You're the one who bakes the bappir
In the big oven,
Puts in order the piles of hulled grains,
Ninkasi, you're the one who bakes
the bappir in the big oven,
Puts in order the piles of hulled grains…
…When you pour out the filtered beer
Of the collector vat,
It is [like] the onrush of Tigris and Euphrates.
Ninkasi, you're the one who pours out the
Filtered beer of the collector vat,
It is [like] the onrush of Tigris and Euphrates.
Hymn to Ninkasi -
Sumerian Goddess of Bread and Beer
End-April – 3,390 BC
Earth: Village of Assur
Ninsianna
Ninsianna stretched to ease the crick which had developed in her back and wiped the sweat from her brow. Every spring, they entered planting season full of energy left over from the idle winter, but within days they were reminded that the sun was a harsh taskmaster. If not for the fact Mikhail appeared uncomfortable every time she took off her shawl, she would have already stripped down to the waist like their neighbors had already done.
The too-small cast-off shawl of her childhood was artfully tied to cover all the parts that made the stoic Angelic stiffen and stare bolt-straight into her eyes. The garment was sweaty, filthy, and plastered to her skin, making her silent curses to the sun all that more colorful. She could almost hear She-who-is laughing at her discomfort. Thank the goddess they were nearly done planting the day's allotment!
“Ninsianna,” Mikhail pointed to the plot next to theirs. “Why do those two old women plant their field alone? Don't they have family to help them?”
The plot in question had been freed from the receding flood waters a full week before her family's plot came above the floodtide, but the widow-sisters still had much left to plant in contrast to their nearly planted field. Yalda and Zhila were both women in their seventies, an advanced age even for the Ubaid. They bent over their baskets of seed, arthritic hands and backs bent from a lifetime of hard labor, methodically casting seed upon the silt. As they worked, they chattered to one another, one sister finishing the thoughts of the other.
“That's Yalda and Zhila,” Ninsianna said. “Halifians killed their sons in a raid and their daughters are married to men from far-off villages.”
“Why do they not go to live with them, then?" Mikhail tossed another handful of grain out onto the fertile soil. "Elderly women shouldn't be forced to perform such hard physical labor."
“They don't wish to be a burden upon their children,” Ninsianna said. “They are sisters and don't wish to be separated. So they fend for themselves.”
“Doesn't anybody help them?”
“If we finish planting our own fields before sundown,” she said, “we usually go over and help them finish spreading the rest of their baskets. They are very old and it takes them a long time. It's only an extra hour we have to offer per day, but it helps. They are very kind, funny old women.”
She didn't add that the reason so many villagers helped them was because Yalda made bread so soft it melted in your mouth, while Zhila was a talented brewer of just about any concoction which could be fermented. The widow sisters were savvy about who they rewarded with the real fruits of their labor, the bread and beer they manufactured from grain harvested from their field. No matter how much other villagers tried to steal their secret recipes, no one had ever been able to replicate the one-two punch of the brewer-and-baker widow-sisters who avidly worshipped Ninkasi, the goddess of barley and beer.
“What about them?” Mikhail nodded towards where Jamin and several warriors lounged on the edge of the field, their baskets empty.
“It gets more difficult for the Chief to get them to do their fair share every year,” Ninsianna snorted. “They say they are powerful warriors and such work is beneath them. If we don't plant, we don't eat!”
“We should move faster, then,” he said. “So we can offer to help. You have an extra hand to plant your allotment now. We can do more.”
“Yes,” Ninsianna nodded with approval. “We shall go faster.”
Tossing handfuls of the wild barley seed into the air, Mikhail whipped his enormous black-and-brown striped wings with a frenzy to distribute the tiny grains across the silt. The breeze whipped up by his wings caused her to close her eyes and relish the feeling of being cooled by a living fan. Laughter welled up in her chest, the joy of watching him show off for her making her heart swell with happiness.
“Mikhail, stop!” she laughed. “If you spread your seed any further, you'll plant grain all the way up to the Taurus Mountains!”
“Are we done yet,” he asked with a smile.
Her heart skipped a beat. For a moment, she forgot to breathe. If she'd thought he was beautiful before, that was nothing compared to the joy she felt as she saw him smile for the very first time. Ever since the goddess had touched her with the gift of sight, Ninsianna could see straight into people’s souls. Right now, she was being blinded by the golden-white spirit-light which surrounded him, radiating out of his heart as though it were rays of the sun. Realizing her jaw had fallen open, she shut her mouth and attempted to compose her features into something other than naked desire.
“Did I do something wrong?” Mikhail frowned. The colors in his aura clamped down behind that thin, blue eggshell which was the color she would always associate with him.
Ninsianna placed her hand over his heart and took his hand to place upon her cheek, tilting her head to smile up at him.
“No, Mikhail. This is the first time I have ever seen you smile.”
His fingers slid across her cheek to tangle in her hair. “Ninsianna?”
His mask slipped. Naked emotion showed on his face. Time slowed down, allowing her to savor the moment. She paused, her breathing labored, as she stared into his unearthly blue eyes, bluer and paler than the midwinter sky. She knew. Even if the goddess had not gifted her with the gift of sight, she knew. But this was not the right moment. Her elderly neighbors watched from their right, while Jamin and his friends chattered feet from where they stood. They weren’t exactly … inconspicuous.
“Come,” she regretfully broke the contact. She took his hand and tugged him towards the widow-sisters. “We are done planting for today. Let me introduce you to our neighbors.”
Chapter 46
Sword of the Gods: The Chosen One Page 50
