by
Samantha J. Kessler
Once upon a time, a long, long time ago, there was a little girl, a Sumerian princess. Her father was the strongest of all the farmers, and her mother was the wisest of all the priestesses. Her people were not a warlike people. They lived in a place between two rivers, where the earth was deep and black as the night sky. Whatever was planted in that earth grew and thickened and bore fruit in abundance, and the weather was so nice and pleasant for most of the year, that often there were two growing seasons, and two harvests every year, so everyone in their large tribe had plenty to eat. Or they would have had enough, if the neighboring tribe of Babylonians hadn't come over the hills from the west and taken away the Sumerians' harvest every fall. But there was still the spring harvest that the Sumerians learned to hide away and keep in big, earthenware jugs that they would bury in the ground, and then dig up during the hungry times after the Babylonian's attacks.
So, life went from sunrise to sunset and the stars wheeled their tracks in the sky. The princess grew up learning the secrets of the earth and plants from her father, and the secrets of the stars, the sun and the moon from her mother. And then, one day in early spring, the sky darkened and thunder boomed out like the voices of angry gods. Over the western hills came the earth-thunder of horses' hooves and chariot wheels. The Babylonians were coming! In springtime! There would be no early harvest either, if the Babylonians stole it, and the Sumerians would starve. So, for the first time in anyone's memory, even the oldest of the Elders, the Sumerian people sharpened their hoes and pitchforks of bronze and stood their ground at the edge of their croplands, where the first tender shoots were pushing up from the black earth.
The Babylonians came on like a driving rainstorm, and at their flanks were monsters! Some were twice as tall as a normal man, with long snouts and tusks like wild pigs. Some had two arms, and some of them had four, and some walked on four legs with a torso like a man's rising up from their broad backs, and some scuttled on many legs like horrible, giant insects. And some of them flew! Great, leathery wings blotted out the sky and their shrieks and howls were enough to shatter the farmers' courage. The Sumerians ran away. They gathered up their children and what tools and things they could carry in haste, and they ran for the forests at the edge of the river. They hid from their enemies and the monsters trampled the fields and yanked up the plantings by the roots. The slowest runners were caught. Mothers with babies in their arms, and the oldest of the Elders, who even with help, could not move quickly. Their bodies were torn apart and their blood soaked into the earth. For the first time, the dark earth was fed with the blood of her children, and She became angry. The earth heaved up, and the rivers broke their banks. Water swept away the Babylonian chariots and most of the monsters that came with them.
The Sumerians rejoiced that they were saved. They immediately planted more seeds, and joyfully went about the work of rebuilding homes and tending their crops. But their happiness was short-lived. Just a few months later, more Babylonians came. The new plants were knee-high, and the fruits had just begun to shine among the leaves, but they were small and green and not fit to eat.
This time, there were fewer men and more monsters. The men even rode on monster-backs, rather than on chariots as they had before, and they wore red and white clay painted on their faces in fierce designs, so they looked half like monsters themselves. The Sumerians cried and begged the river to rise up again, and the earth to shake so that they might be saved again. But the earth did not shake, and the river did not rise up. Instead, the sky heard the cries of the people, and it rained stones. Small pebbles and large boulders, cold chunks of ice, and hot daubs of lava, the sky rained down on the enemies of the Sumerians, and once again, the horrible monsters and the men who rode them, were wiped out.
The Sumerians gave thanks and praise to the sky that protected them, and they looked out from their hiding places among the trees, whose leaves were both scorched and frosted with ice. They saw their enemies lying dead in the fields, and the ground torn up and the new plantings strewn about and crushed.
When she saw these things, the princess's mother, the wisest of the priestesses, fell down on the ground in a vision-faint. She bit her tongue and blood poured from her mouth, and her body writhed and twitched. When the vision left her, she rose and spat out the blood and told her people, "This place is no longer safe. The first time the monsters came, the earth and rivers protected us. The second time, the sky protected us. But I have seen that the Babylonians will come again, with even more monsters, for they have found a great cave where the monsters live, and there is no end to how many monsters will come out of the cave. When they come back, the earth will not move, and the rivers will not rise, and the sky will not pour down stones a second time. There will be no one to protect us then. We must go away from the river, to the east, where the Babylonians and their monsters cannot find us any more."
At that, the people wailed and cried, for this had been their home for generations upon generations. "Where will we go? What will we eat? We will surely die if we leave this land!"
"We will surely die if we stay and the Babylonians come back again." The priestess told them. "We have a few jars of food left from last year's harvest, which was so plentiful. We will dig them all up and take them with us. We will take everything that we can carry, or pull on poles, and we will find another place to live."
So, the Sumerians packed up everything they had, their clothing and tools, their blankets and jars of food. They cut long branches from the trees and smoothed them into poles to make travois. The mothers wrapped their babies up in swaddling clothes and carried them on boards on their backs, and the men cut more sturdy branches for walking sticks and vines for ropes. Finally, with sad hearts, they left their fertile valley and turned toward the rising sun. When the Babylonians did come back, several months later, with even more monsters at their heels, all they found were a few dull knives and broken pots to mark the place where the Sumerians had lived.
"They are not here!" The monsters howled. "We must eat flesh! If we cannot eat their flesh, we will eat yours!" And they turned on their Babylonian friends.
"Wait!" The Babylonians cried. "This is the way the Sumerians left! We can see tracks they left in the dirt. We will follow them, and you will have tender flesh to eat."
So, the monsters agreed to wait, because they did not find Babylonian flesh so tender and tasty as the Sumerians, who ate nothing but grains and lentils all their lives.
Far away to the east, the Sumerians toiled up hill and down, in search of a place where they could live and plant the remainder of their seeds, where the Babylonians could not find them and destroy them a third time. But the farther they got from the rivers, the dryer the land became. Instead of rich, black earth, it grew pale and dusty. Great rocks lifted out of the ground to bruise their feet, and the plants grew tough and thorny to catch their clothing and prick their skin until they bled and stung. And the animals here were not gentle deer of the forest or rabbits of the warrens. There were hawks flying high up among the clouds, which would dive down like thunderbolts on any small thing that moved. There were lizards that crouched among the rocks, and scorpions that bit one man to death with their poisonous tails, before the Sumerians learned to be shy of such creatures. And serpents also waited among the rocks for the unwary; long, shining slithering things with yellow eyes and flickering tongues. At first, the Sumerians thought these creatures were monsters like the ones they'd seen before. But the serpents were shy like animals, and if they weren't bothered, they wouldn't bite. But one child stepped on a serpent's tail, and it bit him, and he died. So, the Sumerians grew wary of serpents, also. And so they wandered eastward, eating what seeds and fruits they could gather from the thorny plants, which weren't much, and one by one opening their jars of stored food. Everyone went to bed a little hungry, so there would be enough food to last until they found their new home.
One night, when the moon shone brightly in the night sky, the River moved in the priestess's daughter. Her mother saw the blood on her night-blankets, and rejoiced that a new woman had come to their tribe. She immediately woke her daughter, and took her out away from the tents that the tribe had made to shelter themselves while they slept.
"Here, there is no river to bathe you in, my daughter, as my mother bathed me, and her mother bathed her, but there is a little stream of water among the rocks. So, there we will go, and make you a New Woman of the people." They went, hand in hand through the moonlight, up to a small ravine where water gushed between the rocks. There, they sang old songs and washed themselves. The priestess gathered small flowers from a tree nearby, and placed them on her daughter's head. The scent of the flowers was so sweet and intoxicating, that the princess fell down in a vision-faint immediately. She didn't bite her tongue, but her body twitched and her eyes rolled from side to side and she cried out in a loud voice like something was hurting her.
The priestess caught her daughter, and saw among the flowers, a fat, white spider had bitten her on the forehead. The priestess swatted away the spider, and threw the flowers to the ground. She washed the bite-wound with cold water from the spring, and placed her lips to her daughter's forehead. She sucked out the poison and spit it onto the ground, once, twice, three times, until no more poison or blood would come out, and the princess's twitches and moans came softer and fainter.
"Mother!" she whispered. "They are coming! The monsters are coming for us again. They are following the marks we leave in the dirt. They have long teeth and claws... they will eat us if they catch us!"
"Then, we must flee!" The priestess stood up to go warn the people, sleeping peacefully in their tents outside the ravine.
"NO!" The princess held her mother tight. Sweat stood on her forehead, and her eyes burned with vision. "We cannot flee any more. This desert continues, all the way to the sea. The sea is a river you cannot see the other side of, and the water moves, pounding against the shore. Its waves curl, taller than a man standing on a hill. If we continue this way, we will be crushed between the waves of water and the waves of monsters... We must turn around and find another way. To defend ourselves, we must eat flesh." The princess shuddered, and her mother held her tight.
"Eat flesh? We have never... our people eat from the bounty of the earth. The Babylonians eat flesh. Their sweat stinks upwind and their teeth rot in their mouths."
The princess looked her mother in the eyes. "I know. But here, there is no bounty. There are rocks and dust and little water... But there are things to eat, that will make us strong -- strong enough to defend ourselves, so we can save ourselves from the monsters." She put her hands on her mother's arms, and stood apart from her. "Wake the people in the tents. Tell the Elders to make a fire, and put the biggest jar we have over it. Fill it with water from this fountain, and I will bring enough to eat that everyone will be satisfied tonight. Tomorrow, when the Babylonians and their monsters catch up to us, we will be ready to fight them."
The priestess looked into the eyes of the New Woman, and saw that her daughter was no longer a little child, and her words had wisdom in them. She went one way out of the ravine, to wake the tribe and tell them what New Woman had said.
New Woman went the other way out of the ravine. She walked among the rocks and lifted boulders out of her way. Under the boulders, she caught a snake. One hand behind its head, the other around its tail, she pulled until its spine snapped and it died.
"Thank you, Serpent, for giving your life so that the People might live. Please give us your stillness and silence, so that we will be calm and brave in the face of adversity." She placed the dead snake in a fold of her garment and kept on walking. After a little while, she scared a rabbit out of its hole. Again, she caught it, and snapped its neck with one twist.
"Thank you, Rabbit, for giving your life so that the People might live. Please give us your quickness and sharp hearing, so that the monsters that pursue us never have a chance to catch us unaware." New Woman moved on. High up in a bare tree, she spotted the hunched shape of a sleeping hawk. Carefully, she climbed the tree, moving as softly as she could. At last, she was perched on a branch just below the hawk. She reached up and caught its feet in one hand and its tail in the other. The hawk woke up, screeching and flapping its wings, but it was not strong enough to fly with the princess clinging to it. They both fell out of the tree. She hit the ground flat on her back, knocking the air out of her, and the hawk wrenched out of her grip, but she tore out a handful of tail-feathers. Unbalanced, it could not fly away.
"Please, Hawk." New Woman gasped. "You are the strongest of the desert-creatures, master of the sky and terror of the rabbits and snakes and smaller things that move below. I need your help. My people are in great danger, and unless I help them, we will all be killed by the monsters that gather only a few hills away. They are coming for us. I must defend my people. Will you help me? Will you give me your eyesight, and your terrible strength, so that I can fight the monsters and save my family?"
The hawk screamed and darted at her head with its tearing beak and wicked claws. New Woman caught it again, by the foot and by the head, and wrestled it. The bird was nearly as big as she was, but its wings were made to soar, not to grasp like arms. She held it to her breast. Its beak tore at her flesh, but she did not let go. Its claws slashed at her arms and thighs, but she twisted it right around, and more, bending until its neck broke in her hands, and the fire in its eyes went out.
A cold wind blew across the desert as New Woman stood up with her prizes. "Thank you, Hawk, for the gifts you have given." She walked back to her people's camp, leaving footprints filled with blood, which was soaked up by the thirsty ground.
When the princess arrived back at the camp, her people didn't recognize her. Her face was bloody and streaked with dirt from her fight with the hawk, and she held a rabbit and a serpent in her other hand. She took up one of the knives that the farmers used to peel the skin from fruits, and sharpened it on a rough stone until the edge gleamed in the firelight. With this, she cut off the skin of the rabbit, the scales of the serpent, and the feathers of the hawk. She took the meat and the bones and offered them to the water in the jar, which was beginning to steam and roll like the river in high summer.
The people backed away. "Who are you? What have you brought us?"
New Woman looked at them, and knew that they did not know who she was. Even her mother and father didn't recognize her. "I am called Slayer." She answered, "For I have slain the rabbit with its speed, and the serpent with its fang, and the hawk with its beak and mighty wings. These, I give to you. When the meat comes off the bone and floats on top of the water, scoop it out and eat it. Drink the water, too, for it takes strength from the meat and bones and makes broth. If any one is sick, feed this broth to them and they will regain their strength. If you have vegetables or seeds to add to the pot, put them in to cook with the meat, and the soup will be doubly delicious because it takes strength from both the bounty of the land, and the meat of the animals."
Slayer then took the skins of the animals and spread them out on a rock. With her knife, she scraped the fat off the inside and added it to the pot, too. She scraped and stretched and dried the skins until they were three long, flat shapes. In the morning, when the skins were dry and the pot was empty, everyone in the tribe having eaten their fill of the delicious soup, Slayer put the hawk's feathers over her shoulders, and the rabbit's fur around her waist, and tied them to her body with the serpent's scales as a belt. She tucked the sharp knife into her belt, and asked one of the farmers, her father, if she could have his harvesting-scythe to use. "For there is a crop of monsters coming over that hill, and I intend to cut them down like golden wheat. Will you stand with me, and fight them, too?"
Those words frightened the Sumerians, but with their stomachs full of warm meat and broth, they found that they were not too frightened to get their tools and sharpen them. Standing side by side, men and women both, with their children and babies behind them, the Sumerians stood before their tents in this arid place that they'd fled to, turned their backs to the warmth of the rising sun, and faced their enemies.
The monsters came over the hill, crawling and running and flying, just like before. Shrieking and howling, just like before. But this time, although the sky was calm in its distant blueness, and the earth was still in its dry redness, and there was no river except the small stream in the ravine to help them, the Sumerians had a leader who had slain the rabbit and the serpent and the hawk. She raised her scythe, and together, Slayer and her people fought the monsters.
The battle was ferocious. People died in pools of blood. Monsters died in gushes of odd-colored fluids or burst apart in showers of dust. Every time she killed a monster, Slayer thanked it and asked it to give her part of its strength, or its senses, or its quickness or cunning, and monster by monster, each one gave up part of itself to her, until there was no monster that could stand against her and all of them died.
Many people died that day, too. All the Babylonians who had survived the trip in such dangerous company as the monsters, not all of whom were willing to wait for tender flesh, died on the points of Sumerian tools sharpened for war. The priestess and the strong farmer who had given birth to their princess, who gave rise to New Woman, who became Slayer, both died. Many of the mothers and fathers of Sumerian children died; but not all. The tribe was decimated, but not wiped out.
After the battle, Slayer stood over the field, and wiped her scythe clean. She turned to her people and said, "Now, we are going home."
The People buried their dead and packed up their tents and tools, and took their children in hand. They left behind what they could not carry and went back to the west to the land between the rivers, where the earth was black and bountiful and the deer in the forests and the rabbits in their warrens also made very good soup and broth to drink.
From time to time, other tribes threatened the Sumerians, or monsters came out of their caves in the mountains. But for years afterwards, Slayer defended her people. She grew in strength and wisdom and taught the daughters of her people how to fight as well as farm and read the stars and sun and moon. When enough time passed, and the stars called to her to join them, Slayer died in battle with a many-toothed monster from the mountains. It tore her body and spread her blood on the ground, but one of her nieces took up Slayer's scythe and cut the monster's head from its shoulders.
"Thank you, monster, for giving your life that the People might live. Please give me your strength, so that I might defend my people, as Slayer did for so many years."
The monster gave up its strength in a soup that the People made of it, and that night, New Slayer dreamed of her aunt, smiling down on her from the stars.
The End
Endnotes and Bibliography:
Elements of Style, 3rd Edition by William Strunk Jr. and E.B. White,
MacMillian Publishing Co. New York, copyright 1979
The Hero of a Thousand Faces, 2nd Edition by Joseph Campbell
Princeton University Press, copyright 1973
Myth and Meaning by Claude Levi-Strauss
Schocken Books, copyright 1979
Other People's Myths by Wendy Doniger O'Flaherty
MacMillian Publishing Co. New York, copyright 1990