The Mother

Chapter Two

He was everywhere.

For the past week it seemed like every place I went, every place I looked, he was there. The High Priest of Tammuz, seeming to anticipate my every move.

He did not come close, not at first. I would see  him across a courtyard, lounging in the sun; sitting among a crowd of admiring women, laughing that easy, lazy laugh and smiling his glittering smile; leaning against a column or a wall or a tree. Every time I saw him he locked eyes with me and smiled that same slow, sly smile I had seen that first afternoon.

His gaze was bold, familiar, and when it fixed upon me I froze like a mouse beneath a hawk, breathless, shameful, chagrined, my breathing labored. Sometimes, if he was alone, he would crook a finger at me, like a summons, and grin impishly, his eyes flashing with mischief, promising things I had never dared think of before.

I would duck my head and turn the opposite direction, even if it meant having to go the long way around to my destination, drenched in sweat and trembling. It was the hardest thing I’d ever done, until then. I was determined to do the right thing. I had no real idea what his fixation with me was. Why would he waste even a moment considering me when he had the High Priestess in all her glory to feast his eyes on? Why was I being toyed with?

But secretly, shamefully, it thrilled me.

My resolve to resist, to persevere in remaining true to my vows, was strengthened one morning, when I received a summons to attend to the High Priestess herself in her private quarters.

Palia gritted her teeth in frustration; even after fifteen years in service on the High Priestess's staff, Palia had never been called into her actual presence. I tried not to feel too much pride and attempted to make myself as invisible as possible as I prepared myself that morning, paying strict attention to every detail.

My skirts had to be spotless and hang just right, not a wrinkle in sight; my hair had to be plaited tightly, coiled into an intricate arrangement around my ears and fixed with new pearl pins. I outlined my eyes with kohl and put on my best jewelry. A silver serpent with lapis lazuli eyes coiled around my upper arm, silver hoops at my ears, a stud in my nose. All the pieces had been given as rewards over my years of service; a priestess was expected to be beautiful, to have beautiful things, to represent the Goddess Herself.

Personal vanity wasn’t tolerated in a priestess, but at the same time, we had a responsibility to be beautiful. This seeming contradiction confused many girls. The difference is that those who are vain are used by their beauty, the Novice Mother said often during our training, while the wise priestess knows how to use her beauty, and always uses her brain.

I was beautiful, I knew that, although it wasn’t something I set great stock in. After all, my appearance had caused me such trouble as a child, before I came to the Temple. But oh yes, I had seen it in his eyes, that there was something about me. I had always known it from the resentful way some of the other girls and women looked at me.

I had never really striven to shine before this. Yes, I adorned myself for the ceremonies when it was expected, but my day-to-day life didn’t give much time for primping. In the Scriptorium, my old mistress had been dismissive of superficial things, and as often as not I was covered in dust from the clay tablets, my clothing and hair disheveled, my fingers dark with charcoal dust. I worked long hours in the Scriptorium and had grown accustomed to being unseen by others—so I didn’t think about their opinions of my supposed beauty very often anymore.

I gazed at myself for a long moment in the polished bronze mirror, hoping I would satisfy, and quickly left my rooms, heart pounding inside my breast in anticipation.