Chapter Seventeen

The moon was high outside and casting its cold glow on the exotic gardens and fountains of marble and stone.

Peacocks had finished their nightly preening and had settled for the night near the high walls built to prevent intruders from breaching the rich interiors. Marble and sandstone and without flaw.

Behind the grandeur, guarded by two large hounds, was an entirely different view.

A small path from a less kempt area led to landscape of fire when the blooms were tongues of flame and the waters were molten lava.

Even the grass seemed to hiss with infernal fury as heat rose through the charred earth into a rufescent sky. Only if one walked with the Gods or their guardians was is possible to bear such a vista.

Today the grounds were empty. Even in the world of the Gods the heat could get the best of them and Am Heh, despite with adoration of fire, was not immune to it.

The day had been warmer than normal and showering had been the only way to cool down. Water still beaded down his well-toned body, reflecting and shimmering on golden skin.

After a while that would wear off, leaving him in the same uncomfortable state, albeit far milder than some, as before.

Ishaq coped with the conditions somewhat better than most. The son of a farmer he was used to bearing the violent heat of the day, resting only when the sun had reached its peak in the sky and it became hazardous to one's health. Even then some had still persevered, often the labourers of unscrupulous owners who knew they were easily replaced.

He missed the fields. Those peaceful pastures of golden corn, even if it had been those that had led him here.

The drought had not been that unexpected. The spring and summer had been threatening a rough farming season and the animals were already weak from a bad patch during winter, depriving them of the food they needed and many having to be slaughtered to feed the humans.

The waters had receded and the crops were unable to get the fluid they required; the silty substance procured was not fit for even plants.

Desperation soon took over. Nothing any labourer or overseer did was making a difference and the only thing left was to offer the God and Goddess of the harvest a sign of their continued adoration, curry their favour once again.

Only a human would do at this stage and Ishaq, amid the tears of his mother and stoic silence of her father, had been demanded.

He was pure. Quiet and hardworking and, they had said, any God would delight in having him in their service.

"Renenutet would treat you well." They had told him as they took him into the wilderness, performing the ritual to alert the Gods to his presence. "Remember she nurses the great Kings from the day they take their first breath to the day he takes his last. And Min, should he see fit to be the one to take you, is a fair and just master. Many would envy you."

Many would envy him.

Had Ishaq been bolder he would have asked what was to envy. Indeed, to be taken, body and soul, to the world of the Gods was something children wondered about, playing in their spare time. Yet it entailed more than a simple trip and discomfort of the rituals.

It meant never seeing his loved ones again.

Ishaq looked down at the parched earth, hiding the tears that shimmered as bright as the stars above, silently bearing the chill of the clay paint pressed on his skin as the men continued their work. Crescent moons, twisted symbols slowly formed on the canvas of his skin, drying immediately in the warm air.

Offerings of lettuce were placed near him with some trepidation. Even the best was brown, small and wilting before they had been picked. Not even the weevils had taken interest.

"I hope you will represent us well," the elderly hem-netjer said softly. He lowered his wrinkled hand to rest on Ishaq's cheek, tilting his head. "None wish to give their child or their neighbour, even if the knowledge that they go to a longer life under glorious eyes." He smiled sadly. "Hold fast that you will meet your family again and, that until that day, you will have aided their survival and of so many others."

"Yes, wise one." Ishaq barely heard his own response, words choked by fear and unease. This was not dying but just as fear inducing for none had come back from this journey either. All he had to comfort himself with was the stories, and who knew if they were accurate?

The priest bowed, patting his head like he would a sorrowing puppy. The barely audible whimper only added to that image and brought sad or pitying smiles to the faces of those around him.

The air grew cooler when they left. Or maybe it was just more noticeable? It was eerie, sat there amongst dead and dying stalks, alone in the dark with only the shadows and sounds of unseen animals for company. Ishaq wrapped his arms about himself, shuddering from a cold he couldn't explain.

Everything felt different around him, hazy and unearthly.

Sounds around him were both enhanced and dulled, stirring his senses and causing his heart to throb in his throat.

He tried to pull his knees tighter to him but the position made it hard to breathe.

"Fear me not, mortal."

The voice was gentle, the sound of a soft lullaby sung to a distracted child but it was hard not to be fearful as the svelte form glided forward, walking between two worlds.

From the neck down she was the embodiment of the ideal woman. Her chest swelled from the thin confines of her cotton dress and her body curved smoothly to a trim waist. Not a flaw was visible on her skin, the colour of dusted cocoa and as soft as down.

Yet atop this glorious form was the head of cobra, the forked tongue accentuating the pleasant hiss when she spoke, the eyes betraying none of the kindness of her words.

"Goddess," Ishaq shifted, lowering his head and feeling his body tremble with fear enhanced by the awe of being in her presence.

A hand rested on his head, stroking the coarse curls soothingly. His muscles relaxed under the kind touch and warmth of maternal love and fertility that radiated from her.

"Fear me not," the voice repeated. "Did you not know that cobras are kindly to their young?"

"I have never dared go near one," Ishaq whispered. "They would not appreciate my being too close and my parents always taught me to respect those we live alongside. It is their homeland also; we must share it."

"Indeed, they are right. And that heart is why I shall aid your people and you shall be drawn to me as one of my children, even if I must send you to another. You will not be killed or cast away."

"Send me to another?" Ishaq looked up to meet the dark eyes, shimmering like onyx stars amongst a scaled emerald sky. "Great goddess, who do you send me to?"

Renenūtet smiled pityingly, continuing the empathetic stroke of his hair. "I have many servants; I need no more. I have others sent to serve elsewhere now. None have had any cause to decry that decision, for I should know if they did."

She held out her free hand, expecting him to take it. After a moment hesitation, Ishaq obliged, his fingers cold against her own. His head span and his consciousness flitted, sparks and shadow dancing madly before his eyes. A wind whistled piercingly as its music, enhancing the disorientation.

Then there was silence. Darkness. The latter, he soon realised, was due to his eyes being clamped shut.

He felt strong, yet feminine, arms embrace him. Picking him up with an ease one wouldn't expect from man or woman. He just allowed it, there was nothing he could do now except move with whatever tide took him. Fighting would only mean drowning.

He couldn't remember much after that. Only being fed a sweet nectar and bread at a stone table, far fresher and softer than any he had before, sating his hunger for longer. Voices whispered about him but the words were too muffled to decipher. Many eyes were upon him, scrutinising his every movement and judgemental as they decided his fate.

There was only one statement he heard clearly, the ominous voice of a man as his future was decided.

"Send him to Am Heh..."

Now here he was. Walking so nervously down the golden corridors towards his new master's chambers. It was the first time he had been sent there, having spent the first week learning the layout and his duties.

The jug felt heavier with each step he took towards the double doors, closed fast to avoid any unnecessary social interaction. It had been made clear from the start that Am Heh disliked company, holding small gathering reluctantly for the benefit of his higher employees. If one could believe the general chatter that passed between people, he rarely stayed long, seemingly finding the whole farce irritating.

Halting outside the door Ishaq adjusted his grip to balance the jug in one arm, knocking as loudly as he dared with the other.

'He won't answer to admit you. Knock to announce yourself and then enter after a short pause. Bow your head, go and place the jug on the table and then wait for him to dismiss you. Do not speak unless bidden to do so.'

The advice was fresh in his head and engraved deeply enough that he would not forget it.

He paused rather longer than required, waiting for the knock to fade completely from the room beyond and several seconds after.

As he was told there was silence from within.

Ishaq swallowed hard, pushing open the hefty door with his shoulder.