Unburning Alexandria (Sierra Waters)

by Paul Levinson

  He debarked onto the reddish soil. Augustine had insisted that Synesius make this trip on his own, and that had suited Synesius. He was happy to have no one expecting an explanation of his actions.

  He walked up the embankment, away from the wharves, many of which were rotting. The warm air was a mixed blessing. Better than the sea wind which had made him shiver, but it carried a stench. Synesius tried not to think about it.

  Two men, each about a head taller than Synesius, approached him. Synesius tried to look away, and walk a little to the side, but he quickly saw that avoiding them would only make him more noticed. He touched the hilt of the knife that he also carried in his garment, and turned to face the men. He smiled, and waited for them to speak. With any luck, it would be in a tongue he understood. He understood many.

  "It has been a while since our city has been honored by an emissary from Rome," one of the men said, "and unheralded." The tongue was perfect Latin, with an odd accent, which Synesius recognized as some kind of Celtic.

  Synesius bowed, slightly. "I am not an emissary, but I am a Bishop."

  "Welcome, Father," the other man said, in a thicker but equally comprehensible accent. "My sister is married to a Christian, and he is a good man."

  Synesius bowed slightly, again.

  "Here on Church business, then?" the first man inquired.

  "Personal pilgrimage," Synesius replied. This place was supposed to be less dangerous than the dwelling with the temporal power in Athens, yet these two men seemed keenly interested in his affairs.

  "Is there a shrine nearby worthy of a pious pilgrimage, then?" the first man asked.

  Synesius made a quick decision. "Yes. Would you like to accompany me?" He reckoned there was no way he could separate himself from these two. He would take them to the shelter, plead that he needed a few minutes alone inside, and hope that he could do what Augustine had told him – quickly enough so that he would be gone before the two tried to enter, only to find that he had locked the shelter.

  [Augusta/Londinium, 413 AD]

  The shelter looked just as Augustine had described – almost completely buried in the ground, apparently long abandoned.

  The first man looked around when Synesius stopped. He stared for a moment at the shelter. "Evil spirits live there. Is this the place you seek?"

  "It is," Synesius replied, softly. "And I must first enter, alone."

  The first man shook his head and sneered. "Why, so you will have time to secure the treasure that you seek, and hide it from us?"

  "No, the only treasure therein is spiritual. And I would not hide it from anyone. But I must proceed alone."

  This only seemed to make the first man angry. "Don't sing those siren songs to me, priest." He raised his fist. "I admit I doubt that any real treasure could be in that hovel. It's been there since long before I was born, and I never heard anyone speak of treasure. Still–"

  The second man put his hand on the first man's fist, and spoke quietly. "I shall accompany him." He looked at Synesius, who nodded, and thought, what choice do I have?

  The first man also nodded and stood guard on the hill. He apparently regarded the second man as in some sense superior. Synesius and the second man approached the shelter.

  Synesius located the small slab described by Augustine, and put his palm upon it. It was barely above the ground. Augustine had explained that it would respond to a precise 24-part syncopated tapping, which Synesius would administer with the tip of his index finger. He had practiced it in front of Augustine, who had pronounced himself satisfied. "Take care that you do not touch anything oily prior to the tapping – you do not want oils on your fingertip." Synesius was not sure if Augustine had been joking, but he had followed his advice, anyway, and, besides, there had been no chance to eat since he had left the ship.

  Synesius smiled at the second man, and began to tap. He finished the sequence. Nothing happened. He was not sure if he should start again – a second series of 24 taps would, in effect, constitute a new sequence of 48 taps, with a pause in between–

  The second man started to speak–

  The door clicked and opened – from the top, as Augustine had said. Synesius looked at the second man. "You may enter first, and I shall follow," the man said.

  Synesius realized, again, that there was no point in contesting this, and nodded. He leveraged himself into the hatch and climbed down a ladder. He reached the bottom quickly, as the second man entered. There was no light in the shelter, except from the top, until the second man reached the floor. Then the door closed, and Synesius saw a weak light in a corner of the room. He approached it. It came from a strange window, with letters glowing upon it. The letters looked to be a form of Latin, but in a language Synesius had never seen.

  "Do you understand that writing?" the second man asked.

  "No," Synesius replied. "Do you?"

  "I understand no writing," the man replied.

  Synesius nodded. This writing was also as Augustine had described. He had further advised Synesius to pay it no mind, unless it was in a language Synesius could comprehend.

  The room seemed to become brighter, or perhaps Synesius's eyes were adjusting to the light. But he now saw a single chair, on a side of the room, also just as Augustine had indicated.

  "I must sit in that chair," Synesius told his companion.

  The man nodded. "Please do so."

  Synesius breathed in and exhaled slowly. "I will do something in that chair which may cause you harm. I do not intend to cause you harm, but–"

  The man nodded again. "I understand. Please proceed."

  Synesius hesitated. Augustine had told him, plainly, that anyone in the room not in the chair could perish with its use.

  "Please," the man said, again. "I have heard of this journey. I want to go there."

  "The journey in the chair?" Synesius asked.

  "No, the journey of someone who witnesses the chair. It is holy."

  "It could kill you."

  The man smiled, serenely. "I am ready to go to a better world. Perhaps I will see my wife, again. It has been many years since illness took her."

  Synesius sat in the chair. He could well understand a man who had lost his wife to illness. He could not say that his soul was free of guilt, but the man did seem to willingly want to make this sacrifice. And who was Synesius to say whom this man would and would not meet in the afterlife?

  Nonetheless, he asked the man again, "Are you sure?"

  The man nodded. "I will forever be in your debt."

  Synesius tapped on another tablet, embedded in the arm of the chair. He used the sequence Augustine had given him – different from the one he had used to enter the shelter.

  A transparency surrounded his head. It was as clear as water, but it was not ice, and was not cold. He could see the man's face, still smiling serenely. Synesius wondered, for an instant, if maybe it would be he, not the man, who would be going to heaven or hell now–

  [London, 2042 AD]

  A heartbeat later, Synesius opened his eyes. Was he dead or alive? He was certainly in a different place. The transparency receded. The air had a strange, mild odor.

  "You have come a very long way for her, Synesius of Cyrene, Bishop of Ptolemais," a familiar voice called out to him.

  Synesius looked up. The voice had come from above, from the top of a long flight of stairs.

  A figure descended.

  "Jonah," Synesius said.

  Jonah reached the foot of the stairs and smiled. "You have traveled far to save Hypatia."

  "You love her, as I do," Synesius said. "In that, we are brothers in arms. And amore."

  "I love her, but perhaps not as much as you do," Jonah replied. "But, yes, we are brothers in arms about saving Hypatia, and I suspect for other worthy pursuits. . . . You showed enormous courage in coming here. The journey was difficult, and tried your faith at many junctures, I know."

  "And where are we?" The room was empty of furnishings, ornaments, and peopl
e, except for Jonah, Synesius, and the chair in which he still sat. "Augustine said–"

  "Climb those stairs with me. You will see much more than I can describe when we exit this chamber."

  * * *

  Synesius took in the room that stretched out before him. A feast chamber, that was clear. But with many small groups of people, each seated around their own table. Some tables had but one diner. Strange smells and colors. But strangest of all was the talk. In voices old and young, loud and soft, male and female. None of which Synesius could understand.

  "Humanity," Jonah said, and directed Synesius to an empty little table. "The words and the clothes are different, but the humanity is the same. Eyes that smile, lips that frown, you will feel at home here more quickly than you might suppose."

  Synesius sat. "When is this?"

  "You have come from a year that you count as 413 years after the birth on Earth of your Lord. We are now two millennia plus 42 years from the year of that presumed birth."

  Synesius grappled with the immensity of such numbers. "You are Jewish," was all he said to Jonah.

  "Yes."

  "Augustine said the voyage would feel no different – regardless of how far or near in time I traveled."

  Jonah nodded

  "Augustine was not clear about how far into the future that . . . chair . . . would take me," Synesius said.

  "Perhaps he thought you might not undertake the journey if you knew how far–" Jonah began to reply.

  "I would have taken it, in any case," Synesius said.

  "I know." Jonah looked appraisingly at Synesius. "I know." A waiter approached. Jonah waived him away.

  "And why this time and place?" Synesius asked.

  "It is crucial in the journey of Sierra Waters – known to you as Hypatia – first known to me as Ampharete," Jonah said.

  "Hypatia was born in Alexandria."

  "Yes, the original Hypatia," Jonah said. "Not the woman you love, and now know as Hypatia. She took Hypatia's place, after she died."

  "I understand." Augustine had told him the same. He had not completely believed him, but it seemed less incredible from this vantage point. "I am afraid someone may have died back there . . . in the chamber in 413, when my chair came to life."

  "Likely he did," Jonah said. "A cult has arisen regarding that chamber in 413. . . . Its members believe it holds passage to a blissful afterlife. A similar cult arose in 150 AD."

  "Why is that year special?"

  "It also is crucial to Sierra Waters – even more so than this year. Part of my task is to guard it–"

  "Protect her?"

  "Yes, and to protect what happened back then, from Sierra. . . . "

  "What does Hypatia – Sierra Waters – wish to . . . undo?"

  Jonah smiled, slowly. "You are a rapid learner. Someone that Sierra loved – or cared deeply about – was killed back then, right in front of her eyes. She has every reason to want to go back to that instant to prevent that from happening. She knows, of course, that if she stops the killing, then everything that happened afterwards could well be changed – including this very conversation we now are having. But – she has human frailty, as do we all. Do you understand?"

  "I . . . I think so. You are here to make certain that does not happen – or to insure that the person she loved will die back then."

  "Yes, although–" Another waiter approached their table.

  "If he is a bearer of drink, I would be grateful for a flask of wine," Synesius said.

  "Certainly," Jonah said. "Are you hungry?"

  "No," Synesius replied.

  Jonah spoke to the waiter, who nodded and left.

  "You were explaining to me about the person Sierra loved, who died back then – a member of her family?" Synesius asked.

  "No," Jonah said, "and–" Another man, broadly smiling, approached their table.

  Synesius returned the smile. "The providers of food are very attentive in this future. Perhaps I will have something to eat – a small amount."

  "He is not a bearer of drink or food," Jonah said, and stood to greet the man.

  Synesius got to his feet, as well.

  "This is Max," Jonah made the introduction to Synesius. "He is the one whose death Sierra wants to undo."

  * * *

  Jonah spoke to Max, quickly, in the language Synesius was hearing all around him. Synesius now realized the language was a type of Germanic, or close to it – not Celtic.

  Jonah and Max sat. Synesius followed.

  "Salve," Max said slowly to Synesius, in a dialect of Latin he had not encountered before.

  Jonah spoke in the Alexandrian dialect of Latin he and Synesius had been speaking before. "I will try to explain his significance," he said to Synesius about Max, and nodded in Max's direction. "He and Sierra – Hypatia – were young lovers, in the land across the great sea, before they or I knew about the chairs."

  Synesius looked at Max, who caught the quick glint of admiration and envy in Synesius's eyes. "I am Synesius, Bishop of Ptolemais," Synesius said to Max, very slowly.

  "Max," Max replied, smiled, and extended his hand in friendship.

  Synesius briefly grasped it.

  "The two traveled across the sea in a swift airship – the trip took just a few hours," Jonah continued.

  Synesius looked incredulous.

  "I know," Jonah said, "I often wonder which is the more miraculous. But travel across time is far more disruptive of the nature of things – of God's law."

  A waiter appeared. Jonah spoke to him in the Germanic tongue. The waiter nodded and left. "I ordered something simple, which you should find to your liking," Jonah said to Synesius.

  "Thank you," Synesius said.

  Jonah continued. "Hypatia and Max found this place – were guided to it – and sat in the chairs, in the very chamber from which we just emerged. The two went back to 150 AD – where Max was killed, before Hypatia's eyes. His is the death she wishes with all of her soul to undo."

  Synesius closed his eyes. "It is my impression that Hypatia desires more than one thing with all of her soul."

  "Yes," Jonah said.

  "And more than one man," Synesius said.

  "Yes," Jonah said.

  "This account of what happened in Londinium was given to you by Hypatia?" Synesius asked Jonah, and looked at Max, whose face was now unsmiling, impassive.

  "No," Jonah replied. "But I know it to be true."

  Synesius regarded Max. He obviously was very much alive, and, as far as Synesius could tell, in fit condition. "How–" Synesius began.

  "It was exceedingly difficult," Jonah responded. "Max was apparently slain in Sierra's unmistakable sight. There was no manner in which we might have interceded at any time prior to this, without her seeing – and knowing – and that would have changed history. Again, with likely disastrous consequences."

  Synesius struggled to understand.

  Jonah spoke more slowly. "Fortunately, Sierra was rendered senseless – briefly – by a blow she received in the fighting. This gave us our opportunity. We gave her a potion which kept her deeply asleep for nearly a day. We took Max's body – gravely wounded, but still alive, by the standards of the future – to this time and place, and the physicians of this future worked their miracles upon him."

  "I can accept that physicians of the future would seem miraculous in their results," Synesius said, "just as physicians in our Alexandria would no doubt seem miraculous to people in the time of Plato and Socrates."

  Jonah nodded. "Yes, physicians of your time do seem wondrous in their ways, even to me."

  "But if Max is evidently saved," Synesius said, and looked, again, at Max, "what then is the purpose of my visit, and indeed this very meeting?" Augustine of course had explained this to him, but Synesius wanted to hear Jonah's answer.

  But Max was the one who spoke. "To save the Library of Alexandria," he said very slowly, in his peculiar Latin. "Neither of you can fully grasp the loss to humanity that the loss of those
texts engendered. You are both of that time. But Sierra understands this – if what Jonah says is true. And I understand this. And we all must help her."

  * * *

  The food arrived. Synesius found it edible. He would have liked to spend more time in this future, see more of it, beyond this feasting room. But he was beginning to realize that was not likely. "Who else knows about Hypatia's goal?" he asked after consuming a cup of soft, creamy substance, of some unknown but not unpleasant flavor and consistency.

  "Presumably not very many, other than the three of us at this table, and Augustine," Jonah began, "and this is very important. Changes we make in history must be discreet. We want as few people out of their times as possible. We want people in their times to know as little about people out of their times as possible–"

  "Heron," Max said.

  "Yes," Jonah said.

  "Heron knows about all of this," Max said.

  Jonah had talked to Max about Heron. "I am not sure what Heron knows," Jonah said.

  "Heron?" Synesius asked.

  "–of Alexandria," Max said. "Surely, you know of him."

  "The great inventor?" Synesius asked.

  Jonah and Max nodded.

  "Heron is part of this – our – cohort?" Synesius asked. Augustine had set Synesius looking for Heron's scrolls in Alexandria, and Hypatia had also found Heron of great interest.

  "Heron was my mentor in Alexandria many years ago – both many years ago in time, 150 AD, and many years ago, for me, personally," Jonah spoke, and Max nodded. "I came to know that the chair in which you sat in the chamber below, the chairs in which all of us have now traveled, were invented by the man known as Heron."