Ishtar Bound (a book of Sinnis)

by Gibson, Natalie

  “There's no greater evil than violence against a woman.”

  “I couldn't agree more, obviously. Those men had an appetite for violence and I'd rather take that than have her suffer it. How's she doing?”

  “She's resting at the women's shelter on grounds. There's no safer place, but we'll have to wait to see how she's doing. Physically, she'll be fine, but extended abuse like she's endured does things to the psyche.”

  ***

  “Did you hear that, too?”

  Libby was sitting up in her bed now, convinced someone was in the Library. Libby and Leonard shared quarters attached to the Library; she had to be close to her beloved books and artifacts. She looked at the clock. 3:45am. Library hours were not until 7, so whoever it was out there was breaking the rules.

  There it was again. Was that a voice? Maybe someone had just ducked in for a midnight rendezvous. Leonard was up in a flash. Either way, they had to check.

  They tiptoed to the door and opened it a crack. Libby had her finger at the ready on the alarm button. Security guards would be here in 30 seconds tops if they were needed.

  The library was dark. The moon was full tonight, but the library had few windows, and those were very small, only slits in the walls really. This had been the bell tower and was designed to be easily defended.

  One of those glassed in slits shone a moon beam across the floor and on to a woman and standing in the middle of the room. The podium had been moved over several feet so that the moon light made the achievement book legible. Nathalia, in her nightgown and her hair free flowing, stood reading aloud the names in the book.

  Leonard silently closed the door and they both climbed back into the already cooled bed. He spooned her and she gratefully curled back against his warmth. “Why didn't she just turn on the light, instead of dragging the podium into the moon light?”

  “It does seem odd. Maybe she thought that was less likely to wake us up than having all the library lights turned on. I don't know.”

  It was weird, but not even close to the weirdest they'd seen. They might not understand her, but Nathalia was the Abbess. If she wanted to read through her members’ accomplishment books in the moonlight in her shift, then that was her business.

  Chapter 8

  Nathalia was tired. She had slept all night, or what was left of it after Maeve in brought the battered woman, in the adjoining room on the couch. She wanted to make sure that Christy didn't wake up alone and scared in an unfamiliar place after such a traumatic night. There were many things to deal with after an experience like that, something Nathalia knew a lot about.

  She couldn't remember having nightmares. Her recurring ones of Michael had been absent, but she obviously hadn't slept well. Her eyelashes were growing back after her last episode and she had no new self inflicted cuts, scrapes or bruises. That was good; how could she talk to a battered woman about self preservation and self respect when the evidence of her own deep seeded issues were so blatant.

  This morning, before she showered, she noticed that her feet were dirty, muddy even, and had little dots of blood on her soles, like she had been walking barefoot for hours. She'd never sleep walked before, that she knew of.

  She sat drinking coffee at the little table in the common room of the women’s shelter. Her sore feet were hidden in socks and tennis shoes and the support felt good to them. Her favorite pale green micro fleece pullover and slightly worn jeans were supportive in a whole other way. She thought them every bit as comforting as other women found food, or reading, or shopping.

  The only drawback to the fleece, that she could find, was that it made her hair full of static. She'd woken this morning to find her hair loose and flowing, although she was certain she had braided it last night. If she hadn't tied it back as she had after her shower, she would now look like a Tesla plasma ball, with it standing straight out in all directions.

  Nathalia sat fingering her mother’s necklace, deciding what to say to Christy. Every day and night since the police had given it to her, she wore it without fail. She couldn't remember seeing her mother wearing it, but the Sergeant had said it was on her neck when they got there. The 'junkie' hadn't stolen it because it was just leather and carved dull stones. It had value to Nathalia though, because it was touching her mother at the moment she was killed. It made her feel connected with her mother somehow.

  Christy came out of her room and noticed Nathalia sitting in the morning light. Her fingers moved on the necklace she was wearing in a way that reminded Christy of how Catholics rubbed rosaries. It made her wonder what this woman had to repent for.

  Christy was showered and wearing the clothes that had been laid out for her. The slim jeans and royal blue fleece were flattering to her pale skin and blond hair, and covered up the evidence of last night's violence. Nathalia hoped they provided this girl with the same comfort they provided her.

  Nathalia gestured to the seat next to her and poured Christy a cup of coffee. Christy sat down and stared at the cup. “We have a cook on hand who can make you anything you want for breakfast. Can you stomach anything this morning?”

  Christy shook her head no. Nathalia flashed two fingers and some other sign to a woman who was waiting down the hall. A moment later Ingrid came back carrying two plates, each with a fresh banana muffin on it, and set them down on the table. Christy avoided eye contact, slouching down in her chair, and looked very embarrassed.

  “Nothing else, Ingrid. Thank you.”

  Ingrid hesitated. “Abbess, Tara Kay didn't go to her meeting. She went out that night and never came back. It feels like she went home.”

  It wasn't shocking to Nathalia, but disappointing that they weren't any closer to finding the SOFE. Tara Kay had been homesick for years. She was oddly obsessed with 'family land'. It was only a matter of time before she went back. Nathalia was pleasantly surprised at how well the tracking potion had worked. “Can you make up a batch for all the sisters?”

  Ingrid nodded, “but it will take a little time. They have to be tailor made for each woman.”

  “Get started right away.”

  Another nod from Ingrid and then she was gone.

  After Ingrid was out of ear shot Nathalia said, “No one here knows anything about you or what happened. Even I only know your name and what Maeve told me. There's no need to be embarrassed here. The police certainly don't share any information with us, and I would never dream of making you talk about it.”

  Christy still had not touched anything, so Nathalia asked her, “Don't you drink coffee? We have tea if you prefer, or juice.”

  Christy said her first words then, much to the relief of Nathalia. If she could speak, she wasn't completely broken. “I can't drink it black.”

  “Of course, I am sorry. I drink it black and I always mistakenly think that everyone else does too. Do you want real sugar, or pink or blue?”

  “Do you have any yellow packets?”

  “As many as you want.”

  Nathalia couldn't help but chuckle as the girl put 5 packets in her cup along with a generous helping of milk. Christy looked embarrassed again, and Nathalia was quick to explain herself. “My best friend drinks hers the exact same way. We always joke that she would like coffee a lot better if it didn't taste so much like coffee. She's addicted to artificial sweeteners, and swears that Diet Coke taste better than regular.”

  The phone in her pocket vibrated. She pulled it out, flipped it open and read the text. Speak of the devil.

  MARGAUX HERE,

  YOUR OFFICE,

  15 MINS

  -MAEVE

  “I gotta be brief, Christy. I'm the Abbess of the Daughters of Women. We're a community of women who devote our lives to improving others'.”

  “Like a nun?”

  “We're not Christian. In fact I'd call us a lack-of-faith-based organization. We don't expect anything from you, certainly not that you adopt our way of life. We just want to give you what you need. You're not a prisoner here, but I do hope you'll
stay. I'd like to get to know you better. You're welcome here as long as you'd like. We have a cook and a driver who can take you to work or to pick up some supplies or whatever you need. The men who accosted you last night are in jail right now and can't hurt you.”

  Christy looked panicked and started shaking her head. “Don't worry. You don't have to do or say anything against them. They attacked and nearly killed a friend of ours when he tried to protect you. We're the ones pressing charges. They won't be able to blame you for their incarceration. I have to go, but I'll be back in an hour or so.”

  Nathalia stood up to go and Christy stopped her. “I need to call my mom.”

  Nathalia really looked at her for the first time. She was young, but surely she wasn't underage. Her face looked older than 18, but Nathalia knew the effects of long term abuse could age a young girl fast. “Right over there. Just press 9 to call out. I hope to see you later, Christy. I think we could gain a lot from each other.”

  ***

  The argument was already underway when Nathalia entered her own quarters. She would call it a discussion, except that Maeve didn't like being bossed around and took offense to being told what to do. Margaux had obviously broken the cardinal rule with Maeve. She had told her what was required of her.

  “I'm the matchmaker of the heartland chapter and will match for who I choose, when I choose.”

  Those were the first words Nathalia heard after she opened her door. The guardian had been outside it, but as always, even after the episode with Camilla, bowed deeply to Nathalia and retreated to the shadows.

  “Oui, vous êtes Vinculum Primo and as such you have taken certain vows. Vows that, I need not remind you, procure your devotion to the matches of Family members.” Margaux tried the wrong approach to convince Maeve.

  Nathalia had known her friend long enough to know that Margaux was doing the exact opposite of what would get Maeve to do what the representative wanted. This was going to get ugly if the Abbess did not intercede.

  “Who are YOU to tell me about MY vows?! If I must, I will remind you, Margaux, that those vows you speak of insure my own power of decision. The sacrifices I make to love and life, and the pursuit of happiness, guarantee my freedom in one aspect...who I matchmake for is MY business, MY choice...no matter who the council recommends, it is I who decides each and every name that goes in my achievement book.”

  “Whoa” Nathalia took over the conversation. “Let me order some tea for us. You both need to take a breather. Voice of the Council or Vinculum Primo, I don't care who you are. If you are not Abbess, don't say another word until I have opened the floor for discussion.”

  They all three sat in silence as Nathalia sent out the telepathic order for tea. This was going to take some magic to sooth over and the Abbess intended to use every skill at her disposal, and Ingrid had recently proved herself.

  Ingrid served the tea herself. The Abbess' orders had been clear. The animosity in this room was to be cleared by whatever means necessary, chemical or otherwise. They'd all been infused with every calming agent she could think of, and then some she was still testing.

  She'd used every herb she could and still allow a pleasant taste. Ingrid was determined to make her position a valid one to an Abbess who seemed so opposed to substance usage. Tara Kay's actions had set all Ingenium back. Herbs could be utilized for good. They were the first of woman’s abilities to manifest and were the most reliable.

  Ingrid left only after all parties had at least started their tea and crumpets, spread with sacred fig preserves. Nathalia thanked her, You really came through. The abbess could almost see the tensions melting.

  “I just want to remind you Margaux, that Maeve voluntarily called you about Aaron. Without her honesty and devotion to the cause, you wouldn't even know that Aaron was of the Family. Why are you pressuring her, when the council has always allowed her to make her own decisions?”

  Nathalia broadcast to Margaux, You say we are losing her, maybe you drive her away. Wrong tactic to get her to see your way.

  Margaux apologized, “Je vois pourquoi ils vous ont fait l'Abbesse, Nathalia. Maeve, I am sorry. I know that Aaron has become très important à vous and I want to give you the opportunity.”

  The soothing agents had not finished their work on Maeve's nerves. “The opportunity to what?”

  “To matchmake for Aaron. He has become most interesting to them and they insist on his match. You are the most talented and powerful of our makers and they want you to be the one to make the bond, but if you refuse, they will insist that another be assigned.”

  “I have been trying to matchmake for Aaron, but he's different. He can see when I'm casting and prevents it. I've been dating him because that's the only way he'll allow me to match for him.” She made a snorting noise. “I'd like to see someone else try to do my job! The council has never 'assigned' matches for us before, why now?” Maeve struggled to understand.

  “Not Le Conseil.”

  The heavy antique wooden door slammed against the back wall and the guardian stood in its jam. His frame more than filled the vacated space and his opposition more than filled the Abbess' chambers. His voice scratched at their ear drums and clawed at their brains. “NO. Il ne sera pas dit, comme le sacrifice exigé n'a pas été fait.”

  “Il y a rien je ne peux les dire que changera ce qu'arrivera.” She argued in French. He stood there, unmoved, as Margaux tried to form the words without breaking his decree. “You and your secrets! You two, in particular are special to them. You will play a role in Her creation and they fear any interference could jeopardize Her arrival.”

  She seemed to be struggling to get the words to come out of her mouth. Perhaps the guardian was blocking what she really wanted to say. He stood there stooped to fit into the opening looking so threatening that even Nathalia did not speak.

  “There is an evil rising. It will grow to a level we cannot contain. They are now convinced that Aaron will be Her father, the One that has the ability to save mankind from this. They are not willing to risk even a small delay. They do not ask more of us than they ask of themselves, as they make continual sacrifices to keep the violence at bay until She is born and ready to lead.”

  Margaux made a move to leave. She had said all she was allowed. She patted the couch she was seated on and said, “Rest on it.” When she got to the still open door, the guardian took her elbow as if to lead her off, but she turned back. “I can see it and read it on your face that you care for Aaron deeply. If you can, please matchmake for him. Giving him up will be hard, but do not delay too long. They will not be patient in this matter. I will try to convince them that your sufficient sacrifice will have been made and that not all wear their scars on the outside.”

  The door closed behind them. Maeve stared at Nathalia. What had just happened? If 'they' were not the council, who were they?

  When Nathalia was sure both Margaux and her guardian were gone, she rushed over to the couch and shoved her arm in. This was no time to be couch diving for quarters. Maeve asked, “What are you doing?”

  “Didn't you see? I think she left us a clue. It wouldn't be the first time she told me something 'they' didn't want me to know.”

  Nathalia had made a mess of the couch cushions and pillows. “There's nothing here. I thought maybe she left a scrap of paper like she gave me last time.”

  Maeve made the couch back up and thought of something. “Maybe it's not hidden in the couch. Let's do what she said. 'Rest on it' and maybe the clue will present itself.”

  Nathalia sat on the couch. Nothing. She leaned her head back. Nothing. She put her feet on the ottoman. Nothing. She lay on her back on the couch, resting as best she could. Nothing. “What exactly did she say after 'rest on it'? I remember it sounded a little weird, maybe it was another clue.”

  Nathalia closed her eyes and tried to remember, “Something like 'I can see it on your face' or 'read it in your face'”

  “She said, 'I can see it and read it on your face th
at you love Aaron deeply.' Maybe there is a book hidden deep under the couch. I don't know.”

  Nathalia did not correct Maeve. Margaux had said 'care for Aaron deeply', not 'love'. Maeve made a slip, exposing her true feelings accidentally. Maeve loved Aaron. But that was not the task at hand, Nathalia quoted her softly, “I can see it and read it on your face that you...”

  She opened her eyes. Nothing. She turned her body the other way on the couch and found the answer staring her right in the face. “I can see it and read it. Maeve, it's a book on this shelf.”

  Maeve was over to it in a heartbeat. “But there are hundreds of books here. How are we going to know which one she wanted us to read?”

  Nathalia glanced over the titles. They were all ones she had pulled from the library for research on various things over the last few months. None of them seemed like they would be a clue. Wait. Nathalia went on a tear, pulling book after book of the shelves. In triumph she held up a small nondescript book. “This is it.”

  She and Maeve sat side by side on the couch that had been the first clue. Maeve turned the book so she could see its title. Enoch Walked With God. “How do you know this is the one?”

  Nathalia opened it up and showed Maeve a horrible stain and tear on the cover page. “See...'Not all wear their scars on the outside'. I remembered it because it looks so pristine from the outside and then this.”

  “How would a blind woman know what book was on a shelf or that it had a 'scar' inside it?”

  “She wasn't always blind, and some of the books were requisitioned for me from other chapters. Maybe she knows there's a book here that she read at one time.”

  She began flipping through the pages until she found what she was looking for. There it was written in the margins. “The book itself is meaningless; it is the prophesy it holds that is important.”

  Maeve disagreed, because it was something in this book, maybe this very page that had triggered young Margaux's ability. The Family itself was supposed to be traced back to Enoch, the very man this book was about.