Written in the Ashes

by K. Hollan Van Zandt

  Alizar placed a hand on her shoulder. “Do not worry, Hannah. We will be back even before the moon turns another cycle. You will see.”

  “If you say so.”

  Alizar lowered his voice. “Are you well?”

  Hannah nodded. “How is it you remain so strong after all you have been through, Alizar? You have lost a son and two wives, yet you seem so full of faith.”

  Alizar closed his eyes against the sun and thoughts drifted like clouds through his mind. “Hannah,” he began slowly, “as a shepherd you have within you a sense of the natural world and its forces that the people of civilization cannot even begin to imagine. In this way, you have something even greater than faith because you have an understanding of your place in the family of things, whereas I cling to my cumbersome instruments and my incomplete maps, always unsure. My faith, if you can call it that, stems from knowing that whatever trial I face is my teacher. Resistance takes energy, you see. Better to just surrender to the greater forces that brought us this birth.” Alizar licked his rough lips and looked up at the sky, running a hand through his matted hair. “At my age, Hannah, I have seen that even my mistakes were the right path, so I do not worry so much about making them anymore, but I do make an effort to keep some fuel in the lantern, so to speak. You cannot let your light go out, no matter what you face. You must keep your humor in adversity; it is all you have.” Alizar touched Hannah’s shoulder to reassure her.

  Hannah smiled weakly, looking out over the sea of palm trees dancing in the scorching breeze, and then she turned back to Alizar. There was a question she had been meaning to ask him, and she decided that this was an opportune time. “In the time I have lived in your home, Alizar, I have seen you come and go from many different churches and synagogues. But what God do you pray to?”

  Alizar smiled and stretched his arms overhead as Jemir scored three tips in his game and howled in victory, his elbows thrust out in a quirky chicken dance. “Why, I pray to them all, Hannah,” he said.

  Hannah made a face. “You cannot pray to them all,” she said flatly.

  “Oh, but I do,” said Alizar, a playful look in his eyes. “You see, the one God, the Great I Am of Moses, is a radiant mystery, like a light that is too bright to look upon. And so we interpret that light through colored glass, a bit like the dome in the Great Library. Each color is a name we give it: Yahweh, Ahura Mazda, Krishna, Isis, Poseidon, Demeter, Elohim. It is as though we can only describe that much greatness by naming it in part. By definition, I think God, or Goddess, must be beyond our intellectual comprehension, the way geometry is beyond what a fish can ever know.”

  Hannah folded her arms. “If what you say is true, then for the Egyptians, Seth and Osiris would be the same, but that cannot be, as one is evil and one is good.”

  Alizar smiled. “You are right. Osiris and Seth are as opposite as day and night. But day and night have something subtle in common, do they not?”

  “They have nothing in common.”

  “But they do. Day and night are events of the sky. Now the sun. Now the stars. Now the moonlight. They sky does not say, ‘Oh, the sun is leaving and I cannot abide the night’s return. I think I shall just be day from now on.’ So when I say I pray to all the gods, I do. They are each a necessary aspect of the formless God.”

  “So you are a pagan, then?”

  “You ask me if I am pagan, I say yes. You ask me if I am Christian, I say yes. You ask me to which religion I adhere, I answer that I adhere to any religion that has love as its foundation, truth as its windows, faith as its door. Anything less is drawing lines in the sand. How should we decide where to draw those lines? I draw one here, you draw one there. We erect cities and we defend the lines and many innocent people die. For what? For God? God has no boundaries. God knows no separation. We are the ones who imagine separation. For us, Hannah, there is leaving God in birth and there is returning to God in death, and in between there is only this breath. Whatever the religious interpretation, I believe it is the breath of God.”

  “Are you not afraid of the Parabolani?”

  “I have no fear of the Parabolani or the bishop. If they kill me, they will kill only a man.” Alizar smiled, quite satisfied with himself.

  The angel within Hannah’s womb turned, listening. The door had offered this new delight.

  “Thank you, Alizar. Your words give me courage.” Hannah smiled as a flock of songbirds swept over her head.

  Alizar walked to the ledge, thinking to himself how all his life he had been one of those loquacious little pfiefes, jabbering on and on about things that no one else bothered to consider. For a moment, he felt an ache of longing in his heart for the privacy of his tower, where the muse permitted him endless hours of uninterrupted contemplation and creation. This was something that Alizar had never been able to reconcile: when high in his tower, creating and inventing, he longed for adventure and the world, and when out in the world, he pined for his little tower and the universes it contained. He was nothing to himself if not this endless wheel of contradictions.

  As the sun approached its zenith in the sky, the otiose caravan sought shade around the temple to escape the blaring heat. Without much else to do, they fell asleep. Late in the afternoon they awakened from their naps to devour the remainder of Jemir’s bannocks. As they began to argue about how long to keep waiting, a tall Egyptian priest appeared beneath a slim archway in the outer wall. “The Oracle of Amun-Ra will see you now,” he said with a formal nod.

  Hannah was the first to fly to her feet.

  The stoic Egyptian priest led them through a high-walled courtyard and a narrow tunnel and into the first hall of the temple. It was a spectacle that no one could have imagined. Inside, the large rectangular limestone temple was supported by six massive columns set at even intervals around the room, and at one end, a gurgling spring bubbled cool water into a wide stone basin. “Fons Solis,” whispered Alizar, quoting again from Alexander’s journal. “The Fountain of the Sun. It feeds the entire oasis.”

  Seven steps led up through a tremendous archway carved of pale stone, covered in hieroglyphics. Tarek translated the words set in stone above the steps. “Look down, not towards the step above, lest ye become proud.” Beyond the inscription stood the second hall, where high overhead, the body of the celestial goddess Nut had been painted across the entire ceiling, her arms and feet stretching from one wall to the other, her mouth swallowing the sun. The columns, walls, and even floor had also been painted with colorful Egyptian murals, most of which depicted the god Amun-Ra interacting with his priests, but a few indicated the tasks of every day life. Women held blue lotus flowers before their naked bellies as men fished from small lateens encircled by crocodiles. Vertical lines of hieroglyphics bridged the images. Alizar instructed Tarek to make several quick sketches, hoping their host would afford them the time to linger a moment.

  A sight at the end of the temple caught Hannah’s eye. There, beyond the swirling smoke of the thick incense, sat a long golden barge on a raised dais. Hannah looked up to the wall and noticed an identical barge in miniature captained by Amun-Ra and supported by twenty priests, the weight of it set upon the shoulders of the god’s willing devotees. She pointed it out to Gideon, and as she did, she realized it was the first time she had thought to share something with him without wishing he was Julian. Her hand went to her belly. She would have to tell him of the child. She had wanted to tell him every day, but there was always some interruption. In truth, she might have overcome these, but she feared he would reject her, and she had come to rely on him, and appreciate his support. She had to admit her attachment had grown so strong that she did not want to lose him.

  While they marveled at the visual treasures of the temple, a door on the far side opened and a flood of bodies rushed in and found seats along the wall. Apparently the oracle required an audience. Alizar chuckled to himself at the vanity of the gods. The populace of Siwa
was surprisingly quiet and reverent for such a large group, taking seats on the floor behind the columns to leave the center of the temple open as a playing field. When it seemed that everyone in the entire oasis was present, the temple door closed and out from behind one of the columns stepped Omar-the-Goat clad in full-length white ceremonial robes. On his head he wore a pair of gilded ram horns, richly ornamented with emeralds and other precious stones that curved around his narrow face and shoulders. He carried a long staff in his good hand, not dissimilar to the caduceus of Hermes, and approached them guided by two bare-chested young boys who led him forward by the elbows.

  Alizar gestured for the others to keep silent, and stepped forward to address the ceremonial hierophant, a small wooden chest in his hands that he pulled from his rucksack.

  Silence. Alizar and Omar-the-Goat bowed to each other respectfully. The remoteness of the oracle had made it all the more appealing to consult, but now, looking into the tired face of an old man, Alizar hoped they had not made the trek in vain. He held out a heavy black obsidian jar to Omar-the-Goat.

  Hannah held her breath.

  Omar-the-Goat unscrewed the lid, dipped a finger into the jar and withdrew it covered in a viscous amber liquid.

  Hannah smiled. Honey.

  The priest accepted the gift and bowed.

  When Alizar finally stepped back, there was an uproarious chatter, and then preparations for the ceremony began. The complex rituals alone lasted well into the night, for there were offerings to be made, goats to be slaughtered, joss sticks to be burned, all precise rules to be followed. Hannah rested, knowing her moment to present the tablet was near.

  Everyone was tired of sitting by the time the ceremony began. Their knees and low backs ached. Their bellies growled. Only Alizar and Gideon seemed completely unaffected by the demands of their bodies; the Nuapar were known for their ability to wait, poised like cats that sat in alert stillness beside a burrow for hours until the moment of attack.

  Deep into the night, a long line of two dozen bare-chested men strode out from behind the walls in long white skirts and stood beside the golden barge, which had been hung with votive cups of silver and oasis fruits.

  Then there was a commotion.

  A regal woman of Egyptian descent appeared behind them dressed in long striped robes of white and gold, her bare arms covered in bangles, her striking eyes belonging more to a falcon than a woman. Hannah gasped at her beauty and evident power, completely overcome with awe.

  Alizar bowed, and the others followed.

  “I am Queen Khamissa of Siwa,” said the woman. “Who addresses us?” Her eyes scanned the men before her. Alizar nodded to Hannah, who stepped forward, lifting the satchel from her shoulder.

  Hannah knelt and bowed before the queen, holding the linen that concealed the broken half of the Emerald Tablet in her outstretched arms. “We have been sent by the Pythia at the Oracle of Delfi, and from Kolossofia Master Junkar on the island of Pharos in Alexandria, to collect the other half of the Emerald Tablet. Without it, our city is falling into ruin.”

  The queen reached forward and nodded in assent. “Thank you, slave.” She took the bundle in her arms like a child and slowly unbound it. As she came to the green stone, her eyes were lit from within as though by a flame. “The gift given long ago by the oracle of Amun-Ra to Alexander.”

  And then she held it aloft, the gleaming half of the Emerald Tablet, for all to see. The crowd fell completely silent. Even Gideon and Alizar stood with their mouths agape.

  “But tell me, what has happened to it?” asked the Queen, her long finger tracing the jagged edge. “Who would dare to break the Emerald Tablet of Hermes Trismagistus?”

  Hannah lifted her head. “We do not know, we were only told to seek the other half of the tablet here.”

  The queen grew very still. “I do not have knowledge of it. I invite your master to pose his question for the Oracle of Amun-Ra.”

  Hannah found her feet and looked back to Alizar. There was a silent exchange of information between their eyes, and then Alizar spoke. “Let the girl pose it.”

  The Queen nodded.

  “In humility, I address the Oracle of Amun-Ra to hear my words,” said Hannah. “Our people and traditions are threatened by the growing power of the Christians. We have come in desperate times to beseech the oracle of the ancient god Amun-Ra to present to us the location of the missing half of the Emerald Tablet.”

  In the light of several hundred flickering candles, the queen and the hierophant, Omar-the-Goat, nodded. Then she stepped aside and he lifted his arms. The priests behind him removed his long robes, revealing a white kilt beneath; his arms, chest and ankles were bare except for several large ornamental gold cuffs. Around his neck hung the perennial ankh strung on a dozen strands of rare turquoise beads.

  Omar-the-Goat stared straight ahead, his empty white gaze never faltering as the priests hoisted him up onto their shoulders and passed him into the barge. Then they took their places beside the gleaming golden boat and lifted it onto their shoulders. They spun to face the center of the temple, and then the hierophant began to recite a long list of prayers and invocations as the priests who held the barge remained stiff in their places.

  Then slowly, the hierophant rose to his feet, the golden ram horn headdress casting massive twin spiral shadows on the wall behind the barge. There was a gasp in the crowd as the people hid their eyes.

  Each member of Alizar’s caravan knew the story: Alexander the Great had visited the Oracle of Amun-Ra and the god had told him that he was the son of Zeus. When he returned from Siwa he had coins minted with an image of his profile crowned in laurel leaves. He went on to conquer more territory than any general that came before, all in his early twenties. Some said that the oracle also predicted his death, which came shortly thereafter. There were rumors that he returned to Siwa to die and be buried. The oracle had led Alexander to believe he was a god, and soon after the decree, he left the earth, immortalized as the most powerful youth ever to rule the shores of the Mediterranean. What had he seen in the temple of Amun-Ra? What had possessed him so powerfully after the ceremony that turned him from mortal conquests to immortal light?

  Alizar stood patiently, his hands clasped before him as the golden barge began to sway. Omar-the-Goat, the last ceremonial hierophant of two thousand years, began to shudder and shake until his eyes closed, rolling back in his head. When his eyes opened again he was visibly, if only energetically, transformed. The old man was gone, his body occupied by the presence of the god, Amun-Ra. Whether he was acting, or the transformation was truly complete, the power that now emanated from his eyes was terrifying. The man-turned-god gestured demurely to the priests and slowly, the barge began its journey.

  Hannah watched the unfolding scene in awe.

  Accompanied by twelve singing girls wielding incense trays, Amun-Ra, perched proudly in the golden barge, ordered it onward as though they were crossing a mighty ocean, but then the god would capriciously lift an arm, bark several commands, and the entire entourage would change direction as though caught in the current of some invisible stream.

  Hannah could not discern the meaning of the barge’s meandering. At one end of the temple stood two black pillars, a scene of darkness stretching between them. There was not a single candle flame, not even a window to let in the light, for between the pillars of darkness stretched oblivion, an eternal absence of life, the undeniable pull of death’s inescapable gravity. Hannah watched as the barge of the god wandered toward and then away from these two pillars, while at the other end of the temple stood quite another possibility. There between two golden pillars were fruits piled on fruits, glittering coins and endless staves of light bursting from the tips of dancing flames tied to cylinders of melting candle wax. There sat eight of the most beautiful children in the village, side by side, their faces framed by halos of golden light. But the golden barge of t
he god approached these pillars time and time again, only to recede from them.

  This suspenseful dance of Amun-Ra went on and on, directionless but purposeful, as the god chanted the forward motion of the priests. Amun-Ra, like most oracles, was not quick to grant mortals the jewels of his sight. Alizar knew that gods of oracles were often tricksters, playful divas who both loved and served the humans who called them, teasing them endlessly with obscure advice. He prayed that Hannah’s sincerity would weigh favorably.

  The night wore on for hours with the god coming no closer to a pronouncement. Hannah grew weary with the game, and ever so hungry, her belly pleading for sustenance. But then, the god marched with conviction toward the columns of light. Everyone sat up. Suddenly the entire temple was awake. Alizar did not even bother to wipe the sweat that poured from his brow.

  But just as he neared the pillars of light, coming within inches of this hopeful decree, Amun-Ra turned fully around in his seat, lifted his staff, and ordered the priests to march across the temple.

  The crowd sighed as if watching a sporting event. Some of the children had fallen asleep in the arms of their parents. It seemed an answer would never be reached.

  Responding to this new direction, the priests turned, stooping slightly forward as they walked, perhaps as unsure as everyone else if the god would again change his mind.

  But this time, the barge did not stop.

  Hannah held her breath. Gideon squeezed her hand.

  The god shouted his command, and as the priests knelt down, the bottom of the barge scraped against the stone floor.

  Queen Khamissa of Siwa stepped forward and stood beside the barge. “An answer has been given.” And she drew an imaginary line with her finger from the front of the barge to the wall directly in front of it. There on the wall was an image of a pharaoh surrounded by kneeling priests offering fruits and riches.