Ark(10)

“Well, they say that he met a beautiful human woman, and they fell in love. All the human women loved him, back then, despite his reputation. He cut quite a figure, I would imagine, for he is still an attractive man, even in his age. Well, one day, he and his human lover were out in the forest, lying together in the grass, naked and spent after—”

“Irkalla! I do not wish to hear that about my own father!”

“Forgive me, mistress, I am but telling the story as I have heard it told. Anyway, they were lying together in the forest, drowsing and talking sleepily, as couples do in such moments, when they heard twigs snapping and the sounds of branches scraping against metal.

“They sat up and found themselves surrounded by men—humans—dozens of them, armed with spears and shields and daggers and axes. The human men were jealous, you see, especially one in particular, who also loved Lily. Emmen—for he was not king then and had not yet earned the favor of Utu the sun god—Emmem had stolen all of their finest women and soiled them with his rapacious appetite. They flocked to him, and he bedded them all, willing or no.

“They greatly underestimated him. He snatched up his spear and set among them, still naked, killing many of them. In the end, they managed to wound him, fatally, or so they thought. Near dead and mad with rage, Emmen could only watch as the human men took their turns upon poor Lily, and when they had finished with her, they slew her, Emmen watching helplessly all the while.

“He healed quickly, as our people do, and when he had regained his strength, he took his revenge. He found those men, each and every one of them, and he killed them all, brutally, savagely. But he wasn’t satisfied with merely slaying them. Oh no, not Emmen, as you might well imagine. He ripped them asunder, they say, tore them limb from limb with his bare hands and scattered the bloody pieces throughout the city, and ever since then, your father has borne an unreasoning hatred of humans. Although, knowing what those men did, I do not blame him for hating them.”

I was silent, thinking. I had never heard this story before, but it made sense to me. I wished I could ask him about it, but something told me that he would only fly into a rage if I brought it up.

“I wish I could say I did not believe it,” I said, finally, “but I know my father all too well. He is absolutely capable of something like that, and it would explain his animosity toward humans.”

“It is a story I have heard more than once,” Irkalla said, “from many sources, and the details have changed very little in the telling. The lesson you should glean from this story, mistress, is that if your father discovered you consorting with a human male, it would enrage him, and I do not wish to consider what he would do . . . either to you or to your human.”

“I know, Irkalla. I know. I have had the same thought, believe me.” I ducked my head, and mumbled the next words. “I . . . I love him.”

“You love him?” The scornful sarcasm of her words angered me, but I kept silent and waited for the rest. “How long have you known him, mistress? A matter of minutes? You know nothing about him whatsoever, and even less of love. You cannot love him, Aresia, if you do not know him. You may want him, and you may find him handsome. He may make your heart flutter and your body ache with lust for him, but love? I think not, lady.”

I knew she was right, but the bright, brief, hot flare of infatuation was more intoxicating than any wine.



I truly did try to stay away. I stayed in the palace until I was crazy with boredom and mad with desire for Japheth. His face was ever in my mind; my skin remembered the tingle of his touch. I even went to the temple and offered sacrifices to the gods and prayed to them to remove the desire from me.

The gods were silent, as they ever were.

I thought of praying to Elohim, but I did not know how; I knew prayer to The One God was not like prayer to my people’s gods. Would He listen to my prayers? Me, a Nephilim, whose father persecuted His followers, tortured them with fire and knives, killed them with his bare hands? I thought not, and so kept my prayers to myself.

But I was weak, and I ended up in his arms before the week was out.

I snuck out of the palace, this time during the day and without Irkalla. I found him loitering outside the palace in the shadow of the ziggurat, sharpening the blade of his sappara absently, the whetstone sliding across the bronze with a rasping metallic ring.

“I thought you would never come,” he said, rising to his feet as I approached, my hood drawn and my head ducked.

Before I had time to even respond, his hands were around my waist and his lips on mine, his hand on the back of my neck, drawing me down for a kiss. I tried, even then, to protest, but the words were lost before they were born.

I should have pulled away, should have run back home, but I didn’t. I kissed him back, and lost myself in the flavor of his lips and the touch of his hands; so lost was I in his kiss that it was he who pulled away first.

“Come,” he told me, pulling me by the hand. “We can’t stay here. The guards will see us and the game will be up before it’s begun.”

I let him lead me through a maze of streets and tight alleys, ducking through the narrow spaces between houses, skirting humble temples to minor deities, slipping around clumps of people coming and going and loitering and begging and buying and selling. The scent of roasting meat and grilling vegetables and spices and unwashed bodies assaulted us at every turn. I followed him because I trusted him, which my mind told me was stupid, but upon which my heart was immoveable.