Word Fulfilled, The (22 page)

“Sin dims, Nin Ur quakes, the ram of Ea is diseased—and now the
baru
of Marduk who examines the ram is dead.” The king’s face went pale, and his voice faltered. “Could Ea have killed him?”

“My lord, this still does not mean you are to blame. Have you not honored the gods? Have you not rebuilt their temples, improved our cities to their glory, expanded their fields for planting to maintain them? Assyria has prospered under your leadership.” Ahu-duri shook his head. “No, there must be another explanation.”

Adad-nirari’s voice dropped to a murmur. “It does not matter who is to blame. Their wrath falls upon the king. Upon me.”

“Then perhaps we need another king until their wrath is assuaged.” Ahu-duri glanced at his liege.

“Do you mean—”

“Yes, my lord. We may need to consider the
ugu lugal
.
”

Adad-nirari sat back and stroked his beard. “It has been long since the ritual of a substitute king has been invoked in Assyria.”

Ahu-duri nodded. “Since we adopted the tradition from the people from the Westland ages ago, we’ve installed a substitute king only a few times. The omens are strong, though, my lord. If wrath comes, we must avoid it falling on your head. You are too valuable a king.”

Adad-nirari raised his eyebrows. “A substitute king reigns one hundred days. Do you think that will be long enough to ensure the gods’ wrath has passed its full measure?”

Ahu-duri creased his brow. “The timing must be right. We must watch the signs closely and install the
ugu lugal
at the latest possible time. That will allow for his reign to span the worst. We need to start soon, though, to identify a candidate. We also need a substitute queen to replace the Queen Mother, Sammuramat.”

The king nodded. “How long do you think it will take?”

“Six or seven days, perhaps, to compile a list of candidates. It will also require time to arrange for the proper ceremony to transfer the evil omens from you to him. There may be suitable candidates among the local nobility, but we may draw from the commoners, as well. It is your decision.” Ahu-duri frowned. “I fear there may not be time to convene the full council of advisors, my lord.” The vizier drummed his forearm with his fingertips

“What are you thinking, Ahu-duri?”

Ahu-duri looked up. “I think we should look outside Kal
ḫ
u, my lord. In fact—”

“Yes?”

“We may want to relocate the substitute king’s throne, too.” The vizier creased his brow. “If wrath comes, it would not do well to have it fall upon Kal
ḫ
u, the seat of your kingdom, any more than upon you personally. Although the tradition calls for the substitute’s throne to be here, we might consider installing him in another city—Aššûr, perhaps, or Nineveh.”

Adad-nirari leaned forward in his chair and leveled his gaze at Ahu-duri. “What you say has merit. Is Nineveh is far enough from Kal
ḫ
u, do you think?”

Ahu-duri nodded slowly. “And your palace in Nineveh is nearly complete, my lord.”

“Then there is a suitable throne there.”

“Yes, my lord.”

The king set his face. “So shall it be. There will be a king in Nineveh.”

Twenty-seven

Kal
ḫ
u, the Royal Palace

The Ninth Day of Du’ûzu

hu-duri paced the room. He found himself in the awkward position of knowing too much and too little. The gods were active, probably angered. That he knew. Sin, Nin Ur, Marduk, and perhaps Ea all showed signs of discontent. What he did not know was why. And what if other gods were involved? And what might the remedy be for the discontent? And might even more serious events be in the offing? And when would be the proper time to act?

The “and”s kept him awake at night.

As Senior Scholar, it was his duty to have more answers than questions. He felt sure he failed that duty in this crisis. He hoped his suggestion to invoke the
ugu lugal
had not been premature. He should have thought it over, slept on it, before he gave the idea a voice. It seemed appropriate at the time, but he did not realize all that was involved until later, when he had researched the extraordinary ritual.

Adad-nirari hadn’t revisited the subject since their discussion after Kasiri’s death, although the vizier’s estimate of seven days to draw up a list of candidates had passed. It would only be a matter of time before—

A knock at the door shattered his concentration.

“Enter!”

The door opened, and a palace steward slipped into the room.

“The king calls for you.”

Ahu-duri nodded, and the steward disappeared back through the doorway. The chief advisor gathered his wits, then hurried out the door toward the king’s chambers.

Here it comes.

Lll

Adad-nirari wasted no time. “What have you done regarding the
ugu lugal?”

Ahu-duri cleared his throat.
Does he read my thoughts all the time, or just when they’re stuck?
“I have given the matter great thought, my lord.”

The king raised an eyebrow. “It has been seven days since my decision to proceed. Surely you have done more than just think about it.”

Ahu-duri coughed. “Yes, my lord. I only meant it has been at the forefront of my mind since we discussed it. I can offer names, but the decision is ultimately yours. A relative—a cousin or even a brother—would be best to take your place for the prescribed period.”

The king leaned forward. “Neither of which I have. We both know this. Come to the point.”

“Yes, my lord. As I cautioned during our last discussion, I have had no opportunity to consult with the
sukallu
council, or any of your other senior advisors. They are spread across the kingdom attending to matters in their own districts, and there is no time to convene. Therefore, I can only say what seems best to me.”

“Please do.”

The vizier continued. “As you have decided that Nineveh will host the substitute king, I recommend he be a local man, a native of Nineveh. That will make a clean separation from anyone or anything having to do with your realm.”

“Agreed.”

“The construction on your palace proceeds nicely. You could travel to Nineveh to inspect the work and consult with city leadership to identify a substitute.”

Adad-nirari sat back and stroked his beard. “I am not of a mind to travel at this time.” He looked up. “I will invest you with the authority to make the assignment. I already approved the new High Priestess of Ishtar by proxy upon the recommendation sent by the temple. That is unusual, but the precedence has been sent. I will likewise give you my seal and you can act in my stead.”

“But my lord—”

“You have family in Nineveh, do you not? You know the city?”

“Yes, my lord, I grew up in Nineveh, as you know. My brother is a stonecutter who works on the palace. I have a sister there, as well, but—”

“That settles it, then.” The king stood. “Prepare a tablet that announces your purpose and authority. I will seal it. I want you in Nineveh within three days, your selection made, and the
ugu lugal
installed within seven.”

“Three—yes, my lord.” Ahu-duri’s chest deflated. He bowed and started for the door.

“And Vizier.”

He turned back toward the king. “My lord?”

“Do not neglect a single detail. All needs to be in order.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Lll

Hulalitu sat on her sleep mat, her head propped in her hands. Sleep had become more elusive the past two days, which left her body aching and her mind sluggish. Fatigue decayed the turmoil of Ianna’s ascension to High Priestess into a puddle of vague resolution. She resolved revenge for the wrong done her, for the loss of her precious Ianna, but she lacked a focus for her anger. Issar-surrat was the most responsible, but she was dead, beyond touch—not that she was touchable while alive. Hulalitu’s mind churned.

An image flashed through the grayness, faint at first, indistinguishable in form. Slowly, its features morphed into—was it a face? Still, she could give the face no name. She pressed her forehead against the palms of her hands and adjured her addled mind to solidify the image. Its features gelled into the visage of a man, a young man. Her brow creased. It was not a young man; it was
the
young man. The man called Jamin.

She narrowed her gaze into the gloom. That was it. The interloper Jamin was to blame. She was sure of it. Things began to come apart after his devious attempt to lure her Ianna from the temple. Her young
ishtaritu
had become more distant, less responsive since that evening. Hulalitu’s jaw tightened. Yes, this could all be traced to that night, to Jamin. She would exact her revenge—oh yes, she would.

But how?

Twenty-eight

Nineveh, the Privileged Quarter

Eleventh Day of Du’ûzu

ordac slammed his hand against the wall. He fumed at the guild’s audacity. What more could they want? He followed every rule to the letter, attended every event, participated in every festival, no matter how distasteful. He contributed more than his share to the common good—that is, what portion made it past the guild leadership’s pockets.

His was a model Ninevite family, he had made sure of that. He prodded Hani to keep their home in the upper district spotless. They dressed impeccably, chose their causes carefully, and never created a public scene—or even allowed themselves to be caught near one. Not an important civic event went by at which they were not seen in attendance. To cover all exigencies, they bowed a knee to every god and goddess that he thought might make a difference. Ianna had complied with every demand he made, as a good daughter should. Hani, though, was less helpful. If she opened her mouth, if he sensed any resistance at all, he cut her off with the reminder that he was the head of the household and his decision meant the end of the discussion.

That’s what is done. That’s how one keeps order.
Yet unspoken attitudes could be discerned, as Hani’s must have been. Yes, this whole incident was her fault.

He was sure he had the timing right. It would never be better. He had taken great pains to position himself as a prime candidate and, when a seat of control in the jeweler’s guild became vacant, it was only natural that he be the one to fill it. But what was the response to his self-nomination? Sutharu, the leader of the guild, just shrugged with a trace of a smile. “We’ll allow the seat to remain vacant for the time being. There’s really no need for it.”

No need for it?
Couldn’t the fools see the guild collapsing around their ears? Their own greed and self-serving policies had sucked the coffers dry. Members threatened to bolt left and right. Soon there would be nothing left but a shell. Mordac could turn it around, though. He had plans—great plans. They could join forces with other jeweler’s guilds in Kal
ḫ
u, even as far as Aššûr, and, through collective agreements, control the prices of jewelry throughout the region—maybe even in all of Assyria. They all would gain from such a federation and from his leadership. But because of the short-sighted idiocy of a select few, everything he had worked for—they all had worked for—was now in jeopardy.

It just wasn’t fair. It wasn’t supposed to work this way.

As the afternoon wore on, his frustration heated to the boiling point. “By the gods—”

“‘By the gods’? Really, Modac, have you fallen that far?” Hani stood in the doorway.

“Don’t start on me!” he snarled. “I’m not in the mood.”

“What is it now? Does Sutharu’s wife still resist your advances?”

He swung on her. “I am not after Hara. How many times do I have to tell you that? Sutharu is the chief of the guild, and it is expedient to handle him smoothly—and his wife.”

“Curious way to put that.” She crossed her arms.

“You will not—”

“Dinner is nearly ready. That’s all I had to tell you.” She turned to go.

The look on his wife’s face, the days of caustic avoidance, the loss of his daughter, and the weight of his failures at the guild all bore down on Mordac beyond his ability to bear. His chest tightened, and the flat finality in Hani’s voice finally snapped something inside him. The realization that he was now alone, completely alone, bent him until he was sure his spine would snap. Hani could not turn her back on him. She was all he had left. He forced the words out through clenched teeth. “Wait. Hani . . . wait. Please.”

Hani stopped at that last word. It was a rarity on his lips. Indeed, it hadn’t been used in this household for years. She turned back, her face a blank.

Mordac’s head was bowed. He cupped the back of his neck with his hands.

She waited.

Finally, her husband released a slow exhale and straightened. He fixed a plaintive look on her. “I’m sorry. I’m . . . sorry.”

Hani jolted.
“I’m sorry”?
She didn’t remember that phrase ever
crossing his lips. Even if she wanted to respond, no words availed themselves. What was he up to now?

His eyes flicked to a cushion against the wall. “Can we sit? Just for a moment?”

She shifted in the doorway but made no move toward the cushion.

Mordac nodded. He settled himself stiffly onto the soft seat. With a heavy sigh, he rested his elbows on his knees and wrung his hands. His blank stare glued itself to a spot on the floor as he struggled for the right words. “So much has happened. Even in just the past few passages of Sin—”

“The moon, Mordac. It’s only the moon.” Hani sighed, her face still a mask.

He looked up at her. After a moment, he nodded. “The moon,” he repeated.

The softness in Mordac’s broken voice awakened vague memories of a man she once knew. It was the voice that soothed her fears as a young wife, that strengthened her to endure a broken family, and that gave her hope of a secure future in a foreign land. Where had that voice gone? Where had that man gone?

Hani struggled to pinpoint the event in their lives that triggered the change in him. But, as so many times before, it eluded her. It had happened, though, for he had indeed changed. Gone was his passion for right, replaced by passion for success. Gone was zealousness for faith, crowded aside by jealousness for social standing. Friendships melted into associations, affection into avarice, until she no longer knew the man who slept beside her fewer and fewer nights as the years passed.

Then there was Ianna. The damage Hani had suffered during the long labor and traumatic delivery resulted in four miscarriages over the next three years. Then she ceased even to conceive, until her husband’s desire for intimacy went as dry as her womb. Mordac never seemed to recover from the fact that there would be no son to ensure his legacy. A man’s life continues only as long as his name lives and is spoken by generation after generation. An only daughter would do little to ensure that. So Ianna did not exist because she embodied the end of his existence.

Hani’s eyes misted at the memories of Ianna as she crawled to her father’s lap, only to be brushed aside at her first touch like a bothersome insect. Her mind’s ears rang as Mordac’s voice roared for her to hush the crying child. Ianna’s sobs only pushed to a higher pitch, her face pressed against her mother’s shoulder. Hani would plead with her husband, try every angle to break down the wall he had built, but her words fell on deaf ears.
“If I cannot establish my legacy through this family, I will establish it in this city,”
was his reply.

So he immersed himself in Nineveh—its culture, society, and economy. And, to his credit, he built a comfortable life for his family. Through guile, shrewd business deals—albeit not always ethical ones—and political maneuvers, he increased his influence in the trade guild and among their new circle of friends. No, they couldn’t be called friends. They were associates. But, lately, his ambitions seemed to have stalled. The guild leadership held him at arm’s length, regardless of how he pandered to them. His contributions were much more welcome than his participation. Today, things came to a head. She knew Mordac chanced everything by openly nominating himself for a position of leadership in the guild. And the worst happened: Sutharu publicly and unceremoniously denied him.

Hani had never seen her husband so irate. He slammed through the door and barged into his workroom without a word. She backed against the wall as he stormed past, purple veins bulging in his neck and forehead. She feared the curses and crash of tools and supplies in the back room would go on all afternoon.

But before her now sat a subdued, defeated Mordac, a Mordac she had never seen before. She wasn’t altogether sure it was a bad thing.

He sat silently as though mesmerized by the spot on the floor. Hani turned to slip out, but something held her there, something she didn’t understand. It was strong enough to give her pause, but not yet strong enough to draw her closer to him.

She thought she saw a bemused smile curl his lips, although his face remained taut, his eyes hollow. “Solomon was right, wasn’t he?”

Hani blinked. “Solomon?”

His eyes flicked to hers. “Vanity. All is vanity. Man toils, but gains nothing. Generations pass, seasons pass, but nothing really changes. There is no real gain.” He locked his gaze onto hers. “I had dreams once. We had dreams. Do you remember?”

Hani’s eyes brimmed. Her throat tightened to cut off any words that might have offered themselves, though none did.

Mordac shook his head and returned his stare to the floor. “There are so many forks in the road. How does one ever really know which one to take? How can one know where they lead? You think you know. You decide. You move forward. You find yourself farther back than where you started.”

Hani moved across the room and eased herself onto the cushion. “Perhaps when our dreams changed to your dreams.” Her voice was soft, firm, but without condemnation. She sensed Mordac’s state to be fragile, but platitudes and false assurances would not help. “When we began, we chose our roads together. Somewhere that changed.”

He nodded slowly. “I wanted what was best, I think. I don’t even know if that’s true anymore.”

He flinched as she laid her hand on his arm. “I think you did.”

He shook his head. “No, I’m not so sure. I got lost somewhere. I don’t know where or why. A man can’t do what’s best if he’s lost. A lost man has no goal, no sense of direction. If his goal was in sight, if his senses were about him, he wouldn’t be lost. Does that make sense?”

Her eyes misted again as his right hand slipped over hers. His fingers seemed cold against her skin, and she felt them tremble.

His voice dropped to a whisper. “I built a livelihood but have no life. I married a wife but have no mate.” He paused. “I sired a daughter but was never a father . . . Ianna.”

Hani’s heart leaped at his mention of their daughter’s name. It was the first time Mordac had ever voiced it. To him she was always “the girl,” or “your daughter,” but never had he spoken her name.

He lifted his hand and began to massage his shoulder. “I wonder where she is.”

Hani cocked her head at him. “She’s at . . . the temple, Mordac.”

“No, I know that. But . . . I wonder where she is in her mind.” Mordac pulled himself erect on the pillow, and Hani’s eyes widened at the beads of sweat on his forehead.

“Mordac. Are you—”

“Perhaps there’s still something I can do.” He barked a short cough. “We have silver . . . gold. We could redeem her, perhaps—”

Mordac gripped his shoulder and grimaced. His breath dropped to short, erratic gasps.

“Mordac!”

He turned his head and looked wide-eyed at his wife. He worked his jaw, but no words came out.

“Mordac!”

Hani jumped up as her husband’s eyes rolled back in his head. She grabbed his shoulder but lost her hold as he pitched forward. Mordac’s head cracked on the hard-packed earthen floor, and he pulled into a fetal position. His head twitched, and he went still.

Hani froze. She stared at her husband’s inert form. Her chest began to heave until it broke the adrenalin grip on her throat. Her scream shattered the still of the late afternoon in Nineveh’s privileged quarter.