go_exchange | Happy Holidays, cassie-oh! Part 2

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Chapter 7: The Lamentation

The sounds of activity outside the temple grew as the day passed. Now and then a priest or priestess would pass through, tending to the fire or murmuring over the altar words meant only for their deities’ ears. Some of them glanced at Crawley, and many stared, but after the guards had finished with her, no more approached.

Just before sunset, it began.

Once again, the priests filed in, gathering near the altar. They looked… fresh. Heads newly shaved, kohl freshly applied. Looking their best for their goddess. There were more guards than yesterday, too, at least as many as the priests. They looked eager.

Tonight would be their turn.

Sabium was the last to arrive, wearing all a high-priest’s regalia, looking as fine as any king Crawley had ever swindled.

Before he could start talking, Crawley called out, “Oi! Is this going to take long? I’ve got—”

Her voice cut off as something was crammed into her mouth. Mattaki knotted the gag tight behind her head, leaning forward to whisper. “Why don’t you try and behave yourself tonight, hmm?” His hands squeezed her shoulders. “We’re getting to my favorite part.” When he stepped around her, she saw that he was dressed as a guard.

With the distraction taken care of, Sabium nodded.

A single voice rose from the crowd of priests, though not to utter words. A high note rang out, echoing off the walls of the expansive room, caught and thrown back again and again. As the voice began to rise and fall, it seemed as though a thousand others joined in, perfectly in harmony. A thousand voices, all mourning.

The song seemed to carry a lifetime of sorrows of heartbreak, of loneliness. A wail of grief, transformed into something else entirely.

As the voice faded, all the other priests and priestesses hummed a single note which filled the temple with a dreadful finality.

Iltani stepped forward as the last echoes died away. Their face was made up, simply but stunningly, eyes and lips shining like gold in the dying light. Jewels glittered on their fingers, around their neck, and all through their hair, which had been woven and piled into a complex shape Crawley could never hope to replicate.

They stepped before the altar, raised their hands, and began to sing:

I pray to thee, O Lady of Ladies, Goddess of Goddesses.⁶
O Inana, Queen of all, who guides mankind aright…

Iltani had been imagining the day of their initiation since they were four summers old. Of course they’d only known parts of it—the ceremonial baths that preceded all rituals of importance, the midnight vigil in the courtyard that could be watched from the acolyte’s building, and of course, the laments. The first and most important duty of any gala-priest.

Nothing had gone as they’d expected.

Every moment of what should have been a joyful day had been laced with a pain and horror they could never imagine. They’d seen Elutil injured, they’d disappointed Sabium, they’d nearly lost their soul to a demon—

But now, here, at last, everything felt right.

O Goddess of all, thy domain is endless.
Where is thy name unknown?
Where is thy power unfelt?
Where are thy likenesses not fashioned?
Where are thy shrines not founded?

An, Enlil, and Ea have made thee great.
Among all the gods, they made thee pre-eminent.
At the thought of thy name, heaven and earth tremble,
The gods tremble; the Anunaki stand in awe…

Every note of the lament reverberated through them. They sang of all the sorrows the year had seen. It had been a good year, the best since the famine had begun, but none ever passed without grief.

They sang of hunger and sickness, pain and exhaustion. They sang of storms tearing through the desert, of rot creeping into gardens. They sang of the death of grandparents, the loss of children, the cruelty that grows between friends as love dies. They sang of the aching loneliness of those who are different, who long to find their place in a world too big to understand.

All of mankind pay homage to thee.
Thou judgest the people in truth and righteousness,
Thou regardest the mistreated, and causest them to prosper.
Thy mercy! O Lady of heaven and earth, shepherdess of the weary people.
Thy mercy! O Lady of holy E-anna, place of purity.
Thy mercy! O Lady of the unwearied feet.
Thy mercy! O Lady of all battles.

All the pain of Uruk, gathered together, channeled through Iltani. Placed before the goddess Inana, and her husband Dumuzid, and his sister Geshtinana. The three deities who had experienced death and pain and sorrow and regret. Who died for each other again and again.

Pity! For my wretched body, full of confusion and trouble!
Pity! For my wretched heart, full of tears and suffering!

These understood human suffering in a way no other gods could. These would listen to the pain of the faithful and feel some compassion.

Pity! For my afflicted house which mourns bitterly!
Pity! For my soul overflows with tears and suffering!

Inana would hear Iltani’s cries and remove the stains of the demon from their soul.

Let the favor of thine eyes be upon me.
With thy bright features look faithfully upon me.
Drive away the evil that dwells in my body.
Let me see thy bright light once more.

The lamentation finished, Iltani dropped to their knees before the altar, and sang again the wordless cry of grief, rocking in place, hands beating their chest and the ground beside them. It wasn’t simply for show, a pantomime of grieving. All the sorrow of Uruk poured through them like the summer flood overwhelming the canals, threatening to break the levees and tear everything apart. They threw back their head, possessed by the cry, tearing the jewelry from their neck, ripping at their hair, scratching at their neck and face as the torment devoured them. It was all they could do to hold the final note steady, to keep singing through the pain—

The song ended and Iltani collapsed, utterly spent.

In the silence that followed, the tears—carefully held back to preserve their singing voice—filled Iltani’s eyes and rolled down their face. They would cry for an hour after this, at least. But a good cry. The kind that gave release and brought peace and clarity in its wake, or at the very least a long sleep. They just had to hold in any unseemly sobs until they were outside the temple.

A hand on their shoulder and there was Sabium smiling down. Pleased by Iltani’s lament. He helped them to their feet and passed them to Tigzar, who had volunteered to lead Iltani to the room prepared for them. The crowd parted silently, though several priests nodded their appreciation. Dadasig patted their shoulder as they passed and Elutil squeezed their hand. Through the tears, Iltani could see her face was extremely pale, but she had refused all advice to rest outside and miss the lamentation.

Iltani felt… there was no word for it. Every breath was fresh and new. Their soul had been scrubbed clean.

And yet, all the time, they could feel the shedu-demon’s eyes watching them.

Sabium kept the smile in place as the boy led the gala-priest outside, bringing them someplace out of the way for the rest of the night. If it kept the child from asking any more questions, then it at least had served some purpose.

But really. The whole tasteless display would be the next to go. Already he’d gotten rid of the public laments, which had once been part of every procession. Oh, it was good that the people depended on the goddess for their mental well-being, but it wouldn’t do to remind them of all the unjust suffering of the previous year, that successes and triumphs must always be mixed with grief.

That wasn’t the story he wanted to tell.

Sabium took his place before the altar. “O holy Inana, greatest of the Anunaki, hear our lament. We place before you the first harvest of Uruk, the harvest of sorrows.”

He paused just a moment, to be sure he had the full attention of the priests and guards.

Changing a ritual wasn’t easy. Or rather, changing the words and actions were easy enough, but making sure the belief followed along required, at times, a subtle touch.

O most exalted Lady, you judge unerringly the worth of each soul.
O mighty Lion of the Desert, you who protect your faithful from harm.
O great Mother of the gods, you grant the loyal fertile fields and fertile loins…

Inana’s world was a just world. She rewarded all who followed her.

That had been the easiest lesson. Everyone wanted to believe that all the good they received was deserved, that others suffered through their own faults.

O wisest of the wise, as Enki alloted the domains of the gods,
So you allot the domains of all mankind.
You guide us to our place in your house,
And we serve you faithfully.

That had been harder. There had been little to build upon, for no priests before had seen the truth: that all men had a role to fill, be he priest or soldier, herder or potter. All must serve in their role, unwavering and unquestioning. That was how the goddess’s city must be run, smooth and efficient. With no place for… deviations.

Sabium had found many in the temple unsuited to the goddess’s needs, and the purges had been… difficult. Those who could understand would find new roles in the city waiting for them, new ways to serve the goddess. Those who could not would face the judgment of her lions in the desert.

He had been surprised by the young gala-priest’s absolute faith in this doctrine. It was lucky he discovered it before he sent the child away; carefully directed, such faith would be a powerful tool.

O great mourner, wife of Dumuzid,
You have seen him fall and rise and fall and rise again.
O Lady Inana, like you we are beset by demons
Who care not for justice as they bring sorrow to the land.

People were always willing to blame their misfortunes on some malevolent force in the world. Your suffering was from your own failures, but mine came from something beyond my control.

All the ingredients had been there, waiting for Sabium. Emphasize the demons’ cruelty. Minimize Inana’s role in Dumuzid’s fall. Subtle changes, and in a few years no one remembered the story had ever been otherwise.

He’d expected it would take another decade at least to get the whole of Uruk on his side, that he would need to write off much of the current generation and work his craft on the next. But a lucky discovery had changed everything.

Sabium turned now from the altar. Two junior priests fell in step behind him carrying the offerings as they approached the fire pit.

“O Lord Dumuzid, Master of the Fields. We place before you the second harvest of Uruk, the harvest of grains.” He took the basket of barley, pouring the seeds into the flames. “May our storehouses be full this long summer until you return.

“O Lord Dumuzid, Shepherd of the Heavens. We place before you the third harvest of Uruk, the harvest of blood.” The cup full of sheep’s blood had cooled just enough to pour slowly and dramatically. “May the herds we cull grow back tenfold when you return.” As the last drops fell, the high priest raised his eyes to look across the fire at the bound demon.

People were willing to blame their misfortunes on a malevolent force in the world. But give that force a face, and they were willing to go so much further.

“O Lord Dumuzid, Sufferer of all Torments. Like you we are beset by demons who care not for justice as they bring sorrow to the land. We ask you and Inana, Mistress of all Arms, to bless tonight’s hunt that we may bring before you the fourth harvest of Uruk, the harvest of evil.”

In the firelight, he watched the realization dawn on the demon’s face. All that arrogance faded away, replaced by sheer terror. She shook her head, trying to back away, arms jerking against the restraints that held her in place.

But she would not escape. No demon ever had.

“We pray that the blood of this creature will assuage the injustice of Dumuzid’s death, and strengthen Inana for her conquest of Hell.”

The worst of the heart-wrenching sobs had passed by the time the sound of drums filled the courtyard. Even without looking, Iltani knew the sun was just touching the western horizon. Time for the procession to begin.

“Go,” they said to Tigzar, who sat beside their reed mat, occasionally touching their back or shoulder in an awkward show of comfort. “Gonna… leave without you…”

“Sounds like it.” The boy frowned towards the door where the priests, guards, acolytes and even temple servants were forming their line. Some carried instruments—drums, pipes, lutes, horns—or holy icons, stars and lions and sheep carved of wood and held aloft atop long reed poles. Other temples brought enormous statues of their gods through the city, but Sabium insisted there was no need, because Inana dwelt wherever her faithful gathered. “Look, I didn’t want to leave you alone…”

“Mmmh.” Iltani rolled onto their back, wiping their eyes. The makeup they wore had begun to run, and stung their eyes now and then. “S’the rules,” they managed. “L’ment’r stays. E’ryone else goes.”

In the past, a single priestess had been allowed to stay behind with the recovering gala-priest, and the plan had been for Elutil to watch over them tonight. This morning’s fiasco had spelled the end of that, and instead she would be riding in a cart at the end of the procession where the other priestesses could keep an eye on her while her wounds healed.

The wounds. Iltani’s fault, for listening to the demon. The twist of regret broke through the peace brought on by the lament. But it was a good regret. A sign that they now knew the right of things.

“Yeah, but like I said. Um. Look, there’s a lot of people out there. Master Sabium won’t notice if I’m missing. I don’t even have anything to carry this time or—”

Iltani cried out, sitting up to grab Tigzar’s arms even as the boy flinched away. “Don’t… don’t…” Another rule broken. Had the demon crept into Tigzar’s heart, too? How far had Iltani spread the contagion?

“Hey, no, it’s alright,” he soothed, getting Iltani to lay down again. “I asked Siduri, she said it was important someone stay with you, priestess or not, and someone familiar would be better. So here I am.”

“No,” they wiped at their cheeks, feeling the paints stinging along the scratches. “You can’t. That—it’s not…”

“If it makes you feel better, we can say I’m a girl for the rest of the night, too. I’ll have to borrow your make-up, though.”

“That’s not how it works!” Another surge of that lonely confusion that had followed Iltani their whole life. No lamentation would ever free them of that. “Can you not—just—understand—”

“Sorry, shit, I’m sorry.” His hands fumbled for theirs. “It was a joke, I was trying—I get it. Not funny right now.”

“It’s never funny.” The peace was shattered now by the raw pain, more emotions waiting to flow in. “But you just—never—stop—”

“I’m sorry… oh, fuck, don’t cry. Or… do cry, but the good crying not… Shit. Do you need a hug? My ribs are feeling better.”

Iltani punched the reed mat below them, then nodded, reaching for Tigzar.

“Yeah, here you go.” Neither of them was at a good angle for a hug, but he tried anyway. “I… I get it. Or, you know, I don’t, maybe I never will, but I won’t joke about it anymore.”

They nodded, trying to say something gracious, but now the whole messy day was hitting Iltani, over and over, like a rock to their skull…

With a whimper, they pulled closer to their friend, feeling more and more regret churn inside them, a guilt they couldn’t name that rose every time they thought of the shedu-demon. Remorse for their failure? Or some lingering sympathy for the creature? And if it was that… what would it take to truly be free?

Master Sabium would need to know. Not now—the procession was already beginning to move—but tonight, after everyone had returned. Iltani would explain the strange uncertainties and shame that came with no particular compulsion to act. Perhaps their resilience was a sign that Inana was already winning the battle for their heart.

As for Tigzar’s flouting of the rules… well, he had asked Siduri; with all the other gala-priests gone, she was the only other one who performed laments. Not like Iltani did, but she must have some understanding. If she said it was necessary…

“I… I think I’m alright,” they finally managed, pulling away. “You, um. You’re sure you don’t want to go?”

“Procession’s already moving out. You’re stuck with me.” He helped them settle back down on the mat. “Why don’t you get some sleep? You look like shit right now. Y’know. More than you’re supposed to. You are supposed to, right?”

Iltani ran a hand over their hair, pulled ragged during the final stages of the lament. “Yeah. S’the point. That and… communing with… something.” They sighed. With the other gala-priests all beyond the city walls, Iltani’s education in such things had been… spotty.

“Well, I’m no expert but. I thought it was great. More than great. Amazing.” He squeezed their shoulder again. “You looked… I dunno. Not happy. Right.”

“I think that’s a compliment?” They yawned. “Wake me at midnight? Need to talk to Sabium after…”

“Course. Get your rest. I’ll just be here trying to come up with new jokes.”

Iltani meant to thank him, but they were so tired. Exhaustion rolled over them entirely, sweeping away the regret, the confusion, and everything else, and they sank into a deep sleep.

Sabium wasn’t bluffing.

Crawley could see it in his eyes as he said his prayer. He believed, without question, that the demons he sacrificed died.

And the thing was. He knew what he was doing. He had a powerful holy seal that hadn’t faded even slightly in a day and a half. He had a temple that smelled distinctly holy and at least a few items with a hint of heavenly power.

He’d all but declared war on Hell. If his previous victims had been merely discorporated, if word had gotten back, this would not have been allowed to continue.

Which meant they’d all stayed dead.

There were plenty of ways a human could destroy a summoned demon by accident. Sabium had found one he could use, consistently, on purpose.

The moment the guards approached, Crawley started to fight, harder than she had ever fought before. But apparently they expected that. No kids this time, three men bigger even than Mattaki forced a collar around her neck, straps around her ankles so that she could barely walk. Her wrists re-bound behind her back.

She tried to run anyway, to shuffle, to drop and force them to drag her dead weight. But the guard holding her leash just hauled her back up whatever she did.

Just as the drums started outside, Mattaki hooked fingers into her collar and drew her so close their noses almost touched. “Save your energy. I’m expecting a good long run out of you.” Then shoved her away.

Two guards wrestled her into place in the middle of the line and the pipes and lutes joined in. A solemn march. Sabium called once more for the goddess to bless their endeavor and the tall wooden gates drew open. The people of the temple marched into Uruk, dragging Crawley behind.

“Gabriel!” Aziraphale tried to clutch the bag to his chest and wring his fingers at the same time. “I—I—I wasn’t exp-expecting, you know. You. Now. Ah.”

“Yes. It’s a surprise inspection.” He smiled proudly before adding. “Michael’s idea.”

“Is it?” Aziraphale looked to his left and there was Michael, smiling sweetly in the way that always made his stomach turn. “Oh. Ah. Hello.”

She nodded placidly. “We’re all eager to hear what you have to say.”

“All? Oh.” He turned a bit further and, yes, there was Sandalphon. “I see. Oh. Right.” Another quarter turn revealed Uriel. “Yes. I see.” He found himself facing Gabriel again. “Yes. Jolly good.”

“So,” Gabriel clapped his hands. “Let’s hear it. What have you been up to?”

“I—I… I just…” In his mind, Crawley screamed in pain. “Not much.”

“Not much? Nearly a year on earth and all you have to say is… not much?”

“No! No, not at all.” He needed to calm down. Most demon summonings were utterly harmless, little more than an irritation, as he understood it. Barring accidents, of course, but there was no need to assume… to assume… “Look, I’m terribly sorry, you’ve—you’ve caught me a bit off-guard.”

“That was the idea,” Michael said, and he spun again to face her. “Catch you in the act.”

“The… the act of what?”

“You tell us,” Uriel said, and now Aziraphale was beginning to feel distinctly dizzy.

“I just… well, I was in the middle of… of…”

“What’s in the bag?” Gabriel asked.

“It smells… wrong,” Sandalphon offered.

“Does it? Oh… yes. I see, it… it…” His mind scrambled, trying to picture anything other than Crawley’s face the last time they’d argued. “…it belongs to… to the demon Crawley.”

“You stole his tools?”

“Her. No. Yes. It’s… it’s complicated. As I said… this really isn’t a good time. If I could just have a chance to—”

“As I recall,” Gabriel said, far more coldly, “this was your last chance. You’ve had nearly a year to demonstrate why you are worthy of this position.” He spread his hands. “I’m waiting.”

The bag tumbled from his fingers as Aziraphale pressed his hands to his lips, shaking. He wanted to cry, to shout, to curl into a ball and vanish forever.

But he needed—he needed—he needed to get back to Uruk. Whatever it took.

So he smoothed his hands down his robe and adjusted his sleeves. “Yes. Well. I have been tracking the demon Crawley for a year. Through my efforts, she has accomplished little more than minor annoyances, but her influence has by now spread across the entire region, which may have been her plan all along. My most recent… ah, intelligence indicated she wished to go to Uruk next, and by obtaining her possessions, I was able to confirm this. She has been in the city now for over a day, and there’s no telling what she’s accomplished in that time. I was just about to enter the city and find out when you… you summoned me here.”

There. Everything perfectly true without the messy details. He beamed around at the Archangels’ unimpressed faces.

“Are you saying,” Uriel asked slowly, “that you’ve accomplished nothing?”

“What? No, I…” he swallowed. “I have every reason to believe that—that—that what is happening in Uruk right now is the most important thing of the last year. Ah. The culmination, you might say. And—and it is vital that I put a stop to it or… or… all my efforts will have… been for naught.”

In the silence that followed, Aziraphale tried desperately to read Gabriel’s expression, tried to find any hint of what the four Archangels were thinking as they exchanged looks, mouths pressed shut.

Finally, Gabriel smoothed his robe and folded his hands. “Interesting. Tell me more. I want to know everything. In detail.”

⁶ From “Prayer of Lamentation to Ishtar”

Chapter 8: The Hunt Begins

The procession wound slowly through the streets of Uruk, taking its time, looping through one cluster of homes after another.

Lady of divine powers! Resplendent light!⁷
Righteous woman clothed in radiance!
Beloved of all Uruk!
Mistress of Heaven, clothed in glittering jewels!
One who seized the divine powers!

Everywhere they went, people lined the streets. Thousands of people. Tens of thousands. Men and women. Elders and children.

When you roar, all life falls before you.
Like a flood, you sweep your enemies away.
Powerful one of Heaven and Earth, our Lady Inana!

Some watched with eyes wide with fear, clutching their families close.

Some howled with rage, throwing stones at Crawley as she passed.

Some smiled with a zealot’s passion.

In the van of battle, all is struck down before you.
With your strength, my lady, your teeth crush flint.
You charge forward like the charging storm.
You roar with the roaring storm.
You spread exhaustion with the storm winds,
But your own feet remain tireless.

Here and there, gardens of lettuce and fennel, the last-planted crops of the season, offerings to the dying god. Very few of them. The procession trampled them into the dust.

You seize the lands in the hills, and their crops are ruined.
Their great gateways burn in your fires.
Their rivers flow with blood, and they must drink it.
Your tempests fill the dancing places of their city.
Their young men driven before you as prisoners.

And from every neighborhood, more joined them. Men dressed in the colors of Inana’s guards, though often simple hide and sheepskin instead of armor. Some carried weapons of their own, likely soldiers of Uruk. The rest were given spears or arrows from the temple, bronze tips shining in the dying light.

My lady, the Anunaki fly from you to the ruins like bats.
They dare not stand before your terrible gaze.
They dare not confront your terrible countenance.
Your anger is too great to cool.

The priests’ praises to the war goddess reached their climax as the last light vanished from the sky. They came to a halt in a great open square under the light of the evening star and a moon just starting to rise.

Crawley was dragged into the open, forced onto her knees. Before her stood the line of priests, Sabium in the middle. Beside him, the priestesses were helping the young girl who had been whipped from the cart. She held her head high, glaring accusingly at the demon.

Behind them stood about fifty armed men, ranging from scarred veterans of many battles to one of the young boys from last night’s initiation.

Throughout the city, horns played a long echoing note, then fell silent.

Sabium stepped forward and turned to address the crowd.

“When one leaves the underworld, another must take their place. So is the balance of Kur restored. When Inana was released from death, the gallu-demons seized her husband Dumuzid to take her place.

“The demons bound him. They raised copper pins, nails, and pokers to his face; they sharpened their large copper axes. They forced him to stand, they forced him to sit. They did great evil to him.

“Until he raised his hands to the gods and begged for release. They heard his cries, and he was transformed, fleeing across meadow and mountain to the home of his sister, Geshtinana. But the demons sought him still.”

Sabium pulled out a long shining blade and walked towards Crawley. Her mind blanked with panic as she struggled, trying to escape, trying to scream—

One by one, he cut the leather bonds, until all that held her in place was his hands on her shoulders. “As Dumuzid was given a chance to seek safety with his sister, so you have until I finish speaking to find shelter from the hunters. You may run or hide as you wish, but the seal on your arm will stop you from entering the homes of Uruk. I suggest you move quickly. There isn’t much left to the story.”

“But…” she rubbed her wrists, trying to get feeling back into her hands. “How do I… win?”

“You don’t.” He stepped away, turning back to the crowd as her stomach turned to ice.

“Then why should I run?” Crawley demanded furiously. “If you’re going to kill me either way, why should I play your fucking game? Maybe I should charge you now—”

An arrow struck the ground a hairsbreadth from her leg. Crawley scrambled to her feet in an instant, backing away.

“You’re welcome to try. It’s your choice.”

Another arrow shot past, and another, the feather slicing her ear. The ugly laughter of the mob turned to growls of disgust as scales prickled across her skin.

She wasn’t ready to run. Her head still swam from the barely-healed cracks in her skull; each breath sent sharp pain through her sides, and now her feet were raw and bruised from the long walk. She wasn’t ready to run.

But as more arrows turned her way, she knew she wasn’t ready to die yet, either.

Crawley turned and fled, stumbling and gasping down the nearest street.

“The demons went hither and thither searching for Dumuzid,” the priest said, voice echoing eerily in the silent city. “Demons are never kind, they do not know good from evil. When mankind was created, the demons were there, surrounding man like a reed enclosure. Demons have no mother; they have no father, or sister or brother, wife or children. What being without family or friend, all alone, can ever escape with its life…?”⁸

Crawley leaned against a house, already gasping and sobbing. “Angel,” she pleaded, eyes raised to the sky.

But there was no time for that. She ran, as fast as she ever had.

A child stood in the temple. Small, round with baby fat, barely old enough to shave their head or wear braids. They wore a wrap around their waist and the softest fuzz atop their head, little more.

In the darkness, they gazed up at the three statues. Larger than life—though not by as much as the child thought—they were painted in bright, vivid colors and ornamented with jewels and gold and flowers. The two in the back wore sheepskin wraps, but the one in front was dressed in a lion’s pelt, hardened leather greaves covering her legs, garlands of flowers hanging from her arms. All around her feet were qullupu pastries, many baked in the shape of women. Her hair was adorned with stars.

“Do you know who that is, child?” asked Aruru, the senior gala-priest. One of the oldest at the temple, but despite their grey hair and frail arms, their clothing and bearing were fine, in a way the child had never really seen before. Not wealthy. Unique. Confident. And utterly at peace.

The child wished they could look like that.

Aruru knelt beside them, placing a hand on their shoulder. “That isn’t going to help, Iltani. Take a look.”

They flinched in confusion. Their name wasn’t Iltani. But it was. But Aruru shouldn’t know that, they didn’t even know that, no one should know it yet.

There was something wrong with the temple. It flickered around them, another image overlaying it, two realities at once—

“Now you’re getting ahead of us. Come on. Start at the beginning. Who are they?”

The child looked the goddess fully in the face for the first time, but already it was burned into every part of their mind. “Inana. War goddess.”

“That’s one part of her, yes. The part with the most exciting stories.”

“Death. And slaughter. And fires. On and on until everything is hers. Conquering the earth and the seas, the heavens and the underworld…”

“Oh. That is scary.”

“And… and she can stop everyone’s pain, but she only does it if you serve her and follow orders and don’t ask questions and be exactly who the priests tell you to be.”

“I see. And the other two?”

The child barely spared them a glance. “They died.”

“And do you wish to serve Inana and the others?” The child opened their mouth, but Aruru pointed a stern finger. “Now, be honest.”

“I…” The child shivered. “I’m scared. I want… I want to be me. I want to be normal. I want to be who I am without everyone telling me I’m too different. I want to belong. I want to be valued. I want to help. I want… I…” they sniffed. “I don’t want to be sent away again.”
“

Oh, Iltani.” Aruru took their hands. “You know your parents brought you here because they thought… they really thought… you would be happy with us?” The child nodded. “And they were right?” A shrug, then another nod. The priest leaned closer and said, just for their ears, “But it still hurt, didn’t it?”

“I…” They pulled their hands away, pressing them to their eyes. “I’m supposed to be brave. I’m supposed to be good. I’m not supposed to cry…”

“No, no. You are absolutely supposed to cry. Who ever heard of a gala-priest who didn’t cry?”

“In ceremonies. Not every day. Not over every… stupid little…”

“My child, listen. You are supposed to cry. It’s healthy. It’s healing. And how will you ever help others with their pain if you can’t acknowledge your own?”

The child lowered their hands, peeking out. “Help others? I thought gala-priests just… sang. And… and did the work no one else wants to do.”

“Hmm. I suppose that is one way to put it.” Aruru settled on the ground, legs crossed, and patted the floor beside them. “Come on, little one. You have a lot to learn.”

The hunters were nearly ready to run. Just a few more details to ensure they were in the right mood. Reminders of why they fought.

“The demons arrived at the dwelling of Geshtinana. ‘Show us where your brother is,’ they said to her. But she spoke not a word to them. They burned her loins with disease, but she spoke not a word to them. The demons tore apart her face, flayed her back, and poured hot tar upon her. But Geshtinana spoke not a word to them. They could not find Dumuzid in her house.”

As he finished speaking, the hunters crouched, ready to start the chase. The line of priests and temple servants parted to give them room, but Sabium placed a hand on Elutil’s shoulder, indicating for her to stay.

The first two hunts, only the sacred guards of Inana had been allowed to participate. That, he felt, had been too restrictive, and so now both the guard corps and the hunt were open to all the men of the city. The temple could provide high-quality weapons to any who did not have their own, and Sabium’s careful screening ensured that only the most dedicated and loyal followers of Inana actually participated.

It was all well and good, taking in orphans and runaways for the temple, but he would not allow his sacred hunt to be sullied by upstart peasants.

Still, even the most loyal warriors of the goddess performed best with a small incentive, to bring out the spirit of competition.

He smiled down at Elutil and held out to her the heavy bar of metal. She blinked, then took it with a solemn nod, holding the prize up for the hunters to see. It was rather remarkable how, even with the wounds he knew must be setting her back aflame, she still stood tall, holding herself with the dignity of a high priestess. He had never denied she was strong.

But also strong-willed. Outspoken. Stubborn as a mule. Clearly not someone he could allow to remain in the temple itself. He’d planned to send her to join the sacred courtesans in a year or two. If anyone could teach the little whoresdaughter her proper place, it would be that same dingy temple that had spawned her.

Sadly, they had high standards for those in their service, and the scars left by today’s whipping would prevent her from ever joining their number. He really should be careful not to let Mattaki get so carried away. Still, the Guard Commander had come up with a suitable solution.

“You know what to do,” Sabium said, smiling at the hunters. “You know your task. The only provision is that no city dwellers are harmed in their own home, so archers beware. The hunter who brings down the demon permanently will be named Lord of the Hunt. He shall receive my blessing by Inana’s name, three mina of silver, and…” he pressed Elutil forward, “the hand of our newest priestess in marriage.”

“Do you know what makes gala-priests different?” Aruru asked.

The child looked to the side. The flickering light of the temple’s fire revealed a home they could barely remember. So many other children. Little girls with short braids, older ones with elaborate knots of hair. Boys with shaved heads, already learning the family craft. Making… something. The child couldn’t remember what, just that you shaped it with your hands and it was very manly. Very respectable. The brothers sang works songs to keep their rhythm, showing off their projects with such pride. The sisters giggled around the fire, scraping hides or grinding grain, whispering stories meant only for them.

And the child. Sitting apart, miserable, wanting both and neither. Wanting things they could never explain. Just as they couldn’t explain why they screamed and howled every time their parents shaved their head, why they drew back in pain at the sound of their own name.

“We aren’t boys or girls,” they said. “We’re something else.”

“Good. And why is that important?”

The vision drifted away as they frowned in concentration. “Because… Because men and women aren’t supposed to cry. It’s undignified and unmanly and humiliating and dirty. We mourn so no one else has to.”

“Great Inana, mother of us all, no.” Aruru’s eyebrows shot up. “Not even close. Someone has been telling you entirely the wrong sort of stories.”

“But…”

“Do you know why Inana sent Dumuzid to the underworld?”

The child blinked at the change of subject, but this was easy enough. “Demons,” they explained. “For her to leave, the demons had to take someone back in her place. And for him to leave they have to take his sister.”

“But why him? She had many servants who would have taken her place gladly. Why did she command the demons to take her husband?”

The child ran the story through their head, over and over, pushing their fingers into the gap. “It doesn’t say,” they said with a strange wonder. “No one ever says.”

“After Inana ascended from the underworld, surrounded by the gallu-demons, Nincubura threw herself at her feet. She had sat in the dust and clothed herself in a filthy garment. The demons said to holy Inana: ‘Inana, proceed to your city, we will take her back.’⁹

“Holy Inana answered the demons: ‘This is my minister of fair words, my trusty escort. She did not forget me. She did not neglect the orders I gave her. She made a lament for me on the ruin mounds. She beat the drum for me in the sanctuaries. She visited the gods’ houses for me. She tore her skin and clothing in memory of me. All alone she directed her steps to the houses of Enlil, and Nanna, and Enki and begged for my release. She brought me back to life. How could I turn her over to you?’”

“She mourned her,” the child said, trying to make sense of it. “The demons spared her because she mourned?”

“Inana spared her. As she spared Cara of Umma and Lual of the Fortress of Copper-Workers. But then she returned to the plain of Kullaba—”

“The first city she conquered,” the child remembered cheerfully. “After she moved into this temple. Kullaba was loyal to An and—”

“Iltani, listen.” They subsided and the gala-priest continued. “This is Kullaba, where we are now. All around us. Inana lived here with her husband, her throne was under her favorite tree, in the center of the sacred grove. That was where she found Dumuzid, dressed magnificently, sitting in her throne. Awaiting her return.”

They tried to imagine that, the shepherd-god leaping up joyfully to greet his wife, whom he thought had died.

“The demons tore him apart before her. She looked at him, and it was the look of death. She spoke to him, it was the speech of anger. She shouted at him, it was the shout of heavy guilt: ‘How much longer? Take him away.’ Holy Inana gave Dumuzid the shepherd into the demons’ hands.” They leaned towards the child. “Do you know why?”

The child shook their head, trying to understand. It was so simple, so obvious, so much the opposite of everything they thought they knew. “Because… he didn’t… mourn?”

“Yes. Grief and sorrow are part of who we are. Everyone feels them, everyone feels lonely, and uncertain, and afraid. But the city can’t function if we all just wallow in those feelings. So we hide them until they come out as tears, and we hide our tears until they become pain, and then we bury that pain where no one can see it, and it eats away at us from the inside.”

“But… that means…” The child bowed their head, fingers digging into the fuzz of their scalp. “He was punished for… not being sad enough? That’s cruel. That’s unjust.”

“Who said justice has anything to do with it?”

“It has to. Inana is… she protects us from… But then she… Why—” They brightened, looking up. “Is it an allegory? Are the demons a metaphor?”

Aruru laughed. “Who taught you about metaphors?”

The child frowned at themself. They seemed… older now. Larger, but still awkward and unformed. Their hair hung past their shoulders in braids. “Sometimes stories don’t mean what they seem to. So the demons are… are the pain that destroys us from inside?”

“That’s very clever. But no.” The child’s shoulders fell as they watched the priest stand. They seemed younger now, hair darker, body less frail. “After Dumuzid was taken, though the demons were gone, Inana continued to rage. It was only when she found Geshtinana lamenting for her brother that her heart was soothed. She tore her hair like esparto grass and cried, ‘You wives who lie in your men’s embrace, where is my precious husband?’”

“And then they let him go?”

“Well… it was a bit more complicated than that. But yes. Dumuzid returned and dwelt on earth in the winter and spring while Geshtinana took his place in the underworld, and the cycle continued. Now, what does this story tell us?”

“Nnnnnnnh!” The child collapsed backwards in a flurry of braids and sheepskin. “It tells us nothing! It tells us Inana doesn’t care for justice! That she will stand aside and let her loyalest followers be torn apart!” They kicked their heels against the ground. “She doesn’t care about us, doesn’t care if we serve her, doesn’t care if we do what’s right, just if we—” The thought struck them like a splash of cold water and they sat up, staring at the priest. “The lamentations. She spared her followers because they mourned.”

“And?”

“And… I sang it tonight to…” their breath started to come ragged. “To ask her to… protect us… to purify me… I thought she would have compassion, but it’s not that at all, it’s just… begging for our lives…”

“Child, I think you’ve gone a bit far in the other direc—”

“Sabium lied! Inana sees us suffering and does nothing!”

They clutched their chest as a sudden pain struck them, not their own despair but another, from outside, resonating within. The child’s head whipped around to the fire, where they could faintly see Elutil’s horrified face. She was shouting at someone. You charlatan! You don’t speak for—

Aruru stepped in front of them, blocking the child’s view of the fire. “Not yet.”

“But—she needs help!”

“I know. But you can’t help her. Not yet.” They sat down and held out their hands to the child. “You want to be able to help her?” A nod. “Then we will find a way. But first, you must tell me. Why is it important that gala-priests aren’t men or women?”

“…the hand of our newest priestess in marriage.”

Elutil’s mouth fell open, but no objection emerged.

Marriage? She couldn’t marry. She was too young. She had only just been initiated. There was still so much to learn. She didn’t have time for—

Mattaki was looking at her. He was far from the only one, but she could remember how his hands brushed down her back. After he removed her dress, before the whip cut into her again. Not at all how a priest should touch a priestess. She tried to step back but found herself pressed against Sabium, and suddenly her mind filled with thoughts.

Thoughts that had only ever struck her while laying on the rooftop in the hottest part of the day, or when she woke in the middle of the night. Idle speculation, undirected. Inana was a goddess of fertility, that was where Elutil had come from, so she was well aware of the details. She just hadn’t decided if she found it appealing, if she wanted anyone else, and especially a man, pressed against her that way.

Only now, with Sabium behind her and Mattaki’s eyes unwaveringly on her… the thoughts took on whole new shapes. Darker forms, hands running across her and she couldn’t move—

“Wait,” she managed, voice sticking in her throat.

“As always, we will settle the details after the hunt,” Sabium continued, plucking the heavy weight of silver from her hands. “I’m sure you’re all eager to get started.”

A chuckle ran through the crowd, one she’d heard before at the start of hunts, one that had never disturbed her quite so much as it did now. Her eyes searched the crowd, looking for any hint of sympathy, any help. Any pair of eyes that wasn’t either imagining her disrobed, or remembering.

Dadasig was watching her, eyes wide, face pale. He’d promised earlier today that he wouldn’t let anything happen to her, he’d promised, but here he was again, standing stupidly, just as he had this morning, just as he did every time.

“Sabium,” she said, much louder. “You can’t—”

“Let the hunt begin!”

Elutil’s scream of frustration was lost in the echoing battle cry. The pounding of feet as fifty hunters raced across the square, vanishing down different dark streets. A few took torches, but most would rely on moonlight alone.

The crowd had nearly dispersed when she finally pushed free of the high priest’s hands and spun to face him, ignoring the way her back seared with pain. “You can’t do this!” she shouted, stomping her foot as if she were a child.

“I can and I have. The matter is settled.” He glared at her coldly.

“But she’s right,” said Siduri, pushing her way closer, Gemeshega and Delondra close behind. “Elutil is far too young for marriage. Her cycles only started this past year, they aren’t even regular yet.”

“Then she can remain with the priestesses until she is ready to perform her marital duties without supervision.”

“Supervision?” Elutil’s stomach turned. “You can’t possibly—”

“In other cities, all priestesses are expected to perform the fertility rites in public every year. Starting far younger than you.”

“That’s bullshit!” Her face was hot, tears filling her eyes. “You’re lying!”

“Do not accuse me of such things. You know nothing of the world.”

“I know Inana doesn’t demand every priestess be a sacred courtesan! Any more than she demands every priest be a guard!”

“The child is right,” Gemeshega said, resting her hands soothingly on Elutil’s shoulders. “You have said yourself, there must be division of duties. Not every priestess is commanded to fulfill every role.”

“And there have always been priestesses who abstained from sex,” Siduri added firmly. “By their own choice.”

“Yes,” Sabium snapped. “And there have always been guards who refuse to fight and priests who turn squeamish at a blood sacrifice. Your temple allowed such to serve imperfectly, and look what became of you. This city was all but falling apart when I arrived, abandoned by the goddess. Would you have us return to those days?”

Once, Elutil had looked up to Siduri, a woman of many skills, a quick mind, and a clever tongue, ready to speak her thoughts to even the goddess herself.

But that had been long, long ago. Now she simply bowed her head, murmuring softly, “I wish I had been consulted.”

“Consultation is a courtesy, one which I do not always extend. Inana has spoken. That is all you need to know.”

“Inana hasn’t spoken,” Elutil shouted, desperate, not caring who heard her. “You creep. You charlatan! You don’t speak for—”

He struck her across the face so hard, Elutil collapsed at his feet. “Blasphemy. I should have dealt with you long ago, but I had hopes you would see the light.” She gasped and struggled to sit up, feeling at least one of her wounds freshly re-torn in the fall. “And yet today you have done nothing but disgrace your goddess again and again. First by sharing a bath with three young men—”

“Two! And they were just—”

“And now by answering a commandment from your goddess with nothing but childish whining. If you cannot learn to comport yourself as a priestess should, you will be stripped of your rank and your husband can deal with you as he chooses. Do you understand?”

She could feel the eyes on her, the priests, the servants, everyone who had followed the procession. This time Elutil didn’t look up to meet any of them. “Yes, Master Sabium,” she murmured softly.

“Good.” He gestured to a building behind them. “We will wait for the results of the hunt here. Get her ready for her wedding, and make sure there are no marks on her face.”

Gemeshega and Siduri tried to help her to her feet, but Elutil just curled in on herself, holding in her screams until they turned to tears.

Crawley threw herself against the wooden door, but it may as well have been a wall. Even though she pushed with her left arm, the right exploded into pain around the seal, something tearing all the way down to her true form.

She staggered back, scanning the door. Yes, carved into it—another eight-pointed star of Inana.

“No no no…” She pounded with her fist. “Let me in, please let me in!”

No response. She darted across the street, spotting a poorer house with only a heavy reed mat. She tried to push that aside, but it was as heavy as a stone. “Please, Satan, please! Let me in!”

Someone screamed inside, a rush of footsteps backing away.

“No no don’t go, don’t leave me, please!” She scratched frantically at the mat, trying to ignore the pain of the brand. “You bastards, let me in!”

Nothing. Whoever was inside had fled to the farthest part of the building.

Clutching her aching arm, Crawley stumbled back. Through the tears in her eyes, she could see another star carved above the doorway, right into the plaster of the building.

Of course they would have thought of that. They thought of everything.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck,” she leaned against the house, scratching frantically at the brand. Peeling at the scabs and cuts from her beatings, trying to break the circle. She would have had as much luck peeling the sigil from her face.

“Aziraphale, help me,” she pleaded, digging her hands into the mud. “You bastard, you stupid angel, I… I can’t…”

A shout echoed down the street. Laughter, jeers—the hunters approached. How close were they? How much time had she wasted already?

She stumbled to her feet, wiping her face, and began to run again.

“Do you know what liminal means?” Aruru asked.

The child pulled at their braids, trying to ignore another surge of pain from the world. “I don’t know. Why would you think I’d know a word like that?”

“You knew allegory and metaphor. Children learn all sorts of words without noticing.” But the gala-priest smiled patiently, holding up their hands. “A limes is a boundary, a limit. The line between one field and the next. In life, things come in categories. Men and women. Farmer and priest. Child and adult. Dream and reality. Living and dead. Mankind and gods. Yes?”

“I… guess so…” Their leg bounced with the need to move.

“But the categories are in our minds. Not everything fits wholly in one or the other. Perhaps because we cross them with time, as a girl becomes a woman. Or perhaps because there was never a true distinction to begin with. Tell me, what makes you different from… let’s say, your friend Tigzar?”

“He’s a boy,” the child said, without hesitating.

“And?”

“And he does… boy things. Like. Um. He plays rough and pulls people’s hair. He doesn’t want to talk about feelings or… or things you want. And… and when he doesn’t understand things,” they scowled, “he makes stupid jokes that hurt and he doesn’t even care.”

“I see. And do you ever do any of these things?”

This time the pain came entirely from inside them. The child jumped to their feet, stumbling back. “I’m not a boy! I was never a boy! I—”

“Iltani,” Aruru said sternly. “I know. Please.” They gestured for the child to sit again, which they reluctantly did. “Doing a few ‘boy things’ is not what makes him a boy, nor would it make you so. I’m sure Elutil does some ‘boy things’ as well, and you would never accuse me of saying she wasn’t a girl.” The child crossed their arms and nodded. “When you try to divide something as complicated as people into neat categories, you find that they don’t all fit. In most cases, it will be close enough to ignore the discrepancies, but you will always get some people who fall through the cracks. Who exist on the boundaries. Who are not one thing or the other.”

“And that’s… liminal?”

“Precisely. Many gala-priests are like you, growing up knowing they are neither boy nor girl, or are both at the same time. The rest are different in other ways, but still find their place among us. The important thing is, all of us are different. All of us are…”

“Deviant,” the child said. “That’s what Sabium calls it.” The temple around them flickered, a painted relief appearing on the opposite wall of the chamber.

“I prefer the term transgressive. And that doesn’t need to be a bad thing. Like inconvenient emotions, we can get in the way of smoothly ordered running of the city, but what would life be without a bit of variation?”

“Efficient,” the child said stubbornly. “Everything, everyone must be in their place, to serve Inana as best we can. She commands it. Sabium says so.”

“Oh, and now you are listening to Sabium?”

“No… yes… I don’t know.” They stood up and began pacing, tugging at their hair to find it was now one long bundle of curls falling from the middle of their head, the rest closely cropped. “It’s not even that I want it to be true, that’s just how things are. How else could the world work?”

“Much as it did before the city existed, and as it will long after it falls.” The priest looked younger again, bright-eyed, in the prime of life. “And as for Inana commanding it.” They put an arm around the child’s shoulders, turning them back to the statues. “Tell me again who that is.”

“Inana. Goddess of War.”

“What else?” When they didn’t respond, Aruru prompted, “What would Elutil say?”

“Goddess of… fertility?”

“Yes. What else?”

“Goddess of… the fields?”

“And?”

“Goddess of the city.”

“Yes. Go on.”

“Goddess of… of justice. Goddess of rage. Goddess of love. Goddess of mindless desire. Queen of the heavens. Conqueror of the underworld.”

“Well. She rather wishes she was that last one. But yes. She doles out justice for those who are wronged, and she seizes power wherever she sees it. She is the lions prowling the desert and the new lambs born in the spring. She is the lightning at the heart of the storm and the most beautiful star in the sky. Your greatest adversary and your best friend. Good and evil. Virgin and mother. Living and dead.” They paused to make sure the child was paying attention. “Male and female.”

The child’s eyes went wide. “You mean…”

“Like her, we are contradictions. Deviant. Transgressive. Liminal.” They circled around to stand on the other side of the fire. “Boy and girl. Old and young. Priest and acolyte.”

“I… I don’t understand.”

“We see the world in ways others can’t. Where they see a wall, a division, a limit, we see… a path we can walk. Dream and reality. Living and dead. Other and self.”

“You…” They backed away. “You aren’t Aruru.”

“No, I’m not. But you knew that, didn’t you?” The other figure circled around the fire. “You’re clever. You must have suspected ages ago.”

“Stay away!” They pressed their hands to their ears. “I don’t want to hear your… your blasphemies, your lies! You’re just like—”

All the light vanished for a moment, everything vanishing except the demon tied between two posts, covered in blood, screaming.

The child pressed their hands to their eyes. “Are you… are you a demon?”

“I’m something much worse.” They raised their eyes to find the other standing close, smiling slightly. “I’m what the demon put in your mind.”

⁷ From “The Exaltation of Inana” (Inana B) by Enheduana the priestess.
⁸ From “Dumuzid and Geshtinana”
⁹ Also from “Inana’s Descent to the Underworld”

Chapter 9: At the Reservoir

Iltani had been thrashing in their sleep for several minutes.

The priestesses had said not to wake them. Tigzar was to remain close, watch what happened, be ready when they did wake. Also do wake them if things got bad. None of which really made much sense, but rituals rarely did.

He’d started pacing, crossing in and out of the room. Outside, in the courtyard, the moon was bright overhead, the evening star slowly dipping towards the horizon. Now and then, sounds from the city, voices raised. He couldn’t make out the words, but it made him feel uneasy.

He’d never seen any point in bringing the entire temple to the middle of the city for the hunt. Most of them didn’t participate, and they’d just take over some home or public building to wait for word of the end. It might be soon. It might be hours yet.

Back inside again, where Iltani had curled into a ball, whimpering. Was that what he was supposed to be waiting for? Uncertainly, Tigzar crouched, hand hovering over his friend’s shoulder. “Hey, uh… you… you ready to wake up?”

“Stay back,” they mumbled. Or something that sounded like it.

Shrugging, Tigzar did as he was directed, crossing outside again to see if he could hear the progress of the hunt.

Crawley threw her weight against the door of the public building, slamming her shoulder into it again and again. There was no star of Inana, no pain in her brand, but it still wouldn’t budge.

Was it bolted shut from the inside? She frantically scratched at the plaster, but all her nails were broken at this point, ragged edges scrabbling uselessly.

She could hear the shouts behind her. Not close yet, but coming. Always coming.

Shit shit shit shit…

Backing up all the way across the street, she charged the door, hurling her entire weight against it. The impact echoed through her head in waves of pain and nausea that left her bent over and retching, but still it wouldn’t open.

No time, no time.

She pounded her fist against it one last time and tore down the street, tripping around corners, trying to clutch her head and ribs at the same time.

The next block was a group of homes centered around—yes—a slaughterhouse, she could see where the excess blood would drain away, and the smell—unmistakable.

Knives. There would be knives inside, stone blades, something.

She pounded on the door, kicking it, sobbing in frustration. There had to be a way in.

Nearby stood a pen to hold animals—empty now, can’t leave the goats out for a demon to steal—with low walls of mudbrick, but a gate of wooden posts. She seized one, wrestling with it, and managed to pull a length of wood free.

Oh, thank Satan.

She hammered it against the slaughterhouse door, still hoping—

“Hey! Hey! Get the fuck away from that!” A stone crashed against the door by her hand, another just missed her feet. “Blasted vermin. Get me another one.”

In the dark, she could make out figures crouched on the roof of the nearest house. “Please!” she called, hating herself for the desperation in her voice. “I’m not going to hurt you. Please, help—”

More stones from every direction. More, scraps of wood, whole ceramic pots, crashing by her feet, slamming into her back. She gasped as a thousand pains burst to life again, dropping the post from numb fingers.

Voices all around.

“I said get out of here! Shoo!”

“Bet I can hit it again!”

“Hey, demon! Hey, demon!”

“Don’t taunt it, we’re not supposed to interfere.”

“Over here! Hunters! It’s over here!”

Wrapping her arms around her head for protection, she tried to run, making her way on shaking, tottering legs away from the circle of homes. Cheers and laughter echoed behind her.

“Bastards!” she screamed, pulling at her own braids. “You monsters! I hate you! I hate all—”

Something whistled past her ear. Not a stone. An arrow.

Without even pausing to think, she dove into the next side street, then found an alley, a long path between the high walls of two houses, strewn with garbage and human waste, but open at the far end, except for some sort of low wall.

“There she is!” A glance back showed two men with spears, running far faster than she could. Sobbing, she lurched ahead, finding another burst of speed, but it was no good—the wooden shaft slammed into her head, and Crawley dropped, rolling through the mud and filth.

Blinking her eyes clear, Crawley found one of the men looming over her, bronze point of a spear aimed at her throat. “That was too easy. Suppose that’s what they get for using a—”

Crawley kicked up, foot slamming between his legs. Even as he fell, she could see the other coming up behind him.

She shoved the ground, somehow getting to her feet, and half-ran half-fell the rest of the way down the alley, scrambling atop the short wall.

On the other side was a sharp drop into a stone lined canal, wide as a river, moonlight reflecting faintly off the calm water.

She stared across the waterway, four times wider than any road, and up and down, tracing its path across the city in great bends and branches. “Told you, Angel,” she murmured, feeling herself begin to shake.

The human behind her swung his spear, and she leapt down into the water with a splash.

“This is ridiculous!” Elutil paced the small room, trying to rant at a volume that wouldn’t carry. “He can’t marry me off! It—it isn’t allowed!”

“It is,” Gemeshega said, sounding resigned as she finally managed to push Elutil to sit on the floor. “You were given to the temple. Sabium stands as your father, and certainly has the resources to cover your dowry and your wedding feast.”

“But what if—surely every man out there doesn’t just happen to have a brideprice saved up for—for surprise weddings!”

“No,” said Delondra, the teenaged priestess, carefully unwinding Elutil’s braids. “But the Lord of the Hunt is almost always a priest or a guard. In which case, Sabium can pull from the temple resources for them as well.”

“He can do that?” It definitely sounded like cheating somehow. What was he going to do, pay himself?

“Oh, yes,” Siduri said. “By long tradition, although before Sabium, our priestesses usually married priests of other gods. It was meant as a way of drawing favor and restoring balance. Of course, in those days, married priestesses could still be active in the temple…”

Another horrid thought struck the girl. “You mean I’ll have to… to leave? I won’t be able to…” It shouldn’t have been a surprise, how many priestesses had she seen leave on their husband’s arm, never to return? But she’d never imagined that would be her. Serving Inana was the only life Elutil had ever known.

“Here, move aside Delondra,” Siduri said. “I need to check her wounds.” The older woman’s hands gently squeezed her shoulders. “You’ll still be a priestess in name, and have all the respect that wields in the city, which is… that’s more than most women could aspire to. But yes. Inana has commanded that all wives of Uruk… avoid potentially distracting duties.”

“You mean Sabium commanded,” she snapped bitterly, tears rising in her eyes again. She swatted them away, forcing herself to keep composure, as a priestess should.

“He follows Inana’s commands, the same as us all,” Siduri said, with more defeat in her voice than anything else. She carefully peeled away Elutil’s dress, the wounds stinging afresh as the air hit them.

“And it is good fortune,” Gemeshega said, settling before her with a small cosmetics jar. She applied what she could, rubbing her fingers on the young priestess’s face, with particular attention to the bruise growing on her cheek. “Delondra has waited many years for Inana to bless her with a husband.”

“She can have mine.”

“Don’t say such things,” Delondra scolded piously, starting on a tight braid that would wrap all around Elutil’s head. “Inana will choose my husband for me when the time is right. As she has for you.”

Elutil clenched her teeth, trying not to rock in place.

She must be married to hide the shame of sharing her bath with men.

Those men had only been in the bath because she was badly wounded.

She had only been wounded because Iltani had shared a meal with a demon.

Everything was the demon’s fault. Just as Sabium always taught. All suffering stems from demons.

And yet…

The creeping voice whispered in her mind again. This isn’t Inana’s will. It’s Sabium’s.

But the thought was too terrifying to hold.

If Sabium wasn’t entirely beholden to Inana’s commands, then what else had he lied about? What other decisions did he make on his own whim?

Dozens of priestesses, and every gala-priest but Iltani, had been sent away according to Inana’s wishes. How many girls barely older than her had been sent to the temple of the goddess’s courtesans, resolutely hiding their fear and despair, submitting to Inana’s will? How many had been sent to minister beyond the walls, never to be seen again?

If Sabium didn’t have to listen to Inana, had all that truly been necessary?

Had the scars on her back been necessary?

Elutil dug her fingers into her thighs as she started to shake. She pushed the blasphemy away as hard as she could, but it rose in her mind again and again…

Had the goddess who abandoned them ever returned at all?

“You know,” Delondra said, forced cheerfulness in her voice as she continued to braid, “Mattaki is the favorite to be Lord of the Hunt this year. And did you see how he charged off? It wouldn’t be so bad—”

“Quiet, girl!” Siduri’s voice cracked through the room like a whip. “It’s… it’s going to be alright,” she murmured more softly, shaking fingers smearing honey across the wounds. “You’re going to be alright.”

But she could picture, all too clearly, the man looming over her in the dark.

And this time she truly would be alone.

“…canal…”

“…ledge too high…”

“…seen it…?”

Nearly half the hunters had gathered along the edge of the canal, bent over the side, torches in hand.

“What are we supposed to do if it drowns?”

Dadasig stood a little apart from the group.

He always did. He’d been nearly ten summers old when he came to the temple, far too old to become an acolyte. But even at that age, half-starved from the famine and his months on the streets, his strength had been undeniable. He’d been welcomed as a future guard, not just a soldier, but a warrior of the war goddess.

It had turned his life around. To have a safe place to sleep, to have food every day. Tasks to complete, lessons to learn. A place in the world laid out neatly before him, with everything he could wish provided to him if he could simply obey.

Except.

He’d been half the size of the other guards, fumbling his way through his exercises.

He’d been enormous beside the other children of the temple, awkward and looming no matter what he did.

Too dumb for his lessons, too clumsy for the rituals. And a lifetime of rough living stood between him and the pampered acolytes who’d never seen the city as it really was.

So he’d stood apart from everyone. On his own.

And then, as he grew, he’d started… feeling things. Feeling a fluttery shyness when he spoke to other boys. Feeling a heat rise when he watched the guards train. Standing in the bath with boys and men, feeling both an urge to get close and a terrifying fear of what might happen if he did…

Really, just another layer of irony to the day’s punishment.

“Gotta be that she swam somewhere. Dead bodies float. We’d know if she drowned.”

And when he’d been ready to flee the temple forever from sheer humiliation, Elutil had found him. Patiently explained the side of the goddess that had nothing to do with battles and weapons. Answered his questions and assured him his feelings were natural, and normal. That only being attracted to half the residents of the temple didn’t mean he was somehow broken or incomplete, yes, even if it was the half he couldn’t have children with.

It was the first time in a long time he hadn’t felt stupid. Useless. And though he soon found that Iltani and Tigzar welcomed him without reservation, it was Elutil he owed an eternal debt to.

A debt which he’d already failed to pay once this day.

“Where are you going?” Someone called after Mattaki.

“Docks. Demon’s gotta come up somewhere. Perfect place to hide like a coward.”

The rest of the crowd trailed after him, shouting their agreement. All except Dadasig.

After all, he’d had to hide in the canals a few times when he lived on the streets. The docks seemed like the best place to go, but they were too deep, the sides too flat. Even at night, the crowded boats posed too many dangers, too many chances to strike your head and slip under. And there was no place to climb out without being spotted by everyone who might be looking down from above.

He turned his feet and hurried to the reservoir.

“What do you think Crawley might be doing in Uruk?” Uriel asked, keeping their tone light.

“Oh, I…” Aziraphale’s mind ached from the effort of constant invention. “I would never, ah, never limit myself by trying to predict her movements. She’s too… too… unpredictable. No, no, I must always be prepared for every possible circumstance.”

“…By not planning for any?” Michael asked, her eyebrows raised.

“Yes. No. Well, one can over-prepare, you know. I have… several, ah, leads, you might say, which need to be followed up on before I can—I can hazard any… mmmm… conclusion-jumping.”

The sharp exhalation was the only sign Gabriel’s patience was beginning to wear thin. “Why don’t you tell me about these leads, then?”

“Of course. Ah. I heard from a… a very reliable source that priests in the city have been, er, discussing demons.”

“Discussing how?”

“Oh, ah,” he thought back to the conversation with the young children in the village. “Truly disturbing things. I don’t like to say.” He could tell that Sandalphon was about to request more details. “But—but, the main thing is—is something is going on. As I understand it, traders in the villages all up and down the river do not visit during the harvest.”

“That’s… all?” Gabriel looked beyond disappointed.

“Well… yes, but. You have to understand. This is the largest city in the region, possibly the world. The harvest is the busiest time for trade, and yet no one—no one—wants to visit. Even putting off the trade for a day or two would be unthinkable at any other city. Something is going on there, something,” he added, slowly and deliberately, “that no human wants part of. And Crawley… Crawley is there now. She arrived at the height of it, and…”.

Oh, lord. This was sounding worse by the second.

What sort of horrid occasion had she been summoned for? What sort of cruel person could organize such a thing?

And what were they doing to his demon now?

“…sounds like a lot of guesswork. If there’s nothing more substantial—”

“There is someone in Uruk with great power,” Aziraphale blurted out. “I could tell from the state of Crawley’s possessions.” He crouched down, reaching for the hide bag, but the contents had spilled across the floor, many of them broken. “Oh, bother.” He quickly scooped everything back in—making sure to retrieve the pieces of the clay snake from the ruins of the beer jar. “Look, for example. I watched Crawley make this and—and there’s not a trace of power in it.”

Sandalphon snatched a piece from him, studying the little arrow-shaped head. “It looks like ordinary hardened mud. But you saw her manifest it?”

“Watched her create it with her own hands,” he said, remembering how she’d carefully coiled the long rope of sticky clay before placing it in the kiln. “Ah… what’s more, it… it moved and spoke,” he added, hardly believing his audacity.

Crawley had wriggled the head at him, hissing and saying hello, Angel in a silly infant voice. Utterly absurd. It made his heart ache to remember. When the potter had removed it from the enormous communal kiln, she’d held it up and said… “She called it her serpent-child. Born from earth and fire.”

Uriel inspected it next, then Michael, who shrugged at Gabriel. “As he says, not a trace. Someone may have drained it of its infernal power, but I’ve never seen it done so completely.”

Gabriel’s violet eyes never moved off the Principality’s face. “Is that what you think happened, Aziraphale?”

“Oh, I—I—I, as I said, I prefer not to jump to conclusions. But, yes, there is certainly evidence that—that powerful forces are at work.” He shifted his weight anxiously. Technically none of it had been a lie, and it served as well as his actual evidence, but the guilt still weighed heavily upon him. He’d have to perform some sort of atonement, once Crawley was safe.

“This would be serious if true,” Uriel said, voice giving nothing away.

“Worth a look, I think,” Gabriel said.

Michael tossed the snake head back to Aziraphale, who barely managed to catch it without dropping the bag. “I’ll see if there’s anything unusual going on in the city. Shouldn’t take long.”

“Really?” Aziraphale almost collapsed with relief. “I mean, yes, that’s wonderful that—that you can… can check so easily. My word. If I had those sorts of resources—”

“You are given what you need to do your job,” Gabriel said as Michael walked away. “No more, no less.” He folded his hands again and smiled. “Now, speaking of your job. Why don’t you tell me everything again. In order this time.”

Crawley crouched in the enormous artificial lake. It was twice as wide as the ziggurat rising in the city, but the depth ranged from her waist to just over her head. The outer edges were thickly planted with date palms, tamarisks, poplars, and even a few willows. At one end, a gently sloping bank made an ideal place to rest in the heat of the day. The whole thing was surrounded by a wall, of course, but the gate was intended to keep out animals, not people.

Looked like she had two choices. Stay in the water and hide as long as possible, disappearing down one of the canals if anyone approached. Good way to keep away from spears, but the moon was getting brighter every minute, and the archers would have a clear shot every time her head poked above the water.

Or she could get out, hop the gate, and get back to running through the city like a damn rat. More places to hide at least.

Well. Before she could decide, she should see where she was. Had to be somewhere near the middle of the city. Quick peek to get the general idea, then back into the water.

Keeping low, she crept forward, barely making a sound, barely a ripple as she approached the shore. Ears wide for any sound apart from her own breathing.

Voices. Footsteps. Two, maybe three. Trying to be quiet.

She drew close to one of the willows along the shoreline, waiting as they approached. Tips of spears shone above the wall, then passed in front of the gate with hardly time to glance inside.

Their footsteps continued on, on, into the distance…

Crawley let out a breath, gliding under the tree. Perhaps if she could hold out the whole night—

A heavy weight dropped onto her shoulders, forcing her under.

Everything went dark, up and down vanished leaving nothing but the burning silence.

Then she struck the bottom and bounced back up, breaking the surface with a gasp.

The butt of a spear immediately struck the side of her head, the barely-contained pain blazing to undeniable life. Then the staff found her throat, shoving her back under again, this time pinning her down while the air escaped in a flurry of bubbles, no matter how she twisted.

The pressure across her throat vanished and she was hauled back to the surface.

Amidst her splashing and coughing, her attacker screamed something, then thrust her underwater again, the butt of the spear slamming into her already-bruised ribs, knocking the air out of her.

She scrambled and twisted, talons scraping at the bottom of the lake, legs trying to find the force to kick properly. The pressure vanished again, and again he pulled her up, screams tearing through her throat, more shouts echoing in her ears.

This time when the spear came around to slam across her throat, she was ready, catching it in taloned hands and fanged jaw. She didn’t have the strength to bite it in half, but she gnawed and tugged, worrying it like a dog with a bone. It was enough to throw him off-balance.

The moment she could move freely, Crawley burst from the water, charging onto the shore. But the spear struck her shoulder like a club, shaft snapping into pieces, and down she went.

She threw her hands up as the attacker fell on her, clawing his face and arms as he tried to pin her down. Managed to push him off, crawling through the mud towards the half-spear, bronze point dimly glittering in the dark.

But her attacker was faster, first slamming her head into the ground, then, while she was trying to recover, kicking her over.

When the starry sky came back into focus, a young man knelt between her and it, blade of the spear pressed against her throat.

“For the last time: will you yield?”

His face shifted in the light and, oh Satan, he wasn’t a young man at all, he was a child. Two years older than Iltani, if that. Pale, apart from the deep red wounds on his face and neck and arms. His hands were shaking.

“If…” Her head was on fire, her ribs felt shattered. “If I yield… will you… let me live?”

He shook his head, left hand pressing her shoulder into the mud. His armor didn’t even fit, just hardened leather barely covering his torso, hanging crooked after their fight in the water. “It’s not up to me. But if you yield to me… no one else has to suffer…”

“Oh, kid…” The edge of his spear pressed just below her jaw now. “I don’t think that’s true. And. I don’t think you believe it, either.”

She could see his eyes now. No anger in them, no darkness. Just fear. He must be as terrified as she was.

He shook his head, leaning closer, until she felt the first drop of blood roll down her neck…

Then he sat up, pulling the spear away. “Look,” he said, “I—”

Arrows rained down around them. He jolted and toppled across her.

“Got her!” someone shouted.

“…again!”

Crawley shoved, and the dead weight rolled off her chest with a moan. She grabbed the half-spear, running towards the gate—

Moan?

Without even thinking, Crawley spun and dove back, the second wave of arrows passing so close she felt the wind of them. Two more had landed in the mud by the kid, one leaving a nasty cut across his leg. But when she touched his face, he moved, eyes opening briefly.

“Ah, fuck.” She grabbed his arm and hauled so hard she thought her lungs would explode, dragging him up the bank, throwing both of them behind a date palm tree, which shook from the impact of more arrows. “Fuck fuck fuck!” She dropped his arms and took a quick look at his back. The arrow had punched through his armor, but not too deeply. He would be fine in a bit. Provided it didn’t get infected. And nothing else hit him.

Crawley glanced back around the tree and saw the source of the arrows. At least seven boats, crossing the lake, nearly to shore. She couldn’t make out who stood at the prow of the lead boat, but somehow knew it was Mattaki.

She grabbed a fallen palm leaf and dropped it on the kid. “Play dead,” she hissed, then gathered herself and darted out, running for the next tree, barely reaching it ahead of another wave of arrows.

One more run should bring her to the gate. If her whole body could just stop hurting.

Oh, Satan, they were so close she could hear the paddles.

Whimpering, she pushed off from the tree, dashed, prepared to leap over the gate—

A twang of bowstrings—

She crashed to the ground on the other side.

I did it.

Crawley sat up, suppressing a laugh.

She’d done it, with nothing more than bruises, scrapes, and…

And an arrow through her right arm.

She was so overwhelmed with other pains, she couldn’t even feel it. Got me good, though… she thought, gently touching the bit of bronze sticking out from her flesh—

Oh, no. There was the pain.

She clapped a hand over her mouth, cutting off the scream.

“…got her!” Followed by a cheer.

The world tilted and spun as she tried to stand up.

“Stay back!” They stumbled away, trying to put space between themself and the apparition. But there wasn’t anywhere to go. The temple felt smaller, more confining, and they were trapped between the fire and the statues.

The apparition shook its head. “You still don’t know what’s going on? Come on, Iltani. You’re smarter than that.”

“I do! I know exactly what’s going on! You—you—the demon ensnared me! Bound me to it and it left you to—to whisper its blasphemies and—and turn me against Inana!” All at once, the temple was full of angles and walls, places to hide. They threw themself around a corner, pressing back against it. “I’m not going to listen to you!”

“Aren’t you?” The footsteps stopped, just shy of where they hid. “Tell me then, O clever gala-priest of Inana, what blasphemy did the demon say?”

“It—it defiled the name of Inana!”

The apparition laughed. “Really? When did that happen?”

“Must have.” The child kept backing away, looking for a better hiding place. “It… it denied Inana’s duty of conquest, that it wasn’t her prerogative to seize all she desired.”

“Interesting. What were the exact words?”

That isn’t right! The child spun to find the fire in easy view, the demon’s face visible inside. That’s wrong! You bloody hack, no one ever told her to—

“Accused Sabium of telling a story wrong,” the apparition said, voice still seeming to come from just around the corner. “Doesn’t have the same punch, does it? Anything else?”

“It said… it rejected the death and rebirth of Dumuzid!”

Kid. I never met yer god. Summers’re hot. S’nothing t’do with me.

“Stop this!” Their hands were covered in blood, blood that would never come off, bright red cut through with black. “The demon… said… said… horrible, twisted things! It lied! It made me doubt! It made me… it made me corrupt my friends!”

“Iltani,” the apparition sighed. “Someone has been lying and twisting the truth. How did you tempt your friends? Yes, you were the first in the pool with Elutil, but what did you say to convince them to join you?”

They leaned against the wall, sliding down to the floor. The day was a blur, flashing images of faces and blood and emotions. Each of the boys had come to the edge of the pool, paused, then entered after… after… “I don’t remember.” The fire burned closer now than ever, almost close enough to touch, but just a regular fire. No faces. No words.

“Because you didn’t say anything. They decided on their own.”

All the walls had vanished now, the temple wide and empty as it had always been. The apparition knelt beside them, but the child stared resolutely at the ground ahead.

“If I… I didn’t do anything, why do I feel so…”

“Iltani. What is it you want? Be honest.”

“I…” The question had been so much easier when they were little. Things always were. “I want… I want to serve Inana, I want… to serve my city, I want to be a good… priest, I… I don’t know.” They rubbed their eyes, feeling the tears gather. “I only ever think about… what the goddess wants. What Sabium says she wants. And when I do it… everything makes sense. I don’t have to worry or be afraid as long as I obey. Everything will be alright if I obey.”

“Is that so?” Its voice was gentle, and very familiar.

“No…” A tear rolled down their face, different from the sort they cried after the ritual. “No. People still left. I still screwed up. I failed at everything, but I don’t know how to be anything else!”

“Would you like to learn?”

Slowly, the child raised their head to look at the apparition beside them. It was… themself. Identical. A reflection in polished silver.

The other child smiled. “Who am I?”

“You’re the questions I stopped asking, and the memories I ignored, because it was easier to obey.”

They pointed back to the statues. “And who is she?”

“Inana. Goddess of Love and War. Of Rage and Justice. The morning star and the evening star, both. She’s her own opposite, her own reflection.”

“And why are her gala-priests neither men nor women?”

“So we can see the world as she does. And follow her on paths that no one else can walk.”

A hand on their shoulder. “And why do we sing the lamentations?”

The child shook their head, still thinking. “Not… not to petition her for justice… not to plead for mercy. We… we soothe her heart and…” Suddenly, it was clear. Obvious. “We call her back to our sides when she strays too far.”

“Aha.”

They leapt to their feet, almost dancing around the fire in their excitement. “Of course! She’s like the—the wind and the river, always changing, always moving. Chaos and law, love and hate, both extremes and everything in between. She can be fickle but… but so can we. Humans. We get emotional, and we hurt those we care for. We feel fear and grief and withdraw from the world. We get so wrapped up in rules we forget what’s important. So what do we do? We sing the lamentation. We draw everyone back. We build connections and break conventions and restore the balance. And why a lamentation? Because… because…” They looked down at their hands, clean, then bloody, then clean again. Flickering. “Because we all feel the same pain. And when we forget that… that’s when things get screwed up.”

Iltani looked up, but they were alone in the temple. As they had been all along.

“So, now what?”

When they looked towards the doors, they could see the room where they slept, Tigzar pacing nearby, looking tired enough that he might fall asleep on his feet. In the fire, they saw… a path, narrow and treacherous. One that could only be walked by those who were a little different. Who could be on both sides, and neither.

It looked like a very dangerous path to walk without training.

They didn’t have to go that way. It was a choice. Many choices, really, when you thought about it. Choices were like questions, they led to another, and another, and another…

But of the choices in front of Iltani, only one seemed to offer answers. And it was about time they looked for some of those.

With one last glance at the statue of Inana, the gala-priest gingerly stepped into the fire…

Mattaki stepped off his boat and strode across the reservoir shore, followed quickly by his hunters. At first he hadn’t wanted to work with others—too much chance one of them could get the final hit and the glory—but all it really took was a few well-placed threats and an offer of a cut of the prize to keep them in line.

At least four men, all unable to afford another wife, were ready to swear to Inana that the final arrow had been his in exchange for some of the silver. Four should be enough to make it official, even if the other twenty all told the truth.

As he crossed the bank, Mattaki glanced behind the tree and spotted the blood-covered body of Dadasig, arms and face badly gnawed, half-hidden under leaves. Apparently they’d interrupted the demon’s meal and she’d tried to bury it like a dog.

Just as well. He’d been worried for a moment that the child had somehow managed to subdue the demon first, and would present an opposing claim. And even if he hadn’t, Dadasig would make trouble some other way. He’d seen the hesitation in the boy’s eyes earlier in the day. That was all the evidence he needed.

He’d hoped for a chance to kill the child himself during the heat of the hunt, but this was probably the cleanest possible solution. With that and the demon taken care of, he could finally indulge in thoughts of celebrating with his new bride…

“Mattaki!” someone called, interrupting his memories of her strangled screams. He pushed the thought aside and hurried over to peer over the gate.

There was a pool of blood, but no demon.

Well. The celebrations would have to wait a bit longer, it seemed.

“She can’t have gotten far,” he declared. “Get my spear. The hunt continues.”

Chapter 10: Dreamwalk

Play dead.

The demon had hissed at him and then vanished into the haze. Dadasig had wanted to call after her, give chase. Stand and confront the other hunters.

Not a great plan. All his plans tonight had been terrible. He wasn’t very good at plans, when you got down to it. Soldiers rarely were. All that obeying orders tended to make you dull.

Had he been given an order? Someone had told him to stay here…

He shut his eyes and let sleep take him.

He wandered along the top of the city wall, wondering how he’d gotten here. It wasn’t exactly easy to climb, it made you a major target for any archers who might be watching, and even if you managed it, there wasn’t much to do but enjoy the view.

Enjoy it he did. All that waving barley, exactly half of it harvested. The shining canals crisscrossing the plain, meeting up again in the south for the long march to Ur. The sun was hot, but not unpleasant; except for a bit of an itch between his shoulders, it was really a perfect day.

The wall seemed very narrow. It looked very narrow from the ground, but he had always supposed it would be wider when you actually got to it, like how the temple looked small from across the city. But it was thin, narrower even than his feet. Easier to sit down. He dangled his feet off the outer side of the wall, watching the canals and rivers flow past.

Was there something right down there, by the Ur Gate? He leaned forward, trying to get a better look.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

Dadasig glanced up. “Hey, Iltani.” He scratched his back, wondering why it itched. “Great day for a walk.”

The young gala-priest shook their head. “It’s not safe. You can’t be here unless you’re… um, there’s a word. Between states.”

“Just thought it looked nice.” The water below was the clearest he’d ever seen it, so clear he could see fish swimming around. “Good day for a swim.”

“I… I really don’t think that’s a good… what happened to your face?”

“Hmm?” He rubbed at it, hoping he’d finally grown a beard, but no. Just blood. “Demon got me good. Demon and…” he remembered why his back itched. “Oh. Shit.”

The city wall faded, and he could see the grove by the reservoir appearing around him. It was dark there, and the pain was a lot worse. “Iltani?”

“I can hear you… wait…” Their hand on his shoulder almost pulled him back to the wall, but then the grove became more solid. “No, that’s not… Where is everyone?”

“After th’demon.” How had he gotten under the tree? In his dream, the demon had dragged him over. Seemed unlikely. “Y’ll hafta… tell Elutil… m’sorry.”

“Sorry? For what? I’m the one who—”

“Gotta marry… that fuckin’…” He scowled, trying to remember his words. “Nh. Said I wouldn’t… let him hurt her. Inana’d have t’stop me.” He laughed. “Guess she did.”

Dadasig finally managed to lift his head and look. No one there.

He sighed. Should get up and try getting back. Back to…

Things went fuzzy again.

“—right there. I’ll get help. Somehow. I just…”

Dadasig nodded and continued walking. Iltani worried too much. It really was a nice day for a walk.

“There she is!”

Crawley didn’t even look back to see who it was, she simply ran, as fast as she could.

“Shoot her!”

The arrow went wide, shooting past her to strike someone’s front door.

It was a particularly dense part of the city, houses haphazardly clustered together with narrow paths between them. She darted down one, then another, hoping they would last long enough to lose her pursuers.

They didn’t.

She stumbled out into the main road and directly into another hunter. He reacted quickly, pushing her against the wall, but clearly Crawley had caught him by surprise. Before he could pin her properly, she wriggled free, slamming her arm into his side.

He fell and, miracle of miracles, dropped his spear. She scooped it up, trying to watch in every direction at once, though she struggled to hold it with the seal burning her left arm.

No, wait. The seal was her right arm. The left…

The left still had an arrow in it. The head was barbed, buried too deeply in the muscle to pull free. In the brief fight, the arrow had caught something, snapping the shaft, but also causing the head to shift and burrow even farther. A new surge of blood dripped toward her elbow.

At her feet, the hunter struggled, trying to stand, hand pressed to his side. She spun the point of the spear at him, and the man froze completely, staring up at her.

“Why?” she asked through clenched teeth, ribs aching at each breath. “Why?”

“Inana demands it.” His eyes burned with religious fervor. Just like the priests at the temple. An utter, unquestioning devotion.

“But why?”

“She needs no reason. We do as commanded.” He tipped his chin up defiantly. “Kill me if you will, the others will get you. We won’t fail her.”

“I don’t want to kill you, I want to kno—”

“The demon is here!” He screamed, loud enough to echo through the entire city. “She’s here! On the street of—”

Crawley swung the spear, cracking it into the side of his head. This time when he fell, he didn’t move at all.

Footsteps. More hunters, closing in. Did they know where she was? How easily could they find her? She darted across the street, looking for one of those little alleyways.

An arm flashed from nowhere and grabbed her braids, pulling her back. She swung the spear instinctively, but he caught it, trying to wrestle it from her. Crawley jerked it forward again, pulling him off-balance, and let herself collapse.

They dropped together into a pile, Crawley on top, and she scrambled to face him, punching his face. But the pain in her ribs flared, sapping her strength, and the hunter threw her off to strike her head against a wall.

Everything burst into light and dark, and she felt someone tugging on her arms, dragging her. Get up, she thought desperately. You don’t have time, get up!

Two faces came into focus above her. The hunter who had pulled her down, and another, looking somewhat familiar. She squinted, trying to place him.

“Did you see Mattaki’s team out there?” asked the familiar one, shifting his legs to sit on her stomach.

“Nah,” said the other, rubbing his chin. “I mean, can’t be far behind, but we’ll have a few minutes.”

“That’s all I need.” He pulled out a long bronze knife. It glittered, reflecting starlight. Very expensive. Only a few of the temple guards had—

“You,” she mumbled, remembering. “You took… my angel’s pin…”

“I’ll take more than that.” The tip of the knife brushed her collarbone. “Make sure she doesn’t scream too much.” The other guard’s hands clamped over her mouth. “If she doesn’t draw much attention, we might have time to—”

All at once, she started to move, grabbing the wrists of the man who sat on her, pulling them one way while she twisted her body the other. He cursed, loudly, lifting himself to try and get back into position, but that was all she needed.

Crawley rolled over, slipping out from under the other man’s hands, and dragged herself away. Couldn’t move fast, but if she could get one of their spears—

A sharp burst of pain, more excruciating than anything yet. She arched her back, screaming, nails digging into the ground.

“I’m not finished with you yet,” the man snarled, twisting the knife.

Crawley screamed again, sobbing, still trying to reach for the spear with a scale-covered hand. Her fingers brushed it, but it was too far.

“I have waited all day—” He jerked the knife free. “—for a little time—” Plunged it in again. “—with—”

Her fingers twisted into long bony claws—long enough to reach the spear shaft. She pulled it forward, driving the spear straight back into—something.

The weight on her back slid away. She scrambled to her feet and fuck, it hurt!

She reached back and found the knife, pulling it free. Fuck. Too much blood. That was why she’d left the arrow in.

Someone was whimpering nearby. She raised her eyes to find the other hunter. Was it him? Looked scared enough. He broke, fleeing down the alley.

She must look awful. Glanced down at the knife for her reflection. Blood. Right.

Back to the other guy. He had blood on the front of his armor now. Good.

Crawley pointed the knife at him. “Where… where’s my pin?”

“What?” He shook his head.

“My pin! You took my pin!” She swung the knife, not really sure what to do with it. “Where is it?”

The man fumbled at a pouch around his waist. “Here! I still—I was going to trade it for—”

She didn’t care. All that mattered was the long white piece of carved bone emerging from the pouch. Crawley let the spear drop, taking back the pin with fingers that were now soft and pale again, beneath the red and black blood. “Good,” she mumbled, pressing it to her chest. “S’good.”

There were other questions she should ask, but she couldn’t remember them. And there were footsteps again. More of them.

So she stepped over the hunter, pausing to kick him weakly in the ribs. “Bastard,” she mumbled and stumbled her way deeper into the city.

The oil lamps had gone dim. Midnight was approaching. Hunts usually ended by midnight.

The two older priestesses were sleeping, while Delondra diligently brushed her hair, eyes closed to better feel out the tangles.

And Elutil was trying very hard not to fall asleep. She stared at the lamp, forcing herself not to blink, letting the light scald her mind.

But it had been a long day. Two long days. The preparations, the vigil, the initiation, and…

Mattaki’s laughter in her ear. A hand running through her hair, down her back to—

With great effort, she pulled her eyes open, searched for the light. The lamp was gone, it was—Delondra held it, carried it away as she retreated to her corner. “I’ll let you sleep,” she said, blowing it out.

No no no no! Elutil tried to scream, but her voice was gone.

In the black distance, a whip cracked. Then again, much closer.

Inana, save me! But her statue had turned its face away.

“No one will save you now,” he purred, so close, so very close. She could feel the heat all down her back. “Why don’t we start with—”

“Leave her alone!”

The room flooded with painful, blinding light, and in the next instant Elutil stood balanced on the city wall, teetering wildly.

“Oh, no, oh, oh, shit!” Iltani grabbed her shoulders, holding her steady while everything shifted and twisted and turned upside down. “Oh, I really shouldn’t have—Elutil? Can you hear me?”

“What’s happening?” Everything seemed to spin around her, in seven different directions. Browns and greens and blues melting together.

“I… I was absolutely right. You shouldn’t be here, and neither should he.”

“Who? Iltani! Where—Mattaki was—”

“Don’t worry, it was a dream. Just a dream.”

“No!” She found her bearings enough to grab Iltani, drag herself against them in a death-grip hug. “It’s not a dream! Sabium said… he said I have to marry… the Lord of the Hunt… and Mattaki…”

“He—no, Elutil, listen, he’s not—”

“And it will be him! Inana has abandoned me, abandoned all of us!” The city wall twisted through the air, now above her, now below…

“Elutil, listen!” The urgency in their voice caught her attention. “He is not going to marry you. He’s not going to hurt you. We’ll find a way. But Dadasig needs your help first. He’s at the reservoir, he’s hurt… real bad. Find him, get him help.”

“How? My back is still… and the demon!”

“I know.” They grabbed her ears, pressing their forehead to hers. “I know. I’ll… figure this out, I promise. Just… get to Dadasig!”

Elutil’s body slammed into the floor and she jerked awake, only managing to keep from shouting by shoving her hand into her mouth, biting down on it.

She didn’t know where she was at first, if Mattaki were here, or the demon, if there was any floor beyond what she could feel beneath her.

With each breath, though, she calmed down. Her eyes adjusted until she could see Siduri and Gemeshega, lying where she’d last seen them, and… yes, Delondra dozing in the corner.

Get to Dadasig!

Rising to her feet, she crossed the floor, taking care not to make a sound. The door was covered by a reed mat, and she could see the light of the distant fire creeping in around the edges. She pushed it aside just enough to take in the courtyard beyond. Four wings of the house. Somewhere to her left, the acolytes slept. To her right, a brightly lit room filled with the sound of talk and laughter. Even the priests who did not partake in the hunt had their enjoyment.

The main gate, leading to the street, was directly across the courtyard from her. And precisely in the middle, three men sat around a dancing fire.

Not guards; they were all on the hunt. Nor priests. Temple servants, almost certainly. But if Sabium had ordered them to keep the priestesses from leaving…

Well one of the three was new and might be cowed if she put on the right display of imperious looks and pointed orders. The other two had known her since she was crawling, and would likely just laugh and send her back to bed.

What was she even doing?

Letting the mat fall back across the door, Elutil stepped away, leaning against the wall, trying to clear her thoughts.

She’d had a dream, she remembered that much. Dadasig was hurt, no one could get to him but her. That part was vivid, real.

As a child, she had sometimes woken convinced a horrid creature stood just outside the door, waiting to devour unwary acolytes. She’d be unable to sleep again, staring at the door in absolute terror. Unable to relax until she’d crossed the room, looked out, and seen for herself there was no creature.

That was how certain she felt that Dadasig was hurt. A conviction she wouldn’t be able to shake until she’d seen him again.

And it wouldn’t take that long to walk to the reservoir.

Quietly as she could, Elutil poured some water from the jug into a bowl. Splashed her face to wake herself up.

This was absurd. She had a bad dream and now she was going to drop everything and go for a stroll during a demon hunt? And if Dadasig wasn’t at the reservoir, what, continue searching all night? He knew the city better than anyone, and he was armed, she’d just get in the way, or lost in some part of the city where no one would ever think to look for her. Inana preserve her, she should put aside such foolish thoughts and prepare herself for the wedding appointed by her goddess…

In the darkness the whip cracked again.

Elutil rubbed her face with her hands, smearing the cosmetics until she must look like a child playing at being a woman. Then she pressed a palm to her chest in prayer.

“O holy Inana, who brings life wherever it is found. If it is truly your will that I marry Mattaki…” she picked up the jug of water, “then I suppose you’ll have to stop me.”

Enmul slumped by the fire, watching the colors shift across the coals. He thought it would help him stay awake, but really it just lulled him…

“…right, Enmul?”

“Nh?” He looked up at the other two on courtyard duty. Atab and the new guy… Shu… something.

“Just that if his high priest-ness in there is going to force us to babysit all night, he shoulda sent better bread.”

“Yep.” His eyes drifted back to the coals. “You go tell ’im that.”

Atab groaned. “I just mean, how’s a man supposed to stay awake without—”

The reed mat to his right stirred. Enmul half-rose to try and respectfully accost a woman capable of personally requesting the divine wrath of the goddess strike him down—but no, it was only their acolyte, Elutil, water jug on her head, looking more than a little irritated. She

blinked tired eyes and pointed to the main gate. “Well’s this way?”
“Yes, acolyte,” Enmul said, settling back down. “You need an escort?”

To his relief, she shook her head. “Think I’ve got this whole water system worked out.”

“Heard you had some excitement today,” Atab called and she froze, two-thirds of the way to the door.

Enmul barely even remembered today. He sometimes looked forward to the day he could finally sleep as much as he liked. He expected it to come some years after he was dead and buried and his name forgotten by his descendants. “Yeah you’re…” He put in an effort to recall. “You hurt your back? Should you be carrying that?”

She huffed a sigh. “So far it’s fine.” She started walking a bit more quickly. “If you hear me cursing Siduri’s name, you’ll know why.”

Chuckling, Enmul and Atab turned back to the fire. “She’s not a bad kid,” Enmul said, stretching his legs. “Just hope she doesn’t put on airs when…”

He trailed off, memory coming into focus.

“Hey,” Shu said, leaning forward. “Am I wrong or was that the priestess—”

“Fuck!” Enmul and Atab tripped over each other in their rush to get to the main gate, throwing it open to find a shattered pottery jug and no trace of the priestess.

Crawley collapsed to the ground, feet still twitching, trying to move her forward. Couldn’t stop. Couldn’t… had to keep moving, keep fighting, had to…

With a long, low moan, she curled in on herself, which only made her back feel worse. Everything hurt. Everything. One hand tried to clutch at the arrowhead buried in her arm. Supposed to help. She couldn’t remember why.

She was going to die here.

The hunters would keep coming, faster now that she was leaving a trail of blood anyone could follow. They would find her and…

How would they do it?

Usually took a special weapon. Lots of holy power. The arrow in her arm was just normal. So was the knife she’d been stabbed with.

Maybe that was her way out. Maybe she could just… lay here. Let her body fail. Wake up in Hell and do it all again for Hastur and Lucifer and everyone else. Over and over and over for eternity…

The city grew dim and fuzzy, but the road began to glow. Like starlight. Heaven above her, Hell below. And this thin ribbon between where she could walk without pain—

With a great effort, Crawley rapped her head against the ground. Just enough of a jolt to wake her up. This really wasn’t the time for cute dreams.

She wriggled and squirmed and managed to sit up, her back against a house, but just that bit of motion exhausted her. At least she could sit up, face her end. Try to fend it off with the knife…

The knife…

Her left hand was empty, except for the blood. Fuck. She looked around, trying to… to see a glint of metal… shining on the road… the starlit road… she wouldn’t be alone there, she could feel—

“Rrrauugh!” She thumped her head against the wall. “Come. The. Fuck. On. This is important!” She rubbed her hands along the ragged end of the sheepskin wrap. Not her own, the blood showed up strangely against the orange-red ochre dye. And the texture was strange, like something solid rolling against her palm…

Crawley lifted her right hand and found the little pin still safely inside. Dyed red from her blood, filling the little wavy carvings on the shaft, but at the end still flew two little stylized wings. She held it tight in her fist, pressed it to her forehead.

“The seal,” she said slowly, just loud enough for her own ears. “Keeps me in this shape. Binds me. Not from fighting but… maybe… maybe. If my body fails, I go with it. Can’t escape.” She closed her eyes again, looking down the starlit road. She didn’t know what it was, but it made her uneasy. As did the sound of her breath, wet and labored. “An’if… if it doesn’… still powerful. Could… could… stamp a weapon… kill me wi’that.”

A cough shook her body, another, so forceful she thought her lungs would explode—

She spat something large, sticky and red onto the road beside her. Suddenly, Crawley could breathe a little easier.

Lurching, stumbling, she struggled to her feet. Staggered a couple of steps, looking for her balance. Checked her hand one more time to make sure she still had the pin.

“Right. Fuckin’… fuckin’… bastards.” Pushing away from the wall, she stumbled forward.

Tigzar sat in the corner of the room, watching Iltani sleep. There had been more thrashing… maybe half an hour ago? The young gala-priest’s hands grasping at the air as they whimpered. Nothing since.

It was probably getting close to midnight. He could try waking Iltani again then. All his attempts so far had failed. Maybe when the hunt returned, he could get Dadasig and Elutil to help. Or, if three people shouting still didn’t do the trick, he’d ask if he could cover Iltani’s duties for the rest of the night. Though, if he was going to do that, a short rest…

All at once the gala-priest sprang to life, sitting up with a gasp like the waking dead.

Tigzar fell over with a shout, scrambling back, half-expecting his friend to be demonically possessed.

“Dadasig!” They cried, lurching to their feet. “And Elutil!”

“No, the other one.” Tigzar pressed a hand to his chest, heart still racing. “Inana’s blessed tits, you scared me.”

“Scared? Just wait.” They dashed across the room, stopping themselves just shy of the doorway, looking at it uncertainly. “How late is it?” Iltani spun back, darting anxiously about the room. “Have they sounded the horns yet? Ended the hunt?”

“Mmmmh. No, still going. You haven’t missed anything.”

“The demon!” They turned in a circle, hands tugging at their braid the way they used to when they were younger. “I passed it—I touched it.” They shuddered, wiping their hands on their wrap. “Thought it was going to—to drag me to… Not long left I think but… it’s so cold, so alien, it just…”

“Passed it where?” Iltani grabbed Tigzar’s hand and he let himself be pulled up. “What are you talking about?”

“I can’t there’s… there’s too much to explain, I…” Their eyes drifted to a dark corner. “Don’t know if I can explain it. I actually… I don’t… shit.”

“Alright,” he said soothingly, trying for a hand on the shoulder. That usually helped calm them down. Of course, normally he was calming Iltani down from tears and not… whatever this was. “I hear you. Sounds like you, um. Had a really wild dream. You’re—”

“Dream. Yes!” They pulled away, running about the room again. “Dreamwalking. That’s what you call it. The wall, the boundary, every boundary. And the pain! I could feel it when I got close.” They pressed a hand to their chest. “Or… or sometimes, it… reaches out? Elutil…”

“Well… um… you’re awake now,” Tigzar pointed out, trying to pull the conversation back towards something he might understand. “Why don’t you sit—”

“No no no, too much to do. Too much to figure out. I don’t know the rules. Aruru couldn’t tell me. Do you remember Aruru?” Their fingers darted about through the air, as if

dabbing paint on a wall. “But not really Aruru. They left a little after you arrived. Beyond the city wall. Ha! He says that, every time. The ones he doesn’t like. Deviants. Transgressives.”

“He… Sabium?”

“But he doesn’t know. The city needs us, we… we walk the boundary between life and death, dreaming and awake, self and other—!”

“I see.” Tigzar rubbed his head. “Look, if they gave you, I dunno, fancy mushrooms before your ritual, you’d tell me, right?”

Iltani sat so abruptly, their legs might have given out. “Dadasig is dying and Elutil is getting married.”

“Wh…” The joke died on his lips. They were serious, far too serious, terrifyingly serious. “How… how do you know?”

“I just told you! I saw it! I felt it!” They pressed a hand to their eyes. “Both of them, but Elutil… It’s the loneliness, the fear of… Are they reaching out? Or does it just… resonate with…” Their hand dropped and they looked sadly at Tigzar. “You felt it too. It’s buried deep, but I can still… They left you here. Just like me.”

The air bit at his lungs, cold and icy, as he sucked it in. Everything around him seemed to fade, until Tigzar found himself back in the home he hadn’t seen in so many years. Brothers sleeping all around, he huddled in his sister’s arms, listening as their parents discussed how much each child ate, how much they produced. Deciding who they would keep, and who they would send away.
“I didn’t know.” He looked up to find, not his sister but Iltani. “I should have, but… we were always so… stuck in our own pain…” Their fingers brushed through the air, and the memory dissolved, bringing them back to the little room by the temple. “I’m sorry.”

“What… what just happened?”

“Isn’t it obvious? We’re dreaming.”

Iltani pointed, and Tigzar followed their finger to find his own body, still slumped in the corner. Beside him, the gala-priest still slept in their torn ceremonial clothes, hair in wild disarray. They both seemed… grey. Discolored. “Oh. Oh, Inana preserve us…”

“Don’t panic. It’s fine. It’s fine. Granted, this is the first time I haven’t screwed things up beyond all… no, it’s fine. Just don’t… I don’t know. Go through any doors?”

His head immediately whipped around to the door… and what he saw nearly made him vomit. “What’s out there?” Tigzar demanded, shrinking back from the formless chaos.

“Not sure, I think it’s the line between ‘everything’ and ‘nothing.’ I am not touching that tonight. We have enough trouble already.”

“I… I…” His eyes struggled to make sense of a billion colors constantly squirming and twisting around each other, forming patterns that dissolved…

“Tigzar! Please. I need your help.”

The note of pleading in their voice snapped him out of his daze. “Yes. Of course. Wait. Did you say married?”

“To whoever wins the hunt.” They swallowed. “Elutil’s pretty sure it’s going to be Mattaki. And… he scares her. More than you’ll believe.”

“Oh.” He tried to fit that thought into his head. Elutil married. Elutil gone. Elutil with Mattaki. Elutil scared. None of those were shapes he recognized. “And… dying?”

“I think the demon got him.” Iltani frowned. “But… there was an arrow in his back, too.”

“Right. So. Do you—do you need me to tell someone, or…?”

“We can’t. That’s… that’s what I’m trying to figure out.” Iltani began to trace their fingers through the air again. Now Tigzar could see… flashes of the city, as if a veil hid it from them, but every time Iltani twitched it aside, there was a different view. “There’s got to be someone in Uruk we can appeal to. Someone who would stand up to Sabium. Call off the wedding. But…” They pressed a hand to their eyes. “He let a demon loose in the streets. Year after year, and no one said anything.”

“Yeah, but… it’s the hunt. It might be dangerous but… it’s the hunt.” This was the way it had been since he was too young to remember. It made as much sense as complaining that the fishers occasionally caught snakes in their nets. “Look, we… we get Dadasig help, and then we can bring Elutil to… one of the other temples. Mother Namma?”

Iltani shook their head. “They can’t help her, no one can…” They pounded their fists into the floor. “She needs to leave.”

“Leave… the temple? Yeah, that’s why I—”

“Leave Uruk. Beyond the walls to… Eridu, maybe. Ur. Up the northern river to Nineveh.”

“Iltani,” he said slowly. “That’s… don’t you think that’s…”

“I saw her nightmare.” They stood again, but now without the frantic energy. Shivering, though the room was neither hot nor cold. “I saw how deep it is in her mind. Wherever she tries to hide, however long she waits, as long as Mattaki is still here… Elutil will always be afraid.”

Tigzar clenched his teeth, looking away. The whole… thing, it was a blur. One moment she was standing by his side, the next he was on the floor, held down by Dadasig, listening to Elutil and Iltani’s screams blending together, and then… it was over.

Of them all, Tigzar was probably the least affected. And it still made his skin crawl to think of it.

“Alright. Yeah. Elutil needs to leave. Um. Can you… do the… the dream thing? Tell Dadasig to get her out or…” Realization struck and his eyes snapped to Iltani. “They’re both injured. You…”

They stood with arms crossed over their stomach. “I… I’m sorry…”

“You can’t be serious.”

“There’s a bunch of boats right there. All the city guards are still in the hunt. There’s… there’s gotta be a way to open the water gate…”

“On my own?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh, no. It’s fine.” Tigzar scrambled to his feet. “I’ll be fine. Of course, I’ve never taken one of the boats out alone before. I barely know how to get to the Ur-Gate, never mind to Ur itself.” Iltani didn’t react. “Dadasig will die before we get anywhere. I’ll get lost in the marshes and Elutil and I will starve. But hey, at least you won’t have to leave the temple!”

“That’s not… look, there’s food in the baking hut. Bread, vegetables, maybe a few eggs. It’ll last longer with just the three of you—”

“Don’t you fucking say that!” He shoved Iltani against the wall. “We’re supposed to stick together, we’re supposed to be a family, doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

“Of course it does, but—”

“But when things get hard, you’re just going to abandon us! Just walk away and forget we ever existed! Did you ever even care—”

“Of course I did, I do, I—”

“Don’t apologize again!”

“I’m not going to—Tigzar,” they grabbed his shoulders. “I know how you feel.”

“Oh, what, because of your stupid gala-priest dream-boundary thing?”

“No! Because they abandoned me, too!” The shadows around them seemed to dissolve, and Tigzar could see the tears in Iltani’s eyes. “My family… they didn’t know what to do with me. They thought they were being kind but… they still left me. And so did… all the other gala-priests, and half the acolytes, and I know they didn’t want to go, Sabium made them, but it hurt every time.” Their arms slid around his neck and Iltani pulled him into a hug, head resting on his shoulder. “I don’t want to feel that again. I don’t want you to feel that again. It’s awful, it sucks, it’s… it’s the fucking worst, but we… we have to…”

Tigzar found himself hugging Iltani back. For once, it didn’t feel awkward at all. “Come with me then. I know you can’t be a gala-priest out there, but… whatever you want to be. Girl, boy, giant spider. Whatever you want, I’ll punch anyone who says otherwise.”

“That’s still not how it works,” Iltani said, but they seemed to be laughing this time. “And… and I know what I am now. I know who I’m supposed to be. Not because… the priests said so, or because Inana commanded it, or because I’m afraid.” They stepped back, wiping their eyes. “This… this… it feels right. It feels… I don’t know. But I can help people. And that’s what I want.”

“And you can’t do it anywhere else?”

“Don’t think so.” They sighed. “Looks like I’m doing what Sabium accused me of, though. Talking you into disobeying and all that.”

“Nah. S’my choice.” Tigzar closed his eyes, feeling the tears roll down his face. “Ah. Shit.” He reached up to wipe his face, but Iltani took his hands.

“It’s fine. You can cry. It’s good for you. Trust me, I know.”

“Yeah, well… not if I want to get to the reservoir anytime soon. I can cry when I’m past the demon… fuck, I forgot about the demon!”

“I think I can distract it. Like I said, I touched its mind before. Don’t know how long it’ll last, though, so you’ll have to move quick. Are you ready?”

“I think so. I just—”

Tigzar opened his eyes to find he was sitting in the corner, Iltani sound asleep beside him. It looked like they hadn’t even moved since he fell asleep.

“I… No, it was a dream, I…” His voice sounded rough in the empty room, and when he touched his own face, it was wet with tears.

He stood up, realizing his whole body was shaking. It was getting a little cool as the heat of the day faded, but he didn’t think that was the reason.

Still, before he left, Tigzar found a pelt and laid it over Iltani. Just in case. “Goodbye, my weird not-sister.”

Then he turned and stepped across the threshold.

Chapter 11: Reunion
“…and that’s when she… er, when I lost her trail. But as I knew she was headed for Uruk, I took her possessions and followed.”

Aziraphale looked hopefully at the three Archangels.

“No… I still don’t see it," Gabriel said. “Who, exactly, did you hear about Uruk from?”

“And how is it the demon got past you at Eridu?” Uriel demanded.

“I’m still stuck on Nineveh,” Sandalphon said. “You found the demon, and yet did not immediately destroy it?”

“I think we’re going to need to hear it all from the top again.” Gabriel smiled, but with far less patience and understanding than before. “And this time…”

The endless recitation was interrupted by Michael’s return. She shot Aziraphale a glare, then whispered something in Gabriel’s ear. “What? Really?”

“Just now,” she confirmed.

“I need to see this.” Gabriel turned, following her across the wide, empty floor, Uriel and Sandalphon just behind. Aziraphale trailed after, trying to contain his panic, but Gabriel spun back to point at him. “You stay here. Don’t move. Not one step. Do not. Move.”

As they vanished into the distance, Aziraphale found he couldn’t breathe, his chest as tight as if he’d suffered a great wound.

He still clutched Crawley’s bag clutched to his chest, fingers kneading it all while he talked. He lowered his face to it now, breathing deeply.

It smelled like her. Largely because the bottle of scented oil had broken open and soaked into everything. It also smelled of leather, desert dust and—just faintly—beer. The scents of Earth. The scents of their time together.

He held it even tighter, taking another deep breath, faintly detecting something more, something not of Earth at all. There you are.

Closing his eyes, Aziraphale let everything else melt away, just himself, the bag, and the scent of his demon, curled against him in the night, twitching and shivering with a bad dream that dissolved with a brush of his hand through bright red hair.

“Hold on, Crawley,” he whispered, reaching for her again. “Just hold on.”

The moon was reaching its highest point, shining bright white, illuminating the sacred district in a strange silver light cut by solid black shadows.

Tigzar had never seen it so empty.

Normally, even in the middle of the night, there would be a few priests and priestesses, performing some midnight ritual; a few servants, enjoying a few minutes when their masters weren’t awake to order them around; a few guards to make sure everyone stuck to the paths they were supposed to follow, moving along anyone who lingered suspiciously.

On a night like this, there should be people stirring on the rooftops of their homes as they woke from their first sleep, taking advantage of the light and the quiet.

Instead, it was utterly silent, utterly still. He hadn’t seen a dog, or even a rat, since stepping out of the temple grounds.

It made him jumpy, twitching and turning to see if the silence hid something horrific, unspeakable, looming just behind him.

Inana’s temple stood nearly at the center of the city—the very center was the sacred grove growing in the walled garden beside it—and the reservoir lay at the base of the gentle slope, about a third of the way to the city wall. It was normally a pleasant, easy walk; the acolytes would stop by on their way to and from the market, trading for vegetables or spices that couldn’t be grown in the temple’s little garden plot.

Tonight…

Tigzar had barely set foot outside the sacred precinct when he heard footsteps approaching.

He spun back through the gate, pressing himself back against the wall in a narrow wedge of shadow, clapping his hand over his mouth. But that made him lose his grip on the bag of food he’d taken from the kitchens. Two small loaves of bread fell to the ground, and an apple bounced and started to roll towards the gate.

Desperately, Tigzar swung his foot out, catching the fruit at the edge of the shadow. Balanced precariously, trying not to move.

“…come this way?”

“Not without encouragement—did you hear that?”

Every muscle in Tigzar’s body trembled with the effort of not moving. Unlike the demon, guards probably wouldn’t kill him outright. Unless they thought he was the demon which… it had been a long night. They would definitely be getting twitchy. He could imagine one of them pulling out a bow, pointing it towards the shadow where he’d heard the noise, ready to release his arrow at the first sign of movement—

“…I think you’re going crazy in your old age.”

“Shut up. And stay alert. Let’s try over by the tanners’ workshop again.”

“Not again, it always smells like…”

Tigzar waited until long after their voices and footsteps had faded into the distance before he let himself move, fumbling to put the bread and apple back in the bag.

Shit, shit, shit, how am I supposed to get past all these fucking hunters? He’d been so worried about the demon, he’d forgotten the fifty men armed with bows and spears looking for something to kill.

Calm down, he ordered himself. Demon’s wearing a bright red wrap. Makes it an easy target. They’ll be looking for that, not a short, round barely-priest on a midnight stroll.

Then again, he was stealing from a temple in the middle of a sacred ritual. At best, they’d shove him somewhere for the night, come back to interrogate him after the hunt. Leaving Elutil and Dadasig on their own…

“Stop it,” he hissed, and carefully eased himself around the corner. Dead silent again. If he stayed quiet, he could hear the hunters coming and… either hide, or pretend to be one of them.

Ah, shit. Shoulda stole a weapon, too. Far too late for that.

One last glance back up at the temple that had been his home almost as long as he could remember. Then he turned and stepped firmly away.

“I’m coming, guys,” he whispered. “Just hold on.”

Crawley huddled in the dark, pressed against the clay and earth wall, knees pulled up to her chest. Holding her breath to keep from making a sound.

They were walking around, just outside, loop after loop, again and again.

She’d left a smear of blood where she’d leaned against a building at the edge of the square. One drop of blood had dripped from her elbow near the center. Bright red and black, unmistakable. But there would be none on any of the roads that led away. And this time no helpful peasants sat on the roof shouting her location.

A piece of broken pottery cut into her foot, but she didn’t dare move it.

“…going to get away…”

“…gonna go?” With a laugh.

“…bring dogs next time.”

“…too easy…” Another laugh.

She still held the pin in one hand, slight pressure against her palm, but she could barely feel it. Her fingers had gone numb. There was a heat growing from her arm, throbbing, pulsing, burning up from the arrowhead. It seemed to have burrowed deeper into her arm, and she’d never be able to pull it free now. Have to push it forward, all the way through.

That would lead to more pain, more screaming, more blood…

“Uphill or down?”

“…injured… down…”

“…high ground…”

She twisted her fingers into her hair, trying to keep track of where everyone was, but the voices seemed to echo down from the opening above her, as if called down from Heaven to Hell. The flashes of heat surging through her body distracted her, leaving her dizzy, disoriented.

Finally, the voices started to fade. She strained her ears, hoping to make out the sound of footsteps, or… anything. Were they staying together? Splitting up?

The heat transformed into uncontrollable shivers. Crawley’s leg shot out, a clatter of shifting broken pottery.

Fuck.

Someone had to have heard that.

She stared at the opening just ahead, a short tunnel out of the stuffy underground room. Waiting for an arm to shoot in, grab her, drag her out.

Quick sharp breaths, shuddering, echoing off the earthen walls. Harsh, sharp, cut through with little whimpers. No control now, over her breath, her voice, her tears. Nothing.

Crawley curled up again, pressing her face into the soft sheepskin wrap that covered her knees, shivering and sweating at the same time. She still had a little feeling in her thumb; she ran it up and down the side of the pin, smooth polished bone and little carved ridges. Trying to memorize them while she still had the mind to.

“Aziraphale,” she whimpered, sounding utterly broken. “M’sorry, Angel. M’so… so sorry…”

If she’d known they only had a few more minutes together, what would she have done differently? Forgotten the beer, paid more attention to the fingers combing through her hair, the brush of hands across her shoulders she wasn’t supposed to notice. The gentleness in his touch, no matter how cross he seemed. Perhaps, when he’d finished, she might have leaned back against him. Asked him to hold her in the daylight, just once. Out in the open for anyone to see.

Tell him all she’d been wanting to say since Eden.

Not that she could. There were no words in any human language for how she’d felt, sheltered under his wing that first storm. How she’d carried the memory back to Hell, shielded herself behind it when the torment grew too much. She’d worried for a few centuries, that if they ever met again, the illusion would be broken. That the real Aziraphale would never measure up to the one she carried in her mind.

In a way, she’d been right. The real Aziraphale was clumsy, and arrogant, and rude, and utterly embarrassing to have trailing behind her when she was trying to impress someone.

But also he was kind and gentle. Unhesitatingly caring. And his smile…

No. The real Aziraphale was by far the better.

Crawley tipped her head back, staring through glassy eyes at the brilliant line of stars above. The world around her fading to that point as her eyes shut.

She could almost feel Aziraphale pressing her to his chest. “Hold on, Crawley,” he murmured, fingers twining in her braids. “Just hold on.”

“Why?” Her fingers tightened, but she could feel nothing but the polished bone pin, the tufts of wool on her own dress. “S’no point. Gonna die.”

“No! Oh, my dear, where’s your defiance? Your optimism?”

“Died. When you left.”

“I didn’t leave,” he pressed closer, so warm, so soft. “I wouldn’t leave you. Not ever.”

“Then why aren’t you here?” She didn’t mean to sound like a child, but her head hurt, her body was on fire, and she didn’t understand anything. “The humans. They trapped me an’ they hurt me, an’ they… they pulled up Hell an’ they put it on Earth an’ I don’… I don’ wanna die alone.”

“I know. My dearest Crawley, I know. But you must… stay strong… you will get through this, and—”

“N’what? Go back t’HELL? More o’the same?” She buried her face in his shoulder and he wrapped his arms around her tight. “I can’t. Angel they… they keep… D’you know what Lucifer said t’me? F’I can’t… start actin’… like a proper demon… but I can’t. M’a failure.”

“No, Crawley, don’t say that—”

“You did!” But she wasn’t angry. “You said it. You were right. N’even f’I survive, gonna just… lock me n’Hell and I’ll never… never…”

“Shhhh, it’s… it’s going to be…”

“Don’ lie t’me. Not now.”

Fingers traced down her braids. They’d been drenched in her swim, then come undone almost as high as her shoulders as she fought. Now they were drying into an uneven tangle of curls, sticky with blood here and there. It was disgusting, but Aziraphale’s fingers never hesitated. “Do you want to tell me what you like about Earth?”

It was a game they played when she couldn’t sleep. What they liked about the places they’d been. Naming their favorite foods, trying to recall the songs. She couldn’t remember any of it now.

“I’ll start then,” Aziraphale said. “There’s so much. The colors, to begin. So bright, so varied. And the scents! Eden was almost overwhelming. All those flowers. Do you remember?”

“Apple blossoms.” The air seemed to shift, into something powerfully fragrant. “Waited in that tree for… fuckin’ ages. Never gonna get th’smell outta my head.”

“And the grass. We sat there while you groomed my wings, remember?”

She wriggled her toes, feeling the soft blades flex under them. “S’like you.”

“How do you mean, my dear?”

“Softer’n anything in Hell. An’ it won’ break, no matter what you do. S’strong.”

“Oh, Crawley.” He shifted her so that she curled against his chest. It should have hurt but the pain was fading, replaced by a pleasant numbness. “But outside Eden… the foods! There were so many. Do you remember those little honey cakes?” When she didn’t answer, he ran his hand gently down her cheek. “Crawley, dear. Do you remember that song? The one about beer, I thought it was so irritating, but you wouldn’t stop—”

“No.” She shifted, pulling closer. “Th’other one.” Aziraphale didn’t say anything, just stroked her cheek until Crawley said, “Please?”

“Well… I suppose… just once…” He rocked her gently, murmuring:

Oooooh-ahhh, Aaa-ooo-ah,¹⁰
Oooooh-ahhh, Aaa-ooo-ah,
Uru-ru-na he-mma-gurre
Uru-ru-na he-mma-abu-lune
Iyeh-ri-na-gin ur he-gurre
Sha-hi-ra-gin pa he-tal-tal-e
Oooooh-ahhh Aaa-ooo-ah,
Oooooh-ahhh Aaa-ooo-ah,
Lay down, I know where you are
Under the apple tree, by the river
I’ll come and reach out my hand
Just raise yours and I’ll join you there
My dear, as sleep overtakes you,
As sleep settles on you, I’ll join you there
Oooooh-ahhh Aaa-ooo-ah
Oooooh-ahhh Aaa-ooo-ah

As Crawley listened, her mind began to relax, the tangled thoughts that had burned through her all day easing, pulling apart, drifting away. Letting herself slip away to what lay beyond. It didn’t seem so frightening after all.

“Crawley? It’s your turn dear.”

“Nnnnh.” For a moment, she couldn’t feel him, then his hand cradled the back of her head again. “M’so glad… I got…” The words were buried deep in her, so hard to pull out. “Got to spend… this year… with you.” Even though her eyes were shut, she could see his face. It was everything. “Best year… I ever had…”

She could tell her body no longer worked. Not much point in holding onto it.

“Crawley. Crawley, listen to me. You can’t sleep yet.”

“Tired, Angel. So tired.”

“I know you are but… you need to hold on, you need to… to tell me… what you like about Earth. Remember? It’s your turn.”

“Earth.” She tried to focus, but her mind was in too many pieces. Still. There was one thing. “Humans,” she managed, smiling just a little. “Clever bastards. Dropped inna desert wi’nothin’ but… mud an’reeds, an’they build… civilization.” Bits of it floated through her mind. Canals and walls and islands woven out of reeds. Wonderful. “This city. Fuckin’mazin’. Y’know, ’part from… th’blood-thirssy priests.”

“Yes. What I saw of it was truly astounding.”

Everything faded again, going soft and…

Wait.

“Saw…? Y’saw… Uruk?”

“Yes, Crawley. Today, just before sunset. I was there, my dear, I was so close.”

“There?” She tried to make sense of that, being forced through the streets under a blood-red sky, but Aziraphale was there? “What… Why?”

“I came to get you, you ridiculous demon!”

“Get… get me?” The world was pulling itself together, faster than a falling stone.

“Of course! And I’m… I’m so close, my dear. I’m in Heaven at the moment, but I’m coming, I swear, I am coming for you. If you can just hold out a little longer.”

Reality hit her, solid and sharp, the stagnant taste of the air, the brittle pottery digging into legs and arms. The hot pain, boiling her alive. She couldn’t see Aziraphale, he was slipping away, but her hands cupped his face. “You’re here? You’re coming? Angel…”

“Yes. I am coming. I will stop… whatever is going on. I will get you out of there. Can you keep yourself safe until then?”

“I don’t… It hurts so much… Maybe if I get on top of one of the houses? Or…”

“Whatever you can do, my dear. Wherever you are, I’ll come to you.” Something warm pressed against her forehead. “Stay safe. Keep moving. And…”

His voice faded.

“Angel?”

Nothing. Stale air and mud, Crawley curled on the floor, clutching her own knees.

Of course there was nothing. She was alone. What else was new?

But the dream was right. She had to keep moving, and maybe… maybe…

Whimpering as every muscle protested the idea of moving again, she lay on her stomach and crawled out of the kiln.

It was one of three that stood in the center of the square, like enormous earthen beehives, surrounded by the houses of potters. A few little gardens had grown around the edges, but had been trampled flat when the procession moved through, ground into mud.

Cautiously, waiting any moment for a hunter to seize her, Crawley crept to the closest patch of soil. Scratched and dug in the mud until she found… a fennel root, covered in earth, but thick and ready to be eaten.

She took a bite, stuffing her mouth faster than she could chew, letting the flavor flood over her—sweet, sharp, almost like anise. It prickled across her body as she dug for another, closing a few of the smaller wounds, soothing her fever. The damage was too great for a handful of broken vegetables, but—

Something stirred. Her head snapped up, searching, but could see no one. Still. Keep moving.

Clutching a fennel root in each hand, she chose the street that slowly wound its way uphill. Closer to Heaven. Closer to Aziraphale.

“Dadasig? Dadasig!”

The voice broke the peace, pulling him back from the edge of sleep. “Mother?”

“Oh, Inana preserve us, you’re actually here! I’m—I’m here, alright? I got you.”

A hand touched his head, hesitant and shaking. That alone sent flashes of hot and cold through his body. “Ah! Who…?”

“Open your eyes, stupid. It’s me. Elutil.”

“El…?” He managed to get one eye half open, enough to see the fuzzy shape of her, bent over him, black hair in a tight braid coiled around her head, veil fluttering uselessly at her shoulders. “D’you see my mother?”

“You… your mother?”

“She was here.” He shut his eye again, trying to remember. “Singing. Like she used to, back…”

“Dadasig. You… told me your mother died. Six years ago.”

“Oh.”

That sounded distressingly likely. People tended to go away, for one reason or another.

“I… I’m going to need you to—are you listening?”

“S’fine. Just. Let me sit up.” One arm twitched. Nothing else. “Oh. S’not fine.”

The sound of several breaths forced to be slow whether they wanted it or not. “This is going to take more than a jar of honey. Don’t… don’t panic.”

“M’not.” He probably should be. That was a bit worrying. “S’it bad?”

“How do I put this delicately? Yes, very.” The hand on his head again. He flinched, but it felt good. He was glad she didn’t pull away. “I… we don’t have a lot to work with, but if you tell me what to do, I’ll try, yeah?” He managed to nod. “Good. Good. It’s going to be alright. I’m here now. It’s alright.”

Crawley spun into an alley between two houses, bending double as she coughed. Each breath sent more pain through her ribs and back and everything attached to them—

A big red gob splatted against the ground between her feet. Much bigger this time. And it didn’t make her feel better.

She wiped one hand across her face, the other clutching her ribs. Gotta hold on, she thought vaguely. Find a hiding place or…

Hands.

She held them both in front of her, shaking, covered in blood. Mostly hers. Maybe all hers. Long narrow fingers, broken nails and—

No pin. She’d dropped it. Had it in the kiln, didn’t have it now.

“No,” she managed. “No, no, Angel. Come back.” It hurt, worse than any pain in her body, and the last of her hope began to fade. “Please, Angel. Please…”

“There she is!”

Her head jerked left. A hunter stood at the far end of the alley, spear pointed at her.

They seemed to hesitate, which gave her enough time to get back onto the main road, trying to run despite her organs boiling within her. Feet pounding unevenly. No thought except escaping the hunters she knew were close behind. The road split up ahead, maybe she could go right—

The moment she started to turn, an arrow shot past, burying itself in the road by her feet.

“No, no, no, please,” she moaned. Left? More spear men. All she could do was put on another burst of speed, try to move faster, try to get ahead.

But the days of torture, the night of running, had taken their toll. Exhaustion rolled off her in waves, dragging her down like a physical weight. Her form no longer shifted, not even a dotting of scales. Hot, pulsing numbness raced through her mind with every step. Her head still hadn’t healed from all the injuries.

If it had, she would’ve realized something was wrong.

Every alley, every cross street, there was a soldier or arrow cutting her off.

But no one ever caught up. Even when all she could do was stumble up the slope barely above a walking pace, pausing to cough every fourth breath, still, she stayed ahead of her pursuers.

It was only when she saw the walls of the sacred district just ahead, doors thrown wide, that she realized. She wasn’t escaping. She was being herded.

The gala-priest sat up with a cry, shivering, desperately rubbing their hands on their arms, trying to get rid of the strange feeling. Like pain, but not. Not numbness either.

The last of the dream flashed through their head, utter chaos, leaving them feeling dizzy and sick. The other parts, no matter how strange, had felt like a sort of extension of reality. But this… this…

A second line intersected the city wall, a line of pure light and darkness, woven together like the milky-silver snake of the night sky. It twisted away through reality, separating things Iltani couldn’t begin to understand. But it was, itself, a boundary. They stepped close, placing a hand on it.

Somehow, without their feet moving from the wall, they spun away away through an endless universe, or the universe spun about them, or it was they who stretched and twisted, weaving their way between the particles that build everything—

Iltani moved, not along the path, but through it, became part of it, as it was part of everything.

Below them, beside them, a hairsbreadth away and separated by the width of the river itself, was the demon. Crouched and cowering, upside-down and inside-out. It didn’t look like a woman here, it didn’t look like anything they could understand. Any emotions they could detect were ragged, broken, utterly incomprehensible. It was in pain, of course, but that was all they could tell. Even that was mostly a guess.

They needed to draw its attention, distract it for a few minutes while Tigzar slipped past. Iltani cautiously reached out, not wanting to touch it, not sure what else to try.

It struck, lashing out, a desperate, clawing, grasping attack. They stumbled away, but the talons kept flashing. Digging, pressing against the light-dark barrier. Desperately trying to break free, break through, destroy it? How was Iltani to know?

But slowly, slowly, they became aware of a second being. Above them, inasmuch as anything could be above or below. On the other side of the barrier. A being of light and fire and overwhelming power, just as incomprehensible, just as terrifying. But not, in any way, a demon. Like the demon, it was both so close and so far, and like the demon it desperately clawed at the barrier, trying to break through.

The demon’s ancient enemy, perhaps. Attempting to destroy each other. Except, for some reason, Iltani didn’t think so. Though the strange, twisted nature of the emotions made them feel ill, there was still something familiar about the desperation.

They weren’t sure what to do. But then, there was really only one thing they knew how to do here.

From the center of the path, Iltani reached out and grasped both hands.

Power surged through the gala-priest like lightning, like the hottest fire and the coldest water. They collided with each other, flowing through Iltani to reach the other side of the one thing that had kept them apart. And when they met—dark and light, shadow and fire, chaos and order, everything that should never meet, natures that repelled each other—when they met, they blended, twining together, forming something entirely new.

Unfortunately, that entirely new something had been created, in a way, inside Iltani. The pressure of it had burst, sending them falling back to their body.

Shaking their head, they scrambled to their feet, running hands over everything to make sure it was all there. Arms, legs, torso, head, hair flying away in every direction, hovering slightly in the air under its own power.

Nothing missing. Nothing hurt, really, almost the opposite, if that made any sense. And whatever they had created, they didn’t seem to have carried it back with them.

Whatever they had done, apparently they hadn’t destroyed themself.

“Oh, what was I thinking?” Iltani fell back to the mat, curling up, pressing their head into their arms. Obviously the demon was more powerful than them, more powerful than they could even imagine. The other being could have been a god or—or something worse. “Start small, didn’t I say? This isn’t going to work if I keep sticking my hand in a lion’s mouth every time I… nhh!” They kicked in frustration.

At least, according to the moon, they’d given Tigzar enough time to get to the reservoir.

Maybe if they could calm their mind again, get back to sleep, they could find a way to contact Dadasig again, see if he was still walking the wall—

A commotion of voices nearby, rising into a shout, followed by the blast of a horn.

Iltani sat up again, an entirely different dread running through them.

The hunt was over.

The crunch of feet over soil. Elutil’s head snapped up and she moved to shield Dadasig, for all the good it would do.

The dim figure charged towards them, slipped in the mud, and landed hard, dropping a bag that spilled last autumn’s fruits across the ground.

“Oh, Inana preserve us,” Tigzar gasped. “You’re actually here.”

“Iltani?” she asked, feeling like she’d believe anything this night.

He nodded. “We… oh, shit! Dadasig!”

The young guard did, in fact, look much better now, if Elutil said so herself. She’d managed to clean off much of the blood, and had used her veil to bind the worst wound on his arm. But from the way Tigzar went pale, she could tell it was still bad.

Stirring, the older boy managed to open one eye. “Oh. Hey. Did’ya bring… nnnnh…”

“I didn’t bring you a spare body, which is clearly what you need. Did the demon do all this?”

“Mmmh. ’Cept the arrow. Not as bad as it looks.”

“Because it looks like he’s already dead,” Elutil added. The arrow was the worst of it. It didn’t seem to have gone deep, but had still struck something in his back, muscles she assumed, which left him barely able to move. She worried it might have hit a lung, but he hadn’t coughed up any blood yet, and she thought that was a good sign.

They couldn’t pull it out, though. Not without cutting it free. And he’d already lost so much blood…

“Is there anything else we can do?” Tigzar asked.

“I… if you brought a lamp, we could start a fire? Burn closed the wounds?” He shook his head. Elutil bit her lip, trying to decide. “We… we need to get the priestesses. They’ll know what to do.”

“No,” Dadasig managed, opening both eyes this time. “Y’can’t go back. They’ll… they’ll make you…”

“Shut up!” She could already feel herself shaking, already see Mattaki looming over her. “We… you can’t worry about that. I’ll be fine, it’s—it’s just marriage. Every… every woman figures it out… right?”

“Nuh-huh,” he argued, trying to push himself upright. “Toldja I’d stop the… the… stop him. An’ I did. Can’t take it back now.”

“It’s not worth you dying!”

“Not dyin’,” he insisted stubbornly. “Just. Feel like shit.” Dadasig managed to get one arm under him. “Mmmmmmh. Gotta knife?”

“What?” Tigzar shook his head, seeming to come out of a daze. “Yeah. Um. Yeah. From the kitchen. Stone, but… still sharp.”

“Good. Gotta… cut the shaft off th’arrow. Leave th’head in til we have fire.”

“Dadasig, this is pointless,” Elutil said. “They’re just going to find us in the morning. We might as well get you taken care of now.” Siduri would be angry, but Elutil would happily sit through a thousand lectures. At least that delay wouldn’t kill her friend.

“Yeah, about that.” Tigzar tossed the last of the fruits into the bag and pulled out the knife. “Iltani didn’t send me here for this. They, uh.” His eyes drifted behind her, and Elutil turned to see he was looking at the boats at the edge of the water. “They sent me so we could… could…”

“Tigzar, no.” This was too much. “I can’t ask you to—”

A horn echoed through the city.

The hunt was over.

Her husband had been chosen.

All of the words died in Elutil’s throat. She just stared up the hill, trembling, waiting for the end…

Instead, she felt Tigzar’s arm on her shoulders. “We’ll fight in the boat, alright? Call me all the nasty names you like then. Dadasig, you know how to open the water gate?”

“Three dif’rnt ways,” he managed. “Wors’ case, cut out m’arrowhead an’ bribe the guard. S’bronze right? Elutil?”

“Um…” She blinked, her mind pulling back to focus on the question. “Yeah, it is. Or maybe copper.”

“Yay,” Dadasig said, closing his eyes. “M’rich. Lord o’the city, me. An’ I’m orderin’ you. Get in the damn boat.”

The sound of four pairs of shoes striking the floor snapped Aziraphale back to reality. He blinked, shaking his head, trying to clear the daze from his mind.

The demon in his arms was simply a bag again, soaked in fragrant oils. Whatever warmth he’d felt vanished like mist over the river. It had all been his imagination.

So vivid, though. He hoped he hadn’t sung out loud.

“Well,” Gabriel said as he approached, barely hiding his displeasure behind a smile. “Looks like we have confirmation.”

For a heartbeat, the Archangels vanished, replaced by a demon, lying a little too still in his arms. He took a shuddering breath. “Ah. Confirmation?”

“Uruk,” Gabriel said as if that explained everything, and when Aziraphale didn’t respond fast enough, “The demon?”

“Oh. Oh! Well, well, yes, I knew that she—what did you find?”

“That something happened… yesterday?” He turned to Michael.

“It’s nearly midnight, local time.”

“Day and a half ago, then. Something big, something odd, followed by some sort of low-level interference.”

“Low…” It was difficult to concentrate with his heart racing.

“We can’t confirm the source,” Michael continued. “But it isn’t one of our agents, so it must be Hell.”

“Hell. Yes. Yes!” Aziraphale struggled to compose his face. “Yes, that—that sounds precisely like Crawley. Unconfirmed sources, that’s, yes that’s practically her… her…” He waved a hand, hoping he was conveying something. “Does this mean… I can go back down?”

Gabriel looked taken aback. “You?”

“I would really prefer to send a team of soldiers,” Michael said smoothly. “Half a legion, at least, for proper backup outside the city.”

“Competent soldiers,” Uriel added.

“No offense.” Sandalphon’s smile was never entirely natural.

Aziraphale shook his head, thinking again of how hopeless Crawley had sounded. Reality couldn’t be far from that. “No, you don’t understand. I need to be down there,” he said, rather more urgently than he intended.

“Need?” The four Archangels exchanged a look. Gabriel’s smile was almost icy. “Why would you need to be there?”

“Because… because…” He was wasting time. “Because I have not spent half a year traveling up and down those muddy rivers for someone else to step in at the last minute!” His eyes were wide with terror, but if he spoke fast enough, the words would be out before he felt it. “I am terribly sorry, Gabriel, but we clearly agreed that this would be my final chance to prove what I was capable of doing. I took that challenge to heart, you know!” He tucked the bag under one arm and smoothed his robes with the other. “I have spent my time setting things up that will prove once and for all exactly what sort of angel I am. It is a very complex and delicate process, and to pull me away less than a day before it all came together is… well… it isn’t very sporting, is it?”

Aziraphale’s terror finally caught up with his words and he bit his lip in his haste to shut himself up. Gabriel stepped close, arms folded across his chest.

“Principality,” he said. “Are you trying to give me orders?”

“Not… orders, no…” He swallowed. “And—and—and of course whatever you decide is—is… but I must make my case. And besides,” he added, wishing he’d thought of this sooner, “I have a great deal of—of on-the-ground knowledge and while I would be happy to share, that could take days. The situation appears, ah… time-sensitive?”

Gabriel glared at him a moment longer, then turned back to Michael. Her grey eyes sized Aziraphale up. “I have all the ‘on-the-ground’ knowledge I need,” she informed him. “But it will take twenty-four hours to get my troops together.”

“Good. You have until then.” Gabriel raised his hand to snap his fingers. “Try not to make things worse.”

Darkness slammed into Aziraphale’s eyes. He staggered back, waving his arms, trying to push it away. His foot shot out from under him and he fell in the mud—

Mud?

Earth.

He was back on Earth!

Oh, and the things he’d said to Gabriel. Aziraphale clutched at his stomach, trying not to vomit. Oh, good Lord, he couldn’t even imagine what his punishment would be, but it would likely be long and humiliating and…

A distant horn echoed across the plain.

He blinked his eyes clear, finally realizing where he was. Sitting in a muddy field, barley behind him, a river to his left, and just ahead—a long black line blocking the horizon, seeming to absorb the moonlight.

The walls of Uruk.

Gabriel had put Aziraphale down exactly where he’d taken him from. More than half an hour’s walk away, and locked out by the heavy gates.

But. On Earth.

“I’m coming, Crawley,” he said, grabbing the bag and surging to his feet. “I’m coming!”

Crawley stumbled against the gate of the palm grove, trying to catch her breath. Impossible to catch. Each breath was agony, her mind a haze of half-formed thoughts and fears. Hunters. Angel. Pain. Tired.

Just ahead was the temple, the fucking temple. She could see it in the moonlight, unmistakable, towering walls covered in patterns. Behind her, voices in the darkness. Footsteps. Shadowy shapes always just out of sight. Humans. Demons. She could no longer remember. Was there any difference?

The knowledge of their presence pressed against her back, pushing her forward. The temple. Or, just here, to the palm grove.

Row after row of date palms, tall and narrow, growing from perfectly straight ditches, water running at their feet. Lines and columns, like soldiers. Nowhere to hide.

Something stood at the center of the grove, though. It might be safety. It might be death. It might be her angel, waking her from this endless nightmare.

Crawley gathered the last of her energy for one more run.

A shout broke out behind her as she moved into the grove.

The soil was a little less hard-packed here, shifting under her feet, clinging to her toes. The air smelled a little less dry. A little less dead. Almost familiar.

She leapt across the first ditch like a deer, stumbling a little.

Figures moved around her, reaching with claws or spears or venomous fangs. Running alongside her. They spoke, but she couldn’t hear the words.

Another ditch, stumbling this time, soil sliding away beneath her foot. Just a little faster. A little further.

A third ditch, a fourth. Everything faded away except for the shape in the center. Tall, irregular, large enough to swallow Crawley whole. Wide open space around it. Twisting arms and fingers reaching out to the ordered rows like…

Oh.

Crawley fell to her knees in the mud beyond the final ditch.

A strange aching spasm ran through her lungs, a horrid racking cough that burst from her as a laugh, dry, humorless, uncontrollable.

At the center of the grove—towering, ancient, misshapen, heavy branches laden with leaves and delicate white flowers, utterly out of place in the perfect little rows—stood a single fucking apple tree.

She threw her head back and laughed until tears ran down her face.

Something shifted in the darkness. Crawley threw herself flat just as Mattaki’s spear swung at her head. A strange energy surged through her.

Twisting around, she sprang up, launching herself at him, throwing her body against him and fighting with everything she had. No claws or talons, just scratching and biting like a human woman gone utterly feral.

His foot skidded in the mud and down he went, Crawley kneeling on his chest. No thought of running now, she dug into his face, clawing for his eyes and he struggled to push her back with the spear. He managed one lucky shove, but she was back in an instant, grabbing his head, slamming it down once, twice—

Another spear shaft struck her head, throwing the demon to the ground. Something seemed to break apart in her, leaving her dull and witless, waiting for her sight to return.

This time, it didn’t.

“You bitch,” Mattaki growled, grabbing her wrap. “You fucking whore.”

The first punch broke her nose. The next hit her jaw. Her teeth. The side of her head. Possibly her jaw again. Her eye?

“St’p,” she mumbled, hands reaching up, searching for the man who had turned the whole of creation into pain. “Pl’s… I y… yie…”

Mattaki’s arm slammed across her throat, grinding her windpipe. “No,” he whispered, lips brushing her ear as he pressed even harder. “It’s my turn now, and you aren’t done until I say you are.”

She tried to grab at his arm, scratch with her… where were her arms? She was sure she had some, but no. Silly. Crawley was a snake. No arms. Just a long, twisty body…

“That’s right,” Mattaki said. “Don’t you worry. We still have hours to go. Just… close… your… eyes. Good girl…”

The last word came from far away, a voice echoing down from far above. The world faded to a single line, a starlit road, and even that went dim.

Somewhere in the distance, a horn sounded.

¹⁰ “A Song for the Son of Shulgi” Link to a recording of a modern singer accompanied by a lyre. It’s very lovely. I took a lot of liberties with both the translation, to try and fit the tune, and the transliteration, to try and make it understandable to those not used to reading transliterated Sumerian! Since this is a dark chapter, here’s the “Sumerian Drinking Song (Kas i-lu-lu)”.

Chapter 12: The Sacred Grove

If this was death, Crawley supposed, it wasn’t so bad. Not good, either. Dark. Lonely. A bit boring. Nothing hurt, though. That was a plus.

Good thing Aziraphale wasn’t really coming. He’d be very disappointed to find her dead.

Would he miss her? Maybe. Didn’t seem to have a lot of friends. Crawley knew what that was like; she only had one, herself. Still, she couldn’t believe he would be that hurt. Whatever she imagined, he couldn’t care for her that much.

Then again, how would she feel if it were Aziraphale who had died?

The agony that flooded through her at the thought was worse than anything she’d felt that night.

God and Satan, was that what he was going to feel? No, no, no, she’d never allow it. With every last bit of strength she had, Crawley struggled back to consciousness.

The pain hit her all at once, every part of her screaming except her voice. Couldn’t seem to get the breath for that.

She tried to sort it out. Ribs. Back. Arms. Head. Pain in her ears—that was the sound, too many voices, shouting, not like the screams of the tormented in Hell. More like the tormentors. Her hair hurt—her scalp. Someone had dragged her by her hair.

And her shoulders. Extra pain there, more immediate. Pressure. She tried to open her eyes and see, but everything was… not dark. Gone.

Something jerked both her wrists, sending a jolt of pain down her body. Scraped along the ground, feeling the wounds in her back pull open again. Crawley managed to kick her legs a little, open her mouth, but all she managed was a faint moan.

“…ing up already?” someone growled.

The back of a hand crashed against her face. It stung, and she tried to pull away, curl in on herself. Nothing moved.

“Just as well,” someone said, and her wrists jerked again. “Ready?”

“One, two, three, haul!”

Burning pain through her arms as they suddenly took all her weight, the ground dropping away. Crawley gasped, struggled, collided with something enormous and heavy. It sent her spinning and twisting as her arms pulled her higher again and again—

“Looks good.” This voice was familiar. Mattaki. “Tie it off. Someone call for the feast. Let the revels begin!”

Another horn sounded, and a cheer rose up around her. Under her.

Crawley wished she’d never bothered to come back to life.

Tigzar had only been in a river boat twice, and had never actually rowed himself. It hadn’t looked difficult, but he was finding that no matter what he did, the pointy bit at the front refused to go the way he wanted.

He knelt at the back, trying to propel them forward with the single oar. Elutil had taken the front, facing him, Dadasig’s head resting in her lap. He was asleep again for the moment, looking even paler, though that could be just the moonlight.

Whenever they drifted close to the edge of the canal, Elutil jabbed at the wall with the punting pole until they were on course again.

“I think it’ll be easier,” Tigzar grunted, reaching as far forward with the oar as he could, “once we’re in the river. Then we can just. Point in the right direction, let the current take us.”

“Will that work?”

He shrugged. “Never been far enough out to try it. But I think so.”

“I’ve never been out there at all.” She rocked a little where she sat, eyes distant. “We… we can’t go beyond the city walls, no one who goes ever returns…”

“Elutil.” He placed the oar across his lap and waited until she met his eyes. “People go in and out of the city all the time. Fishers. Farmers. Traders. We were out blessing the fields just this morning, remember? The world doesn’t end at Uruk’s walls.”

She nodded, wiping at her eyes. “I… yes, I know. I’m sorry. Just being…”

“It’s alright to cry,” he said, remembering his last conversation with Iltani, in the dream. “And it’s alright to be scared. This is really fucking scary.”

“You’re so calm, though.”

“Cuz I’m not thinking past the next stretch of canal.” He dipped the oar in the water and tried again. “That’s about all I can handle. Tried thinking further ahead, and my mind almost exploded after about five seconds.”

“It’s just…” her gaze drifted back over the edge of the boat. “I’ve been dedicated to Inana since I was born. I’ve never imagined myself as anything but a priestess. Never wanted anything else. Not even to be a bride. I feel like… I’m betraying her.”

Sighing, he rested the oar on his knees again. Tigzar’s thoughts on the goddess tended to be more complicated, something that, as a priest-in-training, he had never been able to admit to. There was a lot you weren’t supposed to say at the temple. Maybe that was all bullshit, though. “Look. Um. Inana… she took my family away. Or took me away from them. I dunno. And for a while, I was so angry about that. Then she gave me a new family. A better one. You and Iltani and… all the other acolytes. Then she took them away, one by one. And now she’s trying to split us up, too. And I figure, if she wants us to leave so badly…”

“Tigzar. You can’t blame everything that goes wrong in your life on Inana.”

“Can’t blame demons, either.” He pushed the oar into the water again. “Demons didn’t make my parents give me up. Demons didn’t make Mattaki an asshole. Demons don’t… keep…

pointing this damn boat at a wall!”
Elutil pushed them back on course, laughing a little. “I suppose not. And they didn’t make me run away. That was all my choice.” She tipped her head back, looking up at the stars. “It would be much easier if I could say this was the will of Inana or a trick of the demons. No more difficult questions and hard choices. No regret. Just… everything out of my hands.”

“I guess. But, you know. Difficult questions shouldn’t have simple answers and all that.”

In front of them, the canal walls vanished, opening into a much wider space. The water glittered in the moonlight, the docks dark shadows cut out against it. “Speaking of difficult questions,” he said, scanning the darkness ahead for the water gate, “see if you can wake Dadasig to explain this door mechanism again.”

After the second horn sounded, the sacred district came back to life.

Instantly, servants left their quarters, hurrying to and fro, kitchen and bakehouse fires quickly stoked to full strength. Priests of other temples began to stir, some to begin their own harvest rituals, others to join in the grove.

Not everyone was allowed to attend. All hunters, of course, successful or not. Initiated priests of Inana, naturally. A collection of priests from other temples, wealthy lords of the lower city, administrators, merchants—presumably all had made some arrangement with Sabium to demonstrate their worthiness.

Servants attended to work, at least in the early part, as the guests drifted in from across the city, before the gates were shut and the true revels began. They were sworn to secrecy on everything they saw, but were almost certainly the source of some of the rumors that circulated, stories of men turned into animals or possessed by demons.

Iltani, of course, had never participated. Acolytes weren’t allowed in the grove, nor even on the grounds of the temple of Inana until after the sacrifice at dawn. The youngest spent the night keeping vigil at one of the lesser temples, nudging each other to keep awake and whispering about what they thought they heard from the grove, shrieking sounds that could be laughter or screaming. Older acolytes were generally sent to assist one group of temple servants or another.

The past two harvests, Iltani and Tigzar had spent the night in the sacred district kitchen, larger and better equipped than the smaller one the temple used for everyday cooking. The district kitchen was large enough to prepare feasts for all the priests and priestesses of all the gods, and many more besides, and always stocked with rare herbs and rarer meats, and filled with enticing smells.

Tigzar and Iltani would spend the night tending enormous pots of Tuh’u, stirring the thick lamb and beet stew and daring each other to sneak a bite, though neither ever quite found the courage. Sabium—who never attended the revels—would come in at times and add things to the stew or the beer, muttering to himself. Tigzar had been convinced it was some kind of magic meant to turn curious acolytes into goats. After the things they’d seen tonight, Iltani was almost ready to believe it.

Speaking of curiosity.

The young gala-priest paused outside the gateway to the grove, standing back a bit, angled so all they could see was a small pool in the corner, where water was brought up from the canal below to trickle through the date palms’ ditches. They rocked on their feet, anxious, not wanting to get any closer.

The sounds of the revels were far more frightening up close, perhaps because they were undeniably human. What had seemed to be incomprehensible howling from a distance now resolved into chanting, discordant singing, cheering. Iltani was reminded of the groups of rowdy, drunken men who might turn up towards the end of a public festival, blundering into the crowd, turning over carts, grabbing at young women and getting into fist fights with their husbands or fathers.

Only this was far louder, and much, much wilder.

Iltani didn’t have to enter.

As an initiated priest, they were allowed, but they could also choose to return to their little room and try to sleep until it was time to prepare the demon for the final ritual. That was certainly tempting; their unease sat in their stomach like a physical pain, only growing worse the longer they listened.

But they couldn’t afford to be so careless.

Whose absence would be noticed first? Likely Elutil; the priestesses may already have been searching for her for some time. Dadasig’s might go unnoticed in the chaos of the revels, though the newest hunter would be expected to show up for some part of the celebration. How long the others would take to get suspicious would depend on how, exactly, that arrow had gotten into his back.

Either way, someone would eventually think to see if the missing initiates were with their friends, discover Tigzar missing as well, and Iltani would have to answer some difficult questions.

They could stay in their room, pretending to sleep. Claim to be as confused as everyone else by Tigzar’s disappearance. Say he stepped out while they slept, which had the advantage of being actually true.

Or they could go someplace public, full of people, and let them see Iltani waiting for Tigzar. Say he was relieving himself, or getting a bite to eat. Act surprised as the rest when he never showed, and hope that meant everyone would be searching close to the temple while the others slipped out of the city entirely.

That would be a lie. Iltani didn’t think they could be a very good liar; they’d been raised to be truthful, humble and obedient. And yet here they stood, outside the grove, preparing to lie to everyone they’d ever known.

The dream had shifted Iltani’s perspective, revealing a new world of sorts, or perhaps a different view of the one they lived in. A world full of holes, gaps in their knowledge, twisted half-truths they had never questioned but now seemed flimsy as cobwebs. They couldn’t make out the shape it should have, everything was muddled and uncertain, but one thing was clear.

Sabium had lied. Had deceived everyone, or at least everyone who wasn’t part of… whatever he was attempting to do. Had twisted the stories of Inana and broken or sent away anyone who could challenge him. And he’d introduced the hunt.

Whatever the high priest was up to, that was the center of it, the hunters or the demon or the sacrifice at dawn.

So they stood outside the grove, hands pressed to their stomach, trying to breathe around their own unease.

Footsteps approaching. Iltani stumbled back, clenching their fists and trying not to look guilty. A moment later, a small group of hunters stepped out of the shadows. They eyed Iltani, who felt even smaller than ever. The gala-priest had changed out of their torn mourning clothes from the ritual, now instead dressed in their best wrap, the one dyed yellow from turmeric, with their hair neatly braided. Still, the hunters seemed to find their presence funny, laughing as they passed. “Come on, kid,” one called. “The fun’s about to start.”

“Right,” they called after the hunters, though the group was already gone.

They didn’t need to be here. They could go to the kitchen, volunteer to cut onions or some other undesirable task, as they’d always been taught. Certainly, it would be far less suspicious than the quiet gala-priest suddenly taking an interest in the midnight revels.

But there wouldn’t be any answers in the kitchens.

That shouldn’t have mattered. The point was to protect their friends, not to satisfy the curiosity that had ignited within them.

But the questions burned in their mind.

Iltani smoothed their wrap one more time and stepped through the gate.

A bonfire blazed in the center of the grove, tall and bright, destroying Iltani’s night vision. It made the familiar ranks of date palms into something utterly alien, a landscape of lines and shadows. Fuzzy shapes moved around the fire to a strange music.

Walking softly in the darkness, trying to avoid falling into the irrigation ditches, Iltani crept closer. They could see the hunters and their guests more clearly now. Some had snatched up drums and reed pipes, each playing a different song with a different beat, all blending together into a chaotic rhythm. The rest shouted along, words without meaning, without any rhythm of their own. Dancing around the fire, or at least stomping their feet and leaping. Colliding with each other, shoving, breaking into fights that were just as quickly forgotten. Grabbing at the serving girls, who wriggled and dodged and moved in packs to avoid being caught. Raising another cheer as someone tossed something into the fire that made it flare, flames shifting to a strange green tint.

Working themselves into an absolute frenzy.

All this, under the very branches of Inana’s sacred apple tree. The center of Uruk, the spot from which Dumuzid had been dragged to the underworld.

It was… profane.

At the edge of the firelight stood a line of jars and pots, the smells overpowering that of the apple blossoms above. Beer and stew. A pair of servants set down the last of it beside a bench and scurried back towards the gate.

Iltani stood back, apart from the crowd, arms wrapped around their stomach. Unease only growing the longer they watched.

With a roar that echoed off the walls of the grove, Mattaki leapt from the shadows onto the bench and a cheer ran through the crowd.

“Ah, shut up!” he shouted, flashing his teeth in something like a grin. “Your Lord of the Hunt is speaking!” This only made the cheers run louder, the larger men stomping and jeering, a few throwing what looked like discarded pieces of armor into the air.

Where was the demon? Iltani let their eyes slide around the crowd, looking for anyone who stood out. Half a dozen servants stood here and there, arranging stacks of bowls and glancing anxiously towards the gate. But no bright red hair or yellow eyes.

“S’posed to say a few words,” Mattaki continued, sniffing loudly. “How ’bout, fuck speeches?” That earned him another cheer. “Another demon brought to justice! You’re all Inana’s chosen warriors tonight, even those who spend the rest of the year sitting on their asses counting gold ingots.” A few more jeers, directed at men who might have been merchants; they certainly didn’t seem to be guards. “Enough of that! Eat, drink, feel the blessings of Inana!”

Another shout, seeming to shake the leaves on every tree, and the men all surged forward at once, descending on the food and beer with a terrifying single-mindedness. One of them grabbed the last remaining serving-girl around the waist, hauling her along, her scream lost in the general din. The rest of the servants were stacking firewood as fast as they could, the youngest with tears in his eyes.

“Well, look who showed up!” Iltani nearly jumped out of their skin as an arm fell across their shoulders. They looked up to see Mattaki, still with that strange feral grin on his face. “Was wondering if any of you brats would have the balls, and we get the one without any!” He laughed, his grip turning painful.

“Ha, yeah,” Iltani said weakly. They watched as another man grabbed the serving-girl’s chin, tilting her face up to inspect it in the moonlight. “What… um, what…”

“Used to get the sacred whores in here,” Mattaki said, waving one arm while keeping the other around Iltani’s shoulders. “And they’d keep us busy all night. But they complained when Sabium’s stuff started making us too rowdy.” The two men had grabbed the girl’s wrists, were pulling her back and forth between them. Another kicked over a stack of bowls, laughing as the servants rushed to gather all the broken pieces with trembling fingers. “And, of course, Sabium complained having women here was too distracting. Like we can’t do two things at once!” He clapped Iltani’s arm, pressing the gala-priest against his side, and leaned down to whisper conspiratorially. “Course, the blessing still makes ’em horny, so they’re gonna try.”

Iltani clenched their fists, mind spinning, feeling like they might vomit. Too many questions fought in their mind, racing the screams towards their mouth. “D… distracting from what?” they managed, starting to shiver despite the heat of the fire.

“Have a drink. You’ll find out quick.” He rubbed Iltani’s arm, leading them towards the beer as the volume of shouts rose and rose. “Warm you up, too.”

One rose above the rest. “Dance, bitch! Join the party!” Iltani’s head jerked up to see a hunter swinging a long spear over their head, slamming it into a bag that hung by a rope from the apple tree. Striking it so hard, Iltani swore they felt the impact run through them.

They watched the bag swinging, spinning around, a long, narrow ocher-red bag that hung almost directly above the fire. A bag that seemed to have been dragged through the mud until it began to fall apart, something long and thin hanging from the bottom—

It was the demon. Hanging from a bronze hook shoved through the leather binding its wrists. Covered in blood, torn and raw as a skinned rabbit. Iltani thought it already dead.

Until it opened bright-gold eyes and looked directly at them.

“My turn!” Another hunter wrestled the spear away from the first, thrusting it up and into the demon’s side. It didn’t seem to sink very deep, but once again the gala-priest felt the pain reverberate—

Oh, no.

Their eyes darted back to the servants. Four were already fleeing as fast as they could, their guilt a weight in Iltani’s stomach. The smallest had been kicked to the ground by a group of hunters, still standing over the boy as he tried to crawl away with a desperation that made Iltani’s heart race. The girl hung between the two hunters, despair twisting Iltani’s guts…

They could still feel the others’ pain. Not literally, not the full sensation, but an echo, an unmistakable pressure inside. Weaker than when they sand the lamentation, more physical than in the in-between space, and utterly overwhelmed by the surges of anguish pouring from the demon above.

“Elutil’s not coming, right?” Mattaki asked, not seeming to notice Iltani’s distress.

“Nh. No, she…”

“Good! I’d have to share her, and these bastards would wear her out before the wedding. Fucking waste.” He leaned a little closer. “You, on the other hand…”

A flash of anger burned their mind, nearly knocking Iltani to the ground. One of the hunters let go of the girl’s arm and punched the other in the face. The men leapt at each other, grabbing shoulders, each trying to push the other into the fire. The other fighters descended on them all at once, throwing punches indiscriminately.

The girl broke free before she could be swept into the brawl, grabbing the serving-boy’s hand. Together they ran towards the gate, stumbling in the dark.

“Better run, girlie!” Mattaki called. “Almost time to lock the gate!”

One of the hunters rammed his spear into another’s shoulder. The second hardly flinched, grabbing the staff of the weapon and snapping it in half.

“What—what’s happened to them?” Iltani managed.

“You’re looking at the future of Inana’s guard, kid. Well, once Sabium gets the blessing figured out. Right now doesn’t last long enough for a battle, but soon…”

“Battle?” Two men rolled directly through the fire and out the other side. Their clothes burned but they seemed not to care. All Iltani could sense from them was anger, and a strange numbness. “Wait. Lock the door?”

“Yeah. Apparently we can’t be trusted not to wreck the entire city. Like we don’t have enough to keep us busy here.” He stepped away, swatting Iltani’s backside. “I gotta sort these assholes out. Get some beer and meet me under the tree.”

“…tree?” This time the faintness that came over Iltani was entirely their own.

“M’gonna bring Elutil here after the wedding. Let Inana watch as I make a woman of her little priestess.” His teeth flashed again. “I’ll give you a preview, since you and she are so close. Maybe you’ll get lucky and I’ll make a woman of you, too.”

“I…” They stumbled back, barely able to control their legs. “No, I…”

“You’ll enjoy it. Just drink the beer, kid,” he said, eyes hardening. “You won’t be able to stop begging for more.”

Something in Iltani seemed to snap. They spun, running as fast as they could for the gate. Praying it wasn’t locked yet.

“Fucking coward!” Mattaki yelled after them, then: “You miserable bastards! Save it for the demon!”

Heart pounding, feet sinking into the soil with every step, Iltani raced across the grove. Surges of pain washed over them, again and again. Ahead, a narrow rectangle, a lighter patch along the nearly-black wall. A patch that was shrinking.

“Wait!” They called, throwing themself forward. “Don’t—don’t—!”

The gala-priest slammed into the hard-packed road, rolling away from the grove, clutching their head in their hands. They could still hear Mattaki—“Someone fetch my bow. Gonna put an arrow through her eye!” followed by a cheer that hardly sounded human—but the burning rage seemed to be gone.
“Iltani! What in Inana’s name were you doing in there?”

They rolled onto their back, staring up at Siduri, the senior priestess, who frowned down at them, lips pursed as if she’d just had a bite of something truly distasteful. The gala-priest knew they were supposed to tell a lie now, but couldn’t remember what it was. “I… Tigzar… Was looking…” Something sharp pierced their gut and they grabbed at their stomach as a bloodthirsty howl went through the hunters.

When they blinked their eyes clear, Siduri was staring down at them, eyes wide and face pale. “Oh, you foolish child. What did you do?”

Aziraphale paused again, pressing his hand to his side. He wasn’t breathing heavily, which meant that the miracle to keep him from needing air was working, though he doubted he could sustain it long. Unfortunately, it just seemed to worsen the cramps that built up as he ran.

If he didn’t know better, he would think the city was slowly moving backwards. Always out of reach. Taunting him. He was only now—finally—able to make out the distant shapes of the gates, slightly darker arches in the moonlight.

He was on the wrong side of the canal.

The channel he followed led to one of the water gates. The enormous Ur-Gate stood on the other side, where it met a dim but well-traveled road that did not, remotely, follow the route Aziraphale was taking.

This was absurd. The farmers had been walking this way, and obviously they’d re-entered the city through the gate. There must be a—a bridge across the canal somewhere, it would be far too inconvenient to ferry so many across on boats. Perhaps he’d missed it in the dark? Or was it still ahead, concealed in the wall’s shadows?

Then again. All the farmers had been returning laden with barley and leading donkeys and carts. Perhaps all that had been loaded into boats for the last stage, and he’d just been too busy thinking of other things to notice.

Other things. Like Crawley. His stomach lurched, thinking of the dream. Far too vivid, he could almost feel her pain. Feel her going cold in his arms. Feel her giving up.

Really, this was the distraction. The bridge would be ahead of him, and if he couldn’t find it, he would shatter the walls of Uruk themselves, however long it took. Nothing was going to keep him from her.

He shifted the bag and started running again.

Crawley drifted in and out.

Her vision began to return. Enough to see the fire below, and whatever was beside it.

Once, she saw the kid, Iltani, just for a moment, before the arrow slammed into her gut.

The next time she was aware, dozens of men caroused about the fire, howling like animals.

The next, they swung flaming branches at her legs, cheering whenever one made contact.

They threw things. They impaled her. One man dangled from her legs as if to rip her in half. One thing remained the same: every time she was aware, it hurt so much. She could feel her body struggle to heal itself, straining to pull every drop of power it could from Hell. The seal on her arm throbbed and burned.

And in between… long moments of peace.

She wanted to stay there. In the darkness, the quiet, where nothing hurt. But she was supposed to hold on.

Not that Crawley could remember why.

There was a word. A name. She couldn’t remember what it was. But it meant safety. She had to get to it. Somehow, she had to…

Everything went black again.

The next time she opened her eyes, they’d gathered with the spears again.

Next: Part 3

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