Lords of Kur

By Christine Frost

In the Sumer-Akkad Federation, false oracles cultivate selfish ideologies that lead to widespread corruption and oppression. Neglected gods send emissaries to find true oracles and set a revolution in motion. Two friends become a force for change in the ancient heart of the federation--and both make perilous journeys that shape the course of history.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christine Frost
• Release date: Jun 11, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370937325

Christine Frost

Before finding her calling as a digital strategist, Christine Frost's nomadic career spanned beer and mead brewing, marketing for a record label, and book editing at a university. She received a master's in literature and creative writing from Harvard Extension School, and has written four novels, with several short stories appearing in journals and anthologies. An avid cook who has collected more recipes than she can cook in a lifetime, Christine blogs about how food is portrayed in fiction at SavoredWords.com. She loves to scout out the best coffee shops in Boston.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Shalaya

Shalaya danced as the ancients did. Her arms snaked around each other and stretched above her head. The music transformed her into liquid, and her hips circled as she swayed across the dance floor. She danced alone, as always, ignoring repeated requests for a partner. She didn’t see the musicians on stage, who hoped to catch her eye so they could invite her backstage for the afterparty. Shame that she hadn’t. The Itinerant Kings were her favorite band. Shalaya was unable to ignore the presence of one man, however. Club Ravensky’s owner, Sargon, placed himself in her path as she twirled to the sidelines of the dance floor as the song drifted toward its elegant coda. Their collision broke her trance. An embarrassed apology followed. He invited her to the bar for a glass of poppy wine.

She usually only drank poppy wine alone. The elixir produced an otherworldly creativity, especially when enhanced by a few drops of hash oil to create a drink known as abzu, the deep waters, named after the home of the god of wisdom, Enki. The lure of the mysteries offered by the elixir was irresistible.

She stood at the bar, swirling the long-stemmed glass. She became lost in the laps of the hazy green liquid until a reckless spin created a wave that splashed over the side. Shalaya blushed and let the glass alone, but her hands still sought mischief to soothe her rattled nerves. The collision was bad enough, but with him—he was too important and too handsome to be bothered with the likes of her. Or so she believed. She distracted herself by turning around to face the crowd. Her friends, Mesilim and Lili, sat at a tall black table. Bright with enthusiasm, they held hands and beamed at her.

While she smiled at her two-person audience, Sargon pulled a vial out of his jacket pocket and shook a couple of drops into the glass. When Shalaya turned her attention back to him, he sniffed at the glass. A good vintage. Five years old, he said.

She thanked him and took a sip. The green liquor loosened her spine and the vertebrae warmed as relaxation seeped in. The poppy wine returned her to the ecstasy of dancing alone, and Shalaya felt the subtle shift in the colors and music. She faded into a painting where the colors communicated through sound.

Shalaya no longer relied on the assurance of her friends. She dismissed the encounter with the club’s owner as being too good to be true as she scanned him from his black boots and jeans to the black shirt with mother-of-pearl buttons. Long black hair reached just below his shoulder blades. His manicured goatee accentuated his strong jaw and cheekbones. His dark eyes seemed to miss nothing. Named after an ancient king who founded the Sumer-Akkad empire, Sargon seemed worthy of a statue himself. Her eyes went from his silver hoop earring to a bracelet on his right wrist. Seven garnet and onyx stones dotted the bracelet. Each temple had its own pattern, and she didn’t recognize this one. The signet ring he wore confirmed he was well out her league. The wealthy played as they willed, never faulted for their trysts. She wondered if that was why he opened Club Ravensky in the factory district—the lower-income area being more adventurous served as a playground for the rich hunters seeking to indulge their whims.

Shalaya stopped analyzing the situation as the poppy wine infused her senses with lush decadence, separating her from the coarseness of the world. Like staring at a painting too long, she lost focus and the meaning slipped away.

Shalaya’s imagination traveled down a solitary path. Her friends became frustrated with her when she slipped away. It was the reason why she indulged in poppy wine in the safety of solitude. She loved to drift alone in the depths of Enki’s sacred waters.

The destination of her fantasy’s flight was often the same. A spirit version of herself stood on a portico surrounded by columns on a tall hill overlooking a city. The sky flashed an unnatural shade of green. A voice thundered from the sky, yet she couldn’t hear the past well. Millennia separated the two points in time. The voice responding was familiar, but it was not hers. "Uda kur-shè edèen, uda kur-shè genamudè."

Sargon caught her by the arm. What did you say?

Wha-huh? I…I keep having dreams about an ancient city. It might even be Ur. I don’t know why, she said.

His stare grew sharper. What did you say?

"Uda kur-shè edèen, uda kur-shè genamudè."

Do you know what that means?

Shalaya shrugged. I think I heard it in a song. His glare cut through her lie and she blushed.

He appeared to be resisting the urge to give a lecture. Some spirit longed to be understood, and she knew it. It spoke from her heart since childhood. Only scholars studied the ancient texts. Modern Sumerian incorporated the various languages of the Akkadians, Elamites, and Amorites as the empire expanded into their territories over the ages. The evolution of the language made the ancient texts undecipherable to the public in the space age of the Federated States of Sumer-Akkad. The epics and hymns taught in schools were only the most common, and they were revised to meet the desires of the administration. What Shalaya quoted was from a rare text.

Shalaya was shuttled to the back of the club. A riptide of primordial sensations tugged at the edge of her consciousness. The iron grate closed before them and the elevator groaned as it rose. Her eyes curled into crescents as she smiled. To the top of the ziggurat? she asked.

You want the ceremonial marriage to the god? he asked.

If the ritual will tell me why I see what I see, Shalaya said. They don’t let me talk about it at the temple.

Don’t worry; I can help you, he said, taking her hand into his. She found the cool sensation of his firm grip comforting. A moving statue of the eponymous king, Sargon exuded authority and she didn’t question him.

The elevator lurched as the gears prepared to dock on the top floor of the converted factory. As the impact echoed around her, Sargon opened the iron gate and the sound of metal crashed around them. And here we are, he said.

What is this place? she asked.

I live here, he replied.

The big window in front of her provided a commanding view of the city-state of Ur. In the distance, the alabaster ziggurat dedicated to the patron deity, the moon god Nanna, was the most prominent structure in the city’s skyline. The temple was the only true home she ever known. She never had many chances to see the temple complex from a distance.

The layers of traffic were an endless blur of lights—the lifeblood of the city. Streams of air cars flew at regulated levels, depending on the purpose of the zones in each district, with the highways at the top on level three, and ground transportation was far below. The sky clouded over and the moon looked like an illuminated ship on stormy seas. The ancients believed the moon god Nanna traveled in a boat across the waters of space. Ships indeed traveled in space, on the way to mining colonies on the god Nergal’s red planet or into the asteroid belt that lay beyond.

The alabaster lights of Nanna’s temple pulsed. Shalaya wondered if the light came from the beacon at the top of the ziggurat or if she had imagined the rhythmic flickering. The wine eased her soul out of her body, and her soul sensed the liberation.

Beautiful, isn’t it? he asked.

That’s where I live. I grew up in the temple complex, she said.

Lord Nanna, may your light emanate across the land for all time, murmured Sargon.

Shalaya paused. She expected him to be jaded about religion like she was. He looked at her expectantly while she wondered what to do. "May your light warm the seven abzus, and plumb the inner workings of the gods, o prince of the moon."

Sargon nodded approvingly. Shalaya was reluctant to leave the window. The view of the city captivated her. Sargon guided her through the living space, which took up the entire top floor of the converted factory. It was an urban palace made for a dark, revolutionary prince. The onyx floors shimmered as the chandeliers blinked on high up among the steel beam rafters. They passed a dining table long enough to seat twenty people before walking under an elaborate arch carved to look like Inanna’s sacred huppalu tree, with lotus flowers enveloping the base of it on each side. Leafy branches met in the middle of the arch.

The carving is so intricate, she said. Her hand brushed the carved wood.

It’s made of ebony, he said.

They came to a broad room lined with black marble. The fireplace was a mosaic of turquoise, lapis lazuli, hematite, and obsidian. Several couches and comfortable chairs dotted the vast space. It was a sea of blues and black. With no warning, she was scooped up and placed on a wide couch. The solar system’s planets were frozen in time in a mural on the ceiling. Inanna’s sacred star from ancient times, the second planet in the solar system, appeared on both sides of the sun—one light with a black symbol, the the other black with a white symbol. If this was video art, I’d stare at it forever. She strained to make out the details of space. Galaxies and nebulae froze in time in the distance.

He gave her a glass of water while he prepared another drink. This time, she watched as drops of amber hash oil fell into the moss-colored drink. The sips of abzu burned even hotter than the one she had at the bar several floors below. The resulting effects were even more powerful. The intricate pattern on the ceiling became a blur to her. She struggled to respond to Sargon’s voice, but it was impossible. The undulating waves of crimson music from Club Ravensky diminished as the roar of the primordial wave washed over her consciousness. Unlatched, her soul fled into another era.

*****

She inhabited a smaller and more slender body. Her hair was bound in a bun held up by a headdress made of metal loops. Small gold stars from the loops clinked together as she raised her face to the sky. Aware that she inhabited another body from a distant time, Shalaya wondered if this person was distracted by the elaborate series of links and stars that made up the headdress. The stars were dotted with lapis lazuli. She stood at the top of the ziggurat. It was not the brightly lit structure Shalaya knew. The city was devoid of electricity and loud motors. The moist air smelled of clay and plants. She knew the room directly below her was the most sacred in the ziggurat—the ceremonial chamber for the high priestess and the patron god of the city. The high priestess despaired because the room had lacked the presence of the god for some time. Not necessarily for his lack of affection, but for what that absence meant.

Shalaya’s slender avatar ached with fear. Please, I beseech you, Nanna, tell me how you have been wronged!

The grey and green storm clouds flashed and thunder shook the ziggurat. The god’s voice pained her ears with furious resonance. The arrogance of your grandson destroyed your empire. The desecration of Enlil’s temple of Ekur when he sacked Nippur caused his downfall. We determined the dynasty of Naram-Sin shall be cursed.

Is there nothing I can do to appease you? The voice of the high priestess quavered.

Thunder crashed from the sky as an earthquake shook the massive temple. The walls cracked open and slid downward. The top of the ziggurat shook with the force of the earthquake. Akkad will be a ruin buried beneath the city’s former glory, so Enlil has decreed, the voice of the god declared. Until the time the tablet of destinies sees fit to release it from punishment.

Please spare me, beloved Nanna, the high priestess begged.

The dynasty must be destroyed, the voice said.

The body of the high priestess tumbled into a crevice as the walls fell away and the building collapsed in on itself. The depths of the void were infinite and devoured all. The world as she knew it vanished.

*****

Shalaya’s eyes fluttered open as her soul came crashing back to her own body. Her throat constricted and her heart pounded and she struggled to breathe. She blinked, realizing she lay on the couch alone, and he sat in a nearby chair. Do you remember? His voice was a distant rumbling, like thunder on the far horizon.

Shalaya nodded. The same vision comes to me again and again, but I’ve never remembered as much as I did this time. What did you do?

He smiled. I merely opened the door for you.

What door? She could not hide the alarm from her voice. She tried to sit up, but Sargon continued to pacify her with delicate caresses.

The door to the past, he said, sitting on the edge of the couch with his hands clasped together.

Just the past? she asked.

Sargon winked at her. You’re too perceptive.

I’m sorry, she said.

Don’t be. It only confirms I was right about you.

Right about what? she asked.

What do you think the dream means? he asked.

Shalaya tried to resist the urge to be flip, but his wink emboldened her. Is this a trick question? Maybe to measure my state of mind?

His fingertips traced a path from her temple and across her cheekbones. The tenderness created a meditative effect. Rarely touched, Shalaya was accustomed to flinching. Yet she drank his affection as parched land took in the nourishment of water.

Ever the cautious child, Shalaya struggled to keep her eyes on him. She read only kindness and curiosity. The abzu ran strong in her system and her fight to remain cautious ebbed.

He asked the question again as his fingertips crested on her forehead, drawing down over her eyes like a lazy wave washing over the shore. What do you think it means?

Shalaya barely found the energy to shrug. I’ve been living at the temple of Nanna since I was eight. I hear the songs and the poems all the time. It stands to reason that it’s often on my mind.

And the influence of Nanna himself? he asked.

I don’t know, she said. For a long time I thought I was having visions. Etana, our temple manager, believed me and mentored me. But the council said I don’t have the aptitude to be an oracle. He was as disappointed as I was. I can’t even mention visions now without being scolded. Sometimes I just can’t help myself, though. What I see seems so real, and when I get nervous, I blurt out everything I’m not supposed to. Lack of discipline, I guess.

You go to the ceremonies, the rituals?

I work at them mostly, she said. I clean and fetch and stay out of the way.

You feel no connection to him yourself?

I don’t know. The languid complacency gave way to emerging frustration as Shalaya tried to think about what he was asking.

Sargon drew a breath as though he was about to speak, then stopped himself. He wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. Seemingly satisfied with her answers for the moment, he traced the smile over her lips with his fingertip. This is no time for philosophy, he said with a charming grin. "You’ve had too much abzu. It’s my fault. I should take you home so you can sleep. Don’t want you to be groggy when you sweep the temple floor tomorrow morning. Do you want to stay here a while longer, maybe have some tea?"

She shook her head. I’m sure it’s quite late and I need to get home. I have a shift in the café tomorrow by noon.

The temple’s vocational training? he asked.

Shalaya nodded. I work at the Sea’s Edge. It’s on the corner of East River Street and Monument Avenue.

What’s your status at the temple?

I’ve been trying to decide. Etana said he’d love for me to agree to be a free oblate and stay there in an administrative role, but I like working at the café. My friend Mesilim works there, too. He wants to have a restaurant of his own someday. I’d gladly work for him, but he has no solid plans. I was thinking of being a free oblate until he works it out. He’s brilliant, but has a hard time getting focused, you know?

Why not work in a restaurant and live on your own? It would get you more experience.

I save so much by living at the temple complex. Etana says it’s wise to train for more than one thing to keep my options open. And as much as I’m not so fond of the administrative work, it is steady. He suggested that I combine my love of cooking with running the vocational program at the temple. It’s not the worst of fates.

Sargon nodded. Not a bad idea. How much time do you have before you have to make a decision?

My twenty-first birthday is in a few months. She looked at the time on her phone. I should really go.

Shalaya was unsteady on her feet as she stood. Sargon placed an arm around her shoulders. I hope I will see you again sometime, he said.

She smiled up at him. Of course. I go to Club Ravensky quite a bit, and you can visit me at the Sea’s Edge anytime.

And beyond that? he asked with a sly smile.

She grinned back at him. Whatever you wish.

*****

After Sargon dropped her off at the common residences of the temple, Shalaya stood in the mist, breathing in the cool air. The weather was unseasonably cool for summer. She enjoyed the mist swirling up to coat her skin. She was not ready to go inside. Shalaya followed the path behind the common residences to the back of the temple complex, where few people went late at night. She relished the solitude of the walk—to think about the events of the evening and the conversation with Sargon. She understood he was searching for something, yet she couldn’t guess what it might be. For someone who was raised in the temple of Ur’s patron deity, Shalaya’s sense of spirituality was minimal. After being told she didn’t have the skills to be an oracle, she became jaded. She had a hard time dismissing the visions that came to her under the influence of the elixirs served at Club Ravensky, but she had no choice but to do so.

The Resting Place was rooted in Sumer’s most ancient past. Tombs of the temple’s high priestesses from thousands of years ago were carefully kept, and after their deaths, the most esteemed high priestesses who earned the best of accolades joined their ancient sisters in the Resting Place after a vote from the Elder Council in the holy city of Nippur. Pilgrims and visitors were welcome to visit the graveyard during the day, and sometimes in the evening for special ceremonies. Shalaya knew her presence here would be frowned upon, but no one ventured out on this dreary night. Relieved to find herself alone, she entered the front gate to the graveyard.

Shalaya strolled among the tombs and her heart swelled with tranquility. The abzu lingered, enhancing the calm. She knew the paths so well, she was able to keep her eyes half-closed as she walked, touching the stones, knowing the names inscribed on each. While the path she wandered seemed random, the soft voice lured her to the farthest wall in the back of the graveyard. She came to stand before the most sacred tomb in the Resting Place, Shalaya stretched out her arms, letting her hands circle above her head as they often did when she was on the dance floor of Club Ravensky. With the subsequent exhalation, the sense of tranquility deepened.

A flickering light made her eyes open wider. At first, her heart jumped at the notion of being caught. She turned to find the paths still empty. The alabaster walls of the temple glowed. As she looked to the back wall of the Resting Place, Shalaya assumed the gathering mist on the stones caused the flickering light. The tomb of Enheduanna was taller than the others in the graveyard. The mist’s light increased. Shalaya breathed and held out her arms again. "Uda kur-shè edèen, uda kur-shè genamudè." This time, she felt the power of the words as she said them.

The summoned spirit emerged from the tomb and mirrored Shalaya’s movements. Shalaya became aware of the presence, and was startled to find herself standing opposite a high priestess with the regal bearing of a goddess. She did not need to guess who it was. Enheduanna’s statue greeted visitors in the main entryway of the temple, and she appeared in Shalaya’s visions since childhood. Shalaya struggled to keep her composure, the spirit before her brought her hands down, as though to tell her to be calm.

Acolyte, the voice whispered through the mist.

Shalaya shook her head vigorously. I’m no acolyte. I work; I’m just a ward of the city-state of Ur, revered high priestess.

The visage grew stern. No, young acolyte. Do not delay your training any longer. Your journey commences soon.

I’m not in training, revered Enheduanna. I’m a simple laborer, Shalaya said. She tried not to let her pounding heart distract her.

The high priestess raised her arm to point behind Shalaya. See the path you must take.

Shalaya turned. The abzu seemed to surge in a new wave of intensity. Her world faded as she fell into another dream.

Again, she found herself in the ancient city of Ur. It was as if she watched a movie filmed from a strange camera angle. She saw the city wall stretching along a circular path, but most of the city was out of view. A line of figures stood by at the top of the wall by the main gate to the city. Together, they watched a woman walk alone into the desert. Her vision changed dizzyingly as the view swooped down, over the heads of the observers, facing them, so Shalaya could see the great King Sargon and his family. Enheduanna was at his side. She watched the young woman with keen interest.

The voice of the king resonated in Shalaya’s mind. Is she not too young?

Enheduanna’s voice seemed to be her own. She is prepared.

This feels like banishment, the king said.

In a sense, it is, the priestess said with a placid smile. Come, we should leave her to her journey. If our heart-spirits follow her, her discovery of her powers will be less successful.

And if she fails and dies out there? asked the king.

Then the gods will guide her soul to Kur, she answered. Have faith, my king. She is our most promising acolyte.

The line of royal figures and the city’s immense walls vanished. The desert sands rushed by, as though Shalaya saw the world through the eyes of a bird. The lone figure walked slowly, a word of a prayer uttered with each step she took. The dark mountains seemed impossibly far away. "Uda kur-shè edèen, uda kur-shè genamudè."

This time, Shalaya understood the words. I will descend to the Netherworld, after I have walked to the mountain.

Chapter 2

Shalaya

Upon opening her eyes, Shalaya paused to assess her hangover. She was not surprised when she woke up in her clothes. The grogginess exceeded any appreciable degree of pain. She swung her legs over the side of the bed with a smile in remembrance of her evening with Sargon. She changed into her bathrobe before heading to the showers. In her disheveled state, she caught a few winks as she made her way to the showers, and grinned at her make-up-smudged reflection. Her black hair swept upward of its own accord, like a wave frozen while crashing on a rocky shore. The scented oil used to calm her curls smeared around her ears.

Once she was ready to face the day, Shalaya headed to the central temple. She entered the worship chamber where the statue of the patron deity of Ur resided. Known as the cella, the chamber was frequented by pilgrims at all hours of the day. Shalaya frowned as she reached for the broom in the cubby behind the statue of Nanna. In the days leading up to the Festival of Ancestors, there was a never-ending procession of visitors. The cella was closed this morning for maintenance in advance of the holiday. The large conical chamber’s walls were alabaster like the outside of the temple. Nanna’s statue stood on a tall, broad platform with a wide shelf for offerings. The windowless chamber was lit by sconces and a few elegant spotlights set into the narrow point of the ceiling. And it was a mess.

Shalaya wondered about the connection between faith and respect as she began to sweep the litter. So many thoughtless people. How can they come to the heart of the temple and toss snack wrappers and other litter in the presence of the city’s patron god? Despite the fact she felt a minimal sense of spirituality, she at least retained a sense of respect, if only because she had a long history of cleaning up after the so-called devoted congregation.

As she began cleaning the chamber, a special object caught her eye. An abandoned cylinder seal lay next to the offering plate at the base of the statue of Nanna. Oblivious to the egregious error, Nanna held the disc of the moon in a swooping arc above his head.

Shalaya picked up the cylinder seal and examined the design. The seal belonged to a resident of the temple of Nanna. She rolled it over in her hands, reading the identification code. She blushed as the owner’s identity became clear. She shook her head and flicked a dark strand of hair out of her face as she wondered how her friend could misplace the most important item a person could carry. Originally used from the beginning of Sumerian civilization as a mark of identity, the seals now held a person’s entire life. DNA samples, school and work histories, online life, and all purchases were recorded within the device. No item could be bought and no train could be boarded without one. Indeed, being caught without the small cylinder pendant by the authorities led to detainment. The idea of not having was cause for panic, as obtaining a replacement took endless paperwork and a series of hearings. The friend this cylinder seal belonged to went through the process once, and despite promising to be more careful, evidently lost sight of it again.

Two voices disrupted her thoughts. The temple manager and the high priestess entered the cella, discussing plans for the upcoming festival. Shalaya pocketed her friend’s cylinder seal and continued to sweep the floor as she gave her guardians a furtive glance. She hoped they didn’t notice the heat flashing over her face.

The temple manager gave her a kind smile as he stood before her. You must have been out late, my dear. When I walked through the residence quarters after one in the morning, I noticed you still weren’t home. Where you at the club again? She normally felt at ease around Etana, but the presence of High Priestess Kisaya made her nervous. Despite long years of service, Shalaya rarely crossed paths with her, except for formal events. She glanced between them. Yes, I was at Club Ravensky.

With Lili and Mesilim? Etana asked.

Shalaya nodded.

Etana laughed. You must be tired.

His laugh warmed her. Words tumbled out her mouth before she thought about what she was saying. "I hung out with the owner of the nightclub! I had some abzu—it always makes dancing more fun. So we were talking and I quoted a line from the original text of the Descent of Inanna, so he took me to this place above the club and we were drinking more so I told him about those recurring dreams I’ve had, you know? He’s convinced they’re visions."

As they stared at her, Shalaya wondered whether they were still trying to catch up to her outpouring of words, interpret the story, or both. Shalaya shrank under Kisaya’s glare. She felt incompetent and stupid. Her clammy hand grasped the broom handle with white-knuckled intensity. Her mouth went dry as she struggled to prevent another waterfall of words.

The high priestess shot Etana a look as she pursed her lips. Her icy blue eyes froze Shalaya in place.

Kisaya drew herself up and turned her attention to the likeness of her moon god husband. These dreams again, Shalaya. Really? And what was different about this time?

Other than I wasn’t really asleep? Sargon could feel them in me. He knew what I was seeing, she responded.

And what did you see? Shalaya could sense Kisaya’s urge to cross her arms over her chest. While her stance wasn’t aggressive, her stare certainly was.

Um…I was leaving the city. I think it was Ur. I headed out into the desert alone. People were watching along the wall, and I’m sure they were officials, including the king. I don’t really understand what was happening, but it seemed to be connected to the dream I always have about the stormy green sky and the city falling to ruin, Shalaya said.

Kisaya’s eyes narrowed. Her hand flew to her perfectly coiffed dark-blond hair but she resisted the impulse to brush it back. Shalaya guessed playing with her hair was what Kisaya did to remain calm, but with such perfection, she couldn’t. Instead, Kisaya’s hands hovered in a moment of frustration before her before she took a deep breath and regained control. "Abzu distorts the mind; everyone knows that. What you’re seeing is not real, and you shouldn’t even try to plumb the depths of what you’re seeing. It’s a false path, Shalaya. I warn you. I can’t tell you to stop indulging, but don’t get it into your head that your intoxicated dreams mean anything."

Shalaya’s head bowed down, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw Etana sigh and look toward the ceiling. I don’t, revered high priestess. I just think the visions are interesting.

"They are not visions. You’re dreaming above your station, Kisaya said, her lips tightening into a thin line as she stared Shalaya down. You read too many old stories."

That’s just it, I don’t read the old stories. They come to me through dreams. Do you think I can be put before the council again? It’s been several years, maybe it just took longer for the skill to develop. It’s known that those elixirs can help. Shalaya’s mouth dried as she watched Kisaya’s expression grow stony. Her improvised boldness would cost her—she was sure of that. A scorching hot panic raced through her while the high priestess continued to glare.

Kisaya drew herself up and pulled her yellow silk cloak around her and centered the amulet around her neck. Well, I’ll leave the work to the workers, she said. "Nanna’s chamber isn’t properly prepared. I’ll be in my apartment. Etana, I think there is more than a cella to be cleaned. Keep me posted." She turned on her heel and left the room.

Shalaya sighed loudly. I’m sorry, Etana. I know I’m a mess.

He touched her arm. Don’t worry, my dear. Indulgence is the folly of youth. One day you’ll look back on these times with great fondness. Come, let me help you. Some tea will alleviate your fatigue.

I can meet you in the dining hall after I’m done sweeping, she said as she wiped her hands on her pants and renewed her effort to sweep.

Etana smiled as he shook his head. No, no, dear. Leave this behind. Let’s go have some tea. You can tell me about your night.

But I don’t have enough time to come back here to finish. I’m supposed to be at the Sea’s Edge by noon, Shalaya said.

I’ll assign someone else to the task. Come, put the broom away and let’s go, Etana said, extending an arm.

When she relented, he placed his arm around her shoulders. She admired Etana’s poise. The alabaster light made his olive complexion glow in the most flattering way, and long black braids draped in perfect lines well past his shoulder blades. In her embarrassment, she felt clumsy by comparison.

I should’ve been up earlier. I’m sorry things are such a mess, Shalaya said.

Etana patted her hand with playful affection. Do I seem worried? The Festival of Ancestors isn’t for five days.

But Kisaya was clearly annoyed, Shalaya said.

Let me tell you a secret, my dear. Kisaya is always annoyed. He winked at her as they moved into the tea room located off of the immense dining hall.

The tea room was conical in shape, like the cella, only much broader. Five arched windows stretched toward the tip of the ceiling. Etana and Shalaya sat at oval-shaped mahogany table, and Shalaya tilted her head to watch last night’s rain clouds disperse into fast-moving patches of grey gauze.

Etana chuckled as he gestured to a girl who was about eleven. She stood by the serving station, back to the wall, gazing blankly toward the center of the room. The girl’s long black hair was pulled back into a thin ponytail which lay down the center of her back. Her beige shift and apron were neatly ironed. She could have been a doll imprisoned in a clear plastic package. Shalaya remembered the days she waited on temple residents in the dining hall. This girl didn’t look nearly as timid as Shalaya had been, but she did have a similar haunted look about her. Shalaya was too hungover to be bothered by old memories. The girl smiled wanly when she noticed Shalaya observing her.

Etana spoke softly to the girl, who returned a few minutes later with the tea. He then turned his attention to Shalaya. He hummed a melody under his breath. "I’m with a girl who lives in the clouds," he sang dulcet tones.

Shalaya grinned and apologized yet again.

Etana shook a finger in the air. I won’t have it. Relax, will you?

She sighed as the server delivered the tea. I’m not well-rested, she said, resting her head in her hands.

Etana strained the leaves from the tea. Here, this should help. Two or three cups of this and your shift at the café will seem like no time at all.

Shalaya recoiled after the first sip. I don’t like this bitter tea. No honey?

Honey dilutes the effects, he said.

She smirked. If you say so. This will wake me up?

He gave her a crooked smile. You know what this is. Cleanses the system and is especially effective after one…indulges prolifically.

I don’t know if it was prolific… she said. Indignation animated her tired spirit.

Certainly enough to immerse you in your dream world, Etana said.

Shalaya grimaced and put the cup down. It felt so real. There’s something to this, I swear. Why would I have the same visions over and over?

They can’t be visions, Shalaya. We put you in front of the council years ago after you reported your unusual dreams. You don’t have an oracle’s aptitude, he said.

"Fine. Why would I have these dreams so often then?" She felt her heart-spirit shrink at the way he made her doubt the abilities she so clearly felt. She held back from telling him about the encounter in the Resting Place. It was more than the fear he would not believe her. It was that she would find herself in trouble.

Because you give them meaning by dwelling on them. The high priestess is not entirely wrong when she says you dream above your station, Etana said. He sat up and rolled his shoulders back, sitting up straighter than ever. He towered over her.

She resisted the urge to slump down in her seat. You don’t believe me. She averted her eyes and grimaced at the bitter tea.

I believe you have faith in what you see. It just isn’t a vision, he said. Finish your tea. You’ll need at least another cup before you head off to work.

Shalaya obeyed. She closed her eyes and imagined the woman heading out into the desert as she finished the cup. Etana poured another for her. Steam curled out of the cup.

Etana gave her a winsome smile. Let’s not get mired in this old discussion. Tell me about your night.

The oppressive weight of doubt lifted as she described Sargon’s elaborate living quarters atop Club Ravensky. No waterfall of words drowned her. Etana seemed pleased with all the details she offered. And I think he really likes me, she said, oblivious to the two additional cups of bitter tea she drank.

He sounds wonderful, dear. It’s been a long time since you’ve shown any interest in a lover, he said.

Shalaya drained the last of her tea and looked up at the arched windows. The sun’s light made the grey clouds fade at last. The image of the woman from the desert still called to her, refusing to be forgotten.

*****

Shalaya took the bus to work, acutely conscious of her friend’s cylinder seal in her pocket. As the bus went down Monument Avenue, a galla force car sped by, siren blaring and blue lights flashing. The thought of being stopped and searched at random crossed her mind. If they discovered the seal, she would be detained until Mesilim verified he misplaced it. Shalaya breathed a sigh of relief when she reached her stop.

The café was still dark. After relocking the door, she pondered the mural greeting her. A woman stood before her holding a gold bowl in each hand. Veiled in a sheer gown of blue, Siduri peered from under her hood with a seductive gaze. The words from the famous epic arched over the scene. Day and night, night and day, dance and be merry, feast and rejoice.

Shalaya smirked at her patron. What are you looking at, Lady? Your hero Gilgamesh is long gone.

It was an old joke among the café staff. Yet they still laughed and came up with new ways of greeting the comely figure.

Sounds from the kitchen drew her attention and she found Mesilim alone. He laid out steel bowls and various jars to prepare the ingredients that were used frequently and quickly.

There you are, he said as he began to juggle three lemons. I thought maybe we decided to close for the day to prepare for the festival. Is anyone else coming, or are we running the place on our own?

Her sheepish grin quelled his impending rant and his mouth hung open, a strange smile broadening across his face. He tossed his head to the side. Even though most of his curly black locks were tucked under a pale blue cap, his hair was usually in his face.

Sorry I’m late, she said. I don’t even know what time it was when I went to sleep.

Indeed—you were out late! We never saw you leave the club. Where did he take you? he asked. He snatched two lemons out of the air and placed them on the counter. One remained in his hand.

"He owns the whole building and lives on the top floor. We drank abzu and talked—" she said.

"And? You didn’t come home last night, did you?" he asked.

Of course I did! she protested.

Why? Mesilim bounced the lemon in the palm of his hand.

Well, because…

Because of expectations. Whose though? Etana doesn’t care if you take a lover. You don’t have to stay at the temple for the rest of your life. None of us do, he said.

And where would I go? she asked.

With the handsome man, of course! This is your opportunity to get out, I tell you. You’d have Etana’s blessing. Sure, you can stay here forever, but why would you? The lemon leapt from one hand to another.

What if he’s just using me? she asked.

The lemon flew up one last time. Mesilim snatched it out of the air and slammed it on the cutting board, and with the