Matriarchy

Her mother's words followed her so closely, they may as well have been carved onto her back: "Once you marry, never remind him that he is not a true Ishtar. But until then, he must remember every day that he is earning this name."

Insia hissed as the back of her head hit the stone wall behind her just a little too hard and when she brought a hand up to nurse the ache, she recoiled at the grime that had gotten stuck to her hair. The cleaners were neglectful again, that or they were downright lazy. She stood, soothing her cotton shift and feebly brushing off whatever else stuck to her that she couldn't see in the dim light. She was reluctant to touch her hair again, feeling dirty all over and knowing she'd have to do extra work to get a decent bath.

She left the dimness and squatted down beside a thin shaft of light, trying hard not to look at the swirling dust particles that reminded her of how dirty everything was. The boys were somewhere in the catacombs but that was as far as she knew. She'd given up on chasing them but felt it rude to go home.

She fell on her bottom when her right leg started to cramp and groaned when the pins and needles came. Anger boiled in her stomach as she rubbed the discomfort away. She struggled to her feet, leaning heavily against the wall until the feeling returned. "Zeyad! I'm not waiting anymore. Bye!"

There was no answer from the darkness except the sound of sandals slapping against stone.

"I said I'm going home!"

Silence, then a hoot resounded somewhere not too far away. She bristled and would have stomped off, leaving him to deal with the guilt, if their approaching footsteps didn't make her hesitate. Their troop rounded the corner, out of breath and cheeks rosy with exertion. He was one of the shorter ones but his head stuck out first from the group. One of the few – if not the only – fair-haired citizens of their underground society; he was impossible to miss even if she wanted to.

And right now, she wanted to.

In their exhilaration, none of them seemed to notice her chagrin, which was all the more annoying. He, with that messy hair of his that seemed to change from bone to sand-coloured and back, that rarely looked clean because you could always see every bit of mote and grime that got stuck in it, that layered naturally because it didn't all grow at the same rate, had the audacity to drop a dung beetle in front of her.

He gave a theatrical, sweeping bow and when he turned up, his purple eyes were haughty, "For the lady Ishtar."

The thing was struggling on its back, drowning in a tiny pool of dirt, murky water and its own guts. It was half the size of her palm, slick and black and easy to miss in the darker corners of the underground. Her stomach churned, but she couldn't look away.

"What on Earth is that?"

There was a splotch of something on his left cheek, but he was oblivious, "What do you mean? Do you know how wicked hard it is to catch one of those?"

The boys behind him looked guilty. No, they looked defeated.

Her eyelids fluttered, she was trying so hard not to outright scream at him. She idly waved a hand at it instead, "So this is what you were doing all this time, huh?"

"Well, yes." He paused and stared at her, mouth agape, "Do you know what that is? Because if you did -"

"Of course I know what it is! I'm not an idiot!" She snapped, gloating a little when he flinched.

One of the other boys – she couldn't remember his name, nor did she really care – slapped a dusty hand on his shoulder. "Master Zeyad here fought valiantly for this beast. The three of us couldn't even catch up with him, much less wrestle it out of his hands. He's a fighter, no doubt about that."

She looked at each of their faces in turn. They were serious. "W-why? It's disgusting!"

Zeyad didn't reply. His expression was stone-still, controlled but tinged with the hurt of someone whose confidence had fallen from a great height.

And it was like her insides were being squeezed by a vice. Still, she was too proud to relent completely. She lightly kissed his cheek, "But I've seen worse. Thank you, Master Zeyad." Her gaze flickered to his friends and she clicked her tongue, "Next time, maybe do it in half the time?"

They pretended not to see but the awkwardness hung thickly nonetheless. His countenance brightened, eyes betraying the cogs turning in his head. She offered an elegant grin before scooping up the bug with both hands, slime and all, and handing it back to him. "Now carry my prize home for me, would you?"

Insia pulled her chemise over her head and threw it on her bed, pausing when she sensed someone at the doorway.

"You've gained weight."

By now those words went in one ear and out the other. Still, she couldn't help wanting to slip back into those soiled clothes.

Madam Ishtar moved across the room in silent, measured steps. Insia was used to this but her mother unnerved people with the way she just seemed to appear out of nowhere. Maybe it was being unnerved that Insia was used to.

Madam Ishtar pinched the bump between her daughter's breasts and hips. "I thought you got rid of this."

"I don't know what you mean," she said.

The flickering candlelight cast sharp shadows across her mother's face that moved in strange patterns. "I think you do."

"It's the clothes, they hide everything."

"I realize that. But you've also been indulging." Her mother tisked when she sucked in her belly. "I have something for you, sit down."

"Can I just put on some clothes first?"

"This will be quick, Insia," Madam Ishtar waved a hand at the bed, "Sit."

She complied, hunched over just a little and arms shielding her stomach. The hard bed felt cold against her bare bottom. Her mother produced a small clay jar from a silk pouch around her waist and unscrewed the lid, revealing a garish blue substance inside.

"One of the girls found this in the market this afternoon. Let's see how it looks on you." Her mother swiped some of it on two fingers, held her head still at the brow and carefully smeared it over her right eyelid.

It had a strong smell – like medicine – that was off-putting for make-up. It also went on thick and greasy and made her eyelid feel like it was coated in animal fat. A small mirror was held to her face, "Now that's a lot better," her mother said.

She couldn't agree any less. But she managed to offer a convincing smile after getting over the initial shock. "Yes." She reached for a cloth and made to wipe it off.

"Don't be so impatient! Let's see how it looks on both eyes first."

She held back a long-suffering sigh as Madam Ishtar went back to work. It tickled, making it hard to keep her eyelids from shaking. Her mother suddenly hissed in pain, stopping to flex her knobby fingers as they grew ever clumsier.

"Let me do it for you."

"I'm almost done, just hold still." Her mother's hand jerked and some of it got on her cheek.

"It's fine. Rest your hands."

"Impatience, Insia!"

She hissed again and placed the jar down to massage her fingers. She slipped them beneath her long sleeves as she did so, as if to hide them, as if she was embarrassed by them.

A knuckle cracked and she took a deep breath, brows furrowed in pain. "You are your father's daughter but you never make the effort to display that. You never care for your beauty unless I remind you, you play all day and get your clothes dirty, forgetting about your family and you're always hiding in the dark. Right now, I can barely see what I'm doing because it's so dark in this room!"

"I'm sorry."

"I'm bringing you more candles tomorrow."

Madam Ishtar had always taken extra care of her appearance, even though she kept herself covered most of the time. And she did this even more so when she became a widow, as if to take on the extra weight of their family name when her husband no longer could.

There had been some dissention in the way the other clan members regarded her after the Ishtar head passed on. They whispered, loudly, about her right to his authority and name even though she failed to bear them a son. Thankfully, nothing more serious came from this. It was just their words; simmering beneath her feet and eating away her confidence.

"I'm not telling you that you can't play with the other children. But I'm saying that…"

"I understand."

"Good."

It seemed to satisfy her mother. The massaging stopped and she slowly screwed the lid back on the jar, leaving it on Insia's nightstand. "Put your clothes on and get ready for bed," she said, "And I want to see you using this, it was expensive."

Then she left, the ornaments in her braids jingling against her earrings as she walked.

"ZEYYAAAD!"

He was pulled backwards by a pair of small, sweaty hands clamped over his eyes. A little body pressed itself against his back and a little voice tickled the hair beside his ear, "Guess who I am!"

"Ack, how can I guess when I can't see anything?"

"That's the point!"

"But you know who I am and that makes it unfair!"

"Too bad! You have to guess anywayyy!"

"You're poking my eyes!"

"Really?" The hands came off and he spun around, catching the girl by surprise and lifting her onto his lap, "Ah, good to see you, Ishizu!"

She made a face, miffed and squirming to get off. But he held tightly until she gave up, resigning to glare at him instead. "You cheated."

"You cheated first."

"No I didn't! You study all the time and you don't like games because you're boring."

"I guess I'm boring then."

"Yeah you are."

"So what's with the flowers in your hair?"

She tossed her head, "Guess."

"It's her birthday."

"Thank you."

"You cheated, AGAIN!"

"Nah, it was your sister that cheated this time."

She gave them each an ugly look in turn, "You're both cheaters."

"Yup."

"I'm leaving."

"Aww, but didn't you come to spend time with me?"

"I changed my mind."

"Okay. But before you go, let me give you something. For your birthday."

She hesitated, studying him as seriously as a five-year-old could, "Fine."

Zeyad let her slip off his lap onto the seat beside him and pulled out a clean sheet of paper from beneath his pile of notes. He shoved his textbooks and school supplies aside to make room and began to fold.

Ishizu opened her mouth to ask but his gentle shushing kept her quiet. But she got on her knees, leaning in closer and closer until she was practically breathing on his hands.

And Ishizu wasn't the only out of the loop. Insia found herself slipping into the seat on his other side, quietly observing the complicated folding while giving him his space. She'd never seen him do anything like this before. In fact, she couldn't recalling seeing anyone do this before. The first thought that came to mind was that he was wasting paper but when she saw how deftly his hands moved, how natural it looked for him and how much he seemed to enjoy it, it wasn't hard to change her mind.

"There." Zeyad sat it on his palm, holding it out to Ishizu, who gladly too it. "What do you think?"

"It's amazing! What's it called?"

He 'hmmed.' "A crane, I think. I don't know what that is though; must be some kind of bird. Hold it by the wing so you don't squish it."

She turned it over by the tips of her fingers, studying it. She felt the sharp tip of the tail, poked at the hallowed squared centre and tugged carefully at the wings. The thing had just been a piece of paper before. How did he do it?

"I think your sister wants one too."

Insia blinked, realizing that she'd zoned out. She must have been staring. "No, that's okay. Thanks though."

He grinned in that way that made it hard for her to stand her ground. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah. We should get going anyways; you're busy."

"Let him make you one, Insia!"

"Two against one, sorry."

"Fine."

He repeated the process with another sheet of paper. The first few folds were the same, but then the pattern started to change. Neither girls, however, said anything. They just watched as the paper was transformed over and over again under the touch of expert hands.

Insia didn't realize that she'd pressed up against him; that she was noticing how his bangs swept over his eyes and how the corner of his lip tucked inside his mouth. She didn't realize that she noticed the calluses on his fingers or that his self-consciousness of them was momentarily on hold.

The second one took longer and involved a gentler handling on his part. And it was nearly impossible to tell what it was until it was done.

"Alright. This one's a –"

"It's a turtle!"

"Exactly." He handed it to Insia. "Sorry it took so long. I actually, haha, I actually came up with this one myself."

She could only stare as he sheepishly tugged at his hair. "You came up with this all on your own?"

"Well, you know, I sort of just copied what I did with the crane. Rahim's mother taught us. She said she saw a Japanese woman at the market make it for people." He paused, "So you like it?"

Before she could answer, Ishizu draped herself over the tabletop, practically climbing on Zeyad. "I like the turtle better. Can we trade?"

"You don't like the crane?" He wasn't fazed but pretended was just to tease her.

"I like it but I like the turtle more."

"Aww, but I worked hard on that."

Ishizu seemed to shrink a little. She stared down at the crane in her hands, bottom lip poking out.

"Here, take it. And you can keep the other one too."

"So," Zeyad said with a quirk of his blond head, "You don't like it after all."

Insia punched his arm.

"You're welcome, Lady Ishtar."

"Can you just, for a second, stop being… you?"

"And what's that supposed to mean?" His eyes were bright.

"Ugh," she turned away, face heating up. "So, you know," sigh, dismissive hand gesture, "great."

"I'm going to hold you to that. For next time."

"Sure."

He kissed her ear.

Then came the silence. Insia twiddled her thumbs, distracting herself with everything else in the space and hoping the time lapse would help the awkwardness. Of course, she felt him watching her the entire time and, really, the only thing she could think of was how he had the upper hand and how she should just admit defeat for the day. When she could stand to look at him, embarrassed as she was, she had to admit that this was pretty nice.

"Oh my gosh, get a room already!"

"ISHIZU! WHERE DID YOU LEARN THAT?"

Zeyad burst out laughing, loud and hardy.

"Negah. Why, what does it mean?"

"You're not allowed to say that again. Understand?"

"Relax, she's going to hear it eventually."

"She's five, Zeyad, five!"

"What does it mean?"

"Nothing."

"No, you're getting mad so it's gotta mean something. WHAT DOES IT MEAN?"

"I said nothing."

"Zeyad, what does it mean?"

"I'm going to have to get permission from your sister to answer that."

"INSIA!"

She was beet red and he was enjoying this. Enjoying this. She took a deep breath, "How about this: I'll tell you if you agree to leave Zeyad alone for today so he can study."

"Well that leaves me with the short end of the stick."

She gave him an ugly look.

"But –"

"Take it or leave it, sister."

Ishizu squirmed and made a bunch of faces before nodding her consent.

"Good girl. Take your gifts and thank Zeyad for them."

"Thank you, Zeyad."

"You're welcome." He held out his arms, "Hug? Thank you." Kiss. "Happy birthday, Ishie."

"How is Zeyad doing in school?"

"He's doing well."

Madam Ishtar scooped another spoonful of koushari and carefully folded it in her naan bread. As of late, the swelling in her knuckles had gotten worse and Insia had to do most of the cooking.

"Well relative to whom?" She took a bite, chewed and swallowed. "It's a little dry. Try soaking the vegetables a little longer next time."

"He's doing well relative to the rest of his class, mother." Already it was turning into one of those dinner conversations that made Insia lose her appetite. Still, she took a small nibble of her koushari anyways, straight from the spoon without the bread.

"That still doesn't tell me much."

"I'm not sure what else to tell you. He just says he's doing well."

She took a drink, eyes still trained on her food. "Well, dear, when someone says they're doing 'well' and leave it at that, the general situation is that he or she is not doing as well as we might be led to assume."

"I don't know."

"And if Zeyad is excelling in school, he would say so." She rolled her tongue, "Considering the way he is."

"I can ask him again." Insia quietly insisted.

"That's fine." She put down her wrap to rub her fingers. One of the girls had gotten her a balm to sooth the pain but it was toxic if ingested. "What does he normally do when you spend time with him?"

"Well, he studies…"

"He makes animals out of paper!" Ishizu piped, "Remember when I showed them to you, mama?"

"Yes. They were nice." She gave a wiry sign and took a drink, hand shaking a bit. "Insia?"

Under the table, she made a fist. "I don't think you have anything to worry about. He's very smart and creative."

"You're getting defensive. Are you then telling me that he sits around distracting himself with this art of his and wasting paper?"

"No! He's only made two and they were for Ishizu. For her birthday."

There was no reply. Madam Ishtar finished what she had and made herself another one. Insia watched as her mother did so, frustration building as she waited for some sort of chastising comment or question or even an outright command for her to tell him he should stop doing it. But, save for the clanking of utensils and the odd thump of Ishizu's kicking feet under the table, it was silent.

"Say something, please."

"What do you want me to say?" Was the calm reply.

"I don't know! But you're going to say something. I know you want to!"

She chewed, frowned and swallowed. "Hmm. Paper animals, that is new."

"He's very good at them."

"He's practised, you mean?"

Insia gave up on eating. "What are you really saying? Can you tell me? If you want me to tell him he should study hard, I will! I don't want to play these guessing games with you anymore!"

Her mother chuckled, somewhat bitterly. "Don't get upset over nothing, dear. There's no vice in what he's doing, why would you outright tell him to stop?"

"Because I know that's what you want!"

"Did I say that?"

"You called it a waste of paper!"

Madam Ishtar stopped again to rub her hands, more blatantly this time. Her calm, though, didn't waver. "Have you ever paid attention to what the girls need to do when they go up to the surface? I didn't think so. It's a long and tiresome trip. We don't have the resources to care for beasts of burden down here so everything they carry back they must do so by hand. And there's so much they can bring back with them, of course. In addition to food, clothing, water, medication, they must carry back with them books, paper and writing utensils for the students. These things are heavy and the surface is very hot. They may be our servants but, without them, this hard labour would fall on us."

Insia's anger was intense. It clogged her throat and filled her mouth so that she couldn't speak. And when she did, the words were automatic and she couldn't retract them in time, "You blame me every day for being not being the son you wanted, but whose fault is it really?"

Her mother moved so swiftly, it was as if she'd always been on edge, prepared for this moment. She rose out of her seat, food and pain forgotten and struck Insia across the face with a sharp backhand.

The eldest Ishtar daughter reeled, hand flying to her cheek. The swollen joints made it all the more painful as bone had collided with bone and her face throbbed to the point where it almost felt numb. Somewhere in the commotion, Ishizu screamed and began to cry.

"Please forgive me, mother."

"Take your hand off your face, Insia."

She obeyed.

"Now stand up straight and turn your other cheek. Do not close your eyes."

"Please," she begged.

"Do as I say!"

She got to her feet, slowly, feeling like she was no longer in control of her body. Ishizu was still crying but it sounded more like a muffled, background noise with the rush of blood and emotions to her head. She dared not look her mother in the eyes.

And she saw from her peripheral her mother raising the other deformed hand. She stood straight and still, bracing unflinchingly for the slap to come.

Madam Ishtar let her arm drop to her side.

"That's enough food for you tonight," she said, great effort put in controlling her tone. "You still have that belly to get rid of."

There was an unspoken command for Insia to leave. But she was frozen where she stood, the sound of her little sister's sobs now more salient.

Her mother turned to Ishizu, her face softening. "Mama's sorry she yelled, sweetie." He held out her arms, "Come here, let me wipe your face."

Ishizu didn't move. She kept her face on the table, sniffing quietly. When Madam Ishtar approached her, she stood up, alarmed, and backed away. She regarded their mother with wide, red-rimmed eyes.

"Come here Ishizu. Mama won't hurt you, I promise."

But she kept her distance, thumb slipping into her mouth. It was a gesture she'd given up years ago.

"Come here, darling. Please."

She took two steps backwards before turning and running for her room.

She was three years older than him. More than anything else, this made her feel guilty.

Sometimes they would sneak up to the surface late at night. They'd found a nice spot to hang out early on; at an old well not too far from the underground's entrance. It was safe, quiet and nicely hidden within the shadows.

The world just above their home was no more than ruins, though ruins of what no one knew. It looked too new to be from the time of the Nameless Pharaoh but too old to be anything resembling modern infrastructure. Then again, none of the Tombkeepers were trained in Archaeology. Not in the widely-accepted way anyways.

Zeyad chucked a stone in the well, waiting to hear it hit the bottom. He'd made it a project to gradually keep throwing in stones until they piled to the top. There was no particular reason for this; it was just an arbitrary goal to be reached. "What sorts of things do you read?" he asked.

Usually they were content with not talking, partly because they didn't want anyone (from the surface or Tombkeepers) to know they were there. But it was also having that abundance of fresh air and the entire sky above them. And not being surrounded by walls. They'd rather keep that experience undisturbed.

"Is that a serious question?" Insia twisted her head from where she sat on the other side to look at him. It was dim but she could see that he wasn't joking.

"Of course. Why wouldn't it be?"

"I thought it was obvious. I read what I've always read. I read what you and the other students read."

"So you mean textbooks."

"Should I not be reading textbooks?"

"I didn't say that."

She was tired and didn't want to move from her spot. She leaned her head back against the broken stone and stared up at the sky. It was refreshing, though slightly dizzying. "Are you saying you haven't been reading your textbooks? Because that's a little concerning." Thoughts strayed to her mother and a bitter tang laced her mouth. "It's not the best way to get good grades, you know."

"Don't worry, I keep up."

She waited for the inevitable 'but.'

"But I get a sense that we're missing out a lot by just reading textbooks."

"That just means you need to read more textbooks."

"I'm serious."

"So am I. If you're missing information, you educate yourself by reading more."

"True, but not what I mean." There was some shuffling, followed by the sound of crumpling paper, and shifting pebbles. "Listen to this: To hear your voice is pomegranate wine to me: I draw life from hearing it. Could I see you with every glance, it would be better for me than to eat or drink."

"It's nice."

"It's gratifying in a way that textbooks aren't."

Insia started to feel sick and she knew why. "Have you even had pomegranate wine? Or even an actual pomegranate for that matter? You know that kind of weight isn't worth fetching, even as a luxury."

His voice softened. "That's not the point."

She didn't answer. She wanted to go home and bury her thoughts under some hard labour.

"I've… thought about trying this," he said, "On my free time."

Silence.

"I think it would be interesting. And maybe a little fun."

"Are there people who would read it?" Her voice cut through the quiet like a blade.

"You're the first person I've told."

"Oh."

"If I do try my hand in poetry, would you tell me what you think of it?"

The blade swung again. "I don't know what I would tell you. I've never studied this form of written work nor have I been inclined to."

"I see."

"I prefer facts. I prefer reading and studying facts."

A wisp of a sigh. "As do most Tombkeepers."

Insia pulled her legs up to her chest to dull the nausea. She was glad to be on the other side of the well with her back to him. "I read that one of the Nameless Pharaoh's six priests was closer to him than the rest of them. The common understanding is that all six were equally regarded. That's actually not the case. The one closest to him had saved his life once and he was in a privileged position in which he was allowed to touch Pharaoh. Do you know which of them he/she was?"

His pause was loud and telling, "No."

"Well I do."

He was late. This was probably his revenge, it had to be. And it would have been an oddly comforting thought if he was actually was vengeful. But he wasn't and his tardiness worried her all the more.

Alone, the details of this place she usually ignored were scary and oppressive. It was suddenly a possibility that danger lurked within these jagged shadows and rubble; that she'd be attacked by an animal or otherwise. She noticed the bugs – and there were a lot of them – and all the litter that people left over the years. No one cleaned this place because it didn't belong to anyone.

Someone emerged from the underground, someone whose silhouette she didn't recognize. Stabbed by terror, she shrunk into the shadows, quickly disregarding whatever qualms she had of them. The person headed straight towards her as if fully aware of where she'd be. Maybe Zeyad's revenge came in the form of a prank; not to guilt her but to scare her senseless.

He stopped a few steps away from her. "Please pardon me, Lady Ishtar."

A servant.

"I have a message from Master Zeyad."

She didn't move.

Perhaps sensing her hesitation, he bent down to place the piece of paper on the ground, weighing it with a stone so it wouldn't be caught by the wind. "I will place it here for you. Please be so kind as to let Master Zeyad know when you've received his message." He turned and left.

She didn't pick it up until the coast was clear. The paper had dozens of sharp creases that formed a pattern she wished she didn't recognize. He couldn't have done this on purpose.

His penmanship was usually sloppier than this:

The answer is Priest Mahaad.

In his youth, he took the bite of a poisonous cobra for Pharaoh. Later on, he sacrificed his mortal soul so that he could kill Pharaoh's greatest threat. He failed but he lived on to protect Pharaoh forever. So it wasn't once that he saved Pharaoh's life, but twice, and maybe many times more.

I have two apologies for you, Lady Ishtar. The first is for not knowing this when you'd asked. It was inexcusable, considering who I am to you. The second is for failing to meet you today. I need to study and we both know between our education and frivolous chatter which is more important.

She barely had time to cover her shame before he stomach emptied itself.

Ishizu's passing wasn't entirely unexpected. Night after night, Insia deluded herself into thinking that that incessant coughing wasn't caused by the same thing that took their father; that her baby sister's fevers were the result of a bad cold; that she struggled to breathe because of the dusty air.

Their mother had also been in denial. Her fear clouded her judgement and paralyzed her. Rather than taking action, her mind convinced her of a different reality and when she finally had the clarity to call for the expensive medication that would quell the infection, it was too late.

They lived in what could be called a tomb but there was no room to bury their dead. As a result, the Tombkeepers practiced cremation. While most of the clan remained underground, the head family and its supporting branch families took to the surface. It was the only time so many Tombkeepers were permitted to leave the underground. A temporary mass exodus was always associated with sadness.

It was hard to believe that the little body beneath the thick shroud was her sister. It was hard to believe that her presence would be gone forever; that only the other day she was running around causing trouble. She was too young to die and Insia couldn't accept it.

But she would have to go through the motions. She had no choice.

Before the pyre was lit, men in robes – celibate priests – read from rare fragments of the Coffin Texts. It was a strange merge of traditions, but some retention of ancient customs was better than none at all.

She shook violently when she saw the torch and struggled to stay on her feet when the fire erupted in the wood beneath her sister. But her mother held her firmly in place by that vice that was those swollen knuckles.

Insia's fingers curled around to touch them. She couldn't remember the last time they held hands. Her mother had been self-conscious since the early onset of her disease and always wore long sleeves. It took her daughter's death for her to finally stop caring, it seemed.

Madam Ishtar's face was stoic, her eyes dry. In this light, Insia noticed things that she normally wouldn't have. Like the tiny mole at the corner of her lip and how sharp her chin really was. She must have been beautiful once.

"Insia," She rasped, gaze firmly on the flaming pyre, "How is, how is Zeyad doing in school?"

At that moment, she didn't trust herself to hear things right.

"How is Zeyad doing in school, dear?"

He stood with his father somewhere behind them and she'd yet the courage to look at him. Her vision blurred and a sharp pain lanced her throat. She didn't care who saw the tears and snot. "He's doing well," she said quietly.

"How well?"

"He's nearly at the top of his class."

Her mother gave her hand a squeeze. "Nearly?"

"He'd been," she bit her lip, "He'd been worried about Ishizu."

"He can stand to do better than."

Insia dropped her head. It hurt when she swallowed, "Mother, how could you…?"

They stood so close, she could feel the shadow of the flames on her face. It was getting uncomfortably warm, like they were very slowly getting simmered. The acrid smell had already started and she didn't know how much longer she'd last before she'd throw up.

And there was so much smoke. So much smoke.

The sharp corner of folded paper poked her wrist. Ishizu's paper turtle. The crane was long gone, having accidentally fallen into Ishizu's soup the one time she took her dinner to her bedroom. Insia kept the turtle out of sight so her mother would forget about it. She brought it with her now because she knew Ishizu would want it. She'd cried so much when she lost the crane, after all.

It was crumpled, hopefully beyond recognition. No doubt he would see when she threw it in the fire, she just prayed for the fleeting hope that he wouldn't know what it was. As for her mother, she'd probably be happy to see it gone.

Insia twisted her hand free. She didn't have to go too far to be able to throw it in. It was a small effort and she stepped back in time for her mother not to stop her. The fire quickly ate up the paper turtle, turning it black, then to ashes.

And she was sure he didn't know.

She was sure of it.

A strange muffled sound woke her up from her sleep. For a moment, she lay in bed trying to decipher what it was. Then, with a yawn, she tirelessly went to investigate. She'd had insomnia on and off in the weeks following Ishizu's death and she was always tired. At this point, she could scarcely recall what it was like to have a good night's sleep.

The hallways felt colder at night, perhaps because they were so vacant. She found herself heading towards her mother's room and she dreaded every step of it.

"Mother!" Insia saw, through the doorway, her mother slumped over at her vanity. She wasn't moving but that sound definitely came from her direction.

Rushing to her side, she carefully lifted her mother up by the shoulders. She was crying, deeply, and her make-up was heavily smeared. She grabbed the nearest cloth and gently dabbed the make-up away, only to be pulled into a tight embrace.

"I didn't deserve her, Insia," Madam Ishtar said, through heaving sobs. Her frail body shook with each struggled breath and it was clear that she was utterly exhausted. "They took her from me because I didn't deserve her."

"That's not true," she said softly.

"I've hurt her! She did nothing wrong but I've hurt her!"

"You loved her and she knew it."

It was rare to see her mother without her head covering. Now that it was off, Insia was shocked to see the thick strip of grey where she parted her hair.

Madam Ishtar clung to her only daughter, momentarily incoherent as she indulged in the rare comfort. "From the beginning, I didn't deserve this family," she managed, "They whispered, Insia, when I married your father. W-we didn't listen. And then, and then I lost a boy while he was still in my belly. Then I lost your father. And now Ishizu. I should never have –"

"None of those things were your fault!"

"It's the gods," her voice grew manic, she didn't sound like herself, "It's my punishment for defying them. I'm going to suffer until I die, Insia."

"No you won't." She soothed her mother's dishevelled hair, undoing the ornaments in her braids and laying them out on her vanity. "You're tired. Let me help you to bed. Things will be better in the morning, you'll see."

"It will never get better."

"Of course it will," She pulled her mother up by the arm. She was a lot lighter than she looked, "After a nice long sleep."

"Insia…"

"How about this," They inched their way to the bed, where Insia sat her mother down and took off her jewellery for her. She wiped off the rest of the make-up to the best of her ability as well. "Lie down and I'll rub the balm on your hands for you. It will be nice. Where is it again? That's okay, I'll find it."

She lifted her mother's feet onto the bed, forcing her to lie down. After pulling the covers up and around her comfortably, she searched the cupboards until the found the ointment. She unscrewed the lid. "It looks like we're almost out. I'll tell the girls to get some more tomorrow."

Madam Ishtar sighed and closed her eyes as her daughter started to message the cool cream onto her right hand.

"The girls always have interesting stories when they come back from the surface," she said as she worked, "I'm sure they've told them to you."

"Hn."

"There's all these imported goods. Food, animals, accessories. People even. Like the Japanese woman who – " She cleared her throat, "I-it's too bad they can't bring all those things down here. It would be nice."

"Hn."

"How about I get one of them to bring us back a pomegranate tomorrow? Just one. It would be nice to try it at least once in a lifetime!"

"Mmm don't indulge," her mother slurred.

"One won't be so bad. I'll save it for you and won't let anyone else touch it."

Insia gently let the hand drop onto the bed when she heard her mother's even breathing. Screwing the lid back on, she placed it somewhere safe. She suddenly felt very lonely, but let it go as she cleaned off her hands and headed to bed.

"Last night, I saw Pharaoh. I felt a presence hovering over me and woke up to see his angry red eyes watching me. His hair stuck up in all directions, like a crown of fire and he was more gold than man. He climbed onto my chest and pinned me down. His weight was oppressive and I couldn't move no matter how hard I tried. Then he started to strangle me. His hands closed around my neck and they were cold as ice. I was muted; I moved my lips but couldn't scream for help. He told me I was an unworthy servant and deserved to die."

"I'm so sorry. But it was just a dream and it's over now."

He'd lost a lot of weight and had developed soreness and pain all over his body. His eyes were sunken no matter how much slept and he didn't talk as much as he used to. She didn't get to see him often, as most of his time was spent buried in textbooks. He studied them religiously; obsessively.

"It wasn't a dream. It actually happened."

She touched a tentative hand on his arm and was relieved that he didn't move away. Nowadays, she had to be careful with these things. "Well, you're here now and you're okay. There's nothing on your neck, trust me."

"He said he'd let me live. He wants me to know suffering before I die. He said he'll come back again and again and but he won't tell me when he'd kill me."

"That's terrible," she whispered, unsure of what else to say.

"Maybe we deserve it for killing Ishie."

She shuttered and her eyes stung. "When was the last time you've eaten?"

"I'm not hungry."

"Maybe just a small bite. We can eat together," she paused to think, "The girls just came back. They brought honey and dates."

"I'm not hungry."

"It wouldn't hurt."

He wretched his arm away and elbowed her so hard, she almost fell over, "I said I'm not hungry!"

Already he was breathing hard. His nostrils flared and there was a hint of insanity in his eyes. She stood in shock, watching for that gentle face to return but he only clenched his teeth and turned away. Then her eyes were drawn to the ground: a small bag had fallen out of his pocket.

She reached for it.

"Don't!"

He dove to stop her but she was quick to snatch it up. She squished it between her fingers and sniffed it, eyes widening. "What are you doing with this?"

He didn't answer.

"Zeyad!" she grabbed his arm, forcing him to look at her. She shook the bag in front of his face with a clenched fist, "Why do you have this? Tell me!"

His look was hateful, "None of your business!" he snapped, grabbing for it.

"Yes it is! You are telling me what you're doing with this, Zeyad!"

"I'm not obligated to tell you anything." He was practically spitting.

"I am the heir to the Ishtar head family, you will not keep secrets from me!" She gasped, immediately regretting her words but knew that it was too late to amend them.

"Oh is that your card?" He sized her up, his look predatory, "Well then, Lady Ishtar, instead of spouting a bunch of bullshit about your family name, let's see you earn it for once."

She screamed as he grabbed her wrist and started squeezing. "I dare you to hold onto that bag. Hold onto it for as long as you can. Show me what it means to be an Ishtar."

"Zeyad, please."

"Begging a servant? Already?"

"You're not a servant!" Pressure built up painfully in her arm and she was losing her grip. He could have easily taken it but made no effort to do so. "I love you and I'm sorry for what I said."

"A little underhanded for someone of your position, don't you think?"

"I mean it," She wished she had her mother's mental control, but she didn't. She started to cry. "I'm worried about you. I want you to eat and sleep and be yourself again – so we can move on."

He didn't reply but his face was no less menacing.

"You're not… well, Zeyad. But you can get better."

"So I can be a tool for your family."

"No," she whispered.

Her hand went limp and the bag dropped to the ground.

"When was the last time you felt what it's like to be a servant?" he asked, "Pick it up for me."

Her eyes dropped to the ground, then back to where he still kept a firm grip on her. He wasn't going to let go.

"You say you care about me, but you're obviously reluctant to stoop down to my level."

"You're not a servant."

"PICK UP THE DAMN BAG!"

She complied and did nothing when he rudely grabbed it from her. He pocketed it and released her arm with a violent swing.

"Soon, I'm going to be the head of the Ishtar household," he said, calm as still waters before a crocodile attack, "And when that day comes, I will be leading by example and not by idle words."

He pushed past her and left.

What happened next could be described as a small plague. The infectious lung sickness that took Insia's father and sister swept into the underground like an army, catching their clan completely off guard. The servants, who provided the foundation for their livelihood, were the first to catch it. And it was only when their servants fell ill that the elites realized how invaluable they were. Despite their best efforts to compensate for the loss of help, food, water and supplies rapidly depleted.

In their weakened health, the elites succumbed to the illness as well. When the plague finally passed, only a sparse few remained. In a blink, the resilient Tombkeeper society was reduced to a mere thread.

At the age of nineteen, Zeyad received the Tombkeeper's Initiation Ritual. It had been many, many generations since this rite was performed on someone so old and there were mixed opinions about it.

He went to the knife willingly and didn't once, in the 10-hour process, utter a cry of pain. His eyes were set on the future instead of the present and what he saw only made him smile.

As one childless year passed after another, she thought deeper and deeper into what her mother had said. Maybe the gods hated them after all. Maybe she'd inherited this hatred and maybe it meant an eventual end to their clan.

The Ishtar head was impatient and she shouldered most of the blame. Nothing would please him until he got the son he felt he was entitled to, nothing at all.

"He can become an Ishtar," she said, the first hope she'd seen in decades dozing in her arms. He was still cold, as she'd only found him moments before.

But she'd come to learn that that the greater the anticipation, the more crushing the disappointment.

And she was used to his look of disdain.

-End-

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AN: The lines of poetry from the scene at the well are from "The Flower Song," which was translated from texts from the New Kingdom. I didn't really want to use 'Madam Ishtar' to refer to Insia's mother but I wanted to keep her nameless and this was the best I could come up with.

As you can see, this story is riddled with headcanon. But I think it was inevitable considering what little information we got from the series to really make sense of the Ishtars' existence.