“That’s a logical fallacy. Definition does not precede existence. Something must first be known for it to be named.”
Cassius’s face turns red, with either frustration or embarrassment or both. Meanwhile, Olivier turns on her heels to face the blackboard. She writes a name and speaks it aloud.
“Enheduanna. Daughter of Sargon of Akkad, the first king of the Akkadian Empire. Enheduanna was the High Priestess of the goddess Inanna. An artist, orator, and author of powerful hymns and persuasive narratives, she is the progenitor of rhetoric.”
“I’ve never heard of her. Her work isn’t in the Lexora or the Caedleian,” Cassius says.
“I know,” Olivier says calmly, flicking lint off her red robes.
“Then how did you expect us to answer the question?” he says through gritted teeth. Claudia can feel him vibrating with rage beside her. He’s emotionally imploding.
This isdelicious.
“I didn’t,” Olivier quips. “I expected you to recognize that the answer is something you do not yet know. There is never shame in accepting there is more to learn.”
Cassius relaxes in his seat, and Claudia’s smile sinks; of course the one time her rival didn’t know the answer was because the question was a trick.
“Remember that truth isn’t limited to what we already know; there’s still so much to uncover. That’s what makes Cygnus so magical—we can divine the truth before the masses even know where to look for it. Enheduanna’s works have been buried for centuries, and they will be buried for centuries more.”
“How did you discover her?” Claudia asks.
“Malevimus grants the gift of truth. I have worked with him for decades, and I know how to pray for what I want to know. And with the aid of his magic, I have crafted a rhetorical appeal of my own. Controversial as this may be, I don’t agree with the rhetorical triangle. It’s incomplete.” She crosses out the triangle on the board. “What all thosefathersof rhetoric so egregiously missed is evident in their own title. Where are themothersof rhetoric? I will tell you—we are here, now, in this room,arguing within the confines of a system designed by and for men alone.”
Every woman in the room smiles.
“So, let’s talk about the rhetorical triangle. What’s missing? What underscores all our desires? What drives humanity to keep existing? The answer is sex.” She turns to the board and writes,LUXOS.
“An appeal to the audience’s lust. Persuasion by way of enticing, seducing, and inspiring want.”
She continues writing:
“This is from ‘The Hymn to Inanna’ by High Priestess Enheduanna. Do you see how she places power on the breast of her goddess? That’s intentional. That’s luxos. It persuades the audience to recognize Inanna’s omnipotence by adorning her form with seductive power. Aristotle himself says that we can indeed know divinity, but only by which we already understand. Enheduanna is using the known—in this case, the enticing female form—as a mirror to the unknown, the goddess Inanna, so that divinity might become clear and familiar.”
Claudia’s heart pounds imagining Inanna. She envisions a moon-touched woman with heaving breasts spilling over a bodice; her hip bones jutting through the slits of a white skirt; silvery power pouring out from between her legs, dripping onto Claudia’s tongue. It makes her shiver.
“And in the same hymn,” Professor Olivier continues, “Enheduanna later writes, ‘My beautiful mouth knows only confusion. Even my sex is dust.’ That is luxos, too—expressing the magnitude of mortal horrors as they inhibit the want of her mouth and the sex between her legs.” After a pause, she takes a deep breath, surveying everyone’s faces. She takes off her spectacles and wipes her forehead with the back of her hand. “I apologize for the tangent. I hadn’t planned on teaching this until next year, but passion got the better of me. Where were we?” Clearing her throat, she flips through the notebook on her desk. “Ah, yes. It’s time for the first debate of the semester. Give me a moment to divine the topic.”
She lights a tapered red candle from her desk and holds it up high. As the wax drips down onto her hand, she chants something in Latin and the lit sconces on the walls flicker in a strange rhythm. Professor Olivier then suddenly gasps hard. Her eyes roll back in her head, turning milky white. It looks like she’s choking on her own tongue, like something is going horrifically, fatally wrong, but all the other students remain fixed on their books. Why does everyone seem so calm? Claudia stands, ready to run to Olivier’s aid, but Cassius turns sharply at the sound of Claudia’schair scraping the floor. He points at her and says, “Don’t interrupt her divination.”
“But she’s hurt and—”
“Sit. Down,” he growls through gritted teeth.
Now she wants to help Professor Olivier solely because Cassius told her not to, but when she takes a step beyond the desk, he catches her wrist and holds her tightly. Forcefully, he pulls her back into her chair.
“Why don’t you everlistento me?” he whispers, seething, lips nearly pressed to her ear.
She pulls her arm back, but he doesn’t let go. He only pulls her closer, tighter.
“You’re not worth listening to,” she snaps.
Frozen, they glare at each other, panting in sync.
“You’re not worth my time,” he says, tossing her wrist out of his grip. “Go, then. Make a fool of yourself in front of the class. Remind them how you don’t belong.”
A snarl stretches across her face. If she could, she’d will her teeth to grow into fangs. She’d tear a chunk of sinewy flesh from his throat, feeling his shredded tendons slide between her teeth.
“Do you two ever stop arguing?” Florence asks, seated at the desk behind them. Claudia’s cheeks burn red. Fuming, she remains in her seat.
