by D. S. Murphy
“We can’t save everyone,” Sitri said, steering me out of the restaurant. Twenty minutes, as we walked through the traffic and city, I was still shaken, but I tried to put the incident behind me and focus on our mission. We emerged from the city, into the sprawling complex of ancient ruins surrounding Pompey’s Pillar.
“It’s huge,” Jessie said, looking up at the massive chunk of stone. It stretched into the sky, flanked by two smaller sphinxes.
“285 tons,” Sitri said. “Carved from a single piece of rose basalt, moved more than 100 miles from the quarry in Aswan. It’s one of the largest monolithic columns ever erected.”
“But it’s Roman, right?” I frowned. “Not Greek or Egyptian?”
“Those names lose meaning here,” Sitri said. “This hill was the citadel of Rhakotis, dedicated to the worship of Osiris long before Alexander showed up. The Ptolemies built the temple of Serapis – their Greek version of the same god. Alexandria was a melting pot of cultures, and Isis wasn’t just an Egyptian goddess. As the city grew in trade and influence, worship of Isis soared through the Greco-Roman world. By the time of Cleopatra, there was already a temple of Isis and Serapis in Rome.”
I bit my lip, struggling to keep up with all this history.
“Cleopatra was actually the last of the Greek royalty to rule Alexandria, and the first Ptolemaic ruler who could actually speak Egyptian. According to history, she spoke a dozen languages, and was educated in mathematics, philosophy, oratory and astronomy. Here, with a collection of 200,000 manuscripts given to her by Mark Antony, Cleopatra started the second great library of Alexandria.”
“There were two?” Jessie asked.
“The whole city was practically a library. The Serapeum was less like a temple and more like a modern university campus. The city had a policy; whenever a ship came into port, they would take every book or manuscript and make a copy, then keep the original version. Science and medicine flourished, and Alexandria became a center for research and invention.”
I looked again at the scale of the pillar, imagining how large the original temple would have been. It was impressive, but I sensed no magic here. Nearby we found the foundations of rooms and hallways made of dusty brick stone, and a flat courtyard filled with archeological remains, lined up neatly and marked with chalk. Towards the edges, the stones sloped into a steep hill, covered over with bright green grass that swallowed up the rubble.
“So what happened to it?” I asked, crossing my arms.
“Well, you could say it was too successful,” Sitri said. “Cleopatra grew to power by making an alliance with Caesar, who was smitten with her. By that time Egypt was a vast, rich kingdom, and as the last of the Ptolemaic pharaohs, she considered herself Isis in the flesh.”
“As a favor to her, Caesar unveiled a new temple in Rome to Venus Genetrix, which was Rome’s version of Aphrodite, but focused on her more conservative roles of motherhood and domesticity. Hera was already pissed off, because those were her roles, but Caesar made it even worse by making the main idol a portrait of his Egyptian lover.”
“I bet that went over well,” Jessie said.
“Hera stirred up the senators, who were already concerned about the influence this foreign queen was having on their leader, who was supposed to be guided by republican virtues. They stabbed him to death on the floor of the Senate.
“After that, Rome was split between two rulers, Mark Antony, the young general who was popular with the armies, and Caesar’s successor, Octavian. Cleopatra supported Antony’s civil war, but Octavian triumphed in the end. Rather than surrendering, Antony and Cleopatra committed suicide together, in her palace in Alexandria. He fell on his own sword, while she held a deadly viper to her breast.”
“That’s tragic,” Jessie said. “Like Romeo and Juliet.”
“Shakespeare actually wrote a play about the fated lovers,” Sitri said, “though it’s not as popular.”
“Where is Cleopatra’s palace?” I asked. “Can we see it?”
“It used to be on the island of Antirhodos,” Sitri said, “but it sank in the 4th century after an earthquake caused a massive tsunami. Cleopatra’s royal chambers, and a small temple of Isis, are underwater now.”
“How about her tomb?” Jessie asked.
“Cleopatra and Antony are said to have been buried together in Egypt, though the location has never been found.”
I sighed, looking over the dusty ruins. Sitri said Cleopatra considered herself Isis on earth, but it was like she’d been scrubbed from history; nothing more than a cautionary tale of forbidden romance.
“Even under Roman rule, Alexandria continued to flourish until 325 AD,” Sitri continued, finishing his history lesson, “when Zeus’s rebranded monotheism began persecuting pagans. In 391, Emperor Theodosius I ordered the destruction of all pagan temples. Books were burned, shrines looted, statues toppled and smashed. The neoplatonist philosopher Hypatia, a brilliant mathematician, was publicly murdered by a mob. She was well-connected politically, but drew scandal to her by daring to teach others and speak her mind openly at public assemblies. Rumors accused her of using satanic wiles and magic charms to confound her allies. She was stripped naked, stabbed with pottery shards and oyster shells, and had her eyes cut out. Then she was ripped into pieces, and burnt. When Theodosius died four years later, the Western Roman Empire fell into irrevocable decline.”
I shuddered at Sitri’s grisly story, but I was only half paying attention. We were wasting time, but I was out of suggestions. The genie said Isis was in Egypt. The leech said she was in Alexandria. But I didn’t know where else to look. We wandered the ruins for nearly an hour, looking over broken sphinxes and headless statues, but there was nothing else to discover.
“I really thought Isis would be here,” I said. “But there’s no sign of her.”
“There’s one,” Sitri said, nodding to a life-size statue standing off to the side by itself. It was vaguely female, but the head and arms had long since broken off. She was wearing thick robes, with curving folds as if blown by the wind.
“That’s Isis?” Jessie asked. “How can you even tell?”
“Isis Pharia, the guardian of the city. Most coins show her with a sail and the lighthouse, the symbol of Alexandria. It’s a play on words; a joke about the mixed cultures found in the city. Pharos is the island the lighthouse sits on, but pharos, in Greek, means cloth or sail. As Isis Pharia, she’s the protector of both Greek and Egyptian sailors. She welcomes all, not just by providing safe passage and calm waters, but also as the spiritual guide. Just as the lighthouse turned Alexandria’s dangerous seas and tricky harbors into commerce-friendly ports, the spiritual light of the goddess served as a guide for human souls.”
“So we should check there, right?” I asked.
“There’s nothing left. It lasted for centuries, but was toppled by a powerful earthquake in 956. In 1365, Alexandria was brutally sacked by the armies of the Crusaders. Finally the stubby remnant disappeared in 1480, when the Sultan Qaitbay repurposed the stones and platform for his medieval fortress.”
“So that’s it,” I said heavily. It was all ancient history and legend. Isis was once the beating heart of the city, but there was no trace of her now.
“There’s one more place to look,” Sitri said, “not far from here.”
We followed him to another site a few blocks away, and he pointed to a large green sign that read, The Catacombs of Kom El Shoqafa.
“Roman burial chambers,” Sitri explained. “First century.”
“Ugh, do we have to?” Jessie rolled her eyes. “I’ve been underground enough on this trip to last a lifetime. Why don’t you three go and I’ll stay here and eat ice cream.” She nodded to a café nearby with a selection of gelato and waffle cones.
“You can’t stay here alone,” Sitri said.
“I like ice cream,” Puriel said with a shrug.
“Fine,” Sitri said, pushing his hair back. “But don’t go anywhere.”
Sitri bought the two of us tickets, and we descended a curved staircase around a wide well, that opened up into a large entrance chamber. Statues of twin cobras guarded the doorway, crowned with round circles. Just above the doorway was a winged disk, underneath a crescent moon.
The catacombs extended deep underground like a maze. The lower levels were flooded with water, which reflected the carvings and murals, and made it seem like we could fall right through the floor. I wanted a closer look at the wall engravings, so I took off my shoes and socks and walked out across an unstable wooden board. Inside a smaller room, images depicted a burial. On one side of the coffin stood the winged Isis displaying her feathers, next to a black bird on a pedestal. On the other side was a figure with a Jackal’s head. In the center, behind the coffin, was a large bull that represented Osiris.
“Anubis” Sitri said. “Guider of souls, protector of tombs and cemeteries. There were actually four siblings. Isis had a twin sister named Nephthys, who was with Set. One day, Osiris slept with her, mistaking her for Isis. She had a son, but abandoned it to be raised by dogs, out of fear for her husband’s jealousy. Isis rescued the child and he became her guard and ally.”
It sounded strangely similar to the story of how Able had taken Sitri in, but I didn’t want to bring it up, so I pointed to the bird instead and lifted my eyebrows.
“A kite,” Sitri said. “Fierce and loyal. Some say Isis was a shifter and took that form, but it could be just a legend.”
I let my fingers drift over the stone, listening to the silence of the tomb and slow drips of water. I felt like all the symbols must be pointing to something. A clue, if only I was clever enough to figure it out and put it all together. But there was nothing.
“She’s here, she’s everywhere... but she isn’t.”
“I know,” Sitri said softly.
“Then why are we even here? Why show me this?”
“Because,” Sitri said quietly. “I think there’s an important message. Isis saved Osiris, but then she let him go, to focus on the living.”
“No,” I said sharply, my eyes watering. I blinked back tears, pretending I had dust in my eye. But I knew what he was trying to do. He was trying to say goodbye.
“You did your best,” he said. “I’ve been fighting against Zeus for thousands of years. I always figured I’d give my life to the cause. It’s been an honor, a privilege, to know you, Kaidance Monroe.”
“Shut up!” I turned, punching his chest with my fist. My fingers lingered, and I could feel his warm heartbeat through my palm. “It’s my fault your thread is tied to his. You can’t die because of my stupid mistake. I can still fix this. I have to at least try.”
“You have tried. But now it’s time to go home.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said. My throat was burning painfully, and the air felt suddenly felt too thin, like there wasn’t enough oxygen in the chamber. I sucked in a deep breath, tasting the wet, earthy smell of the catacombs.
“You did it because you cared about me,” he said, lifting my chin. “And if you hadn’t tied the thread, I’d be dead already. Maybe it’s just my time. If these are my last few days, I’m glad I got to spend them here, with you.”
“Don’t say that. We’ll find a way. The genie mentioned something called the emerald tablet. Maybe we don’t need Isis, maybe we can find it ourselves. There must be some reference, in the library, or the museum—”
My voice cracked, and I realized suddenly how alone we were. Completely, for the first time since the island of Kos. I reached my arms around him and pulled him closer, and this time he didn’t resist. He kissed me, not roughly like he had before, but gently, softly. I felt a tear slide down my cheek and he smoothed it away with his thumb, cradling my face in his hands. I turned my cheek against his warm palms.
Then I pulled away suddenly, my eyes widening.
“No visions,” I said. “If you were going to die, I’d see it, and I don’t. That has to mean something. It has to mean we found a way to save you.”
“Kaidance—” he said, tilting his head.
“I’m not giving up.” I turned his hand, kissing his palm. “We’re here, now. We keep looking.”
He fixed me with his clear blue eyes, then nodded, with a sad smile.
Something furry touched my leg and I flinched, but when I looked down it was just a black cat. He rubbed against my shin, then crossed the room, and turned like he was waiting for us. I followed him down the hallway and into a small chamber near the front of the catacombs. It was nearly bare, except for a small alcove where a statue would have been. Faint text had been etched into the wall. I blew into the cracks and rubbed away the dust.
“What does it say?” I asked Sitri.
“To the oracle at Siwa, who knows all things.”
“What’s Siwa?” I asked.
“You’ve heard of the oracle of Delphi, right? Siwa was the Egyptian version. When Alexander wanted to rule Alexandria, he first needed approval from the oracle.”
“Wait, Alexander the Great had to ask permission from an oracle?”
“Yes. The people of Egypt wouldn’t have accepted him as a true ruler without the oracle’s blessing. The only problem was, it was a perilous, eight-day journey through the desert. Some say his troops got lost on the way, and most died, but Alexander was guided by a bird.”
My eyes widened as the pieces came crashing together. An oracle who knows all things. The winged goddess. This must be the clue I’d been looking for. I leaned up on my toes and kissed his cheek, then whispered in his ear.
“How fast can we get there?”
15
The drive from Alexandria to Siwa should have taken six hours, but we made it in three due to Sitri’s breakneck driving. The first half followed the coastline, then we cut through the Sahara desert past wind-swept, gently sloping sand dunes. Occasionally we’d see a small cluster of white buildings, maybe a camel or a donkey pulling a cart, huddled around a handful of palm trees and a small water source. In other areas, alien rock formations and wide stretches of sand made me feel like I was on another planet.
Sitri drove with one arm out the window and the wind blowing through his dark hair. Jessie spent the drive fiddling with the radio, flipping between an endless selection of pumping dance remixes. Puriel was reading a history of Alexandria he’d found in the glove compartment.
I was just happy we were moving again. When Jessie caught me smiling for the third time, she cranked up the music and so the boys wouldn’t hear us talking in the backseat.
“Did something happen between you two in the creepy catacombs? Oh my god, it did, didn’t it? How romantic.”
“Shut up,” I said, biting back my smile. Sitri turned down the music a minute later, so I went back to watching the scenery.
“How’d you afford this car anyway?” Jessie asked, “I thought we were running low on cash. Plus, isn’t your fake ID burned now that the cops are looking for us?”
“Let’s just say I borrowed it from a friend,” Sitri said.
“You have friends?” Puriel said without looking up from his book.
“Wow, did the torch just make a joke? They grow up so fast.”
“But seriously,” I asked, “how did you get it?”
“I might have implied the guy could drive better with arms.”
“We stole a car?” Puriel asked, frowning.
“I stole a car, boy scout,” Sitri said. “But don’t worry, I’m going to leave a note with the rest of our cash in the glove compartment. The owner will report it stolen, the police will find it easily, and when it’s returned they’ll get a nice little surprise.”
“Isn’t that going to cause problems for us?” Jessie asked. “They’re already looking for us, now a stolen car?”
“Relax, we’ll be long gone by the time they find it. We’re running out of time, and needed wheels. We’ll check out Siwa, and be back to Nevah by tomorrow afternoon.”
We spotted the oasis on the horizon long before
we entered it; a bright patch of green against the endless dunes. Up close, it wasn’t much to look at. A rocky hill, surrounded by crumbling ruins and broken buildings. It looked practically abandoned. There was a tall tower on the hill, and a few ancient structures, but nothing like the glories of Egypt we’d seen earlier. In the center of the small settlement was natural spring spilling into a wide, round pool of water, reflecting the blue sky and green palm trees. A rusty sign labelled it Cleopatra’s Pool.
“We have less than twenty-four hours left,” Sitri said, once we’d parked the car. “Are you sure this is how you want to spend them?”
“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” I said, pulling on my dark sunglasses. In his navy suit and white collared shirt, Sitri looked as sharp as the day I’d met him. Puriel’s blonde hair was harder to hide, but he was mostly covered up in a long robe and checkered turban. We walked up the hill, past a few small shops, a goat and a rooster on a crumbling flight of stairs. Nobody paid us any attention, apart from a handful of small brown birds with black feet. Their chirps and whistles sounded almost human.
A round path of stairs led into a series of tunnels. Old wells yawned at the still-standing walls, windowless eyes open to the sky. At the top was a single rectangular entrance made from three giant stones, leading into a sequence of doorways that made me feel like I was stepping through a portal. From the top we could look out over the green palm trees, surrounded by yellow sand.
In the northwest corner of the complex we found a faded sign for the Oracle Ruins. Inside we could barely make out the carved reliefs of the founding deities; Amun-Jupiter, and a seated woman, whose face and name had been scraped off completely. I traced my hand across the features, biting my lip. I didn’t know what I was expecting, but it was more than this. Had we come all this way for nothing?
“I don’t understand,” I said. “All the signs pointed here. The bird, the cat. The oracle who knows all things, just like Isis. And the genie said she was buried in the sand.”
