Turning the Wheel
One day, while Sunya was still building his reputation as the god of sculpture and painting, a trial was convened in Dilmun. A half-god named Adapa stood accused of breaking the wings of the South Wind.
An had already passed the throne to Enlil, yet the judgment of high gods and those connected to them remained An's domain.
"It's just some half-god on trial. Why does my husband have to go?"
"His Supreme Divinity has requested that the proceedings be rendered in a painting."
"That doesn't answer why."
"I am merely carrying out the command of His Supreme Divinity."
Kaka, An's attendant, maintained a strictly official manner through every one of Inanna's curt remarks. The way An and the others seemed to treat Sunya as little more than an errand boy left her thoroughly displeased.
"Very well. I have nothing better to do anyway."
"Sunya!"
When he accepted without protest, Inanna raised her voice. He understood why she was upset — but he had his own reasons for going.
"I do have one favor to ask, however."
"All I can do is relay a message to His Supreme Divinity."
"That will be more than enough."
Sunya followed Kaka to the court. Along the way he witnessed a reddish-brown-haired boy who looked barely more than a youth, weeping as he begged forgiveness from Dumuzi and Ningishzida. Scales clung to the boy's arms and legs — not so thick as to be grotesque — and something in the set of his eyes and the lines of his face distinctly recalled Enki. One could almost believe he was the god's own son.
Dumuzi was the god of shepherds, Ningishzida the god of vegetation; if the South Wind failed in its duty, no deities suffered more. By all appearances, the fish-scaled boy was Adapa. If the myths held true, Enki himself had ordered the boy to seek their pardon.
The trial began in earnest, and as expected, Adapa received no punishment. Sunya painted the scene of the gods' judgment from life, right there in the hall.
"You have come a long way. You must have suffered much already — eat some bread and drink some beer while you are here."
An offered Adapa a meal.
"O An, I am grateful for your words, yet I am a sinner. Such kindness is far more than I deserve. I beg you — do not make me more wretched still."
At Adapa's reply, several of the gods began to murmur.
"He refuses food offered by the Supreme God himself!"
"Has he lost his mind?"
An's single command sealed every mouth as if by prior agreement.
"I see. Enki put you up to this, didn't he? Did you not know that the food of heaven grants freedom from disease, from aging, and from death itself — eternal life?"
"What?"
"But a word once spoken cannot be taken back. You have refused my grace, and so you shall live a mortal's life upon the earth. Foolish child."
Bewildered and unsettled, Adapa had no choice but to leave the heavens. Just as he was about to board the sky-boat bound for the ground, Sunya stopped him.
"A pleasure to meet you, Lord Adapa."
"Huh?"
Being hailed by a stranger left Adapa visibly flustered. Even for a half-god, dealing with deities was exhausting work in its own right.
"I stand before the king's counselor — the sage who brought knowledge and wisdom to humanity, and with them, civilization."
"Uh… forgive me, but are you not a god yourself?"
The question was, on its face, impertinent — yet understandable. Adapa had never met a god who addressed a mere mortal with honorifics.
Sunya paid the suspicion no mind.
"I am Sunya. It is good to meet you."
"Ah — Lord Sunya."
He even offered a gentle smile, trying to put Adapa at ease. The more he did so, the more wary Adapa seemed to grow.
"Adapa, counselor to the king and son of Enki, greets the god of sculpture and painting."
"Oh? I didn't realize you knew of me."
"Yes. My father said you were, 'for the time being,' the god of sculpture and painting…"
"Truth be told, it isn't all that impressive. At the root of it, I am only imitating."
"Pardon?"
"Never mind. More importantly, I have a favor to ask."
"A favor?"
First impressions aside, Adapa found Sunya unsettling. It was not anything Enki had told him — merely a gut reaction. Those half-lidded eyes, that soft, perpetual smile, the needless formality of speech: something about the man felt sly.
For Sunya, it was a truly unfortunate misunderstanding.
"I have heard that Lord Adapa is deeply learned in architecture as well."
"…To a degree, yes."
"Wonderful. I intend to raise a temple, and I was hoping you might help. I want it as large as possible."
Adapa very nearly asked if he was joking. Did this man have any idea how much labor and material a temple of that scale required? Only the Seven Great Gods commanded temples of such grandeur. A dabbler in paints and carvings had no business aspiring to one. He was clearly riding on nothing more than his status as Inanna's husband — he ought to know his place.
"What sort of help, precisely, do you require?"
Of course, he did not commit the blasphemy of saying any of that aloud. A god was a god, however low his station — far more sacred and exalted than some half-measure of divinity.
"Just the blueprints will do. I will handle everything else myself."
"…Very well."
"What shall I offer as payment? If there is anything you desire, name it."
"…How could I seek recompense for a god's command? I need nothing."
"It makes me uncomfortable, that is all."
"I am sorry, but I truly want for nothing."
"Then I shall paint you a picture. If you change your mind later, simply tell me."
In the end, Adapa returned to the earth, lamenting his lot, and drafted the temple plans. At Sunya's request, he designed the largest, most splendid temple he could conceive.
"Magnificent. I understand it perfectly."
When the time was right, Sunya came to the hut where Adapa lived. He studied the drawings Adapa had pressed into clay tablets and praised him for the work.
"But why does a counselor to the king live in a place so humble?"
He glanced around and voiced his curiosity.
"I simply do not care for extravagance. And His Majesty Alulim, king of Eridu, has little need of me. He is a capable man in every respect."
"Is that so?"
Something in Sunya's tone suggested genuine interest. A man who could live in wealth yet chose simplicity had left a favorable impression.
"In any case, you have my thanks. This has been an enormous help."
"Where do you intend to build the temple?"
"Near the village beneath the mountain."
"…I have never heard of such a place."
"I imagine not. Compared to Eridu, it is a very small village."
"…I feel strange saying this of my own design, but raising a temple of this scale would require a workforce to rival Eridu's. A small village could not finish it in a hundred years."
"Ah — you need not worry about that."
What Sunya said next was something Adapa had never anticipated.
"I will build it entirely by myself."
Adapa was stunned. Even the gods, for all their power, would struggle to raise a temple of this magnitude alone. In ages past, the Igigi had rebelled over the hardship of canal works. Raw strength and architecture were entirely different matters.
"My power is somewhat specialized. It is particularly well suited to construction and manual labor of this kind. If you are curious, you are welcome to watch."
"W-well…"
He was curious, truthfully — curious how anyone proposed to build so vast a temple alone. And when he saw it with his own eyes, his jaw fell open.
Hundreds of hands materialized in the empty air and began stacking the temple at a breathtaking pace. According to Sunya, the exact number of those luminous hands was one thousand. Since Sunya alone directed every one of them, the efficiency was not merely perfect — it was transcendent.
Half of the thousand hands fired bricks; the other half laid them according to the plans. The hands of light were unbound by their surroundings. They soared through the air carrying bricks, each one doing the work of a dozen laborers. In less than a month, Sunya completed the temple building itself.
"This would be enough on its own — but shall we dress it up a little more?"
Once again, hundreds of hands took up brushes and painted the temple walls. After lavishly adorning the exterior, Sunya went further still, sculpting seven colossal divine statues for the interior: An, Enki, Enlil, Nanna, Ninhursag, Inanna, and Utu. Each statue seemed to capture the full majesty of the god it portrayed.
Is this… the power of the god of sculpture and painting?
In truth, Sunya was no such god — but watching him raise a temple of that scale in a single stroke, Adapa could not help seeing him differently.
Then, suddenly, something struck him as odd.
"L-Lord Sunya?"
"Yes?"
"Is this not rather far from the village beneath the mountain you mentioned?"
Among the surrounding towns and cities, this site was the closest to that village — yet even so, it was not a distance one could cover in a day or two.
"I felt a little uneasy. If Mount Ebih ever collapsed, the village could be swept away."
"Why would Mount Ebih collapse? Structurally, it would take deliberate, artificial pressure to bring it down. I heard that Lady Inanna once tried to destroy it, but that she has since abandoned the idea."
"Call it a precaution, if you like. You never know, do you? Haha."