We pass through a high archway into the reception hall. Carvings of the fire-god’s flame symbol decorate the walls, beams, and pillars. Chief Naresh stops in front of an ice sculpture of Enlil gripping a lightning bolt spear like a staff.
“Isn’t he magnificent?” the chief asks.
My face warms. The fire-god is the most arresting of the deities. He inherited his good looks from his mother, the land-goddess Ki. Enlil’s true father is the demon Kur, yet he bears some resemblance to his adopted father, Anu. I have often chosen to sketch Anu instead of his son. Enlil’s chiseled physique has a sensuality that unnerved me as a girl. As a woman, I am even more aware of his full lips and muscled abdomen. I glance down the long entry hall for more sculptures. This is the only one.
“Your people worship the fire-god?” I ask.
“Uri, the First Burner, was a member of our tribe,” replies the chief. Brac taught me a little about the First Burner during my training but did not specify her heritage. “The fire-god Enlil favored Uri. Before the gods left the mortal realm, he foresaw that we would suffer great trials and passed on his teachings to her. The first winter after the gods left was frigid. The skies and land lamented the deities’ exodus and treated us liked a scourge. Uri set a fire and kept it burning for ninety days and ninety nights. Her living flame saved our people. As winter thawed, Uri implanted the embers from the dying blaze into our ancestors’ soul-fire so they would never again fear the cold. We have no Burners among us now, but we still carry the flame of Uri’s lasting fire in our souls.”
My gaze wanders up Enlil’s sculpture. “We have stories of Enlil too. Every temple ward is required to memorize Enlil’s Hundredth Rani.”
“Oh?” queries the chief. “We’ve never heard that story.”
“Never?” I press. “Tarek justified the rank tournaments with this tale.”
“Can you recite it?” Tinley asks.
“If you’d like.” I rummage around in my memory for the correct words and start down the hall. Speaking of Enlil beside his likeness is too awkward. “The fire-god took many wives and courtesans. All of them were blessed with astounding beauty, enough so that the sky-god began to covet his son’s good fortune. When Enlil announced that he would wed his hundredth wife, Anu was wroth with his son’s greediness and wouldn’t allow Enlil more wives than him. Anu told Enlil he could have only one hundred women and he was to drown those he did not keep in the Sea of Souls.
“Enlil was distraught. He cared for all his wives and courtesans and could not pare them down to so few. In his grief, he asked his father how he should choose which of his women to retain. Anu replied by saying, ‘Let them decide.’”
Tinley grimaces and her father harrumphs. Good. They understand why I’m not enthused about this story or the god it portrays.
“Enlil’s wives would not give up their rank. They loved their husband and honored him, but the courtesans loved Enlil as well, and they did not think it was just that they should die. So the courtesans challenged Enlil’s final wife and battled for her rank as the last rani. Enlil’s final wife was the loveliest of them all and had a merciful heart to match, but she was also a fierce fighter. She defeated every challenger and held her position until she was the last warrior standing. She wed the fire-god and was his favored wife forevermore.”
“Quite a story,” says the chief. We stop before the doorway to the great hall. “It aggrieves me that Tarek twisted your beliefs to suit his selfish desires. But this story founded your people’s love for sister warriors, did it not?”
“Mortals began to replicate the tournaments, so the land-goddess Ki taught women to defend themselves and embrace their sisterhood. Ki didn’t want her daughters’ virtues exploited.”
Chief Naresh gives a wide, pearly smile. “Our tales are much alike. From hardship comes great blessings and strength.” He pats my shoulder and strides into the great hall.
His unique interpretation locks my knees. My aversion for the fire-god comes from his role in the origin of rank tournaments, but Anu forced Enlil to limit his wives, and Enlil’s women elected to battle for his affections. From their decision much heartache was born, as well as the Sisterhood. I cannot envision my life without my friends, my sister warriors.
Tinley waves me forward. “Kalinda, come on.”
I double-time after her, circumventing long tables and benches, all formed of ice and secured to the floor. Chandeliers hang low from the ceiling, and a giant hearth dominates one wall. Piles of peat moss are heaped in the corner, fuel for the fireside. Its warmth raises the temperature so my exhales no longer stain the air silver.
“Tinley, why do the walls and floors not melt?” I ask, eyeing the cathedral ceiling.