The Forgotten Tale Of Larsa

by Seja Majeed

  ‘Madness is in us all,’ he said, standing in front of the Queen of Persia and examining her. Everyone remained silent, waiting for him to reveal what lurked deep in his mind. ‘Her madness came to her the day she saw her husband beheaded, her sons murdered and her people burned alive; and I know the same shall come to you if you disobey my commands.’

  ‘Hasn’t she suffered enough?’ Larsa asked. She looked at the Persian queen, feeling intense sympathy for what she had endured; in one sense at least, they were cruelly connected.

  ‘No,’ he replied calmly.

  ‘What are you going to do to her?’

  ‘The answer lies with you.’ Jaquzan turned to his cousin; he obviously had something in mind. ‘Give the princess your dagger.’

  Nafridos took out his dagger and handed it to Larsa. Like the princess, he had no idea what his cousin was planning.

  ‘Your humanity may be your greatest strength, but in our world humanity is a hindrance to survival – only the selfish are able to survive, while the selfless are trampled on.’ He began to circle the Queen of Persia, his steps soft and silent as if preparing an incantation of some sort. Finally he stopped and, unexpectedly, put out his hand. With his index finger he gently lifted the victim’s chin, exposing her throat to him. Like a dazed animal, the Queen of Persia yielded to his power, tilting her head back and succumbing to his will without struggle or question.

  ‘Let us see if your humanity is a gift or a curse. Kill this woman, and in exchange for her life I shall offer your people salvation. I want you to show me your inhumanity, and in exchange I shall restore humanity to your world. I offer you the chance to save your people. In your hands lies the life of freedom that they have always known …’

  ‘How do I know you’ll keep your promise?’

  ‘I am a god. I am never in need of a lie.’

  Larsa stared at the dagger which had been given to her; it felt heavy and cold, so foreign to her. How could she murder another human being, even if it guaranteed freedom for her people? It was surely wrong – or was it?

  ***

  ‘I can’t – I won’t – do it,’ she said, shaking her head, unable to comprehend what was happening to her.

  ‘One life for tens of thousands of others – the choice lies with you,’ said Jaquzan again.

  Larsa turned to look at the queen. All she could see were the faces of her people, staring back as though taunting her, willing her to go ahead and become the murderer they needed at this moment. Was Jaquzan right? Did the life of one person really matter, if many thousands of others could be saved? Maybe it was more merciful to kill her; after all, the queen was practically dead, imprisoned in a life of madness. The choice was clear; she knew what she had to do – the only way Larsa could save her homeland was by killing the former Queen of Persia. The first step was the hardest, but she knew she had to do it. The question was, did she really have any choice? Did this all come down to her free will, or was it selfishness, her need to survive, that was drawing her like a moth to a flame?

  Larsa walked towards the queen; with every pace she took towards the poor creature in the centre of the room, she felt her humanity shrink inside her like a dying star. Could this actually be happening to me? I’m about to become a murderer.

  ‘You have chosen wisely,’ said Jaquzan, watching her walk towards him, her movements revealing her choice to kill, rather than to save a life.

  ‘I haven’t got a choice; you’re forcing me to do this.’

  ‘Am I? There is no one holding the dagger but you.’

  ‘I know she’d do the same for her people if she was in my position.’

  ‘Or maybe she wouldn’t – maybe her choice would be to save you.’

  Larsa’s hands shook. She tried to stop them by bringing the weapon closer to her chest, as if to reassure herself about what she was doing. Whatever happened, she knew she had to remain calm; it was the only way she could give the queen a quick and painless death – she deserved that at the very least. Larsa knew if she hesitated while committing this act of cruelty, the blade might not reach its mark, causing both of them yet more agony and trauma.

  ‘One life for a thousand others – just one life to save so many,’ said Larsa quietly, looking at the Queen of Persia, her neck still tilted back like the dazed animal she had become. Larsa was thankful that her face was partially hidden beneath a linen smock; at least it would hide the agony from her. She stopped in front of the queen. At first Larsa felt as if the dagger was stuck to her chest. She could not move it away, her hands were clenched so tightly around its steel grip. Then, summoning all her courage, she slowly moved it away and pressed the cold metal against the queen’s unflinching throat. Larsa knew she would never forgive herself for this act. By killing the queen, she was killing her own innocence and damning herself to a life of eternal guilt.

  ‘I’m so sorry, but I have no choice. I have to do this, I have to save my people. I know you’d do the same,’ she said softly, her hand shaking. It seemed to those gathered that there was no chance she could give her victim a clean kill. Larsa was ready to use the sharp knife, and she took a deep breath. Just as she was about to glide her hand across the queen’s neck Jaquzan did something which made her realise just how cruel he truly was.

  ‘Everybody deserves to see the face of their killer, even a woman locked in madness,’ said Jaquzan as he stepped in, the better to watch his sadistic charade unfold. He pulled back the hood of the queen’s linen smock. Now, the two women could see each other. Their eyes locked.

  ‘Forgive me,’ said Larsa, trembling uncontrollably. Strangely, the Queen of Persia gave a small nod, as if to indicate that she was at peace with the prospect of being killed by her. She gave Larsa a look at once resigned and determined, as if she was desperate to die and be put out of her misery. It made Larsa hesitate for a second, until she gathered her courage again.

  ‘Now end her life, so you can set your people free,’ said Jaquzan.

  ‘Freedom can never be born of compulsion; my people deserve better than that, and so does she,’ said Larsa. She threw the dagger onto the floor. It was the reaction Jaquzan had anticipated, and only now did Larsa realise it. Jaquzan had proven his point: her humanity was her greatest gift and her curse. It was a lesson she would never forget. The emperor watched her step back. As she did so, he picked up the dagger and without hesitation he slid the knife across the queen’s neck, slitting her throat and ending her life in seconds. Larsa gave a heart-wrenching scream; the queen slumped sideways, her muscles in seizure, until eventually she was still. All the while, her eyes remained open and fixed on Larsa, as if wanting to commit to memory the face that possessed the last traces of humanity left in the world …

  20

  For some people, dreams have a way of uplifting their soul in difficult times, but for others they act only as a reminder of things that have been lost. If they are not careful, a dream which once fuelled hope and happiness can destroy them, poisoning their mind with bitterness and regret, until eventually it kills them. Everything that Marmicus had dreamt of was now gone: the prospect of becoming a father and being loved eternally by his loyal wife had been taken away. There was simply no pleasure left in the world to taste or to feel; all that was left was the knowledge that his life would never be filled with beauty again. The enemy’s plan had worked; Jaquzan had pierced his heart with one merciless blow, and there was nothing in the world that could ever restore it.

  Marmicus sat alone in his thick-walled chamber. He hadn’t spoken to or seen anyone for days, and his face was pale and almost unrecognisable. Underneath his eyes were dark circles; his face was dirty and unshaven and his body noticeably thinner. The old Marmicus had disappeared; all that was left was a skeleton of his former self, a reflection of a desolate man in need of comfort. Every time he breathed, a choking sense of guilt wrapped itself around his throat, squeezing him until he could no longer bear it. Sometimes he would bursts into fits of rage. Marmicus had never felt
so much hatred before, but his real torture came at night. Since learning about the princess’s death, he had had the same dream every night: she was standing in the middle of a battlefield, calling out to him, desperately needing him to come and save her from the army behind her, but every time Marmicus ran to her, she appeared to be further away. Her pleas grew louder, her lungs gasping with hopeless breaths, but Marmicus never got to her in time. His nightmare would always end in the same way: with a vision of her body lying lifeless on the ground, her arm broken, her eyelids blue and swollen and her nose broken and bloodied. She had been beaten to death while Marmicus watched helplessly from a distance.

  ‘How can I forget the first moment I saw you and your pendant, sweet Larsa?’ Marmicus whispered, clutching the royal pendant of Ishtar as if cradling his memories in his hands. The eight-pointed star shimmered brilliantly in his hands like the soft ripples of light scattered by the Tigris river. Pressing his lips against it Marmicus gently kissed the pendant, cherishing its scent, this tender act speaking of his desire to protect it from harm.

  The doors creaked open, and a slender woman entered, rather hesitantly. Sulaf was immediately struck by the Gallant Warrior’s change in appearance. She had never seen Marmicus look like this. She didn’t recognise him at first.

  ‘Leave me – I am in no mood for company.’

  He began to sharpen his sword, using a rough stone that shot fiery sparks into the air. The dark circles under his eyes became even more obvious as the bright flashes of light illuminated his face. ‘Why are you still standing here? I told you to leave!’

  ‘I’ve come for the sake of the people; they fear for your well-being and so do I.’

  Marmicus burst into laughter, like a madman, though his eyes remained intense. He was a completely different person, someone by whom Sulaf actually felt unnerved.

  ‘When have the people ever feared for my well-being? They’re afraid for themselves and their wretched possessions, not for me or anyone else.’

  ‘Why are you saying such things? Your people love you deeply! If you wished it, they’d carve your name in stone and worship you as a god.’

  ‘Then they’re fools.’

  He continued to sharpen his weapon, ever more vigorously; it was the only way he could take out his frustration without risking harm to others.

  ‘What’s happened to you? Where’s the man I once knew and loved?’

  ‘He’s dead. Now go and tell the people that. Let’s see if they truly mourn for me or for themselves.’

  ‘Why are you tormenting yourself like this? You had no control over what happened. The gods give and take life; we can only submit to their will and pray for their blessings.’

  ‘Then I’ll wage a war against the gods and set men free from their tyranny; at least that way we won’t blame them for the bitterness of our destinies.’

  ‘If we don’t win this war, the hearts of men won’t belong to the gods, they’ll belong to Jaquzan.’

  Sulaf walked away angrily. It was the first time she had seen Marmicus behave like this. Although it was understandable for him to grieve, she did not expect him to turn away from the honourable code by which he had always lived.

  She turned at the door. ‘What’s happened to you? If you had any respect for yourself, you would put down that weapon. Tonight you have chosen not to honour it.’

  Marmicus continued to sharpen his sword, as if she had not spoken.

  ‘Are you willing to sacrifice everything because of the death of one woman you have loved and lost? What about the lives of thousands of others who love you? They will die in the same way if you stand by and do nothing, or do their lives have no value to you? Have they lost their worthiness to be protected?’

  ‘I told you to leave me.’

  ‘I won’t go; not until the man I once knew returns to me,’ Sulaf said. Rushing to him, she placed her hand on the sharpened blade, momentarily forcing him to pause. It was an act of bravery; Marmicus looked up, giving credit where it was due. ‘Many people have loved and lost; remember that you can always live once more and love once again.’

  ‘I don’t care about love. Vengeance is all I want; without it I have nothing.’

  ‘Then fight for your vengeance: murder, destroy everyone who has aggrieved you, and avenge the death of anyone you have loved! All we ask of you is to save this kingdom when war comes. Then, once you have taken your vengeance, return to me, for within me you shall always find the love you need.’

  ***

  The funeral chariot bearing the body of the princess entered the Garden of the Gods, and with it came an eruption of mourning. Crowds from all over the kingdom had gathered, all of them coming to pay their last respects to a princess who was dearly loved by her people. No one could have anticipated that such a tragedy would occur so soon, for it had only been a month since her father, King Alous, had died. Today the kingdom had been left with no ruler to lead the people in troubled times or comfort them when in need.

  ‘By the grace of the gods, I think our plan has worked,’ whispered King Nelaaz as he followed the royal procession to the magnificent Temple of Ishtar. His knees began to hurt; he was not used to walking. He much preferred being carried by his servants, but in these circumstances it seemed inappropriate.

  ‘I knew it would, Your Majesty; gold always deceives the eyes.’

  ‘Yes, but the question is, will it deceive Marmicus? What if he recognises that it’s not her? What are we supposed to do then? Give him a pile of bones and apologise for our mistake?’

  ‘We are favoured by the gods; they will make it work.’

  ‘It had better work! I’ve not spent my entire kingdom’s fortune on one servant girl for nothing. Who would ever have imagined that my servant’s death would outshine my own? I think the gods have made a habit of cursing me these days.’ The king had spared no expense in attempting to conceal the young woman’s true identity: it was either that or reveal the dangerous truth, that the princess – so they all believed – had been barbarically raped and mutilated in the desert, and that his army had not been there to protect her.

  ‘Look at how the people mourn her, Your Majesty; she was clearly loved by them all,’ said the advisor in astonishment. He had never seen such an outpouring of grief and love in all his life; the only reaction King Nelaaz ever received from his people was abuse. He would not be surprised if King Nelaaz’s death led to celebrations in the streets of Aram. Here, the sense of loss was palpable.

  ‘Yes, yes, I can see that they loved her; there’s no need to rub it in.’

  The chariot halted in front of the colossal Temple of Ishtar, and a thick fog of aromatic musk poured out from the gigantic entrance like a cloud of grief sent from the heavens. People threw rose petals and lilies at the casket as final sentiments of affection, for this would be the last time they would see her body before it was buried. But there was one woman among the crowd who did not mourn or shed a tear for the princess; instead, Sulaf watched and secretly rejoiced, a faint smile showing beneath her veil. Now that Larsa was dead, there was nothing to stop her from claiming Marmicus’s heart. She had always loved him. Finally his heart has been set free, Sulaf thought, as she coldly tossed some petals onto the slab of gold. I shall make you love me and, once you do, I shall help you bury your memories of the princess beneath the earth, beside her wretched body.

  21

  The Grand Priest of Ursar walked out of the Temple of Ishtar to be greeted by a crowd of thousands. He waved to them as if he were their newly appointed king; as if, now that the princess had died, he had become their divine ruler. He was the head of the Counsel, and so by default their ordained leader. Few loved him; even so, their allegiance to the Counsel remained firm – nothing could put him in disrepute. Marmicus watched him from the palace balcony; even from there he could see the Grand Priest’s lust for power. If Marmicus was not careful, he would have more than a war on his hands.

  ‘Bring forth the eight sacred rams!’ yelled the Gr
and Priest of Ursar over the drums. The animals were brought, and each was positioned around the majestic funeral chariot; together they formed the shape of an eight-pointed star, representing the symbol of Ishtar.

  ‘With every curse there comes a blessing. Oh, Ereshkigal, Lady of the Underworld, we offer you these eight sacred rams as a sacrifice in your name. Let their slaughter hasten a blessing on our kingdom so that our moons will be eclipsed no further. Let their blood quench your thirst for taking further life from our lands. With their beating hearts, we offer you our own, and with their blood, we ask you to free the princess’s soul to the afterlife, where she belongs. Today the Garden of the Gods mourns the loss of a ruler, but tomorrow we shall celebrate the birth of a new ruler from among the Counsel. Let this be the blessing born of our collective loss.’

  He placed a sharp butcher’s knife upon the throat of a restive ram. It struggled against the ropes that bound its legs. The poor creature’s eyes were wide open, almost popping out. Suddenly, the Grand Priest of Ursar plunged the knife into the animal’s throat, causing it to let out a strangled bleat before its head sunk slowly to the ground. The act had officially sent the princess’s soul into the afterlife. Marmicus fell to his knees in his private chamber; for him, the only blessing was that there was no one to watch him break down.

  ***

  The young Priest of Xidrica looked at the chamber door for a moment. Hesitantly, he knocked, and waited for a while, hoping that Marmicus would let him in, but there was no answer. Taking the initiative, he decided to enter. No one had seen Marmicus for days; the whole kingdom had gathered to say their farewells to the princess at her funeral, and it seemed that the only person missing from the ceremony was Marmicus. The young priest knew Marmicus wanted to be left alone. All his servants had been sent away, food had always been sent back, and so too had kings who had come to pay their respects to the grieving widower. Somehow the young priest felt he would not be treated like that; they shared a special understanding that was like a brotherly bond.