Sofia closed her eyes and whispered a prayer of strength to the Goddess. “Be with me now, Mother. Be with me now, Isis and Artemis.”
“The child wants to be born, dear one. Push now,” said the midwife.
Sofia drew energy up from the earth and dug her fingernails into her kneecaps, and the baby’s head appeared between her legs, a mess of black hair on its head.
Two more pushes and the shoulders came one at a time, and then the babe was free. The midwife caught the child, covered in blood and fluid, and let out a cry of delight. “A boy. Good fortune for your family. Very good fortune indeed.” She cleaned the baby swiftly and presented the tiny child to his mother in a fleece blanket as his gentle cries filled the room.
Where fear and intensity had dwelt only moments before blossomed peace. Sofia smiled at Hannah weakly, the joy in her eyes turning to tears of relief and love as she kissed her baby and stroked his soft skin.
Hannah bent down and touched his tiny fingernails, remembering the deep love she had felt when she had seen Alaya for the first time. Thinking of her daughter, she looked out the window. Now that the baby was here, healthy and hungry, Hannah realized how tired she felt. Her stomach grumbled noisily. How long had it been since she had eaten anything? They could send for Synesius now, and he could bring Alaya. The thought was comforting. Then Hannah looked down between Sofia’s legs and saw the pool of blood on the sheet. She pulled the midwife aside and whispered.
The midwife shook her head, and pulled several herbs from her bag. Then she began to press on Sofia’s womb.
The blood kept coming.
Outside, darkness swept over the city as street lamps were snuffed out.
At that moment Gideon burst into the room with news of the meeting of the council on Antirrhodus, though it was still underway. Alizar had not been pardoned, Orestes had lost his debate with Cyril, and more Christians had been appointed seats in the council.
“It is a boy, Gideon,” whispered Sofia proudly. “Will you send for Sy?”
“My congratulations, Sofia,” he said, though his mind was still clearly elsewhere.
“I have decided to name him after my father, did I tell you?” Sofia said, her voice growing weaker. “We will call him Ali.” Sofia reached over and brushed the baby’s cheek lovingly with the back of her hand.
The midwife waved at Hannah and Gideon to take their conversation elsewhere as she worked. “The herbs will take effect. Do not disturb her now.”
Hannah took Gideon’s hand and led him back into the stacks of scrolls and shelves where Alizar kept his ancient books so they might speak privately. “We found falsified documents naming Tarek as Alizar’s heir. Did you find Tarek?”
He looked to the door. “No. But in the agora I encountered a boy called Ignus that Orestes sent to the Christian church years ago to spy for us. He says that he is certain Cyril has the Emerald Tablet. He overheard a discussion between the bishop and Peter about it, that it has been concealed beneath the altar stone.”
Hannah nodded. “This explains it. Tarek must have traded the tablet for the documents he wanted, substituting the doll you found in the chest.”
“There are many Christians in the Tabularium who would falsify documents for the bishop if asked.”
“Gideon, we must get it back. The Emerald Tablet is our only hope.”
Gideon smiled and kissed her. “We shall. I must go.”
Hannah flung her arms around his neck. “Go with God. I must stay here with Sofia and help the midwife.”
Hypatia flew down the dais to the back stairs of the hall behind her. At the bottom, she tried the door handles and flung her body against the latch only to find them bolted shut from the outside. She looked around herself, hearing the footsteps of the mob approaching.
A light at the end of a passageway off her left shoulder caught her attention. She ran toward it and found a small glass window set above the street. Being merely ornamental, it had no latch, no way of opening.
Hypatia turned around looking for something to smash it. Then her eyes fell on a small statue of John the Apostle that had been placed in a niche in the wall. She grabbed it and threw it through the window with a crash. Then she hoisted herself up onto the ledge with muscles in her arms unused to lifting her own weight as the swarm of bodies spilled around the corner of the passageway.
“Do not let her get away!”
“Seize the witch!”
Hands clawed at Hypatia’s feet and the leather ties on her sandals snapped. Someone else snagged a corner of her robes as she fell the short distance through the window into the street, tearing them to the waist.
Hypatia landed on her hands in the broken glass and rolled before coming to her feet. As swiftly as she could, she raced to her chariot and took the reins in her bloody fingers.
“Hyaaaa!” she screamed, smacking the reins on her horse’s neck. The mob streamed out of the lecture hall, followed by the Parabolani.
“She is headed to the library,” said one of the priests. “We will never get through the gates.”
“Then it is time to use this,” growled Peter, drawing a scroll from his robes like a sword.
It was a map of the catacombs.
Jemir was the first to become aware of the commotion. He was polishing the handle of a long spoon in the downstairs of the kitchen, humming a song to himself, so happy for the new baby, when a sudden uproar in the alleyway behind the stable caught his attention. He set down the rag and walked outside to the gate where a group of men were running past.
“What is happening?” Jemir called out.
A young teenage boy spun around and without breaking his stride yelled back, “The Great Library is on fire! Save yourselves!”
Jemir lifted his gaze to see the black smoke smudging out the stars; an instant later, the unmistakable scent reached his nostrils.
In a panic, he let out a stream of curses and ran as fast as he could into the house, flying to the tower as fast as his tubby legs could carry him. “Hannah! Come quickly!”
“What is it?” asked Hannah.
“Where is Gideon? Where is Alaya? And Synesius?” asked Jemir, his eyes filled with terror.
Hannah rushed to him. “Gideon has just left, and Alaya is in the library with Sy. Why Jemir? What has happened?”
But before he could respond, the criers on the street began to scream the news.
The library, the Great Library is on fire.
Hannah sprung for her cloak and ran down to the kitchen, heading toward the stable.
Jemir caught her arm. “Hannah. If this is true, the Parabolani will be everywhere.”
“I do not care! I must find my child.” Hannah whipped around and lunged for the door.
Jemir blocked it.
She faced him, her eyes two sharpened daggers.
“Let me go instead, Hannah,” said Jemir quickly. “If I do not return within the hour, then you do what you must.”
“No,” said Hannah, her voice shaking but firm. “Someone must stay here and help the midwife.”
The door flew open then as Tarek burst into the kitchen from the courtyard, hurdling Jemir forward.
Tarek began barking orders. “If the fires reach the tower, Jemir, set the horses loose in the street and you, Hannah and Sofia take the gate of the Moon to Lake Mareotis. No wait,” Tarek changed his mind abruptly. “Do not pass through the Christian quarter. Go down to the west beach instead. Do you understand?”
“Sofia’s baby has come, Tarek. She cannot be moved. There is too much blood.”
Tarek shook his head. “We must evacuate.”
Jemir nodded.
Hannah reached for the door.
“Stop, where are you going?” said Tarek.
“I must get my daughter,” said Hannah.
“Please, Kukla, let me go,”
insisted Jemir.
But Hannah embraced him and kissed his cheek firmly. “Stay alive,” she whispered, and she flew down the steps to the stable.
37
The little voice called like a songbird in his mind from the deepest reaches of Master Junkar’s meditation. His eyes flew open as his spirit rushed back into his body and the small room where Master Savitur was sitting cross-legged before him.
Instantly, he sprang to his feet.
Savitur narrowed his gaze as his thoughts streamed into Junkar’s mind.
Do not interfere. It is the way.
Junkar paused, his predicament apparent to him.
Savitur, I must go. Come with me.
Savitur shook his head.
Junkar protested. She is our responsibility, Savitur. We cannot abandon her. He could see the flames encircling the child he had met in the garden. His child. He had to hurry.
We cannot interfere. Savitur folded his arms over his chest. You know as well as I the consequences. It is our place to influence, not to interfere.
Junkar shook his head. He had denied himself the love of a woman. He had denied himself the love of his own child. Now his position denied him the right to go to that child in need of him when he was perfectly capable of helping her? He lashed out at Savitur angrily. Have you any heart at all? You and I alone can protect the child of the Sacred Marriage. It is our duty to protect her. What are we masters of if we do not use the powers we are given in times of need?
Savitur pressed his lips together, the only sign that he was deep in thought. He wanted to help, but alas, the final decision was not his to make. Junkar found his tongue, leaving the thought realm they shared. “I must go.”
Savitur shut his eyes. He had prayed earnestly that the child would be born a boy. Things would have been entirely different then. The Great Book did not offer any words of instruction for a girl and he did not wish to challenge centuries of tradition. That was not his place. “Do only what you must,” he said.
Junkar stood. “Thank you.”
Savitur shook his head. “Your emotions have overtaken you. Julian lives within you still.”
Junkar dropped his eyes, confused. His practices had removed him from the ordinary world to such a degree that he lived most of the time in a state of consciousness full of light and emptiness. From that perspective, no tragedy existed and no loss could permeate his mind. In that world he was both wholly present and wholly detached, perceiving the physical world as a delightful illusion, charmed by both its trials and terrors. As Junkar, the entire world was a laughable extravagance, and so his heart remained always detached and illuminated in yogic peace.
But Savitur was right. Julian the man still lived inside him. It had been Julian who had fled the garden that night after seeing Hannah behind the window in the library. It had been Julian who had given Alaya the sandalwood beads and left with a heavy heart, unable to tell his daughter who he was.
So.
Do not hesitate, he told himself. Just go. But he did hesitate. He looked back at the disappointment in Master Savitur’s eyes and his spirit shrank like a shadow in the sunlight. There must be another way, he reasoned. This is not interference, Savitur. We are bound by the Great Book to protect the child.
Savitur exhaled, opening his eyes. “The Great Book binds us to protect only a boy. A girl child born to the priestess of the Sacred Marriage is of no consequence to us. The child is entirely within the charge of her mother and the High Priestess of Isis. Go to them and let them decide what to do.”
Junkar shook his head. There was no time.
Then, out of habit, his hand brushed the pocket fold in his robes where Hannah’s hairpin rested. This was not a choice he wanted to make.
Savitur could see the two men inside of the one, battling. He knew that in the end, one of them would have to integrate the other. He knew this would bring great enlightenment to Junkar.
Taking the hairpin in his fingers, Julian thought of Hannah, and how over the years his memory of her had never dimmed. He had made a promise to her child. Their child. In that instant, his love for his daughter held more honor than any name he might be called. Silently he apologized to his master, both the one before him and the one whose ashes he had scattered in the mountains of a faraway land.
His heart was still too impure, too human to be a great one such as these.
Julian swept out of the room, unable to bear looking back.
He slipped down the hall toward the workshops and snatched a plain brown robe from a hook by the door. Then he burst into the weapons closet and pulled down a fourth sword after testing the edges of another three, and dashed down to the beach toward a lateen-rigged skiff. He had to hurry. The smoke was rising into the night. He could see the hungry orange flames licking at the buildings along the wharf and the fire had already spread to the sails of the tallest ships. He could hear the sound of the Nuapar priests high on the hill chanting into the night, their prayers ascending and mingling with the smoke. No one saw him go.
Hannah dashed through Alizar’s courtyard in her bare feet; there was no time to look for her shoes. She rushed into the stable and threw open one of the stall doors. Behind it, Alizar’s prize dappled grey stallion stood in a shaft of moonlight. The enormous creature lowered his head in greeting. Hannah lifted the bridle from the wall and touched the stallion’s soft muzzle, whispering to him as she pulled the leather bridle over his ears. “I need you to be brave,” she said. “I need you to be fast and fearless. I have to get my daughter, do you understand?” The stallion rubbed his face against Hannah’s shoulder. She grabbed his mane and in one swift kick threw a leg over his back, righted herself, and took up the reins.
They galloped straight out of the stall and leapt clear of the gate that lead out to the street. The stallion landed easily and spun on his hocks to enter the sea of frightened people all racing toward the beach.
The fire moved quickly. Just one hour before, the city of Alexandria slept peacefully beneath the stars. Now a frantic chaos swept the streets. Mothers clutching children to their breasts rushed to safety. Camels, goats, chickens and donkeys were freed and left to find their own way through the chaos. Hannah could see the orange flames rising high over the city in the direction of the harbor, and hear the roaring in her ears above the screams of the people.
She plunged her bare heels into the stallion’s warm body and they soared toward the west end of Canopic Way. Once at the beach they could run all the way to the harbor.
The stallion, the waves at his knees, gave Hannah the magnificence of all his strength, surging through the surf. At the edge of the sea, the dancing flames were reflected in the water. Every time a wave rose, the mirrored surface presented the picture of the burning city. Hannah leaned forward and let the reins fall slack as the stallion’s ears flattened to his neck. There was only the sound of his breath, the movement of his massive warm shoulders, the feeling of the cold seawater licking at her toes, and the powerful roar of the fire growing nearer as the waves crashed around them.
Once they reached the harbor, the wind shifted and began to blow the fire in the direction of the desert, into the city. Many of the ships were already burning, their masts collapsing, their fiery sails snapping in the wind, the beautiful passion of destruction.
Hannah found the harbor already consumed by fire as she neared, the heat of the flames impenetrable. She brought the stallion to a halt, and as she looked up at the library, her heart seized. Though the glass cupola was, miraculously, still standing and the Great Hall looked intact, the entire east wing that housed the librarians was completely consumed in flames. Her little room, all her possessions, lost. She could only pray Alaya and Synesius had gotten out. The people at the water’s edge looked up in fascination and horror, holding one another, sobbing.
There was no time to think. Hannah turned the stallion around and urged hi
m on. They would have to go in through the zoological park. The gates there would probably be let open for the animals.
Sure enough, Hannah was right. In the fish market she passed a number of zebra and ostrich on the street nearing the rear entrance to the library. A man at the gate waved her to turn back, and even began to shut the gate to stop the crazy woman riding bareback toward the fire, but the stallion leapt the gate fearlessly and cantered into the Caesarium garden where the librarians were gathering.
Hannah reined the stallion through the masses of people, calling for her daughter. She spotted several friends, but Synesius was not among them.
“Where is Alaya?” she pleaded. “My daughter. Alaya. Where is Alaya? Synesius? Have you seen them?”
One of the men looked up at her, the side of his head bloody. “The Parabolani and the mob have destroyed everything,” he said.
“Where is Alaya?” Hannah screamed at him. “Where is my daughter?”
He shook his head.
Then another librarian, squatting on the ground beside a dead peacock, looked up. He recognized Hannah from when she sang at Hypatia’s lectures. “Hypatia,” he stammered. “Synesius went back to help her. They pulled her from her chariot. There were too many of them.” He dropped his head. “The horsemen came from deep in the desert. So many of them we were far outnumbered.”
“Where was Hypatia?” Hannah asked desperately.
The man looked up. “The mathematics stacks,” he said.
Hannah dismounted swiftly and pulled the bridle from the stallion’s head, smacking his shoulder to send him off. Freed, the stallion rushed toward the gate and out into the street.
Hannah looked up at the scene before her. The sound of the fire was deafening. It shook the ground and filled the sky. Occasionally a loud crash was followed by a crackle as a wall collapsed. Directly in front of her, the door into the Great Hall was still clear. The fire was not yet upon it.
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