Ra has summoned them. They come.
Every god in the Pantheon, from the mightiest to the least, travels to the Solar Barque. Ra has sent out a message that has lit up in their thoughts like fire in the sky — an invitation, framed in such a way that it does not brook refusal — and they come immediately, without quibble or demur. For Ra sends out such messages seldom, once in an eon, and great would be his disappointment with those who ignore them, and great would be their shame.
The gods throng the deck of the boat, chattering loudly, full of speculation. Neith moves among them. The goddess of war seems brasher and bosomier than usual, and her armour and arms gleam dazzlingly and clank deafeningly. She boasts to anyone who will listen that she can't remember when she last felt quite so invigorated.
''Feel that,'' she says, offering a flexed biceps. ''Go on. Give it a squeeze. Hard as rock. And the size of it. Put an ox to shame, a muscle like that would.''
When Neith is in such fine fettle, woe betide the world of men.
Osiris and Isis, hand in hand, quiz Thoth about the convocation. What is its purpose? Why has everyone been called here with such haste, such urgency? And where is Ra?
''All will be revealed shortly,'' says Ra's vizier. ''The Sun God awaits below. He will appear once everybody is present and has settled down.''
As he speaks, Set and Horus pass each other on deck, and there is a not-quite-accidental butting of shoulders. Straight away both of them assume an aggressive stance, like tomcats in an alley, and there is name-calling. Threats lace the air between them. All the gods in the immediate vicinity move to one side, anticipating a scuffle. It wouldn't be the first time.
Then Nephthys intervenes, pulling Set away from his nephew. She tries to pacify her husband, but her tone is snappish. It seems she has reached the limits of her patience where Set is concerned. ''Always picking a fight,'' she scolds. ''Always on the lookout for trouble. What is wrong with you? Didn't you promise Ra you would turn over a new leaf? Well, didn't you?''
Set glares at her, enraged. His eyes glitter, hot as coals. He looks as if he might hit her.
Then, all at once, he relents. Relaxes. Smiles.
''You're quite right, my dear,'' he says. ''I did tell Ra I would try to be a better person and kiss and make up with my enemies.'' He chucks her under the chin.
Nephthys is pleased and relieved.
Set turns to his nephew. ''Horus…''
Horus cocks his head, wary. ''Yes?''
''I apologise.''
''For?''
''For striking your shoulder with mine, for one thing. I was careless. I wasn't looking where I was going. I'm sorry, also, for everything I said to you just now. Most of all, though, I'm sorry for the discontent that has simmered between us since… since as long as I can remember. We have had our ups and downs, haven't we?''
In Horus's single eye there is a gleam of mistrust. His mouth twists. ''That's one way of putting it.''
''For instance, that time we lay in bed together and I ejaculated into your hand.''
Horus looks down and shuffles his feet. ''You don't have to mention that here, in front of all these people.''
''No, no,'' says Set, ''I do have to. I'm making a clean breast of things. It was wrong of me to do what I did. I invited you to join me in bed, and you did so in all innocence, and then while you slept I abused you. Abused your trust. I visited an indignity upon you in the hope of gaining advantage, so that afterwards I could boast, 'Look, I've spilled semen over Horus.' I wished to belittle you, but happily your mother managed to thwart my scheme.''
''Indeed,'' says Isis. By now all the other gods on the Solar Barque have broken off their own conversations and are avidly following the exchange between Set and Horus. ''I did what I had to, to spare my son from humiliation,'' she continues. ''I cut off and threw away his hand rather than leave it in place, defiled by your seed.''
Horus rubs his wrist, where a faint, bracelet-like scar may be seen. The hand he possesses now is a replacement, fashioned for him by Isis.
''You still boasted about your act of pollution,'' she says to Set, ''but without proof, no one would believe you.''
''I was outwitted,'' says Set. ''And it wasn't the only time. Remember when I challenged you to a race in boats made of stone?''
''Oh ho, yes!'' says Horus. ''I built mine out of cedar wood coated in gypsum, and won.''
''I was utterly taken in, nephew. Your boat looked like a thing of rock but floated beautifully, while mine, made from an actual mountain peak, sank like… well, what else would it sink like? I made a big fuss about it at the time, telling everyone how you cheated, but secretly I was impressed with your ingenuity. You beat me at my own game. Full marks to you, Horus.''
''But why are you raising these age-old affairs, Uncle?'' says Horus. ''What has brought on this strange mood of yours?''
''I'm simply trying to tell you that I have wronged you, Horus — as you have wronged me, although that is of lesser importance. I'm trying, in my very clumsy way, to make you understand that I want us to forget all the bad blood between us and be on good terms from now on. I know that our disputes have sometimes been ferocious, and no less often been foolish, but I'm hoping we can put them all behind us and start afresh. I want to be less of an antagonist to you, more of an uncle. Do you… do you think that might be possible? At all?''
Set bends his head. He looks up at Horus, hands clasped together. It's quite a sight, the muscular Lord of the Desert humbly imploring his nephew for a second chance. Horus himself seems unable to believe it wholeheartedly. His frown and the narrowness of his eye say he's waiting for a sudden reversal. Surely Set is attempting to get him to lower his guard, in order to deliver a sucker-punch out of nowhere.
But no sucker-punch comes.
''If you're sincere in this desire…'' Horus says slowly.
''Oh, I am. I am.''
''Then yes, I could probably see my way to forgetting what is past and beginning again.''
''Horus! Really?''
Horus nods.
''Come here!'' Set springs forward and enfolds his nephew in a massive, manly hug. Horus's arms come up and he pats his uncle's back, tentatively at first, then firmly. Set draws back, studies Horus for a moment, then leans in and plants a kiss on his lips. Horus is startled, but after a moment his eye closes and the kiss is returned. Deeply. Lasciviously. Nephthys looks on, perplexed, while amongst the gathered deities there are wolf-whistles and a few cheers, and somebody advises Set and Horus to get a room. The source of this suggestion is, in fact, one of Horus's own children, all of whom are highly amused to see their father locked in an embrace with another male god.
Eventually the kissing couple break apart. Horus is abashed, his cheeks pink, while Set wears an air of triumphant satisfaction. He turns to his wife, and there is a glee in his voice as he says, ''There. See? I've kissed and made up with Horus. Just what you wanted, isn't it?''
''Well, yes, maybe,'' says Nephthys. ''If not quite… that.''
''But my dear, is it so wrong to admit passion for another? Even if that other isn't one's own spouse?''
''Too late. You cannot shame me, husband,'' Nephthys retorts. Her expression is smug. ''I have already begun making the rounds with a confession of my misdeed. Just a short while ago, in fact, I prostrated myself before Isis and her husband in their palace and told them everything.''
''Did you now?'' says Set, glancing toward their brother and sister. ''And how did they take it?''
Isis, still holding Osiris's hand, reaches over and rests her other hand on the back of Nephthys's neck. ''How would you expect us to take it, Set?'' she says. ''How, other than with understanding and forgiveness.''
Nephthys gazes into her sister's eyes with gratitude.
''Nephthys made an error of judgement,'' Isis goes on. ''Deep down I always knew she had slept with Osiris, but I chose not to make a fuss about it. 'Least said, soonest mended,' as the saying goes. She acted out of lust, not malice. Her intenti
on was never to hurt me or my husband. If she is guilty of anything, it's thoughtlessness, and that is a sin I can easily pardon.''
''And you, Osiris?'' Set says to his brother. ''How do you feel about all this?''
''Blameless,'' comes the reply. ''Nephthys masqueraded as Isis. I was none the wiser.''
Set raises one coppery eyebrow. ''Honestly?''
''Honestly,'' says Osiris, with finality.
''Ha!'' booms a deep, ebony voice from a corner of the Solar Barque. It is Anubis, who has been standing at one remove all this time, aloof from the rest of the Pantheon, as is his wont. ''And I suppose, Osiris, if you deny you knew who seduced you, you would deny also that you are my father?''
Osiris regards the Jackal-Headed One evenly. ''I would not deny that,'' he says, a slow and careful choice of words. ''I would deny only that I have been a father to you. And it is an oversight for which I would like to make amends. All this time, we have been distant from one another, you and I, Anubis, each of us suspecting, or knowing, the truth of our kinship and yet unable, or unwilling, to act upon it. It has pained me to be apart from one with whom I should be so close. I have discussed the matter with Isis, and she is of a like mind with me. If you are amenable to the idea, henceforth I would like to be able to call you… son.''
There is a collective exhalation from the audience of deities, both a gasp and a sigh. None of them, however, could look more surprised or moved than Anubis. His sombre features seem to quiver. For a moment it appears that his habitual mask of impassiveness might slip. He might even shed a tear. Soon enough, though, he has reasserted control over himself. He inclines his head towards Osiris and says, ''I shall consider your request, He Who Is Called The Eternally Good Being. What you are suggesting does not strike me as an entirely undesirable proposition.''
It is at this point — with peace having settled among the principal members of the Pantheon like a deep fall of snow, or so it would seem — that Ra at last makes an appearance. Despite not having been physically present on deck, he is nonetheless aware of all that has just occurred, having been eavesdropping through the boards from his berth below.
''My family, my kin, my fellow gods,'' he says, with warmth. ''Here you all are. How good of you to come. And what a remarkable turn of events we have just witnessed. Set and Horus reconciled. Nephthys publicly declaring her transgression. Osiris acknowledging Anubis as his son. Truly it gladdens my heart.''
His face darkens, just a little.
''If only,'' he says, ''there were not a cloud on the horizon to mar my happiness.''
''You speak of the Lightbringer,'' says Osiris.
''Indeed so,'' says Ra. ''You are all by now aware of this upstart mortal and how he wishes to turn the entire world against us. And in case you haven't seen what he has done to us already… Wepwawet?''
Anubis's son drags himself over to Ra's side. He is all skin and bones, this godling. He creaks as he walks. Particles of skin flake from him like dust.
''Sobek?''
The crocodile god limps across the deck to join the parade of unfortunates. His scales are missing in patches, as though he has been afflicted by some kind of reptilian mange. His yellow eyes are dull, like pus.
''Of all those who have suffered at the Lightbringer's hands,'' says Ra, ''these two have suffered the worst. The Lightbringer has picked on the least among us, the weakest, doing them harm even though they have done him none. Shameful coward!''
A ripple of assent passes through the crowd of gods.
''But my lord Ra,'' says Nephthys, ''while I share your outrage, you must know that even now my worshippers are engaging in battle with the Lightbringer and his followers.''
''And my worshippers are rushing to join in the fray,'' adds Set. ''Victory is assured. It won't be long before this man and his revolution have been snuffed out.''
''I know this, and it is good,'' says Ra.
Horus steps forward. ''Though I doubt they need my help, I would be willing to back up my uncle and aunt in eradicating him,'' he volunteers. ''It wouldn't be difficult for me to persuade my bloc to throw its weight behind theirs.''
Set grabs him and gives him a hug, rubbing his hair much as an uncle would, then nuzzling his ear, much as an uncle wouldn't.
''And if Horus takes part, we could as well,'' says Osiris, with a nod at Isis. ''Imagine: the whole world turning on the Lightbringer as one. What a message that would send. Never again would any mortal dare attempt what he has.''
''I am prepared to get involved too,'' says Anubis. ''A handful of turncoats from among my worshippers lent the Lightbringer assistance, and I'd like to make up for that in some way.''
Ra studies them. ''It is most gratifying,'' he says, ''to see you all in agreement. I could not ask for more. You have rallied together in a way that not so long ago I would have thought impossible. This is truly a remarkable thing.''
He hesitates.
''Which makes it all the more distressing for me to say what I have to next.''
He heaves a sigh.
''Yes, O Ra?'' prompts Isis.
A sadness dims Ra's sun eye and deepens the glow of his moon eye.
''One of you here is a traitor,'' he says. ''One of you here is in league with the Lightbringer.''
There is a massed intake of breath, followed by an outbreak of hubbub and consternation. God jabbers to god. Voices rise in protest and dismay. Someone exclaims, ''No!'' Someone else exclaims, ''Why?'' The uproar aboard the Solar Barque rises to such levels that the boat starts to rock in the water, and it's all Maat can do to hold the tiller steady and maintain a straight course.
Ra appeals for calm, and little by little is granted it.
''I do not make this accusation wildly,'' he says. ''I have pondered the matter long and hard, and discussed it with the two sagest individuals I know, namely Thoth and Maat. Regrettably, I have been able to come to no other conclusion. The evidence is clear — or rather, unclear. By which I mean it is the very absence of clarity surrounding the Lightbringer which has led me to deduce that he is acting with divine help.''
''But it's absurd!'' exclaims Set. ''What you're saying contradicts everything we understand about this person. The Lightbringer hates the Pantheon and wishes to overthrow us. Why would he then be in league with one of us? It makes no sense.''
''True,'' says Ra, ''but how else to account for the fact that I cannot see him properly? I cannot look at his face, or into his heart and mind. I, whose light penetrates everywhere, gaze and gaze at the Lightbringer and see only shadows, dark and unfathomable. No mortal has the ability to hide himself from me like that. Only one kind of power could produce such a phenomenon — divine power.''
''With all due respect, Ra, my uncle is right,'' says Horus. ''It makes no sense. There must be some other explanation.''
''I wish there were.''
''What if it is divine power that's shielding him,'' says Isis, ''but none of ours? What if some other god, from another pantheon, is responsible?''
The First Family take immediate umbrage.
''Nonsense!'' howls Shu, like a gale.
''Impossible!'' rumbles Tefnut, like thunder.
''No other gods survive,'' says Nut.
''Killed them all, we did,'' says Geb. ''Anyone who says we didn't is a liar and an idiot.''
Osiris bristles. ''Mind your tongue, Geb. That's my wife you're talking about.''
''I was merely advancing a theory,'' says Isis.
''Well, don't!'' the four members of the First Family snap in unison. ''Our rivals are dead. All of them. Extinct. Gone. We did our job thoroughly, exterminating them one by one, till the very last of them finished squirming in our grasp and lay still.''
''So there,'' adds Geb.
''Please, simmer down,'' says Ra, patting the air. ''First Family, nobody is querying your rigour or denigrating your achievement. The question Isis raised is one that I myself felt obliged to entertain as a possibility. Perhaps, just perhaps, a god did manage to escape your att
ention and survive. However, I was forced to conclude that such a thing could not be. We would have known if there was even just one other god left. Somewhere, in some far distant outpost of the world, there'd have been worship — a temple, an altar, some earthly means by which that deity's existence was sustained. I, the all-seer, would have seen it, and I have not. Believe me, I wish it were otherwise. I wish some other god from some other pantheon were the culprit here. But the awful, inescapable truth is that it must be one of us. Standing here among us, at this very moment, is someone who has imbued the Lightbringer with his or her essence, in such a way as to occlude him from scrutiny. Someone here has enabled the Lightbringer to get as far as he has with his crusade against the Pantheon. And nobody is leaving this barge until I've found out who it is.''
29. Delirious
David. Alone. Panting. Drenched in blood.
He didn't know how much time had passed. The field around him was crimson. Trampled wheat stems, dripping gore. Bodies sprawled everywhere.
David stood, trembling with exhaustion, the flail drooping from his left hand, the crook in his right almost too heavy to hold up.
The blood on him — how much of it was his own? He knew he had received wounds. How many? How bad? He couldn't bring himself to look. He couldn't bear to move his head, or dare to. Simply remaining upright was as much as he could manage.
The dead were heaped two high, three high on all sides. Nephthysians mainly, many of them still clutching their short swords. Gobbets of flesh littered the earth, scraps of entrail. A shambles. Blood had made black mud of the soil.
David fought to stay conscious. There were more Nephs out there, circling beyond the perimeter of the killing ground, wary, watchful. Would they keep their distance? Or would they pluck up the courage to step past the piles of corpses and come at him? He was the only one left. The others, the Freegyptians, were all gone. Saeed, Salim, both dead. The rest of the group likewise. If the Nephthysians decided to move in on him, that would be that. He didn't have the strength left to fight them. He couldn't kill any more of them. They would bring him down. Perhaps, right now, one of them was unshouldering his ba lance, in frank disregard for battlefield etiquette. Taking aim. Finger tightening on trigger. A single shot to the head, to end it all.
The Age of Ra aog-1 Page 23
