Shards of Persia Nano Novel

Chapter 21 - Reunion

Fire and screams echoed through the dark corridor. Bahman woke up and he heard loud explosions and people crying in a tongue he never heard before. Strong hands grabbed him and dragged him away before another explosion left him shellshocked. For long moments he was deaf, blind, and suffocating. He gained in his senses and he didn’t recognize where he was. One moment he was on the road to Tyre and now he was in some kind of hollowed out building. Out the blown out windows he could see buildings higher than he ever saw before save the Tower. They were 4 and 5 stories tall, sometimes higher and like nothing he had ever seen before. Magical projectiles lit up the night sky and seemed to rain destruction on all they touched. He had never seen such fearsome magic in his life!

A man in a headdress, rags, and a heavy metal belt was barking orders at him and he shook his head trying to say he didn’t understand. Before he could come to his senses there was a loud bang and the man fell down dead with tiny hole in his skull Bahman reached for his magic but found there was nothing there. Suddenly he was surrounded by monsters clade in awful looking armor that, to his blurred vision, blended in with the muted environment with some sort of black helmet that made them seem like demons in the night. He tried to defend himself and reached for weapons that were not there, he…didn’t have his weapons. A boot then stomped hard on his head as he still laid on the ground. He screamed and…

He nearly launched himself into the embers of a fire he had fallen asleep beside. He was sweating, and shivering, and what the hell was that? He looked around and only the guard was awake and staring at him, a hand instinctively at his hilt. Bahman rubbed his face, exhausted. He got to his feet and waved the solider away. He suddenly felt so much older than his 17 year body.

“Where am I?” He muttered to himself. His hands were young and supple save his burnt and scarred left hand. They were on the road, but the road to where? It took him a moment to realize what was a dream and what was reality but…the dream was reality. He had never had such a dream before. He felt there, and those monsters, what were they.

“Scary isn't it? The future,” the gruff voice came to him, but instead of hearing it in his head he said it out loud to himself.

“What do you mean the future?” However, when he asked this, his mouth didn’t move even though he swore he said it out loud too. “What is happening?”

“The barrier is breaking. The dreams will keep coming but they aren’t dreams they are…my memories, well…your memories,” this man said again, muttering to himself so no one could hear him. He eyed his surroundings as he felt a nearby tree and touched the leaves of a bush. “It’s been too long since I have seen home. The air is fresher and the stars are brighter.”

“Are you possessing my body?” Bahman’s tone was accusatory as if he was being usurped.

“No. It is the effect of the memory bleed. You will have control again shortly,” he said this as if he didn’t really want to go back to being just a voice in his head. “Anahita, are you still here?” He said this as if he controlled the goddess and not the other way around.

“Yes, Nim. I’m afraid I’m as clueless as our boy. I only know we are on a very similar path. This is new to me though. I don’t remember a time when you were able to break the barrier or that there was a leak.”

“Ok. That means this time might be different, at least we can hope not to be skinned alive or our neck sliced open. I don’t know what either of those feel like but Anahita has those memories.”

“Can either of you please explain what the hell is happening? I can’t feel my toes,” Bahman, who now felt like a third wheel in his own body, also felt disembodied at the same time.

The body of Bahman sighed heavily. “We are all you, trapped in different times, and different places. There are more of you, yes. There is something happening in your future that will change you forever and no matter what we do, it keeps happening. I have found my way back to…me, and I can’t tell you how else we might jeopardize our chance at a different outcome. The most important part is, is we are finding ourselves again. As we piece our soul back together, you should have more memories but also we should feel more in sync. I will be around less and well…so will you. It’s hard to explain now, and my time is up.”

“I am the self that keeps repeating this time period searching for you,” Anahita picked up the trail. Her voice was warm but carried a cautious tone. “I have done this a near infinite amount of times, but as we get to the end even I cannot know what happens. The only one who knows is this older Nim. There are several differences here, though. You were always in Macrobia, our home. This is the very first time we have been anywhere else. This is the first time you have found your way back to your past self. We are treading new waters.”

“But you can talk to other people, you are trapped in a statue. How is it you can talk to others and how are you a goddess?” He said this out loud and quite at a high volume. He looked around and found he had walked away enough to not to be heard.

“Yes to all of that. However, I do not know when it started. My memory is old but I do not know when things changed. Time can be a little funny like that. We have a long road ahead of us” Nim felt she was talking about more than the trip to Tyre. He realized just in that moment that he now thought of himself once again by his true name, and stopped thinking of himself in terms of Bahman, Nim was back.

He felt like his mind would explode, much like those loud lights from his dream, but that wasn’t a dream, that was, apparently, some kind of future that he wasn’t allowed to know. Now his goddess was him and he was his goddess Nothing about what happened that night made any sense. The other thing that was different now, though, was when he went to reach back for memories that were previously blocked, he no longer had a headache even though it still felt like reaching across a void. He was so close to remembering something important, something he should know that would make sense of all of this but he couldn’t reach.

When he woke up the next morning, everyone was waiting for him. Ishtar and Abela were already preparing their mounts. They scoffed at him and scolded him for being so lazy, but Nim felt surprisingly good. His muscles felt fuller somehow and body more confident. He quickly caught up with the others and the continued their journey to Tyre. From that point on, Nim felt less empty, less foreign even to himself. Almost as if he was, as his older self had said, becoming whole again.

The arrived in Tyre in short order and their marching orders were given to them exhaustively. Abela knew how absentminded Nim was while trying to give him directions so she really made sure to get it through to him. Ishtar wasn’t much better but at least everyone in the troupe got along for the time being. When they separated, Nim wanted to go with Ishtar but Abela had other plans as they made their way to the temple of Anahita. There, they met the priest Raman. He was, as all men who worshiped Anahita seemed to be, very fit and very handsome. Nim thought wryly that she definitely had a type.

“Greetings,” the man said formally, his face was stoic and Nim couldn’t decide if he had any emotion at all. The pair of them, accompanied by three guards returned his greeting. Abela entered the temple and he stopped Nim. “You will remove your weapons. This temple invites no violence.”

Nim stood there, his hands on his hilts even as the guards disarmed. He was never far from his blades and some priest wasn’t going to be the first to make him change that. “Disarm. I will not ask again, child.” The young healer sized up his opponent and was certain he could take them. “You will learn to follow orders. Apparently Babylon has grown soft. You will not disobey me,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Bahman, take those toothpicks off. We have more important things to do. You can’t always hide behind steel,” called Abela’s irritated voice and reluctantly, Nim took off his weapons belt. As he crossed the threshold he felt a hand on the back of his neck connect with force. He saw stars and heard a murmur, that he was lucky there wasn’t a whip around or he’d be strung up. No one had laid a hand on him in years and it was shocking that someone would dare to do such a thing to him. This Raman didn’t know who he was dealing with.

“You will have to excuse him. He’s is a bit full of himself. Make him wash floors for a year and that should correct him,” she said dismissively as they sat down to talk.

He eyed the boy skeptically and though nodded. “I am told this boy has some kind of ability?” He said cautiously. “Show me.”

“I would but you took my swords away,” Nim spat but this time it was a Abela that slapped him so hard he fell to the ground.

“You will address everyone with respect if you wish to have it. You are not a student anymore, and if you don’t want to be treated like a child, stop acting like one. I will not repeat myself. Next time we will string you up and you will have a lesson you needed all the way back in Poura,” Abela said coolly. Her words carried not a threat but a promise. She then took out a sacrificial knife and stabbed her arm without flinching, and without waiting for anyone to respond.

When Nim didn’t immediately move to heal her, she hissed and stared daggers at her. He would surely be punished for this later. He sighed and as the blood coated her arm, he grabbed her hand. He felt the wound as if it was his own, as if he was the wound. The pulsing and the pain, the warmth. In the moment between self and the warmth of blood, the wound was closed and the blood vanished from both her arm and the table.

Raman let out a low whistle and said approvingly, but still in those condescending tones, “Isn’t that a neat trick.” He then turned to Abela as if Nim didn’t exist. “How much does he know about actual healing practices? Salves? Tonics? Elixirs?”

Abela scoffed and rolled her eyes, “Babylon is more concerned with their magic and collections. Do you really think they actually teach anything there? He doesn’t know the first thing. Also why he is here. He relies too much on our goddess’s blessings.”

He shared he expression and finally addressed Nim. “You are not to use your magic when there are other means by which to help. You will learn first to exhaust other means before dipping into whatever Anahita has given you. Only in life threatening circumstances and even then just enough that local priests can overlook the healing process.”

Nim looked from one to the other. “But, if I can heal people, should I not?”

“Bahman. Remember when we first met, your village was half in fear of you and the other half trying to use you. Then remember our beloved Satrap, you got paraded in front of all those wealthy clients like an exotic animal. Also, what are you going to do if you can never use magic again? Go off and fight a war and die? That would be such a waste of talent.”

It was at this point that the soldier had summoned Nim and without thinking about a dismissal raced out and grabbed his weapon belt on the way out. When he had arrived, he realized then that he would have sliced open anyone who dared to lay a finger on Ishtar. He was ready to kill. It was only her touch that convinced him that there was no imminent danger. His first instinct when he saw her father was to heal him immediately but Abela warning to stop acting like a child, and Raman’s warning that he was not to indiscriminately heal rang in his head. Therefore, he chose to do what he thought prudent. He was sure he’d be able to sneak away to make sure things were healing as they should later.

As they rode back the temple, Nim sighed. “I never saw her that fierce.” He hadn’t realized he said that out loud.

Abela muttered about men being stupid. “At least one of you have grown up. She won’t wait forever,” she said and before Nim could ask what she meant, she rode faster. He never managed to catch her until they arrived at the temple. Raman was waiting for them and his first task upon arriving was, as Abela predicted, cleaning and polishing the floors. Supposedly it was punishment for leaving without permission, something not even slaves know they shouldn’t know. If he didn’t start acting like a priest, or so Raman said, he would be treated exactly like a slave.

Word Count - 2357

Chapter 22 - The God of Time

Ishtar mustered all her courage as she ascended the stairs to the suspiciously Greek inspired building. It’s rounded structure lined with columns sat on an island connected by a man made jetty that disappeared during high tide. The wind whipped her hair over her eyes and she was forced multiple times to move it away from her face. She had never been here before, only saw it from afar. Her mother, Aliyah, had, for good reason at that time, forbade her from having anything to do with it. Now as a young woman, returning to her hometown for the first time, was forced to report to the Oracle here upon her arrival. She was granted a short visit with her family and, thanks to a very dashing healer, get much needed help for her father.

Now she had her own fight to conquer. If Bahman could overcome whatever it is he has had to do, she could to. She would not be shown up by a man. She would confront this woman and give her a piece of her mind while she was at it. When she made it to the landing a pair of guards tried to stop her. She wished she had both her friend’s showmanship and way with combat at that moment. Instead, she handed the guard her summons and, upon reading it, she was let in but her entourage was made to wait outside.

Once inside she saw a woman bathing in the center pool, several a layers of steep concentric circular steps encompassed it. Without breaking stride, she strode down the steps and stood at the pool’s lip. “Ishtar, of Tyre, Oracle and Seer,” she announced herself since she had no Harold.

The woman lazily looked up and made eye contact fearlessly with Ishtar. It was the very thing she thought she’d have to fight for the right to. She dove deep into those dark eyes, as far as she could, searching for a memory, years went by in the span of seconds. Where is it? There! Ishtar found the moment she was looking for.

A young woman was both excited and desperate to go see the Oracle for a blessing. She was very pregnant and determined. If Ishtar was a prude she might blush at what the Oracle was doing before this fateful confrontation, however she saw a lot worse from the boys in her class which disgusted her more. Now, though, Ishtar knew that this woman didn’t actually know Aliyah or what would happen during the ritual. It was something she performed many times before. The concoction, the incense, the intoxication, the touch. Now as a young adult none of this seemed as horrific as when she saw it from her mother’s side when she was 10. It was certainly not something a child should have been exposed to, but now looking at it from the Oracle’s perspective it was just business as usual. It was until she went to impart a blessing through the use of some kind of magic, Ishtar wasn’t quite clear how that part actually worked here but she was a legend at being effective at whatever it was she said as it almost always came to pass.

Ishtar closed her eyes and sighed deeply, letting go of her sight. “Satisfied?” The other woman said softly as she rose from the water. She stepped out, not breaking eye contact, stood in front of the younger, not ashamed and not backing down or hiding. “We finally meet, Ishtar of Tyre, Oracle and Seer. I am Khannah.” Ishtar wasn’t sure if that was meant to be sarcastic but suddenly her mouth felt dry and she was at a loss for words.

“You think you are the only one with a gift? I see what you must do, and why it hurts you so much. I can tell you that you will do it, and you will be successful,” she said darkly, her eyes rolling back till only the whites were visible. Again, Bahman with his throat slit, the bloody knife in her hand flashed in her hand cause a chill to run down her spin. She looked at Ishtar and continued, “I also know how you feel for the healer, the power he has, and why you have chosen rightly to take on a different suitor. You are very brave and your journey will not be easy.”

Ishtar cleared her throat. “Why am I here? Do you just need someone to look at you while you take a bath?” She averted her gaze and focused instead on the cushions that lined the first rung behind the other woman. She already hated this woman’s ability to know how to get under her skin but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she should be learning.

“I do so like to be watched, but no,” she said curtly shouldering past Ishtar and climbing up the stairs. “Tell me about Babylon. What have those heathens told you about what we do and why?”

Ishtar followed the dripping figure and mumbled something about not being told anything at all, needing to take rather inane religious classes and being manipulated by the High Priest of Ahura Mazda. “Excuse me, what was that last part?” Khannah swung around at that as she was flinging on a robe. “What did they do to you?”

Ishtar specifically recounted how when she first arrived she was made to wear a medallion that she later learned was to drain her of magic instead of teaching her how to use the magic. “You need to show me, child.”

The younger woman looked from Khannah to the pool and back to the older woman and scrunched her nose. The Oracle rolled her eyes and waved her hand, “If you are going to be an effective priestess for Zurvan you have to learn how to put on a show. Here, come here,” she motioned her to come closer with both hands and she put her hands on Ishtar’s temples. Her eyes rolled in the back of her head as if she had performed whatever ritual she did for her mother.

“My. Well you certainly made the right decision to get rid of that thing,” she said thoughtfully but paced away from the younger Assyrian woman with her hands folded behind her back.

“Wait, did you say Zurvan? As in the god of time, Zurvan? The dead god?” Ishtar blinked. Khannah seemed not to register what the girl said. “Ok, I don’t serve any god,” Ishtar tried again her voice incredulous.

“What? Oh,” Khannah rubbed her forehead as if she had a headache and came back. “They really don’t teach anything at Babylon and just hope that everyone else does the dirty work while they reap the benefits. All glory to the empire.”

“You see the past, I see the future. Both of these are a kind of temporal magic. These are granted by Zurvan. If he were dead, we would not be who we are. The empire is after an artifact. A kind of mechanism that serves as a conduit for the god of time, a record of history so to speak. Tempering with it would give the wielder control of how history unfolds both in the past and the present with ripples reaching far into the future. I will neither confirm or deny It’s existence as I do not actually know. However, there is a priesthood dedicated to Zurvan and the protection of his artifacts. Babylon calls it a cult but by our blessings, we are also priestesses of this order as well. Your magic can technically identify the location of this artifact if you were to See someone who has also seen it. I am surprised that you were able to freely come here, I am assuming that, since you are now under contract, Esfandiar has some way to survey you, me, or both of us.”

Ishtar couldn’t believe what she was hearing. It made a certain amount of sense to her but her presence here must mean that the location of such a device or someone who knows its whereabouts must be assumed to be here in the city. Her brow furrowed further, “So, by not worshipping any god, I am worshipping a god? I didn’t choose to have these powers.”

“You don’t choose. You can only be chosen. Now, we have a lot of work to do. You need to learn how to be an Oracle. You may claim the title, but you are not one yet. And we need to figure out what to do about your situation. Surely you’ve already contemplated how you are going to stick that knife in your friend.”

This was all too much for Ishtar to take at once. She felt dizzy and light headed and not only because of the visions she saw of her dead friend. Sensing that she might have overdone it, Khannah dismissed her for the evening. It was late and she must be tired from her travels. Their work would begin in earnest in the morning.

When Ishtar made it home her head was swimming with possibilities. It had been one of the most eventful days in her life to that point. Seeing her hometown, seeing her family, seeing her dad both miserable and healing, and meeting the Oracle she had been dreading since she was a child - the list seemed unending and it kept coming.

She dismissed her guards halfway from her home much to their reluctance. She was reminded that she was in all likelihood being watched. The first to go then was obviously the soldiers. She assumed the dagger had to have something to do with it but she would figure that out later. She would make a note to find a spot for it far away from her home, she couldn’t subject her family to whatever darkness it was seeding inside her. Even brief contact filled her with anger and despair.

She arrived home and left the dagger along with a few other odds and ends outside the door, perhaps someone would steal it, that would certainly take a weight off her shoulders. She stepped inside the door and the air was not only warm but also smelled delicious. It had been forever since she had a properly cooked meal done in the style she loved so much. She didn’t have many fond memories of her mother, but Aliyah was one hell of a cook. Her father was feeling well enough to sit up in bed, the handsome boy from that morning apparently had come by to deliver a drink. Her heart sagged for only a moment that she missed seeing the only person who seemed to really actually care about her without plotting to use her.

Her mother was itching to ask about her trip to the Oracle and her father seemed to be avoiding her eye contact suddenly. What happened while she was gone? They ate dinner in jittery silence as no one said what they really wanted to say until after the food was gone and the dishes were washed. Her father retired early and her mother motioned for her to sit outside with her.

“How was your trip? Please tell me you won’t go back there!” She said almost immediately. Ishtar didn’t have the heart to tell her mom she was supposed to serve there for a whole year. Instead she said something lame like she was surprised the woman kept all her clothes on - which also wasn’t true but she really didn’t want to tell her mother anything, especially now that anything said might jeopardize them.

“I have a question,” the young woman whispered, deflecting instead, feeling the pull of the dagger, even as they sat outside away from it. “Say, you had to do something bad, something awful, or lose everything, even your family. Doing this thing would bring honor to the empire, but at the cost of something dear, and refusing to do it because you can’t bear it, means the empire takes everything from you.” She prayed to whatever god would listen to her that her mother said to follow her heart and risk everything to do the right thing, but she was not surprised at all by what she said instead.

“Well, it seems to me that you should do it. I would never risk my family for anything, if put to the choice I would probably do the most heinous thing I could think of if it meant protecting my family. Being honored for the deed just seems like a nice bonus. Why would I not?”

Yes, mother, why would you not if it benefited you. In that moment she tried to accept the images that haunted her, the gargling mess that was Bahman pleading for his life. However, they were interrupted by memories of him valiantly coming to her rescue when he thought she was in danger just that day. In that moment, she’d kill him just so she wouldn’t have to feel this way.

She hated herself more for having that thought and just thanked her mom before saying she was tried and wanted to go to bed. She had one more person to ask and he seemed to be avoiding looking at her like her mother did while she was growing up. She accepted it from her, she would not accept it from him.

She entered without asking for permission. “Yes, you may come in, daughter. Seems Babylon undid all the manners I tried to instill in you,” he said wryly, not opening his eyes and pretending he was asleep. The oil lamp was still bright and he had several papers scattered on his bed. This trick might have worked when she was a girl; hell, the last time he saw her she was a child, but it wouldn’t work now.

“Look at me,” she commanded, and immediately regretted her tone.

His eye flickered open and he sat up, staring at his papers. “Is that a command from a priestess? Or a request from my daughter?” He was obviously hurt by her words and she sat down softly by his side. She took his arm and laid her head on his shoulder, a gesture she used especially when she wanted something and she knew she’d get in trouble for asking.

She didn’t speak until she felt the tension from his muscles relax, then she knew she had him. “I just want my papa.” She knew it was a lie. She wanted answers and she believed she wouldn’t get them unless she took them from him, like she had tot take everything else.

“Why don’t you just ask me? I will not be a pawn,” his tone was soft and sorrowful, hurt that his daughter learned such manipulation. No, he was sorry that she needed to. He would not, though, obey any priest or priestess of Babylon, even his own daughter, not in his own home.

She gasped. She didn’t need to read his mind. “You know,” she said, tears welling in her eyes as she pressed her face into her fathers boney shoulder for real this time.

However, there was no give now. Her father may have grown weak through the sickness but his muscles were tense against her visage. “The dagger or the oracle? Speak plainly, child, I am old now.”

Ishtar couldn’t believe it. The soft-spoken mild mannered tradesman she had known her whole life, though she was beginning to feel like she had grown more in Babylon than here, was not speaking as if she was a traitor. She believed in nothing because she thought that’s what he did. She didn’t take anyone at their word because he didn’t. Her whole person was wrapped up in who she thought this man was and she felt rejected in that moment.

“What?” Was all she managed to ask. Everything she thought she knew was continuing to be taken from her as if she was living in someone else’s dream. “You know about the dagger?” She guess she would ask first things first.

He thought for a moment as if he was trying to choose his words carefully. “I know that that young man cares a great deal for you and that you carry with you a very evil dagger. I don’t know where you got it, and I can only guess at how you plan to use it.”

Again the images she was working hard to suppress come bubbling up as if from a spring of misery. “I don’t have a choice,” she had sat back and her body slumped nearly folding in half if not for the fact she propped it up with her elbows, her head in her hands. “It’s the way it has to be.”

Yusif waited as if she was going to share more. When nothing else was forthcoming he said softly, “we are all only able to choose as we can. I hope you can find a different way than that blade.”

“What do you know about the oracle?” She asked and it was his turn to look surprised. It seems that he must have thought she’d forget. “If you won’t look at me you might as well tell me the truth.”

This time he fell silent, this time he slumped back as if he was going to sleep. She knew she shouldn’t be pressing her luck but she wanted answers. She felt she was deserved answers.

“There is a certain order in Damascus that has a very important duty. I am a part of that order. Please do not as me more. Do not look for more. Now I must rest. Please, it is so late.” His voice sounded so small as if he was trying hard not to break a promise but also he could never say no to his daughter.

She sat there and doused the lamp. In the dark her thoughts continued to spin. The words and warnings from Khannah mixed with the revelations from her father. Was he who the empire and Babylon was looking for? She swore to herself that night that she would protect her family and no one would know this secret, especially not because she led them to it.

Word Count 3053

Disclaimer -- a difficult choice is made by an oracle. Viewer discretion advised.

Chapter 23 - A Last Chance

The year in Tyre passed quicker than anyone had anticipated. Much to Nim’s growing frustration, his cleaning duties and Ishtar’s lessons at the Oracle kept them apart most of the time. The moments he could steal to find her she seemed cold and distant. When he asked her why, she shrugged him off saying she wasn’t a child anymore and didn’t need a lost puppy hanging around. He felt that this was especially unfair. He’d come back to his temple looking dejected and Abela would throw him into more work. Whether it was tending to the wounded or some client she was finishing up or entertaining others while they waited.

It was almost as if he was back in Poura again. The status he enjoyed in Babylon was stripped away and he was whipped more than once for appearing to slack. The only saving grace was the sea. He forgot how much he loved being in a port city and getting to walk along the water’s edge took the sting away from whatever it was he was dealing with at that moment.

He also became comfortable without his weapons. This was a big change, he felt as that had been the hardest to adapt to. Now he accomplished his errands, whether it was to deliver a salve or administer some continued care, without even so much as a knife. His callused hands from constant sparring were soften as he more often found his hands in water than on the hilt of a sword. Still, he found some time to keep his skills sharp though there weren’t more than the guards that were always at his side to fight with.

Despite the distance Ishtar had put between them, Nim enjoyed Tyre. The breeze, the fresh seafood, and the citizens of the city seemed to care far less about his skin color than his experience elsewhere. He started to believe for once that he wasn’t a foreigner at all. No one used him for more than cleaning up messes and toward the end of the year he took on more and more priestly responsibilities.

He was sad when his time there ended and he got the summons to go back to Babylon. The letter was written in a very familiar hand. He couldn’t quite place it for it had been too long but he was sure he recognized the etchings. It was even more strange as it told him he was to come but there was a specific order for Abela to stay in Tyre. Nim had asked why, but Abela just shrugged and said she liked it there and wasn’t really looking at returning to Babylon. She even made the snide remark she might consider retiring there.

It wasn’t long until Nim had to pack his things. He tied his weapon belt on which now seemed less like an extension of his body and more like a weight. His heart brighten though when he saw who rode his way, fit to travel and going his way.

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Ishtar’s year was quite a bit different than Nim’s. She spent her free time trying to figure out ways to outsmart the contract she was tricked into signing. She had managed to keep the dagger and most surveillance efforts away from her family and the Oracle. At best anyone knew that she traveled daily between the two but to her knowledge, no one knew what she actually did. She hated how she treated her friend, but it was the only way for her to continue with the plan she had worked out.

The work at the Oracle was also quite challenging. She learned that the ceremonies were not for Khannah but to help her clients relax their minds so that she could properly See. She didn’t have the ability to just steal thoughts, as the priestess put it, but had to find other ways to ready her partners. These concoctions and incense and other methods were just tools of the trade that were expected and served to help open doors for her to see their future.

While Ishtar never was asked or needed to perform these rituals herself, she did learn the intricacies of preparing each stage and each step. She learned how to use her knowledge of someone’s past to guide them to better choices even though she didn’t know for certain the future. She felt bad sometimes about this manipulation, after all they never really knew she was seeing everything they ever did, but often the people who came to see Khannah were not sweet or innocent. A lot of men hoping to get rich quick or whether such and such a scheme would be successful. Depending on how much they paid for these little declarations, determined how much they were told. It’s what kept the temple in such pristine condition and there was never any angry customers. They all left the Oracle happy and the readings were vague enough to be true either way. Khannah saved her give for the truly needy and often kept the theatrics to a minimum for those cases.

In the year she spent there she learned more about Zurvan the god of time as well. She caught glimpses from her father that told her more than she needed to know, also Khannah was eager to share what it meant to be a priestess for their god. In fact, Ishtar came to view Zurvan as her god as well. He didn’t have any specific festivals or any ambitions that the empire wanted, save the loom, but he seemed benevolent enough from what she saw of her father and Khannah, enough that he might be worthy of respect.

In preparation for her big play, she had started a correspondence with Vash. They had exchanged a great many missives that year as Tyre and Damascus were not so far apart. She went to see him twice and he saw her when he came up on official business which was more frequently than she would have liked. Of course, her plan, or so she told herself, hinged on keeping Vash and Nim apart, that she needed to distance Nim and get as close to Vash as possible. From the way Vash looked at her, she knew that her plan would most likely be successful. She just needed make sure the timing was perfect.

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Vash had spent that year comfortable in a palace. At first he was little more than a scribe but, just as in Babylon, as the text he worked on showed magical binding properties, he was taken along to trade agreements and other official meetings. He hated the contract he drafted for Esfandiar and spent his own free time drafting and drafting again to break it. Even though he came to see Bahman as a rival, he didn’t actually want the guy dead, he just wanted him away from Ishtar. He couldn’t even manage that because they were probably living it up together in Tyre.

The jealous at times threatened to overwhelm him, especially on visits to Tyre where it was very clear that Ishtar took his time and that he wasn’t ever able to see Bahman because of it. He always wondered if he was the affair or if Bahman was. There was no other way for his mind to see it. It hadn’t even crossed his mind that they could both not be people she was interested in.

Now that his one secret was known though, he no longer wore that medallion that blocked the woman who occupied all his free time. She seemed to notice and never told him that she wouldn’t be reading his mind, he took this for a truth. He had betrayed her enough that he felt he owed her that much if they were ever going to work.

One of his missions in Damascus was to see if he could find anything out about the supposed cult of the loom, or so Esfandiar had named it. It seems his acolytes had narrowed down rumors that it was hiding somewhere in the city, or someone who knew where it was was in the city. That didn’t really narrow anything down for the young man but he did keep his ears to the ground and developed a growing network of spies that offered insight into the cities less savory side. Not that every other city didn’t have a darkness lurking underneath - rebels waiting of their freedom, shady deals, and double crossing - but in Damascus, as an assistant to the Satrap, it was valuable to know how the city felt about certain policies and what adjustments needed to be made to keep the peace.

He was surprised though when he received a private summons to the Oracle in Tyre. The message was not written in Ishtar’s hand and so he could only assume that it was for some official business he was not privy to. It was not unusual to have him requested to other places, but this would be his first to the actual Oracle alone and without being the aide to the Satrap. His tenure there was coming to an end and he was to be sent back to Babylon and then to Sousa.

—————————

It was late afternoon as Ishtar stood on the precipice of the Oracle overlooking the small strip of land that connected it to the city. Crossing over was a man accompanied by a rather large entourage of guards and other officials. He was dressed as if he himself were a Satrap and she had never seen Vash look more regale as he ascended toward her. Her hair was tied up, having turned 18, she wore the sheer dress befitting a proper Oracle.

The hungry look in the man’s eyes told her that he also noticed this and she had to calm herself before she abandoned this whole mission. As long as she was brave and stood her ground, she would be free from her fate, even though it meant binding herself to another. When he reached her they embraced briefly and she led him by the hand into the building without saying a word. Everything needed to proceed exactly how she had rehearsed it. “Your men wait outside. Including your scribes. The business of the Oracle is for you alone,” she intoned motioning for the guards to block the way of the others.

He expected this, it was the way of this temple. He waved a steadying hand to his company and followed her inside, his eyes find all the right curves that the dress accentuated. She could feel his stare but told herself this was necessary for what she wanted. He needed to be thinking about these things, desiring certain other things, and wanting her more than he ever had before. She had been tricked and manipulated enough, it was her turn to return the favor.

He sat him down on the plus cushions of the first ring and knelt in front of him to make him a very special tea. “We are alone. You may speak freely,” she said softly, praying he didn’t catch on to what her purpose was. She literally had to force herself to relax, and bend just right so that he could peak a view. She never performed the ritual herself, but she had seen it enough and had learned all the right moves that if she just pretended this was not her first time, she could make it through.

This seemed to make Vash relax and he threw up an arm over the cushion he leaned against. “Can you believe we are almost done with all this? I mean, a year in Damascus is fine, but I am ready to do more than just push documents around,” he asked. Good, he was in a chatty mood, this was perfect.

“I quite like it here. I don’t really want to leave my home a second time,” she whispered, pouring him a cup with a special teapot that, when tilted a different way, released a different brew from a hidden reservoir. It was a clever device that prevented her from needing to dose herself as well. “What will you do once you are done in Damascus?” She asked, reminding herself that she needed to keep him talking.

He took the offered drink and raised it in a salute to her. She did the same and they drank their teas together. “Well, I want to return to Sousa and serve as an advisor, but I am still too young to that. They might decide to station me elsewhere,” he said nonchalant. He took another cup and then another after that. “You are really quite good at making this tea, what is in it?” His words came slower and there was more space between them. It was time to take him to the next level.

She held out her hand, and he took it. When he stood up, she wrapped herself around his arm as she had been taught, pressing into him so he could feel her. “Thank you, I have been told I am…very…talented,” her voice was dark as each step his arm slid against her dress. She wanted to gag herself, she wanted to take that dagger she had hidden in a sack and stab herself with it. But she kept reminding herself that this was all for the goal of freedom.

Vash didn’t catch on or seemed to notice her hesitancy at all. He grinned at how forward she was being. He wasn’t quite sure if this was just her being an Oracle or if she was being suggestive just for him. Still, he would never say no to the feeling of her body against his arm. In fact, that tenderness was the only thing he seemed to be able to manage.

They sat at the next level, she lowered him onto the cushions, perhaps he had too much more to drink and she was overzealous. This whole thing could be blown because she got overly excited about getting him ready. She had learned a way to supplant ideas in people’s heads but it took them being in a very particular state.

Ishtar lit and then blew on the several incense she had placed around them filling the space with a pleasant smelling aroma. It made her light headed and if she wasn’t so focused on the task at hand she would have been giddy but she fought these intrusive emotions as she watched Vash teeter this way and that. At the smell though, his eyes narrowed, had she pushed too hard.

“Why did you summon me?” He asked, appearing to fight all he effects that sought to pull him into their embrace. Ishtar sat kneeling in front of him and panicked. She needed to act quickly, she needed to do something. Without further thought she leaned in, one hand around his neck and the other on his chest and pulled him into a long slow kiss. Her breath was shaky and dancing on his lips and she prayed to her god that he mistook it for anticipation and not for what it really was - nerves and fear that she failed.

The desperate gesture seemed to work, it was his turn to kiss her. Placing both hands on her hips he pulled her over to him and kissed her passionately in return. She felt both the sensation of his strength and the intoxicating aroma in the air and pushed away as hard as she could. She would surely not last long if she let this go on much longer and she hadn’t even made her move yet.

“Before we continue,” she whispered, gasping for air and to try to find some real estate away from Vash. “I need something. I promise if you grant it, I will be yours and yours forever,” again that nauseous feeling came to her but she needed to act, she couldn’t stand the visions anymore. Women did strange things for love, she thought wryly in a moment of clarity - even offer to marry someone else.

Vash clearly wasn’t done with what he wanted, and kissed the nape of her neck. “Ask and it shall be yours,” he moaned against her skin. “I can nullify that contract,” he said taking a guess even under the influence of the situation.

Yes! But she wasn’t done yet. Embolden with this pleasant turn of events, she pulled him to his feet and helped him down to the final level, at the lip of the pool. “That’s a start,” she said, her voice dark and her eyes sultry in the burning evening sky, she tried her hardest to now keep the anticipation out of her voice. She pulled off her robe, and let the warm light of sundown bath her curves. She put a very similar substance in her mouth that Khannah had done the night she blessed Aliyah, and pushed Vash down to the hard stone floor. With a kiss she smooth the mush around his mouth. As his head lulled back she whispered in his ear, “Save Bahman Farhad."

Word Count - 2865

Chapter 24 - Save Bahman Farhad

Vash woke up bleary eyed. He was in some kind of bedchamber. He didn’t come to until he realized there was across his midsection and he looked over to see what looked like a mess of hair resting on his should. Brushing the hair aside it was Ishtar. He brushed her check as she slept peacefully until the vague memories of what they did came flooding back.

He shot up and carefully slipped out of the bed to put his robe on that was spilt on the floor. He wished he remembered more off what happened. Only two thoughts were screaming in his mind the first, a happy one, “she is mine at last.” The second one came more urgently and in his own voice, “Save Bahman Farhad.” Yes, he needed to figure out what to do now. He had only helped write that contract because he was desperate to eliminate competition and Esfandiar had snaked his claws into his head. That old priest had a way of making you do what he wanted and now that he was a year away from his influence he felt more like himself. He hated himself for ever drafting that document but at the same time, he took another long look at the sleeping woman in the bed, it seemed to all work out for him.

However which way his mind made sense of the implanted idea, he walked out to find himself in the temple of the Oracle. Right, he was summoned here. But why? Anyway, one thing must have led to another for him to be so lucky. His memory came in spots and flashes as he sent for his scribe and guards. Yes, they sat down to enjoy some tea and talked about the future. They must simply have had too much. Ishtar was normally careful about such things in times past but maybe being here changed her. He knew Damascus had changed him as well.

When his company arrived, he was down the stairs and mounted his steed. He ignored all the knowing glances that were exchanged both at him and behind his back. They didn’t matter anymore. He had work to do. According to the contract, Ishtar needed to return to Babylon at the end of her service with proof of the deed. He would have to search for ways to at the very least suspend or transfer the contract. After all, let an assassin try to fight Bahman and his deadly acquaintance would take care of it himself. They left at once to return to Damascus all the way discussing matters with his scribes as they rode.

When they arrived he went to the library the Satrap maintained in the palace. The difficulty would not be nullifying the contract if it was just a normal legal document. After all, if Ishtar married him, he would be the one to lead the negotiations for the terms of her outstanding debts. However, he was not at all sure how that worked with the magic his writing imbued in the tablets. Would Mithra allow at the very least a transference or a complete cancellation? There were bound to be terms and conditions. First, he needed to get back to Babylon. No, first he should draft a contract stipulating the marriage before she changed her mind. He went back and forth. Perhaps a new contract would supersede a pre-existing arrangement.

That could work. It was within his power as prince to renegotiate contracts, or so that was his logic. A contract that, on the condition of marriage, all outstanding arrangements be declared void. That wouldn’t save Bahman, surely, Esfandiar would have some other scheme in mind. But, he felt down to his core he had done evil to someone who still counted him as a friend, this would have to be righted or what good was being a prince without honor - for some reason now he cared about that. He would rescue Ishtar first from the arrangement. That seemed to be the obvious task first - he had no doubt Bahman could take care of himself until Vash could renegotiate with Esfandiar.

After he got he made his way to his daily appointments with the Satrap. He had grown to be nearly irreplaceable and the man was irritated that Vash had decided to return to Babylon instead of continue in his service. His handle on power in the region only grew thanks to the young prince and his role would not be easily filled again.

“How went your trip to Tyre? I hear it was rather fruitful,” the elderly man said, not hiding his contempt but there was a knowing look. “We have women here for you if that is what you want. You don’t have to go all the way to Tyre to scratch that itch.” Vash wished so much to have the authority to wipe that look off the man’s face but he was there to learn and even with his title he never wielded it with the power it deserved. Try as he might he was always someone else’s pawn and a duplicitous pawn at that.

Vash was sitting at a table with the other advisors as they attended to that day’s pile of woes. “Well, there is cause for some celebration,” he said after staring at the Satrap in a silent game of chicken. Redirection was often the best course of action here and allowed people to save face, especially when they held your fate in their hands.

“Oh?” The men said almost in unison their eyebrows raised. It seemed everyone there was convinced he went for a midnight rendezvous with a lover and hated the fact they all ended up being right. However, that wasn’t his initial intention, he’d never convince anyone of that fact.

“There will be a wedding,” he said at last and now they were all just flabbergasted. By now his guards and scribes had filled the whole palace with the gossip he went to do “business” with the Oracle and he got treated very well. Surely, he didn’t mean to try woe a woman just because he slept with her. He cleared his throat and tried to compose himself as much as possible, the swooping curls of his hair still giving him a boyish look that often lent itself to being underestimated.

“There is a young priestess there, one training under the Priestess Khannah. We have…a history…” his confidence was quickly evaporating as the words left his mouth, they were all staring at him like he was a child and it irritated him further. “As a priest of Mithra, a prince of Persia, I have asked her to marry me. If you would rather I hold the ceremony in Sousa with a scathing review of Damascus, that can be arranged.”

Now, he was sounding like he was a prince. The reminder of both his title and his status within the religious order seemed to shock everyone back into civility. “No need to be so hasty, my lord,” the Satrap said, the contempt not leaving his voice, and a heavy dose of sarcasm in his enunciation of Vash’s honorific. “We will have a grand ceremony to rival that of any royal palace. We will send word through the empire that such an esteemed personage such as yourself has chosen a partner among the rabble such is his divine mercy.”

Vash wanted to bristle at this proclamation, but he started this avalanche, there was nothing to be done about where it went from here as long as he guided it. “Right. Well. I also must be off to Babylon. There are some customs I need to fulfill at the Tower as part of my religious duties.” He awkwardly bowed still not believing anything he said was real. He never actually asked Ishtar to marry him, where did all that come from? Though, he had a feeling he did ask her that night. He had a sinking suspicion that none of this was real, but his conviction that this was the only course of action stuffed that doubt in a box deep deep down in his soul.

He wrote a message to Ishtar explaining the terms and process for her new contract as well as a lengthy apology for allowing these things to go on for too long. Next, he wrote to Korinna, his High Priestess. They had a rocky relationship and he hated relying on the need for a Greek to settle the disputes of Persians but the circumstances required him to set aside his prejudice. She would not be happy that he had been abusing his blessings or that he was easily manipulated by Esfandiar but he needed someone to know the truth and now the only one that could help him out of this situation was the one he called “filth” when he first met her.

All in all, the meetings and documents and contract drafts took him several days but he left for Babylon as soon as he could. He rode fast and pushed his company hard. The plans he set into motion were time sensitive. They camped only when the donkeys, carrying all kinds of gifts for the Tower at the behest of the Satrap, couldn’t carry their loads any longer or when a cart needed to be repaired. It was during one of those nights he caught himself wondering if Bahman could heal their exhaustion so they could press harder. He didn’t think healing worked like that but the man he remembered seemed to be unstoppable and always with energy to spare.

They made the main gate of Babylon in what Vash would assume was record time, but he didn’t really stop to consider the days. The procession was met with fanfare as his missive preempted them. While there was music and dancers and many Harolds shouting both the falsified grandeur of him as a prince but also the many wonders of the west and Damascus, all Vash wanted to do was climb the tower and hurl himself at the feet of Korinna and beg for her help before he went to Esfandiar.

The celebration and gawking at his arrival felt like an eternity, and they made their way finally to the Tower. He had to wait for the various gifts to be both announced and for them to be delivered to the gods that were being blessed, all of which he anxiously and with no little effort waited for. Then finally, he was allowed to proceed, with even more fanfare harolding his return through the levels. When he made it through the throngs of the lower level which housed the foreign gods that were tolerated by the empire, he was freed from the procession as none were allowed past that level and was great by a strong looking woman with crossed arms and a stern look.

“High priestess,” he greeted somberly, and exhausted more from the attention than from any physical exertion. “I have much to discuss,” he said formally, his tone as one in charge, and he instantly regretted it but it must be something in the way he was dressed, or held himself now, or the urgency of his letter. She just nodded. There was no reprimand, no chiding remarks. The same disapproval was painted on her face but she said nothing as they made their way to the Temple of Mithra.

“You leave with every opportunity at your disposal and you come back a mess and groveling for mercy. Is that the sum of this show that you’ve put on?” Korinna said finally after they sat and said their prayers and made their sacrifices to their god. They were still kneeling on the cushions in front of the statue, not facing one another. “All I see is a boy who continues to allow himself to be used by others. For royalty you are very smart, though being intelligent never seems to be a requirement.” None of this, he noted, was a rejection of his request. Compared to their previous discussions she had said more than she ever had before and if he wasn’t crazy, and he must be, he detect something that sounded like the equivalent of sympathy.

“You are given a gift that can powerfully reshape the empire, and you, still for no reason I can ascertain, were chosen to shape it. Yet, you only do so as it benefits others. You’ve lied, you’ve cheated, and you have deceived your way through contracts that have never once led to anything favorable. Am I close?”

Vash sat there on his knees, his hands folded in front of him, his eyes locked on the statue of Mithra. He also hated how easily he was read and had no defense for how succinctly she was putting his life into perspective.

“Then, you got it into your small little man brain, or perhaps it was put there by a certain old man who is past his prime, that the best way to win a woman’s heart was to make her kill the actual person she likes because, even though he might be more an idiot, he at least is honest. Now, after being away from the influence of the Tower, you finally have some common sense that you can’t get your lady friend to love you by murdering her lover. However, you can’t help but be an idiot, and have coerced her to marry you in exchange for saving the very boy you once counted as a dear friend, in fact the only one you ever had,”

“What else was I supposed to do?” He protested.

“Could have found someone else and let these two be happy. That wouldn’t benefit the person you are really in bed with though, huh? Instead of devoting yourself to your own god, your own ambitions are your true master and now you need to answer to the man upstairs. You want my help to sort this all out so that you can still somehow get what you want, and save the innocent people that you claim to love but have doomed. You, my wayward priest, are so far down in this hole, you might as well lay in that grave and be buried there.”

That whole speech he thought there was some thread to hope that her lashings were leading to a solution. The silence that followed was deafening and his way out of this situation. “If this woman is satisfied to be your bride and the conditions of your new contract, then Mithra is satisfied. He will not hold her to the slaughter of an innocent man, especially one that is beholden to Anahita and he won’t force an Oracle to commit this crime, even at the behest of the High Priest of Ahura Mazda.”

A wave of relief washed over him and he could kiss that statue and Korinna even if she were a dirty greek. “But…” Korinna said, still refusing to look at him. “Once that contract is finalized, you will no longer be a priest or welcomed here at this temple ever again. For your ambition abuse of Mithra’s benevolence in your life, you will no longer be given his blessing.” He couldn’t help but look over and see her rather vindictive smile. “If these terms are acceptable to you, you may leave here at once. You will still have to handle the matter of Esfandiar but I have a feeling you two were made for each other.”

He didn’t want to be with out his power. Granted he was never really interested in serving this god and only did so to appease the people around him. He thought for as long as he was allowed before he could see Korinna visibly shaking in fury. He was still a prince, and he had, despite all his duplicity, established himself as an effective negotiator when it came to what the empire cared about and, as long as the empire got what they wanted, they didn’t mettle with the ambitions of the Tower so long as they pumped out magical artifacts to be used in their campaigns.

“As it has been said, so let it be done,” Vash said at length with a bow. He burned the additional required sacrifice. He returned his priest robes marking him as a servant of Mithra and turned his back on the temple, never stepping foot in such a place again as long as he lived. It was now time to face the demon that surrounded himself with a garden of paradise. Vash made his way upward to the Great Temple of Ahura Mazda.

Word Count - 2781

Chapter 25 - She Loves Me!

Ishtar woke up to an empty bed with no prince in sight. She laid there contemplating everything she had to do to lead to this moment and he was gone. She felt empty and used, despite it being her plan it backfired spectacularly. All she wanted was to set her own terms for once. She got played still even trying to be the player. She was doomed by the terms set by Esfandiar and now she would be forced to kill the one man who cared for her and instead of returning his devotion, she avoided him and literally slept with the one responsible for all of this. She rolled over and grabbed the dagger she had been given that was under the folds of the blanket.

If all else had failed last night she would have ended someone’s life but it seemed in those throes of passion that she got what she wanted. She clutched the hilt of the blade to her chest and closed her eyes. It would take one swift movement and then it would be over. It was the thought that, knowing her luck, Bahman would be on his way here, or Khannah would have sent for him having had one of her visions, and the healer would save her life even as she bled in the bed she shared with another man. They were priests, he probably wouldn’t even bat an eyelash. In the end, this was their line of work. Making this whole imagined scenario pointless. She chucked the dagger across the room where it slide not shattering like she wished with all her might.

She screamed in anger as she pounded the bed and the covers and threw the pillows. This was all so stupid. When she finally got it out of her system she straightened her hair and slipped into her robe. She suddenly felt the need to go home. She needed to cry on her father’s shoulder and had the urge to rant to her mother. She smiled wryly as she exited the room, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree after all.

“Good morning, Ishtar,” came the sing song voice Khannah used when she knew something others didn’t. “I see your little plan you hatched was successful.” Ishtar wasn’t sure if she was being sarcastic but she show her a glare that she opened will at least severely injure the priestess. When no such luck happened, she gritted her teeth. She didn’t stop to even acknowledge the slight as she stormed out of the the building. Down the stairs she went, and stubbornly on foot all the way home. She didn’t know what she was going to do now that she failed. She now wore the dagger on her hip underneath her robes, it felt like searing pain, but she told herself she deserved it.

The dagger raged and her heart stopped as her parent’s house came into view. There, chatting as nice as you please to her mother, was Bahman. They seemed to be smiling and laughing at something and she felt herself want to cut them both down just for being there. She spent so much time carefully avoiding him and here he was right when it was too late to do anything. She wanted to fling herself into his arms. She wanted to kiss him. She wanted to stab him, slit his throat, and watch him bleed. The poor fool wasn’t even wearing any weapons!

“Ishtar! I was just letting your mother know that your father is healed. He should be able to walk normally after today,” he greeted her with a smile and a wave. In one swift movement, she wrapped her arms across his body and hugged him tight, her face buried into his robes. “Now, all I have to do is stick it in,” something inside her hissed, how good it would feel to be his undoing, “but he smells so nice.” Her heart wavered and her tense muscles relaxed as he returned the hug with as much care as if he was holding a piece of facile glass.

“I…will go prepare lunch,” her mother said awkwardly while they continued to hold each other not saying anything.

“She. Has. The. Knife. She is going to kill you. Move!” A voice was shouting into his head but Nim paid it no heed. This was what he wanted for the whole year and he wasn’t planning on letting her go until she insisted. He was beginning to think she started hating him as she always seemed busy or off with others with no time for him. He of course was also busy so he figured they were just destined to be apart. Having her here now, with him, just him, felt special. Until his hand slid down to her hip and he indeed felt the knife under the fabric of her clothes. “We can take care of this right? At least for a bit?” He asked himself and when he was met with the warmth filling him, he knew the magic was his to command.

Suddenly, before Ishtar could reached, his hand was not he hilt of the blade. It flashed hot and felt as if it was raging against his hand. She stared back and he put a hand gently on the back of her head and pulled her close so their foreheads were touching. He closed his eyes. He could feel the darkness coursing its way through her body. He followed its flow where he found it wrapping around her. He held her there as he worked. It felt like a tug of war that he was slowly winning, slowly tugging those dark cords out from around her. It only took a few seconds but the work was hard. It wouldn’t hold. So long as she held that dagger, it would come back. He no more wanted to touch it ever again than he did her having possession of it. It was not something humans should have at all!

He sighed and let go over her and Ishtar stared back as if able to breath for the first time since before she left Babylon. “Ishtar, I’m so sorry,” he started to say but she threw herself at him again kissed him full in the lips not even daring to break for a breath. He had no idea what to do and so shocked was he that he just kind of stood there panicked. Ishtar, however, was determined to stay there for as long as it took and slowly Nim wrapped his arms around her and kissed her.

“If I have to fulfill this contract,” she told herself in her moment of clarity, “I’m not going to hesitate with the time I have left.” She smiled at his shocked expression and led him back inside the house. It wasn’t long before she felt those tendrils around her heart even though she cast the dagger into another room and throw a basket over it. “They all take from you, why not take a little for yourself,” it called to her as if mocking her.

The lunch went well, with her mother, Aliyah, just staring at the two of them as if she had never been happier in her life. Of course, her mother was just glad to see she was interested in anybody. It didn’t have to be Bahman but he had does so much for her family, more than she realized until that moment. The fact it was the healer was just a bonus. Apparently, he thought she didn’t want anything to do with him, but he still wanted to make sure her family was healthy. He was strong, loyal, compassionate, and powerful; really a bit of a dullard, and always had a look of confusion on his face like he didn’t ever know where he was, but he was the only one who treated her like she wanted to be. She could have been happy, she should be happy, she would be happiest with her dagger in his side ripping him apart - stabbing him over and over and over and…

“Ishtar, he’s leaving,” his mother had snapped her out of wherever she went and looked at her like she should go with him. Yes, she thought to herself, she could pull him into a dark alley and be done with this. She wasn’t allowed to forget her one play to undo the magic Vash had used on the contract had failed. She nodded and slowly got up as if in a daze. She didn’t know when it happened but somehow between getting up and leaving, the dagger was back at her hip. Maybe she could just literally stab him in the back, that way he wouldn’t have a chance to heal himself. How do you kill a man who can literally use healing magic to cure anything?

“Ishtar is not going to kill me. I mean, we just kissed for like a thousand years!” He said to himself a little too loudly, the wind thankfully catching his words and carrying them away from prying ears. “Guys, I think she loves me!”

He turned around and in that moment his eyes stared as he saw Ishtar press into him at the last moment and felt the dagger enter his side. She had really done it! On impulse he grabbed her hand while it was still on the hilt, and broke her finger, forcing her to let go. He grabbed the hilt of the blade fighting to stay conscious through the poison he could feel flowing into the wound.

The crack in the wall of his consciousness split and more magic than he knew how to handle flowed through him and into the dagger. With a hard of a squeeze as he could muster the dagger shattered. The damage however, was too great and he felt down on the street bleeding out, the blood thick and congealed, black like sin. He was dying. He looked up to see Ishtar one last time but she had disappeared leaving him to die in the streets. He placed a hand on his open wound and tried his hardest to heal the damage, to draw out the poison. He couldn’t focus. He was almost…he just need to…almost…

Nim was found shortly after by guards sent to check on them. Without a discernible pulse, he was rushed back to the temple. Abela and the priests worked hard to continue to extract whatever poison the blade had been coated with. It was all they do to stabilize the body but the cut was deep and Nim was not able to heal as much as they had hoped.

—————————

What did she do, what did she do, what did she do? Tears welled up in her eyes as she stumbled away cradling the hand with the broken fingers in her robes and her other hand to her mouth. She had no choice, she had to do it. Her only shot to under the contract left her cold in a bedroom. If she didn’t take matters into her own hands everything would be gone and Bahman would still be dead. Or would he have been? Would Esfandiar still have sent someone to do it? Her head was spinning as she desperately tried to get back to the oracle. She passed guards that she recognized as one accompanying Bahman on more than one occasion, but they didn’t seem to notice her.

Khannah could help her, Khannah would know what to do! Khannah…was standing at the top of the stairs now with a concerned look as if she was waiting for her with a boy. She managed to clear her throat as she got to the landing, hiding her hand. “What?” She asked, the tears already streaming down her face.

“Hello, priestess,” the boy said formally. “Prince Siyavash sent me back to let you know that you have nothing to worry about. He will make the arrangements you have requested and he will save a man by the name of…Bahman Farhad I believe. That is all.” He didn’t wait for a reply he just nodded his head politely, and not asking any questions took his leave down the stairs.

She stared at the ground, her hand throbbing. She laughed, not a funny laugh but a desperate laugh of a broken woman, she knelt down, remembering everything she did, overcome with grief. If she had only waited, if she just took the steps to come back she would have been able to forget all about that stupid dagger. Bahman would be alive. He would be…

Khannah scooped her up in her arms and ushered her inside. Sitting her down on the familiar cushions she sat beside her, face stoic, and poured them both a cup of tea. Before Ishtar could protest, the Oracle held up a hand, “Just something to help you relax. Now tell me what happened.” Her face was serious and she waited for the young woman to show her her hand. “Who did this to you?”

“The…dagger,” she started, her voice quivering as she tried to focus on drinking the cup of offered tea. It was of a similar recipe as what she used last night but not as potent. She drank it and hoped it would be enough for her nerves. After another cup she felt control over herself and the pain in her hand numbing. “I woke up. The prince was gone. I thought I failed. I thought the only thing to do was to…”

Khannah drank her tea as well, this was going to be a long afternoon. “What happened when you left?”

“I went home. Bahman was there,” her eyes were distant and her head kind of lulled to one side as if in a trance, reliving those final moments. In a soft voice she continued, “He had finished the final healing for my father. They were all so excited. I…ran to him and kissed him.” She absentmindedly touched her lips, remember the feel of his mouth and his smell. “The dagger…it’s magic. It whispered things into my ear. It made me want to do things…” She looked at Khannah, hoped to see sympathy in her eyes but she saw nothing but her own blankness staring back at her. She realized she was reading something as her eyes shook slightly in place.

“Khannah, it was like we were a family. He had lunch with us. They were all so happy. I just wanted that to last before…” Ishtar fell silent again. She thought she felt empty and numb when she woke up this morning, turns out, she didn’t know what those feelings were until that moment. “I followed him…stalked him and then, he turned around so fast I didn’t think I just…into his stomach…what have I done?” She shuttered and the tea cup smashed across the floor. “I did the only thing I could do…I came back here. You have to help me.”

She sagged against the step and felt the other woman grab her temples. An electricity connected them like a current. Khannah’s head bent back at an unnatural angle and her eyes rolled in the back of her head. It was a long tense moment until a thick deep voice croaked out one word, “Run.”

Ishtar was cradling her broken hand when Khannah came to. “Go to this Prince Siyavash. Tell him nothing but agree to the terms you have set with him. Your fingers will heal, I will help you bind them. I thought you rash for your plan last night, girl, but I didn’t think this would happen. Had you just waited, things would have worked themselves out. If the gods are merciful, they will save this Bahman but you knew no matter what happened, there was no life with him. Forget him, and forget what happened. If you’d like I can give you a potion that can help you lose that memory.”

She just shook her hand and with a shaky hand, stood up. When she caught her balance she went to retrieve her things. She would leave under the cover of night and head to Damascus alone. She wouldn’t say farewell to anyone, not her family, not Khannah. It would be like she just disappeared, the very thing she thought maybe she should have done to begin with.

Word Count - 2736

Chapter 26 - Grow Up

Vash ascended the stairs to the top of the Tower. It was so long since he had set foot up here that the view took his breath away and the garden that Esfandiar had been cultivating seemed even more impressive. He took a moment to collect himself, he was no longer a priest, at least he wouldn’t be when he returned to Damascus and married Ishtar. He had one shot here now to set things to rights and save his friend.

“Esfandiar,” he called irreverently, ignoring all the disciplines he begged him to be quiet. Their master was meditating and didn’t to be disturbed they said. Any normal day he would have apologized and kept quiet but today he wasn’t a student. Today, he was royalty and he would have his answers.

“What do you want, child?” Esfandiar rose from his balcony with equal contempt as they walked briskly over to each other as if they might charge through the other. “I am busy and I have no time for has-beens. You are useless to me.”

“What are you talking about?” Vash demanded, his head held high. “You will not get what you want. I have come to tell you all you contracts with Ishtar are null and void. You have no power over her.”

The old priest sneered. “You don’t know do you? It doesn’t matter. The deed is done. That eye sore is dead.” He wanted to savor this moment and make the pig squeal but the shock and horror on the boy’s face was tasty enough. “What? You didn’t think the girl had it in her? Stabbed him right through and left before the body hit the floor.”

“No,” Vash spat. Bahman was the most dangerous man he had ever met, there was no way he’d like anyone come within two span of him with a weapon. “Ishtar would never do that,” Vash grabbed the old man by his robes with half the mind to throw him off the Tower. However, a splitting headache sent him immediately to his knees.

“If I didn’t have more need of you, I would kill you myself, royalty be damned,” Esfandiar hissed at the crippled youth. “But I still have a task for you. There is still the matter of that loom. We both know someone who knows where it is.” When Vash looked at him confused, Esfandiar started to wonder really what good this boy was at all.

“You will let him go, Esfandiar, High Priest of Ahura Mazda,” a voice came from behind Vash and he didn’t place it yet through the pain that ping ponged around his skull. Suddenly all was quiet as Esfandiar let go of his grip on the young prince. “He is no longer yours,” it was Korrina.

“Let him go,” a calmer male voice followed her but he couldn’t quiet make sense of it. He saw a large man tower over her and knew that it was Hercules, an ironic name for a Persian Goliath. “He is needed back in Damascus,” he said his hand holding a missive with the imperial seal. “It appears the king himself will be present for the wedding as he will be passing through with his military on his way to Egypt. You will not harm this boy or use him in anyway. I will remind you that you are in the presence of a Prince of Persia, and not, as you so clearly think, one of your acolytes.” While Hercules spoke, Korrina, having no time for this nonsense stalked over, grabbed the boy by his arm and dragged him away.

Esfandiar ground his teeth as he beckoned one of his pions to take the missive. He scanned it and made a face at Hercules as if he was dismissed. The big man didn’t need to be told twice.

“You are welcome,” Korinna growled as she nearly threw up down the rest of the stairs on their way out. She stormed him leaving him completely at a loss for words. Hercules clasped him on the shoulders and shoved him a long. “Walk, child,” he muttered, a sidelong look at the High Priest’s guards as if they would be sent after them at once. When they were at the Temple of Anahita, because Vash was no longer to step foot in the Temple of Mithra, Korinna rounded on him. “Were you seriously going to get caught up in one of his schemes?”

“Bahman is dead,” he said, sagging into one of the overly plush cushions. Why did Anahita have to have the best and softest things, that never sat right to him and the sapphire blues always looked so deep and regale.

“He is not, you idiot,” Korinna sighed both frustrated and exasperated. “Yes, Ishtar tried, egged on by the dagger. Yes, she should have been successful. Bahman is on a who different level though and it appears it will take more than a stab wound to do him in.”

“How do you know?” Vash spat bitterly. Korinna looked like she wanted to ring his neck and then slapped Hercules across the chest and hard as if she was aggressively tagging him in so she didn’t do something she would regret.

“Abela is a talented healer,” Hercules said flinching at force of Korinna’s slap. “I mean her report clearly says that he is not dead but will need time to recover. It is best to keep this information to yourself. Let people believe he is dead.”

He got great news and he wasn’t allowed to tell anyone. “Ishtar will know the moment she sees me. I will not hide from her again.”

“Oh so now you chose this moment to be noble?” If Korinna could spit fire he would be roasted. “Put on that stupid medallion and live a happy life with a woman you don’t deserve.” She clearly had enough of this prince and wanted him out of her life for good. Vash would not be sorry if he never saw her again.

Hercules put up a hand to calm them both. “Ishtar is already in Damascus. Spend the night, your mother has a nice room in the palace I am told. Head out before first light and by the time you make it back, perhaps it will be known Bahman is alive and you won’t need to hide it from anyone.” Vash’s eyes narrowed but didn’t ask anything about how this big muscular man knew where and which room his mother had. However, if Ishtar was in Damascus, he wanted to be there. He was exhausted from everything that happened though.

In the end he decided to take Hercules’ advice and found his way to the royal palace at Babylon and soon enough, without trouble found his mother Abnātu. In the year since his absence she had made herself quite famous among the harem of the city. He was visibly upset and still shaken by the days events but wouldn’t tell her what had happened no matter how much leverage she wanted to use. He didn’t have the heart to tell her he had been cast out of the Tower, saw to the demise of his friend, coerced the woman he thought he loved to marry him, and ruined his chances at rising through the religious ranks. Instead he would just shrug and locked himself in a different room than the one his mother used. For some reason he couldn’t get the imagine of Hercules with his mother out of his mind and decided he had enough to worry about. Sleep came to him quickly and he left word for his mother that he would go on ahead but that he was to be wed in Damascus to an priestess. Everything seemed to be coming to a head.

As it is with travel, the trip going back felt quicker than trip going. He wondered anxiously about what happened to Ishtar to make her not wait for him, was she eager to already be away from him? She seemed eager enough the night the spent together. He sent word ahead of them the afternoon before to expect their arrival in the coming days and to start the preparations for the ceremony. Soon he would be with his beloved Ishtar.

—————————

Ishtar swapped out her beautiful flowing robes and gowns for clothes she bought from a bazaar exiting Tyre. It was in the early morning and the shops were just opening their booths. It seemed strange to have such a wealthy priestess shopping their wares at all let alone so early but money was money and she paid handsomely. She dressed in a beige tunic that was too big for her but hid her well enough and trousers, she looked like a child who was trying on her father’s work clothes. She “found” a cloak on her way out and put money where it had been in case it belonged to someone. It smelled funny and had holes like rats had chewed at it but she did not want to look like a wealthy patron traveling the road alone. She took out her braid and the decorations and put them in the sack she put her robes in. It wasn’t heavy but she kept having to stop to shift which shoulder carried the load.

Making her way on foot was definitely not the way to go from the two cities and when she made it to the first stop along the road, she managed to purchase a donkey, she was an old girl but she was strong. She took a certain likely to pretending to be a vagabond, she definitely had enough money and enough things to sell to keep her from actually becoming one but there was a certain charm she found to matching the esthetic. How well could she pull off being invisible, it was like a challenge she never got to experience like she was on a military stealth mission.

The days were easy with the donkey to either carry her or just her bag as she walked along side the noble animal. She stopped to stay the night at an inn and she found she wasn’t very good at picking safe spots to stay. She had rented a small room that had a door to the outside, it was little more than a storage closet but during the night a rough knock came at the door. Two big bend tore down the door connecting the room to the inn and almost got her if there hadn't been an exit.

She spent that night variably sleeping on her donkey or under a tree on the side of the road as she continued toward Damascus. When the day came she stopped at a blacksmith that set up along the road to help carriages and carts that needed repairing. He also sold a plethora of common daggers but there were a few blades that appeared to dance in waves against the light. Folded metal, as the locals called it, Damascus steel. They were pricey but she purchased two long blades that were about a dagger’s length each. She tied one to her hip and slid the other in a bag in case she ever needed it. She was much wiser about where she stayed and that the doors had proper locks and could not easily be broken into. As she neared Damascus places became more plentiful and she had her pick of establishments that were both clean and safe. She was outside the city wall now and decided that she would stay there and survey the city. If what that messenger in Tyre said, in order for Vash to save Bahman he’d have to go to Babylon.

She wasn’t sure she trusted the man but he was all she had left now that she…now that she killed someone. They were likely hunting for her in Tyre, she knew she would be. But she also had family there, she wasn’t sure even if Bahman any family. Her family could have been his. The pangs of guilt threaten to overwhelm her. She needed to do as Khannah had suggested and completely forget what happened. She never knew a Bahman.

Since her run in at the inn she told everyone who asked for her name that she was Tavi. Here the bartender and inn owner knew her as Tavi, a wandering magician who could read minds for a pretty penny. She had the skills to back it up and occasionally threw in false readings just to keep people from getting too suspicious that she was actually using magic. The days she spent along the city wall helped her to hone people reading skills. Thanks to her tricks in the evening taking money from drunk people she quickly learned enough tells that even if they weren’t drunk she could tell a lot about them from a few questions, even without Seeing them. She wished she developed this skill earlier.

The trips into the city were kept short but as she was never discovered and seemed to not catch the eye of roving guards, she ventured closer and closer to the Satrap palace. She had been there for a little more than a week when a procession rolled through the main square. She ducked into an alley covered by an awning while the crowds gathered. There on a horse was Vash, looking for all the world like a scared boy anxious to be home. Ishtar wondered to herself what Babylon must have been like, she figured she would know soon enough.

She went back to the inn and traded her traveling clothes for her fine silk. They felt odd hanging from her body now. She felt alive being able to just be invisible and blend in, instead of always being stared at and bowed to. She did her hair quickly and though the mirror was dirty and she didn’t have all her trinkets, it was close enough. She still wore her Damascus steel dagger, that was a fixture these nearly two weeks she never went anywhere with out. She was starting to understand how Bahman felt with all his weapons. She left the inn much to the shock of everyone there who got to know Tavi and her powers of observation.

The guard bowed to her, obviously not recognizing her now. “Send word to Prince Siyavash. Ishtar of Tyre has arrived to see him.” It was time to get married, and not for the first time, she wished it was to a certain man but that one she left dead in the street. She promised herself she’d treat this one a little better even if she wanted the two men’s predicaments to be reversed.

Word Count - 2462

Chapter 27 - A Conversation

“Where am I?” Nim moaned. Everything seemed dim and washed out, he felt his head throb, but he could make out vague muted outlines of palm trees and a spring. A kind of oasis. He sat down. Sat down? So he could still do that. He remembered being stabbed but when he checked his side there was no scar. If he was healed, what was this place.

“Welcome, Nim,” a figure sauntered over, a hips swaying and legs that went on for days. Her blue sheer robes gave her away and he locked eyes with a face that shone like the noonday sun but yet had the softness of a mother looking at her child. She sat beside him at the shoreline of the spring.

“So, I see you’ve made it,” the gruff man from his head was now standing over them. He wore his face but it was weathered and cracked like it saw the many horrors of war and time. His left hand carried the trademark burn pattern and the scar that ran the length of the forearm. He was dressed in clothes he had only seen before in his dreams. Layered linens with a long scarf and head dressing. He also sat down at the pool.

“Anahita,” Nim greeted the woman but scrunched his nose at the man. “God, tell me that’s not what I look like when I’m old.”

“I’m right here and I can tell you, you never see this age, at least in my memory,” she said softly though though she found it humorous to say the least.

“Be careful boy, I’ve seen things…I’ve done things…and I can do them to you,” the middle aged man moaned like those days seemed long behind him, as he lazily through a stone in the water at the exact time as the other two. They all looked at each other and chuckled.

There was a pause as they stared into the bubbling spring. “Am I dead?” Nim asked but none of them had a response to that. In truth none of them knew what they were.

“As I’ve said, this path in time is new. Even this spring, I suppose you could call it the wellspring of your soul, I’ve never been here before. There were always parts of us blocked off. And I don’t just mean for you. I can remember every timeline, and they all stop in Damascus, if they arrive there at all. This is the first time Ishtar has killed you though. That’s quite new. Something happens like a great reset and we are fused together, but that is just guessing. Only one of us has been to the other side of that event.” She looked over to the older Nim.

“There are more of us,” he said softly looking around as if hoping more would be joining them. “When that dagger stabbed you there was a large split in the partition separating us from this place and I thought we were finally going to be whole.” When no other Nims joined them, it looked like his whole body sagged. “I do know what happens, or at least what happened to me. We make a decision in an effort to save Ishtar and our friends but that…it…tears us apart into so many pieces. I woke up…well you saw where I woke up. Anahita obviously seems to contain a portion of you as she says she finds you like a beacon no matter where you are. It’s always interesting to remember how temporal a gods memory is. You’d think they would be immune to time.”

“If there are more of us,” Nim started slowly trying to take in all this at once was far more than he had ever tried to understand anything. “How do I become whole again? Like, you two inside me, or I guess with me here, but you aren’t really me, it’s like I have three me’s sharing one body.”

“I’ve been trying to figure it out,” the older Nim piped up. “I thought I had it when I possessed your body that night not he road to Tyre. But in the end we just switched who was in the driver seat, we didn’t actually come together.”

“Maybe this place has something to do with it,” Anahita mused. She knelt down beside the waters edged and placed her hand into the water. Nim gave a gasp and she pulled her hand out. “So this spring is connected to the soul, very interesting.”

“So if we all go into here we will…become one again?” Nim asked curious. Everyone shrugged at each other.

“It is possible,” Anahita said thinking to herself.

“Out with it woman. There isn’t any reason to start withholding now.”

“Well, I am a goddess, but I’m also Nim. If I go, what would the consequences be? Will I cease to be a part of the equation. Freed from this cycle, or will I take over a your body as a human? Will you be a god? There are many things I can think of that could go horribly wrong.”

“Ugh, I hate it when people take too long thinking,” the gruff older Nim growled and without further adieu, waded into the spring’s waters until he turned back and as he turned back, with he waters waist deep, he faded.

Then it was just Nim, who felt stronger, smarter, and somehow more confident. Sharp eyes fell on Anahita with a smirk, “Well, this is my be our only chance at making a difference. The worst that happens is you find me on the shores as a baby again and the cycle repeats itself.”

She looked at the young man who now seemed to possess a certain aura she couldn’t quite explain. She stood up and held out her hand, “I’m not going in without you. We’ve been together through all of this a thousand times over, in life times you can’t even imagine. I don’t want to go without you.” Nim took her hand and together they walked into the spring of water and disappeared.

Word Count - 1016

Chapter 28 - Whole, Again

A gasp. Eyes opened and Nim convulsed off the mat they had placed him on. A hand instantly when to his side and the searing pain. He screamed as he tore off the bandages and panted as the smell of the festering wound made heave. “What the hell did you guys do to me?” He pressed his hand over the gangrenous opening as Abela and Raman came sprinting into the room wide eyed. Nim took a deep breath and the wound closed and healed. However the scar remained, a token for using his magic to destroy the magic blade. “Stupid rules,” he muttered, he could already sense that this thing was likely to reopen at really inconvenient times, however, for the time being, he was fine.

“What? We thought you were dead,” Abela said astonished.

“I was,” Nim sighed, eyes closed. He wondered how long he had been gone, no matter how long he felt he could sleep twice as long. “I got better.”

“How is that even possible? It’s a miracle you survived,” Raman added looking him over. When he could find nothing else wrong with him other than the scar he just scratched his head in amazement.

Nim locked eyes with Abela. “Anahita says hello,” he said softly, but his mouth didn’t move. Woah, both Nim and Abela stared wide eyed at each other both realizing what happened. He turned to Raman and furrowed his brows concentrating intensely, Abela watched him with wide eyed wonder as if she was a child again. So it didn’t work on everyone. Noted. The pair exchanged a glance that Raman seemed not to notice.

“Help me up,” he said trying to stand but the wound still seemed more sore than he gave it credit for. Abela was the first to come to his aid, not doubting that he meant it as an order. Raman was slow to follow, taken aback by Abela’s change in attitude toward the young man.

Nim breathed deep and exhaled slowly closing his eyes to collect his thoughts. He would have to explore his new found abilities later. “How long was I out for?” He asked finally.

“Maybe 2 weeks. A little longer. Raman wanted to keep you as long as you could potentially draw breath. We eventually found a pulse and your breath was nearly imperceptible. He would have let you rot there so long as he had hope you’d get better. I wanted to carve you up and sacrifice you as soon as you arrived,” Abela’s tone was now more playful than she remembered. He also felt different though he didn’t exactly know how different. Different enough that everyone kind of looked at him with more respect. He wasn’t glowing was he? Anahita was glowing. He didn’t want to be a night light.

“Well, thanks for not feeding me to the fires. Raman you have my thanks,” he said clasping the man on the shoulders. Raman was still not used to this kind of camaraderie between himself as the chief priest of Tyre and this boy in training but the way he now carried himself seemed totally different. There was a confidence and power that was previously missing. He seemed more like how Raman had wanted him to act 2 weeks ago.

“Do you know who attacked you?” Abela asked. “We shouldn’t have been so harsh on you about the weapons,” this drew a deadly stare from Raman. Who was this woman and why was she suddenly doting on him. She realized what she was doing and drew up her best scowl, “If it happens again, I will personally make sure to feed you to the dogs instead.”

Abela was more fascinated by the implications of what she was witnessing but this was neither the time or the place to do so. She played with her pendant that bore an image of Anahita - she knew of few that could bring the goddess into contact with humans, a conduit. But then if Nim could talk to her through it. She almost missed the young man’s answer being lost in her own thoughts. Now she had a taste of what it was like to be him living with 2 voices in his head though she only knew about the one.

“I need to see the Oracle,” Nim was saying to Raman. “She is the only one who can answer my questions.”

“She doesn’t just see anyone who shows up. There are protocols,” Raman countered as Nim grabbed his cloak. The young man shrugged and flung his traveling cloak over himself.

“At least take a weapon with you,” Abela offered gesturing to his weapon belt.

Nim forced out a laugh. “The only person who wanted me dead, failed. I’m sure I will be fine.” With that he made his way through the city toward the seaside. He wasn’t quite sure how he felt about any of this but the thought that he could be, at this very moment, seeing the city with Ishtar was both heartbreaking and infuriating. Even now, he couldn’t get her out of his mind. He thought things were finally getting better when she arrived at her parents home. What the hell did that kiss mean?

He stalked in silence as he wound his way through the twisting streets. Who kisses and man and then, had he not turned around, would have stabbed him in the back? It had been almost a year since he had any time with her, maybe she was angry with him? Maybe he was a bad kisser? Any number of things flew through his head but none of them, at least he thought, were worth a knife in the back! What made him more sick was that, when recalling the memories he had with her, there were many that weren’t real, at least not real in this life. All of them happy and laughing, some romantic, and some made him blush. He was obviously living in the wrong timeline if that could have been him! The memories felt real. Different versions of him and Ishtar and they all felt like they really happened.

He was so lost in his thoughts and memories, that he didn’t register that his feet had taken him across the jetty and halfway up the stairs to the Oracle. He had never actually been here before or knew anything about what went on there, but he heard the stories and suddenly wished he did bring his belt when he saw the four guards stationed there. Did she know he was coming? Or was this just a coincidence? No matter, he would have his audience with the Oracle and he would fight anyone who got in his way.

His body tensed and the adrenaline spiked as he stood in front of the guards. Picturing the exact steps he would take to eliminate these threats even weaponless. He grab and break that spear, throw it at the other. He’d disarm the one and block, parry and counter to end the conflict. It all happened in a magnificent ballet in his head. He approached them, muscles tight, and with a large step he closed the gap, hoping to use the momentum to…

“You may enter,” a stern voice said to him upon his arrival. When Nim stared at him blankly in surprise, the man reiterated himself, “The Priestess Khannah has been expecting you. You may enter.”

Nim had worked himself up so much he almost hit the guard in anger. “Oh,” he straightened himself and smoothed over his robes and cloak. He cleared his throat and gave himself a shake to try to dump all that anticipation to no avail, he still felt quite wiry. “Very well,” he did his best to stop from just jumping on them and starting something and strode with a wonky gate into the building.

“It was more a standing order in case you ever did show up. Ishtar said you were dead but you can never be quite sure unless you put the body into the ground yourself,” the beautiful voice came from down by the pool the construction of the building allowing her voice to be heard easily. She rose to stand and gestured for him to come to her. Nim obeyed and when they were standing together, she continued, “I couldn’t have you harming my guards just because you might get it in your mind to do something reckless. Youth today are just so ready to do the stupidest things. Now let me have a look at you.”

She pulled the cowl from over his head and grabbed him by the shoulders as if she were a grandmother trying to get a good look at her grandson. “Handsome. Strong. Very capable. I can see why she liked you. Very well, we shall see what there is to see.” She climbed up the stairs she just made him descend, her hips swaying with each step she took as if beckoning for him to follow. He did and she motioned for him to sit on a cushion. He obliged and she sat across from him.

When she started pouring tea, he put his hand up. “That isn’t going to have any affect on me. Why don’t you just answer my questions?”

She raised an eyebrow and laughed softly, “Sometimes a cup of tea is just a cup of tea. If you want answers you need to relax. This gift only works with a willing mind, and yours is not only unwilling but you seem openly hostile. I don’t blame you. I would be too if someone I loved stabbed me.” She took a sip from the cup and watched him like a hawk. When his face contorted like he had been stabbed again, she knew she hit her mark. Ishtar what were you thinking - and she was not the only one contemplating that deep mystery in the room that’s for sure.

Reluctantly, Nim drank his tea. “You can call me Nim,” he said softly as she pour a second cup. Not even Ishtar knew his real name, he wasn’t sure why he gave it so readily to this woman. There was something about her. The way she looked at you with eyes that really knew you. The way she spoke with words that felt just for your ears. Maybe there was something in this tea after all.

“Nim. How peculiar. Well, it’s nice to meet you, Nim. You may call me, Sara,” She saw his eyes raised and she shrugged, “You are not the only one with a name for the empire. I am from Egypt. Where do you come from, Nim?”

Ok, there was definitely something in that tea, Nim thought as he realized he was holding his breath. He didn’t heal himself of whatever affects he suspected, at least not yet anyway. He had never been offered this kind of opportunity to just talk. It was normally someone wanting something or threatening to beat him or stabbing him in the stomach. “Aasha, but my family comes from Macrobia,” he said finally, realizing this conversation wasn’t going to move on without an answer.

“From Macrobia to Aasha to Babylon to Tyre. Across an empire. It’s a long road home.” She watched him.

“I wouldn’t know what home is. Never been there before,” he said with a shrug. “I need to talk to Zurvan.” There was no beating around the bush with this woman he realized. They would sit here all day talking about anything other than what he wanted to know.

She laughed and shook her head. “That god is dead. You clearly haven’t been keeping up with your studies in Babylon.” It was her turn to bury herself in the tea cup, and poured them both another round.

“Priestess Khannah, servant of Zurvan, Sara of Egypt. Consort to the King,” Nim put his cup down harshly. There was some benefit after all with joining to Anahita. “I am not playing your game. I need to know why things are different this time and what that means. We can exchange tales of homelands neither of us know anything about later. I know you were abducted. I know you were forced to do many horrible things. I know you survived them only because Zurvan found you. I know you have sheltered and trained Ishtar. I have known for a very long time that you and her are special to your god. So. Either tell me how to get in touch with him, or you can tell me what I need to know.”

She stared at him. She stared so hard he could have sworn she wanted to murder him right there. She would need to get in line. “I will not. We are done here. If I will not tell the king, I surely wouldn’t tell you. Ishtar should have stuck you a few more times to finish the job. Now, get out.”

“So you do know. A conduit? Not you, I would have known. Hmm. Well, anyway…” Nim’s eyes flashed and his lips curled into a smirk. She cursed as she realized she let out more than she should have. There was just something so frustrating about this young man. “Thank you for your time, priestess. I have a debt to repay now.”

As he finished his tea, he rose to his feet and turned to go. “Stop. Wait. Fine. Ishtar made a mistake. She signed an ill advised contract, and, seeing no other way out, tried to complete it. It was only after that she learned her first plan was actually successful. If either of you weren’t so rash and stubborn, perhaps things would be different.”

“She stuck a cursed dagger in me and left me for dead on the side of the road. That seems pretty intentional to me,” Nim spat, he didn’t want to feel the betrayal has much as he did but a man can only take so much. “What was her original plan?” When she didn’t immediately respond he turned on her, “What is she going to do?”

“She signed another arrangement renegotiating the contract that if she married a prince then you would be saved. However, the man left before she learned if her scheme was successful and tried to take matters into her own hands.”

Nim head felt like it was splitting. He didn’t know if it was the side effects of the tea she served or the fact that he knew what she had done and why but hated to admit he kind of understood. How he wished things would be different. His shoulders sagged and he said at last, “If the offer to talk about hometowns is still on the table, I’d like another drink.”

She nodded and said, “I will make it something stronger. Seems like we both need it.”

Word Count - 2480

Chapter 29 - Need to Know

Two clocked figures entered the city gates of Damascus arm in arm, looking for all the world like a young couple arriving in the city for the festivities. There were definitely there for the celebration. The word spread that the king was passing through and it was an auspicious day that demanded that delegates from around the area were summoned not just from the ruling Satraps but also from the religious orders. The couple took a sharp turn from the main road and several other that winded around to another street, this one lined with temples. They entered a very familiar looking one with blue and purple accouterment.

“This is a very bad idea, we should go,” the woman nearly begged as she tugged at his arm.

“I need to know. I need to see her,” he replied, though, from outside this conversation they looked as if they were a quiet couple praying to the god of fertility perhaps for a child. No words were spoken out loud. “Perhaps she doesn’t know I’m alive, she wouldn’t be here if she thought so right?”

She hissed silently so only he could hear it. “You have a second lease on life, actually probably more than just a second. You could go quietly and live a peaceful life. Hell, I’d take you back to Poura myself and we can settle down and roll our eyes at Raza together. Just, Bahman, let’s go back.”

He flipped the cowl of his hood back and stood up as others filed into the temple. “I will remind you that we were chosen as a delegation to attend this event from among our order. We couldn’t have left if we wanted to.” He didn’t know Abela to be so weak willed and thought ever since he woke up she had become especially soft. It couldn’t be that she hated the idea of being forced on a fool’s errand with young man who gets himself stabbed. She was fierce but also loyal to her goddess, which now meant following this idiot around.

As they prepared with the other priests and priestess of their order, the ceremony was in full swing across the city. At that moment, as the couple were debating about where they would rather be and what destiny and fat had in store for them, a small branch of the Persian army entered the city, with their king leading. The rest of the army was stationed around the city parameter and for the time being, the city was flowing with money, not only from the various travelers to come and gawk at the spectacle but also the soldiers spending money. It was the safest places in the empire to be currently and when people felt safe, they partied.

In the palace, Vash and Ishtar worked tirelessly to prepare all the decorations. Typically it was servant work but in the few days since Vash returned and Ishtar accompanied him she saw a side of him she never knew existed. Free from religious obligation and out from under the thumb of the tower, Vash was kind, and energetic and no longer the timid child she always thought he was. He even knew how to sow, a trick he learned from his mother in the Royal Palace of Sousa. They weren’t great at the whole, preparing for a celebration thing, and the servants and slaves really wish they didn’t but it was a lot of fun for Ishtar. She didn’t ever remember when she had fun. She had already signed the contract to be wed to Vash so the weight of her past was finally and forever, or so she thought, in the past. She even introduced him to her alter ego Tiva and snuck out a few times to go explore the city as commoners.

The Satrap, on the other hand, couldn’t wait to be rid of the pair. When Vash came back without all his special powers and holding himself like a prince, he ceased to have any need for the boy and only kept him around because the king was coming and this worthless pup was the only son in the area that wasn’t already in the military or serving in some high court somewhere in the empire or being raised in some royal palace as a child.

Ishtar, though, was starting to think everything was starting to work out. Bahman was gone but that also simplified things for her in a way. Everyone makes mistakes and she could forgive Vash for his immaturity. Also, it was exciting to marry a prince. Herself a commoner, raised to the status of a priestess and oracle was setting all kinds of precedents throughout the city. When they walked in their regalia, she could see all kind of girls flock to her carriage with stars in their eyes wondering if they could be like her too. At this point, anything was possible!

The energy around the palace remained electric as the king’s procession made it’s way up the stairs and flooded the halls of the palace with equal excitement and buzz. Vash and Ishtar took their positions and the priests from all over the surrounding Satrapies came in behind the king’s entourage. Suddenly the grand hall seemed quite small but there was still room for all to bow and bend a knee as the King Artexerxes II raised his hands. “We are successful in Macedonia, and now I come and hear one of my own is to be wed. A joyous occasion indeed!”

The kings eyes rested on Ishtar and she swallowed hard. He was not indeed successful. They were routed by some Greeks on an island as they clamored inland greedy for conquest. The king was only going to Egypt because it presented a softer target while garrisons held the line in Anatolia. Now she knew where Vash got his duplicity from. She also found it ironic that he had no clue which one of the men bowing to him was actually his son. Apparently shows of grandeur and benevolence were just that: shows.

The Satrap introduced Vash to the king and the king said a blessing over the boy but then turned to Ishtar once again. “The Priestess Khannah of Tyre has told me about you. A girl with the sight. And now to join us. You will be used well indeed!” It was not lost on her that this king was more excited about her than he was about son, whom he also quickly, she noticed, forgot which one he was and needed to be reminded gently by one of his advisors. The king then took his place on the judgment seat in the audience hall. His son and his wife sat on the right, and the Satrap and his wife sat on the left. There was a long itinerary of entertainment now that the king was seated.

It was now the priests’ turn. They paraded the various gifts and blessings their gods brought to the king and prince. When it was Anahita’s turn, following after Mithra’s priests, it was Nim who stepped out first in full view of Vash and Ishtar.

Ishtar was the first to recognize what was happening and her gasp felt like it filled the room, her hand instinctively to her mouth. Her eyes welled up with tears but otherwise stayed quiet. “I have a challenge for the young prince, my lord,” he bowed deeply. He ignored Abela telling him to run, to do anything but make himself known. Abela hung back with the other stunned priests, closing her eyes and wishing she were anywhere but here.

“Who is this man?” The king demanded looking to his son. When he saw the panic in the boy’s eyes, he raised his hand, and commanded “Guards, take him away.”

“No!” Ishtar thought she yelled it but it was Vash who still sat wild-eyed and refusing to look at her. “Father, my lord, your highness, this is some entertainment I prepared especially for you. Please. You will not be disappointed.” The king looked pleased and sat back, waving away the guards who were all but on the young man at that point.

“Very well. Continue. What is your name, boy?”

“Bahman Farhad, my lord. You do me a great honor in your asking,” Nim bowed lower and then with a flourish seemed to address the whole chamber. “As I was saying, I have a challenge for the young prince.” Vash nodded and stood.

“State your business, Priest Bahman Farhad of Tyre, servant of Anahita, what challenge do you offer?” The prince felt a tug on his robs but ignored it. It felt in that moment, Nim held his life in his hand and his happiness. He was almost free from all of this.

“Anahita has a blessing for you and your marriage to the magnificent Priestess Ishtar. But first, I require combat.” This brought a rowdy cheer from the audience. Suddenly all the clammy tension from moments before erupted only to be silenced by the king. He seemed entertained by this notion that a priest wanted to fight, especially one dedicated to healing and fertility. Shouldn’t he be hooking up with some poor soul’s wife and not here thinking he can best a member of the royal house.

“Oh, I would very much like to see this,” the king whispered so that only Vash and the Satrap could hear. However, it was Vash who went white. He doubt he could stand up to this man even without both of Nim’s hands tied behind his back and strung in the air. “Very well, Prince Siyavash, prepare for combat with this priest.”

Vash swallowed hard, his face void of emotion until he felt Ishtar hold his hand. Nim saw the emotion there plainly in her eyes. She had made her decision already, and he was too late to make any difference. In his head he imagined fight and defeating a whole army to win her back, but it seemed Ishtar was not to be won. She stabbed him and moved on.

There was a loud roar and again Nim raised his hands in a grand gesture and a bow. “If it please, my king, allow our prince to choose his finest fighter or you may, your highness and I will fight them instead. After all, I would not want to cause, my lord harm on his special day.”

The king seemed to enjoy this even more, how outlandish it was that this child continued to up the stakes so spectacularly. The king snapped his fingers and the shadow of the chair seemed to move. As if by magic the man glided down to face Nim. An immortal, and apparently the king’s own guard. He thought he’d be dressed in black and have a scary mask, instead he was massive and quicker than those muscles belied. He moved as if he was dancing and at the moment he was just standing in front of the royal audience.

“Pick your weapon. I will not cut you down unarmed,” the man’s voice was like gravel, and was so matter of fact, Nim almost obeyed without question. Nim really put his foot in his mouth and cursed his change of course seeing Ishtar. He now wished that he was facing Vash after all.

He wet his lips and tried to force his voice to maintain the same showman quality. “Actually, I will have one of yours, if you please.”

“You will have to pry it off my dead body then,” he growled derisively. The king, growing in patient, was eager to show all involved why you don’t mess with his guard and to cut this little showman’s life short for his insolence.

“That won’t be necessary,” Nim said, the adrenaline spiking as the other man seemed intent on an easy kill. He reached into the folds of his sleeves, the wound in his side protesting, and pulled out a rather nasty black bladed sword. With a twirl, Nim got ready for whatever the soldier had planned.

Instead of any kind of pause, the soldier recognized it instantly has his own sword but pulled a second one out of his scabbard. The king now leaning in very interested all of a sudden in this boy.

The Immortal lunged and Nim met him, blades locked as they hacked and slashed at each other looking for any opening. They broke after minutes of parries and blocks and counters and counters to those counters. Now Vash and Ishtar mirrored the king. They had never seen Nim fight with such ferocity. It was as if all the rage he felt at his situation, at all those in the room was being left in that chamber against an opponent who could handle it easily.

However, he was not here to lose. Now he was hoping for an audition. If he couldn’t have Ishtar, he would not live quietly in Poura. He would not live anywhere quietly. He would not retire or waste away. He saw the grizzled man he would become, and he wanted to be like him. Confident and powerful.

As was always the case, Nim was too wrapped up in his thinking and musings and the Immortal saw his opportunity. It was too late for the young priest to guard and instead he raised his hand and stopped his opponent in the air mid assault. He felt his wound seeping and screaming the longer he held the man there. He paused though for dramatic affect. Then with the sword he took from the commando fell him in one slash, taking of his leg. He released his hold and the man fell in a heap on the floor. With a flourish the sword was at the throat of the man who bit back any emotion. Surprising as the spot where this leg had been was a bloody and gory mess. This guy was as tough as nails.

“Enough!” Now it was the King who stood up, paralyzed that his best soldier was bested so easily. “Don’t just stand there! Heal him!” He shouted at the priests of Anahita who made no move forward. They pointed though because while the King had looked away, Nim had healed the man’s leg and returned his sword. Nim gripped his wound tightly and backed away from the Immortal in case he wanted round two.

The fierce look in his eyes said he was ready to gut the priest like a fish. He got to his feet, both swords now spinning but waiting, ever the obedient guard. The crowd too fell silent. Except for the whirl of the blades, no one spoke.

“Magnificent,” the king breathed as if he was setting eyes on his long lost lover. “Absolutely incredible.”

Everyone was on their feet froze, the king’s voice echoed. It was Vash who spoke next, “As you can see, your highness, we have prepared only the finest of demonstrations. Had your man knew what he was up against, no doubt he would be the victor. It is indeed a most impressive display!”

The crowd roared to life and the king sat back well pleased by what he just saw. He ordered his guard to withdraw and he slinked back to the shadows, but now Artexerxes only had eyes for Nim as the other priests came forward and they were allowed to present their offerings. At that time, Nim presented Vash and Ishtar with his ebony statue of Anahita. The festivities and celebrations continued all through the afternoon and evening and well into the night.

Nim had ducked out with Abela during the chaos of the itinerary and he slid against a wall gripping his side in pain. Abela had a salve rubbing it on his dagger wound. “If I knew you would wake up and do something stupid…I should have chopped you up when I had the chance!”

He winced in pain at her touch which was not gentle at all. “Someone once told me people respect what they fear and fear demands a display of overwhelming power.” He coughed and groaned in pain. With Abela’s healing paste and his own magic they were able to close and heal the wound enough that the could stand on his own.

“I would never have ever thought you had it in you to do that in front of the king,” her chastising tone slowly revealed a hint of excitement. The display was indeed awesome and had her wishing for some action.

“People change,” he said wryly, placing his hand on hers and they stood there for a moment, not really understanding what this moment meant. “People mature,” he winced as he got to his feet.

“Bahman!” A harsh whisper came from behind him and the couple withdrew their hands like they had been doing something filthy. “That was the stupidest thing I had ever seen in my life! How dare you! You should have been killed!” It was Ishtar. Somehow she had slipped away in the frenzy of the evening as well. She walks over to them eyeing Abela like she was asking her to leave.

“Last time, you stabbed him. You may be married to a prince but I’m not leaving him,” Abela said flatly, her eyes boring into the young priestess in return. Ishtar looked flustered at that. The reminder also shook Nim out of his heartache seeing her again.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t have a choice. You have to understand.” She launched into a tirade of hushed excuses. They were everything that one might expect, along with some lies.

“I thought we could be happy together. I thought you loved me,” Nim said quietly after her flurry of words died off. He looked at her with eyes that both hurt and pleaded with her. “We can run. We can escape. No one will ever hurt you again.”

Ishtar, in that moment, realized that, while life with Bahman might certainly be more suitable to her, a quiet life with children and a happy family, that future was never a possibility. They would be on the run and eventually get cut down for treason. She was called to greater things and she finally had the ability to do more with her gift than run from it. Looking at Abela grip his arm protectively, she also saw that perhaps this was best for their life. “No. My place is here, Bahman Farhad. I just wanted to see you again to express how sorry I am for you. Go in peace now.”

Vash caught up with Ishtar and he was absolutely beaming. “Bahman, I thought you were going to cut me down where I stood in front of a whole audience! That was mad! We make a pretty good team!” Apparently the prince was praised considerably for Nim’s work. He would never be able to work like that that.

If that made Ishtar happy, then there wasn’t much he could do. He pretended like the conversation he had with Ishtar moments ago never happened and simply bowed. “I am happy to serve, my lord. It seems we all got what is owed us.”

“Actually, my father, the king, has requested a special audience with you. Follow me.” He turned on his heels and, holding Ishtar’s arm, quickly made his way back where he came from. Abela and Nim looked at each other and followed after the newlywed couple.

Once in the banquet hall, Abela peeled off and joined the other priests while keeping a watchful eye on Nim. The young healer took his place in front of Artexerxes and Vash and bowed, kneeling deeply. “Your humble servant is here as you have requested.”

“Yes. Bahman Farhad was it? Absolutely amazing display. You even had my guards going. I still think he wants to kill you. You will need to watch your back for the rest of your life,” he waved off Nim’s attempt at an explanation and continued, “You will report with my army in the morrow. I will have you in my army and that is an order. Yes, you will turn the tide of many battles.”

Ishtar gave an almost imperceptible shift in her chair, something was wrong, but Nim couldn’t place what it was. She didn’t matter to him anyway, not any more at least. She had made her choice. This. This was his choice. He bowed deeply again, accepting the offer without hesitation.

Word Count - 3412

Part Six - Nim Goes to War

Chapter 30 - Report, Recruit!

Nim said a bitter farewell to Abela and returned his priest robes. They barely talked as he exchanged his robes for his weapons and walked away from the temple. The next morning as he made his way in the dewy mist to the encampment with his orders for enlisting, the young African realized that he was walking away way from the only life he knew for the past 8 years. It was, up to that point, the only kind of life he ever knew, his home in Aasha now a distant memory. He had no clue as to the whereabouts of his mother. He hadn’t seen Raza, or the woman who first trained him to be dangerous, Jameshi, since he went to Babylon. He hadn’t been to Babylon in the year since he left. It seemed like each stage of his life prepared him for the next. However, the year in Tyre had felt like a lifetime. Now, he was turning his back, or so it seemed, on that as well.

The ground was moist as the fog hung low around the city gates and Nim stopped in front of the first camp he found. The guard looked at the document, and then pointed to a different camp. The next guard pointed him further away from the city and so did the one after him and the one after that. The young man didn’t have any real understanding on how sprawling the Persian army was and he felt like an ant in a city. He wasn’t clear at all how anyone moved this many people in order to mobilize them for purposes of war. Perhaps there was more to learn about the military than just how to wield a sword. Finally, on the outer rim of the military encampment, he arrived at an area where everyone seemed as clueless and out of place as him. The guard took the document and grunted, allowing him to pass into what felt more like a pen then it did an actual military fortification. If there were any invaders there wasn’t anything stopping the enemy from taking them all out, and maybe that was the point.

“I think there must be some mistake,” he told the only man wearing any kind of armor. He was a tall man, only a little older than himself, but his face marked him as a man in charge and one that had seen real battle. “The King Artexerxes himself requested I join. I…don’t think I am supposed to be here?” The longer he talked the more the other man just stared at him, and the more uncertain and stupid he sounded.

He looked at the paper again and looked at Nim. “There is no mistake. All recruits come here to get sorted. Once we understand your talent and what you can do for the empire, then you will be placed. Until then, you wait here with the rest of the swine.”

Nim was beaten too many times to know not to question an order like this and just nodded solemnly. He positioned himself toward the nearest tent that held some of the other officers but he wasn’t able to get close enough to listen or to try to negotiate further. When that failed, he sat on the ground near two other recruits.

“Thought you were someone special did you?” The boy said with a sneer. He was younger than Nim and while his voice was hard his face was soft. “That’s what they tell you to get you here. It’s all just a trick. They need fodder.”

Nim wasn’t so sure he wanted to fodder so he just shrugged and peered at his feet while he waited. He couldn’t imagine waking up waiting to die, though if he had perhaps he wouldn’t have got the sharp end of a dagger. “I’m Mazdak by the way. You can call me Maz.” Nim was sure that he wouldn’t have a need to remember this boy’s name but something inside him was telling him he was wrong.

“Nim. You can call me Nim,” he said in return which seemed to satisfy his gut feeling. He was wearing a tunic and trousers for a rough blend. Abela had said they had nothing else to offer a traitor but he seemed like that was just because she was mad at him. As he sat there itching over the coarse fabric that just made him itch more, he wondered if he’d ever see her again. He wondered if they’d ever get started, seemed like they were just supposed to be cattle but with nothing to graze.

Another boy sat beside them, this time even younger than Maz. Were there supposed to be children here? The boy, apparently called Badak - Bad for short - asked if they were like him, kids for from Damascus hoping to better their poor lives. Maz just buried his face in his sleeve like he was trying to get some sleep. “Badak, I’m Nim, I’m not from Damascus, no.” he introduced himself at last. Bad, Maz, and Nim what a strange grouping he thought. Bad continued to talk over Nim about his family and about living life on the streets. Nim had a feeling he knew what fodder looked like now.

Finally, the officers came out of their tent and the officer who looked more like a sheepherder yelled for them all to line up in rows. Nim now understood that one’s purpose. When he spoke it was booming so everyone could here. Projecting like that seemed to come easy for him. They all did as they were commanded. Some grumbled, and other were a bit too slow to follow the directions. The ones that grumbled got reprimanded and the ones too slow got dismissed. Overall about 80 recruits found themselves standing in the clearly out side the sprawling military came that encircled Damascus, standing in a formation 10 wide and 8 deep. Nim didn’t know the final count as he had pushed Maz and Bad to the front with him. Maz made a sour face and Bad appeared oblivious to what was actually happening.

They were then paired off and given practice weapons to test their fighting skills. Nim specifically tried avoided them so that they had a chance to look impressive. As the drills continued, Nim went through more and more practice partners as the officers switch them out of ones that performed better. Nim realized only after the 7th swap that people were being organized by their prowess with weapons. It came as a shock then, to find himself facing off against Maz. The opponents were continuing to get harder and both of them were now sweating through their shirts, muscle glistening the sustained effort and no breaks.

Maz came at him like a charging bull, his thrust with the practice sword was well timed, but Nim was still able to bat it away, knocking him off balance. Nim went to follow through but the younger spun around under his swing, this time aiming for legs. Nim’s foot came down, driving the blade into the ground and trapping it. He gave his opponent a hearty smack on the head signifying he won the round. “You are surprisingly agile, Maz,” he said as Maz was ushered away to a different opponent.

These matches went on until the sun was high overhead and Nim thought he might collapse from exhaustion. The officers promised they were almost done but they said that after every 5 opponents so for all Nim knew this was going to go on for the rest of the day. His last opponent was Badak. He blinked. The chatty street urchin? Maybe they were just giving him a cool down? Perhaps he was to teach the young pup a lesson? The match began and they crossed swords, testing each other’s reflexes. Nim moved to wipe the sweat from his eyes, his shoulders hunched and Badak made his move. A wide arching swing, Nim lazily raised his blade to block, trying to conserve as much energy as he could. The next he knew he was on the ground. Bad had caught his arm with his offhand, disarmed Nim and had thrown him. He blinked up at the boy in surprise as he felt the practice blade at his throat. A new found respect for the boy who constantly overshares. He made a note never to be caught underestimating him again. It was a savvy technique, he obviously knew what he was doing.

With that, the test concluded. They were all grouped together by their performance and Maz, Bad, and Nim were all pleased to end up in a group. They were not told in what order they had performed, and they were in a middle group. At first Nim thought this was weird, the only person to defeat him was surprisingly Badak. The officers said that they would be given a document with their placement and after grabbing some food and water, they were to report to their assignments. Their group of 5 people, two Nim didn’t know and neither did he remember fighting them, received one set of instructions and the officers made one last command to stick in their groups.

As they were dismissed for a meal, Nim motioned for them to follow him. He found them a spot in an inn toward the main gate. It was large and the tavern was always full of people. He and Abela had stopped there before making their way into the city for the ceremonies. He learned that the other two, a woman who came from Anatolia named Azar and a man who only introduced himself as Kave, had experience working for local militias and were in Damascus for some sort of business. They didn’t appear to know each other, and Damascus was full of business so Nim didn’t think anything of it.

“I can read your fortune for a price,” a sing-song voice danced on his ears and he looked over to see a rather tattered and dirty cloaked figure at a different table entertaining some locals. He watched her, not really paying attention to his company. There was something familiar about her. “Yes, yes. I see you will be wed soon. You are a very lucky man!”

Nim left his new comrades mid conversation and took the next seat offered. “I’d like my fortune read,” his face was dirty, his clothes still soaked, and he looked like a man who previously never had to do a days hard labor finding out that life was hard. “And why you are following me.”

“Well well well, a stranger in a strange land,” said the soft voice teasingly. Her eyes met his and gave him a knowing wink. She apparently picked up acting skills somewhere along the line. “I see great pains in your past that you are running from yes. Be careful lest you trip and fall into despair. Yes, I see. Do not go to Egypt.” Ishtar’s soft hands held his for a moment her eyes seemed to beg as if she knew more but couldn’t tell him. Of course.

“Well it’s not up to me. But I will take that under advisement,” Nim muttered still wanting an answer to his last question. They had been staring at each other for a long moment when a finger travelled across his shoulders and a hand rested on his shoulder. He looked up and Azar was eye Ishtar with a mixtures of amusement and skepticism.

Badak pulled up an empty stool and plopped down on it and gave the tattered woman a friendly grin as if they had known each other their whole life. Nim was certain Ishtar would never have known anyone like him in her whole life and he just met the guy today. Maz leaned on the table, his eyebrows raised. “This lady giving you trouble, Nim?

“Nim?” Ishtar asked questioning.

Her surprise caught a laugh from Azar. “You certainly have a way of choosing your women. What? She is surprised a man wouldn’t give his real name to someone they just met?”

“Yes. It’s my real name,” Nim said quietly, unable to look the priestess in the eyes.

She gave an angry huff. “You should run off and find some other place to cause problems, woman. You wouldn’t want to get on his bad side anyway,” Bad laughed as if he told a funny joke but then nodded to her as if he wasn’t actually joking. Nim was starting to regret meeting this boy, he seemed crazier the more they were around each other.

“Well, I am so glad you make friends so easily. I hope you enjoy your new life, Nim. Just remember my warning. Or don’t. I don’t care,” she sounded hurt and stormed off. He couldn’t for the life of him figure out why it was she was upset at all. He wanted to tell her he just met them, but he never had anyone, let a long a group, that had his back like that before. Where he came from everyone stabbed each other in the back, or the front, just to get ahead.

“I could have handled this,” Nim said equal parts flustered and appreciative. He moved to stand up but two different hands kept him in his seat. The one was Azar who never moved her hand, and Nim looked up and saw that Kave was suddenly there as well. He had no clue how long he had been there, he was surprisingly silent, but he must have come over with the others.

“We will die together, if we are lucky. If we are even luckier, working together, we will survive that little bit longer. We need to be there for each other,” Kave’s Aramaic was broken but Nim thought he understood what he meant. Bad and Maz brought all there stuff over to that table and they finished their meal. It was a ragtag band, with no polish, and none of the ceremony he was accustomed to. Perhaps this was the life Nim had always wanted.

After they finished the meal, the 5 recruits exited the inn and made their way to the area they were instructed to report to. They were the fortunate ones that their corps was close by. Others were left meandering about asking people where they could find their commanding officers. They passed a few other organized thatapati (battalions), each hosting around 100 men (10 dathapati or company) by the looks of it. Their hazarapati (division), which was 1,000 men (10 thatapti), in the baivarapati (corps), 10,000, was color coded red. They made it toward the end of their allotted grouping, a banner waving that matched the inscription on their tablet. They were all men around their age as they stepped into the area of their designation. Nim handed to oder to the guard and they were welcomed into a tent. They gave their names, former occupation, combat experience, and province.

“Mazdak, blacksmith apprentice, arena fighting, Damascus,” the young man, not much younger than Nim, stated as he stepped up first. This was more information than anyone knew about him all day.

Next it was Bad’s turn. “Badak, merchant,” he gave the group a smirk behind him, “street fighting, Damascus,” the officer recording the information gave him a sidelong look and sent him on his way. He was a scrappy fellow, he couldn’t have been more than 15, the age Nim went to Babylon, but he claimed vehemently to be older than that. He wasn’t sure he believed him.

“Nim, Persian name Bahman Farhad, priest of Anahita, tournament fighting, Gedrosia, and Babylon,” Nim said and everyone froze. Maz and Bad turned around slowly, their jaws dropped. He could hear muttering from Azar and Kave behind him and he supposed now was the time for them to learn that he was a priest, in an order well respected and honored among those in the empire, and now turned soldier. The Persian officer cleared his throat and asked him to repeat. Nim obliged and slower this time, making eye contact with all involved.

“I will need to see proof,” the officer grumbled, when Nim produced a medallion that marked one of the order of Anahita, the scribe motioned for someone to come over. The other soldier nodded as the man motioned in a whisper to Nim. Taking the medallion the man, who must have been a runner, was dismissed to somewhere else. “You will wait here while we confirm.”

“Azar, mercenary, Lydia,” the young woman, younger than Abela, said. She was well muscled, Nim certainly felt lucky he was never her opponent. Her eyes were sharp and she had a savagery about her that might just be from her unkept hair, but there was never any doubt that this woman belonged in her ranks.

Finally, it was the man of mystery himself. He was somewhere in age between Azar and Nim. His muscles were lean and there were plenty of battle scars along his face arms and hands. His skin was a slightly lighter tone than the rest of them though in the sun and heat, he could have easily passed as a Persian. “Kave, mercenery, Thrace,” he said, softly hoping no one else in the room heard but he might has well have shouted it. A greek? Nim felt the sudden urge to cut him down there but the officer paid him no mind. Nim would find out later that the ranks were full of Greek and Egyptian dissonance and mercenaries hoping to stick it to whoever it was that was in power (of course until they were in power).

The messenger came back and confirmed Nim’s story about being a priest and his registrations. “Both Prince Siyavash and a commendation from the king that he provided,” he said handing him another document. The officer read it, looked at Nim, read the document again, each time confused as to what to make of him. This confirmation made the room fall silent. In Persian hierarchy, of course, priests were above even the aristocracy. Before Nim could answer their stares, the messenger added, “The king saw his demonstration during the ceremony and decided that he wanted the priest to join. Perhaps its a good luck charm. Anahita is the great healer.”

The officer wasn’t so certain, he muttered, “among other things.” He looked over him again and then waved him through.

The battalion they had joined, it turns out, was an advanced brigade. They worked in smaller units to scout and infiltrate various different compounds and areas ahead of the army to help destabilize an area. Nim had no clue what that was and he was even more surprised that his whole division was headed north to Greece instead of to Egypt like he thought. He had a lot of explaining to do to his new company and all the time to do it now.

Word Count - 3169