Ishtar Bound (a book of Sinnis)

by Gibson, Natalie

  As a Daughter of Women, a type of witch, she had been taught respect for all types of thaumaturgy, but she was revolted by her own body's response to the heterosexual images. Magic or no, she had to stop this before she lost all self respect. Men were vile creatures to be used as a gene pool and work horse. She stepped back, knowing that breaking contact would terminate whatever trance this was, but her hand was stuck on something. She looked down to figure it out and stared dumbfounded for a moment at his hand encircling her wrist.

  Eiran stepped forward, towards her, into the moonlight. As he walked forward, the air pushed the detritus off of his skin in the most interesting swirls. Nathalia couldn't keep herself from watching every particle as it slid across his skin, flipped and turned, danced in the air and then drifted slowly to the floor. This was no statue, but a very real, very aroused man who had been covered in gray dust. She could see the trail her fingers had left on his pectorals. She started shaking her head no; this was not really happening. It was just another vision, another nightmare. She looked at his face just as the moon caught his multicolored pupils. Eiran was a Guardian.

  Guardians were a special breed of men who had power. Nathalia had no idea where they got this power, since it certainly was not like her own, which was generated by women for their own uses. She suspected it was stolen or borrowed power. Guardians were very secretive and possibly very dangerous. Though he was not the first guardian Nathalia had dealt with, she knew very little detail about them.

  Her position as Abbess of the Austin branch of the Daughters had exposed her to several and she knew they were obedient to women, or at least very respectful. She raised herself to her full height adding an impression of power to her stance. She knew she couldn't speak to him with her damaged vocal cords, but she was afraid to use her telepathy. She had broken the only rule of the Daughters of Women by using their sacred communal power to hurt and kill another person. Even if it had been Michael, a murderer who was threatening them, by breaking the rule she would be cut off from the capacitors' collected power. It would have been Maeve's first order of business. She was shocked to feel the power gathering in the back of her head, making her feel warm and tingly. The flush was on her face as she realized that she had not been cut off from the holy ones. Thank you Maeve. She gathered the euphoric energy, pulling from the capacitors as she always had, and broadcast to him. I am Abbess Primo Nathalia and I have not given you permission to hold me. Release me at once Eiran Kafziel, I command you.

  He froze at the sound of his own name inside his head. He did not release her, but pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her. Nathalia could not stop seeing the images of them making love playing out in her head. She seemed so happy and satisfied, so unlike her normal self, that she allowed them to play on. He was staring intently at her with those unnaturally beautiful eyes and for a moment she forgot to be stern. He was stunningly attractive for a man and she didn't pull away when he bent his head and kissed her.

  It was an odd first kiss. It wasn't hard and possessive in the way she had imagined it would be, but she felt like she belonged in his arms as she had never felt she belonged anywhere before. He kissed her sweetly as if he were relieved she was here and had missed her, not as if he had a right to her, as Michael always had. She imagined how wonderful it would be to give herself to someone who felt this way about her. She had never really felt loved, only owned.

  She firmly pulled away. She had to stop acting this way. She didn't even know where she was or how she had gotten here, and yet there she was naked, kissing a naked stranger. And a man, no less. She put her hand on his chest when he stepped forward again to close the gap between them. It was a mistake. It was meant to stop him, but it must have seemed like a caress. As soon as her hand was over his heart the images started again. Memories of lascivious demeanor, peculiar positions and lewd acts flooded her mind, washing out every other thought.

  She made the sign for stop and signaled that he should stay where he was. Nathalia backed up further, but left her hand up. They were not touching, except where his hand encircled her other wrist.

  He started to speak to her in a language she didn't understand, but it sounded slightly familiar. She wracked her brain trying to think of a word that could help convey 'let go', or 'stop' or 'no'. She couldn't think of anything and nothing she said made any difference. Egyptian, Arabic, Hebrew and he was still advancing. She must have said something wrong, something that actually encouraged him, because he smiled.

  Nathalia might be a virgin, but she knew that look. This was about to get intense if she couldn't convey that she did not want this. He was a man, after all, and he might take what he wanted from her even without her consent. In a last ditch effort she reached out and slapped him hard across the face. The sound echoed in the empty stone room. It was harsh, but it worked. Eiran had let her hand go, but as soon as their contact was broken, all she wanted was for him to hold it again. He was speaking to her and from the look of it he was apologizing, but he was confused.

  Since he obviously could not understand her, she couldn't tell him what she wanted. Then suddenly she remembered the word, but from what language, she didn't know. Labasu. She said it every way she could think of because she was uncertain how to express her desire to be clothed. Surely being covered would allow her mind to clear of all these sexual thoughts and memories. Nathalia loved comfortable clothing the way most people love comfort food. She would have given anything for her favorite jeans and fleece top.

  He must have understood her because she instantly found herself dressed, only not in the way she wanted. It was only slightly better than being naked. The material was so fine and soft, draped in such a way to graze her skin with every move, that it was distracting. She spun, twisting this way and that, enjoying the way it brushed her calves, buns and breasts. For a moment she lost herself in the feeling and details, before she realized that he had conjured up this outfit from thin air.

  Nathalia would've liked to ask him how he did that, but knew 'how?' was a concept too difficult for a conversation between two people who spoke different languages. Eiran was speaking again. His voice was melodic and manly but gentle and he sounded concerned. He could tell she was uncomfortable, and she got the feeling he was asking her why that was. Blushing, she gestured toward him and said again, Labasu.

  Without any effort,or even any movement, he was dressed in the old style, just a pleated linen skirt with an elaborate belt. Eiran was obviously not just a man, but something completely supernatural. Guardians were more of a threat to the Daughters of Women than even she had thought. She could sense his confusion. He could conjure up whatever he wanted, but could not understand her need to hide their bodies behind clothing. Nathalia knew that guardians could block thoughts and memories about themselves, but Eiran wasn't doing this. She was considering his nature, free of any hindrance from him. She found this, along with their added clothing, to be comforting.

  He moved more completely into the room. Her access to the door and hallway were unobstructed. Maybe she wasn't his prisoner or maybe he was just confident in his ability to move faster than she could. She gestured to the room, asking where they were. He started talking again, his confidence raised by her speaking a word in his language, but she didn't understand.

  “Sinnis Ina Ummum Zumru.” Eiran pointed to himself and signed 'no', then to her and 'yes'. 'Sinnis' meant woman or female. He was gesturing to her stomach and drawing a big air belly on himself with his hands. Fat woman? Pregnant? Oh, mother? Yes, from his reaction, she had guessed correctly. He was pointing to himself and to the segment on the wall about his birth and saying ummum, mother. What did his mother have to do with where they were?

  Then she realized she was in a tomb. Oh sweet Ishtar.

  No other place would be this decorated in ancient times. So they were in his mother's tomb. Just as Jolie had prophesied, Nathalia had, for her friend, succumb to death a maid and with the angels mothers had been laid. She asked him, Am I
dead?

  He had understood and was shaking his head no, “Ul mitutu, darisam baltutu.” That couldn't be right. Nathalia thought he said they were not dead, but forever living. He pointed to her and then himself back and forth; they were the same. They were 'darisam baltutu'. Then he pushed aside the top marble slab that had made up her resting place and insisted that she look inside. There, resting deep in the base of the platform was a beautiful, but elderly, woman, laying peacefully with her arms crossed over her stomach. He pointed to her and said, “Ummum Zumru. Darisam mitu.”

  Nathalia had never seen a dead body before, but this wasn't what she was expecting. There was nothing gross or unpleasant about this body. This woman looked like she was just sleeping, maybe a little bit pale, but nothing out of the ordinary. There were little piles of debris around her, like she had been dressed, but now the material had rotted away. That couldn't be. A body would deteriorate quickly, probably a lot quicker than cloth. Nathalia gestured that she wanted him to close it. Yes, I understand Eiran. This is your mother's body. She's dead and we're alive.

  “Darisam.”

  Why did he keep using the forever word? Yes, death was forever, but not life. Maybe darisam didn't mean what she thought. He was talking more and more, but she was understanding less and less. He pointed to a part of the story pictures that had what looked like a meeting of men with wings standing in a circle around someone on fire. He was saying one word repeatedly, “Nephilim”.

  Nathalia was no Christian, but she knew more about the bible than most believers. She studied it to acquaint herself with it's patriarchal lies and how to combat them in her girls when she was Abbess of her sect. The Nephilim were an antediluvian race which were referred to in the Bible as giants. Genesis said that the sons of god saw that the daughters of men were beautiful and took wives from among them and had children by them. Those children were the Nephilim. 'Heros of old; men renown.'

  Nathalia didn't believe in angels, but Eiran surely did look like one. His feelings toward her were not angelic, she was certain. She had seen the desire in his eyes and felt it in his touch. He was good looking, to say the least, odd even in his otherworldly perfection. Nathalia was no pixie at just short of 6 foot tall, but even she thought he was gargantuan. He was over 7 foot, and very tan. She could see that, now that the dust had scattered. He was muscular, chiseled even, but not too bulky. He was lean and strong like a more masculine Nathalia. He had little body hair and what little he had on his forearms and legs was bleached by the sun. Although she thought at one time it had been very dark, now the shoulder skimming hair on his head was blond. He seemed to have a brightness about him that she could imagine would have frightened people of a simpler time or mind.

  He was kneeling down on the floor drawing in the dust. After a minute Nathalia realized she was staring at his body and he was waiting for her to respond to something. She snapped out of it and knelt down in front of him to better examine his drawings of ^'s and v's.

  Nathalia was familiar with the primative male and female symbols. The first ^ was Eiran so the prior v had been his mother, who had gone on to birth other children who had children and so on down the line. After a few branches in this family tree, he pointed to the last v and then gestured towards Nathalia. She motioned that she understood they were both from the same ummum, the same mother. Then she asked him if he had any children by drawing branches from the ^, he had said was himself.

  Eiran seemed very unsteady as he shook his head no and wiped the offspring lines away. He drew a straight line out, sideways from his ^ and connected it to a v, as a married couple might be written in a family tree. Then he wiped it away. Then he drew a long line from himself to her. She understood. He had loved women and tried to have children with them, but when it didn't work he had waited for her.

  How long? How many? Nathalia's sexual thoughts were really inappropriate depending on how many generations were between them. She was certain he was a supernatural being and probably capable of living longer than one restricted to the laws of nature. Were they talking Great Great Uncle, fourth cousin or what?

  “Sinnis Ina Ummum Zumru Warki Sessu Sessum-Esrum.” He drew a very intricate sign in the sand and looked up expectantly at her. She shook her head no. She had barely paid any attention in foreign languages. She definitely daydreamed during the sections concerning their mathematical systems. How could she have known it would be so relevant? Apropos even. English literature, theatre, Shakespeare: those were her things. She could read old English fairly well. Mesopotamian numerical symbols? Not so much.

  Eiran wiped it all away, drew a Y, and held up a finger. One. He drew ten Y's and then a <. He pointed to the Y's and held up ten fingers and then to the < and held up ten fingers. Okay, so she understood one and ten. If generations were say twenty years, he was... Eiran was drawing and signing again before she could do the calculation. He drew six <'s and then a new symbol. Sixty. A little was starting to come back to her. Some cultures had number systems based in 60, with subdivisions of 10. Was he still talking about the family tree or just giving her a math lesson? He drew six signs of sixty and stood up. He pointed to himself, then the number, then to Nathalia.

  Three hundred sixty generations. That was impossible. He was telling her he was how old? He couldn't possibly be seven thousand years old. That woman, his mother, couldn't possibly have been dead that long. Holy shit. Long lived was one thing, but immortal was entirely different. No wonder he kept using the forever word. He was darisam baltutu and she was his Sinnis Ina Ummum Zumru. She was the woman from his mother's body; a direct descendant of his mothers line. She needed to get out of here. She had to get away. She tried to tell him, but he wouldn't hear it. She couldn't go. She was his prisoner after all.

  Nathalia was upset and it was easy to see that Eiran was not happy with her agitation. He tried to hold her, comfort her, but she wouldn't have it. She felt out of control when they touched and she didn't like it. She slapped his arms away and took off running down the now empty hallway. She heard his boisterous laugh behind her and she was scared. She glanced back and found he was not chasing her. He was grinning at her and it sent a chill up her spine.