by Неизвестный
Shagshag observed this and was troubled. “He doesn’t really want her,” she said.
“No, he doesn’t,” the high priestess agreed. “But she’s been here so long, it doesn’t matter to her. She’d go with anyone if it meant completing her service to Inanna and being able to get on with her life.”
“I thought we had to go with anyone who bid us.”
“You do, but there’s a difference between accepting any man who tosses you some copper, bronze, or what-you-will and wanting any man—any man at all—to do it. When I first came here, I had to serve the goddess like the rest of the girls. Oh my. If you could have heard my prayers then! ‘Merciful Inanna, don’t let my first time be with some old, ugly, pustulent, brutal, clumsy creature. Send me a young, strong, handsome man and I will be your devoted priestess forever.’” She smiled ruefully. “Not that I had a choice about it or that Inanna has a reputation for mercy, but perhaps the goddess does own a sense of whimsy. The stripling who claimed me was quite the catch—so much so that every man who shared my bed thereafter was a dreadful letdown. Rich or poor, young or old, it’s always the same: as soon as they’re sated, they just roll over and go to sleep. Don’t any of them want to cuddle afterwards?”
“Oh!” Shagshag’s eyes went wide. “I certainly hope that’s not the way it will turn out for me.”
The high priestess sighed. “I don’t think you’ll need to worry about that, my dear. Now, go find a place, get comfortable, and…good luck.”
As memories of that first day faded, the bitterness of irony tasted heavy on Shagshag’s tongue—irony and whatever the supposed lizards had been doing in there.
Any man at all, she thought, recalling the high priestess’ words. There are times I think I’d settle for any thing at all—boy, beast, bird, or behemoth—if it got me out of here. I want to go home! Except…Her shoulders sagged. Home is gone.
“Pardon me. Is this spot taken?”
Shagshag lifted her head to meet the gaze of a supremely beautiful girl. The newcomer was crowned with flowers, though she was simply dressed and had no other ornaments.
Not that it will matter, Shagshag thought, gazing enviously upon her new neighbor. She had probably attracted an entourage of rich men as she made her way here, like bees following a dribble of honey.
“No, that place is free. You’re welcome to it,” Shagshag said listlessly.
As the pretty girl settled herself in the dust, she gave Shagshag a look of sincere concern and asked, “Have you been crying?”
“No.” Shagshag gave her eyes a self-conscious swipe with the back of one hand. “Maybe. A little.”
“What’s wrong? Are you afraid of what’s going to happen when you’re chosen? I know I am. My mother told me all about what to expect, but it’s still kind of scary.” Even her shiver of dread was attractive.
“It’s not that. I know all about how it will be. In fact, the high priestess has been teaching me the goddess’ secret wisdom so that I’ll be able to get the most out of the experience.” She gave a short, humorless laugh. “All of those skills and tricks and contortions to drive a man wild—all of them stored up here.” She tapped the side of her head with a fingertip. “And for what?”
“Um…don’t you feel lucky that the high priestess confided such knowledge?” Shagshag’s neighbor looked confused. “It means she thinks highly of you.”
“It means she’s sorry for me,” Shashag snapped. “It means she’s just one more person around here who’s seen me waste day after day and season after season waiting for some man so desperate or so blind that he’ll choose me! So she comes by to tell me stories and keep me from perishing of boredom. She does it to distract me from the fact that my daddy died while I was stuck here, and my stepmother got all of his wealth, and she got remarried to some muscle-bound oaf, and already has a baby with him, and even if I finally do get chosen, there’s nothing for me to go back to because it’s not my home anymore. I have no home! I’ve got no…”
A shower of gold dust tumbled through the air, into the pretty girl’s lap. A fine-featured youth clad in garments and jewelry reserved for the highest nobility of Uruk smiled down at her shyly. Behind him, a company of servants and bodyguards fended off the rest of the would-be bidders for the lady’s dainty hand.
“Hi,” said the suitor, looking a bit sheepish in the face of so much beauty. “Would you like to…” She was on her feet and in his arms before he could finish the sentence. Shagshag watched as they left, trailing particles of gold dust behind them.
She said a word of unbelievable vileness and vulgarity. No one noticed.
Almost.
“My lady, did you just now say…” Shagshag’s expletive echoed from deep within the hood of the squat, completely shrouded figure standing before her.
The young woman blushed in spite of herself. She felt she’d been more than justified in venting her feelings, but her long-dead mother would not have approved. “Yes, I said that,” she admitted reluctantly. “I beg your pardon.”
“For what?” Two dots of green glowed in the shadows of the hood.
“For using such bad language.”
“Was it bad?” The robed one seemed genuinely innocent.
“Very.”
“But how bad? On a scale from naughty to abomination-of-the-nethermost-abyss, that is?”
It was Shagshag’s turn to be puzzled. “I guess…I guess the second one. Abyss-worthy. That’s what Mama used to say about cursing anyway. She forbade me to utter such things.”
“Ooh! Forbidden words! Hee!” Shagshag’s revelation sent the mysterious interlocutor into giddy transports of glee. Somehow, he managed to clap his hands together without revealing them, hidden as they were in the generous sleeves of his robe.
A number of the waiting girls and temple patrons turned to regard him curiously, but as soon as he sensed their gazes upon him, he spewed forth a veritable torrent of words that were blasphemous cousins-once-removed from Shagshag’s original utterance. Everyone became suddenly interested in other things, except for Shagshag, who was now totally fascinated by this bizarre fellow.
“Um…it sounds as if you’re no stranger to forbidden words yourself,” she said.
“Oh, I collect them. It passes the time. You would be astonished to learn how many different human languages use the same touch-points when it comes to obscene profanity—or profane obscenity, for that matter.”
“I would be astonished and grateful to find a new way to pass the time,” Shagshag muttered. “Maybe you could teach me a few of your curses before you go.”
“Go?” the visitor repeated. “I’m not going anywhere. Not yet. Not without you.”
Shagshag’s jaw dropped. “Me?”
“Well…yes. If you don’t mind, that is. I’ve spent a great many days studying your city and its customs, and unless I’ve missed something vital, I believe you’re supposed to go with anyone who makes an offering for, you know…” The figure curled in upon itself, leaned closely enough for Shagshag to catch a whiff of dead fish and briny mud, and whispered, “S-e-x.”
“Yez, Dad’s ri…” the young woman replied, muffling her nose and mouth against the stench. Woof! she thought. What a reek. That will teach me to settle for going with any thing, even if I never said so aloud. The goddess must be able to read minds. Oh well. Better a short romp with Stinky than the rest of my life turning into dust in this place.
She lowered her hand, not wanting to insult this potential customer/savior by acting finicky over a little body odor. “If you’ll be good enough to drop the payment in my lap, we can get this over wi…I mean, we can consummate our service to the goddess.”
The words were scarcely off of her lips before a lump of gold the size of a baby’s head dropped between her knees, tearing a hole in her dress and drawing every nearby eye. As Shagshag raised the glittering tribute—with great difficulty, given the weight of the gold—she managed to stammer, “Y-y-your place or mine?”
�
��Actually,” the hooded one said. “Actually, I hope you won’t mind, but I didn’t come here on my own account. This is for a mast—deit—friend of mine.”
It did not take him long to explain the wants and needs of the entity he served and represented. Shagshag strove to comprehend his words, but she didn’t understand most of what he was telling her, beyond the fact that she had a longish journey ahead if she were going to fulfill the terms of her service to Inanna and her agreement with this casual dumper of gold lumps.
“So you say he’s just visiting the Middle Sea?” she asked as they strolled out of the temple.
“Yes. Usually he lies dreaming beneath the waves of a much larger body of water, well to the east of here. But sometimes he stirs in his sleep, and occasionally he wakes for a while in order to perform nameless abominations and give his followers a bit of encouragement. We’re quite grateful for that, and we like to thank him with small tokens of our appreciation.”
“Like me?”
“It’s a great honor.”
“One I’ll survive?” Shagshag was surprised at how little she cared if the answer was yes or no. Honestly, what did she have to live for?
“I guess that depends. To tell the truth, our deity has enjoyed the company of mortal women before this—or so our lore-keepers say. The ones who pleased him lived out their days amid fabulous luxury, with dominion over his servants. That’s very handy, especially if there’s anyone you want destroyed or obliterated.”
“I can think of one.” Shagshag compressed her lips. Thoughts of her stepmother did not tend to bring out her charitable side. “So, any advice on how to please your master?”
“Don’t giggle when you try to pronounce Cthul’hu and don’t scream when you see his tentacles.”
“Don’t giggle, don’t scream. Got it. Anything else?”
“Just do your best.”
My best? Shagshag thought about all the secret skills of Inanna that her friend, the high priestess, had shared with her. The girl had a very good memory and a mind that tended toward the experimental. Rather than be horrified at the notion of tentacles, she reflected upon them in terms of possibilities and opportunities. She didn’t know if the goddess’ frisky lore would help her serve the needs of a creature from beyond the stars, but …
“Eh, what the Kigal. It’s worth a shot.”
Shortly thereafter, Thera exploded.
The few people on neighboring islands who survived the disaster later remarked that a time of dreadful quakes had led up to the massive cataclysm.
“The earth moved!” they averred.
The nigh-total destruction of that Mediterranean island was a calamity of monstrous proportions that took countless lives, destroyed priceless monuments, and altered the course of history and human civilization. Strangely enough, one such lost life was well outside the range of the catastrophe: that of an ordinary citizen of Uruk, the remarried widow of one of that city-state’s foremost merchants. No one seemed to be able to account for her abrupt, spontaneous dismemberment by the hands—or whatever—of person or persons or what-you-will unknown.
And somewhere beneath the waves of what would one day be called the Pacific Ocean, Great Cthul’hu settled back into his timeless bed in sunken R’lyeh, rolled over, and—without any cuddling for his new-found queen—went back to sleep.
Shagshag folded her arms and snorted in disgust. “Men!“ Close enough.
Judaea, Second Century AD:
The Horn of the World’s Ending
John Langan
I
The young officer knew his Homer. He knew Virgil too. More importantly, he had read Herodotus and so from epic and history learned that the gods sometimes walked among men. When he imagined himself encountering a god, it was usually in the thick of battle. He would be on horseback, slashing right and left with his sword, and a flash of metal would draw his eye to a tall man in shining armor whose sword was cutting a bloody arc through the foes around him. Mars would pause in his gory work long enough to nod his approval at the officer, and then the battle would separate them. Brief as he pictured it, that gesture would cling to him, lighting his way along a magnificent career. The opportunity to position himself closer to that (possible) encounter had led the young officer to request duty here in Judaea, where a surprisingly successful revolt had led to the defeat of a legion and the proclamation of an independent Jewish kingdom. In response, the emperor had summoned the governor of Britannia, Sextus Julius Severus, to command the army that would reestablish imperial control of the province. To that end, Severus had called on a full half-dozen legions and supplemented them with elements drawn from another half dozen, including the young officer. Having found himself part of an enterprise so vast, the young man’s pride had swelled, and he had felt sure that the weeks and months ahead would bring him the meeting for which he yearned.
What he had met thus far, however, had more in common with the life of the farmer than it did that of the soldier. At least that was the comparison his commanding officer had made. Old Lucian had left a considerable farm in southern Gaul to be part of this force, and he tended to treat that occupation as the measure by which all other things might be described. Judaea, Lucian had said to his junior officers, was like a field that had been neglected so that weeds had taken root in the soil and wild animals had claimed it for their territory. If you did not want to cede your land to such things, the only remedy was fire and the blade. You must burn the weeds, and you must kill the animals. The young officer was not certain how sound his superior’s views were when it came to agriculture. His own family had been scholars and wine merchants. Applied metaphorically, Lucian’s view entailed razing smaller settlements, setting the torch to whatever would take its flame, and cutting down anyone who did not flee quickly enough. He had no moral objection to his prescribed course of action. These people had not been Roman to begin with—worse, they were actively hostile to the empire. Whatever fate was theirs, their actions had purchased it. Rather, his objection was aesthetic. Burning fields, slaughtering livestock, pillaging then knocking down dwellings, killing those who put themselves close enough for it—none of it was especially heroic or glorious. Elsewhere, to the north and east, there was fighting. He had heard accounts of battles between elements of other legions and Judaean forces—fierce contests whose victors could feel well satisfied. It was in such clashes as these, and not in the slaughter of sheep, that one might hope to see and be seen by a god. His lack of satisfaction with the action he directed was matched by his unhappiness with the place to which he’d come, the people who inhabited it. Granted, no place could match Rome, but this country seemed almost exactly its opposite: what greenery there was hemmed in by arid land; the trees little better than bushes; the buildings only a few steps up from hovels. The men wore thick beards; the women, dull robes. Few, if any, would or could speak Greek. It hardly seemed a place worth contesting.
Old Lucian had warned his junior officers to be careful of traveling anywhere alone, especially in the larger towns and cities. The Judaean troops had carried off raids astounding in their brazenness, helped in no small part by a civilian populace ready to aid and abet them in ways large and small. Stroll through a market by yourself and you were likely to find yourself distracted by the merchant who spilled his wares in front of you so that a Judaean soldier could slip up behind you and treat your armpit to his dagger. The young officer did not doubt the caution; indeed, it was his very belief in it that had brought him to this inn outside Bethlehem. Walking through the front door, his cloak swept back so that his armor and his sword were plain to see, and demanding seating and wine was his best chance to put himself in harm’s way. He did not object when the innkeeper placed him in the center of the large dining room. He took in the drinkers and diners around him with a level gaze that he meant as a challenge and a caution. Nobody looked immediately threatening, which was to say, everybody did. He loosened his helmet, set it on the rough table in front of him, and waited for h
is wine.
He had his first cup to his lips when the two men seated to his right stood up. Heart surging, he threw down the cup and sprang to his feet, kicking back his chair and drawing his sword. The men put up their hands—reaching for weapons, he guessed. Already, he was moving to stab the one to the right, who was closer and whom he could turn to use as a shield against his friend. But the men were not producing daggers; they were holding their hands over their heads and scrambling back from his lunge. Afraid that this might be a feint, he spun, his sword out before him, the light quivering up its blade. The rest of the patrons were frozen, their eyes wide. He covered the room again, more slowly this time, pretending that the flush he could feel climbing his cheeks was a result of his sudden movement.
Later, after he had returned his sword to its sheath, the mess had been cleared up, and he had resumed his seat, the young officer would wonder how it was that he had surveyed the room thrice and not taken notice of the man seated in front of him, in the corner to his left. He might have been the oldest in the room, though it was difficult to be certain, since he was clean-shaven and wore his hair stubble-short. The eye patch covering his right eye drew attention but was hardly unique, while his robes were remarkable only for their wear. Where the man’s table was, the room was noticeably darker—almost more so than it should have been—and the man seemed dim, of a piece with the shadows gathered there. It was as if, the young officer thought, the darkness behind the man was casting him forward and not the other way around. Even after he had noticed the man, he remained difficult to see, on the verge of merging with the shadows. None of the other patrons was looking at that part of the room. At first, the young officer assumed that none of them could see the man. With further scrutiny, however, he saw from their positions relative to the corner that every last one of them was aware of the presence sitting with them. Surely, the young officer thought, this could not be a god. Whatever the man was, staring at him so directly couldn’t be the wisest action, yet the young officer seemed unable to direct his gaze elsewhere.