Guardian of the Flame by T. L. Higley

Author:T. L. Higley
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: B&H Publishing Group
Published: 2010-10-15T00:00:00+00:00

TWENTY-TWO

Four days passed, and the cut on her throat was healing. Sophia sat on the edge of her bed and angled a small polished bronze beneath her chin to catch sight of the wound. The slice was neat and the edges had come together correctly, though there would certainly be a scar. She had a flash of the throat of her attacker, opened and gushing. She shuddered and laid the bronze on her bed.

It had been too long since a visit to the temple, and she felt the need this morning to pay respect to the gods.

It was still early when she slipped from the lighthouse. No soldiers nor servants impeded her, and she chose to walk. She tried to enjoy the sounds of the morning and the sunshine, still too hazy to build the heat. But thoughts of her attacker plagued her, and she kept her eyes up as she walked. “To him who is in fear, everything rustles.” Sophocles did not help her today.

The sun could not penetrate the heavy shroud she felt within. Since the attack and Bellus’s rescue, she had been restless, yet inactive. She had spent too many hours gazing out to sea from her chamber windows or sleeping on her couches.

The Temple of Serapis had been built by the Greeks, but unlike the palaces and public buildings, it was thoroughly Egyptian in architecture, with square-cut doorways and flat walls that leaned slightly inward. An attempt by Ptolemy Soter to convince the Egyptians that this new god was actually one of theirs.

She tried to shake off the doubts that were becoming pervasive of late. How could this manufactured Greek-Egyptian god claim her worship? How could he be a god, when he had not existed a few centuries earlier?

Sophia crossed through the sun-washed courtyard, passed the mighty statues of the Apis Bull, and entered the darkness of the temple.

Inside, the thickly columned hall, with its carved reliefs spread on every wall, was still dim, with only one fire burning in a low brazier on the side. She found herself the only worshipper, and the heaviness of the dark interior descended on her at once. She felt sealed up, as if she had been brought to one of the underground tombs of the ancient kings and left there to await the afterlife.

She moved slowly across the hall to the altar at the front.

A priest appeared, his white skirt gleaming in the darkness and his shaved head catching the firelight. She kneeled before him, and he touched her forehead with his finger. She felt the residue of oil that remained.

He began a chant over her, and she fumbled for the coins she had brought. They were smooth and heavy in her hand, and she pressed them into his. He accepted the sacrifice without breaking the rhythm of his chant.

Sophia’s eyes grew heavy. She blinked several times and let them close. She waited for the peace that had often descended on her in the temple, but it did not come.

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