Son of the Moon

by Jennifer Macaire

  ‘Please, don’t make me wait any longer,’ I whispered. ‘Just let me see Paul.’

  The man clapped his hands and a woman entered the room.

  She led a little boy by the hand. I dropped to my knees. The boy stood and stared at me gravely. He was four and a half years old, tall, sturdy, with long, magnificent eyes in a triangular face. He had a proud nose and a wide forehead. His blond hair curled softly and lifted off the back of his neck and temples. He stood perfectly still. I hardly saw him breathe. But a pulse beat in the base of his throat. A pulse I knew so well.

  I stretched my arms out to him, my vision blurring with tears. ‘Come, Paul,’ I said in English.

  He came into my arms, laying his head gently on my shoulder. His small arms crept around my neck. I held him. I just held him. I hardly dared to breathe. It was akin to seeing a ghost.

  I stood up and swung Paul into my arms, holding him on my hip. For a minute I had only one urge, to leave, to take my child and leave. Instead, I walked to the bench and sat down. I kept Paul on my lap while I unhooked Chiron’s backpack and took the tiny baby in my arms. To Paul I said, ‘Here’s your baby brother. His name’s Chiron. He’s a sweet boy, and soon he’ll be able to play with you.’ I spoke English. I knew he wouldn’t understand, but while I was pregnant I’d spoken English to Paul.

  The boy twisted around and peered into my face. He seemed to be searching for something, and then satisfied, he smiled. ‘Mummy,’ he said, in English.

  I nearly dropped Chiron.

  ‘Do you understand me?’ I gasped but he only smiled. ‘Who brought him to you?’ I asked the old man.

  The man poured some tea and handed me the cup. ‘The woman you see here. She was one of Spitamenes’ servants.’ He nodded towards the lady who’d brought Paul to see me. She was small with long dark hair, and stood quietly, her hands folded in front of her, her eyes downcast.

  ‘I thank you,’ I said to the woman, and she smiled shyly. ‘You took good care of him, and I can see he’s suffered no harm.’

  ‘This child is marked by the moon goddess. No one can harm him,’ the old man said. ‘Olympias thought that Marduk would kill him, but the Babylonian god, bloodthirsty as he may be, was no match for the babe. You saw what happened.’

  ‘The child I saved wasn’t Paul! He had already left.’ I cried.

  ‘Marduk was destroyed by Paul indirectly. He didn’t even need to be present. Darius took him. Then Darius was killed and Bessus took him …’

  ‘And Bessus was killed. And then Spitamenes …’ I looked at the child sitting on my lap and frowned. ‘What does it mean?’

  ‘It means that this child is protected by forces which have no mercy. There are forces with no souls. We call them gods. This child is protected by a god.’

  ‘Gods have no souls?’ Confusion and wild relief to have finally found Paul made my head spin.

  ‘We will discuss theology another time.’ The man’s smile was amused. ‘This woman was the boy’s guardian and she brought him to us. She’d heard about us as a child. The legends of our valley are numerous. She knew that he would be safe here and that he could wait for you; his mother and daughter of a goddess.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said, still uncertain. ‘Why is this valley so important?’

  ‘It has been so for thousands of generations,’ he said. ‘The gods used to live here. Zeus sent his son, Dionysus, to protect him from Hera’s wrath.’

  I held the little boy closer. He stayed still on my lap, tipping his face up to me now and then and searching my face. His eyes were a deep blue, like twin sapphires, and they were terribly serious. ‘You poor baby,’ I said. ‘Being taken halfway around the world, surrounded by strangers.’ I kissed his forehead. ‘I know how you feel, though, and I won’t ever let you go again. Never.’

  The man seemed amused by my words. ‘The boy has been taken halfway across the world,’ he said, ‘but he was never in any danger. The boy is a harbinger of destruction for all those who are around him, but not for you, because you are not of our world.’

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘The child cannot harm you, you are not of this world,’ he repeated.

  ‘I am not of this world?’ My voice broke. ‘How … how do you know all this?’

  ‘It is written.’ The man glanced towards the door. ‘We have but one hour. Come.’

  I stood up. The words, ‘Not of this world’, echoed in my head. Paul slid off my lap and ran to take refuge in the dark-haired woman’s arms. Another woman came and took Chiron from me, crooning softly at him.

  I followed the man into a small room lit with three torches. An ancient parchment was unrolled on a high table. It was the first time I’d seen a reading table in that time. I stepped closer. The table stood as high as my chest.

  The man pointed to a passage and read aloud, ‘When the two kingdoms are united beneath one man there will come a babe marked by the moon. His mother is not from this world. The babe is the moon’s child and will call upon her in time of need. His father, the king, will die in his thirty-third year. His kingdom will be torn asunder. Beware, all those near the king will be swept away by the cold winds of Hades. They will disappear from the face of the earth, but their stories shall last forever.’

  I’d studied ancient texts. This one put all the rest to shame.

  ‘How old is that?’ I asked, when I’d found my voice.

  ‘It came to us from our ancestors, travelling with them from across the mountains. We think it is three hundred centuries old.’

  ‘Thirty thousand years? It’s impossible! Writing didn’t even exist then!’

  ‘Were you around to check?’ He smiled and shook his head. ‘Come now, Iskander is going to arrive, and he longs to see his son.’

  I let myself be led from the room. The parchment had shaken me. How could it be so precise? How had it known Alexander would die aged thirty-three? I shuddered. All his family would be killed in the murderous struggle to gain control of his empire. I knew it. Yet, how was it that everything was written down?

  I knew the old man was right. If Paul entered that fray, his life wouldn’t be worth much. I wouldn’t be able to protect him when Alexander died. And I didn’t know how to tell Alexander. How could I? It was too cruel. I could never tell him. It would destroy him. Olympias, Alexander’s mother would perish. His wives would be killed, his children murdered.

  Roxanne had sent word right before we left. She had borne a son and named him Iskander. They would travel to Ecbatana in one year’s time. We were going to meet there, and Alexander would see his son, a son who would die before he was ten years old.

  It was dreadful knowing the future.

  Alexander had gone with his army to set up camp. The night was deep before he was carried back to the village in a litter. He hobbled up the steps and stood in the doorway, uncertainty written on his face. ‘Is the child here?’ he asked me. He tried to keep his voice calm, but couldn’t. His hands shook on the door.

  ‘He’s here. We have found our son.’

  His hand tightened on the wood. ‘Where?’

  ‘There he is,’ I said, moving aside and pointing to Paul sitting in the Sogdian woman’s lap.

  Alexander dropped to his knees in front of the child. He didn’t hold out his arms. ‘Paul,’ he said softly. On his face was a mixture of fear and joy.

  The little boy hid his face in the woman’s black robe, and then timidly peeked out. His mouth trembled and dimples suddenly appeared in his cheeks. His eyes weren’t frightened. He seemed to be playing a game. Alexander smiled. His eyes glittered with tears. ‘Come here,’ he said, and Paul ran to him.

  The faces were the same, the long Byzantine eyes, the strong chins, and the bright hair. Paul put his finger in his mouth and studied Alexander gravely. His eyes were huge in his small face.

  Chiron started to cry and the old woman gave him back to me so I could nurse him. I sat near the brazier and watched Alexander and Paul. Alexander sat cross-
legged in front of the table. Paul sat in his lap and seemed to have no fear of strangers. His eyes were bright and curious. He said little, but when he spoke it was clear. He spoke Greek. He had a strange accent, and I realized it was Persian. I looked down at Chiron; his mouth was open and he was snoring lightly. His fair lashes fluttered once then were still. My heart swelled. When I looked at Paul I was filled with awe. The memory of a tiny baby came back to me, but I had never known him. Was he mischievous? Was he a serious boy? Did he cry easily? I knew nothing about him. He looked sweet. I remembered a quiet baby. Mary had been sweet too. I closed my eyes. I could make no decisions tonight. I would wait. I would wait months if I had to, but in the end I would decide what would be best for Paul.

  Alexander and Paul were still studying each other. There was food on the table and the old man motioned for us to serve ourselves. I thought I was hungry, but I wasn’t sure I would eat. One thing my travels had taught me. Trust no one. Poison was cheap.

  The old man smiled. He read my thoughts as easily as if they were written across my forehead. ‘I am sorry you don’t trust me yet,’ he said. ‘But you will. I know that, so I am not hurt. My name is Sharwah. I am descended from the first tribe that peopled this valley, as are most of the people you see. Now you have come, the valley will change. Some of your soldiers will want to stay. Anyone who wishes to settle here will be welcome.’ He spread his arms. ‘Tomorrow I will show you our valley and we will talk.’

  ‘Where are Axiom and Brazza?’ I looked around. I didn’t know if I could sleep without their reassuring presence.

  ‘They have stayed behind in the tent,’ said Alexander. He looked up at the man, his eyes hooded. ‘If you don’t mind, we would prefer to sleep there.’

  ‘You are welcome to stay here. Beds have been prepared. But if you want to go back to your tent, watch the child carefully. He’s a harbinger of destruction.’ Sharwah’s voice was serious.

  Alexander glanced towards me, but said nothing. His arms tightened around Paul, who squirmed.

  Sharwah’s smile didn’t waver. ‘You must believe me,’ he said gently. ‘The child has been marked by the moon. If you don’t understand, take off your necklace and hold it towards him. Then perhaps you will see.’

  I didn’t know how he knew I wore a necklace. It lay hidden underneath my tunic. I dipped my hand down my bodice and lifted it out. I drew it over my head and held it towards Paul, who had turned his head and was staring at me, eyes wide.

  The necklace started to sing.

  I dropped it on the floor and leaped backwards. It had vibrated in my hand and had given off a high-pitched whine. Even now it was humming softly. A strange glow emanated from the moonstone.

  Paul stepped forward and looked down at it. His mouth curved in a wide smile. He picked up the necklace and the hum grew to a shivering, clear note. Behind me came the sound of shattering glass as a lantern broke. I whirled around and stared, mouth open, as the oil seeped out onto the floor. Luckily it hadn’t been lit.

  The necklace continued to sing. It seemed thrilled to be in Paul’s hands. The stone glowed and cast a bluish light on the child’s face. A soft moan of fear escaped me.

  Alexander lifted the boy off the ground and took the necklace. He handed it back to me. How had Paul done that?

  ‘Is it the prophecy?’ he asked the old man. ‘Tell me, Sharwah, is he really the son of the moon?’

  ‘He is,’ the old man replied.

  ‘You know of the prophecy?’ I asked Alexander. ‘The one where, where …’

  Sharwah interrupted me. ‘There are more prophesies than can be counted in this world. In your world are there any left? Or have they all vanished? Or come true?’

  I shook my head. ‘They’re just wild tales, empty puzzles, and words with no meanings.’

  Alexander frowned. ‘You’re wrong. They are words with more than one meaning, but they are not empty. They are meant to be fulfilled, and they come to us from further in time than even you can imagine.’ His voice was bleak. He held Paul in his arms and the child laid his head on Alexander’s shoulder. ‘We go now. Come, Ashley.’

  ‘It is as you wish,’ said Sharwah, bowing. ‘Your litter waits outside.’

  ‘You knew?’ I blinked. ‘You knew we wouldn’t stay here?’

  ‘My lady, I am old, and I am feeble …’

  I gave a snort. Feeble? The old, feeble man had walked lightly down a twisting mountain trail, hopped over a rushing stream – after asking permission of the nymph – and though the distance between the pass and the village must have been five kilometres, he wasn’t out of breath when he arrived.

  He raised an eyebrow at me. ‘I’m flattered,’ he said, reading my thoughts again. ‘But old and feeble as I may be, I still know the minds of men. And men who travel as much as the king need to have their familiar things around them or else their sleep is troubled. What better sanctuary than a tent?’ He chuckled. ‘Paul’s nurse will be here tomorrow morning when you awake. Come whenever you like. The door is always open for the moon child’s parents.’

  We were silent on our way back to the tent. The townspeople peeped out at us when we walked by and nodded or bowed deeply. Alexander looked neither right nor left. Two strong soldiers carried him in his litter. The litter was little more than a stretcher. Alexander hated it. He refused to lie back, preferring to prop himself up and sit with his leg held awkwardly stuck out in front of him. I caught him glaring at his ankle, and then the lines on his face deepened. I fell back a step. He was proud and hadn’t meant for me to see him like that.

  Paul sat quietly in his lap and, halfway to the tent, the rocking motion of the litter put him to sleep. Alexander stroked his head softly. In the faint light of the stars I saw tears glitter on Alexander’s face.

  I carried the sleeping child into the tent and laid him on the tiny pallet Axiom had prepared. Then we all stood over him, watching as he slept. His golden hair was as bright as silk floss in the blue lamplight.

  Axiom, Brazza, and Usse slept near Paul. I felt secure knowing they were there, watching over him as he slept.

  Later, when the tent was still and the only sound we heard were the blasted elephants settling down for the night, I wrapped my arms around Alexander and put my mouth next to his ear. ‘Tell me about the prophecy,’ I ordered.

  There was a sudden stillness in the tent, and I realized that Axiom and Usse were listening.

  Alexander turned to face me. ‘It was a story I heard in Macedonia, but it exists in Greece, Egypt, and Persia as well. I suppose, if we ask the soldiers from Sogdia and Bactria, they will say they’ve heard the same thing. The story is simple. It says that the moon was once part of the mother earth, but that there was a terrible cataclysm and mother and child were separated. They were condemned to stay apart forever, never meeting each other again. Thus do the earth and the moon circle each other. Until one day, the child of the moon is born. According to the sayings, this child has the power to lure the moon back to his mother. The world will end. The gods will fall. They say the child must stay forever hidden in the sacred valley.’

  ‘Do you believe that? It sounds so unlikely. How could staying here change anything?’

  ‘Because this is the Valley of the Gods. Some believe that it is not really on this earth; that once we go through the pass we have entered a different world with different rules. From here the child cannot call the moon.’

  I sat up. ‘Usse, have you heard of this?’

  A soft cough came from the far side of the tent.

  ‘Well,’ Usse spoke softly, ‘I have heard tell of the prophecy, yes. They say that when the moon’s child calls the moon back to earth, it will fall from the sky. It is an old legend,’ he sounded doubtful. ‘It is not one we usually speak of; it is more within the realm of the high priest of the moon cult.’

  ‘And you, Axiom?’ I wanted everyone’s opinion.

  ‘In my religion we have no myths about the moon’s child, but that doesn’t mean I haven�
��t heard the story before. I heard say that the world will end when the child and the mother are reunited once more in the heavens. For us, the moon’s child is a prophet who will come and free us from our enemies. He will come with a flaming sword and he will be the king of kings.’

  ‘Well, that counts me out,’ said Alexander dryly. ‘My sword never once caught on fire.’

  ‘So, the world will end when he’s reunited with his mother?’ I asked.

  ‘Well, it’s vague. Supposedly there is a dragon who will swallow the sun, and then the mother will give birth in the heavens, the child will slay the dragon and evil will be vanquished for another ten thousand years.’ Axiom was warming up to his story.

  ‘Sounds wild to me,’ I said, yawning.

  ‘We’ll talk about it in the morning,’ said Alexander, his voice slurred with fatigue.

  I fell asleep before he finished speaking.

  Chapter Four

  Morning in the Valley of the Gods.

  A light mist floated over the flat, silver lake. The mountains in the background were shrouded in snow. The birds sang in the rushes, sweet, liquid notes to welcome the morning sun. The Egyptians began their sun chant, an ululating, sweet harmony of voices rising in the cool air. Grooms led the horses and elephants to the lake to drink. The horses walked in silence, raising their heads and snorting softly. The elephants moved like huge, grey shadows along the beach, blowing water like geysers from their trunks.

  Chiron, at an age where the only thing that mattered was his stomach, woke us all up with his piercing yells.

  Paul, waking up and finding himself in a strange place surrounded by strangers, started to wail. I called to him and he crawled into bed with me. I gave him a hug and he stopped crying. His eyes settled on Alexander lying next to me. He gave a little chuckle, reached over and yanked on his hair.

  Alexander sat up, his handsome face rumpled with sleep. ‘When the elephants stop trumpeting, Chiron starts howling. I think the Athenians are right when they say, ‘The only thing more miserable than a man with children, is a man with more children’.’