CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Alad
“I’ve ruined your ball and your ballgown. I’m sorry,” I apologize.
“Perhaps not all that sorry,” Charlotte purrs, lifting her arm in a gorgeous stretch before lowering it to snuggle back into my side. I’m in First Form again, too exhausted by a night spent showing my wife how much I love her to keep any semblance of a human guise.
“Perhaps not,” I concede, snuggling her even closer. I’ve waited all my life for a woman to look at me, to touch me, to want to be with me as Charlotte does. It’s a physical requirement now to keep her close.
“Mmm.” Her lips find my hide, tempting, taunting, before she drops back. “We missed the opportunity to speak with Sir Austen.”
“We didn’t. Lord Peterson indicated that Sir Austen is his guest. It’s daylight. We’ll surprise him.”
“After breakfast?”
Since her stomach growls at her words, only the most irritating rapscallion would deny her food.
“Go. Draw a bath. I’ll ring for something.” I swat her on her lovely behind. It’s so plump, I can’t help folding my paw around the weight of her curve.
“And then join me?” Her look is devious when she cocks upon her elbow to look at me.
“Fiend. I’ve created a fiend.”
Her lips brush mine. “Too late to change your mind.”
I lock her sweet mouth to mine, enjoying a leisurely kiss before flopping my head back to the pillow. “Too late. Not ever, for any reason.”
Contented, she swishes off, naked. I enjoy the flow of her movement until she disappears into the adjoining bathing room.
Once I hear the flow of water, I think about rising and joining her.
Instead, I transform. The beauty of magick is that I self-clean with each change of physique.
I don’t need to bathe, and if I follow her, I won’t be able to keep my paws off her.
A gentleman doesn’t over-exhaust his partner, not in any time period.
The food arrives along with Lady Mary. She trails two female servants, who bob and curtsy at finding her behind them, almost dropping the tray. Before they can turn around to see me, I drag the cover up to my neck.
“Oh,” she says, averting her gaze from where I lie.
“I didn’t think to find you still abed. In Charlotte’s room, where you shouldn’t be.
” She clears her throat. “When you’ve eaten and dressed, you’ll want to meet me in the front hall.
I met with Sir Austen last night after you caused a minor riot on the dance floor. ”
“What did he say?” I sit up straighter once the servants have bobbed their exit, mindful of the bedding to protect her sensibilities.
“He would like to meet with you. He’s involved with arranging Lord Peterson’s collection and said that if you wouldn’t mind attending him and speaking while he works, he would happily see you at any time.”
“Does he know what I am?”
“Er—no. I thought it best to allow you to explain. All he knows is that you hail from somewhere south of Nineveh. At any rate, do hurry.”
She blushes before rushing out. I’ve no idea why.
*****
“Uncanny.” The gray-haired Sir Austen shakes his head before bringing his cup back to his lips. After sipping, he sighs. “Nothing so comforting in Madrid as a decent Earl Grey. I’ve a longing to return to the soothing normalness of London. I must be getting old.”
In order to move the Assyriologist to honest revelation, I revealed my First Form after giving him my story. He handled the transformation better than expected, but he still maintained that he needed a cup of tea to smooth the rough edges of his surprise.
These English—I’ve discovered they’re as mad for their beverage as we were for beer.
“And you understand the need for discretion?”
“Oh, I very much do. I am confused by one thing, if you’ll allow me?
” When I nod, he continues, “You are possessed of a lion’s body, not a bull’s?
My discoveries have yet to reveal any carving other than a bull’s bottom—er, if you’ll excuse the, er…
” He waves a hand to rid the air of his impolite mention of my body parts.
The books on the etiquette of this period are far more detailed and nuanced than any rules of polite behavior we held in Uruk. Then again, I lived in the palace with Gilgamesh, a warrior, and warriors don’t generally worry over niceties.
I lift my own cup to my lips, borrowing a second’s thought. Revealing facts about my world that haven’t yet been discovered in this time could overturn Fate. And yet, if I’m here, aren’t I necessarily acting in accordance with destiny?
“Most representations depict my mother, the Goddess Lama. She prefers her bull form. However, if you dig long enough, I’m certain you’ll come across some carvings of her with a lion body.” Or, they might be carvings of me.
“I see. Fascinating.” He darts a look at Lord Peterson, who is busily exchanging whispers with Lady Mary, whose complexion has become quite pink. “Would it be possible to study you, Lord Alad? That is, we had no idea a…a hybrid such as you existed. Why, with the information we might glean…”
“I’m sorry, but I’ve no wish to become a specimen, poked over and prodded. And,” I continue after taking a breath, “I don’t believe it wise to reveal too much of Uruk or the gods. My mother always counseled that knowledge appears to the seeker on Fate’s schedule. Her words are almost always wise.”
“Of course, Lord Alad. I’m certain Sir Austen understands,” Lady Mary says quickly, rising from her tete-a-tete to throw one of her softening smiles at the elderly man.
Sir Austen clears his throat. “Of course. Of course. Wise, as you say.” He takes another sip of tea before placing both cup and saucer back upon the table.
“Now, tell me what you need from me. I’m certain you didn’t seek me out with your incredible story simply to pass a few calming moments with an excellent brew. ”
I lean forward. “As I said, Gilgamesh cursed me into stone after we argued. I must find him so I can learn the terms of his curse.” I send Charlotte a glance. She’s trying to cover a yawn behind her gloves, making her blue eyes water.
I kept her awake too long. Bad shedu. But I can’t help smiling at the memories we made.
She leans into me before remembering we’re not alone. Her spine snaps straight. Too bad. For a moment, I enjoyed viewing the delicate curve of her breast as her shirt button pulled.
“Lord Alad wishes to know the resting place of the hero, Gilgamesh. I told him that if anyone would know, it would be you,” Lord Peterson says.
I can’t help scoffing at both the term hero and the idea that Gil is dead.
Sir Austen tuts. “I do possess a first translation of The Epic of Gilgamesh, as well as the original copy of the cuneiform unearthed from Ashurbanipal’s library, but those are in Madrid.
Job of giants, don’t you know, to piece it all together.
Popular story, apparently. Ashurbanipal would have been after your time, I think, Lord Alad.
At any rate, according to our translations, your friend died of old age and was buried in the middle of the river. ”
“The traditional ending of The Epic, though we can’t know if the words are true, or even translated correctly,” Lord Peterson interjects.
“Explorers have searched the Euphrates. No tomb exists there, I’m sorry to say.
However, as luck would have it, the copies you made for me, Sir Austen, are contained within my library here, in their original cuneiform.
Should we rejoin there? Perhaps you will uncover some clue that will lead you to your—er—friend, Lord Alad. ”
That he thinks it unlikely is undeniable. His placid face beneath his mop of sandy brown hair is tight, his gray eyes troubled, as if he fears me learning that Gil has indeed died.
Which he didn’t. Of course he didn’t.
We seek the library. Once there, Lord Peterson plucks a leather-bound book of substantial size from the shelves and places it upon a reading bench before crossing to sit next to Mary on the leather couch.
“Can you read it?” Sir Austen asks.
I’m already lifting the cover and gazing down at a language I’ve already noted that I can’t truly decipher without time and patience or magick. Some marks look similar enough to their original form that they’re recognizable, but I can’t be certain the meaning hasn’t changed with the years.
Magick it is. Besides, at this point, I would welcome my mother’s interference. I smooth my paws over the pages and close my eyes, calling upon Lama’s abilities. I don’t know if humans can see the glow spreading from the paper, up my arms, and all the way to my brain. But I can.
When I’ve acquired the language, I read the remains of the tale of my childhood friend. I lose myself as he loses himself, and my heart both breaks and is restored.
Here is what became of him after he turned me to stone.
Here is his love for Enkidu, the wild man of the forests whom we were to hunt and whom Karu was to tame with her sex.
I don’t know what happened to her, but I read of Gil’s search for immortality once Enkidu perishes, as well as Enlil’s decree he should die of old age.
And I read where he is buried. Sir Austen was correct when he said that Gil parted the Id-Ugina, but I should have known where to look from the start.
I don’t even realize I’m crying until Charlotte reaches high to swipe my tears from my cheeks with her gloved fingers. In a single moment, I feel both lost and found.
I kiss her palm that she holds against my cheek, centering myself. When I can speak, I say, “According to this, Gil did indeed die. Enlil commanded it, though he gave him old age in return for the curse of mortality. I also now know exactly where to find him.”
“I’m so sorry, Alad,” Charlotte whispers.
I nod, even though her sorrow is misplaced.
Whatever the story says, Gilgamesh isn’t dead.
Even Enlil, arguably the ruler in his father’s place, wouldn’t risk killing Gil without Anu’s express agreement, and Anu always delighted in his half-human grandson.
Plus, I don’t feel it. It’s true I don’t feel him in the world, but I also don’t feel the world rid of him.
Besides, though scraping off immortality is well within Enlil’s powers, the tale has the ring of fiction.
Plus, The Epic is wrong in other parts. It states that Gil wished immortality for himself as he began to fear death, but Gil knew he was immortal.
And fearless. If he wished a cure for death, it was for another.
Something else happened. I know it.
“Alad?” Charlotte asks. “What will you do?”
“Go to Uruk.”
They all exchange glances.
“Truly, I know the place. Gilgamesh and I often looked to the mountains of the west where the sun set on its journey across the sky. Gil wasn’t able to fly, but he could leap far distances and run like a gazelle.
In the middle of the river lay a small plot of land no bigger than the two of us seated beside each other.
The land rested close to the surface, so close that when we sat in our god forms, the water reached only to our chins.
From this odd island, we admired death’s home.
Once, in an introspective mood brought on by too much clear beer, Gil opined we should end our days looking upon the dying sun, thereby leaving a darkened world.
” A huff of laughter escapes me as I look around at the wondering faces of those gathered.
“He always thought of himself as the center of the world, my Gil.”
My Gil. Though I see now that I would have lost him to Enkidu, providing the tale is true about their love for one another. Had I stayed, would he have loved? Or become a good king?
I don’t think so. The truth of my absence is that it allowed Gil to grow enough to be changed by affection for someone arguably lower than a human being.
Enkidu was an uncivilized, death-wielding monster.
Had I been there, I would have attempted to dissuade Gil from entering into a relationship with a person who could only bring destruction to the civilization he was born to rule and I was born to protect.
In any confrontation between civilization and wilderness, one side must inevitably lose, for the opposites are such that they can’t abide together.
One way or the other, it seems, my time as Gil’s brother and friend was doomed to end. Which is… Fate.
A sudden inexplicable lightness flows through me at how perfectly the warp and weft of the world is woven together. There’s a certain solace in the inevitability of my parting from Gil, even though despair still swirls in my belly like acid.
My fate was to leave my world and find Charlotte, to make her my kingdom. And though I miss Gilgamesh—of course I miss him, we’ve been together for decades—if I had to choose between him and my sweet one, the choice isn’t a choice at all. Charlotte is my necessity.
It only remains to find a way to stay with her.
Time sucks at my paws like quicksand. The hour to face my friend has arrived.