Children of Oblivion
Children of Oblivion belongs to the following groups:
Myths, Legends and Fairytales, Practising the Dark Arts and Short stories - Spherical ScriptingsThe goddess was curious.
“Why have you called upon Me, blood of Enkidu?”
Her form floated above the waters named Apsu – the waters that led to Her home, the underworld of Magan. The water was the last remnant of the primoridal substance that had been shaped and moulded to create the universe.
He stood there, unable to look away or even answer the aspect of raw desire that was Irkalla. It wasn’t Her form precisely that stunned him – nowadays the physical form was malleable as clay, only limited by imagination. It was Her essence that slammed into his mind, his soul.
And especially his body, blood thundering through his head – a primal throbbing arousing him uncontrollably, almost blotting out his purpose here. Which would be extremely dangerous, despite Her appeal, or perhaps it was part of it, Her ire for being summoned needlessly would leave him beyond dead.
Such allure, however, for a being that represented the cessation of all Life. Definitely indicative of the seduction of self-destruction.
He ran a hand down his ragged army fatigues, sand-stained and dirty. He felt insignificant in Her presence, the tiny part of his mind not quaking in awe thought that even the finest raiment would look as rags. The overriding instinct was to fall to his knees and worship Her, this was only a shadow of Her majesty projected into the mortal realm – he could resist it and make his plea.
“Mighty Irkalla, Queen of the Underworld That Is Called Magan, Mistress of the Apsu.” The goddess smiled at the reverential address. “I come to you with a sacrifice, craving a boon.”
Irkalla’s curiosity was indeed piqued. “Know this, beast-man – your entreaty is the first I have received in thousands of years.”
So long it had been since the magnificent civilization of Sumer had died out with only faint traces remaining.
One of those traces spoke of his own bloodline – when Enkidu, shaped from clay by Aruru in the image and essence of Anu and Ninartu, walked with his companion Gilgamesh. Written on clay tablets in cuneform, the Epic of Gilgamesh had survived until the modern age. The People had kept the oral tradition alive through ritual retelling – although some urban dwellers had lost their heritage.
He’d been one of those – he’d learned of that heritage in part through a copy of the Epic he’d picked up from a second-hand bookshop for twenty cents.
The difference between him and humanity was marked – other teenagers had to perhaps shave their chins, not their whole bodies. He was told some extra hair was natural in puberty but this was definitely too much. Later on he’d resorted to electrolysis – to be so naked felt unnatural but it was important that he blended in with humanity as best he could.
After reading the Epic, he set off to the hinterlands where folklore said the sasquatch was to dwell. Enkidu had been the “wild man of the hills” and it was not unreasonable that his descendants to live similarly. Humanity had been overlaid upon Enkidu by the seduction of a harlot – the nameless prostitute probably the mother of the entire line. Perhaps that veneer of civilization had worn off over the generations and millenia, since in the depths of America’s forested hills he did find the sasquatch, “Bigfoot”, the blood of Enkidu. While they had been adept of hiding from humans, they knew his lineage, revealed themselves and embraced him as the family that he was.
Now for that family, he had joined the USMC, quite willing to be sent to the ancient lands of Sumer. The first Gulf War was his first tour of duty – in the confusion of battle he’d slipped away on his first quest – to discover “the land where the sun rises”, the paradise known as Dilmun. It had been a world of its own, far away from the world of screaming jets, the dull thump of bombs and the relentless thud-thud of artillery. In Dilmun, the antediluvian Utanapishtim was waiting, already had answered the seeker’s unasked question centuries before his arrival, carved meticulously in cuneform onto a stone tablet. The enigmatic immortal just smiled warmly as he gave him the knowledge of the ritual to summon Irkalla.
His second tour of duty, the second Gulf War, had allowed him the opportunity to find the Apsu Waters – this time he wouldn’t need to fabricate some story to explain why he’d been MIA – win or lose, he wouldn’t be coming back.
“The boon you require and your sacrifice, blood of Enkidu?” The goddess prompted him.
“The boon.” He bowed his head and kneeled as he proffered his bargain. “Please take my people, the line of Enkidu and the nameless harlot into your realm, to serve as denizens of Magan. They shall be your vassals in wartime and pay you tribute as you require. The world has forgotten us – the scions of Gilgamesh and the other branches of humanity. We’ve been driven out and hunted like animals. Humanity as a whole does not remember when Enkidu, wild man of the hills, was called “brother” by Gilgamesh, King of Uruk.” He sighed. “There is no place for us in this world.”
Irkalla’s lips pursed. “Yet, though you reject the line of Gilgamesh your boon is tantamount to his folly – he sought immortality. As my denizens your people would attain everlasting life in Magan. My servitor Namtar ruined Gilgamesh’s dreams of eternity – instead delivering him his dark fate.”
“Irkalla, Queen of Darkness – I seek not to trick you. If it is your will, allow my people an alloted mortal span.” He kept his tone formal yet entirely concilliatory.
The goddess looked deep into his eyes, Her wondrous face grew to encompass his vision. He could no longer resist Her holy presence as She invaded his heart and mind. A mute statue he became, infused with the essence of Irkalla.
When he was himself again, he looked upon the goddess weeping, Her tears mingling with the waters of Apsu. “Child of the hills,” the goddess’s voice was tinged with respect, “I know your heart and mind, I know of the sacrifice you offer. O noble blood of Enkidu, I accept your sacrifice and grant your boon.”
“Come to me now, my love.” Irkalla beckoned, tears still shining on Her cheeks. “Blood of Enkidu, I shall hold you until the stars die.”
He walked forwards and his body fell into Apsu as his soul tore loose to be with Irkalla forevermore.
All around the world, whether within the forested hills of the Appalachians or the jungles of the Amazon, the wilds of Australia or the frozen wastes of the Himalayas, the blood of Enkidu vanished. Even the hidden ones masquerading as humans in the cities disappeared in that one moment, their deceptions finally over.
To reappear on the dark plains of Magan – welcomed by the spirit of the chosen sacrifice, radiant in the love and awe of his mistress, the goddess Irkalla.
“My people, be at peace. We are finally home.”
Damian
I liked this; a modern communion with ancient Gods. I loved the ilusion of the setting being removed with the mention of his army uniform.
Cailean
Well, it’s set today. I suppose our nameless protagonist, of the blood of Enkidu is just an ancient offshoot now forgotten, similar to the same gods of the Sumerians. That’s why they are the children of oblivion, their place in the world has been forgotten, similar to the old gods before pretty much any other gods. The land of Sumer, their advanced civilization, predated all other cultures and their gods are primarily unknown. The average person doesn’t know the name of Irkalla and other ancient gods like Nergal or Namtar or Ishtar are just used inappropriately in computer games or movies. (sometimes appropriately but rarely)
I have a particular fondness for the Epic of Gilgamesh, being the absolute first short story ever written and the Sumerian culture in general – they had legends of the Flood that easily predate the Bible and it’s believed that the legends of the Flood incorporated into the Bible were actually reproduced from Sumerian legend. Although, interestingly, the survivor of the Flood did not continue the race of humanity but actually lived apart in the land of Dilmun and was almost made a god himself. A fascinating culture and history of which we just don’t know enough about!