Turtledove, Harry - Novel 12

by Between the Rivers (v2. 1)

  The guards looked bored, as Sharur’s guards had looked bored up in the mountains. They were rolling dice in the dust of the market square, and tossing trinkets back and forth as they won or lost. They looked up at Sharur, decided he was harmless, and went back to their game.

  “Here,” Piluliumas said. “We have brought Kessis and Mitas with us from their home; we have brought them with us from our home. They are small gods of Alashkurru; they are small gods of our land. They will pay a favor for a favor; they will answer a question for a question.”

  One of the idols was carved from bone, in the shape of a dog. The other was carved out of a black, shiny stone, and looked something like a wild cat, something like a woman. Piluliumas and Luwiyas spoke together in their own tongue: “Small gods of the mountains, gods who watch your folk far from home, here is a man of Zuabu, a wise man, a worthy man, who would receive a favor for a favor, who would ask a question for a question asked of him.”

  “I am Kessis. He may speak.” The bone lips of the dogshaped idol moved. The voice was rough and growly. As was the way with gods, Sharur understood even though the words were strange.

  “I am Mitas. He may speak.” The half-cat, half-woman of stone had a voice of such allure, a fancy courtesan would surely have craved it.

  “I thank you, small gods. I thank you, foreign gods. I am a man of the land of Kudurru. I am a man of the city of Zuabu,” Sharur said. Kessis and Mitas were only small gods. They were only, foreign gods. They would not know the difference between one city and another in the land between the rivers. Sharur very much hoped they would not know the difference between one city and another in the land between the rivers. He went on, “Here is my question, small gods, foreign gods. I have heard that the gods of Alashkurru have grown angry at the men of Gibil, the men of the city east of mine, and—”

  “It is true,” Kessis interrupted.

  “Oh, yes, it is true,” Mitas agreed. Her stone lips skinned back from teeth like needles.

  Sharur bowed. “Thank you, small gods. Thank you, foreign gods. Can you tell me why it is true? Knowing this, we of Zuabu will gain great advantage over the Giblut.” Had he truly been a Zuabi, that would have been so. What theft could be greater than a theft of knowledge?

  Kessis’s bone eyes rolled in their sockets. “He does not know,” the small god growled in astonishment.

  “No, he does not know.” Mitas sounded far more desirable, but no less surprised.

  “Shall we tell him?” Kessis asked: “Should we tell him? Will we anger the great gods if we tell him?” The dogshaped idol shivered. “I fear the anger of the great gods.”

  “He is not a man of Gibil,” Mitas said soothingly. “He is a man of Zuabu.” Sharur stood very still, not wanting the small gods to think of questioning that.

  “Maybe he will tell what he learns to the Giblut,” Kessis said worriedly.

  Both small gods turned their eyes toward Sharur. He had to speak. He knew he had to speak. When he spoke, he spoke without hesitation: “By all the gods of Kudurru, I swear I shall not tell what you tell me to any man not of my city.” An oath to all the gods of the land between the rivers, unlike one to Enzuabu, would bind him. But he had managed to frame it in such a way as to make it serve his needs and deceive the small gods of Alashkurru.

  “It is good,” Mitas purred. Sharur’s blood heated when he listened to her.

  “Yes, it is very good,” Kessis agreed.

  He still hesitated, despite that agreement. Mitas spoke to Sharur: “Man of Zuabu, you know the Giblut do not give any gods, not their god, not your gods, nor yet the gods of Alashkurru, the honor they deserve.”

  “I have heard this, yes,” Sharur said.

  “This is one reason the gods are unloving in return,” Mitas said, “but it is only one. You know the Giblut, when they trade in Alashkurru, trade not only for copper ore but also for other things—strange things, rare things, beautiful things, to take back to their city.”

  “I have also heard this is so, yes.” Sharur nodded.

  Kessis growled again: “One thing they took, they never should have taken. One thing a wanax or a merchant traded, he never should have traded. One thing that went to Gibil, it never should have gone to Gibil.”

  “What thing is this?” Sharur asked.

  “It is a thing of the gods of Alashkurru,” Kessis answered.

  “It is a thing of the great gods of Alashkurru,” Mitas added. Resentment flavored that wonderful voice. Mitas went on, “I am a small god because the great gods do not let me grow great. I am good enough for travelers to take with me on a journey. I am not good enough, I am not strong enough, to do more.”

  “You speak truth.” Kessis still sounded and looked worried. “It is the same with me. But because we are not strong, because we are not great, we need to remember the great gods.”

  “Why? They barely remember us.” Mitas showed those needle-sharp teeth again.

  “What sort of thing went from Alashkurru to Gibil?” Sharur asked once more. “Why are the great gods of Alashkurru angry that it went from the mountains to the land between the rivers?”

  “It is a thing of the great gods of Alashkurru,” Mitas repeated, while Kessis let out growls that were close to frightened whimpers. “It is a thing into which the great gods of Alashkurru poured much of their power, to keep it safe.”

  Mitas’s laugh was throaty and scornful, the laugh of a rich, beautiful woman rejecting the advances of a clod. “They poured in their power, to keep it safe, and now the thing is lost. And the thing can be unmade, the thing can be broken. The power can be spilled, the power can be lost, like beer soaking into the floor when a pot is dropped.”

  “Is it so?” Sharur said softly. “In the name of... Enzuabu, is it so?”

  “It is so,” Kessis answered. “Is it any wonder the great gods of Alashkurru hate and fear the Giblut? Is it any wonder they want no more Giblut coming to the land of Alashkurru?”

  “What manner of thing is it that the great gods used to store their power?” Sharur asked. “Whence came it?”

  “We know not,” Kessis growled.

  “It is a secret thing,” Mitas added. She loosed that scornful laugh once more. “It is such a secret thing, even the man who kept it knew not what he kept; he wais ignorant of the treasure he held. And so it went to Gibil, traded for a knife of bronze or a pot of wine or some other trifle, when it was worth as much as any three cities in the land between the rivers. And so the great gods are in a swivet; and so the mighty gods tremble. And so”—she laughed yet again— “it serves them right.”

  Sharur bowed low. “You have given me much to think on, Mitas and Kessis. You have given the folk of my city much to think on, small gods of Alashkurru.”

  “Small gods chafe under the rule of great gods hardly less than men do,” Mitas said. Kessis’s low snarl might have been agreement. It might as easily have been a warning to Mitas to watch her tongue.

  Piluliumas said, “Zuabi, I will go back with you to the space you left in the market square. You have been here some little while. You have lost custom. I will go back with you and help you set out your goods once more.”

  “Man of Alashkurru, you are generous.” Sharur bowed again. “I gladly accept your help.” He took hold of the donkey’s lead rope. “Let us go.”

  As they walked back toward the patch of dirt Sharur had vacated, Piluliumas said, “Zuabi, I will tell you a story. Hear me out before you speak. Think three times before you answer. Is it agreed?”

  “Let it be as you say.” Sharur nodded to Piluliumas. “I listen.”

  “Good,” the Alashkurri said. “Let us suppose that a man from the mountains came down to this hot, flat land to trade. Let us suppose that, in a town square, he met a man who said he was from Zuabu, but who might have been from a different city, a city whose name I shall not speak. Do you understand so far?”

  “I will hear you out before I speak,” Sharur replied. “I will think three times befor
e I answer.” Piluliumas knew him for what he was, or thought he did. Sharur had no intention of confirming his suspicions.

  Piluliumas seemed unoffended. “Good,” he repeated. “Let us suppose that he had knowledge the man who said he was from Zuabu might find useful, but knowledge he could not pass to a man who was from a different city, a city whose name I shall not speak. He would ask no questions himself. He would seek to gain no knowledge himself. He would not make of himself a proved liar before the small gods of Alashkurru. He would not make of himself a proved liar before the great gods of Alashkurru. He would say, and say truthfully, ‘The man said he was from Zuabu. I knew no differently. In the names of the small gods I swear it. In the names of the great gods I swear it.’ Do you understand, man of Zuabu?”

  “I think I do,” Sharur answered. He kicked at the dirt. A puff of dust flew up. “May I ask a question of my own?”

  “You may ask,” Piluliumas said. “Because I am an ignorant man, I may not answer.”

  “Here is my question,” Sharur said: “Why would a man from the mountains of Alashkurru care to help a man who said he was from Zuabu, but who might have come from a different city, a city whose name I shall not speak? There are some cities in the land between the rivers whose people the great gods of Alashkurru hate.”

  ‘‘There are some cities in the land between the rivers whose people the great gods of Alashkurru hate, true,” Piluliumas agreed. ‘‘There is a city whose people they hate, at any rate. But the men of that city have traded in the mountains and valleys of Alashkurru for years. They have traded in the mountains and valleys of Alashkurru for generations. They have traded bronze, they have traded wine, and, sometimes not even knowing it, they have traded their words. Some of us have listened to those words and found them harder and sharper than bronze, sweeter and more splendid than wine. Do you understand, man of Zuabu?”

  “Piluliumas, I understand,” Sharur answered. And understand he did. Huzziyas the wanax had wanted to escape the power of the great gods of Alashkurru, but had been unable. Because he was a wanax, they watched him closely, watched him and controlled him. Others, perhaps, they did not watch so closely. Piluliumas—and how many more like him?—had to some degree broken free of their gods, as the men of Gibil had done. Yes, the gods of Alashkurru had reason to fear the Giblut. They had, in fact, more reason to fear the Giblut than Sharur had imagined.

  Piluliumas said, “I have told you a story, a story to make the time pass by. It could be nothing more. See what a lucky man you are, that no one has taken your trading space while you visited ours?”

  “I am a lucky man, Piluliumas,” Sharur said. “I am a very lucky man.”

  “We are lucky men, Sharur,” Ereshguna said. “We are very lucky men.”

  “That we are,” Tupsharru agreed, beaming at his older brother. “Not only did you thrust your head into the lion’s mouth by going up to Imhursag, not only did you find out what Kimash the lugal and the rest of us in Gibil desperately needed to know, but you also came home with a profit.”

  “If I can't make a profit trading against Imhursagut and foreigners, I am not a master merchant’s son,” Sharur said, and Ereshguna smiled at him. “The tale about being from Zuabu served me well. Zuabut are likely to have any sort of goods to trade, and no one asks many questions about how the goods came into their hands.”

  Ereshguna ran a hand through his beard. “These small gods of Alashkurru did not say what sort of thing had been carried down from the mountains here to Gibil?”

  “No, Father, they did not. If they spoke truly, they knew not.” Sharur paused to dip up a fresh cup of beer from the pot the Imhursaggi slave woman had brought at Ereshguna’s order. After sipping, he went on, “I believe they did speak truly. They reckoned me a Zuabi who would use what they said against Gibil, not a Gibli who would use it for his own city.”

  “And yet that one Alashkurri knew you for what you were.” Ereshguna stroked his beard once more. “Once men see other men free, they want to become free themselves. This is so in Alashkurru. This is so in cities of Kudurru ruled by ensis; I know as much for a fact. It could be so even in cities of Kudurru ruled by gods.”

  “It must be so,” Sharur said. “Gods once ruled all cities. Even the rule of ensis gives men more freedom—or lets men take more freedom—than the rule of gods.” He hunched his shoulders, remembering the voice of Engibil forbidding him to borrow from his father to pay Ningal’s bride-price.

  “Whatever this thing is, it must be a thing that came to Gibil in one of last year’s caravans from Alashkurru,” Ereshguna said, returning to the business at hand. “Last year, the gods of Alashkurru were friendly to us; not so this year. Likely, I would say, this thing came to Gibil in a caravan of the house of Ereshguna. We deal more with the Alash- kumit than any other merchant house of Gibil.”

  “Likely I brought this thing to Gibil myself,” Sharur said. “But how do we go about finding out what it is? I will guess it is not an ingot of copper. I will guess it is not a sack of copper ore. These things would be changed and broken in the use of them. By what the small gods said, the power of the great gods is not lost from the thing in which they hid it, and the thing is not broken; they fear lest the thing be broken, and the power lost.”

  Tupsharru said, ‘ ‘If it is not copper, if it is not copper ore, it is likely to be a strange thing, a curious thing, a beautiful thing. If it is a strange thing, a curious thing, a beautiful thing, it may be anywhere in the city, for many Giblut prize these things and pay us well for them. But likeliest of all—”

  “—Likeliest of all,” Sharur finished for him, ‘‘likeliest of all is that it lies on the altar of Engibil, or stored away in the god’s temple, for Kimash the mighty lugal delights in giving Engibil such gifts.”

  “This is good,” Ereshguna said. “This is very good indeed. If such a thing lies on the altar of Engibil, surely the god will know it for what it is. If such a thing is stored away in the god’s temple, surely he will point it out to us.”

  “If we return it to the gods of Alashkurru, they will no longer have reason to hate us,” Tupsharru said. “Our caravans will be able to go into the mountains. They will come home with copper and copper ore. The city will profit. The house of Ereshguna will profit.”

  “I will profit,” Sharur said dreamily. “With my profit, I will pay Ningal’s bride-price to Dimgalabzu the smith and fulfill my oath to Engibil.”

  “Let us go to the temple and seek this thing,” Ereshguna said. “If we find it, Kimash the lugal will reward us for saving the city from its sorrow.”

  They drained their cups of beer. They set them down. They got to their feet. It was then that Sharur had a new thought, a different thought. “If we find this thing in the temple of Engibil, if we find it there and we break it...” His father and his brother stared at him as he finished the thought: ‘ ‘If we find it and we break it, we punish the gods of Alashkurru for slighting us.”

  “What good would that do?” Tupsharru exclaimed in horror. “It would only make them hate us more.”

  Ereshguna said nothing. “You see, don’t you, Father?” Sharur asked. Slowly, unwillingly, Ereshguna nodded. By Tupsharru’s wide eyes, he still did not follow. Sharur explained: “Into this thing, for safekeeping, the great gods of the Alashkurrut have poured much of their power. If we break the thing, we break the power and set the Alashkurrut free of their great gods.”

  “Only in Gibil, and only in your generation, my son, would such a thought come into the mind of a man.” Ereshguna sounded awed and terrified at the same time. “I think Tupsharru has the better course. The Alashkurrut are only Alashkurrut. Who cares whether their gods rule them or not? If we find the thing, those gods are welcome to it. They will reward us for it, as your brother says, and Kimash the lugal will reward us for it as well.”

  “It may be so,” Sharur said. “But if an Alashkurri like Piluliumas can free himself, if an Alashkurri like Huzziyas can tremble on the edge of freeing hims
elf, how many in the mountains would be free if the great gods there were weakened?’ ’

  “Where is the profit in it?” his father asked.

  “I care only so much for profit,” Sharur answered. Now his father gaped at him, as if he had said Engibil did not exist or uttered some other manifest absurdity. He went on, “I care also about revenge. The gods of the Alashkurrut have wronged me. Let them pay.”

  “Aye, let them pay,” Ereshguna said. “Let them pay compensation for the wrong.”

  “Let them pay pain for the wrong, as I have done,” Sharur said. But now he wavered. Even a killer’s family could avoid blood feud by payments to the victim’s kin. He scowled. He kicked at the dirt floor. “Perhaps.” His tone was grudging.

  Tupsharru said, “We are pricing the lamb not born. We are pricing the sword not sharpened. We have not found this thing, whatever it may be. We do not know if we shall find this thing, whatever it may be.”

  “True!” Ereshguna seized on that with transparent eagerness. “We do not know enough to have any certain plans yet. Let us go to the temple and see what we may learn. Let us go to the temple and see what Engibil may teach us.”

  “Yes, let us go,” Sharur said, and left his home with his father and his brother. The way the god had refused to release him from his oath and let him borrow from his father to pay bride-price to Dimgalabzu let him less eager than he might have been to approach Engibil’s house upon earth, but it needed doing, and he did not shrink from that which needed doing. Perhaps, as Tupsharru had said, finding the thing into which the Alashkurri gods had poured their power would let him make a profitable journey after all. And perhaps, as he had said himself, finding the thing would let him take revenge on the gods.

  Either way, he thought. Either way.

  Engibil’s temple was larger than the palace of Kimash the lugal. The chamber at the top of the temple where the god dwelt, toward which the massive structure tapered in a series of steps, was the highest point in Gibil. From it, Engibil could look out across the whole city and across all the farmlands it ruled.