The river was a brown god, wide and powerful, its currents hiding secrets and treachery. The boat Lulal had secured was a broad, shallow-draft barge, poled by muscular men who sang low, rhythmic chants to pace their work. Enki stood at the prow beside Lulal, who buzzed with an energy that seemed to defy the humid air.
"See the bend ahead?" Lulal said, pointing. "The king proposes a canal there, to cut the journey time by half. He's calculated the slope, the water volume... it's brilliant!"
Enki listened, but his eyes were on the water, reading the subtle language of the current. He saw the tell-tale swirls that indicated a submerged snag, the smoother, darker water that marked a deep channel. The Kaelen-part of his mind cross-referenced the data with hydrographic surveys of ancient river systems. "A canal would silt up within five years," Enki said, his voice quiet. "The river's sediment load is too high. It desires this path. To force it is to fight a war you will forever lose."
Lulal stared at him, his enthusiasm checked for the first time. "The king does not believe in desires. Only in forces that can be measured and controlled."
The sailors, overhearing, spoke of the king with a mixture of pride and fear. "The Hand That Shapes the Mountain," one grunted, pulling his pole from the water. "He looked at the cliff face and said, 'This will be a gate,' and men died to make it so. His will is the only law in Uruk."
Enki felt a cold dread settle in his stomach. This wasn't just a city; it was a monument to one man's unyielding will, a prelude to the sterile control of 2999. The Builder was here, and he had not been idle.