Cursed Times - What Now?

Chapter 4 - The Ritual

'Make sure we are undisturbed.' Metjen concentrated on his sun-flow, coaxing up the magic until his fingertips tingled. He raised his palms towards the rock-solid temple ceiling hiding the azure skies of mid day.

Nothing happened. Instead, his headache got worse.

Metjen swore. He would not be granted a quick fix today. He focussed once more, this time straightening his hands at his sides with the palms facing the ground, drawing on the strength of Geb, the god of the Earth. Earth was closer to fire, the natural source of his talent. The braziers were not burning; so he was out of options on that score.

This time he got lucky. The basket rose from the floor onto the table and in a glittery trickle the spilled objects tinkled back into their container.

As the lid slapped shut, Metjen leaned against the wall, breathing hard. His vision wavered in and out of focus, revealing a concerned-looking Khafa.

'Are you all right?' Khafa asked.

'Fine, just peachy,' Metjen said. 'I shared most of my powers yesterday. Seems like I have to do this all the time nowadays. It's giving me headaches. Plus, I have no time to go Beyond and stock up on Divine energy to fix things. It isn't fair.' Even to his own ears his voice sounded plaintive.

Khafa patted his arm. 'I know, I know. I will find Nebmutef for you. He is not outside yet, he wanted to talk to you.' Khafa waddled off, leaving Metjen in the stale half light of the storage room. With a groan, he pushed himself off the wall and proceeded towards the holy chamber. He lowered himself on his knees, noticing the pressure in his head increase on the way down. He spoke his prayer, dragged himself back up and broke the clay seal on the door. It creaked open and revealed the statue of Ra on his bark accompanied by his consort Hathor, in her impersonation as a cow.

Metjen grabbed the holy brush placed next to the entrance and swept the walkway round the gods which was as clean as he had left it the last time.

His mood deteriorated further. My talents have carried me high up the food chain. I'm second only to Her Wisdom. But because I'm the youngest, I'm nothing but a bloody janitor.

His headache squeezed his head in its vise, so Metjen was relieved to hear a tapping noise outside, dropped the brush and moved into the corridor. Nebmutef came towards the shrine, leaning on his cane, with a troubled expression wrinkling his kind old face.

'Are you done here? We are ready above, and she will not be pleased if you are late again. I have sent Khafa to the surface, we are the last ones left behind. '

'She's never pleased whatever I do. Anyway, I've finished. And I'll only be late if you can't loosen those jaws of the crocodile god clamped around my head this morning.'

The old priest smiled as he touched Metjen's forehead, appealed to Thoth, the God of science and healing, and Metjen's headache dissipated in an instant. As they were making their way outside at a pace Nebmutef could muster, Metjen quizzed him about the ceremony nobody had ever mentioned before. It had to be important, given that it made their temperamental leader even more tetchy than usual.

'This ritual is unique. Every 100 years the key enjoys the rays of Ra. And when the ceremony is over, we are safe, and the temple will continue for another century.'

Metjen raised his eyebrows 'The key? What key? Did you see this before?And what's it supposed to do?'

'Nothing,' Nebmutef said. He would not get anything else out of the man. Metjen knew him only too well from the time when Nebmutef had taught him the ways of the temple until Metjen had passed initiation and joined him and Iseret in the Blessing. Having helped his mentor off the ladder, Metjen noticed Ra rising in the East, already radiating heat onto the featureless desert.