Two Brothers

TITLE: Two Brothers

GENRES: Mythology, fantasy, drama, family.

RATING: PG

SUMMARY: Sometimes, you have to dig a little deep to find the source of things...

WRITING STATUS: Completed.

WRITING DATE: Circa 2005.

LENGTH: 2200+ words.

CONTENT WARNINGS: None.

COPYRIGHT: This story and all characters, unless otherwise stated in the Disclaimers, are copyright © tehuti_88 and may not be used or distributed without permission. The reader is free to print out or download a copy of this story for offline reading as long as the author's copyright information remains upon it. Please do not distribute; if you wish to share this story, send a link to this page.

DISCLAIMERS: Certain characters are from Egyptian mythology. Although aspects of this story are loosely based on Egyptian mythology and culture, artistic license has been taken as this is a FANTASY story. Please take note that this story was written around 2005 and that my writing style and understanding of the mythology I created may have changed vastly in the meantime.

ADDITIONAL INFO: NA.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This short story ties in with the other Kemet short stories and/or the Kemet/Egyptian mythology as I make use of it in my writing; as such, it might not make much sense out of context. This is just a little story. If I explain it too much, I give away the punchline. Let's just say that it might explain a few things. I wrote this up in just one sitting, but it hasn't been proofread yet, so please beware typos.

---

THUNK! THE ARROW lodged in the little antelope's side, right below its shoulder; it let out a squeal and darted ahead, racing as fast as its spindly legs would carry it. It didn't go very far. By the time that the two little shadows caught up with it, it was lying on the hard baked ground, already dead.

One of the shadows was cast over it as the boy holding the bow leaned over the antelope, his eyes alight. "Got it!" he exclaimed, and glanced up at the other boy, a huge smile spreading across his face. "Take a look at it! It's beautiful!"

The other boy, slightly taller--although he was younger--and darker skinned than the first, rolled his eyes. "You're going to skin and eat it, not marry it. Pick it up, I'm not going to carry your things for you."

The younger boy stuck out his tongue and grasped onto the antelope's legs. "You're just sore because I got one first!"

The other boy made a snorting noise and turned back to the desert. "First doesn't mean best," he muttered, but the other boy was too busy struggling to sling the antelope over his shoulders to hear him.

"What was that you said...?" he panted, stumbling along a few steps before catching his balance. "I didn't hear you..."

"I said to stop being such a showoff," the other boy said. "Everybody already knows how good you are so it doesn't matter if you kill the first gazelle or catch the first ball or not! You always do anyway."

The other boy's lower lip stuck out a bit. "I...I do not," he said, a bit hesitantly, since he couldn't remember well. "Do I?"

The taller boy turned to meet his eyes, and his own were dark. The shorter boy shrank in on himself a bit, which was difficult, considering that he was carrying a small hoofed mammal over his shoulders. "It's not because I mean to," he insisted.

The taller boy just rolled his eyes again and turned away. "Just keep quiet when I find mine, all right? Then you can go home and brag all you like. It's not like I need to be babysat anyway."

"But Father doesn't want either of us going out alone..."

"We're not babies anymore. Why do you always have to do what Father says?"

The shorter boy abruptly halted, letting out a gasp. "Be--because we SHOULD always do what Father says!!" he exclaimed. The disbelief in his voice made the taller boy smirk a little; a moment later, the boy with the antelope was hurrying yet again to catch up with him, and they set a steady pace across the sand.

"Just keep up, and keep quiet," the taller boy said. "And let me get my own stupid antelope!"

The shorter boy sighed, but obeyed. They had to walk for a while, and a few times the taller boy heard the shorter one mumble in protest a bit that his sandals were beginning to chafe; that made him walk even further out into the sand. His own feet felt fine; the desert had never bothered him. "Stop whining!" he hissed at the shorter boy several times, and earned a dirty look each time, but he could tell that the shorter boy was embarrassed to be so soft, and that mollified his own impatience somewhat. It wouldn't have been half as irritating to be accompanied by him, had he not always been best at absolutely everything he did. He never bragged but in fun, and the taller boy could tell that he barely even had to try at most of what he did...he always simply ended up doing well. It still stung however, especially considering how hard he worked, just to do second best.

The sun was beginning to set by the time that he spotted another shadow out across the sand, and motioned sharply for the shorter boy to stop; they crouched close to the ground to peer out at the antelope grazing on a tuft of dry brown grass. The taller boy silently brought his bow down from his shoulder, pulling out an arrow and fitting it to the notch. The shorter boy peered up at him.

"Isn't it kind of far from here...?" he whispered.

The taller boy scowled at him so fiercely that he ducked his head. "Mind your own business! You already got yours. I do it however I like!"

The shorter boy's lip stuck out again, but he said nothing. Though the taller boy thought he heard a very small, "Good luck," as soon as he rose to his feet, and that made him grind his teeth in irritation. As if he needed to be told Good luck. Luck had nothing to do with how he did things. Luck was for the shorter boy. Skill was what he used.

He stepped very slowly and silently across the desert, keeping his eyes fixed on the antelope. It was bigger than the one the shorter boy had shot, and he looked it over as he approached. Not only was it bigger, but its fur was shinier, and its horns were longer, and it looked to be overall more of a challenge to take down. He briefly wished that he had a weapon other than a bow--a spear, perhaps--just to show up the other boy--bows and arrows were fine, but real hunters used spears and daggers. He felt he could have even brought it down by hand, unarmed, but that would probably give the shorter boy stupid ideas, and if that happened, he knew who would get in trouble.

Instead he just crouched again, keeping his eyes fixed on the antelope, and holding his breath, the bow poised.

The antelope finally spotted him when he was about halfway to it. He let it spot him. Its head jerked up, and their eyes met. Then, in a flash, it had whirled around. He didn't hesitate. He lifted the bow and fired. The antelope leapt into the air, and the shorter boy sucked in a breath, eyes wide.

Not too long after, they were again walking across the sand, this time back toward the river, the shorter boy carrying his antelope and the taller boy carrying his. The shorter boy spent a lot of time admiring the bigger antelope, and the taller boy had to conceal how smug that made him feel. Sometimes, the shorter boy could be silly. The admiration and awe in his eyes was far too obvious; he would never get anywhere in life being so open about everything.

"Yours is so much nicer than mine!" he exclaimed, childishly, but there was no envy in his voice. The taller boy forced himself not to roll his eyes yet again; the other boy was also far too trusting. That could get him in trouble someday. "I just know Father will be proud of it!"

The taller boy's eyes darkened a little. "Whatever."

The shorter boy shook his head adamantly and hurried to spring a few steps ahead of him, turning around so they faced each other and he walked backwards. He looked silly walking like that, with a dead animal draped over his shoulders. "No, I mean it! You went to a lot of trouble to get that antelope, I saw it! Mine wasn't even half the challenge--" He gasped and stumbled, pitching toward one of the irrigation ditches. The taller boy's eyes went wide and he shrugged the antelope from his shoulders, leaning forward to grab onto the shorter boy before he could fall in. They both collapsed in the mud; the little antelope splashed down into the water. The two boys lay there for a moment, gasping for breath; they twisted their heads around to peer into the water, and saw how, just below them, where the shorter boy would have fallen had he not been grabbed, someone had left a hoe, its sharp blade glinting up out of the murky water. The antelope had just missed it.

They both let out their breath.

It wasn't too long before they had their kill again perched atop their shoulders and were making their way inside the home of their father, their sandals clacking softly against the hard polished floor. The taller boy scowled; the shorter boy stared at the floor, somewhat meekly.

"I'm sorry I tripped..." he murmured when they were halfway down the hall, but the taller boy jerked his head, cutting him off.

"Just save it. And feel lucky that you didn't get a hoe in your back!" He felt like adding, And learn how to not be so stupid sometimes!--but the shorter boy would be likely to repeat something like that, and he didn't need that trouble to deal with. So he kept the thought to himself.

They stepped into the main court of the building and slowed to a stop. Their father stood at the other side of the room, speaking with a servant; as soon as he saw them, he stood up straighter, his brow furrowing. The taller boy winced, seeing the look on his face; he quickly dismissed the servant and came walking toward them, his sandals much louder than theirs. His eyes grew darker with every step.

"What happened?" he snapped as soon as he reached them.

The shorter boy meekly lowered his head, rubbing a finger against the antelope's leg. "We...kind of fell...near one of the ditches. That's all..."

"Your clothes are all ruined! Filthy! Do you know what work went into them?"

"It was an accident, honestly," the shorter boy protested, even as the taller boy told himself it was useless to even bother speaking up for himself. "I almost fell in, but he stopped me. I could've gotten a hoe in my back; but I'm all right, honest."

"A hoe--?" Their father stared at him with disbelief in his eyes, then turned to the taller boy. Their eyes met.

"And you weren't keeping an eye on him?" he barked, his voice pure venom.

The taller boy barely even had to suppress his flinch, he was expecting that response so much. From the corner of his eye he saw the look on the shorter boy's face, the sympathy there, and that just made him seethe inside. As if he needed anyone's sympathy! Especially that brat's. He kept his thoughts to himself, as always. At least this time, both of them had gotten rebuked. He was actually surprised that the shorter boy hadn't been praised for not falling on the hoe.

Their father let out a gusty sigh. "Well...the damage is already done. You'll both go to your rooms and leave your clothes there for the servants to pick up. And have them replaced come morning!"

"Yes, Father," both boys said.

He snorted, and crossed his arms, his poor humor fading a little. "Well...I suppose that's it, then. You both got game?" Both boys lit up a bit now, standing up straighter when he saw the antelopes that they carried. He looked at the one the taller boy carried, and his stare lingered; the boy felt a twinge inside, and actually couldn't help it when a bit of the pride that he suddenly felt came out in his face. Their father eyed his antelope with a look much akin to being impressed, and he almost felt like laughing.

Their father then turned to look at the shorter boy's antelope, and he frowned. It was covered with mud, and dripping wet, its fur matted and one of its horns nicked from its tumble into the irrigation ditch; the taller boy fought a smirk as hard as he could. "What became of your prey...?" their father asked, and the shorter boy lowered his head again, scuffing one muddy foot against the floor.

"I...kind of dropped it," he murmured. "In the ditch."

Their father blinked. Instantly the darkness returned to his eyes. "You dropped it--?" he echoed, and the shorter boy flinched; the taller boy felt the slightest bit of triumph at that, when their father turned to him, eyes meeting his again, and it was suddenly as if his heart shrivelled up in his breast.

"You LET him drop it?"

His voice fired out like an arrow. The taller boy grimaced, the antelope atop his shoulders suddenly feeling like a boulder. He saw the flinch flicker across his older brother's face, before he turned to their father, opening his mouth to speak. The taller boy's thoughts echoed, Don't. Don't. Don't.

"But, Father, he--"

"Just bring it to the back and have the cooks wash it off! It'll still make a decent dinner. And you, do the same. We'll roast them both for tomorrow."

The shorter boy hesitated, peered at the taller one, then let out a small sigh and followed, obeying as always. He hurried to catch up with their father, but the taller boy remained behind, still standing in the middle of the court with the huge antelope over his back, his fingers digging into its legs and a fire burning in his breast. When they reached the exit his father turned to glare at him, and his voice was sharp enough to cut, though by now he was expecting it, and didn't even flinch.

"Set! I said now!" He whirled away and started walking again, muttering as he went. "The younger son is usually the more dutiful one...why you are not more like your brother...I have no idea!"

His voice died away in the dimness. Set stood in the court with the antelope, staring after them, but it was a very long time before he bothered moving. And when he did, he took his time, just because Lord Geb had said not to.


END

'Tis Better To Have Loved

TITLE: 'Tis Better To Have Loved

GENRES: Mythology, fantasy, romance/love, drama.

RATING: PG

SUMMARY: Once you've felt it, it's hard to let go...as Hathor learns. An original myth.

WRITING STATUS: Completed.

WRITING DATE: Circa 2002.

LENGTH: 1400+ words.

CONTENT WARNINGS: None.

COPYRIGHT: This story and all characters, unless otherwise stated in the Disclaimers, are copyright © tehuti_88 and may not be used or distributed without permission. The reader is free to print out or download a copy of this story for offline reading as long as the author's copyright information remains upon it. Please do not distribute; if you wish to share this story, send a link to this page.

DISCLAIMERS: Certain characters are from Egyptian mythology. Although aspects of this story are loosely based on Egyptian mythology and culture, artistic license has been taken as this is a FANTASY story. Please take note that this story was written around 2002 and that my writing style and understanding of the mythology I created may have changed vastly in the meantime.

ADDITIONAL INFO: NA.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This short story ties in with the other Kemet short stories and/or the Kemet/Egyptian mythology as I make use of it in my writing; as such, it might not make much sense out of context. Recall "Sobek & Hathor (AKA Heart Of Clay)," where Hathor has vowed she would never marry any god? And next thing you know, there she is, married to Horus. This here is just a little story I wrote to explain the situation. A definition--"heka" is magic power.

---

IT WAS, OF course, the arrows that got her in trouble. That, and the fact that she should have been working with them in the privacy of her own rooms. To fiddle with them in public...she'd known for a long time that that was foolish. Yet she did it anyway. She'd thought, of course, that she would make no mistakes. She was wrong.

It was the first month of the reign of King Horus. The son of Osiris, having vanquished Set, was now ruler over Kemet, and had moved into his father's great palace upon the earth. Prince Anubis, Lord Thoth, Lord Upuat, and the others of Osiris's train joined him there, forming his new court. Since his coronation, many of the other gods had traveled from celestial Kemet to meet the new king for themselves. Most came back chattering and nodding amongst themselves. He was young, there was no denying it. And he seemed rather out of sorts. Yet he'd defeated Set, so he would have to make a good king for Kemet.

Lady Hathor found that dissent seemed to come from some of the most unexpected sources. Her father, God Ra, for one...he had helped Horus achieve his victory, yet now that the young god sat upon the throne, the elder sun god kept watch over him with a wary eye. Whenever anyone spoke to him of the new king he would often grunt noncommittally or else not reply at all. Hathor believed she knew where his reaction came from. Horus was young. Horus was inexperienced. Perhaps he had merely had blind luck on his side when he'd won the throne.

Blind luck didn't make a decent king.

She thought over all of this and more as she sat outside the throneroom in the great hall, picking the arrows from her quiver and sorting them, smoothing their feathers. She'd finally gotten to meet the young king for herself, and didn't see what all the fuss was about. He would most likely make a mediocre ruler, at best. No one to praise, and no one to condemn. Kemet could have done worse. At least he wasn't Set.

She sat in the hall now waiting for her sister, Bastet, to finish speaking with him. The poor god, he'd been busy all day greeting newcomers and visitors. By the time she'd gotten to him she'd seen the exhaustion in his eyes, and had sensed how he just wished to get away from all of them. He probably had more than enough heka to give one swipe of his hand and knock them all over in their tracks, but that didn't seem to be how his mind worked. Unfortunately for him. She pitied, though, how he'd have to sit through Bastet's endless babble, until the cat goddess grew tired, or bored, or both. She wondered if her sister had been flirting with him. The thought made her mouth twitch in a smile.

Flirting? Well...the two didn't look as if they'd make a decent couple. Still, it could be an interesting diversion...

She'd actually been on her way to shoot someone else--without their knowledge, of course--when Bastet had dragged her here. She'd lost a bit of time, and perhaps her quarry; maybe her sister would make a good replacement. She tried not to laugh.

Something stung. Hathor gasped and jerked her hand back. Her eyes focused on her fingertip and widened. A tiny drop of blood formed against the skin, the crimson color reflected on the golden arrowhead protruding from her left hand. Immediate panic welled up in her breast. The gold head...the downy white feathers on the end of the shaft. An arrow of love and desire.

She stood up abruptly, scattering the sorted arrows so they fell into disarray again. How could she have been so careless? Not watching what she was doing with these things--and in a public hall--where anyone could walk in and gain her attention! The first thing that would distract her would be the thing with which she fell in love. This thought made her panic grow. She tossed the cursed arrow away and bent down, scrabbling at those lying upon the floor. She sought for a leaden one, with dull brown feathers--the only thing that could counter the spell--that could save her before this could get any worse.

A creaking sound came from the end of the hall. Hathor's heart leapt up into her throat, trying to escape. Her head darted up even as her mind screamed NO! Too late not to look...her eyes focused on someone else's, widening in terror and surprise. Blue-black eyes stared back at her and then blinked.

"Lady...Hathor? Lady Hathor? Are you all right?"

The voice sounded uncertain, as if not sure if it were getting her name right. Hathor could only stare back, unspeaking. Everything around her seemed to fall away, to grow far off and distant, as if in a fog, except for those dark eyes that met her own. She barely noticed when Horus frowned and tilted his head, not receiving a response to his query.

"Lady Hathor? Did you hurt yourself?"

She still didn't speak, even though her mouth opened. He blinked again and then came toward her. She couldn't take her eyes off of his; they were like two pools of liquid onyx with a sheen of lapis. He reached her and bent down to look in her face. Somehow, she hadn't even noticed he was getting closer; when she realized he was right before her she gasped and jumped back. He frowned again, then looked down at her hands and his pensive look vanished.

"Oh. Your hand."

She stared at him numbly as he took her hand, looking at her bleeding finger. The wound was very small, just the tiniest cut; still, he folded her hand in his own and squeezed it lightly. Hathor finally managed to tear her gaze away from his face to see what he was doing. A pale golden glow surrounded their hands, swirled, then faded. He let go of her and she slowly pulled her hand back, flexing her fingers. The tiny arrow-prick was gone, her fingertip again smooth and unmarred.

He sat back on his haunches and she looked up into his face again. This time he smiled at her, and she was the one to blink. She didn't think she'd seen him smile yet the whole time she'd been here. She knew he was young, though he could have passed for her own age. When he smiled, however, he seemed younger, not quite so burdened down with royal duties as he had been before. She was about to tell him he should smile more often when she realized what she was thinking and her face flushed.

"It shouldn't hurt anymore," he said. "Did I help you any, Lady?"

Hathor stared, eyes wide and mouth slightly open. Her heart felt ready to climb up into her throat and fly away. She wanted to lean closer to him, and to run away from him, both at once. His smile, his eyes seemed to sap all reasoning from her. She felt weak near him, yet she felt she would be even weaker with him gone. Her hand began to shake, though he didn't notice.

She tipped her head, very slightly, as much as she was able, and back again, a slow, uncertain movement. "...Yes..."

Horus's smile grew, like a child proud of some accomplishment he'd achieved. He crossed his arm to his breast and bowed his head slightly, then stood. He turned back to the great doors and walked away, his sandals clacking against the tiles. Each clack stabbed through her like a dagger until he was gone, the door creaking shut behind him.

Hathor let out her breath and lowered her hand shakily to her lap. The arrows lay on the floor, forgotten. Now that he was gone, she could have easily dug about for a leaden arrow, yet she couldn't, either. Not now. Not after having seen the smile on his face, the color in his eyes. She'd thought that reversing what she felt would be a simple thing once she set her mind to it. Not so now that it had actually happened. Things were completely different now. Her gaze fell on her hand, and she flexed it again. She could still feel the warmth of his fingers holding it in his own.

It appeared her heart would give her no choice. She was going to have to endure this strange thing called love. Whether she wanted to or not.


END

Surrender

TITLE: Surrender

GENRES: Mythology, fantasy, drama.

RATING: PG-13

SUMMARY: A captain agonizes over which he should choose: his king, or the one chosen by destiny...

WRITING STATUS: Completed.

WRITING DATE: Circa 2001.

LENGTH: 3900+ words.

CONTENT WARNINGS: Mild adult language.

COPYRIGHT: This story and all characters, unless otherwise stated in the Disclaimers, are copyright © tehuti_88 and may not be used or distributed without permission. The reader is free to print out or download a copy of this story for offline reading as long as the author's copyright information remains upon it. Please do not distribute; if you wish to share this story, send a link to this page.

DISCLAIMERS: Certain characters are from Egyptian mythology. Although aspects of this story are loosely based on Egyptian mythology and culture, artistic license has been taken as this is a FANTASY story. Please take note that this story was written around 2001 and that my writing style and understanding of the mythology I created may have changed vastly in the meantime.

ADDITIONAL INFO: NA.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This short story ties in with the other Kemet short stories and/or the Kemet/Egyptian mythology as I make use of it in my writing; as such, it might not make much sense out of context. This was meant to be a short, first-person version of a longer, third-person story, a sort of followup to Horus, which I decided not to write as this version turned out good enough. I wanted simply to explore what this would be like from a point of view different from what I usually write. (It's also in present tense, something I generally revile and avoid for good reason.) This story is from the point of view of one of the highest-ranking Kana in Set's former army, a captain elite named Djeretu. SPOILERS--it takes place immediately after the defeat of Set's Apsiu Kana army in the novel Horus, and right before Set and the Kana are sent into exile in the desert (the final scene in the novel). Horus, being a just king, goes before the surrendered Kana to give them the chance to join his army, rather than face banishment. The Apsiu Kana are a proud, stubborn race, and those who surrender face the potential fate of becoming Moru--flightless slaves, the worst punishment a Kana may receive. So, of course--exile in the desert, or possible loss of all their rights and respect should their tenure with Horus's army fall through--the decision isn't an easy one to make. Some explanations of terms used in the story in case you haven't read Horus--the "pretender king" is Osiris; the "whelp prince" is Horus; the "bastard prince," Anubis; the "sun god," Ra; the "queen," Isis; the "captain," Sobek; the "lieutenant," Upuat; and the "vizier," Thoth; the one whose name is not spoken is Antakh, a Moru who once masqueraded as a Kana and is hated for this. It all makes more sense if you've read Horus, trust me. An error--I wonder how Djeretu manages to salute Horus when his arms were previously bound...? *puzzles over this*

---

I KNEEL UPON the floor, my head hanging and eyes closed. This is the only way to maintain a bit of dignity considering our position now. It is still difficult to believe what has become of our army, and our kingdom; it seems only yesterday that the whelp from the north arrived to seek vengeance for his father. He is barely a man, yet still he defeated us all. I cannot comprehend how he did it.

He did have assistance from others. The bastard prince, the former first lieutenant to the dead pretender king, his captain, and his vizier as well; and those who say the queen had no hand in his victory must be naive. I knew from the moment that I first saw her that she would be trouble for us. She is simply too powerful for anyone to control.

And the sun god...whom I had never even been certain existed...well, we know for certain now, that he does exist. And we know whose side he is upon.

Still, our army was the best in the land; how could we have been so quickly defeated?

I'm certain many of us are attributing this to pure luck, nothing more...the whelp lucked out.

I do not know where my king is. I have not seen him since the beginning of the battle. I heard that he faced off against the whelp prince, but what became of him, I do not know. Is he alive or is he dead? The stories all differ. Some say he was killed. Many more say he escaped, and he will return for us. This disgusts me. Why would he run and leave us here? He would never do such a thing. That leaves only two options. He was captured, as we were, or he is dead.

Neither option I like much.

I did not even see the end of the battle. It seems that one moment we were in the thick of it, and the next, it was ended, and we were being held at spearpoint. I kept my sword raised, expecting a fight to the end; we are not meant to surrender. But the whelp's men did not kill me, nor any of those with me who did not actively resist them; somewhere, the word was spread to spare us. The whelp prince was offering mercy to anyone who asked it.

I did not ask it.

They spared us anyway.

Already I feel as if I am covered with filth, fit to sleep in Moru pens; this is not right.

Still, I did not fight them; not even when they took my sword, once the weapon of my father, away.

Why did I let them do this? Why did I not fight back, die valiantly? Is it because I felt it would be pointless, that perhaps, this was something that was meant to happen?

Or did I not fight back because I am a coward, a sniveling Moru?

I cannot decide which.

My head hurts now, and I do not wish to decide.

My mind grows hazy afterwards. Perhaps I was numb. I know that we were all separated according to rank, and I heard that it was the whelp's captain who suggested this. The crocodile-one. He is much more intelligent than he looks. I remember seeing him fight before, and I remember him from when the pretender king was killed. He is no one to fool with. Why they separated us? At first I did not know, even though the other captains asked me. There are fourteen of us surviving, most of us from different tribes, having been called together to serve the king while the whelp was still away; I do not know the number of lieutenants nor of sergeants and common soldiers captured. Though I heard that many of us surrendered, in the end.

How could we have been so weak?

Or do we merely know the truth?

I do not know what the truth is anymore...I was always certain that we would win, that our king would remain king, as it was meant to be. Yet now, he is king no more...the whelp's men have taken over the city...and the people cheer for him...how could this have happened, if we were meant to be the ones in command? Was I wrong--were we wrong, this whole time?

How could we have been?

I cannot even think...

A noise. Someone is whispering. One of the other captains has caught word that they are speaking to the groups of us, each different rank. How and where did he hear this? Why would they want to speak to us again? We are their prisoners now. They may do with us what they wish.

He whispers again. Now I hear the word that fills me to brimming over with disgust and remorse.

Defect.

The two different meanings of the word strike me now more than ever.

I believe I know now why the whelp king and his others have decided to separate us. Our common soldiers are among the least trained. Some have had only several months' worth of training, whereas captains elite such as myself may have trained our entire lives. They do not want us to have an influence over our inferiors while they are speaking to them.

How many of them will defect to the whelp's side?

How many lieutenants?

How many of us?

Already my fellows are sneering and baring their teeth with revulsion. Apparently the thought of serving in the whelp's army is as distasteful to them as it is to myself.

But...do I find it distasteful? As distasteful as I try to think I do?

I must. To feel otherwise is foolish! I have served the true king my whole life! He belongs upon the throne, not this pretender whelp from the north. This one came from the swamps! He was raised by snakes and scorpions! How can the people want him as their leader?...

The others hush. I can hear footsteps approaching, and keep my head lowered. I know the moment has finally come. They are to speak with us now.

My comrades bare their teeth as the great doors to the chamber we are in swing open, and in comes the whelp prince--the new pretender king--and his followers. His captain, and his two lieutenants--the wolf-one and the bastard--are with him, as is the one whose name we will not speak. Several of those around me hiss and spit on the floor when they see him. I restrain myself, though my revulsion is strong. The way he stands and dresses as one of us, when he is one of them, fills me with loathing.

They come toward us and I lower my head again. To protest, to even show my disgust, is in vain. I will not lower myself to that level.

Besides...who am I to protest...when I am now Moru?

I can still feel the pain in my left wing. A most unfortunate sword cut, slashing clean through the membrane, has rendered me earthbound. I will no longer be able to fly. I suppose that those few Kana who have spoken to me since either have not noticed this wound, or have not accustomed themselves to it yet. Many of the others have already. I caught the hateful looks of several of my own subordinates as we were rounded up, and one or two of them spat at me as well. No matter that several hours ago I was one of them, I was in command over them...now I am not...I am one of those that I despise, as is the one I looked upon just a moment before.

How had I forgotten this? Shame wells up inside me. It appears I too have yet to become accustomed to this turn of events. Fate has been most cruel to me today...firstly, the army of my king is defeated, and secondly, now I have become less than nothing. A fitting punishment, I suppose, for the enemies of the new pretender king.

I can see several pairs of sandals stop not too far from me as the new ones pause to look us over. I allow myself to look up to the level of his knees; I look at the rest of him out of the corner of my eye only, when he moves to the side to look at the rest of us. He has not changed since the battle, and his clothing is bloody and dusty. He looks...different somehow. His eyes. They are not quite the same as when I last saw them...at least...I believe they are not. I may be wrong. He wears the sacred uraeus and vulture upon his head, the symbols of kingship, and carries his lance strapped over his shoulder. He is trying to hide it, yet I can tell he is uncomfortable, not used to this procedure. Yes, I was correct. Sheer luck. Such a fresh face to war would never have been able to make it on his own.

He turns his head and murmurs something to his captain, who says something in reply. A captain second class off to my left hisses and spits and shouts out an expletive which I'm certain they cannot understand, except for he whose name cannot be spoken. He casts a glance over at the captain, before whispering something to the bastard. The bastard prince frowns and passes it on to the whelp, who looks at the offender. Then he turns and looks toward--me.

Damn me, I had lifted my head to stare at him. I drop it again, hopefully before he can notice my stare. I do not think he did, yet he turns and I can hear him coming my way. My lip curls. I do not think I can bear to be near him.

Why am I filled with such hate?

He is the pretender's son. He does not deserve the throne of Kemet.

Yet I find that I am not angry with him...

Why is this?

I should hate him beyond imagining. I should loathe him as I loathe the Moru, as I loathe those of he whose name we cannot speak, who still stands before me dressed as I am, pretending he is something he is not.

But...

This would mean I have to hate myself as well.

As I am one of them.

Merely one of them.

I feel my wings sink. My head sinks with them. I cannot pretend any longer, the way that they do. The truth is obvious what I am. I am no longer a captain elite. Nor am I even Kana. A sword slash took that away from me, a single, stupid sword slash that could have been dealt to anyone, may even have been from one of my own men. Who is to say now. The result is the same. I suppose that my fate as a prisoner of the whelp king would be better than my fate among my own kind. Though I tried always to be fair to my Moru, I know such is not true of all of us...all of them...

Golden sandals stop before me. I don't lift my head.

I expect to hear him say something, command me to lift my head or some such; yet he says nothing, only stands before me. What is he expecting me to do? Disrespect him? Perhaps I would have, had I still been Kana. But knowing that I am a lowly Moru drains the will away from me. I stay where I am and say nothing, only wait for him to leave.

He moves and his hand touches my wing.

I jerk and stifle a gasp. What is he doing--? I feel his fingers press against the torn membrane, grasping it as if he were grasping at cloth. For the briefest moment there is a twinge of pain from the still-tender skin, but then--a warmth--spreading through my wing, up to the top, down to the tips--from the corners of my eyes I can see the other Kana, even those who had spat upon me, staring at me with surprise. The pain vanishes from my wing and a dim golden glare that had filled the air begins to die before disappearing entirely. The warmth dissipates.

His hand lets go of my wing. Instinctively I stretch and flex it, and hear the other Kana gasp. I break my own vow to lift my head and look at it, and immediately feel the same shock that they must be experiencing.

The wound...the tear...the sword slash. It is gone. Vanished. My wing is...whole again. I stretch it a second time, testing the membrane, and it feels even stronger than before, than my uninjured right wing is at this moment. How...how can this be? What has he done to me?

I look up at him, and see that he stares down at me, into my eyes, with those strange eyes of his own. They are blue, like lapis submerged in water. I cannot hold his stare, yet I do not have to. He turns away from me before I can break it, and walks before all of us.

"Your king has been defeated," he says, his voice clear, carrying across the room. "I will now sit upon the throne as the king of Kemet. The subjects of Set are now the subjects of Horus."

A soft hissing. The other captains bare their teeth at him but do not speak.

He tips his head slightly, stopping his pacing and looking at all of them. "I have offered two choices to the men of the Kana army. One, is you may be released to go to the desert with your leader. You will not be executed, but neither will you be allowed to return to this city. Should you try to do so, you will be punished. The desert will be your home, no matter how difficult the living may be. As I have said before, you may squabble among the scorpions and hyenas."

Someone near the back spits again, but still they do not speak aloud. Perhaps they, like I, sit and wait to hear what he has to say? Why do I want to know?

"Your second choice," the whelp continues, his voice lowering, "is you may leave Set's army to join my own, and serve as my men. Once you have proven your worth you will be put in command of guarding the city walls and the palace, or you will find a place in my army. I know that all of you would make excellent soldiers and guardsmen. The decision, however, is yours to make."

He falls silent and looks back and forth at the fourteen of us, now that the hideous words are out, the horrid offer to defect, to betray our king. I briefly wonder how many of our lieutenants, how many of our lower soldiers have accepted his offer. How many of us will be left in the desert?

Gods, why am...why am I considering...?

I must remove this evil thought from my head...

"Your decision?" he prompts, and I shut my eyes. It sounds as if he is addressing me alone. Perhaps this is only my guilt.

Hissing and snarling surrounds me. My comrades spit out insults and make rude gestures, considering their arms are bound behind their backs. Several of them kick pretend dust on the floor toward him, or swipe their tails in an offensive gesture. The name Moru is heard more than once, in every vile combination possible.

He stands and watches them impassively. They are only doing what is right. They are defending their king.

Our king!

I feel my face flushing with shame. Why am I setting myself apart from them so? Am I not again one of them, now that my wing is healed? Am I not Kana?

But who was he who healed my wing, who made me Kana once more?

I stare at him, unable to look away. He does not seem to see me anymore, though I cannot be certain what he's thinking. He watches the others as they insult him, and waits for their decision. I know what their decision will be. They will not join him. They will go to the desert with their rightful king.

But I, I...what shall I do?

For some reason, I...I cannot decide.

My disgust fills me again. Why is this even difficult! All of my life--I have served just one. I have loved him as my king, and I would have given my life for him. I gave up my Kanahood, serving in his army, fighting for our city. But...the whelp gave what I had lost back to me. Damn him, he gave it back! He had no right!

Why did he do this? I agonize inside, trying to figure out why. I am his enemy, and he is mine. He is only a pretender. He is only a boy! He could never rule Kemet as our king did!

Yet he won...with luck on his side...and we lost...and my wing...

My mind rails against him. Damn you! My decision was so simple. It was not even a decision at all. To serve my king, was all I ever wished to do. To die fighting for him. To give my life for his cause, for his kingdom. To oust the pretender and restore his glory. To defend the throne from any other whelps who may try to seize it.

Yet here you came, and you took my decision away from me! You gave me back the one thing I wanted more than to serve my king. You gave me back...who I was before. This should not be more important! My king should be the most important thing in my life!

I am not perfect. I am not the perfect Kana. How can I be so flawed? I am a captain elite! I should be more than this!

And yet...even though I am whole again...even though I am what I was before...I am something different now. Something less. And yet something more.

What am I now? Who am I? Who do I serve? When my king is defeated, when the one I believed--I knew--would be king forever--who was favored by fate--has been cast out into the sands, and when a boy takes his place--the son of the pretender--a mere swamp whelp, favored by the gods--who do I serve? What is right?

What do I do?

He peruses the group of us. "You have a decision?"

A barrage of insults and invective. Several of the Kana turn their faces away from him as if to blot him from existence. The crocodile-one murmurs to the wolf-one. "I believed this would be the result..."

The whelp is losing interest. He sees the angry, hateful faces, and I see resignation enter his eyes. He knows he will not sway any of us. He begins to turn away, back toward the doors.

Without thinking--without planning it ahead--I feel my knees unbend, my legs pushing me up so I stand. The rest of the Kana immediately cease snarling to gape at me--indeed, were I one of them, I would be gaping at myself. The others, the whelp and his men, stare at me as well. What am I doing? Why am I standing? Have I decided to insult him, to lower myself to that level, after all?

He cocks his head at me, eyes cold blue. He seems to wait for me to speak.

My voice is failing me. I open my mouth, yet the words do not wish to come out. I had been looking at his face, but not directly into his eyes. I do so now, and for just a moment, it is as if the Kana, his men, no one else is there but himself and me.

I find my voice.

"I have decided," I say, and the conviction, the strength of my own voice surprises me. They stare at me still, waiting. "I will serve the rightful king of Kemet."

One of his eyes twitches, just barely. The other Kana still stare at me, a few with mouths hanging open. They are not certain whether to howl with triumph or snarl with fury.

He tips his head and his eyes narrow. "The rightful king being--?"

My insides twist. How can he make me say this? I had thought he was merciful, but this is almost more than I can bear. Perhaps he is not so young and naive as I had thought. Perhaps he is more cunning than I, than any of us had given him credit for.

Perhaps this is a good thing, for him. I will not serve a weak, ineffectual king. I suddenly realize what I will serve. I will serve someone who can serve Kemet. My country. My home.

Lord Set was my king...yet he failed his kingdom, twice over...first he let it go to waste...and then he could not even defend his own throne against the golden one, favored of the gods...

Perhaps I have been wrong, all along.

I do not know for certain.

I will have to find out on my own.

In time.

His eyes bore through me. I look away from them. I almost wish I were Moru once more, so decisions would not matter so badly.

"The rightful king being he who sits upon the throne of Kemet. The heir of Iunu. The crown prince, son of the true king. Lord Horus."

He--blinks. He is--stunned?

Around me now, a rising, strengthening, hideous scream, thirteen throats shrieking, voices raised in rage and hatred. I jump back and try to shield myself as several of my former comrades launch themselves at me, teeth tearing, eyes mad. The lieutenant and the captain move forward with sword and spear drawn, driving them back. Someone--who?--the bastard?--the nameless one?--pushes me forward, toward the king. My...my king. He nods at me, one short, curt nod, with cold blue eyes. I find myself crossing my arm to my breast, bowing numbly. I cannot believe I am doing this.

"MORU! FILTHY MORU SCUM!" the captain second class screams. The others echo him.

"EATER OF DUNG! FECES SWILLER! MUD-SUCKING MORU!"

I ignore them. At least, I appear to, on the outside. The whelp...the king...turns away, toward the doors. I stall, fearing I'll be left behind to be torn to shreds, only to feel someone--now I see, it is the bastard prince, brother of the whelp--nudge on my arm. He glances at me, but not for long. I sense his distrust, and I do not blame him. Yet he motions me toward the doors, after the king. I am meant to follow him, out of this place, away from these Kana.

"Eat droppings from the hooves of a donkey, MORU TRAITOR!"

I raise my head--I am a Kana--and follow. The others follow with me, as if I am one of them. I know I am not. Perhaps one day, I will be. At the moment my heart is sick and twisting in my chest. The slurs stab through me like knives, like the sword through my wing. They have the same effect upon my spirit. For a moment, I wonder if, by this very act, this decision, I have not become Moru once more.

This is not for me to wonder, nor to decide.

He made the decision for me.

Whether I am Kana or Moru, I will follow and serve him, now.

It is my duty.

For Kemet.

My home.


END

Sovereignty

TITLE: Sovereignty

GENRES: Mythology, fantasy, drama.

RATING: PG-13

SUMMARY: Despair can lead to drastic acts...but what do THEY lead to? An original myth.

WRITING STATUS: Completed.

WRITING DATE: Circa 2002.

LENGTH: 7400+ words.

CONTENT WARNINGS: Fantasy violence, mild adult language, adult themes.

COPYRIGHT: This story and all characters, unless otherwise stated in the Disclaimers, are copyright © tehuti_88 and may not be used or distributed without permission. The reader is free to print out or download a copy of this story for offline reading as long as the author's copyright information remains upon it. Please do not distribute; if you wish to share this story, send a link to this page.

DISCLAIMERS: Certain characters are from Egyptian mythology. Although aspects of this story are loosely based on Egyptian mythology and culture, artistic license has been taken as this is a FANTASY story. Please take note that this story was written around 2002 and that my writing style and understanding of the mythology I created may have changed vastly in the meantime.

ADDITIONAL INFO: Fantasy Newsletter Feature Of The Month, April 2002, Writing.com.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This short story ties in with the other Kemet short stories and/or the Kemet/Egyptian mythology as I make use of it in my writing; as such, it might not make much sense out of context. This is rewritten from one of the stories included in the original collection City Of The Sun. The old version was highly flawed in that it involved voting for a king. I've tried to modify that somewhat, and put the gods more in character, though Ra does still freak out somewhat in this piece. You also get to see where it was that he got his temper from...one hint, it wasn't his father. This story, unlike most of my others, is based, VERY loosely, on an actual myth. Ra did commit the awful act he commits in this story, but the why is never mentioned, that I know of. My guess is as good as any, so this story gives my version. Beware of wandering POV. Definitions--the Paut Neteru is the Great Company of the Gods; "sa" is a god's...hm...energy or magical essence, you might say; been a while since I've used the term. *shrug*

---

STARS SHONE LIKE diamonds in the velvety sky. All was silent--the air, the earth, the heavens. Nothing stirred. A vote was being taken, and all that crawled upon the earth, soared upon the winds, or dwelled among the deities waited to know the results.

Among the gods, the neteru, there was one great king, in name and in spirit. God Amon was the first who had ever been, even before Ra, before Thoth, before Nunu. All recognized him as their king, although they never saw his face, and rarely saw his form. He was too great for most of them to comprehend, though many had their suspicions of what he was truly like. They never spoke these suspicions aloud.

Yet this was what made some of them wonder whether he should in fact be their king. None had ever even seen him. A few of the gods argued with the others about who would make a better king over their kind. Chief among those arguing was the goddess Neith, mother of Ra. The arguing finally grew so vicious that Lord Thoth suggested a mock vote to determine who felt what about whom. The vote, he said, would not determine who the true king should be...it would only tell them who they believed it should be. If there was a general agreement against the great god, he continued, he would tell God Amon himself. There had to be a peaceful way to settle the dispute before it got out of hand.

Recognizing the wisdom of his words, the neteru agreed to the mock vote, though Neith muttered a little that it should count as the real thing, as there was no way her son could lose. And so this night they all gathered in the courtyard of the sun palace in Iunu to toss rings into a box--silver rings for Amon--gold rings for Ra. Having been assured by Thoth, who watched over the box to spot out cheating, that no matter what their vote was it would not count against them, the gods tossed in their rings and stood aside to wait with great curiosity. Nothing like this had ever been done before, so they found the proceedings quite intriguing. A few murmured to each other about their opinions before Thoth stepped forward and removed the lid from the box. It was then that they fell silent and waited while he removed and counted each ring, marking the tally upon his papyrus. Such a silence had never fallen in the courtyard before; even the sunhawks sat upon their perches, watching.

The ibis god finally reached the bottom of the box, and the last ring. He clutched it in his fingers and held it up just enough so that he could see it clearly. Then he raised it into the air, and the deities leaned forward, peering at it. It glinted silver in the lamplight.

"Let it hereby be known," Thoth announced, "that the majority of you have deemed God Amon, Great Creator of the All, most fitting king of the Paut Neteru."

There was a great noise as the gathered gods let out their breath in a loud murmur, before raising their hands heavenward in tribute to Amon. Off to the side, near the pillars, stood God Ra and Lady Neith. Ra merely placed his arm to his breast in a silent salute but Neith seethed. When the others let out a chant to the great god she stepped forward with a sharp cry.

Silence descended again. Everyone turned to look at the goddess, who glared back at them, fists clenched at her sides. Her eyes flashed blue, and now everybody realized how much she and her son resembled each other.

She raised her arm and displayed her own ring, a snake of gold.

"This is the one," she shouted, and pointed at Ra. "A ring of gold! I hardly care what you say about who should be king. HE is your king!"

Ra's own eyes widened and flashed with anger and embarrassment, and he darted a glance at the crowd.

The other gods just gaped. Neith whirled to Thoth and snatched the silver ring from the surprised god's hand.

"There is no way that this count is correct! For as long as you all have been my son has ruled over you. And this is how you repay him! By proclaiming some invisible Nothing your king!" She tossed the ring down onto the table. "Count the rings again!"

Thoth blinked. "But--I counted them twice, Lady--"

"Then let someone else do it!" She turned to Lady Maat, wife of Thoth and daughter of Ra, who stood trembling to her left. "You can't tell a lie, it's known to all of us. Count the rings again! Correctly this time!"

The frightened goddess came forward meekly to do as her grandmother said. A short time passed while the deities watched again. Thoth peered at poor humiliated Ra, who still stood before the columns, fists clenching and unclenching. Maat finished her counting and pulled her hand from the box with an anxious look upon her face. The others fell silent once more as she held up her arm and shakily displayed a single silver ring.

She started fearfully, in a stammering voice, "I--I counted all rings. Let it hereby be known--"

Neith, enraged, shrieked and struck the goddess across the face. The little ring clattered to Thoth's feet and he automatically took his wife's arm and helped her up. Neither of them said a word. Ra cringed; the others looked appalled.

Neith stabbed her finger at her son again. "He is the one! He should be your king!"

"Goddess," Thoth started, "the vote is merely a mock one--God Ra has long been our king in spirit--"

"Yet NOT in name!" Neith shot back. "You even append his name to that of the Invisible One! What sort of honor is this?"

"Neith," Ra said in a warning tone. He appeared too embarrassed to call her by her familial name, by now.

"You should all have voted for him!" the goddess went on. She glared at Thoth and Maat, gesturing rudely. "And you two, have you gone over to that Invisible One's side?"

"Goddess!" Ra hissed.

His mother turned to him, and they glared silently at each other. Whether they communicated by thought was uncertain, but the stare lasted an eternity, as neither would give up. This was finally resolved when Lady Bastet and Lord Bes, the dwarf god, stepped forward. Bastet went to Ra and took her father's arm, coaxing him sweetly; Bes danced about before Neith, whom he knew had enjoyed his entertainment in the past. At the same time Khenti Amenti crept toward the two on his belly and started flattering them both.

"I've never seen you look so stunning, Lady Neith," he cajoled, slinking in between them. Bes put his fingers to his ears and stuck out his tongue, mimicking the wolf. "You truly look fit to be the mother of such a god as Ra. And God Ra! Never have you looked better. Is that a new kilt? Both of you are certainly at your best."

"I'm a monkey!" Bes announced, and, chittering, dashed around the court.

"There's no need for arguing now," Bastet cooed, tugging gently on Ra's arm. "Come, let's go play with the cats like we used to do when I was little."

"You're magnificent!" Khenti gasped, framing Neith's face with his paws. "Those eyes, that nose--"

"Quack quack!" Bes waddled in circles and pulled on Khenti's tail.

"Maybe we could sail your boat!" Bastet suggested with a large smile. "Wouldn't the kittens love that?"

Ra and Neith finally relented, to the relief of everyone else. They still cast cold glances at each other as they left, Bes hopping along after the goddess, Bastet murmuring to her father until they had all gone out of sight. Khenti let out his breath and swept a paw across his forehead before turning back to the others.

"Why are we all standing about looking so longfaced?" he cried. "You've all made up your minds and named your king! Let's start the party going!"

The last thing Neith heard as she left the palace was the loud shout of the gathered deities and the start of their joyful celebration. The noise hurt her ears and stung her pride like a scorpion's tail; she covered her ears with her hands and quickly walked away, wounded.

---

Nothing could console Neith that night. The ingratitude those wretches had shown toward her Ra, making him salute that--that sheep! Amon may have been the first who existed--yet he had not created all of them. He didn't rise over them every day to bring them light. Most of them wouldn't be alive if it weren't for her son. While she paced about her own palace in a fury she had several visitors, all of whom soon left, repelled by her temper. The first was Lord Thoth, who entered rather timidly and, bowing, tried to speak. She wouldn't let him.

"I know what you're going to say, Lord Thoth," she snapped. "'I should have kept my mouth shut in the first place, then there would be no Ra to cause us trouble!' Well, I have something to tell you, Crookedbeak. It may have been your voice that brought him into the world, but I bore him and I raised him, and I was here even before your wretched little coward of a wife, Maat!"

Thoth looked startled, but said nothing at all--he didn't even think lest the furious goddess could read his mind--and instead bowed and quickly departed.

The next visitor was Khenti Amenti. He slunk in and started meekly, "Beautiful Neith, Goddess of Women--"

"GO AWAY!"

The wolf yelped as if beaten and did so.

Thirdly came her husband, Nunu. He was looking over his shoulder at the fleeing wolf, his tail between his legs.

"What did you say to him?" he asked. He turned to her, then, seeing her face, said with reproach, "You're acting foolishly, Neith. The vote was fair. God Amon was chosen. So Ra didn't win, do you see him complaining? It was a silly mock vote after all."

"He's our son, the creator of the world," Neith replied. "He should be king--both in name and in spirit. Sitting on the throne, not bowing to some silly Invisible God! Leave now before I become angry with you too!"

Nunu sighed--it was useless to argue with Neith when she was so furious. Within seconds he was gone as well.

After he had left her sight, Neith went outside into her courtyard to walk around. Morning was soon to come--Ra had returned to his boat, and pale blue light was just beginning to show, although it would never reach the palace completely. The goddess looked to her side, still shrouded in darkness, then to the pale horizon. Then her head spun around to stare back off to her side--for the darkness was not the only thing there.

At eye level could be seen two red glowing spots, like little fires floating in midair. There was a swift movement and the twin fires--she now recognized them as eyes--were put in place by a shadowy caped figure with a hooked, black beak. It grinned at her ominously.

More annoyed than afraid, Neith snatched an arrow from her quiver and fitted it to her bow, taking aim. "Show yourself before I shoot!"

The dark figure stepped silently out of the shadows, and she immediately recognized the hawk god, Lord Sokar. He bowed and she made a face. To think that he should be here! She jammed the arrow back in its place and stormed over to him.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded.

The answer was simple. "Watching you stomp around."

She hated how he always grinned like that, as if he knew some deep, dark secret. She also hated how he didn't include a proper title of respect when addressing her. She raised her hand in a fist and swung it at him. "Leave here now, before you have--!"

She cut herself off abruptly, seeing he didn't even blink, and still smiled. Her own attitude grew slightly less stormy in grudging admiration. Any other god would have flinched away from her.

"Well, you're different," she muttered. "You don't even run when I raise my hand against you; you don't even flinch. I still wish to know why you're here, though!"

"I've already told you."

"I've already told you Goddess. And I know you and you're not here in fun. Who sent you? Was it Ra?"

He snorted. "Why would he send me to spy on you? He loathes me. Everyone knows this."

"You have some reason for being here and I demand to know what it is!"

"I hope you know that Lord Nunu was wrong when he said you're acting foolish," Sokar said. "I can tell now that you aren't acting--Goddess."

Neith's eyes grew and she started to protest, then realized there was no one there to protest to. The empty darkness met her eyes. Sokar had utterly vanished.

"No wonder Ra hates him," she muttered, looping her bow over her shoulder. She knew this wasn't the real reason behind the two gods' animosity, though, and sighed, glancing about her. Not even Nunu was anywhere nearby to be found; she was alone in the courtyard.

Alone, Neith thought. I'm all alone. No one agrees with what should be right! Not even Ra. Not even my own son.

"I'll just have to make him agree," she decided aloud, and quit her palace for Iunu.

---

Neith entered Ra's palace when he was due to return from his sunboat. The place seemed strangely devoid of sunhawks; most were probably hiding, as she'd made it clear to them how she hated having the pesky little gossipmongers around. Yet still Ra allowed them to fill his palace like winged rats. She and he rarely agreed on anything. She stood just inside and waited for him to arrive. When he did so, she saw how he nearly paused and darted a quick look into a nearby hall (was he deciding if he should run or not?), then continued, noticeably averting his eyes. She went toward him.

"We must talk," she said.

Ra now looked directly at her, his eyes glinting blue over his hooked beak. "I believe there's nothing left for us to talk over, Goddess."

"Yes, there is. Don't pretend you don't know. You know very well what I'm talking about! This whole fiasco with Amon is what--you bowing to that lowly wretch and his worthless wife!"

"Fiasco!" Ra retorted, temper finally flaring. "If anyone started a fiasco it was you! Do you not know how humiliating it would be to have your own mother scream at everyone, accusing them all of being stupid, ignorant fools? I am grown and no longer under your wing! And how you treated Maat was inexcusable!"

"The little wench lied!"

"Lied!" the god shouted, furious. "You have no right to speak so of my children!"

"I raised you!" Neith screamed, shaking her fists. "I held you at my breast when you were but a child and now you repay me with this! You're to go before the Paut immediately and complain about this--remind them that you are the rightful ruler!"

Ra threw back his head and bellowed. "YOU CAN'T TELL ME HOW TO LIVE!"

"You lowly coward!" Neith shrieked back. She spat on the floor. "The pride I felt for you has been dashed to pieces under your own feet! You're so fainthearted that you cannot speak your feelings. Because of that you are no longer fit to be my son!"

Ra's response was an immediate change in appearance. His proud, angry stance faltered, his fists unclenched, and the fury in his eyes was replaced by shock and hurt. Neith felt a pang of remorse in her heart, but what was done was done; she turned away from him and left before words of apology could come to either of their mouths. She half wished he would run after her, begging for forgiveness and asking to be accepted back, but knew he would not, not now...he took more after her than anyone knew.

As she exited the hall she glanced back at him. Her son still stood there, only he wasn't her son any longer, and he was completely different, a total stranger; a mere shell of the proud, defiant Ra she had known so well, he stood slumped slightly, his head bowed forward and his bewildered eyes staring a pained stare into emptiness as if in search of something long lost.

She saw him raise his head and take one step forward, straining to regain his shattered dignity, only to slouch again, his whole appearance racked with agony and shame. He put his hands to his face and moaned, "I've been dishonored," before turning and staggering away.

Neith followed his example, tears now streaming down her face, likewise transformed by hidden pain.

---

"If I know my own father, I know there's something wrong," Lady Tefnut, goddess of the rain, said, addressing the other gods and goddesses gathered around her. Most of the members of the Paut Neteru had gathered without Ra to lead their number, as he always did. Now they sat without a leader and many of them seemed at least a little out of sorts with this; the Paut had never convened before without its leader. As more than one of them had muttered on the way in, they were like a snake without its head, merely a tail flapping about uselessly. Now they sat mostly in silence, though once in a while one of them would mumble something to another. Lady Seshat raised her hand and this immediately ceased the mumbling; no one knew if she or Tefnut or somebody else was leading the meeting or not.

"Be to the point," she said, to Tefnut. "I hate mysteries."

"Then why you married Lord Thoth, I have no idea," Lord Unnu said, before Lady Unnut jabbed him in the ribs and he coughed.

Tefnut stood and walked over to Lord Khepri. "You know how it is," she said. "Every day, at the break of dawn, Ra has diligently awakened and sailed his boat across the sky. Now he won't even leave the palace. Instead he has one of his sunhawks ask you to sail the boat, and then makes the rest leave his grounds so he can be alone. He isn't normally like this. Something must be wrong."

"Perhaps he's resting for a while," Lady Rayet said quietly, as if afraid to speak aloud.

Nebhet Hotep shot her a look with narrowed eyes. "Then perhaps you can explain why he has banished even the two of us from his bedchambers? I should think he would be making the most of his 'break' that he can. Instead he shuns even his wives and his obligations."

"I tend to believe Lady Rayet," Unnu said. "Sailing a boat can become quite tiring after a while. Just going back and forth, back and forth, over and over and over, again, again, and again. Back and forth, back and forth..."

Sakhmet, Unnut, and Lady Nehmauit yawned. Lord Khnum looked almost ready to be ill.

"It must be Neith," Lady Selket said. "She's quite overbearing with him. If I didn't know better, I would say she did not trust him to make his own decisions."

"You saw how she was with Maat," Lady Nut said. "Slapping her own granddaughter and accusing her of falsehoods, in front of everybody like that...atrocious."

"Knowing very well she can't lie," Khnum added.

Maat kept her eyes downcast.

There was a scratching sound. Lady Hathor arose and strode to the far end of the hall, carefully opening the door. Khenti Amenti slipped in, trotting toward the gathered gods.

"I know it all now," he said, giving a little bow before sitting down, stealing a slice of meat from Khnum's platter. "Seems Lady Neith paid Ra a visit some days back. One of the sunhawks listened in. They got into a pretty colorful argument. Ra told Neith to keep out of his business, and Neith..."

He swallowed the meat and licked his toes, then fell silent.

The neteru waited for him to finish before their faces began to grow annoyed. Even Khnum nudged him. "What? What did she do?" a few of them pressed.

Khenti looked mildly uncomfortable. "Well...she sort of...disowned him as her son."

All was silent. The gods stared at Khenti, shock and surprise evident in their eyes. Disowning one's own flesh and blood...the most shameful thing that could be done. Neith may as well have told Ra he didn't even exist. The dishonor would have been just as great. To not exist...this was the worst dishonor of all. They'd never even heard of it happening before.

The first one to speak did so quite unexpectedly, as he'd so far remained silent throughout the whole meeting.

"Of all the foolish, stupid things to do," Sokar muttered, half to himself.

Khenti--and most of the others, for that matter--looked at him, surprised that it should be him to speak up for someone who detested him, but they wisely said nothing of it. They glanced down at their plates again, suddenly not hungry.

"So what do we do?" Sakhmet asked.

"There's nothing we can do," Tefnut replied. "Only Neith can. She can either accept him back, or..."

"Or dismiss him from the family," Maat finished softly.

None of them spoke after that. There didn't seem to be anything left to say.

---

"You disowned your own son?" Nunu cried, whirling to face his wife who sat in silence nearby.

"Yes," she said in a low voice.

Nunu stared at her in disbelief. "This is the most dishonorable thing that can be done to one's own children! You could have scratched his name out from all of his monuments and it would not have hurt one bit more! Don't you know what that means?"

He received no reply. Neith didn't even meet his eyes.

"That means you don't recognize him as your son anymore!" Nunu finally replied for her, pacing back and forth. They were at home within their own palace now, the walls rippling watery blue in contrast to the great golden palace of the sun. "He could be a total stranger now--he could even be a mortal compared to you! His own children, his family you disown along with him!"

"I know."

"No wonder he hasn't sailed his boat. He's probably too ashamed to show his face. Too humiliated! Do you know what you must be putting him through--?"

"He'll get over it!" Neith snapped. "He's only sulking. Licking his wounds. He'll get over it, and he'll come begging to be forgiven, and only then will I. Only then will I accept him back. He has to learn he deserves more than he accepts, and if this is the only way to do it, then so be it!"

Nunu stared at her for a moment. When he spoke his voice was quiet. "For his sake, you'd better be right. I know he's always been honorable, but he most certainly inherited your temper and that doesn't combine well with the way you keep him under your heel. He grew up long ago. He needs to make his own decisions without your word. For goodness' sake, he may be--may have been--our youngest son--but he's grown up now! He doesn't need you telling him what he does and doesn't deserve. If he feels he deserves something, he'll take it. That's all up to him. And whether or not sovereignty truly belongs to him is his decision as well." He turned away from his wife's sorry figure to look outside at the gathering darkness. Light never truly reached their palace, yet it seemed darker than ever, now.

"For his sake, I only hope he does take himself off his crumbling pedestal, act more maturely than you have and come to ask for forgiveness before it all collapses beneath his feet." He closed his eyes. "For his sake."

---

Ra sat alone in his palace, utterly alone. No sunhawks kept him company, no visitors interrupted his silence, and no servants were on call. He'd dismissed them all long ago, so he could be alone to think. Thinking hadn't come to him easily lately, though. Ever since Neith had cast him out of the family he had been able to think of nothing else. As night became day and day night, his only visitor was his brother Khepri, who would steer his sunboat into port and then leave as quietly as possible.

The pools and tables sat unvisited and unattended, growing stagnant and gathering dust. Ra's staff with its golden ankh leaned against the wall, unused. He didn't even look into his watermirror to see what Neith might be up to. Instead he sat all by himself, thinking.

This day his thoughts were, as always, on himself. How wretched he must be, to be dismissed from his own family. This fate didn't even befall the basest criminals; even a robber or murderer usually had someone to claim him as their child. Now he had not even that. To think that Neith and Nunu had gone all this time putting up with him if he were so undeserving! If his own mother hated him so much, why had she never said so before? What an embarrassment he must be to them. The more he thought on it, the more painful the thought became, and the more sensible as well.

"A shame," he murmured to himself. "A shameful wretch."

His anguished gaze wandered the room. What could he do? He couldn't continue bringing a tarnish to their name. They had come before even he had. Neith had claimed him as the better ruler of the gods, but with what she had next told him, he believed God Amon would do the better job. As long as he was around, he could do nothing but sully their reputations even further. He couldn't allow that.

There must be something he could do to set it right.

His sights fell on a knife lying a bit away from him on his little dinner table, its golden handle glittering. A sheen passed along its curved blade. Strange disjointed thoughts rushed into his head.

No longer fit to be my son, Neith's words echoed. No longer fit to be my son...my son...my son...

What makes a son a son?...

"Not fit to be your son," he whispered. "If I'm not fit to be your son, I'm not fit to be anyone's son."

He leaned forward, reaching across and picking up the knife, bringing it closer to look at it. It sparkled in the light, copper and gold, and he could see his own face, distorted, in the blade. Instantly he was filled with revulsion. If he couldn't annihilate himself, then he could at least remove that which made him anyone's son. As he no longer deserved that title. As his family no longer deserved his dishonor.

He stood and left the hall, striding with a purpose, navigating the maze back to his chambers. The door closed silently behind him.

A moment or two passed before a soft sound stirred the stillness. A faint breeze ruffled the petals of the lotuses decorating the table and a sandal snikkted against the floor. Lord Shu entered the hall and made his way after his father with a quick but calm stride. Even as all the other neteru obeyed the sun god's wishes to leave him in peace, he had remained behind, always silent and hidden in shadows, to keep a watchful eye on him. He knew the labyrinthine hallways of the palace as well as anyone, and so reached his father's quarters almost immediately. He reached for the doorhandle to open it and step inside, then paused. He spread out his fingers and the heka placed upon the door was palpable. Some sort of locking spell had been used; even if he had decided to turn into wind to find his way within, it would not have worked against this magic. He didn't know this spell.

Perhaps Nunu would know it. Shu turned away from the door and left the hallway as quickly as he could.

---

Within his chambers, Ra still stared at the knife. Now that he had it, he didn't know what to do with it. All his plans had fled his mind immediately. He considered a swift plunge into the breast, but knew this would not work for long; Thoth would always come along and heal him, and it would be over with too quickly...not nearly enough suffering considering what he'd done. He'd made his family suffer, so he should have to suffer, as well. And greatly.

He stood nervously fingering the plaits of his kilt until his original plan came back to him and his fingers fell still, the thought filling him with both dread and...what? Satisfaction? That this was the only way he could remove the shame, if not redeem himself? He shuddered, but decided it must be done.

I can be no one's son. You said so, Mother.

He pushed aside the front flap of his kilt, raised the knife above his head, faltered, and then shut his eyes and swiftly brought it down.

It was as if a burning-hot sword jabbed through his middle. The pain was so horrifyingly excruciating that he didn't even scream. Instead he managed a choked gasp and swayed unsteadily, reaching out to grab at a column. The bloodied knife clattered to the floor, skittering and leaving a red trail; his legs gave out and he collapsed in a pool of his own blood. Merciful unconsciousness quickly overtook him, and the last thing he saw before the world went black was the knife. There was his own reflection, in shades of red.

---

A visitor arrived at the palace of Nunu and Neith. The god and goddess stood with surprise; they had not expected anyone, much less their grandson, who hurried in and bowed before them, breathless.

Nunu spoke before he could. "What is it?" he asked, never having seen the god look so agitated before.

"It's God Ra," Shu replied. "He went into his rooms at his palace and locked the door behind him with a heka spell."

Nunu frowned. "And--?"

Shu said gravely, "And he had a knife."

Nunu had gone almost before Shu had finished his sentence. Neith followed close behind, heart squeezing within her breast.

He was supposed to come back to me! He was supposed to...!

---

The three neteru arrived at Ra's palace not long after. As no one stood guard at the front gate, they went in without interruption, hurrying through the courtyards and into the building proper, down the winding hallways and past the numerous empty rooms. Their sandals clacked against the floor and the sound bounced sharply off the towering columns, ringing in their ears. As they neared Ra's rooms Nunu held up his hand and recited a counterspell; by the time they reached the door the heka binding it shut had vanished. At first it stubbornly refused to open, so when it did give way the three of them nearly fell in. Neith gasped and Shu staggered, trying to catch himself. They glanced around them at the golden surroundings before the color crimson caught their attention. Their eyes widened.

Neith broke away from the other two and rushed forward, arms out before her. "Ra!"

Ra lay on his side on the floor, as if asleep. His face was pale, the hue having drained out of him into the pool of blood surrounding him. A knife lay not too far away, also stained red. Despite the ghastliness of the scene...his expression hadn't seemed so peaceful in days.

Neith dropped down beside him and took his head in her hands, staining her knees. The other two came close and looked him over, Nunu pressing his fingers to his neck. Life still beat within him, fluttering and weak.

"He's lost a lot of blood," he murmured. "Shu, help me find the wound."

Shu complied and helped Nunu turn Ra over a little, trying not to move him too much. Nunu looked him over, confused. There was no stab wound to the heart, as he had expected; so where else could it be? His gaze traveled around, searching, until he finally found it. His face went pale and he fell back.

Shu and Neith both noticed his look. "What is it?" Shu asked.

"His...his wound..." Nunu stammered in a faint voice. "He tried to...to..."

Shu leaned over to look at his father more closely and took in a breath. Neith couldn't see what they obviously saw, from where she was, holding his head in her lap. "What is it?" she demanded, and when neither of them answered her voice rose several notes. "What? What did he do?"

Shu looked up at her. His eyes told all. "The knife...he tried to castrate himself."

Neith's eyes grew large and she sucked in her breath. "No!" She wrapped her arms about him tightly and tears started streaming down her face. "This wasn't supposed to happen...he was supposed to come back to me! Why did you have to be so damned proud...!"

Her voice broke off into miserable whimpering. Nunu looked down at his bloodied hands and shuddered and wiped them off on his kilt. "Shu. Go find Thoth. Tell him to bring his staff."

Shu stood and obeyed, rushing from the room. Nunu reached out to place his shaking hand upon Neith's shoulder. She rocked back and forth now, murmuring brokenly. "I wouldn't have said it...wouldn't have if I'd known you were so damned proud...why do you have to be so much like me?...why couldn't you just let it go and come back to me...?"

The three of them stayed thus for what seemed to be eternities, awaiting Thoth and Shu. The two gods finally arrived, Shu stepping aside to let Thoth past him. The ibis god strode quickly to Ra's side and knelt down beside him, pressing his fingers to his neck as Nunu had done, then feeling his breath--it came out weak and fast--and then his cold forehead. He brought forward his staff and held it over the fallen god and the crystal orbs set within the eight began to glow. He touched the head of the staff to Ra's hip and the glow spread through his body, changing him momentarily to gold. The glow began to fade after a moment, and with it Ra's eyes fluttered open weakly, his breath hitching.

"Ra!" Neith cradled his head to her. "Can you hear me? Do you hurt?"

The god blinked a few times, as if uncertain, before shutting his eyes and letting out his breath in a long sigh. His voice came out faint. "I...fail...even this..."

"No, no." Neith tried to wipe back a few tears, then stroked his hair. Part of her was beginning to feel foolish and angry over her outburst; the other part of her felt ashamed of feeling that way. How was a mother expected to feel? She'd been so busy being angry with him that she'd almost forgotten who they were, to each other. There were some things a mother could never truly forget, she supposed. "You didn't fail...you've failed nothing. Especially not me. I failed you."

He spoke again as if he hadn't heard what she'd said. "I'm sorry I dishonored you..."

"You could never dishonor me." She pressed her head to his. "I was foolish. I could never disown my son. That would be the same as what you tried to do, cutting away a part of myself. This is why I was so angry. I see myself in you so much. I wish for so much more for you, and when you disagree, I'm just so angry that you're as stubborn as I am." He took another breath and she could feel his strength returning, slowly. "I should know better, from you. I would have been the same way. I'm sorry I ever hurt you."

"He's still weak," Thoth said quietly. "I've healed him yet it will take a while for his sa to replenish itself. We should get him to his bed so he may rest for now."

"Yes, of course..."

She let go of him and watched while Nunu and Shu helped Ra to his feet, heading for his canopied bed. Although his wound had been healed, blood still ran down his legs, and Thoth went to the other side of the room to retrieve a bowl of water and a cloth. None of them had gotten very far when Neith jumped to her feet with a cry, and they all turned back to see what the trouble was.

The goddess was staring down at the puddle of blood upon the floor. The knife still lay in the middle of it--only now it was no longer still. Instead it seemed to vibrate, blade and handle thrumming against the floor as it turned in a slow circle, as if some motion far beneath the earth prompted its movement. The gods stared at it with surprise, not certain what to make of it.

"Thoth...?" Nunu asked uneasily.

The thrumming feeling beneath their feet grew, and the knife bounced and danced and skittered. It suddenly shot into the air and floated, in place, blade dripping. One drop of blood struck the floor and immediately a blinding light shot from where it hit. The gods shielded their eyes. The glow expanded and then contracted, narrowing and shrinking until it took on a human form. The light died away, shedding as a snake sheds its skin, revealing a young full-grown god crouched upon the floor, legs drawn up to his breast and his head resting upon his knees. A second drop of blood landed beside him and the light reappeared, growing and shrinking, and when it vanished the watching neteru saw what they had expected to see--a second god, similar to the first. The two of them lifted their heads and blinked, looking about themselves tentatively. They saw the others already looking at them and the seven deities stared at each other in silence.

Nunu turned his head a bit in Thoth's direction. "Thoth...what just happened?"

The ibis god shook his head slowly. "I'm...not certain. The only thing I can think of...is God Ra created them somehow. Unwittingly, perhaps."

They looked at Ra, but he was barely conscious enough to stand. Rather than let him fall to the floor again, they continued as they'd been doing, leading him to his bed and laying him down. His head rested back against the pillows, breath still coming shallow but slower now. Neith went to him and squeezed his hand.

Thoth approached the two young gods seated upon the floor. He bowed and opened his mouth to speak, then shut it for a moment, then bowed again as he gathered himself.

"Er...greetings, Lords...you have names...?"

The first god blinked once more, then smiled at him. "Names--" He broke off suddenly and jumped, looking around, and then gave a small laugh. "I hear my own voice and it frightens me...you speak of 'names'...I fail to understand."

"I feel we know much, more than we should, else we wouldn't be speaking," the second god said in a halting voice, "though I do not understand this either."

"My name is Lord Thoth. He is Lord Shu. These are our names. You have one each...? Surely...?"

"Oh." The first god stared at him for a moment. "Then I suppose we do not have names."

Thoth blinked.

"They need to be named then," Neith said. She sat beside Ra, still holding his hand. "They can't go about without any. You should call them--" She cut herself off with a flinch, glancing at her son. Her fingers squeezed his and she bit her tongue. "I mean...no, you. They're of you...so you should name them."

"Majesty?" Thoth said softly, approaching his bed and bowing. "The first god who was born of you. What name should he carry?"

Ra was silent for a moment, eyes closed, the only sound he made his breathing. After a moment he made an effort to speak and the others leaned forward to hear his papery voice in the cavernous quarters.

"He...he should be named Hu."

"The Divine Utterance," Thoth murmured. He spoke louder. "What name should the second carry, Majesty?"

"Sia," Ra said, with less hesitation this time. "Call him Sia."

"The Divine Intelligence." Thoth bowed deeply and then turned to the other two gods. "Your names shall be Lord Hu and Lord Sia. You are born of the sun god Ra. You should be honored to be of the Family of Iunu."

Neith felt a pang. Honored. She looked at the two new gods with their wide-eyed stares and thought of how they had come about. Surely it had been some sort of miracle, or sign. The House of Iunu wouldn't have lasted as long as it had so far, unless one with true ability led it. Ra had always ruled over them, in spirit if not in name. Even Thoth had made this clear when the other neteru had chosen God Amon as their rightful king. Amon would be king in their minds, but Ra would be king in their hearts. He always had been. Why couldn't that be good enough?

She held his hand between her own. "Ra...?" she said softly, then, "...My son?"

"He needs rest," Nunu said. "Lead the new ones away. We'll present them to God Amon...see what he decides to do. I assume they'll be given a place within the Paut Neteru somewhere...?"

"Of course," Thoth said. He set down the bowl and cloths, picked up his staff, and bowed to Neith. "Lady Neith...?"

"I wish to stay for a while," the goddess said in a quiet voice. "To be with him."

The ibis god nodded and bowed once more. "I'll send a servant to clean the floors. There is water nearby if you wish to tend to him while we're gone. We'll be not long, Goddess."

"Take what time you need. And thank you." As they turned away, Shu and Nunu leading Hu and Sia, she added, "Lord Thoth...tell Lady Maat...that I apologize to her. For the way I've acted."

Thoth stared at her for a moment before nodding his head once and turning away. As the gods left, she caught sight of Hu and Sia looking back at them with open curiosity--in particular toward Ra, their new father--before the door could swing shut behind them, leaving Neith and her son in silence.

His hand felt warmer against her own now and she knew that soon he would be recovered, but not for a little while yet. She leaned toward him with worry in her heart--"Ra?"--but her anxiety faded a bit when his eyes finally opened again, just a little, focusing on hers.

"My boat..." he murmured.

"Lord Khepri tends to it for now. You needn't worry about it."

"You...called me Son."

"Of course. This is what you are." She pressed his fingers to her mouth. "I could never disown you, no matter how angry you might make me. I'm sorry, Ra. All I ever wanted was the very best for you. All I wanted for you was sovereignty."

He took a breath and shut his eyes. "This...this is what I wanted, also."

Neith's eyes widened and her heart rose a little. "It is?" she asked, surprised. "So you never disagreed with me at all? You wanted it, just as much as I?"

Ra nodded slowly. His eyes remained shut; she sensed him lapsing into sleep even as he replied to her question.

"I wanted sovereignty...sovereignty over my own life."

Tears welled in Neith's eyes and flowed down her cheeks. Her anger and shame were gone, for now. This feeling pierced through her as sharp as a knife, yet it was a much better feeling, to feel proud of another rather than of herself. She put her arm about his neck and held her son close. They were alike...he was a part of her...yet he was also his own. Even as she held him, she finally let a part of him go.

"Of course," she whispered. "Sovereignty you'll have. You earned it long ago, dear Son."


END

Something In The Moonlight

TITLE: Something In The Moonlight

GENRES: Mythology, fantasy, romance/love, drama.

RATING: PG-13

SUMMARY: What can bring fear to the fearless?...or is this feeling fear at all? An original myth.

WRITING STATUS: Completed.

WRITING DATE: Circa 2001.

LENGTH: 5800+ words.

CONTENT WARNINGS: Mild adult themes.

COPYRIGHT: This story and all characters, unless otherwise stated in the Disclaimers, are copyright © tehuti_88 and may not be used or distributed without permission. The reader is free to print out or download a copy of this story for offline reading as long as the author's copyright information remains upon it. Please do not distribute; if you wish to share this story, send a link to this page.

DISCLAIMERS: Certain characters are from Egyptian mythology. Although aspects of this story are loosely based on Egyptian mythology and culture, artistic license has been taken as this is a FANTASY story. Please take note that this story was written around 2001 and that my writing style and understanding of the mythology I created may have changed vastly in the meantime.

ADDITIONAL INFO: NA.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This short story ties in with the other Kemet short stories and/or the Kemet/Egyptian mythology as I make use of it in my writing; as such, it might not make much sense out of context. In the mythology, the lioness goddess of war and bloodshed, Sakhmet, was married to the moon god Ptah, patron of craftsmen and artisans. They even had a son together, Nefertum. Now--how did two such different deities end up paired together? The Egyptians probably had a slew of political reasons why, but I wanted to figure out the romantic part. Hence this story. An error--the terms "yards," "inches," and "miles" (all three of them!) are used--nowadays I would use more generic, less modern measurements.

---

SAKHMET SAT BOLT upright with a gasp and glanced around her wildly, searching. Nothing but trees, to one side the river, to the other side the desert. The same as ever.

She put a hand to her breast and forced her breathing and heartbeat to slow down to normal. Awakened and frightened by a mere dream? What sort of behavior was this? She'd battled wild beasts and bloodthirsty demons before; why should a simple dream startle her so?

What was more, she couldn't even remember what it had been about!

The goddess growled under her breath and pushed herself to her feet, grabbing up her ax and quiver. The fact that she couldn't even remember what had frightened her was annoying. She'd been out here hunting for three days straight now and had yet to venture back to celestial Iunu; in that short time she'd faced down hippos and crocodiles and even a lion but none of them had managed to do anything more than get the blood coursing faster through her veins. Fear? It was unknown to her.

Until now.

She shook her head, and shook the feeling off. She slung the quiver over her shoulder and retrieved her bow. She had no horse to untie; she preferred walking, as it kept up her strength. In the brief period of time between dusk and dawn she would sleep shielded beneath the trees, with only the moonlight and starlight to look down upon her. There was absolutely nothing to fear out here, nothing she couldn't handle. She wouldn't let a stupid dream she couldn't recall frighten her away from her hunt.

With resolve she hefted her ax--it was heavy enough to cause even the strongest of the gods trouble--and went on her way, keeping eyes and ears open.

By the time the light began to fade again, all too soon, it seemed, she had brought down an antelope she'd spotted prancing about at the edge of the desert, perhaps getting ready to come in for a drink. All in all, not a bad kill, but she was still bored of it. A mere antelope out of an entire day's work. The dumb creatures weren't even dangerous unless it was mating season. She'd forgotten about the strange feeling she'd had that morning, but as soon as she made her camp again it came back to her. For some reason...she rather missed it. At least then she hadn't been bored.

She shook her head again. "Agh! To be rid of this stupid feeling! It was just a dream--forget about it and get to sleep!"

She didn't even bother with a night hunt; her boredom had sapped the desire from her. Perhaps tomorrow...she had no important duties to attend to, and intended to make the most of this small trip away from the sun palace. Instead, she unstoppered a small clay vase of beer and drank it, hiccuping when she reached the bottom and tossing the vase away. It smashed against the ground and she felt satisfied with the tiny act of destruction. Maybe later she would find a better chance to prove herself.

With a snort and a sigh she put her quiver on the ground--this was the only thing she used as her pillow or her bed, to bring anything else would be extraneous and unnecessary--and placed her head upon it, getting herself comfortable and drifting to sleep.

For what seemed to be a long time, it was dark. Sakhmet normally didn't remember her dreams unless they involved great battles and bloody fights, and even then they weren't nearly as good as the real thing. She hadn't had such dreams as that any time lately. Neither was she a deep sleeper, the better to be prepared for any attack that may come as she drowsed. The slightest noise could have her on her feet and ready for whatever might be coming. She didn't have to fear anything out here on her own.

Which was why she was so surprised when she felt something lightly brushing against her cheek, yet couldn't seem to get her eyes to open to figure out what it was.

Her heart started hammering in her chest as she struggled to awaken. What was wrong with her? Why couldn't she wake up? Was she...was she afraid to? That was ridiculous! She wasn't afraid of anything! For all she knew it was a caterpillar or a dung beetle crawling over her face--so why couldn't she wake up?

She sensed light passing before her eyelids--what from, she couldn't be certain--but when it had passed over her and vanished, likewise whatever touched her face vanished as well. And only then did her eyes finally pop open, she leaping up with a snarl and grasping her ax, looking around for whatever had been touching her.

Nothing.

Sakhmet blinked with some confusion. It was...almost exactly the same as the night before. Nothing but trees and grass and river and desert. Nothing, nobody near her, not even a caterpillar or a dung beetle. Nothing but the carcass of her kill, and there was no way that that had been behind any of this...was there?

Her fists tightened with anger. What stupid things to think. What a stupid way to act, over what was obviously another dream. What was she turning into, a frightened little child? She'd never cried to her father or begged him to banish her fears when she was little; it was more her sister Bastet's style to do that. She wouldn't start now.

She let out her breath, heart slowing along with it, and lowered her ax. Sleepiness dragged at her eyelids already--dawn had not arrived yet--but she wouldn't sleep after that. Not that she couldn't--she didn't want to. Why? Because she was afraid?

Another growl. I am NOT afraid of a dream. A mere nonsensical thought flitting through my head. It will take much more than that to bring fear to me, though I doubt it could even be done.

This thought brought calm to her, and, after skinning and hoisting the antelope up into a tree for safekeeping until her return, she gathered up her weapons, lifted her head in the air, nose pointing regally, and started off again.

This day, she had more time to move about, and so her luck was somewhat better. She killed a hippopotamus--albeit a small one--but it was too heavy for her to drag to the shore, and so she had to let it sink into the river. Later in the afternoon she had more luck with a cheetah she spied wandering through the tall grass. That would make the perfect kill! She made certain to chase it and corner it a good several times before finally killing it, else the hunt would have been far too boring. Into a tall tree it and its pelt went as well, away from the hyenas and jackals. At the fall of dusk she caught sight of another lion in the desert, but since it looked so much like herself, she let it go peacefully. No use making a slaughter out of everything.

Because of her truncated sleep of the night before, she was even more tired this evening, yet refrained from setting out her quiver and lying down to doze off. The thought of waking up to a "frightening" dream was enough to keep her from wanting to shut her eyes, before she realized, the dream was doing exactly what it must be trying to accomplish. It was keeping her awake, thus it was frightening her.

"It is not," Sakhmet muttered to herself, setting her quiver down so hard it bounced. A stray arrow fell to the side. She considered laying her head down to rest, but decided to bathe in the river first. Perhaps the cool water would calm her down...not that she needed calming.

Still, the water was soothing, and she hadn't bathed since before leaving for the hunt, so she was much cleaner by the time she climbed out and dried herself off and dressed. She knew she would sleep much better after that. Perhaps it was her own filth that was making her think up these things!

She returned to her makeshift camp and settled herself down, folding her arm under her head and shutting her eyes. Sleep came almost immediately this time, and she was grateful for it.

She dreamed this night of killing the lion, and proudly carrying it back to her camp. It was almost as big as she was yet she carried it as easily as anything. Yet by the time she got back she was exhausted and lay down to rest. And as soon as she yawned and shut her eyes, it was as if a voice spoke to her, out of nowhere.

The hard ground is not fitting for you, Goddess. You deserve so much more.

She opened one eye and looked around, but no one was there. Yet off to the side she noticed what appeared to be an ornate...bed? It bore the shape of a lion, with legs fashioned of gold and detailed in the most intricate patterns possible. Simply looking at it she longed to sleep in it, before--

--waking up and looking around her, noticing no bed, and realizing it had been just the dream. And what a strange dream! To dream of a bed...

She rubbed her eyes and thought maybe she had been gone from the luxuries of home too long after all.

She fowled the next day, having grown tired of her bow and ax. Fowling gave her more time to think, and the dream made her want to think hard. Why would she dream about a bed? And one so fancy and frilly as that...how ridiculous! She would never sleep on something so vulgar. She had no idea what her subconscious had been thinking, but it needed to get its act together this minute.

Still, she wondered about that voice...it seemed that whoever had spoken had been the one to offer her the bed as a gift.

Gift. That was what it was, she suddenly realized. A gift, an offering. But that only confused her more. Who would offer her such a thing as a gift?

It was too much to ponder over a little dream...best to get some fowling done, some cooking, and some real sleep instead.

She hadn't eaten during the first few days of her hunt. She could go without food longer than most others she knew. There was no reason to, other than to test her own endurance, which she did every day. So once she had finished cooking the ducks she brought down she was ravenous. She tore the blackened meat apart with her teeth and hands as madly as any wild animal, and washed it down with more beer. She hadn't bothered bringing any wine; wine was for weaklings. The beer she drank was the most intoxicating kind, yet she knew how to drink it in moderation, and still hold it better than most of the neteru.

Still, she hoped it would dispel whatever weird thoughts her mind decided to have during the night. A frilly womanly bed...ridiculous. Perhaps she'd gotten out of the palace just in time...

She dozed off before she even knew that sleep was what she was striving to obtain.

She was wading through the water, bringing her felled ducks back to shore and anticipating dinner. After she had finished eating she waded back out and bathed, swimming beneath the cool water, surfacing every so often to flip back her gleaming black hair and shake the droplets from her face. Many others like her would be afraid of the water. Not so with Sakhmet. She enjoyed a swim every now and then, and the colder the water, the better. There was nothing like a good bracing dip to prepare one for the day ahead...after a fitting sleep, that is.

She returned to the shore a second time, wringing the water from her hair and seeking out her clothes, hanging atop the reeds. As she reached out for them she heard a voice--

The most splendid gems in the world should all belong to you, Goddess.

--and gasped, arms going up to cover herself as she ducked down among the plants. She glanced about wildly but saw no one. What had that been? Had she just imagined it? She hurriedly reached up to grab her dress, only to grasp something hard and cool in her hand instead. Drawing it back, she found that she'd picked up not her clothing, but the most exquisitely made necklace she'd ever seen. It was a pectoral of gleaming gold and lapis and carnelian, bearing the shimmering image of a lion upon it. Its counterweights were even in the shape of lions' heads. She stared at it, turning it about in her hands, before realizing that she still stood at the edge of the river, stark naked, within full view of anybody who might happen by--including whoever had left this thing here.

And of course, as soon as she realized this, she woke up.

Sakhmet blinked at the tree standing before her. What had that been about? First to dream about a fancy bed, and now a fancy necklace? She had nothing against jewelry, that was certain...but to be offered such a strange gift in the middle of nowhere...when she hadn't even had the chance to get her clothes on properly...unnerved her. She wasn't sure what she thought of the idea that someone might be out here...watching her. And leaving her gifts.

But what sense did that make? They weren't even real; they were gone as soon as she'd awakened. Why was she letting this get to her so very much?

Perhaps I'm going mad, she thought to herself, wishing now that she'd brought a blanket. Perhaps I've been out here on my own so long that it's driving me crazy.

That made no sense, either; once she'd gone out on her own for several months. This had been several days! What could cause such lunacy?

She sat up the rest of that night, unable to sleep. She hugged her knees to her chest and darted furtive glances about the clearing, starting at every noise. By the time dawn came she was both exhausted and feeling foolish. The great goddess of war and bloodlust, brought down by a mere dream. Pathetic. Still, she dreaded the thought of inevitable nightfall, and paid only slight attention to her own activities that day. Even as she hunted, half of her mind was not on the task. Every so often she found herself glancing down just to make certain she was still clothed.

Pathetic!

This time when evening fell, she resolved to stay awake. The full moon rose and illuminated everything around her; she welcomed it, to drive off the darkness. She felt comfortable while it was there, but still too on edge to close her eyes for long. She sat with her back against a tree and scoured the river and the land around her, looking back over her shoulder once in a while at the desert. Nothing wandered but the occasional night animal, which was to be expected. That didn't mean they didn't startle her every time she heard or saw them. By about the sixth or seventh scare she'd had, she was getting frustrated. This was no way for a goddess to act! She was a lioness, not a kitten. What sort of childish behavior was this!

Maybe this place is cursed. She shivered, and her large green eyes flicked left to right and back again, pupils dilated widely.

A bit of sleepiness twinged at the back of her mind, and she tried to suppress a yawn. She blinked a few times and rubbed her eyes. They burned by now; she shut them for a moment and sighed. One more night. If she got through tonight all right, then she would head back home. There was no use waiting to become a hopeless wreck before returning. The others wouldn't have to know about how she'd acted out here. She could always lie to them, say that everything had gone as blandly as usual.

Goddess...I've been approaching you the wrong way.

Sakhmet opened her eyes. The moonlight glimmered around her, a stray beam alighting upon her shoulder like a comforting hand.

The first one was simply foolish. The second one was not like you. If I had merely known you better, I would have known what to give you. Not what I would like you to have. Not what I believe you would like to have. But what you would truly like to have. Do you forgive me for being so ignorant?

"Of course," Sakhmet murmured. She lifted her gaze. "If you don't know me, you couldn't have known..."

I have one more gift for you, Goddess, that I hope you will accept. If not, I will bother you no more.

Sakhmet nodded, and started glancing around herself. A glowing light appeared before her, several yards away, and she gasped and jumped up, running to it like a child running for a treat. By the time she reached it it had assumed form; she bent to pick up a long, slender ax with a half-moon blade, the entire weapon glinting with the color of silver. She ran her finger along the smooth metal, and hefted it in one hand. Its weight against her palm was as comforting as the moonlight caressing her back. She could very nearly feel a whisper in her ear.

Do you like it?

"Yes," Sakhmet whispered. Her eyes lit up and a smile came to her face. She swung the ax with childish glee, slicing at the air, fighting unseen enemies. She giggled like a little girl and held it up before her eyes again. "It's beautiful! Very beautiful!"

She sensed a pleased feeling, all around her. I crafted it, the voice said, as I crafted the bed and the necklace. I'm happy that you like it. It is of silver...to remind you of me.

"Thank you!"

She swung it again and laughed. The moonlight seemed to laugh along with her. She danced about in the clearing in little skips and hops, and for a moment it almost felt as if the glow grasped onto her hands and danced along with her. She fell to the ground, still laughing and gasping for breath; a strand of light traced against her cheek, over her hair. She sensed a smile again.

I'm happy that you like it, Goddess.

The light dimmed. Sakhmet blinked and yawned, feeling sleepy again. The smile faded and instead she sensed sadness, drawing away from her. She blinked again and sat up with some confusion, looking around.

"Where--where are you going--?"

I must leave now. The voice was as sad as the feeling around her. If I could stay with you all the night, I would.

"Why can't you? Please don't go!"

If this were my choice...I would stay with you forever...

The moonlight faded, and everything lapsed into darkness.

Sakhmet opened her eyes.

She gasped and sat up abruptly, head whipping around. The early morning sun glinted over the horizon, glaring in her eyes; she had to shield them as she looked about her. She still sat upright with her back against the tree, as she'd been--before she'd fallen asleep? She didn't remember dozing off--all she remembered was seeing the moonlight, and a voice, which said...what? She racked her brain trying to remember, but the words were fading rapidly. Before she lost them all, she did remember the silver ax she'd seen, and let out her breath. So, it had been another one of those dreams. She had the feeling this one had told her more than the others...but couldn't remember why. What a strange one. She was surprised that she felt...disappointed...that it hadn't been real. That the voice, the moonlight, the ax didn't exist anywhere but in her half-forgotten thoughts. She put her hand to the ground to push herself up, the lonely feeling growing inside her. She rubbed at her eyes as she turned around toward the desert.

Then she gasped and jumped again, high, like a cat, landing on her toes. The fur at the base of her neck rose and her eyes grew.

Resting against the tree just beside her sleeping spot, half-moon blade toward the ground and long smooth handle pointing upward, was the silver ax she had dreamed of.

Sakhmet gaped at the weapon for what might have been a moment, or might have been an hour; her mind raced, trying to think of a valid explanation. There was no way that weapon could be there...was there? Of course not! That had been just a dream! Dream things weren't real!

She took a step forward, looking around carefully, and reached out one finger to tentatively touch the ax. As soon as she felt the cool metal beneath her fingertip she darted back again, holding her hand as if she'd been scorched. The ax was real. It was there. She hadn't merely dreamed it.

Then that meant...

The moonlight. The voice. The other gifts. She hadn't dreamed those either. Every night, someone had come to her--offered her gifts--and spoken to her.

And now as if by prompting, she remembered what had been said last night, and all the nights before.

I crafted it, as I crafted the bed and the necklace. I'm happy that you like it. It is of silver...to remind you of me.

If this were my choice...I would stay with you forever...

Someone...someone is...bringing me offerings. Offerings that he made with his own hand. Offerings of love. But...why? And who?

The why was obvious. Whoever he was...he was in love with her. Her face flushed and she felt her ears burn as soon as she realized this, yet her heart beat a little bit faster as well. The comforting, calming presence she'd felt while in the dream...as if someone touched her shoulder, and then stroked her face, and smiled at her...she found that she'd liked it, and the disappointment she felt now was of the loss of it, with the coming of the daylight. Daylight? Did that mean he existed only in shadows? Her heart ached in her breast the longer she thought about it. She wished the sun would actually set, just to see if he would appear again. She found herself missing him, even as she had no idea who he was. And she'd--never even seen him before.

She started when she realized this. It was true. She'd heard his voice...felt his touch...sensed his feelings...yet she'd never once seen him. Who could he be? Why had he not shown himself to her yet? He'd made her these gifts, had apparently agonized over giving her the proper offering...why didn't he simply appear before her, and give them to her himself?

Sakhmet didn't know. But as of then and there, she was determined to find out.

She busied herself this day, filling up the time fishing and fowling, and when that left an hour or so of daylight remaining, she sprinted along the riverbank until exhausted, then took a long swim to ease her aching muscles. When she came out from the water the sun was already setting upon one horizon, the moon rising upon the other. She was too tired by now to care whether she was wet or dry, naked or clothed. She dragged herself to her makeshift pallet of palm fronds, laid her head upon her quiver, and lapsed into a deep slumber almost immediately. And this time, she knew that she dreamed. Yet this made it no less real; if anything, this was more real than anything she'd felt so far upon this trip. Fishing, fowling, hunting, stalking, they had grown too mundane. This new feeling...this uncertainty, and yet expectation, filled her with a giddy feeling. If she hadn't been so exhausted, surely she would have been jumping about excitedly, awaiting what she knew would have to come.

The strand of moonlight brushed against her face again. She sensed surprise.

Goddess! Your clothes! You are all wet!

Her lips twitched in a slight smile. "I was just too tired...I'm not sure where I left them."

You will catch a cold this way! Now the sensation was as of someone fretting over her, seeking about for her clothing. She moved her hand up to her face to hide the smile that only grew. She could tell the bearer of the voice had been caught off guard by her appearance, possibly embarrassed; she couldn't help but to giggle. Her dress appeared before her and she sighed.

"Oh, you have no sense of fun."

Please, Goddess...I'm...not certain if I should see you this way. She sensed a mental blush and giggled again. She reached out for her clothing.

"Oh all right then. I'm still soaking wet though."

You...you would wish to dry off first...?

"I would, had I the sun to bask in for a while."

Well...the sun is quite a few hours away yet...do you suppose that this would do...?

"This...?" Sakhmet's question was cut short when she felt something cool and yet warm, at once, envelop her feet. Without looking she knew what it was; the moonlight glimmered down through the trees, sliding up her legs as it rose within the sky. She shivered and shut her eyes. Patterns swirled behind her eyelids as she felt the glow cover her body, warming and cooling her, drying the water from her skin. She sighed; it was like being held within someone's arms. She could almost imagine the bearer of the voice wrapping her in a warm cloth, smiling at her, and holding her close. A shy, thankful smile came to her face, and the barest wisp of something brushed against her cheek.

You are dry now...?

"Yes...thank you."

The glow receded. Sakhmet felt the chill of the night air against her skin and shivered harder. She opened her eyes and sat up, reaching out for her dress, slipping it on over her head. She rubbed her arms, but the moonlight fell upon them, and she lowered her hands.

You are not cold anymore...?

"No...not anymore. Thank you. Who...who are you, anyway? And why do you keep coming to me?" The question came out before she could stop it, or consider how to phrase it, and once it was out she blushed but decided not to take it back. Her curiosity burned brighter than anything by now.

She sensed a pause. The moonlight drew away from her a bit. She knew already that this was how he came to her, within the pale light...why when the sun rose, he had to leave her so suddenly. This still didn't tell her who he was, or why he was here, for her.

You know already why I come...

"Because...because you love me."

A vague nod. Sakhmet glanced up at the sky.

"But why?"

I...I do not know why. This is simply how it is.

"I was not kind to you, before..."

This was not your fault. I was ignorant...

"And so you bring me this." She picked up the ax from its perch against the tree and held it up, looking it over. It glimmered faintly. "What you brought me before...a bed...jewels...I sense that...you're not like me. Not at all. You bring beauty; I bring war. So why do you still come to me?"

There is no reasoning with love. I saw you...I wished to know you. This is all I know. I bring you something that makes you happy...and it makes me happy.

Sakhmet lowered the ax but didn't lower her eyes. She stared up at the moon until it had burned a pattern upon her retinas. "But who are you? Will you tell me?"

The light swirled around her. It glided along the handle of the ax like fingers running up the smooth shaft.

I am Ptah.

Sakhmet blinked. The name...it wasn't unfamiliar to her. She'd heard it before. Just vaguely. Her father, several of the other gods had mentioned a Ptah, in the past...an elder god...though they knew little of him, and had never seen him. A moon god, perhaps almost as old as Lord Thoth himself. Perhaps even Lord Thoth had never seen him. Her heart beat a little faster again and she rose to her feet, staring at the sky.

"Will you let me see you?"

The light withdrew again, slightly. She sensed a wall of reserve rising around her, and turned in circles.

"Ptah--? Are you here--?"

Yes. The light swirled, at a distance. I...I cannot show you myself.

"But why not? You've seen me. Can I not see you?"

You are beautiful. The voice wavered, grew faint. I am not. I could never begin to compare to your beauty. I come to you in moonlight and dreams. Things that are beautiful, unlike me.

"You must be beautiful," Sakhmet murmured. Her eyes felt damp. "Someone who creates the things you do...who feels the way you do...there's no way that you can be anything but beautiful." She raised her head and her voice, calling out. "Please--let me see you! I promise. I won't run away. You don't need to fear me running away. You've won me already. Do you not realize?"

The light still wavered, just beyond her reach, though it seemed torn. The voice itself was pained.

I can never win you...you are not a prize to be won. You are far too beautiful, inside and out, to belong to anyone. I'm not certain what my feeble efforts were meant to achieve...

"They were not feeble. You tried. You failed, and tried again and failed again. And still you tried. The whole time I was mocking you. I hardly deserved what you gave me. Yet you gave it to me anyway. Even when I question you, you tell me I deserve these things." She paused, voice trailing off, and murmured, "I've tested many others, and they grew too tired of me. You...you're still talking to me. And I haven't frightened you off. You...you even call me 'beautiful.' If you were anyone else, I would have slain you for that. But...I don't know. It seems right, coming from you. I feel as if I can believe it when I hear you say it. I feel...perhaps I can be beautiful. If you remind me I am."

The light flickered, then swelled. She sensed it surrounding her.

You mean this? All that you say?

"Of course. Please...will you let me see you? I promise. I didn't frighten you away. You could never frighten me away."

I am not beautiful...

"You are. Let me see you, and I'll prove it."

The light grew. Pale blue-white began to pour into the clearing around her, and Sakhmet's glance darted about, seeking out something, anything, of substance. The voice filled her mind as the light began to coalesce.

If I am too ugly...I will not keep you...I would never keep something which is wild and beautiful and free, as you are. You may go, and I will never be bitter about you. I could never feel anything for you but what I feel now, Goddess. No matter what you may do, please know, I am grateful that you let me know you.

Sakhmet held a hand up to her eyes. The light flashed brilliant and blinding, fading and swirling about like glowing dust motes on a soft breeze. She lowered her hand and blinked the glare from her eyes. A shape stood before her, not too far away, still bathed in moonlight, yet solid now. Not a dream. Not her imagination. Real. Here. Now.

Her hand went down to her side. She stared into the eyes that stared back at her. They were a luminous blackish-blue, capturing every glint of starlight up above and reflecting it back at her. The face that held them was coppery like the cliffs at sunrise, cheekbones high, lips full and slightly curved. There was something sad, and yet happy, in his look. His head was adorned with a tight white skullcap; it could very well have been shaven clean underneath. His clothing glowed the same luminous white as his headdress, and he held a strange, ornate staff before him, both hands clasping it as if seeking strength from the device. He wore a silver pectoral emblazoned with a crescent moon, and his earrings bore the same symbol. The two of them stared at each other across the clearing, saying nothing.

Sakhmet's eyes stayed focused on his for a time. Eventually they wandered down slightly to take him in, then up again. His own eyes finally wavered a bit; she sensed his hesitation at being here. His hands grasped the staff a bit too tightly so his knuckles went white. He said nothing to her, though she sensed that he still told her she could leave, any time she wished, and he would never be angry with her.

He wasn't what she'd expected.

Sakhmet took a step forward. Ptah seemed to freeze where he was, and blinked with surprise as she approached, her face resolved. She clung to the silver ax as tightly as he did to the staff; his gaze wandered down to look at it uneasily the closer she came. She held her head high and strode with a purpose befitting a goddess such as herself. She stopped several inches away from him and they stared at each other again. She was just slightly taller than he was, and now he looked at her as if he'd never even seen her before.

He still said nothing, but she still sensed his thoughts, telling her to go, to leave him.

She reached out one hand, her nails glinting in the light.

He held his breath when her fingers lightly touched his face. She stared at him as if trying to determine if he were real. He stared back, puzzled that she wasn't convinced.

She felt his skin when she touched him, and it was both cool and warm. The same as the caressing light she had felt. The faintest smile came to her face. His dark yet luminous eyes blinked at her with mild confusion, as if to ask her what she found amusing. She touched his face again, and let her fingers remain this time. Here. Real. Not a dream.

She leaned toward him and shut her eyes, and her mouth pressed to his. She sensed him start with surprise, both of their thoughts racing millions of miles at once. Her heart raced, yet she wasn't afraid. Perhaps she never had been. She sensed his own shame fall away as hers did. His hand took hers, and he kissed her back. Her heart no longer raced now, it soared, as fleet as she could run along the river, the moonlight giving her feet wings.

This was real. Here. Now. Always.


END