Alexios’s first thought, upon waking in Melitené, was the desire to stay.

Stay. Don’t go back. Don’t leave.

Already he had gotten so used to the early morning azan that he had slept through it, though he knew it must have been loud. They used speaking trumpets from the minarets, blasting their voices across the cityscape, scattering swarms of swifts from roofs, towers, and treetops.

He looked at Kassia and Basil drowsing in the other bed and thought he had never seen anything so beautiful.

They’re at their best when they’re quiet.

Yet Alexios remembered where they came from and what had happened to their mother Anna. Kassia and Basil were refugees, and the ones who had driven them from their homes had yet to pay for their crimes. Their leader Herakleia was either dead or in prison, and the same was true for their teacher, Queen Tamar. Gontran and Diaresso could have easily been killed or captured.

It hurt to recall these names. To consider abandoning them was the most monstrous treachery. Trapped in barbarous Romanía among bloodthirsty Gauls and Romans, Alexios’s friends were far from enlightened Tourkía, and counting on him to rescue them.

Find the Sabians, he thought. Dionysios said they’re farther south than here, but who knows? Maybe some live in Melitené. It would save a lot of trouble if we didn’t have to head all the way down to Samosata.

And if it turns out that the Sabians don’t exist?

Find allies. Somehow we have to raise an army and go back to Trebizond.

Alexios laughed quietly. Raising an army was impossible. Enough money was in his pockets to relax in Melitené for months, but that was nowhere near the amount needed to pay a thousand mercenaries to march north for two weeks and then attack a heavily fortified city which was guarded by large numbers of well-supplied veteran soldiers.

He would have to promise payment upon completion of the task. No one would accept.

Mercenaries are paid to fight, not necessarily to win.

Even if Alexios found Dionysios’s teacher, this Hermes Trismegistos, what would the man teach him? How to defeat an entire army by himself? It was nonsense. Dionysios had been unable to do this, so how would Alexios ever learn?

He decided to get breakfast and then wake the children. But unlike yesterday’s dinner, today’s breakfast was disappointing. Across both medieval Christian and Sarakenou lands the concept of breakfast hardly existed; with some exceptions, people usually just ate lunch and dinner. And so the surprised, drowsy servants brought him a platter of pita bread, cheese, olives, and cold lamb kebab with a pitcher of water and three cups—leftovers from dinner.

He felt conflicted about waking Kassia and Basil for such a pathetic meal. When he asked them to get up, they both turned over and groaned that they wanted to go back to sleep. Soon they were snoring again.

Can’t believe how tired they are.

Alexios’s limbs were weary, too, and his feet ached from nearly two weeks of travel. His shoes were also worn out. Still, he ended up leaving the room and returning to the caravanserai’s servants. Only one was working in the cookhouse at this early hour. Alexios apologized for interrupting, then asked him—an Armenian youth named Hakop Malatyalian—to check Kassia and Basil every now and then, and to tell them to stay here, that he would be back before nightfall.

“I beg your pardon, sir,” Hakop said, “we are not nannies. We have our own work.”

“They can take care of themselves,” Alexios said. “All I ask is that you check them every hour or so. I can pay.” He pulled a copper fals from his pocket.

Hakop crossed his arms.

“One fals now,” Alexios said. “Another when I get back.”

Hakop took the coin and bowed.

“Thank you,” Alexios said. “There’s one more thing. Have you heard of a group of people called the Sabians by any chance?”

Hakop shook his head.

“Supposedly they worship Hermes or something,” Alexios said.

“I do not know this word, Sabians,” Hakop said.

“Never mind,” Alexios said.

Before leaving the caravanserai, Alexios checked Rakhsh, who was dozing like an enormous dog between his cozy blanket and his comfy bed, his saffron hide gleaming, the air around him permeated with the sweet smell of horse.

Satisfied with Rakhsh’s treatment, Alexios wandered Melitené’s streets, asking if anyone knew about the Sabians. Immediately this pursuit felt ridiculous. It was like being in one of those old TV shows where the host harasses random people on the street, except here there were no cameras. Some people he spoke with begged his forgiveness and declared they had no idea what he was talking about. Laughing, a few exclaimed that it was strange for a handsome Roman youth to ask such questions.

Embarrassed and getting more tired and frustrated, with the cold sun approaching noon, Alexios drank from a well using a goatskin attached to a rope. Since he was a swine-eater, he was mindful to keep from touching the goatskin to his lips, out of respect for the local Muslims and Jews. Then he spoke with a passing Afrikan dowager who introduced herself as Kanku Berté. This matron listened carefully and questioned him as to the particulars of these Sabians.

“Al-Sabiun,” she said. “That is their name. They are People of the Book. The immersers, the baptists, the Sabians of the swamp, the river into which all rivers flow.”

This comment startled Alexios. “You’ve heard of them?”

“There are many who seek to be called as such,” Berté said. “It confers protected status. What the Parsi fire-worshippers would give if they could be called Sabians, for then they could return from faraway lands, where they fled to escape the crescent sword of Islam. So too with the Samaritans, and likewise with the Mandaean gnōstikoi, the ones who know, who cleanse their sins every Sunday in the holy waters of the River Urdun after the fashion of their teacher, Saint Yahya the Forerunner, similar to the gymnosophist Brahmins of Sindh and Hind. Thus too of the mystics of Jebel Druze, the wandering darwīsh holy men who whirl within and without sacred calligraphy, the Kurdish devotees of the Peacock Angel, the Manichaeans who refuse to eat even vegetables for fear of harming the lives of plants.”

“Are you some kind of scholar?” Alexios asked. “If the Manichaeans won’t even eat vegetables, how can they survive?”

She smiled. “Many don’t. The priests must bless the laymen, who then prepare vegetarian food for them. Most have fled the cataclysms of these lands to the east, not unlike the Nestorians. All these groups now build temples and churches in Serindia.”

“Damn,” Alexios said. “That’s pretty intense.”

“But you search for the Sabians,” she said. “Not the others who spring from this land of faith, where desperate farmers turn to any gods who will help them. Long ago, these lands were rich and green. They teemed with life, they were lush with water bursting from the mountains. Now they have gone to the dogs, for the rich farmers farmed too much, and the soil is dry as rock, it is full of salt.”

“No arguments there,” Alexios said. “Not that I’m an expert—”

“There are many kinds of people who call themselves or are called Sabians,” Berté continued. “Your Sabians worship the stars. They are worshippers of the sun and moon from the good old days of Babylon and the gilded jeweled pillars of Ubar in Wadi Rum. Long ago their temples and observatories were destroyed. Their adherents submitted to Islam. None live here in Meletî. You must go south—past Samsat, to Harran, on the Aleppo road. In the deserts among the Arabian trees that weep medicinal gum you may find their temples, caves, and tunnels. Some may yet practice the old ways. There are the bones of Hermes, which can be reconstituted into flesh, not unlike the bones of the ass of Esdras.”

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“The ass of Esdras,” Alexios said. “You mean, like, his mule, or…?”

Berté stared at him.

Alexios bowed. “Thank you. That’s incredibly helpful.”

“There are many ways you could repay me.” Her bright eyes flashed.

Alexios laughed nervously, and blushed. Herakleia’s face appeared in his mind.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I belong to someone else.”

“What does that matter?” Berté stepped closer. “Is this someone else here?”

“No,” Alexios said. “But I—”

“Men.” She waved her jeweled hand and stepped away. Soon she had disappeared behind a street corner without looking back, her colorful translucent veils whirling in the sunlight behind her.

Alexios sighed, relaxing his tensed-up body. Part of him would regret turning her down for the rest of his life. In his lonelier and more pathetic moments he would think about what might have been with Kanku Berté the Scholar.

As he walked back to the caravanserai and noticed women, men, eunuchs, and even a hunchback glancing his way, he remembered how people had never acted like this in the old world. Partly this was due to their own issues; mostly it was due to his repellent personality and appearance. Here things were different. He had changed into the kind of person who had always made his old self jealous: an adventurer—kind, strong, bright—one who attracted people. The question was: if and when he returned to the old world, would he likewise return to old habits?

At the caravanserai he paid another fals to a grateful Hakop, then found Basil and Kassia digging into breakfast in their room. Alexios fell onto one of the pillows on the floor and poured himself some water.

“Hakop told us you were out looking for Sabians,” Basil said.

“That’s true,” Alexios said.

“Find any?” Basil said.

“Nope.”

“So we have to leave,” Kassia said. “Since the Sabians aren’t here.”

Alexios nodded. “As soon as possible. They don’t live in Melitené.”

The children groaned.

“People in Trebizond are counting on us,” Alexios said. “Every moment we spend here means they have to spend another moment in hell.”

Kassia and Basil were silent.

“I’ll find us some supplies and provisions for the next leg of our journey,” Alexios said. “We leave tomorrow at sunrise.”

“But we just got here,” Kassia said, tears in her eyes. “There are children here. People we can play with…”

“Don’t forget the children back home,” Alexios said. “Don’t forget your classmates. Who can even say what the Latins are doing to them?”

She had stopped eating and was staring into space as tears streamed down her cheeks.

Alexios reached out and rubbed her back. “I’m sorry you’ve been dragged into this. I know it’s hard, but—”

She got up and fell back into her bed, where she cried into her pillow, oblivious to the food that was stuck to her face. Basil, meanwhile, was trembling with anger.

Alexios shrugged. “You know what? Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s too much for you. Doing all this would be a lot to ask for most people. You could both stay here if you want. I could try to find someone to take care of you until I come back.”

“You’re always trying to get rid of us, Alexios,” Basil said.

“I am not trying to get rid of you,” Alexios said. “Would you stop talking like that? I was just offering you that option since you both seem so upset. Now listen. You can stay with me if you like, or we can find a way for you to live here. Those are your choices. What we’re doing isn’t just hard—it’s dangerous, and both of you have already been through enough.”

“I thought you promised mom you’d take care of us,” Basil said.

Alexios nodded. “I did.”

“We’re too valuable,” Basil said. “Whoever you dump us on will just enslave us. They’ll make all kinds of promises to you, then sell us into slavery and disappear. You’ll never see us again.”

“How can you know that?” Alexios said.

“Like you told me, I’ve been through a lot.”

“We can find an orphanage. A monastery. We can talk with the kids there to make sure they aren’t mistreated.” Alexios looked out the window. “This city is so advanced in so many ways, we might actually find a decent place for you two.”

“We’re staying with you,” Basil said.

“Even though you have all kinds of problems with me,” Alexios said.

“You might have your issues,” Basil said. “But the devil you know.”

—

Early the next morning, Alexios roused Rakhsh—who had been sleeping almost continuously since setting foot inside his stall—and saddled the tired, reluctant horse with supply bags bought the previous afternoon. Like the children, Rakhsh had no desire to leave, and even snapped his teeth at Alexios. Only when Alexios explained what they were doing did Rakhsh relent.

Kassia and Basil mounted him, and then the travelers left the city, heading south in the cold sunrise along the old Roman road with many other merchants, most of whom were riding donkeys piled with merchandise.

“Goodbye, Melitené,” Kassia said, looking back over her shoulder.

“We’ll see it again,” Alexios said. “We’ll be back before you know it. Besides, it’s only three days to Samosata, which might be even nicer.” He looked at Basil. “It’s your kind of place. A city famous for tall tales.”

“What are you talking about?” Basil said.

“It’s Lukianos of Samosata’s hometown,” Alexios said. “He was a Syrian satirist. Some of his books are even in the library at Trebizond. He wrote some pretty famous travel stories about going to the moon.”

“How did he get there?” Kassia said.

“Good question,” Alexios said. “No idea. Maybe it was a whirlwind? I don’t remember. But I can tell you how people got there in the old world.”

“How?” Kassia said.

“Practice, my dear,” Alexios said. “Practice.”

“It takes more than just practice to get to the moon,” Kassia said.

“He’s lying,” Basil said. “Nobody from Alexios’s old world ever went to the moon. That’s impossible.”

“Actually, it’s pretty simple,” Alexios said. “As long as you have the right resources and a few people who did their homework in math class. Although make sure not to ask too many questions about who they were working for before they started to work for you.”

“What?” Kassia said.

“Sorry, forget it. Just imagine taking one of the basiliks from Trebizond, filling it with black powder, and pointing it at the ground—without putting an iron ball inside. If you build a big enough basilik and put in enough black powder and then set it on fire, you can fly all the way to the moon and back.”

“That’s nonsense,” Basil said. “Everyone knows basiliks explode if you put too much powder inside. We’ve seen Jamshied’s basiliks blow up a hundred times.”

“You have to use a special kind of metal,” Alexios said. “I want to say they used aluminum. Very strong and light, it’s still lying underground all over the place here. It hasn’t been discovered yet. And they also used a special kind of fuel—not black powder. I think it was liquid oxygen. If you take the air and make it really cold, it turns into liquid. Then if you set it on fire, it explodes like crazy.”

“You should have been a storyteller, Alexios,” Basil said.

“Maybe,” Alexios said. “It’s pretty easy for me to tell these kinds of stories, since I don’t have to invent anything on my own. All of it already happened!”

Basil laughed and shook his head. “He just goes on and on like this.”

“It definitely makes things more interesting,” Kassia said.

“Kassia, look, you believe me, don’t you?” Alexios said. “You don’t think I’m crazy.”

“I don’t know,” Kassia said. “I have to see for myself.”

Alexios pouted. “You don’t trust your poor uncle Alexios?”

She shook her head.

“One day I’ll show you,” Alexios said. “One day you’ll see—and you’ll say you’re sorry and I was right all along.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Basil said.

Soon they were passing merchants who were on their way to Melitené. All of them nodded to one another. Some asked Alexios about the distance remaining to the city. The darwīshes, who were coated in dust and rags—the Arabian equivalent of Romanía’s holy fools—offered blessings in exchange for food and water. Alexios gave away some, even though Basil told him not to.

“We have to conserve what we have, Alexios,” Basil said. “Do you even know how much is left? What if we run out?”

“The Lord will provide,” Alexios said.

“Heaven helps those who help themselves,” Basil said.

“Did you read that in class? You spent too much time back in that classroom.”

“Thanks to someone.” Basil eyed Alexios. But then Basil added, half to himself: “They taught me to read. Something I never thought I could do.”

Alexios imagined that, for a person from the old world, this was like being able to do calculus in your head.

“So many things have happened to me that I never dreamed would happen.” Alexios gazed across the road. “I’ve been to so many places I never even knew existed. If I only told people back home about Melitené and nothing else, they’d never believe me.”

“That makes sense,” Basil said. “No one here believes you, either.”

Soon they had passed through the last of the Taüros Mountains. Romanía and Tourkía lay behind them, and Arabia lay ahead.