Prologue
The skies above ancient Eridu burned with an unnatural neon violet, slashed by bolts. Divine sulphur, reeking of rotten eggs and bargain-bin rocket fuel, poured from the heavens in shimmering torrents. Across the city, mud-brick homes were blasted to pieces, while terrified goats bolted in every direction. The city’s panic-stricken inhabitants trampled one another in their desperate scramble for the stuffy underground catacombs, where the air was thick with fear, sweat, and very little oxygen. All across Eridu, people lifted frantic prayers to their divine overlords, promising triple grain tributes and unlimited free labour on the next irrigation project. The heavens, however, remained magnificently indifferent.
Meanwhile, the High Priest paced the great chamber of the House of the Gods, swearing with such enthusiasm that several lesser deities would probably have taken offence. The monumental sun-dried brick temple shook with every thunderous impact, showering his head with plaster, dust, and what felt suspiciously like the fossilised perspiration of ancient labourers. Beneath the massive oak doors, the temple attendants huddled together like a pack of whipped dogs, paralysed by terror and utterly out of ideas. According to popular belief, the temple offered at least the illusion of protection from celestial super-weapons, so the poor wretches placed blind faith in their superior’s ability to negotiate some sort of ceasefire with the cosmos.
With sweat stinging his eyes and his heart battering his ribs like a caged bird, the High Priest activated his telepathic implant with trembling fingers. He established a direct connection to headquarters on Nibiru, silently praying he wouldn’t be greeted by an automated answering service. After the third tone—an exceptionally loud one that screeched through his skull like an old dial-up modem. —a cold, metallic female voice finally answered.
“Yes?” asked the operator, sounding monumentally bored.
Doing his utmost to inject a shred of priestly dignity into his voice, the High Priest replied, “Good day. High Priest speaking. I’m calling from the Eridu branch.”
“Are you an authorised representative of Adam’s tribe?” the metallic voice asked, while what sounded suspiciously like galactic paperwork rustled in the background.
“I am indeed.”
“I need to speak to Mother Goddess Nimursag immediately. It’s an urgent matter and cannot wait,” the priest insisted, wiping his drenched forehead with his sleeve.
“I’m afraid your clearance level isn’t remotely high enough to bother Mother Goddess directly,” the woman replied with professional frostiness. “As a goodwill gesture, however, I can give you the number of the divine beautician. She does an exceptional star-dust peel.”
“This is a matter of the utmost importance!” the High Priest cried. “Madam, the entire human race—your unpaid workforce—is facing total annihilation!”
“Oh, you humans always have such wonderfully exaggerated problems,” the operator sighed. “You really do think the entire universe revolves around your little mud huts, don’t you? Fine, fine. Stop getting yourself into such a state before one of your earthly arteries bursts. I’ll put you through—but the call charges are entirely your responsibility.”
A moment later, an oddly cheerful yet deafening melody echoed through the priest’s mind, followed by a violent surge of psychic static.
“Mother Goddess Nimursag speaking,” purred a velvety voice overflowing with effortless superiority. “”What is it you want from me?“, you wretched son of Adam?”
“Most revered Mother Goddess,” the priest exclaimed, dropping to his knees before his invisible caller, “your divine sons have decided to hold a chariot tournament across the skies of Eridu!”
“And why shouldn’t they?” Nimursag replied with mild surprise. Somewhere behind her came the delicate clink of very expensive crystal glasses. “Young people are entitled to enjoy themselves. Boys need some way of letting off steam. Have you forgotten how, in your own younger days, you spent your time seducing women and handsome young men behind the altar?”
“My Lady! They’re using Spears of Terrible Power as sporting equipment!” the priest cried, tactfully ignoring the personal attack. “Your sons have already burned half our beautiful city to the ground!”
“Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” Nimursag said with a dismissive wave audible even over the telepathic link.“Oh, honestly. Half the city, indeed. They’re young—they’ve got to let off steam somehow.” Besides, just look at your daughter Zephyrek. She’s enjoying every minute of it.
At once, the goddess projected a crystal-clear three-dimensional image directly into the High Priest’s mind. Zephyrek lounged comfortably upon a fluffy pink cloud, wearing nothing but a skimpy lower garment and proudly displaying her topless charms. She laughed uproariously, waved her luxurious tunic like a battle standard, and enthusiastically cheered on the golden-haired god who officially served as Eridu’s patron deity. Eager to impress the spoilt young woman, her divine favourite periodically attempted to hurl his Spear of Terrible Power at his rival’s chariot. Every single throw missed, largely because of the alarming quantity of nectar he’d consumed beforehand. The resulting blasts of energy plunged straight into the city below, melting defensive walls and setting residential districts ablaze.
“My Lady, I beg for mercy,” the priest pleaded, mortified by his daughter’s behaviour. We humans are all mortal, and terribly fragile. We cannot continue helping our Anunnaki masters mine gold if your capricious sons keep casually wiping us out.”
The argument about gold immediately struck a chord with the pragmatic goddess of Nibiru.
“Very well, my son,” Nimursag said, her voice shifting into the brisk tone of someone discussing a business arrangement. “As compensation for this minor and regrettable incident, humanity shall receive the key to the Library of the Cosmos. Guard it well. Anyone unprepared who acquires too much universal knowledge is liable to lose their mind with astonishing speed—and permanently.”
“My Lady, to be perfectly honest, I’d have preferred some actual financial assistance. Failing that, rebuilding the city would have done nicely.”
“Done.”
Nimursag flicked her golden staff, encrusted with glittering rubies, and millions of brilliant healing sparks cascaded through the heavens. In an instant, the skies above Eridu returned to their natural blue. The predatory chariots of the gods vanished as though they had never existed. Birds resumed singing in the palm trees, while the city that had moments before lain in smouldering ruins rose again—grander, richer, and more magnificent than ever.
“Now then,” said Nimursag, her voice suddenly hardening, “let us discuss family matters, my dear Adam. “Your daughter Zephyrek has long since reached marriageable age. It’s positively scandalous that she should be shamelessly flirting with my sons and distracting them during their military exercises.
“But, my Lady...” the horrified father stammered. “She’s still... pure. She’s still a virgin.”
“How absolutely revolting!” the goddess exclaimed with such visceral disgust that the telepathic link crackled beneath the sheer weight of it. “That embarrassing condition must be remedied immediately!“. Find the girl a husband before she ruins my sons’ reputations.”
Zephyrek’s father fell silent, the full gravity of the situation sinking in at last. In those peculiar ancient days, when the world was governed by whimsical extraterrestrials, social conventions were mercilessly strict. He knew perfectly well that no respectable, well-to-do man in the region would willingly marry a virgin. It was seen as a sign that something was fundamentally unnatural.
