Chapter Twenty five - The Hunt

Seeing the Hurrian disappear into the thorn-hedges Matron Amalda straightened her spine and raised her chin. ‘Who was it that let the Dumuzid escape?’

Her cat-like eyes flickered to the dazed priestess clambering on the grass, blood seeping from her broken nose.

‘Not only did you let him overpower you, but also you allowed him to taint your beauty. Better pray to Inanna that nose heals properly or you will be dismissed from my service. Now out of my sight, I’ll deal with you later.’

She scraped her throat with disdain as the bleeding priestess crawled away. The remaining sisters watched Amalda in silence, fine hands clutching their weapons.

It was a cool evening, a thin mist of rain descending upon the gardens, faint grey light gradually sinking away behind the walls.

‘Seal off the inner city.’ Amalda finally said. ‘Gates, walls, even the sewer pipes I want guarded. Does the Revered one still sleeps?’

‘She does.’ A sister replied. ‘Breathing is weak.’

Amalda nodded. ‘The Dumuzid must die. Bring me my bow, light the torches and sound the horn. A hunt is upon us sisters!’

Her acolytes bowed their heads and scattered. Eyes fixed on the melancholic roses where the Hurrian had fled, a faint smile formed over the matron’s wide mouth.

***

Sjerub struggled in the moist dirt, trying his best to grind down his tight bounds against a sharp stone. He had ran deep into the garden-forest, drenched in sweat despite the wet atmosphere, and his naked body covered in a multitude of shallow thorn-scratches. With a grimace he cursed the city of Uruk and all who dwelled in her. Prince of Uruk. Prince of Nothing.

Sjerub would have laughed about the ridiculousness of his situation if his life wouldn't be in such mortal danger. He never expected to face his end like this; in a sacred garden, hunted down by hooded women - while his reluctant lover and tall mistress was nearby, oblivious to his struggle, fast asleep. He had sworn to serve, so he would - to his last breath, but he felt bitter about it all. There was honor in dying for a noble master. To die today would only bring disgrace. Hunted like game by vile women, a pointless service, a shameful end. His ancestors would curse and spit on his name for accepting such a fate.

Sjerub looked up through the canopy above him, seeing the sky darkening. Night would soon fall. A horn blew from where he had fled. He could see torches through the trees. He finally cut the ropes on his wrists. Sjerub rose from the damp earth and ran again.

Like a frightened deer he moved, ears raised and stuck to the sides of his head, nostrils quivering, eyes wide. He was faced more thorns, more roots, more bush that cut his naked skin. Forcing himself through the labyrinth in a desperate dash he suddenly reached a wall. The Azure glazed stones were cold to his touch, their surface smooth; unclimbable.

Footsteps above, mute voices, and Sjerub shrunk down in the growing darkness. He crouched between the ferns and saw a six-headed patrol pass. Their gazes blindly moved over him and the priestesses continued.

The horn blew again, closer this time. He followed the wall in the opposite direction to the patrol. A gate lit up in the distance. Behind it lay the causeway over the water towards the city, an exit of these hunting grounds.

The gate was heavily guarded, as were the few stairs leading up to the walls. Braziers cast a fiery orange-red glow over the heavy bronze doors. Sjerub turned away. He wasn't getting out through there, and neither was he likely to reach the walls and jump into the canals to swim to safety. The chances of escape seemed slim, so he turned inwards; eyes on the temple. Eneduanna.

The dozens of lighted windows called him through the gardens. Back into the labyrinth he went.

He skulked, stalked, crawled. The rain increased, as did the darkness. His movements and sounds were shrouded by the rain. Sjerub heard distant shouts. Feminine and stern.

A snap to his left, and an arrow whistled past his face. Instinctively Sjerub sprinted through the roses. He fled like prey.

‘Dumuzid!’ It screeched from the dark, and three horn blows sounded in quick succession on his location. He heard his pursuers behind him, snapping branches and twigs under their hasty feet.

Sjerub took cover behind an old thick tree, pressing his body against the bark while trying to calm down his burning lungs that screamed for air. How quickly one breathes when frightened.

A figure rushed past, a vague dim scarlet blur. Another came from the other side. Then a third. They continued without seeing him. A quick glance around revealed lights rapidly closing in from all directions.

He decided to follow the three priestesses.

A momentary break in the cloud cover, and a sliver of moon appeared in the black heaven.

A gift from Kusuh. Lord of loyalty, master of oaths and promises.

Silver light showed the three huntresses milling around on a field. Two were discussing in whispers while one of the spearwomen was standing closer, with her back towards Sjerub.

He felt his muscles tense. Involuntarily his mouth snarled open, showing his teeth in anger and disgust. Around him were bramble vines, thorny appendages with sour fruit long soiled by rot. He carefully made his footing through the thorns.

The moon disappeared again, swallowed by the night, and deep darkness returned.

Sjerub reached out, lunging forward and striking the unaware priestess. He pulled her back into the plants, allowing him to fall backwards with her atop of him. Without a moment's waste he wrapped the bramble vine around her gentle neck. The thorns dug into his palms but he pulled tightly.

Eyes took a moment to adjust to the returned blackness of night, but it didnt take long for the huntresses to notice one of their own was missing.

‘Dumuzid!’ One of them called out. She sounded furious, Sjerub coldly noted as he choked the life out of her sister. His prey struggled, kicking her feet, fingers grabbing his arms, nails scratching his face.

‘-Trapped like a rat! If you manage to live through the night we will find you at dawn!’

Soft choking sounds from the strangled priestess, Sjerub holding tightly, the bramble vine noose cutting into the skin of her throat. She began convulsing, eyes bulging, then went limp.

‘-The net is closing Dumuzid. Your vile Hurrian blood will flow over our altars!’ They shot their arrows and charged into the bush with drawn knives.

But sjerub had already left, hands now holding the familiar wood of a spear. His hand held a weapon, the conviction to master his own fate propelling him further.

***

Just like the gatehouse, the temple’s entrance was well-lit. Fires burned besides the doors and the window cast warm light onto the surrounding overgrown terraces. A small grouping of priestess guards stood around, mostly younger acolytes, peering out into the dark forest of Eneduanna's garden. They seemed annoyed that they were not able to partake in the hunt.

Sjerub emerged from the darkness, naked skin covered in mud and scratches. He sprinted straight for the temple's entrance. A multitude of confused screams and warnings as priestess were forced to turn around to see a naked Hurrian dash past them over the tiles. With a bestial roar he impaled the lone guard in front of him, just a young girl. He left her to bleed out on the tiles and rushed inside.

The entrance hall was empty, the balconies void and the glass ceiled dome black and reflective of the candle-light below. He shut the doors of the temple behind him and barred them. Moments later the sisters slammed onto the entrance. They sounded like hellcats as they clawed and seethed against the doors.

Days before he was dragged through this Temple wet and confused, weak from imprisonment, brought before the ailing High-priestess. And that was were he would go.

He ran up the stairs, hoping his thin memories of that night would not betray him. He heard the doors break open but didn't take the time to look. One didn't need eyes to know the entire sisterhood of Uruk was yapping at his heels.

A glow of light ahead, a candle, followed by more.

The way was lit, clarity affirming his determination.

He laid eyes upon the high doorway of Eneduanna’s chamber.

Close; To her. To whom he served.

A figure split off from the corridor wall, appearing from a hidden alcove. In her hands two long Kris-knives.

Hard dark eyes flickered in the candle-light.

‘Turn away at once, trespasser.’

‘I serve Eneduanna. Out of my way.’

‘She is in ritual, she cannot be disturbed.’

Behind him he heard the noise of the rest of the order. They had manged to break through the doors. What followed was a vengeful roar, surging up the stairs.

Sjerub attacked. His bloodied speartip pierced nothing. In reply a bronze knife's edge cut the air mere inches from his neck. He struck anew but she proved a capable fighter. Wherever he attacked her blades blocked, and in return the knifepoints came closer each time he tried. With increasing desperation he tried to find a way through. The noise increased, loud clamoring, storming feet.

Sjerub clenched his jaw and opened his defence. Her Kris-knife immediately sank into his upper thigh.

Biting back the pain he grasped her wrist and pushed her against the wall, reversing positions. He ran again in a trail of bright red blood. The candles hissed has he flung himself into the Revered one’s chamber.

‘No!’ He heard the knife-priestess scream.

Sjerub surged through the sea of candles. There she was: Eneduanna.

Asleep in a white gown her olive skin held a feverish shine. Her almond eyes were closed. His spear pointed at her throat.

‘Not a step closer!’ He commanded at the doorway - through which a multitude of hateful desperate priestesses were staring.

A chuckle sounded and they receded, making way for the orange eyed Matron.

‘Your performance has been impressive.’ She conceded. ‘Shame we couldn't breed you for our orphanages. Your blood would have made fine servants.’

She entered the chamber with him and Eneduanna, the Revered one oblivious in her great bed.

‘-Alas all things must come to an end, and you have outlived your allotted time.’

Sjerub placed his weapon’s edge on his mistress throat and his grey eyes became glassy.

‘Another step and I’ll end it. Your Queen gone, your Divine dead. Speak to the Heavens without her.’

Amalda smiled. ‘No you won't. A Hurrian oath is as certain as death. You cannot hurt your mistress.’

Sjerub’s spear trembled. It shook, scraping over Eneduanna’s skin.

The Matron’s deep, rugged voice filled his ears.

‘Dont make any mistakes now, Hurrian. Be content that I will remember you, as I rarely do with your kind. You have gone down in a blaze of glory, sold your hide expensively. An Honorable end.’

She gave a signal and an arrow was shot, piercing Sjerub’s chest.

He fell back, dripping his blood over the edge of Eneduanna’s bed. His spear clattered to the floor.

‘There’s still some life in the Dumuzid. Back to the Kettle with him!’

‘’A Hurrian oath is worth more than Gold.’ King Enmerkar said gleefully as he eyed the tall Hurrian mercenary before him. With a wave of the Larsan King’s hand chest of shining coin were opened.