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Secrets of the Wildflowers

By Sarah Talbert

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Chapter 1
“Heaven and earth!” sixteen-year-old Miu shouted, throwing her stylus and clay tablet down, shattering it on the jewelry room floor. Her father, Badak, stormed in with a look Miu knew all too well. She knew he would scold her, but that was nothing new. Heat rising in her cheeks, she stared him straight in the eyes, ready to take what he said head-on. His nostrils flared, his hair wild beneath the leather band on his forehead.
“If you don’t finish our inventory, you will not attend the festival tomorrow, Miu.” His large, angry hands opened to her, the calluses proving years of hammering bronze and gold. How could those same large hands be nimble enough to create the finest necklaces and bracelets worn by the city’s elite priests and priestesses? “Now, get to work!” He turned on his heels and stomped out.
If it weren’t for the possibility of missing out on her favorite festival, she would have stormed off in a fit of rage. The love she had for the festivals far outweighed the hatred she carried for her father. Though sitting in the back room surrounded by precious stones and metals, Miu could almost smell the freshly-baked festival bread dripping with honey. She pictured the well-adorned priestesses strumming on their lyres to the gods and goddesses while children frolicked through the streets. To Miu, the festivals were more than a celebration. They brought order to her unpredictable world. They marked the constant of seasons, the movement of time, and the planting and harvesting of crops over her sixteen years. She embraced everything the festivals offered, except the worship of the gods.
Today her mind was distracted by thinking of the excitement outside her father’s workshop, and she hadn’t focused on the numbers. Her wandering mind cost her free time. She took a deep breath, willing her eyes to focus on the tablets arrayed on the table before her. Flinging her unruly hair in a knot on top of her head, the way her mother despised, she set to work.
While most of her girlfriends learned to weave and make pottery, Miu spent those years with a clay tablet and stylus rubbing calluses on her own fingers. As she grew, her father took advantage of her other abilities, a mind to understand numbers.
“Father, it’s time to order more hammers from the blacksmith,” she’d yell. Or, “Father, have we set aside the funds for the new shipment of lapis lazuli?”
And he’d watched her skills closely. She also kept watch over the employees to ensure no one was stealing from Badak, and she knew when to smile at an unhappy customer.
Though most girls Miu’s age were married by now and taking orders from their husbands, Miu lived at home with her father, mother, brother, and sister. She was a master accountant in her father’s jewelry business, a skill her father bragged to all his friends about. And because she didn’t find numbers difficult, it infuriated her that accounting was the reason her stingy father sent her to school in the first place.
Exhaustion and frustration crept in whenever he asked her to do anything. She dreamed of having her own business where she could keep track of the accounting for herself. Could she own a business where the numbers and accounting gave her the control to say who was hired when and what shipments would be sent off where? She had ideas and lots of them. If she controlled the numbers in her own business, then she’d make sure everyone could rely on each other.
Last night she had lain in bed whispering to her little brother, “What if the farmers harvested wheat using bigger tools?”
Zigan rolled over facing the wall.
“Zigan, what if we had a way to bake bread in larger quantities? What would that do for Ur?” she wondered as she heard him snoring.
She loved numbers, but she also loved giving people like her brother and sister new ways to see the world. And she felt suffocated in this back office. She wanted to escape and run through the wildflowers outside of Ur’s city walls. That’s where she felt alive while her mind raced with new ideas–in the wildflowers where she could run free. If Miu had her way, she’d take her brother and sister on a journey to the edges of the world. They would see the places her father traveled and beyond. If she had her way, she’d trick the gods into letting her control her own life. She wasn’t sure how, but she’d break their rules and prove to everyone she could run the accounting and see the world.
She needed fresh air. She reached for the curtain separating the office from the back alley and pulled it open. Dull. Lifeless. A little bit of stale air floated inside. Tucking her tunic under her legs, she sat down again. Setting her jaw, Miu picked up her stylus again and tried to get back to work.
“Enough daydreaming,” willing herself to focus. She had to finish these numbers, because she had to see Jara. She had seen her last week and wondered when they’d see each other again. Shifting in her seat, she began gnawing on her stylus. She needed to speak to her by the end of the week.
Jara had been allowing Miu to sit with her and observe a woman running a business. It was rare, but Ur’s government allowed god-honoring women to own certain businesses like taverns and wool-making shops. Jara allowed Miu to sit in on conversations with patrons.
“Always smile, Miu,” she’d say. “It doesn’t matter if they’re man or woman or child. You make eye contact. If it’s a man, you face them. You may bow to them with respect, but you are not to show weakness. Do you understand me?”
“Yes,” she’d said. But it wasn’t in Jara’s words that Miu learned. It was in her actions. She’d watched her speak to high ranking military leaders the same as she would a small child. Eye contact. Smiling. Relaxed. Miu wondered how she ran this business with such order. And her curiosity couldn’t stay quiet long.
“How do you do this without a husband? You run this all alone!” Miu stated.
Turning to face her with a jar of olive oil, “Miu, you must understand, no one does things alone in Ur. I have dear friends, connections, and even some family I rely on. You cannot do business, or life, without a community. Do you understand this?” Her kind, dark eyes smiled at her, piquing Miu’s curiosity as if she knew something Miu did not. Her worn and bronzed hand reached out to take Miu’s in her own.
“Then why…?” She begged her for answers, but was interrupted.
Miu had watched her for years. Finally, on their last encounter, she had gotten up the courage to ask her this question, that is, until the shepherd walked in.
“Flies are bad this year. Got any of that linseed oil?” he said, shrugging. Miu would have stormed out if it hadn’t been Abram. Gripping her hands into fists, she waited, but she watched. She watched how Jara interacted with a man of such wealth.
“That they are, Abram,” Jara responded with a smile that peaked a little higher on one side, handing him the jars he requested, her iron-bronzed hands, strong and firm. Jara even treated Abram the same.
Miu had to leave before Abram did that day, but she knew on her next visit she’d ask how Jara had tricked the gods into letting her run her own business without the control of the priests or of men. That would be her way out of her father’s control. The pressure was high, and if she didn’t get this work done, she’d miss more than the festivals tomorrow. She’d miss her chance to talk to Jara.
“Hurry up!” Miu’s younger sister, Hulla shouted, bursting through the back curtains. She jumped up and down in her new wool tunic, careful not to get it dirty.
“I can’t yet. I have to finish these numbers or I won’t be able to go at all,” Miu grumbled. Instead of leaving, Hulla grabbed Miu’s hand, attempting to pull her out of her seat.
“Not now, Hulla!” she huffed. When Miu didn’t budge, Hulla sulked away.
“When wasn’t she sulking?” Miu thought to herself. Tomorrow would be better. Tomorrow she’d find out if there was a way to trick the gods and escape her father’s control.
Today though, Miu put her head down. She was going to finish no matter what.
~~~~
Evening was settling into Ur, and Miu’s family was gathering around the table for the family meal. Hulla placed cups of goat’s milk around the table, while Zigan placed the dishes of barley cakes with mustard and dill. Their mother was finishing the fish over the fire.
Crash! The sound of metals breaking against pottery in the back room startled their preparations.
“I’ve made what you asked, now pay what you owe,” Badak’s voice was like thunder and louder than the destruction from his hands. Something hadn’t gone his way, and Miu watched her mother’s shoulders drop lower and lower until the smell of burning fish hit their nostrils.
“Mother!” Miu shouted. “The fish!” She ran to her mother and took it off the fire while her younger brother Zigan darted out of the living area in fear, hiding every time their father yelled. Even though he never hit them, his voice rattled their insides.
Miu didn’t search far before finding him tucked in his favorite corner of the house with a blanket covering his head. Sighing deeply, Miu knew motherly affection didn’t come easy to her, but she also knew their mother would never step in to help. She’d sit in silence, weak and crying. Kneeling down to check on Zigan, she put her hand on his blanket, careful not to startle him. Lately, Zigan cowered more often than normal, and Miu wondered if it was the stupid boys at school again or the overly-zealous teachers. “I could strangle them,” she mumbled under her breath.
Feeling her blood begin to boil, she pulled the covers back, feeling him flinch. “It’s just me, Zigan. Come help me with dinner,” she pleaded, hoping that by giving him a task he could take his mind off his fear.
Zigan was a strong boy, brimming with quiet confidence. His dark eyes sunk into his face like their father’s, only Zigan’s eyes glowed like a full moon. His hands stayed dirty from playing in the streets with his friends, and his voice hadn’t gotten deeper yet like older men’s voices. To Miu, Zigan was a perfect mixture of strength and peace. He was the one who would sit with Miu in the wildflowers for hours. Together they’d walk through any field, and he’d tell Miu what plants were growing and if they needed water or nutrients. He had a keen sense for determining when a farmer needed to let the soil sit fallow, often before the farmer was even aware. But Zigan preferred to keep his thoughts to himself unless someone prodded him. He might not need her for some things, but he did need her to defend himself against bullies, at school and at home.
“You’ve got to stand up for yourself, Zigan,” Miu demanded. “Teachers and other kids won’t stop until you make them. Father’s loud voice shouldn’t make you hide like this.”
If it weren’t for Miu, Zigan wouldn’t stand a chance in the real world, she was certain. But as much as Zigan tried the last few moons, he failed to speak up to their father. “I don’t like making jewelry, father, what I like is working with the olive trees,” he tried to tell their father a few nights ago.
“You can like whatever you please, but your hands will do a jeweler’s work,” he demanded.
Miu knew Zigan tried to make her proud, but fear kept his mouth silent.
Tonight, he pulled the blanket off himself and gave Miu a hopeful look, silently requesting her assistance in setting the table for the meal. “His mood will improve if we can feed him,” Zigan said wryly.
“It’s time to eat. Daddy! It’s time to eat!” Hulla shouted as if nothing had happened tonight. Zigan and Miu made eye contact with each other, grinning at Hulla’s innocence and boldness.
Gathering around the table, Miu’s father shuffled his feet to join them, looking unaware of how his shouting disrupted the order in the room. Miu caught a glint in his eye. Tonight something was different, something was wrong. But she noticed Zigan saw it too and chose to keep her questions to herself. When her father reached the table, everyone sat down.
The silence fell heavy in the room, and their mother shifted in her seat. “How was work dear?” she questioned. Miu knew she was trying to brighten the room to make him feel better, but why must she ask him questions to infuriate him? Didn’t she hear him yelling only moments before?
“A shipment was stolen,” he blurted, his eyes dark. He rubbed the back of his neck and then passed the barley cakes without taking any.
“What?” shouts Miu, infuriated that someone would steal from their family.
“Be quiet, girl,” he demanded. “This has nothing to do with you.”
“It has everything to do with me,” slamming her fists on the table. “It puts food on our table, and I spend most of my waking moments ensuring everything you have is accounted for. And now something gets stolen? How does that affect the …”
“I said quiet!” he thundered. “We now have more dues to pay, and I will not be told what to do by my daughter. You will do as I say!”
Miu’s mother reached a shaking hand and laid it on Badak’s arm. “What about another sacrifice, Badak?” she whispered. Miu rolled her eyes.
“That’s never worked before, and this entire family knows it!” she shouted. Aware of Zigan’s fear mounting, she checked on him, then on Hulla, unsure of how much they understood. Hulla was dipping her barley cakes in honey and seemed unfazed by any of the conversation. Then she smiled at Zigan, but concern was etched on his brow. He shook his head. It was up to Miu to fix it, again.
“Another sacrifice?” She lowered her tone for the sake of Zigan. “Father, we’ve sacrificed everything we know to do. And the gods are stealing from us. Why do they need more?” Now it was her trying to hide the desperation in her voice. Turning to her mother, “How can you allow us to sacrifice more? If this keeps going, you know we have nothing left to give.”
Her mother shuffled the food around on her plate, never looking up. Was she avoiding Miu, or did she know something Miu didn’t know? The shock of anger ran down her chest and arms and into her fingers. She gripped the seat beside her, willing herself to sit still for Zigan and Hulla.
“Lapis lazuli is harder to come by,” her father raged, desperation weighing in his voice like a thick fog. “New sacrifices, creative sacrifices. Maybe the gods are bored,” he said, throwing his hands in the air. His voice held more guessing than knowing. Then came the verses he often quoted from a scribe in Ur:

“What in one’s own heart seems despicable is proper to one’s god!
Who knows the will of the gods in heaven?
Who understands the plans of the underworld gods?
Where have mortals learned the way of a god?”

A tear slipped down his cheek, as he picked up his fork to eat. “No one knows,” Miu wanted to shout. What was the point of trying to please the gods if no one knew what they wanted? Now more than ever she needed to find a way to take care of herself and her siblings. She’d never seen her father so restless, so desperate. And then she saw something in his eyes, something that flickered and changed deep inside him, something dark. Then the silence in the room shifted to weigh heavier than his earlier shouting. She couldn’t tell exactly what it was, but Miu wasn’t sure she wanted to find out.
Tomorrow she would find Jara at the festival. Maybe she would help her make a plan.

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