The Call of Eternity

59 | NOT IMMORTAL. YET.

Meresamun stirred, surprised to feel the softness of a down-filled mattress beneath her. She kept her eyes closed, willing her dream to linger a little longer. Soon, she would wake, and instead of the luxury of a mattress, the chill of the desert floor would seep up from under her pallet and breach her bones, beginning another day of aching muscles and joints, worsened by the endless lurching of her palanquin. The wool of sleep pulled away. No, she was wrong. They were on their last day. She should be in Babylon--

The earthquake. Her camel struck by a tumbling boulder, fallen from the cliff. Her palanquin slamming to the shifting ground, the willow reeds snapping apart, whipping free, slicing into her thigh. Blood everywhere. Pain. Darkness. She opened her eyes. Above, a deep blue silken canopy embroidered in red and gold bore the image of a pair of winged lions flanking the god, Marduk.

Babylon. It was no dream. She was home. Alive.

Pushing aside the sheet, she tugged the material of her silken gown up to her hips. The skin of her thigh lay unblemished, smooth, perfect. She stared at it, astonished. Scuttling to the side of the bed, she swung her legs over the edge and eased herself down, bracing herself for a deep, searing stab of pain. She stood, careful, first on her good leg, then the other. Nothing. She felt nothing. No pain. She was whole again, as though what she had endured had been nothing more than a dream.

"How--?" she breathed.

"By Anu's name, you are breathtaking," a male voice said, low, reverent, from deep within a shadowed corner.

Meresamun turned, startled. Snatching a blanket from the bed, she wrapped it around herself, defensive.

A chuckle, deep, throaty. She watched the shadows, wary, as the shape of a man coalesced out of the darkness and moved toward the bed. He wore an elaborate leather kilt, its wide panels covered with embossed plates of gold depicting battles between fantastical winged beasts. As he moved, the images caught the lamplight, making them appear as though alive. Around his hips, a leather belt, studded with golden rosettes.

He leaned against the far post of the bed, his arms folded over his chest, the muscles in his torso and arms rippling in the light of the single lamp, his build as powerful as Teshub's. Designs, drawn in the deepest black covered his flesh: thick lines and angles, whorls and circles, artful, complex, sensual. His thick black hair hung loose to his shoulders, framing his face, his features strong, elegant, charismatic. He looked up at her from under his brow and she inhaled, sharp. His pupils retracted in the light, revealing the color of his eyes: carnelian. His pupils continued to retract, slow, sliding inward, vertical, the same as a cat's.

"Do you know who I am?" he asked, adjusting his position against the bedpost.

"I might make a guess," Meresamun whispered, her heart pounding.

"Go on," he smiled, exposing his even, white teeth. "I like games as much as anyone."

"My lord," Meresamun said, sinking to her knees, lowering her eyes. "I am not worthy to speak your name."

"Come now, we are alone. I won't tell," he said, his kilt clacking, quiet, as he moved along the end of the bed and approached her. He stopped just before her, his immaculate feet clad in gold-gilt sandals. His legs, hard with muscle, also bore the same black designs; around his left leg, the image of a scaled creature coiled, its length disappearing under his kilt.

His hand came to her chin, and he nudged it upward, gentle, but firm, until her eyes met his.

"Say my name," he breathed, "I want to hear it from your lips."

"Marduk," Meresamun said, soft, his eyes dilating, darkening, aroused, as she continued, remembering the titles drilled into her when she was still a child, "Lord of All, Mighty, Powerful, Giver of Life, Taker of Life."