The Fortune Teller(35)

For Mathai, standing there in that room, his life suddenly felt like it belonged to a stranger. Just as the manuscript had ended up in a place it did not belong, so had he.

He should be at the academy right now, meeting with the director and discussing his future. Someone should be unloading their things and placing them in one of the small quarters reserved for the staff. Elisa should be resting in their new bed and preparing for the birth. Instead Mathai had to suffer the company of a greedy old man who cared little that his wife was fighting for her life.

Elisa’s screams grew louder. When she called out his name, Mathai backed toward the door. “Excuse me,” he interrupted. He no longer cared if he offended the man. Elisa needed him.

*

The next hours were the bleakest of his life. He had heard gruesome tales of childbirth, that it demanded every bit of a woman’s spirit. He watched Elisa fight and knew his mother had been wrong about her. Elisa’s body might be frail, but she would not give up until the baby was born.

He knelt beside her and held her hand.

Elisa tried to speak to him. “Promise me, Mathai…” she said, but she could not continue. She screamed and her body contorted with pain.

His eyes grew wet and he choked back a sob. “Elisa?” She couldn’t hear him.

When her pain subsided again, he tried to bring her back.

For a moment, clarity returned to her eyes. “Give our child my mother’s symbols.” She gripped his hand hard.

Mathai thought back to the trade he had made with Admentos and thanked the heavens he had not also offered the divinity symbols. “I will. I promise.”

“And the story. Tell her the story.”

Mathai did not know the story, but he couldn’t break his wife’s heart by confessing what he had done. Before he could answer, Elisa screamed again and did not stop until the baby’s cries joined hers. Then she fell back on the pillows and closed her eyes.

It was evening now and soft moonlight fell on Elisa, calling to her from the window. She looked over to the light. She saw that in time, Mathai would settle in Gundeshapur and rise in prominence to a degree that would have made even her father proud, just as she had promised him. Mathai would remarry and have several more children; though his first daughter would always remain his favorite. His new wife wanted to resent her but couldn’t, and she ended up loving the child as her own.

Mathai kept his promise to Elisa. He gave their daughter the divinity symbols when she was old enough to understand. He explained that they were a family heirloom from her birth mother and had come from the Great Library of Alexandria. Mathai only asked that she not look at them in front of him; he did not want to be reminded of his beloved first wife.

On occasion the girl would take them out in private before she went to sleep. She would study the mysterious images and imagine what her mother had been like. The girl would stare at the moon, not knowing that its light connected them beyond the years.

*

Elisa was my last descendent to know my story, now lost in a stranger’s library in Gundeshapur. That you are seeing my words is testament to the seams of time.

You must look up now, Semele, and stop reading. Someone is watching you.





Strength

Semele almost fell out of her chair.

Several people nearby shot her annoyed looks. She was sitting in the Rose Room in the New York Public Library and had been completely absorbed by Ionna’s story when she stumbled upon her name again.

Her gaze shot up and landed on a man three rows ahead. Their eyes met and he quickly glanced back at his book. Semele scanned the other seats around her, searching for anyone who seemed conspicuous.

This was the second time Ionna had called her out by name. It just wasn’t possible that she was communicating with her. Ionna had to have known some other person named Semele. Maybe Semele was even the name of her daughter.

The name is Greek, Semele grimly reminded herself, trying to calm down.

But then how was it possible that Ionna knew about Gundeshapur, a city founded several hundred years after her time? Unless this manuscript was a fake and had been written years later. She needed to talk to Cabe and find out what the DNA test revealed about the manuscript’s date of origin.

If, in fact, this manuscript was written during the time Ionna lived, or said she lived, Semele had a real problem: a woman living in the time of Cleopatra had foreseen the rise of the Sassanid Empire, and this alone would make the manuscript priceless.

Semele glanced around the room again and saw the man who had just caught her eye. Why did he look so familiar?

Her computer beeped—her battery was running low. She took it as a sign. She had been sitting there all day translating Ionna’s manuscript, and seeing her name again had completely unnerved her. She needed to get out of there.

She bent down to put her things away in the bag by her feet, when it came to her.

The man had been on her plane. He was the man who’d been staring at her from the next row on her flight from Switzerland.

A surge of adrenaline hit her, but she tried to remain calm as she gathered her things.

She looked at the man again discreetly, trying to remember every detail about him: forties, knit sweater and thin metal glasses, short hair, clean-shaven. Possibly German or Swiss, if she had to guess. There was nothing sinister about him. He had a preoccupied look, the kind that made people forgettable. If she hadn’t caught him staring at her, she never would have noticed him.