New Civilizations [IC | Closed]

[G-Tech Corporation]

The Terrible Strength
Part 7, Chapter 1: The Clouds Burst

October 22nd, 40 AG

It was nearly as light as day, the low clouds reflecting lurid scarlet and burnt orange from the flames which licked skyward, though I knew it was not long after midnight in truth. Underfoot the Heraclion creaked, the occasional sound of sailor's heavy boots drumming on her timbers, and waves beat against her hull in a rhythmic lullaby which belied the violence unfolding not a mile distant. It was almost peaceful here, upon the salty depths. If not for the occasional rumble which echoed across the waters, we could have been underway to Troy, or Tyre, or Varna, or any number of other idyllic destinations.

But no. I stretched, rising from where I had been resting my elbows against the gunwales of the greatship, and stared across the bay of fiery red to where Salt burned beneath the sky.

It had not been my wish for events to come to this denouement. The Tyrant of Salt had been, all things considered, more of a friend to the Imperium than an enemy - perhaps cowed by the allegiance of his neighbors upon the Dardanelles and the Wine-Dark Sea. But no, there were operative words in that cognitive formulation. Had been.

Valisos had died half a decade ago, and Salt been plunged into a war of knives which was still unfolding. Scholars and warlords and merchant houses, all dancing the path of blades to rise to power in what was one of the foremost cities of the vanished League. It still wasn't clear to me, or Vladimir, or likely even the people of Salt, which one of those myriad factions had seen fomenting unrest in Varna as a path to power here in the Bay of Burghers. But they had set in motion wheels which had drawn the eyes of men as far afield as Britain, and sent thousands of hobnailed boots drumming across the roads and rivers of the Imperium until they ended here, within lands which once the Scholar of Nestos had called his kin.

Flashes in the inky gloom bespoke cannonade, and answering puffs of white disintegrated mortar from the hill-fort overlooking the bay their impact. With so much light to work by, the master of artillery of the Eighth had no doubt thought it worth the loss of accuracy to keep up the bombardment. All I could hope was that a minimum of those shots fell short, into the cinders of the city-pyre which Salt had become.

That had been unexpected, to be sure. I hadn't anticipated anyone sitting down to fight when the Eighth descended from Varna to bring compliance to Salt, nor had old Erasmus, the war-dog of the Men of the Red-Earth who commanded their soldiers. It was supposed to be a diplomatic resolution, peacekeeping troops emplaced, a few scapegoats strung up for crimes against whichever party we decided to back. But some sort of ad hoc coalition had been pulled together between the various faction of scholars, and they had fired the slums on the north side of the city to prevent her investiture even before the diplomats had an opportunity to approach the palisade.

So went the story I had heard from the shore, at any rate. How the outriders had determined such a thing was hard to say, with minimal reports coming out of the settlement from our agents in the urban center. On the balance, it was probably just as likely that some of the fleeing commonfolk had accidentally kindled a blaze in their flight, or skirmishing between forward elements of the Eighth and the local militia had sparked a conflagration. I would probably never know, and history would no doubt record something which left the 'peace-loving' armies of the Imperium without responsibility for the destruction of one of the jewels of the Black Sea.

Whatever the cause, the fire had broken out around noon, and by the third bell it had spread beyond the palisade into the city proper. By evening-meal the docks were aflame too, and now nearly the entire city was alight in one way or another. If they had firefighting crews I had yet to see them make a material impact - not that even the best of efforts would have saved everything. Wood was abundant here, floated down from the slopes of the Stad, and the town had kindled like an oil-soaked cloth. Only the finest of urban planning could have prevented an inferno of this scale from spreading, and such had not been the province of the Tyrant, it seemed, or at least any of his would-be successors.

"Do you think less of the city will burn if you watch it?"

I exhaled a fraction, deflating a fraction. I realized my hands were clenching the polished wooden railing tight enough to show white around the knuckles. With a conscious effort of will I relaxed them, and turned to my eldest daughter, a slight shake of my head my preliminary answer.

"You know I worry too much. Too many recriminations. What could have been. The older I get, the more wool I gather, after the manner of an aging sheep."

Maria's lips pursed together in the gloom, an affectation which reminded me very strikingly of her mother. It was an odd thing, to see my eldest now very clearly a strange amalgamation of my older sister and my wife - she had my family's bright blue eyes, but her mother's dark brown hair, so strikingly deep it was easily mistaken for black. About her shoulders was a heavy shawl of sable sapphire, pulled tight against the chill.

"Recriminations are for God alone. You were the one who taught me that. Time's river doesn't eddy. You need to be in bed, if you want to be hale for the morning. Who can say what the new day will bring?"

She was right. I had been watching the bombardment of the citadel essentially since right after supper, and the day had died while I stood here, or paced the deck, or anxiously drummed my fingers against the railing. There were too many variables moving which I couldn't account for, and they weighed on my mind. Which petty kings would rally to Salt's defense? Would the Association hold to the lapsed dictates of the Condominium, agreed with an entity which no longer existed? It was difficult to say, and upon the sea the latest news had difficulty keeping up with me. Not that it would have had less difficulty marching south from Varna, but at least there I could pretend if no message couriers had arrived that there was no news.

"Right, right. I'll be down forthwith. Marcus, you can let Valerian know. Thank you."

My silent shadow only nodded from where he sat on one of the nearby piled boxes, his sable greatcoat rendering him all but invisible in the night air.

Maria gave me a severe look, and didn't move. 'Down forthwith', it appeared, didn't phase her. When she had asked to come along I hadn't given it a second thought - her work with the Imperial Physicians' Guild meant she was always engaged in matters of altruistic merit to both the state and mankind, and we had need for healers on campaign oftentimes mor than anywhere else. But I was beginning to suspect my darling wife had sent her along to be my minder as much as for any other reason. Tanya did not do well near battlefields, her heart too tender by half. She thought mine was stronger, but I had always seen her as the more resilient of our duet - I merely had to be here because the weight fell squarely upon my shoulders, and it was my duty to bear as much of it as I could for kith and kin.

I glanced once more out across the bay, to where the crumbling silhouette of the old League outpost was wearing away with each slow persistent boom. Only the first stage of the Emperor's plans, but a start to be sure. Would that I was certain the end justified the means, and I would sleep better at night. I shook myself away from that tableau of smoke and destruction, and descended to the bowels of the ship to seek the dubious balm of slumber.

[Saxony-Brandenburg]

The Holy City of Nippur
2961 BCE
Olivia Ingels

The Sharia. The law of the Gishimmari. Often confused with the short book of precepts and virtues I had compiled in my desert-days, but this was simply untrue. Al-Sharia was, in many ways, vague. It was the standards of morals and values imposed on the Gishimmari. An articulated vision of their place among their community. Always delivered orally, passed from experience. An experience shaped by the harsh, cut-throat and localized culture of a desert people, who knew the ways of war every year. Though in many ways little had changed since then, I had heard concerns among the tribal elders of the waning fear that the softness of the land might soften the hearts of men, not simply making them less violent, quite the opposite, but in making them forget the duties they held in their society. The way of the Sharia, it was said, was the way of the tribe. The blood and immaterial ties between men which implied with it the duties once performed daily in the desert. But with many within cities, and many also intermixing with the black-heads, a real threat was posed on these values waning among the Gishimmari. That the Sharia may be ignored.

So had I invited some of the most articulate among those who raised this issue to my home in Nippur. What used to be the large home of a prosperous merchant of the previous era, now became my home in the north, where I could live among the people I was truly of. Uruk was the city where I became Inanna, wife of Jushur. A priestess, a bureaucrat, a queen. Yet in Nippur I was Olifia, Umm Kharuf, prophet, speaker of the gods, prescriber of virtue. The two masks I wore, the two faces which I must don when in either company. Religion and government - often intertwined, yet always in tension. Government was inflexible, it was the law etched in stone. Religion, however, was often sporadic. It came in bursts of passion, in pointing out that which tied men together which could not be legislated. It had to be taught.

And so we met in my front-room, washed in the classic Gishimmari limestone plaster, a change which was most distinctly contrasted Nippur new from old. A city of browns turned white. It was a judgment on the new class order between the warrior-caste Gishimmari, and the newly downwardly mobile Black-Heads. The cushions, of simple wool-stuffed cloth, were simple, yet effective. We sat in a circle upon the floor, as a black-headed girl served coffee in delicate clay cups. Cups which I had distinctly bought because they had been fired in Uruk, when once it produced half the pottery between the tigris and the euphrates.

I raised a steaming glass of the black-liquid, pure, magical, imbued with such a value now with its proliferation, that a certain ceremony was needed to appreciate it. Coffee service became the word for consuming it in any form. The pot itself was beautifully crafted, simple, yet beautifully shining in the warm candlelight. I looked among my company, three men with thick, oily, curly hair, and two women with locks of slate-gray. Their eldest couldn’t have been older than sixty. Yet that was long, for a people who lived their lives with a knife in-hand. An extra cup sat unheld beside me, an empty space where the honored dead could reside in such an important meeting, and give council. “In the name of our forefathers, we pray they guide us with their example. In the name of the gods, we pray they favor our deeds in life. In the name of Abzu we pray to find our way to the noble-truth. In the name of Al-Sharia, we hope to conduct ourselves according to the law.”
“Bi-La Kaifa.” They responded, and raised their glasses, before beginning to drink.

Thick and dark, with the distinct flavor of cardamom which had been liberally added to the brew. It reeked of the spice, earthy, minty, almost with the hint of cinnamon. It was a rich display of wealth - for even as the Gishimmari had begun planting their coffee groves among the hills of Nippur and the groves of Uruk for several years now, it was still a limited quantity, and most of the cardamom had to be brought from Egypt. Thus, the ceremony and prayer was not excessive.

I smiled to the group as I savored in the pleasant buzzing in my head. A long day with little to eat or drink, the effects of simple caffeine were readily felt. “Do you remember, noble brothers and sisters, what we spoke to our idols, shrouded in cloth, as we walked around them?”

And together, all at once, we repeated it by heart: “By al-Lāt and al-ʻUzzā, And al-Manāt, the third idol besides. Verily they are al-gharānīq. Whose intercession is to be sought.”

I smiled, remembering the words fondly. How long ago had it been, since last I had seen my Yanbu? It had to be more than five years at this point. Yet, did I long for it? It was hard to say, for though I missed its jagged cliffs and the breeze of the sea - it brought me pain to remember what I had lost there. This pain, it seemed, was of a different sort for my compatriots - but it was still there, enough for one of my guests to vocalize it.

She spoke up, not combative, but questioning: “And yet now, why is it that we only worship Al-Uzza, or as the black-heads call her, ‘Inanna’? For, is this not one thing we have forgotten, our patron goddesses?”

I nodded, this was, indeed, a valid point: For as much as we talked about ‘tradition’, that tradition wasn’t so simple. Clan gods, local mountain spirits, all were discarded when we moved here. Taking on either the gods of this new land, or aligning them with the gods of their new masters, the gods of Uruk. “I would answer you this, honored madam: That Inanna, just as the triple sister-goddesses, have many forms and faces which she must present. The goddess of blood, Inanna, is just as wise, just as brave, and just as blessed in her fertility as each of Allat, Al-Uzza, and Manat. She is all three goddesses, worshiped as one. This is why they share the lion, why they share the crescent moon. Why they share the great morning star. Verily, they are one.”

“And of Hubal-Enlil, and of Allah-Anu?”

“Just so.” I replied, my words seemingly pleasing to many of them. It was, after all, an easy way out of the conundrum. Neither had to be forgotten. “For if you would like Inanna’s true name to us, the Gishimmari- let it be ‘The goddess Inanna, the mightiest and the wisest.’ ” That is how, in her epithets, she can be united and reconciled as the three sisters who are one.

One of the elder men now spoke. “But let us say that our gods are reconciled, how do we reconcile our values? Our lifestyles, which have been so radically altered, will inevitably shape the perspective and duties of our youth, which I believe, will be to our detriment as a people.”

“I do not disagree.” I replied to him, and looked around the table. “The primary reason by which I have called you here, is to ask you, to aid me in the prescription of these values to the flock. For the christians have if you like ten virtues which they consider to be holy. And though we have our hostility to them, communicating values simply and plainly has been effective in their spread - from across different lands. Perhaps, I think, if we can describe our people’s morality in a short list of commandments from Al-Sharia, then our youth will remember them and pass them on in practice, aided by our examples living as best, as nobly, and as close to Al-Sharia as we can.”

And so began a round of suggestions, considered, argued, discarded, and refined. To be concise, to limit the number as few as we could, and yet to make it capture the unique character of the personal and social obligations to one’s tribe and one’s neighbor and to one’s self. How one may be a good individual among the Gishimmari, wherever their travels may take them. That which could be added to my book of prescriptions, perhaps as a preface. And so had they found, aided by my framing of what I knew and yet reviled, a christian framing of ‘thou shalts’.

Thou shalt not shirk the value of life,
Thou shalt not flee from duty or battle,
Thou shalt not deny your kin their due,
Thou shalt not deny a neighbor your charity,
Thou shalt not break thy promised oaths,
Thou shalt honor the dead,
Thou shalt honor the gods of your people,
Thou shalt honor the gods of the land,
Thou shalt obey Al-Sharia,
Thou shalt sacrifice for the good of the tribe.

But what is the character needed to live well and true as a Gishimmari, of the Shari’a. It is not only to obey the law, but to take upon a certain attitude to life. One which gives one meaning, not in personal pleasure or neurotic fixation upon one’s soul, which ultimately dies with one’s own death. For eternity exists between birth and death, and so the soul’s eternal damnation, I feel, comes with a death wrought by an inability for the body and soul to be resolved, though, ironically, some of the very same neuroses overfixation upon religion may rely. And so, when it was asked of me “what character of a person is required to uphold these virtues well?” I replied to them: “It is as a warrior should live. For someone who has lived and lost much, the only way to live is not in fear of death. Not in fear of the end of any natural process. To enjoy life the best and most righteous way possible, and when the time comes to know that your charge has expired, and you may hand the obligations of your life onward to another, and that the good of one’s people has been fulfilled in your coming and going. Think upon your own intertwined life and soul. That, In the eternity between first breath and last, the weight of sin upon one’s soul ends one’s life in spiritual misery. And for our short life is eternity, the sinful man suffers for his eternity. Yet for the noble man, the righteous man, he finds in the good death, which resolves the pains of his body with the strength of his soul, one final sigh that is his eternal reward. Perhaps you all may find some solace in that.”

The same man who asked before on how we may preserve the virtues of his desert-people, raised his voice to us, inspired: “It is my duty then, to die on the battlefield as a leader of my clan. To fulfill my final obligation to them, as leader, and to not simply wait for my sunset to come. Umm Kharuf, blessed be to you. I see now the meaning of my life, is to welcome its end with the fulfillment of my highest obligations to that which it was given to me for. To sacrifice for my tribe. This, I will do.”
“The body is yours, noble brother, but your blood and your duty belongs to the tribe.”

“It belongs to the tribe.” He repeated, a certain solace in his words. And across the table, the voices of my companions repeated:

“The body is yours, but the blood and duty belongs to the tribe.”

“For the good of the tribe and the people.” I answered them.

“For the good of the tribe, and the people.” They repeated.

And from the depths of my mind, a certain premonition came over me. Not a vision, not a certain sight into the future, but a thought. A scene which I could imagine in my mind, which suggested the natural conclusion of what was to come from this. Perhaps this was history which I was going to write, one which I had to write under these conditions. Like how one could see a boulder at the base of a hill, as it tumbled downwards. The process was there, I could see it among the members of the table. And at once, a certain feeling of dread gripped my heart. For in these noble words as I laid out, I could see the beginnings of the next Jihad, a zero-sum holy war the likes of which we once held against the lion and his followers in Yanbu, when we massacred the false faith the Aksumite missionaries spread. But then, it was simply a matter among tribes. Yet the vision that came over me was far, far larger in its scope, its destruction, and its pain. And as I saw this, as I thought this, fear gripped me; not of the thought, but of myself. What had I allowed myself to do? What had I allowed myself to become? For this Jihad, so I predicted before me, would be the very same dangerous game which brought down the kingdom of Ur-Surtur. The toxic combination of a radical new, personalized faith intermixed with the governmental institutions of a god-kingdom which was administered by the Sumerian priests and princes. For I saw myself sitting upon a golden throne, as god, prophet, empress. I saw myself highjacking that which I sought to serve, that when the house of Jushur fell, I would be there to inherit it, and bend it to my increasingly brutalizing and autocratic self-righteous will. And I saw in this mixture the collective ruin of humanity across Kengir, the damnation of them all to a ruinous fate… that, or a power to martial a new kind of war, one from far beyond this time. And I saw in this divergence, in this toxic ideology introduced into this infancy of human civilization a real danger which I could not brush aside.

Perhaps I, too, would be a curse upon my flock. Perhaps I too would be a false shepherd.

But now, I smiled, and bid my evening companions goodnight. For fate had to take its course, even as we watched in horror the ship heading towards the rocks. That, for something to be fated, we knew we must inevitably act ourselves to create the future we feared.

Gods above protect us. As we created them, so we create ourselves in their image. And all fear the mortal who must carry the burden of immortality and power. For in time they will become a horrible god, or a beautiful monster. The humanity of the empowered immortal is always transient. The day will come when they forget themselves. It may not be tomorrow, but as a boulder rolls down a hill, it is inevitable to reach the bottom.

---

The Royal City of Uruk
Two weeks later

The smiths who produced the coins of the grain-bank existed as a sort of guild. Not as a distinct entity, but as necessary collaborators to fulfill the task of semi-standardization by which may be minted a physical marker for the possession and distribution of grain. They worked in three workshops across uruk, each of which held a royal charter to create the currency the temple of Anu and Inanna’s grain-bank could then distribute, circulate, and when traded back in to these smiths, destroyed. Turned back into solid pieces, or else added to the next batch of coins given over to the bank to account for the next harvest. Naturally, these were not all the coins minted. For the Grain-bank itself only issued two types of coins- the copper Shekel, which was said to be worth two pounds of flour, but was often far less, and the silver shekel, which was said to be worth fifty. Coins of gold, or larger pieces of silver and other precious metals, were referred to as “free coins”, as they could not be traded themselves in for grain, and carried their value in trading purely on the value of the precious metal. These were more common among merchants and outsiders as a way to carry value which existed outside the system of local commerce which held the daily agrarian life as the center of society. One could tell the difference if they were stamped with anything other than the royal seal of Uruk, commissioning the coin itself by royal charter,

Whenever one of the three workshops stamps a coin, on one side it will have the royal seal, and on the other it will have the “initials” of the metalsmith hammered into the back in small cuneiform. When one says “initials”, it is a bit of a stretch, for what actually were there was the first sound of their name, and the first sound of the name of their master smith. For a coin by the metalworker named Sudingira and under the master Šelibuum would be written “Su-Še”. So was the fraudulent coins commissioned by the scribe Nigdugani marked, which had me suspect that their makers thought they had done no wrong, and that these coins were requisitioned just as any other, simply with a fraudulent commission.

The workshop of coinmaster Šelibuum was a bustling affair. Even after his trial, of which I had plead his innocence and gotten him off the hook without penalty, it remained active and open. Nothing, not even the threat of death, could stop the movement of commerce and industry, the functioning of society’s complexities depended on it. He did not merely mint coins, although this was his most esteemed title. He did not even soley work with precious metals. Alongside the smithing and repair of jewelry, and the minting of coins, Šelibuum also had a hand in the repairing of ornamental objects, such as statues and bejeweled idols, as well as a noted work with copper latches and door hinges. As one might presume, most of his customers were either involved with the government of the city, her public buildings, or at least the families of her administrators. Šelibuum was in effect an institution of the state himself. Indeed, rather than paying taxes on the total produce of his workshop, as the case with a few minor bronze smiths and carpenters, as a royal workshop his tax was entirely in less profitable labor to the state, with a deal to mint coins with only compensation for his labor and the payment of his underlings. It was therefore crucial in some ways that he remained an institution adjacent to the government, as to rely entirely on private enterprise simply would not be profitable given the coins' rather low value. And while he made a profit off the jewelry, repairs, and free coinage he minted, he was, essentially, the producer of bureaucratic tools.

It was for this business that dozens of bodies moved in and out of this great workshop, which, must be remembered, was only one of three. It was the size of two barns, with a separate locked storehouse under armed guards of the city itself posted there to protect it. Between the two and the street, a large yard filled with horse carts and deliveries crowded the outer walls which separated it from the street. I bid my guards to stay by the open gate, then, as I crossed the threshold into the world of such an industry.

“Business” and “Profit” often bring to mind solely the exchange of coins for goods and services, and as demonstrated by the “minting for taxes” scheme, it was often the case that the customers of such an enterprising workshop did not pay in coins themselves. Although the state and her institutions usually had a regular supply of coins, given they were the ones to commission them, I saw exchanging in the hands of other supplicants - wealthy headmen of villages and prominent merchants, estate owners, and petty lording officials - the exchange of clay tablets promising physical goods themselves for services, or else directly handed over to the haggling clerks of master Šelibuum. Physical items such as sacks of grain or literal sheep herded into the courtyard of this complex which had to be cornered and thrown into hastily closed pens, or else put inside the warehouse for future use. It was, I saw then, in many ways more an exchange than a workshop. A place, evidently, which could convert dry goods into precious goods, such as sheep into golden freebase coins. I wondered what Šelibuum did with all of those goods, but it could be assumed he had to be paying his craftsmen somehow with them. Perhaps, I thought, they earned a portion of these profits per-project they worked on, and else having to trade themselves these bartered goods for the other necessaries of life.

Those who were too busy in their daily businesses barely noticed me, and yet still I felt the gaze of many pairs of eyes upon my shoulders. I passed into the large open building that was the workshop, immediately feeling the heat of the air wafting against my skin, as a dozen fires raged, and stone was turned to liquid. Like a sudden jolt however, this loud and hot air was suddenly snuffed out, as a voice called out from deep within the rows of bodies dripping with sweat: “Stop! Stop for a moment!”

An older, familiar voice I had heard not two days prior, as from among the crowd the old master emerged. With gray hair, boney hands, and sunken cheeks - he was a contradiction in the face of the large muscles his craft demanded her wear. He wore a leather apron above a dirty tunic with long sleeves, and upon his hands a pair of thick woolen gloves with leather pads sewn into the fingers and palm. He was, just as his compatriots, covered in sweat and ash. It was remarkable for me to think that as a craftsmen master he still worked alongside those under him. He was, in effect, still a tradesman himself, only with considerable wealth and authority.

The old master bowed his head, before thoughtlessly wiping the beads of sweat off his shaved bare dome, giving me a broad smile. “Ah, our Nin-Uruk arrives. Welcome, lady, to my domain. I would like to, on behalf of my students and I, thank you once again for your kind intercession on behalf of our innocence. As you can imagine, my lady, I can assure you we had no knowledge whatsoever about the vile dealings of that man to whom you defrauded you and your temple’s granaries. I promise to you, my lady, that such a thing will not happen again under my supervision. I will personally ensure that any future orders for coins are consistent with the others we have received. This, to you, I swear - and beg forgiveness for my former failings.

A pang of guilt ran through me, and I began to imagine what condition this poor man may be in had I not interceded. Although I had helped the judge to spare his life and property, I had been the one to uncover this plot to defraud me. And, though it was certainly righteous to prosecute, and later execute Nigdugani, the threat to this honest man’s life was not intended. At that moment I felt remorse for his involvement, even if it had not been my intention. I reached out a hand to clasp his shoulder, shaking my head shortly with a smile. “It is my duty to speak for those I know have done no wrong. I could do no other than to see you released, for you are far too valuable to this city than to see punished for no crime of your own.”

Perhaps I was foolish for abandoning any kind of skepticism towards his innocence so quickly, legitimately, not merely to get in his good graces. Though his appreciation seemed genuine, I wondered that, without some bargaining chip to put over his head, even subtly and with grace, I would be unable to get him to fully do what I had planned for. And yet, I had faith in his words of appreciation. That he genuinely felt as though he owed me something.

“I thank your good judgment, Lady, but I insist it is not enough. Tell me what I may do for you, I am as your humble servant for your saving of my life.” He took off his gloves, and there stuffed them in the pit of his shoulders, before clasping his hands together pleadingly and with humble submission.

I smiled to him, nodding. This was why I was here, why I needed him personally, not merely as an administrator. Why I personally made the trip to the lower quarter of the city to speak to him directly. For I had a plan now which may take years to fruit, and it was better to sow the seeds sooner than later. For by the time this scheme had matured, I would be in a much, and hopefully stronger, position than before.

From my pocket I produced a little round token. A piece of wood, cut into the shape of a coin by my own hand. It was large for a coin, almost three inches in diameter. Upon either side I had written in charcoal ink, in strange, alien symbols known only to myself, and my targets. Outwards I stretched my hand, holding it out in my palm. The old master took it delicately, and puzzled, held it between two fingers and examined it.

“What is this?” He asked, one bushy gray eyebrow raised, intrigued. “A new coin?”

“It is indeed.” I replied, watching his eyes scan across the front, before flipping it around to examine the back.

“This is… highly unusual.” He muttered, before resting it in a closed hand, and looking up to me. “None of these symbols upon it I can read, and whats more, it does not bare the image of anything I have seen before. What is it that you have presented to me? Surely this is unorthodox for a new coin.”

Amusingly, what I had inscribed was designed to be baffling to anyone but a fellow traveler. For on one side I had drawn a characteristic smiley-face, the kind you’d find on corny bright-yellow stickers, with two lines for eyes and a great big smile. On the other side I had written in plain english, in the latin alphabet: “FIND ME, URUK, INANNA.” This was, I had hoped, a configuration so alien to this world, using a language used only by us fellow travelers, as to be an unmistakable lure for the eyes of my kindred.

I suppressed a grin, as I thought of a way to explain my rather humorous ploy. “No, it would be remarkably strange and incorrect to have this be the new face of the coin. It is an old, ancient language of runes and symbols which are lost in the present day. I mean not to mistake you to believe this is the future, all shekel will stay the same. This is a… pet project of mine. I wish for you to re-mint many of the free-based gold and silver coinage I own into this pattern. I’m going to be using them to purchase goods going to our distant foreign neighbors. The rest of my intentions, if you do not mind, I would like to be kept private. But know that it comes from my own pocket, and that this is the only task I ask of you in return for my generosity.”

The craftsman shrugged, his baffled look quickly melting into a polite smile. “If this is all you wish my lady, then it can be done. I will ensure my best coinmen make a good-quality stamp, and that they waste not any of your precious molten material when we have to melt them down. But if you will be so kind as to indulge my curiocity, as I imagine you yourself can competently understand and write such an ancient script… what does it say? For it looks not like any of the tablets I use in my accounting.”

A concerned thought came across my mind. Could I trust this man? Surely, he was of a kind and honorable spirit. Surely he would not be able to divulge such a thing to anyone. Even if he knew, it was not as though he was a famous man. Sooner he would be forgotten by me and by the world, and so my secrets would fade away with his irrelevance. I breathed a sigh of relief, finding confidence in the ability to be truthful to one man for sake of this strange favor. “It says upon it, a request to find me. It has my name and our location, the city of Uruk, written upon it. I hope for it to enter foreign lands, and come into the hands of a special group of people I wish to meet one day, even if it takes decades.”

The man was unmistakably interested in what I had told him, as his mouth formed an “o” with wonder. A near impossible task in his mind, the kind normal people would see as so long-term, so far-fetched as to be dismissed out of hand. And yet he, I believed, saw something of the power of my immortality in my long-sightedness. He saw, without description, how my ploys existed on simply a longer timescale and within a larger world than him.

“I will see it done.” Came his reply, as he dropped it, delicately, into a leather pouch upon his waist.

It was a mercy he did not know what I intended to do, should I meet any of these ‘special people’. For nothing benevolent did I seek there, but rather, a judgment of equal parts longing and murderous intention. For anyone who truly had the inspiration to seek me based on such a token, trading hands hundreds of times, crossing seas and deserts, would surely be a being of monstrous, or godlike power. And it would be ultimately up to me to decide if I could abide by their existence, or if it needed to be put down before their infection upon the world spread to a cancerous level. If such a being would be as inspired as I was, and who understood the careful and dangerous balance we walked, or if he would be as luther, as the Aksumite, and as all the other fools who flew too close to the sun in search of godhood.

Gods have mercy, as much of me hoped nobody would ever answer the call. I longed, just as much for companionship, as to be alone. Yet all signs - from the northern bibles and empires, the desert queen of Siwa, and the ships of the cotton-kingdoms to the east, pointed to this being an utter pipe-dream. My kindred beings burned bright, and in abundance, upon this fateful earth.

[Millenhaal]

Toronto, Canada

January 28, 2023

Ismail Rukhabi

Snow fluttered down from the clouds during the night, blanketing the streets in a soft blanket of cold. Cars and formed an orchestra of ambient noise on the streets below. Wind whispers through the concrete jungle. These together form the cacophony that guide the life of a Toronto urbanite, the background music for the game of life. Some find it comforting, knowing that there's millions living their lives right alongside them, others find the sheer amount of sounds oppressive, suppressing all thought that isn't feeding the gaping maw of productivity.

However, Ismail Rukhabi didn't much care for that kind of poetic introspection in this moment, after all, he had a performance the next day and he needed to cram as much practice as he could in the small hours of the night. He slunk toward the kitchen and began toasting a bagel, because in his mind he deserved a little treat. He soaked his reed and prepped his oboe for playing, moving the cloth in and out of the delicate keys, polishing the bore, soaking the reed in a shot glass that may have contained a shot of whiskey a few days prior. Or two. Or three. Or maybe four. When this was all done Izzy took out Saint-Saens' Bacchanale, and began to play the first notes.

However, this reed didn't work. It was working last time he practiced, but it wasn't working now. Rather than the delicate notes of classical music, it sounded more like the oft-used comparison of a new oboe player sounding like a dying duck. The next reed wasn't working either. Neither did all the other reeds he tried. He was going to need to shave those, and so he went to retrieve his knife. But before he could, the bagel he was making popped out of the toaster charred and black, and smoke spewed out of the toaster. The smoke alarm, sensing a disturbance, blared long tones of the note A, believing that it was saving a life. Izzy couldn't do this anymore. On the verge of tears, he threw himself under the covers of his bed, playing materials still out on the table, smoke alarm screaming to no avail. If a fire were to take him tonight, why, he'd just let it.

---

Somewhere around the Strait of Hormuz

0 days since arrival

Ismail Rukhabi

I woke up to the gentle sound of the waves. For a moment, I didn't even consider that I might not be in Toronto anymore, even though for all I knew, I couldn't be sure I was even on Earth anymore. But bliss can't last forever, and so the fear began to set in. It felt like sleep paralysis had come over me. I couldn't move an inch. Eventually though, I did get up, and marvel at the world around me. I was on a rocky beach, with pristine sands and deep blue waters crashing over my feet, trying to suck me down into the sand. As the gulls cawed into the wind overhead, I only then realized that I was completely naked, and stepping barefoot on several small pebbles. I quickly ran to the more sandy parts of the beach and started to make a plan.

The default rule for getting lost in the wilderness is to look for roads and sources of water, because those usually led to a settlement. The more pragmatic parts of my brain decided to treat this as if I had been on a camping trip gone awry, rather than being magically transported into a strange land, my whole life uprooted in an instant. Luckily enough for me, I had awoken right next to a body of water, and so I deduced that the logical course of action was to walk along the sea until I found another human somewhere.

I had walked for 3 hours, and the sun had begun its long journey to beneath the waves, and I decided that my feet were hurting, and that I should sit somewhere. The tide was rising, and so I picked up a shell and held it in my hands. It really was quite beautiful, the deep lavender color had a soothing effect on me. It was definitely a trinket worth keeping. I laid down and looked at the pale blue sky. Had it always been so beautiful, or had I just never noticed the beauty in the world around me We immerse ourselves in fiction and magic, but does anyone realize that there is magic here? Or has modernity obscured that to such a degree that we can''t imagine a world where the are doesn't smell of gasoline?

"Maybe I should have taken advantage of my Canadian residency and explored the remote parts of the country?", I thought to myself.

I laid there for about an hour, thinking about my life, all the choices I should've made, all the relatives I should've called more often, all the things that I knew were draining my life of joy but continued to do. I did this until I heard footsteps coming my way.

I scrambled to my feet and looked around for the source of the noise. My eyes locked with a band of slack-jawed teenagers looking at me and each other. We stood like that for awhile, until one of them tentatively came up to me and began to talk.

"H-hello? Who are you? H-h-have you come to hurt us? Please, don't kill me! I don't want to die!" said the teenager.

"Why can I understand you? I never knew this language before, and I sure can't see any reason I am conversationally fluent in it now. I promise, I'm not here to hurt anyone. I wasn't here before I went to sleep last night, and now I am. I am just as scared as you, kid."

"You're not scouting for a raid? Or planning to assassinate someone? Or extorting tribute?"

"I'm just one guy. I mean no harm whatsoever. Would you mind taking me back to where you came from?"

"We're here to collect from our fishing traps, but I feel like this encounter snuffs out that goal. Come, follow us. My name is Liaruk, by the way."

"Call me Ismail."

"That's a strange name. Not like anything we've ever heard around here. We believe that the name is sacred, it shapes who the person will become."

"I never learned what exactly it meant. I never thought it to be too deep."

"What a shame. The meaning of a name is almost a prayer you can recite. A comforting mantra."

"I don't see it that way."

The village wasn't too far away from where I was sitting. Liaruk's mother came out to greet the party only to stop dead in her tracks when she saw me. She ran into a large building, and came out with a group of people, chatting concernedly about me. A man in a robe stepped to the front and gestured for me to come over to him. When I did, he began to question me.

"My name is Dabi. I am the leader of this village. The children have told me that you aren't here to attack us, and I'm inclined to believe them, because if they were from the Dashiti, we'd see their bodies being paraded through this town on pikes. Where is your homeland, stranger?"

"I come from a place called Toronto. It was a place with towering buildings, millions of people, and I'm not sure how I left. I woke up on the shoreline earlier today. I don't know if it even exists. Can you tell me where I am?"

"You are among the Yakkul. We are a peaceful people, however this has made us a popular target for war and violence. We survive. It is in our beliefs to be hospitable to outsiders. This village is what we call Yakkul-Ua, home of the Yakkul."

"Is there a place I can stay? I'm very hungry and thirsty, and I am very tired."

"We have spare accommodations built for when they are needed, you are welcome to stay until you have figured out what you need to do. You can stay permanently, if you like."

"That sounds lovely."

I laid in a bed with a mattress of straw and a wool blanket. It was far less comfortable than I had expected in Toronto, but it felt good just to have a place to sleep. The confusion of landing was starting to wear off, and the survival instinct programmed into my brain started to kick in. Now my goal was to build a life among the Yakkul, and make gains for myself in this strange new world. Maybe this catastrophe could and up becoming just another opportunity, and this time I wasn't going to let it pass me by.

[Orostan]

THE EMPIRE OF CHINA - AARON DAWSON


BRITTLE IRON FIST - 2960 BC

Liangzhu, Modern Day Southeast Shaanxi Province

“Can you explain this as you would a method to hunt a boar?”

Aaron mentally sighed. King Gu of the Shu was very much a man of his time. A good warrior and a good leader but a poor philosopher.

“Picture a number of men standing in a line, against an equal number of large boars. Could they successfully kill the boars with only small knives?”

The King shook his head. “Those are only good for gutting. You need spears to bring the animal down.”

Aaron glanced at one of the weapons one of the King’s guard was holding. It was a spear that reached slightly higher than the wolf skin the warrior wore over his head and was tipped with copper.

He pointed to it. “Like that.”

Gu nodded again. “Exactly. Your spears, halberds you call them-“ The King pointed to one of Aaron’s guard who had a weapon with an L shaped bronze head reaching well above his iron helmet, “seem to be made for bears or rhinoceros.”

“They are designed to be used in groups. They are ‘hunting’ other men in groups, and line up shoulder to shoulder with their weapons down to make a wall of metal.”

The King put a hand up to interrupt the Emperor. “You mean to tell me that you river people fight your wars by getting in big rows with long spears and trying to poke each other from the farthest distance away? That seems cowardly, doesn’t it?”

Aaron once again forced back a mental sigh. “It’s not cowardly at all. It requires discipline and coordination, just like hunting a bear or a traditional battle between villages. I don’t see why our method of war should be such an issue preventing you from joining my empire.”

“I only want to make sure my people don’t become soft by living among yours.”

The Emperor raised an eyebrow at the small insult. One of the iron armored guards behind Aaron forced a cough to make his own displeasure known, prompting a brief look from King Gu.

“If you were tough like us you wouldn’t need armor. I don’t make arrangements with people who want us to fight their battles for them.” The King elaborated.

The Emperor was struck with an idea and stood up. “If you want a battle, let’s have one. Tell your men to remove the tips of their weapons and I’ll do the same for mine. If my people are so soft you should have no problem defeating them in mock battle without their armor and superior weapons. If we win, you will join our empire. If you win, we will leave your land.”

The King smiled and stood up, extending a hand to Aaron. The Emperor returned the expression and shook it.

---

Mo Guanyu

The mock battle began with the two gangs of men charging at each other across the open and dusty field that separated the village's wood palisade from the forest. The Shu went forward as a wave, while the Chinese kept themselves moving slower but in much better order with a wall of wood sticks that would normally be topped with halberd heads in front of them. Instead they had wads of fabric dipped in dye. The Chinese had red while the Shu had green, and both sides tried to smear this dye on the other as much as possible. Those who were struck across the body or limbs with the dye dropped out of the fight and coalesced into groups on the side of the field cheering those that still fought on.

Mo listened carefully to the shout of orders from his unit's captain who was now ordering the men to step forwards in a line. He observed the Shu trying to break the Chinese formation by concentrating their attacks on center of their line as he threw a Shu warrior back with a thrust of his wood stick. The second and first ranks of the Chinese line were doing well preventing the Shu from coming through, and their slow but inexorable advance left more of the field behind them than in front.

Mo had nearly lost track of what was happening around him while he focused on following his orders. "Forwards, two steps!" The captain called, and his men answered by taking two steps forward in sync. The Shu were driven back by that amount. "Two steps, again!" he called. The Shu were driven back again - and the Shu commander blew into a horn he usually wore around his neck. Mo had heard about that custom among the Shu where their commanders wore horns that could order men to attack regardless of the chance of victory in battle. It was a symbol of power over the men they commanded to be wearing what could command them to their deaths.

The thought of what that horn blow meant only occupied Mo's mind for a moment when a wave of all the remaining Shu warriors on the field threw him and the rest of the first line down into the dust with red dye splattered on their bodies and arms only a moment later. But as he struggled to not get stepped on in the dirt he heard the Captain yell "Third rank, fill the gaps!" as the Chinese line was getting back together. By the time Mo had managed to get out from the forest of feet and stand on his own the mock battle was over and only the Chinese stood on the field.

[Saxony-Brandenburg]

The Royal City of Uruk
Early 2960 BCE
Olivia Ingels

The administration of the new grain tax, over the old grain tithe was anything but smooth. Any top-down coercion to restructure its interaction with the base of society will inevitably be heavy handed in its implications for the lives of the common man. So has it been, so as it was with Jushur and I as we schemed to centralize taxation. The compulsion of these peasants to adopt the system could not simply come from a bureaucratic authority. Although under a compliant population, a scribe incharge of village granaries may have been sufficient, but years of malnourishment due to war and disaster had made much of the farming base restless. Naturally, the only response available to my Jushur was to tighten the screws.

Scribes were civil servants, not nobility. They were employees of the temple, which managed the taxes of Uruk in exchange for power and a regular payment for festivals, upkeep, sacrifices, and the comfortable living of her various bureaucrats and priests. This is to say that they were men of administration, not governance. To put another way, and more bluntly, they could not actually make the peasants pay what Jushur demanded when the bill came due. While the Gishimmari border guards or a group of Jushur’s personal retinue could be brought in during large events of dissidence, this was simply viable on the scale of anything more than a major city state, much less a kingdom which spanned across peoples and lands.

Thus, had Jushur enlisted the help of a new crop of Shakkanaks, a designation of stewardship over smaller territories, towns, and villages which they could rule by way of military authorities. Much like the traditional barbaric forms of simple tribal headmen, the Lugal had hoped that his appointed military authorities would be able to better ensure peace and compliance throughout his lands… Some solutions create new problems.

So had it been in the village of “Pleasant Reeds”, where messengers from her scribes came to me of its open protest and refusal to heed the call of taxes and labor-levies, with no word from her appointed Shakkanak. So had I taken this personally, and departed from my comfortable living quarters atop the mountain of administration, to attempt to take a more grounded response to what may be going on, and if the situation could be diffused.

It had been a hot and auspicious day when I had left for the country. A dependent village of Uruk, the trek was only a fraction of the daylight. I had traveled light, or as light as one as I could travel. Five of my loyal Gishimmari Fedaykin outriders, and two bailiffs of my husband’s law accompanied me on camelback. I had forced the two Black-heads to accompany them in the uncomfortable travel procedures of our kind. Best to travel early, best to travel without fanfare, best to travel without stop.

When we had passed through the groves of palm trees and fields of tall reeds and grasses, and came to see the notorious town before us, we could immediately spot trouble. For a crowd of noisy and by all sense angry villagers had gathered in the center of their community, before the Lord’s granary which stood at its heart. I turned to my companions, who were all clad in their daily clothes, but carried with them their spears and knives for protection. “Do not unduly agitate them, or bring to blows those who are full of anger. Perhaps there is ability to salvage the situation. And if they are to be punished, let a force larger than our own do the blood-letting. We come only to administer justice, and if we cannot, then this is not our fight.”

The Gishimmari among my companions nodded. Used to a life of sporadic violence, their stoic attitude towards the cycle of life and death lead them to take a far
less emotional approach to the matter. If there would be conflict, they would fall back with their mistress, and strike another day. Until then, they kept their faces placid. Not so for the bailiffs, who, though used to fighting, did not like their odds against such a large number of peasants. They nervously pulled at their robes, and scanned the town for exit routes.

As we descended into the town, we began to see a far clearer picture of the situation before us. Armed with farming tools, and the equipment of their militia - they had took up arms against their Shakkanak. The bodies of two men - with rudimentary armor and weapons upon them, were probably his personal guards. The headman himself was battered and bruised, and slumped back against the wall of the granary. His head bobbing up and down from pain, he still managed to yell to the crowd: “I am an agent of your Lord! You will pay for this disobedience!”

That is when we pushed through. “Make way! Make way for the Lugal’s bailiffs!” the black-heads yelled, as they forced the crowd to split and open a path for us, as we approached the scene on-foot. The Shakkanak looked towards us, great relief came into his eyes then. For surely, he must have thought he was saved. Little did he know that I considered him a failure for this performance. A failure which I could not simply ignore. He would be punished, be it by the crowd, or by my hand.

As I stood above the Shakkanak, my scowl towards him dissuaded him of any joy, instead, he pleadingly looked up at me, and begged: “Noble lady! The town has turned to animals! I sent a messanger to Uruk weeks ago when they had refused to pay their back-taxes. I knew there would be trouble! And today, when I had asked those who owed their King to do so, they attacked me and my men! They killed them, as you can see there. They tore them to pieces, and left them bleeding in the dirt! You must do something! You must punish them for going so out of control!”

I looked down at him, and nodded. He opened his mouth to speak once more. “I-”

I interrupted him before he could manage another word. “Silence. I have heard enough.”

The petty lord did so, his protestations muffled beneath his fear of my rank. I turned my attention to the crowd, who had thus far been held back by the line of spears my Fetaykin pushed them back with the hafts of. “Liar!” I heard a woman shout from among them, as their voices grew louder and louder, and soon I could hear none of them.

“Silence!” I yelled at them, and yet they persisted. “Silence!” I yelled again, with no answer. I nodded towards the bailiffs, who nodded to the Gishimmari, and, turning the points of their spears towards the crowd, almost in unison yelled: “Silence for your Lady!”

When the shock of their suddenly aggressive officials came upon them, a sudden quiet did then overtake them, the tips of their spears gleaming in the mid-day sun. “Alright, rest your spears soldiers.” I ordered them, and when their weapons no longer threatened to bite the crowd, I turned to where I’d heard the woman’s voice: “If he is a liar, then I want to know why. What has he lied about, which has caused you to so assault an agent of your Lord’s justice?”

The woman spoke up, with a similar indignation to her original exclamation of disdain: “This man has robbed the people of our food and our lives! He gives us copper coins instead of our bread, but never as much as the scribes say we own. The scribe comes to us at tax-time, and says we give the lord a hundred shekels of grain, and that we keep a hundred twenty within the granary! But then, when our house comes to collect that stored grain when we have hunger, only eighty is there! It is his fault! He has done this! He has played favorites among our neighbors, taking from some, and leaving others destitute, and gorging his favorites! These new taxes are corrupt! They have allowed the village to turn against itself! We want to go back to the old ways, where a village could share in its harvests, and had its own headmen!”

I nodded as the woman spoke, for what she had said interested me. Corruption was an ever-present game of culling the corrupt, but her disdain for our centralization interested me greatly. For sure, there was no way to recant the new law. It was necessary to squeeze grain from them efficiently, to feed the cities and the armies reliably. And yet… perhaps there was a way to come to an amicable agreement with them, one which gave with one hand, and held firm with the other. I raised my hand to speak, and turned to the rest of the crowd, and asked them: “Who among you has seen, with your own eyes, the Shakkanak take what he is not owed? Who among you has seen him distribute the granary stocks unevenly?”

And immediately, more than twenty hands were raised above them. I nodded, and called out to them: “Make your way to the front so I can see you!” With shuffling and mumbling, angry grunts and annoyed pushing, they made themselves known and stood against my guards. “Let them through.” I said to the Gishimmari, who let seventeen willing villagers pass between them, and stand inside the circle. I looked between them and the official, who now cowered in fear once again, as his would-be saviors appeared to take the side of the mob.

“And all of you would swear oaths to Anu and Enlil that you speak truth and nothing but it, and affirm that you personally have seen the Shakkanak engage in illegal acts abusing his office for personal gain?”

And when they all nodded I let out a sigh, and turned to one of my husband’s bailiffs. “The testimony of seventeen against one is overwhelming. I have made up my mind, and am ready to render judgment.” I waved my hand from the crowd to the man, who, enraged, staggered to his feet. Sneering, he turned up his head at my finger, pointed squarely towards him.

“This is an outrage! I demand a fair trial! This is unjust! This is against the laws!” He proclaimed, looking from side to side, yet finding no way out.

I grinned, the wicked feeling of power coming across me, that narcotic effect of holding life in death in one’s hands. That self-righteous energy which could consume a stronger woman than I. One which already had taken hold of me. A hold I had embraced fully. “Lubad, you have been accused by seventeen eye witnesses, under oath, of corruption. You have not only defrauded them of their labor, not only defrauded their granary of their supply, but in doing so, have defrauded your Lugal of his taxes. You have robbed your LORD, and your GODS of their tithes. There is no greater shame for this act of treason. There is no higher crime than that which you have committed. The Lugal’s word is law, and his word is clear for instances such as these. As his words speak through me, so have I found my judgment: You are guilty on all accusations levied against you, and the time of your sentencing has come. You are to be relieved of your post, stripped of your rank, and summarily executed by strangulation. So do I order, as the enforcer of my Husband’s will.”

Immediately, the crowd rose up in cheer. Delight, joy, surprise: what a twist it must have been! I grinned, looking between the shaking man and the crowd. I waved towards my guards, who grabbed the man, who struggled and writhed against his now captors. I turned to one of my Husband’s baliffs, who looked at me with utter shock and surprise, but did not protest. “Write a death-warrant for the records.” I told him, and, taking off my ring-signet, placed it in his palm. “With my seal stamped into the clay as proof of its legality.” And as he procured his tablet and stylus, they dragged the man towards a patch of oak trees which grew at the edge of town.

I was willing and eager to sentence the man, but much less so to watch the deed be done. I waved to the bailiff, tablet in-hand, furiously scribbling the warrant so that it may be read before his, rather swift execution. “Go witness it.” I ordered him, and with the wave of a hand, sent him off after the crowd.

As they had left, I found myself alone in the square with my husband’s second bailiff, the one who had not yet left for the hanging. He looked at me, with a bit of a disapproving frown. Walking up behind me, he let out a sigh, looking out the road towards the distance: “You have executed a man of status at the will of a commoner.” He said, not looking away from that distant crowd.

“Seventeen commoners.” I corrected him, but I could not do the same. I looked back at the man, with bald head and a long combed beard. His shawl was dirty, but of a fine fabric. A man of status, but little ability or desire to maintain a careful appearance.

“Even still, it is a breech of his rank and custom. The other nobility, when they hear of this, will not like it.” He grumbled.

I sneered. “It does not matter if they do not like it, indeed it is good that they don’t. We have raised a new crop of dozens of men to the rank of nobles. They do not yet know their expectations, they do not yet know the cruelty of their master should they attempt to defraud him.”

He shook his head, finally looking up at me. “You did not investigate. You took them at their word. You executed their Shakkanak within minutes of arriving here. What justice is this? What if he had not done as had said, hm? What then?”

“What then?” I repeated his words, anger gripping my tongue. “Guilty or not of the crimes of which he was accused, Lubad has failed us. He allowed the situation to get so out of control, that his own subjects were going to tear him apart if we had not already. He was so careless in his actions, in his relations to his subjects, that it could have turned into a wildfire of a peasant revolt, had we not intervened. Do you think I care if he was guilty or not of the words on his warrant? What matters is that he was guilty of failure, and for that he had to die. This kingdom, her stability, is paramount above anything else. We cannot afford internal conflict, among the low or the high, while our enemies stalk us, waiting for any chance of weakness. It is a wonder that Lagash had not attacked us when we were at our lowest, not five years ago. It is a wonder Kish has not played their hand yet, and approached the very walls of Nippur. We throw this man to the dogs, it keeps the Shakkanaks careful to mind themselves, and be careful to keep their heads on their shoulders. We let the peasants take a pound of flesh, and they will be satisfied to continue paying their taxes.”

The Bailiff was annoyed at my crass and long-winded speech. I could tell by his scowl. But here was a man who had a similar passion for administration as I, and so his next response could be expected: “And what of after this, hm? Will they not try the very same, with whoever next we send to try and reign them in? Will it not become a yearly tradition in this wretched place to execute their rulers whenever they attempt to collect the Lugal’s tithe?”

“I have plans for that, you think me a fool?” I responded, angry, but not offended by his pushback. In some ways, I found it stimulating to be disagreed with so.

“And if those plans do not work?”

I shrugged, and let out a sigh. Looking around these pleasant houses, I wondered what they would look like charred and set alight. “Then we will punish them. I will try the open hand this time, and should they refuse, I will not spare them the fist.”

When at last the deed had been done, and the bailiff who witnessed the execution had returned to me saying he had confirmed Lubad’s death, I had them again summon the crowd to the center of town, so that I could speak to them once again.

“People of pleasant reeds. As now your Lord’s justice has been enacted upon your criminal Shakkanak, now must we come to the matter of his replacement, and settling what wrongs you feel. I will need your help, as those among you can help me know who I should select to take on the tradition, and what I can do afterwards to help alleviate your grievances, so you may return to the fold as loyal subjects of my husband and master Jushur. As I have been told, your first grievance is that food is distributed among you unevenly, is that correct? That in the long olden days, you would all toil together in the fields, and share the food which you grew equally out among your families, keeping them all in the granary, is that correct?”

There were grumblings of agreement, as I looked among the thin and gaunt peasantry, who I knew had long since not known the full amount of grain needed to sustain themselves, despite how fruitful their land was. “I want you to return to your houses, and bring to me your copper Shekels, all of you. You have no need of it, as I will grant you what you desire. Now go, and be back swiftly so I may help you otherwise.”

This took quite some time to do, as we had to ensure everyone in the village would do their part. This meant finding a village elder who knew of everyone who lived there, and having them, with the muscle of my Gishimmari, force even the more successful and less gaunt farmers hand over all their coin-wealth to me, until we had placed it all in a bag. This meant coming to blows with one resistant man, who received a cheer from the poorer farmers as a fist was planted into his nose, making him bleed. When all the coins were placed into a rough sack, which weighed heavy and jingled, I handed it to the bailiff for future destruction. Meanwhile, I motioned to the crowd: “Then let it be known, that all the grain in the granary is yours to hold in common as a village. None among you will unjustly starve from favoritism or misfortune, for you may share it as common property, and toil together once again. Now, who among you is the most trustworthy?”

The crowd began to mumble together, talking, whispering, gossiping. A minute came by, before several names were called out among them. Eventually though, one name was repeated more times than any other: “Urmenuna”. I turned to the elder, who had helped me collect from every house, whereupon he explained to me: “He is a boy from our village, who has on multiple occasions protected his neighbors sheep from predators with his sling. Not only that, but once he found a woman’s coral necklace lost upon the street, and returned it to her in full. He is a nice lad, and most certainly a good neighbor.”

“Bring me Urmenuna then.” I ordered the crowd, from which a boy, perhaps seventeen years old, with short black hair which clung in tight spirals upon his head emerged. From my pocket, I handed him a simple wooden key, the key which the previous Shakkanak held to the granary door’s locks. “Take this boy, and hold it dear. You are now entrusted to protect your village’s granary before all else. Your neighbors look upon you well, let your noble character protect you from abusing this newfound power. For great power comes with great responsibility.”

The boy nodded, and with trembling hands took the key from me. “Thank you mistress, I will not let you down.” He said, before bowing twice, awkwardly, and shuffled his way back into the crowd, who applauded and cheered him with beaming smiles.

When their celebration had concluded, I asked the crowd at large again: “Who is your most diligent man?”

The man who they eventually concluded on, was a farmer named Ninlilgeli. He owned a very large house for a peasant, and worked to maintain a large grove of almond and date trees as well as a sizeable barley field. Despite this, he seemed willing and unresistant to handing over the copper coins which marked his share of the village granary, perhaps knowing which way the wind was blowing on the issue, and did not want to make waves. Still, I doubted he could have predicted me calling him forward, to the center of the crowd, wherein I could examine him personally.

He wore a large, flat cap made of straw which shielded him from the sun. His skin was a dark tan, and his head was completely bald. His face too was as shaved as one could expect. It was customary for rural folk to shave their heads and often their faces to prevent lice, as bathing regularly in clean water was just not available to these people, and thus dirty water in canals and ditches made for most of their bathing, when it did occur. Still, he looked in his disposition quite well put-together. His skirt was dusty but clean. His sandals looked freshly cobbled, and his hands were rough and calloused, and covered in small scars of labor. Yes, he would do perfectly as a leader of them. A farmer, living as best as he could, profiting from his hard work. Here would be a man who could inspire his neighbors to feel as though their voices mattered to him. Even if this meant recruiting him to enforce the exact same laws as his predecessor, marking him as village headman meant keeping order here, which was of my prime concern. If he could fight or not did not concern me, as while that was half the duty of a Shakkanak, he could simply learn on the job, and, besides that, it wasn’t as though I expected him to lead his village levy when they were called to war. He could simply be placed under a more noble and wealthier shakkanak’s command, all he had to do was deliver the notices from on-high, and ensure those withholding taxes when Uruk’s scribes came around were handled properly.

He would be my open hand. If he didn’t work, I would find another closed fist to replace him.

From my waist I took off my belt, and held it out to him. “Ninlilgeli, I offer you the office of Shakkanak of the village of Pleasant Reeds. To serve my husband, your Lord and Master Jushur of Uruk as a loyal custodian of his laws, and of his will. Should you accept, you may keep this knife as a marker of your status. You will be charged with ensuring the public welfare and orderliness of your community, and her surrounding farms and hamlets. When your lord demands his tithes, you shall pay them in full. When your lord demands men for his campaigns, you shall summon them to war. When your lord demands hands for his projects, you shall find them to toil. In turn, you will receive compensation of twelve silver shekels a year as a payment for satisfactory administration, and that your village’s harvest and taxes are delivered in full. Do you accept this station in full, with all its rewards and requirements, as I have laid them out to you?”

He looked across the square, among the men and women of his neighbors which now watched one of their own raise in rank on the grand ladder of their society, that which they would have never believed in a hundred years to come true. With tears in his eyes, he nodded, and reached forth, taking the knife in his hands. “I accept O’ Lady of Uruk, Inanna, Queen of Kengir. I pledge to serve your Husband and Master, in all ways for all my days. I pledge my children, and their grandchildren to your service. For now, I owe you my life, and their lives, for this trust you now place in me.”

I reached out, and with both my hands grasped his shoulders, looking into his eyes, swelling with pride. “Do not let me down.” I commanded him, before leaning down to him, and kissing his forehead. “Go now with my blessing, and find the taxes which have been withheld. That is my first command unto you.”

And as he did as I commanded, and left from my gaze to start his office, I let out a sigh of relief, knowing I did not have to do to Pleasant reeds what I had done to the town before it. For not two hours ride away, a village was being punished. Her sons were made to watch as their fathers hung from trees for open rebellion, and all the while starvation guaranteed as her granary was emptied as compensation for their insolence. Yes, the grain would be brought from the countryside to the cities, to feed the tens of thousands of hungry mouths within. It could come, as in Pleasant Reeds, with mutual understanding. Otherwise… these little people had to be reminded of who they serve, and what happens when one tries to raise arms against them.

After all, the Kingdom, and her survival, was more important than their lives.

[Melon Heads]

First Dynasty of Kemet
The Fourth Nome
Waset Village
First Month of Shemu
2960 BCE

It turned out that with enough time, and enough alcohol, a person could get used to a great deal of change in their life, even that which originally may have been entirely out of their comfort zone. Geordi had originally learned this, or at least a version of this, when they were in school studying fire sciences and later, at mortuary school. A gentle hand can be taught to hold a saw; a sensitive nose can be trained to overcome the smell of decay.

Coming to Kemet had made all of that seem miniscule in comparison. Every facet of what once had been their live changed irrevocably that day they woke up in Ptahshedu’s farmstead. No internet, no corporations, no cars or even electricity. No vaccines to keep people safe, not even infants. No pesticides or fertilizers other than the Nile to grow food. It was terrifying in its frailty, how delicate human survival could be.

But in many ways, it may have changed for the better, both for the people of Waset and Geordi themself.

The knowledge that, somewhere out there, there was another interloper bolstered Geordi's confidence in their place in the world. There were other people like them out there who were not only surviving but apparently thriving enough to have book production, at a rate so significant that a book could be misplaced badly enough that it would end up in the hands of a merchant who would use it for kindling.

Also, if some other rando wanted to irreparably fuck up the timeline by introducing the Bible thousands of years before Christ, it probably wouldn't hurt too much to introduce Kemet to things like rudders.

And they had introduced many things, indeed.

None of it particularly industrial, Geordi had never taken a class on woodworking let alone how to construct a forge, how to find minerals in nature, or how to create metal tools. What little progress they made in those regards came not from serious study but from the recalled memory of past media. But they had read about apiaries in the past, and set up rudimentary bee boxes, clothed in makeshift armor of linen covering their body, and harnessing smoke to make the insects docile. The work had been painful at times, but the rewards were quite literally sweet.

Clotheslines and hammocks swung alike on trees and tall stakes around the village. Though they tended to fall over when the wind blew too hard, a couple shadoofs stood in the farmlands on the edge of the Nile, making it easier to transport quantities of water while expending less energy. They were still working together with a few other men and women in Waset on devising conveyor ropes that could bring an item upwards against gravity, but those that followed the earth's pull had found considerable use.

Geordi’s insistent nudging towards the use of boiled water had also borne fruit, though not in a way they had originally expected, or wanted. A snail fever outbreak a year or so back had infected a considerable amount of the people of Waset, causing blisters, abdominal pain and hematuria for many, in particular children, among other unsavory symptoms. Though these were symptoms of many issues, the snail eggs that the infected people found in their waste was clue enough as to the source of the malady.

Curiously enough, Geordi never got sick from it, which definitely helped to bolster their reputation as a person with medical know-how, albeit an unorthodox sort. Though it did not speed up the healing process for those already infected, several of those who did not wish to acquire the snail fever began to boil and filter with linens the water they used to bathe, drink, and wash their clothes. Those that had to enter the Nile, fishermen and farmers mostly, prayed to Khnum, Sekhmet and Horus as they did so, and wrapped leather around their legs in an attempt to keep the snail larvae off. The leather was heavy and swelled in the water, but it was a step towards progress.

Hunero had died during the outbreak, too stubborn to change his ways and already weak from a lifetime of hardship, when he got sick he couldn't keep anything down. The man had no relatives left, Geordi buried him in his garden and cried as they poured a beer out for him. The fennel that grew on his grave was bitter, but hardy.

The people of Waset also began, at Geordi's insistence, to collectivize where they disposed of their waste, using an area a good way from any one home as a compost heap of sorts. This idea was met with confusion at first, though hesitantly accepted when Geordi explained that exposing the Nile to human waste may aggravate it, and that if in the future there is a subpar inundation, they could use it as a makeshift fertilizer. Unfortunately, without anything like modern plumbing, the chore of taking one's family's chamberpot to the compost grounds became a common one for naughty children.

Creating glassware was… still a work in progress. Though sand and heat were abundant, it was difficult for Geordi to get the necessary temperatures in their makeshift clay brick forge. The only study they had ever done in the old world on the matter was watching videos, and it showed, especially at first. And though there were smiths in Waset, a man named Horudja and his wife Tadeddet, they focused primarily on the production of copper and bronze tools, mostly for farming and occasionally weapons. The glass they produced was most often slag left over from these main exports, though Tadeddet did use the glass to make beads. But in exchange for their intermittent labor around the forge, Geordi had been allowed to learn what Horudja and Tadeddet could teach them of the craft, and Geordi taught them what little they knew of it as well.

Even after years though, the charcoal they made never burned as hot as they wanted it, and the bellows they made of leather and driftwood would almost always tire or break after a few uses. The most successful attempts so far were a few bowls, made by taking the glass at its hottest temperature in pliers made out of freshly cut wooden sticks, as they wouldn't burn as fast, and pouring the glass goo into a mold before it hardened.

They were strangely colored, a foggy green with many imperfections, and quite frankly ugly. Geordi loved them a disproportionate amount, despite the amount of burns that they had experienced while learning.

All in all, Geordi was proud of the life they had ekked out, though it was one they never could have imagined. They had a home, Hunero's old homestead having been unofficially bequeathed to them, friends and multiple hobbies. They were a productive, albeit odd member of Waset society, had work in various places around the village and even some tenuous friendships with the local stray cats. Life was… good, if not great. They were content.

Little did the interloper, or many of the people in Waset at all, know of the goings on in the larger towns and cities of Kemet. For the boy-king of the Two Lands was now a man, and Pharaoh Horus Den, son of Djet, was eager to make a name for himself as the greatest king yet.

________

First Dynasty of Kemet
The First Nome, Inebu-Hedj
Men-Nefer
First Month of Shemu
2960 BCE

Since, and probably before Menes Narmer conquered and united the Two Lands of Kemet, the position of ruler was one bestowed upon birthright, the Pharaohs bloodline blessed by the Gods. It would only make sense that a divine person would rule the masses. Narmer, meaning 'Fierce Catfish' was the first king, who united the land of the Nile, campaigned in the land of the Canaanites and claimed the title of Son of Horus. Neithhotep, wife of Narmer and princess of Naqada in her own right, ruled by his side and by the side of her son. Their son Hor-aha had the first Mastabas built, and campaigned in Nubia, favoring the lands upriver over Canaan, and worshiped with fervor the Goddess Neith, She Who Created The World. After his reign of many years was the Pharaoh Djer, who in his own long life built many fabulous palaces and expanded the military, campaigning in Canaan and Nubia, grappling with the nomads of Isiwan and using the resources acquired to bring wealth to Kemet. It was expected that his son, like his father and grandfather before him, would have a reign of similar length and greatness.

When the Pharaoh Djet passed away, suddenly and only a couple years into his reign over the combined territories, the son he left behind was not yet weaned, let alone old enough to rule. Merneith, Beloved of Neith, with her child on a hip and a powerful spirit befitting that of her line, rose to the occasion and served as Queen Regent while her son Khasty came of age.

In the one-hundred eighty-sixth year after the union of the Land of Kemet, what would one day be instead known as 2964 BC, the boy Khasty was just that, a boy, not quite in his eleventh year. In the year one-hundred ninety though, he became a man, and took upon himself the double crown of Kemet.

In the heart of Men-Nefer was the House of Djet where Merneith and Den resided during her regency and where they lived still, though progress was already well underway for the construction of the new king's own royal abode. It was not a matter of size or opulence, the House of Djet was impressive in its own might, but adobe was never meant to last forever, and Khasty knew even then that he wanted to surpass the legacy of his father. Even so, it was still one of if not the largest home in Men-Nefer if not all of Kemet, and thus was acceptable to hold a coronation in.

At least a hundred people packed in for the event, nobility, viziers, nomarchs and kenbet chiefs alike flocked from across the land to be present. Lower ranking persons, merchants, priests and a few of the common folk congregated in even greater numbers, kept far away from the main thoroughfare but still veering for a chance to see the inauguration. Dozens of servants and slaves worked, either in production of food en masse or to keep the event flowing smoothly in other ways, monitored and instructed by the king's stewards. There would be a feast after the inauguration, and it wouldn't do to have anyone of importance go hungry.

It was loud, the estate bustling with noise and fervor, except for in the innermost chambers, the private quarters of the royal family that contained only them and a few handservants.

A woman in her late thirties, with crows feet on either side of sharp eyes, put the finishing touch on her kohl eyeliner, using a polished bronze mirror to make sure both eyes were even. She wore a stark white linen dress, but one of finer make than most, decorated with an elegant abundance of sashes and finery, and a gold beaded circlet utop her long black hair, shiny with fragrant oil. The Queen Regent, Merneith.

To her back, putting on the final bits of his kingly ensemble, was a man of fifteen years. Young, but with the keen eyes of his mother and the intellect of his father, ready to inherit the double crown of Kemet. His hair was tightly coiled and stayed close to his skull, his face still round with adolescence but already sharp in the chin and nose. He wore a kilt of similar quality linen to his mother, cut into an impressive design, and a wide variety of ribbons and thematic embroidery. Gold bands bedecked his arms and legs, and a heavy broad collar necklace inlaid with colored glass and precious stones. At his back, tied to his kilt, was a symbolic bulls tail, to represent his status as the blood of Horus. Prince Khasty, soon to be king.

To an outsider, and indeed to many of the staff both royals would have seemed as distinguished and put together as always, though the servants who had tended to the family for long enough could see signs of anxiety, in the way Khasty did and redid his eyeliner, not satisfied with his uneven work. But they did not mention it, discretion being an important quality for one to work for royalty anywhere, and thus Merneith could be confident that no words spoken would leave their innermost chambers when she sat in front of Khasty and began his makeup anew.

"I had it handled, Mother."

"You would have eventually, yes. But by the time it was perfect the sun would have set, and you would become king without the blessings of Ra."

He scoffed, though allowed it when Merneith took his face in her hand to get a different angle. "It wouldn't have taken that long."

"Maybe not, but the perfection you expect is difficult with how quickly you attempt it, sometimes. At least this is easier to repair than your calligraphy. I fear for the day that no scribe is available to take down your words."

Khasty grumbled, but stayed still as Merneith ran the kohl stick under his other eye, painting the thick, curved lines with precision one only acquires after doing makeup for several years. Truthfully, this would have usually been one of the servants doing this, but on the day of her son's Coronation, Merneith wanted to know everything was done right.

"There, it's done. Think you're ready?" Putting the kohl back on the bench they used as a vanity, next to a wide assortment of expensive perfumes and cosmetics, Merneith stood up, straightening her dress out as she did so.

Khasty barely paused. To any other person, it would seem like contemplation, perhaps, but Merneith knew her son, and when he responded, "I've been ready for years, now," she knew it was at least partially bravado.

But perhaps that was a good thing. A man of this position needed to be able to put on a façade of confidence in times of doubt. But conversely, a man who saw himself as perfect right out of the gate was a fool, and Merneith had not raised a fool. She had raised an insightful, clever young man, who she willingly followed as he walked out of their quarters, head held high and steps steady as they approached the dias outside. A man who, at the end of the day, would be Pharaoh Horus Den.

________

A hush slowly fell over the people of Kemet as the Vizier Amka stepped through a curtain and began walking up to the dais. By the time he was centered before the mass of people, it was near silent, save for the scuff of his sandals on the floor and the muffled sound of estate workers in the background. Besides him was a table, incense already lit and wafting into the air around them, and two impressive crowns centered upon it, one red and one white. The Vizier was an older man, tanned and with sunspots on his arms and bald head, though he stood steadily and with confidence. When he raised his hands, one of which held a ceremonial threshing flail, the audience leaned forward to hear him speak.

"People of Kemet, it honors me to stand before you on this most holy day. Though it has been many years since the great Djet has passed onto the next world, we do not fear: as the lifeblood of Horus still flows in the veins of our leaders."

Merneith and another priest had appeared during the opening speech, and Amka nodded at them both as they stood near his side, the queen holding a miniature ceremonial scepter in her own hands.

"Queen Regent Merneith, Wife of Djet the Serpent of Horus, and Beloved of Neith the Creator, took up the scepter when the Prince was not able, and has led us to this day with dignity and honor befitting and surpassing her station. But now it is time to return to the Prince the power which is his by God-right. Mus a'ah wur tepy Horus Djet, Khasty, hye en-ek!"

To thunderous applause, Khasty emerged from behind several layers of intricately woven curtain, and walked surely to stand between his mother and the Vizier Amka. If there was sweat on his temples, neither of them mentioned it, even if they noticed, the crowd would not at this distance. The Vizier bowed his head, as did Merneith, as they both passed him the ceremonial flail and scepter they carried, one for each hand.

"You have circled the white walls of Men-Nefer," the Vizier continued. "You have rowed Sokar across the Nile, and you have smited those who came from Isiwan to sabotage this Great Dynasty. You have asked the Gods to accept you, and today they shine with the sun upon your face."

The assistant priest went with Merneith then, and they each picked up one of the crowns. Amka motioned them over, and the crowns both were displayed to the rapt crowd before them.

"The hedjet crown of Upper Kemet, and the deshret crown of Lower Kemet. Both are your birthright and as such both you shall wear: a sekhemty." And with Amka's proclamation, they did just that, the priest taking the white hedjet and placing it in the alcove of the red deshret crown that Merneith held. She then moved to be with the Vizier and her son again, and Khasty knelt before them. When she put the crown atop his head, it fit near perfectly, a monument to the weeks of work that had been put into its masterful construction.

"With the Gods at your stead, you will no longer be just Khasty, son of Djet. You will be Horus Den Udimu, Pharaoh of the Two Lands. With the Gods at your stead, my pharaoh, may this be the last time you kneel before another man. Take this crown, and the throne, and address your people."

The applause was even louder this time, and only concluded when the Pharaoh held up his hand to silence the audience before them.

"People of Waset," He began, "It has been almost two hundred years since my great-great-grandfather Narmer, first of this Dynasty, united these Two Lands, with the blessings of the Gods bestowed upon him. Though the passing of my father Djet was unfortunate, he and they before us watch from the Land of the West, and I know they will watch us with approval in the many years in front of us. We will expand our hand further than it has ever gone and uncover wealth previously unknown. The world will fear the power of the people of Kemet. And, with the will of the Gods behind us, my kingdom should last a thousand more years! Ran'i Horus Den Udimu: reshut it mut, ankh wedja seneb!"

[Ralnis]

Blast Furance House,
Lagash, SumeriaKengir

One of the good things about being an Immortal was that one had a higher-than average healing factor. Human as they were, someone like Luther could do things that just shouldn't be possible to the ancient man. However, the person in front of them knew all these things. Even as they deliver a plate full of cooked meat and rice with a cup of coffee to both the rugged man and the teenager as the smith overseer sat down. For the first few minutes there was a pregnant pause. So thick of tension was in the air one could cut it. It was only broken when a cast-iron fork stabbed down on the meat as Amok started to use a knife to cut into it.

"So... He wasn't lying Manzda?" Amok turned to his brother, who only nod.

The brother didn't know but there was history, the eyes of both men were locked in on one another. Their bodies as stilled as statues as the younger Clan Mul-Kiza continued to eat. Even then, Amok was starting to get worried at the scene in front of him. He felt out of place between the history of the two. One that was longer than he was alive. This feeling on increased as they both started just slowly got to their food finally. The history being still on the table as much as the kitchenware.

"I see you still kept your mean punch Manzda." Luther finally said.

"You were the one who taught me, your Imperial Majesty." Manzada spit the last with venom and made Amok look at him strangely.

"Your Imperial Majesty? He's no Emperor? The only Empress we had was Ur-Surtur. I thought that-"

"There's a lot of history that I didn't tell you but this man is not just the founder of our organization. He is the true emperor of Sumeria. Our organization was made to control and direct Sumeria for the good of all. Which only got in war against our enemies who have made all the more of a reason to shatter our unity when he left us!"

As the older brother explained, he got angrier at Luther. And, in Luther's eyes, he was right. He knew and expected this to come from someone who had known him beforehand. Before his fall and of what he built. It was here that his eyes weren't full of fury or the anger of the young man he used to be, but of the understanding of an older man. Even throughout the rising anger he saw one of the most important people of his Paradigm, the head of the infiltration and wetwork that was more important than soldiering.

The reason why it was more important was because that Sumeria was built with espionage as the main weapon. The need for a quality special force was needed to be the shadow behind the throne. The same thing that was why it relied so heavily on trade between Elam and Nestos, between Aksum and the Dilmun, all roads in the Near East led to a Sumerian city.

"What has happened since I was gone Manzda?" Luther asked his former commander," who has turned Sumeria into this fractured state?"

Manzda looked at the former Emperor with righteous anger in his eyes," besides youYour Imperial Majesty" he spit that last part with all the venom he could muster before he continued.

"There is a woman who parades herself as the human embodiment of Ishtar. Not just that, but she has become the consort of the current king of Uruk. One of the sons that you and the Holy Empress forgot to extinguish and was able to use that to rally the other vassals to destroy Ur and Eridu. Fracturing our army, industry, navy, and the Paradigm in a final swoop."

"We also believe that she is like you Luther, an Immortal Outsider."

"That's what I thought so." Luther had his hands together and put his head between them. With a minute of silence in contemplation, he begins anew. "Do at least know where she come from or her Immortal name?

Manzda shook his head," we believe that she comes from the west, beyond the Rub-al Kali. Before we lost contact of our cell in Aksum and the rest of our organization, we believed that she came from Yanbu."

Luther looked at him quizzically as he said that. " Yanbu? That state full of pirates back when Aksum was just getting a navy? I thought we had helped the Kingdom scatter them across the desert?"

It was a fact that Yanbu was a warlike state on the western side of the Arabian Peninsula and occupied a good percent of the Red Sea with their own raiding fleet. Many a Sumerian ship had been plundered before a naval base had been asked with Aksum in the Horn to help combat their threat. Luther believed that this, with a punitive expedition, could scatter them but-

"There was no expedition Luther, the base is still there and has been taken over by the Kingdom. Your wife... sold it to your daughters as infighting between the various vassals heated up and-"

"I understand." Luther held up his hand to his host.

In truth was he didn't, not completely. This new information had shattered his original ideas of the state of Sumeria before his absence. To know that Yanbu was still around and had produced something like this Immortal was terrifying. It meant that they perhaps had been the very instrument to the breaking of the mighty empire that could've rivaled the Imperium. But no, there's more to this as Yanbu never gave any true thought to the gods of Sumeria. At best, they paid any lip service to them, but Aksum had a minority that worshipped the Seven on top of other things.

"But...what happened to Aksum and the rest of our neighbors?" Luther continued his questioning.

Instead of answering outright, Manzda and his younger brother started to put aside contents of the tableware and the older brother brought out a map from somewhere that Luther couldn't see. It didn't matter for what came from it were maps that were annotated with notes in Summerian and Kurgan languages. Ones that managed to show what has happened in the places that there were any cells. On the map itself, there had shown more than two dozen cells in varying strengths but a third of them had large Xs over them. All of them were over the Dynasty of Uruk.

"I'm guessing that these cells with the Xs on them are the Paradigm groups that have been destroyed?" Luther asked as he brushed over them.

"I don't know." Manzda said with some sadness," we know that they haven't been destroyed. Uruk has no spy network to match us and still haven't adapted their networks to find us. If anything, they have either gone independent or have just disbanded since the Fall of the Empire and the death of the Her Imperial Majesty."

Luther just nodded as he started to analyze all of the legends on the map. The most important things that have been seen was that the map of Sumeria had been fractured and been called Kengir, the color of the Dilmun and the name Abu Abara was over them with a red color instead of the brown among the former Imperial maps. The final one being the Indus, which had just been known as the Indus Confederation. The Confederation being a wall of might that united against an Immortal decades ago. Luther had remembered traveled in that area and had seen that the Indus Valley was stronger and united than most. Even had started to expand into the northern parts of the Subcontinent proper.

Ruled by a council of leaders of various city-states. It was mighty and could be a world power if done correctly.

"So," Amok was the one who finally said something after so long," the maps are the current status of the world as we know it."

"Let's start with the place we're in now, the Dynasties of Kengir." Manzda continued as he points to the Dynasty of Lagash.

"Lagash has lost its strength being the Spine of the North. This came from the loss of the Merchant Colonies in Hattusa as they have gone independent with them and Troy becoming kingdoms from their parent countries."

"Same goes for most cities in the north, particularly Ninive, Nuzi, and Eshnunna." Luther seeing the cities given a color of similar to other colonies outside of Sumeria proper.

"Yep, threw down the Seven and the Imperial Hirearchy in return of their own."

That alone was normal given the circumstances. Those three outlaying cities were meant to be trading cities that connect to Turkey and the Merchant Colonies to finally give the Empire a proper source of iron that could be controlled by the Sumerians, for the Sumerians. No longer needed to import it from Indus or the Elamite cities that were large and sophisticated enough to handle a trade deal of their caliber. It was rare to get any but they were looking to keep relations as good as possible to maintain trade and iron.

But now, with the loss of those cities and the great reduction of Lagash as being their northern defensive line against other barbarian tribes or Immortals who would try to make Persia is a bad thing indeed. Greatly bad if anything could be considered.

"What else can you tell me about Lagash? Have they at least managed to get some of the fleet?" Luther inquried.

"Not as much as Uruk, who have the lion's share of but the Admiralty has basically fractured and have gone to the island colonies and have maintained a sole grip over the Golden Gulf now that the Dilmun have been firmly destroyed as a people and their forcers retreated to these islands."

"Wait, I thought Uruk conquered the islands?" Amok scratched his head.

"And the Dilmun destroyed? They should be the naval power and could finally defeat the Sumerians at their own game and even start raiding our coastline if they so choose." Luther looked at them with some alarm.

This look intensified as the both of them looked at each other and Manzda just sighed and shook his head before saying,

"There was a word that you taught me and the rest of us about a great destruction of a type of people."

Luther started to look at him quizzically. His mind going through the words that he had learned through history classes and any type of synonyms but he lightly shook his head.

"I don't know the word. I know we're still going over Lagash but tell me, what happened to the Dilmun to make them become this other state."

Once again, Manzda just looked at Luther and his face went through a various of emotions before he his eyes looked at his former ruler with a sad look.

"Around ten years ago, give or take a year I think, the Dilmun had a massive slave revolt. They were led by a cult that came from nowhere at first."

"Were they part of the same cult that is being led by the same Immortal that is leading Uruk?" Luther asked.

Manzda just shrugged and shake his head at the same time," we don't know, but we do know is that they came from the west and the cult is different from the one that is being led by the False Daughter."

Luther shook his head. The west again? Did this cult also come from Yanbu or where they are primarily a desert tribe? If anything, this meant that the nomads of the Kali are a grave threat to the stability of the Near East and his neglect at trying to colonize the area or making allies with the tribes had clearly been his undoing, part of it that way. He knew that the logistics of colonizing and establishing outposts were a massive undertaking even if the Empire was united.

It seemed that the undertaking should've been done when he was in power. If to have destroyed the idea of roving cults of madmen from destroying the vestiges of order that he had managed to set up in the Near East. The order that could have been something in the world if had managed to not breakdown like he had done.

"Ok, if this cult wasn't part of the one that has fractured and renamed Sumeria, then who were they and what of their leader." Luther continued on.

"Well, we don't know of their leader. What we know that they were charismatic, managing to spread their message across the slaves and formed the uprising. The message was freedom at all cost, even to the point of outright destroying the leadership, country, and culture itself."

When Manzda said that something crossed his mind. A word, a word that had sparked an atrocity that made him physically shudder at the mere memories that brought up from his studies. It couldn't be, no, it couldn't be that. But Luther had to know, he had to know and had to ask.

"H-How many people did this uprising killed?" Luther stuttered as he asked.

It was here that the former commander was silent. Amok was just as silent as the tension started to fill in the room. Like the rising drumbeat or the rising violin that's started to play the stable notes that indicate the rise of a jumpscare in a horror movie. Luther's eyes look back-and-forth between the two brothers as he was searching for an answer, but he has been founded none for seconds, minutes. All of them seemed to bleed together as he needed to know.

"About one third of the entire population. Many cities had either been emptied or destroyed outright. They didn't just kill the nobles and the liberated the slaves-"

"They genocide the Dilmun." Luther interrupted when he said the word," they conquered the nation and established a brutal dictatorship the likes this world had ever seen."

Luther squeezed his face, and his hands were balled up to fist to the point where he his knuckles had turned white. An intense rage was felt within Luther. This rage was second to the one that was felt when his found out his wife died. He knew, he knew that he has done his share of atrocities. No Immortal who had lead a nation hadn't done their own share. He was the one who unleashed the Bloody Flux upon the people and destroy his ally and the rest of the world because of his greed. He institutionalized slavery and made the largest slave state in the world despite him wanted to get rid of it.

He has done all of these things, but never something so destructive to a massive genocide and destruction of his rival. The Dilmun deserved better, need better than just what they had gotten. They were the competition that made Ur build a mighty fleet to help rival and overtake the merchant-princes. To become the masters of the Golden Gulf. He knew that he was looking to at least vassalize the Dilmun, fight their fleet and limit the destruction of their people. It was going to be bloody, but never this bloody.

"To believe that this cult committed one of the graves acts of mankind. If this indeed came from the west and if they had some ties to the Immortal." He looks up at Menzda," What about the leader? How has he made this new theocratic state of his?"

"The uhh, prophet disappeared just when the Dilmun were conquered. His closes followers had been ruling as a council ever since, and they've been facing massive rebellion ever since." Amok explained.

"You mean that they haven't found his body? He wasn't even killed?" Luther turned his head to the teenager but turned to the older of the two where he just shook his head.

"No one of the rebel groups ever claimed the kill."

That proved it in Luther's head. There's a second Immortal that destroyed a nation. This one was more complete than what had happened to his Empire. However, this was just it. Two of them had shown up from the west, cultivated cults and destroyed decades of development for some misbegotten ethos. Their hearts and minds had set aflame the Near East and had broken the old order in two.

"I can't believe this. Can't believe that this had happened. If I didn't leav-"

"It doesn't matter since you weren't there." The Paradigm commander interrupted Luther in the beginning of his tirade.

"But this is my fault, I could've tried to help the Dilmun at least. We would be able to make sure this False Daughter or whatever from ever rising in Uruk." Luther looked at him with anger in his eyes.

"Yes, you could've done something. If you have stayed on the Secret Throne, you could've have the Paradigm be able to find this Immortal and her cult and kill her before she ever reached Uruk. you could've sent the fleet to help liberate the Merchant-Princes from the other cult and kill the second Immortal."

Menzda gets up and towered over Luthor, even though the former Emperor is taller.

"But here's the thing."

He pressed his finger into Luthor's chest.

"You faked your death."

He pressed again.

"You made your wife and daughter's worry and grieve you, grieve!"

He pressed again.

"I thought I failed you. Failed as your spymaster and failed my father."

He pressed deeper this time.

"And while you came back from your spiritual journey or whatever, you expect to come back and try to repair things! We are scattered and broken! We are about to be defeated by a woman with a Cult of Personality! We don't need your help if all you have done is acting like a sad, disgraceful person who was once our Emperor!"

It was here that Luther slowly stood up. He was looking at his former subordinate. Menzda was breathing heavy out of his anger. Luther just calmly got his bag from Amok and got his large tome and dropped it on top of the maps. Menzda looked at it for a second.

"What is it?"

Luther, still as calmly can be, grabbed his bag and his sword.

"It's knowledge, the very thing that can help you turn the tables. I put all the knowledge that I got from Nestos, our Empire, and the nations of the East. Use how you want."

Luther starts to walk out before he stopped.

"Where do you think you're going?" Menzda yelled at him.

"Uruk or Dilmun, I'm going to solve this the only way I know. I know where I'm not needed anymore but I will have my vengeance."

Luther turned his head back.

"And I will save the Near East. Even if it cost me my life, this time for real."

And thus, he walked out of the home. He slammed the door behind him.

[Saxony-Brandenburg]

First Dynasty of Kemet
The Fourth Nome
Waset Village
Second Month of Shemu
2960 BCE

Geordi had, for the life of them, no idea what shadow they’d felt upon his shoulders. For an entire week, they’d had the sense that someone had been watching them, but had no clue what it could be. They’d glared at shadows, they’d jumped with fear, shrieking at familiar faces who laughed at them, passing them in the night. Yet every time they thought the feeling had escaped them, once the sun had set… the presence came upon them again. It was unsurprising then, that eventually their friends and neighbors would notice this… strange behavior, as it began to affect their sleep, and subsequently, their work.

They’d gone to Horudja’s forge early one morning, half-asleep, barely competent. It had been a considerably long time since they had been this reckless with such dangerous equipment as that of the forge. Yet they had promised Horudja’s wife, Tadeddet, a glass bracelet as a ‘thank you’ gift for the liberal use of their forge, skills, and tools they had given them. That being said, their work would be of little use to that extent.

Geordi had begun the process as they normally had, heating up the flames of charcoal at the heart of the forge, fanning the flames to become hotter and hotter, until they burned with such strength to turn sand to its molten glowing state of liquid. A magical process to some, one repeated enough times for them to see it as a mere natural flow of things, a regular occurrence the likes of bread rising and yeast fermenting. Yet it had a certain beauty to it. An alluring beauty, one which, in their sleep-deprived state, they began to focus on, their vision drifted lazily at the shimmering colors, dripping from the cup they held aloft above the flames…

Wait… DRIPPING from the cup?

With a sudden gasp, they realized far too late that the cup which their molten glass had liquified within, had tipped ever so slightly sideways as they held it aloft, and had, at this point, become completely parallel to the ground. Far too late, their hands trembled and fumbled, and turned back up the now empty vessel to reveal all their morning’s work splattered upon the dirt floor of the forge.

To add insult to injury, upon a shameful sigh of judgment from across the room, there Horudja appeared from around the corner of their home. “Ah, what have you done now boy?” The smith asked them, placing his hands upon his hips and shaking his head with disapproval. “You’ve wasted more slag, have you? Ah, if this wasn’t wasted sand you dropped I’d have run you out of my forge!”

Geordi flushed with embarrassment at the stupidity of their actions. They quickly dropped the tongs and stone bowl with it beside the hearth, and bowed their head in shame towards the smithing master. “S-sorry, about that.” They stammered, wiping the sweat which beaded on their forehead. “I guess I just wasn’t thinking.” They added, looking to the now solidifying puddle of molten glass mixing in the dirt.

Horudja rested a hand on Geordi’s sunburnt shoulder, making them wince slightly in pain as they looked down at the man. “Oh don’t worry about it boy, I only tease you. We all make mistakes, though I will admit, I’ve seen more of your own lately than I’d care to see. What’s been going on with you, which has caused your discontent? You seem troubled, distracted. Would you care to share? Perhaps there’s something which can be done, for I’d hate to see a student as bright as you be so poorly performing in my own very forge.”

Geordi nodded slightly, kicking the now solid hunk of glass on the ground with the edge of their sandals. They yawned, feeling all at once the weight of their eyes sinking. With some desperation, they confided in him now what had troubled them and put them in such a state: “Horudja, I can’t sleep! I can’t for the love of the gods know why I feel at all times of the night being watched from somewhere in the dark. But when I look around, I don’t see anything! I don’t see anyone! At this point, I think I might be haunted by some sort of ghost.”

Horudja tapped his chin for a minute, thinking. His eyes wandered off into space, before his tongue slowly began to unroll some kind of answer: “Well, I can’t think of anything that has happened that would cause you to be haunted by an evil spirit, except… Wait. Did you see that Ptahshedu has purchased a new goat? I know that his gate looks into your home. I do not mean to attract suspicion towards a simple farm animal but, if you look at it… it has strange, perhaps evil eyes. I personally have not looked at it for long, perhaps that is what has bewitched you.”

Geordi thought about this for a moment, could this be the source of their trouble? A goat? It was certainly weird, to imagine an evil goat staring at them from across the street, it’s eyes staring into their open windows, eerily watching them. Was that normal behavior for an animal? Was it even possible? Although unsure of its veracity, they nonetheless did not have very many other options, and living like this was simply untenable. In the local custom, they would either need to tear down the home Geordi spent so long building in desperation to cleanse it of some haunting spirits, or else meet with this supposed goat. And a goat seemed far easier to reason with.

When they had left Horudja’s workshop, and did as the smith had suggested to him, to check out this goat owned by their neighbor, it was immediately clear something was off about this animal, in a way which deeply disturbed them with just a simple glance at the aniaml. This goat was pure black of fur, with bright yellow eyes which seemed to follow them everywhere they turned. Its hooves were, quite concerningly stained red with blood - or at least, that is what they assumed the red stains on them were. Even if they were not dealing with a murderous goat, Geordi’s heart still erupted into a panicked barrage against their chest as the goat slowly turned its head from the wall it had been staring at, to stare at Geordi with those bright yellow eyes. It turned its head to look up at their face, and there seemed to look them directly in their eyes.

No longer how hard Geordi tried to think of anything else for the rest of the day, their mind CONSTANTLY wandered back to that creature, staring blankly back at the fence behind which it resided. The day came and went, and though Geordi tried to distract themself with anything besides the creature which now was certainly the cause of their anxiety, it did not go away. By the time the sun had set, and Geordi had tried very hard to put themselves to bed, reminding themself that this was, indeed, just a goat. But something caught the corner of their eye. With dread seeping into their heart, and the sharp howl of the wind blowing across the now dark and empty street, Geordi stood up to look outside - and suddenly their heart stopped. It seemed that all the world had ceased to exist, and pure fear consumed them. For out there, loose, in the middle of the road, was that goat. That evil, freaky, black goat.

Inside their stomach, anger and rage began to churn, sweeping over fear and dread with the absurdity of the situation. How had a goat - a goat - caused this much disruption in them, that they had been forced to cower in a shed? If Geordi was ever to be seen as a man by his peers, it would be better to humiliate himself confronting this goat, then to be harassed by it into submission. And so, filled with more anger and adrenaline than the stoney-cold grip of fear, they slammed open the door of their shack, and stormed towards the goat, who stood unmoving in the middle of the road. Stomping their foot down into the dirt, Geordi crouched down in front of the goat, who continued to stare at them without change. They stared at the goat, watching its unmoving eyes, its completely still expression, besides a jaw which slowly chewed on something within its maw, over and over again, chewing the same piece of food. The wind gently swept across the fur of the beast, its long beard curling up in a mischievous spiral below its moving teeth.

“WHAT DO YOU WANT?” They demanded, grabbing the goat by the head. “What the hell are you? And why the shitfuck are you so weird? Can’t you be like - I don’t know - a normal goat?”

“Baaaah.” It replied, thrashing its head side to side to throw away their hands, which stayed firmly planted on the sides of the animal’s head.

“JUST STOP BOTHERING ME!” They demanded, their hands growing tighter around its horns, as the animal thrashed side to side with stronger and stronger force - before all at once pushing forward - and ramming Geordi square in the chest. With a loud thud and a gasp, Geordi fell backwards onto the ground, panicked, trying their best to hold back the animal by the head, all the while it savagely attacked them with its teeth - now free of grass, snapping towards their face.

“Get off! Get off! Get off!” They screamed, throwing the demonic animal side to side, before ultimately with one great yank throwing it, sending it tumbling across the dirt beside them. Not letting the moment be wasted, Geordi threw themself up from their knees, the dirt cutting into them. A scowl came across their face as they now faced off with the goat, each taking positions of attack, each waiting for the other to move.

“Leave me alone!” Was their cry, before running towards the goat, and pouncing upon it! “Leave me alone! Leave me alone!” They cried, as they pushed the goat off its feet, and, despite its savage bleating, threw it down upon its back, and held the goat’s arms and legs down by the weight of his body, sitting atop the goat’s stomach, and staring down at its flailing face - its alien yellow eyes bulging with fear and animalistic anger.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” They demanded. Shaking the animal's legs with an angry expression, before leaning down towards its head, snarling. “Do you need me to speak your language? Huh? Do you need me to speak goat?!” And without one second thought, Geordi yelled at the creature. “Baah! BAAAH! BAAAAAAAAAH! Do you get it?! I AM THE ALPHA GOAT. I AM THE BIGGEST RAM! NOW LET ME SLEEP!”

So immersed in their fight with the animal was Geordi, that they did not hear the swinging gate, or the quickening footsteps from across the road. It was only when they heard an angry voice that they realized someone was there watching them.

“Geordi?! What are you doing with my goat?!”

“Oh shit.” They thought. “It’s Ptahshedu.”

“Geordi?! Have you gone mad?? Why is my goat out of my yard? Why are you mounted atop him? Why are you fighting a goat?”

It seemed so stupid, in retrospect to them how it was that they had stooped so low as to get into a street fight with a goat. And even still, they weren’t sure what to do to explain it, as they looked between the goat, which had stopped it’s violent thrashing and fighting, and instead let out a simple “baah.” as all normal goats do.

“Well I…. Well you see it-”

All answers they could come up with made Geordi feel dumb, but nonetheless, what else could they say?


“The goat kept staring at me. I think it gave me the jealous eye.”

“... The goat?” Ptahshedu repeated. “It gave you the jealous eye.”

“That’s right.” Geordi affirmed, standing up from the goat, and watching as it stood back up, and began walking back towards its master’s yard, seemingly unphased by the brawl.

“... Okay. And how did my possessed goat get out here then?” He asked, looking around the street.

Geordi shrugged, unsure what to say to their baffled and enraged neighbor. “It was out here when I looked out my window, I don’t know how it got out?”

Ptahshedu raised an eyebrow, seemingly offended at such a suggestion. “What? You mean to tell me it both opened AND CLOSED my gate, and waited in the middle of the street, JUST TO STARE AT YOU?!”

With nothing else to reply, Geordi simply nodded. “That’s right.”

Ptahshedu looked at the ground, muttering for a moment, before relinquishing. “Alright Geordi. Alright. You’re a good neighbor, I’ll… I’ll move the goat or something tomorrow, ok?”

And with a sigh of relief, Geordi thanked his poor neighbor, and apologized for the ruckus so late at night. And as they went to bed, in those final moments before they plunged into the blackness of a well-needed sleep: They heard it, carried by the wind in a haunting echo.

“Baaaaah. Baaaaah.”

Geordi would not get much sleep that night, wondering if the creature truly was possessed.

[Melon Heads]

The Royal City of Uruk
2960 BCE
Olivia Ingels

To call it a summons would be incorrect, as these days, there were not many among the living who still had the authority to summon her, at least from a position of authority. Jushur and his kin, those who had been in power in Uruk since before the fragile state of the Ur Dynasty lost control itself and collapsed, were some of the few that could reasonably do so. And though Olivia held power that in these days was almost unheard of for women, even for the other consorts of Jushur with her unique position as seer of the Gishimmari, there were many that if they called, she would have to answer, at least nominally.

So it was not a summons that brought Olivia to Šelibuum’s forge, but rather a polite invitation from the man himself for her to come and see the finished collaborative product between them. Though it had taken some time, both due to other responsibilities on both of their parts, and the unique appearance of the coinage, a workable model had been devised, and a great many produced from the Lady's own coffers. The shiny, pressed ingots would certainly tarnish eventually, and the impossible words inscribed upon them were small, but they were there: Olivia’s harbingers.

Would anyone in Uruk, or frankly anyone in the rest of the world ever see them and devise the hidden message hidden upon it? Olivia knew it was unlikely, the amount of immortals in the world she had no way to know. In decades of searching, she had only met a few, and could count those she knew existed on both hands. Furthermore, there was no way of telling who they would reach. Realistically, there was only a moderate chance of these coins going much further than other parts of the Four Corners. And of the possible immortals who could be reached, what could be known about their intentions?

But dammit, Olivia was the queen of gods-damned Uruk and it’s surrounding tributaries, the providential form of Inanna and the wise woman of the Gishimmarri, if she wanted to spend some of her not inconsiderable wealth on a wild goose chase it was within her rights to do so. And if Šelibuum was in her debt, Olivia’s prestige and articulate words saving him and his workmen from the tribulations of corruption accusations, and thus would do the work without spreading word of their activities, well, that was how the world worked. What Jushur wouldn’t know wouldn’t hurt him, and these nigh unreadable coins could hardly be called an attempt at usurping him.

The metalsmith himself was busy when Olivia approached, but the Lady of Uruk had chosen specifically a day to visit him where she knew her schedule to be mostly open, and thus had the time to spare to wait inside the gates as he finished up the repair of a rather impressive -and delicate- looking statuette. The guard that had accompanied her, Emasua, waited out front as per her request. The workshop and its surrounding area would already be bustling enough with the craftsmen and those doing business with them. Not wanting to interrupt his work, as a disruption during such fragile efforts would only make her errands take longer, Olivia caught the attention of one of the lower ranking workmen, barely out of boyhood, and asked him to send the old master her way once he got a moment. Though there was a considerable amount of traffic in the area, the air hot and muggy with forge air and humanity, she was able to with discerning eyes find an almond tree under which to wait, able to perch somewhat on the low branches. And indeed it was not ten minutes before Šelibuum emerged, sweating from the incredible heat, wiping his head and thinning hair with a cloth that had definitely seen better days, in an attempt to make himself more presentable. It did not work, his hair now stood at many an awkward angle where it was not still slicked back with sweat, but Olivia smiled all the same as she stood to greet him. With him, Šelibuum carried a leather bag, the tight grip of his calloused fingers belying the weight inside of it.

She would not be carrying it back, of course. That was what guards and servants were for.

“Lady Nin-Uruk! Thank you for waiting for me, welcome again to our workshop.” Bowing and putting his free hand on his chest, Olivia nodded back at him, a shrewd but kind smile meeting his tired but honest one. “I sent word as soon as your commission was complete, I hope we did not keep you waiting too long.”

The Lady of Uruk shakes her head, dismissing his concerns. “I understand that your other work can and will take precedence, especially in the harvest season.” If she still carried the guilt she held from his too close brush with legal punishment, and it made her speak a bit more kindly to the man than she would normally be expected to, considering their respective statutes, it could at least be assured that in the bustle of the common area that any unusual turn of phrase on her part could be explained away as having been misheard. Or perhaps, the kindness she showed was just another ploy to try and draw vulnerability from the man. "But I will not lie and say I am not eager to see the finished result. Were you able to make the amount requested?"

"With barely any left over, you gave us almost the exact amount needed. The remainder is in the bag as well, Lady."

She nodded, privately glad to have been correct in her calculations of the metals worth, and beckons Šelibuum to open the bag, which he readily does. He pulls out a couple and deposits them in her waiting hands. The juxtaposition between them is interesting to Olivia for a brief moment, his boney, calloused hands covered in old and new burns a vast contrast to Olivia's more delicate hands, softer than many but still with callouses from writing and music, and scars from a harder life that had by now almost faded. But soon enough her attention turned to the coins.

"You do good work, Šelibuum. These look almost exactly how I imagined they would." The shiny coins were each a bit heavier than a quarter, and though a few of them were uneven, the majority of them were expertly pressed, the images on both sides equivalent and centered.

A surprised noise came from Šelibuum's throat at the unexpected compliment but he recovered soon enough. "Thank you for that, Lady Inanna, I'm always glad to hear that our work here is appreciated. It would be remiss for us to not perform at a high standard. I will not lie and say I'm not curious as to why you asked for ten tens of coins exactly, though."

"You mean, instead of sixty, or a multiple of such?" As would be, perhaps, the more common way to measure coinage in many parts of the Four Corners. The man nodded, and for a moment Olivia pondered, on whether her reasoning for such could be information used against her in the future, but soon decided that it was trivial enough to likely not matter. "It's just a good, even number, I would say. Lucky, even, if you believe in luck. And where I am from we would use hundreds instead of sixties for most of our counting."

"Oh, in Yanbu then, my Lady?"

"Yes, indeed. But I shouldn't take up all of your time, Šelibuum, I'm sure you have many a project to work on here, both in coin and other affairs. Should I need further commissions in the future, I would much like to return here, though."

"Of course, whatever we can help you with!"

They part amicably after some more pleasantries, Šelibuum bowing to her again as he hands the bag of coins to the guard that had escorted Olivia to the workshop. Though Olivia may have disliked the heavily encouraged practice, irked by the loss of independence that she had once had as a Nomad in Yanbu, it did have its advantages, and was almost definitely safer.

Emasua had been vetted, of course, both by Jushur's men and the council which Olivia personally governed. If his presence did not bring Olivia security, there were much larger problems at play than him.

Just because a day seemed peaceful didn't mean that a storm was not lurking just beyond the horizon. And one could not get as far as the Lady of Uruk had without carrying a fair bit of wariness about the world around them. Even so, the rest of the trip went without much excitement, and Olivia was able to return to the royal compound in which Jushur and his house resided.

Tašmetum was present when they returned, having been herself gone on an errand and only having returned a few minutes earlier. The beaded satchel she carried contrasted rather strongly with the heavy bag which Emasua brought across the threshold. Olivia would have felt worse about it, but the weather hadn't been too terrible as of late, though it had been uncomfortably balmy within proximity to the metalsmith, and in the gates of Uruk, he was not required to wear as much armor as he may have had this been an escort further out. She did make a note to relieve the young fellow of his duties soon, though.

"Emasua, please take that to my quarters, and then you may go, I shall not be heading into town again today."

The boy responded in the affirmative, and though Tašmetum did not stop him she did raise an eyebrow at her fellow consort as he passed them by.

"You went into the city, then?" A rhetorical question, Olivia thought. Of course, it was less an inquiry as to where and more as to why she had been out. She hadn’t exactly let her fellow consorts know about all of her many, many objectives. Though Jushur and Olivia had wed years ago, and thus Tašmetum and she became sisters, the glacial tension between the two had never completely melted away. “If you went to the market, we might have gone together. I didn’t see you though.”

Olivia laughed, waved her off and smiled with teeth just a bit too straight and white compared to the average person of the times. “I apologize, sister, I hadn’t realized we were both going out. I actually left fairly early this morning to pick up some fabric for new clothing, but came upon some Gishimmari who had just come into the city. We must have been speaking longer than I thought, you know how it is.”

“Then why did the bag that boy carried sound of coins?”

Of course, Tašmetum with her keen maternal eyes would be good at spotting hidden things. Olivia was reminded of, lifetimes ago, of dorm parents always wary of the scent of alcohol or bottles clanging. A long tense moment enacted, Tašmetum’s eyes marked with crows feet locked with Olivia’s own eagle glare, before the impasse was shattered by the sound of another person approaching.

“Oh, you’re both back now, that’s great!” Ikribuša’s warm voice startling both older women. “I was just looking for you, Tašmet, Sinabel has been fussy all morning. I think his teeth are coming in. I was wondering what you knew to help relieve teething pain?”

Tašmetum nodded, “That was actually one of the things I went to the market for, poppy bulbs and clove both can be useful for this, especially when mixed together.”

“That sounds great, honestly, show me how to make it?”

“Certainly, Ikribuša, I remember the concoction well. Olivia, you find us later, won’t you?”

The two wives head deeper into the compound, past a beaded decorative doorway. Ikribuša smiles again at Olivia and waves as she disappears from view, but Tašmetum stops for just a moment. She smirks, and then vanishes as well, leaving Olivia alone in the foyer.

Olivia made sure to stare back as the other women exited, eyes narrowed, but she soon relaxed as the sound of their footsteps lessened.

At this point, her fellow wives had garnered onto the fact that the consort from Yanbu was unlikely to ever bear children for Jushur, and Tašmetum in particular had been a bit too complacent about it. Her smug demeanor had lessened a bit when she was soon after reminded of the political advantages Jushur had gained from the marriage, as well as Olivia’s own loyal sect, but even still when she looked up at Olivia, it was clear that she was also looking down on her, in a way.

Of course, Olivia tried not to let it get to her, and for the most part it didn’t. Tašmetum and her were both wives of the same king, but their lives were vastly different. They had each married for different reasons, and at the end of the day the Lady of the Gishmmari did not need the woman to like her. Frankly, the current situation may have been the ideal one, instead of a life where they were like sisters. It was only practical to keep those that would try and depose her busy with other ventures, after all.

[Saxony-Brandenburg]

The Royal City of Uruk
2960 BCE

King Jushur was a cripple. This was a fact unquestionable, even by himself. His numerous accidents and close calls with injury had finally caught up to him, when in the last conflict he’d fallen from his chariot, and in such a manner that he irreparably shattered his left leg. The ladies of the goddess Ninisina had told him he would never recover. He knew this of course, he felt it every day. Every day when he got up from his bed, and felt the terrible pain of merely standing up. He walked with a cane, always keeping the weight of his body on his right leg. It made him walk awkwardly, he was humiliated. He had lost half of his strength. The best he could do, shamefully, was work his upper body. He lifted stones and bricks of heavy metal, he stretched his arms and free leg. Yet none of this had done well to return him to his previous condition. All the pain in his body held him to an inevitable decay. He had gained weight. He was growing softer by the minute. All he could do was look to his son, Gilgamesh, who ran daily with his beloved Enkidu. He had to keep suppressed the resentment he felt towards his own boy. What jealousy he felt, that he so envied his son.

Yet while Jushur was alive, he had a pride to maintain. Not merely for vanity, no, but to maintain the myth of royal strength, of royal supremacy which stitched the dynasty of his forefathers together. If it was to be that he could not maintain his prestige by a matter of his personal physical greatness, he would have to proclaim an evident majesty and greatness another way. He would have to project his prestige onto something outside him, evidence that though his body’s strength may be waning, the strength of his crown had only grown.

Yet if Jushur wanted to make known his accomplishments as being worthy of history, not merely of restoring the dynasty of his forefathers, but of being worthy to be paramount among those kings who once reigned over all the cities of Kengir, he would have to look no further than their radiating mark upon his city. That which looked over all among them. That which all life in Uruk centered. He would have to best the White Temple, the Ziggurat of Anu. He would have to build his own Ziggurat, a second within the city of Uruk.

The ambition of Jushur was to build a ziggurat which did not merely compare to the white temple, but was indeed taller than it. For the purpose of a son was to not merely maintain the gardens of his father, but to expand them, and see the orchards grow taller and the fields grow wider, that he may do right by the inheritance he’d been given.

The platform of the Ziggurat of Anu was only 24 cubits (40 feet) tall. While this allowed the temple atop it, which stood at 14 cubits (23 feet) tall, to tower above even the mighty walls of the city - it simply was not impressive enough now to match all the majesty and glory which had now been transferred away from the city, and towards his personage. He would have one taller, at least twice that height. For what had limited his forefathers was not ability, for the matter of stacking mud brick one atop another for many cubits was conceptually easy. Nor was it a matter of ambition, for their ambitions had taken them to conquer all the cities of Kengir - which bowed before them as kings of kings. What had failed them, was that which drove him. For the scope of their offices were simply too small for them to conceptualize a monument of such scale. They did not stand in the shadows of buildings ever that tall. Never did such an office as kingship either stand so tall.

It was in the spirit of this new royal majesty that he desired to construct such a monument, that its patronage would have to change. Anu, Lord of the sky, was that which the priest-kings of Uruk embodied to gain the authority of the heavens to lead their people. Now, with his right thoroughly cemented in his ability by the sword to rend the masses to bow to him and his office, that he held the wealth and power of the city as a singular figure, the patronage of this new Ziggurat would take on a similarly personal figure. Naturally, there was but one choice: The patron goddess of his dynasty, The Divine Lady Inanna.

Jushur didn’t mind that such a Ziggurat would only embolden his wife’s authority over religious and symbolic life in his city. For despite all the powers he delegated to her, it was astounding and reassuring to him how humble she remained towards him. Her full name, as written on personal decrees was “The Servant of Inanna”, though going by the goddess's name in common parlance. When in his presence, or in carrying out his authority, he had heard it said that she referred to herself as “The Servant of Jushur”, or even “The Slave of Jushur”. Such was a level of personal humility, that not even his other wives would dare to pronounce themselves such a way. This was to say that he found her trustworthy enough, that constructing a new temple which would fall under her domain and high priestess of the goddess Inanna would not be a liability.

Yet Jushur was no builder, he did not possess the skills of the trade his wife called “A craftsmen of buildings” or as she said in the foreign tongue: “Ar-ki-tet”. Thus it would be required that he enlist the help not only of his chief masons, all of whom had never worked on such an immense project before, but also lesser craftsmen, such as the one Inanna had enlisted to build the bathhouse which all the noblewomen of the city were known to frequent.

With their help, the most immediate step in the mere planning of such a building would be where to actually build such a massive structure. It was true that vast swaths of the city had been cleared a few years prior, as they enlisted the labor of hundreds of his subjects to demolish the abandoned houses of those who died in the great sack of Uruk by Ur, and the years of neglect and strife which followed. And though this gave much room for mid-sized constructions, such as a bath house, the wrestling arena, and many public squares - the footprint of such a structure would be much larger, and what’s more, would be most beneficial to be upon a hill to begin with. Thankfully, there was a solution to the matter.
The city of Uruk had been built among a number of hills, radiating out from the White Temple in the center. Although there had already been a temple to Inanna existing for some time, this was not in the vein of the white temple one with a platform, but instead a simple building of mud-brick which existed beside the temple of Anu. In order to construct such a building, it was important for it to rest on the same central hill of the city which the white temple did, a hill which luckily stretched some distance, over 30 lines (1800 meters) wide at its widest. Although there were other things to consider, such as the sheer size of the footprint such a temple twice as tall would demand, and the size of free space surrounding the temple needed to act as a construction site, and as such, the ziggurat would be unable to be placed next to the White Temple of Anu, as originally intended. Instead, it would have to be located some 11.5 lines (700 meters) to the north-east of it. This meant that, though it would require the destruction of a number of homes and buildings, a site could be made sitting upon the Northern side of the same hill, and similarly well centered in the middle of the city.

As it stood not only atop the hill, but the land they had selected being of itself a natural rise in the terrain over other parts of the hill, the masons had told Jushur that by placing it so they could save a few thousand mud bricks by doing so. Although he did not personally understand the intricacies of building a base, this was rather rudimentary enough for him to concur. Should they build a platform atop an already raised part of the hill, some of the hill could be incorporated below the platform as part of its foundation, saving them time and labor in a project which may take more years than he had left upon this side of Kur.

Before they could even begin, however, a design for the ziggurat would need to be made, alongside a thorough survey to determine how much land would need to be cleared not simply beneath the base of the ziggurat, but also for sufficient walkways and ceremonial promenades surrounding it.

While the option to build such a temple in the likeness of the White Temple of Anu, only taller, was tempting - he was driven on advice of his wife, Inanna, who was brought in after expressing considerable desire to advise the project which she would one day most likely administrate due to the ziggurat’s future consecration. She suggested to him, quite compellingly, that the most logical way to build a second Ziggurat which was more than twice as tall as the first would be as a multi-tiered platform, with instead of a more natural shape as the White Temple had taken, to evenly straighten the base into a rectangle. This way, she argued, an even calculation could be made for the required amount of mud brick, earth, and stone to construct it - as well as, given it’s sheer height, simplify the design for a multi-tiered platform. Ultimately his masons agreed, and suggested that the Ziggurat could be made of three platforms, each concentrically smaller than the last, coming to a summit at the top. At its very peak of 70 cubits (117 feet) high, more a mountain than a hill, this would surely place he who stood at the top among the clouds.

The first platform would be the widest and tallest, with a base of 126 cubits (210 feet) long, 90 cubits (150 feet) wide, and 35 cubits (58.3 feet) tall. It would be one platform, but with sloped sides, which, while sheer, would still be approximately five cubits of slope for each of the four walls. This meant that, while the base of the platform was 126 cubits by 90 cubits , its summit was only 116 cubits by 80 cubits, accounting for the slope of the walls. While a significant loss of space, this still gave the summit of the platform 9,280 square cubits of area to work with, which would be truly massive. Inanna then suggested that this terrace between the edge of the platform and the next tier could be used as a garden, butt Jushur’s more practically-minded masons encouraged caution, as the sheer amount of water for even more water-conservative plants which would be needed to maintain such an elevated garden would be excessive to say the least, and near impossible to transport daily, at most. Yet still, it was an impressive dream, one which intrigued Jushur enough to answer with a “if it were ever possible for my servants to do so, I would build a garden which hung down from the sky, for all to see and marvel at.”

The second platform would be significantly smaller than the first, with a base of 70 cubits (117 feet) long, 60 cubits (100 feet) wide, and 15 cubits (25 feet) tall. The slopes of each side could be drastically reduced, the walls far more sheer as the weight imposed from above, so his masons said, would be orders of magnitude less. With a slope of only 3 cubits wide, the summit could be 67 cubits long, 57 cubits wide, and with a platform of 3,819 square cubits.

The third and smallest platform would have a base of 57 cubits (95 feet) long, 47 cubits (78 feet) wide, and with a height of 10 cubits (17 feet). With an allotment of an incredibly narrow 2 cubits of slope, this would give its summit a platform of 55 cubits by 45 cubits, or 2,475 square cubits of space to work with. All of this space would be necessary, as the entire summit of this tier would be dedicated to the temple of Inanna herself. The sanctuary and her statue would be placed there, in a large stone building much like that of the White Temple of Anu, only significantly smaller in total size. Rather than a complex which housed in itself all the functions of the temple of this goddess, the temple’s storehouses, libraries, records, and offices would need to exist at the base of the ziggurat. Rather than a platform for a temple to be placed atop it, the platform itself would be a temple for the goddess. The summit was not the place wherein a temple could be built, but rather the holy of holies itself, protected not by shields of walls and columns, but by height itself. That, being so high up in the air, it would be already so distanced from mortal earth and the mortals that stood in awe below.

Yet there would be a secondary purpose, one which Jushur insisted upon, which complicated matters. For below the temple, within the top layer of the Ziggurat - he wished for a large chamber to be placed. Made from solid stone blocks, as opposed to the mud-brick which constituted much of the structure’s intended materials, so that it could bear the weight of the massive stone structure above it. Within that chamber, he willed that to be his burial tomb. That if it should ever be built, within or beyond his lifetime - his body was to be interred within. A final monument to both his piety, and greatness. Both Tomb and temple. A place for his founded dynasty to rest for generations.

This entire structure would be accompanied by three massive staircases, one jutting from the center, and two running flush against the front face in either direction. The central “grand staircase”, would run directly up from its base to the temple at its summit, with a landing at the first and second platforms to access them. Nine cubits wide, it would be enough for five men to walk side-by-side up these stairs easily, allowing for even a team of oxen to be driven up to the summit for sacrifice. The two other staircases, only leading up to the largest first platform, would be flush against the platform’s summit a solid four cubits wide, or enough for two men to walk easily side-by-side. Because of the sloping sides, these two staircases, along with minor staircases for accessing the second tier from the first, would be the only fully sheer sides of the ziggurat’s walls. To make this structurally sound, it would require solid blocks of limestone to be mortared together only upon these two walls between the staircases and the platform. And only the walls which were above the staircase’s steps truly needed this, meaning that half of these walls could still be mud-brick, with the width of the staircase providing more than enough stability for the platform. It was only between the two flush staircases and the grand staircase, jutting out several cubits from the structure itself, that the front wall needed its sloping sides.

At the very summit of the entire structure the temple of Inanna would be. In its own right ten cubits tall (17 feet), with sheer straight walls of brick glazed the color of blood, and adorned with tile reliefs of lions all around, both inside and out. With doors of cedar wood six cubits tall inlaid with gold. Inside would be but two rooms: In the front beyond such great doors, the sanctuary, with an alter of sacrifice, and where offerings and holy relics could be kept. Behind a second set of doors, the Divine Lady Inanna herself. Not an idol of her, as the Gishimmari had fashioned in Nippur, but the statue that was believed to be Inanna in whole.

Naturally - the construction of a literal mountain of earth, consisting of multiple million mud-bricks, and almost a million glazed bricks would be necessary. A task which, even with hundreds of brickmakers dedicated to nothing but its production, would take time. Time not merely to make the bricks, but to stack them, mortar them with bitumen, and to build up from there. Time to clear the site of rubble, time to transport the stones and cedar, of which Uruk had few. Yet Jushur had one thing in abundance, especially now that he reigned in times of peace. A resource he could call upon in the thousands to see this done. A resource which was so powerful in their number, that ensured he may see the completion of this wonder which would stand taller than any building in the entire world. He had the manpower to throw at the issue. Without war, and flush wish the immense wealth in his personal treasury from the despoiling of two cities, and ransoming their inhabitants - Jushur could raise, equip, and drive thousands of bodies, like ants, to swarm this task. And though Jushur left the minutiae of the design and construction to his masons, there was one part of this monumental effort which he took it upon himself to lead with.

Jushur had his pride, his legacy, written into this monument. If he could build this, it would mean he had succeeded in not simply restoring his forefather's dynasty, but surpassing it. He was desperate to see this project done. Jushur was willing to dump as much wealth, as many men, as much of his kingdom as needed to see it done.

And the Lugal’s will would be done, even if all the world stood in his way.

---

Nippur, Kengir.
Itud Ezem-maḫ.

Year Three of The Gishimmari City of Nippur

Umm Kharuf, “Our Lady at The Left Hand of Inanna.” She who has seen the future written into the stars. She whose eyes are open, while all around her are blind. The prophet of Abzu, the bringer of divine providence. She wears a single cloth draped over one shoulder, it is the color of saffron. The other shoulder is the color of milk. Her eyes are dark, they are shaded by rings of Khol. Through the darkness, she is blinded from the mystifying veil of falsehood, laid upon the world by misery and pain. Thus, she sees the ripples which cross Abzu’s surface. There she watches the waves from the shore.

She holds a chain of seashells in her left hand, a bundle of Kunibu leaves in her right. From the chain of prayers hangs three pendants: “The Grin”, “The Star”, and “The Face of Peace.” They shimmer in the light of the Utu’s rays. Yet in the light of Nanna, beneath the shroud of night, only quiet white shimmers of the silver-metals glimmer in candlelight.

There she sits, surrounded by her loyal Fetayyin fighters - among them, the noble man Ghassan and lady Dalila, who had sworn their loyalty to her as agents of the prophets' will. They formed a circle in the dark room, sitting on the stone floor, passing cups of coffee between each other. The coffee had been prepared in the normal fashion - yet upon its service, was topped with liquid Kunibu butter, which formed a thick and greasy yellow oil which rested atop the dark, black drink. As they passed the medicinal elixir between one another, they addressed each other as brother and sister, thanking them, drinking of the cup, and handing it to the next.

They had gathered not merely to share in fraternity and companionship, but to celebrate this special occasion.

For upon that very night it had been five years since first she led the Gishimmari to The Land of Noble Lords. It had been seven years since they had found their sign in the sky to mark the favor of their goddess. It had been nine years since they had decided to reject their Yanba’awi neighbors, and went north seeking their promised land.

Yet the significance of this night was not merely a matter of the date. For they had another reason to celebrate - a far stranger one. For they sat and shared within a tomb - one which had finally been completed after a year of construction. A short walk from Nippur, in the rocks and ridges outside of it, a shrine is carved into a solid rock face. Two statues of women stand on either side of the doorway, holding in their hands bowls of oil, from which a thick wick protrudes, burning their small lights brightly in the darkness of the night. The doorway itself, two large panels of intricately carved wood, are dedicated with words etched into them, and painted over in the red letters of the Gishimmari alphabet:

“Here lies the watchful Shepherdess. While she sleeps, may Abzu’s waves be still. While the lays, may the storms be calm. She whose mind’s eye was open. She who saw through the veil of a world of sin and pain. Her eyes will open once more.”

Back inside the tomb, when all had drank from the coffee, their lady takes a pipe from beside her. Pure white and polished to a shine, it is made from a single bone. From a jar, she takes the dried Kunibu, and places it into the bone-pipe. With red-hot metal glowing within the fire, she lights the dried buds, and breathes in the smoke, filling her lungs. With a sigh of the relaxed wisdom, the stimulated consciousness which the plant provided. She passed the pipe to the woman to her left, and there she passed it on, until it came all around the circle, and back to her.

In front of each of her acolytes, there lay two things: the knives which symbolized their service in defense of their mistress, and chains of wooden prayer beads, which she had gifted each of them this day.

Inanna held in front of her the chain of seashells, raising it so all around her could see it. There she lead them in prayer, beginning with that one to the left of the three hanging pendants, and continued on by each of them, until she had made a full circle back to the first:

“In this world of pain and sin, our body and soul are torn in two. In Abzu’s waters I will find peace. In my virtue, I find my salvation. I am no longer an Island. Within Abzu, we are one being. Under al-Sharia, our eyes open, we meet the gods.” She began, before beginning the shell-chain:

“For my spirit’s courage, I pledge myself,
For my spirit’s temperance, I pledge myself,
To my spirit’s diligence, I pledge myself,
To my spirit’s patience, I pledge myself,
To my spirit’s selflessness, I pledge myself,
To my spirit’s humility, I pledge myself,
To my spirit’s charity, I pledge myself.”

“Bi-la Kaifa.” They echoed back to her.

Inanna sighed, as she reached the end of the chain, and lowered her hand back to the ground. She looked across the circle. These were the men and women who had dedicated themselves most closely to her service. There were thirty of them in total, none of them ‘priests’ per se. The institution of the priesthood was for the pleasing of the gods, and the working with them. This was different. This was something raw, a search of the soul in the universe. They dedicated themselves not to the gods, but to her. They sought wisdom, and to understand the nature of the nondual reality of the body and soul. To the Gishimmari, she was the Shepherdess. She was the left hand of the goddess of blood. She was their prophet. Not in need of worship, but in need of reverence. In need of following. In need of understanding. In need of protection. So had they sworn to uphold. So had they sworn to defend. They were warriors, not preachers. The most zealous, the most fierce, the most loyal warriors she could ask for. Both fighters and mystics, her Fetayyin pledged themselves in the future tomb of their prophet to the virtues she espoused.

Speaking to them, now in words not of prayer to Abzu but of prophetic serenity, of a friend confiding in another, of understanding of the future, she addressed them:

“Brothers and Sisters, I must make my will and testimony out to you now, for though I hold Inanna’s favor within me, there can be no arrogance greater than to deny the frailty of one’s corporeal form. This is why I have brought you here, to tell you all of a vision I have had. A vision, which may waver the spirit of men of little virtue or wisdom. Yet I tell you this, for you are all men and women of virtue and wisdom, and thus I trust you to hear my words, find solace in them, and do as I have asked of you when the time comes.

For in my dreams I have seen my own death. Struck down by the blade of a demon, it may not be soon, but I have read the future and thus seen it will come. And when that time comes, I ask that you bring me here, to this tomb, where I may rest. For I promise you, that no matter how badly I have been struck down, no matter how much of me is torn away, no matter how fallen and still my body may be: I shall return. I ask of you this, to hold still in your trust in me as your teacher, and to keep a watch, and a candle, alight outside my tomb. To dress me, as if I was sleeping, in my best of robes and my best of jewels, inside this room. To leave sealed water and preserved food for me, so that no matter how long I must remain entombed, I can return to you as I have left you. Blessed will you be, who will do me this. For you who will do me this kindness, will be the sacred few. Your loyalty will be rewarded, this virtue so great, and such worthy of praise.

And when you lay me down, I ask that you face my palms towards the heavens, and in my mouth place three pieces of the western medicinal mushrooms in my mouth. So that while I sleep, and I will be sleeping, I will be able to speak to the Gods upon their level. And while my body is resting, Inanna, the mistress of whom I am beloved, may rekindle my soul, and thus nourish my body as it lays there. May I ask you to do this?”

And when she asked them this, her wide-eyed and zealous followers nodded and spoke amongst themselves - not shouting, for too calm were they with tea and smoke, but agreeing with religious purpose, divine reverence, to do as they had asked. And when they had agreed, the lady placed down her prayer beads, and took up the knife which was placed infront of her, and holding it aloft, bid those around her do the same.

“Then I ask you swear upon the blades which I have entrusted you to defend not only me, but your people, and the virtues of the Gishimmari and of the Sharia, that you shall not waver in your faith. That you shall, even in my absence, fight the demons and the vampires which prey upon the land. That you shall uphold your honor, and the honor of your people, and defend their way of life, their honor, and their rightful lords to your undying breath. But not only as followers, but as leaders of your own right. To go back to your families, tribes, and villages and teach them to do as such. To remind them to conduct themselves with virtue and wisdom, and to protect them from the influence of false shepherds, those who would lead them astray.

Finally, I ask of you your greatest burden. You who stay at my side, who defend my home and my person while I travel and while I sleep, that you will protect me with your lives. By your loyalty, I will reward you. By your virtue, Abzu will in turn. Will you promise me to take on this lofty burden?”

“Bi-La Kaifa, Lady, I swear you this.” Replied the noble Ghassan, and so agreed all those surrounding them, who echoed him:

“Bi-la Kaifa, lady, we swear you this!”

And humbling herself, The Lady at The Left Hand of Inanna placed down the bundle of Kunibu leaves in her left hand, and prostrated herself to the circle.

“I owe you my life, my beloved family of noblemen and women. And though I cannot grant it to you, for my soul is pledged to serve my mistress in heaven, my Lady Inanna. Yet all praise be to you, who have selflessly promised your lady and mistress upon this earth to serve her so well. May Abzu’s tides favor you, may they carry you on tall waves towards fortune. This I pray for all of you.”

By this time, the Kunibu which they had drank had begun to be felt in their veins, which, while mild, elevated all those who partook of it in an intoxicating manner. Yet rather than blinding them, as alcohol and the accursed Hul Gil did, many found themselves enlightened by the warmth which swam in their minds.

And so Inanna reached out with her open hands, and bid those around her do the same, until they had all clasped each other in a ring. There they sang prayers in praise of their gods. There they recited the list of all the gods of their people: of long before, and of today. They remembered and praised, so that it may not be forgotten.

“By Al-Lat and Al-lah, the Lord father of the sky and Lady mother of the earth we first sung praise. By Hubal and by Quzah, by Allat and Manat, and by al-Uzza our people prayed. By An and Enlil, by Enki, Nabu, and Nanna, by Utu and Ninhursag, by Ninurta, Nergal and Dumuzid, Erishkegal, Gula, and Bau, by Nanshe, Ninlil, and Ninkasi, and by Inanna, and her servant Ninshubur we now sing praise. Bi-La kaifa.”

[Orostan]

THE EMPIRE OF CHINA - AARON DAWSON
BRITTLE IRON FIST II - 2960 BC

Luoyang

An army can't campaign forever nor should it. That was why after every burst of expansionism a period of rest was required. Cities had to be garrisoned, administration had to be established, and laws needed to be written. To aid in that process the leaders of every group the Chinese conquered or convinced to join them were made to come to Luoyang as soon as they could. While the army of blue robed bureaucrats went to their people and taught them how to live in Aaron's empire, Aaron himself handled teaching the local elites he wanted to assimilate how to rule in Aaron's empire. Most of them weren't even elites in the strictest sense of the term. They were respected elders, Chiefs who came from tribes where the passing down of authority from father to son was not totally entrenched yet and needed to keep their position through largess and gift giving, or in only rare cases the rulers of organized settlements that exerted control over the villages surrounding them in an early form of the way a city state might do the same thing.

All of them were treated equally in front of Aaron. In front of foreign merchants and diplomats as well as Aaron's own men they were organized into neat rows in the city square. Grouped by the provinces they would belong to and with the appointed governor of that province standing in front of them they bowed in the typical way that predominated in the Yellow River region to the Emperor who stood on an elevated platform in the at the front of the city's square. It must have been an impressive display for the foreigners who observed. So many people from places in the world they had never seen before pledging allegiance to an Emperor whose even more foreign appearance set him apart from the rest. "What type of man could conquer all of these people?" They must have been asking themselves.

Aaron surveyed the crowd. He liked to think he could tell which of them, in the front row at least where he could actually distinguish their stony expressions without the glasses he had missed for more than fifteen years now, had hints of respect and which had a hint of something else. It didn't matter though. He had already spoke to them, today they were only receiving letters and gifts from him before they would depart back to wherever they came from and where Aaron's men had already established the structures of organized government they would be working through.

He gestured to a soldier - a captain in his army who was responsible for Aaron's personal guard who was just below the raised wood platform Aaron was standing on. He immediately understood and he and a number of his men began distributing the letters and baskets of gifts to the local elites on carts that were usually used to transport bowls of rice in the many large communal eating halls that existed in Luoyang. Bowls of Rhinoceros ivory were given to those who lived in areas which the animals didn't live, and bowls with jade axe heads were given to those who came from places where there were no mountains to extract jade from. Every gift was something that the people receiving it hadn't seen before. It took no more than a few minutes for the process to be completed, and then the groups began to exit the city square. Aaron would be the last to leave before the square was reopened to normal activity.

---

"Damn the Emperor!"

The elder chief silenced his son. "I won't have the Liang clan lose its position just because you can't keep your mouth shut, Kong."

Kong, in his early twenties and with the long hair tied back that was common among his people and most people in Aaron's empire, scowled.

"The Liang clan has already lost its position. We had already defeated the Emperor twice before in his first and second states, why is the third any different?"

The chief stopped on a street corner as an ox drawn cart filled to the brim with reddish iron ore rolled by. No doubt bound for the furnaces. "The first two states were experiments of his. The third one is for real. Our friends in the mountains tried to oppose his army were destroyed. The first time he would have only taxed them after conquering, the second time he would have moved them, but the third time he destroyed them totally. It is the difference between day and night."

The chief and his son crossed the street. The warriors who protected them and received apprehensive glances from passing citizens of Luoyang crossed too. "Better to die free than live as a slave." said Kong.

The chief rebuked his son. "If the Emperor wanted to enslave us he would have simply done it. You should study for the Imperial Test rather than consider a pointless act that would get our people sent to the mines or worse. At least we can stay on our land and the Emperor will send us tools and plows in exchange for his taxes. The Emperor is a bad man, but he does not offer a bad deal."

"A good deal from a bad man is never made with good intentions."

They had arrived at the waiting horse drawn Chinese carriage that would take them home, and the Chief said before he climbed in ahead of his son; "Better that the Emperor be bad and offering good deals than be good and offering bad deals like people accused him of before."

[G-Tech Corporation]

Part 7, Chapter 2: The Shores of the Wine-Dark Sea

November 8th, 40 AG

Whisps of smoke rose from the treeline ahead, and my heart was weary. I knew what those innocuous lines of gray and black rising to embrace the day's cloudless sky meant. Sure, they could have been cookfires, or hearthfires, or funeral pyres for the fallen. But that wasn't what they were. Not here, north of the Condominium, in the lands of Muntenia the boy-soldiers of the Single Market had invested.

Beneath me my destrier was placid, content to walk at his gentle trot alongside the rest of the mounted company. Though the acrid smell of smoke sang strong and inexcusable in my nostrils, he had long ago been accustomed to the scent. Truth be told I was too, and it took a conscious force of will to recall it to mind, for it clung to man and cloth and tree alike in ever-present refrain.

It was well that there had been strong snows these past weeks. Otherwise the fires which were burning out the interlopers from the Crimea could very easily have spread and consumed formidable swathes of the countryside. Some of the locals had fled south and, to my chagrin, some north to our enemies - but most had remained, and would look poorly on the devastation an unchecked blaze could inflict on their timber stocks.

A curious sort of war. The emissary dispatched to Mountain Cove had not returned, and now I was beginning to doubt we would ever seem him again amongst the living. No formal declaration of hostilities from the Single Market, only small armed bands filtering south through the coastal plains and the great fir forests of upper Besarabia to try and ambush Imperial fighters in their outposts and along the highways.

In many way this war had strange echoes of the conflict which had consumed the Five Kindreds, when the Icedonians had sought to butcher all those who did not accept their rule beyond the walls of Fort Defiance. That similarity had all but confirmed, to my mind, the ultimate origin of the men of Mountain Cove - not that I had had any strong doubts prior to this juncture. A place adopting ideas out of time like company stocks, playwriting, defensive alliances... yes, that had all the hallmarks of another Traveler, and thus a danger of almost incomparable scope.

It was well, then, that the axioms of the future applied to our present that they had chosen were, well, significantly less compatible than they had likely assumed.

Even as the men of Andonia had, they fought as small units afoot, trusting to their dispersion and the strength of their individual arms to render attempts to pin them down and fight them inoperable. But those were always tactics for another time, another place. I could only assume such tactics had been valid against other local kindreds due to sheer martial prowess and the dint of organization, and thus gone unchallenged, but they were a rather different narrative when placed against a true army, not tribal militiamen. Yes, a man trained for war in both body and mind will triumph when you compare him to a summer soldier who farms nine months of the year. But put against the organization and experience of the Imperial Armies, ah, she is a different tale which must be told.

The path we followed was rough hewn, planked no doubt by debt-serfs working off their time and using the ample timber of the endless woodlands for the needs of the state. But not far from it, a great stand of charred ground displayed where one of the luckless bands of the Single Market had met her end. There was still a faint odor of repulsive sickly-sweet roasted meat in the air, which even my nerves were not overfond of.

A simple truth, for simple men. Defeat in detail is a sterner master than any small-unit tactics, and where men do not possess the ability to strike larger formations with devastating lethal force, larger formations win the day. My understanding from the Lord-Commanders involved in this advance into Muntenia was that they had faced very little of what they would call formal opposition, only their marching companies swallowing up small armed band after small armed band with little in the way of casualties or concern. Down here in the south they had never fought the Icedonians, and still kept advancing cautiously, certain despite my missives on the subject that a large Single Market army would manifest at the next spur of favorable terrain.

It would not be so, on that I would lay large amounts of money. Heh. Maybe I actually would Garrulus was a betting man, and he loved a good wager. But I had little doubt the soldiers of Mountain Cove lacked both the agency to change their tactics when they displayed a lack of success, and the current military backbone to oppose meaningfully the advance of the 7th and the 10th toward the wash of the Siret.

A bloody business. One I would have avoided, if I could. But the men of the Crimea chose war when they thought they could undermine the governor in Varna, and if they were to suffer for their miscalculation, so it would be. I stared across the charred battleground for another minute, etching the scene of black corpses into my memory. They would suffer, aye, but their people would unfortunately have to suffer first.

[Orostan]

THE EMPIRE OF CHINA - AARON DAWSON
2960 BC

Qi Province (modern day Shandong) - Mo Guanyu

Mo struggled to keep his footing through the snow. His thick fur lined boots kicked up particles of the stuff as he struggled over the terrain with the rest of his unit, all of which wore nearly identical heavy coats with their unit markings on the sleeves and back. Mo himself wore a red and black band around his arm which indicated a lower ranked officer. He had been promoted and the privileges of that came with an equal measure of suffering.

He got to the top of the hill. His men behind him followed with their halberds waving above their heads as they scrambled to follow their officers. Two other lower ranked officers with white bands around their arms directed the small swarm of men in brown military coats up the ridge.

"What now commander?" one of the white banded men asked between gasps for air.

Mo scanned the white field below him. Snow was still falling in some lonely flakes. There had been more of it falling only moment ago. A faint barely disturbed line of snow was all that was left of the enemy's path. They had to have passed only minutes earlier.

Mo unsheathed his iron sword and pointed in the direction the path led. "That way!" he called out, and his men followed him.

The group ran down the hill and across the field towards the trees at the other end. Mo knew there was a river in this direction, and if his enemy was allowed to reach it they would be able to board a boat and escape. His prodigious strength helped him avoid becoming exhausted in the snow but some of the weaker men among his unit were not so lucky to have Mo's muscles. He'd have to stop for them soon if the enemy didn't show up. Separation from the group could mean death in recently conquered territory.

An javelin whizzed by Mo's head and he reflexively ducked as the projectile lodged itself in a tree stump beside him. "Battle line, at the enemy!" he called out. His squads began assembling themselves into a line as they put what strength they still had into charging the bandits who were quickly preparing their bows again. Mo fell in beside them as the bandits wearing patchwork fur coats left their concealed positions to run. Another shot from an arrow struck one of the Imperial soldiers and he fell with a cry. His comrades charged on without them. The ones which had bows were stopping to shoot and then advancing again.

The bandits were shooting back as well. What javelins they had were thrown, and they stopped to shoot back with their bows as well. Their bows weren't as good though because they didn't have the recurve shape the Imperial ones did. Mo observed that his men were more accurate as well.

A bandit fell into the snow with an arrow in his back. The others did not look back as the distance between them and the crowd of pursuers was increasing from the soldiers tiring out. Suddenly the bandits stopped and all of them began to notch arrows in their bows. Many of the soldiers did the same while the rest put their remaining energy into keeping their halberds in front of them while they charged the bandits. Motion at the line of trees behind the bandits caught Mo's attention - the blur of movement and the flash of a green rebel banner. An ambush!

"Retreat! Bows, one volley and flee!" Mo yelled to his men. The halberdmen stopped and began running the other way. The bowmen set lose their arrows and began to run away as well.

---

Ji, Qi Province

Although the coastal regions had only relatively recently been re-conquered and were still regarded as a rough area one wouldn't know it by the provincial capitol at Ji. Its streets were wide, its market hall could fit thousands, and the sanitation laws were strictly enforced. Livestock huts and enclosures were put in their own area of the city inside its walls which were in the process of being built up. The entire rural population around Ji could be put to work during the winter in shifts to build up the city and the irrigation works that were expanding outward around it. It was difficult and uncomfortable work during the cold winter but it was necessary for the state to make use of all labor it could. The people would accept being driven hard if they believed that the deeper the ditches were dug and the bigger the city was corresponded to their own prosperity. The harsh punishments for those that failed to meet their obligations to the state helped as well.

Kong gazed out at the teams of workers from a tower in the city's stone brick government compound and wondered if his clan back in Jin province was being worked just as hard. It was amazing that the Empire could make so many people suffer in the cold for so long. Most of them would only receive hot meals as a reward and it could be years until the expansion of irrigation works reached some of their far off villages. But they worked anyways, and worked well. The most productive workers would receive tax liens for their villages.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. "You should get inside. We have our own work to do." It was the Governor of Qi Li Hu.

"Not as difficult as theirs I hope." He responded while gesturing to a work team pulling up a thick wood beam for a large building.

"Come." Li said, and Kong walked down the stairs with him. "Ours is a different type of work that is sometimes more difficult."

"More difficult than hard labor in the freezing snow?" Kong asked as the two descended the cylindrical stairwell.

Li was accustomed to this line of questioning. "Anyone can develop big arms if they use them every day. Fewer can develop a big mind."

"You have said that before, it doesn't answer my question, Governor." Kong tried to maintain the right tone. He was only vice governor, Li was supposed to be his superior and treated with respect.

The two exited the stairwell into the hall of the government complex where the air was warmer and heated by steam directed under the stone floor. "Weaving a good coat is less physically intensive than breaking apart rocks for iron. That doesn't make it less important work, or less challenging. It's the same way for government, which is about convincing others to help you so you can help them and both can benefit." said the Governor.

They walked down the hallway and entered the doorway into Li's office. It was a large room with bamboo slip books piled up on tables and decorated with repeating flower-like floor tile patterns. All of them exactly identical because the tiles had been shaped by a machine rather than a man. The Governor gestured for Kong to sit across from him at the only clear table while Li took his own seat in front of a window that was closed with a wood shutter to keep the heat in.

Li explained while Kong took a seat. "Convincing even a skeptical man to work all winter isn't so difficult when skepticism can't break iron or water his crops in the summer. When hard work is a necessity and people believe in it they can be made to do anything."

"I hope they don't 'convince' us to do similarly hard work."

Li laughed. "The Emperor does that."

[Suriyanakhon]

Natee Nantakarn

Plunge.

That was the first sensation that greeted me. I startled awake in time to feel the sudden rush of water in my lungs. What the hell. That was the sole thought in my head, or the closest equivalent to an intelligible thought, as I kicked and thrashed in an attempt to push myself above water. The part of my brain concerned with thinking and rationalizing was completely turned off, I didn't even know how to swim but I somehow managed to grab onto something, either a log or a piece of debris, and held on long enough to rise to the surface and paddle to the nearest shore.

I coughed and sputtered as I clawed my way onto the shore, throwing up what felt like gallons of water in between. Panic started to set in. I don't want to die, I don't want to die, I don't want to die. I thought to myself, trying to tell myself that I wasn't dying until finally my coughing and vomiting gradually died down and I was able to look around at my environment. It was... a jungle. A vast uncultivated jungle surrounded me for as far as my eyes could see, the sounds of birds and even, what I could swear, sounded like apes, seemed to come from several directions.

There was no sort of place like this in Japan, at least not in Honshu. Unless someone drugged me and dropped me off somewhere in the Izu Islands, this should not be remotely possible. But even then, who would remotely have an interest in doing that? Of all the people to drop in the middle of nowhere, I was the least interesting. My brain alternated between different absurd explanations for how I ended up here, not wanting to deal with the obvious question of why I had no clothes. I already felt sick enough, I thought as I pulled myself up, I did not need to feel sicker.

Should I stay here and wait for help? On one hand, I had no clue if anyone was looking for me, but if they were, there was a good chance it was the same person who put me here. That didn't seem like someone I wanted to meet. I made up my mind to enter the forest and take my chances with any danger I encountered. I held up my arm, hoping to block the branches and plants from hitting me in the eyes, although walking through a jungle with zero clothes exposed the rest of my body to thorns, spikes, and insects.

A few hours passed, ants crawled around my feet as I tried (and failed) to ignore the pain of their bites to continue wandering through the jungle, while mosquitoes flew around and attacked my necks and arm. I couldn't do this, I had to go back I decided. I tried to turn around, only to realize the amount of time that had passed, and the miles I must have walked between here and the shore. I screamed before quickly covering my mouth as the rest of the jungle responded with loud cries. This was not the place to have a mental breakdown, who knew what could live here.

The answer to my question came from the loud sound of apes in the trees screaming and pelting me with sticks and stones. One of the stones hit me in the side of the head and I raced away, jumping over the logs and through the brambles and thistles until I was in a clearing. My feet burned and my back hurt, and I was too tired to care about mosquitoes, so I fell down on a log and just lay there, looking up at the sky and seeing all sorts of birds which lived nowhere in Japan.

Now that I thought about it, this log reminded me somewhat of the one that I grabbed onto in the river. If it hadn't been for that log, I might have... no, I can't think like that. Don't allow yourself to think like that. At least for the moment, just rest in the one safe place and then you can have all the existential crises that you please. That's what I told myself.

Was this clearing really safe though? Bison, gibbons, all sorts of other jungle life that I'd never seen where I lived before. What sort of predators were lurking around here? I pushed myself up and looked around, some deer stared back at me, clearly confused by the strange woman who was tearing through the woods. That still didn't mean I shouldn't keep going, but my feet hurt too much and I was too tired. For the first time, I missed work. Fetching rude people their disgusting fast food, mopping the floors, even doing kitchen duty would be a blessing right now instead of having to trek through this hot and thorny jungle.

Who put me here? I could think about that at least. This wasn't anywhere in the Izu Islands, I could tell that much. It reminded me of some place else, of home. But more untamed, more untouched by human beings. At this point I had to consider some sort of supernatural explanation. Was some ghost having fun with me? What did I do to make it angry? I thought about all of the people who I'd made angry in my life. None of them died, at least none that I would know, and there was no serious grievance that would lead a spirit to pursuing a grudge against me beyond the grave.

“Maybe I got someone's fries wrong,” I murmured to myself and broke out laughing from how ridiculous that sounded. “And it was so bad they died and decided to haunt me.” that would be a funny story to tell at my shift tomorrow when I got back home. I would get back home, I repeated to myself. I would get back home, and then pick up my phone to listen to the thousand angry voice mails my manager had left me. I needed to convince myself of that to ward off the loneliness that I never knew I could feel.

Getting up from the log, I folded my palms and addressed the sky. “Please, sir or ma'am, whichever you are, forgive me for my error I beg you. If you forgive me and let me go home, I swear that I will make merit and dedicate it to you so that you can swiftly rise up to heaven and don't have to go back down to this dirty world.” Would the ghost listen? I had no clue, but I might as well try. As much as I hated being around other people, I made a promise to myself that I would immediately fulfill my vow when I reached home.

Invigorated by the hope that my prayer would be heeded, I decided to keep going.

[Ralnis]

Lagash, Capital of the Dynasty of Lagash
KengirSumeria

Luthor stayed in a traveler's inn that was built in a more medieval middle eastern style. Fill to capacity with all manner of traveler and native patron that made seek to spend coin to empty the stores of alcohol. The same fermented drink that had came from rice fields, wheat, and anything that made the standard Imperial diet back when the Empire was still around. Luthor didn't touch the drink anymore. His mind focused on sharping his steel sword and practice his swings before as he focused on the next part of his plan.

He knew what he was doing was suicide. One that would make his death true. Every swing made him think of just how tough his battle would be against Gilgamesh, this so-called great warrior. He heard from his own former allies that he was the one who took his sworn brother's head. The one who was once his former master and then was his second, the best general that he could ever hope for. But, unlike Luthor, he was a mortal man, and frail when compared to his younger state.

He wanted to kill that bastard, but he knew that it would meet his death. Not to mention there's the rebellion in Dilmun. That woman, whatever the Immortal's name was, had been connected to another one who caused the greatest genocide known to mankind in this world. Even he didn't do such a thing knowing how brutal one's tyranny could do and thought that we had surpassed such brutality. Yet Luthor couldn't say he was above himself, condemning people to slavery was evil. He never wanted to do it but it was the only way to build the economy up and try to forge the Empire.

But now, he saw what had happened to the Dilmun due to the slave revolt. This now had gone beyond to just a rebellion and now the complete genocide of their culture and people. Luthor could go there and finally set ablaze the fires of their rebellion. Make sure that Dilmun is liberated and get their large ports back up, restart the admiralty and reconquer the islands. Make a major invasion of Kengir in the manner of Normandy but with the attitude of the Sea Peoples.

"Two roads paved by blood and both of them going to kill me. Doesn't matter to me-"

Just then he was interrupted by a knock on his door. Luthor stopped his swing and kept his sword at the ready. He knew that the agents of the Queen wasn't here and Manzada was too busy with the book, or so he would think. As he undue the latch on the door he slowly opened to show that it was the Paradigm master with his large book. Luthor looked at the Sumerian and then at the book with the grip of his sword relaxed a bit.

"I thought you were going to be using my book to help the cause?" Luthor questioned.

"Not without it's writer I won't."

Another second passed and Luthor closed the door but there was a slight sound of a sword being sheathed. He then opened the door. The Sumerian opened to realized that the table had a bowl of water with a rag within it.

"Make yourself at home, I was just thinking on what to do going forward."

Manzada put the book down next to the bowl of water as the both of them sat down. The master of the Lagash Paradigm saw that the former Shadow Emperor was not wearing his robes and had a ragged brown tunic that showed his mixed brown skin that was muscled and scarred with healed wounds and tribal tattoos. Some of the tattoos were like star constellations that stretched up to his neck. To Manzada, Luther was a taller man with a lot of wiry, compact muscle which were still in their prime after so many years.

The power of an immortal always eludes him.

"Listen Luthor, I think what you're going to do is suicidal." Manzada starts off.

"I know that, but I have nothing left to lose now. You have all my knowledge and those bastards in Uruk have my wife's head on spike and they've defiled everything that was left of Sumeria. Besides, my daughters are in Aksum, once you're able to reverse-engineer the contents of my book, then you can bring down Kingdom and set my daughters with whatever's left." Luther explianed.

"Unfortately all of that isn't going to happen." Manzada said matter-of-factly.

Luther raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

"I know what you're about to ask but no, I still want you gone but that can't happen." Manzada sighed before he continued," listen, there's a major problem that we believe that's going down. Something that is bad but can help both of us to get our vengeance against the False Daughter and her Devil Hero."

Luther crossed his arms and lens back in the cedar chair. His breathing controlled as he spoke.

"Fine, I'll listen. What's the problem?"

The spymaster's eyes narrowed," it has to do with the Lugal of Lagash and Uruk. There's been tensions between the two of them ever since the collapse of Ur and the Empire. Even though they both helped in the beginning."

Luther's face twisted when he heard of the fall of his Empire but he knew that Ur had forced everyone to be subservient to it in order to carve the empire. It wouldn't have been impossible to believe that there were few allies that would help out when the major vassals were their sworn enemy on the left and an opportunist on the right.

Manzda continued," even though they helped out in the beginning, we managed to pull them out of the war before the siege of Nippur. The reason is that was the headquarters of the Paradigm and Chezdek, my father, had made a deal with the current king of the Dynasty to pull out of the war in exchange for having the services of the Imperial eyes and ears."

Luther suddenly leaned forward and looked at his former student in the eyes," how much does he know?"

"Only that we were the Holy Queens eyes and ears. We didn't let on anything more than that. But, understand that we had to sell ourselves to the successor states in order to survive these times. Not everyone did, but most had to make sacrifices."

Luther nodded, it was a fair sacrifice since they didn't have their Immortal to lead them and, as Luther repeatedly documented, would grow stagnate and break down in a generation. Nestos happened, Aksum happened, parts of Europe he never knew existed, and his Empire. All things need their broken modern knowledge that had made these power fantasy nations and never had the sense to think about the people.

"But, in exchange for the Dynasty's protection, we have managed to grow in strength. Recovering lost agents and rebuilding old infrastructure. One of the major things that I did was become the spymaster of Lagash and leader of the Paradigm cell in here in the lands. Over the years, I managed to get the ear of the ruler and recruit his firstborn son into the fold, being the catalyst that could help bring an alliance to Kish and form a united front of the Paradigm against Uruk."

"I'm sense a but-"

"But, the thing is that I need you to meet with the Lugal. He knows that you exist but I think we need to make sure that you to meet. Since if we don't, then we will be in trouble."

Manzda gets up and pushed the book back to him.

"Bring them this and show it to the Lugal. Trust me, it will all make sense when you do."

[G-Tech Corporation]

Part 7, Chapter 3: The Line between Order and Disorder

November 20th, 40 AG

It was a weary company that entered the small wooden stockade which the oilcloth map called 'Minera', with a marking denoting that it owed no allegiance to any particular entity. More than the horses even the men were tired, and looking forward to the long watches of the night when blissful dreams could replace the tension of the frontier. The trackless marches of the northern Dacian coast woodlands had been weighing on even me, for such environs called for a wariness which was not so great as to drive men to feats of adrenaline, but just enough to embrittle mind and body by measures.

From the houses and upper windows of the humble village faces white with concern peered down on us, and burly men loitered near homes with heavy axes and pitchforks in their hands, their faces impassive. A small knot of what most have been the local notables came forward soon enough, not more than a minute after the company captain had swung down out of his saddle. The white-haired captain spoke to the indigenous dignitaries for a span of minutes, then they dispersed, waving their hands to the others and speaking in thick patois about payment for food and drink, and lodgings in the town green.

It was good, to palpably perceive the knife's edge draining from the air. Knuckles which had been tight and red around tools relaxed, returning potential weapons to belt-loops and inside homes. And the soldiers did not hover with their hands so near their scabbards or in readied stances on their spears. It was not the reaction I had expected, but I imagine these people could ill-afford not to be careful. Most of the men and women on our way north had greeted us easily enough, but here we were beginning to pass into the disputed lands where the civilizing forces of fealty and oath were only starting to take root and had far from universal sway.

Only three minutes of easy walking took the company soon enough to a large mostly flat village green, what in happier times was no doubt a place for festivals or high days, depending on the faith of the locals. It was broad enough that the bivouacs of the men would not impinge unduly upon any freeholder's land, and the thud of the wooden palisade being closed at our back was not unwelcome.

There was risk in such a stay, of course. I noticed I was unconsciously flexing my hands, limbering them for a fight. Not entirely secure, then. The warriors of Mountain Cove did favor ambushes and unexpected engagements, when they could find them - to strike at the end of the day when dusk and oncoming rain would cloak their movements would be just so much to their liking. Still, there was little for it. Marching northward in the dark, with weather to cloak moon and stars, we would make small enough progress as to be barely worth the effort. And even hardened soldiers of the Great Anchor must sleep, eventually.

Not more than an hour later I made my way out of the lines of sable-gray and blue-green tents, passing the sentries with a nod and making my way for what seemed to be a public house set near the village green. It was a ramshackle structure, with little of the care for evenness of carpentry and construction which even the men of Nestos had valued, but the warm and golden light which spilled from her shutters and open doorway hid many of her flaws in a cloak of homely invitation.

My eyes flashed slightly as I pushed through the partition which delineated the common area from the entrance, my heavy cape divested to dry somewhat from the drizzle which had been falling steadily since just before sunset near a host of others in the antechamber. At my back two men kept a respectful distance, and I barely noticed them, though I was reminded of their presence by the glances which they drew. There were few of the locals about in the bar, but many soldiers, and I couldn't fault them. Though the codes of war compelled men who served the Imperium to treat civilians with courtesy and were generally followed, I would have been surprised if the denizens of Minera were aware of them in anything more than abstract rumor. And it took more than expectations to bind tired and war-weary men to good behavior everywhere, to be sure.

Still, the copper chits and silver coins which changed hands as drinks were brought and meals placed before warriors told a tale which was tinged with good, if perhaps not fulsomely whole-hearted. It was a difference I had heard echoed time and again as we marched north, and likely accounted for the perspicacity with which the townsmen had greeted Ivar's company. A grin and a wave to a lass with deep black hair and a belly slightly swollen with child secured a mug of indifferent swill to wet my lips, and with intentionality I waded into the common room, my eyes fixed on my prize.

That prize being, in this exigency, where the good captain sat with his second and a few of the men who had greeted him upon our entry to the hamlet.

I raised a mug toward Ivar as he looked in my direction, and he waved me down into one of the open seats at the large corner table - a fir round by the look of it, cut long ago and starting to wear away in places. Still, it was sturdy enough. The captain deigned to introduce me as 'an observer from the court in Mara', which drew suitably impressed expressions from his new companions. It was a title I laid claim to far more readily than my true sobriquet, though Ivar knew the fullness of that matter. Men would overlook a mere courtier quite readily, even if they did treat me with some dignity, and it excused the guards easily enough.

A few sips, nursed carefully, and I let the conversation ebb and flow about me. I gathered the master of the village, a prosperous farmer, was named Andras, and his companion was a blacksmith of some small repute who bore the moniker Khodel. They had many words to say about the depredations of the northern bands who strove against the servants of Vladimir, and were working hard to assure the captain that they had no quarrel with the Imperium - they were happy to trade, sure enough, but it would be better yet if the company moved on with due speed, lest we invite Muntenian reprisals upon their quiet village.

Fair enough. Fair enough and half again, aye. Ivar was a wise captain of men, and mirrored my sentiments not because he knew them, but because they were the right promises to make to scared villagers. And certainly it could be done. The campaign was progressing well enough, and I had not heard of any reason why we should remain in Minera overlong. She could scarce support the locusts of a hundred hungry mouths all too happy to supplement their rations with fresh produce and newly slaughtered lamb and pork, and it would be proper to march north again ere welcome for our coin and commerce turned to resentment.

That was one thing which separated us from the men of the Single Market - a refrain I heard here again, and noted for my missives to the commandery. It was a philosophy of war, to pay for what you took, and not to take indeed if possible. A philosophy most couldn't afford, verily, be they slaves of a man out of time or mere thugs of a jumped-up warlord. But the Imperium, she could afford that luxury. And in such a work, we won more hearts and minds that could be easily quantified.

Napoleon would argue that an army divorced from her supply lines could march with unparalleled speed. Indeed, such considerations where his foes stood on the defensive had won him victory after victory, his foraging parties ravaging the countrysides of Austria, Germany, and northern Italian plains to fill the bellies that enables his victories through defeat in detail. Marius had proven that a balance could be struck, with the warriors themselves laden with supplies to enable them to both march at speed and not despoil the countryside - but the limitations of such an approach were borne out in the unflattering nickname for his soldiers, named 'Marius' Mules'.

From a purely military standpoint, foraging was wisdom. The thick woodlands about us could certainly be filled with skilled scouts, men who could return to the company each night laden with game and purloined stores enough to feed a small military unit such as that of Ivar many times over. But my concerns, and thus the concerns of the Imperial Armies, could not be purely military. To win every battle and win every war, and yet plant the seeds of rebellion and war anew - such follies of state action littered the rubbish heaps of history, tracing the eventual collapse and exhaustion of nations from point of 'good enough action' to one another.

It would have been easy to let Ivar's men loot Minera, rape their way through the locals, enslave the menfolk to bear burdens and enrich the pocketbooks of their captors, and move on leaving her no more than a smoking wreck. Plunder, after all, was how state actors since time immemorial had paid their soldiers and thugs to preserve their authority and despoil their foes. Our bellies would be full as we shook the ashes of the town from our boots, and the forest would reclaim her swiftly enough.

But from the smallest seeds of injustice comes, in time, the whirlwind.

No doubt the men of the Single Market thought they were cunning, following some half-remembered military precepts of whatever Immortal they served, traveling light and taking what they needed from the locals. But now their actions bore fruit all too valuable to their foes - Andras was only too happy to let us know that scouts of Mountain Cove had moved through his village heading north three days past, bearing toward the coast. They had seized food and drink at spear-point, and left one intrepid farmer to his cairn when he tried to stop them looting his winter wheat too poorly hidden. In exchange they had given paltry coins, no doubt whatever their commander specified as minimum payment in time of war.

Resentment, then, was the fruit of their sowing. And in time, judgement would fall upon them as was their just reward.

Into the evening hours I heard more of their movements from the good men of Minera, and as the time passed more locals drifted into the public house, bringing foodstuffs and drink to sell and reap the bounty of Imperial coin while they had the chance. It was anon almost merry by the midnight hour, when I turned myself out to seek out my dreams before dawn, reclaiming my dry cape as I did so.

Not long after sunrise supplies caught up to the Third, a handful of hard-bitten warriors with heavy draft horses coming out of the east up a large stream which petered out near Minera. The invisible hand of the Imperium of Man stood behind all we did, and the letters which they carried back out to the coast and the supply ships would send resupply further north in time, to the next checkpoint on our anticipated line of advance.

Let the men of Mountain Cove have their maneuver, their light travel, their small unit tactics. The mountain fox cannot outrun the avalanche's implacable pursuit, no matter how nimble his footfalls. We would out-last them, as we had a hundred other foes.

[New Doxapara]

Day One since the Arrival
<><><><><><><><><><><>
Once again, the all-too-bright sun awoke Felix. He began to grumble, "Why are there so many rocks under me...", but realized that these rocks were far too sharp to have been softened by a sleeping bag and tent floor.

This wasn't the Ozarks.

Felix rose from the stony ground and looked around the foreign landscape. "Where on Earth am I? Those trees aren't the standard oaks I'm used to." As the ocean slammed into the beach down below Felix, hills rolled through the land with the occasional cedar positioned on a high point. Scattered bushes and other assorted foliage were home to numerous chittering noises of small mice and birds. Felix, looking down, realized he had nothing on his back; or anywhere else on his body for that matter. "What the f***!" he yelled. "Where am I, and where's my stuff? Where're my clothes?"

Felix began to collect material of use later: sticks, stones, pieces of flint, semi-edible-looking berries and grains, and clayish dirt. From this clay, he fashioned a crude pot/cup/bowl/thing to hold some water.

The next order of business was food. "Surely," pondered Felix, "these critters can be lured out and crushed with sharpened rocks." The next few hours were spent sharpening flint, using briars as ropes(held well, bent poorly), and making a trap for a rabbit. The trap worked like a charm, with a rabbit dead just when Felix had finished lighting a fire using friction from sticks and thin cedar bark. Since he'd never butchered a rabbit, he didn't do it very well. (I will not describe said butchering) However, it was just fine enough to where Felix could eat some of it, with enough left for tomorrow.

Felix turned his attention to clothing. This would have to be made of leaves sewn together and the rabbit hide that he'd so carefully removed from his meal. The required foliage came from some nearby bushes, but the string was a harder question. Felix ultimately decided on braiding cedar bark for a tough, yet flexible, thin rope. After a little craftsmanship, a nice kilt was completed. Felix sighed in relief finding that it fit. "Thank goodness; I didn't want to remake this. Especially with it getting dark."

The last objective was the shelter. This was the easiest part; Felix simply used fallen branches and his cedar rope to construct a primitive lean-to that had been half-dug into the ground. Once this was completed, Felix laid down his shelter for some hard-earned sleep.
[edited to mention that it was flint that was sharpened]

[Saxony-Brandenburg]

The Royal City of Uruk
Middle 2960 BCE

Lord Jushur had gambled on a protracted interim peace between the wars against Nippur and the wars against his newfound dynastic neighbors. Time, time enough to put men’s labor towards building, not destruction. To turn men’s heads up towards the sky, to marvel at their achievements. The achievement of his subjects, his achievement, the thousands of hands with touched the earth which would one day raise a mountain from the earth. To look higher than any man had done before.

And while this was his ambition, to bring peace, one must make ready for war.

A bitter-sweet taste coated Jushur’s mouth as he chewed the almonds, his sore teeth biting through the hard shell as he mindlessly ate them from the cup beside his throne.

Normally, he would have had Inanna boil them for him, and, still hot, sprinkle generously with fine salt until they looked powder-white. Or else he’d have asked for them pan-fried, and coated with herbs. Or perhaps even roasted in honey or date-syrup, the sticky coating clinging to his fingers and teeth.

But today no such luxuries could be devised. He has grabbed a fistfull of almonds from the kitchen, thrown them in a cup, and proceeded to fill his stomach. Such was the life of a man whose only wife capable of cooking spent most of her time outside the home. How he wished his other wives gave him more than children and expenses.

“Lugal, though your ambition for peace may be good for your kingdom, for one’s security it is surely lacking.” Spoke his eunuch-vizir Niggina, who stood before him and all the court. “It would be advisable for the Lugal, whose enemies are as many as his allies, to march upon his rivals in the kingdoms of Kish and Lagash before they manage to broker a deal between them, to overpower their ascendent neighbor. Consider how Lagash, in their time of obligation with us against our enemies in Nippur, refused to aid us in campaign, waiting for both sides to bear the cost more than they.”

“Cowards.” Jushur snarled between bites of crunching almonds, shaking his hand.

“Not cowards, lord, snakes!” Spoke Niggina, correcting the Lugal in a way which other men, in other lands, might be punished for. It was only in such a diverse and powerful court as Jushur’s that argument as this was not only allowed but encouraged. “It is not from lack of bravery that they refused to honor their word. It is that they planned, and are planning, to soon attack us. They believed the war would take us so long, that they could broker an alliance with the king of Kish and Agade, and thus split our realm between them. It is only in our haste to take the city, our response to not lick our wounds from the flood, and instead go on the offensive, that allowed us to survive.”

Niggina stopped, pausing for a moment to continue his thoughts - though before he could speak again, a woman’s voice from across the room cut through the air, as Dalila, the Gishimmari spy of Jushur’s Inanna stepped before the court beside Niggina. Addressing Jushur, she looked up to him, and her voice echoed through the throne room. “My fellow servant of you, lord, will find his plans most concerned with the truth that I have learned. That there can be no initiative, no preventive invasion of Kish before Lagash has allied with them, for their friendship has already been made. For last, when I was in Kish, I saw with mine own eyes the daughter of the Lugal of Lagash’s firstborn son marry the Lord of Kish’s nephew, cementing their alliance in blood. It is not a matter of time before the two are aligned against us, the time is now. We must act carefully and plan our moves, for in this game we will be facing two opponents at once, not one. In this, Lugal, victory cannot be assured with simply sack Kish or Lagash. It will be hard-won and hard-lost. We must find allies of our own, or else be overwhelmed.”

This was sure to catch the attention of all around her. For Uruk, ascendent city of Kengir, had not yet faced such a challenge against the fractured mass of this time of troubles. To see not merely cities put against them, but two dynasties, of whom controlled more than half the land, was nothing short of terrifying.

Jushur, however, did not flinch. Dropping what remained of his handful of nuts back into the bowl, he stood up, dusting off his hands. He chewed, slowly, as silence filled the room. A silence ended with the punctuation of his gullet swallowing the pulp.

“If Kish and Lagash have combined their forces in the ambition to end our rule, then we must be swift to avoid a disadvantageous confrontation with them. I shall not allow myself to be caught with my back-turned, and the enemy in the door! Allies- you speak of allies. Of whom do you speak, woman?”

Dalila raised three fingers into the air, and with the opposite hand, gestured to each of them in counting. “Elam, Hiva, and Gutium. That is of whom we can most assuredly rely on. The other northern cities- they are afraid if Kish. They would not join us in making war with the city. On the other hand, Elam is our most likely and greatest ally. The armies of their cities rival that of both dynasties combined. Their intervention would make up for whatever concession you give to them, and Lord, they will need concessions.”

“And what would you have of me offer them for this alliance?”

“Two daughters. And for their dowry, may I suggest the cities of Lagash and Eshnunna.”

The room was dotted in gasps, as courtiers mumbled on how extrme it was - who was this barbarian courtisan of the south to invite three foreign peoples to take the land of noble men? But their Lugal was not so offended.

“It is a price worth paying to the Elamites, who among our neighbors are the most civilized and alike to us, such an offer of our adversaries land instead of our own to them. I should like to give our neighbors in Elam all the eastern banks of the Tigris, and the crown jewel of Lagash, should it mean my rule may be not only defended, but expanded across the west. I will offer my two unmarried daughters to the Sukkalmah’s male relatives, and should we capture Lagash I will cede it to the Sukkalmah, and should he march on the Lugal of Eshnunna, I will come to his aid. But. There are two other peoples you have suggested as allies. These peoples are barbarians unlike the noble men of Elam. What virtue or likelihood is there in requesting their aid?”

“My lord.” Spoke Dalila. “Perhaps it is not for me to say, for my experience is not well to understand them. However, my fellow servant Ludari may knew better, for he has gone both to the wild lands of Hiva and Gutium to do business with them. And with this understanding, I believe it best describes our chances of making a deal with them.”

And from the huddled groups of courtiers, that scheming traveler of Inanna’s bowed towards the Lugal, and with a swagger in his step, took Dalila’s place before them.

“Lord Lugal,” he began, “The defining trait of neighbors is that they are opportunists. When the Dynasty of Ur began to collapse, it was the savage warriors of Hiva who seized their copper and iron mines. As you are no doubt aware, over the past several years I have been fostering a relationship with these tribes and petty kings of the hills among them. All the iron in Uruk passes down the Euphrates from our northern neighbors. With confidence, I can tell you, they respect two things. The hivites respect power, and they respect wealth. If you will have me, allow me to offer them a sumptuous payment of gold and silver of which we have thus far not spent from the sacking of Ur, as I am told but the tools and metals have been used in these five years since. I will offer it to their chieftains, and promise them free looting of Kish if they will bring their wrath south. While many here may regard this as barbarism and dishonorable behavior, I would remind them of the dishonor of Lagash, and thus any underhanded tactics which are employed by our wise king is nothing short of equal retaliation.”

Jushur gazed down at the greedy little man with some disdain. If nothing else, he liked to talk. And if what he had said was true, he had at least some relationship to these Hivites, and as it stood, his recounting of history was correct. “Very well then.” Jushur said, raising his head. “As these are vital and truly necessary times, it will be done. You will have your chest of gold to promise the Hivites if they will aid me, and I will deliver it to them in person once they join my camp.”

And yet Ludari was not finished. “And once more, Lugal, if you allow one more request?”

Raising an eyebrow, Jushur gestured towards him.

“We may also need a small amount of goods to bribe them to come here, as they will not simply make an agreement without some proof of goodwill.”

And with a scowl, and another dismissive wave of the hand, Jushur sighed. “Whatever it is needed. But do not push your luck, or your commission, merchant.” And with that, Jushur looked over to his side, where one of his maid-servants stood upon the wall. “What do you wait for? Go fetch my two virgin daughters! Enheduanna and Ninniur, of the daughters of Tashmetum and Ikribrusha respectively. Should I have waited any longer for them to mary I’d be a fool. Damn their youth, I will send them to Elam in two moons hence I swear. They will not deny my offer to unseat their rivals aswell as my own.” The king muttered, before looking back to the maidservant, seeing her unmoving. “I said go!” He commanded her, sending her scurrying away from the room. Meanwhile, all the room had begun to bicker and gossip, enraging the king while he stood there all their eyes upon him. “To my private audience room I call my council, everyone else is DISMISSED! This court is over!” He said, throwing the whole in attendance out with one great shove of his arms.

“... I am to live by war, I am to die by war. In all things, my life is one constant struggle. Never have I known peace. She has always eluded me, presented me but with fleeting glimpses. May I rest when I am upon the other side of Kur.”



When all of The Lugal’s voice, the Lugal’s hands, the Lugal’s arms, and the Lugal’s lips had gathered into the small room behind the throne room, they took the collective decision not to sit, and bid the three other council members do the same. Niggina, the Vizir, stood as always to the right of Jushur’s seat, so that he always held his ear. When the Lord Jushur entered the room, all those around him, from his brave martial to his servant-wife, corrected themselves, and watched him silently with much unease. Though many had heard of these rumors before, the troubling time came as now they were presented with the problem in full. An existential crisis, by way of such a region-wide war, that would threaten all of their lives.

The Lugal entered the room followed by his son, Gilgamesh the mighty man, and his beloved Enkidu, the champion of Eridu. Only Jushur, by way of his weak legs, chose to sit. Both his son and son’s companion stood behind their Lord-Father. When all had gathered in their places of discussion around the table, the Lugal’s Martial, Addakala, first spoke up to them, as he was the one supposedly in charge of such crises, though even he knew such a war would be beyond his scale. Never had he known dynastic conflict - growing up before the times of Ur, living to see the chaos of the interim. Here, would be conflicts of thousands of men.

“Alright, then. Lord Jushur.” He began, looking square at his master across from him. “In the previous campaign, we raised three thousand men in the siege of Nippur. Three thousand, in a year of drought and famine, in the middle of a crisis. We raised very, very few. I have it on good account, based on an estimate of our scribes on the number of households within Uruk and her crownland villages, that we can, in a time of food security, raise up to six thousand levies to join your armies. As you’re no doubt aware, of those levies, just under half will have been on campaign. These men, of whom we can supply but the most experienced with royal arms, will comprise the most experienced soldiers that have yet been fielded in the region. We have, in the past five years, campaigned thrice against our adversaries. Three campaigns, by which we have hardened a core of the men’s souls, of freeborn men who are no doubt motivated to serve their lord. They, the core of our army, will be among the finest quality.”

Gilgamesh, next to the Lugal, nodded in agreement. He turned to his father, and assured him with a hand upon his shoulder. “I have lead them over the walls of Nippur, father. They will join me in battle, and together we will not falter. Those of them who are new, and have not yet seen conflict, I will have my veterans drill - beginning months before they are truly called to arms.” Gilgamesh turned to the Lugal’s martial, who nodded in agreement with him.

“We will begin to send out notices of the impending levy. Each village outside of Nippur will be given until the time of our summoning, perhaps but a few months, to make preparations for the campaign season… If conflict does not break out by then, we will take the initiative for ourselves. Until then, we will begin organizing ourselves, our logistics, our arms, and our funding so that all goes smoothly until then. I will report back to you, Lord, with regular updates wherein we will be certain an organized army of this scale will be capable of fighting the enemy. With the blessing of the gods, Lord, it will be done.”

Jushur, who had at this point not spoken, only nodded, and looked to his wife, who anxiously tapped her foot upon the stone floor, leaning upon the table. Inanna met his gaze, and at last he spoke, asking her: “What of your people, the Gishimmari, and their black-headed subjects of Nippur? Are they ready for war?”

Inanna bowed her head to him, and with a deep breath, paused, and summoned her words calmly. “My Lord, your servants the Gishimmari are always prepared to serve in your warband. My compatriots who serve in Uruk have made generous estimates for the levies in their region, but you will find your servants in Nippur perhaps slightly less in number. Not from lack of duty, Lord, but for the sheer size of Nippur as being much smaller than Uruk. Lord, it can be said that they will raise more soldiers, both Gishimmari camelry and black-headed levies, than their required obligations demand. They will raise, in a generous estimate, two thousand souls with arms in-hand to follow your warband. Among them, more than half are Gishimmari veterans. The other half are black-heads, and while I wish I could boast of their character and quality, they may be a weak link in your forces. For the black-heads of Nippur were not conquered but a few years prior. Their courage to fight for their conqueror’s master… will be suspect. I would suggest, which can be organized later, that they do not fill critical positions within your army, but are instead used as reserves as needed. But, as I have said, this can be organized another time. What I may boast about, Lord, with certainty - is the quality of my people’s warrior spirit, which as with the men of Uruk, have fought in every war alongside their master, and many others in the land of palm trees. O Lord, they will be the most versatile of your troops. As you have witnessed yourself, they will be mobile and swift upon their camels, which they have trained upon since birth. With bows which shoot farther and harder than any crafted by black-headed hands. With the shock and the fervor of their charge hitting harder than any can replicate. I will personally go to Nippur and see to their summoning and preparation. You have my word, that your summoning will be done swiftly, and that they will follow you to the ends of the earth.”

And when she had bowed her head, the Lugal grunted with approval, and eyes turned not to a man of the council, but Enkidu, the compatriot and beloved of Gilgamesh, who grunted, working the words to say to them. “I don’t talk with the smarts or witt of those who have spoken before me. I will keep things simple, as to be honest and direct to my King and my Gilgamesh. I am of Eridu, I have lived there, and trained their guard, and served there as advisor to the Ensi. I can promise that Eridu, as the most loyal of your vassals, can supply double the demanded levy of fifteen hundred men to follow Jushur’s banner.”

And with that eyes turned to the Lord’s chancellor, who nervously grinned as he felt all their eyes upon him, before coughing into his hand, and smiling at them all. “Aha, well, I can say the same as our hairy friend Enkidu, here, that your vassals in Larsa and Ur are loyal to you Jushur… I do not think they will send more than they are obligated, from lack of direct involvement in… whatever this turns into. Although I suspect there may be more of them fighting on our side if they should ever be besieged, for sure. Then we may see numbers of up to, as Nippur or Eridu’s representatives have estimated for themselves. I can offer you the numbers which have been stamped into clay, and I reason that they will give little more than that - of seven hundred and fifty men under arms, levies, to serve under you. And you may have to pick them up yourself, for want of them not to desert.”

With a hand placed firmly upon the table, Gilgamesh spoke up to them, with all the pride and confidence of a lion. He leaned into the table, a fire in his eyes. “We will do whatever necessary to ensure our victory. I will send representatives of my father to our vassals to ensure the levies are sent. I will send my beloved Enkidu to Eridu to see their levies well taken care for. We will set a rallying date of the spring planting festival, to be pushed forward upon the arrival of any incident which demands an immediate response.”

“But Lord, if you do not mind me speak, now we must turn to the boring, and often distressing matter which each of you, in your lofty proclamations, have forgotten to mention.” Came a yet unheard voice. From the table, two men stood quite close together. Little men, with the bodies and skills of scribes. The Lugal’s steward, Sinreu, spoke while Inanna’s scribe-on-retainer, Amurgala, standing beside him, listening, patiently making calculations in his head. “Such a war of scale, such a matter of bribes, such a matter of payment, even when compensated in addition to plentiful loot-payment, will not come cheap. I can devise, with help of my chief-scribe here, a package of increased taxes and liquidations of wealth to purchase goods and materials, excess food and stricken gold-coins to sate the appetite of soldiers as they arrive - Lord, you will have to sacrifice much. If I can be so frank, Lord Jushur, the entire budget for the construction of the Ziggurat, of which the entire site has thus far been cleared, and the first marking stones placed, will need to be stricken from the public treasury, to resume after the war. Aswell as this expense, the royal treasury will need to cut the grain-ration out almost entirely to save enough food for her soldiers. An increase in the amount of local storehouses’ contributions to the royal granary in Uruk will also need to be levied as war taxes to feed your soldiers. Logistically speaking, we will need to plan your moves months in advance, to provide your soldiers with rations regularly, as even a total looting of the countryside may not be enough to feed this many thousands of men… Yet, I would be the least person to take a naively optimistic approach, and yet there are reasons to at least have confidence, Lord. For unlike in times of old, baggage will not need to be placed on the backs of oxen alone. The use of hand carts and oxen carts will be of great advantage to you, lord, for assembling a baggage train to follow your warband on campaign against the coalition. The Gishimmari, I presume, can supply us with camels too, to supplement our transportation of supplies. And if the temple, and the people will allow it - we can repossess or else purchase excess livestock from the temple pastures and general population, so that they can carry even more food with them that may be otherwise perishable… Again, at a cost. Lugal, if you do not mind me saying, there is much wealth you have which could be liquidated and turned into currency by your mints. Your house has much gold and –”

“Stop.” Came a grunt from the Lugal, grumbling, looking the pompous scribe dead in the eyes. “I understand what you are hinting at. I will do it. But I will hear no more of it. You will get however much of my wealth you require for this requisition, even if it strips my house bare. But I do not revel in it, and as such I will enlist my household manager to make the decision on what gets cut and sold, understand?”

And with a reverent nod, the scribe agreed. “Very well then, lord, I will do as you say.”

“Lord-Husband, if you will allow me.” Came the high-priestess Inanna. “The temple supports your rule firmly, and thus will help out in the unique ways we can. As a religious institution, we can disperse our priestesses to join your officers as they go seeking levies and volunteers, to inspire religious fervor, and perhaps to make sacrifices to the gods at the request of individual villages, to see their men return home safe. We can beseech the temple of the goddess Bau and the Lady of Lagash, who has many lesser shrines in all our cities, to serve as medics to treat our men. Many of the ornaments of the present temple of Inanna, if necessary, can be removed and melted down for their precious metals, if it means her patron city will remain ascendant above all the others. Lord, if you will allow me to speak briefly. Lagash and Kish are rulers of the previous eras. For they conduct war in the standard way, for they have no the experience as we do. They, I can assure you, WILL NOT SACRIFICE to the same extent that we will to assure their victory comes to them. So long as we work, and we do not take for granted our victory, we can outperform them at every level of our planning. I will have my agents operating in spycraft, in public relations, in logistics to ensure our forces are superior than theirs. We can, unlike any army of the region, ensure early militia training for at least six moons before the campaign, in each of our villages. We can spend more in payment on, feed larger rations for, and supply more thoroughly our armies than they can. What any advantage they may have, we can make up for in our organization. And I promise you, Lord, that it is not battles which win wars as these - it is organization. And I will not sleep, until I see organizational victory achieved.”

“Very well then.” Replied Jushur, nodding to his wife, so impassioned towards his cause. “You all have my full confidence. My will be done, may the Gods favor us. In this cause we cannot fail.”

---

Kushim was a Shakkanak under the service of the Lord Jushur. He was appointed to oversee two villages on the eastern bank of the river, just two hour’s walk from the city. He’d been given such an office on account of a combination of his campaign record and minor favoritism for his noble father, who was a prominent city official and elite within Uruk’s bureaucracy. As a marker of his status - he carried with him three things. On his hands a ring bore the Lugal’s seal. On his hip was a knife, made from fine bronze, which was given to him the day he swore to uphold his Lord’s law among his subjects. And third, was the camel which he rode upon. Given to him instead of a chariot, which was far too expensive for such a lesser nobility, nonetheless a mount, of Gishimmari breeding no less, provided him with such a marker of status, that as he rode along the earthen paths towards the towns under his custodianship, all passers by along the road stepped out of his way, and gave him right of way by virtue of his authority.

When Kushim first arrived on the outskirts of his settlement, there where the furthest cottages and huts which clung to the fields of tall grasses and reeds, under the shade of short trees and bushes which marked the wild marshlands between the endless fields of summer wheat, he called out to all who heard him, waving in his hand a fourth marker of his purpose - a piece of that new and prohibitively expensive papyrus which had been written the Lugal’s will. “Come to the village square! I bring news! Come to the village square!” He called, as the camel brayed, and trotted through the winding trails and paths towards the heart of the village. Simple people, farmers and shepherds, hunters and fishermen, looked up to him with fear and concern. For whenever a Shakkanak came to the village they ruled - it was only for a few things: Taxes, Crime, or War.

When he had reached the center of town, a well-trampled patch of dirt between the local inn where a farmer’s wife sold ale from an abandoned home in the evenings and the storehouse for grain, he looked down and barked at a group of children who sat in the dirt playing and picking their noses. “Go get your parents! Run along, and get your parents! Do as I say, and I’ll give you something when you return!”

And with a mixture of youthful shock and delight, the group of children did as he said - running in all directions, back towards their homes and their mothers.

When their parents had seemingly heard of their children’s story, or those who heard Kushim’s call finally caught up to them, the village square quickly began to fill with upset and fearful villagers, who nonetheless did not act aggressive to him, but concerned. “What has happened?!” One woman’s voice rang out. “What have we done? What is upon us?!”

“Calm down!” Called Kushim, standing up straight upon his nervous camel, so that all those around him could see and hear him clearly. “Calm down I say! Nothing good will come from your panic! If you will hear my words, as they have been given to me from Uruk, then you will find nothing to panic for, but only that which is necessary for you to hear!” And when the crowd had calmed from a boil to a simmer of nerves, then did Kushim point to the paper he held aloft in his hand, and begin to deliver the news. “Your Lord Lugal in Uruk has decreed that all his subjects begin making preparations for war in the next year. As in his previous campaigns, in exemption for those who are widowed or sick, every household is to deliver one able-bodied man to join his forces. As your Shakkanak, I am to ensure that this is done, that you are organized, and that all those who come with me are armed with at least three things: shoes, a weapon, and a shield. For those among you who come from a family of veterans, that means dusting off your old wargear, and remembering what you did before. For those among you who have not known battle - that means digging up your ancestor’s arms and armor, or else supplying your own. And if you cannot find such things, that means talking to me… I have received a sum of shekels to purchase the necessary items to ensure every man I bring to my Lord is capable of fighting in his warband.” Kushim patted the fat, jingling purse of shekels on his hip, before continuing. “NOW! We have many moons, and an entire harvest to prepare for this. This means two things: One, to put your affairs in order. To do everything necessary to see your harvests, and next year’s plantings done as early and as diligent as possible. You will NOT have time to be late by then. SECONDLY, this means you will be seeing me, a lot. I will be hosting, every five days, a drill practice for the men who will be levied among you to go to war. Attendence will be mandatory, and if I do not see you there, there will be consequences…” Upon his camel’s back, a large bundle of reeds tied to a stick hung. Taking it off of its harness, he held it up in one hand, and gestured swinging it into the air to show them. “I will beat you until you come.” Shocked and perhaps slightly amused, the crowd mumbled, as Kushim looked across them nervously. “I… I say that not to threaten you, or perhaps I do. But I only threaten you for your own good. I need you all to understand this, that any training you receive will help you survive. I… I cannot bear to see my neighbors, many among you I know personally, unnecessarily die from unpreparedness. This is why I am so strict on you. In addition, we will be gathering resources from every house, for our boys to take with them on the march next year. I expect you all to contribute, but especially those among you of means and trades. I will spend whatever wealth I have to assemble what we can for them, and make no mistake, I may lose my life among them too. Yet, when I lead your boys out of this town, to rally with their lord in Uruk - I expect them to enter the battlefield as MEN. I will need all the help I can get, and I hope I can place my trust in you all to make that happen. Is this understood?”

What could the villagers of this humble village, living their simple lives between the storms of war and the rage of tyrant kings do? For a few among them had returned from the previous war, when they abandoned their children and wives to hide amongst the groves of trees while their homes were utterly flooded and taken by storm. Yet they had returned with stories, with money, and with trauma and fear. At night, they’d regale the children of the village with tales of what they had seen when they were asked to storm the walls of Nippur. And yet, here was the man asking them to follow him - not a scribe, not a bureaucrat, but a fellow soldier. Yes, he was a noble. Yes, he had a camel, lavish armor, and fine weapons made from the red-metal. And yet here he had, nobly, offered his wealth, his service, his personal leadership from this moment of the call, and into the battlefield, marching at their head. Murmurs around the crowd, concern, fear, mothers and wives turning to their sons and husbands with sickening stomachs. But, for this village, there was inspiration in his words.

“Bring our boys home safe Kushim!” An older grandmother called out to him. “We will love you, Gods bless you Kushim, if you do as you have said! I will weave you a blanket so that you may not know cold on the march!”

And with murmurs, and shouts of agreement, it had been settled. The community would rally around their Shakkanak to see their boys have the best chance of survival. That there was but a chance they would return home, with spoils and stories for the children once more.

---

MEANWHILE, in Uruk, the pronouncement of the gathering of arms for the next year’s conflict was far more fanfare than such a humble community gathering as in her extremities. For the temple of Inanna, the goddess of war, had sponsored this call with her authority. A festival and parade would be organized during which it would be made, and every house in Uruk would be delivered the news of their requirement: One able-bodied man each to fight in the name of their King and their goddess. At dawn, on the morning of the first day of the week, the city guard gathered with the sisters of the temple of Inanna, along with a number of lower-ranking scribes, prominent city noteworthies, and volunteers carrying the various relics of the goddess. Foremost among them, was a team of six men which carefully began to load the idol of the goddess herself onto a litter, and, tying her down, carefully carried her out of the darkness of her temple, and into the street. Whence the royal rooster cried towards the sun, the parade ready, began to sound the drum-beat, and play the whining trumpets to begin their procession.

Just behind the litter carrying the goddess, first of the procession was, of course, The Servant of Inanna herself, riding upon that famous, wondrous beast named Farasha. A great gray elephant, to which no one had a name for but the most experienced of sailors who’d only glimpsed them. She’d been taken with their queen from her kennel in Nippur for the purpose of this parade. The beast always attracted gawking crowds, its trumpeting roar echoing across the city, inspiring fear, wonder, and awe. Such a beast was today draped in ringing bells and a great woven rug which hung over its back - but what truly was strange about her was the red ochre which was smeared all across her gray wrinkled skin. Red ochre - the color of blood. The color of Inanna, that which the skin of the divine lady of heaven, the virgin-harlot, the mistress of war turns when put to rage. Her servant Inanna of the Gishimmari, “Umm Kharuf” as the Gishimmari knew her, “Nin-Gishim” or “Nin-Udu” as many black-heads knew her. She, too, was painted in her hands, face, and bare feet in the color of blood. Red henna stained her pale skin, and a much brighter, stronger, flat bright red of ochre-paint placed a circle on her face. In her hands she held a trumpet, which when she sounded would have the elephant echo its blaring roar. Such a noise, such a sound, that all the city which had not yet woken rose from their beds, and looked out their doors and windows to see.

Behind the high priestess was then the priestesses of the cult of Inanna of Uruk and Nippur, who had both gathered here in Uruk for the parade. Gishimmari and Black-head both dressed just the same, in their white robes and white veils yet stranger too, that their skin should also be colored red. Foreboding, alien - yet unremarkable in their message. The call to war, the call to bloodhsed, was to be made. In their hands they held a number of instruments, drums, horns, bells - the ringing of their noise was not in unison, but a cacophony of sound and shouts. The Gishimmari, in their traditional cries of elation, ululated and chanted, clapping their hands and stomping their feet as they began to march. A loud, moving band to shake the entire city.

Beginning upon the hill which held both the white temple and the lesser temple of Inanna and her storehouses, the procession began winding down the city, banging on doors, beseeching all to come outside and assemble in the lion square - that was, the market square on the north-east side of the city centered around the large stone statue of a lion. There they passed through all the residential neighborhoods, all of the market squares where merchants had just begun to offload their morning wares. They passed through the stronecutters workshops, and the storehouses of traders, and even the homes of the rich and famous of the city, banging on their doors, demanding they listen. And to their credit - few could ignore the demanding cries of red-skinned women, who shouted at them from the street, calling them for a citywide assembly. By the time they had reached the square of lions, the largest square in the city, it had already begun to fill with people - such that the marching guardsmen of the city had to push many of the commoners out of the way, such that the city noteables and nobles could make their way to the front, where they could be closest to the pronouncements.

When last all those in the procession of banging drums and violent noise arrived, the litter carrying the Goddess herself was brought forth infront of them all, much to the aghast of the many. And as they drew back the curtains of the litter, such that all could see the rocky stone face of their goddess, many screamed in awe and wonder - for there was their literal goddess, in the flesh - painted red, just as her servants. Her arrival infront of them was trumpeted by roars of instruments, great fanfare as she was thusly lifted up, and paraded in a circle around the clearing, such that all those who ringed them could see it. Hungry hands were slapped down, as many dozens reached to touch her rough stone face. What a wonder, it must be, what many would see but once in their lifetimes. For only in crisis, or the greatest celebration would such a hidden goddess would be made shown to the public as such.

Yet, there was one guest of honor who appeared then, who was so great in his celebrity that he received the same cheers as the very patron goddess of their city! There, with a path beaten into a crowd by soldiers, rode the god-prince gilgamesh, upon his chariot of six white poneys, with his beloved Enkidu by his side. Screams of his name, the roar of the crowd with such fanfare as he approached, and there stepped off his mount, and went over to the goddess and her litter. There he knelt before the goddess, and kissed the feet of the statue, before standing back up and making his way, slowly, with little difficulty up the back of the elephant of the high priestess - wherein he stood up on both feet - and looked down at the crowd, calling down to them in a loud and brass voice which was a staple of his family.

“URUK! Hear me now as your prince! Here me now as your Lord’s voice! Hear me now as champion of your Goddess! Hear me, for I have come down to you, the people, to deliver my father’s words! That I have come to YOU - to deliver this notice of a new campaign, of which this city will be levied to fulfill! Hear my words - for they are law! Hear my words, for they are the will of city and god! That we will require of every house in Uruk one able-bodied man to enter his Lord’s service! That we will require of every house provisions and arms for one man at war! For in six moons time, you will be rallied. In six moon’s time, I will march with them out of these city gates, and onto campaign! Your Goddess - The Goddess of Blood, has endorsed this levy in the light of good fortune, in the light of favorable omens, by which she has communicated her desire. For the protection of your city, in the service of your Lord, and for the exaltation of your beloved Goddess, you have been asked to serve! Heed my words now, or else damn yourselves to the whip and the mask! You will report to the tax office by sunset to report who in your family will be serving, or else we will send a man to you for US to decide. For every house which pays its rent to their Lugal must provide one able-bodied male, but for the cases of widows and the sick. Now has come, just as with taxes, the time to enact your obligated duties to your lord, as he does every day in your service. Hear his tithe of souls, of blood now - or risk the ire of man and heaven alike!”

And with such a threat from such a great man, the mob began to move, with a rush, westward and towards the tax office. With a sigh, Gilgamesh yelled out again to them, not finished with his words. “Hault!” He cried, and with such a thunderous clap of his voice that they did indeed stop. “We are also asking of every house, and of every prominent man in the city, that you donate everything you can in supplies for this campaign. For a city’s sons must be fed, must be clothed, must be warm. It is not only for yourselves that you must supply, but for all of your Lord’s soldiery, that they may serve him well. This is a request for those among you who have little, but for those among you who have much, this is not a request. The Lord’s storehouse at the base of the White Temple will be where the scribes of the temple of Anu will be assembling these provisions. Draft animals, clothes, grain, metal - anything which can be given, will be taken. Listen to me now, Uruk, for before I leave you, I will tell you something of a dream I had. Where I was visited by Lady inanna - and with the goddess, saw in all things a rain of blood. Of Blood into life, of blood into death. Of such vigor, of such power, that noone can say it not prophecy of this - that as I scream here - Gods hear me! I will champion them across a river of blood and fire, and onwards to the gates of Kur!”

---

It took just one week for Jushur’s dispatched courier to arrive at the gates of Susa. It took an additional whole day for him to arrive in the palace of the Sukkalmah, however, for at every turn he found more trouble, more stonewalls. Perhaps, he thought, this was an intentional humiliation. Yet when he had finally been allowed inside the doors of the palace of the Sukkalmah, his welcome was not cold, but rather spectacular. For the Elamite high king had for himself a palace of many thousand bricks, which stood in columns in arches, many walls with dozens of windows letting in the sun’s rays, such that everywhere he walked the wind seemed to travel across his face. Hundreds of glazed ceramic tiles adorned the floors and walls, such that it was a house of color amidst a world of brown and tan. Many dozens of young women busied themselves with the sweeping of any dust which came across the floors. As soon as he had been announced, they immediately took from him his cape and straw hat, and forced the messenger to have his hands and feet washed before he’d be allowed to see the grand king. But there, through these pillars and windows, in a throne room open to the sun, surrounded by the shade of many trees sat the Sukkalmah upon a stool. He sat, perhaps perched with an intentionally casual, yet stoic poise for the messenger- that he might seem regal enough to rival that of their Sumerian neighbors.

When the messenger of Jushur bowed to the Sukkalmah, and looked up to him that he might better see the man’s features, he found them noble, but perhaps slightly weaker than that of his people. For one, the Sukkalmah’s beard was short, well kept and trimmed. It seemed thin around his cheeks and chin, where his Lugal had prided himself on a long, thick beard kept braided, groomed, and oiled. The Sukkalmah had a prominent nose, and a more rounded face than he would like. His robes were yellow, with large red circles woven into the fabric - such that it was rather eye-catching, and rather long. He looked as though he wished to cover his whole skin, from his ankles to his wrists. The Elamite, as far as this man could tell, was a strange reflection of his own people. A civilized man, black-headed in many ways, with yet touches of highland strangeness which interested him.

“Rise and speak, who should say the words of the Lugal of Uruk. I will listen.” Said the ruler in a strange accent, one which he had never heard before.

“As it were.” The messenger replied, nodding his head to the foreign ruler, before looking from side to side across the room, and spoke to him. “My Lord, the Lugal of Uruk, Ur, Eridu, Nippur, and Larsa. Jushur of the house of Dimuzid the fisherman, father of Gilgamesh the mighty-man. Lord of the Euphrates - of the marshlands, and all the lands west of the lower Tigris. He has asked me to speak to you this: He has recognized you, just as he, as Lugal of great rank. The ruler of the highlands, ruler of many cities. My lord Jushur recognizes you as his equal, and by that right and status he offers you the opportunity to bind your houses in blood and hand. Two daughters, Enheduanna and Ninniur, both of whom have not yet wed, for two sons of your house. Beautiful young women, botb proficient in weaving and the makings of a noble woman and wife. The obligations of which are understood from time immemorial. That as blood-family, thus, you are obliged to join him in the defense of his interests, as of he to yours. Your Lordship, great wisdom and gain does my master predict for you and your people, should you take the offered hand. There is much to be gained not merely in the future, but in this moment. Gains not on the level of wives and daughters, but cities, if my good Lord understands what I suggest.”

The Sukkalmah turned his head, listening intently- and though he tried to pretend a great seriousness, anyone could see his lip quiver, as a smile of pride barked at his lips. He nodded, and raised a hand for the messenger to allow him to reply. Looking behind him, to his eagerly awaiting attendants clasping their hands together, nodding with excitement. “What is it that the Lugal will pay as his daughters’ dowry?” He asked the messenger, a man of fewer words than those ordered for the messenger to speak.

“My lord, Jushur offers you two cities as their bride price, two cities to cede to you, should you accompany him in obligation on his future campaigns: The pearl of Lagash for his daughter Enhedunna, and the city of Eshnunna for his daughter Ninniur.”

“And what will this cost my family, as a bride-price to their father? Should I presume it be paid in blood?”

And, finally showing concise words upon the daunting premise which hammered the final nail into what may be a war to rival that of the great chaos which engulfed them all. But such an uneasy peace would be required to crumble, for true rule to come again. He understood that, all understood that. The great chaos had never ended, yet now, his aid would open the doors to let the onrush come again. The floodwaters which would engulf all the land.

“That is so.”

The Sukkalmah nodded, knowingly, and with a delicate hand plucked a dried fig from a bowl beside him. Biting only half of it, he chewed through the tough fruit thoughtfully - before placing the uneaten half back inside the bowl, and looked the emissary directly in the eyes. The two made eye contact for what seemed like an arduous amount of time, before finally answering him: “Ten thousand men.”

“Ten thousand?” Answered he, astounded, almost not believing that number.

“Three thousand from Susiana, two and a half thousand from Awan, two and a half thousand from Shimashki, and two thousand from Anshan.”

“... This is acceptable.” Replied the emissary, his voice cowed to quiet with the estimation of such a high number.

“Do you know much about our people?” Asked the Sukkalmah, who stood up, and turned away from him to gaze outwards from the terrace of their palace garden, and out into the mountains which loomed in the distance.

“No, great Sukkalmah, no I do not.” He replied, standing up, and joined him in gazing across the highlands.

“We are a people divided among the highlands and the lowlands. The mountains to our north, the great sea to our south. A number of lesser rivers dominate the south, where agriculture just as in Kengir flourishes, not to mention those who live bordering the lands of the Lugal of Lagash. But in our north, mountains and foothills prohibit such intensive agriculture. Pastoralists, smaller farmers, smaller villages dot the more arid land. We are oftentimes a divided people. Geography does not favor itself for unification, like in Kengir, where two rivers connect every city, even if they remain so independent by sheer force of their weight. Susa is but one city among our federation. Susa is her crown, it is my city. But just as in Kengir, there are many more- some of which rival the very size of Susa. We are a confederation of equal kings. I bear the title of Sukkalmah, but know this - I do not own Awan. I do not own Anshan. They are my fellow kings, we rule in triumvirate. I am supreme in matters of war and diplomacy, and they will listen to me… But, within the walls of their cities I am just as much a foreigner as their king… Do you know why I tell you this?”

The messenger shook his head, looking from the landscape to the great king, who looked down slightly at him from his higher stature. “No, sadly, I do not.” He replied, looking the great king up and down.

“I want you to return to your king, and whence there tell him what I said about my people. For just as it is true for me, by law… so is it true for your king, only hidden by his rank. Just as much a foreigner in any city but his own, as he is Lugal. Arrogance shatters empires. Arrogance shattered what came before you. Only by humbling myself could I not only unite my people, but ensure a stable peace for them, so that we could focus not on enriching ourselves with each others wealth, but in projecting our differences outwards, and towards our common rivals.”

The emissary nodded, yet took some insult to the way this foreigner who pretended to be black-head spoke down to his Lugal. Yet, a ruler who could claim to martial ten thousand men may have something to brag about. “I shall tell him that.” He replied to the Sukkalmah, who raised a finger.

“Do you know what I am going to do with the cities of Lagash and Eshnunna, whenever my men storm their walls, loot their storehouses, and place my royal seal above where their kings once stood?”

The messenger shook his head, and waited for his host to tell him just so.

“I am going to go to the man who lead the defense, and kill him. Then, I will go to his second in command. If that man fought bravely in the defense of his city, I will know that he is both loyal, and not rewarded enough in the previous times. Him, is who I will give the rulership to. He will become my client… It is not enough to give power to a coward, for he will surely betray you, be you a friend or foe, had you wronged him or had you not. Fear rules the mind of any coward. And yet, you cannot simply give it to a man who most benefited from the previous arrangement. A man with too much honor, too much pride and loyalty is bound to be arrogant and stupid. Two ingredients which together foment treason from he who was the most loyal of men. Is that not ironic?”

The messenger of Uruk nodded, but did not enjoy thinking of such grim things as the execution of nobles. And yet, as the reality of war was, plenty of both highborn and lowborn would be soon to die. Perhaps it was good to take such a strictly legalistic approach to such matters.

“Well then, that is enough of my wisdom. Consider my words not of patronizing intent, my Black-Headed friend, but as a gift to you as my guest. Free wisdom, as I have been told, is worth more than gold. One last gift of wisdom then, I will advise for your Lugal. The northern tribes: The Lullubi, the Simurrum, and the Hurti, are all fierce people who live upon the highlands and fight their whole lives. If your Lugal is not averse to employing savages… their petty tribal headmen would make for excellent mercenary fighters.”

---

Kushim gazed across the field at the rough assemblage of both boys and men which stood in front of him. Both boys and men, who would both be fighting for their lives in less than a year’s time. Concern came over his heart and mind as he gazed at the rag-tag and nonuniform collection of those more or less equipped for any serious combat.

The necessary tools for war were rather simple - a bladed or ranged weapon, preferably both, a shield, a pair of intact shoes, and at least one piece of armor. The word ‘armor’, even stretched to its thinnest meaning, could not be achieved by most of them. A few of them couldn’t manage to bring even a metal spear. Five of these villagers, much to his dismay, brought with them farming tools like stone hoes, as if they meant to plough their enemies to death. Kushim shook his head, and let out an annoyed sigh as he surveyed the group. He would need to purchase three spearheads, and potentially several more as replacements in the next month.

These were farmers, or else simple cottage craftsmen, half of whom had never even seen war. Of the thirty total, one for every house in the village, twelve of them were veterans of the Lugal’s previous wars. They were the best equipped, probably armed and armored with the spoils of Nippur or Ur. Many of them not only wore helmets, but breastplates made of bronze, and well-crafted shields faced with cow leather, in their hands spears and on their belts daggers for close-quarter combat. Nine of these levied men were the sons, nephews, or even grandsons of former soldiers. They had dusted off old equipment from storage, and dragged it out upon their shoulders to bring with them to war. Grandfather’s old helmet, a spear with tarnished copper head, cracked wooden shields, and well-worn sandals. Though not ideal, these were at least acceptable. They may have a fighting chance, especially when working in a formation with hundreds more like them.

Then, there were the most destitute among them. Five had the simplest of weapons, the most random assortment of hunting bows and axes for brush clearing. Five others, as said before, had but farming tools. These were the most pitiful, the most likely to die in Kushim’s mind. If these thirty men were really going to survive this future conflict, he would have to drastically reshape them in just a few short months.

“The first matter of business is the state of your arms. Though you are not nobles, and this isn’t art, if a weapon is to cut, it has to be sharp. If it can’t fall apart, it has to be clean. If you want to keep up on the march, you need better shoes. I am ordering you all, as your first assignment for this week, to get what equipment you do have with you in much better shape. The metal does not need to shine, but you must clean it, and scrub off the erosion. Your shoes should be new, or at least newly mended. You are going to be walking farther than you ever had before, and should you not wish to be left behind, they need to be fixed. And, for those of you with noting at all…” Kushim looked over to those most destitute, shamefully holding their farming tools infront of them. “... See me tomorrow. We’re going to get you at least something heavy to swing.” And with that he dismissed them, and began to get to work.

One family, who lived in town, owned a flock of seven sheep. Though the bargaining was difficult, he eventually allowed them to trade half their year’s taxes for the wool which they had collected from them, and with it sew that wool into two thick woolen shirts for two of the men to wear as “armor.” Next, the old tanner had in his house two full leather cowhides, which he was willing to hammer onto the faces of two unfinished shields for free, as a donation to those who would be fighting beside his sons. Next, finally, he found that three of the veterans had at least one spare weapon stashed among their belongings they were willing to give to their desperate comrades in arms who had little chance of survival, which altogether with the copper spearheads he had bought from a smith in Uruk, would at least give them all a weapon capable of inflicting injury in self defense, if only slightly better than what they had before.

The next time Kushim saw his troupe, they were a much less sorry sight than before, yet still, half of them were wholly without training. He decided the best bet would be to pair one or two inexperienced men with a more experienced one, and have them each train with the use of the same weapon, such that each of them would have a teacher which at least knew, if not well, how to use what they had. Meanwhile, Kushim inspected each of their weapons, and demanded a few of them once again clean and repair what they had brought with them, for their own sake, to avoid losing the tool before they’d even seen the battlefield.

From the people of the village, he could expect about two hundred pounds of grain, fifty pounds of meat, ten pounds of fish, and fifty pounds of fruit. Certainly a large amount, especially when carried on the back, but in comparison - this was only enough food for all thirty of them for ten days. The rest of the food would either need to be provided by the organizers in Uruk, which was unreliable at best, or stolen from the locals in the foreign lands. As he gazed around these men, anxiously talking amongst themselves, he wondered if they would have the ruthlessness to savagely take, to force others to starve so they might feed themselves. He wondered how much training would it take for them to be capable of anything more than farmers. He hoped six months would be enough.

[Suriyanakhon]

Natee Nantakarn

How much time had passed since I'd awakened in the river? I couldn't remember. Two days... one day... three days? I sporadically fell asleep when leaning against some tree only to be awoken by the snapping of some branches or the sounds of wildlife or the discomfort from all the sweat and grime, and would keep wandering through the woods. My mouth was dry and my stomach rumbled, if something in the jungle didn't kill me the hunger or dehydration would. Occasionally I would find some fruit or some edible plant on the ground and would eagerly set upon it only to barely sate my hunger.

For protection, I'd broken off a stalk of bamboo and used a rock to sharpen the end, although in this state I had no clue how much I'd be able to use it. There was so much bamboo, everywhere in the rainforest. It seemed to taunt me, coaxing me to it despite the fact that I knew it was toxic. If I had a knife and pot, I could slice as many shoots as I wanted and boil them over a fire to my heart's content. It couldn't be too hard to start a fire, right?

At night, I could see the stars in the sky. So many, more than I'd ever seen either in Tokyo or Isan. It had been three nights, I told myself, as I arranged some banana leaves on the ground for a bed. That was both frustrating and comforting to remember...

The next morning I woke up to bugs crawling all over me and jumped up with a scream as I swatted and shoved them all off. This was too much, I was never fond of insects to begin with. Now this was convincing me to hate them all the much more. My body was covered in sores and I tried to resist the urge to scratch, aware that it would only increase my pain. Goddamn it why couldn't something come and eat me so I don't need to deal with this anymore?

I regretted my words a few hours after when I got the vague feeling of being followed and turned around. A low rumbling could be heard and from the distance I could make out a hint of orange. My heart stopped and all of my worst fears felt like they were coming true. No, no, no, no. Don't run, I told myself, as I took a few slow steps back. What was that story about the mahout who was thrown off his elephant and had to edge away slowly for two hours before he could escape? My grip on the sharpened bamboo became even tighter. I could hear what sounded like rushing water and elephants some distance away, I just had to keep slowly treading in that direction and hope that there wasn't a second tiger with this one.

Keep walking backwards, a few steps, don't get too impatient at once. I did this for what was around three hours before I could make out the edge of the river, the orange blur in the distance coming closer and closer. And then, something in me broke. I turned around and started running while the loud shuffling from the distance confirmed that the tiger could tell that I took flight and was following me to go in for the kill. I ran through so many brambles and thistle, too terrified to think about the pain. Run, run, run, I told myself as though that would make me run any faster. How far away was the river? I thought it was just less than half a mile away, but I was never good with distances. If I'd made a mistake this would be the end of me. I was too tired to climb a tree and this sharpened bamboo stick was probably not going to do much to fend it off, especially now that I'd run.

My hopes came true as I reached the edge of the river and leaped into it without any thought about what might happen afterward, in the heat of the chase I'd forgotten that I couldn't swim. I kicked and thrashed but it seemed no matter how much I tried I couldn't keep my head above water. If the elephants nearby were watching me I'm sure they were bemused. The irony wasn't lost on me. I arrived here and almost drowned, and now I was going to drown for sure. Suddenly something wrapped around my waist and terror seized me more than before. I wasn't even going to die with dignity, I was going to be dragged down and chowed upon by some prehistoric beast.

Then I was pulled out of the water and could see my savior, a white elephant from the herd, which carried me to the shore and set me down gently as I coughed up water and struggled to catch my breath. When I turned around, it was still there as if it were making sure I was okay. Against my better judgement, not knowing if I would make it angry, I reached my hand out and pet its trunk gently. “Thank you,” I whispered, tears of gratitude flowing down my eyes which I tried to wipe away but failed to. Me and the elephant just sat there for what seemed like an eternity until it heard a call and decided to leave for the river.

I was half-asleep even on the rocky shore and didn't want to get up, as I drifted in and out of consciousness, I heard something resembling footsteps. It must just be my imagination, I wasn't going to get my hopes up again. But as I opened my eyes, I saw a girl in black clothes staring down at me curiously. I pushed myself up happy to see another human being before realizing there were three other men with her carrying spears which were pointed right at me.

“Who are you?”

[G-Tech Corporation]

Part 7, Chapter 4: Blood on the Wind

December 4th, 40 AG

Lurid rose the flames, the smoke of the burning choking the sky. It was acrid in my nostrils, even more than the distinctive stink of cordite, a great wood-fire to swallow the heavens. It should have been dawn, the light of the pale sun of winter rising to dispel the night. But there would be no dawn. A lifting of the gloom, perhaps. Little more, however, not unless the sea breezes turned and drove away the pallor that lay across Hista and the shores of the Wine-Dark Sea.

I picked my way through the stakes that formed the encompass of the ramparts, and nodded to myself as I counted the spacing between the implements. Good discipline. The Seventh had marched hard to reach the bulwark in time for the close of the day, but had not neglected their training. Each man to cut and carve a dozen stakes, to be placed in defense of the encampment before nightfall. They were hardly uniform, but each would serve their purpose well enough, to ward off an assault with chariotry or break up an enemy offensive.

Not that I expected the same. Still, wisdom was in procedures being followed without discretion of the common soldier. Men needed to think for themselves, aye, but they needed to function in expected and enforced structures in the military so their commanders could know what would be done, and how. This was the essence of discipline, what was so difficult to make petty tribal chiefs and brazen warlords understand. Hell, it was a flaw of the travelers of my own time, who held critical thinking up as the paragon virtue of the Renaissance Man.

Here we saw it borne out, upon the shores of the Black Sea.

Within the walls of Hista, behind the wooden crenellations and towers which had now been kindled to flame, an estimated two dozen enemy warbands had been trammeled. It was my assessment, a judgement shared by the Lord-Commander of the Third, that they had been educated in much the same style of the Andonians; to work as independent units, using their own tactics and plans to accomplish broader strategic aims at their discretion. The men of Mountain Cove called them scouts, and they seemed to operate much as a hybrid between frontiersmen, gendarmes, and guerillas. They had been relatively difficult to track, to pin down, to destroy.

The corollary to that, however, was that they were really not that dangerous.

It was a historical curiosity I was actually working on as an updated memorandum to the Ministry of War regarding dealing with entities who had been influenced by Immortals. There were now enough datapoints to achieve congruency, to my mind: those who were being returned to our present were, as a a rule of thumb, returning from my former present. Importantly, that meant they were coming from, say, the 1700s, nor, much more saliently, from 2200. And thus there were certain cultural and sociological expectations one could fairly expect the societies they influenced or founded to adopt, which had military impacts which could be prepared for if the Imperium suspected such influences existed.

The grass crunched under my feet, brown and dead as I peered toward the distant ramparts. You could barely make out the glint of a few metal helmets through the smoke. Local guards probably more than the scouts. But they might be scouts indeed.

A corollary, yes. When you take the modern man and send him to our own time, he thinks he is a genius - if only the men of antiquity understood the virtue in professional soldiery, of individual initiative, then wars could be won with maneuver and less bloodshed. No need for thousands of peasant-soldiers crashing together to wet the ground with the crimson of father and brother. So wasteful. So unnecessary.

To be fair, the other Immortals were not entirely wrong. But such a reckoning is only partly correct, and that partly correct was where the devil left his details.

Modern concepts of warfare, of maneuver, of the concentration of force - they are all founded in the central axiom which we take for granted and have done so since the 1800s. The lethality of the individual. A single man, if given the proper opportunity, so the thinking runs, is relatively capable of killing another man with minimal risk to himself. That opportunity may be an ambush of a convoy, or a weapon fired from cover, or a soldier stood upon a barricade. But it fundamentally exists. And the truth of our reality, here in this brave new world, was that that axiom was a lie.

Another way to state that axiom is the asymmetry of force: my ability to hurt you significantly outstrips your ability to defend yourself. It is an axiom that has been true in my old life ever since men came up with crossbows to one extent or another, but was converted to a truism by the advent of reliable, easy-to-use firearms. Even if you wear heavy armor, and know where I am firing from, you still have much better than even chances of being injured if I shoot you with my 7.62 mm NATO. Thus the asymmetry, whereby localized advantages in vision, tactical deployment, and knowledge on the ground can be translated into high level strategic gains of the degradation of an enemy force with comparable ease.

But no such firearms exist in our timeline, at least outside of the hands of particular men in Icedonia and, conveniently enough, the Imperium. Thus the calculus is much changed, as the warriors of Mountain Cove were learning by painful instruction.

An arrow shot from behind a tree must be shot with skill to strike her target, or else shot from very close range. A rifle need not be, certainly not to the same extent. A soldier with an axe leaping from ambush must wait until the enemy is nearly atop him if he wishes for the element of surprise, limiting the location his ambushes can be launched from, or else risking detection far more than the camouflaged sniper. Even the unexpected swing of a sword is oftentimes deflected by sturdy armor which it does not stand a strong chance of defeating, whereas a firearm will outside of ill fortune wound an enemy.

To put it succinctly, tactics and stratagems developed for the age of the democratization of force are poorly suited to the age of steel, muscle, and brutal melee.

And that was the age in which we lived, in which the men of the Mountain Cove died to the soldiers of the Imperial Armies. They clad their warriors in supple leather, to allow their warbands to move at speed and silence through the forests of Muntenia. Imperial shortspears parted leather with ease, while Imperial arsenal plate turned Single Market swords more often than not by far. They sent a dozen men to ambush a convoy, and found the convoy guards claiming as many lives as they lost when set upon. Their warbands fled before the marching companies of the Great Anchor, only to find flight on foot is a difficult thing where hundreds pursue them to exhaustion, then cut them down as they sleep.

The ironic thing is if the scouts of the Single Market were gathered together, they should have been a reasonably formidable foe. Their swords were poor iron, but they were iron still, and their individual fitness for war - if perhaps not their experience - was actually quite good. They had obviously been chosen from the most well-fed and well-provisioned families of Mountain Cove, natural warriors, whereas the average soldier of the Imperial Armies was a volunteer and thus of far more variable quality. But even here, where they were trapped against the arms of the sea, they insisted on using the tactics in which they had been trained. And so their blood was spilt measure by measure as their city burned about them.

That was a part of why I was grateful for the Seventh Company and their rigor in ensuring the defense of the encampment had been readied despite their weariness. Twice last night I had risen to the ringing of alarm bells and the hammering of spear against shield, forced to sleep in my armor with my sword at my side. The interloping warbands had been driven off easily enough, usually leaving most of their number as feathered corpses not far from the perimeter of the Great Company, but they were persistent. Persistent in bleeding themselves white without any effort on our behalf.

To their credit their masters likely understood their position, and knew that waiting would not remedy it. With two Greatships of the Black Fleet standing out to sea and firing intermittently upon the harbor defenses the chances of relief from whatever fleet the Single Market retained was not probable, and breaking out overland would require forcing a gap in the enfolding beleaguer of the armed camps Lord-Commander Teravas had thrown about the city. These were, in all likelihood, probing attacks intended to judge the readiness of the defense, in preparation for a breakout attempt.

Unfortunately the men and women of Hista would not get such an opportunity.

I had eaten little, but did not take more food as I retired back through the line of stakes toward my waiting guards. A heavy breakfast on the morning of battle was simply asking for trouble, and blood dedicated to digestion in the belly only slowed a man down. I was quick with a blade, but not so besotted of my own ability as to discard good practices in favor of personal comfort. I suspected even a knife to the chest would not slow me down overmuch, having the goodwill of my Father as I did, but hard experience had taught me such wounds would not be any less painful for being non-lethal. Rather the opposite, really.

Within the encampment the sounds of furtive preparation filled the air, which was all to the best. Men tightened stirrups, sharpened blades, discussed plans in low voices, and counted bolts in quivers. Here and there inside open tent flaps I saw overofficers checking crude chronometers held by adjutants, before bending down to review maps a final time.

"Time to get you strapped up, sir."

I could only smile at Markus' polite insistence. It was diplomatic, but not a request. And he was right. A glance at my wrist told me there was but an hour until the sun should be cresting the horizon, and that was little time enough that he should be anxious.

A soldier in these times of rank or skill goes into battle layered heavily, especially when snow litters the ground and his breath comes as frozen fog. There is little consideration in the winter campaign season for a need to keep the sun off of plate, or for the heat-load that a man must endure a march, such as we concern ourselves with during the summer campaigns. Over tunic and gambeson goes mail, then plate, one to turn the blade, the others to prevent it cutting flesh if it should pierce the hammered steel of the wind-forges of Kniepper. Cunningly overlapped joints prevent a loss of flexibility almost entirely, and between helmet and sabatons and coursers and greaves and voiders it is a rare thing for a foe to be able to find a joint or gap through which a blade can be swept to overmaster the wearer.

Heavy, to be sure. But hard labor and training can make men in such garb nimble still, and it did not cease to surprise me with every passing year how distributing the weight of armor across the body makes it much easier to bear, though it be thick enough and strong enough to turn shafts of wicked ingenuity. A farmer in a field might struggle to consistently lift a hoe which weighs thirty pounds, yet his son marching to war could easily hold up double that burden if it was properly distributed to his hips and chest for hours on end.

Not all men required such armor, of course, nor was it practical for even what the Imperial Armies considered heavy infantry to wear the same at all times. A man on the march clad in such a manner might make do with a long mail shirt and a simple breastplate with vambraces and greaves, to maximize the protection for his limbs while making sure it is practical for him to engage in camp activities and prevent himself from becoming exhausted. And the majority of the Imperial Armies fought as medium infantry, wearing little more than a helm and a breastplate, shortspearmen or archers. But in an assault upon a city such as Hista, where defenses had been concentrated and the vanguard would bear the brunt of the enemy's wroth - yes, in such circumstances the virtue of armor is paramount.

I was armored and had just placed my sabaton of sable and white over my head when Gregor announced that there were only thirty minutes to the assault. A timepiece was far too valuable and easily destroyed to carry into combat, so I had put it aside to await my return. I could tell from an easy glance about the shadowed tent that my guards were still less than happy about my desire to join the assault today - but what Vladimir didn't know wouldn't hurt him, and I felt like an old relic sometimes, practicing for battles I would never fight. If I never fought I would gradually lose the motivation to train, and there were few things I disliked quite as much as having once possessed a skill only to allow it to atrophy and be forgotten.

Normally the Blackguards would fight in armor of soot-black windforged steel, denoting their special rank and position. Today though, at my request and Markus' reluctant acceptance, they were making do with more humble arsenal plate. It was a risk to be distinctive on a battlefield where the enemy most probably understood the concepts of hierarchy and chains of command, and I had no personal wish to get any of my men killed because some of the scouts decided men in unique armor were likely, well, people worth killing. Another conceit of the present, awkwardly welded to the past. Kings might march to war in this age, but there were highly valid reasons why kings didn't kill other kings - for a kingdom without a leader is difficult to actually negotiate peace with, and there are few things more dangerous to the stability of a state than the collapse of a neighboring polity. By allowing the commanders and captains of our foes to live, to be captured rather than killed with prejudice, the Imperium made sure that anarchy did not gain a foothold upon our borders. There was profit to be gained by their death in the moment, upon the field of battle where their demise might provoke panic or overthrow morale, but again it would be foolish to think of mere victory in combat as being the ultimate prize of any campaign.

Only at the gravest exigency would a good Imperial commander authorize the deaths of opposing political or military leaders, and oftentimes we had had cause for regret where that precept had not been adhered to. The disappearance of Victor Spear from the Nestos League, for instance, had only contributed to the Balkanization of that state, and the rise of brigandry, piracy, and a hundred nefarious institutions which continued to eat away at the social fabric of the regions adjacent to their lawless borders.

With fortune, whatever man ruled the Single Market could be reasoned with, or else his position replaced to preserve the peace and end this bloody conflict. I could only pray for providence in such a matter. Little had been heard of the governmental structure of Mountain Cove since it was devastated by the Red Plague. I suspected we would become far more intimately acquainted with the institutions of the Single Market as the campaign carried us further east.

Emerging from my tent I thanked my Father for the coolness of the day, and the light swirls of snow which were falling from the thickly clouded sky. Ash was mixed with that snow, but above all else the refreshing bite of the autumnal temperatures did much to dispel the gathering warmth beneath my collar. Many layers of armor would prevent broken bones from turned strikes, dissipating the energy of a impact in flexible fibers, but they could become a furnace soaked in sweat at speed.

My guards and I moved forward along with the rest of the men which were gradually making their way between the defenses of the camp perimeter, forming up in their squads and companies. There was little ability to preserve stealth now: even with the slight gloom of the day it would be all but impossible to conceal the movement of such a large group of soldiers from the ramparts of Hista, and so the Lord-Commander had not even given orders to attempt to dissemble our numbers. Instead the captains shouted loudly, carefully placing all their warriors in their proper ranks and positions, thick marching blocks of ironshod men prepared for the assault. Every stratagem did not long survive contact with the enemy, so the better organized soldiers were at the outset of an engagement, the longer that organization would survive.

Minutes passed. I shifted in my armor, making sure the points upon which the straps pulled were altered by measures to prevent chafing, and breathing deliberately and calmly to prevent the adrenaline I felt rising as a flush at the nape of my neck from becoming pervasive. There's no feeling quite like the silence before combat, when you feel your balls trying their best to crawl up into your belly, and your eyes itching thinking of arrows to be flung against them. About me the men were likewise uneasy, doing their best to master their instincts, engaging in habitual rituals to keep their minds off of combat. Sliding daggers in and out of sheaths, adjusting the visors on their helms, tightening straps on the back of gauntlets, talking quietly.

Then it came.

A steady thudding, heavy and low, kettle-drums beating out the signal to advance. Squad-leaders took up the rhythm, beating spear-chants of shield and haft to their men, and in front of me the vanguard stepped off, trotting forward toward the palisade. Spears were held loosely, shields at sides, heads on the swivel.

I stepped off, and Markus at my side. We left about half a hundred paces between us and the vanguard, a distance learned of long experience. Archers firing in massed volleys looked for distances to strike the main body of any host moving toward them, and veteran warriors could, with a bit of luck, vary their pace of advance to avoid such unguided shafts if they were given the space to do so. There was no chance of an arrow falling harmless however if soldiers were packed in as solid as cattle in a feed-lot, as was the wont of far too many tribal chieftains. Conscripts and summer-soldiers needed such cohesion to keep their spirits up, to make them feel a component of an inexorable tide, and in part to prevent them turning aside or back if their nerve broke. If the mass of bodies about you is so tight that you must be borne forward onto the spears of your foe whatever your thoughts, courage and discipline are largely unnecessary parts of the equation of battle. But men of stern mien and proven hearts needed no such crutches to ensure they did their duty, and so such wasteful tactics could be avoided if practicable.

It was well that we did so. Almost as soon as the vanguard began crossing the trampled agricultural fields toward the outskirts of the city men on the walls began to loose shot toward them. Lead stones bounced off of shields swiftly upraised, and arrows skittered away from iron chestplates. There, too, men began to stumble, or suddenly check in their strides, falling behind their fellows as ill luck guided the marks of the defenders to unprotected gorgets or cracked seams of plate. Not many, and not often, but there was little that could be done. Soon enough we were upon the fallen, and we carefully picked our way around them, a luxury the next wave would likely not experience.

To their credit the men of Hista were wise in their resistance, stubborn and determined. Though great rents had already been dashed in their defenses by incendiaries and cannonade they still rallied where they could, raining stones and arrows from atop the ten foot high palisade down upon the approaching vanguard. They focused their attention on the foremost squads, seeking to overmaster where they could and inflict casualties as may be found, not spreading their ire amidst the men who followed the vanguard. It was an evil choice they faced to be fair, for men of the van who reached them would soon be men of the van who would do their level best to kill them - but if the following contingents were left unmolested it would only be a matter of time until fresh soldiers with neither fear of seeing their friends fall nor wounds to deaden their resolve overran their positions.

A choice I am only too glad I have not had to make.

Swords and spears glinted about the breaches in the palisade, and soon the shouts of men in martial fury and the screams of the wounded and dying were added to the thudding of the drums and the harsh breathing of the soldiers of my guard. The first assault, however, was over before we even had a chance to make the breach - the defenders of the city, it seemed, had only opposed the crossing on foot in small knots and singly, and had been slain speedily. Now men in the sable surcoats of the Imperium mounted the walkways behind the sturdy log wall and were fighting with the archers and scouts who had been stationed there, turning in behind the foe as they had been trained to deprive their kinsmen following behind of the affections of the entrenched enemy.

I had to tread carefully as we passed through the breach, for a collapsed man-trap lay not a handful of spans beyond the burnt ruins of what had been the defenses. The men of the Single Market were cunning - instead of barricading the fallen palisade and thus inviting more artillery down upon their positions to re-open a breach, they had sought to make the crossing of the most welcoming route into the city a costly proposition for their foes. The vanguard, fortunately, must have suspected such a ruse. Or perhaps fortune had simply favored the first man through that particular entrance. At any rate no body in silver and black decorated the bottom of the wicked pit, a gracious sight even as the brutal upright spikes placed in the ground below were fell.

Once I had navigated the pit I was momentarily at a loss. Hista had the aspect of a centrally planned city, a wide thoroughfare running away from us toward the city center, but upon that roadway no foes stood. There was fighting upon both my right and my left upon the walls, and the dead iron stink of spilt blood suffused the air, but all men who did not bear the Great Anchor upon their breasts near to hand were either dead or dying. It would profit none much if I were to join the lines of men summitting the walls to come to grips with the defenders, so I paused, before striding a dozen paces further into the city to allow those at my back to make their way through the breach in turn.

It seemed, for a moment at least, as if the valor of the city had already been beaten down. Was this the region we had bombarded the city for a week and a day, to leave the spirits of the defenders so shaken they could barely raise their hands to her succor?

But no - a clatter of noise from a byway, and a dozen men with swords and maces spilled out of the alley into the main street, their tough studded leather jerkins and tight-fitted gleaming iron caps denoting them scouts of Mountain Cove. They looked for but a moment upon the men in sable and white streaming through the walls and without hesitation hefted their weapons and made for the gap. Brave men. Brave fools, as it happened, but foolhardiness does not diminish the measure of bravery.

Erasmus stepped forward to meet the first one of their number, turning a calibrated swing of a mace against his roundshield and then neatly opening a wide gash across the man's side with a slicing motion of his sword, almost like a butcher portioning out a roast. The leather parted under the keen windforged blade like the skin of a sausage, the blade slipping off of the metal studs to cut deep through the hide and into the man beneath.

Then it was chaos, the scouts colliding as a mass with my guards. I stepped aside as one warrior swung a mace at me overhanded, one of the best ways for a clubman to take an armored warrior out of action, and then neatly severed the man's hand at the wrist as he lurched past me before driving the pommel of my sword into his chest with an audible crack. He fell heavily, and I turned the spear of another scout just before Markus stabbed the second man in the belly.

And just as quickly as it began it was over. None of the scouts lived to retreat, but they couldn't have known they were engaging some of the finest warriors in a set of thousands. Gregor was nursing his left arm and swearing colorfully, having receive a firm rap on his elbow from a heavy mace, but even a cracked bone was a light amount of pain to have escaped from such a melee with.

"Christ. These are women."

I closed my eyes at the exclamation, grimacing, then opened them again and assessed where two of the Blackguards had pulled helmets from a number of the scouts. Three women, by their faces, distinctive now that their cheeks and noses were no longer obscured by their helmets. It made me feel foul, but that was another conceit of my present brought back to haunt our past. Mountain Cove felt few compunctions about sending mothers and daughters to war, perhaps out of a twisted sense of equality. It ate at me, my modern sensibilities warring with the bitter practicalities time had imparted to my new life, but that was not a discussion to have on the battlefield. Just another piece of red in the ledger of the man behind the Single Market.

"They'll kill us just as dead as the men if we let them."

Markus was right, and the others nodded slowly. Setting down the helmets we began moving further into the city. Hista wasn't conquered yet, but it was falling. Another step on the road to Mountain Cove.

---

Beneath the Mediterranean sun you could be forgiven for forgetting that it was winter. Mertois carefully slathered his forearms again in the thick rock paste which the northern hags said would prevent him from blistering like a roasted pig, muttering under his breath. The Wind's Pride should have been in Sur two weeks ago, but they had had to anchor at Cyprus for nearly a month because of a marching line of storms and had been lucky to make up a bit of the time with stiff western winds. Still, he was almost out of the ointment and he didn't relish the pain that would ensue if he had to stand at the wheel without it.

His second swarmed up the rigging with every appearance of being a monkey out of Nubia, smiling a wide white smile at his sweltering captain. A man out of Troas, Simeon had taken to the way of the cross like a man finding water in the desert, and had the advantage of a radiant bronzed complexion when it came to enduring the unmerciful southern sun.

"Relieve you captain? Hottest part of the day coming up. Best to be below."

Mertois cast him a skeptical eye, before scanning the horizon south again to where the rock was barely visible. Even Simeon didn't love the heat of the early afternoon at these latitudes.

"What, do you want to draw some more stocks when we make port? I'm still here for two more bells lad. What are you trying to weasel out of me?"

His second's smile only grew larger, before swiftly morphing into an expression of wounded pride.

"No ulterior motives captain! My father, he said charity can be given to even people we know. The itinerants agree. And I know you're sweltering like a horse on the sands. It doesn't bother me as much as it does you, so I don't mind taking her for a bit."

More skepticism, this time even more pointed. Simeon was a good lad, honest to a fault, but he had profit in his bones. It made him a respectable trader, to be sure, the exact sort of apprentice any salt-captain worth his beard wanted to have along on a voyage in case malady or injury laid him low. And there wasn't profit to be seen here. But after thinking it over Mertois could only shrug. Nothing wrong with owing the boy a favor when they made it to port. The Christians, they didn't like spending their money on women or wine the same way as most of the crew, so he probably couldn't get up to too much mischief.

"Alright, alright. All yours. I can't say I'll be sorry to close my eyes for a minute. Just wake me when we're coming in. The natives like to see me at the wheel."

That was trader talk for when the local yokels see such an impressive ship they deal more fairly with the captain, but Simeon understood the context. Sur was one of the best harbors from here to Kemet, outside of the nonsense that the Nestos League had unraveled into, and there was profit and a half to be made in the markets of the Rock.

[Suriyanakhon]

Natee Nantakarn

Ban Fan Dam

A week had passed since I had been taken to the village. My feet and arms had been bound with ropes and I'd been locked in a small storehouse since that time. That's what I heard the six men with spears tell the fisher girl in their strange language that I had never heard before but could understand perfectly. I hadn't seen the outside in what felt like years, the only thing that let me have any idea of how much time had passed was a small crack in the thatched roof which allowed me to see when it was night and day out. I cherished that little spot in the roof and felt more grateful for it than I had anything else in the world barring the white elephant.

Food and drink was sparse, occasionally someone brought me some rice and what tasted like wine, but there was so little it didn't fill my stomach, and the wine just made me even thirstier. For a few days it rained and I sat under the hole in the roof and cupped my hands to collect even a small amount of rain water which I eagerly drank. The only thing that made this situation relatively tolerable was now I had some clothes, which I could make out during the day as being black, and which had a canvas-y feel.

To keep from going insane, I tried remembering little pieces of linguistic and historical trivia while tapping my fingers against the wall. That didn't work very well. I started making sounds to hear another person's voice. When was another person going to come in with sustenance again so I could talk to them? I needed to talk to someone more than anything. I used to love being a shut-in, and now if I could meet her two weeks ago, I would have smacked her and called her insane from keeping away from other people.

A few hours later, the door opened and what I could make out to be a middle aged woman came in with a tray of fruits and a bowl of wine. “Please please, speak to me for just a few minutes,” I begged her and she looked at me surprised. “Why am I here? I'm just someone from faraway, please don't keep me locked up in here. It's so dark and damp.”

“You speak our tongue?” she asked, regaining her composure, and I nodded my head.

“Y-yes...” I replied, hoping she did not ask me for an explanation.

She went to the door and yelled a few words to draw two guards to her. “You didn't tell me that she could speak our language.”

“We had no clue what she could do,” one of them answered, looking at me with curiosity. “When she was found, she just made sounds like a wild animal and fought us when we tried to take her here.”

What??? I wanted to tell him that he was wrong and that was an absolute lie if nothing else. I did talk to them, I swore I had. I swore I said a few words. The past seemed so blurry in my head, I struggled to retrieve my memories. How long was I really in the jungle? Have I really seen a tiger? Has the elephant that saved me even been real? My grip on reality was loosening all around me, I needed to find something to latch onto. “I may have been ill when you found me, please don't keep me like this.” I pleaded to them, and they responded with confused looks. Why were they steeling their hearts?

“Your trial begins in an hour, the chieftain will decide your fate.” the woman replied, and I sunk defeated back down.

---

Hour later

An hour passed and it felt so good to feel the sun all over me, and so liberating to be able to walk again even if my feet were still constricted and I had to waddle. As the four men escorted me through the village, I could see children playing and women weaving along the trail. Some of them looked at me curiously while others went about their day. This place was not entirely alien to me, it reminded me of some villages I had been to, but at a completely different stage of development. If it were not for the extenuating circumstances, I would have actually enjoyed being here, at least it would have been a pleasant experience before work tomorrow.

As we reached the center of a village which was located next to a small river, there was a crowd of villagers, some wore elaborate clothes while the majority did not. I saw who I assumed was the leader of the village, not an impressive man physically but distinguished by his clothing which was much more beautiful and carefully made than the rest, seated in a position of honor that elevated him slightly above those next to him. To the right of him was seated a beautiful older woman who had a regal air about her, and below her to the left were four younger women who I assumed had to be their daughters. My eyes paused for a second when I saw the eldest one, who's hair was dark black and whose skin reminded me of gold. I swore for a second that our eyes met, but it had to have been my imagination.

As I was seated in the center of the congregation, the chieftain spoke. “You are accused of consorting with black magic and being a tiger witch in human guise, further you attacked our men when they found you and scratched one on the face and bit another. The punishment for being a witch is death, how do you respond to the accusation?” he asked, and I sat stunned until one of the men hit me on the back of the head.

“I - I don't remember biting anyone, sir.” I stammered. “I was not well at the time, so I can't know if I did or didn't. I'm not from here, I just woke up one day in the jungle and wandered without nearly any food or water. I felt delirious and then a tiger stalked me, and I thought I was going to die. I jumped into the river to escape, and an elephant saved me from drowning. That's how I was found. I fell asleep from tiredness, and then I saw a woman staring down at me. That's the last thing I remember, I swear.” I looked at the fisherwoman who I had seen that day, sure that it had been her. I hoped she would speak up for me somehow.

“Are you a man or a woman?” the chieftain asked.

“Huh?” I replied to the unexpected question.

“When I first saw you I thought you were a woman, but your voice sounds like a man's.” the chieftain replied. The fisherwoman rose up and bowed to the chieftain before climbing up and whispering in his ear. “I see, I see. A hermaphrodite can't be a tiger spirit, the charge has no basis. But a hermaphrodite is more likely to consort with strange spirits, and you showed all the signs of spirit possession.” he thought for several minutes before he continued. “A witch cannot be allowed to live, and you are more likely than not to be a witch. I sentence you to death.”

The executioner stood sharpening a knife that looked as though it were slaughtering an animal. “Take her over to the shore and slash her neck. Collect all of the blood on a bamboo leaf and feed it to the dogs. If it gets in the soil or the river, the evil will pollute them.” the chieftain announced, and the family heads all declared that it was a right judgement. I tried to stammer something in my defense, but the guard struck me on the back of the head again and I fell silent as they dragged me to be executed.

I was placed down next to the river, maybe the same river as the one where I had arrived here. “Bend your neck.” one of the guards ordered and I obeyed, although it did not make much sense on death's door.

A blindfold was placed around my eyes. “Please take it off,” I pleaded, not wanting the last thing I saw to be darkness. “I want to die with my sight.” The guard hesitated for a moment but granted my wish, although with my head bent I couldn't make much out except for the sand and rocks. With the sound of the executioner approaching, I folded my palms together and prayed. I reminded myself of the virtues of the Lord Buddha and took refuge in the Triple Gem one last time. I mentally paid respects to my parents and choked up. How long had it been since I'd seen them? I was going to die in some far and distant land and they would never know. I thought about all of the gods and instinctively looked up at the sun despite how much it hurt.

Wham. The guard hit me on the back of the neck. “Put your head back down.”

I ignored him and raised my hands in reverence for the sun, who seemed like the only friend I had left in the world.

The executioner reached me and I winced, from either the brightness of the sun or fear of death I couldn't tell. The executioner shoved my head back down over the banana leaf and the executioner marked an outline of my neck. As the knife reached my neck, there was an interruption.

“Father, perhaps this is premature.” a feminine voice said, I turned my head to see the chieftain's eldest daughter with the golden skin stand up. “This boy... or girl... does not seem like a witch at all, and sentencing them to be executed reeks like murder. Shouldn't there be justice? There are ways to test a medium, let's see if they are telling the truth before making us watch their neck be cut open.”

“You always pick the very last moment to say something to annoy me.” her father muttered before sighing.

“I was thinking about the facts of the case, and they do not add up in the slightest.” she replied matter of factly. “If we execute an innocent person, the guardian spirit will become angry with us, and they too might come back as a powerful spirit and haunt us. Let us pick prudence.”

The chieftain thought about it for a few minutes, he seemed embarrassed about being upbraided by his daughter in front of the entire assembly. “What you say is true. She will be tried tomorrow and her innocence or guilt will be determined then.” he stated, and the executioner pulled his knife away from my neck. I breathed heavily from relief and almost fell to the ground but caught myself. “Take her back to the holding place. Tomorrow morning we will see if she is truthful or not.”

[Kelmet]

Book Two : Verse Two : Home Coming

The river journey from the port city of Altamont was completely uneventful, which was perfect as it gave me time to absorb reports my network of contacts had sent me since I arrived back in Europe. I had been gone a long time and I needed to hit the ground running as it where. Many new players had entered the political arena of the aristocracy. While according to everything so far my children had done a remarkable job of continuing to grow house Monroes power and influence throwout the Imperium there was no excuse for anything less than my best. My family deserved that, and so did Viktor.

As I ate my afternoon meal I now took the time to learn the more personal reports.

My oldest Daughter and heir Alicja was now a Captian in the Imperial army, a pristine cavalry commander by all accounts and even married to a fellow soldier, a man named Lilin from a noble house in the Imperium's Danish province, while overjoyed for her as any father would be I had been in the game long enough to know there was always a chance of someone using our family's wealth and influence for there own gain. I would trust him, but behind the scenes, I would verify that trust. Tho with two children already produced from this marriage perhaps it is my mild paranoia speaking.

My son Jindrich apparently had become quite the holy man and the face of our family's social programs in the capital. Baptisms in the river Vltava, charity work with fellow noble houses for public projects, and even officiating marriages including his sisters. His wife Hemma was a commoner apparently, they met at the annual easter dinner our house hosted for the city's less fortunate. After only a few years of marriage, they already have three children of their own.

My youngest daughters Gazsi and Gizi had become inseparable, both scoring top marks in the Imperial Academy both specializing in commerce and industry. None of my children would admit it but it was clear that our family's growth in wealth was primarily their doing, sponsoring the opening of many new businesses from mines and forges to farms and fisheries threw out the Imperium. Neither had married yet, but according to those in my estate that assist them, this was primarily to give them another advantage in any negotiations they have. Clever girls.

It wasn't long after I finished my reports that the faint sound of drums could be heard in the distance. The ship's captain knocked on my door as if on cue.

"My lord, we have arrived and it looks like you have quite the welcome awaiting you." I thanked him and proceeded to follow him up to the deck and that's when I saw it, and the captain was right.

In the distance, lined up on both sides of the river banks and dropped from the bridges connecting both sides of the city was the House Monroe banner, my banner. A howling white wolf on a silver and dark blue field. Back when I first came to the Imperium and started my rise those who looked down on me would mock my northern ancestry and call me an uncivilized wolf. I personally found it amusing, and when I gained my nobility threw service took the name and made it my own. The silver to make sure we never outshine the imperial family of course and the dark blue as another celebration of my northern heritage. Such plain reverence had done wonders for our family influence in the Imperium's northern provinces as many Northmen found that threw loyalty and honorable service was met with respect and loyalty in return.

As the portcullis was raised and we passed under the city's northern river gate those assembled joined their cheers to the rhythm of drums. The guards quickly began to direct the crowds to a nearby public square for the rest of the sponsored festivities as we pulled into the dock. As I was escorted to my waiting carriage I was treated by a familiar face, tho a bit aged.

"My lord" the guardsmen saluted in the proper imperial fashion " Welcome home, as instructed your family has gathered at the estate for a more private welcoming "

I smiled " Commander Cyneric, it is very good to see you again my old friend, and thank you for the warm reception. There is a great deal of cargo in my ship, all cataloged and ready for transport to our estate and the Imperial Palace. I trust you and your men will handle it, old friend."

"It will be done Conner, you have my word."

"I know I do Gerulf, make sure you deliver to the palace first, that way your men are back at the estate in time to enjoy this evening's festivities."

"Wouldn't miss one of your parties for the world sir, ill be sure of it. After all, I would hate for the Empoerer to think House Monroe is lax on security, even here in our Imperium's heart."

We spent the remaining time in the short journey to the Monroe estate catching up on what Cyneric has been up to these last decade and a half until, at last, home.

As the gate was opened to our estate I issued that I could enter the manor house without too much fuss, I walked the corridors admiring the improvements made and made my way to the main hall. There they all were seated at the main table, my children and their families all gathered, all eating and laughing and their children playfully tossing food back and forth as I watched silently leaning in the doorway. After a minute or two my heir Alicja seated at the head of the table finally locked eyes with me. After a few seconds of awed silence, she let out almost a whisper,

"Father?" before realizing that I was indeed there she almost shouted "Father!" bringing the whole room to complete silence

I met their silence with a warm silence and a loving phrase "I have missed you all terribly."

I was barely able to get the words out before being rushed by them all as fifteen years of absent emotions came boiling over, hugs, tears, and laughs as I told them all how proud I was of them and how anxious I was to meet their families. I admit even I was emotional as even after such a long time I was met with such unconditional love. We spent what remained of the afternoon eating, laughing and just being a family.

As I rose from my seat at the head of the table, glass in hand "I love you all and look forward to many more meals with my family as our good lord intended. Yet we have a great many guests coming in a few hours and we have much work to do if we are to honor them as they deserve. We may even have the Emperor himself in attendance." I raised my glass proudly "For House Monroe, For the Imperium!" I was joined by the rest of the table "For House Monroe, For the Imperium!"

[Orostan]

THE EMPIRE OF CHINA - AARON DAWSON
2960 BC

Counting Rice and Millet

The office of the Ministry of the Public Stock was one of the few offices outside the usual government compounds. Rather than occupying a walled off space apart from the city center it sat right against the plaza at the center of the city on the opposite side of the street to the gargantuan but mostly empty space market hall building. The market hall was by far the tallest building in the city with its high stone walls covered in plaster and large sloped tile roof that provided shade around the building, but the office of the public stock was not far behind. It's construction was much more modest and instead of expensive stone its walls were red clay brick and it was only three stories in height even though it occupied an entire square city block.

At this time of the year most of the windows were shuttered to keep in the heat that traveled around the building in copper tubes filled with steam by a furnace that was always burning near one corner of the building but the people in the square could always tell the activity inside it never stopped. Hundreds of bureaucrats and messengers worked constantly to maintain and expand the Empire's economy from this central building. Data from all corners of the empire regarding harvests, iron production, area under plow, and irrigation works was collected and the labor budget the state enjoyed for its non-agricultural industries was continually revised, usually upwards. The price of grain was calculated in man-hours required to grow a unit of grain, the price of iron in how much grain and other materials it took to sustain iron miners, and so on. The most important thing was that grain was the basis of the system and maintaining a growth in the grain supply was the most essential duty of the Ministry of the Public Stock.

In the market it was the same way. Everything was measured in its relation to millet or grain. The wood slips that were distributed at workplaces and mass produced in the closest workshops China had to mints entitled the holder of the slips to purchase goods whose price was measured in grain equivalents. Given out once and used to buy something only once they could not be accumulated and were used as a rationing system for scarce resources that in all cases corresponded directly with labor. It had been the case that the slips were marked with specific dates and that they would expire and be unusable after that date had passed but it was more recent that the life of the slips was extended to a year to make it easier for villages to use the slight trade surpluses they often developed with urban centers who had begun establishing more formal trading relationships with agricultural communities for their own benefit. When a village harvest failed as was not uncommon in many parts of the country it would often have no income and its extra slips would become tools, clothing, and whatever else was needed. The only thing preventing villages and small farmers from falling into debt was the state grain insurance system that provided them food and ensured no village starved. Even so they would run out slips and a few enterprising and corrupt merchants would provide short term loans of the slips which they always had a surplus of. Demanding repayment with interest they would threaten to use connections in the government to deprive the village of trade or label it as evading taxes - both of which were among the worst things that could happen to any village in China.

To deal with that the Ministry had developed what could only be called a state bank. Villages were entitled to the provisioning of trade goods, extra grain beyond the insurance amount which was calculated based on working age inhabitants rather than total population, and other aid as long as they agreed to pay extra taxes in the next year. Because most villages whose crops failed were located in sub-optimal areas for farming this promoted the relocation of people to the most fertile land possible and the dissolution of smaller less efficient agricultural communities in favor of the concentration of the population into agricultural towns which could more easily pay taxes. It also reduced the villages reliance on potentially corrupt or clannish local governments alongside punishment for charging interest or otherwise extracting illegal rent which was invariably death whenever the crime could be proven in front of a judge. Similarly local clannishness and the patronage network that it tended to create especially in the business of grain distribution was discouraged by the Ministry operating most Grain Bank programs as part of its central division rather than local divisions and the already extremely high punishments for corruption among all government officials. All of China had been so jumbled up by state sponsored population relocation and the settlement of semi-nomadic groups that the power of clan groups was declining as quickly as the power of government bureaucrats and merchants associated with the public stock rose. The Grain Bank itself had turned from an appendage of the Ministry used for the raising of additional tax revenue into an essential part of the economy. It was particularly appreciated among the peasants who saw the Bank as another method to trade with the cities and avoid becoming indebted for very long, as even if the villages could not pay all of what the bank demanded in additional taxes their debt would be written off anyways. Paying the full extra tax was always desirable if a village could however - it was never smart to irritate the tax collectors and a good record could entitle a village to being prioritized in irrigation schemes or other improvements that would benefit both its people and the state.

The state's desire to invest nearly all of its revenue into innumerable infrastructure and military projects tended to create a tendency to never accumulate excess grain. In hard pressed provinces the granaries hardly had anything left in them when the next harvest refilled them, and in harder pressed provinces a food deficit was created where deliveries on barges or in caravans of ox pulled carts deliveries were needed to ensure the province could eat while a significant part of its population was building or fighting rather than farming. For now this tendency was manageable. The state's insurance system ensured a good harvest in one end of the empire could feed those suffering from a bad harvest at the other end. The Grain Bank saw that the trade goods villages increasingly depended on could always be supplied and that their supply could even be profitable. But even the best efforts of rice grain counters in Luoyang or any other city could not create new grain or state the Emperor's appetite for work, and as fast as new irrigation ditches, fertilizers, or plows could increase the wealth of the land Aaron sought new ways to spend it.

---

Qi Province - Liang Kong


The death penalty was never something pleasant to carry out, but it had to be done and only the Governor or Vice Governor could issue the order for death. The lead up to the order was always the same. The (in this case) five convicts were chained together and brought to square of the provincial capital and prepared on the steps of the imposing government compound. Kong read out the charges the way he had been trained to do while the men were flanked by guards and made to kneel on their execution blocks. Baskets were being placed by other town militamen to catch their heads.

"...these charges, being found valid, carry the punishment of death. Any who wish to mount a last defense for them or present new evidence should do so now."

He looked up. Apprehensive townspeople crowded around the steps of the government building while others went about their daily business doing their best to ignore the execution. Nobody objected. Kong made a note on a bamboo slip records book he had folded on itself in his hand with an ink stylus.

The bureaucrat gestured to the executioner. "Lodging no objections, the state exercises the punishment."

The executioner brought his axe up, and then down. Then he did the act four more times. The crowd began to disperse when the last man's head was removed from his body.

"It is done." reported the executioner.

Kong nodded and turned away to enter the government compound while the militiamen prepared to dispose of the bodies and clean the blood off the stone steps of the government building.

He entered the government office and was immediately greeted by Governor Li Hu.

The Governor eyed his subordinate. "Unpleasant work. I wouldn't enjoy it either."

Kong hung up his coat. "I thought you said you had to write reports."

"I did. They're done."

Kong began walking to the records room to put the bamboo judicial records book he carried back. "Are you going to criticize me for failing to find the families of those rebels so we could kill them too?"

The Governor frowned. "It isn't like that. Clans massacred each other before the Empire."

The two entered the records storage room and Kong navigated to the right shelf. He knelt down to place the book back. "It was never like this. We never tried to hunt down women and children even if we could." the junior bureaucrat responded.

Li took a seat on a stool in the corner of the room. "They just left them to starve without their men or be little more than slaves of another clan. You are right, it was never like this. It was crueler."

Kong abruptly turned. "It is one thing to leave the fate of a man's family to the Gods if he is killed in battle or for a crime. It is another to kill the entire family for a crime. It's not right."

"It is the law."

Kong sat down against the shelves and on the stone tile floor which was heated from underneath. "The law is just whatever that demon Emperor feels. His family has died, now others families must die."

The Governor chuckled. "You should be careful with your language!"

"It is the truth." Kong sighed.

"Well, let me explain. The Emperor wants to eliminate punishments by means of punishments."

"As one might douse a fire by means of fire" Kong mocked.

The Governor shook his head. "You are too quick to denounce the Emperor. You should be grateful I tolerate your immaturity. Do you think a man who is as wise and powerful as our Emperor is an idiot."

Kong didn't reply.

Li continued. "If the punishments are harsh, people will not commit crimes. If people do not commit crimes, there will be no punishments. We killed a hundred men and their families the year before last. We killed thirty men and their families the year after. This year those are the only men we have killed, and their families have not been located yet. If we consistently apply the law nobody will dare to break it."

"And I suppose even I will be punished if I break the law." Kong added.

Li frowned. "I hope you will see that there is wisdom in this method of government so you won't do that."


Luoyang

The Emperor sat at the end of the long table closest to the sunlight that shined through the open windows while the red robed military officials took their seats at either side. Lu Zheng, the Chief General of the Army, sat on Aaron's right and was the first to speak when all the men had taken their seats on the bench like chairs.

"The military readiness reports have been submitted and evaluated by the Emperor and myself. We now have enough information to begin drafting the first phase of plans for the annexation of the south." he announced.

Most of the men around the table had been expecting that and only nodded. The single woman in a red robe stood up to speak and glanced Lu.

"General Pan, do you have something to add?" he asked.

She started immediately. "I do, sir. The outline of a plan agreed at the last meeting is too slow. We should take action the moment the snow begins and before the enemy plants their grain."

Another General immediately stood up. Lu switched his attention to him while the Emperor just watched. "General Lian?"

Lian "I have to protest against this. It's a dangerous and stupid idea and the fact that it can be entertained here makes me question the ability of some military leaders to accomplish the most basic campaigns. Pan here conquered the south once only to lose it twice."

She corrected him with some irritation. "General Pan, you mean."

Lian was about to shoot back when Aaron cut him off. "General Lian, if you want to make a point then do it or sit down."

The surprised general made a short bow to the Emperor. "I apologize for wasting time. What I mean to argue is that Pan's strategy would have us overextend ourselves in the same way we did when we entered the south and then were thrown back the first and second times."

Aaron scowled. He didn't like to remember his past defeats. Another general farther down the table had stood up at this point. He gestured to Lian and Pan and the two took their seats before he addressed the other general. "General of the Qi Provincial Army Zhao Fen, have you got something to say?"

The General nodded. "Yes, your excellency. I think there is a third plan which warrants attention."

"Go on." the Emperor ordered.

"It is well known in military circles that the highest levels of government enjoy communication with southern leaders who are interested in gaining our support against their enemies, but do not do so out of fear of being destroyed by their neighbors for seeking Imperial help." Fen elaborated and then paused to see the Emperor's reaction.

Aaron uncomfortably adjusted himself in his chair - which was the only thing in the room that resembled in many ways an office chair from Aaron's own time. People weren't supposed to know about that, and the more who did the less valuable that type of secret effort was. Lu had a similar reaction to Fen's announcement.

"Pure speculation. Go on." Aaron said.

Fen smiled. "We should stir up fighting before we attack so that these chiefs, who would resist their land being made Imperial provinces, are weakened. It would not constitute a betrayal of our word to offer them weapons and armor against their opponents and then make the territory a province when they are weak and unable to resist."

One of the more honorable men stood up and nearly yelled at General Fen. "On every level that is a betrayal! If we are to have them fight our war, we should do it by supporting them as allies and not using them as-" he struggled to pronounce the English word. "cannon fodder!"

The Emperor glanced at both men and said nothing. They got the message and sat down. "General of the Yan Provincial Army Wang, wouldn't you say that we would be offering all of our friends aid at once so they can fight all their enemies at once rather than be overwhelmed? Is it more honorable to fight their enemies for them? We haven't gone to war in the South yet, they are constantly feuding without us." he asked the honorable general.

The man reluctantly nodded and the Emperor turned to Fen. "Fen, if you really think others should fight your battles then you and General Pan, who thinks we should fight sooner rather than later, should go to Wanqui with a small force Chief General Lu will select for you and prepare for the spring. Then you'll lead others in our battles."

Wang's scowl softened slightly, and both Fen and Pan remained expressionless although they didn't signal disapproval.

---

The meeting continued for another hour and ended with every officer bowing to the Emperor before leaving to attend to their assignments except for the Chief General. Most of it was bureaucratic and organization issues anyways. Ten minutes had been spent on debating if the army should procure more halberds or more armor. Aaron exchanged a few words about Chief General's Lu request for more grain before he too left to attend to his duties.

The Emperor was left alone. For a moment he just stared at the table. He could faintly hear conversation happening down the hall somewhere. One of the guards standing outside shifted in his place.

He got up and went to the window and fiddled with the latch. A moment later it was released and the shutters came open and a wave of cool air entered the room. Aaron looked down at his city. More of the space within its walls was filling up by the day, and the animal pastures people insisted on keeping close to them were pushed farther and farther towards the outside. Although the government compound was only six floors in height most buildings in the city were two or three stories high which allowed Aaron to clearly see the smoke stacks of blast furnaces near the city's industrial district and a city gate which occupied a place at the end of a long street that terminated in the city's central plaza, part of which Aaron could also see. He couldn't glimpse anything but the upper part of the market hall but knew it would be busy at this time of day.

It was rare Aaron had the chance to take a break. He leaned against the window sill and wondered if his wife would have been impressed, but she was long gone. As was his son. At least he still had a daughter - one who was showing good promise at school, he thought. He would have let his mind wander more if the door behind him didn't suddenly squeak open.

"Am I bothering you?" asked his Prime Minister through a half open door.

The Emperor turned around. "No, come in."

He entered and shut the door. "I need to speak with you about the provisioning of grain to some of our friends in the south over the rest of the winter."

The Emperor went back to his seat and answered his still standing friend. "Zhao, sit down. Let's talk about it."

The Prime Minister did so while Aaron leaned back in the wood chair. "I want us to provide a year's worth of grain to the largest tribes who have agreed to join our state."

Aaron's eyebrows raised. "That's a big expenditure."

Zhao Chun was never very good at phrasing his words for maximum effect. He preferred to let facts speak for themselves. "If we provide them the grain they have promised to field two thousand men for the entire campaigning season." he said to the Emperor, who immediately leaned forwards over the table.

"That's a considerable amount. Can they actually field that many?" the Emperor asked.

"I believe they are low balling us as you would say."

Aaron smiled slightly at the man's unintentionally funny pronunciation of the English term. "How much more can we get out of them, then?"

"Three thousand more."

"Five thousand men for a year of grain sounds like a good deal. How can it be negotiated?"

Zhao paused and considered his words. "They'll want assurances."

The Emperor knew exactly what that meant - hostages! The tribes wanted a member of the empire's ruling clan as a hostage for the duration of their agreement to make sure Aaron's state would actually keep its end of the agreement. "Out of the question." he stated.

"Then we will need to send something of equal value, or a very convincing negotiator." the Emperor continued while glancing at the declining sun out of the window.

"I think I can be both." responded Zhao. Aaron's eyes immediately darted back to him.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

The Prime Minister nodded.

"Do it."

Zhao stood up and gave a brief bow. Then he exited the room, and Aaron was alone again. He glanced out the window again before picking up a thick wood slip booklet and stylus case off the table and walking out the door. The guards immediately followed him.

While the skills needed to maintain a civilization were innumerable the skill of tile work was easily developed compared to many of them. That was why every public building in Aaron's empire had the same patterns of tiles on the floor. It was always a reminder on whose land you were stepping on and if there was another symbol of Aaron's empire apart from its black and red bordered flag it would be the repeating patterns of tile work.

The Emperor turned down the corridor and officials - both military and civilian - got out of his way. It had been the custom along the Yellow River to make a brief bow for tribal chiefs or local kings whenever they entered the room and although Aaron had never been particularly interested in enforcing pointless ceremony men still gave brief bows of their head to him as he passed by. At one point he would have given them some acknowledgement in return but there were always so many and he had more important work to do. At the opposite end of the government compound from the center where all decisions were made that occupied nearly a third of the square walled off part of Luoyang was a smaller building that had been preserved from when the city was just a large town. It was the former residence of the local king Aaron had overthrown and despite the fact that its log structure and brick fireplace were no longer the signs of wealth they had been before it suited the Emperor well.

The guards stayed outside when Aaron entered. He could hear talking - the tutor and his daughter. The tutor was a man named Teng Jing. He was old for this time but he was healthy and one of the men who understood the Emperor the most. He was teaching Aaron's only surviving child writing across a wood table when Aaron entered the room.

While Teng left the chair to give a brief bow to his employer, the child sprung up and went over to greet Aaron. "Hello father!"

Aaron grinned and knelt down to her. She was only nine. "Hello Lei! Are you Keeping up with your lessons?"

"Yes! Can we go outside to the snow?" Lei responded.

Aaron stood up again. "I don't think there's any time for that. I have more work to do. You have more learning to do."

He glanced at Teng. "How much more?"

"An hour, if she keeps up her progress. Another few hours for math."

Lei objected. "I'm already good at writing names. I want to go outside."

"Writing is also exercise, but for your mind rather than your body. We will go outside tomorrow." Aaron replied. She seemed unsatisfied with the answer.

He walked over to Teng. "How's she coming along on math?"

"Good. Not great, but good. We were working on handwriting skills first, if you want to take a look."

Aaron briefly looked at the slate she had been working on. The characters looked neater than they did a month ago. She was improving. But he didn't have time for a long conversation.

"Keep it up" he said to both of them, and went towards the stairs. Teng gave another bow and got Lei back to work.

The railing on the side of the stairs stood out from the wall, the copper nails holding it in place also did. Neither it or the nails were as roughly made as other features of the house. It had been added some years ago at the request of Aaron's wife while she was pregnant. It briefly filled Aaron with feelings he tried to keep away before he passed it and went into a room that faced the lowering sun. A desk - more finely made than many others, and certainly lighter, occupied part of the room along with its chair. Both nearly looked as if they could be from a modern IKEA catalog, especially the chair which looked a lot like a modern office chair. The rest of the room was stuffed with bamboo books and parchment scrolls, some of which were unfolded and hung on the walls. They were construction plans, government orders, records, and stacks upon stacks of bamboo instruction manuals for all types of machine.

Aaron took his seat and pushed open the window's shutters to let the sunlight fall on his desk. He rummaged around through the clutter for the bamboo book he was looking for.

"TYPE FIVE CRANKED LOOM ASSEMBLY INSTRUCTIONS"

That was it. He grabbed a nearby sheet of parchment where a detailed diagram of a powered loom was. The design was broken up into smaller sections each of which was designed to be an easily understood part of the whole. The gears and crank were one. The mechanism that raised and lowered the threads and beat the shuttle from side to side was another. The frame of the machine was also its own section and so on.

Aaron opened the book to where he had stopped writing yesterday and began to put stylus to wood.

---

Wanqui - Mo Guanyu

A soldier of the Central State generally understood that his life was to be hard. Hard marching, hard fighting, hard living. Hard construction labor was not something he often imagined doing after enlisting or getting into the army by the Imperial Test.

But it had to be done anyways, and Mo as an officer had to direct it. Being one of the few men in the unit who could read he was the only one who could properly understand the instructions for the threshing machines. Lined up in rows they took up a large amount of space on a platform near the river. Raised so as to prevent the granaries that had to be placed nearby from being destroyed by water during flood season the rammed earth embankment was separated from the water by strong brick walls cemented together with a lime based cement. The water wheel which Mo's men had just finished installing was positioned half way down the embankment so that when the river ran at its normal depth the bottom third of it would be submerged.

A few men carrying wood boards and beams were walking into the construction site from the direction of the forest. Mo hastily stuffed his bamboo slip instruction book into a state issued leather bag around his shoulder and rushed off to direct them. "You! Go here, build the scaffolding for the third thresher!" he shouted to them, and they responded in unison. "Yes sir!"

Mo turned around to see men installing an important gear of a more complete threshing machine on the wrong side. He ran up to them. "You there! Why are you installing the gear on the side where it can't touch the other gears! How could you make such a stupid mistake? Fix it!" he yelled and before the men could finish their profuse apologies to their commander he went over to another of the machines where the "beating drum" was being installed. This drum had been installed correctly except for the 'beating bars' that usually were supposed to be on the outside of the the drum. These ones had been installed upside down.

"You idiots! It's a simple machine - how can you fail to put it together correctly? I'm surprised you even know which way to point a spear!" he bellowed at the men who immediately began trying to lift the drum out of its position so they could reassemble it correctly while promising their commander they wouldn't fail again.

Mo moved on to another machine. There was nothing visibly wrong with this one and the men were installing the "shakers", which was a series of components that would receive grain from the "beating drum" and remove any seeds that remained by vigorously shaking the remaining stalks before they were finally freed from the machine and dumped on the ground. Mo took out his book and walked around the machine, eying it and his men for any failures. There were none.

"Good job." he said with his now more hoarse voice. The men continued their work while muttering thanks. Mo retreated to a place near the grain silos where he could observe all of his men at work. The silos themselves were also in the middle of construction and were built in two layers. The outer layer of the silo would be mud brick that was cheap and could form a good wall in structures where the brick didn't have to bear too much weight. The inner layer was wood and supported the structure of the silo while forming a gap between itself and the outer wall that would have air pumped through it in the summer for temperature regulation. It also allowed moisture in the silo to drain away or be sucked away by the air current which meant less grain would go bad in the hot months and made storage easier.

Another team was at work on the silos - but these were local peasant workers who were slower and lacked discipline. Mo spent a few moments glaring at them. They glanced nervously at the heavyset military man and sped up their work.

He turned back to look at his own men and leaned against a bundle of bricks still wrapped up in cord to keep it together during transport. The men continued to work hard even as a few flakes of snow began to fall through the air. More carts pulled by oxen were arriving and coming over the wood bridge that crossed the low and partially frozen over river. Each was loaded with more construction materials and along with them came squads of soldiers traveling in neat squares. There were a lot of soldiers. Too many for regular convoy escort or work. Some of them were militamen - Mo could tell because their coats weren't uniform and they relied on colored fabric around their arms or scarfs to distinguish each other from civilians.

A group of three horsemen clopping down the road and across the bridge into the city confirmed Mo's suspicions. They were moving men here for war, and the horses in small groups so as to avoid making a scene or alerting an enemy who was observing them. A number of the carts Mo thought were moving construction supplies were probably transporting weapons for some of the men who probably thought they had only been conscripted for labor. He glanced at the men building a silo behind him. Would he be fighting alongside them?

"You must be Mo Guanyu" an unfamiliar voice asked.

Mo jerked his neck over to the man. He wore blue civil official robes. "That's me, who the hell are you?" Mo replied.

"I am the logistics officer for the Army of the South."

Mo immediately bowed. "I had no idea, sir."

The man brushed it off. "It's fine. Are those your men?"

The logistics officer gestured to the threshing machines.

"Yes. I'm a platoon leader. We are mostly from Qin and Jin Province." Mo answered.

"Then you aren't used to the South?"

"We have fought only on the northern plains."

The officer nodded. "I am Zou He by the way. My commander wants to talk to you central army men."

He began walking away and Mo knew to follow.

[Tesserach]

A Long Time Ago,
In a River Valley Far, Far Away...

-1-
In the Beginning, there was Nothing,
Neither Earth, nor Sky,
Neither Form nor Essence,
Whence did the First Thing,
That was Not,
Become?
Whence did the first lips, by their own impulse,
Draw the first windless breath?
And in so doing first mark the boundary,
Between Nothing, and Something,
Existence and non-existence?

-2-
Who knows such things?
Who among us was there to bear witness?
If they were, let them speak.
If Wise Men are to be believed,
Only the gods, alone, know with certainty,
Perhaps they gave birth,
To all that we know, and all that we see,
Or perhaps all we see and hear,
Are lies whispered into our eyes, and ears?
How would we know?
Only They know for certain.
Or, perhaps, they do not know.

-3-
Perhaps they, like we,
Awakened naked and confused,
Strangers in a strange land,
Knowing Nothing,
Suffering, struggling, hoping, striving,
Lost souls, wandering aimless,
Amdist the sights and sounds,
Of shifting lights and shadow,
In the realm that exists,
Between Wakefulness and Dream,
Between Past and Future,
Between Memory and Imagination,
Between Life and Death,
Between What is,
And that which merely seems to be.

-First known instance of The Bhodhayativeda(Veda of Awakening) 1-3, from the Mehrgarh tablets.

---

Is this the real life?
Is this just fantasy?
Caught in a landslide,
No escape from reality.
Open your eyes,
Look up to the skies and see,
I’m just a poor boy,
I need no sympathy,
Because I’m easy come, easy go,
Little high, little low,
Any way the wind blows doesn’t really matter
To me,
To me.
-Classic Indian Folk Song, Untitled

---

“The fuck!?” I awaken to unfamiliar twilight, still, hot damp air, the sound of running water somewhere distant. Grass rustles gently as I shift in my bed, squinting into the dying light. My headache is palpable - drilling into the sides of my sinuses like a rusty railroad spike.

Also, I am naked. And not the PG version. It's all there. I stand looking around - and there is warm, humid air wafting about bits I'm entirely unused to feeling outside air wafting about. This sensation, along with everything else I see, is wrong. The evening birds, their calls echoing through the approaching darkness from the treetops are utterly alien from the sound of grackles and mourning doves I'm used to hearing. The hillside I see in the fading light, rises higher than any hills I know around the gently sloping drumlin forests and hedgegrow'd farmlands I'm used to.

There's nowhere like this. Nothing even close. Not anywhere remotely close to where I live.

“How… the fuck…” The words spill from my mouth as I perse my lips. There’s a rational explanation for all this. There's always a rational explanation. I remember the time, following a party, I awakened with my pants missing. No one knew where they'd gone. I'd had no recollections. I called people I remembered having been at my apartment after we'd left the bar.

I'd had pants at the time they left. They all swore it was so up and down. They swore none of them had stolen my pants. I knew my friends, even drunk, I believed them. I searched everywhere. I searched under the bed, moved furniture - I even cleaned the entire apartment. At the time I'd felt like I was going mad. My pants had - seemingly - disappeared leaving me rather naked.

Much as I was now.

And then, as now. There'd been not mystical explanation. My pants hadn't been stolen by nefarious forces. They hadn't simply ceased to exist in our universe. I hadn't gone mad. Rather, I'd just been quite drunk, and sure enough, a day or two later, the missing pants turned up in my refrigerator freezer.

I never did discover the rational explanation for why I placed my pants in the freezer, but I am confident there was a rationale that made sense to my alcohol-addled mind. Now, as then, I might never discover the precise details for how this all came about. Taking a long deep breath, I focused on just breathing, counting heartbeats for a moment.

Really, it didn't matter. Not now. I was here. Whatever had happened that I don't remember getting here, despite the headache, I seem lucid enough now. Moving around a little, I don't feel compromised - naked yes - but my balance, reactions and movement all seem normal enough.

Situation assessment time.

I'm naked. No tools, nothing. No sign of roads or human activity of any kind here. Really warm, humid. Can't see much else, but not hearing roads? I've definitely moved. Doubtful this is even Canada. Not any part of it I'm familiar with.

Risk assessment. Worst case scenarios: sudden temperature drop, weather change. I could be fucked if that happens. Unfamiliar, possibly hostile wildlife. If I do find people, they may not like a random stranger wandering around their home with his dick flapping about. Possible language issues. Also it's getting dark - I already can't see shit even if I knew where I was and where I wanted to be and it's only going to get worse.

What do I have? Nothing. Got a river. I know I'm in a river valley, surrounded by forested trees. It's hard to see, but I can tell this isn't even the right biome for my part of the world. Seems almost... tropical. Tropical though. Lots of plants. I can work with this... I guess. Fuck.

For tonight, shelter. Just someplace dry, relatively hidden and unexposed - something low energy since I'm not sure when my next meal is gonna be. For the rest. Just pay attention, watch my step. Maybe find a big stick. I've got forest and river to work with, following that's probably my best chance of reaching civilization. Downriver is probably the best gamble, so I'll do that. I take a breath.

Even playing the odds, the first rule of wilderness survival is be prepared and I am not. Survive tonight, but realistically, finding other people has to be my overriding goal.

I try and reassure myself. I should be fine for the night. Keep warm, keep dry. Follow the river. Find people. From there, I should be fine. Getting home should just be a matter of putting in the work. And, I reassure myself, barring some Alice in Borderlands bullshit the fact I woke up here, healthy: not that much time could've passed since my last recollection of... taking maybe a few too many edibles. Maybe I just wake up in my bed tomorrow, no worse for wear.

It's a good plan. No reason it shouldn't work.

I got this.

I definitely... probably got this.

---

The Next Morning - Unspecified River Valley

"Is he dead?" Revi asked.

Vishal made no immediate answer, as the three boys inspected the person/corpse lying beneath a canopy of haphazzardly constructed ferns and sticks. Nitin, the shortest of the boys, pushed one of the goats towards the man, it's face sniffing the naked figure as though deciding whether it would be good to eat.

One of them laughed and pointed. "Poke him."

"Hey. You dead?" Vishal asked, though no answer came.

Somewhere between the prodding with the stick, and the goat licking his face, the figure began to stir. There was a languid groan and they figure turned over beneath the haphazzardly constructed fern canopy they erected. Revi whispered into Vishal's ear, chuckling.

Vishal gave a sharp rap of the stick, applied directly to the groin area, which finally seemed to rouse the figure.

"The fuck!?" The man jumped up as the boys scattered, laughing and the figure rolled around and turned his privates away from the three boys even as their laughing continued.

"Right in the balls!" Revi was rolling around on the ground now. Nitin however joined Vishal, holding a think stick of his own and pulling the goat away after the man swatted it away, clearly upset for some reason.

"The fuck's your problem?" The man declared, half turned away from the three boys.

"Put clothes on!" Revi shouted back, still laughing while Vishal and Nitin brandished their sticks.

"You don't want it hit, don't be dangling it." Nitin declared. "Who are you, what's wrong with your skin? You sick?"

"What? Who're you wher..."

"I'm asking the questions here!" Nitin shouted with a barrage of blows from the stick. When the man reached out and tried to grab the stick Vishal joined in and even Revi got to his feet, ready for a fight.

"What!? Ah!" The man said standing up. "Geez - are you fucking serious kid? You know what!? Gimmee those fucking sticks!" The man said, bolting towards them and yanking the sticks away. Revi even tried to run in and kick him in the balls but the man easily batted the kick aside with his leg and Revi fell over instead. "Ya'll lost your sticking fucking privileges!" The strange naked ghost-man yelled as Revi, Vishal and Nitin made their escape.

"Tell your parents to bring some clothes..." The man said. "I'll... watch your fucking goats I guess!"

The man sat on a rock, still holding one of the sticks, seemingly contemplating his situation.

---

"And then a naked ghost man come out of the woods and attacked us!" Nitin was shouting, nearly jumping up and down.

Aditya was already on his feet throwing on his waistcloth in haste. He looked over to Kshitija, next to him, who was already pulling up her skirts. "Stay here." He said, grabbing his belt from the base of the tree they'd been under when Nitin had come running over.

"I'm coming too!" Kshitija called, stalking after him, still fiddling with the folds of her skirt as they went. Aditjya was entirely unsurprised to find Vishal and Revi skulking under a nearby tree, anxiously glancing in their direction. "So, all three of you just left the herd?" She voices Aditja's own thoughts to Nitin, who said nothing.

"I was covering for you." The boy complained, sounding sour about it.

"Revi, go tell uncle!" Aditjya said instead, his tone a little hard. Years of taking care of the old man's ungrateful goats and the one time, he trusts Nitin to cover his watch... of course something like this would happen. "Show me." He told Nitin.

Nitin led the way, across the open meadow, through the footpath through the bramble and woodland, over to the fields where the goats had wandered. Aditjya hadn't been sure what to expect really from the description.

Kshitija pushed her head forward. "Let me see!" She said, pushing Nitin aside. "Be quiet." She admonished him.

The figure seemed to be waiting there. He was naked, unarmed except for a stick to deter animals. "What do we do?" Nitin asked.

Aditjya took a deep breath. If he wasn't after their goats, Aditjya wasn't sure why the man hadn't fled. Perhaps he was an outcast among his people? Either way, the man seemed to be waiting for them. Aditjya pondered these things.

It was Kshitija that stood up. "Oh please, let's just see what he wants."

"He's naked." Nitin protested. Kshitija just rolled her eyes. Aditjya said nothing but hastened with her out of the bramble, feeling like he couldn't be seen by anyone to be shirking his duties.

"What are you doing here?" Aditjya called, stopping Kshitija from approaching closer. Together with Nitin the three of them stood near the edge of the treeline watching the man perched upon his rock.

The man regarded them a moment, trying to keep his nakedness hidden behind the rock. For a moment he seemed confused about something but despite his alien appearance, seemed to comprehend the question. He seemed to think upon his answer for a time. "You know what? I don't even know." The man said, shrugging helplessly. "I don't even know where I am."

"You're in the lands of the Vadabhaat." Aditjya called out. "Who are your people? Are you from beyond the mountains?"

The man stared at them, blankly a moment. "I'm being completely honest with you here. I don't even know what that fucking means. Where's the nearest city? I just need a telephone." He made some funny hand gesture.

Aditjya looked to Kshitija. "Why'd you attack the children?"

"I didn't attack anyone. I was sound asleep, minding my own business and those little shits started beating me - so I took them away."

Kshitija and Aditjya both turned and looked at Nitin who just began shrinking away.

"Look, I just need some clothes, and a telephone."

"Clothes we can do." Kshitija called. "We don't know what this other thing is you speak of."

The man looked frustrated, confused - maybe even a little defeated. "You know what, at this point, I'll take whatever I can get."

---

Pastoral Nomad Encampment - Somewhere in South Asia

The dawning was slow.

The surroundings, the fact I was the only white dude for miles. The fact that Aditjya and Kshitija, as I learned their names were. I gave a fake name to them, I'm not sure why exactly. The thought vaguely occurred to me that if things went, truly, wrong the last thing I wanted my family seeing was "Canadian Tourist Beaten to Death by Villagers After Exposing Himself to Women/Children."

The fact they all, to my ears anywhow, seemed to speak English was a confounding factor. So even when they led me to their camp, a little over a dozen leather tents that smelled of the animals they lived with I still hadn't caught on. This despite the fact I distinctly remember thinking these were the sorts of living conditions most places got rid of in the 1800's. People and animals living in the same places - this was Covid-inducing shit right here.

But I was convinced. If these people knew English, they'd be able to - at very least - get me to a telephone and that would be that.

But they didn't know what telephones were. And there were no roads. And the nearest cities was many days away, and anyhow, the weather would turn bad soon they explained to me. It became clear things weren't quite so simple though, given the extraordinary situation that seemed to be unfolding I reserved judgement.

I think I still reserve judgement. There's some explanation. I don't know what it is. If someone invented time travel and I got stuck in it. Or if we're living in a simulation. The one I liked the least was the idea that I'd suffered some sort of brain injury - a stroke perhaps - and even now I was in some ICU perched between live and death or in a coma. Maybe I'd wake up an old man, my wife long since dead, and no family left to speak of.

Fuck.

Rather than any of that, I just stuck with the parts of my story I had reason to believe were 100% true. That I was a stranger from a far away land, but that I'd somehow woken up here with no idea how I'd arrived. They, at least, seemed to enjoy stories of Canada.

As promised, the weather did turn. I of course knew of monsoons. I'd seen the videos of them happening, had read first-hand accounts even of members of the British Imperial Civil Service documenting their experiences. But, I suppose as expected really, actually sitting through them was another matter, particularly when you were sheltered just by some trees and animal skins for days upon endless days.

Really, I was quite glad to have listened to my hosts that travelling was a terrible idea. Which left us plenty of time.

Prabodh, the leader of the camp, a minor chief of sorts was an interesting man. I enjoyed speaking with him. I could tell he was the type of person who greatly enjoyed talking with strangers, hearing tails of far off places, he was eager to show off his own worldly nature. He knew the Hindu Kush mountains well, spoke of their ancestral lands where they grazed cattle, hunted, fished, and occasionally brought their cattle to graze in these lowlands. His tribe and band had grazed these lands for centuries now, great-great-great grandfather.

Prabodh told me stories of far off places and things he'd heard, no doubt, from other travellers. He clearly liked impressing people with his knowledge, and I could easily imagine him sitting in the same tent, by the same fire, reciting what I was telling him about the world beyond.

I liked Prabodh, he was curious and he liked to know things.

It was from Probodh I figured out roughly where I was. Most of the names were unfamiliar, but after asking enough probing questions I finally teased it out. I recalled, specifically, the old tenet that while cities and other place names often changed - mountains and rivers tended to stay the same. People adopted whatever name people already used, and because they tended to cross many different groups, over time the original name tended to hold.

Despite this, we went through a lot of names that meant nothing to me, save - by the names - that I was somehwere around India. When none of the names were familiar I started probing questions, the old stand-to technique. I do know a little geography. Ganges? Meikong? Padma? Nothing. Indus - many days east. Mountains nearby? He gives me a name that means nothing. Is that a mountain or all of them? Krush mountains, or something like that: Hindu-Kush. A few days west.

There's a pass east of us around the mountains, this one Prabodh knows well. Another supposedly in the far noth Prabodh has never seen: Kalabur. Or something like that. Kalabur Pass. Kyber Pass.

Thanks to American imperialism, that one I know.

I asked about cities. He assured me there was one. I probed to see how big it was. When he described it, it sounded like a village. When I mentioned a bigger town, he said he knew one of those too - Megar - or something like it. Meant nothing to me. But he said he'd seen it. Many people, way bigger than any village. When I asked about walls he said yes.

I did what work I could for the camp. But apart from being an extra set of hands to haul things around - which I did a fair bit of - I really had no useful skills to speak of. The only skill I had they seemed to appreciate was the men and the boys of the camp enjoyed a good amount of wrestling, and if I'm honest, despite being decently practiced... they kind of sucked at it, and for a time, I became the camp's informal wrestling coach.

If I really have travlled back in time, I probably ran those kids through the world's first strength and conditioning and HITT program.

I spent most of the season learning. They taught me how to use a bow - albeit shittily and they wouldn't trust me with any of their good arrows. The whole affair was a crash course in how to pastoral nomad and hunter-gather.

My one trick was I remembered the foreward of a book - ironically from ancient India itself - which had been thought for centuries lost forever. Until a copy was discovered, preserved, written on palm-leaves in the 20th century.

I kept notes on bark and leaves as I found suitable to the purpose. I'm not even sure why. It's not like anyone would care - for millennia - about anthropoligical notes about the stories, kinship networks and living practices of the Vadabhaat people. Though, as I was beginning to learn, they were just a small part of a much larger tribal confederacy centered around the city of Mehrgarh.

Also it turned out Queen was a big hit with the neolithic pastoral nomad crowd, which I think went a long way to them continuing to feed and house me through the long rainy season.

[Orostan]

THE EMPIRE OF CHINA - AARON DAWSON
2960 BC
A collaboration with Suriyanakhon

Luoyang

Out of all the buildings in Luoyang there were few which could be called truly unique. Whenever a new warehouse, home, or workshop needed to be built architects would simply follow the same plans over and over again with minor adaptations to local circumstances. One could go to Linzi and see a nearly identical house to one in Luoyang. In fact, because Luoyang was considered the model for all cities in the Empire to follow, its buildings were even more uniform than the usual town or city. The only ones which stood out were imposing government structures and establishments open to the public like the market halls and cafeterias that sold meat or hot meals to the people.

There was one exception to this rule. In Luoyang’s residential quarter rather than the small shrine that most religious groups would be content with, one group had made a temple that resembled a small compound with gardens, living quarters, and a large central building constructed with great care. Every day worshippers would visit the temple and the shrines inside, and year by year the number which came for celebrations of religious festivals or communal prayer grew. This growth wasn’t limited to Luoyang. Similar temples had popped up across the empire and although there were a number of emerging religious movements which competed with them they had achieved a unique sort of success. From their old bases in the eastern islands most Yellow River people knew little about and from newer temples established inside and outside of the Empire’s territory this movement had taken hold of groups outside the porous Imperial border regions and was increasingly present in the tribal confederations that the people of the Yellow River called the “Chu” or “Yue”.

This and the larger visibility of these groups within China was why the cobblestone street outside the temple was under heavy guard. Elite soldiers in black iron armor blocked off the road and made way for the entry of the Emperor’s carriage which despite its simple square shape and gently curved roof was finely made and rested on leaf spring suspension. It was also pulled by horses - which were both faster than Oxen and also an incredible display of wealth and power.

The carriage was pulled in front of the temple compound’s entrance, and when it had stopped a senior guard immediately released a latch on the side that let a small set of stairs down. The Emperor opened up the door and stepped out afterwards. While the government officials and merchants enjoyed complicated patterns on their clothing to distinguish them, the Emperor made do with a black robe with some simple white patterns around the collar and end of the sleeves. The usual bronze sword the Emperor carried was missing - a gesture of peace, no doubt. It’s not like he used it much anyways.

He examined the monk who had come out to greet him. It seemed they valued simplicity in dress as well. They bowed to him.
“It is good to see you. Are you the lead priest?” he asked.
Fuxin was an old man, and it showed by his wrinkled face, missing eye, and when he opened his mouth to speak, several missing teeth. “That is correct, Your Majesty.” he replied, his grasp on the Chinese language solid but the fact that he was not a native speaker betrayed by his Kansai accent. “I am Fuxin, that is the Sinicization of my Dharma name.” Fuxin was perhaps one of the strongest advocates for blending in with the people of the region one proselytized in, as seen by the fact that the temple was made and organized in the Chinese style, with Chinese inscriptions and books in the shrine, and the deities enshrined in the temple being dressed in Luoyang garb, not much different from Aaron’s dress himself.

The Emperor nodded and Fuxin guided him past the gardens into the temple. One guard followed and took up a position inside next to the door. The two men knelt at a short table that had been set in the middle of the room, and one of the more junior priests lit incense in honor of the statue enshrined in the main hall, the goddess Biàncáitiān, known in Hanajima as Benzaiten.

When the two had both settled in the places Aaron began the conversation. “Fuxin, how did ‘Dharma’ start and how did it reach your homeland?”

Fuxin tapped his walking stick against the floor as he sat down and said something toward one of the junior priests about being careful with the flame before answering the question. “Dharma did not start lord, it’s always existed and will always exist, but it can be forgotten and remembered. It reached my homeland more than forty years ago. I remember because my father was one of the first priests who was ordained by the Mikoto. He didn’t know much about it, we worshiped the kamuy at that time and didn’t have most of the words we have today. I didn’t learn about it until I inherited his shrine twenty years ago.”

The word “Mikoto” piqued Aaron’s interest. “I see. Was this ‘Mikoto’ a special person?”

Fuxin seemed reluctant for a moment to respond, but he rested his head on his hand and stated, “Truth be told, I don’t think she knew which end was up. I didn’t know her personally, but my father was from the village which is now Hanazumi, and she was always a strange one. We all talked because she took her dead wife’s cousin in and it seemed there was something heavily inappropriate about the way she acted in regard to that. But I don’t want to gossip, least of all in a temple.”

The Emperor’s last meeting with an individual from Japan had convinced him that whoever the time traveler there was, and there must have been one, had gone to great lengths to conceal their identity. The response of the priest seemed evasive to him - perhaps there was a religious prohibition against speaking about their prophet? Aaron changed the subject.

“It was known to me that your temples in the islands feature statues and carvings of animals such as a trunked creature with four tree trunk shaped legs - are these animals material or are they spiritual? I have never seen anything like them before. Have any of these deities-” he gestured to the statues. “-made appearances to you or others?”

Fuxin did not immediately respond to the question, for several minutes he seemed lost in thought until he said something quite abruptly. “You mentioned Dharma earlier, Your Majesty. Dharma is why Hanajima is a backwater now and you will surpass them. Not for any technological reason, or any other material reason. That whole dynasty is cursed after the Mikoto killed her own father-in-law, it’s been cursed since that day and it will be cursed until it ends.” he seemed to have realized he had stated something quite out of nowhere and asked one of the acolytes to repeat the Emperor’s question. “No, no gods have made an appearance to me. I think any man who claims they have should have their head checked. The animals you mentioned, I have never seen, but from what I understand, they’re material creatures like you or me. I don’t think they look exactly like they do in statue form.” he laughed. “I can’t imagine a creature like that getting along well.”

Aaron decided to follow Fuxin’s line of thought rather than probe the man too much. “If Hanajima is cursed because of one murder, what is my empire? My enemies accuse me of innumerable murders, and there are tribes in the far north and the distant south which already claim to follow Dharma and condemn me as a violator of those principles.”

Fuxin smiled wryly. “Your Majesty seems like he is much more complex than the image of him presented to the world,” he replied. “Kings can and must fight and kill for the sake of the kingdom, the world would fall into disorder if kings all ran off to the monastery. In the process they accumulate sins, which is impossible for anyone but those who’ve reached the end of the Three Vehicles to not do. I have no interest in absolving or condemning Your Majesty, and my intention is not to flatter him with my statement. A man who kills goes to hell, yes. But a man who slays his own parents, those who give him his life, he does to the lowest hell itself, and he does not get out for a long time. It is a sin that blemishes one for a whole kalpa.”

The Emperor smiled slightly - it was rare that anyone told him he was going to hell although he was sure many people would like to tell him that in much stronger words than Fuxin. “It was my understanding that according to Dharma the soul is reincarnated and not sent to one of several hells - is this not the case?”

“There are several hells and the soul is born in there for quite some time until the accumulated sin is exhausted. After its demerits are exhausted, the soul is reborn in some other world, as either a ghost, a man, a god, or an animal.” Fuxin replied.

At the mention of ‘some other world’, Aaron began to wonder how recognizable their form of Buddhism was to that from his world - he had thought that their “Mikoto” either transmitted it in a nearly identical way to them or had created it to build some type of society like he would have done. “I do not know how familiar you are with… my own homeland, but it could be described as ‘some other world’. Are these other worlds supposed to be identical in the fundamental ways to this one, and is it possible to reach one without dying or reincarnating first?”

“This is not a topic that I can say that I am really an expert on. I know that the Mikoto is said to have come from another world, the Great Eastern World. I know that each world is supposed to have its own Tenjiku, the holy land where a Buddha arises. One could potentially get there, we used to think that we had to cross the sea to get there when we were young, but now that I am older, it seemed like it meant more in the sense of being in the heavens somewhere. If one could fly or teleport, like the Mikoto did, then they would be able to get there, I think.” Fuxin replied, adding a disclaimer at the end.

“Fly or teleport?” Aaron asked.

“Yes, she just landed on the island forty years ago or so, with nothing on her back, and that is how the whole story of our country started.” Fuxin said.

The Emperor responded immediately. “It is common knowledge that I came to a village near this city in a similar way, although I did not come on purpose. I am curious to know if she and I came from the same place - are details of where she teleported from known and did she have to learn your language before communicating?”

Fuxin smiled. “I must confess, Your Majesty, that is one of the reasons that led to me trying to seek an audience out with you. If we’re being honest, I have always been a bit curious about this myself.” he stated. “I unfortunately do not know anything about where she is from outside of what she told us, and I am inclined to regard her as a liar. Her and that bastard Susam got along much too well for her to not be a snake like him. I do know that she did in fact know our language before she arrived, and that she could speak the language of anyone she heard. It’s what helped her form a ridiculous cult with herself as a bodhisattva. I always assumed she was some sort of witch who managed to speak to spirits. Was Your Majesty a witch before he was a king?”

Aaron laughed, it was another rarity to be asked so directly if he was a wizard. Most people just assumed he was. “I wish I had been more than a student. I was learning about the way the society I was born in worked before I was sent here by God knows what. The only spiritual encounter I can ever boast of having was whatever force dropped me under a tree without even my clothing fifteen years ago. I have to say that I see many things in common between the story of your Mikoto and myself, although I’ve never been able to deliver spiritual revelations. In fact, I came from a country which was never even ruled by a king. If I ever return, the laws might prevent me from holding public office because I gained a noble title in this world. Besides all that ancient history, who was this ‘Susam’? Were they also from that other world?”

“Susam? Heavens no. He was some dumb drunk from our village since the day he was born. We all used to joke that his mother drank so much he was an alcoholic in the womb.” Fuxin laughed, his teeth gritting after he said that and his hand gripped into a fist. Even today he was unable to hide his full hatred for the man. “He was skinny before the Mikoto got there. Then he was her biggest supporter, made himself into a big shot. Then he got grotesquely fat after the civil war. I can’t remember if he died shitting himself or from a stray arrow, I must confess. I would have loved to seen it either way, the unpleasant stink aside.” he thought for a moment and then said something else. “Did Your Majesty hear of the Buddha Dharma before he came to this world?”
The subject of religion was always one the Emperor tried to walk carefully around. Whenever priests asked him for “spiritual advice” he’d suffice with giving as little as he thought would prevent them from asking again. “I did, in fact. Most of the people in my homeland, and a large part of the world, believed in only one all powerful and omnipresent God who instructed people how to live through a series of prophets. Variations on that idea were so widespread that a number of major faiths in my world differed most essentially on which prophets of that God they accepted. I am inclined to agree with most of my countrymen. It was the first missionaries of Buddha Dharma that came to my empire which caused me to seek out information in your homeland and send an expedition there at one point. The moment I heard that type of worship existed in your land I knew whoever had delivered that knowledge could have been from my world. Although my world was very old, and it is possible that your Mikoto came from an earlier time than I did. Did your Mikoto mention other religious systems or anything about the God many of my people follow?”

“The only religion that I know about from what you describe is the heresy of Ishvara, the religion of the brahmins, which is mentioned in scripture. Aside from that, I never heard another religion mentioned which resembled that.” Fuxin answered. He seemed somewhat pleased. “I had always known in my heart that someone as foul as that girl could never have made a religion as noble as this.” he looked around the shrine. “You have confirmed that for me, and that has made me very happy.” it seemed like tears were about to fall down his eyes and he reached to cover them with the arm of his robe. “I should do something to repay my debt of gratitude to you. I never knew what language it came from, but I did know the name of the Mikoto before she ascended the throne. Kinoshita Grace.”

Aaron had to resist the urge to stand up and yell. A name! Finally! The only single part of information that could have been better was a location. “I am very happy you told me her name. Grace is a name from the western part of my world, and Kinoshita sounds like one from the east. In fact, it’s possible that she was born on a version of those same islands you were born on. It is very interesting to me that she was sent to a place in our world that she would have had ancestry in or was currently residing in. I was sent to a place very far away from where I lived, which right now is probably little more than forest and islands. Any debt to me you have was repaid by mention of that name.” he answered. Hastily Aaron added something; “It strikes me that because of the name she was likely born in the same era I was. I have for a very long time believed that if two people were sent from my world to this one that there could be three people who were sent back, or four, or five. It is entirely possible there are great empires existing in other parts of the world, including in the area that corresponds to where the Buddha Dharma originated in my world, founded by people like me and her. Is it possible that she is still living somewhere or that she knew of another state founded by someone similar to her that she traveled to?”

“None that I am aware of.” Fuxin replied, blowing his nose on a handkerchief. “There is something… you said, lord, that I had repaid my gratitude. In that case, I am more than prepared to offer you something. But I request one thing as payment. That you help me reach the holy land that corresponds to Tenjiku and spread my religion there. In exchange you can have the artifact that I own made from the Mikoto’s hands herself.”

Aaron’s expression changed to one of concern. “That land - Tenjiku, you called it, is extremely distant by the methods of travel which are available. I call that land India, and although it can be reached by land it would require going over the most barren and high mountain ranges that exist. In my world with every wonder people had produced it still would have been extremely difficult to make such a journey. The other option to reach India would be by sea - and even then it would be a long trip. I could provide you with copies of what maps I have provided and a large ship, but the journey would be extremely long and there is no guarantee, in fact it is unlikely, that the people there know about Dharma. The Buddha, if we are talking about the same one, would not be born for more than a thousand years if this world really is similar to my own world’s past.”

Fuxin seemed heavily disappointed, and somewhat confused by the mention of the Buddha not being born yet. “I am prepared for that, excuse me for a moment.” he said before disappearing into another room of the shrine for several minutes. Finally he returned, holding something in his hands. “I held onto you for a long time, little carriage, for reasons beyond me.” he whispered to the little figure that he held. “You will be the great little golden boat that will sail me to the great city, the great land, of Nirvana.” he placed it onto the table for the Emperor to see.

It was very poorly proportioned, but it was clearly a miniature of a tank. Carved on the hull were the letters 九七式中戦車 チハ (Type 97 Chi-Ha medium tank).

Aaron carefully picked up the miniature and turned it over. He could not read the Japanese, although he recognized it as Japanese, and there were no other distinguishing markings. He set it down again, giving it the care someone would give a fragile and intricate sculpture rather than the crude wood carving it was.

“This is an image of a war machine - probably from earlier in my world’s history than I was around to see. These machines were made of metal much harder and stronger than anything I have been able to make. They were used during the greatest war that was ever fought, and if this sculpture’s creator was there to see it, that might explain why she acted the way she did...” He trailed off, and then continued. “The specifics don’t really matter that much. All that does is that you’ve given me two gifts of enormous significance, and I’ll give you whatever can help you reach India in return.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty, thank you.” Fuxin thanked Aaron repeatedly, obviously very sincerely grateful. He jumped up in excitement and almost fell over from his bad hip. One of his acolytes grabbed him to make sure he didn’t. “I should probably retire for the day, I am very weary from all the excitement. But I trust you to keep your promise and I hope that we will talk more about my expedition to the holy land soon.”

Aaron nodded and stood up. “I will. A senior government official will be here before the end of the day. He’ll give you as many boats as your people can crew and as much supplies fit in them. If you make good time and can make good trades with the people along your journey you can definitely reach India in a reasonable, at least for this world, time period considering the distance. The official will also bring copies of whatever maps I can give you.”

---

Aaron kept notes on everything in his home office. Notes were pasted on the walls, organized into books, and ranged from information about the state of his empire to technical scribbling. The other time traveler was something he wrote the least on, yet the parchment containing everything he knew about her that was hung prominently at the top of his bulletin board had only contained a few lines of english writing - until now. This time he added a name. A likely time period she was born in. Some character traits. In one day the old priest Fuxin had given Aaron a tiny window into the previously impenetrable question of who Grace Kinoshita was - or is. There was no indication that she had died, if she'd also gained the youthfulness Aaron seemed to have when he came over the boundary between worlds it was entirely possible she was healthy and young for all the forty years she had spent in this world.

Even the smallest connection to the time and world Aaron was born in made him immensely happy. The little tank Fuxin had given him had a significance and surreal-ness that was difficult to put in words, and as Aaron held it in his hands and after he turned it over for what must have been the tenth or twentieth time he put it down a prominent shelf near the window where the sunlight could illuminate it. Maybe one day he'd return the object to its creator if he could ever find her.