Enheduanna is the first poet, the first victim. She was one of the scribes of the city of Uruk. That woman wrote on clay tablets for so long that she forgot who she was before and what she was doing. She devoted all her time to writing only stories, filling hundreds of thousands of clay tablets with epics.
She wrote so much that she was confused about whether her writings are fiction or not. And that’s when she strayed from the path of scribeship and embraced the stories she had written, pouring her heart into them.
By doing so, she took the first step of the summoning.
A long time passed like this in the stone room illuminated by the oil lamp. One day she found an epic of a scribe who lived generations before her in one of the forgotten chests. As soon as the clay tablet was picked up, it was broken and scattered like dry bread. Enheduanna looked at the dust of baked clay in her hands, whose now epic spirit would never return.
Then she wanted the stories that broke from her heart to never disappear, and the heroes of the epics she wrote to live forever.
She wanted to have the best epics!
She took a tablet and wished that her stories would be repeated forever. I’ll give anything for it, I’ll do everything… that’s what she wrote. Thus, the summoning was completed.
That’s when a demon haunts her… Not an ordinary demon… a demon who only comes to bards and scribes.
As Enheduanna’s clay tablet blurred before her eyes, a voice spoke in the back of her head;
“Who is it that summons me?”
Enheduanna was startled, it was as if she was in one of her own stories. Even though it was the first time she heard it, it was as if she knew who it was.
“I’m Enheduanna,” she said, then paused.
“Tell me what you want most, Enheduanna.”
“The stories I wrote used to give me happiness, and when I poured out my grief into clay tablets, time used to fly. I am aware now that what I write will eventually become dust. My heroes will be forgotten… there won’t be a single word left.”
The Demon let out a deep laugh, like the sigh of a thousand forgotten heroes.
“Your trouble is great Enheduanna; you want endless stories to flow along your finite lines…”
She stuttered, but then stood up and said, “Yes… I want that, yes…
“Then tell me; do you want your heroes to live forever?”
“Yes, I want that”
“Thrice!” he shouted.
Enheduanna repeated it three times, and every time she said it, it became a little more real, and as she expressed this request, its strength increased. The demon trembled and twitched; his broad robe, which was made up of all the stars in the sky, all the darkness below the earth, as well as fire and water, spread wide.
Enheduanna cast a blank gaze into the night. She was unaware of the cost of eternity.
