Gate of the Gods: Book 5 of The Windows of Heaven

by K. G. Powderly Jr.

  En’Tarah-ana turned and climbed a nearby stair up the embankment.

  Napu sensed that he had disappointed the man somehow. He hoped he had the ears of his elders, too; but wondered if he really did.

  9

  Nimurta’s “Uruk caravan” arrived late that afternoon with pageantry that Napalku had never seen before—not even at the ceremony that had sent off the Sun Ships. It also came in a new form—at least one not observed since the World-that-Was. A feather-bedecked army with maces, spears, and bronze swords marched astride a ceremonial covered wagon draped in royal purples and indigo-dyed woolen tapestries. Drummers brought up the rear.

  The Lugal-Banda strutted in front of the wagon, leading it with the honor guard of soldiers and hunters. Nimurta’s eldest son, heir, and lead builder, the Lugal-Banda or Junior Lugal, Kengu, danced to a far more elaborate cadence than the simple march of his soldiers. Arrayed as a feathered anzu dragon, he spun swords in the sunlight, tossing them up into the air like twirling death, and catching them in perfect timing.

  Lomina joined Napalku in the gathering crowd before the palace. He searched the arriving parade for his mother or Yoqtani. Loma asked him what all the commotion was.

  He tried not to alarm her with the implication of the soldiers, hoping she would just think them a novel procession of huntsmen. “Wish I knew. Nimurta must want to honor whoever rides in the covered booth. That’s usually where he sits, but he’s standing with his father, over there in the courtyard, and Kengu is, well, doing whatever it is he’s doing in that outfit.”

  Lomina rolled her dark eyes. “I was afraid we had another Nimurta.”

  Napu laughed and squeezed her shoulder. “The Heavens, Earth, and Under-world have room for only one Nimurta—thanks be to E’Yahavah.”

  The procession rolled closer as the Lugal-Banda began another round of wild gyrations before the covered wagon. The rider in the booth of honor sat stock still as a statue. He wore the robes of a High Khaldini lord, which confused Napalku greatly, as no one of that rank lived outside the Treasure Cities of Arrata. When the wagon turned and climbed toward where Napu and Lomina stood, all the blood left his face.

  The man in the honor wagon’s booth was Popo Qe’Nani.

  In the twenty-ninth jubilee, in the first week, in the beginning thereof, Arpachshad took to himself a wife, and her name was Rasu’eja, the daughter of Susan, the daughter of Elam, and she bare him a son in the third year in this week (of years), and he called his name Kainan. And the son grew, and his father taught him writing, and he went to seek for himself a place where he might seize for himself a city. And he found a writing which former (generations) had carved on the rock, and he read what was thereon, and he transcribed it and sinned owing to it; for it contained the teaching of the Watchers in accordance with which they used to observe the omens of the sun and moon and stars in all the signs of heaven… he took to himself a wife, and her name was Melka, the daughter of Madai, the son of Japheth, and in the fourth year he begat a son, and called his name Shelah; for he said: ‘Truly I have been sent.’

  —Jubilees 8:1-6 (abridged)

  4

  Arrata

  10

  The company was on the road nearly two weeks before Nimurta permitted Napalku even to see Qe’Nani. In all that time, Napu saw no trace of his mother or brother in the caravan. The summons came while they camped in the northern Martu lands, as they entered the grassy foothills after crossing the Hiddekhel. The messenger found him with Lomina, pitching their tent for the evening, just after sunset.

  Napalku was not sure what to expect when he entered the spacious tent usually reserved for lords, only to see his Popo still dressed as one. He figured Nimurta would stay nearby to manage the conversation, but found the Lugal absent. All creation seemed turned on its head. They were alone.

  “Popo?”

  Qe’Nani was all smiles. “Aayy, Napu, look at me now! I’m a big Lord of the Khaldini—who would have expected that, huh?”

  Napu did not share his elation. “What is happening, Popo; why are you at the center of this procession? What have you done?”

  “Aw, now don’t be like that, Napu, it’s all for the best.”

  “What is? What have you told Nimurta?”

  Qe’Nani averted his eyes. “Nothing he din’t already know. He’s really a good man, Napu. You should trust him. He knows what’s best.”

  The inside of the tent began to spin around Napalku’s head. “You old fool; you’ve signed my death sentence!”

  “No, Napu, you don’t understand! I made the Lugal promise that nothing bad would ever happen to you.”

  “You made Nimurta promise? Tell me, Popo; how in the Heavens, Earth, and Underworld did you do that?”

  “Aw, that’s easy, Napu. The Lugal comes to me, all troubled and everything, and says that the El-N’Lil has spoken powerfully to him—that he was wrong about the Eridu Stone I found—that it’s not just a relic. He asks my pardon for treating me like a servant instead of a lord. Then he tells me that El-N’Lil showed him that I found the Eridu Stone because I’m a true Khaldi with the spirit of seerdom. He said the tammabukku dragon was sent by Leviathan to destroy me, but that En-Ki—the God of Earth who speaks as a man—used it to lead me to the stone.”

  “En-Ki?”

  Qe-Nani chuckled. “You know, the Messenger of E’Ya, who speaks as a man. Nimurta told me that El-N’Lil showed it to him on the Eridu Stone as a name for the Divine Wordspeaker. I remember my father teaching me stuff like that as a boy—same thing.”

  Napalku was not so sure, but remained silent on it for the moment. Mention of En-Ki must have been on one of the faces of the stone still buried when Napu looked at it. He said, “What else has Nimurta told you?”

  “He made me into a special High Khaldi, so I could order the words on my Eridu Stone copied onto clay tablets for everyone to read. Oh, and he has big plans for a brick city at Uruk, and a ziggurat at Eridu that’ll be a special stairway-gate that can connect the Heavens and Earth with the Abyssu of Under-world—big stuff, huh?”

  “Special stairway-gate? Such language is symbolic, Popo. It does not mean that stairs and gates on a ziggurat can literally connect to the Heavens. The ziggurats of the Olden World were observatories for tracking the motions of heavenly bodies, or teaching monuments with engraved reliefs, not actual heavenly gateways between worlds. The M’El-Ki never taught such things.”

  “Aw, now don’t get so worked up, Napu. You only saw the M’El-Ki once as a small boy, and you never had to grow up under Lord Arrafu the way I did. It’ll all work out. If the M’El-Ki returns, he’ll find cities of power, and if not, we’ll build an empire here. Either way, life goes on, Napu.”

  “Yeah, life goes on. Did you see Yoqtani or my mother before your caravan left Uruk? Are they hidden in some other wagon?”

  “No to both. Why would you think that? You worry too much. They weren’t home when I went to tell them the good news, and I didn’t have time to find them. I’m sure they’re fine. Hey, don’t be so glum, it’s gonna be good times—you’ll see! I’m gonna need you to show me how it’s done, Napu. I’m not so much of a reader, you know.”

  Napu’s relief made him bolder. “Hasn’t that bothered you, since Nimurta has taken it on himself to promote you with no authority to do so?”

  “Naw; the Lugal says I’m a different kind of Khaldi—one who just ‘catches the Divine Wind in my sails,’ was how he put it. Don’t know what that means, but maybe it’s that too much tablet-learning gets in the way of hearing the El-N’Lil. Hey, I’m still Lord Arrafu’s oldest son—that’s got to count for something. So, maybe being rune-learned is not so big a thing, eh.”

  It came to Napalku’s sickened heart with the force of a vision; the cackling generations of a mushrooming Sumar and Agadae given the lavish illusion of an education under a politically malleable chief teacher who could barely read more than a few sign glyphs. He saw Nimurta feeding Qe’Nani mindless slogans to repeat end
lessly to the young—robbing, rather than equipping, their ability to reason—until Nimurta did all their thinking for them, and everyone had the same monotonous mind in lockstep.

  Napu backed away from his Popo. “It would seem that being a scribe is a waste of time and effort. I have things to see to, ah, My Lord. May I go?”

  Popo reached for his great-grandson’s hand. “Aw, come on, Napu, you know I don’t care about all that ceremony stuff! I’m only here ‘cuz the Lugal said that El-N’Lil told him I should be. Don’t be like that! We can have a bowl of beer together—just like old times—any time. Just don’t be sore at your old Popo, okay?”

  Napalku smiled for the old man and tried to mean it. “I’m not sore at you, Popo. I really do have things to do, though.”

  Qe’Nani leaned into his cushion with a satisfied smile. “Oh, that’s fine. Hey, when we get to Arrata, you and your lovely wife should come eat with me. The Lugal’s servants really know how to spread a board, eh.”

  “Yeah, Popo.”

  The night hid Napalku’s tears when he exited the great tent, and circled the army fires to head for El’Issaq’s. He found the Emissary leaving his own fire for some rocks jutting up at the starlight, a bit off the trail.

  “Where are you off to?”

  El’Issaq said, “To see En’Tarah-ana. He rode past me as his train dismounted, and asked me to bring you too. What’s wrong? You look upset.”

  “I finally got to speak to Qe’Nani. At least my brother and mother managed to escape Uruk undetected.”

  “I told you not to trust that old fool.”

  “It’s not him, it’s Nimurta. But you’re right; he can’t be trusted—not because he’s so treacherous, only because he’s simple-minded.”

  They climbed the hill through the long grass, toward the rocky silhouette against milky clouds of stars.

  El’Issaq said, “Did you learn anything else?”

  Napu shrugged. “Just details of what we’d already guessed.”

  “Such as?”

  “Nimurta’s playing Qe’Nani like he did the workers at Eridu, only worse.” He told El’Issaq all Popo had said.

  “He’s going to bastardize the Khaldini—at least in the Agadae and Sumar, where population growth outstrips Arrata and the Northern Inland Sea Region. This En-Ki business is trouble.”

  “Maybe it’s just another term for the Wordspeaker of E’Yahavah. There are many interchangeable names in the ancient Star Sign tablets, and it does mean ‘God of the Earth.’”

  El’Issaq reached the stones, and began to circle around them to the side facing away from camp. “Then why add it? That E’Yahavah is Lord of Earth is not in dispute. Why emphasize it so much if it is just a synonym?”

  “I don’t know.”

  A voice from behind the stone said, “When a swordsman shifts in battle, his weight must change its axis to pivot from one leg to the other.” En’Tarah-ana stepped out from the outcropping, to stand in relief against the dazzling stellar backdrop. “Words carry ideas—even vast strings of them. A canny deceiver introduces a new word to a discussion, often in preparation for redefining one or more of the old words, usually by increments.”

  Napalku leaned against one of the rocks to take in the star field. “Another Academy graduate—I knew you were no simple shepherd.”

  En’Tarah-ana’s white teeth gleamed as he smiled. “Friend Napalku, whatever gave you the idea that shepherds are simple folk? Try outwitting a mountain asag dragon intent on making a meal of both your flocks and you.”

  Napu grinned. “Point taken.”

  El’Issaq said, “Napu spoke to Qe’Nani. It is worse than I feared, ‘Tarah. Nimurta has already set the stage to subvert the Khaldini Order in the Sumar and Agadae. The roots may worm their way up to Arrata itself.”

  11

  The sacred city of S’Eduku-tal-ebab extended downward along the hillside in seven stepped layers, each festooned with flower gardens. At its rocky crown, a modest five-chambered palace stood above the vault, and on either side of the Treasure Cave. Inside a small corner tower, Inana gazed out of a narrow window in the rough-cut stone, waiting and watching. In her milky hand, she held a palm-sized baked-clay tablet imprinted with runes that only she in all the regions of Arrata could read. The only other in the world that could read them was not in Arrata.

  Not yet.

  Inana pried her eyes from the window, and placed the little tablet behind a loose stone in the wall, where she kept it hidden. Concealing the stone from the doorway, her tiny dressing table also contained an ancient hairbrush—a rare artifact from the World-that-Was—forged of some unknown metal that never tarnished, with firm bristles made from the scales of some long-extinct dragon. Inana picked it up and brushed her golden hair as she hummed softly to herself.

  She expected to hear the footsteps that climbed the turret stair, outside the entrance to her bedchamber. She would have continued to clutch at the tiny clay tablet otherwise, rereading its wonderful promises.

  The heavy wool curtain that served as a door to the tower room slid to one side. She did not expect the frowning dark face of her older sister, who stepped inside of their shared living space.

  “What are you doing here this time of day, Ereshkigal?”

  Bright teeth glinted like sphinx-cat’s fangs. “Expecting someone else, Inana—maybe Utu or some wayward husband from Ni’Alal-tamu’Ukum? Better make sure you don’t make noises; Father’s about.”

  “If I were really guilty of your lurid imaginings, Ereshkigal, I would not be foolish enough to have my callers come here, much less in daylight. You need to have Father get you a husband, sister. Your own filthy mind will get you into trouble.”

  Ereshkigal grabbed the empty washing bowl from her night table and hurled it across the room at Inana, who ducked. The baked pinched-clay pot shattered against the wall not far from the hiding place of Inana’s tablet.

  Inana bent to pick up the shards. “Temper. The Revered Mother tells us to forgive those who unjustly malign us.” To illustrate, Inana dropped the broken pieces into the ratty animal skin sack that collected their trash, and grabbed the straw broom from the corner to sweep.

  Ereshkigal snarled at her, and stomped out of the tiny tower room, down the stone, squared-spiral stairwell. Her footsteps paused midway, and another set grew louder—those of Inana’s expected visitor.

  Inana said, “Hello, Dahdi,” as her father entered the small room.

  “Your sister looked very upset just now on the stairwell.” The bland face of the Lord of Arrata had a frown on it.

  Inana sighed. “I’m very concerned for her. She’s, uh, difficult during her monthlies. She accused me of something horrible—it’s not important what, because I don’t want to make things harder for her—and then threw her basin at me.” She pointed to the red clay powder mark on the wall by her table, where the pot had shattered. The broom was still in her hand.

  Her father stroked his beard. “Yes. I’ll talk to her once she’s calmed down. You’re not the only one she’s been making bizarre accusations of.”

  “Thank you Dahdi. Please be kind to her.”

  The Lord of Arrata nodded. “I will if she lets me. Have you considered the matter we spoke of last year?”

  Inana cocked her head at him, and smiled. “Why, of course. It is for the greater good of all the clans.”

  Her father returned her smile under his salt-and-pepper beard—a slight upturn of facial muscles as tepid and measured as his frown had been. His tan face was thinner than she had ever seen it before. “My youngest daughter, well does my mother speak of you as her star pupil. I’m so proud of you.” He embraced her lightly, barely touching her, it seemed.

  Inana returned his embrace somewhat more enthusiastically, and whispered in her father’s ear, “When will they arrive?”

  “It is a little over a month’s journey to the steppes of Ghimuraya. The northern high watch posts saw the mountain signal fires early before dawn. It should be on
ly days now.”

  “Only the northern posts?”

  He held her out from him with a puzzled look. “It is unlikely that Clan Ghimuraya would approach from any other direction.”

  Inana laughed. “Yes, I’m being silly.”

  “There is nothing to fear, Inana. Soon the famine will ease. The grain tribute from the south is due any week now, too.”

  She laid her head back onto his stiff, unyielding chest, and smiled. “Yes, Father, I know.”

  12

  Napalku awoke in the night to hear screaming, and what sounded like smashing wagons. Men shouted outside the tent, as a heavy footfall pounded the mountain trail nearby.

  An unearthly screech ripped through the night like the tearing of a black cloth. Napu was up in an instant, his mostly-ceremonial mace in hand. He held a finger to his lips, and motioned for Lomina to stay still, quiet, and flat to the ground in the tent.

  When he crawled outside the flaps, he saw the moon-cast shadow of the asag loom over him from the right. Napalku froze on his knees.

  The breath of the beast stank hot with rotting flesh from close above. Its enormous head lowered like a falling storm cloud, the eye on Napalku’s side, a poisoned green moon. The asag stepped forward, taloned foot hitting the ground by his head like a meteor. Scaly nostrils sniffed the cool mountain air, while Napu’s sweat ran in rivulets almost directly under the monster’s swaying head. Terror scent must have filled the night like a rich aroma of cut flowers made of rotting flesh.

  Napalku knew he must draw it away from Loma and the tent; but the moment he moved, it would surely snap him up!

  Napu slowly raised himself from his knees onto his toes, hands in the dirt, like a runner ready to sprint. The asag shifted onto its other leg and twisted its neck to look down at the crouching man. Its jaws could not quite reach him because he was so close underneath them. They could however, snap up Napalku’s tent and anything that moved inside. He launched himself over the beast’s enormous bird-like claws, and tore off away from his tent, toward the center fire, calling as loud as he could to draw it away from his wife.