Daemons of Garaaga (Children of Garaaga)

by Paul E. Cooley

She stared into his gray eyes. Of all those in the market, his eyes and mind were completely closed to her. It was as if the man didn't really exist.

  "How much?"

  "One slice."

  "Nergur, how much?"

  He reached out and patted her shoulder. "One. Slice."

  She sighed. "Men."

  "We are fools for beauty," he said.

  She passed the slice to him. He dropped the silver into his purse. It clinked against many others. He wrapped the cuff in a piece of grey cloth and placed it in her basket.

  "Nergur?"

  "Madam?"

  "Have you been to Babylon?"

  He laughed. "Of course. I have been everywhere."

  "Is it beautiful?"

  He shrugged. "Small for now. It will get larger." He looked east toward the great ziggurat. "Sin may be an important god here, but there will be more temples in Babylon than Ur has ever dreamed of having." He looked back at her. "This drought could be Ur's final gasp."

  "No," she said. "The cycle. We are in it again."

  "You're probably right. Ignore an old man who's bent on doom."

  "Where will you go next?"

  "Probably back to Babylon," he said. "I have other business there."

  A cheer rose from the northern corner of the courtyard. Children shouted and clapped. She turned to look, but saw only bodies.

  "That will be the fools," he sighed. "Can't imagine anyone but me doing acrobatics in this heat."

  "Fools?"

  "I saw them last night as they came in. A whole troupe of them."

  Ama laughed. "If they came here, they must be desperate for coin."

  "It is the same in Babylon, my lady. There's always more money than fresh food. Perhaps they perform for fruit."

  "If they aren't entertaining, they may get some thrown at them."

  Nergur's smile widened. He smelled of lamb, olive oil, and onions. "They should be so lucky."

  "Are you returning for Name Day?"

  Nergur shook his head. "I don't wish to watch the king parade his self-importance."

  Ama laughed. Nergur grinned.

  "Besides, I have other appointments."

  She wiped sweat from her brow and stared at Nergur.

  "What?"

  "You never sweat."

  Nergur raised an eyebrow. "No, I don't seem to."

  "I wonder," Ama whispered, "if you are made of smoke."

  Nergur smiled. "Never tell your secrets."

  "Or else they're not secrets," she said, finishing the saying.

  He bowed. "Just so."

  She nodded. "I think it's time for me to go."

  "Until we meet again," Nergur said.

  "Stay safe and prosperous."

  "And you as well."

  She turned and headed back into the throng. Even from within the basket's confines, the lapis made it easier to keep focus. Between that and the heat, she felt exhausted.

  Name Day was just a few sunrises away. By the end of the week, Ur would be filled with outlanders. Some would be entertainers. Others would be merchants. The rest would be thieves.

  Perhaps among them she'd find a man, if only for a night. Then she could search in leisure for her next. She grinned as she walked from the marketplace. "Or woman," she whispered.

  3

  It was a long walk to the river. Her feet were uncomfortably warm even with sandals on her feet. The sun made the sand a blinding orange.

  When she reached the river's edge, she slid off her clothes and stepped into the cool water. She ducked her head for a moment, eyes closed, allowing the water to soak her every pore. She rose and looked upstream. No one was visible. No boats, no people.

  With the drought, the river level had dropped enough to make the area all but impassable to even the smallest merchant craft. The olive trees lining the shoreline were withered and unhealthy.

  The cycle of drought and flood, fertility and death, continued unabated. The drought might last another day or another year. The weather was uncaring and unforgiving.

  Those fools can pray to whatever gods they like, but they'll get no answer, Hela, her mother, had once said. There are no gods listening to man. Why should they care?

  Ama grimaced at the memory. Her mother had been hunched over the body of a robber, picking his pockets. The man had accosted them in an alleyway, demanding their money.

  Hela had looked at her daughter and then at the shirtless thief. The man's long, grimy hair was braided tightly and he smelled of trash. His eyes glittered with malevolence.

  "Ama?" her mother had said without breaking her stare with the man, "watch closely."

  "Give me," the thief hissed.

  Ama had stared up at her mother and watched. Her normally blue eyes began to glow, but her smile remained. "I have no money to give, sir." Hela stepped forward toward the man, arms by her sides. "But I have something else." She licked her lips. "Do you want it?"

  The thief's face wrinkled in confusion. Ama watched as the man's loincloth began to bulge. "I--" He took an unsure step toward her, a long sliver of drool sliding from the corner of his mouth.

  "But not yet," Hela said. She raised her hands and rubbed them against her breasts. She moaned. "First, I want to watch you."

  The robber's free hand lowered and slid beneath his loincloth. The man sighed as he stroked himself. His eyes fluttered.

  "Yes," Hela said.

  Ama had not yet reached womanhood, but she felt the waves of pleasure as the man's fingers did their work. Her mother seemed to drink them in with a deep hunger. Hela's fingers touched her loins.

  The man's heartbeat was a distant tribal drum, her mother's slow and rhythmic like the crashing of waves. The robber's breath chuffed from between his spit-slick lips. His hand moved faster and faster. Ama felt it then, a sharp tug where her legs met. She shuddered.

  Hela walked forward to the man and placed her hands on his shoulders. The man threw his head back and moaned. As Ama watched, crimson light seemed to pass between him and her mother. The man's skin crackled and stretched taught.

  His loincloth unraveled and revealed his erect member clenched between dirty fingers. The man continued stroking himself, his hand moving faster and faster. With a throaty cry, he spilled his seed upon the trash littered ground.

  Hela sighed. "So soon?"

  The man said nothing. She moved aside and Ama winced.

  The robber had been relatively young, perhaps just a few years removed from manhood. But his hair had turned white and deep lines of age had sprouted on his face. His eyes were sunken.

  Her mother turned to her. "So fragile," she whispered. "Do you see?"

  Ama said nothing.

  Hela shrugged and turned back to the man. His moans were soft and guttural. She leaned in and kissed him. The man's body glowed for a moment and then thumped upon the ground. Hela stood over him.

  "Ama? Come here."

  She shuffled forward, eyes to the ground. When she reached her mother's side, she felt Hela's delicate fingers grasp her hand.

  "Look at him."

  Ama did. The naked corpse lay on its back. The man's face was stuck in a blissful grimace, eyes wide and cataract glazed. He was as withered as a raisin, shrunken, as though all life had been drained from him.

  "They live but for us," Hela had spat. "They are your herd, daughter. And if they threaten you, deal with them accordingly."

  Ama moved through the water like a fish. She had taught herself to swim and to bathe. Her mother didn't believe in swimming and had only occasionally bathed. Hela had considered humanity filth and as long as she had to consort with them, she would be as them.

  She kicked her legs in the water, enjoying the sounds of her feet slapping against the water. Her long hair flowed like a dark shroud as she dipped beneath the water. A fish bumped against her and she smiled.

  One day, that fish might provide her a meal, or perhaps feed a starving family, or feed an animal that would. The cycle was everywhere--fertility a
nd death.

  Ama rose above the water and swam against the current. Her muscles were fully awakened. She moved faster, water spraying behind her in a wake.

  At last, she rolled over on her back and floated. The gentle current pushed against her. She opened her eyes and stared at the bright, lapis lazuli sky.

  Nergur's face drifted in her mind. The lapis man. If he's a man at all, she thought.

  Lapis was protection for the herd. Lapis allowed her the life she wanted, or at least provided contentment. Until she had a child, the safety of the herd was all that mattered.

  She closed her eyes once more and let the river carry her. The night ahead would be difficult. Market Day leading into a Name Day meant the celebrations would continue all week and until dawn. Once the heat broke, more people would crowd the square and the streets, drinking, enjoying the entertainment.

  The spirit would want to feed, eat its fill, and discard the waste. She frowned. Focus was becoming more difficult. If she wasn't careful, she'd end up like Hela, unable to control herself.

  Ama flipped over and dove. She dug her hands into the silty river bottom, feeling the soft, wet earth collapse through her fingers. She pushed off with her feet and popped to the surface. She looked at the shoreline. She was close to where she had started. With a smile, she slowly swam to the bank.

  She could see the high water mark etched into the lifeless bank's side. She lifted herself above the bank and onto the dusty ground. The grass was yellowed and dying and her bare feet crunched against the blades.

  Water still dripping from her naked body, she slid on her sandals and picked up her clothes. She walked back toward the city, allowing the dry heat to lick the moisture from her body before dressing. The great ziggurat rose in the distance. She wondered if the priestess would still be there, praying to the moon god for a respite.

  The gods have no need of man, her mother had said.

  Ama hoped Hela had been wrong.

  4

  A clear, star filled night gazed down upon the market square. Sin's thin crescent was rising in the sky. When it reached its apex, Market Day would be over and the week of Name Day celebrations would officially begin.

  The city was already filling with new arrivals from as far away as Babylon. Urdu-Kaga's second Name Day was rumored to be for the new canal. Although it had been dug, the low river level made it seem less than royal.

  Ama had watched the laborers dig with their hoes and shovels, rooting out the sandy, rocky earth to form the great trench. With the drought and the punishing sun, many had taken sick. Some later died from their exertions.

  The king was only in his second year as ruler of Ur and already the city was desperate for his reign to end. His first Name Day had not been a proclamation of gratitude or blessing for the city. Instead, he had named the day for himself.

  Although the celebration had been on par with others she had witnessed, the city people, especially those barely able to feed themselves, had made their displeasure known. Such selfish behavior was unbefitting a ruler. Some blamed the current drought on his arrogance.

  None dared jeer at the king in the open. Urdu-Kaga might be a fool, but he was as prone to violence as any other Ur ruler. But in the dark corners of taverns and inns, the peasants and merchant class were not above gossiping about their king.

  Ama stood at the foot of the great ziggurat and stared up the steep steps. From her vantage point, the waxing crescent moon hung just above the upper walls. In all the years she'd lived in Ur, she had yet to walk the steps.

  Some gods will take offense. Great offense, Hela had said. You are not of their world.

  Does that mean there are other gods?

  Hela had laughed.

  Garaaga is the only one you need fear, child. Gods are as the stars. Who knows how many there are?

  Which ones are real then?

  Does it matter? her mother had asked. Just be cautious, little one.

  Ama dared not touch a step, let alone place her hands on the gold filigreed base. The crescent sigil was carved into the gold all the way up the steps. The original rulers of Ur had had great reverence and spared little expense.

  The Sin faithful had maintained the structure for generations, replacing each broken piece of stone and repairing any damage from the great sandstorms or rains. New carvings of gold were applied for Name Days and the king's royal guard ensured no one desecrated the great temple.

  A shadowy figure moved into view at the top of the temple. The figure's head was elongated and misshapen. Ama nodded to herself. A headdress. It was either the head Priest or Priestess. Dressed in the holy robes, it was impossible to tell which.

  The shape seemed to bow to her. Ama shuddered and took a step back. The shadow walked out of view.

  She turned. Several of the royal guard stared at her. She bowed and then walked back through the temple gates and into the city proper.

  It was rare to see the streets frequented so late at night, but drunken revelers stumbled arm in arm. Ama slipped through the inebriated groups of men and headed toward the square.

  She had little difficulty maintaining focus-- the figure staring down at her from the temple had set her on edge. Why had the figure nodded to her? And why had she felt... Fear?

  Screams of laughter filled the air as she turned the corner. A stage had been set up at the far end of the square. Torches stood at either end, illuminating the raised platform.

  While she napped that afternoon, she'd heard the construction as the troupes of players, jesters, and singers put together their shared stage. The sound of hammer on wooden peg, furniture being dragged across wood, had echoed across the square.

  Market Day had broken early. Most of the hawkers realized the terrible heat and the coming celebrations would make for little trade. Perhaps the tradesmen had also decided joining the city in drunken revelry was more productive.

  A group of veiled women danced upon the stage. Oversized metals discs clanged as their fingers snapped together in time with their movements. A large man dressed in furry hides loped on all fours between the dancers. Yellow and red streaks of makeup gave him an impossibly huge smile. A crimson painted piece of wood was attached to his nose like a snout.

  As the dancers swayed their hips, the dog-man would travel from one to another, lifting up their dresses with his snout. The veiled women ignored his advances, save kicking him in the ass or stamping on his pawed hands without breaking their rhythm.

  The drunken crowd clapped and shouted. The dog-man howled in mock pain, but continued his rounds.

  As she watched the women dance, the drum beat increased. They swayed faster, hips gyrating, feet stamping, fingers a blur, the metal discs chiming in time. The dog-man strutted forward before them. The veiled dancers made space for him. The drumming ceased and the dancers froze in mid-step.

  The dog-man roared at the dumbstruck crowd before somersaulting backwards to his hands and then flipping over and over again. When he reached the back of the stage, he landed on his feet and raised his arms to the sky. Sin stood at its apex, a thin yellow crescent in the middle of a field of stars.

  "For Urdu-Kaga!" the dog-man shouted.

  The crowd burst into yells, whistles, and claps. The dog-man bowed as coins rained on the wooden platform. He bowed again and a cheer filled the square. He turned, fell forward and walked away on his hands.

  The dancers bowed as the onlookers tossed more slices and shekels. After their bow, they dropped to their hands and knees and stuffed their purses with the booty.

  Serving wenches walked through the crowd carrying trays of beer. The crowd quieted to a dull roar as they paid for refreshments.

  Ama stood at the back of the square. Waves of lust and excitement rolled over her. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. The sight of the women dancing, hips swaying and moving, had set her alight inside. The scent of male musk pummeled her senses. She fought the urge to slip a hand inside her robe.

  Another cheer rose from the cro
wd. Ama opened her eyes with a sigh. Three figures walked onto the stage cowled and robed in blue.

  The raucous crowd quieted as the three figures turned toward them and bowed in supplication. When they rose, each flipped back their heavy hoods and stared. The crowd loosed a collective gasp.

  Their faces were those of animals--a bird, a cat, and a snake. Ama squinted. She could tell, even from far back, that they wore masks, but there was something wrong just the same. The snake's eyes, for instance, seemed to glow.

  The figures reached into the pockets of their robes and produced sticks. They thrust them forward into the torches and set them ablaze. The crowd exploded into applause as they began to juggle.

  From her vantage point, the jugglers appeared to fling fire over their heads in great ovals. Their hands were blurs as they walked toward one another, stood in a line, and then broke again.

  The bird and cat walked in concentric circles around the snake. Fire continued to arc over their heads and then began to fly as the jugglers traded torches, all while stepping. The crowd roared and slices bounced on the stage from willing hands.

  Even without a drum beat to keep time, the jugglers' steps were as one. With the crowd noise, it was impossible to hear their bare feet as they moved on the stage. Ama watched in fascination as the snake walked toward the front of the stage and the others fell in line.

  The snake leaned forward and spread his legs. The cat, no longer juggling but holding his fiery charges, ripped the robe from the snake. The crowd hushed again as they stared at a naked, painted man.

  Tiny diamond scales of blue and green covered every inch of visible flesh. His dangling penis was tattooed with the same designs.

  The cat tore at its robes and they too fell to the stage. A thin, muscular woman with small breasts leered at the crowd from behind the mask. Black fur covered her naked body. She flung her burning sticks over top the snake man, leaped between his legs, and caught them on the other side, face turned toward the stars.

  With loping, crane-like steps, the bird moved to the side of the juggling snake. Holding its burning sticks in one hand, it pulled a knot at the robe's center. The fabric parted and fell.