The Oracle of Ur

By Penny Barron

WHAT IS THE POINT OF KNOWING IF NOBODY WILL LISTEN?
Ancient Sumer, 3800 BC. Indentured and forced into prostitution to survive, a reluctant seer known only as Girl, finds herself experiencing cataclysmic visions. Kaylem, most junior scribe of the Temple and her one, true friend, realizes Girl is the mouthpiece of the gods and is the only one to believe her. Somehow, Girl and Kaylem must convince the corrupt priestcraft of Ur to heed Girl’s message from the gods and bring her warning to the people. Otherwise, what is the point of knowing if nobody will listen?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ozark Mountain Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Dec 14, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005804831

Book preview

The Oracle of Ur

Book 1

By Penny Barron

© 2021 by Penny Barron

All rights reserved. No part of this book, in part or in whole, may be reproduced, transmitted or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic, photographic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without permission in writing from Ozark Mountain Publishing, Inc. except for brief quotations embodied in literary articles and reviews.

For permission, serialization, condensation, adaptions, or for our catalog of other publications, write to Ozark Mountain Publishing, Inc., P.O. Box 754, Huntsville, AR 72740, ATTN: Permissions Department.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Penny Barron - 1972 -

The Oracle of UR by Penny Barron

Ancient Summer 3800 BC. Indentured and forced into prostitution to survive, a reluctant seer known only as Girl, finds herself experiencing cataclysmic visions.

1. Prehistory 2. Dreams 3. Visions 4. Oracles

I. Barron, Penny -1972- II. Metaphysical III. Prehistory IV. Title

Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 2021937345

ISBN: 9781950639052

Cover Art and Layout: Victoria Cooper Art

Book set in: Alga and Times New Roman

Book Design: Summer Garr

Published By:

PO Box 754, Huntsville, AR 72740

800-935-0045 or 479-738-2348; fax [phone]

WWW.OZARKMT.COM

Printed in the United States of America

DISCLAIMER

While every effort has been made to faithfully recreate prehistory, The Oracle of Ur is a work of fiction. Its original premise is based on a series of vivid dreams which were, to me at the time, like memories. I do not claim to be any kind of expert on this period and I have filled in the many gaps with my overactive imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended.

You cannot shout the truth from rooftops;

You would only be making a noise.

You can only whisper the truth

Into listening ears.

~Imre Vallyon

Acknowledgments

To T: you know who you are and without you this book wouldn’t exist. Thank you for being there for me in so many ways. For your endless patience, your incredible depth, your courage to speak the truth no matter what the cost, and your encouragement for me to write this story while refusing to let me get away with utter crap. Thank you to my amazing children: Chloe, who patiently read so many versions, to my boys Will and Toby for putting up with me disappearing for hours on end. A big thank-you to Ozark Mountain Publishing and their fiction subsidiary Big Sandy Press for having the faith in me to publish The Oracle of Ur and helping me bring my first-ever book- baby out into the world. And words cannot express my gratitude and devotion to Imre Vallyon, spiritual teacher and true master. Your guiding Light in my life is the greatest treasure of all.

Map of Sumer

Chapter One

Sumer, 3800 BC

There was no way she could be compelled to step foot upon that boat, despite having accompanied her parents on fishing trips several times in the past. After losing the last of the predawn stillness to tantrums, screaming, scratching, and biting, her father reluctantly agreed to leave her with her uncle’s family while they were gone. She wept for weeks on end, knowing deep in her heart they’d never return.

The weeks turned to moons and after hearing no news, her uncle, his wife, and their daughter grew tired of her emotion and wild fits of anger. Hers was a temperament fit to challenge those graced with the patience of the gods. The money left to pay her way had run out long before, and they were far from wealthy.

On her seventh birthday, it happened also to be market day in nearby Erech. With much force and a bale of rope, she was tied to the cart’s wooden railing, her uncle wincing against her shrieks and sharp kicks. The rope abraded her arms and forced silent tears from her eyes, while the donkey began its plod away from the village that had been her home.

The little girl was asleep by the time the gates of the city loomed, exhausted as she was from her struggles and lulled by the cart’s movement. She awoke to the bustle of the city, squirming under the eye of the guards manning the city gate. Their relaxed postures outraged her, that to them her plight wasn’t even worthy of a glimmer of concern. The cart stopped, and her uncle led her firmly, still bound, through the narrow, crowded maze of market stalls.

Her aunt and cousin, who had been nasty on occasion yet more often kind, sat motionless in the cart with their heads low. Soon, all sight of them disappeared behind the stinking throng of humanity, the noise of which was overwhelming after the quiet of the village. Vendors stood at stalls where slabs of green-tinged meat hung, buzzing with equally green flies. Goat’s heads were stacked neatly underneath, their opaque, blind eyes staring into death, and the little girl shivered despite the suffocating heat.

More stalls selling fabrics, sweetmeats, and crockery were everywhere. Merchants called in rich voices, each vying to outdo the other in securing a sale. The little girl’s uncle tugged her toward a more open area on the other side of the marketplace. A corral lay ahead, where she thought there may be animals for sale. As they drew near, she saw it held nothing but fly-ridden, miserable children. An image of the rotting hunks of meat for sale in the food quarter came into her mind, and in desperation she stomped on her uncle’s foot as he tried to steer her even closer. He only grunted and held her arm so firmly she whimpered.

The rope scratched her as it was removed, and she fought to escape until the slave trader landed a casual backhand to the face, shocking her into passivity. He held her arm even more painfully than her uncle had. People passed by as this small drama unwound, staring silently as man and merchant bartered for her bondage. An agreement was reached, coins changed hands. Without further ado the slave trader shoved her into the makeshift pen alongside the other children who squatted in the searing dust, covered in dirt and bruises.

The little girl watched as the man who had been charged with her care, her father’s elder brother no less, turned on his heel. Without a backward glance of his downcast head, he disappeared into the crowd as though he’d never been. Suddenly numb, she squatted like the others in the dust, eventually ignoring the flies that crowded the corners of her mouth and eyes.

The other children occasionally moaned, huddling together as though oblivious of the heat. She stayed apart, preferring to nurse the kernel of anger slowly smoldering its way through the wall of numbness as the heat grew outside of her. One by one the others were taken by wealthy citizens of Erech who required an extra pair of hands. The little girl remembered with a tinge of sadness the child servant of her own household, quite a few years older than she was, and she wondered what had become of him. He had been one of the more fortunate ones, sold into a happy family and treated well.

Tears made filthy runnels down her cheeks at the thought of her parents, knowing she would never see them again. Flies swarmed all over the sticky mess, the buzz and their frantic feet prickling her cheeks overwhelming. After a while she once again stopped bothering to wave them away and found a tiny patch of shade in the lee of the nearest wall, face now just as filthy as the others but set in a ferocious scowl at all who came to browse. Occasionally throughout the day, the children crowded around to take their turn at a bladder which was held above eager mouths for a few swallows. The brackish water seemed to awaken rather than satisfy the little girl’s thirst and resentfully she returned to the patch of shade to await her fate.

Shadows slowly reached for the other end of the square, and merchants all around them began to pack away their stalls as the crowds thinned. The little girl, the last one remaining in the corral, watched goose bumps form on her forearms in the cooling air, feeling very alone. A nasty foreboding settled into her belly, and she found herself regretting every scowl she had directed at the customers. The merchant’s eyes narrowed unpleasantly, and he began to walk toward her.

As he opened his mouth to speak, a woman appeared as though from the air itself. The woman’s eyes were sad and angry at the same time, and the little girl wondered how that could be. The woman’s skin was smooth, and she was dressed well, if a little dusty. Her robe was well made. She wore soft, leather sandals and her toes were straight and smooth.

As the woman bartered with the merchant, the little girl decided to stand straighter, forcing her mouth out of its scowl and into something more appealing. Even so, the woman looked over at the little girl and sighed. Despite her efforts, the little girl knew that if there had been others left, the woman would have chosen a different child over her, and the sting of rejection made tears build up in her eyes. Eventually the woman gave a defeated nod of her head, entered the compound, and pulled the little girl along with her.

Directing the little girl through the streets with a firm hold on her already bruised arm, her new mistress headed to where an immense wooden cart awaited them, full of jars and other supplies tied down with twine. The cart’s heavy wooden wheels were the largest the little girl had ever seen, and it was difficult for her to climb so high up. A manservant sat on a bench at the front of the cart with a stick ready to prod the two donkeys into moving. He watched her with unreadable eyes.

The little girl picked her way to a comfortable spot, wedged between two large jars, their hardness tempered by folds of fabric. Despite her fear, she was filled with awe that a household could be so wealthy as to own two donkeys, a manservant, and so many supplies. The large cushion the mistress sat upon was heavily embroidered, its decoration out of place among the grime of the markets. To the little girl it was further proof of the woman’s status. The manservant prodded the donkeys and the cart jerked and creaked into movement. Aside from the movement of the donkeys, the groan of the cart and the ever-present wind of the open desert, silence gradually replaced the noise of Erech as the town faded into the distance behind them. The little girl’s ears rang and buzzed.

What is your name, child?

The little girl’s throat closed over. A flood of tears threatened to rise up and drown her, so she looked at the slowly passing terrain, unable to answer.

Well?

Still, the little girl couldn’t trust herself to use her voice, so she turned and blinked up at the mistress silently.

Are you simple? A mute? The woman’s expression became stormy and she began to mutter to herself about being swindled. The little girl shook her head no.

Speak then!

The little girl shook her head again, throat barely open enough for her to breathe, the sadness returning and brimming in her eyes. The woman cleared something in her own throat and looked away, and when she spoke her voice was thick as though she had bitten off too much bread. "Very well, then. I shall give you one myself. Your new name will be Girl. Will this do?" Looking downward again, the little girl gave the mistress a small nod to indicate that she agreed. The woman cleared her throat again.

Girl, we are going to a place in the far reaches of Erech province. If you do as I say, you’ll find me reasonable. The master passed in the Harvest New Year and I’ve had little need to visit Erech since— The mistress made a choking sound and turned away again. She only began speaking once she had returned to her previous hardness.

As I said, your work will match your abilities. Any disobedience will be punished by the lash. The mention of lash was accompanied by a firm nod and frown. Continue defying me and I’ll return you to Erech, where you’ll be far worse off than where we now travel.

Unable to completely understand, the little girl looked intently into the mistress’s eyes. Abruptly, the mistress turned back to the manservant and gave a command. The manservant murmured his concern. The mistress sharply repeated it and he struck the donkeys with the stick, unnecessarily harshly in the little girl’s opinion. The cart seemed already to be listing worse than a fishing boat on turbulent water.

The donkeys voiced their complaint and trotted for a spell, stumbling over the rough ground. All three of them held on, white-knuckled as they were thrown this way and that. A jar smashed, green lentils pouring from the crack in an ever-growing pile. The little girl watched the mistress’s jaw clench as she took in the breakage, while the donkeys gradually returned to their previous plod. The lentils stopped leaking from the jar, an uneasy balance reached. After this the mistress no longer spoke and kept her back to the little girl, and all of them focused silently on the donkeys’ sweating behinds, the horizon shimmering ahead into forever.

During the long journey, the woman drank from a bladder and munched on a pouch of nuts and dates, her chewing loud in the desert silence. The little girl stayed quiet, knowing with a sense of heaviness that she wouldn’t be sharing food or ale with the mistress. Weak with hunger and dry throat burning, she put herself into a trance by watching the ever-darkening landscape roll by.

Eventually the trance led to sleep until the cart jerked to a stop outside a walled compound where burning torches at its entrance offered their welcome. The wooden gate groaned open immediately, as though their arrival had been eagerly awaited.

Chapter Two

Girl climbed groggily down from the cart, her attention drawn to where a boy stood, mouth agape, staring at her. He seemed a little older than her. His rounded face and body suggested he belonged to a family well off enough to overfeed him.

Kaylem! What are you doing here? said the mistress coldly as she clambered from the cart, helped by the manservant. The sharp voice made Girl jump where she stood watching wide-eyed the scene before her.

Mother, I’m here to greet— Yet, Kaylem wasn’t looking at his mother as he spoke, but at Girl. Their eyes touched briefly, and another wave of emotion threatened to destroy her fragile composure.

I’ll join you once I’m refreshed. The mistress flapped a hand at the cart in a gesture of disgust, not noticing where Kaylem was looking. How your father could bear to travel such distances in this infernal wagon— Kaylem’s shoulders stooped. He turned and dawdled toward the gate, looking back at Girl over his shoulder every few steps. Another sharp word from his mother sent him off at a trot, his form disappearing into the darkness.

Girl watched after him, a tugging sensation in her heart as though she’d like to follow if only she were allowed. A band tightened around her chest as she realized that many things would now be forbidden, including being allowed to talk to Kaylem, or anyone else who may live in the household. The wave of sadness grew, and she tried to swallow it down before it swallowed her.

A servant woman whose bones seemed to jut from every corner of her body introduced herself as Deni and led Girl through the gloom toward the rear of the compound. They passed an outdoor cookhouse, where Girl caught a glimpse of glowing embers. Next to the cookhouse was a mud-brick lean-to lit by a single, sputtering torch. As they entered, there was another servant woman bustling around in the cramped space within. Girl understood that this was to be her new home and suddenly she could no longer hold the parts of herself together. She hid her face in her hands and crumpled into a small pile on the earthen floor.

Ah, child! A trying day it’s been, no doubt. Come, sit with me while Deni fetches you some bread and ale from the store-closet. The second servant woman reached for Girl, scooping her up and plonking the child onto her ample lap. There, there, little chick. Dry those enchanting eyes, the likes of which I’ve never seen before! Have you ever seen such a color, Deni? Green as the waters of Enki. A warm hand brushed Girl’s hair from her face as Deni grunted and turned to disappear back into the night. The other hand drew gentle circles on Girl’s back. I’m Marsi, child, the one who makes the bread.

Marsi was warm, her robe fragrant with the comforting smell of flour. Everything about Marsi invited Girl to huddle against her soft body, and Girl sobbed as though her tears would become a great river and carry them all away. Eventually, even that storm blew itself out and the tears turned slowly to hiccups.

They waited together until Deni returned with a hunk of bread. Girl grabbed it and stuffed as much as she could into her mouth, eating noisily as her nose was still blocked from her grief. Eyes on Marsi, as though keeping a close eye might prevent her new savior from disappearing, the little girl chewed, washing down the bread and the remainder of her weeping with a rough clay mug of small-ale.

After the last of the ale was drained to the final drop, Marsi tucked Girl tenderly into a nook in the wall that was to be her bed, a pile of frayed rags to soften the mud-brick and warm her during the cold nights. Girl lay a while staring sightlessly into the darkness, allowing only a couple of tears to squeeze from the corners of her eyes. As they dried, the tears cooled on her cheeks and trickled into the creases of her neck, sending shivers through the rest of her as the Earth gradually lost all warmth to the cloudless sky.

Drawing the rags around her as well as she could, Girl tried to imagine she was home and nestled alongside her mother. Instead, all she could see behind her closed lids was their dwelling on the outskirts of the village of Larsa. Its wall vents were dark and forlorn, the hearth unlit and cold.

Already, small vermin would be nestling into the warm softness that had been her pallet, shredding the woven palm mat as well as those of her parents that lay close by. The furs she’d drawn around herself, infused with her sleep essence, would be beyond repair, stained with stinking rat droppings and stiff with lack of use. If only she could have brought her furs, she thought with more shivers and a new prickle of tears.

The night outside was too quiet. There were no comforting barks of the street dogs, nor the crying of the babe who had lived next door. There was nothing to focus on aside from the quiet breathing of Marsi and Deni, two women who seemed amiable enough, and yet their sleeping noises were foreign. They were strangers and might treat her unkindly.

She would be at the mercy of these women and the mistress, the little girl suddenly understood, and her whole body stiffened. What if they used the lash if she couldn’t do the work they demanded of her? What of the boy, Kaylem, and why was his mother so harsh to him? What about the household? They’d arrived in darkness and she had seen next to nothing. What secrets did it whisper of? What fate would it hold for her?

She stared wide eyed at the great depth of darkness which showed no difference if her eyes were open or closed. After an age, when the cold had turned her body numb, Girl climbed from the nook and felt for the large, warm mound that was Marsi. Snuggling close, the little girl’s eyes finally grew heavy and she fell into an exhausted, dreamless sleep.

Chapter Three

With the yellow-brown wall the only barrier between them and the endless desert, the household’s inhabitants lived in an isolation that sat like a gray stone in the pit of Girl’s belly. It was rare to see much in the way of color aside from yellow-brown, the primary tone of the earth and all that lived upon it. Spindly shrubs straining up through the hard ground were a slightly grayer shade of brown, tinged with green. Rocks jutting their jagged surfaces were darker gray-brown. Only the fading stars in a purple and orange sky stood out from the drabness of everything else.

Even the rare birds that cawed and squawked were brown or gray, occasionally black. Little else seemed alive aside from the constant whine of the wind that reshaped the surrounding dunes and hillocks from day to day. Emerging from the servants’ lean-to for the first time in daylight, it seemed to Girl that she was surrounded by nothing but death. Deni appeared, handing her a mug of ale, and walked with her to the cookhouse, which sat under a woven palm awning held up by fat, mud-brick pillars.

Girl stared at the curves of the fire pit in awe. Moulded expertly from flame-blackened mud brick, its squat chimney pierced the awning above. She’d never seen anything so large. Pushing away the image of the cosy hearth she had always sat beside with her parents as they shared their meals, Girl swallowed down another flood of tears. To divert herself, she wondered about Kaylem, who seemed to have been swallowed up inside the household. Apprehension filled her at what this day would bring.

Deni’s voice pulled Girl’s attention back to the fire pit. See the coals? They still glow, and we must now rebuild the fire as soon as we can. Deni flapped a woven palm fan at the coals, throwing in handfuls of sticks and clods of donkey manure. Girl tried not to wrinkle her nose as new flames sent out clouds of evil-smelling smoke.

If the coals lose their glow overnight, we must light the fire anew. Then the bread will be late, and the lentils not tender for the midday meal.

Girl nodded silently.

"The mistress will show her wrath if this happens and the servants will go hungry for the