The Chronicles of Heaven's War: Sisters of the Bloodwind

by Ava D. Dohn

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  The burning ache in Claudesius’ chest was diminishing as the group walked along the palace portico, but his recent shortness of breath persisted. The governor never did fully recover from this initial contact with Ishtar. Taken fully by surprise at seeing the girl, and being an older man, his heart was sorely stricken, which led to his eventual death.

  Try as hard as he might, he could not stop staring agog at this spellbinding creature. But what disturbed him most was the feeling as if a voice within continually called out for him to tear apart the flesh of this ‘putrid thing’ and burn it with fire.

  Treston maintained a reserved appearance, though his ardor was intense enough so the arteries in his neck bulged. Having survived so long amid political vultures was no accident, but taught behavior. This learned self-control made it easier for the man to restrain his emotions. There were also no quiet voices urging him on to carry out lascivious or violent actions against Ishtar.

  Never had Treston been a man having great reverence or fear of the gods. He had not set foot into a temple in years, other than to find certain sensual gratification or at the behest of his superiors. In fact, after the untimely death of his daughter, Treston had silently warred with the gods, condemning them in his heart for their wicked acts.

  Once, when the wine loosened his lips, he declared to a companion, “The keepers of Hell shall not my soul peacefully abide, for I will not accept them as a slave does his master! Their prisoner I may well become, but to do their bidding? Never! My voice shall castigate the gods for all eternity!” With such a strong-willed man, Legion’s machines had little effect.

  Of the guards accompanying them? A motion of Treston and one sharp glance was enough to keep them under control. Better to die from wanton desire than at the hand of a man known to watch prison inquisitions while eating his dinner. Suffer as they may, the guards stood vigil over their own souls and acted as good soldiers should.

  Claudesius searched for ways to stall his return to the justice chambers. Not only did he wish to have this child’s’ attention, but the thought of sharing her with the two ugly stooges, Ogust and Jusslin, was so much more than repulsive. Using the pretense of gaining needed background information to fairly judge the case, Claudesius busied himself in small talk with the girl.

  As they strolled along, the governor casually looked toward the porch’s ceiling, musing, “Ishtar, um, Ishtar… Now that is such a strange name for a child of the Jews and one who has Cephas for an uncle, don’t you think so?”

  Although suspicious of Claudesius’ motives, Ishtar’s innocence could see no treachery in his question. She cautiously answered, “My mother is a Jewess, that is true, sister to Cephas. But my father was from a city in Phrygia, not more than thirty leagues from here. He was a man of honor, serving as a captain in the fabri, the engineers, and second assistant to the praefectus fabrum, none other than Vitruvius III, grandson of Vitruvius I, overseer of the works, personal servant of Caesar Augustus. My father was so favored by Vitruvius that he gained citizenship at his behest.”

  The governor stopped, staring at Ishtar. “So, you, too, are a Roman?”

  Ishtar shook her head. “It was after my birth that the gift was bestowed upon my father, a gift for his valor to duty that led to his fateful accident and crippling.”

  “Your mother is a Jew, but your father a Phrygian.” Claudesius quietly drummed his fingers against a supporting column of the porch. “So how did such a happy relationship develop, come about, I mean, between your father and mother?”

  With indignant undertones, Ishtar answered, “My mother is a Jewess and she met my father while he was in the Decapolis, on king’s business. He did not hold the Jews in disdain as some men do but found them most fascinating. He fell in love with my mother, taking her for a wife, not some plaything!”

  Treston instinctively stepped away, expecting to see the girl backhanded and flung across the marble floor. But, no, much to his surprise, Claudesius brushed off the child’s insolence, carrying on as if nothing out of the ordinary had been spoken.

  With his hands clasped behind him, the governor politely asked, “So, tell me, daughter of a… a Jewess, how is it you have come to reside among us in this humble city?”

  Although her ire was still up, Ishtar replied calmly, “After my father’s accident and subsequent retirement from the fabri, we journeyed here where he established himself as a very successful dealer in trade goods, for both the Temple Artemis and foreign merchants. Before the fever took him, my father had secured enough wealth so that his family has not come in need or want.”

  Nodding, Claudesius smiled, “You have still not explained your name, other than your father was not a Jew and that he dealt in trade goods for the Temple Artemis. Is there more to tell?”

  “There is more.” Ishtar responded. “My father was a man who feared the gods… that is, all but two. The God of my mother’s ancestors he respected, but the god of his mother’s endearment he came to love. So he gave to me, his only and most cherished child, the name of his beloved god, by the name with which his mother called out to Artemis, and that was ‘Ishtar’.”

  Staring into the girl’s face, and lifting a hand in question, Claudesius asked, “Why does a child who holds to this new and strange religion and, I may add, bears the accusation of blasphemy of the very god for whom you are named… why have you not reverted to your Hebrew name, one I am sure your mother has bestowed upon you?”

  Ishtar raised an eyebrow at the question. “Many men, worms of the earth…” She chanced a glance at Treston. “have carried honorable names, while there are many good men who have owned names filled with evil and foreboding. For me, the name ‘Ishtar’ is filled with sweet love and bitter sorrow. My father valued me as if a son in his eyes, and wished I remember it should he pass into the world of darkness. I am proud to carry the name for my father’s sake, not for some impotent god of stone and dust.”

  There was anger in his voice, as Claudesius quickly chastised the girl. “Do not think yourself wise, ridiculing the creators of this world! My powers of discipline will arrive quickly upon the heads of such blasphemers.”

  Ishtar’s retort was swift and stinging. “No man has any power at all unless the Maker of all worlds grants it! You breathe life, as do other men and beasts. Not one hair’s breadth can you add to it, other than what my God has given you!”

  Claudesius’ hand was just a blur as it swept the air, smashing across Ishtar’s face. “You insolent shit weed! Whore-maiden of an evil apparition! I control your destiny! Fool! I can make your next breath your last!”

  Though blood gushed from the girl’s nose, she took no note, breathing fire and threat. “Then take it now and I shall wait for you beyond the River for my revenge! I control my own destiny, not a man who quakes in fear at idols of wood and stone!”

  Claudesius was not hearing Ishtar’s reply, for he was absorbed with wonder, staring at the girl’s gown. As blood dripped from Ishtar’s face, it fell in rivulets onto her dress, spattering on the stones at her feet. In disbelief, he watched as each drop of blood rolled off the fabric as if thrown away in disdain, leaving the dress unblemished.

  “What the…?!” He reached out to examine the fabric. It was smooth to the touch, the weave something he had never before seen, and it felt warm and cool at the same time. And it was not white, but danced in every color of rainbow hues when the fabric moved.

  “Where did you get this?” Ishtar remained mute. Claudesius screamed, “Where did you get this?!! Tell me now!” He raised his hand as though to hit her again.

  Fire in Ishtar’s eyes burned into the governor’s as she leaned forward, nose to nose, seething in angry defiance, whispering her rebuke, “Strike me again, old man! It takes a strong hand to hide a weak mind. If you had eyes, you would see that your shitty gods have no power, else they needn’t rely on the likes of you to protect their worthless name
s!” The girl braced herself for the coming blow. Nothing happened.

  The governor’s hand began to shake. He so much wanted to smash this insolent pest, but he could not. Even through the oozing blood and a growing bruise on the girl’s face, Claudesius stared at such beauty never before seen. He could feel his ardor for the girl growing by the moment. The heat of her breath inflamed his desires. Hate, passion, and fear were a’work all at once in his soul.

  At length, Ishtar stepped back, wiping a hand across her bloodied face, spitting crimson saliva onto the stones to clear her mouth. Glancing first at Treston and then back at the governor, she smiled coldly, answering defiantly, “As I have already said to one of your servants, an angel gave me this dress.”

  Claudesius glared at Treston as if to say, ‘Why didn’t you tell me this?’ He then turned his attention back to the girl. She was only a child, eighteen years at best, but her stare was unnerving – as though someone else was looking out from her and peering deep into his soul. Who was this woman? Did the child really have power over the gods? Impossible! Still, the governor chose not to debate the issue further.

  “We must hurry!” the governor called out in his most official voice. Motioning Treston to him, he ordered, “Take this… this person and clean her up. When finished, you shall personally see to her deliverance to my chambers. Have one of your men come with me to assist in making things ready.”

  Treston saluted, bowing his head, “Yes, my Lord. It will be done quickly.” his heart pounding with desire as tiny tremors raced across his shoulders and down his arms. Forcing an excruciating ache into submission, he took Ishtar’s arm, leading her away.

  Claudesius disappeared into the shadows, placing a trembling hand over his palpitating heart.