The funeral chamber opened into a narrow corridor filled with priests and priestesses shrouded in white, their shaven heads gleaming in the light of the oil lamps. They mirrored the wall-paintings apart from one bit—their age. The holy crowd stared at her with rheumy eyes, their backs bent and their fingers covered in liver spots. Some of the holy men and women relied on knotted canes to keep themselves upright, others used their neighbour for support. Trueth felt her fear subside, instead a giggle rose in her throat. She was in the company of mortals after all and not a single one of this geriatric posse would be capable of harming her, at least not without risking cardiac arrest.
Trueth recognised one familiar face—the middle-aged rotund priest who had chased her through the streets of Cairo. He nodded at her and bowed. Trueth considered it wise not to antagonise that guy and bowed back. She still did not understand what Metjen saw in this place, apart from it coming across as an authentic replica of an ancient Egyptian cellar. It even smelled like one—mouldy, stuffy with a sweetish overtone she could not name. She suspected the smell was due to the incense given that this place was supposed to be a temple. That proved to be an unfortunate thought, her hands went sweaty again, but the wall of priests blocked the doorway and she had no choice but to trail along the corridor after Metjen.
As she shuffled along, the noise of her progress was echoed by the sounds her keepers made behind her. They were led by the stooped figure of a haggard man with sunken cheeks. Once, he must have stood above the others, most of which were vertically challenged to the extreme. Now, his rounded shoulders forced him to lean on his cane as he laboured onwards. Only his eyes scared her. Unlike the rest of that lot, the man did not blink myopically but glowered a vacant threat at her from under his bushy brows, a threat which reminded her of Metjen... .
The object of her musings halted abruptly in front of a doorway painted in blue and white. He gnawed his lower lip and Trueth's unease increased.
Remember what I told you!
Metjen entered. Trueth hesitated, but got shoved from behind without anyone touching her. It made her stumble across the threshold into a chamber roughly the size of the Al-Nour's living room. Only the ceiling here was lower, much lower.
Trueth!
No further invitation was necessary; she threw herself onto the floor, pinched her eyes shut and listened to the loudness of silence for a far too long time. The floor tickled her nose with an odour of overused mop. Fighting the sensation proved to be impossible and a loud sneeze exploded into the quiet of the chamber.
More silence.
You may rise to your knees.
A new voice rasped into her brain. Trueth winced and did as asked. She kept her gaze on her thighs, still clad in their dusty jeans. Her throat was so dry, it reminded her of the long hours spent in the desert. But this experience was worse. Again nothing happened for aeons while a faint buzzing pierced the quiet in the chamber and flowed right through her.
Show me your face.
Trueth tried to gulp and found she did not have enough saliva to do so. Instead, she looked up—straight into the eyes of a tiny middle-aged woman hovering above her. Pain drilled into her soul and Trueth recoiled. The woman plopped onto the floor sandalled feet first, shot towards the other end of the room and whisked around. Every part of her was sharp, from the ferret features of her face to the angular shoulders half-hidden by the long black hair.
On Trueth's right, Metjen stood frozen but as she observed him closer, a drop of blood appeared at the corner of his eye, tracking a reddish path across his cheek. Behind him, the elderly worshippers stood motionless, but she sensed a murmur and a rising disquiet.
The woman who had to be the resident chief priestess, darted back towards them, her long white robes swishing over the stone floor. She wore a silly contraption on her head but nothing else about her was even remotely amusing.
Stand up!
The command went straight into Trueth's solar plexus and knocked the air out of her. Next, her body rose by itself until she towered over her opponent floating at chest level. The spooky priestess grunted and ascended further until their faces were on a level.
'Lotus eyes and head of fire—you are the Foreigner.' The words were spoken in a voice so quiet it was hardly noticeable. 'I did not expect a female.'
The priestess turned her back on Trueth and addressed Metjen instead. 'Here she is, like...she said. It appears we have everybody, apart from—the Lost One. That one is truly lost. Hm.' The tiny terror assumed a lotus position in mid-air and continued hovering there, staring at Trueth with dark flares where other people had their eyes.
With a grunt, she turned back towards Metjen. 'Oh, you wipe your face.' The woman put her feet back on the ground and paced from side to side as if she was stalking prey. Then she pounced at Trueth.
'Do you realise who you are?'
'Eh, no—Your Majesty?'
A smile flickered on the terror's face. 'It's Your Wisdom, actually. I am Iseret, high priestess of Hathor, not Hatshepsut, the woman who wore the beard of a Pharaoh. You are one of the ancient ones as we are. I never understood how the sun-flow, the magical power, could grow in those freezing dark forests of yours. It was common belief our talents could only prosper in the fertile valley of the Nile or the plains of the other great rivers. Your people, however, came straight out of the mist. The next thing you will ask me is who the ancient ones are.'
The so-called Her Wisdom raided an eyebrow and Trueth curtseyed.
That got her another brief smile. 'I guessed so. The magical force arose early in time, even we, the Servants, are not the first ones to harbour such might. We knew of each other, of course. Our talent always was rare, and here in Egypt only the Servants carried it after...well...not those others who called themselves priests.'
Trueth wondered what Iseret had planned to say.
Metjen returned and his superior inclined her head towards him as if she was listening. Most likely she was.
'They burned her people at the stake a few hundred years ago,' he said. 'She might well be the last one left.'
'That is lamentable, this modern world for sure is harmful to one's health. But it means you, Trueth, must join us to be among those of your own kind. We can help each other—your sun-flow is strong but raw. We can help you develop it, to achieve what but three of us have these days—even though you are starting late.'
'Do you mean I should become one of your priests?' Trueth saw a crocodile surface in Iseret's smile.
'Yes, I offer you this honour despite your despicable behaviour. But I understand from Metjen that you were frightened and let the dark ones cloud your ka. I forgive you, but do not try me again. We will welcome such a power as is yours.'
'Trueth will need time. She does not trust us because of what happened to her ancestors.' Metjen came to the rescue.
'Time? Why should she need that? She is where she should be and we will care for her from now on.' Iseret clapped her hands; two of the priestesses hobbled closer and bowed as low as their backs allowed. 'Take this one and start the instructions. Nebmutef, you will oversee her. She has much to learn, but I hope we can still get her to the Blessing.'
Iseret waved at the priestesses who positioned themselves next to Trueth. 'I will leave the temple as I planned to do before I learned of these doings. I expect her to be ready for initiation when I am back.'
Disjointed thoughts rushed through Trueth's brain. Only one of them stuck. She would not let this floating nightmare turn her into one of her shaven-headed puppets. Learn more about her lineage maybe, parts of what she Iseret hinted at sounded intriguing. That priestess was privy to ancient knowledge, could give her answers to many questions. But if she had to join a crazy cult the price was too high.
Don't even harbour such thoughts or you'll regret it! Words zapped into her brain, and a jolt made her jerk.
Trueth felt incensed. These people were in and out of her mind without invitation, forcing her to do things, threatening and scaring her at their leisure. She took a deep breath and reached deep into herself where the heat was waiting. This time she coaxed it upwards, making it rise until it was ready to burst.
'Eh, I thank you for your kindness, Your Wisdom. I'm willing to listen, but I don't wish to join the team at this moment.'
Iseret swung towards her. 'You will act as bid.'
Trueth shook her head. As the high priestess prowled towards her she let the heat rush out of her left hand. It roared straight at the horror—only to get deflected and slam into the wall behind her opponent. Her heat rose again, and again, thundering into the chamber, until she noticed a familiar iciness in her brain, until there was nothing.
***
Metjen had no choice but to stand by and watch as Trueth roll up her eyes and slump to the floor as limp as a dead kitten. If they continued this way they would cause permanent damage in what was already a seriously compromised brain department.
His other problem was more immediate. Iseret was raging through the chamber. One moment she was caressing bits of murals that had disintegrated when the fire bolts slammed into them, the next she kicked Trueth's inert form on the floor. The stone-faced collection of Servants never spoke.
'This is an abomination. She has defiled the temple,' Iseret raged. 'Throw her into the Nile, may the minions of Sobek take care of that—horror. She wanted to die, so we can do her that favour.'
Metjen decided to remove Trueth from Iseret's sight and motioned to four of the priests to carry her back to the penal chamber. He then turned around and bowed.
'There is one problem, Your Wisdom. There are no crocodiles left near Cairo.' He could not resist, though he knew he would pay for this comment.
An invisible fist slammed into his gut and he doubled over. Iseret never failed to deliver.
'Let pollution take care of her,' Iseret screamed. She pressed her hands against the cracked wall-paintings coaxing them back to former perfection. Nobody spoke. Nobody dared to interrupt the restorations.
If she respected anybody it was Nebmutef, so he mind-prodded his old mentor. The old priest shifted his cane and spoke up. 'We cannot take a life. We have never done that, and we cannot do it now.'
Iseret stopped at the far end of the chamber, a piece of plaster in her hand, and regarded both of them with a strange expression on her face. 'You might not have killed yet, no.'
Metjen was getting concerned for his fiery pet. 'She didn't rule out joining completely, she just doesn't feel like it at this very moment. Trueth isn't used to our ways. We frightened her, and she lost control. She can't help it.'
Nebmutef nodded. 'We need to give her time to learn. That one has so much power, as you said, Your Wisdom. We should not waste it. We might need it still given the troubles that are facing us?'
Iseret slumped. The surrounding air shimmered, for a moment he perceived the face of an ancient crone, until she morphed back into the woman he knew. 'You need not tell me that. I know fully well she has a role to play. I find it—frustrating? All those years I was waiting for the Foreigner. This girl is different from what I expected. Sometimes the gods...play with us?'
She faced Metjen who blinked in surprise and inclined his head. Trueth had a role to play? In the temple's future? That was interesting to say the least. Assuming that was what Iseret meant. Strange how none of the temple's secret scripts had ever mentioned Foreigners and Lost Ones.
'We wipe her mind,' Iseret continued in her familiar quiet tone. 'She can be with us and no longer be shaken by her fears. We cannot let her go.'
'No, I agree to that,' Metjen said. 'That's the reason I brought her here. But if we empty her mind she will be too weak to be useful. ' He was still unsure as to what Iseret had in mind, but he could work things out later. He sensed a chink in Iseret's mental armour and he had to take advantage for Trueth's sake.
Nebmutef pre-empted him. 'Give that girl space, give her time, let her get acquainted with our ways, and she might yet join.'
Iseret ceased her restless movements and stroked a restored mural. 'Freewill should be forbidden. But you are right. It will not work otherwise.'
'What won't?' Metjen asked. He got no answer.
Iseret whirled around and pointed at him. 'I will encircle her with the Arms of Nephthys to prevent her from escaping. You are responsible for handling that woman. '
Metjen breathed relief and inclined his head once more to show agreement. 'I only ask you not to make the mind-chain unbreakable, it might break her otherwise.'
Iseret hissed at him, her usual sign that the conversation was over. At least, she refrained from delivering more mind-kicks.
She left the same evening. Metjen saw her off, then returned to the chamber where Trueth was sleeping. Only—she was not. She sat up on the plinth and regarded him with panic flooding her eyes. He raised his face towards the starry roof of the chamber.
'Lord Ra, give me strength. What is it this time, let me guess—werewolves?'
Trueth gaped at him. 'No, they don't exist. Nor do the vampires. Or am I wrong?'
Metjen slid along the wall to slump on the floor. 'Neither exists, believe me and forget I ever mentioned them. In the name of Anubis, you could worry for Egypt! Why are you awake? Iseret put one heck of a spell on you.'
'Do you hear this?'
'Hear what?'
'That voice! It's breathing words into my mind. The same stuff over and over again. It's like vocalised tinnitus, and there's a real urgency behind it but I don't get it all,' Trueth said. 'Bits about sleepers and broken things or breaking, and something else about balance, it's so confusing. Metjen—am I going mad?'
Metjen rubbed his eyes. 'I refuse to answer that question. Is that all you can understand?'
Apparently the whispering also mentioned danger, which Metjen thought he remembered, but as he tried to focus, his thoughts just fizzled away. If Trueth was able to make out the murmur even if she was inside the temple, she had to be immune to Iseret's veil. That was intriguing as it meant he had an independent agent at his disposal.
'Metjen?'
'What do you want now?'
'What did she mean when she said I was the Foreigner and the Lost One was—lost? I mean, that should be obvious, shouldn't it? You lot have a complicated way of communicating.' Trueth looked at the ceiling before changing topics. 'You lot speak excellent English, you know. But okay, this country once was a colony of the British empire.'
Understandable as her deduction might be, she was still wrong. 'Sorry to disappoint you. Neither Iseret nor any of the others speak any English. Why should they?'
'But I understand them perfectly well?' Trueth observed him, her blue eyes awash with confusion.
'This is because we make you understand, sister to the bubbles in the ocean. Or should I use a more modern expression and call you an idiot?'
Metjen was drowning fast in the quagmire this conversation had become, and he tried to grab hold of the one bit that had made sense. 'Iseret's comment —yes it was strange. It sounded as if she had expected you to turn up and was only missing—well He who is lost. Whoever that is. Most likely you have infected Her Wisdom with your personal confusion. You certainly succeeded with me.'
'I think your high priestess's mental state is not the best, and I don't believe it's my fault. She's scary, yes, but she's missing a few bulbs on the chandelier—or coals in the brazier—eh, she can't hear me, can she?'
'Possible if she was here, but you're lucky, she's gone,' Metjen said. 'Don't even think of this again. Especially as I convinced her to let me take you home once more, so you can relax. The quicker we leave, the better, before you say anything else I should throw you in the Nile for. Honestly, the water quality is bad enough as it is,' Metjen rose from the ground and adjusted his crown that had slipped on his forehead. He sniffed.
'And do me a favour, will you? Clean up, you whiff a bit.'
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I hope you liked this chapter, if you did please let me have your feedback and possibly a vote.
This chapter is dedicated to @Kwesiwoode, who is a brilliant author and a wonderful, witty person. May you never run out of electricity!!!!