Preface:
It was cold on the mountainside. The sun had just sunk into the western horizon, leaving a blood-red sky washed with streaks of black cloud. Curiously appropriate.
The wind screamed around us, tangling our cloaks around our legs, swirling the clouds of sickly-sweet smoke into streamers of purple mist, stinging the eyes and burning the mouth as it rose, spiraling from the heaps of ashes and ruined buildings on the ground far below. I took a deep breath in; it raised the gorge in my throat, a feeling left over from mortality that I had not experienced in many, many years.
The taste of my children, burning on my tongue. The taste of my beloved, turning my stomach. The taste of my sister, the bright mirror of myself, gagging me. The taste of my mother, prickling my eyes to tears that would never come.
I had never hated so much, never dreamed I was capable of it. I had never claimed to be an angel or a saint, or even a good man. I had been witness to atrocities, had even committed many myself. But even still I had never imagined the capacity for such animosity in me. I felt it churning within my chest like a living thing, a worm of diseased conception, cocooned inside me. I wondered vaguely what it would grow into. I did not really care.
I did not dare to look toward Vladimir. I knew if I did I would see a mirror of my own hate in his face, the same blind, impotent fury, the same agonizing grief, perhaps even more. He was even more passionate than me due to his basic nature. We had been brothers for many, many years; I could feel his pain like my own, emanating from him in waves--but his was hot like the burning sun, whereas mine was cold, colder than ice. As always, we complemented each other, even now. We were rendered utterly motionless, crushed into stillness by the weight of it all.
Everything we had dreamed of, had built, was gone. Vanished in this accursed smoke. I could see the ruins of our castles across the valley, burning as our children were. My mind briefly flashed back to the moment I had realized it was too late: we had sat still too long, had allowed them to get too close, to take us by surprise. The horribly numb, artificial blackness and burning pain of the witches' touch had paralyzed us, but they had left our ears clear, to be able to hear the screams and shrieks and cries of our beloved ones being destroyed around us. I still did not know how we had escaped; I remembered regaining the ability to move suddenly, Vladimir gasping in shock beside me, hundreds of feet below among the fallen rocks at the base of this cliff. We had scrambled up the slope to see what had happened, and upon gaining a clear view of the valley below had been stilled by the sheer magnitude of the devastation. Gone. All gone.
The murderers were long gone, leaving nothing but their stink behind, a clear trail for us to follow if we dared. An invitation to further slaughter. I wasn't disillusioned enough by my grief and anger to imagine that such a pursuit would end in anything for myself and my brother except for our deaths... And although I hungered to the core of my being for death, for an end to this pain, to not have to experience however many more endless, empty years awaited me in this immortal existence of ours...I wanted something else even more.
They would pay. They would pay dearly. And we were patient and crafty enough to wait for that payback, would enjoy every drop of it, savored and treasured, vengeance sweeter than any hot blood could ever be.
That was my vow.
Chapter One: Lilith Speaks
Come, my children, I will tell you a tale of beginnings. Not the beginning, for that took place long before I was even dreamed of, but a beginning, my beginning, which is the beginning of you all.
You have never heard this song, this ballad of your birthing, the story of your start. You have wandered as orphans through this world, ignorant of your history, knowing only yourselves and your own deeds, blind and deaf to the root of things that binds you all together, you, my beautiful, wild, passionate, contentious, wonderful shining children. Come sit with me and hear what was, and learn something of yourselves, to realize what could be. Perhaps, with this knowledge, you may come to a better understanding of yourselves, may come to someday truly grow into the glory that you have inherited but never used.
Riches untold are yours for the taking...
My tale begins long, long ago. I remember very little of my early childhood; all I have now are vague but still vividly-colored snatches of memory. I remember the dusty streets of a town which today no one even remembers its name, and dirty bare feet scuffing up that dust; I remember hunger and thirst, never having enough; I remember the laughs and cries of my sisters and brothers, and the warmth of our bodies tangled together like a litter of puppies on a too-small bed. I remember the softness of my mother's voice and the roughness of my father's hands and beard. I remember believing that I was mostly happy, for I did not know what happiness really was; I also remember being frightened when one day my father took my wrist in an iron fist and hauled me from that crowded bed into the cold darkness before dawn, taking me away from it all, far away, to Ur, which even then was already a great city. This was 3500 years before the birth of the one they came to call the Christ, in a place that is now called Sumeria.
I had always known I was different. Where my family was, one and all, dark-skinned, dark-haired, dark-eyed, I was fair and had hair the color of the evening sky after a dust storm, a golden red. I also remember my mother drawing a wide-toothed bone comb through my hair when I was small and tsking over it, her words distant memories but still clear even now, "Ach, child, such beauty can only bring trouble. Better to have been born dark like the others." My eyes were light, too, they said, but I had never seen them before, except vaguely in an ewer of water held by the local priest during my name-day consecration. They were blue, dark blue like lapis lazuli. They called me Lilith, "lady of the air", because the priests and priestesses told my mother and father I was born to be consecrated to the winds. A grand name for the daughter of a basket-weaver and a potter, to my shame.
I tried to ignore the stares and whispers, tried to blend into the background, but it never quite worked. I remember hiding in alleys behind heaps of garbage to escape my older brothers and their friends as they chased me with reeds to whip my fair skin into red welts, they laughed at me, called me a sport of nature, a strange thing not meant to be. I cursed my fairness and my difference every day, once I became aware of it at an early age. My mother's prophetic mutterings one day came true too soon—my father dragging me to Ur, when I was twelve, the month after the first flow of blood announced that I was of age.
I remember Ur as a maelstrom of colors and smells and sounds: gray dust, gleaming gold and brass, vibrant colors on the market stall tents; the sweat and dung and burning incense and roasting meat permeating the air; the braying of asses and of men, barking dogs, merchants hawking their wares, rumbling cartwheels, the screams of slaves at the lash of the whip as they hauled their great blocks of stone up the stepped sides of the ziggurats. My father never let go of my wrist. We passed under the great city gates and down the long, straight boulevard to the Temple, the Great Temple of Inanna, impossibly huge, blazing with torches and blindingly clad in bronze, flowers everywhere, the clanging of the gongs and murmurs of the faithful.
My father left me for one moment to confer with a white-clad priestess. Here, there were no priests, only priestesses: women, beautiful women and plain women and old and young women, clad in soft linen skirts that fell in ruffled layers down to their clean, sandal-clad feet, their necks and wrists and ears adorned with gold and silver, one breast usually proudly displayed while the other was concealed by a fold of the same fabric as their skirts. Their hair was braided and long, studded with flowers or pearls, coiled elaborately. The coloring of the women was varied, many dark like my family and everyone else I knew, but there were also, intriguingly, several women of lighter coloring like myself. I was fascinated, and thrilled to see other people like myself. Perhaps I wasn't a sport of nature after all.
The woman my father spoke to was older, clutching an armful of clay tablets, a stylus stuck behind one ear, a record-keeper. She sat cross-legged on the ground by the front entrance, shaded by an open-sided tent of beautiful dark-blue cloth. I waited by the little stall selling sacrificial birds, my eyes drawn like magnets to the fluttering inhabitants of the reed cages. Poor little pigeons and doves and wrens and sparrows, singing their last songs before the devout could proffer them upon the altar, their skinny little necks wrung dry in the hopes that their blood would appease the Goddess and bring luck or fertility or love requited or success in war. I looked up for a moment when I felt their eyes upon me, my father and the woman, whose sharp gaze took my measure in seconds and seemed to find me wanting.
"Who told you to bring her here?" I heard the woman say crossly. "We took in the last of the novitiates last month. Surely she can't catch up in that time. Too much." She clucked her tongue in annoyance.
My father grunted, sighed. "We have been journeying for two months, Mother. The road was long, and the winter storms made travel almost impossible in some places. We came as fast as we could.¨ He rubbed his bearded chin in frustration. "The priestess at home said she was to be consecrated here, not there. She has been dedicated to Inanna since her birth. It was a great hardship for us, Mother, to come here as we were told. Please." His gaze was pleading as he looked at the priestess. I was shocked, I had never heard that tone in his voice before; my father, who beat my mother every day for the principle of it, a man of hard words and harder fists—pleading with a woman? For me? The strange daughter he hardly looked at? We had spoken barely ten words on that horrible, dusty voyage.
The woman squinted at me again, this time seeming to find more value in her assessment. She put down her tablets and hauled herself to her feet with a grunt, and gestured imperiously toward me. "Come here, girl. Let me see you better. These old eyes are weak. Come here."
I went obediently, as I had been taught. I submitted myself to her examination, let myself be poked and prodded like a horse at auction. She looked at my teeth and the whites of my eyes, felt my stomach and thighs like she was seeing how much meat there was to take to roast on the brazier. She reached up and took one of the plaits of my hair in her leathery hand, turning it around, looking at it in the sunlight, to see it gleam. I felt a flush of shameful pride—my hair was my only vanity. Finally she grunted again, turned to my father.
"So, is she a virgin?" I flushed red, and cursed my fair skin.
My father flushed darker as well, not from embarrassment but from anger. His jaw tightened and he fairly spit the words out. "Yes, of course. My wife and I are devout. The priestess at home tested her." He paused and shot a sidelong look at me, flushed again and looked away. "And she has always been a good, obedient girl. Strange, but well-mannered." The last part was said grudgingly, and shocked me to my core again.
I flushed again at the memory of that examination months ago, at remembering that burning, shameful feeling, as the old priestess was fumbling between my thighs and murmuring happily to herself that I was intact. Humiliating.
This priestess twisted her wrinkled mouth in thought. She turned to me again, spoke to me again. "So, girl, are you intelligent? Can you read at all? Do you want to learn?"
I felt an explosion of excitement at the thought, the idea of learning to read like the priestess and the priests, like the prosperous merchants. I knew how to put my name, I knew my numbers and the basic symbols of our cuneiform alphabet, but no more, and I told her so as humbly as I could. I knew it was a lot for a potter's daughter to know, and had often wondered why I was allowed to learn when my sisters weren't. It had added to the bitter feelings of my sisters toward me, to be excluded. "But I want to learn, Mother, I truly do!" I said.
She clucked her tongue. "Well, child, you're pretty enough to get anything you want, but beauty without brains is nothing but a flower withering in the sun." Her black eyes glinted in challenge. "The life of a novitiate is a hard one. There is privation, denial, you must learn discipline and commit all the ceremonial lore to rote, you must be willing to consecrate yourself mind, body and soul to the veneration and propagation of the worship of our Mother, Inanna." She tugged sharply on my braid, the pain causing me to see stars for a moment. " Are you willing to do this? To never see your family again, perhaps? To never marry, to have children only at the Goddess's wish? To perhaps die at Her command?"
I wasn't sure at first. I had always wondered why I was treated differently, as if something else besides normal life was destined for me. But I had always thought that "normal" was "right," although I knew it was not for me. I had spent so many hours at the feet of our priestess back home, hearing the legends, learning about the ceremonies, that it seemed it would be easy for me. But to never have a home, a husband, maybe never children? What kind of a freakish woman is that?
But then I thought about the other things such a life would entail: a freedom my mother or sisters had never, would never have. To not have to toil day in and day out, exhausting my body with work and childbearing and always having to bend to others' wishes. The ability to learn, to experience new and interesting things. To be part of something so profound, so deep, so fulfilling. To be able to begin to understand the touch of the divine fabric of the spirit world, a world which I'd always keenly felt even in the midst of my anguish or feeling so different and strange.
"Yes, Mother. I am willing. I want to."
She blinked and nodded as if she'd been expecting that answer. But her eyes narrowed and she pointed one bony finer at me:"We shall see, girl. Many say that but end up running into the night after a few days. We shall see."
And with that, my old life ended, and my new life began.
True to the old priestess's words, I never saw my family again, except one time at High Festival, during the corn harvest, years later. It was a special time, a conjunction of planets and the moon that only happened in harmony with the harvest every fifty years. My father and oldest brother had made the pilgrimage from home to offer sacrifices at Inanna's temple, as well as at Tammuz's shrine nearby—my brother was getting married, and wished to obtain a special blessing. I saw them from far away, felt a jolt of shock at seeing them there among the crowd. They did not recognize me, but why should they? By then I had changed so much I barely recognized myself. But what surprised me was that I felt nothing at seeing them; no regret, no desire to dash down among the throng to find them, to hold them and tell them I was well and happy. I somehow knew they would not really care, that they considered me dead for all intents and purposes. I had found my place there, in that temple, among those women, and felt no wish whatsoever to return to that drab, dirty existence, or to even remember it anymore. I turned away without regret, never looking back.
Those next few years, after my consecration, were hard, as the priestess had promised, but I reveled in my new environment. The strict discipline was not difficult for me to maintain after years of scarcity and harsh treatment by my father; the heavy study load was manageable. I was a fast learner, and found I had a good memory, a talent with words and numbers.
The only thing that I hated was the first day, when they shaved my head. I cried like a little girl, seeing my long braids coil like red-gold snakes in the dust by my feet. The priestess in charge of the novices slapped my face and told me to shut up, that vanity was a stumbling block to true understanding, that one day I'd be glad for this lesson. I shut up, dried my tears, and tried not to see myself in any reflective surfaces for a long, long time. But the woman was right: by the time my hair had grown back again, I had realized that freedom from vanity was a doorway to a world of heightened reality, and that knowledge of one's self, realization that you are beautiful is different from vanity. Inanna the Beautiful, Goddess of Love, Fertility, Beauty and War, the most lovely thing in the heavens, has no mirror. She IS the mirror. She shines her glory upon all around her, magnified by and magnifying the wonders of the universe. How ironic, how these things I held to so strongly as "truths" would be shattered and changed so soon after committing to them.
I knew that one day I would finish my training and be expected to take my place in the Temple, and what that would entail. I would be the Goddess for one night. I would embody the divine and consummate the Great Marriage, to bless the crops and the cities and the people, to bring light and life to my world. All of us there would take our spots beneath the incarnation of Tammuz and complete the circle. The idea frightened me, as it did all my sister-novices, but the fear was something we had to learn to master, because it was part of what we were. There was no shame in it, being the vessel of the holy; the union of god and goddess, of man and woman, was nothing but natural and sacred. But that knowledge still didn't keep me from writhing in consternation when the date for my rite was set, on the day of the High Festival the year that I would turn 18.
That day was fast approaching.
At least I could take some comfort in the knowledge that I was not destined to be a temple prostitute, one of the lower-ranking priestesses whose duty it was to lay with the supplicant men every day of their lives. That was different from the Great Marriage, and although I knew it was still holy and there should be no shame in it, I still thanked the Great Mother every morning, noon, and night for my luck, to be designated as a higher priestess, to serve the High Priestess in the Goddess's sanctuary and perhaps someday to BE the High Priestess herself. The thought thrilled me.
Until then, I had never seen the High Priestess except from a great distance, once, even after living in the Temple for almost four years at that time. She kept apart, in her own private quarters, and held rites only for the more advanced priestesses. I remember my impression of her was that she was beautiful, breathtakingly so. And I also knew that that one sight of her had changed the course of my life yet again, as dramatically as when my father dragged me to the Temple.
I had been in the Temple for four years at that point, and had progressed quickly from novice to lay-priestess, with a complement of duties and responsibilities. That afternoon I had been carrying an armful of tablets from the scriptorium to the storage room, and had to cross the wide open courtyard from one building to the next. When I saw the procession of white-clad priestesses exit the Sanctum to my left I stopped still in the shade of one of the palm trees that dotted the courtyard in stands, struck motionless with curiosity. I knew the only person worthy of such a procession was her. I crouched behind the palm and struggled to see her through the phalanx surrounding her.
Like me, she was pale, like all of the "special" ones such as myself that were chosen from birth because of our difference. Still, she was the palest person I had ever seen. Her skin was white, whiter than bleached linen, and when she crossed through a sunbeam in the colonnaded walkway that morning I swore I saw her skin glitter like diamonds, throwing rainbow prisms into the air around her. Her long dark golden hair was unbound, falling in waves to the backs of her knees; she moved sinuously, gracefully, like a serpent through the sand; and even though I could not see her face clearly from that distance, I knew that she was the most lovely thing I had ever seen. I felt jealousy course through me like a shameful flame, and screwed my eyes shut until I could master my envy. When I opened them again the procession had stopped, and to my chagrin I realized that she had seen me there, watching her.
She looked at me for a long moment, and although I could not tell what color her eyes were, I saw that they were dark, captivating, and focused entirely upon me, in all my shame there behind the tree, surrounded by my tablets which had been dropped in shock. A small smile twisted up one side of her lovely, generous mouth; I saw a glint of shining white teeth. And I saw again the sparkling of her skin, as she leaned forward toward me through her retinue, the sunlight striking the side of her face and catching her golden hair on fire. She turned her head slightly to say something quietly to the priestess next to her, never taking her eyes from mine. I felt captured by her gaze, felt like I was smothering, my breath coming in ever-faster gasps. I was frightened, but I didn't know exactly why. Was I to be reprimanded? Had I committed an offense of some kind, by staring at her? I didn't know of any such precepts, but I was just barely out of the novitiate, and still ignorant of many things.
The other priestess glanced toward me, recognizing me, and replied to the High Priestess; I thought I recognized the shape of my name on the woman's lips, and flushed even more in shame. The lovely golden-haired woman smiled again, then pursed her lips as if in thought. Then she nodded sharply once, saying something else to the other priestess. The woman looked at me again with her eyebrows raised as if in surprise, then nodded assent with whatever the High Priestess had said. Then the High Priestess smiled again at me, blinking lazily like a sleepy, satisfied cat, and proceeded into the Library without another glance at me.
I collapsed against the palm tree, breathless, and wondered what I had just witnessed. After a few moments I had the presence of mind to gather up my tablets and hurry to complete my errand, but my mind was filled with questions. What had they been saying? What did this mean?
It was only a day later when I got my answer.
I had originally been intended for the Keeper of the Records' staff. I had a good, sure hand with the stylus, and an excellent memory and grasp of mathematics and lore. They intended to use my skills there. Although it was not a glamorous assignment, at least it wasn't a temple prostitute's lot, or strangling birds on the common altar. But the day after my long-distance encounter with the High Priestess, that changed. A novice came to me while I was in the Library making an inventory of last year's grain tallies, bearing a summons from the Ward Mother. The Mother was the one in charge of ensuring that the residents of the Temple complex, some thousand women and girls, were properly fed, clothed, and housed at all times. I had met her several times; indeed, she was the one who had shorn me four years before as Novice Mother, prior to being given the assignment as Ward Mother. I hoped to make a better showing with her this time, and found myself twisting the linen of my skirt in consternation as I hurried to her office.
The older woman glanced up from a stack of scrolls and her eyes narrowed shrewdly.
"Lilith, correct?" Her voice was dry as papyrus.
I nodded assent.
She reached into another stack and withdrew a wax tablet. "Well, my dear, you have been re-assigned. You need to go and pack your things, to be moved to another dormitory."
I gasped. "Why, Mother? What have I done? Has the Keeper not found my work acceptable?" Once again, shame coursed through me like a flash flood. I hated failure.
She chuckled. "No, not by half." She flipped the wax tablet toward me. "Look at the seal, child. It's from the office of the High Priestess herself. You're to be placed on her staff, once you finish the next cycle. You will be living in the dormitory with her other Elect." She chuckled again. "The Keeper of the Records is devastated. She says she'll have to replace you with two girls."
My eyes widened with shock. I couldn't speak. It was a great, great honor to be chosen for the High Priestess's staff. It was thought to be the best position possible—the best food, the best clothing and quarters, the least offensive duties. And the idea of being close to her! To learn from her! I was staggered. What had I done? I finally found my voice and asked the Mother just that. She ruefully shrugged her shoulders and smiled back at me.
"I do not know, child, but I do know that you need to obey with alacrity. Get going!"
I fled.
Now two years later, I still had not seen the High Priestess again. Shortly after my re-assignment to her staff, she left Ur and did not return for another two years. The priestess directly below her, Shahanna, was a kind woman who taught me much. I looked forward to being able to properly serve the High Priestess when she returned. I had realized it wasn't an uncommon thing for the priestesses to not see her; apparently, she came and went frequently, had a very close personal staff of retainers, and was very private, as her position demanded.
We got the word that she was returning from her long absence a few weeks before the High Festival, before my turn to consummate the Great Marriage. My feelings of eagerness at finally being able to serve her mingled with my trepidation at my role in the rites ahead. I was afraid; I hadn't set eyes on a man since the day my father brought me to the Temple, except for occasional glimpses of slaves and laborers from the Temple walls. The chastity of the priestesses of Inanna was strictly enforced: any woman caught in compromising situations with a man, any man, would be disciplined severely—the mildest punishment was banishment, the strongest, death. None of my sister-priestesses dared to challenge this; it was our sacred duty to remain pure, and it was an honor.
The High Priestess returned with much pomp and fanfare late in the afternoon two weeks before the Festival. I was helping to supervise the preparations in her private kitchens for the welcoming banquet that night when I heard the trumpets sound. I ran to the windows with the others and leaned out, wide-eyed with anticipation.
There she was in the courtyard below, once again surrounded by her retinue of white-clad priestesses, reclined on a dark-blue, cushioned palanquin, her golden hair shining, her white skin gleaming in the warm, fading sunlight. I was dazzled. Then I noticed something that staggered me.
Sitting next to her in the palanquin was a man.
He was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, even next to her. His skin was white, blindingly so, like hers. His black hair hung in gleaming waves to his shoulders, his perfectly muscled body swathed in royal purple. He had one arm around her, familiar, affectionate; she gazed at him fatuously. After listening to her say something he threw back his head and laughed, the most gorgeous sound I had ever heard, like the ringing of great bells. His teeth glistened in his laughter. I saw his face perfectly, and felt as if I had never been alive before that moment, until I first saw him.
I felt my cheeks flush and my knees grow weak with something I had never experienced before. I was dizzy, and felt my breath come in gasps like I had been running for miles. I could not take my eyes from his face, from him.
As if he could hear my pounding heart, the man looked up directly to the window I hung from, and his dark eyes found me. A slow, warm smile stretched across his face, his eyes locked on mine. I felt as if I was caught inside a whirlwind, my body tingling, my thoughts chaotic.
I felt the sharp jab of an elbow in my side and finally tore my gaze from the man, to see who had poked me. Palia, the sister-priestess with whom I shared a chamber, was staring at me in disapproval. She was quite a bit older than me, plain, and rather bitter; we had never particularly gotten along. I had always felt guilty about that--I knew subconsciously that she was jealous of me, and it was shameful to us both.
"What are you staring at, Lilith? It's improper." She knew who I'd been looking at, and she recognized what I was feeling even when I didn't: lust. Instant chemical attraction. Something we were explicitly to avoid.
I ducked my head in embarrassment, but I couldn't help but ask. "Who is that?" I whispered.
She rolled her eyes. "It's the High Priest of Tammuz. He journeyed here with the High Priestess from Akkad for the High Festival."
My eyebrows raised. Illogically, moronically, I felt my stomach drop in chagrin and disappointment. Traditionally, the High Priest of Tammuz and the High Priestess of Inanna were consorts, the earthly embodiments of the celestial lovers who blessed the universe with their union. "So, they are...together?" I asked stupidly.
Palia snorted. "Of course they are. What does it matter to you? We have other things to attend to." With that I let her pull me away from the window, although I felt like my soul was still lingering there, trapped by his eyes. The last thing I saw was that the High Priestess had looked up as well, her eyes narrow with suspicion. I do not know if she saw me, but a thrill of dread traveled down my spine.
