she had to make. Then, to find Shakhet and go west, no matter what it took.
She obscured her face with her soft yellow scarf, sighing deeply. Her scent lingered on it, even now. Qesma’s fingers brushed the grip of the khopesh hanging within the sash around her waist.
She felt a sense of urgency as she made her way up to the palace. Of course, it would still be guarded by a skeleton crew of guards. She gathered her courage and her wits as that dreaded place of her enslavement, the House of the Great Light, came into view.
Sure enough, two guards were standing at the gatehouse that stood halfway up the steps, both of them half-asleep with boredom. Qesma strolled past them with practiced nonchalance, her quality clothing and alluring perfume selling the performance.
Despite the weight of her task, she couldn’t help but chuckle as she heard one of them whistle under his breath.
The main hall of the palace had not changed at all. She felt a strange combination of comfort and alienation as she made her way through the stone halls.
As she passed through a ray of moonlight, she caught a glimpse of the clear night sky, awash with countless stars.
At last she reached the servants’ quarters, a cramped and stuffy handful of rooms with too many people and too few beds. The noxious smell of the unwashed, all too familiar, made her stomach churn. She immediately felt guilty for such a reaction.
Two more guards stood between her and Shakhet. She knew their faces. She suspected they knew her face as well, but not her voice. Qesma mustered all the poise she could manage.
They noticed her approach, and it was too late to break character without appearing suspicious. She had hoped to sneak in and out without detection, but she had an alternate plan. A plan she had rehearsed throughout her camel ride.
“I am fresh from the road,” Qesma announced in a voice dripping with entitlement. “I am exhausted and in need of a wine girl. Fetch me the young one, the Kemetite with the steady hand. If some old fool spilled wine on my dress…!”
“Of course… Miss. But first, who are you?” The tall one said.
“Surely you’re joking,” Qesma scoffed, pouring all her nerves into clenching a fist.
“I’ve seen her before, I’m sure of it,” the other one mumbled.
“Yes, you have certainly seen Luinanna, younger sister of Enthiavasa, the king’s holy consort.” Qesma scowled, almost enjoying it.
“Ah, yes. Luinanna,” the tall one said, exchanging a look with his fellow. “This way, Miss. I’ll retrieve the slave you requested. The young Kemetite with the steady hand.” He gave Qesma a strange smile that made her uneasy. But she was so close.
She stiffened her neck and stepped into the quarters behind the tall guard, mindful of the blade hidden in her sash. She heard the other one follow her inside.
Something was not right.
Qesma felt a sword tip pressed into her back. She was caught. She was dead. The tall one turned and stood before her with hardness in his eyes. He tore the scarf from her face.
“I knew I recognized you. You’re that desperate slave girl. Buranu, she’s the one the queen mother wants.”
Qesma’s heart was pounding in her skull. She felt her knees threaten to give, but she braced herself. This was it.
“There’s no need for that just yet,” Buranu said, slowly dragging the sword up Qesma’s back, slicing her skin and her elegant dress. She winced and spread her shoulders to keep the dress from slipping.
The tall one lunged forward again, snatching her by the neck. He laughed in her face. Her fingers dug fruitlessly into his forearm as she fought to breathe.
“You’re not very smart, are you?”
“I came to buy freedom,” she choked.
The tall one laughed and released her neck, letting her cough and spit as she tried to catch her breath. Her eyes wanted to cry, but she resisted.
“Sipparu, I’ve got her. Go get the little one, the one she’s asking about,” Buranu said.
Sipparu laughed again. “Why not? Don’t go anywhere, beautiful,” he winked. Qesma felt hate rising up in her heart.
A few moments later, Shakhet shuffled in with a yawn, and the hate turned to love.
“Shakhet!” The girl had grown taller.
“Qesma!” Shakhet cried, running to her big sister.
But Sipparu caught the little one’s shoulder. Hate.
“Not so fast. Now, then, Qesma was it? The cost of a royal slave is forty shekels.”
“I have it! I have it. Let her go with me and it’s all yours.”
“With you? I don’t think so. There’s no way you’re both walking out of here without putting eighty shekels in my hands.”
“But all I have is fifty! Please. Just let her go and you can keep the rest. Just let her go.” Qesma desperately produced the sack of coins and held it out for Sipparu, who took it without hesitation.
“Did I say forty? I’m so sorry, I meant eighty shekels each. What is that, at least a hundred, maybe two hundred, right?” He smiled at her.
“You can’t be serious,” she choked. “Please, let her go! Please!”
Shakhet was frozen.
“Buranu, is this slave asking for a favor from us?”
“I think so. This runaway slave is trying to act above her station.”
“Runaway slave, that’s right. You know what we do to runaway slaves, don’t you, Qesma? You must know. You’ve seen it.”
“No. No, please don’t! Please!” Her heart throbbed in her ears. Shakhet stared at her, innocent eyes welling.
“It’s our job to deliver the king’s justice. Hold her.”
Strong arms pinned her hands behind her back and gripped her neck.
“After you, it’ll be her turn,” Sipparu said as he walked to the fireplace against the wall. He returned with a glowing metal brand.
“No. No! No no no no! Stop! Please stop!” She pulled hard against Buranu’s grip.
“How do you write the signs for slave?”
“Stop it, please! Please stop!”
“Woman and mountain.” Buranu’s hot breath stank of beer.
She could not stop the tears anymore. Fear became her every thought. She thrashed, but Buranu was strong.
“Shakhet, don’t look! Look away!”
Sipparu laughed. Shakhet screamed.
The brand pressed into Qesma’s forehead, crackling and searing her flesh. She had never experienced such ferocious pain as this; she could not focus her eyes or draw a full breath.
Twice more the brand burned her, scarring the first word of her punishment onto her face. Part of her wanted to die, just to stop the pain.
“Big sister!” Shakhet cried. Through her tears, Qesma met her young sibling’s wide eyes.
Something changed inside Qesma’s heart. She would no longer abide this torture. She would protect her sister.
She thrashed again, as hard as she ever had, and managed to slip a hand away from Buranu’s grasp. A flash of hope in her heart. The light of Isis.
As quick as she could, she reached out to grab the brand. She caught it where the iron glowed deep red, and wrested it from the surprised Sipparu’s grip.
In one smooth motion, she turned the brand around and thrust it upward, catching the glowing chisel-tip under Sipparu’s chin and driving it through his skull. She screamed, now in fury as much as pain, and felt the man’s blood splatter her steaming face. She let go of the brand, and he dropped.
Buranu’s hands flew around her neck. His fingers pressed into her throat.
She quickly grabbed the khopesh hidden in her sash with her other hand. With all the strength she could gather, Qesma drove it down, behind her kidney, straight into Buranu’s abdomen. She caught herself shallow with the blade, one more spark of pain.
His grip on her neck tightened, and Qesma lost what air she had. A few moments later, his fingers twitched and loosened, and his knees collapsed beneath him. Buranu shook on his back, looking between the bejeweled khopesh and the girls with desperate fear and confusion, an expression he wore into death.
Shakhet was still sobbing. Qesma climbed to her feet, recovering her bag of coins and her delicate yellow scarf from the floor. Wincing, she wrapped it around her hand. She chose not to notice the handful of familiar slaves staring from the doorway.
She pulled a fur shoulder guard from Buranu, somehow free of blood, and wrapped it around her sister. She kissed Shakhet’s forehead. The young girl calmed herself somewhat at this long-lost comfort, and her crying subsided.
With a little effort, Qesma removed the khopesh from Buranu’s body. She wiped it clean on his furs and restored it to her sash, along with her bag of shekels.
Qesma grasped her little sister’s hand and, without a word, guided her through the empty halls and out of the palace. She stared straight ahead, trying not to think about what she had just done.
On the grand stairway, she once again saw the two guards who stood watch at the midpoint gatehouse. They did not say anything this time, having finally fallen asleep at their posts. The girls drifted through the torchlight and descended the steps to the claystone walkways webbing the city.
“Are you okay, sister?” Shakhet wondered.
“I’ll be fine,” Qesma replied. “Let’s just keep walking, okay?”
“I missed you.”
She couldn’t help but turn and take her sister’s shoulders. Qesma managed to smile for her.
“I missed you too, more than anything ever.”
“Where are we going?” Shakhet asked, wiping tears from her dirty cheeks.
Qesma gently touched the word scorched into her face, the Sumerian word for ‘woman.’ A spot of blood seeped onto her finger. The pain was unbearable, and yet she bore it.
“We’re going home.” 
 
41

The gods alone live forever under the divine sun; but as for mankind, their days are numbered, all their activities will be nothing but wind.
Sumerian proverb

Alduni stared at the crimson horizon. The sun now set on the final day of Akitu, and he never crossed the threshold of Babylon.
A glowing shield was ever-present on his right arm, and a khopesh with a terrifying edge hung in his good hand. The blade was standard infantry-issue bronze, nothing like his father’s alloys, but Alduni honed it daily. The shield he had crafted himself, forged in the finest metals and tempered with every technique at his disposal.
He had grown used to the pain of the leather straps grinding into his flesh through the filthy cloth wrappings. He had grown numb to the rattling of his aching bones with every impact. Even the sprays of warm blood from his khopesh now began to cool. Though the simple joys of a bed and a clean face were too far away even to long for, he longed for them still.
Kurzu and Nira had made the early weeks less overwhelming, but his standard-bearer duties soon drew him away from his friends. A particular squad of youthful warriors was stationed at the vanguard on the morning Alduni arrived at the king’s northmost base camp. Though tall for his age, Alduni felt diminutive among these trained men. Mun, Rabam, Turanu, Alshiza, and Yakuh, perhaps sensitive to his isolation, made Alduni a quick ally.
As the months passed, Alduni found he was adept to life on the military road. He enjoyed sleeping under the night sky, and the company of the warriors made him feel grown and useful. They listened to him when he spoke. They shared their beer with him, and hassled him about girls. They grieved together in their stoic way when their brothers fell. He discovered, to his delight, that each of them hailed from Eridu. Turanu and Mun had even patronized Jushur’s blacksmith shop, and recognized Alduni from his childhood.
And now, those five men all lie dead, discarded and rotting in the grasslands. By some gruesome twist of fate, Alduni stood alone on that rocky crest, drawing each breath on their behalf. No stranger to Death, yet never his friend.
His eyes drifted to the standard leaning against a nearby boulder. He had worked for weeks with Shulgi’s best artisans to craft an intricate stone mold, into which he poured the purest gold. The result was a ferocious, glimmering lion’s head baring its fangs forever to the world.
When Shulgi announced his intent to return to Sumer, Alduni considered leaving the heavy standard in the camp. So many of the other men left their war trappings scattered in the field. But he thought of his fallen brothers and gripped it tighter. He felt compelled to remain in his tent while the war party moved on. It was not yet time to return.
Weeks later, he was unsure why he still carried the thing. But he could not leave it, not in the dust.
Alduni turned from the fading light and climbed into his tent, a sorry thing patched together from those of his fallen friends. In the morning, he would find a stream and wash his face. Then, he would go home at last. Yakuh used to speak of nothing else. Yakuh was gutted by a spear in a small battle somewhere east of Larak. He had no last words.
He loosened the first shield strap. A rustling in the dark underbrush down the hill caught his attention. The snapping of twigs made his skin crawl.
He stepped out of the tent, drew his khopesh and stared at the tree line. There was no wind, no sound. Rabam still would have heard something. His ears were keener than a dog. Rabam was wounded in the left shoulder by an arrow while routing the enemy at Eshnunna. Rabam survived for two more days, sweating and crying for help no one could provide. It felt like yesterday, but it must have been at least two months.
A flash from yellow eyes to his right, and the darkness became a wolf. He heard the sickening smack of sharp teeth clacking against his shield. With practiced motion, he brought his weathered khopesh around and cut deep into the animal’s neck. It fell abruptly, slumping into a silent, motionless heap at the corner of his vision.
Alduni slumped into a heap as well, falling hard onto his knees. Something about the ease of the kill shook him more than the adrenaline of the encounter. This creature, which had roamed for years, living an unknowable life of bloody hardship and bloodier victory… had it always been destined to meet its ignoble end at his hands?
His eyes focused on the blood pooling beneath the creature. What if it had never left the wooded place of its birth, and wandered without guidance into these stark highland plains? What if it had found a mate, and together they haunted the plentiful game of the Eridu marshfield, never to lay wild eyes on humankind?
No, it must have been destiny. The gods had written its fate in the stars, in the water, in the fiber of existence, as they did with all things in the universe. How else could it have found its way to him, when so many other paths had stretched out before it, when their disparate lives made their meeting so unlikely as to be impossible? And yet, there the thing would rot and feed the lowest of the world, all because its path crossed the wayward son of Jushur on a lonely crest beneath the stars. The wolf’s fate was sealed eons before it existed. It was never meant to see the marshes.
The gods, Alduni decided, do not make mistakes.
It took all the strength he had left, but he managed to dig out a shallow grave for the beast with his shield. He buried the lion’s pole at the wolf’s head, letting the golden beast shine in the pale light. At last he understood why he had kept it.
He looked at his tarnished shield, remembering the day he had forged it in his father’s shop. The flowing metal smelled of blood, and it turned his stomach.
Though he knew the night was still young, he did not expect to find any sleep, not with death so near his camp. Other predators would smell the blood. His shield weighed on his arm. But he dared not part with it, not now.
He would await the coming of Utu’s fire the way the way he passed much of the time in the bush. Sure enough, a nearby stone was appropriate for sharpening. Alduni braced himself against a rock, with the stone in his good hand and the grave in his view. Perhaps this nightmarish thing would vanish before him in the morning light, or perhaps it would rise with the sun, pulsing with fresh blood, renewed as a blooming flower bursting up through the soil, and drag him into the shadows from which it sprung. In the pale night, he felt ready for whatever end.
The air was still and murky. Sweat irritated his bloodshot eyes, but they would not close.
With any luck, the stability his brothers died to protect would hold strong. For them, he would remain here, to ensure it did.
	
	 
42

He who knows but does not speak is a fool.
Sumerian proverb

Despite his intentions, Kurzu did not have the energy to attend any of the Akitu festivities. The world he left behind not so long ago had changed completely.
Ruut now spent much of his time caring for Enshanesha, and the rest of his time in drink. Kurzu tried to help, but with Enshanesha in her increasingly restless and confused states, he only seemed to agitate her more often than not. He found he could help her best by caring for the house and getting groceries from the market.
Qesma disappeared one night during the campaign, according to Ruut, and no one had heard from her since. She took the bejeweled khopesh with her, presumably as a sort of keepsake. Seeing her again was one of the things that kept him going through the frozen nights on the steppe. Though he had only known her a short time, her absence made his heart ache, and it made Eridu strange and hollow.
“Where is it?” Enshanesha called from upstairs. Her voice was distressed.
“I’ll be right there!” Kurzu replied, trying to sound reassuring.
Ruut descended quickly and whispered to him, eyes wide.
“She is looking for Qesma’s scarf. She forgot she finished it. Please go get me a jar of balm from the apothecary.”
“I will, Father. I’ll return as quick as I can.”
*
Ruut’s heart sank into his stomach as he rushed back upstairs.
“Where is it? Where is my knife, Ruut?”
“You don’t need a knife, Nesha.”
“Where is it? I can’t live like this anymore!”
She threw the lapis bird figurine against the wall, but it survived the impact. Enshanesha collapsed into her bed, screaming as the tears flowed.
“My darling…” Ruut whispered. He went to her.
“I can’t remember anything! I can’t control myself. I feel like a dog, Ruut! A mindless shit!”
She smashed her fists into the bed and against the walls as he held her. She fought against the waves of emotion, but not against him. Even like this, lost in a terrifying lurch of confusion and helpless rage, she knew he would not hurt her.
“The gods have forsaken me,” she cried.
“Enshanesha…”
“They have! They have taken my mind, and left us here alone while our son is at war. He’s been gone for months, now. Don’t you understand? I don’t know if I’ll ever see him again, Ruut!”
“Nesha, my love, please don’t get upset when I tell you this… Kurzu came home days ago. He has been staying here, with us. It must have just slipped your mind.”
Enshanesha cried softly now, for so many reasons, and Ruut held her tighter.
*
It had been years since Kurzu visited the old apothecary shop under the large oak tree. The tree, it was said, had been there even longer than the shop. As he approached, he remembered climbing that tree as a child and watching the shop patrons through the narrow slats. He used to think that he shared the view of the gods from those high boughs, and would pretend to banter with his fellow immortals about the dreary foolishness of men.
As he reached the door, his eyes met those of Nira. She looked as though she had not slept.
“Kurzu…”
Nira rushed to embrace him. She answered his question before he could ask.
“My father. He’s gone. Last night, he…” Her voice was muffled by his clothing.
“Nira, I’m so sorry.”
She pulled away and closed her eyes for a moment, collecting herself.
“I’m getting oils for the burial. I know it’s a lot to ask, but would you help me today?”
“Yes… yes, of course, whatever you need.” Kurzu needed a distraction, however grim. “Just let me get this balm and I’ll be back.”
“Thank you.”
A few hours later, Kurzu and Nira entered the main room of her father’s small house. Candles burned low in every available space. Yamesh was laid out on a long, white table with a reed post on each corner. Beside him was a grave, dug by Kurzu earlier that afternoon. An elderly local artist had crafted a rough statue bearing Yamesh’s image, which now stood prominently across from the fireplace.
A young priest was waiting for them. He approached Nira and embraced her.
“Your father was a pillar of our community. He will not be forgotten.”
“Thank you, Enkamanu,” she whispered.
Enkamanu walked to Yamesh’s head. He drew some of the expensive scented oils Nira had purchased onto his fingers. He traced a pattern over the shrouded figure, announcing, “His body is clean. His spirit is released.”
Kurzu heard Nira’s quiet gasp.
“Kurzu, if you wouldn’t mind.” Enkamanu nodded to the body.
Kurzu rose. He took position and gripped the reed posts at Yamesh’s feet, while the priest gripped those at his head. They lifted and lowered Yamesh into his grave.
The priest then gestured to Nira, who slowly stood and walked to her father’s statue. The eyes were like his, even unpainted. Her tears brimmed and broke.
She touched her fingers in the bowl of oils and anointed the image’s forehead.
“I offer you perfumed oils, to ease your spirit.”
She took a loaf of bread from a nearby table and placed it in a shining bowl at the statue’s feet.
“I offer you bread, to nourish you.”
She poured beer onto the dirt before the statue’s feet.
“I offer you beer, to…” her voice caught in her throat. “I offer you beer to quench your thirst.”
She lifted a burning candle to the air, and with it lit a cone of incense.
“I offer you smoke, to carry your spirit safely to the underworld.”
She turned and walked to Kurzu, hiding her face in his shoulder. He held her for a time, until she finally pulled away.
The priest departed soon after, and Kurzu grabbed the shovel. But Nira stood before him and held her hands out. The look on her face kept him from objecting.
“Thank you for everything, Kurzu. I’m okay, I can do this. Please go rest.”
He nodded, unable to find the words, and stepped outside.
The world seemed not to notice Yamesh’s passing in an immediate sense; the sun was still shining as it faded in the west, and the slow churn of the city continued unabated. But even so, Kurzu still felt the old man’s absence. More than that, his heart hurt for Nira, to whom he could offer no real comfort.
As he wandered through the city, only half-intending to make his way back home, he found himself in the Eridu bazaar. Though he’d been back many times, he had not been in this part of the city since the Great Hunt.
He thought about all he’d endured since that night, which now felt as though it had been a different life altogether. His memories of fretting over his penmanship, of how best to impress and get along with his schoolmates, may as well have been dreams.
As he passed into the shadow of an old storage house, he came upon the stall owned by a local goat farmer. The farmer was there, as he had been nearly every day for decades, selling his homemade cheese. He dropped a few shekels into the jar and popped a piece of cheese into his mouth. Kurzu remembered meeting with Nira that day, and how the green of her dress had reminded him of the spring blooms. He could see the look on her face. He’d been so excited for the future.
Emotion welled up inside him. His legs felt weak, and his eyes watered. Before he knew what happened, Kurzu fell to his hands and knees, gasping as he began to sob. He cried, and could not stop. He cried for the innocence that was taken from himself and his friends, for the unending tragedy and loss that had befallen them all. He cried for Nira, for Alduni, for Qesma, for Enshanesha, for Ruut, for Shulgi. He wet the ground with his tears, letting them fall. He grasped his amulet.
The storm within him slowly subsided, and he climbed to his feet, not caring to see if anyone in the busy evening market had witnessed it. He cleared his face and kept walking. 
 
43

A dog which is played with turns into a puppy.
Sumerian proverb	
	
Shulgi’s deadline approached quickly. After a month’s time, the chiefs of the Guti clans arrived with their promised convoy. Nearly fifty people made the trip to Babylon. They wore dyed and decorated leathers, and their long hair was tied in intricate braids. Individuals of nobility wore colorful capes designating their clan and status. No children had made the trip, but there were a few people who seemed to be Shulgi’s age.
Shulgi saw them all for the first time as he stood in the grand hall. Their number was unexpected, and their bearing assumptive. His animal instincts told him to fight. These were the enemy. But no, today, they were his fellows. He caged his animal and approached them with his mother’s smile.
“Distinguished members of the Clannate, I am King Shulgi. I welcome you all to my kingdom. May our interests converge today and allow our societies to find peace.”
A handful of translators in the gallery mumbled beneath Shulgi’s greeting, and he received affirmative grunts and uncertain smiles from the room in return. He had commanded his guards to keep their weapons sheathed, but he could see the tension on their faces.
“Well said, King Shulgi,” a massive voice rumbled. He was of considerable size; proportionally larger than any person the king had ever seen. His light green cape was yet larger, trailing ragged on the ground behind him. His brown hair was long and braided. The man approached Shulgi, squared himself before him, and stared him in the eyes. “I am Chief Rashkit of the Grass Clan. I sent the messenger boy to you.”
“I am Shulgi, king of Sumer and Akkad. It is an honor and a pleasure to meet you, Chief Rashkit. Please, will you introduce your companions?”
“They will introduce themselves,” another man spoke. Very old and frail in appearance, he too wore a long cape, but of a light tan color. “Chief Zarla of the Sand Clan.”
A third man, young and handsome, brushed something from his gray cloak. “My name is Chief Ashtif of the Stone Clan,” he said in a very thick accent.
A young woman with a shaved head and a white cloak cleared her throat and announced, “I am Chief Ibruma of the Snow Clan.” Shulgi had never seen blue eyes before. He was drawn to the electricity within them.
A thin man with careful diction and a dark green cape bowed to Shulgi, saying “King Shulgi, thank you for hosting us. I am Chief Hablum of the Forest Clan.”
After a moment, a sour man with a large beard and a dark blue cape crossed his arms. “Chief Lugrum of the River Clan,” he snarled.
Shulgi committed their names to memory. “Welcome, each of you, to Urim. A more profound meeting has never been seen in our world. Let us make the most of it.”
“Where is your mother?” Hablum asked.
“The queen mother is not feeling well, and has confined herself to her quarters.”
Lugrum scoffed.
“She offers her sincere regrets for her absence,” Shulgi continued. “You will be well kept, as will your people. Please, eat, drink, sate yourselves, and we can discuss our blossoming friendship.”
Shulgi gestured to the center table, which was dense with extravagant food and drink. After a few hesitant moments, the Guti leaders began to shuffle around the room and take their seats.
Chief Lugrum approached Shulgi immediately.
“I do not trust you,” he said, finding Shulgi’s eyes as he spoke.
“Perhaps that will change after today,” Shulgi said evenly, meeting the man’s gaze. He knew this game.
“It is not likely,” Lugrum sneered. “I am a warrior. A leader. You are a child swinging your dead father’s sword.”
Shulgi felt the heat of anger, but let it pass. Lugrum, though, saw what he wanted to see, and smirked as he walked away. Shulgi allowed himself a small exasperated sigh.
*
“What are you?”
“Captain Ziusudra, my queen.”
Siatum laughed quietly as she circled the young man, tracing her finger across the back of his bare shoulders. When she made it back around, she gave him a playful slap across the face. She frowned with lidded eyes.
“I did not ask your name. What are you?”
“I… I am yours, my queen.”
“Correct.”
She reached up, her fingers gently weaving through his hair, and pushed down on the top of his head. The young captain knew this meant it was time to drop to his knees, and he did.
“And you will do what I ask of you. What I command.”
“Yes, my queen. Anything.”
She pulled his chin up with one finger, looking into his eyes with terrifying intensity.
“And you mean these words?”
“Yes, my queen. I desire only to serve you,” he pleaded.
She saw what she wanted to see, and smiled wide.
“Correct. I have a dire task for you, my pet. But, the reward…"
*	
When the chiefs had filled their bellies and rested their bones, Shulgi stood and prepared to speak. He gathered their attention with a small bell, and the room gradually fell silent.
“Chiefs of the six clans, you requested this meeting in search of peace. You traveled here today with diplomatic intent, and I thank you for honoring that. In that spirit, I have promised and delivered your uninhibited journey here, to the great city of Babylon. May that trust inform our decisions today. As you know, our people and yours have spilled blood. Lives across our great lands have been destroyed, farms razed, reputations and relationships tarnished. Generations of potential have been lost to the fires of war.”
“War you have instigated!” Lugrum slammed his fists on the table. “You marshfolk have brought a plague of death to our clans for generations!”
“Chief Lugrum!” Hablum protested.
“Your forebearers have kept us from the riches of your lands,” Lugrum continued. “Your famous father wasted his long reign persecuting us. Your infamous mother does not bother to show us her face in her own hall. You, Shulgi, purge our people’s blood, showing off your new power, and now you have the nerve to preach to us about the costs of war. As I said, you are a child!”
“Chief Lugrum!” Rashkit thundered. “We are here to end war, not spark it. Contain your emotions!”
Shulgi’s heart thumped in his ears. He squeezed his fists to numbness beneath the table, focusing on calming his face. Murmuring from across the room.
After a moment, the king spoke.
“Your concerns are valid, Chief Lugrum, though your criticisms are misplaced. Listen to me. I have indeed been engaged in a war campaign. I will not hide from this. In the course of this campaign, the very one of which you speak, I conducted my armies across the shores of Tigris. I commanded them to remove your people from my lands as retribution…”
Shulgi slammed his own fists on the table, unable to contain himself.
“Retribution for my abduction and imprisonment, for my humiliation! Retribution for the murder of my father! For the cowardly attempt on my life! For the generations of decay and vulgarity inflicted on my people!”
“The River Clan will never know peace with a slanderous weakling!” Lugrum retaliated.
The room erupted into argument. Shulgi’s guards grew restless, grasping at their sword hilts.
“Enough of this!” Ibruma roared with extraordinary volume.
The room quieted. Shulgi tensed.
“Talk is pointless without purpose. Argument more so! I speak to each of you now, do not drown your dignity in rage! What does peace look like to you, King of Marshes?”
Shulgi took a moment, releasing a breath.	
“Peace… Arguments are settled not with metal, but with words. They resolve not in sorrow and death, but in drink and laughter. Our differences are but curiosities, opportunities. We find strength in one another. We find forgiveness when we seek it earnestly. We welcome our old enemies into our houses, perhaps turning them to friends.”
“I would gladly seek a peace like that,” Ibruma smiled. “Can any one of you disagree?”
“Your wisdom exceeds us all, Chief Ibruma,” Zarla laughed.
“We cannot simply forgive the blood you have spilled,” Lugrum sighed. “However, if my fellow clan chiefs come to a decision today that will prevent further death for my people… I will not necessarily oppose it.”
“A step toward peace, my brothers and sisters,” bellowed Rashkit to light applause.
“I need much more drink if I am to digest this Sumerian’s sweet words,” Lugrum shouted, with only the slightest hint of a smile. Laughter carried light into the room.
“Now that we are all friends again, let us address and dismiss these insulting falsehoods you levy against us.” Zarla rose, speaking in a measured, bouncing drawl. “Firstly, King of Marshes, you claim the clans are responsible for the dishonest killing of your father. That is outrageous. We do not pretend to have considered Urnammu a friend. In fact, we have slain many of each other’s warriors through the years. But our people do not work in the ways of treachery and secrets. None will know the grace of the gods without the fierce integrity of fair and open combat. The cowardice of assassination has no place in the Clannate. Do not doubt my words, Sumerian!”
The Guti chiefs clamored in agreement, drinking their freshly poured mead.
“This informs the second insult: this idea that we endeavored to usurp you with abductions and attacks from the shadows. As I have stated, we do not disrespect our enemies in such ways. We act with ferocity, but with honor. Surely you have found this to be true.”
“Indeed, I found your warriors to be direct, to say the least. And each man has been ferocious as the hungry lion. But I was most certainly ambushed and assaulted by Guti warriors. They took my clothes and my bow, and drove me through the wilderness for days before I made my escape. But, rest assured, the ones who I felled, the ones who abducted me, were given respect, though they gave me none. I saw to their burials myself, beneath the holy cedar trees to the east.”
“You what?!” All the clan chiefs flew to their feet, nostrils flaring, eyes wide with indignation. The Guti in the gallery began hurling unintelligible insults. The Sumerian guards stirred uneasily. Shulgi did not understand.
“But of course, I killed them to escape! Would you have had me follow them to some unknown fate, a coward pressing the knife to his own throat?!”
Rashkit scowled at Shulgi. “You dragged them from the sacred battlefield they gave their lives upon, and covered them in dirt and filth?! You hid their faces from the prideful gaze of the gods!”
“I protected their bodies from the hyenas and the vultures,” the king asserted. “I acted with honor, even while they disgraced and agitated me, dragging me naked through the cold night!”
“For this, you curse their souls? And that is your honor?” retaliated Ashtif.
“They were not supposed to take your clothes yet,” Lugrum confessed in a voice distinctly lacking anger. The room quieted.
“Explain… explain what you mean,” Shulgi said evenly.
The confused eyes of his colleagues fell upon him, and Chief Lugrum sighed deeply. The room waited for him.
“News of your father’s plans reached my lieutenant outside Lagash. We learned you intended to travel that way together. The men were to capture you both alive and take you to my city, where you would then be… stripped, beaten, and driven naked through the streets. A demonstration of your profound loss, and our profound recovery. The River Clan would ignite riots, overthrow your dubious house, and regain this land, where many of our grandparents, and their grandparents, made their homes. But as you know, that is not what came to pass. Your father resisted capture, and forced his own execution. Our warriors afforded him the respect you refused to show, and left his body where it fell, untouched after death, according to the ancient custom.”
“Chief Lugrum, this is a disturbing confession,” Zarla exclaimed on behalf of the room. “Your actions undermine the values I have only just professed. You have made me, and all of us, a travesty!”
“I will not lie even to my enemies. I acted for the good of my people, as would any of you. Generations of blind war and tradition have gotten us nothing, but look, look what I have done for us!”
There was a long moment of silence.
“The shadows grow long,” Shulgi announced wearily. “We shall adjourn until tomorrow. Rest peacefully… honored guests.”
There was no response. The chiefs stared as Shulgi stood and shuffled out of the grand hall.  
 
44

When righteousness is cut off, injustice is increased.
Sumerian proverb

The deepest hour of night came at last. Ziusudra, well-trained captain of the royal guard, slipped out of Siatum’s chamber as she watched intently. There was no need to hide his actions as he was operating under her authority, but it would benefit his safety to work in secret, she suggested. Animals can be unpredictable, she said.
The clan chiefs slept away their drink in the northern wing of the palace, where the visiting nobility would stay. Though they were obviously well guarded, a visiting young captain would raise no eyebrows, even at such a strange hour. Trysts between dignitaries were common, especially with political tension in the air.
It hurt his heart to do such a despicable thing, but he understood the need. It was for the security of the kingdom. Just six people had to die. It would be easier on them to go as they slept, Siatum decided. Two of them were already old, she had said. And the world would soon know peace again with their sacrifice. Because of her, for the first time in Ziusudra’s life, he felt truly important. His would be the hands that shaped the destiny of the world, that made it great again for the people of Sumer, and it was all thanks to her.
There would never be a better time to end this war. The savages had centuries to give up their raids and their invasions of our home, his queen had taught him. And yet they never did, because it is their nature to destroy. Only by cutting off the mountain snake’s head could Sumer finally be rid of the Guti scourge. Ziusudra understood well enough. He had heard stories all his life of the violent, crude Guti, of their godless ways, and their disregard for even the most basic of civilities.
He slit the throats of the old men, to get them out of the way. Siatum instructed him to kill Zarla first; apparently, they had a contentious history. Next were the three strong men. Each of them slept heavy with drink, and they went quickly and quietly. The large one seemed to wake for a moment as he died, but Ziusudra cut him deep to be certain, and he moved no more. Last to go was the young woman. She was quite beautiful, and he felt a pang of sorrow as he bled her out. He decided not to look into her eyes.
Ziusudra cut a piece from each of their colorful cloaks and dipped them in their blood, as his queen had instructed. In the large man’s robe, he discovered a red stone carving of a lion, the emblem of Sumerian royalty. He decided to keep it for a souvenir and slipped it into his pocket, then crawled out the window into the darkness.
The night was warm. The nearly imperceptible weight of the folded cloth in his bag would not leave the forefront of his mind.
When at last he found his way back to Siatum, he found her seated in a chair in the middle of the room, astride it as a queen on a throne.
She didn’t need to ask him. He knew what his queen wanted from him. He slowly approached her and produced from his bag the evidence of his crime. He knelt before her and presented the cloth to her, doing his best not to shake.
Siatum accepted the cloth, and inhaled from it deeply. She laughed, a soft and gentle sound he had not yet heard.
Ziusudra looked up, confused. Had he made a mistake?
“Don’t worry, my pet. You have done so well. I am proud of you.”
Ziusudra’s heart filled. Such warmth was rare from Siatum, as a burst of sunshine through the rain.
“I live to serve you, my queen. You have given me everything, and yet I would gladly give it all back and more, if only you asked.”
“You are a good man, Ziusudra. But I have asked you to do a terrible thing, and you have done it. For this, I promised you a reward.”
Siatum knelt to meet his gaze.
“Cherish this gift.”
Ziusudra’s heart beat in his ears as she cradled his face and kissed him - a deep, passionate kiss. He had never been kissed in such a way, and certainly not by such a woman.
She was slow to pull away, and her eyes were closed. “You are the second man to ever taste my lips. The first was a king. Now rise, and rest. Your work is done for today.”
“Thank you… my queen…”
Ziusudra’s legs were weak as he stood, and yet he felt weightless as he drifted from the room. He made his way through the stone corridors, into a special room at the head of the royal guardhouse, and fell at last into his bed.
He could taste her on every uneven breath. He could see her with eyes closed.
That night, he dreamed he was floating in the calm ocean. He looked up at Nanna’s light, presiding silently over the sleeping world, reflecting strangely in the subtle waves. Suddenly, something grabbed his legs and dragged him under. He fought, terrified, but as he succumbed to the abyss, the fading, billowing light from the moonlit waves above showed him the smiling face of Siatum, whose grip grew ever tighter as she pulled him down, down into the dark. 
 
45

If you take the field of an enemy, the enemy will come and take your field.
	Sumerian proverb

Chaos woke Shulgi in the early hours of morning. There were screams echoing through the palace, screams of anger and terror and grief. He flew from his bed with a sword already in hand. Enthiavasa sat up and clutched the blankets to herself, eyes wide with fear as Shulgi motioned for her to remain still and silent. She located a small knife from the side of the mattress. He crept to the door and, with a deep breath, gently pushed it open.
A trio of flustered guards saw him and rushed to his side. People were rushing through the hallways, armed and terrified.
“My king, someone’s killed the Guti ambassadors! They’re all dead. Their followers and families have taken up arms as we speak.”
“What?! How did this happen?” Shulgi rubbed the sleep from his eyes, bare disgust on his face. Who would undermine him like this? Who could have butchered his own houseguests?
“We don’t know yet, my king,” another soldier cried, “but they’ve holed up in their quarters, and have killed at least three of ours. Captain Ziusudra ordered us to hold position and await your command, my king.”
“Bring me my bow and-” Shulgi began.
At that moment, a flurry of raging Guti civilians erupted from the main hall. They had broken the line. Dozens of berserk men and women were slashing their way through the guards, who immediately pushed back and spilled their own share of blood.
A young woman, whom Shulgi recognized as an attendant to Chief Ibruma, met the king’s eyes and rushed him, shrieking for vengeance as her tears rolled. But she was quickly overtaken and gutted.
“Prisoners! Take them as prisoners!” Shulgi roared to his men. It was too late to establish order, however, as the cries turned from rage to horror.
An armored elbow smashed into the back of Shulgi’s head, knocking him to the ground. The young soldier was already dead. The weight pinned Shulgi to the ground, and he struggled for a few precious moments to free himself. The killer, a spring-stepped young man bearing Rashkit’s colors and a hook knife, snarled as he moved past the disoriented king and into his bed chamber. Enthiavasa screamed.
Shulgi was not fast enough. He watched as the young man cut his love’s throat, spraying bright red over clean white. An arrow from behind Shulgi’s head found the murderous boy’s heart, and he fell to the side.
The young king ran to Enthiavasa, but she was already gone. 
Enthiavasa’s eyes were yet bright, though they could not see the man she had loved as he crumbled over her fading light. Moments later, the riot was quelled, and her eyes were closed. 
From the corner of his vision, Shulgi saw his guards rushing into the room.
“The queen mother is safe, my… king…”
Shulgi heard the man, but gave no response.

Unknown time passed while the palace staff conducted their grisly removal of the gore that now filled the halls. Shulgi could not yet move from her side, and no one dared compel him.
Finally, Rashugal entered and made his way to Shulgi. He rested a hand on the young man’s shoulder for a time.
“She was a remarkable woman, a gem, King Shulgi. She will be waiting for us, along with my son, and your father. You will see her again. Let us take care of her in the way she deserves.”
At last the king looked up. He could not see the healer clearly.
“She…” He trailed off. He could only see her eyes, no matter where he looked. “She was my queen,” he said. “Treat her as a queen. Treat her as my queen, or I’ll… I’ll kill everyone,” he groaned. “We were supposed to…”
“Of course, my king,” Rashugal replied. "Of course.”
Shulgi pushed himself to his feet and moved from the room, letting the door drift shut behind him. Blood stained every surface in sight. He gripped the sides of his head. 
 
46

Ishkur splits the heavens, yet he does not split the waterskin.
Sumerian proverb

Kurzu was taking one of his daily strolls to clear his mind, idly finishing a date cake and shielding his eyes from the midday sun.
After the tragedy at the palace, Shulgi personally withdrew from military command, placing Adulshurasa in charge. He left with his mother to commemorate Urnammu and Enthiavasa in Nippur, and did not specify when he expected to return. Kurzu, then, was left with nothing to do. It did not surprise him when his aimless journey led him to Nira’s door.
She was home, but she was not alone. There were four men and two women seated throughout Nira’s main room. They stared at Kurzu as he entered, and he responded with a cautious smile.
“Kurzu, I’m so happy to see you!” Nira emerged from a side room in good spirits, balancing a bundle of blankets on her shoulder.
“I’m happy to see you, too,” he replied. “Who are your friends?”
“These people have nowhere to stay. I can’t maintain a farm by myself, so I’ve offered them a place to live if they help me keep the place in good shape.”
“You’re doing the gods’ work, Nira,” an older woman said. “Your father would be proud.”
Nira smiled broadly. It had been a long time since he’d seen it, but it still warmed his heart.
“That’s a great idea. Everybody wins.”
“Thanks, I think so, too.”
“So do I,” an older man chimed in with a mischievous grin, earning light laughter from the room.
Nira set the blankets down on a nearby table. “What can I do for you?”
“I was just walking and I ended up here. I don’t really know what to do with myself these days.”
“Well, if you feel like pitching in here, you can see there’s plenty to be done. If you like, there’s even space for you to sleep. Before you ask, it’s not in my room.” She gave him a cheeky look.
“I wasn’t going to say anything!” Kurzu protested. The room laughed again.
“Sure, of course,” Nira smirked. “Do me a favor and lay those blankets out on the floor. Over there is fine.”
“Happily,” Kurzu replied.

That night, and for many nights after, Kurzu ate dinner with Nira and the six strangers, who quickly became new friends. Though he was tempted by the simplicity of this domestic life, a part of him knew it was not meant to become what his heart truly craved. He enjoyed every moment with Nira, to be sure, but as the days went on, he realized two haunting truths.
Firstly, he realized the painful void in his heart could only be filled by family, of which he had very little. His mother and father were far too preoccupied with one another to continue providing the sort of stability and love he’d known as a child. No, that wasn’t right. They deserved their own happiness. They were once strangers to him, but took him into their lives and raised him as a son. Kurzu simply began to feel as though he’d finally outgrown the role of the needful orphan. He wanted to build the family to which his heart aspired. He wanted to become a father.
Secondly, he realized that despite the love in his heart for Nira, she would never be the wife and mother he wanted her to be. Her interests, her passions, lie elsewhere. Though he shared a restrained kiss with her from time to time, and though they professed their peculiar form of love to one another, the spark of teenage romance he’d wanted to develop into an inferno instead became a reliable ember of friendship.
Even sharing her bed, as he began to do after a few nights in the common room, did not seem to ignite their passions in the way a hopeful youth dreams. Theirs, he figured, was the sort of love that transcends physicality, and becomes a symbiosis capable of nourishing both the souls it nevertheless keeps at a distance. Embers, after all, hold onto their deep heat long after the flames diminish.
Kurzu felt a deep love for Qesma, as well, despite her absence. The connection he’d felt with her was the kind his heart could translate through his family dreams. He often wondered about her, and whether she had ever found the peace she was looking for. Hers were the eyes he saw in his dreams, reflecting the firelight. Hers were the hands he felt resting on his chest in those waking moments when reality is malleable, and the sleeping world rebuilds itself to suit the expectations of mortals. Hers were the words, the lips, the hair, the breasts, the whispers his memories exalted.
One late afternoon, when the farmhands were all hard at work in their element, Kurzu discovered Nira at the edge of the property. She was sitting on an old tree stump looking out on the marshes, her long hair twisting gently in the wind.
She heard his approach, and looked back for only a moment.
“I was just thinking about Alduni. I hope that wherever he is right now, he’s safe.”
“I’m sure he is safe. I don’t know anyone tougher than him.”
They stood together a while, watching the birds in the distant sky.
“I always liked this spot. It’s got a view of the sea, or at least, that’s what I’ve always thought. Do you think that’s the sea, that bit of pale blue out there?”
She lifted her false hand to the horizon.
Kurzu looked, but he couldn’t see anything.
“Yeah, that must be the sea.”
The sky began to turn orange, spreading its warmth across the blue as it began its descent into black. 
 
47

Pay heed to the word of your mother as though it were the word of a god.
Sumerian proverb

Three muddled weeks after the massacre, Shulgi and Siatum were seated in the dining hall of the palace at Enlil’s temple. The food had grown cold.
They had travelled together to Nippur, the holy city, to pay tribute to Urnammu, whose image had been cast in clay along with the great and ancient kings.
Shulgi had visited Nippur before, at least a dozen times in his youth. Far from entertaining in any sense, the holiest of ancient cities was built around the House of the Mountain, where the god of gods held court. Unfortunately, there was little else to appreciate about the ruin-laden city. Its better days were far behind it. Even the temple, once renowned for unique and mysterious architecture, was broken and moss-covered.
Shulgi’s face was hidden in his arms, which were sprawled out on the table. Siatum opened her mouth for a moment, but said nothing. The candles flickered.
“She was a fine woman,” Siatum choked out. Between travelling and settling in, it had been many hours since either of them spoke.
“Don’t,” Shulgi rasped into his elbow.
“Guards, leave us, and I mean what I say,” she muttered to the guards at the door. Their heavy footsteps soon faded.
Shulgi sighed.
“I know you loved her dearly.”
“Don’t. Please just stop, mother.”
“Between losing your father and- “
“NO! Stop. We are not… talking about it.”
Shulgi lifted his head, letting his eyes focus on the beans he had ignored. Tasteless. Joyless.
He then met the stone eyes of Sargon, leering and lidless from the statue on the wall. Somewhere behind him among the rows of fallen kings were now the gentle eyes of his father, looking at him from his golden throne in the underworld. Next to Urnammu stood the visage of Enthiavasa, freshly sculpted and painted, the crownless queen. He could feel all their gazes in this place, radiant and unforgiving as the sun.
Another few moments passed. He heard his mother shift in her seat.
“I never intended for her to be hurt.”
Of course not, Shulgi thought. But something about the way she said it struck him. His skin crawled as he thought of the unthinkable.
He sat up now, and looked into his mother’s eyes. There was something there he did not recognize.
“Y… Did… What are you saying?”
“Those barbarians, reacting the way they did…”
“No. No.”
“It was only meant to be the clan chiefs. It was the only way.”
Shulgi stood abruptly, his crafted reed chair clattering to the floor. The noise echoed in the high stone hallways.
“Why? Why would…?”
“I’m… so sorry, Shulgi.”	
He stared at her, trying to understand.
“Shulgi, you must listen to me. There are things you don’t know about your father’s death.”
“Don’t try to change the subject! That is not fair!”
“Listen to me now!” Siatum now matched his rage and desperation.
“No!”
“Shulgi!”
He turned and stormed out of the ancient palace. Dreading the light of even the fading sunset, he marched recklessly down the stairs, shouting to the idle guards before he reached the bottom.
“Guards! Arrest her! Arrest my mother! Arrest Siatum immediately and imprison her down below!”
“My king?” One guard hesitated.
“Arrest her! Arrest her! Arrest her! Arrest her!”
They wasted no time in moving up the stairs, and Shulgi followed. 
Siatum was sullen and silent as they entered the hall and slowly approached her. They seemed to view her as a lioness, cornered and unpredictable. The men slowly flanked her, afraid to say anything, but she extended her arms.

The bars of the dungeon cell were old, but they still served their purpose well enough. There was only dim torchlight here; Nanna’s light did not reach the depths of Nippur. Siatum sat quietly, and did not react when Shulgi finally descended the stone stairs and sat on the floor outside her cell.
“You told me there are things I don’t know about my father’s death.”
Siatum smiled.
“Did you know you were born here, Shulgi? Just upstairs, in the temple infirmary. I had to give birth on a mat of reed straws instead of proper linens, as they were all being washed that day. Of course.”
“What does that have to do with Father?”
“Your father was a brave man. I wish you could have known him when he was your age. You are so much like him, in so many ways.”
“Tell me what I don’t know about his death, Mother.”
Siatum lifted her chin, and met her son’s eyes at last. There was that strange look in her eyes again.
“You got your impatience from me, you know. Your father was patient. And kind. He was a truly good man. I know he loved us both.”
Shulgi screamed and rattled the cage.
“Stop doing that and answer my question! I am not here to bond with you. It’s too late for that.”
Siatum laughed, a glimmer of ice.
“I’m trying to tell you, so shut your mouth and listen for a while.”
Shulgi said nothing.
“Before you were born, life was very dangerous for your father and I. The Reclamation demanded everything of us both, especially after we lost your grandfather. So, when we discovered I was carrying you, we began to delegate the military operations and prepared to raise you. But there were others who sought to fill the space left by my father’s death. I killed no less than two assassins while I was pregnant with you. One tried to poison you and I both, but she was the one to consume it in the end. Another tried to cut you from my belly. You can guess what fate I brought to him.”
Shulgi remained silent.
“I have protected you countless times since your conception, and I will continue to do so as long as I live. Were you even aware of the plot in Unug? Have you given a single thought to who it was that tried to murder you at your own purification rites?”
“Of course, but… what plot in Unug?”
“Aradlugal and Bareshba are not to be trusted. I have reason to believe they are the ones behind the poison arrow. Even Urnammu knew those two are nothing but rats gorging themselves on the remains of my father’s city.”
Shulgi was trying to digest all this information.
“The bow belongs to an Urimite officer. My former captain of the guard, Ezerudu, was found murdered in Eridu that same night. An Urimite officer’s knife was buried in his skull. Shulgi, two of our most loyal guards, those poor dullards Buranu and Sipparu, were butchered in Urim on the last day of your festival, in our own home! At least one of our officers is a spy for Unug, and he’s gutting our house from the inside out. The only one I trust is Ziusudra. I know his loyalty is unflinching.”
Shulgi took a few moments to think. “Then, the gold and silver from Unug… that was you, wasn’t it?”
“I reminded them of the price of loyalty. Your war coffers needed filling, and it was the least they could do.”
“I was led to believe that was a community fund, a wartime contribution. But it was blood leeched from our allies. You’ve incited them against me, Mother!”
“They are not our allies! You aren’t listening. They were plotting to kill you before I ever arrived, Shulgi! I put them in their place and kept them in line, the way I always have. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”
“Even if that is all true, where is the connection to my father’s death?”
“I knew there was something strange about it. How did those barbarians know where to find him, and when he would be virtually unprotected? How did they bring a hundred soldiers down into our country without a word of alarm? An internal plot, by none other than a handful of scum from our own royal guard. It’s the only possible answer. Three of them somehow escaped the massacre, and it made their complicity clear. But don’t worry, my son, I have already taken care of them. There are just the poison archer, the murderous knife-bearer, and the festival butcher left to find. It is only a matter of time. I intended to interrogate each of the guards myself, but instead, you and I are here.”
“So then why would you murder the Guti ambassadors? They were guests under my roof. That was our one chance, our only chance at peace! Nothing you wouldn’t do for me… you’ve doomed us to war, Mother! You’re the reason Enthiavasa was killed!”
“Don’t be a fool, my son. There is no peace that can be achieved while the Guti draw breath. They’re even more dangerous than Unug. They have spent generations destroying us! You are right, this was our one chance at peace. And I took it. Enthiavasa deserved better, but you may not lie her death at my feet.”
Shulgi stood and approached the cell, grasping his hands tightly around the bars. “Don’t you say her name. Don’t you ever say it again.” His voice was a growl.
Siatum, for the first time, looked afraid of her son.
“You… you’re the reason Father is dead. The reason the love of my life is dead. The reason my bones ache even now from that damned poison! You have made enemies of the world, and now they will all come for my head. You have cursed me. Destroyed everything I love. You are no longer my mother.”
“Shulgi, don’t say that… please…”
He stood.
“Shulgi… my favorite child…”
“I was your only child, but no longer.”
He began to walk away.
“You are not my only child, Shulgi.”
Shulgi stopped and turned back to her. “What did you just say?”
“You deserve to know.”
Shulgi took his head in his hands. “To lie about something like that…”
“It’s not a lie. You have a brother, and two sisters. They were all born together, almost a year after we had you.”
“What are you talking about? There’s no way. I would remember.”
“We decided not to tell you, not to tell anyone. You must understand, you couldn’t have any competition for the throne, it was too dangerous.”
Shulgi shook his head slowly.
“Did you… are they…”
“Do you really think so low of me? Of course, they are alive. They just don’t know who their parents are. They couldn’t, you must understand.”
“Stop saying that. I don’t understand. I don’t want to understand.”
“You actually played together as children a handful of times. You were all so young, I doubt you would remember them. Would you like to know their names? Where to find them?”
Shulgi staggered forward, crawling back down to his knees.
“You’re serious… how could you keep them from me? All this time?”
“I told you, if they grew up knowing they were next in line for the kingship, you would never be safe around them.”
“Not everyone thinks like you, Mother.”
“Yes, they do.”
“And Father knew about this? He gave them up so willingly?”
“Your father was conflicted. Deeply conflicted, Shulgi. But he understood it was for the best. With all the danger surrounding our family, they were, and are, much safer shrouded in ignorance. We ensured they were raised in wealth. We protected each of our children, one way or another. Now, do you want to know their names or not?”
“…Yes.” Shulgi’s heart was racing.
“Your sisters are Nirgalanna and Amabarag. They live in Urim. Nirgalanna is a priestess, so I suppose you can call her Ennirgalanna.”
“Nirgalanna… Amabarag…”
“Your brother is named Lurashku. He lives in Unug.” 
 
48

As long as you live you should not increase evil by telling lies.
Sumerian proverb

Bareshba screamed, gripping the midwife’s hand with all her strength. Her other hand clamped onto that of her faithful husband, Aradlugal.
From the next room, it was all Gassu and Igaru could do not to interrupt with sheer impatient excitement. This child, after all, would be the firstborn child of the rightful queen of Sumer and Akkad, Bareshba. They would grow to become the ruler of the entire world. This day would be the subject of song.
Gassu scratched his bald head. “I don’t like the sound of her screaming.”
“That’s what birth is,” Igaru replied. “Screams and blood and shit, just like death.”
“You’re a true poet, brother.”
Bareshba’s screams grew more desperate, and the comforting commands of the midwife could be heard beneath them. Aradlugal’s low voice muttered calming encouragements to his wife.
“I think this might be it,” Gassu said, springing to his feet.
A few minutes later, the screaming subsided, and the sound of a crying baby echoed across the stone floors.
The midwife emerged, hands covered in blood, but a smile on her face.
“It’s a boy!”
Igaru and Gassu laughed and patted one another on the back as they made their way into the birthing room.
A young man, who had been carefully positioned within Bareshba’s eyeline in the hall for hours, watched and listened with great interest.
*
As night fell, Bareshba nursed her newborn and whispered her love as they drifted into sleep. Just as she was about to close her own eyes, she spotted the man she had been waiting for.
“Lurashku, you came! I knew you would,” she said softly.
“My love, I will never leave you,” Lurashku replied.
“Shh, your son is asleep,” Bareshba smiled wide.
“I know what to call him. Adad, after my father.”
“It’s perfect. Adad, my little prince.”
“Is he around?”
“No, he understands I need time to bond with Adad. He will be sleeping in the east wing until the child is weaned. We have nothing to fear.”
“I’ve secured our place in the caravan next week. We will have a fully covered wagon to ourselves, and there will be two armed guards driving the camels. We will be heading upriver, to Babylon, just like we planned.”
“That’s wonderful to hear. I assume you bought their silence?”
“Of course. They are mercenaries, after all. Their loyalty is to gold.”
The new parents spent a few precious moments admiring their child. Lurashku leaned down and kissed his family on their foreheads.
“I need to go, my love, but I will return tomorrow night, and every night I am able, until we finally leave this place together. As a family.”
“Dream of me, Lurashku. I love you, and I love our son.”
Lurashku slipped out of the room and back down the hall. As one of the head chefs for the palace, he had unlimited access to every corner of the estate. Such privilege was useful for arranging their star-crossed liaisons.
Bareshba had married young, too young, and for the wrong reasons. She came from a family of poor fur trappers, and had moved to the city as a girl to find a better life. Aradlugal’s family had wealth and power from the Reclamation period, and they wielded it in Unug the way a shark wields its teeth. By the time Bareshba made her way into his life, he had already attained the governorship of Unug, and the ownership of every dock and port in the city.
He was good to her, but his feeble attempts to produce an heir with her were ever fruitless; Aradlugal’s greatest shame was the loss of his testicles from a snakebite when he was young. Pious as the next man, Aradlugal believed his legacy was in the hands of the gods, so he was hardly surprised when a week of isolation and deep prayer resulted in a miraculous pregnancy.
Bareshba met Lurashku almost a year ago. She had never paid him much attention when he delivered his delicious meals, but one evening, everything changed. He complimented her eyes, and she complimented his cooking. They fell in love right away. They could only meet in secret, of course, but it wasn’t long before she couldn’t imagine life without him.
Lurashku would be heartbroken when he realized she couldn’t leave with him, but she would tell him it was too dangerous to take the baby from Aradlugal, that he would grow suspicious and put them in danger; better she raise the boy as Prince Adad of Unug and let Lurashku love his son from afar.
The baby stirred and awoke, though it did not cry. Bareshba met her son’s eyes and smiled, feeling the deepest peace she had ever known. The pain this little one had caused her was worth it, for his birth guaranteed security for her family and her husband’s, as well. With unquestioned authority in Unug, she could ensure Lurashku, too, would be comfortable the rest of his days.
Though her legs were weak, Bareshba climbed to her feet and carried her child to the window. She looked out on the beautiful night, at the stars reflecting on the ponds and streams of the city below.
It had never mattered to her whether she was officially a queen or not. She enjoyed the power, to be sure, but to contend with the likes of Siatum for the title was simply not worth the trouble. As she grew older, Bareshba was beginning to see the value in a life of simplicity and love. Truly there was more to appreciate in this world than gold, though she never would have imagined it only a few years ago.
Adad looked up at his mother with curious eyes, grasping at her hair in his infantile way.                                                                                     
49
 
That the dog understands "Take it!" does not mean he also understands "Put it down!"
Sumerian proverb

Ziusudra had been unable to act when he saw his queen being arrested by her own son, the ungrateful Shulgi. No one should be punished for what he had done, let alone Siatum. It was truly a shame that Enthiavasa was killed in the aftermath, but the blame for that rested with those Guti. Six splashes of politicians’ blood would have been enough. It would have led to peace. But they caused a tragedy in foolish retribution, a massacre of innocents. It was their fault.
Siatum’s incarceration enraged him. It was undignified. It made their plans much more complicated. Thankfully, Shulgi had decided to keep her in the ancient Nippur dungeon cells, a substandard facility if ever there was one.
As captain of the guard, accessing the dungeon was no challenge. The guard on duty believed him when told he was being relieved of duty for the evening. Ziusudra followed the stone steps down into the darkness. It broke his heart to see the conditions in which she was kept. Everything was dank and moldy.
“My queen… I’m here.”
The simple lock design was easy enough to break within minutes. His queen waited patiently for him to finish.
“There he is,” Siatum smiled as the heavy door swung open. “My hero.”
“My queen, we will be fugitives. We need to go as far as we can.”
“We will, my love, we will, but there is just one more thing we need to do before our lives can begin.”
Salvation was so close; he could almost taste it.
“Anything you ask, my queen.”
“Do you remember those bottom-feeders I met with in Unug? Aradlugal and Bareshba.” She made a sour face at the taste of their names. “I just need you to get rid of them, to keep Shulgi safe.”
“But Shulgi imprisoned you, my queen. He betrayed you.”
“No matter what he does, how little he understands, he is still my son, and he is still the king. Keeping him safe is the only thing I care about. And he cannot be safe as long as those two exist.”
“My queen, the Guti were one thing, but…”
“These people have already tried to kill Shulgi more than once, and I suspect they’re behind the death of my husband as well. I shudder to think what could happen if I’m no longer here to stop them. They must be put down, Ziusudra. End their line. Do you understand?”
“Yes… yes, my queen. I understand.”
“I will be waiting in Babylon. I have a cottage outside the city. You’ll find me there, on the western ridge overlooking Euphrates.”
“I promise I will be there, my queen. I swear on my life I will do as you ask, so that we can be together.”
Siatum kissed his forehead.
“Go now. Your work is nearly done. I will be waiting, my Captain.”
Ziusudra grew bold and kissed her lips.
“I love you, my queen. I will see you soon.”
After making sure the way was clear, he guided Siatum up the dungeon steps and to a nearby tree, where two camels were geared for riders. He helped her into the saddle, then mounted his own. Siatum started northwest. Ziusudra followed the southeastern trail, back to the swampy lowlands.
“Goodbye, Ziusudra,” she called.
“Goodbye… Siatum,” he replied.
Siatum looked back at him with a curious grin.
	
Three nights later, Ziusudra was passing by the shining steps to the White Temple. He had conducted such missions for the queen before, but it felt strange to do violence to people he had met and smiled at, people whom he had considered to be allies, if not friends. But he knew the stakes. The fate of the entire kingdom was in his hands once again. He would not fail. Just two more lives would purchase security for Sumer.
The diplomatic strength of his position had allowed Ziusudra entry to the city without much hassle. Gaining access to the palace required a little bit of stealth, and a little bit of social engineering.
Once inside, he considered stealing a shield from a storage room in order to pass as a palace guard, but he encountered no one in the halls at this hour. A few stairways and determined steps later, he found himself at the royal bedroom of the Unug palace.
Ziusudra located the knife on his belt and plotted his approach. The woman could be caught by surprise from this particular angle, he noted. 
The newborn child, however, was unexpected.
He froze, his stomach dropping. Surely Siatum knew there was a child, a baby, and yet she sent him to do this horrible deed? And here he was. Who had he become in her grasp?
He saw her smiling up at him from the depths, the light above ever fading.
End their line. Do you understand?
All at once, the gravity of his deeds fell upon his shoulders. The horror he had wrought, intoxicated with her power as if it was his own, stared back at him from his memories. The hard clarity of purpose she had given him fell away from his heart. That child, he realized, was his true salvation.
Bareshba turned her head suddenly and spotted him.
“It’s you! You’re Siatum’s plaything! Why are you here? How did you get in here?” She held her baby close.
“No, I’m… I was. My name is Ziusudra. I’m sorry to bother you, I’m so sorry, but there are things you need to know.”
“I know that you need to get out of here before I call the guards, you panting dog. I’m a married woman, and in no state, besides.”
“No, listen to me! Siatum blames you for the death of King Urnammu, and for Shulgi’s assassination attempt. She wants to kill you and your husband, but she didn’t tell me about… I didn’t know. She didn’t say anything about a baby. I didn’t know. I’m so sorry.”
“Wait, you were going to kill me?”
“No! No.”
“Why would I ever trust you with my life, with my child’s life? Get out!”
Ziusudra pulled and dropped his knife, letting it clink against the stone.
Bareshba gasped.
He quickly kicked the knife away, holding up his hands and taking a step back. The baby cooed.
“I mean you no harm, I swear it. Please, you all need to get out of here while you still can. Think of your child. Please! That’s why I’m here, I’ve come to warn you. You need to go where she can’t find you.”
“I don’t know why, but I think I believe you. I’ll… get my things together. That horrible demon, I can’t believe she’s actually trying to kill us. We’ve never done anything to her! Not a thing!”
“Tell no one where you’ve gone. Anyone who knows will be at risk if she comes looking. Come on, now, I’ll help you escape.”
“Right. Right. Come, Adad, my little prince…” Bareshba carefully shifted in her bed.
“I heard shouting,” a young man’s voice said from the doorway. “Who is this?” He drew a sword from his waist. “Step away from her or die.”
Ziusudra felt like the biggest fool of all time. He’d allowed himself to be caught unarmed, and now he was dead. He put his hands up.
“I mean no harm, I swear it, sir. I’m here with a warning, to save them.”
“Lurashku! It’s okay,” Bareshba said.
Lurashku paused, sizing up Ziusudra, then rushed to Bareshba and kissed her deeply. This was obviously the father.
“You can’t tell anyone about this, or Aradlugal will be furious,” Bareshba pleaded. “Please, just go. I’ll get out as soon as I can. Lurashku, we need to leave, we’re in danger.”
“What?”
“Siatum is coming for you both, and for your child,” Ziusudra said, exasperated. “We need to go!”
Another voice from the doorway, deep and angry.
“You’ll go nowhere but the underworld, the lot of you! What is this, Bareshba?”
Aradlugal came into the room now, followed by a handful of guards and the smell of drink. 
“I heard you. I heard what you said…” he spat, approaching them slowly. “You whore… you terrible whore, you’ve broken me! You’ve broken me!”
“I’m so sorry, Aradlugal. You are a good man, a noble man, but you know you could never produce an heir after the accident,” Bareshba whispered, barely audible. “I had to give you a son, no matter what it took…”
“But this? Bareshba…” The old man looked on the verge of tears.
Lurashku recoiled now from Bareshba. “Give him a son? That is my child!”
“You traitor, you scum! I’ll kill you!” Aradlugal, spry for his age, drew his sword and leapt across the room. He struck Lurashku across the chest.
“Agh! You stupid asshole, you never appreciated her!” Lurashku swung his own sword, catching Aradlugal across the arm, spattering blood across the room.
Aradlugal brought his sword down on Lurashku’s head, but the young man was able to block.
“Don’t kill him, he’s my baby’s father! Please!”
Aradlugal swung again from above, overpowering Lurashku’s blade and hacking deep into his neck. He laughed a sickening laugh on making contact.
Bareshba screamed. The baby screamed.
Lurashku collapsed to the ground, and did not move again.
“I knew it,” Aradlugal said flatly. He turned and swung his sword through his wife’s throat.
Blood sprayed. Bareshba looked down at her child as she faded away.
“No! What have you done?”
Ziusudra was too horrified to move. The old man turned to face him. The bloodlust he saw in Aradlugal’s dark gaze was matched only by his queen. He now understood why Siatum had warned him about this man.
“And you. I know you. You don’t belong here. Get the fuck out of my house! Guards, remove him or kill him, I don’t care. I’m going to end this grotesque thing, this cruel mockery of my love!”
Aradlugal took a step toward the child, still in his mother’s arms. He raised his sword.
“No, don’t!” Before he realized what he was doing, Ziusudra grabbed his officer’s knife from the floor and blocked the old man’s killing blow.
Aradlugal screamed and brandished his weapon, but Ziusudra kicked him in the chest and sent him backward into the approaching guards.
There was no time to think. Ziusudra seized the child from Bareshba’s grasp. He drew his knife and pointed it at the guards, who were helping Aradlugal to his feet.
“Stay back, or I’ll…” Ziusudra realized this bluff would not work against such a sick man. The other option was just as risky, but it was their only chance.
Ziusudra turned abruptly and climbed through the window. He heard the terrifying whistle of arrows flying past his head as he dropped to the terrace below. He secured the child against his chest with his armor straps as he snuck around to the back of the building and down the stairs.
He heard the mad shouts of Aradlugal echoing into the night as he carried his new charge out of the city.
As they walked the rough road at the outer limits of Unug, Ziusudra found a local water channel outlet at a small intersection. The child had been quiet since the escape, but would not fall back asleep.
It was difficult to process all that had happened in such a short time. He looked down at the little one in his arms. They had been both been betrayed by the illusion of love, their lives broken by cruelty beyond measure. But the great waters of the gods might wash them clean, and let them begin life anew. He prayed that Adad, at least, would find peace. He sated the child and himself, then turned east, toward the sea. 
 
50

When a trustworthy boat is sailing, Utu seeks out a trustworthy harbor for it.
Sumerian proverb

Euphrates led Qesma and Shakhet northwest out of the marshes, into the dry plains of Akkad, and finally to the limits of the Sumerian kingdom outside Rapiqum, where the laws of the land ran thinner than the vegetation. On the sixth day of their journey, their purchased meat rations ran out. Qesma took the opportunity to teach young Shakhet the basics of fishing, inadvertently learning a few things herself.
Then came several long days of following the winding river through nothing but wide prairie, gentle hills, and distant patches of cedar forest, with not a trace of civilization to be found. Even the most remote fishing villages began to fall away as the greenery disappeared into the sand.
In these wild places, Qesma somehow began to feel at ease for the first time. For at least two days, they did not encounter a single human soul. Though the nights were cold, Qesma was adept at building fires, and they spent each night sleeping beneath the stars. Shakhet often sang of childish nonsense, of nature, and the new roles she imagined for herself. The world was theirs.
At long last, after nearly three weeks on the road, Qesma caught sight of the spectacular city-kingdom of Mari. Like most successful cities, Mari relied on a system of manmade canals from powerful Euphrates to bring life to its sandy shores. And, like most successful kingdoms of the region, it attained the rest of its affluence through vassalage to almighty Urim. Contained within two enormous walls arranged in concentric circles, Mari was built a short distance from the western bank of Euphrates. It stood between the river and the edge of the vast desert, whose lifeless dunes rolled on forever to the southwest.
“Look, it’s a frog!” Shakhet ran to the rock where the little green creature was enjoying the sun.
“Careful,” Qesma said automatically, tying her yellow scarf over the brand on her forehead. Daily washing had gotten out nearly all the blood. The fewer questions people had about the two of them, the better.
“Nope, it’s a toad,” she corrected herself as she scooped it up and ran back to her sister.
“Is he coming with us?”
“Yes, he’s our new friend. His name is Utu because he loves the sun.”
“Hello, Utu. Glad you could join us.”
“Utu is the name of the sun god in Sumer. Did you know that?”
“When did you get so smart, Shakhet?”
“I wasn’t talking to you,” the girl said.
Qesma broke into a wide smile. “Oh, I see.”
The sun was warm on Qesma’s face. She closed her eyes for a few seconds as they walked, letting her feet fall where they may.
An obviously abandoned and partially collapsed house stood just off the footpath, reclaimed by the shifting sands. Qesma stared at it as they passed.
They soon approached a small footbridge leading over a tributary. The stream appeared to lead to a small pond halfway to the horizon. They could see a large flock of white birds gathering there, feathers glowing in the light. The wonder on Shakhet’s face warmed Qesma’s heart.
The city was a little further from the banks of the river than it appeared, and it took some time to reach the massive walls. As the city finally came into focus, Qesma could see its people filtering in and out of the gates.
“Qesma, my feet hurt.” Shakhet tugged at her older sister’s sleeve.
“Don’t worry, we’re almost there.”
“I can’t see. Will you please carry me?”
Qesma laughed. “You’re getting too big for that.”
“Please?”
It struck Qesma that she had not carried Shakhet since she was an infant, back in their first life.
“You know what?”
She gripped her sister beneath her arms and hoisted her up onto her shoulders, trying not to grunt.
“Just for a little while. You’re heavier than a boulder.”
“Nuh uh!”
“Okay, okay… hey, keep Utu out of my hair!”
They laughed together as they descended the hill. Before long, they passed through one of the massive gates allowing entry to the walled city.
The city of Mari was quieter than expected, for everyone appeared to be solemn and withdrawn. She was mostly unfamiliar with the Mariote dialect, but she picked up trace distinguishable words from passing conversations. It seemed their king, Apilkin, had fallen ill, and had not been seen in the public eye for some time. There was mention of a daughter, a princess, but the man who was speaking seemed very upset.
Qesma was working out a way to find a place to sleep when she noticed something peculiar.
A hooded young girl, perhaps a year or two younger than herself, was expertly picking the pockets of a group of sour dignitaries. They were enveloped in terse conversation as they passed, as if the subject of discussion was too valuable to chance on public ears.
The girl’s black robe was shabby and reached only to her knees. Her feet were bare. The robe flapped in the breeze, and Qesma thought she caught a glimpse of gold. The girl quickly clutched her clothing back down, glancing around to see if she’d been noticed. She appeared to scold herself silently and, somewhat alarmingly, slapped herself in the face.
Then, as discreetly as she’d arrived, she was gone, slipping away into a nearby alley.
“Did you see that girl?” Shakhet asked. “Did she take money from those people?”
“It’s not our business, Shakhet.”
“But she looked really sad. I think she needs our help.”
Qesma set her sister down.
“We can’t go following every pickpocket we see.”
“Utu wants to make sure she’s okay.”
Qesma sighed deeply. “Hold my hand and don’t let go,” she instructed.
The child nodded and took Qesma’s hand. Though her burns had mostly healed, the seared skin was still raw. She winced, ensuring Shakhet did not see.
Against her better judgment, Qesma led the girl to the alleyway. To her surprise, the thief was standing there, leaning against the wall. Her hood was down, revealing a head of wavy black hair.
The girl said something Qesma couldn’t quite decipher. It sounded like the tongue of the Amurru, who dwelled on the eastern shores of the southern sea. She had not encountered someone from their part of the world since meeting a kind young Amurru couple in the caravan from Waset, all those years ago.
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” Qesma tried in Sumerian.
“I don’t like being followed,” she replied in a thick accent, pulling up one corner of her robes. This time a glint of silver hanging from her waist caught Qesma’s eye.
“No, please, I don’t want any trouble. We’re just passing through.”
The girl glanced at Shakhet, who was still grasping her sister’s hand.
“She wanted to make sure you were okay,” Qesma continued.
“This is a dangerous part of the city. Children should not be here,” the girl said. “You need to move on before the sky gets dark.” She pointed back out to the street, then turned and began to walk away.
“Wait,” Qesma said, “I saw what you were doing before. We need a place to stay, so if you need money, we can pay.”
The girl swiftly turned on her heels, new fury in her piercing brown eyes.
“Whatever you think you saw, you didn’t see it. Do you understand?” She turned back around, pulling her hood back up. “Mind your own business. Remember what I said. Move on.”
“Can we please stay with you?” Shakhet asked. “We’re nice, I promise.”
Qesma shot her sister a look, gesturing for silence. Shakhet gave her a wide, cheeky grin in return.
The thief paused, pressing her nose between two fingers. She grunted in frustration.
“Come with me. Hurry.”
“Thank you,” Qesma offered to the quiet thief.
Shakhet took the lead and pulled her sister along behind her. Qesma’s heart raced as they ducked down the alleyway with their new friend. 
 
51

When the lion caught a wild boar, he roared: "Your flesh has not yet filled my mouth, but your squeals have deafened my ears!"
Sumerian proverb

Alduni pulled a wild fig apart with his good fingers, squeezing the juice and pulp into his mouth. By his estimation, he’d spent more than three months alone in the wilderness. The routine he had developed, including rainwater collection and a wide system of snare traps and fishing lines, allowed him to maintain a makeshift camp near a lazy stream.
His tent was fashioned from the tatters of his old tent and the skins of multiple hunted animals, draped over a skeleton of green branches. A fire was always burning in a shallow dugout to protect it from the wind. Hollowed sticks served as charming wooden chimes hanging from a nearby tree. His war cloak was filthy and bloodstained, but whole.
He wasn’t sure exactly where he was, as it had been some time since he’d seen the lights of a city, or the gentle arch of a reed hut, or even a trodden path. There were certainly no people. Aside from the occasional bout of loneliness, however, it didn’t matter to him. Out here, his priorities were different. The expectations, the restrictions, the complications of the human world fell away, revealing only the animal core and its simple truths. This was a world Alduni could understand.
Later in the evening, when the sun was sinking low, Alduni was down by the stream. He was pulling up yet another empty fish line when he spotted a small blue bird. It was a tumibi, of course, flying against the wind overhead. It floated down to a nearby bush, where it had evidently built its nest; from it, he heard little songs of happiness about the tumibi’s homecoming.
As he admired the scene, he noticed something in the distance which he had failed to notice before. It appeared to be the tip of a wooden watchtower peeking through the treetops a significant distance downstream from his campsite. Proper timber was rare in Sumer, and nearly impossible to find in the wild mountains. With nothing better to do, and precious little daylight to spare, he resolved to investigate in the morning.
His beautiful shield was now tarnished, propped up on a rock to serve as a rainwater basin. He drank deeply, rinsed his face, and ducked into his tent.
The next morning, Alduni geared up and made his way downstream to the mysterious watchtower. He used great caution, of course, as there was no way to know the allegiance of the tower’s owners.
Walking the rocky shore was hazardous due to the overcrowded thorn bushes growing all along the stream. As he approached, he diverted from the stream and moved up through a narrow gap in the thorns. High ground would protect him from view, just in case.
It was fortunate he’d made that choice, because he shortly thereafter spotted two Guti soldiers moving from the tower down to the waterside. Alone and withered by endless weeks in the bush, Alduni stood no chance in any sort of combat scenario. His only option was to remain undetected.
A few more steps brought the base of the tower into view, as well as the two dozen men making camp there. He sighed deeply. At this distance, he could make out what appeared to be an Elamite flag hanging from the tower. But why, he wondered, would Guti soldiers fight beneath the banner of Elam? They had to be mercenaries. But that would mean the Elamites, legendary historical rivals and recent allies of Sumer, once again considered Sumer to be enemies. And, they were desperate enough to hire the likes of these Guti sellswords.
Alduni knew he should somehow send word to Shulgi, but he had no way of knowing where he was, except that he may have crossed into Elam territory in the course of his wandering. If that was the case, he was truly alone.
His heart racing, he silently doubled back to his own campsite. He quickly buried his precious fire, reigned in his lines, and recovered his traps. Any indication he was nearby would give him away. One line actually held a small catfish, which would feed him well enough. He silently thanked Enki for his provision.
With his equipment minimized, he felt it prudent to move his camp even further upstream. He located a ledge with a rocky overhang, practically a shallow cave. It provided just enough cover to build a clandestine fire, as well as a better angle from which to observe the enemy.
Out of an abundance of caution, Alduni endured that night with no fire. He ate only more figs. He unraveled two of the furs from his tent and wrapped them around himself. The insects were relentless, but the stiff breeze helped to keep them at bay. Dawn could not come fast enough.
During the following few days, Alduni studied the valley carefully. Daylight and his new perspective revealed more details that had escaped him; a narrow but busy road passed near the watchtower. To Alduni’s surprise, these Guti were not mercenaries, but rudderless bandits. That banner of Elam did not belong to them. They regularly ambushed travelers on the road. Alduni was forced to sit and watch these dark proceedings from his perch. Most targets were killed, with only the occasional survivor, usually female, captured and bound to a tree until the bitter end. Such callous disregard for human life made him sick. He saw the faces of his fallen brothers in the distant features of the victims, who were then left to rot in the sunlit grass. It was an unseemly quality of the Guti culture to leave the dead uncovered. He wished he could have buried them.
Though he could do little else but observe, he found himself cheering when the bandits fell to infighting. It seemed that the actual killers were awarded the largest share of the plunder from each victim, but these barbarians seemed keen to rob one another quite often. Once in a while, a larger man, who seemed to be a leader, would single out one of these traitorous thieves and gut him in front of the others as a futile warning; inevitably some other fool would make the same mistakes and meet the same fate.
One late evening on his narrow ledge, as he looked out on the infinite darkness pervading the valley below, it occurred to him he’d not used his voice for as long as he could remember.
“Alduni,” he growled, clearing his throat. “My name is Alduni.” The sound was strange and far too loud compared to the whispers of nature. Human voices did not belong here.
Somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled. He thought about the lone wolf he slew all those months ago. More voices joined the howling. A peculiar thought then came to him, almost childish in its absurdity. Alduni sat up straight, drew a deep breath, and cried out the loudest howl he could manage to the moon above. The wolves continued their predator song from their hidden place in the valley, and he amplified them through his lungs.
There was a freedom in this, a freedom he’d been denying himself even as he lived within it. Burning tears streamed down his face, reflecting the bright moonlight. He stood and walked to the edge. Alduni of Eridu howled again, a long and lonely noise. The wolves, hearing their brother, replied. 
52

I did not answer the curse uttered against me with a curse of my own. My answering a curse would be answered with another curse.
Sumerian proverb

A young guard assigned to the dungeons of Nippur fell to his knees in the great hall of Enlil’s temple.
“I cannot apologize enough, my king… please forgive me, I know nothing… I know nothing…”
“This is your temple, and yet you know nothing about it?” Shulgi asked. “Your negligence has allowed a criminal to escape my justice! You are worthless, lower than shit!”
The young man’s face showed such remorse and sorrow that Shulgi’s wrath softened at the sight. Shulgi extended a hand, helping the young man to his feet.
“I am ashamed of my behavior today. I, too, must apologize. But your failure is unacceptable.”
“Anything I can do; I will do it.”
“What is your name?”
“I am Delu, my king,” the young man winced.
“Delu. Obviously, the only course of action is to appoint you head of the search for Siatum. Until the day she is brought to justice, you will do nothing else. You will seek nothing else. In this way you can atone for your failure, and you will earn my forgiveness. Delu, do you understand what I’ve told you?”
Delu nodded quickly. “Yes, my king. I will not fail you again, I promise.”
“I believe you,” Shulgi said. “Go now, find your redemption.”
Delu departed from the great hall. Shulgi was alone again.

A few hours later, a messenger came to the great hall, where Shulgi held daily court during his stay. The messenger bowed low and approached the ancient throne of Nippur.
“My king, I come with news from the west.”
“Is it Mother?” Shulgi sat up straight.
“My message concerns the kingdom of Mari, my king. Taramuram, the princess of Mari, daughter of King Apilkin, will be here shortly. Her royal caravan has just arrived in the city.”
“She’s coming here? Why? Why wasn’t I informed of this earlier?”
“My king, from what I understand, this event has been planned for weeks. We received a message from Queen Siatum requesting the princess travel to Nippur. The princess has come of age. In accordance with your father’s arrangements, she is prepared to become your wife. The princess has agreed to visit you here.”
Shulgi had completely forgotten about this arrangement. Nearly ten years ago, Urnammu had struck a deal with King Apilkin, that when their children were grown, they would marry one another and bond their kingdoms for all time. He had planned to wed Enthiavasa instead, nullifying the arrangement, consequences be damned. But that enchanting future had been destroyed.
“Siatum is no longer in a position of authority. In fact, she is a wanted criminal,” Shulgi said darkly. This cruel form of love was characteristic of her. To send for a suitor when not even a month had passed, it was almost too cruel. She knew what Enthiavasa had meant to him.
The messenger looked shocked. “What is her crime, my king?”
“Murder and conspiracy,” Shulgi said loudly. “Is that all?”
“Yes. I shall take my leave.” The messenger bowed low and backed away.
“I was told you were a charmer,” a female voice said.
Shulgi looked up to see a young woman of perhaps twenty years standing beneath the doorway arch. Her black hair was styled very short. She wore a beautiful tiara of hammered gold leaves and inlaid gems of many colors. Her dress was a soft green and skimmed just above the floor as she stepped inside.
A childish part of Shulgi’s heart wanted to hate her, to reject her out of hand, for Enthiavasa’s sake. It wrenched his heart to realize she would have been heartbroken to see him behave with such cruelty. Against all odds, Shulgi summoned a smile for her.
Several Mari guards followed in her shadow, taking up positions at the door. They kept their eyes on her.
“Princess Taramuram of Mari. But I think you knew that.”
Shulgi nodded. “Welcome to Nippur,” he said quietly.
“This is the part where you introduce yourself,” she smirked.
“Right. My name is Shulgi, King of Sumer and Akkad. But I think you knew that,” Shulgi said, regaining his poise.
Taramuram smiled with brilliant white teeth.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Shulgi, King of Sumer and Akkad.” Taramuram bowed low in the same manner as the messenger, giggling. “Truly, though.”
“Can I get you anything to eat or drink? You must have been on the road for days.”
“Yes, I’m starving. Lead the way, my king.”
“Call me Shulgi.”
As they sat side by side in the great hall and ate their lunch of seasoned lamb and wild grains, Shulgi felt strangely self-conscious.
“I’m sorry you came all this way at my mother’s request.”
“Why should you feel sorry? I’ve always wanted to visit Sumer.”
“What I mean is, she is very dangerous. She recently caused the death of… someone very important to me. A woman whom I loved very dearly. And she endangered the lives of every person I am meant to protect. I imprisoned her here, but she escaped. And so, here I am.”
Taramuram gasped, bringing a hand to her mouth.
“Shulgi, I am so sorry. I had no idea. I… shouldn’t be here. I should go.”
“No!” Shulgi reached out instinctively, but calmed himself. “No, I’m glad you came. These past few weeks have been frustrating and lonely and dreadful. I can’t remember the last time I saw someone smiling.”
Taramuram reached out onto the table and placed a hand over Shulgi’s own. His heart fluttered. He instantly felt a strange wave of remorse and relief. When he turned and looked into her eyes, he reached his limit. Shulgi broke down in tears and fell against her shoulder. This poor young woman whom he’d only just met was now bearing the brunt of his many sorrows. He felt absolutely foolish, but could not stop.
Taramuram embraced him, resting her head against his.
“It’s okay to be sad. I have cried every day since my mother died, but I’m still strong. You are still strong, Shulgi.”
Such a thing was too much for him to hear. He cried even harder now, the candid sobbing of a lost child.
“When I’m feeling sad, I like to try to do something positive.”
Shulgi drew a deep, shaking breath.
“That’s a good idea,” he said.
“What’s something positive we can do here in Nippur?”
Shulgi wiped the tears from his face with a chuckle.
“There’s not much positivity to be found in this place. Nippur is a city of ruins. It’s been this way for centuries. My father was planning to renovate, but…”
Taramuram gave him a knowing look.
“I think we have our answer, Shulgi.” 
53

In a city that has no watch dogs, the fox is the overseer.
Sumerian proverb

One week after arriving in Mari, Qesma was finally beginning to feel self-sufficient. Between her talent for gemstone appraisal and her skill with crafting jewelry, she quickly found a market for her services in the Mari bazaar. It didn’t hurt having the assistance of her mysterious, streetwise new friend.
“Siduri,” she called out from her spot behind their makeshift vendor booth, which they’d constructed in front of the familiar alleyway. “Come and take these, please.”
“Coming.” Still wearing her ragged black robe, Siduri stepped out from the alley and retrieved the bag of shekels. When no one was looking, she emptied the sum into a dusty nondescript pot hidden amongst the broken boxes lining the alley. The thief returned the bag to Qesma and stepped back into the shadows.
Shakhet now emerged from the alley and took her place next to Qesma. After a deep breath and a sip of water, she began.
“Hello, sir, would you please buy some of our jewelry for your wife?...Miss, my sister can make that necklace shine again. Please come and give us your business…Kemetite quality at local prices!...Beautiful jewelry, Miss! This one looks almost as pretty as you…Sir, would you buy this from me so I can get some food? I’m so hungry…”
It was no small task developing the confident pitch of a vendor, but Shakhet was a quick study. She observed the other salespeople in the bazaar and emulated their most effective qualities. Though it stung Qesma’s heart to see her growing up so quickly, she was impressed with the shrewdness her otherwise harmless baby sister seemed to possess.
When the sun had set and Qesma decided she’d sold her last item for the day, she folded up her wares in a rough blanket and retreated into the shadows with the girls. Making their way down through the twisting alley, they came upon the place they’d been staying, the otherwise intact cellar of a shop that had apparently burned down months ago. It was small and unfurnished, but no one knew they were there, and that made it safe enough. Qesma climbed down through the low window leading to the cellar. She took her place beside her sister and closed her eyes.
Qesma was awoken in the middle of the night by an unpleasant scraping sound. She lifted her head and discovered Siduri standing in the corner. She was filing the edges of the day’s shekels into a small bowl. Shakhet was still fast asleep.
“What are you doing?” Qesma asked sleepily.
“Making more from less,” Siduri replied, cryptic as ever.
Qesma gave her a blank stare.
“Silver, for your jewelry.”
“Would you mind waiting until tomorrow?”
“Yes, I will wait. I am used to being alone,” she apologized.
“It’s okay. Me too,” Qesma whispered, feeling a peaceful smile come to her lips. She relaxed and breathed deeply in the newly regained silence. Sleep found her almost immediately.

The next morning, Qesma awoke to find she was alone.
“Shakhet?” She climbed to her feet, already nauseous with worry.
“Shakhet, where are you?” Qesma ran up to the window and pulled herself out into the alley.
It was too early for Qesma, but not for the morning vendors. Even the sun had not yet woken from its sleep beyond the hills, but many of them were already set up and ready to sell their wares.
To Qesma’s immense relief, Shakhet and Siduri were waiting at the corner of their alley. Shakhet seemed quite pleased with herself.
“What are you two doing up so early?” She asked, rushing to their side.
“Watching,” Siduri said.
“Watching,” Shakhet parroted.
“Watching what, the people?” Qesma looked out on the small crowd. They were mostly elders, the sort who were notoriously unwilling to let the sun catch them sleeping.
“You did well, Shakhet, but this is how you do it. Stay here,” Siduri muttered. She breezed her way across the square, passing through a dense group of people lining up outside the popular meat traders. She vanished into the crowd, then appeared from a different angle a minute later.
When she made it back to the girls, she took a few steps into the alley, then turned and revealed the contents of her robe pockets. Laced through her fingers were bracelets, necklaces, rings, and even a small Ishtar statue, all cast in gold and silver. She smiled wickedly, then stowed the ill-gotten treasures back in her robe.
“I will pay for food today,” she said. Then, her expression changed to fear.
A rough hand grabbed Qesma’s shoulder and spun her around. It was a city guard, who said something she couldn’t understand.
“I don’t know what you said,” Qesma stammered, eyes wide.
“Thieves are not welcome in my city,” the guard said.
“Shakhet, run!” Qesma yelled automatically, but another guard was already tying the child’s wrists. She turned to look for Siduri, but she was nowhere.
“I’m scared,” Shakhet cried.
“We didn’t steal anything; we just sell jewelry!” Qesma protested as her own wrists were tied.
The guard reached down into Shakhet’s pockets and revealed a small coin purse. Qesma’s jaw dropped, and Shakhet stared at the ground, lip quivering.
“We will find your friend soon enough. She has been causing trouble for a long time. She will be joining you in the dungeon.”
The guard grasped in Qesma’s sash and took her Sumerian khopesh.
“No, please! That’s mine!”
“No, it’s mine,” he said, hanging the precious weapon from his hip.
Shakhet fell into tears as the girls were led away. She refused to walk under her own power, and eventually was hefted onto the vexed guards’ shoulder.
Disapproving stares from the people of Mari burned into Qesma’s soul. She felt a flash of selfish fury toward Siduri for drawing too much attention, and for leaving them behind to save her own skin. She didn’t notice Siduri hiding inside one of the many broken boxes littering the familiar alley.
*
Siduri was alone again. The sisters she’d taken in were now being led away by the worst men she’d ever known, and it was all her fault. She’d gotten careless, showing off her talents rather than playing it safe. And the child… that poor little girl. How could Siduri have thought it was wise, even sane, to show her the wayward path of the thief?
She didn’t dare to move a muscle while the city guards were still searching for her. Siduri saw them questioning witnesses, many of whom gestured toward her alley. Her heart skipped a beat when one of the guards kicked a nearby box out of frustration.
She should have known better than to involve them in her life. She should have turned them away for their own good. If she was alone, she was protected. She should have known better.
Eventually the guards moved on, and Siduri finally climbed out of her hiding place. She made her way back to the old jar where their shared treasures were hidden, and picked it up.
*
The degrading camel-drawn prison cart rolled through the city. The stares of the Mari people were like a freezing wind.
Shakhet had stopped crying, but the look on her face was still heartbreaking. The girls were not alone in the cart; two ill-groomed men were similarly tied and stared between their feet as their unfortunate ride continued. Qesma wanted to tell her sister something comforting, something hopeful, but she couldn’t bring herself to lie to her sister. She had told so many lies to so many people. Shakhet deserved the truth, even at its most painful.
The khopesh was resting on the seat next to the driver. If she could only reach it without him knowing, she could find a way to free them. But the opportunity did not come.
They turned a corner and began to ascend a long and gentle hill. The camels slowed to an agonizing crawl with the added effort. At the end of this path stood a square claybrick building. Barred windows and armed guards meant it could only be a prison.
She began to reflect on the short time she and Shakhet had spent together in absolute freedom. Tears rolled as she stared at her baby sister and thought about the white birds at which they had marveled together. Qesma wondered if she would ever see such beauty again.
Suddenly, she did see a sight of incredible beauty, not in white, but in black. It was none other than Siduri, who slid out from the streetside in her distinctive black robe, hood concealing her every feature.
The two caged men noticed her, but kept their smiles silent. She gestured aggressively for silence, and produced from her robe what appeared to be Qesma’s whalebone stylus. Once again calling for silence, she moved up to the lock and began to pick it.
Qesma was not sure whether to scream or cheer. In light of her circumstances, she elected to do neither.
Shakhet, however, was not so disciplined.
“Siduri!” She exclaimed, only realizing her mistake when Qesma mouthed “No!” with as severe a look as she could muster.
Siduri allowed herself the softest of sighs as the lock came loose. Unfortunately, the door creaked loudly as it swung open.
“What the fuck?” The driver cried, bringing the wagon to a stop.
“Let’s go!” Siduri shouted.
Qesma reached through the front bars and snatched the khopesh back.
The girls jumped out, and the three of them ran as fast as they could back into the city. The two men escaped as well, rushing off in different directions. By the time the wagon driver made it around to the back, his prisoners were all gone.
When they had turned a few corners, they stopped to catch their breath.
Qesma had so much to say, but no idea where to begin. Siduri made things simpler by handing the whalebone stylus back to Qesma, who grabbed it, gave her a look, and decided the matter was closed.
“This is yours, also. Your lawful income.”
She produced from within her robes a bag containing the large pile of coins they’d collected during their short enterprise.
“That is so kind of you, but what will you do?”
With a toothy grin, Siduri reached into her pockets and pulled out the extravagant results of her early morning heist.
“I have what I need.”
“Thank you,” she said. “Thank you so much.”
“I do not deserve your thanks,” Siduri said. “Come on, we need to get out of the city. You two should be on your way home.”
Shakhet ran to Siduri and hugged her tightly. Siduri seemed unsure how to respond at first, but returned the hug in her awkward manner.
“Where will you go?” Qesma asked.
“I have no plan. Mari is the only place I know.”
“You should come with us, to Kemet,” Shakhet said.
“If you want,” Qesma added. “I think we make a good team.”
Siduri smiled. 
54

He who does not know beer, does not know what is good.
Sumerian proverb

It had not yet been a year, but Enshanesha was already beginning to feel the boundless ennui of early retirement. Ruut was still working for the temple to support the two of them, so his accounting took up most of his time; beer occupied much of the rest. Kurzu was living with Nira, and she hardly saw him anymore.
The only relief she could find from the loneliness and monotony came in the form of painting. She had never been one for making art, but something changed after her accident. Before long, she spent nearly every morning and afternoon on her ample rooftop, sitting beneath the windblown canopy and trying to capture beloved Eridu on her lambskin canvas.
In her opinion, she had no eye for it. She painted simply because it was one of the few things that brought her joy. But Ruut, always kind, wasted no opportunity to pay her an earnest compliment. Her brush strokes alone were a thing of beauty, he’d say, and her eye for colors outmatched the gods themselves. She would laugh and deny it, but it meant so much to her.
Some days, she would suddenly find herself doing some activity which she had no memory of starting. Some days, she’d wake in her bed but not know where she was. Some days, she’d recognize the house but not the man with whom she shared it. Usually she would remember everything seconds later, much like the adjustment a mind must make in those strange moments after waking from a vivid dream. But a shadow of that terror, the naked terror of not knowing oneself, would last through the day.
One evening, seated in her favorite spot on the roof, she was feeling restless. The night had been as dull as any before. As always, she heard the shouts and music that echoed through the narrow streets from the old tavern.
It occurred to her she’d never actually seen that place, despite living most of her years within earshot. Her life as a priestess offered the occasional libation in the course of some rite or service, but she had never known the freedom of the public tavern. Though she had never been one for drink, she decided to go out and find it.
She chose her profession so young, and the life of a priestess was cold, formal, isolated. If not for Ruut, she may never have known love, either. She never would have had the opportunity to adopt Kurzu. She prayed that Hilia would have approved of the way they’d raised him. She prayed for her forgiveness for allowing the darkness of the world to touch his life.
Ruut was still out on one of his nightly strolls. She put on a dress, one she’d purchased long ago but never had the chance to wear, and went out the door.
The tavern was only a few minutes away. She imagined it to be the place whose lively noise she’d been hearing every night for years. Sure enough, as soon as she stepped inside, she saw revelry the likes of which she’d only seen during festivals. Could it be these people found reason to celebrate every night?
All around her, people were drinking together. Some were laughing, some were crying, some were dancing, and more than one man had made himself comfortable sleeping against a corner or a wall. A handful of musicians blasted their horns and strummed their strings. A few men stared at her as she passed them, looking at her with a hunger she suspected they never would have risked if they knew who she was. Music and beer filled the air. It was all so exhilarating, this small room full to bursting with life.
She approached a man who was distributing drinks near the beer pots.
“May I please have some beer?”
“One shekel, lady,” the man shouted over the din as he pulled from the siphon straw and filled a rough clay cup.
She’d not even considered the fact she had to pay. Leaving the house empty-handed on a foolish impulse was exactly the sort of mindless mistake she hated to make. She scolded herself silently, her face burning with embarrassment.
“I’m so sorry, I don’t have any money.”
The man stared at her blankly.
“Don’t worry, I’ll pay for it,” a voice said from behind her. She turned to see a man with a shaved head and a fine kaunakes smiling at her. He dropped a handful of shekels onto the bar and handed her the beer.
“Thank you, sir,” she said.
“It’s the least I can do for letting me see you in that dress,” the man said, drawing deeply from his own cup. “What’s your name, little fox?”
Did he really not recognize her? Anonymity was a new sensation.
“Call me… Ninkasi,” she replied with a bashful smile. “I’ve never been here before, it’s quite a place. What’s your name?”
“Ninkasi? As in, the goddess of beer?” The man laughed. “Well, Ninkasi, you can address me as Dumuzi.”
She knew what was happening, what she was doing, but she couldn’t stop. She didn’t want to stop.
“Oh, so you’re the god of spring and fertility. I was wondering if I’d ever get to meet you, Dumuzi.” She took a sip of her beer. It was thick and smooth, but with a distant sweetness. She thought she could detect the taste of honey and dates.
*
Ninkasi and Dumuzi stood facing one another in a dark corner outside the tavern. She could not see clearly, but it didn’t matter because she was weightless and joyful and free.
“Do you want to fuck a priestess?” She asked him, lost in his moonlit eyes.
He stepped toward her, kissing her deeply, desperately. She grasped his head and his strong shoulders, trying to pull him closer to her.
Ninkasi and Dumuzi fell into one another.
*
Ruut was already home and fast asleep by the time she made it back to her own door. She didn’t have the heart to lie next to him after what she’d done, but she still couldn’t sleep.
The rooftop was just the way she’d left it. She sat at her easel and looked up at the bright moon. A gentle breeze crested the tall date palms and cedars dotting the distant marshes.
Though the light was poor, she felt inspired, and uncovered her collection of pigments. The moonlight reflected pale white on the lakes to the west. As the night diminished, the deep blue sky was gently being washed away by orange light over the sea to the east.
Silent tears rolled down her face as she gripped the brush and applied it to the canvas, drawing absolute blackness across the sky.

 
55

You can have a lord, you can have a king, but the man to fear is the tax collector!
Sumerian proverb

It was a warm summer morning when the messenger arrived at Nira’s homestead. Kurzu was out front watering the flowers and onions when he noticed a young man walking up across the property. Debt collectors and tax assessors were a common annoyance for property holders in Sumer, but Nira’s father died with outstanding debts to a disreputable money lender. This wouldn’t be the first leech Kurzu would repel from Nira’s home, and likely not the last.
“Can I help you?” Kurzu asked, making sure to stand tall as he approached.
“My name is Anugal. I’ve come with a message for Kurzu the Stone, do you know his whereabouts?”
He took a moment to analyze this man.
“I’m Kurzu. What is the message?”
“King Shulgi requests your assistance. He requires your diplomatic skills in Susa, the capitol of Elam, and he has sent me to retrieve you. Here, I’ve brought the king’s seal to show my words are true.” The man handed Kurzu a small lion of carved red stone.
“He wants me to go to Elam?” Kurzu’s heart sank. He knew the day would come when Shulgi called on him again, but this was not what he expected.
“Yes. The king is working with Princess Taramuram of Mari to establish a trade agreement with Elam. He is an admirer of your talent with words, and wishes for you to conduct yourself there as his official representative. A company of elite soldiers will protect us at every turn. The king wishes you to know he selected each of the soldiers himself to ensure our safety. I will give you time to prepare yourself for the journey, but we must leave as soon as possible.”
As Anugal spoke, Kurzu resigned himself to this task. He imagined himself to be too young, too inexperienced for such an assignment. And yet, something about Shulgi’s confidence in his abilities gave him hope.
“Thank you for coming all this way,” Kurzu said. “Please, come inside, we have water and shade.” He gestured to the door, where Nira was standing.
“You’re going to Elam?” She asked sadly.
“Shulgi needs me,” he replied.
They stepped inside with Anugal, where Kurzu drew a cup of water for him. They left him sitting in the common room and went into the bedroom to pack Kurzu’s bag.
The companions stared at one another.
“I don’t want you to go,” Nira said.
“I don’t want to go, either, but I have to.”
“Why does it have to be you?”
She ran to him and threw her arms around him. He nearly cried.
“I’m going to miss you, Kurzu,” she said. “Don’t go and die on me.”
“I’ll miss you too, Nira. Thank you for everything.” He kissed her forehead.

The road to Susa was long and hot. The sun in the desert seemed so much more intense than down in the marshes. He would never understand how men could wear this thick leather armor in such heat. Kurzu wondered what ever happened to his woven grass hat.
He had never traveled further east than the shores of the sea. Despite the harsh climate, Elam, the land of legendary deserts and rugged mountain passes, was relatively safe for a group of Sumerians. Though some political tensions had long existed between the kingdoms, Elam had not shown any aggression toward Sumer since King Urnammu defeated King Kutik-Inshushinak nearly ten years ago.
His traveling companions consisted of the ten handpicked elite guards, Anugal, and an older Elamite man named Hanuak who, according to himself, was the foremost Elamite translator of the world. Each of them rode a camel in single file, riding slowly through the burning sands.
Hanuak was the sort of man who could never seem to stop talking.
“So, Kurzu, what is your favorite thing about Elam?”
“I’ve actually never been to Elam before.”
“You’ve never been to Elam? Oh, well you are about to experience some of the best days of your life. You have not lived a full life without eating the food of Susa, my friend. And the girls! You like girls, yes, Kurzu?”
Kurzu chuckled and shook his head.
“Sure, I like girls.”
“Aha, you are my kind of man, Kurzu! You are my kind of man! We will have a great time together, eh? We will eat the food and fuck the girls together.”
“Leave him alone, Hanuak,” Anugal called from his place up behind the guards, who had taken positions at the front and back of the caravan.
“Pshh, I am only making friends with this young man,” Hanuak scoffed. “Mind your business, sapling.”
A few of the guards seemed to find this amusing and laughed together at Anugal’s expense. The uptight young man flustered and focused on riding his camel.

As they crossed a long bridge leading northeast over Tigris, Kurzu noticed a beautiful blue bird flying through the sky above them. It appeared to be a tumibi. Kurzu watched it ride the wind for a while, then started to laugh. His sudden outburst startled his fellows, which only made him laugh harder. 
 
56

The honest man will earn his pay.
Sumerian proverb

Traveling with Siduri made life much easier for Qesma and Shakhet. As a woman of many talents, Siduri was able to haggle with passing travelers on the northern road out of Mari. She sold her stolen treasures piece by piece, eventually raising enough money to purchase a camel-drawn covered wagon. The many stresses of the road to Tuttul could vanish in the shade of their private vehicle.
Siduri volunteered to be the driver, and took her place up on the weathered cushion. The man who sold them the cart said the camel was called Tuli. Shakhet found endless entertainment in repeating the animal’s name as they rode away. 
The girls spent several days following the ancient road overlooking the west bank of Euphrates. Shakhet loved to look out the back of the wagon as they bounced steadily along, pointing out all the fascinating forms of life that made their homes beside the river.
One overcast afternoon, Qesma looked out at the path ahead. The road seemed to pull away from the river and lead west, up into the high desert.
“Siduri, the road is diverging from the river. What should we do?”
“Our wheels will not survive rocks. We must stay on the road.”
Qesma did not respond.
Siduri must have sensed her worry, quickly adding “Do not fear bandits. I have a knife.”
“Bandits?” Shakhet asked. “Are we in trouble again?”
“No trouble,” Siduri said quickly. “I have a knife.”
Qesma smirked. “No trouble, Shakhet. We will be okay. She has a knife.”
The cloudy day meant a tangible drop in temperature as the wagon ascended into the hills. Qesma wrapped an extra fur around Shakhet’s shoulders, then found one for herself. Even Siduri laid a blanket across her legs. At Shakhet’s insistence, they stopped to drape a blanket over Tuli’s back. The camel grunted out what Qesma imagined to be appreciation.
Above them, the grey sky grew darker.
As the wagon finally summited the vast hill, the girls marveled at the incredible view. The river valley was fully visible from both directions at this elevation, but even more exciting was the ancient and beautiful city of Tuttul glowing like a desert oasis on the horizon.
Qesma had a few distant memories of Tuttul. She was not much older than Shakhet when her family had emigrated to Sumer, but she remembered how striking the city’s designs were. Water features to rival the most complex and indulgent fountains of Urim, incredible and unique foods, and intricate architecture were just some of the things she was anticipating. Though she suspected nostalgia and youth distorted her memories of the place, it was the part of their journey that made her the most excited. She couldn’t wait to show Shakhet the legendary war elephants of Tuttul, easily the most riveting spectacle she’d ever seen. The animals were of an impossible size and shook the ground with every step.
Fortunately, they encountered no bandits as they slowly rolled down through the sandy plateau, though Siduri kept a hand ready at all times. As the sun sank into the distant western sea, Siduri pulled the wagon to the side of the road. After marking a safe distance from the path, they stopped behind a boulder and hitched the camel for the night.
Qesma started a small fire while Siduri secured the wagon. Shakhet fed and watered Tuli, and gave the animal a goodnight kiss on its snout. She provided the same treatment for Utu the toad.
After a spartan meal and light conversation, the girls crawled between their furs, cozied up to the smoldering fire, and let the flow of the countless stars carry them into sleep.
The next day, Siduri woke the sisters as the sunlight began to crown the Zagros mountains far to the east. When the wagon was moving again, Siduri began to sing a gentle song. Qesma could not identify the words, but the melody was enchanting. Though she could not see Siduri’s face, she knew the sound of tears.
When the song had ended, Qesma wanted to give Siduri some compliment, some measure of comfort, but she could not find any words. She reached up to the thief girl’s forearm and gently grasped it. Siduri had evidently not expected to be touched, and shuddered at the contact. But then, Qesma felt Siduri’s hand on hers, the girl’s thumb gently stroking her own fingers.
Qesma stared out the front of the wagon, watching the clouds roll by overhead. As Tuttul gradually came into focus, Qesma sensed something was wrong. She could see black smoke billowing from multiple places in the city.
“Qesma, look. Do you see?” Siduri asked.
“Yes… do you think they’re being attacked?”
Shakhet sat up and looked out the front of the wagon.
“Oh no,” the young girl said. “I don’t want to go to Tuttul.”
“We are nearly out of food, and the river is too far away up here. We have to stop somewhere,” Qesma thought aloud.
“The main road leads through the city,” Siduri sighed. “We will have to find another way.”
“But, our supplies…” Qesma continued.
“We will find a village, or a caravan. We have gold to trade for anything we need,” Siduri assured them.
The low rumble of chaos grew as the little wagon made its way back down toward the river valley. Siduri brought the wagon to a stop just south of Tuttul, and climbed up onto the cushion to get a better view of the city.
“Fire,” she said. “Too dangerous. I think I see another path.”
Just then, a thunderous crack echoed from the city. One of the tall towers within the city walls fell. Qesma thought she could hear screams, even from this distance. Her heart was breaking as she thought of the beautiful city being destroyed.
“Who would do this?” She asked, not expecting an answer.
Siduri took up the reins and conducted the wagon back onto the path, soon veering left onto a rough and narrow road that appeared to lead through a small village nestled against the desert sands. As the wagon drew near to the village, Qesma could see half of the houses were collapsed. There were no visible people, but there were a few camels near one of the intact buildings. Siduri set a quicker pace, nearly a gallop. Tuli huffed as the wooden wheels creaked under the strain.
“I don’t like this,” the thief announced.
As if on cue, four masked men stepped out from either side of the road. Two of them held bows, while the other two drew long swords. The men shouted something, probably trying to stop them.
“Get down!” Siduri whispered fiercely to the girls. “Don’t let them see you.”
Shakhet shut her eyes tightly. Qesma hugged her sister and whispered, as softly as she could, “It’s okay.”
Siduri drove the camel ever faster, kicking up an enormous dust cloud in their wake. 
From out of the cloud came two arrows, each of which landed wildly off-target. The men were still shouting angrily as the girls rode out of harm’s way.
“Siduri, that was very reckless,” Qesma said after a moment. “Thank you.”
“They would have robbed us or worse,” she replied. “I will never stop for such men. Not in this life.”
Siduri turned the wagon south, to Kemet. 
57

That which bows down its neck in submission puts its breast forward in defiance.
Sumerian proverb

King Shulgi stood proud on the ziggurat he had helped to build. The completion of his father’s unfinished work on the ziggurat, as well as its crowning temple, filled him with a sense of honor.
Hundreds of contractors, laborers, and slaves filled the streets of Nippur. At the king’s command, they had come from every corner of the kingdom to fulfill the royal orders; Nippur’s restoration had begun.
Taramuram wrapped her arms around him from behind, resting her chin on his shoulder. The scent of myrrh.
“The gods have blessed us,” Shulgi said.
“You Sumerians and your gods.”
Shulgi turned to her, amused.
“Surely you love and fear the gods, Princess,” Shulgi said wryly.
“Of course, of course. But don’t you think it’s strange how we revere them, put all our hopes and fears on their backs, and yet… have you ever seen the face of a god? A footprint, a face, a message? Aside from the sun and rain, I see only the works of man.”
“If you can keep a secret, I feel the same way,” Shulgi admitted. “The gods may rule the heavens, but the Earth belongs to me.”
“Ah, that’s right. I came to say your general is here,” she said.
Shulgi sighed and turned his head to kiss her cheek.
“Thank you. I’ll be right in.”
Adulshurasa was standing alone in the great hall of the temple. He was admiring the stonework when Shulgi entered.
The general stood up straight, as formal as ever, but Shulgi approached him like family. He threw his arms around the old man and embraced him heartily. Adulshurasa returned the hug, entertained.
“It is good to see your face again, my king.”
“Good to see yours, too, my friend. Though somehow you look even older than you did before.”
“You just wait,” the general laughed.
“Thank you for coming all this way. What news do you bring me?”
“Firstly, the Guti are still numerous, but their military strength is severely reduced. The contact our armies have made since… since last year has been fleeting. What little resistance we encounter is usually small bands of disorganized, independent fighters.”
Shulgi sighed deeply. “That is good to hear, I suppose.”
“However, my king, there are much more pressing matters. We have received reports of Sumerian ships being burned on the way to Meluhha.”
“Burned?” Shulgi looked at Adulshurasa.
“Yes, my king. At least two merchant ships have been destroyed while sailing along the coasts of Elam.”
“Are you telling me Elam is conducting military action against us?”
“That is our current theory, my king. As you know, Elam has been quiet for some time, but this sort of destruction is well within their power.”
“I’ve just sent Kurzu to Elam, directly to Susa. Gods forgive me, I have killed him. Gods forgive me.”
Taramuram entered the room slowly. “Shulgi, are you all right?”
Adulshurasa looked at her.
Shulgi’s face was buried in his hands. “Yes,” he announced between his fingers. “No.”
“Adulshurasa,” the general said. “It’s an honor to meet you, Princess.”
“Taramuram.” She approached Shulgi and put a hand on his shoulder. “Shulgi, what happened?”
“I’ve killed my friends. Alduni never came back. He is dead because of me. And now Kurzu, my friend, my scribe, is dead as well. Taramuram…” He turned to face her, eyes red.
“We sent him to Susa, but Elam is burning our ships. If he reaches that city, he will never leave. It’s my fault. I sent them both to their deaths.”
“You can’t blame yourself for this, Shulgi! We both sent him. It’s my fault, as well.”
“No, you don’t understand. These young men saved my life more than once. They were my friends. But they were children. I used them, and now they’re dead.”
Taramuram embraced Shulgi. Adulshurasa looked away.
“We couldn’t have known. Hasn’t Elam been at peace with us for years?”
“I thought as much. But it seems they have different plans.”
A messenger entered. The look on the young woman’s face made Shulgi’s heart sink.
“What is it?” He managed, not wanting an answer.
“My king, my princess, please forgive me for intruding. The city of Tuttul has been sacked by an unknown army, who are now suspected to be moving downriver… to Mari.”
“Mari is in danger! We have to send someone. We have to send an army to protect them!” Taramuram began to fray. Now it was Shulgi’s turn to comfort her.
“We will send them, my love. We will send our armies west, just as we send them east. I swear on my own life, I shall protect Mari from its enemies, just as I would protect any of my cities.”
Taramuram nodded, swallowing her tears. “My brother Iddinel is a fool, but he is quick to violence. My father is exactly the same. I have no doubt they will defend the city ferociously until help arrives.”
“That’s the spirit,” Shulgi said, kissing her forehead. “Young lady, thank you for your message,” he said, turning to the visitors. “You are dismissed. General, your visit has been a joy, even though you have brought me grief. We will discuss this further tonight. You are welcome to stay in the palace until your departure. Please excuse us.”
“As with all things, my king, we will make sense of this, and we will prevail,” Adulshurasa said.
The messenger and the general bowed low and made their exit.
“This world is a cruel place,” Taramuram whispered. “But you and I will bring it to heel. We will create peace between all people. We will pay tribute to everyone we have lost by making sure their sacrifices are not wasted. It is your destiny. It is our destiny.”
Shulgi kissed Taramuram.  
58

When the sun is setting outside so that you cannot even recognize the hand in front of you, go inside!
Sumerian proverb

Trees were rare in the deserts of Elam, and nearly as rare in the southern marshes, but small forests could be found across the highlands of the northeast. Kurzu had always appreciated their mystery. One could never be sure what lurked behind the trunks, or up among the green leaves. As the riders navigated the rocky path on their camels, his attention kept drifting to the dark woods. He did not see any animal life, but he could hear it.
Kurzu remembered a scene from the story of Gilgamesh. The legendary king, along with his wild counterpart Enkidu, entered the realm of the forest guardian, Humbaba the Terrible. All around them, monkeys, insects, and birds shrieked for their master, shaking the treetops. The cedars and the underbrush were so entangled around them, there was no chance to escape. Humbaba could be heard thundering his threats to whomever had disturbed his peaceful domain.
Though the heroes were afraid, they encouraged each other and engaged Humbaba in battle. When Gilgamesh pleaded to the gods for help, they sent a divine wind to bind Humbaba. Gilgamesh eventually killed him, as well as many of the holy cedar trees. Enkidu regretted the destruction of the forest, saying it would anger the gods. He was not wrong, as the gods later marked Enkidu for death. He was struck down by divine illness, leaving Gilgamesh to wander aimlessly into nature, destroyed by grief.
In time, Gilgamesh’s overwhelming fear of death drove him to undertake his mythical quest and pursue immortality. He would ultimately fail, of course; humans, no matter how great their lives, are destined to die.
Kurzu thought of Alduni. Though his friend, his brother, had never returned from the battlefield, he knew Alduni would not have wanted his friends and family to grieve him. Alduni was too lively, too irreverent for solemnity. Like Enkidu, he would have wanted them to embrace flawed, dangerous, fleeting, absurd, beautiful life, even at the cost of embracing death. Kurzu tried but failed to suppress a tear and smiled.
The trail led up into the trees. The shade would be very welcome after riding beneath the sun for so long. Kurzu’s camel grunted and spat.
“The sun will be setting soon. We ought to locate a clearing in these woods and make camp for the night,” Anugal instructed. “And we need water.”
“A fine idea, young man,” Hanuak said. “We will sleep beneath the boughs tonight. After a long day of riding, there are few things as satisfying as a simple bedroll. Ah, but the young men always have energy to spare. To anyone whose hair has not yet turned grey, the gathering of firewood falls to you.”
As they made their way further into the trees, the trail reached a sort of peak, then began a gentle descent down into a valley. The sound of a bubbling stream could be heard somewhere nearby. Above him, Kurzu noticed something peculiar. It appeared to be a wooden watchtower with the unmistakable banner of Elam hanging from its boards.
Then he saw the shapes of multiple bodies lying off in the tall grass.
Suddenly, six armed men emerged from the brush. Kurzu recognized their armor immediately. They were Guti soldiers.
“No, stop the caravan! Everyone, stop!” He shouted.
The guards slowed and drew their weapons. Hanuak, however, brushed the warning aside. The old man smiled broadly and greeted the men in his native tongue. He presumably began to explain the purpose for their expedition. He gestured to Kurzu and repeated his name.
“Hanuak, stop, they are not Elamites!”
The Guti looked at each other and laughed, drawing their swords. 
A whistling arrow from the trees impaled Hanuak’s eye, throwing him from his mount. The Sumerian guards quickly fired their own arrows, rearing their camels and rushing the Guti. A dozen more men descended from the tree line swinging swords and crying for blood.
Kurzu drew his own weapon, a standard bronze edge. His eyes searched wildly for incoming danger. Suddenly, an arrow struck his camel in the thigh, causing the animal to panic and throw Kurzu from the seat before dashing off down the trail. He landed hard on his back, knocking the wind from his lungs.
All around him, men were slaughtering one another. At least three of the bodyguards had already fallen. He managed to crawl behind a nearby rock and shield himself from the battle.
“Kurzu!”
 A voice he knew. It was Anugal, who had dismounted and slid down behind the same rock. He had an arrowhead lodged in his left shoulder. The shaft was broken off at the skin.
“We have to get out of here,” he yelled above the chaos.
Suddenly, a Guti warrior discovered the two. He immediately attacked.
Anugal managed to deflect the man’s strike, but a swift kick to the chest knocked him flat. The warrior pounced on Anugal and drove his blade through the young man’s throat.
With only a moment to act, Kurzu was able to stab the man through the heart. Though he wore leather armor, the tip of the bronze blade pierced it easily, and he was no more.
Kurzu was shaking as he recovered his sword and prepared to escape with his life. But a second glance at his fallen enemy made him stop in his tracks.
Hanging from the dead man’s neck was a clay amulet imprinted with the profile of a wolf. 
 
59

Strength cannot keep pace with intelligence.
Sumerian proverb

Alduni nearly tripped over himself as he sprinted through the brush along the creekside, narrowly avoiding rocks and branches. Thankfully he knew these woods well after so much time living among them. He couldn’t be sure he had really seen Kurzu’s face, but it looked so much like him, even from the ridge. Between that and the telltale war cloaks of the guards, let alone their very presence, something in his heart told him it was true. Against all odds, his friend was here, and he was in mortal danger. The gods never ceased to astound him.
At last he reached the bend in the narrow road beneath the watchtower. He contemplated remaining hidden, but there was simply no time. He bounded out from the underbrush, weathered blade honed to a terrifying edge, shield glimmering through the patina.
It took only seconds to locate a Guti warrior. Alduni reached him quickly, moving without sound. The man looked deeply confused about the identity of the one who had killed him. But as he died, he managed to spit a word Alduni had come to know. It was the Guti word for ‘shadow.’
Alduni’s blood ran hot. He looked around for signs of his friend, but saw nothing. Had it been an illusion?
Another warrior spotted him and drew his bow.
It had been many weeks since Alduni’s last fight, but his instincts were as sharp as his blade. He sprinted and dove back behind a tree, narrowly avoiding the deadly arrow.
Another arrow thwacked into the tree moments later. Terror overwhelmed him in this moment. The next arrow would surely find its home in his chest if he attempted to move. A third arrow struck the tree, and a fourth whizzed past immediately after.
Alduni could see the archer was approaching him now, bow drawn. His only hope was trickery. He detached and held out his shield for a moment, earning another arrow. It clanged off the shield, shattering the arrowhead. From his place behind the tree, he maneuvered to a position behind a second tree. He kept the first tree entirely between himself and his enemy, timing his steps to match those of the archer.
When the archer circled around to where Alduni had been hiding and fired his arrow into the dirt behind the shield, Alduni made his move. He thrust his blade deep between the archer’s shoulder blades. But when he tried to remove it, the blade snapped off. It had served him well for the past year, yet now it was hardly a dagger. It would have to suffice.
He grabbed his shield and quickly restrapped it as he rushed back to the road, where the battle was nearly over. The Sumerian guards had killed most of the raiders, but only two were left to contend against five men on their own.
Then Alduni saw him. It was Kurzu, hiding behind a boulder and gazing at a corpse as though entranced. He had seen that look before, in the faces of men whose hearts had been hollowed out by unfathomable horrors. Kurzu deserved better. They all did.
“Kurzu,” he rasped. It was the first word he had spoken in weeks.
The young scribe looked up. It seemed to take him a few moments, but soon Alduni saw the recognition in his eyes. There was yet life in them.
“Alduni, you’re alive! You’re alive!”
Kurzu finally managed to climb to his feet.
Alduni and Kurzu closed the distance between one another and met in a warm embrace.
“How are you here?” Kurzu said. “You never came home, where have you been? Have you been here?”
A terrible cry from the road. The last of the guards had fallen. The remaining four Guti warriors turned their attention to Alduni and Kurzu.
“Run now, talk later!”
“Wait!” Kurzu shouted, pulling away. He rushed back to the fallen man who had captured his attention and pulled something from around his neck. The warriors cried out in rage and ran after them.
Alduni was immensely thankful none of the remaining Guti had bows as he and Kurzu navigated between the dozens of dead men. They managed to climb atop the two camels who had survived the ambush.
They rode the trail back up through the trees, then southbound and down from the highlands, finally on the trail back home. 
 
60

If the beer mash is sour, how can the beer be sweet?
Sumerian proverb

Ruut awoke in the early hours of the morning. The sun had not yet risen, but its light was already filling the world. The moon, still high above, would share the glowing sky until the heat of Utu’s fire finally compelled it back beneath the distant hills.
Enshanesha had not come to bed, though such behavior was common in recent days. She was often up late painting, and he expected to find her up on the roof as always.
He stretched his muscles and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, standing and washing his face in the basin as he did each day and night. He said his daily prayers and dressed himself.
When he climbed the stairs, he found the roof was unoccupied. Enshanesha’s paintings were all on display here, leaning against every available surface. Ruut was surrounded by wildflowers, marsh fauna, tall towers of bright stone, and the faces of the gods. Resting on the easel, however, was a new painting Ruut had never seen before.
The sky was black and starless, its thick black pigment pervading every breath of air in the painting. Standing against the darkness were figures Ruut recognized. It was Enshanesha, Kurzu, Qesma, and himself, all standing together, holding one another close as the dark surrounded them. But in the distant background, a brilliant splash of white was blurred with yellows and oranges and reds. A sunrise with colors more perfect than those of the gods themselves.
Lying against the painting was a small inscribed tablet.
“Ruut, my eternal love,” it read. “I cannot bear to burden you any longer. You have made my life sweet and full of happiness. But now I must go to the corners of the world to find what I have lost. I cannot give you the heaviest burden of all and ask you to join me, and so I have gone alone. You must find your happiness. Not mine, but yours. The gods will guide us both. I love you boundlessly, endlessly, across the universe. Shanesha.”

Ruut’s resignation was accepted at the temple, and it did not take long to find a neighbor who agreed to care for his beautiful old home. When he left, he took only three items with him: his lapis lazuli cylinder, the ragged old blanket in which his infant son had been wrapped all those years ago, and the final painting of his beloved wife. He left a tablet of his own on Kurzu’s bed. He prayed that Kurzu would safely return home to find it.
The island of Dilmun, which stood like an oasis in the eastern sea, was the place to which they had always dreamed of retiring. Ruut’s heart told him the truth. Though Shanesha had not told him where she had gone, he knew where to find her. Even if he was wrong, he knew he would find his happiness. The world was wide, too wide to know; but Dilmun, at least, had been known since the beginning of time as the place where the sun rises. 
61

A snake charmer had a snake, he pulled out the tooth.
Sumerian proverb

Kurzu and Alduni rode together across the bridge at Tigris, the same bridge Kurzu had crossed only days before. Their camels were quick and strong, allowing them to set a brisk pace.
Kurzu felt as though he had been holding his breath all through Elam territory. But now, he could finally relax. Between the ambush, Alduni’s survival, and the strange wolf amulet, Kurzu still had not processed the surreality that had just happened to them.
He looked over at his riding partner. Alduni was filthy and ragged. His sparse adolescent facial hair did nothing to hide his dry lips. His war cloak was somehow still intact, disgusting as it was. Though Kurzu had so much to ask, much of the ride was spent in silence. He did not know where to begin.
“It’s good to see you,” he finally said.
“You too,” Alduni replied. 
A few silent moments passed.
“Can I ask you something?” Alduni said.
“Of course.”
“What did you take from that body back there?”
He hadn’t expected to talk about it yet. It was still in his sash. The weight of it kept distracting him.
“It’s an amulet,” he said. “A clay amulet. It’s just like mine, like the one my birth mother left me.”
The sun was fading in the west.
“Alduni, I think my mother was from Gutium.” Saying it out loud finally made it real. The profundity, the absurdity made his skin crawl. “I think I’m a Guti.”
He pulled his own clay amulet from within his armor. It was easily his most important possession.
“This is mine. And this…”
He reached into the sash and removed the dead man’s amulet. It was the same size, made from the same red clay, and with the very same profile of a howling wolf. He stared at them both, one in each hand.
Alduni stared, too, but at Kurzu.
“What do you think?” He asked cautiously.
Kurzu wasn’t sure how to answer.
“I don’t know. It’s too much to think about.”
“I think it doesn’t make a difference. Or, it shouldn’t. There is an old proverb I heard once, that a man is defined by his actions, not his bloodline. Something like that.”
“I don’t know how to feel. They’ve always been the enemy. They still are. But my mother… Why did that bandit have this? Why did she? What does this symbol mean?”
Alduni was silent for a moment.
“There must be someone we can ask. Don’t worry, I know you’ll find the answer someday.”
“Did you ever see anything like this when you were in the vanguard?”
“I don’t think so. If you’ll take some advice, try not to dwell on this before you know anything, my friend. With so much time to think out here, I learned that lesson well.”
“You’re right,” Kurzu sighed. “Speculating will only make things more confusing. This could mean anything.”
“That makes sense. Today has been… I won’t forget it.”
“Can I ask you something now?” Kurzu put the amulets away.
“Please,” Alduni said.
“Where have you been? We all thought you were dead. Nira, your father, all our old friends. I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. Why didn’t you come home?”
“Well, here I am,” Alduni smiled grimly. 
Somewhere above, a falcon screeched.
“I couldn’t come home with everyone else,” he continued. “I didn’t know why at first. All the friendships I made out here… my brothers, my brothers in arms are all dead. I had to watch them all die, but I’m still alive. I think I had to stay out here and find out why. I couldn’t just go back to my old life. Honestly, I still don’t think I can. The closer we get, the heavier my heart feels.”
Kurzu contemplated his friend’s words for a time.
“Alduni, you’re one of the most capable people I know. Next to Nira, of course,” he grinned. “I know we both saw terrible things. We both did terrible things. But your home is still waiting for you. Your brothers, they are not your fault. None of this is our fault.”
“I know… I know. I think I just needed to hear it.” Alduni fought back tears. “Kurzu, I know we’re going home, but I don’t think I can actually go home. I can’t see my father. I can’t become a blacksmith.”
“Alduni. Have you seen the shield on your arm?”
“That’s different.”
“No, it’s not. It’s the most beautiful shield in the world, and you made it yourself. What makes you think you can’t work the forge?”
“My father’s reputation…”
“No, your reputation. Your work, your shield, your reputation. Your legacy. Did you know that people call you Alduni the Shield?”
Alduni laughed. “No, they don’t.”
“Yes, they do. In fact, they call me Kurzu the Stone.”
“Bullshit!” He laughed again. “Bullshit. More like Kurzu the Stonepicker.”
“And Nira the Serpent.”
“That one I actually believe.”
They laughed together. Alduni’s camel grunted, and they laughed again.
“Have you seen Nira lately?”
“Actually, yes,” Kurzu said. “She’s doing well, helping out the people of the city. I’ve been helping her with her farm since her father died.”
“Yamesh died? Oh… I’m so sorry to hear that. He was a good man.”
They rode in silence for a while. The divine greenery of the land between the river-sisters was slowly returning as they moved. The beauty of the land was evident even in the dim light of the setting sun. Somewhere far in the distance, the howling of wolves tore the calm air. A curious idea came to Kurzu.
“Alduni, I want you to have this amulet.” He retrieved the second amulet and extended it to his friend. “Please.”
Alduni hesitated for a moment, finding Kurzu’s eyes before taking it. He hung it around his neck, clasping it to his chest with his hand.
“Thank you, brother.”
The distant wolves continued to howl. Alduni smacked Kurzu’s arm to get his attention, then tilted his head back and let out a loud howl. The camels jumped at the sudden sound. He howled again. Kurzu laughed at this strange display.
“Howl with me, brother wolf! Awooooo!” He slapped Kurzu’s arm again.
Kurzu took a deep breath.
The song of the wolves of Eridu rang out across the river valley. 
62

Keep your feet on the ground!
Sumerian proverb

Siatum stood on the balcony of her lavish claybrick cottage. The old place was once a nobleman’s house before the sacking of Babylon many decades ago, but found a new owner in the royal family of Unug. Siatum had ensured the cottage remained in her possession through the years, as it was a favorite destination of her childhood.
In the years before the Reclamation, travel was difficult and dangerous, so she and her family would spend months at a time living there while her father conducted the grim business of war and revolution. The cottage was built on a ridge overlooking mighty Euphrates. The river ceaselessly cut through the rock below, as it had for all of recorded history. Something about the consistency of the rushing waters always gave her comfort.
Ziusudra had yet to appear. She imagined he encountered resistance during his final mission and was killed in the ensuing chaos. It was unfortunate, even tragic, but the young man was loyal, and that meant any death in service to her was a good death. As a soldier, it was the best he could hope for. Still, she wished he had found success and joined her in this beautiful place. For all it meant, she did love him, in her own way. He was a good man and deserved to find happy days at her side.
She thought about Urnammu, and about Shulgi. Her boys were good-hearted men as well, and they deserved their own lives and happiness. The loss of Urnammu would weigh on her forever; her failure to protect him was her greatest mistake. But, even if Shulgi hated her for it, Siatum was proud of the work she’d done to protect her son. He was a man now, the king of the world. Though she wanted to watch him grow and flourish on the throne, she knew in her heart that her work as a mother was done. Shulgi would rule for a hundred years, just as she had planned.
She had always been able to win, even while her foundations crumbled one by one, even while the people she loved disappeared from her life, because she knew herself. She possessed the power of will, which could overwhelm almost any enemy.
But, as the days and the weeks passed, she realized loneliness, bane of the isolated mind, was an enemy that could be not defeated alone.
*
Booking passage on a ship to Dilmun was easy with the possession of one of the king’s royal seals. The little red lion allowed Ziusudra to convince the ship captain he was on official business, and that the involvement of the baby was strictly essential, as well as strictly confidential. Afraid to ask too many questions, the captain conceded a small corner of the ship to be their canopied dwelling for the voyage.
Dilmun was not Ziusudra’s first choice, but there had been reports of recent attacks on ships sailing near the coast of Elam. The only ship still bound for Meluhha from the harbor of Urim was a military ship with absolutely no room for civilians, let alone children. Dilmun, however, was on friendly terms with Sumer. A beautiful, peaceful island was the perfect place to raise this child.
He decided Adad should never learn the truth about his origins. When the boy was old enough, he would tell him that his mother had died in a shipwreck. He’d say she gave her life to save him. She loved him, and that was all he needed to know.
Ziusudra had considered leaving Adad in the care of a temple, to be raised as an orphan. But in the course of travel, he began to feel bonded with the child. He felt he could be a proper father to Adad, and give him the sort of life he deserved, far away from the politics and bloodlust of Unug. Neither of them could ever truly be safe in Sumer.
He suspected Siatum would always haunt him. The things he did for her would occupy his dreams for the rest of his days. But this child had a chance to escape her darkness. He would do whatever it took to give Adad that chance.
As the low cliffs of Dilmun came into view, Ziusudra fed the baby drops of goat’s milk from a small jar. Adad cooed and smiled, grasping at Ziusudra’s finger.
“Don’t worry, Adad,” he whispered. “We’re almost home.”
*
“This way,” Igaru said. “Quickly. The Urim harbormaster is a belligerent old drunk. We need to find him before he’s had his beer.”
Igaru and Gassu made their way through the crowded Urim harbor, eventually reaching the small office where the harbormaster sat. It was a small office with split-reed walls and a low ceiling.
“How can I help you boys?” the old man said, his long beard catching in the sea breeze.
“We’re looking for a man with a baby,” Gassu said. “He’s young, and he’s likely alone, except for the baby.”
“I haven’t seen anyone like that. A baby, you said?”
“Yes, a baby,” Igaru said. “A man with a baby. This is official business, so if you know anything…”
“Can’t say I do. Sorry I can’t help you, gentlemen. Now if you’ll excuse me.”
“If you see a young man trying to leave the kingdom with a baby in tow, you need to contact Unug,” Igaru continued.
“Oh, do I?” The old harbormaster said. “And here I thought you weren’t going to wander in off the street and tell me my business.”
A flash of anger crossed Gassu’s face, but he suppressed it.
“Listen,” Gassu said through his teeth. “That man is named Ziusudra. He is a monster who kidnapped the prince of Unug after murdering his mother in cold blood. My sister. Our family’s blood stains the ground, and it drips from his knife! I swear to the gods…” Gassu slammed his hands on the harbormaster’s desk. “I swear to the gods that I will find him and kill him, and I will kill anyone who stands between us as well. Do you understand, sea scum?”
The old harbormaster was terrified now, looking back and forth between the brothers. “Easy now, boys, easy. I didn’t mean no harm. I swear it, I haven’t seen anything! I swear it!”
“I saw him,” a shy young voice came from behind them. A young dockhand stood in the doorway. “I saw him. He boarded a boat six days ago. I saw it sail away. He went on board with the baby. I didn’t know he was a killer.”
Igaru took a step toward the boy, who recoiled from him. Gassu turned from the harbormaster with a bestial scowl.
Igaru spoke as calmly as he could manage.
“Think carefully, boy. Tell me, where was the ship headed?” 
63

Earth is greater than heaven. Who can destroy it?
Sumerian proverb

Qesma practiced her meditative breathing. It had been many years since she had thought about the spiritual teachings of her youth, but she needed something to occupy her mind. Sixteen days of harsh highland country had left the camel-drawn wagon, as well as its three inhabitants, weathered and exhausted. Even Shakhet, who was normally brighter than the sunshine, was beginning to feel the deep impatience of traveling with no stimulus but the constant knocks of the wagon.
Tuli, the camel who had borne them through dangers and rough roads for weeks, was still remarkably strong. Though the animal was only allowed a diet of barley, as the girls could spare little else from their provisions, Tuli reliably guided the wagon all the way down from the highlands. Qesma wondered how many footsteps the creature had taken on their behalf.
Days earlier, they had reached the legendary city of Dimasq just in time. Their food had run out completely the day before. With permission from the sisters, however, Siduri exercised her talents and managed to acquire enough money to restock the wagon. The girls pushed onward.
Now, at long last, more than two weeks after escaping the chaos at Tuttul, more than a month after finding Siduri in Mari, and nearly two months after freeing Shakhet, the famous port city of Aqaba came into view. Qesma allowed herself tears of joy. Shakhet, of course, rebounded as a flower in the morning light, and began to dance and sing. She sang to Tuli about her status as the greatest camel in the world, and how much she loved Qesma and Siduri. Siduri said nothing, but could not stop smiling.
Aqaba was anchored in the deepest inland reaches of a massive gulf. The gulf extended south to become part of the salty southern sea. All they had to do was find passage across the sea and they would be in Kemet. They would be home.
As a port city, Aqaba was at the bottom of a wide, gentle slope leading down to the water. The path twisted across the landscape, snaking back and forth. The city itself was nestled down in the heart of the harbor. The sea breeze finally filled Qesma’s lungs again.
As they drew near to the harbor, Siduri pulled the wagon off to the side of the path. The sun was setting, painting incredible warm colors across the sky.
“We don’t need Tuli anymore,” Siduri said.
“No!” Shakhet protested. “She’s my friend and I love her. Can’t she come with us? Please?”
“Camels don’t like crossing the water,” Qesma told her. “She would be very scared. Tuli loves you too, but she’ll be happy here. I promise.”
Shakhet made a face and crossed her arms defiantly, but let them slide back down. “Okay, I understand.”
“We will find her a good home,” Siduri said.
“Can I say goodbye?” Shakhet asked sadly.
“Absolutely, you can!” Qesma said, her heart stinging again. “Goodbye, Tuli. We love you. Thank you for helping us.” She patted the animal’s head. It groaned softly and looked at her with its brown eyes. They were the eyes of a beast, of course, but there was some ineffable quality there as well.
“Goodbye, Tuli,” Siduri said, patting Tuli’s nose.
“I love you, Tuli. Thank you,” Shakhet said, hugging the camel’s neck and kissing its fur. “Ech, she tastes like sand!” The girls all laughed together.
It didn’t take long to find a buyer for the camel and the wagon. A young couple looking to travel north to Dimasq were happy to purchase them both. They paid with a chunk of raw gold. At Shakhet’s insistence, both of them swore to the gods to treat Tuli with love. The young girl bid Tuli another sweet farewell before finally letting her go.
As the couple rolled away, Qesma and Siduri each took one of Shakhet’s hands. They walked together down the city street, out to where the mighty sea rolled in and out with the tide.
The harbormaster, like many of his profession, was as grizzled a man as Qesma had ever seen.
“What?” His voice was grizzled to match his appearance.
Qesma stood up straight, gripping Shakhet’s hand tighter.
“We want to buy passage to Kemet. Is there a ship that can take us there?”
“No,” he replied.
The girls stood in shock for a moment.
“Surely there is a ship heading that way soon,” Qesma stammered.
“Only cargo, no passengers. Especially not women and children.”
Siduri stepped forward.
“We will pay.”
The harbormaster looked at them clearly now, and sat forward.
“How much you got?”
Qesma knew what this sort of question meant. This man was crooked as the road leading into his city. Before she could reply, Siduri was holding the gold chunk between her fingers.
“That’ll pay for one of you, at least,” he said. The harbormaster reached, but Siduri pulled back.
“Three of us. Passage to Kemet aboard a safe ship for three.”
He reached again. Siduri let him snatch the gold.
“Like I said, that buys your way, little lady. The two of them are another matter.”
Qesma’s heart skipped a beat. There had to be a way out of this.
Siduri reached for her knife, but the harbormaster was quick with his own.
“That’s not a mistake you want to make, little lady…”
Siduri slowly moved her hand.
“…though I respect your passion. Now, like I said. You’re free to board the Abydos. One little chunk of gold earns you that much. The two of you need to pay your own way. You have some time. The Abydos departs first thing in the morning.”
“You’re mean,” Shakhet said. “We don’t have anything else.”
“Then you won’t be getting on that boat.”
“Wait,” Qesma said. It occurred to her that she did, in fact, have something valuable. “Wait. What about this?”
From her sash, she drew the bejeweled khopesh. She could see the faces of Ruut and Enshanesha and Kurzu reflecting in the gems.
The harbormaster sat forward again, eyes wide.
“Now, that is something I haven’t seen before. You give me that beautiful weapon, the three of you have safe passage on the Abydos. I may be the son of a jackal but I don’t tell lies.”
Qesma stared at the weapon. The jewels on the handle and the blade were gleaming, even in the fading light. She had promised to return it one day. But the time had come to let go. It was time to go home.

The next morning, Qesma woke from restless sleep. The harbormaster had let them sleep in his office. It was the least he could do after taking the last of their valuables. 
Siduri was already awake and watching the dockhands prepare the Abydos for its voyage. The ship appeared to be constructed from bundles of papyrus.
“Good morning,” Qesma said.
“Good morning,” Siduri replied.
“Are you ready to go?”
“I’ve never seen Kemet. I’ve never been this far from home.”
Qesma smiled and took Siduri’s hand in hers.
“Don’t worry, we’ll be home soon.”

The Abydos pushed forward across the water. Qesma, Siduri, and Shakhet stood together on the bow of the ship as it broke through the waves. The hidden world within the clear waters rolled beneath them like a dream. As the sun finally rose from its home in the east, Qesma thought for a moment she could see the brilliant pyramids of Kemet, shining brightly in the growing light. 
 
64

The axe belongs to the carpenter, the stone belongs to the smith, the good beer belongs to the brewer.
Sumerian proverb

Kurzu had never been so happy to see the old ziggurat of Eridu. Even from a distance, the sight of it made him feel at peace. It had always been his beacon when he roamed the tamer wilds with his friends. No matter how dark the night, the myriad torches burning at the temple atop the ziggurat illuminated its corner of the sky, and he knew the way home.
The city felt at once as small and as large as ever. The people paid little attention to the two of them as they rode into the city proper, but eventually they began to take notice. Kurzu heard their names being whispered, then spoken, then cheered.
“Alduni the Shield! He’s alive!”
“Kurzu the Stone, Kurzu has returned!”
These were people Kurzu had never seen before, yet they knew the two of them by sight alone. If even the most minor celebrity was so disorienting, Kurzu shuddered to think what life must be like for Shulgi.
Alduni suddenly stopped and dismounted his camel. Working outside at his forge, hands blackened with ash, was Jushur. He did not notice Alduni at first.
“Father…”
Jushur turned to look. He could not find the words, but his hard face broke into softness and tears when he recognized his son, who had returned whole from the plains of the dead.
“Alduni the Shield!” Someone cheered.
Alduni unstrapped his shield and let it fall. He ran to his father, and they embraced one another. The gathering crowd threw up their hands and cheered all the louder.
Kurzu smiled and rode onward.
He stopped to visit Nira next. As her old farmhouse came into view, he saw there were now at least a dozen people working the property. It was swiftly becoming a beautiful and well-cultivated estate, a far cry from the humble onion farm. Small huts lined the edge of the property.
Nira evidently heard him approaching because she quickly appeared in her doorway, then dashed across the property the moment she saw Kurzu’s face.
“You’re back! You made it home!”
She dragged Kurzu from his mount and gave him the tightest hug he had ever experienced.
“Alduni is home, too. He’s with his father.”
Nira’s jaw dropped. Tears immediately formed in her eyes.
“Are you joking? You better not be joking about that.”
Cheers of “Alduni the Shield!” echoed from the streets. Kurzu smiled broadly, his own eyes growing misty.
Nira hugged Kurzu again. “Thank you for bringing him home.”
“He’s the one who saved me, really,” he laughed.
“I should have known,” she said with a satirical tone.
“I see you’re expanding your outreach program.”
“Yes, there are now seven different families living here. The house was getting a little crowded, so we built reed huts for the workers.”
“I wasn’t gone for even two weeks. When did you have time to do all this?”
“It doesn’t take long to build a reed hut, Kurzu,” she replied. “Well, come on, let’s go see him. Help me up.”
Kurzu helped Nira onto the saddle. After a moment, she found her balance and gripped the reins.
“I actually need to stop at home,” Kurzu said. “Take good care of this camel. His name is Rashugal.”
“That’s an excellent name for a camel, Kuku.”
“Don’t call me that!”
Nira was still laughing as she rode away.

The old house looked quiet from down the road. Ruut and Enshanesha were never all that lively to begin with, but Kurzu did not detect even the gentle glow of the fireplace.
When he made it to the front door, he found it was locked. The front door was never locked; Enshanesha made herself available to the public at all times. It was part of her vocation. Fortunately, Kurzu knew this door well. He managed to pick the lock in short order using a twig.
“Hello? Mother? Father?”
The house was as dark, and as quiet, as it appeared. Kurzu searched the kitchen, the shrine, the storage room, even the central courtyard, but there was no sign of his parents. He discovered a tablet on his bed. It appeared to be inscribed by Ruut, and simply read “We love you.”
He climbed the stairs, then took the ladder to the roof. They were not here, either. But they must have been gone for some time, as there was dust gathering on the sheets. Kurzu began to feel a pit in his stomach.
He discovered a stack of paintings hidden beneath a tarp under the canopied bed. They were all fascinating and beautiful. Most depicted different views from the rooftop, but some were more imaginative. There was a painting of a goddess who could only be Inanna, as she stood astride two lions, and her eyes glowed white and gold. There was one painting of the Eridu ziggurat, but it was drawn to be much larger than it actually was. There were images of towers and architecture Kurzu had never seen, and some that certainly never existed. But one painting made him pause. He took it in his hands and studied its details over and over. The pit in his stomach grew into his heart.
Rendered in beautiful, bold colors was the face of Qesma. 
65

The sun never leaves my heart, which surpasses a garden.
Sumerian proverb

Two months after Kurzu and Alduni returned to Eridu, the hot summer had dried up much of the water from the marshes.
Kurzu had moved back to the old house. Such a beautiful property deserved to be maintained. Though his parents were still gone, he felt them here. For some time, he was unsure of what to do with himself. After trying his hand at a garden, he took to inscribing what he could remember of the epic of Gilgamesh. It was standard instruction in his scribal studies. Thanks to years of repetition, he still recalled much of the poem. When that work was done, he donated the four copies he had produced to the temple.
Earlier in the summer, a messenger arrived from Urim. Shulgi had learned they were still alive. Along with his expressions of greatest joy, he sent Kurzu an extraordinary sum of sixty talents of silver, attached to an equally extraordinary contract. Kurzu donated half the money in secret to Nira’s flourishing community homestead, helping her to bury the bulk of it under the stump at the edge of the property. Most of the rest went to the temple orphanage.
It had been far too long since he molded figures from the clay. Shulgi’s commission of six hundred figurines in his likeness meant Kurzu’s work was cut out for him. After nearly six weeks of diligent work, he had only completed twenty of the figurines.
He was engaged in this time-consuming art, seated under the rooftop canopy of his house, when trumpets rang out through the city. The melody was familiar. It was the fanfare of the house of King Shulgi.
Kurzu did not have long to wonder about Shulgi’s destination. Less than an hour after the sounding of the horns, Shulgi himself appeared in Kurzu’s doorway. With him was his new wife, Queen Taramuram. Like many royals before her, she wore a new crown of hammered gold leaves to celebrate her commitment to Sumer.
Shulgi and Taramuram entered slowly. Kurzu heard Shulgi instruct his guards to wait outside in the hot summer afternoon.
Kurzu prepared a pot of tea for them as they took their seats. Shulgi’s eyes lingered on the painting hanging in the other room.
“I know I’ve seen her before,” he whispered to himself.
“Welcome, Shulgi! It’s been so long,” Kurzu said as he joined them.
“Kurzu, my friend! I cannot describe how glad I am to see your face.”
“It’s good to see you, too. This must be the queen?”
“Yes. Taramuram, Queen of Sumer and Akkad. It’s wonderful to meet you, Kurzu. I’ve heard good things.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Kurzu chuckled.
“Kurzu, let me first say this. I am so sorry. I learned of Elam’s hostilities days after sending you there. I was sure I’d sent you to your death. When I heard that you were still alive, that you and Alduni had made it back to Eridu, I was overjoyed.”
“He cried tears of happiness,” Taramuram added. “You have made a deep impression in Shulgi’s heart.”
“You couldn’t have known Elam was dangerous after all that time,” Kurzu said. “It was the Guti who attacked us, after all.”
“Yes, I could have known. The Guti have always inhabited that part of the world, with or without Elam’s consent. I could have and should have known, but my foolishness outweighed whatever measure of wisdom I’ve attained. I fear it does once again,” Shulgi said.
“My king, I forgive you. I absolutely forgive you,” Kurzu said. He was unsure if he really did until the moment he said it, but the burden of resentment lifted from his shoulders immediately.
The young king stood and held his friend close.
“Please, call me Shulgi,” he said, patting Kurzu’s shoulders with a grin.
They returned to their seats. Taramuram sighed happily.
“I’m afraid I’m nowhere near finished with those figurines.”
“Ah, no, I’m not here about that.”
“Oh, that’s good. Would you like to see one? I’m proud of this one in particular…” Kurzu stood and rushed to a nearby table.
“I think I’ve captured your face perfectly on this one.” The figurine depicted Shulgi standing with a basin held above his head, carrying water to the people.
“It is very nice, thank you. I knew I chose the right man for the task. Now, that is why I’m here. There’s another task I need done, and you are the right man to do it.”
“What do you need?” Kurzu was secretly terrified to ask. Shulgi came to personally ask him this question, which he’d never done before. He suspected the king would not have come just for tea.
“I know you are busy, and I hope you are happy. But please, hear me out. We are attempting to rebuild our trade relations with Kemet, the golden kingdom of the west.”
“Kemet?” Kurzu’s mind began to race. Qesma.
“Mari has long mined its own gold in the river valley, but recent attacks by the kingdom of Ebla have left our mines in ruins. In the east, Elam continues to burn our ships and waylay our people at every turn. Our only source of gold and linen now lies in Kemet.”
The smell of freshly steeped tea filled the room. Kurzu stood and retrieved the pot, then filled the three cups on the table. He tried not to let his hands shake.
“So, you want me to go to Kemet and strengthen trade with them?”
“We are working on establishing alternate western routes that temporarily bypass the dangerous forces near Tuttul and Mari,” Taramuram said. “With your help, we can secure these routes and open up trade between our great kingdoms.”
Kurzu sipped his tea. “That is a wonderful idea. But why do you need me to go? I already have things to do here.”
“Kurzu, there are very few people in this world I can trust with a matter this important,” Shulgi said, sipping his own tea. Taramuram sipped hers as well.
“But I don’t know anything about economics!”
“Under the skin, this meeting will be about integrity and equity, not the specifics of trade agreements. We will leave the details to the merchants on the road. I can think of no one better suited to this task, my friend.”
Kurzu sipped his tea again. He had been enjoying his work on the figurines, but he couldn’t deny the importance of this mission. He looked over at the painting of Qesma, which he had hung in the common room of the house. He looked at it every day.
“All right. I’ll do it. I’ll go to Kemet.”

Another two months passed. It was now the end of a radiant summer, all of which Kurzu had spent on the road. He was traveling with a large caravan of nearly fifty people, each of whom had business to conduct in the far west. Their caravan had taken a daring new route across the sands, in search of more direct routes to the western kingdoms. Leaving the safety of the river was exhilarating for the travelers, many of whom were local merchants. They had never seen a horizon devoid of green.
Explorers and merchants had long told stories of secret reserves of fresh water hidden between the dunes. The shepherds called them sanctuaries of life. But there were just as many stories of phantom pools whose brilliant reflections vanished as one approached, and a traveler could never be sure which lie ahead until it was too late. Others saw their loved ones standing in the distance, beckoning them deeper into the heat. Many had been lost in the sands pursuing illusions.
Though Kurzu had begun to doubt the words of the shepherds, they did eventually come to a real oasis, a beautiful and calm pool with fresh, rejuvenating water. No less than twenty of the caravan’s members elected to stay here among the sparse palms and the water which reflected the blue sky. The sands would surely claim those who continued, they said.
The remaining members filled their canteens and their bellies and departed. They pushed on and on, bearing the heat and the light and the interminable distance. A few fell and did not get up again. Water grew scarce. Many camels were left to their own devices. Merchandise was left in the harsh sand.
Half-dead and withered, Kurzu and the survivors of the caravan nevertheless celebrated with the last of their rations when the old port city of Aqaba appeared on the yellowing skyline. The merchants declared their exploratory new route a success.
As they rode down into the harbor, Kurzu smelled salt on the air. He had imagined it to be a unique feature of the eastern sea at the mouth of Euphrates, but this narrow sea had the same quality. The water would be too salty to drink, and yet there was so much of it. The water, the abyss, knew all the secrets of the gods. This world, he pondered, was a fascinating, terrifying, beautiful place.
Kurzu was traveling on behalf of the king, which meant his safe passage across the sea was virtually assured. Even in this distant corner of the world, the authority of Sumer was unquestioned. There was only the matter of locating the right ship to carry the twenty-four survivors of the journey.
While the haggard merchants renewed themselves and tried to move some of their wares, Kurzu approached an old man who appeared to be the harbormaster.
“Good morning, we are on a diplomatic mission from King Shulgi. We need passage to Kemet.” He pulled the small red lion statue from his pack, the proof of his authority, and showed it to the man.
“Fine, fine,” the harbormaster sighed. “Just you?”
“There are twenty-four of us,” Kurzu said.
The harbormaster laughed. “Twenty-four people? That is going to cost you, young man.”
“How much do you need?” Kurzu asked.
“How much you got?”
Kurzu sighed and removed a cloth from his pack. He unwrapped it to reveal a large pile of silver minas.
“I’m too tired for this. One half-talent of silver. Is that enough?”
As the harbormaster reached out and grabbed the heavy bag, Kurzu noticed a colorful glint of light from the old man’s robes. It looked very familiar.
“Congratulations, boy, you’ve bought safe passage to Kemet.”
“What is that, sir?” He pointed to the hidden weapon, whose intricate handle could just be seen.
“What, this?” The harbormaster drew the weapon in question. It was none other than Ruut’s bejeweled khopesh. The inlaid gemstones glimmered in the light, casting rainbow sparks of twinkling color. Inscribed on the hardwood handle, among the affirmations and gods, was the name of the khopesh’s creator, Jushur.
“Where… did you get that?” Kurzu asked. It couldn’t be, but it was.
“A cheeky little Kemetite sold it to me last spring. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
“A Kemetite? Was she a young woman? About my age?”
“I think so, yes. Why do you care? Looking for love?”
Kurzu’s heart soared. She was here. Qesma was here.
“Let me buy it from you. I’ll pay whatever you want.”
“Got another pile of silver, boy?”

Kurzu’s khopesh hung from its place on his hip. The Abydos, carried by a wide canvas sail, pushed southwest, out once again into the clear waters of the southern sea, as it had every morning for years. Behind him, the merchants made themselves comfortable for the journey. The sparkling water reflected millions of little points of light, forming and vanishing in an instant. The wind cooled his forehead, and the rising sun warmed his back.
Kurzu thought of Qesma. He remembered she told him she was born in Waset, the city of kings. It was as good a place to begin as any. 


























 
APPENDIX A
Characters, Locations, Deities

Characters
ALDUNI, 16: Son of Eridu’s most famous blacksmith, Jushur. Agreeable, energetic, proud, colorful, athletic.
KURZU, 16: Scribe in training, adopted by Ruut and Enshanesha. Cerebral, efficient, artistic, loyal, romantic.
NIRA, 15: Onion farmer. Daughter of Yamesh. Clever, bold, neurotic, resilient, honest.

SHULGI, 20: Prince of Sumer and Akkad. Fearless, strong, talented, loyal, wrathful.
QESMA, 19: Egyptian slave. Older sister of Shakhet. Reserved, strong, cunning, compassionate, thoughtful.

ENSHANESHA, 38: Priestess of Enki. Adopted mother of Kurzu. Friendly, open, graceful, innocent, sensitive.
RUUT, 43: Scribe of Enki. Adopted father of Kurzu. Kind, wise, good-humored, trusting, optimistic.
SIATUM, 41: Queen of Sumer and Akkad. Mother of Shulgi, wife of Urnammu, daughter of Utu-Hegal. Mercurial, sadistic, perverse, violent, arrogant.
ZIUSUDRA, 27: Siatum’s chief guard. Brave, trusting, obedient.

ADULSHURASA, 55: Prominent and experienced Sumerian general. One of the royal family’s oldest allies.
ARADLUGAL, 54, & BARESHBA, 23: Governor-king and queen in Unug.
DILANI, 77: Seer and high priestess in Eridu who sends Qesma on a journey.
ENTHIAVASA, 24: Priestess of Urim. Clever, empathetic, gentle.
EZERUDU, 37: Sadistic hitman in Siatum’s employ.
GASSU, 32, & IGARU, 30: Brothers of Bareshba.
JUSHUR, 44: Foremost blacksmith of Eridu. Father of Alduni.
SHAKHET, 6: Young sister of Qesma. Optimistic, generous, forthright.
SIDURI, 20: Thief from Mari. Reserved, dexterous, enigmatic.
TARAMURAM, 18: Princess of Mari. Sweet, satirical, ambitious.
URNAMMU, 48: King of Sumer and Akkad. Father of Shulgi, husband of Siatum, son-in-law of Utu-Hegal.
UTU-HEGAL, 41: King of Sumer and Akkad. Father of Siatum, father-in-law of Urnammu.
YAMESH, 66: Onion farmer. Father of Nira.

AKUD, 36, & HILIA, 30: Kurzu’s birth parents.
ENGUBANNI, 58: High priest of Urim.
MISHALIGU, 68: Woman who looks after the Hunters on a stormy night. Mother of Osio, wife of Rashugal.
OSIO, 33: Single father living outside Urim. Son of Mishaligu and Rashugal.
RASHUGAL, 63: Urimite physician. Husband of Mishaligu, father of Osio.

ASHTIF: Guti chief of the Stone Clan.
HABLUM: Guti chief of the Forest Clan.
IBRUMA: Guti chief of the Snow Clan.
LUGRUM: Guti chief of the River Clan.
RASHKIT: Guti chief of the Grass Clan.
ZARLA: Guti chief of the Sand Clan.

Locations
SUMER: Ancient kingdom, southern half of river system. Existed between 6500-2000 BCE. Consists primarily of the land between Tigris and Euphrates & surrounding areas.
AKKAD: Ancient kingdom, northern half of river system. Contemporary with Sumer. United with Sumer politically during Ur III, the name given to this era of Urim’s rule.
BABYLON: Modern location: Hillah, Iraq.
ERIDU: Modern location: Tell Abu Shahrain, Iraq.
LAGASH: Modern location, Tell al-Hiba, Iraq.
NIPPUR: Modern location: Nuffar, Iraq.
UNUG: Uruk. Modern location: Warka, Iraq.
URIM: Ur. Modern location: Tell al-Muqayyar, Iraq.
DIMASQ: Modern location: Damascus, Syria.
MARI: Modern location: Tell Hariri, Syria.
TUTTUL: Modern location: Raqqa, Syria.
KEMET: Ancient Egyptian (AE) name for Egypt.
ITERU: AE name for the Nile River.
WASET: AE name for Thebes. Modern location: Luxor, Egypt.
MELUHHA: Indus Valley Civilization. Modern location: Karachi(?), Pakistan.
ELAM: Kingdom north of the Persian Gulf. Contemporary with Sumer.
SUSA: Capital city of Elam. Modern location: Shush, Iran.
AQABA: Modern location: Aqaba, Jordan / Eilat, Israel.
GUTIUM: Dominion of the Guti, presumably SW Zagros Mts. Specifics of Guti culture are unknown. Most Guti details in this book are inventions of the author.
ARALI: The underworld. All mortals are destined for this grey place, good or bad.

Deities
ANU: Also known as An. Supreme deity of the universe.
BAU: Also known as Nintinugga. Goddess of healing.
DUMUZI: Also known as Dumuzid or Tammuz. God of spring and fertility.
ENKI: Also known as Ea. God of water, knowledge, mischief, crafts, and creation. Patron god of Eridu.
ENLIL: God of wind, air, and earth. Ruler of the pantheon. Patron god of Nippur.
INANNA: Also known as Ishtar. Goddess of love, beauty, sex, war, justice, and political power. Patron goddess of Unug.
ISHKUR: Also known as Hadad. God of the rain and spring storms.
MARDUK: God of justice, magic, fairness, and compassion. Patron god of Babylon.
NANNA: Also known as Sin. God of the moon and wisdom. Patron god of Urim.
NANSHE: Goddess of social justice, prophecy, fertility, and fishing.
NINKASI: Goddess of brewing and beer.
UTU: Also known as Shamash. God of the sun and justice. Patron god of Larsa.
 



























APPENDIX B
Currency, Time, Maps

Currency
SHEKEL: One shekel, the common currency of Mesopotamia. Standardized by Urnammu at approximately 8.33 grams of silver. (At time of printing, 8.33g of pure silver is valued at $4.73 USD.)
MINA: Equivalent in weight and value to sixty (60) shekels / 500 grams ($284.21)
TALENT: Equivalent in weight and value to sixty (60) minas, or 3600 (60*60) shekels / 30 kilograms ($17,052.60)
(Bonus: Shulgi’s gift = 60 talents = $1,023,156)
Time
SECONDS/MINUTES/HOURS: Analogous to modern measurements.
MONTHS: Twelve observed lunar months, beginning with each new crescent moon. The new year is observed in late March or early April.
YEARS: Approximately 354 days. Lunisolar measurement, meaning lunar phase and solar year are both evaluated. A thirteenth or “leap” month, observed once every 19 years, extends the leap year to 384 days.
 




 
West – Mari, Dimasq, Aqaba, Kemet







 
East – Sumer, Akkad, Gutium, Elam



  
Sumer and Akkad, detailed