Excerpt from DAUGHTERS OF TIME, my historical/speculative novel that traces a line of daughters from ancient Sumer to the present day.
Urim, Ancient Sumer. c 1993 BCE
From the great heaven she
set her mind on the great below. From the great heaven the goddess set her mind
on the great below. From the great heaven Inanna set her mind on the great below. My mistress
abandoned heaven, abandoned earth, and descended to the underworld. Inanna
abandoned heaven, abandoned earth, and descended to the underworld. [i]
On the fourth night, when the Moon was dark, and even the crickets had fallen silent, the Mistress beat once on a gong. Mir-ri walked to the courtyard, shed her shift, and washed. Cold water sluiced away the doubts, though fear remained.
The sound of the second gong made her jump, but the implacable demand took her back to her room. She lifted the Robe and slipped it over her head. The panels of her old, linen shift rubbed softly against her skin.
She hung the Breastplate from her neck and arranged the dried leaves across her chest.
She placed the Double Strand over the Breastplate, the Single Strand over the Double.
She fitted the Gold Band over her wrist and lifted the Crown onto her head.
She took up the Measuring Rod.
Was she really going to walk to the Underworld, towards Eresh-ki-gal? Until the threshold is crossed there is still the possibility of refusal.
The sound of the third gong throbbed in her body, a summons, a warning, an invocation.
She left the small chamber. The silent, robed Mistress led her along a corridor, down two flights of stairs, along another passage, and through a small doorway into a courtyard Mir-ri had never seen before. The stars were bright overhead, the air cool. The Mistress pointed to a rough stairway descending into the earth.
Mir-ri spoke the ritual words. “If I am not returned when three days and nights have passed, seek help to secure my return.” She knew there would be no reply.
The threshold lay two steps before her, Eresh-ki-gal beyond that. Sweat, acrid with fear, dampened her underarms and inner thighs. The air seemed thicker, harder to draw in, harder to expel. A bird called from the river.
With a final look at the night sky, Mir-ri turned and began the descent.
Bare feet touched bricks, the steps wide and worn in the middle. Others had walked this walk.
Breathe.
Hands brushed the sides of the tunnel, the brick smoothed by the hands of others who had passed this way.
Breathe.
The steps ended in a room of earth with a low ceiling. The walls glowed in the light of coals smouldering in a bowl on the floor. Smoke rose from the coals, redolent with incense. The next threshold lay three steps ahead. A heavy stillness in Mir-ri’s body cautioned against movement.
Breathe.
The coals died. The room darkened. Three steps to the threshold. She moved one foot. Moved the other. Stepped to the door. Her head was thick with incense, but she remembered that she must knock. Her knuckles barely made a sound on the wood. She pushed against it. Nothing moved. As the last glow faded, she hammered at the door with her fists, like a child begging to come in from the dark.
“Who seeks entry to the Otherworld?” asked a voice like a dark-Moon night.
Mir-ri’s lips stuck together, mouth too dry to speak. She licked her lips and swallowed.
“I, Mir-ri, seek entry,” she whispered.
“Wait,” said the voice.
Cold seeped from the walls.
“You may enter,” said the voice.
The door moved to make an opening lit by the glow of a single candle held by a dark-robed figure. Mir-ri strained to see beneath the hood, but there were only shadows.
She entered. The door slammed shut behind her.
Hands reached for the Crown, pulled it free from her hair.
“What is this?” she cried, the ritual words torn from her throat.
“Quiet, Mir-ri. The Ways of the Underworld are perfect and may not be questioned.”
Her legs trembled. She bit her lip and thought of the Crown: That which is above is the same as that which is below; That which is below is the same as that which is above.
From above, the weight of soil pushed down. From below, pressed that which waited. Mir-ri felt herself crushed, cracked like a piece of grain between grinding stones. Her bones snapped like twigs, and she fell into blackness.
Her thoughts returned to an absence of pressure. She shivered in the cold darkness. Had she slept? Had she fainted?
She pressed her hands against the floor. The soil was hard packed, smooth and dry. It smelled musky, full of life. The Crown was gone, but the Land was solid beneath her hands. She picked up the measuring rod and stood. The ceiling of the chamber was hard-packed, smooth and dry. That which is above is the same as that which is below; That which is below is the same as that which is above.
How long had she been there? There was no way to tell. She remembered that she was meant to knock and reached out to find the door.
She beat loudly on the wood with her fists. The door opened. She walked through. Hands took the Single Strand from her neck. The eggshells tinkled.
“What is this?” she asked, her teeth chattering.
“Quiet, Mir-ri. The Ways of the Underworld are perfect and may not be questioned.”
Her head spun as if she had been turning in circles. Why was this so difficult when she already knew the story? Dots of light flashed like stars, becoming brighter, bigger. One rushed at her and exploded against her forehead.
She was on the ground again, head pulsing with pain like stabbing knives. Was it meant to hurt like this? Was she doing something wrong?
She stood on shaking legs to reach for the next door. Her hands met empty space ahead but found walls to both sides and a ceiling above. She found her measuring rod and walked forwards into the chill.
Her feet told her that the path sloped downwards, but her other senses were baffled. She could not tell how long she walked before meeting the next door. Surprised at the trembling in her body, the fearful thoughts in her mind, she hit her hands against the wood. The slapping sound and the stinging of her palms reminded her that she was alive.
The door opened. She walked through. Hands took the Double Strand. The ritual words burst forth: “What is this?”
“Quiet, Mir-ri. The Ways of the Underworld are perfect and may not be questioned.”
A fight welled up inside her; like fire and wind all at once, it raged in her chest, her arms. A cry burst forth, leaving a wound in her throat.
Why was it so hard? Surely this was what she wanted? What she had prepared for. She sat in the darkness, heat coursing through her body.
When the fire and wind stopped raging, she rose and walked on. It was so dark she could not even see her fingers when she held them close to her eyes. The air shifted as she moved her hands, but she saw only blackness. If not for the glimpse of light at each door, she might think the Gatekeeper had taken her eyes as well. She felt for them then, scrabbling with her fingers, breath coming in gasps.
Her eyes were still there.
She knocked on the next door. It opened. She walked through.
Hands grasped the Breastplate, lifted it over her head.
“What is this?” she asked, her voice unfamiliar to her.
“Quiet, Mir-ri. The Ways of the Underworld are perfect and may not be questioned.”
This time she stood quietly as the dim light disappeared. There was no sound except the slow beating of her own heart. Crossing her arms over her chest, she imagined the Breastplate, sensing it as part of her body, something that could never be taken.
She moved more certainly to the next door and knocked on the smooth wood. The Golden Band of wheat was taken from her arm. Strangely, the skin was taken also, leaving her arm flayed and bleeding.
“What is this?” she asked.
“Quiet, Mir-ri. The ways of the Underworld are perfect and may not be questioned.”
Blood dripped onto the ground, falling onto her feet as if eager to leave her body. The candlelight began to flicker, dissolving into blackness as her eyes lost focus. She fell.
#
When awareness returned, it brought pain. Her head hurt. Spots danced behind her eyelids. Her arm throbbed as if it had been scraped raw, but she felt only unbroken flesh with her fingers. Had it been fear alone that had weakened her?
Water dripped from the low stone ceiling, falling onto her face with a small, wet sound. It reminded her of thirst, of her body struggling to live despite being buried in timelessness. A rush of warmth filled her chest, love for the life that pulsed in her body. She moved to catch the drips of water on her tongue. It tasted of metal and earth.
Truly, she reasoned, no one had done her any harm. Fear alone had overwhelmed her. Perhaps that was what she must learn: to overcome the power of fear to rob her of will and life.
She rolled to the side and stumbled to her feet. She was still tempted to cradle her left arm in front of her but refused the image of flayed skin and dripping blood. The illusion left like a sigh.
She picked up the measuring rod and moved steadily through the darkness until she found the next door. She knocked against the wood. The door opened. She walked through.
Nothing. She peered into the faint light. Nothing. Then the measuring rod was taken.
“What is this?” she asked, feeling like the Huluppu branch, tossed to and fro by currents beyond her control.
The voice of night answered. “Quiet, Mir-ri. The Ways of the Underworld are perfect and may not be questioned.”
To reach her, the branch had travelled far, with no measurements or calculations; it had come simply by letting the Elements carry it.
She walked to the final door and waited. She could not tell if it was moments or days that she stood, wondering at the path, at the crossings that brought her to this place, wondering if this final door had been waiting for her all the days of her life. The silence deepened, as if the walls, too, were waiting.
She reached out and knocked. Could she have chosen not to?
The door opened. She passed through.
The Gatekeeper took the Robe, leaving her naked.
“What is this?” she whispered.
“Quiet, Mir-ri. The Ways of the Underworld are perfect and may not be questioned.”
She must walk now, naked and bowed low, to meet Eresh-ki-gal.
Queen of the Underworld.
Holy, Dark and Eternal Eresh-ki-gal.
Mir-ri’s cheeks flushed, like a child caught at something shameful. It was not the lack of clothing; she had always bathed and dressed with others. It was the sense of being seen by eyes that would reveal all her secrets, even those she did not know she held . . .
She walked, naked and bowed low, to meet Eresh-ki-gal.
#
Have you ever woken from a nightmare and found it real?
The corpses stink the baby’s dead not breathing darkness bloodied and beaten she screams for help six of them hold her down heads on stakes put out their eyes burn her stone her skin him alive . . .
I am only the secrets of your own dark heart, your lust, your greed, your anger, your flesh . . .I am the living power of water, the cry that catches in the throat, the sob that shatters stone . . .[ii]
Have you the courage to lift up my veil?
If you stand only on the safety of the banks spearing fish, how can you know the depths of the river? Can you fathom the darkness under a ledge of rock or understand the life of the fish writhing on your spear? You mistake the teeth of the crocodile as the edge of the abyss, but the chasm is more terrible than teeth, and certain . . .I fulfill the law and the law demands your blood. [iii]
Have you the wisdom to hear beyond my wail? I am . . .the catastrophe, the devourer, the necessity. Impaled on my teeth, you shall be blessed for you will glimpse truth. Have you the courage to welcome my voice? Have you the wisdom to embrace the choice?
Three days and three nights passed in the Underworld . . .
Holy Eresh-ki-gal, great is your renown.
[i] The Electronic Text Corpus of Sumerian Literature http://www-etcsl.orient.ox.ac.uk/section1/tr141.htm
[ii] (1988). Awakening Osiris: The Egyptian Book of the Dead. Grand Rapids, MI: Phanes Press, p. 169. Copyright permission granted by Normandi Ellis and Red Wheel Weiser.
[iii] Ibid.
Meet Mago Contributor KAALII CARGILL
Daughters of Time is one of the most profound books I’ve ever read. This passage especially took me on a deeply personal journey of revelation to this knowing… “When once again we are willing to strip away all that matters and are willing to shed everything, standing naked before Eresh-ki-gal and facing death, then and only then will we will find the truth of ourselves.” We need this remembering in this time. We must be willing to plunge the depths and take risks for what is sacred and vital. Thank you Kaalii for this beautiful writing. The story and the sacred passages like this one planted both herstory and ancient ritual deeper into my heart. Creatively juxtaposed between the ancient and the now, I couldn’t wait to find out what happened next. I’m reading again for the second time.