Disclaimer - The beatings will continue until Bahman does something useful. Viewr discretion advised.

Chapter 11 - Welcome Back

Bahman knelt on his cushion and hunched over a desk making the marks as precisely as he could. School in Poura was challenging, sometimes rewarding, but he never made it a day without a beating for some mistake or other. He looked down at his work and frowned. It looked to him as if it was another day another punishment. He really had no gift or talent for writing. He found he was a quick study when it came to reading, but being a scribe was not in his future. Everyone was dismissed save for him, always the last to leave because he was getting corrected for some reason. When he finally got back to the room he shared with a small army of other youths, he sat on his mat that was little more than a thin sheet and some straw underneath, and scratched another line in the wall. He looked at all the ticks he had made. He had been in Poura 3 years already.

When he had first arrived, he was so excited by possibilities. Even though Bahar tried to warn him that things were about to get harder, he had no idea how idyllic his life had been up to that point. Their first stop was at the gate where they registered Bahman and his name was added to the city record as a traveller. Bahar brought him to the academy and handed the scroll ordering his attendance and then she left him. She didn’t say good bye and in the time he had been there he never saw her, his mother, or anyone else from the village.

He was then visited by the three priests he had met weeks earlier. Each in turn quizzed him, and tested his magic abilities trying to confirm if they were real or not. Since the night he killed that man, no magic had manifested itself. He saw the priest in red, Jameshi and the one in purple, Raza, looked at him like they made a mistake but the one called Abela seemed even more confident that he was the one they were looking for. None of them knew about his statue. He kept it safe buried in the dirt floor under the mat. He had on several occasions tried to summon Anahita but it was as if he had imagined it all and it was all in his head.

The priests informed him he would require formal schooling. He needed to learn to read, write, do maths, and a host of other things he had no interest in. His crippled hand relaxed as the weeks wore on and he was able to hold a sword without the skin pulling and making it impossible to close his hands around the hilt. By now, the scars were more cosmetic and no longer limited his motion. He wasn’t sure if that was natural, or his own innate healing ability, or some mercy from Anahita. It just meant one less reason for people to stare at him.

If he felt like a foreigner in Aasha, he felt like an alien in Poura. No one had seen skin quite like his, or hair quite so curled, or accent quite as unique. No matter what it was, there was always something to bully him and sometimes beat him for. He had grown accustom to the abuse and no long fought it when it seemed to find him even when doing nothing at all.

After the first year, Raza started having him come weekly to the Ahura Mazda. He didn’t actually do anything with him. Once he arrived he would scrub the floors and polish the statues and then be sent back to the worker’s dorms just to be told to do it again the week after. It was busy work and he always tried to figure out what was the purpose of these useless errands. It was wiser never to ask and just do what he was told. He also met with Jameshi who tried her best to indoctrinate him in the ways of the religious orders but it all felt so contrived. Most of the time it felt more like an interrogation as if he had information he was withholding but the meeting still ended with lashings.

His least favorite of all the priestly visits was when Abela came to call. She was never dressed properly and would sit there and stare at him like she was trying to solve a mystery. One time he tried to ask what all of this was about but she never answered him, she just had a knowing smile as if she could just wait out whatever was hiding from her like a fox at a rabbit hole.

These summons, which required him to walk a long way because none of the temples were close to the school or dorms, and the lessons became the only pattern in his life. By his second year in Poura he had completely lost his accent. He even stopped referring to himself as Nim. He thought only of Bahman Farhad, the strange boy who was special for no apparent reason. Every time he was summoned, he went back to a dorm where the others were ready to beat him for being so special but being so poor at school. When he tried to explain he didn’t know what any of it was about, he got kicked harder. There wasn’t a day where there weren’t bruises where there previously wasn’t any.

Bahar was right, he was walking into a place that would treat him like a slave and nothing he said or did was going to change that fact. When he turned 14 or the date he was given when registering for the school had said he was 14, Bahman was formally allowed weapons training and not only with a stick sword for the basics. Here, he finally showed some aptitude. As long as he had a blade in his hand, even a practice one, he summoned his most fierce impression of Bahar. Blades danced in his hands and the veracity of his attacks and parries left even the instructors amazed that he was so handy with a blade at such an age for never really having more than basic lessons.

His favored weapon were a pair of hand sickles. As long as he had them, he was fearless and confronted anyone who dared to step into the ring, be it a sword, dagger, staff, or spear. He would parry, trap, and counter his way to besting anyone who challenged him. His second favorite weapons were a dagger and short sword, a homage to Bahar as they were also the weapons she chose to use.

His talent with blades eventually as the year wore on put him into greater contact with Jameshi. She herself was renown for her fighting ability. The handful of times he had met her throughout the years had always been tense. He took that for her hating him, or her being just a mean person in general. However, those times he stepped into the ring, no matter how many times she bested him as if he were a baby with toothpicks, he felt she had a growing measure of respect for him.

“A healer that can fight,” she said apparently amusing herself with irony.

“I’m not a healer,” Bahman spat back. It was the truth, since leaving his village, he had never healed a single person with magic.

“Abela still seems to think you have it in you. But I see a warrior,” she mused openly. The now-teenaged boy stopped his next attack in shock. His blatant lapse in judgement left him open for a swift kick in the ribs. He never once ever heard Jameshi compliment or talk so casually to him. Normally she talked at him and accused him of wasting time and resources.

“Abela…” he coughed clutching his chest and getting back to his feet. “What does she have to do with me?” He growled as he picked up his weapons and flew at Jameshi as if he were a falcon diving at prey.

She blocked easily enough but did not follow through with a counter attack. She looked at him thoughtfully. “Something is missing. Yes. But what?” He thought she was talking about his angle of attack and he tried again, this time earning his a smack on the back of the head as he missed completely and suffered the consequences.

Bahman had now forgotten almost completely that he had a statue of Anahita buried under his bed. In fact, he forgot that that was the reason why he was even here to begin with. Anahita hadn’t been in his life through his whole schooling at Poura. When he asked, “what is this all about?” Jameshi had dismissed him suddenly and without hesitation.

He was forced to leave the arena and exited toward the classroom. He had maths next and he had no time to cool off as the priestess had taken all the extra time before classes. Of course, he got lashings for coming to class both unprepared and inappropriately dressed - even though he wore what he always wore. By this time his back was just a series of tiger stripes. Other students suffered but their backs didn’t look like thin strands.

This pattern of life - go to school, perform badly, get beaten, take it out on a sparring partner, and the occasional cryptic clue from a priest - continued throughout the year. Everything changed when he was 15. The beatings became less frequent, he became more attentive in his studies, and he was able to stand toe to toe with Jameshi and sometimes even win soundly. Either he was getting better or she was getting older or both.

One day Raza summoned him but not to his temple, it was to the palace a place Bahman always wished to visit.. He wanted to say no, but just like every other time these past 5 years, he held his to tongue.

He arrived almost eagerly. Raza, he knew, loved to just see him tortured. Why else did he make him go all the way up to his temple just to play janitor? However, this time there was nothing to wash and he met Raza at the entrance to the palace. The old man was wearing his finest chief priests robes which were, Bahman thought sarcastically, like all his other robes but richer.

“My lord,” Bahman said bowing as he had countless times. “You summoned your servant?” The words were hollow. He still couldn’t believe he got to get this close to the palace. Raza, who was always quick with how worthless he was, remained quiet. His face hard. When Bahman gave the older man a quizzical look he just nodded and went inside the building.

Entering, the boy felt immediately like he entered paradise. The walls were beautifully tiled, the ceilings were like the sky itself, painted and pristine. The floors done in equally intricate mosaics were so clean he could readily see his reflection in them. In fact, everyone looked like they were standing on an upside down doppelgänger. It took him a moment to register that there with two soldiers flanking her was Bahar. He had barely recognized her as his memory of her felt was so distant. She was older now in these 5 years, grey hair and her expression more weathered than he remembered.

His heart leapt with a joy that he had forgotten how to feel. He wanted to race to her and fling himself at her but her expression warned him off such actions. Something was wrong. Abela was suddenly there facing Bahman, in-between him and Bahar. Her arms were wide and said “We have a test for you. You are now of age to start your education for real. You, however, have been holding out on us. We are here to demonstrate your power in front of the Satrap and all our esteemed guests.”

It was more words than he had heard her speak in 5 years to him. She was also wearing more clothes than she ever had in the 5 years he had been here. Suddenly his heart stopped. “What test?” He squeaked out. It was then he noticed there was a small crowd around the sides of the audience chamber. They were all sizing him up. He was of average height and, due to all the weapons training and exercise climbing up to the Temple of Ahura Mazda, he was of a lean muscular build, his muscles said fast and not overly pronounced. His eyes were sharp, and his hair was never allowed to be grown out because it was somehow offensive to those in Poura so he was kept bald or close to it.

Finally, Abela answered but not with words. She produced a dagger from her robes and with a quick motion, spun around and slashed the unarmored Bahar across the midsection. She did not scream. She did not cry or whimper or beg. As she fell Bahman thought he caught the words “I’m sorry.”

“No!” Bahman screamed and raced over to the center of the room, diving across the slick floor and under the attempts to stop him. He came to rest beside Bahar. He tore off some of the fabric of her robes she wore, and tried to stop her from bleeding out.

Suddenly he was back in his home at Aasha. He wasn’t Bahman, he was Nim. It wasn’t Bahar but his mother. She was dying, she was dying what was he going to do?

“Well. Heal her if you want to save her. Prove to us you were worth our time,” Abela’s normally sweet singsong voice was hard and cold.

The statue. The statue! He couldn’t go all the way back to his room, dig up his statue, and come back. She would be dead before that could happen. She was already dying as it was.

“Heal. Her.” Abela demanded her voice distorting like a demon, “Or. She. Will. Die.”

“Nim…” a soft voice from the lips of Bahar, “Please,” her voice was calm, confident he would save her. She almost smiled through the grimacing pain. He wasn’t even sure how she was even conscious. He tried and tried to call any kind of magic. Then Bahar fell limb, no longer fighting the pain.

“Nim…say my name,” a still small voice echoed in his head and that flame ignited once more. It had been so long since he heard that name, so long since anyone had called him his true name. The memories came flooding back.

With a sigh, he whispered, “Anahita.” His cold, miserable body felt the sudden surge of warmth he had been missing for half a decade now. That familiar feeling of being whole again. Power came to his finger tips and then there was no blood and no wound. Bahar gasped for air but still remained unconscious. “Rest now,” he said sweetly to the hardened warrior. He stood and as he did so he felt all the damage from the whips and chains and rods from all the years dissipate. The only scars that marred his body were the scar on his forearm and his disfigured left hand.

He stood for all to see. The woman was healed and he wished he could summon up the malice and hatred. He wanted more than anything to rip this whole building apart. Anahita’s calm however made it impossible. He was focused. “I did as you commanded. Now let her go,” he said calmly but it was not a request, it was a demand.

Abela waved a hand and Bahar was whisked away. “Finally. Welcome back, Anahita,” she seemed immeasurably pleased with herself that her little trick worked.

“You will use my name,” Bahman said defiantly.

“Very well. Welcome back, Nim. I have been expecting you.”

Word Count - 2662

Chapter 12 - Trapped

“Why didn’t you ever talk to me? It’s been 5 years! I really thought I dreamt all that!” Bahman, for he couldn’t bring himself to think he was really ever a boy called Nim, said, his tone accusatory as he paced his new room in the palace. The satrap was so impressed with his healing powers that he instantly made him an honored guest with all the trappings it came with. He was no longer in tattered rags and worn out sandals. He could have been a chief priest or a satrap for all the finery that wrapped him. It had been a full two days since then and it’s like he was now someone else. He didn’t recognize himself as he looked into the polished metal and glass that they used for mirrors.

“Excuse me,” came the usually gentle voice in his ears. They had been having this argument ever since she came back. “You were the one to…BURY ME UNDER YOUR BED. What am I? A corpse?” Her tone rivaling his.

He paused his pacing to consider the point. He had buried her because she wasn’t talking to him anymore but also he had an innate fear that someone would somehow find the statue and he’d lose whatever it is they had. He shook the observation away, he wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of knowing she was right, though ironically she was already in his thoughts. He held up his hand to the mirror and shook it as if he was trying to argue with his own reflection. “You could have helped me anyway! Look what you did to my hand! That night you were in a sack and you still helped me!”

There was silence, long silence, long enough he thought she left. He would have thought so if it weren't for the fact that he felt her warmth wrapping his soul like a blanket like it was were it needed to be. “I didn’t. I cannot help unless you touch my statue or call on my name.”

They both paused then. What happened that night? “Then who?” Was the question they both had as he stared at his burnt hand. Again he reached for the memory, it had been a long while since he tried, that missing part in his mind that he couldn’t quite reach into. The headache came and he immediately stopped.

“You displayed magic powers before I woke up, yes? This would be the same,” Anahita asked, herself seemed to try to puzzle out this mystery. “I felt it I believe when I first entered. That’s why we were able to heal so many people without you paying a price for it.”

“I mean, I was considered lucky like a talisman. People said they caught more fish or I would survive falls that others might survive. It was just luck and coincidence,” he corrected. The three times he did any real magic felt very different than when he was a boy. The memories of Aasha were distant now, like a long lost dream or a past life. A thought entered, “How was I able to summon you. I was nowhere near the statue.”

“Well, I can share that with you. The statue is a conduit, a beacon that I can focus on to make myself known. Not everyone can see or perceive me. Your father could. And you can, of course. I have other conduits and you are one as well. No matter how many times we do this, we always find each other. To what purpose and to what end, I am never quite sure until we get there.” Perhaps her memory was scrambled as well, she also felt like she was trying to remember things as they were happening.

“So what happens now, if we’ve done all of this before.” He could sense her hesitancy and he pushed, “I’m not some backwaters child anymore. Tell me what is going to happen next. Clearly you remember more of whatever this is than I do.”

“Well. We will be taken to Babylon. You know that already. Persia has a long and storied career of attaining any bit of magic they can get their hands on. We are the holy grail to them. A magic user that can use magic without a blessing and without an artifact. “

“So I’m to be studied and dissected?” Bahman asked incredulously. “And yet, if I escape - and the only way to do that is through magic - you are going to punish me?”

“That is the law of raw magic. To use it something must be taken. It’s not really up to me to change that. I can only help direct it to take a certain shape, like the scar on your forearm. And if you use it to help people, then, what’s taken is less than if you harm them.”

“Restoring order or causing chaos,” he intoned.

“As for being dissected. That’s happened only once if I recall. You should be fine. More likely they will attempt to use you as a pawn. I would suggest allowing them until we figure out what they actually want. It’s slightly different every time but it seems to come around to finding a kind of loom.”

“What is a loom?”

“Nevermind. If my hunch is right, it will eventually come to that.” Bahman looked at himself like he was going crazy. Was it possible for deities to have hunches?

“Can we talk about Abela for a moment? She’s crazy. Why is she your priestess?” He muttered before a knock came. Someone entered, and he only half heard that he was requested to join the satrap and certain wealthy guests for a private dinner. It was time to be paraded around like an exotic animal.

As he left the room, Anahita replied, “She’s very well educated, very good at what she does, and she was supposed to remain as far away from you as possible. Remember you crossed an entire empire on a boat and you weren’t even supposed to be on. I tried to keep her in Poura. You came to her.”

The dinner was like the previous night. Wealthy patrons that lined the pockets of the satrap got a private audience and demonstration with the boy who brought magic back into the world. He was lucky that Abela wasn’t ever invited or he would probably have to bring whole people back from the brink of death every night. Mostly it was just people sticking themselves with knives and coaxing him to heal the wound. Could have done that with some pressure and a bandage, but that’s not what they were quite frankly paying the administrator to see. He got a decent meal out of it and the guests would laugh in amusement, then he would be sent away because there were more important things to do than cut themselves endlessly all night.

The next day he was to hold an audience with the priests of the city. Apparently the satrap really like him, which meant both being treated like a pet but also the expectation that he join in whatever religious activities were happening. If there was a summons for the priests then he would attend. “Anything I should know before I go in there?” He asked Anahita before he stepped into the audience chamber again. The last time he was here, Bahar almost bled out in front of him, it was not a place he ever really wanted to be again.

His question was met with silence. She sure knew how not to answer his questions at the moment he needed her. He would have to remind himself to go shopping for a different god later. He opened the door and slipped in hoping he could arrive unnoticed. However, all eyes were immediately on him and he straightened. He may look like a prince, or what he imagined one might look like, but that did nothing to guard him against all those stares.

“Welcome. Now that his highness has graced us with his presence, we can begin,” Raza seemed particularly upset at the summons and perhaps bitter about not being the one to finally “discover” Bahman’s magic. The satrap’s eyes bore into Raza and he remained silent.

“So, Farhad,” the satrap said as he stood at the end of the priests gathered before him as he sat on his judgment seat. A richly ornamented throne that, while functioned similar to his village’s elder, had a certain power to it. Whenever he spoke his voice seemed to echo no matter if he whispered or shouted. “I am told you have successfully completed your training here.”

He couldn’t help but raise his eyebrows and look down the line at Raza, Jameshi, and Abela. That he knew of, only Jameshi had ever said anything kind to him or about him, and that was only because he was something of a talent when it came to weapons training. His brows farrowed however when he caught Abela appearing to mutter to herself. He also noticed her medallion seemed to be glowing, if he wasn’t mistaken, a barely perceptible blue tinge. The satrap cleared his throat and Bahman stood at attention. “ Is that right, my child?”

“Er…um…” he was at a lost for words. It was true his education at the academy here was drawing to a close. He knew how to read and write (not well mind you) as well as basic arithmetic, enough that he could apprentice as maybe an accountant if they didn’t mind his illegible handwriting. “I suppose so, yes,” he said at length. He was by no means gifted in any of the areas. He’d probably make a better soldier if it wasn’t for the whole, getting burnt if he used magic the wrong way thing.

The satrap considered this a moment. “I would like to keep you here in Poura. You can do a great many things here and I will make sure you are comfortable for all of your days,” he said at last. The last part “so long as you continue to sing and dance for me” was implied. He didn’t really want to be a puppet and not for someone in Poura where he’d have to continually be around Abela and Raza.

Raza agreed enthusiastically, “Yes, we have many uses here. He would greatly honor the gods and grow even greater under my, I mean, our tutelage.” A shameless power grab, that was Raza down to the core. Age apparently never stopped ambition.

There was an uproar as several priests from orders he didn’t ever care enough to memorize also voice agreement to this arrangement, and others more loyal to the empire than to who was feeding them, insisted that Bahman go to Babylon or even Persepolis to lend aid to some conquest or campaign. The 15 year old didn’t really understand but knew that his destiny was being decided in that chamber. Suddenly he realized there was a pair of eyes staring at him. Looking back down the line he saw Abela, who seemed to be continuing to argue with some unseen entity, focused solely on him.

“You aren’t going to like this,” came a voice, it wasn’t Anahita. The voice was gruffer like an older version of his own voice. He was about to ask what this new entity was talking about when Abela spoke up in the next moment, a hush that sounded more like trying to dam up a raging river fell on all present.

“Your excellence, far be it for us to stand in the way of the empire. Imagine the ire that would befall our brilliant city, if it was found out we held a secret such as this. It is better to offer him up to Babylon and to the Empire so that our great Poura may be honored above all other cities envious of our grandeur.” She said with bravado, making large swooping gestures to accentuate her points, and her figure. “I have here,” she said, Bahman not understanding at all where she pulled the scroll from, “a letter from the great high priest of Ahura Mazda himself, requesting that Bahman Farhad be escorted to Babylon. I would ask that I be allowed to accompany him.” She ended her little speech with a bow and gave the scroll to a page who then delivered it to the Satrap.

He read it and grunted. With a wave of his hand, he said, “Very well. It seems we will send the boy to Babylon. We will send him with a gift for the temple as well as an entourage to show how well Poura treats their own. We will spare no expense!” He seemed the opposite of happy and Bahman wasn’t sure if the gestures were at all genuine, but with the mattered settled, the crowd was dispersed.

Bahman attempted to slip back the way he came but a soft hand grabbed his wrist. He winced and asked himself, “Do I really want to turn around?” The voice from earlier made a muffled and pained, yet unintelligible reply in a tongue he had not spoken in many many years. He turned around and there, standing in her sheer robes and a mantle that covered just enough to be deemed appropriate, was Abela. The woman who spent much of their weekly sessions just staring at him waiting patiently seemed more and more animated these days, especially when it came to coaxing out whatever magic she thought he possessed.

“A moment,” she said, as she ushered him out of the room in the direction he was headed. He had no choice but to go along with it, after all apparently she owned him until they reached Babylon - a place he had no wish to go, but now he couldn’t get there fast enough. “Looks like we will be spending quite a bit of time together. You will need to learn more about Anahita if you want to survive what the future holds for you.”

He dryly said, “I’m pretty sure I know all I need to.” That was the wrong thing to say, with a strong hand she had him pinned against the wall her breath hot and panting against his face as she stared menacingly into his eyes.

“You may, for whatever reason, be chosen by my goddess. Why it isn’t me, I don’t know. I hate you every time I see you. You may be able to talk freely to her, Bahman Farhad, but that does not mean you know her ways and what she requires. You will do well to listen to me or you will end up dead in a ditch in Babylon before the end of your first night. There are people who will abuse you,” her voice was low and he dared not brace against her arm or fight back. He had never heard her talk like this, it was like a wolf who caught a weak and wounded prey. “Oh,” she laughed at his incredulity, “you think you know abuse. They will drain you of all your magic and then your soul. You will be nothing but dust if you don’t know who to trust and who to bribe. There are people who don’t care at all about magic users and just want the magic. One of those people is the Chief High Priest. He will have a very special interest in seeing you drained and dead before you even start training. So yes, you may have our goddess on your side, but you will do well to listen to me and do everything exactly as I tell you if you want to survive the next 5 years.”

She had talked long enough the teenager lost interest, in fact if she hadn’t nearly been choking him, forcing him to listen to her every word, he would have tuned her out after she said she hated him. “Why do you care? I’m sure you are also using me for your own end, that’s all anyone ever does.”

She smiled wryly, “Well, that is certainly true. But Anahita has convinced me to help you. And no matter how much distaste I have for you, I, unlike you, do not question orders from a god, especially one I am so devoted to. Am I going to use you? Yes, but I have more of a need to keep you alive than I do for whatever magic you might be granted.”

Word Count - 2759

PART 4 - WORLDS COLLIDE

Chapter 13 - Fool Me Once, Shame on You

Babylon. The journey to this world renown city was hard for Ishtar. For a city girl that never had to go anywhere farther than a few blocks, a trip that only was further than that but also several days seemed like an eternity. She bounced between being bored enough to count her donkey’s hairs to being fascinated and excited by all the new sights. None of them as splendid as Tyre of course, that coastal trading hub that seemed, to her, to be the center of the world.

There were a few other children in the caravan that were being sent for education as well. Mostly from either wealthy families or from government officials. She got along well with most of them however, she never felt like she belonged. As far as she could tell none of them were gifted like her and some of their thoughts made her uncomfortable. It didn’t seem fair though, when she would pull away from someone she couldn’t very well say “I heard what you thought.” She had learned from her mother that that had a tendency to freak people out, not make them more interested in you.

Ishtar, when they finally arrived, couldn’t decide if she were impressed or disappointed by the sight. Babylon was certainly massive, with its layers of walls and high spire that you could see from miles away. They’re path followed the mighty Euphrates, the largest river she had ever seen in her life. The land was lush with all sorts of plant and wildlife but it grew more tame and exotic as they reached the city as if it some giant cultivated his own personal garden. The city gates with its massive tiled artistry certainly took her breath away and the buildings seemed all that more taller as they rode through the main street that lead straight to the tower and the academy which would serve as her new home, or so she had been told.

The tower she thought as she gazed upwards, coming to a stop at the main square in the heart of the city, must reach all the way up to heaven itself. From outside the city she could definitely see the temple at the top which crowned the whole building but from the ground look up, it was hidden by the multiple layers. The tower was one of constant moving, and it looked like it was alive with each layer having people and objects moving up and down and across, if magic wasn’t really it would be the most confounding of sights.

She got nudged by one of the other kids who pointed across the way at what at first looked like a palace complex. It was multistory as well. Four layers each with buildings surrounding the platform of the next. The base was the broadest part with a gate and an entrance hall. Once inside the walls of the palace she, and the other children, were welcomed to the Academy. It was explained that each level represented a different discipline. The bottom level served as the basics for education where they would be taught reading, writing, proper speech, and, above all, the blessed culture of the Persian empire. The second level was economics, third was administration, and the top level was reserved for those whose focus was the religious studies.

Passing through the hall, Ishtar stepped into a flower garden with samples seemingly taken from all over the world. It was love at first sight and for a moment, she managed to forget all about Tyre.

“You must be Ishtar,” a voice came from behind her as she was hunched over a particularly vibrant flower. She stood up and stared at the only person to address her directly in days. It was a woman in a simple robe. She was short and her hair braided. “I have a gift for you. You should wear this if you want to blind a certain sense. It is a medallion that blocks magic.”

She handed the child a crystal tied to a necklace. It was cloudy white. The girl took it and with out a thought put it around her neck. The crystal’s color changed from milky white to a dull green. “Go on, give it a try,” she instructed and Ishtar looked into her eyes, the way she did when she wanted to see who someone truly was. The only thing she saw was the woman’s expectant look. Her sight was gone!

“Wow,” she sighed. For the first time in her life, her thoughts were hers alone. What she didn’t know, however, was the crystal was also a siphon that, throughout the years, would slowly start pulling the magic from her. For now, it was a blessing that her mind was quiet. Truly quiet. The only thoughts she had were the thoughts she chose to have.

“Now if you will follow me, I will give you a tour of our wondrous academy,” she said gesturing down the walkway. As they walked along corridors and into the first main atrium out of two that the first layer offered, Ishtar was struck by how few students there actually was. The first atrium was a classroom that sat 30 students but currently only 5 were receiving any sort of instruction at the front. They passed through quickly onto the second on this level, and this one held 20 students but only 3 were being taught. It all felt underwhelming. She was then escorted to the back where the students would be housed for the remainder of their tuition. Her room was nondescript, and felt, as she sat her sack down, more like a prison cell. There was one window by the door for light, a thin mat, and a desk. So this would be her home. At least she had her own room, that was something she thought was especially rare.

The guide left her to her room and Ishtar took off her crystal. The color changed to the cloudy mist that it was prior and she set it on the desk. Her mind opened. Though she enjoyed being quieted at first, an odd kind of peace, taking it off felt more like being freed from shackles. It would be 10 years before she would be allowed to leave the Academy. To the 10 year old, that felt like a whole lifetime.

The next 5 years passed in relative quiet. When she first started learning whenever she went out to classes or for prayers at the temple she wore her crystal but every evening or when she was by herself she would take it off. She proved to be a quick study and especially gifted at maths. At first her instructors and the priests regularly check she was wearing her crystal. Apparently they were all aware of her abilities and none of them wanted to test it. In fact, the control she thought she would learn over her ability became just a reminder for her to wear the necklace. Eventually, however, everyone stopped asking and when she was 13, she decided to stop wearing it all together, preferring the company of all the sights and sounds. She wore a knock off pendant instead, a green crystal she had bought one evening sneaking out to a bazaar in the city - that matched the one she received exactly. This made the school work that much easier when she could literally see all the answers.

She made few friends in that time. A boy who claimed to be a prince, though, other than some kind of fashion sense, she never really believed him. His name was Siyavash but she only ever called him Vash. They weren’t in the same classes, their schedule seemed to be inverted. They did meet often in the gardens. It was then she learned her first bit of control over her Sight.

One afternoon she was sitting in one of the gardens on the Academy grounds when the boy now called Vash but then called Siyavash, sat beside her. He had a winsome way about him and it was easy to talk to him. They talked about all sorts of things, where they were from, what it was like, why they came here, what they hoped to do and on and on. This was one person, she thought, she didn’t want to See. She only wanted to know the person beside her. The Sight often made it hard to trust people when she could See everything from their intentions to their thoughts to their fears. She had determined to make at least one friend with whom she could discover things about him at his own pace. When she looked into his eyes on that fateful afternoon, she willed herself, commanded herself not to look beyond those dashing eyes.

And it worked! She didn’t See anything. She remembered the pure elation, Vash must have thought her crazy but he just smiled at her excitement. That was something she liked about him. He was patient, and he waited.

The time spent with Vash, her only true friend in this whole city, helped make the following years that much more bearable. On the eve of their finishing their education, both now 15, they met in that same flower garden.

“I feel like I can talk to you about anything, Vash,” she confessed as they sat together, shoulders touching. “Thank you for being my friend.” It was an odd thing to speak so blatantly and honestly. She might as well have confessed more right there on the spot. Still, it was the only person she never Saw and that made him very special to her.

“You act like we will never see each other again,” Vash scoffed. He was always so light-hearted when it came to any sort of intimacy. She felt like no matter what she said to him, he alway listened, but what came out were things that she didn’t feel were as close. This had it’s uses, of course. There were many times she ranted, sometimes even raving mad, about either some instructor or about something she heard happening at the Tower. In these moments though, it felt like he always kept her at arms length.

“This is the last time we will be on the same level,” she mourned, referring to the fact they would be taking different paths and likely never to see each other again. What she wouldn’t give for more time with her dear friend.

Vash just shrugged like the tall, handsome, charming - Ishtar could go on - oaf he was. “Well, I mean, we were never in the same classes before and we still found time to hang out. This won’t be any different.” She gave him a sidelong glance that told him this would be different. He still seemed unmoved by it.

She tried again, “I am going to study to be a priestess. You, you are going into politics? Honestly, I think it is a talent wasted, but you are, as you have said, a prince.” She said the last part with as much sarcasm as she could muster. She wanted so bad to just take a little peak, but she promised herself she never would. All she knew about this boy was that his mother was very involved in his life and very very loud - you’d think she was the emperor or something.

Vash was never straight forward as to whether he knew what she was or not. He was very good at keeping secrets and using them at the most opportune time to get what he wanted. If he knew she had the Sight, he would definitely be praying she didn’t use it now to see how he really felt.

“It is my lot in life, I suppose,” he said with that typical nonchalant shrug as if he carried the weight of everyone’s destiny on his shoulders. “You will make a great priestess, Ishtar. Probably the best in the history of the whole world!” He leaned more into her and lingered before pulling away.

She blushed and suppressed a giggle. This boy was always so ready with the flattery and knowing exactly what people wanted to hear. Maybe it was he with the Sight and not her! “Maybe, but…” she paused. She wanted this moment to last forever, but she never told anyone what she was about to tell him. “I feel weaker than when I first came here like I’m slowly losing what makes me special.”

Vash stayed quiet contemplating how much of his hand he should show Ishtar. “How often do you wear that crystal?” He asked finally - he could at least give her a hint, he couldn’t disclose everything he knew, but he could give her this.

“Less often in recent years, but still when I’m in front of a priest or when there is a festival or some other special occasion. Still often just not as often as before,” she admitted. It was the first such admission that she ever gave anyone. It was her little secret but now it was their secret. She wasn’t sure at all but this moment was their moment.

“Don’t ever wear it again. Destroy it. Throw it away. Bury it. Refuse to be controlled. You are more capable than you think,” he said finally. His eyes meant hers and she was stunned. So stunned that she let her guard down and she Saw. She saw the day it was decided he come here, she saw his constant meeting with the Great High Priest, she saw plans and schemes that she didn’t understand the meaning to. He was, as he had always claimed, a prince. And finally, before she gained control of herself, she saw that he knew her in a way she thought she had kept secret.

Ishtar stood, tears in her eyes. She felt betrayed. Were they only friends so that he could keep an eye on her? What was this all about? “I never want to see you again, Vash!”

Word Counter - 2348

Chapter 14 - Up On The Ivory Tower

Siyavash hated ever moment of the journey from Sousa to Babylon. It wasn’t the roughness of the terrain, or the length of the overall trip, it was relatively short. No, he found it unbearable because his mother, every day, reviewed what his life would be like once they arrived. More than a handful of times, she mention that she had a collection of letters and orders from the King stating what their residence would be, which schools would be offered to him, and tutelage under the Great High Priest of Ahura Mazda himself, complete with an audience when they arrive. Siyavash hated being so controlled. He wished his life was easier. By the time they reached Babylon, he felt like he had his whole life memorized and he was just waiting for it to finish.

He started to wish he was the slave boy whose job it was to clean the donkeys and horses. At least, or so he thought, that boy could do what he wanted. And by “do what he wanted” Siyavash meant run free and play with the other children when the adults weren’t look, not the part where they get beaten mercilessly. The days were spent with him being spoken to and not being allowed to leave the covered procession. His mother kept a tight leash and made him dedicate himself to all manner of etiquette lessons so that the wouldn’t be an embarrassment and he’d act like the prince he was supposed to be.

When they finally crested the final hill overlooking Babylon, Siyavash, under any other circumstance, would probably have been impressed. However, he was so discouraged he hardly noticed the impressive towers, the sprawling city or the wide and beautifully adorned gates. He just wanted to get this all over with. They first stopped in the trading district. Abnātu, his mother had secured a rather nice accommodation above a shop that sold all manner of rugs. It was well furnished and most of what they had was moved to the two stories above. Next they went onward to the city center where the academy and tower stood. Siyavash was allowed to be briefly introduced to the staff and he learned his living space would not be at the academy but he would reside at the Tower. When Abnātu made plans, she made plans. He felt a little ache in his heart as he saw a girl his age be taken around the gardens. He hoped he saw her again, but before he could dare to go over to make an introduction he was, yet again, whisked away.

The Tower, as he approached, though was the first thing that caught his breath. From even a short distance it looked like a rather tall and lanky ziggurat but when he got closer, he noticed it almost seemed alive. The walls had moving parts that allowed people to traverse up the wall without having to go inside. Small platforms forms dotted the outside of each level. Normal people were not allowed to set foot inside the actual tower so supplies and “externals” were brought by these moving discs. His guide mentioned that each of these rounded stages were coupled with a medallion, priests had installed them long ago to allow upward mobility. The man seemed suitably impressed with the ingenuity.

Once inside the Tower, inside there were several temples to various gods he didn’t recognize. He was told these were all foreign gods that paid tribute to the Empire and were allowed to send one priest to Babylon. They were little more than stalls and there were aisles and aisles of these small deities. He wondered if so many gods even existed! They almost seemed like beggars as they passed by. It seemed more like a market than it did a religious establishment. When he mentioned this, his guide shrugged and explained that the more people they could win over to their deity the better their chances to move up to the next level - a religious lottery.

The second level was familiar with him. There was more natural light as the outside walls had more archways. The stalls became smaller spaces like the business his mom now lived above. The priests looked less like beggars and more like actual priests. He recognized these gods as all the registered and official gods of the empire. It was the place the foreign priests wanted to be because it gave them legal rights to establish temples in the cities controlled by the empire. Still there was the same hunger in their eyes as Siyavash and his entourage passed by, as if they only needed them to move forward. His guide explained since he was a prince, princely favor would bestow a certain leverage they could use to make it to the next level. Siyavash wouldn’t know it but this was starting to look like a pyramid scheme.

The third level was already different than the first two. It housed only 4 gods. There were no longer arches to prop up the next levels but richly adorned columns. The gods that occupied this level could be readily identified. There was Angra Mainyu, or Ahriman, the god of chaos who was opposed to the Ahura Mazda. This priest, he was told, he needed to be weary of. His priests gathered all the malcontents of the empire or of Ahura Mazda and was always plotting the Chief God’s downfall. His temple, Siyavash thought, was the most beautiful. His chief priest was the most beautiful man he had ever seen. He even introduced himself to the small guided tour. His name was Amir. It sounded winsome to the young impressionable boy’s ears.

He was shuffled along and the next temple they saw was Rashnu, the judge of the dead. Siyavash already knew this god was elevated toward the end of the life of kings as they sought favor in the afterlife. However, they didn’t stay long, it was poor etiquette to keep company with the dead for too long.

The next god seemed to be an armory. Every sort of weapon imaginable hung on the columns and along the walls of the rooms allotted to its worship. Even weapons he couldn’t even recognize! This was the god of war, Verethragna. He was instantly the boy’s favorite. He knew as he grew up, this god would be his favorite. Perhaps he would become his priest just so he could learn to use all those weapons! The priestess for this temple was bore arms and bore other things making Siyavash blush though he wasn’t quite sure why.

Finally, standing directly opposite Angra Mainyu’s temple, was Spenta Mainyu - the creative spirit that crafted the material world. The priestess for this god seemed more like a magician, creating things from nothing with a breath. However, what was created never seemed to last long. The guide said that once this spirit shared a space at the top with Ahura Mazda and whatever was created, even whole cities, still stand today. But as the empire aged and things stabilized, the god lost favor and can only create smaller objects and for a much shorter amount of time. It was not the gods that determined their importance, even if they were vital, it was the king.

After their tour of the third level, they weren’t to the fourth. It wasn’t until this level that Siyavash realized the priests wore less clothing and of finer material. There were only two grand temples on this level - Mithra and Anahita. Most surprising of all to him was that the priest of Anahita was not a woman. The fertility and healing god, for some reason, chose a man to be her High Priest when he knew that women were mostly drawn to this god. Mithra was the one to choose a woman as the priestess of his High Priest. Both wore little more than skirts and if he thought Angra Mainyu was richly adorned, he was sadly mistaken. Anahita’s temple was composed mostly of sapphires and blue gemstones while Mithra was rubies and red gems and crystals. Mithra the god of judgment was also the god of contracts and covenants - this made sense to Siyavash why Persia would have a special interest in a god that specialized in punishing people for breaking oaths.

He had a brief meeting where he was introduced as Prince Siyavash and the priests offered to help him get settled in, not really remembering their names as he was too blown away by how much wealth could be accrued in one spot - and this coming from a boy who grew up in the royal palace at Sousa. Afterward he was finally brought to the final and fifth flour of the tower.

Not having a roof immediately over his head took his breath away as he looked over the city. It was intimidating to be so high he felt that the sky was was closing in on him. From the riches of the fourth floor the fifth opened up into a garden paradise with a large beautiful temple in the middle. What interested him most though, as they entered was he could see the hint of a flower garden behind the statues of Ahura Mazda and Artexerxes. His attention though, was drawn away from that private garden by a collection of 7 priests who seemed very interested in attending to him. He would later learn they were the acolytes of the Great High Priest, and eventually understand their only interest was in his position. They, like everyone else in this tower, just wanted the power and the status. He wasn’t really certain, even as a 10 year old, how many of the priests truly believed in their gods.

Finally, he met the Great High Priest, Esfandiar. The man was old and his robes were simple compared to the ones in the lower levels. Apparently his extravagance was in his impressive collections, there were many plants, artifacts, and statues he had never seen before or read about. It was truly impressive. Esfandiar sat in his seat in front of the statues staring at the boy as if he was a puzzle to solve.

“Welcome, your highness,” he said, bowing his head slightly. The Great High Priest still showed deference to the people who had the power to change his position, at least, for now. It was only a matter of time before he would change that status quo. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of the scrawny child in front of him. He certainly dressed like a prince but his demeanor and overall presence left much to be desired. He wasn’t sure why Artexerxes decreed that this boy should stay under his tutelage but it wasn’t something he could have said no to without reason. He narrowed his eyes at the youth trying to ascertain any sense of giftedness. He was one of the children he was told possessed true magic ability but he felt nothing. Was it all a farce? Was the king playing some sort of trick on him?

Siyavash returned the nod and squirmed under the old man’s gaze. He really was only here because his mother made him and he felt horribly out of place among all the priests and wealth the tower had accrued.

“So…” Esfandiar said after a long pause. He stood and crossed the distance between them. He placed a hand on the boy’s forehead and closed his eyes, searching. He did detect something after all, muted, and not easily expressed. What an interesting boy after all. “Mithra,” he said at last, almost disappointed by the fact he didn’t have a more powerful showing. “Go downstairs and Tahmine will get you situated. Once you are ready, we have much to discuss about your future here.”

The boy blinked and looked around at the others for help but they all either didn’t look at him or gave him the same puzzled expression. Still, his guide obeyed the priest and set him back down to the fourth level. Once he saw the boy to the temple of Mithra, the guide and accompanying entourage left.

“It seems you have been blessed by Mithra, then?” Came the voice of the priestess he had met earlier. She seemed friendly enough at first but now that he was alone with her and her priests, her look was hard and disciplined. “What makes you so special then boy? Look at me!” She snapped. Begrudgingly, the boy’s eyes went from the floor and found their way up to hers. She was now clothed in a sheer piece and her skin was lighter than anyone he had ever met. It was odd to see her light brown hair, streaked with strains of silver. She definitely, now that he was seeing her for the first time, did not belong here.

He gave her a look of disgust of someone looking at another that was clearly inferior. That was the first but not the only time he was ever struck. He didn’t even realize what happened until he was on the floor, his face hot and burning. “You will learn your place. Get up,” she growled viciously. He got to his feet and spat at her feet, his glare harder than before. “I said, what makes you so special?” She said, slapping him again, this time he spat blood as he laid on the floor.

“I don’t answer to filth,” he whispered. He didn’t know what joke this was but he’d never bend a knee to someone like her. A Persian prince was never to bend a knee to a foreigner.

“Your first lesson,” she said, her voice low, threatening, and carrying with it a promise of more violence, “is to learn your place.” Her foot was on the back of his neck pressing him into the hard stone floor. “I have earned my place here. You have not. In this tower, you are the foreigner.” She then pressed hard enough he thought his neck would break in two. He whimpered and she let go.

At the sudden release he gasped for air. It took him a long moment before he got to his feet. “As I was saying, I do not know what makes you so special but I plan to find out,” she said dismissively as if she hadn’t just tried to kill him, a prince. Anger flared and he was certain he could have her beheaded, but a cooling sensation came over him and he let those thoughts go.

He wouldn’t admit to this woman that he was only there because his mother made it so and there was nothing special about him. He was determined that he would belong and she would be sorry for the way she treated him. Another priest showed him to his room that he would use during his stay in Babylon. He was more amicable, and told Siyavash that everyone got that treatment when they first came. The boy didn’t quite believe him but didn’t argue with the accommodations. The room was large, with grand rugs and tapestries. The bed was spacious and there were cushions and tables for entertaining guests. He even had his own wash basin. For such a private space, he thought, maybe the abuse was worth it.

Word Count - 2560

Disclaimer - violence. Reader discretion advised.

Chapter 15 - The Boy Revealed

The days turned to months and the months turned into years for the young prince. Life fell into a routine for him, as it had for most students. He, though, was not like most students. The Great High Priest Esfandiar had tasked Siyavash with a kind of reconnoissance. There was another student at the Academy he wanted watched. The prince was to make sure that she always wore her pendant she was given, and that she never used her magic on him. He was given a special pendant that blocked all magic aimed at him. It was activated by a magic word and he was not to use it unless he was with her, to make sure he didn’t interfere with the working of the tower. At first he didn’t understand and for the first few months he had very little to report. He didn’t really want to be sent to Babylon just to talk to a stupid girl.

Things changed though, and after a fated meeting in the garden, he found her reliable companion. Her name was Ishtar and she was so easy to talk to. When he admitted he was a prince, she didn’t even believe him! Instead of trying to correct her, he liked the idea of being treated like a normal person. She never wanted anything from him but his company and never demanded he do anything for her. She had no schemes and seemed as lost as he was most of the time.

Siyavash continued to be the errand boy for Esfandiar, and as the years wore on, he became a his most trusted lackey. When he was 13, the old man finally confided in what he actually wanted from the girl. She was, as confirmed through multiple sources, though never a direct meeting, an oracle. Not just one of those huffs suspicious substances types. She could clearly See people without the need for added ingredients. That kind of magic was powerful and necessary, for some reason, and so the pendant had a second function. It not only blocked her ability so she could learn properly, but it also siphoned her magic slowly. Esfandiar had noted too that Siyavash had managed to befriend her. He ordered the prince to use that to gift the girl a crystal. This crystal was a more aggressive siphon and the Great High Priest in his great wisdom was hungry to drain her faster so he could use that magic for his own ends. What the high priest wanted with the power, the boy couldn’t guess. He just knew his orders and by now he had beaten enough, and have seen enough people flung from the tower, to know his only option was to obey.

He played with the crystal in his hand, foolishly finding himself envious that the girl had such freedom and importance and the only thing he was good at was doing what other people wanted. He knew, of course, the perfect time to give to her. That was one of the many festivals that Babylon observed and he would give it to her as a token of their friendship. As he walked across to the Academy his thoughts continued to sour. It served her right for being so free spirited. He hoped, too, Esfandiar would give him a bit of this power. A power he could only hope to have.

After that night, it was suddenly harder for Siyavash to complete his surveillance of Ishtar. Esfandiar grew more obsessed after she also started wearing the crystal. For the prince, seeing her gave him all kinds of new feelings. Feelings that made him want to protect her, feelings that were fearful she didn’t feel the same way as him, whatever that meant. Before he knew it they had finished their basic education at 15 and, much to the Great High Priest’s dismay, having ordered the boy to stay close to the girl, got sorted into a different school which meant he would no longer be able to keep an eye on her.

Siyavash was also dismayed, but for a completely different reason. Their daily walks and evening rendezvous would be coming to an end. He found himself unable to beat not being by her side and he had no clear way to communicate it. He lived in an ivory tower and listened to the whims of chief priests. She was a merchants daughter and, though gifted, was rather unremarkable. Now that he was 15, his mother even found him a girl of royal blood to pursue. He was not interested in anything other than staying with Ishtar and the one thing, the only thing he wanted for himself, was not to be. The least he could do was warn her.

That night didn’t go how he had planned it and when he had let her into his mind, when he told her all he could to warn her, she walked away from him. He could not help but see it as a blatant rejection. Not that he had ever confessed anything, but when she walked away he knew he would never see her again.

That sentiment wasn’t exactly the truth but any time they made eye contact she pretended she didn’t know him and either looked away or walked away. He went to find her in the normal places and when asked, others just shrugged and said she was moved to the top of the Academy and moved her living arrangements too. His heart sank and when he reported to the High Priest that he had lost contact with her, the young man thought he would be at last cast off the tower like so many others. Esfandiar, though, thought he could salvage this with a better opportunity.

“You may still prove useful to me, my young prince,” the old man sneered. They were meeting on the terrace that housed his private flower garden. It was Siyavash’s favorite place that unfortunately necessitated a man he now hated. “There is another coming and I will have more control over where he stays. He is a poor boy from a far off place called Microbia. He has no one, knows no one, and will be a perfect target for more siphoning.”

At this point, the 15 year old Persian, rolled his eyes behind the priest’s back. He was no longer sure what the whole point of this was but he knew that the only way to break free was to finish his now indentured servitude to this old senile fool. It took him a moment before he realized the priest was still talking, “he is blessed by the god Anahita and has some truly miraculous healing powers. Once we have him in our control, we should be able to have access to unlimited power stores.”

Wait. Didn’t each of the High Priests gain power from their gods? Why was this man so unbelievably obsessed with other gods and whom they bless or don’t bless. Something wasn’t adding up to Siyavash but it would be another 20 years before he realized what was happening and by then he would be in too deep and powerless to stop what he is.

With the meeting adjourned, he was given his new marching orders - find this Bahman Farhad and befriend him. It worried Siyavash that this new acquaintance was bound for the same religious schooling at the Academy as Ishtar but he couldn’t really place his finger on why other than the fact he felt jealous. He shook off that feeling and descended the tower. It was almost time to meet this poor boy from Macrobia, wherever that was even from.

Siayavash arrived at the Academy to find that perhaps his mentor, if that was even the right word for it, was misinformed. This boy arrived with a wealth and an entourage that rivaled his own entry into the city. He rode alongside one of the most elegant and fit women he had ever scene, garbed in blue and eyes that would make even the salty and geezerly Esfandiar blush. Their retinue consisted of horses, donkeys, camels and he could barely fit through the throng that gathered besides on the steps leading to the entrance of the Academy.

His target looked nothing like what he had in his mind. As he dismounted his horse, his eyes were narrowed and his face was bunched up like he was disgusted with the grandeur of the city. His hair was in a tight nit, tighter than he had ever seen. His hair was in long sweeping curls and he’d seen others that tightened their curls more but these seemed both natural and to his Persian eyes, completely foreign. This youth was slightly shorter than him, his complexion dark, and his robes, of fine fabric and in the blue hues of Anahita, hung loose around his frame.

What was more impressive most of all was that he was allowed to carry weapons and a peculiar matching they were. He’d never have picked farming implements as a chosen paring, where were hung at the small of his back on his belt, but alongside them his belt hosted a dagger on one hip and a sword on the other. He was the very image of someone who was dangerous. How could such a person be considered a healer? Another pang of jealousy. Even though he was trained by the finest, he was not allowed to wear more than a knife to use for daily tasks. He reveled in the thought of seeing this African stripped of his weapons and stomped underfoot as he had.

“Please submit your weapons. No weapons are permitted on the premises except by officials, guards, and those given special permission,” an administrator said flanked by 2 large guards. Siyavash smiled wickedly. Looks like he was going to be given instant gratification, a strange feeling as he never got anything his way. His mirth was short lived though. The stunning woman in blue shook her head.

“He will not be giving you his weapons. I doubt even if you had 10 guards you’d be able to take them from him,” Abela said coolly, keeping eye contact with the Academy official. She was about to retrieve the letter that gave him such and exception but she was interrupted.

“We will see about that. Guards. Seize him!” He commanded rashly pointing his gnarled finger at the pair of them. Siyavash was keen enough to see this woman and the young man exchange a look and the woman nod.

He stepped forward, this Bahman Farhad, and did something he would remember for the rest of his life. It looked as if he would comply as the guards reached him however, it was over in a flash. Bahman caught the first guard’s hand as it reached for his weapons. His dagger flashed and off went the guards hand. The young prince had never seen so much blood in his entire life. With a deft throw, his dagger embedded into the space between the guards armor, in his groin. The two men screamed and staggered back in pain, eyes wide and panicked.

There was a frenzy and the official was about to call for reinforcements when when the priestess held up her hand for silence. Everyone froze and the vicious Bahman Farhad held up both his hands. The two screaming guards calmed and the blood stopped flowing. With easy, Bahman retrieved the man’s hand, placed it both stub where it had been moments before and in an instant the man was made whole. Next, he retrieved his dagger from the second guard who was on the ground and with a wave of his hand, the damage seemed to be undone. The blood on the floor seemed to seep into the ground. A demonstration of both how dangerous and how powerful he was. The crowd, the guards, the official, and Siyavash were all stunned. Even more so when Bahman apologized to both men in turn! Forget being jealous of this guy, Siyavash wanted to be him!

“As I was saying,” Abela announced as Bahman returned to her side. He was rubbing his hand which now the prince saw looked like it was horribly burnt. If he could do all that, why not heal himself? She extended her hand with the missive and continued, “He has the necessary exceptions to be allowed whatever he chooses to carry. Now you see, thanks to your hasty judgments, that you’d need a small garrison to disarm him and they’d thank him later after all was said and done.” The official took it with shaky hands and looked over it, reluctantly nodding as he took the scroll for official record keeping.

“Oh,” she said as the official turned away. He stopped obviously not wanting to turn away. “This young priest will have accommodations here as well as an extra residence. The details are all there in that message.”
Siyavash was at a loss. He was supposed to befriend a poor pauper with no prospects. Here stood a man, for he no longer looked his age anymore to his eyes, with wealth to spare, powers beyond the imagination, and exceedingly deadly. The only thing Siyavash did was do what he was told and ruin the only friendship he had because, again, he only ever did what he was told. He didn’t have it in him to even muster the courage to say hello. Esfandiar was more senile than he thought because the only thing true he was told was the other young man’s ethnicity.

The crowd slowly dispersed when it was apparent another demonstration wasn’t coming. Siyavash watched as the teen called Bahman grabbed his things, refusing help from either the priest of Anahita or the other guards and companions he had with him. He seemed exhausted and it was only afternoon. He stood still as he watched the woman command the others to still follow Bahman, supposing others might try their luck - someone perhaps likes Siyavash. He was about to follow after the others when he caught the woman’s eye.

“You there, boy, come here,” she said, her voice as commanding as when she talked to the official. He could do the only thing he knew how to do, obey. Good little, prince. He closed the gap and stood in front of her. They were about the same height and he really couldn’t stop staring. “Eyes up here,” she hissed and he flinched. He really didn’t mean to but there was just something about how she was dressed. “What is your name?”

Remembering his station, and his mother yelling at him to show some spine, he straighten as if some whipped him into shape. “Prince Siyavash,” he said in a monotone.

Her eyebrows shot up. She was definitely not expecting a prince. “Tell me, ‘Prince’ Siyavash,” she said his title with a sarcasm that stung his pride, her eyes seemed knowing of his intentions. “Where are you staying?”

“At…the Tower…t-t-temple of Mithra,” he stuttered, he prayed she didn’t ask his business or why he was there because he’d readily tell her all of Esfandiar’s plans if she did.

Instead, it was as if she already knew more than he did as her eyes travelled up the Tower of Babylon. He could have sworn her eyes flashed blue for a moment as she continued to stare unblinkingly upward. “So that’s what it is,” she said more to herself. “Very well,” she did not look like it was very well at all. She turned her attention to Siyavash with a look that, if it could flay, would have skinned him alive. “You will want to follow if you hope to meet Bahman Farhad. That’s why you were in the crowd right? Despite what you saw, he’s a very shy kid.”

Was…that a hint? He couldn’t tell but he didn’t hang around to ask questions and trotted off down the garden path to the student’s residence.

Word Count - 2668

Disclaimer - Violence. Viewer Discretion Advised.

Chapter 16 - A Fated Meeting

“That’s crazy! I am not doing that!” Bahman protested. Abela and the captain of the guards that accompanied them both stared at him as if he was being childish. “Why do I need to do something that will get me killed!”

Abela sighed as if it was the millionth time she was telling him. They had been on the road for days now, making slow progress because Bahman seemed to fight them every waking moment of every day. She did not like the boy, but she would follow Anahita. If Anahita wanted the boy to go to Babylon then nothing was going to stop her from accomplishing the task. Every morning and every evening, she demanded Bahman keep his blade skills sharp by sparring 2 or 3 of the guards, sometimes at the same time. She needed him to be battle ready for his time at Babylon. Even if he never touched his weapons in the 5 years he was to be there, it would at least put him in the proper mindset to see all the threats that are lurking behind every corner.

“You need to show them that you are someone to fear,” she said patiently as if talking to a toddler. It was hard to get him to understand the rule of life - if people fear a weak person, the weak person gets beaten, but if people fear a strong person, they respect him. However, it seemed this Bahman got beaten one too many times - not just in Poura, he came there a sniveling coward.

“Everyone always fears me, and then treats me like a foreigner,” he whined. They were sitting at a fire in the evening after his training. It seemed like they always did the same thing every day - wake up, train, travel, train, sleep. He could do nothing but resent all of them for making him do this. “I just want to belong, Abela,” he continued to whimper.

Abela spat. This child. What did she have to do to make him understand he needed to grow up. “Listen, I’m telling you. You show them you are a threat, and you show them that healing power of yours and no one, I mean no one, will cross you there without an army at their back,” she said rubbing her temple. They had a long way to go and she couldn’t take much more of this. “Just…just sleep on it alright? I can’t deal with any more of you whining.”

With that they retired to separate corners of the camp. Bahman was about to go to sleep when a voice, that older man’s voice crept into his head, “Last time, I chose to go quietly into Babylon, like you want to now. It didn’t go well for me. Abela, as much as we hate her for it, is giving sound advice. It’s better to be seen as a threat than it is to be seen as a coward and an easy mark. The only way to change our fate is to do things differently.”

“What is this ‘we?’ Who even are you?” He growled, he was still sore from Abela’s tongue lashing he wasn’t about to take this from some imaginary person in his head. “I’m not going to fight people. That’s not who I want to be.”

“It’s hard to explain now, but…we’ve done this before. Our only chance to come out ahead is to go in strong,” the older voice said. Bahman wished he could do something to this guy that’s for sure. He quietly tried to call out to Anahita. “She isn’t coming. I’m blocking her for now. We need to get something straight. You cannot trust her.” Blocking her? Is that even possible? Why can’t he trust the only being that cared enough to help him in his times of need and save the people he cared about.

“I trust her more than you, whoever you are,” Bahman said sourly. Then, there was silence, deafening silence. He was alone. And then silently a voice came in, right when he was about to sleep.

“You need to trust, Abela. She is trying to help you survive. You may not like her. You may not like what you must do but if you want things to turn out differently, follow her plan,” it was Anahita, or her echo, like a message left for him. He was too tired to respond but when he woke up he felt refreshed like he had slept for several days. One thing was clear, as he got out of bed, he really needed to stop talking to voices in his head. Whoever any of them were, both claiming at moments to be him, whatever that meant, seemed to have him figured out but he was the one who would do things his way.

“Fine,” he said after training and climbing onto his horse, he felt like he was eating his pride and wanted to spit on the priestess. “Tell me what you want me to do,” he groaned as they continued on the dusty road. He was sure he would do it his way, no matter what she said.

“A little show of force. No doubt when we arrive, it will cause some sort of attention. You aren’t typically allowed to have weapons at the Academy,” she started, as if she were waiting for this moment the whole journey. She eyed the various weapons not only on his person but the ones he also secured on his horse. Jameshi really wanted to make sure all his bases were covered. If Abela didn’t know better, she’d think the priestess had a soft spot for the boy. Well, children need more than discipline to be successful. Sometimes you need a whip.

“If weapons aren’t allowed, then I will just put them away and you can take them back to Poura. That is the simplest way right?” Bahman did try to see things everyone else’s way but he still thought none of this was necessary. He could just go in quietly without all the attention.

“No. The moment someone gets a cut from a rose bush you are going to try to jump in and heal them, especially if they are a pretty girl,” Abela said this as if it were the most disgusting thing ever, ironic coming from someone of her profession. “Then word will spread and people will be clamoring to use you until you have no more magic left to give and you will be begging for a blade.”

The teen was reminded of the conversations he had before he fell asleep. This all tracked. He simply nodded but said nothing. Taking this for agreement, the priestess continued, “So. Instead, you will fight whoever it is that tries to take your weapons away. Probably some lousy guard for the Academy. Anyway, nothing you can’t handle. Make it bloody, tear out their intestines if you have to. Make it something they won’t forget. The more blood and guts the better,” she said this last part with a hunger that sent a shiver down his spine. Wasn’t she supposed to be the priestess of a healing god? Why was she so incredibly bloodthirsty as if she had a vendetta against the establishment for sending her to the furthest reaches of the empire? Oh, something clicked in his mind and for the very first time, felt some measure of sympathy for his reluctant mentor.

“But…” he went to protest and that same bloodthirsty expression found him as if he was to be the target of all her bloodlust. He gulped and just nodded. “I will…consider it…but I don’t think…I can…do all that…” he said, suddenly trying to picture himself pulling out a man’s stomach with the same kind of zeal that was spread across Abela’s face. He wanted to vomit right then and there.

“Next, of course, you can’t let them die. I mean, you are too much of a coward to let them bleed out on the floor, but here, your instinct to protect will come in handy. See, you are sharp and quick with a blade, skilled beyond many, so that will strike fear into the hearts of those with the ambition to use and abuse you. You aren’t anyone’s puppet or rather, you are only Anahita’s puppet as am I. So next you heal them. Good as new. Show them how powerful your magic is. Then they will not only fear you for your skill but also for your power. That will make anyone even the Chief Priests consider carefully before approaching you with any threats. They still might, but at least it will give them pause to watch you first.”

This was more than he had ever heard Abela talk. It might be because he denied her for days on end and everything was bursting out. It might be because he was using him, exactly how she warned other would, to exact her revenge on an institution that manipulated her. He wondered if any of this would actually work. It did seem, at least in this instance, with all these warnings, to be the most prudent route but he just couldn’t see how he had it in him to do it.

After that the training felt more like a rehearsal, he kept thinking of angles and how to launch an attack with sheathed weapons. The guards and Abela caught on and helped walk him through different possibilities. The drilled and drilled and when he was tired they pressed him harder until on the eve of Babylon, he had his pick of any number of combinations to use. Some incredibly lethal and others that made Abela spit at him and curse because they were so stupid.

When they reached the gates of Babylon, he barely registered. His mind was a blur of doubt and fear. “This isn’t going to work,” he thought, completely ignoring the grandeur of both the entrance and the city streets.

“I will be with you,” Anahita’s sweet voice filled him and there was, for a moment calm. However, he fought it. He would not be settled so easily. This was a dangerous bid and he knew it. He never once fought against the empire and this felt like he was challenging the king himself to send his armies to destroy him.

“This is treason,” he argued.

“It’s a good plan. Nothing will go wrong. I promise you. I will help you,” her voice was firm and she was really convincing. By the time she had argued him down they were already at the steps and it was almost show time. His face twisted in disgust. He was never going to be able to forgive himself for causing so much harm on his very first day.

What happened next was a blur, he barely remembered reaching for his dagger and when it was over, his ears were ringing and everyone was staring at him. He wanted to vomit all over the guards he had obviously just healed. Instead, he put on the bravest face he could, took his packs and shouldered through the crowd down a garden walk.

The room he had was smaller than the one in Poura but he was thankful for the privacy. He really didn’t care what it looked like so long as it wasn’t outside and it wasn’t shared. He could have fell on his mat and slept the rest of the day away except, right when he thought he would collapse he heard a soft knock at the door. He had a large collection of weapons currently piled on the floor by his mat but he grabbed and unsheathed a large hunting knife. “Come in,” he said wearily, readying the blade incase whoever was coming in wanted trouble.

Whoever he thought was coming through his door, it wasn’t who he expected. It was a student no older than he was. His hair was finely curled, and his face was handsome and smooth. He had a winsome smile and fine linen clothing that, though simple, were more than he could certainly afford. He put his hands up defensively, his smile fading as he saw the knife. “I just…wanted to say hello,” he said meekly, trying to muster his smile again but instead it looked as if this charming boy was constipated.

Bahman lowered his weapon and threw it on the heap. “Oh, sorry. I thought you might have been a guard wanting round two,” he muttered, his memories of that moment coming in flashes which continued to spike his adrenaline.

“No guard. Care for a walk?” Siyavash asked.
Bahman thought a moment and figured he hadn’t ever really hung around someone his own age before with any semblance of freedom. He picked up his weapon belt and secured it around his waist. His weapons from earlier still hanging on them. When he looked up to see his acquaintance step back in fear he sighed and said, “They aren’t for you, in case we have trouble from that little display.” A small voice from deep inside him whispered, “They should be for him.”

The walk was nice. It was still early evening by the time they reached on of the back gardens. According to the season there were a myriad of fruits hanging from trees and bushes. Bahman hadn’t ever seen such well tended gardens before even in Poura which was dwarfed by Babylon. “I’m Bahman,” he said finally as they sat under a tree as the stars winked into existence.

“Siyavash,” came the response and something again woke up inside him at the name. He couldn’t quite understand the emotion. It was a mixture of anger, regret, and shame. What exactly happened? He tried his best to ignore the premonitions and focused on trying to make one friend.

“You seem quite comfortable here. I never would have found this place so soon,” Bahman observed as he tried to make a mental sketch of what he knew of the Academy so far.

“A few years yeah. Where are you from?” The other boy asked and Bahman paused. Obviously people will want him to say Microbia or Egypt or somewhere else in Africa. But he really wasn’t in the mood.

“Gedrosia. I was born in Aasha and educated in Poura,” he mumbled as if ashamed he wasn’t from somewhere as exciting as anyone here would be anticipating. Another bit of misinformation spread by the old geezer.

Siyavash changed the subject. “That priestess you travel with is really scary. I think even my mother would cower.”

Bahman huffed a laugh at that. When did he get so dependent on a woman he thought wanted him dead. The long days of traveling perhaps soften the edges of their relationship. She helped him survive this long but it’s yet to be seen whether his little show would eventually cost him his life.

Word Count - 2489

Chapter 17 - All In His Head

Bahman was given a few days to orient himself before he was expected to attend a new set of classes aimed at training him in the finer points of the religious quagmire and politics of the tower. Those three days were the happiest he had ever felt. He ran around with Siyavash whom he also started to call Vash. They weaved around the gardens and through the corridors linking the various classes. He was shown where Vash had studied while he was in Poura. It was infinitely more accommodating than his dingy old schoolroom that was for sure! Then he got to see the school of empire which handled the government and its politics and a little bit of the school of religion but Vash had said he would be spending too much time there anyway so they shouldn’t waste time there.

Bahman even got a speedy introduction to the Tower of Babylon. It wasn’t the most detailed. It didn’t seem like Vash had a clear understanding of its working though he supposedly stayed here and commuted to the Academy daily. He just said he didn’t spend time on the lower floors. No matter what though, Vash never let him go tot he top even after as much insistence as he could muster. Bahman, jokingly, said he would cut him open to which his friend said, knowing him better now, that Bahman would just patch him up again. They left soon after and continued their tour around the city at a near break neck speed. Both never having a real friend in their lives and at the moment Esfandiar was recalculating his strategy so Vash was also free in a way he never was before.

As wonderful as those days were, everyday ending in an unmistakable heartache from deep within that was not his own, they came to an end and he was expected to attend several lessons throughout the day. These ranged from artifact handling, to god memorization, to rites and rituals of each divinity. By this point everyone had heard about what happened the day he arrived and gave him a wide berth. No one talked to him save Vash and he was once again isolated. The foreigner. The outcast. He cursed his luck and resented following everyone’s advice but his own.

Bahman, though, was glad that he was away from writing and reading exercises, however, there was someone in all his classes that drew his attention. It was a girl who was also chosen to study there. She was the only girl in his class and so she was an easy focal point for his curiosity. It wasn’t just his curiosity but every time his eyes wandered to her corner, she always seemed to be glowering at him as if he single handedly had killed her whole family.

Every time their eyes locked though there were butterflies in his stomach but too many to just be his. He was slowly starting to piece together what was happening inside him as they studied ancient magic and artifacts. But for now, at this moment he felt compelled to introduce himself.

“Don’t do it,” came the calming tones of Anahita, “You won’t like where that leads, Nim.” He was shocked at the use of his name, he had been Bahman for so many years he forgot what his actual name really was.

“Don’t listen to her,” came that same gruff voice that vaguely sounded like him, “Go talk to her. We can make it work!” The voice for once sounded overly optimistic.

“What are you doing here? You are supposed to be…never mind. Ok, we will talk about this later. Do not, I repeat, do not talk to her. You already are causing problems being around Vash.”

“Yeah, you should have slit his throat when you had the chance. But I did the same thing when I was where you were. Maybe we can still change that too.”

“Nim,” Anahita growled annoyed, at this point Bahman wasn’t sure if she was addressing him or this other voice, but it did confirm something for him. However, this inner conflict that left him looking perplexed, was cut short and his decision to talk to this girl was taken from him as she approached him. He wanted to ask for advice but suddenly found his mind silent as both of these entities made themselves scarce. Great, thanks for the help, he thought bitterly.

“I’m Ishtar and you are?” The girl with the sweet voice with an edge of sadness was saying. He realized she had been talking for awhile while he was messing around. She then looked at him expectantly trying to ascertain if this boy was just crazy, lazy, or stupid.

“Oh…Nim…er…Bahman…” he stuttered and cursed himself, well cursed Anahita. No one had called him that in so long. “It’s…nice to meet you,” he said suddenly feeling extra lame. He couldn’t bring himself to meet her eyes and instead just kind of stared awkwardly at his hands.

“Nim? I like that,” she said, she obviously sounded forced, and there was still that unmistakable tinge of sadness to her words. He couldn’t help but think she also was looking for a friend. So far his only friends were two voices in his head and a boy he met 4 days ago - he found he could relate to the sentiment.

“We have some time before class…” she started again. He took this as an invitation he was supposed to make and he was going to say he was busy. He was going to make any kind of excuse he could think of but almost as if he wasn’t himself he offered to escort her around.

They talked for some time about where they were from. She didn’t seem to have any preconceived notions about where he was from and readily accepted that he was from a village called Aasha in the east. She asked about the weapons he carried and why he carried them. Asked if he was a dangerous person, asked if he carried anything magical on him. He denied being dangerous despite what she may or may not have seen or heard and didn’t have any magical artifacts that he knew of.

And then she finally caught his eyes. He was hooked right away. He seemed to melt into them and never wanted to be anywhere else ever again. She obviously didn’t feel the same way because when they locked eyes she made a face. “Um…do I have something on my face?” He asked raising his burnt hand to his cheek.

“No…um…” Ishtar paused. She had clearly seen everything she wanted to. She saw him mother dying in his arms. She saw Bahar dying on the floor in some sort of palace. She saw him training with a priestess of Mithra named Jameshi. Everything he had told her and more was there but there were odd blanks, conversations that seemed to only be half present like his memory wasn’t fully intact. It felt as if this were only the impression of a person, highlights that weren’t real. However, it was only a feeling and the fact he seemed to have nothing to hide meant she felt she could trust him…more than someone.

“What was that?” He asked to anyone who was listening.

The old man spoke up first, “Ishtar is an oracle. She can see who a person is by looking into their eyes.”

“And you didn’t think to warn me?” Bahman blustered.

“I miss her. You will too. She was the only one who will ever see you for who you are.”

“You are conveniently forgetting a whole bunch of details,” Anahita said, her voice still very annoyed but now in a resigned manner. “But yes, she can see what others are thinking and their past but for you, only what you choose to show her. We have some amount of control to stop her from knowing everything for now, not many others can do it and she probably knows she’s being blocked. This will not always be the case. From this point onward we are on a clock.”

“…do you prefer Nim or Bahman?” She was asking, she had moved on and they were walking now to their next class. Damn it with these two, Bahman cursed silently to himself. All he wanted was to talk to a girl and they were constantly sabotaging him. He suddenly wished he had two less “friends” in his life.

“Nim is fine,” he said softly, his cheeks felt flushed only his mother and…father…called him that with any amount of sincerity, having someone to share that with felt nice in a way he never felt before.

“Let’s talk again soon, you are really great at listening, Nim, and, to be honest, I could use someone to talk to,” Ishtar said with a girlish grin, and his heart sank. He was looked like a good listener because he had two yappers in his head. He now wished he knew what it was she was talking about this whole time.

As the days went by, Ishtar and Bahman found themselves sitting closer to closer until it was not at all uncommon to see their heads together whispering about some such thing during lessons and being told to be quiet or they would be separated. During one break they found themselves in a lower level garden, Bahman didn’t much mind, he was excited to introduce Ishtar to Vash but she seemed apprehensive to be away from their school. He just chalked it up to her just being perhaps a nervous person.

A rather excited boyish voice called from behind them, “Bahman!” The pair turned around and Bahman beamed at the other student and waved him over. However, when Vash and Ishtar looked at each other they both got very weird and seemed hesitant.

“Vash! This is Ishtar, she is in my class!” He said as he jogged over, forcing the closure of whatever distance there was. He tried to drag his friend over but Vash stood rigid, unable to be moved. “What?” He blinked and looked between the two. Ishtar had the same exact posture.

Seeing it made Bahman uncomfortable, they seemed to come to the same conclusion that it was better to act like they were simply acquaintances. “Hello,” Ishtar said with as much sarcasm as she could muster.

“Nice to meet you,” Vash grumbled.

“What is going on here?” Bahman demanded, suddenly annoyed that his two friends ruined his good time. He was getting used to having “good times,” and he didn’t want his only two avenues for such things to be at odds.

Vash looked sidelong at him. Why should he be cold, it wasn’t him who walked away, he could be cordial. “We used to be classmates. She was the friend I told you I lost.”

Bahman gave him a wide eyed stare of recognition and absentmindedly pointed at Ishtar which drew an ire he didn’t know she possessed. “Lost? You didn’t tell him, of course, you were spying on me for your ‘great high priest,” she said this last bit with as much vitriol as she could summon.

The Macrobian was now at an absolute loss how such a wonderful moment could implode so spectacularly. “I’m sure he didn’t mean to, right Vash?” He spoke up, hoping that he could salvage this moment.

“Well…” Vash said sheepishly and that was all Ishtar needed to hear as she stormed away. Now Bahman was torn between trying to figure out what Vash did and trying to counsel Ishtar. The two voices in his head were also conflicted. The old man wanted him to chase Ishtar and Anahita wanted him to stay and try to prevent hostilities with Vash that might develop later.

In the end, he decided to stay. He figured he could catch up with Ishtar later but for now he needed to know about the High Priest, whom Vash had already been coy about knowing before. “Spill it,” Bahman demanded, “Or I’m going to go have Ishtar tell me.”

Vash sighed. Bahman always seemed to know how to cut to the chase in a way that left him no choice but to disobey orders given. In a way, doing what Bahman said led to greater freedom and choice than when he just did what others said. “Fine,” he said at last.

He proceeded to tell him everything. His mother’s schemes and designs for him. Esfandiar and his cult at the top of the Tower hellbent on collecting magic and siphoning it to continue to power magical artifacts. He admitted that he first met Ishtar to do exactly that but over the next 5 years grew to care about her beyond what his mission was. Things broke when he was honest and let her See him and the truth. He left out that his new mission was to do the same to Bahman, perhaps he could do better this time, maybe things would be different.

“Is Ishtar still a target?” Bahman asked, trying to piece together everything. He already assumed, based on this honesty, that he was the new target, but he would not make his friend know he knew. He wanted to be his friend and he was fairly certain that any attempt Vash made would ultimately be unsuccessful.

“No. Its not thought she will be of better use to the Empire as a real oracle than as a magical siphon,” Vash sighed, they were now sitting and he wanted to cry and mourn for his stupidity and for the loss.

Word Count - 2270

Chapter 18 - The Academy Year 1

The first year of their schooling felt like a whole life time. Bahman and Ishtar were frequently, and happily, paired up together to tackle all sorts of assignments and during breaks Bahman and Vash were off doing what teenaged boys do - namely getting themselves in trouble with the locals.

The classes weren’t as boring as anyone had anticipated. For Vash, the courses were forced on preparing him for management. His internship would be in 2 years time and he would be off to assist a different satrap every year to learn the ins and outs of the empire. As a prince, he was allowed to accompany officials to greet visiting dignitaries and dine with the who’s who of the city. He was also allowed unrestricted access to many of the cities finest entertainment and social circles. Invitations were, if not excitedly, then definitely out of obligation, sent to him near nightly for some sort of soiree or another. The rich no matter the era just kept right on rich-ing.

Vash, for the most part, spent the year in and out of various different meetings. His writing, whether across clay tablets or papyri, was immaculate and later would be studied as an example for future students to emulate. Furthermore, the things he wrote seemed to be binding in a magical way, not just contractually - as if making a pact with a god. The stipulations for cheating the contracts or negotiations always came to pass whether the other party knew of the infractions or not. It was an odd skill to be sure but one that was immediately favorited by the bureaucracy - the ability to hold people to a negotiated settlement without the need to reinforce it. As word spread of this mystical ability, one that he had not previously known about, he was demanded for higher and higher level meetings - all over them around Babylon.

It seemed for once, the prince was able to do what he wanted instead of simply obeying people. He met less frequently with the high priest and more frequently with the aristocracy. His living quarters that first year even moved from the Tower, especially when no usefulness for his skills and abilities could immediately be drawn from in the first 5 years, to his mother’s living arrangements which had been upgraded significantly in that time. The prestige that Vash brought in allowed his mother to move into a wing at the royal residence in Babylon. It made going to classes a longer walk, but he rarely had to walk at all past the first month. For services rendered, he was afforded more and more luxurious means of travel; first by donkey, then Horst, than chariot, and then as he wished, a full on palate complete with entourage to move the riffraff out of the way.

Still, no matter his prestige in that first year, he grew more and more jealous of the relationship blooming between Bahman and Ishtar. It should have been him not Bahman that was by his side. Still he loved Bahman and treasured their time together as really his only friend who believed in him. Their meetings, when they were able to find the time, ranged from racing through bazaars to seeing who could pickpocket which nobleman without their guards detecting them. Vash was always better at the slight of hand and it was not uncommon for him to rescue Bahman at the last moment before the guards had him skinned alive. This left the youth conflicted about his feelings. He often pined for Ishtar’s attention but was never able to break that barrier she put up excommunicating him from her life. Girls, he thought bitterly, could be so fickle.

—————————

Meanwhile, Ishtar was struggling with remember the long lists of gods and what the different kinds of magical artifacts do. As an oracle she never really relied on gods to help see her through complicated life circumstances. Her Sight had proven invaluable to seeing the hearts and minds of others and she often kept her own counsel - very rarely asking Bahman when a correct decision wasn't obvious, not that he was much help with his indecision. For the first year their main focus was learning the stories and power of each of the great gods, those gods that had the highest honor in the empire: Ahura Mazda, Mithra, and Anahita. She learned that Ahura Mazda was the chief god, the one that created everything even the other gods. His word was final and he ruled as an emperor over all the other religions. He was also benevolent toward the local deities and spirits as they were also his creation. She was not dumb, and quickly suspected that Ahura Mazda was just a stand in for the king, who at this point was Artexerxes II. Religion, especially religious structures followed the governance of an age, or so it seemed to her.

Mithra, the god of contracts and judgment, seemed equally convenient to her. With an empire so focused on assimilating and accepting others so long as they followed rules and tributes, it seemed obvious Mithra would have high standing. Artexerxes II brokered many a settlement and territory based on this god’s ability to make the other party hold to their end of the deal. Another convenience that she saw.

Lastly, and she observed to great interest to Bahman for some reason, was Anahita. She was the goddess of healing and fertility. Other gods also dabbled in certain acts from their priesthood as a general sign of blessing, but Anahita, in her role of fertility goddess, seemed to take this to the extreme. All of her adherents were required to be skilled in certain pleasures for their clients that impart a certain amount of well-being and feelings of heightened libido. After all, it was all a part of fertility and not only women but also men depended on it, especially in their hours of need. Gets the blood pumping, whatever that meant, Ishtar tried hard not to figure it out. She learned, to no surprise, Abela was legendary as both talented in this regard but also her devotion to her god. Whenever Anahita was mentioned though, no matter how scandalous the lecture, she saw that Bahman was especially attached to it. She didn’t know if she should start being suspicious of ulterior motives for their friendship, but as far as she could See, no such inclinations expressed themselves in his mind, at least not so far as was more than her own thoughts that’s for sure.

This was not the only subject that made her feel uncomfortable and infinitely more incredulous that things were not always what they seemed. The use of magical artifacts seemed disproportionate. It was in this class they finally understood what magic meant. Long ago, before even the Assyrian and Hittites was an age, or so they said, of heroes and miraculous gifts bestowed on humanity. Gods, so these legends say, walked among the people and gifted them with every gift you could possibly wish for. Food? It was bountiful. Weapons? Far more advanced than they are even today. Warriors? They could even fly! This was preposterous to the young lady but she kept her peace. She was, after all, the only girl in these lessons filled with boys whose eyes were wide at the mention of such superhuman feats of grandeur. It was all hogwash to hear, she could see the contempt in the heart of her teacher but, having seen a beating or two that she gracefully avoided, she knew not to contradict the lessons.

These artifacts, ranging from talismans and medallions, to rings and scrolls, were imbued with the power from that age, long lost artifacts now found that helped the empire in numerous ways. They powered speed for ships if they were statues or other artifacts dedicated to the ocean, and strength to structure allowing for mind boggling construction such as the Tower of Babylon. All artifacts were attributed to a god of that same power, which also appeared convenient to the seer. They also, rarely, adorned weapons. Most prevalent was the god of war and the evil spirit of chaos. These weapons were rare because they seemed to possess the wielders with bloodlust and not only for their enemies and often not even the priests of Anahita could coax that kind of darkness out even with all their alluring tricks. They were warned against possession of such artifacts as they were not educated or equipped for such undertakings in their first year.

Socially she felt isolated because she Saw more than she wish she had and knew how people thought of her. More than once she found she wish she wore the medallion she was given when she arrived so that she could forget those thoughts and looks people gave her. It seemed to her that the three of them, if she were to reluctantly group in Vash, were all each other had. Without his medallion, Ishtar could see his suffering and throughout that year felt more and more like she was being too vindictive for the harm he never really caused when they were younger. She couldn’t just have one friend she could trust merely because he didn’t have any ulterior designs on her. She slowly started to attend Bahman’s hangouts with Vash but only when he could promise that she wouldn’t get into trouble and he knew better than to try to lie to her.

She didn’t quite trust Vash, but the walls were slowly folding as they had picnics together or went out for walks, always with Bahman. She still saw things she couldn’t quite reconcile in her heart but for the sake of adding at least one person she could trust she tried desperately to overlook. If she could overlook her best friend’s blocks, even though she never knew how he managed it, surely she could overlook some rather dirty business Vash had to attend to in his dealings with the empire.

—————————

For his part, Bahman tried his best to apply himself to the studies. Most of the religious stuff had already been trained into him at Poura. He was familiar, of course, with the 3 greater gods that made up the current Persian pantheon. He even corrected the lecturer on Anahita a variety of times and Mithra. These were the two he had most experience with, staying far away from Ahura Mazda, mostly because his priests were old and abusive in a way that didn’t lead to the young man bettering himself. His personal relationship with a god then made all these classes a bit surreal to him. He was glad for Ishtar. She really served as an anchor, with her rather sarcastic commentary on how the gods only seemed to benefit the empire. He reminded her a few times that’s how the gods were chosen based on how much good they did to the structure of the empire. She never seemed satisfied with that answer but, based on his experience with women this far, he was starting to think that was just their disposition - heaven forbid a woman be actually right.

He was also well acquainted with magical artifacts at this point. He had never been to the tower to see how much the empire really oppressed the other regions, but in Poura and the academy he had grown accustomed to artifacts as a way of convenience and control. Multiple times various different people, including Vash, had humbly and with great fear asked if he might try on some necklace or ring. This was always met with a flash of steel. He was already primed that the Tower would want a piece of him from Ishtar and her story about Vash. Vash had only, to his credit, attempted once before giving up the endeavor. The African was the only student allowed weapons, and reluctantly so. Abela had stayed in Babylon to ensure, in obedience with her goddess, that Bahman would be allowed to determine for himself what he did and didn’t wear. He never thought he would see the day when he was thankful to have Abela by his side after all she did to him and against him.

The subject he struggled with most, and the most boring of all the classes, was temple ritual. Where to stand, what to wash, when to wash, how much shine a statue needed, how to bless those who came with the appropriate sacrifice. It was really too much for his mind to comprehend but then again he was beaten often for his lack of comprehension and verbally assaulted as a foreigner for not easily grasping such convoluted cultural norms. No matter how much he felt like a Persian, he was always reminded he was a Macrobian and he didn’t even really know what that meant! Worst of all was when they learned what assistants had to do at temples at the behest of both the priests and clients. Ishtar felt this was more the obvious conclusion to the matter but Bahman, who was constantly shifted to new cities and never had a home culture to speak of, felt these things were foreign to him.

It took Anahita herself to guarantee that he would not be subject to some of the duties as he left in two years to pursue the experience necessary to become a priest, but even still just learning about it made him uncomfortable. Somethings about these people were far beyond his comprehension. Ironically, the more he learned the more he felt like a Macrobian and still no one told him what that was.

Bahman, though, enjoyed that year because he was able to slowly bring his only two friends back together. It wasn’t easy and it didn’t happen immediately however Ishtar and Vash seemed to bury their old animosities and be friendly, at least for his sake. This turn of events though was not without it’s conflict. He had many arguments with the two entities that resided in him both at equal points claiming to be him.

“You are going to regret this,” they both said almost in unison. “If you wanted them both in your life you should have continued to keep them separate,” truly their synergy was next level at least when it came to how Bahman handled his friends. They split though with whom he should be focused on.

The male voice, the man who sounded older then him that Anahita continued to call Nim, said, “Forget Vash. He will stab you in the back eventually. It doesn’t matter how much you love him. He is a prince. You are worse than poor.”

This was always met with a vehement refusal that Vash wasn’t like that and he didn’t know anything. It was those times more than anything else that made him feel like a child. He had endured beatings after beatings and abuses after abuses but he couldn’t reconcile a friend betraying him.

Anahita for her part, pushed for Vash and warned about Ishtar, “Forget the girl. She will literally be the death of you if you continue down this path!”

Bahman stood firm against this accusation as well. He reminded her that he wasn’t the only one to decide with whom he can be friends with and he would not deny either Vash or Ishtar if they also chose to be close to him. He loved them equally and he only wanted the three of them be happy forever. They were all he had, aside from talking to voices in his head.

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This brings our story in a rather unexpected new turn. Abela, the priestess of Anahita of Poura stood at the entrance of the tower of Babylon. She left Babylon at the age of 18 and was stationed in that godforsaken eastern outpost on the border of India for 6 years. She had interned at the temple as a punishment for her ambition and was selected to stay there. Because of her sharp wit, various talents, including flexibility, and her hunger for power, she rose quickly to the top and learned a valuable lesson. Do not be too good at your job or you become irreplaceable. That was the position she found herself in in the moment she thought she might be offered greener pastures. However, something kept her in that rotten nest, subservient to the likes of Raza.

She didn’t fully understand that her goddess was positioning her for a chance of a life time until she laid yes on a black youth in a fishing village. She saw, for the first time, an individual that had great power. It wasn’t just because, for some poor decision making abilities, her goddess took up residence in that twig. He seemed to have power, a latent power, within himself that was untapped and seemingly blocked behind a thick impenetrable wall. She was determined to not only see this boy do great things for the sake of her goddess but also tear down that massive boundary.

She spent literal years trying her best, staring into those liquid pools of warm chocolate that were Nim’s eyes, trying her best to chip away at the barriers. She never explained herself, and never really talked to the thing that was that scrawny African, but she was determined not only to bring forth the honor of Anahita but also unlock his latent abilities. She had thought sending those thugs to kill his guards as he made his way to Poura would do the trick but sadly, when he arrived he was still equally as guarded and oblivious.

She grew impatient and forced the situation by capturing the one person she knew he trusted above even his mother. The old Persian immortal Bahar. Why she chose to retire to a small backwaters village, no one could tell, but she was at the right place at the right time to serve as the catalyst to reunite Bahman with his goddess once again. It was dirty work and it was no secret that she reveled in it. Her hunch proved correct as not only did he heal his wounded surrogate mother but when he rose to his feet showed a fighting spirit that chipped more away from that divide she was hoping to wear away. It might take years but she would see him embrace who he really was.

Now, however, she had other business to attend to since she was back in town. She entered the Tower. She ignored all the begging and pleading foreign priests though thought how wonderful it would be to drag some sludge up to be formally recognized as high as the canon pantheon. The looks on everyone’s faces. Even she had standards, though, and continued upward until she was on the 4th level of the Tower.

As far as she was concerned, even at 25, Abela though this priest was occupying the spot she deserved in the Grand Temple of Anahita. There was a definite aura around her as she appeared. Tahmine, the Chief Priestess of Mithra, went out to greet the newcomer and then, looking at the woman, decided it was best to make herself scarce and went back inside her temple. Abela, for her part, shot her a glare and then stormed into the Temple of Anahita.

“Greetings, priestess,” the jovial and well muscled man, nicknamed “Hercules” after the Greek, and most Persians would spit at that, myth, said with arms spread wide. No one knew his true name, and the Adonis of Persia would never give it. He didn’t particularly like the nickname or the vapid hatred it produced, but he thought it humorous and he took it in good stride. His grin was wide and welcoming and his demeanor so relaxed it infuriated the priestess.

“I’m here for your position,” she demanded. If she could have lit the temple on fire she would have. She had served in that hellhole of a satrapy for 7 long years and she would have her comeuppance. That she couldn’t set anything on fire gave Hercules more confidence than she would have liked for he just looked at her as if she was being the same petulant girl that arrived in his temple all those years ago.

“It doesn’t work like that, princess,” he said softly, but the title was a blow to her dignity. It said, the only reason she made it this far was because she was one of the few born from a womb impregnated by the king. His smirk said that the status quo had not changed in the slightest.

“You ‘princess’ me again and I will wipe that look off your face. You know I am not the same girl you sent to that Satrapy where all priests go to die. I had to put up with Raza for the gods sake. You owe me something better. Anahita, herself, promised me something better if I delivered that brat to Babylon.”

He thought for a moment and gestured for her to sit on one of the sapphire embroidered pillows to which she obeyed. He paced around her surveying their temple and the beautiful and unclothed statue of Anahita that stood in the middle of the space in an equally mesmerizing reflective pool. In fact if one where to stare into those waters long enough they might lose themselves completely.

“Fine. I can offer you the Great Temple in Tyre. The Priest there has been wooed for sometime time by the local Oracle there. Its been a thorn in my side and I think you will have no trouble dealing with both him and the disturbance to our order. I can even guarantee that you can have that boy and his girlfriend too if you’d like them.”

Abela’s eyebrows shot up. Tyre was a post third on her list of most desired. She didn’t like the idea of having to deal with both Bahman and that oracle Ishtar but every good thing came with its vices. She thought for a moment as she meditated on that statue of Anahita. It was a fine statue, with all the right curves and smoothness where you wanted it to be. Perhaps she was giving her preferences too much by fixating on certain parts, but in the end she sighed. She hated that she came here to tear the whole tower down only to be placated in the end but that, if nothing else, was what the Persian Empire was all about.

“That can work. Tell me what needs done.”

Word Count - 3772

Chapter 19 - The Academy Year 2

The second and final year of their education saw both a mixture of hope that they might finally be free and dread that they would never be. Bahman and Ishtar, inseparable for their first year, continue to grow closer but Vash starts to be an issue in their plans. However, things have been orchestrated in such a way that Vash cannot follow the other two and is called for a different service.

For his whole life, Vash was some other person’s puppet. Whether it was in Sousa or it was here, he was always doing what other people wanted him to do. Even with his new found gift of…making people adhere to contractual obligations, he found he was forced to do the bidding of others. Never the master and always the slave. What good was the title of prince if he never got any benefit from it. It is an exaggeration, others would see this differently. He got to live in the lap of luxury while others were forced to live in quarters not fit for animals. Vash travelled with the greatest of ease anywhere he wished at the single thought to a servant, yet he only saw himself as that servant. People would kill to be where he was and he was beginning to feel the need to kill to get away from it all.

His classes ended early while others needed to continue with course work. He was given a special dispensation to begin a series of internships early. He worked as a clerk and a mediator for the royal palace at Babylon and as a liaison between the empire and the Tower. Not the only one, but he, in essence, took the job as an errand boy with the hopes that he would have a pick of both destination and station for next year.

However much Vash resented this duty, it did give him a lot of free time, time he spent still at the Academy, sneaking in time to see Ishtar specifically, and away from Bahman. As the year wore on so to was Vash’s desperate attempts to win her affection. He was able to, as was his skill, negotiate that he wore the medallion he had when they were children so that she couldn’t read his thoughts. The fact one should feel the need to negotiate a relationship might see rather manipulative but it was the way of his world. If he couldn’t see her thoughts, she shouldn’t know his. They should trust each other by now. As much as Ishtar hated this logic, she also didn’t want to lose Vash as a friend and reluctantly acquiesced to the request.

Under these new rules, Vash seemed more charming and more clever. His jokes were funnier and for the first time in a long time, Ishtar came to rely on him for counsel. In fact, she found compared to her one other friend, Bahman, he offered her sound advice when she didn’t know which way to go. Bahman, though older, continued to struggle with his own identity and was constantly at odds with himself. Vash, though positioning himself well, still loved Bahman and took him out across the town but the mischief came to an end as his station rose. He became more judgmental suddenly and the time seemed more of a waste to the prince. All of Vash’s best laid plans though, might have been for naught as at the end of the year he learned that Ishtar and Bahman were to be sent to Tyre with Abela and he was to be sent to Damascus.

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Ishtar, on the other hand, knew exactly what was happening. She was no one’s puppet. Even if she couldn’t See what the prince was doing, she certainly knew. She let him though, and it wasn’t really for any kind of feelings she might have had for him. She saw enough that she would never actually ever trust him. Instead, it was a correspondence she had received from home that made her re-evaluate her stance.

Her father was sick so the money from his business was drying up. Not quickly but enough that they would need an alternative source before anyone had anticipated. A prince could solve that issue in a heartbeat. Without much galavanting the young Vash did around the streets of Babylon, Ishtar was sure he could take care of not only her but her family. This shrewd calculation was what made her make the decision to let him wear that stupid medallion and go on all those miserable dates disguised as hangouts where Bahman was conveniently left out. The girl had a family to take care of.

Classes went well this year for the Oracle. She struggled less with the magic artifacts but still the number of gods they were responsible for knowing increased which sometimes made her head spin. There were six additional gods they needed to remember.

Angra Mainyu and Spenta Mainyu were the yin and yang of the deities. One was a spirit of chaos and destruction and the other was a spirit of creation and birth. Both occupied a spot in the 3rd level of the Tower but at opposite ends. Angra Mainyu artifacts were known to be powerful weapons but also corrosive to the human soul. Both had followers devoted to their causes and Spenta Mainyu followers often became priests of Ahura Mazda.

Rashnu was the god of the dead. Many sought to give gifts to this god as loved one passed or in the hopes that he would save them from death. This rarely worked but they priests took the money and offerings nonetheless. Rashnu was often associated with Angra Mainyu and so their temples in the Tower were closest together.

Verethragna was the warrior god. This perked up Bahman, Ishtar noticed with an eye roll. Verethagna often blessed weapons but his artifacts were rare. This is simply because they were the first used and the first destroyed either intentionally by enemy combatants or from overuse. The high priest of Verethagna was said to be a great warrior and accomplished in combat. It didn’t take a mind reader for Ishtar to realize the excitement she sensed from the classroom were all the boys thinking they wanted to either test this priest or see him in action. Bahman was of course playing with the hilt of his sword absently. Boys and their weapons.

Haoma the harvest god, was one that Ishtar thought was one of the most important, deserving to be one of the favored. What could be more important than feeding your people and making sure they flourished? If she were to worship a god, it would be this Haoma. However, the more she learned about the deities the less she was inclined to be involved at all. They all seemed to be a way to control the masses easily. This feeling would never go away.

Finally, they learned about a god that had no Temple in the Tower, and rarely ever had a temple anywhere. The time god, Zurvan, was thought either lost or dead. The teacher speculated that if such a god were to reawaken he would take probably oust Ahura Mazda as the greatest god in the pantheon. There were many myths around where this god went or what happened. Most recently, King Artexerxes had spent the last several years hunting down a loom, a weave of some sort said to determine the fate of everyone and the direction of history itself. There were other possibilities but most resources went to recovering this artifact said to be the last of its kind, and imbued with the very essence of Zurvan. Recovering the artifact would not only give its owner possession of time itself but also reawaken the long slumbering god of time. The teacher seemed to not even believe his own words and Ishtar found she was also dubious.

Whether she believed believed in such a god or any of the gods didn’t matter, she was unexpectedly summoned toward the end of their school year to an audience with Esfandiar, Great High Priest of Ahura Mazda. She looked worried at the summons and of course asked Bahman, who was more familiar with the Tower, if he would accompany her. He agreed and led her across the part separating the two compounds. Her only experience with this man had been to confront Vash about his misdeeds, she of course knew who he was and he came down from his lofty position during festivals and religious occasions but she never once talked to the man.

The Tower was grand and the sights and seeing all the temples was often mind boggling to her. The higher they went the more extravagant everything seemed. However, it left her with a sick feeling. She Saw more than she every hoped to and suddenly found herself wishing she still had that pendant. The things these people did to get ahead and stay in power made the hair on the back of her neck stand up as if she was being electrocuted. Bahman seemed not to notice and happily introduced her to the priests that he was rather chummy with and when they got to the penultimate level he introduced her to Hercules and Abela at the Temple of Anahita.

“So we finally meet this Ishtar!” Hercules called out, jogging over to get a good look at the now young woman in her student’s robes. Ishtar blushed, unable to stop looking into this man’s eyes and seeing things she would never unsee. When she looked away, she felt that she knew too much about the ways of the world. Abela though was a stone slab, and her face neutral as she nodded to the younger woman.

“Greetings, oracle,” she said coolly as if she had weighed her on some scale and found her wanting. “We have heard much about you from our protege. He seems to have taken a liking to you. I have yet to see why.” This issued a loud cough from Bahman who was suddenly very interested in moving her onward to her destination.

“Actually, I’d like to stay and talk to them. What exactly have you been telling people about me?” Ishtar teased relentlessly, not daring to peer into his eyes for fear she’d be confronted with the knowledge she could guess at but didn’t think she’d actually want to know considering her current plans.

“Oh, I was just telling them how annoying I think you are,” he said playfully as the walked to the guards that were constantly standing at the gate leading to the final floor of the tower. Ishtar gave him a sidelong glance but decided not to say anything. The guards stopped them, not bothering to glance at Bahman’s weapons belt any longer, so used to seeing the man armed as they were.

“You will need this before you meet with the High Priest,” one of them, a large gruff man, said holding out a very familiar looking necklace with a pendant hanging from it. Ishtar eyed the necklace and then the guard. She was about to take it, when Bahman stepped in front of her.

“Don’t worry, I can give it to her,” he said cheerfully, the guards looked confused at this and she was about to protest that she was perfectly capable of doing it herself. It was a odd time for him to pick that moment to start being so chivalrous. However, when he turned his back on the guard, she saw that he had pulled out a similar looking one from his robe. He then replaced the real artifact inside the folds of his clothes. Placing the necklace around her neck he whispered, “A gift from Abela…if you can believe it.”

Ishtar shook her head trying to figure out not only how that woman knew what was going to happen, but also why she even cared. With the pendant apparently secured, the guards were satisfied and let her through.

Esfandiar was waiting when she arrived and opened his arms wide, “welcome to paradise, my child!” He was also a little too exuberant. She did her best to avoid his eye contact, waiting for the most opportune time to use her ability. She bowed and her avoidance came off as deference which he found suitable.

“Please, come, we have much to discuss,” he said still grinning. Ishtar bowed again and took the offered seat within the temple. They sat across from each other next to the reflective pool in front of the statues of Ahura Mazda and Artexerxes. She could feel his eyes boring into her as if daring her to make eye contact. There were times she was able to control the ability but this came and went on its own.

She steeled. Herself and looked at the old man. So far so good. He held her eyes for a moment and when he was sure the pendant was working he started talking. At first it was nothing, questions to get to know her and her studies. He quizzed her on the gods and how much she knew about them. He asked her about her ambitions and her goals. These were all tactics for her to lower her guard. She answered with short curt responses, hiding her eye contact avoidance with looking around at the Temple as if carefully thinking about each of his questions.

“What do you think of our healer?” He asked suddenly, after a taking a break to drink something from a cup, from the smell of it, it was some herbal concoction. He said this in a casual tone but there was obviously something in there, she just couldn’t tell what without her Sight.

“Bahman? I think he will be a great priest. I am sure you can invite him to one of these little chats though?” Ishtar said a bit irreverently. It didn’t make sense to invite her if he just wanted to talk about someone else.

“Yes. Well. What are the chances anyone would be able to separate him from his weapons?” Esfandiar said, the humor in his voice disarming the young woman. She imagined one of those guards forcing Bahman to hand over the weapons by force and it was preposterous.

“You would have an easier time castrating a raging bull,” she quipped. Esfandiar choked on his drink and they shared a laugh. She hated every moment of how affable he came across. It was as if she was chatting with her own grandfather, whoever he could be. She wouldn’t be a full and she wouldn’t let her guard down. The way he smiled so warmly though made her want to trust him.

“Well, as you said, you didn’t come all the way up here to talk about someone else. I have something for you. You will want to read it before we continue,” he said producing a clay tablet and sliding it over to her. She recognized the handwriting instantly has Vash’s. She eyed the tablet, not reading it, and then looked at the old priest and back at the tablet again. “It won’t bite. Pick it up,” the last part said as a command when he realized she knew what kind of contract it was.

She picked it up and read. It was a contract, as she had surmised by the fact it was Vash. She stared at it, her eyes panicked. It was cruel. It was horrific. She didn’t understand how Vash would agree to write such a document.

“Do you understand these terms?” He asked after a long moment that stretched entirely way too long. Tears welled up in her eyes as she nodded. She wet her lips and suddenly wished she had water. She didn’t dare take anything Esfandiar offered for fear it would drug her. “Tell me.” Another command.

“You want me to go to Tyre with Bahman for our training. You then want me to kill Bahman or I lose my ability forever. Signing this contract will mean that I will be stripped of everything if I do not complete the terms.”

“There is one more thing. Look into my eyes,” he growled, his calm grandfatherly visage contorting. “Yes, I know that pendant is fake and you have done well to control yourself but there is something you must see, oracle.”

Whatever it is she saw, she stamped the clay immediately before she could register what she just did. She sealed both her fate and Bahman’s. When Esfandiar was satisfied that he got exactly what he wanted, he dismissed her and kept the contract. Ishtar was escorted down to a waiting Bahman but she ran as fast as she could past him not wanting him to see her cry. She had no choice.

—————————

Their final year seemed to fly by for the young healer. The classes were no less difficult but Bahman found that it was much easier to do with his friends at his side. Ishtar was ever the helpful study aid and whenever he didn’t know an answer she was quick to help. Vash, though he took his duties seriously, was still Vash and they always had a lot of fun. It became less though as the year wore on as Vash claimed they were too old for childish games.

Still there were many reasons to be happy and it was a time he would never forget. Never in his short lived life had he been so glad to be alive. He felt invincible if only he could stay with his friends forever.

As for the classes there was one that struck him as odd. They were studying magical artifacts, a class he normally did quite well in. The teacher mentioned in the lecture that there was a problem, that the magic was running out and soon there would be no magic left in the world. He had a problem reconciling this because the Tower and Babylon seemed to function perfectly well. He then remembered how Ishtar had told him Vash, being the puppet he used to be, was instructed to drain her magic. He wondered if the two were connected. He didn’t know but he stored this away for later. He also found the timing of this lesson and the discussion around whatever a loom was to not be a coincidence at all but the only thing he really cared for was his weapons training.

The city hosted a tournament where the winner won a prized dagger, a rare artifact of Verethragna. It was said to glow hot with the fury of the sun at the wielders command, or colder than a desert’s night. Of course, Bahman entered and he was a little disappointed that the weapons were practice wood. It was hard and cumbersome to deal with and it felt like lead in his hands compared to his well maintained assortment.

To no one’s surprise, Bahman was the victor of the tournament. The final match was between him and Hercules. The man’s brute strength was no match for Bahman’s sickles which made quick work of the giant as he parried and dodged and rolled. Trapping Hercules’ spear, Bahman used the momentum of the man’s thrust by dropping his weapons, grabbing the shaft and rolling the man over his shoulder. It was exactly how Bahar had saved him all those years ago, a movement that threatened to take him right back to being a scared little boy being held against his will. As the giant priest landed on his back, something inside him cracked. It was a similar feeling he had that night as well desperately trying to fight for his life. With the man’s spear now at this throat, Hercules yielded and the tournament was over. Bahman walked away with both a very fancy dagger and feeling very different somehow. He was changed and he didn’t understand how.

Abela met him as he returned to the temple after the tournament. She grabbed him by the shoulders, a gesture she never did before and stared at his eyes. The priestess must have found something she liked because she smiled and congratulated him. He just kind of nodded and wondered what happened to the woman and what did she do with Abela.

“You are making good progress. You will do well in Tyre,” she mentioned, turning away.

Bahman blinked. “Tyre?” He didn’t really need to ask the question, but he did anyway.

“Yes, at the end of the year, you, Ishtar and I will be sent to Tyre for a year’s service. Well, you will be there to clean floors, something you were quite good at in Poura. I will be conducting surveillance for a separate project,” she said this all as a matter-of-fact. However, the only thing Bahman heard was he got to spend a year with Ishtar. “You will need this though,” she added as she chucked a stone circle at him. “You will know what to do with it when the time comes,” she muttered dismissively. That was his hint to leave before she got upset and he went to find his friends.

Bahman never suspected those happy times were about to end, but there was an uneasy crack in his soul that told him to treasure those moments while they lasted.

Word Count - 3564

PART 5 - TYRE

Chapter 20 - Home Sweet Home

Home sweet home. Ishtar was finally back in Tyre after 7 years away. She left a girl and returned a young woman. It would have been sweeter if she didn’t have the weight of a certain contract wrapped around her neck like a noose. Esfandiar had given her a dagger that he said would take in all the magic that Bahman could possibly possess but would only do so with a killing blow. The only time she handled it directly she nearly dropped it. She could have sworn it hissed her name and even still it felt like her heart had a stain on it a kind of phantom feeling as if to remind her she was bound to some horrific oath. She tried her best to keep up appearances around Bahman. He was so sweet and helpful along the road. He kept watch with the guards and only slept when Abela or the captain forced him to. One evening it nearly came to blows and another it did and they actually knocked him out. He seemed different though. They all seemed different. It was more common to see him locked in an argument with himself when he thought no one was watching. She couldn’t guess what that was about, whatever magic he did possess kept her from seeing most of what he was up to.

Men and their secrets. There wasn’t a day that went by after that meeting she didn’t regret her association with Vash. Because of her own designs to see her family cared for she made a foolish decision to allow Vash to be around her protected, and that lead to her meeting with Esfandiar and that contract that either doomed her or her friend. She felt silly and pathetic and angry at being so easily manipulated. She needed to find a solution to this problem and she had a year to figure it out. Her first thought was to tell Bahman all about it, to confess what happened and see if his magic or whatever god he clearly worshiped could help her. However, she decided if anyone was going to get her out of this mess, it would be her. She got herself into it, she would get herself out. She just needed advice.

The first person she could think of was Abela, she had helped her but her help led her right into a trap she would have avoided otherwise. Now that they were back in Tyre she would definitely be talking to her parents. Her father would have all sorts of advise if he was well enough to speak. There was also the oracle, the memory of her mother’s conversation though made her shudder at that option.

“Does everyone understand?” Abela said as they approached the city gate. Ishtar had realized that instead of being aware of what everyone else was doing, she was too busy looking inward and forgot what it was they were supposed to be doing.

Bahman rode up beside her and whispered, “I do that too whenever she talks.” He gave her that knowing smile that both melted her heart but now caused her all kinds of pain. The only thing she saw was a slit throat and blood when she let her guard down. She swallowed hard. “Abela and I will go to the Temple of Anahita to get situated. They apparently have all kinds of dirty floors for me to clean. You should go home to see your family and then report to the oracle,” he said summarizing what Abela was on about. Avoiding the oracle for the year, then, was no longer an option. She nodded, refused to return his eagerness, and kicked her horse to catch up with Abela. She tried her hardest to get both Bahman and the visions of violence out of her head, still her heart pulsed in pain.

These thoughts were easily forgotten, for the time being, as she rode down the lanes she used to walk with two guards at her side. The city was as shining and brilliant as she had remembered in her dreams, but, as is the case with returning to your home, smaller than she remembered. The buildings seemed closer together and the roads narrower than her 10 year old self thought. She arrived at a two story building a mere block away from the ocean side when she could have sworn it felt like 5 blocks at least from her memory. It was also shorter than she remembered it being but still in good repair. She dismounted and the guards took her packs for her from her horse.

Long flowing robes of white and purple swept just above the ground in the ocean breeze as she strode to the door. Her hair done in long curls that seemed to take forever, but was the fashion of the time. She was taller now and when she rapt on the door, the older woman who answer seemed not to know her at all. “Oh? Hello,” she said at first. She seemed shorter too, like everything here. Ishtar was now at least a head taller than her mother who seemed to grow stouter and rounder with age, or was she always like that? Tyre was starting to play tricks on her. “Oh are you a healer to see my husband? Please come in,” she said eyeing the guards who were carrying sacks.

Ishtar decided to hold her peace until the guards were sent away so she entered. She gestured for the soldiers to leave her stuff on the floor. Deciding it best that she not reveal too much, she then addressed her mother, “Please show me your husband.”

Her heart fluttered with the thought of seeing her beloved father again. However when they entered his room her heart broke. Her father was bedridden and his leg was crushed and festering. The smell alone almost made her lose whatever meal she had prior. He wasn’t sick he was lame. She ran to the door and yelled for the soldiers who were still waiting outside to take her to the oracle. “Bring the healer! Now!” She had never once commanded anyone, but her voice was so fierce they never thought to question her and rode off in haste.

She returned to the man and she knelt taking his hand in hers. She kissed it and said, “Don’t worry, someone is coming to help.” His head lolled over to the sound of her voice and he moaned, sweating feverishly.

“Ishtar…” he said clearly and opened his eyes. “You look so beautiful,” he breathed, tears in his eyes that mirrored hers.

Dishes broke in the other room and the young woman figured her mother heard. By the time she stood up and turned around her mother had flung herself at her daughter. The momentum nearly sent her over her father if she hadn’t braced herself in time. They held each other for a long time. “Don’t worry father, help is coming. You will be well soon,” she said as her mother dragged her out of the house for fresh air.

“I can’t believe it’s you! Wait until everyone hears my daughter is back and…wow…you look like a princess!” This was the woman, Ishtar remembered, however, it was good to see her too and she let the shorter woman dot on her. In the next moments, they caught up on all the news. Her father had been working on the house and fell off crushing his leg. They lost the business because of some bad deals that went south, her mother swore she knew nothing about it but Ishtar found this doubtful. Her mother was a lot of things, including intensely nosey.

“Ishtar!” Came a yell as a man vaulted off a horse, a woman coming to a halt. Weapons instinctively flashed into his hands and he looked around for danger. “Are you hurt? Who hurt you? Where are they?” Apparently the guards didn’t clearly explain what the situation was.

With a hand on his chest, ignoring the raised eyebrows of her mother, Ishtar explained, “Not me. Put those away. It is my father. Please, you have to do something.” Abela was there now and she quickly removed her hand self-consciously. Bahman sheathed his weapons and nodded as she ushered them both inside.

Bahman went to her father’s side, asked his name, and what happened. She could have sworn at the touch from the healer, her father visibly relaxed and looked more like himself. They only talked for a short time and it looked like Yusif was sleeping peacefully. The man gestured for Ishtar and Abela to follow him and they were back outside with Aliyah. “He’s pretty bad, but I should be able to help…” Bahman said as if distracted by something, exchanging glances with Abela.

“What?” She demanded. She hated so much when people seemed to know more than her. She looked from Bahman to Abela giving them both the nastiest look she could muster. Aliyah looked confused as if she was seeing complete aliens talk, she couldn’t even clearly register it was Ishtar at all. She was so commanding and confident.

“Healing someone would bring attention to Bahman, and he isn’t here to work as a healer. He is here to learn how to serve the temple,” Abela said, her voice firm, but she chose her words carefully, not wanting to say what she actually meant.

“So, what?” Ishtar snapped, a sudden fury took hold of her. “You aren’t going to do anything? My father has to die just because of some purpose that you arbitrarily decided?” Bahman tried to interject but both women seemed to be locked in a fierce staring competition and shoved him away.

“It’s not like that,” Abela replied, thinking herself controlled, having never had anyone talk to her in such a way before, but her voice was terse and defensive. At this point Bahman had wandered off.

“It’s exactly like that. Tell me why you can’t help my father!” She said not giving the other woman time to finish her thought.

“If you would just -“ Abela huffed but Ishtar was still on the offensive. Bahman was back with a nod.

“Just what? I won’t let my father die! I already have to-“ she was about to let slip she was made to lurer Bahman into a trap and watch him die, the visions continuing to teeter on the cusp of her consciousness. But her train of thought was cut off at thankfully just the right time.

“Your father will recover, Ishtar,” Bahman said finally putting a hand up to try to create space. “He is sleeping now but he should slowly recover. We will send people to check on him over the next few days but it should look like he recovered on his own in a few weeks.”

“Why didn’t you just say that!” Ishtar yelled, though now more excited, her anger still hadn’t heard the news so it came out more vicious than she meant it.

“I tried,” Bahman whined, flustered by the fact he was still being attacked. “Abela meant we can’t heal your father in the way you might expect, but that doesn’t mean I can’t help and that I can’t help enough for the Temple to take it from there. Your father is ok now.” The words came in a flurry as if trying to douse a fire. Abela huffed again and walked back to her horse. “I have to go,” he said hesitantly looking back at the priestess, “but your father will be ok. Trust me.” He turned to leave and then turned one more time, “oh and…uh…welcome home!”

Ishtar was left standing there as stunned as her mother. When they were at school, Bahman would have stayed and counseled her in that sure but not quite sure attitude he always had but there was a distance she felt now. He had come, done what needed to be done, and was off to do something else probably more important than being here to heal a lame father. She didn’t stop to think that he had dropped everything to come, thinking she was being attacked. Her only thought was how she felt handled like a little girl. They had let her rant and rave and stomp her feet, meanwhile they silently took care of things without telling her what was going on.

“Daughter…who were those people? What is going on?” Aliyah asked shaken by her quiet life suddenly exploding. Ishtar gave a heavy sigh and told her they should go inside and help clean their father up. She would explain everything over a hot meal. Her father woke up feeling much better and in brighter spirits than he had in months or so they said. His leg was still hard to look at but he swore he felt no pain. She would have felt like she could kiss Bahman if it weren't for the bloody neck she saw.

She got up to leave once she was sure her father was healing, and her mother protested. “Please, at least spend a few days with us before you go off and do whatever it is you are here to do. You just got here!”

Ishtar held up a hand to silence her. She wished she could. She was suddenly so exhausted. She wish she could curl up on the mat beside her father and fall asleep, nasty smells and all. However, she also had her own business to attend to. She realized she wouldn’t be able to leave on a whim like Bahman and Abela and feel good about it so she offered, “How about you prepare a place for me to sleep. I am permitted to live here while I complete my required service.”

Aliyah looked at her brightly, “Oh! And which temple will you be serving in! I will bring you food and drink often!”

Her heart sunk though and dread filled her body as she watched her daughter turn away and say, “I’m needed at the Oracle.”

Word Count - 2349