Daemons of Garaaga (Children of Garaaga)

by Paul E. Cooley

  Once home, he had taken to the pallet, meditating and healing. If not for feeding so much with Ishtal, Golnath might have seriously injured him.

  "The world is a violent place," Ama had told him. "You will find those that would hurt you. Some you will have wronged through accident, some intentionally. But regardless of justice, some will attack. This is why you must learn to fight. And when you are hurt, little one," she said, "you will learn to draw power from your hunger."

  The pain in his body had ceased some time ago, leaving instead the lingering want of her touch. Ishtal. He wanted to see her again, to feel her once more.

  Drimesh closed his eyes. The vision of her painted breasts heaving over him, the sounds of her chanting the goddess' name again and again as they climaxed together, made his body rigid.

  After they'd coupled the third time and embraced side by side, Drimesh had peered into her brown eyes. He'd stared for a long time.

  In a tired voice, she'd asked him what was wrong. Drimesh had shaken his head. "Nothing, priestess. Nothing is wrong."

  "Then why do you stare?"

  "Do you know the word timeless? Do you know what it means?"

  "Yes," she had mumbled, dragging her nails down his back.

  "You are timeless, as am I."

  "You're timeless?"

  "More than you would believe."

  She'd nodded and kissed him. "Then you have been with a servant of Ishtar before."

  "No." He'd stroked a lock of hair from her cheek. "I have never been with anyone like you before."

  She'd smiled. "Why do you say that?"

  "I--" He'd searched for the words. Ama would have known how to say it, to put the syllables together in a way that made sense. "I feel you. In my mind."

  "You feel Ishtar's presence," she'd whispered. Her hand had grasped his manhood once more, fingers clenching and unclenching. He'd closed his eyes and panted. "But tonight, you are mine. Mine."

  With that, the coupling had resumed.

  Every time she brought him to climax, the world had turned crimson with starlight. Garaaga's visage had not shown itself, but he had felt it. It wanted to drain the priestess. He had been too frenzied not to take whatever she had to give. And whenever he'd thought they were done, she'd started it all over again.

  He'd felt her mind in his, her thoughts swirling into his ecstasy, becoming one with him.

  Drimesh rose from his bed. His dress tunic hung on the wall. It was stained orange from the clay dust and ripped in several places. He drew in a deep breath and let it hiss through his teeth.

  His money pouch was still full enough, but he'd have to visit Mardahaga earlier than he'd counted on. He paused. The idea of bedding her made him cringe. Ishtal had meant...

  Drimesh shook his head, clothed himself, and walked out of the house and into the morning air.

  Golnath had surprised him earlier, caught him unawares and confused. As Drimesh strode down the clay street, he wondered how the giant man would have reacted had Drimesh thrown him as easily as he would a pebble. What would Golnath's face have looked like if he'd performed the change, shown the face of his hunger? Would the large man have cried out in fear just before Drimesh tore him to pieces?

  The air was thick with the smell of sizzling fish and roasted vegetables. He inhaled the scent and his stomach rumbled. But her scent lingered. He sighed.

  The clothiers wouldn't yet be open. But he'd have his morning meal among the rich, visit the clothier, and then... Drimesh smiled. He'd wait until nightfall and visit the temple of Ishtar.

  9

  The river refreshed him. He swam against the current as fast as he could. After purchasing a new tunic, he'd traveled back to his house, more than a few shekels impoverished for the trip.

  On a whim, he'd also purchased a lapis necklace. The quality was inferior to what the old man sold at his booth on market day, but it would have to do. The cuff hadn't managed to survive a single evening with Ishtal. The new piece would have to last until he saw Nerghur again.

  Waiting for night to fall was excruciating. His body still thrummed with the memory of Ishtal's touch and taste. A swim was what he needed to make the time pass and wear himself out so he could sleep until early evening.

  The idea of washing off her scent bothered him, but he didn't know how else to spend the time. Besides, Ama had taught him to be clean, a regimen he'd always followed.

  He didn't know how long he'd been in the river. As he lay on his back, floating downstream toward the olive grove, he noticed the position of the sun. It was much lower in the sky than it had been when he'd jumped into the green water.

  A boat moved past him, the sail ruffling in the wind. Another merchant traveling south for Lothal, or to the Babylonian docks. The men spoke in Akkadian to one another, their northern accents thick enough to be almost indecipherable. Drimesh smiled as one of the men waved to him.

  The olive grove where he'd left his clothes was in sight now. A small, white-robed man sat upon the bank. Drimesh frowned.

  He flipped over and dove beneath the water. He used a little of the power Ishtal had given him, heightening his strength. The water seemed to part before him as he palmed and kicked. Within a moment he was near the bank.

  Drimesh leaped upwards and landed on the clay bank within a few lengths of the man.

  The interloper cried out, hands covering his face.

  "Hello," Drimesh said.

  "Don't hurt me!" the man yelled.

  Drimesh cocked an eyebrow. "I am sorry, sir. I didn't mean to frighten you."

  The man pulled his hands from his face and tugged at his beard. "Yes, yes, of course," the man said.

  "I am Drimesh."

  "I know," said the small man.

  "How do you--"

  "The old man told me about you."

  "You are friends with him?"

  The man nodded. "He asked me to give you a message."

  "What is your name?"

  "I am Talnor." The man bowed. "I am from the south."

  "Ur?"

  Talnor nodded. "I trade with the old one, taking his trinkets there to sell."

  "Why did the old man send you instead of coming himself?"

  "He is shifty. He doesn't like leaving his desert for anything, and he hates the city."

  "Yes," Drimesh laughed. "That he does. What is your message?"

  "The tribes know you're here."

  Drimesh frowned. "Is that it?"

  "Yes," Talnor nodded, "that is all."

  "He sent you all this way, and that's all he said?"

  Talnor shrugged. "He is old. He is strange."

  "Yes." Drimesh walked to his tunic, and dressed himself. The money bag was still affixed, still closed. "Tell me, Talnor," Drimesh said as he turned, "would you care to join me for evening meal?"

  The younger man smiled. "I had meant to stay the night," he said. "It is a long journey back."

  Drimesh patted the small man's shoulder. "Then let's get back to the city. You can spend the night in my house. Any friend of the old man's is a friend of mine."

  10

  Talnor finished the leg of lamb and gave a hearty belch. Drimesh laughed, thanking him for his blessing. The young man replied by taking another draught of beer. Once they had entered the city, Drimesh had purchased a slaughtered lamb, and set about to cook the evening meal while they talked.

  According to Talnor, Ur had fallen further into confusion. The tribes of Abraham were causing more and more problems. In the desert outside the city, Seers had been found hanged or stoned to death. The great ziggurat was still safe, as the local governor had pushed more and more soldiers into the streets to ensure the worshippers' safety.

  But the citizens now walked in fear. The symbol of Abraham's tribe had been carved into walls and even into the side of some of the temples. Anyone found carving the symbol was to be executed. According to Talnor, a few tribe members had already suffered that fate.

  Talnor drained his mug. Drimesh refilled
it. "Any idea why this started?"

  The younger man shrugged. "Their number is growing. They mostly keep to the desert beyond Ur and I have never had any problems in trading with them. But some of the young men have become fanatics."

  Yes, the fanatics, he thought. They had driven him from Ur and killed his mother. "What is it they say? Do not worship false gods?"

  "False gods," Talnor agreed. "Yaweh is the only god allowed. Man shall not lie down with man. Murder is against god, yet they seem to have no problem killing Seers."

  "The tribes of Abraham will be very sorry should they travel to Babylon. There are more gods here than stars in the sky."

  Talnor laughed. "You lived in Ur, so you know it's the same there."

  "Or course, but here there are more temples, more worshippers."

  "I don't think the tribes of Abraham will try and extend their reach to Babylon. Hammurabi would have them all executed."

  Drimesh finished his beer. "Yes. Yes, he would. And if not him, then the worshippers would."

  "I remember when I was a child, no one fought over their gods. The priestesses were always there to convert, but never through fear."

  "Yes."

  "Perhaps I should move my family to Babylon," Talnor chuckled. "I can just imagine my wife and daughters in awe of all the people."

  "You told all this to the old man? About Ur, I mean."

  Talnor nodded. "He was very emphatic I speak to you at once."

  Drimesh smiled. "Thank you for your message," he bowed. "And your journey."

  "Thank you for the feast."

  The window was dark. Drimesh had lost time while cooking and talking with Talnor. For a few hours, he'd managed to forget about Ishtal and the temple. But now...

  "Would you like to rest now, my friend?"

  Talnor belched again and laughed. "You have sated me." He took another gulp of beer. "I think sleep is exactly what I need."

  Drimesh smiled. "Please take my pallet. My home is yours."

  "You are too kind," Talnor said.

  "Not at all."

  Drimesh rose from the table and showed Talnor to his room. "As it happens," Drimesh said as he pulled his new dress tunic from the wall, "I have business in the city."

  "This late at night? You must tell what business you're in."

  "Nothing savory, I assure you," Drimesh said with a leer.

  The younger man laughed. "Handsome man like you, prowling the streets. There should be laws against it."

  "Should be," Drimesh agreed. He shuffled out of his day tunic, covering himself quickly with the new blue and gold set.

  Talnor walked to the window and stared out into the night. "I have never spent a night in this part of Babylon. When do people actually sleep?"

  "Whenever they want," Drimesh said. "Please, Talnor. Take your rest."

  The younger man took off his sandals. "Are you certain I won't be--"

  "You won't be in the way. I'll sleep on the floor when I come in, and try not to wake you."

  "Thank you again, Drimesh."

  Drimesh smiled. "Get some rest."

  He walked from the room, blowing out the lamp as he did. Except for the single lamp left burning in the kitchen, the house was dark as pitch. Sounds of people walking and talking out on the streets traveled through the small window. Drimesh took a deep breath, and headed into the night.

  11

  The temple of Ishtar was busy. The courtyard was filled with priestesses dancing and chanting. Drimesh watched their exposed bellies and breasts jiggle in the torchlight.

  Men, and some women, stood in a circle ringing the beautiful, lapis adorned dancers. He looked for Ishtal among their number, but she was absent from the throng.

  He had heard tales of the dance. Leading up to the spring equinox, the priestesses invited the worshippers to join in a frenzy to spur the land's fertility.

  Until Ishtal, he had no interest in the temple of Ishtar or her worshippers. Watching the women writhe like snakes, holding their breasts and then sliding their hands down to touch their womanhood before rising again, was hypnotic. The hunger tingled in his loins.

  If Ishtal had been among them, dancing like that...

  His mind filled with images of her naked breasts above his face, her lips pursed in pleasure as she rode him. The feeling of touching bottom within her, his manhood slick with her blessing, her whispered incantations mixing with the sounds of panting and moaning...

  Drimesh shook the images away. He scanned the crowd, but didn't see Golnath either. That, at least, was a good sign. Hopefully the eunuch was performing a ceremony elsewhere.

  A man in the circle raised his hand. A priestess among the dancing group ceased wriggling and bowed her head. She marched forward, her hand outstretched. The man, staring with lust, gave his hand to her. The two left the crowd in silence, heading toward the dwellings outside the courtyard.

  As if emboldened by the pair, other men and women in the crowd raised their hands. One by one, the priestesses selected those they wished to bless. Each pair headed off to the side and toward the huts.

  The remnants of the ring of onlookers broke apart. Some headed toward stone benches, waiting their turn. Others left the courtyard altogether. Golnath was still nowhere to be seen. Drimesh saw the other eunuch that had been with Ishtal at the river. Drimesh walked toward him.

  The priest, adorned with a lapis necklace and cuff, stood near the temple stairs. His arms were crossed against his large chest. He looked at Drimesh with disinterest.

  "Pardon me, Priest," Drimesh said in Akkadian.

  The man stared at him, but said nothing. Drimesh switched to Babylonian. "Can you speak, sir?"

  The eunuch nodded.

  "Where is the priestess Ishtal?"

  The man smiled and pointed toward the huts. Drimesh felt a pang of anger. He bowed and started toward the area outside the courtyard.

  The moonlight was not as bright as the night before, but the clay path was easy to follow. Drimesh made his way past the clay huts, trying to ignore the sounds of coupling. The breeze lifted a purple cloth covering an open window.

  He glanced through it. A priestess was on her knees as a fat jowly man bucked and rode her from behind. His eyes were closed, lips pursed in his efforts. The priestess moaned in time with his thrusts. Drimesh looked away.

  A high-pitched moan caught his attention. He stopped, cocking his head to listen. The moan came again. Another swell of anger flushed his cheeks. It was Ishtal.

  He stepped carefully down the path to the hut he had lain in last night. A crimson cloth covered the window. The sound of grunting and moaning was louder now. The anger was building. Drimesh tugged at the corner of the cloth and stared inside.

  Ishtal's legs were splayed wide. A naked man sat on his knees, thrusting into her with long strokes. Her head was thrown back, mouth open, eyes staring into nothing. One hand was laced around the man's waist, the other gyrated up and down against her mons, tapping in time with his thrusts.

  Drimesh's eyes flashed crimson. He loosed part of his hunger, letting its teeth flow through the air and into the small hut. Ishtal's hand stopped its motion. She looked straight at him, her face a mask of confusion. "Drimesh?" she asked in a choked voice.

  The man thrusted faster. Ishtal's body moved in time. She opened her mouth to speak, but closed her eyes as the man groaned and fell atop her. Drimesh shook his head, let the cloth fall back into place, and turned to leave.

  A priestess stood a few feet behind him, wiping sweat from her breasts. "Are you here to worship?"

  "I was," Drimesh muttered and walked past her.

  He ground his teeth in anger as he tried to wipe away the image of the brute coupling with her, instead of him. "Nothing but a common whore," he whispered.

  He walked through the courtyard. The priestesses were returning to the circle, choosing from the leftover worshippers. He didn't bother looking at them.

  "Drimesh," a low voice called. Golnath, the large eunuch pri
est, stood near the throng. "Did you get what you came for?" The man's grin was malevolent.

  Drimesh said nothing and resumed walking past the crowd and into the streets beyond.

  12

  The city streets were quiet. Drimesh had walked from one end of Babylon to the other, barely noticing those he passed. The vision of Ishtal, her mouth open and moaning in pleasure, would not leave him.

  He wondered what she thought when his hunger touched her and she saw him standing there. Did she see the anger in his face? The disappointment? The revulsion?

  Drimesh made his way to Mardahaga's and stopped outside her door. His heart beat fast in his chest and his stomach burned. He raised his fist to the door and stopped. The anger he'd felt since he'd visited the temple had subsided, leaving him empty save for hunger and sadness.

  Ishtal was a whore. Nothing more than a whore. Her words the night before had been simple, vacuous platitudes. She was nothing to him now.

  Mardahaga would have money. She would pay him. Where Ishtal had lit him within, Mardahaga would fill his purse. If she was feeling especially thankful, she might even impart enough coin for him to go two weeks without seeing her again.

  He took a deep breath and rapped his knuckles on the door.

  The pounding in his chest increased as moments passed without a response. He rapped again. He heard footsteps in the hallway beyond and stepped back from the threshold.

  Heriam, Mardahaga's slave, opened the door. She stared at him. "Did mistress send for you?"

  Drimesh shook his head. "No, but I wish to see her."

  The slave sighed and ushered him to the foyer.

  Heriam's best years were far behind her. In the flickering torchlight, it was easy for him to see the scars from whips and beatings across her shoulders and the burn mark on her neck. He'd never asked Mardahaga about Heriam, but he assumed the slave had been somewhat difficult in her youth or had an abusive master.

  "Wait here," she said and disappeared into the rear of the darkened house carrying a small stone lamp in her hands.