Word Fulfilled, The (7 page)

“Favor?”

“You are to become a
naditu.
I am to see to your ceremony immediately.”

Ianna’s face went white. “A
naditu
? How can that be? I have not yet even completed my
ishtaritu
rite.”

“That is of no consequence. You are to remain in the service of Ishtar.”

A wave of panic flooded Ianna’s head. “I can’t. I’m supposed to go home. Complete my ritual and . . . go home.” Her voice choked. She rose and faced Hulalitu. “I never wanted to become a priestess. That was not why I came.”

Hulalitu’s face tightened. “It is an honor to serve Mother Ishtar. She has determined your fate. You will stay.”

Tears spilled from Ianna’s eyes. “No! I want to go home. You can’t keep me here. I—”

A resounding smack filled the room as Hulalitu’s hand found its mark. Stunned, Ianna dropped to the floor, her hand covering a rising welt on her cheek. She hung her head, and her body convulsed.

“You . . . you will remain in your chamber to prepare your heart and mind for the ceremony. It is tomorrow.” The
naditu
pivoted on her heel and exited the room.

Hulalitu leaned against the wall outside the door. She closed her eyes against the quiet sobs that filtered through the gap under the wooden panel.

Nine

Nineveh, the Privileged Quarter

Twenty-fifth Day of Ajaru

ani jolted at the rap on the door. She paused over the dried herbs she was sorting while Mordac napped in the back room. She wiped her hands on a scrap of cloth and pulled open the door.

“Are you the mother of Ianna?”

The young girl was dressed in a white tunic and held a small bundle in her hands. Hani recognized the garb as the same she had seen her daughter wear on the steps of Ishtar’s temple. The girl was lovely, Ianna’s age, Hani surmised. But she looked ill at ease.

“Yes, Ianna is my daughter. Who are you, please?” Hani tried to keep an even tone, but a sudden fear rooted itself in her stomach.

“My name is Suhru. I live at the end of this street.”

“Of course. I recognize you now. Please, come in out of the heat.” Hani stepped aside, but the girl only shook her head.

“Thank you, but I can’t stay. I only came to tell you—” Suhru cleared her throat.

The fear rose to Hani’s throat and gelled into a lump. “Tell me what, dear? Is this about . . . Ianna?”

Suhru nodded. She threw a furtive look over her shoulder, then blurted, “They’re making her a
naditu.
It’s all over the temple. I’ve just been released, but I wanted to let you know.” She lowered her eyes. “They don’t always tell the family.”

Hani didn’t understand. “A what? I don’t know much of the temple. What does this mean?”

The girl’s face flushed. “She’s to become a full priestess of Mother Ishtar.”

Myriad thoughts raced through Hani’s mind, and none of them comforted her. “I still don’t understand. Please come in. I have questions—”

“I can’t. I really can’t.” Suhru turned to go.

“No, please. You must tell me. I don’t understand the temple rites. I never wanted Ianna to go there in the first place. It’s just not right, the ceremony.”

The girl reddened. “I must go.”

Hani reached out and grasped the bundle. She pulled Suhru to her as the floodgates that restrained her anxiety burst open. Fears bottled up in her for months found their voice and tumbled out over each other.

“Please, you must tell me. What has happened to Ianna? Why has she not come home? I’ve tried to inquire at the temple, but no one will let me see her. She’s been gone for months. Is this normal? Shouldn’t she have been back by now? How long were you there? What are they doing with her? Is she well? She’s not sick, is she?”

The girl tried to pull loose from Hani’s grip. “I shouldn’t have come here. We can’t talk about what goes on in the temple.”

“Suhru . . .
please?”
 
Hani’s eyes brimmed. She stroked the girl’s arm in desperation. “She’s my only daughter. My only child.”

Suhru eased her struggle to pull free. She glanced both ways along the street. “Maybe I could come in for just a moment. I should not be seen talking—”

“Yes, please.” Hani pulled the startled girl through the door. “I have some herbal tea I can make—”

“No. No, thank you. I really can’t stay.” Suhru fidgeted and glanced back at the door.

Hani clasped her hands across her stomach. “What of Ianna? What of my daughter?”

Suhru dropped her gaze. “You know of the
ishtaritu
ritual, don’t you?”

Hani stifled her reply out of respect to the young girl who had just completed her own rite of passage.

The girl blushed. “Of course you do. Well, Ianna, for some reason—reasons nobody can understand, she’s so beautiful—has not completed her ritual.”

Hani’s heart leaped in spite of the fear that gripped her stomach.
Ianna remains untouched!
Perhaps there was still time to bring her home. There must be a time limit, some kind of rule she could appeal to that would free Ianna from her obligation.

Suhru cleared her throat. “The
naditu
assigned to her holds her close. No one has been able to speak with her, to find out what the . . . problem might be.”

Hani nodded, still afraid to give her thoughts voice.

The young girl looked down. “We heard yesterday that the High Priestess believes Mother Ishtar smiles upon Ianna. She has called for a
naditu
ceremony for her.”

Hani creased her brow, still unsure of what all this meant. “So, after this ceremony will she be allowed to come home?”

Suhru murmured, “Ianna will not be coming home. A
naditu
remains at the temple. For always.”

The ball of fear that bulged in the back of her mind erupted and paralyzed her. Her voice was a hoarse whisper. “Not coming home? Ever?”

The girl nodded.

“Who is this? What’s going on?” Mordac’s mouth gaped in a broad yawn as he stepped from the back room.

Hani’s vision tunneled. Her pulse pounded in her temples until she thought they would burst. Her breath cut to short rasps, and she turned toward her husband.

“You!”

Mordac scratched his neck, then paused. “What?”

Hani flew into the chest of her husband and nearly toppled him over. Mordac’s eyes went wide as his wife gripped him by the sides of his head.

“You were the one who insisted Ianna go to the temple for that cursed ceremony! You said, ‘It’s what is done,’ as though the honor of our only child meant nothing in the face of this cursed, vile, ritual! What kind of father are you?”

Mordac tried to gain control. “Woman! You will not talk to me in that tone of—”

“Don’t you dare talk to me!”
Hani grabbed fistfuls of his shirt and pulled him to her face. “You’ve killed
our daughter!”

“What are you talking about?” Mordac tried to pull loose from Hani’s grasp.

“Ianna is to be a priestess! They’re keeping her there! Do you hear me? Our daughter is never . . . coming . . . home!” Her fists pummeled her husband’s chest with each of her choked words. He grasped her arms as she collapsed into sobs.

“Ianna . . . is . . .
dead
to us.” A wail choked in her throat, and she fainted.

Mordac held his limp wife by the arms, still unsure of what just happened. Then he remembered the girl.

“Can you tell me what—”

The door closed, and the girl was gone.

Lll

Issar-surrat slipped the pale blue tunic over Ianna’s head and the
naditu
ceremony was over.

“May you thrive in the service of Mother Ishtar.” The High Priestess’s lips curled in a half smile. She glanced at Hulalitu, who stood with the other
naditu
priestesses in the cella of Ishtar’s temple. Hulalitu kept her eyes downcast during the entire ritual. So did Ianna, as she stood naked before the audience of priestesses until Issar-surrat incanted the homily of dedication and bestowed on her the tunic of her new status. Such public nudity would normally have been an unbearable embarrassment for her. Today, though, even the open exposure of her body failed to penetrate the stupor of dread at her induction into temple service.

She stared at the smooth floor of the ceremonial chamber, where her
ishtaritu
initiation ceremony had taken place—the euphoria of that ritual replaced by the disconsolation of this one. Issar-surrat turned on her heel and retreated to the rear of the room to supplicate before the statue of Ishtar. The white tunic that had served as Ianna’s public wardrobe for the past three months lay flat at her feet, her hopes of returning home to a normal life lying with it.

The convocation of priestesses quietly broke up. Only the muted swish of their tunics and brush of sandaled feet over the floor broke the stillness. Ianna remained where she stood. The faces of her mother and father hovered in her mind, her father’s more faintly than her mother’s. The niche where she slept as a child loomed in the background of the vision. She knew her belongings—trinkets, memorabilia, her favorite woolen blanket—still lay neatly on her bed mat. Her mother’s cheerful summons to breakfast resonated through her mind’s ear, her father’s guttural cough less so. Tears brimmed in her eyes. The images of the past vanished at the click of the latch on the cella door.

Ianna heaved a sigh and raised her eyes. The room was empty, but for herself and one other
naditu.
She looked at Hulalitu without expression. Her former mentor beheld her with an equally empty stare. After several moments of silence, Hulalitu cleared her throat.

“There will be duties to learn. I can help . . .” She bit her lip.

Ianna said nothing. She brushed a wisp of hair from her face and curled it behind her ear. She folded her hands in front of her and padded across the room to the chamber door. She felt Hulalitu’s eyes bore through her as she passed but did not meet her gaze.

“Ianna . . .”

The door latched behind Ishtar’s newest
naditu,
and the hall was silent.

Hulalitu took a deep breath to stifle a sob. She had intended to keep Ianna for only a week, maybe two. As the weeks came and went, though, she delayed Ianna’s release for one more day, then another. She rationalized just one more measure of camphor powder; each dose was to be the last. But the beautiful young
ishtaritu
initiate had infected her, and there was no help for it. Life in the temple for Hulalitu was unimaginable without Ianna. She could care for the girl, yes, even better than her own family, she was sure of it. She suppressed the memories of the times she had denied Ianna’s mother when she came to inquire about Ianna. Her mind blocked out the ashen pallor of helplessness in the woman’s face, the haunted look in her eyes, and the choked pleas that had driven her to her knees the last two visits. No, Ianna was hers. It was meant to be.

Hulalitu’s gaze settled on the wispy tunic on the floor. She stepped over to the puddle of sheer fabric, stooped, and picked it up. She rubbed the gauzy material between her fingers, then hugged it to her chest. Another sob convulsed her chest before she turned and left the silent hall.

When the door closed, Issar-surrat stepped from behind the statuary of Mother Ishtar. She narrowed her eyes at the closed door and stroked her cheek in thought.