The Astral Golem • Fantasy Short Story

I • The Astral Attack

Ankhsen Shakanasa knew her magical experiment went wrong. That night, the High Priestess of the pharaoh Amenhotep dreamt with evil eyes lurking the pyramids. In her dream, she heard the echo of serpents hissing ancient sacred words, whispers of Anubis and seals from the Book of the Dead. The brown woman woke up with a terrible certainty: she should stop the creature before it could take over the Kingdom of the Nile.

Dizziness kissed Ankhsen's mind now and then. Apparently, her dream was really intense. Night was deep in the desert. A breeze wandered through the starry carpet of Nut, the sky goddess, to meet the black hair of the priestess. It seemed a bawl delicately cut in a perfect straight line around her neck. 

Whoever approached the mystic woman would immediately sense the aura of jasmine flowing in waves from her white clothes. She wore golden cobras spiralling her arms and thighs, the ones earned by the ancient priests and priestesses who came before her.

Ankhsen took time to remember she was in the temple of Heka, the god of magic and medicine. To be honest, her memory was as slippy as smoke, a distant noise. Ankhsen considered this a collateral effect from the astral meeting with the creature that soon would be a menace to all living beings in the physical plane.

But fortunately, she knew where that monster would try to go next. And there the mystic should go too, but not without picking someone else first.

Oh, Isis, that your compassion may protect me, Ankhsen prayed in her mind while leaving the temple. Before her, houses and stores, sandy streets and the vastness of the night sky. It was late and everyone was asleep, except for the spirits and the restless Nile river. The stars beheld her eyes as if they could read her soul, judging her actions. Ankhsen didn't have time to regret it, the priority was to fix the mistake she made.

The priestess ran against the singing wind, delivering her body to the omnipresent cold. Ra brings fire and light to the lands at day, but Nut always blows an icy embrace at night. All the torches were off, but Ankhsen eyes adapted to the shadows. Not that she needed: countless times she turned those streets in the search of that young man.

His house was big: god statues at the entrance, stairs as a sign of blood ascension, low relief art on the walls for magical protection. He came from a noble family, but since childhood he was blessed with the gift of the spirits. Ankhsen has always known she was destined to meet Shat Sori, the future High Priest of the pharaoh. But that night, he was still her young apprentice. Who rested in an uneasy sleep, or so the mystic observed from his window. Ankhsen quickly urged:

"My pupil! Come to awareness for duty calls!"

The young man in his 22 winters was laying in his woven reed bed all swirled in fur blankets. His body was naturally strong, although he himself spent most of the time digging into scrolls and manuscripts. Shat Sori had a black short hair and a sacred tattoo on his chest: a scarab, symbol of Khepri, god of the eternal renewal of life brought by the rising sun.

The High Priestess soon noticed: he was moving in his sleep as if fighting something. Or someone. Could he be under the attack of the creature in the astral realm? She had to act fast.