Siobhan, The goddess' handmaiden

9.Tales, scrolls, and magic

“Still trying to get up there, I see,” Ereshkigal chuckles behind Siobhan. How does she always sneak up on her? Did she teleport just behind her back?

“I’m not a quitter,” Siobhan shrugs. She has a ladder, but the damn thing doesn’t stay in place. There is a spell on the balcony that prevents anyone from climbing it. She determined that much, but a workaround is still far away. She can’t bypass the spell if she doesn’t know what it is.

“You know a ladder won’t help you? Where did you get one anyway?” Ereshkigal asks her. The goddess is in a good mood today.

“I conjured it up,” she answers. There is no use in hiding things from the goddess.

“Come over here for a minute,” Ereshkigal beckons. “Do you know who Demetrius of Phalerum was?”

“Sounds Greek. A scholar?” Siobhan humours the goddess. It does sound familiar, but where has she heard of the guy?

“Yes, on both accounts. But he was the father of the greatest library of all times. Well, the idea for it. He never lived to see it built, but his name was all over the plans,” Ereshkigal tells her.

“You have me intrigued,” Siobhan smiles. “But there are a lot of libraries that could be described as the greatest. It all depends on who you ask.”

“True. But I think all historians would agree on one eventually,” the goddess smirks.

“The library of Alexandria?” Siobhan gapes. “Were you ever there?”

Ereshkigal nods: “Oh, yes. I loved it.”

“So? Demetrius was the architect?” Siobhan asks.

“Yes. The plans he drew were elaborate. It was a sight of true beauty. A pilgrimage for any scholar of ancient times. It was an honour to be accepted and allowed to study there. I know Cleopatra was a regular guest in its halls,” Ereshkigal smiles.

“What was she really like? I don’t think history did her justice,” Siobhan inquires about Cleopatra.

“For one, she was a natural blond thanks to her Greek ancestors. Even at a very young age, she gobbled up knowledge. Cleopatra spoke nine languages and she was a master at herbology,” Ereshkigal tells her. “You’re like her. Is that why you want to go up there? You gather knowledge.”

“It’s my father’s fault. He was an historian. By the time my peers learned to read English, I was fluent in Latin and first century Greek. My summer vacations were spent at Oxford with him. I studied Aramaic in High school, and graduated college with honours in French and Italian. For my masters and doctorate I chose Egyptology and learned to read hieroglyphics,” Siobhan explains.

“When did you have time to be a witch? Or is that one of your powers? You come in contact with a language and you master it?” Ereshkigal wants to know.

“I wish it was that easy. But I do learn fast and I remember everything I see just once. Pronouncing a language nobody speaks anymore was a whole new thing,” Siobhan shakes her head. “I might learn Sumerian, but I never hear it spoken around here.”

“We’ll see about that,” Ereshkigal scoffs. “Since your interest in the upper floors is purely academic, and you’re stuck here, I decided to show you the stairs. But there are rules. Nothing ever leaves the library!”

“I haven’t taken Dante out. Why would I take anything else?” Siobhan looks at the goddess in wonder. The thought never occurred to her to take the book back to her room. Her little corner in the window was almost perfect.

“Promise me you’ll never take anything out!” Ereshkigal glares at her.

“I promise. Nothing leaves the library. I doubt the demons read,” Siobhan shrugs. It’s an easy promise to make. She doesn’t talk to anyone else, and the goddess owns everything as it is.

“The penalty is final death, just so you know,” Ereshkigal smirks. Her elegant gown swirls around her as she moves. A slight breeze comes from nowhere and a shimmering gold dust reveals the ornate stairs to the upper floor. The craftsmanship is the same as on the balconies. There are flowers mixed with skulls and most of it is gilded with gold. She has probably walked by there a hundred times. The stairs weren’t just invisible, they weren’t there at all.

“What in hell is up there?” Siobhan inquires. She is almost afraid to climb the stairs now. There is security and locks, but this kind of paranoid protection is only for the biggest treasure.

“I told you,” Ereshkigal chuckles. “Were you listening at all?”

“I was,” Siobhan nods. Is there a chance that Ereshkigal somehow “rescued” the library of Alexandria? That would be a monumental feat. Something most scholars and collectors would kill for. Something that should be protected at all costs. The world must never know.

“You made the connection. I can practically see it in your eyes,” Ereshkigal smirks.

“I understand the protection measures now. No one can know,” she whispers.

“You don’t have to whisper. We’re all alone,” the goddess muses.

“Does Nakir know what’s up there?” Siobhan points to the stairs. She is yet to get her courage together and climb them.

“Who do you think helped me get it all here? He couldn’t come in physical form, but his shadows could. During the fire the people of Alexandria were frantically trying to rescue the building. Some managed to get a few scrolls out, we took everything that was left. My magic held the fire back from inside, Nakir’s shadows hauled large sections of the library through the portal. Including the shelves,” Ereshkigal explains.

“Did you get it all?” Siobhan asks.

“Unfortunately, no. We got there too late. Large sections were already too damaged. I think we have about half of it,” Ereshkigal says.

The goddess walks up the stairs and Siobhan follows. Now that she knows what is there, she’s careful to even breathe. She’s not touching anything. The scrolls are old and fragile. Just knowing about it all is a huge responsibility. Siobhan has half the mind to ask Ereshkigal to make the stairs disappear again.

“The best part of it all? We got Cleopatra’s research. She was developing anti-ageing serums and lotions,” Ereshkigal tells her proudly. “And it’s not goat milk. She was also a very proficient poison maker.”

“How did she really die? I don’t believe in the legend of getting bit by a snake on purpose,” Siobhan inquires. The goddess clearly knew Cleopatra, and she’s in a good mood, too.

“Snake venom. But they drank it. Marcus Antonius really was bitten by the snakes that were in the room with them. But those were Cleopatra’s pets, they would never harm their master,” Ereshkigal answers. “It was a sound choice she made. And I think it was a good one. Cleopatra as a roman slave? I can’t imagine the horrors they would have done to her if they ever caught her alive.”

Siobhan doesn’t have an answer to that. She can imagine it though. Roman cruelty was legendary and well documented. Her feet get stuck at the top of the stairs, and her eyes travel over scrolls upon scrolls on the old wooden shelves. This part looks different than downstairs. While the shelves there resemble an old monastery library, the shelves up here are much simpler in design. Are those really the original shelves? She’s afraid to touch anything. The scrolls are well over two thousand years old, fragile and delicate.