"What would you know?" Meresamun asked, uncertain where to begin, or what he wished to learn.

"Whatever you wish to tell me," he said, casting an indulgent look at Tyrn who had finished her meal, and sat, her body lowered to the table, her feathers ruffled, roosting, content.

Meresamun began, hesitant, encouraged by the kindness in Zherei's eyes; his lack of judgment, and his empathy as she shared the details of her life from its beginning to her escape from the devastation of Babylon and her arrival at the threshold of Surru. He nodded, understanding her frustration as she described her caged existence in Elati, the blindness of her location, her ignorance of Elati's history, its peoples and kingdoms, and her deep regret for having succumbed to Marduk in Babylon—her terrible choice dooming her to be an eternal oppressor of Elati's innocent people.

When she finished, her throat ached, both from speaking for so long, and for the restraint she had exercised suppressing the anguish which continued to haunt her, night and day. As she shared losing Ahmen to his jealousy, she realized she was lonely, and desperate for someone to understand her, longing for someone older and wiser to guide her, to help her find a way out of her terrible fate.

Zherei poured her a cup of wine and handed it to her. She drank, grateful, waiting for him to speak, both hoping she had not said too much, and realizing she might have been foolish to trust him. She knew nothing about him. Nothing at all. He possessed every advantage.

He took her hand in his, his palm warm and dry, fragile as the thinnest alabaster dish. "And so you wish to escape once more," he said, soft.

"Once more?" Meresamun repeated, confused.

"In Elati," Zherei continued, gentle, "the wise ones talk of recurring unpleasant experiences which occur in various forms throughout one's life. They believe these experiences are manifestations of lessons the Creator wishes us to learn as we journey through the gift of our existence. Until we learn what we must about our failings, the experiences will continue." He smiled at her, and lifted his near non-existent eyebrows. "It appears to me your lesson is clear."

"Perhaps to one such as you, but not to me," Meresamun sighed, despondent. "All I see is hopelessness. Marduk is too strong, too powerful. I am nothing against him. He will win. He always does."

"His path is not yours," Zherei said, quiet. He let go of her hand, and took the empty cup from her and set it on the table. "Only you can decide how you will react to what is unfolding in your life. You are stronger than you perceive. Perhaps if you saw yourself in that light, you might be able to find your answer."

Meresamun stared at him. The man spoke in riddles. "I beg you, speak plain. What use is a lesson to me when I cannot change anything? Even if I leave him, Marduk has told me I will always be his." Tears came to her eyes, blurring her vision. "In time, when he has possessed me long enough, my heart will be corrupted by his. The woman I am now will cease to exist and I will become as heartless as Sethi. And unlike Zarpanitu, I cannot die. I will never be able to escape. Ever." She wept then, grief assailing her, paralyzing her, the truth of Zarpanitu's words impaling her, breaking her spirit. She had lost. No one and nothing could help her now. All she could do was wait for the end.

Through her misery she sensed Zherei withdraw from her, caught his uncertain expression. "Did I hear you correctly?' he asked. "Are you referring to Zarpanitu, the great and learned one?"

Meresamun blinked. His face wavered in the sheen of her tears. "What?" she asked, unable to keep up.

"Was Zarpanitu Marduk's consort?" Zherei asked, taut.

"Yes," she eyed him, wary. "Why?"

Zherei let out a heavy breath. "So the circle closes, after all this time."

Meresamun waited, sensing something of great importance hung in the air between them. She brushed aside the tears clinging to her lashes. When he continued to remain silent, deep in thought, she ventured, "How is it you know of Zarpanitu? Was she from Elati?"

Zherei looked uneasy. "Not as far as I know." He looked down at the table. "Until you said her name, I believed her existence to be a legend, nothing more." He poured out the last of the wine and sipped. "To think she became the consort of the one who intends to enslave Elati," he muttered, staring into his cup. "Of all the possible outcomes—" He glanced up, catching Meresamun watching him, her confusion giving him pause. He cleared his throat. "Forgive me, I shall explain: Almost a millennia ago, while still a young sage, I traveled the length and breadth of Elati searching for reclusive ancient sages.

"High in the remote mountain chain of Qatu, I found Elati's most venerated sage. He told me a tale: during the age when the gods still walked among us, one of the high priests of Thoth fell into a trance for days. As he sat, neither eating nor drinking, he transcribed a vast message from one who called herself Zarpanitu, her message coming to him from across an unimaginable distance—carried to him past the heaven's immutable physical barriers by the power of her consciousness. I could scarce believe his words until he showed me the proof—aging scrolls filled with knowledge I could not read let alone comprehend. He instructed me to copy all of it onto fresh scrolls.

"Over the next months, as I worked through my task, ignorant of the symbols my brush so faithfully replicated, he told me when he was young an ancient sage had chosen him to do what he had instructed me to do, just as that sage had been chosen when he was young by another—the knowledge before me claimed to have been first transcribed two million years ago." He lifted his brow and sipped again. "A sacred task, indeed, which I bore with deep humility and honor. As I departed, I was instructed to guard this knowledge until the time would come for me to pass it on, unless of course it could be deciphered."

As Zherei finished the wine's dregs, Meresamun's gaze slid to the translation device sitting, innocuous, on the table, then fell to the satchel on the floor. "If you were meant to guard it, does that mean those are—?"

Zherei nodded. "They are."

"I wonder," she began, diffident, "if you might let me look at one? I have seen Zarpanitu's writings and know her symbols. If it truly was Zarpanitu who contacted one of your priests, I should be able to confirm it."

Without answering her, Zherei leaned over his satchel and pulled one of the scrolls free. He set it before her, watching her, intent, as she unrolled it, shy. She glanced down, and caught her breath. She looked up at Zherei, tears glistening anew in her eyes. "It is her language," she whispered. Taking up the translation device, she woke it from its slumber and unrolled the scroll to the end.

"You read it from the end to the beginning," she murmured as she lay the device atop the symbols and waited for it to begin the translation.

Zherei leaned closer, intrigued. "What does this flat, shiny thing do?" he asked.

"It takes her words and translates them into my language," Meresamun said, pointing to the screen as it lit up, blue hieroglyphs streaming past, assembling into a coherent line.

"How fascinating," Zherei murmured, reaching out to touch the corner of it. "A wonder."

"It belongs to Marduk," Meresamun said, "he possesses many wonders like this, though most are weapons. Some are powerful enough to control those who would otherwise never serve him."

"Like Sethi?" Zherei asked, soft, his eyes meeting hers, clear, honest.

"Yes," Meresamun whispered. "Once, Sethi was valiant, noble, and honorable, until Marduk enslaved him."

"I heard him," Zherei said, as Meresamun slid the device along the first lines of the scroll. "Not long before we departed from his palace, he screamed, crying out in agony, begging the Creator for mercy, to be freed of what he has become."

Meresamun paused in her work. "Every dawn, just before the sun rises, he returns to his true self and remembers all he has wrought before the device claims him again," she shuddered. "His suffering must be unimaginable."

"So," Zherei murmured, "the question begs to be asked: is the jihn calling to him, or to the device controlling him?"

Meresamun didn't know what Zherei was talking about, but she didn't ask, the translation device occupied her full attention; she had forgotten how complicated Zarpanitu's thoughts were. She closed the scroll with a sigh.

"And?" Zherei asked.

"It is much the same as what I have read before," Meresamun said, condensing the message within. "Zarpanitu was sending out a message, asking those who heard her if they knew where she might find the origin of all creation, what she called the well of life. She believed if the embodiment of darkness could be cast into it, every world would be cleansed of its taint. At least, that was her theory." She rolled up the scroll, handed it back, and waited for him to pass her another.

"The well of life," Zherei repeated, thoughtful. "I have never heard of such a thing, although, now I think of it, there is a place . . . hmmm." He rummaged through his satchel and pulled out another scroll, larger than the others, tied together with a leather strap. Pushing aside the platters, he unfurled it. A map.

Meresamun leaned closer, her fascination with Zherei's scrolls superseded by her deepest desire, to find her place in Elati, to lose the vague sensation of near non-existence, her rootlessness. "Is this Elati?" she breathed. She looked up at him. "Where are we?"

Zherei's forefinger came down on a spot at the far north of the largest of the two continents. Nestled along the cliffs of the southern edge of a large bay, Marduk's fortress stood far removed from any major city. A vast mountain range surrounded the entire bay, the range's peaks stretching deep into the land. Her heart sank. She was as isolated as she could possibly be.

"Perev," Zherei said. "When we landed, the twin moons and three great stars of the north were still bright enough for me to make rudimentary calculations." He glanced at her and confessed, with a hint of pride, "The constellations and movements of the heavenly bodies are somewhat of a passion of mine. Although, without the full canopy of stars, I couldn't be certain."

Meresamun nodded, her gaze returning to the place he had indicated. A bay soared out to the north toward a narrow, mountainous isthmus. Beyond that thin strip of land—nothing, just water, endless water. To the south, east, and west: mountains. She gazed up at the galleries of the upper floors of the library, at the elegance of her enormous gilded cage, drowning in sudden claustrophobia. Without a ship, she would never escape, and the only ship in Elati was Marduk's. Her thoughts moved back to Zarpanitu's hidden message written to her, charging her successor to pick up where she had left off, to find the well of life and finish Marduk, forever. It was impossible. She would never succeed. Not like this, not here, locked away in his immutable fortress.

"I came upon this citadel while lost in a snowstorm," Zherei continued, breaking into Meresamun's bleak thoughts. "Even then, a thousand years ago, it had already lain abandoned for an age. Having come into the palace today from quite another way, I had forgotten about Perev until I entered the library, and recalled the three days I passed waiting for the storm to end, surrounded by a wealth of knowledge I could not read." He shook his head, eyeing the stacks laden with scrolls. "It was most exasperating."

Meresamun said nothing. She pulled the translation device to her and pressed the blue-lit indentation. The screen darkened.

Zherei leaned forward. "Have I said something amiss?"

Meresamun shook her head. "I am tired," she said. "Tired of seeking answers only to find I am still powerless." She pushed the device aside.

Zherei said nothing for a while. He sat back, considering her. She let him, uncaring of his perusal. He could not help her, no one could. Desolation surrounded her. A sudden longing for the past overwhelmed her. If only she could go back to when she had been granted her freedom. She would never have left Ahmen, would have remained with him. Even if they had succumbed to the world's unfolding destruction, it would have been better to have died in his arms, than this endless fall into darkness, lost and alone, forever.