She’d felt like an omen of doom, representing a land so dark the succubi had just washed the walls with ink instead of drawing it: the most basic symbolism there was.
This was a place where all hope came to die.
“Catch up, songbird,” Damuzid said. He pushed me back on course, following the road between two enormous dunes that blocked out the horizon. “Kur calls us home.”
I stumbled out from between them, my legs close to giving out again. I was willing to be dragged if it meant a rest.
Two dark sphinxes looked down at us. They rose high above the dunes, scowling and vicious, each one raising a clawed hand in warning.
Beyond them were seven arching gates. Even with the remnants of sunset bathing them, the stone didn’t shine.
It finally clicked in my exhausted brain. Kur was a city built of ebonite. Even the sphinxes were matte black, the faintest streaks of red and yellow shining on their high points.
Satan caught up, standing at my side. He looked none the worse for wear despite our long journey, having feasted on the provisions the Irkallans had brought.
He smiled at the long line of arches. “The Gates of the Dead. We’re here.”
29
Melisande
“There’s a tradition here in Kur,” Satan said. He turned and looked at me, his mouth splitting in a wide grin. “Started by the lovely Queen.”
Despite my exhaustion, I itched to slap it off his face. He didn’t deserve a handsome body. He deserved to be a rotting pile of flesh out in the desert, something so noxious even the vultures wouldn’t want him.
“Her sister Inanna once stood where you are, desperate to retrieve her lover.” Satan placed a hand on my shoulder. His skin- Nergal’s skin- was warm, almost sickeningly so. “And, like you, she was a thoughtless, impetuous little bitch. She thought she deserved to walk in exactly as she was.”
Determined to tune him out, I gazed under the Gates of the Dead. Someone was approaching, a black speck on the horizon.
If these were the Gates, where was Kur?
“You’ll suffer the same humiliation she did.” Satan smiled. “A token for every Gate you pass beneath.”
I finally looked at him, hating him with every cell in my body. A token to pass the Gates? A vague memory occurred to me- a woman with long golden hair, passing beneath black arches, shedding jewelry and clothes as she went.
I had no idea where I’d gotten that memory. Everything in my head seemed fuzzy and vague.
They’d already forced me to leave the Spear. They’d taken all my daggers and weapons.
The speck grew larger. A demon galloped towards us, riding a black, red-eyed horse, trailing a small army of lesser demons behind him.
Satan kept his grip on my shoulder as the demon drew close enough to dismount and prostrate himself before the body-stealing cunt.
“King Nergal, you’ve returned.” The demon was wearing a tall hat, and a large gold medallion gleamed on his chest. “I am Minister Neti, here to welcome you.”
It was like they’d all gone mad. They called him by the name of their King, and yet… they knew he wasn’t Nergal.
How much power did Ereshkigal hold that she could just sacrifice her own husband, the King of Kur, and everyone was willing to play along with the insane charade?
Satan shoved me forward. I stumbled and almost fell, and Minister Neti scrambled to his feet to keep from touching me. Four teardrop eyes blinked down at me. “Is… is this yours? Shall she ride?”
Satan laughed. “No. She’ll walk. Treat her the way my wife would treat Inanna.”
Neti’s small mouth fell open, and he shut it with a snap.
I pretended I didn’t see pity in those four alien eyes. I didn’t want pity right now.
Pity would be the straw that finally broke my back.
“Yes, your Majesty.”
Damuzid hauled me upright again, forcing me to stand on wobbling knees. My breath came faster as Neti reached for me, tentative despite Satan’s orders to give me Inanna’s treatment, whatever that meant.
I put all my remaining strength into trying to bite him as his hands drew closer to my face. My teeth snapped shut only inches from his skinny fingers, and Neti squealed and skipped backwards. Damuzid shook me so hard my teeth rattled.
“Get it out of your system, songbird? Or do you need another bruise on your face?”
My neck ached just from that simple movement. “Do your worst.”
Satan laughed with delight. “We will.”
This time I didn’t lunge for Neti as he crept closer, giving Satan sidelong glances as he did so. I’d used up everything I had.
But he didn’t hurt me.
All he did was unbuckle the harness that had held my Spear and several daggers, and dropped it under the shadow of the first Gate.
“She may pass,” he said, wringing his hands.
Satan smiled at me as the first inklings of what a token meant finally dawned in my sleep-deprived, fear-soaked brain.
They pushed forward, Damuzid keeping a tight grip on me. As though I could run. As though I could fly. Pain saturated every inch of me, so familiar now it was almost like an old friend.
I couldn’t run anywhere. There was no place to hide.
The second Gate of the Dead loomed over us, and they stopped again. This time, two shades climbed out of the ebonite of the Gate itself, falling to the sand and straightening up.
They were dead women from ages past, wearing simple robes, their hair tied in long braids. Handmaidens, bowing low before us all.
“Princess Inanna, you may not pass without tribute.” The first shade’s whisper was so faint it was almost inaudible.
I ground my teeth together. “I’m not Inanna.”
Nobody listened. Minister Neti looked on as the shades unbuckled my golden chainmail and let it fall to the sand under the Gate, a bright spot pooling in the darkness like liquid. Both shades sighed.
“Princess Inanna, you may pass.” They climbed back into the Gate, shoulders slumped like they were exhausted even in death.
Damuzid pushed me.
I’m going to kill him. I’m going to kill him. I’m going to kill him.
I repeated the mantra, but it was no comfort at all. Not when I was completely at their mercy.
Sphinx statues watched us from between the Gates, uncaring and cold. At the third Gate, my boots were removed by the weary shades.
At the fourth Gate, they took my sleeves and left my arms exposed.
At the fifth, my leather bodice. I watched the gift from Azazel and Vyra drop to the sand, my eyes dry.
I wouldn’t cry. Not now. Not while Satan was watching, intent on my humiliation.
If he touched me while I was naked, I would die. But he didn’t. I hadn’t cried yet, but he was savoring my distress, his eyes running over me like physical caresses.
I made my face stone again. Give them nothing.
At the sixth Gate, the shades stripped me out of my shredded pants and offered them up as tribute. All I had left was my underwear and bra.
I steeled myself, refusing to lash out, but feeling a deep empathy and kinship for Inanna. They kept calling me by her name, refusing to let me pass until I allowed them to take something from me.
I’d stopped telling them I wasn’t her at the second Gate. The shades of the handmaidens were long dead and they no longer cared; they were just repeating a motion they’d made eons again, going through the ritualistic motions of stripping a goddess down to nothing.