Chapter Seven: Ishtar

It surprised Ishtar, less than it surprised Euphenia, her bare head receding back into the grains of sand, while Ishtar’s head bashed itself unintentionally against her throat. Ishtar’s hands wrapped themselves and tightened around the woolly fur fabrics hanging off of Euphenia’s gangly form and she flinched away from the older, feeling the hot escape of breath from her mouth. Euphenia let out a strangled gasp, and Ishtar’s body tensed for the moment when either she, Amalric, Bryony, Cleon or even Marius might strike her. She shouldn’t have acted so suddenly. Euphenia writhed in her grasp, but even with the puff of sand raised around them, making everything hazy, her grip didn’t loosen.

“Ishtar, by the—” she hacked out, convulsively attempting to wriggle out of her grasp. “Have you gone mad?!”

“I’m not going back!” she yelled back, pushing all her weight at her while Euphenia gradually wore her down. “Not even if Zu and Namtar were sent to bring me back, not even if Enlil sent a hurricane to retrieve me. You can’t make me!”

The foreign, pagan names soared over Euphenia’s head, leaving only a fury burning in her narrow eyes. Her teeth gnashed and Ishtar knew she’d seen the last sentence as a challenge when her hand flashed to Ishtar’s neck and squeezed.

“I can! I will!” She shrieked back, kicking Ishtar in the stomach and throwing her against the desert floor. The wind blew out from Ishtar’s gut. “Because you’re mine!”

Rubbish!

The words wouldn’t let themselves be wrenched past Ishtar’s lips as she panted for air, pushing herself halfway from the ground. She blanched at the throbbing pain going through half her head and coughed dust out of herself. Ishtar was lifted up by the collars of her tunic and watched Euphenia’s maroon cheeks through slits.

Euphenia didn’t say a word, just pulled the cloth through her fist, slowly choking Ishtar by the raised collars, bringing her face closer to her infuriated one. Ishtar let out a pained sob, mind too cloudy to stop herself from taking a grip of her fists. She slammed her forehead against Euphenia’s nose, and one of Ishtar’s feet collided with one of her hips. Euphenia eyes only widened, a crunching sound squelched the air and she stumbled back, and dropped Ishtar to the ground.

Ishtar cracked her neck to the side, crouched on the ground and gazed through the clearing air and plumes of dust at Euphenia leaping up.

Euphenia said, “You can’t win. Why are you fighting me?”

Ishtar didn’t respond for a moment, backing away from her and let the strap of her bag fall to her hips, tightening it without taking her eyes off of Euphenia who just smirked. Euphenia was her sister, but she was pitiless, and if Ishtar let her guard down, she’d beat her to the door of death. Ishtar reached into the pack as Euphenia drew out her short bladed sword from the hilt at her side, and Ishtar pulled out two daggers.

Gathering the hilts into each hand, one facing behind her and the other forward, Ishtar adjusted her stance and prepared for one of the only fighting styles she knew. If it could be called that, and watched as Euphenia took a step towards her, the blade of it facing down and a hand behind her back. The last time they sparred—it seemed so long ago—Ishtar had won, but Euphenia practiced more than Ishtar between that time and this.

I might die today, Ishtar thought. Why isn’t anyone helping Euphenia?

The answer came to Ishtar quicker than the question. They didn’t think she needed it. They knew she didn’t need it.

Ishtar jerked back as Euphenia abruptly sliced at the air by her arm, nostrils flared, but Ishtar only had to keep her back to the sun. Euphenia aim was clumsier than usual, her eyelids trying to shield her eyes from the sun, and that was Ishtar’s blessing from the gods. She leapt back from her, dropped to her knees at Euphenia next lunging blow. Ishtar let the edge of the knife split down the other’s tunic. Cardinal fluid trickled down to the waistband of Euphenia’s trousers and soaked, but she didn’t flinch. The flat side of her sword hit the side of Ishtar’s face, she didn’t even notice till she was doubled over, and something—or someone—pushed her head. She fell backwards to the earth.

“I told you,” she growled, the razor edge of her sword grazed against the gap between Ishtar’s chin and the choker of her shirt. “I told you.”

Grains of sand sat at the top of Euphenia’s cheek, and sweat ran through the seal of deep brown kohl that always framed her almond eyes. Ishtar’s legs came up, hips working with them to buck, hefting her body up and struck Euphenia in the jaw. She didn’t give her time to respond, turning the daggers in her hands and smacked Euphenia upside the head with them.

“No,” the rest were mumbles, as her head lolled to the side, arms rising for a startling moment and then falling limp to her side.

Ishtar forced herself not to fall, spitting out the barf residing in her mouth, spitting out the bile rising up her neck and put her hand to her cheek. It came back smeared with blood and she turned around. Everything hurt.

Thank…thank Ke Pilus I won! she thought with finality, any longer and I would’ve…lost…?

As Ishtar turned around towards where Marius was clung to Katina’s skirts while they stood over a fallen Amalric, and Bryony and Cleon stood to the side dazed and confused, a hand circled around her ankle and pulled her down. She gasped and her eyes squeezed shut as she fell to the ground again. Her head should’ve bounced or something but a hand cushioned it and tentatively, she looked up into livid green eyes.

“You can’t beat me?” Euphenia asked, panting as she held Ishtar’s hands above her head with one hand. Ishtar nodded quickly when she realized she couldn’t move and the air around them cleared. “Good,” she said, “good.”

There was a moment of silence where Ishtar’s eyes widened and she lay still and Euphenia held her blade to Ishtar’s neck.

“Now what?” Ishtar asked, and Euphenia scowled.

Ishtar waited for the words, for her to explain that obviously they return to Mulak and take the mouse with them, but first they had to take care of Amalric. He didn’t look too good, honestly, but Euphenia only looked from side to side as Ishtar gazed at her scruffy hair.

“Well…” she said, croaked and then coughed, “we’ll go to…”

Her brow creased, and then she asked, “Why should I not return to Mulak? My life’s there.”

“It’s not a very good one, is it?” Ishtar replied without meaning it, well, not meaning to say it. She knew Euphenia’s life was better than hers, had met the other girl’s family and knew they were tightly interwoven with one another. There were people she would miss. Her situation was far…different. “Well, mine was not, I…”—she faltered—“I’m being…selfish. I, maybe…”

“I have family,” Euphenia said, and Ishtar went quiet.

There was sand in Ishtar’s hair and some of it sat in Euphenia’s eyes so that they turned red and watered. She didn’t sniff or try to wipe any of it away. Instead she spoke to herself, as if Ishtar weren’t there, as if no one but her thoughts were there. 

“I have family o’er the…sand.” She shook her head and sand fell from her short hair. “You’re not the only one, Ish. What would you give me if I agreed to travel with you?”

“If you agreed not to kidnap Katina?” she asked.

“I’d kidnap you too.”

“That’s not comforting, Euphenia.”

Euphenia frowned and shrugged as her hand’s hold relaxed and she let go. Her breath was ragged as she began to lift herself up into a crouch and Ishtar struggled to sit up. Ishtar’s ribs hurt, her face was sore, but she couldn’t help but wonder about the how awful it would be if she couldn’t find a pool of clean water to leap in soon.

“What would you give me?” she repeated. 

“I don’t know,” Ishtar said, and stared down at the sand. “What would you want?”

“Once this excursion is over,” she said and looked up at the sky. “No.” She sighed. “You are my family too. But you have to promise me this.”

“What?

Ishtar rubbed her wrists as someone stood over them. There was a throbbing in her head, and when she stood to her feet, it intensified into a painful sting.

“Stay away from the drink.” She paused. “And from now on, you follow my orders.”

Ishtar’s brow furrowed. “That’s it?”

“No.” She closed her eyes and groaned. “Much as it pains me to say this, Ish, do what makes you happy.”

Cleon cleared his throat, and said, “What’s going on?” just as Ishtar opened her mouth to ask the same question.

His arms were folded in front of his chest, and he reminded Ishtar of old impatient teachers.

 “I was simply speaking to my sister.”

“Of course you were,” Cleon said, his words laced with mistrust and severe implications. “Whatever you and your sister”—he bit it off with accusation and Ishtar frowned—“have been doing, we wonder what the…what the course of action will be after this tussle.”

“Simple,” Euphenia bit off and Ishtar sighed. Euphenia had never been one for tact. “We go to the curst East.”

“Might I ask why?”

“You might,” she replied dryly and walked towards a Katina who, oddly, stood firm while Ishtar and Cleon followed after her. “But I can tell you this, I won’t answer.”

Cleon snorted and rolled his eyes as Ishtar winced, cracking her bones back to place as she checked her bruises and cuts. If she didn’t have them cleaned soon, most of them would become infected and turn into ugly, swollen pests. She grinded her teeth and shot Euphenia, who’d come out with half as many injuries that consisted mainly of scratches, a cool glare. Euphenia’s reply was to ignore it as she stared Katina down.

“E-Euphenia,” Katina stammered, her shield of strength crumbling around her and Ishtar felt a wave of disappointment and compassion sweep over her.

She wasn’t sure she liked it much and waved it away.

“Mouse,” Euphenia spat in reply, and briefly glowered down at Marius, expecting him to rip himself from Katina but he only shook his head wildly. She shrugged. “I see you’ve sparked unwanted rebellion in my subordinate.”

“Sister,” Ishtar automatically corrected.

She was promptly ignored.

“You do understand that all members of this team answer to me.” Had Amalric been conscious, he would’ve objected passionately. As it was, Ishtar only coughed back a snort and Cleon walked away, throwing his arms up with exasperation. “If you are to travel with us to…to…”

“Ekene, master,” Ishtar drawled sarcastically. “It’s a territory of Lakar’s. May I get you something while I’m standing in a puddle of my own blood, fighting back a faint?—a drink, perhaps?”

Marius giggled, but Euphenia waved it off.

“No, go over and rest alongside Amalric, if you would.” Euphenia said and, in all her benevolence, put her hand on Ishtar’s shoulder, biting back her grin. “I shall take care of this.”

Ishtar didn’t move, but looked out into the distance where blurs moved. She rubbed her eyes of dust and bothered them so that they welled up with tears and the dirt overflowed with them. There was a tinkling sound and the hum of loud voices that were too close by, and she decided it was all too real to be a mirage.

“Those are her people,” she murmured, and Euphenia jerked up from her intimidation.

“My people?” Katina asked and frowned. “Who’s people?”

“They’re the ones that must have kept her alive.” Ishtar told Euphenia, who nodded slowly in response, eyes on the nearing caravan. “Who,” she said, and pointed at Katina’s fine clothes, “clothed her.”

“Don’t hurt them!” Katina blurted out, possibly before she couldn’t stop herself, but Ishtar didn’t care.

She frowned and raised an eyebrow to the blond, once mousy woman.

“Hurt them?” she echoed, voice soft with disbelief. “Hurt that multitude?”

And they were a multitude, full of men, women, and children. All of them were tanned, with golden locks of hairs that went as dark as bronze. The closer they got, the more uneasy Ishtar became, washing the men ride ahead on great snorting horses. Her fists clenched in her skirts and she looked at them, and then the dark skinned men and women who drifted in their midst.

They looked like Ishtar. Well, no. More like her than anyone else but her grandmother ever had. They ranged from old to young, pretty to ugly, male to female, but all had those same familiar black and brown curls and burnt skin. Her chest tightened, and she wondered if maybe her grandmother had lived like this before she was forced to abide in Mulak, but it couldn’t be. Her grandmother had crooned of great cities and a proud people, not humble servants.

Not slaves, she corrected herself when the oldest, broadest man halted his black horse in front of them. His was the only one with a small dark girl attached to his back who soon sprung off and hurried to Katina’s side. She fussed over the blond, now arrogant woman, and began to lead her gently away from them as if she were the one nearly killed by an insane bald woman.

Ishtar scowled.

“Oh?” Euphenia snapped, tugging Katina from the startled girl. “Who are you?”

“That is none of your business,” he said, eyes narrowed on Euphenia simple and ruined apparel, “savage.”

“Savage?” Ishtar whispered, checking her mouth for teeth. “Are you Hirans?” She paused, craning her neck as she took in his thick brown hair and heavy brows. “You must be the Dyvo.”

He huffed, surprised and turned his attention to Ishtar. “And who, boy, are you?”

Euphenia gaped in offense for Ishtar, but the other girl was secretly pleased by this false assumption and failed to correct him.

“I am Ishtar, spawn of Flav the Damyeek.” She offered him a deep bow and smiled. “What business have you with Katina?”

“She is our prophetess,” he explained, begrudgingly. “Namtar spat her out of the desert, a gift to us.”

“To you?” Euphenia snarled.

“Yes, to us.”

“She is our friend,” Ishtar lied, and Katina scowled. “We came to take her back to Mulak, but she seems to love this desert.”

He offered a small, forced smile. “So you will be leaving, then?”

“You would love that.”

“No,” Ishtar said quickly, glaring at Euphenia. “That city is…not a kind city.”

“Then, why would you take her back?” he asked, and the slave girl once again attempted and failed to acquire Katina from Euphenia’s tight hold. “She is your friend, according to you.”

Ishtar straightened her shoulders, pushing them back and stretched out into her full height. She gave him a look she hoped was firm and would keep Euphenia quiet.

“And this is a desert,” she said. “A wasteland.”

“We call it home.” He shrugged and the rest of them halted next to him, with only one woman in the whole line.

“We do not.”

“What is this, then?” a bearded man to his right asked. “Can we not just take the prophetess and leave them.”

“But you heard them,” the chubby lad next to him said. “She is their friend. How could we let a friend of the prophetess die here in the desert?”

Every time Katina opened her mouth to contradict Ishtar, Euphenia would squeeze her arm especially hard and silence her. This worried Ishtar as murmurs spread throughout the group of horsemen and horsewoman and she watched the rest of the tribe catch up with them. What if Katina told her followers the truth once she was out of Euphenia’s grasp?

“It is settled then!” the woman announced, dry sandy hair falling into her hard face. “These men and woman will join us.”

“Until we reach Ekene,” Ishtar agreed, “or at least, as close as you will get.”

She dreamed again and it was the winged lion in front of her, in the tent she slept in. Its—Her—presence reminded Ishtar of what had happened that day, of how she had been shown into a small tent with Bryony and had collapsed into it. At first, she thought that She was really there, but Bryony and Euphenia were nowhere in sight and it was night outside. The nomads had said clearly that once evening fell, they would move.

“Hello,” she said, and at the strange look the winged lion gave her, got up to her knees and bowed her head, “Meiam.”

Meiam nodded and she crouched down, opening and closing her big mouth.

“Ishtar,” She replied, and Ishtar lowered her eyes.

“Lady,” she asked, “why this form? You have more.”

“I like this form for you,” She replied, “for now. The griffin is fine.”

“Griffin,” Ishtar murmured, and tried to keep it as a statement. This was not Adu, She could not read minds, and so Ishtar didn’t want Her to know of her ignorance. “Why?”

Meiam shrugged and did not answer, but She did ask, “Who are you, child?”

“You know my name, Lady,” she responded. “I am Ishtar.”

“The one who closes her eyes and sees a man,” the griffin murmured. “You are the one who looks in the mirror and gags when one does not look back at you.” Meiam’s tail swished behind her and she made a motion of a yawn, fangs flashing in the moonlight. “I am right in saying this.”

Ishtar’s eyes were wide, hands trembling her lap and she let out a loud gasp.

“And I am more than that,” she whispered, trying to find some ground with this god.

But, she thought, how does one banter with a god?

One does not.

“But not much,” the goddess replied, stretching out Her spine. “And I have only to wonder, what you give Me for that?”

“For what?”

“For everyone to look at you and see a man,” she answered.

Her skin was clammy, hairs on edge with fear, fear of what might happen if she hoped to much and this turned out to be nothing but a dream. That it turned out that the goddess was not real and simply her mind teasing her, and she had to wake up again, the same.

“Oh, you of little faith,” the goddess breathed. “What will you give me?”

“You would want my soul, I suppose,” Ishtar replied.

“Perhaps, if you had believed,” She said, and smirked as much as a lion could. “But you did not. So I will take one small thing more.”

“And what is that?”

“Do you give me your word that this bargain will stand?” She asked, and Ishtar’s stomach dropped.

What would a god take that they would not say? She wanted to ask, but the day was ending, and who knew if she would have another change? Her lucidity was weak, and she swallowed hard in the dream world and the waking world.

“I, Ishtar, daughter of Flav, give you, the goddess Meiam, keeper of the night, singer of stories, and the great judge, my word.”

“And I have accepted.

Ishtar gasped and sprung up from where she lay, breathing heavy and face drenched with sweat as she looked around the tent quickly. The day was barely there and the two others snored softly in their sleep, dreaming of soft things and great things. She threw back the mat from her and despaired. If she had been in a better frame of mind, she would’ve noticed the less defined curves and the flatter chest, but she was not.

“Euphenia, Bryony,” she sighed with disappointment. “Wake up.”