Isis Wept

by Stephan Loy

  The Djafa spat into the sand. “Seven years ago, your goddess helped one of our women; I don’t even recall which one. I am grateful, but not enough to destroy my people.”

  “Yes, Djafa, I understand.” Qebera rubbed the back of his neck. “But, I haven’t the luxury of choice. I swore to serve my goddess, since I so miserably failed my lord. I must go to Merimde. I’d appreciate men to help me.”

  Anxious Bedouins packed in close. The heads of the clan’s many households, they had long since accepted Qebera as their own, but none wanted war with foreign gods. They were family men more than leaders. Now they strained to hear their fate as determined by their nominal father and his adopted son.

  “You will get no men from me,” Djafa Seniram announced, and the crowd wheezed from sighs of relief. “You and your family are welcome here, Qebera. We have prospered with you among us. But your people, your Egyptians...” He fluttered his hands in frustration. “Your people are corrupt. If they and their gods destroy each other, it isn’t our affair.”

  Qebera nodded. Why should the clan endanger itself for gods it believed were false? He looked around at the others, his brethren so relieved not to fight. He wished he were one of them, not a foreign pretender. True, he had family among the Bedouins, a life driven by the mundane bits and pieces of existence, like raising children and trading for the clan. Sanni, as he stood there, tended a foaling horse, the first birth in Egypt of those still mysterious animals. The gods did not help in that or any other aspect of Qebera's second life. Still, he disagreed with his benefactor, and understood why. It had nothing to do with the gods, and everything to do with himself, with his sense of honor. For the first time in years, Qebera felt outside the fold.

  He tugged at his horse’s reigns, drawing the animal through the wall of men. He spoke as he pulled himself onto the saddle. “I can’t expect you to fight, not for a goddess you see as false. But, I’ve known Isis for years. False or true, she's worth defending. She cares for us humans more than we do for ourselves.” He sat high over the heads of his friends. He looked from one to another without seeing their faces. “If Set destroys Isis, if he destroys Thoth, then who will stand against him? Set is chaos. He knows no limits. My deposed master taught us that. If any part of him survives, it does so in his legacy of truth, of honor, of the simple decency that is community. Set represents none of that. He has been a storm over the land of my birth. Once he brings Egypt under his heel, can the Bedouin clans be safe?”

  The crowd murmured in uncomfortable agreement, but the Djafa silenced them. “You speak true, Qebera. Set may one day assert himself on this desert. But, we are Bedouin; we can always move to Nubia, or Kush, or farther on. You forget: the desert isn’t our home. It’s just where we make a living.”

  Qebera shrugged off the truth of those words. His Bedouin shell was hard, but he had already set his loyalties. “Well, perhaps I'm forgetful, Djafa. At least, I may seem to forget your kindness by using harsh words against you. You see, one thing I’ve learned in this family is that Bedouins take care of their own. Isis is one of our own. She proved that to you once. When she lent her aid to your people, she didn’t ask if they were Egyptian. She required no faith in exchange for aid.” His voice rose to include the crowd. “If the Bedouin will fight to protect their own, then their knives are owed to Isis. I know mine is!” He slid his sword from its linen belt and held it aloft. The metal glistened in the campfire light.

  Djafa Seniram nodded. “Go, Qebera. Protect your wayward gods. But those you leave behind are allied to the greater god to come. Clan Djafa dismisses this wholly Egyptian quarrel.” With that, he turned away into the dark, pulling Abadi with him.

  Qebera felt a stab of disappointment, but steeled his jaw to hide it. He secured his sword and turned the horse for home. The silent men who had been his brothers moved aside respectfully, but few raised their eyes.

  Sanni made a cautious if ineffectual attempt to wash up. She scrubbed her arms with a damp wool rag, then raked them with sand to grind more blood and afterbirth from her skin. She used water sparingly, for there was precious little to share with her desert neighbors. She didn't want to seem overly Egyptian.

  Still, despite her efforts, offal clung to her in a thin, drying sheen. She had to get it off; she couldn't prepare meals with her hands so filthy.

  She looked up from where she crouched just outside her family's tent. The moon, the eye of Thoth, hung high in the cobalt sky. The horse stood in that blue light, pulling at sprigs of brown grass in the sand. Her foal nuzzled close, slurping its first meal from its mother's swollen teat.

  This was their new world, Sanni thought, the new, unknown future for all beneath the shadows of gods. New life, strange souls foreign to the ancient order of what once had been Egypt. Those horses did not belong in the land they were forced to call home. Neither did Sanni or her family.

  What must they do to survive?

  In that mood, she spied her husband's approach.

  Sanni knew that he came to say good-bye; his slump in the saddle told her so. But, Sanni wasn’t as strong as she once might have been. She didn’t take the news with the stoic resignation that had once been her signature. Tears welled within her. By the time Qebera stopped the horse at her side, those tears found sobs, and her cheeks glistened in the moonlight.

  This, by the gods, was not a way to live.

  “Well?” she asked.

  “It’s Isis,” he answered. “She needs my help. I leave as soon as possible.”

  “It’ll never end, will it, Qebera?”

  “I don’t know. I honestly don’t.”

  They stood there a moment, a visual testament to broken dreams. Then Sanni gathered herself and stepped away toward the tent.

  “Well,” she said, “you’ll have to get your gear, and I’ll have to pack you some food. Come on in, and kiss your children good-bye.”

  He did, and that changed everything. His partings had always been heartfelt, but he hugged his daughters with such pathos that night, something in Sanni shrilled a warning. She watched him the rest of the night, noting the solemnity with which he packed his possessions, especially the threadbare rags of his old Abydan guard regalia. She watched as he cleaned the bronze of his sword and sharpened its edge against a stone. He gave it precise attention, much like a ritual act. As night wore on and preparations continued, Sanni made arrangements she might never have considered in those ruined times now past.

  “You aren’t coming back, are you?” she asked as dawn approached.

  Her husband sat on a stone beyond the tent, waiting for day to break. The last two hours he had spent facing east; he should have left, but his horse needed the rest. He didn’t even flinch at her question. “I don’t know,” he said in the same wooden tone he had used all night. “Thoth called me, so it must be bad.”

  “Thoth wouldn’t call you to fight a losing battle. He is known for wisdom, not foolishness.”

  “Well, he’s expecting a lot more of us.”

  Sanni kneeled on the sand beside him. “You’ll be killed if you go.”

  “I just don’t know.”

  “Then, please, don’t go.”

  Qebera looked at her. “My duty is clear. I must protect my queen.”

  “She isn’t your queen. She has no kingdom. But you, Qebera you fool, you have a family.” Her words were bitter.

  Qebera stared. How terrible the weight of the last several years. He wanted to soothe his wife, to erase the worry plain on her face. But, he was helpless to rescue her. He couldn’t even rescue himself.

  “I’m sorry, Sanni. This task is set for me. I have to see it through.”

  She rebutted without hesitation. “Then I suppose I’m going with you.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’m going with you. It’s the only way I know to ensure you come back safely.”

  Qebera didn’t know what to say. “Sanni, let’s not do this--”

  “No, Qebera, we will. I’ve lost you twice
already; I won’t lose you again.”

  “The girls--”

  “The girls will be fine. Our oldest is almost twelve, and I’ve seen that our neighbors will watch them.”

  “Sanni--”

  She stood, and dusted her hands. She didn’t look as strong as she pretended. “This is not a negotiable matter. You’ve gotten yourself into trouble long enough. It’s time I got you out, and forced you into retirement. Things are different, Qebera. Everything is different. If necessary, I’ll speak with this goddess of yours...”

  He opened his mouth to protest again, but she stopped him with a jut of her chin.

  “So, we’re understood?” she asked. “Then I’ll prepare the camels.”

  With that, she walked away, leaving her husband befuddled, and much more like himself.

  Because of the extra mount and the need to verify arrangements with their neighbors, Sanni and Qebera didn’t start for Merimde until well after sunrise. This was lucky; for without that delay, they might never have rendezvoused with Abadi outside camp. They found him waiting almost in their path, he and Naasir with a troop of two camels beyond the ones they rode. The Bedouins fell into step with Qebera’s horse and Sanni’s two animals.

  “I thought the Clan Djafa was forbidden to aid my cause,” Qebera said to his friends.

  “True.” Abadi nodded from his camel’s swaying back. “An odd bird, the Djafa. He forbids the clan’s involvement, then warns me as he walks away not to dishonor my family by denying help to a friend. I guess it's one thing to endanger the clan. Endangering me, that’s something else.”

  Qebera appreciated Abadi’s loyalty, however glibly offered. But he knew the end of his quest as surely as he knew a harvest by the floods that preceded it. He sought to protect his friend, for the harvest ahead was bitter. “I release you,” he said. “This isn’t your fight; you needn’t die in it.”

  Abadi shrugged. “I appreciate the release, but you shouldn’t have mentioned the death part. Of course, I must stand with you now, and for no other reason than how I’d feel if you got yourself killed without me.” He shook his head and frowned. “A bad concept, responsibility. It brings us nothing but trouble.”

  “Then, at least send Naasir back. His family will need him.”

  Abadi looked to his son, who trailed slightly behind, then back to Qebera. “I can’t send him back because I didn’t order him here. He’s a good man, Naasir is. I’m understandably proud.”

  “And I’m understandably perplexed. Why does everyone insist on finding their doom through me?” Qebera raised his voice to include all around him, but his tone cracked from emotion. “I was assigned this fate years ago. She asked it of me, and I accepted. None of you were asked, none of you need answer. I can’t have your deaths on my head.”

  “Oh, Qebera, be still.” Sanni sighed. “No one’s going to die. That’s the whole point. We’re here to see that you come back alive.”

  “And, how, may I ask, is that supposed to happen with Set out there, bent on vengeance?”

  “You still have your secret weapon?” Abadi asked.

  Qebera’s hand shot to his chest and grasped the pouch that hung there.

  Abadi laughed. “There’s your answer, old friend. Think a moment; step back from your so-called destiny. Are you confused why your gods called the Djafa? It wasn’t because of a pregnant woman. They called on us because of that.” He nodded toward the pouch, then laughed at Qebera’s startled expression. “Yes, you brooding old hero. Your destiny isn’t to die in battle protecting your queen from evil. You’re just a delivery boy. It’s that amulet they want.”

  Energy stormed through Nephthys's body, then down her arm and out through her hand to Isis. Black energy, brooding power. Nephthys felt exhilaration. The wave crashed through her like wild, living fire, searing every nerve and electrifying muscles. It engulfed her for a few ecstatic moments until she couldn’t feel her extremities and saw spots before her eyes. She must have collapsed, she thought, for hadn’t she been standing when Isis began the transfer? But she only felt weightlessness deep in her stomach, and that thrilling, erotically electric storm.

  Then she fell to earth. She crashed into an awareness of fetid air and the slime of mud on her skin. She sucked in putrescence, and burst into sobs.

  “Nephthys?” she heard, and opened her eyes to find Isis over her, the humans in the background. So, she had collapsed. “Nephthys, how are you?”

  I want to go back. “I-- I felt something. Why did you stop?”

  The humans exchanged glances. Isis sat back, out of Nephthys’s view.

  “I couldn’t go on any longer. I’m so weak; this ... taxes me.” Isis’s voice slurred from exhaustion. Nephthys sat up, concerned by her sister’s tone.

  “Goddess,” Amnet said, not to Nephthys, “is there no other way?” Isis lay in the mud by the platform. Amnet paced beside her, wringing his hands. “Surely, there’s some other way. The danger... We thought we would lose you both.”

  “Please, ensure that you don’t,” Isis muttered.

  Amnet halted his anxious pacing. He didn’t look at Isis -- neither human did if they could help it -- but his face showed frustration. Nephthys thought she had missed something; the mood had been different only moments ago. “Amnet,” she said, “what’s going on? Why are you so upset? Why is Isis so tired? I know I passed out, but what could have happened in so short a time?”

  Amnet’s eyes jerked to hers, but he seemed beyond speech.

  The pilot cleared his throat. “Umm, goddess, I hardly know how to say this...”

  “Please, say something. You're starting to upset me--”

  She quailed as Amnet flew at her, but he got her by the shoulders anyway and hauled her to her feet. He turned her as he brought her up, and pushed her to the platform so that she landed facing the corpse.

  Instinctively, she flung herself away from the body. Then she saw the corpse, its surprising lack of rot, its solidity and cohesion. It seemed less ... hollow than when she first found it.

  “You were out for hours,” Amnet snarled. “She channeled your life force into him until she couldn’t stand it.”

  Nephthys put a hand to her mouth. “It’s working,” she said.

  “Yes!” Amnet shouted. “It’s working! It’s working, but the cost!”

  Nephthys squinted at him. “What?”

  “She loves him, Nephthys! She’ll bring him back, and if that means offering herself to torment, then she’s sure to do it!”

  Nephthys straightened. What did he mean, torment? The sensation had been one of ecstasy, a height she hadn't reached-- Oh, but it would be different for Isis.

  Amnet saw comprehension in her eyes. “Yes,” he snapped. “She’s spent hours in the grip of death. How about you, our worthy goddess of the heroic hereafter?”

  Anubis often vanished to confer with Thoth, usually at night when the ibis-headed judge sent his moon as messenger. Thoth spied on the Setim and imparted what he knew. He also searched for Isis, though without any luck. Hordedev wondered how he, a mortal of no importance, could be of value to the gods. He did nothing to help them. Anubis even drove the boat.

  Then there were the jackals, which really unnerved Hordedev. Sometimes, alone, he heard their chattering speech and glimpsed their skulking shadows keeping just out of sight. Sometimes they entered the camp, as if they were pets and had every right to be there. This worried Hordedev. Their teeth were sharp, and they conducted themselves with intelligence beyond that ascribed to scavengers.

  Now they were at it again, though Hordedev had managed an escape to the boat before the beasts appeared. They took over camp, sniffing at everything and eating the food, knocking over bowls and jars. It was hard to count them as they moved through the firelight, but Hordedev was sure he saw at least twenty. They paced the muddy ground and ransacked the gear, oddly nervous, as if waiting for someone.

  Anubis returned. He showed no dismay at a camp overrun by jackals, and in fact looked hap
py to see them. Some he petted absently while he spoke to others in quiet, businesslike tones. The beasts imparted knowledge to their master, and he issued them orders. The meeting -- and it was a meeting, not just a master enjoying his pets -- broke up quickly. The jackals bolted into the swamp, all in the same direction.

  Anubis looked out to Hordedev and waved. “You can come in now. The vicious little doggies are gone.”

  Stung, Hordedev poled the vessel back to the muddy bank. The effort gave him little discomfort, for Anubis had nearly healed him. “Begging my lord’s pardon,” he said, refusing to be belittled, “but jackals are dangerous in large numbers. They’ve been known to attack humans.”

  Anubis pulled in the boat. “When conducting my business, jackals are dangerous only when I ask it. Take that to heart, if you travel with me.” The boat secure, he turned to sit on a fallen log in Hordedev’s ruined camp. Using a twig he snapped from the log, Anubis began drawing pictures in the mud. “I’m told that my mother is east and north of here, in a particularly nasty portion of swamp. A good hiding place, if the word is true. The place is deserted, and hidden from the moon by a thick canopy.”

  “Then you’ve found them at last? We’ll pack the gear and go at once.”

  “Relax. We’ve nothing for sure. My friends will inform us in good time.”

  Hordedev sat down on the log. “How do you talk to jackals?” He had learned it was best to approach Anubis directly. The god respected frankness.

  Anubis shrugged. “I’ve always been able to talk to them, as I can transform to their likeness. We’re both enamored with death, the jackal and I. We have a link of some sort.”

  “My father was captain of the guard under Osiris. Because of his station, I’ve met or seen a lot of gods. If you’ll forgive me, you aren’t much like them.”

  “Yes, the others are awfully stuffy, don’t you think?”