“Did vahmpeer anger the Anunaki?” Utanapishtim asked.
“No. It is an enemy who will destroy them. Not the gods. The prophecy says that only you, Utanapishtim, can save us. That is why I brought you back.”
Utanapishtim considered his words for a long moment, and then he spoke at last. “It is for the gods to decide.”
“But they are your people, too,” James said.
“I know not…vahmpeer. I know not…they worthy. The Anunaki know.”
“It is written that—only you can save us, Utanapishtim.”
The ancient one shook his head. “I…defy gods. I…suffer. No. I no anger Anunaki again.” And in that moment he looked more like a frightened, battered, abused child than a mighty immortal king and father of the undead.
Lucy arrived with a large tray bearing three plates of food. Steaks, potatoes, green peas. There were napkins, silverware, ice-filled glasses and a pitcher of water. She set the tray on the nearest table, and before she could move to hand Utanapishtim a plate, he had snatched the steak right off one, then shifted it lightly and quickly from one hand to the other, in deference to its heat.
Lucy handed a plate to James, then took her own. Sinking into a nearby chair, she began to eat, using her fork and steak knife, all the while watching the king use his fingers.
Utanapishtim tore off a bite of the steak, chewing, swallowing, nodding. “Good,” he growled, and devoured more. He finished every bite, gulped down his water, belched loudly, then sat back in his seat. “Good woman,” he said at length, speaking not to her but to James, and adding. “You chosen well.” Then, looking at Lucy, he said, “I given you for James of the Vahmpeers,” he told her. “Serve him well, woman.”
Lucy choked on her steak, and James jumped up and slammed her on the back, twice, until a piece of meat came flying out of her mouth.
She stared at Utanapishtim, wide-eyed. Then she looked at James, who shrugged and said, “I tried to explain things to him. He thought I was joking.”
She lowered her head, smiling to herself.
That was not the reaction he had expected, James thought as he watched the reactions cross her face, and then he forgot to think anything. God, she was beautiful. Okay, okay, he was getting off track. He dragged his attention back to the conversation. “You’re not indignant?” he asked her.
“Why would I be? He’s only a reflection of the society in which he lived. No, I was just thinking how interesting it’s going to be when he meets Rhiannon.”
James winced at the thought, which instigated another. “Not to mention my sister. I hope to God she doesn’t blow him up.”
“I know not ‘blow him up,’” Utanapishtim said. “But I know ‘sister,’ James of the Vahmpeers. She is like you, yes?”
“Brigit is…nothing like me.”
18
By the time he finished his third plate of food, Lucy was relieved to see Utanapishtim finally beginning to slow down. Maybe his stomach was nearing maximum capacity. She had cooked almost everything in the galley and was honestly running out of options. They were only about an hour from the island, and the sun was rising far away on the eastern horizon, a fiery red-orange ball just beginning to emerge as if from the watery depths.
Utanapishtim set his food aside as he caught sight of the sun. His eyes took on a distant, reverent look, and he rose from his chair and moved to the rail. Facing the rising sun, he opened his arms wide and began to speak in an ancient Sumerian dialect. His tone was different from when he spoke to either of them. It was softer, submissive, maybe even fearful. Brushstrokes of blazing yellow and orange painted his face in light. Tears dampened his velvet black lashes as he stared into the sunrise.
“Utu agrunta è-ani, igisha ganeshè…”
“What’s he saying?” James asked, leaning closer to Lucy and speaking very softly.
“This is amazing,” she whispered. “Hearing it spoken—God, I never imagined… This is beyond belief.”
“Yes, I know, but what is he saying?”
Lucy strained to understand the words, seeing them phonetically in her mind, trying to recall translations.
“It’s hard, I’m used to translating from looking at the text, not hearing it aloud.”
“Igi sha gane shè hé-em shi bar re…”
“It’s a prayer—to the sun god, Utu,” she whispered.
“May the sun god, rising from the watery deep…um…open his beautiful eye upon me. When the king raises his head…to heaven, may all praise him duly when he lifts his eyes…and his glance flashes…like lightning.”