The Phoenix Pharaoh: Rise from the Ashes

Prologue

Set loved these moments—the moments when he could almost taste his brother's fresh blood on his lips.

It felt the same as that night from the wind ingrained with bits of sand to the spanning silence, from the quick slap of crocodiles' tails on the water to the vast midnight sky.

A cool breeze caressed his towering frame, rustling the palm trees lining the Nile. The night sky was, once more, cloudless—starlight, no longer hidden behind a murky veil, trickled onto the water, exposing the beady eyes of the slick crocodiles skimming across the river. Set inhaled a deep breath, and the crisp air flowed down his throat, igniting a fire stirring in his belly.

He curled his fingers, hoping to snag a handful of Osiris' damp strings of hair that had hung from his decapitated head. Wiggling his toes, he waited for the blood leaking from his brother's ripped neck to splatter onto his bare feet, but, instead, his feet remained dry. His hands clenched into fists, catching the open air for his brother's head was gone—lost in the shifting sands beyond Thebes.

Sighing, Set opened his eyes to the disappointing sight of his ship drifting down the Nile.

"Oh, what a night that was, brother," he whispered. "You made me do it, I hope you realize that. You forced my hand. I had no other choice." He paused, gripping the wooden rail. "I did not wish to kill you, but I cannot lie, I never thought a god could bleed as much as you did."

He sneered, but a coughing fit overwhelmed him. Bending over, his entire body convulsed as black blood spewed from his open mouth. It splattered onto deck before he turned towards the Nile. Droplets of blood flew from his lips, sinking in the water like dark flower petals. A sharp pain stung the tight muscles in his neck and yet he didn't yell —a laugh accompanied his coughing.

As he stumbled back to his wooden chair, he snatched his cup of wine from its smooth armrest.

"I must say, though, Osiris," Set chuckled, wiping away a thin stream of blood from his mouth, "you did marry one crafty harlot."

Raising his cup, he toasted to both himself, and his new path for Egypt before he tilt it back on his lips, letting a long stream of wine fill his belly. If only he could get drunk, he would be every night in celebration of his own glory.

Unfortunately, being a god had its downsides, too.

As he placed his near-empty goblet onto the small table at his side, stomping footsteps vibrated the panels beneath his bare feet.

Flicking the tapestry that divided Set from the nocturnal crew, Serbes strolled to the side of the wooden chair to greet the rambling god. Set's makeshift throne was planted at the front of the boat, allowing him to both admire the natural beauty of the night, as well as discover any wandering enemy lurking in the shadows.

Tonight, they had found such enemies.

Serbes' black braid grazed the floorboards as he kneeled. "My Pharaoh, we found two traitors trying to escape Thebes," he announced.

"No need for such formalities," Set responded. Leaning over to his left, he snagged the hilt of his beloved mace. Flecks of dried blood fluttered off of its bronze edges. "What has become of Thebes?"

Serbes stood up. "Well, a group of Osiris' Hekas fell for our distraction." Set smiled as he rubbed the blunt points of his weapon. "They have crossed the Nile into Naqada, searching for us."

"Excellent," Set chuckled, leaping up. Standing at nearly seven feet tall, he casted a long shadow over his advisor from the flickering flames of the surrounding torches. "How many are in this group?"

"Twelve, we believe."

"Anyone specifically?"

"We know the Kasmut siblings are—"