Wisdom's Daughter: A Novel of Solomon and Sheba (3 page)

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Authors: India Edghill

BOOK: Wisdom's Daughter: A Novel of Solomon and Sheba
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The second had been the day her daughter died. That day she had sought peace, and submission to fate’s knotted thread. That day she had failed, her own grief and fear overwhelming her until she fell into darkness. She had lain weak in bed for seven days after, slowly mending her shattered self She had not dared return even to the Temple’s outer courts since that disastrous day.
But now I must.
She held out her hands before her. They were steady.
See, I am calm.
She rose from her dressing table and turned slowly before Khurrami and Irsiya. “Is it well?” she asked. No idle question, today; her gems and garb must be faultless.
“You are the goddess Herself,” Irsiya said.
“Not yet,” Bilqis said, and looked to Khurrami, who studied her carefully.
“Yes.” Khurrami knelt and brushed her hand over the gown’s skirt. “Yes, it is well, my queen.”
“Good. Now the veil.”
Khurrami and Irsiya lifted the shimmering mass of cloth from its gilded basket and shook it out before tossing the sacred veil over her head. The world turned to golden shadow; the goddess’s veil was woven of silk as
sheer and pale as sunlight. Threads of gold glinted as the veil rippled into place, flowing over her from the crown of her head to her ankles.
Her handmaidens settled the veil with delicate touches of their hands. When they were satisfied, Khurrami nodded. “You are ready, my queen.” Khurrami hesitated, then added softly, “Good fortune, Bilqis.”
 
 
Having overruled the wishes of her chamberlain, her honor-maids, and her guards, Bilqis walked alone through Ma’rib’s streets. The occasion was too important to turn into a queen’s processional. “In this I am suppliant, not queen. I will not succumb to false pride and vain show.”
And she was wise enough to know that the sight of the queen herself walking veiled and alone to the great Temple to plead for Ilat’s favor would be remembered longer than any procession, however rich or royal.
There were other reasons for such blatant piety, such humble pride. It was expected, although not demanded, that a petitioner seeking the Inner Court walk, meek and submissive, to the Temple gate. Today such humility was not only pious, but politic as well. All Ma’rib would see the queen sought truth from Ilat Herself, and since none sought such truth lightly or wantonly—
—
whatsoever I say our goddess revealed to me, I shall be believed.
The thought of such deceit turned her mouth sour. But she must have an answer; she
must.
And if the Sun of their Days would not unveil Sheba’s future—once again Bilqis silently repeated the words she clung to in hope, intangible talismans against a cold future.
If Ilat will not reveal what is to come, then I will know She trusts me to summon what future I will.
The thought was reasoned, logical. It might even be true. If only it were consoling as well … .
She tried to set all thought aside; it would not do to approach the Queen of Heaven uneasy in her mind. Once past the palace gate, she found it less difficult to control her willful thoughts; long practice granted her forgetfulness as she concentrated on walking smoothly and with grace.
 
 
The journey from palace to Temple seemed timeless, endless. But at last she walked across the wide hot square to the outer doors of the great Temple.
A priestess greeted her there, as all who came to the goddess’s Temple were greeted.
“Welcome to our Mother’s House, child. What do you come for?”
This was her last chance to change her mind, to refuse to walk the path she had chosen for herself But already she was speaking the words that would begin the ritual.
“I come for wisdom.”
“Many come for wisdom,” the priestess said. “Nothing more?”
“I come for the future.”
“The future will come for you. Nothing more?”
“I come for myself,” she said, and the priestess bowed and backed away. Bilqis walked forward, stepping over the doorsill into the Temple’s first lure.
Ilat’s great Temple was formed in seven rings circling about its heart. The outer ring housed the courts of love and comfort. Roses scented the air; fruit trees lined paths which wound in aimless coils through the pleasure garden. Those who followed those pretty paths would, in time, return to their beginning, never having ventured farther into the Temple mysteries than that soft, sheltered garden.
For many, that was enough.
I wish it were enough for me.
But she had set her feet upon a different path, and she would follow where it led her.
She walked smoothly through the garden, into the second outer court; passed its comforts, too, without a pause. Then the third, and then she was past all comfort, all common human joys. Praying her spirit would not fail her, she looked upon the first of the barriers between the outer Temple and the mystery that lay at the Temple’s heart.
All are equal before Her.
She looked through the golden shadow of her veil at the gatekeeper, and the gate behind him—the first of seven she must pass through to reach the goddess. The gate was gilded and jeweled, the bar that held it closed carved from a single elephant tusk.
“What do you seek?” the priest guarding the gate asked.
“To go within.” She knew all the responses by heart, had learned them long ago. She had never thought to speak them more than once, upon the day she had set the crown of Sheba upon her head.
“Those who go within must walk meek and humble. Will you leave pride and folly at this gate?”
“I will,” she said.
“Then leave them here, and enter.”
She bent and untied her gilded sandals, slipped them from her feet. Rising, she offered them to the priest, who accepted them with a slight bow before he lifted the ivory bar and swung the gate open. “Enter meekly and humbly, then, and may you find what you seek within.”
Heart pounding, she walked through the gate. This marked the true beginning of her journey; from this gate, there was no turning back. The jeweled gate swung closed behind her, leaving her alone to face what lay within.
I have passed the first gate. Surely that is the hardest.
The first gate, the first of the seven through which she must pass. Each gate led deeper into the goddess’s heart; each stripped one layer of the mortal world away.
Seven gates those who would enter the Inner Court must pass, and at each, a garment or a jewel must be surrendered. Sandals at the first gate, so the petitioner walked barefoot to reach the ultimate sanctuary.
Girdle unclasped at the second gate. She handed the band of woven gold and silver to the priest waiting silently before the gate’s smooth panels of polished jade.
Necklace at the third gate; bracelets at the fourth. At the fifth gate, the elaborate gold earrings fashioned to look like flaming suns. At the sixth, she unpinned her gown; the heavy silk slid down her body, hissed softly to the floor. She stepped carefully over the mass of fabric and walked onward.
One thing only remained to her: the goddess’s veil. Until the seventh gate, the veil protected her. There, even that illusion must be surrendered.
Silence lay thick about her, the air itself heavy and soft, like warm honey. Emptying her mind of fear and desire was her task now, a goal she knew she failed to attain.
I did better the first time I dared this, and the second. What is wrong with me, that I fail now?
You know why. Now the stakes are too high. If you fail, Sheba falls.
The seventh gate was made of wood from the frankincense tree, polished smooth and sheathed in horn. Here there was no priest to ask for and to receive the symbols of her womanhood. This gate she must pass alone.
Beneath the veil she lifted her arms and raised the jeweled circlet from her head. As if pleased to be released, the goddess-veil slithered over her upraised arms and down her back to lie in a glinting heap upon the floor at her feet. She stared down at the abandoned veil, opened her hands and let
the circlet fall onto the crumpled cloth. Now there was nothing between her and the Inner Court but the gate of wood and horn before her.
Now she was ready to stand before the goddess, a supplicant like any other. She set her hand to the bar and opened the seventh gate.
Light flooded over her; she walked forward, into the goddess’s Inner Court. There was no idol here, no statue to confine the Sun Herself within its golden skin. There was only a roofless courtyard, gilded walls encircling her, amber floor warm as blood beneath her feet. Sunlight poured into the courtyard, pale and harsh; the walls blazed bright as noon sun. Within that circle of burning light, only goddess and worshipper remained, what passed between them sacred to them alone.
Golden light blazed so hot she closed her eyes against its force. She neither knelt nor petitioned; the Bright Lady required no words to know what was in Her human daughter’s heart. Bilqis had come not to speak, but to listen.
 
 
So hard, to stand and wait, to be nothing but a cup for the goddess to fill or not, as She chose. In this place of pure white light, nothing was hidden, nothing shadowed. Naked to her goddess. No concealment possible.
Naked to herself
That, even more than her openness to Ilat’s sun-eyes, frightened her. Although she had stood here in this circle of gold and light twice before, today she feared more deeply, as if she looked farther into eternity now.
I must not fear. I must not despair. And I must not hurry. I must wait.
Wait and empty herself of all thought, all passion, all desire. Even the worthiest longing must be smoothed into patient acceptance.
Wait. And trust Ilat.
Why had she come, if she did not trust the goddess to answer?
Look within yourself, to see how you fail, and why. Look within, Bilqis.
The voice was her own, reminding her of what she must do here. Obedient, she looked, her mind spiraling inward, seeking.
You know what must be done; why do you fear to do it?
Because the cost of failure was too high to be borne. A cost that would be paid not by her, but by all those to come after.
If I fail, Sheba is punished, not I.
There it was, the lump of terror frozen at her heart’s core. Her Sheba, her land, her people—all rested easy, certain of her power. Certain of their future.
A future only you can give them, child.
The words came from nowhere, written in white fire before her dazzled eyes.
Only you.
“What must I do?” she whispered into the blinding light.
You know. Seek and you will find what you seek. How else?
Seek and find
—
The answer came, clear as sunlight, so simple she laughed in surprise and relief. If she could not bear a daughter, she must find one.
You must seek a true queen to rule over the sunlight land, the incense land, the land gods love.
The words sang clear, revealing a truth she had refused until now to admit.
How could I not have understood what I must do?
She had known all along that she must choose a successor. But that was not easy to do, not and leave peace as her legacy. For she could not choose a girl from one of Sheba’s noble families to raise up; any choice she made among them would breed quarrels. Quarrels bred war. But now, at last, she had an answer, saw a way to escape the maze of family ties and tangled loyalties.
So our Mother will grant me a daughter
—
but I myself must seek the child out, and must travel far to find her.
She must seek elsewhere, undertake a quest to some far land from which she could return with the next Queen of Sheba.
With a girl whose right to rule none can dispute, for she will be my true daughter, a daughter chosen by our Mother Ilat, by the Bright Lady Herself.
Now she knelt, pressing her lips to the blood-hot floor in gratitude for the goddess’s aid, for the comforting certainty that flowed through her, easing all pain.
Sheba’s crown would pass gently to its next queen; the goddess promised this boon. Now it remained only to learn where, among all the world’s kingdoms, the Queen of Sheba must search for the girl the goddess would choose—
Even if that goddess is I.
 
 
That night she slept deep and dreamless, awakening to find herself rested in body and easy in mind. And for all her secret doubts of Ilat’s true concern for Sheba’s future, it was upon that day, the day following her visit to the Temple’s Inner Court, that emissaries of a foreign king came to Ma’rib, came to petition the Queen of the South on behalf of a king of whom she had never heard.
The king of a land far to the north of Sheba and its treasures of gold and spices: Solomon, King of Wisdom.

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