Isis Wept

by Stephan Loy

  His tirade fell on deserted dunes, not even an echo to mark his words. But Isis heard him; she heard his dark surrender to fate, and it tugged her away from her own melancholy. She rose from her place alone in the box and began the slow tramp to the others. She held her hands to protect her belly.

  As if taking its cue from the forlorn goddess of life, the sun also responded. It brightened, then released a portion of itself to earth, a blazing sphere surrounding an ornate barge. The boat descended toward the party, the leisurely progress of unhurried royalty. It landed just in front of them, outside the wall of The Rock. All understood who sailed that barge. The humans averted their eyes. They fell prostrate before the presence of Ra.

  Nephthys seemed not to notice the arrival. Her eyes saw only her miserable son.

  Just as during his entrance at the swamp, Ra sat enthroned at the bow of his boat. His court surrounded him, solemn witnesses for their lord. Ra held the ensigns of kingship crossed at his muscular chest, the shepherd’s crook and overseer’s flail. Unlike the copies held in every kingdom, these were not symbolic facsimiles. The crook and flail on the barge of Ra stood not for kingship over any earthly province, but for dominion over worlds.

  Now that dominion found rare expression. Nut stepped forward, boldly naked, her body not flesh but the deep blue void of space given form, blazing with the lights of Ra's own universe. The creator-god offered a slight nod, and Nut spoke in his name.

  “Isis, Nephthys and Anubis, take heed. The creator Ra sees your suffering. Know that it pains him greatly. He would shield you from grief, if such were possible. Behold, a sign of his love.”

  A ray of light struck out from the throne, illuminating the crippled Anubis. After a moment, the light winked out. Slowly, Anubis sat up, bewildered, and ran his hands over flesh made whole.

  He looked up to his grandmother Nut, but she waved him to silence before he could speak. “Let it be known that Ra sees all that is, was, and ever will be. This is an age of testing, so that Ra’s creation may reach completion.” Nut dropped her official tone. She spoke then as a mother. “Isis, my daughter, none of this could be helped. Osiris was destined to die. Set could not have touched him otherwise. He was destined to build this world for men, then travel into the west and bring order to the afterlife. It has always been so, though none knew but Ra. Take heart, precious daughter. Your husband has found his purpose and takes joy in the chance to live it. He--”

  “Don’t speak to me of joy,” Isis cut into her speech. The gods’ collective gasp was like a sudden breath of wind. “I know nothing of joy. My love died, and is dead again. Should I take heart in that? I’ve lived through years of misery, just a preview of worse to come. Should I take heart in that?” Her voice quavered from anger and release. Her fists slapped her hips in frustration. “You, Ra, you left me to Set. You allowed him to rape me, to enslave me to his every degenerate whim. You allowed it. You could have saved me, but you refused. You could have saved my husband, but you refused. What reason have I to heed the likes of you?”

  Nut, nonplussed, prepared a biting rebuke, but Ra reached out a restraining hand and gestured her back to rejoin the court. She did so without question.

  Ra rose from his throne. He took two steps toward Isis, then spoke. To the humans prostrate before his barge, the creator-god’s voice seemed oddly feminine.

  “I am Ra. I created this world. I created you, Isis. My plan was upon this world when you were but a thought. You, Osiris, Nephthys, Anubis, you are all parts of that plan. So is Set, for order and good must find balance in chaos, or no world may stand. You ask why Osiris is taken from you? Would you wish those mortals who have gone into the west to suffer there in limbo, to live forever in a barbarous land? A death more of punishment than reward? Osiris will build for them a life as grand as any they left behind in this world. You ask why you were allowed to suffer? Why, that is your lot, goddess of life. Your suffering is the holocaust on which the dead regain their spirits and complete the journey beyond. Your suffering brought out Nephthys, whose dominion between here and the land of the dead is vital if humans are to find their way. Without your suffering, your eyes would not have been opened. Life and death would forever stand apart, not dance entwined as they are meant to, always in balance, each a complement to the other. Without your suffering, Nephthys, the true Nephthys, could never have been born.”

  “I deny you,” Isis said, her words as brittle as flint. “You are Ra, the creator, whose eye sees all and whose power dwarfs all. All these things, if you had chosen, could have been done by you. A thought, grandfather, that’s all it would have taken. A thought, and I escape torture. Why didn’t you do it, grandfather? Why did you choose to torture me? Where was your power when Set destroyed my life?”

  Ra tilted his head in curious appraisal. “I did use my power,” he said. “You are that power.”

  He watched for her reaction, and she watched back. Of course, he was correct, she thought. Of course she was only a ray of the sun sent to do the sun’s great work. Of course it was all as Ra had planned, and of course he was hurt as thoroughly as she, for she was also an extension of him. The logic of it engulfed her, rolling over her like a wild dune in Set’s most angry storm, and not a whit of it consoled her.

  For she was Isis. She knew this to the core of her being: she was Isis. She was more than just a finger of Ra. The creator was more than the sum of his parts. So she returned his steady regard, forcing her face to hardness, determined to assert that spirit she claimed as hers.

  But he was Ra, and she a mere shadow of power in his presence. Soon she buckled with a quivering lip, then with a rush of renewed tears, then with abject bawling as she collapsed to her knees.

  “It hurts,” she cried. “I loved him, he’s gone, and it hurts. Can’t you understand?”

  All the mortals understood. Nephthys and Anubis thought they understood. Only Ra and his court seemed cold to her distress.

  “Only one truth holds in all that has transpired,” the creator god said. “When Osiris had the chance for life, he chose to remain in death. He has risen to his duty, as you must, young goddess.”

  Isis moaned through wrenching sobs. She grabbed at sand in frustration, and it trickled indifferently past her fingers. “No,” she protested. “I will not surrender my love for this or any other god-pocked world.”

  Ra made no overt response. Presumably, he already knew her intentions. After a moment, he returned to his throne. He stood before it with regal forbearance, outwardly unmoved by his granddaughter’s weeping. He signaled to Nut, who stepped forward again.

  “Osiris was destined to go into the west,” Nut said with wooden efficiency. “He cannot do so without his Ka as escort. He was supposed to journey there long ago, but you prevented him. Now Set has done something stupid, even for him. He has dismembered Osiris and cast him over the world--”

  Isis erupted in a shrieking lament that shook Nephthys from withdrawal. The lesser goddess started upright and ran to her grieving sister.

  “--so the spirits will surely miss him,” Nut continued, shaken. “You, Isis, must find his parts. You must reassemble him and send him on to his destiny. Anubis, the funerary god will assist you. Nephthys, the guide, will do so as well. Such is the word of Ra. His will be done.”

  She stepped back into the court, sighing with relief after saying her piece. Ra lowered onto his throne. As he did so, the Boat of a Million Years heightened its radiance, then levitated into the sky. In moments, it rejoined the sun.

  Anubis stood where the boat had landed, a glassed-over depression that crackled under his feet. He watched the ship’s ascent with interest rooted in gratitude.

  Nephthys held her sister, whose heart had surrendered at last to despair.

  The humans rose to their feet. They squinted after the rising sphere.

  “Gods,” Qebera muttered. His was an unkind commentary.

  Gradually, the group recovered. Sanni went to the goddesses and tried to sooth Isis, w
hose incessant howling raked everyone’s nerves. The men picked through what gear they could find, repacking essentials to carry on their backs. It was during this time that the horse returned, ambling into the box as if reporting for duty.

  Qebera dropped his burdens. “Locate the saddle!” he called to the others. “I’ll make good time to Fayum, be back with camels and proper provisions by morning!”

  “That would be better than crossing this desert on foot,” Abadi said. “You ride to Fayum. We’ll sit in the shade of The Rock and listen to Isis cry.”

  “Be kind to her,” Anubis warned, approaching from over the hill at the wall. “She’s been through more than you could bear. She’s more yet to endure.” Then he stood among the humans with his hands on his hips, looking a bit put out. “I have to ask, does anyone have any clothes I can wear?”

  “You haven’t changed a bit.” Hordedev shook his head.

  “Yes, I have. I’m naked. Oh, and this belongs to you.” He extended a hand into the group, and opened it.

  Qebera caught a glint of metal. “Gods! Nobody look!”

  Abadi and Naasir knew what he meant, and dived to the ground while covering their faces. Qebera bowled over his son.

  “What?” Anubis said, irritated. Then he saw his error. “Oh, sorry. Do you have a bag I can put it in? The other one disintegrated.”

  Epilogue:

  The children wove with abandon among the tents, campfires, ovens and stores that made up the haphazard Bedouin camp. The girls shrieked as the boy roared from behind, his arms extended with greedy menace and his fingers held like pincers. These were older children, but still short of their twelfth birthdays from the still-intact sidelocks bouncing against their ears. They were too old for idle play, but the excitement of the day had sidelined their chores. They hurtled through the camel pen and the hurly-burly of departure preparations, drawing protests from the working adults. Finally, they skirted the great black horse, its master bent to secure its harnesses.

  “Hey! You children!” Qebera shouted, and gestured them sternly to him. They obeyed, but with giggles revealing how lightly they took his command.

  Qebera stood with hands on hips, feigning severity. Hordedev and Abadi loaded camels a scant walk away, and pretended not to watch the theatrical confrontation.

  “So, you’re running around like chickens, eh? Surely you realize that camp is no place for such reckless goings-on. You could fall into a fire or burn yourself on an oven stone, or one of these camels could eat you for lunch.”

  “Yes, father,” the girls chorused, trying not to laugh.

  “And you.” Qebera addressed the boy. “Should I inform your father he sired such a lay-about? He’s right over there, you know.”

  “I hope you don't, sir. Life in the caravans is rough enough; don't make it worse with imputations!”

  “And give me a reason not to?”

  “If you tell him, he’ll beat me with a whip! He's a violent monster and quick to anger, stormier in temper than the beast Set himself!”

  The girls burst into guffaws. Knowing Abadi as he did, Qebera laughed, too. “I suppose it would be terrible indeed to release such mindless fury. I'll keep silent if you carouse somewhere else, perhaps at the edge of camp, where all such nonsense belongs. Now, scat, all of you. We grownups have work to do.”

  They blew away like sand on the wind, all but the youngest girl. She started after her playmates, but faltered to a stop and returned to her father. Qebera already bent to his chores, but he stopped once more for the girl.

  “Father, will you be long?” she asked.

  Qebera stooped to her before answering the question. “Darling, I don’t know. This is an important mission for the goddess, and my destination is far away.”

  “Why can’t she go on her own missions? She never comes out of that tent.”

  Qebera took his daughter by the shoulders. “Maya, I know you think it’s unfair. I’ve been away a lot. But, please don’t blame the goddess. We all do what we must, and she’s just as imprisoned by duty as I am. She stays in that tent for a very good reason. Don’t you think she’d like to see the sun?”

  “Some say she doesn’t want the sun to see her.”

  This struck Qebera as remarkably astute for a ten-year-old, but he sidestepped that issue for a more prosaic answer. “Well, a goddess such as her would distract the men around here. You ladies would find fault in our behavior and refuse to speak to us. Now, leave her alone. It’s been months since her ordeal in the swamp, and she isn’t quite over it yet.”

  “How do you know? Does anyone ever see her?”

  No, Qebera thought. She hid beneath mounds and mounds of robes. “Promise?”

  “Well, okay. Can I go now?”

  Qebera shooed her away. Then he remembered that someone did see the goddess fairly often. That someone was Hordedev.

  “Such a strange concept, children. Why are they so short?”

  Qebera turned to find Anubis at his elbow. The young god made a habit of sneaking up like that, often entering camp as a jackal and skulking about unnoticed for hours. What secrets did he learn, spying on humans in unabashed curiosity?

  “You really ought to stop doing that,” Qebera said. “It isn’t polite.”

  Anubis looked odd in his sparkling linen kilt among the sweaty, wool-draped Bedouins. Abadi watched him suspiciously, Hordedev with humor. Anubis didn’t notice their stares. “So, explain it. Why are they so short? It isn’t very efficient.”

  “Figure it out. You have the perfect study subject right over there in Isis's tent.”

  “Oh, I will, but the research takes such time, and my aunt isn’t, well, warm to me. Oh, by the way, my jackal friends may have located yet another piece of Osiris, found at a village below the second cataract.”

  Qebera nodded. That was four. Four of how many? And how many would be there when he or the others arrived to claim them? “That’s south, Hordedev’s area. Hand it off to him.” He didn’t wait for Anubis’s response. He cinched the last of his horse’s ties and led the beast from the pen. He didn’t know where to go, he just wanted escape from the jackal god’s report. He didn’t want to hear about the feet, hands, or arms of his fallen king. He wanted to hear that the future held promise, not just the gore of collected limbs.

  So he found himself standing at Isis’s tent, the only place in camp where hope, though fragile, found a form. “Goddess,” he called, “it’s Qebera. Might I enter, to speak with you?”

  He heard the expected rustle of cloth, Isis cocooning herself in wool. Sad that she had to do so, but she was the goddess of life, even if darkened by grief.

  “Come in,” he heard, and he stepped past the flap.

  The tent was appointed in simple Bedouin style. Isis sat on the bedroll in back, cradling the baby in which all hope lay. Sanni kneeled before them, gathering the leavings of a just-completed feeding.

  “Now, you understand,” Sanni said, “that solid food must be carefully balanced. No meat for a while; he isn’t old enough. And careful with dates and milk together; you’ll likely give him the runs.”

  “It’s so complicated,” the pile of robes said. “How do you humans manage it?”

  Sanni harrumphed. “It provides hands for the farm.” She took up her bowls of mashed food and dirty bath water, and rose to leave the tent. She stopped to look at her husband, a question in her eyes.

  “Very soon,” Qebera answered. “I’ll see you at our tent.”

  Sanni nodded, and left. Qebera stood just a few feet inside the tent. He watched his former queen cradle her baby, the miracle, the contradiction, the story of mankind.

  “Yes,” Isis said in a small voice. “Yes, Qebera, he will be king, and you, good servant, will see it happen. I can do so little, but I promise you this: your family that has suffered so much will stand in a risen Abydos, the trusted vassals of the foremost of men. Set will be vanquished and a new age begun, the age of man as king in Egypt.”

  Qebera nodded,
having heard her decree many times since the swamp, since The Rock, since Ra fell to Earth. The claim seemed to sustain the goddess, to remind her that hope still lived. But her words had always puzzled Qebera, and before he left on a quest of years, he wanted to know their meaning. “Yes, goddess, as you say. But, to help me understand: how is it possible the child is human?”

  The woolen figure rocked gently, and petted the child cooing in its arms. “Oh, he’s human. He is also a god. Ra meant it so. The seed of Osiris was too weak to sprout a full-fledged god, but it will give us a warrior, one as wise and strong as his father. Finally Osiris, who lived for man, will live in man. He will share the mortal adventure, and ascend to Ra when his mortal time is done. But, first, he will take what is his.”

  She said that last with venom, taking Qebera aback. “Umm, we’re almost ready to leave, goddess. And Anubis has news on another ... find.”

  “Good. Set has scattered my husband’s body throughout all Egypt. But, I’ll find every part, and bind them together, and make whole my love's spirit. This will happen, with your faithful help.”

  “Don’t worry, goddess. We’ll bring Osiris back to you. I swear by the eye that hangs about your neck.”

  Isis shook her head. She fingered the pouch that hung between her breasts. “Make no such oath, Qebera. If you must swear, do so against something of honor and truth. Swear by your worth as man.”

  Qebera bowed and backed out of the tent.

  Just before he did so, another tent flap parted right next to Isis’s, and Hordedev entered an intensely dark space shielded from the sun by layers of wool draped over the outside walls. At least, that’s how he rationalized the darkness. Truthfully, no drape of cloth could have accounted for that blackness; it radiated from the tent’s sole occupant.

  “You called for me?” The young man kneeled before the figure hunched centered on the floor. Nephthys was almost invisible in the black pall of her quarters. She had been so ever since the swamp, caught in some trial of repentance no one understood.