The Immortal Realm

After what felt like an interminable wait, it was happening again. Teshub held his breath, waiting as the flames licked across his arms, igniting, flaring to life, the symbols waxing and waning. He read, hungry for the world beyond the fragmenting walls of his prison, intrigued. The prince had become a king and had liberated the hallowed ground where once, eons ago, Teshub's city had existed, before the wars of gods and men.

A temple to Teshub had been built on the site by the mortal's ancestors, but had been lost soon after to violent tribesmen. But this mortal--this king--named Urhi-Teshub had spent his life fighting to regain it. And now, within its reclaimed walls he prayed, calling to Teshub, begging once more for his aid. He spoke of his people starving, the land riven by cold and rain, the crops rotting in the mud; his father's sacrilege; his uncle's determination to take his throne from him, and his deep, fervent desire to reclaim his queen, stolen by his enemy.

The contact cut off, abrupt. The flames subsided, the symbols fading until the indelible markings of the Creator's message showed once more, tattooed in gold: You are next.

Teshub stood and rubbed his arms, tingling from the unfamiliar sensation of cold fire. This time he had a plan. He left his apartment and made his way across the district filled with the homes of the gods, ignoring the fresh tremors rippling through the realm's foundation.

At first, the shudders had troubled Teshub, but they had not worsened. Soon, across the realm, a semblance of normality returned. Beings left the perceived safety of their residences and processed once more, met for discourse, and welcomed new arrivals. The tremors became part of Teshub's existence, no longer any more noticeable than the hairline cracks spreading across the walls of his apartment as fine as the threads of a spider's web.

Outside the sprawling residence of Thoth, Teshub eyed its four thin towers, soaring away into the heavens, their pinnacles hidden by distance. It was rumored every floor was filled with the writings of his elder brother, gathered over the eons.

Teshub hesitated. There was something disturbing about Thoth, possessed as he was by such profound wisdom and understanding of the unspeakable. In his presence, one felt insignificant, meaningless. Thoth did not relate well to others either; more often than not lost in his own incomprehensible thoughts, theories and equations, obsessed with understanding the fabric of reality. Depending on his mood, he could be arrogant and rude, or helpful but distracted, prone to lengthy lapses into silence. The last time Teshub had gone to him with a question, Thoth had walked away, nodding to himself, deep in thought, gone through a door, closed it, and never returned.

Bracing himself for the worst, Teshub waved his hand against the panel bearing Thoth's sigil, announcing his arrival. After a long, uncertain wait, the door slid open in total silence.

"Enter," a voice, faint with distance, drifted out from within the apartment's depths, imperious, tinged with impatience.

Teshub felt his hopes sinking. Thoth was not in a good mood. He dithered, hesitating at the threshold, considering returning another day. He glanced down at his arms, his skin still tingling. No. This was his chance, he dare not waste it. Who knew how long he might have to wait for another connection? While still recent, Thoth would be able to divine the meaning of his contact, and perhaps, even the Creator's indelible message. He stepped over the threshold and made his way through the opulent, disorganized rooms, every available surface piled with open tomes and sheaves of notes. The home of a scholar, a thinker--all extraneous comforts stripped away in favor of more space for learning.

In the middle of the apartment's sprawl, Teshub came upon an enormous circular room--the one he had been in the last time he visited. He eyed the four closed doors leading to the towers, their surfaces glowing with pulsing sigils, the doors spaced at regular intervals around the room's circumference. In the room's center, a table laden with intricate crystal contraptions, items to calibrate and conduct experiments.

In the midst of the disarray, Thoth, still as thin and bony as ever, perched on a stool wearing nothing more than a full-length kilt. His head in his hands, he pored over an open book, his brow furrowed in concentration.

Teshub waited. He had learned the hard way not to interrupt Thoth when he was working. A long time passed. Still, Teshub waited. After another lengthy interval, Thoth stood and stared down at the book's pages. His expression brightened, comprehension spreading across his narrow features.

"And so it is," he murmured, closing the book and setting it atop a pile on the floor beside him. He looked up, finding Teshub waiting for him. He blinked, taken aback.

"When did you come in?" he asked.

"A while ago," Teshub answered, grateful Thoth's tone was relaxed. "You let me in."

"Did I?" Thoth murmured. "I don't remember." He moved around the table adjusting several pieces of his equipment. "And what brings you to my study?"

Teshub held out his arms. "This," he said. "I have contact. With a mortal. I want to know how it is possible."

"Indeed?" Thoth asked, intrigued, no longer interested in his equipment. He took Teshub's arms in his hands, taking in the golden symbols of the Creator. "'You are next'," he read, slow, thoughtful. "These are the symbols of our Creator," he muttered. "How? Why?" He fell silent, sliding into thought.

Just as Teshub began to fear he had lost him, Thoth looked up. "And the mortal?" he asked.

"Today was the second time," Teshub answered. "Just as in the days when we lived with men, my arms awaken with symbols, but instead of knowing the petitions of a multitude, the symbols only burn for him. He bears my name, a king, who appears to be beset on all sides. One message keeps coming through: he longs to have his queen back. He claims she was stolen from him by an enemy king."

"Hmmm," Thoth said, his attention fixed once more on Teshub's arms. He turned them from side to side, examining them.

"There is something else," Teshub hazarded, taking a chance at confusing matters. Thoth's attention remained on Teshub's arms, tracing his fingers over the faint residue of the latest message from the mortal realm. "Horus and Baalat are gone."

Thoth looked up, sharp. He narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean, 'gone'?"

Pulling one of his arms free, Teshub reached into a fold of his tunic and presented the card from Baalat he had found the day he had woken from his slumber. Thoth took it and read it, his lips thinning. He handed it back.

"Well, that might explain the tremors," Thoth muttered, turning away. "How long have they been gone?"

"Almost nine months is my best guess," Teshub answered.

"Nine," Thoth repeated, rubbing the back of his neck. "No," he continued, "my instruments began sensing the first faintest tremors a year ago . . ." He turned back, abrupt, startling Teshub. "The contact with the mortal. You say he carries your name?"

Teshub nodded, wary.

"And," Thoth continued, his voice sharpening, "Horus and Baalat left for the sake of two mortals," he said, reiterating the words of Baalat's message, "both of them willing to die so the mortals might live. But how could she have known of them?" He fell silent, staring, unseeing, at the floor. "She had the vision pool," he whispered. He looked up. "Of course."

Teshub lifted an eyebrow, perplexed. "How does--"

"Never mind that," Thoth said, returning to the table and rifling through his notes. Several gold-inked transparent pages fluttered down onto the thick rug. He bent to pick one of them up and returned to Teshub, pointing at a section packed with neat lines of numbers, symbols, and formulas.

"Look," he said, sliding his finger along one of the incomprehensible lines. "Do you see that?"

Teshub looked. The math meant nothing to him. "I do, but--"

"This line represents an anomaly," Thoth continued, "a discrepancy in time. A split occurred near the end of the wars of gods and men, so perfect only the Creator could have manifested it. I have long wondered why." He lowered the page and met Teshub's eyes. "And now you tell me Baalat and Horus are gone and you carry a message from the Creator saying you are next." A tremor shuddered through the floor. A quiet tinkle came from the equipment. One of the books perched on the table's edge landed on the rug with a thud. Thoth held up a forefinger. "The tremors. They are part of this, too, I would wager my entire library on it. The question is how do all the parts fit together. And why."

"But what does a 'discrepancy in time' have to do with the messages coming to me?" Teshub asked. "Speak with plain words, I beg you."

"Ah. Yes. The discrepancy," Thoth said. "Do you remember when Horus took revenge against Marduk for destroying Baalat's city? It wasn't long afterward Arinna went missing."

Teshub nodded, terse. How could he forget? He had searched everywhere for his consort, unable to eat or sleep for months, fearing Marduk had taken Arinna in retribution for Zarpanitu, Marduk's consort, killed in cold blood by Horus. "And?" he pressed when Thoth remained quiet.

"Bad business, that," Thoth said, shaking his head. "Horus might be the highest among us, but he went too far. Zarpanitu was innocent, a peacemaker. After that, the wars went from bad to devastating. If we hadn't retreated nothing would have been left of the mortal realm."

Teshub said nothing. He knew. He didn't need reminding. "The discrepancy?" he repeated, taut, longing to change the subject from the dark days he had spent searching for his missing consort, the goddess he could never replace no matter how many others had since occupied his bed.

"Around the time Arinna went missing," Thoth said, "the discrepancy occurred. A split, if you will, when this universe branched into two and gave birth to a perfect copy, with those in the new universe unaware of the shift in direction. Apart from me, everyone in both universes believes their path is the only one." He lifted an eyebrow. "It is quite intriguing when you know the truth of it. To think there is another one of me, potentially unaware I exist."

Teshub blinked. "Are you suggesting there are two of me?" he asked, low.

Thoth nodded, his eyes sliding back down to the page. He pointed at another formula. "This explains it here. The math, it is quite breathtaking. Perfect, seamless. A dream."

Teshub yanked the page from Thoth's hand. "This is not a pet project we are talking about," he said, tight. "You just told me there are two of me. How is that even possible? Who am I, if I am not the only me?"

Thoth took the page back, and pressed out the creases against his torso. "Because each of you exist in separate realities," he answered once he was satisfied his work had not come to harm. "The Creator's powers are vast. This is child's play for him. He would have had a reason for it, one I suspect is connected to Arinna, the tremors, and Baalat, Horus, you, and the mortals. It is the why of it I must seek to uncover."

Teshub stared at him, blank. Separate realities? There was only one reality. The one he was in.

"But--" he protested, confused, beginning to wish he hadn't come to Thoth after all.

Thoth held up a finger and went to the table. He rummaged amongst its contents until he found what he sought. He turned to face Teshub, holding a clear, solid globe cupped in his hand. "Let us say this globe represents our total reality," he said. "Enclosed inside it is everything we know: time, gods, mortals, other worlds--the stars in the heavens. The whole, a universe." He circled his other hand around it. "Outside of it, a vast formless realm, like an ocean. In this ocean float millions of globes just like ours, all existing in isolation from each other. Each a different universe, with different rules, and different outcomes."

He placed his index finger at the top of the globe. A faint streamer of gold trickled from his finger into it, swirling, crackling, reminding Teshub of his own power--the devastating bolt of lightning.

"Let us imagine an event which breaches the rules of our universe--perhaps something as improbable as a goddess vanishing without a trace. The rules state she must be somewhere, so if she is not here--" The crackling in the globe increased, spreading until it glowed a brilliant, bright white. It distorted, and a bulge distended from its side. It slid free, a new globe, identical to the first. Thoth caught it in his other hand and held it up, "--she must be here."

Teshub blinked, hope awakening in his heart after an eon of silence. "My love is alive?"

Thoth nodded, and turned to set the globes on the table, tender.

"But she is with the other me?" Teshub asked, eyeing the new globe, tendrils of jealousy creeping into his heart.

"She is."

"And I can never get to her?"

"You could. If I made a portal."

Teshub brightened. "Could you--"

"It will never happen," Thoth interrupted, severe. "The effect of two of you in one universe would tear apart all the rules which make it stable. If you stayed long enough the instabilities would render it utterly uninhabitable. Everyone would die, even the gods would be annihilated."

Teshub pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes, his head beginning to ache. Arinna was there, and he was here. She would have no idea he existed alone without her. Why would the Creator--

"I must access the vision pool," Thoth continued, breaking into Teshub's thoughts. "Its magic is old, and rooted to the mortal realm. I am going to try to use it to see into the future. Perhaps some answers will be found that way."

He muttered a few incomprehensible words and a golden flying disk, the size of a small table, etched with esoteric symbols materialized beside him at waist height. Thoth piled two dozen tomes, half the sheaves of notes scattered across his table and most of his equipment onto it, the disk sinking lower under each additional burden. He went to the door, the disk trailing after him, struggling to keep up.

He paused to look back at Teshub. "Do you wish to come?" he asked, a rare gesture of thoughtfulness.

Teshub did. More than anything. He followed his elder brother out into the brilliant white light of the city, thinking of Arinna, loving him, but not him, in a world he could never reach. His heart aching, he looked down at the markings left by the Creator and walked on.