"جدتي ، لقد عدت."
من الداخل جاء صوت أورشال الدافئ الخشن: "هل أحضرت الملح؟ لم يتبق سوى القليل من الأمس ".
"أنا آسف يا جدتي. أنا نسيت. لا تقلق - سأذهب للحصول عليه غدا ".
انزلقت لاماسو من نعالها الجلدية وسارت عبر الأرضية المغطاة بورق البردي. في الداخل ، كانت جدتها تعجن العجين ببطء. انحنى لاماسو وقبل يدها وبدأ في إعداد العشاء معها: العدس وقطعة خبز مشوي وتين مجفف.
لكن بين رش الملح وهمس النار ، انجرف لاماسو. رأت ذلك مرة أخرى في ذهنها - تلك اللحظة: زهرة بيضاء صغيرة ، تستريح بين يديه.
رفعها ، معتقدا أنها تنبض بالحياة. لكنها ذبلت في راحتي يديه ، كما لو أنها أدركت شيئا لا يوصف. لم تكن تعرف ما إذا كان ذلك خوفا أم مفاجأة - لقد لم تكن ببساطة مستعدة لمواجهة الحقيقة.
"لاماسو؟"
عادت إلى صوت أورشال. "لقد نسيت إضافة الشعير إلى القدر."
"آسف ... لقد انجرفت للتو للحظة."
في وقت لاحق ، استلقيت على سريرها ، وجسدها ثقيل. لكن ذكرى الزهرة حركتها. مدت يدها إلى حقيبتها الصغيرة ، وسحبتها للخارج ، وحدقت في توهجها المتلألئ. تسللت ابتسامة حزينة على وجهها. عادت إلى مقعدها ، والأفكار والنظريات تغزوها من كل جانب.
وضعت زهرة نوماريل تحت وسادتها ، تماما كما أمر سين ، واستلقيت ، تحدق في السقف في صمت. هل يمكن أن يكون ما رأيته حقيقيا؟ كيف يمكن لزهرة أن تذبل هكذا في يديه ، في تلك اللحظة بالضبط؟ هل أتخيل الأشياء - أم أن هناك شيئا خاطئا معي؟ يا آلهة ، أشعر بالقلق والعجز. كل تلك السنوات ... والآن هذا فجأة!
هل يمكن أن يكون ماهرا في السحر؟ لكنه لم يخبرها أبدا ، ولم يلمح إلى ذلك أبدا. للحظة ، كانت الفكرة مرعبة. لماذا ركضت دون أن أسأل؟ كان يجب أن أسأله - أليس كذلك؟
ربما سأؤجل أسئلتي ودوافعي. لست مستعدا لمواجهته الآن.
استمرت في التفكير ، وبناء النظريات والخطط ، حتى أخذها النوم فجأة. تماما كما وعد مرشدها ، كانت تنام بعمق - دون كوابيس أو أحلام متطفلة.
استيقظ لاماسو قبل أن تخترق أشعة الشمس الجدران الطينية الملساء. كانت الغرفة تحمل فقط أنفاس جدتها العميقة ورائحة الرماد الخافتة من الموقد الصغير في الزاوية.
مدت ذراعيها وهمست لنفسها ، "يا آلهة ، لم أنم جيدا منذ زمن طويل. أشعر أنني على قيد الحياة."
مدت يدها إلى عباءتها المصنوعة من الكتان المنسوجة يدويا ولفتها على كتفيها. ربطت جديلة واحدة بخيط من الصوف ورؤوس أصابعها عبر حصيرة البردي.
في الخارج ، على الحافة الشرقية لبابل ، همس النسيم عبر أشجار التين والعرعر. من بعيد ، دعا كاهن معبد نابو المؤمنين إلى الصلاة الأولى ، وصوته عميق ولحني ، يتردد صداه بالقرب من باب عشتار.
قبل مغادرتها ، انحنت لتقبيل يد أورشال - المرأة القوية التي ربتها منذ الطفولة. "لا تنس الزيت والملح يا لاماسو. وأحضر بعض الحلبة الطازجة إذا وجدتها ".
"كما يحلو لك يا جدتي."
أمسكت بسلة سعفة النخيل وانطلقت نحو المدينة.
كانت الشوارع لا تزال رطبة ، حية بأصوات الصباح - أجراس الحمير ، وقعقعة العربات الخشبية ، ورائحة الخبز المخبوز من أفران الطين ، وصرخات الباعة الذين نفد صبرهم. كانت الأرض تحتها عبارة عن أرض ممزوجة بالرماد ، مقسمة بقنوات ضيقة تحمل المياه من نهر الفرات ، مبطنة بجذوع النخيل والخشخاش المزهر.
مرت بجدار معبد مردوخ ، حيث رش الكهنة الشباب ماء الزعفران على العتبة. كانت الحجارة منحوتة بالأسود المجنحة والثعابين الملفوفة. أغمضت عينيها للحظة وهمست صلاة الصباح: "ليكن يومي مباركا في عيون الآلهة".
By the time she reached the market, it was brimming with life. Assyrian and Akkadian men haggled over gemstones, women sold henna, children darted between sellers of dates and salt. Clay flags hung from ropes, and wine jars stood in short towers beside the stalls.
"Lamassu!" A voice called from the corner. She turned to see Tiyama, her neighbor from Urukal Alley, holding a baked clay jar.
"They finally woke you?"
"I woke before the sun. You know Grandma doesn't wait."
Tiyama laughed and pulled her into the crowd. A few years older than Lamassu, she had recently given birth to a baby girl.
They approached an old vendor named Ninur-Balu, a man Lamassu had known since she used to come to the market with her grandmother—before Urshal grew too weak to leave the house.
He sat on a goatskin rug, surrounded by baskets of leeks, onions, and green cumin.
"Blessed morning, granddaughter of Urshal."
"And to you, Uncle Ninur. How's the produce today?"
"As you see—blessed by the soil of Sumer itself. Take what you need, don't worry about the price."
"But I'll pay, like always."
"No. Let's honor your grandmother. She used to send me a loaf every Thursday, back when I had nothing."
Lamassu handed him a small silver shekel, but he gently pushed her hand away.
"Thank you, Uncle Ninur. I'll tell Grandma it's on your account. See you later."
She took leeks, onions, and some fresh fava beans, then walked with Tiyama through the stalls.
At the perfumer's stand, she paused to inhale the scent of labdanum and cinnamon imported from the sea lands. A young woman passed by in a gold-threaded gown, followed by a servant carrying jars of perfume—and a few guards.
"Look, Lamassu—it's Shalitu!" Tiyama clutched her hand, urging her to turn. "Huh? Who's Shalitu?"
Lamassu turned and focused on the tall young woman with chestnut hair adorned in golden ornaments, matching her silk gown embroidered with gold.
"She's the daughter of King Nabuwazur. She rarely comes to the market herself—but look at our luck today!"
Lamassu studied her honey-colored eyes and flawless olive skin. "She seems kind… but why doesn't she come out often?"
Tiyama whispered close to Lamassu's ear, careful not to be overheard. "They say her father is harsh. He never lets her leave the palace."
"Poor thing. She can't enjoy Babylon's beauty or its refreshing mornings because of those walls that trap her."
"I heard she's to be betrothed soon—to the son of one of the great Aramean chiefs."
"Who?"
"Chief Etana's son."
Lamassu gasped, placing a hand over her mouth. "You mean Prince Zakiru, son of Chief Etana!"
Tiyama nodded firmly, then whispered to Lamassu with a knowing smirk, "Many women will be sorely disappointed if this news spreads..."
Lamassu returned with her basket full—and she hadn't forgotten the salt. But on her way back, she suddenly veered toward the forest, hoping to find Sin and speak with him, to make sense of what she'd seen the day before. She longed to silence the wild theories swirling in her mind. Yet he wasn't there. The place was empty, save for the sound of the river's gentle flow. She turned back, empty-handed, determined to visit him again.
She stopped at the Ur Canal, sat on its edge, and dipped her fingertips into the cold water. She inhaled deeply, then exhaled with frustration. "Sin..."
She raised her head to the towering Babylonian sky, surrounded by the gleaming ziggurats under the morning sun. A sad smile crept across her face as she rose to leave. "I suppose our meeting will have to wait, Sin..."
She entered the house with a wide smile, placing the basket on the modest wooden table. "Grandmother, I'm back!"
"Why were you late, Lamassu?" Urshal asked, mixing medicinal herbs.
"I walked a bit with Tiyama," she replied, heading to the hearth to add more firewood. "Is something urgent?"
"Yes. Chief Naburama is ill and bedridden. You must deliver this medicine to him before dawn."
"What? So suddenly?" Lamassu furrowed her brows, her face clouded with concern. Will I make it in time?
Urshal's voice startled her as she wrapped the herbs in a cloth pouch. "Hurry, Lamassu! You must prepare quickly!"
Lamassu nodded and rushed behind the house to ready her horse. Urshal fastened the pouch to Lamassu's side. "And take this too."
"What is it?"
"Some dates and bread. Don't forget your water jar." Lamassu nodded, packed everything into a wide cloth bag, and secured it around her neck. "Thank you, Grandma. I'm leaving now."
Urshal rubbed her hands nervously, trying to hide her worry. "May the gods protect you, my child. Be careful on the road, and don't rush."
Lamassu smiled and mounted her horse. "Of course!"
She waved goodbye and galloped away, her speed increasing until she vanished down the road.
The night deepened, stars scattered across the sky like spilled pearls. Lamassu gripped the reins tightly, her eyes fixed on the winding path ahead, where the sands danced with the wind as if whispering secrets.
As she raced through rugged terrain, her horse's breath grew heavy, but her resolve remained firm. She had to reach Chief Naburama before dawn. The pounding of hooves echoed like her heartbeat—fast, urgent, as if time itself were chasing her.
At a steep bend, she halted abruptly. Ahead, a group of men sat around a small fire, whispering. Her heart skipped—could they be bandits lurking in the dark? She glanced at the pouch tied to her side—the medicine. She took a deep breath and nudged her horse forward quietly.
She tried to pass unnoticed, but one man stood slowly, his eyes gleaming. "Where are you headed at this hour?" he asked, his voice gravelly.
She answered with confidence, masking her nerves: "I carry medicine for Chief Naburama. It must reach him before dawn."
He studied her for a moment, weighing her words, then sat back down silently. She realized she had escaped danger, and urged her horse forward again. Oh gods, my hands are still trembling. That was too close.
The wind tugged at her cloak, the sounds of the night surrounding her—but she didn't stop. Every moment mattered. Naburama's life depended on her.
As dawn approached, the sky turned shades of gray. Lamassu finally reached the chief's residence, on the western edge of Akkadian lands near Babylon. The house was surrounded by a tall clay wall, with a massive wooden gate carved with intricate Babylonian designs. Dim torches lined the path, their flames flickering in the cold wind.
She introduced herself to the guards and entered the spacious courtyard, where a small stone fountain trickled gently. Clay jars and wooden benches lined the walls.
Lamassu hurried through the silent corridors, her footsteps echoing. She reached the main chamber—its cedarwood door adorned with fine carvings. She pushed it open slowly.
Inside, Chief Naburama lay on a wide bed draped in ornate fabrics. Bowls of water and herbs sat neatly on a nearby table. His face was pale, yet still bore the strength he was known for. A maid stood beside him, her expression tense. She looked up as Lamassu entered.
"I've brought the medicine!" Lamassu said, placing the pouch on the table.
The room seemed to hold its breath. All eyes turned to the remedy—their last hope. "Boil it in hot water, and serve it once it cools," Lamassu instructed.
The maid nodded and rushed to prepare it. Time crawled until she returned with the warm brew. "Here you go, my lady."
Lamassu took it, sat beside Naburama, and helped him sit up. She gently fed him the medicine until he finished it all. A soft sigh escaped her lips. "Let him rest now. We'll monitor him over the next few hours."
The attendants nodded—including Naburama's sons, whom Lamassu hadn't noticed earlier in her haste. Everyone left, except the maid, who stayed to tend to him.
"Lamassu!" She turned at the voice in the hallway and smiled warmly. "Sargonil."
He returned the smile and approached. "How are you? It's been a long time. I'm glad to see you again."
"It has indeed. And you?"
He looked at her tired face and sunken eyes, skipping her question with concern. "You must be exhausted. Rest now—we'll talk later."
She nodded weakly and followed him to the guest room. She warmed herself by the fire and soon drifted into sleep...
She awoke slowly, the crackle of burning wood and the scent of fragrant oils filling the room. The peaceful stillness tempted her to sleep again—but she jolted upright. "Uncle Nabur!"
She scrambled to fix her clothes, scolding herself. Oh gods, how could I sleep so deeply? I must check on him!
She rushed through the corridor to the chief's chamber, knocking anxiously. No answer. She knocked again, then looked around suspiciously. Where are the servants?
A sudden thought struck her—had something happened to him? She pushed the door open, forgetting all etiquette. The room was empty.
She looked around frantically. No one.
She ran outside, trying to calm her racing thoughts. As she neared the grand garden, the sounds of voices and clinking dishes grew louder.
She stopped at the entrance, stunned. Chief Naburama sat at the head of a long table, surrounded by nobles, princes, and merchants. Other tables filled the garden, where farmers, workers, and servants enjoyed a feast of every imaginable dish.
Lamassu sighed in relief. She nearly collapsed from the tension, but steadied herself and smiled gratefully. "Thank the gods."
Naburama noticed her wide green eyes watching him with quiet relief. He raised his cup and smiled. Their eyes met, and Lamassu returned the smile before sitting on the nearest chair, finally at ease.
Only now did she notice the beauty around her. The garden was a living painting—torchlight danced with the shadows of ancient trees. The air was rich with the aroma of grilled meat, fresh bread, and fragrant spices. Laughter and clinking dishes filled the night.
Soft music played—fingers gliding over ancient lyres, drums beating a deep rhythm. Guests chatted with joy, laughter echoing like a celebration of life itself.
On the ornate tables, vibrant dishes stretched out—figs and pomegranates beside clay wine jugs. Cups were raised in cheer. Naburama, though weary, seemed revived by the gathering, his eyes scanning the crowd as if drawing strength from them.
Lamassu, finally relaxed, felt warmth spread through her limbs. She watched the faces—nobles in embroidered robes, farmers in simple garb—all united under one sky, sharing in this vibrant celebration.
A servant approached with a cup of water, bowing slightly. "You must be tired. Would you like anything else?"
She accepted the cup gratefully. Her mission was complete. Now, it was time to rest. "No, thank you."
A lively voice rang out. "You're awake!"
She smiled shyly, scratching her ear to escape his gaze. "Oh, yes."
Sargonil laughed and sat beside her. "No need to be embarrassed, Lamassu. I told the servants not to wake you."
"But why—!"
"You were exhausted from the journey," said Sargonil gently. "When my father woke, he insisted we let you sleep. No one dared disturb you."
"I was so worried about Uncle," Lamassu replied. "I feared something terrible had happened."
"I'm sorry—I should've told you earlier."
"It's alright. What matters is that he's well now. He should continue the medicine until he fully recovers."
Sargonil nodded, then asked thoughtfully, "By the way, where's Ashuran? I haven't seen him today."
"He's sitting on the opposite side of Father. You probably can't see him from here. Want me to call him?"
"No, no—it's fine. I'll see him later."
"Alright then. Come, eat something. You haven't had a bite all day."
Lamassu eyed the food playfully, narrowing her eyes. "I won't leave a single crumb on the table today."
After finishing her meal, she finally reunited with Ashuran—Sargonil's younger brother, son of Chief Naburama.
"Oh Ashuran," she said warmly, "how have you been? It's been so long."
He responded with a scowl, clearly annoyed. "You've grown up, girl. Don't speak to me in that tone again—agreed?"
Lamassu crossed her arms skeptically. "It's not like you've turned thirty, little one."
His eyes widened in protest. "Little one? I turned eighteen just last week!"
Lamassu pinched his ear. "Are you going to keep arguing, or will you at least say you missed me and welcome me properly?"
"Alright, alright—just let go of my ear!"
She laughed and released him, and he smiled with affection. "I missed you, sister. Why have you been away so long?"
"You know I can't leave Grandma Urshal alone. Who would help her if I came here?"
"The celebration's just beginning," said Sargonil, joining them. Their laughter and teasing filled the night with warmth—a long-awaited reunion after a year apart.
As the third night crept shyly over the western edge of the city, Sargonil dismounted in the palace courtyard, his eyes gleaming with unusual excitement. His typically stern features were lit with awe.
He approached the stone corridor where Lamassu sat watching the stars, her shoulders wrapped in a light shawl. He called out cheerfully:
"I told you, Lamassu… the North never falters in war. But this time—it exceeded all expectations."
She looked at him attentively, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "Tell me, is what they're saying in the market true?"
He chuckled and walked beside her, hands behind his head. "More than true. The victory was decisive. The enemy crumbled like dust in the wind. But the reason… the reason, Lamassu… wasn't just Prince Zakiru." He lowered his voice, as if revealing a sacred secret. "The Wandering Death has returned."
Lamassu stopped walking, her brows raised in shock. "The Wandering Death?"
"Yes. A figure cloaked in black, moving through enemy lines untouched by arrows, unburdened by horses. Soldiers say he alone felled three commanders and terrified hundreds. No one has seen his face or knows his name—only the title that's become legend."
"Everyone fears speaking his name. That's why I've heard so little. Is he truly that terrifying?"
"Come, let's sit. I'll tell you." She nodded with curiosity, and they sat on wooden chairs beneath the palm trees.
"Years ago, during Babylon's eastern campaigns against the Arin tribes, the first tales emerged. A mysterious warrior appeared at a critical moment when the lines began to falter. No one saw his features, but his sword seemed to summon iron itself. His ability to move through shadows—and the death that followed his touch—led soldiers to give him a strange name: The Wandering Death.
Since that night, the name has echoed whenever war looms. Whispered in tents, spoken cautiously in councils. In every decisive battle—from the northern kingdom of Ashura to the valley of Qara—he appeared when defeat seemed inevitable, then vanished, leaving behind only silence and unexpected victory."
Sargonil turned to her, his tone shifting to something darker. "I never believed in legends—until I saw strong men tremble at the mention of his name. The Wandering Death is no longer a ghost. He's a prophecy of fire. He is the shadow of the North."
Lamassu gazed into the distant horizon, the wind tossing her hair. She whispered: "Does victory always come from the shadows?"
Sargonil smiled, his eyes fixed on hers. "Sometimes, the shadow precedes the light—to protect it."
At dawn on the fifth day in Akkad, everyone slept—except Lamassu. She wandered the courtyard and garden, watching the radiant sunrise. "I truly miss the Euphrates," she whispered longingly. "There's an emptiness inside me."
She stood in the outer corridor, breathing deeply, as if savoring each passing second. She drifted with the sound of birds fighting over branches, their wings flapping wildly. She moved as if she were alone in the world, unaware of the eyes quietly watching her.
The past days had flown by—spent tending to Naburama's health, sharing long conversations and laughter with Sargonil and Ashuran, exploring Akkad's markets, admiring its ancient temples and historic lands. That beauty had briefly made her forget reality. But now, it was time to wake up again.
The morning birds sang their usual symphony, but this time it was joined by the sound of footsteps on the tiles.
Lamassu turned to find Chief Naburama approaching with a warm smile. "Uncle?" she asked, concerned. "You should be resting—why are you here?"
He clasped his hands behind his back. "I just wanted to breathe the fresh air. Dawn air is unlike any other."
She nodded in agreement. "True."
"You saved my life, Lamassu. How can I thank you—and Urshal?"
She shook her head. "No, Uncle. It was our duty. Who forgets the one who sheltered them in their weakest hour?"
She gestured to herself. "I'm just glad you're well. But don't forget—you must rest properly to regain your full strength."
"I will. Thank you, my daughter." He paused, then asked, "I heard you're leaving today. Is that true?"
"Oh yes. I think I've completed my task. I must return to Grandma—she's alone, and no one else can help her."
Naburama nodded with understanding, then joked: "I suppose I have no chance of convincing you to stay longer."
She smiled kindly. "I'm sorry."
"No need. I'll ask Sargonil to help you pack your things."
Lamassu blinked in confusion. "Pack what?" she asked, puzzled. I came with a cloth bag of dates and bread… what things are there to pack?
To be continued...