Last Breath by Mariah Stewart Page A

melting pot, with religions and superstitions and cultures blending over time. As the years passed, the society became matriarchal, with the import of the goddess Ereshkigal from Mesopotamia, who somehow came to prominence. My great-grandfather’s journals mention several temples dedicated to her, and writings that indicated that the priestesses who served her pretty much ran the city. Travelers passing through had to pay tribute—essentially, a toll—to come into the city.”
    â€œThey couldn’t have gone around it?”
    â€œThe walls of the city offered safety after dark,” she explained. “Beyond the walls, at night, anything could happen. There were tales of wild animals that hunted at night and that were most fond of human flesh and blood. And of course, there were bandits.”
    â€œSo, in other words, it was worth paying the toll to be able to sleep safely.”
    â€œI’m sure that was the idea. In addition to the tolls, the merchants who did business in the marketplace had to bring tribute to the temples twice each year. If you wanted to spend the next life in heaven, you paid up. The more you gave, the better your chances of a happy afterlife.”
    â€œWhat did the priestesses do to keep everyone in line? Surely there were some who didn’t want to cough up their share.”
    â€œThese ladies were pretty shrewd. Here’s the thing about Ereshkigal. She was the goddess of the underworld. The place where you do not want to spend your afterlife.” Daria smiled, pleased by his interest. “When you died, you had to face the goddess at the junction between heaven and hell. If you wanted to get into heaven, you had to bring offerings to the goddess.”
    â€œThey had to bribe their way into heaven?”
    â€œExactly. You were to appear at that gateway with something in each hand. Then you would tell the goddess all your good deeds, so she could judge your worthiness.”
    â€œSo far, so good. You bring the bribe, you brag a little.” Connor nodded. “Everyone can come up with something good that they did over the course of their lifetime. So where’s the incentive to pay the tribute?”
    â€œThose who refused to pay were brought before the priestesses, who would pass sentence on the offender.”
    â€œI have a feeling the punishment may not have fit the crime.”
    â€œOne or both hands were cut off,” she told him. “If you really pissed them off, they’d have your tongue cut out as well.”
    â€œOuch. Why not just kill them?”
    â€œIt made more of a statement. Everyone knew you were marked for the underworld, and no one would assist you because you were the walking dead. It was just a matter of time before you starved to death or died of thirst, since no one was permitted to help you. And once you died, you’d go straight to the underworld, because when you showed up at the gate, you’d have no gifts for the goddess and because you had no tongue, you couldn’t tell her about all the good things you’d done. So off you went, right into the pit.”
    â€œI imagine that made quite the impression.”
    Daria nodded. “Enough that the tongueless head is a recurring theme in Shandihar art. I found several pieces in the collection that depict the goddess or one of her priestesses holding one in her hand. Remind me to show you.”
    â€œGreat. Looking forward to that.”
    Daria laughed.
    â€œWhy haven’t I heard more about this city?” he asked.
    â€œA few years after the discovery—around 1914, I think—an earthquake buried it under tons and tons of sand, so it’s lost once again. I don’t know if the site could even be located, since the landmarks are all gone.”
    â€œHas anyone looked?”
    â€œNot that I know of,” she told him as they approached the museum from the side. “Here we are.”
    â€œThat’s it?” They