Word Fulfilled, The (29 page)

Hulalitu began to cry. “I—”

“Oh, stop it! Shut up, do you hear me?” Prahthah glanced over her shoulder toward the corridor. Her voice lowered. “Have you told anyone?”

“No.”

“Don’t. We’ll take care of it.”

The young girl sniffed back a sob and frowned. “What do you mean?”

“There is a mint herb that grows in the West. Zithralu keeps a store of its oil for cases like this.”

Hulalitu stiffened. “Do you mean—”

“It’s fortunate you’re fat. Your condition isn’t noticeable yet.”

The
ishtaritu
dropped her gaze to the floor.

“No, we should be able to contain this until the oil has had its effect.” Prahthah nodded to herself. “I’ll see to it. Stay to yourself, and don’t talk to anyone about this. Do you understand me?”

Hulalitu gave a slight nod but didn’t raise her eyes.

Over the next three months, Prahthah brought small quantities of pennyroyal oil mixed with wine for Hulalitu to drink. When there were no results, she began to suspect the truth—that Hulalitu could not bring herself to end the pregnancy. The young
ishtaritu
secretly emptied the laced wine anywhere she could. Although she knew it would destroy her status at the temple, even prompt her eviction, she marveled at the new life in her. The thought of her own child, someone who could give her the love her own parents withheld, overwhelmed her. She was determined to have the child, no matter the consequences. When Prathah questioned her, she merely shrugged and suggested she might be immune to the drug’s effects.

Prahthah’s frustration grew with Hulalitu’s waistline. Zithralu began to resist dispensing so much of the rare oil for one girl. It was seldom included in the goods of caravans that passed through Nineveh, and she could only spare so much. Prahthah had depleted her stock, and Zithralu began to threaten exposure. To add to the problem, Hulalitu began to thicken noticeably, despite her already ample girth. Prahthah was grateful the girl didn’t carry the child in front, as so many others did, nor, mercifully, did she miss any duties from nausea. They could count on the impression of simple weight gain for a while, but not much longer. Still, Prahthah couldn’t afford to risk the impact this would have on her aspiration to become a senior
naditu.
Something would have to be done, and soon. As Hulalitu approached the end of her second trimester, Prahthah made her decision.

Late one night, the
naditu
slipped into Zithralu’s work area and emptied a vial of the toxic extract into a goblet of wine. It was three times the normal dosage, but Prahthah didn’t have time to worry about that. Under the guise of celebrating the young girl’s first season at the temple, Prahthah brought the poisoned wine with a plate of fruit and cheese to the girl’s small chamber. Suspicious at first, Hulalitu relaxed when she saw her mentor take a deep draught from her own cup. Hopeful that the attempts to abort her baby had finally ended, the
ishtaritu
smiled, took a bite of cheese, and followed her mentor’s lead with a deep drink from her goblet.

Lll

“I took one more swallow of the wine, and a sharp pain—something like I’d never felt before or since—racked my body. I fell to the floor, curled into a ball, and emptied my stomach. Before I passed out, I remember seeing Prahthah slip out the door.”

Ianna stepped around the front of the dais and lowered herself onto the step beside Hulalitu. Her face had softened, and her moist eyes glistened in the torchlight.

“When I awoke the next morning, I couldn’t speak. My throat was on fire, and my stomach convulsed the entire morning. The pains started two days later. Of course, the child was stillborn.” Hulalitu raised wet eyes toward Ianna. “It was a girl. She already had a mat of hair.” Hulalitu lifted a finger and stroked a tress flowing over Ianna’s shoulder. “Dark hair.”

Ianna didn’t flinch from the touch.

Hulalitu dropped her hand to her lap, and her voice turned to gravel. “She was beautiful. Would have been . . . beautiful.” She hacked a cough. “Prahthah slipped my daughter’s body to a priest from another temple. He tucked her into the woodpile when he prepared the evening burnt offering. She swore the priestess-midwife who attended me to secrecy, and then, to be sure, had her moved to another temple. Aššûr, I think.”

The
naditu
smiled wistfully. “I used to sing. I had a . . . beautiful voice, they told me. After that day, no more. The vomiting, I guess.” Her smile disappeared, and she dropped her gaze. “I used to sing,” she whispered.

Hannah took the priestess’s hand into her own and caressed her wrist. Several moments passed before Ianna broke the silence.

“But what does that have to do with me?”

Hulalitu lifted her head. “When I saw you at your initiation ceremony, I knew you were her.”

Ianna wrinkled her brow. “Knew I was who?”

Hanna nodded and laid her hand on Ianna’s arm. The young girl’s eyes flicked toward her mother.

Hulalitu murmured, “My daughter. You were my daughter . . .
 
would have been my daughter.” She surveyed the beautiful priestess through glossy eyes. “She would’ve looked just like you.” She reached out again. “Just like you.”

Ianna sat back, her eyes wide.

Hulalitu coughed and steeled her voice. “Yes, I’m to blame. Camphor powder.”

“What?”

“Camphor powder. I mixed it in the ceremonial wine, the libation cup, in your bedchamber. It renders men impotent.” She dropped her eyes again. “That’s why none were able to perform.”

Ianna’s face reddened.

The
naditu
nodded. “It wasn’t you who failed. It was my doing. I couldn’t let you go.” She leaned forward and her eyes pled with Ianna’s. “It was only supposed to be for a few days. Then maybe a week. Just one more time. But I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t bear to lose you . . . again.” She flashed a glance at Hannah, before she lowered her gaze. “I’m so sorry. I kept your daughter. I turned you away when you tried to see her. I needed to be . . . a mother.”

Neither Hannah nor Ianna knew what to say. The sputter of the torches offered the only sound in the quiet chamber.

“Issar-surrat found out,” Hulalitu muttered.

Ianna jerked her head up.

“Who?” asked Hannah.

The
naditu
glanced at Ianna’s mother. “Prahthah went on to become High Priestess. She changed her name to Issar-surrat.”

Hulalitu looked back at Ianna. “I don’t know how. She must have put it together. She knew I had requested to be your mentor. She heard of your beauty, and yet your . . . your failure to be consummated. She must’ve seen through me. That’s when she decided you should become a
naditu
. That would make you my peer and remove you from my charge.” The priestess tipped her shoulders. “She could’ve had me banished for subverting the
ishtaritu
ritual. I guess she thought it would be a worse punishment to lose you, yet have you remain in my sight in the temple.” She shrugged. “Perhaps it was retribution for tricking her during my pregnancy. I don’t know for sure.”

Ianna found her voice but didn’t know what to ask first. “But High Priestess? Me? How—”

“I know nothing about that, I promise you.” Hulalitu shook her head. “I don’t know why she named you as her successor. That is never done. The king always chooses the High Priestess. She must have known he would agree, but,” the pleading look returned to her eyes, “I don’t know how or why. You must believe me.”

Lll

It was the third hour of the new day before the three women parted. Hulalitu replaced the panel over the secret portal, and Ianna saw her former mentor to the main door of the chamber.

“We will talk again. I still have many questions.”

Hulalitu nodded. She reached a tentative hand toward Ianna, then stopped as her eyes locked on to the High Priestess’s vestments. She began to withdraw, but Ianna took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. The
naditu’s
lips twitched with the hint of a smile, and she slipped into the dark hallway.

Ianna returned to her mother. The elder woman held the gold medallion across her palm and probed a deep dent in its surface with a fingernail. She shook her head.

“I still don’t understand. You say this came from a prisoner? Someone here in Nineveh?”

Her daughter nodded. “He was imprisoned yesterday. I found it around his neck.”

“Why were you at the prison?”

“I wasn’t—it’s a long story, Mother. I’m not sure I understand all of it yet.” She closed her eyes against a sudden weariness.

Hannah touched her face. “I’ll go now.”

Ianna nodded.

Her mother paused. “I’m so glad you agreed to see me. None of this would have happened. There would still be so much unknown if you hadn’t agreed . . .” She looked into her daughter’s eyes.

Ianna embraced her mother. She felt the older woman’s hands squeeze her shoulders, and a quiet sob shook her back. Hannah gently caressed her daughter’s hair, then she stepped back.

“I would like to visit this prisoner. Do you think that would be possible?”

Ianna glanced down at the amulet in her mother’s hand. “Yes. I can arrange that. I’ll send word.”

“Thank you,” her mother said. “And . . . may I have this? Just for now?”

Ianna smiled. “Keep it. You should have it. Perhaps it will shed light on what happened to my uncle.”

Hannah closed her fingers over the precious heirloom.

Ianna led her to the chamber door. “It’s dark, and you don’t know the temple. I’ll see you to the door.”

As they reached the hallway, Hannah turned. “I may not be able to do this at the door.” She placed her hand on her daughter’s cheek and touched a light kiss to the other one. “I miss you.”

Ianna blinked back a tear. “We’ll see more of each other, Mother. Much more. I promise.”

The two women stepped into the hallway, and the door clicked shut as the last torch sputtered and died.

Thirty-six

Nineveh, the Temple of Ishtar

Fifteenth Day of Du’ûzu

anna remained in her bedchambers the entire morning. The revelations of the night before echoed through her mind and raised more questions as the day wore on. Tentative taps at her door went unanswered; daily rituals were left unattended. Her mind struggled to understand the pieces of her life handed to her so unexpectedly, to assimilate who she was and where she came from. The string of events—the heritage that brought her to Nineveh, the rejection of faith that brought her to the temple, the guile and intrigue that brought her to this room—refused to set themselves in order.

And in the background lingered the face of a young man with irrational love in his eyes and an irrational God in his words. She tried to reconcile the God of love and acceptance he had described to her with this God of destruction His prophet preached. It should have been easy to reject one such as He, given the obvious contradictions in His nature. But, for some reason, thoughts of Him would not let her rest.

Perhaps the reason she couldn’t dismiss him was the discovery that this was also the God of her heritage, the God her father supplanted with his desire for prestige among his Ninevite peers. What would life have been like if she had known all along? How would it have been different?

But, still—
one
God? How could only one God rule over the heavens, the earth, and the affairs of man? If there was only one God over all creation, how could He know she existed, let alone care for her? She was but one person among all the people of the earth. The gods she knew were not personal. Their history was one of intrigue and a struggle for power within a tumultuous pantheon. But could one God know what it meant to be individual and unique? Was it possible this God could see into the heart of a single young girl—and would care to do so? Could He really know her hurts, her desires, her innermost dreams?

Ianna winced at a stab of pain in the rear of her skull. She recognized it.

“Your thoughts, girl. Keep them only on me.”

She frowned. “They’ve never been only on you.”

“Fool! All you are is because of me.”

“Yes, and I hate what I am.”

“You are my High Priestess! All power is yours; power that comes only from me! Look around you. All bow to your every wish; you are the law. Your word alone cast our enemy into prison. You are mine. My realm is the world, and you are its keeper.”

Ianna narrowed her eyes against the pain. “I
do
look around me. I see a life twisted and torn by deceit, ruled by lies, served by those who hate me. I see a realm of suspicion and fear.” She steeled her will. “And I see walls of cold clay guarded by statues of dead stone. I see the prison, and it is around me, not the prophet.”

“Silence! I nurtured you! I gave you your glory, your power. You will—”

“I will
nothing!
Away with you! I deny you, I detest you, I cast you to . . . to . . . God! To the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob!” Ianna’s heart throbbed until she thought it would burst from her chest. She screamed her defiance, oblivious to the tears that flowed down her cheeks. “To the God of my fathers. To . . . to . . .” She pounded her fists on the floor and sobbed her frustration. “Oh, God, I don’t even know your
name!
Who
are
you?”

“Adonai. His name is Elohim Adonai.”

The still small voice enveloped her brain with warmth and evaporated the vile fog from her mind. It dissolved the pain and restored a peace she hadn’t known since she entered the Temple of Ishtar. Her lungs ceased their convulsing, and Ianna lay prostrate with her cheek against the cold floor. She swallowed and grimaced at the dryness of her throat.

“
Elohim . . . Adonai?”
 
The name rolled from her tongue. It massaged her lips, soothed her ears, and settled her mind. She released a heavy sigh. “I don’t know You. I should know You. I want to . . .”

“You are His child.”

Ianna rolled onto her back. She squinted into the twilight that now overtook the room. Her voice shook with unresolved emotion and unanswered questions.

“How can I be a child of the God of Israel, while I serve as the High Priestess of Ishtar?”

“It is for a purpose you are here. The time is nearly full. Soon all will be revealed.”

“But—”

“Rest now.”

Ianna closed her eyes. She drifted into sleep while the gentle words from her new God made her bed, and the face of a young man ushered in her dreams.

Lll

“She is ready.”