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

by K. G. Powderly Jr.

  The already cold water went frigid as a strange fear overtook him that some giant ice dragon lurked below, ready to snap him under, and devour him in the murky riverbed weeds. Malaq slowly swam away after the others, heart frozen, as he quietly dipped beneath the surface to get out of range of the deck lights. He felt something watching him in the channel deeps. When he came up again for air, the sensation began to subside, but only with torturous slowness.

  He soon met up with the others at the makeshift strand, below Uruk’s Kulaba hill, where they commandeered a small reed boat. They paddled upstream for Surupag throughout the night.

  Around noon, on their second day out, they ran into three boats coming downstream. Flying from a mast on the lead boat, was the M’El-Ki’s standard. Captain Haviri stood up in the bows.

  Malaq dreaded the report he would soon have to give him.

  95

  P’Tah-Tahut expected Suinne would intercept and brief him before any audience with Ninurta. Instead, En’Tarah-ana met him outside his quarters, on the North Wing of the palace at Kish.

  The Vizier splashed water from a drinking trough onto his face to wash the travel dust off. “I know now why you allowed me to go to Asshur, to see things for myself. I would have done the same.”

  En’Tarah-ana nodded. “Then we understand each other.”

  “Where’s the astronomer, Suinne?”

  “Is he also sane?”

  P’Tah-Tahut cracked his spidery knuckles before drying his hands. “He retains his ability to speak and to read as before.”

  “That’s not exactly the same thing.”

  The Vizier replaced his turban on his head, unsure of just how much to trust him. “These days, we settle for what we can get.”

  En’Tarah-ana answered, “Inana says that Suinne was sent to Uruk, last-minute, with the Lugal-banda, to help him manage Kush and Saeba. Ninurta wants Kush ruling there, if possible. I’m not sure how he imagines it possible, since the need for ‘managing’ implies that Kush and Saeba are moon-struck, but Inana seems confident. She’s quite a handful, that one.”

  “They found Kengu? Is he also affected?”

  “Don’t know—I’ve only spoken to Inana. Ninurta has been… indisposed.”

  “What does that mean?”

  The Asshurim shrugged. “Not sure I really know that either. Are you open to a suggestion, Vizier?”

  Tahut nodded.

  “I recommend that you report that my father is still safely in league with Ninurta, that my people and I are Asshur’s gift to help defend Kish. I also suggest that you and I speak honestly with each other in private, and often. Until you arrived just now, I’ve been the only one here that still has all his faculties—except for two of my younger sub-chieftains. While I haven’t seen Ninurta myself, I suspect he is not as we are.”

  “Is that a veiled threat?”

  En’Tarah-ana spread his hands open, palms up. “Not at all; it’s simply a statement of fact. Is Ninurta still sane?”

  Tahut wanted to trust the man. He sensed in him something better than whatever motivated Suinne. “Ninurta is not nearly as affected as your father, but he is not quite himself either. Forgive my bluntness.”

  “There is nothing to forgive. Things are as they are.”

  Tahut continued, “He has the benefit of being somewhat suggestible under the right conditions. The few others that remain here live or die, quite without hesitation, at Ninurta’s word. They all carry maces and swords.”

  “And Inana?”

  “You saw for yourself.”

  “That I did, and she wanted me to see all that I could.”

  The Vizier smiled, and shook his head tiredly. “You and every other man she meets.”

  “Are Ninurta’s inhibitions also missing?”

  “Yes, but not to Inana’s extreme.”

  “So, you and Suinne have been in the business of humoring their ‘deified persons,’ and ‘advising’ them, all for the greater good, of course.”

  Tahut felt both sanctioned and accused. “It seemed a prudent way to inject a modicum of sanity into the situation.”

  En’Tarah-ana smiled. “I tried to do the same thing up north, but my father and brothers are too far gone. Perhaps we should start for the palace.”

  P’Tah-Tahut finished brushing the dust off his cloak, glad he did not need to reveal just how thorough his and Suinne’s ability to “advise and suggest” really was. He walked with En’Tarah-ana into the courtyard’s throne portico, on the wing’s other side. It disturbed him to find Inana lolling in Ninurta’s big chair, her uncovered leg draped over its arm, and her blonde hair trussed up on her head like a ziggurat made of golden animal fodder. Her grin seemed somehow too large for her face, as if that great tower of hair were so heavy it had caved her skull in some at the center.

  The smile never touched her dull eyes. “Ahh, wise Thoth, Vizier of the gods, brings his returnings as a wing-footed messenger!”

  P’Tah-Tahut bowed before the big chair. “I bring tidings from the north, of the loyal god Asshur, who sent us his son to help defend Kish in this hour of need. Might I enquire of Lord Ninurta?”

  “Mightings you shall. He would welcome you himself, but indisposings he has of much chamberliness, in private hearings, deep with En-ki. Goodings it is that you bring such words of your mission. En-ki has plannings for coming of the war! Now shall my sword, too, drink its yummy fill of rich, red bloodinesses!”

  The Vizier’s heart pounded. “If my lady will indulge a question from her Vizier—that he may serve her better—has any word come from Uruk?”

  Inana slanted her head, and scratched herself in a dreadfully unladylike way. “Oh! Oh! Many yessings to that! En-ki himself brings us word. En-ki himself says that Meshkiagashar is ruling Uruk, from mountains to sea, but that he must go over ocean to extend his power. We shall crush the rebels between us like dung beetles that go pop in the night!”

  96

  Kush stood with Kush-ah at the peak of the Kulaba Hill overlooking the captured sun ship in the channel below, but his eyes rested mainly on his new wife. Kush-ah had wrapped herself in a woad-and-berry dyed cloth they had found in one of Uruk’s many abandoned tents. The elegant garment carried her full figure with a dignity and grace that appealed to a man who somehow felt young again. Lost memories from another life were, at worst, troubled dreams against the dawn of an otherwise idyllic new beginning.

  On board the ship at anchorage below, sailors replaced the black-celled sun-sails with lacquered, sewn-together, linen fishing-boat sheets that had survived the wave in the Kulaba’s warehouse.

  The Divine One seemed upset none of the sailors remembered how to work the sorcery of the sun-sails, but Kush cared not. Sails were supposed to catch wind, not sunlight. The strange, black, honeycombed glass fabric that magically gave life to the vessel’s arcane inner workings seemed to carry an aura of evil somehow. Kush had no intention of sailing past sight of land anyway, even once they reached open ocean. He just wanted to skirt the coast, westward, until he found a good place far enough away for his new people to start again without interference from man or god.

  The Divine One’s anger proved to Kush the wisdom of his plan. With the sun ship’s sorcery, it would be too easy to maintain contact with men and gods. Kush did not want contact. He wanted peace. He was tired.

  The voice of the divine Lugalbanda imposed itself on him and Kush-ah from behind. “You will not go beyond my reach, simply because my reach is farther than you could ever travel. I have divine ones who will watch you wherever you go.”

  Kush turned only when he was certain his disappointment no longer showed in his eyes. “What do you want of us, Divine One?”

  Lugalbanda dismissed Kush-ah with a nod, doubtless speaking to her inside her mind. She smiled up at Kush as she disentangled herself from his enormous arm, and walked off toward the tent they had shared since their arrival at the haven.

  Divine Lugalbanda said, “You are old and she is young
. She shall rule over your children long after you are dead.”

  This was nothing Kush had not already surmised. “With respect, that still doesn’t tell me what you want of us.” He leveled his watery gaze on the Divine One, and refused to blink.

  Lugalbanda smiled. “Just go as far as you feel you need to, and have lots of children. Tell them that the gods watch them and control their fates—nothing more. Others may come after you. If I send a god with them, then welcome them. If they come without one of us, then kill them. You may keep their women, if you wish, but the men must be killed—even male infants.”

  “That’s all?”

  “That’s all. It’s more likely that both gods and men will leave you alone for the remainder of your days. Seems a small price to pay for a new start with Kush-ah, now, doesn’t it?”

  Kush maintained his gaze into Lugalbanda’s eyes. “I may not remember how I know this, but I still know that ‘small prices’ always seem small to the seller, before the transaction is finished. But you need fear nothing from me. It shall be as you command.”

  Lugalbanda nodded. “Your time as the first ruler of Kish and Uruk draws to a close, O Meshkiaj-Kush-Saar. You leave tomorrow, at first light.”

  97

  Khumi was disappointed with the decision, but he understood his brothers’ and father’s reasoning. Somebody needed to stay to protect Surupag, and A’Nu-Ahki was too old and frail to take part in a military expedition. Since it was U’Sumi’s place to confront Nimurta’s betrayal, and horseback combat experience made Iyapeti indispensable, it fell to Khumi to command the small detachment left behind to guard their father’s stronghold in exile.

  After an added week of fruitlessly trying to locate T’Qinna, an angry U’Sumi now rode off at the head of a column of cavalry, next to Iyapeti. The strange new giant onagers that Iyapeti’s men called “horses” were each nearly as large as the quasi-dragon unicorns used as cavalry in the World-that-Was. Khumi found himself wishing these beasts had the same horns and armor. Altogether, the entire force numbered a little over a thousand men. Khumi hoped the plague had decimated Ninurta’s army, because that of his brothers struck him as painfully small.

  Tiva stood with him as the riders and infantry departed. A’Nu-Ahki sat farther back, by the wide entrance to the small palace’s courtyard, in the oft-repaired wheeled chair that Khumi’s grandfather had once used, back in another world. The few remaining patients of their plague hospice stood by the Old Man, most of them now well enough to be up and about.

  Tiva said, “I wish Haviri had returned with better news.”

  Khumi placed his arm around her and gave her what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze. “Same here. The loss of both Uruk and one of the Sun Ships is a catastrophe. But I think U’Sumi’s plan will fix that.” He fell silent, watching the dust settle as the last of the northward-bound army vanished into the trees.

  Tiva socked him on the arm. “What plan?”

  “Oh, sorry, Love; this morning he sent Haviri and his men back south again to bypass Uruk, and make a signal fire on one of the Abyssu Lake islands by the Narrows. That’ll alert the incoming ships to circle around Uruk by the new Bad-Tibira channel, and come north to Surupag…”

  She interrupted, “But isn’t that near where this Eridu place is; and what about swamp dragons?”

  Khumi rubbed her arm as he gently guided her around, back to the house. “Eridu is on another channel, several days journey to the west. The swamp dragons are a calculated risk, unfortunately. But from what U’Sumi says, Haviri and his men have dealt with even larger ocean leviathans. They can handle swamp dragons.”

  Tiva looked up at him. “Just don’t mention any of this to Haviri’s wife. She, Yoqtani, and Loma have enough to worry about, caring for Palqui. Just tell them about the signal fire thing.”

  Khumi shrugged. “I’m not the one who brought dragons up.”

  Tiva glared up at him, and then smiled.

  98

  Only twelve remained of the Paru’Ainu’s crew of a hundred and fifty, when Psydon and Tyr crumpled into the dirt at the Farmer’s feet. Psydon had lost half of his once-considerable body weight in the long months crossing the great salt deserts along the Mouths of Underworld. Tyr had not lost his mind completely, unlike the others—all too weak now to be a danger to anyone but themselves. This probably saved the Farmer’s life, and maybe his wife’s—something the Farmer would never know. The Farmer’s daughters were another matter—Psydon would train them, when the time came.

  The loose-knit Styx Delta colonies, left behind by Khumi and Misori’Ra almost two years ago, spread in a thin arc across the silt islands; a patchwork of grassland and marsh too sparsely populated to merit the name of “colonies” in any organized sense. The settlers had not even cleared the dragons out, except by destroying nest eggs whenever they found them. Once the Farmer had rehydrated and fed Psydon and his men, and brought them to his tents, he answered their questions, and Psydon, his:

  Yes, the Farmer knew of the Sun Ships and their mission. No, he had not heard from Arrata, the Sumar, and the Agadae in all the long years since they had set out to explore. Yes, the darkness in the skies came out of the south more than the west, and so on. The waters dumping over the Great South had overrun the banks of the Styx Delta channels, forcing the settlers farther apart from one another, or farther upstream, toward the darkened south. The Farmer had been salvaging what he could of his barley crop, when Psydon and his men had stumbled out of the desert.

  The Farmer concluded, “You and your men are welcome to stay. I need good hands, and my daughters near marrying age, with no men nearby.”

  Psydon smiled. “That is warmly appreciated. The Sun Ships are lost, as was mine. The two remaining ones besides my own were skirting the southward coasts, and doubtless fared worse than my ship did, in whatever disaster has fallen from the skies into that ocean. I look for a new start, free of Arrata, free of the Sumar, and all known lands. I arose from the sea as a new man, and wish to be free of all the old worlds.”

  The Farmer smiled. “Is good, yes? Rest. Work tomorrow.”

  Psydon slept, but he did not rest. A black snake of living darkness swirled around him, and spoke of consuming worlds yet-to-come in a fog of forgetfulness. The forgetfulness appealed to Psydon in the dream, until he saw the snake encrusted in sea salt more clearly. Rapacious, needle-like teeth skewered multitudes of children not yet born. Throngs of squirming bodies stretched against its translucent gullet from the inside, forced slowly downward into eternal gloom.

  The dying ones each mouthed a single panicked word as they slid past the Ship Captain’s face, from inside the monster’s endless swallowing.

  It was Psydon’s name.

  Etana, the shepherd, who ascended to heaven and put all countries in order, became king…

  —Another version of the

  Sumerian King List of Uruk

  20

  Etana

  99

  The baked-brick chamber smelt of mold and dampness, suggesting that it was underground. T’Qinna became certain of it when she turned her still-spinning head, and saw the outline of a narrow stair leading up into shadows. A steady drip of condensation from the ceiling added to the chill.

  Someone had bound her hands and feet before laying her onto a straw mattress in the chamber’s corner. A tiny cresset lamp sputtered, on the verge of going out, from a cubby somewhere above and behind her head.

  T’Qinna tried to piece together what had happened to her. The last thing she remembered clearly was leaving U’Sumi to his talk with Haviri, and going down toward the river. Someone immensely strong had grabbed her from behind, covering her mouth. Then something struck her head, which still hurt, spinning worse whenever she tried to lift it off the mattress.

  Days of travel had followed, during which someone carried her because she could not walk. Her captors had placed a cloth sack over her head. Although she sometimes thought that their voices sounded familiar, she could never quit
e place them. They spoke only in a barely comprehensible pidgin speech. Each time she seemed on the verge of recognizing a voice, her head would reel and she would forget. At best, she had only been semi-conscious during the time it took to carry her to wherever she now was.

  T’Qinna reached up and felt her head. It had a lump behind the left temple, and a gash, which someone had dressed. The bump was in the same spot once injured near-fatally by a fanatic’s hand-cannon, before the end of the olden world. It had taken years for her to recover back then, and she had experienced partial paralysis during most of them. She tested her ability to move her limbs as much as her restraints permitted, and found no paralysis or loss of muscle control this time—even though her head throbbed, and spun like a clay top. Thank you, E’Yahavah.

  A noise like the dragging of a heavy plank came from the small stairwell, along with light from its top. Someone descended the steps, while another resealed the opening to the surface. Whoever it was had a torch.

  It somehow did not surprise T’Qinna when Nimurta stepped into the chamber, and placed his torch into a wall sconce. He seemed to fill the room as a vast shadow. Then she saw markings on his face, and grew even sicker inside. He had used a tattoo needle and ink to cover his forehead, temples, and the sides of his neck, around his ears, in a duplication of her natural skin markings, which she had inherited from her unknown father’s Nhoddic tribe. A gleeful fire lit his eyes, giving her a terrifying sense of nakedness.

  “How is the beautiful leopard goddess?” he said. “Sorryings I have muchly for hitting you headwise. I am the great god, Ninurta. Enemies entered my lands, and I followed them to Shurrupak. As I spied out their encampment, I saw you amid the trees. I’m not quite remembering who you are, but En-ki tells me that you are the leopard-cat goddess, and that you are important to my enemies. We need not be enemies, though, you and I.”

  T’Qinna stifled her sense of outrage. He clearly did not remember her, at least not entirely, or else he would have felt no need for introductions. His new tattooing showed a boyish sense of wonder that she might carefully appeal to, both to win his favor, and to prevent him from showering her with the wrong kind—if she kept her words few.