The Ways of Eternity

by D.A. Dean

Chapter 27: A King's Wishes, A King's Wine

  Meeting concluded, Horus motioned the temple door to be opened. Sunlight lay in arcs over the people gathered just beyond, making more profound their magnificence. He strode forward, and the people clustered near sank their faces to the ground. "Friends," he said, lifting his voice, and spread his arms. "Those who stand with me, let them stand."

  Clearly confused by this counter to their expectations, the people lifted hesitantly to their feet.

  Horus called, "Good. And any who wish to speak with me, let them speak."

  Harsiif swept forward, his quick gestures of respect doing little to conceal his displeasure. "O King, forgive me, I know our ways are new to you, but only those of highest rank speak with a king."

  "I'm glad you've taken to heart what I asked, Chieftain Harsiif, and have offered your counsel. I hope you'll never swerve in that," Horus replied. "Concerning the Order of the Golden Days, I realize that by offering any and all the opportunity to speak directly with me I'm amending a point within it. My reason for doing so is this. I've come to serve not only the select. I've come to serve everyone. I want the people to understand that."

  Harsiif persisted, "With humble respect, O King, you seem to misunderstand. A king does not serve but is served."

  Horus turned from the now murmuring crowd. "Hm. Didn't my father serve humanity?"

  As if rebuked, Harsiif bowed. "Well, yes, of course, O Great King. In his beneficence, he ordered many things that bettered the lives of the common folk. However, he retained his nobility and did not mingle among the masses. Doing so diminishes a king's power."

  Horus leaned back, considering the chieftain, his uneasy eyes and tight stance. "In terms of command?"

  "Well, yes, of cour—" Harsiif stopped himself. His voice subtly singsong, he explained, "Once the people no longer fear him, a king is ineffective."

  Horus countered his involuntary brow twitch with a small smile. "Ah. I think a king others follow out of respect is more effective."

  "But mingling freely undermines him in subtle ways. He becomes less elevated, less awe-inspiring. O King."

  "Oh?" Casually, Horus scratched his arm. "Perhaps. If he's an unworthy king. Just as familiarity with any unworthy leader diminishes that leader's power. It's my opinion only those who don't have the people's best interests at heart have any cause to fear familiarity."

  Smile strained, Harsiif's muscles tensed.

  "Chieftain," Horus said and touched Harsiif's shoulder, "I know change can be unsettling. Be assured, it's not my intent to undo the whole of the Order of the Golden Days."

  Horus leaned companionably closer. "As a man of goodwill, intent on assisting both your people and your king, as a man so knowledgable about customs, perhaps you can help me discover ways to better interact with the people who've gathered to stand with us." He ambled forward into the crowd and turned, motioning Harsiif to join him.

  Harsiif stood rooted. "A king doesn't," he said, seemed to catch himself, and, frowning, amended, "with respect, a king doesn't move among those not of highest standing."

  "Well, Chieftain Harsiif," Horus said amiably and then sharpened his tone, "this one does."

  Harsiif swallowed hard. "Y-yes, O King." He bowed before hurrying near.

  Surprised by the depth of the effect created by this simple shift in tone, Horus pondered it. Well, Harsiif didn't know him like—where were Teo and Nalia? Horus scanned. There, among the tents, being greeted. Glad of their reunion with family and friends, he smiled.

  Tatuuf, who'd been watching Horus and Harsiif closely, joined them. "O King."

  The people nearest Horus, though some seemed interested in speaking with him, shied away from making the attempt.

  Horus leaned to Tatuuf and said, low, "We'll be close together for some time. It's best they grow accustomed to my presence. I'd like to meet more of them, have them show me around a bit. Would you continue forward with me?"

  "Yes, with great pleasure, O King," Tatuuf responded.

  "And you Chieftain Harsiif?"

  "If it is your wish," Harsiif said grudgingly. "O Mysterious Horus."

  Horus shrugged. "I'd enjoy your company, but if you have matters to attend to, I'll look forward to enjoying your company later today."

  Harsiif's smile again became thin. "If you'd rather I go, O King, you have but to say."

  Frustrated, Horus turned to face Harsiif squarely and allowed the moment to stretch.

  Sweat beaded across Harsiif's brow.

  So caught up in his idea of the order, his place within it, this chieftain. Expression carefully neutral, Horus turned back to the crowd. "Join us, Harsiif."

  Together, they wound through the encampment, Horus pausing here and there to admire the tents, some of woven cloth, others of leather. Tatuuf performing the introductions, Horus met First Order Warriors, young and curious. Third Order Warriors, a few with wives and children. Novice priestesses and healers, timid and fidgety. Excitable Second Order Warriors and reverential elder healers.

  The young god and two chieftains progressed through the encampment, Horus studying the people's postures, faces, and eyes, then, secondarily, the markings of their stations, the people's fear diminishing as those introduced trailed behind, watching and talking quickly and quietly together. Horus' stomach rumbled.

  Tatuuf chuckled. "Yes, O King. Soon time for the great feast. Do you enjoy dancing?"

  "I saw Nalia dancing once, but I don't know how myself," Horus replied, pleased by the invitation.

  Harsiif gave Horus a sidelong look. "O King. You misunderstand. You are not asked to offer entertainment. You are to be entertained. Does watching others dance entertain you?"

  Ready to say he would, indeed, dance at the night's festivities, Horus refrained. Though he disagreed with Harsiif's reasons, he recognized that a god joining the dancing might well be going a bit far just now.

  Misinterpreting Horus' pause, Harsiif said, "Perhaps you think the dancers will not be skilled enough." Spreading his hands, he gave a sad smile and nodded.

  "Not at all," Horus corrected. "I'm sure they're quite adept." He grinned at the four children running past. "And I'm looking forward to watching them. Tatuuf, what's the game the children are playing?"

  "A variant of a game your parents taught."

  But Isis didn't like games. No, for a short time, when Horus was two, they had played together. Absently, Horus brushed his nose.

  Petraylia joined them, taking Tatuuf's hand. "The festivities are ready to begin."

  Laughing and bustling with excitement, men and women began hurrying to their friends. Children jumped up to run among the warriors. Elders conferred with the priestesses.

  Holding drums, gourds, and flutes made of reed, men and women ranging in age from adolescent to elder gathered around an enormous fire ring, stacked high but unlit. Instruments silent, the musicians negotiated their way through the crowd toward Horus.

  The grey-bearded man leading the line bowed to his newly-arrived king. A flurry of drumming followed then ceased. In answer to the signal, Maeta, Saien, Nalia, and Teo moved into position around Horus. Holding incense pots and palm fronds, priestesses ringed them.

  The elder lifted high his leather-covered stick, and the musicians broke into loud, fevered rhythm, the priestesses' chants creating intricate counter. People crowding close, tossing flowers, lifting their hands, and cheering, Horus was ushered through the encampment to the frond-and-flower-strewn royal circle topped with reed mats near the unlit fire ring.

  Tatuuf stepped forward and angled between Horus and the throng. "We gather together in feast and joyful song to celebrate the coming of our king."

  The people lifted their voices in response, the roar so loud Horus started to cover his ears.

  Tatuuf raised his hand, and the crowd quieted. "O Majestic King Horus. O Nalia, O Teo. We welcome you. And now," he paused, letting the excitement build.
"Let the celebration begin."

  The crowd's clapping, the priestesses' chanting, the musicians' song enclosing him, Horus widened his stance.

  Discreetly, Teo nudged Horus and gestured to his mat.

  Wondering what would happen next, Horus sat.

  Immediately, faces and hands dusted opalescent, wrists and ankles ringed with shells and stones, white-robed priestesses brought to Horus the feast, laying platter after platter before him and his company.

  There were golden trays filled with dates, figs, and palm nuts, silver trays of melons and cucumber. Squat earthen pots filled with cheeses, tall wooden pots holding beans cooked and mashed into pastes, shallow reed bowls filled with garlic, and squared reed bowls mounded with onions were spread among the fruits and vegetables.

  Next were laid gold platters piled with bread, round and covered with seeds, long and covered with herbs, thimble-shaped and glazed with honey. Honey?

  Three fist-sized honey pots were placed, carefully centered, in front of Horus. He turned, beaming, to Nalia, and she laughed.

  Earthen pitchers of beer with earthen cups were placed before Tatuuf, Petraylia, Maeta, Nalia, and Teo. With solemnity, Nahtaeya placed a single gold pitcher of wine at Horus' knee. Kneeling, she offered him a gold goblet.

  The musicians lowered their instruments, the priestesses halting their chants. Quiet, the crowd pressed closer.

  Clearly, it was important, this wine. Determined he'd like it, Horus took a sip. The wine, blending grape, pomegranate, and honey, was layered with cardamom and several other spices he couldn't distinguish. Pleasantly surprised by the mix of tastes, he took another sip. How smoothly the wine rolled over his tongue. How easily it slipped down his throat. Lovely. He took a third sip and stood.

  "Good people," Horus called. "Friends. Thank you for the gracious welcome you've given me and my companions. I'm overjoyed to be among you and overwhelmed by your gifts. The temple. The flowers, fronds, and incense. The music, chanting, clapping. The food." He held high the goblet. "The wine."

  Angling to the crowd and lifting her voice, Nahtaeya asked, "It pleases you, O King?"

  Horus answered promptly, "It's glorious."

  There erupted a frenzy of cheers.

  Horus drained the goblet, handed it to Nahtaeya, and, pretending to push back his hair, covered his ears and sat.

  The people lowered, sitting where they'd stood.

  Grinning, Teo leaned close and said, "And you thought the waterfall was loud. We're all waiting for you to start eating before we begin, by the way."

  "Oh," Horus exclaimed and selected one of the long, thin loaves. The herbs flecking it sticking to his fingers, he broke the loaf into thirds. "I give thanks to Earth for her bounty." Balancing one piece on his knee, he handed the other two to Nalia and Teo. He took a bite. "Good."

  As if assured Horus was satisfied, the crowd moved back, the people taking their places among the stretches of mats ringing the outer two-thirds of the fire circle, the talking and shuffling about of friends and families creating a melody even more pleasant than the musicians' instruments.

  "Try some beans," Nalia said, handing Horus a bowl. "Like this," she instructed, tore a piece from her hunk of bread, dipped it, and popped it in her mouth.

  Horus imitated her. "Mm. Good." He tore off and dipped another piece.

  Nalia gave him onion to add, Teo garlic, and soon the savory paste was gone.

  Quickly, a priestess replaced the bowl.

  "Thank you." Horus took a few more bites of bread and beans before shifting his attention among the remaining variety of artfully prepared and presented food, saving his favorite, honey, for last.

  Tatuuf leaned forward, catching Horus' attention. "The entertainment begins, O King."

  Petraylia excused herself and returned to her and Tatuuf's tent.

  Amid the people off a short way to the right, a circle was cleared. In its center were placed twelve poles, copper bells, ranging in diameter from a half-palm to three-palms, cascading over each.

  "A gift from your father," Tatuuf said.

  The few people between the circle and the royal mat parted, affording Horus an unobstructed view.

  Bulging leather pouches cinched around their waists, four warriors strode into the circle. Each warrior held a thick stick, a wide ring of leather fastened to its top.

  Eyes bright, Teo pointed. "Hey, there's Jelal."

  Gazing with interest at the young man, Horus asked, "From your village? The one who speared two fish at once when you were boys?"

  "Yeah. I was told he was here, but I didn't have a chance to find him. I heard Kasif and Solnik are here, too. I wonder if Matal—oh, there's Mesrahan."

  Horus followed Teo's gaze to the intense-eyed, straight-shouldered warrior standing beside Korris.

  Mesrahan crossed his arms over his chest and bowed.

  Seventh Order. Like Tatuuf. Horus gave his head a sideways tip in acknowledgment.

  "Forgive my delay, O King," Mesrahan said. "The way here was difficult. I'm pleased and greatly honored to be now in your company."

  "I'm pleased to have you join us, Mesrahan."

  Korris crossed his right arm over his left. "O King."

  Sarti crossed his right arm over his chest.

  Jelal dropped his stick, closed his right hand, and held his left open against his thigh.

  Sixth, Fourth, Third. Horus gave each of the three warriors a nod, saying, simply, "Korris. Sarti. Jelal."

  As if surprised Horus knew his name, Jelal darted his gaze to Teo.

  Smiling, Teo said, "Though I knew you'd join us, I wasn't expecting you so soon. Glad to see you again."

  "You, too," Jelal answered. On Korris' shout, he returned to position and swiftly retrieved his stick.

  The four warriors turned toward the poles.

  Teo leaned forward, elbows against knees, attention fixed to the scene.

  "What are they holding?" Horus asked.

  "Slingshots."

  "What are they used for?"

  "Watch and see."

  Korris placed a small, rounded stone against the leather, cocked back his arm, then snapped it forward, letting the stone fly. His target bell rang hard.

  The crowd murmured its approval.

  Was a slingshot a kind of instrument?

  Mesrahan let fly one stone and then another. Both hit their marks with force.

  Horus' brows twitched. He nodded. "A weapon."

  "Yes," Teo replied. "And highly effective at long range if its bearer's skilled."

  "Are Seht's followers skilled?"

  "A few are masters, from what Korris told me."

  "I see." Horus frowned. "So, how's it countered, this weapon?"

  "Dodging. Use of some type of shield. Luck. There's often an element of surprise involved in that type of attack. When you hear the stone's hiss, it's too late."

  The pace of the bells' multi-toned peeling increased.

  Horus tapped his laced fingers against his lips. "So, keep eyes open, ears pricked."

  "That's about it, yes. On the bright side, very few warriors or priestesses are skilled enough to do real harm. This weapon's hard to master."

  "None of our priestesses has mastery?"

  "I wouldn't say that," Teo said slowly, glancing at Maeta and then at Nahtaeya, stretching to refill Horus' goblet. "Priestesses reveal their skills according to their own ways and in their own time."

  Nahtaeya gave a small, enigmatic smile.

  The bells' ringing began to create a song, and the drummers softly added to it.

  Teo returned his attention to the four warriors. "When I was younger, I saw Korris give a demonstration. What they're about to do, the skill involved, is amazing. Watch."

  The warriors, still throwing and striking, began circling the poles, the melody of the bells becoming more complex. Picking up speed, the warriors wove, jumping forward, darting back, dropping, rolling. Faster
and faster they moved, the stones a blur till they struck and fell, the bells' ringing growing louder, the drumming more insistent.

  Pulse quickening, Horus leaned onto his knees. "Amazing, indeed."

  The warriors slung a final volley, the stones fanning, arcing, and then raining down against the bells, sounding them all at once, the crescendo.

  Horus joined in with the crowd's thunderous applause.

  After bowing to their king, Sarti and Jelal removed the poles. Adolescents scurried forward to collect the stones.

  Petraylia rejoined them, pausing to kneel at Horus' side. "Mehlchehsia is coming, Great King." She took to her mat beside Tatuuf.

  "And this is the person you spoke of earlier?"

  "Yes," Petraylia said. "A seer and a friend of mine and Maeta's since we were nine. She'll arrive in the encampment tomorrow. Gazing into the candle's flame just a short while ago, I saw the secret signal she gives when she wishes to meet." Her expression clouded. "She must take added precautions. Seht ordered the seers killed. Thus, the need for secrecy. Great King, could—"

  "Trusted warriors be sent to escort her? Yes," Horus agreed, for more reasons than he cared to share aloud.

  Tatuuf motioned Mesrahan to join him and whispered the order. Mesrahan, eyes filled with resolve, hastened away, and Tatuuf returned his gaze to Horus. "The Sword of Osiris, yes, it would likely deepen your powers, perhaps even act as a guide of sorts," he said, low.

  "In what ways?"

  "Osiris' sword is said to be imbued with his wisdom, as well as his strength. Perhaps through wielding it, you may find answers to your questions."

  "Hm. And what questions do I have, Chieftain?" Horus asked and then, giving a rueful laugh, nodded. "Well, with luck, Mehlchehsia will know where it is, and I can find out for myself."

  "It will be a glorious day, O King, when you lift high your father's sword."

  "Yes, well, from what I gather, it might take a while for me to be able to do that even after I find it."

  Tatuuf stroked his chin. "True. Yet simply having it in your possession will further fuel the people's determination."

  But what if Seht found it first? Horus flicked at a piece of bread. "Petraylia, if now is an appropriate time, may I hear more about your friend?"

  "Mehlchehsia? Oh, yes. You must meet her, Great King. You'll like her. Wouldn't you say so, Maeta?"

  Maeta replied, "She will be able to offer you information, O King. More than that I couldn't say."

  "But you like her," Petraylia persisted.

  "Though that's of little importance concerning her abilities or her commitment to her duties, yes, I do," Maeta said and returned her attention to the priestess kneeling beside her.

  Petraylia said quietly to Horus, "Our high priestess is practical, as she must be. It's a quality that serves the people well. I am less so." She offered a quick smile. "Mehlchehsia has a beautiful energy, O King. And she's spoken of you many times. Of course, I didn't realize that till just a short while ago, and I don't yet understand all of what she disclosed to me. She's often, well, cryptic. But, as a seer, really, she must be."

  "Oh?" Horus lifted a handful of figs. "Mm?" he murmured genially and offered the platter. "Why must a seer be cryptic?"

  "A seer is taught to interpret visions with caution. Though I dare say, the training simply reinforces the realization a seer has on her or his own. Indeed, Mehlchehsia learned this lesson at a high cost.

  "She once shared with me a painful story from her past. Years ago, she had a vision of her younger sister, Mymay, being attacked by a crocodile and, as a result, made the decision to keep Mymay from that spot until she was older. Later that year, her elder sister, Paytah, was killed—in that exact spot by a crocodile."

  Horus' lips parted. Had Mehlchehsia misunderstood and saved the wrong sister? His heart ached for her.

  Petraylia repositioned her legs. "Mehlchehsia couldn't understand this tragedy. She'd had visions in which she'd seen Paytah in old age, with three grown children and fourteen grandchildren around her.

  "So, how could Paytah have died? Had it been fate one sister would meet her death in that marsh on that day? Had Mehlchehsia, through her attempt to save Mymay, doomed Paytah? These were questions she struggled with for years. For a time, as a result of her anguish, she even tried to block her visions."

  "Yes," Horus murmured. Realizing he'd revealed something he hadn't intended, he sucked in his lips.

  Petraylia nodded. "Visions can be confusing, even frightening."

  Horus laced his fingers. "So, how did she find her way through it?"

  "One day, Isis met with her, consoling and explaining."

  Horus lowered his gaze. He wished he could have known his mother then, as she was with the priestesses and healers.

  Petraylia continued, "After that meeting, Mehlchehsia understood in her vision she hadn't actually seen Mymay die. She saw the attack and then, returning to herself, vision ended, she made the assumption. What she didn't consider, in her worry and dread, was that perhaps in the vision Mymay was fighting to save Paytah, and perhaps if Mehlchehsia hadn't intervened both would have lived."

  What a terrible thought to carry. But without seeing the end of the awful scene, Mehlchehsia couldn't know what might have been. Perhaps if she hadn't acted both Paytah and Mymay would have been killed.

  Horus shook his head. "Is this why seers, having witnessed their own deaths, allow themselves to be killed? They're afraid if they try to create a change someone else might die?"

  "Perhaps. Or perhaps by taking action they placed themselves in the circumstances leading to their deaths. Visions' meanings are shaded with grey. Often they're of only a single moment. Sometimes they're presented only through symbol, sometimes, even, only through feeling."

  Horus rubbed his brow. "What you're saying is either way, they saw their deaths, and they died. What happens in a vision will come to be. But what then of Paytah, the elder sister who in Mehlchehsia's vision had children and grandchildren?"

  "Yes, I asked Mehlchehsia this. She said Isis told her this is the seer's burden, to know and not know, to recognize one's inner limitations and how these might affect understanding, to be mindful always that an attempt to change what's been seen can cause ripples through time, just as a stone cast onto a pond."

  A slight shift in her tone caught Horus' attention. No, surely Mehlchehsia hadn't seen him on the island and shared with her friend that moment with Teo skipping stones across the lake. He returned his thoughts to his larger questions. Isis had been speaking to a human. Would she have said these words to him, a god? What were his limitations?

  As if he'd spoken aloud, Petraylia responded, "Training can increase a seer's ability to go deeper into the unknown, perhaps discovering more clues, but any attempt to cut a path through time rather than ride it has dire consequences. And," she added, fixing him in her soft gaze, "if the one making the attempt is powerful enough, the consequence could create a tear in the fabric of time."

  Horus' brows lifted. He smoothed them. How was it possible for a human...no, she was, carefully, respectfully, communicating a warning intended for him specifically.

  Did Mehlchehsia, like Isis, know and convey to Petraylia his vision of Teo's death and his pledge to change Teo's and Nalia's fates? No, it had to be coincidence. He cleared his throat. "But surely there's a way around this, the ripples, the tearing. What if the feeling is right, and the alteration is according to someone's true fate?"

  "Without intervention, someone's destiny will be altered? Yes, Mehlchehsia said your mother spoke of this."

  "And her answer?"

  "A seer's path, difficult to traverse, requires great self-awareness, self-control, and self-sacrifice It requires vigilance in thought and action. The seer must subdue any wish for self-aggrandizement with humility and any wish for self-profit with mindful service to others."

  "Good advice for anyone. But
not particularly helpful."

  A gentle snort caught the middle of Petraylia's quiet laugh. "That's just what I said to Mehlchehsia."

  Surprised, Horus grinned. Wrists draped over his knees, he asked, "But what if the motive is to help, like it was with Mehlchehsia? How could someone not act?"

  "It's difficult to make that judgement."

  "And isn't the decision whether to tell the person, if the vision involved someone else, making a judgement about whether that person will know what to do with the knowledge? So, any way you go, interpretations and judgements are made, it seems to me."

  Petraylia chuckled. "And, it seems to me, these good questions have no solid answers."

  "Great." Realizing he'd said it aloud, Horus looked up. "Sorry. I just mean, well, how is someone supposed to figure out what to do?"

  "Another good question, O King, far beyond my realm of knowledge."

  "Then, certainly, far beyond mine."

  "I dare say you'll discover answers unknown to others."

  "Let's hope you're right." Horus gazed a moment at Nalia and Teo. "Out of curiosity, what comprises a seer's training?"

  Petraylia tilted her head. "Oh, I understand. Daughter of Isis. But, no, O King, I'm not a seer. No, the seers have another Order, one whose name I don't know. Though I have visions, I chose the path of a healer. Mehlchehsia, who also as a child both had visions and showed potential as a healer, chose the path of a seer."

  "Ah. But isn't it possible to be both?"

  "That, O King, is also a question best left for you to answer." Petraylia lifted her cup and smiled. "I find it interesting, and Maeta may, as well, the stone the seers carry. Mehlchehsia says its yours."

  Maeta caught Petraylia's gaze and shook her head. "The next portion of the entertainment is about to begin, O King," she redirected, motioning toward her tent.

  "Yes, but first a quick ques—"

  "Is now the best time?" Maeta interrupted.

  Clearly, she thought it wasn't. Horus angled his jaw.

  "More wine, O King?" Nahtaeya asked and held forward Horus' goblet.

  Unsure whether this was intended to be a diversion or assuagement but not presently caring, Horus accepted. Perhaps Maeta was right. Feeling the weight of the people's attention, the entertainment had afforded a welcome if brief distraction. And he'd found intriguing the various layers of the warriors' ways their demonstration had revealed.

  Horus gazed at his goblet. "Well, Petraylia, if Mehlchehsia is anything like you, I very much look forward to meeting her. Tatuuf, Maeta, friends, thank you for this feast, this symbol of unity." Those around him lifting their cups, he took a sip.

  Wondering how much the priestesses would allow of their ways, subtle and complex, to be discerned through their performance, he directed his attention to the women gathered beside Maeta's tent.

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