City of the Plague God

by Sarwat Chadda

  “Because of your husband,” Ishtar muttered.

  Erishkigal’s jaw stiffened. “When a person dies, their life is written on a tablet and stored in my great library. My husband, idle as he seems to be nowadays, came across Mohammed’s story and realized the significance of the flower immediately.” She sighed. “Nergal became agitated. He’s not been well for a while, and when he summoned his demons, I thought he was just craving familiar company. He and his monsters often gather to reminisce about the great slaughters. Good times.”

  “But he was planning a breakout, wasn’t he?” Ishtar said.

  Erishkigal’s gaze chilled by about a hundred degrees. “When he told me he planned to leave, we…argued. He unleashed his demons in open warfare against my ugallus. He demolished the seven gates between here and the world of the living.” One-Eye scowled as he touched his empty eye socket. “Even now there are monsters roaming loose around the netherworld and beyond. They’re causing a lot of trouble.”

  Ishtar tapped her breastplate. “So it’s fortunate that I’m here to clean up your mess.”

  Erishkigal’s hand tightened into a fist. “Lucky me.”

  Whatever else, Erishkigal gave good sarcasm.

  I approached the goddess of death. “Your husband’s infecting New York City with his plagues. I’m trying to stop him.”

  “And how do you intend to do that, young man?”

  “I’m open to suggestions.”

  Erishkigal’s laugh was sharp-edged. “Only the greatest of heroes could hope to defeat my husband. And then only on their very best day.”

  “You must have a few heroes down here I could, uh, borrow?”

  Ishtar nodded thoughtfully. “I’m sure we could find someone. I saw Alexander the Great in the beer hall earlier. He’s good when he’s sober.” She snapped her fingers. “Wait. Cyrus the Great is at my shrine right now. I could command him to battle Nergal. He’s the best charioteer in the netherworld.”

  “I’m not sure how useful a chariot would be in Manhattan,” I said. “Cops wouldn’t allow it, no matter how great you were.”

  Ishtar huffed. “You can’t call yourself a hero until you’ve fought from a chariot.”

  “Surely there’s another—” started Mo.

  Erishkigal whirled on her sister. “Who’s queen here? Ah, that would be me. And I have made my decision.” Her lips widened into a skeletal smile as she said to me, “You, Sikander, have broken the most sacred law of Kurnugi. The living are not permitted in the netherworld.”

  “But I came here by accident!” I protested. “I don’t even know how I—” I cut myself off when I remembered Gilgamesh’s warning: You’ve cheated death, and that has consequences. Would I be stuck here, like he once was?

  Ishtar took her sister’s hand. “Could I have a word with you in private, Erish?”

  “If you must. But Sikander has to be punished for—”

  Ishtar pulled her sister away from us.

  I looked over at One-Eye. “They always like this?”

  “Sisters, right?” He looked around to make sure no one was listening. “Last time Ishtar came down here, Erishkigal had her hung from a pair of bronze hooks. Goddess or not, that had to hurt.”

  One of the other ugallus growled. “Hush. They’re coming back.”

  Ishtar was smiling, which was a good sign. So was Erishkigal, which wasn’t.

  “I’ll start,” said Ishtar. “We’ve decided to help you. There is a way to stop Nergal and save your city. You will need the flower of immortality.”

  I winced as I saw Mo frowning at me. “But they’ve paved over it. Which was not my fault. Mostly.”

  “No. What Mohammed found was a descendant of the original. His had grown in the deserts of Iraq and, after four and a half millennia, evolved to suit its new environment. Its properties would have differed from the first one.”

  “Differed how?” I was stunned. “Does that mean I might not be as immortal as I think I am?”

  “Who is? Otherwise, I wouldn’t have ended up here.” Ishtar glanced over at Erishkigal. “Though it’s always a pleasure to visit my dear sister, of course.”

  Mo caught on first. “There’s another flower from the original strain still growing, somewhere else.”

  Ishtar clapped. “Exactly! In the Sea of Tiamat. A place we gods cannot venture.”

  “Why not?” I asked. “You’re gods.”

  “We were formed out of Tiamat. If we went in again, we’d dissolve back into it. Our existence would end.”

  Mo nodded. “Otherwise Nergal could have retrieved the flower himself.”

  I pointed at Mo and me. “But we can go there?”

  Ishtar nodded. “You, Sikander, aren’t a god, but you have the benefit of being more or less immortal, so the sea’s properties won’t affect you. And Mo’s already dead. The worst is over for him.”

  “I’m glad being dead has its benefits,” said Mo.

  Ishtar clapped. “Go get the flower. Save Manhattan. It’s really very simple.”

  Somehow I doubted that. “And where is this Sea of Tiamat? How big is it?”

  “It encompasses all that is made, unmade, and yet to be made.” Erishkigal spread out her hands, and the sand around us became animated, showing a storm-racked sea with a pinnacle of rock rising out of it. “The flower of immortality lies in a cave at the base of the Rock of Nisir, the only feature within the endless ocean. Wherever you might be, you will be able to see it.”

  “And how do we get to this sea?”

  “It will come to you,” she replied enigmatically. “But you will need a boat. Only one vessel could hope to survive the Sea of Tiamat, and that’s the very same one Gilgamesh used when he sought the flower himself.”

  “Great. So where’s this boat?”

  Erishkigal grinned. “In the Cedar Forest.”

  Ishtar was worryingly silent. Mo looked like he was about to be sick. Even the ugallu shifted uneasily. None of this was encouraging. “I’m guessing this Cedar Forest is a dangerous place?”

  Erishkigal shrugged. “Consider it more a place of heroes.”

  “And I assume the boat is guarded?” I’d played enough computer games in my time to recognize a quest when I saw one.

  “Clever boy. I see why you like him, Ishtar.” Erishkigal nodded, but her eyes shone with malevolent amusement. She was enjoying this way too much. This was my punishment for entering Kurnugi. “It’s guarded by a creature that is invulnerable to attack.”

  Mo whispered despairingly, “Humbaba of the Seven Auras of Awesomeness.”

  I turned to Mo. “How awesome?”

  “Very.” He counted on his fingers as he listed Humbaba’s traits. “Immune to earth, wind, fire, air, and metal, and all things living and dead. Only one person in all history has ever defeated him.”

  “Let me guess. Gilgamesh,” I said. “How’d he do it?”

  Mo looked surprised. “Why are you asking me? You’re the one who had tea with him.”

  “We didn’t have time to review his top-ten kills.”

  Ishtar suddenly threw her arms around us both. “Oh, this will be so exciting.”

  Not exactly the word I’d use.

  “What else can you tell me about Humbaba?” I asked Ishtar while the others set up our camp. Erishkigal’s ugallus had erected a palatial tent of shimmering midnight blue. The goddess and I stood outside its entrance while Mo prepared a cooking fire a few feet away.

  “He’s a big, grotesquely ugly giant with the strength of a thousand elephants and a gigantic appetite, for human flesh especially. The usual.”

  “He must have some weak spot. Every monster does.”

  “Only here.” She tapped her forehead. “He’s remarkably stupid.”

  “How did Gilgamesh beat him?”

  “He tricked Humbaba into lowering his auras, then cut his head off with Kasusu. Thus the giant ended up in the netherworld.”

  “Okay, say we do fight him. What’s the worst that can happ
en? Mo’s already dead and I’m immortal. Well, kind of, at least. We might get bashed around some, but we’ll be back to normal sooner or later, right?”

  “I’m not sure how much fun being immortal will be if he tears your head off,” said Ishtar, as coolly as if she were giving me the weather report. “And with regard to your brother, there are places darker and more terrible than Kurnugi. Those are the risks you’ll be taking.”

  “Thanks for the ‘heads-up.’” Being dead was pretty complicated. Who knew? But I had no choice, with my parents, my friends, and all of New York City at stake. “Do you have any weapons I could borrow?”

  “I’m the goddess of war—I have them all. But did Belet teach you how to fight?”

  “Not exactly…”

  “You could end up chopping off your brother’s arm in the middle of a battle. Trust me, I’ve seen it happen. Better to rely on your other skills.”

  “Like dishwashing?”

  “Tell me more about Belet.”

  There was so much to tell, but time was a-wasting, so I just focused on the highlights. “She wants you back. She said you’d escaped Kurnugi once before. That you swapped places with someone from the world of the living.”

  “It can only happen under special circumstances, between two people who truly and completely love each other.”

  “Like you and Belet,” I said.

  Ishtar frowned. “She shouldn’t be thinking along those lines. She has her whole life in front of her.…”

  “Not if we don’t win against Nergal,” I said.

  I looked over at Mo, squatting by the fire, stirring a pot. He met my gaze and smiled. He was so carefree. My heart raced with the…possibility. I’d been there the night Mama and Baba’s world was destroyed. I’d seen how they’d changed under the heavy sorrow that weighed on their shoulders every single day. I could bring Mo back, make them happy again. “Would it work with me and him?” I asked.

  Ishtar took my hand. “Do you think your parents would miss you any less than they do him?”

  “Everyone misses Mo so much,” I replied.

  “But he lives on in their hearts. Love always remains. Believe me, I know all about that.” She gazed up wistfully at the supernovas. Then her demeanor became serious. “I need you to be careful with the flower of immortality when you find it. If you get contaminated by it—if its pollen or sap enters your system—there could be adverse side effects.”

  “Like what?” None of this conversation was making me feel any better.

  “The properties of one flower could cancel the properties of the other.” Then she shrugged. “Or not. Who’s to say? No one’s ever been in your position, so all the more reason to be wary.”

  “But—”

  “Get some rest, Sikander. You and your brother have a big day ahead.” She entered the tent, where her sister waited. “Good night.”

  Mo was finishing off some hot chocolate as I joined him. “What were you two discussing?”

  “Just catching up on the latest gossip.” He didn’t have to worry about anything anymore, while I carried the burden of the world on my shoulders.

  “It seemed pretty intense.”

  “What part about her being the goddess of love and war don’t you get?”

  “All right, Sik. You win.” He lay down on his sleeping bag, hands behind his head as he gazed up at the supernova night. “Ya salam, it’s beautiful here, isn’t it?”

  Sure, it was. But my mind was on a small corner deli downtown. Mom was chopping lettuce while Baba ground the lamb. The sun was shining through our big sidewalk windows, and there was a line at the counter.

  We all had our own idea of paradise.

  The moment I woke, I knew something was wrong.

  The tent was gone. The ugallus were gone. Erishkigal and Ishtar were gone.

  I punched the dirt. “They said they would help.…”

  Mo yawned. “What are you muttering about?”

  A roar shook the trees. We’d gone to sleep in the desert and woken up in a forest. We stumbled to our feet as a great, hot wind ripped through the area, burning our skin and stinging our eyes. Branches creaked as something big—huge—pushed its way toward us. The ground trembled with each footfall. The roar still echoed around us and was joined by a cruel, deep, and hungry growling. Trunks snapped and were ripped aside.

  “Guess we’ll qualify as heroes after this, eh?” I said.

  The thicket of cedar trees buckled as Humbaba strode into the clearing.

  HUMBABA HAD GUTS. SLIMY PINK INTESTINES COILED over his wide face and draped around his neck; sagging sacks of stomachs and bloated bags of bowels dangled from his torso. As he walked, they sloshed and swayed and dripped, leaving a shiny trail of greenish digestive fluids in his wake. His eyes sat deep within puckered flesh, and he blinked slowly. “Shhtrangersh.”

  “Got any weapons, Yakhi?” Mo whispered. “Ishtar must have left something.”

  “What difference would they make? He’s got those seven awesome auras to protect him.”

  “Gilgamesh beat him,” said Mo. “He tricked him into removing them.”

  “Think he’ll fall for the same trick twice?” I patted Mo on the shoulder. “If not, now would be the perfect time to impress me with all the fighting skills you’ve learned since being here.”

  “I’m sorry, but Muhammad Ali isn’t in Kurnugi,” Mo replied. “He got an express pass straight to Jannah.”

  Humbaba pulled a tree out of the ground as easily as I would have plucked a daisy. He began chewing it, branches, leaves, and all. “Tresshpasshers.”

  As I looked around for something, anything, we could use against him, I spotted a long, moss-covered object half-hidden in the foliage. I nudged Mo. “What do you think?”

  “Looks like a boat to me.”

  I waved my hands at Humbaba. “Hey, salaam! Sorry about intruding in your lovely forest, but I was wondering if we might borrow that canoe?” I strolled over to it, keeping my eyes on the gut monster. “Just for a short while. I promise we’ll bring it right back.”

  Humbaba’s eyes narrowed. “Gilgamessh’s boat.”

  “It is? Fancy that.”

  “I hate Gilgamessh.” Humbaba towered over us now, and the stench coming off him was poisonous. “Boyssh. I like boyssh.”

  Now that was good news.

  “Shoft and not too crunchy.”

  Aaand that wasn’t.

  Now that he was up close, I could appreciate his full disgustingness. How many miles of guts were wrapped around him? They dangled from every limb and trailed on the ground. Many were infected; ugly sores dotted the lining, and the stomachs had lacerations and bleeding patches. Florid scarlet ulcers everywhere. He groaned and belched—at both ends, if you know what I mean. If I hadn’t been immortal, the stench would have killed me then and there. Even Mo, who was dead, turned green. “That’s some serious IBS,” my brother said.

  Yep. Humbaba had the worst case of irritable bowel syndrome known to medical science. “Remember Mr. Erwin?” I asked Mo.

  He nodded, though he kept his eyes on the monster. “Extra yogurt on everything?”

  Mr. Erwin, a sweet old guy, came in most Mondays. He’d lived in the neighborhood since forever and remembered our place from back when it was a Jewish deli. He had a delicate stomach, so he needed to eat yogurt with whatever we served to prevent it from blowing up in his belly. One time I accident-ally dropped a spoonful of our mid-grade Cairo sauce in his breakfast pita, and…I glanced over at Mo. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

  He smirked and took out his flask. “Yeah, I think I am.”

  I looked up at the monster as it licked its lips. “So you’re gonna eat us?”

  Humbaba slurped.

  I sighed. “I guess this is it, Mo.”

  “I guess it is, Sik.” Mo held up the flask. “One final toast to our gruesome and imminent deaths?”

  I nodded. “At least we’ll die happy, eh?”

  Humbaba jerked forwa
rd. “What’sh that? Shhow me!”

  I clutched the flask close. “Hey! Eat us if you want, but this is ours! The finest drink in all Manhattan and thus the whole world. Me and my brother deserve this at least.”

  “Give it!” roared Humbaba. He leaned over me, and I got a good look at his boulder-size teeth and, unfortunately, a powerful whiff of his breath. He really needed to diversify his diet.

  “Don’t give it to him!” yelled Mo. “It’s too delicious!”

  Humbaba roared. The hurricane that blasted from his mouth knocked us off our feet and obliterated the leaves from the trees.

  Mo lay on the dirt, sobbing. “No, Sik. Don’t give it to him.…”

  I held out the flask to the giant, my hand trembling. “You win. Best swallow it in one big gulp so it doesn’t touch the sides.”

  I was lucky he didn’t tear off my arm in his eagerness. A tongue the length of a stair carpet encircled the flask as he popped off the lid and tossed the whole contents down.

  I took a step back. “This could get messy.”

  We watched it dribble down his digestive tract. The deep-red sauce coated the rough patches, the worst ulcers. Humbaba winced. “Hot. It’sh hot.”

  “Shock and awe, Humbaba,” I said, taking another step back. “Pure shock and awe.”

  A few drops splashed into the first stomach. The reaction was instant. Every ulcer blossomed like a firework, deep red, yellow, green, and blue hues pulsing with Humbaba’s cries. He clutched one stomach, then another. He even tried to tie a knot in one coil to stop the sauce from spreading further, but it was to no avail. The Baghdad was unstoppable.

  Humbaba crumpled to his knees and clawed the earth in agony, tearing great ragged trenches with his claws. His eyes rained rivers, and long ribbons of snot dangled from his wheezing nostrils. “Water…water…”

  I pointed into the distance. “I think we passed a river a ways back there.”

  Still on his knees, weeping, Humbaba trembled as another series of explosions rocked his innermost world. “I hate boyssh.” Then, holding his biggest coil of guts, he scurried off into the forest, knocking down trees in his path as he wailed, “I hate boyssh!”

  Mo dropped his arm over my shoulders. “Now, that was pretty good.”