If I didn't know any better, I would have thought Lagash had been deserted. The limestone walls, so beautiful from afar, were cracked and crumbling when we saw them up close. Even the maze of narrow and crooked alleys behind them were deserted. The buildings pressed close, their facades blank, chalky, windowless. Everything was made of white limestone, as if the people who lived here had never heard of colour.

We rode past heaps of limestone rubble, where a house had fallen, with faded scars of recent fires.

"This is the sad truth of our once proud city, great priestess. Hunger drives people to commit atrocious acts. Those who can have fled the city, what remains prowls the streets like wild beasts." Lugal-ushumgal said.

"And the lords?" I replied, "do they prowl the streets as well or are they hold up in their palaces behind these limestone walls?"

"Most of them fled to other cities. Those who remained have barely enough to feed their families and slaves for the remainder of this moon cycle."

Lugal-ushumgal led us to a place where all alleys came together, and a single path snaked towards a large mountain, looming over the city. "In the mountain, you will find our temple. I can take you to the end of the road. But from there on it is sacred ground which only the priestesses may enter."

"Why is that?" Dingira asked before getting a warning glare from Idal. "What? We all may enter the Ziggurat in Ur. Why is a mountain any different?"

"Because as you know, Ningishzida is a part of the Netherworld: he is the chair-bearer who guides kings and queens on their journey to the realm of Ereshkigal. That mountain is the gateway to the realm of the dead." Lugal-ushumgal explained.

Idal halted his horse instantly, it's neighing forcing us all to halt and witness the shocked expression writen upon his otherwise stoic face. The muscles that lined his arms tightened as he pulled back the reins, ash curls sweeping wildly when he shook his head. "I'm not going in there."

Lugal-ushumgal smiled knowingly. "Don't worry, our temple for Ningishzida only stands at its entrance. In order to truly enter the Netherworld, one would have to travel to the centre of the mountain."

At the end of the road, we left the horses with Lugal-ushumgal, who proceeded to press some slag beads and lapis jewels in the hands of Idal and Dingira. "An offering, for good luck." He said.

As we climbed the mountain, the true scale of the drought became apparent. The wind picked up around us, caring the smell of sulphur and ash from the blackened fields. The earth was cracked all throughout, withered crops hiding beneath swarms of crickets.

"Is this what you saw in your vision?" Idal whispered. "Kituzda told me you had a vision of such a famine during the sacred marriage. She said you awoke screaming, that's how much it had frightened you."

Dingira gasped, "Did Nanna show you this—this horrible scene."

"I'm not sure. What I saw was famine and drought, but I didn't see Lagash. Although I did see a city." I said, trying to remember the vision I had during the sacred wedding. It all went so fast, it seemed more like a blur in my memory.

The entrance of the temple was a pointed arch chiselled out of the flesh coloured stone and resembled a gigantic vulva. It was almost as if the earth itself gave breath to whoever would exit this temple, making it even more ominous to enter it. There were no torches to light the way, and the gathering clouds in the sky blocked out what little sunlight there was.

Dingira yelped as she stepped into a puddle of—something clinging onto my arm after the incident. "We should not linger here any longer than necessary. I dislike the very smell of this place."

I smiled, taking in the sweet scent of Dingira. "Perhaps it's the horses you are smelling. This place itself seems sweet enough to my nose."

"Sweet smells are sometimes used to cover foul ones." Idal murmured, glancing distrustfully at the temple entrance.

A narrow passageway running parallel to the main entrance led us to the only lid area in the temple. The walls were richly decorated, and might have even seemed beautiful were it not for the lack of life within this place. The only remaining flame flickered, casting an ominous glow throughout the temple, causing shivers to ripple across my body. I dragged my hand across the wall, picking up dust and grime. All signs of life vanished from this temple that was once so full of warmth. I stared at the mangled track beneath my feet. This path had been walked far more frequently than the rest, meaning it must lead to the offering room.

Dingira wrapped her hands around me tighter, her breath tickling my neck. "Anna, I have a bad feeling about this place. Something is not right. You should leave it."

"For once I agree with the thief," Idal answered, shining the torch around in search of something unknown.

Their hesitation was understandable, yet the worry over my wellbeing brought a smile to my face. My guardians, even though I was their high priestess, both Idal and Dingira treated me like a princess, guarding me like a precious jewel. It made me feel safe, but also sad. Because I couldn't help but feel like I shouldn't turn my back on Lagash. It was my mother's city, after all. She would want me to save it.

"You may go. Await my return at the entrance." I said.

"Are you sure?" Dingira asked. I nodded.

After both had left me alone with the remanence of the torch, I started searching for the Giparu. The silence was deafening, the rooms dark and the air musty, but never the less I continued on until I stood within a large empty room with a stone washing basin in the middle. The walls were covered from top to bottom with images of people bowing to a large man, with hair as dark as the night, hands stretched out and eyes that shined like amber in the low light.

His likeness was so lifelike that even after touching the cold wall, I could hardly believe that he was merely a painting. As I stepped back, my heel brushed against what at first felt like a loose tile. But once I shone the torch over it, it turned out to be a clay tablet. It was stone cold, dust gathering in the few hasty encryptions that it held.

"Show me those open and loving eyes, for they are the door to my own soul." I read out loud for no other ears than my own. "Touch me with those gentle hands and I am made anew, not as clay, but as if my body were reborn in its most perfect form. And so, in this love, there is a deep gratitude, a sense that what is given is sacred and transient, passing into the eternal cycles of time. You may be death to others, but to me, my love, you are life. Eternal life."

With that, the writing ended, leaving a heaviness hanging in the air. There was more. There had to be so much more. My fingers glided over the dried clay, desperate to somehow subtract a deeper meaning, an intention—something. Whoever wrote this hymn had put their heart into each carving. Each syllable overflowed with emotions, so much so I felt tears welling up in my eyes as they kept re-reading the passages.

Was this a final message from the high priestess who took her own life? Was this a confession to her secret lover? Who was her lover? Or maybe she had fallen for an enemy? Perhaps her lover was the reason she took her own life?

The countless questions made my head spin to the point where I had to steady myself against the stone basin. Facing the large man.

"Was this meant for you, Ningishzida? Who wrote this?" I asked the painting, knowing full well I wouldn't get an answer. For the longest time I sat there, knelt down in the dust, brushing over the tablet again and again. A soul was within it. It was stagnant and yet alive.

Much like this temple. "Most ancient and terrible shrine, set deep in the mountain. Dark like a mother's womb. Dark shrine, like a mother's wounded breast, blood-red and terrifying." I sang, my voice echoing like that of a thousand singers. 

"Though approaching through a safe-seeming field, our hair stands on end as we near you! Ningishzida, like a neck-stock, like a fine-eyed fish net, like a foot-shackled prisoner's manacles. Your ramparts are massive, like a trap! But once we're inside, as the rising sun, you yield widespread abundance! As her prince, you are the pure-handed priest of Inanna, heaven's Holy One! Oh lord Ningishzida, see how this thick, lustrous hair cascades down your back! Oh Ningishzida, Lagash has built this beautiful temple to house your radiance! But she has placed her throne upon your dais, hasn't she? Is she with you now?"

Closing my eyes, I focus on the echo of my voice as it travels through the mountain until an answer makes an unexpected return. "Enheduanna! Come outside, you must witness this."