This story contains some very vague spoilers for Comes a Horseman (They'd have to be
vague I haven't seen the ep ). I don't think it should bother anyone
but you've been warned. I also have implied sex and non-graphic violence (maybe
next time some fat free ice cream?)

I also get to wax philosophical so if it bothers/bores anyone -be warned. I'm very interested
in the myth of Ishtar/Inanna descending and it shows. You should be able to get it
without knowing the story but if you can't here is the address of the Sumerian mythology
FAQ http://pubpages.unh.edu/~cbsiren/sumer-faq.htmlYou will then know what
kind of liberties I'm taking with myth. Sigh.

My other stories are available at http://www.oocities.org/soho/lofts/6568

(Insert disclaimer here) Now I better stop before this gets longer than the story.

I wake screaming in my lover's arms. He sits up, startled. Maybe because the last time I
went to bed with him was four thousand years ago, before I knew what a real nightmare
was. Now I lay next to him and shake. What makes life jealous of death? Ishtar,
queen of love and war and life, passed seven gates to reach the underworld. She
gave up all that she was bit by bit. To usurp the lands of her sister Ereshkigal, Queen of
death, who weeps for all the fallen mortals.

All that she was and even so she failed. Why does the lady of life want to be death when
all death has the power to do is weep at the lives cut short? I do not have even at that
power. All I can do is shiver in the arms of my oldest friend and wonder. But I am
neither life nor death, I am immortal.

"What's wrong Tinat?" He soothes my goosefleshed arms and tries to still the shaking.

"Methos," I turn and hold his face in my hands, looking into his clear eyes, "what is the
attraction of being death?" He flinches out of my hands before he has a chance to control
himself.

"Why do you ask me that?" I sigh softly. He looks in my eyes and sees the understanding
there. I know what he was, though we never spoke of it. One hears stories in
four thousand and some years.

"I thought you might have a better perspective than most." He jerks his head, a parody of
a nod.

"I could say it was the power of the thing, but I think you already understand that?" He
makes the words a question. As if he didn't know.

"Yeah."

A league from Jehrico, under the stars. A graceful blade in my hand, full of shadows and
moonlight. The discordant clash of bronze, as they try to keep me away long enough to
flee. But it's no use and they fall becoming nothing more than meat as they fall, and I am
covered in blood, drowning in the stuff and I thirst for it. They die and I know myself.
Alive. Yes.

"Tinat!" My lover, teacher, friend calls me through the red haze of life. I could kill him too.
My blade is the brightest. I could taste the prickle-cold buzz feel of him.

"Tinat! You must not do this. The path you are walking will take you nowhere." He comes
near me, neck achingly vulnerable. I raise my blade.

"Look at your hands, priestess! What would your Ishtar say to you?" I laugh at that. He
lost his faith in the gods long before I was born.

"If there was an Ishtar She would be pleased. Is She not also lady of war?" I lift up my
blood soaked hands, raise my sword in a mock salute. "Hail to Ishtar, who went down to the
underworld to conquer death!" I hear my hysterical laughter resound through the dark.

"You remember that story priestess? Than recall how it ended. Ishtar failed and was
destroyed. And to return to the land of the living she gave away Dummuzi, the lover of her youth,
to appease death." I stared at him, his flesh pale in the moonlight. The lover of my
youth. Suddenly the haze thinned and I felt tired and uncomprehending.

"I've been where you are Tinat. Killing is easy isn't it? It feels good, so you drug yourself
on it! But can you stop? Does dealing death give you power or does it become the
power that controls you?" I want to listen. I can't listen. My sword feels alive and I
want only death. I sheath my bloodthirsty blade in my own flesh.

"Why did you do it Tinat? Do you really understand? Can you?" His eyes bore at me,
suddenly in teacher mode.

"I haven't understood yet. Maybe that's just a part of being mad. Not understanding your
own motives." But that's not the question.

"Maybe. I think for me it was. . . never mind. Can you tell me about what you dreamed? I
used to interpret for one of the Pharaohs you know." He grins. I know the topic is forgotten.
For now.

"Let me guess - something about snakes and loaves of bread." He laughs and smacks me
with a pillow. I retaliate until we end up breathless and giggling. After a while we find
ourselves breathless for another reason entirely.

I dreamt about four horsemen. And someone with blood and darkness in her eyes chasing
after Methos. I will say nothing about it, I think. It may well be unimportant.

In the morning I call on Ishtar for the first time in millennia. Why did my Goddess try to
become death with all its pain? I think it was the one thing She could never understand. Goddess
help us all.

end

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