The Ways of Eternity

by D.A. Dean

Chapter 34: Promise of the Double Truth

  "Flame," Horus called, and the column of fire returned. "I have to clear all the energy but mine from this sword. How do I do that?" He shook his head. He had to find the answer himself. He gripped the weapon. "Flame, can you both circle me to contain what might be released from this sword and move through me to burn away its corruption?"

  "Master, I serve you."

  "Then that's my wish."

  A portion of Flame contracted and swept into him. The remainder expanded, encircling the inner perimeter of the temple.

  Horus felt no change, either within himself or the sword. Perhaps he had to draw the negativity into himself first. He concentrated, again searching within the sword.

  Seht. Netum. Kafar. He imagined the energy they'd placed transferring into his body. Burning pain shot into his hands, up his arms, across his shoulders, up into his head, down into his torso and legs.

  Horus fell back, gritting his teeth. "Flame, b-burn, oh." He felt on fire, sickness building inside him. This was far worse than when he'd transferred the snake venom from Nalia into his body. Worse, almost, than the pain he'd felt, every bone broken, in the marsh, an agony he'd hoped never to experience again. Would the pain, so sharp so quickly, continue to escalate?

  Back arching, he screamed.

  Teo and Nalia threw open the temple door, but Flame blocked their entrance. They withdrew.

  Within the fire ring, the embers began to fail. The air grew heavy and cold, chilling the sweat covering Horus' body, each droplet biting his stinging skin. The lingering woody-musk of incense was replaced with acrid dankness. Darkness closed around him. "Flame, burn it away!" The sensation of heat tearing through him intensified.

  "Please, Flame, help me!" What if Flame was trying to aid him but couldn't? Did its powers have a limit? Could Seht, as Maeta said, have anticipated and planned for Horus' attempt to clear the sword?

  Images from the contest Seht had ordered, the victor to be awarded the sword he'd made, crept into Horus' mind. Men locked in combat, fighting with fists, rocks, axes, spears, stone knives. So much pain, so much blood. Flesh torn, bones snapped, death. And Seht had been...disappointed? No, something else.

  Horus wrenched onto his side. He had to make the images stop, had to counter Seht's venom.

  Again, the images flashed. Horus' mind reeled. Seht hadn't been disappointed. He'd been bored.

  In the face of such horror? How was it possible? Disbelief then rage tangled Horus' insides.

  From across the contest field, he saw Kafar kill an opponent, felt Seht's throb of pleasure.

  Horus' stomach rolled. "Monster," he cried. Desperately, he fought to pry his fingers from the hilt. They were locked.

  He saw Netum, kneeling over a body, peeling back its flesh, felt Netum's gruesome joy. And Seht had relished the pain of those around him, had thought artistic Netum's defilement of the dead.

  "Monster! Monster!" Horus' fury flared. "When we meet, Seht, and we will, you yourself will know the pain you've enjoyed inflicting." He clutched tighter the hilt. Now he knew the intent he'd place in the sword. He'd bring to Seht a brutal death.

  Horus' pain leveled and began to diminish. Was he at last overcoming the energy placed within the sword? Yes, his fury was making him stronger. Like Teo said, he was channeling—no. He wasn't altering the sword. His raging desire to inflict suffering matched the vicious energy with which Seht had imbued the sword. Seht was winning.

  "Flame! I need help!" The sensation of burning returned, excruciating. Horus writhed, breaking the reeds of the mat he'd fallen upon. He had to find a way to push aside what he'd seen, block Seht's feelings, Netum's feelings, snaking into him, give Flame time.

  Light. The stars.

  Could he channel their brilliance? Tiny sparks danced around him. They collapsed in on themselves.

  Horus' ribs, wracked by his muscles' contractions, began to snap. His jaw cracked. His throat ached for water. But his fingertips had begun to cool. Maybe the stars had assisted him. Could he call them back? Even if they returned, could they build and sustain the energy required?

  Perhaps if he slipped into unconsciousness, when he woke this unbearable pain would be gone.

  His memories from the village, the men, women, and children tortured to death marched forward inside him. He opened his eyes wide. He'd endure what he must.

  But for how much longer could he survive? His heart, thudding hard in his ears, was beating dangerously fast. Each shallow breath increased his agony. Blood trickled from his ears, clouded his tears.

  Sun. Moon. Mehlchehsia said he was both.

  He had to discover what that meant, find the way to harness that power.

  The ground was spinning. Or was it the temple? He felt himself being drawn back through time, across space.

  Was he dying?

  Sun and moon. Horus imagined their coming into existence reversing and saw them collide in a great explosion of light.

  His pain lessened. Flame, yes, he could feel it spinning within him. His body began dimly to glow.

  He recreated the explosion, sun and moon merging. His body's glow grew brighter. Was he shining? Or was he losing his mind?

  A third time, now visualizing the two forces within him, he drew them together, gasping as they crashed and burst, radiant light shooting through him, shaking Flame and shattering the vicious energy he'd taken in from the sword.

  Flame reformed, spinning, darting within him, catching shards of malevolence and crushing them, implosions cascading through him.

  From outside himself, he gazed down. His skin was paling, his breathing growing shallow.

  He visualized sun and moon separating, reforming, whole and vital.

  Light flashed from his hand into the sword then faded.

  He lowered into his body, clammy skin and quivering muscle again wrapping him, aching bone bracing him. He drew a long, shuddering breath and sat.

  "Flame? Is it finished? Is the sword—" he stopped, nausea grinding through him. Mind blessedly void, he stumbled to his offertory table. Water. He drank, draining three of the four pitchers. Bread. He ate, leaving only crumbs over two of the six platters.

  From outside the temple's rear came faint chanting.

  Horus spun toward the sounds. The world swirled into blackness, and he collapsed.

  When he opened his eyes, he was stretched out on his side upon his mat, the sword in his hand.

  He jerked upright. Nothing inside the temple had changed. But for Flame, unaltered, he was alone. How had he gotten from beside the table to here? He stared at the sword, its metal, grey moments before, now glimmering golden.

  His heart leapt. Had he while unconscious accomplished the impossible, transmuting Seht's and Netum's poisonous intentions and transforming the sword? Was his ordeal over? Was the next phase of his journey about to begin?

  Quietly, Horus asked, "Flame? Are all traces of those who touched this sword before it came to me now gone?"

  "Master of the Sword of Fire, you are, Child of Light."

  Sword of Fire? Master? Horus flopped back, spread his arms wide, and laughed, tears trailing across his cheeks. There was more to be done, but for these few moments, he would savor this victory.

  Flame danced around him, as if in celebration. "Child of Light, you are Becoming."

  "No idea what that means. But I like the sound of it." Horus lifted onto his elbows and gazed at the sword, now open to being claimed.

  Stretching, he ran his finger along the sword's blade. He sensed only his own energy.

  But he hadn't yet channeled his energy into it. Or had the process begun without his realizing? He drew the sword closer. "Flame, how can this be?"

  "My Master, Wonder of Light, ever present Spark in All. Spark of Light in sword yearned for Pure. Light restored."

  "Hm," Horus murmured, not sure he understood. In any case, this wa
s a confirmation. He nodded. "Good. Now, I need to solidify the sword's bond with me. Suggestions?"

  Flame ceased its twirling.

  "Is that 'no'? Or does that mean you're prepared for the next step?"

  "I, Happy to Serve, am yours."

  Horus smiled. "And I am grateful. So, now, what do I want to do with this sword, and what do I want it to represent?" he mused. "Maybe a bath would help me think. And it would certainly feel wonderful right now. A moment, please, Flame."

  He moved to the large tub the priestesses had placed and filled while awaiting his return from the village. After quickly removing his sandals but not his kilt, he sank, knees crooked, into the cool water. His muscles' tension released.

  Mehlchehsia's pouches. The stones and metals within them were meant to aid him.

  Yes, of course. He rose, toweled off, gathered the pouches, and returned to his spot near the fire ring.

  From the smaller pouch, he removed and laid its three stones along his mat's tattered edge. "Moonstone. My mother's stone. Emotional balance. Intuition. And it looks a bit like—oh." He chuckled. "Of course. And carnelian, which looks like the sun at dawn. My father's stone. Courage and wisdom."

  Horus gazed at the gold-streaked azure stone. "Lapis lazuli. The stone Petraylia said the seers deemed mine. The stone of the waterfall's recess, transformed by the Watcher." What had Ka-Shen said? My offering. But Horus had neither required nor requested a gift. Had the Watcher's offering been given as an act of love? Yes, something about that rang true. So, that was one meaning for the stone. Love.

  Playing the blue and gold cabachon through his fingers, he considered. He told Flame, "It looks a bit like the sky. When I fly I can see much farther than when I walk. And if its associated with seers, it must have something to do with vision." He closed his hand around the stone, searching its energy, feeling his own. "So, lapis. Sky. My stone. Vision, love expressed through service."

  He opened the pouch of metals. "Silver, gold, copper." The swirl of colors reminded him of Flame. "Ah."

  He poured the metals from their pouch and waved his hand over the grains and nuggets. The mix separated into three mounds. "Gold," he said and scooped a small handful. He cupped his sword's rounded pommel, waiting while Flame's fire moved through him into the metal, melding, and then cooled.

  Atop the gold-covered pommel, he placed the cabachon of lapis lazuli. "Let me be guided by love, vision, and dedication to assisting others."

  Satisfied the lapis was secure, he placed the moonstone against the center back of the guard. "In honor of my mother and Nalia. Let me find emotional balance and through it compassion and intuition."

  Against the center front of the guard, he laid the carnelian. "In honor of my father and Teo. Let me find wisdom. Let me keep courage and through it resolve."

  Holding the grip between his palms, he turned the sword, faster and faster, white and orange blurring. "Let me merge moon and sun."

  With the crook of his arm, he wiped the sweat from his brow and then pressed his palms, holding the sword steady. Pointing it behind him, he said, "Let me respect the past." He brought the sword around to his right side, directing upward and then downward its tip, repeating on his left. "Let me embrace the present." Pointing the sword forward, he said, "And let me be mindful of the future."

  Waves of heat rolled from him. Yet, he felt no discomfort. Maybe this was a sign his ritual was correct. Heartened, he lowered, legs beneath him. "Truth," he intoned and glided his hand along his sword's blade. The blade straightened. "Strength." He trailed his fingernail along the blade's right then left margin, creating a fine, sharp edge on both sides.

  Horus tapped his lips. How to blend warrior and healer? Though in different ways, fire represented both.

  With the metals, he fashioned dancing flames over the blade. "Silver, promise, a beginning. Copper, love and creativity. Gold, promise met, the quest completed." He hovered his hands, the metals fusing, turned the sword over, and duplicated the designs on the other side.

  Metals and stones placed, only one nugget of gold remaining, he held the sword out for Flame to inspect.

  "Sword of Horus. Sword of the Child of All That Is. Sword of the Majestic King," Flame pronounced.

  "Fantastic," Horus responded. Now, for Water and Air. "Come with me, sword." He strode to the water-filled tub. "Of Fire and Earth, I consecrate you with Water." He plunged the sword. Steam swirled around him. He waited for it to dissipate then withdrew his sword from the water and gently stroked along its length the fine linen towel, polishing the blade to a radiant sheen.

  Again kneeling beside the fire ring, Horus held his sword out into the smoke. "I consecrate you with Air."

  Metals and stones glimmering, his sword seemed almost to expand and contract, as if drawing and releasing a breath.

  "Hello," Horus said. He'd given his lion friend a name. Should he name his sword? Yes, that felt right. He turned inward, searching, and heard himself speak. Stilling his thoughts, he held upright his sword and breathed into it its name. "Awaken." His sword vibrated gently in his hands. Only one thing more.

  Intent. What was his? To defeat Seht? Yes, but he'd have his sword for far longer than the battles to come with Seht and his followers. And what of healing? As much as he longed to keep everyone safe, he couldn't know their destinies. He bowed his head. Finally, lips touching his sword's pommel, he whispered, "Through the strength and knowledge you possess, hold me true to my path."

  Finding calm center, Horus nodded.

  "Now, then. You need a home for when you're not in my hand." He gazed at Kafar's sheath and belt, both made of bleached, embossed leather and stitched with gold thread. He laid them on the fire, the golden stitches hissing. "I release to Light the pain and hatred you've carried." He stirred the flames and then drew onto his lap Mehlchehsia's pouches of unembossed, unbleached, slightly water-marked leather, held together with simple stitches of sinew—servant's pouches.

  Carefully, he removed the sinew stitches and opened the larger of the two pouches. Swiftly, he walked to his offertory table, selected a knife, and returned to the fire ring. Sword laid against the leather, he hunched forward and cut, slowly, smoothly, a finger width away from his sword's outline.

  He sat back, evaluating. After laying his sword in his lap, he bent forward and punched small holes with the knife's tip along the leather's sides. Chewing his lip, he stitched the sheath he'd fashioned, pulled the leather right side out, slipped in his sword, and nodded. A perfect fit.

  Hoping the pouch's remnant was long enough to serve as a belt, he wrapped it around his waist and was delighted to find the strip of leather was just the right length.

  Sheath. Belt. Now he needed to join the two.

  He withdrew his sword from its sheath and cut the top of the leather, creating a tie, which he looped over and fastened around his belt. He pressed the single remaining nugget of gold against the inside of the tie, and, again, Flame moved through him, melting then cooling the metal, searing the knotted ends of the leather tie, securing the connection.

  Satisfied, Horus went to his offertory table, filled a goblet with water, and took a deep drink. Goblet in hand, he walked back to his mat.

  The second, smaller, pouch, he cut into narrow strips. These he wrapped tightly around his sword's guard and grip and then doused with water.

  Calmly, he sheathed his sword, tied his belt, and stood. "Thank you, Flame for your love and assistance." He bowed low. Now, it was time to reassure family and friends and present his sword to his followers.

  He went to the temple door, where, releasing a long breath, he took a moment to focus on what he'd accomplished and what lay before him and those he led.

  Shoulders lowered, chin lifted, he opened the door and strode out into the star-bejeweled night.

  Immediately, Maeta signaled, and the women and men stationed to the sides and rear
of Horus' temple swept forward to see their king.

  "Nalia," Horus said and kissed her cheek. "Teo." He laid his hand on Teo's shoulder. "Maeta." He gave his head a sideways bow. "Petraylia." He gave her a small smile. "Friends," he called, turning to the gathered crowd. "Thank you for keeping vigil. I believe this aided me."

  Horus took a step forward toward the people. "I'm sure you've all heard rumors about what's happened. The rumors are true. Chieftain Suhpoh and those of his village are dead. The seer Mehlchehsia is dead. My father's sword is or will soon be in the hands of our enemy."

  A hush fell over the encampment. Warriors, expressions pained, bowed their heads. Healers, eyes glistening, took each others' hands. Elders leaned on their family members for support. Priestesses, postures tight, stared into the blackness around them. Sisna, chin trembling, wrapped Naltat's arm around her.

  "This has been a day of sorrow and loss. But don't despair." Horus curled his fingers around his sword's grip. "A new light has risen. A light dedicated to opposing the forces of chaos and destruction. A light dedicated to healing what hate has stricken, what fear has shaken.

  "A new sword awakens. A sword symbolizing my commitment to you. A sword symbolizing the Ways of Eternity. A sword that decrees the twilight of the morning—the twilight of our morning."

  Excitement buzzed through the crowd.

  Swiftly, Horus withdrew his sword, its stones gleaming, its blade catching and brilliantly reflecting the light from the flickering fires, the streaming stars, the majestic moon, the distant but promised dawn.

  From all around him came gasps. Those nearest, eyes bright, radiated hope. From behind them came shouts of triumph.

  Shining, Horus lifted his other hand, and the crowd quieted. "Behold, the Sword of the Double Truth. Behold," he called, voice emerging from somewhere deep within him, blade flashing, cutting into the darkness, "the Flaming Sword of All That Is. Behold...the Sword of Horus."

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  About the author

  The Ways of Eternity, 1st installment in the I, Horus series, is the result, in part, of D.A. Dean's childhood fascination with Ancient Egypt, undiminished in adulthood, and her continuing quest to uncover the stories behind the Horus myths.

  After an eventful early life of travel and liberal-arts academia, D.A. Dean now resides with her husband in the heart of the USA and is currently at work on the 2nd installment in the I, Horus series, anticipated to be available Fall 2014.