The Tower of Babel

The gong sounded the start of another day. Gusru sat up and rubbed his eyes, his tired body fighting his every move. Sumai, his father, was already awake and downing a flagon of wine. It was two hours before sunrise, and the bakery awaited.

The moon blazed through the window of the small apartment, and the desert sands glistened. Flowing silently, the Euphrates was a black vein cutting through the vegetation bordering the sands beyond. Gusru and his family lived in the lower levels of the Great Tower, but he could still see a long distance into the desert; and now he stared at the horizon where the stars of the sky met the stars of the sand.

“Come, boy, it is time,” Sumai’s gruff voice was like an axe tearing through the quiet of the predawn.

“Of course, father.”

It wasn’t a far walk to the bakery, but it was a walk that would always give Gusru a moment of awe. The Great Tower was begun before his father was born, in the younger days of his grandfather, and was only just finished a few years ago. But it was majestic, standing tall into the heavens, capped with the Temple of Marduk, of whom the great King Nimrod has equated himself. Some days the temple at the apex could not be seen through the clouds, but the ornate, frescoed walls and houses stood as a constant, visual testament to the might and power of Akkadia. Even in the torchlit darkness the tiered walls of the tower made one feel insignificant, and Gusru walked with his father in a state of awe, as though he were seeing it for the first time.

They made their way to the third level of the tower, the bakery a space granted to them only two years ago by the right hand of the King. Their pastry had become renowned in the city of Babylon, the King himself requiring daily deliveries when he spent time in the royal palace. Here at the tower, the most powerful of the Akkadian Empire lived their daily lives, and it was a royal imperative that his wealthiest subjects have access to them every day. His family was granted free access to all the ingredients they would ever need, including leavening, to guarantee that the King’s court would always be well fed. And so, Sumai and his family were moved to the tower, and Gusru got to witness this majesty of mankind and live in a place that others could only dream of.

The sweat poured from Gusru’s brow as he operated the oven’s bellows. Full of the aroma of rising dough, his stomach growled of hunger, but the need to get the bread and pastries in the oven and ready to serve by sunrise was greater. The nobles and the traders never wasted much time in a day, they wanted to break their fast with the sun. And today was even worse, and better, for Gusru. Today, he would have to travel to Babylon for supplies; a day that he always looked forward to. He would be out of the bakery after the morning rush and not due back until sundown. Through his hunger he smiled, for Gusru loved to walk the upper levels of the tower before leaving for Babylon. Perhaps he might even be able to tour the Temple of Marduk at the pinnacle, if only the morning rush went quickly!

The Sun broke the horizon as Sumai and Gusru began placing the first of the pastries and breads on the tables outside the bakery. He heard the voices of the people echo about the tower as they awoke and welcomed the day. The next two hours were a blur of dough, heat, smiles, and coins. Through the toil and heat, Sumai and Gusru smiled often at each other. A day’s wages here at the tower were nearly half a year’s wages back in Babylon. The wealthy certainly had no concern for losing their wealth, so they were happy to give handsomely for simple, tasty pastry. Knowing that he and his family had plenty of wealth themselves, the early mornings, long days, and sweaty toil had become a focus of renown for Gusru and his father.

But now that the morning rush had ended, Sumai had given permission for Gusru to make his way to the stables, and to Babylon. He exited the bakery, winding his way through the throng of nobles waiting for their pastry and trying with all of his skill not to rub his sweaty skin against their ornate and colorful robes. The cloth burned against his hot, raw skin as he wiped away the sweat from his brow. With a smile on his face, Gusru turned to the right, eagerly wanting to walk the Temple Level of the tower. Two steps into his journey, though, he hesitated, overcome with a feeling of foreboding unlike anything he had ever felt before.

There was a vibrating inside of him, and a feverish feeling overwhelmed him. Gusru spun on his heels, disoriented. He had to get out of the city. It felt as though he was watching himself from the outside as he hurried to the stables. He entered rush, knowing time was short; something was about to happen, what it was he did not know. The vibration in his chest grew, and as he hooked the horse to the wagon, the din of the voices became strange.

Upon arriving at the tower, it hadn’t taken Gusru long to make the constant din of the voices part of the everyday background noise. Now it had changed, the din had become a jumble of unintelligible words. Glancing around, all he saw were faces of confusion as people who were, just a moment ago, having friendly conversation could now not understand each other. His rush now turned to panic, the vibration in his chest becoming painful. He slapped the reins roughly and the horse took off at a gallop, the wagon lurching with the force.

Before he knew it, Gusru had the horse and wagon rushing dangerously through the Terrace Level, approaching the south ramp that would take him out and away from the tower. Innumerable fights had broken out among the residents and visitors who could no longer understand one another. As he fled down the ramp, he mouthed a prayer to Marduk to care for his family. The ground began to rumble beneath him.

Barely had the wagon cleared the ramp when cracks began to form in the sand surrounding the tower. The sun seemed to increase in intensity and sweat poured down over his eyes like a waterfall. It was at that moment when the screams of anger and confusion became screams of fear. The tower was crumbling, but Gusru dared not look back. The screams, though, didn’t only come from the people trapped in the tower, but also from inside his own head. The sunlight seemed to become unnaturally bright and closing his eyes didn’t help. Gusru doubled over in the wagon, his own cries of pain now joining the cries within his head. He could hear the great tower imploding behind him, and he felt like he was dying alongside those trapped inside.

In what felt like an eternity, and yet only a moment, all was white and silent around Gusru. Is this death? The thought was answered immediately.

“You are not dead, my child. You are with Me.”

“Who are you?”

“I am that I am. I am the first and the last. I am the one who is all.” The voice became focused as a figure of an old man appeared before Gusru.

Gusru took a knee before Him, “Marduk, Lord of the Heavens and the Earth.”

Gusru was stood up by an invisible force, its strength made any resistance impossible. “Do not think me some useless conjuring of a disobedient son! I am the Creator of all things! None may stand against me!”

The young man knelt one more time, “What then am I to call you, Creator?”

“You shall call me Yahweh, as I am known to one called Noah, living now in the kingdom of Shuruppak to the south.”

“Why have you destroyed my family, Yahweh? What were they guilty of that they deserved death?” Tears of sorrow stung in Gusru’s eyes.

“No guilt did they have, my son, as they toiled with pride and effort for the length of their days. They were a required sacrifice to me, so that you may not have any legacy on Earth that will get in the way of your duties to me.” The old man stepped solemnly to the kneeling man and placed a hand upon his shoulders.

What Gusru felt was nothing short of pure knowledge and bliss as Yahweh touched him. The power of Him was unlike anything Gusru thought possible, and the idea of the gods he worshipped before was like a flame to the Sun itself. The sacrifice of his family was a worthy price to pay to serve the Lord of the Heaven and Earth.

“What need have you of me, Yahweh?” Tears of humility and awe now streamed down his face.

“Just as I am the first and the last, you, too, my son, are a first and a last. You are a Prime, and the last surviving iteration of your soul. You are special, and so you shall serve me.”

“I shall serve you, Yahweh, the Creator. What is my charge?”

“Rise, my child, and reality as it truly is.”

Gusru lifted his gaze, and in his mind and before his eyes he saw the web of the realities. He felt the presence of every human on Earth, he saw their decisions, and he saw the new realities weaving in and out of each other. Realities upon realities popped into existence every moment, and the number of realities were already numerous beyond compare. And Gusru knew each reality, and he knew every person in them. He could see the Primes and their Iterations, and he could see how few Primes survive through the realities. Gusru’s duties to Yahweh seemed clear, he was to track the Primes and ensure their service to the Creator.

“Indeed, my child, your charge is to command my Primes. Such a task will require undue strength from you throughout eternity. As such, you represent my strength, and shall henceforth be called Gabriel.”

Read Chapter 1 of Prime using the link below:

A World Gone Mad