The Whore of Babylon

Chapter 17 | part 1

Eliana only slept during the daytimes now, when Samsu was out.

She felt more at ease without the eyes of a guard constantly watching her, and could finally stop trying to awkwardly balance herself at the same time as holding the blanket up as a screen when she used the chamberpot. The privacy was a luxury she had become unaccustomed to.

Although the atmosphere was more peaceful, she was still troubled by her dreams. The spirits of her past haunted her whenever she slept, their faces performing a grotesque dance as they drifted before her closed eyes, cackling with shrill voices as she recoiled and twitched as she slept. Mari's brothers, her mother, Isin, the foolish guard, countless men, women and children who had been put to the sword during the conquest – some of their faces were shadowy, others were as crisp as when she last saw them, but all were laughing at her.

Her mother's face was as blurred and indistinct as it had always been, whereas Isin's with its expression of surprise, and the guard's with its gaping red smile, were as bright and clear as a butterfly's wing.

As she slept that day, the fourth of having her food withheld and relying on Ashan for scraps, they whirled around her, spinning her, making her dizzy even in sleep. Their high-pitched chanting filled her ears – sounds halfway between a curse and an animal cry. Her mother stretched out dark arms, then danced away mockingly when Eliana reached for her. Isin's disembodied head stared at her accusingly, while the guard threatened to take her secret to Samsu.

They span her faster, closing in, reciting incantations in strange languages and anointing her with blood. The guard reached out a gory hand, straining to touch her. She stepped back, and back, edging as far from him as she could... until her foot stepped backwards into nothing, and she fell into the yawning nothingness of the underworld with a scream.

She was still screaming as she woke, damp with sweat and fallen off her cushions onto the cold floor. Shivering, she pushed herself back onto the bed and wrapped the blanket around herself. Her face was wet with tears. The room was empty, with no-one to see; she had never felt more alone. She longed for her sister's comforting arms, and could no longer remember what her little niece looked like.

The weekly visit to the bathhouse had not happened this week while she was under punishment. Her hair was greasy, her gown spotted, and the collar chafed at her throat. Eliana felt hungry, dirty and, at that moment, utterly hopeless. She had been here for two moons now, and Samsu showed no signs of freeing her.

She was no longer living; simply existing. She could not bear it any longer.

As if in a trance, Eliana slid the length of the golden chain through her hand, admiring and hating it all at once. In other circumstances it would have been a pretty thing. But now, what had bound her would free her.

Wrapping it around her throat once, twice, three times, she leaned away from the wall.

The links bit into her skin as the chain tightened. Nothing happened for a moment, but then she choked and gasped, her face beginning to tingle as her eyes bulged and the blood pressure in her head increased to a thunderous hammering.

She looked out at the garden as her vision began to close in, a circular blackness blotting out nature's beauty as a cloud drifting in front of the sun.

The last thing she heard before drifting into unconsciousness was Ashan's voice, calling her name.

'Eliana! Eliana!' she had not imagined it – he had come to smuggle her what little food he could, and his heart skipped a beat as he saw her entangled in the chain, throwing all her body weight away from it, her face purpling as she slipped into the space between life and death.