The Contract Marriage (3)

Previously...

"But she has no intention of returning to Tellash at this time for she had to accomplish duty she had pledged towards Fush-urah after hearing the goddess’ calling at the temple the other day. She could not flee to Tellash now. Tellash would not be delighted to accept her as Fush-urah would hunt her down wherever she would go. The place of Tellash is a place of peace. He would not tolerate disturbance. Unless and until Jesauma bore an heir to Huya’s descent, Tellash would not welcome her and might banish her to Yathagrum, the god of the underworld if she insisted on entering his land."

Like a man with integrity, Huya would keep his promises but only if they bring benefits to him. Many had learned how his promises worked.

The Bru-herts, a family grew olive for a living was indebted to Huya for the land he granted them for a period of ten years. Immediately after the second year, he had the scribes destroyed the tablets of records and confiscated their properties for Bru-herts became the household name of “Jub’s only olive grower”.

Hut bru-hert, father to the family soon was forced to sell her four daughters off to clear family debts, among which the elder, at the age of 16 had decided not to live in disgrace and seek shelter from Tellash by jumping down from the cliff of Thirat. Indebted to Huya, Hut and his wife had no choice but to grow olive in the land under the name of the tyrant, in their very own land alongside other workers that used to be under the couple’s command.

Mercy would not be the word found in a pact with Huya ever. He spared no one, and never would. Kilahya knew Huya’s promise to his father, the Scribe would not last. But with the imperial authority the Scribe had over the kingdom of Froyale, Huya might need to succumb to the higher authority above him.

Four years had passed. Huya had not stopped eying on the land given to The Scribe by the river of Senio. Kilahya no longer earned his favour as he did not enjoy her presence anymore. She was the most stubborn woman he had ever seen. He would trade her with The Scribe’s land back.

“In the name of Gurath-sut, I welcome you to our home, my son,” said The Scribe.

“All had been well, father?” greeted Huya.

“With the blessing of Gurath-sut and your gracious kindness, my land had flourished! Herds are getting larger and crops growing. King Norteapurt was amazed by the abundance when His Majesty visited the garden!” The Scribe exclaimed jovially.

“King Norteapurt would not expect a Scribe to be as successful in cultivation as in keeping the royal scrolls. His Majesty must be pleasantly surprise,”

“May it be so, may it be so,” the Scribe replied. “Come let me treat you to the best wine made from our grapes!” he invited Huya into the middle court. Two rows of servants led the way.

“This wine was the first wine produced during your marriage with my daughter. Taste of four years sweetness and pleasure,” the Scribe teased, knowing Huya was a man with great desire for lust. The Scribe was overwhelmed by his success until he forgot to ask about his daughter that was seen less important in his eyes.

“How is Kilahya?”

“Kilahya, Kilahya,” Huya stood up and walked around with the cup of wine in his hands. “Still as pretty as a magnolia just like the time she entered my house.”

The men burst out in sudden laughter, especially the Scribe who seemed a little drunk.

Huya continued: “But not as fresh anymore.”

The Scribe’s face was suddenly stricken.

“Four years is not a short time. Huya, a woman’s glory does not stay forever! She should, by now, be a mother to her child.”

“Child, you were saying? Father, pardon me for saying this. I had news of Kilahya for you but you must be prepared to hear me out.”

The Scribe put down his cup of wine and laid back on his chair. He ordered the servants to leave them alone. Huya drew closer to The Scribe.

“The goddess Fush-urah had decided to punish her for her evil deeds and made her womb barren for the rest of her life.”

The Scribe was taken aback.

“What nonsense is this? And who is this goddess to punish my daughter, how dare she?”

“The high priest of the Fush-urah temple had confirmed this misfortune.”

The Scribe stood up and slammed the table.

“And you believe words from those holy women? Their mouths could be filthy as slugs!”

“Kilahya believed. Unfortunately she did.”

“What do your words mean?” The Scribe was sensing a bad premonition.

“It was said after receiving the news from the priest, she ran out from the temple and ripped off her clothes and mourned for the death of her womb in a sand pit. She kept running to the river and fell into the mouth of a crocodile…”

“What foolish words!” the Scribe slapped the cup away from the table and shouted loudly. “Why would she rip off her clothes and run towards a crocodile? Foolish words!”

“The priest said Fush-urah had her possessed. When judgment came, women who could not stand the trial would be possessed by spirits on streets,” Huya buried his head in his hands, as if he suffered for her lost.

“No, Kilahya would not believe their foolish words! What spirits! Those holy women are the evil spirits!”

“Fush-urah had sealed Kilahya’s fate. There is nothing we can do to go against the will of the gods.”

“And in the name of the living god, King Norteapurt, I shall end the days of Fush-urah’s glory myself!” said the Scribe in vengeance.

“Hear me out, father!” Huya sat him down and put him to calm. “Going against Fush-urah would be disastrous!”

“I fear no goddess!”

“But father, you do need to be fear of the wife of the living god King Norteapurt.”

The Scribe looked at Huya, in his less sober mind trying to understand the meaning.

“Queen Disghertin worships Fush-urah for she believes the goddess had blessed her with the many princes and princesses. The queen is the apple of the eye of King Norteapurt. Fush-urah’s temple was decreed by the king as a sacred place and must be respected. Going against Fush-urah only means going against the king, father,” he continued.

The Scribe hit a punch on the table. “And I can only see my daughter suffer a miserable death?”

“Kilahya did not die in misery. The priestess has kept her body right after the attack of the crocodile. A fisherman killed the crocodile before it tore her into pieces.”

“I must see her now.”

“You know you can’t,” Huya said. In the Jubite culture, married daughters were not allowed to meet the parents anymore, as they sold their daughters for a heavy bridal dowry to the men.

“She is dead! Can’t an old man grief for his daughter’s death?”

“Father I shall seek advice from the priestess first. Do not rush into any action for you do not enrage only the goddess but the mother to all children in the land Froyale,” warned Huya.

“And remember, do not raise your voice or temper to the priestess for they might be enraged.”

***

She had spent her life serving the goddess since the day she was brought to the temple. That was beyond her ability to recall her childhood memory. But she was told by the priestess who took her in that she was the blessed one to have survived the massacre in the palace.

In her younger days she dreamed what life would she led if she was in the midst of the royal blood. A slave, she might have been, to His Majesty. Or the illegitimate daughter to His Royal Highness and his servant. She had been delighted to imagine herself as the princess to the king who had ascended into realms of the gods ten years ago.

But as she aged, she had learned the only identity she held was the daughter of Fush-urah no matter who she was before. In the name of the goddess, she was to serve the women of Jub in the temple. Fantasy died off when reality rooted in. Deeper and deeper.

Being the eldest among the younger priestesses, she was given the greatest respect for all authority she held. From the respect shown towards her, deep within she saw the insincere faces of those who wished her gone for she was deemed ancient. There were changes in the temple that she hated to see, for she upheld the authentic Fush-urah worship, not seeing indecent women strayed into the temple to accompany men while their wives offer prayers at the court. Were she ten years younger, the old priestess would disallow this to happen. She swore.

And most definitely she would not approve Kitsra’s appointment to succeed her as the incense bearer for the temple’s inner court. If it was not because of the night she was bitten by a scorpion before the appointment.

The Old Priestess was aware that Huya’s frequent visit to the temple. In the name of seeking blessing from Fush-urah for a child and succumbed to the threatening of Huya’s tithes to the temple, the temple council had but no choice but to allow Kitsra to be his intercessor. The old priestess trusted her gifted instinct in seeing the good and bad in a woman. As she aged the gift from Fush-rah multiplied. And on Kitsra, her instinct was proven to be true when she saw her sitting on Huya’s lap in her room, bonded with inseparable kisses.

In the name Fush-urah she had cursed the sin and that she would be freed from the bondage. Demonisation of lustful spirit was extreme. For kindness she had for Kitsra, the Old Priestess remained silent from exposing her illicit affair with a man despite dedication made few years ago, of keeping her body untainted for the sacred Fush-urah worship.

With his influence in Jub, Huya could get any women he desired but with Kitsra, he had a hidden agenda planned behind their passionate physical intimacy. Huya identified the soft spot Kitsra had and seized the opportunity to win her heart. By utilising her authority in the temple, Huya would manipulate her like a puppet to take part in his perfect act of reviving the dead Kilahya, for his only audience, The Scribe.

“Remember the pact we made, my love. Once we get back the land, we will get rid of the old hag, and the position of the Great Priestess will be yours in no time,” promised Huya. Kitsra stood up from bed and from his embrace.

“Take me with you, Huya. Make me yours.”

“You are already mine. But I cannot take you in. You know how rumour spreads.”

“But I cannot stay here forever. Fush-urah knows my heart. Every time I enter Her court, I felt her wrath. She will had me punished.”

“There is something called forgiveness. Once everything done, you and I would seek forgiveness from your goddess.”

“But I want you to have me. Take me away with you,” she fell into his arms again and kissed his neck over and over again. Huya caressed her without giving her a reply. In his mind, all he wanted was to play the chess game step by step and precisely.

(to be continued...)