Even after Dingira left, sleep eluded me. With Nanna's moon as my only light, I picked up the broken tablet and put it in a basket. Tomorrow I could ask someone to mould it back together. Tomorrow was also the moment I had to welcome the new moon with a hymn, one that would please Nanna enough to return to the night sky. Involuntarily, my mind went back to the vision I was shone a fortnight ago. The drought, the fire, it all seemed so real. Something told me it was a warning, a sign from Inanna.

With a heavy sigh, I landed upon the other issue that preoccupied my mind. Why had I only seen Ningal and Inanna, but not the god who I was supposed to serve? All the priestesses assumed Nanna showed my visions, but what if they found out that was a lie? What would become of me then?

I couldn't tell anyone the truth either. Kituzda needed little excuse to replace me as high priestess. The lords of Ur hated me because of my blood and even Idal seemed to disapprove of me the way he ran so quickly to Kituzda's defence.

Rolling the reeds through my fingers, I recited Inanna's words, "With this, you have the power to speak inside the heads of millions. Time shall be your servant." With the waning moon, bringing the promise of a dawn soon to come, it felt like time was now my enemy.

"Death will no longer silence you, as long as you write." I said to myself, pressing the reed into the wet clay. My thoughts evaporated as I carved into the clay. It felt like I was crying, but not a single tear fell from my eyes. It was my soul that cried. Connecting the deepest part of my heart to the clay beneath my fingers, reaching for divinity, truth and something else. Something of which I had yet to discover a word to describe it.

After what felt like an eternity, I lay down my reed and placed the tablet in the morning sun to dry. Walking to the window, I looked out wistfully to the waters of the river. Beyond the sandstone walls of Ur I could hear the singing of women, bringing their washings to the river as their children danced around their feet. For a moment I wished I could be out there with them, barefoot and dressed in tatters, with no worry about no god to appease or legacy to uphold.

"Greeting, My Great Lady. I bring you bread and milk." Dingira's sweet voice announced as she placed the tray beside my tablets. "Have you written these?" she wondered, staring wide-eyed at the tablets.

"I have. Please tell me, are they any good?"

Her amber eyes found mine, and with a flick of her slender wrist, she shyly tucked a lock of raven hair behind her ear. "Forgive me, oh Great Lady. I know not how to read. No one has ever thought of me."

"I am sorry to hear that."

Her eyes found mine with the most curious expression. She didn't seem to understand my compassion, her slender brow furrowing at the foreign concept.

"Why would you be 'sorry' about me not knowing something?" Dingira asked.

"Well, writing very liberating. It's like you can memorize moments or even thoughts in clay. Reading those things is like seeing another person's soul. And it saddens me that you have never had that experience before." I said, trying my best not to sound condescending to the poor girl. She must have had a rough life.

To my surprise, she snorted, "I don't need a piece of clay to see another person's soul. My eyes can do that all on their own. And if I wanted other people to hear my thoughts, I speak." Dingira held out the clay tablet to me, "so you can simply tell me what it says."

Her answer both intrigued and surprised me. It was so different from the usual discussions in the most peculiar way. Dingira had her own view of the world and I had mine, yet she didn't make me feel wrong or lesser for having that view. She just explained hers, and somehow I found myself triggered with fascination. "I would like to learn how to read another person's soul. Can you teach me? In exchange, I'll teach you how to read."

"I am not interested in reading."

"But you do want to know what I wrote on the tablet," I pointed out.

Dingira's eyes grew wide before laughter overcame her. "You are more clever than you seem, Enheduanna. Very well, follow me."

"Where are we going?" I asked as I followed Dingira, who ripped the plainest looking shawl from the basket and covered my head and shoulders with it. "The place where all the people come together."

"Are we going into the city?" I asked, even though I knew the answer. "But the new moon ceremony will be this afternoon. I can't just leave the Giparu."

Hopping onto the ledge of the window, Dingira scanned the surroundings before turning around, smug faced. "We'll be in and out before anyone knows you are missing. Come on, don't you trust me?"

Her hand reached out to mine. Those twinkling amber eyes stole made my heart race, drawing me in until my hand intertwined with hers and we were sneaking around the Ziggurat. Walking behind her, I could smell jasmine in her hair. I let the tantalizing aroma guide me out of the Pillared Hall and down a long passageway whose wall paintings depicted a processional filled with acrobats, dancers, and musicians. The passage led away from the Great Court and snaked around various courtyards and chambers, eventually ending at a large pillared arcade open to the sky above.

"We'll just have to hop over this wall and then we'll nearly be at the central market." Dingira said as she hoisted herself up the sandstones with agile ease. I, on the other hand, couldn't even pull myself up, needing the aid of a woman far thinner than me to drag me over.

After I landed ungracefully on my butt, Dingira looked around to find if the other people had noticed us. Turning amid the rustling of robes she tried to find someone who might be looking at us, but the scribe was busy with his tablets, stacking them on a low wagon, and the acolytes were carrying away the sacred sword and sceptre as an Ensi and the judges swept before them.

"Come, we'll attract attention if we stand still." Dingira whispered as she pulled me to my feet and took hold of my hand once again.

Our footsteps picked up a steady pace as we walked through colonnaded wooden walkways, buffed to luster with the tread of successive generations. Unlike the last time I walked through Ur, we were now making our way through the alleys instead of the main road. Here vendors were pushing their handcarts through the narrow streets and calling out their wares, their utilitarian insistence decorated still with the subtle ornamentation of almost-song as the chatter of people surrounded it all.

A breeze blew through, curling softly around us. It carried the smell of roasted sheep and the soft vibration of distant drumming. My stomach rumbled loud enough for Dingira to stop. I'd eaten nothing since last night, my breakfast still laying undisturbed in the Giparu.

"You must be hungry," she said. "Wait here, I will buy us some."

I leaned against one of the wooden pillars, holding up drapes of linen to shield the people from the sun. Watching Dingira as found the roast-seller, and purchased two thick slabs of roast sheep wrapped in a lettuce leaf and dressed with honey, I leaned over to see what it was that she was giving the vendor. Stepping around the pillar, I tripped over a basket, spilling dates onto the dusted floor. "Are your eyes in your ass?" a man shouted as I backed away from him, walking into a transvestite in an enormous reed headdress.

"I'm so sorry," Dingira cut in, pulling me behind her. "She is tired from the work, with little drink given by our master. Please excuse us."

Pulling me harshly away, with a strength I wouldn't expect from her, I was placed upon a stone bench. "Can you not go a moment without drawing attention to yourself?"

"I'm sorry."

Dingira handed me one of the lettuce leaves that smelled so sweet of honey and cinnamon that it made my mouth water. Licking my fingers, I devoured the luscious treat in four bites before I remembered what I had wondered before. "How did you pay for these?"

Dingira swallowed her bite before answering, "coin the stout priestess gave me. What was her name again?"

"Shula," I responded, followed by a sigh of relief.

"Did you think I stole from you again?" Dingira asked.

"No! I mean, I hoped you didn't."

For whatever reason, she laughed after consuming the last of her treat. "I won't ever have to steal again, thanks to you."

"But what about your siblings?" I saw the shock register on Dingira's face before she could hide it. A small smile played on her lips, as if to hide the sadness in her eyes. "I was planning on bringing them food regularly. The temple has so much no one would notice."

"But that is still stealing, isn't it?"

"I guess we all steal at one point in our lives. People whisper that you have stolen the title of high priestess from Kituzda."

"That is not true," I shouted before remembering where we were. "I was chosen by Nanna, and I completed the sacred marriage. I am the high priestess Enheduanna, that is my title."

Dingira leaned in close to whisper in my ear, "see, I would almost believe you if it wasn't for the fact that you don't believe it yourself."

My mouth dropped open. How could she tell? Was this woman reading my thoughts as I sat here beside her? Her full lips were curling up, clearly enjoying the confusion that was written on my face. "Don't worry, no one but I know," she assured, but I wasn't satisfied with that answer.

"How did you know? Did you read my soul?"

"It's really not that hard. You just have to pay attention to the way people say things. For example, you asked me this morning if your hymns were any good. If you were certain about your role as high priestess, you wouldn't have asked a thief like me for conformation." Dingira explained, wrapping her hands around mine. "But I know you can read someone just as well. You also listened to my plea yesterday and remembered it."

I leaned in close, letting my forehead rest against hers. "That's because they were planning on canning you. I couldn't stand for that."

"It's called compassion, Anna," Dingira whispered, her warm breath tickling my skin. "It's your strength. Harness it."

A cart filled to the brim with loaves of bread rode past, children running behind it on their bare feet, their tiny hands outstretched towards the food that was just out of reach. Still they tried, until the cart rolled out of the city gate, towards the open desert beyond. Who could possibly need that much bread beyond the city gates, I wondered before realization turned the taste of cinnamon sour in my mouth. Those were the provisions for father's army, stolen from the mouths of the people of Ur, just like Lugal-ane said.

"They already have so little," Dingira said bitterly. "Your compassion will be a blessing to us all."

A blessing. Somehow, the word made me anxious. "And what of my weaknesses?"

Dingira backed away and searched my eyes for a moment, rubbing circles on my palms. "I guess your uncertainty is your weakness. You are afraid of making mistakes."

"If that was the case, I would have died of fright days ago. No mistakes are not what scares me. Some people are scared of soldiers, wolves or the sea. I don't fear any of that - not spiders, nor snakes or the dark. What scares me is being forgotten." I confessed, feeling like the weight of the entire Ziggurat was lifted off my shoulders.

"Why? You always have someone there. Your family, Idal or the other priestesses."

"That is not what I mean. I am afraid that when I die time itself will forget me; that I'll live an unimportant life surrounded by people like my father and brothers, who will all go down in history. I am afraid that no matter what I do, I'll still be no-one."

Dingira's eyes found mine, and it felt like she could see into the deepest part of my soul as she said, "you are not no-one. Not to me."