She shook her head, eyes wide. “You knew? Even then, you knew?”
“I knew.”
But then her face crumpled, and she sank against my chest. “Oh, Nicodimus. Nidaba! Gods, what Marten has done to poor Nidaba!”
She continued sobbing, crying, but I could no longer understand her words. Something about the rope, something about a pendulum.
All but carrying her, I followed the trail of that hemp, ‘round the corner. And as we moved onward, she pulled away from me, turned her back, covered her eyes. “I can’t look! I can’t see her that way! Oh, Gods, Nidaba, I’m so sorry! I tried, truly, I tried–” Again her words degenerated into unintelligible gasps and sobs. She bent nearly double, arms folded ‘round her middle as if she were in pain. Choking on her tears, she seemed lost to me.
I could not comfort her, so I turned instead, to see the fate of Nidaba. The mother I must have known as such once, but could only remember as my friend. My dearest friend. My most cherished companion.
A table, straps dangling from its sides, stood empty before me. A blade, suspended from far above, swung in ever decreasing arcs, back and forth above it.
And beside it, on the floor, I saw Duncan, getting to his feet, brushing himself off, and reaching down to help Raven to her feet as well. And then the two of them bent down, and I saw a slender hand reach up, and then another, to clasp theirs. They pulled, and Nidaba rose to her feet with the regal grace of a desert queen.
“I tried, Nidaba. Oh, Gods, I’m so sorry!” Arianna was still whispering brokenly.
“You not only tried, child, you succeeded,” Nidaba said softly.
Arianna went still and stiffened. Nidaba came closer, moving with the grace and dignity I remembered so well, and hadn’t seen in so long. She settled a hand on Arianna’s shoulder. “I’m all right. Alive, at least. And I owe you my thanks, Arianna,” she said.
“Nidaba?” Slowly, Arianna turned around, and then she flung herself into Nidaba’s arms, and held her so hard I thought both women might well break.
After a time, they stood apart again. Arianna, stroking Nidaba’s hair away from her face, searched the older woman’s eyes again and again as if to be sure she was truly real and not some vision. “How did you escape that horrible blade?”
“Duncan and Raven came in through some other way. They freed me just in time.”
“Well, not quite in time,” Duncan said, glancing down at his arm.
I saw that it was cut and bleeding. He’d risked his very life to save Nidaba. To save . . . my mother. “I am in your debt, Duncan,” I told him.
He only nodded. Nidaba took Arianna’s hand in hers and stared into her eyes. “My . . . my mind . . . is not as strong as it once was, Arianna. It was becoming less so even before my time as Nathanial Dearbome’s captive, and I fear the things I experienced then have broken it beyond repair. But there are some . . . lucid moments. More so, since I found my Nicodimus again.” Here she paused to look at me with tear-filled eyes and a trembling smile.
“You’ll heal, Nidaba . . . Mother,” I said gently. “I’ll see to it. You’ll be well again.”
Her gaze lowered. “Perhaps,” she whispered. “But I fear the life span of a High Witch’s mind does not equal that of her body. How long can one live on and remain truly sane, do you suppose?”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “How long have you lived?”
She sighed wearily, bowing her head. “Four thousand years, my son.”
I could only stare at her, dumbfounded. By the Gods, she must be the oldest of us all. Was she? Or were there others, even more ancient than she?
Nidaba faced Arianna again while I stood there, trying to digest the magnitude of a life span so long.
“There is something I should have told you long ago, Arianna, when I met you on the road to Stonehaven, taking my son’s body to the Stone Circle. But I was too distraught to think clearly, and I . . . I blamed you for his death.”
Arianna lowered her head. “As you should have. I blamed myself.”
“But it was not your fault. And the one thing you didn’t know, Arianna, the one thing you deserved to know, was that he loved you then.”
Arianna lifted her gaze to mine, then quickly looked at Nidaba again, her eyes wide.
“He told me so many times as we searched for you. He told me that he loved you, and that he had never admitted it to you. It was driving him mad that he had never told you the truth of his feelings, and his greatest fear was that he would never have the chance.”
Arianna shook her head in wonder. But Nidaba simply pulled her closer to me and placed her hand in mine. Tell her, my son. You love her still, do you not?”
I nodded once, my eyes on Arianna’s. “I do. I always have.” Arianna parted her lips, but I hurried on before she could speak. “No, let me finish. I remember it all now, Arianna. Everything. Everything about you. I was like a dead man already before I returned to Stonehaven that last time. But you wouldn’t allow me to remain that way. You made me feel again, for the first time since I lost Anya and my sons. You brought joy back into my life. You made me whole, Arianna. And I realized it on the night I lost you. You are my heart, little cat. You are my love, and I will spend the rest of my days making up for the pain I caused you in the past. I swear I will . . . if you will let me.”
Her tears spilled over, and Arianna spoke through a watery smile. “I swore I would never love you again, Nicodimus. But the problem is, I never stopped. Not ever. I couldn’t. I never will.”
I smiled down at her, and then I swept her into my arms. My woman, my wife, my very soul. My Arianna. I kissed her, and I knew that at long last, I truly was alive.
THE END
Destiny
The Immortal Witches
Book 3
By Maggie Shayne
Dedication
This book could not have happened without the help of some special people: My friends. They didn’t help me with the research, or the plotting or the character development. They did something far more important than that. They came through for me when I was in trouble. They were there for me when I needed them. With kindness and wisdom they reached out when I was drowning and pulled me onto the shore.
It shouldn’t surprise me. They always do. So here’s to you, dear ones: RomEx Rules!
Special thanks to Justine Davis, Anne Stuart, and Gayle Callen.
Author's Note
Research on the civilization known as Sumer has been a hobby of mine for two decades now. I knew that one of these days I’d find the right time to use it in a book, and now I have. The culture, the customs, and the religion of the time are accurately portrayed here, right down to the manner of greeting a respected friend, the clothing, the names, and even the description of the queen’s headdress.
However, as happens in fiction, sometimes the author has to take a few liberties, and I want to be clear about those. First of all, two of the characters you meet in this novel, King Eannatum and Queen Puabi, were real Sumerian rulers. She was the Queen of a city-state called Ur, and he was the King of Lagash, and later all of Sumer. They both ruled around the same time—2500 bce, and Eannatum truly was credited with unifying Sumer and ending threats from the nearby land of Umma. However, there is no historical record of Eannatum and Puabi ever meeting, much less having the relationship depicted here. There is also no certainty that only males were taught the art of the written word, although I believe in certain times and places within Sumer, this was the case. We do know of at least one high priestess who was adept at it. Her stories survive to this day.
The other bit of poetic license I took was in stating that a priestess of the temple had to remain unmarried and chaste until and unless she was chosen to perform the Sacred Marriage Rite with the king. I have no way of knowing if that was the case. No source yet has said one way or the other, and indications are that the Sumerians saw sex as normal, healthy, and even sacred, so they may not have forbidden their holy women to engage in
it, married or otherwise. However, the Sacred Marriage Rite itself was very real, and was common practice in Sumer.
The observations I’ve made in this book about the changing roles of women during this pivotal time in history are absolutely true. We have this recorded in the words of a high priestess of the time by the name of En-Heduanna, a translation of which can be found in the book, INANNA, LADY OF LARGEST HEART, by Betty De Shong Meador. In my opinion, women are still struggling to regain the status and power we had prior to 2500 bce.
I’ve sprinkled a few Sumerian phrases through this book. These are guesswork at best, as pronunciations and meanings change with every new research book that comes out. Translating the old cuneiform tablets is one thing—trying to figure out how the language sounded is a great deal more difficult. Even the name “Nidaba” has been given as “Nisaba” in some sources. So nothing is certain. However, I’ve used the best sources available to me at the time of this writing to make the phrases as accurate as I possibly can.
All that said, I will add that any mistakes you may find in the research were obviously put there by evil gremlins intent on ruining my credibility. ;)
Maggie Shayne
Prologue
WHEN SHE OPENED her eyes, there was a sheet over her face.
She sucked in her next breath, her first breath, the breath of life itself, and it rushed into her lungs with a force powerful enough to burst an ordinary set. The power jolted through her, arching her back, electrifying her every cell for just an instant. Then she went limp again and released the air in a slow, shuddering sigh. Slowly, awareness returned.
She was in a vehicle that moved wildly and wailed like a hyena. An ambulance, she realized dully. Disoriented still, she tried to clear her mind, to recall what had preceded this latest death and revival, and found only vague memories; a struggle on a rooftop, a gun, the sense of plummeting downward, and the shattering impact at the bottom. She lifted a hand, to push the sheet away from her face. But her hand moved mere inches, and no more. She was strapped down.
Strapped down!
The emotional dam she had so carefully built broke open wide to let ice-water panic flood her veins. A pulse beat in her temple and repeated itself, magnified, against her chest. Memories she had long ago buried clawed their way out of their graves, deep inside her mind, and a few gnarled fingers emerged to scratch at her hard-won sanity until they drew blood.
She had been strapped to a contraption like this one before. No details came just then, thank the Gods. Her control had been too hard won for that. Only sensations, feelings and emotions. Pain. Rage. Despair. Pain. Rage. And a tormentor who had savored her suffering.
“Release me.”
The voice she heard was her own. It was deep, and low, and bore a tone of command, even though it shook with the force of the emotion it sought to conceal.
“What the hell...” someone said. And her mind heard: Young. Male. Confused. Afraid.
“Release me,” she said again, louder this time, more firmly.
The sheet was yanked away from her face, and the wide brown eyes of a young man blinked down at her. “My God, she’s alive!” he called, apparently to whoever was driving the screaming vehicle. He wore a uniform, a badge like a policeman might wear. Lights flashed from without, but the vehicle never slowed. “For the love of Christ, she’s...”
“Loose the straps!” She commanded, twisting and tugging at the bindings that held her down.
“Easy, now,” he said, hands to her shoulders, voice lowering to a soothing tone. “Take it easy. The straps are just to keep you from falling off. You need to lie still. You’ve been—”
She tugged harder, and one of the restraints snapped in two, lashing backward like a whip and slapping the young man’s face even as he jumped away. He pressed a hand to his cheek, and his eyes widened. She could taste his fear but cared nothing about it. Reaching to the strap at her other arm, she ripped it free as well. Then the young paramedic found his courage and leaned over her again, grabbed her shoulders, pressed her body down.
“Calm down!” he ordered. “You’ll hurt yourself!”
She shoved him away from her with so much force that he flew off his feet, and his back smashed into the paraphernalia lining one side of the vehicle. He was shouting now. The ambulance skidded to a stop even as she tore at the one remaining strap at her waist, snapped it easily, and surged to her feet. She couldn’t stand upright in the vehicle. Bent over, she lunged toward the back of the ambulance, wanting only escape. Freedom.
All her life, it seemed, she had been made to fight for her freedom. She valued it above all else, in a way she imagined few others ever had.
The second man clambered in from the front and came rushing at her even as she reached for the doors. Escape was so close! He grabbed her shoulders. Turning on him like a cyclone, she flung him away. Items crashed and broke and spilled. Both men swore and grappled for her.
She lunged toward the doors again, but the younger one was right behind her now, having recovered himself. He jabbed her hard with something before she could fling him away, and the stab of the needle’s fang pierced her flesh. She felt her eyes widen as she looked down at the needle in her arm.
Drugs, her memory whispered.
Experiments.
Living death, mired in inky blackness with no hope of escape.
She would not go back to that place! She must not! Yet she felt it creeping up on her even now. Reaching for her. Coming to pull her back into its cold embrace. “No...” she whispered.
She whirled on the young man, but dizziness made her sway. The man caught her in his arms. “Easy.”
“Gods, what have you done to me?” She pressed a hand to her head as if she could slow the dizziness, the weakness, push it away somehow. “The drugs... you mustn’t... give me drugs...” Her knees bent against her will. Her legs turned to water.
“It’s just a sedative,” he said, bearing her weight now, cradling her carefully. He was cut, bleeding in several places. The other one behind him held his arm oddly. Vaguely, she realized it was broken. He shouldn’t have tried to stop her. He should have just let her go.
“You’re going to be fine, I promise you,” said the one who held her. “Come on, now.” He eased her down onto the stretcher and she tried to push his hands off her, to resist, but she had no strength. Darkness closed in around the edges of her vision. Her body was slowly going numb. “Lie down, now,” he said. “Relax.”
“I... cannot...”
She moved her mouth, but no further words emerged. Hazy outlines now, the two men leaned over her, shaking their heads. One ran his hands over her legs, her arms. “I don’t understand it,” he was saying. “She was as bent and broken as—”
“Broken, hell,” said the other, still clutching his arm to his chest. “She was dead. We were going through the motions, but we both knew we’d lost her.”
“It was a mistake. We messed up—”
“She was dead, Jerry. You know it and I know it.”
‘That’s not possible.”
Her vision faded even as she saw the man shaking his head. He said, “Damn, I think she broke my freaking arm.”
“Can you drive one-handed?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I can manage it. Can you handle her?”
“I can now.”
She heard the driver move away while the other man remained beside her, checking her for injuries. She felt the vehicle lurch into motion again, heard the siren begin to wail once more, but then it, too, faded into nothingness. She felt herself slipping away as well, and she fought to cling to her soul.
“I cannot let go,” she whispered, sensing that if she did, she might never find her way out of the darkness again.
She needed something... something to cling to. Something to keep her anchored.
It came to her slowly, like a gentle, loving hand curling around her own. Her memories. Not the horrible memories she had buried so deeply, but the better ones. The real ones.
.. of the life before.
“Yes,” she said, though she never knew if she had spoken the word or only thought it. Four thousand, five hundred years and more had come and gone... but though the ages in between faded like morning mists, that before-time was as clear to her as if she were living it still. It was her time. She had known nothing of what she truly was then. She was a child, innocent, young, with so much ahead...
More than she ever could have guessed.
2501 BCE
City-State of Lagash, Kingdom of Sumer
HER LITTLE KAUNAKE dress was white and made of fine linen, just like the ones the grown-up priestesses wore. It reached to mid-calf. Her feet were bare, at the moment. She wore the fringed shawl that was reserved for sacred occasions, and in her tiny hands she carried a large pottery bowl brimming with lush ripe fruits. The priestess beside her was dressed in the same manner, except that she also wore a golden band about her head, in deference to her station. Her arms were bare, save for the gleaming gold and silver bands wrapped around her coppery skin like vipers. Her hair was dark as night, and long and gleaming. The little girl thought the priestess Lia was the most beautiful woman in all the world.
Soberly, the two entered the cella, the room at the very top of the ziggurat tower. The little girl tried to concentrate on being serious and appropriately solemn as they crossed the dim room that was lined with stone statues, all winking their lapis lazuli eyes in the flickering torchlight. But the entire never-ending rite seemed so silly to her that she battled a smile, and finally a giggle emerged despite her best efforts.
The priestess looked down at her, a frown etched in her dark brows. “Hush, Nidaba! This is the most sacred room in the temple, the home of the Gods themselves. Show some respect.”
Biting her lip, Nidaba stopped giggling. Instead she spoke. “The home of the Gods is in the heavens, is it not, Lia?”
Eternal Love: The Immortal Witch Series Page 67
