'And now?' Trueth placed her mug on the disgusting tea table and traced swirls in the dust covering its surface. She was observing him from behind the curtain of her frizzy mane and Metjen noticed she was even paler than usual, the freckles standing out like bruises. She had also lost weight, reminding him of one of these skinny fashion models he so despised. Minus the looks, of course.
You are being unfair, he thought. She's your friend, and she's in real trouble. She just tried to hug a train.
He sipped at his tea, then placed his mug next to hers. The brew tasted funny, as if Trueth had rinsed it, but not got rid of the washing up liquid. The perfect hostess she was not, but there were extenuating circumstances. And he should at least try to offer priestly support. Only, the how was tricky, as she had never appreciated any of his ministrations. He chose his words with care.
'Now be a sensible witch and come to Egypt with me,' he said. 'Iseret tells me she will pardon you a final time. You must atone for ignoring her orders, but it will not be too bad. Give us a chance. Give yourself a chance. You've learned a lot onboard 'Selket', but there's much more to you than meets the eye.'
Trueth snorted, but he had seen the brief smile on her face.
From what he had glimpsed of her life, Iseret must be a soft option. But there were more points they needed to discuss. He fought with the sofa and only won through unfair means as he mind-lifted himself out of its mouldy embrace. He went into the bathroom and turned on the cold tap.
'What are you doing?' Trueth called from the livingroom.
'I've filled your bathtub with water,' he shouted. He turned off the tap, washed his hands and wiped them on his jeans. Back in the living room he chose one of the ladder-back chairs next to the dining table. At least he would have no problems getting up. 'You now have water for venting. And you should clean the tub more often. The rest of your sanitary arrangements also could do with some TLC.'
'My fridge is clean,' Trueth said.
'Glad to hear that, I hadn't dared to venture into your kitchen.'
'If I return to Egypt with you—and I say if... .'
Metjen had to stop himself from banging on the table with relief. He did not want to damage the furniture even further. Or get unidentifiable substances on his fingers.
'... then I need to be sure I'm not turning my back on things that are there, and I just don't see them.'
'You mean your people, let's call them witches?'
She nodded.
'I searched for them, in Britain, in Germany and a few other places,' he said. 'No witches anywhere. I know you tried to find them, but I suspect you used the wrong approach. As Iseret said, magical talent developed way before the witch hunts.'
Trueth jumped up, stormed into the bathroom and changed the aggregate state of the bathtub's content. He heard water gurgling back into the tub which meant she was willing to continue the discussion. Metjen crunched a few biscuits. He was hungry, but did not want to eat anything concocted in this dump, clean fridge or not.
Trueth threw herself onto the sofa. 'How does your family manage to eat all the time and still stay so slim? Apart from your mother maybe, but then she's the chef.'
'Genes! Lots of images in the tombs of my ancestors show it. Except for one, may he rest in peace.'
'Huh? I thought these paintings were idealised?' Trueth's cheeks were flushed, and she appeared to be more animated.
'Not in the Amarna period. I'm talking about Akhenaten—he got it wrong, but at least he worshipped the sun and gave these priests of Amun a run for their money, may their greedy souls howl in the desert.'
Trueth stared at him. 'You're related to the heretic Pharaoh?'
'His clan, yes. I don't need magical talents to guess what you'll ask me next, the answer is DNA, my father pulled some strings. But we digress.' Metjen bit into another biscuit. Trueth bore a glazed expression on her face he found amusing. At least she was no longer preoccupied with offing herself.
'So, if you had been born a few thousand years earlier, you might have been Pharaoh?' She asked eventually.
He raised his hands, palms up. 'Anything is possible. But I'm here, and this is now. Let's talk about your heritage instead.'
Trueth took a deep breath. 'Right. When you mention ancient power you're referring to the people who built places like Stonehenge, right? You mean, they're some sort of ancestors to the witch folk?'
Metjen gave her a thumbs up.
'I thought that was make-believe but I still read up on the subject.' Trueth rose from the sofa and ran her hands over rows of dusty books. 'I even joined Wiccan and Pagan fora but as soon as I even hinted at my talents they either thought I was gaga or they wanted a demonstration. And that I could never do. I even got offers from friendly New Age druids when they saw my photo.'
'Maybe you should have tried a partner agency?' Metjen finished the last of the biscuits and wadded the pack into a ball. 'Lively witch seeks enlightened companion for occasional broom riding?'
He examined her spindly figure retreating to the bathroom once more and wondered how she could contain all that power. But the truth was she could not, not on her own at least—which was exactly the problem. And that thought gave him an idea.
'Let's try something I haven't done yet,' he said when she had returned. ' Let's join our forces and search together. It's solstice tomorrow—best time of the year for experiments. And if it doesn't work, you come with me. Deal?' He held out his hand.
Trueth gaped as if she expected him to grow horns, a forked tail and snort fire the next minute. She lowered her eyes to his hand.
'And if we find them?'
'Then you're a very lucky girl. And you owe me one if we ever work out what the Foreigner and the rest of this spooky combo are supposed to do.'
Trueth shook his hand once and dropped it.
Metjen jumped up from his chair. 'Right, the quicker we go, the better, I'll get my stuff, and we need a car—'
'I'm driving!' Trueth said in a tone that allowed no argument. She packed, and as they opened the door, a letter fell to the floor. Trueth read it and swore. 'It's my landlord - he told me he wanted to sell the house. He's done it now.'
'It appears the Western world is ready to spit you out? ' That got him a painful punch on his arm, Trueth's mood was obviously improving.
'Do you want me to carry your luggage or not?' He said. 'What on earth have you got in there—apart from kettle and tripod.' He dodged aside to evade the next punch and mind-lugged the suitcase to her car.
Trueth had settled on Avebury, instead of Stonehenge. Not only would it be overrun by thousands of people but it also seemed to be the wrong circle for their purpose. Something about winter instead of summer solstice. He smiled without listening while she delivered her arguments to a level of detail which reminded him of his father.
'This is your quest and your choice. I'll be there with you.' Confident with her driving, even if it was a bit slow, Metjen closed his eyes and dozed off.
***
When they reached Avebury, so many people were blocking the road, they had to leave the car far away from the village and walk.
'Funny types,' Metjen said when another space-Age bard drifted by in fluttery robes, beating a tambourine. The multicoloured musical throng ambled towards a circle of giant stone teeth that had decayed ages ago. The Avebury henge now hosted an impromptu open-air concert where druids were in charge of crowd control. Metjen cared neither for the music nor these hairy types.
He spread his ka into the surroundings, but other than that festive bunch he sensed nothing untoward.
Trueth nudged him 'Do you notice anything, because I don't.'
Metjen shook his head. 'Nope, just tried. If those ancestors of yours are there, these so-called People of the Mist, or whatever Iseret called them, they are in hiding.'
'Shall we join forces then?' she asked.
He grabbed her clammy hand in his. Staying closer to his volatile friend would allow him to better control the physical manifestations of her sun-flow. The did not need an explosion. On the other hand, if people maintained their current alcohol intake, the two of them could claim to be technicians responsible for the special effects.
'Oh no!' Trueth dropped his hand.
'What is it?'
'That guy over there. I met him on those fora. And he's spotted me.'
A scruffy young man with dreadlocks, a wildly patterned shirt and a hairy white overcoat strode purposefully towards Trueth. 'Sister, I am overjoyed to meet you in person. But why did you bring this Indian fellow?'
'Egyptian.' Metjen did not understand how anybody could confuse him with an Indian when he so obviously did not resemble one.
'Whatever. Shove off, brother, I saw the sister first.' With that, he tried to grab hold of Trueth's left hand, jolted as if he had got an electric shock, dropped to the floor—and fell asleep on the spot. Metjen quickly checked, but nobody had noticed anything.
Trueth stared at Metjen. 'What spell is that?'
'None of mine. Before you ask, I have no clue what you did, and we have no time to for investigations.' So much for control, he thought. He mind-dragged the guy to the side and pulled Trueth towards the other end of the circle where people were gathering to greet the sunrise.
The moment they needed was close, pink washed across the eastern skies as veins of light were breaking through the clouds. He grabbed her hand once more, and together they observed the sun appear, the freshly washed landscape exploding into sparkling light.
Now!
He latched on to Trueth's ka, joined it with his and reached out to whoever might be there. He cast an ever-widening net which wound around the stones, flowed across to the cheerful people and covered the one person who was still snoring in the shrubbery.
But nobody responded to their calling. The sun ascended further in the sky, and the moment had gone.
'I felt a prickling at the back of my head?' Trueth had released his hand and turned towards him, with hope in her eyes.
'Sorry to disappoint you. That is the background buzzing you get from these people. It's normal. You would have noticed if we'd found the ones we were searching for, believe me. When I came to your rescue in the desert, this blue light lit up in my mind like a flare and screamed for help.'
'Why should they scream for help?' Trueth asked.
'Lord Ra give me strength...rest assured, they would have stood out.' Metjen shook his head as they were striding towards the car trying to avoid all the litter that marked both the end of the party and their search. He felt annoyed on behalf of Trueth, she deserved better.
When they stopped for lunch, Trueth had a long phone conversation with her mother to explain her imminent return to Egypt. Concern turned into fear, which seemed to surprise Trueth, and Metjen had to intervene with a charm offensive, mentioning his father, the excavations, the Institute of Archaeology and other sensible things.
In the end, a delighted Mrs. Deveril seemed to be of the opinion her daughter would turn into a venerable archaeologist herself and could even provide a job for her sister. She too did not seem to be doing too well as far as employment was concerned.
'You can twist the truth around until it becomes something else entirely,' Trueth said with a grimace.
'I'll never lie,' Metjen responded. 'Fancy a curry?'
On the way to the airport, it rained again, enough to make the desert bloom, but not enough to disrupt traffic. Their flight was punctual; the queues were reasonable, and Metjen ensured they were not frisked.
'Thankfully they have no idea what I am capable of, even without weapons. Better keep it that way. Otherwise, I will not be able to board an aeroplane ever again—or a clever scientist turns me into a missile.'
Trueth smiled, patted his hand and went ahead to get herself water which she had been drinking by the gallon ever since her experience in the desert. Metjen saw her stroll away and turned towards that faint tug he sensed at the corners of his mind.
A wisp of energy was weaving its way from the departure hall beyond the checkpoint. Metjen quickly scanned the crowds – a small gathering of people in variations of grey and all shades of red hair stood next to the pharmacy, regarding him with mournful eyes. Mood issues obviously came as part of the package, but he could not blame them.
Finally, you show yourselves! I've been searching for you, and you never gave me as much as a whisper.
A question tinged with worry floated across, shrouded in sadness. Their talents could not be strong, not like Trueth's. Her ancestors must have been special—just like his had been. From what he could sense in the haze, it had indeed been their joint powers that had called them out of hiding. But they still had not dared to show themselves. Until now.
I'll take good care of your sister, and if she can't cope with us, we will see. But I can't have her torn apart, and this will happen if she hears of you now. Why did you not help her when she needed you most?
All he got was jumbled desolation. He took that to mean they had not been aware of Trueth's existence.
She'll be in good hands. I'll come back, and we speak. I'll be at Avebury at the next equinox. Do you understand me?
A wispy yes fizzled out in the clamour of the departure hall. The group had disappeared.
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Uh oh - should Metjen have told Trueth? What do you think? If you liked this chapter, please let me know, and don't forget to push that little star. Thank you!
This chapter is dedicated to @KerryDorset. The heroince of Kerry's novel 'Save me from Eternity' might have a slight problem with sunrise, given that she's a vampire. And a copper ....
Copyright of the foto belongs to Philip Capper, from Wellington New Zealand. The image is taken from Wikimedia Commons.