The Rise of the Goddess

82 | THE WELL OF LIFE

Sethi turned, following the sleek lines of Marduk's warship as it screamed over Imaru's lake in a deep arc, cutting a dark line across the light of a new day. Aiya had said a strange thing to him before she left. When the dawn came you did not change. He had no idea what she had meant, but there had been no time to speak of it so he had pressed a kiss to her lips and said he would see her soon.

He sensed her gaze on him as he regarded their departure, imagined seeing himself from her eyes as he stood in the midst of the city's massive plaza surrounded by hundreds of open crates, Imaru's warriors equipping themselves with Marduk's arsenal of armor and weapons. In the center of the plaza, a bloom of gold and red silk stood out from the bleak rectangles of crates. The king had sent his own opulent tent to house the mirror which would transport Marduk's army into Anki.

A burst of blue fire erupted from the warship's tail. A heartbeat later, nothing remained of it but a smear of white where the ion drive had engaged. Sethi turned back to the courtyard and eyed the warriors as they worked in disciplined silence, stoic, clever, men and women both, listening to their captains explain how to use their weapons, information granted to them by Marduk hours before.

Sethi turned and made his way to the tent. It had been a long night and he needed refreshment. From outside the thin barrier of silk fluttering in the lake's breeze, a variety of delicious smells assailed him.

In two hours, Marduk would be in Anki, his weapons shredding what remained of the shield. In two hours, Sethi would use the mirror. If the shield had fallen he would not come back and his warriors would follow. If the shield still stood, he would return and wait to try again. But right now, all he wanted to do was eat.

He ducked into the tent and set the jihn against the mirror's edge. It leaned against the gold-gilt frame, its blades quiet, as though preparing for the feast to come. Picking up a platter, Sethi piled it with slices of roasted duck, and pale parcels stuffed with meat and spiced vegetables. In a covered bowl, a fragrant jasmine-scented staple the servant called rice. He added that to several helpings of fried vegetables in a rich, dark sauce.

He sat. A servant poured wine, deft, elegant. Sethi eyed him from under his brow, noting the livery. One of the king's own men. Sethi drank and thought of Istara, of her lies and deceptions; of her lover, no longer mortal, but reborn a god, always watching, his eyes narrow with suspicion; of the oppression of the shield, and how it had changed him, made him someone he was not. He had made love to her, his enemy—had told her he loved her.

Anger coursed through him, cold, then hot, a living thing. He considered what he would do with the manipulative goddess of healing when he found her. Would he rid himself of her fast, as he had done to Arinna, or take his time? He sipped his wine, tasting nothing but resentment for the time he had lost in Anki. The shield had overwhelmed his mind, his will.

To think he had almost destroyed himself for her. He tore into the roasted duck with his eating knife, vicious. The answer came, abrupt as an Elatian sunrise. He would take his time and make her suffer, would revel in watching her existence wane. Her pleas for mercy would be ambrosia to his soul. The faintest smile touched his lips. Anticipation scored his senses.

Against the side of the mirror, the jihn rippled in response to his thoughts. Slivers of blue-white light sawed over its symbols. One after another they pulsed, slow, like the beat of a heart until its thirteen symbols blistered with silver light. A bleak wail emanated from it, a slavering, bone-crushing cry, ragged with hate-drenched hunger. His face pale, the servant fled, the wine pitcher still in his hand. Wine sloshed over its rim, stained his hand the color of blood.

Sethi eyed the jihn as he swallowed a mouthful of roasted duck. Two hours. He turned his attention back to his platter and let the jihn's hunger soak his soul. This time he would not fail. This time Urhi-Teshub would not stop him. This time, the one who had stood against him, who had oppressed, deceived, and controlled him would be extinguished. Today, Istara would fall and never rise again.