《The Tablets of Gitata》


 Tablet one: Gitata, Prince of Dipor

    The reeds and rushes flew by as the wind whipped Gitata''s hair across his sunburnt face. Reshabpash spurred the two galloping donkeys on with the leather reigns. The chariot jolted violently against the hard-baked soil beneath its wheels, the shocks travelling up the young prince''s spine and into the base of his skull. Gitata never felt as alive as he did when he was aboard the chariot with his beloved teacher. Here on the banks of the river, where the midday sun had formed a low bank of steam above the water''s surface, the hottest part of the day was not so unbearable. Only a few lengths to the left of the creaking vehicle, bathed in the clouds of dust kicked up by its wheels, serfs worked the land; cleaning the irrigation ditches and weeding the fields. Some looked up to watch them pass and Gitata imagined that he was already a king, they his soldiers cheering him on as he passed by following some great victory over a rival city.


    "May I have a turn with the reigns, Reshabpash?" asked the lad, wiping a long lock of black hair from his eyes.


    "Of course, Lord, though please spare them somewhat this time, your father will never forgive me if I allow you to drive another beast to death," replied Reshabpash.


    "But they always slow down if I stop driving them on!"


    "As well they might, they work hard all day to pull you along. Besides, a warrior''s greatest allies are his animals, for they will never betray him."


    The reigns were passed from the robust hands of the teacher, into the small hands of the student. Almost immediately, the chariot kicked forward, faster than before.


    "What did I tell you, Lord? If you drive them so hard, we shall have to walk home from here!"


    Gitata pouted and let up on the donkeys, which brayed and snorted. They were already steaming like the nearby river and seemed to welcome the slower pace. Reshabpash shook his head, looking down at the prince and grasping the shaft of a bronze-tipped javelin, which clacked against its siblings in the leather holster strapped to the wall of the chariot.


    "Now, bring us to a halt about sixty paces from those targets there, along the bank of that canal. Do you see them?"


    "Yes, I see them."


    The boy tried his hardest to take them there, his slack handling of the reigns allowing the animals to swerve the war-cart this way and that.


    "Hold them straight, Lord, you can do better than that! That''s better, now, turn us to face them. Good. Okay, first, you''re to make a charge, straight for them. Peel left about fifteen paces from them."


    The boy did as instructed, relishing the opportunity to go as fast as possible, straight towards the four dummies, woven from reeds. The donkeys responded diligently and the two were soon flying like a pair of hawks, straight at the targets. Pulling tight on the reigns, the chariot bucked to the left, the wooden axle screaming its opposition to the tight manoeuvre. With the practiced eye and well-muscled arm of a veteran warrior, Reshabpash sent the javelin hurtling, whistling through the muggy air, straight for the centre of the reed target. The razor tip of dull bronze drove itself deep and the shaft swayed satisfyingly. Gitata brought the chariot to a halt where he had started his charge and looked expectantly into the eyes of the old fighter.


    "Very well done, Sire," said Reshabpash, withdrawing another javelin and handing it to the boy, "now you try."


    This time, with the teacher in control, Gitata stood ready to cast his own javelin. The weapon was longer than he was tall, and he struggled to find the right point at which to balance it. It bounced in his grip as he attempted to counter the jerking of the chariot and when it came time to throw the thing, he found the power in his arm to be totally insufficient to reach his target. The javelin floated only a few paces, the tip remaining high in the air before it flopped to the floor, skidding to an embarrassing stop far from the target.


    "Again, Lord."


    Again they raced towards the bundles of reeds and again the missile fell short. Over and over they tried, to no avail. Finally they came to the last javelin, Gitata by now dismayed by his own ineptitude. Placing all of his might behind the shaft, the prince launched it high into the air. It wobbled as it travelled and landed with a thud in the mud, not far from his intended goal. Gitata''s cheeks flushed red.


    "Do not be hard on yourself, Sire, for though you may not have succeeded now, a warrior''s best weapon is perseverance."


    "You told me a warrior''s best weapon is the mace last week, and before that you said it was his intellect, so which is it?"


    "well¡­ They''re all great weapons, the javelin too. It''s a figure of speech, primarily, Lord," chuckled Reshabpash, ruffling the child''s black hair, "come on, you can drive us back to the city, I think the sun may be getting to you."


    The city of Dipor lay only an hour to the south, following the banks of the river along the ancient road, which they had left only a while before. Its high walls loomed on the horizon for miles around in the flat plains. Long before one reached its tower-bound gates, they came upon its sprawling hinterlands. The tilled fields, which shimmered with ripening barley, wheat and sesame, spread for half a day about it in all directions, humming with farmers and administrators, tallying and weighing produce, arguing over the value of certain fields or measures of grain. The ancient Northern road, leading to Visig in the North and down to Paibad on the Southern coast, crossed the many irrigation canals with baked brick bridges. It teamed with traffic, both on foot and on waggons and carts, the femoral artery of the entire Eastern region of the Riverlands. People from throughout the known world came to Dipor to trade, bringing with them mysterious goods. Gitata and Reshabpash passed them all, their light chariot and thoroughbred donkeys making the oxen and carts look like slugs in comparison.


    Growing larger with every step the animals took, the city soon hung over them, the brightly glazed blue gates sparkled in the light of the sun, high and proud. The mud brick walls, twenty feet thick, crowned with rounded crenulations, projected from the towers to either side of the monumental gateway. The glossy, blue bricks of the entrance were decorated with stunning depictions of the battles fought nearby during the Great scouring of the earth. Demons and men stood arrayed for battle on one side, with vast armies of bronze-men facing off against them on the other. Having passed this sight many times before, the two of them went through the gates without so much as looking up.If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    The gates lead to the main causeway of Dipor, flanked on both sides by the plastered facades of wealthy residences and guildhalls. Everywhere there was a clamour of activity and the townsfolk flooded onto the broad causeway from smaller side streets. At the end of the great central avenue stood the tel of the oldest part of town. Enclosed by a separate, hexagonal wall of far older construction, it was the home to the Temple and Palace precincts. At the base of its slope was the scribal college, with its attached libraries, and diviner''s school. There were men and women gathered outside, clutching small children to their chests, calling out their offers to the scribes hard at work inside.


    "A blind child, sirs, he''s of no use to me, a smart one, though!"


    Paying no heed to beggars and the poor, Gitata''s chariot surged ever onwards, climbing the hill towards the gates of the inner precincts, anxious to get home and finish his schooling for the day. Inside, the lad drew the donkeys to a stop at the foot of the Palace steps, leaping from the chariot and sprinting away from his teacher as quickly as his little legs could carry him, towards the doors of his father''s halls. He ran across the glazed bricks of the courtyard, past the two cyclopean statues of Pig-headed lions, which guarded the foot of the stairs. At the base of the left statue, the men meant to be protecting the Palace entrance had gathered to spectate a game being played on a board etched with bronze daggers into the plinth. They made a poor effort at looking alert as the prince raced by them, the child paying no notice to their dereliction of duty. Once at the top of the stairs, he turned to look down on the courtyard, laughing with glee as he saw Reshabpash huffing up the flight after him, bronze sword jangling at his hip. The old war-dog, however, did take notice of the little crowd of gamblers, stopping to chastise them, giving Gitata another opportunity to flee from his guardian.


    The broad double doorway, clad in silver plates and studded with gold, stood resolute in front of Gitata. He approached them and pounded as hard as his small fist could manage on their hard surface, hot from the high sun.


    "Open this door at once!" he called in impersonation of his father''s voice.


    From behind its fragrant cedar boards, he heard the hurry of the doormen and the groan of the hinges as the doors parted in front of him. He greeted them with a mischievous smile and sprinted past them and into the fresco-lined coolness of the entrance hall.


    "Seal the door behind me, make Teacher wait for entry a while."


    Patting himself on the back, he took a moment to enjoy the relief of the still, cool air inside the edifice, thick as it was with fragrant oils and incense. All about him, carved in relief or painted upon plaster, were countless images of ancient heroes doing battle with evil monsters or foreign enemies. There was Veshinvai, first king, or Enen, of the beautiful people, standing on a mountain of dead foes, piled high enough to reach heaven, and there was Gagnin, striking the goddess of death across the face in her indignant rage. In one gloomy corner, carved in an ancient style, stood a statue of Gasenen, last of the original kings of the riverlands, the tall, cone-shaped crown, granted by the gods, sat firmly upon his head, noble and treacherous at once.


    A thumping on the door and muffled curses dragged the boy back into his game of dog and deer, sending him once more into flight as he headed up the central staircase at the back of the room, leading to the throne room. Down a wide corridor, flanked by his forefathers'' statues, through the lapis-blue doors and into the fire lit throne room of his father, the ceiling supported high above him by ornate, gilded pillars, wrapped around by silver snakes.


    "Father, Father, help me, Reshabpash means to kill me!" he cried, hurtling towards the throne where the big man sat talking in hushed tones to two other men. he leapt into his father''s gold-threaded lap, interrupting their conversation and eliciting a groan from the poor man as he landed heavily. Throwing his arms about the Enen''s neck, Gitata pressed his face into the man''s beard-draped chest, which smelled strongly of labdanum.


    "If he means to kill you, you must deserve it, my boy," chuckled the Enen, placing the child firmly back onto the ground.


    Not far behind him, in a quickstep, Reshabpash entered the throne room, bowing low before the Enen, king of Dipor.


    "My Liege, Enen Gidono''ada, your royal son has been a royal pain once again! Perhaps we should amputate his legs, that he may better learn his lessons from me?" Reshabpash looked to the two other men present, saying with a formal tone, "apologies, Shio''adarod, Gadono, greetings to you both."


    The two long-robed men bowed to the veteran as Gitata made a theatrical point of hiding behind his father''s throne.


    "See, Father, he aims to harm me!"


    "Stop it now, son, you''ve had your fun. Go with Reshabpash, he is only trying to help you."


    "My Lord", said chief priest Shio''adarod in a whiney voice, "we really must speak further about this matter."


    The Enen rolled his eyes in exaggeration at his son, saying with mock annoyance, "Very well, if we must, priest, talk on!"


    Reshabpash nodded at the Enen, dragging Gitata by the wrist through the doorway on the right of the throne room, towards the living quarters of the palace. Gitata looked back over his shoulder and saw the three figures in their bright robes huddle closer together, a look of true concern plastered across his father''s noble features. He had no time to eavesdrop, though, as his teacher trudged him through the lamp-lit corridors of the complex, winding ever deeper into the maze, until they came out once more into the daylight.


    They stood now in the secret date grove, walled and hidden in the bosom of the palace, the palms throwing shade all about, licked by cool water which was hand-pumped from the river at all times by teams of slaves. Here and there were richly upholstered loungers and stools, their fabric stiff with gold and silver thread. Ivory figurines of dancing gods topped the cedar fences around each palm. There in the little island of heaven, their pace slowed as Reshabpash inhaled deeply of the fresh air.


    "You do so love to abuse your poor teacher, Sire, but with your father''s blessing now mine, you shall be drilled till your arms are sore tonight!" he said, clapping his hands to call one of the slaves, who lurked in the shadowy corners of the grove, "fetch us two pairs of arms, spears today."


    "Spears!? But you know that they''re still too long and heavy for me!"


    "Exactly."


    The evening was as grueling as Reshabpash had promised and come the early hours of the night, when the Prince finally reached his bed after supper, the humid night was threateningly still. The moon offered an eerie glow to the scene through the window, bathed in silver light, the slow breeze brought the sounds of the city from far below. Isolated cries and the laughter of carousing soldiers fractured the glass-fragile peace of the Palace. Outside the door, Gitata could hear the clinking of armoured men, as they hurried about the hallways of the Palace on some unknown errand.


    Laying on his back in bed, inky shadows swirling around its legs, the little prince remained on the watch for some nameless horror, which he was convinced lurked just outside of view. The bed creaked beneath him as he curled into a tight ball in the corner of the downy mattress. Against the door, at the far side of his chamber, his rumpled robes had developed a gurning face of their own, twisted in a rictus of malice. From being discarded by the boy just moments before, they had taken the form of a dreadful robe-monster, waiting for the boy to slumber only to smother him as soon as he closed his eyes.


    Amidst the tension of his tormented bedroom, a shout rang out in the corridors beyond. There was the clatter of bronze on bronze and a woman gave a shrill scream, which cut the night like a bloody knife. The child recoiled, stifling a cry of his own, lest the robe-monster take its chance to strike. Outside, the cacophony grew louder, easily discernible now as the sounds of melee. Was the Palace under attack, had some neighbouring city smuggled armed men into the walls in a clever ruse? Gitata made the snap decision that whatever abided beneath his bed was less dangerous than the flashing bronze blades of an invader. He threw himself down to the floor, rolled under the bed and pressed tight into the wall of the room, hands thrown over his ears.

 Tablet Two: Ninria, the Potters Wife

    "Pots, bowls, animal tokens, the gods themselves will be jealous of the quality!" called Ninri''a from behind her market stall, stacked high with the surplus goods made by Asaba''an, her husband.


    All about her, the market thronged with sweaty people, jostling and shoving to get to the various stalls. As she did every week, Ninri''a, mother of three and one-time war hero, hawked her goods. This was the family''s source of free income and she the best woman for the job. Her three sons could not do it, no, they lacked the character for sales. Her husband, Asaba''an, gentle soul, definitely lacked the gumption to negotiate trade. The job fell instead to Ninri''a, but that didn''t mean she had to like it.


    "Ingots! good ingots, get them here, hardest bronze in Gasa''edish!"


    "There''s always room for more barley, you never know when Shishio''a will send down her locusts!"


    Each trader had their own one-liner, she was no exception to that rule. The honest truth was that ever since the births of the three sons, Asaba''an had never been as good at anything as he once had been. Something had left him, with each subsequent child. Once the two had stood with each other as young lovers in battle, he strong and virile, her firm and fierce. She had been his shield bearer, the front line of the formation and he had borne the long pike, the perfect pair in love and war. Now, though, he did none of either, and she had been required to pick up the slack. She could spy from where she stood three pottery stalls with superior products to her own, and all the market knew it.


    Barging through the crowd, shoulders hunched forward and arms swinging loose, came Gagesh, her first son. Close behind him, permanently pouting and straight-backed, came Shashishio''a, her second. Nowhere could she spot Mo''abe.


    "Have you sold anything today?" asked Gagesh, picking up a bowl and turning it around in his hands.


    "No, of course not."


    "Well, nevermind, we''ve come to help you pack up."


    "But it''s not even midday yet?"


    Gagesh sighed loudly, rolling his big, brown eyes around their sunken sockets, "It''s father, he''s being odd. You need to come home."


    Shashishio''a was already busy placing the pottery back into its straw-lined crates, the others lifted them onto their beaten old waggon. Before long, the two strapping sons of Ninri''a were dragging the waggon behind them like a pair of yoked oxen. They moved out of the market square, onto the street which followed the course of the ancient walls of Gasa''edish, moving always towards the gates of the lower city. Here, inside the walls, the houses were tightly packed, two or three storied, well plastered and decorated. Asaba''an, however, could not afford to move the family into the walls, instead they were forced to live outside, in the poorly planned and haphazard area of the outer town. That is where they pulled the cart now. Gasa''edish stood in a small bay on the delta of the three rivers, the hexagonal old town stood on the peak of a prominence looking Eastward out to the sea, the lower town built at its base and enclosed by a later set of walls. Furthest from the harbour and unprotected by fortifications, stood the outer town, on a second, lower rise. The house of Asaba''an was picked out from the other surrounding dwellings by the continuous plume of smoke rising from the potter''s kiln, far from the walls. It stood amidst a jumble of streets and alleys, crawling with rodents and undesirable people.


    "So, what''s wrong with him this time, another attack of nerves?" asked Ninri''a, aiding her sons in their Labour.


    "He claims that- I can hardly say it- that he has been visited by a god,'''' replied Shashishio''a, shaking his sweaty head.


    Gagesh grunted with the strain, Ninri''a could feel the hot temper brewing beneath his heavy brows.


    ''''A god?"


    "Yes, the king of the gods, actually."


    "Asaba''an? the poorest Potter in Gasa''edish, visited by Enenshio''a, King of the gods?" even the question tasted ridiculous on her tongue.


    "So he says."


    "Unbelievable."


    The hot sun made the trip difficult and the stench of the outer town was overpowering; human excrement fermented in open runnels and cess pits, producing a thick, acrid miasma. This was compounded by the muginess of the still day, the poorest part of the city seeming like some imagining of damnation. By the time they had reached the house, which crouched between tight-packed mud and reed huts, they were all drenched in sweat and stinking from hard work. Gagesh would not enter the building, instead heading promptly for the nearest public house. Shashishio''a went around to the kiln at the back, where he had spied Mo''abe working to rake out embers. Ninri''a entered the house cautiously, knocking the door post gently as she slunk in.


    "Husband, where are you?"


    No answer. She moved further into the house, looking about its reed-lined walls for anything out of place, peering through the gloom of the windowless space. Everything, what little of it there was, seemed to be in order. From the small crog-loft where the couple slept, suspended from the roof and reachable only by a hanging ladder, she could hear the shaky breath of her husband, laying hidden beneath a pile of coarse woolen blankets.


    "Asaba''an, what''s the matter? The boys tell me you saw a god," she cooed as soothingly as possible.


    "Bright gold skin like the sun he had, eyes made of emeralds. He came to me as I laid out the moist pots to dry."


    "He did? What did he tell you then?" This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    "He came to me, from the fires of the kiln he spoke, then he appeared stood behind me, as tall as three men!"


    The man was quivering with fright in his bed, copper skin washed pale with fear, his eyes stretched wide open. Ninri''a scaled the creaking ladder as carefully as she could, unwilling to startle Asaba''an with a sudden movement. Reaching out her left hand, she stroked the crown of his head gently.


    "How do you know it was him, could it have been that you imagined it?"


    "I imagined it? Do you think me that mad?"


    "Mad never, darling, you know that. It''s just that you get so worked up by little things these days, you may have seen something and taken it for another."


    Asaba''an seemed to regain some small amount of composure and he sat bolt upright, looking straight into her eyes, "You think me completely insane, ''Asaba''an is seeing God''s in the fire now, how foolish he is.''"


    "No, not at all. Only, I''ve never met a god, nor has anyone else I know. It''s hard to believe such things, no?"


    "They exist though, don''t they, they take an active role in all our lives?"


    Ninri''a looked on, puzzled by the odd mutterings, worried that it was some new symptom of a long-running illness suffered by Asaba''an.


    "Look, Ninri''a", he added, "I know what I saw, I heard his words too, it''s what I heard which leaves me so stricken."


    "What words?"


    "I dare not repeat them."


    He looked to be holding back tears, Ninri''a could see them welling behind his eyes, like a bloated canal lays pressure on its sleuces. She climbed fully into the bed now, throwing her arms about him and shushing him, as if he were her fourth child.


    "What news did the King of the gods bring to you?"


    Asaba''an took a long, rattling breath of the rooms stale air, exhaling hoarsely before speaking.


    "He spoke of death."


    Before she could respond, Mo''abe and Shashishio''a burst through the reed door of the house, standing below and looking up into the loft. Mo''abe''s face was blackened by soot and his older brother still sweated from the heat outside.


    "I looked through the embers, father, there was nothing unusual there, no signs of Enenshio''a,'''' said Mo''abe in all honesty.


    "You believe him?" asked Shashishio''a, raising his eyebrows, "You honestly believe that a god arrived to our father whilst we sat talking, only paces away, and we saw and heard nothing of it?"


    Mo''abe scowled at his brother, "Of course I do, he is my father, you should always trust your parents."


    "Mother, you too? You believe that a full-grown man, claiming to speak to Gods, tells the truth?"


    "Must you always be so sure of yourself, son? Can you not see that something has scared your father half to death?"


    Shashishio''a scoffed loudly, shaking his black-maned head side to side. He walked over to the hearth, where a stew hung above the fire in a copper cauldron, kept warm by the remaining coals. Taking a bowl, he scooped himself a portion, tearing a chunk of bread from a loaf on the nearby table and seating himself on the floor next to the fire.


    "He takes fright at everything, it might as well have been a lamb to scare him,'''' he said through a mouthful of claggy bread.


    "Speak no more, you''re disrespectful and rude, father does not spook at lambs!" shouted Mo''abe, causing the man in the loft to jump in fright. The two began to argue back and forth.


    Ninri''a paid them no mind and looked at the familiar face of her husband, the man who had once been so brave in the face of death, wondering what had become of that forgotten hero. She studied the lines etched deep on his face, the grey streaks which had recently developed in his long hair and beard. His limbs seemed totally sapped of their former strength. She thought back to the young bull who had finally tamed her, the young lioness, the glories of their youth in the service of Enen Gaspashbi. Where had he gone? Try as she might, she could never stop loving the man, or perhaps the memories of him, no matter how wretched he had now become. When did it all start?


    "Mother, tell him he shouldn''t speak to father like that."


    "Don''t speak to your father like that. Shashishio''a, it''s not becoming."


    From his deep stupor, the potter suddenly came to his senses, back to his usual passive self again, he pushed away from his wife and looked at his two boys, tears again in his eyes,"I think we have something important to do,'''' he said.


    Asaba''an began to explain, in a shaky and broken manner, the words brought to him by the king of the gods. He told the three of them that Enenshio''a had spoken of some evil gathering in the Dawn mountains, an evil hidden away from the people of that land, a people known as the Bantish Enid. There was some place, as yet unknown to the gods, that harboured the beginnings of a plan set in motion by a power of madness, uncontrollable by the gods for fear of reprisals and escalation. Enenshio''a had been sparing with his words, and had failed to give the poor potter any information on the exact details of the task at hand, save that it would be difficult, and likely deadly. Mo''abe sat enthralled by his father, hanging on every word, head cradled in his coal-smeared hands. Shashishio''a tutted intermittently and shook his head, in pity and disbelief of the tale being told to him.


    "Why you though, Asaba''an? Did the god tell you that?" asked Ninri''a.


    "No, he said only that it was his decree that it should be myself and my family for the job, though in all things, the gods have a design, no?"


    "The gods! There are no gods here in this town, and I shall not stoop to undergo this drivel, Father, you have taken leave of your senses!" said Shashishio''a.


    Asaba''an stared back into his son''s eyes, Ninri''a fancied she could spot some spark of the former fire behind them. She silently urged him to snap back at his over-proud child, but watched that spark sputter out and die as he turned his head away.


    "Leave him alone!" snapped Mo''abe, lunging towards his brother.


    She moved to put herself between them, keeping both at arm''s reach as they swung at each other. Between the hurled curses and short-fallen fists, the reed door to the house swung open as Gagesh waded into the conflict, reeking of cheap barley-beer and smoked meats. He loped over to the scuffle and taking the head of a brother in each hand, he pushed them over sideways onto the ground.


    "Leave it out, you morons,'''' he slurred as he swayed above them, fists balled in readiness for a fight.


    The two brothers rubbed their whip-lashed necks, sprawled out on the floor, neither daring to rise and face their bellicose sibling. Looking over at Asaba''an, Ninri''a saw that he hadn''t moved, nor reacted in any way, staring blankly at the ground in some maze of thought. It dawned on her that her husband may well have been telling the truth, or at least he believed that he was.


    "We have to go to the temple of Enenshio''a in the old town, we need to ask his statue there if what you say is true,'''' she said.


    Gagesh and Shashishio''a gawped at their mother, disbelief stretched over their faces.


    "You cannot be serious, you are going to play along with this farce?"


    "You can gloat if you are proven correct, Shashishio''a, until then, we must treat your father as if he speaks the truth."

 Tablet Three: Pinpirig, Priest of Shishioa

    The sight of the comet in the Eastern skies only the night before had filled the city of Paibad with a tension as thick as honey. Omens like that were always sent by the gods prior to some awful occurrence. The En of the city had demanded that his diviner''s and soothsayers work throughout the night to discover the message brought by the evil portend and since that order was given, none of them had slept. In the temples too, the sense of dread could be tasted in the air, a sour, acrid scent of fear. Pinpirig had spent the day the same as any other in the house of Shishio''a, goddess of grain and farmers, rushed off of his feet by the demands of the elderly priests. He had also felt the unease of his superiors as he had brought them the offerings the temple had received that day. The daily feast for the goddess was almost upon them, and Pinpirig had turned his capable hands towards the preparation of the sacrificed animals for cooking. His stomach groaned and his mouth watered as he thought about the dinner they were soon to enjoy on the behalf of the goddess.


    Not long after, as he and the other initiates took the heaping platters of meat and bread to the priests of the temple, the young man could barely contain his excitement. Outside the tall windows of the temple dining hall, the moonlight shone fiercely from a clear, black sky. Inside, the roaring braziers illuminated the hall with dancing shadows as wine and beer flowed freely about the many tables. He slipped a morsel of goat''s meat under the folds of his single, long sleeve as he left to fetch more bowls and jugs for the raucous holy men. By the time he had returned to the kitchen, the meat had already been covertly eaten, his grubby hands and hungry eyes on the prowl for more.


    The door leading from the kitchen to the courtyard erupted into a fit of echoing blows. In surprise, a nearby initiate dropped a fine ceramic bowl, scattering sherds and loose grapes all around the floor. Cursing under his breath, Pinpirig jogged to the door, grasping the heavy bronze ring, he yanked it open to the night air. Before him, eyes wide in terror, stood Shio''arad, one of the older priests, his braided hair slick with sweat, which beaded on his forehead.


    "Sir, What is it? Why are you so scared?", asked Pinpirig.


    "Men of Uzu have arrived, they even now burn the harbour, the gates of the inner town were not barred, they loot the temple of Gobarshio''a!"


    The ancient man shook visibly as he relayed the news, the fear of death clung to his boney frame like stinking bitumen. It did not take the younger man long to drag him inside, slamming the door behind him and ushering him as fast as he could to the tabls of the other priests. There, Shio''arad told them all what was happening outside as the room burst into life. Removing all of their valuables, the priests placed them into a hessian bag, with orders to an initiate to hide them well. Next, the fat old men hurried to find hiding places of their own, bidding the remaining initiates protect the temple from the ravaging Uzumen.


    Thinking nothing for his own safety, Pinpirig sprinted to the main chamber of the temple, where stood the silver statue of the grain goddess. He took a position behind the first of four columns on the right of the podium upon which it stood and prepared himself to die defending it. The clouds had began to gather above the city and through the square hatches in the roof, he could see the red glow of fire reflected from their undersides. From beyond the bronze-banded double doors of the temple, he could hear the ruckus of war as the surprised town guards struggled to stem the tide of attackers. Pinpirig thought about all he knew of the men of Uzu, the deadly raiders of the Eastern Gulf Coast: Slavers, looters, the warrior elite of a large and wealthy kingdom which marked the South-Eastern extreme of the known world, masters of seafaring. Their reputation told him that here, tonight, in front of the glorious statue of his most beloved goddess, Pinpirig was going to die.


    From outside came the alien sounds of a foreign language, nasal and clipped. Though he did not catch the meaning of a single word, their intent was clear; they meant to break down the door to retrieve the treasures of the temple. Something began to creak and rumble beyond the sealed entrance, approaching quickly and then there was an almighty impact on the doors. More strange orders were barked, the sound receding and then approaching again, louder this time, the impact harder. The doors fell backwards from the wall, hinges forced out of the plaster, long cracks opening up along the frescoes around the doorway. There, back-lit by the awful glow of a city ablaze and surrounded by the calls and cries of ongoing battle, stood ten figures in high-peaked bronze helmets, orange plumes of feathers springing from each side of the head. Their shields were the shape of the crescent moon and their bodies were clad in solid bronze breastplates, each held some form of killing blade or spear. Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    The largest of the men removed his helmet, revealing a face which in any other context would have been handsome and noble, but in the flickering firelight it seemed dreadful and evil. Pointing to the column behind which Pinpirig hid, he uttered more of the odd, jumpy orders, five men peeled off and hurried towards him. Pinpirig crushed himself back into the stone column, trying his hardest to become invisible in his blue robes. His mouth was dry and he had squeezed his eyes closed tight, gripping the column with all of his strength. The footsteps of five murderers rushed towards him, accompanied by the clatter of weapons and armour, they came so close that he could smell the sea-spray and sweat on the bodies of the invaders. Opening his eyes a crack, he watched in horror as one of the men looked straight at him and his heart sank through to the underworld, seeing that his last moment was upon him. At that moment, Shishio''a herself must have looked upon him, as the man turned away, following his companions and heading deeper into the temple.


    No time to relax though, from the other side of the column the sound of more feet approaching, headed straight towards the statue. These feet were in no rush, they walked slowly, speaking in hushed but excited tones. He skirted the column, peering as carefully as a mouse from behind it, he saw the five of them gathered at the feet of the statue. Closer now, he could make out more of the leader''s face, a new beard, a young man''s first, and eyes which suggested a gentle soul. Pinpirig wondered if he was not in fact looking at someone else''s hero, from the perspective of the enemy, so brave and noble was the man''s countenance.


    This was it, this was his chance to defend the honour of his goddess, he tried to leap at the invaders but he found his feet completely glued to the spot. His arms would not respond, his heart itself felt as if it had ceased its beating. The five men threw a noose around the neck of the statue. He could not move. They heaved it from its podium, sprawling it upon the floor. Still, his body would not do as he commanded. The young Uzuman pointed to the cart which had been used to batter down the door, calling out orders to his men and they moved to place the holy statue in the vehicle, straining under the weight of it. Pinpirig could do nothing to stop them, his body would not allow him to do so. He felt the heat of embarrassment filling him, struggling to come to terms with the weakness he had shown in the face of such an evil enemy.


    Before he could force himself to move at all, the statue had already been manhandled onto the cart and wheeled out of the temple. The men who had been elsewhere inside had returned, covered in blood and breathing heavily. They had added more loot to the cart, piling it high with fine clothes, baubles and decorated pottery, before helping to move it away. He stayed bolt still behind the pillar for a long time, until he was sure that he was safe. The sounds of fighting had retreated from the temple precinct, priests and initiates had begun to reappear from their hiding places and finally Pinpirig could emerge.


    Shaking, hands slick with sweat and possibly having soiled himself, the young initiate walked in a daze about the hollow temple, devoid of its most prized possessions. In the hallways of the living quarters, blood ran in steadily congealing streams and the bodies of braided-haired holy men were strewn or propped here and there. Each corpse a man whom he had once known and spoken to, the victims of a covetous attack, made only to steal from those who had no defence. The goddess of grain would weep terribly tonight for her lost children.


    All across Paibad, the story was the same, the raiding had been quick in the better defended temple and Palace precincts, though the lower city had fared far worse. There, rapine and pillaging had raged in a gory orgy of death throughout the entire night, the enemy moving whenever defenders hurried to engage them, leaving only ash and blood in their wake. Shortly before the dawn came, blood red to mourn the slaughtered, the Uzumen had mounted their swift ships and cast off for home. No boat of the Beautiful people could match their turn of speed and the defenders had been left in no state for pursuit anyway.

 Tablet Four: The Gods

    The golden heaven-hawk surged through the air, soaring high above the frosted peaks of the Northern mountains. Behind him in the south, far, far below, the great valley of the Riverlands opened up where the life-giving rivers carved their path through the soft sand of the foothills. In front was the glorious, six-tiered ziggurat, clad in gold and silver, palms and orange trees growing in abundance from its irrigated gardens. At its pinnacle was the palace of the gods, the most luxurious location in all of creation. The hawk dove, heading directly for that lofty perch, his seat of power. Coming through the gold-banded gates of finely carved, fragrant cedarwood, the eagle reformed, feathers shedding and wings folding to form the robes and cloak of Enenshio''a, king of the gods of civilisation. The entranceway of the palace, with its electrum panels decorated with moving depictions of the work of the gods, smelled of the sweetest perfumes imaginable, always filled with the music of the greatest composers. Correcting his robes, and straightening out his wind-ruffled beard, Enenshio''a moved from this gateway and into the throne room, the ceiling taller than the mountain peaks around it, once one was inside. There, seated on the arm of the storm-stone throne of the gods, was eyeless Davtashio''a, running his fingers across the surface of his ever-shifting tablet, reading the knowledge of the world even as it was recorded by mortal hands.


    "That potter cut a rather pathetic form, brother, how you came to elect him as the best candidate, I shall never know."


    Davtashio''a ruffled his clay brow, stray strands of shining silver hair falling over his empty eye sockets, "I care little for him, it is his family which interests me. I must confess though, Lord, that I learnt of him in a census from some years ago, described therein as a warrior with three sons, his wife clearly important enough to have her own entry below his. On clay, he is a legend in the making."


    "He wept, you know? He wept not at the sight of me, as is usual in mortals, but the tidings I brought. He seemed scared by the prospect of a real challenge outside of producing mediocre ceramics."


    The blind god of knowledge sniggered, a broad smirk plastered across his face. Enenshio''a sat next to him inside the throne.


    "Have you read more of this foreigner, this Zandriduin?"


    "Yes, his research notes are becoming ever more nonsensical, I fear he has made a¡­ ah, how to put it? A breakthrough, if you should call it that."


    The golden King stroked a bright hand through his beard of lapislazuli, curling an end around his giant''s finger.


    "What has he found? Has something changed?"


    "His descent into madness seems to gather pace, exponentially. He remains, I believe, unaware as to the nature of the elements he is dealing with," said the scribe god, "he writes of things far beyond the fathoming of mortal men, I believe our enemy has him firmly in its grip, now. A shame, he was so full of good intentions for his people when he set out on this journey."


    Enenshio''a glanced sidelong at his brother, remembering as he did that the gesture would go unnoticed.


    "Good intentions or no, his aims and his actions have always remained contrary to my own goals, he is a thorn to be removed, and olive pit in the pat¨¦, so to speak,'''' the king turned the phrase over in his head with a grin of pride, "and now you give me this whelp of a potter to take on the challenge."


    "Well, we shall see, he may surprise us yet."


    Blue-haired Enenshio''a leaned back into his throne with a sigh, "And what news do you have of my twins, do they fare well in the mountains?"


    The eyeless god removed his fingers from the tablet he was reading, turning his gorey eye-holes to the king, "Nothing. They haven''t been written of yet, which I assume is good news."


    "My thanks, brother, you are always helpful. Now, let us not spend eternity at pains over these mortal matters. I fancy a game of Castles and perhaps later you could bring your wife for a banquet? I travel so little nowadays that my jaunt in the south has quite drained me of my desire to rule, for today."


    Meanwhile, far to the Southeast, in the Dawn mountains, the two divine twins, Engedoshio''a and Gedoshio''a, gods of Law and Justice, spiralled in the air in the form of two purple herons of the marshes. They viewed the spinning slopes below them, searching for any hidden crag or overhang which may hold the secret of the cave in which Zandriduin was about his evil work. They had flown about the spires of dawn for almost a week in mortal time, six days they had never ceased. Finally now, after so much exercise, even for the wings of young gods, they came to rest upon the peak of one southern prominence. Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    "I am so bored of this,'''' said Gedoshio''a, her purple feathers sloughing away from silver skin.


    "Me too, we are forever doing the boring tasks, it''s been so long since we battled a demon or saved a city", Engedoshio''a plucked the last few purple feathers from his young man''s beard, reorganising his translucent obsidian hair, "I just really want to fight something."


    Gedoshio''a laughed heartily, nodding in agreement, "I know! Even if we find this mortal, we''re to do nothing for some unknown reason," she looked around at the desolate ice-wrought mountains all about them, "How can a magical cave be so difficult to find for two gods?"


    "Well, if it was easy, the old man would have come himself, no?"


    "I suppose, though he needn''t trouble us with the labour instead, why didn''t he send some minor spirit to do the task, that foolish little scout of his, the Crown-carrier?"


    "Perhaps, sister, because he is, by nature, foolish? Maybe he knew that we were the only two for the job."


    Gedoshio''a raised her arms, gesturing wildly at the empty landscape all around, "Well, we''ve found him plenty of ice to cool his wine."


    "Mountains worth of rocks to cast at troublesome mortals," added Engedoshio''a with a wry smile, "what was it he said that this mortal had done?"


    "He didn''t say, though I overheard our blind uncle talking about Mercury."


    The fluffy-bearded god scoffed loudly, "Not that mad old fool, what can she possibly want now?"


    "Well, you know how she loves to toy with the minds of mortals, her own creations being so devoid of all the fun emotions our beloved people have."


    He laughed again at his sister, slapping a silver hand against his thigh, "Don''t we know it, ever tried telling the god of the furnace a joke? That man is all work and no play, he can''t even fake a smile, that odd looking face of his."


    The wind was howling loudly at the top of the mountain, so the pair began to descend, sliding on scree and loose-packed snow, which crunched underfoot. The slopes were bathed in the pink gloaming of the setting sun, bidding farewell to her child as she sank to the far Western horizon below them. Soon, the moon, Ga, would rise from the opposite horizon, ready to take her watch over the world.


    Meanwhile, suspended high above the grain of Ioga, dangling from the cosmic stalk of the firmament, A''a, Egdo, Ni and E''i, the elemental gods of Water, Ice, Air and Fire respectively, looked down upon the world of their creation, revelling in the balance they formed. To them, through the ancient mirror which she gifted them long ago, came Maria, distant goddess of elemental Mercury. Having overheard the planning of the gods of civilisation on Ioga, she formed a plan to deceive the elements, ever distrustful of humanity.


    "Greetings, cousins, how fares the world of your making?" her voice hissed through the cosmic void.


    A''a was first to approach the glittering mirror to speak, "Mari, what brings you back to your mirror here? We are not used to your involvement anymore, not since the scouring," she bubbled.


    The others gathered closer now, their formless bodies milling about the reflective disc of moving metal.


    "Infamy brings me hither," replied Mari, "Your underling once again moves against your will, Enenshio''a seeks to supplant you."


    E''i flared in rage, his voice crackling like a whole forest ablaze, "That insolent bastard! Fools were we to create such a being, who''s idea was it to name him the king of anything!?"


    The whistling voice of Ni responded, attempting to calm the embers of E''i, "It was my idea to create him, he serves his purpose well, despite our previous issues with the lower orders. His powers keep the emotions of humanity at bay, Husband."


    "What proof do you have of this, Mari, to put our trust in one like you so quickly would be poorly informed, we know how you covet our people," asked Egdo, his voice the sound of a shifting glacier.


    "Mark my words, cousins, there is a plan afoot to remove your powers from you. Have your beautiful daughters watch the family of the man called Asaba''an, he is instrumental in the plan of Enenshio''a. When he begins to move, it will be to take things from you, to remove your objects of power from your holy places. Why, even now the gods of civilisation banquet and carouse, toasting your downfall! Look to the Dawn mountains, see those troublesome twins of Enenshio''a, they seek my man there now, they want to stop me from reporting these things to you, it will not do."


    All four gods of the elements then flew into a rage. Egdo, Lord of Ice, sped to the mountainsides, casting great clods of rock and ice at the twins of Enenshio''a. He pelted them like a farmer pelts crows, so disproportionate was his power relative to theirs. The two herons swerved this way and that, spiralling and climbing to avoid the mountains which Egdo lobbed at them. Finally they were chased away from his domain, fleeing to the dense jungles of Dositoban, far, far to the South-West of the Riverlands. There they landed to lick their wounds and hide the shame of failure from their father.


    A''a, goddess of water, went at the same time to speak to her daughter the moon, telling her to be mindful, on the lookout for the movements of Asaba''an. Likewise went Ni to speak to the sun, telling her the same. The elemental gods were on alert now, believing the evidence of Mari, spurred on by their ancient mistrust of humanity and the lower orders of gods.

 Tablet Five: Gitata in Flight

    From beneath his bed, Gitata could see shadows moving under the door. Frozen as he was by fright, he could still tell that the fighting outside the room was drawing closer. His hands did little to block the sound and he heard each metallic impact more loudly than the last. The melee pressed on for some time, until eventually it calmed amidst the patter of boots running away along the hallway. He could see four feet stood on the other side of the door now and removing his hands from his ears, he could hear the panting of the two figures. The door creaked open, swinging slowly and thudding against the wall behind it.


    He saw the sandals of the men more clearly; one wore a soldier''s greaves and the ankles of the other man were licked by long, flowing robes.


    "Empty, they must have him," said one of the voices, "look about, see if you can find him."


    Gitata curled even tighter against the wall, the two pairs of feet began to circle around the room. The robed man stopped at a cupboard, swinging the doors open and rifling through its contents. The soldier''s feet stood at a large trunk in the corner, toys falling to the floor about him. Then, there was a rise in the noise coming from outside of the open door.


    "What''s that!? Get the door!" said a voice from the robed man.


    The soldier''s feet turned quickly to the door, which was closed tight in the blink of an eye. The feet now pivoted to face the bed, slowly, softly, they approached the prince''s hiding place. The soldier''s feet hissed and the robed man likewise came closer to the bed. Seeing this, Gitata balled his fists, preparing himself for certain death, struggling to contain himself, not to cry out and call for his mother. There came the creak of leather straps being undone as a shield was propped against the wall at the foot of the bed and then a robust hand was thrust under the bed, grasping at the wooden frame and yanking it away from the floor, exposing the defenceless lad to the open air. With the lamp-light of the corridor flooding the room, Gitata could not make out the faces of the two men, who loomed over him like giants of myth from his perspective.


    "Ahh, there you are," said the robed man, with a tone of relief, "we''ve been looking for you, Sire, we thought¡­ something terrible had happened."


    As his eyes adjusted to the new light, Gitata began to make out the features of the men. One was the high priest, Shio''adarod, a man who Gitata hardly knew, the other, a far more familiar and comforting sight, Reshabpash, in full battle array, already splattered with blood.


    "Teacher! What is the meaning of all this, what''s going on in the hallway, it''s keeping me up!" Gitata snapped, releasing the pent up fear of the last torturous moments.


    "No time for bluster, Lord, we have to get you out, now," replied Reshabpash, grasping the prince with his free hand, dragging him from the corner and to his feet.


    "Don''t handle me like that!"


    "Stop it, Sire, you have to do exactly as I say now, this is no time for your pride."


    "Reshabpash, we have to get moving, there aren''t enough of us," said Shio''adarod looking at the closed door as if he could see through it.


    "The priest is right, Sir, we have to go. Get your robes on and here, take my knife, you may need it."


    "I don''t like your tone, I am a prince."


    Reshabpash looked down at the half naked boy and shook his head sternly, "Not for much longer if you don''t shut up, Sir."


    The prince was about to open his mouth and protest again, when the priest gathered the discarded robes and threw them over him, "We don''t have time for this, we''ll all be dead if you don''t come with us now!"


    Then Reshabpash flung open the door, running along the hallways of the living quarters, followed closely by the prince and the priest. The fires in the lamps flitted in the breeze of their passing, throwing shadows about the corridors. The darkness danced across the faces of the bodies which lay in the passages, their faces twisted in the final agonies of death, blood gushing from open wounds. Turning along one corridor, they came to the quarters of the serving women, the doorways and rooms echoing with the screams of slave girls as the palace was overtaken by some aspect of the gods of rage and hatred. More than once, Gitata''s bare feet slipped in warm puddles which ran out beneath doors and dripped from the tops of short stairways, their unknown sources hidden just outside of his view.


    They came to the kitchens, which had been full of cooks and slaves just minutes earlier, all working to prepare the evening meal for the Enen, now they were scenes of equal carnage as the rest of the living quarters.


    "I need to rest, we cannot run all the way out of the city like this!" spluttered Shio''adarod, slamming the door shut behind him.


    "We are still in the middle of it all, we can''t stop now or they''ll find us," replied Reshabpash.


    "What is going on? I demand to know!"


    "Sire, your life is in grave danger, that is all we have time to tell you now, you really do need to simply trust and follow me."


    The high priest walked over to a large jar of wine, which was sat on the table at the centre of the room. He scooped a few handfuls from its cool interior, drinking deep, "Do you want some, Reshabpash? Something for the, umm¡­ Nerves?"


    "Now is not the time to drink. The boy I can carry, but I shall not be carrying you, Priest, now let''s go!"


    Grabbing the prince by the shoulder, Reshabpash knelt to stare him in the eyes, "Lord, draw the dagger and be ready, do not lag behind, you''re their main target now. We''re going to take the servants passageways to the stables, they hopefully won''t be there yet, especially if your father''s guards are still holding out in the feasting hall. I hope you remember the chariot lessons I''ve been giving you."


    No time to respond, the veteran was already flying along the dark tunnels of the servant''s passages. The palace was riddled with them, narrow, low-ceilinged and lit only by the cheapest and dimmest of candles, they were the manner in which the royal family ensured that their house would not be muddied by the sight of so many slaves about the place. Gitata''s little legs moved at double speed, struggling to keep pace with his guardian as his lungs spasmed in breathless panic. The priest was faring even worse, falling further and further behind. These tunnels were wretched, poorly plastered, with unsurfaced floors and centuries of dust piled in every possible location, Gitata had never seen them before, and was glad of it, unpleasant and unbecoming of a young royal, he thought. Luckily for the prince, the stables were not too far from the kitchen when one followed this secret route and soon he and his teacher were there, waiting only a few moments for the arrival of old Shio''adarod. If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    There, each in their own booth, were the chariots of the palace. There were heavy chariots for four donkeys, waggons with four wheels and chariots like the one that Gitata trained on. There also, most important and beautiful of all was the chariot of the Enen. That chariot was centuries old, crafted by masters in each trade which had gone into its construction; the cedarwood frame was carved with pig-headed lions and the yoke at the front was shaped like the horns of a monstrous bull, details all across it were picked out in red paint and gold leaf. It was plated in shining silver and copper and encrusted with lapis lazuli and other precious gemstones, the reins were studded with golden rivets.


    "That''s our chariot for today, Lord," said Reshabpash, hurrying to move the Enen''s prized donkeys into position to be harnessed.


    "Father''s chariot? No, we can''t take that."


    "I doubt he''ll be upset, little master," said Shio''adarod, breathless, resting against a wall.


    "Help me to get these bloody donkeys into place, Priest, make yourself useful!"


    The old priest looked hurt but he did as he had been told, Gitata jumped into the chariot, taking up the reins and marvelling at the craftsmanship of the carvings. Finally, not long after, the two donkeys had been prepared and the two men jumped in either side of the prince.


    "Do you remember what I told you about sparing your father''s donkeys, Sire?" asked Reshabpash, "Ignore it today."


    Gitata gave a wide grin, he was going to enjoy this. He cracked the reins, spurring the donkeys on as the chariot leapt to life, accelerating like a loosed arrow. Out of the stables, into the yard of the palace precinct, they raced, faster than the Prince had ever imagined to be possible. Outside now, Gitata could see that the fighting was between men in identical dress, all of them appeared to be the men of his father. It was then that it dawned on him what was happening; this was a coup.


    "Is my father dead?"


    The two men looked at one another over the boy''s head, but he caught their reaction from the corner of his eye.


    "Is he dead?"


    "We do not know, Lord. He is certainly still inside the palace, he sent me personally to ensure that you were safe," replied Reshabpash.


    "And you priest, why are you here?" asked Gitata.


    "I, mm¡­ I was in the, er, servants'' quarters when it all started happening. I was with a¡­ Lady."


    Reshabpash chuckled quietly as the chariot rattled through the gates of the precinct and began to descend the main avenue from the tel. Gitata did not know what was so funny, he thought it was a very odd time to be laughing at anything.


    Ahead of them, shoulder to shoulder and weapons readied, was a formation of Royal guards. They stood resolutely, facing the oncoming chariot in the middle of the road. Reshabpash seized the reins from the prince''s hands, taking command of the beautiful chariot.


    "Sorry, Sir, but I think this may be a bit too advanced for your current teaching."


    The donkeys bellowed as they were forced to turn on a pinhead, the wheels of the chariot drifting hard to the right as is forged ahead down a side street and into one of the city''s many marketplaces. The three of them ducked low as the galloping creatures smashed through stall after stall, shattered glass and pottery mixed in with the splintered remains of benches and torn awnings. Leaving the market behind them, they sped on, into more tight alleys and side streets, the wise teacher knowing the city like the back of his hand led them out and around the roadblock.


    Skidding sideways, raised up onto one wheel, the chariot came back onto the main avenue, behind the formation of soldiers and only a few lengths from the great blue gates of the city. In the gateway, two teams of men struggled with all their might to shut the gates as the shining chariot rumbled towards them at breakneck speed. By the time they had reached the gate, the doors were almost too narrow to get by. In the very last moments before they were closed, first the donkeys and then the chariot passed through them, the axle tore chunks of cedarwood away from the gates, bending the bronze banding outwards as it went between them.


    They were away, unpursued and the three of them flew like eagles, chased only by a cool wind which blew up the river to the north.


    "Where now, Reshabpash?" asked Gitata.


    "Your father ordered me to take you to your uncle, the Enen of Visig, there you shall be safe for the time being."


    "Oh! Visig, such a wonderful city, have you ever been, Lord?" added Shio''adarod, "The green gates to match the blue of Dipor, the Dawn Road running to the East from its walls and all around, for miles and miles, date orchards which bear the best fruit in all the riverlands, such beauty!"


    Gitata looked at the old priest, who seemed to be recalling something of his past.


    "Not exactly the most appropriate time for fond reminiscences, Priest," said Reshabpash, slackening up on the donkeys slightly and passing the reins back to the prince.


    "What of my father, if he is not dead already, he surely will be soon. What of my mother? Oh, gods!"


    "Calm, young Sir, we will make it all alright, don''t worry."


    "How can I be calm, when everything is going so wrong? We have abandoned my parents to die!"


    "I have done as ordered by the Enen, nothing less, you remain safe and that was always my task. First off, we need to find somewhere to stay, and tomorrow, we will have to send for help, Shio''adarod, I believe that will be your job."


    "I am not going back in there!" protested the priest, eyes wide.


    "Yes, you are." came the stern response.


    After hours of hard riding, well into the night, the three finally made a stop in a small village beside the river. There they were welcomed, the son of the Enen and his two retainers, given bed and board for the evening and their donkeys fed and watered. The only room in town was in the house of the local big man, the village chief, who had a single storied villa. The place was grand by his own standards but unbelievably humble compared to Gitata''s usual environment. All night, as he slept in the woven reed bed, the boy was tormented by mosquitoes and troubling thoughts of the near future. To his host not a word had been spoken of the circumstances which had brought him there and Gitata wondered if that had been different, would the man have handed them over to the perpetrators of the plot.


    In the morning, Shio''adarod was sent off, back to the city on the cart of a local cheesemaker, who had a large shipment to deliver to a merchant there. He was sent with a message for Gadono, the chief eunuch of the court, determined by the priest to be one of the most loyal men there. The contents of the message remained largely unknown to the boy, though he was aware that the major topic was the formation of a small fighting force of still-loyal men somewhere in the hinterlands of the city. Gitata and Reshabpash, however, remained behind, politely uncomfortable in the rural home of this lesser nobleman, under fed and overheating in the midday sun, worrying about the outcome of the high priest''s mission.

 Tablet Six: Ninria and the Sea

    The opulently dressed priest, shaven head shining in the sun, stood unmoved in the doorway of the temple of Enenshio''a.


    "Please, Sir, it''s important we get inside, my husband has had a visitation!" begged Ninri''a for the thousandth time.


    "No commoners may look upon the statue, only the Enen and the chosen, now please leave before I have a guard remove you forcefully."


    Gagesh stepped forwards, looming over the bald man, his dark eyes boring a hole into his forehead, "Move, or I''ll move you myself."


    The priest shrank back slightly, though still held his ground. Ninri''a placed a hand on her son''s shoulder, pulling him down the steps, away from the priest.


    "This is outrageous," hissed Shashishio''a, throwing his hands into the air in annoyance, "Always the bloody same with these holy men."


    "A visitation from Enenshio''a himself and you won''t allow us in to speak to him?" pressed Ninri''a, becoming angry herself now.


    All around them, on the stairs leading to other temples, the priests and guards looked on, pointing at the commoners come to enter the holy place without permission or need. The temple precinct hummed with scurrying initiate priests and temple slaves. In the plaza, women brought shipments of cloth and basketry that they had made on behalf of the temples, receiving rations of food and oil in return for their labour. Behind it all was the faint sound of chanted prayers, repeated over and over within the sanctum of each temple, where the statues of the gods stood.


    At the foot of the steps of the finely painted, pillared temple of Enenshio''a, behind the family, a beggar approached. His eyes were bound with a mucky, red rag, tied about his head atop his shabby hair. He carried a crooked stick, which he used to find his way about.


    "You won''t get in, they never listen to people in real need," croaked the blind old man, "too concerned with their own importance, I''m afraid."


    Shashishio''a recoiled from the urchin, a look of disgust drawn across his face, "What on earth could you possibly want, old man?"


    "A word, if I might, with your father, Shashishio''a, he is here, isn''t he?"


    The three sons looked at one another, surprised that this beggar would be specifically looking for their father. Ninri''a could see that Shashishio''a was clearly shaken by the use of his name.


    "How do you know me?"


    "I know everyone here, some better than others. Now, can your father speak? I sincerely hope that he doesn''t communicate through sign language alone."


    Asaba''an stepped forward cautiously, Mo''abe keeping step behind him as he approached the blind man.


    "I am Asaba''an, who are you?"


    "I wouldn''t want to make you cry, again, young man. Suffice it to say that I come bearing a message, as the priests of this place have little pity and there will be little other way to tell you what needs to be heard."


    At the slander of his order, the priest on the steps above them sneered at the beggar, who seemed to notice the gesture, turning his blindfolded face to meet the advance. The robed priest took several steps towards the stranger, scowling, before Gagesh put out a meaty palm and stopped him in his tracks with a shake of the head.


    "Begone, you disgusting vagabond, piss off back to whichever gu-"


    The priest''s words were cut short as the blind stranger waved a hand in his direction. The flesh around his mouth and lips began to fuse together like melted wax, sealing in a bubbling scab. The man clutched at his face, clawing at the place where his mouth once sat. Gagesh leapt back in terror, letting the man tumble over forwards. He barrelled down the steps of the temple, head over tail, skull rebounding from stone slab after stone slab. His lifeless corpse came to rest at the foot of the stairs in an expanding pool of dark blood, which trickled from a cleft in his forehead.


    The buzz of the plaza stopped instantly. Guards from all of the surrounding temples came rushing to the scene. Ninri''a and her sons formed a semicircle, prepared to go down fighting as Asaba''an cowered on his knees in front of the deadly stranger.


    "A small price to pay for blasphemy, don''t you think?" said the beggar as his body began to grow and change. His filthy rags morphed into the ornamental robes of Davtashio''a, stiff-woven with gold and silver threads. He stood at the height of three men, with skin of red clay and silver hair, which fell over his raw, empty eye-sockets.


    Now all of the people in the plaza fell flat on their faces, worshipping the god of knowledge and writing from the floor. Davtashio''a paid no attention to them as he stood over the kneeling potter.


    "Do you know what I was reading the other day, pot-maker?" he asked in a voice like far off thunder, "it was a treatise on alchemy. Now, usually I pay no attention to such pseudoscience, If a mortal could become immortal with herbs, I would already know, trust me, however, in this particular work, written some time around the scouring, there was mention made of mercury and its properties. Oh, I don''t know how much my brother has told you, so stop me if you become confused."


    Asaba''an merely mumbled as he stared up at the eyeless giant before him, Ninri''a could not blame him for that at all, likewise unable to move.


    "Now, the author mentions in that work the reaction between mercury and sulphur, which dulls and absorbs the quicksilver. I won''t bore you with details, just be content in the knowledge that you have to climb into a volcano to retrieve some for us, sulphur, that is. Well, content may be a poor choice of words¡­ Be aware of it."


    At that, Asaba''an whimpered.Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    "The downside of all this is, of course, that you will need a boat to get there, and judging by the quality of your craftsmanship and the accounts you had taken down by a scribe last summer, that isn''t feasible for a man of your means."


    The god turned to face the prostrated masses around him, withdrawing his clay tablet of knowledge from a pouch at his waist. He ran his fingers across its shifting surface, muttering to himself under his breath as he read it. A quick smile came across his lips.


    "Now, Andi, son of Garad, did you make it to deliver that honey to the temple on time? Step forward if you did, please. Come on, don''t be shy."


    Not a soul in the crowd made a move and Davtashio''a frowned, running his fingers across his tablet again, "Look, I read correctly, you must be here, where are you, Andi?"


    Finally a well dressed gentleman stepped forwards, his loose trousers and finely woven cloak marking him out as one of the Bargoabid, the boat people of the far south.


    "Ahh, there you are! Take these people to the docks, give them your boat, please," commanded the scribe god.


    A look of defiance flitted across the man''s face for an instant, then looking down at the corpse of the priest, his expression softened again. Andi, son of Garad gave a shallow nod and beckoned the family to join him. Davtashio''a turned to face them again, and manhandling Asaba''an back to his feet, he reached into his pouch once more. When his hand was withdrawn, it was holding five swords of masterful workmanship, the bright, narrow, bronze blades sheathed in leather scabbards, embossed with images of warriors at battle.


    "I would tell a bronze smith to outfit you but I don''t trust mortal craftsmanship, it''s always shabby. Take these, one for each of your family," said the god, offering the weapons to Ninri''a, who took them without question, shepherding her sons to follow the merchant.


    "Go quickly, I have no idea when the next phase of Mari''s plan will take effect. Oh, and good luck!"


    With a flash of blinding light and heat, the god was gone, nowhere to be seen. The people about them began to take their feet and flock towards the family. Ninri''a pushed against the merchant''s back and grabbed Asaba''an by the forearm.


    "Go!" she yelled, her family sprinting behind as the confused and reluctant man lead them as quick as possible to the docks.


    The press of bodies became denser as they moved towards the waiting shipyards. Fortunately, with three stout sons and her own strength, it was not long before they had managed to make their way through the crowds and to the jetty, where the boat was moored and ready.


    "I hope there''s going to be some form of compensation for this," complained Andi.


    "You''ll be famous in no time, everyone will want some of your honey now," replied Shashishio''a.


    Mo''abe helped his father onto the deck as Gagesh and Ninri''a stashed a few barrels of salted fish and fresh water into the hold. The people had gathered at the far end of the dock to witness the beginning of the family''s journey, though they dared not approach any closer now, fearful of angering the gods. It took only a short amount of time to prepare the small vessel, barely large enough for ten people, for sailing.


    Casting away with no experience of the sea and very little idea about where to go or how to get there, they trusted to the gods for further guidance and the help they would need in their task. The boat had six oars, and two of the men worked on either side, Ninri''a steering. The currents of the gulf helped to speed the boat to the South-East, making light work of the first day''s rowing. Ninri''a was careful to keep the shore always in view; to stray too far would be to become lost and ultimately drowned or starved at sea, incapable of navigating back to safety. It was at the dusk of that first night Ninri''a spotted the glow on the Eastern horizon, the feared islands of fire.


    The stronghold of E''i, god of fire, the islands were a volcanic chain, crowned in the centre by a volcano of such great scale that it could be spotted for leagues around, standing proud in the Northern waters of the gulf. It was no difficult feat to recognise this as the intended destination of their journey.


    As nightfall approached, they lowered their anchor to rest. To their left were the towering spires of the Dawn mountains, not far from shore, a spine of jagged silhouettes against the deep blue of the night sky. In front and still on the furthest horizon was the blood-red halo of the islands. The sea all around them was still and calm, the lapping of tiny waves against the hull rocked them to sleep.


    As Io''a, goddess of the sun, came above the Eastern horizon with the dawn, Ninri''a was woken by the violent jerking of the boat; the once still seas were growing ever more choppy. The daylight did nothing to dull the glow of the volcanoes in the South-East and now a pillar of smoke belched from below the horizon. Above, whipped by rising winds, ink-black clouds swirled, grimacing with evil intent as lightning began to shred the air with cracks of hateful thunder.


    "The anchor! Quickly, jump to the oars!" she screamed in panic, her sons responding in lively fashion.


    Asaba''an too, terror etched into his greying face, leapt upon the bench, taking position.


    "By all the gods! What now?" he squealed, working hard to bring the boat to face the shore.


    Mo''abe had the anchor inside double-quick and Ninri''a steered the ship towards land.


    "King of kings, protect us! What deadly waves!" cried her husband.


    High above them, formless as gas, glowing clouds of elemental energy worked together to undo the boat and its crew. Ni sent her gusting winds from all directions, tossing the boat side to side, bucking upon the high, breaking waves of A''a. Sheets of bitter hale, the size of fists, pelted the decks, cracking the knuckles clasped tight around oar-shafts. E''i boiled the water about the vessel, splashes of scolding liquid heaving and bubbling onto faces bent in terror.


    Chords and cables snapped taught, the wooden mast was bent double and cried out in torment. Boards and planks rattled and groaned as nails worked their way loose from creaking ribs. The keel of the ship bounced from the crests of tidal waves, whirlpools gulping down obscene volumes of water to either side of the prow. Then a bright ray of golden light split the sky in half.


    Far to the left, back-lit by the same dazzling, radiant light; not of the sun but of his own divinity, Enenshio''a raised his hands and threw all of his power at the gathered storm. A shield of shimmering silver splayed out around the boat, hailstone and boiled water alike splashed off of it. The seas within the orb were stilled and the vessel regained its balance. She looked upon him, safe in the knowledge that their task had been ordained. Ninri''a''s heart swelled with as she gazed at the god, high upon the mountain.


    "Pull, lads! Heave to shore! The gods are with us!" she rejoiced.


    Not all of the gods were with them, however, and soon the gathered elements renewed their efforts to destroy the family. Waves, which had already been towering over the gunnels, now came at the height of mountains and the winds tore the mast clear of the boat, carrying it high into the air. Enenshio''a''s strength began to fail and they were dragged on irresistible currents, further and further out to sea. The storm had reached a crescendo so great that the elements themselves could no longer spy the ship through the maelstrom, losing it somewhere in the Southern gulf as the torment spun its way out of their control.


    Beneath billowous black clouds, skin seared and bruised by the onslaught, Ninri''a lay flat on her back, swollen planks and disjointed beams scattered about her. Her family were exhausted, each of them curled into a ball or leant against the sides. Mo''abe vomited violently into the raging sea and even bold Gagesh had been reduced to sobbing tears. Her eyes dimmed as sleep came to claim her in his relentless onward march, the deadly clouds above her receded from her consciousness as she fell in on herself. Then she was adrift on an ocean of nothingness, her and her boat, becalmed by the release of oblivion. The outlines of her vessel frayed like rough-woven cloth and her heartbeat echoed eternally in her ears. For a time, she was safe in her unawareness.