Thomas Harlan - The storm of Heaven

– |"Hello, auntie." Zoe ran her hands along the carved top of the sarcophagus. "I'm sorry you were lost in the sea for so long. I'm sorry I haven't come to see you." The rich dark wood was grainy with salt. Khalid's divers had removed the wrack and barnacles, but the original luster was gone. The Palmyrene woman sighed, her fingers tracing the inlaid figures of cloaked men and women, the camels and fine ships with triangular sails. By her command, the casket remained sealed.

Zoe sat down next to the sarcophagus, suddenly tired. She had put off this moment for days, hiding in her own tent. Zoe put her face in her hands, trying not to weep. The loss of Zenobia and the city forced her mind into something like madness, fueled by rage and a singular desire to destroy Rome. Then Mohammed and his gentle touch and kind words woke her from the dream of vengeance. Now he had been taken away and she felt empty. The vibrating fury sustaining her for so many months was just… gone. It felt very strange, her mind seemingly clear but purposeless.

What do I do now? In the pavilion, the desire to take the bodies of her aunt and her friend away had been very strong. That still felt like the proper and right thing to do. But after that? Perhaps, she thought, I will leave all these lands. India is not far from Mekkah. There are many ships which ply those waters. They say the mountains looking down upon the golden cities of Mauryasana are the abode of the gods. I could climb them and see.

Zoe was suddenly ashamed of dragging Zenobia from her mountain tomb, desecrating her burial place. She stood, lithe body rising gracefully, and turned, bowing to her dead aunt.

"Auntie, I'm so sorry. I will take you home straightaway and see that you rest among your fathers and grandfathers. They will be missing you, I'm sure!" She turned, facing the bier holding the body of Mohammed, wrapped in white cloths. The spears had been lashed together with leather cords, each man in the army of the Sahaba contributing some portion. She supposed that, someday, men would say the leather was washed in tears, the spears in blood. The soldiers had been overcome, many falling to the ground, distraught, when the body of the teacher had been carried into the camp.

"Mohammed…" Zoe had to clear her throat. "I will take you home, too. Shadin and I will carry you back to the desert city. Khadijah is waiting for you, I know she is. You will be happy there, lying beside her…" Tears flooded and Zoe could not continue, covering her face, shuddering. "Oh. Oh, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I should have been there at your side. Damn that Khalid and his thugs! They couldn't keep you safe. Not like I… should have."

A thin tracery of fire appeared in the air, circling Zoe's head. It rippled with white and blue, crawling through the air. She was crying too hard to notice, but the glowing worm spun out from her, encircling the sarcophagus, the bier, then the whole tent. Outside, unheard, there was a shout of alarm. "Why are you gone?" Zoe could barely speak. "I just found you, my dear friend. Is this your God's work? This cruelty? Does he love you more than I do? Is he jealous?"

Fire burned in a trembling sheet, surrounding the tent, lighting up the entire interior, glowing through the cloth walls. Waves of heat washed over her, drying her tears. Zoe looked up, startled by the brilliant light, and stared at the wall of flame, puzzled by its unexpected appearance.

"Zoe!" Distantly, she heard Odenathus calling out to her. She turned around, seeing the wavering figure of her cousin through the leaping, silent flames. "Zoe!"

Scowling, wiping tears away from her eyes with the back of one hand, the Palmyrene woman pressed her other hand towards the ground. With the motion, the fire settled, sinking into the earth. The light dimmed, then went out, leaving the night darker than before. Outside the tent, some of the Sahaba gathered, gawking. Odenathus waited just outside the ring of smoking ground. He stepped into the tent, alarmed. Zoe made a face at him and turned away. The onlookers, seeing the look on her face, quietly slipped away.

"Zoe… what are you doing?" Odenathus leaned against the sarcophagus, trying to see her face. He sounded worried.

"Go away." Zoe wiped her eyes again. "I would like to be alone."

"No. You've been hiding in your tent for days. I wanted to talk to you."

"About what?" She turned again, keeping her face averted.

Odenathus sighed, sitting back on the edge of the sarcophagus. His foot tapped restlessly against the heavy wood. "Do you want me to come with you to Palmyra and Mekkah?"

Zoe faced him, her arms crossed. "You don't need my permission to stay here with Khalid and the army. They will need you, I suppose. The Romans still have some thaumaturges. You're pretty strong now… you could help them."

"Zoe, I do need your permission." Odenathus was very serious. Zoe lifted her head in question. "You are queen of the city. I am in your service. By your decree in the ruins, I command our paltry forces." He made a half-smile, long face brightening.

"Yes." Zoe sighed. "You are my subject. But I have already decided to set aside this crown, for all its riches and glory." A wry, deprecating tone crept into her voice. "Where is the empire of Palmyra? Where are the courtiers, the glorious city, the thousand maids and servants? I rule a ragged band of refugees, some ships, a great deal of broken shale and desert sand. I will not command any man or woman of the city to follow me. Shadin has volunteered, and his service I will accept."

Odenathus' expression changed subtly, growing sad. "You won't stay?"

"Here?" Zoe laughed, a silvery sound like icy water rushing over tumbled polished stone. "This is a dreadful country!" Something like a smile crept into her face, crinkling the corners of her dark brown eyes. "You have more here than I-Khalid and this band of brothers. The war."

Odenathus nodded, looking at the ground. "Do you remember when we reached Antioch after the Persian campaign? You were going to stay in the Legion-you thought it suited you. I was going to leave, to go home and get married! Now, everything is reversed."

"I'm not going to get married," Zoe said in a very dry tone. Then her voice softened. "Have you found what you were looking for?"

"Yes." Odenathus looked up, a plaintive expression on his face, half-confidence, half-remorse. "Do you suppose that our battle-meld will still hold, even with so many leagues between us?"

I think so, she thought, and he smiled, hearing her in his own mind. You should go back. They are still arguing… I suppose Khalid will win in the end. He will be the kalif, the successor.

Yes.

Zoe stepped close to her cousin, kissed his brow, then hugged him fiercely. After a long moment, they stood apart. Zoe did not watch him leave, turning instead to the cloth-wrapped body of Mohammed. Exhaustion crept upon her, making her arms and legs heavy as lead. She wanted to look upon his face, to see the proud brow, the noble nose, one last time. She yawned tremendously.

"It can't be that late," Zoe said crossly, raising a hand. The lamps died. Darkness folded around the tent. She could see the moon, a half-crescent dipping behind the pines. "Oh, it is late."

The thought of crossing the camp to her tent was too much for her. She laid down on the ground at the foot of Zenobia's sarcophagus, curling up, cloak laid on the ground as a bedcloth. Within a breath, she was sound asleep. A little time passed and then there was a clacking and a rustling in the casket. Something moved, sounding like a great number of crickets and beetles trapped in a stone bucket.

Sleep, daughter, sleep. All these foul dreams will soon pass away. Sleep and dream of delightful things. Dream of home.