The Call of Eternity

39 | A LIVING NIGHTMARE

The walk back felt the longest of Istara's life. Urhi-Teshub and Teshub flanked her, locked in their thoughts, oblivious to the wealth surrounding them. Further behind, Ahmen followed, keeping a respectful distance. The door to her apartment stood open. She entered, catching Urhi-Teshub's gaze moving to her bed, taking in the place where she had slept with Sethi so many times. Her husband's jaw tightened, jealousy darkening his features.

Edarru looked up from pouring wine into Baalat's cup, startled as two leather-clad warriors, neither of them Egyptian, entered Istara's private rooms. She drew back, her eyes widening, clutching the golden wine pitcher against her chest.

A deep sound of appreciation came from Teshub. Istara glanced at him, incredulous. He eyed Edarru, a rakish, half-smile on his lips, his intentions obvious.

"No you don't," Urhi-Teshub said, sharp. "Not here. Absolutely not here."

Baalat turned in her seat. She came to her feet, slow, disbelieving.

"Teshub," she breathed.

Istara came to a halt at the edge of the terrace, waiting with Urhi-Teshub as Teshub approached Baalat and bowed, no longer arrogant but respectful, deferential.

They spoke, fast, in a language she could not understand, its cadence melodic, the rise and fall of it hypnotic, reeking of another age. Baalat stopped speaking, abrupt. A tear slipped free. Teshub reached up and brushed it away, tender. He let out a long, slow breath. He turned.

"Come," he said. "There are things you need to know."

They passed Edarru, still holding the pitcher against her chest, defensive, her complexion wan under her cosmetics.

"My lady?" she asked, her voice quavering, uncertain.

"It will be alright," Istara said, though somehow she knew it wouldn't. The stricken look on Baalat's face told her her worst fears were about to made real. Dread settled over her, black-dark, the weight of a mountain. "Pour them wine," she said, her throat so tight, it ached.

Her hands trembling, Edarru filled two more cups. She retreated, keeping her eyes on the men, wary.

Istara sat, catching her husband watching her, oblivious to what she knew was to come. She looked away, over the city, numb, both unable and unwilling to prepare herself. In the distance, boats jostled for position at the docks. Sunbeams sparkled against the river--a myriad of jewels--playful upon the water. A warm gust of wind lifted the awning, filling the air with the scent of jasmine. The awning grew taut, then snapped back down, sharp. Baalat joined her. For a heartbeat, the once-goddess sat, silent. She took Istara's hand into hers.

"Daughter," she said, soft, "we must go to Babylon, before it is too late."

Istara lifted her gaze from the river. This was not what she had expected. She met Baalat's eyes, her hopes for Sethi reigniting. "Babylon?" she repeated. "But we live here."

Baalat nodded. "Our time here has come to an end."

"What do you mean our time?" Istara asked, fear slamming into her anew. "Is Sethi--"

Baalat shook her head, blinking back a fresh sheen of tears. "Horus is gone. Our bond has been severed. There can only be one reason why."

Istara waited, her heart pounding, the blood roaring in her ears. Let it not be so, she begged, silent. Do not say the words.

"Horus and Sethi are bound together," Baalat continued, tight, as a fresh tear escaped, "just as we are. If one dies, both must fall."

Istara wouldn't let the hateful words in. Sethi lived. He was coming home. He was going to hold her in his arms again. She pulled her hand free and lunged to her feet, anger slamming into her, trampling through her, hardening her. "I do not accept it," she said, defiant. "Until I see his body, I refuse to believe Sethi has fallen."