Hellenic Immortal by Gene Doucette Page B

picked it up. “It is cool to the touch,” he noted. “And heavy.”
    Reluctantly, he handed it over so I could examine it for myself. It was a bit bigger than my hand, and was very dense and much heavier than it looked. A better examination would have to come in the daylight, but it seemed to be composed of a mixture of metal and stone. Appearance-wise, it looked somewhat like a pineapple (which I had not ever seen up to that time) or a large pinecone (which I had), encircled with an irregular series of jagged protrusions. It was also riddled with smallish holes, and one larger one at the base. Had I not seen for myself that it had once been a portion of the sky, I would have inferred a volcanic origin.
    The most remarkable thing about it was that it was not at all remarkable. Although opinions differed.
    “It is beautiful,” Gilgamesh repeated.  
    I handed his rock back to him and held my tongue, as he was clearly having a religious moment that my sarcasm wouldn’t have helped. “But what is it, do you suppose?”  
    “I do not know,” he said. “I will think on it.”
    *   *   *
    The next morning, Gilgamesh awoke me with a triumphant declaration. “It is a weapon!”
    “What is?” I yawned, not quite awake.
    “This gift from Enlil himself!” He held the rock up over his head, as if a higher elevation would somehow transform it into something more extraordinary.
    “So, you have decided which god shows you favor. That is good. Have we any food?”
    “You should rejoice with me, Ut-Naphishtim! This is a great day!”
    “I would, but I cannot rejoice properly on an empty stomach.”
    “When we return triumphant, I will treat you to the finest banquet man has ever seen! For the gods have indeed shown favor.”
    “Super,” I muttered. We were at least five days from any banquets. “So how do you see this . . . rock . . . as a weapon? It appears no less rock-like in the sun than it did by moonlight. Will you be sneaking up behind your foes and caving in their heads as you did the stag?”
    “Aha!” He dropped his god-given rock on the ground and produced a staff. I gathered—insofar as staffs do not transform themselves whole from the trees—that he spent much of the evening finding and crafting it for just this moment.
    “A stick?” I offered.
    He reared back, and with a precisely aimed strike, thrust the tip of the staff into the opening at the base of the rock. When he pulled the staff up again, it had the rock stuck on the end of it. “Behold the Hammer of Gilgamesh!”
    “Um, okay.” I probably should have applauded, but I was too busy trying not to laugh.
    He looked disappointed. “It is temporary. I will make a finer staff of bronze once I return. It will be the greatest weapon ever wielded!”
    “A rock stuck on the end of a stick?”
    “A heavenly gift bestowed upon the mightiest of warriors!” he countered. I admit his angle was better than mine.
    “I don’t mean to be negative,” I began, running right past several danger signs in my head, “but have you considered the possibility that sometimes a rock is just a rock?”
    He looked perplexed. “I am not sure I understand.”
    I sat up and tried to organize the thoughts that had been buzzing around in my head since we’d discovered the object. “The heavens are unchanging, are they not?”
    “Of course,” he agreed. “A child knows this.”
    “Did I ever tell you of a time, very long ago, when I witnessed the death of a star?” We didn’t call them stars, but there’s no exact modern version for the word we did use. It was a little more than “star” and a little less than “god”.
    “Blasphemy!” he declared angrily.
    “No. I wasn’t the only witness, either. It flared very brightly for six days and then disappeared. I can show you where it used to reside in the night sky if you wish.”
    “Then it was a war! A war in the heavens!”
    “But if we presuppose the heavens are unchanging, this would