The Vesuvius Isotope (The Katrina Stone Novels) (35 page)

Dante suddenly paled. “
Vaffanculo
,” he said under his breath. “I can’t believe it. You’re right. I don’t know how I missed it, but you’re right. Isis was one of the only Egyptian deities with wings. The wings symbolize wind, and the wind symbolizes healing. It’s from the original legend of Isis and Osiris.

“The legend is that Isis used her wings to fill Osiris’ mouth and nose with air, giving him life. This was after she put all his parts back together, of course.”

“Sorry, what?”

“Oh. Isis brought Osiris—her husband—back to life after he was murdered by the god Seth. When Isis and Osiris married, they ruled Egypt. Seth was jealous, so he murdered Osiris and cut him up into fourteen pieces, which he then scattered across Egypt. Isis found every part except for Osiris’… uh…”

He appeared to forget the appropriate word, so he instead gestured toward his own genitals, blushing.

“Penis?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said sheepishly. “Isis couldn’t find the…
penis
… because it had been eaten by a crab.”

I have in my charge the care of ten, all stricken with the plague of the crabs.

All ten of my charges have failed the scalpel and the fire drill. Their tumors continue to grow. The crabs continue to devour them.

“Eaten by a crab?”

“Yeah,” Dante said. “Eaten by a crab. Isis put the rest of her husband back together anyway and then used her wings to breathe eternal life into him.”

“So her wings are associated with her ability to restore life,” I said.

“Yes,” he said, now with conviction. “You find the winged Isis and you will find what you’re looking for. And I know where to find her.

“In Aswan is the largest Temple of Isis built in the ancient world. It was built by Cleopatra’s ancestors. And it bears the only image I know of in which a winged Isis presides over some form of plant.”

The sky had grown dark, and it became increasingly difficult to make out the reliefs on the temple walls. As I stood staring again at the mysterious plant beheld also by the goddess Isis, I suddenly realized I was straining my tired eyes to see. I blinked, and a tear of exhaustion came to each. I could delay the inevitable no longer.

“Dante, I need you to get me a hotel room.”

He looked at me with a raised eyebrow.

“I have no clothing except for what’s on my back, an Egyptian galabia, and the rest of the touristy stuff we bought today. I also have no identification, and even if I did I couldn’t use it. I spent last night on a train, and the night before that in a hotel so nasty I woke up with a cockroach on my arm. I need a good night’s sleep. If you can use your ID to get me into a hotel room, I’ll pay you back in cash and with interest.”

“No problem!” he said and quietly chuckled for a moment at my summary of the last two days of my life. “And if you don’t have tons of money on you, you can pay me back any time. Or, not at all. I don’t care. I know you have lots of money—or, at least, you did once—but right now you seem pretty much at the end of your rope. Just… you have a friend. Don’t worry. We’ll figure it out.”

I glanced across the street, away from him.

We checked into adjacent rooms, and, as soon as my door was closed and locked behind me, I dug into the bottom of my purse to retrieve the pistol. It was fully loaded. At first, I placed it on the nightstand and lay down for a few minutes on the bed. Then a door slammed somewhere in the hotel, and I jumped.

I got up from the bed and carried the pistol with me into the bathroom.

Instead of calming me down, a rushed shower only heightened my sense of nervousness. I repeatedly reached out of the shower for the gun, every sound convincing me that Dante was breaking into my room. The Temple of Isis in Aswan was where the answers were. I needed Dante Giordano no further. And I was all too aware that he no longer needed me either.

After dressing once again, I poked my head cautiously out of the door of my room. Dante’s door was closed, and a “Do Not Disturb” sign hung from the doorknob. I quietly stepped out and tiptoed down the hall.

I found the concierge in the lobby and requested the use of a computer. There was still no mention of Jeff’s death in the news. He and I were still being reported as missing persons, which meant that Larry Shuman had still not turned me in. And, evidently, Romano Moretti was also still keeping his silence.

From Jeff’s account, I e-mailed Moretti, a scientist I had never met but upon whom my daughter’s life now depended. I asked him to include the papyrus plant in his studies, to determine whether some element contained within it could somehow have produced the Vesuvius isotope.

There was still no response from John. I e-mailed him again. In the subject line of the e-mail, I typed two question marks. The body I left blank.

That was last night.

You see me here, Lucius, in answer to your prayer. I am Nature, the universal Mother, mistress of all the elements, primordial child of time, sovereign of all things spiritual, queen of the dead, queen also of the immortals, the single manifestation of all gods and goddesses that are. My nod governs the shining heights of Heavens, the wholesome sea breezes, the lamentable silences of the world below. Though I am worshipped in many aspects, known by countless names… some know me as Juno, some as Bellona… the Egyptians who excel in ancient learning… call me by my true name, Queen Isis.

-The Golden Ass

Apuleius (ca. 123
–180 CE)

Chapter Twenty-Four

When I awoke this morning, I went back down to the hotel lobby and accessed the computer, happy to see the “Do Not Disturb” sign still hanging from Dante’s door. My latest e-mail to John had been returned as undeliverable, with a message that his inbox was full.

But I—rather, Jeff—had already received a reply from Romano Moretti, who had been able to locate an online vendor of live papyrus. He had placed a rush order.

His group had also completed the chemical analyses of the biological samples Alyssa and I had provided him. Aside from an almost uniformly high concentration of sulfur, to be expected from their proximity to the volcano, the samples had not yielded anything unusual. Moretti was seeking advice regarding additional work on those samples, as he appeared to have arrived at a dead end.

I quickly realized that abandoning Dante for a second time would be futile. We would both be heading to the same place—the Temple of Isis in Aswan. And to leave Dante now would possibly also blow my cover, to admit that I knew the truth about him and Rossi. So instead, I knocked on his door and told him I had made arrangements for our transportation to the temple.

I had signed the two of us up for a van tour from Luxor to Aswan. The tour would take us through Esna Temple, Edfu Temple, and Kom Ombo Temple en route to Aswan. The Temple of Isis at Aswan would be the final attraction.

We learned on the tour that the plant we had seen the night before was a lotus.

The plant we had seen being examined by the goddess Isis at the Luxor Temple was the symbol of
Upper
Egypt. To the ancients, the lotus complemented the papyrus, the symbol of Lower Egypt. And it was everywhere.

I was amazed at the sheer number of times the lotus and the papyrus appeared together. They graced the walls of every ancient monument, their stalks intertwined, their leaves kissing. The lotus and the papyrus. The papyrus and the lotus. But no nardo.

The goddess Isis was everywhere as well. She always looked identical to the image we had seen in Luxor Temple. And she never, ever had wings.

The Temple of Isis at Aswan is located on the island of Philae. The boat taking us to the temple made a semi-circle around the island to reach the entrance, which is located on the far side of the island relative to the Aswan shore. I was able to take in the vast ruins from a distance before the boat docked and the temple was upon me.

I stepped off the boat and looked up at the monument. Though it was quite a distance away from the dock, it seemed to tower just over my head, so large in relation to the island itself that it almost appeared as if the temple could topple right off the land.

As we disembarked from the boat, a gathering of touts converged upon our tour group. Just as I had seen in Luxor, they offered T-shirts, miniature statues, postcards, and other assorted souvenirs. Their Arabic and English chatter swirled hazily around me as I looked up at the temple. When a particularly persistent woman in niqab took my hand and laid a roll of paper into it, I paid no attention.

“This is map of ruin,” she said in heavily accented English. “It will help you find what you are looking for.”

Absently, I reached into the pocket of my jeans and handed her a small handful of change. “Thank you,” I said, without tearing my eyes from the temple.

At the temple’s entrance was a large relief showing Ptolemy XII, Cleopatra’s father. Beside him stood his family, including the young princess, Cleopatra. According to a guide leading a small group through the temple, Ptolemy XII had been the last ruler to significantly add to the temple. His contributions could be found throughout the temple, but the majority were focused within the inner sanctuary at the far end.

Dante and I headed there at a brisk pace, noting as we went the thousands of years of history and myth sprawled before us. We passed next to a smaller temple, colonnaded as Luxor Temple had been. As at Luxor Temple, the colonnades were carved to resemble papyrus. We passed through a larger such temple. Papyrus colonnades again. We passed by a seemingly infinite number of Isis reliefs. All of them wore sheath dresses. All wore atop their heads a crown of the horns of Hathor with the sun disk in the center. Most carried an ankh or a staff. None had wings.

We passed row upon decorative row of ankhs, aligned with each other in perfect grids. We passed a low relief resembling a picket fence. Slowing for a closer examination, I saw that the image was actually an alternating pattern of papyrus and lotus plants.

We continued forward.

At last we approached the inner sanctuary, and the vast, open, colonnaded spaces were replaced with a series of progressively smaller enclosed rooms. As we passed from one into the other, I noticed that their walls and ceilings became increasingly adorned with birds in flight. Flocks of soaring birds gradually replaced the ankhs and plants I had seen in the outer spaces. Their flight patterns pointed from doorway to doorway as if always leading the way into the next room.

As we followed their path into the depths of the temple, the spaces surrounding us became noticeably darker and much, much cooler. The brilliant Egyptian sunlight, formerly beating down mercilessly, was now filtering in gently through a scattering of small windows. Through them, I could at last feel a gentle breeze wafting across the island from the Nile. It was as if the fluttering wings all around me had brought it.

The birds guided us into the inner sanctuary, their wings outstretched, their heads held arrogantly erect. They began to resemble the symbol.

The caduceus.

Suddenly, I understood the ancient Egyptian legend Dante had described the previous day. In a desert land where temperatures could reach well above a hundred degrees, a soft breeze was life. And it was the winged Isis—one of very few winged deities—who could provide that wind and renew life.

And then, as if to confirm this, there she was.

It is our second date, and Jeff and I step out of the Egyptian rooms of the Louvre. We have just spent an intimate moment marveling at the winged Isis on the sarcophagus of Ramses III, the oldest image of the modern caduceus that either of us has ever seen.

“I had no idea our medical symbol was so old,” I say.

“A professor of mine once regaled the class with the accepted story of its origin,” Jeff says.

“Oh yeah, what did he say?”

“That the caduceus—a winged staff wound symmetrically by two snakes—had historically been associated with the rod of Asclepius. But that is a different staff, without wings, wound asymmetrically by one snake. Asclepius was the Greek god of medicine, and his rod is also found today. But it is not the same symbol as the caduceus, which is much more commonly used today to depict medicine.”

“So how did your professor explain the mistake?”

“He couldn’t. I told him it sounded like bullshit. We debated the point for the rest of the school year.” Jeff grins widely. “Now I have proof I was right. The caduceus symbol came from the ancient Egyptian goddess of medicine. Isis. But I have no idea where the snakes came from…”

In a relief covering the entire wall of the innermost sanctuary stood the only winged Isis I had seen in all of Egypt. Her message was as clear as if she had spoken it out loud.

On the head of Isis were the horns of Hathor. But that was the extent of the resemblance this Isis bore to the thousands of other images I had seen here.

Beneath the horns of Hathor, a serpent circled her head like a crown, its triangular head stretched before Isis as if it wanted to see what she saw. For the first time, the goddess did not wear the constricting sheath dress, the dress that would certainly bind a broad span of wings.

Isis folded her wings protectively around another figure. The figure’s face had been obscured over time, but the dress was male.

“Who are you protecting?” I quietly asked the goddess.

“That’s Horus,” Dante said. “Horus is her son.”

In Horus’ hand was a staff. The serpent jutting out from the head of Isis pointed toward it. Across from Isis and Horus was another figure, also a male. On his kilt were two serpents, winding up his body, the snakes of the caduceus staff itself.

Here is your answer, Jeff. The staff, the wings, the snakes. Here is the legend that gave us the timeless symbol of medicine. This is how the wings of the goddess Isis became entwined with the snakes of the caduceus forever.

Between the kilted figure and the protective wings of Isis around Horus stood a large bouquet comprised of the same repeating elements. The same two plants. The lotus and the papyrus.

“There they are,” Dante said breathlessly beside me. “Those are the plants you need. Both of them.”

I soaked in the details of the relief, the snakes adorning the two figures, the two plants, the protective wings of the goddess Isis enfolding and protecting her child. And I knew how to save mine.

I stepped toward one of the openings in the wall to feel the breeze upon my face. Inhaling deep breaths of cool air, I glanced through the window at the lush foliage growing along the Nile. They could both be out there. The lotus and the papyrus. The nardo. And if they still grew anywhere in Egypt, I was willing to bet they would still be growing here, at this temple.