After the Sacrifice
“Wash your heart from evil that you may be saved.
How long shall your wicked thoughts lodge within you?” Jeremiah 4:14
Elika swept through the crowded Room of Candles, elegant purple robes flowing in her wake. With light arm-touches and smiles she threaded her way through guests, greeting them warmly while taking care not to pause long enough for anyone to engage her in conversation. She hoped the smile pasted on her face would cover the grief overwhelming her heart and allow her to float along without being noticed. The mere thought of idle chatter was more than she could bear tonight. If anyone offered congratulations she might break down completely.
Earlier, Elika had dressed in a simple blue silk tunic and matching covering with opals bordering the sleeves. The muted colors matched her sad mood. But when Ishan saw her, a brief scowl darkened his face. Moments later, Dagaar appeared at her side with whispered instructions for her to return immediately to her quarters and put on something more suitable for a celebration.
A celebration. So that’s what Ishan called this post-sacrifice, post giant-attack travesty. She couldn’t bear to think the words. Couldn’t bear to remember she’d lost her daughter. Hatred for her husband had burbled up with hatred for herself chasing close behind, but she forced the emotion down on her way upstairs. Once in her room, she obediently changed to this elegant robe so heavy with embroidery and jewels she could barely stay on her feet. Why had she once felt queen-like wearing it? She despised it now. Purple was the color of passion and all passion had drained from Elika. She felt numb. Empty. A shell. The weight of the fabric dragged down her soul as well as her frail body.
As she moved through the room, the diamonds sparkling on the edge of her veil caught every candle flicker, mocking her broken heart. Flaunting the unspeakable price Ishan had paid to hang onto his wealth and prestige. The price she’d allowed him to pay.
Shua dead.
Gadreel dead.
Atarah dead.
With every step the jewels shouted accusations, flashing white like Dagaar’s evil grin. Elika dropped her head letting the veil fall across her face to hide her shame and sorrow.
Barely aware of the laughing crowd, Elika clutched folded arms to her waist while images of her daughter and grandson poured in. Tears prickled the backs of her lids. She wished she hadn’t forced herself to continue eavesdropping when she had overheard Dagaar bragging about capturing Atarah after the sacrifice. But if Atarah could suffer so at his hands, the least her mother could do was share in the tortures by listening to all her beloved daughter endured. So Elika listened. Because she hadn’t lifted a finger to help her daughter.
But she shouldn’t have listened. The details of the horrors played through Elika’s mind for the thousandth time. She shuddered.
“Are you all right, dear?” A hand grasped hers. “You’re shivering.”
Elika quickly cleared her face of emotion and straightened, face to face with Rizpah wearing her signature crimson. Ruby-studded scarlet silk puffed out in gathers at her wrist. A plunging neckline drew attention to the one feature of her aging body that still appeared youthful.
“You look lovely this evening,” Elika said. She forced the corners of her mouth into a smile though the rest of her face remained stiff.
Rizpah responded with an identical smile – one that didn’t reach her eyes. Relations between the two women had always been strained. “But it’s a little cool in here and you were shivering. Are you cold?”
The day had been warm and the room already felt too hot.
“A little.” Elika extracted her hand and rubbed her arms as though to warm herself.
“I’m green with jealousy, you know.” Rizpah angled her head toward the other side of the room where a giggling Nympha leaned into Zaquiel. She gazed rapturously into his eyes. “Ishan tells me you’re the one who talked that gorgeous daughter of yours into giving up her son. You’re the star tonight.”
Elika opened her mouth to protest, her anger coming back into sharp focus. At least she’d had no part of initiating Nympha’s actions. At least that. She’d been weak, yes, but she hadn’t invited the horrors. She still believed there’d been no other choice.
Rizpah, intent on watching the unfolding romance across the room, prattled on. “Look at the two of them. Don’t they look fabulous together?”
The musicians Ishan had hired for the evening launched into a lively tune. Zaquiel grabbed Nympha and spiraled joyfully around the dance area.
“He seems crazy about her,” Rizpah crooned.
“His affections for her have mysteriously renewed recently.” Elika failed miserably at disguising the bitterness in her voice.
Rizpah didn’t notice. “I think you may have another grandson to offer Ninlel in a few months. You must be so proud.”
Bile rose to Elika’s throat. She pressed a hand to her mouth, swallowing as she stumbled backward. She swiftly covered her emotion by snapping her fingers for a slave to bring more food and drink. Squeezing Rizpah’s arm in a friendly gesture, she turned to leave. “I’ll send a slave down to build up the fire.”
Elika had no intention of ordering anyone to stoke fires in the heating facilities beneath the floor. Packed with bodies, this room would soon warm sufficiently to force slaves to wander about opening windows and waving ivory-handled papyrus fans for guests. But thanks to Rizpah, Elika now had an excuse to escape for a moment. She aimed for a door at the back of the room where slaves entered and exited.
“Enchanting celebration,” gushed a woman with gold chains entwined in braids piled atop of her head.
“Congratulations on your lovely sacrifice,” purred another.
Elika smiled graciously and continued walking. She couldn’t help seething with anger toward her husband and everyone else cramming the room. Not a single person offered condolences about Atarah or Gadreel. Her heart caught as her daughter’s face flashed before her again.
She smiled brightly at a greeting from one of Ishan’s turbaned business associates. She hated pretending. Hated her attitude. Hated everyone in the room even though many had treated her well in the past. She hated her own weakness. Hated her false smile. But with the political climate prevailing in the city she knew she dare not show her true feelings if she hoped to survive. Though she couldn’t explain why -- even to herself, she’d stood behind Ishan for so long she didn’t know how to change now. She saw no way of extricating herself from the disaster she called her life.
Spotting a candle with a tiny blue flame, Elika caught the eye of a female slave and shifted her eyes toward the offending light. The girl hurried to replace it and Elika found herself wondering what would happen to the poor young thing later in the evening. Would the girl end up conceiving another child the community could offer Ninlel? Would she have any idea which of the celebrants had fathered the baby? Would she survive the attack? Would she care?
The room grew louder. Elika pushed through the door and turned left, intending to follow the stairs to the room below ground where slaves kept fires burning to heat the stone floors above. As far as she knew, the fire trenches stood vacant tonight. She could spend a few minutes alone there, gathering her thoughts where no one would search for her. Then she’d return to tell Rizpah the fires were blazing.
But before she reached the stairs, a voice behind a door to her right caught her attention. Dagaar. She froze. “What did you think we’d do?” Dagaar’s voice was loud. Mocking. He didn’t expect anyone from the celebration back here. “Just sashay up the ramp and waltz in after her pretty as you please?”
Who was he talking about? Atarah? Elika’s heart thumped in her throat.
“She was alone.” The male voice oozed disrespect.
Atarah! They had to be talking about Atarah.
“We could have taken her easily.” A second unidentified man said disdainfully. “Just walked right in and . . .” He cursed. “But you just left her.”
Atarah was alive! Elika felt dizzy.
“I suppose you wanted Noah to sic one of his dragons on you?” Dagaar laughed menacingly.
“There are no dragons on the ark.”
“Oh, really. Huge lizard. Tiny little forearms. Thick hind legs. Big head. Sharp teeth. Tail the size of a tree trunk.”
“Liar!”
“Uzzi. Remember?”
There was a long pause, and when the man finally spoke he sounded cautious. Maybe even frightened. “Uzzi saw dragons?”
“Two young ones went on and he knew the adults had to be close behind. Why do you think he refused to stay and watch the ark any longer?” Dagaar snorted in derision. “The stories about the ark are true, idiot.”
On the ark. Atarah was alive on the ark! Dagaar had lied about all his cruel tales of torture. Why? To impress his friends?
“The stories about the curse?” the man asked.
“Yes. The curse is true.”
“The curse doesn’t mention dragons.”
“Curses aren’t required to say how you’ll die a horrible death,” Dagaar ridiculed.
The door handle moved. The gods help her, they were coming out! Elika lifted her skirts and fled seconds before the door squeaked open. Out of sight around a corner, she slumped against the wall, trembling as she listened to retreating footsteps.
Atarah was alive! That had to be what they meant!
Joy raced through Elika’s bloodstream and burst forth as tears.
Atarah was alive! On Noah’s ark!
A jumble of elation mingled with hysteria bubbled into her throat. Sobbing silently, she pressed both hands over her mouth to keep from crying out. Her precious resourceful daughter had eluded an entire gang of thugs and found safety, the gods be praised.
Atarah was alive!
Elika had never been more proud. Or so ashamed. She had let her own daughter down when she made her watch that awful sacrifice and even tried to convince her Dagaar could be a good choice for a mate. Elika had actually made herself believe that lie could be true. Shame burned her face. Where did her daughter get her courage? Atarah was a better person than she. Stronger. Wiser. More courageous.
But was Atarah still in danger? Fear did a little flip in Elika’s stomach. She knew Noah well enough to know he wouldn’t harm anyone. Atarah should be safe there. Unless he’d changed. Or there really were dragons on the ark. Noah couldn’t protect anyone from meat-eating dragons.
No. No. She wouldn’t think about that. Atarah was alive and safe.
Lost in the turmoil of emotion, Elika didn’t realize she’d been walking until she felt a cold brass door handle in her hand. She had automatically wandered to the room she always sought out when upset. Ignoring the celebration to her back, she entered, closed the door and sat in front of her loom.
She picked up a hank of yarn, fully anticipating that she would choose bright colors of joy since she knew Atarah lived. Instead she found herself reaching for the somber hues of fog and darkest night. Dread clutched her chest. She ran her fingers down the carpet’s selvage then threaded the weft through vertical threads. As her fingers flew over the carpet, fearful thoughts tumbled through her head, writhing around one another like a nest of rattlesnakes.
All the threats and promises she’d heard Noah utter down through the years came back to her. Bombarded her. Tormented her. She could no longer deny he spoke truth. She’d probably known all along. Her hands moved faster, frantically tying knots. She worked as though she had to finish her carpet before the world suddenly came to an end. Her hands paused in midair.
The world was coming to an end.
Epiphany after epiphany blasted through Elika like a hurricane. The world was coming to an end. Noah’s God was the One True God. The only God. She had dishonored her body with demons who pretended to be gods. She’d done it to please a husband who loved wealth and prestige and false gods more than her. Done it because she desperately needed security and love.
She had betrayed her daughter. Betrayed her grandson.
She gasped for air, her fists clenching the dark scratchy hank of yarn in her lap.
No. She had not betrayed her grandson. She sat stock still in front of her weaving, unable to move, her tears melting the colors on her loom into a blurry mass. Much as she loved the baby, Ishan was right about Gadreel. Right about his species. Because Gadreel was a giant, a creature not intended by God, the baby had a corrupted soul. There were no creatures more evil than giants. Though she’d always clung to the hope her grandson might be different, she now accepted the fact that he would never have been.
The giants were referred to as “heroes” and “men of renown” for good reason. They were powerful. Creatures of their stature and strength could never resist oppressing ones weaker than they. Gadreel would have been no different.
Giants were already taking over the earth. Was the violence of the giants the thing compelling God to destroy the earth? Or was the evil rampant all around forcing God’s hand? The evil people of her community? The evil inside her?
Water would soon fall from the sky. She knew that now. And then what would happen? Groaning, Elika snatched up her tamping comb and pounded down the warp of her rug. And kept pounding. And pounding. And weeping.
She had no idea how much time passed, but by the time she heard Ishan open the door she’d made up her mind. She would go to the ark and find her daughter. Try to make her understand about Gadreel. If Atarah could forgive her, Elika would accept the invitation Noah had been offering the entire population for a hundred years. She would enter the ark to escape the Flood the One True God was bringing upon the earth.
Elika stood and faced her husband, face swollen and red, determination sparking from her eyes. She didn’t care what he did to her. She finally understood the truth and he’d have to kill her to change her mind.
Several hours later, Elika lay in Ishan’s arms in her own bedchamber on her own bed. Most of the partiers had gone home and the Room of Candles lurked dark and hollow at the bottom of the stairs. She could hear unpleasant sounds coming from the slave quarters and other parts of the house where some of the men of the city still shared slave girls, but she chose to block out the noises and enjoy the moment.
She hadn’t felt this content in years and was amazed her husband had so quickly changed from the raging bull who entered the room. She didn’t understand what had caused him to soften and approach her with a tenderness he hadn’t shown her in years. With her face puffy and the color of one of Rizpah’s gowns he had to know she’d been crying. And tears customarily raised his ire. Besides, his demeanor hadn’t changed until she stated defiantly she had determined to board the ark. That statement seemed to shock him.
Instead of beating her or even shouting, he’d listened quietly with eyes full of compassion. Maybe he had sensed the change in her and realized he still needed her like she needed him. After she had her say, he took her hand and led her upstairs. They’d enjoyed a night of passion she didn’t think possible at her age. Why had she ever doubted his love for her?
“I’m sorry for everything I said. You know I didn’t mean those things.”
“Shhhh. Shhhh.” He caressed her lips with a fingertip. “You’re just sad about losing Atarah and Gadreel. I understand how upset you are.”
She hadn’t told him Atarah still lived and she wondered if he knew, but she didn’t want to discuss anything inflammatory right now. “I love you,” she whispered in his ear. This was the first time in years she’d been able to express her feelings. She still couldn’t believe he’d chosen her over joining the other after-party festivity. He still loved her! He might not say he loved her, but he’d never been able to say those words. She wanted to tell him how grateful she was. How much she had needed his comfort tonight. The words stuck in her throat. “Does your shoulder hurt?”
“A little. Growing old is no fun.”
“You’re not old,” she encouraged. She thought of her own age-spots and saggy skin and the pain that often throbbed in her neck. No one wanted to feel old and unattractive.
He flipped onto his back and shrugged one shoulder, hinting she massage away the discomfort. “I hope you appreciate this because ignoring the others and staying with you could cause us trouble.”
A bit of uneasiness slid into her chest. “I’m sorry.” She kneaded his shoulder. Noting the loose skin, she kneaded the spot where the bones joined beneath it. “Here?”
He nodded. “Hopefully, my willingness to sacrifice my grandson coupled with tonight’s celebration will encourage everyone to overlook my refusal to join the other men for one evening. We can’t afford to risk the displeasure of our friends.”
The apprehension tightened into an aching lump. She no longer cared about the opinion of their “friends,” but knew Ishan did and depended on her to keep up appearances. She was willing. But she hated to believe she’d once again allowed him to manipulate her into letting down her guard and trusting him only to learn he was the same old Ishan. So often her emotions climbed a mountain only to crash to the bottom of the cliff. The pain of disapproval and rejection always hit her with greater intensity when she allowed herself to trust.
What kept her clinging desperately to him anyway? What fueled the hope? What had Noah said to her so many years ago about people who married becoming “one flesh?” Was that why she couldn’t extricate herself from him? From the pain?
“I’m glad you showed them we stand as a united front.” Ishan patted her leg, then closed his eyes and sighed deeply while she rubbed his shoulder. Usually, when his back hurt she could detect the knots of pain in his muscles, but this pain was in the bone so she had to guess where to massage. She worked her fingers over his flesh while she consoled herself with the thought that even though he could have sent for a beautiful slave to do this for him he’d chosen her.
“You were an enchanting hostess tonight.”
She remembered the way she’d avoided conversation and hurried from the room and knew he couldn’t really mean that. Why was he flattering her?
“It would be disastrous if you ever told anyone else the things you said to me, you know. We just need to hope no gods overheard. Last thing we need is a double measure of wrath.”
That was why. He needed her. She’d guessed correctly earlier.
Ishan raised his head slightly from the pillows so he could look squarely at her. “The world is not coming to an end. You know that, right?”
“Of course.” Love and flattery equals manipulation and control.
“You mustn’t speak your doubts again.”
“Yes.”
He rolled his shoulder. “Up a little.”
She trailed a feather-light tickle up the length of his arm and drew small circles around his shoulder joint then moved to his bicep muscle. A tiny part of her dared long for him to mean the nice words. To truly feel proud of her.
“Your arm feels good. Firm.”
He reached over to knead the bicep for himself. “Yes, it does. But then I work at staying strong.”
She recognized the words as a jab – an accusation – and apprehension rose. Though she knew he still viewed himself as youthful and considered her old, his impressions about his own youthfulness were inaccurate. True, she was aging, but so was he. Sometimes when she caught sight of him unexpectedly from a distance, she didn’t recognize the old man walking toward her. After a few moments up close she once again saw the husband of her youth, but she knew the truth. She’d never told him because she hated to hurt him. And she certainly wouldn’t say it now. She had longed for this moment with her husband for so long she refused to ruin the mood.
“If you said anything to anyone we’d look bad. We can’t afford that.”
“I know.”
“We were so fortunate to have the opportunity to offer Gadreel to the gods for the benefit of the community.” His voice rang with nobility.
Her head felt as though someone wrapped a tourniquet around her skull and pulled tight. She tried to say something – anything. No words came out. She smoothed her expression. “Mmmm.”
He must have accepted her murmur as agreement. “Think about all we accomplished with that sacrifice!”
How could he bear to speak those words? She wanted to stop her ears with her fingers, but she kept her face expressionless.
“We were willing to give up our beloved grandson.” Ishan eyes shone with pride. And arrogance. “A half-god. Who else has done that recently?” Energized, he chuckled triumphantly and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “And in the process we protected the entire city from the dangers of a grown-up giant. That ought to buy us a lot of prestige. Do you have any idea how much more important it is to sacrifice a young giant than a human child? I can’t tell you how proud I am.”
He chuckled again, then sobered and directed emphatic words toward her. “I expect you let Nympha know how proud you are. Tell her you think she’s brilliant.”
“Brilliant?”
“Brilliant. She chose to keep the only pregnancy that would benefit all of us.”
“She aborted others?”
“Of course.”
How did her husband know that? Maybe because he always preferred Nympha while Elika was closer to Atarah. Nympha confided in Ishan. The situation gradually came into focus for Elika. She kept her tone level and matter of fact though the realization hit like a rock to her temple. “Nympha aborted other babies.”
“Not babies. Fetuses.”
“But she gave birth to Gadreel because of the advantages of sacrificing a young giant.” Numbly she rolled over and lay with her back to her husband. Did it really matter? Elika wouldn’t have wanted any baby sacrificed. Her conscience hadn’t hardened that much.
“Like I said, brilliant. And I’m proud of you, too.” A beaming Ishan leaned over, propped himself on one elbow and placed a loud smooch on her lips.
Tonight’s rare bedroom scene had been Elika’s reward.
No longer trying to disguise the emotions playing over her face, Elika moved through the facts she’d just learned in slow motion. Her daughter had given birth to a child solely for the purpose of sacrificing him to a god. For financial gain. For prestige. She and Ishan planned every detail, probably before Gadreel’s conception. Nympha had never loved the baby. Elika had always known that. But she hadn’t known Nympha had killed Elika’s other grandchildren while they grew in her womb. A chill like icy water dripped down her spine. Ishan had known all along. Had he loved the baby at all? Ever? Had he ever loved her? Did he know that she would come to love the baby and suffer when the child died? She shook her head, trying to dispel the negative thoughts.
Ishan drew back and studied his wife, reading her face. After a few beats, he turned her toward him and gently cupped her face in his hands gazing sympathetically into her eyes. “I’m so sorry you have all those little broken blood vessels.” He stroked the apple of each cheek with his thumb. “It’s been hard watching you go downhill. You were so beautiful once. Remember?”
The final blow. Ishan’s personal style of retribution. The insidious finger of worthlessness pointed at Elika. All she ever had was her beauty and now that was gone.
Tears stung her eyes. He saw, and a smile momentarily tugged up one side of his mouth before he rose from the bed. As she watched the man she couldn’t stop needing stride out the door to join the other men of the city, the emptiness she’d grown accustomed to over many years settled around her again with painful familiarity. With it came the tightness in her chest. And the disgust. Shame scalded her face.
She lay on her back staring at the folds of fabric draped on her bedpost. She hated herself for her vulnerability. For the ugly need for love and affection that so controlled her she’d paid with her soul. Elika finally believed in the God of Noah, but it didn’t matter -- because she’d rejected him for too many years. Even if God would forgive her, which he wouldn’t, Atarah could never forgive her. Her daughter would always think of Elika as the mother who approved Gadreel’s death. Elika would always think of herself in those terms, too. Self loathing filled her.
Elika did not deserve mercy.
A picture of the carpet she’d sworn to never part with until death flashed before mind. And Elika knew. It didn’t matter that Noah spoke truth about the end of the world. Her world ended years ago and she hadn’t realized it until now. Time to finish the rug.
