Written in the Ashes (31 page)

“Oh, Hannah, it is simply perfect!” Ursula clapped her hands, excited as a child.

“It is your most beautiful melody yet, Hannah,” said Iris, beaming with pride.

“What language are the lyrics?” asked Renenet. “I love the melody, but I would like to know the meaning.”

“It is Aramaic, they—”

“Oh, I disagree completely,” Mira interrupted. “I prefer not knowing the meaning. We do not want anything to take away from the beauty of the dance. The music should compliment, not distract.”

As the priestesses fell into discussion, Hannah could tell that it was going to take hours to come to any definite decisions, and then more time to teach the other priestesses the dance, and still more time for practice. Yet Yule was fast approaching. What she did not know was that the monks in the Temple of Poseidon had been preparing their ceremonial details for an entire year. The dance of the priestesses was simply one strand in a tapestry of an ornate ceremony that would take three days to complete in its entirety. The priestesses were only to play a part on the last evening.

Hannah wondered when she would be able to speak to Mother Hathora to warn her of the Parabolani, and about not participating. They never had a moment alone together.

So.

The weeks before the ceremony passed in a wink. In the end, Hannah had not been able to convince Mother Hathora she should stay behind. Even insisting that the Parabolani might massacre everyone in the Temple of Poseidon was no argument. Mother Hathora insisted that where the Nuapar were, there was nothing to fear. Hannah mentioned that she was Jewish, and that the ritual went against her faith, but Mother Hathora laughed and encouraged her to enjoy it as an actor in a marvelous performance. “The ways of the Goddess are mysterious, child. Call her by whatever name you like, She is greater than your breath, greater than your thoughts, even greater than your ideas about religion and your own soul. Trust Her in all you do, and She will guide you.”

It was settled then, she must participate. Dreading the night before her, Hannah chose a swath of peacock blue chiffon silk for her veil and began to sew tiny glass beads along the hem and corners in an Egyptian design, but she kept making mistakes and would have to pull out a day’s worth of work and begin the pattern again.

Preparations for the ceremony consumed everyone in the temple. The most tedious and arduous of all the tasks, however, also proved to be the most enjoyable. The day before the ceremony, the priestesses filled an enormous tile bath beside the Garden House with water heated in large kettles over open flames. Since there was no wood on the island, a request was sent across the harbor for ten loads of firewood to be shipped from Alexandria. Hauling the firewood up the hill from the beach on their backs was a grueling process that took the women an entire day and a half.

Hannah and Mira filled the bath every hour, draining the cold dirty water and then refilling it again with hot clean water boiled on the fire. The sky outside was cold and damp, so standing beside the fire was not such a terrible duty to have. The sunken tile bath in the garden was large enough for three priestesses at once, so they sang songs and washed each other’s backs like mermaids in a warm sea. Even the youngest children delighted in the midwinter bathing ritual.

Finally Yule drew near.

The angel, so near to earth, grew heavy with anticipation. The door had been promised. The warrior would come.

On the first night of the three-day Kolossofia coronation ceremony, with their own part still two days off, Mira and Hannah snuck away to the hill behind the moon hollow to watch the bonfire on the beach in front of the Temple of Poseidon. Hannah felt delighted to be included in such an adventure, but she had grown a bit leery of her friend’s fickle kindness. She decided Mira might be the kind of person who warms to a friendship more slowly; Hannah hoped her capriciousness was no more than that.

Far off on the other side of the island, elder Master Junkar climbed to the top of a stack of wood and took a cross-legged seat, ready to let the flames consume his body, but they knew he was there. Hannah squeezed Mira’s hand, who squeezed Hannah’s in return as a fearsome wind picked up from the east, blowing wildly all through the night until dawn brought a profound stillness to the island, revealing the wind’s mischief in all the flowers and decorations strewn about the ground.

So.

Two days later, during the short daylight hours of Yule, the priestesses rose early and meticulously prepared themselves for the ceremony by making last minute alterations to their costumes and plaiting their hair with flowers, rehearsing the steps for the dances, smearing sweet smelling amber resin into their navels, and painting their eyes, feet and hands with henna.

At last they were ready.

The priestesses wound out the courtyard gate and down the side of the hill, a snake of light, the
ching! ching! ching!
of shiny bangle bracelets, anklets, earrings and other adornments ringing in the night. The air was cool and pleasant for the first night of winter, however Hannah noticed several grey clouds beginning to gather over the ocean. Occasionally there was the boom of distant thunder, and a flash of light across the water. Hannah could taste the approach of rain in the air, and hoped that they would reach the other side of the island before the storm.

As the veiled priestesses led by Mother Hathora reached the north shore of the island, their bare feet sunk into the soft white sand. All across the beach little wavelets spat incandescent green sparks upon the shore that flickered and danced, then disappeared. Hannah marveled at the beauty of the unusual omen. Before them stood the Temple of Poseidon, its pale blue spire rising up to heaven, bonfires lit all around its circumference, the scent of roasted meat filling the air. The thumping of the little waves seemed to grow louder as the priestesses approached, as if to announce their arrival.

Up ahead, the priests of the Temple of Poseidon filed onto the beach. The fifty or so men dressed in long black ceremonial robes made two long rows to greet the priestesses, who, as they had been instructed, averted their eyes from the faces of the monks as they entered the temple. Hannah let her eyes drift down to her painted feet and then flicker up to the enormous brass bowls of freshly slaughtered bull’s blood set in offering beside the temple doors, the dank metallic scent filling the air.

Inside, the adytum of the Temple of Poseidon was surprisingly warm and beautifully decorated in long murals that had been created by the monks to tell the story of the Nuapar legend. One radiant figure had been painted in lotus posture atop a funeral pyre and Hannah decided that he had to be Kalanos, the Indian mystic who founded the Nuapar. Beside him stood a tall, clean-shaven man reading a green tablet, who she thought must be Alexander the Great. The ceiling had been painted meticulously in the Egyptian tradition to depict Nut, the goddess of the night sky. In truth, the ceiling had been painted almost a hundred years earlier, but it had faded quite badly so the priests had decided to retouch it for the ceremony.

The priestesses were all invited to enter the grand hall of the temple and sit in the front row for the invocation ceremony, the monks filling the rest of the temple behind them. The energy in the room was charged with anticipation and the delicious forbidden pleasure of breaking the customary separation between monks and priestesses. When Hannah finally lifted her eyes to the podium where a giant shell rested open at the front of the room, she was pleasantly surprised to see a familiar face looking out over the sea of priests and priestesses that had gathered. Julian. The monk she had met in Hypatia’s study.

She inhaled sharply and looked away. Julian. Could he be the one they had come to dance for, the new Kolossofia Master? Hannah felt her heart flutter, beating like the fragile wings of a hummingbird in her chest.

So this was
his
coronation ceremony. She traced his body with her eyes, unable to look away. He looked more regal than when she had first seen him. His long black hair had been swept up into a topknot on the crown of his head, and his eyes were the same ocean green that she remembered. He wore a long black robe that pinned at the shoulder, meticulously tied with the wide red sash. He looked utterly serene standing beside Master Savitur, whose robes were identical to Julian’s except for two small details: Savitur wore a large emerald ring on the middle finger of his left hand, and there was a thin white sash decorated with Egyptian amulets that passed over the center of his wide red sash.

“Welcome, daughters of Isis, to our humble temple for the crowning of Kolossofia master, Junkar. I am Master Savitur.” The old man bowed. “Tonight we begin the coronation of our new master with three rituals. One, the conquest of his new name. Choosing his weapon, he must defeat me in a duel. Two, the tracing of our origins. Three,” Savitur bowed to the priestesses, “
The Dance of Many Veils
. Then our new master will be given his title and sealed with his chosen priestess in the lighthouse.”

Sealed. Hannah shuddered. It made it sound as if the couple would be entombed together. She stole a glance down the row of priestesses to gauge their reactions, but they all sat perfectly still, their kohl-lined eyes sparkling with excitement.

Savitur bowed, and the priests and priestesses all bowed in return. Then Savitur bowed again and his audience again returned his bow. Then Savitur bowed a third time and began to giggle. He was playing with them like a mischievous child.

“Come, to the Posidium,” he said, and then everyone rose and filed outside. They were led to several long rows of stone steps that jutted up from the wide courtyard encircled by columns, and invited to sit. Savitur strode to the center of the courtyard as a row of torches mysteriously lit behind him. From the other side of the courtyard Julian approached, his outer robes removed to reveal a sleeveless black
tunica
, his black Persian pants drawn at the ankles for freedom of movement, a staff in his strong hands. They faced one another and bowed again as a horn sounded from behind them.

“Have you chosen your weapon?” asked Savitur.

Julian nodded reverently. “Yes, Master Savitur,” he said, twirling the long staff in his hands.

“Very good. This duel shall be won when one of us delivers the death blow.” As Savitur spoke the words, his eyes glittered playfully in the light.

Hannah looked to Mira. Surely the men would not fight each other to the death? But Mira was engrossed in what was happening before her, and did not return the glance.

There was a dramatic pause as two other priests approached with long black sashes draped across their hands. They bound the blindfolds snug over the men’s eyes, and then handed Savitur a staff of equal length to Julian’s.

Hannah felt unsure of how a duel would be fought between two blindfolded men. Surely there had to be some mistake.

Savitur and Julian bowed to each other one last time, and then the horn sounded. Julian raised his staff instinctively, but made no move to attack. Not yet. Julian let his breath extend to the blunt tips of the long staff as he invited his root energy in the base of his spine to ascend into his belly, his heart, the center of his forehead. The yoga techniques brought to Pharos by the mystic Kalanos from the caves of India had taught him how to redirect this powerful energy, and now his test had come.

Savitur lifted his staff smoothly, poised for the moment of first contact. A stillness arose that enveloped the two men, as if no one else was present. Then Julian cut in and swung the first blow, but his staff whistled through the empty air. He swung twice more, but each time Savitur ducked or stepped back from the staff’s reach as though he could see it perfectly.

Hannah was astonished. Beside her Mira let out a little gasp.

Julian spun sideways and extended his staff, and this time the two staffs smacked. Sensing an opening, Julian advanced with formidable intensity that would have toppled any other opponent instantly, but Savitur parried the blows effortlessly and then slunk back into the shadows and disappeared.

Julian crouched in the courtyard, turning slowly, waiting for Savitur’s attack, using his other senses to hone in on his opponent. Suddenly Savitur sprang from above, his staff aimed at Julian’s shoulder in a downward thrust, but Julian managed to roll and dodge the blow.

The two opponents circled each other slowly, as though walking on opposite sides of a wheel. Though Julian had trained for this moment extensively, he still did not know how he would succeed in besting his teacher. Savitur had the spring of a deer in his agile step, and the severity and power of a tiger’s deadly lunge in his blows. So far as Julian knew, no one had ever beaten him.

Perhaps sensing Julian’s questioning thoughts, Savitur extended his staff at a low angle to knock him off his feet. The staff nicked Julian’s ankle, but he quickly moved to the side to absorb the blow. He was only off balance for an instant, but the cleverness of his teacher fanned his impatience. Suddenly he burst in with a loud yell and there was a blur of staffs as the two men fought and parried. Julian managed to back Savitur into a corner of the courtyard and smiled to himself, feeling the advantage, but then Savitur turned one end of his staff to the ground and swung himself up to the rooftop.