He remembers when they first met. He was just a young acolyte of Horus back then. He heard someone by the entrance to the temple. He turned and his jaw dropped.
As an acolyte, he had mostly stayed away from women during his adolescence. So it’s no surprise he just about fainted away at the sight of Nephthys. She stood in the sun, her smooth skin seeming to glow and her black hair shimmering. He thought this must be one of the goddesses come to visit him.
She carried a basket in her arms. He hurried forward to take it from her. “Are you one of the priests?” she asked in a musical voice.
He was tempted to answer yes so he could be the one to help her. The penalty for that was a lashing that would leave his back bloody and sore for days. The pain would be worth it so he could remain close to her.
“I’m the priest,” the actual priest said. “What brings you here, young one?”
“I’ve come to ask for Horus’ blessing for my father. He’s very ill.”
“Yes, of course. This way.” The priest took the basket from Merlin and guided Nephthys away.
But she hesitated for a moment. She nodded to Merlin. “Thank you for your assistance, acolyte.”
“It was no trouble, my lady.”
It was more or less love at first sight. Nephthys’ father died from a fever, but she still found excuses to come to the temple. Eventually, she and Merlin started to rendezvous away from prying eyes. They found a little oasis in the desert where they could be alone. There, on the grass, next to a pool of water, they made love for the first time.
Fate was cruel to them. On the day they were going to elope to Thebes, Nephthys disappeared. My master waited in the marketplace for her for hours, but she never showed up. He returned to the temple, certain she had rejected him.
He feels her soft touch as she takes his hand. Her silky hair brushes against his cheek. “You can bring me back,” she whispers. “I know you can. With the strength of you and my mother, you can’t fail. Then we can be together again.”
Her lips press against his. They feel real enough, like those he had kissed back in the oasis. Then he opens his eyes and looks into hers. But something is wrong; her eyes are black, like those of her mother.
He holds up a hand. The shape of Nephthys is hurled away. When it hits the ground, it shatters into black dust. Isis laughs. “You are still weak. Far too weak to face me.”
“Vile temptress! I will put an end to your evil once and for all.”
And so the battle begins.
Chapter 21: The Duel
From afar, a war of magic looks like a thunderstorm. At least that’s what the nearest people to the Hunting Grounds think. Except instead of only white flashes, those of green, blue, purple, and other colors light up the sky. There are booms like thunder while other times loud screeches like someone screaming.
The reason my master insisted on facing Isis in the Hunting Grounds was because a war of magic is also terribly destructive. Not so much to those with the magic; it’s the landscape and those who happen to be nearby who suffer the most. Stray bolts of energy evaporate whole stands of trees in an instant. A pool of water turns to ash in a heartbeat.
Anyone stupid enough to be close to ground zero wouldn’t see Merlin or Isis. At best they would see two vague shapes glowing with light. The figure made of white light would be Merlin while the dark smear with red eyes would be Isis.
Bolts of energy erupt from the two figures. They absorb these before generating new ones. When a bolt misses, the ground shakes and a good chunk of it disappears. On it goes for hours and then days.
Merlin is losing. While for now he’s managed to hold his own against Isis’ power, he knows he can’t last much longer. She might have usurped her god powers, but they are still the powers of a god. His own are more limited.
When another bolt strikes him, he feels the pain. His glow fades a bit. A few more hits like that and he’ll be dead. Isis senses her advantage and presses the attack. It’s as if Merlin is at the center of an electrical storm from all the bolts of lightning raining down on him.
He does the smartest thing: he flees. He zips away at supersonic speed, into a mountain. He merges his molecules with those of a vein of crystal while he gathers his strength. Isis will probably find him in a few minutes, but at least it will give him some time.
Back in the village, I’m sleeping next to Beaux when I see my master. He looks sadder than I’ve ever seen him. “I’ve failed you,” he says.
“That’s impossible,” I say. “You can’t fail.”
“Her power is too great, even for my own.”
“Bollocks,” I say. I put a hand on his shoulder. Though it’s a dream, it feels real enough. “You’ve always told me the real power doesn’t come from Anubis or any of them blokes. It comes from the heart. There’s no one I know with a stronger, purer heart than you. Look at all you’ve done here for me, Artr, and the whole village. If not for you that brute Elgar would have taken over. But now we have Artr. That boy is really going to be something, you wait and see.”
Merlin nods to me. “You speak wisely, my friend.” He pats my shoulder. “If I don’t see you again, know that you’ve been a great apprentice and an even better friend.”
“Thank you, my master.”
“Farewell.”
Then he’s gone. I wake up, but all I see is the hut Beaux and I share. She groans and then sits up. “What was that?”
“Nothing,” I say and then go back to sleep, unsure if I’ll ever see him again.
***
Spurred by my words, Merlin leaves the mountain. He finds Isis waiting for him outside. She probably knew he was there; she just wanted to give him more time to suffer. “Are you ready to finish this?” she rumbles.
He doesn’t give her the satisfaction of a reply. Instead, he zips right into her. I know a certain young scientist who could explain the chemical reaction of positive and negative charges. All I know is when Merlin merges with Isis, it generates an explosion greater than anything the planet has seen since that big asteroid wiped out the dinosaurs.
Merlin had chosen the Hunting Grounds because of its distance away from any population centers. That didn’t prove to be enough distance. The explosion of white light eradicates first the Hunting Grounds and then spreads across much of northern Africa. Thousands of people, their homes, possessions, and livestock disintegrate in moments. There’s no trace left of them.
All that remains are miles and miles of sand. Later on someone would decide to call it the Sahara. A desert. That’s all that’s left of Merlin and Isis’ war. In time, even the legends of it would fade away, except for me.
And yet in all that desert, a man gets to his feet. Much of his skin is red and steaming, as if he’s just survived the electric chair. He staggers around to see what he’s done. Then he screams.
Hundreds of miles away, there’s another figure in the sand. This one is of a beautiful woman. She appears to be carved entirely out of glossy black stone, but the level of detail surpasses anything possible in that time.
She lies there in the sand, in that shell, and waits for her time to come again.
Chapter 22: The Order Begins
Even someone as powerful as Merlin can’t recover from an epic battle like that in a day. After waiting months for his return, I finally concede to myself that my master has died. He had given his life to stop Isis.
On the first anniversary of his death, I’m sitting out in the hut Merlin and I shared for a short time. It seems appropriate. Beaux offered to come with me, as did Artr, but I refused. This is a day I should remember on my own.
As I roast a squirrel over the fire, there’s a flash of white light. “Master?”
“I’m afraid not,” a girl’s voice says. It’s the same girl who visited us before, Anybl. She invites herself to sit by the fire.
“To what do I owe this honor?” I ask.
“I wanted you to know, we’ve searched everywhere for him. There’s no sign of Merlin.
”
I nod to the girl. “Thank you.”
She clears her throat and then adds, “There’s no sign of Isis either. Or the Demon. He did it. He killed her.”
A shiver runs through me, though it’s not cold by the fire. “No, I don’t think he killed her,” I say. “Maybe I’m just paranoid in my old age, but I don’t think we’ve seen the last of her. She is a god, after all.”
“Then what are we to do?”
“What he would want us to do. We remain vigilant. We snuff out the darkness wherever we find it. We spread the light.”
She nods. “I’ll tell my sisters. What of the boy?”
“I’ll keep an eye on him.” I motion to the squirrel on its spit. “Now that we’ve settled that, would you care for a bite?”
“No, thank you.”
But before she vanishes, she turns the squirrel into a plump chicken, just as he did the first time he visited me. Show-off.
***
Nine more years go by. Under my tutelage, Artr is a good and decent chieftain. The boy even takes a wife named Gwniver. She’s not the brightest girl in the village, but she makes a rabbit stew to die for.
At this point you might wonder if she is faithful to him. From what Beaux tells me, she is. They are fairly close; they go out into the forest to hunt rabbits together, leaving Artr and I to train for the Demon’s return, or any other dark threats to the village.
Beaux and Gwniver are out hunting rabbits one day when an old man walks into the village. I’m the first to see him as Artr and I work on his spearcraft on the tournament grounds. The man limps towards us, leaning on a gnarled stick.
“Ho there, friends,” the old man says. “May a weary traveler partake of your hospitality?”
“Of course. I am Artr, chief of this village. You are welcome to stay the night with me and my wife.”
“That’s very generous of you, my lord. Thank you.”
Artr shows the man into the village. He doesn’t suspect anything. Neither do I until the old man turns to me and winks. Then I know my master has returned at last.
It’s tempting to run over and embrace him. I manage to restrain myself. If the master wants Artr and the rest of the village to know he is here, he would have said so.
I keep his secret the rest of the day. To the other villagers he’s just an old man who’s wandered into our village. Most don’t pay attention to him. Artr is courteous, as he is to anyone who shows up in the village in need of lodging and a meal.
After a dinner of rabbit stew, the old man gets up. “Thank you for such a wonderful meal, my lady,” he says. “If you will forgive this old man for leaving so abruptly, I have business to attend to.”
He hobbles off, presumably to piss. I wait a few minutes before I excuse myself as well. I find Merlin out on the tournament grounds. He’s no longer wearing the old man disguise; he looks just as he did the first time we met.
This time I do embrace him. “You’re back! I had feared—”
“I did not die, but I’m afraid I can’t stay here long.”
“Why not? You know the village would be honored to have you here, especially Artr and I.”
“I know you would, my friend, but I’m afraid the time has come for me to leave this world.”
“You came here to kill yourself? Master—”
“No, my friend. I am not going to kill myself. But I must leave this world for another. It’s not safe here.” He explains to me about the battle with Isis and the destruction left in its wake.
“It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know—”
“Regardless, I have always sought the light. I have sought to protect people, not destroy them. Yet this power of mine makes me a danger to this world. That’s why I must go.”
“But what are we supposed to do without you?”
“As you’ve been doing. You, Artr, Anybl, and her sisters. You must continue to carry on in my stead.”
“What if we can’t? What if Isis returns?”
He closes his eyes. “There will be a final reckoning to come. On that day, when the darkness is too strong for any others, then I will return. In the meantime, I will leave this place and slumber until needed.”
“No, you can’t. You can’t abandon us!”
“I’m sorry, my friend. I wish things could be different, but the danger is too great.” He pats my shoulder. “Fear not. You’ll see me again. When it’s your time to leave this place, we’ll meet again.”
With that, he disappears. I do see him again, much sooner than I’d have liked. But that’s another story.
SISTERHOOD
By P.T. Dilloway
Copyright 2013 P.T. Dilloway
Part 1
Chapter 1
The first thing I can remember is the carriage stopping in front of the iron gates. Aggie sticks her head out the window to get a better look, letting out a low whistle. I crawl out of Mama’s lap to press up beside Aggie so I too can see.
The rows of green fields draw my attention first. I’ve never seen a vineyard before and at first I think the grape vines are a strange kind of tree. “Is that where we’re living?” I ask.
“No, idiot, we’re living in the house,” Aggie says. She tilts my head to the left so I can see the manor house that looks impossibly big, as if it’s a home for giants.
“We’re living there?”
Mama takes hold of me, grabbing me around the waist. She pulls me back into the carriage, smoothing hair back from my forehead. “That’s right, dear. That’s our house.”
“But it’s so big!”
“Yes, and that means you can each have your own bedroom. No more sharing.” Aggie is more excited about this than I am because as the oldest she doesn’t want to share a room with her baby sisters anymore.
Sophie looks up from her book at Mama and I. “Does this house have a library?”
“Yes, dear. With more than enough books for you.”
“We’ll see,” Sophie says and then turns back to her book.
I hear a creaking sound and then the coach starts forward again. Mama snaps at Aggie to sit down. “A proper lady does not stick her head outside the carriage like a dog.”
“Yes, Mother,” Aggie says and sags onto the seat beside Sophie. She crosses her arms over her chest to sulk. But this lasts only until the carriage stops in front of the house and a boy only a few years older than me opens the door.
Aggie is the first one out of the carriage, taking the boy’s hand to help her step down to the ground. She suppresses a squeal by putting her hands to her mouth. Sophie tucks her book under her arm and then follows Aggie, gingerly stepping down. Her cool blue eyes show no reaction to the house, her lips remaining in a tight line. Although she’s three years younger, Sophie is already more of a “proper lady” than Aggie.
Mama passes me through the open door to Aggie. I squirm in her grip, wanting to race into the giant’s house to see what sort of treasures are inside. Aggie keeps a tight hold of me, pinning me down despite my best efforts to wriggle free.
Once she’s safely down from the coach, Mama takes me again. Her grip is even tighter than Aggie’s, making sure that I can’t escape. Another servant, this one a woman older even than Mama, opens the doors at the top of the steps. Mama begins climbing the steps, one hand holding up her skirts and the other keeping me pressed to her body. Aggie and Sophie trail after her, Sophie having an easier time of mimicking Mama’s poise as she mounts the steps.
The inside of the house is even larger than I imagined. The ceiling seems so far away, like the sky. I know that I have no hope of ever being able to touch it. To my right are stairs that seem to go on to infinity. I wonder if I climb them if I’ll be able to climb up to Heaven.
Mama leads us into the living room with its fireplace so big that I could stand in it without having to hunch down at all. The furniture is already set up; Aggie throws herself onto a couch with an exaggerated sigh. “Agnes, that is not how a dignified lady sits,” Mama says.
“Yes, Mother,” Aggie says and then pushes herself up into a sitting position.
Sophie nearly loses her composure when Mama takes us into the library. As promised, the room is stocked with books from the floor to the ceiling. From the way Sophie’s body twitches it’s obvious that she wants to race over to the stacks and begin reading. She manages to control herself, nodding slightly. “It is like you said, Mother.”
Also as promised, we each have a bedroom upstairs. Mine is the second largest after Mother’s, which prompts Aggie to sulk again. “What does she need a big room for? She’s just a baby.”
“I am not,” I say. As proof of this, there’s a real bed in the room, not a crib.
Before letting me go, Mama looks me in the eye. “Now, Sylvia, no jumping on the bed.”
“Yes, Mama,” I say, promising to wait until Mama leaves the room to jump on the thick mattress. With this, Mama finally lets me go. She has to help me climb onto the bed, where I crawl up to the pillows, settling my head on them. I close my eyes and let out a sigh like Aggie did earlier.
I am home.
***
To commemorate our new home, Mama brings a local artist over a few days later. This necessitates all of us having to take a bath and to dress up in our finest clothes. Aggie has no problem with this, as she enjoys dressing up. Sophie, the dutiful one, puts up no objection.
I hate dressing up. Even more than that, I hate taking a bath. Mama has to drag me into the kitchen, my screams echoing throughout the house. She stuffs me into a large cauldron the servants have filled with lukewarm water as if I’m a rabbit she’s going to cook for dinner. I flail around in the water, continuing to scream. “I don’t need a bath! I’m not dirty!”
This is true in my mind. Mama hasn’t let me so much as step foot outside since we arrived, so there’s no way I could have gotten dirty. This logic does nothing to dissuade her. “You have to look nice for company, dear,” she says.
Tales of the Scarlet Knight Collection: The Call Page 87