"Have I done the right thing?" That question weighed heavily on Nannassar’s heart.
It had been days since Anuntis was laid to rest. The signs were clear –she would draw the high priestess of the cult of Lilitu to the ziggurat to murder her. For the Court of Stars, that would be the end of that threat.
But his dreams spoke of another tale. Anuntis was not ending the threat of the cult of Lilitu. She was claiming the mantle for her own, seduced by the words of the witch-queen. He saw her alongside Vidruk, seduced into her dark service, as they together laid waste to the Babylonian empire. And as for himself? There was nothing but a dagger on his back—a sign of her betrayal.
Yet he was wise, and through the winds he sent messages to Vidruk. He, too, was one of the Court of Stars, guided in his path by Ninshubur, messenger of the gods, and brave Enkidu, the loyal companion to the hero Gilgamesh. In the message, he begged a meeting, in the dead of night, days before Anuntis would fulfill her plan.
It was no secret that Anuntis loved many men. Vidruk knew—and strangely to him, respected—that she lay in Nannassar’s bed, as Nannassar knew that she lay on Vidruk's when she traveled to Persia. That served as a bond, for they both loved the same woman, and she loved them in kind. Thus, when Nannassar told Vidruk that she would test their loyalties—to her, to themselves, and to the Court—the general doubted at first.
Yet, Nannassar was insistent. He would prove to the general that their lover flirted with danger, her heart opening into evil. So, on the eve of her apotheosis, he would infiltrate their ritual as one of them. By his decree, Alammush would hide Vidruk from the eyes of the cultists, until the dreaded moment came. Then, when Anuntis revealed herself, they would strike.
Gifted Vidruk, hidden by the will and the cloak of Alammush, would whisper words of conflict between sisters. He would lay blades etched with the sigil of Ereshkigal, mistress of the Underworld, so that their death would be swift.
And in the confusion, Nannassar would save gentle Anuntis from her grim fate—in life, or in death.
Thus it was, that three days later, the body of Anuntis, lavishly adorned—with turban, and royal wig, and palla dress and elaborate makeup, and her hands grasping the dagger still in her heart—was laid to rest in a sealed cave, as her lovers and friends mourned her.
Three days had passed, and the question still burdened Nannassar’s heart. Even a visit to Istval, the hand of Ishtaran and adept of Birtum, gave him no peace. It was by Istval’s request that he traveled to the heart of Babylon, seeking audience with Belteshazzar, grand vizier of Nabu-kudurro-usur the Great, and governor of the Court of Stars.
The visit was not a warm one. Belteshazzar was not Babylonian by birth, but by decree of his majesty—and by his ME, it was as if he was. And as governor of the Court, Belteshazzar was fair to all—to Babylonians, to Akkadians, to Sumerians, to Persians, and even to the distant Hellenes. But all suspected that he was fairest to his own people—the Judeans—and that he paid no worship to the great gods, but to one that even he dared not to name, only calling him "Lord" and no more.
But none questioned the rule of Belteshazzar, for he was indeed wise. And it was this wisdom which Nannassar sought, as he knelt before him. "Great Belteshazzar—"
"Spare the words, friend." Belteshazzar knelt before Nannassar, grasping his chin. "I know your heart weeps, but had to happen. Anuntis, gentle Anuntis, had grown Malign."
"But was it the right thing to do!? Was I the one to do it?"
Belteshazzar stood and strode heavily around the mourner. "As she was the one to slay the cult, so you were the one to stop her resurrecting it. Or was that not the omen that lord Sulva revealed to you?"
Nannassar laughed. "You wouldst dare not speak the name of your god, but you speak the true names of the sukkalmah so freely."
"We are the learned, friend. And they do not mind, as Adonai would. They are not as jealous." He approached the mourner again, his gentleness bathing Nannassar in comfort. "Istval has spoken of your guilt. You fear that you did wrong, but we know you did not. You doubt, for you do not wish to stain your hands with the blood of your beloved for the wrong reasons. Yet Sulva feared he would lose dear Anuntis, and gave you the task of saving her."
"With her death?" Nannassar exclaimed in pain.
"She was Maligned, Nannassar. That was the omen you claimed Arbol revealed to you, is it not? Better to save her by the hand of her lover, than to lose her forever to the grasp of Lilitu."
"But why me?"
Belteshazzar embraced his friend, his brother, and wept with him. "That is the burden of the prophets, brother. For we see beyond what others can, knowing what inaction can bring, and dreading that our actions bear the best outcome."
And thus they wept. In grief, for one of them had fallen—but in joy too, for she had not been lost. And with their tears, Nannassar swept away the lingering dread that gripped his heart.
For he had lost a loved one, but in exchange he had gained a brother.
--
There’s nothing more for you to read, but the story touches you. And what surprises you, is that you wrote it in your own hand.
John takes the manuscript from you and glances over it, humming in delight. "Well, this is new."
"What’s new?"
His eyes don’t leave the pages, but he still answers you. "This tale." He pats the pages as he sits on his couch. "It proves a suspicion I always had."
"And that is?"
"That ‘Nannassar’ was not a name, but a title." He grabs up a book. "The earliest records of the Court of Stars speak of one ‘Nannassar’, but the dates are awfully out of sync. They extend all the way from the days of the reign of Hammurabi to the end of the Achaemenids—over a thousand years, if you’re trying to keep count."
He points at some passages in the journal. "But they all seem to have a singular trait. See, all those who claimed the title of ‘Nannassar’ were adepts of Sulva and Arbol. Yet, this one seems to be a prophet, when the best known ‘Nannassar’ was a wise and powerful judge."
You’re still confused by all this. You never imagined you could do this with meditation—at least, Kali didn’t teach you this. "How did this happen?" you ask. "How did I manage to write this?"
"What matters more is, did you learn something from it?"
And indeed, you learned much from it. It wasn’t as if you truly faded away—you paid attention to John’s lesson, about how the Court of Stars was a group of astrologers and priests and magicians that served in the courts of lower Mesopotamia. Their public face was that of viziers to the king and the regional governors, and thus they rose to high positions, but they expanded further beyond—for like the Stellae, there drew adepts from the four corners of the world.
Curiously enough, reading the tale made some things easier to understand. How they hid their allegiance to the ousiarchs by blending them with the gods’ own servants, and how they claimed their prodigies were ‘decrees’ akin to how the gods ordered the world to change.
But others still left you baffled. "Well, there’s the matter of who’s that Nabu-kudurri—"
"That would be a very famous figure, indeed. I hope you’ve heard of Nebuchadnezzar?"
The name escapes you at first, but surrounded by books, you easily recall where you heard it first - in the most unlikely of sources. "Hold on. Isn’t that a name in—?"
"The Bible? Well, yes, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t real. Jeffrey, this is not a mere tale. This is a recollection of the ancient past—and this one in particular sheds more light into the activities of our predecessors. You’re not the only one who has helped me—every one of us uncovers something new from our past, and even as I leave this plane of existence, someone else will follow on my footsteps."
"You mean Joe, right?"
"Perhaps. Perhaps it will be you. Who knows?" He pauses before cheerfully confirming your question. "But he was very excited to learn how I do it." He shrugs. "Perhaps he will use my technique, but it's equally or even more probable he will find his own way. Perhaps he will do so through music."
Though it seems sad to hear it, you notice John isn’t brought down by the thought. He welcomes it, as the tale you just gave him. He stores it, as well as the journal he brought, minutes before your brother rushes through the door.
"Hey!" he shouts, an expression like suspicion creases his face. "You never told me how come you can study here while I gotta go to school."
"I told you—I just need to finish one more year to get my GED, but you need to get used to high school. Say, did she bring you?"
"Yeah!" he says excitedly. "Lemme get her. Hey, Mireya! Jeff wants to talk to you!"
You wonder why you asked him that. How will you withstand being one more day with a sexy woman who seems to want to uncover everything about you?
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