The Forgotten God

Chapter Twenty-Four

If Ishaq was curious about his master's seemingly lenient nature towards him then Am-Heh was more so. The God who was feared by nearly all of Egypt, not to mention some of the other deities also. Ruthless and hard hearted when it came to ridding the living world of those who displeased him and condemning those in need of long-lasting punishment in the afterlife, it was almost obscene that he would show compassion towards a lowly human.

He had little time to think of it though, his irritation over the next evening's proceeding grating his nerves and the news of a temple whose priests had insulted his existence.

This was not the first time they had offended his ears and he had frankly informed Atum that this was the final slur. The creator knew there was little point in arguing. He could only hope his anger didn't spread like a dark cloud over the entirety of Egypt.

Devotions to the Gods varied from temple to temple. His own following was sparse to say the least with only a handful trying to pander to his good side. Those perhaps in fear for their immortal souls when they finally faced judgement. They were ignorant to the fact that the Gods could not be bribed.

At least not when the mortal was in the hold of death.

Wealth and monetary offerings made little impact on Am-Heh. The glut of opulence around him, crafted by his own hands, was enough. He didn't see the need to sit about counting gold staters, worrying one might have gone amiss like the beak nosed traders that haunted the street corners, luring with oily prattle.

Fine food was well enough, the meat often given to the dogs or the servants. It saved work,

However, having his reputation embezzled was a slur that no offering at all would placate.

His eyes narrowed and trailed the frayed map, drawn up so long ago and now showing its age. Each town and city were beautifully detailed, one could almost hear the people and the life that existed there.

"The banks of the Nile will burst," he muttered in a low growl, chewing his lip as he calculated the areas. "Those who do not drown will lose everything or be consumed by crocodiles. How delightful to watch them ripped to pieces, especially a self-proclaimed priest who dares insult me."

It would not be now. He wanted to wait until the Nile had risen slightly, bringing the fertile black soil as a gift to the farmers but also making it easier for the crocodiles to seize their hapless prey.

Patience was not something Am-Heh had much of but he had no control over the rivers, nor would he demand that Hapi or Khnum assist. He already knew the answer would be a resounding 'no'. None would change the times and tides, regardless of the situation. If offended they took their revenge in other ways.

He rolled the map back up, taking care not to rip it in his anger, before tossing back onto the shelves.

--

The large space set out for social occasions was a buzz of activity as slaves polished the floor and arranged the furnishings.

The room was the central hall of the building, situated at the southern end of a colonnaded court from which it was reached through the great vestibule.

The ceiling was supported on six columns of white limestone, decorated with flames of gold that danced from the base and wound their way around the spirals. At the bottom each shaft was decorated with eight larger tongues of fire, alternating from red to gold.

The floor was constructed with white stucco. Intricate designs gave life to the plainness in several large mosaics that represented the seasons of the hunt.

Sadly, when the heft table was brought in, these were covered, giving less meaning to the murals.

Ishaq's back cricked painfully as he scrubbed the steps leading inside. There was no visible dust but the butler insisted everything was still polished until their fingers almost bled.

He looked irritably at the rag; his bedding was grubbier than that.

"You'd sour the milk if you looked at it with that expression!" Mandisa's voice range cheerily, bringing a chuckle from an otherwise fed-up mood. "The first time is always the hardest, finding out expectations. Just be grateful these aren't a regular occurrence."

Ishaq stretched, wincing at the cramps that gnawed his muscles. "I have the feeling that if the butler wasn't present then it would be easier," he grumbled. "I've never known anyone as picky!"

Mandisa smiled and placed the bowl of succulent fruit she carried onto the table. The contents shimmered, freshly washed and full of sweet juice ready to burst from the polished skins. With such tastes available she could never quite understand why so many of the Gods preferred the less flavoursome lettuce leaves.

The table would be full by the evening with platters of meat and fresh produce, complimented by jugs of wine and water for those he did not want to imbibe. The dancers rarely drank, needing to keep their wits about them, especially when the men became intoxicated.

Looking across to the hunched butler his work was scrutinised before a sniff and a reluctant nod was given. No words were uttered, praise was unseemly for one in his position.

Mandisa smiled sympathetically as Ishaq drew his hands back swiftly to avoid them being trodden on as the man stalked away, barking out another order towards another flustered servant.

He grit his teeth, his fingers tightening on the rag but no word of complaint would leave him.

This was for the good of those he loved and he would not let them down. Besides, his eyes scanned the room as he moved to straighten the furnishings.

This had more advantages than slaving in the fields, he had a roof and food and was, for the most part, treated decently. Far better than some in foreign lands that he had heard of. The Kings and Gods saw fit to keep all their working staff in order, the better they were kept then the more they got out of them.

'Having a master you like is a great benefit,' he thought, a flush staining his cheeks, making him look as though every ounce of blood had migrated there, as he polished his fingerprints from the chair under the watchful eye of the butler. 'Perhaps I should fear him like the others but he has given me no reason to.'

Trepidation had been the closest feeling to fear that juddered through him and it was a feeling that was easily conquered. Zuberi caused more unease than the God himself.

Ishaq paused. Thinking of Zuberi, he hadn't seen him all afternoon despite knowing he had been given his orders to assist with the preparations.

He wasn't about to query his absence; the man was unpleasant to work around even when was being friendly and even more-so when he was silent.

'Look to later on,' Ishaq bowed as the head servant moved to inspect his work, sneering unpleasantly despite the faultless results. 'Although I should not be thinking that way.'

He felt himself redden again, making the older servant arch an eyebrow and glared at him in askance. There was nothing for him to say though, there was no fault to be found after all.

"Go, you are not required," he ordered dismissively "but be on hand in case things change."

--

Sometimes it was not who you knew but what you knew.

Zuberi found by eavesdropping that one found some very intriguing information that came in useful when he wanted to be absent from his duties. Such as the carrying on between the butler and the nubile young maid who tended the garden.

It was not that often he used that weapon. it wasn't worth risking the welts and blows from the whip or, if behaviour continued, the threat of being dismissed. So long had the human been gone he would either crumble to dust back in the mortal world or be left in one where he was forgotten.

The catacombs beneath the palace were long and dark. Winding like and eternal labyrinth where the only thing that seemed to be living was the dust that floated in cloudy curtains in the air.

Cryptic and eerie engravings and paintings decorated the cold stone walls, the eyes of the strange figures watching judgmentally if anyone passed.

Macabre tales passed around the servants. The rumour that they were the last remains of those who angered their master, painted with their own blood and ashes as they slowly burned in an agonising demise, their souls then creating the dark coloration at the base of the walls as they waited until their penance was over.

Sometimes, Zuberi thought they might well be extra eyes too, answering when called to report any transgressions in an attempt to reduce their sentence and be reborn to fight life again.

'Even if they are,' he thought as he stumbled on a loose stone 'I have cover enough. I'm needed and I intend to remain that way. All this hassle is a small dent in what is a prize gem.'

There was a quicker way to reach where he wanted to go but that meant trying to avoid the notice of others and also explain to the guards where he was going. No one, unless sanctioned, left the grounds for no specific reason. Even though he had a reason, it was one that no one would condone and his life would be ended if they found out.

Reverence towards other Gods was normal and Am-Heh never concerned himself with those who chose to honour the festival of Sokar or Opet. It was only right that humans honoured those who gave them so much. But it was under the assumption they remained loyal to all of them and did not sink into the darkness that lured with the sweet temptation of their dreams granted, a rich perfume that was hard to resist.

Zuberi had been been drawn by the siren call, the promise of greatness and wealth beyond ones imagination. It would take risk though, to dare the abyss in return for such a reward.

'I am already damned,' Zuberi had retorted "so it will make no difference!'

Those words still rang true as he approached the end of the corridor, pressing close to the wall to avoid any trap that had been set to prevent intruders. There was no need to prevent escape, no one ever left that way.

Why anyone would break in was a mystery also. Nothing taken would lead to any happiness.

He adjusted a bulge concealed under his cloak, the item too important to be dropped and shattered should the spikes rise and snag the fabric. The urn was cumbersome but it had been the smallest object the items would fit inside without leaving evidence behind.

The spikes remained in their dark pits, the tips catching the occasional flash of light like the lethal smile of the crocodiles that basked on the Nile banks.

Zuberi squinted as dull brightness met him as the door rolled open, groaning at the hinges from lack of use and blistering sand.

A stairway was all there was to see, wide and austere and leading upwards. Where it led was unknown, the top not visible and the appearance always changing. Sometimes it was polished marble, sometimes a rickety rack of wooden steps. Only one door, set half way up the wall was viewable from where he stood, the entrance of other Gods and beings.

There was a soft grunt in the silence and Zuberi turned to face the sound, shakily holding out the earthenware urn. Droplets seeped from the cracked lid, leaving rusty stains down the rough sides.

"This surely will be enough to warrant payment of some sort," Zuberi spoke lowly. "I've taken many a risk for nothing so far."

Dark hands reached from under a mess of rags, casting the lid away before drawing the pot beneath them. Zuberi heard it sniff and sigh, he could almost hear it salivate at the mess of gore within before the grotesque noise of eating took over, turning his stomach.

"One more." A slick voice eventually replied. "Risks you have run but your offerings have been weak. I crave perfection! Always I devour the festering remains of the sinners!"

The urn was hurled outwards, breaking into a hundred pieces as it hit the wall. Dark crimson fled the pieces, permanently staining the gravel on the gritty floor.

"She was..."

"She was a w***e," the beast interrupted. "You could taste the l**t in her blood and the tang of disease! You fools would not see that, you only saw what was between her thighs!"

Zuberi shivered as a croaky laugh rattled away the words, heightening to a high scream that he feared would be heard throughout the palace above.

"Pure," Zuberi said with acid on his tongue. "I don't know enough about any of them to make any assumptions. Even Mandisa...although you won't have her even if she is!"

"If she is the only one, then you will. However, I suspect there will be others who are less tarnished," a hand fumbled in the jumble of material and a handful of golden coins were unceremoniously tossed to the floor. A token, useless gesture for work done. "You will find one," it continued, grudgingly acknowledging the human's record so far. "You have succeeded so far and I cannot see you not doing so now."

Zuberi looked up and immediately wished he hadn't. Meeting sharp, yellow eyes staring out the cape. His blood froze in his veins and his heart almost burst as it pumped even harder.

"Remember the past and harness that hate. Once done then you will never need look back."