I Shall Rewrite the Stars

Chapter 4

***

Whirling around, I watch as Father steps into the room, his chest heaving and left eye sealed shut, beneath a long trail of red that seeps from a gash in his forehead. Pushed in front of him, arms clasped behind his back, is Juba, who grits his teeth with eyes downcast.

“Darling!” Mother gasps.

“Where’s Cearion?” Helios demands. “He was supposed to have gone to find you.”

“He did, and helped me bust a hole in the line of those cursed Romasians,” Father says, gritting his teeth. “We were forced to retreat. The palace has fallen.”

A heavy silence passes over us, before Helios asks again, “Where is Cearion?”

Father looks toward me—no, toward the window, and all that lies beyond. “I entrusted him to General Cyrus, and the two have fled-”

“Fled—Cearion fled? He would never-”

“This night will not end well for us, Helios!” Father’s throat bobs as he swallows, and says, softer, “Cearion was hefted unconscious over Cyrus’ shoulder. Do not think for a moment, that your brother has willingly abandoned us.”

Helios shakes his head. Mother looks from him to me.

“What did you see, Selene?” she asks. “What will happen to Cearion? To yourself and your sister and brother? What will happen to you after this?”

“You told Cearion and Cyrus…to go to Indrira?” I whisper, unable to speak any louder as I meet Father’s eyes. “You told him to seek shelter in the vast wilderness of their deserts?”

Father’s eyes widen. “How did you-”

“What will happen to the four of you, Selene?” Mother demands, her voice near frantic. “Tell me!”

I shake my head, cursing the traitor Cyrus from the depths of my soul. Eyes clenched tight, I search for something—anything, within my new powers, that might be of help to us.

Behind my closed lids appears the back of the spirit adorned in silvery-white. She sits with her head bowed, shadowed by a darkened moon. Weeping, though she refuses to look at me, I can sense her unspoken message:

Tonight is a moonless night. I can do nothing for you. You must survive or die, on your own.

When I open my eyes I glance back, and sure enough, there is no moonlight to be seen in the smoke-fogged sky. But when I squeeze my hands, I still feel the marionette bars. All hope is not lost. Not yet.

“We will all die,” I say. “All of us, one after the next.”

Ptolemy heaves a wailing cry.

Helios’s eyes fill with tears.

Mother and Father go pale.

Juba looks up at me, his eyes searching mine. “You have truly read the stars?” he asks.

I shake my head. “I’ve seen what they plot. But already, bits of their will have been altered. This meeting, for example, was never supposed to take place. My whole family were to be in the Great Hall when the attack began. And you, Juba, were not to be in this kingdom.”

“Fate has been written since the dawn of time,” Father argues. “It cannot be changed or rewritten, Selene.”

“The stars fall and take their fates with them,” I say. “I have already changed the future they foretold, and I will do it again—I have to! I-”

I take a breath. It is too late to save the city. Kemet will fall under Roma’s command, and our homeland will be pillaged by their warrior-fiends. But all else can still be altered.

“We are still breathing, and that means there is still time to change our fates; still time to secure a future in which we all survive.”

Faint shouts echo from the stairwell, as if to mock my declaration. Warriors must have stormed Mother’s chamber, in search of her.

“I forgot to close the passage door,” Father whisper, then casts a fierce glare upon Juba. “You came here under Gustavian’s orders, didn’t you? Well, are you satisfied, boy? Did he give you a message to deliver before we meet our end, or did he simply wish you to relay the tale upon your return home?”

“I am neither messenger nor witness,” Juba spits, gasping as he’s thrown onto the floor.

Father draws his sword, and as he points it at Juba’s back, I throw myself between them.

“Juba is not a servant of Gustavian,” I gasp. “He was in many of my visions, Father. The stars intended him to be my-…my friend. My closest of companions!”

“In the midst of the nightmare you foresaw, the stars willed a Romasian brat to be your confidant?”

“I understand how absurd it sounds, but Juba is not loyal to Roma. And I understand that you cannot trust him, but at the very least, I beg of you to trust me!”

“Trust the monster who has condemned us all?” Ptolemy weeps. “We’re going to die. We’re all going to die here, tonight! Who cares if the boy is Romasian? Perhaps they’ll mistake him and he’ll die with us.”

“That’s enough, Ptolemy!” Helios snaps, dropping to take her by the shoulders. “Selene didn’t bring Roma to our shores. She didn’t open the gates for them. None of this is her fault!”

“She’s cursed! The stars have cursed her—and all of Kemet too!”

A wave of cold sweeps over me, numbing my broken heart. While Helios and Ptolemy bicker, Father looks to Mother, and she to the window. The voices below come closer, fade, then come closer again. It will not be long before invaders swarm the tower.

“We were the first to fall,” Mother whispers, a sad smile on her lips. “That is what you foresaw, wasn’t it?”

“We?” I ask.

Hand trembling, Father sheathes his sword, pulls it from his hip, and presses the heirloom into Helios’ hands. My brother’s mouth opens, questions dancing in his eyes, but Father brushes past him to take Mother in his arms.

And all at once, I understand.

I understand why Father’s fingers dig into Mother’s arms till her skin goes white. I understand why Mother refuses to stop smiling, though tears stream from her closed eyes.

This is the scene of a pair who have lost all hope.

“Go,” Mother whispers, sucking in a breath and blinking fast before she looks at me. “There is a narrow passage that rings the one we took to reach this chamber. It leads far underground, to a tunnel that ends at a grate by the port. Go there, find your way onto a ship, and flee Kemet-”

“You expect us to abandon our homeland?” Helios cries. “To send off your heir makes sense, but to ask all of us to run away like—like cowards? Like common traitors?”

“To save your lives so that you may form a plan, rally our allies, and fight a fair fight,” Father explains, without looking back. “This attack, this betrayal, is beyond us. There was never a chance of victory for Kemet. Not this time.”

“Selene foresaw this nightmare. She could have-” Ptolemy tries, but Father shakes his head.

“She was gifted her visions too late for them to have been of any use. But everything that is to follow this night, everything that the stars wrote, can still be changed. So go! Run as far as your legs can carry you. Challenge fate! And one day, when you are stronger, return and reclaim this land.”

But what about you?

The question burns on my tongue, desperate to be asked. And though my head knows the answer, my heart refuses to accept it. How can we leave our parents behind? How can we run, knowing they will not be here if we ever find a way to return? This is wrong—it’s cruel!

“I will not abandon you!” Helios swears, throwing his head side to side. “I refuse! I refuse to leave you behind!”

“They will follow and kill us all, if we leave,” Father sighs. “Gustavian will have ordered as such, Helios.”

“And once the two of us have fallen, he will go after Cearion,” Mother adds. “Sail for Indrira. Find your brother. By the time you reunite, you will have a plan in mind for what steps to take next.”

“Please,” Helios begs. “Mother, please. Don’t ask me to leave you to this—to them.”

“It will not be to…to them,” I whisper, brushing the tears from my eyes. “You will go as you did in my visions. Right, Mother?”

Father looks away, the trembling having reached his shoulders.

Mother meets my eyes with the saddest expression I have ever seen. “If only you could leave without knowing such a thing.”

The shouting below rises, seconds before Juba stands.

“I know a little of sailing,” he says. “I know how to navigate the map of the stars, as well. If we can reach the port, I can get us away from here.”

“Be quiet!” Helios snaps. “We will not run. We will not go anywhere without my parents!”

“As Pharaoh of Kemet, I order you to go,” Father says, lifting his head high. “Selene, Helios, Ptolemy, and you, Romasian brat. I order the four of you to heed our last command, and run.”

Mother lifts her hands, grasping handfuls of Father’s tunic. “As…as Pharaoh of Kemet, I order you four to move swiftly, without fear and without looking back. Until you are upon the waves, until you are a safe distance from the shore, do not dare look back at this place!”

“As you wish,” Ptolemy says, bowing her head.

A moment passes before Helios does the same, bowing his head with sniffling cries. “As you…as you wish.”

Father spares me a glance. “Do all that you can to change the future, Selene. This beginning of your journey was inevitable, and not even the blessing of the moon could change it. As such, I absolve you of any blame so long as you swear to keep faith, and act for the good of Kemet.”

“As you wish,” I breathe, my lips trembling.

It is almost too much, forcing myself to look out the window and step closer. As I peak my head out, I swallow back a cry of despair. I hate this—I hate it!

“Go first, Helios,” Mother commands. “Take the lead and guide your sisters. Should you come under attack, protect them.”

“Protect them whilst knowing that I can’t even protect my own parents,” Helios seethes, storming forward to fling himself through the window. Landing with one knee upon a narrow ledge, he twists to offer a hand. “Come, Ptolemy.”

She wastes no time in rushing to him, clambering up and out with ease. For a breath, Helios looks back at Mother and Father. When he looks away, following our sister into a slim, dark opening to the right, his face is blank. Empty.

I imagine his heart must feel the same.

“Go, Selene,” Mother says.

Before I can move, Juba comes to my side and steps up. Far more careful as he turns back, he offers me a hand, and helps me to my feet just behind him.

“Are you steady?” Juba asks.

“I am,” I say, blinking fast as I look back toward my parents.

The tears have left their eyes, the pain and sadness faded to expressions of serenity. They show neither fear nor despair, but hold one another close, as if all matters of the world have left them.

As though they are all that shall remain, once I have gone.

“Go,” Mother says, offering one last small, beautiful smile.

Juba tugs on my hand, and we are gone. Walking fast, we round the darkness in descending circles until a narrow, dark passage emerges. Juba and I stop at the same time as the dim glow of hundreds of hieroglyphs cast the walls, floor, and low ceiling in an odd green light.

“Let’s go,” Helios commands, he and Ptolemy just a few feet ahead.

Juba squeezes my hand, nodding forward before we move. I keep close, grateful that I cannot make out the sticky strands we walk through, or see what the soft hisses in the shadows belong to.

Following a winding, dusty path, we continue on until a wavering, yellowed light floods in from an iron grate in the ceiling, and the sounds of waves greet us. Without pause, Helios shoves at the grate till it lifts up and to the side. With a grunt, he hauls himself out, pausing a moment, then he sticks his arms down with a call for Ptolemy to grab them.

Before she can, Juba walks from my side to take her around the waist and lift. With an indignant huff, Ptolemy takes Helios’ arms and vanishes. Juba lifts me up next, and I do the same, choking on the thick scent of smoke as soon as I am set on the sandy shore.

“There’s a boat,” Ptolemy says, drawing Helios’ and my eyes to the short, wooden docks on our left, where a string of simple brown rowboats bob with long oars lain horizontally across them.

“Let’s go,” Juba says, hopping to his feet and running.

We follow, Ptolemy and I quick to take our seats in the nearest boat, while the boys untie and push it into the water. Walking until they are knee deep, they jump in one after the other.

I pass out oars then, wishing that there were more than two. Barking a rhythm of “One. Two. One. Two”, Helios sets the pace. Swiftly, we break the white-capped waves without incident, sailing out until large war ships bob into view on our far left, and the great lighthouse appears at our right.

Soaring into the dark sky, its ancient stones reflect flickers of torchlight. At its peak, a large beam shoots into the unknown, a guiding light toward the perilous heart of the Medi Sea.

Helios and Juba row for a while longer, before my brother calls for a halt and lifts his eyes toward the shore. I look too, instantly drawn to the tiny specks in the window of Mother’s tower.

Illuminated by flickers of torchlight, most likely belonging to the invaders, the figures hold still a moment—all of time holds still a moment!

And then they fall.

Not shoved. Not rushed. They simply fall off the side, like a leaf drifting from the branches of a high tree.

Helios cries out, screaming a desperate wail of “No!”

I look back as Ptolemy throws herself across his lap, her shoulders heaving with heart-wrenching sobs. Juba closes his eyes and tips his head—a show of respect, as well as remorse.

And I…I look back toward Alexandria, the city that has fallen, the people I could not save, and the future I could not change.

Sucking my lip between my teeth, I reach for Helios’ oar. Juba looks at me, shifting to sit at my side, and sticks his own into the sea.

“Rowing will be difficult,” he warns.

“What can be more difficult than all I’ve gone through tonight?” I ask. Gaze fixed ahead, I take up the chant. “One. Two. One. Two.”, and together, we force our oars through the waves.

Until Alexandria is nothing more than a glowing blur upon the horizon.

Until Kemet, my precious, precious Kemet, fades away.

***