by L.J. Hayward
exhaustion, the uncertainty of life.
I felt it first, a gentle touch of warmth on my cold skin. Then it was a faint glow against my closed eyes. Like lying on a sun-washed hillside or sitting before a roaring fire with a dear friend.
Then I heard him.
“I am sorry, my friend.”
I struggled to open my eyes, battling against a bone-deep weariness. Bright light lanced into my eyes, making me flinch. Yet I had heard him so close I thought he might be right by my side, so I blinked and blinked and could finally see.
The window was before me, hanging like a mirror on a non-existent wall. Warm light fell through it to touch this cold, grey place.
Gilgamesh sat at the bedside of the ill man, head bowed. “I beseeched Enlil to spare your life, I offered him a statue of gold, but he refused.”
The ill man stirred and I saw it was me upon the bed. My other self turned his haggard face from Gilgamesh, looked through the window and it seemed our gazes met and he knew where I was.
“Enkidu.”
I got to my feet at the sound of the voice, the aches and breaks vanishing just as they had vanished at the beginning of this trial. A man stood on the road, dressed simply with no adornments though he shone like the sun reflected in a pool of water.
“Shamash.” The Sun God, he who had encouraged our journey to the Cedar Forest, who had aided our defeat of Humbaba. I did not bow or kneel before him.
He looked at me with sorrow in his eternal eyes. “Why do you despair?”
“Why should I not despair? My brother grieves. We were to be always together, as one, yet I am here, alone!”
“Ah, Enkidu, you are ever alone. Even when you walked beside Gilgamesh, even when you fought beside him, you were alone. Your purpose has only ever been singular and in this moment, you fulfil it.” He raised a hand and pointed to the window. “Look.”
I faced the window and saw I was dead. Gilgamesh touched my chest, tears falling from his eyes when he felt the stillness of my heart. He sat for a long time, staring at a face that could not look back. Then he stood so fast he knocked his chair to the floor. He kicked it and it broke against the wall. He paced back and forth, hands tearing at his hair, snarling. Viciously, he pulled a knife from his belt and sawed at his locks till his head was raged and wild. He ripped jewels from his hands and from about his neck. As dawn touched the death room, Gilgamesh came to the window. He threw himself to his knees and bellowed a great cry of grief and anger.
It tore at me to see him like this. Yet even as my heart urged me to jump through the window, to show him I was still with him, I knew I couldn’t—that I wouldn’t even if I could. I was on the endless road, one gate away from the final place where all men must go, where the demands of civilisation are laid aside for the ultimate peace.
“He mourns you as no other,” Shamash said. “The funeral for Enkidu will be as nothing ever seen before. He will lay you on a couch of honour and all of Uruk will come to mourn with him. The princes of the world will come to pay you respect, for of all people you were the one King Gilgamesh praised. And when that is done, Gilgamesh will lose himself.”
I tore my gaze from my anguished friend and stared at the god. “Lose himself?”
“His hair will grow as a mat over his body. He will wear the raw skin of a lion and roam the wilderness. This, dear Enkidu, was your purpose and this, you did as no other could.”
“This is my fate? To die while my only friend loses the mind the gods gave him?”
Shamash smiled, though it was a sad thing. “No, Enkidu. You die so he will lose his mind. Gilgamesh’s destiny still lies ahead of him and this he must suffer in order to fulfil it. Your destiny is here and now.”
My heart twisted with the terrible knowledge Shamash had shown me. “I was born to die.”
“As all men are. Even Gilgamesh, though this is something he must learn for himself.” He held his hand out to me. “Come. You must trust that Gilgamesh will find his peace as you have found yours.”
He was right. I was at peace. Relieved of the weight of life, of destiny, I could look at my grieving friend and see the path he still had to travel. It was dark and dangerous and he would not travel it lightly, burdened with the monstrosity of death and despair. But at the end, I saw the light of the window again and knew he would find it, as I had found it.
Before me, the window closed and inside me, the last weight was lifted.
I turned and found myself at the gate once more. Shamash was gone, replaced by Ennugigi.
“Enkidu,” he said, “are you relieved of the weight of life?”
“I am.”
Ennugigi stepped back and bowed.
I could taste it on my tongue already, the dryness, the dust of death. I closed my eyes and saw it again—the House of Dust. The discarded debris of life, the abandonment of civilisation, the loss of thought and will. I embraced it all and threw myself at the gate.
The End
***
After Word
Thank you for taking a chance on this odd little story. If you’ve reached this far, I hope you enjoyed the story and would be eternally grateful if you could take a moment to express your enjoyment (or displeasure, if that’s the case) by rating/reviewing the story at either
or
Goodreads
About the Author
L.J. Hayward lives and works on the Gold Coast, Australia. As a pathology scientist, she’s spent a good deal of time around blood and supposes it’s only natural she chose it as a cornerstone of her writing. Don’t worry, she’ll get over the obsession soon. Maybe. You can check up on her progress on her blog, Plot Happens, or waste a bit of time at her website, L.J. Hayward – writer, misanthropist, procrastinator.
Other Books
Night Call Series
Blood Work - Matt Hawkins kills monsters for a living. Slay and pay. Werewolves, trolls, the occasional ghoul that gets a bit too big for its grave; but basically, whatever nasty critter crosses his path. Mostly, he kills vampires. While he’s made something of a living out of it, he doesn't even need the promise of cash to take down a vampire. Sure, it’s a nice bonus, but vampires are his personal crusade.
Demon Dei - It's been six months since the harrowing conclusion of Blood Work and Matt's waiting for the fiery repercussions. And waiting. And waiting. Even if no Big Bad wants revenge, shouldn't he be in hot demand? Like the lawyer who wins the unwinnable case. Or the mechanic who works out what that clunking noise is in your car. Instead, Matt finds himself struggling to maintain his career as the Night Caller. But things are about to get nasty in a big, big way.
Here Be Dragons – (short story) Sunday. Day of Rest. To anyone not Matt Hawkins, vampire-slayer extraordinaire, that is. A short story set in the world of Night Call, between the novels Demon Dei and Rock Paper Sorcery.
Rock Paper Sorcery – Vanquishing vampire Primals and defeating Demon Lords is one thing. They’re dangerous in an obvious, tooth and claw way. But when a sorcerer comes to town chasing a murderous rogue, Matt Hawkins is faced with something he doesn’t know how to deal with—competition as the city’s resident badarse supernatural warrior.
Bone Magic Trilogy
Dead Bones - When is a war not a war? Never, in Bone Mage Gabriel’s opinion. The others could call it whatever they liked, but to Gabe, spending every day healing soldier after dying soldier, war was the only name for the insanity happening all around him. Honestly, what could be worse than watching the folk he’d just healed head right back into the fight? Gabe should have known better than to ask…
