Seisi held out a scrap of papyrus. 'Iseret wanted you to have this.'
Metjen fumbled for the document and pocketed it.
He would read it later; he was shattered and his failure constricted his throat. Far too few of his friends had made it to safety, and it was his fault. How could he not notice what was happening with Nebmutef? When had his mentor passed over? During those last days on his sickbed, realising he was dying? Before, when he had to seal the shrine of Ra? Or earlier even when both Metjen and Iseret had relied on him to keep things running? It mattered no more. It was too late. Metjen had screwed up. He had failed the temple, his gods, his people--and Trueth. Or had he? Why did she have to fall in love with him? That was stupid. He had shown her may times how he enjoyed their friendship, how much more she meant to him--
Seisi's voice interrupted his musings. 'Do not continue, it will only bring you hurt. I advise you to seek counsel from the Maat instead.'
Metjen focussed his attention on the river.
Seisi sighed. 'I must talk to the Guardians. The fallen prophet told me they had taken measures to wake before the others. I will go tomorrow and take Ranofer, so they see I speak the truth. We need to make haste, I am much concerned for the Lady Trueth's health. '
'So am I. Even if she is no lady,' Metjen said. 'Let me come with you. I can speed things up.'
Seisi shook his head. 'Stay, you need to protect the survivors.'
'I can't protect anybody.' Metjen jumped up, went back into the camp and out of sheer perversion declared he would take the first watch.
Seisi shrugged and settled next to Trueth, cooling her forehead with Nile water. 'You rest,' he addressed Metjen's grey-faced mother making Metjen feel even more guilty.
As the camp fell quiet, with only the occasional snore sawing through the night, Metjen called up a flame and opened Iseret's letter.
'From Iseret to Metjen, Greetings. If you read this, you have succeeded. I congratulate you. You have become the Hand of Fate as I thought you would. You will be much concerned about those things you did and how they will weigh down your heart. Like the papers you read in my room, and the tomb you entered. And how it led to failure.
'Like I once disobeyed those with better wisdom and failed in my endeavours. I tell you instead: What you did was for the good. You did what I wanted you to do, what only you could achieve. For it was the Lady Maat herself I prayed to for pardon, who heard me and ordered me to keep the sleepers safe--and to send them on when the time was right. Both together I could not have achieved, not after all these years. So I did nothing and let you do it. I wished you had been more respectful about it, not thrown your weight around the way you did.
'Less of this now.
'Read this and remember well: The mirror world is not free of the dark ones. There are three with many powers who will come with the sleepers. Show this letter to the high priest of Thoth and he will know which measures to take
'I wish you peace on your new path. But while it will be much longer than before, I do not think my wish will come true. Enough of this, my journey comes to a close, and I shall prepare for the end. Farewell.
'Iseret, First Prophet of Hathor'
Metjen's heart soared towards the stars that twinkled in the night sky. She had done it again, had been doing it all the time. In another life, he would have taken offence at being manipulated. Here it did no longer mattered. He would say many prayers for her ba instead, hoping she would find peace in the netherworld. He had not failed. At least not completely.
With a start, his heart came down to earth, as he read one passage once more. They had crossed through the mirror and defied the demons--but the dark ones were still with them. Iseret had placed her faith in the high priest of Thoth. Metjen could only hope the guy would deliver. Assuming he ever turned up.
Metjen went across to check on Trueth. Her face was flushed and her bluish aura was quivering with greys and reds. Red was not good. It was a sign that poison from the wound had entered the bloodstream, forcing her ka into battle. Metjen sensed Seisi's sorrow. And something else. Something he was incapable of giving her.
I love her too, you know--like I love my sister, Metjen projected.
Yes, but what she needs from you now is a different affection. It would strengthen her, would help her in her struggle, Seisi responded.
Metjen snorted. I can't fake true love, you know.
An idea flickered into his brain, took hold, then burned bright. Betrayal? Or salvation? He had to try it. She might not be there to scold him otherwise. And he would miss that. Very much. You give her your affection, then. She will mistake you for me.
Seisi's face fell slack with shock. No, that we cannot do!
We must! I don't know what the demons have done, but I fear for the worst. Fever is rising, she's all burning up. She won't notice.
Seisi stared at the woman lying between them, mumbling and fretting. She must not learn of this. With that, he bent down and kissed Trueth on the lips.
A soft smile spread over Trueth's face and most of the grey and red streaks vanished. Some stayed. Trueth's hand crept from under the blankets, fumbled around, until Seisi grabbed and held it. With a contended sigh she fell asleep, her forehead now pale and cool to the touch.
Metjen woke up his brother to guard the camp. He ordered Seisi to catch a nap and took over the sick-watch. And Trueth's hand. When Rani-Ra came to relieve him, Metjen finally sank into a troubled sleep.
He awoke early next morning and decided to perform his ablutions in the Nile. Seisi had told him the holy lake was in the same sorry state as the trough, no water.
As Metjen made his way towards the banks of the river, he got engulfed by a misty veil. The colour of faded sepia, it blurred the contours of the landscape, washing over trees, buildings and water alike.
Yet the haze was rising, outside the first god's gate the crimson of flowers broke through. Colours were spreading outwards from the temple, retouching brownish palm fronds to lush green and dissolving the pearly swirls. The scent of ripe of fruits wafted across from close by, making him hungry.
Blandness still shrouded the Nile in the distance, with only a greenish tinge showing. Metjen could only hope this meant there were no beasts to behold either, for he could hear splashing and sensed Seisi's presence. Metjen walked closer and observed him clear a lusterless reed skiff with Ranofer installed inside. Seisi pushed it away from a stone landing still shrouded in strands of fog while the river was weaving ripples around the tiny boat.
The other bank remained hidden, but Metjen spotted the tops of massive pyramids and the uppermost part of a sphinx. This one, however, did not need a nose job unlike the specimen presiding over Giza. Metjen waded into what resembled slush in colour yet felt like water, smelled like water and at its bottom creamy soil squelched between the toes of his feet.
There was something--Metjen inhaled and an unusual earthiness hit his nose. Dark strands swirled into the slush and he realised the flood waters were rising, creeping up the banks.
'We will be back before nightfall,' Seisi called, his voice muffled by the thinning fog. 'The mansion of the Guardians is near the temple district, not far from here. '
'Why?' The Nile was gurgling around his chest, Metjen would have to move soon.
'They have always been servants of the gods, so they stay close by,' Seisi responded. 'I will go, look after Trueth well, may Ra keep all of you safe.'
And they were off, not paddling as Metjen had assumed. Instead, Seisi spoke an unfamiliar spell. He then stroked his hands along the oars, lay them on both sides--and they thrashed the water all by themselves. With surprising speed, the little skiff took off, foam churning in its wake.
Metjen smiled and swatted away a mosquito. He started and stared at the buzzing nuisance. Trust the insects to come back first.
Sunlight burst through the haze, and the river changed colour right where he was, waters turned a cloudy green-brown with glints rippling over them. The opposite bank remained shrouded in mist, so Metjen turned towards the shore he had come from. Where there had been fog he now saw a row of gigantic multi-coloured pylons rising to the skies as if they were a perfect set of teeth. He slipped with surprise and splashed under the surface.
When he had emerged again, Metjen spotted their little party still huddled in the shelter of large black and blue temple towers. On their right, more pylons rose in brown and black, bearing the figure of Anubis. They were mirrored by more pylons on the left, in black and red, carrying the figure of a goddess and the scales of the Maat. He gulped. That had been close. He still was not confident enough to confront the goddess of justice. There were many more temples. What resembled a pylonic range followed the river as it curved into the distance. The little skiff was boiling past them like a demented water insect on its morning constitutional.
He would have to tie his father down. Otherwise, they would lose him. The surrounding buildings were ancient Egyptian in style, but on a much grander scale, with ornaments and features he had never seen before. Metjen shook his head and wondered what the temples of Ra and Hathor would be like. And what the Servants would say.
He jolted, and the still forms invaded his thoughts. A deep breath and the memories submerged again. The dead had accompanied Iseret to the underworld, they were safe. He forced himself not to think of those others. Of those eyes... .
A silvery dart sprinkled water on his arm. He started-but it was only a fish which he mind-reeled into his hand. Fish for breakfast was not his favourite but as it was there and as more kept appearing... .
Metjen remembered Iseret's warning, finished his ablutions, dutifully greeted the rising sun with a handful of fish and rejoined the others with his silvery bounty.
'Eek,' Rani-Ra said. 'What shall we do with these?'
'Wrap them in a palm leaf and grill them,' his mother said, rubbing her hands.
'Watch the cats,' Trueth said. Sweat glistened on on her face and when Metjen checked her aura, too much of the grey and red had returned. With Seisi gone, what was he to do?
'Mish-Mish will not eat stuff, unless things are boiled. Blondie isn't fit enough to catch anything,' the professor declared.
'I'm worried, if the fish are coming back, the predators will follow soon.' Metjen nearly grinned at the expression on Trueth's face but caught himself in time. She had been a true heroine in that hall and as a reward she was now stranded with them. Injured and lost.
'You should be safe here, don't worry,' he said.
Metjen's father shoved his glasses up his nose. 'Of the more dangerous predators along the ancient Nile, the hippopotamus needs to be mentioned. It capsized the skiffs of unwary travellers and a hippo bull or a cow with youngsters in full attack mode is no mean feat, I tell you.'
His father would have continued his lecture on the resident wildlife had Metjen not sent out the Tongue of Bes that made him fall silent. Metjen waggled his finger and released his parent.
'Sorry, Trueth,' the professor said.
'It's all right, just remind me not to go for a swim.' The grin seemed forced and the joke had visibly cost her.
At this moment, Blondie came into sight, dragging a feathery carcass.
'What's this?' Rani-Ra asked.
'That was an ibis,' was his father's learned opinion.
This was not good at all. They would need to hide Blondie's booty from the high priest of Thoth. The guy could not be amused if he saw the state of his sacred bird. Still, Blondie was a cat, and those were sacred too but whether an ancient sleeper could be convinced of the furry blob's real nature remained to be seen.
'How did he catch it?' Trueth asked. Blondie dragged his trophy towards the stretcher, smiled at Trueth the way only a cat can smile, and flopped onto his ample belly next to a sorry heap of feathers.
'There's only one possible way--he sat on it.' Metjen said.
'Fowl and fish. Just like one of those cats the ancient Egyptians had, they even hunted cobras.' Metjen's mother tickled Blondie behind the ear and got an adoring look.
'I hope he will not sit on a cobra! I love him,' Metjen said indignantly. 'And no mother, we can't eat the ibis. I might explain the mauling, but that's about it. I have no clue what to expect from these sleepers. One thing is obvious--they have shifted their whole bloody society into another world. Their magic has lasted over five millennia. They have powers beyond imagination. One wrong word and we're toast.'
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Music is from E.S. Postumus. "Antissa" Image is from Unsplash, copyright Saksham Gangwar.