Isin opened his palm and stared down at the scar marring his skin. The rough outline of an open eye stared back at him. Ramal had said it was to remind him of his responsibility, as if he'd needed it.
The last of the keepers had secreted him away in the cave of dreams. Ramal was nearing his own passing and as was the custom, he chose the youngest man in the village as his successor. Although the rest of the village knew Ramal was the keeper, no one knew what it meant. They only knew that when a keeper chose a successor, the two men would disappear into the forest. The younger of the two was the only one to return.
The two men traveled through the forest until nightfall. The path was worn enough for them to follow, but not without some discomfort. Both he and Ramal had scratches across their bare legs and chests from the thick brambles and vines. His wounds itched as they made their way, but he ignored them.
Ramal had said nothing since they entered the forest. Isin somehow knew he wasn't supposed to speak unless asked a question. He dutifully followed the older man, unbothered by his slow pace; Isin was in no hurry to reach their destination. The old man would not return to the village. The idea terrified Isin. What if this time, neither returned?
Their feet crunched over petrified bone as they reached a clearing next to a cave. "Nothing grows here," the old man said in a hushed tone. He turned to face Isin. One cloudy eye spun in its socket, focusing on nothing, while the other stared into him. "More seasons have passed than you can imagine, my son. But nothing will ever grow here."
The old man turned and walked to the cave mouth. Isin stared into the dark hole. There was no light within. "Don't be afraid," the old man said without turning around. With slow, shuddering steps, Ramal walked into the darkness. Isin took a deep breath, and followed.
Once inside, the sounds of the forest, the chirping insects and the calls of monkeys and birds, were silenced. All he could hear was the dripping of water and the shuffling of the old man in front of him.
His bare feet crunched on ancient dust and gravel. Something snapped beneath his heel. Although he couldn't see it, he knew it was an old bone.
The sounds of Ramal's feet on the stone floor changed. Instead of the dull slap and crunch, it became rich. Echoes bounced off a high ceiling. He wanted to ask Ramal where they were, but kept quiet.
"Stop," the old man whispered.
Isin jumped at the sound of the old man's haggard, wheezing voice. He stood still, Ramal's breath and the dripping water the only sounds. There was nothing to see but blackness.
He heard the old man fidgeting with something. "There will be light," the old man whispered. "There will." Stone ground against stone. Green light erupted from an urn atop a broken and cracked altar.
Isin held a hand in front of his eyes, shading them against the glare. The afterimage burned on his retinas leaving a black spot in the center of his vision.
"Do you know what this is, Isin?" the old man asked.
Isin followed Ramal's gnarled finger pointing toward the urn. Isin nodded. His eyes had finally adjusted enough to see. "Light moss."
"It has been here for forever. It never fades. It never grows. It never dies."
Isin's brow furrowed. "Why?"
The old man smiled in the garish light, his face turning sinister. "Because nothing here dies or lives." Ramal pointed upwards. "What do you see?"
Sharp stone cones stared down from the cavern ceiling. Water dripped from them onto their twins affixed to the floor. "Stone."
Ramal chuckled. "That's all?"
"Teeth."
"Yes. This place bites, defends itself against those who would invade."
"But it's just a cave."
Ramal shook his head. "No, Isin. It's not just a cave." The old man walked behind the altar. "Come here, young man."
Isin stepped gingerly around broken stone fragments. The floor at the old man's feet glowed the color of the setting sun. Isin let out a hiss between his teeth.
"Not just a cave," the old man said. "A memory is trapped here." Ramal gestured toward the floor. "Sit, Isin."
The younger man did as he was told. Shards of broken stone pressed into the flesh of his bare legs. He barely noticed.
Ramal had lowered himself to the floor with a fluid grace. Despite his age, the man's legs easily bent so that the soles of his feet met and pressed together. Back straight, he stared at Isin.
"Tell me about Rashim."
Isin blinked. "Rashim?" Ramal nodded. "Just a legend."
Ramal smiled and leaned forward. "Then tell me the legend."
"Why do you--"
"Just tell me," the old man hissed.
"Rashim was a warrior who bested a monster."
Ramal's expression flattened. "That is all you remember?"
Isin shrugged.
"Do you know what this place is?"
"No."
"Rashim's monster used to live here. This was its lair. The ancient bones outside are those of its victims."
Isin shook his head. The old man was crazy, yet he shivered. "Keeper," he whispered, "it's only a legend."
"I thought the same, when I was your age." Ramal used his knuckles to drag himself forward until his knees touched Isin's.
The younger man fought the urge to pull backward. The Keepers were to be shown the greatest respect, or so he'd been taught. But Ramal, last of them all, was obviously insane.
"This place," the old man croaked, "is a memory. I told you that. It remembers." Ramal put forth his hands. "It remembers, so we shall too."
Isin stared down at the withered palms. He knew what he was supposed to do, but the idea was distasteful. He felt a surge of frantic energy in his chest. With trepidation, he put his hands in Ramal's.
The old man smiled. "Once seen cannot be unseen."
"What?"
The world exploded into light. Images flashed through Isin's mind. A small man standing in the center of the cave transformed into a gray, gnarled thing. Its claws dripped with blood; its face curled into an expression of malevolence. Its voice, deep and grating, echoed in his mind. "Do you see, hunter? How they worship for Garaaga?" A group of naked men and women writhed on the floor around it, moaning in ecstasy, copulating. Man servicing woman, servicing man, women servicing one another and themselves.
Crimson waves rose from the orgy and circled the thing in the center of the cave. "Worship," the thing growled. The group's flesh dissolved, leaving their skeletons frozen in their acts.
A ruby tipped spear blotted out the vision. It flew through his mind, burning bright as it traveled. The face of a brown man, a closed third eye in the middle of his forehead. As the man's dark eyes closed, the third opened, shining with a brilliant blue.
A terrible scream ripped through Isin's mind. It was the thing, howling in pain. The vision swirled before him. The creature in the center of the cave held its hands against its head, its jagged-toothed maw frozen in a mask of pain. It detonated into dust and splinters of bone.
The dust swirled and then coalesced into a naked, deformed woman squatting in a forest. Her face was covered in bruises, one eye was lower than the other and spun wildly in its socket. Breasts full and drooping, nipples hard, she was mumbling strange sounds. She raised her head to the sky and screamed.
Red and yellow fluid gushed as a bundle of flesh dropped from between her legs to the forest floor. A new scream rose to match hers, but higher in pitch. The newborn thing's crimson eyes opened.
"Enough!" Ramal's voice yelled.
Isin snapped back to reality. The old man had dropped Isin's hands. Ramal's breath was a rapid wheeze. Isin shivered. The front of his loincloth was warm with urine, but the rest of his body was ice cold.
"What--" Isin tried to speak through the pounding of his heart.
The old man held up a hand to shush him, his body shaking as he tried to gulp in air. After a moment, Ramal was able to breathe normally.
"You saw."
Isin nodded.
"What did you see?"
"I don't want to see it again, Keeper." Isin's voice was small and tremulous.
"What does it mean?"
The creature's face filled his vision, its maw stuck open in a ferocious, silent growl. "The monster. It-- It was real."
Ramal nodded. "Rashim defeated it. It took a sacrifice, always a woman, every so many seasons. And it--" Ramal shuddered. "It feasted upon her, leaving her old before her time and mad with want." He leaned forward and tapped the center of Isin's forehead. "The eye sees, but does not open. At least not for us."
"For Rashim?"
"Yes, for Rashim and his kin. But they are no more."
"Then who protects us from--" He swallowed. "From the thing?"
Ramal smiled. "The thing is no more in this place. The cave is but a memory. A warning. There is nothing to be afraid of here."
Isin blew out a sigh. "Then we are safe."
Ramal's smile fell. "No, young one. You do not understand." Ramal tapped Isin's knee. "That was the creature, but not its maker."
"Not?"
"No," Ramal said. The old man looked down at the dimly lit floor. "There are others." he whispered. "You saw the birth. Do you know what it means?"
Isin struggled to keep the image from flooding his mind and failed. In the vision, the newborn creature had stared into him, through him. He shivered. "I-- It gives birth."
"Yes and no," Ramal said and leaned forward. "The maker does not give birth, Isin. Its children do."
"It-- A god that makes children."
"Yes," Ramal agreed. "Garaaga makes children in the wombs of the willing. And its children make their own."
"Garoga?"
"Garaaga," the old man corrected him. Ramal coughed and spit a wad of blood onto the stone floor. It instantly congealed in the dust. "You are a keeper now," Ramal whispered. "You will take the message and pass it on to another. You will bring them here. You will show them what you've seen. In this place, the memory is strong. It will be waiting for you, when the time is right."
"But how will I know?"
The old man coughed again and held a hand to his chest. Pain filled his face and Ramal clenched his rotten teeth. "You will, my son."
Ramal stood slowly and clutched at his chest.
"You are ill, Ramal."
The old man nodded. "I can rest soon. There is one more task to perform."
Isin sat up and wiped a sheen of cold sweat from his brow. Ramal was surely dead now, either from his illness or at the hands of the "others." The animals and insects would have made short work of his corpse. Isin traced the lines embedded in the flesh of his hand.
Ramal's last act had been to brand him. Though the pain had been mind-numbing, Ramal had demanded Isin repeat the story, the legend, word for word as the red-hot knife seared and marked his flesh.
"You will remember," Ramal had said. Isin's tears of pain streaked through the dirt on his face as the old man clutched him to his breast. "You will remember and when it's time, you will tell another. And pass the task to them."
Isin stood. The light outside was growing. The dark dreams of Hennar, Ramal, the cave, tugged at his mind. His chest exploded in another coughing fit. He doubled over in pain as he tried to breathe. Tears dripping from the corners of his eyes, he shuffled to the clay urn in the corner. He spat a wad of bloody phlegm into it and then stood.
"Isin?" a voice called from behind.
Isin turned. Hassani stood outside the room. The stout man tugged at his beard. "You are not well," the man said.
"I have been better," Isin admitted. "Did you find him?"
Hassani smiled. "Find him, yes."
It was enough to make Isin grin. The merchant knew enough of the Lothal language to converse with other merchants, make deals with the weighmasters, and carry on small-talk, but his accent and grammar were atrocious.
"Thank you," Isin said. "When can we see him?"
"After midday meal." Hassani pointed to the pallet. "Sleep more?"
Isin shook his head. "I can't."
"I have business to make."
"Yes," Isin said. "What should--"
"Are you well enough? To come?"
He'd only seen Akkad in darkness. The city's walls had seemed to glow and a halo of light rose above them. Even after the sun had fallen away for the night, the city buzzed with the sounds of its populace. As tired and ill as he'd been, Isin had hoped he'd live long enough to see Akkad in the brilliance of day.
"I am well enough," Isin said.
Hassani nodded. "It is good. Eat?"
"Yes," Isin said. For the first time in days, he felt as though he might actually be able to keep some food down. "I am hungry."
"Good. Come."
Isin followed Hassani to the kitchen. A fire crackled in a clay hearth.
"Sit, guest," Hassani said and pointed to another pallet on the floor.
"Thank you," Isin said and dropped to his knees on the soft, stuffed cloth.
A woman turned meat over the hearth. She didn't turn to look at him.
Hassani said something in his native tongue. Isin watched as the woman looked up from the fire and gazed into Hassani's face. Hassani smiled at her and she returned it. He gestured to Isin, his words rapid-fire syllables. The woman shrugged away the cloth covering her head and turned to him.
Isin felt his breath catch. A beautiful almond face stared at him. Her skin was pale compared to Hassani's, as though she'd spent most of her life in shadow.
"My woman," Hassani said. "Nehushta." She bowed and then turned back to the fire.
"She is very beautiful," Isin said.
Hassani laughed. "Of course she is. All women are." He said something else to Nehushta. The woman chuckled but did not look at him. "We have lamb for morning meal. Lamb and bread."
Isin's stomach growled at the words. "You grace me," he said.
"Enki plagues those who do not share."
He'd heard the word before, when the wind was finicky or a storm front faced their boat on the great water. Hassani and the other Akkadians had called out to "Enki" in their strange language, beating their breasts and then praying.
Isin wasn't sure what Enki was, and he was polite enough not to ask. "I've not had lamb in quite some time," Isin said.
"It is well, then," Hassani said.
"How long did it take you to find Trianni?"
Hassani stiffened. "He is not called Trianni."
Isin furrowed his brow. "Not Trianni? You mean you didn't find him?"
"No," Hassani said. "Found him. He calls himself something else. Tupšarru."
"What does that mean?"
Hassani laughed. "The man who marks."
"I do not--"
"Better you see him for yourself than for me to struggle."
It took a moment for Isin to understand what Hassani was trying to say. "You don't have the words to explain."
"I don't have words," Hassani agreed.
Nehushta pulled the spit from the hearth. She handed one end of the blackened dowel to her husband. Hassani bowed to her and then handed it to Isin.
"For health," Hassani said.
Isin repeated the words. The meat burned his tongue, but he didn't care. The taste of it was exquisite. His belly quieted as he made short work of the tender meat.
Hassani laughed and said something to Nehushta. She giggled and passed another spit to her man. "I've not seen you eat like this," Hassani said. "I think you've been waiting for good food."
Isin felt a flush of embarrassment. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude."
"Not rude," Hassani said. "A man should eat, should enjoy. A man is sickly if he does not eat well." The portly merchant handed a new spit to Isin. Isin took it. "Eat your fill," he said. Hassani turned and then produced a clay plate of naan. "I will get you beer."
The merchant walked from the fire and to the far side of the kitchen. Isin pulled the meat from the spit and dropped it onto the flat bread. His mouth filled with saliva even before he'd touched the bread
to his tongue.
He groaned in pleasure as he tore into the meal. Nehushta turned from the fire to smile at him. He grinned at her as he chewed. She nodded to him and turned back to the crackling hearth.
"After meal, we go to the market." Hassani placed a small jug beside Isin's plate. "Get something for night meal."
"I still have plenty of beads," Isin said. "I will pay."
Hassani waved a hand. "You paid enough in Lothal. Is my pleasure to pay."
Isin bowed his head. Hassani took a spit from his woman and sat upon the floor next to Isin. The older man tore through this food with reckless abandon. His long beard was streaked with grease.
"Let us finish quickly," Hassani said with a full mouth. "There is much to see before day meal."
For the first time since he'd left the cave, Isin felt full. The fever that had plagued him since he'd fled the village was still burning, but with less intensity. Meat. Bread. Onions. The joy of the food had lifted his spirits, that and the fact he would soon see Trianni.
He followed Hassani through the choked city streets. Market day, Hassani had explained, was celebrated in Akkad with a fervor. Every Akkadian, from the poorest to the wealthiest, joined together on market day.
They passed city-dwellers carrying large woven baskets on their heads or pushing carts filled with strange delicacies. "They are coming back from the market," Hassani explained. "Most will drop their load and return for another."
As they walked, Isin was in constant wonder at the multi-colored robes and the great diversity of the people. Even in Lothal, the largest village he knew, the people all looked the same, except for the visiting outlanders like Hassani. But Akkad seemed to have nothing but outlanders. Isin, clothed in his simple wool robe, felt out of place.
The city gate loomed. Men with spears walked along the high city walls, glancing into the crowd. Isin tapped Hassani's shoulder and pointed to them.
"Guards," he explained. "They watch for trouble and Akkad's enemies. But today," Hassani yelled over the din, "they are enjoying themselves like everyone else."
Legends of Garaaga Page 3