Inanna stopped short of the ancient gate. She glanced over her shoulder and saw Jesse cut one of the judges in half. She smiled and dropped her sword. She took off her helmet and her bronze breastplate and let them fall to the ground. She undid the laces on her robe and let it drop. Naked, she walked up to the gate and touched the ancient stone.
“Sister, if you do not open this door I will split this earth in half. I will burn the underworld and smash your throne. I will rip out your black heart and bite off your head. I will tear the fragile fabric of the universe apart and undo all existence. I am the most powerful, the only, god in this realm and I will do all these things. Yet, if you open these doors and let me into your realm, I will surrender myself to you.”
The doors opened and cold, damp air rushed outward. Her amber flesh prickled. A dark servant stood within the doorway.
“Neti, will you let me pass?” Inanna said to him.
“Do you relinquish your holy me and your claim to the land of the living?” Neti asked.
“I have relinquished them,” she answered. Neti motioned for her to enter.
She set her bare feet onto the icy, slick stones of the walkway that led down into Ereshkigal's lair. It was long ago that she last made this journey, but it was not the sort of trip that could be forgotten. Her body quaked with each step. She felt her sister's presence. Ereshkigal was Inanna's antithesis. Where Inanna was light, love, and passion, Ereshkigal was darkness, hatred, and unfeeling malice. Inanna was beautiful and maintained a vibrant youthfulness, even in her advance age, but Ereshkigal was born a dark crone.
The underworld, which Inanna knew as Kur, was a massive cave. The walls were slick with moisture and bioluminescent lichen. Albino cockroaches and spiders skittered away as she passed through the empty chambers of the vast cavern. Ahead she saw a dilapidated castle encased in moss and spider webs. She called out, her voice echoing a dozen times. No answer. The castle was abandoned. She squeezed through a natural barrier of stalactites and stalagmites coupled together like a deformed mouth of pointed teeth. The wet slime smeared across her uncovered body. She winced and gagged. A cackle boomed from below. The walls echoed the mad laughter and amplified the sound.
“My sweet sister does not like my kingdom,” Ereshkigal mused. “She has no servants to clean the walls and floor before her noble feet and hands touch them. A cruel queen am I to torture my sister so.”
Inanna held her tongue and continued down the spiraling cobbled steps. As she walked down the uneven, serpentine road to the land of the dead, she spotted several more abandoned castles, each in a greater state of disrepair. Where were the lesser gods of the underworld? Where were Gilgamesh and the other fallen gods and demigods?
At least she arrived at the base of the massive cavern. It opened into a huge chamber with two wings that stretched out into eternity and were filled with the dead and twice-dead. They sat at stone tables, eating and drinking dry bread and slimy water. Emperors, kings, and presidents sat at the same tables as dockworkers and janitors: their fates the same. If Ereshkigal had one virtue, it was her twisted version of equality. The dead mumbled to each other and milled around. The noise was deafening.
Ahead of her were the giant steps to Ereshkigal's throne. Inanna raised her chin and took a deep breath. She knew her sister could smell the slightest hint of weakness or fear. If her final plan was to work, she needed to appear stronger than she felt.
Inanna strode up to the steps. On each side of the steps were columns capped with large stone bowls filled with indigo ooze. Green flames danced atop the ooze, casting an emerald glow across the steps. Inanna took the final step and set her feet on the moldy carpet leading up to the giant throne. Two more columns, like those on the steps, held bowls of green fire. The light danced on Ereshkigal's pocked and sunken face. She clutched two severed heads that were nailed to the ends of each armrest. Her clawed hands tightened around the stringy, dead hair of each head. More severed heads, secured by hooks, dangled on chains behind the throne. Inanna recognized Gilgamesh's head and a few of the others. Ereshkigal had killed the lesser gods. The pale crone stood. Her tangled, long hair covered her bony, pallid body. She wore a necklace of mismatched bones, which clattered as she moved. She smiled at Inanna, revealing a mouth full of teeth that resembled rotten fence posts. Her soupy white eyes fixated on Inanna.
“Oh my dear, sweet sister. You have not aged a bit.”
Ereshkigal limped forward. Her knocked knees and asymmetrical hips forced her into an awkward gait. She ran a withered finger across Inanna's breasts and up to her face.
“Still so supple and beautiful. Such an easy life you were given. Your sweet smell intoxicated men and gods alike. Did the progeny of Gilgamesh live up to your expectation? Was his cock just so? I saw his muscles. Quite invigorating, I am sure. The last time I saw you, Inanna, you were to help me mourn my lost husband. Now I will help you mourn your lover, forever.”
Ereshkigal grabbed Inanna by the hair and clenched her throat with a clawed hand.
“No, stop,” Inanna said, she strained to get the words out. Ereshkigal appeared weaker than she was.
“This is my domain, sister. I do as I please. You have forfeited your life by coming here. I have never known a goddess to make the same mistake twice. All that time in the beautiful land above has made you weak and stupid. As soon as my judges return with your lover's broken body, I will lop off his head and add it to my collection. I am only missing a few. I will add yours once I am finished torturing you. A few thousand years should suffice.”
Inanna broke free and pushed Ereshkigal backward. Ereshkigal stumbled back and fell onto the foot of her throne. Strong hands latched onto Inanna's arms. An awful stench filled her nostrils. Wet ooze ran down her arms.
“Quite the visitor my queen has today,” he said. Inanna knew his awful voice. She could never forget such a disgusting, vile creature as Nergal. Her lips drew back and revealed her teeth. Her nose scrunched up as his pervasive stench filled the air. He was malformed, hunchbacked and covered in boils and pustules. From head to toe, Nergal was imbued with plague.
“Remove your hands you lowly worm,” Inanna said. She struggled but Nergal maintained his firm grip.
“The unmarked queen of heaven and earth does not command me,” said Nergal. Each puff of rotten air that accompanied his words made Inanna regret having a nose. “My allegiance is to your sister.”
He drew in her essence and winced, “Your purity and beauty offend me.”
An idea struck Inanna like an unseen punch. She closed her eyes and looked with her mind's eye. She saw the milling dead and twice-dead in the two great wings of the great hall below. She projected herself into their minds, as she had with Jesse.
This eternity of death is a cruel punishment is it not?
She waited for an answer.
Thousands of voices echoed a resounding “yes” in her head.
It does not have to be this way. This realm could be a bright and calming utopia. It is my sister, the demon bitch Ereshkigal, that has doomed you to this fate.
She did not hear any response, but she felt their anger within her. It was working.
Nergal pushed her toward the throne. Ereshkigal had composed herself and was seated. She leaned forward.
“Kneel before me, Inanna, and I will spare you the torture. All I ask is that you declare me the queen of heaven and earth. You must give your kingdoms to me, and I will give you a swift death. No need to torture my dear, sweet sister with all the horrible things that Nergal will do to you.”
Nergal threw Inanna to the ground. He stepped forward and pointed his crooked, bulbous finger toward Ereshkigal.
“That was not our deal! You swore that if I killed the other gods and distracted Neti that you would give me Inanna and the scion of Gilgamesh.”
“I do not make deals!” Ereshkigal shouted. She shot up from her throne and brought her clawed hand across Nergal’s face. “I am death incarnate. I answer to no one.”
<
br /> Nergal and Ereshkigal fought. Inanna closed her eyes and sent another message.
Take this kingdom. All you must do is march up the steps and remove the queen from her throne. I promise you a better eternity.
She could feel them moving toward her.
“Enough!” Ereshkigal yelled. A booming crack echoed off the walls. Nergal fell to the ground. His swollen hands covered his face. She stepped over Nergal and limped to Inanna.
“Surrender your kingdoms to me or suffer for eternity,” said Ereshkigal.
“I have already surrendered my kingdoms,” Inanna said. She locked eyes with Ereshkigal.
“What? How?”
“I gave them to my lover,” Inanna said and she stood. Her fear had subsided. The sister she had feared for millennia was dumbstruck. Ereshkigal's brow furrowed.
“Impossible! You would never give up your power to a human.”
“Only a fool tells a god what is possible. I wanted to protect my realms from you and I did.”
Ereshkigal snapped out of her confusion. She smirked and flipped her hand, casting away her doubts. As they spoke, Inanna saw Nergal crawl past the throne and disappear into a narrow tunnel.
“It matters not. Nergal and I shall kill Neti and take the land of the living by force.”
“No, sister. You will die here and now,” said Inanna. The front of the innumerable masses of history's dead had climbed the steps to the throne room. Hundreds of them were huddled together on the steps and pushing their way to top. Millions more had gathered below.
“Get back to where you belong!” Ereshkigal yelled at the crowd. When they ignored her and pressed forward, Ereshkigal's features contorted in terror. Inanna grabbed her arm and swung her toward the crowd. Ereshkigal screamed as she stumbled into grasping dead hands. Her screams filled the massive room with a horrid cacophony.
When the dead finished their meal Inanna bent over the pile of bloodstained fabric and accessories and lifted the bone necklace. She slid the blood-dyed ornament over her head and walked to the throne. She pulled the nails out of the severed heads and tossed the nails and heads aside. She dusted the flat stone seat a few times with her hands and sat down. She crossed her legs and took in a deep breath.
“I have quite a bit of work to do around here.”
She bent her head back and closed her eyes. She searched for Jesse with her mind's eye. She found him still in the land above and she smiled and waited.
Epilogue
Look On My Works, Ye Mighty, And Despair
Jesse stood exhausted and covered in his own blood amid a sea of desert earth. Giant severed limbs and heads were strewn about him like a toddler's discarded toys. He had given the judges a quick and dirty dissection with his bronze axe. He did not know the rules with judges as he did with reanimates, so he made sure they could never rise again. After he finished the butcher's work, he walked to the gate to the underworld clutching his ribs. In the skirmish, Jesse had taken dozens of hard shots and he bore the results of each powerful blow. His left eye was swollen shut, his armor was destroyed, and he was riddled with cuts and bruises.
He picked up all of Inanna's discarded items. He wrapped the sword and her breastplate in her dress and carried it over his shoulder. He headed back the way they all had come. Far ahead of him, he could see the shifting shapes of the reanimates. They were no longer in that long line. They had broken up into huddled masses: into feeding groups. He knew his companions were dead. He did not want to see them in that state. Jesse preferred to remember them as they were.
He went north, keeping the battlefield to his left. As he walked, the sun sank further and further. It hung just above the horizon. A deafening scream exploded out from the direction of the gate. Jesse's knees locked and he fell over. Ahead of him, the thousands of reanimates collapsed in a dramatic shockwave. They lay unmoving on the desert floor for a brief moment. A strong gust of wind blew past and the creatures dissolved into a huge gray cloud. The cloud dispersed in the wind and left only a gathering of shiny objects and hard memories.
Jesse's stood and dusted himself off. He picked up his axe and Inanna's effects. His throat was dry and he was exhausted to a degree he did not think possible. The fight he had known was over. Inanna had finished off Ereshkigal and put an end to the walking abominations. The closest he had ever felt to that sensation was his final wrestling match. That was the end of an era, and the victory was made hollow by a feeling of immense loss. He felt the same emotions coursing through him, but they were amplified a hundred fold. He was completely alone and yet his future was open.
He fell back onto his ass, and sat for a long while. The sun disappeared and the moon bathed the desert in its soft light. Jesse rose and continued the long walk to the river. The sound of the current filled his ears, and he welcomed the distraction from his thoughts. He did not feel like a hero. He felt like he had taken a losing football team all the way to the Super Bowl only to quit and walk off the field. He stood up and hiked along the river for hours, seeing only open land.
When he arrived at the river, he tossed Inanna's gear into the shallow waters. His bronze axe hit the water and generated a large splash. He gripped the necklace. Half of him wanted to throw it into the river and the other half wanted to wear it until he died — never taking it off. He slid the necklace back under his torn, bloodied shirt.
As the moon fell to the horizon and his ankles ached from the long walk, he saw small buildings in the distance. He quickened his pace. Jesse stayed beside the river as he entered the town. The Euphrates River bisected the modest town. It was filled with brown buildings, heavily dusted, and worn down by sand and wind. Abandoned cars, bicycles, and junk filled the streets. Bullet holes riddled the exteriors of the Soviet-style structures. This town was the epicenter of the final plague of humanity and it looked the part. There was not a single sign of life. He made his way into the downtown area on the north side of the river.
Jesse came across a pile of clothes: a riot-cop uniform. It was caught in the wheel well of a two-door sedan. Jesse knelt down and checked the tool belt. There was a walkie-talkie, a pistol, an asp, handcuffs, and a can of mace. He grabbed the walkie-talkie, the pistol, and the asp from the belt. He cocked the pistol, pointed the barrel at the sky, and pulled the trigger. The hammer clicked and nothing happened. He slid the magazine out. It was full, but the weather had rendered the ammo useless. He opened the battery compartment on the transceiver, and sand fell out. No batteries. Jesse stood up and put the walkie-talkie into his pocket. He tossed the pistol onto the street. The clattering of metal on concrete echoed through the empty block.
He continued through the town, but his hope was drying up fast. The wind had cleared the street of all the lighter debris, and piles of junk were piled up against the buildings on one side of the street. An advertisement for soda hung off the roof of a small brown building. It looked like a mini-mart. Jesse took out his flashlight. He had not used it in months. He shut his good eye and gave a silent prayer before pushing the power button. Jesse opened his eye. A beam of halogen light emitted from the bulb. He pointed the light at the storefront. The windows were busted and the door was off its hinges. He crept through the opening, still stuck in his survivalist paradigm. Next to the cash register were melted candy bars, packs of gum, and dozens of packs of batteries. He popped the cardboard backing off the pack and slid four of the AA batteries into the walkie-talkie. Jesse turned the dial at the top of the transceiver to ON, and a pale red light emanated from the display.
“Still works,” Jesse said. He pressed down on the send button and said, “Hello. Hello. Can anyone hear me?”
He thought for a moment, and continued, “Hello. A-salam. I think that's how it goes. A-salam a-lay-come. Hello.”
Jesse let go of the send button and waited. Nothing came through. He let out a disappointed breath and put the walkie-talkie into his pocket. He searched through the store to find something edible. All he found was a bag of chips. He wiped off his h
ands as best he could and popped open the bag. The chips smelled like new, and Jesse scoffed, “The miracle of preservatives.”
He dumped the chips into his mouth and made sure not to lick his dirty fingers. The last thing he wanted was to survive the apocalypse only to die of food poisoning. On his way out of the mini-mart, he spotted a can of tuna and bottle of water, next to a plastic bag full of wet mold, in the backroom of the store. He assumed it belonged to whoever was on shift when it all began. He drank the water, and put the can of tuna into his pocket.
The morning light was coming: the bluish hue turning to orange. He walked into the middle of the street. There was a mosque a few blocks to the north, its four minarets poking up above all the short buildings.
The door to the mosque was bashed in, and the inside was trashed. The prayer mats were stained and torn and strewn about the floor. A thick, dark coat of what was once blood and bile covered the tiles. The mosque did not smell like death any longer, and for that Jesse was thankful. He could tell that hundreds had come seeking shelter from the amount of blood on the ground and walls. They had perished in the house of the only god they knew. Jesse found it cruel that the god responsible was not the one they were calling out to, but one, long forgotten, just a few miles down the river. He wanted to run outside and leave the town behind, but he needed to press onward — for her. He climbed up into one of the minarets. The sun had banished the moonlight and replaced it with early morning haze by the time he reached the top.
The Lost Gods Page 24
