Babylon
Prologue
Algeciras, Spain
Hot sun warms the part of my skin that isn't covered by the dark blue silk cloth that wraps around my body and covers everything except for my face.
The buzz of the morning is as usual, people urging the sales of produce and livestock, foreign and native tongues chattering alike.
Gentle smiles greet me, but I know they're filled with poison just under the surface.
"Oh, the harlot who gave herself to a married man and got pregnant out of wedlock."
I can hear their thoughts just as clear as I see their deceitful faces.
I roll my eyes at the sound of my older sister chattering away not far behind me.
My swollen belly swelters in the heat, nausea rising within me. Just as Nahla's hand wraps around my wrist to catch up with my quick pace, burning liquid gushes from my lips and on to the ground beneath us.
"Lilah," She says as she guards my long hair that's slipped out of my silk so it won't get tarnished with the repulsive remains of my stomach that are still fleeing my mouth.
When I'm done, I look up to see I've created an audience and I curse just under my breath.
"You think I'd be used to embarrassing myself." I sneer to Nahla as she puts a comforting arm around me and cuts through the crowd like the sharpest sword to the thinnest of string.
"She's getting tired of being trapped in there. It seems she's getting more and more restless." She replies, taking the edge of her own silk to wipe my mouth before she fixes my hair back to how it was before she had to hold it back, perfecting me the way she always has.
"How do you know it is a girl?" I ask her. I've been meaning to ask her that question for a while now. She had been calling my baby "she" ever since she learned I was with child.
"Children conceived under stress are girls." She answers. "Children conceived in happiness are boys. That is why it is much easier to raise boys than it is to raise girls."
I give her a look and she smiles widely, giggling profusely.
"Three nieces and four nephews is what Luka and I have blessed you with," She explains and takes a breath in, examining me further to make sure I look presentable once more. "Girls are harder to raise than boys. So be prepared to pray." She smooths the silk over my hair once more and cups my cheeks in her hands.
"I have been praying and I hear nothing." I argue and she exhales. "Which is why I stopped believing in a God altogether." I point out. "I will not have a relationship with something that does not listen nor speak back."
"And you said the same thing when father tried to propose the idea of a husband to you." Nahla breathes out as we start to head home.
"I have a valid point. Men are unreliable. Like wild horses. Their egos are so fragile and they spook easily."
"Not a man of strong faith." She tries to tell me and I stop in my tracks and look her in the eyes.
"Need I remind you it was a strong man of faith that betrayed his wife and got me pregnant, Nahla?"
"Lilah—"
"Not to mention his dishonesty with me. I would have never laid with him if I had known he was married."
"You should not have laid with him at all, Delilah. Even if he weren't married." She speaks out gently and I close my mouth, exhaling through my nose.
Nahla. The golden child. Full of faith and love for life with the upmost dedication to her husband, Luka, and their seven children.
She's never had an argument with our parents, always so obedient and patient. Nahla has built her life around being cooperative with mother and father. She even married who they suggested she marry. Anything to avoid a problem with Momma and Baba, Nahla has done.
I decided to break my parent's expectations quickly, though. My first time arguing with my parents was when I told my mother I was going to travel with my father.
She refused, claiming that a young girl has no business running around with merchantmen. I wanted to get out of my home. I've despised the idea of women being pushed and pulled in directions that men set our compasses to. The same, boring routine of settling with a mediocre man, having a litter of children and remaining a housewife the rest of my days is the last thing I planned on doing.
By the night comes, a harsh strain is put on the flesh lining my throat as another scream tears from me. My fists ache with how hard they're balled up, my head feels as if it's about to burst, and the pain coming from between my legs is enough to make me nearly pass out.
The only thing that keeps me from giving up is the shrill coming from the tiny mouth of my child. Her hell-raising war cry mimics mine in its intensity. At this point, we're battling to see who can scream the loudest.
"One more push, Lilah." My mother tells me calmly, her face solemn. She's been wearing the same expression ever since she found out I was pregnant.
Nahla rubs my bare calf as I give my final effort to get the baby out of me.
It all happens at once: a slimy but warm and restless infant is handed to me just as soon as the cord attaching us is no longer intact.
Unimaginable emotion overcomes me and sobs emit from my raw throat, tears of pain turning to tears of unadulterated happiness. Her loud cries are a relief to my ears now, crying is a good sign. It's when they're silent that causes worry.
My mother doesn't acknowledge me before she leaves me with Nahla.
"What will you call her?" My sister offers a wet cloth to wipe the mess of where the girl came from off of her. I take it, gently cleaning her to the best of my ability before Nahla takes her momentarily to help me swaddle her.
"You name her." I reply lowly, and her eyes widen slightly.
"Delilah, she is not my daughter. I have no right to name her." She states, smiling lightly. "She is yours."
Horrid reality sinks within me.
"Nahla," I start, trying to think of how I'm going to tell her my plan. "I want to leave Spain." I explain and she snaps her attention to me.
Her smile is gone, her dark brows furrowed and her eyes confused.
"What? What are you talking about Delilah?"
"Mamma can't even look me in the eye anymore, Nahla. Baba speaks to me, but I know he doesn't see me as his sweet Lilah anymore. My child is the result of a mistake that has severed my ties with my family and friends. You and Luka are the only ones who don't treat me differently. I have been wanting to leave for a while now and there is no better opportunity than now."
"Delilah, you have only lived sixteen years. What do you know about surviving on your own, let alone with a newborn baby? Where will you even go? How will you even get there?"
"There is a merchant ship preparing to sail to England in a few weeks. I have already spoken to the captain and I can go with them and go from there."
"England?!" Her sudden change of tone causes the baby to cry louder and I squeeze my eyes closed, gently shaking her to calm her back down. "You're taking a new child to England with you?"
"She will stay here with you." I explain.
Nahla steps to me, exposing my breast to the child so she can feed.
"How am I supposed to produce milk to nurture her with, Delilah? How am I going to raise her as my own when I know the truth?"
"Nahla, you have seven other children. You know what you're doing by now. I don't know the first thing about raising a child because I'm still a child myself. Luka—"
"Oh, Luka!" She interrupts and throws her hands up. "What am I to tell him? 'Yes, my love, we are raising another child for Delilah so she can flee the country and go get herself killed by wild animals and savages'."
"I have the chance to start over, Nahla. A new place, new people, a new everything. My reputation won't be tainted by my disbelief in a God and the use of my body in the bed of a man I'm not married to. I know I am the main topic in our people's conversations. I see the way they whisper and snicker when I'm around. I won't have any more of it."
"Delilah," She calms, pacing slowly as she thinks intensely, her finger tips pressed to her lips. "What are you going to tell Momma and Baba?"
"I'll tell them the truth."
"And what if they won't let you leave?"
The memory of one of the last moments I shared with my sister is interrupted by the captain of the merchant ship announcing our arrival in Sherborne, England.
I tug my silk tighter around myself, stepping to the front of the boat to be one of the first to get off.
I've traveled all over with my father, but he was always by my side. It's odd to be in a new place with no one to help me navigate anything.
It's decently busy, people walking around me to get to wherever they're going. Church bells ring throughout the city and I realize they are all headed to their christian church. I roll my eyes at the time they are wasting praying to a God that doesn't exist.
The only person that doesn't seem to be tripping over her own feet so she won't be late to church a blonde woman...well, girl, not much younger than I am I assume. She looks almost as lost as me, her blue eyes darting around at the people pushing past her. I approach her, opening my mouth to speak to her.
"Hello, I am Delilah. I need help finding..." I stop speaking English when utter confusion masks over the young girls face. I recall what my father has always told me, "people from the north are either from England or have Viking in them." I take this in to consideration and keep the smile on my face as I try speaking to her in the language I assume she speaks. "I am Delilah." I tell her in Norse and this sparks a smile on her lips. "What is your name?"
"Iskra." She replies.
