Isis Wept

by Stephan Loy

  The advisor, arbiter, and judge of gods carried himself as befit his station -- perhaps more so. He wore the richest, most heavily pleated of kilts and a massive belt pouch of sumptuous linen cinched to his slim waist. His jewelry shone with frenetic glints of glass and polished stone, an ensemble of treasures from the greatest artisans, and gaudy in its quantity. It glinted from his wrists, his arms, his neck, and from a muscled chest swelling with importance. More startling than pomposity, however, more amazing than rich accoutrements, was the judge’s own person. Though his body stood tall, brown and trim, it was topped by an alien head, a bird's head, black and white, with a long, thin beak like a claw. Thoth had come on state business, his ibis persona the badge of his office. His purpose was almost certainly bleak, or he would have worn a human face.

  Set slouched on his throne, waiting through the grandiose entrance. He waited as the standard bearers pivoted off to one side, and drummed his fingers until the self-absorbed god finally stood before him.

  “So, Thoth, is it business or theater? One can never tell through all your pomp and blathering.”

  The great ibis head twitched, then focused one eye on Set. That eye was unreadable, a black marble in white.

  “Explain yourself, Thoth. I haven’t all night.”

  The responding voice screeched, adding a serrated edge to the force of its words. “Silence, Set of Abu Simbel, God of Deserts, God of Storms, Opposed to Life and Beauty. You stand accused.”

  Set issued forth a showy sigh. He tossed back his head to stare at the black upper reaches of the chamber.

  “You stand accused,” the bird-headed god went on, “of the dissolution of the person of Osiris, king and god of Abydos. You stand accused of stealing his throne and violating his people, of coercion of the person of Hapi, the Nile Personified, and of crimes vile even for the likes of you, crimes against the person of Isis, life goddess of Abydos.” His talon-shaped beak opened a fraction, revealing a narrow, quivering tongue. The gesture could have meant laughter, but who could tell with birds? The beak snapped shut, the sound cracking throughout the hall. “Heed these words, Set of Abu Simbel. Be it known to you that these charges, if proved, constitute a grave insult to the family of Ra, to the godly persons of those mentioned before, and to the stability of Ma’at. How do you plead?”

  Set straightened, sighing, then rose to his feet, hands clasped behind his back. He wore only a simple kilt, no jewelry, not even sandals. He hadn’t bothered to dress for his guest. “I’ve no intention of pleading anything, you sanctimonious bureaucrat. I sit on this throne. If Ra disagrees with my earthly rule, he should tell me himself and keep his toadies home.”

  The bird eyes remained as vacant as marbles, but the hands tightened into fists. “Pay heed to whom you speak, minor issue of the offspring of Ra. I am Thoth, the right hand of the god-creator. It was I who helped to form this world. It is I who rules by night.” The alien head bobbed forward, a gesture, perhaps, of emphasis. “It is night as we speak, Set of Abu Simbel. A dark night indeed for usurpers and murderers.”

  Set laughed in the judge’s face. “Oh, that’s amusing!” he bellowed. “That’s so very amusing. So, you despise my rule of Abydos, Thoth? Where were you when I stepped into my brother’s place? Did you watch that night? Did you quail among the stars, afraid to succumb to godly indignation lest you muddy your fine attire?” All humor left his face and he turned back to the throne. “Go away, and take your charges with you. I am king of Abydos, and of Abu Simbel. Mind your business, or I’ll be tempted to visit you in the Fayum.”

  Thoth did not rankle at the threat against his base. The bird head tilted, and a hand came up to herald his next words.

  “Where are the ensigns of power?” the screeching voice asked.

  Set half turned to the judge. The question he dreaded had been raised.

  “The ensigns of power. The proof of royal legitimacy. You don’t seem to be wearing them,” Thoth taunted.

  “The queen protects the ensigns. I have no need of finery.”

  “The queen protects the ensigns.” The bird head tilted from one side to the other. It was ghastly bad form for one god to touch the raiment of another. “The queen, you say. Nephthys--”

  “Isis, you fool!” Set clamped down on his outburst. It told much more than lies could cover up.

  “Ah, I see,” the bird said. “You realize, Set, that non-possession of the ensigns of power negates any claim you place on the throne. The kingdom of Abydos would revert to Ra.”

  Set maintained his askance stare. He filled it with venom.

  “You realize that, do you not?”

  “I do.”

  Thoth shrugged his feathered shoulders. “Not that Ra would want it. Nothing much seems to live here these days.” He exposed the quivering tongue once more. “Ah, perhaps I should speak with the goddess Isis. Perhaps I can persuade her to ... surrender what isn’t hers. The ensigns, I mean.”

  “The goddess Isis does not wish company.”

  “Odd, she’s always been amenable to visitors--”

  “She does not want company! Are you deaf as well as obtuse?”

  “Forgive my obtuseness, but reports indicate she often endures your company.”

  Set turned away from the judge, his face burning with barely capped rage.

  “The charges still stand, Set of Abu Simbel. How do you plead?”

  Silence engulfed the audience chamber.

  “I ask, how do you--”

  “INNOCENT!”

  Echoes reverberated off the walls and thundered among the colonnaded galleries. Thoth seemed unimpressed. “Well,” he said, “then my duty here is done. For tonight. Ra will decide how best to conduct this affair. There will be interviews--”

  “There will be no interviews.”

  “--in which you and the principles will go before Ra on the Boat of a Million Years--”

  “There will be no trial.”

  “--for the trial you know must come. I, of course, will be prosecutor--”

  Without excuse, Set stalked from the room. He left by the king’s back way, leaving Thoth dumbfounded, one proselytizing index finger poised in the air. After a moment, the ibis-headed judge dropped his pose, then clasped his hands behind his back. “Hmm,” he mused. “I suppose I’m done for now.” He looked hard at the empty throne, a frozen gesture from a frozen face. Then he turned to his men. “To the barge. We return to the Boat of a Million Years to advise Ra in this matter.”

  The escort reoriented to lead its lord from the hall. Thoth followed, his head held high and his back straight, but his heart weighed down by the night’s events. The delivery of charges aside, he had failed his primary mission. He had failed to speak with Isis.

  Set had refused an emissary of the god-creator. Ra would not be pleased.

  Yet what could Thoth do, even with all his considerable power? Protocol, after all. Protocol.

  Thoth and his entourage paraded up the audience hall toward the massive doors, palm columns rising like a gloomy forest to either flank. Half way between the throne and the doors, a figure stepped out of the shadows.

  Thoth paused and nodded to Nephthys. Then he was back with his men, and the unfathomable plans of the creator-god Ra.

  Isis felt his hate and collapsed stricken to her floor. In her terror at what approached, she could only gasp, but her priestesses knew the routine, and hurried up the stairs to the roof.

  Set crashed through the doors. He stormed to the cringing goddess and kicked her in the ribs. “Where are they?” he screamed as she tumbled onto her side. “Where are those ensigns? Who has them? Tell me, you cow! Tell me now!”

  But he didn’t really want answers. He tore aside her robes, exposed himself, then plunged into her with sadistic animosity. “I’ll rut you until you beg to talk!” he grunted and, despite his rage, enjoyed himself.

  On the roof, Merferet kneeled in a circle with her priestesses. They hugged each other across the shoulders, sobbing with such viole
nce that their backs arced and their bodies quaked. They listened to Isis's screams of mortification as the monster Set dishonored her, and they did nothing.

  "We can't just cower up here," one priestess protested. "She needs us. She's our goddess. We must do something."

  "What would you do?" Merferet asked, grinding her words. "Would you charge down those stairs to your death, a pointless death, one she has forbade you?"

  "Merferet, she needs us!"

  "She's in need, terrible need, but she needs someone greater than us."

  "You speak thus, and you're her high pries--"

  "I don't know what to do!" The tone alone spoke much. It spoke of Merferet's helplessness, her fury at Set and at herself, and her shame.

  They huddled, and sobbed, and listened to Isis scream.

  "Let us pray," Merferet decided.

  "Pray to whom?" one of the priestesses moaned. "She to whom we pray for help cannot help herself."

  "We'll pray," Merferet insisted. "Someone will hear. Someone has to."

  He thundered away a few minutes later, leaving her doors rocking on their hinges. The Setim guards outside pretended not to notice. The goddess’s welfare was not their duty; they were only there to prevent her escape.

  Isis lay splayed on the floor. She sobbed, wishing that she, like her husband, could die.

  A few minutes later, the priestesses returned. They helped their queen to her bath chamber, as they always did after Set’s attacks. They bathed her. They oiled her. They lovingly dressed her in fresh robes. Then they helped her to bed, and sang over her until she soothed. There wasn’t much else they could do but weep, and wait for the next time the monster came upon them.

  Hell continued into autumn and beyond. The floods that always came in November failed to materialize in the tortured Nile valley. No waters soaked deep into the soil, or deposited the rich silt that made farming possible. No pools were replenished, no canals charged. The land fell to dust and sand. The deep desert crept in drifts toward the river. By spring, boat traffic suffered as far downstream as the Nile-Bahr Yussef fork beyond Matmar where water and desert lost their division. Larger boats often stalled in transit while their crews dug sand from beneath their keels. Smaller craft began carrying trade, as they could be unloaded, carried over obstacles, and reloaded faster than the barges could dig out.

  Despite hardship, ships persevered in the difficult transit throughout Abydos, for the death of that kingdom opened vistas in trade for the unaffected delta region. Delta merchants rushed to barter with the thousands still trapped in Set’s stolen land. The Abydan dead had left plenty of tradable riches behind, and their survivors had no choice but to endure unfair exchange rates.

  By spring, the Abydans could depend once more on food. There wasn’t much of it, it cost too much, and it kept no more than a day after crossing the border. Still, it gave starving stomachs something to gnaw on besides bugs and other things better forgotten.

  When the food started coming, the Abydans again started burying their dead.

  But not in Abydos the city. Set cared nothing for trade, and ruled unmoved by the sufferings of his people. He preferred the humans as cannibalistic scavengers. He wanted them dead in the streets. To a large part, he succeeded in these goals, but he needed to feed his retainers, soldiers, and all those others who ran the kingdom. He realized that to feed his own men meant spillover to the public, so he couldn’t starve the people as efficiently as he wanted. His requirement for supplies meant allowing boats at the city quays. It even forced him to open the markets. But he closed those markets all too abruptly if supplies for his retainers became comfort for his citizens.

  He also fed Isis’s priestess-attendants, but only sporadically and never any better than the worst provisions.

  Still, try as he did, Set could not ensure isolation. When the markets closed, smugglers provided the city its fragile umbilical to life. Needful of food and gossip themselves, the Setim shied from attacking the black market. They exacted usurious tribute from them, and sometimes stole their shipments, but they were loathe to destroy the smugglers altogether. They depended too much on them for survival.

  They couldn’t have guessed that the smugglers brought in plans along with product. Or that they brought in people the Setim wouldn’t like, and sometimes took them out. If the Setim had known who the smugglers really were, if they had realized their ties to the growing Abydan resistance, they might not have been so lenient just for the sake of bread. As it turned out, the smugglers preserving Abydos had killed or caused to be killed hundreds of Setim soldiers. Now, after months of skirmishing in the desert and placing operatives in the city, they’d grown strong enough -- and confident enough -- to take on greater goals.

  They had taken on greater allies, as well.

  Isis collapsed at the sound beyond her doors. After long months of abuse, she had learned to know terror at any disturbance.

  This time, though, it wasn’t him. A door drifted open a respectful crack and a priestess of Nephthys slipped into the hall. She stood there, her eyes darting about the room. As a religious of Abu Simbel, social calls were not her common duty, especially calls on gods other than her own. At the sight of her, Isis broke down into tears.

  Merferet moved across the floor from where she had tended her goddess. A short conversation with the visitor, and she returned to Isis. The priestess of Nephthys retreated beyond the chamber.

  Merferet knelt beside her sobbing deity and rubbed a soothing hand between Isis’s shoulders. Propriety had suffered between this woman and her goddess. Their common disaster had bound them closer than merely servant to mistress; they faced tribulation as sisters.

  “It’s an invitation,” Merferet said. “Nephthys invites you to her barge for tea. She asks you to come immediately.”

  Isis intensified her sobs, wracking her back and chest. “Me? Into the sun? I’m but a piece of meat, fouled, a pillar of death. The sun would find offense in me...”

  The high priestess frowned. “Goddess, please. I can’t believe that Ra would see you so. Is he not your grandfather? Did he not send Thoth to rescue you?”

  “Oh, yes!” Isis said after a pathetic, cackling laugh. “He’s sent his judge to rescue me! But he seems to be taking his time, don’t you think?”

  Merferet didn’t know what to say. Almost six months had passed since Thoth’s proffer of charges. The goddess’s suffering had not diminished. For spite, Set came more often than before. Why did Ra delay his justice?

  Isis wiped her eyes with trembling hands.

  “Goddess, forgive me,” Merferet begged. “What message do I send to Nephthys?”

  The queen’s face wandered between astonishment and confusion. She seemed unable to cope with the question.

  For the sake of her lady, Merferet mustered an ounce of temerity. “Goddess, please. You can’t stay in these rooms. You haven’t left them in months. The goddess Nephthys is your sister. I believe she means you well...”

  “Nephthys is his wife...”

  “Nephthys is your sister. Give her a chance to prove it.” Merferet hoped her entreaty was convincing. Truthfully, she had no idea what to think of the introverted wife of Set. But, whether treason or salvation waited behind her invitation, anything at this point was worth one effort. Isis slowly went insane.

  Isis twisted her face in agony. Her mouth moved as if tasting words she could not speak. “I can’t do this,” she keened, the plea in her words obvious. “I can’t think of the sun. I can’t think of sisters. I can only think...” She balled her hands into fists and shoved them against her eyes. “I only want to die, to meet my Ka and join my husband on the other side.”

  The priestess refused to hear that last. She heard, instead, that which she chose, and acted on it.

  Nephthys planned her meeting with Isis with delicious and frightening subterfuge, but she didn’t really expect the meeting to take place. Isis hadn't left her rooms since the bloody fall of her city. She could not easily walk
in a world raped by death. Her own sorrow imprisoned her, as did the spite of her jailer, Set. So when the mistress of Abu Simbel looked up from her tea and saw Isis approaching along the quay, she felt more startled than satisfied.

  She also felt fear in her throat. Much of the meeting would not go well. Some of it would go very badly. The certainty of that knowledge made Nephthys regret her machinations. Why couldn’t she have remained invisible, a skill she had mastered during millennia with Set?

  Isis approached with four of her priestesses, two Setim watchdogs following. Nephthys understood the soldiers, but the attendants walked oddly close to their goddess, as if arrayed to support her should she fall. The precaution seemed an affront to the godhead, and unnecessary. Isis, from a distance, radiated life, health and aggressive sexuality even from within the voluminous robes and cloak that protected human males from her power. She did not have the look of battered rape.

  But then, that was Isis, Nephthys thought with envy. Could anyone else survive Set’s sadism?

  The former queen of Abydos stopped at a launch roped to the quay. The mate bowed her aboard. Her chief priestess accompanied her while the others, including the guards, stood in the yellow dust. Nephthys felt a flash of pique at a foreign priestess invading her space, but humans did a lot of invading these days. Conditions compelled them to insults.

  Now they came aboard and Nephthys had to welcome them. She nervously scanned her arrangements, all conceived to achieve her aims for this meeting. This meeting she thought would not happen. A minimal crew manned her barge, guaranteed discreet. All of her priestesses were landward. The elegant tea service waited before her, amidships, with two small bowls, a pot on a low-standing brazier, and a treat of grapes that wouldn’t last the hour under the funereal breath of Abydos. With all in order, she stood, then moved around the low table and its two padded stools. She hurried to her sister with outstretched arms, but whatever speech she might have practiced died when she realized what really approached.