Daemons of Garaaga (Children of Garaaga) Read online

  Daemons of Garaaga

  Hela

  Ama

  Drimesh

  Author's Note

  About The Author

  Dedication

  For Scott E. Pond:

  Who illustrates my tales with tireless care,

  For priceless advice,

  And his endless enthusiasm for my work.

  Acknowledgements

  There are few things in life more difficult than attempting to give credit to all the people who help in writing a book. When I first explored the idea of making Garaaga's Children into a series, its scope, its subject matter, and its complexity were not just daunting--they were paralyzing.

  If not for the following people, the stories in this book would never have been written.

  Mom and Dad-- for frank discussions and support.

  Carrie--for never letting me give up and constantly pushing me to become a better writer.

  Jennifer Brownson--for research and a deep love of forgotten history.

  SB-- for beta-reading and being honest.

  Scott Pond--for showing great enthusiasm for the stories and his tireless help in making this book a reality.

  The Fiendlings-- for letting me tell my stories and always begging for more.

  There are simply too many authors and friends that have pushed me to complete this arc. You know who you are, and I owe you a beer.

  Daemons of Garaaga

  By

  Paul E. Cooley

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2015 by Paul E Cooley

  www.shadowpublications.com

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States of America by

  Shadowpublications.com

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Cooley, Paul Elard

  Daemons of Garaaga/ / Paul E Cooley.-- 1st ed.

  p. cm.

  1. Fantasy―Fiction

  ISBN: 978-1-942137-03-0

  Cover design, cover art, interior illustrations, and book design by Scott Pond of Scott E. Pond Designs, LLC (www.scottpond.com)

  Edited by Jennifer Melzer and Sue Baiman

  CHRONOLOGY of the

  TALES of GARAAGA'S CHILDREN

  Legends of Garaaga

  "Hunters" - 5000 B.C.E.

  "Keepers" - 2300 B.C.E.

  Daemons of Garaaga

  "Hela" - 1940 B.C.E.

  "Ama" - 1820 B.C.E.

  "Drimesh" - 1770 B.C.E.

  Legends of Garaaga

  "Interlopers" - 326 B.C.E.

  "Scrolls" - 48 B.C.E.

  Also By The Author

  AVAILABLE FROM SEVERED PRESS

  The Black

  The Black: Arrival

  The Black: Outbreak (coming soon)

  AVAILABLE FROM SHADOW PUBLICATIONS

  The Black (series)

  The Black (audiobook)

  The Black: Arrival (audiobook) (coming soon)

  Garaaga Collection (series)

  Legends of Garaaga--4 Tales of the Children of Garaaga

  Daemons of Garaaga--3 Tales of the Children of Garaaga

  Tony Downs (series)

  The Hunt

  After Image

  The Dark Recesses Collection (short stories)

  Mimes

  Lamashtu (coming soon)

  Others

  Closet Treats

  Tattoo

  Fiends: Volume 1

  Fiendlettes--4 Stories from the Fiends Collection

  The Street

  Flames (coming soon)

  Hela

  1940 B.C.E.

  1

  A soft rain pattered against the sand. The burnt siena ground sucked up the moisture and left little trace the event had ever occurred. The rain intensified and soon it was more than the ground could absorb. Sand turned to mud.

  A figure sat by the river on the stump of a long dead olive tree. Someone had chopped the tree down years ago and Hela had always been thankful for that. The stump was her favorite place to sit and watch the river.

  Sin, the moon god, stared down at her from its place among the clouds and stars. The gibbous crescent bathed the desert in shadows and a ghostly yellow light. A fish turned over in the river. Hela smiled.

  The water had been flowing faster and faster the past few days. Near the city of Akkad, or perhaps as far as the northern seas, storms were anointing the land. Those same storms were moving south and into Ur. Hela relished the feel of the cool rain against her naked skin.

  It would flood soon. The river's deep, dark silt would spread over the shore's lifeless sand and nourish the soil. It was the gods' blessing to make the ground fertile and bring more olive trees, more dates, more food for the herd to consume. And the herd would consume.

  Hela smiled in the near darkness. The river's gurgling whisper was rising in volume. The water was coming. In a day or so, its voice would no longer be a whisper, but a roar. She had lived long enough to witness four great floods. This would be no different. Some of the herd would die, others would benefit. But not in Ur. The city was far enough away from the wide river to survive its cycle of rebirth.

  She left her stump and turned toward the city. The fires atop the temple were burning. They would continue until Sin finally descended over the horizon and the sun rose in its stead. The priestess was no doubt standing before the fire and casting herbs and seeds in supplication into the roaring flames. With the glare of the fire bouncing off the sweat of their naked bodies, the priest and priestess would copulate for the god's pleasure. Hela wished she could witness the act in person.

  She'd only ever seen the priestess from a distance as she walked down the steps of the temple. Her thick, black braided hair bouncing behind her bronze body had set Hela's loins on fire with want. This priestess was even more beautiful than the last.

  Hela wondered what the view from the temple was like. Would she be able to see the campfires of approaching armies? Or see faraway ships heading down mother river? Perhaps she'd be able to see all the way into Elam. Not for the first time, she wished she could fly.

  2

  SHE'D been awake for some time. After her stroll through the sleeping city, she'd returned home and climbed the ladder to the roof. Skin still slick with rain, she'd lain down on a woven reed mat and watched dawn kiss the sky.

  She'd fallen asleep as the last of the stars disappeared. The rain had departed along with Sin, leaving the air cool and clean. It hadn't taken long for her eyes to flutter closed and for sleep's embrace to curl her in its grasp.

  The sun was still traveling to its apex when she opened her eyes. The temple, just beyond the city walls, blazed in the hot sunlight. The jewels and gold ornaments that covered the supplication area glittered and flashed as wispy clouds flitted across the sky.

  Hela had stayed on the rooftop and bathed in the sunlight. Her naked body grew warm and beads of perspiration popped out against her dark skin. The heat felt good after last night's chilling rain. She knew by evening, she'd want to bathe again just to cool off. It had always been that way in Ur. The heat was something you lived with. Fortunately for her, the discomfort was more an inconvenience than a threat.

  Many men and women died in the desert from lack of water. That was no concern for her and never would be. As long as she found the occasional herd member to feed upon, she was immortal.

  The city streets beyond her home were alive with activity. Although it wasn't yet market day, merch
ants were bringing in their loads from the river. Hawkers shouted their prices for trinkets. Butchers plied their trade in the common stalls.

  The king, Ibbi-Sin, would look at the weather and decide whether or not to tour the city. He often traveled his beloved Ur before sundown. With his army at home, he felt safe enough to travel within Ur's walls without danger.

  Ibbi-Sin had once led his armies in an attempt to conquer the troublesome kingdom of Elam; but it ended in disaster. King Kindattu of the neighboring land had managed to repulse the attacks without much trouble. Ibbi-Sin, it seemed, knew better than to press on. The denizens of Ur hadn't supported the war and Hela didn't think the king had the urge to try again.

  She stood and looked out over the city. Most of the houses were single-story and relatively low to the ground. When she had built her home, the price of grain was low and the weather constantly fertilized the land. But the rein of Ibbi-Sin had been one of long drought and discontent. Ur was the last of the original kingdom still under Akkadian control.

  Hela pined for the days of Ur-Nammu when Akkad was at its peak of power. All was calm. The wars in the hinterlands were so far removed from the herd that they hardly knew of any conflict. Ur-Nammu built Sin's ziggurat to thank the deity for His blessing upon the kingdom.

  In those days, purchasing a house had cost very little and the herd had multiplied so quickly, she was never without a companion. She had spent her coin on making certain the ceilings were higher than the structures around her just to have a view. The rooftop was her private sanctuary. Only those on the temple or in the palace could even see her rooftop.

  How many men and women had she coaxed to the rooftop over the years? Hundreds? Thousands? It didn't matter. Since Minussah, the names and faces were long forgotten.

  Minussah was the only one she missed. Beautiful. Humorous. Knowledgeable. Hela smiled. Except in the ways of love. But we managed to greatly improve upon that.

  She took one last look at the temple. The priestess had finally departed for sleep. After what seemed like a thousand rises of Sin, the deity had finally blessed Ur with rain. Or so the faithful would think. Hela wondered if Ibbi-Sin would try and take credit for it as well.

  Dappled with sweat, Hela reluctantly left the rooftop and headed down the ladder and into her cool home. While the sun might bake the roof, her home's floor had been built lower than the street. The high portals remained open all year long to let in any breeze. Whenever Ur's temperature became uncomfortable, she sought relief in her home. It was also one of the attractions for her midday consorts. Or had been.

  She stepped to her robe and covered herself. The day was perfect for walking the city. Those who did not work the parched fields would be out wandering and hoping for entertainment of any kind. The herd was nothing if not predictable. Come tomorrow's Market Day, they would forget their troubles and instead peruse the wares and foods they couldn't afford.

  Since the great drought had begun and the ever-rising price of grain had decimated the wealth of Ur, Ibbi-Sin had made it a tradition to provide and pay for free entertainment and beer. It had managed to keep food riots from breaking out, but only just. Hela knew the kingdom would eventually tear itself apart if the drought continued. She wondered how the king was paying his army. If the populace discovered it was grain, he might end up with his head on a pike, sacrificed to Sin for excesses.

  She walked to the cedar trunk by her bed and opened it. Beautiful lapis lazuli and silver stared back at her. She picked up her favorite necklace, her body tingling at its touch upon her flesh. Garaaga's shadow tensed inside her as its strength waned. Don't worry, she told it. I'll feed you. Soon.

  It hadn't been so long that she was losing skin, but it had been long enough. Ever since Minussa's death, she had rarely fed off the herd and only when the hunger was more than her body could bear. Garaaga visited her in her dreams, torturing her with visions of beautiful humans, lovers she should take into her bed. Garaaga wanted her well fed. But it didn't matter. She would mourn Minussah until the end of her days

  Necklace cinched around her neck and floating just above her ample breasts, Hela reached in the chest for her money pouch and tied it to her belt. She had never been afraid of pick-pockets. Many had tried, of course, but they always failed. One whiff of the beast inside her and they had second thoughts.

  One had to be wary of the herd. Their delight in greed and thievery could make them dangerous. Hela chuckled. Their thievery. Pathetic swipes and invasions followed by executions or crucifixions. Man knows not even how to steal.

  Dressed and ready, she grabbed a handful of figs and stepped from her house and into the bright baking sun. She took the first alley, walked up a street to the next, and strolled her way through the shadows. The sun was high, but hidden away by the walls of the homes. Toward evening, these alleys would be in direct light and the streets that crossed them would instead be in shade. The temperature would fade, the night would begin, and the herd would frolic. Then she would hunt.

  When the alley emptied out into the wide city square, she held up a hand to shield her eyes from the sun. A small fire burned in one corner. An old woman placed broiled fish in a reed basket. The smell made Hela's stomach growl. She popped a fig in her mouth and crunched down on the moist fruit. Juice exploded and anointed the insides of her cheeks. Hela groaned with pleasure and continued walking.

  A city guard had been posted at each corner of the square. Red tunics decorated with light bronze chains covered their skin. Their spears pointed toward the sky, bodies rigid and unyielding. Her eyes lingered over one of them.

  The man was tall and stocky, his long, dark hair tied in multiple well-oiled braids. For a moment, she imagined him beneath her, his body shaking and jittering as she fed and the joyful expression on his face after he jetted inside her. She felt the beast within her growl.

  Hela tore her eyes from the guard and sat beneath a wilting olive tree. It was one of the few left in the city after the continuous drought. The rumor was that Ibbi-Sin had decided Ur could not afford to lose more trees and that slaves would water them long after the city had gone to sleep. Hela knew it wasn't a rumor. She'd seen the slaves wheeling large ceramic jugs around the square as they tried to breathe life into the last of the olive trees. If any of Ur's population stayed up long enough, they'd have seen the slaves as well.

  She finished another fig. Even with the nightly watering, the trees were dying. Soon, not even Ibbi-Sin would be able to keep up the charade. It didn't really matter--the populace knew the kingdom was approaching a nadir. One day soon, the poor would no longer be able to afford grain. They wouldn't be able to afford cloth. When that happened, the king would be blamed and the walls that protected Ur would become his prison. And likely his tomb.

  Hela wiped her hands on her robe and sighed. Kingdoms were as the shifting sands. She'd watched Sumer kneel to the Akkadians. The world had started speaking their language, scratching their words into clay. All that remained of Sumer was its customs and gods and the Akkadians had simply co-opted it all.

  Akkad would one day fall and another legacy of power would be established in its wake. Sargon's ghost no doubt peered down upon the lands he'd won and wept for the mess his children had made in his stead.

  The herd, she thought, is simply incapable of ruling itself for long. Power, greed, or delusions of immortality led to the end of any dynasty. Akkad was simply the latest; it would not be the last.

  "Good day, Madam," a gravelly voice said from behind her.

  Hela smiled. "Nergur." She looked up as a tall, wiry man shuffled around her. His left eye was milky white, his teeth a mess of rot and decay. The blue and crimson robe wrapping his body had more than a few tears in it. His left wrist glittered with lapis, beads, and gold. "Rare to see you before Market Day."

  The old man ran his hands through his long, shaggy beard. He shrugged. "Can't a humble merchant travel the city before he sells his wears?"

  She giggled. "Sit with me, ancient one
."

  His smile displayed the three missing teeth on his left jaw. "As you wish," he said. His knees creaked and popped as he sat down with a grunt. "Age is the ultimate insult to life," he said. "One would think the gods would be smarter."

  "A philosopher," she chuckled. "Tell me? Do you make these pronouncements to all your clients, or just me?"

  The old man tugged at his beard. "If all my clients were as intelligent as you, I might." He slapped a gnarled, wrinkled hand against his bony knee. "You think you're special?"

  She shrugged.

  "Well," he licked his chapped laps, "perhaps it's because you are."

  "Nergur, you flatter me."

  He bowed his head. "Beautiful women often make me sentimental. It's a virtue of being an old man."

  She studied his face. She could almost make out a flame glittering in his right eye, and then it was gone. "Old man," she said. "I've a feeling that's an affectation."

  "Perhaps. Perhaps it's the best way to hide your true self. Or," he grinned, "more likely I enjoy being thought an ancient, broken man. Allows me to be the philosopher."

  For a moment, neither said a word. She looked out at the square. The woman cooking her fish was hawking to those walking by. Another merchant had appeared, rolling a wooden cart filled with bread. The man wore very bright, clean clothes. His slave, on the other hand, was dressed in a dirty robe that showcased her breasts.