Sweet Sophia, what’s Dera got me following prophecy boy for? I expected Aeson to be a bit more unusual. Henite will be wondering where I am. I have to be at the Necropolis before sunset to finish inscribing the tomb. If I nip down this alley, I’ll cut him off. Well, I s’pose his beauty is unusual, and those piercing blue eyes, the colour of sapphire… the same colour as the gems in the eyes of Serapis in the Serapeum.
This pillar will do. He won’t see me waiting behind here. After chiselling stone, it’s good to breathe in fresh air. Dust is caked inside my nostrils; I’ll have a good pick later. Sophia’s scaly skin undulates around my neck where she’s wrapped herself. I like her weight on my shoulders – makes me feel solid and heavy on the earth. Snakes’ bodies are all muscle. I wish I could move with their grace, instead of jerking along on my crutch.
Here he comes. Out with the stick.
‘Ah! What the…’
He’s down in the dust. Go get him, Sophia.
Laughter bubbles up in my chest at the sight of Aeson pinned to the pavement by fear at the sight of Sophia slithering towards him.
‘Get that snake away from me.’
‘Sorry, Aeson, but I need you to listen to me.’
‘Why should I?’
‘My name’s Kiya. I’m a tomb-inscriber.’
‘You’re a crazy cripple with a snake. Leave me alone.’
Sophia hisses.
Aeson shuffles back on his arse. People always keep their distance when Sophia’s with me. God’s Holy Spirit protects me.
‘Because you are in danger. You’re not safe in Alexandria. Your fate is bound to the fate of the temple and the temple is doomed.’
His blue eyes roll.
‘Not you too! I’m sick of hearing about my fate. I’m me own man.’ He shakes the leather purse tied to his belt. ‘Here, this is my only link to Serapis – have it. Serapis knows, it didn’t bring Dad and luck.’
He raises his right arm and throws something at me. ‘Take it.’
It lands and spits gravel up at the bare ankle of my good foot.
‘I’m sorry, Aeson.’ He’s an orphan like me. Silently I chant, Aoi-aoi-aoi-amen. Dera the Hermit says the words have a healing frequency. I feel Aeson’s anger collapse, fall away as I continue to chant, Aoi-aoi-aoi-amen-aoi. Let the healing thoughts lap his body like the waves caress the beach. Sweet Sophia, work your magic.
I slip down my crutch and pick up the tiny statue of a household god.
‘Serapis.’ It’s been skilfully chiselled.
‘Dad prayed to this stupid chunk of wood all his life and now he’s dead.’ His voice cracks. ‘Maybe he’ll bring you better luck. With your leg, or something.’
I prop my crutch under my armpit so I can hold the tiny statue in both hands. It’s so light, the wood so smooth. I know as well as any Alexandrian the form of Serapis with his beard and basket of grain on his head.
‘Grief makes us do odd things.’ I know that well enough in my job. Night after night I watch mourners beat out their grief on their chests, tear the skin on their cheeks with bloody nails… although most women cheat and buy a beaker of blood from the local butcher to paint their faces.
What’s this? A faint sound – not audible, but with a quality Dera, Seth, Henite and the other holy Aberamenthos have taught me to hear with my mind – makes me still my breathing. Concentrate on the silence, block out the city noise. There it is: a ring of bright, white energy only years of continual prayer can create buzzes around the statue.
‘I can’t take your god.’
‘Don’t blame you. He’s useless.’
‘You’re mistaken. It’s too powerful to give away.’
I hold out my arm. ‘Sophia, come here.’ She slithers up and back around my neck. Released from the snake, Aeson gets up with the grace of a cat.
‘Here, take back your god. Keep Serapis safe.’
Aeson looks sad as he takes Serapis. He tucks the god into his purse.
‘I’m sorry about your Dad.’ Dera called Henite to nurse his dad, but she said he’d given up on life by the time she arrived.
He nods. ‘How do you know Dera?’
‘Dera’s a holy man.’
‘That’s what Dad used to say. He’s clever alright, but I’m not buying into no prophecy.’ His eyes roll again. Sunlight makes them even bluer. Celestial, Seth would call them.
‘Dera has visions.’
‘Having visions don’t make you holy.’
My heart’s beating so fast. Sweet Sophia, maybe Aeson’s an angel… all that energy round the statue of Serapis. I’ll know if I touch him.
‘Give me your hand.’
‘Why?’
‘Please.’
His hand is warm. There’s definitely divine energy coming off him. Sweet Sophia, it’s throbbing all over me!
‘Ouch, you’re strong for a girl.’
He pulls his hand back and laughs.
‘Aeson?’ I know that deep, calm voice. That’s Dera the Hermit.
We both look back towards the Emporium exit. The hermit’s size always surprises me: Dera the Hermit must be the biggest man in the world… and the gentlest… funny how people cross the street to avoid him. Strong as the columns of the Temple of Serapis. His skin glistens, tight across muscles like aubergines. He never comes to church. Seth says hermits are loners. But he has that calmness about him all Aberamenthos have. Please, Sophia, help me grow wise like our holy ones.
‘Aeson, come with me. It is what your father would have wanted.’
‘My father wanted me to be a scribe.’
‘You are not safe in Alexandria, Aeson.’
‘Dera, I’m not coming with you.’ Aeson sounds like he wants to run into Dera’s arms, but instead looks up at the tall wall next to us, uncertain. ‘Bye, Kiya.’
‘Aeson, come with me, please.’ Dera stretches out his great sea-monster arms towards Aeson.
With one quick movement, Aeson runs up the side of the wall, pulls himself on to a window ledge and is away. He won’t get far – there’s a gap in the buildings. Sweet Sophia, he’s going to jump it!
‘Aeson, don’t jump…’ I’m not sure if my voice can reach him.
He’s mad if he attempts that jump. He looks back at Dera, then at the gap between him and the next block, takes a few steps back and launches himself at the wall on the opposite side of the street.
The huge African runs along the street adjacent to the wall.
‘Aeson, you promised your dad not to climb. I’ll find a way to pay for your apprenticeship, put you on the tools like you always wanted. Aeson, come back.’
Aeson stops, turns and yells back, ‘I promised Dad I’d learn to write and that’s what I’m going to do.’
We watch Aeson disappear over the rooftops.
‘Dera, why don’t you stop him?’
‘Not even I can jump like that, Kiya.’
‘Are you sure he’s the prophecy boy… I mean he’s not taking it very seriously?’ And I didn’t expect the prophecy boy to be so smelly.
‘You know every nook of Alexandria, Kiya.’
Dera’s gaze shifts to the desert dunes, beyond the Serapeum on its hill.
‘Where are you going?’
‘The Necropolis. He might go to his father’s grave.’
‘And if he’s not there? I heard your thoughts. You’re leaving us, going back to the desert, aren’t you?’
Dera laughs a strong, hearty laugh. ‘You’re a sharp one, Kiya. Keep listening like that, with the wisdom of Sophia, and you’ll make a fine Aberamentho one day.’
My cheeks burn hot at the compliment. Me, an Aberamentho!
‘I’m going back to the desert, Kiya.’ His aubergine hand looks camouflaged against Sophia’s skin as he bends down and strokes her. He looks me straight in the eye. ‘Keep close to him, Kiya. Any trouble, tell Henite or Seth. They know how to find me.’
My cheeks blaze hotter at the honour of having a task other than inscribing dead people’s tombstones.