Legends of Garaaga Page 4

  The market was outside the city walls. Isin stared in disbelief at the number of people swirling around the booths and the tradesmen. He'd never seen this many people in one place before.

  A tall man, black as coal, yelled to the crowd in a deep voice. Through the moving bodies, Isin saw the man gesturing toward an array of animals in cages. Multi-colored birds cawed and squawked. Hassani grabbed his elbow.

  "This way," the man shouted.

  Isin allowed Hassani to lead him deeper into the crowd of people. He bumped into and against men, women, children of all different races and dress. They finally reached the edge of the crowd and Isin saw what Hassani had been leading him toward.

  An aged, slender man stood at a booth. The old man smiled at Hassani. Four upper teeth were missing from the right side of his mouth. A small lapis stone dangled from his ear.

  Hanging from the top of the booth were great loops of stunning beauty. Silver chains had been threaded through pieces of lapis. Isin's mouth dropped open at the sight.

  "What think you?" Hassani asked.

  "So beautiful."

  "Yes. All the beads you have left would not purchase a single piece."

  Isin shook his head. "How much?"

  Hassani clapped Isin on the shoulder. "One of my trips to Lothal might purchase a piece or two." Hassani leaned close to his ear. "But this tradesman and I have an understanding. I take his necklaces to Lothal and trade for metal."

  Isin nodded. "So you get the silver and gold from Lothal so he may make them."

  "Yes." Hassani stared at them with pride. "I make it possible for him to keep creating beauty."

  Isin smiled. "You are a good man, Hassani."

  "Let's hope Enki think so." The old man pointed at Hassani and spoke. Hassani nodded. "Hold out your hands."

  Isin reached forward, his palms up. The old man lifted one of the loops and turned to place it in Isin's hands. He stopped. His eyes stared into the ruined flesh of Isin's left palm. The old man dropped the necklace to the ground and grabbed Isin's hand.

  Isin tried to pull back, but Hassani was right behind him. The old man muttered something, his eyes blinking at the symbol. He looked up and stared into Isin's face and pushed him away.

  Hassani yelled at the old man. The jeweler raised his hands and then pointed at Isin. He screamed something, bent down, retrieved the necklace and placed it back with the others.

  "Come," Hassani said. He placed an arm around Isin's neck and led him away from the booth.

  "Did I do something wrong?" Isin asked.

  "I do not understand," Hassani said. "The mark on your palm frightened him."

  "He didn't look frightened," Isin said. "He looked angry."

  "Yes."

  Isin turned to look behind him. The old man was glaring at him and breaking down his booth.

  "Never mind that," Hassani said. "I have other wonders to show you."

  The cool air had evaporated as the sun rose higher and higher in the sky. When it was at its zenith, Isin's fever returned with a vengeance. He was sweating and chilled to the bone while he burned. Hassani had cut short their market trip and insisted they head back to his home. Despite the strange animals, the myriad of fruits and vegetables, and the dazzling array of beads and baubles, Isin agreed.

  The old man's angry face was fresh in his mind. Not for the first time since leaving Lothal, he wished he understood Akkadian. The man had seen the symbol before. That much was obvious. But why had it angered him?

  He'd asked Hassani several times, but the merchant either didn't want to explain or was unable. As they made their way back through Akkad's streets, Hassani pointed out the various temples to the gods. The terra cotta structures were incredibly ornate, filigreed with metal. It was difficult to focus on their beauty, though, with the old man's face tugging at his consciousness.

  "We see your friend, Tupšarru, now."

  Isin felt his heart hammer with excitement. "Now?"

  "Yes," Hassani said.

  Despite the growing fever and the coughing fits that made his vision waver, the idea of seeing Trianni, or whatever he now called himself, renewed his strength. Just a little longer, and then he too could rest.

  "Where are we going?"

  "To the temple of Nabu and Nidaba." Hassani grinned. "Your Tupšarru friend worships them." Hassani wrinkled his nose. "And by the smell of him, I'd say he's not left the temple for a long time."

  Trianni.

  He'd kept repeating the name to himself as he followed the river bank to Lothal. The journey had taken three days. Three days of walking as fast as he could and sleeping only when his legs refused to support his weight. Three days of feeling hunted.

  He'd felt them on his trail--the destroyers of Gujaritan pursuing him, intent on destroying the last keeper and the legend. Trianni's name echoed in his mind with every step, but it was always Hennar's voice that had spoken to him when he closed his eyes. Her marred and mutilated face whispered the name again and again. As the fever had burned inside him, her voice and Trianni's name burned in his mind and drove him forward.

  When Isin had reached Lothal, it had taken him nearly two days to find the weighmaster he sought. Trianni and his brother Tunia had left the village as young men. The two had traveled to Lothal to seek their fortune when Isin was barely old enough to stand.

  Tunia had returned every few seasons with tales of Lothal and the strange boats that brought trade. While Tunia had become a weighmaster in Lothal, Trianni had left with one of the merchants bound for Akkad. Tunia had not seen him again.

  When asked why Trianni had sought to travel to Akkad, Tunia had grinned. "He saw the merchants and the weighmasters make their marks. He wanted to learn how."

  That had been more seasons ago than Isin could count. After the cave and his return to the village, Isin knew at once he must find Trianni. Only Trianni could keep Rashim's legend alive. To find Trianni, he had to first find Tunia.

  Lothal was hardly the size of Akkad, but his searches for Tunia proved futile. The man had disappeared. It wasn't until he started asking the other weighmasters that he found out what had happened. Tunia and his family had been found dead in their home. Tunia's body had been skinned like an animal.

  Upon hearing the story, Isin had been frantic. Without Tunia in tow, it would be impossible to gain passage to Akkad, let alone discover Trianni's whereabouts. That is when he found Hassani.

  Hassani had been bartering with the weighmaster who had told Isin of Tunia's fate. As Hassani placed pieces of lapis on one side of the scale, the weighmaster placed a weight. The men would wait until the scales stopped moving, and repeat the process until the scales balanced.

  The two men would then converse, Hassani in his broken speech, and the weighmaster in his raspy voice. Once agreed on a price, Hassani took out a stylus and pressed marks into a clay tablet. The sight was enough to dispel Isin's hopelessness.

  Hassani had been hesitant to offer to him passage to Akkad, but the pouch of village treasure Isin carried was enough to convince him.

  As the boat was loaded with cargo, Isin stayed by the dock and watched Hassani fuss over how it was stowed. That was when he noticed the small group of red-robed men. They kept their distance and silence, but all five stared at him with a predator's lust.

  He knew at once they were the same group that had murdered his village, his wife-to-be. Men who worshipped a monster, men who would gut him and silence him forever.

  Adrenal laden fear gripped him, leaving him shuddering and shaking on the dock. He'd closed his eyes, seen Hennar's face, and the fear was gone once more. Rage had replaced it. Rage and the thirst for vengeance.

  As Hassani's men finished loading the cargo, Isin boarded the boat, his eyes still on the small group of men.

  "You know them?" Hassani asked.

  Isin didn't look at the merchant, but grunted. "I know them," he whispered.

  "They are your friends?"

  Isin shook his head.

  "Go
od that you don't like them," Hassani said. "They look criminal."

  "They are."

  Hassani clapped him on the shoulder. "We leave now." He spit on the dock. "We go to Akkad. You need never see them again."

  As the boat left the dock, Isin waved. The murderers had done nothing but continue their stare. They had lost. They had pursued him ever since he'd left Gujaritan and failed to kill him. He would find Trianni. He would avenge Hennar.

  The sickness had strengthened during the voyage. Despite Hassani's constant worrying over his passenger, Isin's health had worsened. The fever and coughing fits left him barely able to move. He had escaped Garaaga's followers, but he could not escape the illness.

  Once in Akkad, it had only taken Hassani a few hours to locate Trianni. According to Hassani, there weren't many markers of his skill.

  The narrow street opened up into a wide courtyard. Isin stopped and stared in wonder at the ziggurat. It was not the largest he'd seen, but the only one with so many symbols carved into the stone.

  Hassani seemed to notice he'd stopped and turned back to him. "A sight, yes? It's strange. These tupšarru would no doubt hide the entire temple in their marks if they could."

  "How did they do this?"

  "Ladders. They made ladders or stood on the shoulders of other worshippers so they could reach the highest parts of the temple."

  Isin shook his head. "It is beautiful."

  Hassani tugged at his beard. "Come, Isin. Let's meet your Trianni."

  When they walked up the steps into the top level of the ziggurat, Isin lost his breath. The temple walls were covered in clay tablets bearing strange markings. In the center of the room sat three stone tables. Behind the center table, a man dressed in crimson and yellow robes stood hunched over, a stylus in his hands.

  The man's robes were smeared with clay dust, his skin filthy with the leavings, as he pressed strange symbols into being.

  Hassani bowed to the man who did not look up. "Tupšarru," Hassani said.

  The man finished pressing a symbol into the tablet before him and raised his eyes. The man did not speak but nodded.

  Hassani spoke in Akkadian and then pointed to Isin.

  The man who called himself Tupšarru stood to his full height, his vertebrae cracking in the silent room. "Little brother," the man said. "You seek Trianni?"

  Isin smiled. "Yes, big brother. I seek you."

  The priest bowed. "I am Trianni, although that name means nothing here."

  "You are brother to Tunia."

  "I am."

  "Tunia is no more, big brother. He and his family were murdered."

  A flash of emotion crossed Trianni's face but disappeared as quickly as it had come. "Is that what you came to tell me?"

  "No," Isin said. "I have news."

  Trianni looked over at Hassani and spoke in Akkadian. After a moment, Hassani tapped Isin on the shoulder.

  "I leave you two. Trianni will bring you to my house when you are finished."

  "Thank you," Isin said with a bow.

  "By Enki, you have found what you sought," Hassani said. He turned and left the quiet, dark temple.

  Trianni waited until the man's footsteps could no longer be heard. "It is not wise to keep Akkadians waiting, young one. They have patience, that one more than most. But they always have their own matters to attend to."

  The older man laid the stylus down on the stone surface, made a bow to the table, and then shuffled around it. He offered Isin his hand. Isin pushed his forward and the two shook. Trianni frowned. He turned over Isin's hand and stared at the wound.

  "Keeper?"

  "Yes," Isin said. "I am the last."

  Trianni clucked his tongue. "You should know better than to believe in such."

  "What--"

  Trianni pointed at the walls. "Do you see? These may look like nothing more than scratches to you, young one, but they are words. From god. They are truth. Not like legend. Not like myth. They cannot lie."

  "What do they say?"

  "They tell of market days. Of extraordinary events that take place in Akkad and elsewhere. Reports from the far reaches, as far as Ur." Trianni wiped sweat from his brow. His robe came away brown and red. "What is your name, keeper?"

  "Isin."

  Trianni nodded. "Go back to your village, Isin. Or stay here. But live like a man, not a priest bearing to a false god."

  "I--" Isin felt a flush of anger from his belly. "You do not wish to hear my news?"

  Trianni chuckled. "What could be of importance that happens so far from Lothal? Let alone Akkad? There is nothing worthy of Tupšarru's attention."

  Isin clenched his fists. The fever was forgotten now. The sickness, the illness that had plagued him since he left the village, paled in comparison to the hate he felt rise within him. "Destruction. Death. Garaaga."

  The thin, mocking smile on Trianni's face collapsed into a flat line. "What say you?"

  "Gujaritan is no more, Marker," Isin spat. "When I left, it was nothing more than cinders and blood."

  Trianni stared down at the ground. "I am sorry to hear, Isin."

  "There are none left. I am the last that claim her."

  "Gujaritan." Trianni stared up at the high ceiling. The torches on the wall flickered, driving criss-crossing shadows across it. "I have created that word, Isin. It lives as long as there are words for it."

  Isin raised his hand and showed the mark burned into his skin. "Then make this into a word, marker." Isin walked forward, hand still raised. He placed it close to Trianni's dust covered face. "Create it."

  Trianni clucked his tongue. "Who is responsible?"

  Isin lowered his hand. "Garaaga."

  Trianni shook his head. "Garaaga is a myth. A nothing."

  "The people that believe in Garaaga are real enough, Trianni." He choked down a sob. "They razed Gujaritan, gutted the men and women, set fire to the children, and left nothing of our village." He wiped a tear from his face. "My betrothed was skinned like an animal and left for the ants and the birds."

  "Nabu," Trianni whispered. "How do you--"

  Isin opened his hand and slashed a cross over the mark with a finger. "Destruction. Of me. The keepers. Rashim. Who else could it have been?"

  "Please sit, brother." The older man knelt and gently placed himself on the floor, legs crossed. Isin sighed and followed suit. For a moment, the priest stared only at the clay floor. With his index finger, he drew a symbol in the dust. The open eye, its lids spread wide apart. "What do you keep, little Isin?"

  A cough rattled his ribcage as he tried to speak. Specs of blood flew onto his robe. "I keep Rashim's legend, as told me by Ramal, the last keeper."

  Trianni nodded, his face sad. "You are dying, little one."

  "I know, big brother."

  "Tell me of Garaaga, child. Tell me why I should believe in a legend."

  Isin told the story, word for word, his catechism as Ramal had relayed it. He left out nothing. Rashim traveling into the cave, dispatching the creature after suffering great wounds. And the final words of the legend "the ruby wounds, but it is the mind that kills."

  Trianni stayed silent, barely breathing as Isin repeated the legend. When Isin had finished, Trianni drew a series of symbols, a spiral with a hook attached. "Have you seen this before, little one?"

  Another cough rattled his chest. He swallowed blood, fighting the urge to retch. The symbol. He nodded. "Yes."

  "Where?"

  It took him a moment to answer. The image of that symbol carved into Hennar's boneless naked flesh. Hennar would have screamed as they carved it into her. Had she called for him or cursed him as the assailants mutilated her?

  "On Hennar's back," he whispered. "On what was left of her."

  "I am sorry, Isin. So sorry." The two were silent for a moment. Trianni shifted his fingers across the dust and wiped away the symbol. "Ramal carved the mark into you."

  Isin nodded.

  "The old man shuffled off into the forest to die."


  "Yes."

  "And you returned to the village and found--"

  "Bodies. Young, old, women, men. All dead. All mutilated. The women more than the men."

  "Nabu," Trianni whispered.

  Isin wiped away a tear. Another coughing fit gripped him and he swallowed more blood. "We are all that's left."

  "Do you know how they found Gujaritan?"

  "Tunia was murdered a few days before the village was destroyed."

  "My brother," Trianni said and stared down at the floor. "He loved to tell stories, loved to drink."

  Isin said nothing.

  "You left the village?"

  "I left the village and followed the river bank. I didn't sleep. I didn't eat. I made my way to Lothal as fast as I could and found Hassani."

  Trianni drew a set of symbols in the dust. Isin watched in fascination as the man's fingers danced, bringing forth dashes, dots, and shapes. They flowed like water. "You will tell me the story again, Isin. The legend as well as the fall of Gujaritan." Trianni looked up from the dust. "As long as you have voice, you will repeat it to me."

  Something tapped against Isin's shoulder. He opened his eyes with a start. Trianni's tired face smiled in the torchlight. "It is late, little brother. Very late."

  "Did we--"

  "It is done," Trianni said. "I am too tired to take you to your friend's house and we cannot sleep here."

  "Then where--"

  "Come, little brother. Follow me."

  Isin struggled to his feet. The fever wracked him anew. He hadn't eaten since the morning meal and yet he knew the turmoil in his belly was not from lack of food. As he had repeated the legend again and again to Trianni, listening to his own voice weaken with each word, the burning of his flesh and of his stomach had increased. He felt as though someone had set his insides alight.

  Trianni stretched out his hand and Isin took it. The Tupšarru led him to the rear of the temple and a flight of steep stairs. "Where--"

  "Be silent, little brother," Trianni whispered. "I don't want them to hear us."

  "Who?"

  "I don't know. Someone climbed the steps to the temple, but dared not enter. I heard them as I was finishing the last tablet."

  A shiver wracked Isin's body. "You don't think--"