Written in the Ashes (35 page)

Julian collapsed back on the bed, feeling the destiny that he had prayed for sweeping down on him like a swift blade.

He buried his face into the warm sheet where Hannah had been only a moment before, where he could still drink in the scent of her. As he stroked the empty bed, his hand came to rest on something sharp and cold.

He drew the strange object up into the light and found that he was holding the beautiful silver hairpin that had been nestled in her hair.

Her hair.

He pressed the sleeping swan to his lips and dressed quickly, dropping the treasure into his pocket. She would have his name, and he would have this.

The new Kolossofia Master took a deep breath to center himself.

Julian was dead.

21  

Hannah returned to the Temple of Isis in a daze, exhausted and unkempt, every last drop of energy sapped from her bones. Mother Hathora knowingly took Hannah to the moon hollow and told her to rest until she felt recovered.

The storm had passed and the sun returned, but the thin winter light held little warmth.

Hannah fell into a river of sadness. She yearned for Julian’s touch, the sound of his voice, the way they had spoken so intimately. Her heart called out to him though she knew she should not let it.

Returning to temple life proved to be a blessed distraction. There were chores to be done, lessons to learn, and meals to be prepared. Hannah worked with as much enthusiasm as she could muster, soothing her sadness with the cadence of repetitious tasks. If only everything could have returned to the way it was.

Hannah had assumed that the other priestesses would be interested in hearing about what had happened in the lighthouse. But this was not to be.

Her first encounter came during her morning chores with Ursula, the red-haired beauty. Ursula, who was usually quite garrulous, had nothing to say to Hannah and answered her questions with shrugs and bit answers. After several attempts to make conversation, Hannah fell silent and worked alongside the other priestess without so much as a word.

The dance lesson that morning only brought more of the same. Hannah was ignored by the others, save Hepsut, who had a lovely smile for her and praise for her improvement. During the steps, the priestesses would not meet her eyes; some even bumped into her purposely. Hannah was deeply hurt, though she veiled her feelings well.

The midday meal brought a slight change as an enthusiastic mob of younger priestesses thronged around her for anything she would share about the sacred rite in the tower. This brought a smile to Hannah’s heart, though it dimmed quickly with a cold stare from Mira, who picked up her plate and departed in silence.

A little later, Iris came to Hannah’s table and pulled her aside. “I am so proud of you,” she said, her lovely eyes shining. “I just wanted to tell you that I knew he would choose you. I just knew. How do you feel, are you well?”

Hannah shrugged. “This is not what I expected.”

Iris sighed. “I thought this could happen.”

“What should I do?”

“Wait a little while. Unfortunately, everyone knows about your position in the Great Library with Hypatia as well. It is a lot for them to swallow at once.”

“But I am a slave! You at least are free to be a priestess, or anything else you like.”

“It will matter less in time, Hannah.”

Hannah’s eyes darkened with disappointment.

So.

Several weeks later, a bitterly cold winter evening brought more of the same. In the temple during a recital ceremony, the priestesses were each selected to recall passages from the Great Book. They all but flayed her.

“Begin with the Hymn of Apollo, please.” Celesta’s sibilant tone had acquired a few icicles since the autumn.

Hannah stood at the dais before the other priestesses, a sea of faces looking up at her. She found her throat was dry. She tried to swallow. “I am sorry, I…I am not familiar with the Hymn of Apollo.”

“Fine,” Celesta said. “Then recite for us the Song of Abraham.”

There was a long silence during which Hannah could hear the slight settling of the stone walls.

“The Song of Abraham,” Hannah began hesitantly, “I do not know it in its entirety, but—”

“Sit down then, Hannah,” Celesta interrupted. “I am sure that Ursula can recite them for us.” There were snickers from the front row.

Hannah paused, unsure of what was happening. As she looked around the temple, the priestesses refused to meet her eyes. She looked to Mira and Ursula, their heads bowed together, and then Hannah knew. They had intended to stultify her. They wanted to punish and her for being chosen by Julian.

Hannah stepped down from the dais, humiliated. She walked slowly, purposefully, up the aisle of priestesses, looking into the eyes of the women to see who would look back. Renenet looked up. Ahmat smiled weakly. All the others looked away.

Hannah kept walking.

She went to her room and pulled out the jar of ashes her father had given her. She turned it over in her hands, hugged it to her chest. It was all she had of him.

Then there was a light rapping on the door.

Hannah quickly stuffed the bundle behind her bed. “Come in.”

“Hannah,” said a little voice. It was Suhaila, the child. “Mother Hathora would like to see you.”

That night after supper, Hannah climbed the steps to Mother Hathora’s study. Amber light spilled out into the night from beneath the door. Hannah peeked in to see the High Priestess seated upon her meditation cushion in the center of the room, facing the altar with its many lit candles. The Great Book was open on her lap.

“Hannah. Come in.” Mother Hathora closed the book and turned to face the door. “We have some matters to discuss.”

Hannah sighed, her pain all but crushing her. It was enough to endure the separation from Julian without the hatred from the other women. Hannah pulled her shawl a little tighter around her shoulders and sat down.

“I see you have worked through your anger,” said Mother Hathora.

Hannah looked up, confused.

“The feelings you have now will pass, but the deep anger would have stayed with you and eroded your spirit like salt on metal. I am pleased to see you have overcome it.”

Hannah could not deceive the High Priestess, whose eyes could see straight through her. “Not all of it,” she said.

Mother Hathora smiled gently. “Of course. It takes time.”

Hannah shifted her position on the cushion, clearly uncomfortable. “I have felt guilty. I love my father with all my heart. How can I be angry with him for dying?”

“Do not try to reconcile the two feelings. You love him and you are angry with him. It is understandable.”

“It is?” Hannah looked up.

Mother Hathora nodded. “Certainly.”

Hannah sighed. “It makes me feel a little better to hear you say it, but there is something else.” Hannah looked up, searching for the Greek words until she found them. “The resentment from the other priestesses is difficult for me, Mother.”

“Yes, yes. I know how it is.” The candlelight danced in shadow over Mother Hathora’s pale blue robes as she spoke. “I once chose Master Savitur in the sacred rite. Our names are here. Come and see,” she opened the book and pointed to a timeworn page.

Hannah crept forward and peered over the High Priestess’ shoulder. There in red ink was the swirl of her signature.

Mother Hathora smiled, remembering. “In this book, your spirit and his are eternally wed to one another. Nothing can change that. As first man and first woman, you complete one another. Like Isis and Osiris. You cannot lose him, you will see. His spirit is in everything.”

So.

That evening, as she crawled into bed and blew out the candle, Hannah curled in a ball beneath the sheets, needled by the pain inside her. Mira lay with her back to the room, silent as a corpse. Neither priestess said a word. Finally, Hannah spoke. “Mira, I am sorry for what happened,” she said. “I had no intention of things turning out this way.”

Silence.

“Mira?”

A twisted voice responded in the darkness. “You had no intention? How could you even hope to understand what you stole from me, Hannah? I should never have trusted a mere
slave
.”

Hannah cringed to hear her own name spoken so hatefully. “If you think it was so grand, and you wish you could have given your heart to a dead man, then you do not know the agony you wish for.”

Silence.

Hannah sighed in defeat. She had never been capable of striking clever blows in an argument, and besides, she did not even wish it. “Mira,” she paused. “You have been my most beloved friend.” Hannah waited in the darkness for Mira to say something. When no words came and Mira’s breath took on the slow cadence of sleep, Hannah turned on her back and lay awake with her hands folded over her chest. She had never lost a friend before. It was the most empty feeling in the world.

The next evening at supper, Hannah sat alone at the far end of one of the tables. Since it was not her turn in the kitchens, she waited patiently to be served. Suhaila came over and sat in her lap. Hannah kissed the little girl’s head and hummed softly.

A moment later, Ursula appeared with two steaming bowls in her hands. She began to set them before each of the priestesses. Hannah smiled. A lamb stew. This would be nourishing. They seldom had lamb. The scent reminded Hannah of her father. “Suhaila, you should go and sit at your own table now,” whispered Hannah. The younger priestesses were not allowed to eat beside the initiated.

Ursula set a bowl before Hannah, and Hannah waited for everyone to be served so that they could say a prayer and begin the meal. Once they each had a bowl, Hannah closed her eyes and brought her hands before her heart. They whispered the ancient Egyptian prayer of abundance. When Hannah opened her eyes, her stew was gone.

She sat up and looked around. Then there was a giggle from beneath the table. Suhaila had taken the bowl, and was dipping her bread into the stew and eating ravenously, laughing playfully.

“Suhaila!” Hannah slid out from the bench and bent down to reach the little girl, but Suhaila pulled away from her farther under the table and continued to eat her portion.

“Fine then,” said Hannah playfully. “I will go and get another.”

Hannah went into the kitchen to fetch herself another bowl, and found that Mira was stirring the pot. She did not bother to speak, as words between them were as useless as torn clothes in a snowstorm now. But Mira looked concerned. “What are you doing here?”

“I am sorry Mira, but Suhaila took my portion. I need another.”

“What?” Mira suddenly threw down the ladle and flew into the other room. Hannah followed. When she opened the door, it was to see little Suhaila writhing and convulsing on the ground.

Hannah ran to the girl and picked her up in her arms. The child vomited a little, her eyes rolling into her head, and her limbs shook until she was still. Hannah cried out, and kissed the child’s cheek again and again, calling her name. The other priestesses stood around in shock. Hannah sat down on the ground still holding Suhaila, her body still, her head lolled to one side. She tried tipping the child’s head to one side to clear her nose and mouth for breath. Then she looked up, seeing everyone just standing there. “Go and get Mother Hathora!” she said to Ursula and Renenet. “Go!”

Hannah rocked Suhaila’s limp body in her arms as tears slid down her cheeks, knowing she was gone. She kissed the child’s soft face and closed her eyes, then looked up through the window to the belladonna tree where the pink trumpet blossoms twisted gently in the breeze. In that moment, she knew. She knew at once the terrible darkness of what had happened:

Mira had tried to poison her.