Word Fulfilled, The (5 page)

“How could you do something like this?” She clenched her teeth and took another step forward.

“I don’t know what you mean—” He winced as her left hand raised a twin welt on the other side of his face.

“I’ve never been so humiliated in my entire life! Who do you think you are, coming here like this and making me a fool?”

“I didn’t come to—” This time he caught her wrist on the upswing. “Stop it! Stop hitting me!”

Jamin had never been slapped. The sting on his cheeks released a rage he didn’t know was in him. His anger launched a thousand images into his mind, none of them chivalrous. The last thought was the ugliest of all—that a lowly pagan harlot had dared to assault a chosen son of Abraham. He squeezed her wrist and stared her down, his face less than a hand’s width from hers. Only when her eyes rounded and he saw her grimace did he regain control and ease his grasp.

Jamin’s voice lowered to a growl. “Sit . . . down.”

The girl stepped back. He held her arm while she lowered herself, her eyes still locked on his. He released her wrist, and she dropped it onto her lap. She lowered her eyes, and Jamin’s heart lurched at the same empty expression he’d seen on her face so many times. She sat still, once again the mysterious maiden who pined alone on the temple steps.

Jamin stepped back. The adrenalin seeped away, and he fought his breath under control. He tried to assess what had happened. This was not what he planned, not at all what he envisioned their meeting would be like. He didn’t know what to do next, how to rescue the moment—if rescue from such a disaster were possible.

The young girl shuddered, and a single teardrop spotted the front of her tunic. The translucent stain brought a sheen to Jamin’s own eyes. He surprised himself when he moved to the bed mat and eased himself down. She stiffened and lifted her head but didn’t look at him. Jamin raised the corner of his cloak and dabbed at another tear as it traced a path down her cheek. She flinched.

When he could finally muster his voice, it came in a hoarse whisper. “Yes, I am the man who goes to market and lingers in the shadows across the street. But no, I am not here to humiliate you or to make you the fool.” He sighed. “If anyone is the fool, it is I.”

She shifted but said nothing.

Jamin set his face. He had nothing to lose. “I don’t even know you, so I don’t know how this can be, but . . .” His voice fell to a murmur. “I’ve fallen in love with you. Yes, from the shadows across the street.”

The girl turned toward him with a frown of disbelief. “How can you even—”

“I know! It’s beyond reason.” He settled more comfortably on the mat. “I’m not an idiot, regardless of what you may think, nor am I naïve.” He looked into her eyes. “I’m not shallow about love. This doesn’t happen to me. This has never happened to me.”

She dropped her gaze.

Awkwardness pushed Jamin to his feet. He stepped to the wall and leaned his forearm against it as he searched for the right words. He turned his back to the wall and slid to the floor.

“You’re also right that I didn’t come here to consummate you.”

The girl huffed and flipped her hair from her shoulder with a toss of her head.

“I came here to learn of you. Your name. Where you’re from. What you like. What you don’t like.”

She glared at him. “I don’t like being toyed with.”

“Nor should you. Neither do I. I came at great risk tonight. If my family finds out where I am, I’ll probably be disowned. I’m still not sure whether they know I’m gone, or what I’ll tell them if they find out.” Jamin rested his chin on his knees. “I didn’t risk all that to toy with you.”

Her intense eyes flashed to his and robbed him of his composure. The knot squeezed his stomach, and he swallowed in a vain effort to dislodge his heart.

Her gaze faltered; then she shook her head. “This is impossible. What were you thinking?”

Jamin chanced his first smile. “I was thinking that you’re the most glorious creature I’ve ever laid eyes on. I was thinking that behind those piercing eyes there’s something special, something different.” He paused. “I was also thinking how sad you seem, sitting apart day after day from the other girls.”

She looked away.

He continued, “I was thinking that, if I could somehow talk to you, it would settle my mind even if we never met again.” Jamin measured his next words carefully. “Lastly, I was thinking how grateful I was you were still here, because that would mean you are yet untouched.”

Her head jerked back, and the fire rekindled in her eyes.

Jamin cocked his head. “That’s it, isn’t it? That’s why you’re sad, why you stand aloof from the others.”

“That is not your concern.”

“You’re right.” The smile didn’t leave Jamin’s face. His eyes softened, and he held her look. “But what harm can it do to tell me? We’ll probably never see each other again after tonight. To talk might help. If it doesn’t, you’ve lost nothing by telling me.”

She sniffed. “And what could you possibly gain from knowing?”

“My heart’s desire.”

She dropped her gaze back to the floor.

Jamin waited.

After several moments, she looked up and shook her hair back from her face. “All right. You want to know? I’ll tell you.” She set her jaw. “I’m cursed.”

Jamin raised an eyebrow. “Cursed?”

“Yes, cursed. And it’s not funny!”

“Of course it’s not funny—if it’s true. Why do you think you’re cursed?”

“I’ve been here for over two months. I’ve lost count of the number of men I’ve received since my ceremony. Not a single one I’ve brought back to this chamber has been able to . . . perform. That is why I’m still here.” She tipped her head back in defiance.

He pursed his lips but didn’t reply.

“And, if you had come here to consummate me, you wouldn’t be able to perform, either.” She hurled the words at him like a challenge.

Jamin began slowly. “Is that what you really want? To be ‘consummated’?”

The challenge turned to impatience. “Why do you think I’m here?”

“Why
are
you here?”

The impatience gave way to frustration. “Of course I want to be consummated. I’ve come of age. It’s what is done.”

“Is it?”

“What are you saying? You make no sense.”

Jamin held her gaze. “Think for a moment. You’ve come to the verge of womanhood, the best and most fruitful part of your life. To celebrate, you lay vulnerable your most precious gift to a passing stranger who cares nothing for you. Now does that make sense to you?”

Her expression faltered. “It’s not for me. It’s for Mother Ishtar.”

“Do you really think ‘Mother Ishtar’ cares?”

The girl flinched. “What do you mean by that?”

Jamin gauged his tone. “I mean, thousands of girls have been through these halls. There are dozens even now who await their chance to please ‘Mother Ishtar.’ Do you think she cares, or even knows, who they are?”

“She is the Matron—”

Jamin pressed his point. “Do you know any girls who have not submitted to this ritual?”

She set her face. “Yes. There are some. They are scorned for neglecting their sacred duty.”

“Who laughs at them?”

“We do. The rest of us.”

Jamin tested the edge of his advantage. “Has it occurred to you that they might be right, that they might be better off than you who laugh at them?”

Ianna’s eyes flashed. “Mother Ishtar demands it of us—all of us.”

“What does Mother Ishtar say? What does she do?”

“Well, I don’t—what do you mean? What are you trying to say?” Exasperation flooded her tone.

Jamin softened. “Did you feel cursed before you came to this temple?”

She started. “No. I mean—”

“Maybe it’s not you, then. Maybe it’s this place. Maybe Mother Ishtar is not what or who you think.”

The girl’s eyes widened and darted around the room, as though the walls might collapse on them at any moment. “Don’t say such things!” she hissed.

Jamin persisted. “You should know there is a God, one far stronger than Ishtar. A God who loves us and wants us to honor the miraculous bodies He has created for us—things Ishtar clearly doesn’t want. All this God desires in return is our love and devotion.”

The girl scoffed. “I know nothing of such a god. I’ve been given to Ishtar. It is the Mother Goddess I belong to. It’s what is done!”

Jamin touched her shoulder. “I speak of the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. The only true God. Before Him, Ishtar is powerless.”

She covered her ears. “Stop it.
Stop it!
”

“I only want you to see—”

“Please go!”

The ice in her tone dropped Jamin’s heart from his throat to his stomach again. He rose and moved to the doorway, then paused. “There’s nothing to keep you from going home to your family.”

She shook her head. “I can’t. I haven’t—”

“You were seen coming to your chamber with a man. A man will be seen leaving. No one is here. No one will know what has or hasn’t happened. If Mother Ishtar cares, she’ll bring you back. If she does nothing, then you’ll know.”

Jamin lifted a silent prayer that something—anything—he said had made an impression.

Ianna tried to speak, but no words came. This was too confusing. Of course Mother Ishtar would know. Of course she would care. She was the Grand Matron, the goddess whose blessing would ensure a fruitful life for a young girl passing into womanhood. There was no goddess in Assyria greater than Ishtar, no god who held sway over her dominion. This young man was mistaken.

Love? Gods don’t want love, they want obedience. Devotion? Gods want a devoted servant, not a servant’s devotion.
Wasn’t that why the
Igigi
created man in the first place—to do their work for them, work they were tired of doing themselves? Of course it was. A god wanting love from a mortal man? Nonsense.

But, despite her resistance, the idea urged a gentle furrow to her brow. What if there was a god she hadn’t heard of? That was possible; there were so many of them. Could there be a god who really did care for people? No, she’d have heard of him by now. Or would she? She wasn’t a priestess; she didn’t know gods. Her parents never instructed her on the pantheon of Assyrian deities during her childhood. The other
ishtaritu
initiates seemed to know so much more about them than she did. Perhaps this young man also knew something she didn’t—as foolish as he might be, hiding in the shadows and coming here like this.

Ianna cradled her face in her hands, and confusion stabbed an ache deep within her head. Still the thought of such a god refused to release her imagination.
Should I ask? Would it only encourage him? Maybe he knows—

She flinched as the door clicked closed.

Ianna looked up. Where the young man with the strange god stood a moment ago, the goblet lay on its side. Burgundy splashes on the wall birthed tiny rivulets down the masonry, as though they mocked her own tears. A viscous dark puddle crept from the cup toward her bed mat. She watched with stony detachment as the puddle of wine widened and reached the hem of the scarlet coverlet. The liquid surged into the loose weave and spread a dark stain through the costly fabric and into the sleep mat. The puddle thinned as the materiel sucked at the spill and drew the wine into its membranes.