The Lioness of Shadi

25 - The City of the River God

Caught by soft breezes wafting down from the north, hundreds of red petals showered down from the top of the grand Eastern Gate. The crowd pressed through the great bronze doors, flanked and guarded by statues of Lugal's servitors, fierce winged bulls with stone bodies and golden horns. Together, they embodied the twin gods Eta and Mursu, evil destroyers vanquished by Lugal in the days before days and then forced to bear his yoke. With their ferocious expressions and wild eyes, they towered over the throngs of people moving between them.

Shir Del looked up at the statues fearlessly, ignoring the reverential gesture made by Kulziya as they passed beneath the gaze of the bulls. "Strange that no thief has made off with their horns."

Kulziya laughed, but there was an edge of subtle apprehension to it. "It is not wise to anger the Twins, or one will have worse than a legion of howling demons behind them."

Ilati arched an eyebrow. "Is Lugal not their master?"

"He is a god of justice and law. He does not extend his protection to thieves and blasphemers."

"Why keep your gods in stones?" Roshanak craned her neck, fascinated with everything she could lay eyes on. "It would be very cramped."

Eigou chuckled and reached over, affectionately flicking at Roshanak's braid. "Even the gods in Ulmanna are civilized. We make our homes in brick. Why should they not do the same?"

Ilati swept petals from her hair with one hand, rubbing at Youtab's shoulder with the other. The mare danced beneath her as they moved, restless energy magnified by the noise and strangeness of this new place. The priestess was at the center of the group so that the other horses and Eigou's faithful mule could guard the crowd from Youtab's wrathful hooves. Already they were drawing many stares, even in the chaos of a festival. Sut Resi barbarians came with their own reputation, and these ones rode beside men of King Tudhaliya's personal guard unchained.

After moons on the grasslands and the forest road—the smell of water and growing plants, horse and wind, the black earth of Kullah and the fallen needles of cedar—the chaotic mix of scents tied to a city struck Ilati like a fist. There was the smell of the crowd's sweat, the smoke of fires from roasting pits, bread baking and beer fermenting, river water diverted into canals teeming thick with reed boats, and a thousand other scents she could only identify as city. Ilati scraped together a handful of flower petals and held them to her nose, crushing them in her hand to release a sweeter scent.

How strange, that something she once would have never thought a moment of could come across so offensively. After a few moments, she let the crushed petals fall from her hand. Her nose would learn again to ignore it.

The noise was no less overwhelming: hymns to Lugal sung by the crowds thronging the broad, main streets of mud brick, punctuated by the clanging of bronze gongs, the hammering pulse of drums and cries of dancers lost in a flurry of ecstatic movements, the endless chatter of the crowd. Compared to deafening thunder on the open ground, it was not painful, but it was relentless. Ilati wanted to scream, but knew it would be devoured by the din of the crowd.

They were close to a parade snaking along the length of the Suen River as it approached the joining, towards the towering ziggurat to the northeast. The Temple of Lugal perched high on the central hill south of the rivers' joining, across a great bridge of cedar wood sealed against the water by black bitumen and tiles that shimmered in the sun like the green and blue of fish scales seen through water. Accents of mother of pearl decorated the bridge between tiled patterns and the bitumen, glowing gold.

While all the others were drawn into the splendid, joyous energy of the celebration that arced like lightning from cloud to cloud, Ilati felt a coldness uncoil in her stomach the closer they moved to the city's center.