by L. E. Waters
“It gives a whole new understanding to the purpose of birthmarks, doesn’t it?”
“This is from my very first death? What happened?”
“That you will have to see for yourself.”
I stare at the spot, wondering how something as small as this dot could be a past life’s downfall. “Are there any other markers?”
“People can adapt more markers with time, so you have to learn them as lives progress. Many personality traits and mannerisms survive into the next life. They build upon each other, and after many lives, you get some pretty interesting characters.” He raises his eyebrows, probably referring to some of the characters I’d left back in my last life. “Certain tastes and interests follow you throughout each life, such as affinity for certain foods, clothing, places, music, and even certain objects—all creeping their way out of your subconscious.”
I try to think of all my tastes and how I might guess what my first life will be.
“So if I have to go back again, I will at least have all my soul mates with me?”
He shakes his head, and I feel sick again.
I don’t want to imagine a life without Finn or Ellie.
“The incarnate group will keep increasing for you. You might first start with only a few souls, but with each additional life, more people will come in and out of your group.”
“Out of your group? Do some leave?”
“Not leave for good, but sometimes some lives don’t incarnate together. It all depends on what the soul has to work on and if it fits with your goals.”
No guarantees to go back with the ones you loved the most. “Okay, I think I’ve heard enough for now.” I raise my hands in surrender. “Is there any way you can prepare me for what I’m about to see?”
He shakes his head. “No, I’m sorry. You have to see these lives as you experienced them to get the full effect of the memory.”
I take a deep breath as though I’m plunging into the ocean’s depths. “I’m ready to see my first life.”
He leans closer to me, taking my arm, and peers deep into my eyes. “Yes, I think you are.”
First Life
Dream Magician
Chapter 1
Opening my eyes to darkness, I look up to see stars filling the whole stretch of moonless sky. Large stars twinkle and catch my eye, as small stars—white dust thrown across the black—make me squint to see them. I focus back to ground level, where I follow the rolling landscape of sand.
I stand fourth in a long line of robed young men, all identical and standing in silence before the Pyramid of Khufu with torches burning every few feet. Eight men pull a massive rock from the temple entrance, straining and grunting with the weight. Once the rock is moved halfway, two priests emerge with torches and nod their bald heads toward us as the first in line disappears; we all follow.
I should have been first.
The priests lead the way, chanting, accompanied by double clarinet musicians slowly blowing a snake-charmer melody as the cobra of our line follows obediently. The passageway is narrow, and the air is stale. The temperature is warmer inside the pyramid, a great relief since the thin robe helps little in the desert cold. The priests remove another door. Stepping up into a second corridor, I duck my head beneath the low ceiling. We come into a chamber where a statue of Amun and four other high priests stand. A priest takes the offerings the god Amun had feasted on and serves the first boy in line wine from a golden cup and white bread torn from the offering loaves. After he partakes, he is sent ahead to another chamber.
When it is finally my turn, the priest turns and asks, “You will loyally serve your gods and goddesses under Ra and the Pharaoh?”
I recite, “I will, or the Pharaoh take my life and Ra deny me afterlife.”
I drink and eat to fulfill the initiation and step into an even lower-ceilinged passageway, where I wait until I’m waved in. Three groups are stationed in the queen’s chamber. Two naked boys stand beside open fires in front of two groups. One tries to pull away from the priests who hold him, screaming as the surgeon makes a quick movement.
Coward.
I give no sign of hesitation as I remove my robe and march toward the third station. This is the mark of the priesthood and the highest act of purifying oneself. Each priest takes an arm, and the surgeon kneeling before me brushes the tip of my manhood with a tingling, brown liquid—the anesthetic. It weakens me to receive it.
The surgeon grasps a thin knife with a long handle, pulls my foreskin forward in one hand, and slices off the small piece of flesh with the other. I inhale sharply, registering the hot flash of pain. The surgeon throws the flesh into the fire, then places honey-soaked cotton with thyme around the wound, and covers it with a linen wrap. Turning to the priest wrapping a linen loincloth around my waist, I bow as they bow back.
I am one of the priesthood now.
Chapter 2
Years later, my palm-wood-sandaled feet trot along the stone path through tall desert trees that provide much-needed relief from the dry heat of the land. I come to the end of my purification walk from my family dwelling outside the sacred city of Memphis. My thirty days of service is about to begin, and I’m eager to reclaim the position of my late father and his father before that. I already feel strength from my fast. I walk steadfast under the towering statues of Ra lining the walkway to the temple entrance. I’m beginning to feel alive again, every muscle tingling.
Above the door bears the sacred inscription: “The House of Life—The Learned Ones of Library Magic.” Every time I pass under that engraving, pride consumes me. I’m the high priest of such a temple. The six guards at the entrance step aside and bow to me, allowing me access. I point for my lagging slave, Nun, to go to my sleeping chamber and prepare it for the evening. The interior of the temple drops twenty degrees, and my sweat cools instantly, causing a slight chill. Torches illuminate a path down the corridor as the smell of incense engulfs me.
Another guard opens the massive cypress door and bows on one knee while holding the heavy door open. Inside the high-ceilinged room stands an imposing statue of Serapis, God of Dreams, to which our temple is dedicated. All around the statue, offerings of fruit, nuts, beer, wine and fresh-killed lamb are piled up. Expensive oils and incense are burned in wide pots at the perimeter of the vast room, casting light on the papyrus plants, lotus, and palm trees painted to the top of the walls. I look to the flying birds and stars painted to the greatest height across the vaulted ceiling. A harpist plays soft music while beautiful virgins dance slowly. I walk to the altar and bow as a priestess wafts a cloud of incense and natron around me.
I head through the pyres to my right which lead me to the cleansing pool. I stand at the pool’s steps, waiting with my arms out, as a stolist priest unties my cotton loincloth. Naked, I kneel down as another stolist lathers my head with scented lotion and shaves my hair to my scalp. I stand again as he shaves all of my body, hand-plucks my eyebrows and each eyelash.
As a viper feels after shedding its skin, I breathe deep and glide into the cool, pure water, then sink beneath. Breaching the surface and rubbing the water from my eyes, I catch my reflection in the golden mirrors lining the edge of the pool. Water runs down my brown skin, causing a glistening effect in the glowing dimness of the room. With all my hair gone, my features look chiseled, emphasizing my prominent nose and thick lips.
As I exit, the priests anoint my body in balanos oil and tie a clean white linen loincloth around my waist. I bow my head as one places the moonstone eye of Serapis around my neck and a gold arm cuff around my biceps. I turn to another who paints my eyes, brows, and lips black with kohl out of a lotus-shaped glass container. To finalize the cleansing, I rinse my mouth with salty natron water and spit into an alabaster flask. The priests bow to me as I walk back into the central room of the temple, again bow to Serapis, and continue to the dream-incubation chamber. I am to prepare the evening’s special ceremony to find Nebu’s—God Wife of Serapis—adopted Royal Daughter.
I walk into the large central chamber, where two lower priests are tending the giant fire pits on either side of my podium that holds my sacred books. I take my place at the altar, enclosed by the thick, stone columns, to review the last priest’s journal entries. The tended fires blaze, illuminating the carvings of the dream gods carved on all four walls. Gods who are waiting for pharaohs, priests, scribes, wealthy merchants, and commoners to come to scry for cures, magical spells, hex removal, fertility, and prophesy. I hold their most vital hopes and dreams in my hands.
The two priests finish with the fires, refill incense oils, and then bow as they back out of the chamber; I wave them away.
Hearing sandals clicking down the corridor outside, I can tell it is Nebu’s quick light feet as she comes to greet me. She is beautiful, as all of the wives of gods are expected to be. She wears her gold-and-lapis lazuli collar, gold headdress, and gold-painted long skirt wrapped around her hips. I bow before her, appreciating every inch of wasted splendor, since no earthly man can ever have her.
“Sokaris,” she says with her hands out for me to grasp in greeting, “I hope your leave was restful?”
“I grew fat and bored as always, and I’m eager to dedicate myself again.” I hold her hands and bow with her.
She begins to walk, silently commanding me to follow her down the corridor.
“It is time for me to pass down my position, but I do not want to choose poorly. I need to adopt an apprentice who will not merely fulfill my wifely duties but also please Serapis.”
As we are approaching the main chamber, Edjo—Nebu’s favored apprentice—comes limping down the corridor in tears. As Edjo is normally a graceful and tranquil beauty, this is an abnormal event. Her tears cause her kohl to make black rivers down her fine-featured face, and her amber eyes look beseechingly to Nebu.
“Most High, I awoke this morning with a large and painful lesion above my knee.” She points to a festering wound seeping clear fluid down her right leg. “It is a curse, I tell you! I dreamed of a jealous enemy last week!”
Nebu turns to me, and I nod in validation.
“I also have a rash that has spread all over my face and down the back of my neck.”
We lean closer with a torch and see her skin is indeed raised and red.
Nebu shakes her head with disappointment. “I am sorry, Edjo, but these are all signs the gods do not find you fit for this position.”
Edjo crumples to Nebu’s feet.
“Once you are healed and purified, you are welcome to be one of my esteemed dancers,” Nebu says as she pats her heaving back.
Edjo begins kissing her feet. “Please, Nebu, please see this for the treachery it is! I have been groomed for Serapis, raised to be his wife! I am Edjo, the daughter of Amun! This is my birthright! My family will be shamed!”
Nebu shakes her off her feet and starts moving down the hall to the other dancers.
Edjo shrieks from behind us, “I cannot bear this shame! I am going to drown myself in the Nile, and the one that has cursed me will be damned!”
Neither Nebu nor I give her a second look.
Nebu whispers under her breath, “Clearly not ordained.”
The rhythmic drums and cymbals are heard from the corridor, and the chamber is filled with movement. Twenty royal dancers twist and turn to the beats, striving to stand out and impress Nebu. They can all turn the head of any man, but they dull like the dust stars next to the brightest and shining star. I stop hearing the music when I see her.
She watches her hands and the intricate movements they’re making as her hips click with the beat. I don’t know which part of her to watch first. She is the waves rolling from the center of the sea with no end and no beginning, an unrelenting ripple of her whole body. She starts with a large movement of her middle and lets it flow to an undulation out the tips of her hands and then back down to her toes. Her body reflects all of the flickers of the fire, making her cast a marbled glow. Her motions hypnotize me, and when I find the music has stopped—I want more.
I shake my head to break the spell and look to see if Nebu notices the trance she put me under, but she too is watching the girl. She claps her hands. “Satisfactory.” Then, motioning to the harpist to begin playing, she commands, “Sing for Serapis.”
When it’s my dancing girl’s turn to sing, she doesn’t have perfect pitch, as did other girls, but she sings quietly and so sweetly. Her eyes! Her eyes are large, honey pools you can fall into and never climb out! She is the most intriguing and captivating woman I’ve ever seen. Something is different about her—something powerful—something mystifying. She moves, and my eyes follow; she speaks, and my ears tune out all other sound. I feel far away from her and want to be closer. I wish no one else were in the room.
Nebu interrupts my pain. “I see you agree with my choice.”
I pretend to be only slightly interested. “There are many talented girls for you to pick from, but one does seem to have a magic air to her.”
“Ah, you have noticed. Yes, that is a good way to put it.” She smiles while gazing upon her. “I wonder, though, if she seems devout and disciplined enough?”
“That is hard to see in the arts. We will need to probe deeper and let our ancient knowledge guide us.”
My heart races at the thought that I’ll get to spend some time alone with her.
“Yes, we will have to trust the ancients—and you, Sokaris.”
I leave to take my place in the dream-incubation chamber before Nebu sends her. I have to regain composure and steady myself for the important task ahead. I look up at my reflection in the brass incense burner, and I see her float in behind me. I turn, avoiding her eyes, and stare at my papyrus.
“Name?” I ask.
“Bastet, daughter of Ketuh.” Her voice is melodious.
“Age?”
“Fifteen and a half years.”
She’s older than most royal daughters, but it is not unheard of for someone her age to be considered. Her blue glass ear studs catch my eye.
“Let me see your palm.”
She outstretches a fragile, long-fingered hand and slowly turns it within my palm as she looks directly in my eyes. I feel a charge at her touch but continue my task. She has many great talents on her hand but carries three of the most ominous signs: a weak and broken lifeline that foretells a short life; she lacks the gift of willpower whorl on her thumb; and most intriguing to me, her mount of Venus is well padded, showing immense passion. Normally I wouldn’t even let a candidate stay after this miserable reading, but I can’t stand the thought of her leaving.
“Please follow me to your chamber for the night.”
I lead her to the smaller chambers where dream incubation takes place. I motion her to enter the room first, pushing aside the urge to pull her to the bed with me.
She sits down on the side of the linen-draped bed and asks, “Who is looking upon me as I sleep?”
I freeze at her unabashed forwardness but thaw when she points to the carving on the headboard.
“That is the midget god, Bes: the Dream Protector.” I motion her to come to the table beside me. When she nears, I can smell the remnants of scented wax in her braided wig releasing its sweet perfume. “Tonight you must pray to the god Serapis to send you a fortuitous dream, one that can tell us of your destiny with him. Please write his name on the papyrus.”
She obeys with some skill, and I roll it up and place it in a lamp beside her bed.
I pray, “Will it be granted that Bastet, daughter of Ketuh, be Royal Daughter to Serapis? Reveal it to me; answer this little written prayer.”
I light the papyrus to burn while she sleeps. She bows, and I leave her chamber to attempt to retire in the chamber next to hers. It is hours before my body relaxes enough to sleep, knowing she is so close.
I’m getting back into bed and am fixing the scroll with my god’s name when I feel something move by my leg under the sheet. I throw back the sheet to expose a writhing mass of snakes
crawling and hissing on top of me. I scream as they all bite into me at once, igniting me in flames.
I wake, thrashing and breathing hard.
The same dream again and again!
I write on my papyrus: GET SEHKET!
Chapter 3
Bastet wakes in the morning and hands me her night vision to interpret. She walks away from me, her hips swaying in a beaded wrap as it plays a mesmerizing song. Regardless of what foretelling I hold in my hands, I know I’ll create my own to keep her in my life. Yet I am curious and open her scroll to read:
I was on the rooftop of the temple and walked to a well in the center. I looked into the deep hole and saw in the reflection Nebu, holding the scales, weighing my heart against a feather. I was frightened by a sound behind me. I turned to see a giant ostrich run by.
I roll the scroll back up and burn it in the fire above the altar.
∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞
Later that night, after the last purification of the day, Nebu inquires, “I am relieved to hear Bastet passed your palm reading, but I am anxious to hear of her dream.”
“Yes, she has truly been a remarkable subject.” I lie, “She displayed an amazing ability to connect with the spirit world.”
Nebu raises her painted eyebrows in interest. “What have you interpreted?”
“There is no need for me to interpret since she had direct communication facilitated by Serapis.”
She pulls back in surprise, never having had direct contact with him herself. I unroll the scroll and let her read:
I was walking up to the statue of Serapis and saw my own dead form laid out as an offering. The statue of Serapis came alive, took his sacred offering of donkey meat, and put it in front of me. I came to life and ate the flesh.
Nebu rolls the scroll back up and hands it to me. I don’t need to tell her that those are the portents of long life, promotion, and divine acceptance.