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  Irkalla was beside me, then, her arm in mine. “This is foolishness, mistress,” she hissed. “He is a human.”

  If he had known me better, he would have known how impossible such a thing was for me. I did not trust anyone. My own father taught me this lesson. Among the Nephilim, we might sacrifice in the names of many gods, but our only real god was one’s own self. My people would do and say anything to benefit themselves, and they would not spare a thought about how it affects anyone else. To trust another person is to invite trouble, and I had invited plenty for myself.

  It was then I realized I had no idea where I was or where the palace was. And even if I had known, I was far too inebriated to be able to walk on my own. I was truly at the mercy of . . .

  What was his name? Had I asked?

  Ignoring Irkalla’s words of caution I asked, “What is your name?” My words were slurred.

  “Inanna help me,” Irkalla murmured, irritation in her voice.

  I ignored her and focused on the handsome human.

  Embarrassment flushed through me, and I promised myself that I would never drink so much again. Not being in control of myself, of my words, of my fate, was enough to make me angry at myself. If I had been able to know, then, how fiercely my head would throb the next morning, I would have made a vow to Inanna herself, rather than just a promise in my own head.

  “Finally she asks,” he laughed. “I was wondering if perhaps you had some secret Nephilim magic that allowed you to divine a man’s name without asking. My name is Japheth, son of Noah.”

  “Japheth,” I repeated, testing the flavor of his name on my tongue.

  Japheth suddenly whirled around, shoving me against the wall with one hand and drew his sappara, a bronze sickle-sword, with his other. It happened so fast I never heard the attackers approach.

  I had seen those weapons used before. The sappara had a crescent-shaped blade and a long handle wrapped in leather, with only the outside edge of the curve sharpened, the dull inner edge used as a hook to pull away shields or disarm an enemy. It was a difficult weapon to wield with any skill, but devastatingly effective when used by a master.

  I was a woman and had never been to battle, but with five warrior brothers I’d learned my fair share about combat, so I knew a warrior when I saw one. Japheth was a dancing blur; each strike was done with a graceful, deadly economy that showed he was no stranger to battle. There were four of them, all humans, all burly, ugly, sweating, and porcine, all examples of the kind of humanity that made me understand—if not agree with—my father’s animosity toward the race.

  They were armed with short spears and battle-axes; they knew what they were doing . . .

  And they wanted me and Irkalla both.

  Three of them encircled Japheth, attacked him at once with a furious onslaught of blows; the fourth came at me, sword held low, left hand free and reaching for me, pink tongue licking his thick lips, as if already tasting my flesh. He expected me to be like his usual prey, soft, weak human girls incapable of defending themselves.

  I was a Nephilim, and we were a race of warriors, even the women.

  I used the razor edge of the obsidian dagger I kept hidden in my sleeve to split his belly like a sack of grain, spilling his intestines into the street. I cursed him, knocked him to his knees with the hilt of my dagger, and spat in his face. He was a fool if he thought a Nephilim princess would be easy prey. He came at me, thinking he could wave his sword and frighten me into spreading my knees for him.

  Bah. Fool.

  More fools they for assuming Japheth would be easy prey. An understandable mistake for he was not a large man, nor a lumbering brute like his attackers, but lithe and quick, striking serpent-fast, each motion flowing like water into the next. He used the hook-side of his sappara to turn aside a spear-thrust, twisting the handle with a flick of his wrist and the spear fell from his enemy’s hand. Japheth grabbed the spear with his free hand, up high near the leaf-shaped blade, and thrust it into the man’s belly and twisted it, wrenching a howl of agony from him. While he speared the man, his sword was not idle. He turned aside an axe and hacked into an exposed neck, dropping the second. The third realized he was outmatched and tried to run. His eyes were on Japheth, so he did not see me coming from the shadows to bury my blade in his throat. I was sprayed with his blood as he fell.

  “My lady?” Japheth was next to me, wiping at my face with the edge of his robe. “Are you hurt?”

  “No . . . no. The blood is theirs,” I gestured to the bodies bleeding out into the sand. My hand was coated with in blood. “These aren’t the first men you’ve killed.”

  “No, Highness. I served in your father’s army. He may hate my people, but he’ll conscript us to fight his wars readily enough.” His voice was edged with bitterness.

  Japheth hung the sappara from his belt, took my wrist, and cleaned my hand with his tunic. His fingers were warm on my skin; his touch sent a tingle up my arm.

  “That is true enough. He puts your kind at the front and watches them die. He says they fall like heads of wheat under the sickle.”

  “Most do.”

  “But not you?” The adrenaline had washed away the effects of the wine for the most part.

  He let go of my hand and set off toward the palace. I took stride next to him, slipping my fingers in his. I felt bold, reckless; something about this man erased my prudence.

  Following behind, Irkalla had given up trying to admonish me. I knew all she wanted now was to see me home, safely in my bed.

  He looked down at our twined hands and then up at me, but he did not remove his hand from mine. “I am not like most men. Men, such as those back there, they would go down in battle like heads of wheat, as you have said. And even you Nephilim are not so hard to kill, if you’re fast enough.” He glanced sideways at me to assess the impact of his words.

  “Do not let my brothers hear you say that,” I said. “They will show you otherwise.”

  I hated my brothers. They were the worst examples of Nephilim manhood, brutal and arrogant beasts who delighted in the misfortune of others, with the lone exception, perhaps, of my eldest brother, Kichu. I hated them, but I respected them as warriors. I often watched them fight outside the walls when armies from neighboring cities came against us. Each one of them could hew down entire phalanxes of human men, swinging their massive spears in wide swaths, crushing heads and wrecking ribs, smashing with their bronze shields and stomping with their hobnailed sandals.

  Japheth’s eyes went dark and inscrutable at the mention of my brothers. “Your brothers are excellent warriors. I fought next to Kichu and Dummuzi when King Sin-Iddim brought his army from Larsa against us. On the battlefield they fight like demons from the underworld.”

  To the right of us, the main temple loomed black in the moonlight; ziggurat steps rose like stairs mounting to the heavens, torches flickering in evenly spaced sconces lining the ascent to the apex of the temple. Before us, the palace walls rose up, man-tall blocks of stone stacked high and thick to keep the masses out, guards patrolling on top of the walls. We ascended the steeply sloping hill, not hurrying but strolling slowly in the silver moonlight.

  I liked the feel of Japheth’s hand in mine, and wondered what it would be like to lie with him.

  I had never been with a human, but many of my other handmaidens had, and I often listened to the stories they told while attending to me. I had a vision of him above me, dark hard arms beside my face, blue eyes locked on mine as we writhed together . . . I flushed at the thought, my heart beating like a fleeing hare.

  I was more sober now, and the reckless determination to have him was not fading. If anything it was increasing, but sobriety brought with it a dose of reality. I still wanted him, but the consequences of doing so were bubbling up in my mind, growing stronger as we neared the palace. No, I told myself. Father would be outraged if he found me with a human, or even if he heard a rumor of it; I shuddered at the thought of what he would do Japheth.

&nbs
p; My companion felt the shudder. “What is it, Highness?”

  I couldn’t tell him my thoughts. “Nothing, it is nothing. You had better let us walk alone from here. If the gate guards see you with me, it would cause problems for both of us. Especially if they were to recognize that rune you wear.”

  Japheth touched a finger to his pendant, as if remembering it was there. “Oh, this? I forget that I wear it, much of the time. It was a gift from my mother.” He tucked it underneath the collar of his tunic.

  “Is she dead, your mother?”

  “No, but I haven’t seen her in many years, mainly because my relationship with my father is . . . difficult. We may believe in the same God, but we do not believe in the same way. He is a hard man, my father.”

  That piqued my curiosity. “I would think he would be kind, being a follower of Elohim.”

  “He would be kind to you,” Japheth said, his voice bitter. “He spends hours talking of his God, and he would try to persuade you away from the false gods. But to me, his son, he is . . . demanding. He expects me to be as devoted as he is. ‘Elohim demands our sacrifice,’ he would say to me, even as a child. Sacrifice always meant work in the fields rather than playing with my brothers. Sacrifice meant doing as Father demanded. His devotion to God takes precedence over everything, including his family.” He sighed and shook his head. “But that was a long time ago, and I’m sure you don’t want to hear about that.”

  “Oh, you might be surprised what I would be interested in.” I let my voice communicate what I could not say out loud.

  It might be a risk, but I wanted this man. There was a battle raging inside me, and my prudence was burned away by the fire of his touch, the lightning in his gaze. Japheth heard it and pulled me to a stop, pressing my back against the cold stone of the palace wall. His eyes met mine, his hands resting on my waist, and he kissed me. I felt his heart beating against my breast, hard and fast, thumping like the drums of war. His kiss was tender, despite the fierce throb of his heart. I felt myself floating away, felt my hands on his muscular chest and face, felt his hands wandering from my waist downward to caress my backside, and I felt my body responding to his touch. For a delicate, wondrous moment, all I knew was his lips and our exploring hands.

  A footstep scuffed in the dirt nearby, and for a moment I saw my father’s wide, scarred face in my mind, golden eyes sparking with fury. I pulled away, trembling slightly—it was only a temple prostitute scurrying back to the temple, but the moment of passion was gone.

  I shook my head, “We cannot do this. My father will kill you, and he will torture you for days you before he lets you die.”

  “I am not afraid of your father,” he said, leaning in again.

  I pulled away, but let my hands stay on his chest. I did not want to pull away, I wanted to kiss him again, but fear of my father won out. “You should be. If you think my brothers are demons, then my father is Ninurta himself. He is evil, Japheth. He delights in causing pain to followers of Elohim . . . and I am his only daughter.”

  He was insistent, smiling his contempt. “I don’t care. We’re out here and he’s in there somewhere,” he nodded at the palace, toying with a lock of my hair. “I’m not going to let you kiss me like that and then run off and hide behind your father.”

  This brought a flush of anger in me. “You kissed me! And I’m not hiding behind my father. I’m trying to protect you, you fool.”

  “I don’t need protecting.” Anger flashed in his eyes despite his calm tone. His fingers tightened on my arms.

  This had all happened so fast. I still felt the tingle of his lips on mine, and the thrill of his hands on my waist just above the swelling curve of my buttocks. His skin was warm and I wanted to kiss him again. I wanted to sneak him into the palace and bring him to my chambers and love him there beyond moonrise and into the dawn.

  Instead, I jerked myself out of his arms and fled, Irkalla right behind me.

  2

  The Wickedness Of Man

  “The Lord saw that the wickedness of man was great in the earth, and that every intention of the thought of his heart was only evil continually.” Genesis 6:5 (ESV)

  Oh, Inanna. I could not get him out of my head. I had heard the maidservants speak of being lovestruck and heartsick and had always mocked them for it. Foolishness, I would say, mooning over block-headed men. But now I was caught up in this web, and I could not extract myself from it. I knew, too, that it would be my downfall.

  I saw it in visions, feared it in the deepest places of my soul, but I could not deny the events that came upon me, one after the other like stones tumbling down a hill before an avalanche. It was foolishness, and I knew it well. He was a human, and a commoner. I was Nephilim, and a princess. It was my destiny to be married to a king and bear royal children, to keep my race alive and strengthen the kingdom. A human man had no part in that. All I would accomplish would be to get him tortured and killed, and bring trouble down upon my own head.

  I will simply stay in the palace, I told myself.

  I will be safe in here, and he will be safe out there.

  We would each be safer apart. I would forget him.

  But I was weak. Or perhaps my destiny was not so indelibly written as I had thought. I’d stopped believing in the gods of my father and my people a very long time ago. I think I first realized our gods were empty and lifeless statues when I watched my mother die.

  I offered burnt offerings to the gods, begging them to give her back to me. I prayed to the gods, I brought grain and fatted calves and gold and jewels, and I wept before their altars, and yet always were they silent. I sat beside my mother when she lay still and pale on her deathbed, her once beautiful and now-frail body swathed in fine linens and glistening with the ointments and unguents of the priests and healers. I sat beside her corpse, praying. There were no last words, no weak squeeze of my hand. Just a hollow aching silence.

  My girlhood died with her; my faith in Anu and Enlil and Ereshkigal and Inanna died with her; my capacity for love died with her.

  Or so I thought, until I felt Japheth’s lips upon me, felt his eyes devouring my body as I ran away from him. I knew him not at all, had no understanding of his character. But yet, I did. I knew him, I felt his very soul brush up against mine as we kissed, and felt its touch as a familiar caress. I thought I loved him, as foolish as it was. The moment I kissed him, I felt as if I loved him, and knew even then that it was foolish and dangerous.

  That very night as I ran to the gate, Irkalla slipping another coin into the guards’ hands to buy their silence, as we ghosted through the deserted palace hallways to my private chambers . . . that very night I knew I loved him. I knew also that I should not. But yet I did, and I could no more escape it than I could bring my mother back to life.

  I crept into my bed, and moments later I heard Irkalla, my handmaiden, come into my chamber. She perched on the edge of my bed and unbraided my hair. I refused to speak first, knowing she would she would not approve of my actions with the human Japheth, and I did not wish to hear her lectures.

  Perhaps she could convince me to abandon my folly; Inanna knew I could not convince myself. All I knew were his lightning-blue eyes, the deadly grace of his movements, and the tender touch of his lips, the inciting blaze of his hands on my body.

  Oh gods, I was in trouble.

  “Mistress,” Irkalla said, eventually, “we are more than princess and servant, I should like to think. Please, if you harbor any affection for me at all, please . . . do not have anything more to do with that human.”

  “His name is Japheth, son of Noah. He is a warrior, and he believes in The One God.” The last few words were whispered, even in the privacy of my own bedchamber.

  “A worshipper of Elohim? You know better, mistress.” Her voice dropped to a whisper so quiet I barely heard her. “If your father even hears a rumor of you being seen with a human, much less a believer in that god—he would raze the entire city looking for him, and he would turn you out into
the wilderness to be eaten by lions.”

  I sighed. “Irkalla, why does he hate them so much? I’ve long wondered, and I can’t figure it out. I know what happened with my mother made things worse, but that doesn’t explain it . . . not entirely.”

  Irkalla’s hands, gently untangling the snarls in my hair, stilled and rested on my shoulders. “I do not know all the details, because what little I know myself is from rumors and stories whispered amongst the older servants. I have heard that your father once loved a human woman by the name of Lily. He would have been very young indeed when all this occurred. He was rebellious in his youth, they say, refusing to take up his responsibilities as the crown prince, preferring instead to dice with the soldiers, and spend his time drinking and gambling and whoring.

  “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.