My name is Asharru, and today I must be perfect. For today I will be chosen. 

The sun has yet to rise, but I have been awake for hours while priestesses bathed and anointed me with scented oils, plaited my hair tight to my scalp, and dressed me in new white linens.

My heart beats hard in my chest as I am led in silence to the steps of the temple, to stand with the other girls who have come of age. The eastern sky grows pale as we wait, the Great Ziggurat looming above us, huge and dark against the growing dawn. It is more than a little frightening, knowing that soon I will ascend its steps, even though I know them better than most. Although I have never before climbed them—only those in the priesthood may—I have often run my hands along the lower edges, tracing my fingers across every dip and crack in the painted mud-brick and wondering what it would be like, when this day came.

As I have always known it would.

I was born here, in the temple complex in the city of Ur, the capital city of the Sumerian empire. My city is the greatest city in all the world. Our godking makes his home here, and our temples are the highest in the land.  As a girl-child born to the temple, this moment was arranged soon after my birth. I was born to this calling.

Born to the gods.

A crowd gathers behind us, their murmurs growing as more girls join our ranks, and I cannot keep myself from staring at the newcomers. Until now I have never met a child from outside. The temple-born are not allowed to play with other children, or even to leave the complex. But sometimes we climb up the walls and watch them, or more often, tease them; throwing rocks and stones at them and threatening them with the anger of the gods if they dare fight back.

I peer around, craning my neck to see if any of those I teased are here now—but just then, one of the priestesses catches me looking, and glares at me, so I stop, staring straight ahead again and trying very hard to hold still.

I am not used to this. Being still. Waiting. Until now I have been allowed to do as I wished, and have spent the sun-drenched days of the last six years running and playing games with the other temple-born in the narrow streets amidst the tangle of tiled buildings. I wish I could go and play now, but then I remember what is about to happen, and catch myself, concentrating on holding still again.

I am frightened by what is to come, but I am also proud. After today, I will no longer be a child. After today I will begin my education. I will learn my letters and numbers, and how to read and write them. I will learn the history of my people and my city. I will learn to read the paths of the stars and planets, and to see how they move the world of men, and most importantly, I will learn the secrets of the Anunnaki; our divine teachers.

It is a lot, and fear rises again, my heart thundering even harder—then harder still as from above, there sounds a long, low blast of a horn, then the drums begin to pound, and the priestesses in charge of us guide us up the steps of the Ziggurat.

The sun stretches his first golden arms into the pale blue sky as we climb the steps, the mud-brick cool and smooth beneath my feet. I bite my lip as I climb, concentrating on each step, making certain I do not trip on the hem of my new linens or bump into another of the girls. As we near the top, I see my mother, the High Priestess, standing tall and beautiful. She is surrounded by the other priestesses, every one of them staring down at us as we are led up to face them.

The priestesses into whose charge we have been given move among us then, pushing and pulling us into a semi-circle, then pressing on our shoulders with stern whispers and gestures, making us kneel on the painted dais.

I am trembling now, and continue to worry my lips between my teeth, stealing glances at the girls to either side and wondering if they are as frightened as I am. There is another long, low blast of the horn, and the drums stop, leaving a ringing silence to settle around us. My mother steps forward then, and into that silence begins to recite the words that will dedicate us into the service of Inanna, Goddess of love and war; daughter of Nanna, God of the moon.

I gaze out over the city, as the other priestesses join in, chanting prayers and invocations. I try to listen, but their voices blend together, until I cannot tell one from another. The sound makes me sleepy, and so I let my gaze stray from the altar before me to the view beyond. I have never in my life been up so high. From here, at the house of the god, I can see the whole of the world. Far to the south, a line of hazy blue mist cloaks the delta where it meets the sea. Closer in, past the walls and stretching to the river, are acre upon acre of fields, orchards and gardens; the irrigation ditches that feed them shimmering silver in the sunlight. Nearer still, the city gates, the canals, and the city itself: a tangled maze of gardens and houses, markets and people.

Most of the citizens of Ur are gathered at the foot of the Ziggurat to witness the ritual. Many of their daughters have been chosen. It is not only the temple-born who may go into the priesthood, any child may be chosen. Many parents give generously to the temple so that the gods might name their children.

They are good people, the people of Ur.

My people.

I test the words, whispering them to myself in the same way my mother says them, with a certain seriousness. It is the place of the priesthood to give to the people the word of the gods. The people must carry out those commands, but the priests and priestesses are tasked with making every instruction clear. If they do not—if we do not—then the gods will be angered, and the empire will fall.

The heat of the new summer morning beats down upon my shoulders as I squint against the waking sun to look up again at my mother. The ceremony seems to go on forever and I wonder how she has memorised all those words, knowing that soon I will be expected to do the same. At last, after what feels to me like an eternity, she stops, and we are made to stand one by one, and step forward to receive her blessing.

I am third in line, and my mother offers me a proud smile as she lays her hand on my hair and speaks the blessing, aiming her voice so the crowds gathered below can hear every word. I cannot hear her however, for at that instant a sound fills my head, building like music until the very stones seem to ring. At the same moment, the light of the rising sun falls into place in the stone archway above us, its warm rays hitting me full in the face, bringing tears to my eyes. There is a gasp from the masses gathered below, and I am filled with pure joy.

The gods have accepted me. They have blessed me in front of thousands.

I cannot stop smiling as my mother speaks the final words of dedication and I am guided to stand beside another girl in the long row of neophytes. The ceremony moves on, but I keep crying and smiling. The other girls gape at me. Not all of them have been affected the way that I am. But I do not care. With absolute faith, I believe. My heart grows warm inside my chest, and I feel like dancing, I’m so happy. I am chosen. Cherished. 

A true daughter of Inanna.

Forever.