The Fates (Book I) - 2014 Watty Award Winner!

3.12 - To Cut

Dear Readers: Let's see what Atria's up to, back in the city of Ur with its strapping king Shulgi...

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Scene 12: To Cut

2020 B.C.

Atria sat impatiently through hours of citywide celebration, during which she had to watch the Sumerian king from afar, since he had many formal roles to fulfill in this silly festival. None of which involved getting busy with his gift-whore. She sat upon a public pedestal, silent and removed, resigned to stare at Shulgi’s glowing muscles from a distance.

She did receive a moment of acknowledgment, in the midst of the festivities: the king proclaimed himself a god today, referring to his godsent gift as proof that he deserved such glory. So apparently self-deification was a thing, among kings, she mused, reflecting scornfully on the pharaoh she had met during her last visit to earth. That seemed a bit obnoxious. But at least this monarch looked the part, much unlike Mentuhotep.

At long last, the moon rose in the Mesopotamian sky and the festival drew to a close. She was led to the king’s bed. Where the real fun would begin. With nobody watching, and absolutely no holds barred.

Blushing maidservants brought her to Shulgi’s doorstep, bowing low before they shut the doors behind them. And the amorous pair attacked each other, mortal deity against deified man, with a fervid heat that threatened to consume them life and limb.

Nothing had ever come more naturally to Atria. The rhythmic thrust, the gasping breath, the fluttering eyes shut tight in moments of release. She felt so intensely human in these moments, lost in the fiery flesh of this fleeting form, forgetting that she’d ever been a Fate.

But no, not even human—more than that, and less than that, like something else entirely… like an animal, and it felt… it felt… divine.

He was spent long before she was sated. She pouted, pleaded for another explosion inside her—or upon her, somewhere. Anywhere he chose. Shulgi shook his head, smiled and chuckled through his nose.

“I can see why one might take you for Inanna,” he expressed, running a forefinger along her inner thigh, her supple skin slick from the many pleasures they had shared. “Insatiable… irresistible…”

“Yet you resist me now,” Atria petulantly purred.

He grinned. “One of my many superhuman strengths.”

She simpered coyly, snuggled into the crook of his shoulder, and settled for some pillow talk. To her immense surprise, this man was more than just a godlike sex machine and footrace champion. He was actually something of a poet, priding himself on intellectual as well as physical prowess. All from memory, he recited for her portions of the epic of Gilgamesh, a hero whose adventures were of wide renown. This Gilgamesh figure was allegedly an immortal demigod—from these tales, he sounded to Atria more like an ass very guilty of hubris.

Talk later turned to the advances that Shulgi had made for Sumerian civilization: architectural feats such as completion of the Ziggurat of Ur, revisions of the scribal curriculum, the improvement of roads, establishment of rest-houses for travelers across his realm.

All the better reason not to kill this king, she mused. Maybe he was a good egg after all, his huge ego backed by both muscle and merit…

This wandering thought snapped Atria suddenly back to her senses. Her agenda on earth. Holy fuck—what a selfish whore had she just been today! Too wrapped up in her hormones to take note of sinful mortals, in hopes of helping to save her mother’s life. This would not do at all. She could not let herself slip any further into humanity, let alone into animal lust, as this strapping king had ignited in her loins.

Shulgi had drifted off to sleep, luckily enough. In a rush of shame and panic, Atria slipped out of his arms, wrapped the sash around her frame again, grabbed up a spare cord to fasten the flimsy cloth around her waist into a makeshift dress. Her frantic mind formed a tentative plan: she had to find and somehow deal with this legendary Gilgamesh.

By all accounts in this city, Gilgamesh was an actual historical figure, a former Sumerian king. For some time now, rumor had it that Gilgamesh had been dwelling in the heart of the great Cedar Forest, the site of many of his exploits. Having attained immortality, after a series of visits to the underworld and back, he had since retired to the cedars to live out his days in peaceful contemplation of the universe.

Bull-fucking-shit. Atria was convinced that he was a fame-hungry prick who got off on fooling folks into believing that he’d won eternal life. Somehow, he had succeeded in fooling an entire civilization. And she found that unspeakably offensive. It reeked of hubris, which she knew to be one of mankind’s most tragic flaws—naturally, then, such sin must be a dire source of human darkness. This had to be dealt with.

Sure, kings such as Shulgi and Mentuhotep were a prideful bunch. But they at least did not deny that they would someday die. They knew the limits of their powers and their lives, their own mortality.

And they made worthwhile contributions to the world. The pharaoh was despicable in many ways, but Atria recognized that he had done some good for the two kingdoms that he’d unified. That was why she’d chosen, during her most recent visit to the Cave, to leave Mentuhotep’s thread uncut. To spare his life. Just as she would spare Shulgi’s.

But this Gilgamesh fellow—probably cackling in a secret palace in the forest, with a harem and horde of servants waiting on him hand and foot, oblivious that it was all a lie, that someday their hero was going to die—surely did not deserve the same. She had to venture to the heart of the forest and find him. If he still lived, she had to kill him.

Atria stealthily slinked out into the shadowy streets, unseen by sleepy sentinels. Left the city of Ur behind without a backward glance. Hastened down a dark road till she reached a humble inn, one of the rest-houses that Shulgi had commissioned. The hour was late; her human frame required sleep before the journey. So she laid to rest.

Back in the Cave, Atropos was at a loss as to which threads to cut. She hadn't exactly spent her previous day on earth determining who deserved to die. So, with no other choice, she reverted to snipping at random.

Upon slicing her thousandth thread, she thought she heard something… a gasp? From Lachesis?

Whatever. Cutting was easier if she played deaf.

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Anyone heard of the epic of Gilgamesh? I put my own little spin on it in this story, as you'll see when Atria embarks into the Cedar Forest - but it is an actual legend from Mesopotamia :)

... And what do you make of Lachesis's reaction to that snip? o__O  No worries if you're not sure yet - in the next scene, we will find out what happened! ;)

And as always, if you liked this one, please don't forget to vote! :)