Dark Humanity

by Gwynn White

  I heard Sal return from our cabin with a jangle of instruments. He lit several lanterns, and I heard the clang of metal as he set equipment down on the deck of the ship. Curious, I rose slowly and went to see what he was doing.

  Sal had laid Emine’s mirror down on the deck of the ship and was looking over his notes.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  Sal took out a drawing compass, centered it on the mirror, and began to sketch out an oval.

  “The Aphrodite’s mirror,” Sal said as he worked. He then opened his tinker’s kit and removed a number of sharp looking precision instruments. “The mirror…the way she holds it in her hand…it was not angled to reflect her face. I didn’t understand why until Yunus mentioned the opening above the statue.”

  Celeste had come up behind me and was watching Sal.

  “What is she looking at?” I asked.

  “Indeed, a good question, my Lily. At first I thought there used to be something on the ceiling. But now I don’t think so. I think there is something else reflected in the mirror.”

  “The sky?” Celeste asked.

  “The stars,” I said.

  Sal looked up. “The stars,” he repeated and turned back to his instruments. With a fluid circular motion, Sal cut an oval out of the mirror. It was the same size and shape as the looking glass Aphrodite held. He stood, holding the mirror in his hand, and shined it at the night’s sky. Celeste and I gathered behind him and looked up. It reflected the stars.

  “We need to go back into the temple. Tonight. But we need that roof removed,” Sal said.

  Celeste smiled. “I’ll wake up the crew.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  An hour later we were once again inside the temple of the Kos Aphrodite. Above ground, Roni’s crew worked carefully in the darkness to remove the timbers over the statue’s head.

  “I feel guilty,” I told Sal. “We need to put it back just the way Yunus made it.”

  “Don’t worry. We’ll make it right.”

  While the crew removed the planks, Sal carefully placed his cut looking glass onto Aphrodite’s mirror. It was a perfect fit.

  We waited breathlessly as the men removed the last of the timbers. Moonlight slanted into the temple. It showered the goddess with celestial light.

  Celeste snubbed out her candle to take in the view. “Beautiful,” she whispered.

  She was right. The moonlight, cascading over the pure white marble, made the statue glow with otherworldly light.

  Once the ceiling was open to the sky, the three of us crowded around the Aphrodite like curious children. We all tried to see into the mirror.

  Sal chuckled. “We must see what she would see,” Sal said. “At this angle, I only see your face, my Lily.”

  “What better thing is there to see in Aphrodite’s mirror than your true love?” Celeste asked.

  Sal laughed. “Well put.”

  He then went behind the statue, gazed over her shoulder, and looked into the mirror. Tall as he was, once he balanced on the statue’s pedestal, he was able to follow the sculpture’s gaze.

  “Lily, please find the star chart in my satchel,” Sal instructed.

  I dug through his bag. I pulled out maps, blueprints, and a variety of unusual instruments. I even found what felt like an enormous piece of rolled silk cloth.

  “What’s this?” I asked.

  Sal glanced quickly toward the bundle. “Just something I’m working on.”

  I set the bundle aside and finally pulled out the chart. “Here it is,” I said, and handed it to him, “but Sal, we don’t even know what time of year or time of night we should be looking in the mirror. Won’t that determine what is reflected?”

  “Yes, but the mirror only catches a small band of stars no matter,” Sal said then drew a set of parallel lines across the chart, boxing in the stars the mirror could possibly reflect. “Of course, we also have to calculate precession. The sky overhead looks different from when Eudoxus made the kaleidoscope.”

  Sal climbed down and set his star chart on the dusty floor. Celeste leaned over the chart while Sal began pulling instruments from his bag.

  I gazed up at the Aphrodite. I wanted to look into the mirror as she saw it. As I searched for a foothold on the pedestal to push myself up, I glanced down the hallway toward the temple of Asclepius. Again I saw golden light emanating from the room. I stopped for a moment and looked. Then I got an idea. I climbed up and looked into the mirror. The star garden overhead twinkled brightly.

  “I can make some adjustments to my instruments to get a rough estimate on precession. I believe the symbols carved around the frame of the mirror are intended to show us when, seasonally, we are supposed to look. Her bracelet seems to direct one to the signs of the zodiac. I believe it is key to knowing where in the night’s sky—” Sal was saying when I cut him off.

  “The god Asclepius…does he have his own constellation?” I gazed back down the hallway toward the golden light emanating from the other temple.

  Sal stopped. “Yes…we call him Ophiuchus today. It can be seen in the summer sky.”

  Sal rose and looked up through the open slats in the roof. “It is there,” Sal said. “Do you see Ophiuchus’ bright star? That’s Rasalhagues, the figurehead. Look,” Sal said then drew a box in the sky with his finger.

  I looked into the Aphrodite’s mirror.

  “Is it there? Can you see it in the mirror?” Celeste asked.

  I stood up on my tiptoes and looked over the statue’s shoulder. Trying to follow her gaze as best I could, I looked into the mirror. “It’s there. It’s a little out of alignment, but it’s there.”

  “Celeste, give Lily the kaleidoscope,” Sal said with urgency in his voice.

  Celeste dug into her bag, pulled out the kaleidoscope, and handed it to me.

  “Aim it right on Ophiuchus, Lily. Try angling your gaze the same way the Aphrodite is holding the mirror,” Sal advised.

  I put the kaleidoscope to my eye and leaned awkwardly against the statue trying to get a look. At first the kaleidoscope showed only faint hues of red and blue. After a moment, I began to see flecks of clear colors filtering through.

  “Try to catch the Rasalhagues, the head of the constellation,” Sal advised.

  I pulled the kaleidoscope from my eye, took a look at the constellation with the naked eye again, then adjusted the kaleidoscope. Sal gripped my waist, supporting me so I could lean back safely and look up. Once the angle was just right, the colors rolled into place.

  “A blue sea. Something that looks like two harbors, one large and one small. A temple near the larger harbor? A theater. And in the distance, in the water, a small island. The figurehead star is shining above the small island. It’s a landscape.”

  “But where?” Celeste asked.

  I crawled down and let Celeste take my place. Sal and I supported her so she could look.

  “Oh my god,” she said when she had finally gotten the colors aligned. “Oh my god. That’s Knidos! That’s the twin harbors of Knidos!”

  “Are you sure?” Sal asked.

  “I am, but I don’t understand. My order…the Dilettanti…we’ve been all over Knidos. And Temenos reportedly moved her. She isn’t there.”

  “Well, she is, after all, the Aphrodite of Knidos,” Sal said as he helped Celeste down.

  I gazed down the hallway toward Asclepius’ shrine. The room had gone dark, and my head didn’t ache anymore.

  Since Knidos was only a few miles from Kos, Sal and I convinced an exuberant Celeste to wait until morning to take off. Even after Sal and I had gone into our crew cabin, I still heard Celeste moving around on the deck of the Bacchus. She was singing a low chant that sounded like prayer. I envied her deep love of and attachment to the divine. Sadly, it was an attachment I’d never felt with anyone or anything.

  But that night, as Sal and I got ready to sleep, I could not take my eyes off him. I don’t know if it was the influence of Aphrodite, but something between us had c
hanged, permanently. When Sal moved to touch me, to stoke my hair, to gaze into my eyes, I could feel I was in love with him. And from the expression on his face, I could see he loved me too. I rose and gently lifted his shirt over his head, pressing my face against his chest. I heard his heart beating and could smell the sweet scent of sandalwood on his skin. When he wrapped his strong arms around me, I was overcome. I reached up to touch his face, to stroke his cheek, to pour myself into the depths of his eyes. Every fiber in my soul called out for him; it was a feeling I’d never had before. Sal and I had been lovers for two years. When we made love, I’d always sensed there was something special about him, something special between us. But in reality, maybe I’d never made love to Sal, or anyone else, before. Maybe really loving someone had always lain just beyond my reach.

  Gently, Sal helped me remove my clothes, and he lay me down carefully, entwining his fingers with mine. He kissed me slowly, moving gently, moving like we were more than lovers. My hands stroked the muscles on his back, touching his skin, smelling the fragrance in his hair. We were patient. We kissed each other, feeling one another’s body in a way we had never done before. My heart felt like it would burst. And when we finally made love, Sal’s eyes locked on mine, and I was surprised to feel tears trailing down my cheeks.

  “My Lily,” he whispered in the dim candlelight. “My Lily.”

  I kissed his wrists, his fingers, and began to dream what life might be like from now on, now that I’d let Aphrodite have her way with me.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  My head was ringing when I woke. Despite my earlier hopes that somehow I had been permanently cured of my opium cravings by the experience in the temple of Asclepius, that was not the case. I was overcome with nausea and was soon ungraciously vomiting into the bedpan. My head ached like someone had hit me with an anvil.

  “Are you all right?” Sal asked quietly as he wet a cloth and handed it to me.

  I dampened my face and tried to calm my stomach. My face flushed red with embarrassment. It was one thing to face your habits alone; it was another thing to have someone you admired see you at your lowest.

  “I haven’t had any opium in a while,” I confessed.

  Sal poured me a glass of water. I drank it greedily as I shifted my hand through my satchel. I’d almost finished the bottle of laudanum Byron had given me back in London. I held the bottle of amber colored liquid in my hand. If I quit in that moment, I would be unfit to fly the ship. I had tried to break the habit before. It would take a week, at least, to feel even a little human.

  “I’m going to stop. Soon,” I said and looked up at Sal.

  He kissed me on the forehead and pulled me close to him.

  I took two drops of laudanum and closed my eyes, waiting for the liquid to work its magic. I pressed my head against his chest and listened to his heartbeat. Within five minutes, my headache started to pass. Sighing heavily, I opened my eyes and gazed out at the sunrise. The sky was cherry red with streaks of gold and lavender.

  “We all have difficulties we must pass,” Sal said quietly as he stroked my hair. “For many years I could not understand why my father, my brother, did not accept me, what I lacked. But I learned it was not in my hand to change the past. Sometimes your world must get turned upside down for you to truly see yourself.”

  I looked up at him. “Never think of yourself as lacking. There is no one else like you in this world.”

  “And what about you, my Lily? What drives someone so loving, so gifted, to the bottom of this bottle?” he asked, taking the vial of laudanum from my hand.

  “I guess I’m just…running…hiding.”

  “From what?”

  “From,” I said, and then I didn’t know what to say. From myself? From the past? From that tender place inside me that thought I was so worthless I could just be trashed in a river. My eyes started to water. How could I explain it to him? Should I tell him what had happened?

  “Ahh, Lily,” he said, pulling me tight. “The past does not have to define you.”

  I sniffed and wiped my nose with my sleeve. “You should listen to your own advice.”

  Sal chuckled. “You’re right.”

  “Well,” I said, and taking a breath, I tried to pull myself together, “maybe the Goddess of Love will help us. I think Celeste has been pacing the deck since the sun rose. Shall we see Knidos?”

  Sal nodded.

  I dressed and got the crew up and going. We set sail. First we guided the Bacchus to Yunus’ farm. We found him and his sons working in the olive grove. His boys clustered around him. They stood staring, eyes wide, up at the airship.

  Sal and I went down to bid the farmer farewell.

  Yunus removed his hat and shook Sal’s hand. “Best of luck on your journey,” he said smiling. He waved up to Celeste who leaned over the rail of the ship.

  “Thank you for your hospitality. May your family be blessed,” Sal said with a slight bow.

  “Thank you for sharing your ruins with us,” I added. “But please…I don’t mean to alarm you…please consider hiding the Aphrodite…and the Asclepius. My countrymen—you may have heard what they are doing in Athens—they will take your statues if they find them.”

  The man looked at me as if he had not clearly understood every word I had spoken but got my warning nonetheless. He nodded stoically.

  With that, we made our way back to the Bacchus, Sal pausing to ruffle little Selim’s hair once more. Once we were aboard, I set the ship’s coordinates to Knidos, and the propeller kicked hard as we made our way out to sea.

  “What did you mean, the Asclepius?” Sal asked.

  “There was another shrine near the Aphrodite. It was a temple of the healing god. Didn’t you see it?”

  Sal shook his head.

  “I stumbled upon it. It was…remarkable.”

  As we made our way toward Knidos, Sal studied the notes he had taken. He set his star chart, astrolabe, and sextant out before him. He was swinging a pendulum over the chart.

  “The carvings in the mirror indicated that we should look in the mirror during the summer months, so we are lucky there. The bracelet gives an orientation in the zodiac, but precession has shifted placement in the sky. Ophiuchus was just out of alignment. The zodiac would have made shifts from Eudoxus’ time, but I cannot be certain how much. My talent with astronomy is rather limited,” Sal said.

  I grinned. What Sal thought of as limited likely bested many of Oxford’s brightest. “Once we get to Knidos, we’ll know if we are in the right place or not.”

  “Have you ever met the Scotsman Alexander Jamison?” Sal asked. “He stops by Tinkers’ Hall from time to time. He gifted me this copy of his Celestial Atlas. It is a remarkable piece of work.”

  “Isn’t he the school master? The little mathematician married to that prudish travel writer?”

  Sal laughed. “Yes, that’s him. Here is his plate of your Ophiuchus,” Sal said, showing me the engraved image of the god Asclepius. Jamison had drawn the god standing astride in the evening sky. Between his muscular legs, Asclepius gripped a massive serpent by the head and tail.

  “That serpent…seems the Scotsman doth protest too much.”

  Sal laughed. “Most Scotsmen do.”

  “Don’t let Angus hear you say that.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it. That lengthy constellation is Serpens.”

  “Serpens?”

  “Asclepius clutches the serpent, conquering it. You see, my Lily, with determination, all monsters can be overcome. It is written in the stars.”

  “One can hope.”

  “I can see Knidos!” Celeste called to us from the prow of the ship where she had perched since we’d set sail.

  Kos and Knidos were not far from one another, and soon the twin harbors of the ancient city of Knidos came into view. Sal joined Celeste at the front of the ship. A strong wind blew across the Aegean. Celeste, her long hair flying in the wind, looked every bit the part of the goddess she sought. A sharp
wind came in and snatched the white silk scarf she had tied around her neck. It floated in the air and fell toward the blue-green waters of the sea below.

  The Knidian coast was rocky with high cliffs pocked by caves. Intermittently, we also saw sweet secret coves boasting sandy beaches and jewel colored waters. The landscape had waving golden grasses, dusty earth, tall Cypress trees, and thick green shrubbery. I sensed the ancient path of the sea captains who had come before me as I guided the Bacchus over the small, eastern Knidian harbor. Knidos was built in part on an island and in part on the mainland. A land bridge separated the two, making two harbors: one smaller and eastern, the other larger and more western. I envisioned the ancient warships docked in the lapis colored waters.

  The island part of Knidos was rocky and shrub covered. Near the land bridge connecting it to the mainland, I could see the ancient stone walls of Praxiteles’ city. The concave shape of an amphitheater was visible as were many other ruins. It looked just as I had seen in the kaleidoscope.

  I yearned to look over and see more, but the Bacchus, struggling in the harsh sea winds, demanded my attention.

  “We need to bring the Bacchus down!” I yelled, gesturing to the balloonman. He nodded and began to release warm air from inside the balloon. We dropped altitude. I navigated the ship in, looking for a spot somewhere out of the harsh breeze. Once I had gotten the ship out of the wind shear, the jostling eased. I lowered the Bacchus below the mountain range and settled into a calm spot just east of the ancient theater. There, the Bacchus seemed to find a remarkably calm harbor from the wind.

  “Let’s hover here until we see what kind of company we are in for,” I said. The crew and I anchored the ship while Sal and Celeste began packing their bags. To my surprise, Sal pulled out his sidearm.

  “Bring yours as well,” he told me.

  He was right. If the Dilettanti thought we were after the Aphrodite, they may certainly be waiting for us in Knidos. Sal dropped the rope ladder. I grabbed an anchor line, and holding tight, leapt off the rail of the ship. I slid down the rope twenty feet to the ground.