Were you part of the herd? Were you?
Did it matter? The woman was dead, the life sucked out of her by the beast while it fed.
You, Hela. You, not the beast.
She blinked. That had been Darika's voice inside her head.
You are the beast. You've always been the beast, her mother's voice said. That is the lesson you never seemed to learn.
"I am the beast," Hela echoed.
Minussah. Her lover. Her long dead lover. Was she the last member of the herd that mattered? Were all the rest simply animals?
Animals. The soldiers raping and killing. The terrified citizens of Ur committing atrocities against their own people for fear of angering the sitting army?
Thieves. Murderers. "Rapists." She spat the word and a string of ropy saliva flew from her mouth. It landed on the cave floor with a squelch.
Hela rubbed a hand against the spot between her legs. It was raw. Ripped. Damaged. "But I'll heal." The words came out in an unearthly growl. Her eyes began to glow.
She stared back out into the desert. She didn't know where Nergur was, but she knew what he would bring her. And when he did, she would feed. She would kill. She would get what she needed. And then? She would make sure the herd knew what they had done.
15
FROM her perch atop the wall, Hela could see everything. All who entered the city, all who left. The curfew was no longer in effect, but Ur's citizens still moved with caution. In a way, it made her job easier.
There would be no more trips to the river bank. No more swimming in Mother River beneath Sin's light. She hadn't bathed in two market days. When she wore clothes, they were ripped and soiled. And she was far past caring.
The citizens of Ur no longer walked past without noticing her. Instead, they moved out of her way or across the street. She let the beast's essence do more than simply set their loins alight; her presence was menacing and wrapped in absolute fury. Even the Elamite soldiers refused to make eye contact with her. Hela grinned.
The torch light at the entrance to the city flickered with shadows. The light sparkled off the soldiers' swords and spear tips. The new Elamite King had ordered his army to behave themselves. So far, they were. But that didn't mean Hela had to.
She waited in the same spot, night after night, looking for the men. When she fed, she fed to her fill and then left the half-dead bodies laying in the street beneath the cover of darkness. Ur was in fear. Ur should live in it.
The men. She would probably never find them. Her memory was little more than fragments of images. Filthy faces. A toothless smile. The herd was so ugly to her now. She noticed every blemish, every scar, every rip and tear in their clothing. The herd was nothing more than that--a herd. Smelly, foul, stupid. And without a shepherd, they would destroy themselves.
But she would not be their shepherd. Fear would be their shepherd. And they would pay. One day Garaaga would call upon her to have a child. When it was time to sacrifice a male member of the herd, she would do so without an ounce of regret or pity. The herd would get what it deserved. Hela would make certain of that.
A drunk walked around the corner, stumbling and shuffling down the street. She licked her lips and dropped down from the wall. Her next meal had just arrived.
Ama
1820 B.C.E.
1
She dragged her long finger nails down his chest and smiled as he sighed. The room was bathed in moonlight. A cool breeze wafted through the window and ruffled her long, black hair.
"Please?" the man whispered.
Ama leaned down and kissed the hollow in his throat. He moaned. The gold cuff studded with lapis glowed a soft blue in the darkness. She stroked a hand through his thinning, grey hair.
"It has to be this way," she whispered. "You're getting old."
"Don't-- Don't care," he breathed.
She touched her lips to his. The lapis glowed bright enough to light the room. Their tongues touched and he moaned. She pulled away from him, fighting the need.
Her fingers curled around his erect penis. His body jumped, arched, and then he emptied himself.
Ama smiled and kissed him as he convulsed in soft moans.
He fell asleep curled around her. She continued stroking his hair long after his breathing became deep and unlabored.
She put her lips close to his ear.
"Haidar," she whispered. He moaned something in his sleep. "When you wake, you will forget me and my home. You will leave this part of the city and return to your family."
"I will?" he asked in his sleep.
Ama nodded and wiped a tear from her cheek. "Yes, beloved. You must."
"Don't want--"
"Shh." She touched his forehead and his body went slack. "I will miss you, Haidar. But you are not the one."
The man said nothing.
Ama continued watching him until dawn, drinking in his naked body. He was wrinkled, but still well-muscled. The years had gone by too fast, as they always did. The lapis had done its job, keeping him from dying early, but even its power wasn't enough to keep the damage from spreading.
When sunlight crept in through the open window, she robed herself and walked out into the city. The scrabble sand ground wasn't yet warm enough to be uncomfortable on her bare feet. With slow steps, she passed through alleys lined with garbage and headed toward the northern gate.
The great Ziggurat of Ur rose in the east, reaching toward the sky. She watched as the sun dazzled against the gold decorations on its top.
White robed men and blue robed women were climbing the steps. Morning prayers to the god Sin for rain, fertility, any end to the scorching summer. The En would be among them, or perhaps she was already waiting for her supplicants.
Before she had found Haidar, he had worshipped Sin as well. Whenever the moon rose during their love-making, his face would always turn to catch its glimpse before he allowed himself to climax. Until he aged and forgot all about the moon god.
Ama wiped another tear from her cheek. The sun was rising over the horizon. Shimmers of heat rose from the distant sand. Before long, the temperature would spike once more leaving the city in misery.
The people of Ur had made offerings every night for two moons, begging Sin to forgive them and dispel the cloudless skies. She didn't think the moon god was listening. Even the faithful in the city were beginning to lose hope.
Flood and drought were the cycles. The earth gave all or the earth gave none. The merchants from Babylon had claimed it was Sargon's ghost, haunting the remnants of the Akkadian kingdoms.
Merchants, she thought, always lying to strike a trade.
Today was the last Market Day before Name Day. The night before, the caravans had entered the city. In a few hours, the travelers would set up their shops in the marketplace and hawk their wares. It would be the day's sole respite until nightfall, when the entertainers began their dances, juggling, and story-telling.
Most would stay in the city until after Name Day. They would have few sales on the first day since most people were saving their money for the actual celebration and, of course, to see what entertainment their king might provide for free.
Ama shaded her eyes and made out a lone red-robed figure standing atop the ziggurat. The En. She seemed to be looking down at Ama from beneath her veil.
She turned and headed toward home. By now, Haidar would be gone. His memory would be fuzzy and his body would feel as though he'd been asleep far too long.
No more tears, she thought. But she knew there would be more shed. For forty seasons, he'd shared her bed, amused her, kept her fed, clothed, and safe.
She would soon have to find another.
2
The tents and stands choked the usually empty courtyard. Small children ran between the aisles, giggling, and chasing one another.
Ama smiled as one brushed past her, his dark, curly hair dripping sweat. The boy stumbled and fell face first onto the hard stone-lined courtyard.
She dropped her basket
and ran forward. He started to cry.
She scooped him up as though he weighed nothing and buried his head in her shoulder.
"It's fine, little one. You're fine."
The boy quieted at once. Her neck was moist with his tears, but only for a moment. The terrible heat evaporated the moisture as though it had never been there at all.
Ama closed her eyes and held the boy close. She felt the rapid thump of his heart-beat against her skin. Slow, she thought. The boy's body relaxed, his heart-beat slowing until it matched hers.
She lowered the boy to his feet. He sniffled once and looked up at her.
His dark eyes stared into her green ones. She smiled. "On your way, little one."
The boy's grimace turned into a cautious smile. He took a step backwards from her, giggled, and then ran away toward a fruit stand.
Ama watched him go and felt a twinge. Haidar had wanted to give her a baby of her own. So had many others over her lifetime.
But not yet, she thought. Not yet.
She turned, picked up her discarded basket, and stared at the crowded courtyard. She closed her eyes, focused her will, and headed into the throng.
With each step she took, she felt eyes upon her. The last of her lapis was gone. The stones had protected Haidar, but there were none to mute her power now.
Men stopped mid-haggle to watch her pass. She could smell their desire. Even some of the women flushed and strained to catch a glimpse of her. If not for feeding a few hours before, it would be worse. Much worse.
"Beauty," a husky voice said from behind her.
Ama kept walking as though she hadn't heard.
"Beautiful lady?"
She recognized the voice. Ama stopped and turned with a glittering smile. Haidar stood before her, his long braids silver in the sunlight.
"Sir?"
"My name is Haidar. I just wanted to ask you if I could buy you something. I feel like I need to."
Ama leaned in toward him. "You don't see me," she growled in his ear. "I don't exist to you." Her voice was low and tinged with the beast's. "Leave."
She stood back from him and watched his eyes. They had turned glassy and unfocused. He shook his head as if to clear it.
"Where?" he asked in a lost voice.
Ama said nothing and continued to watch him. Haidar's eyes blinked twice and then he walked past her and further into the market.
She watched him go, fighting the urge to weep. Must be losing my touch, she thought.
Haidar wasn't the first to partially remember her and she knew he wouldn't be the last. It usually took longer than a few hours for them to remember something.
Manuj had come to her house in the night several times, knocking on the door and then forgetting why he was there. It was habit, ingrained from too many years spent with her. Some part of them remembered. Every time they remembered something, they ended up in her home or stalking her through the city.
Manuj had been two lovers before Haidar and she had dealt with him the same way. A few growls from the beast and that part of their memory died away. At least for a time.
That man had been the most troublesome. Long after he'd gone blind, she'd pass him in the streets and his nose would twitch at her scent. On one occasion, the aged beggar had actually whispered her name.
Manuj was long dead. Haidar might last many seasons before he finally aged and died. If he continued to remember, she'd have to visit him again and use more of the beast than she wanted. She loved Haidar just as she had loved Manuj and all the ones before them. The idea of hurting any of her human herd was anathema.
Secrets are best kept by the dead, her mother's voice whispered.
Ama grimaced as she bumped and maneuvered her way through the crowd. She stopped before a fruit vendor. His stand was filled with small figs, withered grapes, hard dates, and unhealthy olives. Ama picked up a fig and pinched it gently between her index and thumb. The fruit was hard and ungiving. She frowned and placed it back.
"You won't find better, my lady."
She looked up and into the dark eyes of a slightly built man. He wore the colorful clothes of an Akkadian.
Looks like Yusef, doesn't he, little one?
She blinked at him. He cocked an eyebrow.
"Is something wrong?"
Ama blushed. "Sorry. You just remind me of someone."
He smiled. "I hope that is a good thing."
Is it, daughter? Hela's voice giggled. Is it a good thing?
Ama ignored the voice. "It is. You traveled from Babylon?"
He nodded. "My son and I." The black bearded man pointed to the small boy sitting on the ground beside the cart. The child raised his eyes and smiled at Ama. It was the same boy she'd picked up a few minutes earlier. She returned his grin. "The harvest was better there than here."
"Not much."
"No," he whispered. "Not much."
She touched a sparse purple grape bunch. They felt firm, but not overly hard. She smiled. "I'll take these." She placed four bunches in her basket.
The man smiled. "Those are--"
Ama returned his smile. The man's eyes became unfocused as he stared.
"I'm not done yet, sir."
"Of course," the man whispered. He wavered on his feet.
She shook her head and renewed her focus.
The merchant's eyes sharpened. He wiped sweat from his forehead. "Felt faint there for a moment."
"It's the heat," Ama said. She reached for a fig but the man's hand covered the fruit. "Sir?"
He waggled a finger. "I must first see some coin, please."
"Of course," Ama said. She reached into the small bag beneath her shawl and produced a slice.
The merchant stared at it and then smiled. "Ample for the grapes. Will buy a fig or two."
"What about the dates?"
He shook his head. "Harvest is very bad this year."
"And so it was last Market Day."
"Yes. And my supply runs low. The dates are far more expensive."
"No matter," she whispered and procured another slice from the bag.
The man's eyes lit up. "Now that will purchase some dates." He moved her hand. "But you don't want those." He reached behind the stand and brought out a large bowl filled with plump, juicy dates. "I think these are more fitting."
Ama stared. "Where did you get those?"
He straightened and puffed out his chest. "They are the best of the season, aren't they?"
"Yes. But where did you find them?"
He leaned in. "Babylon still holds secrets for those that know where to look."
"The city is hardly complete."
"Which means there are places even the King has yet to discover."
"Like his own garden?"
His face flushed and he shrugged. "Perhaps."
"As many as this slice will buy," she said.
The man began scooping out the dates and filling her basket. She chose three figs at random, knowing full well the merchant had better. As she suspected, he replaced her chosen fruits with the best of his stock. When she left him, she still felt his stare.
Hela. Whenever she thought of Hela, her focus weakened. She couldn't afford another such lapse in the market; it could be disastrous. She smiled as she remembered the merchant's face.
So much like Yusef. Could have been his twin.
She felt a shudder of want and ignored it.
Ama held the basket in front of her with both hands. The pick pockets would be more interested in goods today than money. Slices and shekels were not something they could eat. Fruits and vegetables might be more difficult to hide, but staying alive another day was much more important than having coin.
She bumped against men and women as she made her way past stands of clothing, tools, and pottery. Most of the onlookers were just that--not there to buy, but merely to look and, perhaps, steal.
Toward the rear of the courtyard, she found what she was looking for. He was there, dressed in a crimson tunic with a blue
shawl around his shoulders. His lined and ancient face was humorless, but his eyes glittered. Of all those in the market, he was the only one who seemed not only comfortable in the heat, but to enjoy it.
The man looked up as she approached. His grey eyes locked with hers and a smile broke upon his face displaying his ancient teeth. "Madam."
She bowed. "Nergur."
Strands of gold and silver hung down from the top of his stand. The expensive metal was threaded through stones of lapis lazuli. On the stand was a cedar tray that held rings, cuffs, and amulets. Each piece was made of either gold or silver, but all were festooned with lapis.
"And how did the last piece treat you?"
"Lapis always fades," she whispered.
"Sin tells us to enjoy what we have for as long as we have it."
She nodded. "Indeed. But that means more lapis."
Nergur coughed with dusty laughter. "Then good for me, for I have plenty. Also good for you?"
"Tell me, how many other buyers do you have on Market Days? Do you come just for me?"
He shrugged. "Perhaps. Perhaps you are not my only customer."
"In Ur?"
"I never tell my secrets, my dear."
"Else they wouldn't be secrets."
"Exactly," he agreed. He picked up a cuff from the tray and held it out to her. "I normally wouldn't suggest a piece like this. The stones are... too vulgar for a woman such as you. But perhaps they will be useful for," he licked his lips, "another?"
She nodded. "I see what you mean."
The lapis stones were irregularly shaped. The cutter had obviously been an amateur or was too anxious to do a proper job on them. The cuff itself, however, was beautiful. Cuneiform had been inscribed along its edges.
"For the priestess," she whispered. She looked up at him. "For what priestess?"
He laughed. "For you, obviously."
Ama shook her head. "I am no priestess."
"To me, my dear, you will always be a priestess. A queen perhaps."
"A queen without a kingdom."
"Some kingdoms are beyond definition, Ama. You of all people should know that."
Daemons of Garaaga (Children of Garaaga) Page 8
