The Damnation of Utu

Sumer (modern day Iraq), 2004 BC.

Little is known of the once mighty Sumerian people. This dominant, primordial civilisation resides in the captivated imagination of millions today, embroiled in legend, myth and even fantasy. Meanwhile their languishing presence echoes distantly into the confines of our modern world, dripping with wisdom which has long since vanished into the sands of time. Along with their knowledge, the truth of their miserable fate has escaped the hungering grips of the modern world too. A fate condemned upon them by the heavens. A fate they could have escaped were it not for their arrogance and pride. The City of Ur and its fate were kept secret from your worried mind, until now. History repeats, whether it wishes to or not…

Zababa cast his mind’s eye across the immense desert plains. The red sands were muted under the darkness of night, but the approaching morning rays promised to restore their vibrancy. Warm, glowing arms of light silhouetted the overlooking mountains, reaching across the world. Yet when the sun reached the peaks of the frost crowned summits, Zababa did not see the formless light or feel its benevolent warmth. Instead, he froze in awe as the gargantuan hand of a leviathan reached over their summits. Zababa watched speechlessly as the almighty hand from the heavens was followed by the behemoth body of a man. Larger than imagination itself and standing with his head concealed by whispering streaks of cloud, this monstrous entity climbed over the mountains with ease, lumbering passively across the desert and bringing the sunlight with him. The rays radiated out from behind his shoulders and glinted sharply like sword blades, slashing darkness from the world. 

Unwillingly, Zababa felt his gaze torn away from the giant and towards the night-drenched horizon behind him. An earthquake grumbled from within the sickly dusk and grew harrowingly bolder. When the growling of the ground grew closer still, he realised that no earthquake was to blame for the deep thunder which rolled through the sand. The noise fizzed from the heels of another giant, shrouded in black and sprinting towards the one who wielded the light. Zababa saw the glint of a crescent shaped dagger appear from the corrupted darkness of the assailant. He tried to call and beckon to the sun bringer, though he did not hear. The dark behemoth drew the dagger back and slashed it remorselessly across the throat of the other. With a vacuumous gasp, the giant collapsed to the sand far below. In the final throes of the fall, Zababa noticed a beautiful city in the desert beneath the giant. The shadow of the fallen giant enclosed upon the bustling city and moments later, it was crushed under his colossal carcass, plunging it into eternal darkness.

***

Zababa gasped awake and lurched forward. The cold sweat gleamed on his bare skin and the furrows on his brow bore deep, stressed grooves. Frantically, he scrambled across the floor and thrust the door open with two sweating palms. He collapsed into the arid world beyond his humble hut, already warming significantly under the seething heat. Twisting his body urgently, Zababa dragged himself around the hard set mud walls of his exiled hut. There, on the far side of his world, shimmering by the distant life-giving river stood the monumental city of Ur. It was still there, for now at least. But there is no doubt that his dream, his vision, his omen, was some form of depraved divine prophecy.

Zababa had not entered the city since… since that day. That terrible, cursed day when the visions first came to him. The people within the walls abandoned him, turned a blind eye and cast him aside. Yet they were not deserving of this grim, foreboding fate, whatever it may be. Ur must be warned, no matter the cost. No matter the cost.

An ill wind curled at Zababa’s heels as he traipsed along the waterfront and felt the spirit of the water weighing his soul with every step. He tried to turn his back on Ur as they had once done to him, second guessing his decisions and hoping it would not be his last. Spirals of dust lapped up by the breeze greeted him on his journey, perhaps the spirits of the wind were wishing him a safe passage to the city, or the afterlife. 

“I owe these people nothing.” He cried aloud to himself, yet his body refused the command and continued walking.

For hours, he walked under the deathly sun that senselessly purged the barren lands, but his withered eyes finally fell upon the city gates. At first the soldiers did not react to him, believing him to be a stray Elamite warrior* (it had been many years after all), though he was soon apprehended. Crowds gathered in the streets when the cohort of guards walked by, Zababa planted firmly in the centre of their ironclad formation. Clearly it had not been long enough. He looked around in this moment of odd serenity, taking note of how much the city had grown since his exile. These mighty walls remained strong, enclosing the city as they clawed at the sprawling skies above, inviting the pride and envy of the Gods upon them. Smoothed white walls loomed over them through every alley they ventured down with an unnatural, ungodly awe. Was man truly meant to achieve such greatness as this? 

Glistening in the centre of this bustling hub of human culture was the E-kiš-nu-ǧal Temple of Nanna, the God of the Moon. Zababa would be there soon enough, face-to-face with the last person in the world who wanted to see him. The shadow of the temple fell over him and the goliath doors heaved opened before them. Subtly, the group of guards constricting Zababa tightened around him until they were almost shoulder-to-shoulder. He could hear the subtlety of their breaths quietly echoing through the silent, pristine temple. They stopped so abruptly that Zababa walked into the guard in front of him and bounced onto the floor. Smooth, polished brick laced with sleek black marble and gems met him as he fell. The stone faced pillars draped in shimmering emerald cloth paid little mind when he slouched to the ground. E-kiš-nu-ǧal was not only intended to show devotion to the Gods, but to boast the astounding wealth of this great city also. Almost as suddenly as they had arrested him at the gates, the guards dissipated into the lurking temple shadows. They were out of sight, but remained prominently in the ageing man’s sharp mind. 

Rampant footsteps clacked towards him from behind the confines of the altar. He picked himself up just in time to receive a swift kick to the jaw which knocked him straight back to the ground. 

“I thought I made myself clear, Zababa!” The attacker pounced on him immediately and hissed his acidic words. “If you ever returned to the City of Ur that you would be killed for your crimes!”

“Gula Ki, please! Listen to me!” He begged, becoming acutely aware of the dagger trained against the soft of his throat. 

“Listen?” Gula Ki scoffed. “You questioned the divinity of the Gods, doubted their will and cast gloom across this great city. Why should I indulge any more of your deceitful, hateful words?”

“I knew what would happen if I came here, yet I am still here!” Zababa panted, his eyes wide with adrenaline. He gulped and a lick of blood trickled onto the tip of the blade. “What I have come here to say is worth sacrificing my life for, but it is not worth sacrificing yours too by refusing to listen to me!”

Gula Ki had no response. Zababa persisted. “Please, hear my words, even for a moment. Understand why I have given myself to this place despite my certain doom, then do with me as you wish. My fate is sealed, yours does not have to be.”

“...fine.” Gula Ki drew the dagger away and pulled himself back to his feet. “Humour me Zababa, why have you come here?”

“I saw a great man wielding sunlight as a weapon, climbing across the mountains-”

“More visions! I knew it!” Gula Ki interrupted. He snapped back with the dagger poised once more. 

“Wait!” Zababa flinched, drawing a sick smirk from Gula Ki’s curled lips. “I saw this man with the sunlight, but I saw another. A man shrouded in gloom with malice at his heels. He struck down the bringer of the light with a crescent shaped knife and his body fell upon Ur, suffocating it in darkness as black as night.”

Gula Ki sighed. “I assume you have an interpretation of this vision?”

“Y-yes,” Zababa doubted himself. “I believe the bringer of light was Utu, the God of the Sun-”

“Do not patronise me old man, I know who Utu is.” Gula Ki shot back flatly. Zababa bit his lip and continued, a slither of frustration flickered in his heart.

“I believe Utu will be killed by Nanna and his death will cause the demise of Ur. You must alert your people and-” He cut himself off when he heard Gula Ki’s muffled chuckling. “Is something bothering you, high priest?”

“Well, I requested that you humour me but I was not expecting to be so fulfilled!” He calmed himself, but the smirk still rested smugly on his face. 

“Tell me, why would Utu, our divine ruler, be struck down by Nanna, his own father? Hmm?” His rhetorical, mocking tone irked more anger inside Zababa.

Gula Ki cut Zababa off as he went to open his mouth with “and why would Nanna, the deity of E-kiš-nu-ğal, strike down his own city in the process of murdering his son?”

“I have my theories.” Zababa’s insinuating words cut deep, he was emboldened by the posturing of the high priest. “But the message is clear. Utu, light, perhaps even the Sun itself, is going to die and fall black upon this city, bringing about a terrible fate for you all. Please, you have to prepare. If not for your own sake, for the sake of the people!”

“Prepare for what? Wildmen? Elamites?” He scoffed. “Please, it’ll be another thousand years before that rabble overcomes the might of the Sumerians. And if the Sun is to die, how are we meant to prepare for such a thing? Nothing short of a devout ritual of the highest esteem would prevent such a fate. Wait…”

“What is it?” Zababa was deep in his melancholic thoughts until Gula Ki snapped him free.

“I believe I have a solution. A solution which solves all our problems at once.” He smirked. “Guards, seize him!”

Not even a heartbeat passed and Zababa had been swamped by half a dozen guards, overpowering him with their superior youth and numbers.

“What are you doing?! Unhand me!” 

“We shall sacrifice you to Nanna!” Gula Ki chuckled heartily when he saw Zababa’s expression turn bleak. 

“A sacrifice of such…” he clicked his fingers, struggling to find the right word. “Stature, would surely appease the Gods and spare us. Additionally, we will both get our wish by having your fate sealed.”

“No, wait! You don’t understand!” Zababa protested, his voice becoming distant to Gula Ki’s suddenly contented ears while he was being dragged away. “My death will not please the Gods! If that were so I would already be dead! Your people need to leave the city before it is too late!”

The temple doors groaned shut behind them and Zababa was paraded through the street like a trophy of war, a remnant of a defeated enemy. His demoralising lap through the streets was marred by the chorusing laughter of the people who watched him pass. You were my friends once, he thought to himself as their shameless eyes met his. Not a glimpse of sorrow or empathy fleeted across their faces while rotten food was hurled at him and their fists beat him. He had given his life to save these people, people who did not respect him and people who did not deserve to be saved. Their fate was certain now, and all Zababa hoped for now was that he stayed alive long enough to witness it greet them. 

His deprecating parade marched on through the night with no rest. The sun faded from the sky and re-emerged on the horizon behind them, all the while the faces in the crowds ebbed and weaved between one another. Bruises welted on his body from the fists, kicks and rocks that had ricochet against his frail body through the night. Tiredness drowned his vision with muffled haze and his ears were warped into ringing husks of their former selves by the endless shouting. Now, mercifully, they were leading him up the steps to a great sacrificial altar.

It was a momentous event indeed, just as Gula Ki had predicted. Almost the entire city had arrived at the foot of the altar to witness the demise of Ur’s most notorious exile. Banished from the city for speaking of his visions, only to return and suffer a miserable death for the same reason. Irony truly was a cruel mistress. 

An anticipating buzz of conversation hummed and hovered through the hordes of onlookers, watching Zababa’s depleted body being yanked up the steps. Carelessly depositing him at the top of the capitalising stone structure, the guards stepped back and formed a line at the back of the altar. Barely enough strength remaining to even open his eyes, Zababa looked up from the feet he had been dropped in front of. Squinting against the backdrop of the sun’s light, he made out the silhouette of Gula Ki looming over him, the glint of a dagger hanging from his dominant hand. Gula Ki crouched down and whispered to Zababa, ensuring no other soul could hear his words.

“I’ve been waiting a long time for this. I’ll be sure to miss your heart, make sure your death is as agonising and slow as I can make it. I’m sure your family will be eager to see you again.” Zababa had no strength to fight back and simply glared up when Gula Ki rose to his feet.

“Great people of Ur!” He projected his voice out to the masses and beckoned confidently to each as they were the only one in attendance. “Today we rejoice, for not only do we appease the Gods with a great sacrifice, but we finally banish these lands of a dark, unruly soul!”

Thunderous applause and jeers erupted from the crowd, then an eerie hush followed as they fell away, the people hanging in suspense for the high priest’s next enlightened words. 

“Our great Nanna demands offerings to show our love and devotion to them, and- and-” he faltered when something caught his attention. Is that a shadow on the sun? He shook his head, regaining focus. “And of course, we are happy to appease the Lord of the Moon!”

“I see it too.” Zababa’s voice had grown raspy and hoarse with fatigue, but he mustered these few quiet words for Gula Ki. He tilted his head up and returned the smug smirk back to the high priest who involuntarily shuddered under Zababa’s vengeful eyes. 

Determined to keep up appearances for the crowd, Gula Ki brushed him off and raised the ceremonial dagger high above his head. The sun shone in its flawless blade. Then suddenly, it did not. A shocked gasp rippled through the masses when the moon passed before the sun and masked its light. A hollow chill suffocated the air and the colour drained from Gula Ki’s face. All fell silent, all but the sly laughter of one man. Zababa’s laugh started low, but soon cracked into full blown, maniacal hysterics. 

“Light those torches! Now!” Gula Ki hissed to the guards.

Another joyless moment in darkness passed the frozen city, then a horn broke their shocked daze. A war horn so low and bellowing it’s presence could be felt rumbling through the very bones of the Earth. 

“Elamites!” A voice gasped. In the dim, torch lit darkness, Gula Ki watched in horror as an apocalyptic horde of Elamite warriors stormed the city gates, and rafts bursting with harbingers of death barged their way into the harbour. The whistle of slingshot rocks preceded the cracking of splintered bone as they connected with the flocked, defenceless masses. Screams of torment rose and panic engulfed the city. The people trampled over one another, beating friends and family alike to death under their frenzied feet, yearning for safety. Surrounded in an instant, Gula Ki watched helplessly as thousands of his people were slaughtered. A heart-wrenched tear escaped his beholding, bewildered eye. 

“The Sun is dead!” Zababa continued to laugh uncontrollably, his mind completely disjoining from his soul. “And now you will be too! You will pay for condemning me!” 

He extended his arms and welcomed a blow from Gula Ki’s dagger which never came. A slingshot stone had hurtled from the depths of the city and punctured the priest clean through the throat. Zababa smiled as the horror-stricken face of the priest crunched against the stone floor in pooling blood, fading to nothingness with the old man’s maddened laughter being their last picture of the world. Zababa kept laughing, even in death they say, as the Elamites embarked on the altar and tore him limb from limb. The eclipse yielded after several agonising minutes. When Utu’s rays returned to the now bloodstained sands and death drenched city, he realised the world of the mortals would never be the same. The Sun’s light had died out across Ur, and taken its people with it.

------------------

*the Elamites were a rival civilization to the Sumerians who lived south of Ur in modern day Iran.