by Stephan Loy
Contents
Publication Statement
Part One: Death
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Part Two: Resurrection
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Epilogue
Afterword
Isis Wept
By Stephan Michael Loy
Isis Wept
Copyright © 2013 by Stephan Loy
All Rights Reserved
Published in the United States of America
License Notes:
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Be sure to check the notes following the conclusion of this ebook.
Isis Wept
Part One: Death
Chapter One:
Isis took the stairs at a run, frowning in frustration at her close-fitting linen gown. She wished more than anything to get to the roof. From there she could see beyond the palace enclosure to the green, tree-shaded riverbank where she would glimpse her husband's approach. She would spy him, no doubt, amid a crowd of adoring subjects on the western bank of the Nile.
Isis thrilled at his unexpected homecoming. She missed his laughter and energy; they were food to her, his body a sweet dessert. Only dreams of his touch had kept her from melancholy through the long months of his absence. The promise of that touch drew a sigh past her lips.
She should return to her rooms, she thought as she paced the edge of the roof, but she could not depart without catching sight of him. Heedless of the four priestess-retainers who had followed her from below, she fixed her mind and heart on her husband, the king and god of this great city. It was so like him to arrive from the west, from the mouth of the hungry desert. That act was a gift to his people, and first of all to the poor. Wherever his journeys had taken him, the river would have made for a quicker return, and a safer one than walking the dunes. Quicker and safer, yes, but few would have witnessed their sovereign’s homecoming. Where was the gift in that? Now the farmers, brick makers and shopkeepers of Abydos had greeted their king before even their lords on the Nile’s eastern bank. They had no doubt mobbed him in their joy, had offered him gifts of beer, water, and gritty bread, treasures with which they could ill afford to part.
In the face of such adulation, how could a goddess do less, even one blessed as the very definition of life, love and beauty? Isis chuckled at the thought. The naked erotic force of her godhood was too small a welcome for Osiris, she thought. She should ... augment things a bit. A bath, perhaps scented with oils? And the softest of linens upon her bed. Something done with her hair, yes, and the eye paint that so destroyed him. She rarely stooped to such tricks of beguilement, but this was a special occasion.
“He comes, my goddess!” the high priestess Merferet called. She pointed a wrinkled, liver-spotted hand toward a barge crossing from the river’s west bank. “There! Osiris approaches!”
The boat aimed for the quay where Amnet, high priest of the Grand Temple, waited with dozens of chanters.
“I love you,” Isis whispered toward her husband. She squinted through the bright sunlight, hoping to pick him out on the barge, but Ra, her grandfather, blazed above, overwhelming her physical eyes. She blinked, lowered her gaze to the temple, and instantly went cold.
The priests chanted toward the barge. But some turned their heads toward a figure ambling onto the quay.
Set, Isis realized, and her lips tightened.
Isis couldn’t say why Set affected her so. He was her brother, after all, and also brother to Osiris. He had never done any harm to her, though he presumed much with lascivious leers. Still, he hadn’t acted on his desire, nor in any other way blackened the godhead of his origin.
He hadn't done much to polish it, either. He now strutted in among the priests, stealing another god’s moment. Set had no business there, but neither was he likely to leave. He wanted his brother’s fame. He wanted his brother’s power. He also wanted his brother’s wife, Isis knew without doubt. He hated his brother for having won such a wife, was jealous of all that Osiris had achieved. Set desired to act on his jealousies, and some day he probably would.
Even in the hot sun, she shivered at the thought. Osiris was her love, but certainly not a fighter. Could he stand against Set if challenged for ascendancy? Ma’at protect him from treachery!
All things knew balance, Isis reasoned. Good was not good unless balanced by evil, prosperity suspect unless balanced by need. Ma’at encompassed balance. She steered the universe far shy of chaos, granting life its natural equilibrium. A diligent overseer, that stony-faced goddess, entirely impartial. But she only influenced; she was never in command. Set would one day twist her to anarchy; it was his way in all things. Osiris, who balanced Set’s wanton vileness, would suffer the consequences of that folly. Isis shivered again, trying to shrug off dread.
She peered once more toward the barge, which turned broadside to the quay. She thought she saw her husband then. Unlike his men, whose body-sheathing linen uniforms were stained from months of sweat, Osiris wore a linen kilt that covered from waist to knees, a white linen headpiece like a wig, and little else beyond a few trinkets of glass and stone. He moved with characteristic energy, slapping a shoulder here, laughing there. Her husband, all right. He seemed so weak against the threat of Set...
Isis shut her eyes for a moment, her blood rushing hot with the shame of doubt. Her husband was king in Abydos. Set could not touch him here. She repeated that thought, hoping it played out true.
Then she turned away toward the stairs. She had much to do before welcoming Osiris. Fear was a distraction best turned away.
The ritual guard of Osiris were few, more entourage than soldiers, and smartly appointed for their role. Their identical uniforms were designed for the wild extremes of the deep desert, exposing only hands, eyes, and sandaled feet to the elements. Sweat-stained leather belts gathered the material at each man's waist. Each belt held a flint knife and a sword of bronze. The swords were a wonder, for few people knew of the hard, glinting metal; few knew of metal at all. The men making up the guard of Osiris emerged from an era built on stone; none could guess the wonders of the new age to come.
Twenty men had roamed with Osiris in the desert. Now they accompanied him from the workers’ quarter on the western bank to his temple amid the villas of the rich.
A guardsman threw a line to a loinclothed dockworker at the temple quay, who tied the barge to a sturdy post. Osiris leapt to land before a ramp could be extended to the ship’s deck. The priests prostrated themselves, all but Amnet who, as high priest, was obliged to stand while greeting his god. He led the others to a chanting crescendo, then cut them off respectfully.
“Set!” Osiris called before Amnet could offer him the ritual greeting. He marched toward his brother, arms outstretched. “How nice of you to welcome me! And on my own temple grounds, at that!” He grasped his brother by the shoulders.
“There are no boundaries between us,” Set said, his voice like oil. “What’s mine is yours, and yours mine.”
“Well said, but I doubt my priests agree. How does one pay homage to a god while yet another stands at one’s shoulder, eh, Amnet?”
“I would not presume to opine, my lord,” Amnet said. He bowed his shaven head against linen robes so white and gauzy they seemed close to glowing in the sun.
“Priests.” Set made a dismissive sound. “They are men, my brother. Half the time they don’t know whether to pray or fornicate.”
Osiris let loose a hearty peal of laughter, as much at the high priest’s chagrin as at the other god’s jibe. “Come now, Set. Manners, manners. Yes, they are men. Though not gods, they display special gifts, which we can only envy. Charity, if you’ll notice, is something men know from experience and we gods could wisely learn.”
Set stared at him, his eyes darkening. He was a god of storms, always forbidding, so Osiris counted the mood for little. The two looked remarkably alike. They wore similar kilts, but Set walked in sandals and was given more to jewelry. They claimed the same muscular build, the same hard but narrow face, with short-cropped black hair and rich brown eyes. Without Osiris’s easy mirth and Set’s smoldering brow, telling them apart would have proven a difficult task.
“So, O king,” Set said in a mocking voice, “what have you brought us this time? The natives so adore your gifts.”
Osiris slapped his brother’s shoulder. He grinned as he turned to the barge. His men had enacted a spectacular chaos as they offloaded their sovereign’s most extraordinary treasures. The priests so cringed in their prostrate poses that Osiris asked Amnet to command them erect. “I give you,” he said while the religious backed to the limits of the quay, “I give you the future of Abydos!”
“The future of Abydos” was an animal, a black mass of muscle and energy. It stood taller than a man, though it danced around so nervously and reared so much that it couldn’t honestly be said to merely stand. Its four mobile legs were lean, sinewy sticks. A long tail of hair whipped the beast’s flanks, complementing an ample mane along the animal’s thick neck. The head was conical, with alert, twitching ears, flaring nostrils, and intelligent, appraising eyes. It awed the priests, and terrified them. It was all they could do to stand their ground when three more monsters were forced from the barge.
Qebera, who captained Osiris’s guard, directed his men as they wrestled the animals along by ropes. “Hold tight there!” he shouted, and “Brace there on the right!” and “Watch those hooves!”
“Eh?” Osiris asked his brother. “What do you think?”
“How much will they eat?” Set said without expression.
Osiris burst into laughter again. He stepped toward the nearest of his four black cyclones and gripped its harness. The animal settled as if enchanted. “You never travel,” the king admonished Set. “Believe me, brother, there is more to this world than the banks of the Nile or your wild, killing desert.” He glanced around to Amnet, who watched the silenced beast with suspicion. “High priest, come closer.”
“As you command, my god and king,” but Amnet approached by only a fraction of a step.
“Come on, it won’t bite. Or, I think it won’t bite. Qebera, did they say if it would bite?”
The soldier stood more relaxed than Amnet. He had suffered the animal’s company for many long months, far too long to give it much notice. He pulled back the cloak and scarf arrangement that protected his face from the sun, revealing gray hair and a hard-edged face. “They said it might bite if threatened or annoyed, but it’s not given to bite as a habit.”
“That’s right. Thank-you, Qebera. So, Amnet, will you threaten or annoy my prize?”
“Never, sire,” the high priest proclaimed.
“Good. Then give him a pet. Right there, on the neck. Go ahead, I’ll vouch for his behavior.”
The priest offered a shaky smile. He put out his hand to arm’s length and barely touched the animal. The beast flinched, and muttered through fluttering lips. It watched Osiris with eyes that at once trusted and questioned, eyes more frank than a man’s. The priest gathered his courage, then pressed his hand along the animal’s neck. “He is warm, sire. I can feel his strength.”
“Yes.” Osiris nodded. “He is strong. How about you, Set? Care to welcome my newest friend?”
“No, thanks.” Set folded his arms over his chest.
This prompted a chuckle from Osiris, and, inappropriately, from Qebera. Set marked the soldier with cutting eyes.
Osiris raised his voice to include the gathered crowd. “This fine animal and its like are gifts from Ur, a kingdom far to the east. They call the beast a ‘horse’ and it offers its masters far more than beauty, spirit, and strength. The people of Ur use these ‘horses’ as pack animals, to pull plows, even carts filled with people and possessions. The nobles of Ur actually ride the animals, for transportation and for sport!”
“Ride?” Set scoffed. “With those skinny legs and that hard back? Please, brother, you exaggerate!”
“The mortal animals of this earth still hold surprises for gods,” Osiris intoned with mock gravity. “We gods are what we are, yet mortals strive to whatever they might be. This horse does the work of oxen, camels, and whole teams of men. Yet it isn't as dim-witted as an ox, as obstreperous as a camel, or as free-minded as a man. It could be a great companion -- no, a comrade -- to Abydans and...” He returned his attention to the full assembly. “...that is why I brought one male and three females, that we might breed these animals to give some ease to our people!”
The assembled men whistled and cheered. The soldiers drew their flint knives and shook them high overhead.
“But, that isn't all we bring,” Osiris called, quieting the crowd. “No, if all we brought were animals prone to devouring hay, then we would do no chore worth praising. We also bring food, seeds of the most succulent marvels of Ur. Juicy orbs called oranges, like honey plucked from trees, and red fruits of the vine like bags of meat and water. We also bring you cousins to our emmer that we can cross for variety.” He paused, pleased with his bounty. “Well? Have we served Abydos, my people?”
Their acclaim was deafening. Osiris grabbed Amnet and Qebera in a brusque hug. “My friends,” he shouted through the din, “let’s store it all in the temple and head into the city. I’ve been away from my queen too long.”
The procession lacked splendor considering the king at its heart. Osiris walked the river promenade with a wooden smile and a randomly waving arm, the obligatory monarch on parade. The high priest and two assistants forged ahead, clearing the crowd from the street and tossing out flower petals by the handful. Qebera walked to Osiris’s left and a slight pace behind. Set strolled to his brother’s right, paying the humans as much mind as he would to weeds on the roadside. Eight of Qebera’s men followed, restraining the four horses. Osiris had opted to stable the beasts at the palace, where he could visit them at a whim. They made quite a stir among the noble spectators.
The east bank was reserved for temples, the king’s residence, and the homes and pleasure gardens of the rich. No staples grew on the bank. Palm and acacia branches waved overhead while grass, reeds, and flowers colored the brown earth. The mudbrick outer wall of the temple, and then the royal residence, displayed monumental paintings of Osiris and his triumphs. There was Osiris bringing emmer to the people, Osiris organizing the first city government, Osiris presiding over the creation of law. Before those colossal works of devotion the nobles pressed, welcoming their king. The upper crust of Abydan society shone even brighter than the artwork behind them, displayed as they were in their finest linens. They cheered, shouted and prayed as feverishly as the poor, their shouts rising to such a cacophony that their voices became a muddled roar.
“The year’s harvest was good, I see,” Osiris said to Qebera. “Fat Unas the architect needs to loosen the tucks in his tunic.”
“Unas needs to tighten his resolve against snacks,” Qebera said with a huff.
“Oh, I forgot,” the king continued, and squeezed Qebera's shoulder.
“You aren’t of this bunch, old friend. Well, the torture lasts only a few minutes more, then it’s across to the west bank and your family. You’ll take my launch. I’ll have it prepared as soon as we reach the gate.”
“My thanks, lord. I miss my family greatly.”
Set groaned against the sentiment. “Rubbish. Animals with family.”
“It’s family that sustains them,” Osiris chided. “Without family, they would be animals. Without that and the balance of Ma’at.”
“And without agriculture, government and science, which you brought them. You coddle them, brother. They’re like dogs dressed in robes. I liked it better when they cowered in caves.”
Osiris maintained his frozen smile, but sighed at Set’s hostility. “Respect them, brother. They're reflections of us. They're the fallen tears of Ra, after all.”
“They’re vermin,” Set insisted, then grunted dismissal. “But, I don’t want to argue. You're newly home, and you're my ... family.”
“Ah! See, you’re catching on.”
“I’ll need to apprise you of the state of your kingdom. When might we meet for business?”
“My business is only with Isis for now. Perhaps in a day or two...”
“I’ll put something together, maybe a mix of business and pleasure...” Set’s voice trailed off and he came to a stop.
Osiris faltered and dropped his smile. He had been watching the crowd to his left, and was surprised by his brother’s distraction and the sudden collapse of the nobles’ adulation. He turned to follow their discomfited stares.
A man blocked the road ahead. He sat atop a mangy camel, cud juice greasing its jowls. Pans, poles, and bags hung at the animal’s flanks, and its rider sat astride a thick saddle sheathed in black. He hunched within careworn brown and black wools, as hidden from the sun as any in Qebera’s guard. He gripped the reins in a casual manner, an ivory and wood longbow held loosely in his free hand. He stared at Osiris, but gave no greeting.
For a moment, no one moved. Then Osiris stepped forward, pressing through the vanguard of priests to reach the lone rider. He grasped the camel’s rope harness and ignored the beast’s bellicose mutter.