Word Fulfilled, The (6 page)

Ianna felt her own energy sapping into the empty air of the chamber, like the wine dissipating into the cloth. She closed her eyes and released a slow sigh.

Ianna lowered herself onto her back and stared through half-shut eyes at the ceiling. She lay exhausted from months of disappointment, a life of unfulfilled expectations, a mind that overflowed with unanswered questions—and now by a curious man with answers that only gave rise to more questions. She rolled onto her side and curled her legs up to her stomach.

A quiet sniffle wafted into the air.

Ianna closed her eyes and drifted into a fitful sleep.

Hulalitu waited until she heard steady breathing before she stepped out through the panel behind the tapestry. The
naditu
eased herself onto the mat and stroked Ianna’s hair.

She looked up and narrowed her eyes at the door.

Six

Gath-hepher, Israel

Twenty-second Day of Ajaru

hen will you return?”

Ehud and Sarah hovered behind Jonah’s shoulder while he closed up his travel bag.

“I wish I knew.” He stood and smiled at his brother and sister-in-law. “Hopefully, it won’t be long. Only
Adonai
knows, eh?”

Jonah’s niece, Miriam, dabbed at a tear on her cheek. She handed him a small parcel of food. “It’s not much. There’s some hard cheese, figs and dried meat. I filled a wineskin for you.” Her voice caught. “I don’t know how long it will last.”

Jonah touched her shoulder. “Thank you, Miriam. This is fine.”

Elias, Miriam’s husband, managed a weak smile. “It’s far to Nineveh. The road is well traveled, though, I hear. Perhaps you will meet someone to travel with. It would be safer.”

“Are you scared, Uncle Jonah?” Jesse fidgeted by Miriam’s side and fingered his mother’s sleeve.

“Of course he’s not scared,” Jesse’s twin, Joshua, scoffed. “He’s a prophet.”

Jonah laughed. “I’m not sure prophets get less scared than anyone else, Joshua. This one certainly doesn’t.”

Jonah secured the parcel of food to the belt of his cloak with a thong, then hefted his travel bag and his walking stick. He turned to survey the room a final time and nodded to his family gathered near the door. “Well, time to go.”

Miriam sniffled and turned her head to her husband’s shoulder.

“Well, take care of yourself and don’t dally,” Sarah huffed, her voice huskier than usual. “You still have unfinished chores around here.”

Jonah smiled and hugged her with his free arm. “I’ll miss you, too.”

“Oh, stop it,” she fussed. “You’re wasting daylight.”

Ehud clasped wrists with his brother. “She’s right. Don’t dally.”

“I won’t.”

More embraces and Jonah was at the door. He turned back with a smile. “See you soon.”

The door closed and he was gone.

Lll

Jonah plopped onto the small boulder and wiped the sweat from his forehead. His legs ached, and his lungs heaved in protest at the forced climb to the top of the ridge. The sun lingered just above the mountains, where it splayed vivid yellows and oranges into the light blue of the waning day’s sky. He left Gath-hepher early that morning, and stopped only once at midday for a short rest and to nibble some cheese, meat, and a fig. He would have to pace his speed and his food, or he would never make it to Damascus, let alone Nineveh. He massaged his feet and wondered how much distance he had covered so far. Not that it mattered. He wasn’t sure of the exact road to Nineveh, so keeping track of his progress seemed a waste of time. He would have to glean the way from others he might encounter who were better traveled than he. In fact, this boulder marked the farthest north Jonah had ever been.

He turned his eyes toward the east, and his breath caught. The Sea of Chinnereth spread before him like a shimmering blue carpet. Waves, roused by a gentle evening breeze, rippled over the shallow inland sea and sparkled in the bright sunlight as though
Adonai
had strewn crystalline chips across its sapphire waters. Mercifully, the incline down to the shores of the magnificent lake was more gentle than the slope he had just climbed. He breathed a prayer of thanksgiving for the respite for his body and the beauty for his soul that would close his first day of travel.

Beyond the lake lay the wastelands of the Arabian Desert. He knew vistas like this would be rare once he skirted the slopes of Mt. Hermon and entered the flatlands around Damascus. A prick of uncertainty chilled his spine and sparked a sudden urge to look back. Jonah shut his mind against the notion. There would be no more resistance to the road
Adonai
placed before him. The misadventures that marked his flight to Joppa and the pain of the losses he suffered during his return were still too fresh in his mind. He would not allow the slightest seed of a doubt to take root. God’s will lay ahead, and it was the only road he would take.

His joints cracked their irritation as he rose from the boulder and shifted his bag. He planted his staff on the ground and took the next of countless steps into the unknown.

Seven

Nineveh, the Artisan Quarter

Twenty-second Day of Ajaru

ake up, Jamin. It’s late, sleepyhead.” Aunt Rizpah’s voice bullied Jamin’s sluggish brain into semi-consciousness. He cracked open an eye, then squeezed it shut against the next barrage.

“Come, come. It was your idea to go to bed early last evening so we could get an early start today. And here you lie. Up!” His aunt bustled out to fetch breakfast.

Jamin pushed upright on his mat. He propped his elbows onto his knees and gripped his forehead. Was it a dream, or did he really go to the temple last night? No, it was no dream. The encounter with the mystery girl loomed vivid in his mind. Every word, every look, every tear. He wondered if his face still showed red, and his fingertips went to his cheeks in search of the welts from the girl’s assault.

Aunt Rizpah returned with a small flat board of cheese, bread, and figs in one hand, a small cup of goat’s milk in the other. “Eat, eat. There’s much to do before the Sabbath begins.”

Jamin nodded and accepted the food.

“And be quick. Your uncle needs you.”

When he was alone again, Jamin relived the encounter with the girl in his mind, like he had most of the night while tossing and turning just this side of sleep. He chewed slowly and searched his mind for any forgotten word or gesture that might have indicated she had understood something—anything—he had tried to say. But there was nothing. His plan was a dismal failure. Things were worse now than if he’d never gone. Before last night, she didn’t know him. Now she hated him. Jamin sighed and threw the fig stem onto his plate.

“Jamin! Where are you?”

“Coming . . .”

Lll

“Hiram, I almost forgot. I promised Yulda I’d bring her a new mat. She’s probably at the market wondering where I am. I need—”

“I’ll go.” Jamin jumped to his feet and grabbed a thick reed mat from the stack by the back wall. He was out the door before they could say another word.

Rizpah leaned out the door and stared at her nephew’s figure as he disappeared around a bend in the street. “Now what do you supposed that was all about?”

Jamin hurried along the familiar route to the marketplace. When he reached the temple plaza, he ducked through the narrow lane behind Nabu’s temple. This morning his prayers ran opposite to those he had raised during the past three weeks. Previously, he prayed she would be there. Now he prayed she would not. He hoped somehow his words had made it through to her, that she would have proclaimed her ritual act complete, packed her bundle, and gone home. Then he would be free to seek her out. Properly.

He rounded the back of the temple and dropped the mat as he slipped through the shadows. Breathless, he peered past the statue that had been his refuge over the past weeks. As always, white tunics milled about the steps of Ishtar’s temple. His eyes flew over them, seeking her familiar form. When he didn’t spot her, his heart went to his throat.

Jamin almost shouted for joy. Her usual spot on the steps at the end of the porch was empty. She wasn’t—wait. His breath drained from his lungs. A glimmer of white flashed between the last two columns, and she stepped out from the shadows. Her head was bowed, her arms clasped to her waist. The pesky
naditu
leaned at her side and chattered in her ear. From the priestess’s composure, Jamin judged she was scolding the girl. His jaw clenched, and he pounded the side of the marble statue with his fist.
Why didn’t you leave?
His forehead burned with exasperation.

Jamin leaned further from the shadows for a better look. As he did, the
naditu
turned and stared directly toward his hiding place. He froze, caught in the open. Her glare bore hatred into his eyes.

Eight

Nineveh, the Temple of Ishtar

Twenty-fourth Day of Ajaru

ulalitu! You are summoned.” The
naditu
motioned with her finger and turned away.

A prickle of fear scaled Hulalitu’s back. She set aside her sewing and smoothed the front of her tunic with a nervous hand. A summons by Issar-surrat, the
Entu,
High Priestess to Mother Ishtar, was rarely a good thing. When she first came to the temple, her own mentor advised that it was safest to remain invisible in the Matron’s service, to quietly go about one’s duties beyond the notice of the High Priestess. What could this be about? Her practical knowledge of the hierarchy within the cult of Ishtar, and of this particular High Priestess, especially discomforted her.

The
Entu
of Ishtar was an exulted position, as high as any religious authority in the land. No one less than the king retained the prerogative to appoint her. It was normally a senior
naditu
that would ascend the dais of the
Entu
, but only after many years of service, and usually at the expense of her peers.

First, one had to gain admittance into the inner circle of senior
naditu
priestesses. Only those politically astute and adept at manipulation could hope to enter this privileged order. It was a risky ambition that required the aspirant to welcome the critical notice of the High Priestess herself. One misstep could mean dishonor, even banishment from the temple. To go beyond the circle and don the ceremonial accoutrements of the
Entu
put one in a position of influence unsurpassed among any other cult in Assyria.

Issar-surrat’s ascension was notable in the temple annals. She arrived twenty years earlier as an ordinary
ishtaritu
dedicatee. She adapted immediately to the regimen of temple life and opted to stay on to become a
naditu.
From there, she gained prominence through manipulation and intrigue, where she pried open the door to the caste of the senior
naditu
only four years later by accumulating a significant following among the senior
naditu
council through shrewd pacts and promises. Gathering, or contriving, enough disparaging information on her competition positioned her ideally to inherit the sacred cap and necklace, and to grasp the ceremonial staff of ultimate authority when the reigning High Priestess, Xanathi, died unexpectedly six years later.

Hulalitu knew Issar-surrat well, for she had once been Hulalitu’s own mentor
naditu
. Then she knew her as Prahthah, whose advice to remain invisible, while true enough, was also designed to suppress any competition in her quest for the throne of the High Priestess. Upon her ascension as the
Entu,
Prahthah changed her name to
Issar-surrat,
“Ishtar is Queen,” lest anyone question her devotion to the Mother Goddess. It was this High Priestess who now summoned Hulalitu, a summons that tightened the
naditu’s
throat.

Hulalitu knew Issar-surrat would not take well to waiting. So, despite her dread, she picked up her pace.

Lll

“Rise,
naditu.
” Issar-surrat granted a thin smile to the prostrate Hulalitu.

“Gracious thanks, my High Priestess.” Hulalitu kept her head bowed.

“It has been long since you and I have spoken.”

“Yes, my High Priestess. Too long.” A twinge of panic pricked her brow that she had been too familiar. If Issar-surrat sensed her discomfort, she did not let on but went immediately to the point at hand.

“You have a charge, a young initiate, I understand.”

Hulalitu tensed. “Yes.”

“A lovely girl, I’m told.”

“She is . . . a fine girl.” Nervous at the direction the conversation was going, Hulalitu struggled to keep the anxiousness from her voice.

Issar-surrat allowed a moment of silence to pass. A wave of heat flushed Hulalitu’s cheeks. Now she was certain the scheming
Entu
perceived her discomfort.

“Yes, I am sure she is. Tell me, Hulalitu, when was her ceremony?”

Perspiration glistened on Hulalitu’s forehead. The High Priestess was being too casual. It was obvious she knew the answer to every question she posed.

“I do not exactly recall, my High Priestess.”

Issar-surrat’s tone sharpened. “Do not be coy with me,
naditu.
When did she arrive at the temple?”

A bead of sweat scurried down Hulalitu’s spine. “Nearly three months ago, my High Priestess.”

“Three months.” Issar-surrat’s voice resumed its relaxed timbre. “So lovely a girl, yet she remains. Have not many who were much less comely already fulfilled their carnal rites to our Mother and departed to continue their lives in her honor?”

“They have, my High Priestess.”

“Then why do you suppose she remains, Hulalitu?”

The
naditu’s
voice wavered. “I . . . I am not sure. Perhaps the men are intimidated by her beauty?”

The weak reply hung in the air like an annoying odor. Issar-surrat said nothing, lending a tacit accent to the faux pas. Hulalitu kept her eyes downcast and wished she had said nothing.

“I see.” Issar-surrat took on a playful tone, one a cat might use with a mouse. “My own consummation came only two nights after my initiation ceremony. Do you suggest I am less beautiful than this girl?”

“No! Of course, not, my High Priestess.” Hulalitu croaked the words. “I only meant—”

“Never mind, Hulalitu. I know what you meant.” A trace of condescension tinged Issar-surrat’s voice. Hulalitu rankled at the knowledge that the High Priestess’s benevolence only soothed the stir she had created herself. This was the Issar-surrat—the Prahthah—she knew so well.

“This girl, she has a name?”

“Yes, my High Priestess. Her name is Ianna.”

“Ianna.” Issar-surrat’s voice grew reflective. “So close to Inanna, the Mother of our Babylonian sisters.”

Hulalitu’s growing fear sealed her lips.

“Perhaps she remains because the Mother Goddess wishes her to remain. Do you think?” Issar-surrat’s tone became direct, her intention now clear.

Hulalitu could not respond. She never thought her intervention in Ianna’s consummation rite would lead to this. She could not admit to the camphor powder she added to the ceremonial libation. This would violate a tenet ritual of the temple, one mandated by Mother Ishtar herself. But why would the High Priestess take notice of one lowly initiate among the hundreds who pass through every year? Why would she care enough to summon the mentor
naditu
for questioning?

Unless . . .

“You have no reply,
naditu?”

“I . . . I don’t know what stirs the heart of Mother Ishtar, my High Priestess.” Hulalitu’s heart was in her throat. She hastened to add, “I am sure, though, the girl’s best interest lies with our Matron.”

“‘The girl.’ You mean ‘Ianna,’ don’t you?”

“Yes. Of course, Ianna.” Verbalizing the girl’s name stabbed Hulalitu’s heart, a fact she was sure was not lost on Issar-surrat.

“And yes, you are correct. Mother Ishtar is interested above all in the welfare of her devotees. So am I. Therefore, Ianna will remain in the temple. She will assume the role of a
naditu.
See to it.” Issar-surrat shifted on the chair. The audience was over.

Hulalitu didn’t move. She stared at the foot of the High Priestess’s dais. Issar-surrat knew. Somehow she knew Hulalitu had sabotaged Ianna’s consummation ritual. She would also know why. Issar-surrat’s decision to make Ianna a
naditu
would establish her as a peer and remove her from Hulalitu’s control—perhaps even sever contact with her, if the High Priestess chose to send Ianna away to another temple in Kal
ḫ
u, or maybe Aššûr. Only if Hulalitu rose to the rank of a senior
naditu
could she hope to maintain any leverage over Ianna.

“My High Priestess—”

“You are dismissed.” Hulalitu flinched at the ice in Issar-surrat’s voice.

“But I—”

“You are dismissed!”

“Is there a chance I could become a senior
naditu?”
Hulalitu grimaced at her own words as they piled out and dropped flat onto the floor. No
naditu
ever nominated herself to the inner circle
.
This was unheard of, laughable. And that is exactly what Issar-surrat did.

The High Priestess’s stifled smirk broke into a throaty chortle and then into a full-bellied laugh, which echoed throughout the chamber. “Why, Hulalitu.” Issar-surrat lapsed into another fit of mirth. “You? A senior
naditu?
Come now, be serious.”

Hulalitu lifted her tear-laden eyes to the High Priestess’s chair.

Issar-surrat convulsed with laughter. “Why, I haven’t heard anything as funny as this in, oh, I don’t know how long!”

“I only thought—”

“
Dismissed!”
All levity disappeared from the High Priestess’s voice. “See to the girl’s—to Ianna’s—ceremony. Without delay.”

Hulalitu hid a quiet sob. “Yes, my High Priestess.”

Issar-surrat’s glare tracked Hulalitu’s steps to the chamber door. The click of the latch echoed through her quarters and all went still. As the High Priestess eased herself back into her chair, a familiar shell of numbness slid up the back of her skull and over her brain. Her vision narrowed, and everything on the periphery went fuzzy. Her breath slowed; her arms went limp.

“Yes, my Mistress.” Issar-surrat slurred the words through her trance.

“You have done well.”

“Thank you, Mother Ishtar. The girl will soon be under my control.”

“Your control? The girl will be under my control!”

“Yes, Mistress, of course. What is mine is yours.” Issar-surrat flinched at a needle stab of pain in her temple.

“Indeed, it is. How good it is for you to remember that.”

“Yes, my Mistress.”

Lll

“Hulalitu, what is it?”

The
naditu
slumped in the doorway and gripped the jamb for support. Her face was blank, her cheeks wet with tears.

Ianna sat up on her bed mat. “What has happened?”

Hulalitu cleared her throat. “I have just returned from a summons.”

Ianna knit her brow. “A summons?”

“To the chambers of the High Priestess.”

The young girl cocked her head.

“Issar-surrat has taken notice of you.” Hulalitu’s voice tripped over a shallow cough.

“Of me? Why? How?”

“I . . . don’t know how. You have found . . . favor in her eyes. In Mother Ishtar’s eyes.” The
naditu
folded her arms.