Kiya and the God Of Chaos
Philippa Bower
Copyright ©2016 by Philippa Bower
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. Please do not participate in or encourage the piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
Contents
Introduction
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
Chapter 89
Chapter 90
Chapter 91
Chapter 92
Chapter 93
Chapter 94
Chapter 95
Chapter 96
Chapter 97
Chapter 98
Chapter 99
Chapter 100
Chapter 101
Chapter 102
Chapter 103
Chapter 104
Chapter 105
Chapter 106
Chapter 107
Chapter 108
Chapter 109
Chapter 110
Chapter 111
Chapter 112
Chapter 113
Chapter 114
Chapter 115
Chapter 116
Chapter 117
Chapter 118
Chapter 119
Chapter 120
Chapter 121
Chapter 122
Chapter 123
Chapter 124
Chapter 125
Chapter 126
Chapter 127
Chapter 128
Chapter 129
Chapter 130
Chapter 131
Chapter 132
Chapter 133
Chapter 134
Chapter 135
Chapter 136
Introduction
Kiya and the God of Chaos is a condensing of the three books that make the Ka of Osiris Trilogy. These books are available in hard copy and provide a fuller version of the adventures of Kiya as she battles gods and monsters in her quest to save Egypt from the wrath of the god Seth, with whom she has an unexpected connection.
Chapter One: Kiya
Kiya woke with the sun hot on her face. She turned her head and saw that her parents’ beds were empty. With dismay she realised that she had overslept and scrambled up, still rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She found her shift among the tangle of bedding, stepped into it and pulled it up over her breasts, feeling the rough linen harsh against her skin. As she fastened the shoulder straps, she looked over the parapet of the roof.
Her father was harvesting barley in the field below. He straightened with a sigh, dropped the scythe and pressed his hands into the small of his back. He was getting old, thought Kiya with a pang. Soon her parents would expect her to marry and bring home a young man to help work the farm. Indeed, if she hadn’t insisted on becoming a dancing girl she would already have been pressured into marriage. She gave a pout of distaste at the thought of being tied down to domestic drudgery for the rest of her life.
Kiya stepped over her parents’ beds and hurried to the narrow staircase that led down from the roof into the living room. How she wished she could live at the temple instead of having to come home each night. She wanted to forget the mundane world and dance before the gods forever.
Kiya descended the uneven steps with care, going from the warm sunshine into cool dimness. She saw that her mother was already seated at the loom, leaning forwards to peer at the shuttle.
"Good morning, Mama."
Ramala looked up from her work, her face still lovely despite her long illness. She smiled and said, “Good morning, Kiya. You have overslept again."
“You should have woken me, Mama.” Kiya kissed Ramala on the hard angle of her cheek. “I will be in trouble if I am late for dance class."
“You will be in more trouble if you make your father late for market. He should have finished cutting barley by now.”
Kiya ran out into the walled yard, where a trough of water stood. She stripped off her shift and washed with a linen rag. The warmth of the sun dried her skin even before she put her shift back on. She picked up the bone comb from the top of a brick cupboard built against the wall. There was also a kohl stick, a pot of red ochre and a mirror, but Kiya ignored them - there was no time for make up. She quickly ran the comb through her hair, being careful not to break the delicate bone teeth. Refreshed, she re-entered the house and checked the kitchen area. A bowl of porridge stood on the counter. She ate a mouthful, but it was cold and it would take too long to heat it. Instead, she grabbed a handful of dates from the side plate and returned to sit near her mother.
“Life would be much easier if you let me stay at the temple, Mama.”
Ramala sighed. "We have been through all this before, Kiya. Your father only allowed you to become a temple dancer on condition you live at home."
“I want to be with Eopei and the other girls.” Kiya could hear her voice rise as she repeated her long-standing plea.
“You are welcome to invite Eopei here," said Ramala.
Kiya hesitated. Eopei was a Nubian princess, used to living in great luxury. She looked around the tiny room where her family lived, cooked, ate and stored their few belongings. Everything was made from mud bricks, the only wood was her mother’s loom which took up most of one wall. From the door of the adj
oining barn came the smell of cow manure.
Eopei had visited the farmhouse a couple of times, but Kiya had sensed her contempt and was reluctant to invite her again. She altered her line of argument.
“Things have changed since you were attacked in the shrine of Osiris. We cannot be alone there now.”
Ramala sighed. “I love you, Kiya. You are my only child and I could not bear anything to happen to you.” She sat slumped in front of the loom and Kiya stared at her in exasperation. This was how her fragile mother won every altercation.
“Is something wrong?” Teos entered through the door to the cowshed carrying a large pot of milk and a sheaf of barley. He looked anxiously at Ramala’s hunched figure. “Have you upset your mother, Kiya?”
“No, Papa, we were just talking.” She turned to her mother for confirmation. “Weren’t we, Mama?”
Ramala straightened and lifted the shuttle. “Yes, dear. I’m fine.” She managed a wan smile and Kiya was grateful. She went over to her mother, put her arms around her shoulders and hugged her.
“Good,” said Teos. “Fetch my mat, please, Kiya. We must get to Thebes while there is still time to find a selling space.” He kissed Ramala. “Goodbye, my darling. Do not overtire yourself.”
Kiya rolled up the rush mat then followed her father out of the house and along the path that led to the main road. The fields on either side had been harvested and were now bare, weeds already encroaching upon the rich, dark soil. She breathed in the fresh morning air and watched a flock of starlings search for food among the stubble. Disturbed by their passing, the birds rose in the air and whirled around in a great circle, before heading towards the escarpment that marked the edge of the valley.
When Teos reached the road to Thebes he paused to readjust his burden. Kiya joined him and they gazed back across the farm to where the Nile sparkled in the sunshine, half-hidden by reed beds and date groves.
“It looks beautiful,” said Kiya.
Teos grunted. “All too soon the river will start to rise. I must finish harvesting the fields before the flood.” He sounded tired and Kiya seized her opportunity.
“I’m sorry you have to waste time collecting me from the temple every night. If you let me sleep in a dormitory with the other girls...”
“No!” He gathered up the milk pot and barley sheaf, then walked away so quickly that she had to hurry to keep up with him.
The trodden-earth road was smooth and wide. They were passed by a trotting donkey with a man on his back.
“Hail Teos,” called the man.
“Hail,” called back Teos and grunted. “Fortunate fellow. What would I not give for such a beast.”
Farmhouses identical to theirs were dotted along the route, barely two field-widths separating them. On the other side of the road was scrubland, fit only for goats. Kiya looked beyond the dry grass and twisted bushes to where the great cliffs that bordered the valley stretched high. She would never leave this valley, never know what lay beyond. Sometimes the cliffs seemed like the wall of a prison, other times like a protective barrier, saving her world from the unknown that lay beyond.
There were many people on the road in front of them, all heading towards the city and most burdened with goods to sell. Other farmers joined the throng, walking up the track ways from their farms.
The road narrowed and became hemmed in with houses. It was no longer made from beaten earth but paved with bricks. They had reached Thebes.
The market was in a much wider street, lined on either side by shops with awnings on wooden poles under which were arranged all manner of goods. The smell of freshly-baked bread reminded Kiya that she had not eaten a proper breakfast. She longed to pause and buy a spiced roll but her father hurried on, past the fishmongers, the fabric stalls and the fruit and vegetable sellers until he reached the farmer’s area where sacks of grain, jars of milk and small honey pots were laid out upon rush mats.
“Move up, my friends, and give me a space,” said Teos. With much grumbling and good-natured banter the other farmers included him in their midst. He put down his milk and barley and took the mat from Kiya.
“Greetings, Kiya,” said one of the farmers. “My son is looking for a wife.”
“Looking to inherit my farm more like!” said Teos. “My daughter has another year before she leaves the temple. There will be no thoughts about marriage until then." He turned to Kiya. "Now hurry, girl, before you get into trouble.” He gave her a brief kiss on the cheek and started to unroll his mat.
"Goodbye, Papa, I will see you tonight." Kiya tried to run but her ankle-length shift hobbled her. Abandoning dignity, she hitched up her clothing and sprinted like a child to the sound of appreciative whistles from her father’s friends.
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