by Andre Norton
Their course was leisurely, and Shilo tried to relax. She couldn’t wholly, but it was much better than her hurried trek yesterday. She actually paid more attention to the buildings and the people this time, trying to commit things to memory so that when she made it back home she could tell her tall tale in detail to a disbelieving Meemaw. She listened more attentively today, both to her guide and to everything around her. Behind them, as they were walking east now, she heard fishermen calling to one another along the bank of the river. She heard someone singing, and more flute music, similar to what she’d heard before. There were street vendors calling, and these were the most interesting because of her growling stomach.
Nidintulugal took her by the arm and led her to the closest one, pointing to several pieces of tan-skinned oblong fruit and reaching into the pocket of his skirt and bringing out polished shells. He held them out and the vendor selected three.
“So you barter. You don’t use money.”
He handed her two pieces of the fruit and kept two for himself. He put one in his pocket and held the other in front of him, digging the nail of his thumb into the end and pulling back the skin. He wasn’t demonstrating for her benefit, and didn’t realize she was unfamiliar with the fruit. But she copied him, devouring the first piece, then the second. It was sweet and pulpy, and the juice ran down her chin. It eased her hunger, but she wanted more. Nidintulugal ate his second piece, and when he was finished he dropped the skins at the edge of a building, where other dried skins curled amid nut shells.
“Thank you,” Shilo said. “For the fruit and the tour, for your company. Really, thank you. For not turning me in somewhere.”
Next he took her by the hill she’d spotted last night, the green one that had looked inviting. In full sunlight it looked breathtaking.
“The Hanging Gardens,” she said. It was one of the wonders of the ancient world, considered a myth by some, and debated by archaeologists.
The Gardens didn’t “hang,” not like plants suspended in baskets from patios. Rather they overhung a series of terraces, and were of an amazing variety she doubted would naturally be found together. The terraces were stacked, one above the next, and rested atop cube-shaped pillars and vaults that looked like they were made of baked brick, decoratively enameled in places. Some of the vaults were deep enough to accommodate large trees.
She spotted stairs, and Nidintulugal raised an eyebrow and gestured, asking if she wanted to climb them.
Yes, she thought. She truly did. But she couldn’t. She shook her head and continued to stare at the Gardens. Squinting, she spied between trees a primitive machine that pulled water from the Euphrates to quench the Gardens. The machine lifted the water high into the air—the Gardens stretched, she estimated, about two hundred feet at the topmost point—then released it to flow down and through the hill’s terraces.
“It’s not a myth,” she said. “And it’s more beautiful than the believers could have guessed.” Shilo reluctantly drew her attention away from the Gardens and continued Nidintulugal’s tour.
“Ishtar,” he said many minutes later. They’d reached the courtyard she had first appeared in, though this time she looked on it from a different angle. Dozens of people milled about, talking and praying; she guessed some even conducted business. There were guards, seven of them that she could see, muscular men who wore pieces of metal plates sewn onto leather vests. Their skirts were dark red and came to their knees, and they wore helmets that looked like beaten metal bowls. It didn’t appear that they guarded anything in particular, probably just patrolled the area like cops patrolled a big city park. She suspected there’d been at least a few guards here yesterday; she just hadn’t been paying close enough attention to notice then.
“The Ishtar Gate.” Shilo couldn’t hide her awe of it. Beautiful and impressive, the most amazing thing she’d ever seen. The pictures in her Middle Eastern Conflicts textbook weren’t close to this; those looked like watercolor paintings that had faded in the sun. The colors here looked electric. “Magical.”
Every inch of the gate was covered with glazed bricks and enameled tiles. The background was bluest-blue and cut by yellow and brown beasts, more than half of them lions similar to the ones she’d seen on the temple she’d spent the night in.
“Nebuchadnezzar,” Nidintulugal said. There were many more words that didn’t register, but Shilo recognized the name of the king.
He’d built this gate and others, ordered it ornamented and dedicated to Ishtar, the Babylonian goddess of war and love. The Processional Street that still stood in modern times led to it, and along its course on walls and buildings were dozens upon dozens of animals fashioned of glazed brick. On the gate itself were several images of the dragon from the puzzle, the largest at the top of the arch. There were bulls, too, and more lions.
Shilo imagined that all the animals had some significance, perhaps symbols for the various deities, and that processions along this road glorified the king and the gods. A part of her fervently wished she could see one of those processions. But the larger part wanted to go home. Before she walked through that gate, however, she decided she would look as closely as possible at everything in this courtyard, memorizing as much as she could. She felt a little more secure in the company of the young priest, and dressed as one of the citizens, she was hiding in plain sight.
Just one last look, she told herself. Then through the gate and back to Slade’s Corners.
“Thank you,” she told Nidintulugal one more time.
He seemed to understand the sentiment, nodding and smiling, and following her gaze to stare at the main dragon.
“Thank you for this look at Nebuchadnezzar’s creation.”
“Ah, Nebuchadnezzar.” The voice startled Shilo. It came from a thickset man approaching them. He had a braided gray beard decorated with glazed beads, and a shaved head that glistened with sweat. His skin was tanned, though not so dark as most of the others in the courtyard. His skirt was made of a brocade material that looked expensive and thin, nothing like the coarse robe she wore or the simple skirt of her companion.
He smelled of musk and cinnamon, and she immediately thought him some sort of royalty.
Nidintulugal bowed slightly, and the two carried on a brief conversation, in which both of the men gestured to her.
“For one so young to know of Nebuchadnezzar, the King of Babylon, is impressive,” the older man said. “Particularly since you come from a distant place.”
Shilo gasped. He spoke English! Nidintulugal was taken aback by the man’s change in language.
“But while you might know something about this city and its ruler, child, you know nothing of the words. You stare at the gate, but cannot read its inscription.”
Shilo couldn’t speak. She could understand him, but something wasn’t right about him.
He continued: “The inscription is of the Ishtar Gate’s dedication. It reads: ‘Nebuchadnezzar, King of Babylon, the faithful prince appointed by the will of Marduk, the highest princely princes, beloved of Nabu, of prudent counsel, who has learned to embrace wisdom, who fathomed their divine being and reveres their majesty, the untiring governor, who always takes to heart the care of the cult of Esagila and Ezida and is constantly concerned with the well-being of Babylon and Borsippa, the wise, the humble, the caretaker Esagila and Ezida, the firstborn of Nabopolassar, the King of Babylon.’ There’s more, but I think that much of a translation suffices for the moment. Don’t you agree?”
He folded his hands in front of his waist and stared down into Shilo’s wide eyes.
“You may call me Arshaka, girl.” He bent slightly forward, bringing his face inches from hers. His breath smelled of pepper and other spices. “And what may I call you and your handsome companion?”
Questions flooded Shilo’s mind … so she had a name for him, Arshaka, but that didn’t tell her who he was. How could he know English? Was she not in ancient Babylon after all? Not the real Babylon? Could she be dreaming all of this
? She looked to her guide, who was carefully and curiously regarding the man. From Nidintulugal’s expression, she didn’t think the priest cared for the rich man. But he was being polite. So she should likewise be polite.
“My name’s Shilo, and he’s Nidintulugal.”
The man straightened, steepling his fingers beneath his double chin. “Shilo—a pretty name, for a pretty girl. And Nidintulugal. His simple clothes mark him as a sun priest. But yours … Where did you come from, Shilo? Certainly not from around here?”
She opened her mouth to tell him, but stopped herself. If this really was Babylon, he’d know nothing of Wisconsin or Georgia or a United States that wouldn’t exist for more than two thousand years. Still, he knew English! His eyes were bright blue, and she’d not noticed any other people with that color. Maybe he’d magically traveled here.
“A long way from here,” she said finally. “I’ve come a long, long way, and now all I want to do is go home.”
“You’ve a Southern drawl about you,” he observed. “A soft, sweet accent that would put you from South Carolina or Georgia.”
Her expression had betrayed her.
“Georgia it is then.”
“Marietta,” she admitted.
Shilo sighed and her shoulders slumped. This man had to be from the United States, or had visited there. If she was dreaming, his presence was easy to explain. But if she wasn’t dreaming … Dozens of questions whirled in her head. “How do you know about Georgia, Mr. Arshaka?”
“I know about a lot of things, Shilo. In fact, I know a great deal about a great many things.”
Shilo took a step back, Nidintulugal staying even with her shoulder.
“And I know all about Georgia, Shilo. Come with me and we will talk about the South together. Share some memories of a more civilized place.” He held out a hand, as encrusted with rings as hers was. But these were heavy gold bands set with grape-sized stones, the mark of a truly wealthy and important man. She saw a ruby and an emerald, and the ring on his pinkie was circled with sapphires that sparkled like fireflies in the bright sun. She thought any one of them could have paid for every building in Slade’s Corners.
“Come, come, Shilo. Let us get out of this heat.”
He reached for her, his eyes instantly turning dark and his expression cold. “Come with me, little Shilo and…”
“No!” She spun and barreled toward the Ishtar Gate.
8
Worse Than Lost
Shilo heard the sound of pounding feet behind her, shouting, and the blast of something like a trumpet. None of the ruckus could be good, she thought. It would be even worse if she got caught.
Maybe the wealthy man had meant her no harm, only wanted to help. Maybe she was an idiot to have turned away from him and judged him harshly—insulted him.
… But something didn’t sit right with her, and when the instinct kicked in to run, she did just that.
She briefly ran across brick, a walkway directly in front of the gate, but then the ground became pebble-dotted. Her feet hurt. She gritted her teeth and forced herself to keep going, all the while cursing herself for not putting on the tennis shoes that thumped against her hips. Her hood flew back, revealing her curly red hair and pale, freckled skin. Spectators and bystanders paused and gasped, either surprised at her appearance or surprised that someone was running from the guards.
Shilo didn’t have to look over her shoulder. Guards were after her. She could hear the horn blast again and a rhythmic chink, chink, chink, which she knew had to be the metal plates of the guards’ uniforms shifting as they ran. She ran faster, tears streaming down her face from the pain that lanced into her legs. She was tearing the soles of her feet apart, but she told herself she couldn’t stop.
“Faster!” she cried, the word making her legs pump a little harder.
Within heartbeats she was through the gate, narrowly avoiding a net that was dropped by a guard stationed on the wall above. She hadn’t noticed the guards posted up there, but then she hadn’t looked, she’d been so caught up in the beauty of the gate and the nearby walls. A spear came down in front of her, and she swung to her left to avoid it.
She passed through another walled section, this much smaller but even more opulent. It was like running through a tunnel now, the walls rising up on either side, higher here than in the courtyard, and there were more guards. Another threw a net, which brushed her back.
Two more spears came down.
Why had she run from that man?
The shouting grew louder behind her, and she worried that the whole city was after her. She took in great gulps of air and cried out when she ran too close to the wall. The sleeve of her robe caught and ripped and her arm scraped against the tile. Despite the competing pain, she managed to go even faster.
The tunnel she raced down bisected the city’s fortress, and from high windows came the sound of more trumpets and shouts.
“The whole city is after me,” she managed through gritted teeth. She held her arm tucked to her right side, which had begun to ache from her efforts. In the back of her mind she was thankful for all those recent bicycle rides she’d taken to see the yappy dogs and to the too-small library. She’d built up some stamina, but it wouldn’t be enough against an entire force of guards.
There were several “thunks” behind her, which she guessed were more spears being hurled.
I’m going to die here, she thought. And Meemaw and Grandfather will never know what happened to me. They’ll think I ran away. She’d never make it back to Georgia to see her brother and his wife, never be able to return the class ring on her thumb.
Finally she cleared the tunnel and the city, the road beneath her widening and turning to nothing but dirt. Grass rose on both sides of the road, green and making shushing sounds in a breeze that did nothing to cool her. To her right farm fields stretched, and she strained to see homes or barns that she could run to.
Why hadn’t she returned to Slade’s Corners when she’d passed through the dragon gate?
Why hadn’t she magically reappeared in her bedroom in front of the damnable puzzle?
Her father had come back from his journey to the far, far north. Why hadn’t she returned, too?
She scanned the horizon as she ran, trying to find some feature that might afford her a place to hide. But there were only fields of grass and wheatlike crops, and this road that angled to the east and looked to go on forever. Shilo could barely feel her feet now, the soles numb from the pain. She continued to gulp in air and register the shouts behind her. Just one glance back, she told herself, just a look at how close the guards and the citizens were. She shook her head and bit down on her lip, hoping that pain might somehow give her more speed. If she looked over her shoulder, she might stumble, and then it wouldn’t matter how close they were; they’d catch her before she could pick herself up and run again.
One of the shouts was getting louder, and she recognized the voice. It was Nidintulugal, and she did nearly give in and take a look back, but he might be trying to catch her, too. She hadn’t covered much more ground before Nidintulugal passed her, his long legs giving him speed and distance. He motioned to her, frantically, encouraging her to keep up with him. He stretched back a hand, and she grabbed it, and somehow she was able to draw even with him.
He shouted to her, and with his free hand gestured to the west, where the Euphrates paralleled the road. Then he tugged her in that direction. Shilo picked up her knees as she ran, and made thrashing sounds cut by her sharp, soft cries. The ground uneven and littered with small rocks, the pain to her feet came fresh again.
She took that glance back now. They were quite a bit ahead of their pursuers, and those in the lead were the city’s guards. Their armor and all the spears they carried slowed them. There was no sign of Arshaka, the rich man who’d spoken to her; no doubt his size and age keeping him in the city. But she knew she’d see him again … especially if the guards somehow caught up.
Nidintulugal
practically pulled her now, and she stumbled when she caught her foot in an animal hole. He grabbed her up and tugged her again, a stern, fearful look on his face. She’d gotten him in trouble! They were after him now, too.
“I’m so sorry,” she gushed. Shilo redoubled her efforts to keep up, her feet churning across the field. She leapt over clay pipes, realizing that they were for irrigation, which explained why the crops were doing so well in this hot land.
They ran into a section of tall crops, the stalks like corn, though there were no tassels. The tops were over Shilo’s head, and Nidintulugal ducked so his head would not show either. The thrashing noise they made would give them away though.
Nidintulugal slowed, and she kept pace with him. Her feet felt like she was standing in fire, and her side ached terribly. Her chest heaved, and all over she felt feverish. She couldn’t pull enough air into her lungs.
“Shhh!” He dropped her hand and gave her a stern look. He gasped for air, too.
She slowed her breathing and closed her eyes, praying for all of this to go away and for the bedroom with its high tin ceiling painted eggshell white to miraculously appear. Maybe that was the key, willing it so hard that it happened. But the pain wouldn’t go away, and when she opened her eyes, she was still next to Nidintulugal and the guards were still shouting.
Back in the city the horns still sounded.
“Shhh,” he repeated, so soft this time she had to strain to hear him. He crouched lower and moved to the next row, and then the next, going ever west and cocking his head, listening for the men who chased them.
Shilo followed as quietly as she could. Her breath was still ragged, and she feared that her heart was pounding so loud it might give her away.
He did not look back. Instead, he reached behind himself from time to time, fingers fluttering and touching her to make sure she was still there.
The shouts became louder, accompanied by a thrashing ruckus, as the guards hacked at the crops to clear a path and expedite their search. Shilo trembled, but didn’t bolt. She noticed that Nidintulugal walked even slower now, cutting north several yards before again going west.
