Never would Trueth have thought that one day she would welcome the noise and smells of the early morning rubbish collection. A radio in the neighbourhood contributed to the din, blasting Arabic pop music into the chill morning air. Next door, a baby joined the contest and swiftly was lengths ahead of the field. It had most likely woken up after a freight aeroplane had rumbled over their roof, at an altitude that could not have been in line with air traffic regulations.
Her immediate vicinity was a lot more quiet, the inhabitants of the Maadi mansion were still groggy from their recent long-distance portal crossing and must be asleep in their respective beds. Trueth patted her duvet, felt a warm purring lump and sank back onto her down pillow. For once she had been lucky and got her old room back; the 'boys' were all parked upstairs in Metjen's apartment on the top floor.
Hopefully, Pharaoh Khy had not started a war yet. When she had last seen Metjen before retiring for the night, he had been up in magical arms. No blood or other noxious substances were seeping through the ceiling, so Trueth decided cautious optimism might be in order.
The welcome scent of roses drifted into her nose; it originated in a potpourri on the window sill, not from the garden. Although this was Cairo, the back end of October did not exactly offer prime growing conditions. It still beat Britain at the best of times.
Trueth dragged herself out of her warm bed and checked leaden skies that were unlikely to seek relief in rain. Down below, the vegetation had been restored to all its former glory. Gone were the ravages of Metjen's temper; there even was another fountain.
Trueth did not like it.
In general, Akil had done an outstanding job; as far as the water feature was concerned his personal taste-or lack thereof-had got the better of him. The square marble basin was out of proportion, having a lion spit water from between its fangs was sheer kitsch. On the other hand, the components of the new installation appeared stable enough and capable of withstanding the feebler of Metjen's assaults.
Trueth went into the shower and treated herself to a long, hot soak. Steaming water was pelting her body, prickling her skin and massaging muscles that had almost tightened into armour. Worries rose on the steam towards the ceiling, followed by a lavender fragrance from another bowl of potpourri which reminded her of home. Trueth turned off the jet and reached for her lotus oil. Pulling the stopper released the olfactory ghosts of her stint in the past-the pleasant ones.
Relief was only skin deep, all she did was procrastinate when she should be contemplating what to do with her new-found freedom. Trueth pulled a tee over her head, a pair of jeans up her legs, fighting with the zip as the trousers seemed to have shrunk in the last wash.
I got back, I still don't know where to go from here, Trueth thought, twisted her hair into a rough chignon and fixed it with a clip. She picked up her pleated Egyptian robe, admired its tasteful embroidery and wondered whether she would ever get to wear it again outside a fancy dress party. That breastband she was less likely to miss... .
A small item fell to the floor and rolled under the nearest chair. With the recent excitements, the existence of the scroll had dropped from her memory. She had better deliver it to Metjen pronto.
Trueth kneeled and fished around until she got hold of the tightly rolled message. Reading the hieroglyphs running along one side gave her a jolt of surprise-the message was not for Metjen, it was for her. Trueth stared at the letter. The scents of freshly brewed coffee arrived in tempting tendrils through the crack under the door; breakfast was beckoning. Curiosity won over craving, she ripped open the container, unrolled the letter and started to read the neat columns of cursive script flowing across the papyrus. The ink was of an unusual colour, reminding her of the faded sepia in timeworn tomes.
It was not the appearance of the message that accelerated her heartbeat, causing her left hand to show its tell-tale blue glow. She had seen that accurate penmanship before, knew this handwriting.
Nebmutef.
Her and Metjen's old mentor; gone demon because he a coveted a recognition his superiors had denied him. At least that had been the consensus, the only other possible explanation having been sheer stupidity.
To my doubting pupil, Trueth, Greetings!
I benefitted from Metjen's shortcomings in his new role and slipped you a note. Make sure to thank him for keeping that portal open for so long, it made my efforts so much easier. Of course, our link to the circle helped.
I trust life finds you well these days. I wonder, however, does it find you QUITE in the place where you belong? Assuming you know where such a location could be, and that you do not, do you?
Can I tempt you to join us? You might recoil now but think about it. All that potential of yours going to waste. And soon you will be deprived of your friends; they will return to a doomed Kemet, losers that they are.
So what ARE you going to do? What point IS there in your life? You will again be left behind, coming full circle.
When will you finally take your destiny into your hands?
With a scream of rage, Trueth flung the scroll towards the other end of her room. It never got there. Instead, it spiralled to the floor and landed gently at her feet. According to lore, the papyrus should then have burst into flames. It did not do that either. The document unrolled once more, launched itself at face height and displayed new lines in the same faded ink.
Oh dear, now I have shocked you! Do you care so little about your origins?
And your future?
'Leave me in peace!' Trueth screamed, stretched out her hands and incinerated the paper with the scorching blue flame of a talent that was meant to heal, not destroy. The scroll erupted in a flurry of grey flakes that fluttered towards the wooden floor. There they stayed. No more demonic visitations. Just the aroma of roasting coffee which was no longer beckoning but turning bitter on her tongue.
Trueth raced into the bathroom and started scrubbing her hands. They still felt tainted when she had finished, so she scrubbed some more. She would never forgive Nebmutef. Nothing would ever rid her of the vision of that script manifesting on the scroll, messing with her head-and spoiling her long-awaited reunion with the culinary delights of her home world. Especially the latter.
Walking back into her room she found Blondie sitting on the floor with a dreamy expression on his furry face. Was he...?
'Stop piddling!' She rushed towards the cat, clapping her hands together. Obviously feeling guilty, the beast shot into the bathroom as far as his rotund shape would allow. Trueth swore, then realised what Blondie had been doing: He had scraped together the ashes of the demonic message, then watered them.
'Sorry... ,' Trueth grumbled, she still felt shaky.
A knock sounded on the door. Given the way her morning was going, this could only be Metjen sharing more instructions. Her mood sank further. Next in line after dealing with demons came bickering with a freshly minted prophet afflicted by mindset deficiencies.
'Trueth?'
The fates, for once smiling on her, instead appeared to have sent Seisi to the rescue. She still was annoyed. How dare anybody assume she needed rescuing at all?
Trueth flung open the door. 'I'm no damsel in distress!'
Her visitor tilted his head. 'Pray, forgive me, what have I done to vex you? I came to inquire whether you wanted to partake of the breakfast the Lady Nefertiti had prepared?'
A quick decision, Trueth grabbed the sleeve of Seisi's striped galabiya and dragged her friend into her room, slamming the door shut behind them.
'Sorry, I didn't mean you just now, I'm just having a morning from hell.'
'Metjen has not descended yet.'
'I wasn't after him, either. Plus, despite all his failures, I believe he's on our team. Can you keep a secret? And can you stop ogling me, please.'
That boyish grin of his lit up Seisi's face as he pretended to observe the ceiling. It must have recently been re-plastered, all the hairline cracks had disappeared.
'As outlandish as your style of dressing might be, it is certainly enjoyable,' he observed. 'And pray explain, how I can be accused of ogling when I suffer from what you must be considering as impaired vision, given your hesitations to take the Blessing.'
Touché. His approach might be less pernicious yet it was just as efficient as Metjen's in getting under her skin. On the other hand she was glad for his presence; the banter helped to build a barrier between her recent paranormal experience and her usual self.
'Right now, I'm not worried about the fine technical details of that particular ceremony, and will you stop taking the piss, please.'
Seisi's mouth twitched, yet he said nothing.
'I need your advice, but promise me you won't blab to Metjen about it.'
'If this is what you mean by keeping secrets, I'm honoured that you trust me with your worries. As much as it pains me to tell you, he is my new superior. We might suffer a conflict of interests.'
Seisi got up and checked out the garden. His expression made her believe he did not approve of the new fountain either. 'Whatever it is you wish to tell me, I will listen, I will give you my opinion and keep the information to myself if I can. I will only impart your words if I have to.'
'Could you maybe just keep quiet for a little while?'
'Maybe I can convince you to trust my judgement.' Seisi dropped himself next to her on the settee, grabbed her hand and kissed her palm.
He was getting bolder and strangely enough that felt reassuring. When he was around she never had to wonder how she might come across. Seisi accepted her the way she was. He would stand behind her, would stand at her side and defend her if necessary. If she would let him.
She took the plunge, recited the scroll incident and fell silent. The bedside clock ticked away the minutes, yet he said nothing, just stared into the distance as if possessed by the Sphinx.
'If the demons can use the portals we create to convey messages, then this is something the circle will need to know. Apart from the one member who knows already. It is also dangerous that they target you personally. Your indecision is your weakness and they know it.'
'Do you want me to join them instead?'
Golden embers started to rise from the green depths of his empty eyes. 'This is no funning matter,' he hissed.
'Sorry,' Trueth said with a small voice. She kept forgetting that her companion was very unlike Metjen in many aspects. For one, he was a lot more grown-up. 'Would the other prophets know what to do? Would Metjen?'
'I am not sure we can reach the circle that easily from where we are now. As to Metjen-he has great talents, but his learning is deficient. I know far more about the way of the temple than he does.' Seisi was not boasting at all; he was stating a fact.
'So what you are telling me is that to get into Kemet these buggers go for what they take to be the weakest link in the barrier-me. What irks me most, in a way this has helped to make up my mind. What would you think I should do?'
Seisi raised his hand and brushed aside a strand of hair that had escaped her chignon. 'What is it you want from your life?'
'Gosh, you're deep,' Trueth said.
The expression on his face shifted slightly to peeved sphinx.
Trueth sighed. 'I have spent a large part of my life trying to figure out who I am and why I am the way I am. Witch. Magical being. Me. Whatever. I always thought I was the last of my kind. Now that I know I'm not, I'm still missing not only the full picture but a large chunk of the puzzle. The piece with the People of the Mist in it. That bugs me. A lot.'
'And you are concerned that if you take a decision now, you might turn the wrong way,' Seisi said.
'Something like that. I need more input. What is my connection to this foggy folk? And more importantly, where are they-why have they not turned up? They could give me answers. I mean, I've been a freak all my life. A lot less so now, but still... . '
Seisi rubbed his nose. 'Then your goal should be to get the, eh-input I dare say. I could help you with that. What perturbs me here is that Nebmutef is nudging you in the same direction. I ask myself, what is his intent? It appears that letting you leave Kemet might serve purposes we are not aware of as yet.'
Trueth had started nodding; she stopped. Seisi was right, of course. It appeared that no matter what step she took it might prove to not only be wrong but could turn out disastrous. On the other hand, she was used to this type of dilemma. As was he.
Rose potpourri and coffee aromas chose this moment to embark on a sensory tussle, making her queasy. 'Look-'
Seisi raised his hands. 'We should seek guidance from Imhotep rather than the circle. Do not fret. I will find a way to make Metjen contact his grandsire without too much argument. Or rather, if he wishes to have an argument he can take it up with me.'
Again that infectious grin. 'For now, we should break our fast, and not let all the sustenance go to waste. Think of those-how do you call these striped pieces of crisp-fried meat?'
'Bacon! I'm not sure I'm hungry,' Trueth said. 'Having a demon moment early in the morning is a bit daunting.'
The truth was, with her anxiety receding, her appetite was returning; she could even stomach the coffee aroma again. In fact, it smelled downright heavenly. 'Oh, all right let's go. The professor and Ranofer will scoff the lot otherwise.
Seisi held open the door for her; Trueth tried hard to be annoyed but did not succeed. I owe him, she thought instead, hesitated briefly, then grabbed his hand.
Together, they descended the wooden staircase where the illuminated cream-coloured alcoves still displayed bits of ancient Egypt. Some nooks were empty, some statues missing like old friends lost in action.
Maybe they were only the first ones to go.
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This chapter is dedicated to rickvbeck - thank you for reading and voting on BOTH my novels!